WWW 
 
HOW TO WRITE A GOOD PLAY. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, 
 ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL, E.G. 
 
HOW TO WRITE 
 
 A GOOD PLAY 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK ARCHER 
 
 * That's a question : how shall we try it ? '* 
 
 The Comedy of Errors, Act V., Scene I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON COMPANY 
 
 Limited 
 
 t. gJunstan's gjousf 
 
 FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.G. 
 1892 
 
 [All rig/its reserved]^ 
 
Ay 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 FOR those who have had the good fortune to succeed in 
 mastering the difficulties of which this volume treats, it 
 may have but a limited interest ; but the author believes 
 that his views, as an actor of many years' experience, 
 will not prove unacceptable to that large body of writers 
 for whom the problem has a special attraction. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 PLAY-WRITING AND THOSE WHO HAVE TRIED IT. 
 
 Writing a successful play a great achievement Ignorance 
 as to what an acting drama really is On the fascina- 
 tions of the drama Few great names of authors in 
 belles lettres that have not attempted play- writing Thirty 
 dramatists whose eminence comes from other work 
 Side-issues and their importance in connection with 
 acting plays What they consist of A rapid survey of 
 the dramatic work of Cowley, Thomson, Johnson, Horace 
 Walpole, Smollett, Hannah More, Frances Burney, God- 
 win, Joanna Baillie, Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, Lamb, 
 Landor, Moore, Leigh Hunt, Byron, Miss Mitford, 
 Procter, Shelley, Lord John Russell, Mrs. Hemans, Hood, 
 Sir Henry Taylor, Home, Richard Cobden, Disraeli, 
 Thackeray, Dickens and Browmng-VThy many of these 
 authors did not succeed in the theatre .... 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SUCCESSFUL PLAYS AND HOW TO ESTIMATE THEM. 
 
 What is a successful play ? Four different views of it A play 
 made by the acting Good plays that have failed on their 
 first performance A manager's difficulties and risks 
 The completeness of modern mise-en-scbne The author's 
 risks The ephemeral nature of theatrical entertain- 
 ments Recreation the purpose for which theatres are 
 visited The stress of modern life Definition of a sue- 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 cessful play Of sympathetic plays that are faulty in 
 construction Deficiency of storyStory not identical 
 with plot Farcical comedy Its variety The work 
 which requires co-operation of the audience Can one 
 know beforehand whether a play will act well? And 
 whether a play will prove attractive ? Why actors are 
 not fair judges On dress rehearsals On acting at re- 
 hearsals Experts and their verdicts Why plays that 
 impress in the acting do not sometimes read well On 
 the dramatic " sense " The st business" in a play and 
 its importance Actors and piece-work New plays at 
 matinees Fine plays rarely lost Dramatists successful 
 only after perseverance Value in unambitious efforts . 40 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 QUALITIES REQUIRED TO WRITE A PLAY. 
 
 The difference between writing a story and making a play 
 The form the difficulty Comedy an exacting mistress 
 A formula by the author Qualities required for a play- 
 wright Invention Englishmen not deficient in this 
 quality Higher encouragement required for the effort 
 The advantages of collaboration Original invention 
 resulting in ideas that are common property Lord 
 Tennyson's statement to the author about " Enoch 
 Arden " How " motifs " are evolved The denouement 
 and its importance Where the interest of a play should 
 culminate The difficulty to a novelist in unlearning 
 Rhetoric and its value in the theatre Adaptation 
 glanced at Complications and invention Characteriza- 
 tion considered How it affects plot What is effective 
 in character Probability Importance of the main 
 motive of a play not being improbable Harmony or 
 consistent tone Ethical balance and moral sense Con- 
 densation Literary plays and literature in the drama 
 A play not to be skipped Sympathy, heart and 
 humanity Names of popular plays where it is found . 68 
 
Contents. ix 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 ON THE MECHANISM OF A PLAY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The scenario, and Wilkie Collins on its difficulty Story as 
 distinct from plot Clearness in plot and story essential 
 Elements in the mechanism of a play Equivoke Its 
 antiquity and importance The consciousness of its 
 value by Shakespeare and Moliere Its masterly manage- 
 ment by Sheridan " The Clandestine Marriage,' 7 and an 
 example of equivoke examined Goldsmith's want of 
 skill in its treatment Holcroft Congreve and his con- 
 temporaries Instance of lines in "The School for 
 Scandal" Real original motive rare in the theatre 
 Adapting or transferring and its popularity The im- 
 portance and charm of love-scenes Filial affection and 
 its power The adjustment of caste Its value and popu- 
 larity Quarrelling and scolding scenes Imitations 
 and imaginative pictures A favourite satirical effect 
 Nature overcoming restraint Trifles and absurdities the 
 soul of humour Shop-phrases Eating and drinking on 
 the stage On the violation of propriety High spirits 
 in comedy The wild despair of lovers Soliloquies and 
 asides 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TYPES OF CHARACTER AND DIALOGUE. 
 
 Types of character Little that is new Condensation in 
 character painting " Lines of business" enumerated 
 Advantages to an author To an actor Painting with 
 breadth desirableThe " First old man " " Character " 
 parts Dickens's works full of them Shakespeare and 
 his "character" parts Falstaff, Shallow, Dr. Caius 
 The type sententious Harsh and grim characters 
 Humbugs of all ages The villain or evil genius Young 
 men and their varieties The bashful typeThe im- 
 pudent type Valets and servants Their descent from 
 
 a 
 
Contents. 
 
 the classical period " The walking gentlemen " " His 
 friend '' Dialect parts and their disuse " Low comedy " 
 parts and their variety Ladies' parts Popularity of 
 actresses in certain " lines " The fine ladies The de- 
 cline of artificial comedy Popularity of domestic 
 heroines in the English drama The Ingenue The 
 Soubrette or chambermaid Hoydens and tomboys The 
 Romantic young lady Shrews and viragoes " First 
 old women" On Dialogue Finesse and subtlety 
 requisite Epigram and repartee Repartee and rude- 
 ness The charge of being too witty rarely resented 
 Dulness alone not forgiven The English language and 
 its capacity for punning A lesson in " cutting '' The 
 first drafts of " The School for Scandal "English people 
 less patient of prolixity than foreigners Tricks of dia- 
 logue Malapropisms Equivoke in dialogue The sen- 
 timental school Douglas Jerrold's dialogue Bulwer 
 H. J. Byron and his work James Albery T. W. 
 Robertson 118 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 PRACTICAL HINTS AND AN ANALYSIS. 
 
 Customs, terms and conditions in a theatre What sort of 
 plays pay best The caprice of the public The actors 
 the attraction as much as the play On the number of 
 " parts " a piece should contain How to begin a play 
 The desirability of trying a one-act play first 
 Managers and their variety Importance of the piece 
 de resistance*- Delicate plays require skill in acting 
 Meeting the manager's requirements A vehicle for 
 actor's talents in demand The real value of production 
 to a young author Practical advice and diagrams 
 The scenario, and how to make it Time required for 
 costume changes Rest for the actors Gradation of 
 11 parts " On the length of plays generally Writing 
 
Contents. xi 
 
 PACE 
 
 with fulness and cutting subsequently Action and de- 
 velopment to stand first The decline of two-act plays 
 to be regretted Some old favourites The division of 
 plays Modern customs as to the length of entertain- 
 ments Tableau curtains A complete Analysis of " The 
 Favourite of Fortune " 143 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 DEDUCTIONS AND GENERAL ADVICE. 
 
 Conventionality and its value Sympathy with dramatic ele- 
 ments not the same as dramatic " sense " The difficulty 
 in realizing the rarity of good art The apparent ease 
 and simplicity of the best Simplicity of subject not to 
 be confounded with its treatment A clue to dramatic 
 " sense " Do managers want good plays ? The neces- 
 sity for the manager to anticipate Hastily prepared 
 plays that catch the taste The supply of plays good 
 enough to try unequal to the demand Why a manager 
 does not believe in untried authors Plays at the wrong 
 theatre The size of a theatre important The revival of 
 old favourites Amateurs and their efforts " Going 
 through the mill 3 ' Translation not adaptation Mil- 
 ton's connection with the drama Are there any perfect 
 plays ? Short plays the best exemplars Short pieces of 
 the French theatre Advantage of reading a play aloud 
 Appealing to a mixed audience The finest plays not 
 the most money-drawing The judgment of the multi- 
 tudeModern life and its want of colour detrimental to 
 invention Careful rehearsal and minutias a compensa- 
 tion All good and popular plays have good " parts " in 
 them The longevity of plays difficult to determine 
 Good models Reading a play at one sitting desirable 
 Collaboration and its difficulty On the titles of 
 plays The synopsis Criticism Thackeray's beautiful 
 dictum 189 
 
HOW TO WRITE A GOOD PLAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLAY-WRITING AND THOSE WHO HAVE TRIED IT. 
 
 To write a play and have it accepted by a London 
 manager ! What an achievement for a young and un- 
 known aspirant ! To write a play which shall not only 
 pass the shoals and reefs of acceptance, but that shall 
 sail safely into the pleasant waters of public approval 
 and commendation, and be greeted by the applause of 
 the multitude, which shall in short carry its author to 
 that haven which so many are ever struggling to make, 
 Success. To find your work the delight of stalls, boxes, 
 pit and gallery. What a compensation for all the labours, 
 anxieties and disappointments of the past ! To be 
 talked of at dinner-parties, dances, clubs and social 
 gatherings of every sort with pleasant interest. To hear 
 Brown as he passes you in the street whisper to Jones, 
 " That's Robinson, the author of the new play ' So-and- 
 So.' " To discover that the manager whom you met 
 but a few months since, and whose arrangements were 
 complete for several years, marvellously affable, and 
 most desirous for a little chat with you. To learn that he 
 
 B 
 
2 ( Hozy tp lurite a Good Play. 
 
 is really] anxious '" tp have another look }> at that trifle 
 'J T ojijsub{Tijrttd to' b'jvn SG long ago, and which his " acting- 
 manager" declined on his behalf, with that courtesy so 
 characteristic of him ; and which m a fit of desperation 
 you put on the back of the fire, having become quite 
 conscious since that nowhere else could it have been 
 ensured so warm a reception. To become suddenly 
 aware that your correspondents have multiplied largely. 
 That actors have been struck with ideas for plays by 
 you in which they are sure they will "do big things." 
 That the most charming actresses, without any provo- 
 cation, address you " My dear Mr. Robinson." That 
 old friends and acquaintances turn up unexpectedly, 
 many of them, be it said, honestly proud of your suc- 
 cess. That you are beset by autograph hunters, and 
 harassed by photographers, whose collections of eminent 
 men would be wofully incomplete without your co- 
 operation. That you are the happy recipient of every 
 sort of circular and advertisement, including patent 
 pens, curious inks, bottles of wine, samples of perfu- 
 mery and specimens of something you regard as having 
 a certain appropriate suggestiveness soap. To be 
 taught perhaps that popularity has its penalties as well 
 as its prizes, and if you have prudence, to learn that 
 this adulation is not unattended with danger. It is 
 assumed that you are not one of those blest individuals 
 to whom the failure or success of your play is a matter 
 of supreme indifference. But this is scarcely possible, 
 for had you been a stoic, you would not have written a 
 play ; and indifference is not consistent with what you 
 have so patiently and heroically gone through. The 
 fact of your having a piece produced successfully in- 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 3 
 
 dicates a comprehensive sympathy and a possession of 
 the social instinct in no slight degree. We will take it 
 for granted that you have not had any previous asso- 
 ciation with the stage, and have been able to put to- 
 gether a piece that by some novelty of subject or 
 treatment has secured a unanimously favourable verdict. 
 As a young fellow with a sound mental tone, and the 
 love of a good drama, you have merely had such 
 chances of familiarity with acting plays as a visit to 
 some of our best theatres affords. Your play is by no 
 means perfect perfection in stage work, as you are to 
 discover later, is decidedly rare but after undergoing an 
 amount of labour that you never dreamt of, and fighting 
 a host of difficulties of which you never had the faintest 
 conception, your play is produced, and you find your- 
 self hailed by some of the critics and the public as " The 
 New Dramatist. " The former say your work is not that 
 qf a Sheridan rather a favourite negative, but some of 
 these gentlemen have a keen sense of humour, but you 
 are told that your plot is good, your interest well sus- 
 tained, your characterization truthful, your situations 
 strong, and your dialogue, even if it does not rise to 
 classical pitch, full of brilliance and point. When one 
 of your nearest friends talks to you of your success and 
 asks how you managed it, you are a little at a loss for 
 an answer. One thing is very certain, that the MS. 
 of your play as it was first submitted to the manager, 
 and the play that is being acted every evening are two 
 very distinct things. You wrote for success and hoped 
 for it, but its extent has come upon you, you confide to 
 your friend, as a very delightful surprise. Though con- 
 scious that your work was well and faithfully done, you 
 
 B 2 
 
4 How to write a Good Play* 
 
 cannot but allow that your play has not only been 
 vastly improved by valuable suggestions from the 
 manager and the actors, but that some of the best 
 things in it are directly and absolutely due to them. 
 You are thus apt at times to fancy that you may not 
 be the great creature you are made to appear. About 
 one thing, however, there is no fancy. The manager has 
 behaved with fairness and liberality, and consequently 
 you are in receipt each week of a handsome honorarium 
 which does much to allay any restless and unquiet 
 symptoms ; nay more, he has commissioned you to do 
 another play for him, to be produced as soon as that 
 somewhat capricious and jaded entity " the town " is 
 tired of your drama. I have spoken of danger. It is 
 not at all certain that your position would not have 
 been safer if the verdict on your work had been less 
 unanimous, had it been but a succes destime if the 
 knowing ones had shaken their heads pleasantly and 
 said, " Yes, very good ! very clever ! but no money 
 in it ! " Bad for your pocket possibly, but it might 
 have enabled you to appraise your abilities with more 
 justness ; those elements of popularity, even if due to 
 yourself, which is somewhat doubtful, being of a some- 
 what variable and evasive kind. Had your play been a 
 complete failure there would have been no dishonour in 
 it, supposing that you did nothing to degrade such gifts 
 as you are endowed with ; and though according to 
 that clever dramatist, with whose works you are 
 familiar, 
 
 " In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves 
 For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
 As Fail ! " 
 
Play writing and those who have tried it. 5 
 
 no one knew better than the author of the lines, that 
 not only are failures possible, but that they are the 
 stepping stones to success. 
 
 The sketch that I have just made is quite within the 
 bounds of possibility. It is assumed that the success 
 was of a transient kind, but some of the best and more 
 enduring work for the stage has been accomplished by 
 comparatively young men. 
 
 Indeed, it is rare to find the names of any writers of 
 ability who have made the first effort in mature years. 
 With those who have done so, the inducement has 
 generally arisen from a success or popularity gained 
 in other departments of literature. In some cases they 
 have attempted, not unnaturally, to conjure with their 
 names, knowing that it would be the means of com- 
 manding attention ; and to their names they are often 
 indebted for the opportunity of appealing to an audience 
 at all. 
 
 It is common with many writers, whose talents are 
 above the average, to try and express themselves in the 
 dramatic form. In some instances they ignore the fact 
 that dramatic form or expression by means of dialogue, 
 is one of the smallest difficulties. The building a play 
 they do not regard as an art a something to be at- 
 tained, or they seem wilfully blind to its necessities and 
 requirements. It is enough apparently that the 
 dramatis persona are presented in such language as 
 seems appropriate to them, with little respect for con- 
 siderations of human interest involving plot and the 
 development of character. Again and again the present 
 writer has been asked for his opinion on what authors con- 
 ceived to be plays, when in reality they were not plays 
 
6 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 at all. It is an experience common also to every 
 manager of a theatre. It is not a case where the figure 
 has been poorly or inartistically draped. It is, that 
 there has been no figure to drape not even a skeleton. 
 The drapery, sometimes rich in tone and fine in quality, 
 has been supported with a framework so feeble and ill- 
 constructed, that collapse was inevitable. 
 
 The object of this volume is to try and show the army 
 of aspirants for theatrical honours what the nature of 
 the path is that they will probably have to traverse, 
 what can be regarded as a successful drama, and the 
 qualities required to produce one. To take a hurried 
 glance at certain great authors who have tried to accom- 
 plish the feat, to examine the mechanism of a play, 
 the types of characters and dialogue that are effective 
 on the stage, and to offer such general advice as may 
 be of service : the counsel that the author tenders being 
 the result of actual stage experience. 
 
 He does not pretend to deal with the higher branches 
 of the subject to any extent. Tragedy and the poetic 
 drama require a separate examination. Beyond the 
 mention of the work of a few eminent writers he will 
 confine his observations to the more modern manifesta- 
 tions of the stage. This effort is not likely to augment 
 that large arrny of ambitious incompetents whose active 
 existence is beyond dispute. His book is written in the 
 hope of its being read, and he believes that the tyro who 
 is in earnest will find something of sterling value in the 
 remarks set down. His labours may serve also to 
 lighten the managers' load by checking the tendency of 
 authors to overwhelm them with efforts in dramatic 
 form, which have consumed time and thought that might 
 
Plav-wriling and those who have tried it. 7 
 
 have been more profitably employed in some other 
 departments of mental labour. 
 
 That play-writing has, and always will have, a fasci- 
 nation for intellectual people apart from its more solid 
 emoluments, there can be little doubt ; though, as we 
 shall see, success in the theatre is by no means propor- 
 tionate to the great gifts and qualities often employed 
 to secure it. " Of all literary fascinations," says Miss 
 Mitford, " there is none like that of the drama written or 
 acted, none that begins so early, or that lasts so long." 
 
 In the array of great names of authors associated with 
 belles lettres from the time of Cowley to our own, there 
 are very few that have not attempted the difficult art of 
 play-writing. From this always delightful field we may 
 note flowers that have utterly failed in an alien soil to 
 yield their richest tints or their sweetest aroma. 
 
 " Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
 Not light them for themselves :" 
 
 And it would be strange indeed if those to whom the 
 heritage of Shakespeare's wealth had fallen had received 
 no incitement from his " so potent art." 
 
 Starting from the period mentioned about the 
 beginning of the seventeenth century and without in- 
 cluding living writers, I here submit an imposing list of 
 names whose owners, with perhaps the single exception 
 of Sir Henry Taylor, the author of " Philip van Arte- 
 velde," do not base their claims to eminence on having 
 been the writers of plays, but who have nevertheless at- 
 tempted it. Nor is the list by any means an exhaustive 
 one. 
 
 Something like two-thirds of the number actually had 
 
8 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 plays produced. Others, be it said, wrote without any 
 view to their productions courting the glare of the 
 footlights, their plays being brought forward sometimes, 
 if not in direct opposition to their wishes, with what 
 may be considered a tacit consent. Here is the cate- 
 gory : Cowley, Thomson, Johnson, Horace Walpole, 
 Smollett, Hannah More, Frances Burney, Godwin, 
 Joanna Baillie, Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, Lamb, 
 Landor, Moore, Leigh Hunt, Byron, Miss Mitford, 
 Procter, Shelley, Lord John Russell, Mrs. Hemans, 
 Hood, Sir Henry Taylor, Home, Richard Cobden, 
 Disraeli, Thackeray, Dickens, and Browning. 
 
 The great names of Dryden, Defoe, Swift, Steele, 
 Addison, Pope, Fielding, and Burns will be missed. 
 Dryden was a prolific dramatist, whose popularity in 
 his day was unmistakable. 
 
 There is no evidence, I think, to show that either 
 Defoe or Swift attempted play-writing. There is a 
 curious thing in connection with that mighty intellectual 
 enigma, the Dean of St. Patrick's. Nowhere in his 
 works does he mention Shakespeare, and it has been 
 asserted that he never even possessed a copy of his 
 plays. Steele, Addison, and Fielding, although I shall 
 have occasion to revert to them, I have not included, as 
 they obtained a more marked popularity in their day 
 than that awarded to others of a like eminence. Pope's 
 association as part author with Gay in the farce " Three 
 Hours after Marriage" was eventually disproved. 
 Fielding, like Dryden, does not claim to be considered, 
 but there are good reasons I think for giving some 
 attention to his work. 
 
 Though Burns did not write a play, he intended to 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 9 
 
 do so. Ramsay of Ochtertyre relates how the poet 
 " told me he had now gotten a subject for a drama 
 which he was to call ' Rob McQuechan's Elshin/ from 
 a popular story of Robert Bruce being defeated on the 
 Water of Cairn, etc." It may be remembered also how 
 anxious Burns was on one occasion to secure the works 
 of all the popular dramatists, f ' but comic authors 
 chiefly." 
 
 There is one other popular name that might almost 
 be given a place in my list the industrious Southey. 
 The historic drama, " The Fall of Robespierre,'' of which 
 Coleridge wrote the first act, was completed by the 
 author of "Thalaba." 
 
 There are half a dozen other names in belles-lettres 
 which do not belong to play-writers (Sterne, Cowper, 
 De Quincey, Carlyle, Keats, and Macaulay), and I think 
 they nearly make up the remainder of those that are 
 best known. Students of the English stage have a 
 thorough acquaintance with its successful writers, as 
 also with many others who were popular in their day, 
 but whose plays would no longer prove attractive. As, 
 however, we are concerned more particularly with those 
 who have failed to meet the taste of the general public, 
 it will be unnecessary at this point to speak of well-known 
 and approved dramatists. One or two exceptions to 
 this may be allowed. Before considering what con- 
 stitutes a successful acting play, a bird's-eye view of the 
 dramatic work of the thirty authors selected may prove 
 of interest, even if it does not satisfactorily supply the 
 clue to their not having attained any lasting success in 
 the theatre. 
 
 The list at first may appear rather startling. 
 
io How to write a Good Play. 
 
 " What ! " I hear it exclaimed, " Did not Byron write 
 'Manfred' and ( Sardanapalus ' and 'Werner'? Did 
 not Browning write ' Straff ord ' and 'A Blot in the 
 Scutcheon ' and ' Colombe's Birthday/ and have not 
 they been acted ? What of a certain Titanic production 
 called 'The Cenci ' ? Did Shelley fail in that at- 
 tempt?" The reply must be, that in spite of the noble 
 work put forth in dramatic form by many of the writers 
 in the above list, not one has produced an acting drama 
 containing the elements of real and sustained popularity. 
 But it will be necessary here to have some regard for 
 side issues, which are of importance in connection with 
 all matters appertaining to plays intended for the boards 
 of a theatre. The issue for the moment is this : It is 
 quite possible that the gifts of\some particular actor or 
 actress under certain conditions, as by the accident of 
 an exceptionally strong cast, or by the power of scenic 
 attraction, or at a certain time, owing to some political 
 crisis, or craze of fashion, may obtain the general verdict 
 of success for a play. That is to say, a drama may not 
 only satisfy the critical and artistic faculty, but also put 
 money into the treasury of the theatre. It may there- 
 fore be inferred that every necessary condition is ful- 
 filled, but I think it will be found that this is not so. 
 
 The first name on my list is that of COWLEY who, as 
 a poet, was ranked by Milton with Spenser and Shake- 
 speare, a verdict that posterity has not endorsed. His 
 dramatic writing consists of " Love's Riddle," a pastoral 
 composed when he was a Westminster boy ; the Latin 
 Play " Naufragium Joculare " (the Comic Shipwreck), 
 written and acted at Cambridge when he was but 
 twenty, and " Cutter of Coleman Street," a prose 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 1 1 
 
 comedy. With the latter alone we are concerned. That 
 faithful playgoer, Mr. Pepys, may amuse if he does not 
 enlighten us. Under the date of December i6th, 1661, 
 he writes, 
 
 " After dinner to the opera [i.e. the Duke's Theatre], 
 where there was a new play (' Cutter of Coleman 
 Street/) made in the year 1658, with reflections much 
 upon the late times ; and it being the first time, the pay 
 was doubled, and so to save money, my wife and I went 
 into the gallery, and there sat and saw very well ; and 
 a very good play it is. It seems of Cowley's making." 
 
 Seven years later he saw it again. It was revived 
 after Cowley's death, 
 
 "August 5/#, 1668. To the Duke of York's play- 
 house, and there saw ' The Guardian ; ' formerly the 
 same, I find, that was called * Cutter of Coleman Street : ' 
 a silly play." 
 
 The self-satisfied chronicler had seen, done, and 
 thought much in the interval evidently. Though the 
 play was said to have been " composed as a satire upon 
 the Presbyterians, it was resented by the Court party as 
 a satire upon itself." The author's preface to the play 
 proves it was not successful. 
 
 Steele and Addison would come next in point of 
 date. The former made both money and reputation 
 by his plays. Though avowedly comedies, they have 
 been appropriately called " Homilies in Dialogue." 
 Steele deserves credit for one thing : he seems to 
 have been the first important writer for the stage who 
 recognized, in times of exceptional coarseness, the 
 delicacy and purity of womanly character. 
 
 Addison's " Cato " and its success are well known. 
 
r 2 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 It ran for thirty-five nights uninterruptedly, and was 
 translated into French, Italian, Latin and German. 
 His opera of " Rosomund " is not so well remembered. 
 " The Drummer, or the Haunted House," a comedy, 
 was published anonymously, but after Addison's death 
 was reprinted by Steele and the authorship declared. 
 The latter is said to have been helped by the author 
 of *'< Cato " with " The Tender Husband/' Addison 
 projected a tragedy on the Death of Socrates, which, 
 however, he did not live to execute. 
 
 THOMSON, by the popularity obtained by his " Sea- 
 sons/' was enabled to become a candidate for dramatic 
 honours : and in 1727 his tragedy of " Sophonisba " was 
 acted with Wilks and Mrs. Oldfield in the leading parts. 
 The line 
 
 " O, Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O !" 
 
 and the story of the wag in the pit who called out, 
 " O, Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson, O ! " 
 
 will be remembered. The line was also parodied by 
 Fielding in " Tom Thumb/' Eleven years later was 
 produced "Agamemnon," with Ouin as the hero. The 
 actor's goodness of heart in releasing Thomson from 
 the spunging-house deserves noting. Next came the 
 forbidden play " Edward and Eleanora," which however 
 was acted in 1796 by Mrs. Siddons and John Kemble,. 
 but only for one night. Its dulness was too great for 
 them to conquer. 
 
 Campbell says the only relief to the play was the 
 introduction of the babes " the little darlings affected 
 the House, but it was with laughter." Thomson wrote 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 1 3 
 
 in conjunction with Mallet the masque of "Alfred" 
 which contains " Rule Britannia." " Tancred and Sigis- 
 munda/' which had for its exponents Garrick and Mrs. 
 Gibber, met with a fate no better than " Edward and 
 Eleanora/' though it is said a version of it was pro- 
 duced in Paris with success. After Thomson's death 
 his tragedy of " Coriolanus " was put on the stage by Sir 
 George Lyttelton for the benefit of the poet's family. 
 
 He whom Byron called "the prose Homer of human 
 nature," and Scott " the Father of the English novel," 
 would follow Thomson. Fielding was both dramatist 
 and manager. His first play, " Love in Several Masques/ 1 
 was produced in 1728, when he was but twenty-one 
 years of age. Much of his work for the theatre con- 
 sisted of satires and shafts aimed at the follies of the 
 hour but Campbell's estimate of Fielding, namely 
 that he tried the drama without success, is unfair. His 
 adaptations from Mob'ere of the " Medecin malgre lui " 
 (under the title of " The Mock Doctor ; or The 
 Dumb Lady Cur'd ") and "L'Avare," the latter obtain- 
 ing the praise of Voltaire, are well known. As also his 
 burlesque of " Tom Thumb." Fielding married in 1735, 
 and in the year following took the little French Theatre 
 in the Haymarket. He announced his troupe as " The 
 Great Mogul's Company of Comedians," and described 
 it as "having dropped from the Clouds." His first 
 venture " Pasquin : a Dramatick Satire on the Times, 
 etc., etc.," proved a great success, and ran for more 
 than forty nights. There is not much plot, it 
 consists of scenes strung together to show the cor- 
 ruption of the Walpole period. His next piece, "The 
 Historical Register for 1736," is of special interest as 
 
.14 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 having precipitated the " Licensing Act." The play 
 concludes with a dialogue between Quidam (Sir Robert 
 Walpole) and four patriots, to whom he gives a purse 
 which has an instantaneous effect upon their opinions. 
 All five of them go off dancing to Quidam's fiddle ; 
 and it is explained that they have holes in their pockets 
 through which the money will fall as they dance, 
 enabling the donor to pick it all up again, and so not 
 lose " one Half-penny by his Generosity." Fielding gave 
 up dramatic writing before he was thirty. As a rule his 
 plays were concocted in haste and to make money. 
 In 1742, after " Joseph Andrews " had appeared, Garrick 
 applied to its author to know if he had " any play by 
 him." This resulted in the production of "The Wed- 
 ding Day." Fielding does not seem to have believed 
 in it much, but hoped that Garrick would, in modern par- 
 lance, have " pulled it through." The little great actor 
 was unequal to the task, although he had the assistance 
 of Mrs. Woffington, Mrs. Pritchard and Macklin. The 
 latter wrote a prologue for it, which he delivered himself. 
 He pretends to recognize Fielding among the audience 
 and pokes fun at his anxieties, telling him he had better 
 have stuck to "honest Abram Adams, who, in spight 
 of Critics, can make his Readers laugh." For further 
 details of Fielding's work for the stage I cannot do 
 better than refer the reader to Mr. Austin Dobson's 
 interesting manual, to which I have been somewhat 
 indebted. 
 
 The greatest importance that Fielding's connection 
 with the theatre had, was in the results obtained by his 
 magnum opus. It is true that he was over forty years 
 of age when it was written, and that he had increased 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 15 
 
 leisure, but there can be little question that his experi- 
 ences in play making and adapting enabled him to 
 bring to such a masterly perfectness the construction of 
 his immortal epic "Tom Jones." That he knew the 
 difficulties of the drama in its more legitimate or regular 
 form, seems evident from his remark that he " left off 
 writing for the stage when he ought to have begun. " 
 
 DR. JOHNSON seems to have had over his play 
 " Irene " a serious difference with Garrick, for we find 
 that the Rev. Dr. Taylor was called in to mediate. 
 *' Sir," said the Doctor, " the fellow wants me to make 
 Mahomet run mad, that he may have an opportunity 
 of tossing his hands and kicking his heels." The play 
 was produced Johnson making his appearance on the 
 first night in a scarlet waistcoat laced with gold. It 
 had a patient hearing until nearly the end, when the 
 incident of the bowstring gave the audience an oppor- 
 tunity of finding some relief from the dulness with 
 which many of them had been oppressed. Here is the 
 account which Dr. Adams, who was present, gave to 
 Boswell. " When Mrs. Pritchard, the heroine of the 
 piece, was to be. strangled upon the stage and was to 
 speak two lines with the bowstring round her neck, 
 the audience cried out 'Murder! Murder!' She 
 several times attempted to speak, but in vain. At last 
 she was obliged to go off the stage alive." After the 
 first performance, " She was carried off to be put to 
 death behind the scenes/' The " business " of strangling 
 " Irene " in sight of the audience was Garrick's (Mrs. 
 Pritchard by the way was the lady the Doctor on one 
 occasion called " a vulgar idiot," and who, he said, used 
 to speak of her " gownd ") Garrick's zeal carried it 
 
1 6 Hoiv to write a Good Play. 
 
 through for nine nights, so that the author had his 
 three nights' profits. Though a failure, Johnson's fees 
 were nearly 200. As he also received from Dodsley 
 100 for the copyright, it may have enabled him to 
 give that stoical answer recorded : When asked how 
 he felt about the ill-success of his play, he replied 
 " Like the Monument ! " 
 
 HORACE WALPOLE'S one tragedy, " The Mysterious 
 Mother/' is not, as Lord Byron observed, " a puling 
 love play." The author of " Childe Harold " thought 
 very highly of it, but its subject has prevented it from 
 being placed upon the public stage. 
 
 SMOLLETT'S attempts at the drama consisted of 
 " The Regicide," a tragedy ; " Alceste," an opera ; and 
 " The Reprisal, or the Tars of Old England," called a 
 comedy, but really a farce in two acts. His tragedy, 
 written when he was but eighteen, was never acted. 
 Ten years later he wrote a preface to it, in which he 
 railed at the managers " in good set terms." It may 
 be of interest to note that the narrative which influenced 
 him in composing the drama supplied Rossetti with 
 the materials for his magnificent ballad " The King's 
 Tragedy." "Alceste," done for Rich, was also never 
 produced ; the author's vanity and temper leading to 
 quarrels which prevented it. The music had been 
 prepared by Handel, who, as lovers of musical lore are 
 aware, afterwards adapted it to Dryden's lesser " Ode 
 for St. Cecilia's Day." Smollett was in truth a danger- 
 ous man. Those that offended him he held up to 
 reprobation in his novels and satires. Garrick, Lacy, 
 Rich, Quin, Akenside, Fielding and Lord Lyttelton 
 were so treated. It is fair to say that in some cases 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. \ 7 
 
 he seems to have repented of his conduct. Notwith- 
 standing his quarrel with Garrick, "The Reprisal" was 
 put upon the stage. The great actor it would seem 
 behaved with liberality in a pecuniary sense, and on the 
 same occasion appeared in one of his popular characters, 
 Lusignan, in the tragedy of " Zara." The farce was 
 intended "to excite the warlike spirit of the nation." 
 Whatever other effect they produce, farces rarely do 
 this in England. The prologue is full of lines of this 
 sort, 
 
 " Such game our fathers play'd in days of yore, 
 When Edward's banners fann'd the Gallic shore ; 
 When Howard's arm Eliza's vengeance hurl'd 
 And Drake diffus'd her fame around the world/' 
 
 " The Reprisal " is a farce of the coarse kind then in 
 vogue. Not good of its kind either, though it certainly 
 is not dull. It is interspersed with songs. A French- 
 man, an Irishman, and a Scotchman figure in it ; the 
 tang of each of them giving rare opportunities for the 
 actors in this sort of characterization. The British 
 Sailor is of course very strong and the French nation is 
 treated as something beneath contempt. It finishes up 
 with a sort of compensating speech, in which Lyon, the 
 lieutenant of a man-of-war, says, 
 
 " I was once taken by the French who used me nobly. 
 I'm a witness of their valour, and an instance of their 
 politeness ; but there are Champignons in every service. 
 While France uses us like friends, we will return her 
 civilities. When she breaks her treaties, and grows 
 insolent, we will drub her over to her good behaviour." 
 
 Then follows a song with a chorus, in which " Brave 
 Britons" and "The British Oak are not forgotten, 
 
 c 
 
i8 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the whole concluding with a long epilogue, the author 
 telling the audience that 
 
 " His pen against the hostile French is drawn, 
 Who damns him, is no Antigallican." 
 
 It is said that it afterwards became a favourite after- 
 piece ; but enough 1 think has been written to show 
 that no claim could be set up by the author of 
 " Roderick Random " and " Humphrey Clinker" to the 
 laurels of the dramatist. 
 
 HANNAH MORE wrote three plays, and all of them 
 were acted. She adapted Metastasio's drama of " Attilio 
 Regulo," and called it " The Inflexible Captive." It 
 was first put upon the stage of the Bath theatre. 
 Her second tragedy was founded on a French story and 
 called u Percy. " It was acted in London, ran for seven- 
 teen successive nights, and her profits were 6oo/. The 
 House of Northumberland we are told regarded its 
 production as a personal compliment, the Duke send- 
 ing her his congratulations. Her third play was " The 
 Fatal Falsehood," which Garrick also helped her with. 
 His death prevented her from witnessing it, though it 
 was presented at Covent Garden in the spring of the 
 same year, Sheridan writing the epilogue. Her friend 
 Mrs. Boscawen sent " five gentlemen with oaken sticks " 
 to applaud, but it ran for only three nights. Both 
 Mrs. Siddons and Miss O'Neill, at later periods, 
 appeared in u Percy/' but the popularity and influence 
 of her friend Garrick were assuredly the causes of her 
 success. 
 
 FRANCES BURNEY (Madame D'Arblay) was the 
 author of " Edwy and Elgiva," a tragedy acted at 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 19 
 
 Drury Lane, and a comedy with the title of " Love 
 and Fashion/' said to have been accepted by Mr. 
 Harris of Covent Garden, but withdrawn at the request 
 of her father. Campbell tells a story of the first 
 drama, in which Mrs. Siddons acted, which will bear 
 transcribing. " Miss Burney was peculiarly unfortunate 
 in bringing bishops into her tragedy. At that time 
 there was a liquor much in popular use, called Bishop : 
 it was a sort of negus or punch, I believe, though the 
 origin of its name I must leave more learned anti- 
 quaries to determine. But be that as it may, when 
 jolly fellows met at a tavern, the first order to the 
 waiter was to bring in the bishop. Unacquainted with 
 the language of taverns, Miss Burney made her King 
 exclaim, in an early scene, ( Bring in the Bishop ! ' and 
 the summons filled the audience with as much hilarity 
 as if they had drunk of the exhilarating liquor. They 
 continued in the best possible humour throughout the 
 piece. The dying scene made them still more jocose, 
 when a passing stranger proposed, in a tragic tone, to 
 carry the expiring heroine to the other side of a hedge. 
 This hedge, though supposed to be situated remotely 
 from any dwelling, nevertheless proved to be a very 
 accommodating retreat ; for, in a few minutes after- 
 wards, the wounded lady was brought from behind it, 
 on an elegant couch, and, after dying in the presence of 
 her husband, was removed once more to the back of 
 the hedge. The solemn accents of the Siddons herself 
 were not a match for this ludicrous circumstance, and 
 she was carried off amidst roars of mirth." Though 
 the bishop and the hedge incidents were incongruous ele- 
 ments, they did not of themselves account for its failure. 
 
 C 2 
 
2O How to write a Good Play. 
 
 WILLIAM GODWIN, the author of "Political Justice" 
 and " Caleb Williams," was another of the disappointed 
 ones. " Antonio, or The Soldier's Return," was declined 
 by Colman for the Haymarket, but produced by John 
 Kemble at Drury Lane Theatre. Besides the manager, 
 Mrs. Siddons and Charles Kemble appeared in it. 
 Talfourd pronounced it "a miracle of dulness." A 
 ragedy called " Abbas, King of Persia," Godwin failed 
 to get accepted. " Faulkner," another drama, was also 
 produced at Drury Lane, but fared no better than 
 " Antonio." The authors of " The Rejected Addresses," 
 in " Horace in London/' thus ridiculed him, 
 
 " Thy flame at Luna's lamp thou light'st, 
 Blank is the verse that thou indit'st, 
 Thy play is damn'd, yet still thou writ'st, 
 My Godwin ! " 
 
 His great novel, " Caleb Williams," formed the 
 groundwork of " The Iron Chest," by George Colman 
 the Younger ; one of the plays in which Edmund Kean 
 is said to have shown his great powers with more than 
 usual effect. 
 
 JOANNA BAILLIE'S work is another valuable illustra- 
 tion of the power of influence and fashion. Notwith- 
 standing the high opinions held by Scott, Byron and 
 others as to the fitness of her plays for the stage, they 
 did not prove attractive ; even with the advantages of 
 the very best acting. " De Montfort" and " The 
 Family Legend" were the only plays tried. The 
 former was first produced in 1800 with Mrs. Siddons 
 and John Kemble in the cast, and ran for eleven nights. 
 It was revived in 1821, Edmund Kean playing the 
 leading part. Campbell believed that it would from 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 2 1 
 
 that time retain a stage popularity ; but Kean told 
 him that " though a fine poem, it would never be an 
 acting play." Macready says that Kean in it " shone 
 out in the full splendour of his genius," though he did 
 not himself witness the performance. 
 
 " The Family Legend " was first acted in Edinburgh 
 in 1810. Sir Walter Scott interested himself in its 
 preparation. He attended the rehearsals and wrote 
 the prologue. Henry Mackenzie, the author of " The 
 Man of Feeling," supplied an epilogue. Scott in a 
 letter to his friend, the authoress, speaks of "the 
 complete and deserved triumph of the play." It had a 
 run of fourteen nights. Macready records acting in it at 
 Newcastle a year or so after. In 1815 it was presented 
 to a London audience, on which occasion Scott and 
 Byron were present. The loyalty and good offices of 
 the author of " Waverley " are better proved than the 
 play's popularity. 
 
 WORDSWORTH, when but five-and-twenty years of 
 age, began his tragedy "The Borderers." Coleridge 
 (himself at work on a play) thought its merit " abso : 
 lately wonderful," and he procured for it an intro- 
 duction to Harris, of Covent Garden. Under date of 
 November 2Oth, 1797, his sister Dorothy writes, 
 
 " William's play is finished and sent to the managers 
 of the Covent Garden Theatre. We have not the 
 faintest expectation that it will be accepted." 
 
 An actor who had read the play and commended it, 
 suggested certain changes, and asked the author to 
 come to London to make these. Wordsworth and his 
 sister therefore went up and spent three weeks in town. 
 Another letter of Dorothy's says, "We have been in 
 
22 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 London ; our business was the play ; and the play is 
 rejected/ 5 
 
 It is not easy now to associate Wordsworth with the 
 idea of a successful play in the theatre. He had, it 
 may be remarked, the satisfaction of hammering with 
 his stick at the first performance of his friend Talfourd's 
 poetic play, " Ion." 
 
 When SIR WALTER SCOTT was about eight-and- 
 twenty, he wrote a play called "The House of Aspen/' 
 which was sent to London, and, according to Lockhart, 
 put into rehearsal and afterwards abandoned. This 
 lack of encouragement was a happy circumstance. 
 His stories still delight us, his plays probably would 
 long since have been condemned to obscurity. Scott 
 speaks of his first attempt as " a hurried dramatic 
 sketch " which might rank " with ' The Castle Spectre/ 
 ' Bluebeard * and other drum and trumpet exhibitions 
 of the day." Apart from translations, his work in 
 dramatic form consists of " The Doom of Devorgoil," 
 " MacdufPs Cross/' " Halidon Hill," and " Auchindrane, 
 or the Ayrshire Tragedy." None of these were put 
 upon the stage, and the only one of his novels in which 
 he had a hand, in fitting for the theatre, was " Guy 
 Mannering." It was done to help his friend, Daniel 
 Terry the actor, through whom his interest in the 
 theatre seems to have been mainly kept alive. The 
 success of " Rob Roy" in London, dramatized by 
 Isaac Pocock, rather surprised him. But in his letters 
 to Terry at various times, he glances at the stage 
 possibilities of " Old Mortality," " The Heart of Mid- 
 Lothian " and " Ivanhoe." " St. Ronan's Well " he 
 did not think suitable for the theatre, but confessed, 
 
PI ly -writing and those who have tried it. 23 
 
 when he saw the acted version at Edinburgh, that " it 
 succeeded wonderfully," thanks to the acting of William 
 Murray and Mackay. The drama, however, that has a 
 greater interest for us, is that in which he himself 
 played such a heroic part in getting free from his 
 overwhelming responsibilities. It is pathetic to read of 
 his turning out " The Doom of Devorgoil " in order to 
 try and make a little money. After discussing the 
 chances of its bringing in something for the copy- 
 right, he said to Mr. Skene, " If they can get the beast 
 to lead or drive they may bring it on the stage if they 
 like." The " spirit-stirring " " Bonnie Dundee " is from 
 the latter play. Scott's dramatic powers we shall have 
 occasion to refer to again. 
 
 Like his immediate predecessors, Wordsworth and 
 Scott, COLERIDGE was but young when his first original 
 dramatic efforts were made. " Robespierre," of which 
 he wrote the first act, was printed when he was twenty- 
 two, and " Remorse " or " Osorio " as it was called 
 was written a year or two afterwards. The latter seems 
 to have been made at the instigation of Sheridan. All 
 he did that can be recalled, was to make a bad joke on 
 the cavern scene, with its water from the roof its drip, 
 drip, drip, suggesting to the author of " The Rivals " 
 that " it was all dripping." Years afterwards, by the 
 influence of Lord Byron and Mr. Whitbread, it was 
 acted at Drury Lane, ran for twenty nights, and pro- 
 bably brought its author two or three hundred pounds. 
 The following year he was encouraged to write 
 " Zapolya," but it was declined by the two principal 
 theatres. There were no parts in it for Kean or Miss 
 O'Neill, even if it had been acceptable. It imitated 
 
24 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 
 " The Winter's Tale " in its lapse of twenty years. In 
 his preface to the printed play, Coleridge says, " I shall 
 be well content if my readers will take it up, read it, 
 and judge it, as a Christmas tale." His great trans- 
 lations of the " Wallensteins " ask but a passing mention 
 here. In a letter to John Murray, dated August 31, 
 1814, which has just been made public, there is inter- 
 esting evidence that Coleridge had the idea of a 
 version of " Faust " for the stage the publisher having 
 invited him to undertake a translation of Goethe's great 
 work. 
 
 CHARLES LAMB never seems to have lost the ambi- 
 tion of becoming successful on the stage. For some of 
 the details which follow, I am indebted to Canon 
 Ainger's interesting notes attached to his edition of 
 the " Poems and Plays." The latter consisted of the 
 tragedy " Pride's Cure " (afterwards called " John 
 Woodvil"), a two-act farce, "Mr. H/ 5 a tragi-comedy 
 founded on Crabbe's u Confidant/' which was entitled 
 "The Wife's Trial," and a farce called "The Pawn- 
 broker's Daughter." Of " John Woodvil/' which was 
 declined by John Kemble, Southey writes to Charles 
 Danvers in 1801, " Lamb is printing his play, which 
 will please you by the exquisite beauty of its poetry, 
 and provoke you by the exquisite silliness of its story." 
 " Mr. H " was produced at Drury Lane Theatre in 
 1 806 with Elliston in the leading part, but was acted 
 for one night only. Lamb accepted his defeat with the 
 greatest good humour, and it is said ".was probably the 
 loudest hisser in the house." Three months after, it 
 went to America, and was reported to have enjoyed in 
 Philadelphia u a considerable run," probably with re- 
 
P lay -zv riling and those who have tried it. 25 
 
 construction or modification. Lamb tried Kemblc 
 again with "The Wife's Trial," but without success. 
 The idea of the essay with the droll title, " On the 
 Inconveniences resulting from being Hanged/' was 
 utilized in " The Pawnbroker's Daughter." In 1828 it 
 was submitted to the elder Mathews for the Adelphi, 
 but did not meet with acceptance. After vainly seeking 
 an appearance at other theatres, it was published in 
 Blackwood's Magazine for January, 1830. 
 
 The great name of WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 
 cannot be connected with the stage practically. His 
 work in dramatic form consists of the tragedy of 
 " Count Julian " and the trilogy u Andrea of Hungary/' 
 "Giovanna of Naples/' and " Fra Rupert," "The Siege 
 of Ancona," " Ines de Castro," and other fragments. 
 He seems at one time to have had the notion of 
 getting "Count Julian" produced by John Kemble ; 
 but in Moxon's edition of 1846 he says that "none 
 of them were offered to the stage, being no better 
 than Imaginary Conversations in metre." He con- 
 fessed to Macready that he had not the constructive 
 faculty, that he could only "set persons talking, all the 
 rest was chance." Mr. Colvin says that in construction 
 the four plays of Robert Landor are better than his 
 brother's. In a letter to Southey, Walter Landor 
 speaks of having committed a tragedy to the flames, 
 called " Ferranti and Giulio." 
 
 THOMAS MOORE'S right to be included in my list 
 is derived from his having written and composed a 
 comic opera in three acts called "M.P., or the Blue 
 Stocking," which was performed at the Lyceum Theatre 
 in 1811. It was not successful and kept the stage for 
 
26 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 but a few nights. Nor was it published in his collected 
 works, although some of the songs, which appeared 
 separately, it is said " well maintained his lyrical 
 reputation." 
 
 LEIGH HUNT'S principal dramatic work was the 
 beautiful " Legend of Florence/' founded on a romance 
 of *real life, and written in six weeks. Although it 
 enjoyed considerable success, it has not the elements of 
 general popularity. It was first presented at Covent 
 Garden, February 7th, 1840, with Messrs. Anderson, 
 Bartley, G. Vandenhoff and Miss Ellen Tree in the cast. 
 It was witnessed several times by her Majesty, then a 
 young queen. Ten years later it was revived at Sadler's 
 Wells, and on the 23rd January, 1852, was performed, 
 by her Majesty's command, at Windsor Castle. Leigh 
 Hunt lived to see the production in 1858 of his three- 
 act play called " Lovers' Amazements/' in which 
 Charles Dillon played the leading part. There are 
 three other plays of Leigh Hunt's which have neither 
 been printed nor acted, I believe : " The Secret 
 Marriage," afterwards called " The Prince's Marriage ; " 
 " The Double," a two-act piece ; and " Look to your 
 Morals," a little prose comedy. 
 
 Of LORD BYRON'S dramas, " Manfred," " Marino 
 Faliero," " Sardanapalus," "The Two Foscari," and 
 " Werner " have been acted ; but I think it will be seen 
 that their acceptance has been due to what I have called 
 side issues. " Werner " was certainly one of Macready's 
 most popular characters, and it was afterwards acted by 
 Phelps. In the case of the former it seems to have 
 been attributable to certain idiosyncrasies of the actor 
 that were common to phases of Byron's conceptions. 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 2 7 
 
 The story and construction of " Werner " belong to the 
 adapter of the tale from which it is derived, Miss 
 Harriet Lee. Byron said, u The whole is neither 
 intended nor in any shape adapted for the stage." Jn 
 its tasteful revival a few years since, specially brought 
 about by the generosity of Mr. Henry Irving for the 
 benefit of Dr. Westland Marston, an opportunity was 
 afforded of seeing it strengthened in its plot and pro- 
 duced under the best conditions, but few, I think, who 
 were present will contend that the play for its own sake 
 was worthy of resuscitation. Some of the characters 
 are very effective, but it is, to use an old phrase, " steeped 
 in such an atmosphere of gloom/ 1 and, what is more 
 important, the feminine characters are entirely sub- 
 ordinate. A dramatic version of Miss Lee's story was 
 prepared by herself and acted for a few nights at Covent 
 Garden Theatre, under the title of " The Three 
 Strangers." Miss Mitford also mentions having acci- 
 dentally found the MS. of another version at Kirkley 
 Hall (Mr. Ogle's seat), Sheridan, who had been on a 
 visit there, having carelessly left it behind him. Miss 
 Mitford speaks of it as by far the best adaptation of the 
 story known to her. It was a prose play called 
 " Siegendorf ;" but its author was unknown. " Man- 
 fred " has less construction than " Werner." Byron 
 thought he had rendered the former " quite impos- 
 sible for the stage," and declared it to be " as mad 
 as Nat Lee's Bedlam tragedy." "Marino Faliero," 
 in opposition to the poet's wishes, was brought out 
 at Drury Lane by Elliston in 1821, and revived in 
 an altered form as " The Doge of Venice" at the same 
 theatre in 1867. " Sardanapalus " Byron believed the 
 
28 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 managers would not be able to get hold of, but he was 
 wrong. It was acted by Macready, Charles Kean and 
 others, and since their day has been made attractive, 
 by elaborate scenic effects, to which it readily lends itself. 
 MISS MlTFORD, the delightful author of " Our 
 Village/' turned her attention to dramatic writing in 
 order to make money for the support of those who were 
 dependent on her, and was able to realize considerable 
 sums by her plays. They enjoyed such " runs " as were 
 possible at the time she was popular. Her dramatic 
 work that was actually presented consists of " Julian," 
 a tragedy, played in 1823 by Macready for eight nights. 
 From his own account it had "but moderate success," 
 though its author received 2OO/. for it ; " Foscari," pro- 
 duced in 1826; " Rienzi," acted at Drury Lane in 1828, 
 with Young as the hero ; " Charles the First," the 
 forbidden play, which George Colman and the Duke of 
 Montrose declined to license in 1825 as also the Duke 
 of Devonshire in 1831 it being eventually played at 
 the Victoria Theatre (1834) that house being beyond 
 the jurisdiction of the Lord Chamberlain ; " Sadak 
 and Kalascade," an opera performed at the Lyceum in 
 1835, and " Inez de Castro," intended for Young and 
 Charles Kemble, but which was not seen till years 
 afterwards, at a minor theatre (The City of London, 
 1841). Dramas that she projected, or failed to get 
 produced, bore the titles of " The King of Poland/' 
 " Fiesco," " Otto of Wittelsbach," and " Thomas a 
 Becket." She was also at one time very anxious to 
 undertake the libretto of a grand opera on the subject 
 of " Cupid and Psyche," for which she wanted Weber to 
 supply the music. 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 29 
 
 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (better known perhaps by 
 his pseudonym of " BARRY CORNWALL "), the father of 
 Miss Adelaide Procter, wrote a tragedy called " Miran- 
 dola," which was produced by Macready at Covent 
 Garden in 1821. Its success was beyond all question, 
 although it attained to no after popularity. Procter's 
 generous recognition of Sheridan Knowles, when but an 
 untried author, deserves mention also. He wrote a 
 graceful epilogue for " Virginius " and induced Hamilton 
 Reynolds to supply a prologue. 
 
 There are two letters of SHELLEY'S (July and 
 September, 1819), included in Mr. H. Buxton Forman's 
 edition of the poet's works, showing how much he 
 desired that the " Cenci " should be acted. The private 
 performance at Islington a few years since before a 
 select audience is, I believe, the only occasion on which 
 the tragedy has ever been placed upon the stage. It is 
 not to the purpose here to bring forward reasons against 
 a rendering of this great work before a mixed assembly 
 such as constitutes an audience of to-day. If the treat- 
 ment rose to the level of the drama, the wisdom of 
 presenting it might well be doubted. 
 
 LORD JOHN RUSSELL, in his early days, was an 
 enthusiastic playgoer and an amateur actor often as a 
 boy acting in the theatrical entertainments at Woburn 
 Abbey. Mr. Spencer Walpole says that to read his 
 early diaries induces one " to think that Lord John was 
 nurtured in a play-house." When he was but a lad he 
 commenced a drama, in which " Alonzo, the right King 
 of Spain, is living in exile, and earning his bread as a 
 fisherman, while Diego, a usurper, occupies his throne." 
 Before he was thirty-six he had published " Don Carlos, 
 
30 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 or Persecution," a tragedy in five acts, which went 
 through five editions in the year it was issued. It was 
 never, I believe, publicly acted. 
 
 It seems to have been owing to the solicitation of two 
 divines, Heber and Milman (the latter a successful 
 dramatist), that MRS. HEMANS submitted " The Vespers 
 of Palermo " to the management of Covent Garden 
 Theatre. It was acted in 1823 with Young, Charles 
 Kemble and Miss F. H. Kelly in the cast. Its author 
 was not present at the representation, and its failure was 
 attributed by her friends to the inefficiency of Miss 
 Kelly's acting or, as Kemble more delicately put it, 
 " to a singularity of intonation in one of the actresses." 
 Mrs. Hemans's friend, Joanna Baillie, by her influence 
 with Sir Walter Scott, was enabled to get it tried after- 
 wards at Edinburgh, the great novelist writing an 
 epilogue, " stuffed/' as he said, " with parish jokes and 
 bad puns." Two years after Mrs. Hemans's death a 
 play by her was discovered, called " De Chatillon, or the 
 Crusader." She endeavoured in it to avoid "that 
 redundancy of poetic diction " complained of in her first 
 attempt. It was not presented. 
 
 THOMAS HOOD, the author of " The Bridge of Sighs/' 
 never had a play produced, but a note of his son's 
 affixed to a remark on his attempts at dramatic writing 
 in the " Memorials of Thomas Hood " by his daughter, 
 says, " I have, by the kindness of Mr. Benjamin 
 Webster, become possessed of the original manuscript 
 of a farce 'York and Lancaster/ Mr. Mark Lemon 
 has also been good enough to send me a portion of 
 another farce." 
 
 HENRY TAYLOR or SIR HENRY TAYLOR, as he 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 31 
 
 became is, as I have remarked, better known for his 
 noble dramatic poem, " Philip van Artevelde/' than any 
 other work. It was produced by Macready in 1847, 
 but did not enjoy ^any success in the theatre. The 
 despondent actor, in his diary, writes, " Acted ' Philip 
 van Artevelde.' Failed ; I cannot think it my fault. . . 
 I am very unhappy ; my toil and life are thrown away, 
 etc., etc." He attributed its want of success to under- 
 acting ; but it certainly was not due to this altogether. 
 The author's other dramatic works are " A Sicilian 
 Summer," u Isaac Comnenus," "Edwin the Fair," "St. 
 Clement's Eve " and "The Virgin Widow." 
 
 RICHARD HENRY HORNE, perhaps best known to the 
 general public by his " Orion " (published with satirical 
 intent at a farthing), did not gain success in the theatre, 
 although that jewel of condensed passion, the one-act 
 tragedy, " The Death of Marlowe," alone gives him the 
 title of true dramatist. He was also the author of 
 " Cosmo de Medicis," " The Death Fetch/' " Gregory 
 the Seventh/' and " Alsargis," the last-named play being 
 produced at Drury Lane Theatre in 1856. 
 
 RICHARD COBDEN'S name as a play-writer is more 
 a curiosity than anything else. The only evidence I 
 have of his being a dramatist is that he once wrote a 
 play called " The Phrenologist/' which he submitted to 
 the management of Drury Lane Theatre in the time of 
 Price and old Reynolds. The fact came out when he 
 was endeavouring in 1843 to secure the same building 
 for purposes of the Anti-Corn Law League. 
 
 " Alarcos : a Tragedy by Disraeli the Younger," is 
 the title-page to a play published by Mr. Colburn in the 
 early days of her Majesty's reign, when its author was 
 
32 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 but thirty-four. It was acted in 1868 at Astley's 
 Theatre, but the experiment does not seem to have been 
 successful. Eleven years later it was revived at the 
 Crystal Palace. One of our most accomplished critics, 
 speaking of the play on the occasion of the latter per- 
 formance, says, " The decay of faith in tragic terrors may 
 justly be held accountable in some degree for the weak- 
 ness of the impression left by the performance ;" but 
 that the " interpretation was not of a kind to lay Lord 
 Beaconsfield under any great obligations/' And 
 further, " There are some truly dramatic situations in 
 the play, and there may be found in old collections 
 many a piece inferior in power which has yet moved 
 audiences, and even enjoyed a sustained popularity." 
 The play was founded on an old Spanish ballad, and is 
 prolific in details of the grimmest and most terrible 
 nature. It abounds in old-fashioned melodramatic 
 expressions, like "rash caitiff/' " unhand me, sir," 
 " will no pest descend upon her blood," etc. There is 
 a Moor in the play who hires himself to cut throats, 
 and is addressed " Dusk infidel." Nor is there any lack 
 of " effects ;" for serenades, screams, the tolling of bells, 
 the blowing of trumpets and horns, and death-dealing 
 thunderbolts are a few of the agencies employed. I am 
 not aware how far the revival of the play was encouraged 
 by Lord Beaconsfield, if at all, but it is certain that this 
 early effort does not show that his gifts and acquire- 
 ments lay in the direction of the drama. 
 
 It has often been remarked that few novelists of any 
 eminence have escaped the ordeal of being dramatized 
 more successfully than THACKERAY. In this respect 
 he fared differently to his great contemporary, Dickens. 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 33 
 
 But he was not to go entirely free. A comic play called 
 " Jeames " by Mr. Burnand was, in 1878, constructed 
 from "Jeames's Diary," and presented at the Gaiety 
 Theatre. Quite recently his " Rose and the Ring " also 
 was adapted by Mr. Savile Clarke, and acted in London. 
 Thackeray seems to have been always rather ambitious 
 for stage honours. About the year 1854 he wrote a 
 play himself, called "The Wolves and the Lamb," 
 which was offered to Alfred Wigan for the Olympic 
 Theatre, and to Buckstone for the Haymarket, but not 
 accepted by either manager. In an amateur way it 
 was produced twice at the great novelist's new house. 
 Mr. Merivale, who was associated with its production, 
 has furnished some very interesting details. ' ' Thackeray 
 declined a 'speaking part' on the ground that he 
 couldn't possibly learn such poor words, and only 
 appeared as the clerical papa, just before the fall of the 
 curtain, to hold out his hands and say, ' Bless you, my 
 children/ in pantomime to actors and audience. And 
 a pretty, gracious, memorable sight, and a sound of 
 much applause, and no little tearfulness it was, when 
 Thackeray so came forward to welcome his friends and 
 guests for the first time to the new house he had just 
 built himself on Palace Green." The play bill was 
 headed " W. Empty House," the place being still un- 
 furnished except for the occasion. It was a pun on his 
 initials. " The Wolves and the Lamb " afterwards 
 became " Lovel, the Widower/' the first instalment of 
 which appeared in the newly-born Cornhill Magazine 
 for January, 1860. 
 
 That in the year 1832, when Sheridan Knowles's 
 play of "The Hunchback" was being prepared at 
 
 D 
 
34 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Covent Garden, the stage-manager, Bartley, should have 
 received an application from a young man of twenty to 
 become an actor, and that an appointment should have 
 been made for him to attend at the theatre on a certain 
 day and give Charles Kemble "a taste of his quality " 
 out of the elder Mathews's entertainment, in the imi- 
 tations of which he thought himself proficient, is not 
 very remarkable ; but it does strike us now as curious 
 that this young aspirant should have been CHARLES 
 DlCKENS, and that the accident of an illness prevented 
 him from keeping his appointment, and by a strange 
 fate turned his energies into a different groove. The 
 fact of his going to some theatre, as he tells us " every 
 night, with very few exceptions for three years/' suf- 
 ficiently indicates the strength of his passion for the 
 play a passion that he never really lost. It is, 1 hope, 
 generally agreed that it is well that his efforts should 
 have been made as an amateur, for the world would 
 have been poorer without " David Copperfield." The 
 power that Dickens achieved as a novelist did not quite 
 stifle his ambition also as a dramatist, though his 
 attempts in this direction have not augmented his repu- 
 tation. His two-act farce of " The Strange Gentleman ' 
 (" The Great Winglebury Duel" of the "Sketches "), and 
 a short opera, " The Village Coquettes," were produced 
 at the St. James's Theatre when he was but twenty-four 
 years old. The year following, " Is She His Wife, or 
 Something Singular," a tiny farce, not mentioned by 
 Forster, in which, as in " The Strange Gentleman," Har- 
 ley acted, was put upon the stage. Neither of the farces 
 give any indication of Dickens's great power, and might 
 have been the work of any competent stock play-wright. 
 
Play writing and those who have tried it. 35 
 
 Another farce called " The Lamplighter," done for 
 Covent Garden, but which his biographer says " the 
 actors could not agree about," shows more of his own 
 humorous insight and perception ; though the doings 
 of Mr. Stargazer and Mr. Mooney are a little wild even 
 for farce. He turned it into a story, which was a con- 
 tribution to " The Pic-nic Papers," for the benefit of the 
 widow of his old publisher Macrone. We find that in 
 1837 Dickens is haunted by the notion of doing a high- 
 class comedy for Macready. It was to have been called 
 " No Thoroughfare," a title used in later years for a 
 Christmas number. His offer to Macready of a dra- 
 matic version of " Oliver Twist " is also well known. 
 He had a hand in " Mr. Nightingale's Diary," Mark 
 Lemon's farce, written for the Guild of Literature. 
 Conventionality is unavoidable in plays of a humorous 
 type. Dickens realized this clearly. He was to have 
 written the farce alone, but was prevented by circum- 
 stances from doing so. In a letter he says, " I have 
 written the first scene, and it has droll points in it 
 * more farcical points than you commonly find in farces/ 
 really better. Yet I am constantly striving for my 
 reputation's sake to get into it a meaning that is impos- 
 sible in a farce, etc., etc." 
 
 The greatest reverence for the genius of BROWNING 
 is, I hope, compatible with the belief that his dramas, 
 as plays for the stage, can never be popular. Dramatic 
 scenes it must be evident by this, even when touched 
 to the loftiest and subtlest issues, though desirable, if 
 not indispensable qualities in a play, do not of them- 
 selves make one. Also that "dramatic poetry," as 
 Browning called it, and as he was well aware, is but a 
 
 D 2 
 
36 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 constituent part of a great drama. That a popular 
 success in the theatre would have gratified him there 
 can be little doubt ; but he can hardly have been un- 
 conscious later in his career of what unfitted him for 
 theatrical success. Few realized the power of Shake- 
 speare and the Elizabethan dramatists more than he did. 
 Witness the noble optimism of " At the Mermaid " : 
 
 " Look and tell me ; written, spoken, 
 
 Here's my life work : and where 
 Where's your warrant or my token, 
 I'm the dead king's son and heir ? " 
 
 And yet there are passages in his work to which the 
 epithet " Shakespearian " seems the only one to apply. 
 We have but to turn to " Luria " and other perform- 
 ances in the " Bells and Pomegranates " series. But the 
 "sort of pit audience" in the theatre itself would have 
 to be such as could, understand, and be moved by not 
 only the popular Elements in " Hamlet/' " Macbeth/' 
 and " Othello," but by the greatness of "Troilus," 
 " Measure for Measure," or " Richard the Second." 
 
 Browning seems first to have conceived the idea of a 
 play for the stage on the subject of Narses. He told 
 Macready that he had " bit him " by his performance of 
 Othello. " I told him," says the tragedian, " I hoped I 
 should make e the blood come." " Strafford " was pro- 
 duced at Covent Garden Theatre in 1837, but without 
 success. Browning's second essay was with "A Blot 
 in the 'Scutcheon/' which was given at Drury Lane in 
 1843. Phelps played the part intended for Macready, 
 and Miss Helen Faucit was the Mildred. Mrs. Stirling 
 and Mr. James Anderson also appeared in it. It would 
 be an ungracious task to enlarge on the causes of his 
 
Play -writing and those who have tried it. 37 
 
 difference with Macready. Details as to these were 
 given by Mr. Moy Thomas in his interesting dramatic 
 gossip in the Daily News two years since. They were 
 gathered from letters written to the editor, Mr. Frank 
 Hill, in 1884. Mrs. Sutherland Orr has, in her "Life of 
 Browning," given them in extenso. 
 
 The Athenceum (Feb. 18, 1843) spoke of " A Blot in 
 the 'Scutcheon " as a " poetic melodrama/' and called it 
 "a very puzzling and unpleasant piece of business." It 
 does not seem to have had very fair treatment, if we may 
 believe the statements that have been made. It was 
 produced on the same night that a new farce was given 
 " A Thumping Legacy " and the opera of " Der 
 Freischutz," and it is said without Browning's name. It 
 was played only three nights. It might have consoled 
 the poet had he known that the " pit audience," some 
 yet unborn, would be found eventually outside the walls 
 of the theatre. Their commendation, if less noisy, has 
 been more lasting. The play was revived by Phelps at 
 Sadler's Wells in 1848. The late Mr. Lawrence Barrett 
 is said to have obtained in America success with the 
 play in a modified and altered form. In 1853 
 " Colombe's Birthday " was played at the Haymarket, 
 with Miss Faucit in the part of the heroine. Mrs. 
 Browning declared it to be " a succes ctestime and some- 
 thing more," though she thought Miss Faucit alone did 
 it full justice. It ran for a fortnight, I believe. 
 
 The private performances of the Browning Society, 
 honourably associated with the name of Miss Alma 
 Murray and others, will be fresh in the public memory. 
 Browning's name is the last on my list. 
 
 It will be noted that, with few exceptions, the writers 
 
38 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 have aimed at producing tragedy, or have dealt with 
 things 
 
 '* That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe," 
 
 but, whether the attempts have been made in tragedy, 
 comedy or farce, it cannot be said, seeing with what 
 great and various gifts they were endowed, that in the 
 true sense they were unequal to the task. Is there any 
 special reason why the majority of these great writers 
 failed to obtain success in the theatre ? The question, 
 I think, may be answered in the affirmative. There is 
 no individuality so potent as to be independent of cir- 
 cumstances, and unless circumstances have enabled an 
 author to become possessed of the requirements of the 
 theatre, either by close study of a practical kind, or by 
 absolute connection with it, as actor or manager, it is 
 unlikely that he will be able to command the success he 
 looks for. The dramatist cannot easily work by himself. 
 It is largely in conjunction with the actor's art that he 
 must look for the means of achieving success. How far 
 the power of Richard Burbage influenced the genius of 
 his friend and companion, Shakespeare, we shall never 
 know. Notwithstanding all his gifts of humour and 
 characterization, it is certain, too, that if the young 
 Poquelin had not been an actor, he would not have 
 realized the force and effect of those situations that he 
 showed such genius in fitting and adapting to his own 
 purposes. Without this, Plautus and Terence would 
 have been of little avail. It would be easy to give the 
 names of many dramatists of the past, whose gifts 
 were encouraged by a close association with the theatre. 
 Much of their work, from various causes, would fail to 
 
Play-writing and those who have tried it. 39 
 
 attract now, but such play-wrights to name but a few 
 as Goldsmith, Holcroft, Brinsley Sheridan, Sheridan 
 Knowles, the Colmans, Planche, the Mortons, Douglas 
 Jerrold, Bulvver, Charles Reade, Tom Taylor, Westland 
 Marstoo, and Dion Boucicault, would not have suc- 
 ceeded as they did, without fulfilling the conditions I 
 have mentioned as necessary. But the art of the dra- 
 matist is one thing, that of the play-wright another, and 
 a combination runs upon that fine line which, though 
 rarely attained, gives to the theatre a permanent 
 repertoire. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 SUCCESSFUL PLAYS AND HOW TO ESTIMATE THEM. 
 
 TAKING for the moment, and for the purposes of our 
 consideration, a successful play to be synonymous with 
 a good play, we will adopt the former term. It must 
 be clear even if we agree upon what is or is not a suc- 
 cessful piece, that the estimate can be taken from dif- 
 ferent standpoints. A review of these may enable us to 
 ascertain whether there is any standard of success which 
 can be adopted, and if so, what it is. 
 
 There are four points of view from which the success 
 of a play can be estimated. There is that of the author, 
 the manager, the actor, and the public or audience. 
 
 The author's incentive may be money, or reputation, 
 or both. He may confess to other motives, but should 
 he be to any extent successful, solid rewards and some 
 renown will await him. Lord Lytton stated that he 
 had two objects in composing his most popular play 
 ("The Lady of Lyons''). The first was to serve the 
 higher interests of the drama through Macready ; the 
 second to prove to " certain critics ;j that it was not out 
 of his power to attain to dramatic construction and effect 
 on the boards of the theatre. 
 
 How far the higher interests were contributed to, in 
 
Success/id Plays arid how to estimate them. 41 
 
 what he calls " a very slight and trivial performance," 
 we will not now inquire. There is no reason to doubt 
 the sincerity of his statements. The play was a gift to 
 his friend Macready. If this had not been so, the 
 monetary inducements alone could not have been a 
 sufficiently tempting bait, in those days, to a busy and 
 already popular author. As he consented to the play 
 being produced anonymously, it is not easy to believe 
 that the primary purpose was to augment his reputation. 
 The manager's object is to make money. Our theatres 
 having no government or public subsidy, it is only 
 natural that he should produce such plays as he believes 
 will fill his treasury. The manager of a theatre, like 
 the publisher of a book, is a business man and follows 
 the ordinary laws of supply and demand. The actor's 
 view of success differs from that of author and manager, 
 inasmuch as besides the necessity of making money he 
 is anxious to appear in effective characters, or " parts," 
 to use the technical phrase. I am now assuming that 
 the actor is not a manager. Good " parts " mean 
 popularity with an audience, and as a consequence in- 
 creased reputation and pecuniary reward. The stand- 
 point of the public is to be interested, excited or 
 amused. The theatre is the place in which it looks for 
 entertainment, and from which it absents itself if not 
 found there. Should the diversion co-exist with artistic 
 treatment and "Esthetics/' so much the better, but 
 these for their own sake have never yet been sufficient 
 attraction. And there are times, such as those of political 
 excitement, etc., when the very best entertainments, with 
 these aids, will fail to bring money to the treasury. 
 But of this hereafter. It may be asked if it be not often 
 
42 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the case that poor plays with parts in them that give 
 good opportunities to the actors, will delight and amuse 
 the public and also enrich the manager. Most assuredly ; 
 and when this is so the piece is said to be " made by 
 the acting." The phrase, though usual, is scarcely the 
 right one. No work that is really poor can be actually 
 transformed by such treatment, but the actor's art is 
 able to endow it with a vitality and an appearance of 
 real merit that is marvellous. We are thus brought to 
 one of the side issues I have mentioned, namely, that 
 the success has been due to certain treatment. By a 
 careful review of the four standpoints, then, it would 
 seem that we must look for something beyond this for 
 the definition of a successful play. That we shall find, 
 I think, only by ascertaining how any work stands the 
 test of time. And here I cannot do better than quote 
 a few lines from Hazlitt, who though by no means in- 
 fallible, was a scholarly critic of considerable acumen : 
 v " When we speak of a good tragedy or comedy, we 
 \nean one that will be thought so fifty years hence. 
 Not that we would have it supposed that a work, to be 
 worth anything, must last always ; but we think that a 
 play that only runs its one-and-twenty nights, that does 
 not reach beyond the life of an actor, or the fashion of 
 a single generation, may be fairly set down as good for 
 nothing, to any purposes of criticism, or serious admira- 
 tion." 
 
 These lines appeared in the year 1820. Hazlitt has 
 been previously speaking of the period as one that was 
 not dramatic, and states that there had " hardly been a 
 good tragedy or a good comedy written within the last 
 fifty years, that is, since the time of Home's " Douglas " 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 43 
 
 and Sheridan's " School for Scandal." * Now, although 
 the above definition is but a partial one, I think it will 
 help us in meeting the difficulty. 
 
 It is not to be assumed that because a play does not 
 prove attractive after an interval of half a century it is 
 therefore poor or worthless. It would be manifestly un- 
 fair to apply the same test to a comedy as to a drama, 
 the motor of which is the conflict of the profoundest 
 passions incident to humanity. It is nearly three 
 hundred years since " Othello " was written, but to-night 
 in some country booth that masterpiece will gain the 
 plaudits of an uncultured audience ; while at the same 
 hour in London there will sit a mixed assemblage 
 enjoying, as it did in Shakespeare's time, some play 
 that after its butterfly existence will never see the light 
 again. With whatever skill and cleverness a play is 
 prepared, if it be unable to draw money, it must from 
 the manager's standpoint be looked upon as a failure. 
 There are few exceptions to this rule. Seeing that he 
 provides the medium that is theatres, actors, scenery, 
 etc. by which it can appeal to an audience, it is obvious 
 that he is the all-important factor in the business. A 
 play unacted somewhat resembles a song unsung, its 
 pecuniary value coming from its publicity. It cannot 
 be expected that he will keep a play in the bills that 
 may " fit audience find, though few," for the sake of 
 giving his author reputation, or his actors "parts " that 
 they fancy. But here we are stopped by another side- 
 
 1 Later in the same year Knowles's " Virgin ius" was produced, 
 which obtained the critic's commendation. It should be re- 
 membered that Knowles and Hazlitt were personal friends. The 
 latter was called by the author of " Virginius " his " mental father/ 
 
44 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 issue ; a play may be so inadequately or inappropriately 
 cast as to be condemned, or obtain less success than it 
 would have enjoyed with a competent interpretation. 
 The original production of " The Rivals " is to some 
 extent a case in point, though its first night's failure 
 was due also to other causes. It may be thought that 
 if the play itself be satisfactory there will be a wide 
 margin of toleration for its treatment. Possibly; but it 
 requires a subtle critic to know exactly how far it has 
 been affected by its rendering. The judgment passed 
 on a play, like that on a picture, poem, or novel, must 
 be relative, but my experience leads me to believe that 
 an English audience generally errs on the side of in- 
 dulgence rather than harshness : on the other hand it is 
 easy to remember instances, by no means uncommon, 
 where by the skill and exertions of the actors, an un- 
 mistakably bad piece has been made to appear on its 
 initial performance an absolute triumph. A " premiere " 
 is a misleading occasion, and sometimes it happens that 
 all but a few quidnuncs are completely deceived. It 
 would be comic, if so many serious interests were not at 
 stake, to see how actors will now and then do their best 
 in trying to coax or bully a play into success. 
 
 Where, as is often the case, the manager is an actor 
 himself, taking part in the play, motives of vanity or 
 pique, or a disinclination to accept failure, will induce 
 him to try and force the most hopeless production. 
 Trying to convince playgoers that they are wrong is not 
 a cheap form of amusement. The public is " after all 
 not the worst judge." But it must not be forgotten that 
 the manager's position is now, under the best possible 
 circumstances, one of extreme difficulty. Besides present- 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 45 
 
 ing the plays submitted for approbation, with such a 
 cast of characters as he believes will do justice to them 
 and attract the public, he must put them upon the stage 
 not only with correctness of detail in scenery and 
 costume, but with an artistic completeness and liberality 
 that have never before been equalled. Archives and 
 museums must be ransacked, continental picture collec- 
 tions must be overhauled, and he must call to his aid 
 the assistance of Associates and Royal Academicians. 
 He must, in short, spare neither time, trouble nor money 
 in trying to reach perfection. It often happens as with 
 other banquets, that the dishes and appointments are 
 richer than the viands served up ; but the public has 
 been taught to look for this costly display, and with the 
 keenness of competition what was once a luxury has 
 become a necessity. Without this elaborate treatment 
 many plays would have no chance of proving acceptable. 
 With the manager, therefore, the effort has become a 
 greater speculation than ever. The risks of the dramatic 
 author are in their way as great as that of the manager. 
 Mention has been made of the penalties of popularity 
 in connection with a young and inexperienced writer. 
 If a great first success has been -obtained, he will be 
 overwhelmed with applications for plays from which a 
 like result is hoped for. The danger is that the 
 dramatist, like any other artiste for an artiste he must 
 be is apt to be measured by his own standard, and 
 in his anxiety to retain his popularity and to " make 
 hay while the sun shines " is tempted to do work in 
 haste, and which, as a consequence, is poor and unsatis- 
 factory. 
 
 Now it cannot be too clearly understood that an 
 
46 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 . original play is a growth, a construction, a something 
 ^ made or built up. Failure in realizing this apparently 
 simple truth is apt to be misleading. There are wonder- 
 ful stories told of the rapidity with which some dramas 
 have been produced, but the mere putting them into 
 the form of manuscript, within a certain time, is no 
 proof of rapid construction it tends rather to show 
 that the materials must have been latent in the brain of 
 the author. That he may not himself be aware of it is 
 easily believed. It was a growth of which he was not 
 conscious. Shakespeare's friends and editors left it on 
 record that " His mind and hand went together," but 
 the absence of the " blot in his papers " cannot disprove 
 the complexity of mental processes. As the late Charles 
 Reade once reminded me, " Shakespeare has not made 
 many great plays." In the specially constructive sense 
 he meant. It would seem that there is a limit even to 
 intuitive genius, if I may so express it. The difficulty 
 of an author standing in his own way, may be illustrated 
 by a couple of stories of Sheridan. The first comes 
 from Kelly, the composer and music-seller. [It was 
 Kelly whom Sheridan told when he proposed to open 
 wine vaults under the Opera House, to write over the 
 door, " Michael Kelly, Composer of Wines and 
 Importer of music." ] 
 
 Kelly having learnt that Sheridan was writing a 
 comedy which he expected to finish shortly, met him 
 one day in Piccadilly. " I asked him," he says, " if he 
 had told the Queen that he was writing a play. He said 
 he had, and he was actually about one. ' Not you/ 
 said I to him, 'you will never write again, you are 
 afraid to write/ * Of whom am I afraid?' said he, 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 47 
 
 fixing his penetrating eye on me. I said, ' You are 
 afraid of the author of the ' School for Scandal.' " 
 The second story is ascribed to Garrick. When he 
 heard that the comedy just mentioned was going to 
 be produced by Sheridan, he remarked, " He has great 
 things against pleasing the town/' "What are they ? " 
 was the question. " His powerful Rivals." 
 
 Although success to a dramatic author in these days 
 may bring very substantial pecuniary rewards, the most 
 popular name is not necessarily a guarantee against 
 complete failure. It constantly happens that plays 
 which have exacted from their makers months of the 
 closest brain work, that have tested the abilities of the 
 very best available actors, and that have cost the man- 
 ager not only great labour and anxiety but large sums 
 of money, will on the second performance not bring 
 to the treasury enough to pay the night's expenses, 
 and in some cases not even pay for the lighting of the 
 house. A play now-a-days will " do " or it will " not do." 
 There are no half-measures, or if so, they must be taken 
 as the exception. Your work may contain the most 
 brilliant dialogue and scenes that are pregnant with 
 beauty and passion, but ff the piece as a whole does not 
 satisfy, your efforts will have been vain. Even tried 
 authors of great experience, with the full consciousness 
 of the risk attending all ventures on the stage, find 
 it difficult to accept failure with equanimity. It is very 
 hard to see the result of months of continuous mental 
 labour condemned in a few hours and not unnatural 
 to find authors fall foul of their audiences for what they 
 often assert to be a want of appreciation. That the 
 expression of such disappointment is not confined to 
 
48 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the present time, we can realize on reading the lines 
 prefixed to that Ode of Ben Jonson's " To Himself" : 
 
 "The just indignation the author took at the Vulgar 
 Censure of his play, ' The New Inn/ by some malicious 
 spectators, begat this following," etc., etc. 
 
 The ode itself is worth turning to. Cowley, too, in his 
 preface to " Cutter of Coleman Street," must have been 
 sensitive on the subject of its failure. He says : " There 
 is no writer but may fail sometimes in point of wit ; and 
 it is no less frequent for the auditors to fail in point of 
 judgment. I perceive plainly by daily experience that 
 Fortune is mistress of the theatre, as Tully says it is 
 of all popular assemblies. No man can tell sometimes 
 from whence the invisible winds rise that move them." 
 
 Congreve's " Way of the World " was so badly 
 received that it was one of the reasons that determined 
 him to write no more for the stage. Colley Gibber, 
 a thoroughly successful playwright, bitterly complained 
 that his " Love in a Riddle," written in opposition to 
 the renowned " Beggar's Opera/' did not succeed ; and 
 attributed it to "the lamentable want of taste in the 
 town " ! and Steele was equally disgusted that his 
 " Lying Lovers " proved unattractive. " The Tatler " was 
 yet unborn, and its editor had something in store better 
 than dull and sententious plays. Fielding also, after 
 the failure of his farce " Eurydice," printed it with the 
 note, "As it was d mned at the Theatre Royal in 
 Drury Lane." But to return to the question of what 
 is or is not a successful play. It is clear, I think, that 
 we must strike some sort of a balance from the different 
 standpoints that have been enumerated. Appropriate 
 acting and sympathetic treatment, as we have seen, may 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 49 
 
 render a poor play successful from the manager's point 
 of view. It may, in fact, draw money in London, the 
 Provinces, America and so forth, but may not prove 
 either strong or attractive enough to bear revival when 
 its first course is run. Consequently, though it may 
 have thoroughly fulfilled its purpose, it will not answer 
 to any test of time. It is in the nature of things that it 
 should be so. Much of what pertains to the theatre is 
 purely ephemeral. It cannot be otherwise while re- 
 creation is the main purpose for which theatres are 
 frequented. Taking into account the enormous mass 
 of material in dramatic form that makes a bid for 
 popular favour, it is astonishing how little has any real 
 permanence. The inference then seems to be that by 
 the test of time the number 'of successful acting plays 
 must be regarded as very limited. I think we must 
 look upon the deduction as a sound one. There is not 
 much wisdom in sighing after an unattainable ideal. 
 The stress and wear and tear of modern life make men 
 and women turn naturally enough to what will lighten 
 their burdens and dissipate their anxieties, and we can- 
 not wonder that they look for 
 
 " Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
 And Laughter holding both his sides." 
 
 Without being too precise, and taking a much less 
 exacting estimate than Hazlitt for fifty years is a long 
 spell it may be said that A sympathetic and well- 
 constructed drama that yields the fullest opportunities to a 
 clever company of actors in their respective lines, and that 
 will stand a reasonable test of time, comes under the head 
 of a successful play. 
 
 Of the word "sympathetic" in this connection I 
 
 E 
 
50 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 shall have more to say in considering the qualities 
 necessary or desirable in a playwright. For the pre- 
 sent it may be accepted that this attribute of sympathy 
 may be of more importance to the success of a play 
 than skilled construction or truthful delineation of 
 character. In speaking of " a clever company of 
 actors " some qualification is necessary as to the extent 
 of its power. A company that shines with great 
 brilliance in a modern drama, is sometimes robbed of 
 all its lustre when trying to interpret any of our fine 
 old comedies. A good performance of " As You Like 
 It/' or " The Clandestine Marriage," " The School for 
 Scandal/' or " She Stoops to Conquer," is a delight of 
 the highest order ; but if the rendering be feeble or 
 incompetent from the lack of power, the result will be 
 a weariness to the flesh and a vexation to the spirit ; 
 particularly to whose who know and have seen what is 
 possible with these fine plays. The additional striving 
 after scenic attraction seems but an aggravation of the 
 offence. Frequently realism defeats its own ends in 
 this respect, and shows what an inefficient substitute it 
 is for gaiety, wit, humour, graceful fancy and intellectual 
 delight. How often we have felt that much of the dis- 
 play was " from the purpose of playing " and that we 
 could have heartily welcomed the " Wooden O " treat- 
 ment once more. Fine plays, under such circumstances, 
 yield their opportunities to no purpose whatever. 
 
 Moderately good actors in Cicero's day were, he 
 says, rare. As the very highest gifts for the acting of 
 old comedy now, are about as scarce as, say the power 
 of adequately interpreting the poetic drama, it is evident 
 that the most successful plays are not put upon the 
 
Siucessful Plays and how to estimate them. 5 i 
 
 stage without spme difficulty. It is not in accordance 
 with my plan here to enter into any details of the actor's 
 art farther than they may serve to illustrate play 
 making, or I might endeavour to find a reason for this. 
 
 Saying that a play yields its fullest opportunities to 
 a company of gifted and trained actors even when they 
 have the requisite power, is only implying that the 
 demands it makes upon its skill and ability are very 
 considerable. Consequently many successful and at- 
 tractive plays are seen at rare intervals on account 
 of the necessary actors not being available in order to 
 render them full justice. 
 
 There are successful plays by the test of time that do 
 not fulfil two of the conditions of my definition ; that 
 is to say they are not either sympathetic or well- 
 constructed, but they are so few that they scarcely need 
 consideration. 
 
 There are also sympathetic plays, in which character 
 and dialogue are the sole elements of attraction and 
 that are undoubtedly successful. Their construction is 
 faulty in spite of considerable ingenuity in what are 
 called "situations." The late Mr. James Albery's 
 delightful play of " Two Roses " may be cited as a case 
 in point. As also some of T. W. Robertson's charming 
 comedies, of which I shall have occasion to speak in 
 detail. The defect may arise from deficiency of" story," 
 a totally different thing to " plot " ; or the want of the 
 necessary skill in interweaving " story " and c< plot." 
 
 It may be thought that the definition given is too 
 exacting, and that there are many sympathetic and 
 well-built pieces that act effectively and serve their 
 purpose without any thought of further revival. This 
 
 E 2 
 
52 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 is perfectly true, but it is by considering the " survival 
 of the fittest " that it is possible to take into account the 
 strength or weakness of a drama, and try to arrive at a 
 solution of the problem before us. It will also be a 
 guide to what is attractive on the stage, and throw some 
 light on those elements which enable a play to acquire 
 more than a temporary popularity. 
 
 With regard to the myriads of pieces produced called 
 farcical comedies, whose aim and object are to amuse 
 and nothing more, it must be remarked that the skill 
 required to produce them must by no means be des- 
 pised ; many of the qualities that they call for are to 
 be found in work of the highest class, that is, in pure 
 comedy ; or in comedy drama, a style of piece where 
 the treatment is in the vein of comedy, but which has 
 an underlying serious interest. Notwithstanding that 
 they make a great demand upon technical skill, farces, 
 whether in one act or three, are not to be compared 
 with comedy or comedy drama, for difficulty of con- 
 struction. In a farcical play it constantly happens that 
 the characters are impossible, their motives and actions 
 unnatural, and that probability is violated at every 
 turn. All this is quite consistent with their being 
 heartily and wholesomely amusing, and capable of 
 drawing a great deal of money into the treasury of the 
 theatre. Such pieces vary much, both in their treat- 
 ment and quality. They may be illumined with an 
 airy grotesqueness, or a graceful humour approaching 
 the brilliance of high comedy, and calculated to delight 
 a cultured audience ; or they may descend to the veriest 
 practical buffoonery or display of " comic business/' as 
 it is called. Like other branches of art, they are 
 
Successful Plays and how. to estimate them. 53 
 
 amenable to, if not governed by, the laws of taste. 
 They require more than any other products of the 
 dramatist the co-operation of the audience and make 
 good Rosalind's truism, 
 
 " A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it ; never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it." 
 
 The three-act " farcical comedies " that have been so 
 much in vogue of late years take the place of the old- 
 fashioned one or two-act farces of days gone by. Still, 
 it is no mean task to rationally supply your fellow- 
 creature with food for mirth, and work worthy enough 
 for those whose abilities call them to it. Broad farce, 
 free from coarseness in the making and the in- 
 terpretation, is one of the most enjoyable things 
 the stage can yield. This branch of the theatrical 
 art has sometimes proved very remunerative. A great 
 deal of it is quite outside what can be called by any 
 stretch the literature of the stage, and holds much the 
 same position to the drama as the " shilling shocker " 
 does to literature. 
 
 How is it then that other than poor plays, with a 
 higher ambition than merely to amuse, and which 
 certainly do not come within the range of my definition, 
 manage to attain a great success for a time ? It is due 
 to various reasons. It may be owing to the public, 
 which, as I have intimated, is heedless enough as a body, 
 so that it be fairly entertained. Or to the skill of the 
 actors and stage management, or, to return to my first- 
 mentioned side issue, it may be due to the effect of 
 some passing folly or " fad " which a manager is too 
 glad to take advantage of, Other reasons could be 
 
54 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 given, but it is to the interpreters undoubtedly that the 
 highest credit must be yielded. The art of acting often 
 covers even the most serious constructive defects of a 
 play ; subduing the colour here, heightening it there, 
 and adding innumerable touches everywhere, for which 
 an author has reason to be profoundly grateful. The 
 same play revived with a less talented company, or 
 under bad stage management, will make a woful ex- 
 posure of the play-Wright's want of cunning in his craft. 
 There are two questions the interest of which is 
 perennial : " Is it possible to know beforehand whether 
 a play will act well?" and "can one know whether a 
 play will prove attractive ? " These are not easy queries 
 to give a direct answer to. Let us take the first. 
 When it is asked if a play will act well, we suppose the 
 meaning is ; will it be effective when acted ? It is 
 quite possible to know ; but it is only probable that 
 someone will be able to give the necessary information 
 whose instincts, not sympathies only,, are unmistakably 
 dramatic. These will enable their possessor, either by 
 study of stage requirements, or association with the 
 stage as author, manager, or actor, to become qualified 
 for the task. Many of the great writers whose work we 
 have surveyed were of course capable of knowing such 
 a. thing, and did know it, but for all useful or practical 
 purposes it was only a partial- knowledge. Many 
 dramas that have been produced were effective, and 
 would be grandly so on the stage, if they were acted by 
 a company every member of which was a Roscius. 
 Authors have been so often blind to the rarity of the 
 greatest histrionic gift?, and the immense difficulty in 
 its higher manifestations of the art of acting. I am 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 55 
 
 writing of things as they are, not as many would wish 
 them to be. The laws of the higher form of the drama 
 differ greatly from what may be said to govern such 
 work as we are now considering. Only a perfect 
 knowledge of the capacities of the artistes who are to 
 interpret the work is likely to enable an author to 
 know how far it will prove effective. This knowledge 
 from "various causes now due to the changed conditions 
 of the stage, he is scarcely likely to be full master of. 
 
 With regard to the second question, whether a play 
 will prove attractive, the answer must also be burdened 
 with various contingencies which must be first con- 
 sidered. It is quite possible to form an estimate, and a 
 fair one, as to the likelihood of success, but such an 
 estimate can be given only by an expert, and the most 
 skilful judge is liable to err at times. 
 
 .One often hears it said of an untried play that " it is 
 a mere chance," or that " no one can tell." Of a certain 
 class of ephemeral pieces this may be in a measure true. 
 But, with fair opportunities given for judging, to declare 
 that no estimate can be formed, is erroneous, and a 
 distinct confession that experience is without value. 
 Fair opportunities of judging may be exceedingly rare 
 and difficult to supply ; that is another matter, but a 
 really good play, like a good story, or a good picture, 
 is most certainly capable of being judged, and will 
 often outlast temporary opinions and tastes. Good and 
 sound work is always good and sound ; and its merit is 
 by the cultured critic clearly recognized. The degree 
 of success a play may achieve, or rather the length of 
 its run, is difficult to predict. And this it must be 
 allowed is what the manager is anxious to arrive at. 
 
56 Hoiv to write a Good Play. 
 
 Macready, who was a practical man, and a manager and 
 actor, was opposed to the views here given. With 
 rhetorical decisiveness, he says, " From the many op- 
 portunities subsequently offered me of testing the 
 fallibility of opinion in these cases, the conclusion has 
 been forced upon me that the most experienced judges 
 cannot with certainty predict the effect in representa- 
 tion of plays which they may hear read, or even see 
 rehearsed. Some latent weakness, some deficient link 
 in the chain of interest, imperceptible till in actual 
 presence, will oftentimes balk hopes apparently based 
 on the firmest principles, and baffle judgments respected 
 as oracular/' 
 
 Hearing a play read, or seeing it rehearsed in the 
 manner that was, in Macready's time, unavoidable very 
 long runs being unknown cannot be accepted as a fair 
 opportunity. With play-writers of established reputa- 
 tion, nine times out of ten, a manager has not the play 
 submitted to him in any complete form. The last act 
 of " Pizarro," which Sheridan adapted, was, it is said, 
 unfinished on the very night of its first representation. 
 Two days before the " Critic " was announced, it was not 
 in any complete state in the actors' hands. The story 
 is, that, at a night rehearsal, Sheridan was decoyed to 
 the theatre, and induced by King, the stage-manager, 
 to go into the small green-room, where there was a cosy 
 fire burning, and near it a comfortable arm-chair ; on 
 the table there were pens, ink and paper, with two 
 bottles of claret, and a tempting dish of anchovy sand- 
 wiches. Sheridan had no sooner entered the room than 
 King popped out and locked the door. His father-in- 
 law, Thomas Linley, and Dr. Ford, were the managers, 
 
Success/id Plays and how to estimate them. 57 
 
 and they informed him from outside, that he was to 
 finish the wine and the burlesque, and not to come out 
 till he had done so. Sheridan enjoyed the joke heartily, 
 set to work in earnest and the play was completed. 
 
 Modern versions of similar experiences could be 
 adduced. 
 
 That apart from such embarrassments, a manager, 
 with the responsibilities and duties attendant on his 
 position, should find it difficult to decide, is not to be 
 wondered at. 
 
 One of the most popular plays of its day Home's 
 " Douglas " is said to have been rejected by Garrick, 
 and the " Fatal Discovery/' by the same author, which 
 utterly failed, had his enthusiastic commendation. 
 Certainly, when managers do make such mistakes, " the 
 crime carries its punishment along with it." Nor as a 
 rule are actors good judges. The actor's art is a self- 
 absorbing-one, and he is too much engrossed with his 
 own " part " to fairly gauge the effect of the whole. 
 With the necessary requirements of costume and its 
 changing, etc., it is difficult at final rehearsals to become 
 a spectator. Besides which, he has the artist's tempera- 
 ment, and his sanguine nature turns from any contem- 
 plation of failure. He is loyal to his " management," and 
 should misgivings arise he makes a brave fight for it, 
 and endeavours to conceal them. I do not think that 
 many experts even are capable of judging of the merits 
 of a play by a single reading of it by its author, who 
 very often mars his verses " with reading them ill- 
 favouredly." The old system of the author reading the 
 full play once only to the actors and actresses engaged 
 in it, is not to be commended. There are reasons 
 
58 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 advanced for this custom which need not be entered into 
 here. Much tact and good temper are necessary with 
 a body of actors on the production of a new and impor- 
 tant play. As a matter of fact, after the reading, the 
 full text of the play is rarely in the possession of even 
 the principal actors and actresses. Each of them is 
 provided with his or her " part/' and they are therefore 
 unable to judge whether the play, as a whole, is good, 
 and whether their fellow-artistes are likely to do full 
 justice to the material with which they are supplied. 
 An intelligent actor or actress ought, I think, to know 
 something of the merits of a play ; but there are not too 
 many capable of giving a judgment of a work from the 
 point of construction, which is a special study. Lil<e 
 artistes in other branches, they have their likes and 
 dislikes, their passions, prejudices, sympathies and 
 antipathies they would not be actors if they had not 
 and the difficulty is to get from the scales that they 
 hold, the indication of an opinion free from the suspicion 
 that kindly feeling is taking down the balance against 
 their better judgment. That gifted and charming 
 actress, Mrs. Kendal, has, in her " Dramatic Opinions," 
 confessed that she is " not personally a good judge of a 
 play," but it is difficult to think that here she is not 
 taking for conviction what may be due to mistrust. She 
 follows it up by describing an instance in which her 
 judgment was once at fault. But it is the exception 
 which proves the rule, and, let me repeat, errare 
 humanum est. Similar mistakes occur constantly in 
 music, painting, literature and every other avocation. 
 Here is a well-known story in literature which could be 
 easily paralleled in connection with the stage. Many 
 
Successful Plays and hoiv to estimate them. 59 
 
 years ago a young fellow, twenty-five or twenty-six 
 years old, submitted the MS. of a novel to Mr. Colburn 
 the publisher, who placed it in the hands of his chief 
 " reader," by whom it was declared to be utterly worth- 
 less. He gave it to his second " reader," who reported 
 more favourably. This induced him to read it himself, 
 with this verdict as a result : " It is my decided opinion 
 that it will be the book of the year ! " And it was, I 
 believe. " Pelham" was the name of the novel, and the 
 author of it was Bulwer, afterwards Lord Lytton. But if 
 the manager be not an actor, or not engaged in the play 
 in question, it may seem that a full "dress rehearsal " of 
 the piece would enable him to predict what its fate would 
 be. It sometimes does so, but as all his preparations 
 are complete, and his outlay made, it is too late to with- 
 draw it, supposing that such a course is open to him 
 for the author invariably believes in the strength and 
 beauty of his bantling. It must be said that great 
 allowance should be made for the difficulties of the actor 
 at a " premiere," for at many a last " dress rehearsal " 
 the advantages are gathered entirely by the scenic 
 artist and the carpenters. The actors, who with scenes 
 and costumes supplied, most require to reap the bene- 
 fit of it, have to do as they can. Many of the best 
 artistes, with all the will in the world, are quite unable 
 to act scenes of any power or passion at rehearsal as 
 they can " at night." It is a matter of temperament or 
 idiosyncrasy. Where it is possible, it is a distinct gain 
 to the actor, whose art, like the musician's, and, in fact, 
 every other, requires incessant practice to arrive at any- 
 thing like perfection. 
 
 In the case of plays that are essentially farcical, the 
 
60 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 audience is such an important factor in the success of a 
 production that nothing but its full presence at the first 
 performance enables a judgment to be arrived at. What 
 can be gathered from the foregoing, then, seems to be 
 that the success of a play is only to be foretold by an 
 expert ; but that fair opportunities are so rarely given 
 of forming an estimate, that no result at all approaching 
 certainty can be arrived at. The expert would not 
 stultify himself by saying, " Yes, here is a good play, 
 and, well acted, it will draw money." To be safe, he 
 would put it in this way, " Here is a play, that under 
 certain conditions, that is, of theatre, acting, scenery, 
 etc., will attract, but to what extent, that is, how long a 
 run it will have, it is impossible to predict.' 1 Another 
 judgment may be to the eftect that "the play with 
 certain radical or structural alterations would succeed, 
 but in its present form it is hopeless," or that " no alter- 
 ation can possibly render it acceptable." The difficulty 
 of forming an opinion on pieces is not always of the 
 same degree. A play, the main attraction of which is 
 its character or dialogue, is more easily judged than one 
 whose chief merit is attributable to the ingenuity with 
 which it is pieced together. Pure comedy may be 
 regarded as an exception to this. 
 
 Another question which, if of a less practical value 
 than the two already discussed, is not inferior to them 
 in interest, is " Why do plays t that give such a keen 
 enjoyment in the acting fail to impress in the reading ? " 
 The explanation given in the first case supplies an 
 answer in a partial way, namely, that the reader is not 
 an expert by reason of a deficiency in that quality not 
 easy to analyze or define and which may be called " the 
 
Successful Plays and hozv to estimate them. 6r 
 
 dramatic sense." Sir Walter Scott writes (he is dealing 
 with romantic drama), " We certainly do not always 
 read with the greatest pleasure those plays which act 
 best." But the great wizard knew the limits of his 
 cunning, and what disqualified him from forming an 
 opinion ; for elsewhere he says, " I feel severely the want 
 of knowledge of theatrical business and effect " ; and 
 again " I hold myself inadequate to estimate those 
 criticisms which rest on stage effect." Dr. Johnson, who 
 had not the modesty of Sir Walter (speaking of " High 
 Life Below Stairs/' a less difficult class of play) says, 
 " Here is a farce which is really very diverting, when 
 you see it acted ; and yet one may read it, and not 
 know that one has been reading anything at all." It is 
 never safe to quote Johnson as a critic of things thea- 
 trical, but he must have been very obtuse, or very bilious, 
 not to be able to see " where the fun comes in " of 
 Townley's play. It is full of opportunities for broadly 
 comic actors. The plan of it is as follows : A very 
 wealthy young fellow is warned by a friend that he is 
 being ruined by the shameful extravagance of his ser- 
 vants. He is no sooner convinced of this than he pre- 
 tends to have gone on a journey. By the aid of his 
 friend's servant he manages to get introduced into his 
 own servants' hall as a yokel from the agricultural dis- 
 tricts. Flunkeys, lady's-maids, house-maids, coachmen, 
 etc.. etc., ape the manners of their superiors in station 
 and riot in the wildest spirit, giving scope to every sort 
 of burlesque of absurd follies. All this is watched with 
 astonished amusement by the master, who ends the 
 matter by disclosing himself and turning them all out 
 of doors. 
 
62 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Now it is certainly strange that given such a " motif" 
 Johnson should not have been able to see the drollery 
 of the situations arising, or should have looked for 
 something in the book which was naturally enough 
 supplied by the actors. 
 
 In saying " naturally enough " I am leading to a solu- 
 tion of the difficulty, and supplying a clue to one of the 
 secrets of the actor's art. A play is not only valuable for 
 the words it contains, but for the opportunity it yields its 
 interpreters of endowing it with what may be of as 
 much, or of more importance than what can be derived 
 from verbal expression. Every drama is enriched by 
 its capacity to receive suggestions that are known to 
 the actors as " business/' It is the unwritten action, 
 the something between the lines, which goes to explain 
 the reason, that, except to any one with dramatic instinct, 
 a play is so difficult to appraise. What is done is more 
 important than what is said. If in imagination we take 
 from some attractive play we have witnessed everything 
 but the mere words, we shall at once become conscious 
 of what is lost. The latter can be dispensed with not 
 so the action. Those who have seen the admirable art 
 displayed in " L'Enfant Prodigue " will perhaps com- 
 prehend this more fully. It is surprising that a play 
 upon such simple lines as " High Life Below Stairs/' 
 and with such opportunities for practical caricature and 
 fun, should after it had been seen, fail to supply Doctor 
 Johnson with the cause of his delight. One is apt to 
 wonder what, on reading it, he expected to find in the 
 way of literature. A play that has not been represented, 
 demands in perusal, for the comprehension of its stage 
 effect, an alertness of intellect that the average reader, 
 
Successful Plays and hoiv to estimate them. 63 
 
 who is not gifted with dramatic instinct, rarely brings 
 to it. 
 
 Plays are not generally read now, as they used to be. 
 Intellectual aids and recreations of every sort have 
 taken their place. Authors occasionally print a volume 
 of plays, and some of them are to be had singly, but it 
 is generally after the first gloss is worn off in the theatre. 1 
 Johnson and Goldsmith made money out of the 
 copyright of " Irene " and "The Good-Natured Man/' 
 neither of them lasting and successful plays ; but their 
 authors' names were great in literature. 
 
 If a writer of any eminence attain thorough success 
 with a play, his emoluments from the theatre will make 
 any literary copyright a very secondary consideration. 
 Should failure be the result of his efforts, the less said 
 the better. " In other compositions " to quote Sir 
 Walter again, " the neglect of the world takes nothing 
 from the merit of the author ; but there is something 
 ludicrous in being affiche as the author of an unsuc- 
 cessful play." 
 
 Is it to be wondered at that sometimes an author 
 smarting under failure should decline to take with 
 calmness the adverse decision of the public with regard 
 to his work, arid decide to " print it and shame the fools ? " 
 We have seen the risks and disappointments to which 
 he is liable ; and there may be some justification for 
 his conduct, for many a play that has failed, contains 
 some of the best material its author has been capable of 
 producing. Amusing scenes, brilliant dialogue and skil- 
 
 1 Since writing the above the author finds it necessary to modify 
 this statement. The American Copyright Act seems to have 
 stimulated the publishing of plays. 
 
64 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 fully drawn characters are often irretrievably lost if a 
 play fail to attract. 
 
 Let us look at the means ordinarily employed by the 
 manager to cater for the public. His usual course, very 
 naturally, is to apply to some dramatist who has 
 already been successful. Such a plan commends itself 
 to him for various reasons. The chances of a novice 
 being able to supply him with a play that will serve his 
 purpose are, as he knows, about a thousand to one. 
 Better than most men, perhaps, he is aware of the value 
 of a name. The multitude is apt to believe that what 
 has pleased it before will please it again, and that a new 
 play by A, B, or C, as the case may be, will have good 
 points. In short, it concludes rightly enough in things 
 theatrical, as in other matters, that if a reputation has 
 been honestly gained, it is a certain sign of some sort 
 of merit, pretenders and quacks as a rule having but a 
 br'ef existence. The manager's first anxiety, as we have 
 seen, is to fill his treasury. It is not to be supposed that 
 he believes in every play that he produces being able to 
 do this ; but unless he is driven to extremities and 
 such a state of affairs has been known he has a con- 
 viction that the piece he decides to put upon his stage 
 is worth trying, being quite alive to the rarity of good 
 dramatic work, and the necessity, now-a-days, of sub- 
 mitting to a considerable risk. The system of trying 
 plays first at a matinee is sometimes of value to him ; 
 but the present custom of engaging actors, which is in 
 two senses that of "piece-work," renders this of some 
 difficulty. Careful and finished rehearsals are not easy 
 to insure. The particular actors or actresses requisite 
 for his venture will not always be available. And even 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 65 
 
 when he guarantees an actor a certain run, or a certain 
 remuneration, whatever the result of his experiment, 
 the risk to the latter, unless there should be something 
 specially valuable in the part he plays, is also great. 
 The author, it is true, if he can afford it, is free to engage 
 a theatre and a company of actors for a matinee per- 
 formance, and produce his play himself. But if a 
 manager finds such a course beset with difficulties, how 
 much more so will the novice who understands little 
 or nothing of the routine and machinery of the stage ? 
 Experience he will get for his expenditure, and it will 
 be fortunate for him, if he has not to pay too dearly for 
 this jewel. There are other matters in connection with 
 matinees that do not apply to evening performances, the 
 audience is not made up of the real play-going section, 
 nor is there found in it the full complement of professed 
 critics. Add to this the want of judgment often dis- 
 played by the friends of the author and the actor, and 
 it will be seen that such a test is not without its dangers. 
 Again, though an expert may know what good acting 
 will do for a piece, the author and his friends may not, 
 and should his play fail to please, it unfortunately 
 receives a condemnation due sometimes only to its 
 treatment. Managers, as a rule, are busy men, and try 
 to do too much ; but they would be more than foolish 
 if not more than mortal, to visit all the matinees of new 
 plays. They have not the time even if they have the 
 inclination to see how any drama submitted to them 
 could, by all sorts of alterations, be rendered a sound 
 and effective piece of stage-craft. It is not their work 
 to do the author's, though it is a labour they take 
 upon themselves occasionally. They sometimes, as 
 
 F 
 
66 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 we have shown, in the case of that imaginary young 
 author, give him suggestions of such a radical nature 
 from a constructive point of view, as to obtain for a 
 perfectly impracticable play a great and permanent 
 success. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, there are many successful 
 plays that have been first given to the public at a matinee 
 performance. It is doubtful also whether, in the not 
 too likely event of a really fine play being presented 
 under such circumstances, it could be altogether lost, 
 even with bad and unsuitable acting. But really fine 
 plays being the exception always, we need not take 
 them into account. If the chances of an outsider or 
 novice are so slight, it may be asked what hope there 
 can be for the aspirant for stage honours. Why give 
 that phantom sketch of the young play-wright and his 
 good fortune ? I spoke of an exception a case pos- 
 sible but not probable. Writing for the theatre success- 
 fully is only accomplished, as a rule, by the closest 
 application, and the most practical study, and is a very 
 arduous and exacting form of literary labour and mental 
 exercise. Our successful dramatic authors have only 
 become so by dint of patience and perseverance. The 
 interesting details given by my old and esteemed 
 managers, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, in their popular 
 book, of T. W. Robertson and his hard fight, point to 
 one of many similar instances. If, in the first flush of 
 aspiration begot of the effect produced on them by some 
 past master of his art, youthful writers have been 
 tempted to try their hands at a five-act comedy, it is 
 fortunate for them if they have discovered their mistake 
 early, and set to work on something less ambitious. 
 
Successful Plays and how to estimate them. 67 
 
 But to do this with any reasonable hopes of success, 
 they will probably find it desirable first to learn, among 
 other matters, something of the qualities required in a 
 good play-wright. 
 
 *' 2 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 QUALITIES REQUIRED TO WRITE A PLAY. 
 
 FOR one person who can put together some sort of a 
 play I suppose there are a hundred who can produce 
 some sort of a novel ; and yet we constantly hear such 
 remarks as, " What a drama Blank, the novelist, could 
 write ! " " What a shame it is that Dash does not do a 
 fine play ! " or " What splendid work Star might give 
 to the stage ; he's got it in him ! " That is the point, 
 but how is it to come out ? We have among us 
 novelists who can sit down on the instant, and write 
 away for dear life and public delight, scarcely pausing 
 till their work is complete. They are able to tell a 
 good story well, give it truthful and effective characters, 
 strengthen it with powerful and touching scenes, put 
 into it all that is attractive and amusing, endow it with 
 beauties of style, contriving, at the same time, that the 
 work shall have a beginning, middle and denouement, 
 and prove admirable in form and construction ; yet, 
 unaided, they could no more give to the world a suc- 
 cessful play, than they could fly. Such writers may not 
 be plentiful, but they exist. 
 
 Macready said, and Sheridan Knowles seems to have 
 agreed with him, that if Sir Walter Scott could have 
 written a successful or stirring play, it must have come 
 
\ Qualities required to write a Play. 69 
 
 out of him. In other words, had he been endowed with 
 the true dramatic fire, he could not have suppressed it. 
 But there was a requirement that the actor and the 
 dramatist temporarily lost sight of in their discussion. 
 True dramatic fire, it will not be denied, was one of 
 Scott's best gifts. Strong drama and high-class melo- 
 drama he could have given to the stage if he had 
 chosen, or been compelled to do so. Why should he 
 face the difficulties of the dramatist's art, when the 
 weaving of romances was, as Mr. Louis Stevenson 
 remarks, " play to him " ? There was a strong necessity 
 to write dramas or anything else, after the Ballantyne 
 crash, but Scott was then fifty-five years old, which, 
 with a broken spirit, I fear must be looked upon as " too 
 late a week " to master the technique of play-making. 
 We have seen that he knew and realized the difficulties 
 of the dramatic art. That he might have succeeded in 
 writing for the stage is a view also held by his son-in- 
 law and biographer, Lockhart, who says that what he 
 did in this way was quite "unworthy of him. Rethrew 
 off these things currente calamo" 
 
 It is clear from Sir Walter Scott's expressed opinion 
 of the audiences of his day, that he had no strong 
 inducement to risk failure by any serious attempt. 
 Macready and Knowles had forgotten for the moment, 
 what of course they well knew, that the difficulty of 
 writing for the stage is in acquiring a mastery of the 
 form in understanding the technical shape and require- 
 ments. This is an intellectual task that is specially 
 exacting in comedy. Nobler gifts may be necessary 
 for the poetic drama, but the difficulty of form in pure 
 comedy is much harder to surmount. As, if I remember 
 
\ 
 
 70 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 rightly, one of our most skilful and experienced critics, 
 Mr. Joseph Knight, puts it, " Comedy is an exacting 
 mistress, and unless you accede to all she requires, 
 spurns your offer, and turns you into ridicule." Form 
 admits of gradations, and I think for our purposes some 
 such formula as this might be accepted : 
 
 1. // is difficult to write a drama at all. 
 
 2. // is a harder task to write a successful drama. 
 
 3. It is even more difficult to write a successful comedy 
 drama. 
 
 4. To write a successful comedy is a yet greater feat. 
 
 \ 5. To write a great and popular comedy is a work of 
 Genius. 
 
 t Having assumed the possession of imaginative power 
 and " the dramatic sense " of which I have spoken, let 
 us inquire what other qualities are necessary for a good 
 and successful play-wright. 
 
 The first essential is Invention. Even allowing 
 that an author is not blessed with the gift of adding 
 to the world's store original ideas, this quality cannot 
 be dispensed with. It is said that Englishmen are 
 deficient in the power of invention, but is this a 
 fair conclusion ? The ethics of the French stage, 
 from which we have always been liberally supplied, 
 give scope for greater complications and ingenuities. 
 The main reason, I take it, that such a charge as the 
 lack of invention is brought against English writers, is of 
 a practical nature. Many men whose gifts might lead 
 them to compete, are quick enough to see the speculative 
 k conditions of the attempt. Managers pay for the result, 
 and not the effort. So far so good. A play that proves 
 largely successful and draws much money, should be 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 7 1 
 
 paid for accordingly. But to try to write a good play, 
 is, as I have stated, a more exacting labour, both with 
 regard to time and capacity, than is required in other 
 branches of literature. Liberal sums are paid to those 
 authors who have won their spurs. They receive 
 remuneration for their names as well as for their work. 
 A name attracts and is worth so much money, but I 
 think that the elements of speculation should be mini- 
 mized. Now and then will arise an author who is 
 capable of producing an immensity of work for the 
 stage, much of it of the poorest and most inartistic kind. 
 Such a thing is inevitable. Quality suffers for quantity. 
 Play-making may not be one of the exact sciences, but it 
 is more nearly allied to them than appears at first sight. 
 It can fairly be described as a sort of sympathy in matlu- 
 matics, and requires no mean intellectual powers to 
 pursue with success. Head must be associated with 
 heart, and constructive ability with sympathetic expres- ; 
 sion. To say that Englishmen who have won the 
 highest honours in every branch of science, lack the 
 ability, I hold to be unjust and futile. I have little 
 doubt, too, that with increased encouragement an art 
 would be popularized in England that has never been 
 greatly in favour, I mean collaboration. The French 
 understand its value better than we do. If it were more 
 common with us, the labours of manager and stage 
 manager would be greatly lightened. In France and 
 elsewhere, the collaboration of two authors in one-act 
 plays is very usual ; and in longer and more ambitious 
 pieces the conjunction of three, and even four writers, 
 is brought about. It would be necessary, in paying a 
 higher rate for stage efforts, that a manager should have 
 
/I 
 
 P A 
 
 72 How to write a Good Play. /> 
 
 some regard to the requisite capacity in the writer ; but 
 it is probable in this respect he would be quite able to 
 look after his own interests. A clever novelist in 
 making a dramatic effort not only sacrifices a large 
 amount of time that can be employed with pecuniary 
 profit, but is apt to find that stage work induces a certain 
 " unsettlement," if I may coin a word, that is somewhat 
 detrimental to his ordinary labours. He has a difficulty 
 too, to cope with, that does not fall to the lot of the 
 younger aspirants. In seeking the means of obtaining 
 dramatic honours and rewards he will find it necessary, 
 as Lard Lytton said, to " unlearn as well as to learn." 
 Equal eminence in both departments is uncommon. 
 
 The principal writers who have obtained any con- 
 siderable success in the two capacities will not make a 
 very formidable array. Omitting the great name of 
 Fielding, whom we have considered, the mention of 
 Goldsmith, Holcroft, Mrs. Inchbald, Lover, Mrs. Gore, 
 Douglas Jerrold, Bulwer, Charles Reade, Shirley Brooks 
 and Wilkie Collins, will include most of those who have 
 done so. Bulwer furnishes the most triumphant instance 
 known. For this success he was very much indebted 
 to Macready. His plays of " Cromwell," and "The 
 Duchess de La Valliere," which were not successful 
 efforts, preceded " The Lady/ of Lyons." The first, I 
 believe, was never acted, but it may be presumed to 
 have given its author experience in play-making. From 
 \these failures he learnt perhaps as much as from 
 Macready's personal advice. But even if a writer be 
 (gifted with that intellectual activity which, like necessity,! 
 is the rather *f invention, it will be of slight avail unlessj 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 73 
 
 its child is trained and disciplined. This discipline is 
 best gained, as I have before stated, by association, in 
 some form, with the boards of a theatre. An occasional 
 visit is of little use. Nor is the most careful study of 
 all the plays that are temporarily successful of value, 
 except sometimes as an indication of what to avoid. 
 Conventionalism governs all matters in connection with 
 the stage more than is generally believed. How difficult 
 it is for writers to realize this, is proved by the ideas 
 sometimes entertained as to what will dramatize in 
 literature. I believe there are people sanguine enough 
 to think they could make a play out of Plato's 
 " Republic," White's " History of Selborne," or Smith's 
 " Wealth of Nations." The most extraordinary things 
 are attempted. 
 
 The desire to escape the labour of original invention 
 is, I suppose, one of the reasons that popular novels are 
 turned into plays. A second, may be that a favourite 
 novel in the form of a play will in a measure advertise 
 and recommend itself. I share a common prejudice, 
 and must confess to a distaste for seeing favourite 
 novels dramatized. The arts of the dramatist and the 
 novelist, as we see, are distinct, and the pleasure that 
 is derived from them comes in a totally different way. 
 Though there are many instances in which well-known 
 stories have succeeded as plays, the result artistically, as 
 a rule is not happy. With all the skill and art possible, 
 the stage in many cases is apt to vulgarize and treat 
 too materially a fine conception. The elements of 
 melodrama in a story will, it may be granted, be 
 heightened in effect, but what treatment can augment 
 
74 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the finest traits in "Jane Eyre" or "Adam Bede/' 
 or " The Christmas Carol " ? There are occasions when 
 an author lays down the lines of his story in such a 
 manner as to render it capable of being easily made 
 into a play ; or, as is more often the case, he will make 
 a play first, and develop his story from it afterwards. 
 Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins both adopted this 
 plan with success, but, as will be rightly inferred, it asks 
 for a greater tax on the inventive and constructive 
 powers. " Christie Johnstone," by the former author, 
 was arranged first as a play, I believe. It seems to me 
 still allowing for a deal of irrelevant matter that is now 
 out of date, if attractive at any time one oft he most 
 beautiful and dramatic stories ever written. I do not 
 find it easy to read it without a quickened pulse, and a 
 ready response to its touches of humanity. One of its 
 finest scenes is that in which the heroine Christie, the 
 Newhaven fish-wife, sets sail on the Firth of Forth to 
 save a young artist, who, while bathing, has been carried 
 away by the tide and in danger of losing his life. The 
 motives that prompt her to the rescue are purely 
 human. She effects her purpose, but is not aware that 
 the man she rescues is her own temporarily estranged 
 lover. The treatment of the incident is praiseworthy 
 in the extreme, but unsuited, except in a mutilated 
 form, for presenting on the boards of a theatre. On the 
 other hand it contains scenes that would act admirably. 
 It may happen that the greatest exercise of the 
 inventive power will, with dramatist, poet or novelist, 
 result in some story or situation that has long been 
 common property. Lord Tennyson himself told me that 
 since the publication of " Enoch Arden " he had received 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 75 
 
 from various sources five or six accounts of returned 
 mariners who found themselves in the plight of the hero 
 of his beautiful poem. There is interest and amuse- 
 ment in speculating how any given " motif'' was evolved 
 by the dramatist, but it is questionable if it be of much 
 real usefulness. In a well-known paper of Poe's he pro- 
 fesses to trace the development of " The Raven " from 
 its inception to the finished state. Now, although 
 Mr. Lowell's estimate is worth remembering 
 
 " There comes Poe with his Raven, like Barnaby Rudge, 
 Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge " 
 
 "The Philosophy of Composition" must always be of 
 interest to any poet, in its original sense of maker, and 
 therefore of interest to the dramatist or play-wright. 
 
 What is said of the expediency of a plot being 
 " elaborated to its denouement" is decidedly worthy the 
 attention of the aspiring dramatist. The author who 
 has not, at a very early stage, a serious regard for the 
 end of his play, whether it be in one act or five, will 
 probably find himself in a difficulty. An amusing 
 example of this is given in " Macready's Reminiscences." 
 Barry Cornwall (Procter) projected a play already 
 spoken of, called " Mirandola/' but he began it with the 
 second act. Macready liked the look of what was done, 
 and urged him to complete the drama. The author then 
 supplied a first act. He had settled his denouement or 
 catastrophe for the end of act five, but was in a diffi- 
 culty as to filling up the third and fourth acts, 
 and the beginning of the fifth. In despair he begged 
 Macready to help him out of the hobble. He 
 consented, and did his best by designing some scenes 
 
76 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 to fill up the gap, but was quite aware the attempt 
 was a sorry business. They then consulted Sheil, the 
 dramatist, who acknowledged the perplexity, but could 
 devise no way out of it. Procter therefore went to work 
 to get free of the dilemma as he could, re-writing and 
 shaping the scenes till something was arrived at. All's 
 well that ends well. The drama was, as we have seen, 
 highly successful ; for nine nights it was acted to " over- 
 flowing houses/' and would, but for the counter- 
 attraction of Miss Wilson (whom George the Fourth had 
 * praised) at the rival theatre, have had a more con- 
 tinuous prosperity. 
 
 Whatever additional embroidery the skill or sug- 
 gestion of the actors or the stage-manager may be 
 able to give to the fabric, it is desirable that it should 
 be fairly well knit first. The endings of plays have so 
 frequently endangered their success, that a phrase, " that 
 fatal last act," has become a too familiar one. The 
 greatest care and thought should be given to the last 
 and penultimate acts of a play. The interest should 
 rise as the drama progresses. Let us suppose that it is 
 a four-act play dramas in four acts being mostly in 
 demand. Roughly speaking, and nine times out often, 
 the first act takes care of itself. If it should happen in 
 these heavy dining days, as, alas, it was in Shakespeare's 
 time, that some among the audience who come to " see 
 away their shilling," do so in order 
 
 " To take their ease, 
 And sleep an act or two," 
 
 it is fair to assume that the later acts will be selected for 
 their repose. At any rate, it is to be hoped that the 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 77 
 
 majority of the audience comes fresh, in its best 
 signification. ^The second act should be stronger than 
 the first, and the third will probably be the test of the 
 real vitality of the work. Should the fourth or fifth act 
 be stronger than the third so much the better, but the 
 third act is the crucial test in most cases. In some of 
 our greatest five-act plays, as in "The Merchant of 
 Venice" and "The School for Scandal," the finest 
 effect or the most telling " situation " comes at the end 
 of the fourth, v 
 
 It has been asserted that any novelist, by setting to 
 work and doing what Lord Lytton did in the way of 
 unlearning, could attain success as a dramatist. But 
 this hypothesis rests on a poor foundation. There are 
 hundreds of clever and competent story writers who 
 are utterly deficient in " dramatic sense." This quality 
 Bulwer, the progenitor of the sensation novel, had in a 
 very high degree. There is, too, in his work a distinct 
 fibre of poetry and noble aspiration, associated with a 
 certain element of the superficial, which is favourable to 
 much that is successful in the theatre. How far it was 
 derived from a study of French literature and French 
 dramatists it is not easy to say ; but it is to be found 
 in all his plays, and notably in his three greatest 
 successes in the theatre : " The Lady of Lyons," 
 " Richelieu," and " Money." Rhetoric in plays that are 
 to attract the multitude has always been in the theatre, 
 with rare exceptions, of higher value than real poetry. 
 Its rendering is also easier. There are in Bulwer's 
 stories and romances, dozens of characters or types 
 which would always have remarkable effect in the acting. 
 Some of them which figure in his plays will be found 
 
78 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 often repeated in his novels. But the wit and 
 brilliance of this many-sided genius have never been 
 questioned. Some lines which appeared in a leader in the 
 Daily News> after his death, seem to me very just, and 
 give a key to much of his success in the theatre : 
 " Where Lord Lytton really excelled, was in the 
 delineation of cold, cynical, cultured natures, brought 
 under the sway of great passions or confronted by great 
 events ; in the analytical exhibition of character as 
 modified by the complexities of a highly artificial state 
 of society ; and in the subtle suggestion of a mysterious 
 background of beauty, awfulness, and terror, lying 
 behind the puppet shows of life." 
 
 Lord Lytton, too, spared no pains, and was never 
 afraid of work. Nor does it seem that in fitting it for 
 the stage he was unreasonable when that surgical 
 trial to authors, termed " cutting/' was essential. He 
 learnt at an early period (what Pope has called " the 
 last and greatest art, the art to blot."1 Above all, it 
 must never be forgotten that he was exceptionally 
 fortunate in having for a colleague and interpreter, 
 Macready. We may remember that Mr. Yellowplush 
 was rather hard on the " Honrabble Barnet," as he called 
 Bulwer, but the attack was not altogether undeserved. 
 It would take too much space to consider the question 
 of " Adaptation " fully, but it may not be amiss to see 
 how far invention is necessary for the adapter. When 
 Mr. Vincent Crummies announced to his company a 
 new piece, the name of which was not known, but would 
 supply everybody with a good "part/ 1 Nicholas 
 Nickleby was, as the author, rather startled with the 
 suddenness of the proclamation, and pleaded that his 
 
Qualities reqidrcd to write a Play. 79 
 
 " invention was not accustomed to these demands." 
 The manager could not see the force of his objection, 
 and asked him if he understood French. On Nicholas's 
 rejoinder of " Perfectly well," Mr. Crummies took from 
 his table drawer a manuscript, told him to turn it into 
 English, and put his (Nicholas's) name on the title- 
 page. In far grander temples than those in which the 
 Portsmouth manager held sway, such conduct was very 
 usual, if it did not obtain in a much more recent period 
 than that of " Nicholas Nickleby." Whether it was 
 regarded as being justified by supposed mightier pre- 
 cedents cannot be determined. The literary gentleman, 
 in the same amusing work, gave it as his opinion that 
 " Bill was an adapter ; and very well he adapted too, 
 considering." Shakespeare's miraculous transmutation 
 cannot of course be seriously considered as adaptation. 
 The highest inventive genius is shown in much of his 
 work where he seems to have utilized chronicles, 
 legends, ballads, stories,- and incidents most fully. The 
 late Mr. Button Cook has given in his very entertaining 
 work, called " On the Stage/' a long list of the names of 
 English writers, who laid under contribution the best 
 " things in Moliere. Soon after his death, his plays were 
 not only published in English, but with the English and 
 French side by side, which was a very convenient 
 arrangement for those would-be play-wrights ignorant 
 of the Gallic tongue. Dryden, Betterton, Shadwell, 
 Wycherley, Otway, Sir John Vanbrugh, Colley Gibber, 
 Mrs. Centlivre, Fielding, Murphy, Bickerstaff, and 
 others were indebted to the great French dramatist. 
 Gibber's impudence, who took credit in " The Non- 
 Juror" for originality, and his assurance in his 
 
So How to write a Good Play. 
 
 preface to the King, in talking of "his concern in 
 the interests of truth and loyalty," are refreshing. 
 It brought forth the following satire. It is from the 
 epilogue to " Sir Walter Raleigh," a contemporary 
 tragedy, 
 
 "Yet to write plays is easy, faith, enough, 
 As you have seen by Gibber in Tartuffe. 
 With how much wit he did your hearts engage ; 
 He only stole the play ; he writ the title page." 
 
 In justice to our own eighteenth-century authors it 
 should be remembered that as Mr, Button Cook points 
 out we were duly robbed in turn. Ducis adapted 
 Shakespeare for the Theatre Fran^ais. The plays of 
 Congreve, Farquhar, Lillo, Thomson, Edward Moore, and 
 \ Sheridan were all " done " into French, and also the 
 novels of Richardson and Fielding. It is amusing to 
 read that when " The School for Scandal " was trans- 
 lated by M. Pluteau, under the title of "L'Homme 
 Sentimental/' the comedy was found unsuitable on the 
 ground of morality, or want of it. The conduct of Lady 
 Teazle was " too scandalous for representation/' 
 
 The amount of credit due to an adapter for his in- 
 vention must depend largely on the nature of his work. 
 Charles Reade, in a characteristic jeremiad against 
 adapters, says : " This is the pipe of vanity and 
 ignorance ; they have never invented, or they would 
 know the difference, Now, I have done both. I 
 have adapted French pieces with invariable success, 
 and I have invented. I am, therefore, a better 
 authority ; and I pledge you my honour, that to 
 invent good pieces is very hard, and to adapt them 
 is quite as easy as shelling peas. ... I can lay my 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 8 1 
 
 hand on a dozen adapters of French pieces to the 
 English stage, who know neither French nor English 
 nor the stage/' The author of " The Cloister and the 
 Hearth " was skilled in hyperbole. There is a matter 
 connected with this subject that is worth some attention* 
 which managers are responsible for. To read in the 
 Times advertisements that a version of some French 
 classic is by an Englishman, without the slightest 
 allusion being made to the original author, shows not 
 only a want of taste, but a small regard for truth and 
 fairness. It may be argued, " Oh, everybody knows it 
 is So and So's," but that is not the point. There are 
 cultivated and refined Frenchmen who read the Times, 
 and the reproach should be removed, There is, I hope, 
 in the majority of cases a sense of chivalrous fairness in 
 all dealings with our courtly neighbours. It would take 
 more space than is at my disposal, to explain the many 
 forms in which the invention is taxed in the art of play 
 construction. Invention will be greatly put to the test 
 in disentangling the threads of a plot and story, as well 
 as in creating the complication, though the latter is not 
 such a light task as may be assumed. 
 
 " Nothing so easy as intricate confusion of plot and 
 rant, Mrs. Centlivre in comedy has ten times the 
 bustle of Congreve ; but are they to be compared ? 
 And yet she drove Congreve from the theatre." 
 
 Thus writes Lord Byron. But he was wrong, or gave 
 utterance to half the truth only. Confusion of plot, and 
 involvement, may or may not have been easy to the 
 author of " Childe Harold," but he would have found, 
 if he had tried, that unravelling the threads of the 
 intricacy, and making everything clear to an audience, 
 
82 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 . is by no means a slight task a play is a lucid compli- 
 cation or a clear involvement. Nor do I think he was 
 right in his last sentence. Congreve may have been 
 jealous of Mrs. Centlivre's success ; but there were 
 other reasons (one of which has been given) why Con- 
 greve ceased writing for the theatre. In elegance, wit, 
 and. construction they were not to be compared, though 
 the lady was more than his match in bustle. 
 
 The next most important qualification for a play- 
 P ^ wright I take to be the power of Characterization. This, 
 like other requisites, will still tax the invention. In 
 other words, the dramatist must call up from the " vasty 
 deep " of his consciousness a set of characters that shall 
 consistently work out his plot. Whether a plot be first 
 arranged for the characters, or the characters build up 
 and elaborate the plot, is of no great moment, so that 
 the end in view be satisfactorily accomplished. The 
 modus operandi will vary considerably. The " proper 
 way " to write a play is to do it successfully. Some- 
 times a character or characters will suggest a " motif" 
 or pivot, from which will follow a gradual accretion of 
 movement, incident, and situation. Or the " motif" 
 with its supporting scenes and situations may ask for 
 characters to carry them out. We shall have after- 
 wards, to w consider the " pump-and-tub " plan, which 
 likewise did not become altogether obsolete after the 
 disappearance of Mr. Vincent Crummies. In a modified 
 and varied form it still obtains. 
 
 Some years ago a London evening journal published 
 a series of short papers by popular dramatic authors, 
 who gave details of their mode of working. They were 
 full of ingenuity and very entertaining, but it is an open 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 83 
 
 question to what extent they proved of value to the 
 budding play-wright. A play, as I have said, being a 
 " growth " and more absolutely so than any other form 
 of literary work, does not easily allow of an analysis by 
 its maker. The importance of keeping steadily in view 
 the fact, that only by gradual development, a play can 
 become an artistic whole, will be seen when it is shown 
 that if an author be incapable of giving reality or vrai- 
 semblance conventional or not, as the case may be 
 to the characters, the plot cannot be consistently 
 carried to its denouement. Characters and movement 
 should act and re-act upon each other. The full-blown 
 genius on whom the whole scheme descends like an 
 atmosphere, or to whom the plan of a play is like the 
 vision of Kubla Khan, suddenly clear, is, I fancy, allied 
 to the great family from which Mrs. Harris derives her 
 being. The lack of ability to see what is, or is not 
 effective, as a character for the stage, is a fault that 
 should be early remedied. There is a necessity also 
 that a writer should be conscious where amongst his 
 characters the interest should centre. Goldsmith's first 
 comedy, " The Good-Natured Man/' has in this respect 
 a serious defect, and which will always, I think, stand 
 in the way of its popularity as an acting play. Honey- 
 wood (the Good-Natured Man) is not a successful bit 
 of painting ; it is impossible to feel that there is reality 
 or naturalness in the character. As the leading lover, 
 also, Honeywood should exact our sympathy in his 
 misfortunes, instead of which he represses it. When he 
 entertains the idea of giving up the woman he loves to 
 such a creature as Lofty, we are offended with him, but 
 later on, when he actually pleads for his rival to Miss 
 
 G 2 
 
. 84 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Richland (she taking it for his own declaration), his con- 
 duct provokes disgust. Goldsmith seems to have felt that 
 the character was not satisfactory, if we may judge by 
 the attempts made to justify it, in the speeches at the 
 end of the play given to Sir William Honeywood. As 
 it stands, Croaker (originally played by Shuter) is the 
 best acting part in the piece. Collaboration would not 
 have been easy with Goldsmith, but it might in many 
 respects have improved " The Good-Natured Man." 
 \ We now come to Probability. This affects incident, 
 movement and characterization. It is evident that 
 what is natural and consistent in a novel is not neces- 
 sarily so on the stage, where sight takes the place of 
 imagination. It is impossible to lay down rules as to 
 what extent probability can be invaded. As in fiction, 
 it is greatly modified by treatment. How it is handled 
 is everything. In broad farce or farcical comedy, vio- 
 lation of probability is not often resented, if it be aided 
 by boundless good humour and "go." With skilful treat- 
 ment and clever acting, wonders can be accomplished. 
 Nor would it do to examine some of the most success- 
 ful pieces under a too powerful lens. A too scrupulous 
 regard for probability in either movement or character 
 would, I fear, stand in the way of any new plays being 
 made at all. We must not forget Puff's reply in that 
 best of all burlesques, " The Critic/' It struck Mr. 
 Dangle, that the daughter of the Governor of Tilbury 
 Fort being in love with the son of the Spanish Admiral, 
 verged on the improbable. "To be sure," answers 
 Puff, " but what the plague ! a play is not to show 
 . occurrences that happen every day, but things just so 
 s strange, that though thay never did, they might happen." 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 85 
 
 It is of the highest importance that the principal 
 "motif" of the play should not be chargeable with im- 
 probability, or the cleverest treatment in other respects 
 will fail to vitalize a work. 
 
 The writer who looks for success on the stage will do 
 well to make sure, first of all, that the pivot on which 
 his work turns is thoroughly sound. I remember an in- 
 stance where two young authors had collaborated in a 
 play, which, but for the main motive being impossible, 
 would have had every chance of success. Allowing for 
 this big " but," the construction and knowledge of tech- 
 nique, treatment, and dialogue, in the play were admir- 
 able. The best proof that the work was well done and 
 the incidents neatly dove-tailed, was shown when an 
 endeavour was made to strengthen or change the main 
 motive. It was quite impracticable to do with any 
 success, and an easier course to start on a new play. 
 Their postulate had been taken too confidently, and when 
 their finished play was submitted to a variety of judg- 
 ments the weakness of the central support was at once 
 evident. It was a high price to pay for their experience, 
 for the play had cost much time and labour, but though 
 this piece was never acted, the knowledge gained was of 
 great value to them. Had it been presented, it must 
 inevitably have failed, and the good material of every 
 sort that it contained could not have been further utilized. 
 As it happened, they were able to take out most of the 
 plums and put them into another pudding. 
 
 There is a quality now to be considered which may 
 come under the general head of Treatment, but which 
 is so important in a play particularly in its inceptive 
 state, that the chances of a play's success hinge on it. 
 
86 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 It is that of Harmony f , or symmetry : the necessity for. 
 keeping a consistent tone. It belongs distinctly to the 
 composition of a work in its early stages, and is a 
 stumbling-block to the most experienced writers for the 
 stage. It is one of the greatest difficulties, as will be in- 
 ferred, of the class of piece I have called comedy-drama. 
 Though in a measure harmony is necessary in every 
 work, it will be seen that plays of a broadly comic or a 
 distinctly serious tone, do not admit of violent contrasts. 
 In dramatic work, the want of harmony is allied to dis- 
 parity, or diffuseness of interest. Its dangers are in- 
 creased by the treatment a play may receive by the 
 actors. 
 
 Anything that tends to lighten heavy or sombre 
 plays, is in the theatre of great importance, but on the 
 other hand, it is alarming to an author to see, as a piece 
 grows and develops in the hands of the artistes, his serious 
 and most engrossing interest, quite against his intention, 
 gradually getting swamped and overcome by the 
 humours of the comic or mirthful characterization ; for 
 if this be too strongly marked or expressed, the best 
 acting in the serious characters is powerless to hold its 
 own. 
 
 Harmony being to some extent an element of taste, it 
 is not easy to submit hard and fast rules for its applica- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Puff got over the difficulties of harmony from a con- 
 structive point of view, in a way that can hardly be recom- 
 mended. He believed always in two plots. "The grand 
 point in managing them is only to let yourunder-plot have 
 as little connection with your main plot as possible. I 
 flatter myself nothing can be more distinct than mine ; 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 87 
 
 for as in my chief plot the characters are all great peo- 
 ple, I have laid my under-plot in low life ; and as the 
 former is to end in deep distress, I make the other end 
 as happy as a farce.' 1 
 
 Many plays have been successful that have a total 
 disregard for harmony, but it is questionable whether 
 their success is lasting ; the difficulties being often 
 overcome by the acting and modifications in stage 
 management. 
 
 The next most important quality of which we have 
 
 v to treat, is, what may be called (for want of a better ex- 
 pression) Ethical balance. It is closely allied to, but not - 
 identical with, the moral sense of a work. Here again, 
 treatment of a subject is everything : though I am dis- 
 tinctly in accord with those, who, in the recent contro- 
 versy over the Norwegian playwright, Ibsen, hold that 
 certain subjects should not be treated on a public stage. 0A 
 The utterance of a great and lofty spirit should never 
 be forgotten, j" What delights, what emancipates, not 
 what scares and pains us, is wise and good in speechV^ 
 and in the arts."] Fortunately the morale of an English 
 audience is sound and healthy. The corrupt are always 
 in a minority. But the theatre deals with effect, not as 
 laid down in written detail, but as it is expressed by the 
 combined treatment of author and actor. It is with 
 plays as with fiction ; it may be extremely difficult to 
 say from any outline to what extent a subject will prove 
 acceptable. Speaking of " Adam Bede " and her pub- 
 lisher, George Eliot says, " I refused to tell my story 
 beforehand on the ground that I would not have it 
 
 . judged apart from my treatment^ which alone determines 
 Mhe moral quality of art." 
 
88 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 The tone of the day in literature will be a general 
 safeguard to the stage. We are happy that we live in 
 times productive of writers whose gifts are grafted 
 on to the healthiest and most bracing natures. The 
 morality of the drama need no longer keep its place in 
 a vexed and doubtful region. The healthy prevailing 
 spirit of the present time, and it is to be hoped of the 
 future, is and will be an assurance, that in spite of 
 errors of taste, the pabulum supplied will be sweet and 
 wholesome. 
 
 The preservation of ethical balance is apt to be a 
 difficulty with some authors, and to seriously impede 
 them when greatly gifted in other respects. 
 
 There is an attribute in play-writing which, although 
 it would seem simply an initial necessity, is frequently 
 held of too slight account. It is Condensation, the anti- 
 thesis to diffuseness "and verbosity, terseness, the power 
 of getting much matter into little space. If it be a 
 requirement in all other writing of our busy and feverish 
 age, how imperatively necessary is it in the acting drama. 
 It might have been given as one of the reasons, for it is 
 an important one, why to some readers there seems to 
 be a want of literary value in successful acting plays. 
 While English audiences are (as it seems they are likely 
 to be) more than those of other countries intolerant of 
 anything that retards action, the art of compression will 
 be an essential to dramatic composition. At the same 
 time there has always been a great deal of wild talk on 
 the subject of " literary plays " and " literature in the 
 drama." As long as theatres remain private specula- 
 tions in which managers look to be reimbursed for their 
 outlay by audiences made up of all classes, it is useless 
 
Qualities reqiiired to write a Play. 89 
 
 to reproach authors for failing to supply what theatre- 
 goers do not require. 
 
 It is not easy to conceive how literature, as understood 
 by some of its advocates, is to be reconciled with what 
 Shakespeare calls the " two-hours' traffic " of the stage. 
 Our audiences may be more phlegmatic which I am 
 inclined to doubt than those of foreign nations, but 
 they are assuredly more impatient. Incident and move- 
 ment they demand before all things. More than this, 
 the writer for the English stage who is skilled in his art, 
 will, with the actor's aid, give the effect of literary 
 excellence, without verbiage. In the acting of the 
 higher drama even, much of what comes within the 
 definition of literature has been and is discarded. If 
 we take up a book at home or at the club, that proves 
 dull and bores us, we are free to indulge in the pastime 
 of " skipping." With a play, when the feat is indulged 
 in, it is generally to the exit door of the theatre ; a fatal 
 result for the author and everybody else concerned. 
 The increasing impatience of an English audience, and 
 its distaste for anything but rapid action, render com- 
 pression and brevity more necessary than ever. The 
 acting value of a "part" is not to be estimated by its 
 length. Play-wrights of experience constantly present 
 characters that are wordy and ineffective to the last 
 degree, and it asks exceptional gifts in an actor or 
 actress to conquer the demon of prolixity. 
 
 Style can be shown in the briefest forms of expres- 
 sion. It is a requisite, if not a component part of wit, 
 epigram and repartee, but this it will be better to treat 
 of when considering Dialogue. 
 
 Before entering into details of the mechanism of a play 
 
go How to write a Good Play. 
 
 there is one other requisite for a successful play-wright 
 that is of the highest value. 
 
 It is pre-eminently a gift, and out of the power of any 
 writer to attain who is not blessed with it. It is that of 
 Vx Sympathy, heart, humanity ; the fellow feeling that 
 makes us " wondrous kind ; " the quality that cynics 
 affect to despise, but which they should be grateful to 
 feel is the first to conquer them. Mr. Besant has drawn 
 attention to u sympathy ; ' and its first appearance in the 
 modern novel. Dickens, among others, had previously 
 shown its absence in Defoe. Since his day it has come 
 to be not only an attractive element, but a power, and 
 what is more a necessity in fictfon. It would have been 
 strange if, with the growing rrleans of culture and the 
 extension of right feeling, it had not taken its place in 
 the acting drama. The finest acting will conceal its 
 absence in a play, but can never be a substitute for it. 
 Without its presence the most perfect construction and 
 the wittiest dialogue conveyed in the highest style are 
 of little avail for any time. If you would see the triumph 
 of head over heart exemplified in its temporary reign 
 on the stage, look at Congreve. Turn to Thackeray's 
 sparkling essay and contemplate the whited sepulchre 
 that fashion gave as a reflection in " The Double Dealer " 
 and " The Way of the World." It is difficult to believe 
 that the period of which " the great Mr. Congreve " 
 was the bright particular star, stands between that of 
 Shakespeare and our own. We may grant that John 
 Bull is false and unreliable in his artistic instincts, but 
 the welcome conclusion must be made, that his heart 
 is in its right place. Give us somebody to love and sym- 
 pathize with rightly and take to our hearts, or we shall 
 
Qualities required to write a Play. 9 1 
 
 find it an empty, hollow business. Sympathy is not want- 
 ing in the best modern plays of English growth. The 
 best actors encourage it, are in touch with it, and work 
 on it, but the play-wright must provide the material. It 
 is often a test of the greatest popularity. You will find 
 it in "The School for Scandal/' " The Road to Ruin/' 
 " Black Eyed Susan/' " Masks and Faces/' " The Green 
 Bushes/' "Never too late to Mend/' "Caste," "Two 
 Roses/' " Our Boys/' and a hundred other plays, unequal 
 in merit and unlike in style, but possessing this one 
 great and attractive feature. 
 
 What was the great charm of the work of T. W. 
 Robertson, apart from its rendering and treatment, to 
 which it seems to me a very great proportion of its 
 attractiveness was due ? It certainly was not in con- 
 struction or plot, for they were weak points with its 
 author ; he was too often very deficient in what I have 
 called "story/ 7 and though, as we shall see, he could 
 write good " dialogue/' it was not to that he owed his 
 popularity. I think it was due mainly to a largeness of 
 heart and sympathy, which in his best work showed 
 clearly a reflection of both Thackeray and Dickens 
 through the medium of his own personality. " Caste," 
 in the latter qualities, so well illustrates him that one or 
 two allusions to this delightful play, which may be 
 reminders to many, will probably be welcome. 
 
 The second act concludes with George D'Alroy's 
 reluctance to leave his wife, Esther, when he is ordered 
 out on foreign service ; with the visit of his mother, the 
 Marquise (the only character a little out of drawing), and 
 her son's tender request to Esther that she should 
 buckle his sword-belt on to please his mother. She 
 
92 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 fails in the task and falls into her husband's arms over- 
 come. There is beauty and naturalness in this, but not 
 till the third act does the author show his mastery of 
 the instrument he plays on. There is Polly Eccles's 
 defence of her disreputable old father, and Esther's 
 rebuke to him when she stands up on behalf of her 
 infant. Then comes the spirited and beautiful speech 
 of Esther when she reads Hawtree's note, with the 
 cheque enclosed ; George's unexpected return and Polly's 
 delight ; the pleasure of George on learning he is a 
 father ; his gratitude to Hawtree for his care of Esther, 
 and the discovery that Sam Gerridge bought the piano 
 for her ; Hawtree's appreciation of Sam, and Polly's 
 ruse to let Esther know the welcome news, and the 
 touching meeting at last of husband and wife. It is 
 difficult to conceive anything of its kind more exquisite 
 than all this. When you hear it said that " the public 
 does not want heart and feeling, and that kind of thing 
 now-a-days/' be assured that the source from which such 
 a statement comes is shallow and unreliable, and utterly 
 deficient in the qualities it would depreciate. May the 
 English stage never cease to value the truth in the 
 common acceptation of the popular but ever beautiful 
 maxim,/ 1 One touch of nature makes the whole world 
 kin ! ) 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON THE MECHANISM OF A PLAY. 
 
 "THE Scenario, yes, that is the difficulty of a play ! " 
 This exclamation came from my friend the late Wilkie 
 Collins, one winter afternoon, during a delightful chat ; 
 the last, though I little suspected it, that I was destined 
 to enjoy with him. An opinion of the popular novelist 
 may be of interest to that wide circle which knows and 
 has found pleasure in his work as a writer of stories. 
 To those who were not privileged to know the man, I 
 may take the opportunity of saying that the kindest 
 and truest nature was possessed by one whose gifts of 
 dramatic and constructive interest were in many 
 respects masterly. In spite of these gifts he did not 
 become successful without the closest and most arduous 
 labour, and I think he owed much to a careful exami- 
 nation of the best work of the French in this respect. 
 There were few who were more thoroughly aware of the 
 value and importance of construction as a factor in 
 human interest. 
 
 In a letter which I received from him four years since, 
 he mentions some words of encouragement, of which he 
 was naturally proud. He speaks of one of his early 
 short stories, "Which had the honour of keeping Scribe 
 in a breathless condition. He prophesied all my later 
 
94 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 success from that little specimen, when I was presented 
 to him in Paris.'* 
 
 The playgoer will remember what the stage owes to 
 the part author of "La Bataille de Dames." That 
 Wilkie Collins's estimate of the value and difficulty of a 
 scenario is the right one, will be clear to those who 
 know anything of the art of play-making. It should 
 be the first step in the mechanism of it. 
 
 There is a story told about a writer, an untried 
 dramatist, who in a glow of enthusiasm, having obtained 
 access to a manager, overwhelmed him with a rapid and 
 excited sketch of a play he was ambitious to undertake. 
 The manager did his best to follow the lines of the plot, 
 and gave him an assenting nod now and then, in the 
 course of a very long recital. "What do you think of 
 that ? " inquired the aspirant triumphantly when he had 
 finished. " There's something in it/' replied the manager 
 quietly. " You Ve got it at home I daresay on paper. 
 Will you let me see the sketch ? " " At home ! " ex- 
 claimed the other. " My dear fellow/' (pressing his 
 hands down on his cranium), "I've got it all here ; I 
 should spoil it on paper ! " 
 
 However clearly the details of a plot may present 
 themselves, it will be found that when it comes to 
 putting it on paper the difficulties begin. It will be 
 necessary to have settled upon some leading " motif ;" 
 that it should be thoroughly sound and probable, has 
 been already shown. Now mentally, the ramifications 
 of this may seem clear and practicable enough, and 
 present themselves vividly to the writer's imagination, 
 but if he be incapable of working them out tangibly, and 
 only trusts to^an inspiration that may be slow in arriv- 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 95 
 
 ing, or perhaps not arrive at all, his dangers and 
 difficulties will be at once evident. He may rest assured 
 that that troublesome denouement will not prove one 
 of his least formidable obstacles. Some novelists with 
 a proper regard for " story " declare the scenario is a 
 crux, but others do not allow this to be so. 
 
 The laws of fiction, however, are much less stringent 
 than those of the drama, but, unless like Canning's 
 knife-grinder, the cry is, 
 
 " Story ! God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir," 
 
 a plan, or scenario, is a most desirable preliminary. 
 The full scenario of a long play is, even to the most 
 gifted author, a laborious work, but having completed 
 it one great difficulty is over. 
 
 Probably there are many dramatists who could fill 
 out a play more easily than they could produce it in 
 skeleton form ; for the scenario is also a growth. 
 Others will write and re-write, building up all the 
 framework till they are satisfied. There is an im- 
 portant difficulty in preparing a scenario that must not. 
 be lost sight of. It is that of the " pump-and-tub " of 
 our friend Mr. Crummies. 
 
 As a manager is more often than not an ambitious 
 actor also, the experienced dramatist is fully aware that 
 he will require a good " part " for himself. The honour- 
 ably artistic circumstances under which he consents to 
 forego the temptation of acting, if conducive to the 
 artistic effect as a whole, are by no means uncommon, 
 but he is compelled to appear sometimes for the pur- 
 pose of " strengthening the bill." Again, not only the 
 manager, but the manager's wife must be provided for. 
 
96 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 There may be also " infant phenomena " to take into 
 account. Add to this a special company that is to be 
 fitted, and it will be understood what is meant by the 
 " pump-and-tub " difficulty. 
 
 Now, it is comprehensible that, as those for whom 
 " parts " are required are not likely to be gifted with the 
 attributes of al Talma, a Garrick, a Kean, a Siddons,)or 
 even lesser lights, and as the dramatist's success must 
 depend on the way his work is treated he must expect 
 to have, and does in fact, a task of no slight magnitude 
 before him. That such obstacles as present themselves 
 are overcome successfully, is a proof of the great inge- 
 nuity of some of our play-wrights. An eminent writer 
 told me he never could write a play for a particular com- 
 pany. As a finished play is far more easy for a manager 
 to read than any scenario, inasmuch as the great at- 
 tractions, if any, of the dialogue are before him, it will 
 be seen that unless an author is willing to undertake 
 the labour of a full play, the only plan he can adopt 
 will be to construct a scenario in a tentative fashion, 
 in such a manner as would allow of its expansion or 
 contraction as the case may be, in any given direction. 
 This is not easy, but the first line of my formula, pre- 
 viously given, is only in accord with it. The old saying, 
 that " good acting makes good play-writing " is a true 
 one, and a careful study of plays that have been success- 
 ful in a marked degree, will show that each period has 
 handed down to its successor many " situations " and 
 incidents which, when skilfully developed by good acting, 
 have been made acceptable by bringing them into ac- 
 cordance and sympathy with modern ideas and tastes. 
 
 The more literal phase of the Crummies system, 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 97 
 
 writing up to certain "situations," scenes, and " effects," 
 needs but the slightest allusion. Whether it be in con- 
 nection with a house on fire, a sinking ship, an explosion 
 in a mine, or a race-course, it is the exception, rather than 
 the rule, to find good construction or delicacy and truth 
 in characterization. A play with sensation scenes is not 
 necessarily a poor one, but the scheme of production is 
 dangerous to work that hopes to stand any test of time. 
 The class of audiences that is the main support of such 
 productions is one for which realism and spectacle have 
 the greatest charm. Finished dialogue in such pieces 
 would be wasted labour. 
 
 Let me now explain a remark previously made, viz. 
 that in respect to play-making story is distinct from plot. 
 In every drama certain events and incidents must be 
 accepted by the audience as having occurred prior to 
 the development of the play before their eyes. These 
 acts and incidents it is essential that the audience should 
 be put into possession of they may be said to form 
 a story. For example, in that favourite old play, " The 
 Road to Ruin " a very good and successful one here 
 is what is supposed to have occurred before the action 
 on the stage commences : 
 
 A wealthy Englishman (whose fortune amounts to 
 I5O,OOO/.) is married to a widow of forty, who has 
 a daughter of eighteen by a former husband. This 
 wealthy man dies in the South of France at the time his 
 wife is in England. He has had a son who is deeply 
 in debt. Before he died the father recommended the 
 widow to pay this son's debts. It was left, however, to 
 her prudence. The father has executed a will, the 
 contents of which are made something of a mystery of 
 
 H 
 
98 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 by those who witnessed it. When the play begins this 
 will is supposed to be lost, etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Now all these details must be distinctly given to the 
 audience. / They form part of the story which must be 
 interwoven with the actual plot. A skilled dramatist 
 does not introduce them at once, as each item has its 
 special value when duly dove-tailed into the piece and 
 elaborated. / As a matter of fact the first scene (with 
 old Dornton, Mr. Smith and Sulky) makes no allusion 
 to anyone of the characters in the above ; nor are the 
 details mentioned. A playgoer who has never seen nor 
 read " The Road to Ruin/' will rightly enough infer 
 that there is a good deal in that will as a motor. The 
 audience learns something of it in the third scene of 
 the first act, but not until the end of Act 2, in the scene 
 between Silky and Goldfinch, does it show itself as a 
 factor in the play. It is brought forward again in the 
 third act in detail, where Silky reads it to the widow 
 Warren, and its power culminates at the end of the play, 
 when it is wrested from Silky the avaricious, by Sulky 
 the beneficent. 
 
 If the details of story and plot are not clear to the 
 dramatist, it is unlikely that they will be so to his 
 audience, which is a mixed one for " Spectators of the 
 common class can hardly comprehend what they see 
 and hear, unless they are hemmed in and guided to the 
 sense at every turn." All this will show the necessity of 
 a clear scenario. Deficiency in this respect, and taking- 
 things too much for granted, will also radically affect 
 the characterization or naturalness in motive of the 
 persons in the drama. A play of four or five acts contains 
 far more " stuff* " or material than is generally supposed. 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 99 
 
 The mass of incidents accumulated is great, though it 
 is not all brought actually before an audience. In con- 
 struction, scenes will beget scenes, and as in the art of 
 the novelist, an author will find as he progresses, unex- 
 pected adventures, characters, and situations clamouring 
 for admission. "Such tricks hath strong imagination." 
 As some instructions as to the scenario, and other prac- 
 tical details will be given in a future chapter, we may 
 turn our attention to such elements as are common to 
 all popular and successful pieces, and which may be 
 fairly regarded as part of the mechanism of the 
 drama. 
 
 The one which I should place first, and which has come 
 
 v down to us from the remotest ages, is that of Equivoke. 
 Although in its various forms it goes to make up the very 
 essence of a play, its power is but half recognized or 
 strangely neglected by many dramatic writers. As a 
 device that is productive of mirth and humour, it has no 
 equal, and though its importance in all fiction of a 
 humorous kind is very high, it is on the stage that its 
 fullest and finest effects are developed. Without it, 
 farcical plays would simply cease to be, and comedy 
 would be defrauded of half its charm. The humours 
 and comic situations from misunderstandings or cross- 
 purposes must have been a delight to man from the 
 moment it was discovered that he had in him a capacity 
 
 \ for laughter and the enjoyment of the droll and in- 
 congruous in life. Ever}' street and shop and market- 
 place has been the scene of the quaintest and the most 
 mirth-provoking incidents, the foundation of which was 
 equivoke. Aided by the actor's art its manifestations 
 are a source of the keenest enjoyment. It is such a 
 
 H 2 
 
ioo How to write a Good Play. 
 
 force in the acting drama, and we have so many splendid 
 examples of it that it is not easy to make selections. 
 It is the mainstay of comedy, and though it is possible 
 to mention successful comic plays in which equivoke 
 is little used, the author who dispenses with it is throw- 
 ing away a most valuable aid. Clever characterization 
 must not be underrated, but its effect is materially 
 heightened by the skilful use of this device. Some plays 
 are merely one long equivoke. Nothing can be more 
 apposite than Schlegel's remarks on this. Although he is 
 dealing with comic Greek literature, what he says is of 
 value to the stage of to-day. 
 
 " Neither can we allow the common division into 
 Plays of Character and Plays of Intrigue, to pass with- 
 out limitation. A good comedy ought always to be 
 both,, otherwise it will be deficient either in body or 
 animation. Sometimes, however, the one and some- 
 times the other will, no doubt, preponderate. The 
 development of the comic characters requires situations 
 to place them in strong contrast, and these again can 
 result from nothing but that crossing of purposes and 
 events which, as I have already shown, constitutes 
 intrigue in the dramatic sense." 
 
 Shakespeare, Moliere, and every one of his successors 
 who has achieved fame in the production of comedy, 
 has been fully cognizant of the power of equivoke. In 
 the hands of a master its capacities are as astonishing as 
 they are delightful. The true management of equivoke, 
 carried on through four or five acts without violating 
 probability, is one of the tests of a writer's power to 
 attain to comedy. Everyone knows the effect of it in 
 the immortal Screen scene in " The School for Scandal," 
 
On the mechanism of a^Pldy., 101 
 
 and those delightful episodes that are the glory of " The 
 Rivals." To enumerate the dramas in which it plays 
 a part would be simply to give a catalogue of the 
 successes of the stage. Sheridan's two brilliant 
 comedies are almost too well known to safely analyze. 
 Our judgment is' apt to be overcome in the admiration 
 extorted by the treatment. There is a splendid instance 
 of equivoke in "The Clandestine Marriage," an 
 admirable play, if not quite deserving of Hazlitt's com- 
 mendation that "it is nearly without a fault." As 
 there are thousands of playgoers who have never seen 
 it acted, nor read it, I will give the example in outline. 
 The comedy was " made " by the elder Colman and 
 David Garrick, very largely from a piece called " False 
 Concord," by James Townley, a clergyman, to whom Gar- 
 rick presented a living. He was the author of " High 
 Life below Stairs." Old Lord Ogleby, the leading part " 
 in the play, is the concentrated essence of fastidious 
 vanity. It made the reputation of King, its original 
 exponent, who afterwards " created " Sir Peter Teazle. 
 
 The scene of which I am speaking, concludes the 
 fourth act. Here are the lines of it roughly : 
 
 Young Lovewell is married to Fanny Sterling, and it 
 is expedient that for a time this should not be disclosed. 
 Lovewell is in the employ of Mr. Sterling, Fanny's 
 father, a rich merchant, who ranks money and interest 
 before all things. Fanny is being persecuted by the 
 attentions of Sir John Melvil, a nephew of Lord 
 Ogleby's, who with his uncle is visiting at Sterling's 
 house. Lovewell begs Fanny to confess their secret to 
 Lord Ogleby, who is a kinsman of his own. Lovewell 
 believes that notwithstanding his (Lord Ogleby's) 
 
, ; i<p2 ; ,;; ; Ify&.to write a Good Play. 
 
 egregious vanity, etc., he will befriend them, and that 
 his influence will put an end to Sir John Melvil's 
 solicitations, and reconcile Sterling (Fanny's father) to 
 the marriage. She consents, and Lovewell leaves 
 her. Lord Ogleby comes on, and she tries to per- 
 form her task, but breaks down under it, and goes off 
 leaving Lord Ogleby to infer that she is in love with him. 
 He is hugely delighted, and decides to make her his 
 wife at once. After an intervening scene, in which 
 the interests of the other characters are concerned, 
 Lovewell comes on and has an interview alone with 
 Lord Ogleby. The result of this is to make Lovewell 
 believe that Lord Ogleby forgives their marriage, when 
 in fact he is trying to convey to Lovewell that Fanny 
 has accepted him (Lord Ogleby) for a husband. At 
 last the truth dawns on Lovewell that Lord Ogleby is 
 bent on making Fanny, his wife, the Countess of Ogleby. 
 Lovewell begins to remonstrate, and at this juncture 
 Sir John Melvil enters and tells his uncle, Lord Ogleby, 
 that he finds he cannot love Miss Sterling (Fanny's 
 sister), but asks to be allowed to pay his addresses to 
 Fanny but let the dialogue finish it : 
 
 Lord Ogleby : Oh yes, by all means. Have you 
 any hopes there, nephew ? {Smiling and winking at 
 Lovewell.} Do you think he'll succeed, Lovewell ? 
 
 Lovewell (gravely] : I think not, my lord. 
 
 Lord Ogleby : I think so too ; but let the fool try. 
 
 Sir John Melvil : Will your lordship favour me 
 with your good offices to remove the chief obstacle to 
 the match, the repugnance of Mrs. Heidelberg ? 
 
 Lord Ogleby : Mrs. Heidelberg ? Had not you better 
 begin with the young lady first ! (Smiling?) It will save 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 103 
 
 you a great deal of trouble, won't it, Lovewell ? But do 
 what you please, it will be the same thing to me. 
 (Conceitedly^) Won't it, Lovewell ? Why don't you 
 laugh at him ? 
 
 Lovewell (forcing a smile] : I do, my lord. 
 
 Sir John Melvil : And your lordship will endea- 
 vour to prevail on Mrs. Heidelberg to consent to my 
 marriage with Miss Fanny ? 
 
 Lord Ogleby : I'll speak to Mrs. Heidelberg about 
 the adorable Fanny as soon as possible. 
 
 Sir John Melvil : Your generosity transports me. 
 
 Lord Ogleby (aside) : Poor fellow, what a dupe ! 
 He little thinks who's in possession of the town. 
 
 Sir John Melvil : And your lordship is not in the 
 least offended at this seeming inconstancy ? 
 
 Lord Ogleby : Not in the least. Miss Fanny's 
 charms will even excuse infidelity. I look upon women 
 " as the/^r^ nature? > lawful game, and every man who is 
 qualified has a natural right to pursue them. Lovewell 
 as well as you, and you as well as he, and I as well as 
 either of you. Every man shall do his best, without 
 offence to any. What say you, kinsmen ? 
 
 Sir Jo] in Melvil : You have made me happy, my lord. 
 
 Lovewell : And me, I assure you, my lord. 
 
 Lord Ogleby: And I am superlatively so. A lions 
 done ! To horse and away, boys. You to your affairs 
 and I to mine. Suivons V amour ! (Sings ', etc.} 
 
 And the act drop comes down. 
 
 Nothing can be better than this. Carried off by good 
 acting it is a delight to witness such a scene. What I 
 have said before must be firmly borne in mind, that these 
 old comedies demand not only high skill in the his- 
 
1 04 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 trionic art, but natural gifts of power and vitality to do 
 them thorough justice. The scene is carried on long 
 enough, but not too long. The inexperienced dramatist 
 might have been tempted to prolong it, which would 
 have been fatal to its real effect. 
 
 Equivoke of situation is a puissant weapon, but not 
 easy to handle. Goldsmith succeeded with it in "She 
 Stoops to Conquer." But the best use is not made of it 
 in " The Good-Natured Man." The scene in which the 
 bailiffs figure is well known, if only from Leslie's picture. 
 Its effect comes very considerably from a quality we may 
 have to examine later on violation of propriety and 
 requires skill in the acting, to keep it within the bounds 
 of pure comedy. There is good equivoke in the second 
 act, when Miss Richland, Leontine and Croaker are on 
 the stage, but it is not satisfactory, being cut short by 
 Croaker sending his collocutors off. In the scene also 
 where Croaker forgives (the pretended) Olivia for being 
 in love as he thinks with a rich man; she believing that 
 her engagement to Leontine is sanctioned, the equivoke 
 is not made the most of. It finishes the act and it 
 wants carrying off with more spirit and " go." Again, 
 in Act 3, where Miss Richland takes Sir William Honey- 
 wood for a creditor, the full effect is not obtained. A 
 similar case, by the way, which is always very droll in 
 the acting is in "The Road to Ruin," where the widow 
 Warren takes old Dornton for the clergyman. The 
 contrast of character, the hurt and indignant father, and 
 the lax, vulgar widow, lend themselves forcibly to the 
 humour of the situation. The lady's pressing him to try 
 ' a morsel of seed-cake,, a glass of Constantia, or a jelly/ 
 knowing these " little cordial comforts are agreeable 
 consolations " to gentlemen of his cloth, is delicious. 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 105 
 
 In single lines of equivoke, those of Joseph Surface in 
 " The School for Scandal " are as good as can be. 
 They occur on his reception of Sir Peter in the Screen 
 scene : 
 
 Sir Peter: In short, my dear friend, Lady Teazle's 
 conduct of late has made me extremely unhappy. 
 
 Joseph : Indeed ! I am very sorry to hear it. 
 
 Sir Peter: Ay, 'tis too plain she has not the least 
 regard for me ; but what's worse, I have pretty good 
 authority to suppose she has formed an attachment to 
 another. 
 
 Joseph : Indeed ! You astonish me ! 
 
 Sir Peter : Yes, and between ourselves, I think 
 (putting his hand on Joseph 's arm] I've discovered the 
 person. 
 
 Joseph ; How ! You alarm me exceedingly. 
 
 Sir Peter: Ay, my dear friend, I knew you would 
 sympathize with me. 
 
 Joseph : Yes, believe me, Sir Peter, such a discovery 
 would hurt me just as much as it would you. 
 
 Congreve and his fellows did some wonderful things 
 with equivoke ; their choice of subject giving them a 
 latitude happily out of the reach of modern dramatists. 
 Among the work of the latter, there is a clever and 
 pretty scene of equivoke in the late James Albery's 
 " Two Roses." The author produced many brilliant 
 scenes in plays which did not obtain popularity, and he 
 was fully conscious of the value of equivoke, particularly 
 in dialogue, but his sense of humour was apt to carry 
 him too far, and induce him to let it run into farce. The 
 scene in the " Two Roses " finishes the second act, and 
 is too well known to need giving in detail. The episode 
 of Caleb Deecie and his delicate loyalty is very pretty 
 
io5 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 and human. The situation evolved, too, has the rare 
 merit of strength and tenderness. The defect in the 
 play's construction is in the baby-changing improba- 
 bility and the manner of its disclosure in the last act. 
 But it is a very charming work, if only on account of 
 its delightful and entertaining dialogue, of which we 
 may find more to say. 
 
 Every playgoer and student of the drama will call 
 to mind many instances in which equivoke is the quality 
 which forms the main attraction of the play. As in 
 farcical comedy of the modern type, it was the strongest 
 lever in old-fashioned broad farce. 
 
 It is often remarked how little real original motive 
 presents itself in the theatre. It must be for a reason 
 similar to that given by Hazlitt in answer to " Why 
 there are so few good modern comedies ? " namely, 
 " Because there have been so many already written." 
 And in truth the closer one studies dramatic literature, 
 the more evident it becomes, that pure invention of first 
 motive is well nigh impossible. But as the old and tried 
 are best, it is reassuring to know that fresh treatment of 
 familiar motives, and a clever use of the complications 
 that may arise from skill and ingenuity, are as welcome 
 as ever. Musicians of experience are able to identify the 
 elements of old work in its ever- varying modern forms, 
 but the enjoyment of it is not the less keen. So it is 
 with the drama. A skilful treatment of old motives 
 must not be regarded as mere appropriation. Adapting 
 from the works of others will probably never be out of 
 fashion, but it should ask some share of originality in 
 the treatment, where it is being carried on consciously ; 
 and authors should well, " convey, the wise it call " 
 with a sense of moderation. 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 107 
 
 Critics have pointed out the bold way in which Mrs. 
 Cowley in " The Belle's Stratagem " has adapted with- 
 out improvement some of the best things in Congreve, 
 Goldsmith, Murphy, and Sheridan, and made from 
 them an effective acting play. The scene of Valentine 
 and his assumed madness from (" Love for Love") is a 
 most daring piece of pillage. 
 
 To enter minutely into the mechanism of the acting 
 drama in its comedy form, would be impossible in a 
 single volume of ordinary dimensions. An analysis of 
 a play will be given later on, the careful study of which 
 will prove, I think, of solid value. Meantime let us 
 glance at certain elements which always prove attractive 
 in a play, and are sure sources of legitimate amuse- 
 ment or gratification. 
 
 Is it necessary to say that a Love interest is of the 
 first importance the youthful kind preferred. Love 
 interest, too, of a healthy, hopeful nature ; not made up 
 of gloomy, depressing episodes, nor vapid, commonplace 
 utterances, but such as brings with it the odour and 
 brightness of Spring. A well written and well acted 
 \ love scene never yet failed to delight an audience, 
 and it is to be hoped never will. There must be fervour 
 and reality in the author's treatment, or the best acting 
 may be powerless to show that the puppets are any- 
 thing but dolls stuffed with sawdust. How delicious 
 are the memories of well executed love scenes in comedy, 
 comedy-drama, or that, in England, very successful 
 form, the domestic drama. Unsophisticated, half-comic, 
 or idyllic in tone, it matters not, if the touch be true 
 and tender. How pleasant are the remembrances of 
 Helen and Modus in "The Hunchback," Sophia and 
 Harry in "The Road to Ruin/' and some of the love 
 
loS How to write a Good Play. 
 
 duets of Douglas Jerrold, Tom Taylor, Charles Reade, 
 T. W. Robertson and James Albery. If we were review- 
 ing the higher drama, what visions could be conjured 
 up of the eternally beautiful scenes in(" As you like it/' 
 or those of Ferdinand and Miranda, or Henry the Fifth 
 and Katharine. % It is tempting to cross the water and 
 call up memories of the Comedie Franaise. Those who 
 have seen De Musset's " II ne faut jurer de rien " and 
 " On ne badine pas avec 1'amour" will have learnt how 
 to appreciate love scenes of rare beauty, treated with all 
 the distinction, finesse, and ardour, that can be bestowed 
 on them. 
 
 The author who can present such scenes efficiently is 
 met half way in the difficulty by the artistes, to whom 
 they are as welcome as to the audience. There are 
 many instances in which love scenes and episodes have 
 saved plays from utter failure. They lighten and give 
 a charm to pieces of the heaviest type. All interests 
 become languid without that magic touch. 
 
 * " Common as light is love, ^ 
 And its familiar voice wearies not ever.' 5 ^ 
 
 There must be something of the poet in the dramatist 
 who would treat love scenes with success. 
 
 Then there are the scenes of affection which involve 
 the conflict of mother and daughter, or father and son. 
 The number of ways in which the -bond of affection 
 has been the means of opposing interest, and yielding 
 admirable scenes, would be astonishing, if we did not 
 remember that the fibres of sympathy in such contests 
 have their roots deeply fixed in human nature. Some- 
 times the treatment is comic, as in that of Sir Anthony 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 109 
 
 Absolute and his son, or charged with fine feeling, as in 
 that splendid example of old Dornton and his son, or it 
 maybe handled in a more homely but not less touching 
 form, as with Middlewick and his son in " Our Boys." 
 
 Another attractive power which belongs to the 
 mechanism of a play, although it may be regarded as a 
 touchstone of what is human and sympathetic is that 
 which I will call the Adjustment of caste. When the 
 balance or poise is well kept, there are few things more 
 effective and interesting. It is the arbitration or umpire 
 of the heart. The name of Robertson's best play, 
 " Caste," is indicative of its most taking features. Play- 
 goers know well how skilfully he treated it in this 
 delightful drama, as in other pieces of his writing. It 
 is the pivot too of " New Men and Old Acres." With 
 what skill and judgment the Vavasours and Bunters are 
 brought to the poll, with Samuel Brown, the Liverpool 
 merchant, to give the casting vote. It is done again, 
 though in a coarser way, in the baronet and the butter- 
 man in " Our Boys/' and used with effect by the same 
 author in " Uncle Dick's Darling," and many of his other 
 plays. It is a popular feature in "John Bull," " All that 
 Glitters," "The Post-Boy," "The Rough Diamond," 
 " The Colleen Bawn," and dozens of favourite pieces. 
 
 Another device that has always been a source of 
 amusement in the theatre, consists of Quarrelling Scenes 
 in the Dual form. In speaking of the stage and its uses 
 in presenting passion, Charles Lamb says, " Scolding 
 scenes, scenes where two persons talk themselves into a 
 fit of fury, and then in a surprising manner talk them- 
 selves out of it again, have always been the most 
 popular upon our stage." 
 
1 10 How to iv rite a Good Play. 
 
 Benedick and Beatrice, and Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, 
 will occur to everyone, but the old plays generally sup- 
 ply a long list of contentious episodes, such as we find 
 in "The Double Dealer," " The Provoked Husband," 
 "The Wonder," "The Jealous Wife," "The Honey- 
 moon/' "The Love Chase," not to mention numbers of 
 modern examples. They may be called love scenes 
 with a difference ; they give great opportunities to the 
 actor and actress. One of the best illustrations is that 
 of Lord and Lady Townly's scenes in Vanbrugh and 
 Gibber's clever and amusing comedy of "The Provoked 
 Husband." The play was popular as late as Macready's 
 time and indeed, but for the distasteful episode of 
 Count Basset and Myrtilla, might well be put upon the 
 stage at the present time. The Townly scenes are 
 extremely effective in the acting. Their original ex- 
 ponents were Wilks and the beautiful Mrs. Oldfield, 
 poor Savage's benefactress. Mrs. Jordan, Miss O'Neill, 
 Young, Elliston, and John and Charles Kemble played 
 in the comedy on various occasions. Mrs. Oldfield is 
 said to have been trained in the part by Gibber. 
 
 " She rushed upon the stage with the full conscious- 
 ness of youth, beauty, and attraction. . . . When 
 she came to describe the superior privileges of a mar- 
 ried above a single woman, she repeated the whole of 
 that lively speech with a rapidity, and gaiete de cceur, 
 that electrified the whole house. Their applause was so 
 unbounded, that when Wilks, who played Lord Townly, 
 answers ' Prodigious ' the audience applied that word 
 as a compliment to the actress, and again gave her the 
 shouts of their approbation." 
 
 Another "trick of the scene" that is always welcome 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 1 1 1 
 
 in the theatre, is that of Presenting an Imitation or ima- 
 ginative picture, giving scope to the actor for mimicry. 
 Allusion has just been made to it in the excerpt given. 
 Another most effective example occurs in a later part 
 of the same comedy, in the scene between Lady Townly 
 and Lady Grace, in which the former gives a sketch of 
 her daily occupations, and the discussion of town life 
 versus country, is carried on with great animation. The 
 scenes of Julia in "The Hunchback," Mrs. Candour 
 and Lady Teazle, Lydia Languish's ideal elopement, 
 Graves and Lady Franklin (in " Money ") with innumer- 
 able versions of this artifice in more modern pieces, will 
 occur to every lover of the play. There is a very amus- 
 ing specimen of it in a piece less known, though at one 
 time declared to be the best comedy since " The School 
 for Scandal." It is " The Heiress," by General Bur- 
 goyne, who came so bravely off under the accusations 
 made against his honour in the American War. The 
 comedy is said to have been compiled from " The Sister/' 
 and Diderot's " Le Pere de Famille." The example of 
 which we are speaking is in the scene where Miss 
 Alscrip, Lady Emily Gayville, and Mrs. Blandish are 
 on the stage and is a capital " skit " on the follies and 
 absurdities of the day. Lady Emily corrects the 
 affected laugh of Miss Alscrip, the manner of it " being 
 exploded since Lady Simpermode broke a tooth." 
 Lady Emily sets her mouth in the fashion to be assumed 
 for the coming winter, which is to be called the 
 "Paphian mimp." 
 
 Then there is the fine Satirical Effect to be obtained by 
 a person condemning something in another, which he has 
 been, or is, guilty of himself. As when Sir Anthony 
 
1 1 2 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Absolute, in a fury with his son, asks, " Can't you be 
 cool like me ? " etc. Or where Mrs. Malaprop would 
 have Lydia, " mistress of orthodoxy, that she might 
 not mis-spell and mis-pronounce words so shamefully 
 as girls usually do ; and likewise that she might repre- 
 hend the true meaning of what she is saying." 
 
 There are good examples of it in " The Clandestine 
 Marriage/' Sterling, who has confessed to " the dew 
 in his great toe/' is afterwards anxious to get Lord 
 Ogleby (a martyr to rheumatism and other infirmities) 
 to walk through his extensive grounds, and the old 
 lord earnestly entreats his host on the plea of solicitude 
 to consider his gout. 
 
 And in the scene where the decrepit Lord Ogleby 
 encounters Fanny, and with charming unconsciousness 
 alludes to Canton, his Swiss valet, as unworthy of being 
 called a third person, as " from age and infirmities he 
 stands for nothing." 
 
 Again, in " New Men and Old Acres," when Bunter, 
 lecturing the German Blasenbalg, says, " Swearing even 
 in unknown tongues J urts my feelings as a Cheristian/' 
 and the next moment, on hearing that " Underhand 
 and Goldney are reported shaky," etc., he indulges in 
 the habit himself. 
 
 Then there is what may be called the " Nature will 
 * out " contrivance, which some of us will remember being 
 served up in Punch, years ago (Punch, by the way, is 
 a wonderful record of dramatic scenes). It is the in- 
 cident of the disguised stable-boy at the dinner-party, 
 bringing in the plunging blanc-mange, and giving vent to 
 " Wo-ho there ! Wo-o-o-o ! ! " We have it again in a 
 very droll form, where Mr. Dove, in Buckstone's old 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 1 13 
 
 piece " Married Life/' forgets himself. Mrs. Dove was 
 the mistress of a boarding-school, but afterwards 
 retired and married her footman. Consequently, when 
 they go into society, and Dove chances to hear a bell 
 ring, it is as much as his wife can do tc prevent his 
 rushing to answer it. It certainly presupposes a 
 promptness and energy not always associated with that 
 branch of society to which Mr. John Smauker and Mr. 
 Tuckle belonged. Do we not also call to mind that 
 amusing incident in the " Two Roses/' where Jenkins, 
 the retired " Commercial," who has become connected 
 with a " Little Bethel," asks Caleb Deecie to join them, 
 and promises to get him in " trade price." Hundreds 
 of similar instances will occur to the experienced play- 
 goer. " These are very common and vulgar expedients/ 1 
 some reader may exclaim. Possibly. But a moment's 
 reflection will enable us to see what trifles and absurdi- 
 ties are ofteh the very hinges of humour, and to be 
 deficient in this great faculty is to be deprived of some 
 of the greatest enjoyments of life. 
 
 A venerable device that is allied to the last, and 
 which properly perhaps belongs to Dialogue, is that of 
 using the Characteristic Slang common to all avocations, v 
 the talk of the " shop," in fact. William in " Black- 
 Eyed Susan " is a good example of the use of it in 
 sailors. It is true enough to nature in a measure, and 
 has always been in favour with the old play-wrights, 
 but it is sadly overdone, even allowing for the necessary 
 " colour" in character. 
 
 It has been remarked by Hazlitt, among others, that 
 " there is nothing that goes down better than what 
 relates to Eating and Drinking, on the stage/' The 
 
 I 
 
1 14 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 indictment, though open to the charge of vulgarity, is 
 perfectly true. It is a harmless enough tribute to 
 realism, and very amusing to watch the intense anxiety 
 on the part of the audience to know what the actors 
 engaged in the scene are absolutely consuming, or pre- 
 tending to consume. The best lines in the play are as 
 nothing compared to this distraction. Apropos, the 
 story may be remembered of the ill-bred gentleman 
 who had escorted some ladies to the stalls of a theatre, 
 but had not dined himself. There was a rather elabo- 
 rate scene of refreshment in the play, and the hungry one 
 had watched the soup and fish disappear with all the 
 sufferings of martyrdom. An entree was next served 
 and uncovered (the real thing, and very savoury,) and 
 sent forth its tempting fumes into the body of the house. 
 One of the ladies was craning her neck with huge 
 interest, and determined to assure herself that there 
 was " no deception." " Awfully good, isn't it?" she 
 exclaimed. " Yes," said the gentleman in utter desper- 
 ation, rising and moving off, "and I'm going to get 
 something like it too ! " 
 
 Another feature related to the " Nature will out " 
 phase, and which is forcible in plays that admit of a 
 . certain amount oRhe farce element and bustle, is Vio- 
 ^lation of propriety the fun generally being derived 
 from the contrast afforded by characters directly 
 antagonistic to each other in rank of life, tastes, habits, 
 etc. It is played upon very much, and successfully, in 
 all plays that deal with the Adjustment of cast. Skil- 
 fully used, its effect is irresistible. It is so common a 
 device in the theatre, that I need scarcely quote 
 examples. The actors concerned in its illustration are 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 1 1 5 
 
 responsible for its "not o'erstepping the modesty of 
 (stage) nature/' and failing in its lawful effect. It is 
 legitimately used in the scene of the reading of the 
 will in " Money," where Stout and Sir John Vesey 
 behave so outrageously. It will be remembered what 
 admirable scenes of humour its use occasioned in " The 
 Colonel/' so popular some years since. Still more 
 broadly treated, it became the attractive feature in " The 
 Private Secretary/' It is an essential of purely farcical 
 plays. It was a very favourite weapon with the late 
 Henry J. Byron, some of the situations brought about 
 by a contrast of dignity and familiar impudence being 
 highly amusing. 
 
 I have spoken of the charm of brightness and gaiety 
 in scenes of love interest, the same attributes will, with- 
 out exception, be found to be a necessity in what per- 
 tains to comedy. High spirits must be the especial 
 characteristic of all real comedy scenes. The quality, 
 though associated with types of stage character, is some- 
 times a power or motive in the play. How it is utilized 
 in the Charles Surface scenes is known to everybody. 
 Half the attraction of many plays arises from a full 
 consciousness of this. There is a capital instance of it 
 in Congreve's " Love for Love," which I think Hazlitt 
 somewhere calls attention to. When Trapland, the 
 scrivener, comes for his fnoney a debt of long standing 
 Valentine and Scandal ply him with wine, and by the 
 sheer force of audacity and exuberance of spirits make 
 him lose sight of what he has come for, although he has 
 two tipstaffs waiting outside. 
 
 What would " The Game of Speculation " be (Balzac's 
 " Mercadet ") without the irrepressible spirits in con- 
 
 I 2 
 
1 1 6 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 junction with the savoir faire ? Those who have seen 
 Charles Mathews's artistic performance of Mr. Affable 
 Hawk, are conscious of what the effect can be with an 
 actor who understands the importance of life and vivacity 
 allied to elegance and distinction. 
 
 In a totally different key, another phase of attractive- 
 ness is the wild despair of a young and handsome man, 
 out of favour with fortune. Its highest exemplification 
 is in Prince Hamlet. We have it in the plight in which 
 Wellborn, in " A New Way to Pay Old Debts/' finds 
 himself, or Harry Dornton, when he is pledged to marry 
 the widow Warren, Sydney Carton in Dickens's 
 wonderful " Tale of Two Cities," which suggested " All 
 for Her " (the clever play by Messrs. Palgrave Simpson 
 and Herman Merivale), is a good example. It is 
 effectively presented in Watts Phillips's " Camilla's 
 Husband." A mad scene, real or assumed, or a 
 condition of inebriety, are more often than not its 
 concomitants, and are conditions offering splendid 
 opportunities to an actor of sympathetic gifts. Valen- 
 tine in " Love for Love," in the fourth act, is another 
 instance. It is the ingenious scene imitated by Mrs. 
 Cowley. Valentine, to free himself from a bond made 
 with his father, assumes madness. It is done in the 
 presence of others, beside his mistress. When the other 
 characters leave the stage, he avows to her that it was 
 merely a bit of acting. The humour of the thing is 
 finely carried on, however, and the lady takes her revenge 
 by insisting upon it that he is really mad. 
 
 Let me conclude this section with an allusion to the 
 value of Soliloquies and the kindred device which we 
 know as Asides. Most comedies of the first class will 
 
On the mechanism of a Play. 1 1 7 
 
 yield a lesson in their power and usefulness. Asides 
 form an important feature in the employment of 
 equivoke. A very good illustration of their treatment 
 is in the third act of " The Rivals/' where Mrs. Malaprop 
 listens to the dialogue carried on between Lydia and 
 Captain Absolute. But these, among other contrivances 
 that belong to the mechanism of a play, may be studied 
 more easily by the help of the Analysis to be given in a 
 future chapter. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 TYPES OF CHARACTER AND DIALOGUE. 
 
 IT may be well now to consider what types of character 
 are effective and popular on the stage, and also what it 
 is that proves attractive in dialogue. 
 
 As with original motive, it is astonishing to find how 
 little there is that is new in character. Schlegel, in 
 speaking of the new comedy of the Greeks, enumerates 
 the types that were most in vogue. The list is not a 
 long one, and, as he points out, the characters occur 
 again and again. 
 
 " The austere and stingy, or the mild, easy father, the 
 latter not unfrequently under the dominion of his wife, 
 and making common cause with his son against her ; 
 the housewife either loving and sensible, or scolding and 
 domineering, and presuming on the accession she has 
 brought to the family property ; the young man giddy 
 and extravagant, but frank and amiable, who even in a 
 passion sensual at- its commencement, is capable of true 
 attachment." 
 
 Are not these the prototypes of beings that are 
 familiar to us on the modern stage ? 
 
 "The girl of light character, either thoroughly de- 
 praved, vain, cunning, and selfish, or still good-hearted 
 and susceptible of better feelings ; the simple and 
 clownish, and the cunning slave who assists his young 
 master in cheating his old father . . . The flatterer, or 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 1 1 9 
 
 accommodating parasite, who, for the sake of a good 
 meal, is ready to say or do anything that may be 
 required of him ; the sycophant, a man whose business 
 it was to set quietly-disposed people by the ears, and 
 stir up law-suits, for the conduct of which he offered 
 his services/ 1 etc., etc. 
 
 These, and others mentioned, will be recognized as 
 types employed in thousands of plays since the far- 
 distant days of Menander. We may safely assume that 
 as they have lasted so long, they are sure of a fair 
 popularity in the future. 
 
 With whatever skill and elaboration a character may 
 be portrayed for the stage, it will be liable to resolve 
 itself into a typical figure in the actual presentment. 
 Experience shows that there are characteristics of a cer- 
 tain kind that prove effective and tell well in the acting. 
 The most highly finished and delicately painted portrait 
 may fail to prove as successful as the dramatist anti- 
 cipated, from disregard or ignorance of this law. An 
 author may spare no labour over a character, he may 
 make it truthful and natural, and show that he has real 
 insight and knowledge of human nature, that, in sKbrt, 
 he is a master of that much-talked-of but little-under- 
 stood quality, psychology, but all this will avail him 
 nothing if he has not learnt to some extent what the 
 art of acting can make effective. When his work is 
 submitted to a stage expert, he is horrified to find that 
 what has cost him unusual pains is, by the cruel opera- 
 tion of " cutting," reduced to a mere outline. Beyond 
 a certain point, complexity of character, with all its 
 shades and facets, fails of effect before an average 
 audience. Fiction has a greater latitude. 
 
1 20 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Whatever difficulties the works of Mr. George 
 Meredith may present to the ordinary reader, he will 
 discover in them, here and there, profoundly dramatic 
 scenes. This much I think will be admitted, without 
 going so far as Mr Louis Stevenson, who asserts that 
 one scene in "The Ordeal of Richard Feverel," is the 
 ' " strongest since Shakespeare in the English tongue." 
 Some episodes would act with great effect. Moreover* 
 in certain characters and their treatment, he displays 
 the highest comic power. We may grant that Congreve's 
 Millamant would be an anomaly now, but the skilled 
 painting of the Countess in " Evan Harrington," for 
 instance, is a proof that originality and pure comedy in 
 character are not extinct. To put into acting form 
 such an admirably finished portrait, would require a 
 talent that is in some degree a technical one, for it 
 necessitates not only condensation, but the knowledge 
 of how far acting is a substitute for words. 
 
 An author in the creation of a character will often men- 
 tally see a certain actor or actress in the "part/' To write 
 for any given artiste, makes this a necessity. Should the 
 author be sure of the cast, there can be little objection to 
 the plan, inasmuch as he has the power of moulding his 
 characters to the idiosyncrasies of his interpreters ; but 
 if from any reason the artiste for whom the " part " is 
 intended is unable to play it, and it should be one pre- 
 senting special difficulties, the dramatist may find that 
 his piece is exposed to great risk with regard to its 
 success ; the very best acting being, as I must repeat, 
 always a scarce commodity. 
 
 Acting characters resolve themselves inevitably into 
 certain types or classes. This was the natural origin of 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 1 2 1 
 
 what is called in the theatre " lines of business," a system 
 that often helped the rising dramatist. The expression 
 may not be generally understood. In a full company of 
 actors there was always to be found a representative for 
 every particular style of character in the play " the 
 leading man," " the heavy man," " the first old man," 
 "the juvenile tragedian," "the light comedian," "the 
 walking gentleman," "the low comedian," "the leading 
 lady," "the juvenile lady," "the first old woman," "the 
 chambermaid or soubrette" etc. etc. These were capa- 
 ble of combinations and extensions, as, " the heavy and 
 character business," " second low comedy," etc. etc. 
 The nomenclature, or something like it, was in use from 
 the earliest times, and was the natural outcome of a 
 necessity. It had its drawbacks and its advantages, the 
 latter preponderating. The competent actor, if he did 
 not from physical or other reasons appear to advantage 
 in one " part," was pretty certain to get his opportunity 
 with another, that belonged to him and came to him 
 as a right. If " the heavy man " did not in the Ghost 
 in " Hamlet," shine to any great extent (perhaps on 
 account of the glowworm and his " ineffectual fire "), he 
 had the opportunity of " holding fast the mortal sword " 
 and bestriding his " downfall'n birthdom " as Macduff ; 
 or the actress to whom Desdemona was distasteful, 
 rejoiced when the occasion came for her to play 
 Rosalind. 
 
 The advantage to the author was this : frequent 
 changes in the bill, in other words an altered pro- 
 gramme, enabled him to ascertain the capacities of 
 the different actors in plays that were tested and found 
 successful. His observations allowed him to see where 
 
122 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the strength and weakness of any particular artiste lay, 
 or what he could do in a given situation. The condi- 
 tions of the stage have so altered, and are still altering, 
 that it would be of little use to enter into all the pros 
 and cons of the subject. 
 
 The greatest and most gifted actors cannot be good 
 in everything, assuming that the adjective includes 
 truth of delineation. Garrick did not play many of the 
 greatest Shakespearian characters at all. He well knew 
 his weak points. I believe I am right in asserting that 
 he never appeared as Brutus, Coriolanus, Wolsey, Henry 
 the Fifth, and Jaques ; nor did he act Falstaff, Quin 
 being a favourite in the part ; nor Shylock, on account 
 of Macklin's success in " The Merchant of Venice." 
 
 An author will find it of the greatest value to make 
 himself master of such types of character as have al- 
 ways been popular and attractive. It is not necessary 
 that he should express them conventionally. Some of 
 them are obsolete, and he has to fight against the want 
 of" colour" in modern life, but there are still equiva- 
 lents to be found, and the finish in treatment offered by 
 the modern stage is in his favour. The fop may be 
 Osric, Lord Foppington, Sir Benjamin Backbite, Tom 
 Shuffleton, Sir Frederick Blount, or Captain Hawtree 
 but he is a fop still, and though he may change his hue, 
 will never lose his effect in the hands of the skilful 
 actor. Schlegel's advice is still applicable, and of some 
 valua-^ttr^Sters who aim at too much in the delineation 
 of character. Alluding to dramatists of his own time, he 
 says, " For the sake of novelty of character, they torture 
 themselves to attain complete individuality, by which 
 efforts no other effect generally is produced than that of 
 diverting our attention from the main business of the 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 1 23 
 
 piece, and dissipating it on accessory circumstances, 
 and then after all, they imperceptibly fall back again 
 into the old well-known character." 
 
 What follows, too, should be noted by those who have 
 yet to gain a full experience of the stage and its con- 
 ditions. " It is better to delineate the characters at first 
 with a certain breadth, and to leave the actor room to 
 touch them up more accurately, and to add the nicer 
 and more personal traits, according to the requirements 
 of each composition." 
 
 We will hastily review some of the old and favourite 
 types. Let us first look at The Old Men who are 
 full of variety (always having regard to such plays as 
 have attained undoubted success). In a great number of 
 these " parts " personal vanity has a large share. Whims 
 and crochets are common attributes too, with a certain 
 testiness and petulance. Sir Peter Teazle and Lord 
 Ogleby are both splendid specimens. The latter, by 
 the way, Garrick intended for himself; and although he 
 admitted King's excellence, always had the belief that 
 he could have beaten him in it. Lord Chalkstone in his 
 own farce of " Lethe/' resembles the character. The in- 
 fluence of Gibber, in his acting of foppish " parts/' makes 
 itself manifest in an older type, in Lord Ogleby. His 
 celebrated Lord Foppington in his own play of " The 
 Careless Husband " is not known to the stage of our 
 time. Sir Harcourt Courtly in " London Assurance/' 
 is another reflex of this style of character. Beau 
 Farintosh in "School/' and many modern versions 
 will occur to habitual playgoers. The artistic capital 
 such " parts " yield to actors is very great, and they are 
 always both amusing and attractive. 
 
 Then there is The Breezy \ Loud, Self-ivilled, Dictatorial 
 
1 24 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 old gentleman, whose likeness we have in Sir Anthony 
 Absolute, Sir Oliver Surface, Sir George Thunder in 
 "Wild Oats/' and Colonel Hardy in "Paul Pry." 
 Granted that he was well known in fiction (the prototype 
 of Sir Anthony was said to be Matthew Bramble), 
 he is always very entertaining in the theatre. The 
 " part " in its breadth and vitality, is a particularly 
 British production ; as also is that of The Upright 
 Merchant, of whom old Dornton may be taken as a 
 model, although it is not often the treatment of such 
 parts is as natural and human as in " The Road to 
 Ruin." 
 
 The Testy and Choleric are qualities that never fail 
 to divert in old men. One of the very best studies of 
 this kind is Sir Fretful Plagiary in " The Critic "- 
 which was a sketch of Cumberland, the author of u The 
 Wheel of Fortune," "The Jew/' and other now forgotten 
 plays. The elder Mathews used to give a wonderful 
 imitation of this author, who, with all his vanity and 
 petulance, seems to have been a well-bred man. It was 
 reproduced, I have no doubt, by his son in his perform- 
 ance in " The Critic " an admirable assumption. 
 
 The Fatuous and Amorous old man is another ever 
 amusing and venerable type, as in Sir William Fondlove 
 in " The Love Chase," and Sir Francis Gripe in "The 
 Busy-Body." 
 
 The Avaricious old man is of a class which may 
 include the tribe of misers, and is always popular. The 
 Lovegolds, the Silkys, and the Daddy Hardacres belong 
 to this. 
 
 Another favourite type of character is that of The 
 High-minded Aristocrat, which we see well illustrated 
 by Marmaduke Vavasour in " New Men and Old 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 125 
 
 Acres," Prince Perovsky in " Ours," and by similar 
 " parts" in other plays of Robertson. 
 
 Then there is The Self-seeking, Hypocritical, Worldly 
 old man of comparatively modern date, of whom Sir 
 John Vesey in " Money " may be regarded as the 
 precursor. 
 
 The types in The Pathetic class of old men in the 
 domestic and more serious form of comedy-drama, are 
 varied and effective. A list of the characters that were 
 played by Webster, Robson, and the elder Farren, and 
 in our own time so successfully by Mr. Toole, would 
 include many of these. Triplet, in " Masks and Faces," 
 is an admirable instance of the blending of the humor- 
 ous and pathetic, without descending either to silliness 
 or bathos. It will be seen that rigid classification is 
 impossible, as characteristics and attributes get merged 
 one into the other in the various types. 
 
 Although not by any means confined to old men, 
 there is an expression in the theatre that explains a 
 class of " part " which, until the stage gets levelled to 
 one dull uniformity, will always be of value. It is called 
 technical!/ a character part. That is, a " part " which 
 in its exposition is capable of very marked, or it may be 
 eccentric feature, in costume, voice, trick and manner. 
 The type last mentioned belongs to it. Dickens's works 
 are full of " character parts," which accounts for their 
 popularity with a section of the public, when transferred 
 to the stage. Where the novelist's work is dramatized, 
 the actor cannot take the credit of creation, but it will 
 be easily understood what opportunities the Gamps, the 
 Peggottys, the Micawbers, the Captain Cuttles, the 
 Quilps, the Swivellers and their numerous associates 
 yield. Digby Grant in " Two Roses " and Eccles in 
 
126 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 " Caste " are examples of popular parts of this descrip- 
 tion. Shakespeare boasts his " character parts " and to 
 some purpose : witness his FalstafT, Shallow, Dr. Caius, 
 etc., etc. But these " parts 1 ' really belong to no 
 particular period of life, and are sometimes as effective 
 or more so in short characters, or those of few words 
 as in long ones. 
 
 Let us leave the older men and turn to a style of 
 " part " that belongs to an earlier period of life. It may 
 v be called The Type Sententious. The characters in this 
 list have not unfrequently " numbered years sufficient to 
 correct their passions ; and encountered difficulties 
 enough to teach them sympathy/' to use the language 
 of one of them. They generally ask for an actor of 
 "leading parts" to do them justice, as there is always a 
 dignity and sometimes a mental power in them. Pere- 
 grine in " John Bull/' and Lieutenant Worthington in 
 " The Poor Gentleman/' are instances. The latter, 
 with his servant Corporal Foss, said to be suggested by 
 Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim. Such characters also 
 as Burchell in " The Vicar of Wakefield," Mildmay in 
 " Still Waters run Deep/' Brown in " New Men and Old 
 Acres/' belong rather to this class. 
 
 Another type that is always a safe one on the stage 
 v is that of the character whose kindly actions, disprove and 
 nullify ', an assumed, or natural harshness or grimness of 
 manner. As Graves in " Money," Sulky in " The Road 
 to Ruin," Croaker in " The Good-Natured Man," and 
 Sir Robert Bramble in " The Poor Gentleman." The 
 last named "part " is a good instance of this and other 
 taking characteristics. 
 
 What may be denominated Humbugs would be diffi- 
 ult to classify. They may be old, like Sir John Vesey, 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 1 2 7 
 
 or middle-aged, like Digby Grant, or Bunter, or young 
 like Joseph Surface. They are effective and always 
 popular, but demand considerable skill from both author 
 and actor in the treatment. 
 
 TJie Villain or evil genius of the stage also, is not easy 
 to do more than generalize. It is a character that 
 varies in sex, age, attributes, and degree of wickedness. 
 The jaunty and the impudent have ever been welcome 
 types. The pretentious like Lofty, and the disreputably 
 mendacious like Robert Macaire, and the Jingle of 
 " Pickwick." 
 
 With regard to young men, it may be said that an 
 audience will endure almost anything but prigs and 
 bores. The latter, which are a nuisance in fiction, are a 
 greater one in the drama. Over bashfulness is funny as 
 in Modus, Marlow, and Dolly Spanker (" London 
 Assurance "), and over impudence is funny as in Dazzle, 
 and the long list of " parts " played with such art and 
 aplomb by the late Charles Mathews. While on this 
 subject of impudent coolness, we may notice that the 
 whole tribe of amusing Servants and Valets, with their 
 readiness and unblushing effrontery, are mainly attrac- 
 tive for a like reason : the Brushes, the Fags, the 
 Trips, the Cools, the Buckles, and all their congeners. 
 They are sometimes merely pictures in little, of the 
 Scapins and Mascarilles of Moliere, of whose classical 
 origin mention has already been made. 
 
 Little need be said either of The " Walking Gentle- 
 man " of the stage : the Hastingses, the Carelesses, the 
 Milfords, and their brethren. The title may be nearly 
 obsolete, but the type will always be a necessity. 
 
 A familiar style of " part" which, like the latter, can 
 be called " His Friend" is of a much higher rank. It is 
 
128 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 perhaps better known on the French than the English 
 stage. It has considerable power as a motor in the play. 
 It is always sympathetic and attractive to an audience, 
 and may be equal in value to the hero or " leading 
 part." Henry Clifford in " The Heiress/' Tom Suther- 
 land in " The Favourite of Fortune/' and Stylus in 
 " Society," are examples that occur to me. 
 
 Dialect parts seem to be extinct in any prominent way. 
 Where are the Tykes, the John Moodys, the Wrong- 
 heads, the Harrowbys, and the Ashfields of the past ? 
 
 "Low Comedy " parts it would be difficult in any 
 reasonable space to examine in all their variety. There 
 are the cowardly and boastful, as in Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek, Bob Acres, and Major Wellington de Boots ; the 
 bitter, as in Crabtree and Snarl ; the boorish, as in Tony 
 Lumpkin; the legal, as in Mark Meddle; the mischievous, 
 as in Marplot and Paul Pry, and dozens of others not 
 to mention all the varieties in Jews and Scotch and 
 Irish character. 
 
 I have been ungallant in leaving little space to speak 
 of the ladies. Let me atone by saying that if their 
 stage types are lacking in Cleopatra's " infinite variety " 
 they at least are equal to Egypt's queen in attractive- 
 ness. A proof of the skill of many interpreters of female 
 " parts " is the power they have of stamping their in- 
 dividualities on certain characters. Thus we have "Mrs. 
 Jordan's parts," "Mrs. Glover's parts," "Madame 
 Vestris's parts," etc. The same classification of course 
 exists with actresses of a later date. 
 
 The " Fine Lady " parts of the past in all their glory, 
 even the veterans among playgoers cannot recall ; but 
 if the pieces in which they are to be found had survived, 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 129 
 
 we should not have wanted actresses now equal to the 
 Millamants, the Lady Townlys, and the Lady Betty 
 Modishes of by-gone days. This is evidenced by what 
 has been, and is, done with the material available. 
 With the decline of artificial comedy and its manners, 
 great opportunities for the actress in a certain groove 
 have been entirely lost. 
 
 On the other hand, the modern stage has yielded a 
 number of delightful characters in which the skill of the 
 artiste has been taxed in a totally different manner. 
 The truthful delineation of some of the most interesting 
 types that the life of to-day yields, deserves the heartiest 
 recognition. Single impersonations have on occasion 
 been the source of great intellectual pleasure, as well as 
 of more simple amusement. 
 
 That play is in danger of never becoming very suc- 
 cessful in which the treatment of the heroine, or " leading 
 lady's " part, is poor or unsatisfactory. In some pieces it 
 will happen that the second lady's part will be more 
 attractive from an acting point of view, but not un- 
 frequently it will be found the materials might have 
 been displayed in the character of the heroine. A 
 phase of the leading part that has been for the last 
 hundred years very popular is The Domestic Heroine 
 This is natural enough in a home- loving country like our 
 own. From all I can hear, our American and Australian 
 cousins are as strongly attached to this familiar type. 
 
 The character of The Adventuress, though necessary 
 and powerful, is not, even when intellectually treated, a 
 very pleasant one. 
 
 Another type in which the domestic element is power- 
 ful, and which is always very delightful, is The Ingenue 
 
 K 
 
130 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Unless delicately drawn and sympathetically acted, 
 there is danger in this style of "part" becoming insipid, 
 which is fatal. It is so common a type that enumera- 
 tion of any particular examples is unnecessary 
 
 The charge of being spiritless and vapid, is one 
 not likely to be made against The Chambermaids or 
 Sonbrettes ; their variety is as great as their popularity. 
 
 Another class of " part" that the restraints of modern 
 life have almost banished, or altogether toned down, is 
 that of The Hoydens and Tomboys. They are comprised 
 in such characters as Jenny Wronghead (" Provoked 
 Husband"), Miss Hoyden ("The Relapse"), and Miss 
 Prue (" Love for Love "). As they all play upon the 
 string called " violation of propriety " the amusement 
 they yield will be easily understood. It was a character 
 that at one time was in great favour. 
 
 One of the types that has changed its tone, though far 
 from obsolete, is The Romantic young Lady of the Lydia 
 Languish school. She has become the " aesthetic " re- 
 cently, and has shown herself as Fanny Bunter, or Lady 
 Tompkins's daughter Olive, in " The Colonel/' When 
 well treated her tf gush " is very diverting. 
 
 The Purely Shrewish Type, or that of the Virago, is 
 an important, if not a pleasant one. Mrs. Pritchard 
 and Mrs. Clive had a celebrity in this sort of "part," 
 though their range extended successfully to many other 
 characters. 
 
 The line of business in the theatre which was called 
 "First Old Women" was versatile and far-reaching. 
 The designation is not a right one, and came into use 
 from convenience. It would be absurd to call a woman 
 old at forty, and yet some of the best " parts " belong- 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 131 
 
 ing to this category are no more. The Widow Warren 
 (" Road to Ruin ") and the Widow Green in " The Love 
 Chase " are both of this age. Not a few of the most 
 delightful recollections of the theatre are connected with 
 these assumptions. 
 
 That Shakespeare knew the value of these characters 
 and their hold on popularity, is clear from his wonderful 
 pictures in Mrs. Quickly, and the Nurse in "Romeo and 
 Juliet," not to speak of others of a more or less serious 
 stamp. 
 
 What amusing and delightful examples we have in 
 Mrs. Malaprop, Mrs. Candour, Mrs. Hardcastle and Mrs. 
 Heidelberg, and in more recent times Lady Vavasour 
 in " New Men and Old Acres/ 5 or, in a lower order, Mrs. 
 Willoughby in " The Ticket of Leave Man/' If some 
 of them suggest the influence of Fielding and Smollett, 
 or of Dickens in his Mrs. Gamps, Mrs. Lirripers or Mrs. 
 Nicklebys, we are too grateful for the diversion they 
 afford, to resent it. It will be a matter of regret if the 
 stage should ever dispense with its old women. 
 
 Amusing dialogue has perhaps more often been the 
 means of giving a temporary success to plays, than any 
 other quality belonging to the practised play-wright. 
 Temporary success possibly, is all that was looked for by 
 either the manager or the author. Good dialogue alone, 
 will not save a play that is weak in other respects. A 
 considerable proportion of the playgoing public is well 
 satisfied if it be entertained with plenty of good things 
 in this way ; but by far the greater number demands 
 for its gratification, that in conjunction with these, there 
 should, in character and construction, be something to 
 interest. Amusing dialogue, by the actor's art, is often 
 
 K 2 
 
132 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 made to appear very much better than it is. Half the 
 charm of it is unquestionably due to the interpreter. 
 Good dialogue, which of course can be amusing too, 
 though to a superior sort of audience, owes its success 
 to the same means ; but there is this great difference, 
 that the gifts or skill required for its being rendered 
 effectively are infinitely rarer. There are hundreds of 
 pieces made popular by amusing dialogue, and a certain 
 amount of " go " and bustle, that fail to please a large 
 section of theatre-goers, and cause them even to wonder 
 at their success. The faculty of writing good, or what 
 is called smart dialogue, easily, is a desirable one, but it 
 must be supplemented by better wearing qualities. 
 Very brilliant conceits, of which their author is not a 
 little proud v are often by the inexorable clock doomed 
 to banishment. Every dramatist of experience knows 
 that good things, like good stories, are made or marred 
 in the telling ; their fate depending, as Lord Chester- 
 field said of the speaker's art, " more upon manner than 
 matter." The finesse, subtlety, and tone, with which 
 one artiste is able to give to an utterance a great value, 
 is out of the reach of another. Anyone who has heard 
 the good lines of a play as they were rendered by a 
 clever company of actors in London, and afterwards 
 suffered from their maltreatment by a second-rate 
 touring company in the provinces, will realize my mean- 
 ing. What charmed and gratified in the former case, 
 offended and irritated in the latter. 
 
 Very elaborate conceits are out of place in the 
 theatre. In comedy, epigram and repartee are its natural 
 requirements. The accusation of rudeness in dialogue, 
 which is made against authors, is sometimes due to the 
 actors. Many things in the old comedies owed their 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. \ 33 
 
 effect of brilliance, to the light, easy, graceful, good- 
 tempered tone in the delivery. The very names are in- 
 dicative of the key the scenes should be played in. 
 In Congreve's " Double Dealer," Brisk says to Careless, 
 " You're always spoiling company by leaving it ; " to 
 which his companion replies, " And thou art always 
 spoiling company by coming into't." Brisk then goes 
 on " Pshaw, man ! when I say you spoil company by 
 leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for the company 
 to laugh at." Taken au serieux, and with the lines 
 delivered aggressively, what could be ruder ? 
 
 Later on, the same characters are having a conversa- 
 tion on wit and humour. 
 
 Brisk : Well, then, you tell me some good jest, or 
 very witty thing, laughing all the while as if you were 
 ready to die and I hear it, and look thus, would not 
 you be disappointed ? 
 
 Careless ; No ; for if it were a witty thing, I should 
 not expect you to understand it. 
 
 It would not be easy to compute the number of plays 
 in which lines such as these have done duty before and 
 since the days of Congreve. Such raillery has always 
 amused audiences, as it would do in real life. 
 
 The specimens given are anything but repartee of a 
 high order, but when such dialogue is delivered with 
 point and graceful good-humour, it never fails in its 
 effect. 
 
 There are some very interesting remarks on Wit and 
 Repartee, in a paper by Mr. Andrew Lang in Harper's 
 Magazine for September last. It deals with the con- 
 struction and dialogue of " Much Ado about Nothing/' 
 and will well repay the trouble of reference. Authors 
 will require no caution about making their characters 
 
1 34 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 uniformly too witty and brilliant. It is a charge that 
 has been brought against Sheridan, Douglas Jerrold, 
 and others. The valet and the coachman are declared 
 to be as witty as their masters ; but I think we may 
 rest assured that an audience will only too readily make 
 a virtue of this defect. What it will not forgive or con- 
 done, whether in the broadest farce or the most refined 
 comedy, is dulness. Only authors, however, of the 
 least experience or the commonest stamp, in place and 
 out of place, drag in what they conceive to be wit, but 
 which is in reality only smartness. Congreve's reputa- 
 tion was not made by such lines as those that I have 
 quoted. Good things in a play are very delightful, but 
 be sure that they are good things. It would require an 
 elaborate essay on Wit and Humour, and the Causes of 
 Laughter, to enter into this matter fully. It is in a 
 sense unfortunate for the play-wright that the English 
 language admits, more than any other, of such possibili- 
 ties in the way of verbal contortions, word twisting and 
 punning, and that our enjoyment in the theatre is so 
 often dependent on such devices. 
 
 Dulness in comedy and comedy- drama, is not neces- 
 sarily consequent on the want of this kind of cleverness 
 and smartness, whether of a good or bad quality. It 
 may arise from the author's inability to present his 
 characters in a manner that interests while it amuses. 
 It is really a lack of humorous perception. Dulness in 
 dialogue may be due also to a property that has already 
 been considered condensation. If your characters 
 must indulge in long speeches, see that they are not 
 unnecessarily prolix. 
 
 The longest speech in " The School for Scandal " is 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 135 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle's opening one, " When an old bache- 
 lor marries a young wife," etc. It consists of to be 
 exact 194 words ; but an examination of it will show 
 that there is nothing that can be fairly dispensed with. 
 It explains his situation and condition, the character 
 and conduct of his wife, and the state of his feelings 
 towards her. It is done with humour and point, and 
 certainly is not answerable to the charge of dulness. 
 But if we turn to the next longest speech, not as it is 
 ever acted, but as Sheridan wrote it, it will at once be 
 seen that it is quite unnecessary, and liable, therefore, 
 to this serious accusation ; for there is nothing humorous . 
 in it, in character or expression. It is Snake's speech in 
 the first scene of the play, and is made up of 139 words. 
 It conveys to the audience the position Sir Peter Teazle 
 holds with regard to the two brothers, Joseph and 
 Charles ; with details of their dispositions, and various 
 other matters that the audience learns elsewhere in the 
 play just as clearly, and without the slightest risk of 
 boredom. 
 
 This, it should be noticed, is also a valuable lesion 
 in the very important art of u cutting." While on the 
 subject, it may be interesting to the youthful dramatist 
 to compare Sheridan's first drafts of his immortal 
 comedy, with what is now the finished work. How 
 Solomon Teazle, a widower who had had five children, 
 and who talked with his butler of his wife's extrava- 
 gance, developed into the Sir Peter with whom we are 
 so familiar, etc., etc. The details are to be found in 
 " The Life of Sheridan." 
 
 There are forms and tricks of dialogue that seem as 
 if they would never weary, and must have been born. 
 
1 36 How to iv rite a Good Play. 
 
 with the drama. What device can be more venerable 
 than that which we now call Malapropism the mis- 
 pronunciation or wrong selection of words in a sentence ? 
 We laugh at the blunders of our servants in real life, and 
 we laugh as heartily when similar errors are introduced 
 into the dialogue of a stage-play. Shakespeare was 
 familiar enough with it. He uses it in Mrs. Quickly, 
 Dogberry, Bottom the Weaver, and other comic charac- 
 ters. It is amusing to find Mrs. Inchbald, herself a 
 dramatist, in her preface to " The Rivals," getting indig- 
 nant over Mrs. Malaprop. After blaming Sheridan for 
 his extravagance, she says, 
 
 " When future generations shall naturally suppose 
 that an author of Mr. Sheridan's reputation drew men 
 and women exactly as he found them, this sketch of a 
 woman of family and fortune, at the end of the eighteenth 
 century, will assure the said generations that the ad- 
 vance of female knowledge in Great Britain was far more 
 tardy than in any other European nation." 
 
 It is not improbable that the generations alluded to, 
 will make some allowance for the brilliant author laying 
 on his colours with a lavish hand. 
 
 I have already enlarged on equivoke in situation, and 
 it may be only necessary to remind the reader that its 
 use and power in dialogue are not less. It is a quality 
 that can hardly be dispensed with in witty and brilliant 
 writing. It is curious to turn to some of the old come- 
 dies of a century old or so and glance at the dialogue. 
 A great deal of it in those days, when sentiment was in 
 fashion, was esteemed very highly, and with good acting 
 brought great applause. It was full of bathos and ter- 
 ribly sententious. The scenes of Julia and Faulkland 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 137 
 
 in " The Rivals/' are well-known instances. They de- 
 mand some skill in presentment to avoid tediousness 
 now. We get dialogue that is sententious in Goldsmith, 
 too, but he could treat it as Sheridan could not Pere- 
 grine in "John Bull," a play of George Colman the 
 younger, is very much charged with it, and he holds 
 forth with alarming effect. 
 
 " Genuine nature and unsophisticated morality, that 
 turn disgusted from the rooted adepts in vice, have ever 
 a reclaiming tear to shed on the children of error. Then 
 let the sterner virtues, that allow no plea for human 
 frailty, stalk on to Paradise without me. The mild 
 associate of my journey thither shall be Charity ; and 
 my pilgrimage to the shrine of mercy will not, I trust, 
 be worse performed for having aided the weak on my 
 way who have stumbled in their progress." 
 
 Lieutenant Worthington also in " The Poor Gentle- 
 man " is much given to this kind of thing, or rather it 
 is given to him. Characters with dialogue of a similar 
 nature were often introduced for the sake of providing 
 the " leading man," whose tendencies were somewhat 
 serious, with a "part" which at one time was very 
 attractive. The best and most amusing dialogue is that 
 which comes from the characters with appropriateness, 
 and expresses the humours of the type. Among 
 dramatists Goldsmith is very amusing. There is some- 
 thing extremely droll in the long-faced melancholy 
 Croaker's speech to Honeywood : "People think, in- 
 deed, because they see me come out in a morning thus, 
 with a pleasant face, and to make my friends merry, that 
 all's well within," etc., and further on, where he speaks 
 of Dick Doleful, who has committed suicide : " Ah, 
 
138 Hoiv to write a Good Play. 
 
 there was merit neglected for you ! And so true a 
 friend ; we loved each other for thirty years, and yet 
 he never asked me to lend him a single farthing/' 
 Croaker's invitation to the young people to a little 
 pleasure party, is also very good. He asks them to go 
 with him to see " Old Ruggins, the curry-comb maker, 
 lying in state." As he was an intimate of Croaker's, he 
 thinks " these are friendly things we ought to do for 
 each other." 
 
 There is philosphy as well as humour in the 
 following: "And yet I don't think it afflicts me so 
 much as one might think. There's the advantage of 
 fretting away our misfortunes beforehand, we never feel 
 them when they come." 
 
 Douglas Jerrold was a master of brilliant dialogue. 
 His " Bubbles of the Day," though by no means satis- 
 factory as a play, is full of good things. The comedy 
 is too unrelievedly sarcastic, and lacks the touch of 
 humanity. The impression conveyed is, that no one 
 is really in earnest. Notwithstanding a powerful cast, 
 it did not succeed. Jerrold could have made it perma- 
 nently attractive, but I daresay wrote for his company. 
 Here are a few of the clever things. The play abounds 
 in cynical people. 
 
 Captain Smoke : An extraordinary woman, have you 
 read her last book, sir ? 
 
 Skindeep (aside] : I should like to read her last book 
 with all my soul. 
 
 Melon's remark that " in this world purses are the 
 arteries of life, as they are full or empty, we are men or 
 carcasses " is true enough from him, though fortunately 
 not of us all. 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 1 39 
 
 Smoke and Melon are talking together, and a violent 
 knocking at the street door is heard. 
 
 Smoke : That's Malmsey Shark. 
 
 Melon ; How do you know ? 
 
 Smoke : From this fact : no metal ever falls into 
 his hands that he doesn't make the most of. 
 
 Again. 
 
 Skindeep : Ha ! you are fortune's child, captain. 
 
 Smoke : It's plain then the lady's ashamed of her 
 son ; for as yet she's never owned me. 
 
 A characteristic line of another of the dramatis per- 
 sona (Spread weasel) is good : "I know when I courted 
 I took lawyer's advice, and signed every letter to my 
 love, c Yours without prejudice.'/' 
 
 These are witty lines that would tell with as much 
 effect in the acting to-day, as they did nearly fifty years 
 ago. But they do not represent Jerrold in his best 
 phases. His dialogue is not wholly cynical nor are 
 his characters all given to sneering ; he had a sympathy 
 with what was noblest and best in the shifting scenes of 
 life. There is no modern writer who can more justly lay 
 claim to the possession of a literary quality in his plays. 
 He was successful in his time as the producer of good 
 and pure English drama, and the best proof of his merit 
 if such a thing be necessary is that by mere ex- 
 tracts from his works we can realize the rare quality of 
 a wisdom that is lighted by the flame of a playful wit. 
 Bulwer, in his plays that were not professedly poetical, 
 has some admirable dialogue. The high-flown speeches 
 of his heroes and heroines are as a rule dreadfully 
 rhetorical and florid ; but he is thoroughly at home 
 with the talk of characters in which cynicism is allow 
 
140 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 able. His men of the world are rendered with much 
 skill, and he does not lose sight of refinement and dis- 
 tinction. Very good things are to be found in the 
 comedy he wrote for " The Guild of Literature and Art," 
 called " Not so Bad as We Seem/' played by a company 
 comprising some of the greatest names in Literature 
 and Art, at Devonshire House in 1851, before her 
 Majesty and the late Prince Consort. 
 
 There have been myriads of writers for the modern 
 stage whose success in dialogue has been beyond dispute. 
 Some of it so good, as to lead to the regret that it should 
 be utilized for ephemeral productions. It is beyond the 
 scope of this work to treat of the many living authors 
 who are capable of producing good dialogue. Their 
 work can best be studied in the theatre itself. Among 
 writers whose plays have been seen more recently, and 
 who are not living, the late Henry J. Byron was in 
 great favour with some managers as a writer of effective 
 dialogue. Unfortunately his facility for all sorts of 
 possible and impossible word twisting and punning, led 
 him astray. Although an intelligent audience is moved 
 to laughter by the absurdest and most inane things, it 
 is doubtful whether it is not at the same time conscious 
 of losing a certain amount of self-respect. The quantity 
 of Byron's work seems to have injured its quality. He 
 had a power of invention, a sense of humour and pathos, 
 with real geniality, and a manliness and wholsomeness 
 in tone, that should have been able to render his plays 
 acceptable to a much higher class intellectually, than 
 that for which he catered with such success. He could 
 write, and did, some very admirable dialogue ; but it is 
 not improbable that his talent for writing rapidly and 
 
Types of Character and Dialogue. 141 
 
 impulsively was the means of his best things becoming 
 lost, or smothered, by very inferior conceits and jokes. 
 His contemporary and fellow-dramatist, the author ot 
 " Two Roses/' though wanting in the constructiveness 
 that was Byron's, was eminently good in some of his 
 dialogue. The play just mentioned is full of good 
 things. Its author had poetical perceptions, and a ten- 
 dency to the idyllic and pastoral, that enabled him to 
 imbue his talk with many graceful and charming fancies. 
 They covered his deficiencies in what has been called 
 Harmony and Ethical Balance. There are many play- 
 goers in whose memories will be fresh, some of the 
 delightful dialogue contained in " Apple Blossoms," 
 " Forgiven," "Tweedie's Rights " and other plays. His 
 attempt in the poetic drama in the play of " Oriana," 
 deserves recognition, though it was notable to command 
 any success. This was due in part to treatment. His 
 greatly popular " Two Roses " well represents him. It 
 contains in dialogue, delicate humour, poetry and the 
 charm of true sympathy. T. W. Robertson, whose 
 influence on Albery was said to be powerful, was not 
 wanting in suggestions of the poetical and idyllic, and 
 his taste was purer than the author of " Two Roses." 
 His dialogue, if not very witty, has humour and appro- 
 priateness, with a quick sense of the satirical. His gifts 
 also enabled him to give opportunities for finesse, which 
 his original exponents did full justice to. Nor was he 
 wanting in qualities that added value and weight to 
 some of his lines. The advice which Sam Gerridge 
 offers on the ever-recurring question of capital and 
 labour, and the illustrations of them by Eccles, are of 
 as much regard and interest now as they ever were. 
 
142 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Here and there we meet with dialogue that is admir- 
 able. Polly's reproach to Sam : " You never go and 
 kill Sepoys," and his reply : " No, I pay rates and taxes." 
 Gerridge's remark too, after witnessing the delight of 
 the Marquise on seeing her son again, is excellent ; 
 " Well, there's always some good in women even when 
 they're ladies ! " 
 
 There is very amusing and satirical dialogue in the 
 "Owl's Roost" scene in "Society," and also in the 
 popular plays of " Ours " and " School." He gave too, 
 to some of his womanly characters a charm, from a sort 
 of naivete, that was far superior to what was usual with 
 the ordinary type of ingenues. Equivoke he did not 
 make a very great use of, and yet his adaptations 
 from Augier, Sardou, etc., must have shown him its 
 value. A favourite device of Robertson's was that of 
 two couples carrying on a dialogue side by side, so as 
 to give point to their separate utterances ; a cross- 
 firing arrangement that in moderation was effective and 
 amusing. 
 
 It says much for a writer that he does not err against 
 the accepted canons of good taste, which in stage 
 matters is all important. The author of " Caste," and 
 those who encouraged and helped him, deserve the gra- 
 titude of play-goers for this, as well as for the other 
 delightful qualities to which attention has been drawn. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PRACTICAL HINTS AND AN ANALYSIS. 
 
 SUPPOSING that the tyro has to some extent digested 
 the details given in the chapters dealing with the 
 " Qualities Required," and the " Mechanism of a Play," 
 and moreover is conscious of the possession of that 
 subtle dramatic sense or instinct, he may naturally ask 
 for certain advice of a more practical nature. " I would 
 write a play/' he may assert, "and am desirous of 
 benefiting by such remarks as you have made ; " or, " I 
 have written a play, and if it does not fulfil all the con- 
 ditions laid down, it seems to me free of such errors as 
 are held to be fatal to success. I am willing to submit 
 it to any competent manager, and be guided by his 
 advice and experience ; but I should like to know some- 
 thing of the customs of the theatre, what terms are 
 paid, what class of piece pays best, whether " costume " 
 plays or " modern " plays are more acceptable, the num- 
 ber of characters it is desirable a drama should contain, 
 what length a piece should be, how, in short, I can best 
 meet the various exigencies that will arise." To such 
 queries, in the fullest way, experience alone can furnish 
 the reply, and rigid rules would be as difficult to follow 
 as to supply. As an old Bedfordshire lady I know of, 
 used to say, " In diff'runt plairzen, they 'ev diff'runt 
 wairzen " (places and ways). The customs, terms, and 
 
144 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 conditions, vary with the theatre and its management. 
 Should a young author, whose work has merit, succeed 
 in getting it accepted at any of our best theatres, and 
 he is amenable to the suggestions and advice of the 
 management and the artistes engaged, he is pretty sure 
 of fair and liberal treatment. With theatres whose 
 management is in any respect doubtful, he had better 
 not have anything to do. The question as to what class 
 of dramatic work pays best, is an important one. The 
 habits of the British public in the matter of its enter- 
 tainments, have been compared, not inaptly, to the 
 capricious vagaries of fish as experienced by the angler. 
 There are periods when the most tempting baits fail to 
 bring them to the managerial hook. They will reject 
 at one time, what they will eagerly swallow at another. 
 A clue to the difficulty may be supplied when it is 
 realized, that people go to the theatre to see the actors, as 
 much, or more than they do to see the play. " Modern " 
 pieces, as they are generally termed, or pieces that are 
 supposed to reflect the tone and fashion of the day, have, 
 as a rule, the greatest interest for the playgoer. The 
 number of " parts " it is desirable that a play should con- 
 tain, must of course depend on its length and character , 
 these being previously determined by the " motif." 
 
 Again, a young author says : " I have an idea or a 
 * motif ' that I think will give rise to a 'situation' of 
 beauty, power or effect. How can I best present this 
 so as to bring it within the compass of an artistic pro- 
 duction, and render it also a marketable commodity ?" 
 
 Farcical comedy has been much in demand, and when 
 successful has largely benefited pecuniarily both the 
 manager and the author ; but it would be childish to 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. 145 
 
 say to a novice to whom has occurred some pathetic or 
 powerful situation, " Work it up into a farcical comedy.' 1 
 Such errors are by no means infrequent. Keeping in 
 view what has been previously said on Harmony will 
 be useful here. Is your idea best suited to drama, 
 melodrama, comedy, or farce ? It cannot be denied that 
 some plays contain elements that are in keeping with 
 each and all of these, but let the beginner adhere to the 
 main " motif," for that must decide the style of the 
 play. An original, or a first scheme, may grow and de- 
 velop, but the tyro will be wise to try as an initial effort, 
 to produce a one-act ^pla.y from the simple idea, with- 
 out further involvement, or a new accession of material. 
 All that is vital can often be found in. one act. Almost 
 without exception our successful play-wrights have tried 
 their " prentice han ; " /on dramas of this kind ; and 
 as much art can be shown as in the longest efforts. 
 There is less risk also to a manager in giving a short 
 play a trial. There are managers who do not know 
 good work from bad. There are those who are fully 
 alive to the merits of good work, but who give little 
 encouragement to it. Others not only know what good 
 work is, but welcome it heartily, for in a short piece may 
 be discovered the germ of future excellence. But a young 
 author must not rely on its yielding him any consider- 
 able pecuniary results. One and two-act plays are not 
 now as a rule in demand. The pitce de resistance is 
 what the manager looks to for drawing money, and the 
 lever du rideau (French terms are unavoidable), with 
 rare exceptions, brings nothing appreciable to the 
 treasury. "Curtain raisers," but for the display of the 
 talents of some given artiste, are not made a feature of. 
 
 L 
 
1 46 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 There are numberless short pieces that would be, with a 
 little revision, as full of charm now as the day they 
 were written, that a manager can select from and legally 
 put upon the boards of his theatre, for which he need 
 not pay a penny. The gain is on the side of the novice 
 should he be fortunate enough to get his little play 
 acted. He obtains instant advertisement, and, better 
 still, the experience that comes from having his work 
 presented, Nothing will so truly show him what effect 
 on the stage actually is. Always let it be remembered 
 that many short plays require the highest skill in the 
 acting. The more graceful and delicate the play, the 
 more artistic must be its rendering. 
 
 Seeing that there is little demand for short pieces, it 
 may seem that, supposing you have succeeded in con- 
 structing one which is attractive and artistic, its chances 
 of getting put upon the stage by a manager are rather 
 slight. Good acting, it has been remarked before, is an 
 incentive to good play-making. The converse also 
 holds good, and if you can supply anything that shall 
 fit the idiosyncrasies of a manager who is an ambitious 
 actor, there may be your opportunity. You have not 
 only to convince him that the acting of your little play 
 will advance his reputation, but also beget in him a 
 liking for the part you would have him act. Without 
 some personal influence, or introduction, these may be 
 difficulties. Your greatest chance of acceptance lies in 
 producing something of striking merit or originality, 
 though it is possible that, if you should happen to meet 
 his wants in a timely way, you may get your opportunity 
 under less exacting conditions. If your work is good 
 enough to play, it is good enough to pay for, and any 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. \ 47 
 
 honourable manager would give you a weekly or nightly 
 royalty on your piece, or even buy it outright. 
 
 Artistes, too, who are not managers, are always want- 
 ing a vehicle for their talents, and if you can get any 
 clever actor or actress to take an interest in your pro- 
 duction, it may be the means of gaining the public ear 
 and eye. But the greatest and most solid compensation 
 that you can look to obtain, for having succeeded in 
 producing sound work in short form, is in what the 
 effort will have taught you of the difficulties of dramatic 
 construction ; and the experience it will have yielded 
 for future labours. It is reasonable to assume that if a 
 young author cannot master a short play, there is little 
 likelihood of his conquering the difficulties of one in 
 three or four acts. 
 
 We will suppose, then, that a young author is in 
 possession of a " motif," or an idea, and that he has 
 fixed upon the period and locality he thinks most 
 suitable to its development. Let it be assumed that 
 he has some skill in the production of dialogue, and 
 that he is not unmindful of the importance in the 
 theatre, of point, epigram, or repartee. Further that he 
 realizes that what he is to carry out must be done by a 
 
 L 2 
 
148 How to ivrite a Good Play. 
 
 certain number of puppets, we will call them, on a sur- 
 face or a slightly inclined plane, enclosed by a form 
 which comes within the description of what " every 
 schoolboy JJ (always ahead of his elders) knows is a 
 trapezium. 
 
 This wooden surface may with the aid of painted 
 canvas, and certain supports, represent the sea-shore, a 
 landscape, a garden, a forest, a palace, a cottage, a 
 prison, an attic, a drawing-room, or indeed any spot on 
 the earth, above the earth, or below it. In whatever 
 way this plane is enclosed by plaster, or wood, or 
 canvas, painted, gilded or decorated, it will not mate- 
 rially alter its condition so far as it primally concerns 
 the maker of the play. It may be laid with costly 
 carpets, or covered with painted "cloths." Curiosity 
 shops and furniture dealers may supply material to 
 absorb its space. It may by skilful lighting be made 
 into a picture of extreme beauty, or it may be so 
 tastelessly fitted, garnished, and enclosed, as to com- 
 pletely offend the artistic sense. But, however treated, 
 it is still the same wooden surface or stage, on which 
 your set of puppets is to be displayed, and on which 
 they are to disport themselves. Gifted and graceful 
 interpreters, with the instincts of expressing what is 
 beautiful or truthful, may afterwards endow those 
 phantom dolls with a life and reality ^ startling to you, 
 their supposed creator, but they must first be regarded 
 as mere puppets or pieces to play with. Represent 
 them, if you will, by discs of wood or cardboard ; for 
 with whatever perspicuity the characters may exist for 
 you, it will be well to hold to the idea of their being 
 moved about in the manner of these counters. The 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. 149 
 
 more tangibly they are realized to you, the more truly 
 you will be able to understand how they act and re- 
 act upon each other, in absolute representation. With 
 the above plan, and your discs or puppets before you, 
 proceed to construct your scenario. It must be 
 assumed that, what I have called in the fourth chapter 
 the " story/' or the set of conditions supposed to exist 
 before the play begins, is clear to your mental vision. 
 It is possible your play may contain but a couple of 
 characters. In such a case your puppets should give 
 you little trouble as to their movements, entrances, 
 exits and so forth. The simpler your scene is, the 
 better, and an interior with three sets of doors or 
 entrances, as indicated here, has served for thousands of 
 admirable plays. 
 
 / \ 
 
 R 
 
 The exact situation of the doors, and other details, 
 the stage-manager will arrange, should your piece be 
 
1 50 How to ivrite a Good Play. 
 
 acted ; but some study of these plans may save him 
 much after labour, and is essential to every maker of 
 plays. The shortest piece should be first put into 
 scenario form. An author is thus enabled to see at an 
 early period, what is improbable in motive and move- 
 ment. The full scenario of a more important drama, a 
 play in three or four acts, should,, in addition to the 
 plan of the scenes, with doors, windows, trees, build- 
 ings, etc., duly marked, contain a list of the characters, 
 their ages and their status. The types should be ex- 
 pressed or hinted at, for it is necessary that they or 
 their equivalents should be clear enough in their 
 respective motives. Then should come in outline, a 
 description of what details of the " story " and plot are 
 expressed by each character as it comes on the stage. 
 
 As a play is a world* with opposing passions anH 
 conflicts of its own, it will be requisite that as soon as 
 possible, the motives and interests with which thq 
 characters start should be shown : what, in short, they 
 would" be at." They should all, as in real life, have, 
 as Hamlet says, "business and desire." 1 
 
 In every well made play there should be no character 
 that is not really necessary. A violation of this rule is 
 brought about very frequently in writing for a special 
 company. The entrance and exit of every character 
 should not only be marked, but some reason should be 
 given for its leaving the stage. Particulars should be 
 noted of preparation for any scenes of practical equivoke, 
 or of anything with an important bearing on a future 
 
 1 In the Analysis given at the end of this chapter, it will be seen 
 that the principal motives of all the characters are declared before 
 the second act is over. 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. 1 5 1 
 
 " situation." There is no harm in jotting down the 
 rough " dialogue " of some portions of the play. In 
 fact the more fully the scenario is written, the easier it 
 will be for an expert to determine the chances of its 
 value. The Analysis would be a scenario in full, if the 
 stage plans were included. 
 
 It may be easily conceived, that the more acts a play 
 is divided into, the more difficult is the scenario, and 
 in no form of composition does it present such diffi- 
 culties as in the domain of pure comedy. But even in 
 many one-act plays there is an amount of equivoke and 
 involvement that will surprise those who think the 
 making of a short play is a trivial matter. It may 
 seem unnecessary to state that, if any of your characters, 
 on leaving the stage, are required to change their 
 costume, they should be allowed reasonable time to do 
 so. The want of attention to such an apparently 
 simple matter, is common with many whose gifts would 
 not imply such thoughtlessness. The desirability of 
 giving rest to your actors, is a contingency which will 
 not present itself in a one-act play, though its neces- 
 sity in a long drama will be easily comprehended, if it 
 be borne in mind that actors are flesh and blood. 
 Hamlet and Othello require intervals of repose, which 
 Shakespeare has not failed to supply them with. It 
 may be well too, to let your personages have a gradation 
 as to length always bearing in mind that length is 
 not value. Some of the most effective " parts " known 
 to the theatre, can be written on an open sheet of note 
 paper. 
 
 Having mastered the scenario, or rather, by constant 
 writings and re-writings, got it into such a condition as 
 
152 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 will enable you safely to come to the termination, submit 
 it to some intelligent friend. If he be a playgoer of 
 experience, and he reports well of it, clothe the frame- 
 work with words, not losing sight of the suggestions 
 made in the chapter on " Types of Character and 
 Dialogue." Then you may bring it under the notice of 
 an actor or a manager, who will perhaps be able to 
 tell you in ten minutes how far~it is actable or attractive. 
 While clothing the framework, bear in mind the neces- 
 sity of keeping within certain limits. You may be 
 tempted "by the opportunities which ingenuity may 
 suggest, to elaborate your play and make it exceed the 
 one act, but do not be induced to try the " hammering 
 out " process. Many single " situations " are so good or 
 powerful, as to admit of a three-act or a four-act play 
 being built up to them, and are often so treated by 
 competent dramatists, but such pieces would not be 
 good exemplars for the tyro. 
 
 Let us see if we can arrive at anything definite 
 with regard to length. The phrase in the theatre is 
 not, " How many pages does the piece contain ?" 
 but " How long does it play ? " If we take the clever 
 little adaptation called "A Sheep in Wolfs Cloth- 
 ing" (by Tom Taylor, from Madame de Girardiii's 
 " Une Femme qui deteste son Mari ") which acts 
 about an hour, we shall find, that without counting 
 the " business," etc., it contains something like 8700 
 words, that is to say, it takes up as nearly as possible 
 thirty-two pages in Mr. French's ordinary acting edition. 
 It is a little drama of the domestic type ; the period 
 that of the Monmouth rebellion and Judge Jefferies. 
 Its elements are strong and pathetic. There is no 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. 153 
 
 speech in it longer than fifteen or sixteen lines, but 
 elaborated in the acting, it might p ] ay another ten 
 minutes or quarter of an hour too long for an ordinary 
 one-act piece. The length of a play as usually calcu- 
 lated for the stage, is in short determined by the 
 " time " it is taken in. Should it happen that your 
 play is comedy, or in the tone of comedy, similar we 
 will say to Charles Mathews's charming little piece 
 " The Dowager," it will be necessary to play it much 
 more rapidly. To fill an hour, therefore, a play of this 
 description, unless there should be something ex- 
 ceptionally time-taking in the "business," will require 
 more words. ' The quick, bright delivery, essential to 
 the tone of real comedy acting, will naturally absorb 
 the " dialogue " more rapidly. Aim at a play occupy- 
 ing half an hour or forty minutes^: the rule being that 
 all plays expand in sta^e treatment. Whatever allow- 
 ance is made for " business," or pauses in the acting, 
 there are few dramatic authors who are able at once 
 to meet stage requirements as to time. Perhaps the 
 better course is first to write fully, and afterwards 
 ruthlessly cut down. Brevity and conciseness on the 
 stage before all things. Tom Taylor always wrote 
 first with fulness, and afterwards abridged. An author 
 quickly learns the necessity for condensation, when he 
 comes into contact with the manager, stage-manager 
 and company belonging to?" or engaged in the theatre. 
 JLet there be no padHifjp- or finp writing for its own 
 sake. Action and development of the scheme must be 
 the first considerations. Deal with your theme per- 
 tinently and to the point. See what Buckstone a 
 clever play-wright as well as actor could do (in twenty 
 
1 54 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 pages, with five or six characters and a cottage interior) 
 and look at that capital little play " Good for Nothing." 
 Study some of the admirable little adaptations and 
 original plays of such writers as Poole, the Dances, 
 Selby, Bayle Bernard, Mark Lemon, A'Beckett, 
 Planche, the Broughs, Charles Mathews, G. H. Lewes, 
 Halliday and others, and you will soon learn what is 
 effective and delightful in the theatre. Many of these 
 productions will naturally read old-fashioned and seem 
 out of date now, but it is because they are plays, and 
 not merely stage conversations devoid of action and 
 incident, that they are practically useful to the student : 
 for whether in fashion or out of it, they have with the 
 actor's co-operation the power to engross and interest 
 men and women of all ages, and touch with no uncertain 
 hand the springs of laughter and of tears. If " bookish 
 theoric " is to help a candidate for dramatic honours, 
 it is only by such means success is to be achieved. 
 
 It is a matter for considerable regret that there is no 
 market now for pieces which exceed in length the one- 
 act play, but whose material does not allow of their 
 extension to such a number of acts as would make the 
 principal entertainment of the evening. They were 
 generally two-act pieces, playing from seventy minutes 
 to two hours, or under. Among them, may be found 
 admirable instances of the art of the play-wright. It is 
 rare now to see on the English stage, pieces, original 
 or adapted, like "The Housekeeper," " The Rent Day," 
 " Time Tries All," " Not a Bad Judge," " Secret Service," 
 "Our Wife," "A Wonderful Woman," "The Poor 
 Nobleman " or, " The Porter's Knot," to take a few at 
 random. 
 
Practical Hints and an Analysis. 155 
 
 In respect to the length of plays in three or four 
 acts, the division now most favoured, it may be ob- 
 served that the general rule is, to get the evening's 
 entertainment well within three hours. Half-past eight, 
 cr even nine, is often the time of commencing. The 
 conveniences of modern life, too, seem to demand that 
 audiences should not be kept in the theatre much 
 later than eleven o'clock. Two hours and a half will 
 thoroughly satisfy, if the quality of the entertainment 
 be good. Spectacular plays, as a rule, are longer, but 
 there is a tendency even with these, to bring them 
 within shorter limits. It is obvious that if we take 
 into consideration " waits " between the acts, ten 
 minutes' interval after the first, second, and third acts 
 of a four-act play will occupy half an hour ; a considera- 
 tion to the dramatist. If the "sets" are not heavy, 
 time can be saved to a great extent. It is wonderful 
 what is accomplished now in quickness of change, by 
 the stage-carpenters and scene-shifters, over the most 
 elaborate productions. With some managers one " set " 
 for an act seems to be held an indispensable condition ; 
 but it is questionable whether the gain derived from 
 compactness, and finish, mechanically, is not more than 
 counterbalanced, in checking what is constructive in the 
 making of a play. Tableau curtains are resorted to, 
 but whether the old system, when well carried out, of 
 the scenes being changed in sight, is not the better 
 plan, may be doubted. The tyro, notwithstanding, will 
 be wiser to study the conditions of the time. Science 
 may have in store such achievements in this direction 
 as at present are undreamed of. 
 
 I conclude this chapter with the promised Analysis. 
 
156 How to 'write a Good Play. 
 
 It is an analysis of the four-act comedy, or comedy- 
 drama, " The Favourite of Fortune," by my late 
 lamented friend, Dr. Westland Marston. 2 I have 
 selected it on account of its admirable construction, 
 and as a good example of a tested play of the com- 
 paratively modern style, although first produced five 
 and twenty years ago. The pivot, or " motif/' black- 
 mailing, is as old as the hills, and it is probable will 
 continue to be a property of the dramatist and story- 
 teller as long as their vocation exists, and human 
 nature remains what it is. The play was produced by 
 E. A. Sothern the creator of Lord Dundreary 
 though the " part " he played in it has no elements of 
 caricature. The character assumed by the manager, 
 Buckstone, was not of that kind either usually asso- 
 ciated with his talents. The Times critique, presumably 
 by John Oxenford, was as follows : " It is not too 
 much to say that the new piece is one of the most 
 important additions to the stock of English prose 
 comedy that has been made during the present cen- 
 tury." 
 
 The play was last seen in London at a matinee at 
 Terry's Theatre, November, 1887, when the " Dramatic 
 Students " gracefully presented it for the benefit of its 
 autho:. Criticisms on this revival rendered tribute 
 to the soundness of the play's construction, its interest- 
 ing, healthy, and sympathetic plot, the grace and re- 
 finement of its style, and its perfect freedom from 
 coarseness of repartee, or vulgarity. It is questionable 
 
 2 I am indebted to Messrs. Chatto and Windus, who published 
 the play in 1876, and to Dr. Marston's executors for their kind 
 permission to make this analysis. 
 
Analysis of the "Favourite of Fortuned 157 
 
 whether the villain of the play is not rather lightly let 
 off, but comedy often does not lend itself to more than 
 the complete discomfiture of the evil genius. The time 
 occupied in the performance would depend on the 
 acting of the more serious scenes. From two hours 
 and a half to two hours and three quarters might be 
 the limit. Each scene remains for the act, so there is 
 no change till the drop descends. The original London 
 cast may have an interest for old play-goers ; though 
 the play was first tried at Glasgow. 
 
 THE FAVOURITE OF FORTUNE. 
 
 First represented at the 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET, 
 
 On Easter Monday, 1866. 
 
 CHARACTERS : 
 
 C Who has lately ") 
 
 j come into a large > Mr. SOTHERN. 
 
 C fortune ) 
 
 . Mr. BUCKSTONE. 
 .... Mr. ROGERS. 
 
 Mr. CHIPPENDALE. 
 (A wealthy widow] Mrs. CHIPPENDALE. 
 
 r Miss KATE SAVILLE. 
 Her daughters | Misg NLLy MoQRE> 
 
 Mrs. E. FITZWILLIAM. 
 C Her daughter i a ~| 
 Euphemia Witherby < nervous young > Miss CAROLINE HILL. 
 
 (. lady. "" J 
 
 Camilla Price . . Niece to the Major Miss H. LINDLEY. 
 Sailors, Sailors' Wives, Servants, etc., etc. 
 
 SCENE : Mrs. Lorrington' s Marine Villa and Grounds in 
 
 the Isle of Wight. 
 
 Time 1866. 
 
 Frank Annerly 
 
 Tom Sutherland 
 Major Price 
 Mr. Fox Bromley 
 Mrs. Lorrington 
 Hester Lorrington 
 Lucy Lorrington 
 Mrs. Witherby 
 
How to write a Good Play. 
 
 SHOWING THE DISTRIBUTION OF SYMPATHY 
 AMONG THE CHARACTERS. 
 
 *8. Frank Annerly 
 7. Tom Sutherland 
 
 4. Hester 
 
 5. Lucy 
 
 10. Euphemia 
 
 2. Mrs. Lorrington 
 
 6. Fox Bromley 
 
 3 Mrs. Witherby 
 i. Major Price 
 9. Camilla 
 
 Sympathetic 
 Characters 
 
 j That is, those whose 
 
 / interests, hopes, etc., 
 
 \ are watched with sym- 
 
 J pathy by the audience. 
 
 Sympathetic, but with elements or mo- 
 tives leading to conflict in the play. All 
 characters should contribute to conflict, 
 but this one is an important factor, as 
 from vanity, want of moral courage, etc., 
 it crosses the success or happiness of those 
 the audience is manifestly in sympathy with. 
 
 C The " villain " of the play, or most im~ 
 \portant evil infliience. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE. An elegantly furnished apartment. 
 [Enter MRS. WITHERBY and MAJOR PRICE.] 
 
 Introduction and re- The P la 7 P ens with a dialogue 
 between Mrs. Witherby and Major 
 
 fe n s te o d f t^ al pfot e b5ng Price, telling the audience whose 
 house they are in, what manner 
 of woman their hostess is, and why they are staying 
 there. The Major says that he was introduced 
 to the hostess, Mrs. Lorrington, by his old friend Sir 
 Richard Sutherland, who is the father of Tom Suther- 
 
 * The numbers affixed to the characters, indicate the order in 
 which their motives or interests are shown to the audience. 
 
Analysis. Act I. 159 
 
 land. The latter arrived the previous evening with 
 his friend Frank Annerly, the " leading part*' or 
 hero of the play. Mrs. Lorrington invited Frank 
 Annerly as a friend of Tom Sutherland's. Sir 
 Richard Sutherland, who had settled in Hampshire, 
 having been a good deal embarrassed some years back, 
 borrowed a large sum of money from Mrs. Lorrington 
 on mortgage of part of his property. That sum he 
 finds it inconvenient to repay. He consents that 
 Tom Sutherland, his nephew and heir, shall marry her 
 daughter Lucy, and she agrees that the mortgage shall 
 be transferred to Lucy on her wedding day, the pro- 
 perty thus remaining in the family. Mrs. Witherby 
 had met Mrs. Lorrington the previous summer at Spa, 
 and confesses that Mrs. Lorrington, as a wealthy 
 woman, is convenient to her, though she has never been 
 able to learn anything of her (Mrs. Lorrington's) rela- 
 tions. Mrs. Witherby, who is a widow, has a daughter, 
 Euphemia or Effie, staying in the house with her. 
 
 The Major had met Mrs. Lorrington at her home in 
 Hampshire, and having found she had a good cook, 
 capital quarters for shooting, fish- 
 ing, etc., thought it to his interest 
 to keep up the acquaintance. He 
 has a marriageable niece with him (Camilla Price). 
 Mrs. Lorrington is anxious to get into Society, and 
 believes these two visitors can help her to do so, and 
 make her a^& fait with social usages, etc. 
 Audience amused by Mrs. Lorrington comes on [Enter 
 
 homely^ufvain^ostess MRS. LORRINGTON], and the au- 
 is played upon by her .. . , ,.. 
 
 guests. dience is shown at once now Mrs. 
 
 Witherby and the Major laugh in their sleeves at her 
 
 Motive or interest of first 
 character shown. 
 
f sec nd cha " 
 
 Motive of third character. 
 
 1 60 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 ignorance. It sees also how Mrs. Lorrington is anxious 
 for her daughter Lucy to marry 
 Tom Sutherland (who is quite de- 
 pendent on his uncle). Mrs. 
 Lorrington speaks of Frank Annerly's visit. Mrs. 
 Witherby, aside, suggests the possibility of Mrs. Lor- 
 rington's meaning him for her (Mrs. L.'s) other daughter, 
 Hester, and says (also aside] that she must not forget 
 her own daughter Effie, as she 
 knows Annerly to be one of the 
 richest and best connected men 
 in Hampshire. She suspects, too, that the Major 
 may have an eye to Annerly for his niece. The 
 Major intimates that he has letters to write and 
 must leave them. \Exit MAJOR.] Dialogue, develop- 
 ing characters, showing Mrs. Witherby's worldliness 
 and Mrs. Lorrington's simplicity and kind-hearted- 
 ness. 
 
 Mrs. Witherby says she is to be at Lady Dobson's 
 at three o'clock and must go and dress. [Exit MRS. 
 WITHERBY.] 
 
 Gradual development A short soliloquy -by Mrs. Lor- 
 ofplot - rington, then enter her daughters 
 
 Hester and Lucy [Enter HESTER and LUCY], who at 
 once tell their mother they have been out collecting 
 money for the families of some poor fishermen who 
 were drowned the previous week. Lucy says that 
 Hester has lost her heart to a 
 mysterious stranger a gentleman 
 who saved many of the lives of 
 the poor fellows who were in danger. It was at mid- 
 night, and, having wrapped his coat round a lad who 
 
 Motive or interest of 
 fourth character. 
 
Motive or interests of fifth 
 character. 
 
 A nalysis. Act I. 1 6 1 
 
 had been rescued, he went away without leaving a trace 
 of his whereabouts. 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington chides her daughters for not having 
 joined the riding party, particularly Lucy, whom she 
 wishes to " make her way " with Tom Sutherland. 
 Some amusing dialogue follows in which Lucy denies 
 that Tom is " anything to her." Her mother reminds 
 her that she did not dislike Tom Sutherland before he 
 went abroad. Lucy says, " No, I 
 wasn't consigned to him then, like 
 a bale of goods." She consoles 
 herself by saying, further, that he may not propose to 
 her. 
 
 Audience learns there Mrs. Lorrington then turns to 
 Hester and reminds her of the 
 
 suitors that s/ie has rejected, and shows her a letter 
 she holds in her hand, which Hester had given 
 her. It is from one of them a Mr. Paul Gresham 
 who has written renewing his proposals. She then calls 
 Hester's attention to Annerly, who combines fortune 
 with family. Hester and Lucy ridicule Annerly's indo- 
 lent and cynical manner. Mrs. Lorrington reminds 
 them what court Mrs. Witherby pays him. Hester 
 says, " Yes, she has a daughter to marry, but you were 
 never meant for a fashionable mother to hold an 
 auction in your drawing-room and knock down your 
 daughters with your fan." At this moment Lucy, look- 
 ing from the window, sees her mother's friend, Fox 
 Bromley, walking down the beach. 
 Mrs. Lorrington shows her alarm 
 at once, and the audience sees that 
 there is some mystery connected 
 
 M 
 
 First allusion to the mo- 
 tive and interests of sixth 
 character, or " evil influ- 
 ence " of the play. 
 
1 62 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 with him. She goes off hurriedly. \Exit MRS. LOR- 
 RINGTON.] 
 
 Hester shows that Bromley is 
 
 pared ie to e *ySSat& e e also a puzzle to her, as, though her 
 mother speaks of him as her best 
 friend, he never appears without making her miserable. 
 Lucy now observes Tom Sutherland from the window, 
 and is anxious to hurry away. She tells Hester she 
 would as soon " go to gaol as marry on compulsion," 
 a sentiment her sister thoroughly agrees with. Lucy 
 then teases her about the romantic incident of the 
 stranger who saved the fisherman, and they go off 
 laughing, Hester not at all displeased. \_Exeunt HESTER 
 and LUCY.] As soon as they have left by the door, 
 Tom Sutherland comes on by the window [Enter TOM 
 SUTHERLAND], and in a few lines shows that though 
 Annerly is apparently blase he is in reality the best of 
 fellows. 
 
 Lines of the plot still Annerly (the hero) -now comes 
 being laid down. on [Enter ANNERLY] they have 
 
 both been riding and Tom thanks him for having 
 promised a living that is in Annerly's gift to an old tutor 
 of Tom Sutherland's, whom he calls Dominie Sampson, 
 as he is such a book-worm. Tom, on the tour with 
 Annerly, had taken him (Annerly) to a little town in 
 the Pyrenees, where the old tutor was living in a very 
 hopeless state as to his prospects. 
 
 Plot progressing stea- They then talk of Lucy. Tom 
 
 dily, and continued in , . 
 
 dialogue with point and says he had a slight liking for her 
 
 conciseness. . r , 
 
 before he went abroad, but that he 
 finds he does not care for her now; 
 besides hating the idea of being 
 
 Interest and motives of 
 seventh character. 
 
Eighth character, or hero, 
 at first somewhat motive- 
 less, but atonement fully 
 made later on. 
 
 Analysis. Act L 163 
 
 " driven into marriage." His uncle, for his own interest, 
 is bent on it, and as Tom is dependent on him for 
 money, he is in a ticklish position. He determines, 
 therefore, to go in for tactics. Tom points out to 
 Annerly what a lucky fellow he is with " health, wealth, 
 and position," to be so envied and flattered. Annerly 
 contends that it is his 20,000 a 
 year that are flattered. He tells 
 Tom that he never expected to 
 come in for such a property. 
 Annerly's fortune, in the shape of entailed estates, 
 he inherited from his cousin George Annerly. 
 George had a brother, a scapegrace, Captain Annerly, 
 who was estranged from his family. He was killed 
 in New Zealand in a skirmish with the rebels, his 
 death being heard of only through the War Office. 
 He died one year only before George Annerly. Had 
 he survived he would have been heir-at-law. Annerly 
 then tells Tom that he was once " fool enough to fall in 
 love with a girl." The girl and her parents knew that 
 Annerly's bachelor cousin George was not expected to 
 recover from an illness he was suffering from. Failing 
 children, Frank Annerly was his heir. His engage- 
 ment to the girl was acceded to and encouraged by the 
 parents. Suddenly George Annerly rallied and resolved 
 to marry. Had he done so, the fortune would have 
 gone to his children. 
 Lines of plot and de- Annerly mentioned George's 
 
 velopment of character. i 
 
 proposed marriage one morning 
 
 to his "intended." The next day, on calling, he 
 found that the girl and her parents were " not at home" 
 to him. He was jilted, in fact, and saw her no more. 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 He takes this girl as a type of womankind, and is there- 
 fore cynical and mistrustful. His cousin, George 
 Annerly, did not marry after all, and Frank inherited 
 the whole of his fortune. He tells Tom that the 
 ladies will soon be back. In his own words : " Mark 
 the part I shall play, and you will find that an im- 
 pertinent fellow may be admired for his humour, a fool 
 for his wit, a fop for his manliness, and a cynic for his 
 good-nature ; provided he be also a Favourite of 
 Fortune. 
 
 {Enter MRS. WiTHERBY, EFFIE, CAMILLA, MAJOR, 
 MRS. LORRINGTON, HESTER.] The other characters 
 enter to wait till the carriage comes round, as they are 
 most of them going to Lady Dobson's. 
 
 Five or six pages de- The next five or six P a g e S COn- 
 
 sist of dialogue full of point and 
 epigram, between Annerly and 
 members of the party assembled. He adopts a cynical 
 and detracting tone. Mrs.Witherby tries to push forward 
 her daughter (a shy simpleton, as her mother calls her) 
 with Annerly; as also the Major 
 his niece, Camilla. There are good 
 lines in which Hester hits Annerly 
 satirically. Mrs. Witherby scandalizes Lady Dobson. 
 Annerly takes her (Mrs. Witherby's) tone, though he 
 has never seen Lady Dobson. Hester retires up the 
 stage displeased at their back-biting, having just spoken 
 earnestly to Annerly about maligning Lady Dobson. 
 
 Hero suddenly wakes The carriage is announced, and 
 d^eToptdTnk nte cios S e^ Mrs - Witherby, Effie, Camilla, and 
 
 watched by audience. the Ma j or gQ off> [Exeunt MRS. 
 
 WITHERBY, EFFIE, CAMILLA, MAJOR.] [Mrs. Lorrington 
 
 Motive and interests of 
 ninth character. 
 
Analysis. Act I. 165 
 
 and Tom are up the stage.] Hester is about to follow 
 them, when Annerly detains her, changing his tone 
 entirely, and thanking her earnestly for her deserved 
 reproofs. Hester again speaks out frankly, and at this, 
 Mrs. Lorrington comes down, and apologizes to him 
 for what she calls " Hester's unpolished demeanour." 
 She (Mrs. Lorrington) asks Annerly if he will take a 
 walk on the beach with her. Tom sees that Annerly 
 wants the mother " out of the way/' and asks to have a 
 word with her. Mrs. Lorrington, thinking Tom wants 
 to talk with her about Lucy, assents at once, and they 
 .go off together. [Exeunt MRS. LORRINGTON and 
 TOM.] 
 
 interest of the lovers Hester and Annerly are now 
 alone on the sta g e < Annerly begs 
 
 advancing time, and in- f r . r ~ mnm^nf- with h<*r 
 stinct of approaching lor a moment Wltil Her. 
 
 manner impresses her as strange. 
 
 " Just now," she replies/' moments with me are precious." 
 " Moments with you are indeed so," is Annerly's response. 
 She informs him that she is busy collecting money for the 
 fishermen's families. She will stay, however, if he will 
 pay her a guinea for every minute. He consents, and 
 she takes out her watch and tablets. She tells him that 
 some of the poor men were saved by the exertions of a 
 brave young fellow, who, though he had the appearance 
 of a modern gentleman, had, nevertheless, a heart in his 
 bosom. Annerly asks her if she admires this young 
 fellow. " Yes," she says warmly ; " do you ? " " Yes 
 yes " he answers hesitatingly, " in moderation." She 
 deprecates ironically his coldness and " moderation/' 
 Annerly tells her that though it may seem strange to 
 her, he does really feel an interest in him, 
 
1 66 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Voices are now heard on the terrace outside. " We want 
 to see Mr. Annerly ! We must thank the gentleman ! " 
 Heroine's surprise on Tom Sutherland hurries on 
 
 receiving explanation, v p nt f ff ^ Tnivrl anrl QPT/C: "T ran 
 
 watched with interest \fLnter I OMJ ana says, i can 
 keep your secret no longer, An- 
 n9riyl w He tells him rapidly 
 kly * that in the pocket of the coat he 
 wrapped round the lad, a letter was found with his 
 name on it, that the sailors have tracked him, and are 
 coming in person to thank him. " What ! " exclaims 
 Hester, " you don't mean to say that Mr. Annerly ." 
 " I mean," interrupts Tom, " that Annerly is the man 
 to whose efforts half a dozen honest fellows owe their 
 lives!" "And this happened?" asks Hester. "In 
 last week's gale, a few nights before we came here." 
 " Mr. Annerly/' she pleads, can you forgive me ? " 
 " Forgive you !" says Annerly warmly, then aside, " Now 
 if that girl marries anyone else, I shall die a bachelor ! " 
 The voices are heard again, and as the sailors, 
 women, and children troop on, Tom drags Annerly 
 up to them, and starts three ringing cheers, " Hip, Hip, 
 Hurrah ! " They clasp Annerly by the hand and show 
 their gratitude,, shouting as the act drop descends. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE. The grounds and garden attached to Mrs. 
 Lorring ton's Villa. 
 
 [A few days have elapsed.] 
 {Enter TOM and ANNERLY.] 
 
 Tom and Annerly come on. 
 
 Love interest. ^. . . , - A 
 
 The audience learns that An- 
 nerly is the accepted suitor of Hester. Tom " chaffs" 
 
Analysis. Act II. 167 
 
 him about his sham cynicism. Annerly almost 
 doubts his good fortune, it has come to him so 
 suddenly. Tom says that "this modesty is another 
 name for mistrust," and that his " old wound still 
 rankles." Annerly begs him to keep his engagement 
 secret, as he is sensitive to the remarks of Mrs. 
 Witherby and the Major. Mrs. Lorrington has pro- 
 mised to say nothing of it. 
 
 Love interest of the Tor ^ complains that Annerly's 
 proposal to Hester has placed 
 
 him (Tom) in a fix, and makes his silence to Lucy 
 seem "doubly queer." He received yesterday a 
 threatening letter from his uncle, and found him 
 peremptory. He thinks, moreover, that if he de- 
 clines the marriage, his uncle will cut off his allow- 
 ance. " In that case," says Annerly, " remember, Tom, 
 we have but one purse." 
 
 Preparation for im- Tom then tells Annerly that he 
 
 portant equivoke scene. shall propose to Lucy, and make 
 
 her refuse him. The fault will then be hers, and he 
 will thus escape the penalty. 
 
 Lucy comes on at back {Enter LUCY], and Annerly 
 says, as he makes his exit, " Well, I leave you to your 
 tactics." \Exit ANNERLY.] 
 
 Preparation of equi- Luc 7 comes down the stage in 
 voke scene continued so iii oquy . She complains of her 
 
 mother's persecution of her, and thinks that if Tom 
 propose to her, and she refuse him, her mother would 
 make her (Lucy's) life wretched, and perhaps even turn 
 her out of doors. She hopes he may not propose at all. 
 She then catches sight of Tom, and sees that he does 
 not avoid her as usual. 
 
1 68 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 The idea suddenly occurs to her that if she could dis- 
 gust him, so as to keep him from proposing, or make 
 him draw back, if he did propose, she would at once 
 obey her mother, and escape from him as a husband. 
 She determines to try it. 
 
 Then follows an admirable 
 
 Clever and amusing , / ,. . ,, 
 
 equivoke scene of about comedy scene (extending, in the 
 
 two and a half pages. . . . . , , . 
 
 printed book, to about two and a 
 half pages), the result of which is that she has drawn 
 a proposal from him, and bound him to wait for her 
 decision. Lucy exits. {Exit LUCY.] 
 
 Entrance of character Tom Walks U P and down ex ~ 
 
 ^^XsSS^7'^ Citedl 7> as Fox Bromley comes 
 villain," of the play. on> [Enter BROMLEY.] He asks 
 
 whether Mrs. Lorrington lives at the house, and whether 
 she has visitors. Tom, in a state of agitation, points to 
 the door, and exits brusquely [Exit TOM] showing 
 that he has an antipathy to Fox Bromley. A little 
 incident is introduced to account for this. 
 
 Bromley, in a soliloquy, puts the audience into 
 possession of the fact that he has come to blackmail 
 Mrs. Lorrington, and with some effective sophistry he 
 tries to justify his doing so. He then goes off into the 
 house. {Exit BROMLEY.] 
 
 The Major, Mrs. Witherby, Camilla, and Effie come 
 on. {Enter MAJOR, MRS. WITHERBY, CAMILLA, 
 and EFFIE.] Mrs. Witherby has wormed out that 
 Hester and Annerly are engaged to each other ; or at least 
 strongly suspects it. The party shows its anger at the dis- 
 covery. Effie being the only one 
 who is not irritated, as she avows, 
 aside, that she loves someone else. 
 
 Motive of tenth character. 
 
Analysis. Act II. 169 
 
 interests of opposing Mrs - Lorrington, Annerly, Tom, 
 characters frustrated. Hester, and Lucy enter. [Enter 
 
 MRS. LORRINGTON, ANNERLY, TOM, HESTER, and 
 LUCY.] Mrs. Witherby's party observes the familiarity 
 between Mrs. Lorrington and Annerly. Mrs. Witherby 
 tries to draw Mrs. Lorrington out, in which, owing to 
 her simple vanity, she is successful. 
 
 Hester and Lucy chide their mother, and Annerly is 
 angry at the innuendoes, so much so that he frankly 
 confesses before them all that he is Hester's accepted 
 suitor. They all congratulate Hester and Annerly. 
 Mrs. Witherby and the Major go up the stage talking. 
 Lucy now approaches Tom, who pretends not to see 
 her, and goes off, giving his arm to Effie Witherby. 
 [Exeunt TOM and EFFIE.] Lucy remarks, aside, Ci Ex- 
 cellent, he avoids me ! " following it with a threat ; 
 and she then goes away with Camilla Price. [Exeunt 
 LUCY and CAMILLA.] 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington now approaches Hester and An- 
 nerly. Finding him a little cold, she takes an inde- 
 pendent tone, and lets him know that Hester had 
 previously had two offers of marriage, and that one, 
 repeated from Paul Gresham Hester had not yet 
 replied to. " Have I not?" says Hester, aside. 
 
 Hester and Annerly are both 
 
 The mystery re-ap- , ,, T . , ,, 
 
 pearing. Sympathetic pained at Mrs. Lorrington s talk, 
 
 character "his friend," . . 
 
 keeping an eye on mys- and go up and sit on a garden 
 seat. A servant enters and an- 
 nounces to Mrs. Lorrington, " Mr. Fox Bromley ! " 
 She is much agitated, and about to give the servant 
 an excuse that she is engaged, when Bromley enters 
 and greets her with much suavity. [Enter BROMLEY.] 
 
1 70 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Annerly observing Mrs. Lorrington's agitation, comes 
 to the front. Mrs. Lorrington softens her tones to 
 Bromley. {Enter TOM and CAMILLA.] Tom Suther- 
 land, who has noticed what is going forward, having 
 just strolled on with Camilla Price, exclaims, aside, 
 "What is this mystery ?" Hester and Camilla go off 
 with Annerly. \Exeunt HESTER, CAMILLA, and AN- 
 NERLY.] Mrs. Witherby now comes down the stage, 
 having recognized Bromley. She had met him at Spa 
 the previous summer, when they were both visiting 
 Mrs. Lorrington. 
 
 Bromley then lets Mrs. Witherby 
 shown to y ^dience. e E r vn know that he was about to tell 
 
 influence getting ahead. ,, T 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington a strange story 
 of an old acquaintance of hers. It was connected 
 with a piece of good fortune that happened to a 
 pretty girl who lived many years since in North 
 Wales. {Enter CAMILLA.] Camilla Price, who has 
 just entered, asks who she was. Bromley states that 
 she was the niece of an innkeeper, at whose house 
 he first met Mrs. Lorrington during a tour. " I'm 
 sure/' he says to her (Mrs. Lorrington), " you remember 
 Betsey Parlett. Well, I've lately discovered that 
 Betsey Parlett, the innkeeper's niece, married a man 
 of large fortune, which she now enjoys. She is a 
 widow, you must know, Mrs. Lorrington, and moves, 
 I'm told, in very good society." Mrs. Lorrington 
 breaks in and begs him to consider himself at home, 
 and to go to the hotel and have his luggage sent in. 
 She then goes off with him in conversation. {_Exeunt 
 MRS. LORRINGTON and BROMLEY.] "How's this?" 
 mutters Tom, aside, " I thought they were quarrelling." 
 
Analysis. Act II. 171 
 
 Mrs. Witherby and the Major come forward and re- 
 mark on Mrs. Lorrington's confusion over the Parlett 
 story, and they arrange to tease her mildly about it, in 
 revenge for her patronizing airs. 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington re-enters \Enter 
 
 Conflict of opposing 
 
 character with a sympa- MRS. LORRINGTON, and they 
 thetic one. Sympathetic J 
 
 ^ar^ter still watching commence, eventually working 
 her into a state of excitement. 
 
 She turns round, and in a passionate speech condemns 
 them for their toadying and meanness. Having 
 relieved herself by this burst of indignation, she 
 suggests, as the young people are anxious for cro- 
 quet, that the others shall join them as lookers on. 
 [Exeunt MRS. LORRINGTON, MRS. WITHERBY, MAJOR, 
 and CAMILLA.] They all leave the stage except 
 Tom, who expresses his firm belief that Bromley has 
 some strange power over Mrs. Lorrington, and that 
 Betsey Parlett is mixed up with her antecedents. He 
 then goes off. [Exit TOM.] 
 Hero given some Hester and Annerly come on. 
 
 threads of mystery. [Enter HESTER AND ANNERLY.] 
 
 A scene follows (of about three pages), very pretty 
 and sympathetic in treatment, which shows that 
 Annerly's first disappointment has left him still a 
 little suspicious. He alludes to Paul Gresham's offer, 
 which Mrs. Lorrington had told him of. He learns 
 from Hester that Bromley was an old friend of 
 her father's : (he died when she was a child). That 
 his presence always causes her mother annoyance, 
 she thinks in money matters, as Bromley, she be- 
 lieves, has the management of her (Mrs. Lorrington's) 
 property. 
 
1 72 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Annerly speaks of the anxiety 
 
 Sympathetic and in- . * 
 
 teresting love scene, also that money causes, and thinks 
 
 developing character. 
 
 that if two people love each other, 
 
 one of them should be poor, in order to prove the 
 attachment. During this scene Annerly, in a morbid, 
 over-sensitive way, complains, aside, of Hester's practical 
 nature and want of sentiment. A speech of Annerly's, 
 saying that if Hester were a poor governess what joy 
 it would be to him to throw his fortune into her lap. 
 Hester replies playfully, but he feels irritated at her 
 lightness. She reminds him that " Trust is the food of 
 love." Their little differences are made up, and the 
 servant comes on to tell Hester that visitors have arrived, 
 and to bring Annerly a packet of letters. Amongst 
 them is one a month old that has followed him from 
 the continent. 
 
 It is from his lawyer to tell him 
 
 Audience surprised _ 
 
 and sympathetic over that George Annerly s brother, 
 
 the sudden ruin of hero! ,. 
 
 Captain Annerly (who died a year 
 before him [George] in New Zealand), made an obscure 
 marriage there, and left an infant son, who lays claim to 
 the entailed estates at present held by Annerly. The 
 fact that the two brothers had ceased all correspondence, 
 and the distance of New Zealand from England, ac- 
 count for the delay in the claim being made. 
 
 Hero struggling with Annerly is staggered, and stands 
 riumph^of tS?ffi absorbed under this blow, when 
 characters. Tom comes on [Enter TOM] with a 
 
 Hampshire newspaper in his hand. Annerly tells his 
 friend that he has lost the bulk of his fortune. But 
 he says after all it has its bright side, for it will 
 give him the fullest proof of Hester's affection, now 
 
Analysis. Act III. 173 
 
 that he is a plain "nobody/' with only a few hun- 
 dreds a year left him by his father. Tom tells him 
 that " Romance is all very well, but that she dreams 
 best on dainty food." He then shows him the 
 Hampshire paper which has got hold of the news, but 
 treats it as mere rumour. Major Price (a Hampshire 
 man) has just received a copy of the same paper, 
 and, as he speaks, the Major comes on, paper in hand, 
 with Mrs. Witherby, Camilla, and Effie. [Enter MAJOR, 
 MRS. WITHERBY, CAMILLA, and EFFIE.] The Major 
 affects sympathy, and conceals the newspaper. 
 
 Annerly keeps his self-posses- 
 
 Mystification of oppos- . . , . , . 
 
 ing characters watched sion and gaiety, which makes 
 
 with interest by audi- ,.. ITT-.I i ,1 i 1 
 
 ence. Effective and Mrs. Witherby think the report 
 
 amusing finish to Act. , ... ~, 
 
 must be false. She says that 
 even if he were ruined, she and Effie would like 
 him the better for it. Annerly leaves them, with a 
 short but very effective speech, which mystifies the 
 party. [Exit ANNERLY.] They turn to Tom, who 
 meets them with some comic evasions in pointed 
 dialogue, as they join in a chorus of inquiry, and the 
 drop comes down smartly and effectively on the second 
 Act. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE An interior same scene as Act i. 
 
 [Two hours have elapsed.] 
 
 [Enter TOM and ANNERLY.] 
 
 important line of plot Tom learns from Annerly that 
 followed. he has been closeted with his 
 
 solicitor, who arrived shortly after the letter. It 
 
1 74 How to write a Good Play, 
 
 seems that the rights of the heir-at-law cannot be 
 contested, and the result is that Annerly is a man with 
 six or seven hundred a year only. Tom gives him his 
 sympathy and says that he has just had a letter of 
 gratitude from his old tutor, " Dominie Sampson," for 
 the living, which had been Annerly's gift. In fact the 
 tutor is expected very shortly to thank Annerly in 
 person. 
 
 Annerly tells him he has spoken 
 
 Audience speculating , . . , ., 111 
 
 on effect of change of to his lawyer about it and he has 
 
 fortune on characters. , , , , ,. M1 
 
 no doubt that the guardians will 
 
 grant it. He goes on to say that he shall tell Hester 
 all and give her the power of breaking the engagement, 
 but that he will not wrong her for a moment by think- 
 ing she would do such a thing. He now hurries off to 
 meet her at once. [Exit ANNERLY.] 
 
 Amusing soliloquy. Tom then has a soliloquy. He 
 
 Equivoke. Sympathy. t hi n ks women who do not care for 
 wealth and position are " a sort of human aloe and 
 blossom once in a century." Wonders whether any man 
 ever had such a charmer as his own, who plainly tells 
 him she marries him for the chance of a title, and 
 speculates on its present owner's death with the greatest 
 coolness. He tries to think what he shall do to induce 
 her to refuse him. At this juncture Lucy enters. 
 [Enter LUCY.] She asks him what he knows about 
 the strange report about Annerly, which she has heard 
 from Major Price and seen in the paper. Tom remarks 
 aside that this sounding him looks bad for Annerly. 
 He makes an accusation against Hester to the effect 
 that she has been guilty of mercenary conduct. Lucy 
 indignantly denies this. Tom demands why she (Lucy) 
 
Analysis. Act III. 175 
 
 was so eager to hear of Annerly's affairs. Because, she 
 
 answers, Annerly is dear to her for Hester's sake, and 
 
 she wishes to show him that adversity cannot lessen 
 
 her regard for him. She further says that she would 
 
 not marry Tom if he were the only man alive. 
 
 interests of the other Tom then asks her how she 
 
 could have agreed to take him 
 
 for the reversion of a title, and calculated his value by 
 the chances of his uncle's life. Lucy explains that her 
 mother threatened her with fearful penalties if she re- 
 fused him. So she (Lucy) tried to make him refuse her 
 in fact, to disgust him. She did not foresee, she says, 
 that instead of recoiling from her like a man of spirit, 
 he would persist in following her for her fortune. Tom 
 then explains that his uncle had set his heart upon his 
 (Tom's) marriage with Lucy, and that he tried hard to 
 disgust her. " Your scheme succeeded/' she exclaims. 
 " For the matter of that," retorts Tom, " so did yours." 
 She learns that he thoroughly 
 
 Clearing up of im- , , , , ,, 
 
 portant equivoke scene despised her, and that, except as 
 
 of page 168, and amus- . , - , , 
 
 ing scene between the a point of honour, he WOUld not 
 
 second pair of lovers. , -11 / i i i i 
 
 have married her if she had been 
 
 the only woman alive. " So you withdraw your suit ? " 
 she demands. " You have already rejected it," replies 
 Tom. " And you're not angry ? " says Lucy. " Eter- 
 nally grateful ! " is his answer. They shake hands 
 on it and appear delighted at being good friends. Lucy 
 then begs Tom will break the news of their being un- 
 suited to each other, to her mother, but not to-day, 
 as she is out of spirits on account of Bromley's visit. 
 Second pair of lovers Lucy reminds him that he is to 
 SS* heroine 1 ? *** say that the union would have been 
 
1 76 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 wretched, especially to himself. Tom says, " It was you 
 who broke off the match." " For which you said you were 
 eternally grateful," replies Lucy. " It was a piece of 
 ill-breeding," confesses Tom. She then tells him that 
 he must help her, for she has a little scheme of her 
 own. She then observes from the window that her 
 mother and Bromley are approaching, and says, a Let's 
 avoid them." " We will," responds Tom, "and discuss 
 your little scheme." "' Don't break our matter to my 
 mother to-day," repeats Lucy. " No, I won't," says 
 Tom. Then aside " and perhaps not at all. Shy- 
 lock in petticoats did I call her? She's an angel in 
 muslin ! " They go off together. [Exeunt TOM and 
 LUCY.] 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington enters with 
 Mysteryre-appearing. Bromley> [^ MRS. LORRING- 
 
 TON and BROMLEY.] She begs him to leave the 
 house and torture her no more. He reminds her that 
 she would regret it, as he knows a secret on the 
 preservation of which her peace depends. She tells 
 him that his boasted secret, as he well knows, is but 
 his invented slander. She goes on to say that she 
 has paid him his own price, and that he promised 
 no further extortion. "But," he remarks, "I must 
 live." She is in sore distress about it, when Hester 
 comes on, who asks what it all means. {Enter 
 HESTER.] 
 Avowal of mystery, Mrs. Lorrington then tells 
 
 but audience Still in TlJpcf^r fhsf cVo (Mrs T rrn*ncrfrm\ 
 
 doubt as to how sympa- -tester mat sne (Mrs. JLornngton; 
 
 thetic characters are to f u nrn : n ac ^^ -oils ;f 
 
 be released from pres- was ] lot DOrn in as Sne calls It 
 
 an " elevated position." Her 
 father was a hair-dresser. She was left an orphan 
 
Analysis. Act 111. 177 
 
 early, and her uncle Robert, an innkeeper in Wales, 
 took charge of her. He was well to do, and sent her 
 to school till she was seventeen. When she came 
 back to live at the inn, one of the tourists, the son of 
 a rich and proud man, offered to make her his wife, 
 but made her vow secrecy for fear of his father's anger. 
 They went to Scotland, where they were married in 
 private by an English clergyman, a friend of Hester's 
 father. Bromley, whom she says feigned to be his 
 friend, was the witness. 
 
 Avowal of mystery Bromley interrupts her and de- 
 continued with conflict. dares the so . called marriage was 
 
 a farce. " If there was no marriage," inquires Hester, 
 " how came my mother to inherit her fortune ? " 
 " Because/' replies Bromley, " your father left it to her 
 in her maiden name." 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington tells Hester that her father was so 
 jealous of his secret, and so fearful lest the marriage 
 should be disclosed, that he concealed it even from 
 his lawyer. Further, that they were in France when 
 he (Hester's father) was seized by his last illness. His 
 father suddenly died, leaving him his fortune, which 
 afterwards, still under her maiden name, Mrs. Lorrington 
 came into possession of. The news of her husband's 
 father's death never reached her husband. He died 
 himself before it arrived. " But," says Hester, " even 
 if my father died with his marriage still unacknow- 
 ledged, what of the clergyman who married you ? " 
 "He was sought for and advertised for in vain," 
 answers her mother, " and the only proof of it is held 
 by this man, who denies the marriage altogether, that 
 he may still extort money." 
 
 N 
 
178 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Preparation for serious Hester with contempt and in- 
 equivoke scene. dignation orders Bromley to leave 
 
 the room, which he does. \_Exit BROMLEY.] She 
 then begs her mother to lay the matter before 
 Annerly, who will cope with* Bromley. "What," she 
 replies, " trust such a secret to him be suspected of 
 dishonour ? It would kill me, Hester ! Besides, his 
 first act would be to break off the match, for he would 
 not marry you with a taint on your birth." " How 
 could I marry him with honour if I concealed it ? " asks 
 Hester. 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington then earnestly 
 
 Trouble of sympathetic , 111 
 
 characters watched by and warmly begs her not to 
 
 audience, and important . , A 1 
 
 detail for equivoke scene breathe the matter to Annerly, 
 as they will, she thinks, be shamed 
 
 for ever. After great urging Hester solemnly promises 
 it, till such time as her mother releases her. Mrs. 
 Lorrington also desires her to say nothing to Lucy. 
 
 Tom's voice is now heard outside, and Mrs. Lorring- 
 ton goes off supported by Hester. {Exeunt MRS. 
 LORRINGTON and HESTER.] 
 
 Tom and Annerly now come on by the window. 
 {Enter TOM and ANNERLY.] 
 
 Annerly has missed Hester as she returned by the 
 road instead of the beach. Tom is urging Annerly to 
 see Hester and get the disclosure of his lost fortune 
 over. As they are talking, Hester enters and anxiously 
 soliloquizes. {Enter HESTER.] She shows how difficult 
 it is to marry Annerly with the possibility of the 
 truth coming out. She feels it would be base, and 
 cannot consent to it. Tom goes off, leaving Annerly 
 alone with Hester. {Exit TOM.] 
 
Analysis. Act IV. 179 
 
 strong and sympathetic Now follows an admirable scene 
 
 equivoke. ( about three and a ha j f pages) 
 
 of serious interest, in which Annerly tells Hester of 
 the loss of his fortune. She is overcome, and though 
 full of sympathy for his loss, feels herself compelled 
 to draw back her solemn promise to her mother 
 making her conduct appear in a very mysterious light 
 to Annerly. 
 
 strong scene finishing The act concludes with Annerly 
 telling Hester that though he 
 
 does not think her heartless, he cannot but believe that 
 her love for him was a worldly one, and that she 
 acted in a way compelled only by prudence and self- 
 interest. 
 
 As he bids her " Good morning >; Hester falls over- 
 come by emotion, and the act drop comes down. \Exit 
 ANNERLY.] 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 apartment at Mrs. Lorringtorfs. 
 [Time almost continuous. Evening of the same day.] 
 MRS. WITHERBY DISCOVERED. 
 
 Mrs. Witherby is discovered in 
 
 LJUL& ^ J_LCbX CU\j UO JL J.C7- 
 
 _____ ig and changing sc 
 tactics. 
 
 Opposing character re- 
 
 appearing and changing soliloquy. She has been talking 
 to Mrs. Lorrington. and feels con- 
 
 vinced that she is in some way mixed up with the story 
 of Betsey Parlett. She believes too that Hester's mother 
 has forced her to give up Annerly, but Mrs. Witherby 
 has heard from the Major that Annerly has still six or 
 
 N 2 
 
180 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 seven hundred a year, which she would be only too 
 willing should fall to the lot of her own daughter Effie. 
 
 Preparation for e^ui- Effie enters [Enter EFFIE] and 
 voke scene. M rs Witherby hints that she 
 
 (Effie) must pay Annerly some attention, as he is not to 
 marry Hester ; urges her to throw off her shyness and 
 reticence before him. 
 
 Annerly comes on to tell Mrs. Witherby that he is 
 about to leave the house. [Enter ANNERLY.] She 
 tells him that she believes her daughter really prefers 
 people for their misfortunes, and hurries off on the 
 pretence of getting a photograph, that Annerly may 
 keep her in remembrance, giving a very atrong hint to 
 her daughter aside as to her behaviour. [Exit MRS. 
 WITHERBY.] 
 
 A funny scene follows, in which 
 
 Another amusing equi- -,,>' . 
 
 voke scene and "situa- Erne s fear that Annerly is propos- 
 
 tion." 
 
 mg to her, agitates her so much as 
 
 to amuse and mystify him. Mrs. Witherby re-enters by 
 the door [Enter MRS. WITHERBY] and the Major and 
 Camilla by the window [Enter MAJOR AND CAMILLA] 
 just in time to catch a word or two which can be con- 
 strued into a declaration by the two latter. Effie totters 
 in her agitation, and Annerly puts his arm round her 
 waist. 
 
 In reply to a speech of Effie's, Annerly states that 
 he never intended to be more to her than a friend, and 
 seals the statement by kissing her hand. The Major 
 and Camilla by pantomime express a lively horror 
 and retire. [Exeunt MAJOR and CAMILLA.] Mrs. 
 Witherby also disappears [Exit MRS. WITHERBY] 
 with a gesture of annoyance, having heard the dialogue 
 
Analysis. Act IV. 1 8 1 
 
 clearly. Annerly conducts Effie off. \_Exit EFFIE.] 
 He thinks her the most eccentric young lady he has 
 seen for a long time. He goes on to say that he fears 
 he has wronged Hester, and that there may be some 
 hidden motive. He sees Mrs. Lorrington at the door, 
 and is assured that a word from her would solve every- 
 thing. {Enter MRS. LORRINGTON.] 
 
 Annerly asks her plainly if there 
 
 Slight equivoke. , r i j 1 ^ 
 
 be any reason for her daughter 
 
 refusing him besides his changed prospects any 
 mystery in fact. The word " mystery " alarms Mrs. 
 Lorrington, and she fears her secret may be discovered. 
 
 She tells him Hester broke off the match because it 
 was no longer prudent. 
 
 Annerly reminds her that he only shares the fate of 
 her daughter's former suitors, and that one of them 
 the rich Mr. Paul Gresham was a better match, and 
 as his proposals have just been renewed, he may be 
 accepted now. Mrs. Lorrington says aside that it 
 might be safer for Annerly to think so. She is in a 
 state of agitation, and leaves him with this impression. 
 {Exit MRS. LORRINGTON.] 
 
 Equivoke or mystifl- Hester comes on {Enter HES- 
 TER] to speak to Annerly once 
 
 more, not to explain, as she says, but fearing that "his 
 hard thoughts will embitter him as much as they 
 wound her," and to hint to him that she is a victim and 
 not a criminal. 
 
 This scene (about two pages) a beautiful acting one, 
 concludes with Hester's going off after telling him that 
 the time may come when he will believe that she really 
 loved him for himself. {Exit HESTER.] 
 
1 82 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Mystification of cha- Annerly is left completely puz- 
 racters. zled, her own mother having 
 
 avowed her worldliness, and yet Hester's tones and 
 manner imply the contrary. 
 
 Lucy comes on with Tom {Enter LUCY and TOM], 
 saying that she can get no explanation from Hester, 
 and demands from Annerly why her sister has left him 
 twice nearly broken-hearted. 
 
 Annerly eventually lets her know that Hester has 
 deserted him for his misfortunes. Lucy indignantly 
 denies it, 
 
 .Mystification con- Annerly tells her that her 
 
 tiimecL mother has confirmed it, which 
 
 Lucy says is impossible, and then asks if Hester 
 admitted it. " No, she didn't admit it, but " says 
 Annerly. " Of course not," answers Lucy, taking him 
 up sharply. She insists that there must have been gross 
 misconduct on Annerly's part for her sister to have 
 given him up. She burst into tears and declares indig- 
 nantly that Annerly never deserved her. Tom tells him 
 to go and beg Hester's pardon, and chides his suspicious 
 nature. 
 
 Apparenttrmmphagain Mrs - Witherby, Effie, the Major 
 of opposing characters. and Camilla now enter. {Enter 
 
 MRS. WITHERBY, EFFIE, MAJOR and CAMILLA.] Mrs. 
 Witherby, with assumed indignation, accuses Annerly of 
 his improprieties with her daughter. Effie tries to ex- 
 plain, but is hushed down by her mother. The Major 
 bears witness that he saw Effie in Annerly's arms. 
 Lucy, aside, exclaims : " Here's a light on his conduct to 
 Hester ! " Effie again attempts an explanation, but is 
 instantly silenced. The Major and Camilla take their 
 
Analysis. Act IV. 183 
 
 leave after tendering Lucy mock sympathy on 
 account of Hester. Mrs. Witherby hurries Effie off 
 angrily. [Exeunt MAJOR, CAMILLA, MRS. WITHERBY, 
 and EFFIE.] 
 
 complete mystification Tom and Lucy turn to Anner- 
 ofhero - ly for an explanation. Annerly 
 
 says the world is topsy-turvy and he thinks he must 
 have lost his reason. His betrothed gives him up 
 and yet expects him to trust her, because she is 
 going to marry someone else. Her mother all but 
 admits this, and tells him he is discarded for his losses. 
 When he speaks to the sister, she reproaches him and 
 bursts into tears and to finish up, an angry lady comes 
 in and abuses him because he showed common humanity 
 to her daughter ! 
 
 He rushes off, angry with Tom and everybody else. 
 [Exit ANNERLY.] 
 
 Tom says there must be some 
 
 Sympathetic character . . , , , . , 
 
 still with his eye on mistake about his conduct to 
 Effie, and that the poor girl would 
 
 have explained something if her mother had let her. 
 Further, that he is confident there is a mystery, and 
 that Bromley is at the bottom of it. 
 
 Lucy explains that her mother 
 
 Indication to audience .,, 1t 
 
 how mystery will be will never allow a question to 
 
 cleared. 111 1-01 
 
 be asked about him. She re- 
 members once, when a child, her mother's anger at 
 finding her screened by a bush, listening to their- con- 
 versation, Tom asks her what she heard. She says 
 she remembers nothing but a name, and that only be- 
 cause she was told never to mention it. The name was 
 George Wintersea. " George Wintersea ! >; repeats Tom. 
 
1 84 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 " I fancy I know the man. Wintersea concerned in it, 
 Your mother's excitement at the Betsy Parlett story, her 
 politeness to Bromley whom she plainly detests. Depend 
 upon it that Bromley is the cause of the quarrel between 
 Hester and Annerly ! " 
 
 " If you could prove that and 
 b/ e sympathetic ys cha^ foil him, says Lucy, " I would as 
 
 racter, made also the . . . , , 
 
 means of getting rid of a reward beg your uncle s pardon 
 
 his own difficulty. r 1,1 
 
 for you, when he hears you have 
 given me up." 
 
 " Stop," cries Tom ; " it was you who gave me up." 
 " It's the same thing," she answers. " No/' says Tom. 
 "If I give you up, I incur all the penalties my uncle 
 threatened. If you give me up, I'm blameless and get 
 off." "You tried to repel me," she urges, "that was 
 really giving me up." " If you view it in that light," 
 he replies, " I must propose again." 
 
 She warns him that if he does she will accept 
 him. 
 
 It finishes by his formally pro- 
 
 The second pair of J r 
 
 lovers' happiness com- posing, in a comic way, being 
 
 pleted. 
 
 accepted, and Lucy saying that if 
 Hester's happiness be insured, her own will be. They 
 go off to find Annerly, and try to settle the difficulty 
 about her sister. {Exeunt TOM and LUCY.] 
 
 The villain and holder Bromley comes on with a deed 
 lULnc m nfwiJteTested whi <* is to secure him soo/.a year 
 m his downfall. instead of the 2OO/.he has hitherto 
 
 received. [Enter BROMLEY.] 
 
 After a soliloquy, again trying to justify to himself 
 his extortion, Mrs. Lorrington and Hester enter. [Enter 
 MRS. LORRINGTON and HESTER.] 
 
Analysis. Act IV. 185 
 
 Audience watching Hester tells Bromley that she 
 sympathetic does not deny him the money 
 
 he would wring from them, but 
 she asks one condition, viz. : that 
 
 as he was the witness of the marriage, he will give her 
 mother the written proof of it. " What," murmurs 
 Bromley aside, " part with my power over her, that's 
 all my capital in life ? " He turns to Hester and assures 
 her there was no marriage. Hester in a strong and 
 feeling speech begs him to relent. " Suppose that I 
 could prove it even/' he says ; " your mother has already 
 paid me large sums because I denied it ; I should be 
 within range of the Criminal Court." Mrs. Lorrington 
 begs Hester to accede to anything that will purchase his 
 absence. 
 
 Annerly now enters with Tom 
 
 Sympathetic characters _ _ _ . 
 
 still sorely tried, but and Lucy. {Enter ANNERLY. 
 
 audience convinced that _ , _ -. __ , 
 
 all will be well, though TOM and LUCY. He has come 
 
 doubtful of means em- J 
 
 ployed. Sense of rising to sav Good-bye. The carnasfe 
 excitement. 
 
 is at the door. Mrs. Lorrington 
 
 in much distress, and, glancing with pity at her 
 daughter, gives him her hand. He then bids farewell 
 to Hester and goes out. \Exit ANNERLY.] Tom fires 
 up and says it is wrong he should go under a fatal 
 mistake, believing Hester false and unfeeling. He 
 asserts that they part because there is some hidden 
 motive, and he believes it is connected with Bromley. 
 
 Affecting avowal of Mrs. Lorrington, alarmed, begs 
 thltic r charact y er.Sd?S: Hester to deny this. Hester tries 
 to control herself, and mutters 
 something. Tom, from the win- 
 dow, sees Annerly about to step into the carriage. 
 
1 86 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington, with much feeling, cries " Hester, 
 my own child, don't look in that way ! " She asks 
 Tom to call Annerly back, which he does. [Enter 
 ANNERLY]. She then discloses to Annerly the 
 truth, that she has been a coward and betrayed her 
 daughter, that she is a woman of low origin, and though 
 lawfully married is unable to prove it. That Hester 
 refused a marriage that might have disgraced him 
 (Annerly), that she could not tell her motive, as she 
 wished to spare her mother, finally, that Annerly may 
 give her up if he likes, but that he shall at least respect 
 her. 
 Hero now in conflict Annerly asks for forgiveness 
 
 from Hester, and Mrs. Lorrington 
 
 asserting that she was truly wedded, points to Bromley 
 as the witness, but says that for his own purpose 
 he denies it. She calls Annerly's attention to the 
 deed on the table, by which Bromley would extort 
 more money. Bromley denies the marriage. Annerly 
 asks for the deed, glances over it and tears it to pieces, 
 saying that as Bromley cannot give Mrs. Lorrington 
 any value for her money, she declines to be robbed of 
 it. " But I still hold her secret/' exclaims Bromley 
 triumphantly. " Which/' retorts Annerly, " is worth- 
 less to you the moment you disclose it." 
 Villain trying a last "Suppose/' says Bromley, "I 
 
 could produce the proof, the certifi- 
 cate of marriage ? " Mrs. Lorrington asserts this to be 
 "impossible, as it was advertised for in vain/' "By 
 whom ? " demands Annerly. " By Bromley, as my 
 agent/' she replies. " Oh, then," says Annerly, " he has 
 received the certificate and concealed the fact." 
 
Analysis. Act IV. 187 
 
 Audience watching the Hester breaks in with " No 
 ctf^^f^e^et^ ^> give him his own terms, let 
 him produce the certificate signed 
 by Mr. Wintersea ! " " Mr. Wintersea ! who once lived 
 in Scotland ?" exclaims Annerly. "Yes," answers Mrs. 
 Lorrington, "the clergyman who married us." " Tom," 
 says Annerly [aside, with meaning]. " Not yet, old 
 fellow, give him line," replies Tom. 
 
 Annerly avers that such a docu- 
 
 Audience amused by 1,1 
 
 the baiting or humiiiat- ment would be very valuable, and 
 
 ing of the villain. J ' 
 
 after some higgling and Bromley s 
 saying that he would consider whether he would 
 take 10,000 for it, Annerly turns round on him 
 with the declaration that to-day or to-morrow 
 Wintersea himself will hand the certificate to Mrs. 
 Lorrington. 
 
 Secret out to characters Tom then goes on to explain 
 that his old tutor, Dominie Samp- 
 son, to whom Annerly gave the living, is himself 
 Wintersea, that he is on his way to the house and is 
 expected in a few hours. 
 
 Bromley is requested to retire 
 
 Laugh against the vil- . ' 
 
 lain, and defeat of the and Tom gives him his cane, as he 
 
 evil influence. . . 
 
 thinks it " safer in his own hands. 
 
 [Exit BROMLEY.] Bromley goes off protesting he is 
 " misunderstood to the last, and a victim of circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Tom then tells them that Lucy 
 
 Satisfaction and hap- . , . . . . 
 
 piness of all the sympa- and he are engaged to be married 
 
 thetic characters. 
 
 and will go to church with 
 Annerly and Hester. 
 
 Mrs. Lorrington declares herself very happy, blesses 
 
1 88 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 her children, and determines for the future she will speak 
 " the plain truth in plain words." 
 
 Making the best of it Mr s. Witherby, Effie, the Major, 
 SeteS! a?S osl a Ge bn ? g h h a t and Camilla now come on. [Enter 
 
 finish to the Comedy. MRS. WlTHERBY, EFFIE, MAJOR, 
 
 and CAMILLA.] Mrs. Witherby says that as Annerly 
 seems to be on the winning side, she is too old a stager to 
 be on the losing one. " The way of the world," adds the 
 Major. Effie is delighted at the result, as she can marry 
 the man she loves ; and Annerly declares that, though 
 poor otherwise, in possessing Betsey Parlett's daughter, 
 he is still the Favourite of Fortune. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DEDUCTIONS AND GENERAL ADVICE. 
 
 A FEW useful conclusions may be arrived at, which 
 although in some cases emphasizing what has gone be- 
 fore, will, it is hoped, have some practical bearing on the 
 art of play-making. A book can no more enable a man 
 to write a play, than to compose a sonata, paint a picture, 
 or carve a statue. Without an ear it is impossible to 
 become a composer or a lyrical poet ; or give sym- 
 pathetic interpretation and expression to the work of 
 others, as singer or actor. It is clear also that without 
 the gift of dramatic sense or instinct, a play worthy 
 of the name cannot be produced. Every play-wright 
 must be to some extent a creator or maker. He is, as 
 before stated, a poet in its original signification, and 
 must therefore primarily be born and not made. Like 
 the verb of our school days he must be, do and (gene- 
 rally) suffer. But potta nascitur non Jit is a partial 
 truism. There is a vast deal of doing as well as being 
 and suffering. 
 
 Seeing that the art of the play-wright to be suc- 
 cessful is governed by the arbitrary and conventional, 
 more than other forms of literary work, it will be under- 
 stood that a disregard of these qualities is fraught with 
 considerable danger. Conventionality is sorely abused, 
 
1 90 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 but it is one of the spokes in the strong wheel of 
 Experience, and cannot be safely ignored and dispensed 
 with. It is regrettable that the eternal rage for novelty 
 should often encourage work that has no jot of stamina 
 or durability ; and much more so, that artistic treatment 
 should be wasted on it. But 
 
 "All with one consent praise new-born gawds, 
 Though they are made and moulded of things past, 
 And give to dust that is a little gilt 
 More laud than gilt o'er dusted." 
 
 That the production of a good play is no easy task I 
 think will be conceded. Nor can a temporarily suc- 
 cessful one be thrown off in the airy manner that many 
 people assume. That the belief is so commonly enter- 
 tained by those with the gift of literary expression, seems 
 to be due partly to their never having been at the pains 
 to ascertain whether they are endowed with the neces- 
 sary "sense," and in a measure to technical requirements 
 being underrated. Sympathy with dramatic elements, 
 or response to the effects they are capable of producing, 
 in the theatre, is inherent in all except the most torpid 
 natures. The power of creating or adapting them is 
 given to few " our perception far outruns our talent." 
 When for the first time a young play-goer sees acted 
 some short dramatic gem, he feels that it would require 
 no great labour to go home and produce such another. 
 It is difficult on the instant to recognize the value and 
 rarity of the art displayed. That of the theatre, too, is 
 many sided, and gratifies a variety of tastes in the same 
 being. In youth there is in all healthy natures, spite of 
 vanities and weaknesses, a host of kindly and generous 
 aspirations that leads to a desire to excel before one's 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 191 
 
 fellows. To many who contemplate a work of art which 
 appeals strongly to them, an inward feeling, which may 
 be expressed in the words " Why didn't / do that ? " 
 will arise. The ease, fitness, and perfect naturalness of 
 the composition tend to illusiveness. " In. every work 
 of genius," to quote once more the author of " Society 
 and Solitude," " we recognize our own rejected thoughts ; 
 they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty." 
 
 The simplicity of a theme often gives it the appear- 
 ance of being easy in execution. But the simplicity of 
 a subject is one thing, its treatment another. What can 
 be simpler than Lord Tennyson's " Dora " (taken from 
 Miss Mitford), or the second " branch " of " The Holly 
 Tree," or " Rab and his Friends," or Browning's " Night 
 and Morning" (in sixteen lines) ? and yet to how few 
 are such accomplishments possible. And here a parallel 
 may be found with dramatic work which will in a 
 measure give a clue to the true " dramatic sense." 
 Wordiness and prolixity are inimical to it, and conse- 
 quently fatal. The maximum of feeliniLor fancy, and 
 the minimum of words, must be a rule for plays that are 
 to be, acted. One touch of the brush rightly given will 
 convey the highest and fullest sense, with the aid of the 
 actor's art. That final touch may have cost a thousand 
 trials, but it is the right one, and no other will do as 
 well. 
 
 " Do managers want good plays ? " and " Is it any use 
 offering them ? " The queries are natural enough, and 
 are mentally entertained if not spoken, by many who 
 have been disappointed in their efforts. Every aspirant 
 believes that his work, if not of the highest class, is 
 equal to much that he sees actually produced, and which, 
 
1 92 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 to all appearances, is popular and attractive. But alas ! 
 appearances are deceptive ; a play that has run for per- 
 haps hundreds of nights, and which is evidently filling 
 the manager's treasury, there cannot be much doubt 
 about. But let it be repeated, there are hosts of skilful 
 plays produced, that cost the author, manager and actors 
 time, trouble and expense, and which may enjoy some 
 sort of a " run/' but in no wise can be regarded as suc- 
 cessful from the business standpoint. Some plays are 
 good enough to draw for a time, and pay their way, but 
 show themselves deficient in real permanence. The 
 circumstances that induce a manager to present any 
 particular play are not made generally public. He is 
 his own master, and his enterprise can take any form 
 for which he is prepared to pay. Anticipation of an 
 active nature is necessary to enable him to carry on 
 management with fair chances of success. This being 
 so, it will be readily understood how unforeseen acci- 
 dents and events may completely upset the most care- 
 fully prepared plans. 
 
 " The best laid schemes o' mice and men 
 Gang aft a-gley," 
 
 but mice and men must go on scheming for their bread 
 and cheese, blunder as they may. 
 
 It may be a matter for regret, but it is perfectly true, 
 that 
 
 " Some sparkling, showy thing, got up in haste, 
 Brilliant and light, will catch the passing taste." 
 
 Can there be any wonder that theatrical enterprise is 
 so risky and uncertain, or that " it partakes," as a clever 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 193 
 
 manager has expressed it, "greatly of gambling." Sir 
 Henry Taylor, in his Autobiography, speaks of the life of 
 a political adventurer, without private fortune, as " hard, 
 anxious and unquiet/' and of " more excitement than 
 any except those of an actor or a highwayman ! " His 
 friend Macready's perplexities were pretty clear to him, 
 and it is certain that the modern manager is in a 
 position of no less responsibility. But to return to the 
 question under consideration. It may safely be said, 
 and it should be some consolation to those authors who, 
 in addition to natural gifts, have two qualities equally 
 important, energy and patience, that the s uP!-J2^ 
 plays good enough to put before an audience is always 
 unequal fo the Hpman^ Of a sort there are dramas 
 enough and to spare, ready at a moment's notice ; but 
 as the mainstay of a theatre always has been, and is 
 likely to continue to be, derived from novelty, it is not 
 possible for sound, not to say high class, dramatic work 
 to be produced as quickly as it is required. The 
 manager is perfectly cognizant of this, and seeing that 
 the chances are slight of an inexperienced writer 
 supplying him with what he requires, it can scarcely be 
 wondered at that he does not bestow the attention on 
 untried work that it often deserves. A glance is enough 
 sometimes to decide that what is submitted is perfectly 
 useless to him. Half a dozen speeches in the very 
 first scene of the play may enable him to judge whether 
 it be worth his while to give any serious attention to 
 what is before him. A description of the first scene 
 (for young dramatic authors, like beginners in other 
 branches of art, bestow great pains on the adventitious 
 and subsidiary), or the very title of the play may be 
 
 O 
 
194 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 enough to indicate to the manager that it will not serve 
 his purpose. And here is a great point ; however good 
 your play may be, of what avail is it if the purpose of 
 the management is not in some way served, or you are 
 unable to meet its requirements ? It must not be 
 assumed that even a fine play will make its mark any- 
 where. Numberless instances could be given of fairly 
 good plays losing their chance by being accepted at the 
 wrong theatre. It is true that occasionally a play will 
 stand the test of a considerable lapse of time, and 
 achieve an after triumph elsewhere. As in literature so 
 with the drama. It would be as absurd to suppose that 
 a piece which might be acceptable, at say the Adelphi, 
 would suit the Haymarket ; as that a paper meeting the 
 requirements of The Nineteenth Century would be of 
 service to Punch. And yet managers have continually 
 poured in upon them pieces that are utterly in- 
 appropriate to the theatre or style of company 
 associated with it. /The size of a house has an immense 
 importance in determining the prosperity of many 
 plays. It will not be difficult to understand, that if the 
 piece be such as derives its charm from delicacy of 
 detail, finesse, or a certain idyllic tone, much of its 
 aroma unavoidably evaporates in a large theatre. ^ There 
 is a very distinct limit to the powers of the most gifted 
 actor. We do not use the cothurnus and the persona. 
 I remember some years since, hearing the great Italian 
 actor, Signjjor Salvini, whose physical powers histrioni- 
 cally are quite exceptional, and who is accustomed to 
 enormous theatres, complain of the size of Covent 
 Garden Theatre, where he was then acting. Conceive 
 how in a large area, where an actor of finish and refine- 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 195 
 
 ment is deficient in voice power, and lacking physique, 
 the most delightful episodes must be lost or robbed of 
 their due effect. As Charles Mathews in a speech made 
 at Philadelphia remarked of an immense building, " In- 
 surmountable difficulties arise where a speaking trumpet 
 is required for the actor and a telescope for the spectator." 
 
 Good plays are always wanted, and the anxiety to 
 get hold of them is very great, the multiplicity of 
 theatres increasing the demand. But is it to be 
 wondered at, that a busy and harassed manager is not 
 in a position to give serious thought to the enormous 
 mass of written or printed matter that is being 
 perpetually brought under his notice ? 
 
 If I submit a paper or a story to an editor or a pub- 
 lisher, I do not expect either of them, when he rejects it, 
 to give me the reason for his refusal. Should he do so, 
 it is an extended courtesy or kindness, which I value as 
 such. And yet there are untried authors who are quite 
 aggrieved because a manager does not sit down and 
 write an exhaustive estimate of the piece. It is a marvel 
 that managers are as patient as they are, when one thinks 
 of the absolute rubbish that is constantly asking their 
 suffrages. A little more frankness and moral courage at 
 times, would really be doing a service to the inexperienced, 
 for unhappily there are those who fritter away their lives 
 in hopeless endeavours to meet the requirements of the 
 stage. The late Mr. Button- Cook, in the work already 
 mentioned, " On the .Stage," has collected some 
 amusing stories of managers, such as Garrick, Rich, etc., 
 in their dealings with would-be dramatists. An account 
 of Garrick's artifices, which were ably seconded by his 
 brother George, is very entertaining. There was some 
 
 O 2 
 
196 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 reason for Garrick's fears. Popularity was life to him, 
 and those were the days of lampoons, pasquinades and 
 other scathing forms of satire. 
 
 If after what has been said there can be any doubt 
 that managers are in want of good plays, it is surely 
 proved by the irrepressible revival of the old favourites, 
 which follows some new play that has failed to attract. 
 The " School for Scandal/' " The Rivals," " She Stoops 
 .to Conquer," "The Road to Ruin," "The Lady of 
 Lyons/' "Money/' etc., etc.; how regular and reliable 
 is their resuscitation. And notwithstanding the difficul- 
 ties in casting and mounting these old plays, they 
 generally prove attractive, if the spirit of them is not 
 sacrificed. By the mysterious law of our land, too, 
 there is nothing to pay to their authors or their de- 
 scendants. If but one tithe of the capital since realized, 
 had fallen to the lot of the authors when they were alive, 
 what rejoicing hearts there would have been for a time, 
 for certainly, though their reputations were not fleeting, 
 with some of them, the money would have been. 
 The stage not only has its dangers as well as delights 
 for actors, but for authors also. Did not Tobin spend his 
 energies in the night, writing play after play which he 
 could not get accepted ; dying at the early age of thirty- 
 four, but a few weeks before his one really successful 
 drama, "The Honeymoon/' was produced? The struggles 
 of Gerald Griffin, the author of " The Collegians " 
 (known to the stage by Boucicault's " Colleen Bawn ") 
 were pathetic in their persistency. His beautiful play 
 of " Gisippus " was first acted by Macready, long after 
 the author's death, which took place when he was but 
 thirty-seven. 
 
 How litile does the amateur writer really know of 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 197 
 
 the true struggles of the dramatist. There are hundreds 
 of people to whom money is no object, and who would 
 feel amply repaid by their efforts being put upon the 
 stage, without any remuneration beyond the popularity 
 that may accrue from them. Some of them have 
 undoubted gifts, and with study and application might 
 produce work worthy of living. But these requisites are 
 quite disregarded, and as the authors are not dependent 
 on such efforts as they do make, they can only be looked 
 upon in the light of pleasant distractions. ^pg-W.f, 
 discouragement, favouritism, broken faith, and the 
 
 "thousand disagreeables that fall to the lot of every real 
 worker, arc unknown to them. And are not these 
 {he very things that go to put the true artiste on-his 
 mettle and strike from him what is of value ? Going 
 " thronprh the mill" is not a pleasant operation, but it, 
 
 Js the only way to get associated with the grist. Sir 
 Walter Scott declared that he was unequal to the 
 operation theatrically, but we are disposed in his case 
 to murmur " 'Tis better as it is." When the powers get 
 dispersed and run into a variety of channels, the 
 current flows but weakly. If the effort be regarded 
 as an amusement, well and good, there is always a 
 crowd whose idle members will throw up their caps and 
 shout at anything. The average man is not a Goethe or 
 a Napoleon, but the world is full of those who can do a 
 little of everything fairly well. But what is the value of 
 a Crichton? He wrote comedies and played in them, 
 but made a greater hit in giving a celebrated fencing- 
 master his quietus in a duel ; but we call to mind, alas ! 
 that he got his own by being assassinated at twenty-three 
 in the public streets ! 
 
 It is related of the great Bernini that he produced 
 
198 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 " an opera, wherein he painted the scenes, cut the statues 
 invented the engines, composed the music, writ the 
 comedy and built the theatre." He must have forgotten 
 to play the leading part ! His eminence as sculptor, 
 architect and painter we may not question, but it would be 
 surprising to learn that the music and the comedy ranked 
 equal in merit, with competent and unbiassed judges of 
 these arts. This was an amusement of the great palace 
 builder, whose industry and energy were remarkable. It 
 was Bernini who would not interrupt his work for any 
 strangers who came to his studio, " whether princes or 
 cardinals ; they stepped softly in and sat down to look 
 at him in silence." I think I have artist friends who 
 regret that the great Neapolitan's example is not easily 
 followed now. Amateur play-making is not likely, 
 however, to stand in the way of the professional 
 dramatist. Sir John Vanbrugh, the architect, attained 
 to celebrity; but Blenheim has proved more durable 
 than "The Provoked Wife " and " The Relapse." 
 Sergeant Talfourd, the author of " Ion/' too, did not 
 depend upon his exertions as a dramatist. As the 
 legal profession has supplied a large contingent of play- 
 wrights, we must allow an intellectual affinity in the 
 bar and the stage. 
 
 Though we may agree with what Charles Reade 
 asserted in respect to the vast gulf that exists between 
 the creator and the adapter, the art of the latter must 
 not be underrated. Translation is not adaptation. 
 Indeed, to successfully adapt, constantly asks for 
 original invention. Twenty authors might make a play 
 from the French tale " Le Retour de Melun," but it 
 asked an experienced dramatist like Tom Taylor 
 
Deductions and General Advice. \ 99 
 
 (another valued friend) to construct a drama from it, 
 as successful as "The Ticket-of-Leave Man." He very 
 justly claimed some" of the honours due to one who 
 creates, as the characters, sentiments and action were 
 anglicized. In more modern times, Sardou has 
 necessitated great skill and much originality in making 
 his work successful in England. But the practice of 
 adaptation, even without any thought of getting a play 
 accepted, is calculated to be of the greatest use to the 
 beginner. He must select with caution, and beware of 
 various incongruities that are apt to be somewhat 
 baffling, and which only experience can supply the 
 solution of. When nearly thirty years ago Charles 
 Mathews played in Paris, Blanchard Jerrold's farce, 
 " Cool as a Cucumber," under the title of " L' Anglais 
 Timide/' he made, as he candidly confessed, a curious 
 mistake. Patient as French audiences are over some 
 forms of the drama as to wordiness or prolixity, they 
 demand in others a terseness or condensation greater 
 than that which is looked for in England. Mathews 
 (a skilled adapter and author himself) had played 
 " Cool as a Cucumber " successfully hundreds of times in 
 his own country, and believed that what Englishmen 
 would sit out patiently, would be as acceptable to the 
 French people. But he found that towards the end of 
 the farce the audience was getting very palpably bored, 
 and only the most wholesale cutting afterwards, saved 
 the play from failure. In his own words, " The necessity 
 for explanation at the end of every piece, according to 
 our English ideas of dramatic propriety, the seeing 
 everybody married and settled, and all the obscure 
 points of the plot mathematically cleared up before 
 
20O How to write a Good Play. 
 
 dropping the curtain, is not only not required by the 
 French public, but is deemed tiresome. They like to 
 drop the curtain when the fun is over, and guess the 
 rest." ... 
 
 " L' Anglais Timide " became a great success in Paris, 
 and old play-goers will remember that he performed the 
 curious feat four years afterwards of playing it in 
 English at the Olympic, and in French at the St. 
 James's for Ravel's benefit on the same night. But 
 to 'tender another warning it does not follow that, 
 although there may be nothing ethically to stand in 
 the way, a play which is successful in France will be so 
 in England. Mention has been made of the absurdities 
 some writers are guilty of in the selection of subjects for 
 adaptation to the purposes of the theatre. Dickens's 
 description of the ridiculous profanities displayed in a 
 version of " Paradise Lost " presented in Paris, will be 
 remembered by those familiar with the " Life " of the 
 great novelist, by Forster. It is not so generally 
 known that Milton himself had despite the Eikono- 
 clastes a bias for the drama. He might reasonably 
 have headed the list of great names given in the first 
 part of this work, when his allusion to plays is 
 remembered in his address to Charles Deodati, in which 
 it is supposed that Romeo and Hamlet are pointed at. 
 That " Comus " was written to be acted by the children 
 of the Earl of Bridgewater at Ludlow Castle, and has 
 been produced at Drury Lane Theatre in our own day, 
 and that not to speak of " Samson Agonistes " his 
 immortal epic had originally the form of a drama, to be 
 called "The Fall of Man." More curious still is what 
 Aubrey relates of "his familiar learned acquaintance ; " 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 201 
 
 how " Jo Dryden, Esq., Poet Laureate, who very much 
 admired him, went to him to have leave to put his 
 Paradise Lost into a drama in rhyme" and how " Mr. 
 Milton received him civilly, and told him he would give 
 him leave to tag his verses." 
 
 Are there any perfect plays ? or such as can be safely 
 taken for models in the study of the craft ? Perhaps 
 the nearest approach to such will be discovered in one- 
 act or two-act pieces. It would be pleasant, if space 
 permitted, to draw attention to some of the gems of the 
 French theatre, which deserve the closest study. Many 
 of them are as good as can be, containing not a vowel 
 too much or too little, so great are the pains bestowed 
 upon their finish. Most of them have been very happily 
 put into English form by gifted and clever authors. 
 The names of Scribe, Emile Augier, Octave Feuillet, 
 Jules Sandeau, Madame de Girardin, Theodore de 
 Banville, Fra^ois Coppee, Meilhac and Halevy, are 
 those of a few of the best known who have contributed 
 to this class of work. It may be remarked that the 
 finesse of the French language, and the colour belong- 
 ing to the modes and graces of the French people, lend 
 themselves to a certain delicacy and refinement not 
 always attainable in the English versions, even when 
 the adapter is gifted with the poetic temperament. But 
 on the other hand it is quite possible that a little play 
 may, in the process of anglicizing, become more truthful 
 than the original from which it is taken. It may lose 
 in aroma, but gain in the higher quality of sympathy or 
 humanity ; the change of action from one country to 
 another strengthening too on occasion the main " motif." 
 
 In England we look forastory ..jnjijjlay that shall 
 
202 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 start with interest, increasin in it as i 
 
 be^sustained steadily to the end.. The skill that can be 
 shown by a master-hand in dealing with a simple " motif" 
 is wonderful. It is to the essence that attention should 
 be given, the essence of action and incident stripped 
 of all undue elaboration. What is to be seen must be 
 closely held to. The pleasures of the audience must 
 be experienced, or the emotions stirred through the 
 agency of sight as well as sound. Writing a play for 
 the blind would be an infinitely easier thing to do 
 than to supply one which should appeal to the com- 
 pletest faculties, even though the assembly might not 
 be an intellectual one. A deaf person could get no enjoy- 
 ment from the music of " L'Enfant Prodigue/' but 
 would hardly fail to be touched by the eloquence of the 
 movement. Sermons, diatribes, socia 1 throri^ g -^H 
 political opinions are regarded as impertinences in the 
 theatre, unless they are distinctly the outcome of the 
 characterization and necessary for the development of 
 the plot. Movement must always be kept well in 
 sight 
 
 " But above all, give them enough of action ; 
 He who gives most, will give most satisfaction." 
 
 It is of value to read a play aloud, or try the effect 
 of parts of it, or scenes, on auditors of various tastes 
 and temperaments. Did not Moliere read to his 
 housekeeper ? But it must be admitted that a too 
 sanguine acceptance of the opinion expressed by friends 
 is distinctly unsafe. A truer test possibly would be to 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 203 
 
 read the play to your enemies. I am assuming, as Sir 
 Oliver Surface says, that you have " merit enough to 
 deserve them/' Self-estimate is one of the rarest of 
 qualities ; very specially is it, with an author as to his 
 dramatic attempts. Better, however, an exaggerated 
 belief in the value of your work, than a feeble one, If 
 it touch and interest you, it will probably have a like 
 effect upon your hearers. But seeing that the art of 
 the actor can make very vapid productions bear the 
 semblance of merit, it will be well to guard against the 
 danger of trusting overmuch to the interpretation of 
 your work. It should be able to shine through average 
 treatment. 
 
 An important principle in connection with the 
 popularity of a play, is that it makes appeal to a 
 mixed audience. This will account for the value of 
 such a feature as the adjustment of caste, as I have 
 called it : the conflict of course being guided and 
 governed by treatment sympathetic and human. 
 The rule laid down by Jeffrey, in speaking of the 
 author of " Sardanapalus," is applicable to all play- 
 writing. 
 
 ( "The style of the drama/' he says, "should be an 
 accompaniment to action, and should be calculated to 
 ' excite the emotions, and keep alive the attention of 
 gazing multitudes. If an author does not bear this 
 continually in his mind, and does not write in the ideal 
 presence of an eager and diversified assemblage, he 
 may be a poet perhaps, but" assuredly he will never be 
 a dramatist." 
 
 The different units which make up an audience must 
 
204 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 in fact be remembered. As Goethe's manager says in 
 the Prelude 
 
 " Would you please many, you must give good measure ; 
 Then each finds something in't to yield him pleasure ; 
 The more you give, the greater sure your chance is 
 To please, by varying scenes, such various fancies." ] 
 
 This is the secret of very beautiful plays sometimes, 
 enjoying but a limited existence. They appeal to but 
 a few phases, and the texture of them is too thin for 
 the masses. No particular part of the theatre is 
 implied by this. Stalls are included as well as gallery. 
 Indeed some of the humbler and poorer frequenters are 
 as sensitive to the delicate touches of pathos and 
 poetry, and have as keen and true an appreciation of 
 the beauties of a play as the wealthiest and most 
 cultured members of society. 
 
 I fear it must be confessed that always leaving out of 
 consideration the " legitimate " drama, and apart from 
 the influence which time gives in favour of great names, 
 the finest plays do not draw the most money ; and that 
 artistic completeness, whether in the making or the 
 rendering, must be in some degree like what so many 
 writers have declared of virtue its own reward. Mr. 
 Ruskin, in speaking of " Don Quixote " and the 
 judgment of it by the multitude, has some remarks that 
 are pregnant with truth, and are likewise of extreme 
 value in getting at what is distinctive in the greatness 
 and popularity of a work. A few lines (from " Modern 
 
 1 Anster's trans. 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 205 
 
 Painters ") may serve to whet the appetite of those for 
 whom the subject has an interest ; " The lowest mind 
 would find in ' Don Quixote ' perpetual and brutal 
 amusement in the misfortunes of the knight, and 
 perpetual pleasure in sympathy with the squire. A 
 mind of average feeling would perceive the satirical 
 meaning and force of the book, would appreciate its 
 wit, its elegance, and its truth. But only elevated and 
 peculiar minds discover, in addition to all this, the full 
 moral beauty of the love and truth which are the con- 
 stant associates of all that is even most weak and erring 
 in the character of its hero, and pass over the rude 
 adventure and scurrile jest in haste perhaps in pain, 
 to penetrate beneath the rusty corslet, and catch from 
 the wandering glance the evidence and expression of 
 fortitude, self-devotion and universal love." 
 
 What follows on the reputation of Shakespeare, is of 
 like value and beauty. The extract will indicate how 
 various are the points of view from which the merits of 
 a great work can be appraised, and the same conclusions 
 may be drawn, as is further shown, with regard to the 
 acting drama. 
 
 It is averred by both novelist and play-wright that 
 the customs of modern life have robbed them of much 
 incident and motive. This is not to be denied. In 
 " The Road to Ruin/' for example, we have the clerks 
 and employes living in the same house with the 
 merchant, the romantic episodes and colour derived 
 from the old coaching days, sheriffs' officers, and arrest 
 for debt, duelling, etc., etc. These all supply motive 
 and the power to bring about collision. Dramatists of 
 
206 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 to-day nevertheless have a compensation in the effect 
 obtained from careful rehearsal, and an attention to 
 minutiae and detail, which it would be idle to deny have 
 as great an attraction for many play-goers as the more 
 vital qualities of the drama. 
 
 Still a series of tableaux or living pictures are to the 
 true play-goer but a poor substitute for a soundly con- 
 structed play that is instinct with gaiety and feeling. 
 The art of the theatre can give a value to the veriest 
 inanities, and by skill make the two bushels of chaff 
 look as if they consisted of nothing but wheat. A 
 handsome, well-mannered, well-dressed man of good 
 carriage, fluent and self-possessed, can speak " an infinite 
 deal of nothing," and it shall have the seeming of very 
 clever talk. With a lovely and gifted woman, the 
 success of the dramatist is more than half assured by 
 her co-operation : 
 
 ^'' For where is any author in the world 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? " 
 
 There are conditions of a more or less accidental 
 nature, that sometimes determine the extent and per- 
 manence of a play's popularity. They are of importance, 
 particularly to the provincial manager or director of a 
 touring company. " The Lady of Lyons " is more 
 constantly acted than " The School for Scandal " or 
 " Money." Casting and putting on the stage the 
 former favourite drama, is much less exacting to the 
 resources of. the theatre, that is, the treasury, than 
 either of the other plays. A manager looks askance 
 when he sees that there are twenty or thirty " speaking 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 207 
 
 parts " in a play, and that an author has been prodigal 
 in the way of palaces, throne-rooms, gardens, fetes, 
 processions, drums, trumpets, alarums, and the like. 
 Spanish castles are more easily reared than even canvas 
 ones. And here attention may be drawn to one rule 
 that has few exceptions. It accentuates what has been 
 remarked before on the wedding the actor's talents to the 
 material. Jill good and popular plqys have good "parts " 
 in tfiem. In the best there are really no ineffective 
 characters. Within a certain range, actors can be found 
 who will always be equal to what an author can supply 
 them with. Strangely enough, too, the very poorest 
 play, which results in the direst failure, will sometimes 
 yield an artiste the opportunity for which he has long 
 been sighing. 
 
 About the merits of many plays that have become 
 classics, there has always been the greatest difference of 
 opinion. We know that Pepys lost his admiration for 
 " Othello." After reading " The Adventures of Five 
 Hours" he thought Shakespeare's tragedy " a mean thing." 
 " The Merry Wives of Windsor " did not "please him at 
 all in no part of it," and " The Midsummer Night's 
 Dream " was " the most insipid ridiculous play that ever 
 I saw in my life." " Macbeth " impressed him at first as 
 being only " a pretty good play," but after frequent visits 
 to see it acted, he esteemed it more highly : chacun a son 
 gout. It is quite possible to enjoy " The Adventures of 
 Five Hours " (adapted by Sir George Tuke from 
 Calderon), and not to be deficient in appreciation of 
 Shakespeare. " The Adventures of Five Hours " is a 
 skilful and sprightly play of intrigue, something in 
 
208 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 the style of the once popular " Wonder/' And from 
 our knowledge of Mr. Pepys we are not surprised at the 
 encomiums he bestowed on it. The same differences of 
 opinion will exist as to the merit of modern plays 
 that have been successful. About the workmanship of a 
 play when it is printed and accessible to all, there can in 
 the minds of experts be little doubt, I think. 
 
 From a list of longer plays that have met the require- 
 ments of more modern times, and which can be offered as 
 illustrations of good and attractive work, it is not easy 
 to make a selection. The names of many of the most 
 popular and meritorious have been repeated frequently 
 in the course of this work. The longevity of a good 
 play, or the length of time it will remain capable of 
 being revived, cannot with certainty be predicted. Past 
 memories of critics and old play-goers, the very gradual 
 and subtle change in social tone, and the skill brought 
 to bear on a play by its acting and presentment may 
 each and all have a share in determining this. There 
 are many phases of excellence also. A piece may have 
 the greatest possible merit in one respect, and be entirely 
 wanting in it in another. T. W. Robertson, for instance, 
 would be unsafe to take as a model. His influence was 
 thoroughly healthy, but what was best in him he could 
 not transmit. Nor would it be wise to point to one 
 whom it was generally asserted belonged to the school 
 of Robertson James Albery. To select that favourite 
 play," Two Roses/' as an example of good construction 
 would be to mislead. It is to its delightful dialogue'and 
 characterization, as we have shown, that it owes a 
 popularity extending over more than twenty years. One 
 of the soundest and best plays of recent times I have 
 
Dcd^lct^ons and General Advice. 209 
 
 before referred to, " New Men and Old Acres," due to 
 the collaboration of Messrs. Tom Taylor and A. W. 
 Dubourg. It was first produced in London at the 
 Haymarket Theatre in 1869, but its success was greater, 
 on its revivals some years later. It is a thoroughly de- 
 lightful play, and, efficiently interpreted, like all the 
 highest class of work, strikes a note of deeper significance 
 than that usually associated with mere amusement. 
 
 " Masks and Faces " is another admirable specimen, 
 well balanced, witty, humorous, and charged with the 
 best and truest feeling. Its authors (Charles Reade 
 and Tom Taylor) were real masters of their craft. 
 
 A few names of successful play-wrights of the past 
 have been already mentioned in the first chapter, but 
 the beginner cannot do better than study the efforts of 
 all the better class of skilled and experienced dramatists. 
 Much of their best work is quite accessible. Many of the 
 best shorter plays are revived from time to time. They 
 should be seen in the theatre and closely studied in book 
 form afterwards. Every student of literature has his own 
 method, but I think there is one matter in perusing a 
 play that is of importance. It should be read for the 
 first time at one sitting, for, as Poe says, " If it be too 
 long for this, we must be content to dispense with the 
 immensely important effect derivable from unity of 
 impression ; for, if two sittings be required, the affairs 
 of the world interfere, and everything like totality is at 
 once destroyed." 
 
 Collaboration has been spoken of as desirable, but 
 that it presents difficulties to the English mind is 
 evident. It would seem that, like other partnerships, 
 its success depends as much on mutual respect and 
 
 P 
 
2 io How to ivrite a Good Play. 
 
 sympathy of temper as on any close intellectual affinity. 
 It is important that in the conjunction, there should be 
 no great disparity in the views held on the morale of 
 the subject treated. " One man does the plot and the 
 other the dialogue" is a vulgar estimate of the art of 
 collaboration, but a little reflection will show that the 
 interdependence of the two, renders the task in the 
 hands of even the most experienced, one of no slight 
 magnitude. 
 
 The naming of a play is generally made far too much 
 of. It is well to have a good title, but it has never 
 made a play intrinsically better. A volume could be 
 written on the history and vagaries of play- naming. 
 The first title of " The Lady of Lyons, or Love and 
 Pride," was " The Adventurer," and though it was not 
 approved of, the success of the play would certainly 
 not have been affected by it. Sir Joshua Reynolds was 
 most anxious that his friend Goldsmith's popular play 
 should be called " The Belle's Stratagem," which seems 
 very apt, but it came out as " She Stoops to Conquer, 
 or The Mistakes of a Night," Mrs. Cowley, as we 
 know, taking the first part of the title for a play she 
 produced later. The titles of plays, it may be remarked, 
 in which the word " Love " finds a place, are legion. 
 " Love's Labour's Lost/' " The Love Chase," " Love for 
 Love," "All for Love," "Love's Sacrifice," "Love 
 Laughs at Locksmiths," " Love in a Village," " Love in 
 Wrinkles," "Love and Honour/' "The Love Knot," 
 etc., etc., etc. Love also has its Frailties, Vows, Alarms, 
 Quarrels, Trials, Dreams, and so on. " Woman " runs 
 " Love " very close, as is only natural. In East-End, 
 transpontine and minor country theatres, titles have 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 2 1 1 
 
 always had a certain value, particularly in" the grim, 
 mysterious and terrible. It is rare now to see such 
 titles as "The Temple of Death," " The Evil Eye," 
 " The Death Fetch/' The Skeleton Witness/' " The 
 Iron Shroud," and " Michael Erie, the Maniac Lover/' 
 even on play-bills over the water. When David 
 Copperfield went to a dinner-party at the Waterbrooks' 
 there was an expressed enthusiasm for Blood. " Other 
 things," said the host, with his wine-glass at his eye, 
 " are all very well in their way, but give me Blood/' 
 " We see Blood in a nose," rejoined Hamlet's aunt, 
 "and we know it." At one time we used to see it in 
 the play-bill. " Raymond and Agnes, or The Bleeding 
 Nun of Lindenbourg," " Oscar, the -Half-Blood," and 
 " The Vampire Bride " were well-known titles. Mr. 
 Crummies asserted that " The Blood Drinker " would 
 die -with the unrivalled Miss Petowker of Drury 
 Lane. The drama sanguinary was already doomed. 
 Burlesque and ridicule have effectually obliterated the 
 influence of the German school, " Monk " Lewis, Mrs. 
 Radcliffe, and their compeers. The sub-titles that 
 were in use are amusing to the present race of play- 
 goers. " As you Like it, or Love in a Forest," " Judith 
 of Geneva, or the Felon Countess," " Fazio, or the 
 Italian Wife's Revenge/' " Plot and Passion, or the 
 Female Spy, the Dupe and the Minister. " There 
 were endless devices to make the entertainment 
 attractive through the medium of the play-bill. The 
 summary, or synopsis, was also a taking feature. I 
 have only space for the following, a copy in part of a 
 Hamlet bill common in the north of England twenty 
 years since and may be now. 
 
 P 2 
 
2 1 2 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 ACT i. 
 
 ELSINORE -PLATFORM BEFORE THE CASTLE. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT WATCH. 
 Sudden Appearance of the Ghost of Hamlet's Father ! 
 
 Consternation of the Guards, and Mechanical Disappearance of the Spirit 
 
 Grand Audience Chamber in the Palace of the King Recital of the 
 
 strange appearance of the late King Hamlet's horror, and resolution to 
 
 confront him. 
 
 RAMPARTS OF THE CASTLE-MOONLIGHT 
 
 Meeting of Hamlet with the Ghost of his Father Terrible 
 Revelation of the Uncle. 
 
 ACT 2. 
 
 Hamlet's Assumed Madness His Plot to Detect the Murderer. 
 
 " The play's the thing in which we'll detect the conscience of the King." 
 
 ACT 3. 
 
 THE PALACE THEATRE THE PLAY. 
 
 The Detector of Guilt Flight of the King, and Triumph of Hamlet 
 The Queen's Chamber Midnight. 
 
 HAMLET & HIS MOTHER THE TWO KINGS. 
 SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE GHOST! 
 
 ACT 4. 
 
 INTERIOR OP THE PALACE. 
 DEPARTURE OF HAMLET FOR ENGLAND-MADNESS AND DEATH OF OPHELIA- 
 
 Plot between the Guilty King and Laertes to Compass the Death of 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 ACT 5. 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD-FUNERAL OF OPHELIA. 
 
 The Palace and Banquet Assault d'Armes between Hamlet and Laertes 
 The Poisoned Cup, and Poisoned Foil. 
 
 DEATH OF HAMLET! 
 
Deductions and General Advice. 2 1 3 
 
 One word on criticism, and its treatment of a perfectly 
 unknown writer. If a play be well made, and com- 
 petently, if not efficiently acted, there is little to fear 
 from professional judgment. Criticism in the main, is 
 now discriminating, fair and honest. It is only right to 
 remember what an exceptionally wearisome duty it is 
 apt at times to become, and that a long experience 
 unavoidably produces a more or less jaded feeling with 
 regard to what is but mediocre. Cliques and rings are 
 not known as a power in England. Friendly help will 
 be of advantage to a writer for the theatre, as it will to 
 any worker in art. Introductions too are of value to the 
 unrecognized in getting the ear of the manager ; but it 
 is after all on real merit that the beginner must depend. 
 Failure may be his lot, but if he can see the errors of 
 his work, and, what is better, the way to amend them, it 
 will be of greater use than any feeble toleration or half 
 success. What the future of the stage may be, it is not 
 easy to say, but there is enough that is sound in tone 
 and healthy in feeling, to render our amusement in the 
 theatre, rational, invigorating, and artistic. Mr. Besant, 
 in writing on the Art of Fiction, advises the young 
 novelist "to pour into his work all that there is of 
 nobility*, ^sympathy and enthusiasm in himself" the 
 words may be borrowed to convey the same truth to the 
 dramatic writer. The age, which though gradually 
 stretching beyond them in point of time, is still happily 
 under the direct influence of what is noblest in Carlyle, 
 Thackeray, Tennyson, Dickens, the Brownings, George 
 Eliot, Ruskin and others, and which is quick to respond 
 to the touch of living authors who faithfully carry on 
 the traditions and beliefs in respect to right thinking, 
 
214 How to write a Good Play. 
 
 may be trusted to protect itself from such minor evils 
 as from time to time are sure to arise in connection with 
 all entertainments in the dramatic form. Let us be 
 heedful of the wisdom conveyed in the words of the 
 great satirist who gave us " Vanity Fair," and who, in 
 speaking of " Mr. Punch's business," says, " May he 
 laugh honestly, hit no foul blow, and tell the truth 
 when at his very broadest grin never forgetting that 
 if Fun is good, Truth is still better, and Love best 
 of all," 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A'BECKETT, G. A., 154. 
 
 Acting, the best, scarce, 54. 
 
 Acting, at rehearsals, 59. 
 
 Actors, importance of good " parts" to them, 41. 
 
 Actors, the loyalty of, 44. 
 
 Actors, degree of their power, 50. 
 
 Actors, good, rare for old comedy, 50. 
 
 Actors, why not good judges of plays, 57. 
 
 Actors, their popularity, 144. 
 
 Adaptation, 73, 78, 81, 106, 107, 198. 
 
 Adapting from the English," 80. 
 
 Addison, Cato, Rosomund, his collaboration, The Drummer, 
 
 II, 12. 
 
 Adjustment of caste, 109, 203. 
 
 Adventuress, the, 129. 
 
 Albery, James, Two Roses, 51, 141, 208 ; his equivoke, 105, 
 
 106 ; humour of Jenkins, 113; his dialogue, 141; other 
 
 plays, 141. 
 
 Artiste or company, writing for, 120 122. 
 Asides, 116, 117. 
 
 Athenceum, the, on A Blot in the ''Scutcheon, 37. 
 Audiences, factors in a success, 60. 
 
 BAILLIE, Joanna, De Mont fort, The Family Legend, 20 ; her 
 
 help to Mrs. Hemans, 30. 
 
 Bancroft, Mr. and Mrs., on T. W. Robertson's struggles, 66. 
 Barrett, Mr. Lawrence, in A Blot in the 'Scutcheon, 37. 
 Beaconsfield, Lord (see Disraeli). 
 Bellas Stratagem, the, 107, 210. 
 Bernard, Bayle, 154.' 
 Bernini, his accomplishments, 197, 198. 
 Besant, Mr. Walter, on sympathy, 90 ; on fiction, 213. 
 Bonnie Dundee, 23. 
 Boucicault, Dion, 39. 
 
 Brooks, Shirley, play-wright and novelist, 72. 
 Broughs, the, 154. 
 Browning, Robert, ambition to write an acting play, 36 ; Narses, 
 
 Sir afford, if)-, A Blot in the 'Scutcheon, 36, 37; Colo tube's 
 
 Birthday, 37 ; difference with Macready, 37. 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, on Colombtfs Birthday, 37. 
 Browning Society, performances of, 37. 
 
2 1 6 Index. 
 
 Buckstone, J. B., Married Life, 113; his Good for Nothing, 
 154; in The Favourite of Fortune, 156. 
 
 Bulwer (see Lytton, Lord). 
 
 Burbage, Richard, 38. 
 
 Burgoyne, General, The Heiress, in. 
 
 Burnand, Mr., his adaptation from Thackeray, 33. 
 
 Burney, Frances, Edwy and Elgiva, Love and Fashion, 18, 19. 
 
 Burns, Robert, his dramatic ambition, Rob McQuecharfs 
 Elshin, 9. 
 
 " Business " in a play, 62, 153. 
 
 Byron, H. J., filial scenes in Our Boys, 109 ; adjustment of 
 caste, 109 ; violation of propriety, 115 ; his dialogue, 140, 141. 
 
 Byron, Lord, on The Mysterious Mother, 16 ; his belief in 
 Joanna Baillie, 20, 21 ; production of Remorse, 23 ; Manfred, 
 Marino Faliero, Sardanapalus, The Two Foscari, Werner, 
 2628 ; on Congreve and Mrs. Centlivre, 81, 82. 
 
 CAMPBELL, Thomas, 12, 19. 
 
 Caste, sympathy in ; 91, 92; adjustment of caste in. 109; 
 
 Eccles, 125 ; dialogue of, 141, 142. 
 Centlivre, Mrs., 81, 82. 
 Chambermaids or soubrettes, 130. 
 Character, little that is new in, 118; condensation and effect 
 
 in, 119, 1 20. 
 
 " Character parts," 125, 126. 
 Characterization, considered, 82 84. 
 Characters, grim, 126. 
 Cibber, Colley, Love in a Riddle, 48 ; epigram on, So ; The 
 
 Provoked Husband^ no; his Lord Foppington in The Care- 
 less Husband, 123. 
 Cibber, Mrs., 13. 
 
 Clandestine Marriage, the, 101, 104, 112. 
 Clarke, Mr. Savile, his adaptation from Thackeray, 33. 
 Clive, Mrs., 130. 
 
 Cobden, Richard, a play-wright, 31. 
 Coleridge, S. T., his belief in The Borderers, 21 ; Robespierre, 
 
 Remorse, Zapolya, Wallenstein, his idea of Faust for the 
 
 stage, 23, 24. 
 
 Collaboration, 71, 209, 210. 
 Collins, Wilkie, plays from his novels, 74 ; his construction and 
 
 Scribe's encouragement, 93, 94. 
 Colman, the elder, 101. 
 Colman, the younger, The Iron Chest, 20 ; as licenser, 28 ; 
 
 John Bull, and The Poor Gentleman, 126, 137. 
 Colour supplying collision, 205. 
 Comedy, its difficulties, 70 ; high spirits in, 115. 
 Comedy, farcical, 52, 53, 144, 145. 
 Counts, 200. 
 
Index. 2 1 7 
 
 Condensation, 88, 89, 134, 135, 153. 
 
 Congreve, W., The Way of the World, 48, 90 ; his want of 
 
 heart, 90; his equivoke, 105 ; The Double Dealer, 90, 133 ; 
 
 Love for Love, 107, 115, 116; his Millamant, 120 ; mentioned, 
 
 134. 
 
 Conventionality, 35, 73, 190. 
 Cook, Mr. Button, his On the Stage, 79, 80, 195. 
 Copyright of printed plays, 63. 
 Costume, change of, 151. 
 Cowley, Abraham, Love's Riddle, Naufragium Joculare, Cutter 
 
 of Coleman Street, 10 ; his preface to the latter, 48. 
 Cowley, Mrs., her skill in appropriation, 107. 
 Crabbe's Confidant, Lamb's play on, 24. 
 Crichton, the Admirable, 197. 
 
 Critic, the, Mr. Puff, 84, 86, 87; Sir Fretful Plagiary, 124. 
 Criticism, 213. 
 
 Crummies, Mr., and Nicholas Nickleby, 78, 79. 
 Cumberland, Richard, 124. 
 Cutting, the art of, 78; a lesson in, 135. 
 
 Daily News, the, on Lord Lytton, 78. 
 
 Dances, the, 154. 
 
 Defects concealed by acting, 54. 
 
 Defoe, 8, 90. 
 
 De Musset, Alfred, the love scenes of, 108. 
 
 Denouement, the, its importance, 75, 76, 95. 
 
 Dialect parts, 128. 
 
 Dialogue considered, 131 142; condensation in, 135. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, his desire to go on the stage, 34 ; The 
 Strange Gentleman, The Village Coquettes, Is she his wife, 
 34 ; 'I he Lamplighter, ambition to write a comedy for Ma- 
 cready, offer to the latter of Oliver Twist, Mr. Nightingales 
 Diary, 35 : on Defoe, 90 ; influence shown in Robertson, 91 ; 
 his Tale of Two Cities, 1 16 ; " character parts," 125 ; his " old 
 women," 131. 
 
 Disraeli, Benjamin, Alarcos, its production at Astley's and the 
 Crystal Palace, 31, 32. 
 
 Domestic heroines, 129. 
 
 Douglas, its rejection, 57. 
 
 Dramatic "sense," the, 60, 61, 77, 190. 
 
 Dramatic students, the, 156. 
 
 Dramatist's calling, its dangers, 196. 
 
 Dramatists, disappointments of, 47, 48. 
 
 Dramatist's risks, 45. 
 
 Dryden, John, 8, 79. 
 
 Dubourg, Mr. A. W., New Men and Old Acres, 209. 
 
 EATING and drinking on the stage, 113, 114. 
 
2 1 8 Index. 
 
 Eliot, George, on subject and treatment, 87. 
 
 Emerson, R. W., quoted, 87, 191. 
 
 Equivoke, 99, 106, 136. 
 
 Ethical balance, 87, 88. 
 
 Evan Harrington, the Countess in, 120. 
 
 Experts and their verdicts, 55, 60. 
 
 FAUCIT, Miss Helen, in Browning's plays, 36, 37. 
 
 Favourite of Fortune, the, Analysis of, 157, et seq. 
 
 Fielding, Henry, Parody of Sophonisba, 12 ; Love in Several 
 Masques, Tom Thumb, Pasquin, 13; The Plisto? ical Register, 
 13, 14; his adaptations, 13; The Wedding Day, 14 ; Expe- 
 riences for Tom Jones, 14; Eurydice, 48; mentioned, 131. 
 
 " Fine ladies' 5 of the stage, 128, 129. 
 
 First nights, misleading, 44 ; difficulties of, 59. 
 
 Fops, 122, 123. 
 
 Formula, a, by the author, 70. 
 
 French authors of short plays, 201. 
 
 GARRICK, David, in Tancred and Sigismunda, 13 ; his applica- 
 tion to Fielding, 14; Irene, 15 ; and Smollett, 16, 17; Hannah 
 More, 18; story of, 47 ; his errors of judgment, 57 ; Shake- 
 spearian characters he never essayed, 122; King's Lord 
 OglebyandGarrick's LordChalkstone,i23 ; his diplomacy, 195. 
 
 Gay, John, 8. 
 
 Godwin, William, Antonio, Abbas, King of Persia, Faulkner, 
 Caleb Williams, a play made from, 20. 
 
 Goethe, 192, 202, 204. 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, copyright of play, 63 ; the defect of Honey- 
 wood, 83, 84 ; his equivoke, 104 ; The Good-natured Man, 
 104, 137, 138. 
 
 Gore, Mrs., play-wright and novelist, 72. 
 
 Griffin, Gerald, 196. 
 
 HALLIDAY, Andrew, 154. 
 
 Hamlet, a synopsis of, 212. 
 
 Handel, G. F., 16. 
 
 Harmony considered, 86, 87. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, his definition of a good play, 42 ; on the 
 Clandestine Marriage, 101 ; on the rarity of good comedies, 
 1 06 ; on eating and drinking, 113 ; mentioned, 115. 
 
 Heber, Bishop, 30. 
 
 Hemans, Mrs., The Vespers of Palermo, De Chatillon, 30. 
 
 High Life Below Stairs, 61, 62, 101. 
 
 Hill, Mr. Frank, and Browning, 37. 
 
 " His friend" type of part, 127, 128. 
 
 Holcroft, Thomas, play-wright and novelist, 72 ; his Road to 
 Ruin, 97, 98, 104. 
 
Index. 219 
 
 Home, John, 42, 57. 
 
 Hood, Thomas, York and Lancaster, &c., 30. 
 
 Home, R. H., The Death of Marlowe, Cosmo de Medicis, The 
 
 Death Fetch, Gregory the Seventh, Alsargis, 31. 
 Hoydens and Tomboys, 130. 
 Humbugs and Villains, 126, 127. 
 Hunt, Leigh, A Legend of Florence, Lovers' 1 Amazements, The 
 
 Prince s Marriage, The Double, Look to your Morals, 26. 
 
 IBSEN, Henrik, some of his subjects inadmissible, 87. 
 
 Imitations or imaginative pictures, in. 
 
 Inchbald, Mrs., play-wright and novelist, 72 ; on Mrs. 
 
 Malaprop, 136. 
 Incident and action, 202. 
 Ingenue, the, 129, 130. 
 Interest of a play and its progress, 77. 
 Invention, considered, 70 82. 
 Invention of first motive difficult, 118. 
 Irving, Mr. Henry, his production of Werner, 27. 
 
 JEFFREY, Lord, 203. 
 
 Jerrold, Douglas, 134 ; dialogue in Bubbles of the Day, 138, 
 
 139 ; his skill as a play-wright, 139. 
 Jerrold, Blanchard, 199. 
 Johnson, Dr., Irene, his difference with Garrick, 15; on High 
 
 Life Below Staits, 61, 62 ; copyright of Irene, 63. 
 Jonson, Ben, his Ode to Himself, 48. 
 
 KEAN, Edmund, in the Iron Chest, 20; on De Montfort, 21. 
 Kean, Charles, 28. 
 Kelly, Michael, 46. 
 Kemble, John, 12, 20, 24, 25. 
 Kemble, Charles, 20, 28, 30. 
 Kendal, Mrs., on judging plays, 58. 
 Knight, Mr. Joseph, on comedy, 70. 
 
 Knowles, Sheridan, Procters help to, 29 ; friendship with 
 Hazlitt, 43 ; on Sir Walter Scott, 68, 69. 
 
 Lady of Lyons, the, why written, 40, 41 ; mentioned, 72, 77, 210. 
 Lamb, Charles, John Woodvil, Mr. H., The Wife's Trial, The 
 
 Pawnbroker's Daughter, 24, 25 ; on scolding scenes, 109. 
 Landor, Walter Savage, Count Julian, Andrea of Hungary, 
 
 Giovanna of Naples, Fra Rupert, The Siege of Ancona, Incs de 
 
 Castro, Ferranti and Giulio, &c., 25. 
 Landor, Robert, his plays, 25. 
 Lang, Mr. Andrew, on repartee, 133. 
 Lee, Miss H., The Three Strangers, 27 > 
 Lemon, Mark, 30 ; his collaboration with Dickens, 35. 
 
22O Index. 
 
 L Enfant Prodigue, 62, 202. 
 
 Lewes, G. H , 154. 
 
 Licensing Act, the, 14. 
 
 Lines of business, 121. 
 
 Lockhart, J. G., on Scott's dramatic gifts, 69. 
 
 Love interest, a, 107, 109. 
 
 Love titles, 210. 
 
 Lovel the Widower, a play first, 33. 
 
 Lover, Samuel, play-wright and novelist, 72. 
 
 Lovers, the wild despair of, 116. 
 
 " Low comedy " parts, 128. 
 
 Lowell, Mr., on Poe, 75. 
 
 Lyttelton, Lord, 13, 16. 
 
 Lytton, Lord (E. L. Bulwer), quoted, 4; The Lady of Lyons, 
 40, 41, 72, 77 ; the story of Pelham, 59; allusions to plays, 
 72, 77, 115, 140; remarks on, 72,77,78; his dialogue, 139, 
 140. 
 
 MACKAY (actor), 23. 
 
 Mackenzie, Henry, 21. 
 
 Macklin, Charles, his prologue to The Wedding Day, 14; men- 
 tioned, 122. 
 
 Macready, W. C., De Montfort, The Family Legend, 20, 21; 
 Julian, 28; Philip van Artevelde, 31 ; effect of acting on 
 Browning, 36 ; difference with him, 37 ; on estimating plays, 
 56 ; on Sir Walter Scott, 68, 69; Lord Lytton, 72, 78; 
 Mirandola, 75. 
 
 " Malapropism," 136. 
 
 Mallet, David, 13. 
 
 Managers, their requirements and plans of catering, 41, 64, 65 ; 
 their variety, 145 ; do they want good plays? 191. 
 
 Management, the difficulties of, 44, 45 ; anticipation in, neces- 
 sary, 192. 
 
 Marston, Dr. Westland, analysis of his Favourite of Fortune, 157. 
 
 Masks and Faces, Triplet, 125 ; the play, 209 
 
 Material lost by a play's failure, 63, 64. 
 
 Mathews, Charles, his art as an actor, 116, 127 ; The Dowager, 
 153 ; on large theatres, 195 ; on Cool as a Cucumber, 199. 
 
 Matinees, trying plays at, 64, 66. 
 
 Meredith, Mr. George, his dramatic gifts, 120. 
 
 Merivale, Mr., on Thackeray, 33; All for Her, 116. 
 
 Milman, Dean, 30. 
 
 Milton, Paradise Lost, originally in dramatic form, 200 ; his 
 permission to Dryden to adapt it, 201 ; Comus, 200 ; Charles 
 Deodati, 200. 
 
 Mitford, Mary Russell, on the fascinations of the drama, 7. ; 
 Julian, Foscari, Rienzi, Charles the First, Sadak and Kalas- 
 cade, Inez de Castro, &c., 28. 
 
Index. 221 
 
 Moliere, his early association with the theatre, 38 ; those who 
 stole from him, 79; his equivoke, 100; his valets, 127. 
 
 Money, 77, m, 115, 126. 
 
 Moore, Tom, M.P., or the Blue Stocking, 25, 26. 
 
 More, Hannah, The Inflexible Captive, Percy, The Fatal False- . 
 hood, 1 8. 
 
 Mortons, the, 39. 
 
 Motif, main, important, 85. 
 
 Motives, or interests of characters, 150. 
 
 Murphy, Arthur, 79, 107. 
 
 Murray, John, 24. 
 
 Murray, William (manager), 23 
 
 NATURE overcoming restraint, 112, 113. 
 
 New Men and Old Acres, caste in, 109; comic satire in, 112 ; 
 
 character in, 124 ; a good play, 208, 209. 
 Northumberland, Duke of, 18. 
 Not so Bad as We Seem, 140. 
 Novelist, the difficulty to, in unlearning, 72. 
 Novelists who have succeeded as play-wrights, 72. 
 Novels easier than plays, 68 ; dramatized, 73, 74. 
 
 OLDFIELD, Mrs., in Sophonisba, 12 ; her Lady Townly, no. 
 
 Old men and their varieties, 124, 125. 
 
 Old women and their varieties, 130, 131. 
 
 One-act plays, their value, 145 147. 
 
 Our Boys, 109. 
 
 Oxenford, John, 156. 
 
 PARTS, value of not in length, 89, 151. 
 
 Felham, the story of, 59. 
 
 Pepys, Samuel, on Cutter of Coleman Street^ n ; on The Ad- 
 ventures of Five Hours, 207, 208 ; on Shakespeare, 207. 
 
 Phelps, Samuel, 26, 36, 37. 
 
 Phillips, Watts, Camillas Husband, 116. 
 
 Planchd, J. R., 39, 154. 
 
 Play, a, a growth, 46, 83. 
 
 Plays made by the acting, 42; sympathetic but faulty, 51; 
 knowledge of acting power and attractiveness, 54 ; that do 
 not read well, 60 ; literature in, 88, 89; length of, 152, 155; 
 the supply of insufficient, 193; at the wrong theatre, 194; 
 perfect, are there any? 201 ; reading them aloud, 202 ; read- 
 ing without interruption, 209 ; good, have good " parts," 207. 
 
 Play-making and story-making, 69, 70. 
 
 Play-wright's art requires application, 66. 
 
 Plot and story not identical, 51, 97, 98. 
 
 Plot, confusion of, 81. 
 
 Plot, clearness in, essential, 98. 
 
222 Index. 
 
 Pluteau and DHomme Sentimental, 80. 
 
 Pocock, Isaac, 22. 
 
 Poe, E. A., The Philosophy of Composition, 75 ; on reading short 
 works, 209. 
 
 Poole, J., 154- 
 
 Pope wrongly credited with a farce, 8 ; quoted, 78. 
 
 Pritchard, Mrs., in The Wedding Day, 14; Irene, 15; men- 
 tioned, 130. 
 
 Probability, considered, 84, 85. 
 
 Procter, B. W. (Barry Cornwall), Mirandola, 29; his hobble 
 over his play, 75, 76. 
 
 Prolixity, 191. 
 
 Provoked Husband, the, the Townly scenes in, 1 10 ; imitations 
 in, in. 
 
 Public, the, its caprice, 144. 
 
 " Pump-and-Tub " difficulty, the, 82, 9597. 
 
 QUARRELLING scenes, 109, no. 
 
 Queen, Her Majesty the, her interest in A Legend of Florence, 
 
 ~ 26 ; Not so Bad as We Seem, 140. 
 
 Quin, James, 12, 16. 
 
 READE, Charles, remark on Shakespeare, 46; his Christie 
 
 Johnstone, 74 ; a jeremiad, 80 ; Masks and Faces, 209. 
 Rehearsals on, 59. 
 
 Rejected Addresses, the authors of, 20. 
 Repartee, 132, 133. 
 Reynolds, John Hamilton, 29. 
 Rhetoric, its value in the theatre, 77. 
 Rich (manager), 16, 195. 
 Richardson, Samuel, 80. 
 Richelieu, 77. 
 Rivals, the original production, 44 ; " Malapropisms," 112, 136; 
 
 "asides," 117; Sir Anthony Absolute, 112, 124; Julia and 
 
 Faulkland scenes, 137. 
 Road to Ruin, the story of, 97, 98; equivoke in, 104; love 
 
 scenes, 107 ; old Dornton, 124; Colour in, 205. 
 Robertson, T. W., his want of constructiveness, 51; his 
 
 struggles, 66 ; allusions to his plays, 91, 92, 109, 141, 142; 
 
 to characters, 123, 124, 125; mention of, 208. 
 " Romantic young lady," the, 130. 
 Rosetti, Dante, The King's Tragedy, 16 
 Rule Britannia, 13. 
 
 Ruskin, Mr., on Don Quixote, 204, 205. 
 Russell Lord John (the late Earl Russell), his early love of the 
 
 play,' Don Carlos, 29, 30. 
 
 SALVINI, Signior, and large theatres, 194. 
 
Index. 223 
 
 Sardou, V., 199. 
 
 Satirical effect, a favourite, in, 112. 
 Scenario, on the, 9396, 98, 99, 149, 152. 
 Scene- changing, 155. 
 
 Schlegel, on equivoke, 100 ; on types of character, 118, 119; 
 on delineating it, 122, 123. 
 
 School for Scandal^ the Screen Scene, 77, 100; adapted to 
 French stage, 80 ; equivoke in, 105 ; Sir Peter and Lady 
 Teazle, no, in ; Charles Surface scenes, 115; its condensa- 
 tion, 135 ; first draft of, 135. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, his interest in The Family Legend, 21 ; The 
 House of Aspen, The Doom of Devorgoil, Macdtiffs Cross, 
 Halidon Hill, Auchindrane, 22, 23 ; his epilogue for Mrs. 
 Hemans's play, 30 ; on effect in the theatre, 61 ; on unsuccess- 
 ful play- wrights, 63 ; his dramatic gifts, 68, 69 ; on clearness, 98. 
 
 Selby, Charles, 154. 
 
 Sententious parts, 126, 137. 
 
 Shakespeare and Burbage, 38 ; his apparent ease, 46 ; trans- 
 mutation, 79 ; use of equivoke, 100 ; love scenes, 108 ; 
 " character parts," 125, 126; his "old women," 131; " mala- 
 propism," 136. 
 
 Shelley, The Cenci, private performance of it, 29. 
 
 Sheridan, R. B., Osorio, prompted by, 23 ; at Kirkley Hall, 27; 
 stories of, 46, 47, 56, 57 ; allusions to his. plays, 44, 77, 80, 
 84, 86, 87, loo, 105, 1 10 112, 115, 117, 124, 134, 135137. 
 
 " Shop" phrases, 113. 
 
 Short plays, favourite, 154. 
 
 Shrews and viragoes, 130. 
 
 Siddons, Mrs., 12, 20; story of, 19. 
 
 Siegendorf, 27. 
 
 Simpson, Palgrave, and Merivale, 1 16. 
 
 Situations, single, their value, 152. 
 
 Smollett, T., The Regicide, Alceste, The Reprisal, his anger at 
 rejection, 16, 17; mentioned, 131. 
 
 Soliloquies, 116, 117. 
 
 Sothern, E. A., 156. 
 
 Southe>vhis collaboration with Coleridge, 9 ; on John Woodvil, 
 24. 
 
 Stage-plans, 147, 149. 
 
 Steele, his innovation, ii; The Tender Husband, 12; Lying 
 Lovers, 48. 
 
 Stevenson, Mr. R. Louis, on Sir Walter Scott, 69 ; on Richard 
 Feverel, 120. 
 
 Sub-titles, 211. 
 
 Successful play, the author's definition of, 49. 
 
 Swift, Dean, no student of Shakespeare, 8. 
 
 Sympathy considered, 90 92. 
 
 Synopsis, the, 211 
 
^224 Index. 
 
 TALFOURD, Mr. Justice, on Antonio, 20 ; Ion, 22, 198. 
 
 Taylor, Sir Henry, Philip van Artevelde, A Sicilian Summer, 
 Isaac Comnenus, Edwin the Fair, St. Clemenfs Eve, The 
 Virgin Widow, 30, 31 ; on an actor's anxieties, 193. 
 
 Taylor, Tom, New Men and Old Acres, 109, 112, 209; The 
 Ticket of Leave Man, 199 ; Masks and Faces, 209 ; A Sheep 
 in Wolf's Clothing, 152 ; his custom in writing, 153. 
 
 Tennyson, Lord, Enoch Arden and its motif, 74 ; his Dora, 191. 
 
 Terms and customs, 143 147. 
 
 Terry, Daniel, 22. 
 
 Thackeray, W. M., Jeames's Diary, The Rose and the Ring, 
 The Wolves and the Lamb, produced at his own house, its 
 appearance in the Cornhill Magazine as Love I the Widower, 
 32, 33 ; on Lord Lytton, 78 ; essay on Congreve, 90", in- 
 fluence shown in Robertson, 91 ; his dictum, 214. 
 
 Theatre, size of a, 194. 
 
 Thomas, Mr. Moy, details of Browning, 37. 
 
 Thomson, James, Sophonisba, Agamemnon, Edward and 
 Eleanor a, Alfred, Tancred and Sigismunda, Coriolanus, 12, 13. 
 
 Ticket of Leave Man, the, 199. 
 
 Times, the, on The Favourite of Fortune, 156. 
 
 Titles, 210, 211. 
 
 Tobin, John, The Honeymoon, 196. 
 
 Townley, James, 101. 
 
 Translating not adapting, 79. 
 
 Tuke, Sir George, 207. 
 
 Two-act plays, favourite, 154. 
 
 7\uo Roses, 51, 113, 125, 141, 208. 
 
 VALETS and servants, 127. 
 
 Vanbrugh, Sir John, The Provoked Husband, no; architect 
 
 and dramatist, 198. 
 Violation of propriety, 104, 114, 115. 
 
 " WALKING gentlemen," 127. 
 
 Walpole, Horace, The Mysterious M r other ; 16. 
 
 Walpole, Sir Robert, caricatured by Fielding, 14. 
 
 Walpole, Mr. Spencer, on Earl Russell, 29. 
 
 Woffington, Margaret, 14 
 
 Wordsworth, William, The Borderers, 2 1 . 
 
 Wilks, Robert, 12, no. 
 
 YOUNG, C. M., 28. 
 
 Young men and their varieties, 127. 
 
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