n's or Veronese's
though it might be?

Yes, the reader answers, in the instance of such scenes as these, but
not if the scene represented were uninteresting. Not, indeed, if it
were utterly vulgar or painful; but we are not yet certain that the
art which represents what is vulgar or painful is itself of much
value; and with respect to the art whose aim is beauty, even of an
inferior order, it seems that Dante's idea of its perfection has still
much evidence in its favour. For among persons of native good sense,
and courage enough to speak their minds, we shall often find a
considerable degree of doubt as to the use of art, in consequence of
their habitual comparison of it with reality. "What is the use, to me,
of the painted landscape?" they will ask: "I see more beautiful and
perfect landscapes every day of my life in my forenoon walk." "What is
the use, to me, of the painted effigy of hero or beauty? I can see a
stamp of higher heroism, and light of purer beauty, on the faces round
me, utterly inexpressible by the highest human skill." Now, it is
evident that to persons of this temper the only valuable picture
would, indeed, be _mirrors_, reflecting permanently the images of the
things in which they took delight, and of the faces that they loved.
"Nay," but the reader interrupts (if he is of the Idealist school), "I
deny that more beautiful things are to be seen in nature than in art;
on the contrary, everything in nature is faulty, and art represents
nature as perfected." Be it so. Must, therefore, this perfected nature
be imperfectly represented? Is it absolutely required of the painter,
who has conceived perfection, that he should so paint it as to look
only like a picture? Or is not Dante's view of the matter right even
here, and would it not be well that the perfect conception of Pallas
should be so given as to look like Pallas herself, rather than merely
like the picture of Pallas?[50]

It is not easy for us to answer this question rightly, owing to the
difficulty of imagining any art which should reach the perfection
supposed. Our actual powers of imitation are so feeble that wherever
deception is attempted, a subject of a comparatively low or confined
order must be chosen. I do not enter at present into the inquiry how
far the powers of imitation extend; but assuredly up to the present
period they have been so limited that it is hardly possible for us to
conceive a deceptive art embracing a high range of sub