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LUTHtB. B. ANTHONY
The
T>RAMA TIST
A Journal of Dramatic
Technology
Kdit«d b7
LUTHER B. ANTHONY
Vols. Illandlll
THE. DRAMATIST CO.
EASTON. PENNA.
Copyright 1912
Luther B. ^nthonp
/
Index
A Gentleman From Mississippi
go
*A Guide to Pictures
267
A Maker of Men ....
89
A Man of Honor ....
ig6
American Playgoers ....
228
American Playgoers ....
269
A Million
200
*A New Way to Pay Old Debts
226-
A Play in the Pulpit
244
A Single Man ....
2l5
Alias Jimmy Valentine
43
*An Englishman's Home
33.:
Another Declaration of Independence
3
*Arizona .....
252
As a Man Thinks
142"
A Specimen Criticism of an Amateur ]
'lay
IQ&;
Baby Mine .....
1^9,
Belasco on Technique
93
Bobby Burnit ....
lOI
Bought and Paid For
214.
Bunty Pulls the Strings
255
Cameo Kirby ....
xq6
♦Candida
164;
Chair of Dramatic Writing
35
Dear Old Billy ....
172,
♦Disraeli ....
241-
*Don
155'
*Double Cross ....
206.
Drifting . . . .
^52,
Electricity ....
119,
Elevating a Husband
237
*Embers .....
223
Enchained
55
Enchained (In three Acts)
58.
Enchained (Revision)
136.
Enduring Success
233
Excuse Me ....
16B •
♦Facing Death (in one Act)
IZ3
Facing Death (analyzed)
185
Facing Death (Reconstruction)
2 07-.
♦Footlights Fore and Aft
248.
♦Fritzchen ....
15^
♦From Ibsen's Workshop
24B.,
Get Rich Quick V/allingford
ii8'.
♦Getting Married
203
Green Stockings
239;
Hervieu's Reply to Our Criticism
95
*Ecw He Lied to Her Husband
.
31-
♦Husband
.
124
Inconstant George
49
♦Interviewed . . . .
138
Is Matrimony a Failure
2
Israel
16
Just a Wife . . . .
37
*Tustice
128
Kindling
242
♦Lady Patricia . . . .
244
Leah Kleschna
134
Letter from Charles Rann Keaned
y •
250
♦Lovely Peggy
225
Madame X . . . .
■17
Maggie Pepper
200
Managers Hunting Feverishly for
Plays
.
II
♦Margot
3«
♦Mary Magdalene
121
♦Maternity . . . .
203
♦Mid-Channel . . . .
205
Mother ....
97
Mrs. Bumstead-Leigh
169
Mrs. Dot
89
Natural-Bomness
4
New Plays ....
I
Nobody's Daughter
150
Nobody's Widow
131
Oiir Doctrines Endor«e4
209
Our Third Year
189
Paid in FuU
*4
The Thief ....
24
Passers-By
212
♦Play-Making
268
Plays of the Ne^ Seaso»
93
Playwriting
140
♦Preserving Mr. Paamure
256
Putting It Over
260
Reading of Plays
167
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
130
Calvatiom Nell
50
Samuel Johnson, Playwright
3
Seven Days
15
Seven Days
222
Shore Acres
222
Snobs . . =- .
1 98
Sipeed ....
191
♦Suderman's One-Act Plays
29
♦Streaks of Light
29
Sunlurun ....
238
Technical Tendemcies
141
♦Technique of the Drama
266
♦The American Dramatist
248
♦The Appreciation of the Drama
267
The Arab
191
The Barrier
48
The Boss
143
The Call of the WM
135
The City
39
Tlie Climax .
I
■♦The Climbers
263
The Coburn Players
269
The Commanding Officer
13
TKe Commuters
e
102
The Concert ....
150
The Confession
220
The Cottage in the Air
12
The Country Boy
99
*The Dark Lady of the Sonnets
151
The Deep Purple
148
The Deserters ....
108
*The Doctor's Dilemma
202
*The Faith Healer
33
The Family ....
126
*The Farav/ay Princess
30
The Fatted Calf
247
The Fire Commissioner
137
The Fortune Hunter
20
*Theft
155
The Gamblers ....
123
The Girl He Couldn't Leave Behind Hin
1
91
*The Goddess of Reason
31
The Governor's Lady
253
The Greyhound ....
256
The Harvest Moon
21
The Havoc ....
145
*The Home Thrust
262
*The House Next Door
261
The Intellectual Dramatist
7
*The Last Visit
30
The Lily
45
The Littlest Rebel
220
The Man VHio Stood Still
52
The Marionettes
236
The Melting Pot ...
23
The Model ....
252
The Nest Egg ....
199
*The Nigger
161
The 1909 Record
II
The Only Son ....
218
The Pearl ....
229
The Pearl (Revision)
248
The Pearl (Fourth Revision)
269
*The Playboy of the Western World
224
The Price ....
215
The Province of Analysis
113
The Rack ....
194
The Rainbow ....
245
The Real Thing
197
The Return of Eve
27
The Return of Peter Grimm
210
The Ringmaster
2
*The Servant in the House
234
*The Showing Up of Blanco Posnet
203
*The Silver Box
158
The Spendthrift
105
The Squaw Man
133
The Talker ....
257
*The Terrible Meek
235
The Test
120
*The Thunderbolt
"5
The Trail of the Lonesome Pine
240
The Turning Point
41
The Twelve Pound Look
147
*The Unequal Triangle
243
The Unwritten Law
265
♦The Voysey Inheritance
258
The Wife Decides
219
The Witness for the Defense
193
The Woman
190
The Woman Pays
15
*The V/oman With the Dagger
264
*The World and His Wife
170
*Three Plays by Brieux
203
*Three Plays by Shaw
,
202
Three Books for Playbuilders
247
Thy Neighbor's Wife
192
*Titles from Shakespeare
226
Two Theatrical Seasons Compared
92
Two Theatrical Seasons Compared
188
Two Women ....
154
U. S. Minister Bedloe
147
*Waste ....
259
What is Technic?
251
"World" Prize Play
53
"World" Prize Play Award
108
Your Humble Servant .
17
*The asterisk indicates that the work is published.
Index to Plots
A Comedy
279
A Double Suicide
276
A Gauntlet
280
Alias Jimmy Valentine
277
Alice Sit by the Fire
278
Anna of Tharau
274
Article 47
279
A Visit . . . .
282
Beyond Their Strength
281
Bought and Paid For
282
Bread
274
Brides of Arrogonia
278
Cinderella
279
Colleen Bawn
282
Damon and Pythias
277
Israel
280
Laboremus
281
London Assurance
282
Lysistrata
277
Madame X
280
Philip II
274
Richelieu
283
Sampson
280
Sauce for the Goose
282
Stained Honor
276
Struensce
278
The Acharians
276
The Admirable Crichton
277
The Cave Man
283
The Dangerous Aunt
The Deep Purple
The King
The Lady of Lyons
The Lily
The Mistress of St. Tropez
The Newly-Weds
The Pariah
The Perjurer
The Priest of Churchfield
The Return of Peter Grimm
The Thatcher
To-day and Yesterday
The Ugliest of Seven
Zaza ...
274
277
281
282
279
275
281
278
275
276
279
275
281
275
280
Introduction
If there is one principle of playrighting that
We haVe insisted upon in these pages more than
all others, it is that the audience KNOW. In the
closing quarter of this year of our Lord 1912 We
are still quite alone in this contention. Complete
ignorance on the part of the audience can only
result in negative interest: surprise. Surprise is
the tool of the fiction Writer. Knowledge or eX'
pectation in some degree is the indispensible con-
dition for generating suspense. If you, dear stu=
dent, cannot grasp this subtle dramatic laW at the
outset. We ask that you take it on faith, as most
of our knowledge is accepted, until its inevitable
operation can be Verified.
There is one other ingredient that We contin-
ually cry for: Conflict. Conflict is a character
creator in tWo senses. In life there is no such
thing as acquiring character Without conflict. In
drama there is no illusion of character possible
Without a stage Conflict to mold it in Conflict
is the die that casts character. And this is the
secret of the salutary poWer of drama. Of all
moral instruction it is the most effectual. A
gripping play is the nearest substitute for the
actual characttr'creating process of life.
Easton, Pa.
October, 1912
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B.
ANTHONY,
E.ditor
Vol.1
EASTON, PA.
No.
1
QUARTERLY
1909
OCTOBER
New Plates
Karken to the parable of the press agent and you would be
persuaded that the author of this remarkable Play was only
yesterday a Pittsburg glass-blower. In reality, Mr. Edward
Locke, like all other arrivals in stageland, is a graduate of the
University of Hard Knocks. He has learned technic
through repeated failures and from years of experience as
actor and newspaper man. The unrivaled triumph of his first
great play lies in its elemental simplicity of direct appeal to
the sympathies of every-day people. This characteristic per-
meates the plot which is set forth in but three acts, the cast
which involves only four people and introduces them in the
first five minutes of the Play, the stage setting which requires
but one set scene and the theme w^hich is approximately con-
fined to its legitimate circumference. The Play abounds in
minor flaws and elements foreign to the structure and the
"Climax" when reached is merely talked into the audience in-
stead of coming out of dramatic invention. The rascal who
has tricked a girl into marriage calmly relates his unscrupu-
lousness instead of being detected in a truly dramatic manner
and the effort to reconcile the girl to such treachery on the
plea that this rascal's half-hearted love has matured certain
tone qualities in her voice is the merest apology for plot!
What is the theme of the Play.' Seeking a wife through dis-
honest means ! Can there be but one answer to this proposi-
tion? The play leaves the verdict to the audience. Drama
must be definite or it is not Drama. The logical end and cli-
max of this Play is reached when this rascal is exposed, and the
girl's voice is recovered. The only word for him is: "Beat it!"
If our theme dealt with this girl's love for this man we might
finish with som.e solution of love but in no sense is her love es-
tablished and any attempt to make it a part of the play is sim-
ply a departure from the immutable limits of the given theme
and a step toward the construction of a distinct and separate
plot. Love is not a factor in this play and cannot be spliced
onto it! The framework of "The Climax" is ideal structure
for a play. The acts are ideal divisions of the material. They
define the Beginning, the middle and end of a completed ac-
tion in a very skillful way. The blending of plot theme with
The DRAMATIST
melody theme is a master stroke and the Play deserves its
place in the ranks, far to the front !
IS MATRIMONY A FAILURE
A Successful Adaptation.
There is one peculiarity about this work by Mr. Leo Die-
trichstein that deserves a word of comment and com.menda-
tion. Out of a reigning Berlin success this author has made an
American comedy ! It sounds impossible, perhaps, but he has
done his work with rare slcill, transposing atmosphere, collo-
quialisms and character.
Unlike most adaptations the work is clean and free from
the odor of vulgarity. But the point that is of value to the
aspiring dramatists of this country is the fact that here is a
triumph as a result of the strenuous study of technic without
the aid of inventive genius required to construct an original
Play.
This should be a source of hope and inspiration to the Dra-
matist who feels after repeated attempts that he does not pos-
sess the required degree of creative imagination. There is a
wide chance in the field of adaptation and dram^atization for
utilizing the fancy of others. But the one ever necessary re-
quisite is — Technical skill ! If you cannot be a Fitch be a Die-
trichstein !
THE RINGMASTER.
The season thus far has not brought forth any plays re-
markable for their technical merit such as "The Easiest Way"
and "The Clim.ax" of last year but we call attention to "The
Ringmaster" more for its want of technic, the negative
study often being a more potent lesson than the ideal drama.
Here we have the making of a bully good play with a cou-
ple of well built scenes but encumbered by the traditional de-
sire to "ring in" an abundance of sentiment and comedy. For
this purpose the author calls into existence a sister of the
Ringmaster who does a wireless, sea-sick, champagne stunt
just to delay the principal action of the Play; and a oair of
juvenile lovers whose vicissitudes belong to a skit for the
vaudeville stage and not in "The Ringmaster."
For want of Scene Units in the structure a superfluity of
characters is mortgaged onto the production and Drama sleeps
while these useless accessories apologize for their intrusion.
There is a good scene where the daughter unconsciously de-
nounces the unscrupulous business methods of her father, the
Ringmaster of Wall Street, in accusing the innocent party of
the crimes actually committed by her parent.
The DRAMATIST
Without a doubt the Play for need of skillful technical
treatment. It smacks of the old school of double stories and
bi-plots and fails to conform to the new type of Drama so
clearly defined in recent successes.
SAMUEL JOHNSON, PLAYWRIGHT.
David Garrick and Dr. Samuel Johnson were warm friends.
Johnson could write a dictionary but not a Play. After a futile
attempt to stage "Irene," a tragedy especially written for the
actor, Garrick made the following allusion: "When Johnson
writes Drama, declamation roars whilst passion sleeps. When
Shakespeare wrote he dipned his pen in the blood of human-
ity."
Will some one kindly tell us why the author of a gem like
"Rasselas" could not write Drama? Was it because he tried
to write it and not build it? Shakespeare studied Play build-
ing along with stage building! As an actor he acquired the
Dramatic conscience which is invaluable to the dramatist. If
Johnson could have said to Garrick: "David, teach me what
you know about the laws of dramatic construction," doubtless
the two might have made a fair play of "Irene." But Garrick
was Johnson's pupil to begin with and the writer of dictiona-
ries was not a man to be taught !
Lytton-Bulwer, on the other hand, had a similar experience
with Macready, the famous actor-manager, and profited by
the association and advice of an expert in stagecraft. Although
a noted writer of the narrative class of composition Bulwer
failed utterly in his early attempt at playwriting. "The
Duchess de la Vailliere." Critics declared that it was not in
his power to attain the Art of dramatic construction and the-
atrical effect. Macready came to the rescue ! It was a union
of imagination and craft. Macready wrought wonders in the
re-shaping of Bulwer's plays and his next offering, "The Lady
of Lyons," is a sample of what "Rasselas" might have been
had Johnson yielded to the same available expedient.
ANOTHER DECLARATION OF
INDEPENDENCE
John Bull Backing American Play Builders.
The Progressive Play Producing Association is the name
of a co-operative company being formed for the purpose of
producing N. Y. successes in London and the English Pro-
vinces. The tide has turned, my brother! American mana-
gers are no longer dependent upon European dram.atists for
high-class plays! The success of Henry E. Dixey's "The Man
on the Box" and of James Forbes' "The Chorus Lady," re-
cently produced in London are practical proof of the drift dra-
matic tides have taken. Here is a double source of income for
DRAM
the Playwright. Pinero, Barrie and Jones have long reaped
a Yankee harvest — Johnnie Bull must now pay toll for Uncle
Sam's attractions!
NATURAL-BORNNESS
The following article is written by Arthur F. Sheldon, who
calls his great institution "A School of Scientific Salesman-
ship." It is virtually a University of Character Construction
formulating the Science of SELF — A study of infinite value to
the dramatist who also is a salesman, or should be !
One good thing about those of this class who are truly
great is their progressiveness. They recognize the fact that
"the world do move" and they move right along with it. They
see clearly that no one is so great that he cannot become
greater. They realize that knowledge is power and they grasp
every opportunity to add to their store of knowledge, both
general and specific.
"They acquire all the general knowledge possible because
they know that the broader their range of knowledge, the bet-
ter can they appeal to, and put themselves in tune with, the
vastly varied degrees of intelligence and types of human na-
ture with which they come in contact.
"They recognize quickly the value of all specific knowledge
pertaining to their own special business of salesmanship, for
they realize the fact that their business is a science and the
practice of it a profession.
"But there are dangers in being a 'natural-born.' The in-
centive for work, application and perseverance is largely taken
away from the man who inherits a fortune, whether it be in
money or natural gifts of qualities.
"He comes to rely so thoroughly upon natural gifts that he
does not go ahead in the work of self-development, and he
leans so hard upon those natural gifts that he sometimes wears
them out or breaks them down. He comes to a point pretty
soon where his natural gifts will not keep him going ahead,
and then he commences going backward, for there is no such
thing as standing still.
"J. I. C, Maud S., Sunol, Pink Coat, Wyeth and Lou Dil-
lon were all 'natural-born' trotters, runners or pacers, but sup-
pose their owners had rested content with their good breeding,
their pedigrees, their 'natural-born-ness,' and had not em-
ployed scientific trainers to develop their speed, do you sup-
pose they would have broken world's records and won great
races? Not at all. Horses that were not so v/ell blessed in
their 'horning,' as the old lady said, but who got down to earth
and worked hard would have made them go way back in the
stable or pasture and lie down. Don't you think so?
D R A M A T I
"Now let us go back to mother earth for an illustration.
The richest natural soil will not produce its richest harvests
except by cultivation. If left alone as nature made it. its
owner will not continue to reap abundantly unless he tends,
cultivates, enriches and develops it. Without scientific care,
it will soon lose its strength and begin to go backward. With
that care, its productiveness is ever on the increase,
"And to come to man in the line of intellectual effort. Lord
Byron was without question a natural-bom poet. But do you
suppose his name would now be written among the immortals
had he not cultivated the talents which nature gave him? At
fifteen years of age he had studied and largely digested some
1,500 volumes. He became the master of many languages.
He enriched his mind. He recognized that knowledge was
power. He cultivated his natural gifts. He developed them,
and he became truly great and left a lasting fame.
"And so we might go on and on with illustrations without
end, to show how unwise, how dangerous, how absolutely
foolish it is to neglect natural gifts. They are but the founda-
tion upon which to build. They should be honored and rever-
enced and cared for as precious gifts, and the possessor of
them should bestow upon them his tenderest care.
"I hope you see clearly, therefore, that I in no way belittle
the fact and the value of natural gifts ; but, on the other hand,
I want you to see clearly how foolish it is to make the claim
that because one is bom that way he cannot become stronger
by scientific cultivation.
"And now I want you to see just as clearly the fact that it
is just as foolish to say that unless one is a 'natural-born sales-
man' he can never become a great salesman.
"Listen to me now while I tell you the truth. I would
rather undertake to make a great salesman out of one who
was not bom with great natural gifts in that direction than to
undertake to make a truly great salesman out of one with
those natural gifts who is not progressive enough to see the
importance of cultivating and developing those natural gifts.
"Do you see clearly what I mean? It, in one sense, is the
old case of the tortoise and the hare. The hare, depending
upon his natural fleetness, went to sleep ; but the tortoise kept
on trying, plugged right along, and beat Mr. Hare out in the
race.
"Let us go back to mother earth for another illustration.
Were you ever out in Colorado or Wyoming or any of those
districts that are, or were, arid wastes, with a soil in which
nothing good would grow? If you have been there, you have
seen here a strip of that barren land upon which nothing good
is growing, and there by its side a soil once just like it in every
respect, which is now yielding in most bountiful abundance.
The D RAMATIST
"The natural elements of great abundance were there all
the time, and had been for ages ; all that land needed was the
application of scientific irrigation and cultivation in order to
develop its productiveness.
"And did you ever see the little old gnarled crab-apple tree,
with its sour and bitter fruit, and counted by the farmer a fail-
ure? And have you seen some one come along who under-
stood that nature could be assisted by grafting a sprout of use-
ful fruit upon its body or one of its limbs? Have you watched
that sprout grow and its fruit ripen into the luscious Pippin or
Baldwin or some ether fine apple that made our hearts glad
and our mouths water when we were boys? Oh! Nature
teaches us lots of lessons if we will only look and listen and
believe.
"And now let us come to man, the highest type of creation
and the only creature blessed with reason.
"Because he was bom a certain way, must he always re-
main in that natural state? Is he the only one of nature's pro-
ductions which is chained by environment and natural condi-
tions? Is he a slave to inherited traits? No! No! If he will
but use his greatest gift, the one so great that God gave it to
none but him — reason, pure, reason, I mean — he can break the
strongest chains that bind ; he can change the most barren soil
and can make it produce what harvest and what fruit he wills
it to produce.
"Millions have been sleeping long enough. The night of
misunderstanding of their own possibilities has been long
enough. The day of truth is here, and it's time to wake up.
Wake! O man, and know you have it in your power to be-
come what you will.
"And now let me tell you what it seems to me is one of the
drugs which has caused so many to sleep so long in utter un-
consciousness of their own possibilities of development. It is
the fact of the world's accepting as facts many things that are
nothing more than falsehoods. And the one who first gave
utterance to statements concerning man's inability to outgrow
unfavorable 'natural-born-ness' may have been either an hon-
est man who made a mistake, or an insincere man who was
trying to say something smart.
"Some one, generations ago, said something that sounded
all right. The world liked it and handed it down to the next
generation, which passed it along to its children, who passed
it along to the next generation, which assimilated it, until it
finally became a part of the human race and was accepted uni-
versally as the truth, when, as a matter of fact, it was all the
time 'a lie, and the truth abode not in it.' It has been a drug
of misunderstanding all this time, deadening the senses and
narrowing the possibilities of millions of human beings.
The DRAMATIST
"It continues to do its deadening work until the X-ray of
concentrated thought comes along and reveals its true nature,
and then the world first laughs and scoffs and jeers at the
voice of truth; then it listens, and pretty soon it says: 'Why,
yes, of course, I always knew that old fogy statement was
false.' And then everybody hurries up to get into the band
wagon of truth, while the band of enlightenment plays the
march of progress.
"The old statement and belief that the world was flat was
handed down this way for ages, and everybody believed it.
There are races today which bow down to and worship wooden
gods and tell their children it is true and right for them to so
worship; that their pleasure will bless and their wrath will
curse ; and the children believe it and hand this lie on down to
their children. And so do false ideas of religion and mistakes
in every line of thought dam — and damn — the current of prog-
ress, until the discernment and courage of truth points the way
to better things. Those who are bold enough to smash the
graven images of falsehood and error do the world good.
"Did you know that Swoboda and Sandow, two of the
strongest men in the world today physically, were born weak-
lings? Ah, but you say, that's a different thing. You can de-
velop muscle by certain methods but you cannot develop those
mental, moral and spiritual qualities which go to make certain
characteristics.
"But please do not make such a statement, my good friend,
until you have looked into modem science as applied to char-
acter building. If you will reserve your judgment until you
look into that, you will never make the mistake of counting
yourself so weak and powerless as all that.
"Blessed with reason, the greatest gift of God to man,
backed up by real desire to do and be, reinforced by the cour-
age which makes you dare to try, and with the energy which
puts all these to the test of application and perseverance, you
are absolutely the architect of your own future; the actual
builder of your own self; and you can build as you will, and
will realize that verily the reason most men do not accomplish
more is because they do not attempt more."
THE INTELLECTUAL DRAMATIST.
Ibsen, Klein and Others.
Schopenhauer told us that simplicity was a mark of truth —
of Genius ! And warned the writer against a manifest endea-
vor to exhibit more intellect than he possessed! The romantic
nature in many persons leads them to soar above the common
herd into the realm of the muses little knowing that such
flights betray more of the "manifest endeavor" than intelli-
gence.
The DRAMATIST
As a practical lesson in the paramount importance of sim-
plicity in Dramatic Art let us take the life and evolution of
Ibsen as a master Dramatist. "Peer Gynt," "Brand" and "Em-
peror and Galilian," are three high art specimens written in
accordance with the ideals of literary critics but as Plays they
are far from the pungency and skill of Ibsen's later realistic
Drama. For this great playwright whilst he ascended tech-
nically had to come down the ladder of intellectual analysis
and apply his attacks on idealism to the everyday people of
everyday life.
Here he found his greatest scope for demonstrating ideal-
ism as a social force. Not in the production of Art for art's
sake — emperors, saints and rom.antic personages but in the
homely, familiar species like doctors, parsons, bankers and
builders such as he employed in the "Pillars of Society."
This transition in the life of Ibsen the Dramatist is a tre-
mendous endorsement in favor of simplicity in dramatic com-
position. No highly intellectual scholar has made a successful
dramatist for this very reason. He cannot see with the eyes
of the multitude nor feel with their hearts. And few are the
instances where experience has triumphed in teaching very
learned minds that a descent from the heights of philosophic
illusion is the only path to play-writing !
It is freedom from these scholarly fetters that explains the
remarkable rise of certain playwrights. They are not ham-
pered with learning ! They spring from the ranks of the com-
mon people and know well the call of the herd !
Charles Klein might be cited as a most conspicuous exam-
ple of this type of successful dramatist. In neither of his two
pronounced successes, "The Music Master" nor "The Lion and
the Mouse," is intellectual supremacy or even technical skill
the dominant factor. They are not psychological fantasies,
they are crude Plays telling a simple tale in familiar, homely
heart language ! There is even an over-abundance of ordinary
life in them, ordinary in the sense of being superfluous. But
by hook or crook some sort of interest is kept going in each
and the Play starts creeping at the tag end of the first Act, and
manages to hold interest till the curtain falls.
In "The Third Degree" a perceptible improvement in the
author's technic is noted. He has relinquished the anti-
quated form of double story in a play and maintains his vigi-
lant adherence to the throbbing of the heartstrings. Do not
gain the impression that this faculty has come to Mr. Klein
without years of patient toil and observation. In fact the lack
of technic might indicate more observation and research for
situation than structure as is evinced in his use of the popular
hypnotic device in his latest Play.
8
DRAM
Have we made a clear case against the ineffectiveness of
the intellectual author? It is quite a journey from Ibsen to
Klein but who can say that in simplicity of structure and real
dramatic force such plays as the above and "Paid in Full," "A
Happy Marriage," "The Witching Hour" and "The Climax"
are not the eve of an evolution in playbuilding that will out-
Ibsenize Ibsen?
"IT IS MORE PROFITABLE TO RECKON UP OUR
DEFECTS THAN TO BOAST OF OUR ATTAIN-
MENTS."— Carlyle.
"GET BUSY!" IS THE SLOGAN OF THE AGE! IT
REQUIRES NOT TALKERS BUT DOERS! SAME
WITH DRAMA— DON'T TALK! ACT!
DRAM
Jl
Vlay is the lengthened shadow of a
man — the man Who Writes it.
Yes, he is a miracle of genius because he is a miracle of
labor; because instead of trusting to the resources of his own
single mind he has ransacked a thousand minds; because he
makes use of the accumulated wisdom of ages and takes as his
point of departure the very last line and boundary to which
science has advanced; because it has ever been the object of
his life to assist every intellectual gift of Nature, however mu-
nificent and however splendid, with every resource that art
could suggest and every attention that diligence could bestow.
— Business Philosopher.
10
ATIST
LUTHER B.
ANTHONY,
E.ditor
Vol. I.
EASTON, PA.
No.
2
QUARTERLY
1910
JANUARY
The 1 909 R ecord
How Many Young Authors Master the Fundamentals?
ONE IN 500.
Out of fifteen thousand plays by unknown authors sent to
managers during igog thirty were accepted! What of the re-
maining fourteen thousand nine hundred and seventy? Mana-
gers unanimously agree that the great majority of them gave
no evidence whatever of a mastery even of the fundamentals
of dramatic construction! 500 to !!! Is the proportion over-
whelming? Begin the New Year with a resolution to reduce
that fourteen thousand ! Study your art !
MANAGERS HUNTING FEVERISHLY
FOR PLAYS.
Theatres Close for Want of Attractions.
What does it all mean? Is it possible that there is actually
a dearth of plays? Is the demand greater than the supply in
a profession that surpasses all others as a short cut to fame
and fortune? For surely no other occupation brings a man
half a million dollars for a year's work! There is no scarcity
of plays of the sort that answered the purpose only a few years
back, but the fact of the matter is that an entirely new species
has developed in Dram.a in this short space of time. This
transition is due to the awakening of the audience. The pub-
lic of this strenuous age has become many times more critical
and has ceased to submit to the irrational artificiality hereto-
fore served up as Drama.
The old style play was a mere vehicle for the absurd hys-
teria of the emotional capacities of the actor. The new or
naturalistic type depicts life in its real aspects exposing its
virtues and vices and drawing conclusions therefrom. We only
need refer to the plays of yesterday to see in the philosophy of
many writers, this tenor: Put it on the stage and the people
will think it is true. The play of today and of the future is the
one whose author carefully considers the logic of his average
onlooker if not the severest test that sound common sense will
II
The DRAMATIST
afford. This is an era of Scientific thought and the most mag-
nificent discovery of the searching modem spirit is the pres-
ence of law, order and harmony in all the world around us;
that creation is not a chaos, a collection of simple isolated
facts, but that all is correlative and interdependent.
The same law holds true of the highest and best of human
creations. Art is Nature passed through the alembic of man.
The reign of law has crept into every department of life trans-
forming knowledge ever5rwhere into Science. And the pursuit
of law is the passion of Science. Our finest mental structures
are built upon laws or principles and every branch of modern
education has a classified knowledge resolving in general laws
and scientific principles. For the first time in the history of
Dramatic Literature can Drama boast of a Science! The Sci-
ence of Drama shows the student the underlying laws and in-
terdependent principles upon which good plays must be con-
structed. It is this enlightened method of studying the Art
of Playwriting that has enabled Dramatists to advance the
standards of plays to meet the modern demand for higher Art.
The imbecile play does not fit the scientific spectator!
This new type of play is clearly defined in recent successes
and the characteristics above mentioned are conspicuously
absent in the most pronounced failures. The New Drama has
evolved as rapidly in this country as elsewhere and in the mat-
ter of simple, straightforward technic the Yankee genius leads !
Eight years ago sixty per cent of the plays in America were
foreign importations. Today the foreign product is scarcer
than the native was then. Here is a practical evidence of
progress! In another similar epoch the United States will be
the foremost exponent of Theatrical Art in the World !
The increasing tendency is to reflect contemporary life.
Managers want plays by American authors taking a firm hold
on Modern American life ! They m.ay deal with life in the
East or life in the West, in the heart of civilization or on its
frontiers; social, commercial, domestic, political and even re-
ligious so long as the quality of the output is abreast with the
progressive standards dem^anded by the strenuous public.
"For the most perfect production of Art in ALL its forms,
the needful preparation is still— SCIENCE!"— Herbert Spen-
cer.
THE COTTAGE IN THE AIR.
First New Play at the New Theatre.
It seems incredible to think that The New Theatre does
not know a Play when it sees one? It seems still more diffi-
cult to believe that it would have selected "The Cottage in the
Air" for its opening week had it realized that this piece is not
12
The DRAMATIST
a Play. If we can show, therefore, that it is not a Play, we
must take for granted that the "New" conception of Dramatic
Composition is not altogether clear. For technical purposes
we may define a play as A Completed Action having a begin-
ning, a middle and an end. Can this definition be applied to
"A Cottage in the Air?"
Let us see what constitutes its Theme: The folly of indis-
criminate almsgiving. How is this theme carried into Plot?
A young princess chooses a life devoted to charity in prefer-
ence to a royal union. She finds her indiscriminate almsgiving
a harmful influence and finally consents to marry the prince.
This is a tale of adventure, but not a completed action. Action
implies doubt. Drama is Conflict always. There should be a
clash of interests and an obstacle to be overcome, but here we
have a tranquil little tale of fairyland as languid as a lullaby.
There is no doubt. There is no conflict. There is nothing at
issue. None of the dramatic elements of anxiety, suspense,
curiosity or sympathy are dramatically employed in its devel-
opment. The "Comedy" was adapted from a fairy tale and re-
mains nothing but a simple fable for want of proper technical
treatment. There is plenty of material in it for a Play, but it is
not moulded into a sustained action ! The presentation of a
young girl's adventures, even though she be a runaway prin-
cess, does not constitute action. "The Cottage in the Air" is
a most excellent example of what Drama is not. If "The New
Theatre" knows exactly what a Play is, it has found out since
selecting this first bill, for surely no evidence of that know-
ledge is manifest in the virgin effort.
THE COMMANDING OFFICER.
Does the Play Reader Know?
The important question about this play written by a man
who has acted as Play reader for Charles Frohman for the last
eleven years is: Does Burt Sayre really know how bad his
Play is? Would he allow it to be staged if he did? These are
the points that concern the many American playwrights who
forward their manuscripts to managers for approval.
"The Commanding Officer" violates every law of Drama
that the science of Playwriting has thus far formulated ! It is
a child's conception of what a Play should be dealing with a
monstrous subject which the play gives no excuse for venti-
lating. It is the oldest of the "old school" melodrama written
by a man who is supposed to judge modern dramatic material.
Some years ago Thomas wrote a play on this order called "Ari-
zona," but he has long since graduated from that obsolete
standard!
13
The DRAMATIST
There are so many useless characters employed in this play
that it may be likened to the Three-ring circus with the usual
supplement of side shows. And while Mr. Sayre is said to en-
joy the distinction of never having abstracted ideas from the
plays presented to him for reading it is at least evident that
this crude document is nothing more than a conglomerate
compilation of little "stunts" assembled from somewhere. The
author's process is plainly discernible. He wishes to write a
Play — he refers to his scrapbook of situations — here he finds
a clever device for procuring indelible evidence by means of a
camera. "All right," says Mr. Sayre, "we will take a snap shot
of a wife kissing the villain No. i," and he begins to construct
his Plot around this inspiring incident. On page "23" of the
said scrap book he also finds a memorandum that a shadow
cast upon a window curtain is a rare bit of compromising tes-
timony, and in consequence he inserts the episode of the sha-
dow of a "Man in the room" which turns out to be only a wo-
man in male attire. The trick compromises the character of
his heroine and away he goes writing all around this little
scandal splitting his Plot into half a dozen shreds of disunity.
The continual run of such digression soon establishes the fact
that his play is a collection of "thrillers" drawn from the read-
er's notebook and that his melodrama is merely a net work
strung around these incidents as compared with a legitimate
play BUILT upon a theme by a process of creative imagina-
tion.
We have referred to villian No. i because like the double
Topsy's and Eva's in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," this new melo-
drama has pairs of everything — villains, lovers, sweethearts,
leading men and leading women. "Stilly" music is also a fac-
tor in painting the dime novel atmiosphere that pervades this
piece.
Strange as it may seem, however, there are good spots in
this crude specimen of "workmanship," and stranger still is
the fact that these commendable scenes have only resulted
when Mr. Sayre evidently quit his scrap book for a moment
and put his own pen to the paper. Act II has a very respecta-
ble bit of dramatic composition in the way of a cross-examina-
tion of an innocent girl who finds difficulty in defending her
innocence without exposing the dishonor of her dearest friend.
The Scene is a good one.
There are possibilities in this material for a good Play
which a dramatist with a clear vision of Unity could clarify
and reduce to a simple, compact play. But judging from this
specimen of Mr. Sayre's work, it is safe to say that he will
never in a thousand years write a Play in the modern accept-
ance of that term, unless he wakens to the fact that an entirely
14
The DRAMATIST
new type of Drama has evolved — a scientific Drama which re-
quires systematic structure and until he studies this Drama
and masters its principles (all of which we have said are trans-
gressed in "The Commanding Officer") he will not even know
how to efficiently perform the functions of his office as reader
of plays for the most prominent manager in America.
SEVEN DAYS AND THE WOMAN PAYS.
The Advantage of Collaboration.
That a writer with some notion of stage requirements may
fail utterly in his own attempt and yet make good in collabo-
ration with another is clearly illustrated in the joint effort of
Avery Hopwood and Mrs, Rinehart : "Seven Days" which is a
tremendous success following Hopwood's dramatic disaster
"The Woman Pays."
In "The Woman Pays" Hopwood attempted a morbid
problem play which is conspicuous for its absence of technical
problem and which manifests little skill in any feature
of its creation save a fair notion of stage require-
ments. But in collaboration with Mrs. Rinehart who furnished
the humorous material highly susceptible of dramatization he
succeeded in bringing out a Play of the lighter vein which
threatens to rival "Charley's Aunt" in a record breaking run
on Broadway.
Nothing could testify more profoundly to the demand for
consistent Cause and Effect even in a farce than the success of
this play. It is highly improbable in many details but the
great big Cause that binds the complete action into one whole
is logical and rational. The house is quarantined for smallpox
and hence the reason for keeping this jolly bunch of fun mak-
ers in continued relations of merriment for the seven days.
"The Woman Pays" is a much feebler argument logically.
A woman forces her betrayer to marry her at the point of a
pistol. She rears the child in solitude but because of its ap-
peal to both of them the man and wife are reunited. The Cause
for this reunion is not convincing. It could doubtless be
wrought into the play if the characters and conditions were
modified to make such an issue plausible but the play as it
stands fails for want of rational Cause. Of course the Theme
to start with is morbid and unsympathetic.
These two plays are cited as an instance of collaborative
success follovt^ing individual failure. It is frequently advisable
for an author to join efforts with one of an entirely different
point of view. Readers of "The Dramatist" who would like to
enter into arrangement to collaborate with other authors are
invited to forward their manuscript to the editor who after
reading same will suggest, if possible some name with whom
15
DRAM
the applicant may correspond. Two heads are ofttimes bet-
ter than one !
ISRAEL.
By the French Builder of Gigantic Scenes.
Bernstein's new play "Israel" is a startling example of the
French structural method of building backward from a huge
situation. This play conforms so closely to that plan of pro-
cedure that the one Big Scene virtually constitutes the play
despite all backward or forward attempt at construction.
It might be said in a strictly technical sense that the play
does not begin in the first act nor end in the last act. We lis-
ten to a great deal of talk in Act I about Thibault's hatred for
the Jews, and see him challenge a prominent Hebrew gentle-
man to a duel. We see no purpose in the duel, and it is for
this reason that the first act does not begin the play. The con-
ditions of the actions are not shared with the audience. We
have nothing to arouse our emotions to any dramatic degree
because we are not given the facts which should arouse them.
The author could have done this had he imparted to his audi-
ence (not necessarily to the characters in the play) some sub-
tle inference that Thibault is challenging his own father to
mortal combat. We would then have something for our emo-
tions to feed upon — fear, hope, sympathy, and solicitude, all
would spring from such an inference, but in absolute ignorance
of the premises of the play how can we be expected to "Take
Notice" of the first, or anticipate anything for the second act.
The same author has accomplished this feat most dexter-
ously in "The Thief," where he allows the boy to be charged
with the theft but gives the audience two clues to the con-
trary: the fact that the young wife is inconsistently extrava-
gant and that the boy has strong reason for concealing his er-
rand in the room where the thefts had been committed.
On the other hand the Third or last act of "Israel" does not
conclude the action that really gets a going in the magnificent
second act for the reason that it deals with a love affair be-
tween Thibault and a girl who drops from the clouds, instead
of bringing the race prejudice problem to a solution. The au-
thor skilfully illustrates that a Jew, under the pressure of Gen-
tile environment and misconception as to his own blood can be
taught to despise the Jews just as religiously as any misguided
Christian, but here the magnitude of the play is thrown to the
winds. The denouement is ignored and the opportunity of
making an exalted triumph for the transcending personality
created in the character of Thibault's father, is cast asunder.
The father appeals to his natural son in vain. Thibault calmly
replies "I hate you," and the insipid, manufactured mush above
i6
The DRAMATIST
mentioned is allowed to end the play — a love scene truckling
to the traditional demand for a "Happy-ever-afterward."
But we can well afford to forget all this distorted structure
(and it is rumored that the conventional happy ending is an
American amendment) while witnessing the Second act, for
here we have the acme of technical perfection. The act is
practically one extended scene between mother and son, in
which the boy wrings the awful intelligence (which now
dawns dramatically upon the audience and would carry fully
as well if the first act were entirely omitted) that the man
whom Thibault is about to fight, once cared for her ; then, that
she cared for this man; that the affection was entirely pure
and innocent ; and finally after a harrowing cross-examination,
that she had sinned and that this Hebrew is Thibault's own
father. The master stroke in this scene is the skilfull treat-
ment which enables every atom of evidence to be confined to
the tense dialog between these two people — mother and son.
The marriage certificate, the wedding ring, the witnesses,
and all the thousand hum-drum devices familiar in common-
place Dram.a are dispensed with. The Dramatist places these
two characters before us and out of the strongest exigency of
circumstances and relations between them, builds this power-
ful situation of plain, pungent Drama. As a scene it has few
rivals in recent playwriting, the nearest approach being the
second act of "The Thief" by the same author, which is treated
under separate heading in this issue.
YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT.
Excellent Example of Amateur Infirmities.
Picture two writers helplessly drifting in a current of clever
play ideas, unable to gain a foothold where they might deter-
mine which to select and which to reject; and you have an
adequate conception of the whirlpool of conflicting thoughts
that submerged Newton Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon
Wilson in their futile efforts to make a consistent Play of
"Your Humble Servant."
It is the purpose of the following analysis to show conclu-
sively that a certain circumscribed area of material contains
the possible structure for ONE Play and that any departure
from that inherent course of development after the boundaries
are once laid out, merely invites disunity and confusion. It is
not always easy to ascertain this native structure from the au-
thor's staged production for his intended idea is often obscured
by hazy technic. In "Your Humble Servant" it is neces-
sary to search diligently for the dramatic germ which the au-
thors attempted to exploit but it is about as follows:
17
The DRAMATIST
An actor discovers that he loves his ward upon her an-
nouncement that she is infatuated with a younger member of
their company. Financial distress confronts them disillusion-
ing the boy but stimulating the man who attains success as
well as the love of his ward.
This is the legitimate play idea intimated in the chaos of
distracted stuff which the authors have endeavored to merge
into one dram.a. It is the view of their material which a su-
perior altitude would have afforded them — a height they must
climb before being able to survey the prospect and determine
what legitimately constitutes their own play-territory.
According to the synopsis above, the fundamental condi-
tion is that the guardian discovers his love for his ward when
he learns that she loves the younger fellow. This element
should be introduced as soon as possible for it is one of the
cardinal points upon which the action rests. Where do we
first encounter it in the play? At the end of the Third Act!
To be sure there is some intimation of the situation shown in
the first act by the guardian's behavior when the girl tells him
of her love for the lad, but a basic factor in the primal struc-
ture of a play cannot be left to guesswork or the symptoms of
love-lorn sighs. These bulwarks of construction must be built
with strong lines of permanence and the only effective method
of doing this is by means of Scenes! Some such scene does
occur at the end of the third act but not being the outgrowth
of what precedes it is little more than a one act play in itself.
This scene should precede the entire action of the play for if
we do not know beyond the shadow of a doubt that this man
loves his ward what foundation is there for the play to rest
upon? What basis is there to stimulate that hope — hope —
hope — that the "worthy one will win her." Instead of confin-
ing doubt to this issue the play casts a doubt upon the love of
the guardian which our summary shows to be one of the fore-
most essentials of demonstration.
Instead of fixing the premises firmly in the minds of their
audience the authors start off the play with a diverting piece
of episode. The sheriff, who rightfully belongs in the first act
to convey the impending financial disaster, is made to do a lit-
tle amateur theatrical stunt; not because it in any way ad-
vances the Plot but simply for the reason that the vaudeville
stage in ages past has endorsed the stunt as "funny." It is
funny just as a thousand other tricks might be. But there is
no place in a real Play for the most humorous thing in the
world unless it contributes in some perceptible degree to the
progress of Plot or the Action. Of course this rule does not
apply to farce or the fantastic Play.
The next impression given us in the first act of this play is
that the Plot will concern a young man's choice between home
i8
The DRAMATIST
and a stage sweetheart. In a special scene the boy's father is
introduced. He appeals to his runaway son to renounce this
life of folly for a home of luxury and a career in the financial
world. Haven't we every right to presume from this empha-
sized condition that the play will involve a struggle between
these two contending forces? But this predicted struggle is
no material factor in the play !
In the summary above you will note that the true cause
for the boy's desertion of the girl is the financial distress that
confronts them. The father's protest is brought in as an addi-
tional motive and results in diluting the main cause. The fact
that the authors wish to establish is that the boy's love is not
equal to the test! He is out of the running! The mature love
of the actor is of superior quality. The father's opposition to
the stage and the fine home that awaits the boy might be inci-
dental factors in the action but they are not facts that warrant
whole Scenes to pronounce them ! Particularly if such Scenes
subordinate the Plot essentials. If is in this regard that the
authors need more perspective in their play plans !
All of the second act is given over to proving two things.
That the boy is pigeon-hearted and surrenders — that the man
is eternally optimistic and strikes luck. But here again Unity
is impaired, for the luck that he strikes is a precarious horse
race — not the legitimate success that is in keeping with what
has gone before. This resort to irrelevant chance is the flimsi-
est subterfuge. The success consistent with the Plot is stage
success ! If the second act ended with the young cub's capitu-
lation coincident with a gleam of triumph for the guardian, the
third and fourth acts might easily be merged into one epoch of
the action setting forth the triumph. As it is, these two acts
ramble aimlessly about taking artistic success as a matter of
course instead of attaining it out of the natural development of
the play. All sorts of mock martyrdom artificially defer the
conclusion of the love story and the fourth act is only made
possible by the mechanical stage hysterics of the girl in act
III, who, after warmly declaring her love for the guardian
frantically asserts she didn't mean it ! This is the author's con-
trivance irrespective of the nature of their plot.
Besides these principal violations of technic there is the
spurious episode of the juggler who is supposed to have
aroused the jealousy of the young lover (This promises an en-
tirely new play) — the guardian's drink contest with the society
sot, which prompts us to expect some complication arising
from this debauch ; and the Yiddish stagemanager who works
overtime to give us an accurate account of the vicissitudes of
his profession : all of which encumber the legitimate progress
of the Plot without bearing essential relation to any minor de-
tail of Plot action.
19
DRAM
"Your Humble Servant" is the strongest argument for
complete plans and specifications in the project of Play build-
ing! If the novice does not know what constitutes the frame-
work of a house how can he construct one? He is very apt to
fall into the error of the authors of this piece building more
rooms than the walls will contain or the roof shelter !
THE FORTUNE HUNTER.
Another Example of the New Type.
"The Fortune Hunter" takes first place in the igog edition
of productions for two reasons. It is the new type of simple
story and construction and it is an IDEA Play ventilating a
vital problem of social welfare. The moral of the Play is:
Don't marry a rich "lady," for you may some day be able to
support yourself and the woman you love!
Let us reduce the Play to a synopsis and survey the result.
A young man seeks a rich man's daughter but declines the
match upon discovering his business ability to provide for the
girl he really loves. It is a very wholesome little story and Mr.
Winchell Smith has handled it with rare skill and humor. He
can study with pr.ofit, however, the superior technic of Eugene
Walter in "the Easiest Way" and "Paid in Full." Particularly
is this advisable in the denouement of his play. The solution
is not obtained from a logical manipulation of the material but
is patched up out of foreign threads of irrelevant fabric.
The closing situation is as follows. The young man has
attained the fullest measure of success in his undertaking.
The heiress has proposed marriage. But alas! He now finds
himself capable of earning money and to cap the climax he
really loves a bewitching little lass! The question that now
confronts the playwright is: How can he shake the heiress?
Mr. Smith loses courage. He does not see a legitimate way to
accomplish this feat so he trumps up a second story of ru-
mored embezzlement, permits this rumor to repel the moneyed
maiden and bluntly tosses his hero into the arms of his hero-
ine.
But this is not playwriting ! The Play is still unfinished. The
ending affixed is not a conclusion dramatically drawn from the
proposition he started with. The materials are all there to work
with but the builder has laid them down just at a moment when
the completed structure was promised. Deserting his firm foun-
dation he selects another building site, sticks a few straws in
the sand and says: "My building is finished!" The true solu-
tion of this Play is in the plot itself. The young man's discov-
ery of self-sufficiency is the real cause that dispels the feminine
financial fancy and not the haphazard device of a false rumor
of embezzlement. Such clap-trap contrivance puts a farce-
comedy end to a Play that is otherwise original and funny.
20
D R A M A T I
There is a third story lightly sketched in this play which
serves more as an obstacle to the progress of the main plot
than any other purpose. It retards the beginning of the play
and clogs the essential action which we are only too eager to
see. We refer to the water-gas invention. Considerable talk
is necessary in the first act to prepare for this impediment and
it comes to nothing of plot value. The Theme purpose of the
author is to show that his young hero has in him the qualities
that win success which faculty only the exigency of circum-
stances could arouse. Instead of that he divides the issue and
decides to "ring in" a cheap, irrelevant episode of speculation
to achieve the young man's success. His ability had already
been illustrated. The get-rich-quick element only dilutes the
force of the principal story and impairs the Problem which
calls for that moderate degree of success financially which
would naturally accrue from the honest efforts of newly at-
tuned personality in developing a business enterprise. The
author should choose one course of action and cling to it. By
all odds the regular commercial method of legitimate trade is
preferable. It enforces the character of our hero. To prevent
a sacrifice sale of an old man's invention is a fortuitous expedi-
ent and to become rich through a clever sale of this patent,
(which does not take place before the audience) is not dra-
matic method, it is story.
THE HARVEST MOON.
Intellect Against Art.
In his new play "The Harvest Moon" Augustus Thomas
boldly defies the fundamental principles of play construction.
The play deals with a metaphysical theory that is fast becom-
ing science but while it is an evidence of intellect it is a lapse
of art. The result is a preachment — not a Play. This may be
due to deliberate intention in the belief that he, the author, is
bigger than his art, or it may come through utter surrender to
an absorbing theme.
The death of Clyde Fitch leaves Thomas his lenial succes-
sor as the leading exponent of American drama, but the latter
certainly inherits no liberal legacy of Fitch's mastery of tech-
nic. Thomas is a capable scene builder. He has created
one scene in the second act of his new play which is supreme
in itself, but the great gaps in Plot structure all about it natu-
rally detract from its potency and render the absence of tech-
nic painfully apparent. He expects to arouse our sympathy
concerning a young girl's ill-treatment, but from the very out-
set neglects to share with his audience the information that is
expected to generate these emotions. In dissecting the first
act we see the author's intention to lead us to hope that a cer-
tain French visitor will turn out to be the girl's father. This
21
The DRAMATIST
parental relation is one of the vital conditions upon which he
builds his play as well as the basis of authority for this man's
meddling with the domestic affairs of the girl's family. The
only clue we have to the blood relation between these two
people is the information that the girl's mother had some love
affair in France and the Frenchman's observation: "She is
very like her mother — but not like me." We see that the au-
thor is endeavoring to make us suspect some such outcome,
but this factor of kinship being one of the cardinal essentials
of Plot should not be left to any such precarious guess-work
so far as the audience is concerned. It is not necessary that
the characters in the play be given this bit of information until
the proper time, but the audience should know or at least sur-
mise it from the very first. The province of the playwright is
to lead his audience to think in a certain direction, not to baffle
or bewilder them. It is in this respect that Mr. Thomas has
defied an immutable law of his art, transposing drama into
mere fiction simply for want of conditions properly laid to gen-
erate and sustain Dramatic Action.
The Harvest Moon is made to shine upon a separate Plot
of irrelevant romance concerning a dissolute old judge and a
widow of startling sophistication. This sub-plot is in no way
joined to the main story. It is a little vaudeville skit grafted
on to the main Plot to meet the traditional notion that Drama
is a blending of "Laughs and Tears!" Such episode should
be exceedingly strong to warrant an interruption of a Play,
and it must be said that technically this specimen is far below
the standard Mr. Thom.as has set, both in scene construction
and character study.
In the absence of any evidence that this Frenchman is the
girl's father the play makes a desperate effort to put an end to
itself at the close of Act III where she and her lover are re-
united by the light of the Harvest Moon. The fourth act
which attempts to separate them again, is a gross transgres-
sion upon the Unity of the principal theme, for we are now
witnessing a melodrama concerning the illegitimate birth of
our heroine which complication is dissolved only by the
trumped-up testimony of the Frenchman whose evidence is so
devoid of conviction as to reveal the author's pen sticking
through the thin fabric of invention. If such a Play were of-
fered by any writer other than a man of Mr. Thomas' prestige
the advice would be: "Go study technic! Take Eugene
Walter for a model !"
22
The DRAMATIST
THE MELTING POT.
Mr. Zangwill Evades the Issue.
The gist of the Melting Pot is as follows :
A girl of the Russian aristocracy falls in love with a Jew-
ish musician whose family her father has massacred. The
Russian aristocrat relinquishes his Life Prejudice. He and
the Jew are fully reconciled. The daughter marries him.
Purged of all detail these are the essentials of Zangwill's
new Play. In every good Play the essentials are invariably
proven. Do we find that the case here?
The young Russian girl is fascinated with the Hebrew's
musical skill but her love for the man is far from being firmly
established. There is no reasonable basis for love between
these radically opposed types. The author requires this condi-
tion in his premises and practically assumes the fact. The
young people have a little quarrel and then: "Nothing shall
separate us !"
But if we accept the author's proposition that the most vio-
lent class hatred in the world may be overcome by a little mu-
sic and love, we are still face to face with the opposition of the
Russian father, who is bitterly opposed to the match to say
nothing of the Jew's attitude toward an enemy who had mas-
sacred the members of his own family! Here we have two
firm wills in violent conflict. There may be some subtle
agency in the realm of Dramatic invention that could reconcile
two such enemies but Mr. Zangwill has not shown it to us.
He merely evades the issue ! By the aid of a little eloquent
preaching the author gives us to believe that the battle is over
and that the Jew wins. For after listening to a sermon con-
demning his bloody deeds the Russian calmly surrenders. The
weapon he was about to use on his young adversary he now
offers in abject resignation, saying: "You're right — shoot me!"
Despite the fact that ex-president Roosevelt and "Collier's
Weekly" commend this play for its lofty motif it cannot be
called good Drama for it is not convincing. The dramatist
like the jurist must firmly establish every link in his chain of
evidence. When he fails to do so he reveals the naked hand
of an author writing his personal views into the play instead
of causing them to be brought out through the clashing inter-
ests of his characters.
Very much after the fashion of "The Harvest Moon," "The
Melting Pot" contains a spurious fourth act which is almost
wholly foreign to the Play itself, containing none of the essen-
tials in the syllogism above outlined.
What does the fourth act accomplish? The third act ends
with the reconciliation of enemies. The daughter could easily
find herself in the arms of her sweetheart, now. But no, Mr.
Zangwill wishes further opportunity to shout his theories!
23
The DRAMATIST
from the housetops. He places his hero on the roof garden of
a city building — to preach to us — for the character has nothing
more to say in his relation to the other characters. The au-
thor is so intent on this sermonizing that he soon forgets to
take in a valuable violin out of the rain. The play has long
since stopped, but we are asked to listen to a manufactured
quarrel between the lovers, long-drawn-out, and not until his
eloquence is exhausted does Mr. Zangwill allow us to go home.
The motive involved is highly commendable. Our purpose,
however, is technical discussion and study — and the secret of
the play's success is its appeal to the Jewish element. If it
were not for his own tribe Mr. Zangwill would soon exhaust
his audience.
PAID IN FULL AND THE THIEF.
Comparing Technical Attributes.
These two plays have been praised by nearly every critic
in the country and have received the stamp of approval of mil-
lions of people. On that basis we will call them the two best
modern plays extant. There may be better types of drama but
they have either not been pronounced good or they have not
had the final test of time. It is the duty of the aspiring drama-
tist to study such specimens very closely not alone from a
financial outlook but from the standpoint that only as a play
succeeds is the dramatist successful for his object is to reach
the greatest number of people with the message he has to con-
vey. We will therefore inquire into the Dramatic elements
that evidently give these plays their distinction and determine
their success.
Each play tells a simple, straightforward story embodying
a single and simple Theme. That of "Paid in Full" is : "The
reward of selfishness." That of "The Thief" is: "Theft for
Love."
Our next step of analysis is the reduction of each play to
its least common denominator or its briefest possible syllog-
ism. We will quote the following proposition done by one of
the students of the Institute of the Drama.
PAID IN FULL.
Conditions.
A Clerk steals money from his employer who loves his
wife.
Cause.
The clerk compels his wife to make "any terms" for his
escape from imprisonment.
24
DRAM
Conclusion.
She accomplishes her husband's release without losing her
honor.
THE THIEF.
Conditions.
A woman steals money from a friend to hold her husband's
admiration.
Cause.
She induces a boy who is madly in love with her to assume
the theft.
Conclusion.
Her husband repudiates her when he learns the truth.
Of course these Plays contain m-any twists and turns not
indicated in these brief summaries but the above problems
contain the essential germ that is the seed from which the
Play grows. All further details belong to Plot development.
Like the postage stamp they stick to one thing until they
get there. The action is not clogged with secondary story or
biplot. The author signifies his purpose and sets about at
once to accomplish it. The method in each case is much the
same. No time is wasted on the antiquated theory that there
must be an "exposition" of all the characters in the Play.
From the very outset the conditions out of which the action is
to grow are planted firmly with the audience. The characters
take care of themselves as they always will where Theme and
Proposition are adhered to. Now do not gain a misconception
of our meaning. Neither Bernstein nor Walter may have fol-
lowed any set chart like the foregoing but the Theme was a
guiding star, nevertheless, and the flaws that do crop out in
their Plays result from a departure from Theme and Propo-
sition.
In "Paid in Full" the wife is shown to be a stoic amidst the
faultfinding relatives who remind her constantly of the hus-
band's poverty. We also get a glimpse of the husband's self-
ishness and of the bachelor employer's partiality for the wife
and his appreciation of her merits. We are prepared for the
husband's salacious proposal that his wife barter her chastity
for his freedom but we are also given reason to expect her
strength sufficient to resist and conquer even such a monster
as the employer is seen to be. The author does not tell us
how he will solve the problem but he skillfully leads us to hope
— hope — hope — for the issue he finally arrives at.
In "The Thief" we learn of the unwarranted extravagance
of this young wife so madly in love with her own husband — a
man of modest income. Then we see that the young man of
25
DRAM
the house is sorely smitten with her. But there is no sugges-
tion of impurity. The news of the theft in the house is given
out and under rather suspicious circumstances the boy is made
to confess the crime. But we are only half convinced. The
author has imparted a subtle hint to us that this boy has a rea-
son for confessing rather than expose certain things that
would reveal his secret love for the young wife and by this
means we are allowed to divine the error awaiting develop-
ments in breathless suspense. We do not suspect the wife at
first because of the infallible evidence apparently convicting
the boy, but when the proper time comes we connect the ex-
travagance with the dawning proof against her and our sympa-
thy is only intensified for this little soul who has transgressed
man's law in her desperation to exchange even earthly things
for a fuller portion of her husband's love. This is not a lax
lesson? It is merely a tribute to the old maxim that "Love is
blind."
The climax in each play is a struggle between man and
wom.an. The one between a pure woman and her would-be
seducer. The other betv^^een a pure woman and her own hus-
band. In each conflict only two people are concerned and each
constitutes one big scene which is the making of the Play. The
Thief has one advantage over its contemporary in the matter
of physical form. It is put forth in three acts. This is the
ideal division for a Play! The first conveys the Conditions,
the second, the Cause and the third the Conclusion. "Paid in
Full" is susceptible of this ideal arrangement but a fourth Act
has been attached which accomplishes nothing that could not
have been settled in the third. In fact the wife's denunciation
of her selfish husband could have been many times intensified
if backed up by the old employer's presence and his over-
whelming evidence of her heroic strength and honor! Think
what a scathing reckoning the young imp would receive at the
hands of a monster she had virtually sanctified ! Jimsie's love
theme is a slight tendency to Disunity of the main Theme but
the episode is so well handled it makes its own apology. It
may be seen in the above outline of the Play that no such issue
is a part of the Proposition. It is a side story spliced on to
achieve the "happy ending" but so cleverly interwoven with
the main fabric as to retard action the least bit possible.
A like criticism may be made of the husband's jealousy in
Bernstein's Play. The complication is startling and the temp-
tation for the author to incorporate it in his play is overpower-
ing but it is nevertheless Disunity for it bears little or no direct
relation to the Proposition of the real Play and hinders the
progress of the main Theme demanding a solution apart from
the denouement of "The Thief." In the chaos that results the
author fails to allay the jealousy he has aroused in the husband
26
The DRAMATIST
and the Play is allowed to end in a very pretty but a very
tame and undramatic talk condoning the wife's actions. This
is true of all the Plays written by this young Frenchman. He
is a winner at the climax but a "dead one" when the battle is
once past. And what accounts for this sluggish denouement?
It is the Disunity created by the jealousy motive. The mo-
ment the wife makes public confession of her guilt the Play is
at an end and the proposition solved for the husband's love is
restored and any foreign element interposed to defer this pro-
per end vexes us unawares and generates the sighs and yawns
that greet the labored efforts that precede the final curtain.
The flaw no doubt arises in transposing and transplanting the
Play from France to America. Slight modifications are the
usual thing and a good Play cannot be tampered with even in
the tiniest parts. In France the evidence of a wife's love
might not be fortified by the fact that she committed theft
only that she might appear the lovelier in her husband's eyes.
The American ideal is a trifle loftier. And any attempt to
make a husband suspect such a wife of a monstrous sin de-
bases both the man and the Play. The flaw is just as truly
technical for it is a direct violation of both Proposition and
Theme. The summary does not call for a jealous motive and
the Theme is love, not jealousy.
The purpose of analysing these two Plays is to illustrate
the supremacy of ART in even the most popular form of
Drama. In other words these Plays please because they ap-
proach perfection in craftsmanship and not because they in-
volve sensational subject matter. They mark a very noticea-
ble trend in the evolution of Drama toward Unity and sim-
plification of Plot. It is a stride forward in perfect keeping
with the tremendous progress of this scientific age! It is the
only sort of Play that will fit the age ! It is standard !
THE RETURN OF EVE.
A Fantasy Because it is Not Drama.
As an evidence that this is the AGE of the NEW AUTHOR
no better proof can be advanced than the fact that such pro-
ducts as "The Return of Eve" by Lee Wilson Dodd, are able
to obtain a metropolitan hearing. The program styled it "A
modern fantasy in four acts," but we shall treat of it as a Play,
there being no musical accompaniment to admit it to the realm
of opera.
There are some good spots in the Eve character — a woman
reared in total ignorance of the conventions of the inhabited
world — but she is not framed in a dramatic picture; merely
sketched off with very little heed to theatrical requirments.
Instead of allowing conditions to unfold themselves in the
27
DRAM
inevitable dramatic way, the author elects an orator in the per-
son of "Old Winters" to talk the premises of his Play into the
audience. There is little or no compulsive origin in this talk.
It happens simply because the author so ordained it. The one
thing that should be less conspicuous in a Play than any other
is the AUTHOR! Or the author's purpose ! The moment his
will dominates the spontaniety of the speech of the characters
that moment the dramatic illusion is threatened !
What there is of coherent Plot in this piece is highly me-
chanical. This is the apparent reason for naming it a "fan-
tasy." It is too fantastic or artificial to come under the title
of Play. But even a Phantasy in this day and age must pos-
sess some logical cohesion if it is to exist upon its capacity to
hold and entertain an audience. Mere stage pictures and
smart epigram are no provocation for a fee of admittance.
For want of consistent Plot the author finds difficulty in
dividing his Play into Act units. The material is not suffi-
ciently shaped to allow any such decision. An attempt is made
in Act III to work up to a big Scene on the supposition that
here is where the climax begins. But the emotional exhibition
hangs in mid air. It is no climax for it has no foundation to
rest upon. It is situation for situation sake ! The Play has no
central story that leads up to climax. Some effort is devoted
to creating a struggle between Adam and a worldly suitor for
the hand and heart of Eve, but Adam drops completely out of
the contest after a first hint at the contention and no continued
purpose is seen. In Act III the Plot becomes an intrigue to
swindle Eve out of her legacy. At no point in the Play are the
lines of battle openly drawn. Attention is concentrated on
character contrast and catchy epigram. There is no tendency
toward a completed action or a concluded argument with a
Beginning, a Middle and an End.
As is so often the case in crude Drama the fourth Act is
spurious, being nothing more than an unnecessary "stretching
out of the agony." Three Acts are as a rule sufficient and the
third and fourth in this Play should have been merged into
one. There is no rational reason for keeping Adam and Eve
apart. There is a fake misunderstanding sustained on the
stage but not in the minds of the audience. Drama is definite !
If there is an obstacle it must be clearly apparent ! The spec-
tator loves to submit to such an illusion when the obstacle is
genuine, but when he sees that it is merely a device of the
author's — action is killed outright! And it should require a
pretty substantial reason to keep two unconventional lovers
apart !
We call attention to the favorable attitude of managers to-
ward untried Plays to remind you of the fact that this is the
AGE of the NEW AUTHOR! His opportunity is Ripe ! A
28
The DRAMATIST
demand has been created for the Native product and producers
are willing to risk their capital to secure such financial prizes
as "Paid in Full" and "The Climax." These Plays, however,
were not the virgin efforts of gifted men. They represent the
final victory of a long lonesorne struggle with the subtle se-
crets of stagecraft! Numerous failures preceded them. Take
courage, Mr. Dodd! In 1850 Ibsen manufactured documents
just as undramatic as yours !
SUDERMANN'S ONE-ACT PLAYS.
Streaks of Light, The Last Visit, Margot and The Faraway
Princess.
The one act play is a severe test of the author's skill, for if
properly done it must accomplish the purpose of a full even-
ing's Drama setting forth the Conditions of the action, the
Cause and the Conclusion. It is really a Drama in miniature.
It is a Gem. Sudermann, however, does not endorse this
theory in this new group of one act plays recently translated
into the English under the title of "Roses"=^. In fact he does
not make a great difference between Drama and Story ex-
cept for the Dialogue. These specimens do not speak well
for the progress of German Dramatic Composition if Suder-
mann is taken as a criterion and he is recognized in that coun-
try as one of the leading exponents of dramatic literature.
They do not compare favorably with the best English or
American standards and are behind the age in most of the
technical attributes which characterize a brand new species
in the evolution of Drama,
"Streaks of Light" approaches nearest the mark of modem
craftsmanship. The Theme is a morbid one but the funda-
mental principles of Playwriting are not so flagrantly violated
as in the other three. There is excellent Preparation on Page
13 in the mother's reference to the mysterious disappearance
of the roses. We at once see the clue that will lead the hus-
band to the hiding place of his runaway wife. On page 32 the
author employs the obsolete method of allowing two persons
to converse in the presence of a third character struck tempo-
rarily deaf. No author would do this who knew how to sub-
stitute real art for the subterfuge. It is a survival of that
antiquated form which relied upon speech instead of the
actor's art for interpreting the author's meaning. All of these
asides and aparts belong to the actor's facial or pantomimic
performance. They destroy the illusion, if uttered aloud un-
der circumstances that would not be reasonably probable in
actual life.
*Chas. Scribner's Sons, $1.25 net.
29
The DRAMATIST
"Margot" is a gem of character drawing in so far as the in-
troduction of the persons of the playlet is concerned. On page
53 the intimation that the attorney himself loves the girl is
conveyed in the subtlest manner. The Scene between her
mother and the attorney abounds in the liveliest germs of ac-
tion. But the Theme is perverted at the very climax of the
skit and its possibilities are scattered to the four winds.
After the author's philosophy^ has exposed the shallowness
of that social law which prescribes that a girl shall marry the
man who has betrayed her pven though he be a veritable beast
and after he has created a wholesome self-reliant man broad
enough to rescue this girl from the fate her own mother de-
signs for her — he deliberately abandons this Theme transform-
ing this purified girl into a depraved creature of base appetite.
This is no part or product of the premises which concern the
imperious caprice of a young and innocent girl. In this at-
tempt to spring an irrelevant sequel the author descends from
the dramatic to the most ordinary of illogical narrative. It is
rank Disunity!
"The Last Visit" is another example of transgressed Unity
with a surprise introduced at the end which in slight degree
results from anything that has preceded. It cannot be too em-
phatically impressed upon the Dramatist that any extraneous
climax not a healthful outgrowth of the primary conditions of
the play is diametrically opposed to Dramatic Law ! To merely
dismay your audience is not to win their confidence !
In this little sketch an officer has been killed in a duel. A
certain countess is supposed to be the cause of the quarrel.
The countess calls to secure the love letters she had written
the officer and snubs a young girl on the premises. This
young girl turns out to be the officer's wife or widow as it
were. Is this a Play? No! It is merely a page of weird
fiction. The author sets out to fool us and succeeds. He
apparently ignores the fact that the basis of dramatic action
is the knowledge of preliminary conditions imparted to his
audience.
The Play is conversational to a degree of being wordy.
Little really happens before our eyes. It is all talked ABOUT.
The greatest genius under the sun could not make a good
Play after this process. There must be a predominant Cause
in a Play and we must SEE that all things evolve around it.
Things must happen. We lose interest when they are merely
told us.
"The Far-Away Princess" like "The Last Visit" is mostly
talk. The introduction comes to us from parties not vitally
concerned in the action — the landlady and her waitress. The
piece is devoid of a tangible proposition. Nothing is solved
when it is over.
30
The DRAMATIST
A young man cherishes the ideal of a princess whom he
woos through a telescope. He meets a very ordinary looking
girl who proves to be the princess and his ideal vanishes.
This is the substance of the thesis of this sketch. It is far —
— far away from anything that would be defined as dramatic
action. It would not arouse interest either in the reading or
the acting. It is the result of affecting exalted purpose in
play philosophy. But true dram.a can only be conveyed in
the simple language of the soul and such attitude toward Art
merely dilutes the effect strived for.
HOW HE LIED TO HER HUSBAND.
A Four-day Composition.
Compare the foregoing efforts with a technical masterpiece
like Shaw's little four day composition "How He Lied to Her
Husband." See what the skill of a trained dramatist can do
with the most hackneyed of situations — Husband, Wife and
Lover.
Action begins at the very rise of the curtain, even before a
word is uttered, and continues through every moment of the
Playlet. Study the structure and you will note that the panto-
mime of the actors interprets the author's meaning almost
without words. This is the crucial test, after all ! What story
will your play tell to the deaf mute?
THE GODDESS OF REASON.
A Product of Penmanship.
Do not spend two dollars for the printed copy of this Play
unless you desire to read a delusion in blank verse that has
hypnotized the leading actress in America into believing that
a collection of scattered phrases and pretty speeches consti-
tute a Play. Julia Marlowe produced this piece probably for
the reason that she saw opportunities for much talk. For it is
practically talk — talk from cover to cover. There are few in-
stances where the author has departed from the story telling
method which made her "To Have and to Hold" famous. It is
true the thing is done into Dialog but not in a dramatic
sense and the descriptive method is carried on by means of the
characters just the same. There is little or no play construc-
tion and Scene writing is a principle that has never dawned
upon the novelist. Up to page sixteen, for instance, there is
not the slightest glimpse of dramatic action. The author
merely addresses the audience through the agency of her
characters relating the conditions upon which the action of her
composition is based. In a well made Play not a single word
is uttered that is not compelled by the relations shown to exist
31
The DRAMATIST
between the characters. This story meanders along with no
ultimate purpose, taking first one course then another, much
after the popular narrative method.
The history of individual characters, who bear no vital rela-
tion to Plot is given as much attention as an essential point
and on the other hand many of the biggest moments are al-
lowed to occur offstage or between Acts, reaching the audience
only through second hand chatter. One such instance is^
Yvette's election to the office of "Goddess." How did she get
there? Nothing that preceded gave us any reason to believe
she was entitled to such honors. Another essential which
should be seen but is merely heard of is Yvette's plea for De
Vardes' pardon. Yvette merely tells DeVardes that she ob-
tained his pardon.
There is a systematic way to go about building a Play. It
is not by beginning with the Dialog as Miss Johnston has
evidently done. The scenario must be built step by step, each
successive Scene denoting material progress in the action.
Miss Johnston sees a possible stage picture and she jots it
down whether it concerns the Plot or not.
The fact that the piece reached production proves one thing :
that even an actress of Miss Marlowe's intellect can be de-
ceived readily by alluring opportunities of heroic declamation
irrespective of the fact that these recitations are not substan-
tial parts of that completed whole familiarly known as a Play.
And this talented actress was highly enthusiastic at the time
over the part she played thoroughly believing it good dramatic
material.
Even actors, you see, would do well to learn the Art of
Playwriting. It would enable them to KNOW a Play. And
novelists should take up the subject with all the reverence of
a printer's devil aspiring to journalism.
For study, read the knitting song on page 115 reposed in
the din and slaughter of French revolution. Note on the same
the undramatic way in which Nanon and Celeste talk into the
audience the intervening history and election of Yvette as
Goddess. On page 182 read the tiresome soliloquy and see if
you can determine any possible use of it. Shakespeare used
soliloquy we'll admit, but that doesn't retard the law of evolu-
tion in playwriting. Science is pointing out the truer way,
dramatically. "The world do move" and Drama keeps apace
with it! If you are in search of a modern Play, a pretty safe
guide would be to follow the dramatic laws which in this Play
Are Not! And at the top of your page of "Don'ts" place the
taboo: "Blank Verse!" As far as Dramatic quality is con-
cerned it is a snare and a delusion.
32
The DRAMATIST
AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOME.
Dramatizing National Defence.
This is the best example extant of Theme for Theme sake.
The Play is simply swamped with Them.e ! An Army Propa-
gandist takes advantage of the psychological moment to dra-
matize a public sentiment — a moment when England is all
agog over possible invasion by Germany, and the result is
success — for that moment !
Taking as his Theme the inadequacy of England's National
defense to repel the attack of a formidable adversary, Major
Du Maurier has done one of the best bits of atmosphere ever
achieved on the stage. But it is not a Plav ! It is a charade !
None of the characters employed in the stage pictures are en-
gaged in that personal conflict which in itself is the very fibre
of Drama.
The remarkable quality of his portrayed conditions may be
seen on pages 15 and 16, where the old man is mastering the
technic of Ping Pong Art to a microscopic degree of perfec-
tion; and on pages 12-15 where the young folks fix the impres-
sion that Football is life's paramount issue.
Out of these conditions an excellent Play could grow with
the care and attention of a dramatic gardener. But the Major
fails to bring his theory down to personal interests, — it re-
mains a National issue and a Play cannot take place on the or-
dinary stage with Nations constituting its cast of characters,
THE FAITH HEALER.
A Play Without an Impression.
No better example of the absurd, unreal and idiotic Drama
can be found than this bit of artificial character study written
by the author of "The Great Divide." What is he? That
is about as definite as the question can frame itself concerning
the principal person in the Play. This supposed human crea-
ture is so utterly intangible that it does not appeal to a mortal
audience. We subscribe to the dramatist's invention only
because it is based upon the real — all else in stage-land is rele-
gated to the fantastic or fairy tale farce and opera.
The striking feature technically in this piece is that it is
practically devoid of problem or proposition. It starts no
where and ends in mid air. There is noxnmg at issue — a mere
tale of a faith healer's adventure. The author strives for ex-
alted Theme but aims so high that he shoots above his own
head as well as ours. But Art is the law of gravity that brings
his arrow down to earth! And science bumps his air ship
with a stilly thud !
33
The DRAMATIST
The most valuable lesson taught by "The Faith Healer" is,
that the author avails nothing in mystifying his audience.
His purpose should be as clear and straightforward as con-
sistent logic can make it. To bewilder his spectators as Mr.
Moody proceeds to do in the third Act by introducing frag-
ments of the past career of his heroine, Rhoda, is the wildest
of crude Disunity! He leads us to anticipate all sorts of en-
tanglements regarding her thin-skinned love affair with the
"healer" by flinging in little inferences that the Doctor had
had an affair with her of some unclean description.
We feel in a very vague sort of way that some sensational
exposure is the author's intended climax but the whole effort
at play writing is so ineffectual that no enduring impression
of any nature is made. In fact the nearest approach to a
theme is "Unstable equilibrium." The author perhaps wishes
to indicate that faith healing is merely a fictitious name for
positive mental suggestion but his method is too faltering to
carry any conviction with it. The moral for young drama-
tists is: "Go thou and do otherwise !"
COMPETITION.
...DO NOT PREACH! THE PUBLIC CAN SECURE
FREE SEATS IN A CHURCH!
Manager Savage's Advice to Tyros.
34
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B. ANTHONY, Elditor
Vol. I. EASTON, PA.
No. 3
QUARTERLY 1910
APRIL
CHAIR OF DRAMATIC WRITING.
Need of Real Plays.
A very prominent New York Theatrical manager would be
one of ten to contribute $25,000 each to establish a chair of
dramatic writing in an American University. He is very
much in earnest on this subject and does not believe that any
Playwright ever made a real, genuine success until he first
had learned the rudiments of his art.
He doesn't believe in the heaven-born brand of playvv^right
— the man who comes down to the office in the morning with
one finger on his brow in a high-art pose and dictates a Play
before he goes to lunch. He believes pla5rwriting is as serious
a profession today as any other of the so-called learned ones,
and that before a man ventures to practice it he ought at least
to know what he wants to do and how it ought to be done.
"We have 3500 theatres in this country," said he, "not to
speak of one-night stands. We have more actors than can
find work. We have plenty of managers, an excellent ma-
chinery for the production of Plays, all the money that is
needed — far more money than can be utilized — a vast organi-
zation ready. The one thing that is needed, and that we can't
get is real Plays. Every day managers produce Plays with
which they privately find fault, or of the success of which
they are in doubt. They are forced to it by the dearth of good
material. Think of it; the really successful American drama-
tists can be counted almost on the fingers of one hand. It isn't
because of any lack of the raw material of which dramatists
are made, but because that raw material isn't properly trained.
Before the budding dramatist learns his trade he is apt to
starve to death."
Plenty of Reward Waits.
And he is ready with proof that the successful playwright
can depend on financial rewards which few of the other pro-
fessions offer their votaries. He mentioned one American
author as an example. If not a leading author, he is at least
the most voluminous American writer. He turns out fiction
and humor and pathos, and the other set pieces, as fast as any
other writer in the world. It is rare, indeed, that some one
35
The DRAMATIST
of his stories is not running in one of the periodicals which
make a feature of fiction, and his personal clientele is, perhaps,
larger than that of any other American writer.
"That man got for his latest story $31,000. Mr. James
Forbes has already drawn $60,000 in royalties from his play
'The Traveling Salesman.' He has received more than $100,-
000 for 'The Chorus Lady.' Charles Klein has drawn several
hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties from his various
productions. The list might be extended indefinitely. A suc-
cessful play means more to the author than ten years of suc-
cessful practice in one of the other professions in many in-
stances."
"I read everything that is submitted to me. When a play
comes in I number it, and take it up in turn in my moments of
leisure. But — I receive from 1500 to 1600 plays a year. Many
of them may be dismissed with hardly a glance, because the
writer has very obviously broken every rule of dramatic con-
struction. Others need careful study. I give them that study,
because I believe in the American dramatist. I have made
money in producing American plays by American playwrights.
In all my life I have produced only two English plays. They
were this season's crop — one 'The Earth,' and the other 'The
Noble Spaniard.' Both were failures. I was driven to them
because I could not find a play by an American that promised
success. Yet in a large percentage of the plays offered to me —
in the rough, so to speak — I find good ideas."
Good Ideas Poorly Handled.
"The writers have happened upon a great theme. They
have a good situation. They have a strong central idea. But
they have not worked it out in such form that it could be pro-
duced on the stage. Many of them would make excellent
novels, I am persuaded. They have every element that enters
into a good seller between green covers ; but they are not han-
dled in that particular way that is demanded of the drama —
and until they are I cannot touch them. But I have faith in
some of these writers. There are, perhaps, a dozen young fel-
lows whom I have 'grubstaked,' as they say in the West. I
have furnished them with enough money to go on with while
they try to hammer their stories into dramatic form. I may
lose money on them all. I may find one great play in the
bunch — and come out a winner in the end."
Nor does this manager believe that a dramatic author may
hammer out a play while he waits.
"Too many people quote the example of Dion Boucicault,"
said he "who wrote 'London Assurance' in tv/enty-four hours.
The best authors take the longest time. Fitch's plays would
36
The DRAMATIST
have been bettered if he had worked them over. Pinero is lei-
surely in his treatment. He lets the idea for a new play mull
in his mind before he touches it. Thom.as and Klein never
attempt to turn out more than one play a year. There are 20,-
000 plays written in this country every year — and perhaps 2
per cent, of them are really successful. There should be fewer
plays written — and more good ones."
"What good, he asks, "is the endowment of a theatre if no
good Plays can be furnished it? Better endow a means by
which the country, that wants new plays — is crying for them
— can get them.
JUST A WIFE.
Walter's High Water Mark.
Again the laurel wreath must be awarded Mr. Eugene W^al-
ter who has surpassed all other American Dramatists and out-
classed his own prior efforts in this latest drama "Just a
Wife."
An author matures only as he rises above the hidebound
convention of the society he lives in, to a position where he
can observe the human condition that lurks beneath the veneer
of form and custom.
The Dramatist matures only as he rises above traditional
theatric situation and builds about the bigger, deeper basis of
Theme.
On both these counts Mr. Walter has made good in "Just a
Wife" and his play which received the censure of critics of the
immature class has been approved by that higher tribunal —
public opinion — and if it does not make a long run at The Be-
lasco Theatre it will simply prove that the Theme is above the
heads of the average playgoer. In other words the length of
its run will measure the length of New York's intelligent play-
going public.
What is this Theme so highly commendable?
It has long been the custom of a large majority of well-to-
do mothers to train their daughters for "just a wife" and noth-
ing more. Not for motherhood — not for womanhood — but
sheer wifery. And wifery of wealth !
Now it might be possible to show up the suicide of this cus-
tom by merely parading the misery of some such marriage
upon the stage. But this is not the province of Drama!
Drama is Conflict and to drive home his argument Mr. Walter
saw that he must engage two extreme types in combat. He
knew that no commonplace contrast would awaken the moth-
ers who have been slumbering peacefully thru such criminal
conditions for centuries.
37
DRAM
And it was for this reason that he chose the shocking asso-
ciation of mistress and wife. How better could he illustrate
the immortality of the "just a wife" system? The husband
married one woman who had nothing but her beautiful sex to
offer. She was a splendid feminine specimen! He gave this
woman the position of wife but gave his love to another
woman who had sex plus — she had business ability and strong
personality which brought the husband half his success.
Both women were selling their sex! Here is the horrible
truth of his Play! It is not the wife but the WOMAN who
makes the helpmeet. After six years of thinking the legal wife
evolved into a fitter mate and succeeded to the fuller execution
of the contract she had agreed to fill. Isn't this a Theme worth
exploiting? Isn't this a blow to hollow social form? Isn't Mr.
Walter a more potent preacher than any dozen parsons in the
land?
And now that we have dealt with the greatness of this play
let us turn our attention to the imperfections which are equally
the office of this journal. A little more attention to physical
anatomy would have shown the author the true structural di-
visions of his action. Nothing really happens in the first Act
as it stands, and it is therefore not a correct sub-division of the
play. Acts I and II set forth the Conditions and should consti-
tute the first legitimate division in the structure. The drama
really gets a going by this time and we have the true Begin-
ning of a Play.
A similar mistake occurs in "Paid in Full" by the same au-
thor, with respect to the third and fourth Acts. In that in-
stance the action had ended with Act III save for a touch of
Theme which could easily have been interwoven and the Con-
flict closed.
In the modern simplicity Play three acts are sufficient. The
author may deceive himself that the peculiar nature of his ma-
terial demands a greater number of divisions. But is he sim-
ply lapsing in Art? The rightful portions of a Play were un-
consciously named by Aristotle hundreds of years ago — "The
Beginning, the Middle and the End !"
The only serious lapse of Logic in Mr. Walter's Play is the
character of Maxcy, a chum of the wife's brother who "butts
in" on the most delicate and personal domestic occasions. It
must be that the part was tailor-made to afford a friend a
comic opportunity. For the fellow does please even though
we feel in our bones that he has no rational right in the Con-
flict. But how many other plays have so few flagrant foreign-
alities?
38
The DRAMATIST
THE CITY.
Was the Work Finished by Fitch?
Although Mr. Fitch may have drawn the general outlines
for "The City" it is difficult for one familiar with the excellent
technique of "The Truth" to believe that this master American
craftsman finished the scenes and dialog of this alleged
"last play."
"The City" abounds in structural transgressions of almost
every sort, yet technical skill was the author's predominant
faculty. Hence the hesitation in accepting this crude speci-
men as the final product of his prolific pen.
Disunity is rampant throughout the structure. Theme is
one thing, Plot another, and the actual success of the piece de-
pends upon a tremendous blast of dramatic dynamite which is
still a third and distinct factor in the divergent ideas which
permeate this Play.
It is the purpose of this article to show that the Play idea
which is intended to conform to a Theme consistent with its
title is distinct and separate from the main Plot of the struc-
ture, and that the strongest single incident Fitch ever wrote
which ends the second Act, constitutes a Conflict all by itself
that could best be presented in a one-act sketch. These three
ideas will be traced out to their solitary unities to show cause
for the question: "Was the play finished by Fitch?"
The theme which endeavors to exploit the effects of the
searching spirit of city publicity upon the character of all who
come within its walls is not embodied in the main Plot of the
Play. The story that contains this Theme is the one that
opens the Play showing the aspiration of a young attorney for
that larger opportunity afforded by the city. After the father's
death he goes to New York but his poHtical career is headed
off by an exposure of his own moral obliquity (evidence of
which is not brought out but merely talked) and this story is
wound up with the young man's resolution to mend his ways
and begin the battle of life on a clean field.
But not until virtue is rewarded is the curtain allowed to
descend for at this juncture a beautiful heroine is cast at his
feet without the slightest warning. She assures him that his
past life is no obstacle to her eternal affection and all ends hap-
pily.
The only recent blunder of like magnitude that this can be
compared v/ith is a similar resort to sentimentality in the last
act of "Israel." In the latter play the happy-ever-after was
said to be the interpolation of an American carpenter. Who
knows but the same tinkerer "finished" the Fitch Play?
The second story is by far the most effective one dramatic-
ally. There are fragments of it entwined in the Theme story
39
The DRAMATIST
of Act I, but these particles could easily be woven into the
thirty minute sketch which embraces most of the material in
Act II ending with the catastrophe that brings down the cur-
tain. This sketch has nothing in common with Act III. It is a
completed action in itself and if treated as such would unfold
itself as follows : A young girl falls in love with a man em-
ployed by her brother. The latter knows that the man is his
illegitimate half-brother but conceals this fact from him and
from all others while he employs the illicit relative out of a
sense of duty. The brother learns of their clandestine mar-
riage — an hour since — and is compelled to tell his employee-
half-brother of the terrible mistake. The latter refuses to be-
lieve the monstrous secret but rather than have the brother
tell the girl the truth he draws a gun and shoots her straight
in the heart! This is the sum and substance of the little one-
act tragedy but there is much more by way of a morphine
fiend's frenzied writhings which might be tacked onto the
sketch, just as it is spliced on to the play proper, if mere the-
atric sensation were desired. And this little playlet is a thing
apart from the first and third acts and does not require that
part of Act II which deals with the brother's political career
which we have designated story #i.
There is a third story which retards the legitimate action of
Act II and consumes much of III while it makes a feeble ef-
fort to conform to theme. This story drags in details of the
marital corruption of a second sister to the young attorney.
Her husband is a drunken sot who provokes a little comedy.
But their divorce and reconciliation has about as much to do
with either of the foregoing play ideas as does the comet
Halley.
These three stories comprise the divergent branches of Plot
that rend the Unity of the whole. The only one that partakes
of the real definition of drama having Conditions, Cause and
Conclusion is the second one. The first story is utterly devoid
of Cause for in the original the Cause of the second story is
interjected as a substitute. The third story is a mere episode
from life which fails to assume semblance of drama in any
sense.
Perhaps Clyde Fitch wrote this play but his earliest and
crudest efforts give no warrant for the belief that he could
wander so far astray in technic. None of his other half hun-
dred plays violate the canons of dramatic art with half the fe-
licity. His ripest efforts have been models of good construc-
tion. If this master craftsman really did perpetrate this
artistic crime in its entirety his dramatic conscience must
have been deadened by the roar and echo of the one big scene.
40
he DRAM
T"
Profit could not have blinded him to the laws of his Art. It
may have been that death reached the m^ental man within be-
fore it claimed the mortal man without.
THE TURNING POINT.
Most Censured Play of the Season.
Most young dramatists are prone to condemn the manager
who rejects their coveted manuscripts and waste their years
yearning for the financial wherewith to produce their own
works of Art "Just to show him,"
We wish that we might send every aspiring author in
America to see "The Turning Point" so that the prevailing
notion that "money makes the dramatic mare go" could be
forever discarded. This may be the case in some professions
but it is not true of the Theatrical filly !
Preston Gibson, the author of this piece, had ample funds
to give its production every financial provision of success. His
effort surpasses the average amateur offering and yet it failed
miserably. Why? Because it is not a Play! All the money
in America cannot bribe the play going public to place their
stamp of approval on something that does not appeal to their
em.otional faculties, and this is precisely the fate that would
attend the financially forced production of q8 out of loo plays
written by intelligent, yes, highly cultivated men and women
who have not mastered the fundamentals of play Construc-
tion.
Wild disunity abounds in the main Plot and punctures the
many minor plots of this distracted attempt at drama. Condi-
tions forecasting a dozen developments of disonant and dis-
tinct actions are reeled off thick and fast in the first few min-
utes of Act I. At the end of this act no palmist or conjurer
could say what this play is to be about. It is simply a mess —
a mix-up — and there you are.
In order to clearly convey the violations of Unity to those
who have not seen the production it will be necessary to out-
line, primarily, the author's possible play material. If he had
not resorted to monstrosities of biplot his Problem would
have been as follows :
Conditions.
1. A broker buys a valuable coal land for a mere song.
Cause.
2. The owner retains the only right of way to market.
Conclusion.
3. He defeats the broker's game?
41
The DRAMATIST
It is not illogical that in the development of this Problem
a love interest should be introduced in which both men
are striving for the hand of the same girl. Such a complica-
tion in the execution of Plot is easily legitimate and crudely
outlined in the play as presented. And so much of the native
Plot is raw material for a splendid play!
But Mr. Gibson would not confine his efforts to the con-
struction of a play of normal proportions. He would not stop
here. He continued to pile on the agony thick and deep, with
sub-plots and counterplots till every character in his play
ceases rational existence and becomes a theatrical puppet of
artificial stageology.
Besides the legitimate features of Plot above mentioned, he
"rings in" a parodized parson and his matronly inamorata: an
insipid widov/ who is an unscrupulous flirt (in no slight de-
gree attached to the Plot) : an entirely separate conflict be-
tween the broker and a juvenile lover centering in the former's
betrayal of the latter's sweetheart — her abrupt death and sub-
sequent resurrection — all of which is foreign matter crudely
TALKED into the play to the detriment of main plot. The
parson's inamorata is plunged into another plot, needlessly
defiling a mother with the embezzlement of her daughter's
funds merely to float still another plot of the old-time mock
heroic variety wherein the daughter is forced to marry the
"heavy villain" to prevent her mother's name "from being
dragged in the dust."
But lest you think absurdity ends here let us relate a couple
of counterplots whereupon the leading lady beholds the South-
erner giving counsel to the juvenile lover's sweetheart and
straightway proceeds to hate our hero ^i, and at the same in-
stant the juvenile himself sees the Southerner "chinning his
gal" and storms off in a fit of jealous rage !
If a contest were instituted to award a gold medal for the
most flagrant violation of the law of Unity; in these two last
mentioned instances, Mr. Gibson would deserve the honors !
No loftier examples of a desecration of that cardinal principle
could well be invented! And yet do you know there is ma-
terial in this chaotic mass of incongruity for a good play?
The veil between playwriting and mere penmanship is
sometimes an invisible thread. With less real effort than the
author has applied to this imperfect piece, his same energies,
properly directed, might have done a play worth while. Re-
member the moral, young dramatist, that money never made
a makeshift manuscript marketable.
42
The DRAMATIST
ALIAS JIMMY VALENTINE.
A Photograph of Paul Armstrong.
The proof of a Plajrwright is his play. A portrait of a
writer's plajrwriting proclivities is plainly depicted in the posi-
tive and negative qualities of his work. You can't get away
from it — the camera doesn't lie ! "Alias Jimmy Valentine" is
a snap shot of Mr, Paul Armstrong and the likeness is won-
derful ! It does not portray a dramatist, however, but a clever
workman with eye and ear trained for detecting the possi-
bilities in another fellow's story. He is more the curator
than the creator. The play reveals both his ignorance and
aptness of Art. It proves one thing ; that the author's method
of construction is not a safe, scientific system but a loose hap-
hazard process. He begins with no conscious grasp of what
he is about and thus allows irrelevant absurdity to supersede
the fundamental factors of Plot.
In order to demonstrate this assertion let us reduce the play
to its native Problem — not the Problem that we thin'K
best but the one that actually exists in Mr. Armstrong's ma-
terial — the one broad legitimate syllogism of the play which
should have governed Unity from curtain to curtain. We will
state this Problem in its three clauses; Conditions, Cause and
Conclusion.
Problem.
1. An ex-convict baffles a detective's attempt to identify
him.
2. In the latter's presence he is compelled to pick a lock.
3. The detective is so pleased he lets him go.
This is the Problem of "Alias Jimmy Valentine," which
in other words might be termed the beginning, the middle and
the end. Without some such working plan the author is very
apt to begin somewhere else than the beginning as does Mr.
Armstrong in this latest play. Instead of starting with evi-
dence that "Jimmy" was a convict he takes us into the prison
where we see that he actually is a convict and reviews the
whole history of his being pardoned just to work in some
inane episode contained in his scrap book. It is for this reason
that Acts I and II appear to drag heavily. They are not a
legitimate part of the play. The real play does not begin until
Act III which sets forth the first clause of our proposition;
that "Jimmy" is an ex-convict and that he successfully baffles
the detective who is hunting him down. "Jimmy" passes him-
self for another in one of the best made scenes in the play.
43
The DRAMATIST
Nearly all of Acts I and II are taken up with an effort to
"ring in" a pretty little romance of the following PLAUSI-
BLE stripe : A girl happens to visit Sing Sing and there hap-
pens to recite an adventure wherein she happened to be res-
cued from one bandit by another. She happens to be the niece
of the lieutenant governor of the state who happens to call at
the prison with her and they happen here to meet the identical
hero of her bandit fairy tale. He in turn happens to appear
innocent and happens to be pardoned by the girl's uncle and
happens to be placed in a position of trust in a national bank
by the girl's own father who happens to be credulous enough
to take stock in her innocent convict.
Of course all this improbable stuff could be transformed
into Drama by proper treatment and adherence to Sequence
but it is not worth while for it is not in keeping with Prob-
lem ! The same could be condensed into a fev/ words, if ne-
cessary, or a better Condition Precedent could be invented
v/ithout consuming two whole acts which even then fail to get
the play going.
Another glance at Problem will show that four acts are
not required. The first act should set forth the Conditions.
As mentioned before the conditions do not call for the past
history of "Jimmy's" im.prisonment, or the romance of his res-
cuing the girl, or a host of stunts performed by the inmates
of Sing Sing, or Mr, Armstrong's theory concerning the in-
sanity of criminals. The Conditions merely call for evidence
of "Jimmy's" rehabilitation and the efforts of the authorities
to recapture him on an old charge.
The second act should develop the love story which is inci-
dental to "Jimmy's" reform and lead up to the splendid clim.ax
where he is compelled to practice the criminal art of his past
"profession." The curtain falls at the moment this predica-
ment is realized.
The third act is represented by the fourth act of the original
play. "Jimmy" is seen actually operating on the combination
lock by means of touch highly sensitized in the sandpapering
of his finger tips. He does this in the presence of the detec-
tive. There should be some logical solution of the action,
however, which is v/anting in the original play. This detec-
tive who has journeyed all the way to Illinois to secure this
culprit announces: "The lady needs you more than the state
of Massachusetts." And calmly relinquishes his prize! Is
this drama? If a detective gives up a prisoner he has been
seeking for years there must be some valid reason for his doing
it. But it is dishonest to dodge the issue! Dramatic dis-
honesty !
How easy it would be to adjust all this by the slightest turn
in Plot. In the play a child wanders into the vault and
44
The DRAMATIST
"Jimmy" must pick the lock to save its life. Let us intensify
action by placing the sweetheart in the vault. She was in
"Jimmy's" arms when "Doyle" the detective entered and she
slyly dodged into this hiding place. "Doyle" has utterly failed
to identify "Jimmy" although he is morally certain of his man.
He has gone so far as to guarantee "Jimmy" his freedom if he
will merely show him the subtle secrets of his craft. "Jimmy"
is still obstinate in his declaration that he is not the man. As
a last resort "Doyle" slams the huge safe door which locks
with a combination. "Jimmy" exclaims that his sweetheart is
locked in there and that he does not know the combination!
"Pick it!" challenges the detective!
Act III is but a moment later. "Jimmy's" fingers itch v/ith
conscious ability to do the old trick. It is too late to mince
matters I We hear a faint cry from within ! The splendid feat
of the criminal locksmith now follows! The girl is rescued
and the lovers reunited ! With some degree of rational proba-
bility it can nov/ be imagined that "Jimmy" will hold "Doyle"
to his prom.ise. He has shown him the secrets of his craft.
This is an exchange for his liberty!
There is one other detail that goes to show the eternal vigil-
ance required of the Dramatist who would observe Logic in
everjrthing. It is the matter of the combination lock. Mr.
Arm-Strong introduces this vault as a new one recently in-
stalled in the bank. He has undoubtedly aimed at immunity
by placing the scene out in Illinois. He has not gone far
enough. Even the back-woods banker has long since rele-
gated this sort of security to the junk heap. The village
banker has his time-lock equipment which challenges the
smoothest locksmith in the business. Nothing can persuade
its tumblers to turn before the hour set by the clock in its
mechanism! To meet this contingency the time of the play
should be set back to a period when combination locks were in
vogue or the point should be established that this particular
vault is an obsolete factor in the bank's security. The drama-
tist who is sincere in his Art will not compromise with the
slightest detail of Dramatic Fact.
THE LILY.
A Vr/retched Structure Artistically Staged.
No better instance of the prevailing paucity of good plays
can be cited than David Belasco's adaptation of this deficient
French Drama. Not that he has failed to see his opportunity
to create one great scene and one intensely human type but to
the artist all discord is painful and without the wizard's in-
comparable stage management this piece would be absolutely
intolerable.
45
The DRAMATIST
Do you think that he would concentrate all the powers of
his craft on one solitary situation if he could obtain Plays that
were Drama from start to finish? He could write such a Play,
to be sure, but he is a very busy man. He hasn't the time and
when a vacancy occurs by the abrupt end of another produc-
tion he is obliged to take what he can lay his hands on. His
triumph in this instance is not the Dramatist's success but the
stage master's achievement. He knows the call of the mob so
well that he can bank upon a single moment of tremendous
magnetism portrayed with utmost skill. The fact that few
critics, even, saw the yawning gaps in structure speaks vol-
umes for the supremacy of his craftsmanship !
If we were to accept this as a specimen of David's original
composition it would simply show that the Dramatist had not
kept pace with the procession which is advancing the struc-
tural standards of his chosen profession at break neck speed.
And heaven knows they needed advancement! But the
adaptor is apt to be blinded to the flaws of the original writers,
particularly if they be authors of renowned fame, and again
he may not be licensed by them to cut and slash at liberty.
The first act of "The Lily" is without exception the most
slipshod construction of any play in the entire Belasco group.
It ranks only in inferiority with Preston Gibson's "The Turn-
ing Point" treated elsewhere in this journal. There is no
definite purpose in the act and the few Plot essentials that do
crop out in a desultory fashion give little evidence of the keen
oversight of a master mind. The chief cause of the ineffec-
tiveness of Act I is that it performs no legitimate function in
the whole play. The minor elements presented in it are so out
of Sequence that Action limps with a crutch. The Act does
not advance the Action as such an epoch in the Plot should.
The first act should set forth the Beginning of the Play. Many
of the Conditions given are not essential to the main Plot and
could well be left to inference or be taken as a matter of
course. All could be worked into Act II which is the legiti-
mate Beginning or first Act of the play.
PROBLEM.
Conditions.
An old maid has sacrificed matrimonial chances for a pater-
nal despot.
Cause.
The younger sister's happiness meets the same opposition.
Conclusion.
The old maid's bitter life strengthens her to defy the irate
father?
46
The DRAMATIST
Of course, this broad structural synopsis does not prescribe
what course the working Plot will take but it serves as a guide
to the cardinal requisites of same. The arbitrary father fla-
vors the thing as French. No Yankee girl submits to such
tyranny. The foreign point of view, therefore is a funda-
mental in Problem for without this basis the Plot would
have no foundation to rest upon. We must therefore accept
it if we would have a play even though the outrage is incon-
sistent with parental obedience as we practice it in America.
As implied in the Problem the old maid's sacrifice is neces-
sarily a matter of history for she is already withered wjien we
first see her as a result of the life sacrifice. This Condition is
readily established as the Plot proceeds but begins with
the second Act of Mr. Belasco's play and therefore the second
Act really begins the Conflict. It is the valid first act.
The next step would be to show the younger sister's clandes-
tine love affair against the background of the fossilized old
wretch of a father who would almost eat the child alive that
ran counter to his pleasure !
At this point the degenerate French standard has made the
girl's lover a married man who has no right to love her. This
moral slope could well be eliminated for there is abundant
Plot material in the powerful climax which takes its origin in
the old maid's motherly protection from the father of the lit-
tle sister who has loved without license in her natural effort to
escape the old man's rule. In a stricter sense even to mar the
girl's chastity might be deemed Disunity. It adds spice to
the scene but the line between legitimate drama and effect for
effect's sake is sometimes dift^icult to discern. The great force
of the scene is the operation of the second law of Nature — the
love of parent for child — which is portrayed in this motherly
old maid's affection for her child-sister. Through the medium
of this girl she craves the realization of the love that was lost
to her. It is now the only outlet of that pent up affectation in
her bosom which in youth had been crushed out by the iden-
tical tyrant who now attempts a repetition of such arbitrary
rule.
There is much to admire in Act III. The superb gradation
with which the girl's confession is wrung from her lips — little
by little — is a height of Art most worthy of Belasco. The old
maid's final rise to the defence of her tender little sister is a
scene that will live with indelible life in the minds of the spec-
tator. There is every temptation to let loose here, tooth and
nail ! The audience is ready to riddle the old rascal them-
selves. But the restraint with which the moment is handled!
Ah! There's the Art! Most any author must have shown
his teeth a trifle! But the cold full tones that emanate and
47
The DRAMATIST
echo from the years of wretched subjugation suffered by this
poor woman penetrate the soul and find a sympathy that is
the personification of DRAMA !
Now after such a tribute to the skill of this workman our
comment on the paucity of plays might be a trifle incoherent.
But we said good plays. And by a good play is meant a uni-
formly well built drama of specific Theme and purpose which
sets about unfolding its Conditions, developing its Cause and
attaining its Conclusion in a simple, subtleized, straightfor-
ward fashion. This definition does not admit a makeshift
hastily patched up merely to SELL to the public a few power-
ful scenes no matter what their effectiveness. Mr. Belasco
can construct a good play, we are certain. But this case is
much like that of Mr. Fitch with "The City." If America's
foremost stage master had much to do with "The Lily" his
mind was dazzled by the one culminating moment of stupend-
ous dramatic magnitude !
THE BARRIER.
Presbrey's Dramatization of Beach's Novel.
"The Barrier" is an example of good Play material so bun-
gled in one instance of the dramatization as to impair its effec-
tiveness. If properly treated, however, there is little hope for
such a Play. Undisguised melodrama is a thing of the past.
This thrilling tale of border life fails to produce the illusion of
reality upon a tenderfoot audience.
Its failure is not entirely a matter of vogue, however. There
are technical reasons why "The Barrier" does not grip with
the power inherent in it. The chief of these causes lies in the
fact that the cart is hitched before the horse. We get effect
before cause.
Long before there is any reason assigned for "John Gale's"
trepidation we see terror written in every move he makes.
This is not Action. It is a flagrant violation of Sequence. Our
sympathies are solicited before we have a knowledge of the
source of this old man's anxiety. In other words the first es-
sential of Action is omitted. What the audience does not know
it cannot act upon and an undefined danger is not capable of
arousing Action. The information that is necessary to our in-
telligent comprehension of Acts I and II does not cross the
footlights till Act III. Here we find out that "Gale" was
charged with murder actually committed by another. This is
one of the first conditions that should have been established in
Act I. It is not one of the elements of doubt that need be held
in solution for the climax of the play. It is precedent fact that
is necessary to the interpretation of Plot.
48
DRAM
Kere we get the difference between the dramatist's and the
storyteller's treatment. The latter may build his conflict be-
tween himself and the reading public — the former must make
his struggle between the characters on the stage. The novel-
ist may spring all sorts of surprises on his reader whereas to
bewilder your auditor is to deal a deathblow to Drama. This
does not mean that the playwright must tell his audience how
he is going to solve the problem of his play but that he cannot
obey the laws of his Art and allow characters to perform
stunts that are unintelligible. You will find spectators con-
stantly asking WHY. A play is a rational structure and each
particle in its building must be recognized as belonging to the
whole. To introduce the minutest atom of foreign or incoher-
ent matter merely confuses the auditor needlessly.
This one instance of structural deficiency is cited not be-
cause it is the only one but because it is of magnitude suffi-
cient to destroy any play written. "The Barrier" abounds in
trifling incongruities but on the whole is a remarkably well
built drama. In spite of the fact that New York does not want
melodrama in the nude state we believe that this play would
have made a better showing had the one cardinal weakness
been rectified. The Plot for the most part is admirably con-
ceived and more skill is manifested than in many of the more
successful plays now running.
INCONSTANT GEORGE.
An Insipid Horse-play Farce.
The specimens of French plays seen here this season do not
sustain the supremacy of technic heretofore accredited the
dramatists of that nation. "Inconstant George" at least is not
a good type in its American raiment. But there's the rub. We
never know how much the original has been robbed when it
has passed through the importing processes of translation and
transplantation. For the French point of view and moral stan-
dard will not fit the American audience without considerable
modification.
Bronson Howard once wrote a farce "Saratoga" as insipid
as "Inconstant George." He was writing then, however, a
style fully up to the times. No sane manager would attempt
to stage "Saratoga" today without labeling it a relic of an-
tiquity. It fitted the unevolved audience of former days who
assembled to witness the antics of the actors punctuated with
occasional puns. That audience has passed with the contem-
porary species of drama that suited it and the dramatist who
goes along writing the obsolete form must hope for a fossil-
ized producer to appreciate his plays. He must also look for
49
The DRAMATIST
an antediluvian actor to take the part. Poor old "Uncle" John
Drew hobbles obediently through the role of "George" with
the perfunctory pitifulness of a well trained work horse.
Like "Israel" this play opens with the clumsy three-ring
circus introduction. There are four women and three men on
stage of whom we know nothing and care less. These people
whom we do not know talk of others we have not seen and
the auditor who has lost the art of making up the deficit by
continual reference to his program is adrift. He cannot see
all that is going on in the "three rings" with an eye that has
been trained to observe a solitary story simply told where
every atom of acting is self-explanatory.
There is no coherent Plot to this silly farce and the wobbly
structure defies analysis on legitimate standards. It is a con-
glomeration of marital infidelity, horse-play and snatches of
vaudeville and burlesque. It would not even serve as a com-
prehensive negative model for study. The structural infringe-
ments are too wide of technical definition. At best the thing
is a hopeless relic of antiquity.
SALVATION NELL.
A Hopeless String of Dissociated Episodes.
With the popular amateur misconception that a succession
of disconnected episodes, occasional uproar and haphazard
happenings constitute that dramatic Action known as a play,
Mr. Sheldon did his best to live up to the highest ideal of
drama visible to the naked eye at the time he wrote this piece.
For in this Art as in all others we must see the image be-
fore we can give expression to it. The only part of the dra-
matic picture that penetrated Mr. Sheldon's comprehension
was that curious little flirt of the brush which distributes the
pigment. And he was in no wise watchful of where he applied
it. A dab on the canvas or one on the wall was immaterial to
him. Any old swish of the brush only so it simulated the ex-
pert stroke of the painter.
This play belongs to the spineless species for it has no
structural backbone. It has no central support for the ana-
tomy. The connecting cartilage is also missing. The one
common characteristic contained in every real play from
Sophocles to Shakespeare, from Shakespeare to Sheldon IS
NOT THERE!
A slum girl loves a worthless convict who is sent to prison
for accidental murder leaving her the mother of his child.
She is rescued by a Salvation sister (in a very thrilling mo-
ment of the triumph of good over evil). "Jim," the convict, re-
turns and drags poor Nell from her pedestal. After a ram-
bling conflict between them she crawls back to the higher
50
The DRAMATIST
plane and in a most humorous duet with her young son prays
for the forsaken criminal father. An attempt is made to show
that this prayer is materialized and "Jim" joins the "Army."
This is the nearest approach to Plot — though it is not Plot
for it lacks the one fundamental factor CAUSE! There is no
suggestion of underlying Cause for the completed Action.
Without Cause there can be no Conclusion. Without this
prime requisite the most skillful Dramatist on earth could not
produce a plausible play.
To illustrate more clearly the missing link in the three loop
chain of Problem we will devise an imaginary CAUSE that
would make this play conform to the elementary Law of
Structure, the only suggestion of which, in the original, is the
supposed efficacy of prayer which is a new means of placing
God in the cast of characters.
PROBLEM.
Conditions.
A convict loves a slum girl who becomes the illicit mother
of his child-
Cause.
She is raised to a higher moral plane which causes her to
be repelled at her former suitor.
Conclusion.
Her repulse awakens the dormant manhood within him.
Do you see the slight turn that converts an indefinite noth-
ing into a precise something? It is only necessary to change
the rambling uncertainty of Nell's attitude toward this con-
vict into a decided refusal to consider him in his present de-
pravity, to transform mere narrative into dramatic Action.
There is a problem — something to be done — something to be
solved. Instead of relying on the heavenly power to reform
poor "Jim" we come down to earth and rehabilitate him by hu-
man means. For Drama is a conflict between human wills —
not between superhuman and human. The superhuman is not
susceptible of convincing presentation upon the stage.
In addition to Structural neglect, "Salvation Nell" abounds
in absurdities of all sorts. The goat love of Nell for this
wretch of a convict is an example of carnal lust unfit for pub-
lic presentation. Particularly is this true when the chimpan-
zee sphere of affection is uncalled for in Plot. The prayer re-
ferred to is a most preposterous thing. The concert cackle of
mother and son could produce nothing save emotions of mirth
and sacrilege. The effort to stir up a counter affection of one
of the Salvation officers for "Nell" is misapplied invention and
51
The DRAMATIST
dangerous disunity. A telephone episode where "Nell" threat-
ens to call up the police and expose "Jim" is illogical farce.
Why wouldn't this dare-devil pulverize the telephone with
one pass of his brawny fist? As an accompaniment for
the prayer Providence throws in a thunderstorm for full mea-
sure. Anything plumped in after this fashion merely reveals
the will of the author — it never becomes a part of the play.
Against such feeble Action a prostitute stands out as the one
bit of virile truth in the Plot. We have been so bored with
irrelevant stuff that we welcome the harlot in contrast who is
at least consistent with herself.
In Act III the issue is helplessly adrift! Several sub-plots
scramble for momentary existence but no sign of the main
Plot is in sight. Of course, the absence of Cause obviates a
Conclusion and no definite solution can be reasonably ex-
pected. There is no Sequence of events in this act. We flit
from one incongruity to another. The lovers wish to make
love in the public street and the playwright waves his magic
wand ! All of the hundred heads that hung from the windows
a moment before now kindly duck and the accommodating fruit
man deserts his stand leaving his wares an open treat to the
boys of the Bowery. All is quiet! Save the cooing of the
lovers and the steady beating of the pulse of common sense —
"False! False! False! For an audience will feel the fake if
they cannot define their feelings.
From curtain to curtain in this final act there is not the
feeblest breath of Dramatic Action to sustain or stimulate in-
terest. The play with no beginning, with no middle part — can
have no end! The three clauses of Problem are so cor-
related and interdependent that one cannot exist without an-
other — without the other two.
Moral: Let PROBLEM Rule Supreme!
THE MAN WHO STOOD STILL.
Not a Play.
Several subscribers have requested an analysis of "The
Man Who Stood Still," but we regret to admit our inability to
perform such an operation on something that is not a play.
The piece was evidently a hasty pudding made as a vehicle
for Mr. Louis Mann's eccentric acting. It appears to be a
hodge-podge of particles copied from successful plays such as
"The Music Master" and "Way Down East." There is pain-
ful effort at Action but little or no success in the creation of
that subtle principle. The promulgators of the piece seem to
have confused activity with Action. Every character bustles
52
The DRAMATIST
about with undue attempt at excitement but this is not Dra-
matic Action, The piece is of the old school of many-story
drama which is now obsolete. Its only possible value to the
student is its example of the sort of drama to be avoided.
YOUR VOTE COUNTS.
Each subscriber is invited to express his preference of the
plays to be treated technically in "The Dramatist" from time
to time. If your selection does not appear in the list you will
know it is for one of two reasons. Either that we are un-
able to see the play for purposes of analysis or that a larger
majority of votes have been cast in favor of the ones criticized.
"WORLD" PRIZE PLAY.
$500 Prize Awarded a Modern Play Idea.
The great lesson to be learned from the New York "World"
prize contest award is that a picked board of Judges selected
the New Type of Drama with a single centred story, devoid
of all suggestion of sub-plot, confining every moment to the
ONE Theme and thought contained in the Problem, which
is as follows:
PROBLEM.
Conditions.
To relieve the poverty of the household a mother resumes
her professional work as an actress. Her child dies.
Cause.
Piqued by her superiority the husband charges her with
maternal neglect.
Conclusion.
Will she tolerate this monster of selfishness?
Here is a foundation for a play intensely human and real-
istic. The dramatist (for she has well earned her title to the
distinction) has eliminated all silly sentimentality and clung
to the legitimate purpose of propounding her One Straight-
forward Story of this husband and wife. The people are real
creatures of the sort she has seen and known and no effort is
made to besmear them with a varnish of theatric-ideality.
They LIVE and breathe the same air continually inhaled by
the spectator and for this reason will bind the interest of the
audience.
Mrs. Martha Fletcher Bellinger, the winner of this remark-
able prize, has made one serious mistake in the Scenario draft
of her Play idea. The Action is divided into four Acts where
53
The DRAMATIST
the material calls for but three. Instead of a first act to show
the poverty of the home and the mother's decision to resume
her stage career; a second act to portray her stage success,
interrupted by the terrible news of her baby's fatal illness; a
third act for the husband's charge of ambitious neglect and a
fourth act to end this struggle; she should divide the Action
as follows:
Act I. and Act II. same as original.
Act III. Husband's charge of neglect really actuated by
pique at her superior talents. Wife's meek decision to resign
stage career. Further despotism which causes wife to desert
this selfish wretch.
Here the Action ends as finally as Problem can pre-
scribe; Any attempt to attach further complications merely
threaten the beginning of another play in Act IV which is so
clearly the case in "Paid in Full" and "The Third Degree."
It is a great thing to know when to stop ! Problem tells
you. Just to achieve the happy ending, the author of this
prize play expects to "ring in" lover for the wife in the charac-
ter of a playwright. If this is done an economy could be at-
tained by making a composite of the stage manager who em-
ploys her and the playwright who writes the play in which
she is to star. Another structural defect that will probabjy
receive attention under the advice of professional management
is the elimination of spurious set scenes in the second and
fourth Acts. This is an antedeluvian form seldom resurrected
by modern Dramatists!
But before we dismiss the subject let us glance into the his-
tory of this woman whose work has won favor with five
worthy judges and see if this Scenario was a thing dashed off
in a fit of inspiration or the result of careful study of the
fundamentals of Drama.
Mrs. Bellinger left college in 1892. She had already given
much thought to dramatic and literary pursuits. Year after
year she toiled and struggled with her hobby availing the best
technical advice obtainable until she finally became a public
lecturer on the subject in the schools of New York. Twenty
years, at least, may be reckoned as her preparatory period and
this is her first play to be produced 1 Does this look to you
like a flash of genius? A spell of inspiration? Or the re-
ward of work, work, work?
54
LUTHER B. ANTHONY, E.ditor
Vol. I. EASTON. PA.
No. 4
QUARTERLY 1910
JULY
Enchained
A Rare Specimen of Modem Construction.
It may be deemed an assumption on the part of an Ameri-
can to sit in judgment on the work of the Grand Prize winner
of the French Academy, but even though the French pay more
attention to structure than any other dramatic writers in
the world, they have yet to resolve the art of playwrit-
ing into a safe and sound science. Of course, the French
moral standard is bound to infest their drama and unfit much
of their best product for American presentation despite the
maudlin efforts of our own play butchers to chop them to fit
our stage. But the ethics of any play should be measured in-
side the limits the author has imposed upon himself and not
by any external standard.
The commendable qualities of structure in this play out-
number the negatives in a greater proportion than any manu-
script we have reviewed, comprising a list of many thousands.
The fundamentals of Play construction are observed in nearly
every instance so that it serves as an excellent model for the
student.
Drama.
This subtle dramatic agent so little understood by the ama-
teur is well illustrated in "Enchained." By Dram.a we mean
that effect produced upon the audience by the things that
HAPPEN upon the stage. If you want to see this principle in
full operation, calling forth doubt, sympathy and suspense,
read Scene VI of the first Act. Note how the constantly drift-
ing relations between these two characters keep interest alive.
Note the superb dignity and extreme fidelity of the author's
art. The Scene is brief, so brief that we all want more of it.
We sit in breathless suspense wondering what is to come of
this complicity.
In Scene VIII another phase of Action is created by an
opposite course. It may not vibrate our sympathies with as
much delight but to the Plot this Scene is just as essential. It
promotes the Play. It is a decided stride for progress, advanc-
ing the completed Conflict perceptibly.
55
The DRAM. ATIST
Scene VI of Act II is fully as powerful as the same number
in Act I. No one, better than the beginner, knows how to
make a sameness in all Scenes that occur between the same
characters. You will note no similarity here, even though we
have the same characters, dealing with the same emotion, but
creating an entirely new effect for the reason that there is in-
finite progress in the Conflict. The pot is boiling! New fuel is
thrown into the fire continually. See what restraint is exer-
cised by the dramatist toward the end of Scene VI Act II.
How readily the novice would have thrown them into each
other's arms, thereby destroying that potent sympathy in-
spired with the audience by their nobler conduct.
Scenes.
Please notice that the Scene divisions refer to the struc-
tural units and do not mean a change of stage setting. This is
what we invariably mean when we speak of Scenes in techni-
cal discussion. Without Scenes there can be no Play. A Scene
is a little Play in itself. Note what marvellous headway Her-
vieu makes in a brief Scene of less than a page at times. Take
Scene VIII in Act I, for instance. The author wishes to show
that Irene keeps her promise to Michel : "I shall forever keep
myself for myself." Pages of dialog could not accomplish
what he does here in seventeen speeches !
And strange to say the poorest Scene in the whole play is
one of the longest. It is Scene I in Act III. In a well written
Scene there is not a word of the dialog that is said with-
out inevitable Cause. The character must say it, either
because of the predicament in which he is placed or by
mere reason of his nature of which we must have seen traits
that give credence to his utterance. There is hardly a line in
the above mentioned Scene that has the dramatic force back of
it. The words are there because the author wanted to get cer-
tain information before the audience and for this moment
lapsed in his art and employed the amateur's method of
TELLING the audience first hand. Valanton is as foreign to
this Scene as the king of the cannibal islands. The informa-
tion that is pumped across the footlights should come out in-
directly and inevitably through the dialog of the principals
concerned. There is nothing doing between Valanton and
Fergan and where there is nothing at issue you may be sure
that mere rhetoric and inaction will result.
A splendid contrast to this flaw may be found in Scene VI
of the first Act. Here there IS an issue. These two beings are
in Love. Circumstances are keeping them separated. The pur-
pose of the Scene makes it throb with life and emotion ! Ob-
serve this difference in these two examples and you have the
main secret of Scene construction, which is half of the art of
Playwriting.
56
The DRAMATIST
Sequence.
And now we come to the gravest transgression of principle
in the Play; an effort to "ring in" a factor of preparation for
subsequent effect at a juncture entirely out of Sequence. In
Scene V of Act I as Valanton is getting ready to depart Pau-
line says : "You were very delicate when you were little," and
Michel admits it, citing heredity as the cause. The thought is
plumped into the midst of another Scene where its violation of
Sequence destroys effectiveness. And the hint itself is a very
important one. Without this intimation of Michel's affliction
we cannot properly comprehend the impending catastrophe in
Act III when we see the son of Michel the heir to his father's
malady. Lack of such comprehension dilutes suspense, for the
audience should begin to see Fergan's impending doom. If
we do not, the rudiments of Action are at fault !
But this preparation must come in somewhere, you will
say. Yes, and there is a place for it, just as there is a real har-
bor for every thought waiting to be launched. Look at Scene
VI of this Act. Michel is going away. Irene does not want
him to go. Wouldn't it be the most natural thing in the world
for her to advance the argument that he was not strong
enough to make this trip. Michel would retort that he was
never stronger, that this delicacy is a thing of heredity with
him. All the more reason for Irene wanting him to remai^
where she could watch over him. And there you are! The
item of preparation has here crept in without obtruding itself
upon a foreign Scene, and besides fusing with the dialog
in hand it has served to advance the sentiment of the Scene of
which it is now truly a part.
Future Study.
We dedicate this Play to the sincere student of the Drama
who wants a model of good structure. When helplessly adrift
in accomplishing your point refer to this masterpiece and see
hovv Hervieu did it. You will find few patterns that will serve
as veil.
We shall refer to this Play from time to time for illustra-
tion, to drive home our discussion on principle. Please feel at
liberty to communicate on any point that confuses you. If
you care to rewrite Scene I in Acts I or III we will analyse
your tffort. These are the two weakest Scenes in the play.
Persevere and study! Look upon your art as the physician-
candidate contemplates his course at the University. The dra-
matic is the most subtle Science of them all.
\ 57
DRAM
E.NCH AIN ED
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
By Paul Hervieu
Translated by Ysidor Asckenasy
Copyright 1910 by Ysidor Atckenisy
Characters:
Michael Davernier.
Ferdinand Valanton.
Robert Fergan.
A Servant (man.)
Rene Fergan.
Pauline Valanton.
Irene Fergan.
ACT I
The Stage represents an elegant drawing-room. In the
rear a conservatory. Doors at right and left. Lamps lit. Light
as for small reception.
Scene I.
Irene, Pauline.
(As the curtain rises PAULINE questions her sister with
tenderness. IRENE, agitated, nervous, traverses the stage its
entire length. The men are smoking and can be seen behind
the glazed door of the conservatory.)
PAULINE. — Finally, for what can you reproach your hus-
band?
IRENE (with vehemence). — His incapacity to make me
love him. v
PAULINE. — Whose fault is it? You accuse him of not
loving you. Perhaps he could answer that you are not affec-
tionate.
IRENE. — Ah! I feel that I would know how to cherish
some one, if that some one for whom I am longing with all my
heart would only come ! But Robert, after ten years of nar-
ried life, of life in common, has not even made me resigned,
and I am now in despair.
PAULINE. — Ah ! when I saw last month that that devilish
law of divorce was voted, I immediately thought of the new
stimulant you would find in it; you and all like you, rry poor
Irene, who until now were contented with making s'mply a
very bad household
IRENE. — I was never satisfied.
58
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — Why don't you arrange your life differently?
You have no child to console you; go into society to amuse
yourself. Do not refuse the opportunities of being outdoors as
much as possible. Here, in this house so excellently planned
for receiving guests ; with such comfort ; with a jolly fellow as
a husband and a charming woman as hostess, — you should be-
gin to entertain again. Reopen your circle, which you have
narrowed, so that it scarcely counts any one but myself, your
old sister, not exceedingly amusing, and your brother-in-law.
By and by have an occasional evening with us.
IRENE. — It is not pleasure that I need; it is happiness. I
crave and weep for the lack of it; you advise me to take only
drugs.
PAULINE. — I repeat, Robert, no doubt, is not ideal; but
it is yourself who makes your misfortune, with your dreams
and your lively and excitable disposition. This will all pass,
alas ! and sooner than you know
IRENE. — Can you reproach me for being different from
this man who feels enthusiasm for nothing, who revolts
against nothing, who is nothing, nothing but my master, for
me
PAULINE. — For you, who are ready to listen to every-
thing, who feel all things passionately, who are ready to live
and die for everything.
IRENE. — I do not pretend to be of a superior nature. I
have no vanity. I should not ask my husband to be a great
man. It would have been enough, perhaps, that he were a
man, an ordinary man, possessing the ordinary virtues, and
even vices, but also emotions, the power to feel pain, to be in-
terested in life. But my husband does not give me even the
possibility of commiserating him, to spend for him a bit of my
heart, which is so large !
PAULINE. — Notwithstanding, you have very fine occa-
sions to show a little pity! Just see: your disagreements in
everything, your discords, your quarrels; see; There is much
to anger, to enrage him,
IRENE (with a restrained irony). — You don't know him.
Such men as he are always calm, in their conviction of being
right. When he rises in the morning he is ready to be right all
day. He is right with the servants, with the horses, with
everything. In all stories that he relates there is always one
who was wrong, while he was right.
PAULINE. — He is not right, then, against you?
IRENE (wild, sullen). — Yes! As a husband he uses his
power against me whenever it is convenient to him, but with-
out the least regard whether it is convenient to me.
PAULINE. — I take the liberty of giving you a sermon. It
is I who caused you to be married and in a manner exactly as
59
The DRAMATIST
I was married by our mother. My husband is identical with
yours. They both have the same manner of conduct, the same
kind of idleness in their equal wealth. Their habits of clubs,
sports, hunting are almost similar. Both are sons of rich fami-
lies, having had fathers who worked hard ; they and others like
them form a legion of similar husbands, who have wisely
married, before being too baldheaded, before being too ugly,
young girls richly endowed like us, excellently educated and
reared in convents like ours. Their households compose the
good middle class of society. And as for my part, I am very
well satisfied with my lot. Ferdinand and I love each other
sincerely — just as we should.
IRENE. — Oh ! I know that. You are one of a certain lim-
ited number of wives always satisfied with their lives. But it
is you who at the right moment will make also the most re-
signed widows. The one and the other are of the same kind.
PAULINE (a little offended). — I don't quite see the con-
nection.
IRENE. — Is that so? Just a few months ago, at the dinner
when Michel Davemier told us of his trip to Greece, do you
recall what your husband said? He said very naturally:
"Should I have the misfortune to lose my wife, and were I still
young enough, I should take just such a trip? You seemed
to find this also very natural."
PAULINE.— Why, was it not?
IRENE. — What? Is that a good husband, who in presence
of his wife should thus foresee a possibility of becoming a wi-
dower, to start a trip with just a little baggage?
PAULINE. — You always go to the extreme.
IRENE. — And you? Is that, then, the manner of being in
perfect accord in a household? It is not like that I want to
be loved; nor do I care to love like that. It is against such
misery that I cry and struggle here.
PAULINE (maliciously). — If I gave but little attention to
what my husband said, it is, no doubt, because I amused my-
self watching you.
IRENE.— Me?
PAULINE. — Yes, you. While Michel Davemier kept us
under the charm of his speech, his ideas seemed to me devil-
ishly advanced in every respect; but you gave the impression
of finding them very eloquent.
IRENE (with embarrassment). — What do you mean to
say?
PAULINE. — Would you like me to add even the reason to
v/hich I attribute the particular nervous irritation that you feel
against your husband? It is because he lacked, I confess it,
60
The DRAMATIST
ability and refinement, which Michel showed during the dis-
cussion. Since we have again met the friend of our childhood,
your husband has given you but very little opportunity to
show how small he is.
IRENE (agitated). — Then you think — what do you think?
PAULINE. — I think that you were wounded in your self-
love, and that there is nothing in it. All this will pass (point-
ing to the back of the stage). The smokers are coming back.
Your eyes are red. You should perhaps —
IRENE. — Yes, make myself presentable. (She goes into
her chamber — right).
Scene II.
Pauline, Fergan.
FERGAN. — How is this, my dear Pauline? My wife leaves
you alone?
PAULINE. — You came just in time to take her place.
FERGAN. — In fact, I came to take leave of you. Irene did
not think it necessary to tell me that we would have guests.
I had to pretend urgent business to avoid the company of your
Mr. Davemier. I have come to believe that he is a fellow of
great value, but he is poison to me. I left him with Ferdinand,
who, it seems, can endure him more than I.
PAULINE. — And you go away to make your indispensa-
ble visit to the club?
FERGAN.— Oh! indispensable? No! But there is a little
group of friends who play the game among themselves. When
we take leave at seven o'clock, we say: 'Will you be here this
evening?' 'I will be if you will be.' 'Well, then, I'll be.' Then
we have a mark, an aim, our little word to keep.
PAULINE. — Did you never ask yourself if there was no
other thing of more importance to you? Yes; the peace of
your home. What do you think your wife feels whenever you
leave her alone at home?
FERGAN. — My wife? She is enchanted! You could cer-
tainly see how^ sullen and disobliging she acted towards me all
the time at dinner. Well, the moment she knows that I am
away, I wager she will become very amiable, very joyous. The
moment I come where she is, she becomes gloomy. When I
depart, she feels at once an air of deliverance.
PAULINE. — Instead of being contented with things as
they are, you should try to change them. The situation is in-
deed grave.
FERGAN. — What would you have me do? It is Irene who
does not suffer me any more. That began, I do not know
when; and continues, I do not know why; and I don't care
even to give the impression of perceiving it.
6z
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — If you become stubborn on your side, she
will become stubborn on hers, and the breach between you
will become more and more wide.
FERGAN.— The worse ! I have thought a great deal. My
conscience does not reproach me for anything. Of what does
Irene complain?
PAULINE. — Of nothing precisely — of not being happy.
FERGAN. — Does she believe I am? With her singular,
capricious character, her continual hostilities, her glum and
scowling look! She should bear that in mind: the more she
comports herself so, the more I shall go for fresh air and shall
wait until that passes.
PAULINE. — But then, what will become of her during
that time?
FERGAN. — She will think the matter over.
PAULINE. — Oh ! She is of such a nature that you might
wait a long while for her submission.
FERGAN (with authority). — She is my wife.
PAULINE. — She is first herself, and then your wife.
FERGAN. — I married her to give her a peaceful and
agreeable home. I ask her to share with me an ordinary, pos-
sible life, like all the world.
PAULINE. — Irene is a person who is not like all the
world.
FERGAN. — I pity her. Whoever is not like the rest of the
people is of necessity wrong. As you see, it is not I who must
change. For my part I take life as it presents itself. Irene is
constantly dreaming. I never dream. And I do not under-
stand how one can wish for anything better than a peaceful
life. It is your sister who must change, and you should tell
her so.
PAULINE. — I told her the best I could, just a few min-
utes ago.
FERGAN. — Did you? And what argument did she use
against me?
PAULINE. — The most adroit of all — it is beyond your
comprehension.
Scene III.
Pauline, Fergan, Irene.
(IRENE scowls as she sees her husband; she stops for a
while.)
FERGAN (low to PAULINE).— There she is. (Loud.)
Here you have company. I shall go away. (Irene cheers up.)
(Low.) Do you see? (Loud.) Good by. (He bows slightly
to IRENE, who lets him pass, and he goes out through the
left.^
62
The DRAMATIST
Scene IV.
Pauline, Irene.
IRENE.— Did you speak of me?
PAULINE.— Certainly! We had a heart to heart talk.
IRENE. — Oh! Then you should understand each other
very well!
PAULINE. — Just as well as I understand you.
Scene V.
The same, Valanton, Michel Davemier. (The last two ar-
rive from the conservatory.)
VALANTON.— So, did I not convince you?
MICHEL.— Not in the least
VALANTON. — I was about to marry off Mr. Davernier.
IRENE.— To whom?
VALANTON.— To whom? How do I know? We did
not reach that far. I said to him: "Now look, you are thirty
years old. Your personal merits, your eminent situation in the
university, entitle you to a wife v/ith a large dowry, and it is
for you to find her. It is only a short time since you returned
to Paris ; you did not make undesirable acquaintances nor any
entangling alliances "
PAULINE.— Oh!
VALANTON. — "Consequently, you don't love any one;
then go ahead and marry ! The first thing to do in such a case
is to say to oneself, 'I want to marry.' Afterwards, there is
nothing left but to look for a desirable match. Of course, as
usual, one compares, chooses, and gives preference. This is
worth more than the opposite method; to provide one's self
with a woman first, and decide to marry her later — "
PAULINE (to MICHEL)— And what did you answer to
these exhortations?
MICHEL. — To me marriage, birth, and death constitute
the three great solemnities of our existence. I attribute to
each an equal importance. I look at them with the same spirit.
Personally, we do not anticipate our birth; we die involuntar-
ily when our time comes. So, also, I think that marriage
should be accomplished without our intervention, just as well
as our birth; without preparing for it more than we prepare
for death. I should like marriage to come suddenly, fatally,
instinctively, through the sovereign action of nature. The sac-
ramental "yes," it seems to me, should come forth from our
hearts, because it was put therein mysteriously, unknown to
us, as if it were the first mewing, as it shall be the last sigh.
IRENE. — Nature takes care to give us birth and make us
die. It does not care to marry us.
63
The DRAMATIST
MICHEL. — In fact, it watches how we fall in love in spite
of ourselves, with one that excludes every one else. And this
sentiment is as arbitrary, as undefinable, as divine, as is the
law which first opens our eyes, and then closes them to the
light.
PAULINE. — Still, one has the liberty to get married or
not; we are free to marry without love, and even against love.
MICHEL. — Exactly. Here nature inspired itself on the
subject. It is not brutal, as in the question of life and death.
It is more humble and very gallant. It insinuates, beseeches,
delays, and torments.
IRENE. — And after all it is powerless to make people re-
frain from marrying for family reasons, for reasons of conve-
nience, or any other reasons, which are naught but reasons.
MICHEL. — We may disregard nature for a while, or we
may not wait till it announces itself, but you may rest assured
that sooner or later it will assert itself; it will either confirm
through love the marriage of those who disregarded it at the
beginning, or will make them unite with some one else outside
— as in nature.
VALANTON. — I know only one way of marrying; the
city hall and the church.
MICHEL. — Marriage is love, to which the virtuous cus-
toms have nobly added the city hall and the church. In your
system, it would be nothing else but the serious action of sign-
ing an important contract. I can see in this kind of engage-
ment the most notable act of the bourgeoisie, but I deny it the
character, the fatal beauty, of being one of the three great hu-
man acts.
PAULINE. — Is it at the French schools in Athens that
one learns things like that?
MICHEL. — No, in the school of life, where, my dear
madam, you were present at my debut.
VALANTON. — It is true, then, that you were the first
playmate of my little sister-in-law?
MICHEL. — We were neighbors in our gardens at St.
James. A day came when I had no father, no mother, no gar-
den. But the illusion of still having a family, of a place in the
world, I found in the good neighboring home.
A Servant (coming in). — The carriage of Mr. Valanton is
ready.
VALANTON (to the Servant) .—All right. Give us our
coats. (The servant goes out.)
PAULINE. — You were very delicate when you were little.
MICHEL. — Yes, very sickly. I inherited that from my pa-
rents.
IRENE. — And he was a bad boy, too.
MICHEL.— Truly?
64
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — Not at alL I have a vague recollection that
he was very gentle.
IRENK — You did not know what more things to invent,
that I should not always end by crying, and above all, you
used to assume such a haughty air, and become angry, and
then go away.
MICHEL (melancholy). — That is probably the way the
boys cry. (During this VALANTON has risen and made a
sign to his wife, who also is ready to go away.)
VALANTON (to Irene). — You will excuse us, dear friend,
but I arose this morning at five o'clock to go hunting, and I
ought to start again tomorrow morning. I am literally worn
out, it simply kills me,
IRENE. — If that were work, yes; but as it is amusement —
(goes toward MICHEL). — Good by, Mr. Davernier.
MICHEL (who also rose). — I go. I beg your pardon, per-
haps I detained you by my staying a little too long. (To PAU-
LINE and to IRENE.) But it was in some respects my fare-
wells that I wanted to bid, and which I prolonged.
IRENE (with emotion).— Farewell?
PAULINE (with a simple curiosity). — Are you going
away again?
MICHEL, — I am charged with a mission of researches in
Asia Minor.
IRENE. — And you must depart at once?
MICHEL. — I should be ready in a very short time.
PAULINE (whom her husband hastens to the door of the
conservatory). — Will you not come to pay me a last visit?
MICHEL.— Certainly. (MICHEL stays to take leave of
IRENE, whUe PAULINE and VALANTON go out)
Scene VI.
Irene, Michel.
IRENE. — Why must you go? Tell me about this project
which is so unexpected?
MICHEL. — I should have preferred not to speak at all.
IRENE. — And it seemed to you best to let us know
through a letter that you had gone, and would remain away
for a long time?
MICHEL. — Don't scold me, please.
IRENE. — What made you take such a resolution?
MICHEL. — I once went away for reasons known by no
one but myself. The time passed slowly. I tried to delude
myself, and then I made the mistake of coming back. To-day
I have first realized that mistake — I must depart.
IRENE. — The reasons that you had and still have, is it im-
possible to let me know them?
65
The D R A M A T I S T
MICHEL. — No. There is no one else to whom I could tell
them.
IRENE (confused).— Ah!
MICHEL.— Ask me.
IRENE.— I do not dare.
MICHEL. — Well, then, it is I who shall dare. Above all,
the long months that I passed in the very heart of antique
things have undoubtedly diverted my attention from m.y own
life. Leave the present, and let me take you with me in my
recollections along a sweet and sad walk through a temple in
ruins.
IRENE. — I understand very well that you are going to in-
vent one of those games of which I spoke a few minutes ago,
and which always made me shed tears.
MICHEL. — When your marriage was decided upon you
were eighteen years old. I was twenty and had just left the
normal school. You became the wife of Mr. Fergan. All this
fell upon me heavily, like a judgment. I do not know how a
woman feels at the age of eighteen, but I know that a boy of
twenty is something which is not yet fully conscious. I con-
tinued to see you, to see you again and again, until one day I
realized that I loved you distractedly. When one finds out
that such is the circumstance, he is fully aware of his future.
I was destined to love you forever, and it was forbidden me
to ever love you. Then I looked for a refuge in work, and then
in exile. I was going to live three years in the far East, trying
to drown my thought, which you occupied, in the sun, in the
vast pure sky of those shores. It is not becaiTse I felt healed
that I returned, but it is because I felt no better. But here,
here was something even worse to meet.
IRENE (interrupting him), — I did not want to follow you
in the past.
MICHEL. — Now, I have nothing else to tell you, (A
pause).
IRENE. — Perhaps there is something missing in woman's
soul. As for my part I shall never understand how one is able
to leave the person he loves. To me it seems everything would
be supportable but the absence. Of course I realize that the
first sentiment was not to depart from the one we love so
dearly.
MICHEL. — And if I were to tell you that it was a kind of
folly which compelled me to run away from you would you
not see in that impulsive action a most humble and passionate
confession, the most painful proof of my sincerity and my sub-
mission?
IRENE. — But if you came to realize that the sacrifice of
remaining near me would be still greater — would you not con-
sent? (Silence from MICHEL.) Even if I should ask it?
66
The DRAMATIST
MICHEL. — I did not say that. I never thought this ques-
tion would present itself.
IRENE.— Nor did I, until now.
MICHEL.— And now?
IRENE. — It seems to me I cease to be the woman who has
ignored herself for such a long time. And at the news that
came so suddenly that I was going to lose you again (she be-
gins to shed tears), I felt that I had come to consider you
something that belongs to me, I do not know how, but never-
theless very much to me.
MICHEL. — You feel ill. I am very culpable. I beg your
pardon. I have not the right to understand what you say, to
dare to believe it. It is only I alone who has to suffer.
I learned it. You should not do it.
IRENE (supplicating). — Promise that you will go away
no more !
MICHEL.— What will become of us?
IRENE. — Ah! whatever the future reserves for us please
do not abandon me. Be my providence, my consolation. If
you only knew how unhappy I am. No. Remain. Let us
share our sorrows.
MICHEL. — You believe me stronger than I am.
IRENE. — I believe you are strong, and I feel that I am
strong.
MICHEL. — Yes, but in my love for you, you think that I
am capable of wishing anything which shall be in the least in-
jurious to you. But did you never stop to think that the most
unspeakable anguish can soil even the purest sentiment?
IRENE. — I do not understand you.
MICHEL. — I see here beside you a man whose rights and
caprices can dispose of you.
IRENE (palpitating with shame). — You are not generous.
MICHEL.— I am jealous. (IRENE covers her face.) And
you will understand that there will not be room enough for me
and the man to whom you belong. (A long pause.)
IRENE. — You have made me feel how great a part of my
heart you occupy — and I know also that I cannot belong to
you. I ought not to belong to anybody. Help me. Remain
to defend me ; you will always see my eyes resting sincerely on
yours. From this moment I shall forever keep myself for my-
self. (She extends him her hand, which he very respectfully
kisses.) Return as soon as you can — thanks; this evening I
feel my soul was born again.
MICHEL. — You have also renewed my life. (Exit Michel
through the conservatory.)
67
DRAM
Scene VII.
IRENE (alone after watching MICHEL'S departure, falls
in an elbow chair, in a pensive attitude).
Scene VIII.
Irene, Fergan. (Fergan returns through the door of his
room, left. He is still in his evening dress, except the dressing
gown that he has on. He comes in without being noticed by
IRENE, until he puts his hands upon the back of the armchair
where she sits.)
FERGAN.— Are you asleep?
IRENE (jumping). — You frighten me!
FERGAN (amiably). — I did not mean to. I thought I
would not find you in the drawing room at this hour. There is
no more fire here. (Feeling her hands.) Your hands are
frozen.
IRENE (freeing herself). — Let me alone, please.
FERGAN.— What is the matter?
IRENE.— I thought I should be left alone.
FERGAN. — Your nerves again?
IRENE.— Yes.
FERGAN (very gallant). — That suits you very well. You
look still prettier.
IRENEv — Pray, let me alone.
FERGAN. — Are you really angry? But I am determined
not to become angry. (He embraces her.)
IRENE (breaking away). — You are stepping on my dress.
FERGAN (whispering in her ear). — Come, it's bedtime.
IRENE.— No !
FERGAN.— Listen!
IRENE (she exits and closes the door abruptly). — Good
night !
FERGAN.— No ! Irene ! (He tries to open, but the lock
resists. He shouts furiously). — You shall pay for this.
ACT II
The same setting as in Act I. Daylight. The spring roller
blinds of the glazed back door are lowered.
Scene I
Irene, Fergan. (As the curtain rises, FERGAN is ready to
drink a cup of coffee at the table at the right. IRENE, seated
in an armchair, at the other extremity of the room, reads, ob-
stinately, a book. FERGAN, after manifestations of impa-
tience, closes the book in the hands of his -wife, and takes it
away with a move of firm resolution.)
68
The D R A M A T I S T
FERGAN. — Although you have tried it, I think I can de-
lay no longer from telling you the changes I wish to make, and
which I think are absolutely necessary. (IRENE, her arms
crossed, listens to him, without looking at him.) It has been
a long time, several months, since you mentioned the subject
of your health. The state of your nerves, your migrims and
your hysterics alarmed me only at first; to-day my opinion is
settled as to these imaginary ills, which I deplore you still
simulate. I have resolved to adopt extreme measures — to cure
you. If life in Paris still continues to disagree with you I shall
take advantage of the opportunity to terminate the lease of
this residence, whose term of renewal is just approaching.
Have you any objection to offer?
IRENE.— None.
FERGAN (with a cunning and spiteful tone). — Then, all
that remains for me to do is to consult you as to your choice
between two estates that I have in view. They have equal
reasons for furnishing you a salutary climate. Both are in the
country, far from any town, and receive excellent breezes from
the neighboring forests. I would willingly abide by your pre-
ference, because you are destined to live at one of these two
places more constantly than I, because I shall be compelled to
be away frequently. The administration of our estates or
some unforeseen events will make this necessary. Such ab-
sence will not annoy you whose life is so uniformly arranged.
When do you think you will be disposed to examine the de-
tails of this question?
IRENE (rising). — Never! I refuse to interfere in what-
ever you may bring before me regarding the future. We shall
never form any plans together. I cannot conceive of the possi-
bility of a common existence between us; you hate me as I
hate you.
FERGAN. — It is you who compel me to hate you. You
impose upon me, your husband, a situation which is singular,
ridiculous, outrageous ! Change and I will change too.
IRENE. — This does not depend on me. I feel something
which is stronger than I am.
FERGAN. — You were not always like that? Were you?
IRENE. — Why not! At first, as any other girl who mar-
ries, I asked nothing else but to love the man whose wife I had
become. I tried, I struggled, I tormented my heart, but I
could not triumph over myself. I cannot, I cannot! And I
swear it from the depth of my heart, I shall never be able. It
is from experience that I know I cannot love you at all.
FERGAN (beside himself). — There is not one single word
in what you say which is not a violation of your duty eind a
defiance of all my rights.
69
The DRAMATIST
IRENE. — I do not utter one word which does not express
the sorrow and the truest outburst of my soul.
FERGAN. — Do you realize where this will lead to?
IRENE.— I don't care !
FERGAN.— Then you are a fool! This at least can be
cured.
IRENE. — And I hope that you will be wise.
Scene II
The same, PAULINE. The latter comes in just when the
quarrel begins.
PAULINK— My God! My God! Again? Is it then
really impossible for you to be of accord?
FERGAN. — I give up. You may listen to her. It's use-
less to argue with her. Let her talk. I predict that in time
you will visit a cell. (Exit.)
Scene III
Irene, Pauline.
PAULINE.— Still quarreling?
IRENE. — Appalling! From week to week, from hour to
hour the thing becomes more evil.
PAULINE.— Oh ! Still more patience !
IRE^E. — The end has come! Yesterday you heard his
vague menaces. To-day they are about to be executed. Yes,
he wants to take me away from here, isolate me from the rest
of the world, sequestrate me, I do not know where, in prison,
with him as my jailor !
PAULINE. — Irene, my poor sister Irene !
IRENE. — Under such circumstances I think nothing bet-
ter than divorce, or
PAULINE.— Or what?
IRENE (despairingly). — Out through the door; or, if —
jump from the window!
PAULINE.— You frighten me!
IRENE. — Will you desert me? If you are with me there is
no time to lose.
PAULINE (embracing her). — You are wicked! But it is
for your good that I try to convince you of your error. Your
husband is not a villain. Let's see! Do you suspect there is
another woman? Perhaps some gratitude is due him.
IRENE.— For what?
PAULINE. — For not being brutal, as many others permit
themselves to be; and which would be nothing less than you
deserve.
IRENE. — No, Pauline, you cannot with full conscience ad-
vise the immolation of this great sentiment, — one that a wo-
man feels above all others!
70
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — And still it is your duty to remain an honest
woman.
IRENE. — No ! I shall never admit that there is an honest
duty under a similar constraint.
PAULINE. — Religion also commands obedience.
IRENE. — No. Religion, though based on abnegation, can-
not command such extreme humility to any of its creatures.
And in fact, does not religion teach us that chastity is the
state nearest to God? I cannot conceive a more miserable sin
than to impose complaisance, affection for one's flesh. Yes,
this is marriage. People have transformed this lie into a sa-
cred religious institution ! To feel and realize the only obsta-
cle to one's happiness, to abominate it with all one's strength,
and to be compelled to accept as a pleasure, what you really
feel a deadly poison ! Ah, the profanation, the shame !
PAULINE. — Irene, you love somebody?
IRENE.— Why?
PAULINE. — Because people do not exalt themselves
against something, but for something
IRENE. — Suppose I do. I would then have another rea-
son to long for my deliverance.
PAULINE. — But, my poor darling, a new husband — for
another you will feel the same as you have felt for the first;
you, with those caprices and indefinite ideas of yours,
IRENE. — I am no longer the unsophisticated girl who fol-
lowed your advice more than her own, when you made me
marry Robert Fergan. You had your experience. And I
obeyed your great and dear authority. It was not I who mar-
ried ten years ago; it was another that hardly existed then,
and of whom I hardly remember anything. But now I feel I
am somebody, I have become myself. I know what I want,
and what I cannot endure longer. This struggle tears me to
pieces, my heart suffocates me, and I have a terrible desire to
kill myself !
PAULINE.— Ah! Be quiet. For God's sake ; what shall
I do, what shall I do?
IRENE. — You know what to do; it is understood, you pro-
mised me. It was you who postponed the hour — now it has
arrived. You are just in time.
PAULINE. — Then do you really want it?
IRENE. — Go to my husband immediately. Tell him what
you think best, be explicit and decisive. I would go, but I
have no influence whatever upon him. He would simply treat
me once more as a fool. To you he will listen. He always
wanted me to have your seriousness, your commonsense. The
gravity of your advice would make him reflect.
PAULINE. — Yes, all this is right, but for divorce one
should have at least a reason, present a pretext,
71
The DRAMATIST
IRENE, — It will be enough that my husband be of accord
with me ; as to the means that we shall adopt, invent, simulate,
to obtain the grant which will give me the liberty, we'll see.
Oh, tell him anything, until he concedes. Do not allow your-
self to be repulsed from the very beginning. Insist, suppli-
cate, frighten him. Go, you can do that — you are afraid? I
suppose you have reason to be.
Scene IV.
The Same. A Servant.
THE SERVANT.— Mr. Davemier asks if madam is dis-
posed to receive him.
IRENE. — Ask him to come in. (Exit servant.)
Scene V.
Irene, Pauline.
PAULINE. — What have you to say to Michel in such a
moment as this? (With an air of mistrust.) Does he know?
IRENE. — No. Michel does not even suspect what you are
going to do. (Very loyally.) But — if he should know? (With
anguish) Would you abandon me? (PAULINE is silent a
moment, in emotion. Then embraces her sister with infinite
tenderness.)
PAULINE.— My poor dear sister! (She goes to FER-
GAN.)
Scene VI.
Irene, Michel.
MICHEL. — I beg your pardon for coming here.
IRENE (tenderly). — Yes. (Gravely.) But you should
not have done it. You should not do it.
MICHEL. — I know. I promised that to you. I swore that
to myself. But, supposing that you love me just as much as
I love you.
IRENE, — Let us suppose.
MICHEL. — ^Then the resolution of not seeing you is more
difficult for me to keep than for you.
IRENE.— In what way?
MICHEL. — Because I know if I should not come I should
not see you at all, while you, you could always think that I am
coming.
IRENE.— And then?
MICHEL. — Then your time flies, hoping I might come,
whereas with me, I feel from minute to minute the certitude
repeating itself of not seeing you — should I obey your warn-
ing.
72
The DRAMATIST
IRENE. — During those days, so long and so numerous, in
which we live apart, so far from one another, have you not
thought that our fate can change?
MICHEL. — I dare not wish for anything. Do you think of
it, do you?
IRENE. — During your absence I always see your pale
forehead, all these dolorous characteristics of a malady that I
would like to cure, and which engenders in me a pity still
greater than the pity I feel for both of us. I dream of you as
being delivered of this air of suffering, as being happy, very
happy. When I am not with you, do you not see me — such as
I am, and then, such as I could be?
MICHEL. — Yes. There are hours when you appear be-
fore me all distracted, full of love, and all unknown as yet by
me, and still it is certainly you; yes, you, belonging to me for-
ever, as through a miracle, without even a shadow of remorse
or reproach, or even of mourning caused by the death of an-
other !
IRENE. — How similar your soul is to mine! and how our
love seems to me greater with all the intensity of our pride!
Neither you nor I have conceived of the possibility of a happi-
ness in disloyalty. So, for a long time, without having spoken
to you, I have thought of nothing else except to be with you
forever.
MICHEL.— What do you mean?
IRENE. — Just at this moment our fate is being decided.
Pauline is meeting my husband to ask him whether he is dis-
posed that we give each other legally our rights as well as our
liberty.
MICHEL (eagerly). — And do you hope?
IRENE.— I hope he will concede. I could not expect a
senseless tenacity from his part against the only imaginable
solution. Why, does he not need to-day his liberty just as
well as I do? Nobody likes to remain in hell!
MICHEL. — I want to believe that, I believe it.
IRENE. — But, to respond to the great event that now ap-
proaches, a great resolution is imposed upon you and me. The
project of your going away, which I opposed at first, becomes
now a necessity.
MICHEL.— To leave you?
IRENE.— Yes. If there shall be any prospect for me to
become your wife — it will probably be after one year. Then
you might return — but if I am not able to break my chains
(with a sob) we shall see each other no more
MICHEL.— Irene!
73
The DRAMATIST
IRENE. — We shall always be apart, each of us in the dig-
nity of our mourning, in the mourning of promised marriages,
which never culminate ! From the bottom of your soul are we
in accord?
MICHEL. — No, I cannot go away from you any more. I
have lost that rough energy that sustained me long ago. I
could not live without you, without seeing you, or feeling that
you are near me. When we are not together, I need the warm
recollection of having touched — so — your hands, and the hope
that I shall soon bend over your eyes, drink in the sweetness
of your words — (he wants to embrace her, to press her close
to his bosom, and she shows great emotion.)
IRENE. — Michel, please do not unnerve me, do not take
away from me the confidence I have in myself, do not diminish
the faith I sincerely have in my honesty. If our happiness is
to last from to-day, let me remain all-deserving, let there be no
memory to reproach me. Let me ! (She withdraws herself
quickly.) I am your betrothed !
MICHEL. — I adore you. Your will shall be obeyed.
IRENE (showing much uneasiness). — You have stayed
quite long. You must go.
MICHEL. — Without knowing? What will become of me?
How could my patience endure the uncertainty?
IRENE. — I shall let you know immediately.
MICHEL. — But if you could not? What if something or
some one would interfere or oppose your writing or going out?
IRENE (pointing to the conservatory). — Then wait there.
But take care not to be seen. That is all. Go, go ; time passes.
I am full of anguish. I hear steps approaching. (Michel dis-
appears into the conservatory.)
Scene VII.
Irene, then Pauline. (With attentive ear IRENE goes to
the other door, through which PAULINE enters swiftly.)
PAULINE.— Where is Michel? Did he go away? (Al-
most out of breath.) Don't get angry, don't wonder. I just
had a terrible fright, that your husband might meet him — and
catch an impression — in his wrath.
IRENE.— Does he refuse?
PAULINE. — He wants to tell you about that. Here he
comes now.
Scene VIII.
The Same. Fergan.
FERGAN. — So this is, then, the beautiful plot that you
have prepared for me with your sister !
PAULINE.— We did not plot.
74
The DRAMATIST
FERGAN (to IRENE).— This is the pitiful proposition
that you calculated, in which your headaches and nervous
spells would culminate?
IRENE. — You know very well that I never played at di-
plomacy with you. Since I have suffered in being your wife I
never dissimulated that. I told you very loyally, very plainly.
To-day I tell you again that I am not able to suffer more. And
as this depends on you I sent some one to ask you to be kind
enough not to cause me further suffering.
FERGAN. — Dear me ! You ask of me, of me, who repre-
sents the defense of the right and the respect of morals, to ac-
cede to you, who represent the revolt against society !
PAULINE (interfering). — Listen, Robert, do not assume
the authority of principles. It is not a question here of being
right or wrong,
FERGAN.— Is that so?
PAULINE. — As for myself, I tried my hardest to prevent
this crisis.
FERGAN. — My compliments.
PAULINE. — But in the name of my tenderness for my sis-
ter, and of my very affectionate esteem for you, I adjure you,
be generous. Be good, be even weak, if this is necessary at
this moment ; be nobly human.
FERGAN. — My dear Pauline, your sister had thought ne-
cessary to ask you to act as mediator. As for myself, I need
none. And I wish to settle our debate once for all by our-
selves, between her and myself.
IRENE (to PAULINE).— Do not leave me!
FERGAN. — Do not be afraid. I shall not strike you. Or,
at any rate — that depends, (To PAULINE), But I repeat,
my dear friend, that if you do not obey me at once you will
oblige me to convince your sister that I am master here.
PAULINE. — You are very cruel.
IRENE. — No ! (preventing her from passing through the
conservatory). — Wait for me in my chamber.
PAULINE (embracing her), — I regret I am helpless to do
anything for you, (Exit PAULINE,)
Scene IX.
Irene, Fergan.
IRENE. — You want then to push me to the limit, reduce
me to, I don't know what extremity?
FERGAN. — I want simply to bring you to reason.
IRENE. — But what argument do you oppose to my re-
quest for a separation? It cannot be that you still love me,
after all !
75
The D RAMATIST
FERGAN. — No, I do not love you any more. I even re-
proach you for having spoiled my life — and if it were to make
it over again —
IRENE. — Then you feel a desire for revenge, to inflict
upon me an expiation without end?
FERGAN. — That would be my right. But I have some-
thing else to answer, and that is : On the day of our marriage
I concluded with you with all my heart a very clear contract
that made of me a married man. This contract doubled my
situation morally and materially. Of this contract I observed
all the clauses; I conformed to its spirit without any hesita-
tion. Today you come deliberately to ask me to lessen, to be-
come a divorced man, a man who sells half of his furniture,
who empties half his portfolio, and who remains with a half
facade in society. And all these because it pleases you to have
no more liking for my company? Well, now confess that my
motives are a little more serious than yours. At least such
would be the advice of all the family counsels, and all the tri-
bunals on earth.
IRENE. — And I cry out in horror against this dissembling
life of marriage, where we are naught to one another, where
hatred alone exists. Have we the love which makes one happy
through the happiness we give? You talk to me of human re-
spect, of deeds of notary public, and things of that kind.
FERGAN. — But it is you who insisted that your existence
in my home should be that of a stranger to me; I treat you
therefore as the adverse party, against whom I have titles and
signatures, without any other sentiment than that of my
rights.
IRENE. — Oh, yes, I admit all the laws which govern for-
tunes, determine the fate of wealth, assure to one his money,
and even somebody else's; — for mine, I do not even think of
it — but I do not admit that the law should make a person for-
ever the property of another.
FERGAN. — All you say is nothing but the negation of
marriage itself whose first principle is that one cannot leave of
his own will !
IRENE. — Now let us talk seriously. There is an instance,
very recent too, in which here in France the decision of only
one of the spouses would be sufficient to break marriage.
FERGAN.— Who told you that?
IRENE.— The attorney.
FERGAN. — Ah ! ah ! Have you gone that far already ?
IRENE. — In the first years of this century, — a time which
perhaps was better than ours, that was the law of married life.
As you see, I do not dream of monstrous things, incompatible
with the social order. To hate despairingly one's spouse, to
hate him to-day more than yesterday, and to-morrow more
76
The DRAMATIST
than to-day, this was a cause won for divorce. And I think
that should be the supreme reason. I do not see another as
worthy as that !
FERGAN (contemptuously). — The new law has not even
admitted the divorce by mutual consent !
IRENE. — Eh! When a husband and a wife are capable of
understanding a divorce, they would have no more necessity
of it ! It is for those who are incapable of any accord, even in
that, that the divorce has been invented.
FERGAN. — Do whatever you please; all the ways are
closed before you.
IRENE.— I shall find one.
FERGAN. — None! I do not impose services, nor serious
injuries upon you. I am faithful, and as far as I know, no
word of condemnation was ever uttered against me. Without
these three grounds, and against a husband such as I am, you
cannot ask anything of the tribunals.
IRENE. — I can do and shall do much that it will be you
w^ho will ask to be released from me !
FERGAN.— Nothing!
IRENE. — Nevertheless, suppose I create for you a situa-
tion which shall be intolerable?
FERGAN. — You shall not triumph over my character.
IRENE.— We will see.
FERGAN. — Whatever grief you would bring upon me I
would not answer except by keeping you more and more under
my domination.
IRENE. — I shall leave home, I shall run away.
FERGAN. — And I will bring you back with gendarmes.
(IRENE suddenly springs up.) I have the right to do it.
IRENE (outraged). — And if the revolt should make of me
a woman such as no man of honor could keep in his house?
FERGAN (un5delding) . — I shall keep you! It pleases me
to not give you your liberty. Even my pleasure gives me a le-
gitimate right to oppose yours. I shall keep you and shall not
let you go !
IRENE. — Oh ! and they say there are no more slaves in the
world ! And still I must be a slave because I have a husband !
There is no eternal oath before God any longer, because a sis-
ter nowadays may leave the convent, and yet there is one eter-
nal oath, of a ^vife to her husband ! No, this is above me ; I do
not accept it, I will not endure it !
FERGAN. — Little by little you will become accustomed to
it. Mark well ! I am more than ever resolute about the reform
of our habits, of which I advised you. We shall leave Paris.
I am going to procure for you a calmer atmosphere, which will
undoubtedly do you the necessary good; and then I will also
profit by a little rest.
77
The DRAMATIST
IRENE (lost). — Is this your last word?
FERGAN.— Yes.
IRENE (imploringly with joined hands). — You will not be
pitiless. You will not desire my ruin.
FERGAN (repulsing her). — Ah, I pray, do not be foolish!
When you would not yield to me I spared you from my sup-
plications. My decision is now firmly made.
IRENE (kneeling). — Mercy! Mercy! Save me!
FERGAN. — My will is resolute. Arrange your toilet.
Later on, some day, I am convinced you yourself will praise
me for having kept you in the regular way. (Fergan goes out
through the door which leads to his chamber.)
Scene X.
Irene (alone) then Michel. (IRENE remains for a mo-
ment in an attitude of despair. Then, as if blinded, she goes
towards the conservatory, wherefrom MICHEL springs upon
her and receives her in his arms.
IRENE. — Ah! You! You! Do whatever you please with
me.
ACT III
The action takes place in the drawing room of a castle out
in the country. In the back a porch which opens into a park.
Doors at right and left.
Scene I.
Fergan, Valanton.
(As the curtain rises, FERGAN is busy arranging some
volumes on his book shelves. He has the aspect of a mature
man. VALANTON, who has also grown old, enters through
the right, carrying with him a fishing outfit.)
VALANTON. — Are you not going with me? Are you
busy?
FERGAN. — You see, my dear fellow, it is I who continues
to be the hostess of this home. Ever since we came here, al-
most ten years ago, I have never been able to persuade Irene
to give the least attention to the little arrangements of the in-
terior.
VALANTON.— To be sure! But you must admit that it
was not for her pleasure she came to reside in this country
place.
FERGAN.— Yes, but after ten years !
VALANTON (taking a seat in order to arrange a fishing
line). — Oh, the women; they can continue to be that way for
a long time. People have even written special plays on this
very theme. They had their boudoir a century before men
came to have the smoking-room.
78
The DRAMATIST
FERGAN. — But you should not believe that Irene shows
at present any ill will. I attribute her neglect of the house to
a little fault in her character. But, thank God, I do not com-
plain of her. We have come to an end, once for all, of that hor-
rible time, when I certainly was compelled to make her feel an
iron hand.
VALANTON.— In an iron glove.
FERGAN. — Undoubtedly. But this way I accomplished
the mission I had to.
VALANTON. — Certainly, first the mission towards your-
self.
FERGAN (with satisfaction). — Especially towards her. I
assured her the existence of an honest, honorable woman.
With all her exuberances of ideas, there is no telling of what
she was capable, had I allowed her the direction of her actions.
I tell you, I congratulate myself every day for having insisted
sternly on that subject. In this retreat the physical condition
of my wife has rapidly improved. She has become a mother.
Her sentiments have modified. At last she understands life as
one should understand it, as something which in fact is not so
very bad, and in which we needed nothing more but to live a
good life near one another.
VALANTON. — Oh, evidently. In marriage there is no
strife except during the first fifteen or twenty years. After
that everything is serene.
FERGAN. — Notwithstanding, this does not exclude the
possibility of questions arising now and then which do not
pass so easily. As, for example, just now I am going to settle
a difficulty for which I foresee I shall need to summon all my
courage.
VALANTON (with an air of consternation). — Are you go-
ing to renew the strife with your wife?
FERGAN. — Yes. A rather serious one, I am afraid. The
trouble is in regard to the instruction of our Rene, and my wife
seems not to be disposed to teach him as he should be taught.
VALANTON. — Oh! my dear friend, will you not wait un-
til Pauline and I have finished our sojourn at your home?
FERGAN. — Impossible. The opening of the schools takes
place today. I have sent word to the college of St. Christophe,
fifteen miles from here, that Rene will sleep there to-night. On
various occasions Irene was so hostile to the idea of parting
with the lad that I preferred to put off the discussion until the
last moment.
VALANTON. — What? Have you not even obtained her
consent?
FERGAN. — She always refused it in the same nervous
manner that v/e know she had a long time ago. Then it seemed
preferable to me to keep silent on this subject in order to save
79
The DRAMATIST
her a priori excitement and superfluous trepidation. In fact is
not this right? The crisis of the separation was inevitable.
Now, as you see, it is better to reason with Irene but once, at
just the moment of the execution of what I think I must do.
VALANTON.— Hm! Hm! This may not be an easy mat-
ter. (Ready to go away with his outfit) At least try to have
the reconciliation made before I return. I go to install myself
with my fishing lines in a little corner that I discovered.
FERGAN.— What kind of fish do you catch?
VALANTON (modestly).— Oh, I do not exclude any.
FERGAN.— But do you catch any?
VALANTON.— None.
FERGAN. — That is because you do not know your busi-
ness.
VALANTON.— It is the fishes that ignore theirs! They
pass, they look, they scent, but do not bite. They do not know
even how to play with the cork. They are sad — like all this
country of stones and ravines. Well, good by. (Eixit through
the left)
Scene II.
Fergan, Irene and Pauline.
(The two women enter through the door of the porch.
IRENE has gray hair, her appearance austere and her habili-
ments somber. PAULINE carries an armful of dainty
grasses and water flowers.)
PAULINE. — Ah, how tired we are !
FERGAN.— Did you go very far?
PAULINE. — We began with the woods, then arrived
down at the field ; we wanted to go out from the park and re-
turn through the hamleL
FERGAN (with the certainty of a landowner aware of
everything). — Yes, but the hedge was an obstacle on your
way.
PAULINE. — Not at all. The path was cleared of its
bushes. A peasant woman was just going in to wash some
clothes in the river. The wife of a neighbor — wasn't it, Irene?
FERGAN.— This is a little too much. (To IRENE.) And
what did you say to her?
IRENE. — I asked her how her child was getting along.
FERGAN.— And that is all?
IRENE. — No. I gave her what she needed for the medi-
cine.
FERGAN (taking his hat).— Well, I— I shaU go and ask
her to be kind enough to leave there.
PAULINE. — Oh! I should never have expected that of
you ! At least do not abuse her. She is a very poor woman.
FERGAN. — Well, has she any right to my property?
80
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — Do you never get tired of always insisting on
your rights?
FERGAN. — Were all the people as I am, society would do
better. I can guarantee that. (Exit.)
Scene III.
Irene and Pauline.
PAULINE. — You should have detained your husband.
IRENE. — He does what he wants, and I do all in my power
to oppose his will.
PAULINE. — So neither the past years nor the situations
that changed with age modified your attitude toward him?
IRENE.— No!
PAULINE. — But you do not quarrel any more, do you?
IRENE. — At present between us there is only one quarrel
that is possible; and this we have in our hearts as yet unex-
pressed.
PAULINE. — And what is that quarrel?
IRENE.— The education of Rene.
PAULINE. I think he finds your maternal tenderness a
little exaggerated.
IRENE, — Oh, yes, I adore my son. It is to make him live
that I renounced death. And, if I am still alive, it is for this
child, through this child, from whom nobody would be able
to separate me. Ah ! this little unquiet life, his little sad soul,
which it seems to me is made but of my sighs; never shall I
consent to trust him out of this home to teachers, strangers,
others !
PAULINE. — Has your husband spoken to you in regard
to this?
IRENE. — Yes, several times his explanations and insist-
ences on this question have carried me to the lowest depths of
despair. Until the last few days I trembled secretly, fearing
that he may try to put his intention into action. But this year,
as you see, he neglected to pay any attention to date when col-
leges begin, and he did not renew^ his efforts. He who is so
resolute in everything! One would say that in this respect he
sees in me a creature guarding his little one. And in this he
sees correctly; I would dispute it with him desperately, even
to the death !
PAULINE. — Poor sister! I realize that you live only for
your child. But were you not destined to live your own life?
Sometimes I think of what might have been if you had married
the other; and I realize that you certainly were not marked for
happiness.
IRENE (thoughtfully).— Who knows?
8i
The DRAMATIST
PAULINE. — Oh ! no ! certainly not ! Your life would have
been somber, rigorous and extremely painful.
IRENE.— Why?
PAULINE. — I am thinking of what sorrow you would
have been condemned to endure afterwards if you had realized
your dreams of long ago ; you have never told me about them,
but I have guessed them.
IRENE. — I do not understand you.
PAULINE. — My God, I should not recall this to you. But
I have thought of it often, very often.
IRENE. — Will you please explain?
PAULINE. — Why should you not confess it now? Is it
not true that you intended to marry Michel Davernier?
IRENE. — (turning aside). — Perhaps.
PAULINE. — There ! Ah ! how many times have I thought
that the worst of your sufferings would have been to lose the
happiness after you had gained it !
IRENE, — Then the only thing they should have done was
to have granted me my share of happiness. As to the rest, I
was willing to endure all.
PAULINE. — No, this is not so. Then you would have
truly known the depths of human sorrow and suffering ; when,
ascended to the greatest height of bliss with your beloved, you
would have fallen suddenly, — he dead, in your arms!
IRENR — Had I married Michel he would not be dead
now! I could have preserved him from death. I could have
been there at any m.oment to care for him with love, and cure
him with caresses. I could have saved him from what in his
life without a home destroyed him little by little! solitude,
anxiety, imprudence, all that one does not know — (as she
would talk to herself) — all that one cannot know!
PAULINE. — Pfff! A consumptive, son of a consump-
tive —
IRENE (agitated).— Keep still!
PAULINE.— What is it?
IRENE (restraining herself).— Nothing. The dreadful
thought of death! (Evasively.) The recollection. Why did
you talk to me of that?
Scene IV.
The same, Rene, Fergan.
RENE (enters running). — Mamma, mamma!
IRENE (opens her arms). — Rene! My treasure! my little
one so weak ! Come, let me embrace you (she entwines him)
that I may see you looking better! Oh! become strong (the
boy babbles) and noisy (he wants to free himself), even bad,
like a good little rascal.
82
The DRAMATIST
RENE. — Papa promised me that he was going to take me
in his dog cart.
IRENE. — No, sir, no! Don't you know that you are not
allowed to go out without me?
RENE.— Oh !
IRENE. — First of all, just see, you are wet.. What fool-
ishness have you been doing? When I left you, you were
going to write your lessons with mademoiselle.
Scene V.
The same, Fergan.
FERGAN. — This proves that mademoiselle ceased for some
time to have any influence upon the lad.
IRENE, — You must change your clothes from head to
foot
FERGAN (raising his shoulders) .—Tut, tut, tut!
PAULINE (taking RENE by the hand, to IRENE).—
Leave him with me. I am going upstairs. I shall give him a
scolding, like all the aunties know how to scold. (With a
feint of gravity.) That will not make him laugh (tenderly)
nor cry. (Exit PAULINE and RENE.)
Scene VI.
Irene, Fergan.
FERGAN (a bit embarrassed). — I want to discuss with
you the education of Rene.
IRENE (frightened).— Why to-day?
FERGAN. — Because the matter cannot be delayed any
longer.
IRENE.— Why?
FERGAN. — He is almost ten years of age.
IRENE.— Well?
FERGAN.— Well, up to this time I gladly recognized that
it was best to let you have authority over him. There are
thousands of primary cares which only the mother under-
stands perfectly. I think you will find me right in that. Al-
though disapproving of your excess of attention, I never
crossed you.
IRENE.— And now?
FERGAN. — Now, as our son grows to be a little man, it
is not pleasing to me that you should make a young lady of
him.
IRENE. — Then why not tell me how to rear him?
FERGAN. — I am no more competent than you are in the
details of education. I only know that Rene is in need to-day
of a broader instruction. We should not limit him only to that
which is given in the family.
83
The DRAMATIST
IRENE. — If you think I alone am not sufficient, let us
take a teacher, or if necessary several teachers.
FERGAN.— No, that is not the point. We should thus
render a very bad service to the boy. When of age he will
find himself unaccustomed to discipline, to emulation. He
would have no self-confidence; and these things can never be
acquired except in a college.
IRENE. — Then we stand again at the vital question. How
many times must I tell you that this will be a murder, a real
murder, to take Rene from my care?
FERGAN. — Let us forego inordinate imagining. Let us
be serious. Our son will never work well enough at our side.
You love him too much in a very passionate manner. You
will never know^ how to be severe enough.
IRENE (indignantly). — And you would like to hire people
to be severe with him? A poor little child that I his mother
did not dare to believe she would be able to rear? But don't
you see that he is always in need of some one to take care of
him? At the slightest indisposition he coughs. At times I
rise during the night and find him in perspirations which
frighten me.
FERGAN. — Well, this is just exactly what angers me, and
what I find quite ridiculous. It is your luxury of precautions
that does not give him enough sunshine and good fresh air.
The little gentleman, I think, will be better off when he is less
spoiled.
IRENE. — My son will never leave me.
FERGAN. — He will follow my example. At his age I had
already been two years in a boarding school. He will do as the
children of all our neighbors, as the children of all the people
do. He will come here Sunday; I shall go to see him. You
might go and see him whenever you want — and when the con-
dition of our horses will permit it.
IRENE. — Rene is sick, I tell you, very sick, his life is in
doubt. Oh ! I know it ! The doctors have told me.
FERGAN.— What doctors?
IRENE.— All. All that I could consult in the neighbor-
hood.
FERGAN.— Did you do that? Without my knowledge?
IRENE.— Yes.
FERGAN. — This is absurd. And what kind of sickness
did they find our son has?
IRENE.— They recognize that
FERGAN.— What?
IRENE. — That only my love would be able to preserve
him, to save him, through a daily regime and by an every mo-
ment treatment.
84
The DRAMATIST
FERGAN. — Enough empty phrases! When somebody is
sick his malady has aname. Please be precise.
IRENE. — How you torment me ! Don't you see how over-
wrought I am?
FERGAN, — Oh! the doctors could easily realize what you
want them to do. You brought accommodating diagnostics.
And then, how is it? You are a healthy woman; I, by Jove! I
have a sound body. Is it with such antecedents that sickly
children are born? (IRENE bends her head during these
words, which embarrass her.) And then we shall see how our
son has profited from his first year away from home.
IRENE.— Never.
FERGAN.— What?
IRENE. — You will never convince me on this point. I
shall never give him up !
FERGAN. — Well, then, let us finish immediately this use-
less discussion. Will you please prejjare the necessary bag-
gage for Rene?
IRENE.— For what?
FERGAN.— I take him with me to the college
IRENE.— Will you? Do you dare?
FERGAN. — In the course of one hour I want to leave.
IRENE. — Oh! this will never happen. It is the life of my
son that I defend against your horrible error. I shall keep him
if it were necessary day and night in my arms.
FERGAN. — I see you are exactly as I knew you long ago.
You compel me now to exert all the power as a father tliat I
exerted once as a husband !
IRENE. — Don't speak of what you have done. It was too
great a triumph for you, that you should try again. I bend my
head with still more hatred in my heart. I hid my face, and
since then I have never looked you straight in the face. But
to-day it is not your wife who stands before you, and whom
you oblige to defy you ; it is the mother, a mother whom noth-
ing will move.
FERGAN. — You don't know the rights of the mother.
IRENE (with a fierce contempt). — It is not the mothers
who abuse their rights ! We women feel them. They assume
form with us just as the child forms within us, and our eyes
see those rights growing, bound to our own beings.
FERGAN. — Once more I say I am right by law, in spite of
your Utopian ideas.
IRENE. — Oh! this dreadful word comes forth again. You
also, I think, are playing with my son's life, just as you did
when you destroyed mine, without any remorse, with these
eyes of yours as imperturbable as an executioner in accom-
plishing his duty!
85
The DRAMATIST
FERGAN. — You may say whatever you please, nothing
will deter me from disposing of our son.
IRENE (in a tragic hesitation), — Do you think I do not
know what to offer as an argument?
FERGAN, — Our son belongs to me more than to you, ac-
cording to law.
IRENE (out of breath).— That is not right.
FERGAN, — In spite of you, it is.
IRENE.— No, no !
FERGAN, — Go see to his departure.
IRENE,— Listen !
FERGAN (going away). — No, I will order the horses
hitched.
IRENE (barring his way). — Before God, this child is only
mine!
FERGAN (pushing her back). — He is mine, I am his
father !
IRENE (violently, with a great decisive move). — You are
not his father !
FERGAN (stupefied). — What? are you becoming a fool?
IRENE (almost restored to serenity). — No, I become
frank, open.
FERGAN (suffocated). — You say that? Do you know
what you say?
IRENE.— I know.
FERGAN. — You want to mislead me. This phrase. Un-
believable. This outrage. This is your last recourse. Talk
rapidly, but talk.
IRENE. — You ask for proofs? Well, I'll give them to you.
Do you remember I closed the door of my chamber against
you? I tried all in every possible manner to go out of your
way. You took me in servitude.
FERGAN (with a fierce voice). — And then?
IRENE. — Through what sentiment do you think I could
again become your wife?
FERGAN (beginning to understand). — Oh!
IRENE, — I had my secret. To keep my child safe I kept
the truth hidden, just as to have him now I speak !
FERGAN (rushing upon her). — You contemptible harlot!
IRENE (at the door bell). — I shall call your servants.
FERGAN (mastering himself). — The scandal! In fact, I
know now that no infamy could have kept you.
IRENE. — It is your pitiless logic which compelled me to
lie — to do evil. And it is I who do not pardon now.
FERGAN,— That man? Did I ever meet him?
IRENE.— Perhaps.
FERGAN.— What is his name?
IRENE.— I shall never say.
86
The DRAMATIST
FERGAN.— Did he come here?
IRENE.— No, near here.
FERGAN. — I cannot realize how you came to see him.
IRENE.— Nor do I.
FERGAN.— Did you see him often?
IRENE.— ! ! !
FERGAN.— Do you still see him?
IRENE (hiding from him the sorrow of her answer). — No;
it is a long time since he went away, very far, forever
FERGAN. — And don't you think it is abominable that the
son of your lover should be my son, and must remain always
my son?
IRENE. — Who says so? It is your own law, which said
that in spite of me, in spite of all, I shall remain your wife !
FERGAN. — I never could have suspected you. I knew you
as my enemy, but — (tears rise in his eyes, because of his van-
quished pride) — but I honored you as such.
IRENE. — Everybody makes war according to his means.
You employed aU your might ; I had naught to use against you
(with a soft voice), but my weakness !
FERGAN. — I did nothing but stand firmly for my rights.
IRENE. — Nature has her rights also.
FERGAN (maliciously). — At least haste made you very
imprudent. By exempting me from my duties of father you
cannot take away my authority. You have betrayed this child
with whom I can do whatever I please.
IRENE. — Now, after I have told you everything, you can
do nothing.
FERGAN.— Is that so?
IRENE (with authority). — Nothing which would not be a
cowardice, an impossible vengeance.
FERGAN.— The worse !
IRENE. — No. I dared make this revelation because I
wanted to get my son back forever, and free him from your
very polite and obliging sentiments of a man pure and simply
civilized.
FERGAN (menacing). — And if I become a savage now?
Scene VII.
The Same. Rene.
IRENE.— Rene! My God !
RENE (going toward FERGAN, between him and
IRENE.) Don't we go out soon, papa?
FERGAN (agitated).— Hush!
IRENE (embracing him). — Yes, hush!
FERGAN. — Send him away, that we may say all we have
yet to say.
87
The DRAMATIST
IRENE (to RENE).— Go and wait for me with Aunt Pau-
line.
RENE. — Why did papa cry? He never cries.
IRENE (willing to make him go, with a soft voice). — Go
on!
RENE. — How is it that you don't cry, too, you who always
cry — when you think that nobody is seeing you? Oh, I have
seen you often, I
IRENE (embracing him). — Ah! my dear, no more tears.
(Accompanying him.) Go, go. (Exit RENE.)
Scene VIII.
FERGAN. — The child is now your own — yes ! I leave him
to you. You may do with him whatever you choose. You were
right when you said that I cannot do him any injustice.
(Weakening). It is enough that I realize that I do not love
him, (With authority.) You will take him with you. You
shall go away with him.
IRENE. — I shall not go away.
FERGAN.— What?
IRENE. — I shall never consent to be cast out. For my son
I shall sacrifice nothing of his regular situation and of the con-
sideration which is attached to his legal — birth !
FERGAN.— I shall compel you then.
IRENE.— No.
FERGAN. — It was you who pleaded so ardently for di-
vorce. It is I who ask it now.
IRENE. — I shall not accept it now. My youth has gone,
my hopes lost, my future as a woman is dead. I refuse to
change the course of my life, to budge, to move out, I have
but the will to remain till the last where I am and what I am.
FERGAN. — And you expect me to support you?
IRENE. — You should. You have nothing against me ex-
cept my confession.
FERGAN.— Would you deny it?
IRENE. — Would you dare to make it public? (A pause.)
FERGAN (annihilated). — Then what do you want me to
do, live face to face with you always? Do you expect me to
endure such a life?
IRENE. — You have to endure the same life that you have
imposed upon me until today. We have come to the same
shore. Now make yourself comfortable, so that you can feel
the weight and carry it also. It is quite a long while that I
have carried it alone.
88
The DRAMATIST
IRENE. — There is no justice!
IRENE. — There is only one, of a common unhappiness.
FERGAN. — You are guilty and I am innocent.
IRENE. — We are both unhappy. And at the bottom of
misfortune there are only equals.
THE END.
MRS. DOT.
A Play Without a Cause.
Few plays of the past season have been so utterly unworth
technical discussion as "Mrs. Dot" by W. Somerset Maugham.
The piece was doubtless designed as the lighter vein of dra-
matic composition, but the thing is so fearfully shallow it
hardly fits the definition of farce or comedy. Considerable com-
mon sense would have to be injected to give it even the sub-
stance of high class comic opera.
We have come to measure all manuscripts worthy of the
name by the standards of human life. If we encountered such
a simpering fiiirt in real form as "Mrs. Dot" is portrayed to be,
we would condemn her as an artificial idiot. The character is
without motive for the reason that the Play is without Cause.
And here we draw a lesson from negative qualities. Conflict
creates character.
Drama is not primarily built upon character. There must
be a Cause and this Cause creates Conflict and Conflict is the
dominant key in play Construction. But who can imagine
strong situation without relatively forceful character to enact
it? Potent Dramatic Conflict, then, is the thing to strive for.
Create this and a wealth of personality permeates your Play as
inevitably as the apple falls to the ground.
A MAKER OF MEN.
Alfred Sutro's One-Act Drama.
This little narrative from the pen of a noted playwright is
positive evidence of the crying need of scientific study of
Drama. If Mr. Sutro understood the anatomy of the creature
he is trying to create it would be impossible for him to commit
so gross a blunder.
A husband rebels at his belated promotion in a bank. A
younger man attains the honor. The wife consoles him with
the fact that she is content with her children, the product of
their great and wonderful love. He becomes reconciled. Is this
a Play?
89
The DRAMATIST
Is it a Conflict between human wills or is this bit of recita-
tion a mere psychological illustration of the force of suggested
thought? The drama takes place in the husband's mind. He
is cajoled out of the blues by the mental suggestion of the
wife. Compare this Plot with the contending forces that go to
make up the struggle in any real Play and you will see that
"A Maker of Men" is mere chatter.
A GENTLEMAN FROM MISSISSIPPI.
The Stuff That Real Plays Are Made Of.
It would be a sad blow to the advocates of Dramatic Sci-
ence if a play could enjoy the long run accorded "A Gentleman
from Mississippi" and still be a worthless thing structurally!
The frank endorsement of public opinion would tend to offset
Science. But this is not the case. Public opinion and Science
Concur. The Play has traits of master workmanship. It has
a Theme. The authors have something to say. The simple
little sermon of their story ranks the Play among the first.
A Southern Senator of untested moral fibre encounters the
customary bribery of the legislature. To overflow his cup of
temptation the financial affairs of his family will be hopelessly
wrecked if he does not yield to the lure of graft. He resists !
This is the legitimate story of the Play. The triumph of Good
in a rugged heart !
The typ^ of the Play is extremely modern and drama throbs
while the valid portion of the Play performs. But unfortu-
nately there are foreign features of construction that hark back
to the old school situation of complication for complication
sake. If the Plot were confined to this excellent story and
concluded when this story is told we would have one of the
strongest specimens of modem playwriting extant.
But the Play is not allowed to stop when Conflict ceases.
At the end of Act III the verdict is practically rendered but the
authors proceed with a fourth to stretch out something we al-
ready know and in their helplessness to quit a thing already
finished they "ring in" spurious episode. This results in dis-
unity and the Plot ingredients of several other Play possibili-
ties.
Think of marrying off this honest old codger to a sophisti-
cated Washington widow after the sanctifying effect he has
had on us ! Much of the melodramatic plottiness of Plot could
be ripped out to the benefit of the reality of illusion. The tra-
ditional stage-made villain could well be relegated to the age
that knew him intimately.
90
The DRAMATIST
THE GIRL HE COULDN'T LEAVE
BEHIND HIM.
Devoid of Sound Sense.
While farce is not supposed to be of a serious texture there
must nevertheless be a shadow of sense in the Conditions of
its Action or there results nothing upon which the audience
can rest its supposition or hypothesis. To persuade us that
any married man would feel obliged to keep his word with a
Spanish dancer to the effect that he is to devote one day a year
to said dancer, is hardly within the province of the loosest fan-
tasy. The husband, through such inane conduct loses all claim
to interest, let alone sympathy, and the Conditions of the Ac-
tion being lame, the Cause limps and the Conclusion lan-
guishes.
The production should be a lesson to those who have not
learned that this brand of vapid farce is obsolete. Its failure
was foredoomed! There is as much difference between "The
Girl He Couldn't Leave Behind Him" and a farce like "Seven
Days" as between "Enchained" and "Chinatown Charlie." It
may also be true that the American audience is sick of marital
infidelity and masculine depravity. At least they know the dif-
ference instinctively, between true dramatic action and old
time "rough-house" horseplay.
For lifeless, unconvincing types of character this cast of
fourteen takes the jelly cake. And even the negative qualities
of structure are so remote from rational standards that it
would be futile to discuss them in parallel. The fact that Wil-
liam Collier directed the thing is an added evidence that the
player knoweth not the Play.
91
The DRAMATIST
TWO THEATRICAL SEASONS
COMPARED
EVENTS IN PRODUCING THEATRES.
1908-9 1909-10
Number of new plays 74 102
Number of new musical comedies 29 26
Number of revived plays 34 38
Number of revived musical comedies 8 4
Shakespearian revivals 11 13
Totals 156 183
CLASSIFICATION OF PLAYS.
Serious and sentimental dramas 23 37
Melodramas 19 26
Romantic comedies 4 10
Light comedies 16 10
Tragedies 2 3
Farces 10 16
Totals 74 102
SOURCES OF NEW PLAYS
Original plays 59 74
Adapted from foreign plays 9 15
Dramatized from novels or stories 6 13
Totals 74 102
NATIONALITY OF AUTHORS
By native authors 56 63
By foreign authors 18 39
Totals 74 102
NEW MUSICAL COMEDIES
By native composers 26 18
By foreign composers 3 8
Totals 29 26
A study of the foregoing table may assist the dramatist in
determining what kind of play to write. The serious and sen-
timental drama appears to hold the record for popularity. The
new author's chances are indicated by the 102 new plays pro-
jected.
92
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B.
ANTHONY,
£.ditor
Vol.2
EASTON.
PA.
No.
I
QUARTERLY
1910
OCTOBER
Plays of the Nets) Season
It is with deep regret that we find no one example in the
Plays of the opening season that is actually worthy of praise.
Several half-hearted efforts have received the approval of New
York Critics but the fact remains that there is not a specimen
among those thus far produced that will rank with Fitch or
Walter. The great majority of the new arrivals seem designed
for that hilarious style of stage management familiar to farce
or musical comedy. Authors are temporarily laboring under
the delusion that boisterous activity is related to Dramatic
Action little heeding the fact that the most placid happenings
on the stage frequently contain the liveliest essence of that
subtle force. Nothing is more certain of remedy than an
abundance of this tickling in the ribs for while the sensation
may delight the infant mind of an audience momentarily, a
continued application of the author's knuckles in the region of
the wishbone ceases to be a source of ecstatic joy. Welcome
to the avalanche of fun forcers born of a commercial effort to
fill the overbuilt theatre situation! For despite the praise of
critics these mirth producers are failing one by one and before
many days it is safe to say the legitimate brand of drama as
advocated by our friend Belasco will again hold sway. The
class who attend the comic opera are hardened to this snicker-
ing sort of silliness but when the playgoer is confronted with
horseplay farce put up in the shape of drama he is apt to com-
plain of false pretense.
Here's to the Art of Playwriting, conspicuous for its ab-
sence !
BELASCO ON TECHNIQUE.
His Advice to the Novitiate.
<<r
'The Dramatist's profession, MORE THAN ANY
OTHER, calls for preparation, for study."
"The greater number of these hastily enlisted aspirants
have NOT EVEN AN ELEMENTARY conception of the
qualifications requisite for one who is going to make a busi-
ness of Playwriting."
93
The DRAMATIST
"The demands of the Drama upon its creators are greater
than those of any other Art."
"Above all he should study ! This is the one thing at which
the would be dramatist most often balks. He will not study.
Ninety-five out of a hundred do not seem even to feel the ne-
cessity for study."
"If I could use but one word in which to sum up the advice
of which young playwrights seem to stand more in need, the
word I should choose is: CONCENTRATE!"
— From the Sunday Magazine.
Mr. Belasco goes on to say that of the many thousands of
Plays he examines the greater portion of them are rendered
valueless from a producing standpoint through their lack of
concentration. He cautions the raw hand against utilizing
two or three heroes, heroines, or villains, all more or less
equal importance. He advises singling out "one couple from
among the characters" and concentrating upon them the atten-
tion, interest and affection of the audience ruthlessly thrusting
into the background any figure that steps forward and threat-
ens to disturb the priority of interest the leading characters
enjoy.
This is a left hand method of stating a very important dra-
matic truth. We say left hand for Mr. Belasco has not said
exactly what he means. With the stage manager's conscience
uppermost he is trying to pay tribute to that magnificent Law
of Drama called UNITY. If the Dramatist's conscience pre-
dominated, however, he would see this thing as the Unity of
the Action in the Play and not any Unity of Actors.
Let the amateur writer concentrate his attention upon the
characters instead of the structure of the Play and you would
soon find an elaborate TALK between two people. The bet-
ter admonition might be to concentrate upon ONE PLAY.
But to make this precaution clear it would be necessary for the
student to learn the real meaning of the term Play and this is
impossible without careful investigation of the One Specific
Conflict that constitutes every Play possibility. The more this
Conflict is concentrated the narrower becomes the group of
principal characters naturally. The "one couple from among
the characters" is thus acquired in a truly dramatic and tech-
nical fashion. In other words : "The Play's the Thing." Build
the Play and the characters will take care of themselves. A
Play of Unity will contain characters that concentrate the in-
terest, desires and sympathies of the audience.
The five injunctions above quoted would be valuable pre-
cepts for the tyro. If you, dear reader, fail to see the infinite
truth in any of these, have a copy made to decorate your study
walls, and con them over till you recognize their value.
94
The DRAMATIS!
HERVIEU'S REPLY TO OUR CRITICISM
FURTHER STUDY OF THE PLAY "ENCHAINED."
Paris, August 6, igio.
Dear Sir:
I received your admirable letter and magazine at the very
minute I was starting on a voyage and am answering hur-
riedly after taking notice of the critical observations which pre-
cede your translation of "Les Tenailles."
I found these observations highly satisfactory as a whole.
The two Scenes which are judged less favorably are Scenes of
exposition. The first in Act I and the first in Act III, which
takes place ten years later. These two require a few minutes
of information for the audience. The exposition is always
slower than the action, and seems longer; but we could not
dispense with this even if the spectators could guess what is
going to happen, and in such case, the theatrical intrigue,
would not excite in them* any further curiosity.
Please accept the expression of my confraternal compli-
ments.
PAUL HERVIEU.
This is an exceedingly interesting letter for it represents
the view of one of the foremost Dramatists of that Nation
which has long been the criterion on technique. If what M.
Hervieu states of "Exposition" is correct, then the highest
American authority on Dramatic Principle is sadly at fault.
But let us examine into this thing called Exposition and weigh
its worth.
Brander Matthews speaks of Exposition as an introduction
of the several characters, information as to their past lives and
as to their present desires. Alfred Hennequin defines Exposi-
tion as follows: "It is necessary, at the beginning of the Play,
to put the spectator in possession of aU the facts necessary to
a perfect comprehension of the story as it unrolls before him."
Neither of these statements may convey Hervieu's idea of
"Exposition" but they will serve our purpose in assailing this
notion that explanatory matter should precede the actual Play.
For we hold that this theatrical tradition is a violation of art
and not a dramatic principle in any sense of the word. We
shall endeavor to show in the instance of the two Scenes in
question how the substance of "Exposition" should be implied
along with Plot progress and not constitute a separate entity.
95
DRAM
Scene I, Act I.
The pet weakness of Ibsen was this "Exposition" idea of
bringing in the past lives of his characters. He was a past
master at this stunt and for that reason is not a highly profit-
able model for technique. The Play that most nearly ap-
proaches perfection is undoubtedly the one in which the Con-
flict is ALL of the present with absolutely no encumbrance of
ancient history. This is the case with Ibsen's "An Enemy to
the People" and Shakespeare's "Macbeth." If we see the Plot
unfold before us on the stage and are not called upon to listem
to the story of the lives of any of the characters we naturally
concentrate our attention more readily upon Plot. Our ener-
gies are not wasted.
Now in studying the first Scene in Act I we note that noth-
ing comes across the footlights that the eye can reach. It is
all for the ear. The past ten years of married life is reported.
Wherever this historical tendency prevails there is bound to be
a lapse of interest. It results from the author's attempt to
speak through the medium of his characters in place of motiv-
ating them to say the inevitable thing.
Hervieu says that "The theatrical intrigue would not excite
further curiosity" in the souls of the spectators. Would there
be more curiosity or less curiosity if we actually saw the hus-
band in this first Scene and learned the relation, first hand, be-
tween husband and wife? There would be more curiosity —
there would be a hundredfold more interest.
Nothing HAPPENS in thi" first Scene, Some intimation
is made of what is ABOUT TO HAPPEN but this is
TALKED into the audience and in no way becomes evidence
in possession of the spectator as would a direct presentation
by means of a quarrel between the two principals concerned.
The shortest distance between two points in a straight line.
This is true of Play and Audience. If we permit interest to
take a circuitous route we are not making the shortest dis-
tance. It is like incidents in every day life. What you see of
the happenings of events becomes much MORE REAL than
what is told you.
Scene I, Act HI.
The construction of this Scene is much the same as Scene I,
Act I. It takes place between one principal and one disinter-
ested character. Nothing is said because it has to be said but
merely "To put the spectator in possession of all the facts ne-
cessary" after a lapse of ten years between Acts.
The chief facts that we get from this Scene are that Fergan
is still the tyrant and that having apparently triumphed in the
96
The DRAMATIST
matter of subjugating his wife has now transposed his means
of torment to her separation from a ten year old son. Hervieu
tells us that "even if the spectators could guess what is going
to happen we could not dispense with exposition — the theatri-
cal intrigue would not excite in them any further curiosity."
This is almost equivalent to saying the audience cannot
interpret what they see, that they must be told beforehand
what is about to be pictured. M. Hervieu does not believe
this. He knows that the audience is never so flattered as when
they are allowed to divine (As they think) the progress of the
Play as it actually transpires before their eyes. If, without
further notice, the curtain rises upon a mother with gray hair
and a ten year old son, it is surely not necessary to TELL
the audience that ten years have elapsed.
If we see the actual preparation for the separation of
mother and child and learn from the father's cautioning that
this cruel disruption is to be a surprise to her, the spectators
actually possess the information, first hand, and the bugbear
of "Exposition" is eliminated. Is there any loss of curiosity?
Is there any loss of Drama? To say this would be strangling
the very essence of drama itself. For there is no keener inter-
est possible than that aroused in the souls of a theatre audience
by means of the visual thing before them !
Much the same criticism applies to Scenes II and III of this
Act. They are not valid Scenes because they leave the anvil
when the iron is shaping. Scene II gives an irrelevant in-
stance of the husband's further tyranny, but have we not had
sufficient evidence of this within the bounds of legitimate ma-
terial? Scene III goes to TELL the audience, (and with
much effort) of Irene's past with Michel. This information
could be deftly woven into the momentary progress of Plot
and be brought out, as it should be, in a Scene between the
only two principals concerned — husband and wife.
Next Discussion.
In the January Dramatist we will analyse the Unity and
Disunity of "Enchained." Look sharp for breaches of this
principal. It is only by cultivating your powers of analysis
that you v/ill become an efficient critic of your own work.
MOTHER.
Based Upon the Third Law of Nature.
There are three cardinal Laws of Nature: Self Preserva-
tion, Reproduction and Preservation of Offspring. The nearer
any author comes to any one of the fundamental Themes of
97
The DRAMATIST
life the more certain is he of universal acceptance by an audi-
ence. From a review of these Laws and the Play we are dis-
cussing it will be seen that Mr. Goodman has availed the Third
Law : The preservation of offspring or a mother's love for her
child. Technically he has improved upon "The Man Who
Stood Still" in a small degree but in choice of Theme he has
made a lucky strike. This same Theme made "The Music
Master" such a powerful drawing card, even though in tech-
nique it was little better than "Mother."
But the novice ma)'' inquire : "What's the good of technique
if we can make a hit withoi.n it." It does seem true that if the
public v/ill stand for this crudeness of construction that we
might let it go at that but let us take a glance at conditions.
Here are nearly a hundred theatres in New York all clamoring
for plays. Good Plays are not available. This is clearly de-
monstrated by the fact that there is not a new Play in New
York that comes within a stone's throw of the GOOD stan-
dard. And by this standard we mean the average set by the
hundreds of Plays of all times that go down to enduring suc-
cess.
The imderlying principles of good Play construction do
not change and whether it is Sophocles, Scribe, Shakespeare
or Walter the same laws hold good. Only customs change. If
any of these authors transgress these principles, the law still
remains, but in the measure of their best results we see the
operation of eternal dramatic principle. It is by this omnipres-
ent standard, then, that we judge the Plays of aspirants.
Nearly every dramatist on Broadway this morning, is an aspi-
rant and not a matured fact. The day will soon come when
this overflow of theatres will seek its own level, then look out
for the standard of good Plays. Even at this dawn of a new
season Plays are going down on all sides and a few managers
prefer to keep their theatres dark rather than risk the stuff that
is available.
The central idea in "Mother" is that parent's sacrifice of
home, fortune and the birthright of her 3''ounger children to
make good the forgery and mis-appropriation of a worthless
son. It does not concern an older sister's self denial in sacri-
ficing her lover to the younger girl, nor the younger sister's
broken heart at the reverse in these said love affairs. It does
not concern the younger brother's escapade with the forsaken
sister of the worthless wife of the forger. It does not concern
the mother's love affair with the family attorney. Yet all these
divergant sub-themes are mortgaged on to the Plot proper
until it becomes the chief problem of the Play to untangle this
web of conflicting ideas that we may follow the valid thread of
the central idea. For, stripped of these unnecessary and irrele-
vant adjuncts the principal theme would be a powerful drama
98
The DRAIMATIST
in keeping with the Play standard of all ages. Any competent
dramatist could take this Theme and Plot and build a good
Play out of it. The germ is there but the bacteria will not
allow it a legitimate and steady growth.
Now how may an author remedy such defects of Art? He
must avail the positive qualities of pla5rwriting explored by the
pioneers of his craft ! Each of them added some new light on
the subject and the past decade has seen more progress than
any century preceding. There is little chance for the most en-
terprising aspirant to catch up with the procession without
some competent instruction. For the standard will be ad-
vanced more rapidly in the next ten years than in all the cen-
turies back of it. Drama is coming into its own! The best
minds of the country are turning their attention to its study
and the science of the Art is gradually being formulated. No
Play will be built by technic any more than speech will be
m.ade by the science of grammar but to omit this sum of uni-
versal knowledge in either instance breeds despair ! Moral :
study every available work on dramaturgy and observe parti-
cularly the operation of the rigid principles of playwriting in
good and bad plays !
THE COUNTRY BOY.
An Excellent Theme Miscarried.
There is no better example extant today of the Play "that
might have been" than Edgar Selv/yn's latest attempt. With
aDparently no conviction that a good play must be built by
structural Scenes but with the idea that any little stunt that
brings a laugh or a tear is valid, he has thrown together a med-
ley of mill ends that is remarkable more for its irrelevant epi-
sodes than for its Unity of purpose.
Of these various stunts the best, perhaps, is a boarding
house Scene in the second act. The callous existence of the
prisoner of a city hash shop is cleverly depicted. But unfortu-
nately the Scene itself does not contribute to Plot and cannot,
therefore, be reckoned an integral part of his Play. It would
make a neat little vaudeville skit and its severance from the
main structure would not injure the interpretation of either
Play or sketch.
Like many other commercial writers who have been carried
away by the sudden success of "Seven Days" Mr. Selwyn has
listened to the laughs of this record breaker and worked in
the traditional "comic relief" despite the fact that his Play is of
the pathetic variety. Nothing can be more irrational than this
notion that a good Play is a "blending of laughter and tears."
This catch phrase is the cry of the compromise author and is
thoroughly riddled by the success of such plays as "Madam
X.," "Paid in Full" and "The Lily." Barely a smile creeps
99
T h e DRAMATIST
into the lines of any of these Plays and yet managers and
agents alike cling to the theory that is in no wise manifest in
the very Plays they have produced successfully. It is safe to
say that if an untried author took a masterpiece to any of the
managers of these three successes he would be advised to etch
in a little "comic relief." Hark to these theatric conventions
and you will write the same sort of stuff that is closing the
theatres in New York this season. Let Theme govern the na-
ture of your Play and all things being equal you will command
both sympathy and interest of your audience. Truth and not
tradition is the ruling power ! A giggling auditor is no certain
sign of a satisfied patron against the competition of a Play
built upon Theme.
But apart from such gross disunity "The Country Boy"
lacks one fundamental essential : CLARITY ! In the first half
of Act I there is no defined purpose. The author wanders aim-
lessly about the stage in the very thin disguise of characters
unknown to the audience attempting to TELL you what his
Play is going to be about instead of starting the Act with the
actual representation of something doing. Hogs, chickens and
automobile vicissitudes all ring in a "comic relief" before any
background is made to require it. Of course the audience tit-
ter for they come to the theatre to submit themselves to the
pla5rwright's illusion and with the customary appetite for en-
tertainment they seize these symptoms of a dawning Plot
thinking it the promise of a play.
The Play proper does not attempt to start until these intro-
ductory efforts of the author are over. When we see the "coun-
try boy" and his sweetheart quarrelling over her criticism of
his idle shiftlessness we begin to see what the Play will be
about WITHOUT BEING TOLD BY THE AUTHOR.
This is what we mean by the ACTUAL REPRESENTA-
TION. It is essentially NOT TALK ! The characters speak
from compulsion generated by the complication in which they
have been placed. The author's only mission is to PLACE
them and then see to it that truth and a fair deal characterize
their attitudes. The curtain would do well to rise here elimi-
nating all the spurious effort to foretell what we now SEE
represented. It tells itself !
This first sign of drama gives us reason to expect a Play
concerning the character building of a worthless youth similar
to that excellent idea contained in "The Fortune Hunter."
No doubt Mr. Selwyn received his impetus to write a regenera-
tion drama from the pronounced success of that simple sermon
comedy. But the artifice of theatredom betrayed him !
The "Country Boy" goes to the city to do big things and
rnake a name for himself. He falls desperately in love with a
simpering chorus girl just to please the author for we are not
100
The DRAMATIST
convinced that the boy even though he comes from the coun-
try is such an aimless dupe. We are carried through further
purposeless Scenes with the boy's sweetheart introduced,
without rhyme or reason, and the lad's abject poverty until we
arrive at the funniest situation in the entire Play! The
despondent youth is rejected by the fickle footlight beauty
whereupon he endeavors to disconnect himself from this
wicked world by closer association with the gas fixture. Here
indeed is the satire of the "comic relief" convention brought
about by the companion superstition that theatrical effect is
the thing to be achieved at the expense of reason, truth and
common sense. But again the law of horse sense asserts itself
for the audience engage in a universal titter. Theme has been
outraged and they laugh at the author and not with him.
Well, the boy is interrupted in his free lunch of asphyxiat-
ing fluid by a fellow boarder who divines his purpose and in a
rather commendable Scene diverts the youngster by a truly
dramatic means. Intimation of the fact that his companion is
about to commit a similar deed rouses remonstrance in the
boy's soul and this is the occasion of his reform. He is going
back to the little country town to make a name for himself
there ! We thrill with approbation at this resolution. But
alas! Our hopes are shattered! At the very moment when
our young hero has a chance to stand for what is good, he
falls. At the request of his sweetheart her father's iniquity is
winked at and the boy who was about to become something
compromises with his own lofty ideals to save the father-in-
law's reputation. It is in this respect that we contend an ex-
cellent Theme has miscarried.
BOBBY BURNIT.
Early Promise of Craftsmanship Not Kept.
When is a Dramatist not a dramatist? When he fails to
dramatize! This is the case with Winchell Smith in his late
effort at making a Play out of another man's novel. He has
not transformed fiction into drama. The Play begins with
Talk and Ends with Talk. The characters do not speak be-
cause they are factors in a Dramatic Problem compelled to
do so by the ever advancing Plot but merely to voice the au-
thor's effort to tell the novel narrative in dialog form.
"Bobby Bumit" is far inferior to Mr. Smith's two season
success "The Fortune Hunter" and does not fulfill the promise
made in the technic of that Play. The author has many
years of hard study before him if we are to judge by this
miserable makeshift of dramatization. There was truth and
verity in the earlier product while in this nothing but the crud-
est farce abides. The author has caught the fetch-a-laugh
lOI
The D RAMATIST
fever which is now rampant in New York City where horse
sense is substituted by horse play and legitimate drama is
turned into vaudeville absurdities.
Is it any wonder that this wild-goose chase for nonsense
leads an author astray? Mr. Smith begins with a Plot about
one thing and winds up with another. A department store, a
gas plant and then a newspaper. "Bobby" dabbles in all of
these and with magi.- capacity defeats his enemies who were
pioneers at the game. And how does he defeat them? What
is the trump card? He secures a majority of stock in a corpo-
ration by forcing a man who thinks he has killed a comrade to
sign a transfer in order to purchase silence. This is the crown-
ing climax of the Play and the gentle auditor is asked to be-
lieve that a man thus tricked out of his collateral would make
no effort to regain same and that "Bobby" is a smart hero for
perpetrating so commendable a sham.
Other little incongruities like a department store proprietor
appointing a girl for the trustee of his son we can overlook,
even though the author does insist upon concealing her iden-
tity all during the time she should be trusteeing the will. This
young lady is required to fall into the arms of "Bobby" at just
the right time so we will stand for her. Such absurdities sink
into insignificance compared with the naked gaps of structure !
But there is one consolation. Each such failure of this arti-
ficial type of play is one more victory for Dramatic Art ! Each
such negative demonstration makes a possible convert to the
positive Science of play construction. Apprentices will learn
that the realm of Drama is governed BY LAW and that this
Law plays no favorites ! The only Dramatists who have made
enduring success are those who have conformed to Dramatic
LAW. Empiricists may cry down this theory only to be
finally hit by the operation of the thing they revile — LAW !
THE COMMUTERS.
Forbes Takes a Step Backwards.
It is always interesting to watch the after product of a man
who has made good in his first Play, James Forbes hit the
mark in "The Chorus Lady" and came preciously near a repe-
tition of this achievement in "The Traveling Salesman" at
least, he made one good character in the "Salesman" himself.
This inspired the confidence of managers and he was sought as
a maker of sure plays, a circumstance calculated to test the
true worth of a Dramatist. Possibly no Playwright is reliable
until he has reached this state where ready money awaits his
effort. If he can look the anticipated currency square in the
face and still cling to the definition of Drama while he draws
the money, he has indeed passed the acid test. This feat Mr.
Forbes has not performed.
102
n
D R A M A T
The only dramatic quality in the latest output is its name :
"The Commuters." The Play has a valuable title which the
Plot fails to live up to. If we were to take Mr. Forbes' mea-
sure from this specimen we would be compelled to think he
had everything to learn but the trick of fetching laughs. For
he certainly does m^ake fun even at the expense of the ancient
annals of this emotion. He makes laughing a contagion of a
rather unhealthful sort for he propagates this response by the
most artificial performers exaggerating and distorting every
atom of mirth to the highest pitch of affectation. At times this
patent laugh provoking process sinks to the level of the hyp-
notic hysterics handed out by the average vaudeville hot-air
artist. There is nothing real in the representation. Every
chuckle is a cheap theatric hold-up.
Mr. Forbes' two other Plays had Plots. This one is devoid
of either Plot or story. Such an accident might happen with a
Dramatist if he were carried away by the strength of one or
more vital characters, but this is surely not the case in "The
Commuters." None of the characters come within arm's
length of "The Chorus Lady" or the "Salesman." In fact the
delusion that snared the author is difficult to discern. There
is a similarity to "V/hat Happened to Jones" in Mr. Forbes'
first act, in the commuting husband who brings home a
drunken companion of the night before. But "The Commuter"
lacks that splendid CAUSE that holds "What Happened to
Jones" together. In the latter piece Jones, the gambler, lands
in the Professor's house because they were chased there by the
police who raided a prize fight. In "The Commuters" the man
of the house himself was so eternally soused that the gambler
goes to bed and the husband does not learn that "Sammy" is
in the house until the next morning. Even then the event is
so miserably handled that all of the drama that could be made
of it is LOST for want of giving the audience this information
from the opening of the play. We do not learn of the fact un-
til the very last minute of the first Act. If this unusual lodger
had been utilized as a cause for the "commuter's" extended
delay in making ready for his early morning train there would
have been suspense of a certain degree all through the Act. As
it is, the thing is a hold-up, a laugh compelling device. We
laugh because some actor on the stage spreads the infection of
hilarious guffawing.
In Act II little or nothing is made of "Sammy's" presence
in the house save an interruption of a suffrage party. The suf-
fragette idea is timely and would make a good vaudeville
sketch. It does not particularly belong in this Play. But any-
thing belongs here according to the usage of the author. Again
he goes to "What Happened to Jones" for the interruption of
a policeman. The stunt in no wr-y advances any Plot but is
103
The DRAMATIST
rung in to stir up another laugh. In the "Jones" Play the po-
liceman performed a service in the Plot. In this Play it is
merely horse-play. At the end of Act II the story has lost its
head completely and all through III the thing drifts hopelessly
into an entirely new absurdity to the effect that the wife pre-
tends to have been out joy riding with a physician (Whom we
have never seen) just to get even with the husband who really
has indulged in a similar lark. This is a beautiful ideal of
Com.mxUting life to present to the Play going public! The
suburbanites must be flattered at the high standard of human-
ity thus portrayed of them !
But it is not our intention to dwell on the ethics of the
Play. To turn this criticism to account we must show the stu-
dent just where Mr. Forbes lost his way and how in his com-
promise with small flaws he became oblivious to the very defi-
nition of Drama. This demonstration takes us into the princi-
ple of Logic as applied to the art of Play construction. Noth-
ing should be resorted to in a Play just because the author
needs the item. Everything is founded upon CAUSE. Some
shiftless writers cling to the belief that this rigid law of Logic
is waived in Farcical comedy. To the real Dramatist the very
opposite holds good. Incidents of real mirth are founded upon
the most immutable Cause for it is the very inevitableness that
makes them funny. Take away the quarantine Cause in
"Seven Days" and see how flat everything falls. In "The Com-
muters" there is no such cohesive Cause. In a very simple in-
stance from this farce we will illustrate how an author may
lose his grip on this Law of Drama and demoralize his entire
product as a result.
At the end of Act II the wife needs a market basket in
which to gather provisions from the neighbors for a hurried
meal. She puts on her hat to start this foraging expedition
and lo and behold ! The basket is waiting for her at the very
door! But this seems a frivolous illustration? Ah! Dear stu-
dent! It is the atom that makes the mountain. No real Dra-
matist can afford to slight the meagrest thing in his property
list. Where did this basket come from? Why was it there at
the door? Account for it before you make use of it or you are
simply inviting disaster in some mightier event by a like ab-
sence of Cause. Suppose the servant girl had been ordered to
bring a basket. She would obey the command and appear with
basket in hand. The wife would ask her to go to the neighbors
to procure these edibles and she resigns on the spot. This is
the order of events in the farce except that the basket is not
ordered brought by the servant. The basket simply happens
to be there and this is the rule throughout the entire piece.
104
The DRAMATIST
Everything "Happens to be there." Nothing belongs for all is
haphazard Disunity.
Observe exacting Causes!
THE SPENDTHRIFT.
Another Evidence of the Paucity of Plays.
What better proof of the paucity of Good Plays can be had
than the fact that a drama with two good Acts and two miser-
ably poor Acts is held over from last season in the desperate
hope that the public will stand for it. A few days' trial, how-
ever, tested the discernment of the public and the theatre was
left dark rather than force the issue. Mr. Porter Emerson
Browne evidently does not know that a Play is a logical entity
but believes that Drama is a convenient exponent of the au-
thor's frivolous caprice. In other words he ventures to place
before his audience two Acts of a Play showing the utter aban-
don of a female spendthrift and in a third Act TELLS us (For
we do not SEE it) that this spineless creature withstood the
overtures of a libertine who paid her $20,000 cash! Out of
mere caprice the author disarms this voluptuary in order that
his shallow heroine may contradict the entire premises of his
Play and exert some show of resistance.
In the same act where this gross breach of Logic occurs we
note other startling transgressions of dramatic Principle — Se-
quence — Theme. By Sequence we mean the order in which
the evidence reaches the audience. To be of service in the in-
terpretation of his Play Mr. Browne should have shown us the
real means by which the wife will acquire this $20,000 before
introducing the fact that she has obtained the money. Instead
it is all mystery. The yarn that she borrowed it from Aunt
Gretchen is preposterous for we know this aunt. She lays the
fat sum upon the table and the audience is allowed to guess at
the hidden enigma. But this is not the worst of it. The
Theme of the Play is well established by this time and this
Theme implies nothing of an adulterous nature. To branch
off from the true Theme of "The Spendthrift" to a secondary
Theme of Chastity is the height of Disunity. For Theme is
the largest subject circumference in a Play and its disruption,
therefore, the gravest violation possible.
It is very easy to see how such blunders creep into a manu-
script. An author is at work on a Play concerning a spend-
thrift woman. He arrives at that auspicious moment in the
Play known as the climax. His inspiration languishes and he
looks about for the muse instead of striving further to execute
the necessary situation out of his own material. Along come
several successful Plays: "The Thief," "Israel" and "The
Lily." The author looks up from his own half made Plot and
105
The DRAMATIST
takes the tip from these three successful pieces weaving into
his "Spendthrift" pattern the stray design of a woman's down-
fall. But to be different from the rest the woman is illogically
rescued from the certain doom that awaits such mental profli-
gacy. For surely the creature who sells her body and does not
deliver it after the money is paid is no better than the harlot
who completes the transaction.
The Fourth Act of "The Spendthrift" like dozens of other
recent Plays is an amendment to the original structure and in
no sense a legitimate feature of it. A distended effort to sepa-
rate principals further for the obvious purpose of an insipid
reconciliation is all that can be said of this Act by the most
charitable. The double-themed deformity ended with III. If
any reconciliation is rational between this man and this v/o-
man it should happen here. Such a measure, however, would
tend to again alter the Theme proper, for any man who could
bear up under the shower of impositions perpetrated by this
bloodless wife would be abnormally condolent. The Theme
and title of such a play would better be "The Propitiator" than
"The Spendthrift."
CAMEO KIRBY.
A Miserable Botch Technically.
It is difficult to conceive how two mature men with ample
opportunity for observing modern specimens of the Drama-
turgic Art can concoct a thing like "Cameo Kirby" under the
manifest impression that it is a Play. It is true the first Act
starts off like Drama. The Conditions of a Plot are plainly set
forth: the son of a deceased planter will kill a gambler who
ruined his father. But these Conditions are relinquished very
suddenly and Acts II and III take up other Conditions dealing
with the masquerading gambler's love for the planter's daugh-
ter. The Problem in the first instance was: "Will the son kill
the gambler." The Problem in the second instance is: "Will
the girl find out that her lover is "Cameo Kirby." The son,
v/ho should be the opposing factor in the first Play disappears
from off the earth till Act IV where the authors attempt to
resume Conditions #i and ring down on a happen-ever-after.
Here we have an excellent example of the school boy's no-
tion of Technic. The outraged son who was going to kill the
gambler is now reconciled at the latter's unsupported declara-
tion that he ruined their father to prevent another scoundrel
from so doing, and the proverbial "deed to the plantation"
comes to the rescue showing that our hero-gamester had long
since reconveyed the father's property back to him, "his heirs
and assigns."
ic6
The DRAMATIST
Now such a conclusion might be made feasible with a slight
admixture of Plot ingredients, but to splice on a denouement
so utterly irrelevant and rem.ote from anything that has been
brewing in the preceding Acts of the Play is the crudest of em-
piricism.
The entire structure of this piece is founded upon a double-
barrelled code of perverted honor: the supposition that it is a
son's duty to kill the man who gambled his drunken father out
of house and home ; and that the cultured family of the de-
ceased and ruined father is obligated to approve this illegiti-
mate transfer of plantation, slaves, etc., without so much as a
protest; all out of morbid duty to the deceased parent. These
moral laws are of the Stage Stagy !
A well built Play is founded upon certain BELIEFS of the
auditors, which beliefs are so manipulated that they bring up
to new and plausible conclusions. These conclusions consti-
tute the author's philosophy. Imagine the futility of attempt-
ing this feat with ideas that are not popular beliefs with the
audience and you have a fair estimate of the impossible thing
undertaken in "Cameo Kirby." It is preposterous to expect a
Play out of such irrelevant premises.
The credulity of the crowd is far greater than the credulity
of the individual but their skepticism can easily be provoked if
this credulousness is fostered at the expense of structural ideas
that are not the common belief of the masses. And where is
the practical present day audience who will not smile deri-
sively at the notion of relinquishing home and happiness for
the mere whim of liquidating a drunken father's gambling
debts? Such a premise is surely no Belief of the Auditor.
"You'll have to show me !" would be the universal reply. "If
your card player's deed is valid let him eject us !" This would
be the American's attitude tov/ard such rotten codes of honor
and the fact that this deed was executed on board a steamboat
in the middle of the Mississippi River would not tend to allay
all possibilities of litigation before final surrender.
The authors dispense with all rational thought for us by
setting this Plot conveniently in the past. But the Play is
written for the present! Here's the difficulty. Any Drama
done for contemporary audiences that tends to shut out the
reasoning faculty either of the characters or the auditors is
doomed to failure and oblivion. We need only refer to the
Plays of a decade back to see that this style of Play was ac-
cepted. But a new day is dawning! The author deals with a
far different auditor! "The world do move!"
107
The DRAMATIST
"World" Prize Play.
It may be of interest to many of our subscribers who tried
for the New York "World" prize to know that Mrs. Bellinger
has completed the manuscript and handed it over to Mr. Har-
ris for production as soon as same can be arranged. We all
congratulate the winning author. She has been a close stu-
dent of play construction for many years. An analysis of her
play will appear in THE DRAMATIST soon after its appear-
ance on the stage.
THE DESERTERS.
Bowery Melodrama on Broadway.
Mr. Henry B. Harris did not profit by the failure of "The
Commanding Officer" last season. Military melodrama re-
plete with preposterous impossibilities is a thing of the past!
"The Deserters" has all of the absurdities of "The Command-
ing Officer" and still some. Strange to say the most artificial
role is allotted Miss Helen Ware, the star, who is asked to
make real the part of a female detective with a convenient phi-
losophy, all her own, to the effect that only criminals below
the distinction of murderers deserve punishment. Sure death
awaits the public performance of any drama founded on a
sophistry. For Plays must be built of accepted beliefs or de-
sires possessed by a majority of the Playgoing public ! It is to
be hoped "The Deserters" will be the last experiment along
this preposterous line, for the financial loss to the management
is terrific.
A SPECIMEN CRITICISM OF AN AMATEUR PLAY BY
THE EDITOR.
Yours of the 22nd, and the play, both arrived safely. I note
what you say about managers not rendering you a criticism.
This is beyond their province. A true criticism might offend
and as only one Play in a thousand shows any real hope, you
can imagine the host of enemies a manager would create in a
lifetime if he told the truth ! But criticism IS our province and
making enemies part of the work, if we are to subjugate those
999 mortals who presume to write Plays without the slightest
regard for the Science of the Art.
"The Reformers."
In the science of Logic any argument to be sound must
stand the test of syllogistic analysis. It must be susceptible of
reduction to three primal terms the first two of which logically
lead to the third which is the conclusion. For instance, we
108
The DRAMATIST
reach the conclusion that Socrates is mortal in the following
manner :
All men are mortal.
Socrates is a man.
Therefore, Socrates is mortal.
For centuries this form of reasoning has been the basis of
logic. It is only of late years that a similar syllogism has been
found to hold good in drama. We call this dramatic syllogism
the Problem. The three terms are: Conditions, Cause and
Conclusion. I shall attempt to reduce your manuscript to
Problem and then after showing you the impossibility of such
an operation construct a Problem setting forth the Play you
evidently intended to build.
Problem No. i.
The Play You Have Attempted.
Conditions.
A hypocritical parson renounces his son for choosing a
stage career.
Cause.
A stranger finds the boy's mother is a shameless flirt.
Conclusion.
Therefore (?) the father is reconciled to his son's profes-
sion?
Problem No. 2.
The Play You Intended to Build.
Conditions.
A hypocritical parson renounces his son for choosing a
stage career.
Cause.
The son detects a swindle in the father's ecclesiastical
methods.
Conclusion.
Therefore, the father is reconciled to his son's profession.
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The DRAMATIST
In the second Problem you will notice that the third clause
or Conclusion foliov/s, as a logical reasoning of the other
two. In the first Problem, which is the one you employ, there
is absolutely no relation between the first and second clauses
nor between the second and third. There can be no logical
outgrowth of a Conclusion from such disconnected premises.
You might urge that I have not chosen for the second clause
of your Problem the CAUSE that you intended. It is true
you bring in an uncle, an utter stranger to the Plot, and at the
last minute of the Play attempt to fabricate a Conclusion by
having this old gentleman announce that he had heard of the
father's hypocrisy in the West. This is too remote. The
father's hypocrisy must be SEEN in his own conduct and not
TALKED about. You show this hypocrisy in a scene be-
tween the father and his partner in crime but you do not let
the right character see it. You merely show it to the audience !
The son is the logical agent of the old man's undoing and you
must bring him in upon this scene of degradation if you wish
to preserve the very essence of Play which is a conflict be-
tween human wills. If the son is not in this scene he is not in
the Conflict. As you have it. the mother intercepts their de-
bauch but she is not made fully aware of their depravity and
she could do nothing with this evidence if she were. The valid
conflict is between the father and son. Hold it there.
What You Intended.
You evidently started out with the intention of having the
son discover the hypocrisy of the father and use this evidence
in such a v/ay as to make the parent a ready party not only to
the son's career but to his marriage with an actress. You
strayed from this path because you had no structural plan se-
curely outlined in your own m.ind. Your Play was not BUILT,
it was WRITTEN ! Instead of devising in advance the means
by which 3/ou would bring this fraud of a father to justice you
allowed your pen to follow inclination and the chance of catch-
ing the mother in a compromising situation betrayed you.
Your fancy seized a tempting opportunity and you jotted down
the scene not realizing that the mother was no party to the
Conflict. Her disgrace would in no way advance your Plot.
It is the father you must bring to terms. The young man you
employed to expose the mother was foreign to the Plot and to
the cast of characters already introduced. He had no place in
the Play.
There are hundreds of minor errors, like the introduction of
Phoebe and her painful death, which do not serve to promote
Plot and therefore become features of disunity. But why dwell
on them when a correct structure of the bolder framework will
no
The DRAMATIST
eliminate the need of all? You attempted to sound a note for
your Theme when you made this poor wretch denounce the
clergy on her deathbed — but nothing counts in a play that is
recited apart from the perform.ance of the Plot itself. What-
ever attack you wish to make upon a condition in society must
be done in the regular development of your Play and with the
legitimate characters of the Conflict. All side remarks are
wasted and more, they halt the direct progress of the TiDin Ac-
tion.
How Will You Remedy All This?
I would advise you to take Proposition No, 2 and devise a
Plot to execute such a play. You have an abundance of mate-
rial for BUILDING a very good Play, You also have the
creative faculty. You have merely gone wrong in the funda-
mental fram-ework. Lay out your plans and specifications be-
fore vou touch a word of the dialog. I have shovi^n vou how
to handle the true CAUSE given in the second Problem ; Viz. :
"The son detects a swindle in his father's ecclesiastical meth-
ods." You must contrive to have him intercept the father in
his debauch. You may reply that you see no way to accom-
plish this. My dear fellow: this is the delight of the true Dra-
matist! This battle with obstacles is the very essence of Play
construction ! Prescribe a problem for yourself and then solve
it! If 3/0U balk in this initial step you might as well abandon
the craft, for it is a veritable maze of just such puzzling prob-
lems. Some such conundrum is eternally challenging you.
Reconstruct by merely outlining the essentials of Plot r-.nd
I will give you further help toward perfecting your Play. It
should not require more than a page to state fundamental ele-
mxents constituting your drama. Observe that the second clause
of Proposition (We call it CAUSE) is the main-spring of the
entire works. Every other chief factor in Plot takes genesis
from, this one Parent CAUSE and your Play becomes a net-
work interdependent Causes firmly tied and strung around it.
Yours very truly,
THE DRAMATIST,
Easton, Pa.
This is a specimen analysis of an amateur Play. Yours
might be widely different in offence, but unless you are that
one in the thousand your Play will contain similar violations
of technic.
Ill
DRAM
VARIOUS managers are
continually requesting
that we forward any
plays that we deem suited to
their needs. Of course we can-
not volunteer to read every play
that our subscribers send in, but
if a brief synopsis of the play
idea is submitted, the editor will
offer his opinions as to the mar-
ketability of the product.
The Dramatist,
Easton, Pa.
Ji2
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER
. B. ANTHONY,
£.ditor
Vol.2
EASTON,
PA.
No.
2
QUARTERLY
1911
JANUARY
The Province of Analysis
THE AMUSEMENT MARKET WOULD NOT SEEM
GLUTTED WITH GOOD PLAYS WHEN WE ARE CON-
FRONTED WITH THE CONDITION OF ONE MANA-
GER OFFERING $5000 FOR A NEW VAUDEVILLE
ACT AND ANOTHER OFFERING $2000 FOR A PLOT.
TO BE SURE, THERE IS A SURPLUS OF THE DRAMA
IN VOGUE A FEW YEARS BACK BUT THE STAN-
DARD HAS CHANGED.
INCREASED COMPETITION IS THE INDIRECT
CAUSE OF THIS CHANGE SINCE IT GIVES SPEED
TO THE LAW OF THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST,
BUT THE TRUE SOURCE OF THE INNOVATION IS
THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE PLAYGOING PUBLIC.
PEOPLE ARE NOT SO CREDULOUS AS FOR-
MERLY. THEY STAND FOR LESS SOPHISTRY AND
MOONSHINE. THE SUREST INDICATION OF THIS
FACT IS THE RESPECT PAID BY COMMERCIALISM
TO OUR COMMON SENSE IN ADVERTISING SCI-
ENCE.
ADVERTISING SCIENCE? IS THIS A SLIP OF THE
EDITOR'S PEN? NO! WE ARE REDUCING EVERY-
THING TO SCIENCE NOWADAYS AND THE FEL-
LOW WHO USED TO DO THINGS IN A HAPHAZARD
FASHION NOW FOLLOWS FORMULATED CODE.
THIS ANSWERS A VERY GRAVE CHARGE
BROUGHT AGAINST THE CRITICISMS IN THE DRA-
MATIST. "YOU KNOCK EVERY PLAY THAT'S PRO-
DUCED!" ONE MAN WRITES. WELL, PERHAPS WE
DO. BUT HOW MANY AUTHORS HAVE GIVEN AS
113
The DRAMATIST
MUCH SCIENTIFIC THOUGHT TO THE PREPARA-
TION FOR THEIR ART AS THE EXPERT ADVERTIS-
ING EDITOR? HOW MANY HAVE GIVEN AS MUCH
TIME TO THE PREPARATION FOR DRAMATIC AU-
THORSHIP AS THE ARCHITECT, SURGEON, AND
LAWYER GIVE? AS DAVID BELASCO SAYS, 959^ OF
THEM LAUGH AT THE NEED FOR STUDY.
IS IT ANY MARVEL, THEN, THAT THE SUDDEN
BIRTH OF A NEW SCIENCE, THE SCIENCE OF PLAY
CONSTRUCTION, FINDS INFINITE FLAWS IN THE
PRODUCTS OF THOSE WHO HAVE PRACTICED
THE ART WITH NO THOUGHT TO SCIENTIFIC
TRAINING?
ACRID CRITICISM, BASED UPON RIGID ANALY-
SIS, NEED NOT CONDEMN A PLAY FOR PRESENT
PRODUCTION PURPOSES. THE COMPETITION OF
EXCELLENT PLAYS IS NOT SO PLENTIFUL. IT IS
FOR THE TRUTH OF PRINCIPLE WE ARE CON-
TENDING AND NOT FOR THE SUPPRESSION OF
EVERY PLAY THAT HAPPENS TO VIOLATE LAW!
THE PREDICTION WE MAKE IS FOR THE FU-
TURE. A NEW GENERATION OF PLAYWRIGHTS,
SCHOOLED, IN THE PRINCIPLES OF THEIR CRAFT,
WILL PUT PRESENT PRACTITIONERS TO FLIGHT
AS DID THE DOCTORS THE QUACKS IN THE MEDI-
CINE OF OLD. MANAGERS WILL SELECT THEIR
SPECULATIONS WITH THE AID OF A POSITIVE
SCIENCE AND CRITICS WILL BASE THEIR OPIN-
IONS ON ROCK BOTTOM FACTS. FOR UNIVERSI-
TIES WILL EMBRACE THIS BRANCH AND DRAMA,
THE GREATEST OF ARTS WILL TAKE ITS JUST
RANK AT THE HEAD OF THE COLLEGE CURRICU-
LEM!
GET IN ON THE GROUND FLOOR! READ THE
DRAMATIST!
114
n
DRAM
Plaffs of the Season
THE THUNDERBOLT.*
The Best Play of the New Century.
Since our journal began, no Dramatist has so successfully
shut the gate of criticism against us as Arthur Wing Pinero in
his delightful though sordid comedy "The Thunderbolt." This
Play produced at the New Theatre easily ranks Sir Arthur the
Arch Dramatist of the New Century. For besides being a
technical gem it lacks that intellectual arrogance which imme-
diately disqualifies many English Dramas.
The Poet or Novelist may ascend to lofty altitudes forsak-
ing us poor sinners but such a seclusion is impossible to the
Dramatist. His field is right down here among the common
everyday herd of mortals. His intellect must not surpass the
intellect of the throng only as he interprets mighty thoughts
thru the A-B-C emotions of his audience. But this is digres-
sion.
It is exceedingly fortunate for our readers that such a mod-
ern play is in print so that the high standards advocated by
The DRAMATIST may not remain mere castles in the air.
Procure this Play and see the Principles APPLIED. In treat-
ing of it we will refer to the page number for illustrations and
to substantiate our claim that "The Thunderbolt" is the great-
est Play extant we will proceed to dissect it on our usual
method of first reducing the entire structure to a three clause
Problem.
Problem.
Conditions : A man bequeaths his entire estate to a natural
daughter.
Cause: A legal relative destroys the will in order to dis-
inherit her.
Conclusion : The bequest does not miscarry.
This is a pretty brief condensation but it covers the boldest
outlines of Plot. One of the most difficult problems on earth
for the amateur is to SEE his Play in the nucleus. A detail
here and a detail there so clutters his attempt to state Plot
compactly that the skeleton becomes a well covered animal too
hidden in flesh and fibre to allow anatomical study. This state
of premature development is fatal to fundamental construction
and the above Problem is amply elaborate for first soundings.
*Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston. Price 50c.
115
T h e DRAMATIST
Problem being sound we must now proceed to Conflict. Is
there a conflict to supply the psychological element of FIGHT
which is the real essence of Drama save that we supplement
the animal instinct for battle with the more modern weapons
of human wills. The human Conflict is well provided for in
"The Thunderbolt." The struggle is thirteen to one. That is,
out of the nineteen characters employed, fourteen are actually
in the battle and nearly thirteen of these are pitted against the
one — the natural daughter of the deceased. It is a sordid study
of the selfish phase of society affording the sprightliest hu-
mor in its contemplation upon the stage. . The author's analy-
sis of character is so intricate that his unfolding of so gloomy a
theme at times becomes positively ludicrous. His entire hand-
ling of the Conflict is new and unique for the heroine is made
to appear to take no part in it. The thirteen other combatants
are finally hit by the boomerang of their incessant acts of self-
ishness.
And out of this grim, miserable story, what is the lesson
taught by the humor of irony? There are many of them. No
spectator can leave the theatre without the subconscious sug-
gestion for nobler, loftier living. What the Third Floor Back
endeavors to do with goody-goody Talk, Pinero has accom-
pUshed by legitimate means of Drama. The behavior of this
illicit daughter of the deceased beer merchant is the most
pungent sermon on the true brotherhood of man we have ever
imbibed— for we do not LISTEN to it— we drink it in through
the emotions. It gives a bigger heart, a purer soul! And if
we were inclined to believe the current German theory that
Christ was the natural son of a Roman soldier, this character
of "Helen" would go a long way toward conviction. The sor-
did background is an invaluable contrast. The little grains of
good sparkle all the brighter in the sands of selfishness.
But it would be a technological crime to pass by the nega-
tive elements of Play construction contained in this great
Play. Not that they are crimes of enormity but that we must
ever look to the purity of Theme else we forget the use of the
Dramatic microscope.
First we will examine into the division of Acts, which seems
to be a popular subject in this issue of The DRAMATIST.
How does our 3-act theory apply to "The Thunderbolt?" Act
I ends on page 64 according to the text. Is this a proper end-
ing? It would be save for one greater defect — the audience is
not put in possession of the Plot secret — that Phyllis has de-
stroyed the will. Here is the one and only place for this in-
side information to "come across" if the full force of interest is
to be availed. To suppress it may stimulate considerable Sus-
pense — but a suspense of the undramatic sort. To let Phyllis
expose her secret here would not in any way spoil the later
116
The DRAMATIST
scene where she bares her tortured heart to her husband — it
would enhance that scene at least fifty percent!
We have commended this trait from a positive standpoint
in our article on "Nobody's Widow," this number, and the
more you think of it the firmer must be your conviction that
Suspense depends upon the superior knowledge of the audi-
ence against the ignorance of one of the characters on the
stage. That one is "Thaddeus," her husband, in this instance.
If the Dramatist had cleverly conveyed this criminal know-
ledge to the audience, or better still — LET US SEE — her steal
the will; the Suspense of the piece would be many tim.es mul-
tiplied and technic thereby improved. Read pages 114 to 125
with the supposition that you had this advance knowledge of
Phyllis' destruction of the v/ill but that Thaddeus did not pos-
sess same and see if there is any diminution in the effect of this
excellent scene upon him. Of course you must prevent READ-
ING the scene as one reads a story, you must adopt the Play-
reader's attitude of SEEING the Play!
The second Act is the logical climax of the Play and with-
out doubt is the only other legitimate division of Plot for cur-
tain purposes.. The division between III and IV is false and
superfluous simply because the author has temporarily run
away with a tempting scene somewhat disjoined from his own
Play. There is Drama in the accumulated selfishness that per-
mits these narrow mortals to accuse "Helen" of collusion in
defrauding them out of their portion, but it smacks of material
for an entirely different Play, as does the long cross examina-
tion of "Thaddeus" which could be infinitely closer to Plot
were his wife present to reflect the purpose of prodding him
with these incriminating questions.
Read pages 151 to 192. Can you see where Pinero goes off
on a tangent? Conduct this cross examination in the pres-
ence of "Phyllis" — let the audience SEE her cave in at the
awful onslaught directed at her husband and her behavior
gives the snap away ! There you are ! Intensified DRAMA —
because VISUAL! Surely the other method is a swamp of
waste compared to the keener Dramatic treatment !
Aside from this flaw there is little else of importance. The
Play might begin at once by skipping the first four pages and
opening with page 5. There is a universal tendency among
writers new and old to attempt to INTRODUCE the Play be-
fore they PLAY it. You can't do this without lapsing into
TALK and you might as well take the hint from the motion
picture and let the reel roll ! In other words SHOW the thing
—don't TELL IT!
One farewell remark about disunity. It is so slight we
ought to overlook it but we can't. The love story between
"Helen" and a priest has no more connection with this Play
117
The DRAMATIST
than the rise and fall of the Roman Empire ! We look at it as
a trembling attempt on the part of the author to reconcile that
romantic portion of his audience bent on the happy ending,
but even this narcotic failed to do the work in his own land,
for we understand the Play was a fizzle in London. Does this
mean that America furnishes a more cultivated audience for
the best Play on earth? If it does mean this, look out for
your tools and technics!
ELECTRICITY AND GET RICH QUICK
WALLINGFORD.
Cohan and Gillette Trade Places
One of the startling events of the present season is to see
Gillette and Cohan swap positions in the hall of fame. This
somersault is due chiefly to the recent change of dramatic pat-
tern demanded by a saner audience in the thing they begin to
KNOW as a Play. The Art has crystalized into a Science
and the ordinary auditor who used to take his pink medicine
from the physician at a gulp now asks the where's and why-
fore's— "What effect will this dope have, Doctor?" The hod-
carrier now seeks the Cause and Effect of things as did the
scholar of old!
Four years ago Gillette was deemed the Dramatist and
Cohan a mere parody. Today the tables are turned. Cohan is
the Dramatist and Gillette comes so near the parody in his
latest venture "Electricity" that there is no fun in it. Cohan
has listened to the call of the Crowd while Gillette has catered
to the classes. The one appeals to the subconscious, composite
soul of his audience — the other to the conscious mentality of
the individual. The one BUILDS a Play founded upon the
BELIEFS of his auditor — the other WRITES an essay
founded upon his individual view of socialism.
Get Rich Quick Wallingford
Without exception George M. Cohan has made more tech-
nical progress in the past two years than any author in Ameri-
ca. With his handicap of musical comedy standards he had
farther to go than the average beginner. The hill has been
harder to climb. In the present instance he has taken a book
idea, to be sure, but we are not concerned with this fact save
that it requires still more genius for the feat. It is harder to
transform well written fiction into Drama than to build an en-
tirely new and original Play! And the truly Dramatic Germ
in this Plot is the Dramatist's flash of genius, not the novelist's
latent work.
ii8
The DRAMATIST
And here let us explain this "flash" of the Dramatist. We
refer to the chief CAUSE in the Problem, which we under-
stand is entirely the invention of Mr. Cohan :
"The Crooks turn straight BECAUSE of their commercial
triumph born of a criminal tendency to exploit little deals!"
We call this the Dramatic Genn because it supplies the fun-
damental element in this most peculiar regeneration Play. The
Dramatist transforms premeditated evil into spontaneous good
— and there you are ! It is this mysterious uplift element that
is pulling continual crowds to the Gaiety Theatre with a cer-
tainty that brooks little competition. Other Dramatists are at-
tempting regeneration Plays but most of them lack this vital
spark which put "The Fortune Hunter" in the king row — that
subtle trick of Providence developing positive qualities out of
perverse purpose!
Several spurious biplots mar the construction of this piece
and the fourth act is an excrescent growth tacked on to the
main Plot after all essence has been squeezed out of the mate-
rial. It is obviously a temptation on the part of the author to
fill the measure to overflowing long after the effervescence of
his fun gas has escaped. The three legitimate Acts of the Play
round up one of the best examples of American craftsman-
ship on the stage today. It is staged with the instinct of a
Belasco and doubtless this propensity for picturesque scenic
effect had led Mr. Cohan into the idle maneuvers of character
parade which consume all of Act IV.
Electricity.
Without exception "Electricity" is the least like a Play of
anything put on the New York stage for seasons ! Mr. Gil-
lette has either a tremendously vague notion of what consti-
tutes Drama or he has lost the train of his intention during the
repeated revisions of his piece prior to New York production.
Judging from the long procession of clap-trap performances
that New York audiences stand for, there is no more tolerant
public in the Universe. It is safe to say, however, that every
auditor paying his price of admission to this makeshift gave
vent to audible protest when the ordeal was over.
It is only as a negative example of construction that the
piece holds interest to the student. With a Problem founded
on a fallacy, a Plot without a Conflict, a heroine of awful
artificiality and a treatment replete with stone walls of dis-
unity, there is not paucity for profitable illustration of what
the aspirant should avoid. There is little left to perpetuate
the glory of the author of "Clarice" and "Secret Service."
At the opening of the Play we see a father plotting with his
son to marry off his daughter whom we are TOLD is an advo-
cate of Socialism and opposed to accumulated resources. Of
119
The DRAM A T I S T
course we all know such fathers and believe there are such
girls in fairyland, but the Law of Cause and Effect that per-
meates everything under the sun, as well as drama, demands
that we ESTABLISH such characters as a reality before we
use them on the stage. It would require considerable treat-
ment to substantiate either of these people, too much perhaps,
for any Dramatic value possible in the outcome.
But passing these minor absurdities, could the Play pro-
ceed? The suitor for this damsel of deranged whims disguises
as a day laboring electrician so that he may appease her antipa-
thy for wealth. The suitor has money to burn. Straightway
the Plot changes color and in Act II we find ourselves in an
utterly strange environment listening to the wails of some-
body's sweetheart whose wedding day is doomed by the non
appearance of the groom. Story fashion, the Problem has
drifted from one of marrying off the girl, don't you see, to an
entirely new Conflict of keeping the electrician drunk whilst
the counterfeit workman makes love to Miss Sociology.
Step by step the unconvincing complication rises, each
ascent a little more remote from Plot! By the time we reach
Act III the plotting father has ceased to know anything about
his own Plot — the disposal of his daughter — so that the wrathy
parent may make fun with himself swearing at the electric
lights now disconnected by the tamperings of the bogus elec-
trician. We have a few more complications concerning the
electrician's fiancee whose future spouse is still a victim of
inebriety and then after sustained misunderstandings of the
most obvious transparency the grand conclusion of the origi-
nal Problem is achieved instantly! In a fit of mock martyr-
dom the hero is "going to tell her good bye and go!" Just
here the long arm of the Dramatist comes to the rescue. He
clears the stage of all other characters and as the two princi-
pals pronounce in concert the mysterious term: "Electricity,"
the curtain descends upon a question mark. Why did he write
it? The audience have no source of knowing and judging from
the text the author is not certain himself.
THE TEST.
By the author of Mother
"The Test" clings to no concentrated story and no sooner
is one branch of biplot started than another is sprung. The
motives of the characters are as artificial as the types them-
selves. Conditions are as vague as lack of information could
well make them and Effects are continually before Cause. We
see the author's naked effort, for instance to stir up jealousy
before the lovers are even known to the audience so that by the
time the curtain descends on Act I the chief occupation of the
spectator becomes a guessing at what the author means.
120
The DRAMATIST
We have said that Effect follows Cause. We can go a step
further and say that premises follow Conclusion, or nearly so,
in the peculiar fashion with which Mr. Goodman gives us hazy
knov/ledge of the Conditions of the Conflict for the first time at
the very climax of his play. Sprinkled all through the Play are
chapters of past history that are TOLD instead of being
woven into the present pattern as bits of unobtrusive thread.
Now all this may not interest those who cannot see the per-
formance of "The Test" but we try to build the requested criti-
cism so that all readers may profit by the negative instances of
play principle. We are fast departing from this class of pro-
duct and Mr. Goodman himself would not think of putting out
such stuff now, although "Mother" smacks of similar disparity
of purpose. As Channing Pollock says : "Mother has every bit
of the hard luck you expected her to have, and then some.
Hers is a three ring circus of a house. She has three sets of
children, so to speak, and each set provided its own peculiar
brand of trials and tribulations." Mr. Goodman is making
rapid strides, but as you see he has not yet advanced to the
head of the class where he can build a whole play out of ONE
THING. That is the test of the mastercraftsman !
MARY MAGDALENE.*
Maeterlinck's OfF-Stage Drama.
It is with trembling pen we tackle the work of a Poet. For
Drama and Poetry are two separate arts. But since Mr. Mae-
terlinck has descended into the vulgar realm of Drama, bereft
of all the glamour of verse, we may take up the probe with
more assurance. The present attempt at the English standard
of Drama is as bad an output as the average foreigner's change
of tongue, but we must judge the piece by what we know as
drama and not by that mystic literary measure set by the au-
thor in previous work. Technique teaches us not only that
Poetry and Drama are two separate Arts but that Dramatic
Poetry is still a third — a mongrel Art.
It is our purpose to show that this poetic habit of mind has
marred the Dramatic conscience of the author and that it will
require almost as much study on his part to master the Princi-
ples of play construction as any beginner of like intellect. His
literary capacity has taken him into descriptive rather than
dramatic dialog and in this particular instance has resulted in
an off-stage Play, the Conflict taking place any^vhere but be-
fore his audience. And this results largely in a Drama of
TALK. And in addition to this main flaw there are minor
essays of disunity to Theme introduced merely to voice the
*Dodd, Mead & Co., New York. Price $1.25.
121
The DRAMATIST
EUthcr's philosophy. A strong example of this digression is
the grief essay contained on pages 36, 37, 38 and 39. Longinus
and his child are plumped into the dialog with all the indiffer-
ence of an amateur WRITING his first masterpiece.
But beneath all this is a far graver difficulty — the dialog is
incoherent! "Why, I understand it, perfectly," you may re-
tort. But Drama must ever be measured by the minds of the
multitude. Even your interpretation is often based upon con-
scious thought and this is a violation of purest Drama. But
the poor fellow who has no acquaintance with Metrodorus,
Kermachus, Zeno, Hades and Persephone — what of him? Are
you in the majority with a theatre audience, or is he. Of course
if you contend that this is a Drama for intelligent men, there is
no argument. But is there such a thing? Isn't Drama the one
Art that is calculated to appeal to every man, woman and child
of us in the ABC language of the soul? Are not words mere
auxiliaries in this Art put in for the purpose of illuminating
WHAT WE SEE?
Hark to the broadside that Appius lets out (Refer to page
28 of the English translation) and let us know if you think
this coherent in a Dramatic sense. "Venus has left Cyprus
and soars above Jerusalem! Or rather, it is the fair Tech-
messa, who already brings back the smile to the lips of the son
of Telamon! .... Admire, O Coelius, the magnificent
image raised under this portico by Love and Beauty!" Is this
calculated to convey a thought to the subconscious mind of
the spectator or does it halt the Play? For the average au-
ditor we would say the latter is true. It is the Call of the Poet
who cannot lose his tuneful opportunity.
And still deeper lies a sterner deficiency! Let us strip the
Problem to its naked truth that we may examine its anatomy.
Problem.
Conditions: An officer seeks a harlot whose spiritual love
is awakened by Christ.
Cause : The officer is commissioned to slay Christ.
Conclusion: Will she barter her body for the Lord's life?
This is the gist of "Mary Magdalene" heralded as a Theme
of profound reverence in no degree verging on sacrilege ! It
is the spiritual regeneration of the Magdalene ! In spite of the
fact that a large fraction of the civilized world look upon
Christ as a sacred figure this playwright deems it fit to repre-
sent His love as a factor of lascivious traffic. But there,
we are posing as moral censors when our horizon does not per-
mit us to see clearly above the mere mechanical. We simply
had to say it !
122
The DRAMATIST
A discussion of structural weakness is more in our line.
We have said that the Play contains no Conflict. This is not
literally but dramatically true. The spiritual opponent of
Verus, the Roman Officer, is not sufficiently dramatized. His
only combatant is the off-stage influence of the Lord's reported
presence. The story of raising Lazarus from the dead is Told
not represented upon the stage. It is not essential that we see
him actually exit from the tomb ; but his earlier entrance in
Act II to replace the vapid twaddle of the others (Read Scene
II, Act II) would convert dialogued narrative into dramatized
speech. The author has refrained from introducing Christ,
himself, and the restraint is a wise one. But some such reality
as Lazarus must actively take His place if the story is to con-
summate actual Dramatic Conflict. Instead of thus visualiz-
ing the Spiritual element, the Play stumbles about the Plot
vainly attempting to sustain this factor by idle chatter of the
Lazarus incident and the miraculous cure of Lepers, cripples,
etc.
As for the public approval of the piece, it should certainly
take, with its double appeal to sacrilege and spirituality! The
entire product is sufficiently obscure to be conveniently in-
terpreted any old way and the religious enthusiast will doubt-
less make his own version of it. For like a sermon it leaves
room for the auditor's particular slant, whereas the real drama
molds conviction with immutable fixity.
This is essentially true of a well built Play for the reason
that we SEE the Problem unfold before us and believe in it,
provided the author's illusion is Logical. If we accept his
premises we must concur in his Conclusion, not with respect
to all things but the ONE specific syllogism set up for solu-
tion. Logical solution is impossible in the case discussed:
"That Mary will NOT barter her body for the Lord's life," for
we have not seen her character pass through the flames of
transfiguration necessary to such high moral force. If we rely
upon belief in divine impulse for this choice, particularly with
theatrical audiences, we are again going beyond the limitation
of Law which fundamentally prescribes that we deal with be-
liefs of the whole public.
"Audiences with the experience of observation or of hear-
say, will not accept conduct outside their own knowledge."
David Belasco.
THE GAMBLERS
The Authors' Producing Company.
Besides being Charles Klein's greatest achievement struc-
turally, "The Gamblers" is notable as the initial effort of The
Author's Producing Company, an institution that promises
123
The DRAMATIST
much to the American Dramatist, known and unknown. Every
move toward closer fidelity to the author's conception as well
as the subjugation of the ignorant stagemanager's innovations,
is a triumph for technic ! Too many Plays of moderate worth
are made ridiculous by the mechanical meddling of the hide-
bound stage carpenter in his honest effort to excite what he
thinks Suspense. May the Authors' Producing Company pros-
per and bring many more masterpieces to market !
At the start let us call attention to Mr. Klein's greatest tech-
nical accomplishment. He has put his new Play in THREE
Acts ! We are not vain enough to think that this is solely the
result of the doctrine handed down by The DRAMATIST.
Far from it. This improved method of dividing the Conflict
into three epochs of exposition is in keeping with the advance
this author is making all along the line. There is more Unity
in this Play, more Sequence, More Logic and a higher value of
Scene Construction in every sense. Three Acts, therefore, are
the natural result of higher evolution. A number of new Plays
have them! If for no other reason, they are commendable in
that they conserve the element of illusion.
It is true that the author has wavered between two distinct
plots and that the real story, the love episode, is not as new as
the high finance feature of second plot. The two have been
ingeniously interwoven but their coexistence in the one Play is
detrim.ental to Unity in its last analysis. We call the love epi-
sode the real story for the author chooses to climax his Play
with this, and ends with it as well. Either plot would make an
excellent Play, we merely prefer the financial fragment for the
reason that missuspected marital infidelity is too closely a copy
of plays like "The Thief" and "The Spendthrift." Rip that ele-
ment out of Klein's new Play and you still have a great Prob-
lem out of which the same clever craftsman could construct
infinitely more dramatic Scenes.
HUSBAND.*
Noted Critic's Craftsmanship.
The critic is often called more destructive than construc-
tive. This charge is fully substantiated in the constructive
effort of John Corbin whose book "Husband" has been recently
published. If the identical work could be brought to him for
critical inspection he would doubtless render the same verdict
w^e now offer : the writer of this work has the crudest notion of
how to go about BUILDING the framework of Drama. He
attempts to write a Play without recourse to that Dramatic
unit known as a Scene and persists in TALKING the Plot
essentials that should HAPPEN before the audience by means
of REPRESENTATION on the stage.
*Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. Price $1.50.
124
The DRAMATIST
We do not mean to say that there are no Scenes in "Hus-
band" but we do say that the Play is not built by means of
them. For the far greater part is a heterogeneous collection
of aimless chatter and drift. It is hardly as bad as "Electri-
city" by Gillette. But this is faint praise. The Scenes at-
tempted on pages 114 to 124; 185 to 209 &c., have Drama in
them and rise above the plane of mere TALK but they fall
short of their design for the reason that oceans of gibberish
engulf them.
Page 223 i:hows a soliloquy cleverly avoided and the end of
Act II brings an effect in the way of a strong situation which
should have been the result of demonstrated CAUSES. The
premises have been so fearfully muddled in the undramatic
method of introduction that they fail to stand above dozens of
other irrelevant thoughts equally emphasized. Whatever Sus-
pense stirs the souls of the audience at this climax, therefore,
is as momentary as though it were treated apart from the
Play.
From pages 9 to 53 there is at least one new subject
TALKED to the page. Page 62 begins a Scene which lapses
into reminiscence of little or no Plot value. Things happen on
page 88 but lack of preparation leaves the author's hand ex-
posed to public view. And there is little sympathy possible for
types of character that do not exist within the mind or imagi-
nation of the crowd — the masses.
Act II follows the same rhetorical fashion and even the
things Talked about happened off stage. After 22 pages we
reach a Scene (115 to 124) but so far as Plot progress is con-
cerned we stand about where we started. Several times there
is an allusion to an illigitimate child which misleads the audi-
ence into thinking some developments will come of it. But
neither mother nor child ever gets across the footlights save as
the burden of confused ideas. They are not in the Play no
matter what subtle fancies they fired the author's mind with.
Act III the conversational drama continues. The minor
characters recapitulate to make sure the audience has an in-
ventory of things transpired. And much has happened be-
tween the acts, but this does not concern the spectators for it
is the betrothal of people that do not belong in the Plot. They
do utter the best lines in the book, however, and we are grate-
ful for that. (Note two speeches top of page 171.) The de-
nouement deserts the original Theme and endeavors to strike
a new one. Husband and wife both branch off suddenly on
the subject of race suicide. (Pages 214 and 223). And what is
the grand total? The husband who may have been the father
of the illicit child, for all v/e know, is reconciled to his queen
of a wife, the meantime mistress of a molly-coddle nobleman.
The Play is in THREE Acts!
125
The DRAMATIST
But lest the reader conclude that we cite these flaws merely
to vaunt our knowledge of technology, let us draw an immedi-
ate moral: Belasco says 95 per cent of every hundred persons
who try to write Plays do not even recognize the necessity for
study. Here is the exceptional case of a noted critic, Ex-play
expert for the New Theatre ; and even he has not seen this vi-
tal need of mastering the cardinal principles of play construc-
tion before attempting to BUILD a Play. Take the lesson
home, dear reader! Let it teach you a proper reverence for
your Art ! If a man of Mr. Corbin's cultivation fails for want
of fundamental training, what chance is there for you with like
neglect and far less apprehension. You have one consolation
in the state of things. Intellectual arrogance is against the au-
thor. He must not v/rite above the heads of those who spend
but fifty cents to "see the show." Our dramatists have been
students, not scholars. They are the men who with the in-
stinct born of brotherly love mix with the multitude and
KNOW their souls !
Dramatist Know thy subject !
Dramatist Know mankind !
Dramatist Mix well these two ingredients !
THE FAMILY.
Pleases Boston But Not New York.
V/e print the following personal letter from the editor to
Mr. Davis to demonstrate how a waste of unnecessary dia-
logue may impair a play for Metropolitan production. Several
nights after the receipt of this letter the Play was withdrawn
in New York, although it was so good technically it made even
m.anagers sniff and blink.
October 10, 19 10.
My dear Mr. Davis :
I arrived at one definite conclusion the other night at the
trial performance of your new Play. Although this is your
first production you have set a higher standard of technique
than that of any American author save Eugene Walter. If
every play in New York were required to conform to your
structural standard, the Gay White Way would be suddenly
converted into Cimmerian darkness. Particularly is this true
of "The Family" in such principles as THEME, Plot, Unity,
and Drama.
Theme is the broadest principle in Drama and the first step
toward a restriction of the material to be utilized in a Play.
You adhere to Theme with strict fidelity. Theme is implied in
the title of your Play. A fuller definition might be "The Fam-
ily a Unit." There is no single instance of a violation of this
Law in your Play.
126
The DRAMATIST
Your Plot being strung upon this Theme is unique and ori-
ginal. The story hinges upon a new treatment of an old, old
idea of the seduced daughter. You employ the family as an
organized entity to defend this child against her betrayer and
the hollow convention of Society which would turn her out
even from her own fireside. And after all this new turn to an
old familiar tale is all we need for an original Play, It is in
com-bining the common ideas that we arrive at the uncommon
and not in combining uncommon or unfamiliar materials. This
is all you will have to do to build another Plot as good as "The
Family,"
The Unity of your Play surpasses anything we have had in
New York for several years— even the Plays of Fitch and Wal-
ter, You hammer away at the single-centred conception of
Them.e and Plot with almost ideal results, I can point to no
other specimen that illustrates the application of this Principle
more potently. In this particular as well as in many others
your work is a splendid model for students of the Drama.
Suspense is the only Law you cheerfully violate. But even
in this Principle your work so far surpasses the host of indiffer-
ent current Plays that it might seem malicious to point out
m.incr defects if your high standard of craftsmanship did not
invite scrutiny. The chief transgression is in Act I, Scene I.
You say you employ this first Scene to show precedent Condi-
tions of the family circle. A careful analysis of your Plot will
show you that it is not necessary or essential to show them.
Here is a synopsis of your Play:
An erring girl feigns marriage to avoid family censure.
Her deception is detected.
Will the family rescue her and share her shame?
You will find nothing in this Scientific Problem that calls
for advance details, almost devoid of ordinary interest (save
for a pun or two) and on the other hand there is no reason
why these same facts should not "come across" as live ingredi-
ents if utilized in legitimate Scenes of the Play, Structurally
speaking there are no Scenes in the first set scene of your Play,
The bulk of it is conversational drift without a single Plot hap-
pening up until the entrance of the girl's betrayer. Here is
where your Play should rightfully begin and with all the ear-
lier part eliminated you v/ould still have a full evening's per-
formance. It is an abomination, anyhow, to divide an Act into
set scenes! Employ the same constructive imagination that
built the balance of your Play, in merging the valid conditions
of your Plot into an unbifurcated first Act and you will have a
mighty good example of modem playwriting!
127
DRAM
In closing I will make one more observation. Your great-
est Scene is between Mother and Daughter at end of II. The
mother finds no wedding ring and the audience concludes at
once that she fully detects the terrible truth. It should be
clearly established that she still clings to the idea of her
daughter's innocence or you lose considerable effectiveness at
the height of this wonderful Scene. This and not the scene of
the boy throwing a pitcher at the parading minstrel, is the final
note for the Second Act.
Yours very sincerely,
THE EDITOR.
JUSTICE.*
An Example of Overworked Theme.
From the title of John Galsworthy's new Play it might
easily be suspected that the Author has a Theme to expound in
Dramatic form. The first act of the Play supports this belief
setting forth the Conditions of the Plot in the Englishman's
best style. His dialog is a most superb specimen. The second
act is a model trial Scene commendable for its unique device of
brea'tcing into the midst of the proceeding and consummating
all in the way of prosecution that is necessary to the Problem.
But the third ! Three Set Scenes are devoted to exposing pri-
son atrocities in the abstract with as little fidelity to Plot pur-
pose as could be imagined were the author bent on evading it.
It is for this reason that we say theme is overworked. A
dramatist may go mad over his theme without advancing
Problem purpose one iota. The clever dialog in III, therefore,
is nothing more than hollow harangue so far as the Play
started in I and II is concerned. If the theme is to be utilized
it m.ust be dramatized. To spend two acts getting an audience
into atmosphere identified with theme does not warrant an
oration or essay on the subject, pending a final return to Play
at the death moment of our hero.
The author's personal chat with us on the sins of omission
in the treatment of prisoners substitutes the logical Conclusion
of his Plot and affords an arbitrary ending without sufficient
regard to denouement of Problem premises. The Play belongs
in Three acts. The criminal punishment doctrine must be
woven into the fibre of the Play if it is to be legitimately used.
We advise all aspirants to read this Play. If you do not find it
in the Library, ask your librarian to secure it. We find libra-
rians accommodating in this respect. The Play is one particu-
larly suited to reading. Closet Drama !
*Scribners, New York. Price 6oc.
128
The DRAMATIST
BABY MINE.
Structurally, the Gem of the Season,
We dedicate this farce to our many subscribers who, with-
out so excellent an example of ONE STORY drama might go
on thru life skeptical of the possibility of building a Play upon
a single solitary idea without dragging in a few foreign plot-
lets to kill time. To kill time? "Baby Mine" hasn't a breath-
ing spell. The farce is so full of its own theme that it over-
flows continually. But we cannot impress you, dear aspirant,
that this is the case with your Play. No ! No ! Yours is a dif-
ferent problem. And instead of righteously spinning the
legitimate material of your Plot you go wool gathering in the
pastures of another flock. Set it down in your book of pre-
cepts, "To write a Play is to write about one thing and to write
TWO Plays is to write about another THING."
And here let us note the fact that the ONE THING writ-
ten about in this Gem of Construction is unfolded in
THREE Acts. It is a strange but inevitable truth that the
fewer things you have to present the fewer Acts you need to
represent them. And when the Problem of a Play resolves
itself into its minutest simplicity the only concern of the dra-
matist in dividing the Conflict into curtain epochs is to provide
for lapse of time and change of scene. Of course, the highest
pitch of Drama is suspense and the instinct of the Artist will
instruct him to plunge his audience into this anxious experi-
ence while the curtain holds us for another round. Miss Mar-
garet Mayo has accom.plished this feat with exquisite discern-
ment and projected unconscious anticipation into the follow-
ing act after each ending with a pen full of the ink of Dramatic
Essence.
Perhaps some of you think farce isn't drama? It ceases to
be Drama only when it fails to become a Play. This is the case
with too many of the season's earlier contributions. With the
accepted theory that a farce is unlicensed horseplay, authors
relax their qualms of Dramatic Conscience and descend into
miserable absurdity and imbecility. When a farce follows the
principles of play construction as rigidly as "Baby Mine" it
falls as legitimately under the classification of Drama as a tra-
gedy of the sombrest hue.
Problem.
Conditions: A husband leaves home.
Cause : The wife counterfeits motherhood.
Conclusion : The sham fatherhood reunites them.
129
The DRAMATIST
This is the sum and substance of "Baby Mine" but of
course, it gives no glimmering of the fun and uproar caused by
the apparently thin situation. Miss Mayo leaves no stone of
preparation unturned to make the absurdity real and her tri-
umph is only a tribute to that supreme something we call
ART. We have always contended that Farce requires more
Logic than Comedy. There is no better demonstration of this
truth extant than the Play in question. The more preposter-
ous the hypothesis the more rigid the demand for continual
Cause and Effect — Cause and Effect — to bolster it up !
Even the fundamental criticism that such a Theme outrages
motherhood is met by the Dramatist's quick precaution to cre-
ate so shallow a "mother" as to dissolve all scruple in this par-
ticular. This same Art of taking infinite pains pervades the
entire piece and is nowhere more welcome than in a letter
writing episode at the end of Act I. The wife has been inocu-
lated with the suggestion to feign this sham of motherhood.
She "takes her pen in hand to say" *My dear Alfred' — but in-
stead of boring us with the traditional stage letter, the curtain
descends with her elfish little laugh insinuating more mischief
than words can convey. This is DRAMA! And it is in
THREE Acts! It is the shortest three-act Play on record,
actually playing one hour and ten minutes.
REBECCA OF SUNNY BROOK FARM.
A Simple Life Drama.
One of the most gratifying evidences of the season is the
cordial welcome extended this little drama of rural life. It ex-
plores a new field for the Dramatist in that it brings to the
theatre a class of spectators not reached by the average the-
atrical spellbinder. If you are not convinced of this fact go to
the Republic Theatre and witness the crowds of thrifty, in-
telligent and cultured people entering this play house. Try to
duplicate them anywhere in New York entertainments outside
of an ethical society lecture. Note the contrast to that typically
conventional audience attending all the other theatres. What
is the answer? An exquisitely refreshing photograph of sim-
ple life represented upon the stage with absolute naturalness !
As a Play it has many flaws — it is a book Play — but it
stands out in such happy contrast to the overstock of artificial
representations of artificial life that it easily ranks first among
the "mirror up to nature" products. And book writers who
have anything like the child story ability of Kate Douglas
Wiggin will do well to turn their novels into stage produc-
tions. It is to be hoped, however, that a better structural com-
pass may be employed, for Mrs. Wiggin loses the path repeat-
edly and wanders from what might be a perfect Play into di-
gressions of various degrees. To accomplish this disunity the
130
The DRAMATIST
piece lives through four different acts and five set scenes.
Much of this shifting could be avoided by adherence to the one
legitimate Play story contained in the material.
What is this story? It is the youth of an ingenuous girl
who, consigned to live with an irascible old aunt thoroughly
transforms the crabbed lady's nature by the sunshine of her
childish soul. But this does not include the love story, you will
say? And this is not a Play, there is no Conflict. You are
right on both counts. The love episode is no part of the Play
m.aterial so far as the authors have fused it but a Conflict can
readily be supplied and the love interest united by simply pit-
ting the girl, her lover and her love against the aunt's will.
What would be more natural than that the child fall in love
with this hero and the aunt oppose them? The circuit of Con-
flict would then be complete. The two children against the
aunt.
Of course the two foreign stories of Abner Simpson's theft
as well as his illicit relations with a woman known as his wife
are no factors in the real Play possibility. If they are to be
preserved for their entertaining qualities they must become so
much a part of Plot that structural progress is achieved by
them. This might be hard to do — nothing is impossible — but
the result might not pay for the labor. As a thoroughly new
sort of regeneration Play the greatest value lies in the direct
Conflict possible between the characters above mentioned. Un-
doubtedly Mrs. Wiggin wanted to weave in all the pretty little
touches contained in her books, but she can't embrace all of
them in all of her books and the illusion of Drama is just as
surely disturbed by utilizing one false ingredient as by incorpo-
rating a thousand. The Play ceases to be a real Play the mo-
ment ONE streak of disunity obtrudes. When the Conditions
of a consistent Conflict are once projected across the foot-
lights, the audience should be put to sleep by the absolute har-
mony of every mental suggestion thereafter offered. To waken
the spectator with a discordant note is to destroy the very il-
lusion attempted! Oh, be humble, my brother, in your abject
homage to UNITY ! For Unity implies a preservation of
the Dramatic Illusion.
NOBODY'S WIDOW.
Another Three-Act Play.
Without Mr. Belasco's Arch-craftsmanship Avery Hop-
wood's new Play might have been as shallow as "The Concert"
under like circumstances. Both are Plays fortunate for falling
into the hands of so expert an Artist of Stageology. The effort
is far superior to the same author's "This Man and This
Woman," but compared to "Seven Days" it is of flimsier fiber.
131
The DRAMATIST
The greatest virtue in the whole structure is that the author
imparts his secret to the audience instantly giving them su-
perior knowledge to the other characters upon the stage. This
is the essence of Dramatic CONFLICT and tends to demon-
strate that the dramatist has learned a fundamental of his
Science. Many writers of more merit juggle dangerously with
this primal LAW only to find in the end that by withholding
cardinal elements of DRAMA they destroy illusion, for the
auditor is compelled to THINK consciously, whereas he should
be allowed to DREAM subconsciously.
Another commendable feature in this farce is the absence of
Horseplay. Mr. Hopwocd relies more upon genuine fun, smart
repartee and rational behavior for his laugh-producing for-
mula. But of course, this palls after a time, particularly when
we know that a man is flirting with his own wife from whom
he is separated on an hypothesis so hollow that it echoes in re-
peated similarity of situation.
Early in the second Act the Play descends to salacious sug-
gestion. The Problem bends from its original course, which
concerns the reunion of husband and wife, branching off onto
biplot of ready-made misunderstanding and still another bi-
plot of an entirely separate love affair between others. Neither
of these minor stories advance the action of the real play but
so bewilder the mind of the auditor that the effect of Plot is
badly diluted.
In the third Act salacious suggestion dominates all else,
even the legitimate Conclusion of the Play which Plot would
define as the reconciliation of the man and wife. Instead of
contenting himself with this solution which is reached in
their remarriage after a CABLED DIVORCE, the author
needlessly dwells upon details of the marital relation which
make his Play unfit for the younger generation and highly
distasteful to the adult not steeped in lascivious depravity.
Such sensualism would not come within the province of the
analyst's pen were it a legitimate outcome of the play premises,
but being a spurious factor it invites censure.
The Play is divided into THREE ACTS and the divisions
are Logical. Many critics contend that you must divide the
Conflict where the material demands. That is true, but in nine
cases out of ten the Four Act Plays are arbitrarily divided and
at least one of the Acts or one of the divisions is false treat-
ment. We are not ready to advance the THREE ACT theory
as a LAW but the observation of thousands of Plays with a
greater number of acts tends to strengthen the theory. And if
you, dear reader, think you can show us a Play legitimately di-
vided into more than three epochs, apply for the verdict of
"The DRAMATIST."
132
The DRAMATIST
THE SQUAW MAN.
A Play of Artificial Foundation.
The DRAMATIST was not in existence when many of the
Plays in this list were projected but we are glad to respond to
the various requests of our patrons provided a performance or
manuscript of the desired Play can be had.
This Play was a success in its day, but the few years inter-
vening have brought radical changes of fashion dramatically.
Frontier drama founded on fictitious episode is not in demand
today as was demonstrated in the abrupt failure of "The Bar-
rier" last season. And that drama was an exceptionally good
example of the "wild and woolly." The taste of the playgoing
public is evolving swiftly these days. It is this fact that makes
the public's pulse so hard to take.
What are the features of this Play made obsolete in so brief
a period? Characters depart from their impersonations and
communicate direct with the audience. Others indulge in
"asides" and follow the old school of "Exit speeches" purely
for the purpose of EXPLAINING what the helpless author
does not know how to send across the footlights by dramatic
means. Letters are read aloud and eaves droppers are the
rule, not the exception. When convenient for the author, one-
half the stage doesn't hear what the other half says. Or they
do hear, just as the case may be. After a lapse of two years,
brothers and sisters do not know each other, even though they
chance to meet five thousand miles from home. Is this hold-
ing the lookin' glass up to nature? The only mirror that will
reflect such technic without a crack is the relic from grand-
ma's toilet set.
But apart from these structural trivialities the Play has no
thread of valid Plot to hang on. We are required to believe in
the UNCAUSED death of a defaulting brother (off-stage) and
the suicide of a dear little Indian mother in order that the for-
mer's buxom widow may wed the dead Indian's husband who
is no less than her deceased husband's brother, remember, im-
morally in love with her brother-in-law from the start. Now
what kind of mirror would reflect such Nature?
Besides this main story there are several biplots of murder
and monstrosity which are mere products of a semi-concen-
trated imagination. It would hardly be worth while, you will
admit, to go into a careful diagnosis of such a disease, for Na-
ture could hardly duplicate such an affliction, and the remedy
we might discover would not be applicable to other ailments.
The highest service this Play can perform in present-day study
is to stand as an example of negative qualities to be severely
avoided. Its success will retard the author's progress if Mr.
Royle accepts the verdict as a criterion to go by.
133
The DRAMATIST
LEAH KLESCHNA.
A Play of Mixed Sequence.
You ask us to analyse a Play that has pretty well estab-
lished itself in the good will of the playgoing public. Without
denying the drawing qualities of the piece we will point out
some very salient negatives that might add materially to its
current success if transformed into positive structural ele-
ments.
The first and largest of these changes would be to reverse
of acts III and IV, sequence being considerably off. This
suggestion is not offered as a remedy but as a correction of
the order of acts as they stand. The second is the elimination
of the entire fifth act, which has nothing whatever to do with
the Plot of the Play, but is a poetic sequel of the narrative or-
der. After these operations are complete it would be well to
go further and divide the Play into three Acts, doing away
with most of Act IV concerning the father's solicitude for his
daughter's absence, throwing the balance into III. The time
and place for the girl to renounce her father and his crooked
profession are in Paul Sylvain's home after he has caught her
in the act of stealing. This would enhance Unity a hundred
percent. As it is the fourth and fifth acts are more like the
chapters in a novel than the sequenced acts of a Drama.
We will not dwell on this Play, for some of our readers may
be unable to see or read it and much of the analysis would
thereby be lost. There is considerable disunity in the two out-
side suitors for Leah's hand and if either is retained he should
be entered into the initial Conflict of the Plot. The young
journalist and his sweetheart introduced for the purpose of
letting us know that the girl lives just down stairs, so that
later reference to her quarters will be explanatory, is a pretty
big dose of disunity to accomplish so small a point of prepara-
tion. Particularly is this true when the later reference to her
quarters involves a further streak of disunity; the capture of
Kleschna. This is not one of the purposes of the Plot, and all
such misleading inferences tend to dilute the presentation of
main Problem. The audience is quick to take cognizance of
these little points and EXPECT an outcome. Their confi-
dence is therefore betrayed to whatever extent the promise is
made and not kept by the author.
Leah Kleschna contains stuff for an excellent Play. It is
of the regeneration species and after all is said and done this
purpose of reconstructing character in a Play is about the
loftiest lesson a Plot can project. ! And since Human Nature
likes to see herself eternally benefitted we have a union of
moral and popular qualifications in the regeneration Play. If
it is properly constructed it is far more effective than any
134
The DRAMATIST
sermon could possibly be, for Dramatic Conflict communicates
direct with the soul where oratory must pass thru the agency
of the ear, requiring conscious attention and interpretation.
THE CALL OF THE WILD.
Frederick Remington's Novel Dramatized.
There may be several Plays of this name but we presume
the one you mean is the book dramatized by Louis Ivan Ship-
man. The novel was called "John Ermine of the Yellow-
stone." The book is probably far better than the Play al-
though we do not presume to judge the merit of fiction. The
two arts are entirely separate and distinct although it appears
to us that the one is as badly in need of the crusade of science
as the other.
Unable to SEE the Play reposing in the material of the
novel, Mr. Shipman blindly follows the story text oblivious to
the necessity of pruning all that does not apply to the one Con-
flict between John Ermine and the conventional stage villain.
We are perhaps literally wrong in saying that Remington's
novel is DRAMATIZED for in the closer meaning of the term
all that is lacking is dramatization. Proper dramatizing would
do away with the needless Prologue which precedes the four
long acts of the piece, converting yards of Talk into valid Dia-
log and vitalizing many plot essentials that are either related
to the audience by means of conversation between characters
or referred to as having happened BETWEEN ACTS !
This RECITATIVE process is carried out to a finish. An
old man pipes a most distressing monologue of past history
in the first scene and then relates the history of his own life
in the last act. Neither of these Te Deums are of value to the
Play which should be enacted HERE and NOW. The hero
finds a photograph and then falls in love with the original.
We would be much more persuaded of the reality if we SAW
this fellow pick up the lady's likeness and the old man's effort
to explain what a picture is would bring forth all the antece-
dants required. The old man would then be speaking BE-
CAUSE he had to and not because the AUTHOR desired to
push certain information across the footlights as an apology
for more enlightened treatment.
The Play is full of these undramatized flaws and contains
some bigger violations of technic. Any attempt to stage the
traditional Conflict between villain and hero "for the hand of
the gueirl — 1 !" is pre-doomed to melodramatic destiny. Mod-
ern audiences have tabooed this form of false Art and only the
hard-of-hearing can fail to interpret the signs of the times.
T35
The D RAMATIST
The "Call of the Wild" is thus handicapped and on top of
this is the conflicting character of the hero who in one act com-
promises the character of the heroine unwittingly and in the
next suddenly exercises the finest discretion of sentimental
deportment. Charles Klein says that Playwriting has made
more advance in the last decade than in the eighteen centuries
preceding. We almost feel like abbreviating his term decade
and saying the last three years. This Play is a victim of the
species outclassed by evolution !
ENCHAINED.
Published in the July 19 lo Number.*
The following is a revision of Scene I, Act III of Hervieu's
play printed in our July issue. We asked for suggestions from
our subscribers and this was submitted by Edward Gruse, of
Revillo, South Dakota.
Irene — May I assist you?
Fergan — You need not, as I know where every volume be-
longs. You might go and prepare tea.
Irene — 'Tis early, but I'm hungry myself so I'll prepare our
lunch before the usual hour. Is there any special dish you de-
sire?
Fergan — Oh, no, anything you have handy will do.
Irene — It wiU take but a few moments, then. (Exit Irene)
(Enter Valantin with fishing rod)
Val — Are you busy?
Fergan — I have accustomed myself to such task since our
arrival here ten years ago.
Val — Is she still unfaithful and ill-willed?
Fergan — More neglected than unfaithful and ill-willed and
whatever one neglects adds to another's burden.
(Enter Rene)
Rene — Tea is ready, papa.
Fergan~All right, I'll be there. (Exit Rene)
Val — How the boy grows !
Fergan — Yes, he is not our only cause for difference be-
tween us. Irene does not wish to send him away from home
for his education and I have resolved to send him away to the
college of St Christopher, where I mean to convey him to-
night.
Val — So soon?
Fergan — Ay! But I will not approach Irene with my de-
cision until the last moment.
*See page 58
136
The DRAMATIST
Val — Send him without her consent?
Fergan — So is my purpose, he must receive proper instruc-
tion. But come, Valanton, have tea with us.
Val — No, thank you. I lunched before I came and I've de-
layed here now too long.
Fergan — Well, I will not detain you, then.
(Exit Valanton.)
Besides showing time and place, this first scene should
above all, carry its purpose, which is to show that Irene and
Fergan renew their quarrel in the instance of Rene's leave for
college. Time is established by the fact that they have a young
son. But the son should enter early in Act III. Mr. Gruse has
accomplished this requisite in excellent fashion. He does not
show Place and the original only shows it in a very haphazard
fashion of dialog between one principal and one character in
no wise concerned with the Problerr.. Purpose is Talked by
Mr. Gruse same as M. Hervieu. The talk could not become
dialog until it is the inevitable thing — until they are forced to
talk it and this is not the case in original nor revision. We
are not analysing the above attempt at scene further than the
achievement of purpose. Irene's tea talk is contradictory. We
would think she and Fergan on the chummiest terms. The
flat statement of the renewed quarrel over the boy is all wrong.
Visualize this contention. Let us SEE it. Try again, Mr.
Gruse.
A further study of the Act leads us to believe that Scenes
I, II, III and V are spurious. These do nothing but attempt a
forecast of what is going to happen. If the act opened with
Scenes IV and VI we would have all that we, the audience re-
quire for interpretation of time, place and purpose and the Plot
would be intensified by the fact that we see it unfold BEFORE
US. With all due respect to M. Hervieu's argument, there is
no value in predicting happenings by mere talk in advance.
Let the fight proceed !
Disunity of Enchained.
We have spent so much space in discussing this Scene I
that we have little left for Unity. In a word, the greatest
breach of Unity is the link out of the story that should inform
the audience of Rene's illicit parenthood. The surprise is for
Fergan, not us, and Interest is diluted by our ignorance. Mas-
ter this first essence of DRAMA !
THE FIRE COMMISSIONER.
By Harrison Armstrong
This sketch is appearing on the Keith circuit and gives con-
siderable evidence of structural knowledge and experience. It
137
The DRAMATIST
deals with a far mere ambitious theme than the average play-
let. Civic Graft! But theme is not allowed to predominate
as it should and two distinct plots cleverly interwoven in an
attempt to embrace more than one main idea, operate to the
distraction of thought in the audience. The mightiest genius
under the sun could not accomplish this feat without subordi-
nating one plot by means of making it advance the action of
the other.
One plot concerns a boy's determination to become a hero
in order to win his hero-worshipping sweetheart. The author's
impatience would not allow him to wait the natural order of
introducing the sweetheart and her heroic proclivities in the
person of the little lass herself — he must falsely substitute her
by monologue and telephone talk before we have made her ac-
quaintance. In the conclusion of this first plot the boy "makes
good" by a hair-breadth rescue of his heroine from a fire that
takes place OUT of the Flay. Moral : Let the Play take place
ON the stage!
The second plot deals with legitimate theme; a minister
compelling a fire commissioner to resign from office by means
of telephonic communication of a fire in which his daughter is
being consumed as a direct result of his grafting mismanage-
ment of fire-fighting apparatus.
The telephone is a more visual means of making the fire a
factor in the plot but it remains a makeshift at best. An at-
tempt at descriptive reproduction of the terrific conflagration
for the benefit of the audience endangers a descent to the
ridiculous. Several snickers in the audience announce the fate
that awaits the false conduct of characters or false effect at-
tempted by the playwright's mechanism.
The sketch is well worth studying. Harrison Armstrong
will bear watching as one of the best builders of the better
grade of vaudeville Acts that grip.
INTERVIEWED.
Published in November Smart Set.
Like "The Fire Commissioner" this is a sketch worth read-
ing. It has been tried out in Chicago, we understand, but
found wanting in certain fundamental principles. It has a
Theme much like the other sketch referred to but is much
more concentrated in Unity.
The chief violation is the omission of Conditional informa-
tion that should get into the mind of the audience early in the
Play. We refer to the identity of the officer who calls to ar-
rest Miss Hale, the supposed burglar, and her fiance. They
are one and the same but the big opportunity to establish this
fact while she is talking to her editor on the telephone is lost.
138
The DRAMATIST
To the novelist's mind it would seem a pity to waste this
SURPRISE which might be sprung to advantage on the indi-
vidual reader, but to the dramatist such a suppression is dam-
aging to the interpretation of his Play. In fact it is the first
essential of presentation. It is an ingredient in PLOT that
cannot be replaced by the empty suspense or surprise manu-
factured by the absence of any information as to the police-
man's relation to Miss Hale. It resolves itself, then, into a
choice between two suspenses. Empty or full! For surely
the audience cannot nourish the hope that her lover will save
the day unless they KNOW that she has planned with him to
respond to the call.
Besides this giant transgression there are little deficiencies,
such as the impossible telephone talk at the beginning which
might mar the opening effect. And here the author makes or
breaks in the brief time allotted to vaudeville skits. The Busi-
ness of breaking into the house, is excellent for it creates SUS-
PENSE at once. On the whole the Act is miles above the
average and could be made into a perfect gem with little varia-
tion.
Subscribers are invited to state their choice of sketches to
be analysed in this department. Particularly the printed Acts
are desirable, for the subscriber may then refer to the score.
139
he DRAM
PlapWriting
Are you satisfied with the progress you are making as a
playwright? Are you content to spend the best years of your
life in an effort to master dramatic composition? Are you
content to continue in the bitter and gruelling school of experi-
ence of the "try, try again" — hit or miss theory? Or are you
willing to take a short cut to the mastery of your Art?
The majority of Authors who arrive on the Metropolitan
stage bring with them the history of fifteen to twenty years'
hard struggle with the mysteries of the Craft. This has been
the case with Fitch, Thomas, Pinero, Shaw and Walter. It is
this long period of helpless preparation that the Institute of
the Drama is designed to avert.
Let us tell you of the invaluable servnce the Institute ren-
ders the aspiring Pla3rwright — how we help develop the abili-
ties and possibilities of the young Dramatist — how we perfect
a play into scientific and saleable form — and how you may add
to your fund of practical information, knowledge that you can
apply to the very play you are building — knowledge that will
place you years in advance of your normal development as a
Dramatist.
INSTITUTE OF THE DRAMA,
Easton, Pa.
140
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B. ANTHONY, E.ditor
Vol.2 EASTON. PA. No. 3
QUARTERLY 1911 APRIL
Technical Tendencies
There is a prevalent tendency to confuse the province of
technic with prophecy. A miserable botch of play construc-
tion may meet with popular approval. A technically good
Play may not. This is no conclusive argument against dra-
matic science. The timely subject alone may draw the crowd.
A group of actors might merely recite a storj' and still excite
interest. A dozen different ingredients may effect popular ac-
ceptance while none of these need concern technic. The fact
that a man speaks coherent English without strict adherence
to grammar need not condemn the underlying science of lan-
guage. In each instance it is the standard of the art we strive
to exalt. What the majority approves is not the criterion of
science.
It is a great pleasure, nevertheless, to observe that popular
demand for Drama coincides with the tendency toward tech-
nically improved playwriting. This is shown by the prepon-
derance of good modern structural specimens in the list of rec-
ord-breaking runs in New York to-day. "The Concert," "No-
body's Widow," "Get Rich Quick Wallingford" and "The
Gamblers" are all types of the simplicity Drama. "Baby
Mine," the Play we have already awarded the highest technical
place, takes the lead in the race for longevity in this country
and has since met with high favor in London! The only pro-
nounced violation of good technic that holds its own with
these, is "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." This wonderful
stage picture wins through truthful portrayal of comely and
homely humanity.
We regret that we are unable to treat such pieces as "Chan-
tecler," "The Blue Bird," "The Piper," "Everywoman," "The
Arrow Maker," "The Faun" and "The Scarecrow." But these
are essentially undramatic. They partake of the spectacular,
the fantastic or the poetic and do not conform to the science of
Play Construction.
In the July, 19 ii, issue, we will publish and analyze a
sketch from the Swedish by Strindberg, for the first time done
into English.
141
The DRAMATIST
AS A MAN THINKS.
A Play for Thinking Playgoers.
The success of Augustus Thomas' new Play would seem to
demonstrate the fact that there are enough thinking people in
the great city of New York to furnish audiences for one intel-
lectual orator presenting his lecture in dialog form. This is
not altogether conclusive, however. The alternative flattery
of Gentile and Jew is a salient box office feature. Undoubt-
edly the piece appeals to a select class of individuals of pre-
dominant mental temperament but like "The Melting Pot" it
tempts the Hebrew auditor who relishes the idea of a public
vindication of his race. "As a Man Thinks" goes even further.
The Jew is appointed to exalt the religion of the Gentile, so
both sides win !
We have ever contended that a real Play is for the com-
posite-imagination of an audience, not for the speculative mind
of the individual. There is little in this noteworthy production
that resembles Drama. The first and last Acts are hopelessly
ill. They need some of the surplus mental healing dogma dis-
pensed in the text. Mr. Thomas continues to mistake fiction
and oratory for Play Construction. It is only in Scene build-
ing that he conforms to Dramatic method.
Problem.
Conditions : A wife is compromised with an old lover.
Cause: The husband doubts his own parentage of her
child.
Conclusion : It is proved that the lover is innocent.
This is about as near as Science can come to a syllogism of
the Play. The romantic tribulations of gentile boy and He-
brew girl are not embraced in it. The two stories are entwined
with evident notion that they are correlated and interdepen-
dent. Under the existing form of the structure we admit that
the second story stimulates the first. But treatment is wrong !
The conclusion is not legitimately reached. It is obtained by
establishing the fact that the lover was in prison at the time
the child was conceived. Therefore, he is not the father of it!
But how can a fact not in the Play solve its Problem? We
cannot emphasize too forcefully that all of the incidents vital
to Plot should transpire IN THE PLAY and on the stage. To
depend upon reviving precedent history for the promotion of
Plot is a flimsy device unworthy the modem dramatist.
Mr. Thomas may never master this fundamental of his Art.
He gives no evidence in his later Plays that it is his desire to
Dramatize ALL of the action. He follows the time-honored
142
The DRAMATIST
method of TELLING one fragment and recalling ancient his-
tory for another. Like Thespis, (500 B. C.) he elects one char-
acter to voice the author's sentiments. The Jewish physician
who performs this part in the present production is not a prin-
cipal in the cast. He has no direct connection with the Play.
He performs his mental miracles much to the embarrassment
of the probability of Plot and travels through four long Acts
unmotived, actuated expressly by the commands of the author
behind him.
The one surpassing trait of Augustus Thomas is his Scene
building ability. He has mastered this important factor of
Drama to such a degree that he can write an admirable Scene
in perfect Unity unto itself no matter how literally it violates
that larger Unity of the entire structure. With a clearer defi-
nition of what constitutes a Play this author might rank easily
the first in the land. So long as he employs the sermonistic
method he fosters the supremacy of Mayo, Klein and Walter,
But Heaven help the others if Thomas once turns loose on a
real Play. We believe he could build one if he would come
down out of the pulpit !
THE BOSS.
Mr. Sheldon's Descent to the Commercial.
Despite the fact that Mr. Sheldon has listened longingly to
the rustle of the dollar bill his play contains one or two Scenes
cf intrinsic merit which as isolated specimens bid for gradual
Dramatic growth. The Play falters hopelessly about waiting
for the word "go" until the "boss" enters and the first Act
commits breach of promise in its exposition of Conditions that
are never to be fulfilled.
The proposal of a corrupt financier for the daughter of the
cultured man he has completely ruined is a progressive situa-
tion to be reached in the first Act of a Play. This is one of
the clever Scenes, this bold wooing, but its effect is shattered
by an abrupt and illogical consummation of the match and an
utter destruction of perspective. The author ducks the pro-
blem plainly prescribed by his own Plot, and sinks his princi-
pals into the matrimonial sea and wanders off in a theatrical
airship after half a dozen other plotlets of irrelevant purpose.
The first of these spurious entanglements is a "wife in name
only" arrangement made to solace the supposed social aspira-
tions of the "boss" thereby averting her father's bankruptcy.
We learn later that the "boss" detests all social functions and
whether the father's financial condition is benefitted by the
transaction "the deponent sayeth not."
143
The DRAMATIST
The second offshoot is the labor and capital complication
into which the wife is plunged at the author's election, sud-
denly becoming the sympathetic sister of all suffering human-
ity. On this byroad of Plot the hero encounters an infuriated
mob of strikers whom he successfully subdues to the sound of
a pin drop by the heroic flashing of a magazine pistol. But
this is the stage carpenter's joke, it can't be Mr. Sheldon's.
The next fragment is the husband's arrest for the murder of
the wife's brother who had continued to operate against the
"boss" despite the fact that the sister had been sacrificed in
marriage to replenish the family purse. With all his money
the magnate can secure no bail even though he is an abettor in
the crime at best.
The fourth conflict is an original drama between church
and capital. The "boss" deceives his priest as to his attitude
toward the striking laborers and the wife betrays him. He
now defies the father, who, in one of the cleverest bits of Scene
structure subjugates his parishioner by the power of his posi-
tion.
And there is still another phase of the sociological situation.
This is strictly capital and labor. In order to defeat the strik-
ing workmen the "boss" will escape to Canada where he will
transfer the chief industry thereby impoverishing his native
town to tantalize his enemies.
The sixth and last Plot caps the climax of inconsistencies.
This tangent deals with the regeneration of the corrupt "hus-
band in name only." The wife now offers to swap her sex, a
commodity she had vowed never to include in the matrimonial
bargain, if he will merely show clemency to the poor laborers
whom she so sociologically loves! Wouldn't this satisfy the
greed of a melodramatic gormandizer?
Could anything be more ludicrous to the analyst than this
perpetual shift of Plot purpose? None of the above items are
successfully joined. With proper correlation this might be
accomplished, but it would make a complex Plot. There is a
growing demand for Plays with a purpose. Mr. Sheldon has
met the market with a supply of six-in-one. The defect arises
in the author's inability to define his Problem which in-
variably results in disunity. "One Plot at a time, &c," is as
true of Drama as anything else.
But let us say something good of "The Boss." The name-
character of the Play is drawn with unusual fidelity at certain
moments of portrayal. For isolated instances Mr. Sheldon has
done few Scenes better than the two commended in this arti-
cle. The valid Problem of his Play would make a powerful
Drama. Its richest resources are what "it might have been."
The legitimate Problem follows.
144
The DRAMATIST
Problem.
Conditions: A corrupt financier seeks the daughter whose
family he has impoverished.
Cause : His love for the girl regenerates his soul.
Conclusion : Her pride gives way to this transformation of
character.
THE HAVOC.
New Type Advocated by The DRAMATIST.
A Pla)^ built about one Theme, divided into Three Acts and
played by only four characters is precisely near the high Dra-
matic Standard held by this journal without further technical
qualifications. Add to this, a clever Plot, adequate Sequence,
marvellous restraint, excellent Scene structure, keen suspense,
picturesque Diction and spontaneous Dialog and "The Havoc"
may safely be classed with the foremost models of Play Con-
struction.
"Baby Mine" is the only dangerous rival of this newest
m.asterpiece and the novitiate will do well to follow both these
technical patterns of Comedy and Farce. They are early types
of the New Drama now dawning ; the Drama we have so long
been heralding. The laws of Play Construction have been
obeyed and utilized and this legitimate product is the inevita-
ble result.
It is interesting to note how this new type by H. S. Shel-
don, effects the opinion of the professional writer. Channing
Pollock, who hitherto has scoffed the idea of technic. calls
this model: "Amazingly clever in every respect." Margaret
Mayo, who has written the only rival, merely says : "Tremend-
ous"!" Edgar Selwyn: "A Bully Good Play." Charles Klein:
"The best constructed Play I have ever seen." Charles Rann
Kennedy. "A remarkable Play of absorbing interest." George
Broadhurst : "A most extraordinary and brilliant Play."
This undissenting acclaim is no mean tribute to Dramatic
Technic ! It is none the less potent for being unconscious.
None of these Dramatists knew they were exalting Dramatur-
gic Science. It is not the technic but its effects that they
extol ! The Playwright doesn't even know he is conforming
to the Laws when he builds a Play. But he never builds a
good one without so doing. And only a Play with Scientific
requisites could enlist this chorus of professional approval !
PROBLEM.
Conditions : A paramour steals the wife of an honest man.
Cause: The man accedes the outrage.
Conclusion: His sanction proves the surer cure.
145
The DRAMATIST
The gravest violation of Principle in this Play is the dis-
unity involved in the denouement or conclusion. The hus-
band's compliance does work a cure but through a means in
slight disparity to Conditions and Cause. Instead of allowing
the premises to generate the Conclusion by specifically dis-
proving the paramour's perverted philosophy the author
trumps up a foreign device — showing the latter's defalcation
in a railroad office. This Conclusion has no bearing on the
premises.
Apart from this there is little structural criticism possible.
Fault might be found with the author's Logic in allowing a
man to swap his wife for the mere purpose of demonstrating
the other fellov/'s selfishness, but this treatment is largely a
matter of taste where no criterion holds. The situation could
be strengthened by giving added motive to the husband's con-
duct.
It is a lapse of Art to split an Act in two parts, all vain ex-
cuses to the contrary! Instead of leaping the problem by a
drop of the curtain the author should work it out ! In the first
Act the splice is made to provide time for the husband to pro-
ceed to the railroad station and return, unexpectedly, catching
the imposter in his lady's chamber. The author has taken for
granted there is no alternative. It is not vitally essential to
Plot that the man be gone several hours before he finds he has
taken the wrong book. It is not necessary that the poor little
wife be actually caught in bed with her lover. This is a need-
less lapse into lust. It is not required by the Plot and the wife
is robbed of sympathy by this treatment. The competent
craftsman who built this Play could bridge this gap in an
hour's study.
In Act II the same criticism holds. The curtain is obvi-
ously dropped to provide opportunity for the remarried wife to
be com.prcmised in the second husband's eyes by the equivocal
presence of her former spouse. It doesn't require any great
length of time to accomplish this feat. Exactly the same situa-
tion could be attained without dispatching both men to their
clubs v/hile the curtain is down. Again we say the same ge-
nius that created far better emergencies in the Play could
readily invent some slight turn by which this breach in the
Dramatic illusion might be averted. It is his indifference to
these defects that we deplore. Fight out your Plot, Mr. Shel-
don.
But this is base ingratitude to the Dramatist who has fur-
nished us a splendid play of modern Construction. It is equi-
valent to defiling our own god — Technikos ! Hats off to "The
Havoc," a play many miles in advance of the procession !
146
The DRAMATIST
THE TWELVE POUND LOOK.
Barrie's Ascent to the Psychological.
The new one-act sketch by J. M. Barrie does not bear a
striking resemblance to Dramatic Composition. There must
be some sort of combat in a real Play, between the opposed
wills of the principles and this combat must be a thing of the
present moment. The playlet in question departs from this
im.mutable law in that it is wholly an account of a conflict of
past performance. In this respect it is much like Fritzchen, by
Sudermann, analyzed in this same issue.
Another salient flaw is that the characters are not motived.
The author places them on the stage for reasons best known to
himself and propels them of his own volition instead of theirs.
They recite his far-fetched moral in an obedient fashion telling
us that a husband's surplus of the success microbe will drive
his first wife to the bitter extreme of buying a sixty dollar
typewriter and cause his second spouse to envy her predeces-
sorsor's contented twelve pound countenance.
Of course it would be an irksome task for a man of Barrie's
wit to compose lines in the English Language that were not
gently tuned to the key of comedy. To hint that the "sixty
doUar look" is not a legitimate Dramatic grimace need not
signify that the little piece fails to entertain such members of
the audience as direct their intellects to the construction of
that feature of the Dramatic illusion usually assigned to the
author. An anecdote may please if it is merely told by a sin-
gle person. Put the same yarn into the mouths of a dozen
puppets to represent the various characters concerned, how-
ever, and you do not necessarily construct a Drama by the mere
act of dialoging. Alfred Sutro's "A Maker of Men" reported
in our July, igio, number, is the only one-act piece we can
think of that compares with Mr. Barrie's latest effort for abso-
lute absence of Dramatic quality.
U. S. MINISTER BEDLOE.
A Frivolous Tailor-Made Farce,
If George Ade's past dramatic v/ork has been conspicuous
for one thing more than another it is the absence of tangible
Plot. In "U. S. Minister Bedloe" he is seized with the sudden
desire to incorporate this disregarded ingredient. The result
is a hodgepodge of conventional theatric contortions serving
mainly to obscure the author's native wit.
"The College Widow," by the same author, was a pro-
nounced hit because, like "Rebecca of Sunny Brook Farm," it
conveys to the stage curtain glimpses of atmosphere v/ith
telling reality. At the Art of capturing atmosphere Mr. Ade is
147
The DRAMATIST
an adept but no degree of efficiency in this particular equips
a man for the subtle secrets of Play Construction. At best this
faculty is an adjunct to Playwriting.
Truthful reproduction of interesting pictures from life is
one thing and the building of that concrete something known
as Drama, is quite another. A specific train in the latter craft
is the only means of efficiency. Mr. Ade will have to go
through the same course of sprouts if he is ever to become a
Dramatist.
The attempt at Plot in this piece has not only marred the
native wit of the author, it has seduced his sense of comedy
and character. In several instances he descends to vapid puns,
cheap caricature and horseplay. There is no explanation for
this extravagance, save the misconception that this is play-
writing. It would be impossible to reduce this thing to Prob-
lem.. It is merely a series of disordered circumstances.
THE DEEP PURPLE.
Dim.e Novel Melodrama.
There is but one infallible method of testing the constitu-
tion of a Play : strike its Proposition and see how nearly same
has been adhered to. When a piece is improperly constructed
there is no Problem and the next test is to find the nearest
approach to syllogism contained in the undeveloped material.
What the Armstrong-Mizner Play intended to be is as follows :
Problem.
Conditions: A girl is used as a decoy to trap a man of
wealth.
Cause: The man detects his danger through her innocent
incompetence.
Conclusion: They operate in unison to escape a common
plight.
Let us now trace the meandering of the authors from the
course of their evident intentions. The Cause, or middle
clause of Problem, is the core of any Play. This transcen-
dent feature of Construction is devitalized just at the moment
Plot is ripening. Instead of building the tremendous Scene
called for in the very nature of their materials, at the moment
this man discovers his danger through the innocence of the
girl who has lured him into this den, (thinking she is honestly
aiding the crook who masquerades as her lover) the authors
undermine the magnificent situation by having the hero fore-
warned of his danger. And this news is spread by a character
in no wise essential to the Plot.
148
The DRAMATIST
Here is an excellent instance of demolished interest! To
inform the man of his impending danger robs the Scene of its
force. The audience should know his imminent peril, but ab-
solute ignorance on the part of the victim is the very keynote
of SUSPENSE! Consider the tlirill of heart throbs generated
by this man's entrance into the trap we set for him! "What
will he do? How will he protect his life — his money? What
about the innocent girl, when she finds it her lover's purpose
to rob and plunder? Will they turn on her? V/ill he come to
her rescue?" &c., &c. These are the test questions of Dra-
m.atic Action ! For Action transpires in the audience not on
the stage !
How utterly vapid is the traditional trick of getting the
drop on the culprit compared with the magnificent opportunity
afforded at this juncture for real Dramatic Composition? The
authors take the girl back to the hero's hotel for mamma to
care for. The real Plot of fleecing the hero subsides and sev-
eral spurious remnants sprout up. The hero has a convenient
friend in the police department who believes the girl a crook
too. The Conclusion of this new Problem would be: Can
the hero prove her innocence? A new Plot is necessary to put
this Problem to the test and money is placed in a convenient
spot to tempt the girl. Of course the girl is proof against this
pitfall but the authors think it necessary to carry on a little
contest of their own between the hero and the police official.
Another Plot brings us to the end. The girl is told by tele-
phone that she will meet her beloved father if she will return
to a favorite haunt of the crook's. Of course she is fool enough
to go at once, despite the provision of the message that
she must come "alone!" Naturally the crook awaits her, but
her doom is not quite sealed. A rescue falls from the clouds in
the form of an ex-convict with a well grown grudge against
the villain! Our new found friend has a perfectly legitimate
existence in a secondary Plot that we forgot to mention. Suf-
fice it to say that the secondary supplement belongs to an en-
tirely separate performance and that still another complication
caused by the obvious swapping of revolvers has no place in
any of the numerous offshots we have named.
That such a vapid composition of puerile sensation will at-
tract the indiscriminate crowd, there can be little doubt. To
classify it as Drama would be equivalent to letting in the
whole realm of yellow-back fiction on the same footing. "The
Deep Purple" is much worse structure than "Alias Jimmy
Valentine" with no big Scene to redeem it.
149
The DRAMATIST
NOBODY'S DAUGHTER.
A Splendid Play Possibility.
It is so seldom that we find plays of simple centred compo-
sition that it is indeed painful to see one of these go to pieces
for want of dramatic treatment. "Nobody's Daughter" sticks
to one thing and would get there if the two largest moments
of Suspense were not ignored.
Two young people become the illicit parents of a child and
afterward marry other mates. The man who later marries the
woman endeavors to solve the mysterious parenthood of this
child. In a beautifully built scene he tears down the fabrica-
tion that is supposed to explain her birth. He detects the
wife's overeagemess to answer questions asked of others and
justly suspects her of some guilt. But here the valid Scene
development halts, and with no shadow of suspicion cast upon
the real father of the child the husband flies off into a scene-
eating fit accusing him of the deed — a paradise for the actor.
The next best bit of technical abuse is the preposterous
manner of breaking the news to the woman now the wife of
the illicit father. It doesn't break, "she knew it all the time."
The fact is plumped in without asking leave of the audience.
The woman divines it. We know not how.
But we still maintain that the Play scheme is an ambitious
one. The Problem is exquisitely defined and the Theme
takes its genesis in the third law of Nature. The love of
mother and child. This law is a powerful emotional agent and
probably dramatized makes for Drama in the first degree. Mr.
George Paston has missed the mark in "Nobody's Daughter,"
but his effort is honest and sincere.
THE CO NCERT.
A Drama With Farcical Finish.
"The Concert" is a one-story composition that threatens to
become Drama at one moment and falls into utter farce at an-
other. From the underlying Problem it will be seen that
the Theme lends itself to a fine Play formula.
PROBLEM.
Conditions: A doctor intercepts his wife's seduction.
Cause : He will not impede her happiness.
Conclusion : His cool head causes their reconciliation.
The Problem does not embrace the musician's wife nor
the Doctor's pretended love for her. These are details of Plot
development. The chief factor in the Play is the broad-minded
150
The DRAMATIST
Doctor. For farcical reasons he has been subdued and the
dialect character brought to the front.
This arbitrary sacrifice of the Conflict character doubtless
accounts for the premature explosion of Plot. Act II carries
the Conflict far beyond culminating moment and the Play is
virtually over before the second curtain descends. The au-
thor, the audience and the characters have all reached a com-
mon point of view which necessarily puts an end to Dramatic
Conflict. There is no further doubt as to the issue and any ef-
fort to prolong cross-purposes is an obvious play for "laughs."
That the effort is rewarded, there is not the slightest doubt.
The box office yields the ultimate evidence. This fact would
seem to outweigh all other argument but it can not down the
definition of Drama. The same comic element prevails light
opera, vaudeville and musical farce. It is the Play alone that
employs this fun to the concentrated purpose of promoting
Plot. With very slight modification "The Concert" could be
remodeled into this fuller definition of Drama. Act II could
be ended at the highest moment of suspense and the vital mis-
conception might be legitimately sustained until a timely de-
nouement. The Play has an excellent moral. What we de-
plore is the fact that its fun can not be devoted to exploiting
the author's concealed philosophy to its fullest force.
THE DARK LADY OF THE SONNETS.
Bernard Shaw's Soliciting Skit.
In the "Red Book Magazine" for January is a typical Shaw
product -accompanied by an excellent portrait of the great
writer. No one can accuse Shaw of v^iting without a purpose
— at least his own purpose. On the contrary Theme is usually
so paramount as to gobble up every other principle of Play
Construction. It is a good example of Theme for Theme sake.
In the present instance there is no exception to this rule.
His aim is to make an indirect appeal to the English people
for contributions to the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre fund.
After a preliminary skirmish with characters who threaten to
construct a semblance of Plot he achieves his purpose admira-
bly without recourse to Dramatic Method. The early portion
of the skit is nothing more than a game of words — Shakes-
peare's words — and the subtle suggestion by which the audi-
ence is moved to feelings of financial offertory is nothing but
abstract dialog devoid of dramatization!
Shakespeare: .... Therefore must your majesty take
up the good work that your church hath abandoned and restore
the art of playing to its former use and dignity.
Elizabeth ... I tell thee Master Will it will be three
hundred years and more before my subjects learn that man
cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that cometh
15*
T h e DRAMATIST
from the mouth of those whom God inspires. By that time you
and I v/ill be dust beneath the feet of the horses, if indeed there
be any horses then, and men be still riding instead of flying.
Now it may be that by then your works will be dust also.
Shakespeare : They will stand, madam : fear not for that.
Elizabeth : It may prove so. But of this I am certain (for
I know my countrymen) that until every other country in the
Christian world even to barbarian Muscovy and the hamlets of
the boorish Germans, have its playhouse at the public charge,
England will never adventure. And she will adventure then
only because it is her desire to be ever in the fashion, and to do
humbly and dutifully whatso she seeth everybody else doing.
But this I will say, that if I could speak across the ages to our
descendants, I should heartily recommend them to fulfil your
wish, . . . &c.
This is a pungent thrust, eh?
There is no denying the salesmanship of such persuasive
words on the lips of the reincarnate Queen. The sketch serves
the double purpose of its pecuniary appeal for donations and
its proceeds resulting from the production itself. But the dra-
matic element is inconsequent. Plot takes on no shadow of a
Conflict and what Dramatic Suspense there might be is dashed
to pieces by the false promise of a mix-up between the "Dark
Lady" and the "Cloaked" one.
The nearest approach to Interest is generated by the prece-
dent knowledge in the minds of the audience concerning the
historic associations of these immortal personages. The au-
thor leaves us to construct our own little play of solitaire. He
has built nothing for our reconstructive imaginations to react
upon. The materials are offered and we must picture the illu-
sion for ourselves exactly as we perform this operation in the
reading of a book of fiction. It is in this respect that the skit
departs from dramatic form and assumes the nature of a dia-
logued oration. It is a clever duet of recitals at best and de-
monstrates the possibilities of the writer who confuses the
province of Play with that of the Propagandist.
DRIFTING.
Better Than the Turning Point.
The best that can be said of "Drifting" is that it surpasses,
anatomically, anything that Mr. Gibson has done. A very
flimsy Conflict is skilfully divided into three legitimate Acts.
This is a tremendous improvement over the act divisions of
"The Turning Point" which the author gave us last season.
But the content of these acts is so hollow that enhanced frame-
work is of little avail.
152
n
D R A M A T I
And why is it hollow? Because the Play is founded upon a
character in whose existence the audience cannot believe. And
why can't they believe in her? Because she is painfully un-
sophisticated and no CAUSE is ascribed for this abnormality.
There should be some logical reason for her utter absence of
common sense. Is it her early training or environment? Some
radical precedent condition must account for this banal imbe-
cility !
How many thousand men and women would be cross-
exam.ined before finding one credulous enough to swallow the
tale that a bride of 20 could be senseless enough to accept a
check from a man obviously conniving to alienate her affec-
tions from her husband? Of course, a Dramatist could build
up a situation that would justify such procedure but would
sane human beings stand for it in a bride who adores her hus-
band and whose only purpose in accepting the check is to m.ake
good an overdraft at bank notwithstanding the fact that hubby
has money to burn and that there has been no demand made
upon her for the account by the bank officials? There are a
thousand ways in which she could escape this trap the author
so obviously sets for her.
Upon this empty situation the climax of the entire struc-
ture hangs ! But this is not the end of the author's arbitrary
plotting. The occasion of the husband's discovery of this check
is just as bald. There is no attem.pt to develop Suspense. The
wife has every reason to conceal this incriminating evidence,
particularly in the presence of her husband, but she doesn't!
The author's purpose is paramount. Plot for plot sake ! With-
out the slightest reason, the husband remarks: "What is that
paper?" He knows that there is something wrong in that pa-
per because the author wants him to know and for no other
earthly reason. The wife gasps and sputters for the same rea-
son. The author needs such a device !
The same brand of inconceivable innocence characterizes
every move that wifie makes. She isn't modeled after types
we meet in life. She is the irresponsible essence of comic
opera. In creating "Trency" Mr. Gibson has run the gamut of
unreality — the direct antithesis of the Dramatist's goal. Her
paramour is of a similar species — an indescribable cad — a cari-
cature of stageland.
"Drifting" is better than "The Turning Point" for several
reasons. Plot is confined to ONE STORY save for a dash of
disunity in the way of a subsidiary story of the preposterous
blandishments of a frisky divorcee who cooly calculates upon
marrying a married man to repair her depleted purse. There
is a moment of dramatic merit in Act III that deserves com-
ment. The foolish bride is about to elope with the cause of all
153
The DRAMATIST
her trouble when husband intercepts. By honest Scene Con-
struction the author achieves his purpose of persuading the
wife not to go by giving the husband every appearance of sanc-
tioning the excursion. Her conversion is convincing and this
bit of Art is the one redeeming feature in the play that dif-
ferentiates it from the enforced performance of any other ama-
teur effort providing the wherewith to produce were forth-
coming.
TWO WOMEN.
An Experiment With Two Plots.
Mr. Rupert Hughes betrays an appalling ignorance of the
province of a Play in attempting to unite the fragments of two
Plots, neither of which possesses Dramatic quality in itself
and combined have less. Henry Fielding once wrote a comedy
called "Pasquin," which bordered on the double Plot idea, but
this comprised the rehearsal of two plays cleverly embodied in
one satirical Theme. We merely mention it as a structure
worth reading.
That a chaste wife may set a standard by which her prosti-
tute successor must be measured up for regeneration is the
chief idea of this new Play. The thematic intention is further
confirmed by its title:. "Two Women."
By far the greatest service performed in such a piece is the
profit of experience to manager and star. It is difficult to con-
ceive even an Actress taking hold of such a thing seriously,
but a semblance of strong situation ever appeals to the Thes-
pian blinding him to the predominant flaws of technic. Re-
call the instance of a star of Sothern's magnitude writing and
staging "The Light that Lies in a Woman's Eyes." It was a
stupid school boy's make-believe. All of which goes to show
that the actor does not know Drama as well as he scents a fat
part. It plainly demonstrates the advisability of managers and
stars studying the fundamentals of Play Construction in self
defense ! This is particularly true of those who enter into the
joint profits of production with money to lose !
Besides having no tangible Plot this fabric lacks Conflict,
the one first requisite of Drama. There is no conscious conten-
tion of any sustained sort. The story of the Play is undrama-
tized, in other words, and reels off the author's pen like any
other narrative.
An artist with a "history" marries a chaste seamstress
who dies just as he comes into his fortune. He finds a dance
hall Harlot who closely resembles the lamented. The author
evidently intends us to swallow the plotty pill that the spirit
of the dead wife now takes a hand in the miracle. For the
widower has no intention of mating with the prostitute. He
154
The DRAMATIST
merely wishes to pose her for a portrait of the departed. The
demi-monde has no premeditated designs on the artist till she
contracted a habit of buying him neck ties and half-hose in
wholesale quantities. She then suddenly finds him a miscreant
for not marrying her on the spot to rescue her from her former
companions ! And here we have Mrs. Carter's thrilling situa-
tion ! The wouldn't be lovers dash in and out of the tender
passion current for the transparent purpose of intermittent
agony. The traditional tempest in a tea-pot. The heroine is a
veritable suffragette suitoress! She pops the question more
than once ! And this frenzied furore was once "the real thing"
in melodrama.
But let us go on with the story. The strumpet goes back to
her former keeper and the artist's attorney follows her with a
pension proposal. A moment later the artist himself appears
in the private apartments of the villain ! The "willin" is drunk !
They quarrel! (Situation ir2 and fully as logical as the first).
These poor devils don't know why they fight, but like obedient
puppets that they are, carry out the spasms inspired in the
mighty genius of the Playwright, for inspiration number two
tells him that this is the geographical moment for a duel ! And
so he says, "Sick 'em" — sober and drunk! Can anything be
more spontaneous than inspired genius? But even this is not
all. The poor old rickety Plot reeks with false purpose piled
high upon its own debris. Perverted motive is the rule, not
the exception.
Structurally speaking, "Two Women" is incomparably the
poorest play of the season. We have not analysed it on the
basis of Play Construction. It defies such dissection !
DON.
An Ambitious Theme Mismanaged.
Rudolph Beiser's Play evidently reached production on the
strength of one big moment in the last Act. There is no con-
tinuous Interest nor conflict. But it would be practically irn-
possible to thread two Plays on one conflict and that "Don" is
virtually two distinct Plays may be seen by the following
Problems :
Problem #i.
Conditions : A girl loves a fanatic who elopes with a mar-
ried woman.
Cause: His purpose is shown to be innocent.
Conclusion : The girl and the fanatic are reconciled.
155
The DRAMATIST
Problem #2.
Conditions: A fanatic rescues the abused wife of a
preacher.
Cause: The preacher bows to the fanatic's divine purpose.
Conclusion : The preacher and wife are reconciled.
These Problems outline the double Plot that baffled Mr.
Besier. The best Dramatist on earth could not fuse them into
a single Play save as the author has attempted; TELLING
one Plot and Dramatizing the other. The result in the present
instance is, that neither Plot is wholly TOLD nor wholly en-
acted. Each has a turn at Dramatization and recitation in
spots.
The fundamental character weakness of the Play is that of
the hero. He is a fanatic whose conduct is beyond the range
of accepted hum.an beliefs. When a character is actuated by a
m.ctive that the average auditor rejects, because of its absurd
contrast to norm.al behavior, the thing becomes obviously a
concoction of the author.
Next to the structural defect of Conflict, above cited, comes
the false suspense all through Act I and half of II, regarding
the hero's elopement v/ith a m.arried woman. He has not
eloped and a few grains of common sense would compel him to
arrest his sweetheart's solicitude. A mere word v/ould dissolve
this suspicion at any time. But again the author suppresses
the truth for theatric effect. By so doing he wrecks all real
sympathy for his hero. For no one wants to see a charming
girl marry this driveling idiot.
The denouement of the second Play is never accomplished.
The husband merely receives a convenient "flash of truth"
which transmogrifies his savage spirit. But this "flash" must
be Dramatized! The audience can't look into this fellow's
heart by any X-ray process. And no amount of testimony
from the accused is convincing. If we are to believe this wife-
beating brute will reform there must be some demonstration
of his change of soul ! The author leaps the gap in Plot by an
inference that the fanatic's divine power has worked the mira-
cle. But this is not Drama. It does not "get across!" The
Play ideas are both possible, the second Problem has big
possibilities. But the treatment is highly undramatic.
THEFT.
Jack London's Latest Attempt.
A man of Mr. London's popularity as a writer of weird
stories has little difficulty in finding a publisher for his at-
tempted plays. He has been attempting and publishing for
some years! A man of soundest judgment may be seduced
156
The DRAMATIST
by the burning desire to write what he thinks Drama. History
offers numerous examples. At the present moment, however,
we know of no prominent author who can surpass Jack Lon-
don for misconception of the Science of Play Construction.
He caps the climax on all counts ! Theme, Plot, Logic, Unity,
Sequence, Suspense, Scene and Dialog ! All the Principles are
as cheerfully violated as though the author had set out with
the malicious intention of abusing rather than using them..
The book is published by The MacMillan Company at $1.25.
"Theft" is a tale of wantonness. It involves material for
several very bad plays but constructs no semblance of any
ONE. In order to reach a Conclusion where sympathy is
hopelessly shattered for both hero and heroine the writer de-
moralizes a statesman of high ideals and corrupts a magnifi-
cent woman- And for what? All for the sake of dragging them
through situations that are supposedly Dramatic. In the end
the author endeavors to round up this budget of idle talk, po-
litical economy, voluptuous suggestiveness, bribery, graft, cor-
ruption, infidelity and theft, by the spontaneous announcement
that this married woman's love restores the statesman's lost
soul and that in renouncing her husband and child she is pro-
moting the great cause of humanity!
As for Plot, it would be difficult to trace any intended one.
The whole book is a confusion of episode, atmosphere and
prattle. One of the principle essentials of Plot takes place in
a distant city and a report of this feature is telegraphed to the
Scene of action. Of course such essentials must be visiaalized
before the eyes of the auditors.
There are some intense moments of isolated Suspense like
the Scene where a father orders his daughter stripped to the
skin in a room full of people of both sexes with nothing but a
screen to shield her. The author demands that she be searched
for the "missing papers." There is no Plot necessity of this
outrage, for if the father could trust the housekeeper to search
her behind a screen he could certainly permit them to retire to
an adjoining room, even if he had to accompany them. There
is no disputing the theatric sensuality of this situation. But
even if properly employed, so far as technic is concerned, it
would still reflect the author's depraved imagination on ac-
count of the obviousness of his insistence upon disrobing this
dignified creature under such suggestive circumstances.
Here we have another proof of the dire necessity for techni-
cal study. The mightiest genius the world can produce would
go just as far wrong as our friend London if he undertook to
write Drama without knowledge of the structural work that
precedes this covering of words. The more fertile the imagi-
nation the more absurd will be the result where creative
faculty is not guided by Dramatic Law!
157
The DRAMATIS T
THE SILVER BOX.
Galsworthy's Nearest Approach to Drama.
It is a long leap from fiction to Drama and Mr. Galsworthy
is making average progress. His greatest weakness, perhaps,
is to let purpose predominate, that is HIS purpose. He has
acquired this habit writing novels.
The same skill that constructs a Dramatic Scene can build
a Play if adequate knowledge of specifications guides the
larger operation. But obviously a man must know what a
Play is before he can design one and to recognize that it is not
a mere essay exploiting the author's views of a chosen Theme
is one of the first requisites. This excess of Theme makes a
Play preachy. It is Theme for Theme sake. In other words
the characters stop talking for their own account and spout
the doctrines of the author.
This fiction writing proclivity dictates the two unnecessary
shifts of curtain in Act I and the one in Act II of what is oth-
erwise Mr. Galsworthy's best structural specimen. The Dra-
matist's conscience would not permit this caprice. It is so
easy for the amateur to imagine that his peculiar material de-
mands the frequent fall of the curtain. In reality it is the au-
thor who needs shifting! With the feeblest effort these three
periods of time signified by the three separate scenes of Act I
could be compressed into One sustained division of the Conflict
setting forth Plot Conditions.
The needless subdivision of Act II creates a second scene
that contains nothing of vital purpose or progress to the Play.
Out of narrative habit the author's pen rambles over pages of
interesting reading that contribute nothing to the advance-
ment of Problem though he keeps within boundaries of
theme. What there is of value in this second fragment could
be utilized in the third Act where consultations with the attor-
ney would be more fitting. The author seems actually to pre-
fer the abomination of interrupted Acts! There is no surer
means of diluting the Dramatic illusion.
But the Play is not without its points of merit. In the third
Act, Theme is skillfully dramatized. The author's purpose is
so deftly imbedded in the suspense of the proceeding that
theme is wedded to Suspense and we are led to hope — hope —
hope — for the very thing that is destined not to happen. This
very failure and disappointment drives home the hopelessness
of a square deal where wealth opposes poverty before the ma-
jesty of the Law. It is another phase of the Theme attempted
in "Justice" by the same writer, but "The Silver Box" is far
better treatment. The play is published by G. P. Putnam's
Sons along with two others, "Joy" and "Strife," at $1.35. All
three are excellent studies in easy dialog but alive with exam-
ples of over doctrined Drama.
158
The DRAMA T I S T
FRITZCHEN.
Sudermann Is Not Learning.
Although Sudermann is frequently grouped with the
world's great Dramatists, the searchlight of Science does not
show that he is technically more than a loquacious amateur,
"Fritzchen" is not a Play in the true sense of the word. It is
a narrated report of a drama which takes place elsewhere. In
the entire skit no two Plot characters come together to ignite
that vital Dramatic spark called Conflict. The nearest approach
to legitimate Scene purpose is the meeting of father and son.
(Scene 8 in the printed edition). But the father is no Principal
in the actual Plot. He is concerned in his son but not involved
in the boy's affair. In a well built Play every principal in the
cast is INVOLVED in the Scene he enacts. No one is ob-
serving this fundamental more accurately than the American
author. Sundermann would do well to study our Drama. He
is forty miles behind the procession !
Let us take up the thread of the story of "Fritzchen" and
see just what fragments get across the footlights. The first
event is the disappointment of a young girl at the absence of
mail. Who is she? We cannot tell. She chats with the ser-
vant as though she might be one of his class and he apparently
knov-'s her secret despair but won't tell us! We are given no
glimm.er of the relation between the girl and the party from
whom she expects this epistle. The author evidently intends
us to jump at the conclusion she is in love with him — for are
net all plays teeming of the tender passion?
Her uncle enters and we have every reason to believe from
the conversation that they are expecting "Stephen." Perhaps
"Stephen" is her lover? No, he is only the "hired man." Un-
cle goes on about the young rascal who has not written, still
withholding his identity. We have learned that the girl is re-
lated to this old gentleman. We now learn that she also has
an aunt, his wife. But still no hint of the relation "the young
rascal" bears the three. Poor aunt has a weakened heart!
Uncle has forged telegrams and all sorts of things to keep her
from knowing "the young rascal hasn't written."
We now leam that the boy's name is Fritz and that uncle is
"wise" to a clandestine correspondence between him and the
niece. We are now presented with more incoherent news, en-
tirely out of Sequence and TALKED by parties of the third
part. "Little Frohn" (We have no idea who he is) has written
to the girl telHng of Fritz's capers v/ith a married lady. From
a line that is dropped we might now conjecture that the girl
loves Frit.?, but it is not the author's intention that we should
fully grasp the thought; he avoids direct evidence of the fact.
159
DRAM
The girl blushes cnce, and the uncle tells her no one has no-
ticed her concealed jealousy — and we might add: "Not even
the audience !"
We are now confronted by the momentous problem of the
"browns or the whites." Uncle cannot decide which team to
drive to town with! But he finally departs and Lieutenant
von Hallerfort mysteriously appears. Why all this secrecy?
We do not know. Sequence is missing — we get effect before
cause. Perhaps this young man is a rival lover? No. He
merely announces the startling news that Fritz is coming and
requests that she "reckon by her v/atch a half hour from the
moment when he comes in here, and then" send a message &c.
A little mere of the mystery of the Lieutenant's presence and
he is off. We laid some store by this mystery but alas, he
doesn't even snatch a kiss! And now the aunt conjectures.
She has psychically absorbed the "married lady" referred to in
"Little Frchn's" letter. This lady has a rude husband ! What
can an audience make of this? It is further effect preceding
cause! Could any amateur obscure his Plot more securely?
The aunt relates a vision she has seen. Poetic experts
would label this a master stroke! It bears such potent con-
trast to something that is to come. We know that something
is coming from the prophetic nature of this vision ! If we have
guessed that it is her son that she talks about it is no fault of
Sudermann's. The fact is not established in the text and the
girl's presence in the home of the man she apparently loves is
unexplained. This may be foreign standpoint. It is foreign to
Dramatic fact.
What Sudermann labels as his seventh structural scene ac-
complishes nothing save Fritz's absent mindedness about
some vague something. So long as we do not know what it is
there is no possibility of Dramatic Conflict. We haven't the in-
gredients that make for Suspense. The best that can be accom-
plished by such procedure is utter dismay. The six Scenes
that have preceded are fully as vapid so far as any Plot essence
is concerned. They all lead to nothing. Nothing really hap-
pens. At the end of the seventh Scene we have no tangible in-
timation of the premises of a Play and in the eighth Scene we
find that no Drama is scheduled. Like the fickle fable writer
the author springs a brand new theatric situation, which might
have been Dramatic had the premises been erected to sustain
such a climax. There is a vibration resembling Interest in the
girl's doom to disappointment when we HEAR that Fritz is
disgraced and his threatened duel doubtless awakens extrane-
ous emotion in the breast of the German where this false code
of honor prevails.
Of course we must discount liberally for translation. The
Dramatic quality of this English is very bad. (Published by
1 60
The DRAMATIST
Charles Scribner's Sons, $1.25). But translation cannot mate-
rially effect technic. No master craftsman could put out a
piece like "Fritchen" under disguise of Drama. The inevita-
ble conclusion must be that Sudermann is in the childhood of
his Art. He has a splendid eye for the big moment, but if he
allows the magnitude of this event to swallow up the Condi-
tions and Cause of his creation, there is little chance of his
ever doing a real Play. Even Maeterlinck would not tolerate
this utter disregard of Drama. But both men have years of
study between them and the perfection of Play Construction!
It is the duty of "The DRAMATIST" to point out these
diseased Dramatic tissues lest the beginner be deceived into
taking the work of a supposed master as a working model.
There are many American writers far more worthy of emula-
tion and there are hundreds of unproduced amateurs who
would hesitate to palm off such lame stufT for Drama !
THE NIGGER.
Better Than "Salvation Nell."
When Edward Sheldon writes a play as uniformly good as
the last 47 pages of "The Nigger"* he will put out his master-
piece. He will never surpass the last Scenes in this play for
he here achieves the highest purpose of the Dramatist con-
forming strictly to Theme and motivating every character
utilized — every syllable said. There is as wide a chasm be-
tween "The Nigger" and "Salvation Nell" as between "China-
town Charlie" and "Madam X."
But why is this praise not applicable to the entire play? Do
you think it because the Dramatist was inspired at this parti-
cular epoch? Yes! Inspired, not so much by the muse, as by
the fact that he had accidentally stumbled upon the legitimate
path of Plot. We can vouch that the straight road was not
intentional for the major portion of the play is hopelessly mud-
dled by side paths and windings of disunity. In other words,
Mr. Sheldon has built better than he knew because uncon-
sciously he conformed to the immutable Law of Drama. His
talents were centered on one purpose in these latter Scenes.
In many of the other situations the same genius is wasted on
dramatic effect for effect sake without regard for Problem
or Plot.
This last inference applies to the bulk of Acts I and II.
Act I is consumed with a horrible negro lynching scene; the
rapist fresh from assault paraded before our very eyes. Of
course it may be contended that atmosphere is afforded, that
Theme is in keeping and that contrast is sharpened for the
*The MacMillan Co., New York Price $1.25.
161
The DRAMATIST
taint of this fiend's blood that courses through veins of "Mor-
row." But all such argument is futile. No jot of Theme, no
breath of atmosphere is introduced in a real play unless it
serves the joint purpose of advancing Conflict in accord with
Problem ! And if legitimately used this lynching incident must
be made to materially advance the Plot or remain spurious epi-
sode. The one redeeming feature of the act is Philip's love
scene with Georgie (Pages 47 to 57). Georgie's trip abroad is
a foreign device to rouse sleeping sentiments. This should be
accomplished by means of material within the Scene. But
what we mean by redeeming quality is the fact that this love
Scene is a legitimate factor in Plot and Problem. It is required
that these two young people love. The author has established
this fact by means of a Scene — not TELLING us through the
other characters.
Noyes' wooing is no part of the Conflict and is a false step
at the start. To make him a suitor violates the probability of
the same man holding the nomination of Governor in his hand
for "Phil." The main Conflict is one of race, not love, and it
is false pretense to mislead an audience into expecting a Plot
of rival lovers. Here is a good illustration of the necessity for
concentration on ONE STORY for One Play! The greedy
amateur summons every available detachment of his Theme
and ruthlessly pursues disintegration to the bitter end. The
DRAMATIST bends the same effort toward rejecting every
possible atom of disunity. He knows that his pungency of
purpose lies in absolute concentration of energy. This rule
works both ways. It stimulates the author's genius to the
highest pitch and by confining the attention of the audience to
ONE isolated tale affords the highest essence of illusion.
Moral : Let variety remain the province of the vaudeville !
We are gradually learning that it is not necessary to parade
all the ingredients of a Play before the audience prior to pre-
senting them in concrete form of Scene. Note the vague hints
dropped in Act I concerning "Phil's" doubtful parentage.
These are premature. They are designed to create Suspense
but result in nothing short of dismay. The audience is merely
given a sufficient fragment of precedent conditions to set them
thinking distracted thoughts that will tend to vitiate valid
Plot elements so far as their subconscious reception of same is
concerned. And why duplicate? The full facts of "Phil's"
illicit antecedents are brought out in "Jinny's confession (See
Page 164) by truly dramatic means. This is one of the most
telling Scenes in the play, for the author sets up a vital prob-
lem for himself and solves it scientifically. It is one of the es-
sentials of Plot and comes out in the nature of unfolding of
162
The DRAMA T I S T
Play but is seriously diluted by reason of repetition. The blun-
dering attempts to TALK these same facts into the audience
in Act I are out of Sequence. We see nothing to come of it
then, for cart is hitched before the horse.
By reducing the Play to rock bottom Problem we can best
measure merits and discrepancies.
Problem.
Conditions: A man with negro blood is elected Governor.
Cause : His opponent threatens exposure of this taint.
Conclusion: The Governor submits rather than relinquish
principle.
You may find it difficult to so forget the workings of Plot
as to analyse down to its framework but this Problem is the
first scaffolding of "The Nigger." As we proceed to erect the
bolder outlines we add that this governor is a Southerner with
all the pride that type implies — that he is ignorant of his negro
blood — and that along with predominant Southern principle he
must renounce his love for a white girl — that his opponent is
a distiller and that the bill before the governor is to prohibit
the sale of liquor. One by one these counter Causes add to the
cohesiveness of plot in development, but it is only such factors
as promote the Problem that legitimately belong in the
Play. This lets the biplot of the distiller's love for the white
girl out. It does not call for the negro lynching. It disquali-
fies the necessity of a race riot in II for Plot does not take hold
in Act II till some 30 odd pages have elapsed. The riot is
doubtless intended for atmospheric value but it is illicit for the
reason that the Play halts while this chaff is being played and
no Plot progress is accomplished. Real Plot begins at page
135.
As shown in Problem and demanded by Theme the real
conflict concerns race prejudice. Without the ability to SEE
and adhere to this three clause basis of a Conflict it is very
difficult for an author to select such essentials as require rep-
resentation by means of Scene building and relegate to inci-
dental mention such items as the audience will accept as
DRAMATIC FACT upon merest allusion.
But Mr. Sheldon has made more than his share of progress
since "Salvation Nell." In the few years intervening he has
gone ten years to the good. The thing he still lacks is the
Artist's Eye with which to SEE his picture — to form a fin-
ished concept in the mind before transmitting it to Dialog.
May the next few years be as kind to him ! We need such
Dramatists !
163
The DRAMATIST
CANDIDA.
A Personally Conducted Plot.
In Brentano's published version of this play ($1.25) there
are two fundamental flaws. The first is the absence of coher-
ent Conflict, the second is the weak and sniveling character of
the poetic 19-year-old boy whose irresponsibility makes him
an inplausable contestant for Candida's love against the ro-
bust, resolute husband of forty. There is slight disunity in the
irrelevance of the curate, the typist and the father-in-law, but
the story rests upon one thread. An attempt at Problem will
demonstrate.
PROBLEM.
Conditions : A poet professes a superior love for a parson's
wife.
Cause : The parson permits her to make a choice.
Conclusion: The wife continues to love her own husband.
The Conflict lacks reality on several counts. The husband
never really considers the boy as a formidable adversary after
the isolated instance of a combat at the end of Act I. Here
the Play gives promise of real battle, — but much of Act II is
given over to the poet's aimless titter with the typist on the
topic of love — a commodity. The Conflict is not resumed after
that save in an author's personally-conducted tour of mental
superficialities. The effort to stimulate the husband's anxiety
is unfounded. The wife is not shown to be in love with the
boy.
To make this love for a youth convincing in a woman of
thirty-five her attachment must be drawn with indelible clar-
ity. In the Dramatic sense of the word there is no issue. In-
stead of that definite clash of wills that characterizes good
Drama, there is a weak, wishy-washy semblance of contention
which needlessly degrades the wife and contradicts the hus-
band's resolute personality. The boy is a mere shadow of the
infant genius he is designed to portray. His type is one so re-
mote from general human experience as to be of little interest
to the crowd.
From this may be drawn a valuable lesson. Avoid the ex-
treme and employ the normal. The familiar type affords a far
greater opportunity of subtle character analysis. Here, as in
Plot, it is the uncommon treatment of the common, rather than
of the complex that spells achievement.
It is the purpose of this journal to warn the aspirant
against such spineless specimens of Play Construction. A stu-
dent might pursue this style of technic for a thousand years
164
DRAM
and never discern the secret paths to Playwriting. It is an
easy matter to confuse Mr. Shaw's pungent brand of Philoso-
phy with the subtleness of Dramatic Conflict, but they are as
distantly related as any other species of prepared preachment.
Confine your psychological speculation to the motives which
rule the conduct of your character. Do not attempt to exploit
your Theme beyond the boundary circumscribed by your Plot.
165
DRAM
IF you are unable to obtain com-
petent criticism on your own
manuscripts, forward them to the
Playreading Department.
The Dramatist
Easton, Pa.
i66
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B. ANTHONY, E.ditor
Vol. II. EASTON, PA.
No. 4
QUARTERLY 1911
JULY
Reading of Plays
The Competent playreader is as scarce an article as a
wholly commendable play. Why? Because it is necessary for
the manuscript judge to stop up the channels of conscious
thought in reading real drama and measure dramatic merit by
the impressions recorded on his subconscious imagination. In
other words he must forget self and FEEL trait effects
through the primitive instincts of the race to which he belongs.
It is a strange statement to make that the spectator's think-
ing mind is not involved in seeing an ideal play. If it is
brought into operation the play is at fault. The playwright is
concerned, therefore, with the problem of putting the mind to
sleep and entertaining his audience with a hypnotic dream.
It is only by rare remnants of complete dramatization that
this theory can be demonstrated. For play-building is only in
its babyhood. The achievements thus far obtained are ran-
dom results of a hit-and-miss method. What the future holds
for dramatic composition is only visible to the imagination of
the theorist who can idealize years before the world may real-
ize.
But it is not far distant when plays may be built with illu-
sion so infinite that no susceptible theatre-goer will rouse from
the enchanted dream of subconsciousness during the entire
period of performance !
Is this a wild prognostication?
The Dramatist backs it up with every hope and assurance
of realization. The application of science to this greatest of
arts will send it ahead triumphantly. When authors learn that
certain effects are the inevitable result of fixed causes and that
not a solitary atom of dramatic interest is generated without
the operation of LAW, the art will suddenly rise and claim its
own kingdom. The great possibilities of drama are but dimly
shadowed in the efforts of today.
167
The DRAMATIST
EXCUSE ME.
An Actor-Made Play.
The playwrights of antiquity suggested an idea for the
players and the Play proceeded to build itself out of their
spontaneous impressions. That this has been the case with
one of the best farces of the season cannot be doubted by those
who saw the trial performance of "Excuse Me," and now be-
hold the endless chain of amiable antics performed by the ca-
pable cast of comedians at the Gaiety Theatre, New York City.
This remark is not made to minimize the excellence and
originality in the author's conception of his farce. The diffi-
culties of presenting three whole acts of a Play on board a
train is easily apparent to the naked eye. Mr. Hughes has ac-
complished the feat and sustained a momentary interest of rare
uniformity with admirable invention.
This Play is an excellent example of the half illusion spe-
cies. The audience never for a moment becomes a willing
party to the Plot. There is ever that implied agreement on
the part of the auditor that he witnesses the fun of the per-
formance of his own knowledge and consent. We laugh at the
antics of the actors never forgetting that they are clever mim-
ics. Their feigned emotions do not become ours. Our souls
do not live through the vicissitudes of the characters repre-
sented as in a real Play such as "Baby Mine."
These individual stunts are of a high order of amusement
in themselves and do conform to the law of UNITY of place
in so far as they transpire in one Pullman train with considera-
ble sense of Sequence. There is little else that connects the
scraps of episode which keep the audience in continual uproar
with fewer lapses and leaks than most any farce of the season.
It lacks the sustained purpose of "Baby Mine" but excels
"Mrs. Bumstead-Leigh" by reason of greater fidelity to life in
its supposed and comic aspects.
But how may we accomplish this closer purpose? How
may we knit this variegated group of stunts into a whole
fabric? By adhering to the dictates of Plot! The simplest
statement of the possible Plot of the farce follows : —
A couple is carried off on an overland train before their
wedding ceremony can be performed. Their sentimental tri-
bulations cause another couple to secure a parson and a double
wedding ensues.
This is the central idea of the farce and it is only as all
other factors contribute to it that the main plot can be bene-
fited. Every other issue should be joined to this dominant
Conflict and be made to promote its progress as definitely as
possible. The divorce couple enroute for Reno might easily
i68
The DRAMATIST
advance the main story by the introduction of incident show-
ing conclusively that their reconciliation is inspired by the sen-
timental devotion of the honeymoon couple. And here is the
test of validity for any given episode. Does it contribute to
the progress of the main Conflict? If it does not, it may be
m.ade to. The art of playwriting is this process of blending —
of eliminating the extraneous just as truly as the art of the
sculptor is the hev^ing away all foreign hunks of stone. Stroke
by stroke the mass of material is formed by carving out the
shadows that define the light.
"Excuse Me" is a decided improvement over "Two Wo-
men" by the same author. We rejoice in the manifest achieve-
ment. But Mr. Rupert Hughes must obtain the art of fusing
parts into a whole before he will ever do good Drama.
MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH.
A Play With One Fat Part.
Mrs. Bumstead-Leigh is a good illustration of providing an
entertaining part for a very clever actress without building a
Play about it. Mrs. Fiske's adroit personation contributes
more drama to the piece than anything the author has fur-
nished. But the opportunities are all there for a veritable
Sheridan comedy. The following syllogism suggests what the
Play might have been if the fundamentals of Play Construc-
tion had been employed.
1. A woman counterfeits aristocracy to match off her sis-
ter to advantage,
2. Their humble parentage is detected.
3. The match is sanctioned to avert publicity.
In the original Play a conclusion or third clause is reached
that does not grow out of the first two premises. This, of
course, prevents a logical form of reasoning. In the above
hypothetical exercise note that the last clause follows as an
inevitable result of the two preceding premises. In all real
Plays the Conclusion MUST be a rational deduction from the
first and second premises. The Conclusion of "Mrs. Bum-
stead-Leigh" is reached by another route entirely. The match
is finally sanctioned by the aristocrats in lieu of a threat to dig
up the wild oats sewn by the son. In oth.^r words the denoue-
ment is reached by reviving history that is in no way related
to the Plot — a trumped-up incident that does not emanate
from the Play proper. It belongs in a separate Conflict.
"Oh, but they laugh at it!" And this remark qualifies the
piece as a good entertainment but not as a Play. We are con-
tinually under the necessity of explaining that the province of
169
The DRAMATIST
"The DRAMATIST" is to define Drama, not to condemn
everything that fails to conform to this definition. "Mrs. Bum-
stead-Leigh" is a successful Vaudeville entertainment put up
in Play form v^^ithout the requisite coalescence of the diJEEerent
stunts.
The tomb-stone oration is a bold example of this fact, A
clown could undoubtedly step into the Play and fetch just as
many laughs as the next one. If the gentleman from Indiana
does not perform a service to the Plot in reeling off his clever
recitation of grave yard comedy he belongs in a variety bill
not a Play. If this tomb-stone oratory is to be utilized in a
Play it should be made to promote some particular feature of
Plot. Something should depend upon his persuading the
principals of the cast as to the advisability of accepting his pe-
culiar brand of cemetery cenotaph, then this Fourth of July
oration would become dramatized. As the matter stands it is
merely a funny speech familiar to musical comedy or specialty
shows. It is as isolated in its present setting as "Casey at the
Bat."
Even a farce of the broadest type should blend its ingredi-
ents into one completed whole. The tendency to pass upon
extraneous items of interest may devitalize the dramatist's
technic. Observe Unity to the last letter! When the temp-
tation to dodge the issue arises, say to your subjective self:
"I am simply compromising with my Art ! The failure to fuse
the thing is with me and not with the implasticity of my mate-
rials !"
THE WORLD AND HIS WIFE.*
An Off-Stage Melodrama.
Problem.
1. Gossips attack an innocent wife.
2. Their incessant suggestion bears fruit.
3. She weds the maligned admirer.
At the request of one of our subscribers we dissect this suc-
cess of a few years back. The subscriber deems it a master-
piece and challenges our probe. The ruling idea of the Drama
and not its superior craftsmanship has evidently captivated
our young friend. The entire structure rests upon a false
Spanish code, no longer alive even in Spain, and this artificial
intrigue of gossip, slander and duello transpires OFF STAGE
for the most part. The generating causes are infirm in humor-
ous instances and the end is invalid since no Conclusion is
^Mitchell Kennedy, New York. Price $1.
170
The DRAMATIST
reached that clears the one victim of the Plot — the husband.
Even the husband's brother still thinks the wife and lover
guilty. Their innocence should be absolutely established.
Some effective incident would best set forth this essential.
The two chief defects of the drama are lack of dramatiza-
tion and lack of motive. Most of the Plot events take place
off-stage and are not by any dramatic means visualized before
the audience. If the duels were to be withheld as a matter of
taste, there are a hundred ways in which they might still be-
come visual factors in the Play without resorting to the lame
method of TELLING the audience about them. And too fre-
quently these essentials of Plot are TALKED into the audi-
ence by supernumerary characters such as the son of the hus-
band's brother who has no earthly connection with the Play.
The author merely elects him to convey his report of what has
happened elsewhere, from time to time. Study the Play care-
fully and you will find several such tattlers. In a real Play all
the valid incidents should be enacted or represented visually in
some dramatic manner. In other words they should be dra-
matized, not narrated.
The unmotived features referred to are best illustrated by
Severo, the husband's brother, his wife and son. The British
captain is also of this brand. Severo virtually assumes com-
mand of affairs in his brother's household for no substantial
reasons of his own. He is not a creature from life, he exists
only in the old school melodrama long since deceased. The
audience knows no such meddling specimens outside the realm
of yellow-back fiction.
The brother who readily credits the first breath of scandal
that will injure his own kin, with no ulterior motive, is a being
we cannot reconcile. He is acting against his own best inter-
ests without a cause. If a cause were supplied it would divide
the Unity of the Play. Severo is therefore miscast. He has no
place in the Plot for he is not a principal. The person who
should play his part at the opening of the Play is the official
who has the authority to reject Julian on account of the gossip
concerning his wife and her supposed lover.
But Severo's false conduct does not end here. He and his
wife dominate the principals in their own home ! The author
even strikes Julian with a delirium so that he may conveni-
ently believe the brother's purposeless intrigue against the
wife. But as we said before, the scandal is never cleared up.
The last curtain drops without a solution of the main Plot.
But how to rectify these infirmities and build with the
same splendid idea a Play of merit — this is the duty of the
constructive critic, to point out the way.
The idea of dramatic excellence in this Play is the thought
that scandal mongers by their incessant suggestion of illicit
171
The DRAMATIST
relations between pure and innocent beings may eventually
consummate their union. Very little of the present structure
could be utilized in a correctly built Play upon this theme.
The whole thing must be rearranged. The scandal-monger
must be one who is IN THE PLAY and motived by real and
rational purpose. The idea might be developed into a most
powerful regenerative drama wherein miserable machinations
result in the actual creation of lofty love interest. This is the
note that struck a resonant chord in our subscriber's soul.
The thought is a big one and contains possibilities of a mag-
nificent Play. Evolving good out of evil is by far the highest
province of the Playwright !
DEAR OLD BILLY.
An Imported Farce.
Some comparative idea of how the British receive our bad
Plays may be gained by attending W. H. Risque's farce acted
in this country by Mr. William Hawtrey and a company of
English players.
There are few American amateurs who could write further
away from the definition of Play if paid for it. It is truly an
Englishman's estimate of what an American audience will
"fall for" and by this we mean the traditional "English" brand
of humor.
From a Yankee standpoint the farce is not fit for a prepara-
tory school production and our inability to interpret the im-
ported make of farcial acting renders the thing doubly sad in
its descent from the ridiculous to the insipid.
Is it any wonder the British managers are looking to us for
theatrical attractions. The tide is gradually turning and the
day is not far distant when export trade will exceed our im-
ports.
172
DRAM
FACING DELATH
A DRAMA IN ONE ACT
By August Strindberg
Copyright 1911 by Olive M. Johassn
Characters :
Monsieur Durand, boarding house keeper, previously a
railway employee.
Adele, his daughter, 27 years.
Annette, his daughter, 24 years.
Therese, his daughter, 18 years.
Antonio, lieutenant of the Italian Cavalry.
Pierre, a servant.
In French Switzerland during the Eighties.
(A dining room with a long table. Through the open door,
center, can be seen the tops of the cypresses in the cemetery,
Lac Lemon, the Savoyer-Alps and the French resort, Evian.
To the left a door leads to the kitchen. To the right a door to
the rooms).
Scene I.
DURAND (With a fieldglass, looking over the lake).
ADELE (Enters from the kitchen; wears apron and has
sleeves turned up, carries a tray with the coffee service). —
Have you not fetched the coffee-bread yet, father?
DURAND. — No, I sent Pierre. My breath is failing lately,
so I cannot climb the steep hill.
ADELE. — Pierre again! That will cost three sous! Where
DURAND. — Yes, so you did, and you have at least shown
are they to come from, when there has been but one traveler at
our house these two months?
DURAND. — That is very true, but I feel that Annette
ought to get the bread!
ADELE. — Then we would lose our standing entirely ! You
have done nothing but throw discredit on us !
DURAND.— Even you, Adele?
ADELE. — Even I am tired, though I kept up the longest!
human feeling while Therese and Annette have tormented me.
You and I have managed the house since mother died. You
have had to sit in the kitchen like Cinderella and I have had to
do the serving, sweeping, brushing, making fires, run errands.
You are tired ; what ought I to be, then?
173
The DRAMATIST
ADELE. — But you have no right to be tired, while you
have three children unprovided for, whose fortune you have
squandered.
DURAND (Listening). — Does that not sound like bells
and drums from Cully? If a fire breaks out we are lost, be-
cause the storm will soon be blowing. The lake shows it.
ADELE. — Have you paid our insurance?
DURAND. — Certainly, or I could not have obtained the
last mortgage.
ADELE.— How much is still clear?
DURAND. — One fifth of the insurance value. But you
know how property values have fallen since the railway went
Eastward past our gates.
ADELE. — The more welcome then!
DURAND (Harshly).— Adele! (Pause) Please put out
the kitchen fire !
ADELE. — Impossible, until the coffee-bread arrives!
DURAND.— Well then, here it is!
Scene 11.
(As before, Pierre enters, carrying a basket).
ADELE (Looking into the basket). — No bread! Only a
bill! Two! Three!
PIERRE. — Yes, the baker says you can have no more
bread until he is paid. — And when I passed the butcher and
grocer they handed me their bills (Exit).
ADELE.— Ah! God in Heaven! This is our finish !— But,
what is this? (Opens a package).
DURAND. — It is candles I have bought for the mass over
my beloved Rene! You know it is the anniversary of his
death to-day.
ADELE. — Such things you can afford to buy !
DURAND. — With my tips, yes. Do you not consider it
humiliating enough that I am obliged to reach forth my hand
when travelers move. — Do you envy me the only contentment
I know, to revel in my sorrow once a year? To revive the
memory of the most beautiful thing life has brought me?
ADELE. — Ah, if he had only lived to grow up, you proba-
bly wouldn't dote on his beauty !
DURAND. — Perhaps your taunt carries truth with it —
however, as I remember him, he was not like the rest of you!
ADELE. — Will you be so kind as to receive M. Antonio
yourself, when he comes to drink his coffee, without bread! —
Oh, if mother was only alive ! She had the faculty of manag-
ing where you stand crestfallen !
DURAND. — Your mother had her good points!
ADELE. — Although you found only bad ones !
174
The DRAMATIST
DURAND, — M. Antonio is coming! — Go away, I will
speak to him.
ADELE. — It would be far better if you went out and bor-
rowed money, so the disgrace might be avoided.
DURAND. — I cannot borrow a sou! I have borrowed for
ten years! Let it collapse at once, everything, everything, if
the end only comes !
ADELE. — The end for you, yes! But you never think of
us!
DURAND. — No, I have never thought of you ! Never !
ADELE. — Do you hint at a fee for bringing us up again?
DURAND. — I only answered an unjust charge! Go now,
and I will meet the storm as usual !
ADELE.— As usual! Eh? (Exits).
Scene III.
(M. Durand. M. Antonio.)
ANTONIO. — (Enters C.)— Good morning, M. Durand.
DURAND. — You have been taking a walk. Lieutenant?
ANTONIO. — Yes, I have been down towards Cully and
seen a chimney fire put out! — And now the coffee will taste
fine!
DURAND. — I do not need to tell you how hard it is for
me to have to say that my house is unable any longer to con-
tinue in business.
ANTONIO.— How so?
DURAND. — To speak plainly, we are bankrupt!
ANTONIO. — But, my good sir, is there no way to help
you out of this, as I hope, temporary difficulty?
DURAND. — No, there is no possibility! The house has
been toppling on the brink of ruin for years. I would rather
see it collapse at once than worry day and night about what
eventually must happen !
ANTONIO. — Still I believe you take the thing too seri-
ously.
DURAND. — What reason have you to doubt my opinion?
ANTONIO. — Let me help you.
DURAND. — I don't want any help! Poverty must come
to teach my children to lead different lives. With the excep-
tion of Adele who really attends to the kitchen, what are they
doing? Playing and singing, promenading and flirting; and as
long as there is a crust in the house, they are not going to
learn anything useful!
ANTONIO. — Even if it be so, meanwhile we must have
food in the house. Allow me to stay another month and I will
pay my board in advance.
175
The DRAMATIST
DURAND. — No, I thank you. We must now go to the
end of the road even if we drive straight into the lake. I will
not continue this business which does not give bread ; only hu-
miliation. Picture to yourself our condition of last Spring
when the house had been empty for three months. At last an
American family came and saved us. The morning after their
arrival I caught the son on the stairs holding my daughter — it
was Therese — in his ^rms, trying to kiss her. What would
you have done in my place?
ANTONIO (Embarrassed) — I don't know —
DURAND. — I know what as a father I should have done,
— but as a father, I did not do it ! Next time I know what to
do!
ANTONIO. — It strikes me that just for such reasons you
ought to weigh carefully what you do and not leave the future
of your daughters to chance —
DURAND. — M. Antonio — you are a young man to whom
I, for some inexplicable reason, have taken a fancy. Whether
you appreciate this or not, I ask you one favor: have no sus-
picions whatsoever about myself or my actions.
ANTONIO. — M. Durand, I promise, if you only answer
me one question: Are you bom a Switzer, or no?
DURAND. — I am a citizen of Switzerland!
ANTONIO, — I know that, but I ask if you are born in
Switzerland?
DURAND (Hesitatingly)— Yes!
ANTONIO. — I only asked, because — it interests me. How-
ever, — as I must believe you, that the house is to close, I will
pay my debt. It is, indeed only ten francs, but I cannot leave
without settling it.
DURAND. — I am not sure that you owe me anything, be-
cause I do not keep the books, but if you deceive me the fault
is yours. Now I am going to get the bread. — Then we will
see! (goes).
Scene IV.
(Antonio, then Therese, carries a rat trap. She is in morn-
ing gown, her hair loose. Adele enters later).
THERESE.— Oh, here is Antonio ! I thought I heard the
old man !
ANTONIO. — Yes, he went to buy the coffee-bread,— he
said.
THERESE.— Has he not done that! Oh dear, there is
really no putting up with him any longer !
ANTONIO. — You are very beautiful, to-day, Therese, but
the rat-trap does not become you.
176
The DRAMATIST
THERESE.— And such a trap! I have set it now for a
month without catching a single rat, but the bait is gone every
morning, — Have you seen anything of Mimmi?
ANTONIO.— That devilish cat? She is usually seen on all
occasions ! But to-day I have actually been spared !
THERESE. — You must talk respectfully about the absent
and remember that whosoever loves me, must love my cat!
(Sets the trap on the table and takes an empty saucer from un-
der it) Adele ! — Adele !
ADELE (In the kitchen door). — What is it your highness
demands so imperiously?
THERESE. — Some milk for my cat, and cheese for your
rats!
ADELE.— Get it yourself!
THERESE. — Is that the manner in which you answer her
highness?
ADELE. — It is the manner in which to answer your man-
ner of speech! Besides you should catch it doubly hard for
showing yourself before strangers with your hair uncombed.
THERESE. — Strangers ! Here are only old acquaintances
and — Antonio, go and speak nice to Aunt Adele and she will
give vou milk for Mimmi.
ANTONIO (Hesitating).
THERESE.— Well, are you going to mind?
ANTONIO (Curtly).— No!
THERESE.— What kind of language is this? Do you
wish to taste my riding- whip?
ANTONIO.— Ah! For shame!
THERESE.— What is this? What is this? Do you wish
to remind me of my place, my mistake and my weakness.
ANTONIO. — No, I only wish to remember my place, my
mistake and my weakness !
ADELE (Taking the saucer). — See here, my friends, what
kind of language are you indulging in? Be good now — and I
v/ill
THERESE.— (Weeping). You are tired of me Antonio
and you intend to abandon me.
ANTONIO. — You mustn't cry, because then you get ugly
ej^es.
THERESE. — And if they are not as pretty as Annette's —
then?—
ANTONIO. — Aha! Is it Annette now? Look here, folly
aside, I think the coffee is rather slow in coming —
THERESE — You would, indeed, be a pleasant husband,
who cannot wait a moment for your coffee.
ANTONIO. — And what a darling wife you would make
who cannot commit a stupidity without picking on your hus-
band.
177
he DRAM
Scene V.
(As before. Annette enters dressed and combed).
ANNETTE. — I believe you are quarreling so early in the
morning.
ANTONIO. — Ah, here is Annette already dressed!
THERESE, — Oh, yes, Annette is wonderful in many ways
and she has even the advantage of being older than I.
ANNETTE.— If you do not shut your mouth —
ANTONIO.— Well! Well! Be good now, Therese. (He
puts arms around her and kisses her).
Scene VI.
(As before, M. Durand in the door, stops astonished).
DUR AND.— What is this?
THERESE.— (Tearing herself loose) What?
DURAND. — Did my eyes deceive me?
THERESE.— What did you see?
DURAND. — I saw that you let the strange gentleman kiss
you.
THERESE.— That's a lie !
DURAND. — Have I lost my senses or dare you lie to my
face?
THERESE. — Do you talk about lying, you who lie to us
and all the world that you are born Swiss, although you are a
Frenchman?
DURAND.— Who told you so?
THERESE.— Mother did!
DURAND. — (To Antonio) M. Lieutenant, as our business
is settled I ask you to leave this house — at once! Or —
ANTONIO.— Or?
DURAND. — Or choose weapons.
ANTONIO. — I wonder what weapon you would choose,
except the hare's weapon.
DURAND. — If I did not prefer the sword, I would take
my gun from the last war —
THERESE. — You speak of war, you, who deserted!
DURAND. — Mother has said that too! I cannot strike the
dead, but I can strike the living dead! (Lifts his cane and
rushes at Antonio, Therese and Annette throw themselves be-
tween).
ANNETTE.— Be careful what you do!
THERESE. — You will end on the scaffold.
ANTONIO. — (Moving away) Farewell M. Durand! You
have my scorn and my ten Francs !
DURAND. — (Takes a goldpiece from his pocket and
throws after Antonio) My curses upon you and your gold!
You old scamp !
178
The DRAMATIST
THERESE and ANNETTE.— (To Antonio) Don't go!
Don't go ! Father will kill us !
DURAND. — (Breaks the cane) He who cannot kill, dies!
ANTONIO. — Farewell! Now you lose me, the last rat on
the sinking ship ! (Goes).
Scene VIL
(As before, without Antonio).
THERESE. — That is the way you treat our guests! Is it
any wonder the house is crumbling?
DURAND. — Such treatment! Such guests! But tell me,
Therese, my child — (He takes her head between his hands)
My darling child; tell me truly if I saw wrong, or if you told
an untruth?
THERESE.— (Angrily) What then?
DURAND. — You know what I mean! And it is not the
act in itself, which might have been innocent enough — it is the
question if I cannot depend on my senses that is worrying me !
THERESE. — Talk about something else — Talk about
what we are to eat and drink, today ! — anyhow, it is a lie that
he kissed me!
DURAND. — It is not a lie! In the name of Heaven, did
I not see plainly what passed !
THERESE.— Prove it!
DURAND. — Prove it! With two witnesses or one police-
man! Annette, my child, will you tell me the truth?
ANNETTE.— I saw nothing!
DURAND. — That was well answered, because one should
not inform against one's sister. — You are very like your moth-
er to-day, Annette !
ANNETTE. — Say nothing evil about mother! Thank
goodness she is spared this day!
Scene VIII.
(As before. Adele Enters with a glass of milk, which she
places on the table).
ADELE. — (to Durand) There is your milk! How about
the bread?
DURAND. — I got no bread, my children, but it will be
gotten, now as ever.
THERESE.— (Snatching the glass from her father) You
shall have nothing, you, who throw away money and let your
children starve.
ADELE. — Did he throw away money, the wretch? He
should have been put in an asylum the time mother declared
he was ripe for it! Look here, there is one more bill handed in
the back door!
179
The DRAMATIST
DURAND (Looks at the bill, startles, pours out a glass of
water, drinks, sits and lights a pipe).
ANNETTE. — But he can afford to smoke!
DURAND (Tired and submissive)— Dear children, this to-
bacco has cost you no more than the water, because I got it as
a present six months ago ! Do not agitate yourselves without
a cause.
THERESE (Snatching the matches) — Anyhow, you are
not going to waste the matches —
DURAND. — If you know, Therese, how many matches I
have used up on you, when I had to get up nights and see if
you had thrown the cover off ; if you know, Annette, how often
I have secretly given you water, when you cried for thirst and
your mother had the notion that it was bad for children to
drink-
THERESE.— That is so long ago, that I don't care to hear
about it. Besides, it was only your duty, as you have often
said yourself !
DURAND.— It was, but I did my duty ! And a little more !
ADELE. — Continue to do so! Or what is to become of
us? Three young girls left without care or protection and
without anything to live on. Do you know what poverty may
drive us to?
DURAND. — I realized that ten years ago, but no one
would listen to me, twenty years ago I plainly foresaw that
this hour would come, but I have not been able to prevent it.
I have been sitting like a brakeman on a madly running train,
have realized that it headed for destruction, but have not been
able to get to the throttle to stop it.
THERESE. — And now you wish to be thanked because
you have landed us in the ditch?
DURAND. — No, my child, I only ask that you be a little
less cruel to me. You have cream for the cat but you begrudge
your father the milk though he has eaten nothing — for a long
time.
THERESE. — Is it you then that has begrudged the kittie
her drop of milk?
DURAND.— Yes it is I !
ANNETTE. — And perhaps it is he, too, who has eaten the
rat's bait?
DURAND.— It is he!
ADELE. — What a swine !
THERESE (Laughing).— Just think if there had been
poison on it!
DURAND.— Ah, if there only had been !
THERESE.— Well, I suppose you wouldn't care, you who
so often have threatened to kill yourself !
DURAND.— Why have you not killed yourself? Do you
1 80
The DRAMATIST
reproach me thus directly? Well, do you know why I have
not done it? So that you wouldn't have to drown yourselves,
my dear children ! — Say something else nasty now ! It is like
familiar m^usic of the good old times —
ADELE. — Stop this useless chatter and do something. Do
something !
THERESE. — Do you know what the consequence may be
if you leave us in this condition?
DURAND. — That you prostitute yourselves, no doubt. I
always said so to your mother when she had thrown away the
housekeeping money on lottery tickets.
ADELE. — Silence! Not one word about our dear, beloved
mother!
DURAND (Humming to himself). — There burns a candle
in this house ; and when it burns out the goal is won ! Won it
will be ! And then comes the storm with a great noise I Yes !
— No ! — (It has commenced to rumble and blow outside. He
springs up. (To Adele) Put out the kitchen fire! The storm
is coming!
ADELE (Looks him in the eye). — The storm is not com-
ing.
DURAND. — Put out the fire! If a fire breaks out from
that source we will not get any insurance. Put out the fire, I
say! Put it out!
ADELE. — I do not understand you!
DURAND (Takes her hands and looks into her eyes). —
But mind me, anyhow, my dear! Do as I say!
ADELE (Goes into the kitchen, leaves the door open).
DURAND (To Therese and Annette).— Go upstairs and
close your windows, children, and see to the dampers. But
come and kiss me first, I am going on a journey — to get you
money!
THERESE.— Can you get money?
DURAND. — I have a life insurance that I intend to realize
on.
THERESE. — How much can you get on that?
DURAND. — Six-hundred Francs if I sell it, five-thousand
if I die.
THERESE (Troubled).
DURAND. — Speak out my child! — No! We must not be
unnecessarily unkind ! Tell me, Therese, do you love Antonio
and should you be very unhappy if you do not get him?
THERESE.— Oh yes!
DURAND. — Then you must marry him. That is, if he
loves you! But never be unkind to him, because then you will
be unhappy! Farewell my darling, darling child ! (Takes her
in his arms and kisses her cheeks).
THERESE.— You must not die, father! You must not!
i8i
DRAM
DURAND. — Can you not grant me peace, at last?
THERESE.— Yes, if you truly wish it! Forgive me, father,
for all the times I have been unkind to you.
DURAND.— Trifles, child!
THERESE. — But no one ever was so wicked to you, as I?
DURAND. — I noticed it less, because I loved you most, —
why I know not. Well, go now and shut the windows.
THERESE. — There are the matches, father! — and — there
is your milk !
DURAND (Smiling).— Oh you child!
THERESE. — Well, what can I do? I have nothing else to
give you.
DURAND. — You have given me so much joy when you
were little that you owe me nothing. Go now! Give me but
one kind look, as of old!
THERESE (Turns and throws herself into his arms).
DURAND. — Well, well, my child, now everything is for-
given. (Therese runs out).
Scene IX.
(M. Durand. Annette, later Adele).
DURAND.— Farewell Annette!
ANNETTE. — Are you going away? I do not compre-
hend?
DURAND. — I am going away.
ANNETTE.— But you are coming back, father?
DURAND. — No one knows if he lives over the morrow, so
at any rate we may say good-bye.
ANNETTE.— Goodby then, father ! Happy journey ! Do
not forget to bring something to us, as you used to? (Goes).
DURAND. — She remembers that, though it is long since I
brought anything for my children! Goodby, my Annette!
(Humming to himself) For good or evil, little or big, as you
sow so must you reap.
ADELE (Enters).
DURAND. — Adele! Now you must listen to me! And
understand! — If I speak in hidden terms it is only because I
wish to spare your conscience. You mustn't know too much!
— Now first ask me; "Have you any life insurance?" — Well!
ADELE (Questioning, uncertain) — Have you any life in-
surance?"
DURAND. — No, I have had once, but I sold it long ago,
because I noticed that some one was anxious for it to fall due.
— But I have a fire insurance. Here is the policy; keep it se-
curely! — Now I ask you: — do you know how many candles
there are to a pound at 75 centimes?
ADELE.— Six.
182
The DRAMATIST
DURAND (Pointing to the package). — How many are
there?
ADELE.— Only five !
DURAND. — Because the sixth one stands very high up
and very near to ! —
ADELE.— Lord Jesus ! "
DURAND (Looks at his watch). — In five minutes or so it
will have burnt down!
ADELE.— No !
DURAND. — Yes! Can you see any other light through
this darkness? No! — Very well! — So much about business.
Now for another matter ! That M. Durand passes out of this
world as an (Whispers) incendiary matters little, but that he
has lived to this day as an honorable man his children must
know, — Well then, I was bom in France — I did not have to
acknowledge it to the first scamp that came! — Shortly before
the age of conscription I happened to fall in love with her who
became my wife. We came out here and were naturalized in
order to get married! — When the last war broke out and it
looked as if I might be obliged to carry arms against my coun-
try I went out as a Frenchman against the Germans ! — So you
see, I have never deserted! Your mother has made up that
fable !
ADELE. — My mother never lied !
DURAND. — Mercy! Now the corpse is up again and
stands between us ! I cannot bear witness against the dead,
but I swear that I have told the truth. Do you hear! Now,
about your mother's estate. The matter stands like this : first
she scattered my whole fortune by extravagance and foolish
speculation; so that I was obliged to give up my position and
set up this boarding house. Afterwards a part of her estate
had to be used for your education and that can surely not be
called throwing it away. — Consequently, that too, was an un-
truth —
ADELE. — No! Mother said otherwise on her deathbed —
DURAND. — Then your mother lied on her deathbed, as
she had done all her life — and that is the curse that has fol-
lowed me like a ghost ! Oh, how I have been innocently tor-
tured with those lies all these years ! I did not wish to plant
evil in your young souls by making you doubt the purity of
your mother. I was the bearer of her cross. All our married
life, I carried her wrongs on my back, took the blame for her
folly, till I actually considered myself the guilty one. And she
was not slow to pose as guiltless. Then as a martyr, "Blame
Me," I used to say when she was in a dilemma, and she
blamed ! And I took it. But the more she owed me the more
she hated me, with the uncontrollable hatred of a creditor. And
at last she despised me and lulled herself into the notion that
183
The DRAMATIST
she had fooled me ! At Isst she taught you, too, to despise me
because she needed to be braced up in her weakness! I be-
lieve that this evil but weak soul would die with her. But the
evil lives and grows like a disease, while the healthy growth
stops at a certain point, then retrogrades. Hence, when I
wished to correct the habits in this house, you met me with:
"Mother," — "so said mother." And therefore it is right! So,
to you I became a weakling when I was kind ; a wretch when
I was sensitive, a rascal when you had your way and we had
gone to ruin!
ADELE. — It is noble indeed to accuse the dead !
DURAND (Speaks very fast and excitedly). — I am not
dead yet, but I will be soon! Will you then vindicate me? —
No, you needn't ! But protect your sisters. Care only for my
children. Adele, be a mother to Therese. She is the youngest
and the liveliest, hasty for good and evil, thoughtless and
weak! Try to have her married soon, if you possibly can! —
Now, now I smell burnt straw !
ADELE. — Lord in Heaven help us!
DURAND (Empties the waterglass). — He is doing so! —
For Annette you must try to get a position as governess!
Then she will get out into the world among good company. —
When the insurance is paid you must take care of the money.
Do not be stingy but dress your sisters so that they are pre-
sentable! Save nothing but the family papers, which are in
my desk, — middle drawer. Here is the key. — The Policy you
have — (Smoke is seen to break through the ceiling) Soon it
is done! In a moment the bell at St. Francois will ring! —
Promise me one thing. — Never mention this to your sister!
It would only disturb their peace through life. (He sits by
the table). One more matter: never say anything evil about
your mother ! Her picture is also in the desk — I never showed
you that, because it was quite enough to have her unseen
spirit in the home! My love to Therese, tell her to forgive
me ! Don't forget that you must give her the best when you
buy clothes, you know how she loves those things, and you
know what her weakness might lead to ! — Tell Annette — (A
deep toll is heard. The smoke increases. M. Durand drops
his head on his hands on the table).
ADELE.— Fire !— Fire !— Father !— What is the matter
with you! You will burn!~
DURAND. — (Lifts his head and pushes away the water
glass with a meaning gesture).
ADELE. — You have — taken — poison !
DURAND. — (Nodding assent). Have you the insurance
policy? — Tell Therese — and Annette — (His head falls down
again. Another toll; noise and voices outside).
Curtain.
184
The DRAMATIST
FACING DEATH
The Acme of Indefinite Drama.
By far the gravest flaw in Strindberg's sketch is the fact
that he has made it impossible for either the reader or the
spectator to interpret his meanings with any definite security.
We are never just certain of his thought and many are the mo-
ments of absolute obscurity. Scenes I and II have very slight
purpose. They are not properly dramatized. The characters
are obviously set upon the stage to TELL us certain past and
present domestic conditions. Scene III repeats much that is
attempted in Scene I — the financial stringency of the house-
hold — and Antonio, the new character, is of no real service to
the main conflict.
Why is the son of the American alluded to? What has his
insult to Therese got to do with the Play? If v/e were already
informed of the relation between Antonio and Therese, there
might be a slight trickle of dramatic interest but even that
would be extraneous and foreign to the real Play v/hich is to
develop later. The old man's veiled threat misleads the audi-
tor. It promises a Conflict between Durand and Antonio. But
this fizzles out.
Antonio's question about Durand's nationality is purely me-
chanical. The Plot does not call for it. Antonio has no possi-
ble motive for asking it. The only conceivable use, even, is
the retaliation that Therese makes, when she gives her father
the lie, later on.
In Scene IV we have another incoherent reference to an
affair between Antonio and Therese, We never know what
this affair has been. We are permitted to guess that he has
ruined the girl. But has this any possible connection with the
Playlet? If it had, its utter vagueness would destroy the sense
as far as dramatic definiteness is concerned. For Drama is
definite !
Scene VI is no less inconsequent. The kissing incident,
the lie about it and the threatened duel are surely items of an-
other Play. They serve no purpose here. We now see the
hollow utility of the reference to Durand's nationality. The-
rese slaps back at him. Of course the defense of the dead
mother is pertinent, but it is not necessary to hatch up the
daughter's seduction to bring this to the surface.
Scene VII is merely an extension of the spurious matter in
VI. The old man's failing senses do not enter into the Prob-
lem of the Play proper. It can hardly be advanced as a motive
for the old man's suicide.
The Play might well begin with Scene VIII and all that
has gone before contains nothing that could not be woven into
this dialog with alacrity. But even this Scene lacks dramati-
zation. There are two Plot ingredients that are carelessly
185
The DRAMATIST
omitted. The first is the fact that the father has poison in the
glass which he is about to take. This would illuminate every
reference to death and suicide made by the old man. The sec-
ond is the fact that he has set a candle in the house where its
flame will slowly start a blaze that will sweep the entire pre-
mises. This would give a dramatic force to every allusion to
life insurance, fire or provision for Durand's helpless daugh-
ters.
"There burns a candle in this house," is too miserably in-
definite to create the required suspense. The audience must
not only know — they must SEE the poison as well as the
burning candle ! Just think, a moment, how the actual flame
creeping along the roof of the building would intensify the
interest in all the old man's vague inferences ! Think what the
added significance would be of the odor of burning straw !
The latter part of Scene VIII becomes highly dramatized
because at great expense the Conditions of the Conflict have
finally been ground into us. The old man's hidden inferences
are very affecting. Scene IX sustains the same uncanny mood
until it rambles off onto the story of his life. This obviously
belongs at the beginning of a play.
We have purposely omitted a digest of the Play's purpose
until the end of our criticism to aid the reader in determining
the same for himself. Little idea of central motif can be
gleaned from a study of the first seven Scenes. The nucleus
of the sketch is as follows :
A father has been a silent martyr to the legacy of lies
passed down by his deceased wife. He finally refutes this
blasphemy by sacrificing his life to provide for his children.
Or to present it in the form of a syllogizm, it is :
Problem :
1. A father has been maligned for extravagance.
2. He sacrifices life to provide for his children.
3. The blasphemy is refuted.
How would we set about to dramatize this story? The
truest guide we can offer is as follows: Place the Plot upon
the motion picture reel of your imagination. Cast the differ-
ent views upon the screen in their proper order and merely add
such words as are essential to a clear interpretation of the
passing picture. Where the photograph fails to convey an
adequate meaning, supply a word or two and the Play will
build.
By this test you will find a host of Strindberg's words are
absolutely void and valueless. The audience craves the chance
to drink in the drama with their eyes. Verbal decoration mere-
ly dulls the concept when it arrests the imagination of the
186
M
spectator by a demand on his conscious thought to interpret
the meaning of a chain of idle speeches. Moral : Augment the
eye by the ear !
187
DRAM
TWO THEATRICAL SEASONS
COMPARED
EVENTS IN PRODUCING THEATRES
1909-10 1910-11
Number of new plays 102 89
Number of new musical comedies 26 37
Number of revived plays 38 67
Number of revived musical comedies 4 5
Shakespearian revivals 13 17
Totals 183 215
CLASSIFICATION OF PLAYS
Serious and sentimental dramas 37 27
Melodramas 26 10
Romantic comedies 10 12
Light comedies 10 19
Tragedies 3 2
Farces 16 19
Totals 102 89
SOURCES OF NEW PLAYS
Original plays 74 65
Adapted from foreign plays 15 14
Dramatized from novels or stories 13 10
Totals 102 89
NATIONALITY OF AUTHORS
By native authors 63 62
By foreign authors 39 27
Totals 102 89
NEW MUSICAL COMEDIES
By native composers 18 26
By foreign composers 8 11
Totals 26 37
In this table we find fewer New Plays for 191 1 but a
smaller percentage of foreign authors. Light Comedies show
the biggest increase, Melodramas the heaviest decline.
188
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER
B. ANTHONY,
ELditor
Vol.
III.
EASTON.
PA.
No.
1
QUARTERLY
1911
OCTOBER
Our Third Year
It is with sincere gratitude that we glance back over our
brief career and contemplate the changes wrought in this pe-
riod. We are not bigoted enough to believe that this journal
has been the sole cause of these innovations in dramatic tech-
nic but we are flattered by the fact that some of them have
been voiced by no other organ in America.
We refer more particularly to our boast that American
craftsmen are the keenest in the world, that three-act Plays
would come to be the divisional standard and that the audi-
ence must invariably be given the key to the Conflict.
Our first claim has been substantiated by a recent contract
for the French rights to an American masterpiece made by
Sarah Bernhardt. She will play the leading role herself and
stage it in her own theatre. The Play is Eugene Walter's
"The Easiest Way."
When we started advocating three acts as the normal di-
vision of a Play a loud protest greeted this doctrine. Glance
over the list of current productions and you will find three acts
the rule and four the rare exception. The same is even more
true of the unproduced plays to come.
The same exception was taken to our plea that the author
must cunningly convey to the audience his impending Conflict.
And the best drama in New York today is a confirmation of
this theory. "The Woman" extracts every essence of effect-
iveness out of its dramatic possibilities by frankly confiding
the complications and relying solely upon skill in solution for
suspense.
And so runs the world. The analyst sees these laws before
the adept grasps and employs them as working forms and prin-
ciples. Imagination idealizes before the world realizes. The
laws of drama are fast and immutable. In the infancy of this
art it is difficult to perceive them. All have been utilized, but
not in the richest arrangement for supreme harmony. How
can we gain a glimpse of the perfect, then, save through the
eye of the idealist?
189
The DRAMATIST
When the pla5rwright treats a contemporary theme by an
appeal to the fundamental emotions of mankind, employing all
the cardinal principles of Play construction, then, and not un-
til then, will we approach the perfect drama.
THE WOMAN.
Real Dramatic Interest Plus Illusion.
No Play of the new season attains the high plane of the-
atric effect achieved by Wm. C. DeMille in "The Woman." It
has more grip, more power than any production in the metro-
polis. Point after point is scored by THE AUDIENCE who
build the Play which the author has cleverly contrived for
their reconstruction. This is the acme of dramaturgic Art : to
permit the audience to feel they are divining the Plot.
At the drop of the first curtain we are artfully placed in
possession of secret Plot ingredients that urge us on to antici-
pating the entire Play. The novice would erase this bold
stroke for fear of revealing too much. He could not under-
stand the superior craftsmanship of such frankness. But each
individual auditor is made to believe he is the only one who
knows. This subtle hint of the approaching complicity gen-
erates suspense. It does not retard it. This is the Play-
wright's province. Not to spring sudden surprises from the
dark cabinet but to hint his mystery and then bind the audi-
tor's interest by the magic of dramatic disclosure.
The sophisticated critic will quibble over lapses of logic
in this model of Play Construction, but let's ask the audience
about them. What do they feel? That is the acid test of
technology. To this composite crowd ILLUSION has car-
ried credulity. For the mob is many times more credulous
than the individual. Mr. DeMille understands this psychic
phenomenon. The inwrapt witness of his work ignores the
trifling inconsistencies and finds it difficult to shake off the
hypnosis wrought by his witchery.
It is a time-worn tradition of dramatic writing that the
first act of a Play must be given over to "Exposition" socalled ;
that the Plot cannot start with the revelation of Play Condi-
tions but must either halt or limp along till the preliminaries
"get over." This is one of the most flagrant fallacies of Play
Building. It has marred the first half hour of "The Woman"
where nothing happens pending a tiresome TALK of "Exposi-
tion." When this long sleep is over the Plot wakes up with a
start. From that moment on the interest is relentless. The
author tells his story through the alembic of dramatic art. His
moral is impressed but not preached. The soul receives the
sermon, not the ear. We behold the muck-raker besmirched
in the splash of his own foul efforts. And this is an eternal
truth.
190
The DRAMATIST
Here is a domestic product that foreign technicians may
take off their hats to. It is in the rigid practice of sound tech-
nology that the American must excel before he soars off into
realms of uninterpretable psychology.
Of course, we know that Belasco is to blame for the subtle
stagecraft that gives the supreme finish to this production. To
him and to Mr. DeMille the dramatists of this age are indebted
for an excellent model to pattern after. "The Dramatist" adds
its acknowledgment of gratitude. "The Woman" is an em-
bodiment of nearly every positive playwriting principle we
have been preaching!
THE ARAB.
A Travelogue in Four Views.
Mr. Edgar Selwyn has demonstrated much photographic
skill but little dramatic power in his motion picture product
of the streets of a Syrian village. It is a travelogue in four
reels called acts. There is no central idea to be clothed with
Conflict, no Conflict to enlist our sympathies and beget sus-
pense, and the slight tissue of interest that attaches to the
plight of a girl besieged by savages in a foreign mission is so
highly colored with romantic artifice that no dramatic realism
attends her rescue.
The mating of a half reformed Arab with the cultured
daughter of an American missionary is so far beyond the
founded beliefs of the audience that little valid Play material
can come of it. Foreign tongues and oriental politics require
too much interpretation in themselves to permit a fictitious
tale on top of them. The cleverest Plot might be hopelessly
obscured by this futile effort to launch a true love story while
introducing strangers and a strange land.
The piece is the usual result of an able actor's effort to
create an effective role for himself. It compares with Soth-
ern's "The Light that Lies in a Woman's Eyes." If Mr. Sel-
v;yn wants to write a great part for his acting talents he must
first cast it in the Conflict that molds character. Dramatic
power must dominate the process by which personal portrayal
is produced.
SPEED.
A Qualified Comedy.
From the significant title on through to the very core of its
theme, this Comedy is an epoch making pattern for Plays to
com.e. It possesses humor without rough-house methods and
moral without unimpersonated preachment. It is essentially
the dramatic gem of the early season.
igi
The DRAMATIST
Its story is played and not told.
It is measured for the sole and the shoe fits.
It gratifies the senses only to lay on the lash that smarts.
It is a Play for everyone, not the intellectual few.
It is constructed by a succession of structural Scenes, not
sounds.
Its characters are not motived by the mechanical needs of
the author.
It is founded on the fundamental law of humanity — paren-
tal love.
It unfolds before our eyes, not dating back into bygone his-
tory.
In view^ of these many virtues it seems a sacrilege to men-
tion the minor flaws that may exist. An outline of the Play
proper follows :
A modest married couple become inoculated with the fever
of extravagance and rob the baby's bank to inaugurate a life
of high speed which ends in neglect of the youngster.
Mr. Dodd has made two departures from his plans and
specifications. In the random execution of his theme he has
needlessly tarnished the mother by an escapade with another
man. This incident does not contribute to the main Plot and
really belongs in a separate story of moral turpitude. To
round off the sentimental history of two other characters in
the Play he has thrown in a love story.
Neither of these excrescent growths belong technically to
the Play proper. The first is a surrender to the temptation for
added situation even at the expense of dramatic disunity. The
second is a concession to the traditional demand for sex love
interest. This tends to vitiate the true theme of violated pa-
rental love.
You cannot employ all the primitive laws of Nature, Mr.
Dodd. Concentrate on the one physically defined by your
Plot. Reserve the others for the great Plays "The Dramatist"
predicts you are destined to write and you will soon attain that
ideal we have so patiently been preaching.
THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE.
Even the Comedietta Must Have Conflict.
Here is the gist of the Play.
Two husbands become enamored of each other's wives.
Their spouses afreet an exchange of the particular attributes
that disenchant their fickle mates and a reconciliation is accom-
plished.
All dramatic analysts from Aristotle to Anthony agree that
the elemental essence of drama is a contention of opposing
forces. To ignore this fundamental law simply because a Play
192
The DRAMATIST
happens to assume the character of a farce is a serious blun-
der. A prolonged discussion of household infelicities does not
serve as a substitute. To omit all semblance of Conflict de-
prives a farce of dramatic interest just as finally as any other
form of drama. . There must be contest of some sort. And in
the end a triumph of one force over the other.
"Thy Neighbor's Wife" has an overabundance of woe and
wail, but no actual symptoms of dramatic strife. The estrange-
ment between the two couples is so hollow that an audience
cannot be persuaded to accept it even as a farcial illusion. And
this robs the character of reality. It is the element of strife
that creates character. Without this factor the portrayal of
personality is impossible. The people of this Play, therefore,
never for a moment exist even in the make-believe for the mo-
tives that actuate them are transparently the mechanical wires
of the author.
And how may we remedy this negative? By supplying the
absent factor, of course. An entertaining farce could be manu-
factured of this material by injecting some plausable Conflict
and propounding a panacea. For the real Play must have
something to say. Some solution in the present case must be
offered for married couples temporarily disenchanted.
In "The Concert" a very valid remedy is recommended in
behavior of the wife who allows her infant-genius of a husband
to live with another woman long enough to miss the motherly
attention his able-minded mate administered. By strong con-
trast of character born of tangible Conflict these people spring
to life in the composite mind of the audience.
Suppose Mr. Elmer Harris had pursued a like policy. Sup-
pose that instead of the tame divorce a double elopement were
substituted, giving some grounds for credulity. Let something
happen. Let there be doubt as to the issue. In the present
manuscript no child could foster the remotest shadow of sus-
pense as to the outcome.
The thing that Mr. Harris has conceived is good material.
He has failed to inject the dramatic germ. The test of his
genius would be dramatization of this latent energy. He
could find no better study in his present state of evolution as
a dramatist.
THE WITNESS FOR THE DEFENSE.
Devoid of Human Concern and Interest.
The difference between building a Play to embody a theme
and preaching a sermon in dialog disguise is amply examplified
in "Speed" and "The Witness for the Defense." "Speed" con-
veys its moral through dramatic appeal to parental instinct.
"The Witness for the Defense" advances Ibsen's "A Wild
193
The DRAMATIST
Duck" theory that the truth fiend is a confirmed mischief
maker. Mr. A. E. W. Mason is so bent on propagating his
moral that he fails to clothe it with a practicable plot founded
on the infallible basis of human emotion.
The one semblance of strife in the piece is the effort of a
young man's relatives to dig up the evidence of a murder for
which his fiancee has been tried and acquitted. But this Con-
flict carries no conviction. We know the murder was justi-
fiable and no serious doubts are entertained as to the young
man's attitude when he learns the whole truth. The dramatic
force of the Plot hinges entirely on this one event.
A more serious flaw undermines what Action might be
generated out of this situation. The audience does not care !
Their sympathies are not involved. The boy may marry the
widow or chuck her, it's no odds to us. Neither candidate for
matrimony awakens the slightest solicitude in our souls. The
slight partiality that is created by the author rather inclines
us toward his villain whom he has intended us to despise.
There is no homage for the hero-elect,
A good Play might be built of this dormant material. A
Conflict must be invented of sufficient reality to enable us to
take sides in the issue. Without this appeal to partisanship
there is little possibility of conviction. It is through this blind-
ing sympathy for one factor in the combat that the auditor be-
comes thoroughly controlled by illusion.
• • T H E R A C K .
Deception Mars the Big Moment.
This is the Plot in a nutshell.
Problem.
1. A husband is arraigned for the murder of his wife's
lover.
2. A third party confesses to the crim.e.
3. The husband is exonerated.
The second clause of this syllogism is the mainspring of
Plot. It is the prime Cause out of which the entire action
takes genesis. At a glance it will be seen that the second'
clause is in no way identified with the first and that the third
is not a product of the other two. It is merely a chance result
of the second. The issue is not joined. The whole Play hinges
on this murder but in the end the crime is shown to be no part
and parcel of the Conflict proper but merely a biproduct of
history connected with the lover's prior escapades. Mr. Bu-
chanan has dodged the issue. Instead of reaching his Conclu-
sion by a legitimate manipulation of his own materials he re-
sorts to the lame device of an outside source.
194
The DRAMATIST
And this flaw is accelerated by a violation of the oldest
canon known in dramatic law. "Thou shalt not deceive thy
audience !" Authors may trifle with an audience as to the
eventual outcome of Plot but we are unable to point to a suc-
cessful Play on record that deliberately juggles with the visi-
ble event to the degree that seeing is not believing.
The husband is repeatedly shown to be lurking about the
premises where the lover is attempting to seduce the wife. At
the critical moment the wife's cry is answered by a vigorous
knock at the door and we have every reason to believe it the
husband! We see two shots fired just outside the door and
the lover staggers in mortally wounded. The positive convic-
tion is imparted that the husband killed him for this is the line
of least resistance rightfully indicated for the spectator to con-
struct by. It is the only interpretation in keeping with Con-
flict and the logical course for the man to take. Any attempt
at extraneous surprise at this point constitutes willful decep-
tion on the part of the dramatist.
To be sure he has prepared us with knowledge of a third
man's presence on the premises but he is not presented to us
in the attitude of malice or revenge and the history of his
grudge against the libertine is so miserably obscured by a
chaotic ensemble in Act I that nothing really crosses the foot-
lights. Besides, we are watching one Play and this Conflict is
quite another. Keep your finger on the trigger, Mr. Buchanan.
You have a live topic and a timely one. You let the gun go off
halfcocked when you shot that wretch and converted a good
Play into a melodrama. Your chance for social inquisition in
closer JJvAty with theme is a trial for divorce and not murder.
The same excellence of court room representation devoted to
the unjust divorce of a woman whom we could hold sympathy
for would make a better Play.
But can an audience have faith in a woman who professes
to love her husband and risks incurring his everlasting aliena-
tion by accompanying a moral leper to a disreputable road
house for the ostensible mission of reconciling him to his
estranged wife? And if she were so rashly imprudent would
she consent to dine and wine with the libertine knowing that
the other guests were not coming and that the bedroom ad-
joins on the left? Is this the stuff that sympathetic heroines
are made of?
But all these attributes could be changed. Adequate Cause
could be supplied to bring about the identical situations and
yet retain solicitude for the young wife placed in this predica-
ment. By shifting the motif from self-preservation to sex-love
the melodrama might become a Play on a higher plane exploit-
ing a moral of pronounced merit.
195
The DRAMATIST
A MAN OF HONOR.
The Remarkable Work of a Rabbi.
What the disciplined mind will do to the drama is well
shown by the arrival of Rabbi Landman after a brief sys-
tematic study of the Science of Play Construction. He has
drawn a role to fit one of our best actors with a strong bold
stroke. The structure is much more consistent logically than
the average work of the professional playwright as may be
seen from the following hypothesis.
1. A judge's son has embezzled money from a magnate.
2. The magnate uses this fact to hamper justice.
3. Exposure of attempted bribery defeats the magnate.
In the development of his Plot Dr. Landman has intro-
duced an interesting turn of affairs. The judge is ripe for po-
litical promotion. The disgrace of his son's crime will blast
this hope. But the father determines his boy must suffer the
penalty. A strong situation ! There would be more suspense,
however, if the author were to direct the constructive imagi-
nation of the auditor by cleverly implying that the magnate's
attempted bribery is slipping the noose about his own neck.
To desert the audience at end of II with no tangible thread to
follow is bad treatment. To make the judge a little more ener-
getic in the matter of seeking evidence to convict the scamp
who has openly attempted bribery would add strength to the
leading character.
The weakest factor in the Play is the preacher's attempt to
force his sermon into the text. He has a burning desire to
show what parental neglect may lead to. The idea is wedged
into the Play rather than an integral part of it. The author
attempts to show this neglect with the one hand and with the
other exercises undue restraint to prevent a parent's sympa-
thy. The son is repeatedly rebuffed by the father. But the
boy does not hint the extremity of his peril. The author re-
strains him to enhance neglect. It might be hard for a son to
tell his father that he had stolen money, but the exigency of
the situation would compel him to hint in some way that im-
prisonment was staring him in the face.
The theory of parental neglect rests heavily on this one
incident. There are other touches of it but a strong effect is
attempted at the end of Act I by a picture of the boy beating
his fists against the door of the stern parent who has locked
him out. There is a keen lack of conviction here. The boy is
an abnormal child for not doing what the average creature
would do under the circumstances. The father is not amena-
ble for neglecting something he does not know exists. The
naked hand of the dramatist is revealed.
196
The DRAMATIST
In the big scene in II, therefore, when the lad turns on his
father and charges him with filial default, the point does not
carry. The soul of the spectator is not so much impressed
with the indifference of the parent as with the untimely death
of a loving mother. We regret that she could not have lived
to properly rear her son. But even this is aside from the trend
of theme which is to show the unfailing retribution attending
corruption and bribe. The duty of parent to child would bet-
ter fit another Conflict. The attempt to kill two birds with a
single stone results in maiming either. Let the lesson teach
this law, Mr. Landman, that Conflict is ever paramount and
to launch an idea dramatically you must conceive a struggle
consistent with your theme.
THE REAL THING.
A Most Unreal Dramatic Document.
Problem.
1. A wife mollycoddles her children to the neglect of her
husband.
2. A sister discovers the husband's attachment for a
young girl.
3. She teaches the wife to reclaim her husband by disci-
plining her children.
This is the hypothesis of the main Plot evidently intended
by the author. It is badly confuddled by two branch Plots
that hopelessly bury any distinct outline of the author's pur-
pose.
Plot number two threatens to become the real Play. It
provides the sentiment role for Henrietta Crosman who plays
the leading part. No doubt the effort to create this acting
opportunity for a star accounts for hitching on extraneous
matter in this crude fashion. An attempt is made to pad up
a complication out of the fact that the sister's old lover pro-
poses to her before learning that she is a widow. She thinks
that he thinks that her husband still lives. She learns that he
has learned and all is well. A flimsy device to build a Play
about but Miss Crosman relies on this situation for her biggest
moment.
The third Plot is a step-plot of Plot number two. The hus-
band of Plot number one is jealous of the lover of Plot num-
ber two for making love to the mother of the mollycoddled
kids. This is only a momentary aberration of the dramatic
conscience, to be sure, but it serves as an excellent example
of minor disunity. It is a danger signal for the dramatist
aimlessly reeling off lines without dominant dramatic purpose.
197
The DRAMATIST
Temptations are ever at hand for the imagination that can
be seduced by a clever situation. An indomitable will backed
by technical discretion must reject the spurious combinations
that beset the fertile productive mind.
Catherine Chisholm Gushing, the author of this Comedy,
possesses a rare gift of fluent dialog composition. It is a fac-
ulty she will never have occasion to test thoroughly till she can
build a Plot worthy of such embellishment. In the abstract
it is a tendency to restrain rather than encourage. It is difTi-
cut to appreciate that mere talk is the worst of all barriers
for the beginner. This is painfully apparent in two whole
acts of "The Real Thing." These depend wholly upon clever
conversation of characters not motivated to speak Plot parts.
The first Act contains a single incident of dramatic worth.
The husband kisses the girl. If the rest of the main Plot could
be executed by real drama of this sort the Play would be fully
dramatized. Throughout the rest of the comedy there is not
a solitary instance of Plot event. All is TALKED into the
audience. After talking us in and out of the two subordinate
Plots an attempt is made to TALK a Conclusion onto the frag-
ment that survives of main issue. But this is not really accom-
plished even by way of conversation. We are left to presume
that all will be well now that wifie drinks claret punch, wears
stylish dresses and puts her kidlets to bed with the chickens.
SNOBS
A Farce With Foreign Finish.
Suppose you were playing checkers. The critical moment
arrives. Your partner flashes the ace of spades and shouts:
"The game's mine!" That would be equivalent to the falla-
cious reasoning employed in the Conclusion of "Snobs."
A newly bequeathed duke loves a girl who doesn't know
of his title. The only flaw in his flirtation is the lack of a thrill
sufficient to captivate his young enchantress. Thus far we
have a straight game of checkers, you see. But a second party
insists on playing poker. He swats a third fellow over the
head with a cane and by some mistake the duke is charged
with the assault. The missing thrill is now supplied by a des-
perate battle in which the duke wrests a gun from the officer
who is about to shoot him. The audience is requested to be-
lieve they are still watching a game of checkers.
Does this rude illustration drive home the absurdity of
trying to play two games with one hand? Here is the widest
gap in the structural framework of "Snobs." The Plot dashes
off on a side track just as the Play is pulling into the terminal.
The Farce has one merit. It starts off with a definite fore-
cast of the complications that might follow. The first Act is
ig8
The DRAMATIST
shown, not TALKED. But nothing comes of this good prom-
ise. The second Act is the crudest kind of hotchpotch teeming
with disunity and spineless character drawing. The only possi-
bility of a Play is in the rather implausible premises set forth
in Act I.
A rich satire might be constructed out of the relations of a
suddenly enriched milkman to a snobbish society fop who
spurns the picklemaker's daughter destined to become wife
of the hero, who in turn employs the snob as a financial flun-
key. This is the legitimate structure that might be fitted to
the foundations laid in Mr. Bronson-Howard's well planned
first act.
THE NEST EGG.
Founded on a Single Thread of Novelty.
How far a little touch of novelty may go toward the suc-
cess of a Play may be seen in "The Nest Egg." Swamped be-
neath biplots of puppy love and old-time intrigue this clever
note of satire on cold-storage-pure-food conditions wins in a
few minutes' running. The real Plot consumes but one min-
ute of the first act, two minutes of the second and three of the
third. The remaining time is given over to juvenile capers of
a very commonplace order.
The legitim.ate story of the Play tells of a spinster who in-
scribed her sentiments on an egg. The egg goes to cold stor-
age and after three years the old maid is summoned as chief
witness in a suit against the culprits who preserved it over-
time. The elated spinster mistakes this message from a pure
food fanatic for the call of cupid. Her clever testimony wins
the case, however, and consummates her original purpose of
matrimony.
Any ordinary dreamer might build optimistic anticipation
of the unique entertainment to be derived from the actual de-
velopment and unfolding of this story from the first incident
of lettering the egg down to the final episode of culminating
connubiality.
But what does the amateur author ofFer us?
Nine tenths of the performance is taken up with irrelevant
minor Plot conveying four distinct and separate stories extra-
neous to the main Play.
From the beginning no one could guess the purpose of the
composition. We are introduced with much obvious effort
and talk to the vicissitudes of a young girl whose father insists
upon marrying her to a wealthy bumpkin.
Joined to this tangent is a second offshoot of a college girl's
romance with the first girl's brother.
199
The DRAMATIST
Plot number three is the mysterious intervention of an ad-
venturess of the old school stripe, who bolts in upon the heart
affairs of the other couples and mixes motives generally.
The fourth is the mercenary intrigue to rob the spinster of
her hen-house which has suddenly loomed into large value.
None of these spurious episodes have anything to do with
the advancement of the main issue. The author has cleverly
dove-tailed them into an actable vehicle, to be sure, but to la-
bel such chaotic incongruity a Play would be analytic perjury
in the first degree.
The substance of a light comedy of extremely novel charac-
ter is conveyed in the remnants of main Plot that are scattered
through the manuscript. The spinster is a fresh, life-like type
with a gift of bright dialog that would do credit to a techni-
cally perfect reconstruction of the Play's hypothesis.
And here we have painful evidence of the starved condi-
tions of the contemporary stage. Sixteen weeks was accorded
this little piece at the Bijou Theatre in New York City! De-
spite the encumbrance this slender thread of live novelty won
substantial box-office benefits and brought forth a clamor of
praise from the critics famishing for want of unadulterated
dramatic nourishment,
A MILLION,
A Farce with a Philosophy.
It sounds like a paradox to say that a farce has a philoso-
phy and that it actually thrills, but this is the fact in "A Mil-
lion" now being tried on the road by Henry W. Savage, And
what a rare treat in this new season of horse-play productions !
The theme delivers a satirical slap at the city sleuths whose
eyes are blinded by their own veritable adroitness. The Play
holds the audience in breathless suspense over the simple de-
vice of a lost blue blouse containing a prize winning lottery
ticket. The piece makes no pretense at intellectual uplift but
its dramatic merit well deserves the closest study of the dra-
matist. The few flaws that mar the road try outs will doubt-
less be effaced in rehearsal. The American version is by Leo
Dietrichstein, who in addition to rebuilding the Plot has con-
verted vulgar French farce into fairly refined English, And
this is a tremendous task !
MAGGIE PEPPER.
The Decline of Mr. Klein,
Save for the subtle selection of popular Play materials
there is little in this melodrama to identify it with such Plays
as "The Gamblers" or even "The Third Degree." And under
200
The DRAMATIST
the circumstances of production it is difficult to determine
whether the audience is not applauding Miss Rose Stahl for
what she has been in another role. Both earlier dramas may
boast of an underlying idea. "Maggie Pepper" appeals to the
littlest, meanest and shallowest of human emotions only.
But Mr. Klein's decline is evidently not intentional. In an
article recently written for the New York "Sun" he regrets
the cruelty of the playgoing public and declares the day of
romanticism is past. Surely no piece on earth is calculated to
test this truth better than this playwright's latest product. If it
can draw after the public learns that Rose Stahl in "Maggie"
is not the Rose Stahl of several seasons past, Mr. Klein will be
disputing his journalism by his own playwriting. For this
Play is the quintessence of romanticized junk.
But the sad side of the situation is the fact that a writer of
means will stoop to such sordid stufif after proving himself
capable of about the best work on the American stage. And
all in hopeless pursuit of the mere mercenary.
The two Plots of "Maggie Pepper" are as follows :
1. A shop girl wins the heart of her rich employer against
the courtship of a stylish sweetheart.
2. A shop girl is bled and blackmailed by the parents of a
child she endeavors to preserve from their crimi-
nal influence.
In the first Plot the crudest sort of dime novel envy char-
acterizes the courtship of the sweetheart; aided and abetted
by her preposterous uncle. Poor "Maggie" is batted all over
the field in G. minor and wears the shreds of her splintered
heart on her sleeve. She is fired twice by express command of
the author even against the wishes of the firm that employs
her. The common sense of the audience is not reckoned with.
For some unknown reason "Maggie" disdains the wealthy em-
ployer and seeks to reconcile him to his jealous sweetheart.
The author finds it necessary to put a bullet through his hero
before "Mag" will surrender her celibacy. His drunken pro-
posal almost fetches her, but the author's brutality does the
trick. She at once takes sides with the spineless hero who has
been so cruelly treated by the man who brought him to imagi-
nary life.
The second Plot seems an attempt to link "Deep Purple"
coloring with cheap sentimentality of the old school. It is
with the most obvious effort that this spurious story gets
a-going in the first act of the legitimate Play. The machinery
of one Plot has to be stopped abruptly whilst the other starts
a competitive spin. But the second Plot has the biggest buzz
201
The DRAMATIST
saw for the blackmailer cuts his way into the presence of un-
happy lovers everytime there is any prospect of a peaceful
moment. He is no respecter of millionaire's offices and young
ladies' private apartments. He busts right in.
There is no doubt that the second Play mars and retards
the force of the first, but it is only on the rarest occasion that
even a spot of drama is demonstrated in either Plot worth pre-
serving. In the last moments of the second scene of the third
act there is a suggestion for a theme that might be availed by
a man of Mr. IClein's ability. The sheer efficiency of this pa-
thetic shop girl fits her for the office of mother to the booby-
ish inebriate. A strong satire on class distinction might be
constructed out of this suggestion. The Play bears some such
message as it is. But any interpretation is impossible in the
chaotic jumble cheap complications dispensed.
PUBLISHED PLAYS.
Three Plays by Shaw.*
The Doctor's Dilemma, Getting Married, and The Showing-
Up of Blanco Posnet.
Shaw has written these Essays for any of three purposes!
To amuse himself, to furnish food for the reading public, or
to be performed before an audience of strictly mental tempera-
ments. Although Drama is supposed to be an interpretation
of life Shaw finds it necessary to write one hundred pages of
interpretation for a forty page Playlet. That such intellectual
fodder is unfit for the digestion of contemporary audiences is
beyond a doubt. Fad and vanity may muster a limited attend-
ance to such offerings but there is little actual interest in them
for the play going public
Few men on earth can rival Shaw for sustained brilliance
of biting sarcasm but for young writers to set up his works
as models would be the uttermost folly. Of the better brand
of drama Mr. Shaw has just as much to learn as many novices
at least if we are to judge his Art by his later specimens of
craftsmanship. These do not show an adequate knowledge of
Play, Logic, Sequence, Unity or Plot. His strong qualifica-
tions are Scene Structure, Characterization, and Dialog. All
more or less remote from their functions in a Play.
THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA.
If we could compress the first twenty pages of the first Act
into four or five, at most, the remaining ten would be drama.
If we could really know whether the young Artist is married
*Brentano's. New York. Price $1.50.
202
u
D R A M A T I
to his wife before the other characters bring up the question
there would be dramatic force in the blow he aims at the scan-
dal mongers.
The same is true of the widow's second marriage in the in-
terval following Act IV. Nobody really knows but the Au-
thor, He doesn't supply our emotions with the elements of
suspense. He seeks to surprise us in the stilly darkness. The
Newspaper man is a clever caricature of the progressive press-
agent-highwayman, but he is no factor in the Play. He would
fit in a frame by himself for a vaudeville exhibition more ade-
quately than he answers here. Ibsen would have found a plot
purpose for this character. He would have employed him to
advance the story. Shaw throws him in for the Author's
amusement.
There is no logic in a man's asking a strange married wo-
man to act as hostess at his stag party and no pretense at con-
forming the common sense situation is made. A highly clever
satire on the futile and conflicting theories of eminent medical
men is conceived but not dramatized. Shaw has a definite
purpose but betrays an indefinite knowledge for executing it
in dramatic form. "The Doctor's Dilemma" is tedious dis-
course in FIVE Acts.
GETTING MARRIED and THE SHOWING-UP OF
BLANCO POSNET.
Not much can be said of either of the other Plays in this
volume. Both are perfumed with wit. Even through the stage
directions the playful pen of the satirist dances nimbly. But
far less semblance of Drama is discernable. His intentions are
plain to the thinking reader but such great gulps of intellectual
hard tack cannot be swallowed by any composite audience un-
der the sun.
The day may come when dialoged essay will supplant ora-
tory. But to grant such literature a place in power with drama
is quite another question. The orator may reach the intellect
and rouse the will of the individual capable of auto-suggestion.
But the ideal drama may transform the souls of the multitude
by the spell of the playbuilder's art.
"The Dramatist" is for DRAMA, here, now and for all
time!
THREE PLAYS BY BRIEUX
MATERNITY.
By a Modern French Problem Playwright,
In a volume of three Plays by Brieux--= this drama appears
in two versions. These are helpful study for the novitiate.
*Brentano's, New York, $1,50.
203
The DRAMATIST
They show the power to be gained by adjusted Sequence, re-
duction of cast and creation of new character demanded by
Plot. It is a privileged peep into the workshop of the drama-
tist.
Of course, our chief interest in analysing the work of a
member of the French Academy is his comparative progress in
the Science of Play Construction. In a word his theses are
more vital and his treatment less dramatic than our best
American dramatists. We have few thinkers among our dra-
matic writers who would attempt such advanced themes. But
we have craftsmen v«/ho could take these materials ready-made
and interpret them with more telling force.
Brieux falls short at the finale just where we most crave
conviction. "Maternity" is capably handled in Acts I and II
save for an occasional lack of motive in the Dialog. The au-
thor compels his characters to speak, at times, instead of en-
dowing them with compulsion. He occasionally permits them
to talk to themselves. But there is no mistaking the power of
his theme. He has stripped all social definitions of delicacy to
present a radical phase of the subject of propagation of the
species. There is little doubt of the selling qualities of such a
raw Conflict theatrically speaking. Setting aside the author's
choice of subject, then, let us see where he has forsaken his art
whilst he drives his pen to the profit of pure pamphleteering.
The main story of "Maternity" tells of a woman whose
"race-suicide" husband forces two degenerate children upon
her in the fulfillment of his professed reform. The Conflict
rises to a climax of actual rape committed by brute force in the
exercise of a drunken husband's "rights."
Joined to this idea is a secondary story of the wife's
younger sister who has been ruined by an outsider we never
meet. The confession of her downfall is one of the most
potent scenes in the book. Despite its telling force, however,
and its conformity to theme, it does not reinforce the main
idea for the reason that it is not joined. The author would do
well to choose between the two plays and then concentrate.
In Act III he deserts both Plots. Whatever Conclusion is
reached is proclaimed from the lecture platform and not the
stage. A court room scene is represented. In the absence of
true dramatization this becomes nothing more than a mock
trial. The author sets forth numerous instances of mere life in
unison with his theme and tells us the fate of both our hero-
ines. But the Conflict proper has ceased to exist. Drama
sleeps while thematic testimony flourishes. The Play that the
audience wants to see has transpired somewhere else and we
get nothing but the crumbs from the conversation of the wit-
nesses.
204
The DRAMATIST
This does not mean that an actual representation of the
wife's abortion is advised even though the author's Plot de-
mands that the audience receive this evidence in tangible form.
Treatment similar to the best manipulation of exceedingly
delicate items in Acts I and II would sufficiently visualize the
denouement of the intended Play without an actual clinic.
The stage must deal with just such problems, some day.
America is evidently not ready for them. Another Play in this
printed volume deals with the dangers of Syphilis. It is called
"Damaged Gcods." The third Play is "The Three Daughters
of M. Dupont."
By Request.
MID -CHANNEL.*
Far Inferior to "The Thunderbolt."
An indifferent husband countenances the flirtations of his
middle-aged wife with younger admirers. The couple quarrel
and separate. She has an affair with a worthless youth whom
she does not really love and the husband takes up with a sport-
ing widow. After a surfeit of this sensuality a reconciliation is
attempted. The husband admits his infidelity and wrings a
like confession from the wife. Out of conventional rectitude
he insists that she marry her paramour. Finding this course
impossible she kills herself.
The foregoing is an abstract synopsis of Mr. Pinero's Play.
It is moral because the conclusion does not exalt the illicit
relation. But it is not helpful. It offers no new solution of the
debasing marital problem it presents. Perhaps the best that
can be said of the Play is that it handles incidents of salacious
sex profligacy with antiseptic delicacy.
The chief characters are devoid of sympathetic appeal for
the reason that the Conflict is not founded upon a vital Law of
life. It may have been the author's intention to involve the
love of the sexes, but a careful analysis of the structure reveals
no evidence of genuine affection. This emotion is depicted
only in the negative.
The motives of the principals are obviously worked by the
wires of the dramatist. They are not the logical effect of
Cause. The author desires them to do certain stunts for his
own convenience and fails to involve their motives in the Plot.
Another grave deficit is Dramatization. Few of the essen-
tial incidents of the Play take place on the stage. One of the
vital events of Plot occurs in Italy and has to be imported by
means of subsequent TALK between the principals. There is
but one important Scene really enacted — the attempted recon-
*W. H. Baker & Co., Boston, 50c.
205
The DRAMATIST
ciliation of the marital degenerates. The wife's confession al-
most rivals Bernstein for similar situations in both "The
Thief" and "Israel." The final suicide is not clearly presented.
It is established by after allusion with no definite visual evi-
dence to confirm the imagination of the audience.
DOUBLE CROSS.
Withholds the Secret of Suspense.
In the January 191 1 issue we analyzed a skit called "Inter-
viewed" which appeared in the November 1910 "Smart Set"
magazine. "Double Cross" appears in the August 191 1 issue
of the same magazine written by the same author, Roi Cooper
Megrue. No better illustration of the invisible shade between
fiction and drama could well be contrived.
And the problem is well worth weighing, for here we have
abstract dialog that bears every similarity to dramatic diction
save for the one technical point. Instead of wasting such com-
position on mere magazine space this author might be drawing
handsome theatrical royalties. V/hat is this absent item of
dramatic interest?
Suspense for the reader is superior knowledge withheld
from him. Suspense for the theatregoer is superior knowledge
imparted to him but withheld from, one or more of the charac-
ters on the stage. Now what superior knowledge is withheld
from the audience in this skit that should have been merely the
ignorance of one of the characters on the stage?
The cardinal fact that the highwayman is a telegraph
operator himself.
Mr. Megrue undoubtedly thought he was enhancing the
thrill by reserving this secret for the final touch. But think for
a m.oment how lame the present suspense might seem com-
pared v/ith the subtle action obtained by our knowing all along
that the poor station agent is being taken in. Suppose by sil-
ent gesture we ascertain that the robber is interpreting the
telegraphic dispatch which the agent pretends to be sending to
avert a wreck. Suspense is increased a thousandfold I
But do not carry this theory to excess. Do not understand
us to say that every item of Plot should be baldly exposed to
the audience. We need not know, for instance, that the mes-
sage is a call for help. We merely see that the hold-up man
understands it. It is time enough when help materializes.
How rapidly the imagination makes the reckoning! "Now
what will happen? Will the burglar return? V/hat wi'l he do
to them?" And the acme of dramatic art is attained. The dra-
matist has his audience thinking the way he wants them to
think. Letting them in on the vital secret is not subtracting
206
The DRAMATIST
from the climax it is multiplying tensity! Master this tiny
trick of theatrics and you have one of the most potent princi-
ples of dramatization-
DRAMATIC LAWS ARE NOT NEW.
"If any one place in a continued series, moral speeches, say-
ings, and sentiments well framed, he will not produce that
which is the work of Playwriting; but that will be much more
a Play, which uses these things as subordinate, and which
contains a fable and combination of incidents."
ARISTOTLE, 440 B. C.
FACING DEATH.
Plan for Reconstruction.
One of the students of the Institute of the Drama submits
the following outline for a closer dramatization of Strindberg's
one-act Play which appears in full in the July, 191 1 number.
Plot.
Durand has bought candles with the last penny of house-
hold funds. His daughters denounce his extravagance. They
are actually in need of bread. What use are the candles? He
has Vv'recked the family fortune. Their dead mother told them
so. He asks for a match. They begrudge it to him. He re-
minds them that they have the house and that he has paid off
the encumbrance against it. They retort that the property is
unmarketable. Durand slyly places a lighted candle near some
straw in the attic window. A storm is brewing. He cau-
tions the girls to put out the kitchen fire. No insurance will
be paid if a fire breaks out from that source. V/e see the
flam.es licking the roof! He gives instructions where to find
the fire insurance policy. He bids them all farewell. He is
going away. The helpless daughters reproach him for desert-
ing them. Their mother had predicted it would end that way.
He breaks his long silence and refutes the legacy of lies passed
down by his deceased wife. He vaguely implies that they will
be provided for. He asks for a glass of water. We see him
mixing a tablet v/hich we suspect is poison from his broad
hints at inviting death. The fire is now under v/ay. Durand
gulps down the poison greedily. The girls discover the fire !
They would save their father who has apparently gone to
sleep. He is dead! They repent their cruelty to him. This is
the journey he alluded to! The fire insurance policy! They
rescue it from the flames! They realize that the old man has
thus provided for them. His last sacrifice in death !
207
The DRAMATIST
Yes, this is a much more feasible working plan. The audi-
ence receives the ingredients of dramatic interest in better Se-
quence. Many of Strindberg's original lines might be pre-
served by closer application and motive.
This is the real process of Playwriting. Now let some one
continue the task of reconstruction employing the above syn-
opsis and redialog the skit and further analysis will be made in
the January 19 12 issue.
^KE/>fD us the names 0/ persons
ijj interested in playtiOriting and
We Will reward your efforts
With a portrait of Shakesphere;
something entirely neW.
The Dramatist,
Eastortj Pa.
208
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER
B. ANTHONY,
£.ditor
Vol.
III.
EASTON,
PA.
No.
2
QUARTERLY
1912
JANUARY
Our Doctrines Endorsed
The acceptation of the principles of dramatic technology is
advancing by leaps and bounds. For a time our radical doc-
trines were unsupported by current Plays and by the critics.
We have from time to time pointed out practical examples of
successful dram.a that embody our theories. We now quote a
few prominent American authorities who voice our views.
CHARLES FROKMAN
DAVID BELASCO
BRANDER MATTHEWS
WM. A. BRADY
AUGUSTUS THOMAS:
CLAYTON HAMILTON:
One of the best signs of the
advance in modern dramatic
technic is the disappearance
of the sub-plot.
A good rule for the dramatist
is to eliminate everybody he
possibly can. In this way do
we get simplicity and direct-
ness.
A Plot must deal with a
struggle. It must show a
clash of contending desires.
A knowledge of the drama of
the past will teach what
ought to be avoided in the
drama of the present.
In the theatre nothing is de-
pendent upon our faculty of
visualization. It is all done
for us.
Tell your story to the eye, for
actions speak louder than
words: — This has become
the leading principle of the
best dramatists.
2og
he DRAM
JOHN CORBIN:
HARTLEY DAVIS:
Thesis plays are false at once
to Art and polemics.
WILLIAM C. deMILLE:
The play that wins is the one
that appeals to the big uni-
versals stirring the emotions
that most of us have in com-
mon.
Build your pantomime first,
then add such words as will
help the picture.
These few words are quoted as being in line with the drift
of advanced criticism and conviction. It is significant that
they happen to endorse the doctrines you have repeatedlj^ read
in these columns. All technic is founded upon basic princi-
ples inherited from the past. It has taken centuries to develop
the art. Each age amends it so that it may exercise a greater
charm for the contemporary spectator. In theory, we cannot
enlarge, perceptibly, upon the groundwork laid by Aristotle.
We can only refine his rules and apply them more closely to
the Audience we collaborate with.
To our many subscribers who send us extracts from va-
rious journals declaring them an appropriation of our ideas;
we address the foregoing paragraph. If our radical beliefs are
being copied. Copy away, we say! The bulk of our know-
ledge in any line is taken on trust from those who have tested
the truth. It is the truth we are after. It is the truth we are
eternally endeavoring to disseminate. We have no wish to
monopolize it. We only wish to see it applied.
Those who conscientiously quote or urge our doctrines,
therefore, are promoting the avowed policy of this periodical.
And in so far as we anticipate the newer standards to which
the art has approached, all followers must imitate if they
v/ould keep pace with the quickstep of progress.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.
A Triumph of the Two Davids.
Just hov/ long this piece would last without a Belasco to
stage it and a Warfield to act it is a problem in scientific sales-
manship. The Dramatic element is no factor in this calcula-
tion. It is not a Play, it is a fad, and the duration of its run
will be a tribute to the reputation of these two masters, aided
by the eternal eagerness for a peep into the realm of spookdom
— a guess at the riddle of the universe. This combination may
210
The DRAMATIST
fill the Belasco Theatre for weeks to come. Its popularity
should not mislead the amateur. It is not a safe pattern to
follow. One such novelty is enough. The combined efficiency
of these two men has made it marketable only after three years'
incessant toil.
We have said that it is not a Play. What then? It is a
public seance of psychic experiment designed to represent a
popular theory of spirit phenomena. It is virtually devoid of
dramatic illusion even in momentary spots. For Plays cannot
be built out of superstitions that are rejected by the great mass
of people constituting the theatre audience. A good entertain-
ment is possible when such infinite pains are employed. But
the author attempts to visualize an invisible thing which most
of us cannot sanction even as a superstition. No dominant
idea or moral could be conveyed by such a structure. It must
leave the audience on the same level of thought where it finds
them. There is no basis of credibility to lend composite con-
viction.
Apart from the invalid material utilized in this piece, the
technical errors are fundamental. One of the most radical of
these is a failure to set the Conditions of the Conflict Squarely
before the audience.
Problem.
Conditions: Grimm betroths his adopted daughter to a
libertine.
Cause : His suffering spirit returns to apprise her of his
mistake.
Conclusion : She is governed by this supernatural mes-
sage.
These conditions call for our knowledge of the libertine.
They also specify that Grimm knows. After an author once
determines his Conflict he has no choice in the matter. He
must follow its dictates or dismiss the Conflict. Mr. Belasco
fails to do this. Instead of setting out with the true facts at
beginning of his Play nothing reaches us till Peter returns
from the spirit world. He is innocent of having committed
any wrong but still he returns to rectify it. He is going to
make good something he never knew to be bad. We are told
that one of the angels whispers this scandal to Peter. If this
is to be the case surely the audience should know about it.
There is no art in withholding from us what is going to hap-
pen. It is the manner of happening that should be the sur-
prise. For we pay to see the Play! It is a breach of good faith
to report it as happening in heaven.
211
he DRAM
How much more effective would it be had Peter wilfully
pledged his word to a man he knew to be corrupt. His spirit
would then have some cause for post-mortem reproach. If
Peter and the audience both know this libertine's past how
much keener is our interest in the transmission of this spirit
message to the innocent girl. We then share the suspense.
As it is we are held for surprise under the misconception that
depriving us of the Plot is promoting the drama. There can
be no suspense if the elements that furnish it are withheld.
The next flagrant error is the theatrical trickery of Peter's
exit to spiritland with the form of the dead child. By this
time the child has ceased to be an integral part of the Plot.
There is nothing at issue. The Dramatic Conflict has expired.
The author continues his Play in the life beyond merely to
round out his supernatural episodes.
The treatment of this extraneous device is extremely
poetic. After a most delicately rendered fantasy of the young-
ster's dream of Happyland, he dies. Peter picks him up and
the two depart this mundane sphere. The Doctor gasps to find
no child on the sick boy's cot. He lifts the sheet and ; Presto !
We have a deceased duplicate just as convincing as the two
Topsies in "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
But we have said very little of the virtues in this remark-
able product. Some of the comedy built upon the expectation
of Peter's death and the expectation of those who survive him
is exquisitely rich and perennially human. It is valid because
it is used to depict the progress of Plot, The Scene that ranks
first in dramatic power is the spirit's effort to warn the girl not
to marry the leper whom the mortal Peter had picked out for
her. After a harrowing struggle the ghost finally succeeds in
communicating its tardy message through the medium of the
sick child whose frail spark of life now flickers at the gate of
eternity. The force of this Scene almost establishes momen-
tary illusion. Its tug at our sympathies is extremely potential.
Absorbed in this poor soul's vicissitudes we all but accept the
too human spectre as the shade of a departed spirit.
Taken all in all, Mr. Belasco has pulled off the impossible
with about as much plausibility as any living playv/right could
lend to it. To imagine what the dramatist of average theatri-
cal sagacity would do with this elusive subject gives rise to a
suppressed cachination of chuckles !
PASSERS-BY.
A Plot That Successfully Preaches.
Just as "The Price" exploits the narrowest and meanest
convention of the "fallen woman," so "Passers-by" preaches
the noblest and ripest sermon of altruism. The unusual turn
212
The DRAM A T I S T
in this treatment is the fact that a woman repudiates this con-
vention, not through maudlin sentimentahty but the biggest
and fullest sympathy of her sex; the maternal instinct.
Problem.
Condition : An adulterer is betrothed to another woman.
Cause : Her maternal instincts are aroused by his unlawful
child.
Conclusion : She cancels the betrothal to unite the parents.
Here is a Plot with a purpose. The author feels a vigorous
protest against a convention of society and assails it in a spe-
cific character-creating Conflict between certain human be-
ings. This is the dramatic way of doing things. It is the only
valid means of preaching in a Play. The Conflict tells the tale.
The author cannot settle a problem for all time but he can con-
vey his specific experience to the souls of his spectators in a
way that stores the subjective mind with a lesson to profit by.
Experience is the best teacher. A dramatic proxy is the near-
est substitute. Let intellectual amateurs clamoring for uplift
adopt this practical means of dramatic preachment. Auditors
who take flight at the prospect of ethical discourse respond un-
consciously to the exalted representation of their latent ideals
on the stage.
This dramatized awakening of the altruism that sleeps in
the worst of us is the surest appeal after all. It threatens to
become the fourth and mightiest law of nature, i. Self. 2. Sex.
3. Parentage. 4. Altruism.
"Passers-By" leads us to expect a Play implied in that title.
In reality, those who stop off in the passing are mere sidesteps
to Plot. The tramp is a convenience to practice the hero's
growing virtues on. He is later employed to turn the big trick
of Plot by running off with the child. The child is believed
kidnapped and the dismay of the unlawful parents visually dis-
closes the adulterer to the fiancee.
The *passing-by' of the adulteress is entirely too casual.
Things do not happen without Cause in drama. A London
fog is not sufficient reason for the coming of this girl at this
particular time and place. Her entrance should be made inevi-
table for the sake of subconscious credibility. The same weak-
ness tends to dispel illusion all through the conduct of this
character. She comes to her former lover's home because the
author wills her to. Her rival surrenders the man too
readily. True, she is actuated by the second premise, named
in our Problem but the author takes her beyond this motive,
making her a mere servile puppet in the reconciliation of the
other pair.
213
The DRAMATIST
But these are not flagrant deficiencies. The Play is pace-
maker in the race we are now running for double-distilled, one-
story drama. The poetic tenderness of the child's appeal to us
for the formal alliance of its own parents is another tribute to
the dramatic power of that great life Principle, the third law
of Nature.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.
Success Scored by the Subsidiary Story.
Problem.
1. A husband demands his marital rights when drunk,
2. The wife leaves him because he will not promise to
abstain.
3. The separation brings them to a reconciliation.
This is the broadest possible digest of "Bought and Paid
For." The real Conflict of the Play is contained in the above.
The striking features of originality however are merely the in-
cidents in the chain of Cause and Effect that execute this Plot.
The title itself is one of these incidents. It does not constitute
a necessary ingredient in the Plot. It is the "punch" depart-
ment.
Now the secret of the Play's success is quite another fac-
tor. This lies in the "comic relief" hitched on the main Plot.
Do not understand us to minimize the merit of this biproduct.
It is even worthy of separate treatment in a Plot all its own.
In fact the prime Conflict is highly hackneyed. It is far in-
ferior to the secondary story. Both stories are cleverly dove-
tailed and the first is made to sustain the second. This struc-
tural disunity almost defies detection in the playing, as will be
shov/n in the following Plot:
A financier marries a telephone girl and supports her
worthless brother-in-law. The girl leaves her husband after a
brutal assault, virtually constituting a rape. In order to regain
his position the brother-in-law tricks the pair into a reconcilia-
tion.
George Eroadhurst is a trained fun builder and the half-
witted, selfish, self-satisfied imp he has given us in the sub-plot
of this production is one of the surest triumphs in his long list
of comedy character creations. It is here and not in the grip of
the bought-and-paid-for idea that his new Play ranks as one
of the artistic and commercial successes of the season.
As a bold, clear-cut stroke in character etching this comic
type compares favorably with Pinero's best work. And it bears
the added charm of irresistible humor which is beyond
Pinero's reach, Mr. Broadhurst is wise in clinging to this
brand of humor in which he excels.
214
The DRA M A T I S T
THE PRICE.
Technical Massacre and Moral Retrogression,
If the world were run on the moral standard advocated by
"The Price" the tide of spiritual progress would soon turn to-
ward a tendency of ethical retrogression. What is the moral
of this play? Let us glance at the logical syllogism of its
structure for a reply.
Problem.
1. A girl has been a mistress before marriage to another.
2. The diary of her deceased lover exposes this fact.
3. Her husband deserts her.
(Her husband suspects her of murder.)
Wouldn't the psychological inference be: There is no sal-
vation for a woman who does likewise and conceals her sin?
This is the subconscious lesson taught by the Play. Is it a
wholesome one? Wouldn't history lose some of its staunchest
agents for righteousness if this silly scruple had condemned
every woman with a stain on her past? It is the antithesis of
the regeneration Play — It is the degeneration Play. It fosters
the doctrine of eternal damnation for mistakes of the past over
which we have no control. Attention is called to it here, that
writers and managers may avert like themes in choosing
Plays for an optimistic public. Its moral outrage*- all three
primal laws of nature; Self, Sex, and Parentage,
So much for the ethics of this Play. What about its tech-
nic? There is but one Pla}' in New York City that sur-
passes it for trespassing the immutable principles of Play Con-
struction. The characters are continuously operated by the
brass wires of the author and some of them never breathe a
solitary breath of dramatic life. They merely sniff the artifi-
cial atmosphere of stageland. Not even a mask of motive con-
ceals the author's nude and ever present purpose. The manu-
script teems with artifice and false intent.
The most glaring flaw in this Play is its fallacious syl-
logismx. The second premise does not respond to the first. The
twin Conclusions are supposed to spring from the first and
second premises. The first Conclusion is an arbitrary product
of them. But there is no basis in either premise for the sec-
ondary Conclusion. The Play might much more logically re-
volve around the killing of the wife's first lover, so far as any
definite trend of Plot is indicated by the first act.
And again, the central premise is not dramatized. The
diary does not turn up as a result of Plot Conflict. It is drop-
ped into the Play by the extraneous agency of the first lover's
215
DRAMA
widow and without our knowledge of her intent. Her very
presence is a deliberate stroke of the author. Both husband
and v/ife would turn her out if their wills were not subordi-
nated by the dramatist. Mr. Broadhurst evidently clings to
the hard and fast fallacy that a surprise in the avowed purpose
of the Play is good Drama. He does not recognize the keener
craftsmanship of letting the audience know WHAT he is
about and confining the surprise to HOW he will accomplish
it.
It is gratifying to note, that this play has since been re-
duced to three acts and a happy ending substituted. This con-
forms to much of our criticizm and eliminates the two false
conclusions, above cited.
A SINGLE MAN.
Conflict Subordinated to Character.
When an actor's eminence may be relied upon to draw au-
diences, the Play may be regarded a secondary quantity. This
is usually the case with Mr. John Drew, whose following is
thoroughly organized. His present vehicle is no exception to
this rule. Interest in the player exceeds interest in the part
and the Conflict is subordinated to the leading character and
to the man who plays it.
"A Single Man" has many momentary evidences of un-
usual dramatic skill but like all typical drawing-room-drama it
is essentially artificial. These metallic qualities, however, af-
ford wider opportunity for the player of society parts and for
such specializing the piece serves its purpose. It is unneces-
sarily stretched out into four long acts by the obvious inten-
tion of the author who erects false barriers to keep his lovers
separated. Toward the end this futile protraction borders on
boredom.
Problem.
1. A bachelor loves a young girl of strenuous spirits.
2. In contrast to his sedate secretary her vivacity palls.
3. He marries the secretary.
This is an epitome of the real Plot. Attached to or sus-
pended from this story is a spurious accompaniment of a pre-
posterous coquette's brazen courtship of the single gentleman.
She is the official agent of the author and has no valid place in
the cast. Her motive is his motive in consequence she fails to
live in the Play.
216
The D R A M A T I S T
A dramatic Conflict has but two contending agencies. Each
side may have hundreds of characters to fight its battles but
the factions still remain but two. The coquette above men-
tioned attempts to supply a third factor in the struggle which,
as may be seen from our Problem, has no place in the Plot.
The result is rank disunity, almost to the brink of burlesque.
MADAME X.
A Whirlpool of Mother Emotion.
Although there are only three emotional principles in all
the plays past, present and possible the variations of these
laws of Nature are as endless as eternity.
Madame X is a variant of one of these ; the love of a mother
for her child. Her love does not draw her to her son. In this
Plot it repels. She has sunk to the depths of depravity — but her
maternal instinct is as chaste as before. It prompts her to de-
m.onstrate this love by sparing her boy the shame of a moth-
er's degradation. We feel the sympathetic wrench at our heart-
strings both through the principle of parentage that pulls and
the pride that repels. It is peculiarly employed so as to pro-
duce both action and reaction.
Oscar Wilde achieved this same result in "Lady Winder-
mere's Fan." Ke built a much more skillful Plot but pitched
his appeal in a lower key. "The Music Master" relies on a
like racial trait when father and daughter are separated for the
technical purpose of touching the parental chord in our souls.
Here are three time-tried successes all based on the third law
of life. Take notice dramatists ! Here is a vital precept !
And the marvellous part of it is ; this play succeeds in spite
of its technical infirmities. Unity is fairly preserved. But a
good deal of French triviality and irrelevance survives the
translation. The rambling, shambling treatment of prelimi-
nary Conditions hinders the start rather than gets it going.
A Prologue of utterly worthless history tells of things twenty
years prior to the Play and the same period is reviewed in
TALK after the Conflict proper is opened. This could all be
artistically interwoven as incidental in other Scenes. Acts I
and II are miserably developed. The threads of Plot merely
drift into place.
There is but one well built Scene up to this point. It is the
end of Act I where the blackguard strives to wring the secret
of her past from our dope dazed heroine. This is the only evi-
dence of actual Play Building that precedes the real drama of
Act III. Now we have induced illusion that buries all sem-
blance of the improbable in its wake. The Play makes good
on the whole by the sheer magnitude of maternal love in this
great act. It is a whirlpool of mother emotion!
217
The DRAMATIS T
And here is a glimpse of the great Drama to come. Two
v/ell sustained Acts of comparable structure, paving the way
for the terrific climax in III would make this Play a pattern
of technically sound melodrama. Add to this a dominant pur-
pose or teaching and the ideal Play is achieved.
THE ONLY SON.
Enough Good Stuff for a Masterpiece.
One great virtue in this Play is the fact that the characters
at the Conclusion have evolved fifty leagues beyond their be-
ginning. This is as it should be. The process of evolution,
however, is not in accord with the customs of human conduct.
There is wealth of rich material. There are numerous in-
stances of excellent dramatic treatment. Scores of delicately
clever touches ! But these are at fault in the very fact of their
extraneous abundance. They are not contributing to that one
chain of events known as a Plot.
But if all the spurious elements were extracted and the one
direct path of legitimate Plot pursued, there would still remain
a fundamental weakness to repair before making the Play
palatable. This is the instance of the father informing his chil-
dren that their mother has been unfaithful to him. It is
not only loathsome but it is technically wrong.
The father has no motive for doing this hideous thing.
Such a parent might exist but in a Play the Cause for this un-
usual conduct must be offered. And even then, the dramatic
way to bring about the wife's exposure would be some inci-
dent whereby the awful truth is inevitably laid bare. It should
not be a voluntary' act of the husband's unless the Plot called
for a fiend of that stripe.
And back of this logical flaw is the fact that the mother's
sin is not dramatized. It comes to us in the form of tea-table
gossip confirmed by a detective's discovery of her letters writ-
ten to an artist. Miserable management ! If it is expedient to
introduce this atrocious episode, the only way to stamp it
upon the imagination of the audience would be to visualize the
infidelity. Mere recitation of the fact fails of conviction. The
mother's confirmation of the sin in the presence of her children
is past all human endurance. It so shocks the sensations that
the auditor Vv^ill repel rather than suffer the thought thereby
dispelling the author's intended illusion. But there is much
evidence of clever craftsmanship throughout the piece.
Winchell Smith is a determined writer. It looks as though
nothing could deter his ultimate success as a dramatist.
218
The DRAMATIST
THE V/IFE DECIDES.
A Little of Everything.
In classifying "The Price" we said there was but one worse
specimen of Play Construction in New York. This is the one.
Thomas McKean has taken no chances on missing the popu-
lar chord. He has sounded them all. In three long acts we
have : — a touch of Suffrage and Sociology ; a little dash of Eu-
genics ; the traditional fat man counter-comedy ; a false alarm
of burglars ; the girl who hopelessly loves a married man ; the
husband who chokes his wife into a stage picture ; the servants
who play a little plot of their own ; a girl who departs this life
to become a nun; the entire cast drift to Reno for a divorce
and finally husband and wife are reconciled.
This is a remarkable compound for one evening's entertain-
ment ! It would be difficult enough to adequately accom-
plish all these themes in a dozen distinct dramas. But Mr.
McKean has endeavored to serve them up at one sitting with-
out regard to rhyme or reason. The remotest notion of a har-
mony between parts seems never to have dawned upon him.
The readiest measure for the discord in the ten topics men-
tioned above is a statement of the intended Conflict.
Problem.
Condition : A wife is jealous of her husband's love for an
unwelcome child.
Cause : Her lover becomes jealous of the child now loved
by the wife.
Conclusion : The wife and husband are reconciled.
This is a syllabus of the nearest approach to a sustained
Plot. If the author had been able to SEE this nugget buried
beneath the mass of dross in his manuscript, he might have
made a better issue of it. But alas, this sense of Unity is the
last faculty acquired by the amateur. A score of first-class
Play ideas lurk in the shadow of this juvenile concept of a
dramatic composition. Of all these undeveloped possibilities
the plight of the sweet young girl who enters the convent is
the most promising. This is ignored as a Plot but fastened on
as a disturbing incident.
It is a mystery why such mongrel conglomerations come
to Broadway. Financial lessons do not seem to stem the tide
of undramatized disaster. There is little profit in an analysis
of such inept material. Every item in it is contempt of court
and an attempt to follow out the endless instances of violated
dramatic law would consume a volume.
219
The DRAMATIST
THE CONFESSION.
A Triphammer Blow at the Emotions.
No better proof of the elastic susceptibilities of the com-
posite crowd could be offered than its acceptance of this dou-
ble-strength melodrama. It is true that the religious persua-
sion indicated by the title tends to invite a denomination
whose hearts respond to the specific Catholic Conflict. This
fact secures a closer accord in the audience but disqualifies
the Play, to a degree, for those of a different creed. An ap-
peal to a class is safe dramatic traffic, however, when its fol-
lowing is so uniformly powerful. It is only where an elective
subject limits its auditors to the few that the selected Conflict
is impracticable.
"The Confession" is weakest in its murder motive. The
Frenchman acquires his cause for the killing outside the pre-
sentation of the Play. Plot essentials of such import should
not only be introduced in the action, they should be SEEN.
For want of this cardinal evidence we are compelled to take
the author's word for it. An author's assertion unbacked by
visual interpretation is never accepted as dramatic fact. See-
ing is believing.
As a purely religious enterprise the Play is without a pur-
pose, either for Catholic or Protestant. It cannot save the
saved and it cannot convert the converted. To the auditor
who rejects the sanctity of the priest's silence, this conduct
constitutes homicide in the first degree. And at the very gate
of the gallows sustained silence makes the clergyman a mur-
derer by ecclesiastical law.
The province of this Play is entertainment only. But it
does entertain. Once the supposition is swallowed that the
priest cannot divulge the text of a confession, even the Pro-
testant submits to the illusion and the feelings are subjected
to triphammer blows. The sympathies are drenched by con-
flicting emotions. No opportunity is lost for stretching out
the agony. The improbable is ever present but cleverly con-
cealed by the exaggeration of melodramatic appeal. For the
contagion of the crowd is terrific.
THE LITTLEST REBEL.
A Big Drama with a Little Star.
That "The Littlest Rebel" makes the keenest appeal to a
fundamental emotion yet staged this season is a matter of mob
psychology. As an exponent of the redeeming power of par-
ental instinct it ranks with "Madame X" and "The Music Mas-
ter." As an example of the possibilities of a childhood drama
it might be classed with "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." Far
220
The DRAMATIST
in advance of any of these recent successes is its dramatic
reiteration of the parental motif from a dozen different stand-
points.
This law of the parent and child is manifest in the follow-
ing manner:
The child's grief at the death of her mother.
The infant attitude of the aged slave toward his master.
The rebel spy risking his life to visit his daughter.
The "Little Rebel" in motherless solitude caring for her
dolls.
The federal Colonel touched by her resemblance to his own
little daughter.
The child innocently betraying her father to the agents of
death.
The child's budging the fixed purpose of General Grant.
A nation making orphans by the cruelties of war.
All of these emotional touches reach the soul of the specta-
tor v/ith involuntary grip. It is here that the Play makes a
powerful bid for patronage. The child herself is the most fas-
cinating agency of appeal. Her infant personality haunts the
subconscious mind of the auditor long after the Play is for-
gotten. What more potent medium of publicity could the
manager desire?
Unfortunately Mr. Peple has not halted here. Through
som.e oversight or miscalculation, the maternal instinct has not
seemed big enough for an evening's entertainment and the
absurdities of a court-martial and sham battle are thrown in
for full measure. Outside circumstances of no small interest
in themselves are hitched on to the Conclusion of the child
conflict.
Edward Peple is one of the country's coming pla5rwrights,
but the sooner he learns to SEE his subject the better he will
be able to define the relation of the parts to the whole and
pursue the dramatic process of elimination.
Problem.
1. A spy is betrayed by his motherless daughter.
2. His death would make the child an utter orphan.
3. The captor brings his nation to relent.
This is the only normal syllogism that would harmonize
the various strands of Conflict and retain the highest moral
taught by all. The time is near at hand when managers will
decline a Play that cannot pay its way with a sustained devel-
opment of ONE complete Plot. Even the commercial power
of this principle is highly scientific, when applied to the best
definition of modern drama. Concentrate!
221
The D R A M A T 1ST
The straight and simple course is the easiest to pursue
and the only one that will result in double distilled drama. It
seems so easy to the untrained mind to go out and gather ma-
terials for Plot complications rather than develop them from
within.
By Request.
SEVEN DAYS.
Capital Rough house Farce.
Reference has been made to this Play in an earlier number.
At the special request of numerous subscribers we analyze
more in detail.
"Seven Days" is one of those seven year occurrences of the
"Charley's Aunt" species that wins out of the compelling
antics of the Actors as much as by the consistent Cause sup-
porting the frolic as a whole.
Owing to the intermittent attainment of success the pat-
tern is not as safe to follow as the more staple product of le-
gitimate comedy. It can be recommended only to Authors
possessing an overflow of this spontaneous spirit of hilarity.
It is a form of entertainment so highly artificial that little pro-
fit can avail the analysis of dramatic principle involved and
violated.
In a general way it might be advised that some slight pre-
text be ascribed the innum.erable exits and entrances, that the
Plot be less scattered and the main issue mere direct and that
sufficient motive be given the characters to account for their
behaviour in a more normal and less capricious fashion.
By Request.
SHORE ACRES.
Ahead of Its Time.
It is a pleasure to review one of the Plays of the past
that so nearly anticipated the great revolution in technical ten-
dencies. Few dramas of the old school would hold their own
with modern audiences as does this wonderful piece of crafts-
manship.
Armed with an idea the author gets it over the footlights
with more emotional appeal and less claptrap than any drama-
tist of his age save Oscar Wilde. The pull on the sympathies
is terrific. Ibsen sounded loftier themes and exploited more
advanced philosophy, but not one of his Plays holds a candle
to "Shore Acres" for downright grip of the fundamental feel-
ings of American audiences. If Hearne were writing to-day
with a technic as far ahead of the times as was the art he
employed in the eighties he would have no rival to fear in
present day plajrwrights.
222
The DRAMATIST
His flaws are few. He even eliminated soliloquy. Lack of
clarity in Conflict is the chief fault. But this is a popular af-
fliction with modern structure. His exaggerated character
drawing is a remnant of the times. The skill with which the
main story is dovetailed into the town lot boom is a Plot build-
ing model for all time.
The fact that the father's brother once loved the former's
wife should be etched into the foreground of the Play. If the
audience knew that he was fighting for the daughter of the
woman he once loved we need not rely entirely on talk when
the item is introduced to enhance situation in the light house
scene. But this, too, was good playwriting in its day. And
Heme heads the list of early American dramatists.
PUBLISHED PLAYS.
EMBERS.*
Five Dramas of Discussion.
Mr. Middleton prepares a symbolic five course feast but in-
vites only such intellectual individuals as are equal to the gas-
tronomic task. The Conflict is purely psychological in each
instance and is not translated into the language of the theatre
by m.eans of the visual.
To a great extent the events treated have taken place off'
stage and come to us in the form of a reported occurrence.
They do not take place here and now. It is impossible to cre-
ate composite illusion by this process.
Hearsay is weak and feeble evidence for the audience com-
pared with actual stage happenings which they can drink in
with their eyes. The one depends upon voluntary attention of
the individual auditor who is required to transpose dialog into
thought. The other arrests the involuntary interest of the
composite spectator who instantly accepts the pictured
thought as illusion.
But Mr. Middleton frankly states "each Play is the epitome
of a larger drama which is suggested in the background." This
is equivalent to admitting that each is an inspiration in the
echo. Ibsen pursued the reverse of this theory. He wrote the
larger drama and reflected the lesser one in the past. But the
art has advanced since then.
Modern dramatists are demonstrating that it is not neces-
sary to found your Cause in the past nor your Conclusion in
the future. The entire Play in these ideal instances begins
with the curtain, culminates with the clash of contending
forces and ends with the triumph.
*Henry Holt & Co.. New York. Price $1.35.
223
The DRAMATIST
We recommend "Embers" for the student of Playwriting.
It is an unusual offering, crowded with beautiful concepts and
crowned by delicate touches of sentiment and character.
Every real author who reads the book will conceive innumera-
ble Plot possibilities.. The five Playlets are "The Failures,"
"The Gargoyle," "In His House," "Madonna" and "The Man
Masterful."
THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN
WORLD.*
Confounding Drama with Pastoral Poetry.
Beginning with its cumbrous title nearly every step in the
construction of this piece is radically untechnic. The author
appears to have little dramatic instinct and in failing to SEE
his Conflict he has failed miserably in interpreting it to us.
His intentions were as follows:
Problem.
1. A boy wins a girl on the rumor of patricide.
2. She finds that this rumor is false.
3. Her love is disillusioned.
The gravest flaw in this structure is the false premise for
affection. We are required to accept the obsolete point of
view of an extremely simple and superstitious folk to the ef-
fect that a girl would deem it heroic for a boy to defy the law
and kill his father. This is the germ of the drama. If a com-
petent dramatist were to attempt such a theme he could hardly
get away with it even without the handicap of poetry and over-
worked words.
The next serious blunder is a failure to set the Conditions
truthfully before the audience. Our Problem calls for the
"rumor of patricide." Nothing is confided to the audience that
shows this is a rumor. We are gulled into believing it, as are
the characters in the Play. The author has not provided for
our superior knowledge; the only treatment that spells SUS-
PENSE.
On top of these fundamental errors is a distortion of Unity
that only the amateur can abide. The legitimate Conflict is
seduced into many stray paths.
At first it is a widow who will strive for the hero's hand.
Again this dame is bribed by a rival to win the hero away
from the heroine. In a third Plot she accepts a bribe to aid
the hero in winning another. The fourth is the drunken
father's determination to wed his daughter to a rival swain at
*John W. Luce & Co., Boston. Price $1.00.
224
The DRAMATIST
once. All these spurious spurts of Plot tend to dilute the main
Conflict which is a watery semblance at best. It is hard to
teach the beginner that Plot complication must arise from
within — not without.
Yeats declares this to be the most original piece of stage
literature since Elizabethan times. If this is true, its origi-
nality means retrogression not progress. The dramatist who
ignores the literary merit of his product will write the truest
Plays. Plays want popularity for a time, not eternity. Time
will banish the best of them by the technical and mechanical
innovation of a decade.
LOVELY PEGGY.*
Four Fragmentary Conflicts.
This is hardly a Play. It is written by Prof. Jack Craw-
ford, of Yale University, who has merely rendered an imita-
tion of the Elizabethan drama. It implies a prior knowledge
of theatrical history and therefore restricts its auditors to that
selected few. Four fragments of Conflicts paddle about for
self preservation but no one of them actually survives.
1. Which actress will Sir Charles patronize. Peg or Bel-
lany?
2. Which will obtain Peggy, Sir Charles or Garrick?
3. Which v/ill obtain Garrick, Violette or Peggy?
4. Which will win the audience, Sir Charles or Peggy?
There would be little technical profit in a discussion of the
endless errors in these four diverse Conflicts. Charles Froh-
man is adequate in his advice to young authors to thoroughly
exhaust the main Conflict, not to pad out the evening's enter-
tainment by resorting to the old device of sub-plot. In order
to demonstrate this application of the law of Unity suppose
we construct an hypothesis that would offer the best opportu-
nity for dramatization in this dormant material. Plot number
two is probably the likeliest.
Suppose Sir Charles captivates Peg Woff"ington by the
splendor of his wealth and title. Garrick truly loves the girl
but she spurns him in his poverty. Inspired by the hope of
winning her, Garrick rises rapidly to fame and aff'luence. At
the crisis of this Conflict Garrick is pitted against Sir Charles.
He outranks the nobleman on all counts — fame, power, popu-
larity and personality. Peggy is incidentally vv^on in the
battle.
*Yale University Press, New Haven, Conn. Price $1.25.
225
The DRAMATIST
This synopsis is not offered as a scenario for revision. It
illustrates the operation necessary to convert "Lovely Peggy"
into a dramatic document. A dominating idea is meanwhile
supplied — that personality is ever paramount. And with this
hypothesis a far better Play could be built by the same author.
TITLES FROM SHAKESPEARE.
Mr. Volney Streamer has done a most interesting work of
the quotations from Shakespeare that comprise book and play
titles utilized by various authors.
This is a valuable book for the playwright. The art of
christening a play is no small element in its salesmanship and
financial success. A hint at the Plot should always be con-
veyed by an adequate title and for the author who finds diffi-
culty in choosing a name, this collection of terse, graphic titles
will prove an aid and an inspiration.
Published by Mitchell Kennerley, New York. Price $i.
ANEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.*
A Four Plot Play.
If Philip Massinger had lived in our day when stage me-
chanics render scene-painting unnecessary in the dialog, no
doubt he would build his Plays as we build them. It may
seem a sacrilege to desecrate this masterpiece of antiquity.
The decree is not of our rendering. It is the verdict of dra-
matic evolution.
As a model for students to follow, nothing could be more
misleading. As a consummate outrage of every known princi-
ple of Play Construction no better example could well be de-
vised. It violates Unity, character and commonsense. It in-
stances every available error to be avoided in modern crafts-
manship from its improbable semblance of Conflict down to
the preposterous transparency of every syllable uttered. No
vestige of motive hides the author's nude purpose. His me-
chanical levers are always in view.
You ask us to reduce this collection of Plots to a syllogism !
Such a feat is impossible. Logic forbids! There is no one
Conflict contained in the piece. A nephew has been swindled
out of his estate by a greedy old uncle. He contrives to dupe
the old man in turn by the false rumor of a wealthy match.
What is the answer?
The author attempts to tell us that this crafty old rogue is
easily ensnared. He finances the courtship of his nephew in
the hope of stinging him a second time ! Does this tally with
human events? No it is supremely contradictory. The crafty
old uncle is duped by the author, not by the Plot.
*Samuel French, New York, Price 15c.
226
The DRAMATIST
Suspended from this are several spurious Plots and a host
of superfluous characters. In a second Conclusion the author
seeks to tell us that it is the daughter's social elevation the old
man strives for. In a separate and distinct Plot it is the trick
of sanctioning her marriage to his enemy that arrests our at-
tention. This belongs in another Play. The trumped-up trick
of the deed that originally robbed the nephew, might be turned
into a splendid situation if properly dramatized into Plot. As
the piece stands, however, it is a hopeless muddle of unsubor-
dinated and unnecessary parts.
WHAT ARISTOTLE ANTICIPATED
In his Rhetoric and Poetics he treats of Drama, Logic, Pro-
position, Syllogism, Sequence, Conditions Precedent, Plot,
Acts, Action, Unity, Talk, Preparation, Compulsion, Charac-
ter, Dialogue, Episode, Audience, and even the Happy Ending.
We will illustrate these points, from time to time.
UNITY
"It is necessary that a Plot which is well constructed
should be rather single than TWO-FOLD, (though some say
it should be the latter.)
It is requisite that as in other imitative arts one imitation
is the imitation of one thing, thus, also in drama. The Plot,
since it is an imitation of action should be the imitation of one
action, and of the WHOLE of this, and that the parts of the
transactions should be so arranged, that any one of them being
transposed, or taken away, the whole would become different
and changed. For that which when present or not present pro-
duces no sensible difference is not a part of the Plot."
— Aristotle, 330 B. C.
^^ NY of the printed Vlays in
^yj^ these Volumes maybe ordered
of W. H. 'Baker & Co., Who
carry in stock the booics of all pub=
Ushers.
W. H. 'Baker & Co.
Publishers
Boston
227
DRAMA
AMERICAN PLAYGOERS
New York Ciiy
Report of Meetings
Playwriting Evening
Hotel Astor Friday Evening, November 17, 191 1
At this meeting two playlets were produced by the Play-
writing Committee. The first was Henri Lavedan's "The
Pearl" representing the obsolete drama of Talk. The second
was a revision of "The Pearl" in which the Plot essentials
were visualized by means of symbols and events.
A brief outline of each playlet follows :
First Version
A man and wife tell the audience of a servant who was
taken ill the day of her employment. They have been very
kind to the girl. She is now restored to health and will begin
work. She enters dressed for the street. She must leave. The
wife is surprised at this apparent ingratitude. The girl finally
confesses that she is the accomplice of a thief. Her physician
is the thief in disguise. They intended to loot the place. The
woman is disappointed in "the pearl" she thought she had
found for a servant.
Second Version
V/e see the thieves actually at v/ork. A pearl is a part of
their plunder. When the wife enters the man assumes to be
a physician in attendance upon the pseudo-servant girl. The
wife pays the doctor and dismisses him. The girl attempts to
leave on the excuse that the doctor has prescribed exercise in
the open air but through a force of circumstances is caught
with the stolen goods. She now confesses the plot to rob the
place and proves her gratitude for the hospitality extended by
returning "the pearl" to its owner.
Third Version
Suggestions were invited and a lively discussion ensued.
The points brought cut in this discussion together with writ-
ten revisions submitted by professional and amateur drama-
tists in the club, have been incorporated in a third version of
the playlet which is given herewith in full.
228
The DRAMATIST
THE PEARL
fV/ife
Characters -|Jimmy
[Clara
SCENE: A sick room. Time: Evening.
A.t rise, Clara is reclining in invalid's chair. Medicines,
and other sick-room accessories in evidence. Wife is adminis-
tering a teaspoonful of liquid to Clara.
WIFE. — I'm so glad you're improving, my dear.
CLARA — It's all due to your kindness, madam.
WIFE. — Oh, my child, it has been a real pleasure to care
for you.
CLARA. — Most ladies would have sent me
WIFE. — Oh, no, no, no, the common servant, perhaps, but
not you. Clara.
CLARA. — I've never known a person like you. You've
been a regular mother to me.
WIFE. — And you've appreciated it.
CLARA.— But I don't deserve it.
WIFE. — There, there, we won't talk about that. I know
you'll be the best maid I ever had.
CLARA. — The doctor is coming this evening.
WIFE. — Yes, what will he say when he sees you sitting
up?
CLARA. — He will know it is all your kindness.
WIFE. — (Bell rings) There he is now. (Exit wife).
(Clara hurriedly begins dressing: abandons feigned illness)
JIMMY. — (Enters, dressed as a Physician. Speaks in sup-
pressed voice) Hello kid! Are you ready?
CLARA. — Oh, yes. . . .1 suppose so
JIMMY.— Suppose?
CLARA. — What excuse will you give for my leaving?
JIMMY.— Excuse?
CLARA. — Yes, she expects me to start work.
JIMMY. — Now that I cured you, eh? (Laughs).
CLARA. — But how will I get away?
JIMMY. — Leave that to me. I'll prescribe a little fresh air.
See!
CLARA. — She's been so kind to me!
JIMMY. — Look here, kid, are you gettin' cold feet. Get on
the job !
CLARA. — Oh, I can't do it. Jimmy.
JIMMY. — None of that! Where's the junk?
CLARA. — (Sighs, reluctantly) In that room — the top bu-
reau drawer — a leather box.
229
The DRAMATIST
JIMMY. — (Produces tools) Good! Now you watch that
door!
(Exit Jimmy, stealthily. Clara opens grip. Jimmy re-
turns, places box in it. Showing pearl brooch) How's that?
CLARA. — (Takes pearl) Oh, that's her favorite pearl.
JIMMY. — The best of friends must part.
CLARA. — Oh, I can't bear to take that. Let me put it
back ! Please !
JIMMY.— No!
CLARA.— I must!
JIMMY. — Say! Cut that, now. You fall down on this job
and I'll fix you! Do you hear?
(Noise of approach. Jimmy covers grip with Clara's coat)
(Sh ! Sink it. She's coming ! Keep up the bluff.
(Clara assumes attitude of patient. . . .Jimmy feeling her
pulse)
(Enter wife)
WIFE — Our patient is recovering rapidly, doctor.
JIMMY. — Yes yes, thank you.
WIFE. — Why I declare I can see a change for the better
since I left her, a moment ago.
JIMMY. — Oh, she's doing wonderfully, wonderfully.
WIFE. — (Gives him money) We are grateful to you, doc-
tor, for bringing her around so promptly,
JIMMY. — Thank you. You won't need my services any
longer, I presume.
WIFE. — That is for you to say. What is your advice
about work, doctor? Would it be wise for her ?
JIMMY. — Oh, she can begin any time, now.
WIFE.— I shant let her exert herself.
JIMMY. — I can believe that. Good evening, ladies. Good
evening! Don't forget. Miss, a little exercise in the open air.
(Jimmy exits, followed by wife, showing him out. Clara makes
hasty preparation for street. Conceals pearl in her bosom. Is
pinning on hat when wife returns).
WIFE. — Why, Clara, where are you going?
CLARA.— Why to to get a little fresh air.
Wife — At night.... are you sure the doctor would ap-
prove . . . . ?
CLARA. — You .... you heard him prescribe it ... . (Slyly
reaches for her grip).
WIFE. — Your grip! (Puts her hand on grip).
CLARA.— (Nervously) Don't!
WIFE.— Don't what?
CLARA.— (Takes hold of grip) Give it to me I
WIFE. — Clara, you've packed your things, you're going to
leave ?
CLARA. — I am sorry, madam, I must
230
The DRAMATIST
WIFE. — Why, Clara, after all we have done for you.
CLARA. — I appreciate that, Madam.
WIFE. — This is an odd way you have of showing it.
CLARA. — Madam has been exceedingly kind, I know.
WIFE. — Then why do you wish to leave?
CLARA. — I'm sorry, madam. I hate to inconvenience you
— but— but—
WIFE.— But what?
CLARA. — I'm compelled to. I cannot stay!
WIFE. — I begin to see, you've imposed on me. You never
intended to work. You've taken advantage of my hospitality
and now that you are cured
CI-ARA. — Oh, no, Madam, I am not an ingrate. Don't
think that.
WIFE. — Then why are you leaving?
CLARA. — It is absolutely necessary, I tell you.
WIFE. — Why did you ever enter this house, tell me that?
CLARA. — I'd like to explain but oh, no, you
wouldn't understand.
WIFE. — I understand one thing, you are no servant.
CLARA. — No, madam, I am not.
WIFE. — I thought not. You're above that.
CLARA. — I must be going Madam, really.
WIFE. — No! Cfera first tell me why you came here! I
have been your friend, haven't I?
CLARA. — (Breaks down, crying) Oh, I'm sorry I ever
came!
WIFE. — How can you say that?
CLARA. — Because, I am not what you think me!
WIFE.— Then tell me, Clara
CLARA. — (Opens grip revealing plunder) There! There!
Now you know ! (sobbing)
WIFE. — My jewel case !
CLARA.— Sh ! Not so loud.
WIFE. — My girl, my girl ! You came here and deliberately
plotted to rob me !
CLARA.— No, No, I didn't
WIFE.— Who then?
CLARA — It was Jimmy.
WIFE — Jimmy?
CLARA.— Yes, the Physician.
WIFE. — I do not believe you-
CLARA.— It's the truth.
WIFE.— Then he is a thief!
CLARA. — Yes, he's no doctor.
WIFE.— And you?
CLARA. — I am merely his associate.
WIFE. — And you were not ill?
331
The DRAMATIST
CLARA.— No.
WIFE. — Oh, Clara, I can't believe you would do such a
thing! You seemed such a genuine girl. . . .1 called you my
jewel.
CLARA. — (Clutches her bosom) Your jewel?
WIFE.— Oh, what a fool I've been.
CLARA. — No, Madam, don't say that.
WIFE. — I thought I had found such a pearl.
CLARA. — Perhaps you will find one.
(Takes pearl from her bosom unseen by wife)
V/IFE. — What do you mean by that?'
CLARA. — You've been exceedingly kind to me. I am not
ungrateful. I don't want you to think ill of me. Good bye !
(Clara tosses pearl in her lap and abruptly exits, sobbing)
WIFE.— My pearl!
THE END.
Fourth Version.
The sketch still lacks a development of the dominating
idea. The purpose of the author was to demonstrate that
spark of gratitude kindled in the soul by disinterested kind-
ness. He wished to show that this is true even of a thief.
This purpose is not successfully pronounced in any of the
three versions given above. Further suggestions are asked
for. These will be dramatized into the present manuscript and
produced before the "Playgoers" at a later meeting.
Address, Luther B. Anthony, Chairman of the Playwriting
Committee, care of "The Dramatist," Easton, Pa.
^PREyiV the gospel of Technology!
*^ // you have friends Who are baU
tling blindly With obstacles of this
craft, ask us to send them a specimen
copy.
The Dramatist
Easton, Pa,
232
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B. ANTHONY, Editor
Vol. III. EASTON, PA.
No. 3
QUAF^TERLY 1912
APRIL
Enduring Success
Revolution in all Avenues of Trade.
The revolution that is modifying methods in every avenue
of commerce and finance has not yet reached the stronghold of
the average Theatrical Manager. In his endeavor to secure the
patronage of a body of customers whose intelligence is rapidly
rising he has advanced his forces of efficiency on but one side
— the fight for publicity.
In nearly every other line of trade the old methods of win-
ning patronage are taboo. In the modern battle for business
supremacy the man who sells for the sake of selling or ad-
vertises merely to collect a crowd; soon goes down to endur-
ing defeat. There is a higher principle that governs business-
getting nowadays. It is the idea of a SERVICE rendered in
exchange for profit gained. It is just possible that the stage is
the last division of industry to adopt or recognize this higher
law of economic supply and demand. Let us examine into this
question.
In the salesmanship of drama the first mark of Service is
good entertainment. We like to think that the people as a
whole demand a Play with a purpose, with a dominating idea;
but this is not yet the universal standard. It may be the next
step in audience-evolution. But purpose-drama is like the mat-
ter of taste in dress. Some possess it. The bulk of the "tasty"
clothes that are bought are a hoax. For even the sale of a hat
is less a matter of use than emotion. The style is the buyer's
governing theme.
In the mad race with frenzied competition the manager de-
votes much thought to the plea for pubhcity. He intuitively
selects the Play that promises this feature rather than the one
which supplies the intrinsic demand (and thereby renders a
Service) the Play with good entertainment. That there is no
enduring success in this notoriety-mongering has been well
demonstrated in the present disastrous year. For not only is
it impossible to maintain the publicity product, playgoing con-
fidence is so wrecked by the attempt that really good Plays
suffer for the sins of their sensational sisters.
233
The DRAMATIST
The stage must fall in line with the march of commercial
methods. Its slogan, too, must be SERVICE and satisfaction
for enduring success.
THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE.*
Gospel Engraved on the Naked Soul.
The deftness with which this author has shown the laws of
God in the ways of man establishes him as one of the consum-
mate masters of his craft. In attempting to analyze this mas-
terpiece, the subconscious mind of the critic cries: "Hands off!
You are tampering with the work of the Infinite." With the
ennobling impression of its theme fresh upon him the tech-
nologist hesitates to ply his probe.
Three situations arise in this Play that challenge the virile
moments in stage history. They are as tender in treatment as
they are telling in effect. We refer to the three moments of
emotional magnitude where the tie of the father and daughter
tug alternately at our heartstrings.
The first instance is the girl's ardent desire to find her own
father. She invites the uncouth drainman to join her wishing
party, "I want my father," wails the child, and all the while
WE KNOW that this grimy old scavenger is her rightful
parent whom the uncle is concealing from her. "I want my lit-
tle kid," is the father's earnest prayer.
The child builds an exalted image of her missing sire and
the poor drainman hurts her by hinting that he might not be as
ideal as she fancies. "Don't take away my little dream," she
pleads. And with a lump rising in his throat (and in ours) he
reluctantly yields: "All right, I won't."
The third instance is the final revelation that the grimy old
ditch digger is her father. As he emerges from the filthy drain,
drenched with the muck and reeking with the foulest stench,
he becomes the embodiment of her high ideals because he pos-
sesses the moral courage to rid the church of a poisonous drain.
The daughter rushes to his arms and cries: "You are my
father You are my wish come true !" For he is the very
emblem of righteousness her pious uncle has taught her to
revere.
Here we have a delightful satire on the hollow efforts of a
superficial class of clergyman who decline to dig beneath the
tenets of the church. It is a sermon played in human Conflict.
The author does not soar above our heads into the realm of
vague psychology. He casts his theme in the mold of our emo-
tions and founds his best scenes upon our racial traits. At the
font of parental affection he saturates our spirit with a flood of
brotherly love.
*Harper & Bro. Price $1.25.
234
The DRAMATIST
Problem.
1. A child is separated from her humble father by a priest.
2. The father's moral courage puts the priest to shame.
3. The child is allowed to return to her own father.
This is the structural basis of the Play. In this operation
of the parental law lies all the emotional appeal. It is true this
Problem takes no account of the Christ idea but that is no ele-
ment in the real Plot. "Manson" is the author's spiritual sym-
bol. To make him a factor in the Conflict it would be neces-
sary to assign him an active office in the contention. As it is
he is actuated by no motive other than the divine will. And
this quantity cannot be cast in human character.
What then is the purpose of this superhuman being whose
identity is never made quite clear in the Plot? He is the pub-
licity feature of the Play. For while the parental element is
the power that moves the audience, the Christ idea is the thing
draws them there. What other character in Christendom is so
well advertised. "Manson's" resemblance to the Messiah is not
to be mistaken. The masquerade as a servant is but a filmy
veil. The gown, the make-up and even the mystery about his
person serve the one purpose of Christ on the stage.
But apart from this diversion, which is deliberate, of course,
examples of positive playwriting principle are manifold. The
infinite care with which minute possibilities are nursed into
vigorous dramatic life is characteristic of Mr. Kennedy's lofty
ideal of workmanship. His soul is so saturated with the spirit
of divinity that his art necessarily partakes of this sacrament.
As a dramatist he ranks first as an interpreter of the gospel in
dramatic form.
THE TERRIBLE MEEK.*
The Author Dictates and his Auditors Create,
Select an audience of mental temperaments, surfeited with
seasons of incessant playgoing and how will you entertain
them? This is the problem that confronts Charles Rann Ken-
nedy in his effort to fit a Play to "Little Theatre" patrons and
here is his solution.
First of all he blindfolds his audience by plunging the thea-
tre into utter darkness. He then provides a Lenten thesis out
of which they may construct a Play by relating a fable in the
every-day speech of our time. Under the author's guiding su-
pervision we are compelled to build in the life of today a tra-
gedy that transformed the history of the world.
*Harper & Bro. Price $1.00.
235
The DRAMATIST
Taking the story of the cross for a text the dramatist draws
upon our memory, imagination, reasoning and insight till his
words uttered by unseen puppets suggest his auditors into an
indi\'idual construction of the greatest drama in history — the
crucifixion. At the end our mental spectacle is corroborated
by a final tableau on the stage.
This is an entirely new species in the evolution of drama-
turgy. The author dictates while his auditors create. They
form the new concept by a combination of their own images.
From^ theological information previously acquired each indi-
vidual brings his play to the theatre to reconstruct it on the
author's secret plan. This plan involves a culminating moral
which the dramatist applies :
"A newer courage, more like woman's. Dealing with life,
not death. It changes everything."
Of course this treatment opposes the principles of Play
Construction. This need neither debar Mr, Kennedy nor dra-
matic law. Drama is for the democratic masses. "The Terri-
ble Meek" is for the intellectual few. It was designed for them.
Its capacity to please these sophisticated first-nighters can best
be cited by the words of Burns Mantle, an estimable critic :
"Not a single handclap broke the spell. When the lights
were turned up, the audience calmly and quietly walked out of
the theatre. In many respects it was the strongest exhibition
I ever had witnessed in a theatre. And should I live to grow
haltingly, tiresomely reminiscent I never shall forget the sight
of that sophisticated New York audience hurrying quietly, so-
berly up the aisles, half of them with heads bowed as though
ashamed of this show of emotional susceptibility, the other
half eager to get past the exits and back into the atmosphere of
the streets and the town."
THE MARIONETTES.
A Chart for Nazimova's Acting.
That a Play may be less a Play and still offer superior op-
portunity to the star performing the principal part may sound
like a paradox. This is true, however, of Nazimova in this pe-
culiar importation called "The Marionettes." What the con-
flict has provided in the way of character creation is very lit-
tle. What the actress has infused is very much.
But is this isolated essence of histrionic art the thing we
most of us go to see? I claim it is not. At least, in the thea-
tre. We may thoroughly enjoy the entertainer who does a
monologue, but the Play implies a representation of a conten-
tion between human beings. Out of this Conflict the person-
ality of the character is spun. And this spinning is our cher-
ished illusion.
236
The DRAMA T I S T
The Marionettes" is nothing more than a chronicle of do-
mestic affairs, most of which, to the American playgoer are
highly artificial.
1. A man of the world marries a demure little creature for
her money.
2. She attracts the serious attentions of another man.
3. The husband is piqued into loving her.
This is the dramatic depth of the piece. In itself it creates
no illusion. We do not see the wife evolve from mouse to co-
quette for there is no Conflict to evolve her. Nazimova, on the
other hand, weaves a vision of impersonation wholly indepen-
dent of the Play or playwright. By the rare subtlety of her
craft she compels the stage existence of this artless little witch.
Naturally, the actress who can create an illusion of charac-
ter reality without a shadow of dramatic fabric to sustain her,
is the greater artist. But the production of which she is a part
is not a greater Play. Player and Playv/right must labor hand
in hand to paint the dramatic picture. Absence of the one ren-
ders the other mere mimicry. The Play is the product of both
and the fellow who said "The PLAY'S the thing" understood
his business.
ELEVATING A HUSBAND.
Four Play Problems Struggle for Supremacy.
Problem No. i.
1. A refined girl marries a self-made man.
2. She cannot elevate him to her standards.
3. He goes away and obtains a polish.
Problem No. 2.
1. A wife cannot polish her plebeian mother-in-law.
2. She leaves the husband on latter's account.
3. The mother surrenders for her son's sake.
Problem No. 3.
1. A husband employs his rival as manager.
2. The rival wrecks his master's fortune.
3. The wife renounces the rival.
Problem No. 4.
1. The v/ife loans money to her former suitor.
2. The husband suspects her fidelity.
3. She condemns the worthless lover.
237
The DRAMATIST
This Play is really not as hashed-up as these immature syl-
logisms might indicate. None of these Problems are com-
pletely carried out. The second one is barely suggested. But
each tendency toward separate entity means dissolution of the
first which is the valid core of the Conflict. As indicated by
the third clause of this Problem the "elevating" takes place off
stage where the husband sojourns to the farm for a siege of
cultivation.
The third Problem is the conventional melodrama, sand-
wiched in for full measure. It retards the legitimate Play of
which it forms no tributary part, and in itself is so fabulous
that it obtains no vestige of illusion. Problem number four is
a distracted offshoot of the moment, false in its intent and det-
rimental to the main thread of interest.
The original Play has possibilities galore if the main trial
were followed and the opportunities dramatized. The pro-
cess of "elevating" could be made one of the ludicrous hits of
the Plot if it were accomplished on the stage and the spurious
Problems eliminated. It is difficult to SEE the main path in
such a maze of windings but the straight and narrow course
is the only one that will safely reach the author's destination.
Diversity of purpose may provide a broader range for the ver-
satile artistry of Mr. Louis Mann, but rigid concentration is
the only treatment that can produce big dramatic value.
The play just barely misses the mark. These various Prob-
lems only obtrude in spots. The clever "business" and detail
employed throughout the production tend to hold interest in
spite of structural infirmities. The main character of the "hus-
band" is intensely real at instances where the character-creat-
ing Conflict is convincing.
SUMURUN.
Meaningless as Well as Wordless.
By far the most pronounced novelty in "Sumurun" is its
utter dissimilarity to anything heretofore disguised as a play.
In fact it has so well succeeded in this particular that it es-
capes the classification of drama entirely. We can well imag-
ine a wordless Play, but it would have to be about something
coherent to the eye. It would be a task beyond the interpreta-
tion of any unaided imagination on earth to glean a connected
story from the optical appreciation of this piece. It is even
less explanatory than the general run of Plays would be minus
the auditory factor. And even with a spoken prologue and a
handbook of thousands of words to the rescue, there results no
satisfactory interpretation of the thing. It is a comic opera
without meaning or merriment — an Oriental fable without sus-
tained interest.
238
The DRAMATIST
Starting with a name unknown in dictionaries, it is a word-
less Play merely because words cannot be summoned to de-
scribe its dissimilarity to anything worth while in dramaturgy.
Readers of this journal know that an experiment in a wordless
Play would be hailed as a boon to students. In fact this phase
of construction has been a continual hobby in these columns.
It is the highest test of live dramatic materials. The announce-
ment of "Sumurun" promised this visual treat but its produc-
tion falls short on many counts. And the first of these is that
it is not a Play — not even possessed of the material for one.
In the first place, if the fable could be understood by the
average spectator its Plot would fail either to interest or amuse
in any clean or wholesome sense. The pantomimed exhibition
is not coherent, however, but requires translation to the
American point of view. The antics of the mimes convey no
meaning to the audience. Their pantomime not only fails of
interpretation but it serves to obscure itself of the super ex-
aggeration of wordless effort and incongruity of triple Plot.
The piece fails to convey a connected idea of anything. In
spots where it is intelligible it goes to the opposite extreme of
lascivious and carnal suggestion. It is a pamphlet of self in-
dulgence and dissipation of the most destructive kind with no
single redeeming trait.
What then is the secret of its momentary success — a curio
of weird stage pictures of the harem, with its concubines,
eunuchs, slaves and buffoons? Proclaimed as a top notch of
art these clowns in their bungling. Bagdad trimmings escape
police inspection. Undisguised as superior craftsmanship,
such lechery would hardly get past the health official.
That a wordless play could be built we have prevailing
proofs, on all sides. Let the competent actors or any photo-
play produce their camera pantomime before the audience and
we would have a wordless Play infinitely better than "Sumu-
run." On the screen this German importation would drive the
audience to the ticket booth for money back. In the theatre it
can survive as a passing fad at best. The fact that its scenery
represents a novel style of German poster art is hardly an ade-
quate excuse for American importation.
GREEN STOCKINGS.
The Classic Comedy of the Season.
No better evidence of the shattered condition of playgoing
confidence can be offered than the impossibility of publicizing
this rare example of classic comedy. Thousands of theatre-
goers actually want this quality of Play, but there is no means
of convincing them. The Play with a sensational "news
239
The D R A M A T I S T
value" starts the public press in motion and the normal pro-
duct is blighted by contrast. Both branches lose, for the pub-
lic faith is undermined. The rank and file of theatre patrons
feel this uncertainty and prefer to apply their box office allow-
ance to the deficit made by the high cost of living.
Few Comedies in the past and certainly none of the pres-
ent season display the intricate operations of dramatic law put
forth in the second act of "Green Stockings." It seems in-
credible to think the same author guilty of that other nonde-
script "The Witness for the Defense." A. E. W. Mason did
them both and the strangest part of all, this author is by rights,
a novelist.
The fable of the Play, is the simplest yam like the thread
of all high comedies. A girl pretends to have a sweetheart and
the fictitious fiance turns up at an inopportune moment. It is
the dexterity with which the author discloses his incarnation
to the audience and unfolds this miracle to the girl herself, that
utterly fascinates. The managers have made two ineffectual
attempts to let the playgoers know that such a treat is availa-
ble. It seems to be an impossible feat in the momentary panic
of New York press agencies.
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
With Many Forks and Crossroads.
No playwright on earth could reduce the cumbersome story
of this book to a concrete Play Problem. It is no trail at all.
It is a lane with a thousand windings. To preserve these char-
acteristic values of the book is the first purpose of the novel-
ist for it is in them that he plans to profit in staging his work
for his myriad of readers.
Eugene Walter has demonstrated the magnitude and im-
propriety of this task. From previous specimens of his art we
are convinced that he knows a Play when he sees one. It is
the false conditions imposed by the novel that bind him hand
and foot. Without these tangled tales of dramatic disunity
his book-built audience would be dissatisfied. To incorporate
them means dramatic suicide.
"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine," therefore, is not a Play,
it is what the average book would look like stretched out in
spoken words plus a few really dramatic situations. But since
these situations are founded on recited facts they partake of
the fictitious to a marked degree.
The futility of elaborate scenic effect in a realistic drama is
well illustrated by this spectacular effort. Attention is not
concentrated, thereby, it is distracted. The artificialities of a
miniature mountain path with an amateur horse ascending it
is not calculated to lend interest to the fable. The thump of
240
The DRAMATIST
the old nag's hoofs on the hollow lumber hill successfully dis-
pels the illusion. Our suspense is misdirected to the rider's
peril. This artifice does not gain adequate atmosphere for the
Play.
Isn't it evident, then, that transposition requires greater
skill than play writing? Isn't it true that a successful dramati-
zation of a novel is impossible? Mr. Galsworthy supports this
theory as applied to his own books. Once in a great while
there is an exception like "Brewster's Millions" where drama-
tization is made possible by the dramatic quality of the text.
DISRAELI.*
A Play of Factional Appeal,
Any Play that takes the lead in the endurance run of the
season demands serious consideration even though its techni-
cal essentials be wholly ignored. Two strong factors in this
product strive for popularity: racial pride and historical per-
sonage. The first appeals to the HebfUv populace, the second
enlists the endorsement of educationaP^thorities. Both bring
their throngs to the theatre to witness this well played part.
Disraeli was a great character in history. He is the greatest
Jew in English annals.
Apart from these two commercial ingredients the piece
contains little or no theatrical worth. There is no dominating
theme or purpose. On its bare dramatic effectiveness it would
never make good. The Plot creaks with crude mechanics. The
situations and absurdities fairly shriek "Amateur! Amateur!"
Two fragments of Conflict flounder about for preservation.
Neither effectually floats: A regeneration idea of developing
character in a stupid young nobleman and a prime minister's
plunge into high finance of international dimensions. The
nearest approach to a Play Problem in this confusion is the
following:
Problem.
1. A statesman buys a canal on a bankrupt's note.
2. He forces a banker to honor this worthless paper.
3. The nation extols his cunning.
The foregoing is not the stuff good Plays are made of.
The author endeavors to patch it out with a third episode that
concerns a female spy. The lesson to be learned is: Go not
and do likewise. In the first place there are few Disraelis. In
the second place it is the rarest possibility that an actor may
be found to fit the part so closely. And last but not least, the
*John Lane Company. Price $1.00.
241
The DRAMATIST
Jewish people will soon learn to resent this speculation in a
dramatization of their tribal pride so baldly capitalized in
Plays like "The Melting Pot " "As a Man Thinks," and
"Disraeli."
KINDLING.
A Protest Against Tenement Maternity.
Problem.
1. A wife steals to provide a home for her offspring.
2. The theft discloses her secret of approaching mater-
nity.
3. The inaudible voice of her unborn child secures the
home.
Here we have a novel phase of the third law of Nature.
A principal in the Plot is a child not yet ushered into exist-
ence. The deftness with which this delicate problem is visu-
alized shows the restraint of a master hand. The veteran
playwright would balk at the problem of dramatizing prenatal
biography. It remains for the youngest American dramatist
to treat this difficult subject with adroit delicacy. And Mr.
Kenyon is a dramatist, since he has allied dominant purpose
with emotional appeal. He drives home his message by way
of the sympathies. He has something to say but instead of
telling it deals in dramatic pictures that speak the universal
language of the soul. He preaches by photograph, not parable.
Such words as are used have no brilliance nor distinction, but
for the most part his diction is dramatic by virtue of the mere
absence of superfluous words. The unheard protest of the
coming generation is the loudest voice in the Play.
The greatest moments of "Kindling" are portrayed in this
sign language. When we learn the sacred facts of expectant
motherhood we come into possession of them without words,
without a needless desecration of the young wife's privacy. A
little wreck of a cradle tells the tale; a thing she has rescued
from the ash heap and treasured as a hiding place for the
coming baby's belongings. Students of dramaturgy, mark
well this master stroke! It is the quintessence of technic!
Many such examples of craftsmanship might be pointed
out where the author compels his audience to construct the ad-
vancing Plot without oral specifications. After the little moth-
er has stolen money for a western trip and persuaded her hus-
band she has borrowed it, she hands him the hundred dollars
to purchase transportation with. But it is not an even hun-
dred! It is $113! The exact sum a diamond brooch was
pawned for! Here, again, is an instance of real dramatic
structure.
242
The DRAMATIST
Again the symbol language is used with telling effect when
the wife is caught with the stolen goods. She has been falsely
accused of theft for mere theft's sake. We know she is inno-
cent. We saw the professional crook "plant" the silver in her
rooms and the impending doom of discovery hovers about us
ready to crack at a moment's alarm. Some baby trinkets are
found on the premises. These heap evidence on our poor lit-
tle heroine's head. She did steal them, but we know the reason
why. We know the secret of her approaching maternity and
understand these whims and vagaries that accompany that
state. The theft is cleverly converted to the disclosure of this
Plot fact.
To be sure the Play has instances of faulty treatment.
The last act lapses into idle moralizing without the fibre of
valid motive to sustain it. Even the detective turns preacher
at a signal from the author's pen. The secondary love affair
of the settlement worker and the slum physician creates inter-
est in itself but subtracts from the main Plot which it impedes.
Taken all in all "Kindling" is one of the structural strides
of the present season. It is a climb in American Craftsman-
ship. Miss Illington and Mr. Bowes are to be congratulated
in the choice of such a vehicle and in the courage to perse-
vere until its production meets success. New York may be
too sophisticated for this protest from posterity. Chicago
seems to offer this infant a better nursery. Success in art and
success in salesmanship do not always travel hand in glove.
Despite the game of publicity, however, this Play is a pro-
nounced success. It voices a current craving for the hills and
fields, for fresh and fragrant foliage. It presents this timely
theme in a way that grips and entertains. It is the call of the
race resounding in the lusty cry of the unborn babe !
THE UNEQUAL TRIANGLE.
A Dialogued Monologue.
Van Tassel Sutphen has written a clever sketch for the
February "Smart Set Magazine." A woman, an invisible
guest and the voice in a phonograph comprise the three charac-
ters in his cast. This is not only an ingenious device, it is
evidence of a fertile dramatic imagination. It is another con-
tribution to the season's sightless and wordless Plays.
All such innovations are sure stepping stones to the sound
principles of Play Construction. They perform a definite ser-
vice to the art of demonstrating the futility of mere dialog
and the vitality of sheer view.
In this particular instance, the remarkable items of visuali-
zation are two : the absent character pictured in the matrix
of the speaker's lines and the artificial person represented in
243
The DRAMATIST
the utterances of the phonograph. Both clever expedients
accomplish Plot purposes with about as much credulity as
the prescribed conditions will permit. The skit is well worth
the reading of every earnest student and cannot help suggest-
ing a dozen solutions for stubborn plot puzzles.
A PLAY IN THE PULPIT.
A New Agency for Uniting Drama and Church.
A five-act Play in the sacred altar of a church, attended by
clergymen, congregation and sisters of mercy — this would in-
deed sound like sacrilege! No church would permit it, you
will say. It was recently my pleasure, however, to witness
this singular event though the performance was conducted
throughout by a solitary woman.
The church is ever ready to extend its influence to the
stage, but this is the first instance, to my knowledge, where the
stage has spread its gospel in the church. The Play was "The
Servant in the House," and the ecclesiastical audience took to
the text most kindly. The nuns smiled, the congragation
laughed and cried, and the Thespian muse reigned gracefully
in the sanctuary. Finally as the illusion caught the emotions
of the spectators, they forgot their consecrated environment
and gave vent to their appreciation in genuine playhouse ap-
plause.
This was a high tribute to the excellence of Madame Lab-
adie's artistry. Her quiet charm and dignity adjusted the
obvious incongruity of an actress at the altar. She made the
Play as sacred as the sermon and many times more real. For
she brought the forces of dramatic conflict to her aid. Both
church and stage owe such an able interpreter a debt of grati-
tude. She will do more to ally the platforms of playhouse
and pulpit than all the pamphlets in print.
LADY PATRICIA.*
A Travesty on Marital FidelitY.
How can any author hope to win the respect of a sane audi-
ence for a group of imbeciles whose conduct bears no similar-
ity to the rational behavior of everyday life? A Play thrives
upon depicted situations that might occur to any of us. The
transactions in this piece could not overtake us unless we were
of the same lax propensity these puppets purport to be. And
most of us do not like even to imagine such inanities of our-
selves !
*Duffield & Co., New York. Price $i.oo.
244
The DRAMATIST
Problem.
1. Husband and wife have affinities.
2. These soulmates become mutually attached.
3. The couple are reconciled by desertion.
These characters are all abnormal types and therefore in-
consequent to the average spectator. The Play has no commu-
nication for the soul. It may admit a hundred mental inter-
pretations for as many different minds but no uniform meaning
for the composite imagination of a crowd. And this is the
province of drama. Poems and essays may have various pos-
sible interpretations and still serve some individual purpose.
The very nature of drama is democratic and a Play should
mold the multitude of minds into a common Conclusion.
The most that can be said of the ultimate achievement of
"Lady Patricia" is that she glorifies marital infidelity of affec-
tion. The mechanical comedy and parallel lines of coincident
merely serve as adjuncts to this end. They throw the spot-
light on conjugal frivolity and in no sense deplore its vice.
What possible service can an evening's concentration on this
banality perform?
Moral: The flirtations of married people are perfectly
harmless.
THE RAINBOW.
Analyzed on the Road.
This Play is a peculiar combination of three Plots— one
played, one talked and a third merely hinted.
Plot No. I Played.
1. A daughter has been separated from her father.
2. His evil companions terminate their happy reunion.
3. He renounces all for her.
Plot No. 2 Talked.
1. A woman's income is the secret bounty of her divorced
husband.
2. She discovers this magnanimity.
3. They are reconciled.
Plot No. 3 Hinted.
1. A husband is divorced for his evil associates.
2. His daughter is entrapped by one of these.
3. Through mutual alarm the parents are reconciled.
245
The DRAMATIST
Plot number one is by far the most dramatic of the three.
It is in this fragment that Mr. Henry Miller has his magnifi-
cent opportunity of playing that parental note so many of the
biggest Plays in history have sounded. In this instance it is
the father's separation from the daughter he loves. She must
be spared the terrible tidings, but we, in the audience, know.
Plot number two is an entirely spurious story as it now
stands. It is TALKED into the first Plot in order to afford
an extraneous ending to dramatized portions of the Play. It
has nothing whatever to do with the excellent materials of
Plot number one, though it could be merged if the circum-
stances of the wife's income were worked into the fabric
These are recited by characters who have no other motive than
the author's mechanical emergency.
Plot number three starts off with an episode that opens the
first Act wherein we find one of the husband's friends has
shamefully pursued a girl who wishes to do the right thing.
This episode is foreign to both other Plots and serves no tem-
porary purpose, even. It could be eliminated bodily without
marring the interpretation of the Play in the least. On the
other hand it could be availed in the third Plot if the same
rogue were to finally attract the cherished daughter of the
pair and thus enlist their joint solicitude for their sacred
charge.
Of course it is not fair to criticize a Play that is still in the
process of building. We are not doing this. Our analysis
applies to the present worth of the Play as it appeared upon
its fourth performance. Changes are continually being made,
no doubt, and we trust many of the above contradictions may
be eliminated.
The lowering of the curtain in Act I can be readily dis-
posed of. The European excursion of the entire family in Act
III is as false as it is fruitless. The father may fight his bat-
tles right here at home. He need not go to war in Costa
Rica to become a martyr. His battle should take place before
our eyes that we may be convinced of his change of heart and
his approaching fitness for fatherhood.
A composite of Plots one and two is the best revision we
can suggest and these can be merged into a single-centered
Plot presenting all the Conflict Conditions to the eye of the
spectator. We should not HEAR one essential and SEE an-
other. This renders conviction uneven, just as in the present
form of the Play we SEE the Good Samaritan at the start and
refuse to believe ill of him from mere hearsay afterward.
All of the evidence that counts in the case should be brought
before the court that the dramatic verdict may be unanimous.
246
The DRAMATIST
This analysis was made from a preliminary try-out in Eas-
ton. The episode that opened the first act was eliminated be-
fore the play reached New York, in compliance with our criti-
cizm.
THE FATTED CALF.
Solicits Sympathy for Insane Heroine.
In an argument with the editor Mr. Hopkins contended
that his Play is five years ahead of the times. He declares that
American taste has not reached that German standard wherein
dramatic interest is not dependent upon sympathetic interest.
Can you agree with him? Do you believe that the time
has come in any country, or that it will ever come, when purely
intellectual interest can hold an audience? We do not. This
is the antithesis of dramatic entertainment. The appeal is
democratic, always, and deals with our feelings, not our intel-
lects. We therefore disagree with Mr. Hopkins in the diagno-
sis of his fate and will proceed to illustrate that it is this very
element he scorns which defeats him. It is this feature of ar-
rested sympathy that kills "The Fatted Calf."
Our compassion is solicited for an insane heroine whom the
author selects as a wife for a normal lover. He proceeds to
cure this ailment by a treatment of hypnotism. As a crowd we
do not believe that there is any permanent cure for this mal-
ady. The mere suggestion of the taint devitalizes that fervent
sympathy we should have for the main character of the Plot.
Our interest flags from the first and cannot be revived by any
possible theory of a psychological remedy. The very basis of
sympathy has been undermined.
The possibilities of this piece lie in its clever ridicule of the
over-indulgence of fond parents. The author would do well
to confine his Conflict to this satire. This and the pathological
clinic do not blend or harmonize. It is a slender fragment of
sincere purpose submerged in a sea of farce. In this sense the
Play is a paradox. It defeats the very purpose it sets out to
attain. It laughs at its own endeavor. The native denoue-
ment turns the tables on the perpetrators and makes them vic-
tims of their own perverted pessimism. Confined to this far-
cial effect "The Fatted Calf" might have rivalled that lusty
heifer of "Mother Goose" fame. The "moon" of the present
season is a hard one to hurdle.
THREE BOOKS FOR P L A Y B U I L D E R S.
Moses, Pollock and Ibsen.
Three books that may enhance the value of any play-
wright's workshop are "The American Dramatist"' by Mont-
rose J. Moses, "Footlights Fore and Aft"' by Channing Pol-
lock, and "From Ibsen's Workshop"^ a collection of Ibsen's
notes, plots, scenarios and manuscripts.
247
The DRAMATIST
"The American Dramatist"^ contains many helpful hints
for the young writer. It can be recommended as one of the
best guides extant in the matter of selecting theme and mate-
rial for a Play. What the American audience demands, says
Mr. Moses is a square deal. The large heart rather than the
subtle one, the direct deed rather than the elusive thought, and
the terse answer rather than the veiled meaning." Read Mr.
Moses' book. It is a sincere contribution to the subject.
"Footlights Fore and Aft"- introduces the tyro to the mys-
teries of the stage, the box office and the royalty ledger. It is
the experience of one of our keenest American critics who has
substantiated his double right to that title by practical demon-
strations of successful play composition. " 'What a lucky fel-
low, we say occasionally of some new author who springs into
notice. 'His first Play and a huge success' ! But every profes-
sional reader in town could tell you that this success wasn't his
first play.' " In this chatty vein Mr. Pollock turns out a great
many truths that may amuse and interest the student.
"From Ibsen's Workshop"^ requires little comment. The
fact that it contains the actual notes set down by the indomita-
ble master who has done more than any one dramatist to re-
model the art of present-day-playwriting, sufficiently endorses
this valuable book. The translations are excellent and the
publishers incur our lasting gratitude for making this work
available in our language. The study of his progressive steps
of structure is a liberal education in itself.
^Little Brown and Company. $2.50.
-Richard K. Badger. $1.50.
^Scribner's. $1.25.
THE PEARL.
Fourth Version.
In the January issue a fourth version of "The Pearl" was
asked for and many revisions were forwarded. None of these
have been found sufficiently strong in the climatic moment
which is the specific thing wanted. Some excellent scenes are
among these contributions and one entirely new situation is
suggested. We will print the latter as it came in and ask for a
truer dramatization of the thought contained.
(To Jimmie) Wife.
Ah ! But you came to me in a time of need ! I shall never
forget it. Clara had come to answer my advertisement. I had
been asking her a few questions when suddenly she said to
me : 'Ah madame, I feel so faint' and turned as white as a sheet.
I was distracted. I placed her on the sofa. My heart went out
248
The DRAMATIST
to her. But I didn't know what to do. Just at that moment,
the door bell rang. I rushed to the door and there you stood,
and your very first words were : "I am a physician " I did
not even wait to hear the rest of your sentence. Do you re-
member? I rushed you right into the room. What must you
have thought of me?
JIMMIE. — Ah, madame, we physicians become used to
such hurry calls.
WIFE. — Now, tell me, how did you happen to come to my
door at that very moment?
JIMMIE. — (Hesitates). I was looking for rooms in the
neighborhood. . . .your house attracted me. . . .and. . . .
As this speech now stands it is reeled off in a breath, al-
most. It should be worked out into dialog so that each line
take its origin in the one preceding it and the whole be en-
dowed with cause. Why does the woman say all this? The
author's purpose is sound and sane but it must be motivated
into the characters. The value of the episode is its effect upon
Clara. She is sitting there chafing under Jimmie's threat. If
she forsakes him now, he will have his revenge. But Clara is
half disposed to "throw up the job" because of her waking love
for the lady. Think how this recounting of the ruse (with
Jimmie nursing the poor woman's delusion) could be used to
stimulate Clara's dawning distaste for crime. And it is a legi-
timate part of the Playlet. We want to know how these crooks
got in the place. It would be TELLING to recite the thing,
but here it can be utilized to help fix Clara's purpose. We in-
vite all opinions and versions of the Scene. State definitely
where you think your suggestions should be inserted.
We still lack a development of the dominating purpose;
that spark of gratitude kindled in the girl's soul by disinter-
ested kindness. None of the skits submitted contained the
proper temper of this climax. From a composite of various
fragments sent in, we have prepared a draft for an ending that
should make a fitting conclusion. Viz.: Let the girl proceed
much as she does in the January score, tossing the pearl to the
woman and making her exit. She returns. She cannot go
now. Jimmie threatened her. He meant what he said. Where
is her plunder? The wife now comes to the rescue and offers
the girl a refuge. She accepts. The reclamation is accom-
plished as far as a one-act Play can do the work. This sketch
is to be presented at the Hotel Astor in April. Please forward
your suggestions promptly. The fourth version will be printed
in full in the July issue.
249
DRAM
A letter from Charles Rann Kennedy,
author of "The Servant in the House,'
»»
257. WEST 86IH STREET
NEW YORK
March 30, lOlST.
Dear Sir,
I consider T3E DSAiMATIST, edited by tuther
B. Anthony, the /best publication I have yet
seen, for educating young--and for that natter,
old - playwrights, in the principles of their
craf ti 1 have read eve^y nunber frosi the be-
ginning;, and it has been of the greatest as-
sistance^ to ne technically. I have learned a
good deal froa^it.^
It should be in the-haftds of every student
of the nodem drana, who is really serious
about hie work; and also I think it should
find a c'lace in the libraries of the country.
I. am, dear Sir,
Tours very sincerely.
For criticism of your own Play, consult the Playwriting
Department.
250
The DRAMATIST
LUTHER B. ANTHONY. ELditor
Vol. Ill EASTON, PA.
No. 4
QUARTERLY 1912
JULY
What is Technic?
The average amateur looks upon Technic as a token of all
that is tedious and immaterial- He fears that too much tech-
nical equipment will mar his originality. Let us glance behind
the dictionary definition for the fuller meaning of the word.
Technic is the method of performance in any art. In its last
analysis it is that means by which an author's message is in-
terpreted to his audience in stage illustrations.
To attain Technic, therefore, is merely to facilitate inter-
pretation- It is employing tools to perfect the work crudely
performed by the bare hands. Instead of restricting talent it
intensifies the fruits of fancy,
A Technic that hinders is merely a misnamed dogma. And
while no amount of instruction will remedy the defect where
there is a lack of constructive ingenuity, nevertheless, a clearer
knowledge of the thing to be achieved cannot fail to be of ser-
vice.
Our effort in these pages is to enunciate the general theo-
ries of Technic by practical application to the Plays you may
see and read. In this way we may avoid unorganized generali-
zations. In every instance our analyses are deduced from sim-
ple first i>rinciples.
Moral: Apprehend the WHY!
251
The DRAMATIST
THE MODEL.
Thomas Returns to Technic.
As dramatists advance in fortune they frequently retreat in
technical restraint. This has been the case with Ibsen, Shaw,
Strindberg, Jones, Pinero, Sudermann, Brieux and Thomas.
Clyde Fitch was the single exception. "The Model" was writ-
ten before "The Harvest Moon" or "As a Man Thinks" and it
may be for this reason the Play is more a Play and less a
preachment. It is less an appeal to consciousness through the
intellect and more an approach to the emotions through the
senses. It is less a theorem in psychic phenomena and more
fundamentally a problem oi life.
It is difficult to teach the intellectual dramatist that he can-
not carry his audience with him. He lives in his mind and be-
lieves we do. The audience lives largely in its emotional shell.
Ninety percent of all thought is subconscious and the true pro-
cess of communicating a Conflict to the composite crowd is
through this channel.
The true process of composition is likewise subconscious.
The dramatist merely connects the wires of these spontaneous
flashes and lets the creative current flow. The danger of ex-
ploited wisdom in play^vriting then, is the perversion of the
medium of the art
Problem :
1. A novelist advises a friend to seduce his modeL
2. The model proves to be the novelist's daughter.
3. He withdraws his advice and revises his morality.
Here is a Conflict involving a vital tug at the parental
heartstrings — ^the third law of nature. It makes no demand on
the intellectual muscles and carries conviction with multiplied
force. Mr. Thomas is fortunate to revert to this specimen of
his earlier craftsmanship. It is a lesson from his own works.
It may check his recent tendency toward the thesis Play. If
he confines his efforts to vital problems he may hold his herit-
age as the lineal successor to Fitch. If he soars aloof into the
realm of hazy mysticism he can only exit from the portals of
his arL
ARIZONA.
The Top Notch of Thomas Technic.
After treating of "The Model" as Mr. Thomas's later re-
vision of an early manuscript it is well to go back to the early
type of his pla5rwriting to trace that virility so lacking in such
efforts as "The Harvest Moon" and "As a Man Thinks."
Problem No. i :
1. A wife is caught eloping with a cad.
2. The cad throws suspicion on an innocent man.
3. The wife clears the latter by confessing the truth.
252
The DRAMATIST
Problem No. 2 :
1. A lover kills the seducer of his sweetheart.
2. The seducer throws suspicion on an innocent man.
3. The lover confesses to the murder.
This double story tendency is a strain that pervades all of
Mr. Thomas' work. It is seldom that he strikes two Plots so
similar in Cause and so completely rounded within the time
limits of one performance. The third and fourth Plots con-
tained in this manuscript are of minor disturbance. All three
biplots are made interdependent in a way but still they mar the
economy of interest- Simplicity is the keynote of good con-
stn.TCtion and divided interest cannot possibly concentrate ef-
fect,
"The Model" pursues this same tendency in a lesser degree.
The first story is more centralized. In "Arizona" an entire
Act is taken up with the subsidiary Plot so that the Play pro-
per is meantime obliterated.
On the whole, however, few Plays hold their own so faith-
fully. It has old fashioned notions of vicarious suffering, mock
martyrdom, inflated diction and the premature recitation of
events to come. But tlie situations based upon these obsolete
ingredients are thrilling and suspensive. Relatively they are
as strong as the best moments in "The Model" and undoubt-
edly surpass "The Harvest Moon" or "As a Man Thinks" for
anything truly dramatic
It is for this reason we welcome Mr. Thomas' return to
technic His best contributions to dramatic literature are
remnants of the past. It is in the modern application of this
former force that his promise lies. To emulate Ibsen or Shaw
is the worst pace he can set for himself and for his practical
plajrwriting proclivities. More drama, Mr. Thomas, and less
psychology !
THE GOVERNOR'S LADY.
A New Type of Divorcee.
Problem :
1. A politician would divorce his old-fashioned wife.
2. She intercepts his betrothal to a younger woman,
3- The couple are re-united.
A glance at this digest of the Play will show that Alice
Bradley has chosen a timely moral if not a deeply vital dra-
matic theme. If divorce is more vital to women than to men
it nevertheless serves its theatric purpose as a drawing card.
In an era when a true wife is tossed aside with as much indif-
ference as an old glove it is well that we have a Play to turn
the searchlight on the sorrows of this cruel system.
The source of appeal in this Conflict is our sympathy for
a life mate who is to be deserted for a younger woman. And
it is here the Author shows her utmost skill. The character
253
The DRAMATIST
of the capricious little wife is drawn with rare fidelity and
force. The restraint with which the husband's intentions are
withheld from her forms the highest pitch in the Plot. The
crux of this situation is the keenest craftsmanship in the Play.
It may be classed with the best Scene building done by Ameri-
can women.
The Plot as a whole is not clearly conceived. Its purpose
is not concentrated. There are several bypaths to mislead us
at the start. For two whole Acts a political intrigue promises
to form the Play. The wife's divorce is feared only as a scan-
dal that might defeat the husband's political prospects. It
would seem that the author originally intended to make this
her Conflict but abandoned it as the better idea presented.
This better Plot is the problem above given. It takes birth to-
wards the end of Act II and dissolves the earlier effusion.
The political element is purely abstract and should be ade-
quately subordinated. It was needed to show the husband's
ambition for a more fashionable helpmate. It is atmosphere.
But the prominence given it makes it appear a fundamental
feature.
Another bypath in Plot is the young attorney's tribula-
tions. For lack of motivation he is the Author's undisguised
instrument. He is plunged into the love interest without his
own consent merely to serve as a quick recruit at the climax.
On the other hand, this attorney threatens to create a new Con-
flict by his voluntary attack on the husband and so we digress
from one false promise to another, betraying the credulity of
the Audience.
In the brief space of time allotted for an evening's enter-
tainment there is barely opportunity for the promotion of one
valid, progressive line of Plot development. These diffusing
elements merely make for instability.
The fourth Act is labeled an epilog. Analysis is therefore
disarmed. No one would wish to deny David Belasco his pen-
chant for naturalism. His scenic fac-simile of a restaurant is
at once Child's. No higher tribute can be paid this consum-
mate bit of stage painting. A word to the novice, however,
who might deign to emulate this example, let him be sure that
he has a wizard to work his wonder. At best these effects sub-
tract from the Play proper, and only an exacting genius like
Belasco can make a merit of the defect.
Of course these notes are based upon the preliminary per-
formances of the Play. Before Mr. Belasco permits a Metro-
politan premiere countiess changes will be made.
254
The DRAMATIST
BUNTY PULLS THE STRINGS.
The Epitome of Conflict.
In the various reviews of this play much has been said to
the effect that it is not really a Play. And yet the dominant
note of the piece is Conflict. Conflict abounds in every fibre
of its substance. And is not Conflict the epitome of Drama?
Dramaturgic weakness is not its absence of dramatic es-
sence. It is the fact that this essence is diffused, not concen-
trated- There are no two qualified opponents in the Conflict.
Different factions fight out their individual differences at cross
purposes with the Plot.
A main struggle is not built up between Bunty and her
father, or Bunty and her family, or her family and the father,
or the father and his prosecutor, or the female suitor and the
widower, or the forsaken sweetheart and her mercenary rival.
The piece is the accidental admixture of all these scraps, minus
a paramount purpose. An abstract syllogism might be offered
as follows:
Problem :
1. A father rules his household by the kirk's laws.
2. His daughter discovers his dishonesty.
3. She assumes command in the home.
This represents the outer boundary of the Play. But there
are a dozen minor syllogisms. These fragmentary incidents
should be subjugated to a controlling Conflict, and each be
made a tributary to the Plot that depicts them. In their pres-
ent state the parts all have equal value, so that structurally
they do not supplement one another to compose one organic
whole.
An isolated example of rare Scene-building is Bunty's in-
ventory of the homely virtues of her father's fiancee. Mr,
Moffat conducts this domestic court martial with homely
sagacity, but fails to fit it into the cogs of Plot. He has a keen
sense of homely wit and humor. He lacks a clear vision of the
whole, that last attainment in the art of dramaturgy.
Then what is the secret of our great delight in "Bunty?"
If we trace it to its origin our pride is rudely shocked. For the
chief force of its humor is the license allowed us to deride our
own religion thmly veiled by a winsome dialect. We scream
at the artless antics of these infants in their ultra-orthodox
piety. But beneath it is the stupidity of a blind faith that pro-
vokes our mirth. This is our chief source of delight in a nut-
shell.
And here we have a refutation of an old fallacy that relig-
ious topics are taboo for the stage. It requires the canny
Scot to prepare this dainty dish of infidelity. It is a toothsome
255
The DRAMATIST
import for the most devout, and in the last analysis a bur-
lesque of worship poking pious fun at faith. What does it
mean? Are we all infidels by proxy? Shades of IngersoU!
how the ghost of old "Bob" must snicker !
THE GREYHOUND.
Clever Dime Novel Drama.
It is impossible to reduce this interesting series of implau-
sible episodes to a consistent syllogism. It is not a Play. It
is a dime novel melodrama done into a comic opera book with-
out words. Its characters are as impossible as its incidents.
We never take them seriously. Its suicides and crimes are as
preposterous as the tick of the clock in the crocodile's belly.
Its chief merit is that it is never dull or doleful. The mor-
bid lure of the underworld obscures our sense of perverted
moral These crooks whose only rightful place is prison, seem
fascinating fellows And the millionaires they victimize really
glory in their loss.
Mr. Armstrong preserves his past record for loose logic. A
convention of crooks in a woman's private bed room, a congre-
gation of the entire cast on board the same ship ; these are tri-
fles in the author's library of stem probabilities.
But there is one feature of progress in this Play. The thing
is not offered in a serious vein. It makes no pretense at real-
ity. Taken as a flight of fancy or a fairy tale, the fable works
little mischief. Its only evil is for those who make a meaning
of their own.
PRESERVING MR. PANMURE.
Two Distinct and Unrelated Plays.
Problem :
I. A husband kisses his daughter's governess.
2- A young man assumes the blame.
3. She marries him.
The last Act in this piece is a skit in itself, totally discon-
nected from the Play itself. The first three Acts practically
comprise the play, for Mr. Panmure's fate ceases to be a prob-
lem in the fourth appendage.
That Mr. Pinero is put to such an extremity to eke out a
comedy is one of the saddest signs of the Play paucity in the
present season. This is by far the worst specimen he has per-
petrated in recent years. It will go far towards turning the at-
tention of American managers from imported products.
256
The DRAMATIST
The London trademark is no longer a patent promise of
New York success. Nor should this be the guide. The slow,
stolid nature of the British type is no safe measure for the
active, impulsive American spectator.
But there are some dashes of dramatic deftness not to be
ignored, even though the structure as a whole is a failure. The
second act is exemplary comedy with every evidence of the
author's practiced hand. The situation where Panmure holds
an inquest to detect the culprit is funny. But this only em-
phasizes the banalities of the other Acts. The first is muddled
boredom, and the third is aimless and absurd. Where is the
trace of that exquisite treatment displayed in "The Thunder-
bolt?"
THE TALKER.
A Fierce Thrust at Frivolity.
Technically it is a truth that "THE TALKER" is TALK.
It begins by attempting to talk the audience into possession of
the Plot and ends failing to materialize one of the principals.
The "Heavy Villain" remains merely a topic of conversation.
Problem :
1. A wife pretends to advocate free love.
2. Her sister puts this theory into practice.
3. The wife regrets her loose conduct and reclaims the
girl.
As an emotional agent "The Talker" is easily one of the
most vital plays of the season. It aims a fierce thrust at friv-
olity. Crude in parts it gives promise of a playwright, with a
keen sense of dramatic material. Marion Fairfax has a fair
endowment of this precious faculty for touching the well-
springs of emotion.
She has not made up her mind, however, that all of the
Play may be played. Some of the essentials of Plot are omit-
ted or obscured by talk while frequently mere incidents are
visualized in detail.
One flagrant example of the first offense is the Play's open-
ing. An attempt to show the wife's flirtation and the sister's
fascination with a libertine is discussed at much length by
three women whose identities are not clearly established. We
do not know that they are wife, sister-in-law and neighbor for
the reason that they are not brought into explanatory con-
tact with those who might portray these relationships. At like
emergencies all through Acts I and II the program comes to
the rescue.
257
DRAM
The Play is not allowed to end when the Conclusion is
reached. A secondary denouement is appended. Truckling
to the tradition that everything must end happily, a sequel to
the young girl's vicissitudes is hatched up. Her former lover
is required to default so that he may be degraded to her moral
plane and their union is promised.
But despite these structural errors, the Play makes a vivid
impression and deserves marked praise for uniting good enter-
tainment with a moral purpose. It teaches something.
THE VOYSEY INHERITANCE.
A Satire on Financial Confidence.
Problem :
1. A boy inherits the insolvent business of his father.
2. He attempts to continue to pay off helpless creditors.
3-
As indicated above there is no third clause to form a Con-
clusion, The crisis is reached when the boy discloses his
Father's bequest of fraud to his family. At this point Mr.
Barker challenges the intricate character analysis of Pinero in
"The Thunderbolt." The Scene rings true with reality. But
Mr. Barker is forever analyzing. He vivisects every angle of
emotion until the piece becomes mere clinic than Play.
Attached to this Conflict is the love story of a girl who eggs
on the hero to risk imprisonment to discharge the debt. Their
betrothal is hitched on as a Conclusion to the Play proper. In
reality it is an arbitrary ending of the author's isolated
thought.
From page 84 to 90 we are invited to review a lot of effects
without causes. The boy is disturbed about something. We
are merely told that he is upset. The dramatic method of
showing his concern by the cause itself is not used. The
author presumably thinks the mystery stronger than the fact;
to arouse our curiosity is more potent than to supply the in-
gredients of suspense.
But if Act I is boredom, Act II is sound asleep! Items of
ordinary life are emphasized while Plot essentials are ignored.
On page 122 a Plot hint escapes. We learn that a client has
all his savings invested in the firm. On 129 we have more reci-
tation of the father's system of misappropriation but no pic-
ture.
A single incident, a solitary application from a defrauded
customer for the principal of his interest and the manifest in-
ability of the father to produce would be the dramatization of
what now transpires in TALK. In the place of testimony we
would have evidence, in the place of hearsay, a dramatic fact.
258
The DRAMATIST
Act III finds us at the father's funeral without the consent
of Plot. His death happens between acts from no cause con-
sistent with the Conflict. There is considerable mock martyr-
dom here. The boy entertains fears of imprisonment without
the slightest provocation. He will commit a felony to solace
his sweetheart's vague ideals of altruism. The Play makes no
demand for this. It is the conception of a brand new Conflict.
In Act IV we begin to drift. The Plot roams helplessly
and we are undecided whether Edward is crooked or straight.
One thing certain. His business experience, to our know-
ledge, does not warrant faith in his ability to carry out an
enormous scheme. The manipulation of this enterprise was
all his crafty father could manage, and he had passed an ap-
prenticeship. The boy is utterly without instruction in this
crooked craft. Pages 174 to 183 attribute some clever dis-
course to old Booth and the boy. This Scene would have con-
siderable merit if there were any semblance of premise to rest
upon.
A stupid family conference consumes most of the Fifth
Act. Why these domestic details should obtrude is not ex-
plained. Possibly some veiled notion of atmosphere dictated
them. What we expect is further development of the misap-
propriation Plot. We do not find that the boy has succeeded in
paying off lessor creditors, and the trumped up prospect of im-
prisonment is abruptly dropped. The colloquy between lovers
is anything but a conclusion to the first Conflict. Perhaps the
author has some hidden meaning of his own. Of what avail
if it conveys no composite moral to the subconscious crowd?
Its mysterious message is essay, not Drama-
Note: These Plays are published in one volume by
Mitchell Kennedy, New York. Price $1.50. The book also
contains another play by the same author, "Ann Leete."
WASTE.*
A Manager-Made Play.
We are always clamoring for more intimate knowledge of
the stage for the student. Is there such a thing as too much
theatrical training for the tyro? Mr. Barker's earnest at-
tempts at Playwriting would seem to say so. Here is a dra-
matist who is at the same time actor, stage manager and pro-
ducer. His eye is so everlastingly alert for the opportunity in
each of these branches that he ends in a muddled melange.
From amateur to adept, this is the range covered by Gran-
ville Barker in "Waste." Some scenes have all the pungency
of Pinero while others challenge the awkwardest amateur un-
der the sun. Of course, we speak from a strictly technical
standpoint based on a standard prescribed by the Play itself.
^Mitchell Kennedy, New York- Price $1.50.
259
The DRAMATIST
As example of crude, immature construction we call atten-
tion to the first i8 pages of drift in the published version.
(Pages 216 to 234). This gradates from idle discussion to the
profoundest slumber. The harangue is stupid and dull. The
characters conversing are not concerned and not one thing
really happens in the interval. On 234 is the first bit of dialog.
It occurs between two people who have something to say.
From now on there is more or less doing till the end of the
Act. The curtain is an emotional crisis at the cost of all moral
scruple. Two mature individuals are required to toy with a
salacious phase of the cosmi urge. It is not shown that they
share this passion. At the author's instance the puppets
respond. Barring this absence of volition the Scene is drawn
with a master stroke and the situation assumes magnitude in
a twinkling. The passing of the participants is vivisected.
From 243 to 250 there is little else than an inconsequent
prattle of politics. The author presupposes our interest in
these abstractions. On 254 the telephone relieves the mono-
tony. There is word that the Plot is still living. The remain-
der of the Scene vitally interests us. The parental law is in-
volved. But the chasm between amateur and adept is again
portrayed in the two extremes of craftmanship.
From 268 to 293 we have a sample of spurious common-
places. Now w^e arrive at the prime situation of the Play, in-
tensely unique and modem. The rest of the Act is just as
supremely stupid. It is hard to reconcile such epochs of drift
after one or two full breaths of drama. Again from skill to in-
competence.
The chief flaw in Act IV is not the fact that the curtain is
twice lowered. So far as the Play proper is concerned the Act
as a whole is an error. The author drives on his hero to sui-
cide to fulfil his theme.
Page 333, the incident of the sister's innocence of the
brother's guilt is a touch of suspense worth noting. Taken as
an isolated instance of treatment it has merit and delicacy,
"Waste" is more apparent in the misuse of irrelevant forces
than in the moral conveyed. This moral which should be as
clear as the day is concealed in clouded obscurity.
PUTTING IT OVER.
Dramatizing the National Game,
There is no sport that absorbs the attention of a larger por-
tion of the population than baseball. It is very difficult to
dramatize this enthusiasm into a serviceable theatrical conflict,
but it looks very much as though Frank Hatch and Lee Arthur
might successfully capitalize this pastime by subordinating a
few extraneous features of "Putting it Over,"
260
The DRAMATIST
All drama is Conflict, and baseball is a conflict between
chosen sides. The sport, therefore, lends itself to ready stage
transposition. The gravest fault in this Play is that the base-
ball feature has not been allowed to predominate. Other ele-
ments of plotty encumbrance absorb too much of the interest
that should be centered in the hero of the diamond. Plot com-
plications may make this look necessary, but it is not.
Problem :
1. A pitcher renounces baseball to solace his sweetheart.
2. To avert his father's disgrace he re-enters the game.
3. The girl forgives him when she learns his heroic mo-
tive.
This is the gist of "Putting It Over" so far as the authors
stick to the rules of their own game. They play ball on an-
other field when they send the hero out to thrash an editor's
son in order that they may trump up a motive for the father's
misappropriation of funds to save his boy from jail. This is
spurious entanglement. If these motives could be founded on
something in keeping with baseball Plot purpose would be fos-
tered, whereas the outside incidents brought in to brace up
motive merely subtract from the progress of the Play proper.
The extraneous agency of the aunt is one of these disorders.
She is no more or less than a mouthpiece of the authors. Her
financial vicissitudes as a Fifth Avenue dressmaker do not be-
long in this game of ball. No amount of tinkering could make
her a principal in the Plot, and her intrusion into the Conflict
merely blurs the legitimate course. This character should be
subordinated to her normal position as chaperon to the girl.
A commendable phase of the treatment is the truthful esti-
mate of ballplaying as a profession. The authors show it up
in its true colors. It is assigned its proper place in the cate-
gory of healthful sports, but is not idealized with misleading
glamor for the intoxication of aspiring youth.
But all these remarks are based upon a preliminary try-out
of the production. Many of the defects, no doubt, will be
eliminated in the course of rehearsals. The Play has an abun-
dance of marketable material upon which the efforts of the
authors should concentrate.
THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR.*
A Satire on Social Supremacy.
A welcome recruit to the file of published Plays is this suc-
cess of three seasons past. To readers of "The Dramatist" it
will be twice welcome since so many of our cherished theories
are successfully put into practice.
♦Walter H. Baker & Co., Boston. Price 50c.
261
The DRAMATIST
As a model of Unity few Plays can surpass it. It has a sin-
gle purpose into which all minor episodes are merged. Co-
hesion is intricate. All parts contribute to the whole. The
Plot is replete with expectation and suspense. The dominant
danger hangs over our heads like a threatening thunderstorm.
Character is well drawn because it is created by Conflict.
Even the negative types are pronounced for their distinctive
personality. The entire structure revolves around the irate
old fossil whose peevish spleen is a visual property of the Plot-
He is a gradual growth before us within the time limits of the
Play.
The Conflict is properly divided into acts. Three Acts!
The curtains are well timed and effective. The greatest possi-
ble promise is yielded. At the end of Act II the fate of four
souls hinges on the suspended issue of the two chief combat-
ants.
Problem :
1. A bankrupt gentile hates a prosperous Jew.
2. Their children fall in love.
3. The enemies are reconciled.
The defects of this structure are so trifling they may well
be ignored. It would be quibbling to locate a few minor flaws
when such infinite inspiration is afforded the aspirant. Mr. J.
Hartley Manners has Americanized the German version with
rare skilL
THE HOME THRUST.*
A Suffrage Playlet.
The National Woman Suffrage Association has entered the
theatrical field as a factor for publicity. They have issued a
list of manuscript Plays written by women of literary and
public prominence. The rights to these scripts are held by the
association and permission to produce them is granted on roy-
alty.
"The Home Thrust" is one of this number. It is a fine Play
idea minus the suspense that spells dramatic interest. Not
until the last page do we receive that information calculated to
excite expectation. Without this factor there can be no sus-
pense. Without suspense there is no such thing as drama.
Plot lapses into storybook style and the surprise is sprung on
us instead of the principal implicated.
^National Woman Suffrage Association, N. Y. Price loc.
262
The DRAMATIST
The exponents of a great cause are not the best judges of
Plays to propagate their theories. This playlet, for instance,
would undoubtedly delight a Suffrage audience. Each advo-
cate would contribute a Conflict of her own out of her stock
on hand of enthusiasm. But the aim, of course, is to reach the
enemy. Long epochs of undramatized talk will have little in-
fluence in that direction. The skeptic must be reached through
his eye, not his ear. A stage picture painting a Suffrage fact
is the thing to strive for. Seeing is believing.
THE CLIMBERS.*
Fitch's First Great Play.
Problem :
1. A wife's admirer saves a husband from disgrace.
2. He falsely accuses them of adultery. I
3. The wife's contempt drives husband to suicide.
A glance at this Problem reveals the deep current of
Conflict that pervades this play. It is the first of a long list of
powerful dramas from the pen of this prolific pla5rwright. His
technical skill advanced steadily after this success until its
abrupt climax in his last work, "The City." No other modern
dramatist has shunned the pitfalls of intellectual vagaries so
successfully. He could not be beguiled into false flights of
metaphysics. He made his appeal to the heart, not the head.
"The Climbers" is not free from structural flaws, as we
now feel them. Characters frequently indulge in asides, lapse
into monolog, and attempt to retail the Plot prematurely. On
page 57 is an example of this offence: "Ned Warden's always
ready to take you anywhere you like." Fitch would not have
made this blunder in his later work. Restraint would postpone
all mention of the husband's rival till the character is intro-
duced.
Such violations of sequence merely betray an amateur's
eagerness to push the facts across. On page 59 the author
talks Sterling's financial troubles into Blanche to enlighten
us. The Play should SHOW this. On 6g, 70, 71 and 72 we
have the aimless efforts of the amateur, to paint crooked char-
acter by comment. The balance of the act is given over to epi-
sodic comedy of a Clyde Fitch quality. It is wholly unneces-
sary to the Plot and serves no purpose even in the delay of
developments, but the comedy is not out of keeping with the
Play proper and bears no strain upon the imagination. The
author's creative art is at its keenest in this episode, but only
the master can venture such purposeless interludes after the
*Samuel French, New York. Price 50 cents.
263
The DRAMATIST
Conflict is once started. Blanche's soliloquy after reading the
father's letter at end of Act I is the crudest craftsmanship in
the Play.
Act II advances the Conflict more steadily. Sterling's ruin
is accomplished offstage, and told to us in talk. The weight
of this Act is enlivened by Trotter's eccentricities. The final
confession in the dark is theatrical, but highly effective.
On igi the "suffering dog" episode is a specimen of crude
device later discarded by this great craftsman. 195 shows the
author's ability in riding over the rough places. Pages 203,
204, 205, 206 and 207 develop magnificent situation and reach
the crisis of the Conflict. Warden's affection is portrayed in a
clean, straightforward fashion. Some forceful work will be
found on page 211 where Blanche's confessed love drives Ster-
ling to desperation. At the end of this act (III) our sympa-
thies are all for the wife and her lover. We long for their
union.
Act IV is largely the art of stretching it over. The vain
attempt of the husband to regain his wife's love is the obsta-
cle to our coveted Conclusion. The subtlety of treatment here
is marvelous. On 251 the fist fight is to be deplored. It mars
a wonderful ending. The pathetic death of the hopeless weak-
ling is treated with rare skill and restraint and good taste
marks the final curtain.
THE WOMAN WITH THE DAGGER.*
First Act Follows the Second.
In this little play by Arthur Schnitzler the usual sequence
of events is entirely reversed. The past upon which the story
is founded follows the present. The ancient portrait of a lady
holding a dagger is employed as a talisman in the fate of a
married woman and her lover.
The second tableau enacts the incident of earlier ages that
inspired the original painting. The principals are the same
in an earlier stage of transmigration. This scene predicts the
doom awaiting the illicit relations of the lovers. The author
desires to foreshadow the ironic fate that holds them in its
clutch.
This mockery of fate appeals to the poetic temperament.
It is a gripping drama of the Little Theatre school. But it has
no relation to the realistic Play and would not serve as a guide
to the modem student.
The introductory dialog is distinctly the work of the ama-
teur. It bears no imprint of the master. Our energies are
wasted in an effort to grasp the scattered fragments of thought
*The Moods Publishing Co., New York. Price 20 cents.
264
The DRAMATIST
that mystify our dawning impressions of the Plot. The first
thing we SEE is the young man's love for the married woman,
and this is impaired by the false premises it rests upon. Much
of the remainder of the first part is mere narrative. The sec-
ond scene is much more adequately presented, for here we see
the husband intercept the illicit lovers. This is drama for the
moment.
The theme is not elevating, no matter how true to the de-
cree of a superstitious fate that defies danger. The piece has
no moral purpose. It excels the same author's efforts in
"Anatol" because it has the virtue of theatric effectiveness
even while it precludes conviction. It is not based upon our
beliefs.
THE UNWRITTEN LAW.
A Motive in Mental Suggestion.
Problem :
1. Under suggestive influence a wife kills her lover.
2. Her divorced husband assumes the crime.
3. She saves her husband by a subconscious disclosure.
Briefly, the Plot is this: A woman, deserted by her hus-
band accepts the bounty of her landlord with the understand-
ing that he will marry her when she is divorced. He fails to
keep his promise and she stabs him under the temporary in-
fluence of suggestion. Her divorced husband assumes the
crime and a hypnotist establishes the fact that she committed
it under occult mental motive.
The theme is timely as echoed by scores of modem murder
cases where the brain-storm theory is introduced. But Mr.
Royle has not concentrated sufficiently on this theme to ob-
tain the fullest net result. The idea is excellent but its earlier
execution miscarries. Expecting a Play consistent with the
title we vainly endeavor to construct some such issue out of
a number of false introductions.
The rumsodden father is so over emphasized that we na-
turally expect Plot to take genesis through him. But nothing
comes of it. The father does nothing but forsake his family.
Failing in this snare we catch at the next. A youthful attor-
ney courts the drunkard's daughter. From hints that are
dropped we might easily surmise he will ruin the child and the
"unwritten law" to the rescue. Again we are fooled.
And with all these false premises the main Plot conditions
are badly ignored. We should see that the landlord's game to
deceive the mother. But in the preliminary Acts he is her
guardian angel. When his true colors are displayed it is too
265
The DRAMATIST
late. We are asked to despise a man we love for his disinter-
ested loyalty. There is a blundering attempt to get his sen-
suality over in a talk scene with a suffragette. But this is tame
testimony in the face of the landlord's charities we have act-
ually witnessed.
All of which illustrates the imperative need of telling Plot
essentials to the eye, not the ear. Seeing is believing. Hear-
ing may not even be heard ! The related fact may be fixed in
the minds of some of the auditors, the visible performance is
the only indelible means of fastening it upon all. And this is
the definition of drama. DOING !
Of course these comments are purely technicaL The Play
as it stands deals with a vital problem and delivers a telling
"punch." We might devote equal space to the merits of a
Play. It is a work worthy of study from that standpoint as
well.
'Books for Dramatic Students
TECHNIQUE OF THE DRAMA.*
By Dr. Gustav Freytag.
This book was written by the great German novelist,
scholar, poet, critic, editor, soldier, publicist, and successful
playwright, Gustav Freytag — the only instance of a dramatist
formulating a treatise on the technique of his art.
Aristotle in his "Poetics" and Lessing in his "Dramatic
Notes" preceded him in the enunciation of certain dramatic
principles, but he was the first author to formulate the princi-
ples of his craft into a synthesis.
This work was published about the time of our Civil War,
and of course in some minor details has become a little anti-
quated owing to the phenomenally rapid evolution of the dra-
matic art, but in the eternal principles of drama it is as vital
today as when first published.
It has gone through six editions, and will go through many
more before its career of usefulness is over. It is one of the
great classics that every dramatic student should read.
* Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. Price $1.50.
266
The DRAMATIST
THE APPRECIATION OF THE DRAMA.*
By Charles H. Caffin.
This is a keen and most comprehensive treatise on dra-
matic technology. It should be adopted as a text-book by
every university placing scientific study of the drama in the
curriculum.
It traces the evolution of drama through its plastic and pic-
torial phases and gives its history in compact form possibly
more valuable to the modem student than any tedious review
of the works themselves.
The analysis of Ibsen's "Hedda Gabler" illustrates ably and
in a synthetic manner nearly every principle involved in a
play Our only regret is that the author has not applied
this same talent to the flagrant flaws of construction in this
piece. The findings of his acute perception would be highly
interesting.
Mr. Charles H. CafTin, the author, is to be congratulated
upon his point of view, acquired through a keen knowledge of
other arts, which should prove of infinite service to modem
dramatists, actors and students of technic. There is no other
book of its class that we can so heartily and unreservedly en-
dorse.
A GUIDE TO PICTURES.*
Here is a book written by a distinguished dramatic critic
on a closely allied act. Told in clear, concise, comprehensive
English its points strike home. Of especial interest to aspiring
playwrights are the chapters on:
The Feeling for Beauty
Art and Her Twin Sister Nature
Nature is Haphazard ; Art is Arrangement
Contrast
The Action, Movement, and Composition of the Figure
Naturalistic Composition
Color — Values — Subtlety
Color — Texture, Atmosphere, Tone
Bnish-work and Drawing
Subject, Motive, and Point of View
The illustrations are accompanied by diagrams which assist
the beginners and student. The art of playwriting is so essen-
tially a picture building process that "A Guide to Picture" be-
comes a handbook for dramatists.
*Doubleday, Page Co., Garden City, N. Y. Price $1.50.
267
The DRAMATIST
P L A Y - M A K I N G . *
A Manual of Craftsmanship.
By William Archer.
The gravest mistake an authority like William Archer
could have made would be to leave no record of his observa-
tions. "Play-Making" is a fitting monument to a life devoted
to dramatic analysis and translation. It is a work of perma-
nent value that will doubtless go down in the annals of drama-
turgy as the most important contribution of the age.
Mr. Archer holds many points in common with the doc-
trines advanced in The Dramatist. One is that the best aid to
the aspirant is negative criticism. Another, that drama re-
nounces its chief privilege and glory when it ceases to be a
popular art. And a third, he has little time for the untheatrical
theatre. Following is the list of Chapters :
BOOK I— Prologue.
1 Introductory.
2 The Choice of a Theme.
3 Dramatic and Undramatic,
4 The Routine of Composition.
5 Dramatis Personae.
BOOK II— The Beginning.
6 The Point of Attack : Shakespeare and Ibsen.
7 Exposition: Its End and Its Means.
8 The First Act.
9 "Curiosity" and "Interest."
10 Foreshadowing, not Forestalling.
BOOK III— The Middle.
11 Tension and Its Suspension.
12 Preparation: The Finger-Post.
13 The Obligatory Scene.
14 The Peripety.
15 Probability, Chance and Coincidence.
16 Logic.
17 Keeping a Secret.
BOOK IV— The End.
18 Climax and Anticlimax.
19 Conversion.
20 Blind-AUey Themes and Others.
21 The Full Close.
BOOK V— Epilogue.
22 Character and Psychology.
23 Dialogue and Details.
A glance at these chapters affords a taste of the choice feast
in store for the student. Suffice it to say that no modem
pla5rwright's repertoire is complete without thrice reading this
valuable handbook of craftsmanship by one of the world's
greatest dramatic authorities.
*Small, Maynard & Co., Boston. Price $2.00 net.
268
The DRAMATIST
AMERICAN PLAYGOERS.
The Coburn Players.
At the Spring meeting of the American Playgoers Mrs. and
Mr. Coburn were the special guests of the club. Mr. Coburn
made an address on open air productions and their influence
upon the playgoing public. His authoritative comments and
statistics on this subject were of absorbing interest to our
members and guests.
Mrs. Coburn accompanied by other members of "The Co-
bum Players" produced the fourth version of "The Pearl" to
the delight and satisfaction of all. Their undertaking can be
appreciated with more enthusiasm when it is revealed that
they had only a few hours in which to commit the parts and
evolve many factors of original stage business.
The usual discussion followed the production and a great
many humorous suggestions were offered. One member pro-
posed that the pseudo physician administer the wrong dose
and that Clara's gratitude to the wife be founded upon her nar-
row escape and recovery. But the burden of the argument
rested upon the fact that there was not time to reclaim Clara
from the degradation of a thief and this contention was finally
overturned by a member who showed distinctly that there is
no such reclamation attempted. Readers of "The Dramatist"
may determine for themselves, the justice of these points in
the playlet that follows. Few changes having since been made,
the sketch is substantially the same as presented.
THE PEARL.
(Fourth Revisioru)
AVidow
Characters-' Clara
Jimmy
SCENE: A handsomely furnished parlor in a first-floor
apartment. Doors C. & L., Windows R.
At rise of curtain the widow is seated, reading a book. The
door bell rings. She leaves the room to answer it. Voices are
heard. She ushers in Clara, who carries a large satchel.
WIDOW — Yes, your references were quite satisfactory.
(She resumes her chair and Clara makes a secret signal to
someone through window.)
CLARA — Then I'm to start at once? (Setting satchel on
a chair.)
WIDOW — There's no hurry. Sit down a moment and I'll
explain your duties. (Clara seats herself) You'll find your
position a little difficult here. I don't make servants of my
maids. I prefer to be companionable. ,
CLARA— Oh, I thank you.
269
The DRAMATIST
WIDOW — What was your name, again?
CLARA— Clara.
WIDOW — Oh, yes, Clara. A very pretty name,
CLARA — Thank you.
WIDOW— I think I'm going to like you Clara.
CLARA — Thank you. I hope so. (Door bell rings) Shall
I go?
WIDOW — No, never mind. (Widow answers the bell and
in her absence Clara cautiously surveys the premises. She tip-
toes into the room on the left and returns hurriedly resuming
her chair. Man's voice is heard off stage: "Is this Mrs.
Brown's apartment?"
WIDOW (off stage) — No, she lives on the floor above.
(Clara deliberately knocks over a chair and pretends to faint
beside it.)
WIDOW (looking into the room)— What was that?
(She hurries to Clara) Oh, she has fainted!
JIMMY (Appears C. carrying small medicine case) — Can
I be of any assistance?
WIDOW — Oh, if you will, please, go for a doctor.
JIMMY — (Opening his medicine case) I happen to be. . . .
WIDOW — You're a physician? Oh, thank heaven! Then
you can attend her.
JIMMY — (Taking Clara's pulse) Any smelling salts in the
house ?
WIDOW— Yes yes (Exits hurriedly L.)
JIMMY— (To Clara, under his breath) Where's the swag?
CLARA — (Pointing L.) In there.
JIMMY — Have you doped it out?
CLARA — Yes, she's all alone. Send her out for some-
thing. (Widow returns with smelling salts which she hands
to Jimmy.)
WIDOW — Is she any better, doctor?
JIMMY — Her.... Her heart seems weak very weak.
(Administers salts bottle, then fumbles in medicine case)
tiave you any digitalis?
WIDOW — No, but there's a drug store in the next block.
JIMMY — We'd better send out for a little.
WIDOW— I'll have to go myself.
JIMMY — Sorry to trouble you.
WIDOW— Oh, no trouble at all.
JIMMY— (Rubbing Clara's hands vigorously) I can't leave
my patient.
WIDOW— I'U hurry. (She goes out C.) (Clara and
Jim.my listen till outer door is heard to close. Then both spring
to their feet.)
JIMMY— Now what?
270
The DRAMATIST
CLARA — That's her room (indicating L.) get on the job.
(Clara stands guard at door C. Jimmy hurries off L.. . .Noise
of rummaging heard).
CLARA — Anything doing?
JIMMY— (Off L.) Hah. . . . ! Here's the swag.
CLARA — That's the talk! Kid, but come across, come
across.
JIMMY--(Enters L. with jewel-box) Her little Klondike
junk-box.
CLARA — (Lifting out a diamond brooch with large pearl
centre) Whee ! That's some pearl !
JIMMY — It's sure a beaute! (He returns brooch to jewel-
case).
CLARA — (Opening her satchel) Sink it, kid, she's com-
ing!
JIMMY— And I'll beat it. (Taking the satchel).
CLARA — Not on your life. (She grabs the satchel and
resumes attitude of patient. Jimmy is fanning her with his
hat when widow enters.)
WIDOW — I haven't been too long, doctor? (Handing
him a small bottle.)
JIMMY— Not a bit.
WIDOW — How is she, now?
JIMMY — Still a little weak. If she has a relapse give her
ten drops of this. (Takes up his medicine case) I'm forget-
ting my patient; on the next floor, you say?
WIDOW— Yes. But your fee, doctor?
JIMMY — I'll send you a bill, madam. (To Clara) Remem-
ber, Miss, plenty of exercise in the open air. (To Widow)
Good day, madame. Good-afternoon, Miss. (Widow shows
Jimmy out. Clara rises and takes up her hat but hides it as
widow re-enters.)
WIDOW — (Surprised at seeing Clara standing) Why,
Clara, are you strong enough?
CLARA — I'm very much better, thank you.
WIDOW — Oh, I'm so glad. I was so worried about you,
child.
CLARA — You've been awfully kind, madam. (Takes up
her hat again.)
WIDOW— You're going out?
CLARA — You heard what the doctor ordered. . .(She puts
on her hat.)
WIDOW — Are you sure he v/ould approve?
CLARA — He recommended exercise. (She puts her hand
on her satchel.)
WIDOW — But you don't need to take your bag?
CLARA— Yes.
WIDOW — Clara, you're going to leave?
CLARA— I I've got to.
271
The DRAMATIST
WIDOW — You're not satisfied with the place?
CLARA — It's not that, madam, my health is so poor
WIDOW — My dear girl, I'll take care of you. Let me
make you some broth now.
CLARA — Oh, no, madam, you're too kind. I don't deserve
it.
WIDOW— But I like you Clara, and I'm sure you'll find
me congenial. Besides, I'm all alone. I need a nice young
companion like you. I'll not make you feel you're a servant.
CLARA — Oh, I know that, madam, but. . . .
WIDOW — Well, make up your mind to stay a few days,
anyhow.
CLARA — I can't madam, I've deceived you. . . .
WIDOW — Deceived me, in what way?
CLARA — In applying here for work. I am I am
not
WIDOW — You are not a servant. . . . ?
CLARA— No.
WIDOW — Then why did you pretend you were?
CLARA— Oh, I can't tell you
WIDOW — You must have been badly in need, Clara.
You'll have to work somewhere. Why not stay here? I'll
teach you. I'd be willing to put up with a few inconveniences
because you're a girl I could have confidence in,
CLARA— Oh, don't. Please don't!
WIDOW — But you're not strong, you need a home and
some one to care for you.
CLARA — I must get out in the air — I'm stifling.
WIDOW — (Laying her hand on the satchel) But you
won't take your things?
CLARA — (Jerking satchel away) Oh, don't!
(Clara betrays fear of exposing her loot.)
WIDOW— Why, what's the matter?
CLARA — Oh, nothing, nothing.
WIDOW — But you're not fit to carry that heavy bag.
CLARA — Oh, I can manage it.
WIDOW — You forget, you just fainted, Clara.
CLARA— No I didn't
WIDOW — Why, yes you did, don't you recall, we had to
have the doctor?
CLARA — He wasn't a doctor.
WIDOW— Why Clara. You're delirious. . . .
CLARA — Really, madam, I must go.
WIDOW — You're going to leave me for good?
CLARA— Yes, I'm sorry, but
WIDOW — Oh, Clara, and I'd set my heart on keeping
you.
CLARA — You'll not lose much. I'm not what you think
me.
272
The DRAMATIST
WIDOW— Then tell me, Clara ?
CLARA — Oh, no madam, I can't!
WIDOW — I'm sure you can trust me Clara, I trust you.
CLARA — (Breaking down) Oh, I wish I were dead! I
wish I were dead!
WIDOW — Why, Clara, my poor little girl. You frighten
me. What troubles you dear?
CLARA — (Fumbling in her satchel she drav/s out the
jewel case and places it on table) There, now you know!
(She prepares to go.)
WIDOW— Clara! You?
CLARA — Yes. Good day! (She hurries out C. as widow
opens jewel-case.) (She takes out the pearl and looks at it.)
CURTAIN.
THE NEWER COURAGE.
(To Charles Rann Kennedy.)
"A Nev/er Courage, Dealing with Life, not Death."
Because eternal themes your thoughts engage.
Your words shall live, and shall outlast our years.
Ever the mightiest of our poet-seers
Looked in their souls to write ; the noblest page
Is that which gives God's message to the age.
And if in all the throng, it reach the ears
Of one who grasps the motive that he hears.
The prophet proves his sacred heritage.
Ever the poet's aim is to express
The things best known to his own consciousness.
You proved the newer courage, you who hurled
The cheap lure from you, of the mob's applause,
To find your theme in God's divinest laws —
The sacred drama that transformed the world!
— Mary Brent Whiteside.
373
he DRAMATIS
Vlots of the World's "Best Vlays
In this department the Plots of all the World's Best Plays
will be published. By Plot we do not mean the story of the
Play but a compact outline revealing the structural anatomy
only. Many plays that do not contain a Plot germ are omitted
from this list for the reason that they mislead the student tech-
nically. The plays are listed according to the alphabetical or-
der of authors, not titles.
BREAD.
By Conrad Alberty.
A peasant leader burns the castle of a lord in his fight to
secure bread for his men. He falls in love with the lord's
daughter whom he rescues from the flames. The girl aspires
to the crov/n for her nev/ found lover. She is spirited away
and imprisoned. At a critical moment the lover deserts his
soldiers in order to recapture his sweetheart and returns with
her in time to prevent their defeat in battle. The girl is killed
for having caused the leader to break faith with his followers.
THE DANGEROUS AUNT.
By Albini.
A father objects to his son's attentions paid an actress.
Masquerading as her own aunt she captivates the old man.
When informed that she is of noble birth he proposes mar-
riage. The truth is now revealed by the son and the father is
compelled to sanction their marriage.
ANNE OF THARAU.
By Willibald Alexis.
A professor writes a love poem for a young captain who in-
tends it for the girl whose life he has saved and to whom the
professor is virtually betrothed. The girl falls madly in love
with the captain but incidentally secures high honors for the
professor's poetic proclivities.
PHILIP II.
By Vittorio Alsieri.
A tyrannical king suspects his own son's love for the queen,
the boy's young stepmother. He contrives to lead the queen
to betray her partiality for the boy and then condemns him to
death on a trumped up charge of treason. The friend who suc-
ceeded in liberating the boy is assassinated and the latter is
274
The DRA M A T I S T
again imprisoned on the charge of attempted parricide based
upon the king's dream. The queen is now decoyed into aiding
the boy to escape. The king surprises her. Both she and the
boy kill themselves.
THE THATCHER.
By Angely.
A thatcher seeks shelter from a thunderstorm in the room
of a law student. As a joke he dresses up in the attire of the
absent student. Meantime the student falls heir to a fortune
and the thatcher, to prevent arrest for theft carries out the
counterfeit. Finally the thatcher is called upon to rescue the
student from a threatening fire and the latter is discovered as
the rightful heir. The thatcher is rewarded for his valour and
all ends happily.
THE UGLIEST OF SEVEN.
By Angely.
A young man is bequeathed a fortune on condition that he
marry the ugliest of seven sisters. He had already fallen in
love with an unknown girl on a journey and it is with great
joy that he finds she is one of the seven. But in reality she is
the most beautiful. The judges are three old maids. The girl
provokes them by her intentional pranks and out of revenge
they pronounce her the homeliest. The young couple are so
delighted with this verdict that they increase the fee of the
judges.
THE MISTRESS OF ST. TROPEZ.
By Anicet-Bourgeois.
A girl forsakes a young doctor whom she loves and mar-
ries her father's creditor to avert financial ruin. A relative of
tJie creditor who suffers disinheritance on account of this mar-
riage betrays the girl's love for the doctor. The husband hap-
pens to be the young doctor's benefactor, having founded his
education and although the young wife has been true and loyal
he is hurt to think that she really loves another. The rela-
tive goes as far as to poison the husband and cast suspicion on
the young wife. The doctor rescues him. The young wife's
innocence is established and she learns to esteem her husband.
THE PERJURER.
By Ludwig Anzengruber.
A man secures the inheritance of a deceased brother by
burning the will and taking an oath that no will exists. He is
caught in the act by his own son. The will bequeathed all the
brother's wealth to his illegitimate children. One of these, a
daughter, discovers evidence of a will and the uncle is declared
275
The DRAMATIST
a perjurer. He attempts to recover the evidence from the girl
but she evades him saying that his own son had already ob-
tained it. The father goes mad after shooting his son but the
latter is nursed back to health by the illicit cousin, and they
fall in love.
THE PRIEST OF CHURCHFIELD.
By Ludvig Anzengruber.
A Priest employs a young orphan in his household and
eventually becomes much attached to the girl. His renuncia-
tions of priesthood weigh sadly upon him. In the past he has
incurred the hatred of a man in his congregation by declining
to marry him to a woman of different faith. This fellow learns
of a golden crucifix that the priest has given the orphan. He
slanders the priest and succeeds in alienating the confidence of
his congregation. The girl, meantime, has fallen in love with
another and the priest is required to officiate at their wedding.
A DOUBLE SUICIDE.
By Ludvig Anzengruber.
Two lovers are deprived of courtship on account of the
enmity of their fathers. They write a letter announcing their
intention of a double suicide. The fathers immediately insti-
tute a search for their children and in their mutual grief forget
their past hatred. The youngsters are finally discovered in the
mountains, billing and cooing to their hearts' content. A re-
conciliation is effected.
STAINED HONOR.
By Ludvig Anzengruber.
A servant marries a rich peasant. Her former employer
finds her jewelry missing and has the girl imprisoned. It is
later discovered that the valuables had merely been misplaced
but out of shame the woman remains silent. The servant is
released from prison but upon being charged with theft by her
young husband she resolves to commit suicide. The woman
has confessed her error on her death bed and the husband
learns of it just in time to avert the catastrophe.
THE ACHARIANS.
By Aristophanes.
An Athenian citizen who is enraged at the continued war
with Sparta buys his individual peace from the enem^y.
Theatrical training obtained from Euripides aids him in quiet-
ing the protests of his countrymen. He builds an enclosure
around his home where he opens a free market for friend and
foe alike. Here feasting and revelling mock the lamentations
of war and the Play ends with this contrast carried to the
highest point.
276
The D R A T/I A T I S T
LYSISTR ATA.
By Aristophanes.
The women of Athens combine against the men denying all
domestic intercourse. Under the guidance of their chieftain,
"Lysistrata," they take possession of the fortifications. Most
ridiculous situations result from the plight to which the hus-
bands are reduced by this enforced separation. Peace is finally
concluded through ambassadors from the belligerent parties
under the direction of the diplomatic "Lysistrata."
ALIAS JIMMY VALENTINE.
By Paul Armstrong.
Through the influence of a girl he has protected from insult
and who falls in love with him, a safe-breaker is pardoned
from prison and made assistant-cashier of a bank. Here he is
sought on an old crime by a detective, whom he completely
deludes, when a sister accidentally is locked in a safe. The de-
tective discovers him opening the safe, but lets him go because
of his heroism and the girl's love.
THE DEEP PURPLE.
By Paul Armstrong.
A crook decoys an innocent girl under promise of marriage,
and induces her to lure a wealthy man to a deserted apart-
ment, into which he bursts in the role of the injured husband.
Convinced of the girl's innocp:nse the man rescues the girl and
weds her. The crook is killed by an old enemy.
B
DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
By John Banim.
A man, condemned to death by a tyrant, obtains leave to
bid his wife farewell on the condition that his friend becomes
his hostage. The man is delayed and his friend is about to be
killed in his place. At the crucial moment he arrives. Moved
by this loyalty the tyrant pardons the condemned man.
THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON.
By J. M. Barrie.
A family of the nobility is stranded on an island where self-
preservation becomes the paramount issue. In this emergency
their servant proves the only practical mind. He organizes the
new colony assigning such elementary duties as each can per-
form. As the directing genius he gradually evolves from ser-
vant to master. The family waits on him hand and foot and
the daughter eventually accepts his proposal of marriage with
due humility. A ship rescues the party and they return to civi-
lization and to their respective ranks of social position.
277
The DRAMATI S T
ALICE SIT BY THE FIRE.
By J. M. Barrie.
A girl's susceptive imagination has been unduly fed on
melodramatic nonsense in her mother's absence. She over-
hears an appointment made by her mother and jumps at the
conclusion it is a lascivious romance. The child repairs to the
supposed lover's rooms inspired by the heroic thought of re-
claiming her wajrward parent. The mother is horrified at find-
ing her daughter concealed in a bachelor's apartment. Each
thinks the other hopelessly compromised. The poor mother's
anxiety is finally relieved by the child's attitude of dramatic
rescue.
BRIDES OF ARROGONIA.
By Michel Beer.
A King decrees that of his two daughters, the one selected
by a prince shall become ruler. The first daughter whom the
prince loves has been pledged, by her Mother's vow, to enter
a convent. The second daughter, jealous of the prince at-
tempts to dispose of her sister. The latter outwits her by com-
mitting suicide. The prince now kills himself for grief and the
second daughter takes poison. The surviving Queen sees the
havoc caused by her vow.
STRUENSEE
By Michel Beer
A prime minister of Denmark seeks to spread enlighten-
ment in his kingdom. The Queen, a former English princess,
favors his ambition. Jealous members of the royal family pro-
cure his arrest and persuade the Queen to acknowledge his
love for her under the false pretense that this fact will liberate
the man she really admires. This seals his fate and he is con-
demned to death.
THE PARIAH.
By Michel Beer
A widow who is to be burned according to Indian custom
is rescued by an outlaw, whom she marries. An Indian who
becomes infatuated with her, would kill the outlaw but she
prevents. The Indian learns of her illegal rescue, discovers
that she is his own sister and resolves to have them both exe-
cuted. They take poison. Touched by their behaviour, the
brother promises to care for their child.
278
The D R A M A T I S T
THE LILY.
By David Belasco.
A woman of the upper classes has wasted youth, love, and
happiness because of her father's class prejudice. When she
beholds her younger sister about to be sacrificed in the same
fashion she solemnly protests. In a fierce outburst of passion
she turns upon her father and demands for her sister the privi-
lege of love as a birthright.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.
By David Belasco.
A man betroths his ward to his nephew in order to perpetu-
ate the family name. After death he learns of the young man's
dissolute character from inhabitants of the spirit world and re-
turns to right the wrong committed. In pathetic helplessness
his suffering spirit strives to communicate this fact to his
ward. He finally succeeds in apprising her of his mistake
through the medium of a child — the illicit offspring of his
nephew. The ward is governed by his supernatural message
and is united to the man she loves.
ARTICLE 47.
By Adolphe Belot
An imperceptible mulatto is loved by a white man and at-
tempts to leave him when her negro blood is in danger of de-
tection. Crazed by jealousy he shoots her and is imprisoned
for five years. According to Article 47 he remains under po-
lice surveillance. He escapes, assum.es another name and mar-
ries happily. The mulatto has searched for him in vain. She
finally discovers him and divulges his past, but the wife's love
conquers. The negress goes hopelessly insane.
A COMEDY
By Jules Roderich Benedir
A bachelor inherits a fortune and seeks the hand of his
landlady's daughter. She hesitates and he ventures to propose
to a second girl who also postpones an answer, for she loves
some one else. He engages himself to the first when he sud-
denly discovers a third girl whom he really loves. All three
girls celebrate their betrothal to him. Love claims the other
two and he is left to his third and best choice.
CINDERELLA
By Jules Roderich Benedir
A child, deserted in a boarding school, has been reared as a
servant. She meets a count incog, who falls in love with her.
Later she is compelled to run away and in an exhausted condi-
tion is brought to the count's castle where she is discovered
to be his uncle's natural daughter. The count is convinced
that she loves him for himself alone and they are betrothed.
279
The DRAMATIST
SAMSON.
By Henri Bernstein.
A dock laborer of rare mental vigor makes a large fortune
in stocks and weds a society beauty. A man tries to win her
affections and the husband engages in a financial battle to de-
feat him. By clever stock manipulations he ruins his rival
even though he wrecks his own fortune in the attempt.
ISRAEL.
By Henri Bernstein.
A young aristocrat insults a dignified old Jewish banker
wishing to involve him in a duel. The Jew applies to the
youth's mother who in turn beseeches her son not to press the
quarrel. In a gruelling cross-examination the boy follows up
the motive of this strange request until at last he wrings from
her the confession that the banker is his illegitimate father.
Despite the latter's attempt to reconcile him to his fate the boy
commite suicide.
ZAZ A.
By Berton.
An actress falls in love with a man and lives happily with
him until he tires of her. She hears that he is married and con-
firms this fact by a visit to his family. She pretends that she
has exposed his infidelity. He condemns her. Later they
meet. She has risen to great fame and he is free to marry her.
She still loves him but has been too cruelly deceived and bids
him adieu.
MADAME X
By Alexander Bisson
A drug-drenched woman murders her paramour to avoid
his revealing her identity to her son. An advocate is appointed
to defend her. Upon announcement of his name the woman
shrieks. She realizes it is her son. He believes his mother
dead. He makes an eloquent plea for the life of his client in-
terpreting her obstinate silence as a desire to shelter some in-
nocent person whom she loves — a son, perhaps. Only the
woman and audience know the truth. She is acquitted. She
dies in the arms of her advocate acknowledging her maternal
relation to him.
A GAUNTLET
By Bjornson
A girl reared in innocence, is betrothed to a man of the
world. Each fancies that no predecessor has won the other's
affection. When she learns of a compromising intrigue in her
lover's past she hurls her glove in his face and breaks the en-
gagement. She learns that she has been living in a fool's para-
dise. The man does penance and the girl gives him a vague
hope of future reconciliation.
280
The D R A M A T I S T
BEYOND THEIR STRENGTH
By Bjomson
A faith healing clergyman lives in an overstrained ecstacy
and forces his wife to the same high nervous tension. She is
finally stricken with paralysis. The priest determines to heal
her by fervid prayer. A tremendous avalanche sweeps down
the mountain but divides at the parsonage. The two are un-
harmed. It is a miracle ! The wife now rises ! She falls upon
her husband's neck amid great rejoicings ! She is dead ! Over-
whelmed by the shock the clergyman falls dead at her side.
LABOREMUS.
By Bjornson.
A poor composer is captivated by a girl who marries a rich
widower. After marriage her sensuality leads to an illicit rela-
tion with the composer. Her step-daughter intercepts them
and the harlot is unmasked.
THE KING.
By Bjornson
A young, liberal minded king condemns the sham and
pomp of his position. He marries the daughter of a prisoner
who earnestly aids in his mission of royal regeneration. His
subjects are scandalized at this union with their own sort. The
bride dies as a result of fanatic hatred and a father's curse.
The king commits suicide realizing the futility of his efforts to
establish a democratic monarchy.
THE NEWLY-WEDS.
By Bjornson
A young lawyer marries the spoiled daughter of a wealthy
official. Exasperated by her obstinate immaturity he removes
her from the pampered influence of her parents. Her eyes are
opened by an anonymous novel reflecting the dangers ahead.
The book is written by one of her friends who also awakens
her jealousy. Womanhood finally asserts itself in the wife and
a reconciliation follows.
TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY.
By Oscar Blumenthal.
A woman marries a widower whom she does not love. She
becomes easy prey for a seducer and afterwards falls honestly
in love with her husband. The seducer meantime reforms and
asks for the hand of her step-daughter. To prevent the match
the woman divulges their past but only succeeds in winning
the girl's contempt. Unable to confess the burden on her soul
to her husband who is now seized with heart failure, she takes
poison.
a8i
The DRAMATIST
SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE.
By Geraldine Bonner.
A wife is piqued at her husband's flirtations with a suffra-
gette and takes dinner with an old admirer to arouse return-
jealousy. The husband intercepts the tete-a-tete and is ready
to kill his rival when the wife confesses to her little scheme to
taunt him.
COLLEEN B AWN.
By Dion Boucicault.
A young man is secretly married to the girl he loves. He
is in debt and the only way to avoid embarrassment is to
marry an heiress. His servant, wishing to assist his master,
tries to drown the wife. The husband is accused of murder
when the wife appears to save him.
LONDON ASSURANCE.
By Dion Boucicault.
A young man, facing imprisonment for debt, falls in love
with a girl to whom his father is engaged. A brazen young
scapegrace entraps the father into such a ridiculous predica-
ment, that he is obliged to pay his son's debts and let him
marry the young woman.
A VISIT.
By Edward Brandes.
A girl is the victim of a libertine. She afterwards marries
a socialist who in reality is a sensualist. The seducer turns up
and insults her in her husband's home. This leads to her hus-
band's discovery of the past and he is about to cast her off
when his admiration leads him to interpret her behavior as
consistent with his socialistic theories.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR.
By George Broadhurst.
A financier marries a telephone girl and supports her
worthless brother-in-law. The girl leaves her husband after a
brutal assault, virtually constituting a rape. In order to re-
gain his position the brother-in-law tricks the pair into a re-
conciliation.
THE LADY OF LYONS.
By Bulwer-Lytton.
A farmer's son falls in love with an heiress who repels his
advances. Other rejected suitors conspire to disguise him as
an Italian prince to revenge themselves on the girl. He mar-
ries her and takes her to the farm house of his Mother where
he confesses. In spite of her broken pride she loves him, but
282
The DRAMATIST
her parents insist on separation. The boy enlists to atone for
his deception. He distinguishes himself in battle and acquires
a fortune. In the meantime the bride's parents have become
impoverished and to save them she is about to marry a former
suitor whom she abhors. Her husband returns in time to save
her this fate.
RICHELIEU.
By Bulwer-Lytton.
A Cardinal has condemned to death a young daredevil who
is in love with his ward. By aiding to put down a conspiracy
which threatens the Cardinal's life the youth earns his pardon
and the hand of the girl.
THE CAVE MAN.
By Gelett Burgess.
A lady of quality undertakes to polish an uncouth coal-
heaver. She introduces the transformed ruffian to an ambi-
tious debutante who falls in love with him. But the ex-coal-
heaver aspires to the hand of his lady champion and she finally
awakens to the real man she has developed in him.
Plots by authors of the letter C, begin in the
October, 1912, issue.
28 ^.
DRAMA
VlayWriting
Are you satisfied with the progress you are making as a
playwright? Are you content to spend the best years of your
life in an effort to master dramatic composition? Are you con-
tent to continue in the bitter and gruelling school of experience
of the "try, try again" — hit or miss theory? Or are you willing
to take a short cut to the mastery of your Art?
The majority of Authors who arrive on the Metropolitan
stage bring with them the history of fifteen to twenty years'
hard struggle with the mysteries of the Craft. This has been
the case with Fitch, Thomas, Pinero, Shaw and Walter. It is
this long period of helpless preparation that the Institute of
the Drama is designed to avert.
Let us tell you of the invaluable service the Institute ren-
ders the aspiring Playwright — how we help develop the abili-
ties and possibilities of the young Dramatist — how we perfect
a play into scientific and saleable form — and how you may add
to your fund of practical information, knowledge that you can
apply to the very play you are building — knowledge that will
place you years in advance of your normal development as a
Dramatist.
USE THIS COUPON
(Cut out and Mail.)
Institute of the Drama,
Easton, Penna.
Gentlemen :
Kindly send me your prospectus of Correspondence in Sci-
entific Playwriting and Collaboration.
/
Name
Street
City
State
(Please write Plainly.)
284
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