ous because their material is
the most simple; they have no need, as in the case of the experimental
sciences, of an extended knowledge of facts, which is acquired only with
time.

At this period of its development the imagination is in large part
imitation. We must explain this paradox. The creator begins by
imitating: this is such a well-known fact that it is needless to give
proof of it, and it is subject to few exceptions. The most original mind
is, at first, consciously or unconsciously somebody's disciple. It is
necessarily so. Nature gives only one thing, "the creative instinct;"
that is, the need of producing in a determined line. This internal
factor alone is insufficient. Aside from the fact that the imagination
at first has at its disposal only a very limited material, it lacks
technique, the processes indispensable for realizing itself. As long as
the creator has not found the suitable form into which to cast his
creation he must indeed borrow it from another; his ideas must suffer
the necessity of a provisional shelter. This explains how it is that
later the inventor, reaching full consciousness of himself, in order to
complete mastery of his methods, often breaks with his models, and burns
what he at first adorned.

II

A second character consists of the necessity, the fatality of creation.
Great inventors feel that they have a task to accomplish; they feel that
they are charged with a mission. On this point we have a large number of
testimonials and avowals. In the darkest days of his life Beethoven,
haunted by the thought of suicide, wrote, "Art alone has kept me back.
It seemed to me that I could not leave the world before producing all
that I felt within me." Ordinarily, inventors are apt in only one line;
even when they have a certain versatility, they remain bound to their
own peculiar manner--they have their mark--like Michaelangelo; or, if
they attempt to change it, if they try to be unfaithful as respects
their vocation, they fall much below themselves.

This characteristic of irresistible impulsion which makes the genius
create not because he wants to, but because he must do it, has often
been likened to instinct. This very widespread view has been examined
before (Part I, Chapter ii).

We have seen that there is no creative instinct in general, but
_particular_ tendencies, orientated in a definite direction, which in
most respects resemble instinct. It is contrary to experience and logic