Aline. No wedding, no wedding! Together
Goriot. I told ’ee he can’t, and he can’t!
Dumont. Dear, dear me.
Ernestine. They won’t let us marry. Together
Charles. No wife, no father, no nothing.
Curate. The facts have justified the worst anticipations of our absent friend, the Notary.
Macaire. I perceive I must reveal myself.[8]
If physical action in and of itself is so often dramatic, is all physical action dramatic? That is, does it always create emotion in an onlooker? No. It goes for naught unless it rouses his interest. Of itself, or because of the presentation given it by the dramatist, it must rouse in the onlooker an emotional response. A boy seeing “Crazy Mary” stalking the street in bedizened finery and bowing right and left, may see nothing interesting in her. More probably her actions will move him to jeer and jibe at her. Let some spectator, however, tell the boy of the tragedy in Crazy Mary’s younger life which left her unbalanced, and, if he has any right feeling, the boy’s attitude will begin to change. He may even give over the jeering he has begun. Reveal to him exactly what is passing in the crazed mind of the woman, and his mere interest will probably turn to sympathy. Characterization, preceding and accompanying action, creates sympathy or repulsion for the figure or figures involved. This sympathy or repulsion in turn converts mere interest into emotional response of the keenest kind. Though physical action is undoubtedly fundamental in drama, no higher form than crude melodrama or crude farce can develop till characterization appears to explain and interpret action.
The following extracts from Robertson’s Home show physical action, silly it is true, yet developing characterization by illustrative action. The first, even as it amuses, characterizes the timid Bertie, and the second shows the mild mentality and extreme confusion of the two central figures.
Mr. Dorrison. Will you give Mrs. Pinchbeck your arm, Colonel? Dora, my dear. (Taking Dora’s.) Lucy, Captain Mountraffe will—(Sees him asleep.) Ah, Lucy, you must follow by yourself.