Whenever we meet, in common life, with any examples of such heroic
magnanimity, we are always extremely affected. We are more apt to weep
and shed tears for such as, in this manner, seem to feel nothing for
themselves, than for those who give way to all the weakness of sorrow
and in this particular case, the sympathetic grief of the spectator
appears to go beyond the original passion in the person principally
concerned. The friends of Socrates all wept when he drank the last
potion, while he himself expressed the gayest and most cheerful
tranquillity. Upon all such occasions the spectator makes no effort,
and has no occasion to make any, in order to conquer his sympathetic
sorrow. He is under no fear that it will transport him to any thing
that is extravagant and improper; he is rather pleased with the
sensibility of his own heart, and gives way to it with complacence and
self-approbation. He gladly indulges, therefore, the most melancholy
views which can naturally occur to him, concerning the calamity of his
friend, for whom, perhaps, he never felt so exquisitely before, the
tender and tearful passion of love. But it is quite otherwise with the
person principally concerned. He is obliged, as much as possible, to
turn away his eyes from whatever is either naturally terrible or
disagreeable in his situation. Too serious an attention to those
circumstances, he fears, might make so violent an impression upon him,
that he could no longer keep within the bounds of moderation, or
render himself the object of the complete sympathy and approbation of
the spectators. {47} He fixes his thoughts, therefore, upon those only
which are agreeable, the applause and admiration which he is about to
deserve by the heroic magnanimity of his behaviour. To feel that he is
capable of so noble and generous an effort, to feel that in this
dreadful situation he can still act as he would desire to act,
animates and transports him with joy, and enables him to support that
triumphant gaiety which seems to exult in the victory he thus gains
over his misfortunes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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