RICHARD STEELE I. FROM THE TATLER, NUMBER LXVIII 1709 From Tuesday September 13. to Thursday September 15. I have often reflected, that there is a great Similitude in the Motions of the Heart in Mirth and in Sorrow; and I think the usual Occasion of the latter, as well as the former, is something which is sudden and unexpected. The Mind has not a sufficient Time to recollect its Force, and immediately gushes into Tears before we can utter our selves by Speech or Complaint. The most notorious Causes of these Drops from our Eyes, are Pity, Sorrow, Joy, and Reconciliation. The Fair Sex, who are made of Man, and not of Earth, have a more delicate Humanity than we have, and Pity is the most common Cause of their Tears: For as we are inwardly composed of an Aptitude to every Circumstance of Life, and every Thing that befals any one Person, might have happened to any other of humane Race; Self-Love, and a Sense of the Pain we our selves should suffer in the Circumstances of any whom we pity, is the Cause of that Compassion. Such a Reflection in the Breast of a Woman, immediately inclines her to Tears; but in a Man, it makes him think how such a one ought to act on that Occasion, suitably to the Dignity of his Nature. Thus a Woman is ever moved for those whom she hears lament, and a Man for those whom he observes to suffer in Silence. It is a Man's own Behaviour in the Circumstances he is under which procures him the Esteem of others, and not merely the Affliction it self which demands our Pity: For we never give a Man that Passion which he falls into for himself. He that commends himself, never purchases our Applause; nor he who bewails himself, our Pity. Going through an Alley the other Day, I observ'd a noisy impudent Beggar bawl out, That he was wounded in a Merchant-Man, That he had lost his poor Limbs, and showed a Leg clouted up. All that passed by, made what Haste they could out of his Sight and Hearing; but a poor Fellow at the End of the Passage, with a rusty Coat, a melancholy Air, and a soft Voice, desired them to look upon a Man not used to beg. The latter received the Charity of almost every one that went by. The Strings of the Heart, which are to be touched to give us Compassion, are not so played on but by the finest Hand. We see in Tragical Representations, it is not the Pomp of Language, or Magnificence of Dress, in which the Passion is wrought that touches sensible Spirits, but something of a plain and simple Nature which breaks in upon our Souls, by that Sympathy which is given us for our mutual Good-will and Service. In the Tragedy of Mackbeth, where Wilks acts the Part of a Man whose Family has been murdered in his Absence, the Wildness of his Passion, which is run over in a Torrent of calamitous Circumstances, does but raise my Spirits and give me the Alarm; but when he skilfully seems to be out of Breath, and is brought too low to say more; and upon a second Reflection, cry, only wiping his Eyes, What both Children! Both, both my Children gone! There is no resisting a Sorrow which seems to have cast about for all the Reasons possible for its Consolation, but has no Recourse. There is not one left, but both, both are murdered! Such sudden Starts from the Thread of the Discourse, and a plain Sentiment expressed in an artless Way, are the irresistible Strokes of Eloquence and Poetry. The same great Master, Shakespeare, can afford us Instances of all the Places where our Souls are accessible, and ever commands our Tears: But it is to be observed, that he draws them from some unexpected Source, which seems not wholly of a Piece with the Discourse. Thus, when Brutus and Cassius had a Debate in the Tragedy of Cæsar, and rose to warm Language against each other, insomuch that it had almost come to something that might be fatal, till they recollected themselves; Brutus does more than make an Apology for the Heat he had been in, by saying, Porcia is dead-Here Cassius is all Tenderness, and ready to dissolve, when he considers, that the Mind of his Friend had been employed on the greatest Affliction imaginable, when he had been adding to it by a Debate on Trifles; which makes him in the Anguish of his Heart cry out, How scaped I killing when I thus provoked you? This is an Incident which moves the Soul in all its Sentiments; and Cassius's Heart was at once touch'd with all the soft Pangs of Pity, Remorse, and Reconciliation. It is said indeed by Horace, If you would have me weep, you must first weep your self. This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly said, if we observe Nature, That I shall certainly weep, if you do not: But what is intended by that Expression, is, That it is not possible to give Passion, except you show that you suffer your self. Therefore the true Art seems to be, that when you would have the Person you represent pitied, you must show him at once, in the highest Grief and Struggling, to bear it with Decency |