private fact of the man is hidden by the public general truth. If,
however, the energies of the individual overtop the science, enabling
him to assert himself above the summit of its history, then is he
accessible to all generations, and can in no wise avoid or forfeit his
just fame.

In Art, this intimate relation of the result of action to the actor is
complete,--inasmuch as, to _be_ Art, to rise above being something
else, the shadow and mockery of Art, it must be of and from the man, a
spontaneity, a reflection, light for light, shade for shade, color for
color, of his entire being; and with this effect his will has little to
do. Therefore, unless he be an impostor, he need give himself no trouble
regarding his future. His works shall serve as a clue, produced century
after century, along which posterity shall feel its way back to his
studio and heart. No need of thought for _his_ morrow.

But for his to-day he may well be solicitous. If fame be his reflection,
he has also the shadow of himself, his reputation.

It is a great error to assume that these two effects are so related that
the augmentation of the one must increase the other, and as great a
mistake to confound the two. The truth is, that reputation and fame are
rarely coincident. They are not unfrequently in direct opposition,--so
much so, that some names, which the world cannot give up, have to
be filtered through a thick mass of years, to purify them of their
reputations, and leave them simply famous.

No name has suffered more than that of Powers. His friends, blind to the
laws which govern these matters, have wrought bravely to construct for
him a reputation commensurate with his vaguely imagined worth; but upon
his real worth they have evinced no desire to lay their foundation. No
accurate survey has been made of his abilities, no definite plan of
his artist-nature. Often a place has been demanded for his name in the
history of Art, and the first place too, because of his fine frank eye,
or the simplicity of his manners,--because his workmen cut the chain of
the Greek slave out of one piece of stone, or the marble of the statue
itself had no spot as big as a pin-head,--because he himself chooses to
rasp and scrape plaster, rather than model in plastic clay,--because he
tinkered up the "infernal regions" of the Cincinnati Museum years ago,
or spends his time now in making perforating-machines and perforated
files; in fine, for _any_ reason rather t