but they do not
complete that idea, because they are confined to representing our
feelings. There are still more essential differences, if the end of
these lyrical forms and that of tragedy are kept in view.

I say, in the third place, that tragedy is the imitation of a complete
action. A separate event, though it be ever so tragic, does not in
itself constitute a tragedy. To do this, several events are required,
based one on the other, like cause and effect, and suitably connected so
as to form a whole; without which the truth of the feeling represented,
of the character, etc.--that is, their conformity with the nature of our
mind, a conformity which alone determines our sympathy--will not be
recognized. If we do not feel that we ourselves in similar circumstances
should have experienced the same feelings and acted in the same way, our
pity would not be awakened. It is, therefore, important that we should
be able to follow in all its concatenation the action that is represented
to us, that we should see it issue from the mind of the agent by a
natural gradation, under the influence and with the concurrence of
external circumstances. It is thus that we see spring up, grow, and come
to maturity under our eyes, the curiosity of Oedipus and the jealousy of
Iago. It is also the only way to fill up the great gap that exists
between the joy of an innocent soul and the torments of a guilty
conscience, between the proud serenity of the happy man and his terrible
catastrophe; in short, between the state of calm, in which the reader is
at the beginning, and the violent agitation he ought to experience at the
end.

A series of several connected incidents is required to produce in our
souls a succession of different movements which arrest the attention,
which, appealing to all the faculties of our minds, enliven our instinct
of activity when it is exhausted, and which, by delaying the satisfaction
of this instinct, do not kindle it the less. Against the suffering of
sensuous nature the human heart has only recourse to its moral nature as
counterpoise. It is, therefore, necessary, in order to stimulate this in
a more pressing manner, for the tragic poet to prolong the torments of
sense, but he must also give a glimpse to the latter of the satisfaction
of its wants, so as to render the victory of the moral sense so much the
more difficult and glorious. This twofold end can only be attained by a
succession of actions judiciously cho