Zola, it must be that Troilus and Cressida
which Shakespeare, in a spasm of unmanly anger with the world,
grafted on the heroic story of the siege of Troy.
This question of realism, let it then be clearly understood,
regards not in the least degree the fundamental truth, but only the
technical method, of a work of art. Be as ideal or as abstract as
you please, you will be none the less veracious; but if you be
weak, you run the risk of being tedious and inexpressive; and if
you be very strong and honest, you may chance upon a masterpiece.
A work of art is first cloudily conceived in the mind; during the
period of gestation it stands more clearly forward from these
swaddling mists, puts on expressive lineaments, and becomes at
length that most faultless, but also, alas! that incommunicable
product of the human mind, a perfected design. On the approach to
execution all is changed. The artist must now step down, don his
working clothes, and become the artisan. He now resolutely commits
his airy conception, his delicate Ariel, to the touch of matter; he
must decide, almost in a breath, the scale, the style, the spirit,
and the particularity of execution of his whole design.
The engendering idea of some works is stylistic; a technical
preoccupation stands them instead of some robuster principle of
life.
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