being drawn in brighter colours than the impartial testimony of history warrants. Yet, though Shakspeare's poetry. rises far above Otway's, the gallant and profligate impetuosity of Pierre; and the various conflicting passions of his perfidious friend, are far more interesting and impressive, than the republican firmness of Cassius, or the philosophical benevolence of Brutus; merely because they are more energetic: for it is with the general energy, and not with the particular passions, that we sympathize. Men fit to disturb the peace of all the world, and rule it when 'tis wildest, are the proper materials for tragedy; since, how much soever we may dread, or abhor them in reality, we are always delighted with them in fiction.

40. The vindictive ferocity of Achilles has been thought to need some apology, even by the warmest admirers of the Iliad: but the poet, who had looked into the inmost recesses of the human mind, well knew that, had his hero been less ferocious, he must have been less energetic; and, consequently, less interesting and impressive. To rouse the feelings of his audience-to exalt and melt them by turns, was his object; and for that, he has shown as much taste and knowledge in the selection of his means, as genius and ability in the employment of them. Achilles weeps, with all the ecstasy of woe, over his insulted honour, and

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blime and Pathetic.

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his slaughtered friend; but meets his own impending death with careless and haughty blime and indifference; and when struggling in the overPathetic. whelming torrents of the Scamander, only

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reproaches the Gods with not keeping their promise of an honourable and glorious termination to his life.

41. In all the fictions, either of poetry or imitative art, there can be nothing truly pathetic, unless it be, at the same time, in some degree, sublime: for, though, in scenes of real distress, pity may so far overcome scorn, that we may weep for sufferings, that are feebly or pusillanimously borne; yet, in fiction, scorn will always predominate, unless there be a display of vigour, as well as tenderness and sensibility of mind. Fiction is known to be fiction, even while it interests us most; and it is the dignified elevation of the sentiments of the > actors or sufferers, that separates the interesting, or the pathetic, from the disgusting, or the ridiculous.

42. Scenes of extreme suffering, or hyperbolical atrocity, which, in real life, excite only the shudder of horror, are viewed only with disgust in fiction; whether it be in poetry, painting, or sculpture: for the mind is never deceived by such fictions; but always considers them as works of mere invention or imitation; and, as they are necessarily associated with

repulsive and horrible ideas, never gives them that spontaneous attention, which alone can induce it to sympathize with the energies, either of active, or passive fortitude, displayed by the sufferer. Such are the martyrdoms of Spagnolet, the events in the play of Titus Andronicus, and in the latter part of the novel of the Monk. When really acted within the sphere of our knowledge, the pruriency of curiosity will seldom allow us to remain in ignorance even of the details of such events, how much soever we may wish them unknown, after the hideous images have begun to haunt our memories: but, when the poet or the artist presume to obtrude such images upon us gratuitously, as the means of exciting an extreme degree of sympathy, they have no longer any incentives to entice curiosity; and are consequently rejected with scorn, aversion, or disgust.

43. No merely selfish sorrow or affliction, how justly and eloquently soever expressed, can ever be pathetic in fiction; because it can never be, in any degree, sublime; but must always exhibit more of the weaknesses than the energies of the mind. Hence tragedy, which, as Aristotle has observed, in a passage before cited, is conversant only in the higher ranks of human nature; and which, to be interesting, must always be, in some degree, sublime, never dares to bring forward any scenes of distress,

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Of the Sublime and Pathetic.

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of which self is the motive; while comedy (by which I mean comedy as opposed to tragedy, blime and that is, ludicrous comedy) which, as the same great author observes, is conversant only with the lower ranks; and, consequently, seeks to please by the direct opposite of the sublime, never dares to bring forward any distress, which has any other motive than self: for distress, which has any other adequate motive, can never be ridiculous; and distress, which is founded in that motive solely, must necessarily be either ridiculous, contemptible, or disgusting, when exhibited in fiction.

44. On the other hand, it is equally true that no kind of mimic distress can be interesting, the motives for which are entirely unconnected with self; because such distress must necessarily be extravagant and unnatural; and therefore unfit for either tragedy or comedy. A philanthropist ranting upon the calamities. of a remote country, which he never saw; or lamenting, in tragic pomp, the misfortunes of a foreign potentate, whom he never knew, would only exhibit the disgusting image of an idiot or a maniac, which would not be tolerated on any stage. All our social, arise out of our selfish passions, and continue so far connected with them, that, in separation, the one verge towards mental insanity, and the other become utterly sordid and despicable.

Milton has been censured for making the devil too amiable and interesting a character; but Milton could not have done otherwise, without destroying all the interest of his poem: for to have exhibited so principal an actor in the events, which he relates, without passions or affections, would have been dull and insipid; and to have given him only selfish passions would have been rendering him a character more fit for one of the scriptural farces, or sacred drolls of the middle ages, than for a most serious, and even solemn epic composi tion. The passage, in which he appears most amiable, is perhaps the most striking and pathetic in the whole poem; and as it occurs in the beginning of it, confers no small degree of interest upon what follows:

his face

Deep scars of thunder had entrench'd, and care
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast
Signs of remorse and passion to behold
The fellows of his crime, the followers rather,
Far other once beheld in bliss, condemn'd
For ever now to have their lot in pain:
Millions of spirits, for his fault amerc'd
Of Heaven, and from eternal splendors flung,
For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood
Their glory withered: as when Heaven's fire
Hath scath'd the forest oaks or mountain pines,
With singed top, their stately growth, though bare,

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Of the Sublime and Pathetic.