Why does the story of the earthquake which swallowed up Lima and its inhabitants, three thousand leagues away, trouble me, while the story of the political murder of Charles I, which was committed at London, merely arouse my indignation? Because the volcano which engulfed the Peruvian city might explode under Paris, and bury me beneath ruins—possibly I am threatened even at this moment; whereas I cannot conceive of a misfortune similar to the unheard-of tragedy of the King of England's happening to me. This sentiment lies in the heart of every man; it serves as basis to this absolute principle of art, that there can be neither interest nor moral appeal on the stage without some sort of connection existing between the subject of the play and ourselves. Now, it is an obvious fact that heroic tragedy appeals to us only in so far as it resembles the Serious Drama, and portrays men and not kings. The subjects which it treats are so foreign to our customs and manners, and the characters so different from ourselves, that the interest aroused is less vital than that in the Serious Drama; the moral less poignant, more abstract, so that it often remains sterile and useless to us, unless it console us for our mediocrity, in showing us that great crimes and misfortunes are the lot of those who govern the world.
After what I have said, I do not think it necessary to prove that, there is more interest to be derived from the Serious Drama than from comedy. Every one is aware that, granting each play is of equal merit in its respective field, the Serious Play with an emotional appeal affects us more deeply than that which is merely amusing. It now remains for me to develop the reasons for this effect, which is as palpable as it is natural, and to inquire into the morality of the matter by comparing the two forms.
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