_Coexistent emotions and passions._
To have a thorough knowledge of the human passions and emotions, it is
not sufficient that they be examined singly and separately. As a
plurality of them are sometimes felt at the same instant, the manner of
their coexistence, and the effects thereby produced, ought also to be
examined. This subject is extensive, and it will be difficult to evolve
all the laws that govern its endless variety of cases. Such an
undertaking may be brought to perfection, but it must be by degrees. The
following hints may suffice for a first attempt.
We begin with emotions raised by different sounds, as the simplest case.
Two sounds that mix, and are, as it were, incorporated before they reach
the ear, are said to be concordant. That each sound produceth an emotion
of its own, must be admitted. But then these emotions, like the sounds
that produce them, mix so intimately, as to be rather one complex
emotion than two emotions in conjunction. Two sounds, again, that refuse
incorporation or mixture, are said to be discordant. Being however heard
at the same instant, the emotions produced by them are conjoined; and in
that condition are unpleasant, even where separately they are each of
them pleasant.
Similar to the emotion raised by mixed sounds, is the emotion that an
object of sight raises by means of its several qualities. A tree, for
example, with its qualities of colour, figure, size, _&c._ is perceived
to be one object; and the emotion it raises is one, not different
emotions combined. But though the emotion be one, it is however not
simple. The perception of the tree is complex, and the emotion raised by
it must also be complex.
With respect to coexistent emotions produced by different causes or
objects, it must be observed, that there cannot be a concordance among
objects of sight like what is perceived in sounds. Objects of sight are
never mixed or incorporated in the act of vision. Each object is
perceived as it exists, separately from others; and each raiseth its own
emotion, which is felt distinctly however intimately connected the
objects may be. This doctrine holds in all the causes of emotion or
passion, sounds only excepted.
To explain the manner in which such emotions coexist, similar emotions
must be distinguished from those that are dissimilar. Two emotions are
said to be similar, when they tend each of them to produce the same tone
of mind. Chearful emotions, however different their causes may be, are
similar; and so are those which are melancholy. Dissimilar emotions are
easily explained by their opposition to what are similar. Grandeur and
littleness, gaiety and gloominess, are dissimilar emotions.
Emotions perfectly similar, readily combine and unite[36], so as in a
manner to become one complex emotion; witness the emotions produced by
a number of flowers in a parterre, or of trees in a wood. Emotions again
that are opposite or extremely dissimilar, never combine nor unite. The
mind cannot simultaneously take on opposite tones: it cannot at the same
instant be both joyful and sad, angry and satisfied, proud and humble.
Dissimilar emotions may succeed each other with rapidity, but they
cannot exist simultaneously.
Betwixt these two extremes, emotions will unite more or less, in
proportion to the degree of their resemblance and the greater or less
connection of their causes. The beauty of a landscape and the singing of
birds, produce emotions that are similar in a considerable degree; and
these emotions therefore, though proceeding from very different causes,
readily combine and unite. On the other hand, when the causes are
intimately connected, the emotions, though but slightly resembling each
other, are forced into a sort of union. I give for an example a mistress
in distress. When I consider her beauty, I feel a pleasant emotion; and
a painful emotion when I consider her distress. These two emotions,
proceeding from different views of the object, have very little
resemblance to each other: and yet their causes are so intimately
connected, as to force them into a sort of complex emotion, partly
pleasant partly painful. This clearly explains some expressions common
in poetry, _a sweet distress, a pleasant pain_.
We proceed to the effects produced by means of the different manners of
coexistence above described; first, the effects produced within the
mind, and next, those that appear externally. I discover two mental
effects clearly distinguishable from each other. The one may be
represented by addition and subtraction in numbers, and the other by
harmony in sounds. Two pleasant emotions that are similar, readily unite
when they are coexistent; and the pleasure felt in the union, is the sum
of the two pleasures. The combined emotions are like multiplied effects
from the co-operation of different powers. The same emotions in
succession, are far from making the same figure; because the mind at no
instant of the succession is conscious of more than a single emotion.
This doctrine may aptly be illustrated by a landscape comprehending
hills, vallies, plains, rivers, trees, _&c._ The emotions produced by
these several objects, being similar in a high degree as falling in
easily and sweetly with the same tone of mind, are in conjunction
extremely pleasant. And this multiplied effect is felt from objects even
of different senses; as where a landscape is conjoined with the music of
birds and odor of flowers. Such multiplied effect, as above hinted,
depends partly on the resemblance of the emotions and partly on the
connection of their causes; whence it follows, that the effect must be
the greatest, where the causes are intimately connected and the emotions
perfectly similar.
The other pleasure arising from coexistent emotions, which may be termed
_the pleasure of concord or harmony_, is ascertained by a different
rule. It is directly in proportion to the degree of resemblance betwixt
the emotions, and inversely in proportion to the degree of connection
betwixt the causes. To feel this pleasure in perfection, the
resemblance cannot be too strong, nor the connection too slight. Where
the causes are intimately connected, the similar emotions they produce
are felt like one complex emotion. But the pleasure of harmony, is not
felt from one emotion single or complex. It is felt from various similar
emotions, distinct from each other, and yet sweetly combining in the
mind; and the less connection the causes have, the more entire is the
emotion of harmony. This matter cannot be better illustrated, than by
the foregoing example of a landscape, where the sight, hearing, and
smelling, are employed. The accumulated pleasure of so many different
similar emotions, is not what delights us the most in this combination
of objects. The sense of harmony from these emotions sweetly uniting in
the mind, is still more delightful. We feel this harmony in the
different emotions proceeding from the visible objects; but we feel it
still more sensibly in the emotions proceeding from the objects of
different senses. This emotion of concord or harmony, will be more
fully illustrated, when the emotions produced by the sound of words and
their meaning are taken under consideration[37].
This emotion of concord from conjoined emotions, is felt even where the
emotions are not perfectly similar. Love is a pleasant passion; but then
its sweetness and tenderness make it resemble in a considerable degree
the painful passion of pity or grief; and for that reason, love accords
better with these passions than with what are gay and sprightly. I give
the following example from Catullus, where the concord betwixt love and
grief, has a fine effect even in so slight a subject as the death of a
sparrow.
Lugete, ô Veneres, Cupidinesque,
Et quantum est hominum venustiorum!
Passer mortuus est meæ puellæ,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Nam mellitus erat, suamque norat
Ipsam tam bene, quam puella matrem:
Nec sese a gremio illius movebat;
Sed circumsiliens modo huc, modo illuc,
Ad solam dominam usque pipilabat.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum,
Illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.
At vobis male sit, malæ tenebræ
Orci, quæ omnia bella devoratis;
Tarn bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.
O factum male, ô miselle passer,
Tua nunc opera, meæ puellæ
Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.
To complete this branch of the subject, I proceed to consider the
effects of dissimilar emotions. These effects obviously must be opposite
to what are above described; and in order to explain them with accuracy,
dissimilar emotions proceeding from connected causes, must be
distinguished from what proceed from causes that are unconnected.
Dissimilar emotions of the former kind, being forced into a sort of
unnatural union, produce a feeling of discord instead of harmony. It
holds also that in computing their force, subtraction must be used in
place of addition, which will be evident from what follows. Dissimilar
emotions forced into union, are felt obscurely and imperfectly; for
each tends to vary the tone of mind that is suited to the other; and the
mind thus distracted betwixt two objects, is at no instant in a
condition to receive a full impression from either. Dissimilar emotions
proceeding from unconnected causes, are in a very different condition.
Dissimilar emotions in general are averse to union; and as there is
nothing to force them into union when their causes are unconnected
emotions of this kind are never felt but in succession. By that means,
they are not felt to be discordant, and each hath an opportunity to make
a full impression.
This curious theory must be illustrated by examples. In reading the
description of the dismal waste, book 1. of _Paradise Lost_, we are
sensible of a confused feeling, arising from dissimilar emotions forced
into union, _viz._ the beauty of the description and the horror of the
object described.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful?
Many other passages in this justly celebrated poem produce the same
effect; and we always observe, that if the disagreeableness of the
subject be obscured by the beautiful description, this beauty is not
less obscured by its discordant union with the disagreeableness of the
subject. For the same reason, ascending smoke in a calm morning is
improper in a picture full of violent action. The emotion of stillness
and tranquillity inspired by the former, accords not with the lively and
animated emotion inspired by the latter. A parterre, partly ornamented
partly in disorder, produces a mixt feeling of the same sort. Two great
armies in act to engage, mix the dissimilar emotions of grandeur and of
terror.
Sembra d’alberi densi alta foresta
L’ un campo, e l’ altro; di tant’ aste abbonda.
Son tesi gli archi, e son le lance in resta:
Vibransi i dardi, e rotasi ogni fionda.
Ogni cavallo in guerra anco s’ appresta:
Gli odii, e’l furor del suo signor seconda:
Raspa, batte, nitrisce, e si raggira,
Gonfia le nari; e fumo, e fuoco spira.
Bello in sì bella vista anco è l’orrore:
E di mezzo la tema esce il diletto.
Ne men le trombe orribili, e canore
Sono a gli orecchi lieto, e fero oggetto.
Pur il campo fedel, benchè minore,
Par di suon più mirabile, e d’aspetto.
E canta in più guerriero, e chiaro carme
Ogni sua tromba, e maggior luce han l’arme.
_Gerusalemme liberata, cant. 20. st. 29. & 30._
A virtuous man has drawn on himself a great misfortune, by a fault
incident to human nature, and therefore venial. The remorse he feels
aggravates his distress, and consequently raises our pity to a high
pitch. We indeed blame the man; and the indignation raised by the fault
he has committed, is dissimilar to pity. These two passions however
proceeding from different views of the same object, are forced into a
sort of union. But the indignation is so slight as scarce to be felt in
the mixture with pity. Subjects of this kind, are of all the fittest for
tragedy. But of this afterward[38].
Opposite emotions are so dissimilar as not to admit any sort of union,
even where they proceed from causes the most intimately connected. Love
to a mistress, and resentment for her infidelity, are of this nature.
They cannot exist otherwise than in succession, which by the connection
of their causes is commonly rapid. And these emotions will govern
alternately, till one of them obtain the ascendent, or both be
obliterated. A succession opens to me by the death of a worthy man, who
was my friend as well as my kinsman. When I think of my friend I am
grieved; but the succession gives me joy. These two causes are
intimately connected, for the succession is the direct consequence of my
friend’s death. The emotions however being opposite, do not mix: they
prevail alternately, perhaps for a course of time, till grief for my
friend’s death be banished by the pleasures of opulence. A virtuous man
suffering unjustly, is an example of the same kind. I pity him, and I
have great indignation at the author of the wrong. These emotions
proceed from causes nearly connected; but being directed upon different
objects, they are not forced into union. The opposition preserves them
distinct; and accordingly they are found to govern alternately, the one
sometimes prevailing and sometimes the other.
Next of dissimilar emotions arising from unconnected causes. Good and
bad news of equal importance arriving at the same instant from different
quarters, produce opposite emotions, the discordance of which is not
felt because they are not forced into union. They govern alternately,
commonly in a quick succession, till their force be spent. In the same
manner, good news arriving to a man labouring under distress, occasions
a vibration in his mind from the one to the other.
_Osmyn._ By heav’n thou’st rous’d me from my lethargy.
The spirit which was deaf to my own wrongs,
And the loud cries of my dead father’s blood,
Deaf to revenge--nay, which refus’d to hear
The piercing sighs and murmurs of my love
Yet unenjoy’d; what not Almeria could
Revive, or raise, my people’s voice has waken’d.
O my Antonio, I am all on fire,
My soul is up in arms, ready to charge
And bear amidst the foe with conqu’ring troops.
I hear ’em call to lead ’em on to liberty,
To victory; their shouts and clamours rend
My ears, and reach the heav’ns: where is the king?
Where is Alphonso? ha! where! where indeed?
O I could tear and burst the strings of life,
To break these chains. Off, off, ye stains of royalty!
Off, slavery! O curse, that I alone
Can beat and flutter in my cage, when I
Would soar and stoop at victory beneath!
_Mourning Bride, act 3. sc. 2._
If the emotions be unequal in force, the stronger after a conflict will
extinguish the weaker. Thus the loss of a house by fire or of a sum of
money by bankruptcy, will make no figure in opposition to the birth of a
long-expected son, who is to inherit an opulent fortune. After some
slight vibrations, the mind settles in joy, and the loss is forgot.
The foregoing observations, will be found of great use in the fine arts.
Many practical rules are derived from them, which I shall have occasion
afterward to mention. For instant satisfaction in part, I propose to
show the use of these observations in music, a theme I insist upon at
present, not being certain of another opportunity more favourable. It
will be admitted, that no combination of sounds but what is agreeable to
the ear, is intitled to the name of music. Melody and harmony are
separately agreeable and in union delightful. The agreeableness of vocal
music differs from that of instrumental. The former being intended to
accompany words, ought to be expressive of the sentiment that is
conveyed by the words. But the latter having no connection with words,
may be agreeable without expressing any sentiment. Harmony properly so
called, though delightful when in perfection, is not expressive of
sentiment; and we often find good melody without the least tincture of
it.
These preliminaries being established, I proceed directly to the point.
In vocal music, the intimate connection of sense and sound rejects
dissimilar emotions, those especially that are opposite. Similar
emotions produced by the sense and sound go naturally into union; and
at the same time are felt to be concordant or harmonious. Dissimilar
emotions, on the other hand, forced into union by causes intimately
connected, not only obscure each other, but are also unpleasant by
discordance. From these principles it is easy to say what sort of
poetical compositions are fitted for music. It is evident that no poem
expressing the sentiments of any disagreeable passion is proper. The
pain a man feels who is actuated with malice or unjust revenge,
disqualifies him for relishing music or any thing that is entertaining.
And supposing him disposed, against nature, to vent his sentiments in
music, the mixture would be unpleasant; for these passions raise disgust
and aversion in the audience[39], a tone of mind opposite to every
emotion that music can inspire. A man seized with remorse cannot bear
music, because every sort of it must be discordant with his tone of
mind; and when these by an unskilful artist are forced into union, the
mixture is unpleasant to the audience.
In general, music never can have a good effect in conjunction with any
composition expressive of malice, envy, peevishness, or any other
dissocial passion. The pleasure of music, on the other hand, is similar
to all pleasant emotions; and music is finely qualified for every song
where such emotions are expressed. Music particularly in a chearful
tone, is concordant in the highest degree with every emotion in the same
tone; and hence our taste for chearful airs expressive of mirth and
jollity. Music is peculiarly well qualified for accompanying every
sympathetic emotion. Sympathetic joy associates finely with chearful
music, and sympathetic pain not less finely with music that is tender
and melancholy. All the different emotions of love, _viz._ tenderness,
concern, anxiety, pain of absence, hope, fear, _&c._ accord delightfully
with music. A person in love, even when unkindly treated, is soothed by
music. The tenderness of love still prevailing, accords with a
melancholy strain. This is finely exemplified by Shakespear in the
fourth act of _Othello_, where Desdemona calls for a song expressive of
her distress. Wonderful is the delicacy of that writer’s taste, which
fails him not even in the most refined emotions of human nature.
Melancholy music again is suitable to slight grief, which requires or
admits consolation. But deep grief, which refuses all consolation,
rejects for that reason even melancholy music. For a different reason,
music is improper for accompanying pleasant emotions of the more
important kind. These totally ingross the mind, and leave no place for
music or any sort of amusement. In a perilous enterprise to dethrone a
tyrant, music would be impertinent, even where hope prevails, and the
prospect of success is great. Alexander attacking the Indian town and
mounting the wall, had certainly no impulse to exert his prowess in a
song. It is true, that not the least regard is paid to these rules
either in the French or Italian opera; and the attachment we have to
these compositions, may at first sight be considered as a proof that the
foregoing doctrine cannot be founded on human nature. But the general
taste for operas is at bottom no authority against me. In our operas the
passions are so imperfectly expressed, as to leave the mind free for
relishing music of any sort indifferently. It cannot be disguised, that
the pleasure of an opera is derived chiefly from the music, and scarce
at all from the sentiments. A happy coincidence of emotions raised by
the song and by the music, is extremely rare; and I venture to affirm,
that there is no example of it unless where the emotion raised by the
former is pleasant as well as that raised by the latter.
The subject we have run through, appears not a little entertaining. It
is extremely curious to observe, in many instances, a plurality of
causes producing in conjunction a great pleasure: in other instances,
not less frequent, no conjunction, but each cause acting in opposition.
To enter bluntly upon a subject of such intricacy, might gravel an acute
philosopher; and yet by taking matters in a train, the intricacy
vanisheth.
Next in order, according to the method proposed, come external effects.
And this leads to passions in particular, which involving desire are
the causes of action. Two coexistent passions that have the same
tendency, must be similar. They accordingly readily unite, and in
conjunction have double force; which must hold whether the two passions
have the same or different causes. This is verified by experience; from
which we learn, that different passions having the same end in view,
impel the mind to action with united force. The mind receives not
impulses alternately from these passions, but one strong impulse from
the whole in conjunction. And indeed it is not easy to conceive what
should bar the union of passions that have all of them the same
tendency.
Two passions having opposite tendencies, may proceed from the same
object or cause considered in different lights. Thus a mistress may at
once be the object both of love and resentment. Her beauty inflames the
passion of love: her cruelty or inconstancy causes resentment. When two
such passions coexist in the same breast, the opposition of their aim
prevents any sort of union. They are not felt otherwise than in
succession. And the consequence must be one of two things: the passions
will balance each other, and prevent external action; or one of them
will prevail, and accomplish its end. Guarini, in his _Pastor Fido_,
describes beautifully the struggle betwixt love and resentment directed
upon the same object.
_Corisca._ Chi vide mai, chi mai udi più strana
E più folle, e più sera, e più importuna
Passione amorosa? amore, ed odio
Con sì mirabil tempre in un cor misti,
Che l’un per l’altro (e non so ben dir come)
E si strugge, e s’avanza, e nasce, e more.
S’ i’ miro alle bellezze di Mirtillo
Dal piè leggiadro al grazioso volto,
Il vago portamento, il bel sembiante.
Gli atti, i costumi, e le parole, e ’l guardo;
M’assale Amore con sì possente foco
Ch’i’ ardo tutta, e par, ch’ ogn’ altro affetto
Da questo sol sia superato, e vinto:
Ma se poi penso all’ ostinato amore,
Ch’ ei porta ad altra donna, e che per lei
Di me non cura, e sprezza (il vo’ pur dire)
La mia famosa, e da mill’ alme, e mille
Inchinata beltà, bramata grazia;
L’odio così, così l’aborro, e schivo,
Che impossibil mi par, ch’unqua per lui
Mi s’accendesse al cor siamma amorosa.
Tallor meco ragiono: o s’io petessi
Gioir del mio dolcissimo Mirtillo,
Sicche fosse mio tutto, e ch’altra mai
Posseder no ’l potesse, o più d’ ogn’ altra
Beata, e felicissima Corisca!
Ed in quel punto in me sorge un talento
Verso di lui sì dolce, e sì gentile,
Che di seguirlo, e di pregarlo ancora,
E di scoprirgli il cor prendo consiglio.
Che più? così mi stimola il desio,
Che se potessi allor l’adorerei.
Dall’ altra parte i’ mi risento, e dico,
Un ritroso? uno schifo? un che non degna?
Un, che può d’altra donna esser amante?
Un, ch’ardisce mirarmi, e non m’adora?
E dal mio volto si difende in guisa,
Che per amor non more? ed io, che lui
Dovrei veder, come molti altri i’ veggio
Supplice, e lagrimosa a’ piedi miei,
Supplice, e lagrimoso a’ piedi suoi
Sosterro di cadere? ah non fia mai.
Ed in questo pensier tant’ ira accoglio
Contra di lui, contra di me, che volsi
A seguirlo il pensier, gli occhi a mirarlo,
Che ’l nome di Mirtillo, e l’amor mio
Odio più che la morte; e lui vorrei
Veder il più dolente, il più infelice
Pastor, che viva; e se potessi allora,
Con le mie proprie man l’anciderei.
Così sdegno, desire, odio, ed amore
Mi fanno guerra, ed io, che stata sono
Sempre sin qui di mille cor la fiamma,
Di mill’ alme il tormento, ardo, e languisco:
E provo nel mio mal le pene altrui.
_Act 1. sc. 3._
Ovid paints in lively colours the vibration of mind betwixt two opposite
passions directed upon the same object. Althea had two brothers much
beloved, who were unjustly put to death by her son Meleager in a fit of
passion. She was strongly impelled to revenge; but the criminal was her
own son. This ought to have with-held her hand. But the story makes a
better figure and is more interesting, by the violence of the struggle
betwixt resentment and maternal love.
Dona Deum templis nato victore ferebat;
Cum videt extinctos fratres Althæa referri.
Quæ plangore dato, mœstis ululatibus urbem
Implet; et auratis mutavit vestibus atras.
At simul est auctor necis editus; excidit omnis
Luctus: et a lacrymis in pœnæ versus amorem est.
Stipes erat, quem, cum partus enixa jaceret
Thestias, in flammam triplices posuêre sorores;
Staminaque impresso fatalia pollice nentes,
Tempora, dixerunt, eadem lignoque, tibique,
O modo nate, damus. Quo postquam carmine dicto
Excessere deæ; flagrantem mater ab igne
Erripuit torrem: sparsitque liquentibus undis.
Ille diu fuerat penetralibus abditus imis;
Servatusque, tuos, juvenis, servaverat annos.
Protulit hunc genitrix, tædasque in fragmina poni
Imperat; et positis inimicos admovet ignes.
Tum conata quater flammis imponere ramum
Cœpta quater tenuit. Pugnat materque, sororque,
Et diversa trahunt unum duo nomina pectus.
Sæpe metu sceleris pallebant ora futuri:
Sæpe suum fervens oculis dabat ira ruborem,
Et modo nescio quid similis crudele minanti
Vultus erat; modo quem misereri credere posses:
Cumque ferus lacrymas animi siccaverat ardor;
Inveniebantur lacrymæ tamen. Utque carina,
Quam ventus, ventoque contrarius æstus,
Vim geminam sentit, paretque incerta duobus:
Thestias haud aliter dubiis affectibus errat,
Inque vices ponit, positamque resuscitat iram.
Incipit esse tamem melior germana parente;
Et, consanguineas ut sanguine leniat umbras,
Impietate pia est. Nam postqnam pestifer ignis
Convaluit: Rogus iste cremet mea viscera, dixit.
Utque manu dirâ lignum fatale tenebat;
Ante sepulchrales infelix adstitit aras.
Pœnarumque deæ triplices furialibus, inquit,
Eumenides, sacris vultus advertite vestros.
Ulciscor, facioque nefas. Mors morte pianda est;
In scelus addendum scelus est, in funera funus:
Per coacervatos pereat domus impia luctus.
An felix Oeneus nato victore fruetur;
Thestius orbus erit? melius lugebitis ambo.
Vos modo, fraterni manes, animæque recentes,
Officium sentite meum; magnoque paratas
Accipite inferias, uteri mala pignora nostri.
Hei mihi! quo rapior? fratres ignoscite matri.
Deficiunt ad cœpta manus. Meruisse fatemur
Illum, cur pereat: mortis mihi displicet auctor.
Ergo impune feret; vivusque, et victor, et ipso
Successu tumidus regnum Calydonis habebit?
Vos cinis exiguus, gelidæque jacebitis umbræ?
Haud equidem patiar. Pereat sceleratus; et ille
Spemque patris, regnique trahat, patriæque ruinam.
Mens ubi materna est; ubi sunt pia jura parentum?
Et, quos sustinui, bis mensûm quinque labores?
O utinam primis arsisses ignibus infans;
Idque ego passa forem! vixisti munere nostro:
Nunc merito moriere tuo. Cape præmia facti;
Bisque datam, primum partu, mox stipite rapto,
Redde animam; vel me fraternis adde sepulchris.
Et cupio, et nequeo. Quid agam? modo vulnera fratrum
Ante oculos mihi sunt, et tantæ cædis imago;
Nunc animum pietas, maternaque nomina frangunt.
Me miseram! male vincetis, sed vincite, fratres:
Dummodo, quæ dedero vobis solatia, vosque
Ipsa sequar, dixit: dextraque aversa trementi
Funereum torrem medios conjecit in ignes.
Aut dedit, aut visus gemitus est ille dedisse,
Stipes; et invitis correptus ab ignibus arsit.
_Metamorph. lib. 8. l. 445._
In cases of this kind, one circumstance always augments the fluctuation.
A resolution to prefer one action before another after balancing betwixt
them, is an inchoated gratification of the prevailing passion, which
softens it in some degree. This circumstance tends to give a superiority
to the opposite passion. And another circumstance also concurs, that
this opposite passion has by restraint acquired in the interim some
additional force.
Love and jealousy connected by a common object, occupy the mind
alternately. When the object is considered as beautiful, love prevails:
when considered as possibly unfaithful, jealousy prevails. A situation
of this kind, affords great scope for fluctuation of passion, which is
painted to the life by several masterly hands in words as well as in
colours. Shakespear handles the same subject, but in a manner uncommon
and peculiar to himself. In Othello’s soliloquy before putting his wife
to death, love and jealousy are represented, each exerting its whole
force, but without any struggle. Othello was naturally inflexible; and
the tenderest love could not divert him from a purpose he approved as
right, not even for a moment. But every thing consistent with such a
character is done to reconcile the two opposite passions. He is resolved
to put her to death, but he will not shed her blood, nor so much as
ruffle her skin.
_Othello._ It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul;--
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause.---- Yet I’ll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
[_Lays down the sword._
Yet she must die; else she’ll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then--Put out the light?--
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent: but once put out _thy_ light,
Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relumine.--[_Sets down the taper._
When I have pluck’d thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs must wither.--I’ll smell thee on the tree;
[_Kissing her._
Oh balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword!---- One more; one more;
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after.---- One more, that’s the last;
So sweet was ne’er so fatal! I must weep,
But they are cruel tears? this sorrow’s heav’nly;
It strikes where it doth love.---- She wakes----
_Act 5. sc. 6._
In Otway’s _Orphan_, we have an illustrious example of the address
employed to gratify opposite passions directed upon the same object.
Castalio and Polydore, brothers and rivals, had sworn mutual confidence.
Castalio broke his faith by a private marriage. By this concealment,
Polydore was unwarily betrayed into a dismal deed, that of polluting
his brother’s bed. Thus he had injured his brother, and was injured by
him. Justice prompted him to make full atonement by his own death:
resentment against his brother required a full atonement to be made to
himself. In coexistent passions so contradictory, one of them commonly
prevails after a struggle. But here happily an expedient occurred to
gratify both; which was, that Polydore should provoke his brother to put
him to death. Polydore’s crime in his own opinion merited this
punishment; and justice was satisfied when he fell by the hands of the
man he had injured. He wanted at the same time to punish his brother for
breach of faith; and he could not do this more effectually than by
betraying his brother to be his executioner.
If difference of aim prevent the union of two passions though having the
same object, much more will it prevent their union when their objects
are also different. In both cases there is a fluctuation; but in the
latter the fluctuation is slower than in the former. A beautiful
situation of this kind is exhibited in the _Cid_ of Corneille. Don
Diegue, an old soldier worn out with age, having received a mortal
affront from the Count father to Chimene, employs his son Don Rodrigue,
Chimene’s lover, to demand satisfaction. This situation occasions in the
breast of Don Rodrigue a cruel struggle. It is a contest betwixt love
and honour, one of which must be sacrificed. The scene is finely
conducted, chiefly by making love in some degree take part with honour,
Don Rodrigue reflecting, that if he lost his honour he could not deserve
his mistress. Honour triumphs. The Count, provoked to a single combat,
falls by the hand of Don Rodrigue.
This produceth another beautiful situation respecting Chimene, which for
the sake of connection is placed here, though it properly belongs to the
foregoing head. It became the duty of that lady to demand justice
against her lover, for whose preservation, in other circumstances, she
chearfully would have sacrificed her own life. The struggle betwixt
these opposite passions directed upon the same object, is finely
expressed in the third scene of the third act.
_Elvire._ Il vous prive d’un pére, et vous l’aimez encore!
_Chimene._ C’est peu de dire aimer, Elvire, je l’adore;
Ma passion s’oppose à mon ressentiment,
Dedans mon ennemi je trouve mon amant,
Et je sens qu’en depit de toute ma colére,
Rodrigue dans mon cœur combat encore mon pére.
Il l’attaque, il le presse, il céde, il se défend,
Tantôt fort, tantôt foible, et tantôt triomphant;
Mais en ce dur combat de colére et de flame,
Il déchire mon cœur sans partager mon ame,
Et quoique mon amour ait sur moi de pouvoir,
Je ne consulte point pour suivre mon devoir.
Je cours sans balancer où mon honneur m’oblige;
Rodrigue m’est bien cher, son interêt m’afflige,
Mon cœur prend son parti; mais malgré son effort,
Je sai ce que je suis, et que mon pére est mort.
Not less when the objects are different than when the same, are means
sometimes afforded to gratify both passions; and such means are greedily
embraced. In Tasso’s _Gerusalem_, Edward and Gildippe, husband and wife,
are introduced fighting gallantly against the Saracens. Gildippe
receives a mortal wound by the hand of Soliman. Edward inflamed with
revenge as well as concern for Gildippe, is agitated betwixt the two
different objects. The poet[40] describes him endeavouring to gratify
both at once, applying his right hand against Soliman the object of his
resentment, and his left hand to support his wife the object of his
love.