But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did he used to say that he was reading for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the run his last one must have had.
However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play but a successful one. How shall this success be achieved?
Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays, and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always say my letters home are good enough for _Punch_. I've got a little idea for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't know anything about technique and stage-craft and the three unities and that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?" Suppose you spoke to me like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for a few weeks, and you shall learn just what stage-craft is." And I should begin with a short homily on
If you ever read your _Shakspeare_--and no dramatist should despise the works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which may be useful for his next play--if you ever read your _Shakspeare_, it is possible that you have come across this passage:--
And so on in the same vein for some thirty lines.
These few remarks are called a soliloquy, being addressed rather to the world in general than to any particular person on the stage. Now the object of this soliloquy is plain. The dramatist wished us to know the thoughts which were passing through _Hamlet's_ mind, and it was the only way he could think of in which to do it. Of course a really good actor can often give a clue to the feelings of a character simply by facial expression. There are ways of shifting the eyebrows, distending the nostrils, and exploring the lower molars with the tongue by which it is possible to denote respectively Surprise, Defiance and Doubt. Indeed, irresolution being the keynote of _Hamlet's_ soliloquy, a clever player could to some extent indicate the whole thirty lines by a silent working of the jaw. But at the same time it would be idle to deny that he would miss the finer shades of the poet's meaning. "The insolence of office, and the spurns"--to take only one line--would tax the most elastic face.