The technique of the drama. A statement of the principles involved in the value of dramatic material, in the construction of plays, and in dramatic criticism

Front matter

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1IIW

CORNELL

Preface

To set forth at any length in a preface the limitations and qualifications of mere rule and device in driamatic art, would be simply to anticipate the constant warnings against conventionalism and academic fixity that run through this book.

The vitality of the drama would soon be exhausted if writers followed rule only and were ignorant of principles or indifferent to them. It would be possible to describe with almost mathematical exactness how certain forms of the drama are built up, particularly those that are fixed or extinct ; but it marks a decadence of the drama when at every step you are met with the mandate from the mechanical people — including prompter and scene-shifter — that you are to do this and are not to do that. The object of this book, then, is not to give formulas for the makiv Preface,

ing of various kinds of plays, but to state such obvious and accepted principles as underlie the drama — principles that are known, or should be known, to every literary worker, and that are antecedent to the tricks of the trade. Succinctness is aimed at, but occasionally the exposition requires illustration.

Such few books of technique as are accessible in French and German seem to be impracticable in keeping too close to some special form, while English literature is completely lacking in helpful publications. The chief authority that a book of this kind can have is the authority of principle, and that only is urged for it.

This book is addressed not alone to the dramatic author, real or possible, but to the playgoing public and the general student of literature as well, for there is inevitably a responsive elevation in the drama when audiences are critical enough to demand high work. To the dramatic critic of the newspaper the writer (having himself been in the living conflict) proffers the book as an aid in the ceaseless struggle against evil.

We have reached the beginning point of a

Preface. v

rapid development of the drama in America, and it is the hope of this writer — who lays no other store by it — that the book will be helpful, by way of suggestion if not of positive instruction, to honest and artistic work, to self-reliance and an independence of formula, to vigor in sentiment, purity in morals, and good taste.

W. T. Price.

New York, Nov., 1892.

SCHEDULE OF CHAPTERS.

IHAPTER PAGE

I. The Drama i

1. Its Definition; the Dramatic Idea.

2. The Use of the Drama.

■II. The Three Elements of a Drama 20

1. The Ethical.

2. The Esthetic.

3. The Technical.

III. The Principle of Unity 56

IV. The Division into Acts 65

The Introduction.

[ 2. The Development.

The Middle 3. The Crisis or Climax.

The Beginning ]

The End

54. The Denouement. 5. The Catastrophe.

V. The Scenes and Principles of Action 112

1. Monologues.

2. Dialogues.

3. Groups.

4. Masses.

Etc.

VI. Character 149

VII. A Summary of Certain Laws in Art 165

1. Perspicuity.

2. Froportiou.

3. Variety.

4. Illusion.

J. Probability. 6. Contrast.

Etc.

vii viii Contents.

CHAPTER PAGE

VIII. Adaptation and Dramatization 178

IX. Forms of the Drama 191

X. Criticism 212

XI. How a Drama is Built Up: A Word to

THE Author 224

XII. The Literature of Dramatic Principle... 243

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE DRAMA.

Chapter I. The Drama

I. Definition. — A drama is the imitation of a complete action, adapted to the sympathetic attention of man, developed in a succession of continuously interesting and continuously related incidents, acted and expressed by means of speech and the symbols, actualities, and conditions of life.

No definition in a paragraph, however comprehensive in terms, of what a drama is, can more than indicate its limitations and proportions. For the unskilled in particular, large elucidation is necessary to bring out the hidden meaning of the above descriptive phrases. The definition as given concerns itself largely with the form of a play, including the general dramatic idea. It is obvious that the fitness of material for the form must be governed by the requirements of a drama; and this definition affords an absolute rule of measurement.

The drama in general is a reflex of life. The truth of this is to be found in the literature of any people, for in this form in proportion to its development at any given period, more than in any other form, are embodied sentiment and manners. The playwright may treat his theme as he may, with idealism or realism, and there yet remains in his work something of his time. It is for this reason that dramas are so perishable. Changes of taste and manners work this ruin. The commercial author cares more for this adaptability in his piece than for any of its other qualities. The drama deals with men. It requires spectators, and is addressed to the eye, the ear, and the moral nature. It is a form of literature and of entertainment into which all human emotions and experience may be translated under certain conditions. That idea only is dramatic that can be put into shape of sustained action — an action that is complete and organic, with unity of theme and purpose, that invites our attention at the outset, arouses an interest as it proceeds, and confirms itself in our sympathies at the last, coming to a conclusion in its disposition of the characters that accords with our views of justice. Only a vital and logical action can do this. An action is complete — according to the first requirement — when everything essential to its sympathetic appreciation is contained in it. There is, of course, a vast knowledge of life, particular as well as general to any theme that may be chosen, that is implied in the action as possessed by the spectator, and this, the unexpressed, is a material source of one's enjoyment, giving play to our emotion and intelligence.

As stated by Aristotle, a complete action is one that has a beginning, a middle, and an encj' or, as it may be put, it contains a premise,^an\ argument, and a conclusion. The premise...^ the beginning is a fact or state of facts, undisputed, accepted; for the action must have a sure starting-point. No antecedents, at least in the way of action, are required to explain it.

Shakspere tells, for example, in " Romeo and Juliet " nothing of the causes or former incidents of quarrel between the Montagues and the Capulets. It is a sufficient beginning that the two houses are at deadly enmity. We see from this how the law of limitation at once asserts itself. Every form of art has its boundaries, and in this dogma of a beginning we touch the first sure dramatic ground. In the play in question the theme is love, not politics or history. \ The middle is the development from the premise or fact, which has necessarily preceded it, and which just as necessarily requires a deduction or conclusion. The end leav.es nothing more to be said or done. A result, the consequence of what has preceded, is reached.

The drama is practical — truth being its essence — growing more and more so as it deals with the complex relations of modern society ; consequently themes at this day are by preference and custom not handled in verse, and even the elocution that attends the Shaksperian dramas is uttered in tones and a rhythm truer to nature than in the times of Siddons and Kemble. The drama is concrete. It is not only life, but the essence of it, the selection and use of those things only that tend to illusion. It puts aside reflection, the elegiac, the lyric, the merely descriptive, except as they are briefly incidental, and translates all into action. It holds all forms of literature and all things of life in solution, but on the condition of adapted form and that they be integral with the action and the purpose. The drama is a powerful solvent and can make many things "dramatic" that in themselves are not so, but become so when vital and in place. fCertain things, as will better appear than in this chapter, must be dramaticT) The theme must be dramatic, else it will not acmiit of the development indicated in the rule. The heart of the dramatic is emotion and that action which springs from or leads to a clash of personal interests that- by incertitude of incident proceeds to a final result. The Divine law, social and political conditions, are the higher causes in this movement. The drama is a conflict always. The problem is always to remove an obstacle. Dramatic are the emotions that give shape to will and deed. All emotions, all events that involve logical destiny (or in comedy artificial destiny) to the person or persons concerned, are dramatic. There is a drama in every throb of the human heart. It requires the clash of interests to make a complete action. It matters not what force impels. Desire and demand, opposition, resistance, the thrust and the parry, and so through vicissitudes to joy or grief. \ 'An idea for practical purposes is not dramatic 'unless it can be acted in all its material parts. It may be in the nature of the dramatic, and in the way of description may make a striking poem like " Sheridan's Ride " or " Herve Riel." An epic poem may describe great deeds. The novelist and the lyric poet may tell of emotion, but in the drama it is the actor alone that is entitled to speak ; and, even in the best technicallywritten drama, every device or subterfuge, however necessary, that shows the hand or the mind of the author, is a defect. Description by an actor, on the other hand, may be highly dramatic. An incident may be more effectively acted by means of it than if it had been represented, possibly tediously, before us.

The play is moreover to be acted in a given time. This is one of its many limitations. Three hours is a high limit of comfort and convenience in a theatre, but apart from this practical experience, a drama expanded beyond this space is in danger of wearying either by monotony or by variety and multiplicity of incidents. Three thousand lines is given as the proper length of a play. A safer estimate is the time consumed in reading the manuscript aloud, with an allowance for the business, the general affairs of the stage, and the intervals between the acts^

The dramatic idea must be susceptible of division into proportionate parts. Its beginning, middle, and end must have absolute relations. Causes and effects must be adequate. A trivial ending must not result from a serious progression of incidents. The beginning, the middle, and the end should be relatively proportionate in treatment.

The dramatic idea involves a general theme, such as love, jealousy, ambition, nobility of nature ; and a particular theme, suqh as the love of Romeo and Juliet, and so on.

It involves an object, such as to show that love is stronger than the world and all its laws. To abstract from a play other incidental themes and objects would be to deny it human semblance. Themes are simple or complex, but unity is the governing rule in either case.

The dramatic idea should be based on the truth of life, and thus probability is an essential thing.

The theme is of the first importance, for no genuine play was ever written without the process of germination in the heart and mind of a writer. " The choice of subject " is not a happy phrase. It is true that the value of the material must be determined ; and to this end is definition herein made of the dramatic idea. It is worth while to add that particular themes are often found by a playwright to be practically exhausted for his generation. Of course, general themes — love, jealousy, and the like — offer boundless complications. Certain combinations of condition are intensely dramatic at certain social periods, but as soon as the social conditions no longer concern us, they cease to be of interest.

Action in itself, emotion in itself, is not necessarily dramatic. It is only so when organic with larger action, or when complete in itself. There are plays which are not dramatic, and yet which contain perfect dramas in this or that incident, which may concern characters that have little or nothing to do with the main action. A case in point is where in the course of the action of a pretentious play a Vendean peasant is slain, and bewailed by his wife — ten nnnutes of real drama to three hours of meanderini;

Emotion without cause given may appear absurd. If we are not made to sympathize with it and understand it, we resent it as an obtrusion. In other words, it may be a futile theatre trick and not dramatic. Mere movement may become a tedious insult to people who give their money, time, and attention to a performance. Play-botchers, the conventional thieves of the stage, pilfer climaxes from honest dramas and construct pieces that are not true plays. Battle, murder, and sudden death, the uplifted knife and the deadly bowl, are under such conditions not tragic or dramatic, but the figments of uninformed trickery, theatric merely.

In its proper place a given situation may have a powerful effect, but the governing principle is that it must be organic.

The definition of a drama does not prescribe intensity for the dramatic idea or the chief situation. To do so would be to define a particular fdrm of the drama only. If you have the conditions of an action, the cause, the effects, and finality, the dramatic idea is complete. It is true that certain incidents are in themselves dramatic because the mind supplies the qualities just indicated, as if we were to witness the burn- 'ng of a city, but the effect is only momentary, 'f that city be Moscow, in whose flames the irestige of Napoleon is destroyed, the interest is quickened. It becomes a part of a larger drama. The spectacle of the assassination of a man, or of the beheading of a woman, would give no other sensation than of horror; but when we know with all material circumstance that the one is Robespierre and the other Marie Antoinette, we feel at once the force of. the dramatic idea — an idea that may be developed with curiosity, interest, suspense, and emotion; but we need not go so far afield for illustration, inasmuch as the ordinary tragedies and happenings of life interest us and are dramatic in proportion to our personal knowledge of the facts and the people involved. Even then the story or the plot must excite natural sympathy.

The dramatic idea, then, cannot exist apart in the mind, and with all the more reason cannot stand unsupported on the stage, consisting of a single act or doing.

The dramatic idea involves incidents, and these incidents lie about it in greater or less profusion. Emotion is full of action ; and the idea is dramatic in proportion to the emotion it excites in the spectator of the scene compounded of it. It is so in real life. A dramatic happening unfolds itself from these emotions step by step, link by link.

We must have an origin for each incident, and an expectation of results. It does not need to conceive mortal peril or death in order to be dramatic. The dramatic principle includes all human action. These incidents may be so highly charged with the dramatic that they maj^ be almost perfect in themselves, but in the true drama it is the entirety alone that is " a complete action." The drama itself is not complete until it is acted, and its possibilities have been expressed in action, utterance, look, tone, and gesture.

A complete action is in itself a definition of unity, one of the essentials.

. So organic is the dramatic idea, that any of its parts, a subordinate incident even, may become in the mind of the poet the germ of the play. Schiller reads a paragraph of a few lines in a paper, telling of the suicide of two lovers of unequal birth; and from that springs his " Cabale und Liebe."

Sardou sees a piece of paper blown out of a window, and that is the beginning of his wonderfully written " Pattes de Mouches." The dramatic idea may be weighed in advance of its treatment by the incidents it suggests. Does it admit of handling like a case at law, where all but particular evidence is excluded ? A trial is a drama if it reaches a conclusion, acquittal, or conviction, with an element the while of uncertainty as to result. It is this uncertainty, this suspense, as it is technically called, that is implied in the "sympathetic attention" of the definition of the drama already given.

By way of familiar illustration, it may be said that a perfect anecdote possesses many of the essential features of a drama. It is always a complete action. The local anecdote, in particular, admits of great detail in the telling. The persons concerned in it are known, as are their relations to each other. It has a beginning, an introduction, a climax, and a conclusion, and that conclusion leaves nothing more to be said or done. The more conclusive, the more the village will roar its applause. The adaptability of the anecdote to practical stage use explains the prosperity of t"he American farce-comedies. A farce-comedy is little more than a succession of acted anecdote,'

Progressive action is a true mark of the dramatic product, and if there is not a propelling force in the incidents that lie about a theme it is not dramatic. Progression toward an end is essential.

The material of the" drama lies about us and is common property, often enough in forms requiring small technical shaping. Actual happenings furnish a large part of it, so that " originality " is not one of the most desired merits of a dramatic author. He may be accounted original because of the use or even invention of some situation not before seen in the drama, but, after all, it is we, the people, to whom that situation is possible in real life, or who may in hard fact have acted it, that are the real authors of plays. Millions of men ceaselessly co-operate with the dramatist. The real power and merit bf an author have ample scope in truly telling what passes in the human heart. A genuine drama is the distillation oC^fif'life, fancy, meditation, and all the genius of his being. The commonplaces of life are pregnant with drama.

^^riginality " is usually but another name for artificiality, marking the point of departure from simple nature and everyday life. W. S. Gilbert is original in the " Mikado " ; and in farce, which does not confine itself to reality, there may be any amount of caprice. The true drama is bounded on all sides bv fact. Life, and the life that he knows, is ,the best material for any honest-minded dramatist. There is where spontaneity lies. There are other sources of the drama, notably history and romance, and from these tht: author may draw and be absolutely original. There are difficulties in dealing with history. A drama has a direct growth in the mind and heart of a writer, and the less he is encurribered with non-essential incidents and incidentals, the easier his task. In historical material he may disentangle himself, but he will be met on the production of the piece by these same non-essentials existent in the minds of the audience. It is much the same with dramatizations of novels or incidents suggested by them. The difficulties in either case will be discussed in the technical chapters. The dramatic idea may sometimes be stronger than history itselfj [ The material of the drama may come from any life, but it is a sure indication of a rogue when he writes only foreign plays. It is these mental sans-culottes, these adapters and thieves, that stultify managers and intercept good, genuine work. Our stage and our literature are vastly concerned in this. Let the managers look to home work with more faith. The history of its financial success even in the present development of our drama is convincing as to its value.* It is odd how original work is mistrusted by the merchants in the temple, and yet nothing is more certain than that each country reserves its heartiest welcome for the home product.

Yet, it certainly matters not where a play comes from. The stage is universal, and the imprints of London, Paris, Germany, are indifferent, if we accept them. But it does make a difference who writes the plays. A French play should be written by a Frenchman, an English play by an Englishman, and a German play by a German. You can't make anything else out of a native writer of foreign plays except a cheap imitator.

It is true that Shakspere made large choice of foreign material, but exclusive of his mastery and the ampler treatment allowed by the technique of his day, the propriety of its use is

* " My Partner," " The Danites," " Davy Crockett," " The White Slave," "The Banker's Daughter," "Shenandoah," " Held by the Enemy," "Alabama," etc. ; while England will have nothing that is not English by origin or adaptation.

entirely sound. His was the poetic drama. It has the freedom of the world. He treated history and fable where the essential facts are fixed, or, on occasion, of obscure countries like Denmark and Bohemia, as to which he could establish conditions. He was, moreover, true in his vision. At all events, there is reason to be very, very suspicious of any American drama on a foreign theme of current life. There is power and truth in the native theme. The Frenchmen are great because of their loyalty ; because they write home plays.

Wherever the theme, or, in other words, the dramatic idea, may come from, it has certain inherent rights ; it first stirs the heart and hand of the writer to action, and to it is given dominion and power over the technique to be applied to it. It demands and suggests its own treatment, and an author should take careful counsel with it before yielding to conventionalism, when the idea finds its opposition there.

Technique is the helper; the subject is the master. The man with an idea rs"rhdre fortunate than the one with the tools; and yet perfection is the requirement of the drama, and to it the dramatist must bend his will. The artificialities of play-writers are not fixed, but the principles are inexorable. Of course the general requirements of a drama as stated in this chapter involve other principles, and these we shall encounter as we proceed. J

2. The Use of the Drama. — Holding fast to the principle that the drama is life, we must see that its uses are noble. There are many forms of the drama, and some whose graceless mission is to corrupt; so that it is the variety of the drama that brings so much confusion into all talk of it. The value of the drama is not to be seriously disputed for a moment. It is essential in many ways to civilization. In large cities, where the physical congregation is social segregation, it takes the place to a certain extent of the social and moral influences that are active in the compact life of smaller communities.

It is only worth while, in a book devoted to the art of building plays, to speak of this particular matter in a practical way. Dramatic literature, with its English charter from Shakspere, can take care of itself.

A pernicious theory is held by some managers and writers, that the purpose of the drama is merely to entertain.

So should a sermon entertain, and have art after its kind, too. A drama must certainly entertain, or it fails ; but it is a shallow assumption that proelaims that as its only function.

Were it the case, we should have every indecency exhibited, whereas the drama should minister to the heart. This would soon outlaw the art. Were it the only function, it would be a miserable life-pursuit for the people of genius, of dignity, and moral grandeur that walk in the ranks of the stage, honored and worthy. If to amuse were all, then we should have clowns only. A serious and entertaining drama cannot help but instruct. It is a supplement to our life. Its potentialities are not to be doubted. Its molding influence cannot be weighed, but it exists. We know that it can affect the moral and political life of a nation. It would be easy to give examples without recurring to the time when in Greece the drama was national. And, so, the drama acts on individuals, and results are hidden in the multitude of hearts. The slightest examination into the principles of the drama proves that no successful and well-constructed drama can preach and teach at the public. It is not its way of handling the material, but the sermon and the lesson will be there just as truly.

Moreover, people are not entertained by provocation of laughter alone. It is a catch-word with the commercial manager, that "people go to the theatre to laugh." If this were true, every definition of the dramatic idea is at fault. In point of fact a play is directed at the emotions of people, and laughter is but one of the many. Another catch- word in the same relation is that "people don't want to think." This statement proceeds from small knowledge of the dramatic process of construction. A good play — " Richard III.," or what-not — is plain sailing for the lads in the gallery, and is without distressful mental operation for anybody.

Of all the arts the drama comes closest to man. It dwells with him. It does not deal mainly with the gods, as mute statuary does, and is not sightless and impalpable, like music. It does not halt at the single moment, as painting does. It embraces all the arts, and gives life and voice and form and functions to them all. No other art uses such a multiplicity of forces.

Imagine the cost of some single, great dramatic production, and what in the end it brings to author, actor, and manager.

Let us say that it earns a quarter of a million dollars ; and men everywhere that have beheld it carry with them memories for life, for they have seen something done by men, not marble, and have beheld pictures painted by passion and life, not by pigments. Their experiences have been enlarged, for man is made of dreams. Perspectives have been opened up that are new to some minds, and to them, otherwise, impossible. It teaches wisdom to men that never open a book. It gives the essence of life, and in three hours it speaks volumes. It warns and counsels, teaches justice and keeps alive pity. It celebrates man's liberty and his struggles, and all that is noble wanders into it. It enlists the sympathies to such an extent that the listener is his own poet. It analyzes all motives, withholding nothing, lays bare everything. It is in fact the plainest, the most direct of all forms of teaching. It does not formulate morals in words, but in deeds; and if life, which is the drama, is not a constant mentor, unheeded also in its teachings, what is it?

Chapter II. The Three Elements Of A Drama

We are still considering the dramatic idea — the theme. The poet must determine in advance of putting his hand to it what its qualities are. Is it worth his while to put it into form ? It is a matter of labor, and he must look to results. There are three elements in the dramatic idea : the ethical, the aesthetic, and the technical; and deficiency in any one of them may make the entire material inapt.

I. The Ethical. — The theme, with its facts and what is proved in the conclusion of the drama, must accord with the moral views of the time in which the drama is produced. In the lighter forms of comedy there is no ethical purpose, although the play may be even more iniquitous than if it had a bad purpose, or, on the . other hand, more effective than if the problem were openly set. Every play leaves an impression, and that impression must be taken as its object. In the serious drama it is impossible to avoid the issue of morals, and in many modern pieces a social question is avowedly discussed. Dumas in " Denise " * seeks to establish the proposition that a girl who becomes a mother out of wedlock may be entirely innocent. Whatever may be said in behalf of this child of misfortune, her case is not for the drama under our social code. There is an object in every drama. That object is the one distinct thing in the poet's mind and heart from the beginning, long before he passes through the incertitudes of the technical handling and reaches the heart of the drama, so that it assuredly must be absolutely distinct when he has completed his work. An immoral incident in a play may pass without resistance, but an immoral object is fatal. This fundamental rule is plain enough, but great treasure is lavished on plays of the kind that inevitably fail, and the genius of actors is thrown away on them. The authority of some author who is technically great is often the mis-