1875.
"How does it happen," I asked recently of a distinguished
portrait-painter, "that you, who formerly have made successful efforts
in several other branches of art, have at last confined yourself wholly
to portrait-painting?"
"I think it is because it has given me the most pleasure," replied he,
"to study and to perpetuate an object which has never existed before,
and will never appear again."
With these words he seemed to me strikingly to designate the interest
which attracts a person to distinct individuality, that of the inner as
well as that of the outer being. To the critic, too, the individual is
an especially alluring object; to him, too, the execution of a portrait
is a singularly fascinating occupation. Unfortunately, his means of
communication are deplorably far behind those of the painter. What
can be more difficult and more fruitless than the attempt to express
in words that which is purely individual--that which in accordance
with its very nature must mock at every effort of reproduction? Is not
personality, in its uninterrupted flow, the true _perpetuum mobile_,
which does not admit of being constructed?
And yet these insolvable problems ever charm and attract anew. After
we have gradually become familiar with an author, have come to feel
ourselves perfectly at home in his writings, to perceive dimly that
certain of their characteristics dominate others, and then happen to
be by nature of a critical turn of mind, we can find no peace until
we have rendered ourselves an account of our impressions, and made
clear the indistinct image of the character of another _ego_ that has
arisen within our own soul. We hear or read criticisms on an author
and find them absurd. Why are they absurd? Other statements seem to us
but half true. What is lacking to make them wholly true? A new work of
importance from his pen appears. How far have the earlier works been a
preparation for it? We almost become curious to learn how we ourselves
would characterize his talent--and we satisfy our curiosity.