fashion, fraternize here in a universal sympathy,
forget the world, and come nearer to their heavenly destination. The
individual shares in the general ecstacy, and his breast has now only
space for an emotion: he is a man.

ON THE TRAGIC ART.

The state of passion in itself, independently of the good or bad
influence of its object on our morality, has something in it that charms
us. We aspire to transport ourselves into that state, even if it costs
us some sacrifices. You will find this instinct at the bottom of all our
most habitual pleasures. As to the nature itself of the affection,
whether it be one of aversion or desire, agreeable or painful, this is
what we take little into consideration. Experience teaches us that
painful affections are those which have the most attraction for us, and
thus that the pleasure we take in an affection is precisely in an inverse
ratio to its nature. It is a phenomenon common to all men, that sad,
frightful things, even the horrible, exercise over us an irresistible
seduction, and that in presence of a scene of desolation and of terror we
feel at once repelled and attracted by two equal forces. Suppose the
case be an assassination. Then every one crowds round the narrator and
shows a marked attention. Any ghost story, however embellished by
romantic circumstances, is greedily devoured by us, and the more readily
in proportion as the story is calculated to make our hair stand on end.

This disposition is developed in a more lively manner when the objects
themselves are placed before our eyes. A tempest that would swallow up
an entire fleet would be, seen from shore, a spectacle as attractive to
our imagination as it would be shocking to our heart. It would be
difficult to believe with Lucretius that this natural pleasure results
from a comparison between our own safety and the danger of which we are
witnesses. See what a crowd accompanies a criminal to the scene of his
punishment! This phenomenon cannot be explained either by the pleasure
of satisfying our love of justice, nor the ignoble joy of vengeance.
Perhaps the unhappy man may find excuses in the hearts of those present;
perhaps the sincerest pity takes an interest in his reprieve: this does
not prevent a lively curiosity in the spectators to watch his expressions
of pain with eye and ear. If an exception seems to exist here in the
case of a well-bred man, endowed with a delicate sense, this does not
imply that he is a