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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.