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Rh comfortable. He chooses deliberately the bespangled tights of the professional acrobat, and so garbed he turns his handsprings with a nimble dexterity that hides his skill and strength. Benavente does not underestimate his own powers. Rather the reverse—he sometimes confuses his remarkably keen observation with interpretation. Benavente does not, however, misuse his powers, for, if he does not recognize limits to his native abilities, he appreciates finely how to apply them most effectively.

Much of the great effectiveness of Benavente's plays, both in the printed page and upon the stage, depends upon his dialogue, and the selection of the pieces in the new Second Series has been very happy in showing this characteristic of his at its best. Indeed, the little one-act sketch, No Smoking, is a perfect example of dialogue, for dialogue is all that there is. Few dramatists are able to make dialogue accomplish so many things at one time as he, and it is not unusual to find single speeches that are at once clever bons mots, a keen revelation of character, and useful exposition of the plot. Such a speech is Theodoro's in The Governor's Wife: "In such matters I make it a rule to follow the catechism: the sacraments all in their proper order. Marriage comes seventh, after extreme unction." This uncanny skill in dialogue quickens his plays with the very breath of life. There are apparently no explanations—certainly no dreary, talky explanations or obvious exchanges of confidences for the enlightenment of the audience—and no quips or witticisms are tied to the characters like balls and tinsel on a Christmas tree. The best of Benavente's claims as a depicter of character rest upon his capabilities as a revealer of motives through speeches. Literally his people are convicted out of their own mouths, and this is surely one of the rare gifts of the dramatic genius.

In contradistinction to Shaw, Benavente is without any social conscience. It is impossible to imagine him as a member of any Spanish Fabian Society, and while he might well have written a Spanish Widowers' Houses, still it would not have been from any sociological motive. The point of his attack is the individual, and his plays have a social significance only because he does not waste time attacking unique specimens of tyranny, fraud, or deception. He certainly has to forego the prestige that attaches itself to every social reformer, but the effect of his work, especially in Spain, is increased by the mere fact that it is without avowed social purpose.