_Tal._ Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. (_Going._)

_Countess._ What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.

_Mess._ Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure.

_Tal._ Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her Talbot's here.

_Reenter Porter with keys_

_Countess._ If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.

_Tal._ Prisoner! To whom!

_Countess._ To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.

Long time, thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs; But now the substance shall endure the like, And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny these many years Wasted our country, slain our citizens, And sent our sons and husbands captivate.

_Tal._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Countess._ Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to moan.

_Tal._ I laugh to see your ladyship so fond To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow Whereon to practice your severity.

_Countess._ Why, art not thou the man?

_Tal._ I am indeed.

_Countess._ Then have I substance too.

_Tal._ No, no, I am but shadow of myself.

You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here.

For what you see is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity.

I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a s.p.a.cious, lofty pitch, Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.

_Countess._ This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here.

How can these contrarieties agree?

_Tal._ That will I show you presently.

(_Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. The gates are forced._)

_Enter Soldiers_

How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded That Talbot is but shadow of himself?

These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities and subverts your towns And in a moment makes you desolate.

_Countess._ Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse.

I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited And more than may be gathered by the shape.

Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art.

_Tal._ Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body.

What you have done hath not offended me; Nor other satisfaction do I crave, But only with your patience, that we may Taste of your wine and see what cates you have; For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.

_Countess._ With all my heart, and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house. (_Exeunt._)

Except for a few lines of rhetoric, could the account in Scene 3 be shortened? The Countess awaits Talbot; he comes; she reviles him in a few lines; he turns to go; she declares him a prisoner; he laughs at her; and as she stands amazed, calls in his forces brought in secret to the castle. When Talbot invites himself and his men to feast at her expense, the Countess immediately agrees. Reading the scene, one recalls the words of Dumas fils: "Any one can relate a dramatic situation: the art lies in preparing it, getting it accepted, making it plausible, especially in untying the knot."[27] Here Shakespeare does not untie the knot; the Countess merely yields. What she feels, what happened thereafter,--all these are omitted. It is merely the situation which counts. Before Talbot comes in, the scene could easily be made to reveal much more of the character of the Countess. When he does enter, the play of wits between them, even as it disclosed character, might provide interesting dramatic conflict. Surely the moment when the Countess thinks Talbot trapped and he coolly jeers at her, is worth more development. Here it is treated so quickly that the surprise in the entrance of the soldiers hardly gets its full effect. All this is the work of a tyro, even if he be Shakespeare.

In _Richard II_, there is a scene, not as long as that just quoted, in which the central situation might seem to many people less dramatic than that of Talbot and the Countess, yet note to what a clear and convincing conclusion Shakespeare brings it, how plausible he makes the scene, how thoroughly he prepares it for the largest emotional effect by entering thoroughly into the characters involved.

_Enter Aumerle_

_d.u.c.h.ess._ Here comes my son Aumerle.

_York._ Aumerle that was; But that is lost for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.

I am in Parliament pledge for his truth And lasting fealty to the new made king.

_Duch._ Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

_Aum._ Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not G.o.d knows I had as lief be none as one.

_York._ Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.

What news from Oxford? Do these jousts and triumphs hold?

_Aum._ For aught I know, my lord, they do.

_York._ You will be there, I know.

_Aum._ If G.o.d prevent not, I purpose so.

_York._ What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?

Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.

_Aum._ My lord, 'tis nothing.

_York._ No matter, then, who see it.

I will be satisfied: let me see the writing.

_Aum._ I do beseech your grace to pardon me.

It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

_York._ Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.

I fear, I fear,--

_Duch._ What should you fear?

'Tis nothing but some hand, which he has ent'red into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

_York._ Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.

Boy, let me see the writing.