for some time been expected and foreseen a sudden thrill of novelty and
unexpectedness. That is how to do a thing dramatically.[6]

And now, after all this discussion of the "dramatic" in theme and
incident, it remains to be said that the tendency of recent theory, and
of some recent practice, has been to widen the meaning of the word,
until it bursts the bonds of all definition. Plays have been written,
and have found some acceptance, in which the endeavour of the dramatist
has been to depict life, not in moments of crisis, but in its most level
and humdrum phases, and to avoid any crispness of touch in the
presentation of individual incidents. "Dramatic," in the eyes of writers
of this school, has become a term of reproach, synonymous with
"theatrical." They take their cue from Maeterlinck's famous essay on
"The Tragic in Daily Life," in which he lays it down that: "An old man,
seated in his armchair, waiting patiently, with his lamp beside
him--submitting with bent head to the presence of his soul and his
destiny--motionless as he is, does yet live in reality a deeper, more
human, and more universal life than the lover who strangles his
mistress, the captain who conquers in battle, or the husband who
'avenges his honour.'" They do not observe that Maeterlinck, in his own
practice, constantly deals with crises, and often with violent and
startling ones.

At the same time, I am far from suggesting that the reaction against the
traditional "dramatic" is a wholly mistaken movement. It is a valuable
corrective of conventional theatricalism; and it has, at some points,
positively enlarged the domain of dramatic art. Any movement is good
which helps to free art from the tyranny of a code of rules and
definitions. The only really valid definition of the dramatic is: Any
representation of imaginary personages which is capable of interesting