THE IDEA OF TRAGEDY 707 



pathetically good instincts, and also the littleness and bitterness of 

 her artificially developed soul. The style is in every sense worthy of 

 the theme; indeed, here and there are classical passages, classical 

 in their restraint, sobriety, and clear-cut form. Listen to the fol- 

 lowing, when Aubrey and his wife are sitting amid the hopeless ruin 

 of their fortunes, discussing the probability or possibility of beginning 

 again. The sentences ring with suppressed emotion, but the logical 

 situation is exposed with a master's hand. 



Aubrey. We'll make our calculations solely for the future, talk about the 

 future, think about the future. 



Paula. 1 believe the future is only the past again, entered through another 

 gate. 



Aubrey. That's an awful belief. 



Paula. To-night proves it. ^ou must see now that, do what we will, go 

 where we will, you'll continually be reminded of what I was. I see it. 



Aubrey. You're frightened to-night; meeting this man has frightened 

 you. But that sort of thing isn't likely to recur. The world isn't quite so 

 small as all that. 



Paula. Isn't it? The only great distances it contains are those we carry 

 within ourselves the distances that separate husbands and wives, for 

 instance. And so it'll be with us. You'll do your best oh, I know that 

 you're a good fellow. But circumstances will be too strong for you in the 

 end, mark my words. 



Aubrey. Paula ! 



Paula. Of course I'm pretty now. I'm pretty still and a pretty woman, 

 whatever else she may be, is always well, endurable. But even now I 

 notice that the lines of my face are getting deeper; so are the hollows about 

 my eyes. Yes, my face is covered with little shadows that usen't to be 

 there. Oh, I know I'm " going off." I hate paint and dye and those messes, 

 but by-and-by 1 shall drift the way of the others; I shan't be able to help 

 myself. And then, some day perhaps very suddenly, under a queer fan 

 tastic light at night or in the glare of the morning that horrid, irresistible 

 truth that physical repulsion forces on men and women will come to you, 

 and you'll sicken at me. 



Aubrey. I ! 



Paula. You'll see me then at last with other people's eyes, you'll see me 

 just as your daughter does now, as all the wholesome folks see women like 

 me. And I shall have no weapon to fight with not one serviceable little bit 

 of prettiness left me to defend myself with. A worn-out creature, broken up, 

 very likely some time before I ought to be my hair bright, my eyes dull, 

 my body too thin or too stout, my cheeks raddled and ruddled a ghost, a 

 wreck, a caricature, a candle that gutters; call such an end what you like! 

 Oh, Aubrey, what shall I be able to say to you then ? And this is the future 

 you talk about! I know it. 1 know it. (He is still sitting staring forward, 

 she rocks herself to and fro as if in pain.) Oh, Aubrey! Oh! Oh! 



Aubrey. Paula! (Trying to comfort her.} 



Paula. Oh, and I wanted so much to sleep to night ! * 



"""''~'\ 



And the future ? Of that, too, I perhaps may venture to say a 



word. The future of the drama depends more upon the temper of the 

 i Mr. Pinero's "The Second Mrs. Tanqueray," Act IV. 



