It is by well-motived characterization that drama passes 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 withthree men | Enter Hubert and two Attendants |
| Hub. My masters, I haveshewed you what warrant Ihave of this attempt; I perceiveby your heavie countenances,you had rather be otherwise imployed,and for my owne part,I would the King had madechoyce of some other executioner;onely this is my comfort,that a King commaunds, whoseprecepts neglected or omitted,threatneth torture for the default.Therefore in briefe, leaveme, and be readie to attend theadventure: stay within thatentry, and when you hear mecrie, God save the King, issuesodainly foorth, lay handes onArthur, set him in his chayre,wherein (once fast bound) leavehim with me to finish the rest. | Hub. Heat me these irons hot, and look thou stand Within the arras: when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. |
| 1. Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. | |
| Hub. Uncleanly scruples: fear not you: look to’t.— | |
| (Exeunt Attendants.) | |
| Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. | |
| Enter Arthur | |
| Arth. Good morning, Hubert. | |
| Hub. Good morrow, little prince. | |
| Attendants. We goe, thoughloath. (Exeunt.) | Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may be.—You are sad. |
| Hub. My Lord, will it pleaseyour Honour to take the benefiteof the faire evening? | Hub. Indeed I have been merrier. |
| Enter Arthur to Hubert de Burgh | |
| Arth. Gramercie Hubert for thy care of me, In or to whom restraint is newly knowen, The joy of walking is small benefit, Yet will I take thy offer with small thankes, I would not loose the pleasure of the eye. But tell me curteous Keeper if you can, How long the King will have me tarrie here | Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks nobody should be sad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my christendom, So I were out of prison and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me and I of him. Is it my fault that I was Geffrey’s son? No, indeed, is’t not; and I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. |
| Hub. I know not Prince, but as I gesse, not long. God send you freedome, and God save the King. | |
| (They issue forth.) | |
| Arth. Why now sirs, what may this outrage meane? O help me Hubert, gentle Keeper helpe; God send this sodaine mutinous approach Tend not to reave a wretched guiltless life. | |
| Hub. So sirs, depart, and leave the rest for me. | Hub. (Aside.) If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. |
| Arth. Then Arthur yeeld, death frowneth in thy face, What meaneth this? Good Hubert plead the case. | Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale today. In sooth, I would you were a little sick; That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant I love you more than you do me. |
| Hub. Patience yong Lord, and listen words of woe, Harmful and harsh, hells horror to be heard: A dismall tale fit for a furies tongue. I faint to tell, deepe sorrow is the sound. | Hub. (Aside.) His words do take possession of my bosom.— Read here, young Arthur, (Showing a paper.) (Aside.) How now, foolish rheum! Turning dispiteous torture out of door? I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.— Can you read it? Is it not fair writ? |
| Arth. What, must I die? | |
| Hub. No newes of death, but tidings of more hate, A wrathfull doome, and most unluckie fate: Deaths dish were daintie at so fell a feast, Be deafe, heare not, its hell to tell the rest. | |
| Arth. Alas, thou wrongst my youth with words of feare, Tis hell, 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. | Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? |
| Hub. Young boy, I must. | |
| Hub. I will not chaunt such dolour with my tongue, Yet must I act the outrage with my hand. My heart, my head, and all my powers beside, To aide the office have at once denide. Peruse this Letter, lines of treble woe, Reade ore my charge, and pardon when you know. | Arth. And will you? |
| Hub. And I will. | |
| Hubert, these are to commaundthee, as thou tendrest ourquiet in minde, and theestate of our person, thatpresently upon the receiptof our commaund, thouput out the eies of ArthurPlantaginet. | Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head, And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer’d up the heavy time, Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man’s son would have lain still, And ne’er have spoken a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning: do, an if you will. If heaven be pleas’d that you will use me ill, Why, then you must.—Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that never did, nor never shall So much as frown on you? |
| Arth. Ah, monstrous damned man! his very breath infects the elements. Contagious venyme dwelleth in his heart; Effecting meanes to poyson all the world. Unreverent may I be to blame the heavens Of great injustice, that the miscreant Lives to oppresse the innocents with wrong. Ah, Hubert! makes he thee his instrument, To sound the tromp that causeth hell triumph? Heaven weepes, the Saints do shed celestiall teares, They feare thy fall, and cyte thee with remorse, To knock thy conscience, moving pitie there, Willing to fence thee from the range of hell, | Hub. I have sworn to do it, And with hot irons must I burn them out. |
| Arth. Ah! none but in this iron age would do it. The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, And quench this fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn hard than hammered iron? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ’d him; no tongue but Hubert’s. | |
| Hell, Hubert, trust me all the plagues of hell Hangs on performance of this damned deede. This seale, the warrant of the bodies blisse, Ensureth Satan chieftaine of thy soule: Subscribe not Hubert, give not Gods part away, I speake not only for eyes priviledge, The chiefe exterior that I would enjoy: But for they perill, farre beyond my paine, Thy sweetes soules losse, more than my eyes vaine lack: A cause internall, and eternall too, Advise thee Hubert, for the case is hard, To loose salvation for a Kings reward. | Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.) Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, &c. Do as I bid you do. |
| Arth. Oh! save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. | |
| Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. | |
| Hub. My Lord, a subject dwelling in the land Is tyed to execute the Kings commaund. | Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough? I will not struggle; I will stand stone-still. For heaven’s sake, Hubert, let me not be bound. Nay, hear me Hubert: drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly. Thrust but these men away, and I’ll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. |
| Arth. Yet God commaunds whose power reacheth further, That no commaund should stand in force to murther. | |
| Hub. But that same Essence hath ordained a law,A death for guilt, to keepe the world in awe. | |
| Arth. I pleade, not guiltie, treasonlesse and free. | |
| Hub. But that appeale, my Lord, concernes not me. | Hub. Go, stand within: let me alone with him. |
| Arth. Why thou art he that maist omit the perill. | 1. Attend. I am best pleas’d to be from such a deed. (Exeunt Attendants.) |
| Hub. I, if my Soveraigne would remit his quarrell. | |
| Arth. His quarrell is unhallowed false and wrong. | Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend: He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart.— Let him come back that his compassion may Give life to yours. |
| Hub. Then be the blame to whom it doth belong. | |
| Arth. Why thats to thee if thou as they proceede, Conclude their judgement with so vile a deede. | |
| Hub. Why then no execution can be lawfull,If Judges doomes must be reputed doubtfull. | Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. |
| Arth. Is there no remedy? | |
| Hub. None but to lose your eyes. | |
| Arth. Yes where in forme of Lawe in place and time, The offended is convicted of the crime. Hub. My Lord, my Lord, this long expostulation, Heapes up more griefe, than promise of redresse; For this I know, and so resolude I end, That subjects lives on Kings commaunds depend. I must not reason why he is your foe, But doo his charge since he commaunds it so. Arth. Then doo thy charge, and charged be thy soule With wrongfull persecution don this day. You rowling eyes, whose superficies yet I doo behold with eyes that Nature lent: Send foorth the terror of your Moovers frowne, To wreake my wrong upon the murtherers That rob me of your faire reflecting view: Let hell to them (as earth they wish to me) Be darke and direfull guerdon for their guylt, And let the black tormentors of deepe Tartary Upbraide them with this damned enterprise, Inflicting change of tortures on their soules. Delay not Hubert, my orisons are ended, Begin I pray thee, reave me of my sight: But to performe a tragedie indeede, Conclude the period with a mortal stab. Constance farewell, tormenter come away, Make my dispatch the Tyrants feasting day. Hub. I faint, I feare, my conscience bids desist: Faint did I say? fear was it that I named: My King commaunds, that warrant sets me free: But God forbids, and he commandeth Kings, That great Commaunder counterchecks my charge, He stayes my hand, he maketh soft my heart. Goe cursed tooles, your office is exempt, Cheere thee young Lord, thou shalt not loose an eye, Though I should purchase it with losse of life. Ile to the King and say his will is done, And of the langor tell him thou art dead, Goe in with me, for Hubert was not borne To blinde those lampes that nature pollisht so. Arth. Hubert, if ever Arthur be in state, Looke for amends of this received gift, I tooke my eyesight by thy curtesie, Thou lentst them me, I will not be ingrate. But now procrastination may offend The issue that thy kindness undertakes: Depart we Hubert, to prevent the worst. (Exeunt.)[36] | Arth. O heaven!—that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to; hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert: Or Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. So I may keep mine eyes. O! spare mine eyes; Though to no use, but still to look on you. Lo! by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us’d In undeserv’d extremes: see else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew’d repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; And like a dog that is compell’d to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasures that thine uncle owes: Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O! now you look like Hubert; all this while You were disguised. Hubert. Peace! no more. Adieu. Your uncle must not know but you are dead: I’ll fill these dogged spies with false reports; And pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, That Hubert for the wealth of all the world Will not offend thee. Arth. O heaven!— I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. (Exeunt.) |
For further illustration of Shakespeare’s clear understanding that the emotions of well-characterized figures are better means of controlling an audience than a merely horrific situation, study his handling of the ghost scene in Richard III or Julius Cæsar in contrast with similar places in Hamlet. What most transmuted the Ur-Hamlet of Thomas Kyd into one of the greatest tragedies of all time was the characterization Shakespeare put into it. Certainly, characterization makes for dramatists the stepping-stones on which they may rise from dead selves to higher things.
How may all this needed characterization best be done? A dramatist should not permit himself to describe his characters, for in his own personality he has no proper place in the text. There the characters must speak and act for themselves. There has been, however, an increasing tendency lately to describe the dramatis personæ of the play in programs, either in the list of characters or in a summary of the plot. Some writers apparently assume that every auditor reads his program carefully before the curtain goes up. Such an assumption is false: more than that it is lazy, incompetent, and thoroughly vicious, putting a play on the level with the motion pictures, which cannot depend wholly on themselves but would often be wholly vague without explanatory words thrown upon the canvas. Nor can the practice of the older dramatists like Wycherley and Shadwell, who often prefixed to their printed plays elaborate summaries describing the dramatis personæ, be cited as a final defense.
Sir William Belfond, a Gentleman of above 3,000 per annum, who in his youth had been a spark of the town, but married and retired into the country, where he turned to the other extreme, rigid and morose, most sordidly covetous, clownish, obstinate, positive, and froward.
Sir Edward Belfond, his Brother, a merchant, who by lucky hits had gotten a great estate, lives single, with ease and pleasure, reasonably and virtuously. A man of great humanity and gentleness and compassion towards mankind; well read in good books possessed with all gentleman-like qualities.
Belfond, Senior, eldest son to Sir William; bred after his father’s rustic, swinish manner, with great rigour and severity; upon whom his father’s estate is entailed; the confidence of which makes him break out into open rebellion to his father, and become lewd, abominably vicious, stubborn, and obstinate.
Belfond, Junior, second Son to Sir William; adopted by Sir Edward, and bred from his childhood by him, with all tenderness, and familiarity, and bounty, and liberty that can be, instructed in all the liberal sciences, and in all gentlemanlike education. Somewhat given to women, and now and then to good fellowship, but an ingenious, well-accomplished gentleman: a man of honour, and of excellent disposition and temper.
Truman, his friend, a man of honour and fortune.