CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
CONTEMPORARY
ONE-ACT PLAYS
WITH OUTLINE STUDY OF THE
ONE-ACT PLAY AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BY
B. ROLAND LEWIS
Professor and Head of the Department of English in the University of Utah;
Author of "The Technique of the One-Act Play"
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Printed in the United States of America
The plays in this book are fully protected by copyright and the
professional and amateur stage rights are reserved by the authors.
Applications for their use should be made to the respective authors or
publishers, as designated
TO
THE MEN AND WOMEN
WHO SO KINDLY HAVE PERMITTED ME TO
REPRINT THESE ONE-ACT PLAYS
PREFACE
This collection of one-act plays appears because of an increasingly
large demand for such a volume. The plays have been selected and the
Introduction prepared to meet the need of the student or teacher who
desires to acquaint himself with the one-act play as a specific dramatic
form.
The plays included have been selected with this need in mind.
Accordingly, emphasis has been placed upon the wholesome and uplifting
rather than upon the sordid and the ultra-realistic. The unduly
sentimental, the strikingly melodramatic, and the play of questionable
moral problems, has been consciously avoided. Comedies, tragedies,
farces, and melodramas have been included; but the chief concern has
been that each play should be good, dramatic art.
The _Dramatic Analysis and Construction of the One-Act Play_, which
appears in the Introduction, also has been prepared for the student or
teacher. This outline-analysis and the plays in this volume are
sufficient material, if carefully studied, for an understanding and
appreciation of the one-act play.
B. ROLAND LEWIS.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
LIST OF PLAYS
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK _Sir James M. Barrie_ 17
TRADITION _George Middleton_ 43
THE EXCHANGE _Althea Thurston_ 61
SAM AVERAGE _Percy Mackaye_ 85
HYACINTH HALVEY _Lady Augusta Gregory_ 103
THE GAZING GLOBE _Eugene Pillot_ 139
THE BOOR _Anton Tchekov_ 155
THE LAST STRAW _Bosworth Crocker_ 175
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN _Alfred Kreymborg_ 197
WHITE DRESSES _Paul Greene_ 215
MOONSHINE _Arthur Hopkins_ 239
MODESTY _Paul Hervieu_ 255
THE DEACON'S HAT _Jeannette Marks_ 273
WHERE BUT IN AMERICA _Oscar M. Wolff_ 301
A DOLLAR _David Pinski_ 321
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE _Beulah Bornstead_ 343
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS _Hermann Sudermann_ 365
THE STRONGER _August Strindberg_ 393
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
PAGE
COLLECTIONS OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 405
LISTS OF ONE-ACT PLAYS 406
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF REFERENCE ON THE ONE-ACT PLAY 408
BIBLIOGRAPHY ON HOW TO PRODUCE PLAYS 409
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
INTRODUCTION
THE ONE-ACT PLAY AS A SPECIFIC DRAMATIC TYPE
The one-act play is with us and is asking for consideration. It is
challenging our attention whether we will or no. In both Europe and
America it is one of the conspicuous factors in present-day dramatic
activity. Theatre managers, stage designers, actors, playwrights, and
professors in universities recognize its presence as a vital force.
Professional theatre folk and amateurs especially are devoting zestful
energy both to the writing and to the producing of this shorter form of
drama.
The one-act play is claiming recognition as a specific dramatic type. It
may be said that, as an art form, it has achieved that distinction. The
short story, as every one knows, was once an embryo and an experiment;
but few nowadays would care to hold that it has not developed into a
specific and worthy literary form. This shorter form of prose fiction
was once apologetic, and that not so many years ago; but it has come
into its own and now is recognized as a distinct type of prose
narrative. The one-act play, like the short story, also has come into
its own. No longer is it wholly an experiment. Indeed, it is succeeding
in high places. The one-act play is taking its place among the
significant types of dramatic and literary expression.
Artistically and technically considered, the one-act play is quite as
much a distinctive dramatic problem as the longer play. In writing
either, the playwright aims so to handle his material that he will get
his central intent to his audience and will provoke their interest and
emotional response thereto. Both aim at a singleness of impression and
dramatic effect; both aim to be a high order of art. Yet since the one
is shorter and more condensed, it follows that the dramaturgy of the one
is somewhat different from that of the other, just as the technic of the
cameo is different from the technic of the full-sized statue. The
one-act play must, as it were, be presented at a "single setting": it
must start quickly at the beginning with certain definite dramatic
elements and pass rapidly and effectively to a crucial movement without
halt or digression. A careful analysis of any one of the plays in this
volume, like Anton Tchekov's _The Boor_, or like Oscar M. Wolff's _Where
But in America_, will reveal this fact. The shorter form of drama, like
the short story, has a technical method characteristically its own.
It is a truth that the one-act play is well made or it is nothing at
all. A careful analysis of Sir James M. Barrie's _The Twelve-Pound
Look_, Paul Hervieu's _Modesty_, Althea Thurston's _The Exchange_, will
reveal that these representative one-act plays are well made and are
real bits of dramatic art. A good one-act play is not a mere cheap
mechanical _tour de force_; mechanics and artistry it has, of course,
but it is also a high order of art product. A delicately finished cameo
is quite as much a work of art as is the larger statue; both have
mechanics and design in their structure, but those of the cameo are more
deft and more highly specialized than those of the statue, because the
work of the former is done under far more restricted conditions. The
one-act play at its best is cunningly wrought.
Naturally, the material of the one-act play is a bit episodical. It
deals with but a single situation. A study of the plays in this volume
will reveal that no whole life's story can be treated adequately in the
short play, and that no complexity of plot can be employed. Unlike the
longer play, the shorter form of drama shows not the whole man--except
by passing hint--but a significant moment or experience, a significant
character-trait. However vividly this chosen moment may be
interpreted--and the one-act play must be vivid--much will still be
left to the imagination. It is the aim of the one-act form to trace the
causal relations of but _one_ circumstance so that the circumstance may
be intensified. The writer of the one-act play deliberately isolates so
that he may throw the strong flashlight more searchingly on some one
significant event, on some fundamental element of character, on some
moving emotion. He presents in a vigorous, compressed, and suggestive
way a simplification and idealization of a particular part or aspect of
life. Often he opens but a momentary little vista of life, but it is so
clear-cut and so significant that a whole life is often revealed
thereby.
The student must not think that because the one-act play deals with but
one crisis or but one simplified situation, it is therefore weak and
inconsequential. On the contrary, since only one event or situation can
be emphasized, it follows that the writer is obliged to choose the one
determining crisis which makes or mars the supreme struggle of a soul,
the one great change or turning-point or end of a life history. Often
such moments are the really vital material for drama; nothing affords so
much opportunity for striking analysis, for emotional stress, for the
suggestion of a whole character sketched in the act of meeting its test.
The one-act play is a vital literary product. To segregate a bit of
significant experience and to present a finished picture of its aspects
and effects; to dissect a motive so searchingly and skilfully that its
very roots are laid bare; to detach a single figure from a dramatic
sequence and portray the essence of its character; to bring a series of
actions into the clear light of day in a sudden and brief human crisis;
to tell a significant story briefly and with suggestion; to portray the
humor of a person or an incident, or in a trice to reveal the touch of
tragedy resting like the finger of fate on an experience or on a
character--these are some of the possibilities of the one-act play when
bandied by a master dramatist.
THE PROPER APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY
To read a one-act play merely to get its story is not in itself an
exercise of any extraordinary value. This sort of approach to any form
of literature does not require much appreciation of literary art nor
much intelligence. Almost any normal-minded person can read a play for
its story with but little expenditure of mental effort. Proper
appreciation of a one-act play requires more than a casual reading whose
chief aim is no more than getting the plot.
If the shorter form of drama is to be appreciated properly as a real
literary form, it must be approached from the point of view of its
artistry and technic. This means that the student should understand its
organic construction and technic, just as he should understand the
organic construction and technic of a short story, a ballad, or a
perfect sonnet, if he is to appreciate them properly.
The student should know _what_ the dramatist intends to get across the
footlights to his audience, and should be able to detect _how_ he
accomplishes the desired result.
It must not be thought that the author urges a study of construction at
the expense of the human values in a play. On the contrary, such a study
is but the means whereby the human values are made the more manifest.
Surely no one would argue that the less one knows about the technic of
music the better able is one to appreciate music. Indeed, it is not too
much to say that, within reasonable limits, no one can really appreciate
a one-act play if one does not know at least the fundamentals of its
dramatic organization.
In fact, students of the one-act play recognize in its constructive
regularity not a hindrance to its beauty but a genuine power. This but
lends to it the charm of perfection. The sonnet and the cameo are
admirable, if for no other reason than their superior workmanship. The
one-act play does not lose by any reason of its technical requirements;
indeed, this is one of its greatest assets. And the student who will
take the pains to familiarize himself with the organic construction of a
typical one-act play will have gone a long way in arriving at a proper
appreciation of this shorter form of drama.
DRAMATIC ANALYSIS AND CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY
I. THE THEME OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY
The one-act play, like the short story, is a work of literary art, and
must be approached as such. Just like a painting or a poem or a fine
public building, the one-act play aims at making a _singleness of
effect_ upon the reader or observer. One does not judge a statue, or a
poem, or any other work of art, by the appearance of any isolated part
of it, but by the sum-total effect of the whole. The fundamental aim of
a one-act play is that it shall so present a singleness of effect to the
reader or to the assembled group who have gathered to witness a
performance of it, that the reader or observer will be provoked to
emotional response thereto.
Thus, when a student reads a play like George Middleton's _Tradition_,
he is made to see and feel that the life of a daughter has been
handicapped and the longings of a mother smothered because of the
conventional narrowness of an otherwise loving father. This is the
singleness of effect of the play; this is its theme. This is precisely
what the author of the play wished his reader or observer to see and
feel. When one reads Bosworth Crocker's _The Last Straw_, one feels that
a reasonably good and worthy man, because of his sensitiveness to
criticism, has been driven to despair and to a tragic end by the
malicious gossip of neighbors. One's sense of pity at his misfortune is
aroused. This is what the author intended to do. This idea and effect is
the theme of the play. And when the student reads Paul Hervieu's
_Modesty_, he feels that a woman, even though she may lead herself into
thinking she prefers brutal frankness, instinctively likes affection and
even flattery. This is the effect produced by the play; this is its
intent; this is its theme.
In approaching a one-act play, then, the very first consideration should
be to determine what the purpose and intent of the play is--to determine
its theme. This demands that the play be read through complete at one
sitting and that no premature conclusions be drawn. Once the play is
read, it is well to subject the play to certain leading questions. What
has the author intended that his reader or hearer shall understand,
think, or feel? What is the play about? What is its object and purpose?
Is it a precept or an observation found in life, or is it a bit of
fancy? Is it artificially didactic and moralizing? With what fundamental
element in human nature does it have to do: Love? Patriotism? Fear?
Egotism and self-centredness? Sacrifice? Faithfulness? Or what?
A word of warning should be given. The student should not get the idea
that by theme is meant the moral of the play. A good play may be
thoroughly moral without its descending to commonplace moralizing. Good
plays concern themselves with the presentation of the fundamentals of
life rather than a creed of morals, theories, and propagandas. Art
concerns itself with larger things than didactic and argumentative
moralizing.
II. THE TECHNIC OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY
Once the student satisfies himself as to the singleness of effect or
theme of the play, he will do well to set himself to the task of seeing
just how the dramatist has achieved this effect. He should keep in mind
that the playwright is a skilled workman; that he has predetermined for
himself just what he wishes his audience to think, feel, or understand,
and has marshalled all his materials to that end. The way by which he
accomplishes that end is his technic. Technic is but the practical
method by which an artist can most effectively convey his message to
his public. In a play the materials that the dramatist uses to this end
are character, plot, dialogue, and stage direction. If he is skilled he
will use these elements in such a way that the result will be an
artistic whole, a singleness of effect, an organized unit that will
exemplify and express his theme.
_A._ THE CHARACTERS IN THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--Generally speaking, drama
grows out of character. Farce, melodrama, and extravaganza usually
consist of situation rather than of character. In any event, the student
should avail himself of every means to understand the characters in the
play under discussion. His real appreciation of the play will be in
direct ratio almost to his understanding of the persons in the drama.
Any attention given to this end will be energy well spent. The student
should get into the very heart of the characters, as it were.
Thus, ADONIJAH, in Beulah Bornstead's _The Diabolical Circle_, is a
narrow, self-centred, Puritan egotist who has little about his
personality to appeal to the romantic and vivacious BETTY. LADY SIMS, in
Sir James M. Barrie's _The Twelve-Pound Look_, is a woman who really is
pathetic in her longing for some human independence in the presence of
her self-centred husband, "SIR" HARRY SIMS. And MANIKIN and MINIKIN, in
Alfred Kreymborg's _Manikin and Minikin_, are conventionalized puppets
representing the light yet half-serious bickerings, jealousies, and
quarrellings of human nature.
The student will do well to characterize the _dramatis personæ_
deliberately and specifically. He should not now value himself for
working fast; for things done in a hurry usually lack depth. He must not
be content with vague and thin generalities. In analyzing a character it
might be well to apply some specific questions similar to the following:
Just what is the elemental human quality in the character? Loving?
Trusting? Egotistic? Superstitious? Revengeful? Treacherous? Selfish?
Discontented? Optimistic? Romantic? Or what? How does the dramatist
characterize them: By action? By dialogue? By spirit of likes and
dislikes? By racial trait? By religion? By peculiarity of manner,
speech, appearance? Are the characters really dramatic: are they
impelled to strong emotional reaction upon each other and upon
situation? Do they provoke one's dramatic sympathy? Do they make one
feel their own point of view and their own motives for conduct?
_B._ THE PLOT OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--Plot and character are integrally
interlinked. Plot is not merely story taken from every-day life, where
seldom do events occur in a series of closely following minor crucial
moments leading to a climax. The dramatist so constructs his material
that there is a sequential and causal interplay of dramatic forces,
ending in some major crisis or crucial moment. Plot may be said to be
the framework and constructed story by which a dramatist exemplifies his
theme. It does not exist for its own end, but is one of the fundamental
means whereby the playwright gets his singleness of effect, or theme, to
his reader or hearer. From the story material at his disposal the
playwright constructs his plot to this very end.
Careful attention should be given to the plot. The student should
question it carefully. Do the plot materials seem to have been taken
from actual life? Or do they seem to be invented? Is the plot well
suited to exemplifying the theme? Reconstruct the story out of which the
plot may have been built. Since the plot of a one-act play is highly
simplified, determine whether there are any complexities, any
irrelevancies, any digressions. Does the plot have a well-defined
beginning, middle, and end?
1. _The Beginning of the One-Act Play._--Having but a relatively short
time at its disposal, usually about thirty minutes and seldom more than
forty-five minutes, the beginning of a one-act play is very short. It is
characterized by condensation, compactness, and brevity. Seldom is the
beginning more than a half-page in length; often the play is got under
way in two or three speeches. The student will do well to practise to
the end that he will recognize instantly when the dramatic background of
a one-act play has been laid.
Whatever else may characterize the beginning, it must be dramatically
effective. Instantly it must catch the powers of perception by making
them aware of the initial situation out of which the subsequent dramatic
action will develop. A good beginning makes one _feel_ that suddenly he
has come face to face with a situation which cannot be solved without an
interplay of dramatic forces to a given final result.
Thus, when one reads Althea Thurston's _The Exchange_, one is made
suddenly to feel that human beings are discontent with their
shortcomings and possessed qualities, and that they always feel that
they would be happier if they possessed something other than what they
have. The JUDGE, who handles the cases as they come in for exchange, is
disgusted with the vanities of humankind, and is ready to clear his
hands of the whole matter. Here is a situation; it is the beginning of
the play. In the beginning of Lady Gregory's _Hyacinth Halvey_ one is
brought suddenly to the realization that HYACINTH HALVEY instinctively
rebels against the highly colored and artificially created good name
that has been unwittingly superimposed upon him. This situation,
suddenly presented, is the beginning of the play. Out of this initial
situation the subsequent dramatic action evolves.
Is the beginning too short? Too long? Does it make the initial dramatic
situation clear? How has the playwright made it clear and effective?
Just where is the end of the beginning? Although the beginning and the
subsequent plot development are well blended together, so that there is
no halting where the beginning ends, usually one can detect where the
one ends and the other begins. It is a good idea, for the purpose of
developing a sense of the organic structure of the one-act play, to draw
a line across the page of the play, just where the one ends and the
other begins.
The _setting_ of the play is a part of the beginning. Is the setting
realistic? Romantic? Fantastic or bizarre? Are the details of stage
design, properties, and especially the atmosphere and color scheme in
harmony with the tone of the play itself? Is the setting really an
organic part of the play or is it something apart from it? Note that the
setting is usually written in the third person, present tense, and in
italics.
2. _The Middle of the One-Act Play._--The middle of a one-act play is
concerned primarily with the main crucial moment or climax and the
dramatic movement that from the beginning leads up to it. A good play
consists of a series of minor crises leading up to a major crisis or
crucial moment. It is for this crucial moment that the play exists; it
is for this big scene precisely that the play has been written. Indeed,
the play succeeds or fails as the crucial moment is strongly dramatic or
flabbily weak. This is the part of the play that is strongest in
dramatic tension, strongest in emotional functioning.
A study of Sir James M. Barrie's _The Twelve-Pound Look_ shows that the
crucial moment comes at the point where "SIR" HARRY SIMS in his
self-centred egotism discovers that his wife's, LADY SIMS'S,
heart-longing could easily be satisfied if she were permitted no other
freedom than merely operating a typewriter. In Althea Thurston's _The
Exchange_ the crucial moment comes when the several characters, who
unwittingly had exchanged one ill for a worse one, find that they can
never re-exchange, and that they must endure the torments and
displeasure of the newly acquired ill throughout life.
Just where is the crucial moment or climax in the play under
consideration? Determine the several minor crises that lead up to the
crucial moment. Is the crucial moment delayed too long for good dramatic
effect? Or is it reached too soon, so that the play is too short and too
sudden in reaching the climax? Does it make one _feel_ that some vital
result has been attained in the plot movement? Is it characterized by
strong situation and by strong emotional reactions of character on
character or of character on situation?
For purposes of impressing a sense the organic structure of a one-act
play, it is a good plan to draw a horizontal line across the page at the
close of the crucial moment. Keep in mind, however, that the crucial
moment is _not_ the end of the play as it appears on the printed page or
as it is acted on the stage.
3. _The End of the One-Act Play._--The end of the one-act play is an
important consideration. Too often it is entirely lost sight of. It is
the part that frequently makes or mars a play. When the crucial moment
or climax has been reached, the plot action of the play is completed,
but the play is not yet completed. The play needs yet to be rounded out
into an artistic and dramatic whole. In life the actual crisis in human
affairs is not often our chiefest interest, but the reaction of
characters immediately _after_ the crisis has occurred. Thus, in a play,
the emotional reaction of the characters on the crucial moment and the
more or less sudden readjustment between characters after the crucial
moment must be presented. For this very purpose the end of the one-act
play is constructed. The end is of need very short--usually even shorter
than the beginning. Usually the end consists of but a speech or two, or
sometimes only of pantomime that more effectively expresses the
emotional reactions of the characters on the crucial moment than
dialogue.
Thus, in Sir James M. Barrie's _The Twelve-Pound Look_, the end consists
of but pantomime, in which "SIR" HARRY expresses his emotional reaction
upon his wife's longing for the human liberty that even the operating of
a typewriter would provide her. The end of Bosworth Crocker's _The Last
Straw_ comes immediately after the pistol-shot is heard in the adjoining
room and MRS. BAUER'S voice is heard: "Fritz! Fritz! Speak to me! Look
at me, Fritz! You didn't do it, Fritz! I know you didn't do it!" etc.
Is the end of the play under consideration in terms of dialogue? In
pantomime? Or both? Is it too long? Too short? Is it dramatic? Is it
conclusive and satisfying?
_C._ DIALOGUE OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--Dialogue, like plot and
characterization, is another means whereby the theme of the play is got
to the reader or audience. Good dramatic dialogue is constructed to this
very end. It is not the commonplace, rambling, uncertain, and realistic
question and answer of every-day life. Usually good dramatic dialogue is
crisp, direct, condensed. It is the substance but not the form of
ordinary conversation. Its chiefest characteristic is spontaneity.
_The highest type of dramatic dialogue is that which expresses the ideas
and emotions of characters at the points of highest emotional
functioning._ It will readily be seen, then, that not all dialogue in a
play is necessarily dramatic. In truth, the best dramatic dialogue
occurs in conjunction with the series of minor crises and the crucial
moment that go to make up the dramatic movement of the play. Often there
is much dialogue in a play that essentially is not dramatic at all.
In analyzing dramatic dialogue it is well to inquire whether in the play
it serves (1) to express the ideas and emotions of characters at points
of highest emotional functioning, (2) to advance the plot, (3) to reveal
character, or (4) what. Is it brief, clear, direct, spontaneous? Or is
it careless, loose, insipid? Wit, repartee? Didactic, moralizing?
Satirical, cynical?
_D._ STAGE-BUSINESS AND STAGE-DIRECTION IN THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--The
stage-business and stage-direction, usually printed in italics, of a
play are an essential part of a drama. They must not be ignored in
either reading or staging a play. The novel or short story generally
uses narration and description to achieve its desired result; a play, on
the contrary, uses dialogue and concrete objective pantomime that may be
seen readily with the eye. A play is not a story narrated in
chronological order of events, but it is a story so handled and so
constructed that it can be acted on a stage by actors before an
audience. It is a series of minor crises leading to a major crisis,
presented to a reader or to an audience by characters, dialogue, and
stage-business and pantomime. For purposes of indicating the pantomimic
action of the play, the dramatist resorts to stage-business and
stage-direction.
Does the stage-direction aid in making (1) the dialogue, (2) the plot,
(3) the dramatic action, or (4) the character more clear? Does it
shorten the play? Does it express idea, emotion, or situations more
effectively than could dialogue, if it were used?
And, finally, do not judge any play until all the evidence is in, until
you have thoroughly mastered every detail and have fully conceived the
_author's idea_ and _purpose_. It is not a question whether _you_ would
have selected such a theme or whether _you_ would have handled it in the
same way in which the author did; but the point is does the _author_ in
_his_ way make _his_ theme clear to you. The author has conceived a
dramatic problem in his _own mind_ and has set it forth in _his own
way_. The question is, does he make you see his result and his method?
Do you like the play? Or do you not like it? State your reason in either
case. Is it because of the author? Is it because of the theme? Is it
because of the technic--the way he gets his intent to his reader or
audience? Is it because of your own likes or dislikes; preconceived
notions or prejudices? Is it because of the acting? Of the staging or
setting? Does it uplift or depress? Does it provoke you to emotional
functioning?
"Though old the thought and oft expressed,
'Tis his at last who says it best."
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
BY
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
_The Twelve-Pound Look_ is reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's
Sons, the publisher in America of the works of Sir James M. Barrie. For
permission to perform, address the publisher.
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
Sir James M. Barrie is rated as the foremost English dramatist of the
day; and his plays, taken together, make the most significant
contribution to English drama since Sheridan. Practically his entire
life has been given to the writing of novels and plays, many of the
latter having their heroines conceived especially for Maude Adams, one
of America's greatest actresses. He was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in
1860. He received his education at Dumfries and Edinburgh University.
His first work in journalism and letters was done at Nottingham, but
soon he took up his work in London, where he now resides.
Sir James M. Barrie's literary labors have been very fruitful. His _The
Professor's Love Story_, _The Little Minister_, _Quality Street_, _The
Admirable Crichton_, _Peter Pan_, _What Every Woman Knows_, and _Alice
Sit-by-the-Fire_ are well known to every one.
In 1914 there appeared a volume of one-act plays, _Half Hours_, the most
important of which is _The Twelve-Pound Look_. And in 1918 appeared a
volume, _Echoes of the War_, the most important one-act play therein
being _The Old Lady Shows Her Medals_.
Barrie is a great playwright because he is so thoroughly human. All the
little whimsicalities, sentiments, little loves, and heart-longings of
human beings are ever present in his plays. He is no reformer, no
propagandist. He appeals to the emotions rather than to the intellect.
He continues the romantic tradition in English drama and gives us plays
that are wholesome, tender, and human. And with all this, he has the
added saving grace of a most absorbing humor.
While Barrie is not a devotee of the well-made play, his _The
Twelve-Pound Look_ is one of the most nearly perfect one-act plays of
contemporary drama. His interest in human personalities is not more
manifest in any of his plays than in LADY SIMS and "SIR" HARRY SIMS in
this play.
CHARACTERS
"SIR" HARRY SIMS
LADY SIMS
KATE
TOMBES
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK[A]
_If quite convenient (as they say about checks) you are to conceive
that the scene is laid in your own house, and that_ HARRY SIMS _is
you. Perhaps the ornamentation of the house is a trifle
ostentatious, but if you cavil at that we are willing to
redecorate: you don't get out of being_ HARRY SIMS _on a mere
matter of plush and dados. It pleases us to make him a city man,
but (rather than lose you) he can be turned with a scrape of the
pen into a K.C., fashionable doctor, Secretary of State, or what
you will. We conceive him of a pleasant rotundity with a thick red
neck, but we shall waive that point if you know him to be thin._
_It is that day in your career when everything went wrong just when
everything seemed to be superlatively right._
_In_ HARRY'S _case it was a woman who did the mischief. She came to
him in his great hour and told him she did not admire him. Of
course he turned her out of the house and was soon himself again,
but it spoiled the morning for him. This is the subject of the
play, and quite enough too._
HARRY _is to receive the honor of knighthood in a few days, and we
discover him in the sumptuous "snuggery" of his home in Kensington
(or is it Westminster?), rehearsing the ceremony with his wife.
They have been at it all the morning, a pleasing occupation._ MRS.
SIMS _(as we may call her for the last time, as it were, and
strictly as a good-natured joke) is wearing her presentation gown,
and personates the august one who is about to dub her_ HARRY
_knight. She is seated regally. Her jewelled shoulders proclaim
aloud her husband's generosity. She must be an extraordinarily
proud and happy woman, yet she has a drawn face and shrinking ways,
as if there were some one near her of whom she is afraid. She claps
her hands, as the signal to_ HARRY. _He enters bowing, and with a
graceful swerve of the leg. He is only partly in costume, the sword
and the real stockings not having arrived yet. With a gliding
motion that is only delayed while one leg makes up on the other, he
reaches his wife, and, going on one knee, raises her hand superbly
to his lips. She taps him on the shoulder with a paper-knife and
says huskily: "Rise, Sir Harry." He rises, bows, and glides about
the room, going on his knees to various articles of furniture, and
rises from each a knight. It is a radiant domestic scene, and_
HARRY _is as dignified as if he knew that royalty was rehearsing it
at the other end_.
SIR HARRY. [_Complacently._] Did that seem all right, eh?
LADY SIMS. [_Much relieved._] I think perfect.
SIR HARRY. But was it dignified?
LADY SIMS. Oh, very. And it will be still more so when you have the
sword.
SIR HARRY. The sword will lend it an air. There are really the five
moments--[_suiting the action to the word_]--the glide--the dip--the
kiss--the tap--and you back out a knight. It's short, but it's a very
beautiful ceremony. [_Kindly._] Anything you can suggest?
LADY SIMS. No--oh, no. [_Nervously, seeing him pause to kiss the tassel
of a cushion._] You don't think you have practised till you know what to
do almost too well?
[_He has been in a blissful temper, but such niggling criticism
would try any man._
SIR HARRY. I do not. Don't talk nonsense. Wait till your opinion is
asked for.
LADY SIMS. [_Abashed._] I'm sorry, Harry. [_A perfect butler appears and
presents a card._] "The Flora Typewriting Agency."
SIR HARRY. Ah, yes. I telephoned them to send some one. A woman, I
suppose, Tombes?
TOMBES. Yes, Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY. Show her in here. [_He has very lately become a stickler for
etiquette._] And, Tombes, strictly speaking, you know, I am not Sir
Harry till Thursday.
TOMBES. Beg pardon, sir, but it is such a satisfaction to us.
SIR HARRY. [_Good-naturedly._] Ah, they like it down-stairs, do they?
TOMBES. [_Unbending._] Especially the females, Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY. Exactly. You can show her in, Tombes. [_The butler departs on
his mighty task._] You can tell the woman what she is wanted for, Emmy,
while I change. [_He is too modest to boast about himself, and prefers
to keep a wife in the house for that purpose._] You can tell her the
sort of things about me that will come better from you. [_Smiling
happily._] You heard what Tombes said: "Especially the females." And he
is right. Success! The women like it even better than the men. And
rightly. For they share. _You_ share, _Lady_ Sims. Not a woman will see
that gown without being sick with envy of it. I know them. Have all our
lady friends in to see it. It will make them ill for a week.
[_These sentiments carry him off light-heartedly, and presently the
disturbing element is shown in. She is a mere typist, dressed in
uncommonly good taste, but at contemptibly small expense, and she
is carrying her typewriter in a friendly way rather than as a badge
of slavery, as of course it is. Her eye is clear; and in odd
contrast to_ LADY SIMS, _she is self-reliant and serene_.
KATE. [_Respectfully, but she should have waited to be spoken to._] Good
morning, madam.
LADY SIMS. [_In her nervous way, and scarcely noticing that the typist
is a little too ready with her tongue._] Good morning. [_As a first
impression she rather likes the woman, and the woman, though it is
scarcely worth mentioning, rather likes her._ LADY SIMS _has a maid for
buttoning and unbuttoning her, and probably another for waiting on the
maid, and she gazes with a little envy perhaps at a woman who does
things for herself_.] Is that the typewriting machine?
KATE. [_Who is getting it ready for use._] Yes. [_Not "Yes, madam" as it
ought to be._] I suppose if I am to work here I may take this off. I get
on better without it. [_She is referring to her hat._
LADY SIMS. Certainly. [_But the hat is already off._] I ought to
apologize for my gown. I am to be presented this week, and I was trying
it on.
[_Her tone is not really apologetic. She is rather clinging to the
glory of her gown, wistfully, as if not absolutely certain, you
know, that it is a glory._
KATE. It is beautiful, if I may presume to say so.
[_She frankly admires it. She probably has a best and a second best
of her own; that sort of thing._
LADY SIMS. [_With a flush of pride in the gown._] Yes, it is very
beautiful. [_The beauty of it gives her courage._] Sit down, please.
KATE. [_The sort of woman who would have sat down in any case._] I
suppose it is some copying you want done? I got no particulars. I was
told to come to this address, but that was all.
LADY SIMS. [_Almost with the humility of a servant._] Oh, it is not work
for me, it is for my husband, and what he needs is not exactly copying.
[_Swelling, for she is proud of_ HARRY.] He wants a number of letters
answered--hundreds of them--letters and telegrams of congratulation.
KATE. [_As if it were all in the day's work._] Yes?
LADY SIMS. [_Remembering that_ HARRY _expects every wife to do her
duty_.] My husband is a remarkable man. He is about to be knighted.
[_Pause, but_ KATE _does not fall to the floor_.] He is to be knighted
for his services to--[_on reflection_]--for his services. [_She is
conscious that she is not doing_ HARRY _justice_.] He can explain it so
much better than I can.
KATE. [_In her businesslike way._] And I am to answer the
congratulations?
LADY SIMS. [_Afraid that it will be a hard task._] Yes.
KATE. [_Blithely_] It is work I have had some experience of. [_She
proceeds to type._
LADY SIMS. But you can't begin till you know what he wants to say.
KATE. Only a specimen letter. Won't it be the usual thing?
LADY SIMS. [_To whom this is a new idea._] Is there a usual thing?
KATE. Oh, yes.
[_She continues to type, and_ LADY SIMS, _half-mesmerized, gazes at
her nimble fingers. The useless woman watches the useful one, and
she sighs, she could not tell why._
LADY SIMS. How quickly you do it! It must be delightful to be able to do
something, and to do it well.
KATE. [_Thankfully._] Yes, it is delightful.
LADY SIMS [_Again remembering the source of all her greatness._] But,
excuse me, I don't think that will be any use. My husband wants me to
explain to you that his is an exceptional case. He did not try to get
this honor in any way. It was a complete surprise to him----
KATE. [_Who is a practical_ KATE _and no dealer in sarcasm_.] That is
what I have written.
LADY SIMS. [_In whom sarcasm would meet a dead wall._] But how could you
know?
KATE. I only guessed.
LADY SIMS. Is that the usual thing?
KATE. Oh, yes.
LADY SIMS. They don't try to get it?
KATE. I don't know. That is what we are told to say in the letters.
[_To her at present the only important thing about the letters is
that they are ten shillings the hundred._
LADY SIMS. [_Returning to surer ground._] I should explain that my
husband is not a man who cares for honors. So long as he does his
duty----
KATE. Yes, I have been putting that in.
LADY SIMS. Have you? But he particularly wants it to be known that he
would have declined a title were it not----
KATE. I have got it here.
LADY SIMS. What have you got?
KATE. [_Reading._] "Indeed, I would have asked to be allowed to decline
had it not been that I want to please my wife."
LADY SIMS. [_Heavily._] But how could you know it was that?
KATE. Is it?
LADY SIMS. [_Who, after all, is the one with the right to ask
questions._] Do they all accept it for that reason?
KATE. That is what we are told to say in the letters.
LADY SIMS. [_Thoughtlessly._] It is quite as if you knew my husband.
KATE. I assure you, I don't even know his name.
LADY SIMS. [_Suddenly showing that she knows him._] Oh, he wouldn't like
that!
[_And it is here that_ HARRY _re-enters in his city garments,
looking so gay, feeling so jolly, that we bleed for him. However,
the annoying_ KATHERINE _is to get a shock also_.
LADY SIMS. This is the lady, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [_Shooting his cuffs._] Yes, yes. Good morning, my dear.
[_Then they see each other, and their mouths open, but not for
words. After the first surprise_ KATE _seems to find some humor in
the situation, but_ HARRY _lowers like a thunder-cloud_.
LADY SIMS. [_Who has seen nothing._] I have been trying to explain to
her----
SIR HARRY. Eh--what? [_He controls himself._] Leave it to me, Emmy; I'll
attend to her.
[LADY SIMS _goes, with a dread fear that somehow she has vexed her
lord, and then_ HARRY _attends to the intruder_.
SIR HARRY. [_With concentrated scorn._] You!
KATE. [_As if agreeing with him._] Yes, it's funny.
SIR HARRY. The shamelessness of your daring to come here.
KATE. Believe me, it is not less a surprise to me than it is to you. I
was sent here in the ordinary way of business. I was given only the
number of the house. I was not told the name.
SIR HARRY. [_Withering her._] The ordinary way of business! This is what
you have fallen to--a typist!
KATE. [_Unwithered._] Think of it!
SIR HARRY. After going through worse straits, I'll be bound.
KATE. [_With some grim memories._] Much worse straits.
SIR HARRY. [_Alas, laughing coarsely._] My congratulations!
KATE. Thank you, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [_Who is annoyed, as any man would be, not to find her
abject._] Eh? What was that you called me, madam?
KATE. Isn't it Harry? On my soul, I almost forget.
SIR HARRY. It isn't Harry to you. My name is Sims, if you please.
KATE. Yes, I had not forgotten that. It was my name, too, you see.
SIR HARRY. [_In his best manner._] It was your name till you forfeited
the right to bear it.
KATE. Exactly.
SIR HARRY. [_Gloating._] I was furious to find you here, but on second
thoughts it pleases me. [_From the depths of his moral nature._] There
is a grim justice in this.
KATE. [_Sympathetically._] Tell me?
SIR HARRY. Do you know what you were brought here to do?
KATE. I have just been learning. You have been made a knight, and I was
summoned to answer the messages of congratulation.
SIR HARRY. That's it, that's it. You come on this day as my servant!
KATE. I, who might have been Lady Sims.
SIR HARRY. And you are her typist instead. And she has four
men-servants. Oh, I am glad you saw her in her presentation gown.
KATE. I wonder if she would let me do her washing, Sir Harry? [_Her want
of taste disgusts him._
SIR HARRY. [_With dignity._] You can go. The mere thought that only a
few flights of stairs separates such as you from my innocent
children----
[_He will never know why a new light has come into her face._
KATE. [_Slowly._] You have children?
SIR HARRY. [_Inflated._] Two. [_He wonders why she is so long in
answering._
KATE. [_Resorting to impertinence._] Such a nice number.
SIR HARRY. [_With an extra turn of the screw._] Both boys.
KATE. Successful in everything. Are they like you, Sir Harry?
SIR HARRY. [_Expanding._] They are very like me.
KATE. That's nice. [_Even on such a subject as this she can be ribald._
SIR HARRY. Will you please to go.
KATE. Heigho! What shall I say to my employer?
SIR HARRY. That is no affair of mine.
KATE. What will you say to Lady Sims?
SIR HARRY. I flatter myself that whatever I say, Lady Sims will accept
without comment.
[_She smiles, heaven knows why, unless her next remark explains
it._
KATE. Still the same Harry.
SIR HARRY. What do you mean?
KATE. Only that you have the old confidence in your profound knowledge
of the sex.
SIR HARRY. [_Beginning to think as little of her intellect as of her
morals._] I suppose I know my wife.
KATE. [_Hopelessly dense._] I suppose so. I was only remembering that
you used to think you knew her in the days when I was the lady. [_He is
merely wasting his time on her, and he indicates the door. She is not
sufficiently the lady to retire worsted._] Well, good-by, Sir Harry.
Won't you ring, and the four men-servants will show me out? [_But he
hesitates._
SIR HARRY. [_In spite of himself._] As you are here, there is something
I want to get out of you. [_Wishing he could ask it less eagerly._] Tell
me, who was the man?
[_The strange woman--it is evident now that she has always been
strange to him--smiles tolerantly._
KATE. You never found out?
SIR HARRY. I could never be sure.
KATE. [_Reflectively._] I thought that would worry you.
SIR HARRY. [_Sneering._] It's plain that he soon left you.
KATE. Very soon.
SIR HARRY. As I could have told you. [_But still she surveys him with
the smile of Mona Lisa. The badgered man has to entreat._] Who was he?
It was fourteen years ago, and cannot matter to any of us now. Kate,
tell me who he was?
[_It is his first youthful moment, and perhaps because of that she
does not wish to hurt him._
KATE. [_Shaking a motherly head._] Better not ask.
SIR HARRY. I do ask. Tell me.
KATE. It is kinder not to tell you.
SIR HARRY. [_Violently._] Then, by James, it was one of my own pals. Was
it Bernard Roche? [_She shakes her head._] It may have been some one who
comes to my house still.
KATE. I think not. [_Reflecting._] Fourteen years! You found my letter
that night when you went home?
SIR HARRY. [_Impatient._] Yes.
KATE. I propped it against the decanters. I thought you would be sure to
see it there. It was a room not unlike this, and the furniture was
arranged in the same attractive way. How it all comes back to me. Don't
you see me, Harry, in hat and cloak, putting the letter there, taking a
last look round, and then stealing out into the night to meet----
SIR HARRY. Whom?
KATE. Him. Hours pass, no sound in the room but the tick-tack of the
clock, and then about midnight you return alone. You take----
SIR HARRY. [_Gruffly._] I wasn't alone.
KATE. [_The picture spoiled._] No? Oh. [_Plaintively._] Here have I all
these years been conceiving it wrongly. [_She studies his face._] I
believe something interesting happened.
SIR HARRY. [_Growling._] Something confoundedly annoying.
KATE. [_Coaxing._] Do tell me.
SIR HARRY. We won't go into that. Who was the man? Surely a husband has
a right to know with whom his wife bolted.
KATE. [_Who is detestably ready with her tongue._] Surely the wife has a
right to know how he took it. [_The woman's love of bargaining comes to
her aid._] A fair exchange. You tell me what happened, and I will tell
you who he was.
SIR HARRY. You will? Very well.
[_It is the first point on which they have agreed, and, forgetting
himself, he takes a place beside her on the fire-seat. He is
thinking only of what he is to tell her, but she, womanlike, is
conscious of their proximity._
KATE. [_Tastelessly._] Quite like old times. [_He moves away from her
indignantly._] Go on, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [_Who has a manful shrinking from saying anything that is to
his disadvantage._] Well, as you know, I was dining at the club that
night.
KATE. Yes.
SIR HARRY. Jack Lamb drove me home. Mabbett Green was with us, and I
asked them to come in for a few minutes.
KATE. Jack Lamb, Mabbett Green? I think I remember them. Jack was in
Parliament.
SIR HARRY. No, that was Mabbett. They came into the house with me
and--[_with sudden horror_]--was it him?
KATE. [_Bewildered._] Who?
SIR HARRY. Mabbett?
KATE. What?
SIR HARRY. The man?
KATE. What man? [_Understanding._] Oh, no. I thought you said he came
into the house with you.
SIR HARRY. It might have been a blind.
KATE. Well, it wasn't. Go on.
SIR HARRY. They came in to finish a talk we had been having at the club.
KATE. An interesting talk, evidently.
SIR HARRY. The papers had been full that evening of the elopement of
some countess woman with a fiddler. What was her name?
KATE. Does it matter?
SIR HARRY. No. [_Thus ends the countess._] We had been discussing the
thing and--[_he pulls a wry face_]--and I had been rather warm----
KATE. [_With horrid relish._] I begin to see. You had been saying it
served the husband right, that the man who could not look after his wife
deserved to lose her. It was one of your favorite subjects. Oh, Harry,
say it was that!
SIR HARRY. [_Sourly._] It may have been something like that.
KATE. And all the time the letter was there, waiting; and none of you
knew except the clock. Harry, it is sweet of you to tell me. [_His face
is not sweet. The illiterate woman has used the wrong adjective._] I
forget what I said precisely in the letter.
SIR HARRY. [_Pulverizing her._] So do I. But I have it still.
KATE. [_Not pulverized._] Do let me see it again.
[_She has observed his eye wandering to the desk._
SIR HARRY. You are welcome to it as a gift.