though spasmodically and incompletely, in spite of the world's indifference. But the chances against it are numerous and severe: unnourished, the precious seed may dry up; or after an early efflorescence the plant may perish; or—but why pursue the parable?
Great art has usually been "popular" to this extent, that in the great periods of art the artists had their world behind them; they felt it pushing and urging them, and their power was multiplied tenfold; just as today we are in the midst of a great period of scientific discovery because every inventive mind feels this push of his world. In such a period the crowd does not fully understand the great man and his work, but it watches him and admires, or at least reviles; its Shakespeare was not an immortal, but a popular playwright; its Raphael not a great master, but a favorite painter. These men were doing something which the crowd wanted and was interested in; they were expressing the crowd's ideas and desires—as well as much more. And without the crowd's open or secret interest and sympathy—or at least opposition—their work would have been less triumphantly done.
It follows that if we want great poetry we must begin by preparing normal and natural conditions for the poet—by giving him, not the stone walls and stifling atmosphere of indifference, but light, air, freedom, neighbors who praise or curse—all things necessary for healthy growth and conflict. Only thus will the great creative mind, if it is born, have a fair chance of attaining powerful maturity; and just
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