se it gives a
clear impression and permits us to look into the unviolated order of
nature, appeals to us "agreeably"--I must use this word because it
expresses _the least badly_ the feeling which I would describe. Now,
however, in spite of all reluctance, they had to acknowledge that in the
domain of art there were many phenomena in which no such narrow-minded
imitation of the beautiful, as was demanded, could be shown to exist,
but which nevertheless could not be denied recognition. It was truly
remarkable how they tried to find an escape from this dilemma. They
admitted that ugliness could sometimes form an ingredient in a work of
art, by which means it became possible for the artist to arouse certain
mixed sensations in default of purely agreeable sensations. Mark well,
"in default of purely agreeable sensations!" As though the incapacity or
the momentary embarrassment of the artist, and the inadequacy of a
chosen subject, could do away with a law of art once recognized as
supreme. It is just as though the political law-giver should modify the
prohibition of stealing by the clause: "if, namely, thou canst earn
something in an honest manner." Striking it is, that even Lessing should
cling to such definitions and employ all his ingenuity to prove their
tenableness. It goes to show that the taste of a nation never--as may
very well be imagined--precedes the genius, but always limps along
behind him. Still more striking it is that they could feel the
inadequacy of the accepted definition, that they could come so near to
the real remedy, and yet could overlook it. It seems to me, namely, that
everything could have been adjusted, if they had made the same demands
on the artist's work that they made on the subject chosen by him. This
is so plain that it needs no demonstration.

If I should be asked to state my conception of art--it is understood
that here, as elsewhere, that only the art of poetry is in question--I
would base it on the unconditional freedom of the artist, and say: Art
should seize upon life in all its various forms, and represent it. It is
obvious that this cannot be accomplished by mere copying. The artist
must afford life something more than a morgue, where it is prepared for
burial. We wish to see the point from which life starts and the one
where it loses itself, as a single wave, in the great sea of infinite,
effect. That this effect is a twofold one, and that it can turn inward
as well as outward, is