CHAPTER IX
MAKING A SCENARIO
Thereis frequent and decided divergence of opinion among dramatists as to the value of a scenario,—the outline of a play which the dramatist purposes to write or has already written. Some dramatists very carefully prepare a detailed outline before they settle down to writing a play. Others, equally well-known on the stage assert: “I never think of mapping out in detail what I intend to write. When I begin, I may know only my central situation or little more than my main characters in broadest outline. I simply write and rewrite until the perfected manuscript lies before me.” Another declares that although he has no scenario, he does use some notes. Showing these notes,—an accumulation of ideas as they have come to him from time to time, written anywhere on a single sheet without apparent order or form,—he asks triumphantly whether this can be called a scenario. Whatever the opinion of a dramatist as to the usual value to him of a scenario, he can hardly deny that there are times when it is very convenient to have a scenario of a play not yet completed. Plays sometimes have a curious, unexpected way of forcing themselves on the attention of a writer when his mind should be engrossed with another play. Ideas wholly irrelevant to the play in question keep surging into the dramatist’s mind and drawing his attention from the subject in which he wishes to be interested. Often he can relieve his mind of this Banquo-like play, not by stopping to write it out in full, but by putting a careful outline of it on paper and storing this away until such time as he has opportunity to work out the play from this scenario.Or it may be that a dramatist sees that plays he has submitted to some manager or actor are not attractive, but that some subject which as yet lies only half-formed in his mind finds, when mentioned, a ready response. Here is the best opportunity for use of a good scenario. Submit such to the actor or manager in question and even if a contract does not follow, the promise, “I will produce your play if it is as good as your scenario” is very likely to be made. Admitting then, for the moment, that some dramatists believe they can get on equally well without a scenario as a prerequisite for one of their plays, what are the main characteristics of a good scenario—this form of outline which some dramatists have found very useful in their work?
In the first place, the word “scenario” has been very carelessly used. It is often applied to as brief a set of notes as the following, intended by Ibsen merely to suggest to his correspondent in the broadest possible way the play which he thinks might be made from the poem which he has been discussing:
Have you not noticed that you have in the division of your poem entitled,A Norwegian Sculptor, the subject for a five-act popular play (Folkeskuespil)? Act 1. In the Mountains. The wood-carver. The art-enthusiast from the capital discovers him and takes him away with him. Act 2. In Christiania. The boy the hero of the day; great hopes; sent to Rome. Act. 3. In Rome. Life there among the artists and the Italian lower class. Act 4. Many years later. Return to Christiania; forgotten; everything changed. Act 5. At home again in the mountain parish; ruin. Write this with songs and dances and popular costumes and irony and devilry.1...
Have you not noticed that you have in the division of your poem entitled,A Norwegian Sculptor, the subject for a five-act popular play (Folkeskuespil)? Act 1. In the Mountains. The wood-carver. The art-enthusiast from the capital discovers him and takes him away with him. Act 2. In Christiania. The boy the hero of the day; great hopes; sent to Rome. Act. 3. In Rome. Life there among the artists and the Italian lower class. Act 4. Many years later. Return to Christiania; forgotten; everything changed. Act 5. At home again in the mountain parish; ruin. Write this with songs and dances and popular costumes and irony and devilry.1...
In the following fromLittle Stories of New Playswe have a far better summary than in the instance just cited, but surely even this is an outline and not a dramatic scenario, for intentionally it does not convey to a readerjust that for which he would go to the theatre, the emotional treatment of the scenes—here given only in the merest outline.
GENERAL JOHN REGANBy George A. BirminghamCharactersDr. Lucius O’Grady.Constable Moriarity, R.I.C.Timothy Doyle.Tom Kerrigan, bandmaster.Major Ken.Rev. Father McCormack.Thaddeus Golligher.Lord Alfred Blakeney.Horace P. Billing.Mrs. de Courvy.C. Gregg, district inspector.Mrs. Gregg.Sergeant Colgan, R.I.C.Mary Ellen.Into Ballymoy, a sleepy little town in the west of Ireland, comes Horace P. Billing, one gentle summer day, and spins in the market place a tale of a certain General John Regan, who, he said, these many years agone had been born and had sailed from Ballymoy to free the oppressed people of Bolivia, and who was the great national hero of that Republic from that time to the present day.Comes there to listen to his tale one Doctor Lucius O’Grady, whose nose can no more keep out of other people’s business than can his busy brain refrain from all manner of schemings or his tongue from uttering the grandest, gloriousest, whooping lies that the mouth of man e’er uttered.To the American tourist he unreels anecdote and episode dealing with the romantic life of the great General while he had been yet a boy in Ballymoy. He sends Golligher, the editor of the Connaught Eagle, to show the American gentleman the birthplace of the General, a broken down cow-shed, in a nearby field.The American leaves Ballymoy wildly excited and fermenting under the constant nagging of the doctor’s busy self and never resting tongue, and promises that he will be back in a few days, and that in the meantime, should the citizens of Ballymoy have enough patriotism in them to erect a statue of their great townie in the market place, he would contribute a hundred pounds towards it.This sets the Doctor at work with even more (if possible) vim. He gets Doyle to promise to contribute ten pounds, the parish priest(though it nearly breaks the good father’s heart) ten also, Major Kent, the local landlord, another ten, and keeps the list himself—explaining that it is not necessary for him to put himself down for anything for that reason.It develops that Doyle has a nephew in Dublin who is a mortuary sculptor, and has a statue of some deceased citizen on hand which was never paid for. This statue Doyle’s nephew agrees to sell to Ballymoy for some eighty-odd pounds. The Doctor arranges to buy it, thus figuring that there will be a balance of twenty pounds out of the American’s contribution to divide among themselves. This pleases Doyle, Father McCormack, and Golligher(who form the statue committee)very much; but unfortunately, it develops also that Doyle has neglected to get the money from the American for the statue before he left.This does not stump the Doctor in the least, however. Among his plans for the unveiling of the statue is the appearance of Mary Ellen, the servant in Doyle’s hotel, as a green fairy, and the appearance of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to make a speech. He suggests that when the Lord Lieutenant appears, they ask him for five hundred pounds for a pier—as the town already has but five or six piers—and that the money for the statue be taken out of that. The Major objects to this, but the Doctor’s ability to explain does not desert him, and the Major is satisfied.The great day of the unveiling finally arrives. The statue from the mortuary sculptor in Dublin is standing in the market place, with a veil over it. A letter comes from the Lord Lieutenant to the effect that he has never heard of General John Regan, can find no record of him in any history of any country on the globe, and, in the person of his aide de camp, Lord Al Blakeney, protests and accuses Ballymoy of having put a hoax over on him and all that sort of bally rot, by Jove.The Doctor rises to the occasion beautifully. The aide de camp is made to make a speech as a representative of the Lord Lieutenant, and Mary Ellen unveils the statue, disclosing a hideous caricature of a grinning dead man in an ill-fitting business suit.At that moment the American appears, explains grandly that there is no such man as General John Regan, and says that if the Doctor can prove to him that the General is not a fiction he himself will give the five hundred pounds for the pier—as, he says, “the show is worth it!”The Doctor merely asks the American to prove to the satisfaction of the assembled townsfolk that the General does not exist.Billing gives it up and writes out a check to the Doctor’s order for five hundred pounds, while the Doctor poses grandly before the cheers of the assembled and admiring populace of Ballymoy.2
GENERAL JOHN REGAN
By George A. Birmingham
Characters
Into Ballymoy, a sleepy little town in the west of Ireland, comes Horace P. Billing, one gentle summer day, and spins in the market place a tale of a certain General John Regan, who, he said, these many years agone had been born and had sailed from Ballymoy to free the oppressed people of Bolivia, and who was the great national hero of that Republic from that time to the present day.
Comes there to listen to his tale one Doctor Lucius O’Grady, whose nose can no more keep out of other people’s business than can his busy brain refrain from all manner of schemings or his tongue from uttering the grandest, gloriousest, whooping lies that the mouth of man e’er uttered.
To the American tourist he unreels anecdote and episode dealing with the romantic life of the great General while he had been yet a boy in Ballymoy. He sends Golligher, the editor of the Connaught Eagle, to show the American gentleman the birthplace of the General, a broken down cow-shed, in a nearby field.
The American leaves Ballymoy wildly excited and fermenting under the constant nagging of the doctor’s busy self and never resting tongue, and promises that he will be back in a few days, and that in the meantime, should the citizens of Ballymoy have enough patriotism in them to erect a statue of their great townie in the market place, he would contribute a hundred pounds towards it.
This sets the Doctor at work with even more (if possible) vim. He gets Doyle to promise to contribute ten pounds, the parish priest(though it nearly breaks the good father’s heart) ten also, Major Kent, the local landlord, another ten, and keeps the list himself—explaining that it is not necessary for him to put himself down for anything for that reason.
It develops that Doyle has a nephew in Dublin who is a mortuary sculptor, and has a statue of some deceased citizen on hand which was never paid for. This statue Doyle’s nephew agrees to sell to Ballymoy for some eighty-odd pounds. The Doctor arranges to buy it, thus figuring that there will be a balance of twenty pounds out of the American’s contribution to divide among themselves. This pleases Doyle, Father McCormack, and Golligher(who form the statue committee)very much; but unfortunately, it develops also that Doyle has neglected to get the money from the American for the statue before he left.
This does not stump the Doctor in the least, however. Among his plans for the unveiling of the statue is the appearance of Mary Ellen, the servant in Doyle’s hotel, as a green fairy, and the appearance of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland to make a speech. He suggests that when the Lord Lieutenant appears, they ask him for five hundred pounds for a pier—as the town already has but five or six piers—and that the money for the statue be taken out of that. The Major objects to this, but the Doctor’s ability to explain does not desert him, and the Major is satisfied.
The great day of the unveiling finally arrives. The statue from the mortuary sculptor in Dublin is standing in the market place, with a veil over it. A letter comes from the Lord Lieutenant to the effect that he has never heard of General John Regan, can find no record of him in any history of any country on the globe, and, in the person of his aide de camp, Lord Al Blakeney, protests and accuses Ballymoy of having put a hoax over on him and all that sort of bally rot, by Jove.
The Doctor rises to the occasion beautifully. The aide de camp is made to make a speech as a representative of the Lord Lieutenant, and Mary Ellen unveils the statue, disclosing a hideous caricature of a grinning dead man in an ill-fitting business suit.
At that moment the American appears, explains grandly that there is no such man as General John Regan, and says that if the Doctor can prove to him that the General is not a fiction he himself will give the five hundred pounds for the pier—as, he says, “the show is worth it!”
The Doctor merely asks the American to prove to the satisfaction of the assembled townsfolk that the General does not exist.
Billing gives it up and writes out a check to the Doctor’s order for five hundred pounds, while the Doctor poses grandly before the cheers of the assembled and admiring populace of Ballymoy.2
Here, too, is an outline which led to a very dramatic sermon. Obviously it is a satisfactory summary of the story underlying the sermon, but just what it would give a reader, if it were a perfect scenario, is lacking—namely, suggestion of the emotional treatment of the scenes which is to make them worth the manager’s or actor’s producing:
AT THE TOP OF THE TENEMENTThe arrangement of the platform will suggest the bare condition of the home in the first part of the sermon, and in the second part will show the improved condition a year later.PART IDan Howard comes home discouraged. He cannot get work. Christmas is approaching. His wife keeps his courage up and that of the family. The Minister calls and is not received kindly by Dan Howard, who does not believe in the church. He promises to get Dan work and thus proves himself a true friend in need. Misfortune has come to the home. The oldest boy is drinking and the next son has been arrested for theft. Things looks very black. It is Christmas eve and the father compels the children to go to bed. He tells them Santa Claus will not come to-night. But they hang up their stockings by the fireplace.PART IIA year later. Things have changed. The home is better. All are happy tonight. The father has had steady work and so they are to have a good Christmas this year. The boys are doing well. The family all go to church now and it has made a difference in them all. The children have gone to bed with joy tonight. Dan Howard tells his wife what a help she has been to him through thick and thin. While they stand talking they hear the carol singers from the church, singing outside their home. The Minister comes in and is made very welcome. While they exchange greetings the Christmas Carol is sung and the beautiful illuminated star shines out in the night.
AT THE TOP OF THE TENEMENT
The arrangement of the platform will suggest the bare condition of the home in the first part of the sermon, and in the second part will show the improved condition a year later.
PART I
Dan Howard comes home discouraged. He cannot get work. Christmas is approaching. His wife keeps his courage up and that of the family. The Minister calls and is not received kindly by Dan Howard, who does not believe in the church. He promises to get Dan work and thus proves himself a true friend in need. Misfortune has come to the home. The oldest boy is drinking and the next son has been arrested for theft. Things looks very black. It is Christmas eve and the father compels the children to go to bed. He tells them Santa Claus will not come to-night. But they hang up their stockings by the fireplace.
PART II
A year later. Things have changed. The home is better. All are happy tonight. The father has had steady work and so they are to have a good Christmas this year. The boys are doing well. The family all go to church now and it has made a difference in them all. The children have gone to bed with joy tonight. Dan Howard tells his wife what a help she has been to him through thick and thin. While they stand talking they hear the carol singers from the church, singing outside their home. The Minister comes in and is made very welcome. While they exchange greetings the Christmas Carol is sung and the beautiful illuminated star shines out in the night.
The following may be full of dramatic suggestion for its writer, but if we mean by scenario a document which, when handed to a manager or actor, is to arouse his enthusiasm because it tells him interestingly just what a proposed play will do, this is not a scenario at all.
THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE: A NIGHTMARE[Diagram of stage]Dramatis PersonæSylvia Macshane, the actress.Norman Pritchard, the manager.Laddie Benton, the poet.The Imp, sentinel at Ventilator X-10, Hell.SCENE:Room in a well-furnished apartment, New York City. Large round-topped window back right, matched by large semicircular mirror over fireplace back left. Mirror space later serves as Ventilator X-10.SCENARIOI. Curtain rises on crimson sunset in room of apartment.Actress and Manager in jealous love scene.Enter the bone of contention—the Poet.Quarrel scene—Poet crushed.By accident Actress drinks Poet’s suicide potion.Poet strangles Manager, Actress smashes chair on Poet.The lamp is knocked over.Black darkness accompanied by shrieks.II. In red glow of semi-circular opening appear Imp and two mutes.Humorous talk of their job, guarding this ventilator of Hell.The Poet’s face appears, followed by Manager’s and Actress’.Both Heaven and Hell have refused them admission.Explanations by Imp—they are not truly dead.Renewed quarrels—Actress shows she loves neither one.She returns to earth.They pursue her.Imp is ordered to close ventilator.Black darkness again.III. Moonlight in the apartment.Actress, Poet, and Manager where they fell on the floor.They arouse—each believes the others ghosts.Explanations—light;—the men’s quarrel renewed and dropped forever.Poet and Manager plan to make a play of the nightmare.Actress is wildly jealous of their new-found friendship.She cajoles each—then quarrels ferociously with each.They are proof against her and prepare to go.She demands a part in the play, gets it, and stamps off to her room.Poet and Manager depart cheerily planning.
THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE: A NIGHTMARE
[Diagram of stage]
Dramatis Personæ
Sylvia Macshane, the actress.Norman Pritchard, the manager.Laddie Benton, the poet.The Imp, sentinel at Ventilator X-10, Hell.
Sylvia Macshane, the actress.
Norman Pritchard, the manager.
Laddie Benton, the poet.
The Imp, sentinel at Ventilator X-10, Hell.
SCENE:Room in a well-furnished apartment, New York City. Large round-topped window back right, matched by large semicircular mirror over fireplace back left. Mirror space later serves as Ventilator X-10.
SCENARIO
I. Curtain rises on crimson sunset in room of apartment.Actress and Manager in jealous love scene.Enter the bone of contention—the Poet.Quarrel scene—Poet crushed.By accident Actress drinks Poet’s suicide potion.Poet strangles Manager, Actress smashes chair on Poet.The lamp is knocked over.Black darkness accompanied by shrieks.II. In red glow of semi-circular opening appear Imp and two mutes.Humorous talk of their job, guarding this ventilator of Hell.The Poet’s face appears, followed by Manager’s and Actress’.Both Heaven and Hell have refused them admission.Explanations by Imp—they are not truly dead.Renewed quarrels—Actress shows she loves neither one.She returns to earth.They pursue her.Imp is ordered to close ventilator.Black darkness again.III. Moonlight in the apartment.Actress, Poet, and Manager where they fell on the floor.They arouse—each believes the others ghosts.Explanations—light;—the men’s quarrel renewed and dropped forever.Poet and Manager plan to make a play of the nightmare.Actress is wildly jealous of their new-found friendship.She cajoles each—then quarrels ferociously with each.They are proof against her and prepare to go.She demands a part in the play, gets it, and stamps off to her room.Poet and Manager depart cheerily planning.
I. Curtain rises on crimson sunset in room of apartment.
Actress and Manager in jealous love scene.
Enter the bone of contention—the Poet.
Quarrel scene—Poet crushed.
By accident Actress drinks Poet’s suicide potion.
Poet strangles Manager, Actress smashes chair on Poet.
The lamp is knocked over.
Black darkness accompanied by shrieks.
II. In red glow of semi-circular opening appear Imp and two mutes.
Humorous talk of their job, guarding this ventilator of Hell.
The Poet’s face appears, followed by Manager’s and Actress’.
Both Heaven and Hell have refused them admission.
Explanations by Imp—they are not truly dead.
Renewed quarrels—Actress shows she loves neither one.
She returns to earth.
They pursue her.
Imp is ordered to close ventilator.
Black darkness again.
III. Moonlight in the apartment.
Actress, Poet, and Manager where they fell on the floor.
They arouse—each believes the others ghosts.
Explanations—light;—the men’s quarrel renewed and dropped forever.
Poet and Manager plan to make a play of the nightmare.
Actress is wildly jealous of their new-found friendship.
She cajoles each—then quarrels ferociously with each.
They are proof against her and prepare to go.
She demands a part in the play, gets it, and stamps off to her room.
Poet and Manager depart cheerily planning.
ObviouslyGeneral John Reganis offered not as a scenario, but a summary. All the other so-called “scenarios” are planned only to suggest to the writer or somebody fully acquainted with the content of his mind on the subject what, in broadest terms, may be done with the material. They are all too broadly referential, too vague, to be of real use to a manager or actor looking for a play to produce.
What, then, is the work a real scenario should do? It must show clearly just what is the story, slight or complicated, which the play is to present. It must make the reader understand who the people of the play are, their relations to one another, and anything in their past or present history which he must know if the play at the outset or in its course is to produce upon him the effect desired by the writer. It must tell him where the play takes place—that is, what the settings are, and in such a way as to create atmosphere if anything more than a mere suggestion of background is desirable. It must let the reader see into how many acts the play will break up, and into what scenes if there be more than one setting to an act. Above all, it must make perfectly clear what is the nature of the play—comedy, tragedy, tragi-comedy, farce, or melodrama, and whether it merely tells a story, is a character study, a play of ideas, aproblem play, or a fantasy. Proportioning and emphasis as already explained in chapters V and VI will, if rightly understood, bring out correctly in a scenario all these matters of form and purpose.
A good scenario begins with a list of thedramatis personæ, that is, a statement of the names and, broadly, the relations of the characters to one another. If the ages are important, they may be given. Without a list ofdramatis personæa reader must go far into the scenario before he can decide who the people are and what are their relations to one another. As the following scenario shows, he may easily guess wrong and is sure to be uncertain:
SCENARIO.As the curtain rises Nat is seated at the right of centre table, planning an attack upon a fort of blocks with an army of wooden soldiers. A drum lies on the floor beside him. Enter Benny, a bag over his shoulder. They salute each other and throughout use frequent military terms in their talk. Benny has just returned from the village and he gives an account of his trip and his purchases. Mention is made of the probable war with Spain. Benny then surprises Nat with a letter from Harold, which proves to contain an announcement that war has been declared and that Harold has enlisted. The two are proud and delighted at the thought of their hero. They recall his former discontent on the farm, the day of his departure to seek his fortune in the city, his statement that he was “no soldier”—now so gloriously disproved. Harold enters in the midst of their preparations for dinner. He is gaunt and shabby and has a nervous hunted air. He receives their plaudits sullenly. He explains that he is away on a week’s furlough and answers their questions concerning the regiment and his plans with nervous impatience....
SCENARIO.As the curtain rises Nat is seated at the right of centre table, planning an attack upon a fort of blocks with an army of wooden soldiers. A drum lies on the floor beside him. Enter Benny, a bag over his shoulder. They salute each other and throughout use frequent military terms in their talk. Benny has just returned from the village and he gives an account of his trip and his purchases. Mention is made of the probable war with Spain. Benny then surprises Nat with a letter from Harold, which proves to contain an announcement that war has been declared and that Harold has enlisted. The two are proud and delighted at the thought of their hero. They recall his former discontent on the farm, the day of his departure to seek his fortune in the city, his statement that he was “no soldier”—now so gloriously disproved. Harold enters in the midst of their preparations for dinner. He is gaunt and shabby and has a nervous hunted air. He receives their plaudits sullenly. He explains that he is away on a week’s furlough and answers their questions concerning the regiment and his plans with nervous impatience....
In this next so-called scenario who is Professor Ward? What is his relation to Phronie? What is her age? What is the age of Keith Sanford and what are the relations of each of these to Professor Ward himself? A good list ofdramatis personæwould clear all this at once.
THE EYES OF THE BLINDACT IProfessor Ward, roused at daybreak after a night at his desk, shows intense disappointment and nervous fatigue.In brief scene with Phronie, he shows the essential part she plays in his life as one on whom he can absolutely depend; but when he expresses his disapproval of her admirer, Keith Sanford, she shows clear signs of rebellious spirit.In rapid scene with Phronie and Keith, their spirit of youthful romance is made clear; and Keith indicates his college ambition, his predicament regarding his “cribbed” thesis, and his new attitude therein, ending with his evident resolve to make a clean breast of the matter....
THE EYES OF THE BLIND
ACT I
Professor Ward, roused at daybreak after a night at his desk, shows intense disappointment and nervous fatigue.
In brief scene with Phronie, he shows the essential part she plays in his life as one on whom he can absolutely depend; but when he expresses his disapproval of her admirer, Keith Sanford, she shows clear signs of rebellious spirit.
In rapid scene with Phronie and Keith, their spirit of youthful romance is made clear; and Keith indicates his college ambition, his predicament regarding his “cribbed” thesis, and his new attitude therein, ending with his evident resolve to make a clean breast of the matter....
There follows a scenario which is somewhat clearer than the others because it identifies the figures, but it certainly leaves their relations rather confused.
An old white-haired man, the Sire de Maletroit, is seated in the chair to right of fireplace, in a listening attitude. The sound of a heavy door banging is heard and a minute later a young man, sword in hand, parts the curtains on left and stands blinking in the opening. He enters and explains that he has accidentally gained entrance to the house and is unable to re-open the door. His name is Denis de Beaulieu. He seems amazed to have the old man say that he has been waiting for him. Denis suggests that he must be going, at which the old man bursts into a fit of laughter. Denis is insulted and offers to hew the Maletroit’s door to pieces. He is convinced that this is folly; the place is full of armed men. The old man rises, goes to door on right and calls upon his niece to leave her prayers and receive her lover. She comes in attended by a priest and protests that this is not the man. The uncle is incredulous and withdraws with a leer.
An old white-haired man, the Sire de Maletroit, is seated in the chair to right of fireplace, in a listening attitude. The sound of a heavy door banging is heard and a minute later a young man, sword in hand, parts the curtains on left and stands blinking in the opening. He enters and explains that he has accidentally gained entrance to the house and is unable to re-open the door. His name is Denis de Beaulieu. He seems amazed to have the old man say that he has been waiting for him. Denis suggests that he must be going, at which the old man bursts into a fit of laughter. Denis is insulted and offers to hew the Maletroit’s door to pieces. He is convinced that this is folly; the place is full of armed men. The old man rises, goes to door on right and calls upon his niece to leave her prayers and receive her lover. She comes in attended by a priest and protests that this is not the man. The uncle is incredulous and withdraws with a leer.
Again a good list ofdramatis personæwould be helpful.
Prefix to this the following:
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOORPlace: Château Landon.Time: Fourteenth century.Dramatis PersonæBlanche, orphan niece of Sire de Maletroit.A Priest, chaplain to Sire de Maletroit.The Sire de Maletroit.Denis de Beaulieu, a stranger.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR
Place: Château Landon.Time: Fourteenth century.
Place: Château Landon.
Time: Fourteenth century.
Dramatis Personæ
Blanche, orphan niece of Sire de Maletroit.A Priest, chaplain to Sire de Maletroit.The Sire de Maletroit.Denis de Beaulieu, a stranger.
Blanche, orphan niece of Sire de Maletroit.
A Priest, chaplain to Sire de Maletroit.
The Sire de Maletroit.
Denis de Beaulieu, a stranger.
With this prefixed we can read the scenario just quoted far more comprehendingly.
Note how clearly the following two lists ofdramatis personætake us to the scenario proper:
THE LEGACYThe PersonsDavid Brice, a young attorney.Reene Brice, his uncle.Benjamin Doyle, his fiancée’s father.Dr. Wangren, family physician.Mrs. Brice, the mother.”Ditto” Brice, the sister.Katherine Doyle, fiancée.THE CAPTAIN: A MELODRAMADramatis PersonæCaptain La Rue, a little sea captain.Bromley Barnes, former special investigator for the U.S. customs service.Patrick Clancy, his friend.A burly Butler.John Felspar, junior partner of the firm of Felspar & Felspar, wine merchants.Two Dinner Guests, members of the firm.Carl Cozzens, the firm’s Canadian representative.
THE LEGACY
The Persons
David Brice, a young attorney.Reene Brice, his uncle.Benjamin Doyle, his fiancée’s father.Dr. Wangren, family physician.Mrs. Brice, the mother.”Ditto” Brice, the sister.Katherine Doyle, fiancée.
David Brice, a young attorney.
Reene Brice, his uncle.
Benjamin Doyle, his fiancée’s father.
Dr. Wangren, family physician.
Mrs. Brice, the mother.
”Ditto” Brice, the sister.
Katherine Doyle, fiancée.
THE CAPTAIN: A MELODRAMA
Dramatis Personæ
Captain La Rue, a little sea captain.Bromley Barnes, former special investigator for the U.S. customs service.Patrick Clancy, his friend.A burly Butler.John Felspar, junior partner of the firm of Felspar & Felspar, wine merchants.Two Dinner Guests, members of the firm.Carl Cozzens, the firm’s Canadian representative.
Captain La Rue, a little sea captain.
Bromley Barnes, former special investigator for the U.S. customs service.
Patrick Clancy, his friend.
A burly Butler.
John Felspar, junior partner of the firm of Felspar & Felspar, wine merchants.
Two Dinner Guests, members of the firm.
Carl Cozzens, the firm’s Canadian representative.
It is easy, however, to let this list of characters go too far descriptively. For instance, this next list tells much which might better appear first in the body of the scenario. The danger here is one already mentioned in this book, namely, that such careful characterizing in thedramatis personæor program is likely to make the characterization of the scenario or play inadequate.3
AN ENCOREAdapted from the story by Margaret DelandIn Two ActsTime: About 1830 in June.Place: Little town of Old Chester.Between the first and second acts three weeks elapse.Dramatis PersonæCaptain Price: Retired sea-captain, big, bluff, and hearty, with white hair and big white mustachios, rather untidy as to dress. Age, about 68.Cyrus Price: His son, weak and neat-looking, very thin and of sandy complexion. Age, about 35.Mrs. North: Sprightly, pretty, white-haired little lady of about 65. Always in black silk.Miss North: Her daughter, nervous and shy, but truthful with a mania for taking care of her mother and no knowledge of how to wear her clothes; about 40.Mrs. Gussie Price: A stout, colorless blond, a weeping, vividly gowned lady, who rules her husband, Cyrus, through her tears. Age, about 30.Flora: A colored maid.
AN ENCORE
Adapted from the story by Margaret Deland
In Two Acts
Time: About 1830 in June.Place: Little town of Old Chester.Between the first and second acts three weeks elapse.
Dramatis Personæ
Captain Price: Retired sea-captain, big, bluff, and hearty, with white hair and big white mustachios, rather untidy as to dress. Age, about 68.
Cyrus Price: His son, weak and neat-looking, very thin and of sandy complexion. Age, about 35.
Mrs. North: Sprightly, pretty, white-haired little lady of about 65. Always in black silk.
Miss North: Her daughter, nervous and shy, but truthful with a mania for taking care of her mother and no knowledge of how to wear her clothes; about 40.
Mrs. Gussie Price: A stout, colorless blond, a weeping, vividly gowned lady, who rules her husband, Cyrus, through her tears. Age, about 30.
Flora: A colored maid.
The danger is shown to the utmost in the following. The characterization in the scenario to which this was prefixed was practicallynil.
Forsythe Savile: A young lawyer of about thirty, clever, and rather versatile. While of great promise in his profession, he is not at allpedantic, but has many interests. He is well-read, widely travelled, fond of outdoor sports, and is very popular. Perhaps his most prominent characteristic is his ready wit. He is rarely non-plussed, and while quick and pointed in his remarks, is yet not ill-natured with them. He has been Dennings’ most intimate friend ever since they were in college together, although their lives lie along very divergent lines.Richard Dennings: A globe trotter, as a hunter, explorer, and war-correspondent. He is clever and able, with a tendency to act on impulse rather than after deliberation. He is the closest kind of friend to Forsythe. He has been engaged to Frances Langdon, but the engagement has been broken off. This last fact is not known to any save the two themselves.Judge Savile: A widower, and Forsythe’s father. He has been a very successful man, and holds a high place in his profession. He is devoted to books, and cannot understand his son’s taste for out-of-door life, and athletics in general. He philosophically accepts the inevitable, however, and is very proud of Forsythe. The Judge does not approve of the engagement of Frances Langdon to Dennings; he cannot understand Dennings’ uncertain methods of life. The Judge while saying very little of his opinion foresees that matters are very far from being finally settled, and is quietly awaiting developments.Margaret Savile: Forsythe’s younger sister, and a feminine edition of him. She is very pretty, bright, and attractive. She and Forsythe are most intimate, more so than brother and sister usually are.Frances Langdon: An intimate friend of Margaret, and familiarly known as “Frank.” She is essentially feminine, attractive, witty and talented. She is very nervous and high-strung—a strong character, but susceptible to her feelings. She has known the Saviles since she was a child and is considered exactly as a relative. She has broken her engagement to Richard Dennings.A butler: The usual English type.
Forsythe Savile: A young lawyer of about thirty, clever, and rather versatile. While of great promise in his profession, he is not at allpedantic, but has many interests. He is well-read, widely travelled, fond of outdoor sports, and is very popular. Perhaps his most prominent characteristic is his ready wit. He is rarely non-plussed, and while quick and pointed in his remarks, is yet not ill-natured with them. He has been Dennings’ most intimate friend ever since they were in college together, although their lives lie along very divergent lines.
Richard Dennings: A globe trotter, as a hunter, explorer, and war-correspondent. He is clever and able, with a tendency to act on impulse rather than after deliberation. He is the closest kind of friend to Forsythe. He has been engaged to Frances Langdon, but the engagement has been broken off. This last fact is not known to any save the two themselves.
Judge Savile: A widower, and Forsythe’s father. He has been a very successful man, and holds a high place in his profession. He is devoted to books, and cannot understand his son’s taste for out-of-door life, and athletics in general. He philosophically accepts the inevitable, however, and is very proud of Forsythe. The Judge does not approve of the engagement of Frances Langdon to Dennings; he cannot understand Dennings’ uncertain methods of life. The Judge while saying very little of his opinion foresees that matters are very far from being finally settled, and is quietly awaiting developments.
Margaret Savile: Forsythe’s younger sister, and a feminine edition of him. She is very pretty, bright, and attractive. She and Forsythe are most intimate, more so than brother and sister usually are.
Frances Langdon: An intimate friend of Margaret, and familiarly known as “Frank.” She is essentially feminine, attractive, witty and talented. She is very nervous and high-strung—a strong character, but susceptible to her feelings. She has known the Saviles since she was a child and is considered exactly as a relative. She has broken her engagement to Richard Dennings.
A butler: The usual English type.
That list tells so much about the characters that the scenario proper could do little but repeat. The writer, troubled by his sense of repetition, rested for his characterization on the slight chance that a reader would remember every detail of thedramatis personæ. All that a reader needs to know at the outset of a scenario is who the characters are, and, in the broadest way, their relations to one another.
A list ofdramatis personæshould be followed with a statement of the time and place if they are important, and of the settings for all the acts. A detailed description of each new setting should precede its scene or act.4In the scenarios already quoted notice how difficult it is to place the characters as far as setting is concerned and how much would be gained if a good description of the setting were added. Keep the description of a setting to essentials, that is, furniture and decorations necessary to give requisite atmosphere or required in the action of the piece. As always in scenarios and acting editions use “left” and “right” as “left” and “right” of the actor, not of the audience.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR (See p. 428)SCENE:A large room in the house of the Sire de Maletroit; large fireplace at centre back; curtained door on left leads to stairway; curtained door right leads to chapel. The room is well illuminated by candles, reflecting the polish of stone walls. It is scantily furnished.THE LEGACY (See p. 464)THE SCENE:The Brice living-room comfortably furnished in walnut. A piano centre L., a round table, rear R. Four entrances: upper L., rear centre, upper right, right centre. Curtained windows rear R. & L.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR (See p. 428)
SCENE:A large room in the house of the Sire de Maletroit; large fireplace at centre back; curtained door on left leads to stairway; curtained door right leads to chapel. The room is well illuminated by candles, reflecting the polish of stone walls. It is scantily furnished.
THE LEGACY (See p. 464)
THE SCENE:The Brice living-room comfortably furnished in walnut. A piano centre L., a round table, rear R. Four entrances: upper L., rear centre, upper right, right centre. Curtained windows rear R. & L.
As has already been pointed out earlier in this book, it is wholly unwise to call, in a description of a setting, for details not really necessary. Here is the setting for thedramatis personæquoted on p. 431. It is over-elaborate because the action of the proposed play involves use of hardly any of the properties called for.
SCENE:Forsythe Savile’s “den.” It is an odd room, a curious mixture of library, smoking-room, and museum. On the right is a large fireplace, over which are hung an elk’s head, a couple of rifles,queer-looking Eastern weapons, and other sporting trophies and evidences of travel. The room is panelled in dark oak; low bookcases line the walls, and on top of the cases are small bronzes, photographs, strange bits of bric-à-brac, and a medley of things,—such truck as a man with cultivated tastes would insist on accumulating. There are numerous pictures, a rather heterogeneous lot; valuable engravings,—portraits of famous lights of the bench and the bar, to judge by their wigs,—a few oils of the Meissonier type; and others which are obviously relics of college, with medals slung across them by brightly coloured ribbons. The furniture of the room is of heavy oak, upholstered in dull crimson leather. Capacious club armchairs are in convenient places, near lamps and books. Around the hearth is a high English fender, and before it is a great Davenport sofa. On the left, is a broad-topped table-desk, covered with papers and books, and bearing a squat bronze lamp with a crimson shade. At one end of the Davenport is a low cabinet, on which are glasses and decanters. There is a wide doorway at the back of the stage which gives the only entrance and is hung with heavy crimson portières. The centre of the floor is filled by a huge polar bear-skin rug, with massive head and the odd spaces are covered by smaller fur rugs. The stage is dark, save for the uncertain, wavering light cast by the wood fire.Time: The present, and about half-past eight on a winter evening.
SCENE:Forsythe Savile’s “den.” It is an odd room, a curious mixture of library, smoking-room, and museum. On the right is a large fireplace, over which are hung an elk’s head, a couple of rifles,queer-looking Eastern weapons, and other sporting trophies and evidences of travel. The room is panelled in dark oak; low bookcases line the walls, and on top of the cases are small bronzes, photographs, strange bits of bric-à-brac, and a medley of things,—such truck as a man with cultivated tastes would insist on accumulating. There are numerous pictures, a rather heterogeneous lot; valuable engravings,—portraits of famous lights of the bench and the bar, to judge by their wigs,—a few oils of the Meissonier type; and others which are obviously relics of college, with medals slung across them by brightly coloured ribbons. The furniture of the room is of heavy oak, upholstered in dull crimson leather. Capacious club armchairs are in convenient places, near lamps and books. Around the hearth is a high English fender, and before it is a great Davenport sofa. On the left, is a broad-topped table-desk, covered with papers and books, and bearing a squat bronze lamp with a crimson shade. At one end of the Davenport is a low cabinet, on which are glasses and decanters. There is a wide doorway at the back of the stage which gives the only entrance and is hung with heavy crimson portières. The centre of the floor is filled by a huge polar bear-skin rug, with massive head and the odd spaces are covered by smaller fur rugs. The stage is dark, save for the uncertain, wavering light cast by the wood fire.
Time: The present, and about half-past eight on a winter evening.
A sketch of the desired arrangement of the stage should be prefixed to the description of the setting. This may be as simple as comports with clear picturing of the exact conditions required. Such drawings not only help to clearness, they sometimes bring out difficulties in a proposed setting not at once evident in a description. Perhaps the staging called for in what immediately follows may not seem over-elaborate in the reading. A diagram at once shows its awkwardness, expensiveness, and undesirability.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOORThe scene represents a mediæval outer hall of a powerful nobleman of Paris with the approach thereto, the streets adjacent and several other buildings thereon, at 11.30P.M., the streets in semi-darkness. This hall runs clear down the stage to within the width of a narrowstreet of the footlights. This street is supposed to run clear across the stage. The approach to the hall from without is through two doors left which open into a gloomy passageway large enough to contain a dozen soldiers. The door to the left of these two entrances opens inward from the street running up left at right angles to the street by the footlights, leaving room enough at the extreme left for several doorways which should be set into the houses so as to form a place sufficient to hide a man who was being searched for on the sidewalk. At the extreme rear of the street going up the stage is stone pavement. The walls of the palace are of thick stones and the furnishings of the hall are plain and gloomy consisting of chairs and a table, a tall clock with a loud tick, curtains at the doors; and over the fireplace, which is huge, hang a shield and helmet, the former emblazoned with the device of the family, the latter beplumed, while under them are two long swords, crossed, with their points hidden behind the shield, these blades both in their scabbards. The floors are all of stone.At the right of the fireplace are two wide doors which when opened give a full view of the chapel beyond, with the attar to the rear in the centre. The chapel need show no more than a private altar, the accompanying candles, drapery, and steps, lighted with a single hanging lamp of the period that swings before the first step of the altar.The chairs and table in the hall are of mission style. The doors opening on the street from all of the establishments are very wide, embossed in iron bands and supplied with knockers, heavy bolts and bars on the inside wherever the inside is exposed. There is a large fire in the fireplace. A lamp of the period is swung with heavy chains over the table.
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT’S DOOR
The scene represents a mediæval outer hall of a powerful nobleman of Paris with the approach thereto, the streets adjacent and several other buildings thereon, at 11.30P.M., the streets in semi-darkness. This hall runs clear down the stage to within the width of a narrowstreet of the footlights. This street is supposed to run clear across the stage. The approach to the hall from without is through two doors left which open into a gloomy passageway large enough to contain a dozen soldiers. The door to the left of these two entrances opens inward from the street running up left at right angles to the street by the footlights, leaving room enough at the extreme left for several doorways which should be set into the houses so as to form a place sufficient to hide a man who was being searched for on the sidewalk. At the extreme rear of the street going up the stage is stone pavement. The walls of the palace are of thick stones and the furnishings of the hall are plain and gloomy consisting of chairs and a table, a tall clock with a loud tick, curtains at the doors; and over the fireplace, which is huge, hang a shield and helmet, the former emblazoned with the device of the family, the latter beplumed, while under them are two long swords, crossed, with their points hidden behind the shield, these blades both in their scabbards. The floors are all of stone.
At the right of the fireplace are two wide doors which when opened give a full view of the chapel beyond, with the attar to the rear in the centre. The chapel need show no more than a private altar, the accompanying candles, drapery, and steps, lighted with a single hanging lamp of the period that swings before the first step of the altar.
The chairs and table in the hall are of mission style. The doors opening on the street from all of the establishments are very wide, embossed in iron bands and supplied with knockers, heavy bolts and bars on the inside wherever the inside is exposed. There is a large fire in the fireplace. A lamp of the period is swung with heavy chains over the table.
The diagram on the next page shows how this would look.
It is in many ways a bad setting. Waiving all question whether any attempt to suggest the fourth wall of a room, as inThe Passing of the Third Floor Backby the fireplace at centre front of stage is wise, surely there can be no doubt that to ask an audience to imagine a street between them and the room into which they are looking, particularly when no necessary action takes place in that street, is undesirable. Therefore the suggested “street” across the front of the stage may go. Where is the value of the streetat the side? Little, if any, action in it will be seen except by the very small part of the audience directly in line with it. For these the settings below the doors at stage left must be decidedly pushed back or they will lose important action by the fireplace. It is questionable, too, whether the fireplace should not be moved down stage to one side or the other, so important is the facial expression of the Sire de Maletroit as he sits by it. For effective action, it is better, also, to separate fireplace and chapel entrance. It is both easy and for acting purposes better, to stage this proposed play with a setting as simple as this:
Gothic stone interior: Doors, centre leading to Chapel or Oratory; lower right and up left. All doors with old tapestry curtains. Deep mullioned window up right with landscape backing. Large Gothic fireplace, with hooded chimney, left. Corridor backings for all doors. Large armchair left centre in front of fireplace; large oak table right centre, with chairs on either side; other furniture of period to dress stage. Altar and furnishings for Chapel.
Gothic stone interior: Doors, centre leading to Chapel or Oratory; lower right and up left. All doors with old tapestry curtains. Deep mullioned window up right with landscape backing. Large Gothic fireplace, with hooded chimney, left. Corridor backings for all doors. Large armchair left centre in front of fireplace; large oak table right centre, with chairs on either side; other furniture of period to dress stage. Altar and furnishings for Chapel.
Nowadays descriptions of settings are noticeably free from the mystic R.U.E., L. 2 E., D.L.C., etc., which characterized stage directions of the early Victorian period. When wings and flats, as in some wood-scenes today, wereused for indoor as well as outdoor scenes—that is, before the coming of the box-set—the stage was divided in this way:
Now that the box-set has replaced the older fashion and new devices are steadily improving on the old wood-wings, it is enough to indicate clearly in the diagram and in the description what doors, windows, fireplaces, and properties are necessary, and exactly where, if their positions are essential in the action. If not, they may be placed to suit the sense of proportion of the designer of the scenery and the sense of fitness of the producer. In any case, rarely today does an author need to use all or many of these stage divisions of an older day. The first of the following diagrams shows how simply an interior set which makes no special demands may be indicated.
THE DANCING GIRL. ACT I5Diana Valrose’s boudoir at Richmond. A very elegantly furnished room, with light, pretty furniture. Discover Drusilla in handsome morning dress arranging flowers in large china bowl. Enter footman, announcing Mr. Christison. Enter John. Exit Footman.
THE DANCING GIRL. ACT I5
Diana Valrose’s boudoir at Richmond. A very elegantly furnished room, with light, pretty furniture. Discover Drusilla in handsome morning dress arranging flowers in large china bowl. Enter footman, announcing Mr. Christison. Enter John. Exit Footman.
It is often desirable to vary the usual shape given a room on the stage—exactly rectangular or nearly square. The next diagram shows a more complicated setting, of unusual shape.
THE WALLS OF JERICHO. ACT I6An ante-room in Marquis of Steventon’s house during a ball. Miss Wyatt, a vivacious young American, has cake-walked with Twelvetrees all the way from the ball-room.Music under stage.
THE WALLS OF JERICHO. ACT I6
An ante-room in Marquis of Steventon’s house during a ball. Miss Wyatt, a vivacious young American, has cake-walked with Twelvetrees all the way from the ball-room.
Music under stage.
Act II ofYoung Americacalls for a setting in which the placing of heavy properties is important.
YOUNG AMERICA. ACT II7SCENE.The Juvenile Court, 10A.M.—Two days later.Two entrances, R. U. door leading to Judge’s chamber. L.2 door leading to corridor.Right—Judge’s bench. It extends up and down stage. Below it Clerk’s bench upon which are two card catalogue filing cases for court records for children. At L. of Judge’s bench small docket for prisoner. At L. of docket, witness stand. It is an 18-inch platform with chair on it. The docket and witness stand face front.Left—three benches for spectators and witnesses. They face front and are enclosed within a picket railing. Gate with spring lock, near left end of front railing.
YOUNG AMERICA. ACT II7
SCENE.The Juvenile Court, 10A.M.—Two days later.
Two entrances, R. U. door leading to Judge’s chamber. L.2 door leading to corridor.
Right—Judge’s bench. It extends up and down stage. Below it Clerk’s bench upon which are two card catalogue filing cases for court records for children. At L. of Judge’s bench small docket for prisoner. At L. of docket, witness stand. It is an 18-inch platform with chair on it. The docket and witness stand face front.
Left—three benches for spectators and witnesses. They face front and are enclosed within a picket railing. Gate with spring lock, near left end of front railing.
How the setting for an outdoor scene may be indicated the diagram for Act I ofThe Dancing Girlshows.
THE DANCING GIRL. ACT I8SCENE.The Island of Saint Endellion, off the Cornish Coast. At the back is a line of low rocks, and beyond, the sea. A pathway leads through the rocks down to the sea. On the right side of the stage is the Quakers’ meeting-house, a plain square granite building, showing a door and two windows. The meeting-house is built on a low insular rock that rises some three or four feet above the stage; it is approached by pathways, leading up from the stage. On the left side of the stage, down towards the audience, is David Ives’s house; another plain granite building, with a door down stage, and above the door, a window. The house is built into a cliff that rises above it. Beyond the house is a pathway that leads up the cliff and disappears amongst the rocks on the left side towards the centre of the stage; a little to the right is a piece of rock rising about two feet from the stage.Time, An Autumn evening.I. Call.John Christison.Faith Ives.David Ives.Drusilla Ives.
THE DANCING GIRL. ACT I8
SCENE.The Island of Saint Endellion, off the Cornish Coast. At the back is a line of low rocks, and beyond, the sea. A pathway leads through the rocks down to the sea. On the right side of the stage is the Quakers’ meeting-house, a plain square granite building, showing a door and two windows. The meeting-house is built on a low insular rock that rises some three or four feet above the stage; it is approached by pathways, leading up from the stage. On the left side of the stage, down towards the audience, is David Ives’s house; another plain granite building, with a door down stage, and above the door, a window. The house is built into a cliff that rises above it. Beyond the house is a pathway that leads up the cliff and disappears amongst the rocks on the left side towards the centre of the stage; a little to the right is a piece of rock rising about two feet from the stage.
Time, An Autumn evening.
As the chief purpose of the writer of a scenario is immediately to grip the interest of the reader, this dramatic outline must obviously provide any historical background necessary to sympathetic understanding of the story. In other words, a scenario must very briefly summarize the preliminary exposition about which so much has already been said in the body of this book.9The opening of the scenario, already quoted in part on p. 428, may be interesting, but it is also puzzling, for a reader is not told enough in regard to the past of the figures involved to know how to receive what information is given. Much depends on whether Denis de Beaulieu is lying or not. Make the reader somehow understand that Denis and Blanche have never met before and that although the uncle believes Denis is her lover, he is completely in the wrong. Then comedy immediately emerges, interest increases.
Here is a scenario which remained vague and confusing, till just before the final curtain, because the writer thought surprise more valuable than suspense. Consequently he held back the one bit of information which gives significance and comic value to the conduct of Mr. and Mrs. Brede.
[Diagram of setting]SCENE.The piazza of a mountain boarding-house. R, practicable door. L, practicable window. C, practicable step. On the piazza are a number of chairs. The bit of lawn in front is not too well kept.CharactersMr. Jonesordinary, well-educated people.Mrs. JonesMajor Halkit, retired business man, interested in stock companies.Mrs. Halkit, his wife, an old gossip, prim and censorious.Mr. Bredeyoung, handsome, “nice.”Mrs. BredeJacobus, Yankee boarding-house keeper.Brede and Jones come from the house and discuss the view from the piazza. Brede is enthusiastic and compares it with that from theMatterhorn. Mrs. Brede and Mrs. Jones come from the house in time to hear “Matterhorn” and Mrs. Brede expresses surprise that her husband has climbed it. Mr. Brede, confused, says it was five years ago, and Mrs. Brede gently chides him for doing such a thing during the first year of their marriage. Mr. Jones and Mrs. Brede talk aside while Mr. Brede explains to Mrs. Jones that he had left his wife in New York some months after their marriage for a hasty trip to Europe and had climbed the Matterhorn then.Mr. and Mrs. Brede go down the side steps and off at R.C. for a stroll. Mr. and Mrs. Jones discuss them, and decide that they are very “nice” people. During their talk it develops that while Mr. Brede had been telling Mr. Jones that Mrs. Brede had been in this country when he climbed the Matterhorn, Mrs. Brede had informed Mrs. Jones that her husband had left her at Geneva and afterwards taken her to Basle, where their first child was born.At this point Mrs. Halkit comes from the house. She censures Mrs. Brede for not knowing how to care for her husband and children and it comes out that Mrs. Brede has told Mrs. Halkit that they have two children who have been left with her aunt, whereas Mr. Brede has told Mr. Jones that they have three children at present under the care of his mother-in-law.Enter Major Halkit from the house. He criticises Mr. Brede, who purports to be looking for a business opening, for his failure to take a fine chance the Major has pointed out to him.The party come to the conclusion that there is something queer about the couple and are about to call Jacobus when he appears, coming from the left. Before any of the boarders have a chance to speak, Jacobus asks some question about the numbering of streets in New York and the fact is brought out that Mr. Brede told Mrs. Jacobus, when he was engaging the room, that he lived at number thirty-four of his street, and that the day before Mrs. Brede had informed Mrs. Jacobus that their number was thirty-five....
[Diagram of setting]
SCENE.The piazza of a mountain boarding-house. R, practicable door. L, practicable window. C, practicable step. On the piazza are a number of chairs. The bit of lawn in front is not too well kept.
Characters
Mr. Jonesordinary, well-educated people.Mrs. Jones
Major Halkit, retired business man, interested in stock companies.
Mrs. Halkit, his wife, an old gossip, prim and censorious.
Mr. Bredeyoung, handsome, “nice.”Mrs. Brede
Jacobus, Yankee boarding-house keeper.
Brede and Jones come from the house and discuss the view from the piazza. Brede is enthusiastic and compares it with that from theMatterhorn. Mrs. Brede and Mrs. Jones come from the house in time to hear “Matterhorn” and Mrs. Brede expresses surprise that her husband has climbed it. Mr. Brede, confused, says it was five years ago, and Mrs. Brede gently chides him for doing such a thing during the first year of their marriage. Mr. Jones and Mrs. Brede talk aside while Mr. Brede explains to Mrs. Jones that he had left his wife in New York some months after their marriage for a hasty trip to Europe and had climbed the Matterhorn then.
Mr. and Mrs. Brede go down the side steps and off at R.C. for a stroll. Mr. and Mrs. Jones discuss them, and decide that they are very “nice” people. During their talk it develops that while Mr. Brede had been telling Mr. Jones that Mrs. Brede had been in this country when he climbed the Matterhorn, Mrs. Brede had informed Mrs. Jones that her husband had left her at Geneva and afterwards taken her to Basle, where their first child was born.
At this point Mrs. Halkit comes from the house. She censures Mrs. Brede for not knowing how to care for her husband and children and it comes out that Mrs. Brede has told Mrs. Halkit that they have two children who have been left with her aunt, whereas Mr. Brede has told Mr. Jones that they have three children at present under the care of his mother-in-law.
Enter Major Halkit from the house. He criticises Mr. Brede, who purports to be looking for a business opening, for his failure to take a fine chance the Major has pointed out to him.
The party come to the conclusion that there is something queer about the couple and are about to call Jacobus when he appears, coming from the left. Before any of the boarders have a chance to speak, Jacobus asks some question about the numbering of streets in New York and the fact is brought out that Mr. Brede told Mrs. Jacobus, when he was engaging the room, that he lived at number thirty-four of his street, and that the day before Mrs. Brede had informed Mrs. Jacobus that their number was thirty-five....
A reader struggling through the paragraphs of this scenario finds very little that is dramatic because the dramatic values the writer feels in his sentences cannot be the reader’s till he learns that Mr. and Mrs. Brede are a newly married couple who wish to conceal the fact. Re-read the quotation with that in mind and all confusion disappears.
On the other hand, it is not always easy to convey neededpreliminary exposition interestingly. When much is needed, there is always danger that the opening of the scenario will be talky and referential rather than definite and full of dramatic action. The following is by no means as bad an example as might be found of a slow opening caused by need for much historical exposition, but it certainly lacks gripping action: