s possible, such power as this, and
then say whether the art which conferred it is to be spoken lightly
of, or whether we should not rather reverence, as half-divine, a gift
which would go so far as to raise us into the rank, and invest us with
the felicities, of angels.[7]

[7] Passage written in opposition to the vulgar notion that the 'mere
imitation' of Nature is easy, and useless.

11. I believe the first test of a truly great man is his humility. I
do not mean by humility, doubt of his own power, or hesitation of
speaking his opinions; but a right understanding of the relation
between what _he_ can do and say, and the rest of the world's sayings
and doings. All great men not only know their business, but usually
know that they know it; and are not only right in their main opinions,
but they usually know that they are right in them; only they do not
think much of themselves on that account. Arnolfo knows he can build a
good dome at Florence; Albert Durer writes calmly to one who has found
fault with his work,--"It cannot be better done;" Sir Isaac Newton
knows that he has worked out a problem or two that would have puzzled
anybody else; only they do not expect their fellow-men, therefore, to
fall down and worship them. They have a curious under-sense of
powerlessness, feeling that the greatness is not _in_ them, but
_through_ them--that they could not do or be anything else than God
made them; and they see something divine and God-made in every other
man they meet, and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.

12. As far as I can observe, it is a constant law, that the greatest
men, whether poets or historians, live entirely in their own age, and
the greatest fruits of their work are gathered out of their own age.
Dante paints Italy in the thirteenth century; Chaucer, England in the
fourteenth; Masaccio, Florence in the fifteenth; Tintoret, Venice in
the sixteenth; all of them utterly regardless of anachronism and minor
error of every kind, but getting always vital truth out of the vital
present. If it be said that Shakespeare wrote perfect historical plays
on subjects belonging to the preceding centuries, I answer that they
_are_ perfect plays, just because there is no care about centuries in
them, but a life which all men recognise for the human life of all
time--and this it is, not because Shakespeare sought to give universal
truth, but because painting, honestly and completely, from the men
about h