imagination; and the secret of suggestion is studied repression. The actor, the writer, the painter who flies into a fine frenzy overacts, overwrites, overpaints. The best writing, that which reads without effort, is that which has been rewritten most often. The artist who tries to be literal leaves the imagination cold. The photograph is literal. It copies, and the clearer and harder its accuracy the worse it is. The rogue's gallery photograph is fine realism. The portrait suggests; it glides over the superficial and gets at the soul of the sitter. The first defect of the movies is that nothing has been left to the imagination. When little Eva ascends to heaven in the films she sprouts her wings before your eyes and flaps aloft. The spectator wonders how it was done, and forgets that he is seeing a child die.
The other actress was the leading woman of a stock company. The company was a good one and the actress intelligent. I met her at a dinner party on a Sunday evening following a dress rehearsal of Madame X, which was to be the next week's bill. I congratulated her sincerely on the opportunity.
"Oh, Mr. Hopper!" she wailed. "I appreciate the possibilities of the part, but I dread it.
[102]
