按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
those who do not understand them； is their love of praise； the
critics failing to grasp the fact that this passion for measuring
one's self with others； like the gad…fly pursuing poor Io； never
allows a moment's repose in the green pastures of success； but
goads them constantly up the rocky sides of endeavor。 It is not
that they love flattery； but that they need approbation as a
counterpoise to the dark moments of self…abasement and as a
sustaining aid for higher flights。
Many years ago I was present at a final sitting which my master；
Carolus Duran； gave to one of my fair compatriots。 He knew that
the lady was leaving Paris on the morrow； and that in an hour； her
husband and his friends were coming to see and criticise the
portrait … always a terrible ordeal for an artist。
To any one familiar with this painter's moods； it was evident that
the result of the sitting was not entirely satisfactory。 The quick
breathing； the impatient tapping movement of the foot； the swift
backward springs to obtain a better view； so characteristic of him
in moments of doubt； and which had twenty years before earned him
the name of LE DANSEUR from his fellow…copyists at the Louvre；
betrayed to even a casual observer that his discouragement and
discontent were at boiling point。
The sound of a bell and a murmur of voices announced the entrance
of the visitors into the vast studio。 After the formalities of
introduction had been accomplished the new…comers glanced at the
portrait； but uttered never a word。 From it they passed in a
perfectly casual manner to an inspection of the beautiful contents
of the room； investigating the tapestries； admiring the armor； and
finally； after another glance at the portrait； the husband
remarked： 〃You have given my wife a jolly long neck； haven't you？〃
and； turning to his friends； began laughing and chatting in
English。
If vitriol had been thrown on my poor master's quivering frame； the
effect could not have been more instantaneous； his ignorance of the
language spoken doubtless exaggerating his impression of being
ridiculed。 Suddenly he turned very white； and before any of us had
divined his intention he had seized a Japanese sword lying by and
cut a dozen gashes across the canvas。 Then； dropping his weapon；
he flung out of the room； leaving his sitter and her friends in
speechless consternation； to wonder then and ever after in what way
they had offended him。 In their opinions； if a man had talent and
understood his business； he should produce portraits with the same
ease that he would answer dinner invitations； and if they paid for；
they were in no way bound also to praise； his work。 They were
entirely pleased with the result； but did not consider it necessary
to tell him so； no idea having crossed their minds that he might be
in one of those moods so frequent with artistic natures； when words
of approbation and praise are as necessary to them； as the air we
breathe is to us； mortals of a commoner clay。
Even in the theatrical and operatic professions； those hotbeds of
conceit； you will generally find among the 〃stars〃 abysmal depths
of discouragement and despair。 One great tenor； who has delighted
New York audiences during several winters past； invariably
announces to his intimates on arising that his 〃voice has gone；〃
and that； in consequence he will 〃never sing again；〃 and has to be
caressed and cajoled back into some semblance of confidence before
attempting a performance。 This same artist； with an almost
limitless repertoire and a reputation no new successes could
enhance； recently risked all to sing what he considered a higher
class of music； infinitely more fatiguing to his voice； because he
was impelled onward by the ideal that forces genius to constant
improvement and development of its powers。
What the people who meet these artists occasionally at a private
concert or behind the scenes during the intense strain of a
representation； take too readily for monumental egoism and conceit；
is； the greater part of the time； merely the desire for a
sustaining word； a longing for the stimulant of praise。
All actors and singers are but big children； and must be humored
and petted like children when you wish them to do their best。 It
is necessary for them to feel in touch with their audiences； to be
assured that they are not falling below the high ideals formed for
their work。
Some winters ago a performance at the opera nearly came to a
standstill because an all…conquering soprano was found crying in
her dressing…room。 After many weary moments of consolation and
questioning； it came out that she felt quite sure she no longer had
any talent。 One of the other singers had laughed at her voice； and
in consequence there was nothing left to live for。 A half…hour
later； owing to judicious 〃treatment；〃 she was singing gloriously
and bowing her thanks to thunders of applause。
Rather than blame this divine discontent that has made man what he
is to…day； let us glorify and envy it； pitying the while the frail
mortal vessels it consumes with its flame。 No adulation can turn
such natures from their goal； and in the hour of triumph the slave
is always at their side to whisper the word of warning。 This
discontent is the leaven that has raised the whole loaf of dull
humanity to better things and higher efforts； those privileged to
feel it are the suns that illuminate our system。 If on these
luminaries observers have discovered spots； it is well to remember
that these blemishes are but the defects of their qualities； and
better far than the total eclipse that shrouds so large a part of
humanity in colorless complacency。
It will never be known how many master…pieces have been lost to the
world because at the critical moment a friend has not been at hand
with the stimulant of sympathy and encouragement needed by an
overworked； straining artist who was beginning to lose confidence
in himself； to soothe his irritated nerves with the balm of praise；
and take his poor aching head on a friendly shoulder and let him
sob out there all his doubt and discouragement。
So let us not be niggardly or ungenerous in meting out to
struggling fellow…beings their share； and perchance a little more
than their share of approbation and applause； poor enough return；
after all； for the pleasure their labors have procured us。 What
adequate compensation can we mete out to an author for the hours of
delight and self…forgetfulness his talent has brought to us in
moments of loneliness； illness； or grief？ What can pay our debt to
a painter who has fixed on canvas the face we love？
The little return that it is in our power to make for all the joy
these gifted fellow…beings bring into our lives is （closing our
eyes to minor imperfections） to warmly applaud them as they move
upward； along