“The French critic maintained also that, when this law of the drama was once firmly grasped, it helped to differentiate more precisely the several dramatic species.  If the obstacles against which the will of the hero has to contend are insurmountable, Fate or Providence or the laws of nature—­then there is tragedy, and the end of the struggle is likely to be death, since the hero is defeated in advance.  But if these obstacles are not absolutely insurmountable, being only social conventions and human prejudices, then the hero has a chance to attain his desire,—­and in this case, we have the serious drama without an inevitably fatal ending.  Change this obstacle a little, equalize the conditions of the struggle, set two wills in opposition—­and we have comedy.  And if the obstacle is of still a lower order, merely an absurdity of custom, for instance, we find ourselves in farce.”

Here we have, sharply and brilliantly stated, the sole law of drama—­whether it be a play in five acts requiring two hours and a half to present, or a playlet taking but twenty minutes.  This one law is all that the writer need keep in mind as the great general guide for plot construction.

Today, of course, as in every age when the drama is a bit more virile than in the years that have immediately preceded it, there is a tendency to break away from conventions and to cavil at definitions.  This is a sign of health, and has in the past often been the first faint stirring which betokened the awakening of the drama to greater uses.  In the past few years, the stage, both here and abroad, has been throbbing with dramatic unrest.  The result has been the presentation of oddities—­a mere list of whose names would fill a short chapter—­which have aimed to “be different.”  And in criticising these oddities—­whose differences are more apparent than real—­critics of the soundness and eminence of Mr. William Archer in England, and Mr. Clayton Hamilton in America, have taken the differences as valid ground for opposing Brunetiere’s statement of the law of the drama.

Mr. Hamilton, in his thought-provoking “Studies in Stage-craft,” takes occasion to draw attention to the fact that Brunetiere’s statement is not as old as Aristotle’s comments on the drama.  Mr. Hamilton seemingly objects to the eagerness with which Brunetiere’s statement was accepted when first it was made, less than a quarter century ago, and the tenacity with which it has been held ever since; while acknowledging its general soundness he denies its truth, more on account of its youth, it would seem, than on account of the few exceptions that “prove it,” putting to one side, or forgetting, that its youth is not a fault but a virtue, for had it been stated in Aristotle’s day, Brunetiere would not have had the countless plays from which to draw its truth, after the fruitful manner of a scientist working in a laboratory on innumerable specimens of a species.  Yet Mr. Hamilton presents his criticism with such critical skill that he sums it all up in these judicial sentences: