rophe; 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 chosen and combined to this end.

In the fourth place, I say that tragedy is the poetic imitation of an
action deserving of pity, and, therefore, tragic imitation is opposed to
historic imitation. It would only be a historic imitation if it proposed
a historic end, if its principal object were to teach us that a thing has
taken place, and how it took place. On this hypothesis it ought to keep
rigorously to historic accuracy, for it would only attain its end by
representing faithfully that which really took place. But tragedy has a
poetic end, that is to say, it represents an action to move us, and to
charm our souls by the medium of this emotion. If, therefore, a matter
being given, tragedy treats it conformably with this poetic end, which is
proper to it, it becomes, by that very thing, free in its imitation. It
is a right--nay, more, it is an obligation--for tragedy to subject
historic truth to the laws of poetry; and to treat its matter in
conformity with requirements of this art. But as it cannot attain its
end, which is emotion, except on the condition of a perfect conformity
with the laws of nature, tragedy is, notwithstanding its freedom in
regard to history, strictly subject to the laws of natural truth, which,
in opposition to the truth of history, takes the name of poetic truth.
It may thus be understood how much poetic truth may lose, in many cases
by a strict observance of historic truth, and, reciprocally, how much it
may gain by even a very serious alt