conscious of creating," but that gradually he gets "into the skin" of
his characters, and appears to work by instinct. No doubt some artists
are actually subject to a sort of hallucination, during which they seem
rather to record than to invent the doings of their characters. But this
somewhat morbid condition should scarcely be cultivated by the
dramatist, whose intelligence should always keep a light rein on his
more instinctive mental processes. See _L'Annee Psychologique_, 1894.
p. 120.]

[Footnote 4: Sir Arthur Pinero says: "The beginning of a play to me is a
little world of people. I live with them, get familiar with them, and
_they_ tell me the story." This may sound not unlike the remark of the
novelist above quoted; but the intention was quite different. Sir Arthur
simply meant that the story came to him as the characters took on life
in his imagination. Mr. H.A. Jones writes: "When you have a character or
several characters you haven't a play. You may keep these in your mind
and nurse them till they combine in a piece of action; but you haven't
got your play till you have theme, characters, and action all fused. The
process with me is as purely automatic and spontaneous as dreaming; in
fact it is really dreaming while you are awake."]

[Footnote 5: "Here," says a well-known playwright, "is a common
experience. You are struck by an idea with which you fall in love. 'Ha!'
you say. 'What a superb scene where the man shall find the missing will
under the sofa! If that doesn't make them sit up, what will?' You begin
the play. The first act goes all right, and the second act goes all
right. You come to the third act, and somehow it won't go at all. You
battle with it for weeks in vain; and then it suddenly occurs to you,
'Why, I see what's wrong! It's that confounded scene where the man finds
the will under the sofa! Out it must come!' You cut it out, and at once
all goes smooth again. But you have thrown overboard the great effect
that first tempted you."]

[Footnote 6: The manuscripts of Dumas _fils_ are said to contain, as a
rule, about four times as much matter as the printed play! (Parigot:
_Genie et Metier_, p. 243). This probably means, however, that he
preserved tentative and ultimately rejected scenes, which most
playwrights destroy as they go along.]

[Footnote 7: Lowell points out that this assertion of Heminge and
Condell merely shows them to have been unfamiliar with the simple
phenomenon known as a