r of mathematics, whom she despises. We know that she
is in danger of yielding to the fascinations of a seductive
man-about-town; and having shown us this danger, the author proceeds to
emphasize the manly and sterling character of the husband. He has the
gentleness that goes with strength; but where his affections or his
honour is concerned, he is not a man to be trifled with. This having
been several times impressed upon us, we naturally expect that the wife
is to be rescued by some striking manifestation of the husband's
masterful virility. But no such matter! Rescued she is, indeed; but it
is by the intervention of her half-brother, who fights a duel on her
behalf, and is brought back wounded to restore peace to the
mathematician's household: that man of science having been quite passive
throughout, save for some ineffectual remonstrances. It happens that in
this case we know just where the author went astray. Helene (the wife)
is the unacknowledged daughter of a great lady, Mme. de Voves; and the
subject of the play, as the author first conceived it, was the relation
between the mother, the illegitimate daughter, and the legitimate son;
the daughter's husband taking only a subordinate place. But Lemaitre
chose as a model for the husband a man whom he had known and admired;
and he allowed himself to depict in vivid colours his strong and
sympathetic character, without noticing that he was thereby upsetting
the economy of his play, and giving his audience reason to anticipate a
line of development quite different from that which he had in mind.
Inadvertently, in fact, he planted, not one, but two or three,
misleading finger-posts.

* * * * *

We come now to the fourth, or psychological, class of obligatory
scenes--those which are "required in order to justify some modification
of character or alteration of will, too important to be taken
for granted."

An obvious example of an obligatory scene of this class may be found in
the third act of _Othello_. The poet is bound to show us the process by
which Iago instils his poison into Othello's mind. He has backed
himself, so to speak, to make this process credible to us; and, by a
masterpiece of dexterity and daring, he wins his wager. Had he omitted
this scene--had he shown us Othello at one moment full of serene
confidence, and at his next appearance already convinced of Desdemona's
guilt--he would have omitted the pivot and turning--poi