ituation of affairs
without perceiving the dramatist's designs upon us. Not that this is
always so with Shakespeare. In the opening scene of his early _Comedy of
Errors_, and in the opening speech of _Richard III._, we feel that the
speakers are addressing us; and in the second scene of the _Tempest_
(for Shakespeare grew at last rather negligent of technique) the purpose
of Prospero's long explanation to Miranda is palpable. But in general
Shakespeare's expositions are masterpieces.[21]

His usual plan in tragedy is to begin with a short scene, or part of a
scene, either full of life and stir, or in some other way arresting.
Then, having secured a hearing, he proceeds to conversations at a lower
pitch, accompanied by little action but conveying much information. For
example, _Romeo and Juliet_ opens with a street-fight, _Julius Caesar_
and _Coriolanus_ with a crowd in commotion; and when this excitement has
had its effect on the audience, there follow quiet speeches, in which
the cause of the excitement, and so a great part of the situation, are
disclosed. In _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_ this scheme is employed with great
boldness. In _Hamlet_ the first appearance of the Ghost occurs at the
fortieth line, and with such effect that Shakespeare can afford to
introduce at once a conversation which explains part of the state of
affairs at Elsinore; and the second appearance, having again increased
the tension, is followed by a long scene, which contains no action but
introduces almost all the _dramatis personae_ and adds the information
left wanting. The opening of _Macbeth_ is even more remarkable, for
there is probably no parallel to its first scene, where the senses and
imagination are assaulted by a storm of thunder and supernatural alarm.
This scene is only eleven lines long, but its influence is so great that
the next can safely be occupied with a mere report of Macbeth's
battles,--a narrative which would have won much less attention if it had
opened the play.

When Shakespeare begins his exposition thus he generally at first makes
people talk about the hero, but keeps the hero himself for some time out
of sight, so that we await his entrance with curiosity, and sometimes
with anxiety. On the other hand, if the play opens with a quiet
conversation, this is usually brief, and then at once the hero enters
and takes action of some decided kind. Nothing, for example, can be less
like the beginning of _Macbeth_ than that of _K