Hervieu, in order to throw dust in our
eyes, had given it to the virtuous lady. But whether we guess right or
wrong, this clue-hunting is an intellectual sport, not an artistic
enjoyment. If there is any aesthetic quality in the play, it can only
come home to us when we know the secret. And the same dilemma will
present itself to any playwright who seeks to imitate M. Hervieu.
The actual keeping of a secret, then--the appeal to the primary
curiosity of actual ignorance--may be ruled out as practically
impossible, and, when possible, unworthy of serious art. But there is
also, as we have seen, the secondary curiosity of the audience which,
though more or less cognizant of the essential facts, instinctively
assumes ignorance, and judges the development of a play from that point
of view. We all realize that a dramatist has no right to trust to our
previous knowledge, acquired from outside sources. We know that a play,
like every other work of art, ought to be self-sufficient, and even if,
at any given moment, we have, as a matter of fact, knowledge which
supplements what the playwright has told us, we feel that he ought not
to have taken for granted our possession of any such external and
fortuitous information.
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