_St. Roche._ (_With a wistful glance at her._) Goodnight.

(_She departs. He stands for a little while contemplating s.p.a.ce; then he switches off the light. The room remains partially illumined by the fire-glow. He turns to examine the fire. Apparently a.s.sured on that point, he walks, still carrying his tumbler, to the door which is in the centre wall; where, uttering a little sigh as he opens the door, he disappears._)[51]

The pa.s.sages quoted (pp. 268-275) from _The Troublesome Reign of King John_ and Shakespeare's play show crude and perfect handling of exits and entrances. In the old play the murderers merely enter and go out again as ordered. In Shakespeare they enter at the moment which makes them the climactic touch in the terror of Arthur and the audience. When Hubert orders them to go, it is the first sign that he may relent.

The inexperienced dramatist is almost always wasteful in the number of characters used. An adaptation of a Spanish story called for a cast of about a dozen important figures and some sixty supernumeraries as soldiers and peasants--all this in a one-act play. It meant very little labor to cut the soldiery to a few officers and some privates, and the peasantry to some six or eight people. Ultimately, the total cast did not contain a quarter as many people as the original, yet nothing important had been lost. Rewriting a play often is, and should be, a "slaughter of the innocents." Don't use unneeded people. You must provide them with dialogue, and as the play goes on, some justification for existence. The manager must pay them salaries. First of all, get rid of entirely unnecessary people. They usually hold over from the story as originally heard or read. For instance, a recent adaptation used from the original story a blinking dwarf sitting silent, forever watchful, at a table in the restaurant where the story was placed. His smile simply emphasized the cynicism of the story enacted in his sight. He was in no way necessary to the telling of the story,--and so he disappeared in the final form of the play. One is constantly tempted to bring in some figure for purposes of easy exposition only to find that one must either bind him in with the story as it develops, or drop him out of sight the moment his expository work is done. The trouble with such figures is that they are likely to give false clues, stirring a hearer to interest in them or their apparent relation to the story, when nothing is to come of one or the other. Usually a little patience and ingenuity will give this needed exposition to some character or characters essential to the plot. In a recent play of Breton life during the Chouan War, an attractive peasant boy was introduced in order to plant in the minds of the audience certain ideas as to immediate conditions of the war, and the relation of the woman to whom he is talking with the Prince, his leader. Wishing to show the devotion of the Prince's followers, the author had the boy talk much of his own loyalty to his leader. Just there was the false clue. Every auditor expected his loyalty to lead to something later in the play; but the youth, having told his tale, disappeared for good. It took very little time to discover that all the young man told could perfectly well be made clear in one preceding scene between the woman and her son, and two of the other scenes immediately following, between the woman and the young Prince. It is these unnecessary figures who are largely responsible for the scenes already spoken of in chapter IV which clog the movement of a play.

Sometimes, too, similar figures at different places in a play do exactly or nearly the same work,--servants for instance. When it does not interfere with verisimilitude, give the tasks to one person rather than two, or two rather than three. That is, use only people absolutely needed. Sometimes these carelessly introduced figures stray through a play like an unquiet spirit. In _The Road to Happiness_ one character, Porter, was of so little importance that most of the time, when on the stage, he had nothing to do. When really acting, it was largely in pantomime, or with speech that, not effectively, reiterated what some one else was saying. He existed really for two scenes. In the first act he might just as well have been talked about as shown, and in the second act what he did could well have been done by one of the other important characters. When any character in a play shows a tendency not to get into the action readily; when for long periods he is easily overlooked by the author; it is time to consider whether he should not be given the _coup de grace_.

Today we are fortunately departing from an idea somewhat prevalent in the middle of the nineteenth century, that a figure once introduced into a play should be kept there until the final curtain. That is exalting technique, and the so-called "well-made" play, above truth to life. When a character is doing needed work, use him when and as long as he would appear in real life, and no longer. Use each character for a purpose, and when it is fulfilled, drop him. Naturalness and theatrical economy are the two tests: the greater of these is naturalness.

All that has been said comes to this. Know your characters so intimately that you can move, think, and feel with them, supplied by them with far more material than you can use in any one play. See that they are properly introduced to the audience; that they are clearly and convincingly presented. Do not forget the importance of entrances and exits. Cut out all unnecessary figures.

There follow three bits of characterization from very different types of play: Sir John Vanbrugh's _The Provoked Wife_, a comedy of manners; G.

B. Shaw's farce-comedy, _You Never Can Tell_; and Eugene Brieux's thesis play, _The Cradle_. The first scene aims merely to present vividly the riotous and drunken squire. The second, while characterizing William, aims to ill.u.s.trate that contentment lies in doing that to which one is accustomed, under accustomed conditions. The third not only characterizes; it shows that no law of man can wholly give a woman to a second husband when common anxiety with the first husband for the child of their marriage draws them together. Note in all three the use of action as compared with description or a.n.a.lysis; the connotative value of the phrasings; the succint sureness.

THE PROVOKED WIFE

ACT IV. SCENE, _Covent Garden_

_Enter Lord Rake, Sir John, &c., with Swords drawn_

_Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead?

_Bully._ No, d.a.m.n him, I heard him wheeze.

_Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd!

_Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently.

_Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come you have a good Cause to fight for, there's a Man murder'd.

_Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd, for I'll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his body upon his wooden Chair.

_Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm_

_Bully._ How now; what have we here? a Thief.

_Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief.

_Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here; let the General examine him.

_Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a Hundred Pound I find him guilty in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking Rascal.

Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them--I shall guess at your Morals.

_Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journyman Taylor.

_Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.

_Taylor._ Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don't abuse me; indeed I'm an honest Man, and a good Workman, tho I say it, that shou'd not say it.

_Sir John._ No words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.

_Lord Rake._ Let me see what's in that Bundle.

_Taylor._ An't please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish's Gown.

_Lord Rake._ The Doctor's Gown!--Hark you, Knight, you won't stick at abusing the Clergy, will you?

_Sir John._ No. I'm drunk, and I'll abuse anything--but my wife; and her I name--with Reverence.

_Lord Rake._ Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the Watch: That tho the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon the Church.

_Sir John._ A generous Design--by all the G.o.ds--give it me.

(_Takes the Gown, and puts it on._)

_Taylor._ O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the Gown.

_Sir John._ Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin--go home, and be happy.

_Taylor._ (_Pausing._) I think I had e'en as good follow the Gentleman's friendly Advice; for if I dispute any longer, who knows but the Whim may take him to case me? These Courtiers are fuller of Tricks than they are of Money; they'll sooner cut a Man's Throat, than pay his Bill. (_Exit Taylor._)

_Sir John._ So, how d'ye like my Shapes now?

_Lord Rake._ This will do to a Miracle; he looks like a Bishop going to the Holy War. But to your Arms, Gentlemen, the Enemy appears.

_Enter Constable and Watch_

_Watchman._ Stand! Who goes there? Come before the Constable.

_Sir John._ The Constable's a Rascal--and you are the Son of a Wh.o.r.e.

_Watchman._ A good civil answer for a Parson, truly!

_Constable._ Methinks, Sir, a Man of your Coat might set a better Example.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, I'll make you know--there are Men of my Coat can set as bad Examples--as you can, you Dog you.

(_Sir John strikes the Constable. They knock him down, disarm him, and seize him. Lord Rake &c. run away._)

_Constable._ So, we have secur'd the Parson however.

_Sir John._ Blood, and Blood--and Blood.

_Watchman._ Lord have mercy upon us! How the wicked Wretch raves of Blood. I'll warrant he has been murdering some body tonight.