impelled by uneasiness, is putting on her things to go out. Anxious
random questions of one kind and another give a hint that thoughts of
death are in her mind. Tries to banish these thoughts, to turn it off,
hopes that something or other may intervene. But what? The Nurse goes
off to the left.--Stenborg enters from his room. Short dialogue
between him and Nora.--The Nurse re-enters, looking for Nora; the
youngest child is crying. Annoyance and questioning on Stenborg's
part; exit the Nurse; Stenborg is going in to the children.--Doctor
Hank enters. Scene between him and Stenborg.--Nora soon re-enters; she
has turned back; anxiety has driven her home again. Scene between her,
the Doctor and Stenborg. Stenborg goes into his room.--Scene between
Nora and the Doctor. The Doctor goes out.--Nora alone.--Mrs. Linde
enters. Short scene between her and Nora.--Krogstad enters. Short
scene between him and Mrs. Linde and Nora. Mrs. Linde goes in to the
children.--Scene between Krogstad and Nora.--She entreats and implores
him for the sake of her little children; in vain. Krogstad goes out.
The letter is seen to fall from outside into the letter-box.--Mrs.
Linde re-enters after a short pause. Scene between her and Nora. Half
confession. Mrs. Linde goes out.--Nora alone.--Stenborg enters. Scene
between him and Nora. He wants to empty the letter-box. Entreaties,
jests, half playful persuasion. He promises to let business wait till
after New Year's Day; but at 12 o'clock midnight--! Exit. Nora alone.
Nora (looking at the clock): It is five o'clock. Five;--seven hours
till midnight. Twenty-four hours till the next midnight. Twenty-four
and seven--thirty-one. Thirty-one hours to live.--_
THIRD ACT
_A muffled sound of dance music is heard from the floor above. A
lighted lamp on the table. Mrs. Linde sits in an armchair and absently
turns the pages of a book, tries to read, but seems unable to fix her
attention; once or twice she looks at her watch. Nora comes down from
the dance; uneasiness has driven her; surprise at finding Mrs. Linde,
who pretends that she wanted to see Nora in her costume. Helmer,
displeased at her going away, comes to fetch her back. The Doctor also
enters, but to say good-bye. Meanwhile Mrs. Linde has gone into the
side room on the right. Scene between the Doctor, Helmer, and Nora. He
is going to bed, he says, never to get up again; they are not to come
and see him; there is ugliness about a death-bed. He goes out. Helmer
goes upstairs again with Nora, after the latter has exchanged a few
words of farewell with Mrs. Linde. Mrs. Linde alone. Then Krogstad.
Scene and explanation between them. Both go out. Nora and the
children. Then she alone. Then Helmer. He takes the letters out of the
letter-box. Short scene; goodnight; he goes into his room. Nora in
despair prepares for the final step; is already at the door when
Helmer enters with the open letter in his hand. Great scene. A ring.
Letter to Nora from Krogstad. Final scene. Divorce. Nora leaves the
house._[14]
Finally, here is the full scenario of a play which made a great success
both in England and the United States and was seen by practically all
the Continental countries, namely, _Kismet_. Notice how well it fulfils
the requirements for a good scenario stated in this chapter, not because
Mr. Knobloch had these rules in mind as he composed it, but because, as
a trained dramatist, he instinctively gave these qualities to his
scenario. Carefully studied in relation to the essentials of scenario
writing just stated, it should remove all doubt in the mind of a student
as to what a good scenario is and why it is an essential preliminary to
a good play.
KISMET
_or_
HAJJI'S DAY
_Scenario for a play in three acts, by_
EDWARD KNOBLOCH[15]
CHARACTERS
(_in order of their appearance_)
_Original Names_ _Later Names_
_Hajji. Hajj (as Hajji is Persian, Hajj Arabian).
A Priest. Imam Mahmud.
Guide. Nasir.
Sheikh of the Desert. Jawan.
Young Beggar. Kasim.
Sultan. The Caliph Abdallah.
His Vizier. Abu Bakr.
Shopkeeper I. Amru.
Shopkeeper II. Fayd.
Zira. Marsinah.
Old Woman I. Narjis.
Officer of Guard. Captain of the Watch.
Executioner. Mansur, Chief of Police.
/ Turned into two characters:
His Scribe. < Kafur, the Sworder.
\ Afife, the Hunchback.
Old Woman II.
Executioner's Wife. Kut-Al-Kulub.
Gaoler. Kutayt.
Peasant. \ Trial scene at / Cut out in
Two Wives. / Sultan's. \ final draft._
_Dancers, Soldiers, Courtiers, Women, the People._
ACT I
_[Scene later introduced before the curtain.]
Scene 1. A Street before a Mosque.
Scene 2. The Bazaar.
Scene 3. Courtyard of a Poor House.
Scene 4. Courtyard of Executioner's House._
ACT II
_Scene 1. Interior Room of Executioner's House.
Scene 2. Courtyard of a Poor House. (Act I, Scene 3.)
Scene 3. The Sultan's Audience Hall.
Scene 4. A Dungeon._
ACT III
_Scene 1. Courtyard of a Poor House (Act I, Scene 3) [cut in final
version].
Scene 2. The Bath of the Executioner's House.
Scene 3. A street before a Mosque. (Act I, Scene 1.)_
_The Scene is laid in Bagdad.
The action takes place from morning to night._
ACT I
SCENE 1
_A narrow street with stone steps leading up to a Mosque left. (Small
set.)_
_The sun is just beginning to rise._
_Asleep on a large stone which juts out from the angle of the wall C.
sits Hajji wrapped in his beggar's cloak. On the minaret of the Mosque
appears the priest, a venerable white bearded man. He calls to
prayer._ [See alterations in actual play.]
_The crowd begins to pass into the Mosque as the sun rises. Hajji
wakes up, rubs his eyes, and has a drink of water from a gourd which
he draws out from behind his seat. He begins to beg from the
passers-by._
_An Old Man (Jawan) preceded by a guide (Nasir) is carried across the
scene in a litter. He fixes his gaze on Hajji and is carried off into
the Mosque. The guide remains in the portico. Hajji follows the Old
Man on his knees to the steps of the Mosque, begging._
_As he does so a lean Beggar of a younger cast of countenance takes
Hajji's place._
_Hajji returns to his seat._
_Hajji._ Hajji curses young Beggar.
Explains young Beggar must be stranger.
Who is he that he does not know of Hajji?
He has sat on this seat for thirty years.
His father has sat there before him.
His grandfather before _him_.
Great pride in his ancestry of beggardom.
_Young Beggar. (Kasim.)_ The young Beggar tries to retaliate.
Hajji tells him to go and sit on a seat round
the corner--"where other swine have sat before
you."
He kicks the young Beggar.
_The Guide (Nasir) of the Old Man_ comes down to interfere.
_The Young Beggar (Kasim)_ sulks into a corner nursing his kick.
_Hajji._ Hajji and Guide get into conversation.
_The Guide._ (_Kasim._) Guide explains Rich Man here on a pilgrimage.
Is really a famous old Robber Chief, a Curd,
One of the Sheikhs of the desert: all of
whom were notorious and banished by late
Sultan (_Caliph_).
Sheikh old and dying.
Come to pray to Allah to restore his son to
him before he dies (if son still alive).
[_Sultan_ is used Sheikh was attacked by Sultan's troops
throughout this twenty-five years ago, and his son, then four
scenario--for which, years old, carried off.
in play, _Caliph_ is Hajji says he knows what that means.
substituted. _Caliph_ Had his wife carried off many years ago.
is correct, as being The only woman he ever loved--really loved.
Arabian. The title The Guide: "I know, Hajji, and I pity you.
_Sultan_ is of later I have a proposition to make:
origin and of Turkish I know the Sheikh will give money to charity
influence.] to save his soul just before dying.
Now if you could predict something to him,--
Say that he will find his son again,--
The Sheikh will give you money."
And for this advice Guide and Hajji are to
divide money.
Hajji agrees to this.
_Prayers are over._
_The crowd disperses coming from the Mosque.
Sheikh is carried out of the Mosque in his litter._
_Hajji._ Hajji throws himself in front of litter.
Crying out: "Listen to me.
I can see why you have come.
You are looking for some one,--your son.
You shall find him. Give me money."
Sheikh amazed at Hajji's knowledge.
Hajji says his wits have been sharpened
through grief and suffering.
"I had a wife and a son.
They were stolen by my enemy.
My son was murdered,
My wife carried off.
The swine of a beggar who sat round the
corner did it.
He is my enemy. The curse of my life."
Sheikh holds out purse, chinking it.
Hajji blesses Sheikh.
Sheikh bursts out laughing.
Reveals himself to Hajji.
He (Sheikh) is his enemy.
He ran away with Hajji's wife.
[Some of this is And became a robber under her inspiring
incorporated in the influence. One of a band of robbers that
scene with _Nasir_.] attacked the caravans.
It is their son (by Hajji's wife) that the
Sultan captured when he attacked the robbers.
Laughs at Hajji for blessing him.
Thanks him ironically.
Throws the purse and is carried off by his men.
Hajji shouts curses after him.
And kicks away the money.
_Hajji. (Alone.)_ He is torn in two by the hatred for his enemy.
_Young Beggar, in And the love of the money.
corner._ What he could do with the money.
/ He could do so much for Zira (the daughter),
| The pride of his heart, the consolation of his
| old age,
| The one balm to his fatherly heart.
| But his enemy's money?
| Never.
| But Zira? Trinkets for her. Her laughter.
[This was cut | Her smile.
rehearsals, as < But the Sheikh's money--The beast who robbed
halting the action,] | him of his wife.
| Who was Zira's mother? No one. A dancing girl,
| a passing whim. The fancy of a late spring.
| But his wife--the one that the Sheikh took--
| she was everything. His joy, his pride, the
| first finding of his manhood.
| To the purse: "I'll not touch thee." (_He
\ spits at it._)
_He sees some one coming.
He quickly pockets the purse._
_The Guide reenters_
_Hajji. Guide comes to claim half of his money.
Guide. Hajji does not know anything of the bargain;
Young Beggar._ "I saw no purse."
Guide furious.
Hajji laughs at him.
He appeals to young Beggar.
Was there a purse there?
The young Beggar sides with Hajji.
Guide off, furious, vowing vengeance.
Hajji says, "Go thy way in peace."
_Hajji.
Young Beggar._ Young Beggar: "What do I get for siding with
you?"
"What?"
"I saw you pick up the purse.
I heard the agreement: you promised him half."
Hajji says the money was given him, not by the
Sheikh, but by fate.
We all have a day in life.
This is Hajji's day.
There is a future before him.
The Sheikh rose from the mud to power and
riches.
Why not Hajji?
Fortune is smiling on him at last.
He will forsake the seat he has sat on these
thirty years.
Go forth into the world.
What shall he give the Young Beggar?
His throne and his beggar's cloak.
(_He instates him in his seat and goes off._)
[Here the Priest is
introduced in the play
to heighten the effect
at the end. Also to
make him a friend of
Hajji's, as Hajji sends _Curtain_
his daughter to him at
the end of the Hareem
scene. Act III, Scene
1.]
SCENE 2
_The Bazaar._ (_Large set_)
_Shopkeeper I and Shopkeeper II lying outside of adjoining shops. They
are very friendly._
_Crowd._
_Young Sultan (Caliph) rides through the bazaar on a white donkey. His
Vizier (Abu Bakr) follows him. Also guards._
_Hajji appears._ Political discussion.
_Shopkeeper I._ Young Sultan just come through bazaar.
_Shopkeeper II._ Hajji regrets he missed seeing him.
Sultan only been Sultan ten days.
[Read _Caliph_ Nephew of old Sultan now dead.
for _Sultan._] Young Sultan brought up in a monastery,
[In the play, the Said to be a dreamer and a poet.
shopkeepers have a The real ruler said to be the Executioner,
scene of explanation A favourite of late Sultan,
before Hajj Young man, too, but very strong,
enters,--altered when Very cruel and selfish.
writing play.] Young Sultan does not see much of
Executioner (_Mansur_).
Supposed to disappear on nightly expeditions,
To get to know his people,
To have some love adventures.
Has been brought up strictly in monastery,
Has never yet, they say, tested the "charm of
his beard."
[This altered. See note Hajji listens to all this humbly,
above. In the play Hajj Sitting almost under the counter,
enters here.] Then begins to finger stuffs.
The shopkeeper is going to drive him off.
But Hajji is in earnest.
Shows his purse. He means to buy.
Clothes are forthcoming.
He selects some.
Once he has gone to the bath and the barber
he will be resplendent--as noble as the
noblest.
Hajji asks the price.
It is very high.
He begins to bargain.
Shopkeeper No. II chimes in.
Hajji pits Shopkeeper No. I against
No. II.
They quarrel.
Hajji fans the quarrel into flame.
They almost come to blows.
Hajji escapes with his clothes.
_Shopkeeper No. I. The shopkeepers notice his escape.
and They combine at once against the common enemy.
Shopkeeper No. II_ Shopkeeper I will go for the guard,
And have Hajji followed and caught.
Shopkeeper II to meet him at the Executioner's
to witness against Hajji.
[Here Nasir the Guide
is introduced to give
away Hajj. This was
done when the play was
revised for
production.] _Curtain_
SCENE 3
(_For "Zira" read "Marsinah."_)
_Zira's home. Small courtyard of a poor house. On right side a large
gate backing to street. Fountain in courtyard._
_Old Woman. Old woman is spinning.
Zira, the daughter Zira is lazily hanging her hand into fountain.
of Hajji._ (She works instead.)
[_Marsinah works._ This Old Woman reprimands her for not working.
was altered when She has changed in last three days.
writing play, because Zira, who hides her wools, says her thread has
of Arabian embroidery given out.
frame seen in the Old Woman will go to bazaar for thread.
Museum of Tunis.] Locks door carefully, going out.
_Zira springs up and goes to the casement in Courtyard and
then, plucking a rose, throws it out. She then unlocks
casement and goes back to the fountain._
_Young Sultan appears in simple clothes, climbing in._
_Zira. Love scene.
Young Sultan._ His madness to come at daytime.
Since he saw her first three nights ago from
neighboring roof-tops cannot rest.
She asks who he is.
He is so different from her father.
His hands so beautiful.
He has love scene,
In which they exchange rhymed couplets
In Arabian Nights fashion.
He puts a question (line one and two rhyming)
She caps it (line three not rhyming, but line
four rhyming with one and two).
The girl is witty but natural.
This charms the Sultan beyond measure.
All the women he has had presented to him are
so stupid.
She says: '"All the women'!" Who is he?
He says a simple scribe--brought up in a
monastery. His uncle wishes him to marry.
He has never loved before,
Till meeting Zira.
They embrace.
_Noise of key in gate._ They hear noise.
They separate--He will come back after sundown
to see her. She gives him a rose. Then he will
tell her something which will surprise her.
He escapes through the window.
_Zira back to fountain, (to her work)._
_Old Woman reenters breathless._
_Old Woman. Old Woman says Zira's father is coming.
Zira._ Thing he has never done during daytime.
Luckily she saw him as she returned from
bazaar.
He was coming out of Public Bath,
Beautifully dressed.
They pretend to be busy working.
_Noise of key._
_Hajji arrives, dressed in good clothes, curls trimmed and beard
combed._
_Hajji. Greetings.
Zira. Zira admires her father.
Old Woman._ Old Woman sent off to get meal ready.
_Hajji. Hajji has great plans for his daughter.
Zira._ His affection for her profound.
He plans for her future.
She is very charming to him,
As she naturally wishes to hide her love
affair, and get into his good graces.
She takes out her guitar.
Begins to sing to him.
He sways before her admiringly on his knees.
Says she is beautiful.
[This altered in the Her mother was not beautiful,
writing of play.] Not like his wife that he loved
Not like his son now dead.
But she is more beautiful than all,
The light of his eyes.
She laughs and sings.
He claps his hands in ecstasy
He has great ambitions for her.
_A knock on the door._
Zira is sent by her father into the inner
house.
The Old Woman comes out of house and
says it will be some pedlar at door.
She opens.
_The Officer of the Guard and Guard enter with the Shopkeeper I_
_Hajji. Shopkeeper accuses Hajji of stealing
Shopkeeper. garments he has on.
Officer._ Hajji denies it.
Shopkeeper will have him taken before the
Executioner (_Mansur_).
Hajji protests.
He is taken off in spite of his assurances
that the Shopkeeper is a madman.
[Re-introduction of
Nasir, saying, "I saw
no purse!" Change made
during rehearsals] _Curtain_
SCENE 4
_Hall in Executioner's House (large set). A colonnade at back,
showing courtyard._
Executioner (Mansur). Executioner very discontented.
His Scribe (Afife), Young Sultan means to curtail Executioner's
an old man prerogatives.
[Kafur his Sworder,-- Executioner was old Sultan's favorite.
added when play was Scribe and Executioner plan to assassinate
written. This first Sultan.
sceneis enlarged in They need a clever man.
play by a letter from Whom shall they get?
the Caliph. See play.]
_Hajji is brought by the Guard, followed by Shopkeeper and a Crowd,
in which is the Guide of Scene 1._
_Hajji. Hajji accused by Shopkeeper I.
Executioner. Shopkeeper II bearing No. I witness.
Scribe. Hajji protests.
Guide. Meant to pay--Excitement of new clothes made
Shopkeeper I. him forget.
Shopkeeper II. Produces money.
Crowd._ Where did he get his money?
Sheikh of desert.
They all laugh.
Sheikh of desert does not give money.
Sheikhs are outlaws, robbers.
Not allowed in town.
Hajji says he is in town.
Notices Guide (_Nasir_) in crowd.
Appeals to Guide--
Guide says it is true that Sheikh is in town.
Then, says Executioner, Sheikh must be taken
before Sultan.
All Curds banished by old Sultan.
Sultan has an audience this afternoon.
Sheikh an exile (by old Sultan).
Executioner cannot allow the word of the
deceased monarch to be disregarded.
Sends Guide off to show the Guard the
caravansary at which Sheikh is stopping.
Hajji interrupts.
One word.
He asks Guide did he, the Sheikh, not throw
Hajji a purse.
Guide repeating Hajji's words (Scene 1)
"I saw no purse."
All laugh.
Guide off with the Guard.
[Afterwards, "his hand Executioner orders Hajji to have his ears cut
cut off," as this is off.
the law of the Koran. Hajji discourses on Fate, Kismet.
Change made when Is very witty.
writing play.] Executioner becomes interested in Hajji's
brilliancy.
Hajji is pardoned suddenly by Executioner.
Executioner does more.
He takes Hajji into his household
Into his personal guard.
A sword is sent for.
Hajji kneels in gratitude at the Executioner's
feet.
"His servant always."
The sword is brought in.
Executioner takes it and hands it to Hajji.
"Rise, Hajji, and learn to use this sword in
my service."
Hajji rises.
He begs he may begin his career by an act of
clemency.
Executioner grants permission.
Hajji makes the Shopkeepers kneel, forgives
them for daring to accuse a servant of the
Executioner's of stealing--tickles their
beards with his sword and orders them to
pay a fine to the Executioner.
They leave more dead than alive.
Hajji turns to Executioner.
_H._ "Have I begun well?"
_E._ "The beginning is nothing. Go now and
the Captain will instruct you in your duties."
_H._ (_with enormous swagger_) "Captain?"
He goes out, the rest following him.
_The Scribe. Is amazed at Executioner's clemency.
Executioner._ _E._ "Don't you see why I have pardoned him?"
_S._ "No, Master."
_E._ "This man shall do the deed."
_S._ "The deed?"
_E._ "Murder the Sultan for me."
_S._ "I see."
(_They both turn and look after Hajji who is seen traversing
the courtyard at the back and twirling his moustaches, the
servants all bowing low to him._)
_Curtain_
ACT II
_An inner chamber in Executioner's House. Door leading to Hareem._
[This is the same hall as at the end of Act I, only that curtains
are drawn to hide the courtyard.]
_Hajji. Executioner and Scribe seated on a platform
Executioner. drinking coffee and smoking.
Scribe._ Hajji seated below them entertaining them
[Coffee and smoking with amorous stories.
suppressed, as both They are all laughing.
were found to be Hajji finishes a story.
anachronisms.] Executioner says it reminds him of his
principal wife.
[This altered. Eastern A slight pause.
men do not speak of The Executioner gives Scribe a look as if to
their wives to say "To business."
strangers.] He says to Hajji--
How would Hajji like to become a great power
in the state?
He broaches plan of assassinating the Sultan.
Hajji hesitates.
Executioner unfolds scheme.
There is an audience in half an hour.
Hajji can come as a Fakir.
[See play. All of this Has told Executioner he could juggle--power in
scene was split in half, play tricks at his corner when begging.
and Mansur does not now
suggest the Hajji could get close to Sultan and kill him.
assassination till at No danger to Hajji.
the end of the second As the Guards are under command of
half. The reason is Executioner.
clear: Hajj could not Executioner will be there.
have a love scene (as But, of course, Hajji must under no condition
he does now) if he recognize the Executioner.
were brooding about Hajji feels doubts.
the assassination. Executioner fills him full of promises.
This was altered in Executioner will be made Sultan.
rehearsal at Hajji shall become Executioner.
thesuggestion of Mr. Executioner off to put on his armour for
Grimwood, who played audience.
Mansur in England.] Scribe goes with him.
Executioner: "Think it over. If you don't like
it--there is always room for a strangled body
in the river."
[_Hajji (Alone)._] "So this is why I was pardoned this morning?
Oh, Hajji! What a fool you are!
And you thought your personal charm did it
all."
_Hajji. Door of Hareem opens. Old Woman
Old Woman No II._ No. II appears with a note, gives it to Hajji.
[Changed to young Hajji reads it, smiles and nods.
slave Miskah. The Old Woman disappears.
note becomes a
message, with
dialogue between Hajj
and Miskah]
_Hajji (Alone)._ "After all I cannot be so utterly without
charm, if _this_ can happen to me."
He twirls his moustaches up and looks at
himself in the blade of his sword.
_Old Woman No. II reenters with veiled woman (Executioner's Wife).
Old Woman stands guard._
_Hajji. The Wife has seen him from her window.
Wife._ As he crossed the courtyard at noon, she lost
her heart to him.
Her husband neglects her.
She comes to Hajji for sympathy.
Hajji makes love to her.
She refuses to unveil,--at least, at once.
She makes appointment with him.
To meet him in the Executioner's Bath at
moonrise.
All the women bathe then.
She will leave a little screen unlatched that
leads to the furnaces under the baths.
These furnaces reached also from men's
quarters through the door in the Court.
(She points it out to him.)
He can come and see her there in Bath, when
the other women are back in the Hareem.
The Executioner never returns from the
Sultan till after supper.
They hear a noise.
She withdraws.
_Hajji struts about in great glee._
He hears Executioner coming
He throws himself on his knees and prays.
_Executioner. Executioner returns armed.
Hajji. What has Hajji decided?
Scribe._ Hajji says he has been wrestling in prayer.
He cannot make up his mind to kill Sultan, a
descendant of the Prophet.
Executioner says he also is a descendant of
Prophet.
Hajji is accused of cowardice.
He denies it.
He says he has ties that bind him.
The risk is too great because of his daughter,
his daughter, Zira.
He tells about her.
Finally he consents to kill Sultan on one
condition.
No matter what happens to him the
Executioner must marry the daughter.
The Executioner consents.
Hajji is overjoyed.
He quite forgets his own danger when he thinks
his daughter will be the Sultana.
He will hurry off to his daughter's house,
And have her conveyed to Executioner's house
after sun-down.
Too beautiful to pass through the streets at
day time.
Begs for a guard to convey her.
Once he has arranged with her he will come on
to young Sultan's palace,--
"The Sultan who will be dead. Who _is_ dead!"
He hurries off in great exultation.
[When the play was
written, the
mid-afternoon call to
prayer was introduced
here as a Curtain.] _Curtain_
SCENE 2
_Zira's home. Same scene as Scene 3, Act I. Small courtyard.
Zira sits with her guitar singing a love song._
_Zira. / Zira tries to get the Old Woman to go out
Old Woman._ | that night.
[Cut when play was < Old woman suspicious
written.] | Zira calms her fears
\ Coaxes her, pets her
_Hajji arrives_.
_Hajji. Hajji has come to break news to Zira.
Zira. Great news!
Old Woman._ He is going to give her to Executioner as
wife.
Zira dumb with horror.
Violent scene of cursing and cajoling.
Finally she rebels.
The Old Woman agrees with Hajji whenever he
appeals to her.
He finally calls in the Guard, and makes
them guard door.
[Altered during At sundown they are to take the girl to
rehearsal. Executioner's house.
The guard,--eunuchs Ungrateful child!
of Mansur--take the Zira in tears. Hajji off.
daughter away at once.
Hajji remains on the
scene, smiling in a
self-satisfied
fashion.] _Curtain_
SCENE 3
_The Sultan's Audience Hall (The Caliph's Diwan). (Large set.)
Sultan seated on a Divan.
His Vizier by his side.
Dances of Women.
Sultan melancholy. He says to Vizier that all these dances are nothing
to the faded rose in his hand.
Hour for audience strikes.
The women dismissed.
The gates are opened to the crowd.
The various dignitaries enter.
The Executioner and the Guard come and kneel to the Sultan.
Different cases for trial called.
First of all the old Sheikh is called.
His whereabouts have been ascertained through the Guide.
The Sheikh is carried in on his litter and with greatest difficulty
descends to do obeisance to the Sultan._
_Sultan. Sultan asks him how he, an exile, dare enter
Sheikh. the city, defying the decree of his late
Executioner. uncle.
Crowd, etc._ Sheikh says he came on peaceful mission, not
to rob.
He is old; one of many robbers. No longer of
consequence.
Came to pray at shrine and give alms, the
shrine where he had prayed in his youth.
Invokes protection of High Priest.
Sultan says Sheikh must be imprisoned.
If High Priest proves that Sheikh came to
give alms and to repent, he shall be released
forthwith.
Meanwhile, for his many sins, a short
repentance in prison will not be harmful to
his soul.
_The Goaler comes forward and with two guards drags the lame man off.
The Sheikh goes, blessing the Sultan for his wisdom and justice.
The Sultan says: "Send to the High Priest at once to see if this
old man spoke true."_
_Sultan. This should be some comic trial with a
A Peasant with Two difficult question to solve, Such as: "Should
Wives._ a man honour his first wife more--who is old
[This scene was cut at and ugly, but devoted--or his second wife
rehearsal, as having whom he mistrusts but adores for her beauty?"
nothing to do with the Or something of the kind drawn from Arabian
story. Instead of Nights.
which, Hajj was
introduced by a speech
of Mansur's. See play.]
The Sultan is puzzled
He has no answer.
Who can solve the riddle?
_Hajji, pushing through the crowd,--"Let me, oh Sire!"--throws
himself before Sultan._
_Hajji. Hajji decides in a witty, whimsical way.
Sultan. The Sultan amused by him. Who is he?
Others_ Hajji says he is a Fakir.
He plays some tricks.
/ While doing one, addresses the Executioner
| as a slave, asking him to bring a table.
[Cut:] < Pretends not to know who Executioner is,
| and begs his pardon when he is told of his
\ rank.
He then gets near the Sultan.
Does a trick with a sword.
Tries suddenly to stab the Sultan.
The Sultan wears a coat of mail.
The assassination has failed.
Hajji is surrounded at once.
He is to be cut to pieces.
The Sultan says "Stay!
This man shall be made an example of.
I have heard there are rumours of sedition,
and conspiracies against my person.
Therefore I wear this coat of mail.
I shall have this man burnt in my pleasure
gardens tomorrow and the public shall be
admitted to the spectacle.
This shall show conspirators I am in earnest;
mean to uphold my uncle's policy.
Take this man away."
Hajji appeals, he turns to the Executioner.
The Executioner says he does not know him.
Hajji says he does.
He can prove it. He was in the house of the
Executioner. In his pay.
Executioner: "The man is mad."
The Sultan fixes Executioner with his eye.
Sultan says he will sift matter to bottom.
Hajji shall be tortured.
The truth shall be wrung from him.
[Hajj is gagged here:] "At once?" asks the Gaoler.
Sultan: "No--let him starve the night first."
Tonight (_smelling the rose_) Sultan has other
affairs of import to tend to.
Tomorrow (_with a meaning look_) he expects
the Executioner to carry out the tortures
himself.
The Executioner bows.
(_To Goaler_) "Take the man away!"
Hajji is dragged off, screaming.
The Sultan to his Vizier: "Oh Mesrur!
Mesrur! (Abu Bakr) When does the sun set?"
"Another half an hour, sire."
"Half an hour! Oh, would it were that now?
Why can I not make the sun set--I--the Sultan?
Bring forward the next case."
_Curtain._
SCENE 4
_A Dungeon. A massive door at the back leads to an endless flight
of shallow steps. It is dark: Hardly any light except from one barred
window high up: through this come the rays of the setting sun._
_The Sheikh is alone in one corner saying his prayers. He then lies
down and goes to sleep._
_The Gaoler opens the door._
_Hajji is thrown in and chained._
_Hajji alone._ Repentance.
Curses every one.
Raves.
If only he hadn't received money that morning,
he would not have been tempted to steal.
If he had not stolen, he would not have been
taken to the Executioner.
If he hadn't been taken to the Executioner, he
would not have been driven to kill the Sultan.
The Sheikh is the cause of all his misfortunes.
He stole his wife.
He killed his son.
Now he is killing him.
Cursed be the Sheikh!
_The Sheikh from the "Who uses my name in vain?"
corner:_
_Hajji. Hajji recognizes him
Sheikh._ What is he doing there?
Sheikh says he is condemned to prison by
Sultan.
Hajji delighted.
Says this is his only consolation in his
trouble.
Never a sorrow without a grain of joy.
Joy to see his enemy suffer.
He could almost feel friendly towards
Sheikh, when he thinks how they will be
executed together.
[Sheikh's story of the How strangely their lives have been
broken coin and his interwoven.
lost son introduced They talk of the dead woman they have shared.
here. See play.
Allusions to wife were She is dead now.
cut as unnecessary to Better so. She would have been old and ugly
the story.] now.
Sheikh says: "She developed a bad temper."
Hajji furiously: "That was your fault.
She was the sweetest tempered creature when
she was mine. You ruined her, body and soul.
You fiend you--but no matter. You will be
tortured tomorrow."
He shrieks with delight.
_Gaoler reenters with a decree and a soldier carrying some
instruments of torture_.
_Gaoler. Gaoler says that it has been found that
Sheikh. Sheikh did come on a pilgrimage.
Hajji. The High Priest has testified in his favor.
Soldier._ Therefore the Sultan forgives him.
He is free, but must leave the city at once
and never return.
Sheikh asks Gaoler to thank Sultan. Would go--
but his limbs are too weak.
Could Gaoler send for his litter?
Gaoler says he fears Sheikh's litter gone,
but could procure him a chair out of Sultan's
palace used to convey the lesser women of the
[Changed to a stretcher Hareem when Sultan travels.
to "carry away the
dead." Alteration made Sheikh gives Gaoler money,
when play was written.] Gaoler now turns to Hajji.
Says he is to come to him.
Makes him kneel down.
Hajji: "I am free too, am I?"
Gaoler: "Free? Here! (_turns to Soldier and
[The torture was cut takes a casket from him and is about to put
as too long and too it on Hajji's head_). Sometimes these head
ugly. Altered during screws and thumb screws don't fit. There
rehearsal.] must be no hitch in the performance tomorrow."
"Head screw?" says Hajji, trembling.
Gaoler tears off Hajji's turban and tries on
the torture helmet.
Gaoler: "Does it feel comfortable?"
[All this cut. Instead Hajji: "Comfortable!"
of which, the Gaoler Gaoler: "It ought to. It's just as if it had
strikes Hajji with his been made for your Highness."
key which makes Hajji (Takes it off, laughing loudly; the soldier
faint.] joins politely.)
Gaoler (to Sheikh): "I'll see to your
Excellency's chair."
Gaoler and Soldier off with instruments.
_Hajji is on the floor, more dead than alive._
_Hajji. Hajji bemoans his fate.
Sheikh._ Why should he have to suffer, and
Sheikh be pardoned, when Sheikh is the cause
of all of Hajji's woe?
Here is Sheikh, an old robber chief, forgiven.
Here is Hajji, a simple, honest beggar, to be
tortured and burnt.
Who is dependent on the Sheikh?
He has lost his son--has never found him
again--he may be dead.
No one dependent on Sheikh.
But Hajji has a daughter dependent on him.
A daughter! And the sun is setting.
And at this hour she is being taken to the
Executioner!
The Executioner who has so cruelly forsaken
Hajji.
His daughter going to him, with Hajji
powerless--and the Sheikh to live.
It is unjust, cruel, not to be borne.
"It shan't be borne--it--"
[When the play was] He gives the Sheikh an awful look.
written, the breaking The Sheikh realizes his thoughts and draws his
of the chains was knife.
introduced here.] Hajji springs at him, overpowers him, and cuts
his throat.
The Sheikh's last words: "My son! My son!"
A moment's thought--then Hajji wipes the knife
on his own turban (torn off by Gaoler).
Quickly he exchanges clothes with the dead man.
Puts on his turban
Then rifles pockets.
Finds round the dead man's throat a chain with
the broken half of a coin.
Slips it over his own neck.
He puts the dead body into the corner where he
(Hajji) lay when the Gaoler left the dungeon.
He hears the tread on the steps.
He assumes the old man's attitude.
The sunlight has died out: the scene grows
quite dark.
_The Gaoler reenters with the Soldier and a chair borne by two
porters. They lift Hajji into the chair. Then take up the chair
and carry it up the broad stone stairs._
_Gaoler. (Turning to the dead body.) "Why not laugh tonight, Hajji?
Tomorrow morning will be time enough to weep, when you are tortured in
the Pleasure Gardens of the Prophet's descendant." (He kicks the body,
then goes out laughing, and locks the door.)_
_Curtain._
ACT III
SCENE 1
[This scene (suggested by a friend) was entirely cut before rehearsals
began.]
_Zira's house. Same scene as Act I, Scene 3. Small courtyard.
The sun has just set. It is dusk.
The gate is opened from the street.
Old Woman I (Narjis) enters, locks the gate, and lights a lamp.
Knocking at the gate.
Old Woman I opens the gate.
The two porters bring in the chair.
Hajji gets out, bent double, and trembling.
He pays the porters: they withdraw.
The Old Woman says: "Who are you?"_
_Hajji._ Hajji throws back the shawl.
He reveals himself, asks for food and his
daughter.
_Old Woman I._ "Hajji!"
Hajji explains that he must escape:
Leave the city at once.
Too long to explain.
He can never come to Bagdad again.
Old Woman to bring his daughter at once,
Old Woman says she has just taken daughter to
Executioner's house.
Hajji: "I said not before sundown"
"It is sundown."
Hajji curses Old Woman.
Says that it is her fault that he took his
daughter to Executioner.
"My fault?" says she.
"Yes! You urged me on.
You agreed with me.
If I have lost her, you are to blame.
But I can't lose her.
I must risk everything.
I must get her out of his clutches."
Where did Old Woman leave her?
With principal wife.
An idea!
He had appointment with wife in bath at moon
rise--
He will go.
If it costs him his life, he must try to get
his daughter.
He goes to door; as he does so, there is
knocking at door from without.
They have found him.
What shall he do?
Old Woman opens lattice in Courtyard.
"Escape that way!
When I was young many a time my lover came
through that window."
Hajji off through window.
_More knocking at door.
Old Woman opens._
_Sultan. Sultan enters, splendidly attired.
Vizier Has come to claim his bride.
and a Guard. Old Woman amazed.
Old Woman._ Is he not the Sultan?
She has seen him the day of his entry into
the town.
Sultan: "You have guessed. Bring forth Zira!"
Alas! Zira not here.
At Executioner's house.
Her father has destined her for Executioner.
Sultan furious.
When was she taken there?
Not an hour ago.
Sultan will go to Executioner's house.
The Old Woman I is to lead the way and show
the entrance she took the girl to.
_Curtain._
SCENE 2
[In the play Act III begins here.]
_The Bath in the Executioner's house. (Large set.)_
_Up five marble steps (almost fifteen feet up stage) a colonnade.
Beyond it a courtyard, with a large swimming bath. The front part of
the stage, couches and pierced screens. Door right to women's
apartments, door left to men's apartments._
_Early moonlight in the courtyard beyond the columns. Hanging lamps in
the front part of the bath._
_Women are robing and disrobing. Some are swimming in the tank.
Laughter and chatter._
_Principal Wife. Wife at her toilet.
Old Woman II (Miskah.)_ Old Woman helping.
Has Hajji not come back yet?
"No sign," says Old Woman.
Has been to outer gate twice.
Only person there a young woman
Guarded by two soldiers (eunuchs).
Weeping this last half hour.
They say she has been brought by Executioner's
orders.
"Another woman?
Have her brought here!"
Old Woman takes order to doorkeeper at door L.
_Principal Wife goes to top of steps and orders the other women to
dress and retire._
_The women swim to the right end of the bath. The talk is silenced._
_Zira is brought in by the slave doorkeeper, followed by the Old
Woman II._
_Wife. Wife: "What have we here?"
Zira. She abuses girl.
Old Woman II._ Ill treats her.
[This scene enlarged Leads off into inner chamber of slaves.
during rehearsal. Zira in tears goes off by colonnade right
Marsinah (Zira) does with the Old Woman.
not leave the stage,
but veils. See play.]
_Wife._ "I'll soon break your spirit!"
_The door left opens._
_The Executioner enters in a bad humour._
_Executioner. _Wife_: "This is an unexpected delight!
Wife._ So early? Did the Sultan not keep you to
supper?"
_Executioner_: "What are you doing in the bath
at this time of night?"
_W._ "I was but waiting for you to ask what
you wish done with the new slave."
_E._ "What new slave?"
_W._ "The woman who has just arrived, guarded
by two of your men."
_The Doorkeeper_. "The men you dispatched with
Hajji, sir, this afternoon."
_E_. "Oh, that woman!
I shall have her strangled."
Wife agrees.
Says girl a slut.
Executioner finds his wife agrees with him to
such an extent that he thinks the girl must be
beautiful.
Rings a bell.
Old Woman II comes from Colonnade.
[This altered. Marsinah He orders her to bring Zira.
has not left the The wife tries to interfere.
stage. See note above.] Executioner angry.
Wife wonders why he is in such an angry mood.
Because he may lose his head any moment.
"Lose his head?" she asks.
"Yes. This new Sultan--"
_Zira is brought in from R. on steps by Old Woman. Zira is veiled._
_Executioner. Executioner orders her to unveil.
Zira. She hesitates.
Wife. He tears the veil from her face.
Old Woman._ He sees she is beautiful.
Says to his wife that she has lied.
"Go, get the girl ready.
I will come to her as soon as I have had my
bath.
Until tomorrow, at least, I shall enjoy life.
After that--who knows?"
_He goes off up the Colonnade to left.
Wife orders Old Woman to take the girl away with her again.
Zira goes off by small door right with Old Woman.
There is a tapping sound on a screen on the right side._
_Wife._ "Hajji!"
_Wife goes and opens screen in the wall right. Hajji enters._
_Wife. Wife tells him to be quiet.
Hajji._ Executioner near at hand.
Expects an amorous embrace.
Hajji says there is no time for love making.
He has come about his daughter.
_W._ "Your daughter?"
_H._ "Yes. Zira--She came here for the
Executioner. Has he seen her? Has he gone in
to her?"
_W._ "So she's your daughter?
I have you to thank for this creature,
Another rival."
Hajji wants to know where the girl is.
Can't Wife bring her out here and let the
girl escape with him.
_W._ "Escape?"
_H._ "In that way you can get rid of a rival."
_W._ "And be strangled myself?"
He urges her.
If she won't let the girl escape, at least
won't she take the girl to a sanctuary?
Sanctuary? What for?
To get her out of the way--away from
Executioner.
Why not take her to the Mosque?
The Mosque of the Carpenters, where the
venerable priest is?
He entreats Wife by the love she has for him.
Points out the dangerous charm of his
daughter.
She will prove a great rival.
Wife is torn between jealousy and fear for her
own life.
_H._ "You can say you took her to the
Sanctuary for purification--Take her there!"
_They are interrupted._
_The Executioner appears in a thin robe in the colonnade with two
slaves. Wife escapes rapidly into inner room to right. Hajji's
escape is cut off. He grovels on the floor._
_Hajji. Executioner sees Hajji and dismisses the
Executioner._ slaves.
Amazed at Hajji's presence.
/ Hajji says he has done everything to get back
| to Executioner. Bribed the Sultan's Gaoler,
| faced untold dangers.
[All this much more | Grovels and at the same time tries to find out
direct and brutal in < the Executioner's position in regard to the
play. Change made | Sultan.
when play was |
written.] | Has he lost his power?
| What has Sultan done to Executioner?
| Executioner in a boundless rage.
\ How dare Hajji come and ask him questions?
How dare he break into the women's quarters
and then ask for mercy?
How dare he appeal to the Executioner, after
betraying him to the Sultan?
Who was Hajji before the Executioner looked
with favor on him?
A swine, an abomination picked out of the
gutter.
A cur, a dog,--a--
He approaches Hajji.
Hajji hurries up the steps.
The Executioner is too quick, gets up after
him and takes Hajji by the throat.
Doing so, he catches hold of the chain with
the coin that Hajji stole from
Sheikh (Act II, Scene 4.)
Where did Hajji get this?
Hajji lies, saying it is his.
It has always been his.
Executioner produces the other half on a
massive gold chain.
Miraculous!
Hajji must be Executioner's father.
_H_. "You--my son?"
_E_. "Don't you remember?"
[This was altered so Executioner tells how he can just remember
that Hajji tells the his father breaking a coin when they were
Executioner all this. being attacked in the desert, before he, the
See Act II, Scene 4, boy, was carried away by the Sultan's troops.
where the Sheikh gives _H._ "You mean when I was--Sheikh?"
Hajji the facts.] _E._ "Were you Sheikh or just a robber, then?"
_H._ "Just a robber at the time--just a
robber--And your mother--do you remember her?"
_E._ "I have tried to often--Her name escapes
me."
_H._ Mentions name of first wife:
"Zeenab--whom I loved above all things."
"Zeenab! That was her name!"
_H._ "She had eyes like stars; and tall, she
was tall like a poplar.
How wonderful is fate!
So you are her son!"
_E._ "Your son."
_Hajji, slowly eyeing him and taking the Executioner's chain._
_H._ "And the halves fit! What a splendid
chain! What a heavy chain! Heavier than mine.
You have prospered in life, my son--"
_E._ "My father--"
_H._ "Your father, yes. I am your father--Come
to my arms."
With that he takes the gold chain round the
Executioner's neck and twists it till the
Executioner chokes. Forces him down on his
knees.
Then he pushes him backward into the bath.
Holds him under the water and drowns him. "I
killed the old rat! I'll kill his spawn!
Blessed be Allah for this day of days." He
laughs wildly and exultantly.
_There is one more splash, then silence in the bath.
Knocking on the door left.
More knocking.
Then the door is broken open.
The Sultan enters with his Guard and Torchbearers, the old Woman No.
I. following._
_The Sultan._ "Where is the woman? Where is Zira?
Search the Hareem!"
Some of the Soldiers cross into door right.
_Sultan. Sultan turns and sees Hajji on the steps by
Hajji._ the bath.
"You?"
_H._ "Yes." Allah allowed him to escape in
order to serve the Sultan.
_S._ "Cut him down!"
_H._ "Stop! Look first whether I am not a
good servant.
Look in the bath!"
The Sultan looks.
_S._ "The Executioner!"
_H._ "It was all his fault.
He drove me to attempt your life."
_Soldiers reenter, bringing in Wife. Other women of the Hareem
follow._
_Wife. Soldier says Zira not there.
Sultan. Wife confesses she has sent her to Sanctuary.
Hajji. Hajji begged her to do so.
Old Woman No. I._ _S._ "Hajji! Ever Hajji! Why should he have
any say in regard to Zira?"
_H._ "She is my daughter."
_S._ "Yours!"
_H._ "Now say I am not a good servant when I
serve you with such a daughter.
Will you still kill me?"
Old Woman No. I testifies he is speaking the
truth, is Zira's father.
_S._ "You have attempted my life.
What would my piety be if I pardoned the
dagger that tried to kill the descendant of
the Prophet?
Taking the law into your own hands (_points
to bath_) does not wipe out your crime.
But you are the father of Zira,
The woman whom I mean to make my Sultana.
Her father's blood must not be shed by me.
Go, then, be banished, forgotten!
Your life is spared--but only under one
condition.
Henceforth you shall be as dead to me--to your
daughter."
_H_. "To my daughter? Never to speak to her
again, to feel her cheek against mine? Never?"
_S._ "I have spoken."
Hajji tears his clothes, strews ashes on his
head from the brazier by his side and goes
out, staggering, by door left.
The Sultan will go the Mosque to beg the High
Priest to release Zira from the Sanctuary.
_Curtain_
LAST SCENE
_The same as the first scene, Act I. Before the Mosque, moonlight._
_Young Beggar of Act I is seated on the seat
on which Hajji installed him.
Hajji enters staggering down the street.
He stands at the Mosque a moment._
[Here was introduced a / _Wants to enter, then turns away in despair.
scene with the Priest. < Comes to his accustomed seat.
Meccah is to be Hajji's \ Young Beggar is there.
goal. Altered when play As Hajji approaches, the Young Beggar begins
was written.] [The to beg of him.
scene with the Young Hajji kicks him off the seat and resumes his
Beggar is postponed old place.
until after the Caliph Young Beggar slinks away.
and Marsinah leave. Scarcely is Hajji seated when the Sultan
Altered when the play enters on his white donkey with a torch-light
was written.] procession.
The Sultan dismounts and knocks at the Mosque.
The Mosque is opened by the Priest.
The Priest, when he learns it is the Sultan,
brings out Zira to him.
The Sultan reveals himself in a verse to Zira.
Zira replies in a rhyme.
The Sultan conducts Zira to a litter.
He re-mounts his donkey.
The procession moves past Hajji.
Hajji stretches out his hand for alms,
veiling his face.
The procession disappears. The street grows
dark again.
The Mosque is shut.
Hajji is left alone in the moonlight.
He draws out the old gourd from behind the
stone seat.
A line of philosophy summing up his day.
Something, perhaps, on "life and water."
He drinks his fill, puts the gourd away,
leans back, and goes to sleep, breathing
regularly._
_Curtain_[16]
Does not this careful scenario make very clear what are the steps in
good scenario writing? First comes structure,--ordering for clearness
and correct emphasis in the story-telling. Then, with the scenario kept
flexible and subject to change till the last possible moment, come many
changes big and little, for better characterization and more
atmosphere--see pp. 461-463.
Finally, more than anything else, as the author puts last touches to his
scenario, or revises the play he has written from it, he scans its
details in relation to the probable attitude toward them of his public.
In the relation of that public to his subject and his treatment of it
lie the most difficult problems of the dramatist. Solving them means the
difference between the will to conquer and victory.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Letters of Henrik Ibsen_, p. 325. For a similar outline see that
on _Faste_, p. 151.
[2] _The Green Book Magazine_, February, 1914.
[3] See pp. 276-278.
[4] See Kismet Scenario, pp. 474-507.
[5] Samuel French, publisher. New York.
[6] Samuel French, publisher, New York.
[7] Samuel French, publisher, New York.
[8] Samuel French, publisher, New York.
[9] See pp. 154-182.
[10] See p. 287.
[11] _European Dramatists. Henrik Ibsen_. A. Henderson. Pp. 175-176.
Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati.
[12] The sentence is elliptical in the original.
[13] _Ibsen's Workshop_, pp. 91-92. Copyright, 1911, by Chas.
Scribner's Sons, New York.
[14] _Ibsen's Workshop_, pp. 92-95.
[15] Printed by permission of Mr. Knobloch from his own manuscript.
[16] For the play see _Kismet_, Methuen & Co., Ltd., London.
CHAPTER X
THE DRAMATIST AND HIS PUBLIC
Probably most dramatists have found that any play, either as a scenario
or a completed manuscript, is not a matter of writing but of frequent
re-writing. Study _From Ibsen's Workshop_ or most of the cases cited by
Binet and Passy,[1] and it becomes evident that the first draft of a
scenario or play is usually made mainly for clearness. That will be
gained by good construction and correct emphasis. There follows a
re-writing in which characterization improves greatly and dialogue
becomes characterizing and attractive in itself. Either in this or
possible later re-writings, the dramatist shapes his material more and
more in relation to the public he wishes to address, for a dramatist is,
after all, a sort of public speaker. Unlike the platform orator,
however, he speaks indirectly to his audience--through people and under
conditions he cannot wholly control. None the less, much if not all that
concerns the persuasion of public argumentation concerns the dramatist.
This does not in any sense mean that an author must truckle to his
audience. Far from it. Yet no dramatist can work care free in regard to
his audience. He must consider their natural likes and dislikes,
interests and indifferences, their probable knowledge of his subject as
well as their probable approach to it. As Mr. Archer has pointed out:
"The moment a playwright confines his work within the two or three
hours' limit prescribed by Western custom for a theatrical performance,
he is currying favour with an audience. That limit is imposed simply by
the physical endurance and power of sustained attention that can be
demanded of Western human beings assembled in a theatre. Doubtless an
author could express himself more fully and more subtly if he ignored
these limitations; the moment he submits to them, he renounces the
pretence that mere self-expression is his aim."[2]
Once for all, what is "truckling to an audience"? When an author,
believing that the end of his play should be tragic, so plans his work
that until the last act or even the middle of that act, a tragic ending
is the logical conclusion, and then because he is told or believes that
an audience will quit the theatre much more contented if the ending be
happy, he forces a pleasant ending on his play, he is untrue to himself,
dishonest with his art, and truckles to his public. A very large part of
American audiences and many producers believe that any play is only mere
entertainment and consequently may and should be so manipulated as to
please the public even in its most unthinking mood. No man who does that
is a dramatist. He is merely a hack playwright, bribed by the hope of
immediate gain into slavish obedience to the most unthinking part of the
public.
On the other hand, an author is very foolish if he does not remember
certain fundamental principles about audiences in a theatre. First, no
matter what in his material attracts him, people rather than ideas
arouse the interest of the general public. Secondly, even yet action far
more than characterization wins and holds the attention of the great
majority. These facts do not mean, however, that a dramatist must busy
himself only with plays of action or characterization, foregoing all
problems or thesis material. They do mean that if he is to write a play
of ideas he must recognize that his task is the more difficult because
of his public and that he must so handle it through the characterization
and the action as to make his ideas widely interesting. In brief,
insisting on saying what he wishes to say, he must learn to speak in
terms his audience will readily understand.
More than once a play good in itself has gone astray because written too
much unto the author's self, in the sense that certain figures have
interested him more than others and he has forgotten that they are not
likely to be interesting to the public at large and must be made so. For
instance, a would-be adapter believed that the hero of the tale he was
dramatizing would remain on the stage the hero still, but in action
another character, with his songs and rough humor, and his constant
action, in sharp contrast with the quiet speech and restrained movement
of the central figure of the story, ran off with the interest.
Consequently this adaptation, though unusually well done in all other
respects, went awry.
Another aspect of the same difficulty is that an author forgets to
consider carefully whether something he finds comic or tragic will
naturally be the same for his audiences. In a prize play produced some
years ago in Germany, _Belinda_, the author found much comedy in the
following situation. A rather addle-pated man has for some years been
paying large sums to a correspondent, a woman as he believes, who has
been painting his portrait again and again from photographs he has sent
her. Little by little he has fallen in love with this correspondent. The
day comes when he is awaiting a visit from her with the utmost delight.
A servant, who knows that the woman is expected, enters looking utterly
bewildered, and announces her arrival. There walks into the room a
wizened Jewish picture dealer, who has all these years been playing on
the vanity of the younger man for his own gain. Unfortunately the author
forgot that an off-stage figure must be made very attractive if sympathy
is to go with it rather than with a figure seen and known, or that the
on-stage figure must be very unattractive if sympathy is not to go with
it in contrast to a figure unseen. Consequently, when the Jew walked on
he was greeted, not as the author expected with shouts of laughter, but
with an aghast silence and obvious sympathy for the deceived man. Just
at that point the play began to go to pieces because the author had
misjudged, or not at all considered, the relation of the public to his
material.
Where, perhaps, authors fail with their public more than anywhere else
is in motivation of the conduct of their characters.[3] Too frequently a
play slips because conduct as explained in it, though wholly convincing
to the dramatist, does not similarly affect his public. It is useless
for him to say stoutly that he knows the incident happened just in this
way, or that the audience ought to know better than to think it could
happen differently. As it is hopeless in life merely to protest that you
are telling the truth when everybody is convinced that you are lying, it
is wasted time for a dramatist to stand his ground in a matter of
motivation if he has not succeeded in making that motivation convincing.
For instance, there suddenly appears in the office of the hero of a play
a former acquaintance of his, an actress. She has come to see him, if
you please, even as her act in the theatre is playing. That is, simply
because she so wished she has left the theatre during the performance.
Now the dramatist may have known of such a case and people unacquainted
with life behind the curtain may accept the situation, but people of the
slightest experience in the theatre will know that no actor or actress
playing an important role is allowed to leave during the performance.
Instantly the scene becomes improbable for those people--and they are
many. It must be so motivated as to be a probable exception in conduct,
or the whole situation must be changed.
If it be clear that, though a dramatist should never truckle to his
audience, he cannot hope to write successfully unless at some time in
his composition he revises his material with a view to the general
intelligence, natural interests, and prejudices of his audience so far
as his special subject is concerned, it is equally true that publics
change greatly in their tastes. A young dramatist may learn much as to
such shiftings in public taste by watching the revivals of plays once
very successful. In Shakespeare's day, for instance, the public would
accept a mingling of the real and unreal with equanimity. Today it takes
all the genius of Shakespeare to make the scenes of the ghost of
Hamlet's father convincing. In reading Chapman's _Bussy d'Ambois_, with
its strange commingling of real figures and ghosts, we today draw back
disappointed because we feel that what has seemed real becomes with the
entrance of the ghost only melodrama sublimated by some excellent
characterization and fine poetry. As has already been pointed out, in
Elizabethan days the public found cause for mirth in much which today is
painful. Watch in performance the scene of _Twelfth Night_ in which
Toby, the Fool, and Maria deride Malvolio until they almost make him
believe himself mad, and you have an admirable instance of changed
taste. When first produced, it probably went with shouts of laughter.
Because of sympathy for Malvolio it never goes well today. The public no
longer finds madness unquestionably comic; it has its hesitations on
practical jokes; it has lost a very little its sure enjoyment of
drunkenness, especially in women. The day may conceivably come of which
no one could say, as of the stage of our time: "The single expletive
'Damn' has saved many a would-be comic situation."
The attitude of a playwright should not be, "If my public ordinarily
does not feel about this as I do, I will cut it out or make it conform
to their usual tastes," but "Knowing perfectly what the attitude of the
public is toward my material, I will not cut it out until I have proved
that it is not in my power to make the audience feel it as I do." Just
here lies the worst temptation of the playwright. He who keeps his eye
more on the money box than artistic self-respect will little by little
limit his choice of subjects and conventionalize his treatment of them
because he is told or believes that the public will not stand for this
or that. Is it not, however, a little strange that almost everything
which leading play-placers, managers, and actors have in the past
twenty-five years declared the public would unwillingly accept or would
not accept at all has since become not only acceptable but often
popular. Some years ago it was a truism among readers of manuscript
plays that college life was too limited in interest to appeal to the
general theatre public. Then Mr. Ade's _The College Widow_ proved these
prophets wrong. After this play trailed _Brown of Harvard_ and a
half-dozen other college plays which, whether good, bad, or indifferent
artistically, were all warmly received by the public. Another statement
once accepted in the theatrical world of New York was that American
audiences no longer cared for farce, but _Seven Days_, followed by a
crowding group of successes, changed all that. All this was not the
result of any sudden revulsion on the part of the public, but came
because some intelligent and clever workman, determining to make his
interests and his sense of values the public's, labored until he
accomplished the task. Forthwith a delighted public begged for more and
what was declared impossible became the vogue. Just at present there is
a troublesome convention that the American public will not accept
anything but farce or comedy. This means only that at the moment our
writers of serious plays are not adept enough to win away large
audiences from farce and comedy or to build up special audiences for
their plays. Nevertheless, sooner or later, they or their successors
will conquer such a public.
In curious contradiction to the existing attitude that audiences will
like only what they at present like, much advice is given as to novelty.
"Find something new in substance or form and your fortune is made" is
the implication. Wherein lies novelty of plot has already been
explained.[4] Certainly the large amount of experimentation which has
been going on in recent years in one-act plays, two-act plays, or groups
of one-act pieces bound together by a prologue and an epilogue, has all
been well worth while, making as it does for greater flexibility of
dramatic form. Yet it is unfortunately true at the present moment that
most audiences prefer a three-or four-act play to something in two acts
because the uninterrupted attention demanded by the last form asks too
much from them. They prefer the three-act or four-act division to a
group of one-act plays tied together by a prologue and an epilogue,
because mere difference of form has no particular attraction for them
and they do not willingly shift their interest as frequently as a group
of one-act plays requires. Nevertheless there is nothing completely
deterrent for a dramatist in any of these circumstances; merely cause
why, in every case, after thinking of the subject in relation to
himself, he should ultimately consider it with equal care in relation to
the audience for which he intends it. When, too, he is selecting his
form he should observe whether though attractive to him, it may not be
so difficult or repellent for the general public that another more
conventional form is desirable. If he becomes sure that he cannot get
his desired effects except in the form first chosen he must work until
he makes it acceptable to the public or put aside his subject. The final
test is not: "What ordinarily do the public like in a subject like mine
and in what form are they accustomed to see my subject treated," but:
"Can I so present the form I prefer as to make the public like equally
with me what I find interesting in my subject?" That is, though
presentation of a chosen subject should be flexible, the central
purposes, human and artistic, of the play, should be maintained
inflexibly.
Bearing the audience in mind as one writes may affect the whole play,
but more often it affects details--particularly order. The scenario of
_Kismet_[5] has been printed in full chiefly that the many changes it
underwent in shaping it for final presentation might be clear. Among the
many instances note, in Act II, that in the original form the love
passage of Hajji followed plotting for the murder. When the play was in
rehearsal, both actor and author felt at once that the sympathy it was
necessary to maintain in the audience for Hajji would be lost if he
turned immediately from such bloody plotting to the love scene. For this
reason the order was changed. Surely there is no harm in such a
shifting, for the story develops just as well and the characterization
is as humanly true. This is a perfect illustration of persuasive
arrangement. Take now the case of the torturing of Hajji, of which much
was made in the original scenario. It is changed to the blow with the
key because the horror of the scene when acted was too great and
everything necessary is accomplished with the key. Here is a change made
not to please the author but to make the material as treated produce in
the audience the desired results, yet the change in no way interferes
with any of the purposes of the dramatist. An illustration of the way in
which a dramatist standing his ground because he is sure of the
rightness of his psychology may win over his public is found in _La
Princesse Georges_ of Dumas fils. So great was the sympathy of the
audience with Severine in her mortified wifehood that at the original
performance, when she forgave her husband at the end, there were many
dissenting cries. Dumas fils had foreseen this, but believing the
ending truer to life than any other could be, he insisted on it.
Ultimately the ending was accepted by the public as made necessary by
the rest of the play.
In all this discussion of the difference between truckling to an
audience and necessary regard for its interests and prejudices, of
changing public taste, the important point is that until a dramatist has
considered his material in relation to the public, his play is by no
means ready for production. Just because the persuasive side of dramatic
art is so often neglected, play after play goes on the boards in such
condition that it must be greatly changed before it can succeed. Often
before these ample changes can be made, the public has lost interest in
the piece. If a general principle might be laid down here it would be
something like this. "If you wish, first write your play so that to you
it is something clear and convincing as well as something that moves to
laughter or to tears. Before, however, it is tried on the stage, make
sure that you have considered it in all details in so detached a way
that you have a right to believe that, as a result of your careful
revising, it will produce with the public the same interest, and the
same emotions to the same degree as the original version did with you."
Just here arises the ever present query, "Why struggle to write what the
public does not readily and quickly accept? Why not study their
unthinking likes and dislikes and give them what they want?" Certainly
write in that way if it brings contentment, as it surely will bring
monetary success if the play thus written really hits popular approval.
However, aiming to hit popular taste is like shooting at a shifting
target and a play so made may be staged just as the public makes one of
its swift changes in theatrical mood. Of course, too, he who writes in
this way is in no sense a leader but merely the slave of his public. In
any case, his play is but an imitation, not an expression of the
author's individuality.
Even would-be dramatists who do not hold the opportunist ideas just
considered may draw back after reading what has been stated in this
book, saying: "How difficult and painstaking is this art of the drama
which I have thought so fascinating and spontaneous." Of course, it is a
difficult art. A good many years ago Sir Arthur Pinero said of it:
"When you sit in your stall at the theatre and see a play moving across
the stage, it all seems so easy and so natural, you feel as though the
author had improvised it. The characters, being, let us hope, ordinary
human beings, say nothing very remarkable, nothing, you think (thereby
paying the author the highest possible compliment) that might not quite
well have occurred to you. When you take up a play-book (if you ever do
take one up) it strikes you as being a very trifling thing--a mere
insubstantial pamphlet beside the imposing bulk of the latest
six-shilling novel. Little do you guess that every page of the play has
cost more care, severer mental tension, if not more actual manual labor,
than any chapter of a novel, though it be fifty pages long. It is the
height of the author's art, according to the old maxim, that the
ordinary spectator should never be clearly conscious of the skill and
travail that have gone to the making of the finished product. But the
artist who would achieve a like feat must realize that no ingots are to
be got out of this mine, save after sleepless nights, days of gloom and
discouragement, and other days, again, of feverish toil the result of
which proves in the end to be misapplied and has to be thrown to the
winds."
Nevertheless, this difficult art remains fascinating; and in practice,
if rightly understood, it rapidly grows easier. In the understanding of
any art there must be two stages. First comes the spontaneous doing of
work very encouraging to the author and sufficiently good to warrant a
person more experienced in encouraging him to proceed. Then begins the
second stage, when he learns what can be taught him of technique in his
chosen field. It is bound to be a time when consciousness of rules first
learned and limitations first perceived make writing far less attractive
and often so irksome that the worker is tempted to throw his task aside
for good. He who does not really love his art will cast away his work.
He who really cares cannot do this. He may from the hampering of these
newly recognized rules become irritable, have his moments of self-doubt
and despair, but he cannot stop practicing his art. With each new
effort, the rules which have been so troublesome will become more and
more a matter of habit. Little by little the writer will gain a curious
subconscious power of using almost unthinkingly the principles he needs,
giving no thought to those not needed. Then, and then only, will he
write with the art that conceals art; and it is only when he has
attained to delight in the difficulties of the art he practices that he
is in any true sense an artist.
What ultimately happens is probably this. The critical attitude is
strong in the scenario period, perhaps predominant as the dramatist
works out construction, emphasis, proportion, etc., but when, with the
scenario before him, he takes his pen in hand, he lets the creative
impulse swamp completely the critical sense and loses himself in his
task. Or he reverses the process. He writes in pure creative abandon,
until at least an act of a play lies completed before him. Then, with
his critical training brought to the front, he goes over and over the
manuscript until what was a pure creative effort has been chastened and
sublimated by his trained critical sense. The main point is: Don't
stultify your creative instincts by trying to use critical training at
the same time. As far as possible, let one precede the other. Write
creatively. Then correct. Or write with the critical instinct strongly
to the front until all plans are made. Then forget everything except the
spirit of creation. Where dramatists in training waste their nervous
energy and often stultify their best desires is in keeping critical tab
upon themselves as they create. Writing something with pure delight,
they are suddenly blocked by the critical spirit saying: "This or that
is bad. You cannot keep this or that as you have written it," and
presto! no more creative work that day. Unless the critical and creative
faculties interwork sympathetically and cooperatively, keep them
separate.
Whoever aims to write plays chiefly or wholly because he would like fame
or money or because he wishes to show that he is as strong in one
fictional art as another,--the story, the essay, the poem, whatever it
may be,--in fact he who writes plays for any other reason than that he
cannot be happy except in writing plays, better give over such writing.
Play-making is an exceedingly difficult art, and in so far as it is in
any sense a transcript from life or a beautified presentation of life
past, present, or imagined, it grows more difficult as the years pass
because of the accumulating mass of dramatic masterpieces. Yet for him
who cares for dramatic writing more than any form of self-expression, no
time has been more promising than the present. There has been more good
drama in the past twenty-five years the world over than at any time in
the history of the stage. It has been more varied in subject and form,
more individual in treatment. The drama is today more flexible, more
daring and experimental, than ever before. It is in closer relation to
all the subtlest and most advanced of man's thinking. It has been
breaking new ways for itself, and it has new ways yet to break. All that
has been said in this book concerns merely the historic foundations of
this very great art. Accept these principles as stated or quarrel with
most of them; but realize that any principles, whether accepted from
others or self-taught, should be but the beginning of a life-long
training by which the individual will pass from what he shares of
general dramatic experience to what is peculiarly his own expression.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _L'Annee Psychologique_, 1894.
[2] _Play-Making_, p. 14. William Archer. Small, Maynard & Co.
[3] See pp. 248-276.
[4] See pp. 62-67.
[5] See pp. 474-507.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Aeschylus, 155.
Andreiev, Leonid, 328.
Archer, William, 45, 50, 55, 61, 78, 151, 214, 237, 260, 510.
Augier, Emile, 221.
Baker, Elizabeth, 223.
Barker, Granville, 278.
Beach, Lewis, 219.
Beaumont and Fletcher, 281.
Binet and Passy, 47, 49, 76, 78, 339.
Brieux, Eugene, 301.
Browning, Robert, 306, 391, 399.
Brunetiere, Ferdinand, 44.
Buckingham, George Villiers, Duke of, 170, 408.
Bulwer-Lytton, Edward Robert, 77, 90, 92, 125, 136, 211, 227, 339, 344.
Child, C.G. (Editor), 16, 19.
Congreve, William, 396, 413.
Corson, Hiram, 390.
Davis, Richard Harding, 164.
Diderot, Denis, 72, 74, 259.
Dryden, John, 123, 261, 336.
Dumas fils, 34, 49, 74, 94, 100, 259.
Dunsany, Lord, 49.
Eaton, W.P., 249.
Echegaray, Miguel, 385.
Euripides, 282.
Fitch, Clyde, 61, 198, 283.
Flickinger, Roy C., 125, 141.
Galsworthy, John, 66, 183, 191, 244, 375.
Gildon, Charles, 249.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 323.
Gregory, Lady, 162.
Hapgood, Norman, 58, 243.
Haraucourt, Edmond, 83.
Hart, J.A., 48, 71.
Hauptmann, Gerhart, 164, 193.
Hazlitt, William, 243.
Heijermans, Herman, 218.
Henderson, A., 462.
Henley, W.E., 27.
Hervieu, Paul, 192.
Heywood, Thomas, 345.
Hobbes, John Oliver, 350.
Hofmannsthal, Hugo von, 377, 380.
Houghton, Stanley, 324.
Ibsen, Henrik, 51, 151, 179, 181, 183, 233, 259, 348, 349, 419, 421,
470.
Irving, Sir Henry, 25, 197, 290, 362.
Jones, Henry Arthur, 265, 279, 351, 395.
Jonson, Ben, 235, 289.
Kennedy, Rann, 122.
Knobloch, Edward, 474.
Kyd, Thomas, 370.
Labiche, Eugene, 131, 173.
Le Clerc, M.E., 352.
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 9, 68, 114, 121, 212, 247, 255, 291.
Lillo, George, 131, 335, 337.
Macleod, Fiona, 65.
Maeterlinck, Maurice, 38.
Marlowe, Christopher, 35, 128.
Matthews, Brander, 19.
Meredith, George, 117.
Middleton, Thomas, 85, 284.
Moody, W.V., 379.
Moreau, Adrien, 163.
Moulton, R.G., 18, 154.
Mushakoji, J., 316.
Ostrovsky, Aleksander Nikolaevich, 86.
Phillips, Stephen, 222.
Pinero, Sir Arthur, 6, 15, 106, 107, 222, 255, 258, 291, 292, 378, 382,
383.
Pinski, David, 330.
Polti, Georges, 63.
Racine, Jean, 168.
Reade, Charles, 393.
Riddle, George, 368.
Robertson, Thomas William, 29.
Rostand, Edmond, 36, 225.
Rowley, William, 345.
Sardou, Victorien, 163.
Savage, Henry, iii, 69.
Selwyn, Edgar, 81.
Shakespeare, William, 23, 31, 97, 101, 139, 142, 166, 185, 215, 268,
332, 358, 369, 385, 406, 409.
Shaw, George Bernard, 299.
Sheldon, Edward, 341.
Steele, Richard, 134.
Stevenson, Robert Louis, 27.
Sudermann, Hermann, 226, 229.
Synge, John Millington, 417.
Taylor, Tom, 220, 393.
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 195, 290, 362.
Terence, 170, 171.
Thomas, Augustus, 189.
Vanbrugh, Sir John, 297, 395.
Voltaire, Francois Marie Arouet de, 113.
Webster, John, 267, 285, 303, 384.
Wilde, Oscar, 187, 230, 231, 388, 389, 402, 403, 404, 410.
Young, Charles, 374.
INDEX OF QUOTATIONS
Amazons, The, Act III, 222.
Ambassador, The, 350.
Ancient Classical Drama, The, 18, 154.
Anne, 159.
As a Man Thinks, Act II, 189.
At the New Theatre, 249.
At the Top of the Tenement, 424.
Auteurs Dramatiques, _see_ L'Annee Psychologique.
Barbara Frietchie, 61.
Barnwell, The History of George, _see_ The London Merchant.
Becket, arranged by Henry Irving, 25, 197, 290, 362.
Becket, Tennyson, 195, 290, 362.
Big Drum, The, Preface, 258.
Blind, The, 38.
Browning, Introduction, Corson, 390.
Captain, The, Scenario, 459.
Case of Rebellious Susan, The, Act I, 351.
Chains, Act III, 223.
Changeling, The, 85.
Chaste Maid in Cheapside, A, 284.
Choephori, The, 155.
Clod, The, 219.
Colombe's Birthday, Act IV, Sc. 1, 306.
Come Here, George Riddle's Readings, 368.
Concerning Humour in Comedy, Congreve, 396.
Coniston, Scenario, 448.
Conquest of Granada, The, 336.
Conscious Lovers, The, 134.
Consultation, The, Scenario, 466.
Coventry Plays, Ludus Coventriae, 327.
Cradle, The, Act I, Sc. 9, 301.
Crucifixion, The, York Plays, 327.
Cymbeline, Act I, Sc. 1, 23.
Debutante, The, Scenario, 216.
De la Poesie Dramatique, 72, 74.
Development of the Drama, The, 19.
Devonshire Hamlets, The, 241, 318, 344, 358, 398.
Doll's House, A, 348, 349.
Duchess of Malfi. The, 267, 303, 384.
Early Plays, 16, 373.
Edward II, Introduction, Marlowe, 128.
Electra, Euripides, Act I, 282.
Electra, Hofmannsthal, 380.
Encore, An, Scenario, 457.
Epicoene, 289.
Essay on Comedy, Meredith, 117, 513.
Eternal Triangle, The, Scenario, 425.
Etudes Critiques, Brunetiere, 44.
European Dramatists, 462.
Everyman, 373.
Every Man in His Humour, Induction, 235.
Eyes of the Blind, The, Scenario, 428.
Faustus, Act V, 35.
Fishing of Suzanne, The, Scenario, 455.
Fortune by Land and Sea, 345.
Foundations of a National Drama, 395.
Frau im Fenster, Die, 377.
Fritzschen, 226.
Gabriel Schilling's Flight, Introduction, 193.
Galloper, The, 164.
George Riddle's Readings, Come Here, 368.
Good Hope, The, 218.
Good Natured Man, The, Act I, 323.
Great Divide, The, Act I, 379.
Great Galeoto, The, 385.
Hamburg Dramaturgy, 9, 68, 114, 121, 212, 247, 255, 291.
Hazlitt's Dramatic Essays, 243.
Hegge Plays (Ludus Coventriae), 327.
Henry V, Act II, 139.
Henry VI, Part I, 97.
Herod, Act II, 222.
Hindle Wakes, Act I, Sc. 1, 324.
Home, 29.
House of Usna, The (Foreword), 65.
Ibsen's Workshop, 51, 179, 233, 348, 470.
Importance of Being Earnest, The, 403, 410.
Induction, Every Man in His Humour, 235.
Influence of Local Theatrical Conditions upon the Drama of the Greeks,
125, 141.
Introduction to Browning, Corson, 390.
Iris, 291, 378.
Jim, The Penman, 374.
Journey of Papa Perrichon, The, Act I, 173.
Julius Caesar, Act III, Sc. 3, 332.
Justice, Act III, 375.
King Argimenes, 49.
King John, 268.
Kismet, Scenario, 474.
L'Annee Psychologique.
F. de Curel, 76, 78, 339.
Dumas fils, 49.
Pailleron, 47.
Lady of Andros, The, Act I, 170.
Act III, 171.
Lady Windermere's Fan, 187, 230, 231, 388, 389, 402, 404.
La Princesse Georges, 34.
La Princesse Georges, Au Public, 74, 94, 259.
Legacy, The, Scenario, 464.
Le Supplice d'une Femme, Preface, 100.
Les 36 Situations Dramatiques, 63.
Les Oberle, 83.
Les Petits Oiseaux, 131.
Letters of Bulwer-Lytton to Macready, 77, 90, 125, 136, 211, 227, 339,
344.
Letters of Henrik Ibsen, 151, 183, 259, 419, 421.
Lettres sur les Anglais, Voltaire, 113.
Life of Man, 328.
Little Stories of New Plays, 422.
London Merchant, The, or The History of George Barnwell, Act IV, 131.
Act I, Sc. 1, 335.
Act III, Sc. 7, 337.
Lonely Lives, Act IV, 164.
Macaire, Act I, Sc. 1, 27.
Macbeth, Act I, Sc. 5, 166.
Introduction, 127.
Mme. Sans-Gene, 163.
Madras House, The, 278.
Magda (Heimat), Act IV, 229.
Magistrate, The, 106, 107.
Maid's Tragedy, The, Act III, Sc. 2, 281.
Masqueraders, The, 265.
Measure for Measure, 406.
Miss Julia, Introduction, 118.
Mistress Beatrice Cope, 352.
Scenario, 453.
Money Spinner, The, 383.
Monsieur Poirier's Son-in-Law, Act I, 221.
Mrs. Dane's Defence, Act III, 279.
My Best Play, Edgar Selwyn, 81.
Nathan Hale, Act IV, Sc. 2, 198.
New Rehearsal, A, or Bays the Younger, 249.
Nigger, The, Act I, 341.
Note on Act Division as practiced in the Early Elizabethan Drama, 151.
Orchids, 156.
Othello, Act III, Sc. 3, 185.
Act III, Sc. 3, 369.
Act II, Sc. 1, 385.
Act III, Sc. 3, 385.
Phaedra, Act I, 169.
Pierre Patelin, 406.
Playboy of the Western World, The, 417.
Play-Making, 45, 50, 55, 61, 78, 151, 214, 237, 510.
Princess and the Butterfly, The, Act II, 292.
Profligate, The, 255.
Provoked Wife, The, Act IV, 297.
Act III, 395.
Quem Quaeritis, trope, 16.
Rehearsal, The, 170, 408.
Revesby Sword Play, 372.
Richard II, 101, 409.
Richard III, Act I, Sc. 1, 143.
Riddle's (George) Readings, 368.
Ring and the Book, The, 391.
Rising of the Moon, The, 162.
Robert Louis Stevenson: The Dramatist, 6, 15, 382.
Romancers, The, Act I, Sc. 1, 36, 225.
Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Sc. 1, 31.
Rosmersholm, Ibsen's Prose Dramas, 181.
Rosmersholm, Ibsen's Workshop, 179.
Sardou and the Sardou Plays, 48, 71.
Selected Dramas of John Dryden, 261.
Servant in the House, The, 122.
Sire de Maletroit's Door, The, Scenario, 450, 451, 452.
Some Platitudes Concerning Drama, 66, 183, 244.
Soul's Tragedy, A, 399.
Spanish Friar, The, Act III, Sc. 1, 123.
Spanish Tragedy, The, 370.
Squire of Alsatia, The, 276.
Stage in America, The, 58, 243.
Still Waters Run Deep, 220.
Storm, The, 86.
Strife, 191.
Tartuffe, Act I, 280.
Theatrical World for 1893, The, 260.
Trail of the Torch, The, 192.
Treasure, The, 330.
Troilus and Cressida, 142.
Trope, Quem Quaeritis, 16.
Troublesome Raigne of King Iohn. The, Part I, 215.
Truth, The, 283.
Twelfth Night, Act I, Sc. 5, 409.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, The, 253.
Two Hearts, 316.
Two Loves and a Life, Act II, Sc. 2, 393.
United States of Playwrights, The, iii, 69.
Vittoria Corombona, Act III, Sc. 2, 285.
Way of the World, The, 413.
Winning of General Jane, The, Scenario, 468.
You Never Can Tell, Act IV, 299.
INDEX OF SUBJECTS
Act, length of each, 148-153.
Acts, number and length, 117-120.
Action, 16-46.
defined, 27-42.
by physical action, 27-33.
by revealing mental states, 36-41.
Alternative endings, 255-259.
Artistic unity, 111-112.
Aside, in dialogue, 393-396.
Barbara Frietchie--
story of, 57-58.
plot of, 59-61.
Business, stage, definition of, 372-373.
Central idea--
importance in play, 73-77.
shifting it, 77.
Central purpose, value of in selecting material, 87-89.
Changing tastes in public, 513.
Character drawing and psychology distinguished, 237.
Characters--
prompt identification of, 154-161.
devices for showing relations among, 166-183.
unnecessary, 294-296.
test for number of, 296.
Characterization--
by type, 234-237.
by intimate knowledge of characters, 239-247.
in historical plays, 246.
good but not needed, 247.
by motivation, 248-276.
bad methods, 276-278.
in programs, 276-277.
in stage directions, 277.
by soliloquy, 279-280.
by description, 280-283.
by illustrative action, 283-286.
good methods, 286-287.
by exits and entrances, 287-294.
three illustrations of good, 297-308.
Climax--
definition of, 215.
anticlimax, illustrated, 215-233.
and movement, 215-233.
and surprise, 219-220.
by quiet endings, 221-222, 224-225.
by irony, 222-225.
anticipating, 227.
selection for, 228.
postponing, for, 229.
essentials of, 229.
Contrast, for emphasis, 201-204.
Critical and creative faculties, relation of, 519.
Delayed exposition and movement, 211.
Detail, contrasted in novel and play, 352-357.
Dialect, use of, 339-343.
Dialogue--
essentials of clearness, 309.
selection in, 309-315.
clearness without characterization not sufficient, 314-322.
in character, 316-328, 334-336.
emotion in, 322-328.
well characterized, 324-327.
secret of good, (Emerson), 328.
unassigned and assigned, 328-334.
author speaking through persons, 334.
style, 336-351, 409-419.
style and emotion, 339, 344-350.
sympathetic, 344-350.
fitted for stage, 350.
actors aided by voice, gesture in etc., 351-357, 367-372.
unnecessary detail, 357-367.
facial expression and gesture, 367-372.
dialogue and "stage business," 372-382.
pantomime, 373-382.
soliloquy, 382-390.
aside, 393-396.
incomplete, 397-398.
block dialogue, 398-405.
difficult to speak, 405-407.
essentials of, 407-408.
Differences, fundamental between novel and play, 4-14.
Disregarding public, danger of, 517.
Dramatic--
definition of, 43-45.
distinguished from theatric, 45.
Dramatic technique, usual growth of, 518.
Dramatist--
writing to himself, 511.
and motivation, 512.
correct attitude toward public, 513.
Dramatization of a novel, suggestions for, Edward Knobloch, 13-14.
Emotion--
essential in drama, 42-46.
emotion and style, 339, 344-350.
Emphasis--
in plot, 183-207.
defined, 183-194.
lack of, 184-186.
good, 185-193.
importance of in beginnings and endings, 194-201.
by contrast, 201-204.
to determine dramatic form, 204-206.
on what, 206-207.
Epilogue, 145-148.
Essentials--
chief, in drama, 16-27.
of motivation, 267.
in good scenario, 426-462.
Exits and entrances, for characterization, 287-294.
Exposition--
preliminary, 141-148, 166-183.
devices in, 167-173.
distinction between preliminary and later, 176-182.
emphasis in, 183.
Facial expression, importance of, 367-372.
Fact vs. fiction in drama, 67-68.
Falsification of life by drama, 14-15.
Gesture, importance of, 367-372.
Holding a situation, 93-110.
Identifying promptly persons of play, 154-161.
Illustrative action, 82-88, 109.
relation of, to dramatic selection, 86-87.
Importance of facial expression, gesture and voice, 367-372.
Inaction, utter, possibly dramatic, 41.
Knowledge of theatre necessary, 68-70.
Melodrama and tragedy, 268-276.
Monologue, 391-393.
Motivation, 248-276.
and literary convention, 261-262.
and public taste, 262-264.
essentials of, 267.
obtrusive, 267.
Movement--
and suspense, 207-212.
in plot, 207-233.
qualities of, 207.
where needed, 207.
in interwoven plots, 210.
and transitional scenes, 210-211.
and delayed exposition, 211.
and explanatory last act, 211.
and climax, 215-233
Novelist, technique of vs. dramatic technique, 5-14.
Novelty of subject, 62-67.
Number of characters, test for, 296.
Number of possible dramatic subjects, 63-67.
Obtrusive motivation, 267.
Order and suspense, 208-210.
Pantomime, 373-382, 388-390.
Physical action, 27-33.
Place, unity of, 120-130.
Plausibility, 264-267.
Plot contrasted with story, 57-61.
Program characterization, 276-277.
Prologue, use of, 142-148.
Psychology and character drawing distinguished, 237.
Public, changing tastes in, 513.
Scene, definition of, 130-132.
Scenario--
importance of, 79-80.
value of, 420-421.
summary vs. scenario, 421-426.
real character of, 426-473.
essentials of good, 426-462.
dramatis personae in, 427-431.
settings in, 432-445.
preliminary exposition in, 446-447.
talky, 448-449.
entrances and exits in, 449-450.
cardinal principle of, 449.
emphasis in, 455-461.
flexibility in, 461-463.
proper length, 461.
no one form, 463-164.
using dialogue in, 464-470.
Settings, 122-130.
value of in placing a play, 161-166.
in scenario, 432-445.
Situation, holding a, 93-110.
Soliloquy, 382-390.
Stage direction--
bad, 276-278.
good, 279.
Stage waits, 208-209.
Starting a play, 47-54.
Story--
as starting point, 52-54.
essential in play, 55-57.
misuse of word, 56-57.
contrasted with plot, 57-61.
unity of action in, 111.
amount required, 112-116.
Style, in dialogue, 409-419.
Summary vs. scenario, 421-426.
Surprise, 212-214.
and suspense, distinction, 214.
Suspense--
and order, 208-210.
vs. surprise, 212.
and surprise, distinction, 214.
and sympathy, 214-215.
in climax, 215-232.
Technique in Drama--
definition of, 1.
three kinds of, 2-4.
Technique of novelist and dramatist compared, 5-14.
Theatric, distinguished from dramatic, 45.
Time--
unity of, 120-130.
treatment of on stage, 130-137.
off stage, 137.
antecedent to play, 141-148.
by chorus, 142.
by soliloquy, 143.
by prologue, 144-148.
Transitional Scenes, 109-110.
Truckling to an audience, definition, 509.
Unassigned speeches, 328-332.
Unity of action, 110-111.
Unity, artistic, 111-112.
Unnecessary characters, 294-296.