father'll beat me rarely. I'll bide here till he be asleep. [_He
places himself easily in the armchair by the fire._]
GILES [_going sulkily_]. Thriftless young loon!
ANNE [_laying the table_]. Hast had a splendid day?
WILL [_absently_]. Aye. In the great park at Charlecote. There you can
lie on your back in the grass under the high arches of the trees,
where the sun rarely peeps in, and you can listen to the wind in the
trees, and see it shake the blossoms about you, and watch the red deer
and the rabbits and the birds--where everything is lovely and still.
[_His voice trails off into silence. ANNE smiles knowingly._]
ANNE. Thou'lt be making poetry before long, eh, Will?--Will? [_To
PEELE_] The boy hath not heard a word I spoke.
PEELE [_coming forward_]. Would he hear me, I wonder! Boy!
WILL [_starting_]. Sir? [_PEELE looks down on him sternly._]
PEELE. Dost know thou'rt in my chair?
WILL [_coolly_]. Thine? Indeed, 'tis very easy.
PEELE. Hark 'ee! Dost know my name?
WILL. I canna say I do.
PEELE [_distinctly_]. Master George Peele.
WILL. I thank thee, sir.
PEELE. Player in my Lord Admiral's Company.
WILL. [_His whole manner changes and he jumps up eagerly._] A player?
Oh--I did not know. Pray, take the seat.
PEELE [_amused_]. Dost think players are as lords? Most men have other
views. [_Sits. WILL watches him, fascinated._]
WILL. Nay, but--oh, I love to see stage-plays! Didst not play in
Coventry three days agone, "The History of the Wicked King Richard"?
PEELE. Aye, aye. Behold in me the tyrant.
WILL. Thou? Rarely done! I mind me yet how the hump-backed king
frowned and stamped about--thus [_imitating_]. Ha! Ha! 'Twas a brave
play!
ANNE. Thy supper is ready, Will.
PEELE [_amused_]. The true player-instinct, on my soul!
WILL [_flattered_]. Dost truly think so? [_ANNE plucks his sleeve._]
ANNE. Will, where are thy wits? Supper waits.
WILL [_apologetically_]. Oh--I--I--did na hear thee. [_He tries to
eat, but his attention is ever distracted by the player's words._]
PEELE. Is my reckoning ready, girl?
ANNE. Reckoning now, sir? Wilt thou--?
PEELE. Yes, yes, I go to-night. To-morrow Warwick, then the long road
to Oxford, playing by the way--and London at last!
ANNE. And then? [_WILL listens intently._]
PEELE. Then back to the old Blackfriars, where all the city will flock
to our tragedies and chronicles--a long, merry life of it.
ANNE [_interested_]. And does the Queen ever come?
PEELE. Nay, child, we go to her. Last Christmas I played before her at
court, in the great room at Whitehall, before the nobles and
ambassadors and ladies--oh, a gay time--and the Queen said--
WILL [_starting up_]. What was the play?
ANNE. Eat thy supper, Will.
WILL [_impatiently_]. I want no more.
PEELE. So my young cockerel is awake again. Will, a boy of thy stamp
is lost here in Stratford. Thou shouldst be in London with us. By cock
and pie, I have a mind to steal thee for the company! [_Rises to pace
the floor._]
WILL [_breathlessly_]. To play in London?
ANNE. Nay, Will, he but jests. Thou'rt happier here than traipsing
about wi' the players. [_GILES appears at back._]
GILES. Nags be ready, zur, at sunset as thee'st bid. Shall I put the
gear on?
PEELE [_sharply_]. Well fed and groomed? Nay, I will see them myself.
[_GILES vanishes. PEELE turns at the door._] Hark'ee, lass. Thy lad
could do far worse than become a player. Good meat and drink, gold in
's pouch, favor at court, and true friends. I like the lad's spirit.
[_He goes. ANNE drops into his chair by the fire. Twilight is coming
on rapidly. WILL stands silent at the window looking after the
player._]
ANNE [_troubled_]. Will, what is it? Thou'rt very strange to-night.
WILL [_wistfully_]. I--I--Oh, Anne, I want to go to London. I am
a-weary of rusting in Stratford, where I can learn nothing new, save
to grow old, following my father's trade.
ANNE. But in London?
WILL [_kindling_]. In London one can learn more marvels in a day than
in a lifetime here; for there the streets are in a bustle all day
long, and the whole world meets in them, soldiers and courtiers and
men of war, from France and Spain and the new lands beyond the sea,
all full of learning and pleasant tales of foreign wars and the
wondrous things in the colonies. My schoolmaster told me of it. You
can stand in St. Paul's and the whole world passes by, mad for
knowledge and adventure. And then the stage-plays--!
ANNE. Oh, Will, why long for them?
WILL. Think how splendid they must be when the Queen herself loves to
see 'em. If I were like this player-fellow, and acted with the
Admiral's company! He laughed that he would take me with him--to be a
player and perchance _write_ plays, interludes, and noble tragedies!
Think of it, Anne--to live in London and be one of all the rare
company there, to write brave plays wi' sounding lines for all to
wonder at, and have folk turn on the streets when I passed and
whisper, "That be Will Shakespeare, the play-maker"--to act them even
at court and gain the Queen's own thanks! Anne, London is so great and
splendid! It beckons me wi' all its turmoil of affairs and its noble
hearts ready to love a new comrade. [_Disconsolately_] And I must bide
in Stratford?
ANNE [_gently_]. Come now, Will. No need to be so feverish. Sit down
by me. What canst thou know of play-making? What canst thou do in
London?
WILL [_he sits down by the hearth at her feet, looking into the
firelight_]. I'll tell thee, Anne. Thy father and half the village
call me a lazy oaf, that I stray i' the woods some days instead of
helping my father. I canna help it. The fit comes on me, and I must be
alone, out i' the great woods.
ANNE [_gladly_]. Then thou dost not poach?
WILL [_hastily_]. No, no--that is--sometimes I am with Hodge and
Diccon and John a' Field, and 'tis hard not to chase the deer. Nay,
look not so grave--I try to do no harm.
ANNE [_quietly_]. And when thou'rt alone?
WILL. Then I lie under the trees or wander through the fields, and
make plays to myself, as though I writ them in my mind, and cry the
lines forth to the birds--they sound nobly, too--or make little songs
and sing them i' the sunshine. They are but dreams, I know, but
splendid ones--and the player looked wi' favor on me, and said I might
make a good player, and he would take me with him.
ANNE. But he only jested.
WILL. No jest to me! I'll take him at his word and go with him to
London. [_He starts up eagerly._]
ANNE [_troubled_]. Will, Will! [_PEELE enters at the back._]
PEELE. Hark 'ee, Giles, I go in half an hour!
WILL. Master Peele! [_Catches at his arm._]
PEELE. Well, youngster?
WILL [_slowly_]. Thou--thou saidst I had a good spirit and would do
well in London--in a stage company. Thou wert in jest, but--I will go
with thee, if I may.
PEELE [_taken all aback_]. Go with me?
WILL [_earnestly_]. With the player's company--to London.
PEELE [_laughing_]. 'S wounds! Thou hast assurance! Dost think to
become a great player at once?
WILL [_impatiently_]. Oh, I care not for the playing. Let me but be in
London, to see the people there and be near the theatre. I'll be the
players' servant, I'll hold the nobles' horses in the street--I'll do
anything!
PEELE [_seriously_]. And go with us all over England on hard journeys
to play to ignorant rustics?
WILL. Anywhere--I'll follow on to the world's end--only take me with
you to London! [_As he speaks GILES and MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, a kindly
faced woman of middle age, dressed in housewife's cap and gown, appear
at the door._]
GILES. There 'e be, Mistress Shixpur.
MISTRESS S. [_as she enters_]. Oh, Will. [_He turns sharply._]
WILL [_confusedly_]. Mother! I--I--did not know thou wert here.
MISTRESS S. Why didst not come home--and what dost thou want with this
stranger?
ANNE. He would go to London with him.
MISTRESS S. [_aghast_]. To London. My Will?
WILL [_quietly_]. Thou knowest, mother, what I ha' told thee, things I
told to no other, and now the good time has come that I can see more
of England.
MISTRESS S. But I canna let thee go. Oh, Anne, I knew the boy was
restless, but I did not think for it so soon. He is only a boy.
WILL [_coloring_]. In two years I shall be a man--I am a man now in
spirit. I canna stay in Stratford. [_MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE sinks down
in a chair._]
MISTRESS S. What o' me? And, Will, 'twill break thy father's heart!
[_WILL looks ashamed._]
WILL. I know, he would not understand. 'Tis hard. He must not know
till I be gone.
MISTRESS S. [_To PEELE_]. Oh, sir, how could you wish to lead the lad
away? Hath not London enough a'ready?
PEELE [_who has been listening uncomfortably, faces her gravely_]. I
but played with the lad at first, till I saw how earnest he was; then
I would take him, for I loved his boldness. But, boy, I'll tell thee
fairly, thou'lt do better here. Thou'st seen the brave side of it, the
gay dresses, the good horses, the cheering crowds and the court-favor.
But 'tis dark sometimes, too. The pouches often hang empty when the
people turn away--the lords are as the clouded sun, now smiling, now
cold--and there come the bitter days, when a man has no friends but
the pot-mates of the moment, when every man's hand is against him for
a vagabond and a rascal, when the prison-gates lay ever wide before
him, and the fickle folk, crying after a _new_ favorite, leave the old
to starve.
ANNE. Will, canst not see? Thou'rt better here--
WILL [_bravely_]. I know--all this may wait me--but I must go.
MISTRESS S. [_alarmed_]. Must go, Will? [_He kneels by her side._]
WILL. [_tenderly_]. Hush, mother, I'll tell thee. 'Tis not entirely my
longing, for this morning the keeper of old Lucy--
GILES. Ha, poaching again, young scamp!
WILL. Brought me before him--I was na poaching, I'll swear it, not so
much as chasing the deer--but Sir Thomas had no patience, and bade me
clear out, else he would seize me. I--I--dare na stay.
MISTRESS S. I feared it; thy father forbade thee in the great park.
And now--Oh, Will, Will--I know well how thou'st longed to go from
here--and now thou must--what shall I do, lacking thee?
PEELE [_frankly_]. Will, if thou must go, thou must. London is greater
than Stratford, and there is much evil there, but thou'rt
true-hearted, and--by my player's honor--I will stand by thee, till
the hangman get me. But we must go soon. 'Tis a dark road to
Warwick--I'll see to the horses. Is it a compact? [_WILL gives him his
hands._]
WILL [_huskily_]. A compact, sir--to the end. [_PEELE hurries out._]
GILES. Look at 'e now, breaking 'is mother's heart, and mad wi' joy to
revel in London. 'Tis little 'e recks of she.
WILL [_hotly_]. Thou liest. [_Bending over her_] Mother, 'tis not
true. I do love thee and father, I love Stratford. I'll never forget
it. But 'tis so little here, and I must get away to gain learning and
do things i' the world, that I may bring home all I get; fame, if God
grant it, money, if I gain it, all to those at home.
ANNE. Thou'rt over-confident.
WILL. Aye, because I'm young. God knows there is enough pain in
London, and I'll get my share--but I'm _young_! Mother, thou'rt not
angry?
MISTRESS S. I knew 'twas coming, and 'tis not so hard. We will always
wait for thee at home, when thou'rt weary.
GILES [_at the door_]. The horses are waiting. 'Tis dark, Will.
WILL [_breaking down_]. Mother, mother!
MISTRESS S. The good God keep thee safe. Kiss me, Will. [_He bends
over her, then stumbles to the door, ANNE following._]
WILL [_turning_]. Anne--Anne--thou dost not despise me for deserting
Stratford. I _must_ go.
ANNE. Oh, I know. Thou'lt go to London and forget us all.
WILL. No, no, thou--I couldn't forget. I'll remember thee, Anne--I'll
put thee in my plays; all my young maids and lovers shall be thee, as
thou'rt now--and I'll bring thee rare gifts when I come home.
ANNE. I do na want them. Will--I--I--did na mean to be unkind. We were
good friends, and I trust in thee, for the future, that thou'lt be
great. Good-by--and do na forget the little playmate.
WILL. I will na forget [_kissing her_], and, Anne, be good to my
mother. [_She goes back to MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, and he stands
watching them in the dusk._]
PEELE [_at the window_]. Come, come, Will! We must go.
WILL [_turning slowly_]. I--I'm coming, sir.
[THE CURTAIN.]
All the dramatic motives that have been enumerated so far have been
more or less literary in origin, but "A play may start from almost
anything: a detached thought that flashes through the mind; a theory
of conduct or an act which one firmly believes or wishes only to
examine; a bit of dialogue overheard or imagined; a setting, real or
imagined, which creates emotion in the observer; a perfectly detached
scene, the antecedents and consequences of which are as yet unknown; a
figure glimpsed in a crowd which for some reason arrests the attention
of the dramatist ... a mere incident--heard in idle talk or observed;
a story told only in barest outline or with the utmost detail."[18]
[Footnote 18: George Pierce Baker, _Dramatic Technique_,
Boston and New York, 1919, p. 47.]
The great dramatic critic, William Archer, has said that "the only
valid definition of the dramatic is: Any representation of imaginary
personages which is capable of interesting an average audience
assembled in a theater." For the purposes of the definition the Boy
Will of Robert Emmons Rogers's little piece and Drinkwater's Abraham
Lincoln are equally imaginary personages. In the case of the one-act
play the theatre in question is more often than not a Little Theatre
or a school theatre, the representation is more frequently at the
moment by amateur than by professional actors and the audience, being
small and close to the stage, is likely to assume a co-operative
attitude towards the playwright, the actor, and the other immediate
factors in the production. Since the success of a play depends on its
adaptability to the requirements of actor, theatre, and audience, it
is well for inexperienced playwrights to study the conditions under
which one-act plays are likely to be produced.
One very practical consideration to hold in mind is that the one-act
play has a shorter time in which to focus attention than the
full-length play and so the indispensable preliminary exposition must
be quickly disposed of and an urgent appeal to the emotional interest
of the audience must be made at the beginning. As has been said, every
artistic consideration that calls for singleness of impression in the
short-story is of equal importance in determining the unified
structure of the one-act play. For the reason that a one-act play is
almost never given by itself, if for no other, its effect will be
dissipated if plot, characterization, or atmosphere fails in unity.
The writer exercising himself in the art of play-making had best begin
with the procedure common to many professional playwrights. This first
step is the drawing up of a scenario, which is an outline showing the
course of the story, identifying the characters, indicating the
setting and atmosphere and explaining the nature of the play; that is,
whether, for example, it is to be a fantasy like _The Pierrot of the
Minute_, or a comedy of manners like _Wurzel-Flummery_.
Here for instance is such a scenario as might have been drawn up for
_The Boy Will_:
THE BOY WILL (Historical fantasy)
Scenario for a one-act play, by
Robert Emmons Rogers
CHARACTERS
(in order of their appearance)
MASTER GEORGE PEELE, player of the Admiral's Company.
GILES, a plump and peevish old rogue, a tapster.
ANNE HATHAWAY, at sixteen a slim girl, niece to Giles.
WILL SHAKESPEARE, a sturdy, ruddy boy, Anne's playmate.
MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, a kindly faced woman of middle age, Will's mother.
Within the White Luces Inn on a late afternoon in spring, 1582. (Here
a description of the interior would follow.)
Peele is eating and drinking at the inn, waited on by Anne Hathaway.
Anne, scolded by Giles for her slowness, is commended as comely and
spirited by Peele.
Peele abuses Stratford as a sleepy hole.
Anne explains her delay in fetching ale by the fact that Mistress
Shakespeare has been at the back door inquiring for Will who has been
gone all day.
Giles explains Will to Peele as a young poacher.
Anne indignantly denies the charge and praises Will as the brightest
boy in Stratford.
Giles accuses him of gawking at plays and predicts a bad end for the
boy.
Peele resents the implication.
Singing a May-day catch, Will enters. Afraid to go home because he has
been wasting his day in Charlecote Park and fears father's scolding.
Goes off into a golden dream of his day in the woods.
Peele attracts his attention by announcing his profession.
Will shows his interest.
Is too distracted by Peele to eat.
Peele announces itinerary of his players and kindles Will's
imagination with a mention of the Queen.
Threatens to carry Will off to London.
Anne discourages the plan.
Peele draws glowing pictures of actor's profession.
Will is all on fire for London in spite of Anne.
Tells Anne he's tired of being nagged.
Makes Peele promise to take him to London.
His mother comes for him and is aghast at the news, but finally
consents to let Will go without his father's knowledge.
Peele then draws a picture of the actor as vagabond to discourage
Will.
Anne holds out against his going.
Will tells how, though he has not been poaching, he has been warned by
Sir Thomas Lucy to clear out.
His mother sees that he must go.
Will makes a compact with Peele.
Promises Anne rare gifts and kissing his mother goes.
The scenario drawn up, the next step is to develop the plot. The plot
of a one-act play, to be effective, must be extraordinarily compact.
The accepted laws of plot construction for all artistic narratives are
the same. The climax must be carefully prepared for, as in Synge's
_Riders to the Sea_, and the various devices used for heightening the
suspense should be discovered and applied.
Characterization is more difficult for the tyro to manage than plot.
Consistency of characterization is attained through discovering in the
beginning a motive that will sufficiently account for the part taken
by the character by means of speech and action, and through constantly
testing the characterization by this motive. Such consistency of
characterization is illustrated to perfection in Tarkington's _Beauty
and the Jacobin_. The writer of the one-act play does not use many
characters. "Examination of several hundred one-act plays has revealed
that the average number of characters to a play is between three and
four."[19]
[Footnote 19: B. Roland Lewis, _The Technique of the One-Act
Play_, Boston, 1918, p. 211.]
Facility in writing dialogue is gained like facility in plot
construction and in characterization only by the patient study of the
work of experienced and successful playwrights. Dialogue that is
witty, charming, ironical, or graceful is of dramatic value only as it
is in character.
A little experience on the stage is a great help. Such experience
teaches the value of skillfully planned exits and entrances for
characters; helps the beginner to distinguish between action that
should be related and action that should be seen; shows him how a
scene must be devised to occupy the time it takes for a character to
appear after he has telephoned that he is coming; and a variety of
other practical considerations.
Stage directions are likely to be over-elaborated by the
inexperienced. The best stage directions are those that deal only with
matters of setting, lighting and essential pantomime or action. They
should not, in general, be used for characterization.
But after all there can be no infallible recipes for dramatic writing.
With the successful professional playwright, apprenticeship is often
an unconscious stage. Plays succeed that break all the rules laid down
by critics and professors of dramatic literature, but after all those
rules were, to begin with, based on practices productive of success
under other conditions. In any case some insight into the mechanics of
dramatic art does make the reading of plays more interesting and does
give an added zest to theatre going.
THE THEATRE IN THE SCHOOL
The giving of plays in schools is no new thing. One of the earliest
English comedies, _Ralph Roister Doister_, was written in the middle
of the sixteenth century by Nicholas Udall, a schoolmaster, probably
to be performed at Westminister School at Christmas time. Many
generations of boys in the English public schools have presented the
plays of the Greek and Latin dramatists; and schools and colleges in
this country have also at times given performances of the classic
drama. But until recently Shakespeare and the comedies of Sheridan and
Goldsmith have been the chief dramatic fare both in the classroom and
on the stage in American schools.
Modern plays are coming, however, to be more generally introduced into
the course of study. The following significant list, prepared by Miss
Anna H. Spaulding, is in use in the senior classes in English in the
Brookline High School, at Brookline, Massachusetts:
Noah's Flood
Sacrifice of Isaac
Everyman
Everywoman
The Servant in the House
Ralph Roister Doister
Tales of the Mermaid Tavern
Merchant of Venice
Jew of Malta
Tragedy of Shakespeare
Comedy of Shakespeare
The Rivals
The Good Natured Man
She Stoops to Conquer
Caste
The Lady of Lyons
One Closet Drama
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray
One Comedy of Pinero
The Silver King
One Serious Play by Jones
Arms and the Man
Caesar and Cleopatra
John Bull's Other Island
The Doctor's Dilemma
Strife
Justice
The Tragedy of Nan
The Marrying of Ann Leete
Seven Short Plays
The Land of Heart's Desire, or
The Countess Cathleen, or
Cathleen Ni Houlihan
The Shadow of the Glen
Riders to the Sea
The Birthright
The Truth
The Witching Hour, or
As a Man Thinks
The Scarecrow
The Piper
Milestones
The Importance of Being Earnest
Thirty-five of these plays are distinctly modern. Another list, in use
as part of a course in contemporary literature given in the last half
of the third year at the Washington Irving High School and including
only modern plays, is reprinted below:
The Blue Bird
The Melting Pot
Milestones
Justice, or
The Silver Box
Pygmalion
The Piper
Prunella
Sherwood
The Land of Heart's Desire
Spreading the News
These plays are read and studied; that is to say, such topics as
dramatic workmanship, theme, setting, characterization, dialogue, and
diction are taken up in connection with each one and each one is made
the starting point for a new interest in the drama of to-day.[20]
[Footnote 20: Further interesting information on the reading
and the study of modern plays in the schools may be found in
the valuable article by F. G. Thompkins of the Central High
School, Detroit, called _The Play Course in High School_, in
_The English Journal_ for November, 1920, and in the same
issue, in the list of plays produced by St. Louis High
Schools, prepared by Clarence Stratton, Chairman, National
Council Committee on Plays.]
In another high school in New York, the Evander Childs, there is a
four years' course of two periods a week in classroom study of the
drama, old and new. All composition work is connected with this
special interest.
Another kind of work based on contemporary drama was carried on by a
group of first-year students in a certain high school who were much
interested in a program of one-act plays to be presented in the school
theatre. The teacher of English who had charge of this young class
discussed the subject of the theatre audience with them both before
and after the performance. The outcome of this analysis of the
interests of the audience was an outline. These fourteen-year old
girls said that the next time that they went to the theatre they would
keep in mind the following considerations:
I. In regard to the play:
A. Its title
B. Classification
C. Plot
D. Characterization
E. Dialogue
F. Theme
II. In regard to the actors:
A. Their intelligence
B. Clearness of speech
C. Ease of manner
D. Facial expression (appropriateness of make-up)
E. Pantomime or action
1. Posture
2. Gesture
3. Repose
F. Costumes
1. Appropriateness as an index to character
2. Color and design
3. Harmony with the setting
III. In regard to the setting:
A. The lighting
B. Color and design
C. Appropriateness as regards mood of play
D. Suggestiveness
E. Workmanship