3 1822 02669 8001 diversity of i :alifornia JAN DIEGO I ZZ4 V Glendai. , . ...ti. N.O.B. i>iav ^'^^ ^ y.';',!yf,R.S!T,Y..9.''.,?^,y PORNJA, SAN. DIEGO 3 1822 02669 8001 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING BEING A PRACTICAL TREATISE ON THE ELEMENTS OF DRAMATIC CONSTRUCTION INTENDED FOR THE PLAYWRIGHT, THE STUDENT, AND THE DRAMATIC CRITIC ALFRED HENNEQUIN, Ph.D. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY ALFRED HBNNSQUIN COPYRIGHT, I918, BY MARUt HSNNEQiJIN ALL SIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM To BRONSON HOWARD, IS REMEMBRANCE OF A PLEASANT WINTER WHEN THE SHENANDOAH WAS ON THE STOCKS. THK AUTHOR. INTEODUCTIOK There are two classes of readers for whose needs a book of this sort should aim to pro- vide : (1) those who know much about the practical workings of the theatre, but have little constructive knowledge; and (2) those whose instinct for dramatic construction is strong, but who, through lack of opportunity, have acquired little insight into the practical details of stage representation. With this end in view, the work has been arranged in two principal divisions, the first dealing with the minutiae of the theatre, the second with the principles of dramatic construction. In the first the reader is inducted into the twilight region which lies beyond the scenes, told the name and function of the pieces of stage machinery, introduced to "wings," "flats," "set-pieces," "grooves," "torment- ors," — taught the office of the various exits and entrances, initiated into the mysteries of stage conventionalities — in short, made ac- quainted with every feature of the modem stage which concerns him as a working play- wright. In the second part, an endeavor is Vi INTRODUCTION. made to set forth the theory and art of play- writing, first, by a thorough classification and analysis of the drama, and second, by a prac- tical exposition of the actual process of build- ing up a play from the first crude suggestion. To very many readers doubtless an attempt to teach an art notoriously so subtile and complex as that of playwriting will seem like proposing a recipe for " Paradise Lost " or a formula for "The Mill on the Floss." They will say (and with much plausibility) that if playwriting is an art, its rules are airy, impalpable, elusive. To set them down in prosaic black and white is to imprison Ariel in the rived oak where he can no longer work his magic for us. The force of all this may be granted, and yet we may in- sist that there are special reasons why a work on playwriting, if properly conceived, should be entitled to greater consideration than one which pretends to explain the se- crets of poetry or fiction. The poet or novel- ist is at arm's length from his audience. He has only to get his poem or novel into type and his thought is within reach of every man that reads. With the dramatist the case is far otherwise. Between him and his audi- ence looms up a monstrous, unwieldy, mys- terious instrument of interpretation, rusty with traditions, top-heavy with prejudices, stuffed to bursting with curious, antiquated, €razy machinery of which few know, or care INTRODUCTION. VU to know, the meaning. It is through this instrument — the theatre — that the drama- tist must convey his conception to his hear- ers. No matter how brilliant his genius, how fertile his imagination, unless he has studied the intricacies of this ponderous ma- chine his labor is likely to go for nothing. His play may be most delightful reading, but unless it will lend itself to the peculiar requirements of the stage it is not worth, for dramatic purposes, the paper it is written on. Now there are three methods by which the beginner may acquire this knowledge. He may go on the stage ; he may converse with actors and playwrights ; he may have re- course to books. The first plan is unques- tionably an excellent one. The young dram- atist can spend a year in no more profitable way than as " walking-gentleman " in a trav- eling or stock company. By no other means is he likely to acquire so intimate a knowl- edge of the highways and by-ways of the world behind the scenes. But there are two considerations which preclude the universal application of this method. In the first place, the young play- wright may not know what to observe. He may never have learned that first great art — the art of seeing with his eyes open. That being the case, the time and perhaps money which he expends for his stage experience may be virtually thrown away ; for the stage, while a good school for those who know how VUl INTRODUCTION. to take advantage of its instruction, is one of the worst in the world for those who do not. Nowhere is the student unguided by sound principles more likely to acquire a taste for small theatrical artifices, hackneyed phrases and forced, unmeaning situations. As a proof that mere presence on the stage is not suffi- cient of itself to inculcate valid dramatic principles, any reader of plays could cite the case of hundreds of actors of the day whose familiarity with stage matters has become second nature, and who yet betray the most absolute misconception of the application of their technical knowledge to the business of playwriting. But there is another and a less debatable objection to the stage as a dramatic educator. What this is, will appear as soon as we try- to answer the question. Who writes plays ? Upon this point, no one but a professional "reader" can pretend to furnish accurate statistics. It will be interesting, therefore, to quote a private letter to the author from one whose right to speak in matters of this kind cannot be called in question. " There are thousands of plays written every year in this country. ... It would be easier to enumerate the classes of those who do not write plays than of those who do. . . . We receive MSS. from journalists, novelists, dramatic critics, theatrical reporters, amateur performers, merchants, brokers, bankers, law- yers (not only the young and obscure but INTRODUCTION. IX those of almost national reputation), ladies of high social position, government clerks, army and navy officials, telegraph operators, college students, bookkeepers, typewriters, physicians, teachers in our public schools (of both sexes), professors in our leading universities, actors, theatrical managers and attaches, commer- cial travelers, musicians, painters, architects, engravers, ministers, politicians, congressmen, and members of the supreme bench of — I dare not say what States of the Union." Now in the majority of these cases it would be manifestly absurd to advise any going upon the stage. The humble govern- ment clerk desirous of eking out her meagre salary, the cripple and the invalid, alleviating the real tragedy of life by the ideal sorrows of imaginary characters, the hurried professional man and the harried journalist, — all these are alike debarred from the means of acquir- ing the needed information. Nor in many instances is it practicable for those of the classes named to consult with dramatists or actors regarding the rules and requirements of stage representation. It is upon books, we must then conclude, that the great army of those who experiment at playwriting — the army from whose ranks our professional playwrights are largely drawn — is dependent for whatever instruc- tion it may get regarding the art of writing plays for the stage. For English and Amer- ican readers such books are practically non« X INTRODUCTION. existent. There is no one work, at any rate, in the English language or any other tongue (as far as the author's experience goes) which pretends to have gathered together all avail- able information on the subject. A real de- ficiency seems, therefore, to exist, and it is with the purpose of supplying this deficiency that the present work has been written. As to the old question, How much benefit may a writer derive from books on writing ? — that is a discussion which may be set aside simply because it is old. No great author was ever hurt by the study of the principles of rhetoric, and no small author ever achieved success without such study. Although no book of this sort is able to supply the dramatic faculty where it is absolutely wanting, or likely to aid materially the creative processes of strong natural genius, it may yet be the means of leading to the achievement of no inconsider- able number of smaller successes, and so ac- complish what is, after all, the only hope of the drama in this country, — the raising of the general average of dramatic workman- ship. It may be said, in conclusion, that there are many persons beside those who have felt the actual need of a book of this kind, for whom the study of dramatic art (even if lim- ited to construction) will be found of profit. The dramatic critic, indeed, finds it altogether indispensable ; but to any one who is at all interested in the study of literature, and INTRODUCTION. XI especially of the drama, it may be recom- mended as one of the most interesting and delightful fields for investigation which it is possible for him to cultivate. In the preparation of this work, the au- thor has received assistance and suggestions from so many playwrights, actors, managers and literary men that he can find space here only to make a general acknowledgment. It would be ungrateful in him, however, to pass by without special mention the great obliga- tions under which he rests, to that prince of gentlemen and first of American dramatists, Mr. Bronson Howard, to Mr. A. M. Palmer, manager of the Madison Square Theatre, to Mr. Louis Ludovici, " reader " of the Madison Square Theatre, to Mrs. " Minnie Maddern " Fiske, and — last but by no means least — to Madame Janauschek. It is a pleasure also to refer to many kindly favors shown him by the late A. S. Cazauran, although the ears that should hear these thanks have long been closed to the things of this world. Finally, the author wishes to acknowledge a very considerable indebtedness to Mr. F. N. Scott, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric and lecturer on .^Esthetics in the University of Michigan, of whose wide scholarship in mat- ters pertaining to literature, art, and the drama he has freely availed himself. Alfred Hennequin. Ann Abbor, Michigan, Ju/y, 1890. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE THEATEE STAFF. PAOI 1. Officers and Attaches 1 (1.) The Manager 1 (2.) The Assistant Manager 1 (3.) The Treasurer 2 (4.) The Stage-Manager 2 (5.) The Reader 3 2. The Attaches 3 (1.) The Property-Man 3 (2.) The Fly-Man 3 (3.) The Gas-Man 4 (4.) The Scene-Shifter 4 (5.) The Stage-Carpenter 4 (6.) The Ticket-Taker 4 (7.) The Backdoor-Keeper 4 (8.) The Head-Usher 5 (9.) The Director of the Orchestra 6 CHAPTER II. THE STAGE. 1. The Boards 6 2. The Stage 6 3. Parts of the Stage 6 4. The Stage Proper 7 5. The Stage-Cloths 7 6. The Proscenium 8 7. The Wings 8 XIV TABLE OF CONTENTS. 8. TheFlies 9 9. The Dock 9 10. The Green-Room 9 11. The Property-Room 9 12. The Dressing-Rooms ., 10 13. The Traps 10 14. Dimensions of the Stage 11 CHAPTER III. THE SCENERY, 1. Stage Scenery 12 2. Different kinds of Scenery Z2 3. The Drops 12 4. The Flats and Wood-Cuts 13 5. The Set-Pieces 14 6. The Borders 14 7. A Bunch-Light 15 8. The Grooves 15 9. A Run 15 10. A Scene-Plot 15 11. A Property-Plot 15 12. The Setting of aPlay 15 CHAPTER IV. STAGE DIRECTIONS. 1. Lines and Business 16 2. Analysis of the Illustration 16 3. The Lines 17 4. The Business 17 5. Kinds of Business 17 6. At Rise 17 7. Enters and Exil :. 18 8. Location of Characters during the Act 18 9. Meaning of Abbreviations 19 10. Plan with Entrances 20 11. Meaning of Abbreviations 20 12. The Tormentors 21 13. Movement of Characters during the Act 21 14. Going Up 23 TABLE OF CONTENTS. XT 16. Coming Down 22 16. Crossing Over 22 17. Exercise in Stage Movements 22 18. Incidents 23 19. Minor Business 23 CHAPTER V. STAGE PLANS. 1. Interiors 25 Plan No. 1 25 2. Doors and Windows 25 3. Number of Entrances 26 Plan No. 2 26 4. Plan with Run 26 CHAPTER VI. STAGE PLANS (continued). 1. Exteriors 28 Plan No. 1 28 2. General Remarks on Plans 28 Plan No. 2 29 3. Additional Abbreviations for Stage-Settings 29 4. Material for Scene-Plots for the above Interiors and Exteriors 29 For Interior Plan No. 1 30 For Interior Plan No. 2 30 For Exterior Plan No. 1 81 For Exterior Plan No. 2 31 5. Property Plots 31 CHAPTER VII. DtBTERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. — TRAGEDY. 1. No Systematic Classification 32 2. Two Principal Classes 32 3. The Distinction Valuable 3? 4. Different Classes of Plays 3^ 5. Tragedy 34 xvi TABLE OF CONTENTS. 6. Comedy S5 7. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 35 8. The Theme 3H 9. Kinds of Tragedy 37 10. Meaning of the word " Classic " 37 11. Meaning of the word " Romantic " 38 12. Ancient Classic Tragedy 38 13. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 39 14. Modem Classic Tragedy 39 15. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 39 16. Romantic Tragedy 40 17. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 40 18. Mediated Tragedy 41 CHAPTER ^^II. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS (continued). — MEDIATED TBAGEDT. 1. Subdivisions 43 2. The Drame 43 S. The Romantic Drame 43 4. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 44 5. The Social Drame 45 6. The Pi^ce 45 7. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 46 8. The Emotional Drama 46 9. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 46 10. Melodrama 47 11. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style 47 12. Spectacular Drama 48 13. The Musical Drama 49 CHAPTER IX. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS (continued). — COMEDY. 1. Kinds of Comedy 50 2. Ancient Classic Comedy 51 3. Modern Classic and Romantic Comedy 51 4. Comedy of Manners 61 5. The Comedy Drama 62 6. The Farce Comedy 62 TABLE OF CONTENTS. Xvii 7. The Farce 53 8. The Burlesque 53 9. The Burletta 53 10. The Comedietta 53 U. Kecapitulation and Illustrations 54 CHAPTER X. THE PABTS OF A PLAY. 1. Acts .57 2. Divisions of the Acts 57 3. Definition of an Act 57 4. Entr'acte 57 5. Scene 57 6. Tahleau 57 7. Situation 58 8. Number of Acts 58 9. Length of Acts 59 10. How to Determine the Leng^th of an Act 60 11. Rule for Determining the Length of a Play 61 CHAPTER XI. THE ENTER. 1. Meaning of the Term 62 2. Discovered at Rise 62 3. TheRe-Enter 62 4. When the Term Re-enter should be used 62 5. Passing at Rear 6.S 6. Appearance 63 7. Management of the Enter G4 8. Logical Enter 64 9. Conventional Use of Entrances 65 10. Lines with Enter 65 11. Use of the Tormentors 66 12. Preparing for Enter 66 13. Stereotyped Forms 67 14. Enters prepared for by the Plot 67 15. Leading up to Enter of Star 68 16. Names Mentioned 69 17. Double Enter 69 18. Unnoticed Enter 69 XVm TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER XII. THE EXIT. 1. Meaning of the Term 70 2. Relation of the Exit to the Lines 70 3. The Exit to create a Situation 70 4. Exit without Lines 71 5. Exit with an Apart 71 6. Exit with Re-enter 71 CHAPTER XIII. DIFPERENT BOLES IN PLAYS. — MALE ROLES. 1. Types of Characters 73 2. Classification of Actors 73 3. Roles 73 4. Male Roles 74 5. The Star 74 6. Star Plays 74 7. Double Stars 75 8. The Leading Man 75 9. The Heavy 75 10. The First Old Man 76 11. The Second Old Man 76 12. The Comedian 76 13. The Light Comedian 76 14. The Low Comedian 77 15. The Eccentric Comedian 77 16. The Villain 77 17. The Juvenile 78 18. The Walking Gentleman 78 19. The Utility Man 78 20. The Super 78 21. Character Actor 78 22. Doubling up 79 CHAPTER XrV. DIFFERENT ROLES IN PLAYS. — FEMALE ROLES. 1. Classification of Female Roles 80 2. Correspondence to Male Roles 80 TABLE OF CONTENTS. xix 3. The Soubrette 81 4. The Ingenue 81 5. Arrangement of Cast 81 6. Cast of Traveling Companies 82 CHAPTER XV. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY. 1. Definition 83 2. The Story 84 3. What Constitutes a Story 85 4. Characters 85 5. Characters Suited to the Story 86 6. Characters Distinguished 86 7. Self-Consistency of Characters 87 8. Characters as Foils 87 9. Completeness 87 10. Unity 88 11. The Three Unities 89 12. Unity of Action 89 13. Unity of Time 89 14. Unity of Place 89 15. The Story must be one that can be Acted 90 16. The Story must be suited to Stage Conventions .... 90 17. Motived Incidents 91 CHAPTEE XVI. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY (continued). — MEANS OF CREATING INTEREST. 1. Interest and Pleasure 92 2. Novelty 92 3. Variety and Contrast 93 4. Suspense 93 5. Surprise 94 6. Climax 95 7. Humor and Pathos 95 8. Where Stories come from 95 9. Character of Good Stories 96 10. Adaptation 96 11. Adapting Novels 97 12. Adapting Foreign Plays 97 TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVII. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. — EXPOSIXIOX. 1. Making the Outline 98 2. Intervals 98 3. Purpose of the Exposition 99 4. Management of the Exposition 100 5. Methods of Exposition 100 6. The Prologue 100 7. The Spoken Prologue 100 8. The Acted Prologue 101 9. Exposition by Narration 101 10. Spirited Narration 102 11. Points of Effectiveness 103 12. Exposition made part of the Story 104 13. Implication 104 14. Implication by Words 104 15. Analysis of Implication by Words 105 16. Implication by Action 107 17. Length of Exposition 107 CHAPTER XVIII. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION {continued). — GROWTH. 1. Growth and Exposition 109 2. Conflict and Plot 109 3. Beginning of the Growth 110 4. Elements of the Conflict Ill 5. Main and Subsidiary Actions 113 6. Example of Subsidiary Action 113 7. Analysis of Illustration 115 8. Episodes 115 9. Series of Climaxes 116 CHAPTER XIX. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION (continued). — THB HEIGHT OR GRAND CLIMAX. L Tying of the Knot 118 2. Rules of the Height. 118 TABLE OF CONTENTS. xxi 3. Height as Consequence of the Growth 119 4. Height as Summing up of the Growth 119 5. Place of the Height 120 6. Multiple CUmaxes 121 7. Management of Multiple Chmaxes 121 i. Illustration 123 CHAPTER XX. THEOBETICAI, CONSTRUCTION (continued). — THE FALL. 1. Object of the Fall 124 2. Management of the Fall 124 3. The Fall in Comedy 124 4. Interposition of New Obstacles 125 5. Emphasizing Known Obstacles 127 6. Necessary Obstacles 128 7. Obstacles resulting from the Removal of Others. . .129 8. The Fall in Tragedy 131 9. Happy Ending suggested 132 10. Mediated Tragedy 134 CHAPTER XXI. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION (con^tnuerf). — THE CLOSE OR CATASTROPHE. 1. Kinds of Close 135 2. The Tragic Catastrophe 135 3. Death the Result of Transgression 136 4. Management of the Tragic Catastrophe 136 5. The Close in Comedy 138 6. Close with " Gag " 139 7. Address to Audience 140 8. Close in Mediated Drama 141 9. General Remarks on the Close 141 CHAPTER XXII. THEATRICAL CONVENTIONALITIES. 1. Importance of the Subject 144 2. Kinds of Conventions 144 3. Point of View of'"the Audience 145 XXU TABLE OF CONTENTS. 4. Stage Distances 146 5. Changes of Scene during the Act 147 6. Order of Scenes 147 7. Stage Entrances 14H 8. Stage Doors 150 9. Stage Traditions 150 10. Stage Time 150 11. Writing Letters, etc 151 12. Time between Acts 151 13. Conventionalities of the Dialogpie 152 14. The Monologue 152 15. The Apart 152 16. The Aside 154 17. The Stage Whisper 154 18. Relating Known Events 154 19. Unimportant Dialogues 155 20. Costume 155 CHAPTER XXIII. HOW TO WRITE A PLAY. — BLOCKING OUT. 1. Getting to Work 157 2. Selection of the Story 158 3. Expansion of the Story 158 4. Questions and Answers 1.59 5. Importance of Taking Notes 161 6. Arranging the Material. 162 7. Characters 162 8. Synopsis of Situations 164 CHAPTER XXIV. HOW TO WBITE A F1.AY (continued). — REARRANGEMENT. 1. Order of Work 167 2. Exposition ... 168 3. What is to be Told 169 4. How it shall be Told 170 5. Preparing for Later Incidents 174 6. Length of the Exposition 174 7. Order of Incidents 175 8. Incidents not Represented on the Stage 176 TABLE OF CONTENTS. xxiii 9. Division into Acts 177 10. Principles of Division 177 11. Application of the Principles 178 CHAPTER XXV. HOW TO WRITE A PLAT (continued). — Fl^ilNQ nf . 1. Outline of Scenes - 181 2. Order of Scenes 182 3. Connection of Scenes 182 4. Seqiaence of Scenes 183 6. Variety of S'-aes 183 6. Variety of ^motions 183 7. Number and Grouping of Characters 184 8. Variety of Exits and Enters 18t 9. Time of Characters on the Stage 185 10. Opportunities for Dressing 185 11. Opportunities for Acting 18^ 12. Dialogue 136 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. CHAPTER I. THE THEATRE STAFF. 1. Officers and Attaches. — The organi- zation of every well-equipped theatre includes the following officers and attaches. The Officers are : — (1.) The Manageb. The manager has general charge and oversight of the theatre ; attends to the engagement of the company, if the theatre supports a stock-company,^ to the hooJcing of companies,'^ and — what is of most consequence to the playwright — decides upon the acceptance of plays submitted to the theatre. (2.) The Assistant -]Max a ger. In the largest theatres there is usually an assistant- manager who transacts routine business, and whose principal duties consist in superintend- ing the minor details of the general manage- ment. * See Chapter xiv. 5. ^ Arranging for dates when companies shall prodaca their plays. 2 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. Every company on the road ^ is accompa- nied and managed by a road-manager. These managers either attend to the production of plays as a personal speculation, negotiating with authors for the sale of plays or the right to produce the same on certain condi- tions, or simply manage the general business of stars,' or of traveling stock-companies. (3.) The Treasurer. The treasurer has charge of all the moneys received or ex- pended by the theatre. His principal func- tion, however, is the control of the box-office,^ and the accounting to the manager of the amount received, after each performance of a play. (4.) The Stage-Manager. This impor- tant functionary has entire and supreme con- trol of the stage during the rehearsal * and production of a play. He personally superin- tends rehearsals, attending to every detail, — the movements and the grouping of the actors for situations, scenes, or tableaus,^ the arrange- ment of the general stage-settings,^ the pre- paring of scene-plots ' and of property-plots,^ etc., etc. ^ A traveling company producing one or more plays throughout the country. 2 See Chapter xiii. 5. ^ Frequently called the ticket-office. * The recital and preparing of a play for its publia production. ' See Chapter x. 6. ^ See Chapter iii. 12. ' See Chapter iiL 10. ^ See Chapter iii. 11. THE THEATRE STAFF. 3 A good stage-manager has almost as much to do with the success of a play as the actors themselves. All stock-company theatres employ a stage- manager. Theatres that simply do the book- ing of traveling companies have a local stage- manager, whose duties are more limited, and who, alone or in connection with the visiting stage-manager, prepares the stage for the pro- duction of the play to be given. (5.) The Eeader. Some of the metropoli- tan theatres that are in the habit of bringing out original plays employ a professional reader ^ of plays, who examines all the man- uscripts submitted to the theatre, rejects those that are hopelessly inferior, and recommends to the manager's attention such as are avail- able, or can be made so by revision. 2. The Attaches. — Persons of lesser im- portance connected with the theatre are : — (1.) The Property-Man. The business of the property-man is to care for all the arti- cles, miscellaneous objects of all kinds, furni- ture, appendages, etc., known as properties,^ used in the production of plays. (2.) The Fly-Man. The fly-man attends to the shifting and dropping of such scenery as can be handled from the rigging-loft, or files} ^ All manviscripts should be sent to the reader. If a play is rejected by him, an appeal to the manager ia useless. 3 See Chapter ii. 11. ^ See Chapter u. 3, (4) and (5). 4 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (3.) The Gas-Man. The gas-man regu- lates the light on the stage and in the audi- torium during the production of a play. The term is still retained, in spite of the fact that electricity has, in many theatres, taken the place of gas as a means of illumi- nation. (4.) The Scene - Shifter. The scene- shifter handles such scenery as can be moved in the wings} (5.) The Stage-Carpenter. The stage- carpenter, besides doing the general construc- tion and repairing of the stage and the appurtenances, has special duties during the progress of the play. He attends to the me- chanical details of the stage-setting, such as the building iip of elaborate set-pieces,* runs,' stairways, etc., to the movement of machin- ery representing waves, moving vessels and the like, and is constantly on hand in the wings to superintend the shifting of compli- cated scenery. (6.) The Ticket - Taker. The ticket- taker attends to the taking of the tickets at the entrance of the auditorium, and accounts to the treasurer after the performance. (7.) The Backdoor-Keeper. The back- door-keeper guards all the entrances to the ^ See Chapter ii. 7. * See Chapter iii. 5. ^ See Chapter iii. 9. THE THEATRE STAFF. 5 stage (but especially what is known as the stage entrance *), during the performance. (8.) The Head-Usher. The head-usher and his assistants seat the audience. (9.) The Director of the Orchestra. The director of the orchestra has charge of the orchestra, and consults with the stage- manager about the music to be played during the performance, in accordance with certain cues.^ * The entrance admitting the actors to the stage 'witli- out passing through the auditorium. 2 The last word of a speech which a player is to an- swer. A music cue is taken up hy the orchestia as it would be on the stage by an actor. CHAPTER IL / THE STAGE. 1. The Boards. — In a limited sense, the word stage signifies the floor, or the boards, on which theatrical performances are exhib- ited, as distinct from the auditorium ; hence the expression to go on the boards, meaning to become an actor. 2. The Stage. — In its more extended meaning the word stage is applied to all that region which lies back of the proscenium,^ of which space the visible stage occupies but a very small portion. 3. Parts of the Stage. — The stage has some nine distinct parts, as follows : — (1.) The stage proper, where the action of the play takes place. (2.) The proscenium, the frontispiece, or front part of the stage, i. e., all that is left exposed to the view of the audience when the curtain is down. (3.) The wings, a series of chambers or platforms on each side of the stage proper. (4.) The flies, the space above the curtain and extending over the whole of the stage. ^ See this chapter, farther on, 3, (2). THE STAGE. 7 (5.) The rigging-loft, the same space occu- pied by the flies, but considered with partic- ular reference to the machinery contained in it. (6.) The dock, the space under the whole area of the stage-floor. (7.) The green-room, a survival of the old tireynge-house, or tireynge-room, where the actors assemble, awaiting the time for the per- formance to begin, or to which they retire when not needed on the stage. The popular conception of the green-room as a sort of promiscuous dressing-room is absurdly fallacious. (8.) The property-room, where are kept the miscellaneous objects used on the stage, ex- cepting scenery and sets of furniture, (9.) The dressing-roovis, where the perform- ers dress for and during the performance of the play. 4. The Stage Proper. — The action of the play usually takes place on the floor called the stage proper. This floor slopes upwards and away from the audience, thus gaining the effect of foreshortening, and so appearing deeper than it really is. 5. The Stage-Cloth. — The floor of the stage proper is usually covered with a green cloth, unless other furnishing, such as carpets, rugs, etc., are called for by the play. When the cloth is to be used, the technical expres- sion cloth down should be inserted in the manu- script at the beginning of the act. 8 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. 6. The Proscenium. — The proscenium varies in size in different theatres, being some- times reduced to a mere strip not a yard in width. On the side nearest the audience are the foot-lights, a series of lights casting a pow- erful reflection on the lower part of the stage. Though foot-lights are still in common use, different and better systems of lighting up the stage have of late been devised. The proscenium in many metropolitan theatres has on each side one or more series of boxes, i. e. seats inclosed so as to form small private parlors overlooking the stage. In front of the foot-lights and below the level of the stage is seated the orchestra, the conductor's seat being on a platform elevated above the seats of the rest of the orchestra. Various mechanical and other devices are now in use for concealing the orchestra either in a portion of the dock or in the flies. 7. The Wings. — The space on each side of the stage, from the side walls of the the- atre to the scenery when set up for a play, is called the wings. The space in the wings varies according to the amount of actual space required for the performance of the play. In most theatres, the greater part of the scenery is kept in the wings or at back, i. e., against the back wall of the stage. There is a tendency in the larger theatres to do away with the storing of scenery in the wings, all or most of the different pieces of THE STAGE. 9 scenery being made to ascend from the dock, or to descend from the flies. 8. The Flies. — In the larger theatres, the flies take up the greater portion of the stage, not only extending over the whole region, but going up several stories to fully double the height of the proscenium arcli. In the flies are found the rows of wind- lasses, rigging, etc., used for the raising or lowering of the scenery. The parts of the flies occupied by this machinery are termed the rigging-loft. 9. The Dock. — The region under the stage called the dock is also, in the largest theatres, divided into several stories by suc- cessive floors. Here is found the machinery for operating the traps,^ raising and lowering scenery through the stage, etc. 10. The Green-Room. — The green-room is a luxury not always found in smaller the- atres ; and even in larger theatres, private parlors connected with the dressing - rooms are preferred to one larger room, some the- atres combining both. 11. The Property-Room. — The property- room is a repository for the innumerable ob- jects handled, sat on, broken, thrown about, or pointed at during the progress of the play. Here are to be found Hamlet's ''recorders," Shylock's knife, Juliet's vial of poison, Prospero's wand, Richelieu's manuscript, the 1 See this chapter, farther on, 13. 10 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. brass money that Armand flings at Camille, and the tin dagger with which Brutus stabs Caesar, — not to mention rubber turkeys, pasteboard beakers, papier-mache legs-of-mut- ton, and all the rest of the realistic though deceptive articles that go to make up the cus- tomary stage banquet. It is well for the playwright to remember that in most of the smaller theatres the list of properties includes only the articles most com- monly used upon the stage. Costly proper- ties, or articles that are hard to obtain outside of large cities, should, if possible, be avoided. 12. The Dressing-Rooms. — The dress- ing-rooms are located where they will occupy the least possible space. While in many of the larger theatres these rooms are actual boudoirs, easy of access from the stage, in. most of the smaller ones they are bare, car- petless boxes, situated without regard to the actor's convenience, in the flies, in the dock, on the side of the stage, or midway between the floor and the rigging-loft. 13. The Traps. — The traps are holes cut through the stage-floor, and furnished with apparatus by means of which an actor may be slowly or rapidly elevated from below to the level of the stage, or in the same manner lowered from the stage into the dock. It is impossible to go into details regarding the different kinds of traps. Some of the modern stages are literally honeycombed with II THE STAGE. 11 them, so that in any quarter of the stage there can be made to open a hole just large enough to admit a gas-pipe, or a gaping chasm capable of swallowing up a (canvas) city. The term trap is also applied to openings cut in the scenery for the sudden appearance or disappearance of performers. 14. Dimensions of the Stage. — Stages are of various dimensions, according to whether they are built for general or special purposes. Stages that have neither complete rigging- lofts nor docks are not well adapted to the production of spectacular plays.^ The dimensions of the smaller theatres throughout the country will average about as follows : — (1.) Width of stage, including' •wings . . 65 f t, (2.) Depth from the foot-lights to back •wall of stage . . . . . 30 f t. (3.) Height of rigging-loft . , . 40 f t. (4.) Space above rigging-loft . . . 5 f t. Theatres of the above dimensions seldom have a dock of more than one story. 1 See Chapter tIIL 1L CHAPTEE IIL THE SCENEKY. 1. Stage Scenery. — The various paint- ings or other representations of inanimate nature required for the production of a play — excepting what conies under the head of properties and furniture — constitute the scenery. As it is not within the scope of this book to describe in detail the different kinds of scen- ery used for theatrical performances, this chapter will deal only with such features of the subject as are of special interest to the dramatist. 2. Different kinds of Scenery. — There are four important kinds of scenery : — (1.) The drops. (2.) The flats and wood-cuts. (3.) The set-pieces. (4.) The borders. 3. The Drops. — The drops are usually painted canvases let down from the flies. Since they have no wooden frames, they are often termed cloths. The principal cloths are : — THE SCENERY. 13 (1.) The green curtain, lowered when the play is over.^ (2.) Tlhe front curtain, or act drop, which is down until the play opens, and is lowered at the end of each act. (3.) Back, or scene cloths, lowered at various distances from the front, usually to represent the vista of exteriors. 4. The Flats and Wood-cuts. — Under the heads of flats and wood-cuts come all structures of canvas stretched tightly on wooden frames. In the larger theatres, flats are usually made of one piece, arranged so as to be let down from the flies like drops, or pushed up from the docks. When removed, they are said to be whipped off. In most theatres, flats are made in two cor- responding pieces intended to be pushed out in the grooves ' from the wings, and to join in the middle so as to form one continuous scene. Wood-cuts are structures of canvas stretched on wooden frames, cut so as to represent or- namental pieces, such as arches, trees, etc. They have a variety of other names, as cut- woods, side-scenes, and wing-cuts. In exteriors,^ where they are mostly used, they form the scenery visible on each side of ^ Moat theatres have no green curtain. * See this chapter, farther on, 8. * See Chapter vi. 1. 14 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. the stage, constituting the various entrances * to the stage proper. 5. The Set-pieces. — A set-piece is a struc- ture built out from a flat, or standing isolated on the stage. Among the many different set-pieces the ones most commonly used are : — (1.) Set houses. (2.) Set trees. (3.) Set rocks. (4.) Set mounds. (5.) Set water. Everything on the stage that can actually be used is called practicable (sometimes short- ened to practical). Thus a set house is prac- ticable if it can be used as an enter or exit ; ' a window, if it can be opened and shut; a mound, if it can be used as a seat, etc. In set houses one window and one door are usu- ally made practicable, the rest being merely painted. 6. The Borders. — The borders comprise the scenery let down from the flies to a point just below the level of the proscenium arch, so as to conceal the rigging-loft. They are used to represent clouds, the sky, ceilings, tops of trees, etc., and are called cut-borders when they allow objects behind to be seen tbvough them. Cut-borders are usually tree- tops. * See Chapter vi. plan No. 1. * See Cliapter xi. and xii., abo plan 1, Chapter vi. 4 THE SCENERY. 15 7. A Bunch-light. — A bunch - light is formed by a number of lights bunched to- gether, supported by a rod and placed wher- ever necessary. When a " calcium " is neces- sary, the gas-man is told to ** get his calcium on." These lights are used to produce certain stage effects, such as moonlight through win- dows, etc. 8. The Grooves. — The side-scenes (them- selves sometimes called xvings) when pushed out from the sides of the stage, are supported at the top by a series of grooves built out from the rigging-loft, and at the bottom by a similar series constructed on the floor of the stage. Scenery thus shifted is said to be run on. Sets of grooves vary in number from four to six. 9. A Run. — A run is a wooden inclined plane coming down towards the front of the stage. A run is always practicable. 10. A Scene-Plot. — A scene-plot is the plan, or prepared appearance, on paper, of the stage when all the scenery has been located for an act or scene. It also includes the location of all the furniture needed for the action of the play in each act or scene. 11. A Property-Plot. — A property-plot is a list of the various articles required in each act. 12. The Setting of a Play. — The setting of a play consists in preparing the scene-plots for each act, scene, or tableau, and also mak- ing out the list for the property-plots. CHAPTER IV. STAGE DIKECTIONS. 1. Lines and Business. — The following passage from Bronson Howard's Saratoga will be used to illustrate what we have to say under this head : — [Enter Lucy L. 2 E. rapidly.] Lucy. Effie — Virginia — Mrs. Alston ! Ejfie. Oh — Virginia — Lucy — Olivia ! [Ladies moving to and fro.^ Mrs. Alston. Oh — Jack — my dear Jack — My first love ! [Sinks into a chair, C] Virginia. Frank — my last love ! [S/nis beside her, L] Lucy. My hosband ! [Sinks beside her, R.] Effie. [Standing back of her chair, C] Robert ! \ J'aime que toi — my only love ! [Ladies all choke, and then burst into simultaneous sobs.] Tableau. Curtain. 2. Analysis of the Illustration. — A brief examination will show that the above extract is made up of two kinds of matter: — (1.) The words that are put into the mouths of the characters. (2.) The various directions, such as enteVf sinks into a chair, etc. STAGE DIRECTIONS. 17 3. The Lines. — The first are technically known as the lines, that is, the dialogue. 4. The Business. — The second, called the business of the play, includes all move- ments, gestures, inarticulate utterances, etc., with which the actor accompanies the " read- ing " (i. e., the speaking) of the lines. Only the most essential business need be indicated in the manuscript. Much will be implied in the wording of the lines ; still more must be left to the option of the actor. It is a rule, however, that all the exits and enters * should be carefully inserted at the proper points in the lines. Stage directions is a wider term than busi- ness, including movements of scenery^ and stage appendages ; as, e. g., the word " cur- tain " at the close of the passage quoted. 5. Kinds of Business. — The amount of business deemed necessary to be inserted in the manuscript varies greatly with different playwrights. The following classification in- cludes the most essential business of a play : (1.) Location of characters at rise. (2.) Enters and exits. (3.) Location of characters during the act. (4.) Incidents of the play. (5.) Location of characters at "curtain." 6. At Rise. — Characters on the stage at the moment the curtain rises, are said to be discovered at rise. It is usual to indicate at ^ See Chapters sd. and xiL ^ See Chapter iii. 18 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. the beginning of the act whatever is peculiar in their positions or occupations. For exam- ple, at the opening of the third act of London Assurance, Max and Sir Harcourt, Dazzle, Grace and Charles Courtly are discovered at rise. The stage directions run : — " Max and Sir Harcourt seated at one side, Dazzle on the other. Grace and young Courtly playing chess at back.^^ 7. Enters and Exits. — The exact mo- ment at which each character comes on or goes oft" the stage must be carefully indicated by the terms enter or exit (plural exeunt) in- serted at the appropriate point in the lines or the other stage directions.^ 8. Location of Characters during the act. — Every significant action of the charac- ters during the act should be indicated in the manuscript. Further, it is often desirable to point out the exact location on the stage at which the action takes place. There are two methods of doing this : — (1.) By reference to objects upon the stage, as tables, chairs, scenery, the other characters, etc. (2.) By means of conventional abbrevia- tions referring to particular portions of the stage itself. The first method requires no explanation. * For further treatment of this important topic, flee Chapters xi. and xii. STAGE DIRECTIONS. 19 If a character is to hide behind a piano or mount a table, the stage directions will be " hides behind piano,''^ ^' Jumps on table,^' etc. If the exact position with reference to the object is of importance, it should be included in the stage direction, as : " stands at left of table,^^ " leans over gate," etc. The terms used in referring to particular portions of the stage, together with the com- mon abbreviations, are given in the following tables and diagrams : — R. / C. \ L. __ 1^5^?. -t. °2 ^"-^^tlSj B.C. / C. \ L C. FRONT. c. 9. Meaning of Abbreviations. — In plays actually intended for the stage, abbreviations only are used. C. Centre. R Right. L Left. R. C Rig-ht centre. L. C. . . . . . . Left centre. The words Bear (or Back) and Front are always written in full. 20 THE ART OF PLAY WRITING. 10. Plan with Entrances. — The stage is further subdivided as shown in the follow- ing plan : — D.R.C. CD. DX.C. L.U.E. L.-l-E. L.3E. \ \ L.2E. L.C '.L.\ LIE. 11. Meaning of Abbreviations. — The word entrance signifies the place at which a character may make his appearance on the stage from the rear (or back) or from the wings. CD. . . Centre door. D. R. C. . . . l3oor right of centre. D. L. C. . Door left of centre. R. 1 E. . . Right first entrance. R. 2 E. . Right second entrance. R. 3E. . . Riglit third entrance. R. 4 E. . Right fourth entrance R. U. E. . . . Right upper entrance. L. 1 E. . Left first entrance. L. 2 E. . Left second entrance. L. 3 E. Left third entrance. L. 4 E. . . Left fourth entrance. L. U. E. . Left upper entrance. Combining the two plans, the following STAGE DIRECTIONS. 21 abbreviations and stage directions can be used : — R. rear, or back. R. front. L. rear, or back. L. frout. R. C. rear, or back. L. C. front. G. rear, or back. C. front. By comparing the two plans, it will be noticed that the right and left are subdivided into right center and left center. 12. The Tormentors. — The first en- trances, right and left, are called the tor- mentors. Some writers, however, use 1 E. for the first entrance back of the tormentor. Very few plays require more than five en- trances from the wing. The upper entrances are usually the fourth entrances, for full stage. The terms right and left are taken some- times from the actor's right and left hand as he faces the audience, sometimes from the right and left hand of the spectator. The former is the prevailing custom. Sometimes V. (Prompter's side) is used for right, and 0. P. (opposite Prompter's side) for left. 13. Movement of Characters during the Act. — Certain movements of characters on the stage are designated as follows : — (1.) To go up. (2.) To come down. (3.) To cross over. 22 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. 14. Going up. — When a character moves towards the back of the stage, he is said to go up. 15. Coming down. — When a character moves towards the foot-lights, he is said to come down. 16. Crossing over. — When a character goes from one side of the stage to the other, he is said to cross over. These terms may be combined with the ab- breviations given above to denote the part of the stage at which the movement takes place, for example : — (1.) Coming down C. means moving to- wards the front through the centre of the stage. (2.) Going up R. means moving towards the rear on the right hand side. (3.) Crosses over R. means that the charac- ter is to move towards the right hand side. (4.) Crosses over L. C. means that the character moves from right to left centre. 17. Exercise in Stage Movements. — The student will find the Avorking out of the ibllowing directions, with the aid of the dia- grams, an excellent method of familiarizing himself with the foregoing terms and abbre- viations : — A. and B. represent two characters. A. and B. discovered at rise. A. sitting at L. of table R. C. STAGE DIRECTIONS. 23 B. standing at R. of desk near L. 3 E. A. rises and crosses over to L. C. B. comes down L. A. and B. go up to L. U. E. A. and B. cross over to R. 3 E. A. goes up to D. C. B. comes down R. A. comes down to L. 1 E. B. crosses over to L. A. and B. cross over to R. 1 E. A. goes up to D. L. C. B. crosses over and goes up to L. 3 B. A. and B. come down C. A. and B. go up, A. L. and B. R. Exeunt A. and B., A. D. L. C, B. D. R. C. 18. Incidents. — Almost every significant event that takes place in the course of a play will call for some stage direction. Especially is this the case when several characters are supposed to do the same thing simultane- ously. Of this class are the expressions, " ladies moving to and fro," — " ladies all choke," etc., in the passage above quoted. As the number of things that may happen on the stage is practically infinite, no general rules can be given. The beginner should be cautioned against cumbering his manuscript with detailed de- scriptions, or with directions for trivial and unimportant actions. 19. Minor Business. — Among the less 24 THE ART OF PLAYWKITING. important stage directions may be reckoned those pertaining to : — (1.) Asides and Aparts.^ (2.) Dumb show. (3.) Quick, slow, and half -slow curtain. (4.) Change of scene, whistle scene, etc. (5.) Music. (6.) Lights up. (7.) Lights down. (8.) Noises outside. (9.) Gestures. (10.) Facial expression. (11.) Tone of voice. Of these the first is indispensable, the sec- ond, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth, almost so. All of these should be incorporated in the manuscript. The rest must be left to the discretion of the play- wright, who may, in most instances, save time and labor, by leaving them in turn to the imagination of the actor. ^ See Chapter xxil. 15 and 16. CHAPTER V. STAGE PLANS. 1. Interiors. — In stage language an int&' rior means an in-door scene. Tlie plans given below are subject to nu- merous modifications, according to the nature of the interior called for by the play. / Plan No. 1. / - BACK CLOTH or DROP \ / j K.C. C. L.C "y \ / R.Ui. L.UE. 1 / / \ \ / B.3E. L.3 E. \ / / \ \ / T?. e x, L.2E. \ / / \ \ / - R.l B PBOSCENII.TM. L.IE. \ / The terms right and left, as used in these plans, are taken with reference to one stand- ing on the stage and facing the audience. 2. Doors and Windows. — In the above plan the entrances can be either doors or win- dows. In the proper sense of the word, a window is not an entrance, though it may be used to enter or leave the stage. 26 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. 3. Number of Entrances. — The toriiient« ors, i. e., the entrances E,. 1 E, and L. 1 E., do not form a part of the room proper, and are used exclusively for enters and exits. The three entrances at rear are usually doors. If the plan calls for a number of win- dows, they will be marked as windows in the stage-setting. For example, if the L. 3 E. is a window, the description will read as fol- lows : Doors L.l,2& U. E. ; window L. 3 E. Plan No. 2. 4. Plan with Run. — In Plan No. 2, the space between R. 2 E. and flat near C. is a run. The dotted line shows where the run joins the stage. At the back is a flat from which a set scene, with door at C, projects upon the stage. The run may be used for the following purposes : — (1.) It may be a glimpse into a conserva- tory. (2.) It may be a stairway with adjoining halL STAGE PLANS. 27 (3.) It may be a small boudoir with a few steps leading to it. A small recess in an interior should always be a run, or be elevated above the main floor of the stage. What has been said of Plan No. 1 will also apply to Plan No. 2. Back or side cloths in interiors are in- tended to conceal the walls of the stage. A great number of plans for interiors should be drawn by the student, bearing the following rules in mind : — (a.) Beception or ball rooms require the full stage, with three large entrances at back. (b.) Rooms in which the action of the play requires the presence of several character should be set from 1 E. to 3 E. (c.) No interior — excepting for short scenes ^ — should be limited to 1 E. (d.) Interiors for small parlor, laborer's cot- tage, boudoir, etc., should be set between 1 E. and 2 E. (e.) Arches and portieres should always be practicable, unless a portiere is intended as a hiding-place only. (/.) Avoid using the tormentors, as they lead to nowhere. (g.) Let the student " furnish " the above interiors, thus preparing scene-plots.^ 1 See Chapter xjdi. 6. "^ Directions for scene-plots will be given at the end of the next chapter. CHAPTER VI. STAGE PLANS (continued). 1. Exteriors. — An exterior is an out-dooi scene. The plans given below are very elemen- tary. Stage-settings for exteriors can be very elaborate, representing not only street and garden scenes, but ocean and mountain pic- tures, with many practicable features. Plan No. 1. / BACK CLOTH -GARDEN PERSPECTIVE. \ /ru.e. I. trx. \ / #n»EE9 hovseA \ /b.*e. •WOT VBACTICABm \ [GARDEN SCENE.] 1-.8E. \ \ \ 1 = TBCZS. SETHCJUSE. \ ^DOOR. \ /».2E.^ i>bacticabi.e! l\\l..2B. \ / = TB££9. ^ \ / p iz"^ •pBOSCErNITJM. v \ L.IE,. \ ' \ ^ 2. General Remarks. — The two exteriors represented in these plans differ in many re- spects. The following are the principal points the student should notice : — (1.) Both settings have back cloths. (2.) Plan No. 1, at left, has two houses, one of which is a set house with practicable 4oor. STAGE PLANS. 29 (3.) Plan No. 2, at right and left, has rows of houses, none of which are practicable. (4.) Plan No. 1, at right, has no flats, the trees between the entrances being wood-cuts pushed on the stage from the wings. Plan No. 2. BACK CLOTH - STREET FEBSPECTIVE % STPEET SCENE PROSCENIUM. 3. Additional Abbreviations for Stage- Settings. — The student being now familiar with elementary stage-settings, may, if he chooses, make use of the following abbrevia- tions in the stage directions : — D. F., door in flat running back of stage. C. D. P., centre door in the flat. R. D. P., right door in the flat. L. D. P., left door in the flat. R. D., right door. L. D., left door. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, G., 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 5th groove. 4. Material for Scene -Plots for the above Interiors and Exteriors. — Let the student refer back to plan No. 1 (interior), and 80 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. locate in tlie stage-setting the different pieces of furniture mentioned below : — For Interior Plan No. 1. (1.) C, large table. (2.) E. of table, arm-chair. (3.) L. of table, two chairs, (4.) In flats between R. C. and C, and C. and L. C, small stands. (5.) In flat L. 2 E., fireplace. (6.) In flat R. 2 E., sofa. (7.) L. C. towards front, settee. (8.) R. C. towards rear, screen. (9.) L. C. rear corner, easel with picture. (10.) R. C. front, near C, piano. For Interior Plan No. 2. (1.) In flat, at back, from C. to L. (in the centre), grate, with ornamental mantelpiece. (2.) At both ends of said flat, large arm- chairs. (3.) In run, between R. 2 E. and flat stand- ing out from R. C. back, shrubs, flowers, etc. (4.) In flat L. 2 E., piano with stool in front of it. (5.) R. C. front, small table. (6.) R. of table, chair. (7.) R. 3 E., screen seen among the flowers. (8.) On the run R. 3 E., statues seen amid the shrubs. (9.) C. towards left, sofa. (10.) Chairs near R. 1 E. and L. 1 E. STAGE PLANS. 31 For Exterior Plaist No. 1. (1.) From R. U. E. to L. U. E. at back, a low stone wall, with gate in centre. (2.) In front of set house L. 2 E., mat and carpet going up the steps. (3.) Near E. 2 E., garden bench. (4.) At R. of bench, garden chair. (5.) E.. C. near back, large set tree. (6.) Set trees, or shrubs, L. C. near L. 3 E. For Exterior Plan No. 2. (1.) Small fountain near R. 2 E. (2.) Vender's stall near L. 3 E. (3.) C, large lamp-post. (4.) Signs, hanging from houses, L. and R. (5.) Set trees before houses, in flats R. 1 E. and R. U. E. 5. Property Plots. — Let the student read one act of any play and make out a property plot of the act, by enumerating every object mentioned as present during the entire act. CHAPTER VIL DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. Tragedy. 1. No Systematic Classification. No sat. isfactory method of classifying the drama is in existence among English-speaking peoples. For the working playwright this is perhaps of no very serious consequence. If his play is a success, it matters little to him what name is applied to it. Nevertheless, occasions arise when even the playwright would find it convenient to indicate the character of his pro- duction by a single word instead of by a long circumlocution ; while for critic and manager the defect is a matter of never-ceasing embar- rassment and perplexity. 2. Two Principal Classes. — The growth of the drama in all civilized countries has re- sulted in the development of two classes of plays, distinguished by certain general marks of divergence. One class deals with the seri- ous aspects of life, and is called tragedy ; the other with the laughable aspects, and is called comedy. In the early history of the stage, while the dramatic forms were simple and criticism as DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 33 yet undeveloped, the terms above given could be used with accuracy and significance ; but as the development of the drama continued, the two classes showed a tendency, in some cases, to merge one into the other, until the distinction lost much of its earlier impor- tance, while the rise of formal criticism cre- ated arbitrary standards where no essential distinction existed. To illustrate : the trage- dies of ^schylus deal solely with the serious side of life, the comedies of Aristophanes, solely with its follies. In the tragedies of Shakespeare we find abundance of comedy, and in his comedies, especially in the Merchant of Venice, AlVs Well that Ends Well, and As You Like It, scenes that might well form part of tragedy. For examples of the influ- ence of criticism in giving arbitrary names, mention may be made of Dante's Divina Com- media and Corneille's Le Cid. 3. The Distinction Valuable. — Notwith- standing the truth of the facts just stated, the traditional distinction between tragedy and comedy must always be a valuable one for the critic. In the first place, it is a nat- ural distinction, a direct result of the two- fold character of life itself ; and in the second place, it is already thoroughly impressed upon the popular consciousness. Whatever classi- fications are made, therefore, it will be advisa- ble to use the common division into comedy and tragedy as a convenient starting-point for the discussion. S4 THE ART OF PLAY WRITING. 4. Different Classes of Plays. — The dif« ferent kinds of plays which will be treated in this chapter are the following : ^ — (1.) Tragedy. (2.) Comedy. (3.) The drame, or Schauspiel. (4.) The piece. \ The society (5.) The emotional drama, j play. (6.) The melodrama. (7.) The spectacular drama. (8.) The comedy drama. (9.) The musical drama. (10.) The farce comedy, or farcical comedy. (11.) The farce. (12.) The burlesque. (13.) The burletta. (14.) The comedietta. 5. Tragedy. — The general character of tragedy, as that species of drama which pre- sents the serious aspect of life, has already been suggested. As it is the business of the drama in general to portray the clash of in- dividual interests,''^ it is the peculiar function ^ No mention is made of the old English miracle and mystery plays, as they are no longer seen upon the stage either in the original form or in imitations. (For full particulars regarding them, see Ward's or Collier's His- tory of the Drama). The same remark will not apply to the Spanish Comedias de capa y de espada, the Italian Commedie delV arte, and many other examples from the European stage, but their connection with the English drama of to-day is too remote to entitle them to consid* eration here. * See Chapter xv. 1. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLATS. 35 of tragedy to represent this conflict as termi- nating fatally, that is, as resulting generally in the death of one or more of the contending characters ; or at any rate, as involving a struggle of a stern and momentous character, from which escape is possible only through the intervention of extraordinary agencies. Hence tragedy calls for characters of un- wonted strength of will and depth of serious- ness, events of great significance, and an ele- vated style of diction, generally verse. 6. Comedy. — Comedy is the converse oi tragedy. In it the conflict is always recon- ciled at the end and all disasters averted. The conflict itself, however serious it may seem during the progress of the play, turns out at the end to have been a case of much ado about nothing. The characters are either not serious in their aims, or if they are, the objects for which they are striving are shown to be worthless. In comedy some one is al- ways represented as pursuing a bubble. At the close, the bubble bursts, and with good- natured submission the deluded pursuer ac- knowledges his folly. It follows that while in tragedy the characters are mostly taken from the higher walks of life, in comedy the average man is the central figure. The style is familiar and colloquial, and generally ])rose. 7. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. — From the preceding paragraphs it appears that the principal lines of distinction between 86 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. tragedy and comedy are to be sought for in the theme, the characters, the plot, and the style. 8. The Theme. — By the theme of a play is meant the problem, social, moral, political, religious, psychological, or whatever it may be, which the play presents for the consider- ation of the spectator. It is generally agreed that the drama should not be didactic, that is, should not directly teach anything, but this by no means enjoins the dramatist from bringing before us questions of momentous human interest and so treating them that the rightful solution is suggested if not demon- strated. It should not be inferred from what has been said that the playwright must select a theme at the outset, and deliberately build his play upon it. He may be conscious of his theme, or he may work unconsciously and find with astonishment, when his work is over, that a theme has grown up under his hand unbidden. A thoughtful man, with well-de- fined views of the problems of human exist- ence, can hardly present any picture of life or society without giving it somewhere the im- press of his own thought, and making it some- how the vehicle of his own ideals.-' ^ This line of thought cannot be pursued further here. It is perhaps needless to say that it involves some of the most hotly contested questions in dramatic criticism, more particularly the morality of the drama, and tho DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLATS. 37 The theme in comedy is naturally of less importance than in tragedy, and in the lighter forms may not appear at all. Still even here a master-hand will manage to suggest in a striking manner current social or political problems. On the characters in general, and on the plot, see §§4, 5, 6. The style is properly a matter of rhetoric, and is brought in here only as a convenient element for purposes of classification. 9. Kinds of Tragedy. — The principal varieties of tragedy are : — (1.) The ancient classic tragedy. (2.) The modern classic tragedy. (3.) The romantic tragedy. (4.) The mediated tragedy. 10. Meaning of the Word '' Classic." — The word classic, as applied to the drama, is used in several different senses, which it will be well to distinguish at the outset. It means : — (1.) Belonging to the Greek or Latin liter- atures at the time of their ascendancy. (2.) Written under the influence of formal rules of criticism. In this sense the word is almost wholly confined to the French drama produced while the laws of the three unities ^ objectivity of the dramatist. Upon the latter point an interesting essay may be found (presenting the obverse of the argument) iu the introduction to Alfred Austin's Prince Lucifer. * See Chapter xv. 11. &8 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. were considered of force, but it has been ap plied to the period of French influence in Germany, England, and Italy. The classic drama par excellence belongs to the seven- teenth century. Its influence lingered until the opening of this century, when the Roman- ticists, chiefly with the aid of Victor Hugo and Dumas jjere, broke over the classic rules and ushered in a new order of drama. (3.) The middle (or Greek) stage in the de- velopment of art according to Hegel. The whole series is symbolic — classic — romantic. This is a highly technical use of the term, and plays no part in the present discussion. It is mentioned here simply because it is sometimes confused with the foregoing. (4.) The best of its kind in any literature. Thus we say of any fine piece of literature which is certain to live, that it " has become one of the classics of the language." 11. Meaning of the Word " Romantic." The following meanings are in use for the word romantic : — (1.) Belonging to the literary movement directed against the French rules of criticism. (2.) The third (or Christian) stage in the Hegelian system, as explained above. (3.) Characterized by great freedom of im- agination and treatment, as, e. g., the Shake- spearean drama. 12. Ancient Classic Tragedy. — This re- fers almost exclusively to the Greek tragedy, DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 89 and need not be dwelt upon. The Greek tragedy was imitated by the Romans and the Italians, and finds occasional imitators at the present day. The most notable instance of the latter is perhaps Swinburne, in his Ata^ lanta in Calydon. 13. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. The common theme of all Greek tragedies is the supremacy of fate over all things, both human and divine. (2.) Characters. The principal characters are heroes, royal personages, and gods. (3.) Plot. The story was uniformly taken from legend or mythology.^ The close was generally a death (which never took place on the stage), but this catastrophe was sometimes averted, and the ending made a happy one. The unities, as they were afterwards called, were unknown to the Greek dramatists as rules of criticism, and were observed, when observed at all, purely by accident. (4.) Style. Verse. 14. Modern Classic Tragedy. — This has been already sufficiently explained in § 10 (2), above. Unless otherwise specified, it is com- monly understood to refer to the tragedies of Corneille and Racine. 15. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. ^ A single instance of a tragedy in which original plot, and characters were introduced, namely, Agathon's Flower, is mentioned by Aristotle. Unfortunately this play has not come down to us. 40 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (1.) Theme. The chief defect of the cla». sic tragedy is that (being an imitation of the Greek) it has no living theme of its own. (2.) Characters. Same as above. The characters are mostly conventional types. (3.) Plot. The stories are mostly taken from Greek and Latin literature. The uni- ties are scrupulously observed, and the close must be a death. No comedy element is admitted. (4.) Style. Heroic verse. Diction more or less declamatory and artificial. Classic tragedy has never thrived on the English stage. Among the few examples worth mentioning are Addison's Cato, John- son's Irene, and Byron's Sardanapalus. 16. Romantic Tragedy. — The term ro- mantic is applied in a general way to any modern drama written without regard to the French rules of criticism, and characterized by the free play of passion and imagination. 17. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. Almost any human passion may be used as a theme in romantic tragedy. Love always plays a prominent and generally a leading part in the tragic conflict. (2.) Characters. The characters may be taken from any rank or station. Great stress is laid upon character-drawing. (3.) Plot. Incidents are selected which will best bring out peculiarities of character. The conclusion is uniformly a death. Comic DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 41 incidents are freely interspersed. The unities are disregarded at will. (4.) Style. Verse in the serious parts ; verse or prose in the comedy passages. Great use is made of humor and pathos, by the com- bination of which subtle effects are attained unknown to the classic tragedy. From the English point of view, such plays as Frou-Frou and Camille are roman- tic tragedies. As will appear later on, how- ever, the French have other terms by which to designate plays of this class. 18. Mediated. Tragedy. — There is a com- mon type of drama which seems not to belong to either tragedy or comedy, or rather to be- long to both at once. The play as a whole is of a serious character, and seems tending to a tragic catastrophe, but at the conclusion the disaster is averted and all ends happily. This class of plays is known in Germany as Versijh- nungsdrama (reconciliation-drama). IS"© cor- responding term exists in English. Perhaps none that might be suggested would be likely to meet with universal acceptance, but the expression mediated tragedy seems as little objectionable as any, and will be used in this book wherever this class of plays is referred to as a class. This is a convenient classificntion from a theoretical standpoint, because the nature of the conclusion has an intimate connection with the rest of the drama ; but as a practical 42 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. designation to indicate the style of play in- tended, it is of no great importance. Speci- mens of mediated tragedy may be found in both the ancient classic and the modern ro- mantic drama; consequently no generally applicable remarks can be made regarding themes, etc. As the mediated tragedy is the connecting link between tragedy and comedy, its subdivisions may properly form the sub- ject-matter of a separate chapter. CHAPTER Vni. DIFFEBENT KINDS OF PLATS (continued). Mediated Tragedy. 1. Subdivisions. — The general character of mediated tragedy was pointed out in the preceding chapter. The most important are : — (1.) The drame, or Schauspiel. (2.) The piece. (3.) The emotional drama. (4.) The melodrama. Of these the second and third are properly divisions of the first. 2. The Drame. — No English equivalent for this term is in use. The German Schau- spiel, mostly used in a loose way to mean any sort of drama whatever, is often restricted to this particular species. The general characteristic of the drame is the predominance of the emotional element. The following varieties may be distinguished : (1.) The romantic drame. (2.) The social drame. 3. The Romantio Drame. — The best ex- amples of the romantic drame to be found on the American stage are what are commonly 44 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. known as "frontier dramas." Familiar in- stances are Davy Crockett, Ranch 10, and The Danites. It is distinguished by prominent emotional elements and a tendency to senti- mentality, combined with rapid movement of incident. 4. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. Generally of little importance. The value of personal strength, courage, and manliness is most frequently touched upon. (2.) Characters. The characters are of a bold, free, and dashing type, and are taken, if from the past, from an age of personal bravery and gallantry, or, if from the present, either from some nationality in which such qualities prevail, or from a stage of society where the presence of law and order has not yet been recognized. (3.) Plot. The romantic drame calls for striking incidents, strong situations, ^ and daring escapades. Rapidity of movement through a succession of quickly-culminating climaxes ^ is the most striking characteristic of the plot. The grand climax ' is not infre- quently made a spectacular effect. (4.) Style. Almost uniformly prose, of an impassioned and sometimes inflated order. Broad effects are aimed at in both humor and pathos, and rapid transitions are made from ^ See Chapter x. 7- 2 See Chapters xvi. 6 and xviii. 9. ^ See Chapter xix. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 45 one to the other. " Sentiments " are fre- quently inserted in the lines. A sentiment is a striking thought intended to appeal to the sensibilities of the audience (as the sense of justice, fair play, honor, pa- triotism, etc.), and carefully worded in lan- guage more or less poetical. " Rags are royal raiment when worn for virtue's sake," is a well-known sentiment from Bartley Camp- bell's White Slave. In this country a good sentiment rarely fails to win a round of ap- plause, but in the French theatres (excepting those of a " popular " character) such bits of declamation frequently call out hisses. The sentiment differs from the "gag" in that it is meant to be taken seriously, and is used but once in the play ; whereas the gag has a comic effect, which grows with each rep- etition. 5. The Social Drame. — This is preemi- nently the drama of to-day, the outgrowth of the nineteenth century civilization of which it is a picture. It may be considered under two distinct classes : — (1.) The piece. (2.) The emotional drama. 6. The Pi^ce. — There is unfortunately no English ierm corresponding to this French title, aliihough the English " piece," often ap- plied uO plays in general, might well enough be appropriated for the purpose. The piece is AietjKiguished by the great prominence of the 46 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. comic (of an elevated character), -which is used to relieve the intense emotional features of the play. 7. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. The theme of the piece should be some topic of the day, social or political. It must be a topic capable of being viewed in a light both serious and humorous. Any so- cial movement in which the people are seri- ously interested, but which has developed abuses that may be exposed or laughed at, is a good theme for the piece. Love is the stand- ing theme of all plays of this class. (2.) Characters. The characters are those of the society of the day. (3.) Plot. The serious incidents are of a " quiet " order, but powerful. The comic in- cidents are numerous, and at times give the play almost the effect of the better class of light comedy. (4.) Style. The style is as nearly as possi- ble an imitation of the language of every-day life. 8. The Emotional Drama. — This differs from the piece chiefly in the greater promi- nence accorded to the emotional element. It is somewhat further removed also from the interests of every-day life. It is less realistic and more sentimental. 9. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. The theme may be the same as that of the piece, but is taken more seri- ously, although less stress is laid upon it. DIFFERENT ItlNDS OF PLATS. 47 (2.) Characters. The characters are taken from modern life, but their virtues and vices are somewhat exaggerated. The villain ^ and the " heavy " * characters, in general, play a more prominent part than in the piece. (3.) Plot. The emotional drama calls for powerful situations displaying intense passion and emotion. The transition from pathos to humor is not so rapid, and need not be so ar- tistically brought about as in the piece. (4.) Style. The style is less natural than that of the piece, especially in the powerful situations, where the language is often highly poetical. Both piece and emotional drama are fre- quently spoken of as " society plays." Although both these plays properly belong to mediated tragedy, the conclusion is some- times the death of the principal character. The circumstances of the death are so man- aged, however, that its effect is emotional or pathetic rather than tragic. 10. Melodrama. — The original form of melodrama was that of a semi-heroic drama, the scenes of which were freely interspersed with songs. The musical element has now ceased to be a characteristic feature, and the name has been appropriated for an exagger- ated style of emotional drama. 11. Theme, Characters, Plot, and Style. (1.) Theme. The theme borders nearly on * See Chapter xiii. 16. ' See Chapter xiii. 9. 48 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. that of the romantic drame, but it is treated in a strained and unbalanced fashion that robs it of its proper impressiveness for those who are not carried away by their emotions. (2.) Characters. The characters are taken from all ranks of life. The villain is here in- dispensable, and generally takes the form of a group of thoroughly vicious characters, who, after working great mischief, end by circum- venting and destroying one another. (3.) Plot. The plots of melodrama are usually of a dark and gloomy character, full of startling incidents, bordering closely on the improbable. Intrigue and crime furnish the necessary complications. (4.) Style. By a sort of dramatic license, the writer of melodrama is allowed to indulge in " gush " and " rant " to an almost unlimited extent. Indeed, in most cases, this is the only kind of language which harmonizes with the extravagant characters and situations. In some of the older melodramas the style is bombastic and unnatural to such a degree that to the reader of the present day it sounds like burlesque. Many of the more recent melodramas, on the other hand, show an en- couraging moderation both in plot and dic- tion. 12. Spectacular Drama. — This is the title given to almost any kind of dramatic performance which relies for its effects largely upon gorgeous scenery, furnishings, parades, DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 49 transformation scenes, etc. Melodramas are often selected for this purpose, but even com- edies of a burlesque character are susceptible of such treatment. The French " feries " and the English " Christmas pantomimes " are species of spectacular dramas ; in fact, all performances not operas, requiring an exten- sive corjis de ballet and gorgeous and fantastic costumes, properly fall under the head of spectacular. 12. The Musical Drama. — The libretto of the opera is a peculiar kind of drama entirely in verse and set to music, or partly in verse set to music and partly in prose to be spoken. Barring the verse, it does not differ much from any other drama, save that the plot is sometimes simpler and the action slower than would in other cases be allowable. The basis for grand opera is usually the romantic drame ; for comic operas light comedy or bur- lesque. CHAPTEE IX. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS (cOHttflUed), Comedy. 1. Elinds of Comedy. — The general char- acter of comedy has been indicated in a fore- going chapter.^ Its kinds are by no means so numerous as those of tragedy, nor is it so difficult to distinguish between them. What has been said regarding classical and romantic tragedy will apply to classical and romantic comedy, — keeping in mind of course the fundamental difference bet\7een comedy and tragedy. It will not be neces' sary, therefore, to go into so full details «s ir the preceding chapters. The following are the principal types of comedy : — (1.) Ancient classic comedy. (2.) Modern classic comedy. (3.) Romantic comedy. (4.) The comedy of manners. (5.) The comedy drama. (6.) The farce comedy or farcical comedy. (7.) The farce. (8.) The burlesque. (9.) Theburletta. (10.) The comedietta. ^ See Chapter vii. 6. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLAYS. 51 2. Ancient Classic Comedy. — In ancient Greek comedy it is customary to distinguish three different classes or stages : (1.) The old comedy, characterized by bit- ter personal and political satire. Aristoph- anes is the principal representative. (2.) The middle comedy, dealing with so- ciety rather than politics, and critical rather than satirical. Represented by fragments of the plays of Philippus, Araros, Antiphanes, and Alexis. (3.) The new comedy, of a thoroughly so- cial character, full of conventional episodes and stock characters. The great representa- tive of this class is Menander. The new comedy furnished models for the Latin plays of Plautus and Terence, which last were in turn models for early English playwrights. Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors, for example, is a direct imitation of the Mencechmi of Plautus. 3. Modern Classic and Romantic Comi- edy. — The observance or non-observance of the three unities is the only ground for this division. When the romantic movement swept away the ancient critical barriers, comedy naturally shared in the liberties accorded to tragedy. 4. Comedy of Manners. — In the comedy of manners especial attention is paid to char- acter-drawing, and each character is made the representative of a certain trait or passion. 52 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. In this way conventional or stock characters are developed, such as the dissipated son, the rich and miserly uncle, the cruel father, the intriguing servant, and so on, which are used over and over again. Comedies of manners are of a quiet and domestic character and deal with the follies of society. The term has about gone out of use, except when refer- ring to the comedy of the last century. 5. The Comedy Drama. — The most dig- nified form of comedy is the comedy drama or comic drama. It may, in fact, so nearly approach the piece as hardly to be distin- guished from it. It does not admit, however (as the^iece does) incidents of a really tragic character. Whatever in the comedy drama seems to be serious must in the end turn out to have been a mistake. There can be no death, no misfortune which cannot be made right at the conclusion. The humor must be of a refined order, and arise from manifesta- tion of character rather than from arrange- ment of situation and incident.^ 6. The Farce Comedy. — The farce com- edy is a transition stage from the comedy drama to the farce. Considerable attention is still paid to the characterization, but the ^ For perfect models of refined comedy drama, the student cannot do better than turn to the plays of Emile Augier. Anything more perfect in construction and in delineation of character, or more delicate in humor, can- not be found in any language. DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLATS. 53 incidents and the lines furnish most of the entertainment. 7. The Farce. — In the farce almost the sole reliance is placed in the plot and the lines. Laughable incidents tread upon one another's heels, and the lines are filled with witticisms which have little fitness to the characters uttering them. The characters are arbitrarily exaggerated and overdrawn for the sake of comic effect. A farce which aims solely at exciting boisterous laughter from beginning to end is called a screaming farce. The farce is generally short. 8. The Burlesque. — The burlesque is a kind of dramatic parody. It may parody either some well-known play (or type of plays), or some familiar institution of soci- ety. Of the latter class two kinds are com- monly distinguished : — (1.) That in which personages of high rank or culture are represented as acting in a triv- ial way. (2.) That in which insignificant characters are represented as performing acts pertaining to heroic personages. 9. The Burletta. — This term, which prop- erly means a small joke, is sometimes applied to short farces built on very slight plots. 10. The Comedietta. — Any very short comedy may be termed a comedietta, but the term generally implies a more quiet move- ment and more care in character-sketching 54 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. than the farce. In this sense, a comedietta is a miniature comedy drama. 11. Recapitulation and Illustrations. — The following table brings together the con- tents of the foregoing chapters in their proper relations, with illustrations of the dif- ferent kinds of plays mentioned. I. TRAGEDY. (1.) a. Ancient classic (with catastrophe). Electra of Sophocles. h. Ancient classic (mediated). Suppliants of ^schylus. (2.) Modern classic. Corneille's Cinna; Addison's Cato. (3.) Romantic. Shakespeare's Macbeth; Schiller's Maria Stuart ; Calderon's M Ma^ gico prodigioso ; Manzoni's II Conte Carma- gnola ; Victor Hugo's Hemani ; Sardou's Theodora. IT. MEDIATED TRAGEDY. (1.) a. The romantic drame. Miller's The Da7iites ; Bulwer's Richelieu ; Schiller's WiU helm Tell. h. The social drame ; including (2) and (3) below. (2.) The piece. Bronson Howard's The Henrietta; Dumas' Denise; Feuillet's Pari- sian Romance. (3.) The emotional drama. Sardou's Fe- dora ; Feuillet's Roman dhin jeune homme DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLATS. 55 pauvre ; Bronson Howard's Banker's Daugh' ter ; Gillette's Held by the Enemy. (4.) The melodrama. Wills's The Silver King ; Dennery's Two Orphans ; Bartley Campbell's My Partner. (5.) Spectacular drama. Bartley Camp- bell's White Slave ; Bronson Howard's Shen- andoah (of a higher order) ; Around the World in Eighty Days ; Clio ; Adonis. (6.) Musical drama. The libretto of musical drama can cover all forms of tragedy and comedy, conse- quently it is hardly worth while to give illus- trations. III. COMEDY. (1.) Ancient classic. a. Greek, Old comedy. The Birds of Aris- tophanes. b. Greek, Middle comedy. Philippus, Ara- ros, Antiphanes, and Alexis (Fragments). c. Greek, New comedy. Menander, Diphi- lus, Philemon (Fragments). d. Latin. Budens of Plautus, Phormio of Terence. (2.) Modem classic. Moliere's Tartuffe ; Racine's Les Plaideurs. (3.) Comedy of manners. Sheridan's &7iooJ for Scandal ; Goldoni's Le Donne C ariose. (4.) Bomantic comedy. a. Comedy drama. Bronson Howard's Young Mrs. Winthrop ; Mackaye's Hazel 56 THE ART OF PLAY WRITING. Kirke ; Burnett and Gillette's Esmeralda ; De Mille and Belasco's The Wife. b. Farce comedy. Bronson Howard's Sara- toga ; Gilbert's Engaged ; Daly's A Night Off; Gillette's The Professor. c. Farce.^ Tom Taylor's A Blighted Being ; Hennequin's Pink Dominos ; Gilbert's Tom Cobb ; Morton's Box and Cox ; Hawtrey's T?i,e Private Secretary. d. Burlesque. Durivage's Lady of the Li- ons. 6. Burletta. Boucicault's Lover by Proxy. f. Comedietta. Augier's Post Script itm ; Bronson Howard's Old Love Letters; How- ells's Elevator. ^ Artistically-constructed farces are not common in this country. The name is often incorrectly applied to Buch unclassifiable jumbles of song and dance, horse-play and low comedy as The Rag BUby, Tin Soldier, Skipped by the Light of the Moon, Photos, We. Us, and Co, etc. II CHAPTER X. THE PARTS OF A PLAY. 1. Acts. — Most plays are divided into from two to five main divisions, called acts. 2. Divisions of the Acts. — The acts are further divided into : — (1.) Scenes. (2.) Tableaux. (3.) Situations. 3. Definition of an Act. — An act is a division of a play marked at its close by the falling of the curtain and the suspension of the action. 4. Entr'acte. — The interval between the acts is termed entr^acte. No English equiva- lent for the word is in good usage. 5. Scene. — The shifting of scenery dur- ing the progress of an act brings about a change of scene, using the word in the Eng- lish sense.^ 6. Tableau. — A tableau is a division of an act marked by a momentary descent of the curtain. It frequently implies some spec- tacular effect. 1 On the French stage, a new scene is introduced by ftvery important enter. 58 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. The word tableau is also used with refer- ence to a atage picture or grouping of charac- ters at the close of an act. 7. Situation. — This term has various meanings : — (1.) It is sometimes used with reference to any striking incident in the play. (2.) It is sometimes used as an equivalent for climax} (3.) It frequently corresponds to the French word scene} ThQ terms scene and situation are some- times used as synonyms. Thus we may speak either of a " strong scene " or a " strong situ- ation." The word situation, however, refers properly to the moment of greatest suspense ; scene, to the whole progress of the incident. 8. Number of Acts. — No fixed rule can be given for the number of acts into which a play should be divided. The old di- vision into five acts, a tradition handed down from the Eoman stage, is no longer observed with any uniformity. The following table shows the prevailing tendency at the present time: — (1.) Tragedies, five acts. (2.) Eomantic drames and melodramas, five acts. (3.) Emotional dramas, pieces, and society dramas, four or five acts. (4.) Comedy dramas, four acts. ^ See Chapter xvi. 6. ' See footnote, in tliis chapter, under 5. THE PARTS OF A PLAY. 59 (5.) Comedies of manners, five acts. (6.) Comedies of incidents, three or four acts. (7.) Farce comedies, three acts. (8.) Farces, one, two, or three acts. (9.) Spectacular plays, five acts, usually divided into tableaux. (10.) Libretto for grand opera, five acts, sometimes with tableaux. (11.) Libretto for opera comique, three or four acts. (12.) Libretto for comic opera, three (some- times two) acts. (13.) Burlesques, with or without music, one to five acts. (14.) *' Curtain raisers," whether farces or bits of true comedy, invariably one act. 9. Length of Acts. — As a general rule, the acts should be of about equal length, but the canon of the Sanskrit drama, i. e., that the play shall resemble the end of the cow's tail, the acts diminishing gradually to the close, is not without its advantage. As the entire time of actual performance should not much exceed two hours, the average length of act for different classes of plays will be about as follows : — (1.) Length of five-act plays. Twenty- five minutes to each act. A better distribu« tion of time would be thirty -five minutes foi- the first act ; fifteen for the fifth act ; twenty- five each for the remaining acts. This gives a total of two hours and five minutes. 60 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (2.) Length of four-act plays. Thirty min- utes to each act. If the length is to be va- ried, let the first and third acts be the long- est. In that case, act first should take not more than thirty-five minutes ; act third not more than forty minutes, leaving for act sec- ond thirty minutes, and for act fourth twenty minutes. Total, two hours and five minutes. (3.) Length of three-act plays. — If a three- act play is to be produced alone, that is, not preceded by a '' curtain raiser," the second act should be the longest. The following proportions are generally observed : Act first, forty minutes. Act second, fifty minutes. Act third, thirty -five minutes. If a three-act play is to be preceded by a "curtain-raiser," let the three acts be of 30 minutes each. (4.) Length of two-act plays. Except in the case of musical compositions, two-act plays are not intended to furnish a full even- ing's entertainment. The acts should never exceed thirty minutes each. (5.) Length of one-act plays. The length Varies according to the purpose for which the play is intended. A " curtain-raiser " is usu- ally from twenty-five to thirty-five minutes long. No one-act play should exceed forty minutes. 10. How to determine the Length of an Act. — Considerable experience is required to judge from the manuscript of a play how THE PARTS OF A PLAY. 61 long it will take to perform it. Much de- pends on the fullness of detail with which the business is indicated, as well as on the char- acter of the business itself. In spectacular plays, where the descriptions oJ^ scenery, stage inovements, etc., are of more importance than the lines themselves, and in low comedy farces containing a great deal of horse-j)lay, no one but an expert in such matters can form an exact estimate of the time they will occupy. For the general run of modern plays, however, the following rule will answer most purposes : — 11. Rule for determining the Length of a Play. — If the production is to occupy 125 minutes, the actual number of words in the manuscript, including lines, names of charac- ters before each speech, stage directions, and business of every description, should not ex- ceed 20,000, all told, i. e., the length of the manuscript should not exceed 160 words for each minute of actual performance. The number of words, therefore, for each act may be found by multiplying the number of min- utes required in performance (as given in the foregoing tables) by 160. CHAPTER XL THE ENTER, 1. Meaning of the Term. — The appear- ance of a character upon the stage during the progress of an act constitutes an enter. 2. Discovered at Rise. — As before ex- jplained, a character already upon the stage at the opening of the act is not said to enter, but to be discovered at rise. 3. The Re-enter. — The term re-enter is used instead of enter when a character re- appears on the stage shortly after having left it. It is evident that enter will, in the manu- script, answer every purpose of re-enter, but the latter expression is useful for the reader both to remind him that the character has recently appeared on the stage, and to show the relative importance of the second appear- ance. The term return is sometimes used for re-enter. 4. When the Term Re-enter should be used. — The term re-enter should be used: — (1.) When a character, having left the stage, reappears before any new or striking feature of the plot occurs. THE ENTER. 63 (2.) When little importance is to be at- tached to the reappearance. (3.) A servant may enter at the beginning of an act and re-enter several times during its progress. 6. Passing at Rear. — A series of enters and re-enters on the part of dumb characters, representing the " company " [guests, visi- tors, etc.], is best indicated by the phrase ^^•seen passing at rear,'^ or " seen coming on and going off at rearP When these movements are supposed to take place at frequent intervals during the scene or act, much repetition may be avoided by noting the fact at the beginning. For ex- ample, " Sentinel seen passing at rear during the scene ; " *' Promenaders seen coming on and going ofE at rear at intervals during the act." 6. Appearance. — A character who is seen or " exposed " during the play, but does not come immediately upon the stage, is said to appear. Under this class fall all such move- ments as sticking the head in through a win- dow, opening and suddenly closing the door of a closet or other place of concealment, peeping from behind a tree, etc. The term is frequently used where a character is seen about to enter but pauses momentarily for an effective situation before entering. Thus, — 64 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. Hester. Maxwell is dead, and dead men, thank heaven I tell no talea. Maxwell. [Appears on threshold.] Hester ! Hester. [Screams.] My husband I £!nter Maxwell. 7. Management of the Enter. — The proper use and management of the enters, being to a considerable extent governed by convention and stage traditions, are among the most difficult things which the beginner has to learn. The following rules will be found to cover the most important cases, though much must be left to observation and experience. (1.) Logical enter. (2.) Conventional use of entrances. (3.) Lines with enter, (4.) Use of the tormentors. (5.) Preparing for enter. (6.) Stereotyped forms. (7.) Enters prepared for by the plot. (8.) Leading up to enter of star. (9.) ]S"ames mentioned. (10.) Double enter. (11.) Unnoticed enter. 8. Logical Enter. — The enter should be logical. This means that the playwright should not use the stage entrances arbitrarily, but should keep in mind the part of the house, if an interior, or of the neighborhood, if an exterior, to which each entrance leads. An entrance used for characters coming THE ENTER. 66 from the street should not, in general, be used for those entering from a bedroom or dining-room. 9. Conventional use of Entrances. — Let the student note the following : — (1.) Characters coming into an interior from the street usually enter from the rear. It stands to reason, therefore, that a servant, answering the door-bell, will pass out one of the rear entrances, generally C. D., and re- turn ushering in the visitor at the same en- trance. (2.) The doors at right and left may be supposed to lead to, or into, boudoirs, dining- rooms, drawing-rooms, library, etc., at the pleasure of the writer, though probability is always to be consulted. Bedrooms, for ex- ample, are usually on the opposite side from dining-rooms. (3.) Servants coming from the servants' quarter should be brought in R. D. or L. D. 10. Lines "with Enter. — The chief action of a play takes place in the centre, well down stage, i. e., near the footlights. If, therefore, enters are made from the rear, the entering character will be at some distance from the person on the stage, and an awkward period of silence may elapse while the former is mak- ing his way down to the latter. This diffi- culty may be avoided by bringing the char- acter in at a right or left entrance, near the front, provided this can be logically done ; or 66 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. by furnishing the entering character with a speech which will carry him over the inter- val. The following scene, for example, is absolutely unactable : — Marion. [Seated at R. front.] Whose voice do I hear? [Enter Cameron L. D. rear.] Robert! [Falls into hi$ arms.] If possible, Cameron should be brought in E.. 2 E. If not, the scene may be rearranged in some such fashion as this : — Marion. [Seated R. front.] Whose voice do I hear ? [Bises and starts towards rear. Enter Cameron L. D. rear.] Robert ! Cameron. [Coming down.] Marion ! Come to my arms! All is forgiven. [She falls into his arms.] 11. Use of the Tormentors. — The use of the tormentors for entrances should be avoided, especially in interiors. If the stage represents a room, the further side of the tormentor stands for the front wall. Con- sequently, in theory, the tormentor leads nowhere. As a matter of fact, however, the rule is violated about as often as it is ob- served. 12. Preparing for Enter. — Since an enter is an essential incident in the plot, all enters should be csiveiullj prepared for or led up to. The reason for this important rule will be ap- parent when we come to study the construc- tion of the plot. It will be sufficient at this point to indicate its practical application. THE ENTER. 67 An enter is prepared for or led up to, when the lines, business, or incidents immediately preceding are of such a character as to make the entrance natural and inevitable. The audience may or may not be led to an- ticipate the enter. In the former case it is customary to announce the approach of the character in so many words, as, " By my head, here comes the Capulets." If the enter is unexpected, none the less must it appear to the audience, as soon as it occurs, to be nat- ural and to have been inevitable. 13. Stereotyped Forma. — An unmistak- able ear-mark of the young or slipshod play- wright is the use of the hackneyed expression, " But I hear some one coming," to introduce an enter. The phrase itself, however, aside from the fact that it is hackneyed, is not es- pecially objectionable. What is objection- able is its use as a mere device to get upon the stage a character that has not been prop- erly prepared for by the incidents of the plot. A little ingenuity will enable the dramatist to dispense with such stereotyped forms. 14. Enters prepared for by the Plot. — The best enters are those which grow natu- rally and easily out of the plot and are thus led up to by the incidents which precede them without any appearance of artifice. The fol- lowing will serve as an illustration : — Miss Lester. [At mirror.] I know Walter yrill like this dress ; blae was his favorite color. [A ring at the 68 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. door-hdl. ] There he is now ! [Surveys hertdf in the mirror.^ Enter Tom, Dick, or Harry. Walter's entrance later is now well pre- pared for. 15. Leading up to Enter of Star. — The enter of the most important character of the play, especially if the enter is to be followed by a strong situation, should be prepared for by a series of incidents and references calculated to bring the audience to a climax of suspense. Thus the " Enter Hamlet " which precedes the interview with the queen, in the fourth scene, is prepared for throughout the two pre- ceding scenes, as follows : — (1.) Guildenstern tells Hamlet that the queen has sent for him. (2.) Polonius enters and makes the same announcement. (3.) Hamlet replies that he will go, and in a soliloquy lets it be understood that the scene will be a strong one. (4.) In the next scene Polonius tells the king that Hamlet is on his way to the closet. (5.) Hamlet then appears for a moment but goes out with the words " My mother stays." (6.) Finally, Polonius is shown informing the queen that Hamlet " will come straight," closing with " I hear him coming." All this leads up to an entrance which not a few modern playwrights would consider sufS.- II THE ENTER. 69 eiently heralded by the single speech, " but I hear Hamlet coming." 16. Names mentioned. — In preparing for an enter the name of the person expected should be explicitly mentioned, unless the concealment of it is purposely designed as a feature of the plot. 17. Double Enter. — It is a safe rule never to bring two important characters on the stage at the same moment. The atten- tion of the audience is divided, and, worse than all else, the actors themselves have no means of knowing for whom the applause, if there be any, is intended. Strong comic effects, however, may often be produced in this way, and sometimes, as where two enemies are brought face to face from opposite sides of the stage, powerful tragic situations. Where no such startling effects are aimed at, face-to-face encounters should be avoided. 18. Unnoticed Enter. — Avoid, if pos- sible, the hackneyed device of bringing a character upon the stage to overhear a con- versation ; or if no other resource is at hand, at any rate avoid taking the character off again without allowing him to be discovered by the others upon the stage. Considerable latitude in this regard must, of course, be permitted in the case of light comedy, bur- lesque, or melodrama. CHAPTER XTL THE EXIT. 1. Meaning of the Term. — Any charac- ter who leaves the stage during the progress of an act, is said to " exit,'" If two or more characters leave the stage at the same time, the plural form, "ercetm^,"is used. 2. Relation of the Exit to the Lines. — Great care must be taken in managing the exit. Four different varieties may be distin- guished : — (1.) The exit to create a situation. (2.) The exit without lines. (3.) The exit with an apart. (4.) The exit with a re-enter. 3. The Exit to create a Situation. — As every important enter usually brings about a situation, so every important exit should cre- ate some degree of suspense. The object of the dramatist should be not merely to get the character off the stage, but to make the audi- ence feel that he is going off for a purpose, and so to make them watch for his return. Again, the exit of a character may give those who remain an opportunity to do what they were restrained from doing by h'^ presence, THE EXIT. 71 or may cause them to throw off some disguise maintained for his benefit. Exits of this kind require skillful management, and all that has been said under this head, of the enter, will necessarily apply to the exit. 4. Exit without Lines. — The exit with- out lines is of three kinds : — (1.) The exit of a servant, who leaves the stage after an unimportant enter, such as bringing a card, ushering in a guest, answer- ing a bell to receive an order, etc. (2.) The exit of some of the guests, when characters representing the " company " are moving on and off the stage. (3.) The exit unnoticed by the others on the stage and intended to create surprise when the absence of the character is discov- ered by the further movement of the plot. 5. Exit with an Apart. — The exit with an a^art ^ is intended to prepare for an enter, and hence, usually, for a situation. In such cases the apart must consist of some informa- tion of considerable importance. The apart may be a " p'ag'," ^ and thus be used with each «xit of a character. 6. Exit with Re-enter. — An exit with an immediate re-enter is especially effective in light comedies. It may come under the head of reappearance. In combination with what has been called above the "exit to create a situation" (3), the reappearance may be ^ See Chapter xxii. 5. ^ See Chapter viii. 4. 72 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. made to produce very comical situations, those present on the stage having to change attitude, facial expression, manners, etc., on realizing that the exit was only momentary. The reappearance in such cases consists in sticking in the head at the door, etc. What has been said in the preceding chap- ter of the " Logical enter," " Conventional use of entrances," "The tormentors," "Pre- paring for enter," " Enter prepared for by the plot," is also true of the exit. CHAPTER XIII. DIFFERENT b6lES IN PLATS. MALE b6lES. 1. Types of Chaxacters. — Although the conditions of dramatic production admit the possibility of an inlinite variety of characters, the history of the stage in different countries shows that all may be referred to a few gen- eral types marked by broad characteristics of difference. These types occur over and over in the plays forming the repertories^ of mod- ern theatrical companies. 2. Classification of Actors. — Actors are classified according as they customarily as- sume the part of one type or another. The members of a company are selected with ref- erence to them. Most important of all, from the present point of view, plays are now usu- ally written and arranged so as to require a certain number and proportion of male and female actors of the various classes. 3. R61es. — The types referred to above are commonly termed roles, although this word, it should be noted, is also used to sig- nify the part of any particular character in a ^ The French word ripertoire h also in common UMb 74 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. particular play, as the role of Macbeth, Ju« liet, and so on. 4. Male R&les. — The principal male roles are as follows : — (10 The Star. (2.) The Leading Man. (3.) The Heavy. (4.) The First Old Man. (5.) The Second Old Man. (6.) The Comedian. (7.) The Light Comedian. (8.) The Low Comedian. (9.) The Eccentric Comedian. (10.) The Villain. (11.) The Juvenile. (12.) The Walking Gentleman. (13.) The Utility Man. (14.) The Super or " Supe " (supernumerary). 5. The Star. — An actor (presumably of unusual attainments) who habitually plays the leading role is called a star. Plays in which the leading role is strongly marked go by the name of star plays, and the impor- tant roles are called star roles, or star parts. In a company where there is a star, the re- mainder of the company is known as the support. 6. Star Plays. — When star plays are writ- ten to order, the part of the star is usu- ally emphasized at the expense of the rest of the characters. The star is given the lion's share of the strong situations, kept upon the DIFFERENT r6LES IN PLATS. 75 stage during the greater portion of each act, and made the obvious centre of interest and attraction during the entire performance. The lines and incidents of the plot are so ar- ranged as to give him every opportunity for displaying his peculiar gifts. Everything which might detract from his importance is carefully excluded, and not unfrequently the other roles in the play are reduced to mere nonentities in order that the star may shine the more brilliantly by force of contrast. Ex- amples of star plays in which all the charac- ters are given strongly marked individuality are rare outside of the Shakespearean reper- tory. 7. Double Stars. — A few plays are so arranged as to afford equal opportunities to two different actors. Such are the parts of Othello and lago in Othello, of Brutus and Cassius in Julius Ccesar, etc. The last-named play may almost be said to have three star roles, since the part of Antony falls but lit- tle below the other two in point of interest. 8. The Leading Man. — In star play» the leading man plays the male role next in im- portance to that of the star. If the star is a lad}^, the leading man, in about ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, plays the part of her lover. In stock companies, the leading man fills the place of the star, whenever the play calls for one. 9. The Heavy. — An actor who habitually 76 THE ART OP PLAYWRITING. plays serious parts, devoid of comedy ele« ments, and calling for considerable manifes- tation of strong feeling, is called a heavy. The parts of the King and of the Ghost in Hamlet would be taken by heavies. Actors of this type who are qualified to assume important roles are spoken of as leading heavies. 10. First Old Man. — The old men are distinguished from the heavies by their gray hair. The most important old man charac- ter, in a play which calls for more than one, is called the first old man. The part is usu- ally dignified, exhibiting the nobler and more pathetic qualities of old age, such as tender- ness of feeling, magnanimity, etc. Less fre- quently the first old man portrays the vices of old age. 11. Second Old Man. — If the play calls for two characters representing old men, the less prominent of the two is called the second old man. The second old man is not infre- quently a comic character. 12. The Comedian. — An actor who is qualified to assume important comedy roles is called a comedian. In comedies the star is a comedian. 13. The Light Comedian. — The comedi- an's business is to interpret comic characters. The light comedian makes it his aim to cause amusement partly by representation of char- acter, but mostly by tricks of manner, gesture, and voice, and by witty lines. DIFFERENT r6lES IN PLAYS. 77 14. The Low Comedian. — The business of the low comedian is to excite laughter. To this end he resorts to any effective device, no matter how undignified, irrelevant or incon- sistent. There is usually but little pretense of character-drawing. In the lower class of theatres the part of the low comedian consists largely of horse-play — rude rough-and-tumble, tripping over chairs, falling into the water, etc. In the better theatres and in first-class plays, low-comedy roles are sometimes made to have considerable dramatic value by the selection of characters representative of the lower classes of life. 16. The Eccentric Comedian. — A com- edian who gives himself up to the portrayal of odd and whimsical freaks of character i.* called an eccentric comedian. 16. The Villain. — The character in a play who represents the evil tendencies of human nature, and hence seeks to frustrate the purposes of the nobler characters, is called the villain. The villain may be either a heavy or a comedian. In the older plays, he was almost invariably the former, and when uncommonly wicked and blood-thirsty was known as the heavy villain. At the present day it is not unusual to give the vil- lain a touch of comedy, generally of a satiri- cal kind. There has been some discussion of late over the question whether the villain may not be dispensed with altogether, but 78 THE ART OF PLAY WRITING. until human nature undergoes a radical change it is not likely that this interesting character will be eliminated either from real life or from the drama. 17. The Juvenile. — An actor who habitu- ally undertakes youthful roles is called a ju- venile. The supposed age of the character represented may range anywhere from fifteen to thirty years. 18. The Walking Gentleman. — A role requiring simply presence on the stage and few if any lines to speak, and yet one which is an essential part of the play, is commonly taken by the walking gentleman. Where a part calls for a speech, it is called a " speak- ing part." 19. The Utility Man. — An actor who can make himself generally useful on and off the rtage and who, though unqualified to assume important roles, is able to fill a minor va- cancy in case of emergency, is called a utility man. 20. The Super. — Non-professional per- sons hired, for a single performance or a series of performances, to represent unimportant parts, such as waiters, soldiers, a mob, etc., are called supernumeraries, supers or supes. The super who leads in the enter or exit of a company of supers is called captain of the supers. 21. Character Actor. — An actor who cul- tivates the power of representing with equal DIFFERENT ROLES IN PLAYS. 79 facility widely different characters is called a character actor. If the characters represented embrace those commonly called for in the modern repertories, he is called an all-around character actor. 22. Doubling up. — As but few of the characters of a play are upon the stage at the same moment, except in important climaxes, it is sometimes possible so to arrange the ac- tion that one actor may play two parts. This is known as doubling up. In Hamlet, for in- stance, the same personage might represent both the King and the Ghost, since the two are never upon the stage together. In ar- ranging such parts, care should be taken to see that the actor who doubles up has suffi- cient time, after leaving the stage, to dress for the second character. CHAPTER Xiy. DIFFEBENT r6lES IN PLAYS. — FEMALE b6les. 1. Classification of Female R61es. — The principal female roles are : — (1.) The Star. (2.) The Leading Lady. (3.) The Emotional Actress. (4.) The First Old Woman. (5.) The Second Old Woman. (6.) The Comedienne. (7.) The Soubrette. (8.) The Ingenue. (9.) The Adventuress. (10.) The Juvenile. (11.) The Walking Lady. (12.) The Utility Woman. 2. Correspondence to Male Rdles. — All that has been said with regard to male roles applies equally well to the correspond- ing female roles. The female roles that have no correspondence whatever with male roles are : — (1.) The Soubrette. (2.) The Ingenue. The adventuress answers in the main to the DIFFERENT R&LES IN PLAYS. 81 male villain, and tlie emotional actress to the male heavy. 3. The Soubrette. — The term soubrette, originally applied to the intriguing chamber- maid of the old French comedy, is now used of any pert, frivolous, sprightly, and youthful female character. The favorite part for the soubrette is still that of the chambermaid, but star soubrette parts are not uncommon. At least one prominent actress — Lotta — has made fame and fortune in almost purely sou- brette roles. 4. The Ingenue. — The characteristics of the ingenue are youth, simplicity, and artless innocence, generally mingled, in modern plays, with a generous proportion of sentiment. The ingenue may have, and generally does have, opportunities for strong demonstration, thus bordering on the province of the emo- tional actress. Again, the ingen^^e may ap- proach the soubrette in comedy lines ; but the comic should be rather a humorous elabora- tion of simplicity than an obviously ingenious witticism. 5. Arrangement of Cast. — A stock com- pany cast^ comprises the following li«^t of actors : — (1.) The Leading Man. (2.) The First Old Man. (3.) The Comedian. * A " cast " 13 an acting company to whom psxta 4»* as- signed; hence the expression, casting a play. 82 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (4.) The Second Old Man. (5.) The Light Comedian. (6.) The Villain. (7.) The Juvenile (male). (8.) The Leading Lady. (9.) The First Old Woman. (10.) The Comedienne. (11.) The Soubrette. (12.) The Ingenue. (13.) The Juvenile (female). 6. Cast of Traveling Companjes. — The cast of traveling companies is made up of the characters needed for the performance of some one or two plays, unless the company on the road is a stock company. There are very few plays on the road that require more than ten characters. CHAPTER XV. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY. 1. Definition. — In the broadest sense, a play is a complete and unified story of human life acted out on the stage in a series of mo- tived incidents so arranged as to excite the greatest amount of interest and pleasure in the spectator by means of novelty, variety, contrast, suspense, surprise, climax, humor, and pathos. This is not intended for an exact scientific definition ; but as it covers the essential fea- tures of all plays produced at the present day, it is much better adapted for our purpose than any of the definitions which have come down to us from antiquity. A closer exami- nation of it will suggest the following points, which will be taken up and discussed in the order given : — (1.) The story. (2.) What constitutes a story. (3.) Characters. (4.) Characters suited to the story. (5.) Characters distinguished. (6.) Self-consistency of characters. (7.) Characters as foils. (8.) Completeness. 84 THE ART OF PLAYWRITINQ. (9.) Unity. (10.) The three unities. (11.) Unity of action. (12.) Unity of time. (13.) Unity of place. (14.) The story must be one that can be acted. (15.) The story must be suited to stage conventions. (16.) Motived incidents. (17.) Interest and pleasure.* (18.) Kovelty. (19.) Variety and contrast. (20.) Suspense. (21.) Surprise. (22.) Climax. (23.) Humor and pathos. (24.) Where stories come from. (25.) Character of good stories. (26.) Adaptation. (27.) Adapting novels. (28.) Adapting foreign plays. 2. The Story. — The first and most essen- tial feature of a play is the story. It may be very simple, or it may be very complex. It may be no more than : John wants to marry Susan, but cannot because Dick has told her that John is in love with Mary ; John dis- covers Dick's villainy and marries Susan.' ^ See Chapter XVI., in which this and the following sub-titles will be discussed. 2 The plot of one of the most popular plays of the WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAT. 85 Many successful plays have had. no better formula than this. On the other hand, the story may be a con- fused tangle of ingenious complications as hard to separate as a Chinese puzzle. In any case there must be a story of some sort, — ■ somebody must steal, or kill, or deceive, or love, or wed, — or there can be no play. The first thing, then, that the playwright must provide himself with, is a good story, or, bet- ter, a collection of good stories. 3. What Constitutes a Story. — Every story that has any value for dramatic pur- poses may be reduced to the following for- mula : — A (standing for one or more characters) is trying to achieve some purpose. A is op- posed by B (representing one or more charac- ters), who tries to prevent A from carrying out his design. After a series of incidents, in which first one and then the other seems to have the upper hand, A finally succeeds in frustrating the designs of B, and either ac- complishes the end sought or is killed. 4. Characters. — As the story is one of human life, it treats of the actions of men and women, and in consequence has characters. In the selection of his characters, the play- wright has an almost unlimited range ; but four requirements must be observed : — century, Hazel Kirke, may be stated in this way : She is married ; no, she is not ; yes, she is ! 86 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (1.) The characters must be suited to the story, — the story to the characters. (2.) The characters must be clearly distin- guished one from another. (3.) The characters must be self-consistent. (4.) The characters must be so selected and arranged that each one may serve as a foil to another. 5. Characters Suited to the Story. — . The incidents of the story must seem to grow out of the nature of the characters, and, on the other hand, the incidents must react on the characters to produce the result aimed at. In the Merchant of Venice, the trial scene is the direct outcome of Shylock's avarice and race prejudice. Put generous Othello in Shy- lock's place and the trial scene would be an absurdity. Equally absurd, on the other hand, would it have been to represent the keen-wit- ted Shylock as believing in lago's veracity. 6. Characters Distinguished. — As, in real life, no two persons are exactly alike, so in a play each character must be marked off from every other, down to the least impor- tant. A skillful dramatist will manage to do this by a single touch. Thus the one line in which Shakespeare characterizes Robin Ost- ler, " never joy'd since the price of oats rose," distinguishes him from all other characters. The distinguishing marks should be real elements of character, not mere tricks of dress, manner, or speech. A set form of WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY. 87 \rord8 put always into the mouth of the same character is called a gag. 7. Self - Consistency of Characters. — Each personage must be made to say and do exactly what is appropriate to his character. A flagrant violation of this rule is found in Boucicault's London Assurance (as commonly performed), where that selfish old reprobate, Sir Harcourt, is given at the close a speech teeming with lofty sentiments and exalted morality. As Aristotle points out, a character, to be consistent with itself, must often be drawn as inconsistent. An inconsistent woman, for example, would be self-consistent only if por- trayed in all her characteristic inconsistency. 8. Characters as Foils. — As will be shown later, contrast is one of the instru- ments of dramatic effect. An avaricious character, like Shy lock, stands out much more vividly when a generous nature, like Antonio's, stands over against it as a foil. Plays composed entirely of vicious or en- tirely of virtuous characters would be insuf- ferable. The characters should be so selected and arranged that in each scene the promi- nent characteristics of each may be made more prominent by contrast with the others of the same group. 9. Completeness. — By a complete story is meant one that has a beginning, a middle, and an end. A story is complete when it is 88 THE ART OF PLATWRITIN6. told SO that the listener does not need to ask ■what happened before it began, nor care to ask what happened after it concluded. When we have heard a complete story through to the end, we know all that there is to tell. When a play like Othello, for example, has come to a close, the spectator feels that he has been put in possession of every fact about Othello and the other characters that he needs to know. No additional knowledge of Othello's career previous to the opening of the play would afford him any satisfaction, nor does he care to know what happens after the curtain falls. A remarkable but successful violation of this requirement may be found in Sardou's Daniel Rochat, in which the curtain falls just before the decisive step is taken Avhich would relieve the spectator's suspense. Whether atheism or religion is master of the situation, is a problem left for the audience to solve. It need hardly be said that no playwright of ordinary powers would dare try this bold ex- pedient, or, having tried it, would stand one chance in a hundred of succeeding. With an incomplete story, the spectator is left unsatisfied : he wants to know what hap- pened before the play opened, in order to un- derstand what occurred during its progress ; he is not satisfied with the close, and wants to know what is going to happen next. 10. Unity. — The story must be unified. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY. 89 This has been variously interpreted, but the most sensible view is, that all the incidents of the story must be made to cluster about a single central animating idea. One purpose must be seen to run throughout the whole series of incidents. If there are two series of incidents, they must be so woven together that, at the end of the story, it will be evident that one could not have taken place without the other. This constitutes the unity of ac- tion. 11. The Three Unities. — The French critics of the seventeenth century distin- guished three separate kinds of unity : — (1.) The unity of action. (2.) The unity of time. (3.) The unity of place. 12. Unity of Action. — The narrowest of the French critics understood the unity of action to mean that the play should have a single event and a single hero. 13. Unity of Time. — Following an am- biguous statement in Aristotle's Poetics, the French critics restricted the time of the play to twenty -four hours. An extension to thirty hours was barely permitted. 14. Unity of Place. — This unity required that there be no change of scene during the entire play. It is important to notice that the three unities, in their historical significance, were the invention of French criticism. From this 90 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. source, they were adopted for a time by Eng- lish playwrights. At the present time, the terms no longer have any meaning, save in the historical sense, when speaking of plays written under the influence of the old rules of criticism. No one pretends to regard them at the present day. It is still convenient, however, to speak of the unity of action, not in the old sense, but with the meaning defined in No. 10 of this chapter. 15. The Story must be One that can be Acted. — Unless the story is one that can be acted out on the stage by men and women, it is worthless for dramatic purposes. It is not enough that it can be told or narrated ; it must be acted. It must find its natural ex- pression in those movements of the human body which tell of passion, emotion, and re- solve. It must be a story capable of being told in dagger-thrusts, kisses, frowns, sighs, laughter, caresses, eating, fighting, and dying. If it can be expressed in dumb show, then it satisfies at least one requirement of dramatic construction ; if it cannot, it may make a good novel or a good poem, but it will never make a successful drama. 16. The Story must be Suited to Stage Conventions.^ — In the preceding chapters, the nature of the stage, its devices and its limitations, have been clearly set forth. It is upon this stage that the story must be ^ See chapter zy. 8. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAY, 91 acted, and to the conventions and limitations of this stage it must conform. A story in which a dozen people are represented as present throughout the entire narrative, may be very pleasant in the telling, but it will never do for the stage, where there must be enters and exits to give life and variety to the scene. A story of the war, in which a tree is cut in two by a cannon-ball and throws a spy who has been hiding in it headlong througli the window-sash of a house, may be the most delightful sort of reading, and yet be wholly impracticable for stage production. In these days of " tank " dramas, however, the possibilities of stage effect are by no means exhausted, and some boldness in this direction may not go unrewarded. 17. Motived Incidents. — The story, when acted out upon the stage, takes the form of a series of incidents. Not every series of inci- dents, however, will constitute a play. The incident must be motived. This means that the cause of every incident must be apparent in some incident that has preceded it and serves as a motive for it. Every event must be seen to grow naturally out of what has gone before, and to lead naturally to what comes after. An incident which is introduced arbitrarily, simply for effect, is called clap- trap. CHAPTER XVI. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAT. MEANS OP CKEATIXG INTEREST. 1. Interest and Pleasure. — The story must interest and please. This is the funda- mental law of the modern drama. It is not forbidden the dramatist to point a moral, or discuss a social problem ; but these are side issues, extra-dramatic effects, which he must undertake at his own risk. His first and his last business, as a playwright, is to tell such a story, and to tell it in such a way, that his audience will be forced to listen, and, listen- ing, cannot fail to be delighted. ■* 2. Novelty. — An important requirement of a dramatic story is, that it be fresh and original. Nothing wearies us like a stale anec- dote, a joke we heard the day before. If the playwright have any originality in him, by all means let him exercise it in the invention of new incidents. Still it must not be forgotten that an old story, told in a new way, possesses all the charm of a new one. A certain interest also attaches to well-known events in history that compensates for their lack of novelty. ^ This subject will be taken up and discussed later on. See Chapter zxiii. 2. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAT. 93 3. Variety and Contrast. — Monotony is the bugbear of the dramatist. In order to escape it, he must exercise all the inventive power of which he is possessed to vary the character of the incidents as they follow one another. Pathos must be followed by humor, wit by eloquence, " talky " passages by quick- succeeding scenes of incident, soliloquies by the rapid give-and-take of dialogue. The en- tire act should be a rapidly shifting kaleido- scope, presenting new features at every turn. Variety not only destroys monotony, but it secures the powerful effect of contrast. A bit of humor is twice as effective if it follows an instant of pathos or even of commonplace. Brilliant dialogue seems doubly brilliant after a monologue. 4. Suspense. The most important means of arousing interest is suspense. Keep a lis- tener in doubt as to what is coming, and he cannot help but listen. Suspense is the ner- vous system of the drama. In some form or another, it must exist throughout the entire progress of the story. At various points of the play, generally at the close of each act, it may be partially relieved, but it must always be done in such a way as to give rise to new suspense, or to leave one or two particulars still unsettled. Not until the last moment of the story should every item of doubt be cleared away. This does not mean that the audience is 94 THE ART OF PLAT WRITING. invariably not to be told -what is coming. It is a curious fact of human nature, that we await an event with no less interest, and some- times with greater interest, when we know exactly what is coming, than when we are left in ignorance of its nature, — provided the story is told in such a way as to arouse our sympathy. This is one reason why the best plays may be heard over and over again with- out losing their powerful fascination over us. If the dramatist is sure of his powers, it is a very effective device to take the audience into his confidence, let them see just what is coming, and depend upon his skill in telling the story to keep them in a state of suspense. A successful play written upon this plan is sure of a much longer life than one which de- pends on mere surprise through unexpected incidents. 5. Surprise. — Nevertheless, surprise is one of the most potent of stage effects. An audience may be startled or shocked into a state of interest when no other device would be of any avail. Surprises are most valuable in light comedies, which sometimes consist of little more than a succession of startling in- cidents. In more serious plays, too sudden surprises give the story an unpleasantly ab- rupt and " jerky " character. The surprise, in such cases, must be in a manner prepared for ; the audience must be made to have a dim foreboding of the impending disaster, WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAT. 95 while its exact nature is left a matter of sur* mise. 6. Climax. — A regular increase of force and interest culminating in a strong situation is called climax. A dramatic story should be full of climaxes from beginning to end. Every act should have several lesser ones scattered through it, and should invariably end with one of greater importance. Toward the end of the play should occur the great climax, in the technical sense of the word, ^ i. e., the point at which the interest of the play reaches its highest stage. All the incidents leading up to a striking situation should be arranged in the form of a climax, growing gradually in force until the last is reached. The situation concluding a climax generally takes the form of a tableau, or stage picture. The technical climax must be carefully dis- tinguished from the catastrophe, Avhich last — in tragedies especially — is often the strong- est situation of the play. 7. Humor axid. Pathos. — Except in the lighter sort of comedy, the two elements of humor and pathos are always introduced in the modern drama. No one any longer thinks of writing pure tragedy for the stage, and, on the other hand, the most salable comedies are those which have a few touches in them of genuine pathos. 8. "Where Stories come from. — There ^ See Chapter xix. 96 THE ART OF PLAT WRITING. are no rules for collecting stories. They must come from observation of life, from con- versation, from reading, from old newspaper scraps, — anywhere, in a bit of life vividly told, may lurk the germ of a first-class dra- matic story. Many dramatists will confess to having had their best ideas suggested while reading old and forgotten novels. Many more, if they could be made to confess, would acknowledge their indebtedness to French brochures. A good story, wherever it comes from, is a priceless gem, and the playwright who has a note-book full of them has the be- ginnings of a valuable stock-in-trade. 9. Character of Good Stories. — The best stories for dramatic purposes require few presuppositions, and those of a character capable of being implied rather than demand- ing explicit statement. The story must, of course, be of such a character that it can be symmetrically developed under the dramatic form. The drama is a regular, orderly growth, and neither a story which consists of a series of episodes following one after the other like knots in a string, nor one which shoots sud- denly upwards to a resplendent climax, and as suddenly goes out in utter darkness, is of any value for purposes of dramatization. 10. Adaptation. — There are two kinds of adaptation : — (1.) The dramatization of a novel. (2.) The translation and alteration of a play written in another language. WHAT CONSTITUTES A PLAT. 97 11. Adapting Novels. — aSTot every novel can be successfully adapted, for the reason that its success may arise from features which do not admit of transference to the stage. The first point to notice in every case is the action. If the interesting portions of the novel depend for their interest, not on what the characters say, but on what they do, the novel probably has dramatic possibilities. 12. Adapting Foreign Plays. — This pro- cess, so easy to the professional playwright, is, for the beginner, almost a hopeless task. Ex- cept in rare instances, nothing but a large ex- perience with the conventions of the American stage and the demands of the American public will enable the adapter to decide what por- tions of the foreign production will be effec- tive. Some plays need only to be translated, with a little cutting here and there. Others, and by far the greatest number, must be abso- lutely reconstructed, the characters altered and re-named, the minor incidents invented anew, the whole play denationalized and worked over on the American plan. CHAPTER XVII. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. Exposition. In the preceding chapters we have seen ■what a play is, and what the elements are that go to its construction. We have now to consider the process by which the material is to be put together in organized form. 1. Making the Outline. — The story of the play having been decided upon, the first step is to make a rough outline of the drama that is to be. As has been said, every dra- matic story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. These are known respectively as, — (1.) The exposition, or introduction. (2.) The height, or climax. (3.) The close, or catastrophe. 2. Intervals. — Names are also given to the intervals between the above stages of the story, as follows : — (1.) The growth, rise, or tying of the knot. (2.) The fall, untying, or denouement. The growth, rise, or tying of the knot is all that comes between the exposition and the height. The fall, untying or denouement, is all that comes between the height and the close. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 99 The significance of these terms may be made apparent to the eye by means of the following diagram : — a Beginning of the action. ah Exposition. be Growth. c Height. cd Fall. d Close, or catastrophe. The word denouement is frequently used as an equivalent for catastrophe. This is in- correct. It is literally the untying (French denouer, to untie), and includes all between the height and the close. 3. Purpose of the Exposition. — Before the curtain rises, the audience knows no more of the story than can be learned from the playbill or programme. From this source they may be expected to ascertain only the names and chief peculiarities of the charac- ters, the time and place of the supposed ac- tion, the number of acts, and a vague sugges- tion of what the story is to be.^ Consequently «t is necessary, at the beginning of the play, ^ See Chapter xii. 2 and 3. 100 THE ART OF PLAYWRITINQ. to put the spectator in possession of all the facts necessary to a perfect comprehension of the story as it unrolls before him. All this explanatory part of the play, before the real movement begins, is called the exposition. 4. Management of the Exposition. — The art of the exposition lies in introducing all the necessary facts without interrupting the flow of the action. 5. Methods of Exposition. — The prin- cipal methods of exposition are the follow- ing : — (1.) Prologue. (2.) Allowing the characters to narrate the facts. (3.) Arranging the first part of the action in such a way that it will tell all the facts while carrying on the story at the same time. 6. The Prologue. — The prologue is of two kinds : — (1.) The spoken prologue. (2.) The acted prologue. 7. The Spoken Prologue. — This favorite device of old English comedy — a few lines of verse recited by one of the actors before the rising of the curtain — has passed entirely out of vogue. In its latter days it lost its explanatory function, and served merely as a vehicle of social satire. A similar bit of verse or prose, recited after the play, is called the epilogue. Few modern audiences will wait for an epilogue. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 101 8. The Acted Prologue. — The acted pro- logue is frequently used to introduce events occurring some years before the main action of the play takes place. It is generally a bunglesome device, and indicates that the dramatist does not have his story well in hand. Moreover, it does not escape the main difficulty, because the prologue must itself have an exposition. The original form of the acted prologue was the dumb show, in which the main features of the play were acted out in pantomime. An example of this may be found in the play performed before the court in Hamlet. The function of the dumb show is fulfilled in modern times by the printed playbill or pro- gramme. 9. Exposition by Narration. — The most obvious method of presenting explanatory matter is to put it in the mouth of one of the characters. Thus the young dramatist, if it is necessary for the audience to know that Angelina is a foundling, will bring in two characters, seat them on opposite sides of the stage, and make one of them begin as fol- lows : " It is a strange, sad story. You must know that one cold rt'inter night, seventeen years ago, a basket was left upon my door- step," and so on, until the story is told. The impropriety of this method will ap- pear if we remember that the essence of the drama is action, not narration. Scenes of this 102 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. character, even when broken up into dialogue, are invariably prosy and wearisome, and should always be avoided. It is not practi- cable entirely to dispense with the narrative element, but it should be reduced to the smallest possible proportions. 10. Spirited Narration. — A very effec- tive form of narrative exposition is to make one of the characters, discovered at rise, de- scribe the action supposed to be going on out- side the stage. This admits of considerable action, and forms a good preparation for the enters which follow. The following is the opening scene of Meilhac and Halevy's Frow- Frou, in Daly's brilliant adaptation : — Pauline is discovered, as the curtain rises to merry music, arranging a bouquet in a vase at L. The noise of a whip is heard, and she turns and looks off, R., through the arch. Pauline. Who 's coming now ? [Goes to the arches and looks off.] WTiy, if it is n't Mademoiselle Gilberte and that charming' M. de Valreas ! What on earth can be the matter, that they are galloping in that way ? Oh, Monsieur might have spared his horse. Mademoiselle always comes in first. Now he 's assisting her to dis- mount. They are coming here ! [ She runs to the vase of flowers again.\ How long they are! [Turns.] Made- moiselle must have gone to her room direct. \Returns to arch, C. ] That 's certain, for here comes M. de Valreas alone. How gracefully he bears defeat ! Enter Valreas, R. C. , looking back. Another illustration may be found in the exposition of Robertson's Rome : — Lucy discovered seated on a so/a, L. C, holding a note. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 103 Lucy. [Agitated.} It 'a past twelve. What can it mean ? [Reading.^ " Will come in by the kitchen gar- den when I have watched your papa out." \^Looking from window.} There he is ! There 's my Bertie ! [Kiss- ing her hand.] He 's standing on the gate ! He sees me ! Now, he 's tumbled down and hurt himself ! Poor fel- low ! I know he 's bruised. That nasty gate, to go and let him fall ! Why, he 's coming in at the window, and not at the door ! What does this mean ? [Enter Bertie from B. window, limping.] Bertie! 11. Points of Effectiveness. — Notice, in both the foregoing instances, — (1.) That the scene described is a vivid and exciting one. (2.) That it is one in which the observer is intensely interested, especially in the second illustration. (3.) That it gives opportunity for action, emotion, expression of consternation by ges- tures, etc. (4.) That it leads at once to an enter, the scene outside being, so to speak, immediately transferred to the stage. Many striking instances of effective narra- tion might be pointed out in modern plays; but they are placed, not at the beginning, but in the body of the play, after the spectator's sympathy has been secured. In other cases, as, e. g., the long narrative of the last act of The Bells (an adaptation of Erckmann-Cha- trian's Le Juif Polonnais), rendered with so great effect by Mr. Irving, the accompanying action deprives the lines of their narrative character. 104 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. 12. Exposition made Part of the Story. — This is the only truly artistic method of exposition. It is also by far the most diffi- cult, often taxing the dramatist's ingenuity to the utmost. In many cases where it appears impracticable, the fault will be found to lie, not with the method or the dramatist, but in the faulty and incoherent construction of the story itself. The test of a well-built story is not infrequently its ability to carry along with it its own exposition. 13. Implication. — The means most often used to make the action form its own exposi- tion is implication ; i. e., the information is indirectly implied, not directly told. It may be implied, — (1.) By words. (2.) By action. 14. Implication by Words. — An illus- tration may be used to make this method clear : — The curtain rises and discovers a gentle- man and a servant. The things to be told the audience are, — (1.) The gentleman's name. (2.) The fact that he has come to call or. the master of the house. (3.) That the master of the house is his in- timate friend. (4.) That his friend is married. (5.) That he has married an heiress, and fallen into luxurious habits. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 105 The direct method of exposition would sus- pend the action of the story while one char- acter or the other gives this information. The following dialogue, from Augier's Le Gendre de Monsieur Poirier, will show how these facts may be implied in the words used to carry on the action ; the action being in this case the call itself, and the determined effort of the caller to see the master of the house : — Servant. I must tell you again, sir, that you cannot see the marquis. He is not yet out of bed. Hector. At nine o'clock in the morning ! [ylsiVfe.] To be sure, the sun rises late during the honeymoon. \^Aloud.] When do they breakfast here ? Servant. At eleven. But what 's that ;;o you ? Hector. Put on a plate for me . . . Enter Gaston. Gaston. What! You? [They embrace.] Servant. [Aside.\ A nice mess I 've made of it 1 Hector. Dear Gaston ! Gaston. Dear Hector ! 15. Analysis of Implication by Words. — Notice in the above, — (1.) How the fact that Hector cannot see Gaston (a part of the action) is made to im- ply that Gaston is luxurious in his habits (a part of the exposition). (2.) How Hector, in accounting for his fail- ure to see Gaston (action), implies that Gaston is married (exposition). (3.) How Hector's remark to the servant, " Put on a plate for me," implies that he has been a familiar friend of Gaston's. 106 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. (4.) How the natural exclamations of tbti two men in greeting one another are made to tell the name of each. For further illustration, take the opening of the Long Strike, in which Boucicault intro- duces a meeting of the mill-owners, and makes the proceedings of this meeting serve to acr quaint the audience with the particulars of the strike : — Parlor of Seven Star Inn. Armttage discovered at table ; Brooke, R., corner table ; Aspinwall, L., second chair; Readley at table; Crankshaw discovered at door, a. 3 H. ; noise outside ; voices outside at rise ; music. Armitage. Have you dispersed the crowd ? Crankshaw. No, sir ; the people are very orderly, but they will not move on. Readley. The street below is impassable ; the mob in- creases. Armitage. Very well. {Exit Crankshaw. Armitage rises.} Gentlemen, we have to deal with a most perilous crisis. The workin^men of Manchester have now main- tained the longest strike on record. The claims I advanced some weeks ago were, I confess, extravagant ; but I hear that moderate counsels have lately prevailed amongst them. Let us hope that tlie moment has arrived when, by mutual concession — Readley. I, for one, will concede nothing. The longer this strike is maintained, the more salutary wiU be the lesson. Their suffering, wantonly self-inflicted, ■will remain a tradition amongst similar combinations. Brooke. I agree with Mr. Readley. Concession, to these people, is encouragement Crankshaw. The deputation of the working committee IB below, gentlemen. Enter Crankshaw R. 3 E. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 107 Armitage. How is it composed ? D' ye know the men? Crankshaw. Yes, sir. There 's Noah Learoyd — Armitage. The crazy enthusiast ? I am sorry he is amongst them. Well ? Crankshaw. James Starkee, John O'Dick, and Old Sharrock. Beadley. These are the ringleaders. 16. Implication by Action. — An illus- tration will suffice for this also : — While several persons are on the stage, a gentleman enters, and finds himself face to face with a lady. Both start back in extreme surprise, stare at each other for an instant, then, as they recover their composure, bow coldly, and the lady exits, while the gentle- man glances after her out of one corner of his eye ; without a word being said, the audi- ence has been told that these two characters have, at some time in the past, sustained rela- tions to each other. 17. Length of Exposition. — The neces- sary explanations should be introduced as near the beginning of the play as possible, since, if brought in later, when the story is fairly under way, they interrupt the action and dissipate the interest. As a rule, the ex- planatory matter should be all in by the end of the first act, in a five-act play, or, in gen- eral, before one fifth of the play is completed. A new character, introduced in the middle or latter part of a play, sometimes demands 108 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. further exposition. In such, cases, a proper preparation for enter * will convey all needed explanation. In most cases, it will be found inexpedient to introduce new characters after the exposition proper, unless there is a chance to double up.^ 1 See Chapter xL 12. « See Chapter xiii. 22. I CHAPTEE XVIII. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION {continued). Growth. 1. Growth and Exposition. — The gro-wth, or tying of the knot, has been defined as in- cluding all that portion of the story which lies between the exposition and the point of greatest interest. Practically, however, there is no strictly drawn boundary line betAveen exposition and growth. The interest of the best plays begins with the opening lines. The action develops uninterruptedly. What- ever exposition is needed is conveyed, as was explained in the last chapter, by implication, and so forms part of the growth itself. It is convenient, however, to speak of the exposi- tion as continuing until all the presupposi- tions have been set forth, and all the charac- ters introduced. 2. Conflict and Plot. — As before ex- plained, every dramatic story is founded on the conception of a character striving to ac- complish some purpose in which he is thwarted by another character. This brings about a conflict, or clash of interests, which becomes more serious and more complicated 110 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. as tlie play proceeds, and forms tlie intrigue or plot. 3. Beginning of the Growth. — The growth properly begins, then, at the point at which the disturbing element is introduced. We have perhaps a quiet scene, introducing two or three of the principal characters. Every one seems fairly happy, and everything seems going fairly well, when, suddenly, in comes some character whose mission is to de- stroy this peace and serenity. In a moment all is turmoil and consternation. The main action has begun. The virtuous characters struggle to maintain their happiness, the vil- lain strives to undermine them. Plot and counter-plot follow in quick succession, until the interest culminates in the climax. An example may be taken from Peacock^s Holiday, an adaptation, by H. C. Merivale, of Labiche's Le Voyage de Monsieur Perichon. Eobin Swayne and Stephen Tickell are two young men in love with Mary Peacock. Mary being on a tour in Wales with her father, Eobin thinks it a good chance to get ahead of his rival by taking the same tour, and so fall- ing in with the Peacock family apparently by accident. Scene : Exterior of an inn among the Welsh mountains. Robin. [Throwing himself on the bench.] This after- noou ! Then I'm just in the nick of time. I daresay old Peacock will ask me to join the party, and, once let me do so, I '11 see if I can't stick on for the rest of the tour. Fancy being in a Welsh car with Mary Peacock ! I THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. Ill Dear Mary, what a surprise it will be to her to see me ! In London there was always somebody in the way, espe- cially that fellow Tickell, ray oldest friend. But I 've got rid of him now ; he never would have thought of fol- lowing Mary down to Wales. He's off to Switzerland for his month's holiday, and thinks I 'm ditto to Scot- land. Hang it, how tired I am ! Where 's that beer ? Enter Stephen, R. C, with knapsack. Stephen. Waiter ! Pint of beer, and a bedroom. Robin. [^Jumping up ; aside.] That voice ! Tickell I Confound it ! Stephen. [Seeing him ; aside.\ That face ! Swayne ! Damn it ! Robin. [Asidei] I fancied the fellow was safe in Switzerland. Stephen. {Aside.\ I thought the beggar was snug in Scotland. The clash of interest has begun, and the growth is fairly started. 4. Elements of the Conflict. — The con- flict of interests is not by any means confined invariably to the virtuous and the wicked, al- though, in all plays of a serious character, a conflict of this nature is certain to be found. In comedy, the clash usually comes about through misunderstandings of various sorts, though the same means, if properly employed, will bring to pass scenes of a highly pathetic and even tragic character. In the first act of Frou-Frou, Louise be- lieves, up to a certain point, that Sartorys is in love with her. Notice how this misunder- standing results in a conflict of interests in the highest degree pathetic : — 112 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. Louise. [To Sartorys.\ How late you are to-day I [Her manner must evince love for him and pleasure in his company. She motions to a chair ; they sit.] Sartorys. [Seriously i\ I suppose I 'm late because I left home earlier than usual. {_Louise laughs.] I '11 ex- plain. I was in such a hurry to get here that I started from the chateau at a full gallop ; but when I got within a hundred paces of the gate I stopped, turned my horse, and for a whole hour walked him about the neighbor- hood. I came back to the gate three times, and three times turned away again. The fourth time, however, I did like all cowards when they make up their minds to be brave. I plunged in head foremost, and here I am, a little later than usual, perhaps, but still here I am. Louise. [Who has followed himwith interest and laugh- ingly, but now beginning to show her emotion.] What was the cause of this hesitation ? Sartorys. It is because I have decided to say some- thing to-day that I have wished to say for the last month. That is the reason why I trembled all the way here, and why I still — Louise. If what you have to say is so very serious — Sartorys. [Seriously.] It is. Louise. [Moved. ] Perhaps you had better wait — Sartorys. Oh, no, I must positively go through with it to-day. Besides, before I speak I can gain courage by remembering how good you have always been to me. And then, your father authorized me to — Louise. Oh, if papa — Sartorys. He did ! And more than that, he said I must first speak to you. Jjouise. [Deep emotion.] To me ! Sartorys. [Taking her hand.] Have you not guessed ? I am in love. Louise. [Scarcely audible.] You love ! Sartorys. Yes ! I love madly, devotedly — your sis- ter ! Gilberte ! [Louise, as if petrified, at first says nothing ; simply raises her eyes to Sartorys, then — ] THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 113 Louise. Gilberte ! Sartorys. Did you not suspect it ? Louise. \Breath.less.\ No. 5. Main and Subsidiary Actions. — The story, if told in the most straightforward way, would, in most cases, soon be over with. It is necessary to prolong it, to expand it at va- rious points, to give it variety and contrast. This is partly effected by the introduction of new characters at opportune points, bringing in fresh life and interest at the very moment when the action seems about to flag ; but mainly by the use of subsidiary actions, off- shoots of the main action, but yet so inti- mately connected with it that the attention will not be distracted from the movement of the plot as a whole. 6. Example of Subsidiary Action. — In Act I., Scene 3, of the Long Strike, we are introduced to Noah Learoyd's dwelling. The main action of the play is the reply of the mill-owners to the demand of the workmen's delegates. The plain and straightforward telling of the story demands that the dele- gates be brought on the stage at once, and the result of their mission related. Instead of this, the writer skillfully introduces a sub- sidiary scene, as follows : — Noah's dwelling. Gentleman from London, Jack O^ Bobs, Tom O'Bills, Maggie, Susan, and two small children, and all the mill hands discovered at change. Clerk, seated at table, upon which is a bag of money, ledger, writing mate- rials, and lighted candles; crowd gathered round table i murmurs by crowd. 114 THE ART OF PL AY WRITING. Gentleman from London. [Taking L. of C, back to audience, reading list.] Susan 'Olland, two Ainfaiits and von 'usband, Aoperatives Aon the strike ; one shilling and threepence for the man, Aeightpence for the woman, and threepence a 'ead for Aeach Ainfant ; total, two an' threepence ha'penny. Maggie. [As Susan is about to take money.] Stop I Her man is dead. Thou hast no right to draw for he, lass ! Gentleman. Dead ? Tom. Aye, he be as dead as a door-post. Gentleman. For shame, Mrs. 'Olland! 'ow could you Aimpose Aon the " London Central Strike Fund ? " Susan. Oh, sir, my babies are clemming. Gentleman. Clemming ? Wliat does she mean ? Jack. Starving, sir ; that 's all. Gentleman. Ketire, Mrs. 'Olland, babies Aain't on the list. [Reads.] Jack O'Bobbs ! Jack. That 's me. Gentleman. Full-growed Aoperatives, one and three- pence. [Clerk hands money to Jack.] Jack. [Turns to Susan.] Here, lass, take it. I can clem better than thee and thy childer. [Gives money to Susan. Crowd murmurs approvingly.] Tom. That 's right, Jack, thou art a good lad, and as long as I have a shilling we '11 share it together. Omnes. Aye, aye ! Tom. But here comes the delegates. Omnes. Aye ! the delegates, the delegates ! Ejiter Noah, Sharrock, Staley, and O' Dick. Noah. [Making way through crowd ; stands by table.'\ We came from the masters. Omnes. Well, well ? Noah. [Hands paper to Clerk, who hands it to Gentle- man from London.] There, man, read it out, for I 've not the heart to do it. Gentleman. [Reads.] " The masters give you twenty- four hours to return to work. [Murmwrs.] After that THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 115 time, every mill will be closed against you. IMurmurs. ] No further communications will be received. Signed, for the Masters' League, Richard Readley." 7. Analysis of Illustration. — Notice in the above passage the following points, which may be laid down as rules for the subsidiary action : — (1.) The scene is of itseK an interesting one. (2.) It is closely connected with the main action, since it shows the desperate condition to which the operatives have been reduced. (3.) It leads up to the entrance of the dele- gates with the reply of the mill-owners, the hard conditions being made to seem doubly hard by the misery portrayed in the preceding lines. It is perhaps worthy of mention, that the enter of the delegates is not as well prepared for as it might be. Tom's exclamation, " But here comes the delegates," is too evidently merely a device for getting them on. A word or two of anxiety earlier in the scene, on the part of some of those present, would have obviated this defect. 8. Episodes. — The playwright must be especially cautioned against the introduction of episodes, subsidiary actions or scenes which do not carry on the main action. How- ever interesting an episode may be of itself, however humorous or pathetic, it should be ruthlessly cast aside unless it in some way 116 THE ART OF PLAYWRITINQ. helps on the principal current of the story. To put the same fact in another way, what- ever can be taken out of the play without in- terrupting the flow or decreasing the interest of the story should be left out altogether. 9. Series of Climaxes. — If the story grows continually in interest, the introduc- tion of the various characters, with their con- flicting aims, will lead to a series of situa- tions and climaxes, which themselves will be arranged in a climax. Thus, if we employ the diagram used in the last chapter, the growth of Bulwer's Lady of Lyons may be represented as follows : — h Beauseant rejected. Act I., So. 1. c The plan of revenge. Act. I., Sc. 2. d Claude rejected. Act I., Sc. 3. e The offer of revenge. Act I., Sc. 3. f Claude, as the Prince, suffers remorse^ THEORETICAL CONSTRCCTION. 117 but consents to marry Pauline. Act II., Sc. 1. g The fight with Damas. Act II., Sc. 1. h The Prince warned to fly. Act II., Sc. 1. i Pauline consents to an immediate mar- riage. Act II., Sc. 1. j Claude refuses Beauseant's money. Act III., Sc. 1. k Pauline discovers the deception. Act III., Sc. 2 {grand climax). The exposition, in this play, extends from a to (2. CHAPTEE XIX. THEOEETicAL CONSTRUCTION (continued). The Height, or Grand Climax. 1. Tying of the Knot. — From the pre- ceding chapter it will readily appear that the business of the growth is to involve the hero and heroine in apparently inextricable diffi- culties. Each new turn of the plot winds the coils firmer and tighter about the hero or heroine, until a stage is reached at which there seems no possible chance of escape. Things have come to the worst imaginable pass. The ingenuity of the playwright has reached a point where, within the limits of the story, it can no further go. All the sus- pense which has been growing from the be- ginning of the play is concentrated in one grand situation. The knot is tied, and all that is left to do is to untie it as skillfully as may be. This point of highest interest is the Climax, or Height. 2. Rules of the Height. — The highest point of interest should meet the following requirements : — (1.) It should be a direct consequence of the preceding action. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 119 (2.) It should sum up all the preceding climaxes. (This is in case there is but a single height. See, this chapter, No. 6.) (3.) It should occur in the latter half of the play. 3. Height as Consequence of the Growth. — This principle might perhaps be stated more practically in the form of a cau- tion : Do not use a striking situation as climax just because it has elements of strength. A " strong " situation is a fine thing ; and, once found or imagined, it should be placed where it can be laid hold of at a moment's notice. But, as part of an actual play, it will be worse than wasted unless it is the natural outcome of all the action that has preceded. The grand climax must not be tacked on at the end of a row of incidents ; it must appear to grow out of them as naturally and inevitably as a flower from its bud. 4. Height as Summing up of the Growth. — In an artistically written play, the height will appear to gather together all the striking scenes that have preceded it, and to pass them in review. The reason for this will appear from tlie foregoing paragraph. The height is the direct outcome of the growth. When it occurs, the spectator rapidly traverses in mind all the stages of interest from the beginning of the play, and seems to find a reason for them all in the situation be* fore him. 120 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. 5. Place of the Height. — Throughout the growth, the problem of the dramatist is to build up the interest progressively by adding one complication after another. After the climax is passed, the problem is to remove the complications in such a way that the interest shall not flag. It will be readily seen that the first process is much more susceptible of expansion than the latter. For this reason, the fall should be much shorter than the growth ; and, in consequence, the climax should be placed somewhere between the middle and the end of the play. In five-act plays, it commonly falls near the close of the third act, — sometimes in the fourth act. In The Lady of Lyons the climax comes in Act III,, Sc. 2, with the disillusionment of Paul- ine. In Othello the climax is reached in Act IV., Sc. 1, where Othello becomes convinced of his wife's infidelity. The climax may be said to reach its culmination in the blow which Othello deals Desdemona : — Oth. Fire and brimstone ! Bes. My lord ? Oth. Are you wise ? Des. What 1 Is he angry ? Lod. Maybe the letter moved him ; For, as I think, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his government. Des. By my troth, I am glad on 't. Oth. Indeed ! Bes. My lord ? Oth. I am glad to see you mad. Des. How, sweet Othello ? Oth. Devil ! [Striking her.] THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 121 6. Multiple Climaxes. — The rage for strong situations, so prevalent at the present day, has led to the construction of plays in which there are two or more grand climaxes of apparently equal importance. Indeed, in not a few of our most successful plays, the growth and fall take up but a brief portion at the beginning and end ; all the remainder con- sisting of a series of grand climaxes following one another as rapidly as the writer can man- age to bring them about. Plays thus con- structed must be regarded as inartistic, though here, as every^vhere, success must inspire a certain degree of respect. It is this class of plays that appeals most strongly to the un- cultured. The " gallery " does not know very much about art, but it can tell a strong situ- ation as unerringly as can the parquet. A good play, from the standpoint of the gallery, is one made up of a succession of knock-down effects ; and so long as the gallery exists as a paying institution, so long will such plays be in demand. 7. Management of Multiple Climaxes. — Almost the only rule that can be given for the management of several climaxes is, to make the last one invariably the strongest. Practically, the terms " situation " and " cli- max " are used as synonymous. Many pro- fessional play -readers speak of a play as hav- ing numerous strong situations, when, in fact, the so-called situations are a series of clL- maxes. 122 THE ART OF PLATWRITINQ. When there are but two climaxes, the out* line should be like the first rather than the second of the following diagrams : — The following form should be carefully avoided, as it constitutes an anii-climax ; ^ — • Where there are a number of climaxes, any of the following outlines may be followed, the third being preferable, — b xy z c "bxy z i'J a a d a The meaning of the letters in the above diagrams is as follows : — a Beginning of play. h c X y z Climaxes. d Close. ^ A climax less important than the preceding one, and consequently less striking. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 123 8. Illustration. — A good example of well- managed double climax may be found in Bul- wer's Richelieu. In Act III., Sc. 2, the con- spiracy reaches its height. It is the darkest hour for Richelieu. Francois has lost the packet. The Cardinal has fled to Ruelle, whither is coming Huguet, with his band of traitors. To crown all, De Mauprat enters the Cardinal's chamber to slay him. The cli- max is reached when the former, lifting his visor, exclaims, " Expect no mercy ! Be- hold De Mauprat ! " But the resources of the dramatist are not yet exhausted. Richelieu escapes the conspirators only to discover that the king has turned against him, and that his power is apparently gone forever. Thus a second climax of greater force is brought about in Act IV., Sc. 2, where Bai'adas cornea to take Julie to the king. CHAPTER XX. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION OF A PLAY (cOTlf tinned). The Fall. 1. Object of the Fall. — The playwright may now be conceived to have brought the growth of interest and suspense to its highest point. But he may not stop here. The story, it will be remembered, must be complete. It must be carried to a point where there is nothing more to tell. He cannot, therefore, pause with his characters hanging, as it were, in mid-air. He must conduct the story to some fitting conclusion, after which the audi- ence will depart in peace, — calm, passion- spent, and satisfied. 2. Management of the Fall. — The art of the fall, or untying of the knot, consists in removing the various suspense-creating com- plications in such a way as not to destroy the interest. The methods of accomplishing this differ somewhat as the ending is to be a happy or an unhappy one. 3. The Pall in Comedy. — In comedies (including, for the moment, under the term THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 125 all plays ending happily), the problem of the growth is to get the hero and heroine into difficulties. Hence the method of the fall will be to dissipate the clouds, either by show- ing that the difficulties are mere figments of the imagination, or by so ordering the inci- dents that the obstacles will be destroyed. It must be kept in mind, however, that, if the suspense is entirely removed at any one point, the audience will at once lose interest in the action. It is the business of the dramatist to see that not all the causes of suspense are re- moved at once ; and that, as often as one diffi- culty is taken away, the presence of others is at once suggested. There are four ways of doing this : — (1.) By interposing some new and unex- pected obstacle. (2.) By emphasizing some obstacle already known to exist. (3.) By bringing to light an obstacle which is at once seen to have existed all the time. (4.) By causing a new obstacle to result from the very removal of others. 4. Interposition of New Obstacles. — This method is justifiable only when the new difficulty is in some way the result of pre- vious action. Two men, for example, have become involved in a series of difficulties, ending in their imprisonment. They manage to overpower the jailor, and make their way through the corridors to a door which they 126 THE ART OF PLAYWRITING. believe will let them into the street. The suspense seems about to be removed. They open the door, and find themselves in the guard-room of the prison. A new element of suspense now takes the place of the old one. Obviously, however, unless there is some good reason for the fugitives coming to this par- ticular door, the device is mere clap-trap. If, on the other hand, the audience recognizes, as soon as the door is opened, that flight must inevitably have led to this one door, the inci- dent becomes both justifiable and artistically effective. In light comedy, when surprise is the only end in view, new and ingenious obstacles are introduced in profusion, with little regard to artistic construction. Even these, however, may be in a measure prepared for. In the following scene from Gilbert's Engaged, the entrance of Cheviot Hill is apparently the end of the suspense ; but a new obstacle is in- terposed by Cheviot's announcement that the McQuibbigaskie has gone abroad. The fact, however, that some reply was expected, serves as preparation for the unexpected announce- ment : — Minnie. [Nervously.^ Oh, Belinda, the terrible mo- ment is at hand. \^Sits on sofa, L.] Miss Treherne. Minnie, if dear Cheviot should prove to be ray husband, swear to me that that will not prevent your coming to stop with us — with dear Cheviot and me — whenever you can. Minnie. Indeed I will. And if it should turn out THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 127 that dear Cheviot is at liberty to marry me, promise me that that will not prevent your looking- on our house — on dear Cheviot's and mine — as your house. Miss Treherne. I swear it. We will be like dear, dear sisters. [Enter Cheviot, as/rom journey, D. F. B., with bag and rug.] Miss Treherne, Cheviot, tell me at once ; are you my own husband ? Minnie. Cheviot, speak ; is poor, little, simple Minnie to be your bride ? Cheviot. [Sits on chair, R.] Minnie, the hope of my heart, my pet fruit tree ! Belinda, my Past, my Present, and my To Come ! I have sorry news, sorry news ! Miss Treherne. [Aside.] Sorry news I Then I am not his wife. Minnie. [Aside.] Sorry news ! Then she is his wife. Cheviot. My dear girls, my dear girls, my journey has been fruitless ; I have no information. Miss T. and Min. No information ! Cheviot. None. The McQuibbigaskie has gone abroad I 5. Emphasizing Known Obstacles. — This is not so effective as the last method, for the reason that the element of surprise, unless the audience is inclined to be forgetful, may be wholly lacking. The usual means of introducing such obstacles is by some such phraseology as " one difficulty is surmounted, now for the rest ! " Thus, in the third act of Robertson's Home, after Col. White has ordered Mrs. Pinchbeck out of the house, an- other obstacle is introduced in the person of her brother, Mountraffe : — ilfrs. Pinchbeck. Do you wish to insult me ? Col. White. No ! Only to induce you to pack ap^ 128 THE ART OF PLAYWBITINQ. Mrs. P. Can't I insult you ? Col. No. Mrs. P. Why not ? Col. Because, you're a -woman; and I acknowledge the superiority of your sex over yourself. Enter Mountrujfe, D. U. E. L. Mountraffe. Pamela! \^Down C.^ Col. [Seeing him, aside] Oh, this is a very difFerent affair. I need n't keep my temper now. \_After apause.^ I won't. 6. Necessary Obstacles. — Obstacles of this character are those which naturally result from the characteristics of the dramatis per- sonce. As the progress of the drama moves towards reconciliation of interests, new com- binations and clashes inevitably result. An illustration may be taken from Act V., Sc. 1, of Boucicault's London Assurance. Lady Spanker lays a scheme to punish Sir Har- court by getting him involved in a duel. The plan seems likely to succeed, when an ele- ment of Sir Harcourt's character — courage — comes in, to give a new turn to the course of events : — Re-enter Lady Gay, L. Lady Gay. Oh ! Max, Max ! Max. Why, what 's amiss with you ? Lady Gay. I 'm a wicked woman I Max. What have you done ? Lady Gay. Everything ! Oh, I thought Sir Harcourt was a coward ; but now, I find a man may be a coxcomb without being a poltroon. Just to show my husband how inconvenient it is to hold the ribands sometimes, I made him send a challenge to the old fellow ; and he, to my surprise, accepted it, and is going to blow my Dolly's liraJna out in the billiard-roonu THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 129 Max. The devil ! Lady Gay. Just when I imagined I had got my whip- hand of him again, out comes my linch-pin, and over I go. Oh ! Max. I will soon put a stop to that. A duel under my roof I Murder in Oak Hall ! I '11 shoot them both! Exit, L. Grace. Are you really in earnest ? Lady Gay. Do you think it looks like a joke ? Oh, DoUy, if you allow yourself to be shot, I will never for- gave you ; uever ! Oh, he is a great fool, Grace ; but, I can't tell why, I would sooner lose my bridle-hand than he should be hurt on my account. 7. Obstacles Resulting from the Re- moval of Others. — This method, which re- quires some ingenuity, is always highly effec- tive, especially in light comedy. By its proper use, the fall may be prolonged indefi- nitely without decreasing the interest. In the following scene from Bronson Howard's Saratoga, notice how Sackett's conversation with Mrs. Alston, just when it seems to have acoomplished its end in removing all obsta- cles to an understanding between the latter and Benedict, suddenly leads to the interpo- sition of a more serious obstacle : — Mrs. Alston. Mr. Sackett, where 's Mr. Benedict ? Sackett. [Assuming a very serious air.] Alas, my dear Olivia, you are too late ! Mrs. Alston. Too late ! Oh, heaven ! do not say thati Sackett. Jack was my friend, my schoolmate, the com- panion of my early years. Mrs. Alston. Surely you have not — Sackett. I urged him to reflect — to consider our tf lotions — 130 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. Mrs. Alston. You have not fought already ? Sackett. Tears came into his eyes, he grasped me by the hand — Mrs. Alston. Oh, this suspense is terrible ! Sackett. " Robert," said he, " we are old friends ; but you have insulted the woman whom I love better than ten thousand lives " — I think it was ten thousand lives, I forget the exact number — "the woman I love better than ten thousand lives ; she insists upon the satis- faction of a gentleman " — I mean, the satisfaction of a woman — " and I shall protect her honor at the expense of friendship, life, everything that is dear to me." As we raised our pistols — Mrs. Alston. Oh, heaven ! as you raised your pistols — Sackett. As we raised our pistols, I said to him, "Benedict, my dear boy, it isn't too late yet;" but it was too late ; his bullet whizzed past my ear, and landed in the wall beyond. Mrs. Alston. And your bullet ? Sackett. My bullet missed my friend's heart, by less than eighteen inches. He fell ; a surgeon was summoned ; and he now lies in the next room, in a delirious condi- tion ; a victim of his love for you, madam, and his devo- tion to the dictates of manly honor. ^ Mrs. Alston. He lies in the next room ? Sackett. He lies in the next room, [aside^ and / lie in this room. Mrs. Alston. I will fly to him at once. I will — [Goes to door, R. C. Sackett hurries, and places himself between her and door.] Sackett. Not for the world, madam, not for the world ; the surgeon is with him this very moment. Mrs. Alston. Oh, he would rather have me by his side than a thousand surgeons. Sackett. I dare say he would, Mra. Alston ; but the surgeon has given strict orders that she — I would say that ^ he — must be entirely alone Avith Mr. Benedict. Mrs. Alston. Mr. Sackett, stand back ; Mr. Benedict is suffering on my account. I insist on flying to his side. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 131 {She pushes him aside; flies to door; opens it, and entera, 22. C Sackett staggers to chair B. of table, and sinks into it.] Sackett. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! now for an explosion! [Re-enter Mrs. Alston, followed by Benedict, trying ti explain ; they walk E. and L. and up and down.] Benedict. My dear Olivia ! — Mrs. Alston. Silence, sir ; not a word from you ! Qo back to your surgeon, sir ! Benedict. [R] "Surgeon!" Mrs. Alston. [L., to Sackett, who turns his back, stride ing his chair, as she turns to him.] So this is your " de- lirium," sir, — a " victim of his love for me, and his devo- tion to the dictates of manly honor ' ' — oh, I could tear his eyes out, and those of his " surgeon " too. 8. The Fall in Tragedy. — In comedy, the movement from the climax onward is to- ward a happy ending. The audience feels that a reconciliation is approaching, and hails with delight the removal of the various obsta- cles which stand in the way. In tragedy, the situation is almost the reverse. The audience is, from the beginning of the fall, made to an- ticipate some dreadful disaster. The conflict is seen to be irreconcilable, death inevitable. The problem of the playwright in this case is, as before, to produce suspense, but under dif- ferent conditions. He knows, if he is a stu- dent of human nature, that there is a horrible fascination in an impending calamity, and that, if vividly suggested and rapidly brought on, it will suffice to hold the attention of his audience. Furthermore, he knows, or should know, that this sense of fascination may be 132 THE ART OF PLAY WRITING. both relieved and heightened by the effect of contrast. A sudden gleam of hope makes the despair that follows a hundred times mor# pathetic. 9. Happy Ending Suggested. — The method, therefore, of the tragic dramatist for prolonging the suspense after the climax has been passed, is to suggest possible means of escape from the impending fate. Romeo may rescue Juliet from the tomb and bear her away to Mantua, Hamlet may escape the poisoned foil and cup, Macbeth has yet one chance of life — he cannot be slain by one of woman born. It is unnecessary to go into de- tails upon this point. Here, as everywhere, it is best that the suggestions of possible escape should not be arbitrary, but such as grow naturally out of the circumstances of the action. It is worth noting that, as the action draws near the catastrophe, a very slight hint of reprieve will send a wave of hope through an attentive audience. The spectator will clutch at it as the drowning man is said to clutch at straws. Those who have heard Barrett in the following scene from Boker's Francesca da Rimini, will per- haps recall the flashes of hope occasioned by Lanciotto's questions. Although it was per- fectly obvious that no happy ending was pos- sible for the two lovers, yet the sympathetic heart of the spectator persisted in hoping against hope that Paolo might make his peace with Lanciotto : — THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 133 Lan. Silence, both of yon I Its guilt so talkative in its defence ? Then, let me make you judge and advocate In your own cause. You are not guilty ? Paolo. Yes. Lan. Deny it — but a word — say, No. Lie, lie 1 And I '11 believe. Paolo. I dare not. Lan. Lady, you ? Fran. If I might speak for him — Lan. It cannot be ; Speak for yourself. Do you deny your guilt ? Fran. No ; I assert it ; but — Lan. lu heaven's name, hold ! Will neither of you answer No to me ? A nod, a hint, a sign, for your escape. Bethink you, life is centred in this thing. Speak ! I ■will credit either. No reply ? What does your crime deserve ? Paolo. Death. Fran. Death to both Lan. Well said ! Yoa speak the law of Italy ; And by the dagger you designed for me, In Pepe's hand, — your bravo ? Paolo. It is false ! If you received my dagger from his hand He stole it. Lan. There, sweet heaven, I knew ; And now you will deny the rest ? You see, my friends, How easy of belief I have become ! — How easy 't were to cheat me ! Paolo. No ; enough 1 I will not load my groaning spirit more ; A lie would crush it. Lan. Brother, once you gave Life to this wretched piece of workmanship. When my own hand resolved its overthrow. Revoke the gift. [Offers to stab himself.] Paolo. [Preventing him.] Hold, homicide 1 134 THE ART OF PL AY WRITING. Lan. But, think, You and Francesca may live happily, After my death, as only lovers can. 10. Mediated Tragedy.^ — In plays where the tragic close is avoided, and the action which seemed tending towards a calamity is brought around to a happy ending, the two methods just described are to be found in combination. While stress is being laid upon the supremacy of fate, suggestions of possible escape are introduced ; when the prospect of a happy termination becomes apparent, sus- pense is kept up by the introduction of fresh obstacles. 1 See Chapter viii. CHAPTER XXI. THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION OP A PLAT (con- tinued). The Close, or Catastrophe. 1. Kinds of Close. — The close of the play, with, playwrights who have no con- scientious scruples about their art, is a very simple matter. Kill the villain and pair the virtuous, is rule enough for them ; and as soon as the play has reached its time limit, this is done, and the performance is over. Careful construction, it is hardly necessary to say, de- mands a closer relation of fitness between the end of the play and the play itself. Hence, we find three different kinds of close, corre- sponding to the three main classes of plays : — (1.) The catastrophe of tragedy. (2.) The close of comedy. (3.) The close of mediated drama. 2. The Tragic Catastrophe. — The close of tragedy is always a catastrophe ; that is, the death of one or more of the characters. The most important rule regarding it is, that it must be the direct outcome of the whole action of the play, and, therefore, be seen to be necessary and inevitable. An arbi- 136 THE ART OF PLATWRITING. trary, needless death is in the highest degree inartistic. 3. Death the Result of Transgression. — In order to satisfy our sense of justice and equity, a tragic death must be the result of some violation of law, social or divine. The transgression may be direct and conscious, as in the case of Macbeth. The catastrophe is then said to be a case of " poetic justice." Or, the character who commits the fault may do so unwittingly, and even believe that he is doing a bounden duty, as in the case of Lear when he casts off Cordelia. In many cases, the tragic result is due to a defect of char- acter, as, e. g., the irresolution of Hamlet. The important point in every case is, that the death be made to result from some action or trait intimately connected with the character which renders a happy ending out of the question. 4. Management of the Tragic Catas- trophe. As tragedies pure and simple are in no great demand at the present day, detailed instructions on this point would perhaps be a waste of space ; but one or two suggestions may be given. The playwright should re- member that it is not the mere termination of animal life which is effective on the stage, but the associations that go with it. The aim, therefore, should be not merely to kill the character, but to make of his death a pa- thetic situation. This may be done by sug- THEORETICAL CONSTRUCTION. 137 gesting at the moment of death the happiness that might have been, or emphasizing some noble trait of character that makes regret for the death more poignant. Compare, for ex- ample, the speeches of Paolo, in the quotation made in the preceding chapter from Francesca da Rimini, the last utterances of Othello, and the dying words of Marguerite, in Dumas's La Dame aux Camelias (Camille). Few catastrophes are better managed than the following from Frou-Frou (adapted by Augustin Daly), with its characteristic touch of pathos in the last exclamation of Gil- berte : — Sartorys. [Taking her hand, and kneeling.] Oh, Qil- berte, it is not you who need forgiveness ; it is I. Gilberte. Forgive you for — for what ? For having loved me too well ? Oh, that has been my misf ortmie ; all have loved me too well. Louise. [Sobbing.] Gilberte ! Gilberte. And that is why I die — so happy. [Falling back.] Oh! All. [Believing her dead.] Gilberte ! Gilberte. [Supported by Sartory.