my children!” as the curtain fell.  Moliere evidently took the attitude that since any ending whatsoever must be in the nature of an artifice, and contrary to the laws of life, he might as well falsify upon the pleasant side and send his auditors happy to their homes.  Shakespeare took the same attitude in many comedies, of which As You Like It may be chosen as an illustration.  The sudden reform of Oliver and the tardy repentance of the usurping duke are both untrue to life and illogical as art; but Shakespeare decided to throw probability and logic to the winds in order to close his comedy with a general feeling of good-will.  But this easy answer to the question cannot be accepted in the case of the serious drama; for—­and this is a point that is very often missed—­in proportion as the dramatic struggle becomes more vital and momentous, the audience demands more and more that it shall be fought out fairly, and that even the characters it favors shall receive no undeserved assistance from the dramatist.  This instinct of the crowd—­the instinct by which its demand for fairness is proportioned to the importance of the struggle—­may be studied by any follower of professional base-ball.  The spectators at a ball-game are violently partisan and always want the home team to win.  In any unimportant game—­if the opposing teams, for instance, have no chance to win the pennant—­the crowd is glad of any questionable decision by the umpires that favors the home team.  But in any game in which the pennant is at stake, a false or bad decision, even though it be rendered in favor of the home team, will be received with hoots of disapproval.  The crowd feels, in such a case, that it cannot fully enjoy the sense of victory unless the victory be fairly won.  For the same reason, when any important play which sets out to end unhappily is given a sudden twist which brings about an arbitrary happy ending, the audience is likely to be displeased.  And there is yet another reason for this displeasure.  An audience may enjoy both farce and comedy without believing them; but it cannot fully enjoy a serious play unless it believes the story.  In the serious drama, an ending, to be enjoyable, must be credible; in other words, it must, for the sake of human interest, satisfy the strict logic of art.  We arrive, therefore, at the paradox that although, in the final act, the comic dramatist may achieve popularity by renouncing the laws of art, the serious dramatist can achieve popularity only by adhering rigidly to a pattern of artistic truth.

This is a point that is rarely understood by people who look at the general question from the point of view of the box-office; they seldom appreciate the fact that a serious play which logically demands an unhappy ending will make more money if it is planned in accordance with the sternest laws of art than if it is given an arbitrary happy ending in which the audience cannot easily believe.  The public wants to be pleased, but it wants even more to be satisfied.