e-i-r '■: I '.'v I"' « Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/analysisofplaycoOOpricrich The Analysis of Play Construction and Dramatic Principle BY W. T. PRICE AUTHOR OF "THE TECHNIQUE OF THE DRAMA" W. T. PRICE, PUBLISHER 1440 BROADWAY NEW YORK ^ OF THE UNIVERSITY ) n^ c o Copyright, 1908, W. T. Prick. ' -1 ^L <" pf4C CONTENTS CHAPTER I. The Delusion About Dramatic Instinct i CHAPTER II. Analysis 9 CHAPTER III. The Method to be Pursued 16 CHAPTER IV. Theme 19 ^^ ^ CHAPTERCY: ,^ -1^. The Material r 26"*? CHAPTER VI. The Conditions Precedent 33 CHAPTER VII. The Proposition 50 CHAPTER ^ 4 The Plot > 64 l3 CHAPTER IX. The Diviiion into Acts 78 CHAPTER X. The Division into Scenes 86 CHAPTER XI. The Scenario 121 ^ CHAPTER ^E ^ The Action of a Play 123 tl\ ^ CHAPTER (^rai -t^ Unity 146 10 CHAPTER XIV. Sequence 156 CHAPTER XV. Cause and Effect 171 CHAPTER %V\ o 7v Action (Drama) is not Mere Life 182 CHAPTER XVII. -^ Action (Drama) is not Story 193 ,iv IV CONTKNTS CHAPTER XVIII. •f Action (Drama) is not Mere Business 206 chapter{xix) ^ Action (Drama) is not Primarily a Matffe*-of Words 220 VL H, CHAPTER XX. Indirection is the Dramatic Method, the Opposite of Story Telling. . 232 CHAPTER XXI. Objectivity — The Visual 246 CHAPTER XXII. The Unexpected 259 CHAPTER XXm. Preparation 282 CHAPTER XXIV. Action (Drama) Must be Self-explanatory, Self-developing and Self- progressive 294 CHAPTER XXV. Compulsion 309 CHAPTER XXVI. Facts 321 CHAPTER XXVII. The Necessary and the Unnecessary j-. 328 O CHAPTER(XXVml X^ Character >rrr^ Tlie^Slaterial may be so potential or actual in its relations to Technique or form that the play may write itself without any material indebtedness to the dramatist. How false and absurd the claim of dramatic instinct in a case of this sort is demonstrated by a very common result, the dramatist is never heard of again. He doesn't understand the art of playwriting, never succeeds in writing another play, and his subsequent manuscripts afford amazed amusement in the offices of managers. Can you doubt the independent exist- ence of the three elements described when you consider Sir Walter Scott and Dickens? These two novelists, the great- est so far in English literature, in their respective fields, pos- sessed more "dramatic instinct" than an infinite number of successful and even famous dramatists of many countries put together, but they worked with different tools from those of the dramatists. Their processes of thought were different. The form was different, and therein lies the whole matter. Form implies a particular Technique. Sir Walter Scott was observant of the drama and wrote a good deal about it, but he certainly was not a dramatist, and his practical knowledge of the laws of the stage was slight. It is not at all improbable that he could have become a drama- tist. Dickens was very close to the stage, one of the most intimate friends of Macready, constantly behind the scenes, was an excellent amateur actor and wrote a number of small plays, but he did not cultivate the form. Neither Scott the: DEI.USION ABOUT DRAMATIC INSTINCT 7 nor Dickens took the trouble to get at the details of the workshop. If the "dramatic instinct" of these men was not sufficient to enable them to write plays of the highest dis^ tinctive quality by what chance is it that you have been born with a "dramatic instinct" that is equivalent to a com- plete Technique? If by the possession of dramatic instinct you mean that you have an innate knowledge of all that Aristotle commu- nicated to the world, of all that has been written upon the subject (a considerable part of which, however, is compila- tion of an uninformed kind), of all that the experienced and trained dramatist knows, you have a pitiful misconception of your own relation to the world and to human thought. If you confidently believe that you instinctively know all that some student may have gained in the toil of a well planned and essential obscurity, of privation, in the pursuit of elemental truths, you can take a little time for reflection and then apply to yourself that epitjiet which no one word in the English language can supply and which perhaps you may find in Esperanto, a combination of all languages. "In- stinct" is knowledge, whether it be in a bird building its nest or in a beaver constructing its dam. At all events, Technique is a matter of knowledge ! Technique is science and art. It requires that everything that concerns it be definite and scientific, and "instinct" is too vague to be tol- erated for one instant. Just as the art existed centuries be- fore you were born and will continue to exist centuries af- ter you perish in your vanity, so has existed, does exist, and will exist, independently of you, the Material out of which a play is made. You were no more born with an innate know- ledge of all the Material in the world or one atom of that Material than you were born with a knowledge, an "In- stinct," of the Technique. What are you and your thoughts, your imaginings and your combinations compared with the complexity of emotions and happenings between the my- riads of souls that live and have lived? Do you think you are larger than the Material and more important than the 8 ANAI^YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI.K Technique? Man was created a little lower than the angels and, we may surmise, in all modesty, is not altogether a worm; but his powers are relative. He has no instincts that are not shared by every other human being in a greater or less degree. You may believe that you have the quali- ties of a dramatist. That is an altogether different matter. But what qualities? The drama or its Material embraces every emotion felt by any human being. CHAPTER II. ANALYSIS. What is analysis ? It is the taking apart of anything, the resolving of it into its elements, in order to discover its na- ture and the principles of its construction whereby it ex- ists and has its functions. It is the source of all scientific knowledge. It is something that every man of good and practical sense exercises in the simplest matter that he wishes to understand. He can tie a sailor's knot only when he finds out how it is done. He is on the road to un- derstanding if he takes a watch to pieces in order to ascer- tain the relations of its various parts. He will not be a watchmaker until he understands also the principles that have led to the devising of these various parts. There is a certain mechanism about playwriting that is just as dis- tinct as the mechanism of a watch. Any contention to the contrary is the prejudice of ignorance. The principles re- main the same in the one case as the other. Remember that this refers only to the mechanism, principles of construc- tion and the law of the drama which must be obeyed by every one who attempts a drama, whether he be a genius or an ordinary human being. I may incidentally remark that many of our best plays are written by so-called ordina- ry people and that many of our worst plays are written by so-called geniuses. I do not believe it is possible for one to become an expert in playwriting without understanding Analysis. Do not make the mistake of thinking that it is not playwriting and that you are not beginning to learn playwriting when you begin with exercises in Analysis. In point of fact, it is playwriting, which, as I have already set forth, is a process of thought first of all. Coming over on a steamer not a great while ago some one cornered Paul Potter, the dramatizer of "Trilby," which was played in many countries, a man whose mastery of Technique is 10 ANALYSIS 01^ DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE as great as that of any other I know, and asked him "How one learned to write a play." That is a question that can- not be answered in a single word; but his answer comes as near covering the case as possible. His reply was "By analyzing plays." He added that he had analyzed a thous- and plays, and Mr. Bronson Howard, the first scientific dra- matist America ever had (apart from Bartley Campbell) told him that he had analyzed twelve hundred or more. Now, what does one discover on analysis? He certainly finds that there are not one hundred new and different principles in each of these thousand plays and that the art of playwriting does not depend upon the caprice of each writer, but that it is systematic and can be reduced to system, one system, not a hundred systems, while the principles are compar- atively few, although there is infinite detail. He finds that it is the same art, whether exercised by Shakespeare or by Ibsen or by Henry Arthur Jones. This art is independent of genius. It is the same thing at all times ! It is a univer- sal keyboard. We analyze with reference to the art, to mechanism, to the Technique. We have nothing to do with the qualities or general nature of a play. The play may be good or it may be bad. The Technique, and perfect Tech- nique, may be applied to something that has no value or which is abhorrent in morals and taste. Reconcile yourself to that at the very outset. You will understand it fully after a little. Of course morality and taste and all the best human qualities should exist in a play, but that is not the question. In making an Analysis of a play we take it apart with reference to the principles. To consider as a whole is not Analysis at all. To read a play for informa- tion, for its historical bearings in any sense, is for the gen- eral reader and not for the student. That kind of informa- tion is useful and perhaps indispensable, but it lies far away from the study of structure and how the play is put to- gether. One might know every play, or every important play, ever written and still have little or no understanding of Technique, which is to say, how they were written. We ANALYSIS II must, then, .take up the Analysis of a play, point by point, with reference to each established principle, such as Pro* position. Plot, Unity, S equen ce, Cause a nd Effect and so on. In that way we master the play in Detail. We examine the application of every principle in every relation. The analyti- cal work at first is almost entirely directed to gaining a fa- miliarity with the meaning of the terms. We then expand the method of Analysis and consider each principle with refer- ence to every other principle. We must first understand the Terms. If two people were talking about electricity, one an expert and the other with only a general and limited knowledge, not knowing exactly what was meant by Ohm, Volt, or Killowatt, a discussion would be fruitless and the expert would abandon it in disgust. Analysis and Criti- cism are two very different things. Any one on earth can criticise, but Analysis can only be applied by him who has a knowledge of the art. Criticism may be empty and ca- pricious. Analysis gets at the truth. One must gain a perfect understanding and command of the principles as a preliminary step toward applying them. How can it be said that any one is applying a principle if he does not know what the principle is ? It is not enough that one may have a general knowledge. His knowledge must be specific. A general knowledge may serve for a while, but a crisis will come when it will not do. If you take the trouble to do the exercise work and to set down everything in black and white, or even if you think it out, following the method herein, you will gradually and finally realize the necessity of it and can apply the principles knowingly when you get to work on your own plays. You will then have a pleasure in the work that is not possible if you do not possess a living Technique. To have Technique on your side in- spires one with confidence. On the artistic side of a play there are many things that are not matters of opinion, but are facts of indisputable principle or Technique. The work of Analysis is of absolute importance, for it forms the habit of mind. It enables one to use the principles as tools. He 12 ANAI^YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI.E must be so familiar with these tools that he can use them with perfect readiness and take up the exact tool needed for a certain bit of work. Of course, at first you will think that all this is academic and too formal. You will say that it is impossible for one to think of his subject and of all his tools at the same time, whereas, when one has a per- fect knowledge of all the principles he does not have to marshal all the knowledge at one and the same time in any conscious way. His principle will come to his help con- sciously only when he needs it. I have said that the exer- cise of this Analysis in Technique is playwriting itself; but assuming that you had or had not exercised Analysis in the writing of the play, there is a final use of it that can- not possibly be avoided, and that is in the revision of your play. There it has a most definite and final use. For in- stance, if one has not mastered Proposition and Plot and should discover, either on production of the play or on a close consideration of it, or should feel, without knowing why, that there is something wrong with the play, and if the defect were in Proposition and Plot he would never correct the fault, wotk as long as he might. I see an infinite number of plays that are faulty, both on the boards and in the manuscript, to which final value could be given if the author knew what was wrong in them. When an author becomes possessed of his subject and gets into the warmth of composition he may easily lose sight of accuracy, and accuracy in spite of the derision in which Technique is sometimes held means truth. In- cidentally it also means money. It stands back of all permanent success. It wards off failure. I am in no de- gree academic and I know from long experience and ob- servation that Technique is not an empty word and that Analysis is the first step toward gaining it. You will find that the whole tendency of this Course is to destroy con- ventionality and to give freedom to the man to establish the art and its methods firmly in him. The art should be gained before writing plays. Refuse to submit to it and ANAIvYSiS 13 you may wander in the wilderness all your days long, ^is School was established in order to keep countless people from working in their own way with a contempt- uous disdain for Technique's I have read literally thousands of plays written by inexpert people in their own way, and some of them reveal work that is no better than it was, to my knowledge, twenty years ago. I am convinced that a year devoted largely to analytical work is necessary for most students in order to get them to secure the right at- titude toward drama. The simple question of time is im- portant. If one begins to write too soon, it becomes a process of unlearning, and that throws the burden of the work on the teacher. You will ask why these five plays were selected and you will object that they are not modern and recent enough. They were not selected with any particular deliberation, nor entirely at random, but because they answered the pur- pose in hand. They were and are successful and famous plays. Any play or plays of that description could have done just as well. Public taste may change, but dramatic principle does not change. The application of principle is subject to betterment in the technical handling of material; but the principles remains the same in Ibsen or Shaw and no dramatist will ever overturn them. /The modern and the most recent writers will be considered in another section of the course. If dramatic principle had to be de- rived from them, and was absent in all dramas before their time, and was as subject to fluctuation as the stock market, the art would be bottomless; in fact no art; wfeefeas)we can reach rock bottom and the foundation of all dramatic principle in these particular plays as well as in any other plays ever written.^ Analysis and technique have nothing whatever to do witMiistory or the qualities of morality and aesthetics in a play. If ''Camille" is an objectionable play to you, console yourself with this truth which I urge. You may criticise it as you will, but your criticism can never touch the technical side of it. "The Lady of 14 ANAI^YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI.E Lyons" may be old fashioned in its sentiment, but the art of it, I mean particularly the essential dramatic principles to be found in it, will never become old fashioned. Dra- matic technique has improved in some details since the play was written, but the dramatic principle of it is sound. Analysis is only one of the methods that we shall use in our study, but it is one that is involved in every part of it, as we shall find as we attack dramatic principle from various points of approach. Analysis is involved in every step of play writing. As a method of learning it is infinitely more expeditious than the uninformed efforts at plays by one who has made no study of the art in plays written by masters of the craft. The individuality of the student is not concerned. His vanity is not touched. His errors do not have to be uprooted from the soil perhaps of obsti- nate and confirmed ignorance ; ^t would be a superhuman £ask to teach a beginner by correcting his own more or less miserable compositions and to stop at every step ifn order to explain to him fully some dramatic principle^ t)ne might do it with his own child; but he could under- take to train but a few and could give a life time to those few and become prematurely old in the expenditure of his energies. I shall give some description of the labor in- volved ii^ an intercalary chapter which I shall devote to Lmateup Analysis has many practical uses. It enables you to be- come familiar with the art in all of its aspects and to ascer- tain the actual methods and the causes of the excellence of any writer whose plays you may choose to subject to the process. You can ascertain to a nicety how Dumas, Sar- dou, Pinero, Clyde Fitch, Augustus Thomas, Suderman or any other writer has arrived at results. Analysis is the golden key to the whole art. 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We can go back of these writers and es- tablish the principles in the very nature of the drama, and- that I shall do in the philosophical section of our studies. Again, instead of learning from one's own self, (in some cases a very poor authority and source of information) one has the whole field before him for self instruction. He can pursue his investigation far beyond what the school attempts. I am only teaching you how to analyze. Until you have made a careful and repeated reading and study of the analysis in these pages of the five plays, confine yourself to these plays. I have not made every illustration of a given principle from the plays. I have simply shown you how to do it and abundant work remains to you to continue your investigation within the limits of these five plays, for the present. The principles and methods could be confirmed by limitless examples. That this is so does in no wise impair the stability of the principles, nor does it mean that one's work of analysis need be limitless. The confirmation of principle which will be encountered throughout your active interest in the drama will always be a pleasant experience, but when you realize a principle and feel secure in it your appointed task is at an end. CHAPTER III. THE METHOD TO BE PURSUED. The first and most important thing for a student to recognize is that Playwriting is an art which has taken centuries to develop; that it requires time and applica- tion to master its requirements, and that he must have it at his fingers' ends before he can possibly possess the pro- fessional touch. It is no longer a crude art to be exercised by the first comer. The attitude to assume in approaching the subject is that the dramatic art is greater than you are, which it assuredly is, whoever you may be. You will find that out whatever may be your present opinion of yourself. We assume that you know nothing of the art, and begin with the elemental principles, proposing to carry you through the principles and methods up to the most complex reasoning. For the present, we shall devote ourselves ex- clusively to the analysis of plays. The method of instruc- tion and the process of learning may be illustrated by that pursued, let us say, in arithmetic or algebra. A text book on either science will, in a given chapter, work out a single example, reducing to rule, explaining the reasons and the law in full, and then furnish a sufficient number of exam- ples for the student to work out unaided except by th^^ process and solution afforded in the model. YThe principle once mastered, it can be applied by way of Analysis to all plays ever written or, in a practical way, to whatever you may be confronted with that needs solution in your own plays. The plays selected for Analysis contain every prin- ciple used in playwriting. They are thoroughly actable and effective. If they were unsuccessful and imperfect plays they would not serve our purpose. The examination and discussion of bad dramatic syntax belongs to another sec- tion of our studies. { No actual exercise is required of you until we reach still another section, the Question Sheets, CHAPTER IV. THEME. The Theme of a play is the general subject, which holds throughout, but which reduced to a specific form becomes the basis of the play. There must be one leading and controlling Theme, with usually a subordinate Theme connected with it. There may be still other incidental Themes, but the main Theme must govern. We see at once that Unity is concerned in this and that the principles are interdependent, not one of them standing alone. We cannot discuss every aspect of a principle with reference to the plays in hand. We must take up things in their order. None of these plays has two or more Themes of equal importance, consequently we shall reserve discussion of plays defective because of such a Technical defect. All great plays or good plays are based on Theme. You have only to refer to Shakespere and Moliere to discover the truth for yourself. The ordinary commercial play is one of situations for the sake of situa- tions, and not for the sake of the Theme. Until we regard Theme of the first importance we shall have few good plays. Proceeding from the general to the particular, we reduce the general Theme to a specific one. "Romeo and Juliet," general theme. Love ; specific theme, Love, according to the limitations and conditions of the Proposition. Love, no doubt, has been the staple of the drama and has been more often used as a general Theme than any other; but it can assume so many different forms and exist under so many different conditions that we find it differ- entiated in numberless specific Themes. The general Theme of "Ingomar," its circumference, is Love, but specifically it is Love that conquers a Barbarian. Is not the play filled with Love as with the perfume of a flower? Is not purity in a woman's heart and nature exalted, and 20 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPIv]^ should not all love be nourished on and be established in purity? Is not the play different from those erotic exposit- ions of so called Love in which a wife, with a marriageable daughter, the mother at least forty, is about to elope or is actually eloping with her "lover?" A general Theme, then, is a very wide thing and may reach to the depths of the universal heart. What reason have you to imagine that there is nothing in Theme and that it is only academic jar- gon? It is persistently and inevitably also a technical mat- ter. Upon what grounds have you a prejudice against Technique? There is not a scene in this play that does not, in one way or another, concern the purity and love of Par- thenia. The author, Baron Muench von Bellinghausen, stuck to his Theme. Very often the Theme of a pl^y is expressed in its title or sub-title. In the case of "The Lady of Lyons" we find it Love and Pride. Although the Action of the play is laid at the time of the Revolution, and the atmosphere of war is felt, yet it is obvious that Bulwer did not make war or the Revolution his main Theme; if he had done so it would have been another play. He would have been ploughing another soil. The war and the revolution are in- cidental to the main Action and are called into it only as required. Bulwer stuck to his Theme. You will observe that his Theme is not merely Love, but that Pride is con- joined to it. This is entirely proper, for he makes his gen- eral Theme the idea of Love, then Love as it is influenced by Pride; the Theme of Love thus becoming a specific thing. He had a definite idea to start with in his investi- gation, or, he discovered after looking into his Material what his Theme was to be. If the Deschapelles had been rich aristocrats, Bulwer might easily have made his Theme Aristocracy and Love, or Caste and Love. Many plays have been written on both these Themes. On the other hand, he might have made Claude Melnotte an aristocrat and Pauline an attractive and innocent girl of the peasant- ry; we might have had a play on the order of Faust and THEME 21 Marguerite. Love could be modified in so many ways, that by modifying it we could get a number of Themes. It is enough to see that this play has a definite Theme, that it is Love and Pride, and that this Theme influenced Bul- wer throughout the play. Dumas was helped to his Theme of "Caniille"-by an exist- ing combination of facts of which he had knowledge from a drama in real life as well as by his philosophy. He de- voted his life to preaching his philosophy concerning the social rights and wrongs of women by means of the drama. In our study of Technique we are not required to combat his point of view in this play. Dumas set out to prove to our hearts, if not to our prejudices, that a woman of the character of Camille may be regenerated by love and a su- preme sacrifice prompted by it. Here was a conviction. His Theme was a philosophical one. In proportion to his sincerity and purpose an author will hold to his theme. It thus takes- care of itself. But suppose Dumas had yielded to the temptation to depict the vices and the manners of the society surrounding Camille, and had been looking for complications and situation mainly for the commercial purpose of making an entertaining play, he would not have held to his present Theme. Innu- merable opportunities for a different treatment were at hand. The Material could have furnished many plays ; but having narrowed his Theme down to a Proposition, he would have been false to hi? Proposition as well as to his Theme if he had not made the whole action bear upon the working out of his object. The Theme in this play is as constant as the note which runs through a piece of music. It is a specific Theme, an earnest Theme, and the Action of every part of the play is instinct with it. Byron, the author of "Our Boys," used to deride the idea of "bothering with Theme." Usually, too, there is no need to "bother" with it, but if it is disregarded it has a way of turning up and having its reckoning. It is our business at present to make a study of the elements that we find exist- 22 ANAI^YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPIvi; ent in these plays. While the Theme is the first element in the order of our investigation, this does not imply that Taylor, in writing ''Still Waters Run Deep," began the consideration of his subject with his Theme. Let us as- sume that he came across a story first, in which the princi- pal character, who is misunderstood because of his easy- going nature, loses authority in his own household and then regains it by the assertion of his real man- hood. In that case the Theme was obvious and suggested itself. It became specific as the story was devel- oped, but he retained that Theme necessarily if he retained the idea of writing a play on that Theme. The Theme once established, he could not depart from it, his obligation to the Theme becoming more and more important as he proceeded with the Action. Suppose he had not consulted his Theme and had used the mother-in-law idea instead of that of the dominating aunt. He would have found himself involved with a Theme strong enough to overwhelm his original plan of the play and offering something out of which a new or very different play could be written. Did he not have to "bother" with the Theme when the idea of the mother-in-law occurred to him, as it almost inevitably must have done? Thus, the Proposition is governed by the Theme. It is, at least, the Proposition which you elect to use from the many Propositions that could be made from the Theme. The dramatist has often to stop and consider his Theme when he feels that he is departing from it. The Theme of this play is not the rascality of Hawksley. If that had been the main idea to be worked out, the treatment would have been materially different, and it would, in fact, have made a different play. A Theme may have its comple- mentary Theme, if it does not always have it, and the ras- cality and character of Hawksley was subordinate to and complementary of the main Theme, that of the character misunderstood by those about him. The main Proposition has its subordinate Proposition, and so can the Theme have its subordinate Theme. If Taylor, in thinking his play, or THEM^ 23 in writing his scenes, had found himself drifting off to ex- ploiting the detective side of the Action, he would have halted, as an expert dramatist, recognizing that he was not keeping to his Theme. The Unity of this play is very mark- ed in its aspects of Unity of Theme. That the main Theme of the play involves many subordinate Themes does not destroy the Unity of the whole. With the character of Mrs. Sternhold as one of the Themes, the romanticism of Emily another, and with still others, the author proceeded on his way, finding his Proposition and Plot and always considering a proper subordination of his Themes. The dramatist does not necessarily get any part of his play first, not even his Theme. We are discussing plays in their finished form. We can begin our analysis with the Theme. It does not necessarily follow that an author has to begin with the Theme. Tay- lor may have suddenly discovered during his process of thought that he was not working on the right Theme and have changed it to the one we now have. There are many ways of proving that a Theme is essential. With the intro- duction of a society element and by making Hawksley sim- ply a spendthrift with reckless business methods and not a criminal, and having Mildmay overcome the influence of Hawksley over his wife in some other way than by defeat- ing his financial schemes, we have a kind not unfamiliar, a society play, with an incidental moral lesson ; but the play would have been something else. Take out of it the felo- nious nature of Hawksley's schemes and have it a business conflict between two men, the woman being played for, we have still another play. You may say that it is idle to imagine such things ; but the possibilities are all there, with the Characters, and unless you are governed by something you are just as apt to go in one direction as another. Theme is the first thing that restrains you. Sooner or later the Theme is absolutely necessary. It tinctures all the scenes. There is not a scene in this play in which the Theme of it, Mildmay's quiet resolution and his relations with his fam- 24 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE ily are not at work. This is a good play to keep' in mind as proof that Theme means something, is entirely practical and cannot be ignored. The largest idea in Massinger's play of "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is plainly the evil of acquir- ing wealth and power by means of oppression and un- fair methods, and particularly with reference to the develop- ment of character animated by such greed. The play is well named as it is, but it could easily be called "Sir Giles Overreach." Combined against Sir Giles are all the active agencies in the piece, and yet he towers above all other characters. He is a force for evil that does not diminish in its effect upon us to the very end. He is relentless and ter- rible in his moments of death. The foundering of a mighty battleship rent asunder in the conflict or the sudden col- lapse of a stately building is portentous and fills the imagi- nation with awe. The removal from earth of such a force for evil as Sir Giles, his existence involving and imperilling the lives of so many others, is of the same nature. Such is the magnitude of the character of Sir Giles, but only good comes from his destruction. The most exalted characters are Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth, but how small a part they play compared with Sir Giles. He is present in the mind of the audience all the time. Wellborn, who sets in motion the Plot of the play, is of slight interest compared with him. Allworth and Margaret are almost purely inci- dental. Sir Giles being acted upon, the Theme was devel- oped indirectly. Undoubtedly Massinger gave his first study to this Theme of Character. Much Material was gathered before the Plot shaped itself. The mechanism or Plot of the play is paltry, ingenious as it is, compared with the laying bare of such a nature. The Theme is very specific. It attached to a condition of affairs in Engla.nd which Massinget- knew intimately. A writer with a seri- ous purpose and a dominating Theme will not easily go astray, but if he is a meretricious writer and is constantly looking out for complications or comedy he can find them THEME 2^ both, but to the detriment of his Theme. Massinger might have made Lord Lovell jealous of Wellborn, Lady Alt^ worth might have mistrusted Lovell's real purpose with Margaret, and comedy scenes might have been obtained, but the more diverting they might be, the more divergent they would be from the Theme. Massinger could have made an Action out of Sir Giles' matrimonial attentions to Lady Allworth. Substantially the same Plot could have been used, but with a somewhat different Action because of some change in the Theme. A great deal of comedy could have been got out of this Material; and if Massinger had been writing only to amuse audiences, which some writers contend is the whole duty of the dramatist, he would not have written this true and noble play. He kept to his Theme and did nothing at its expense. CHAPTER V. THE MATERIAL The material of a play is that out of which it is construct- ed, its material elements. It is obvious that one might consider a Theme, of Love for example, without having thought of or determined upon a single incident or Character. It does not imply form at all. It may exist or it may have to be found. Of course there are fantastic forms in playwriting in which the un- bridled imagination can do its irresponsible work, but the closer we keep to Life the more worthy is our play. Plays grow out of a condition of affairs and proceed from the general to the particular, each step becoming more definite. The first knowledge of the art can best be acquired by analyzing what has been written. We first arrive at the principles and then at how to apply them. One must know the art before he can recognize fit Material. It would be premature to discuss the various processes of discovering or devising the material out of which a play is made. Our present concern is to study the Technique whereby the Material is shaped. Playwriting is a process of reasoning, and the mind cannot co-operate with the heart, with pre- cision, until it is able to think in dramatic terms, just as one must be able to think in a language before he can fairly claim to be its master. The trained dramatic mind is occu- pied much longer in gathering the Material and in con- structing the play, shaping his Material, than in the actual writing. How long or short a time it requires to "write" a play is immaterial, but if we assume that a year is given to it, three fourths of that time had best be applied to the preliminary and tentative research and thought. To dis- cuss Material at this time would lead us into a discussion of Methods for which we are not prepared. We must con- fine ourselves to the plays in hand. the: matkriai, 27 The author of 'Tngomar" may have arrived at his Ma- terial, or what we may call the Facts of his play by a pro^ cess of induction or deduction. Both processes may be used in the same play. He may have had the central idea from a legend or story or poem, or he may have worked directly from his Theme. A way had to be found to get Parthenia an.cng the Allobrogi. He had to proceed on Facts. One need suggested another need. A mere story was not suffi- cient; the Material had to be susceptible of dramatic treat- ment. Parthenia must go among Barbarians. What Bar- barians? Where? Why? How? Barbarians?, Let us look up some Barbarians. In looking them up the author found much that he could use as Material and perhaps more that he could not, but he found a custom to hold pri- soners for ransom. That may have suggested for the first time the means of getting Parthenia to the camp. He found that they would cast lots for the possession of a cap- tive girl. Don't you see the advantage of searching for Material and how it will meet you half way if you do? Is not that better than "sitting down and writing a play?'' If you read the preface to ''The Lady of Lyons," you will discern Bulwer's process of mind. He found much of the Material ready made and at hand. This does not mean that one should seek for an already existing story, but it so happens that Bulwer did find his first definite idea in a "very pretty little tale" called "The Bellows-Mender." Being thus led to the French Revolution, he instinctively, because he knew drama, felt that there was a drama in those troubled times. In meditating over and reading up his Material, may he not have rejected more Material than he used in the play in its finished form? Of course in its final shape, we have only that Material which he actually used. To that suggestive Material he added more. His raw Ma- terial existed in general facts and ideas and such details as he selected while gathering his Material. It is obvious that he selected his Material with reference to his Theme, which he soon decided upon in his process of thought. In h * 'f ? .^^' ji^ $a*j^/Ci5!i. o'S 28 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE determining upon Proposition, Plot, Characters, incidents and Action he was constantly electing Material as called for by the various structural parts of the play. The dramatist must have the Material out of which to make his play, just as a tailor nfust have Material out of which to make his coat. The source of Dumas' Material for "Camille" has been referred to in the chapter on Theme. In preparing these exercises we are trying to go over the same ground covered by the dramatist himself. We get in "Still Waters Run Deep" an excellent example of what must have been his process of thought and method of construction and writing the play in the matter of gathering the material. Could any one suppose for an instant that when Taylor reached the writing or dialogueing of the scene between Hawksley and Mildmay in the second act, he wrote it off-hand? Hawksley tries his oily persuasion on Mildmay, believing that he had an easy customer for the shares in his Inexplo- sible Galvanic Boat Company. He proceeds : "You under- stand algebra?" Mildmay admits that he knew a little of it at school. Then Hawksley : "Then let X and X/2 denote the respective cost of the two modes of carriage — while the two rates of profit are represented by Y and YI" — "Which, in algebra denotes an unknown quantity," suggests Mild- may. Then Hawksley: "Precisely." "Well A. and B. re- maining constant, let Y-A plus B/X be the formula for pro- fit in the case of steam, then YI equals A plus B/X divided by 2 will be the formula in the case of galvanic transport — or, reducing the quotation, YI equals 2Y, or in plain Eng- lish, the profit on galvanic transport equal to twice the pro- fit on steam carriage. I hope that's clear!" Unquestion- ably, Taylor had this oily, specious and confusing talk in his notes, in his Material, long before he knew exactly where and how he could use it. It is not impossible, of course, that when he reached this scene he found it neces- sary to stop work until he could look up the terms that the: materiaIv 29 the rascally promoter would use in order to appear to have a profound and exact knowledge of his subject. Whether Hawksley's algebra has any significance or not in a scienti- fic way, Taylor wanted to make him a very formidable schemer and talker. It would not do to make him utter complete nonsense in figures. It would not have done to have Hawksley present an entirely reasonable proposition. It had to be plausible, susceptible of demonstration by a juggling with figures. The schemes of promoters must have been attracting attention in London. In fact, Dickens gave a novel to the subject about this time. Just as soon as Taylor determined that this was the kind of swindler he wanted, he looked up everything bearing on the subject un- til he felt satisfied that he had all the Material that would be needed, all that would characterize the rascal. Inciden- tally, he had to look up his algebra. Suppose, now, that this was one of the very first things he did investigate. Sup- pose that he had not even thought of Potter and Mrs Stern- hold, or any of the incidents of the Action ; suppose further, that he had no Plot whatever and perhaps no definite Pro- position, what would you call it but Material, pure and sim- ple.? Just as truly Material as that Chaos out of which God made the world. For that matter, the dramatist begins gathering his Material from the moment he selects his Theme — or his Theme selects him, which, perhaps, is the better way. It is by no means improbable that Tom Tay- lor never knew what "earthing up celery" meant before he began gathering his Material for this play. The only diflfer- ence between the material of a play, and the Conditions Precedent of that play is, that the Conditions Precedent are selected from the general Material, and so made specific. The real dramatist goes to real life. He will find every- thing there waiting for him ; he does not create everything, he adapts it. If those characters had not existed in real life, this play would never have been written. They may have had characteristics of the moment which Taylor may have been the first dramatist to make use of, but, in a general 30 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPIvE / way, they existed before Taylor was born. Go back, then, to nature for your Material, and trust to your art to make use of it. The minerals in the mines have to be delved for. No miner can manufacture gold, and no dramatist can cre- ate human nature. Your play must have substance. You must have Material in order to have everything about something. What shall bring discord into the family? What shall they quarrel about? Surely, they could quarrel about innumerable things. The causes of differences are endless. What shall they be in this case? Is it not worth while to determine beforehand? Does he not have to work gradually toward a given end? The Material that he chooses at one moment he may have to lay aside provision- ally or reject entirely the next. Taylor did not want a mother-in-law, for obvious reasons. He was not writing a play in which he would have to contend with such a dis- turbing force. So he did not select that Material. That Material was before him, however. The mother-in-law would have required her to have been the Theme. Mrs. Sternhold was formidable enough. Hawksley says, "Mag- nificent celery! I congratulate you, my dear Potter, on so horticultural a son-in-law; it's a pursuit at once innocent and economical." Potter replies, "Yes; I calculate every bundle costs about twice as much as in Covent Garden." That is all on that subject at the moment. Hawksley im- mediately turns the subject to the allotment of the shares. The necessity for gradation in opening the scene unques- tionably occurred to Taylor at the time of writing the scene or of preparing it, but it is almost certain that the remarks quoted were down in his notes, in his Material, before he saw where he was going to make use of it. Hawksley's method of paying court to Emily by his reference to Seville was as carefully planned beforehand in his Material by the author as it was planned by Hawksley. / The way to get at substantial things is to get them in a I substantial form to start with. Shakspere almost invaria- I bly had material to work from. It is not advised that you (UNWE^^^^"^ ) THE MATEJRIAL 31 find your story or Plot ready made, but the foundations of your play must be in the earth. All real plays are largely" made up of real facts. Observation of actual things may supply the Material. "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is a real play, one of the most substantial ever written. You feel the truth of everything in it because it is taken from life. We have seen that Bulwer, although he was accre- dited with genius, did not attempt to make his plays out of nothing, that is, out of mere imaginings not based on Facts. It matters not where Massinger got his Material, many of the combinations he made of that Material existed independent of Massinger and before he made use of it. What a trivial vanity it is that some authors have that they must ''create" everything, spin it out of their brains without recourse to the facts of the world. The prototypes of those characters were personally known to Massinger before he attempted to put them in a play, and where his acquaint- ance was limited he instituted investigation. The impres- sion left by this play is that Massinger left out nothing that was essential to a complete picture. He knew his subject inside and out. Sir Giles was not a creature of the imagi- nation. The servants at Lady Allworth's lived. They came into the play out of the abundance of Massinger's Mate- rial. It was his art that enabled him to use them. He had them in mind before he saw what he could do with them. This illustrates exactly what is meant by Material before it is converted into the cloth itself. There may have been one Sir Giles Overreach in England at this time ; there may have been ten, twenty ; the evil of government by the aristocracy, with the appointment of magistrates to do their bidding, may have been a crying one. The play was about some- thing. The wrong suffered by Master Frugal was a serious matter as representing a common injustice. Frugal omitted, there would have been so much good Material lost. Frugal and the gentlewoman reduced to ser- vitude and the extortionate creditors of Wellborn not ser- viceable for the building of the main structure, were yet 32 ANALYSIS 01^ DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE available Material as rubble; none of it imaginary; all tan- gible and so substantial, standing up like a Roman viaduct constructed so as to defy the centuries? Times may change, and thank God they do, but here is something human, the very reality of which gives it eternal human sympathy. We got but a glimpse of the gentlewoman serving Margaret, but we pity her and respect her as Margaret did. Some might call that a small part, but can you not imagine it played by an actress of perfect fitness for it, capable of flashing to us that heliograph message from over now three centuries? Material? Of course it is Material. What a bountiful provider with his Material was Massinger ! How substantial the baked meats, the stag, the fawn, with "Nor- folk dumpling in the belly of it," the woodcock, the butter- ed toast and all the savory burden of the table ! Massinger had his foot on his native soil all the time. England for Englishmen was his cry. Cease mere dreaming and empty imaginings and reach out your hand for the Material that lies about you in abundance. Massinger's observation, sym- pathy, philosophy, and the qualities of a many sided nature are here in this play. The Material lay within him as well as without. It was Subjective as well as Objective. But his sympathies and his philosophy were based on external realities. The world is so many magnitudes larger than any single individual that you can do no better than to follow the example of Massinger in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," and confine yourself to your own horizon. Your Material is within reach of your hand. CHAPTER VI. THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT. The Conditions Precedent are those Facts and conditions, active or passive, which exist before the beginning of the Action or the rise of the curtain. They are a part of the inchoate Material, but presently they become detachable, require a name or term, and I have elevated them into a principle. We do not know immedi- ately in considering our Material at what point our Action shall begin. As soon as we determine upon that, a part of the Material falls into the past and cannot be represented as happening, but must be introduced into the movement of the play according to the demands of the Action. These Conditions Precedent are not to be told all at once on the rise of the curtain, but they may be so distributed in the ac- tion that they may be more active in their new relations than in their past. The importance of this principle is so great that I give more space to it than it may seem to you, at this time, to require. A certain amount of exercise on the principle is commended as a means of gaining a habit of mind and a method of work. After reading over the Condi- tions Precedent assigned to the other plays, take up "Ingo- mar," find, all the Conditions Precedent in it and note how they were introduced in to the Action. I also commend for exercise work the elaboration, within the play in hand, of every solution that is herein given. Take Action for exam- ple. It would make these pages too voluminous if I should give every illustration in a single play. I am only able to show you how to analyze. To learn rests with you. Once you know the way take the initiative. We shall merely point out to you the way of discriminat- ing and designating those facts and relations existing before the rise of the curtain that are distinctly Conditions Prece- 3 34 ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE dent. We leave to you to minutely enumerate Conditions Precedent other than those we call attention to. Before the rise of the curtain, then, in ''The Lady of Lyons," Pauline is rich and proud, the daughter of a tradesman, living with her father and mother, much sought after in marriage, for she is beautiful, and is ambitious to marry title at the time when the French Revo- lution had abolished all titles; she has a cousin, Damas, a colonel in the army, who has risen from the ranks in two years, and he is democratic and not in sympathy with the pretension of Pauline and her mtother. She has rejected Glavis, and Beauseant was a suitor, a man who retained all the pride of ancestry, but had lost his title in the Revolution; Claude Melnotte, the son of the widow of the gardener, cultivated and known from his manners as "the Prince," is secretly in love with Pauline, has been send- ing her flowers, and believes that, in the social conditions of France, his suit will be listened to; the Innkeeper has heard of all this. Melnotte lives in a cottage with his moth- er, and is a poet and painter ; M. Deschappelles is not a fac- tor in his household in social matters. The state of the country and all the characters and their relations belong to the Conditions Precedent. From these Conditions Prece- dent, the Action springs. They belong to the Material, but •not until Bulwer determined at what point his Action should begin did they become while still remaining Mate- rial, distinctly Conditions Precedent. The spiritual things are also a part of the Material and Conditions Precedent. Brooding over this Material, Bulwer sooner or later dis- covered the luminous point about which the Action should center, the conflict of Love and Pride under the conditions of social upheaval. In "Camille," a material part of the past has to be translated into the present. Let us recount the conditions with some fullness. Two years before the opening of the Action, Camille, after a long illness, determined to visit the celebrated waters of Bagneres, to recover, if possible, her the: conditions precedent 35 health. Nanine accompanied her. Among the invalids at the hotel there was a lovely young girl, the same age "as" Mademoiselle Camille, suffering with the same complaint, and bearing such a resemblance to her that wherever they went they were called the twin sisters. The young lady was Mademoiselle De Meuriac, daughter of the Duke. Made- moiselle De Meuriac died. The Duke adopted Camille as his child, made her his heiress, and introduced her into soci- ety, where she was loved and honored. This was not two years since. She tried to please the world in which the Duke introduced her and sought to gain a position for her. It was pitiful. She was gentle, so childlike, it seemed that the spirit of the dead girl had left its innocence with her. Day by day all who knew her grew to love her. The Duke was called away. In his absence, the story of her past life reached the circle in which she moved. From that moment it was closed against her. She was shunned; and in their cruel sneers they told her to go back to Paris and wear camelias. She did return to Paris — met old friends — who gave her a warm welcome. She was gayer than she ever was before. People wondered why she tolerated the atten- tion of the old Duke. They thought it strange taste because of the old Duke's tediousness. But Camille had a tender regard for him. He finds in her his only happiness and re- gards her as his own child. He supplies her with money. Varville and others do not take that view of their relations. Camille has been a working girl, an embroideress, and was very fond of Nichette, the pet name of a girl who used to work in the same room, a companion of hers. Camille made no secret of this part of her life. She retained her old friend- ship, and now that she was supplied with money she gave employment to her comrade. When she returned to Paris, Camille entered upon a life of gaiety, and was often at the opera. She is a disappointed woman, caring for no man. But she is given to luxury. Olimpe, Gaston, Prudence and Gustave are friends of Camille, with characters as set iorth in the Action after it begins. Varville is very rich, a 2,6 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: new suitor, persistent. Camille is known as the Queen of Camelias, and is fifty thousand francs in debt. Varville has offered to pay her debts. Camille has told him a hundred times that she does not want to hear of his love. Prudence lives as a neighbor in a house with windows opposite to Camille's. She is a milliner, with but one customer — Ca- mille. She "is a good soul, with a heart as light as her purse." Armand Duval is the son of a gruff, crusty old gen- tleman, who was sometime Receiver-General at Tours. The family is one of distinction, moving in the best circles. His mother is dead. He is not the only child ; he has a sister, a sister whom he loves. Armand has been madly in love with Camille for the last two years ; when she was ill, before she went to Bagneres, confined to her bed for three months, a young man who would never leave his name called every day to learn how she was. She was told of this at the time. It was Armand. Camille's malady still exists. When she has her attacks she is better alone. Her feverish excitement in her mode of life is bringing her to the grave. The Duke allows her thirty thousand francs a year. She is a woman of the world — friendless — fearless, loved by those whose vanity she gratifies — despised by those who ought to pity her. She has heard all kinds of protestations of love, and is inclined to believe none of them. Armand has worshipped her in silence; he has cherished for six months a little but- ton which fell from her glove. Camille's companions are gay; they indulge in all sorts of revelry. They sing and dance; they have much gossip between them; they are ut- terly frivolous and selfish. Olimpe is a gourmand. Camille has learned her lesson of rejection by society, and does not harbor the remotest hope of regaining position. Her own estimate of herself is firm; she does not consider herself worthy of a good man's love. She is not in a state of mind to entertain the thought of it at the time the Action begins. She regards no protestations of the sort seriously. She has had moments when visions of a future flitted across her brain. "Every heart has its silent hours, and so has mine ; THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 37 and in those hours I often sit and think there is a happier life than the one I lead, if I could find it. I think if I can lend a charm to such a life as this, and win the admiration and respect of the worthless crowd who follows me, what would it be in the sacred circle of a home, among those who loved and cherished me? Can such a future be in store for me, I ask? and then the past spreads over me like a pall. A merry laugh bursts forth in mockery, and I am gay again." Camille's condition of mind is further described. Nichette is engaged to Gustave. Nichette is a good girl ; Camille re- gards her with tender interest because of this. Nichette has often said to Gustave that she wished Camille would meet with some one who would love and cherish her — who would win her from the feverish life she was leading; and teach her contentment in one more tranquil and enduring. Ni- chette is very happy with Gustave. They live in two cham- bers in the fifth story, in the Rue la Blanche — a window that overlooks half Paris — "a trellis where I have planted a geranium, the first flower Gustave ever gave me — and how it grows ! No wonder, for I sit and sew by it, and watch it all day." The home is cozy — just large enough to hold con- tent. Gustave is a lawyer, and has just had his first case, in which his client was condemned to ten years imprisonment. A condition precedent to the scene between Camille and Duval is that Armand's sister is engaged to be married. It is a love that has been the dream of her life. But the family of the man has learned of the relations between Ar- mand and Camille, and declared the withdrawal of their con- sent unless the relations were given up. This withdrawal, of course, does not belong to the Conditions Precedent be- fore the beginning of the Action, but like them this condi- tion does not have to be acted out, but has to be made of the present. That Armand has written a letter to his law- yer directing him to dispose of the gift of property from his dead mother, and that the father is angry with him for it, is a condition of this sort. It has arisen during: the Action, but it does not have to be acted out, for we accept the facts as 38 ANAIvYSiS O^ DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE logical. The last act contains only Conditions Precedent which have arisen during the Action ; that is to say, there is nothing new in the way of Conditions Precedent to the beginning of the Action of the play itself. It will be ob- served, however, that certain things have happened or may happen as Conditions Precedent, but these Conditions are always logical and do not require proof. The conditions pre- cedent of Character exist, of course, before the rise of the curtain, but they may be referred to the study which the au- thor makes of them. All this belongs to the careful prepara- tion made by the author and represented in his notes. He makes sure of his ground. He does not wait to invent his Condition Precedent as he goes along. The Conditions Precedent in the material of "Still Waters Run Deep" are uncommonly numerous. The criminality of Hawksley in forging two bills existed four years before the beginning of the Action. If we should set down here all the details of this affair, we should have to quote in almost its entirety Mild- rnJ&y's account of it to Hawksley. It is not necessary to do so here, but the student should take the trouble in one or two plays to give every particle of the Conditions Prece- dent, for it is practice work in retracing the steps of the author. He was compelled to be definite. One should fortify himself against doubts before he reaches the critical mo- ment where everything depends upon the selection of the facts. The Conditions Precedent have to be shaped before one begins to write a play ; he cannot safely proceed without them. The Process of thought in gathering the material and shaping the Conditions Precedent is a part of the work de- signed to facilitate execution. If one does not work by method and does not shape his Conditions Precedent, he may be compelled to remodel the structure of his play con- tinually while writing, whereas he should be freed from all anxieties when he wTites, for he has enough to attend to without being disturbed by things which should have been settled. It is in passing this material through the alembic of the: conditions prkckdent 39 the mind that the facts become definite. The chyle is con- verted into blood. It is not often that a play can be written off-hand, wtihout this process of preliminary thought. In a way, a play is rehearsed in the mind or "written" over and over again. If this process is not pursued, the play may be "finished," and then follows the foolish labor of having to actually re-write the play, or, as sometimes is the case, to write another play out of the same material. The result is that when a play is written in the slipshod manner of those who do not do any thinking or collecting of material, their finished play is after all merely material. It is not a play at all. It is easy to surmise some of the operations of the dramat- ist's mind in shaping some of the Conditions Precedent in this play. For instance, the material may have been got into some order, the attempt of Hawksley against Emily may have become sharply defined, and then it probably occurred to the author that it would be harsh or repulsive and vulgar if Emily had not been acquainted with Hawks- ley before her marriage. Hence comes the touch that oper- ates in the Conditions in the talk between Potter and Mrs. Sternhold. It is of the Conditions Precedent that Hawksley is considered a gentleman. He is a man of the world, a dead shot who can snuff a candle at twenty paces; he is exceedingly crafty and brilliant at figures in a financial transaction. Potter has every confidence in him. Hawks- ley is vastly agreeable, "the sort of man one's always glad to see." He has shown some penchant for Emily before her marriage, as Mrs. Sternhold says; and if, as Potter says, Mrs. Sternhold had not set her face against it, Emily and Hawksley might have made a match of it. Mrs. Sternhold had always thought that Emily had no fancy for Hawksley. Before the Action begins Potter has seen some evidence of the familiarity between Emily and Hawksley which has caused him to suspect their relations. They have been very careful in the presence of Mrs. Sternhold, and she has not had an opportunity to see it ; but they have paid no attention 40 ■ ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE to Potter, ("they don't mind him/') He has intended to talk to Emmy about it ever so long, the Conditions Prece- dent existing for a long time — "but he didn't like to." Pot- ter has been in the habit of taking the "Globe" — the paper published yet — when the postman comes and going to the library to read it. We have seen also that he is in the habit of falling asleep in the afternoon after dinner, but that he would never admit it. How many glimpses of the present and the past conditions of life in the household we get by these little touches introduced in a living way in the Action of the moment; Potter has always thought it was a great comfort to have such a superior sister in the house ; she has always saved him so much trouble in making up his mind. Hawksley has given Bran, the mastiff, to Emily, and Bran knows his old master. Emily always sits up late reading "in this room." The eight thousand pounds under Emmy's settlement should have been paid by Potter two months ago. Mildmay knows that Potter has invested some of the money for him, "thinking that he would not object." In fact, Hawksley had told it to Mildmay last night in trying to persuade him to invest more, urging that Potter thought well of the investment. Mildmay has been having Gimlet look matters up. You can find many more Conditions Pre- cedent in the play and convince yourself that they were thought out, for the most part, before the writing of the play." Shakspere bodies forth the time. Massinger does the same thing in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts." While the dramatic art in it is strong, it is not a play of mere expe- diencies, or complication or situation for the mere sake of complication and situation. It is built of substantial mate- rial and is itself solid. Let us consider the state of affairs and some of the Condi- tions Precedent before the beginning of the Action : Well- born has been reduced to poverty partly by his riotous liv- ing and excesses in drink, and is "threadbare and tattered." Tapwell, the innkeeper, has profited by the prodigality of THK CONDITIONS PRE:CEDENT 4I the spendthrift. He was born on Wellborn's father's land, "and proud to be a drudge in his house." When WellbornV father died the estate came to him, and Tapwell became his under butler. Wellborn soon ran through his land, his "credit not worth a token," he grew a common borrower from everybody, "no man escaped" him. Poor Tim Tapwell, with a little stock, some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage, and humbled himself to a marriage with Froth. He is an "ungrateful hound," is this Tapwell. Wellborn had "made purse" for him in his day of prosperity, and Tapwell licked his boots, and thought his holiday cloak was too coarse to clean his young master's boots with. Why, man, it was Wellborn himself who gave Tapwell the money needed to make up the sum required for the purchase of the inn. The way it came about was that Wellborn had heard him say or rather swear "If ever he could arrive at forty pounds, he would live like an emperor," and the young prodigal gave him the wherewithal in "ready gold." Oh, this Tapwell was a wretch from his natal day, a "viper, thankless viper." Wellborn had beggared himself to make such rascals rich. Of course he should not have dissipated his patrimony thus. Old Sir John Wellborn, the quondam master of Tapwell, Wellborn's father, "was a man of wor- ship, bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house, relieved the poor, and so forth." He died and left his estate to his son, who then becomes "a lord of acres, the prime gallant." He had a merry time of it; hawks and hounds, with choice of running horses ; mistresses and such other extravagances; which his uncle. Sir Giles Overreach, observing, resolved not to lose the opportunity, on statutes, mortgages, the binding bonds, awhile supplied his folly, and, having got his land, then left him. Wellborn has a friend in Allworth, whose stepmother. Lady Allworth, since his father's death, has been a deep mourner, and, by reason of love for the dead father, favors the son so that he feels that he cannot pay too much observance to her. There were few stepdames as she. She is a noble widow, and keeps her 42 ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI^E: reputation pure and clear. She has suitors in abundance, e'en the best in the shire, such as sue and send and send and sue again; but to no purpose. Their frequent visits have not gained her presence. Yet she is far from sullen- ness and pride. She is about thirty, I think, not too old for a suitable match with Wellborn if her love had lit on him ; charmingly gracious, hospitable to a degree naturally, but she has a house full of retainers and all the means at her command to maintain her estate. To know her was to love her. You would have been charmed, I am sure. She possessed an accomplishment that befitted her station, she was a good housekeeper. Her authority was maintained with dignity. A woman of great resolution of character was Lady Allworth. Wellborn was older than Allworth; it was Allworth's father who was Wellborn's friend first. Young Allorth is in love with Margaret, the daughter of Sir Giles. Wellborn has heard of this love. . He knows of Allworth's "walking in the clouds." Allworth recognizes the character of the base churl, her father ; but he feels that, "if ever the queen of flowers, the boast of spring, the rose, sprang from the envious briar," there is a disparity between the goddess of his soul and Sir Giles. The old cormorant has ruined the state of both these young men. Why, Sir Giles, "to make his daughter great in swelling titles, with- out touch of conscience will cut his neighbor's throat." Young Allworth is a boy that lives at the devotion of a stepmother and the uncertain favor of Lord Lovell. These servants of Lady Allworth's, I think, would have been in better discipline if their mistress had not withdrawn from society and abandoned entertaining. Furnace no doubt was getting his wages regularly, but he was engaged to please her palate, and now she had even foresworn eating. When he "cracks his brains to find out tempting sauces, when he is three parts roasted, and the fourth part parboiled, to prepare her viands, she keeps her chamber, dines with a panada, or water gruel, his sweat never thought on." Still,, there are harpies who come to feed on her, pretending to the: conditions pr£;cedent 43 love her; particularly a thin-gutted squire "that's stolen into commission." Meat's cast away on this Justice Greedy, "his stomach's as insatiate as the grave." All this makes Furnace so angry that when provoked, he is even angry at his prayers. This Lady Bountiful has many servants, and idle times were on them so they got fat and saucy. There was Order, the steward, who had his stafif of office, a chain and double ruff, symbols of power. Why, goodness alive, if any of the servants under him missed his function he made him forfeit his breakfast and denied him the privilege in the wine cellar. Amble was my Lady's gobefore. About all the servants had to do at this particular time was to wrangle. No hurt was meant in it all. Allworth was his father's picture in little, and the servants respected him. Lady Allworth had her maids, I warrant you. "Sort those silks well. I'll take the air alone." Allworth's master. Lord Lovell, a soldier, was about to go to the Low Coun- tries. But it is plain that he has a weather eye on our Lady Bountiful, and, first having deputized Allworth to kiss her Ladyship's fair hands, intends to present his ser- vice in person. Lady Allworth looks with great favor on young Allworth, and leaves to him his course of conduct. Allworth is much devoted to Lord Lovell. Still she is always ready to give him good advice, for her ever honored husband, some few hours before the will of heaven took him from her, recommended him to her charge by the dearest ties of love between them. Naturally, Allworth was bound to listen to her with much respect as if his father lived in her. She had showered many bounties on Allworth; he will do whatever she says. The father's message to his son, in case he followed the war, was that it is a school where all the principles tending to honor are taught ; not a place for those who repair thither to presume that they may with license practice their lawless riots; for then they would not merit the noble name of soldiers. No ; he wanted his son to obey his leaders and shun mutinies; to bear with patience the winter's cold and summer's 44 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI.E scorching heat; to dare boldly in a fair cause; and, far country's sake, to run upon the cannon's mouth undaunted. That was what the old man thought, rest his soul ; for these were the essential parts that made up a soldier ; not swear- ing, dice, or drinking. Again, AUworth was to beware of ill company. It was a wise dead man who was telling these tales; for men are like to those with whom they converse. Lady Allworth had certainly been thinking of Wellborn before the curtain rose, for she had no regard for him ; his manners are so depraved; it is not because he is poor, for that rather claims her pity; but the poor fellow has lost himself in vicious courses. She is well aware that her late husband, Allworth's father, loved Wellborn, while he was worthy of loving, but the late Allworth, senior, would cast Wellborn off now. She most certainly had it in for Well- born — before the curtain rises. Ah, here is an interesting Condition Precedent: Six days since there came from Hull a pipe of rich Canary, which shall spend itself, vital and generous wine that it is, for my Lady's honor. It is of the right race. Besides, there came last night, from the forest of Sherwood, the fattest stag that Furnace ever cooked. In fact, a part of it had been prepared for dinner — before the curtain rises, and baked in puff-paste. Sir Giles is generally accompanied by Marrall, his man of affairs, and Justice Greedy, who is ready to put off the trial of a case at any time for the trial of a dinner, according to statute, Hemici decimo quarto. Greedy is ever ready to grant any warrant called for by his master, the cormorant of for- tunes, he the glutton of food. Wellborn is proud in spite of his rags. He has no humbleness before servants. He knows that blood runs in his veins as noble as that which swells the veins of Lady Bountiful. Before the curtain rose on the second act, no doubt, Wellborn intended to call on Lady Allworth. He knew what he was going to say to her. Was not Lady Allworth's late husband once in his fortune almost as low as Wellborn is now? Wants, debts, and quarrels, lay heavy on him. Did not Wellborn relieve him? the: conditions precedent 45 Did not Wellborn's sword on all occasions second his? and when in all men's judgment he was sunk, and in his- own hopes not to be buoyed up, did not Wellborn step unto him, take him by the hand, and set him upright? Of course he did. Lady Allworth knew it all the time, and Wellborn knew she knew it, and everybody knew it, and Wellborn is going to tell her "lest she forget." Lady Bountiful surely had forgotten a few details concerning her late husband. In point of fact, she made him master of her estate when he was little better off than Wellborn is. She married him on his shape, but "to that shape a mind made up of all parts, either great or noble, so winning a behavior, not to be resisted, madam." He knew where he would hit her. He had the facts on her. You may rely on it that when she is reminded of these facts about her late husband she is going to help Wellborn, it matters not what she thought before the rise of the curtain. He is not going to borrow sixpence of her. He intends to touch her for something large. He is going to ask her to "quit all his owings, set him trimly forth, and furnished well with gold." Let us all hope that he will prosper in his design to have Sir Giles believe that Lady Allworth has taken him into her favor as a suitor. I do hope Sir Giles will fall into the trap. He is such a scoundrel, the forerunner and prototype of the magnates who form trusts, employ rascally lawyers, bribe legislatures, and the like. He has no mercy on the weak. He ruins all the poor farmers. It was for "these good ends" he made Greedy a justice. "He that bribes his belly, is certain to command his soul." The reason he put the thin- gut in commission was that he himself, not being a justice, is out of danger. If he himself were a justice, besides the trouble, he might, out of wilfulness, or error, run himself into a praemunire, and so become a prey to the informer. No, Sir Giles would have none of it. He had Greedy to take all the risks and serve his purpose; "Let him hang, or damn, I care not; friendship is but a word"! He does not value anything but worldly wisdom; "for the other 46 ANAIvYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE wisdom that does prescribe us a well-governed life, and to do right to others, as ourselves, I value not an atom." He must have all men sellers and he the only purchaser. He has thought of a way to ruin Master Frugal, who, it is said, will not sell, nor borrow, nor exchange ; and his land, lying in the midst of his many lordships, is a foul blemish. He will buy some cottage near his manor; which done, "m make my men break ope' his fences, ride over his standing corn, and in the night set fire to his barns, or break his cattle's legs; these trespasses draw on suits, and suits ex- penses, which I can spare, but will soon beggar him. When I have harried him thus two or three year, though he sue in forma pauperis, in spite of all his thrift and care, he'll grow behind-hand." Here is a fit opportunity for you to establish your conviction that this is not an idle gathering together of facts from the play but that they are the things that were thought out before a line of the play was written. What has all this to do with the immediate Action as it con- cerns the Plot and Wellborn? In what way is Master Frugal concerned with the fortunes of our young spend- thrift who has invented a new way to pay old debts ? They are Conditions that make the weave thick and strong. W> may even call them passive Conditions Precedent, hardly of the Action of the Plot, but still of the Action. The scene and other details never in the world came into existence on the spur of the moment, but by premeditation. "Then, with the favor of my man of law, I will pretend some title ; want will force him to put it to arbitrament; then, if he sell of half the value, we shall have ready money," (just as mod- ern as Ready Money Mortiby), "and I have his land." Sir Giles has been wondering all the while how it is that cold nor hunger will kill Frank Wellborn. It is a parlous thing, for Marrall caused his host, the tapster, last night, to turn him out of doors, and has been since among all the friends and tenants of Sir Giles to charge them, on the forfeit of the favor of the great man, not to relieve him, though a crust of mouldy bread would keep him from starving. This TH^ CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 47 he did before the curtain rose, you will see. Lord Lovell, the gallant-minded, the popular Lord, is the minion of the~ people's love. Sir Giles has had his eye on him as a match for his daughter. His ambition is to have her marry a title, to be honorable, right honorable; and he is willing to give his ill-gotten gains to this end. He has long har- bored this thought. It is a relief to his sordidness, a bit of humanity in him. But he is pitiless in the means which he will use. He will have her well attended in the estate which he shall procure for her. "There are ladies of errant knights decayed, and brought so low, that, for cast clothes and meats, will gladly serve her; and 'tis my glory, though I come from the city, to have their issue, whom I have undone, to kneel to mine, as bond slaves." He will not have a chambermaid that ties her shoes, or any meaner office, but such whose fathers were right worshipful. " 'Tis a rich man's pride! There having ever been more than a strange antipathy," between men like him and true gentry. It may be well to observe that Wellborn is the son of Sir Giles' sister. Surely there is a touch of tenderness in this for any but a heart of flint as Uncle. Wellborn's given name is Frank, if you please. Massinger knew it before the curtain rose and poor Frank's highest wish on Sundays used to be "cheese-parings and brown bread." Yesterday, you thought yourself well in a barn, "wrapped up in pease-straw." Marrall knows the stable of Lady Allworth, and has never dreamt of dining at her table. Sir Giles, by the way, lived in state himself, spending his ill- gained money in his ambition for his daughter. This Sir Giles himself feeds high ; keeps many servants, rich in his habit, vast in his expenses. No wonder, he frights men out of their estates, and breaks through all law nets, made to curb all men, as they were cobwebs. No man dares re- prove him, such a spirit to dare and power to do, were never lodged so unluckily. No doubt many a usurer today is good to his family. If Wellborn succeeded in marrying Lady Allworth he would come into possession of a glebe 48 ANALYSIS or DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE land called Knave's Acre. Sir Giles is somewhat inclined to grow stout, and is not disinclined to walk instead of riding at times, so that he may keep "from being pursy." Sir Giles has attempted to see the widow TEN TIMES since the death of her husband, and has been unable to get audience, though he came as suitor. Allworth has trusted Lord Lovell with his soul's nearest, nay, Margaret's dearest secret, and he will keep it as in a cabinet locked, treachery shall never open it. He has found Allworth more jealous in his love and service to him than he has been in his re- wards. The fact is. Lord Lovell has been more of a father to him than a master. Lord Lovell has been untainted in all his Actions, and he will be faithful to Allworth when he meets Margaret although she has wealth and beauty. Sir Giles Overreach has heaps of ill-got gold, and as much land as would tire a falcon's wings in one day to fly over. It is about a half hour's ride from the outskirts of Lady All worth's park to Overreach's house. Margaret is attended by Lady Downfallen as a servant; she likes her better as a com- panion. She pities her state. Margaret is virtuous, not a woman to agree to what is in her father's mind as to her conduct toward Lord Lovell. Margaret is modest too; she recognizes that she "is of low descent, however rich." Sir Giles has forbidden Allworth in his house; he knew of the affair between him and his daughter. We must not forget, among the Conditions Precedent, Wellborn's "in- ward linings" — "Howe'er his outside's coarse, his inward linings are as fine and fair as any man's." He has pawned a trunk of rich clothes before the rise of the curtain. It is four miles from Sir Giles' manor-house to Lady Allworth's. As it was one mile from the park gate, it must be three miles within the grounds. Sir Giles wears a signet ring. This seat of Lady Allworth's is well wooded and watered, the acres rich and fertile; and the mansion is a well built pile. Much has been herein recited concerning the charac- ter of Sir Giles. We might add much more that properly belongs to the Conditions Precedent; as, for instance, that THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 49 he is not made wretched by the curses of whole families. No, only as "the rocks are, when foamy billows split them- selves against their flinty ribs, &c." Wellborn used to lodge upon the bankside, and he broke a vintner by not pay- ing for muscadine and eggs, and five pound suppers, with after drinkings. A tailor went down also under his reck- less extravagance without paying his bills. Sir Giles holds the deed by which Wellborn passed over to him his estates. Marrall was a party to the cheat. Parson Wilde is bene- ficed at Overreach's manor at Got'em. The deed from Well- born has slept, with unbroken seal, in Overreach's cabinet these three years. Wellborn has disposed of land that had continued in the family name for twenty descents. It was worth ten times more than Sir Giles paid him. Besides, the original document was a trust deed. All the facts herein set down were established in the author's mind be- fore the writing of the play and not necessarily with refer- ence to where he would use them. CHAPTER VII. THE PROPOSITION. A dramatic Proposition is the brief logical statement or syllogism of that which has to be demonstrated by the Complete Action of the play. Its simplest and perhaps its universal form so far as I have been able to discover, is a statement in three clauses, first, the conditions of the Action, second the cause of the Action, third, the result of the Action. This third clause involves the problem and may be put as a problem. Let us first consider a play that is familiar to every reader and theatre goer, "Romeo and Juliet." Shakspere has his material for this play in the shape of an Italian romance. The wonderful thing he did consists mainly or notably in the application of his art to it. It is sheer nonsense to im- agine that Shakspere wrote unpremeditatedly and without a systematic and conscious Technique. With the possible single exception of Massinger, he was the only dramatist of his period who seemed to possess a complete Technique fitted to the stage of his day. Ben Johnson was a scholar, acquainted with Aristotle and the old classic drama, it is true, but Shakspere was the supreme artist. He has re- duced this romantic Italian story to a definite Proposition. That general Proposition was : — Two young members of families in deadly strife fall in love. They marry; will it result happily and reunite the families? Shakspere, how- ever, had the story before him and could be more definite and could reduce it to individuals at once ;^Komeo and Juliet, members of the house of Montague and Capulet, in deadly strife, fall in love; they marry; will this marriage result happily and reunite the families^ The third clause is the problem to be worked out ; but the result can be put as a statement. Put as a question or problem, its alterna- tives have to be answered with a Yes or No. They marry THK PROPOSITION 5 1 with a happy result? No. The families are reunited? Yes! Put as a statement it requires a setting forth of the How. All this has to be worked out. We believe that plays are ordinarily written without a conception of the technical form that we give for a Proposition. To write a play on the general idea that it must have a beginning, a middle and an end, results in many successful plays and just as many failures. What we may call the French method, which undoubtedly involves the idea of a technical Proposition such as we give it, is a little more specific in that it makes a middle of a play the climax and thereby becomes more specific and more scientific. They write to and from that climax. I shall point out later on that cli- max used with reference to the Proposition is a dangerous and misleading term. But, in the hands of a dramatist who understands the art it answers the purpose. We be- lieve it, however, to be less definite and comprehensive than the logical formula of Proposition which we have in- troduced. A full understanding and acceptance of the sec- ond clause of the Proposition, as we frame it, is of the utmost importance. It represents the cause of the Action. Misapprehension and confusion commonly exist in the minds of the inexpert as to the significance of this term. They are apt to imagine that the cause of the Action is that Romeo and Juliet fall in love. Not at all. That is the be- ginning of the Action and belongs to the conditions of it. From that starting point any number of romantic or real happenings could ensue. A play could not be made out of those conditions without something definite, something that we call the cause of the Action. To assign a mere mid- dle and end to a series of happenings would not necessarily make it a play. Even a climax in the general sense of the most interesting scene or situation would not help matters. It is because Romeo and Juliet marry, with the swift fol- lowing consequences that we have Action. Sooner or later the dramatist must determine upon the Proposition of his play. He may not get it at once, but a discussion of the 52 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; method and procuring it must be deferred. It is your business now to understand what a Proposition is and its relation to the other parts of a play. The play now selected for illustration is an exceedingly simple and effective one, "Ingomar." The Theme of the author's play was love. Endless plays have been and can yet be written on that Theme, but the general Theme is not definite enough for practical purposes. What kind of love? and so you go on narrowing it down. Arrived at the Proposition, whether found in a complete story with a dramatic Proposition or a story be devised to fit a philoso- phy, the play must resolve itself into a Proposition or the dramatist has no starting point. There must be nothing ab- stract about it; it must concern people. A moral Proposi- tion for a play may have its abstract form, but the working Proposition must be concrete. Your first step upon solid ground will be made when you assure yourself of the truth of this dramatic law and when you convince yourself that it is a universal and inevitable requirement. You will find it true with reference to all the plays herein and to all which it is now your independent task to analyze. Again I repeat the admonition that you make sure that you understand and accept the Proposition as the real starting point of the construction and subsequent writing of a play. Unless you can reduce your play to a Proposition you have no play. What is your play about? If you cannot answer that ques- tion in two lines or so, you have no play. The tendency is to throw a Proposition together loosely and mainly in the form of a question, for instance: — Will Ingomar, having in his possession a beautiful girl, he a barbarian, be con- quered by the power of love? Or take the point of view, from Parthenia: — ^Will Parthenia, trusting to the mercy of the savages, accomplish her mission of saving her father by softening the heart of the Barbarian leader? One might stumble through a play by the aid of either of these Pro- positions and, by a bare possibility, the dramatist using either Proposition might have written this identical play, THE PROPOSITION 53 but if he did succeed in writing the identical play he would have written something that he did not start out to write, for neither Proposition covers the whole play. Either af- fords a kind of Proposition that serves to hold a play to- gether in a fashion, but one should be scientific and accu- rate from the beginning and not trust to chance. It is sometimes difficult to frame a Proposition that will include everything in the Complete Action. Reducing the Com- plete Action of "INGOMAR" to its lowest terms the follow- ing is more of a Complete Proposition: Parthenia offers herself to Ingomar, chief of a tribe of barbarians, as host- age for her captive father; Ingomar accepts her, with a savage view of using her as the slave of his passions; will she become his slave or subdue him to honest love and will he, for that reason, renounce his tribe to marry her? This covers the case, although it apparently begins with the second act. In reality the first act is a prologue. Now, in this Proposition are involved all sorts of subordinate things necessary to the Plot and the Action and there are included even subordinate Propositions, but it is your one main Pro- position to which you must make your material conform. The subordinate Proposition here is whether Ingomar will renounce his tribe for love of her. The subordinate Propo- sition in "Romeo and Juliet" concerns the reconciliation of the families. It is very common if not usual for a Propo- sition to have this subordinate clause, but it must be sub- ordinate. Merely with reference to the wording, the Proposition of a given play is susceptible of different statement, but in substance the Proposition would remain the same. A Pro- position usually, by necessity, includes the few principal Characters around whom the Action revolves. But there are many propositions in a play. Just as each act has its Proposition, so a Proposition may be attached to individual Characters. The main Proposition involves many subordi- nate Propositions, consequently, the danger in framing the main one, the one including all the others, is that we may 54 ANAI^YSIS 01^ DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; select a subordinate one and thus not have a complete Action. At first the Proposition of "The Lady of Lyons" may seem to be this: Pauline, rich and proud, a tradesman's daughter, ambitious of marrying a title, is loved by Claude Melnotte, the gardener's son; unrecognized by her, he personates a Prince and marries her; will her love, humbling her pride, cause her to forgive the deception and finally reunite them? Or it may be put as a statement: Pauline, rich and proud, ambitious of marrying a title, is loved by Claude Melnotte, the gardener's son; unrecog- nized by her, he personates a Prince and marries her; love conquers her pride, she forgives the deception and becomes his wife after separation. The one first given does not seem to take in the last act or provide for Melnotte's atonement, and rather leaves the last act as a kind of Epilogue. Let us see if this will not cover the whole case : Pauline, rich and vain, ambitious of marrying a title, is loved by Melnotte, a peasant ; Melnotte deceives her into marriage by pretend- ing to be a Prince ; will her pride be humbled by her love, and will he incidentally, atone for his treachery? Again, the author, mentally reserving all details, would have had a sufficient and definite Proposition in this form : Pauline is loved by Melnotte ; he deceives her into a marriage by personating a Prince ; will he win her love and atone for his treachery? He has a working Proposition when he gets the three clauses, premises, Cause of Action and result. He may not get it all at once, and it may be subject to change as he proceeds, but the incidental processes are to be considered later. We are now concerned with what a Proposition is. This Proposition does not require any de- tail of the Action or how it is to be carried out. It is the Story of the play. The last clause is the problem to be worked out. From the Proposition the Plot is constructed. Thence you proceed to demonstrate, in the Action, how it all happened. In "Camille," Camille is honestly loved by Armand, who wishes to withdraw her from her irregular life ; she is THE PROPOSITION 55 required to sacrifice herself by giving him up for his own good. Will she be so purified by this love as to do thia^ and v^ill she by the merit of this purified love be finally united with him? This is a full statement of the whole case, although it might have a different form as to words. Whether Dumas derived his philosophy of the case from certain facts, or whether he devised or found his facts to fit his philosophy is immaterial. He was convinced that a woman may be purified by love. That was his Theme or philosophy, his general Proposition. But we cannot call the Theme or philosophy of a play its Proposition, for if we are to be scientific or even intelligible to ourselves or others in dis- cussion, our terms must have a specific meaning. We can- not have a definite play from an indefinite or general Propo- sition. Even here, the process is from the general to the particular. In bringing it down from the general we do not depart in the slightest from that general idea. Will love purify a woman would not answer for a Proposition of this play, for there is nothing specific about it; and the drama is specific or nothing. What woman? Under what cir- cumstances? Her age? Her mode of life? Her surround- ings? Make these and all essential things plain; place them in an atmosphere as clear, we may say, as that of Colorado where the mountain peaks a hundred miles away may be seen. Here we h'ave a Proposition divided into three clauses. First, the premises, that is to say, the conditions and active facts upon which the Action is based. Second, we have the cause of Action, the main Cause, that upon which the complete Action turns. Third, what will be the result of this main cause of Action? The third clause con- tains the problem of the play. We could throw the Propo- tion into the form of a statement of a happening, or some- thing that happens, the result being known, as indeed they are known to the dramatist in either case. Then we would have to discover, for playwriting is never perfunctory, and result. In neither event is the problem a riddle or a matter 56 ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE of chance to the dramatist. He knows what the result will be before he begins to work the Proposition out. The de- tails of it he may have to discover. Minor details he will have to discover for playwriting is never perfunctory, and this constant discovery or invention is the charm that sus- tains the mettle of the writer. A true Proposition is inclusive of all that may be discov- ered and used in the play. All that is used must conform to the proposition. If your discoveries and material prove overpoweringly suggestive of another and better proposi- tion, then you will have to change your Proposition, for your play must conform to it. Sooner or later it becomes fixed. All the better if your original idea is the true one and rooted in a firm philosophy. If the original idea is nOt a strong one and if you are looking for a mere "play" such changes are often made. Dumas wanted to find the highest test of Camille's sincerity and purification. Remember that we are stating it from the French point of view. At any rate, we get the sacrifice, and in the last act we get the purified spirit. Observe that the last clause contains two problems, a main and a subordinate one. This is usually if not always the case. The two wheels seem required to balance the vehicle. The Action is not worked out until both are dem- onstrated. And the completion of both must be practically simultaneous. We have in the three clauses a beginning, a middle and an end. Now, see how much this involves. You get a glimpse of Action right off. It plainly is pro- gressive Action. It is all toward a given end. It includes all the facts as they are developed. Why is it not necessary to make mention of Varville or the father of Armand or any of the other characters in this Proposition? Because the next step is a Plot to work out this Proposition, and these characters belong to the Plot. They may exist, to a certain extent, in the mind of the dramatist when he frames his Proposition, but that is no reason why they should be mentioned in the Proposition. In point of fact, a drama- THE PROPOSITION 57 tist may actually write a play with a Proposition sufficient, as he may think, and then be under the necessity for the- purpose of revision, to go back and question and reframe his Proposition. If dramatists always did this, for surety, untold sums would be saved and many a play would be rescued from failure. Dumas first saw the absolute neces- sity for Varville when he began to consider Camille^s sacri fice. How was she to convince Armand that she had aban- doned him? By going back to Varville. He connects it at once with the second clause of the Proposition. That made it obligatory to put Varville in the premises of the play, in the development of the first clause. If he belonged to the Proposition the chances are that he would be in the last act in proper person. If we attempted to put into the Proposition every fact in the Plot and every incidental de- tail, how could there be any scientific division of the func- tions of the parts of a play? What would be the use of a distinct Proposition if it was really not distinct ? It is not a mere convenience, indispensably convenient as it is. A consistent Plot is essential to the working out of the Proposition, but there are many details in a play which are at least optional with reference to the Proposition. If you put one thing in the Proposition which did not properly belong to it, you had as well put everything. We can at once see that it was necessary to put Duval in the Proposi- tion, for he is implied in the sacrifice demanded. Prudence is implied, for Armand must be introduced to Camille by her. It may be said that Gustave and Nichette are not ob- vious. Very true. They do not even belong to the Plot. They belong to the Action, which is again something difffer- ent from the Plot. That we shall see in discussing Plot and Action. It is enough to see that out of this Proposition grew the entire play. The Proposition of this play was de- veloped out of the philosophy of the dramatist and his sub- ject. We shall find other plays in which this process is not so certain, and, indeed, not required in the initiative. Do not be disturbed at any repetition that you may dis- / ^' or -' ,i_...U,N.|V£._„._ ..._. 58 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE cover in these pages. It is orderly repetition and is of the very essence of learning and teaching. I am giving my labors to 'my students and am not primarily addressing myself to the casual reader. In "Still Water Runs Deep," Mildmay has lost authority in his own household because of the supremacy of Hawks- ley, who has designs against the purity of his wife and her aunt and against the family fortune; Mildmay confronts Hawksley with a bill forged by him, thereby preventing the scandal against the aunt and forcing him to return the in- vestments already made; by the production of a second forged bill held in reserve he exposes Hawksley in the presence of his family and restores himself to authority. This is a working Proposition for it is comprehensive, with premises, cause of Action, and result or problem; a beginning, a middle and an end. The last clause may be made to read: Mildmay defeats Hawksley and restores himself to authority. Observe first the Unity of the Proposition. Everything depends upon Mildmay's exposure of Hawksley. The re- gaining of the confidence of the family is subordinate to that. Put it the other way, that Mildmay regains the confi- dence of his family, and thereby is enabled to expose Hawksley. A play might be made for such a Proposition, but it does not present a definite Action as to means, and would certainly require entirely diflferent treatment. The exposure of Hawksley would be the subordinate clause in the problem. Again, suppose that he should defeat Hawks- ley with reference to his wife by showing her the design of Hawksley on the aunt, and then had to turn about on an entirely different line and convince Potter, who holds the purse strings, that Hawksley is a scoundrel? Then you would have two propositions of equal importance or that would require independent treatment. One part of the play would be finished before the other part, neither one or the other would be main or subordinate. There would be no direct relation between them except at the end of the the: proposition 59 play perhaps. There would not be that continuous relation- ship which is necessary to the Unity of a Proposition. Go a^ little further by way of experiment and add as a Proposition, Can Mildmay also convert Mrs. Sternhold from a hardshell Baptist to a Roman Catholic? Why not? Amateurs and some dramatists of false reputations who, however, do not know the art, are constantly doing things equally absurd. Indeed, what we have just suggested might be introduced as one of the minor Propositions incidental to Action, for a play has many Propositions, but the Present Proposition of the play hardly suggests the possibility of any such vagary. We must confine the Proposition of the play to the idea that controls the play and holds it together from be- ginning to end. If, then, you can destroy the play by means of a false Proposition, you can also destroy the Proposition by departing from it in the course of the Action of the play. If, in writing a play, a change is made, a departure taken, then you are compelled to go back and make the Proposition conform to it. If you complete a play without having for- mulated a Proposition and then find you cannot formulate one, and cannot make play and Proposition consist, your labor is lost, for there must be a dramatic Proposition or there can be no play. A Proposition must be susceptible of being worked out; there must be material for it. If a Plot cannot be evolved from it, the Proposition is inadequate. If it is a Proposition for which a play of not more than one or two acts can be devised, it is folly to try to work it out in three or five acts. In "Still Waters Run Deep" there was material for three acts only. The play could not be padded out by introducing into the second clause of the Proposition a second means of thwarting Hawksley, such, for instance, as showing that he was already a bigamist. Again, in order to show the essential requirement of simplicity and Unity, let us assume that in the first clause, the premises of the Proposition, we had to state that Mildmay was henpecked and a candidate for Congress. Make him a candidate for Congress if you 60 ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE will, but you cannot put it into Proposition, for everything in the Proposition must be material to the Plot. A Plot must have Unity above all things. You cannot possibly have any true inspiration for a play or any justification in attempting it, if your idea is not large enough for a play in its singleness. It is a test of your own sanity, your own sincerity, of the genuineness of your material. It is true that you may not be able to formulate at once your Proposi- tion or exactly what your play is to be about. You may not at once discover the practical constituents of the Proposi- tion, nor at all in its clauses. Tom Taylor perhaps first had the idea occur to him that an interesting character would be a man of great firmness, veiled under a quiet manner, cool under all circumstances. It may have been suggested to him by some other character in some other play. Or it may have been an observation original with him. He had to cast about before he found the Action which would bring out these characteristics. He had a part of his Proposition the moment the idea occurred to him. It is immaterial whether he saw how he could defeat Hawksley before or after he formulated his Proposition. He could easily have worked it out algebraicly, confident that he would find the needed equivalent. But sooner or later he had to frame his Proposition. Observe that not all the characters are mentioned in the Proposition. Those omitted are not Proposition characters but belong to the Plot or the Action. The difficulty which an untrained writer experiences in reducing a play to its Proposition, its lowest terms, consists in the necessity of excluding from the Proposition charac- ters that belong to the Plot simply or to the Action simply. If we included the means of carrying out a Proposition we would infringe upon the Plot. Any mention of the thirteen letters held by Hawksley would make the Proposition cum- brous, although a working Proposition might include it. The dramatic mind must be able to make distinctions, otherwise the Proposition, the Plot and the Action would THK PROPOSITION 6l all be the same thing to him. If Proposition means Plot, and Plot means Proposition and Action meant Plot, &c., there would be no earthly use in our establishing the terms at all. We must not only make a distinction between the principles and their use, but we must always be specific. Taylor might have started out with such a general Proposition as this: — Can a henpecked husband, a very much under-rated individual, rise above the state in which he finds himself and attain his rightful position at the head of the family? One might indeed begin with a very general Proposition, gradually making it more specific until he gets what he wants. In this play there had to be a particu- lar husband and particular existing circumstances which had to be overcome in order that the goal aimed at might be reached. The Proposition of "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is not easy to define, for it has an unusual num- ber of under-plots, and the dominating and overwhelming masterfulness of Sir Giles would seem to absolutely de- mand that we frame our Proposition with reference to the chief character of the play and from our point of view of that character. Massinger's first idea, for the strongest, and he drew his picture from life, was Overreach. He wanted to mete out punishment to him. He would cause him to make restitution of lands fraudulently obtained and have his one social ambition, to be effected by the sac- rifice of his daughter, defeated. The dramatist's interest was not aroused by Wellborn. The interest of the audience now does not center in the spendthrift. If Massinger had wanted that he would have given him a love affair. Mas- singer had to accomplish the ruin of Sir Giles by a com- bination of circumstances, with Wellborn as the starting point, so that the Proposition from which a Plot and Action may grow seems to depend upon Wellborn. The simplest Proposition, the most comprehensive, may seem at first to be something like this: Wellborn, robbed of his estates by Sir Giles, determines to retrieve himself; he 62 ANAIvYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE gets Lady AUworth to pretend that she will marry him ; will Sir Giles then set him up in the world again? That is good enough, comprehensive enough, as far as it goes. Sir Giles does furnish him the money with which to pay off his debts, but that does not cover the last act. It was never a problem whether Wellborn could get Sir Giles to restore his entire property. The two great problems in the play are whether Sir Giles will be duped or made to overreach himself or not, both with reference to his schemes of plundering Wellborn and the marriage of his daughter to Lord Lovell instead of to her rightful lover Allworth. The first point is held in solution to the death of Sir Giles, but there is hardly any doubt at any time, in the mind of the audience, as to the intentions of Lord Lovell. We know that Margaret will not be wed to him. If we put the problem so that it makes Sir Giles ambi- tious for a rich marriage for Margaret, then that part of it is kept in solution to the end. Let us look for that prob- lem again. Sir Giles is to overreach himself in what? In supplying Wellborn with money? That does not com- plete the Action. He overreaches himself in thinking that he can, by some trick, get the estate of Lady Allworth if she is married to Wellborn. But he is really defeated by the betrayal of Marrall, whom he has treated brutally, thereby overreaching him(self. He is overreached by every- body. We must look for the Proposition in the solution of the Action, in the denouement and ending of the play. Massinger wanted to have Sir Giles overreach himself, and there might be a continued hope and expectation that he would do so throughout the Action, but we know that he will never have any chance to rob his nephew of prop- erty when he shall have married Lady Allworth, for that event will never take place. The question would always remain. Will he be duped, not what he will be able to do. It would, then, seem impossible to secure an all-embracing Proposition from either the standpoint of Wellborn or of Sir Giles. A Proposition that seems to cover the case, with a THE PROPOSITION 63 beginning, a middle and an end, seems to be something like this: Wellborn has been robbed of his patrimony by Sir Giles, and his friend Allworth, in love with Sir Giles's daughter, Margaret, is prevented from marrying her by being kept from her; Wellborn gets Lady Allworth to pretend that she will n^arry him, and Allworth gets Lord Lovell to pretend to sue for Margaret; will Sir Giles be duped into rehabilitating Wellborn and giving Allworth an opportunity to marry his daughter? This would be a working Proposition and would be perfectly clear to one familiar with the Material and the purposes. The premises seem to be lacking as to the character of Sir Giles with reference to the specific plan to rob his nephew again and as to his intense social ambition, but are they not implied? The problem as to whether Wellborn would secure money from his uncle is answered, and although it goes beyond that point to the production of the razed deed, that is an unexpected and needed turn in the Plot Action. This play is unusually complex and difficult to reduce to a brief Pro- position. I shall return to it again. In the meanwhile you may essay its formulation by way of bettering mine. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOT. The Plot is that combination of happenings which dem- onstrates or solves the Proposition. For the present, we are studying what may be called the physiology and anatomy of a play; consequently we are excluding certain things which really belong to a full understanding of each principle taken up ; but which would only lead to confusion ; one thing at a tim(e. For example, while the Scenario embraces our Plot, and while you must have a Plot beforejjrou can„determine^n_alljthe details oflHFTcenes, or rather what scenes to have, the Scenario goes a little~"lurther than the bare Plot, just as Plot and Scenario include Action, which is to be considered in its order. All of them, again, include Unity which is to be considered in its turn. What you have learned so far is that these divisions must first be made before the actual writing is begun and that object and Proposition are the characteristics of this coming from the general to the particular, getting closer and closer to detail. The Sce- nario is the arrangement of the play into Scenes. The Proposition may be given as a problem or as a Story, that is to say, as a logical statement. The Plot is the way in which you carry out that statement of Story, or solve that Story or problem. There is no absolute need for us to go into a detailed exposition of all this now; for the present purpose it is enough to have you examine the plays and see for yourself the universal application of the method of obtaining one part of the structure at a time. When we get to the Constructive part of the work we will have to put it into practice. Simply note the progressive steps and the specific nature of each component part of the play. You will observe as you proceed, that each act has its THD PLOT 65 Plot, as well as the play, and that each scene in which any- thing is at issue has its Plot and is a little play in itself. The Plot — that which works out your play — is the ar- rangement of the important happenings — which are the larger wheels. A play being an arrangement of wheels within wheels; the Proposition being the balance wheel, the Acts the hour wheels, the scenes the minute wheels, the incidents in the scenes — and all the smaller turns — the sec- ond wheels, so to speak. The general Plot, then, of the play is implied in the main Proposition, but not stated explicitly. It has to be worked out. The analytic work is the considering of plays that are already complete, from which we can see what a Plot is after a play is completed, but it is the Plot which the author fixes before he begins to write and which we read fully developed after the play is finished. It comes back to the same thing. It existed before he wrote the play just as it exists after. If a mana- ger asks you for the Plot of your play it should not take you an hour or so to tell it; as a practical matter, he has not the time to spare, and you can tell the Plot in a com- paratively few minutes and give him all the essential turns of the main Action, that is, of the Plot. This is substan- tially the Plot of "Ingomar," stripped of anything like a formal Division into Acts, that Division into Acts being a distinct process and part of the structural work to be un- dertaken by the dramatist: Parthenia is a daughter of a poor armorer in Massilia; overburdened with debt. She is at the fulness of her beauty and youth, and her heart has never known love; her mother tells her that she must marry and proposes Polydor, an aged miser, whose money would bring comfort to the family; Parthenia refuses her mother, but on reflection considers it her duty 'to sacrifice herself, to sell herself — but she says to herself that she will make the price and conditions high. Polydor presents his suit, but she is disgusted with his sordidness and spurns him ; he swears revenge. 5 66 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE News is brought that her father has been captured and held by the barbarians without the city walls for ransom; she appeals to the neighbors for the money, but none can or will help her; the Timarch refuses; she begs Polydor, but he spurns her in return, and she determines to go her- self to the barbarians and offer herself as hostage. (The problem of the first act was how to get her into the hands of the barbarians; you will note how it is worked out. It required a lot of detail, of cause and effect, but you will ob- serve that it is not necessary to relate all these details and tell the whole play to a mianager in order to give him a completely intelligible account of the play, and when you have your Plot to start with it is not necessary to have all the details in your mind — just as you are being taught, so does the author proceed about his work — one part of the process at a time). Parthenia offers herself to the Barbarians as hostage for Myron, her father, and is accept- •€d by Ingomar, the leader; and Myron returns to raise the ransom. Left alone with Ingomar Parthenia proves her independence and purity of mind, and talks to him artlessly •^of love, and begins to win his heart and protection. (You will observe that the details of the Action are not stated liere; it is enough that the general Action progress is rsufficiently indicated; that you do not do the entire work all at once — something is always left, as, for example, the scenes work out the problem indicated. How Parthenia wins Ingomar's heart is left to be worked out by the scene of the cup and the telling of love as told to her by her mother, and in the making of your' play something is left for invention; you have WHAT you want, and devise in the scenes the HOW). The barbarians decide to dispose of Parthenia by sale or by lot among themselves ; Ingomar himself would enjoy her after this fashion also, but in a fine scene, she abashes himj and makes him love her all the more. He saves her from the other barbarians, and gets her for his own portion, will free her and conduct her safely, the ransom cancelled, to Massilia. It is seen in THE PLOT d'J the city that the citizens have been unable to raise th^ ransom. A fine scene when Ingomar having conducted her safely — the ransom cancelled — to the gates, is about to leave her; but he returns to her, is willing to renounce his tribe for love of her, and will go to Massilia itself with her. The barbarians approach the city and Ingomar is suspected of being a spy. In the meanwhile Polydor is still seeking to ruin Myron, Parthenia's father, by buying up all his debts. The parents still oppose the match. The Timarch makes a proposition to Ingomar relating to trap- ping his old companions which Ingomar refuses and is about to depart; Parthenia will go with him; barbarians make terms; Polydor thwarted; the lovers reunited, and Ingomar is made a Timarch. The Plot of "The Lady of Lyons," like that of "Ingo- mar," is compact and simple. Each can be reduced to fewer lines than have been devoted to them. An author's working Plot would be expressed in a kind of shorthand, in so far as the use of words is concerned. An excellent method of familiarizing yourself with the nature and char- acteristics of Plot would be to become familiar with a num- ber of Plots, simple and perfect Plots, susceptible of brief statement, and be able to give them with entire accuracy at a moment's demand. If you were not familiar with the scientific restrictions of Plot you would soon find yourself rambling and entering into innumlerable details in attempt- ing to state the Plot of any play. To master the Plot of a play so as to retain it in the mind and give it briefly is not a feat of the memory, but a natural process follow- ing out the Cause and Effect of the Action. If fifty ex- perts should detail the Plot of a given play already written, those Plots should be substantially identical. Fifty people not acquainted with the art might attempt to give this Plot, and each Plot would fall short of a true scientific Plot, each differing in their superfluities or omissions from the' other. It would be impossible without bringing confusion into the instruction to dwell upon all the characteristics 68 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPIvi: of Plot and those principles which govern or influence the management of all parts of a play as well as the Plot itself. It has been necessary to use certain terms, and ref- erences to principles which you are to learn by degrees. A number of them involve Plot in a most specific way. You will have to read these pages through once and then return to them often enough to assure yourself that you under- stand the discussion of each principle. The Plot is the de- velopment or demonstration of the Proposition and we deduce it from| the Proposition. In "The Lady of Lyons", for instance, how was it possible for Melnotte to personate a Prince successfully? What kind of Prince was he? How did his opportunity come? Why did she forgive the de- ception? Without attempting to follow all the mental processes in devising the means of solving the Proposition, it is enough now to see that there is a Proposition and what the Plot is. The Plot here given is the Plot without reference to the details of the Action, the Action proper being a distinct thing. Observe that everything is given in the order of the happenings. It is the author's working model with reference to the reserved knowledge in his own mind. It is as follows: Pauline, rich and proud, ambitious of marrying rank, is sought after by many suit- ors; she rejects Beauseant, himself rich and proud, but not of sufficient or secure rank, humbling and enraging him ; Beauseant meets with Glavis, also a rejected suitor, and they plan revenge to humble her. At an inn they hear shouts, cheering a Prince; the landlord explains that one Claude Melnotte is so called by the villagers by reason of his accomplishments and manners. They determine to mlake a pseudo-prince of him and introduce him to Pauline. At his humble home Claude is told by the messenger that his message to Pauline was spurned and that he was beaten when it was learned that the sender was the gardener's son ; he is ripe for revenge. He receives a note at this mo- ment from Beauseant and is willing to adopt the scheme. Beauseant succeeds in enforcing Claude's oath to marry the: pivOT 69 her and take her to the inn, where all pomp and pretenses should vanish. Damas suspected and tests his Italianv When Claude wishes to retire from his bargain, Beauseant reminds him of this suspicion and the danger he is in if the Directory finds him out. Claude disarms Damas in a duel and gains his friendship ; Beauseant produces a letter telling him of the danger he is in fromj the Directory and immediate marriage is agreed upon. The marriage takes place, as we see when Claude brings his bride to the inn, and, on pretext of the carriage breaking down, he takes her to his mother's cottage. Pauline discovers the truth, and he tells her his story, which touches her, and she ceases to hate him but feels the deep wrong; he will see to her release by law and sends her to rest in care of his mother. The kindness of the widow affects Pauline and we see that she begins to love Claude, and she sees from the portrait painted by him that he was truthful and sin- cere. Beauseant finds entrance and would take advantage of her humiliation to renew his suit ; she resists, and Claude returning rescues her from his embrace ; her parents come ; Claude gives papers empowering divorce; she would re- main but Claude will go to the wars and redeem himself; the opportunity coming in the offer of Damas, now his friend. Claude, under the name of Morier, having won wealth and fame, returns from the wars; Damas has been his friend throughout, and now learns that Pauline is about to marry Beauseant, her father's bankruptcy forcing it. While they believe Pauline is false to Claude, Damas urges hope. The marriage contract is about to be signed. Pau- line begs Beauseant to pay the debt and yet release her. He refuses. In a talk with her, Claude, concealing his face, introduced as Morier, is convinced of her love, throws aside his disguise, offers the money that releases her father and the two are reunited. This is the Plot of "Camille," (as a development of the Proposition) as it may be stated in order to be intelligible to one who knew nothing of the play: 70 ANAI^YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) Camille, a woman of irregular life, loves none of her suitors; Arm|and Duval, a young man of good family, v^ho has loved her passionately for two years, without disclos- ing himself, is introduced by Prudence, one of her set; she begins to like him at once because he is different from those who surround her; he declares his passion and wishes to withdraw her from her present life and share with her a pure love ; she is unwilling to grant this demand, but she sees that she is loved as never before. She pre- pares to retire to the country with him, and procures money for the purpose from an old friend, a protector, the Duke de Meuriac; she will accept Armand's plans, feeling that she loves and is loved. Armand makes the condition that she break oflf all other relations; she is not advanced to that understanding of Armand's views, and evades the question. Varville, a suitor who is rich and offers to pay her debts, enters after Armand's departure; Armand is jealous, having seen Varville enter, and writes that he will quit Paris; Camille is in a fever of anxiety; she sends Varville away, and receives Armand; she yields fully to Armand's demjands, and commits herself without reserve by tearing up a letter which comes from Varville. She provides funds for retirement to the country cottage by arranging to sell her diamonds and effects, and Armand prepares to sell an estate derived from his mother. During his absence Duval, his father, appears and demands of Camille that she abandon Armand, saying to her that she is ruining him, urging that Armand has a sister whose en- gagement of marriage will be broken off if she does not immediately and finally discontinue her relations with Armand. Seeing the impossibility of happiness for herself, she sacrifices her love, and in order to convince Armand that she means to abandon him, she writes him a note say- ing that she has gone back to Varville. Heartbroken, but attributing her act to the influence of Varville, he seeks a quarrel with him; at a ball he publicly insults Camille by showering her with money, so that Varville must fight the: pIvOT 71 the duel with him. Camille keeps her secret of sacrifice. Deserted by both Varville and Armand she is dying. Duval reveals to his son the truth, and Armand returns to her as she is dying, forgiving and forgiven, united for a mo- ment to be parted by death. This statement does not imply that it is the only one that can be made, word for word, of the Plot. Observe that only a limited number of the characters are named. You will also note that many incidents are not given, the sup- per scene, which is in the nature of an Episode, the little ministrations to Camille in her last hours, the scene be- tween Camille and her friends Gustave and Nichette in the third act, for example. The reason is that the Characters and the incidents not included in the statement of the Plot belong to the Action. They are elemifents that serve to work out the Plot. Of course, the Plot itself has Action, but what we choose to specifically call Action, that of the moment, includes the Action of the Plot. The Plot gives only the larger totals; the Action being the itemized ac- count of these various totals. The author's Plot might be still more brief: Camille meets Armand, is impressed with his passionate declaration of love, but will not give up her life to be with him, for she doubts the happiness of such a course, but her love prevails; she will take a cottage in the country with him, using the money of others; he refuses on these conditions; she throws over Varville, a rich lover, and agrees to his conditions; the father interrupts their happi- ness by demanding that she sacrifice herself to save his son fromi ruin; she writes a letter to Armand saying that she has abandoned him for Varville ; Armand seeking a duel with Varville, whom he holds responsible, publicly insults Camille ; Camille is abandoned by both ; she is dying; the father reveals to Armand Camille's sacrifice, and he returns forgiving and forgiven, as she dies. You will observe that it covers the larger Action, and is substantially the same as the longer Plot, only omitting 'J2 ANAI.YSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE certain details. A brief Plot of this kind is possible to the author because he holds in mind all the conditions and qualifying things. They are in his notes, his Material and his Conditions Precedent. For that matter, many of the details of tjie Action may not exist before he finds this Plot; but sooner or later he discovers the ways and means of carrying out the Plot. Until he gets this Plot, susceptible of this short statement, he has no play. This play is largely psychological, a conflict of emo- tions; internal rather than external, consequently, the Cause and Effect of it all is more than usually subtle, con- (\ taining many shades of feeling and motive. Now, Cause and Effect is the distinguishing mark of a Plot. Without it there can be no Plot. The moment a link is lost it be- comes to that extent Story. Camille loves no one because she has been disappointed in her social ambitions and has been denied the possibilities of true love ; she has a lovable nature and is loved because of it by Armand; introduced ,^ to him, she recognizes his sincerity, but does not accept ^•"^ them because of the hopelessness of it all; she yields to his proposal to retire to the country with him because of the love which now overpowers her; she refuses to carry out the arrangement because she has not given up her other relations; she throws over Varville because she under- stands him better and her love is being purified ; Duval de- mands that she sacrifice herself because it will save his son, and she consents for that reason; but she cannot con- vince Armand that she no longer loves him in abandoning him, and because of that she writes a letter renouncing him as she goes to Varville ; because Armand thinks Varville is responsible he seeks a duel with him, and insults her pub- licly because that will force the duel ; because of this duel she is abandoned by both Varville and Armand; because she keeps her secret of sacrifice Armand does not return to her; and because of her suffering she is dying; and be- cause Armand's father reveals to him the truth he returns to Camille; and because she has been purified by love and THE PLOT 73 his love has been constant they are reunited in spirit as she dies in his arms on his return. Just as we have followed the course of the Plot from Cause to Effect, we can run it backward by means of Cause and Effect. It is this law which enables one often to establish effects before ascer- taining in details the causes. It is that process of thinking backward that every dramatist must acquire. In point of fact, the process of discovering the Action is largely of this nature. Indeed, if this were not so we could not write plays unless they had already happened in life. Invention would die, or we should have to rely upon the inferior inven- tion of the mere story teller, whereby it would be a mere chance whether the story would be dramatic or not, a thing of Cause and Effect. Need we again call attention to the fact that the Plot is a development of the Proposition? The Proposition of ''Camille" will be found included in either of the Plots given. Given with some fulness the Plot of "Still Waters Run Deep" is substantially this : Mildmlay, a man of mild man- ners, has lost his authority in his own household because Hawksley has infatuated his wife's aunt and his father-in- law, with the design to corrupt the wife and to secure through the aunt money for worthless stocks; in order to defeat Hawksley, Mildmay must remain silent until he pro- cures proof of the criminal career of Hawksley. Mrs. Sternhold, the aunt, is about to persuade Potter, the fath- er-in-law, to invest the desired sum, when her suspicions are aroused as to Hawksley's relations with Mrs. Mildmay by doubts expressed by Potter; she hides and overhears Hawksley trying to force an appointment at night with Mrs. Mildmay; in her jealousy and rage she declares for revenge and that the investment shall not be made; Hawk- sley forces her to keep silent and let the investment be made by Potter, who holds the money, inasmuch as he, Hawksley, holds compromising letters from her; this fact and the state of affairs are overheard by Mildmay; but he 74 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE cannot mbve until he has the proof in his hands of the criminal career of Hawksley, but feeling secure in his plans, Mildmay unexpectedly urges the investment and assumes all responsibilities. In an interview with Hawk- sley, Mildmay produces a forged bill from Hawksley, and in exchange for it obtains Mrs. Sternhold's compromising letters and cash for the bonds already sold to Potter. Hawksley, not recognizing his defeat, intends to regain his ground by humiliating Mildmay at dinner at Mildmay*s home the next day, and offers on that occasion a duel, but his cowardice is exposed by Mildmay's acceptance and Hawksley's refusal to fight with one pistol unloaded and chosen by chance; Hawksley is finally defeated by the in- troduction of a second forged bill by an officer, is hand- cuffed and taken away; the family recognize Mildmay's authority and worth. This play has so many conditions Precedent, so much that is in the air and in the nature of story, and is so much a play of character and dwells so much on conditions, that the comjplications are in the Action in general rather than in Plot. Many things happen, but the Plot Action is sim- ple enough : Mildmay is helpless until he secures proof of the criminality of Hawksley; Hawksley is confident of vic- tory until Mildmay produces the forged bill and forces Hawksley to return the compromising letters which gave him power over the fortunes of the family; Mildmay hav- ing to produce a second forged bill, which Hawksley thinks Mildmay knows nothing of, in order to complete the defeat of Hawksley and to restore himself to the affection and confidence of his family. We have shown that a Plot can be put in few words, and that if you go beyond a certain point your statement of the Plot is something else, including an account of the Action, which has a distinction of its own from the Plot. The Plot is composed of the decisive happenings, and re- quires inevitably a series of direct Causes and Effects. Let us assume that we are familiar with all the Conditions THD PLOT 75 Precedent and all the characters, and that the Proposition has been fixed. We put ourselves in the position of Mas- singer. We do not need to state, for our own information, the innumerable details. Massinger was secure of his play, "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," when he procured his Plot which is substantially as follows: In order to dupe his uncle and rehabilitate himself. Wellborn gets Lady All- worth to consent to pretend that she favors him as a suitor ; Sir Giles is duped into the belief that Wellborn and Lady Allworth will marry, and gives Wellborn the money to re-establish himself with. Allworth gets Lord Lovell to carry on his suit for the hand of Margaret, who loves him ; Sir Giles is duped and gives orders to the curate which enables the two to marry, not knowing that he is defeat- ing himself; in the denouement, Marrall, who has been beaten and mistreated by Sir Giles, produces, in a spirit of revenge, the deed which has robbed Wellborn of his property, having erased the writing; Sir Giles finding him- self balked in his schemes both for money and for the social advancement of his daughter, dies in an excess of mad rage. This takes no account of the subordinate char- acters, and does not specify the means by which the details of the plot are to be carried out in the Plot itself, but it presents a definite, complete Action, with a beginning, a middle and an end. It conforms to the Proposition. It makes no mention of minor characters belonging rather to the Action than to the Plot. That Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth marry is not in the Proposition and is merely Action incidental to the Plot. They do not have to marry to carry out either Proposition or the main Plot. Marrall's trick with the deed is an extension of the idea of duping Sir Giles and may fairly be called a part of the Plot. Justice Greedy belongs almost entirely to the Action, not that of the Plot, but of the detailed movements under the Plot. What we have given was the Author's Plot, at least the outline which assured him that he had a play. We might amplify this and go into what happens, and thus secure j(y ANALYSIS O^ DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE^ a more developed plot, the elaborate pattern from which he worked, which would still not be exactly a Scenario, for a Scenario involves detail, technical and otherwise, not of the Plot proper: Wellborn, ruined by Sir Giles, reduced to such tattered want, so low in habits and fortune, that he is turned from the alehouse^ determines to redeem him- self. His friend Allworth offers to assist him, but he will redeem himself in his own way; he advises Allworth to give up his 'love for Sir Giles's daughter, for she will be permitted only to marry for higher social position. This is the foundation of the Plot; it gives merely a glimpse of what may grow out of the condition of affairs. It gives things by way of visible Action leading to the Plot. The treatment of Wellborn by the servants and the advice of Lady Allworth to Tom, which makes him refuse to have anything to do with Wellborn when he presents him- self, belong more to the Action than to the Plot. It is incidentally a part of the Plot, but not absolutely essential to the Plot. They are movemients of the second hand, not the minute hand. Certainly they are a part of the move- ment, but you cannot see any definite Plot movement in the scene of the servants. As soon as Wellborn presents himself there is an obvious movement. He will see her, as he does see her; she consents. Plot. Wellborn persuades Marrall to accompany him to dinner at Lady Allworth's; he consents ; he goes ; he sees and is convinced and duped. Plot. Marrall tells his "fairy story" to Sir Giles and is beaten for it, and being disposed to betray Sir Giles by way of revenge and to go over into the service of Wellborn, we have Plot again. Sir Giles furnishes the money to pay off Wellborn's debts. Plot. But it is not Plot that Well- born punishes Tapwell and Froth. The Plot gets thick to- ward the end, for all the causes reaching far back into the previous Action begin to count. The details of the Plot become a part of it. The ring, the letter, the mistake in be- lieving that Wellborn and Lady Allworth are already mar- ried, the demanding of repayment, the production of the THK PI