ffect of the
inspiration that is believed to visit a genius now and again. He may
have toiled at it unceasingly for months, joying in the labor and
finding keen pleasure in every workmanlike artifice he had used to
attain his end; and yet he refrains from confessing his many struggles
with his rebellious material, wisely preferring to let what he has done
speak for itself, simply and without commentary. But the artists know
that the pathway to achievement is never along the line of least
resistance; and they smile when they hear Mascarille, in Moliere's
little comedy, tell the affected young ladies whom he is seeking to
impress that all he did "was done without effort." By this the artists
at once perceive the fellow to be a pretender, who had never
accomplished anything and who never would. They know, as no others can
know, that there is no cable-road to the tops of the twin-peaks of
Parnassus, and that he who would climb to these remote heights must
trudge afoot,--even if he is lucky enough now and again to get a lift on
Pegasus.

What the artists do not care to parade, it is the duty of the
commentators to point out; and an understanding of the technic of any
art, of its possibilities and of its limitations, is as necessary for
the critics as for the creators. Perhaps it is not pedantic to suggest
that the critic who seeks to be of service ought to be able to see in
every masterpiece the result of the combined action of three forces,
without any one of which that work of art could not have come into
being. First, there is the temperament of the artist himself, his native
endowment for the practise of that special art, his gift of
story-telling or of play-making, as the case may be. Second, there is
the training of the artist, his preparation for his work, his slowly
acquired mastery of the processes of his craft, his technical
accomplishments. And, thirdly, there is the man's own character, his
intelligence, and energy, and determination, his moral sense, his
attitude toward life and its insistent problems. Now, of these three
necessary factors--first, his native gift; second, his technic; and,
third, his character--only the second is improvable by taking thought.
The native gift must remain ever what it is, neither more nor less; and
it cannot be enlarged by any effort of will. So also the character,
which is conditioned by much that is beyond a man's control,--which can
be bettered, perhaps, but only as the man hi