Enough. Now let us proceed to reply to the vast torrent of objections, which I have neither belittled nor exaggerated in my account. Let us begin by rendering our judge favorable toward us by defending his own rights. Despite the assertion of the critics to the contrary, the assembled public is none the less that sole judge of plays which are written to amuse it. Every one alike is forced to submit to it, and any effort to obstruct the efforts of genius in the creation of a new dramatic form, or in the further development of those forms which are already established, is a conspiracy against its rights, a plot to deprive it of its pleasure. I readily agree that a difficult, deep-hidden truth in a play will be sooner discovered, better understood, and more intelligently judged by a small number of enlightened' individuals, than by a clamorous crowd—otherwise the truth could not be said to be "difficult"; but questions of taste and sentiment, matters pertaining to pure effects; in a word, all that regards the work as a play, since it cannot be considered apart from the powerful and instantaneous effect produced upon an audience as a whole—ought, I ask, all these things to be judged according to the same rules? When it is less a matter of discussing and analyzing than of feeling, being amused, and being touched, is it not then as questionable to say that the judgment of the public when it is under the influence of emotion, is false and mistaken, as to maintain that a certain kind of drama, which has made its emotional appeal and succeeded in pleasing, generally speaking, a whole nation; and yet is not of sufficient value and dignity for this nation? What importance are we to attach to the satires of certain writers on the Serious Drama, as against the weight of public taste, especially when the shafts of ridicule are directed against charming plays written in this style by the satirists themselves? The light and playful touch of sarcasm may be reasonable and consistent, but it has never decided an important question: its only reason for existence is that it merely starts discussions; it should only be permitted when it is directed against cowardly adversaries who, firmly entrenched behind a heap of authorities; refuse to struggle and reason in the open.…I have heard important sounding words in connection with the sort of play I am discussing, and seen arrayed before me, opposing my plea for the serious play, Aristotle, the ancients, the Poetics, "the laws of the drama," the rules, above all, the rules—the eternal common meeting ground of the critics, the scarecrow of ordinary minds. In what branch of art have rules ever produced masterpieces? Is it not rather the great examples which from the very beginnings have served as a basis of these rules, which are, inverting the natural order of things, brought forward as a positive hindrance to genius? Would mankind ever have advanced in the arts and sciences, if they had servilely followed the precepts laid down by their predecessors? The New World would still be utterly unknown to us had the hardy Genoese navigator not spurned the Nec plus ultra of the Pillars of Hercules. Was that rule not presumptuous and misleading? Genius that is ever on the alert for something new, that is impatient, that chafes under the restrictions of what is already known, suspects something more, something beyond the known; agitated and set in motion by this impelling force, the genius, his mind in torment, impatient, struggling to free himself, grows; and finally, breaking down the barrier of prejudice, he presses forward, out beyond the known borders. Sometimes he loses his way, but still it is he alone who carries the beacon far into the night of the possible, toward which others strive to follow him. He has made a giant stride, and the outposts of art are advanced. I must stop at this point, for I have no desire to enter into a heated argument; I wish merely to reason calmly. Let us reduce to simple terms a great question which has not hitherto been decided. If I were to submit it to a tribunal of reason, I should state it in this way: Is it permissible to interest a theater audience and make it shed tears over a situation which, if it occurred in everyday life, would never fail to produce the same effect upon each individual in that audience? For that, in fine, is the object of well-intentioned, Serious Drama.
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