102. Si vis me flere, dolendum est Primum ipsi tibi:] Tragedy, as[13] one said, who had a heart to feel its tenderest emotions, shewed forth the ulcers that are covered with tissue. In order to awaken and call forth in the spectator all those sympathies, which naturally await on the lively exhibition of such a scene, the writer must have a soul tuned to the most exquisite sensibility, and susceptible of the same vibrations from his own created images, which are known to shake the sufferer in real life. This is so uncommon a pitch of humanity, that ’tis no wonder, so few have succeeded in this trying part of the drama. Euripides, of all the ancients, had most of this sympathetic tenderness in his nature, and accordingly we find him without a rival in this praise. Τραγικώτατος τῶν ποιητῶν, says Aristotle of him [Περὶ ποιητ. κ. ιγʹ.] and to the same purpose another great critic, In affectibus cum omnibus mirus, tum in iis, qui MISERATIONE constant, facile præcipuus. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] They, who apply themselves to express the pitiable ἐλεεινὸν in tragedy, would do well to examine their own hearts by this rule, before they presume to practise upon those of others. See, further, this remark applied by Cicero to the subject of oratory, and inforced with his usual elegance and good sense. [l. ii. c. xlv. De oratore.]
103. Tunc tua me infortunia laedent.] This is expressed with accuracy. Yet the truth is, The more we are hurt with representations of this sort, the more we are pleased with them. Whence arises this strange Pleasure? The question hath been frequently asked, and various answers have been given to it.
But of all the solutions of this famous difficulty, that which we have just now received from Mr. Hume, is by far the most curious.
His account in short is, “That the force of imagination, the energy of expression, the power of numbers, the charms of imitation, are all naturally of themselves delightful to the mind; that these sentiments of beauty, being the predominant emotions, seize the whole mind, and convert the uneasy melancholy passions into themselves. In a word, that the sentiments of beauty, excited by a good tragedy, are the superior prevailing movements, and transform the subordinate impressions arising from grief, compassion, indignation, and terror, into one uniform and strong enjoyment.” [See four Dissertations by D. Hume, Esq. p. 185, &c.]
I have but two objections to this ingenious theory. One is, that it supposes the impression of grief or terror, excited by a well-written tragedy, to be weaker than that which arises from our observation of the faculties of the writer, the power of numbers, and imitation. Which to me is much the same thing as saying, That the sight of a precipice hanging over our heads makes a fainter impression on the eye, than the shrubs and wild flowers with which it happens to be covered. The fact is so far otherwise, that, if the tragedy be well-written, I will venture to say, the faculties of the writer, the charms of poetry, or even the thought of imitation, never come into the spectator’s head. But he may feel the effect of them, it will be said, for all that. True: But unluckily the whole effect of these things is (and that was my OTHER objection) to deepen the impressions of grief and terror. They are out of place, and altogether impertinent, if they contribute to any other end. So that to say, The impression of grief and terror from a tragic story, strong as it is in itself, and made still stronger by the art of the poet, is a weaker impression, than the mere pleasure arising from that art, is methinks to account for one mystery by another ten times greater, and to make the poet a verier magician than Horace ever intended to represent him.
This ingenious solution then, being so evidently founded on the supposition of a false fact, deserves no further notice. As to the difficulty itself, the following hints may, perhaps, enable the reader, in some measure, to account for it.
1. It is not to be doubted but that we love to have our attention raised, and our curiosity gratified. So far the Abbé du Bos’ system may be admitted.
2. The representation, however distressful, is still seen to be a representation. We find our hearts affected, and even pained, by a good tragedy. But we instantly recollect that the scene is fictitious; and the recollection not only abates our uneasiness, but diffuses a secret joy upon the mind in the discovery we make that the occasion of our uneasiness is not real. Just as our awaking from a frightful dream, and sometimes a secret consciousness of the illusion during the dream itself, is attended with pleasure. That so much of M. de Fontenelle’s notion must be admitted, is clear, because children, who take the sufferings on the stage for realities, are so afflicted by them that they don’t care to repeat the experiment.
But still, all this is by no means a full account of the matter. For,