In the first place, is the architectural metaphor a just one? Is there,
or ought there to be, any analogy between a drama and a
finely-proportioned building? The question has already been touched on
in the opening paragraphs of Chapter VIII; but we may now look into it a
little more closely.
What is the characteristic of a fine piece of architecture? Manifestly
an organic relation, a carefully-planned interdependence, between all
its parts. A great building is a complete and rounded whole, just like a
living organism. It is informed by an inner law of harmony and
proportion, and cannot be run up at haphazard, with no definite and
pre-determined design. Can we say the same of a great play?
I think we can. Even in those plays which present a picture rather than
an action, we ought to recognize a principle of selection, proportion,
composition, which, if not absolutely organic, is at any rate the
reverse of haphazard. We may not always be able to define the principle,
to put it clearly in words; but if we feel that the author has been
guided by no principle, that he has proceeded on mere hand-to-mouth
caprice, that there is no "inner law of harmony and proportion" in his
work, then we instinctively relegate it to a low place in our esteem.
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