ions lies. In order that the
heart, in spite of that spontaneous force which reacts against sensuous
affections, may remain attached to the impressions of sufferings, it is,
therefore, necessary that these impressions should be cleverly suspended
at intervals, or even interrupted and intercepted by contrary
impressions, to return again with twofold energy and renew more
frequently the vividness of the first impression. Against the exhaustion
and languor that result from habit, the most effectual remedy is to
propose new objects to the senses; this variety retempers them, and the
gradation of impressions calls forth the innate faculty, and makes it
employ a proportionately stronger resistance. This faculty ought to be
incessantly occupied in maintaining its independence against the attacks
of the senses, but it must not triumph before the end, still less must it
succumb in the struggle. Otherwise, in the former case, suffering, and,
in the latter, moral activity is set aside; while it is the union of
these two that can alone elicit emotion. The great secret of the tragic
art consists precisely in managing this struggle well; it is in this that
it shows itself in the most brilliant light.

For this, a succession of alternate ideas is required: therefore a
suitable combination is wanted of several particular actions
corresponding with these different ideas; actions round which the
principal action and the tragic impression which it is wished to produce
through it unroll themselves like the yarn from the distaff, and end by
enlacing our souls in nets, through which they cannot break. Let me be
permitted to make use of a simile, by saying that the artist ought to
begin by gathering up with parsimonious care all the separate rays that
issue from the object by aid of which he seeks to produce the tragic
effect that he has in view, and these rays, in his hands, become a
lightning flash, setting the hearts of all on fire. The tyro casts
suddenly and vainly all the thunderbolts of horror and fear into the
soul; the artist, on the contrary, advances step by step to his end; he
only strikes with measured strokes, but he penetrates to the depth of our
soul, precisely because he has only stirred it by degrees.

If we now form the proper deductions from the previous investigation, the
following will be the conditions that form bases of the tragic art. It
is necessary, in the first place, that the object of our pity should
belong to o