_David._ I value them at all I have in the world. (_Pointing to the cards_.) Begin!

_Sir Brice._ You seem in a hurry.

_David._ I believe I haven't six months to live. I want to make the most of those six months. If I have more I want to make the most of all the years. Begin!

_Sir Brice._ (_Wipes his face with his handkerchief._) This is the first time I've played this game. We'd better arrange conditions.

_David._ There's only one condition. We play till I'm beggared of every farthing I have, or till you're beggared of them. Sit down!

_Sir Brice._ (_Sits down._) Very well. (_Pause._) What game?

_David._ The shortest.

_Sir Brice._ Simple cutting?

_David._ What you please. Begin!

_Sir. Brice._ There's no hurry. I mean to have a night's fun out of this.

_David._ Look at me. Don't trifle with me! I want to have done with you. I want them to have done with you. I want to get them away from you. Quick! I want to know now--now--this very moment--whether they are yours or mine. Begin.

_Sir Brice._ (_Shuffles the cards._) All right. What do we cut for?

_David._ Let one cut settle it.

_Sir Brice._ No. It's too much to risk on one throw.

_David._ One cut. Begin.

_Sir Brice._ It's too big. I can't. (_Gets up, walks a pace or two._) I like high play, but that's too high for me. (_David remains at back of table, very calm; does not stir all through the scene; Sir Brice walking about._) No, by Jove! I'll tell you what I'll do. Three cuts out of five. d.a.m.n it all! I'm game! Two out of three. By Jove, two out of three! Will that do?

_David._ So be it! Shuffle. Sit down!

(_Sir Brice sits down; begins shuffling the cards. All through the scene he is nervous, excited, hysterical, laughing. David as cold as a statue._)[34]

An almost similar situation in a play set in a remote part of the West, _Believe Me, Xantippe_, is more convincing. A loutish beast agrees to gamble for a woman he is kidnapping with a young adventurer who sees at the moment no other way to save her from the other man's clutches. The scene is not at all improbable for either man. In _The Princess and the b.u.t.terfly_, all the preceding acts are but a preparation for what the world will call the unreason, in the last act, of the marriages of Sir George and the Princess Pannonia,--of middle age with youth. Their final conduct would seem unplausible were it not entirely in keeping with their characters as carefully developed in the earlier parts of the play. _The Rising of the Moon_ of Lady Gregory shows a final situation for the Police Sergeant which, at the opening of the play, would seem impossible for him. In a few pages, however, the dramatist so develops the character that we are perfectly ready to accept his sacrifice of the "hundred pounds reward" which he so coveted at the outset.

Motivation should not, however, be allowed to obtrude itself, but should be subordinated to the emotional purpose of the scene. The modern auditor prefers to gather it almost unconsciously as the action of the play proceeds rather than to have it emphasized for him, as does Iago, at the end of several acts of _Oth.e.l.lo_. Another instance of this frank motivation among the Elizabethans may be found in the soliloquy from _The d.u.c.h.ess of Malfi_:

_Cardinal._ The reason why I would not suffer these About my brother is because at midnight I may with better privacy convay Julias body, to her owne lodging. O, my conscience!

I would pray now: but the divell takes away my heart For having any confidence in praier.

About this hour I appointed Bosola To fetch the body: when he hath serv'd my turne, He dies.[35]

Good motivation, then, must be clear; either plausible naturally or made so by the art of the dramatist; should in each particular instance comport with the preceding actions and speech of the character; and should not be so stressed as to draw attention away from the emotional significance of the scene.

It is by well-motived characterization that drama pa.s.ses from melodrama to story-play and so to tragedy; or, from the broadest farce or extravaganza through low comedy to high. As long as we care little what the people in our play are, and greatly for comic or serious happenings, we may string situations together almost at will. The moment that our figures come alive, as has been pointed out, selection in our possible material has begun. Some of the incidents in our melodrama or broad farce will drop out as wholly impossible for these figures which have come to life. Others must be modified if the figures are to take part in them. Give a melodrama sustaining, convincing characterization and it must at least turn into a story-play, something which after a mingling of the serious and the comic does not end tragically. So characterize in a story with a serious ending that the tragic result develops inevitably from the sequence of preceding scenes, and tragedy is born. Watch the way in which Shakespeare lifts the Hubert and Arthur scene of the old play of _King John_ by the infused characterization. In the old play the author presents us with puppets depending for their effect on the contained horror of the scene. Shakespeare creates a winsome, brave young prince, and a very human Hubert. The scene moves us, not, simply from our dread of physical torture, but because of our growing intense sympathy for the lad who is fighting for his life.

ACT IV. SCENE 1. _Northampton.

A Room in the castle_

_Enter Hubert de Burgh with _Enter Hubert and two Attendants_ three men_ _Hub._ Heat me these irons hot, _Hub._ My masters, I have and look thou stand shewed you what warrant I have Within the arras: when I strike of this attempt; I perceive my foot by your heavie countenances, Upon the bosom of the ground, rush you had rather be otherwise forth, imployed, and for my owne part, And bind the boy, which you shall I would the King had made choyce find with me, of some other executioner; onely Fast to the chair: be heedful.

this is my comfort, that a King Hence, and watch.

commaunds, whose precepts neglected or omitted, threatneth _1. Attend._ I hope, your warrant torture for the default. will bear out the deed.

Therefore in briefe, leave me, _Hub._ Uncleanly scruples: fear not and be readie to attend the you: look to't.-- adventure: stay within that (_Exeunt Attendants._) entry, and when you hear me Young lad, come forth; I have to crie, G.o.d save the King, issue say with you.

sodainly foorth, lay handes on Arthur, set him in his chayre, _Enter Arthur_ wherein (once fast bound) leave him with me to finish the rest. _Arth._ Good morning, Hubert.

_Hub._ Good morrow, little prince.

_Attendants._ We goe, though _Arth._ As little prince (having loath. (_Exeunt._) so great a t.i.tle To be more prince,) as may be.--You _Hub._ My Lord, will it please are sad.

your Honour to take the benefite of the faire evening? _Hub._ Indeed I have been merrier.

_Enter Arthur to Hubert de Burgh_ _Arth._ Mercy on me!

Methinks n.o.body should be sad but _Arth._ Gramercie Hubert for thy I: care of me, Yet, I remember, when I was in In or to whom restraint is newly France, knowen, Young gentlemen would be as sad as The joy of walking is small night, benefit, Only for wantonness. By my Yet will I take thy offer with christendom, small thankes, So I were out of prison and kept I would not loose the pleasure sheep, of the eye. I should be as merry as the day is But tell me curteous Keeper if long; you can, And so I would be here, but that I How long the King will have me doubt tarrie here My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me and I of him.

_Hub._ I know not Prince, but Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's as I gesse, not long. son?

G.o.d send you freedome, and G.o.d No, indeed, is't not; and I would save the King. to heaven, (_They issue forth._) I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

_Arth._ Why now sirs, what may _Hub. (Aside.)_ If I talk to him, this outrage meane? with his innocent prate O help me Hubert, gentle Keeper He will awake my mercy, which lies helpe; dead: G.o.d send this sodaine mutinous Therefore I will be sudden, and approach dispatch.

Tend not to reave a wretched guiltless life. _Arth._ Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale today.

_Hub._ So sirs, depart, and In sooth, I would you were a little leave the rest for me. sick; That I might sit all night, and _Arth._ Then Arthur yeeld, watch with you: death frowneth in thy face, I warrant I love you more than you What meaneth this? Good Hubert do me.

plead the case.

_Hub. (Aside.)_ His words do take _Hub._ Patience yong Lord, and possession of my bosom.-- listen words of woe, Read here, young Arthur, Harmful and harsh, h.e.l.ls horror to be heard: (_Showing a paper._) A dismall tale fit for a furies tongue. (_Aside._) How now, foolish rheum!

I faint to tell, deepe sorrow Turning dispiteous torture out of is the sound. door?

I must be brief; lest resolution _Arth._ What, must I die? drop Out at mine eyes in tender womanish _Hub._ No newes of death, but tears.-- tidings of more hate, Can you read it? Is it not fair A wrathfull doome, and most writ?

unluckie fate: Deaths dish were daintie at so _Arth._ Too fairly, Hubert, for so fell a feast, foul effect.

Be deafe, heare not, its h.e.l.l Must you with hot irons burn out to tell the rest. both mine eyes?

_Arth._ Alas, thou wrongst my _Hub._ Young boy, I must.

youth with words of feare, Tis h.e.l.l, tis horror, not for one to heare: What is it man if needes be don, Act it, and end it, that the paine were gon.

_Hub_. I will not chaunt such _Arth_. And will you?

dolour with my tongue, Yet must I act the outrage with _Hub_. And I will.

my hand.

My heart, my head, and all my _Arth_. Have you the heart? When powers beside, your head did but ache, To aide the office have at once I knit my handkerchief about your denide. brows, Peruse this Letter, lines of (The best I had, a princess wrought treble woe, it me,) Reade ore my charge, and pardon And I did never ask it you again: when you know. And with my hand at midnight held your head, Hubert, these are to commaund And, like the watchful minutes to thee, as thou tendrest our quiet the hour, in minde, and the estate of our Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy person, that presently upon the time, receipt of our commaund, thou Saying, What lack you? and, Where put out the eies of Arthur lies your grief?

Plantaginet. Or, What good love may I perform for you?

_Arth_. Ah, monstrous d.a.m.ned Many a poor man's son would have man! his very breath infects the lain still, elements. And ne'er have spoken a loving word Contagious venyme dwelleth in to you; his heart; But you at your sick service had a Effecting meanes to poyson all prince.

the world. Nay you may think my love was Unreverent may I be to blame crafty love, the heavens And call it cunning: do, an if you Of great injustice, that the will.

miscreant If heaven be pleas'd that you will Lives to oppresse the innocents use me ill, with wrong. Why, then you must.--Will you put Ah, Hubert! makes he thee his out mine eyes?

instrument, These eyes that never did, nor To sound the tromp that causeth never shall h.e.l.l triumph? So much as frown on you?

Heaven weepes, the Saints do shed celestiall teares, _Hub_. I have sworn to do it, They feare thy fall, and cyte And with hot irons must I burn them thee with remorse, out.

To knock thy conscience, moving pitie there, _Arth._ Ah! none but in this iron Willing to fence thee from the age would do it.

range of h.e.l.l, The iron of itself, though heat h.e.l.l, Hubert, trust me all the red-hot, plagues of h.e.l.l Approaching near these eyes would Hangs on performance of this drink my tears, d.a.m.ned deede. And quench this fiery indignation, This seale, the warrant of the Even in the matter of mine bodies blisse, innocence: Ensureth Satan chieftaine of Nay, after that, consume away in thy soule: rust, Subscribe not Hubert, give not But for containing fire to harm G.o.ds part away, mine eye.

I speake not only for eyes Are you more stubborn hard than priviledge, hammered iron?

The chiefe exterior that I would An if an angel should have come enjoy: to me, But for they perill, farre And told me Hubert should put out beyond my paine, mine eyes, Thy sweetes soules losse, more I would not have believ'd him; no than my eyes vaine lack: tongue but Hubert's.

A cause internall, and eternall too, _Hub._ Come forth. (_Stamps._) Advise thee Hubert, for the case is hard, _Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, To loose salvation for a Kings Irons, &c._ reward.

Do as I bid you do.

_Hub._ My Lord, a subject dwelling in the land _Arth._ Oh! save me, Hubert, save Is tyed to execute the Kings me! my eyes are out, commaund. Even with the fierce looks of these b.l.o.o.d.y men.

_Arth._ Yet G.o.d commaunds whose power reacheth further, _Hub._ Give me the iron, I say, and That no commaund should stand in bind him here.

force to murther.

_Arth._ Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough?