CHAPTER VIII
DIALOGUE
Moderndramatic dialogue had beginnings far from realistic. It originated, as the Latin tropes show, in speeches given in unison and to music—a kind of recitative. What was the aim of this earliest dramatic dialogue? It sought to convey, first, last, and always, the facts of the episode or incident represented: “Whom seek ye here, O Christians? Jesus of Nazareth, the Crucified, O Heavenly Ones.” And that is what good dramatic dialogue has always done, is doing, and must always do as its chief work—state clearly the facts which an auditor must understand if the play is to move ahead steadily and clearly. Already enough has been said (chapter VI, pp. 154-183) as to the need of clear preliminary and later exposition to show how axiomatic is the statement that the chief purpose of good dialogue is to convey necessary information clearly.
Even, however, when dialogue is clear in its statement of needed information, it may still be confusing for reader or hearer. What is the trouble with the text in the left-hand column—from an early draft of a play dealing with John Brown and his fortunes?
SCENE:The Prison at Harper’s Ferry
There are several faults in the original dialogue, but perhaps the chief is not regarding the principle that clearness dramatically consists, not merely in stating needed facts, but in so stating them that interest is not allowed to lapse. The original dialogue was scrappy, lacking sequence, not so much of thought as of emotion. If it be said that at such a moment talk is often fitful, it must be remembered that our time-limits forbid giving every word said in such a scene.We must present merely its essentials. Only in that way may a play, a condensed presentation of life, hope to give a total effect for a scene equal to that of the original. The re-ordered dialogue of the right-hand column seeks merely to bring together ideas really closely related, and to move, in a way in keeping with the characters, from lesser to stronger emotion. With the disappearance of the scrappy effect, is not the result clearer? Even now, the dialogue might well be condensed and made emotionally more significant.
If we let the dialogue of a play merely state necessary facts, what is the result? At the worst, something like the left-hand column. Two young women, one the married hostess and the other the friend of her girlhood, are opening their morning mail on the piazza. Serena, the hostess, has known nothing of the engagement of Elise to Teddy.
From the left-hand column we surely do learn that a before-mentioned Teddy has been in South Africa; that he and a certain Aunt Deborah have quarreled; and that though she particularly does not wish to meet Teddy, she is coming, as he is, to visit at this house—three important points. Like everyday speech, the quoted dialogue lacks compactness. Let us first, therefore, cut out all that is not absolutely necessary. We do not need, in the first speech of Elise, anything more than the query, “Yes?” The inflection will give the rest. In the second speech of Serena we can cut “to South Africa,” for we have already mentioned where Teddy has been. In the second speech of Elise, it is the words “It must be all made up now” that are important. What precedes and what follows may be omitted. Similarly, in the first and second speeches of Serena, it is the first and the third sentences which are important. The second, if given, really anticipates an effect which will be stronger later. If we change the second speech from a query to an assertion or an exclamation, we shall gain and slightly condense. It will then read, “Aunt Deborah had a terrible quarrel with Teddy just before he went!” Because we have cut the last speech of Elise, the first sentence of the next speech of Serena becomes unnecessary. It will be necessary, however, to re-phrase what remains of this final speech, so hard is it to deliver. The revised dialogue may still be poor enough, but it says all the original did in less space—that is condensation. The effect is better because we have cut out some parts, and have slightly changed others. That is selection. The slight changes have been made in order to make the sequence of ideas clearer, to suggest emotion more clearly, or to make the dialogue natural—and all that means the beginning of characterization. The final word on this dialogue is, however, that even now either speaker could utter the words of the other,and that is all wrong. Clearly, then, even in stating facts, dialogue may be bad, indifferent, and good.
The following opening of a Japanese No drama shows that even more trained writers may write dialogue with no virtue except its clearness:
TWO HEARTSA drama by J. MushakojiSCENE:A forest glade on the nobleman’s estate. A cross for crucifixion in the foreground. Two men A and B standing on either side of the cross holding spears.A.That fellow has behaved foolishly!B.Yes, and the girl also.A.It was certain that they would be killed when found out.B.And nothing could prevent the discovery.A.Our master is extremely indignant.B.There has not been one person crucified since the present lord succeeded.A.Although the stewards have assured him that it is the established law of the land, the present master has never given permission for the punishment of criminals by crucifixion and fire. But now he has announced that he will kill them in this manner, and we are commissioned to carry out the disagreeable duty.B.Even though we refused to obey the command at first and requested him to excuse us he would not listen to our petition.A.The master must have been very fond of this young girl.B.Yes. Rumour has it that he became attached to her while the late mistress was still living.A.He did not care very much for his wife. Anyway, she was too inferior to be his companion.B.It was said that he did not grieve over her death.A.And I have heard that the girl fainted when her mistress died.B.She must have been a favourite among the other attendants who accompanied the lady when she became the wife of the lord.A.She was clever and pretty and had a strong character.B.Why did the girl fall in love with that fellow, I wonder?A.He is the kind of a man a woman admires.B.And because the girl loved him he now receives such severe punishment.A.We can never tell. What seems good luck may mean unexpected misfortune.B.She would have been happier if she had obeyed the master’s will instead of rejecting him.A.Probably she did not like him.B.But he seemed to care a great deal for her.A.It may not be right to say so, but his decision seems to have been taken because of his jealousy.B.Yes, that is true. I wonder why he has commanded us to prepare only one cross.A.Perhaps it is his plan to save one of them.B.I don’t think that could be done very well.A.But someone said the master told the girl that he would save her life if she would only desert the young man for him.B.That may be so. Perhaps he intends to crucify the young man first in the presence of the girl so as to break her obstinate spirit and thus gain her love.A.That may be so.B.It is said that the young man has already repented of his love for the girl. But she was not at all frightened when the punishment was announced and she was informed that she was to be crucified. The man, on the contrary, at once turned white and almost fainted when he heard the judgment passed upon him.A.But a woman is much braver in love affairs than a man.B.You speak as though you had had experience!A.Ha! Ha! Ha!B.Perhaps the master wishes to kill the young man in as cruel a manner as possible.A.Hush! The lord is here! We are now obliged to remain silent and witness a living drama.B.And we have a dreadful task to perform.1
TWO HEARTS
A drama by J. Mushakoji
SCENE:A forest glade on the nobleman’s estate. A cross for crucifixion in the foreground. Two men A and B standing on either side of the cross holding spears.
A.That fellow has behaved foolishly!
B.Yes, and the girl also.
A.It was certain that they would be killed when found out.
B.And nothing could prevent the discovery.
A.Our master is extremely indignant.
B.There has not been one person crucified since the present lord succeeded.
A.Although the stewards have assured him that it is the established law of the land, the present master has never given permission for the punishment of criminals by crucifixion and fire. But now he has announced that he will kill them in this manner, and we are commissioned to carry out the disagreeable duty.
B.Even though we refused to obey the command at first and requested him to excuse us he would not listen to our petition.
A.The master must have been very fond of this young girl.
B.Yes. Rumour has it that he became attached to her while the late mistress was still living.
A.He did not care very much for his wife. Anyway, she was too inferior to be his companion.
B.It was said that he did not grieve over her death.
A.And I have heard that the girl fainted when her mistress died.
B.She must have been a favourite among the other attendants who accompanied the lady when she became the wife of the lord.
A.She was clever and pretty and had a strong character.
B.Why did the girl fall in love with that fellow, I wonder?
A.He is the kind of a man a woman admires.
B.And because the girl loved him he now receives such severe punishment.
A.We can never tell. What seems good luck may mean unexpected misfortune.
B.She would have been happier if she had obeyed the master’s will instead of rejecting him.
A.Probably she did not like him.
B.But he seemed to care a great deal for her.
A.It may not be right to say so, but his decision seems to have been taken because of his jealousy.
B.Yes, that is true. I wonder why he has commanded us to prepare only one cross.
A.Perhaps it is his plan to save one of them.
B.I don’t think that could be done very well.
A.But someone said the master told the girl that he would save her life if she would only desert the young man for him.
B.That may be so. Perhaps he intends to crucify the young man first in the presence of the girl so as to break her obstinate spirit and thus gain her love.
A.That may be so.
B.It is said that the young man has already repented of his love for the girl. But she was not at all frightened when the punishment was announced and she was informed that she was to be crucified. The man, on the contrary, at once turned white and almost fainted when he heard the judgment passed upon him.
A.But a woman is much braver in love affairs than a man.
B.You speak as though you had had experience!
A.Ha! Ha! Ha!
B.Perhaps the master wishes to kill the young man in as cruel a manner as possible.
A.Hush! The lord is here! We are now obliged to remain silent and witness a living drama.
B.And we have a dreadful task to perform.1
Though this omits nothing in the way of necessary information, how colorless it is! When we note how perfectly either A or B could speak the lines of the other, we see where the difficulty lies. The lines lack all characterization. The history of the drama shows that while the facts of aplay may be interesting in themselves, they are much more interesting to an audience which hears them as they present themselves to well-defined characters of the story. It is axiomatic that sympathy quickens interest. Take a much better known illustration of the same point. The left-hand column gives the opening lines of the first quarto,Hamlet. The right-hand column shows the opening of the second quarto.
The first of these extracts, without question gives the necessary facts of the changing of the watch. It busies itself only with this absolutely necessary action. The second quarto identifies the speakers, and, by a different phrasing with additional lines, both characterizes them and gives the scene atmosphere. Study the re-phrasings and bracketed additions of the second scene—“Nay answere me,” “Tis bitter cold,” “Not a mouse stirring”—and note that this dialogue gains over the first in that it interests by what it adds as much as by the essential action.
A second quotation fromHamletin the two quartos illustrates the same point even better. The text in the left-hand column, merely stating the facts necessary to the movement of the scene, leaves to the actor all characterizing of Montano, and gives the player of Corambis only the barest hints. The second quarto text, in the right-hand column, makes Polonius so garrulous that he cannot keep track of his own ideas; shows his pride in his would-be shrewdness; indeed, rounds him out into a real character. It even makes Reynaldo a man who does not yield at once, but a person of honorable instincts who is overborne. Can there be any question which scene holds the attention better?
Even the dialogue, which with broad characterization states necessary facts clearly, is by no means so effective as dialogue so absorbing by its characterization that we assimilate the facts unconsciously. Contrast the opening ofThe Good Natur’d Manwith that ofHindle Wakes. The first is so busy in characterizing an absent but important figure that it presents the two speakers only in the broadest way. That is, exposition exists here as its only excuse for being. InHindle Wakes, the rapid development of an interesting situation through two characters who as individuals become more distinct and interesting with every line, probably conceals from most auditors or readers the fact that seven important bits of information are given before Fanny enters.
ACT ISCENE—An apartment in Young Honeywood’s houseEnter Sir William Honeywood, JarvisSir William.Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this honest bluntness. Fidelity like yours is the best excuse for every freedom.Jarvis.I can’t help being blunt, and being very angry, too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, my master. All the world loves him.Sir Will.Say, rather, that he loves all the world; that is his fault.Jarv.I’m sure there is no part of it more dear to him than you are, tho’ he has not seen you since he was a child.Sir Will.What signifies his affection to me, or how can I be proud of a place in a heart where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy entrance?Jarv.I grant you that he’s rather too good natur’d; that he’s too much every man’s man; that he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with another; but whose instructions may he thank for all this?Sir Will.Not mine, sure? My letters to him during my employment in Italy taught him only that philosophy which might prevent, not defend his errors.Jarv.Faith, begging your honour’s pardon, I’m sorry they taught him any philosophy at all; it has only served to spoil him. This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey. For my own part, whenever I hear him mention the name on’t, I’m always sure he’s going to play the fool.Sir Will.Don’t let us ascribe his faults to his philosophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis, his good nature rises rather from his fears of offending the importunate, than his desire of making the deserving happy.Jarv.What it arises from, I don’t know. But to be sure, everybody has it that asks it.Sir Will.Ay, or that does not ask it. I have been now for some time a concealed spectator of his follies, and find them as boundless as his dissipation.Jarv.And yet, faith, he has some fine name or other for them all. He calls his extravagance generosity; and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence. It was but last week he went security for a fellow whose face he scarce knew, and that he call’d an act of exalted mu-mu-munificence; ay, that was the name he gave it.Sir Will.And upon that I proceed, as my last effort, tho’ with very little hopes to reclaim him. That very fellow has just absconded, and I have taken up the security. Now, my intention is to involve him in fictitious distress, before he has plunged himself into real calamity. To arrest him for that very debt, to clap an officer upon him, and then let him see which of his friends will come to his relief.4ACT I. SCENE 1The scene is triangular, representing a corner of the living-room of No. 137, Burnley Road, Hindle, a house rented for about 7s. 6d. a week. In the left-hand wall, low down, there is a door leading to the scullery. In the same wall, but further away from the spectator, is a window looking on to the backyard. A dresser stands in front of the window. About half-way up the right-hand wall is the door leading to the hall or passage. Nearer, against the same wall, a high cupboard for china and crockery. The fire-place is not visible, being in one of the walls not represented. However, down in the L. corner of the stage is an arm-chair, which stands by the hearth. In the middle of the room is a square table, with chairs on each side. The room is cheerful and comfortable. It is nine o’clock on a warm August evening. Through the window can be seen the darkening sky, as the blind is not drawn. Against the sky an outline of roof tops and mill chimneys. The only light is the dim twilight from the open window. Thunder is in the air. When the curtain rises, Christopher Hawthorn, a decent, white-bearded man of nearly fifty, is sitting in the arm-chair, smoking a pipe. Mrs. Hawthorn, a keen, sharp-faced woman of fifty-five, is standing, gazing out of the window. There is a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder far away.Mrs. Hawthorn.It’s passing over. There’ll be no rain.Christopher.Ay! We could do with some rain.(There is a flash of lightning.)Chris.Pull down the blind and light the gas.Mrs. H.What for?Chris.It’s more cozy-like with the gas.Mrs. H.You’re not afraid of the lightning?Chris.I want to look at that railway guide.Mrs. H.What’s the good. We’ve looked at it twice already. There’s no train from Blackpool till half-past ten, and it’s only just on nine now.Chris.Happen we’ve made a mistake.Mrs. H.Happen we’ve not. Besides, what’s the good of a railway guide? You know trains run as they like on Bank Holiday.Chris.Ay! Perhaps you’re right. You don’t think she’ll come round by Manchester!Mrs. H.What would she be doing coming round by Manchester?Chris.You can get that road from Blackpool.Mrs. H.Yes. If she’s coming from Blackpool.Chris.Have you thought she may not come at all?Mrs. H.(Grimly.) What do you take me for?Chris.You never hinted.Mrs. H.No use putting them sort of ideas into your head.(Another flash and a peal of thunder.)Chris.Well, well, those are lucky who haven’t to travel at all on Bank Holiday.Mrs. H.Unless they’ve got a motor car, like Nat Jeffcote’s lad.Chris.Nay,he’snot got one.Mrs. H.What? Why I saw him with my own eyes setting out in it last Saturday week after the mill shut.Chris.Ay! He’s gone off these Wakes with his pal George Ramsbottom. A couple of thick beggars, those two!Mrs. H.Then what do you mean telling me he’s not got a motor car?Chris.I said he hadn’t got one of his own. It’s his father’s. You don’t catch Nat Jeffcote parting with owt before his time. That’s how he holds his lad in check, as you might say.Mrs. H.Alan Jeffcote’s seldom short of cash. He spends plenty.Chris.Ay! Nat gives him what he asks for, and doesn’t want to know how he spends it either. But he’sgotto ask for it first. Nat can stop supplies any time if he’s a mind.Mrs. H.That’s likely, isn’t it?Chris.Queerer things have happened. You don’t know Nat like I do. He’s a bad one to get across with.(Another flash and gentle peal. Mrs. H. gets up.)Mrs. H.I’ll light the gas.(She pulls down the blind and lights the gas.)Chris.When I met Nat this morning he told me that Alan had telegraphed from Llandudno on Saturday asking for twenty pounds.Mrs. H.From Llandudno?Chris.Ay! Reckon he’s been stopping there. Run short of brass.Mrs. H.And did he send it?Chris.Of course he sent it. Nat doesn’t stint the lad. (He laughs quietly.) Eh, but hecanget through it, though!Mrs. H.Look here. What are you going to say to Fanny when she comes?Chris.Ask her where she’s been?Mrs. H.Ask her where she’s been. Of course we’ll do that. But suppose she won’t tell us?Chris.She’s always been a good girl.Mrs. H.She’s always gone her own road. Suppose she tells us to mind our own business?Chris.I reckon itismy business to know what she’s been up to.Mrs. H.Don’t you forget it. And don’t let her forget it either. If you do, I promise you I won’t.Chris.All right. Where’s that post-card?Mrs. H.Little good taking heed of that.(Christopher rises and gets a picture post-card from the dresser.)Chris.(Reading.) She’ll be home before late on Monday. Lovely weather. (Looking at the picture.) North Pier, Blackpool. Very like, too.Mrs. H.(Suddenly.) Let’s have a look. When was it posted?Chris.It’s dated Sunday.Mrs. H.That’s nowt to go by. Any one can put the wrong date. What’s the postmark? (She scrutinizes it.) “August 5th, summatP.M.” I can’t make out the time.Chris.August 5th. That was yesterday all right. There’d only be one post on Sunday.Mrs. H.Then she was in Blackpool till yesterday, that’s certain.Chris.Ay!Mrs. H.Well, it’s a mystery.Chris.(Shaking his head.) Or summat worse.Mrs. H.Eh? You don’t thinkthat, eh?Chris.I don’t know what to think.Mrs. H.Nor me neither.(They sit silent for a time. There is a rumble of thunder, far away. After it has died away, a knock is heard at the front door. They turn and look at each other. Mrs. Hawthorn rises and goes out in silence. In a few moments, Fanny Hawthorn comes in, followed by Mrs. Hawthorn.)5
ACT I
SCENE—An apartment in Young Honeywood’s house
Enter Sir William Honeywood, Jarvis
Sir William.Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this honest bluntness. Fidelity like yours is the best excuse for every freedom.
Jarvis.I can’t help being blunt, and being very angry, too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, my master. All the world loves him.
Sir Will.Say, rather, that he loves all the world; that is his fault.
Jarv.I’m sure there is no part of it more dear to him than you are, tho’ he has not seen you since he was a child.
Sir Will.What signifies his affection to me, or how can I be proud of a place in a heart where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy entrance?
Jarv.I grant you that he’s rather too good natur’d; that he’s too much every man’s man; that he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with another; but whose instructions may he thank for all this?
Sir Will.Not mine, sure? My letters to him during my employment in Italy taught him only that philosophy which might prevent, not defend his errors.
Jarv.Faith, begging your honour’s pardon, I’m sorry they taught him any philosophy at all; it has only served to spoil him. This same philosophy is a good horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey. For my own part, whenever I hear him mention the name on’t, I’m always sure he’s going to play the fool.
Sir Will.Don’t let us ascribe his faults to his philosophy, I entreat you. No, Jarvis, his good nature rises rather from his fears of offending the importunate, than his desire of making the deserving happy.
Jarv.What it arises from, I don’t know. But to be sure, everybody has it that asks it.
Sir Will.Ay, or that does not ask it. I have been now for some time a concealed spectator of his follies, and find them as boundless as his dissipation.
Jarv.And yet, faith, he has some fine name or other for them all. He calls his extravagance generosity; and his trusting everybody, universal benevolence. It was but last week he went security for a fellow whose face he scarce knew, and that he call’d an act of exalted mu-mu-munificence; ay, that was the name he gave it.
Sir Will.And upon that I proceed, as my last effort, tho’ with very little hopes to reclaim him. That very fellow has just absconded, and I have taken up the security. Now, my intention is to involve him in fictitious distress, before he has plunged himself into real calamity. To arrest him for that very debt, to clap an officer upon him, and then let him see which of his friends will come to his relief.4
ACT I. SCENE 1
The scene is triangular, representing a corner of the living-room of No. 137, Burnley Road, Hindle, a house rented for about 7s. 6d. a week. In the left-hand wall, low down, there is a door leading to the scullery. In the same wall, but further away from the spectator, is a window looking on to the backyard. A dresser stands in front of the window. About half-way up the right-hand wall is the door leading to the hall or passage. Nearer, against the same wall, a high cupboard for china and crockery. The fire-place is not visible, being in one of the walls not represented. However, down in the L. corner of the stage is an arm-chair, which stands by the hearth. In the middle of the room is a square table, with chairs on each side. The room is cheerful and comfortable. It is nine o’clock on a warm August evening. Through the window can be seen the darkening sky, as the blind is not drawn. Against the sky an outline of roof tops and mill chimneys. The only light is the dim twilight from the open window. Thunder is in the air. When the curtain rises, Christopher Hawthorn, a decent, white-bearded man of nearly fifty, is sitting in the arm-chair, smoking a pipe. Mrs. Hawthorn, a keen, sharp-faced woman of fifty-five, is standing, gazing out of the window. There is a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder far away.
Mrs. Hawthorn.It’s passing over. There’ll be no rain.
Christopher.Ay! We could do with some rain.
(There is a flash of lightning.)
Chris.Pull down the blind and light the gas.
Mrs. H.What for?
Chris.It’s more cozy-like with the gas.
Mrs. H.You’re not afraid of the lightning?
Chris.I want to look at that railway guide.
Mrs. H.What’s the good. We’ve looked at it twice already. There’s no train from Blackpool till half-past ten, and it’s only just on nine now.
Chris.Happen we’ve made a mistake.
Mrs. H.Happen we’ve not. Besides, what’s the good of a railway guide? You know trains run as they like on Bank Holiday.
Chris.Ay! Perhaps you’re right. You don’t think she’ll come round by Manchester!
Mrs. H.What would she be doing coming round by Manchester?
Chris.You can get that road from Blackpool.
Mrs. H.Yes. If she’s coming from Blackpool.
Chris.Have you thought she may not come at all?
Mrs. H.(Grimly.) What do you take me for?
Chris.You never hinted.
Mrs. H.No use putting them sort of ideas into your head.
(Another flash and a peal of thunder.)
Chris.Well, well, those are lucky who haven’t to travel at all on Bank Holiday.
Mrs. H.Unless they’ve got a motor car, like Nat Jeffcote’s lad.
Chris.Nay,he’snot got one.
Mrs. H.What? Why I saw him with my own eyes setting out in it last Saturday week after the mill shut.
Chris.Ay! He’s gone off these Wakes with his pal George Ramsbottom. A couple of thick beggars, those two!
Mrs. H.Then what do you mean telling me he’s not got a motor car?
Chris.I said he hadn’t got one of his own. It’s his father’s. You don’t catch Nat Jeffcote parting with owt before his time. That’s how he holds his lad in check, as you might say.
Mrs. H.Alan Jeffcote’s seldom short of cash. He spends plenty.
Chris.Ay! Nat gives him what he asks for, and doesn’t want to know how he spends it either. But he’sgotto ask for it first. Nat can stop supplies any time if he’s a mind.
Mrs. H.That’s likely, isn’t it?
Chris.Queerer things have happened. You don’t know Nat like I do. He’s a bad one to get across with.
(Another flash and gentle peal. Mrs. H. gets up.)
Mrs. H.I’ll light the gas.
(She pulls down the blind and lights the gas.)
Chris.When I met Nat this morning he told me that Alan had telegraphed from Llandudno on Saturday asking for twenty pounds.
Mrs. H.From Llandudno?
Chris.Ay! Reckon he’s been stopping there. Run short of brass.
Mrs. H.And did he send it?
Chris.Of course he sent it. Nat doesn’t stint the lad. (He laughs quietly.) Eh, but hecanget through it, though!
Mrs. H.Look here. What are you going to say to Fanny when she comes?
Chris.Ask her where she’s been?
Mrs. H.Ask her where she’s been. Of course we’ll do that. But suppose she won’t tell us?
Chris.She’s always been a good girl.
Mrs. H.She’s always gone her own road. Suppose she tells us to mind our own business?
Chris.I reckon itismy business to know what she’s been up to.
Mrs. H.Don’t you forget it. And don’t let her forget it either. If you do, I promise you I won’t.
Chris.All right. Where’s that post-card?
Mrs. H.Little good taking heed of that.
(Christopher rises and gets a picture post-card from the dresser.)
Chris.(Reading.) She’ll be home before late on Monday. Lovely weather. (Looking at the picture.) North Pier, Blackpool. Very like, too.
Mrs. H.(Suddenly.) Let’s have a look. When was it posted?
Chris.It’s dated Sunday.
Mrs. H.That’s nowt to go by. Any one can put the wrong date. What’s the postmark? (She scrutinizes it.) “August 5th, summatP.M.” I can’t make out the time.
Chris.August 5th. That was yesterday all right. There’d only be one post on Sunday.
Mrs. H.Then she was in Blackpool till yesterday, that’s certain.
Chris.Ay!
Mrs. H.Well, it’s a mystery.
Chris.(Shaking his head.) Or summat worse.
Mrs. H.Eh? You don’t thinkthat, eh?
Chris.I don’t know what to think.
Mrs. H.Nor me neither.
(They sit silent for a time. There is a rumble of thunder, far away. After it has died away, a knock is heard at the front door. They turn and look at each other. Mrs. Hawthorn rises and goes out in silence. In a few moments, Fanny Hawthorn comes in, followed by Mrs. Hawthorn.)5
What usually keeps a writer from passing to well characterized dialogue from dialogue merely clear as to essential facts is that he is so bound to his facts that he sees rather than feels the scene. The chief trouble with the dialogue of the John Brown play was an attempt to keep so close to historical accounts of the particular incident that sympathetic imagination was benumbed. One constantly meets this fault in the earlier Miracle Plays before writers had come to understand that audiences care more for the human being in the situation than for the situation itself, and that only by representing a situation not for itself but as felt by the people involved can it be made fully interesting. At the left is a speech of Mary inThe Crucifixionof the York Cycle; at the right is her speech in the Hegge or so-called Coventry Plays.
The writer of the Hegge speech had discovered long before Ralph Waldo Emerson that the secret of good dialogue is “truth carried alive into the heart by passion.” The second requisite, then, of good dialogue is that it must be kindled by feeling, made alive by the emotion of the speaker. For the would-be dramatist the secret is so to know his characters that facts are not mere facts, but conditions moving him because they move the characters he perfectly understands. As he interprets between character and audience, he must be like Planchette or the clairvoyant, the creature of another’s will, whose ideas and emotions rather than his own he tries with all the power that is in him to convey. In brief, then, though it is absolutely necessary that dialogue give the facts as to what happens, who the people are, their relations to one another, etc., it is better dialogue if, while doing all this, it seems to be busied only with characterization.
Unassigned dialogue usually makes a reader or hearer promptly recognize his preference for characterized rather than uncharacterized speech. When a group, as in many stage mobs, speaks in chorus, or at best in sections, the result is unreality for many hearers and absurdity for the more critical. Every hearer knows that people do not really, when part of a mob, say absolutely the same thing, and rarely speak in perfect unison. Common sense cries out for individualization among the possible speakers. When we read the following extract from Andreiev’sLife of Man, we may agree with what is apparently the author’s idea, that it makes no difference which one of the speakers delivers a particular line or sentence; but the moment the scene is staged everything changes.
A profound darkness within which nothing moves. Then there can be dimly perceived the outlines of a large, high room and the grey silhouettes of Old Women in strange garments who resemble a troop ofgrey, hiding mice. In low voices and with laughter to and fro the Old Women converse.·········When they sent him to the drug store for some medicine he rode up and down past the store for two hours and could not remember what he wanted. So he came back.(Subdued laughter. The crying again becomes louder and then dies away. Silence.)What has happened to her? Perhaps she is already dead.No, in that case we should hear weeping. The doctor would run out and begin to talk nonsense, and they would bring out her husband unconscious, and we should have our hands full. No, she is not dead.Then why are we sitting here?Ask Him. How should we know?He won’t tell.He won’t tell. He tells nothing.He drives us here and there. He rouses us from our beds and makes us watch, and then it turns out that there was no need of our coming.We came of our own accord. Didn’t we come of our own accord? You must be fair to Him. There, she is crying again. Aren’t you satisfied?Areyou?I am saying nothing. I am saying nothing and waiting.How kind-hearted you are!(Laughter. The cries become louder.)8
A profound darkness within which nothing moves. Then there can be dimly perceived the outlines of a large, high room and the grey silhouettes of Old Women in strange garments who resemble a troop ofgrey, hiding mice. In low voices and with laughter to and fro the Old Women converse.
·········
When they sent him to the drug store for some medicine he rode up and down past the store for two hours and could not remember what he wanted. So he came back.
(Subdued laughter. The crying again becomes louder and then dies away. Silence.)
What has happened to her? Perhaps she is already dead.
No, in that case we should hear weeping. The doctor would run out and begin to talk nonsense, and they would bring out her husband unconscious, and we should have our hands full. No, she is not dead.
Then why are we sitting here?
Ask Him. How should we know?
He won’t tell.
He won’t tell. He tells nothing.
He drives us here and there. He rouses us from our beds and makes us watch, and then it turns out that there was no need of our coming.
We came of our own accord. Didn’t we come of our own accord? You must be fair to Him. There, she is crying again. Aren’t you satisfied?
Areyou?
I am saying nothing. I am saying nothing and waiting.
How kind-hearted you are!
(Laughter. The cries become louder.)8
Of course every rule has its exception, and it may be urged that the final lines of David Pinski’sThe Treasureneed no assigning to special speakers. This, if true, results from the fact that Mr. Pinski, as the last touch in his study of the universal perversion of man through lust for money, wishes to represent even all the dead as sharing in this greed. Even here, however, Mr. Pinski is careful, by his headings “Many” and “The Pious Rabbi,” to distinguish among speeches to be given by one person, the chorus, and a figure he wishes specially to individualize, the Rabbi.
The Dead(In shrouds and praying shawls appear singly and in groups amid the graves. They whisper and breathe their words.) Swiftly into the synagogue!... Hasten!... The hour of midnight is long past.... Hasten....(They hasten to the gate. One sees only their silhouettes in the dim light of the veiled moon.)I thought we would not come out today at all.The dead fear the breath of the living.We fear them more than they do us. There is no peace betwixt life and death....No peace ... no peace....Indeed life vexed me grievously today.Vexed is not the word. I lived in their life so really that I shuddered and feared.Shuddered with fear or with longing? Did you feel a yearning for your money?(Ghostly laughter shakes the rows of the dead.)The distinguished and the wealthy must surely have had a bad day.It fairly smelled of money and they had to lie with the worms.It almost threw them out of their graves.ManyMoney ... money ... money.... (Ghostly laughter.)But you poor devils hadn’t a much better time either. It smelled of money and you couldn’t even beg. (Laughter.)It is high time for all of you to be forgetting life.... Come quickly into the synagogue....(Many of the dead vanish.)It gave me really an exalted feeling to see how little fear of us they felt.Don’t flatter yourself. We would have been no better. We were no better either.Many(At the same time.) Money ... Money ... Money....OthersAnd that is life ... that is life ... that is life....It exalted me in my grave too. So many women walked about here today. Young ones and pretty ones, I wager....(Laughter.)Who speaks thus? Who opens his mouth to speak such ugly words?It’s the petty field surgeon who lies buried by the wall.The Pious Rabbi(In passing. His praying shawl hangs but loosely over his left shoulder.) They have dug up my whole grave.... They have dug away my right arm. Woe, how shall I now put on my praying shawl? How shall I appear before God? (To a group.) Will not some one help me to put on my praying shawl?(They surround and help him. They show signs of deep feeling at the sight of the missing arm. Murmurs of astonishment and compassion.)ManyWoe ... woe ... woe....OthersMoney ... money ... money....The RabbiNow will I go and appear before God.... Now I will ask him.... (He vanishes through the gate.)ManyHe will get no answer ... he will get no answer.One of the Dead(With feeling.) They who are in life still stand at the same point. Generation dies after generation and all remains as it has been. As it was aforetime, so it was in my time and so it is today.ManyMoney ... money ... money....And yet it must lead to something. Surely there must be a goal.Only God knows that....And man must learn what it is.That will be his greatest victory.Man’s greatest victory.SeveralMan’s....OthersThe living one’s.... And we?(A ghostly breathing of laughter and sighing.)The FirstMan’s greatest victory ...Curtain9
The Dead
(In shrouds and praying shawls appear singly and in groups amid the graves. They whisper and breathe their words.) Swiftly into the synagogue!... Hasten!... The hour of midnight is long past.... Hasten....
(They hasten to the gate. One sees only their silhouettes in the dim light of the veiled moon.)
I thought we would not come out today at all.
The dead fear the breath of the living.
We fear them more than they do us. There is no peace betwixt life and death....
No peace ... no peace....
Indeed life vexed me grievously today.
Vexed is not the word. I lived in their life so really that I shuddered and feared.
Shuddered with fear or with longing? Did you feel a yearning for your money?
(Ghostly laughter shakes the rows of the dead.)
The distinguished and the wealthy must surely have had a bad day.
It fairly smelled of money and they had to lie with the worms.
It almost threw them out of their graves.
Many
Money ... money ... money.... (Ghostly laughter.)
But you poor devils hadn’t a much better time either. It smelled of money and you couldn’t even beg. (Laughter.)
It is high time for all of you to be forgetting life.... Come quickly into the synagogue....
(Many of the dead vanish.)
It gave me really an exalted feeling to see how little fear of us they felt.
Don’t flatter yourself. We would have been no better. We were no better either.
Many
(At the same time.) Money ... Money ... Money....
Others
And that is life ... that is life ... that is life....
It exalted me in my grave too. So many women walked about here today. Young ones and pretty ones, I wager....
(Laughter.)
Who speaks thus? Who opens his mouth to speak such ugly words?
It’s the petty field surgeon who lies buried by the wall.
The Pious Rabbi
(In passing. His praying shawl hangs but loosely over his left shoulder.) They have dug up my whole grave.... They have dug away my right arm. Woe, how shall I now put on my praying shawl? How shall I appear before God? (To a group.) Will not some one help me to put on my praying shawl?
(They surround and help him. They show signs of deep feeling at the sight of the missing arm. Murmurs of astonishment and compassion.)
Many
Woe ... woe ... woe....
Others
Money ... money ... money....
The Rabbi
Now will I go and appear before God.... Now I will ask him.... (He vanishes through the gate.)
Many
He will get no answer ... he will get no answer.
One of the Dead
(With feeling.) They who are in life still stand at the same point. Generation dies after generation and all remains as it has been. As it was aforetime, so it was in my time and so it is today.
Many
Money ... money ... money....And yet it must lead to something. Surely there must be a goal.Only God knows that....And man must learn what it is.That will be his greatest victory.Man’s greatest victory.
Several
Man’s....
Others
The living one’s.... And we?
(A ghostly breathing of laughter and sighing.)
The First
Man’s greatest victory ...
Curtain9
Staging this, several facts will confront us. We certainly shall not let different actors of the group speak different lines on successive nights. That is, each supernumerary will be given one speech or more. If certain speeches seem to belong together, they will be given to one actor, and characterization will emerge as he speaks his lines. Unquestionably, too, if speeches which seem in themselves uncharacterizing are given to marked physical types, such as stout, very thin, very tall, or very short people, persons of markedly quick or slow physical movement, some of the speeches may seem unfitting. Rarely, then, is there any value in the unassigned speech. It may pass in the reading, as has been admitted, but the public prefers the assigned speech, and still more the speech so characterized that it must be assigned. Compare this passage fromJulius Cæsarwith its assignments to the First, the Second, the Third, and the Fourth Plebeian with the passage from Andreiev’s play. Can there be any question that Shakespeare’s assigned speeches are somehow clearer, more dramatic?