_Simms._ (_Pacifically._) Hol' on, Jinny! I ain't said nuffin'. Dat I ain't! Yo' g' long now en' I'll sen' down a gal t' yo' cabin wif a basket.

_Jinny._ (_Turning away._) Yo' sho' will--er Ma.r.s.e Phil'd--

_Simms._ (_As he goes up the steps._) En' keep yo' gran'chillun out dat saloom, Jinny, ef yo' don' want t' see 'em cross de Jo'dan ahead o' yo'! Dat Joe! Lawd-a-ma.s.sy! De white in him ain't done n.o.body no good's fah's dis--'Scuse me, sah!

(_He stops suddenly and turns aside, bowing, on seeing Noyes and Georgie, who have opened the door and come out._)

Here is equal care to represent the speech of Southerners.

_Noyes._ My fathah? Yes, he gave way t' his Comme'cial ambition by sellin' powda an' bullets t' the Union--way back in '62. That got him into a bunch o' trouble, but it wasn't what _sta'ted_ the--slight fam'ly coolness!

_Georgie._ Wasn't it? Why, I always hea'd---

_Noyes._ No, it came befo' that. My gran'fathah an' Phil's--they were brothahs-in-law, you know--they began it in the fo'ties.

_Georgie._ Why?

_Noyes._ (_Grimly._) I reckon the Morrows are tryin' now t' keep it da'k. But Lawd!--I don't mind tellin'. It's the old thing--both losin'

theah heads ovah the same woman.

_Georgie._ (_Innocently._) How romantic! Phil's gran'mothah?

_Noyes._ (_After a pause._) No--n.i.g.g.ah woman.

_Georgie._ (_In a low voice, turning away._) Oh--I didn't--realize--

_Noyes._ (_Clearing his throat._) Phil's gran'fathah--he won out. An'

that's the kick that sta'ted the Noyes fam'ly a-rollin' t' pe'dition.

_Georgie._ (_With difficulty._) But mos' people are willin' to fo'get--at least they ought to be.

_Noyes._ (_Dryly._) Some ain't killed 'emselves tryin'. Howevah, on lookin' ahead I saw Phil an' I might be in a position t' help each othah, so we agreed t' sink it. I--I wish yo' mothah would follow Phil, Miss Byrd. I ce'tainly do wish that!

_Georgie_. She's old-fashioned--oh, hopelessly so!--in things the world now considers--trivial.

_Noyes._ (_Looking at his hands._) Such as--trade?

_Georgie._ (_Gently._) That's one of them.[16]

Lady Gregory, after writing a rough draft of one of her plays, goes among the people of her community and sets them talking of the subject she is treating. Noting their racy, apt, and highly individualized phrases, she gives them to her characters in the play as she re-writes.

Such intimate, loving study of dialect as Lady Gregory, Mr. Yeats, and Synge have shown has given us an accurate representation of the Irish peasant, and may ultimately drive from the English stage the conventional absurdities of the past. Dialect, then, if carefully studied, is highly desirable if two or three facts are borne in mind.

First of all, it should be accurate; but secondly it must be clear or must be made clear for any audience. Unquestionably, Mr. Stanley Houghton's memorable play _Hindle Wakes_ had a bad t.i.tle away from its birthplace,--Manchester, England. In the United States, this t.i.tle is perfectly meaningless. How many in any audience in this country could be expected to know that the t.i.tle means certain "autumn week-end holidays in the town of Hindle." There could be no harm in using a different t.i.tle away from the birthplace of the play. Recently, in a ma.n.u.script play, appeared a figure speaking a strange mixture of Negro and Irish dialects. He seemed to all readers a clumsy attempt by the author at a dialect part. Really, the figure was a portrait of a small political boss who, from boyhood on, had acquired in the saloons and purlieus of his district words and phrases of both the Negroes and the Irish. A little preliminary exposition at the right place cleared up this difficulty and turned what seemed inept characterization into a particularly individual figure of richly characterizing phrase.

Obviously, then, dialect should, first, be written accurately. Then it should be gone over to see what in it may not be clear to most auditors.

These words or phrases should be made clear because they are translated by other people on the stage or by the speaker, who himself sees or is told that some stage listener does not understand him. Only a little ingenuity is needed to do away with such vaguenesses. To subst.i.tute for such words and phrases others which, though incorrect, would be instantly understood by the audience is to botch the dialect and produce what is, after all, not different from the conventional stage dialect of the past. This raises a third point in regard to dialect, and one very frequently disregarded. Over and over again in plays using dialect certain speeches are pa.s.sed over by the author in his final revision which neither phonetically nor in the words and phrases chosen comport with the context. Instantly the mood and the color of the scene are lost unless the actor supplies what the author failed to give. That is, dialect, if used, should be used steadily and consistently. The desiderata are, then, accuracy, persistent use, and clearness for the general public. Thus used, dialect is one of the chief aids to characterization.

If, in writing dialogue, a dramatist must not speak as himself but in character, must not be consciously or unconsciously literary if not in character, how may one surely choose the right words? Perhaps one or two ill.u.s.trations will help here. The citation in the left-hand column from the first quarto _Hamlet_ states the facts clearly enough, but wholly uncolored by the emotion of the speaker. In the right-hand column the pa.s.sionate sympathy of Shakespeare has given him perfect understanding of Hamlet's feeling.

_Hamlet._ O fie Horatio, and if _Hamlet._. O good Horatio, what a thou shouldst die, wounded name What a scandale wouldst thou Things standing thus unknowne, leave behinde? shall I leave behind me?

What tongue should tell the If thou did'st ever hold me in story of our deaths, thy hart, If not from thee? O my heart Absent thee from felicity a sinckes Horatio, while Mine eyes have lost their sight, And in this harsh world drawe my tongue his use: thy breath in paine Farewell Horatio, heaven receive To tell my story; What warlike my soule. noise is this?

(_Hamlet dies._) (_A march a farre off._)[17]

Speaking, not as the historian, not as the observer, but as Hamlet himself, Shakespeare by his quickened feeling finds a phrasing of which we may say what Swinburne said of some of the lines of John Webster: that the character says, not what he might have said, not what we are satisfied to have him say, but what seems absolutely the only thing he could have said.

When a dramatist works as he should, the emotion of his characters gives him the right words for carrying their feelings to the audience, and every word counts. Writing to Macready of _Money_, Bulwer-Lytton said of his play, "At the end of Act in your closing speech, will you remember to say, you 'would' refuse me ten pounds to spend on benevolence. Not you refuse me. The _would_ is important." [18]

In the left-hand column the complete sympathy of Heywood with his characters makes them speak simply, out of the fullness of their emotion. In the right-hand column, Heywood's collaborator, Rowley, lacking complete understanding of his characters, is thinking more of phrase for its own sake.

ACT I. SCENE 4. _The street_ ACT II. SCENE 1. _Hounslow_

_Enter Rainsford and Young _Enter Rainsford and Young Forrest, meeting_ Forrest_

_Young Forrest._ Pray let _Rainsford._ Your resolution me speak with you. holds then?

_Rainsford._ With me, sir? _Young Forrest._ Men that are easily mov'd are soon _Young For._ With you. remov'd.

_Rains._ Say on.

_Young For._ Do you not know me? From resolution; but when, with advice _Rains._ Keep off, upon the And with foresight we purpose, peril of thy life. our intents Come not within my sword's Are not without considerate length, lest this arm reasons alter'd.

Prove fatal to thee and bereave thy life, _Rains._ Thou art resolv'd, and As it hath done thy brother's. I prepar'd for thee.

Yet thus much know, thy state _Young For._ Why now thou is desperate, know'st me truly, by that And thou art now in danger's token, throat already That thou hast slain my brother. Ev'n half devoured. If I subdue Put up, put up! thee, know So great a quarrel as a brother's Thou art a dead man; for this life fatal steel, Must not be made a street-brawl; That search'd thy brother's 'tis not fit entrails is prepar'd That every prentice should, with To do as much to thee. If thou his shop club, survivest, Betwixt us play the sticklers. And I be slain, th'art dead too, Sheathe thy sword. my alliance And greatness in the world will _Rains._ Swear thou wilt act not endure no sudden violence, My slaughter unavenged. Come, Or this sharp sword shall still I am for thee.

be interposed 'Twixt me and thy own hatred. _Young For._ I would my brother liv'd, that this our _Young For._ Sheathe thy diff'rence sword. Might end in an embrace of By my religion and that interest folded love; I have in gentry I will not be But 'twas Heaven's will that guilty for some guilt of his Of any base revenge. He should be scourged by thee; and for the guilt _Rains._ Say on. In scourging him, thou by my vengeance punish'd.

_Young For._ Let's walk. Come; I am both ways arm'd, Trust me. Let not thy guilty against thy steel soul If I be pierc'd by it, or 'gainst Be jealous of my fury. This thy greatness my hand If mine pierce thee.

Is curbed and govern'd by an honest heart, _Rains._ Have at thee.

Not by just anger. I'll not touch (_They fight and pause_.) thee foully For all the world. Let's walk. _Young For._ I will not bid thee hold; but if thy breath _Rains._ Proceed. Be as much short as mine, look to thy weakness.

_Young For._ Sir, you did kill my brother. Had it been _Rains._ The breath thou draw'st In fair and even encounter, but weakly, tho' a child, Thou now shalt draw no more.

His death I had not question'd. (_They fight. Forrest loseth his weapon_.) _Rains._ Is this all?

_Young For._ He's gone. The _Young For._ That Heaven knows.

law is past. Your life is He guard my body that my clear'd; spirit owes!

For none of all our kindred laid (_Guards himself, and puts against by with his hat--slips--by You evidence to hang you. the other, running, falls You're a gentleman; over him, and Forrest kills And pity 'twere a man of your him_.) descent Should die a felon's death. _Good._ My cousin's fall'n-- See, sir, thus far pursue the murderer.

We have demeaned fairly, like ourselves. _Foster._ But not too near.

But, think you, though we wink I pray; you see he's armed, at base revenge, And in this deep amazement A brother's death can be so soon may commit forgot? Some desperate outrage.

Our gentry baffled, and our name disgraced?

No: 'tmust not be; I am a _Young For._ Had I but known gentleman the terror of this deed, Well known; and my demeanor I would have left it done hihterto imperfectly, Hath promis'd somewhat. Rather than in this guilt of Should I swallow this, conscience The scandal would outlive me. Labour'd so far. But I forget Briefly then, my safety.

I'll fight with you. The gentleman is dead. My desperate life _Rains._ I am loath. Will be o'erswayed by his allies and friends, _Young For._ Answer directly, And I have now no safety but Whether you dare to meet me my flight.

on even terms; And see where my pursuers Or mark how I'll proceed. come. Away!

Certain destruction hovers o'er _Rains._ Say, I deny it. my stay. (_Exit_.)

_Young For._ Then I say thou'rt (_Fortune by Land and Sea_, a villain, and I challenge thee, Act II, Scene 1.)[1]

Where'er I meet thee next, in field or town, The father's manors, or thy tenants' grange, Saving the church, there is no privilege In all this land for thy despised life.

(_Fortune by Land and Sea_, Act I, Scene 4.)[19]

Two sets of extracts from the first and final versions of Ibsen's _A Doll's House_ show the way in which perfected understanding of a character reveals the apt phrase.

(_Nora stands motionless. He (_Nora stands motionless.

goes to the door and opens Helmer goes to the door it._) and opens it_.)