deep prolific thoughts and only in them, we expect from art either nothing at all or something quite different than we formerly did—in fact, we change our taste. For, in former times, we wished just for one moment to dive through the gate of art into the element in which we now permanently live; at that time we in so doing fancied ourselves into the rapturous thought of possession, and now we really possess. Indeed, flinging away temporarily what we now have, and finding ourselves poor, a child, beggar, or fool, may now occasionally fill us with delight.
582
”Lore equalises.”—Love wishes to save the other to whom it devotes itself any alien feeling; hence it excels in disguise and simulation, it is constantly deceiving and feigns an equality which does not really exist. And this is done so instinctively that women who love deny this simulation and continuous tender fraud, and boldly assert that love equalises (viz., that it performs a miracle!). This process is simple enough if the one person allows himself to be loved and does not think it necessary to simulate, but rather leaves this to the other who loves. But histrionic art never offers a more intricate and impenetrable example than in the case of both being passionately in love with each other; in this case either of them surrenders and endeavors to conform to the other and equal him and only him; and finally both are at a loss what to imitate, what to simulate, and what to feign. The beautiful frenzy of
