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artistic observer sees the peculiarly perfect outline of the old man's features and form, and in the tottering, gait
bent shoulders, and soiled senility a straight, handsome youth, fastidious in his dress and perfect in his form.
Such the old man was once, and all the elements of his broken youth are clearly visible under the hapless
veneer of time for the one who has an eye to see. This is but one illustration of many that might be offered. A
poor shop girl may have the bearing of a princess. Among New York illustrators the typical model for a
society girl is a young woman of the most ordinary birth and breeding, misfortunes which are clearly visible
in her personal appearance. But she has the bearing, the air of the social queen, and to the artist she is that
alone. He does not see the veneer of circumstances, though the real society girl would see nothing else in her
humble artistic rival.
In drawing characters the writer has a much larger range of models from which to choose, in one sense. His
models are the people he knows by personal association day by day during various periods of his life, from
childhood up. Each person he has known has left an impression on his mind, and that impression is the thing
he considers. The art of painting requires the actual presence in physical person of the model, a limitation the
writer fortunately does not have. At the same time, the artist of the brush can seek new models and bring them
into his studio without taking too much time or greatly inconveniencing himself. The writer can get new
models only by changing his whole mode of life. Travel is an excellent thing, yet practically it proves
inadequate. The fleeting impressions do not remain, and only what remains steadily and permanently in the
mind can be used as a model by the novelist.
But during a lifetime one accumulates a large number of models simply by habitually observing everything
that comes in one's way. When the writer takes up {the} pen to produce a story, he searches through his
mental collection for a suitable model. Sometimes it is necessary to use several models in drawing the same
character, one for this characteristic, and another for that. But in writing the novelist should have his eye on
his model just as steadily and persistently as the painter, for so alone can he catch the spirit and inner truth of
nature; and art. If it is anything, is the interpretation of nature. The ideal character must be made the
interpretation of the real one, not a photographic copy, not idealization or glorification or caricature, unless
the idealization or glorification or caricature has a definite value in the interpretation.
CHAPTER XV. 122
CHAPTER XV.
CONTRAST.
In all effective writing contrast is far more than a figure of speech: it is an essential element in making
strength. A work of literary art without contrast may have all the elements of construction, style, and
originality of idea, but it will be weak, narrow, limp. The truth is, contrast is the measure of the breadth of
one's observation. We often think of it as a figure of speech, a method of language which we use for effect. A
better view of it is as a measure of breadth. You have a dark, wicked man on one side, and a fair, sunny, sweet
woman on the other. These are two extremes, a contrast, and they include all between. If a writer understands
these extremes he understands all between, and if in a story he sets up one type against another he in a way
marks out those extremes as the boundaries of his intellectual field, and he claims all within them. If the
contrast is great, he claims a great field; if feeble, then he has only a narrow field.
Contrast and one's power of mastering it indicate one's breadth of thought and especially the breadth of one's
thinking in a particular creative attempt. Every writer should strive for the greatest possible breadth, for the
greater his breadth the more people there are who will be interested in his work. Narrow minds interest a few
people, and broad minds interest correspondingly many. The best way to cultivate breadth is to cultivate the
use of contrast in your writing.
But to assume a breadth which one does not have, to pass from one extreme to another without perfect
mastery of all that lies between, results in being ridiculous. It is like trying to extend the range of the voice too
far. One desires a voice with the greatest possible range; but if in forcing the voice up one breaks into a
falsetto, the effect is disastrous. So in seeking range of character expression one must be very careful not to
break into a falsetto, while straining the true voice to its utmost in order to extend its range.
Let us now pass from the contrast of characters and situations of the most general kind to contrasts of a more
particular sort. Let us consider the use of language first. Light conversation must not last too long or it
becomes monotonous, as we all know. But if the writer can pass sometimes rapidly from tight conversation to
serious narrative, both the light dialogue and the serious seem the more expressive for the contrast. The only
thing to be considered is, can you do it with perfect ease and grace? If you cannot, better let it alone.
Likewise, the long sentence may be used in one paragraph, and a fine contrast shown by using very short
sentences in the next.
But let us distinguish between variety and contrast. The writer may pass from long sentences to short ones
when the reader has tired of long ones, and vice versa, he may pass from a tragic character to a comic one in
order to rest the mind of the reader. In this there will be no very decided contrast. But when the two extremes
are brought close together, are forced together perhaps, then we have an electric effect. To use contrast well
requires great skill in the handling of language, for contrast means passing from one extreme to another in a
very short space, and if this, passing is not done gracefully, the whole effect is spoiled.
What has been said of contrast in language, character, etc., may also be applied to contrasts in any small
detail, incident, or even simile. Let us examine a few of the contrasts in Maupassant, for he is a great adept in
their use.
Let us take the opening paragraph of "The Necklace" and see what a marvel of contrast it is: "She was one of
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