Part 2
3. _The End of the One-Act Play._--The end of the one-act play is an important consideration. Too often it is entirely lost sight of. It is the part that frequently makes or mars a play. When the crucial moment or climax has been reached, the plot action of the play is completed, but the play is not yet completed. The play needs yet to be rounded out into an artistic and dramatic whole. In life the actual crisis in human affairs is not often our chiefest interest, but the reaction of characters immediately _after_ the crisis has occurred. Thus, in a play, the emotional reaction of the characters on the crucial moment and the more or less sudden readjustment between characters after the crucial moment must be presented. For this very purpose the end of the one-act play is constructed. The end is of need very short--usually even shorter than the beginning. Usually the end consists of but a speech or two, or sometimes only of pantomime that more effectively expresses the emotional reactions of the characters on the crucial moment than dialogue.
Thus, in Sir James M. Barrie's _The Twelve-Pound Look_, the end consists of but pantomime, in which "SIR" HARRY expresses his emotional reaction upon his wife's longing for the human liberty that even the operating of a typewriter would provide her. The end of Bosworth Crocker's _The Last Straw_ comes immediately after the pistol-shot is heard in the adjoining room and MRS. BAUER'S voice is heard: "Fritz! Fritz! Speak to me! Look at me, Fritz! You didn't do it, Fritz! I know you didn't do it!" etc.
Is the end of the play under consideration in terms of dialogue? In pantomime? Or both? Is it too long? Too short? Is it dramatic? Is it conclusive and satisfying?
_C._ DIALOGUE OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--Dialogue, like plot and characterization, is another means whereby the theme of the play is got to the reader or audience. Good dramatic dialogue is constructed to this very end. It is not the commonplace, rambling, uncertain, and realistic question and answer of every-day life. Usually good dramatic dialogue is crisp, direct, condensed. It is the substance but not the form of ordinary conversation. Its chiefest characteristic is spontaneity.
_The highest type of dramatic dialogue is that which expresses the ideas and emotions of characters at the points of highest emotional functioning._ It will readily be seen, then, that not all dialogue in a play is necessarily dramatic. In truth, the best dramatic dialogue occurs in conjunction with the series of minor crises and the crucial moment that go to make up the dramatic movement of the play. Often there is much dialogue in a play that essentially is not dramatic at all.
In analyzing dramatic dialogue it is well to inquire whether in the play it serves (1) to express the ideas and emotions of characters at points of highest emotional functioning, (2) to advance the plot, (3) to reveal character, or (4) what. Is it brief, clear, direct, spontaneous? Or is it careless, loose, insipid? Wit, repartee? Didactic, moralizing? Satirical, cynical?
_D._ STAGE-BUSINESS AND STAGE-DIRECTION IN THE ONE-ACT PLAY.--The stage-business and stage-direction, usually printed in italics, of a play are an essential part of a drama. They must not be ignored in either reading or staging a play. The novel or short story generally uses narration and description to achieve its desired result; a play, on the contrary, uses dialogue and concrete objective pantomime that may be seen readily with the eye. A play is not a story narrated in chronological order of events, but it is a story so handled and so constructed that it can be acted on a stage by actors before an audience. It is a series of minor crises leading to a major crisis, presented to a reader or to an audience by characters, dialogue, and stage-business and pantomime. For purposes of indicating the pantomimic action of the play, the dramatist resorts to stage-business and stage-direction.
Does the stage-direction aid in making (1) the dialogue, (2) the plot, (3) the dramatic action, or (4) the character more clear? Does it shorten the play? Does it express idea, emotion, or situations more effectively than could dialogue, if it were used?
And, finally, do not judge any play until all the evidence is in, until you have thoroughly mastered every detail and have fully conceived the _author's idea_ and _purpose_. It is not a question whether _you_ would have selected such a theme or whether _you_ would have handled it in the same way in which the author did; but the point is does the _author_ in _his_ way make _his_ theme clear to you. The author has conceived a dramatic problem in his _own mind_ and has set it forth in _his own way_. The question is, does he make you see his result and his method?
Do you like the play? Or do you not like it? State your reason in either case. Is it because of the author? Is it because of the theme? Is it because of the technic--the way he gets his intent to his reader or audience? Is it because of your own likes or dislikes; preconceived notions or prejudices? Is it because of the acting? Of the staging or setting? Does it uplift or depress? Does it provoke you to emotional functioning?
"Though old the thought and oft expressed, 'Tis his at last who says it best."
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
BY
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
_The Twelve-Pound Look_ is reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons, the publisher in America of the works of Sir James M. Barrie. For permission to perform, address the publisher.
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
Sir James M. Barrie is rated as the foremost English dramatist of the day; and his plays, taken together, make the most significant contribution to English drama since Sheridan. Practically his entire life has been given to the writing of novels and plays, many of the latter having their heroines conceived especially for Maude Adams, one of America's greatest actresses. He was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 1860. He received his education at Dumfries and Edinburgh University. His first work in journalism and letters was done at Nottingham, but soon he took up his work in London, where he now resides.
Sir James M. Barrie's literary labors have been very fruitful. His _The Professor's Love Story_, _The Little Minister_, _Quality Street_, _The Admirable Crichton_, _Peter Pan_, _What Every Woman Knows_, and _Alice Sit-by-the-Fire_ are well known to every one.
In 1914 there appeared a volume of one-act plays, _Half Hours_, the most important of which is _The Twelve-Pound Look_. And in 1918 appeared a volume, _Echoes of the War_, the most important one-act play therein being _The Old Lady Shows Her Medals_.
Barrie is a great playwright because he is so thoroughly human. All the little whimsicalities, sentiments, little loves, and heart-longings of human beings are ever present in his plays. He is no reformer, no propagandist. He appeals to the emotions rather than to the intellect. He continues the romantic tradition in English drama and gives us plays that are wholesome, tender, and human. And with all this, he has the added saving grace of a most absorbing humor.
While Barrie is not a devotee of the well-made play, his _The Twelve-Pound Look_ is one of the most nearly perfect one-act plays of contemporary drama. His interest in human personalities is not more manifest in any of his plays than in LADY SIMS and "SIR" HARRY SIMS in this play.
CHARACTERS
"SIR" HARRY SIMS LADY SIMS KATE TOMBES
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK[A]
_If quite convenient (as they say about checks) you are to conceive that the scene is laid in your own house, and that_ HARRY SIMS _is you. Perhaps the ornamentation of the house is a trifle ostentatious, but if you cavil at that we are willing to redecorate: you don't get out of being_ HARRY SIMS _on a mere matter of plush and dados. It pleases us to make him a city man, but (rather than lose you) he can be turned with a scrape of the pen into a K.C., fashionable doctor, Secretary of State, or what you will. We conceive him of a pleasant rotundity with a thick red neck, but we shall waive that point if you know him to be thin._
_It is that day in your career when everything went wrong just when everything seemed to be superlatively right._
_In_ HARRY'S _case it was a woman who did the mischief. She came to him in his great hour and told him she did not admire him. Of course he turned her out of the house and was soon himself again, but it spoiled the morning for him. This is the subject of the play, and quite enough too._
HARRY _is to receive the honor of knighthood in a few days, and we discover him in the sumptuous "snuggery" of his home in Kensington (or is it Westminster?), rehearsing the ceremony with his wife. They have been at it all the morning, a pleasing occupation._ MRS. SIMS _(as we may call her for the last time, as it were, and strictly as a good-natured joke) is wearing her presentation gown, and personates the august one who is about to dub her_ HARRY _knight. She is seated regally. Her jewelled shoulders proclaim aloud her husband's generosity. She must be an extraordinarily proud and happy woman, yet she has a drawn face and shrinking ways, as if there were some one near her of whom she is afraid. She claps her hands, as the signal to_ HARRY. _He enters bowing, and with a graceful swerve of the leg. He is only partly in costume, the sword and the real stockings not having arrived yet. With a gliding motion that is only delayed while one leg makes up on the other, he reaches his wife, and, going on one knee, raises her hand superbly to his lips. She taps him on the shoulder with a paper-knife and says huskily: "Rise, Sir Harry." He rises, bows, and glides about the room, going on his knees to various articles of furniture, and rises from each a knight. It is a radiant domestic scene, and_ HARRY _is as dignified as if he knew that royalty was rehearsing it at the other end_.
SIR HARRY. [_Complacently._] Did that seem all right, eh?
LADY SIMS. [_Much relieved._] I think perfect.
SIR HARRY. But was it dignified?
LADY SIMS. Oh, very. And it will be still more so when you have the sword.
SIR HARRY. The sword will lend it an air. There are really the five moments--[_suiting the action to the word_]--the glide--the dip--the kiss--the tap--and you back out a knight. It's short, but it's a very beautiful ceremony. [_Kindly._] Anything you can suggest?
LADY SIMS. No--oh, no. [_Nervously, seeing him pause to kiss the tassel of a cushion._] You don't think you have practised till you know what to do almost too well?
[_He has been in a blissful temper, but such niggling criticism would try any man._
SIR HARRY. I do not. Don't talk nonsense. Wait till your opinion is asked for.
LADY SIMS. [_Abashed._] I'm sorry, Harry. [_A perfect butler appears and presents a card._] "The Flora Typewriting Agency."
SIR HARRY. Ah, yes. I telephoned them to send some one. A woman, I suppose, Tombes?
TOMBES. Yes, Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY. Show her in here. [_He has very lately become a stickler for etiquette._] And, Tombes, strictly speaking, you know, I am not Sir Harry till Thursday.
TOMBES. Beg pardon, sir, but it is such a satisfaction to us.
SIR HARRY. [_Good-naturedly._] Ah, they like it down-stairs, do they?
TOMBES. [_Unbending._] Especially the females, Sir Harry.
SIR HARRY. Exactly. You can show her in, Tombes. [_The butler departs on his mighty task._] You can tell the woman what she is wanted for, Emmy, while I change. [_He is too modest to boast about himself, and prefers to keep a wife in the house for that purpose._] You can tell her the sort of things about me that will come better from you. [_Smiling happily._] You heard what Tombes said: "Especially the females." And he is right. Success! The women like it even better than the men. And rightly. For they share. _You_ share, _Lady_ Sims. Not a woman will see that gown without being sick with envy of it. I know them. Have all our lady friends in to see it. It will make them ill for a week.
[_These sentiments carry him off light-heartedly, and presently the disturbing element is shown in. She is a mere typist, dressed in uncommonly good taste, but at contemptibly small expense, and she is carrying her typewriter in a friendly way rather than as a badge of slavery, as of course it is. Her eye is clear; and in odd contrast to_ LADY SIMS, _she is self-reliant and serene_.
KATE. [_Respectfully, but she should have waited to be spoken to._] Good morning, madam.
LADY SIMS. [_In her nervous way, and scarcely noticing that the typist is a little too ready with her tongue._] Good morning. [_As a first impression she rather likes the woman, and the woman, though it is scarcely worth mentioning, rather likes her._ LADY SIMS _has a maid for buttoning and unbuttoning her, and probably another for waiting on the maid, and she gazes with a little envy perhaps at a woman who does things for herself_.] Is that the typewriting machine?
KATE. [_Who is getting it ready for use._] Yes. [_Not "Yes, madam" as it ought to be._] I suppose if I am to work here I may take this off. I get on better without it. [_She is referring to her hat._
LADY SIMS. Certainly. [_But the hat is already off._] I ought to apologize for my gown. I am to be presented this week, and I was trying it on.
[_Her tone is not really apologetic. She is rather clinging to the glory of her gown, wistfully, as if not absolutely certain, you know, that it is a glory._
KATE. It is beautiful, if I may presume to say so.
[_She frankly admires it. She probably has a best and a second best of her own; that sort of thing._
LADY SIMS. [_With a flush of pride in the gown._] Yes, it is very beautiful. [_The beauty of it gives her courage._] Sit down, please.
KATE. [_The sort of woman who would have sat down in any case._] I suppose it is some copying you want done? I got no particulars. I was told to come to this address, but that was all.
LADY SIMS. [_Almost with the humility of a servant._] Oh, it is not work for me, it is for my husband, and what he needs is not exactly copying. [_Swelling, for she is proud of_ HARRY.] He wants a number of letters answered--hundreds of them--letters and telegrams of congratulation.
KATE. [_As if it were all in the day's work._] Yes?
LADY SIMS. [_Remembering that_ HARRY _expects every wife to do her duty_.] My husband is a remarkable man. He is about to be knighted. [_Pause, but_ KATE _does not fall to the floor_.] He is to be knighted for his services to--[_on reflection_]--for his services. [_She is conscious that she is not doing_ HARRY _justice_.] He can explain it so much better than I can.
KATE. [_In her businesslike way._] And I am to answer the congratulations?
LADY SIMS. [_Afraid that it will be a hard task._] Yes.
KATE. [_Blithely_] It is work I have had some experience of. [_She proceeds to type._
LADY SIMS. But you can't begin till you know what he wants to say.
KATE. Only a specimen letter. Won't it be the usual thing?
LADY SIMS. [_To whom this is a new idea._] Is there a usual thing?
KATE. Oh, yes.
[_She continues to type, and_ LADY SIMS, _half-mesmerized, gazes at her nimble fingers. The useless woman watches the useful one, and she sighs, she could not tell why._
LADY SIMS. How quickly you do it! It must be delightful to be able to do something, and to do it well.
KATE. [_Thankfully._] Yes, it is delightful.
LADY SIMS [_Again remembering the source of all her greatness._] But, excuse me, I don't think that will be any use. My husband wants me to explain to you that his is an exceptional case. He did not try to get this honor in any way. It was a complete surprise to him----
KATE. [_Who is a practical_ KATE _and no dealer in sarcasm_.] That is what I have written.
LADY SIMS. [_In whom sarcasm would meet a dead wall._] But how could you know?
KATE. I only guessed.
LADY SIMS. Is that the usual thing?
KATE. Oh, yes.
LADY SIMS. They don't try to get it?
KATE. I don't know. That is what we are told to say in the letters.
[_To her at present the only important thing about the letters is that they are ten shillings the hundred._
LADY SIMS. [_Returning to surer ground._] I should explain that my husband is not a man who cares for honors. So long as he does his duty----
KATE. Yes, I have been putting that in.
LADY SIMS. Have you? But he particularly wants it to be known that he would have declined a title were it not----
KATE. I have got it here.
LADY SIMS. What have you got?
KATE. [_Reading._] "Indeed, I would have asked to be allowed to decline had it not been that I want to please my wife."
LADY SIMS. [_Heavily._] But how could you know it was that?
KATE. Is it?
LADY SIMS. [_Who, after all, is the one with the right to ask questions._] Do they all accept it for that reason?
KATE. That is what we are told to say in the letters.
LADY SIMS. [_Thoughtlessly._] It is quite as if you knew my husband.
KATE. I assure you, I don't even know his name.
LADY SIMS. [_Suddenly showing that she knows him._] Oh, he wouldn't like that!
[_And it is here that_ HARRY _re-enters in his city garments, looking so gay, feeling so jolly, that we bleed for him. However, the annoying_ KATHERINE _is to get a shock also_.
LADY SIMS. This is the lady, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [_Shooting his cuffs._] Yes, yes. Good morning, my dear.
[_Then they see each other, and their mouths open, but not for words. After the first surprise_ KATE _seems to find some humor in the situation, but_ HARRY _lowers like a thunder-cloud_.
LADY SIMS. [_Who has seen nothing._] I have been trying to explain to her----
SIR HARRY. Eh--what? [_He controls himself._] Leave it to me, Emmy; I'll attend to her.
[LADY SIMS _goes, with a dread fear that somehow she has vexed her lord, and then_ HARRY _attends to the intruder_.
SIR HARRY. [_With concentrated scorn._] You!
KATE. [_As if agreeing with him._] Yes, it's funny.
SIR HARRY. The shamelessness of your daring to come here.
KATE. Believe me, it is not less a surprise to me than it is to you. I was sent here in the ordinary way of business. I was given only the number of the house. I was not told the name.
SIR HARRY. [_Withering her._] The ordinary way of business! This is what you have fallen to--a typist!
KATE. [_Unwithered._] Think of it!
SIR HARRY. After going through worse straits, I'll be bound.
KATE. [_With some grim memories._] Much worse straits.
SIR HARRY. [_Alas, laughing coarsely._] My congratulations!
KATE. Thank you, Harry.
SIR HARRY. [_Who is annoyed, as any man would be, not to find her abject._] Eh? What was that you called me, madam?
KATE. Isn't it Harry? On my soul, I almost forget.
SIR HARRY. It isn't Harry to you. My name is Sims, if you please.
KATE. Yes, I had not forgotten that. It was my name, too, you see.
SIR HARRY. [_In his best manner._] It was your name till you forfeited the right to bear it.
KATE. Exactly.
SIR HARRY. [_Gloating._] I was furious to find you here, but on second thoughts it pleases me. [_From the depths of his moral nature._] There is a grim justice in this.
KATE. [_Sympathetically._] Tell me?
SIR HARRY. Do you know what you were brought here to do?
KATE. I have just been learning. You have been made a knight, and I was summoned to answer the messages of congratulation.
SIR HARRY. That's it, that's it. You come on this day as my servant!
KATE. I, who might have been Lady Sims.
SIR HARRY. And you are her typist instead. And she has four men-servants. Oh, I am glad you saw her in her presentation gown.
KATE. I wonder if she would let me do her washing, Sir Harry? [_Her want of taste disgusts him._
SIR HARRY. [_With dignity._] You can go. The mere thought that only a few flights of stairs separates such as you from my innocent children----
[_He will never know why a new light has come into her face._
KATE. [_Slowly._] You have children?
SIR HARRY. [_Inflated._] Two. [_He wonders why she is so long in answering._
KATE. [_Resorting to impertinence._] Such a nice number.
SIR HARRY. [_With an extra turn of the screw._] Both boys.
KATE. Successful in everything. Are they like you, Sir Harry?
SIR HARRY. [_Expanding._] They are very like me.
KATE. That's nice. [_Even on such a subject as this she can be ribald._
SIR HARRY. Will you please to go.
KATE. Heigho! What shall I say to my employer?
SIR HARRY. That is no affair of mine.
KATE. What will you say to Lady Sims?
SIR HARRY. I flatter myself that whatever I say, Lady Sims will accept without comment.
[_She smiles, heaven knows why, unless her next remark explains it._
KATE. Still the same Harry.
SIR HARRY. What do you mean?
KATE. Only that you have the old confidence in your profound knowledge of the sex.
SIR HARRY. [_Beginning to think as little of her intellect as of her morals._] I suppose I know my wife.
KATE. [_Hopelessly dense._] I suppose so. I was only remembering that you used to think you knew her in the days when I was the lady. [_He is merely wasting his time on her, and he indicates the door. She is not sufficiently the lady to retire worsted._] Well, good-by, Sir Harry. Won't you ring, and the four men-servants will show me out? [_But he hesitates._
SIR HARRY. [_In spite of himself._] As you are here, there is something I want to get out of you. [_Wishing he could ask it less eagerly._] Tell me, who was the man?
[_The strange woman--it is evident now that she has always been strange to him--smiles tolerantly._
KATE. You never found out?
SIR HARRY. I could never be sure.
KATE. [_Reflectively._] I thought that would worry you.
SIR HARRY. [_Sneering._] It's plain that he soon left you.
KATE. Very soon.
SIR HARRY. As I could have told you. [_But still she surveys him with the smile of Mona Lisa. The badgered man has to entreat._] Who was he? It was fourteen years ago, and cannot matter to any of us now. Kate, tell me who he was?
[_It is his first youthful moment, and perhaps because of that she does not wish to hurt him._
KATE. [_Shaking a motherly head._] Better not ask.
SIR HARRY. I do ask. Tell me.
KATE. It is kinder not to tell you.
SIR HARRY. [_Violently._] Then, by James, it was one of my own pals. Was it Bernard Roche? [_She shakes her head._] It may have been some one who comes to my house still.
KATE. I think not. [_Reflecting._] Fourteen years! You found my letter that night when you went home?