Lady Castlejordan.Lord Tweenwayes—(Tweenwayes comes with great dignity to Lady Castlejordan. The girls fall back.)Lady Castlejordan.Lord Litterly—Lady Noeline. Monsieur de Grival—Lady Wilhelmina. Mr. Minchin—Lady Thomasin.(The couples are formed, and all go out sedately.)53
Lady Castlejordan.Lord Tweenwayes—
(Tweenwayes comes with great dignity to Lady Castlejordan. The girls fall back.)
Lady Castlejordan.Lord Litterly—Lady Noeline. Monsieur de Grival—Lady Wilhelmina. Mr. Minchin—Lady Thomasin.
(The couples are formed, and all go out sedately.)53
When quiet speech sums up the whole meaning of a scene or play, it too gives climax. Ann’s words at the end ofMan and Superman, “John you are still talking,” make a fine ironic climax. Irony, whether quiet or decidedly dramatic, is a very effective means to climax. At the end of Act II, Herod, in the play of that name by Stephen Phillips, has ordered Mariamne killed. Completely infatuated by her, he has done this only when her enemies have forced him to believe that she is utterly false. Almost instantly his love overwhelms his mistrust. He tries to revoke his word, crying,
Yet will I not be bound, I will break free,She shall not die—she shall not die—she shall not—
Yet will I not be bound, I will break free,
She shall not die—she shall not die—she shall not—
News of the triumph he has longed for interrupts:
Enter Attendant.Attendant.O king, the Roman eagles! See!A cry.(Without.) From Rome!Enter Roman Envoy and Suite.Envoy.O king, great Cæsar sent us after you,But, though we posted fast, you still outran us.Thus then by word of mouth great Cæsar greetsHerod his friend. But he would not confineThat friendship to the easy spoken word,And hear I bear a proof of Cæsar’s faith.Herein is added to thy boundariesHippo, Samaria and Gadara,And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon’s shore,And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers. (Moves down.)Here is the scroll, with Cæsar’s own hand signed.Herod.(Taking the scroll—at foot of steps.) Mariamne, hear you this? Mariamne, see you?(Turns to look at scroll.)(Servant enters and moves down to Gadias down L.)(He goes up the stairs.)Hippo, Samaria and Gadara,And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon’s shore,And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers.Servant.(Aside to Gadias.) O sir, the queen is dead!Gadias.(Aside to Pheroras, Cypros, and Salome.) The queen is dead!Herod.Mariamne, hear you this? Mariamne, see you?(Repeating the words, and going up steps.)Hippo, Samaria and Gadara,And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon, (As he moves up.)And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers!54
Enter Attendant.
Attendant.O king, the Roman eagles! See!
A cry.(Without.) From Rome!
Enter Roman Envoy and Suite.
Envoy.O king, great Cæsar sent us after you,
But, though we posted fast, you still outran us.
Thus then by word of mouth great Cæsar greets
Herod his friend. But he would not confine
That friendship to the easy spoken word,
And hear I bear a proof of Cæsar’s faith.
Herein is added to thy boundaries
Hippo, Samaria and Gadara,
And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon’s shore,
And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers. (Moves down.)
Here is the scroll, with Cæsar’s own hand signed.
Herod.(Taking the scroll—at foot of steps.) Mariamne, hear you this? Mariamne, see you?
(Turns to look at scroll.)
(Servant enters and moves down to Gadias down L.)
(He goes up the stairs.)
Hippo, Samaria and Gadara,
And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon’s shore,
And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers.
Servant.(Aside to Gadias.) O sir, the queen is dead!
Gadias.(Aside to Pheroras, Cypros, and Salome.) The queen is dead!
Herod.Mariamne, hear you this? Mariamne, see you?
(Repeating the words, and going up steps.)
Hippo, Samaria and Gadara,
And high-walled Joppa, and Anthedon, (As he moves up.)
And Gaza unto these, and Straton’s towers!54
The perfect climax lies in the irony of the fact that all Herod most desires as ruler comes to him at just the moment when he has killed the thing that most he loved.
At the end of Act III ofChains, by Elizabeth Baker, everybody—the father-in-law and mother-in-law, Percy, the brother-in-law, and Sybil, a pretty but useless bit of femininity—has been making Charlie entirely miserable because no one can understand that his expressed desire to try his fortunes in Australia and then send for his wife,Lily, is not a pretext for abandoning her. Percy, with next to nothing a year, is just engaged to Sybil. Foster wants to marry Margaret, Charlie’s sister-in-law, who is dissatisfied with her lot.
Enter Lily, dressed for going out, also Mrs. Massey. Lily goes round, kissing and shaking hands, with a watery smile and a forced tearful cheerfulness.Charley.(Without going all around and calling from the door.) Good night, all!(Exeunt Lily and Charley.)Mrs. Massey.Well, I must say—Percy.O, let’s drop it, mother. Play something, Maggie.Maggie.I don’t want to.Mrs. Massey.Walter would like to hear something, wouldn’t you, Walter?Foster.If Maggie feels like it.Maggie.She doesn’t feel like it.Massey.Be as pleasant as you can, my girl—Charley’s enough for one evening.(Maggie goes to the piano and sitting down plays noisily, with both pedals on, the chorus, “Off to Philadelphia.”)Mrs. Massey.Maggie, it’s Sunday!Maggie.I forgot!Mrs. Massey.You shouldn’t forget such things—Sybil, my dear—Sybil.I don’t play.Massey.Rubbish! Come on!(Sybil goes to the piano and Percy follows her.)Percy.(Very near to Sybil and helping her to find the music.) Charley is a rotter! What d’ye think he was telling me the other day?Sybil.I don’t know.Percy.Told me to be sure I got the right girl.Sybil.Brute!Percy.What do you think I said? Darling!(Kisses her behind music.)Massey.(Looking around.) Take a bigger sheet.(Sybil sits at piano quickly and plays the chorus to “Count Your Many Blessings.” To which they all sing:)Count your many blessings, count them one by one,Count your blessings, see what God has done.Count your blessings, count them one by one,And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.55
Enter Lily, dressed for going out, also Mrs. Massey. Lily goes round, kissing and shaking hands, with a watery smile and a forced tearful cheerfulness.
Charley.(Without going all around and calling from the door.) Good night, all!
(Exeunt Lily and Charley.)
Mrs. Massey.Well, I must say—
Percy.O, let’s drop it, mother. Play something, Maggie.
Maggie.I don’t want to.
Mrs. Massey.Walter would like to hear something, wouldn’t you, Walter?
Foster.If Maggie feels like it.
Maggie.She doesn’t feel like it.
Massey.Be as pleasant as you can, my girl—Charley’s enough for one evening.
(Maggie goes to the piano and sitting down plays noisily, with both pedals on, the chorus, “Off to Philadelphia.”)
Mrs. Massey.Maggie, it’s Sunday!
Maggie.I forgot!
Mrs. Massey.You shouldn’t forget such things—Sybil, my dear—
Sybil.I don’t play.
Massey.Rubbish! Come on!
(Sybil goes to the piano and Percy follows her.)
Percy.(Very near to Sybil and helping her to find the music.) Charley is a rotter! What d’ye think he was telling me the other day?
Sybil.I don’t know.
Percy.Told me to be sure I got the right girl.
Sybil.Brute!
Percy.What do you think I said? Darling!
(Kisses her behind music.)
Massey.(Looking around.) Take a bigger sheet.
(Sybil sits at piano quickly and plays the chorus to “Count Your Many Blessings.” To which they all sing:)
Count your many blessings, count them one by one,Count your blessings, see what God has done.Count your blessings, count them one by one,And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.55
Count your many blessings, count them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God has done.
Count your blessings, count them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.55
Is not the irony of this group of unsatisfied or dissatisfied people singing “Count your many blessings,” fully climactic?
Not quietness of speech or action, then, but appropriateness makes any of these approved endings climactic and artistic.
There can hardly be any question that the original ending ofStill Waters Run Deepis theatrical in the sense that it is climactic only by the dramatic convention of its time. Except when theatricality is intentionally part of the artistic design, it is, of course, undesirable. Rostand, letting the figures inThe Romancerscomment on their own play as a kind of epilogue, has a really artistic though theatrical climax.
Sylvette.(Summoning the actors about her.) And now we five—if Master Straforel please—Let us expound the play in which we’ve tried to please.(She comes down stage and addresses the audience, marking time with her hand.)Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light;Love in a park, fluting an ancient tune. (Soft music.)Bergamin.A fairy-tale quintet, mad as Midsummer-night.Pasquin.Some quarrels. Yes!—but all so very slight!Straforel.Madness of sunstroke; madness of the moon!A worthy villain, in his mantle dight.Sylvette.Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light;Love in a park, fluting an ancient tune.Percinet.A Watteau picture—not by Watteau, quite;Release from many a dreary Northern rune;Lovers and fathers; old walls, flowery-bright;A brave old plot—with music—ending soon.Sylvette.Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light.(The stage gradually darkens; the last lines are delivered in voices that grow fainter as the actors appear to fade away into mist and darkness.)Curtain.56
Sylvette.(Summoning the actors about her.) And now we five—if Master Straforel please—Let us expound the play in which we’ve tried to please.
(She comes down stage and addresses the audience, marking time with her hand.)
Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light;Love in a park, fluting an ancient tune. (Soft music.)
Bergamin.A fairy-tale quintet, mad as Midsummer-night.
Pasquin.Some quarrels. Yes!—but all so very slight!
Straforel.Madness of sunstroke; madness of the moon!A worthy villain, in his mantle dight.
Sylvette.Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light;Love in a park, fluting an ancient tune.
Percinet.A Watteau picture—not by Watteau, quite;Release from many a dreary Northern rune;Lovers and fathers; old walls, flowery-bright;A brave old plot—with music—ending soon.
Sylvette.Light, easy rhymes; old dresses, frail and light.
(The stage gradually darkens; the last lines are delivered in voices that grow fainter as the actors appear to fade away into mist and darkness.)
Curtain.56
So light the finale, as in London, that the figures fade from sight till only their voices are faintly heard, and theatricality helps to place the play as a mere bit of fantasy. On the other hand, there is something like genuine theatricality at the end of Sudermann’sFritzschen. Fritz is going to his death in a prospective duel with a man who is an unerring shot. Though the others present suspect or know the truth, his mother thinks he is going to new and finer fortunes. Isn’t the following the real climax?
Fritz.(Stretching out his hand to her cheerfully.) Dear Ag— (Looks into her face, and understands that she knows. Softly, earnestly.) Farewell, then.Agnes.Farewell, Fritz!Fritz.I love you.Agnes.I shall always love you, Fritz!Fritz.Away, then, Hallerpfort! Au revoir, papa! Au revoir! Revoir!(Starts for the door on the right.)Frau von Drosse.Go by the park, boys—there I have you longer in sight.Fritz.Very well, mamma, we will do it! (Passes with Hallerpfort through the door at the centre; on the terrace, he turns with a cheerful gesture, and calls once more.) Au Revoir! (His voice is still audible.) Au revoir!(Frau von Drosse throws kisses after him, and waves her handkerchief, then presses her hand wearily to her heart and sighs heavily.)57
Fritz.(Stretching out his hand to her cheerfully.) Dear Ag— (Looks into her face, and understands that she knows. Softly, earnestly.) Farewell, then.
Agnes.Farewell, Fritz!
Fritz.I love you.
Agnes.I shall always love you, Fritz!
Fritz.Away, then, Hallerpfort! Au revoir, papa! Au revoir! Revoir!
(Starts for the door on the right.)
Frau von Drosse.Go by the park, boys—there I have you longer in sight.
Fritz.Very well, mamma, we will do it! (Passes with Hallerpfort through the door at the centre; on the terrace, he turns with a cheerful gesture, and calls once more.) Au Revoir! (His voice is still audible.) Au revoir!
(Frau von Drosse throws kisses after him, and waves her handkerchief, then presses her hand wearily to her heart and sighs heavily.)57
Because the history of the theatre shows that the contained appeal always moves an audience, Sudermann addsone more touch of misery as the mother dwells on her dream of the night before:
(Agnes hurries to her, and leads her to a chair, then goes over to the Major, who, with heaving breast, is lost in thought.)Frau von Drosse.Thank you, my darling!—Already, I am quite well again!... God, the boy! How handsome he looked! And so brown and so healthy.... You see, I saw him exactly like that last night.... No, that is no illusion! And I told you how the Emperor led him in among all the generals! And the Emperor said—(More softly, looking far away with a beatific smile.) And the Emperor said—Curtain.58
(Agnes hurries to her, and leads her to a chair, then goes over to the Major, who, with heaving breast, is lost in thought.)
Frau von Drosse.Thank you, my darling!—Already, I am quite well again!... God, the boy! How handsome he looked! And so brown and so healthy.... You see, I saw him exactly like that last night.... No, that is no illusion! And I told you how the Emperor led him in among all the generals! And the Emperor said—(More softly, looking far away with a beatific smile.) And the Emperor said—
Curtain.58
Though a new twist is given our emotions, is not something lost to the artistry of the play?
If the means to climax be various, the ways in which it may elude a writer are several. If an audience foresees it, much of the value of climax, perhaps all, disappears. Bulwer-Lytton, in writingMoney, recognized this:
And principally with regard to Act 5 I don’t feel easy. The first idea suggested by you & worked on by me was of course to carry on Evelyn’s trick to the last—& bring in the creditors &c when it is discovered that he is as rich as ever. I so made Act 5 at first. But ... the trick was so palpable to the audience that having been carried thro’ Acts 3 & 4, it became stale in Act 5—& the final discovery was much less comic than you w^d suppose.59
And principally with regard to Act 5 I don’t feel easy. The first idea suggested by you & worked on by me was of course to carry on Evelyn’s trick to the last—& bring in the creditors &c when it is discovered that he is as rich as ever. I so made Act 5 at first. But ... the trick was so palpable to the audience that having been carried thro’ Acts 3 & 4, it became stale in Act 5—& the final discovery was much less comic than you w^d suppose.59
If anticipating a climax will impair it for an audience, repetition may kill it. In the civic masque,Caliban,60as performed, many of the historical scenes were introduced in the same way: Ariel asked his master, Prospero, what he should show him next, and at his bidding summoned the episode. No variety in phrasing could surmount the monotony of this. There was consequent loss in suspense and climax.
It is easy, also, to miss possible climax by using more at a given point than is absolutely necessary. Sometimes it is wiser to postpone part or all of thoroughly desirable material for later treatment. In the novel,Les Oberlé,61father and daughter sympathize with the Germans, mother and son with the old French tradition. In patriarchal fashion, the half-paralytic grandfather, as head of the house, keeps the keys. When a young German officer, favored by the daughter, asks her hand, feeling becomes intense and strained between the parents and the brother and the sister. Suddenly the old paralytic enters, half-supported by his attendant. Furious to think of his granddaughter as the wife of a German he cries, with a superb gesture of dismissal, “Clear out! This is my house!” (Va t’en! Ici chez moi!) The dramatizer saw that with the accompanying action of all concerned, especially the silent going of the German suitor, “Ici chez moi” made a sufficient climax. Therefore, with a touch of real genius, he saved the “Va t’en” for a climax to a totally different scene. Later in the play, Jean, who has determined to escape across the French boundary rather than serve longer in the German army, has been locked in his room by his outraged father. As usual, after the house has been locked up for the night, the keys have been handed to the old, half-paralytic grandfather, who lies sleepless in a room near Jean’s. Learning from Uncle Ulrich what has occurred, the grandfather totters into the living room with his keys. Unlocking Jean’s door, with a fine gesture of affection, and command toward the outer door, he cries to Jean, “Va.” Here the dramatist gets two fine climaxes where the novelist gained but one.
Sometimes a very effective climax at a given point should be postponed because it will be even more effective later,and if given the first position would check preferable movement in the play. At the end of Act IV ofMagda(Heimat) by Sudermann, we seem all ready for a scene in which Magda confesses the truth about her past life to her father.
Schwartze.Magda,—I want Magda.Marie.(Goes to the door and opens it.) She’s coming now,—down the stairs.Schwartze.So! (Pulls himself together with an effort.)Marie.(Clasping her hands.) Don’t hurt her!(Pauses with the door open. Magda is seen descending the stairs. She enters in travelling dress, hat in hand, very pale but calm.)Magda.I heard you call, father.Schwartze.I have something to say to you.Magda.And I to you.Schwartze.Go in,—into my room.Magda.Yes, father.(She goes to the door left. Schwartze follows her. Marie, who has drawn back frightened to the dining-room, makes an unseen gesture of entreaty.)62
Schwartze.Magda,—I want Magda.
Marie.(Goes to the door and opens it.) She’s coming now,—down the stairs.
Schwartze.So! (Pulls himself together with an effort.)
Marie.(Clasping her hands.) Don’t hurt her!
(Pauses with the door open. Magda is seen descending the stairs. She enters in travelling dress, hat in hand, very pale but calm.)
Magda.I heard you call, father.
Schwartze.I have something to say to you.
Magda.And I to you.
Schwartze.Go in,—into my room.
Magda.Yes, father.
(She goes to the door left. Schwartze follows her. Marie, who has drawn back frightened to the dining-room, makes an unseen gesture of entreaty.)62
Now, any interview between Magda and her father will both unduly lengthen an act already long and bring the play well into its final climax. Stopping the act here creates superb suspense. Starting a new act under slightly different conditions keeps all the suspense created by Act IV and intensifies it by new details. The new act gives us the chance easily to introduce von Keller, who is needed if the play is to be more than another treatment of the erring daughter confessing her sin to her father. Just through him comes emphasis which gives special meaning to the play. Therefore, we gain by postponing the full confession from the end of Act IV till well toward the end of Act V.
Evidently, climax rests on (a) right feeling for order in presenting ideas; (b) a correct sense of what is weaker and what is stronger in phrasing emotions; and (c) just appreciation ofthe feeling of the audience toward the emotions presented. For both clearness and climax it is usually a wise rule to consider but one idea at a time. In the following illustration, column 1 shows confusion, because three subjects—the fan, the greeting, and the compliment of Lady Windermere—are started at the same time. In column 2, quoted from Miss Anglin’s acting version ofLady Windermere’s Fan, treating each of these subjects in its natural sequence brings both clearness and climax.
In the next extract, note that omission of “I want to live childless still” and shifting the position of the words “For twenty years, as you say, I have lived childless” permit an actress to work up to the strongest climax of the speech, when spoken, “They made me suffer too much.” Miss Anglin, trained by years of experience to great sensitiveness to the emotional values of words, has here arranged the sentences better than the author himself.
When an eighteenth-century manager, in his production ofThe School for Scandal, had colored fire set off in the wings as the falling screen revealed Lady Teazle, he failed of his intended effect because he thought that for his audience the falling of the screen was climactic. Really, of course, the enjoyment of the audience, as it listens to the dialogue, knowing that Lady Teazle overhears, is the chief source of pleasure. It is the dismay of Sir Peter, when he sees who is really behind the screen, which makes the climax. That dismay is not greater against a background of red fire. Crowded with action as the end ofHamletis, we close it in acting, not on the fatal wounding of Hamlet, but either on his words, “The rest is silence,” or as the soldiers of Fortinbras march out with Hamlet’s body on their shields. Experience has proved that a stronger climax for an audience lies in those words or in seeing the procession which passes among the kneeling courtiers, stronger than from all the noisy emotions which have just preceded. In brief, except when we feel sure that we have made our feeling as to the emotions of a scene or act the public’s, it is they who must determine where the climax lies. Where it rests we must in all cases of doubt decide from our past experience of the public and present observation of it.
From all these illustrations it must be clear that the only rule for finding climax is: Understand clearly the audience for which you intend your play; create in it the sympathetic relation toward your characters you wish; then you may be sure that what seems to you a climax for your scene will be so for your audience.
Movement depends, then, on clearness, unity, emphasis, and a right feeling for suspense and climax. This movement may be steadily upward, as in the last scene ofHamlet, or it may have the wave-like advance found in Sigurjónsson’sEyvind of the Hills65or Sir Arthur Pinero’sThe Gay LordQuex. The emotional interest in each of these sweeps up to a pure climax, drops back part way for a fresh start, and then advances to a stronger climax.
Granted that a would-be playwright understands the proportioning of his work and the correct development of it for clearness, emphasis and movement, he is ready to repeat the words of Ibsen: “I have just completed a play in five acts, that is to say, the rough draft of it. Now comes the elaboration, the more energetic individualization of the persons, and their modes of expression.”66He is ready to perfect his characterization and dialogue.
1Ancient Classical Drama, chap.VII, “Elements of Comedy.” Moulton. Clarendon Press, Oxford.2The “Choephori” of Æschylus.Introduction, p. xvi. A. W. Verral. The Macmillan Co., New York.3The Rising of the Moon, Lady Gregory.Contemporary Dramatists. T. H. Dickinson, ed. Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.4Mme. Sans Gêne, Prologue, Scene 1. Sardou and Moreau. Samuel French, New York.5Lonely Lives, ActIV.The Dramatic Works of Gerhart Hauptmann, vol.III, p. 265. Ludwig Lewisohn, ed. B. W. Huebsch, New York.6Farces, “The Galloper,” ActI. Richard Harding Davis. Copyright, 1906, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.7The Lonely Way, etc.Three Plays by Arthur Schnitzler. Translated by E. Björkman. Mitchell Kennerley.8Phædra, ActI. Racine. Translated by R. B. Boswell.Chief European Dramatists.Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.9Works, vol. 3. W. Gifford and Dyce. Murray, London.10The Rehearsal, ActI. The Duke of Buckingham. Bell’sBritish Theatre, vol.XV. London, 1780.11The Lady of Andros, ActI. Terence. Translated by J. Sargeaunt. The Macmillan Co., New York; W. Heinemann, London.12The Lady of Andros, ActIII.13Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.14Théâtre Complet, vol.II. Calmann Lévy, Paris.15Théâtre, vol.II. Michel Lévy frères, Paris.16Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.17Magda, translated by A. E. A. Winslow. Lamson, Wolffe & Co., Boston.18From Ibsen’s Workshop, pp. 271-272. Translated by A. G. Chater. Copyright, 1911, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.19Idem, pp. 288-289.20Ibsen’s Prose Dramas, vol.V, Walter Scott, London; Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.21Letters of Henrik Ibsen, p. 291. Fox, Duffield & Co., New York.22Some Platitudes concerning Drama.Atlantic Monthly, December, 1909.23Othello, ActIII, Scene 3.24Lady Windermere’s Fan, ActI. Oscar Wilde. J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.25Duffield & Co., New York.26Plays.G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York.27Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.28The Trail of the Torch, Paul Hervieu. Translated by J. H. Haughton. Drama League Series, vol.XII. Doubleday Page & Co., New York.29The Dramatic Works of Gerhart Hauptmann, vol.VI, Introduction, p. xi, Ludwig Lewisohn, ed. B. W. Huebsch, New York.30The Macmillan Co. publish both forms.31Nathan Hale, ActIV, Scene 2. Clyde Fitch. Little, Brown & Co., Boston.32Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.33Idem.34Pp. 143-45. R. H. Russell, New York. Also published by Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.35ActIV, Scene 2. The Macmillan Co.36Contemporary Dramatists.Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.37J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.38Translated by May Hendee. Doubleday, McClure & Co., New York.39Plays of Oscar Wilde, vol.II. J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.40The Fantasticks, pp. 145-146. Translated by George Fleming. R. H. Russell, New York.41Samuel French, New York.42The Devonshire Hamlets, pp. 34-46. Sampson Low, Son & Co., London.43Letters of Bulwer-Lytton to Macready,LXIII. Brander Matthews, ed.44Hamburg Dramaturgy, p. 377. Lessing. Bohn, ed.45Play-Making, pp. 171-172. William Archer. Small, Maynard & Co., Boston.46The Troublesome Raigne of King Iohn, pp. 279-280;Shakespeare’s Library, vol.V. Reeves & Turner, London.47The Good Hope, ActIII. Herman Heijermans.The Drama, November, 1912.48See pp. 29-30.49Washington Square Plays; The Clod..\ Lewis Beach. Drama League Series, No.XX. Doubleday, Page & Co., New York.50The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson, pp. 210-211. Century Co., New York.51The DeWitt Publishing House, New York.52Monsieur Poirier’s Son-in-Law, ActI. Emile Augier. Translated by B. H. Clark. A. Knopf, New York.53The Amazons, ActIII. Sir Arthur Pinero. Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.54Herod, A Tragedy, Act.II. Stephen Phillips. John Lane, New York.55J. W. Luce & Co., Boston; Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd., London.56The Fantasticks, ActIII. Edmond Rostand. Translated by Geo. Fleming. R. H. Russell & Co., New York.57Morituri, Fritzshen, Herman-Sudermann. Translated by Archibald Alexander. Copyright, 1910, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.58Idem.59Letters of Bulwer-Lytton to Macready, Brander Matthews, ed.60Doubleday, Page & Co., New York.61Les Oberlé.René Bazin. Dramatized by E. Haraucourt. L’Illustration Théâtrale, December 9, 1905, p. 14.62Magda.Translated by C. E. A. Winslow. Lamson, Wolffe & Co., Boston.63Lady Windermere’s Fan, ActII. Oscar Wilde. Acting version as arranged by Miss Margaret Anglin.64Idem, ActIV. Acting version as arranged by Miss Margaret Anglin.65Eyvind of the Hills, J. Sigurjónsson. American Scandinavian Society, New York.66From Ibsen’s Workshop, p. 8. Copyright, 1911, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
1Ancient Classical Drama, chap.VII, “Elements of Comedy.” Moulton. Clarendon Press, Oxford.
2The “Choephori” of Æschylus.Introduction, p. xvi. A. W. Verral. The Macmillan Co., New York.
3The Rising of the Moon, Lady Gregory.Contemporary Dramatists. T. H. Dickinson, ed. Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.
4Mme. Sans Gêne, Prologue, Scene 1. Sardou and Moreau. Samuel French, New York.
5Lonely Lives, ActIV.The Dramatic Works of Gerhart Hauptmann, vol.III, p. 265. Ludwig Lewisohn, ed. B. W. Huebsch, New York.
6Farces, “The Galloper,” ActI. Richard Harding Davis. Copyright, 1906, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
7The Lonely Way, etc.Three Plays by Arthur Schnitzler. Translated by E. Björkman. Mitchell Kennerley.
8Phædra, ActI. Racine. Translated by R. B. Boswell.Chief European Dramatists.Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.
9Works, vol. 3. W. Gifford and Dyce. Murray, London.
10The Rehearsal, ActI. The Duke of Buckingham. Bell’sBritish Theatre, vol.XV. London, 1780.
11The Lady of Andros, ActI. Terence. Translated by J. Sargeaunt. The Macmillan Co., New York; W. Heinemann, London.
12The Lady of Andros, ActIII.
13Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.
14Théâtre Complet, vol.II. Calmann Lévy, Paris.
15Théâtre, vol.II. Michel Lévy frères, Paris.
16Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.
17Magda, translated by A. E. A. Winslow. Lamson, Wolffe & Co., Boston.
18From Ibsen’s Workshop, pp. 271-272. Translated by A. G. Chater. Copyright, 1911, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
19Idem, pp. 288-289.
20Ibsen’s Prose Dramas, vol.V, Walter Scott, London; Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
21Letters of Henrik Ibsen, p. 291. Fox, Duffield & Co., New York.
22Some Platitudes concerning Drama.Atlantic Monthly, December, 1909.
23Othello, ActIII, Scene 3.
24Lady Windermere’s Fan, ActI. Oscar Wilde. J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.
25Duffield & Co., New York.
26Plays.G. P. Putnam’s Sons, New York.
27Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.
28The Trail of the Torch, Paul Hervieu. Translated by J. H. Haughton. Drama League Series, vol.XII. Doubleday Page & Co., New York.
29The Dramatic Works of Gerhart Hauptmann, vol.VI, Introduction, p. xi, Ludwig Lewisohn, ed. B. W. Huebsch, New York.
30The Macmillan Co. publish both forms.
31Nathan Hale, ActIV, Scene 2. Clyde Fitch. Little, Brown & Co., Boston.
32Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston; W. Heinemann, London.
33Idem.
34Pp. 143-45. R. H. Russell, New York. Also published by Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.
35ActIV, Scene 2. The Macmillan Co.
36Contemporary Dramatists.Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.
37J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.
38Translated by May Hendee. Doubleday, McClure & Co., New York.
39Plays of Oscar Wilde, vol.II. J. W. Luce & Co., Boston.
40The Fantasticks, pp. 145-146. Translated by George Fleming. R. H. Russell, New York.
41Samuel French, New York.
42The Devonshire Hamlets, pp. 34-46. Sampson Low, Son & Co., London.
43Letters of Bulwer-Lytton to Macready,LXIII. Brander Matthews, ed.
44Hamburg Dramaturgy, p. 377. Lessing. Bohn, ed.
45Play-Making, pp. 171-172. William Archer. Small, Maynard & Co., Boston.
46The Troublesome Raigne of King Iohn, pp. 279-280;Shakespeare’s Library, vol.V. Reeves & Turner, London.
47The Good Hope, ActIII. Herman Heijermans.The Drama, November, 1912.
48See pp. 29-30.
49Washington Square Plays; The Clod..\ Lewis Beach. Drama League Series, No.XX. Doubleday, Page & Co., New York.
50The Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson, pp. 210-211. Century Co., New York.
51The DeWitt Publishing House, New York.
52Monsieur Poirier’s Son-in-Law, ActI. Emile Augier. Translated by B. H. Clark. A. Knopf, New York.
53The Amazons, ActIII. Sir Arthur Pinero. Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston.
54Herod, A Tragedy, Act.II. Stephen Phillips. John Lane, New York.
55J. W. Luce & Co., Boston; Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd., London.
56The Fantasticks, ActIII. Edmond Rostand. Translated by Geo. Fleming. R. H. Russell & Co., New York.
57Morituri, Fritzshen, Herman-Sudermann. Translated by Archibald Alexander. Copyright, 1910, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
58Idem.
59Letters of Bulwer-Lytton to Macready, Brander Matthews, ed.
60Doubleday, Page & Co., New York.
61Les Oberlé.René Bazin. Dramatized by E. Haraucourt. L’Illustration Théâtrale, December 9, 1905, p. 14.
62Magda.Translated by C. E. A. Winslow. Lamson, Wolffe & Co., Boston.
63Lady Windermere’s Fan, ActII. Oscar Wilde. Acting version as arranged by Miss Margaret Anglin.
64Idem, ActIV. Acting version as arranged by Miss Margaret Anglin.
65Eyvind of the Hills, J. Sigurjónsson. American Scandinavian Society, New York.
66From Ibsen’s Workshop, p. 8. Copyright, 1911, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons, New York.
CHAPTER VII
CHARACTERIZATION
Indrama, undoubtedly the strongest immediate appeal to the general public is action. Yet if a dramatist is to communicate with his audience as he wishes, command of dialogue is indispensable. The permanent value of a play, however, rests on its characterization. Characterization focuses attention. It is the chief means of creating in an audience sympathy for the subject or the people of the play. “A Lord,” “A Page,” in a pre-Shakespearean play usually was merely a speaker of lines and little, if at all, characterized. When Robert Greene or his contemporaries adapted such sources for their stage, with sure instinct for creating a greater interest in their public, they changed these prefixes to “Eustace,” “Jacques,” “Nano,” etc. Merely changing the name from type to individual called for individualization of character and usually brought it. Indeed, in drama, individualization is always the sign of developing art. In any country, the history of modern drama is a passing, under the influence of the audience, from abstractions and personifications, through type, to individualized character. In the Trope, cited p. 17, one Mary cannot be distinguished from another. In a later form it is not a particular unguent seller who meets the Maries on the way to the tomb, but a type,—Unguent Seller. When a writer of a Miracle Play first departed a little from the exact actions and dialogue of the Bible, it was to add abstractions—Justice, Virtue, etc.—or types: soldiers, shepherds, etc. From these he moved quickly or slowly, as he was more or less endowed dramatically, to figures individualized from types, such as the well-characterized shepherds ofthe Second Towneley Play. The Morality illustrates this same evolution even more clearly. Beginning with the pure abstractions ofMundus et InfansorMankindit passes through type characterization inLusty JuventusorHyckescornerto as well individualized figures as Delilah and Ishmael inThe Nice Wanton.1Abstractions permit an author to say what he pleases with the least possible thought for characterization. Type presents characteristics so marked that even the unobservant cannot have failed to discern them in their fellow men. Individualization differentiates within the types, running from broad distinctions to presentation of very subtle differences. Because individualization moves from the known to the less known or the unknown, it is harder for an audience to follow than type characterization, and far more difficult to write. However, he who cannot individualize character must keep to the broader kinds of melodrama and farce, and above all to that last asylum of time-honored types—musical comedy.
Fundamentally, type characterization rests on a false premise, namely, that every human being may be adequately represented by some dominant characteristic or small group of closely related characteristics. All the better recent drama emphasizes the comic or tragic conflict in human beings caused by many contradictory impulses and ideas, some mutually exclusive, some negativing others to a considerable extent, some apparently dormant for a time, yet ready to spring into great activity at unforeseen moments. Ben Jonson carried the false idea to an extreme when he wrote of his “humour” comedies:
In every human body,The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood,By reason that they flow continuallyIn some one part and are not continent,Receive the name of humours. Now thus farIt may, by metaphor, apply itselfUnto the general disposition:As when some one peculiar qualityDoth so possess a man that it doth drawAll his affects, his spirits and his powers,In his confluctions, all to run one way,This may be truly said to be a humour.2
In every human body,
The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood,
By reason that they flow continually
In some one part and are not continent,
Receive the name of humours. Now thus far
It may, by metaphor, apply itself
Unto the general disposition:
As when some one peculiar quality
Doth so possess a man that it doth draw
All his affects, his spirits and his powers,
In his confluctions, all to run one way,
This may be truly said to be a humour.2
Were Ben Jonson’s physiology sound, we should have, not occasional cranks and neurotics as now, but a race of nothing else. Today modern medical science has proved the bad physiology of his words, and dramatists have followed its lead.
What gave the type drama its great hold, in the Latin comedy of Plautus and Terence, in Ben Jonson and other Elizabethans, what keeps it alive today in the less artistic forms—broad farce, pure melodrama—is fourfold. Type characterization, exhibiting a figure wholly in one aspect, or through a small group of closely related characteristics, is easy to understand. Secondly, it is both easy to create, and, as Ben Jonson’s great following between 1605 and 1750 proves, even easier to imitate. Thirdly, farce and melodrama, indeed all drama depending predominantly on mere situation, may succeed, though lacking individualization of character, with any audience which, like the Roman or the Elizabethan, gladly hears the same stories or sees the same figures handled differently by different writers. Much in the plays of Reade, Tom Taylor, and Bulwer-Lytton3which passed, in the mid-nineteenth century, for real life, depending as it did on a characterization which barely rose above type, was only thinly disguised melodrama. The recent increasing response of the public tobetter characterization in both farce and melodrama has tended to lift the former into comedy, the latter into story-play and tragedy. Just here appears a fourth reason for the popularity of characterization by types. Though entertaining plays may be presented successfully with type characterization only, no dramatist with inborn or acquired ability to characterize, can hold consistently to types. Observation, interpretative insight, or a flash of sympathy will advance him now and again, as Jonson was advanced more than once, to real individualization of character. Contrast the thoroughly real Subtle, Face, and Doll ofThe Alchemist4with the types, Ananias and Sir Epicure Mammon; contrast the masterly, if very brief, characterization of Ursula inBartholomew Fair5with the mere type of Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. An uncritical audience responding to the best characterization in a play, overlooks the merely typical quality of the other figures. That is, the long vogue of types upon the stage rests upon ease of comprehension, entire adequacy for some crude dramatic forms, ease of imitation, and a constant tendency in a dramatist of ability to rise to higher levels of characterization. Now that we are more and more dissatisfied with types in plays making any claim to realism, the keen distinction first laid down by Mr. William Archer in hisPlay-Makingbecomes essential. If type presents a single characteristic or group of intimately related characteristics, “character drawing is the presentment of human nature in its commonly recognized, understood, and accepted aspects; psychology is, as it were, the exploration of character, the bringing of hitherto unsurveyed tracts within the circle of our knowledge and comprehension.”6Mr. Galsworthy inThe Silver BoxandJusticeMr. Archer regards as a drawer of character; inStrife7as a psychologist. He holds Sir Arthur Pinero a characterizer of great versatility who becomes a psychologist in some of his studies of feminine types—in Iris, in Letty, in the heroine ofMid-Channel.8By this distinction, most good drama shows character drawing; only the great work, psychology.
Drama which does not rise above interest in its action rests, as has been said, on the idea that most people are simple, uncomplicated, and easy to understand. Great drama depends on a firm grasp and sure presentation of complicated character, but of course a dramatist has a perfect right to say that, though he knows his hero—Cyrano de Bergerac, for instance—may have had many characteristics, it is enough for the purpose of his play to represent the vanity, the audacity, and the underlying tenderness of the man. It is undeniable, too, that particular characteristics of ours may be so strong that other characteristics will not prevent them from taking us into sufficient dramatic complications to make a good play. In such a case, the dramatist who is not primarily writing for characterization will present the characteristics creating his desired situations, and let all others go. Conversely, he who cares most for characterization will try so to present even minor qualities that the perfect portrait of an individual will be recognized. Often, however, the happenings of a play may seem to an audience incompatible, that is, the character in one place may seem to contradict himself as presented elsewhere. Just here is where the psychologist in the dramatist, stepping to the front, must convince his audience that there is only a seeming contradiction. Otherwise, the play falls promptly to the level of simple melodrama or farce. Thatis, the character-drawer paints his portrait, knowing that, if it is well done, its life-likeness will at once be recognized. The psychologist, knowing that the life-likeness will not be readily admitted, by illustrative action throws light on his character till his point is won. Our final judgment of characterization must depend on whether the author is obviously trying to present a completely rounded figure or only chosen aspects.
Thus the old statement, “Know thyself,” becomes for the dramatist “Know your characters as intimately as possible.” Too many beginners in play-writing who care more for situation than for character, sketch in a figure with the idea that they may safely leave it to the actor to “fill out the part.” When brought to book they say: “I felt sure the actor in his larger experience, catching my idea—you do think it was clearly stated, don’t you?—would fill it out perfectly, and be glad of the freedom.” Were modesty the real basis for this kind of work, there might be good in it; but what really lies behind it are two great foes of good dramatic writing: haste or incompetence. The interest and the delight of a dramatist in studying people should lie in accurate conveying to others of their contradictions, their deterioration or growth as time passes, the outcropping of characteristics in them for which our observation has not prepared us. Nobody who really cares for characterization wants somebody else to do it for him. Nobody who has really entered into his characters thoroughly will for a moment be satisfied to sketch broad outlines and let the actor fill in details. Rarely, however, does the self-deceived author of such slovenly work deceive his audience. It meets at their hands the condemnation it deserves. Such an author assumes that in all the parts of his play, actors of marked ability and keen intelligence will be cast. Only in the rarest cases does that happen. Many actors may notsee the full significance of the outlines. Others, whether they see them or not, will develop a character so as to get as swiftly as possible effects not intended by the author but for which they, as actors, are specially famous. Such a playwright must, then, contend, except in specially fortunate circumstances, against possible dullness, indifference, and distortion. It is the merest common sense so to present characters that a cast of average ability, or a stage manager of no extraordinary imagination may understand and represent them with at least approximate correctness, rather than so to write that only a group of creative artists can do any justice to the play. Clear and definitive characterization never hampers the best actors: for actors not the best it is absolutely necessary unless intended values are to be blurred.
It frequently happens that a writer whose dialogue is good and who has enough dramatic situations finds himself unable to push ahead. He knows broadly what he wants a scene to be, but somehow cannot make his characters move freely and naturally in it. Above all, the minor transitional scenes prove strangely difficult to write. Of course a scene or act may be thus clogged because the writer is mentally fagged. If, when a writer certainly is not tired, or when, after rest, he cannot with two or three sustained attempts develop a scene, the difficulty is not far to seek. In real life do we surely find out about people at our first, second, or even third meeting? Only if the people are of the simplest and most self-revelatory kind. The difficulty in these clogged scenes usually is that the author is treating the situation as if it were not the creation of the people in it, and as if a skilful writer could force any group of people into any situation. As Mr. Galsworthy has pointed out, “character is situation.”9The latter exists because someone is what heis and so has inner conflict, or clashes with another person, or with his environment. Change his character a little and the situation must change. Involve more people in it, and immediately their very presence, affecting the people originally in the scene, will change the situation. In the left-hand column of what follows, the Queen, though she has one speech, in no way affects the scene: the situation is treated for itself, and barely. In the right-hand column, the Queen becomes an individual whose presence affects the speeches of the King and Hamlet. Because she is what she is, Hamlet addresses to her some of the lines which in the first version he spoke to the King: result, a scene far more effective emotionally.
King.Tis sweete and commendable in your nature Hamlet,To give these mourning duties to your fatherBut you must knowe your father lost a father,That father lost, lost his, and the surviver boundIn filliall obligation for some tearmeTo do obsequious sorrowe, but to perseverIn obstinate condolement, is a courseOf impious stubbornes ... etc.
Inexperienced dramatists too often forget that a character who is simply one of several in a scene may not act as he would alone.