Chapter XXV: Act I: (Enter Hippolytus, Theramenes.)

_Hippolytus._ My mind is settled, dear Theramenes,
And I can stay not more in lovely Troezen.
In doubt that racks my soul with mortal anguish,
I grow ashamed of such long idleness.
Six months and more my father has been gone,
And what may have befallen one so dear
I know not, nor what corner of the earth
Hides him.

_Theramenes._ And where, prince, will you look for him?
Already, to content your just alarm,
Have I not cross'd the seas on either side
Of Corinth, ask'd if aught were known of Theseus
Where Acheron is lost among the Shades,
Visited Elis, doubled Toenarus,
And sail'd into the sea that saw the fall
Of Icarus? Inspired with what new hope,
Under what favor'd skies think you to trace
His footsteps? Who knows if the king, your father,
Wishes the secret of his absence known?
Perchance, while we are trembling for his life,
The hero calmly plots some fresh intrigue,
And only waits till the deluded fair--

_Hippolytus._ Cease, dear Theramenes, respect the name
Of Theseus. Youthful errors have been left
Behind, and no unworthy obstacle
Detains him. Phaedra long has fix'd a heart
Inconstant once, nor need she fear a rival.
In seeking him I shall but do my duty,
And leave a place I dare no longer see.

_Theramenes._ Indeed! When, prince, did you begin to dread
These peaceful haunts, so dear to happy childhood,
Where I have seen you oft prefer to stay,
Rather than meet the tumult and the pomp
Of Athens and the court? What danger shun you,
Or shall I say what grief?

_Hippolytus._ That happy time
Is gone, and all is changed, since to these shores
The gods sent Phaedra.

_Theramenes._ I perceive the cause
Of your distress. It is the queen whose sight
Offends you. With a step-dame's spite she schemed
Your exile soon as she set eyes on you.
But if her hatred is not wholly vanish'd,
It has at least taken a milder aspect.
Besides, what danger can a dying woman,
One too who longs for death, bring on your head?
Can Phaedra, sick'ning of a dire disease
Of which she will not speak, weary of life
And of herself, form any plots against you?

_Hippolytus._ It is not her vain enmity I fear;
Another foe alarms Hippolytus.
I fly, it must be owned, from Aricia,
The soul survivor of an impious race.

_Theramenes._ What! You become her persecutor too!
The gentle sister of the cruel sons
Of Pallas shared not in their perfidy;
Why should you hate such charming innocence?

_Hippolytus._ I should not need to fly, if it were hatred.

_Theramenes._ May I, then, learn the meaning of your flight?[8]

Another device is an intensely inquisitive stranger just returned from foreign parts who listens with patience not always shared by an auditor to any needed preliminary exposition.

_The Opportunity_,[9] by James Shirley, shows an ingenious adaptation of the device of the inquisitive stranger newly come to some city. Aurelio, a gentleman of Milan, coming to Urbino with his friend Pisauro, is mistaken for Borgia, who has been banished from Urbino. As one person after another, greeting Aurelio as Borgia, naturally talks to him of his past, his family, and what is to be expected of him now that he is returned, they identify and relate clearly to one another the chief people whom Aurelio is to meet in the play. A hearer would take in almost unconsciously the needed exposition, so amused would he be at the increasing bewilderment of Aurelio.

Such ways and means as these three--the servant, the confidant, the stranger--Buckingham ridiculed in the late seventeenth century in his _Rehearsal_:

_Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician_

_Physician._ Sir, by your habit, I should guess you to be the
Gentleman-Usher of this sumptuous palace.

_Usher._ And by your gait and fashion, I should almost suspect you
rule the healths of both our noble Kings, under the notion of
Physician.

_Physician._ You hit my function right.

_Usher._ And you mine.

_Physician._ Then let's embrace.

_Usher._ Come.

_Physician._ Come.

_Johnson._ Pray, sir, who are those so very civil persons?

_Bayes._ Why, sir, the Gentleman-Usher and Physician of the two Kings
of Brentford.

_Johnson._ But, pray, then, how comes it to pass that they know one
another no better?

_Bayes._ Phoo! that's for the better carrying on of the plot.[10]

Another method, talking back to people off stage, as one enters, in such a way as to bring out necessary facts, erence both used and ridiculed centuries ago. This is his use of the device:

_Enter Mysis_

_Mysis._ (_Speaking to the housekeeper within._) I hear, Archilis, I
hear: Your orders are to fetch Lesbia. On my word she's a drunken
reckless creature, not at all a fit person to take charge of a woman
in her first labour: am I to fetch her all the same? (_Comes
forward._)[11]

In the last lines of the following he ridicules this very use:

_Re-enter Lesbia_

_Lesbia._ (_Speaking through the doorway_.) So far, Archilis, the
usual and proper symptoms for a safe delivery, I see them all here.
After ablution give her the drink I ordered and in the prescribed
quantity. I shall be back before long. (_Turning round._) Lor' me, but
a strapping boy is born to Pamphilus. Heaven grant it live, for the
father's a noble gentleman and has shrunk from wronging an excellent
young lady. (_Exit._)

_Simo._ For example now, wouldn't any one who knew you think you were
at the bottom of this?

_Davus._ Of what, sir?

_Simo._ Instead of prescribing at the bedside what must be done for
the mother, out she plumps and shouts it at them from the street.[12]

Lately the telephone, the stenographer, and most recently the dictaphone have seemed to puzzled dramatists the swift road to successful initial exposition. To all these human or unhuman aids some overburdened soul has felt free to say anything the audience might need to hear. Probably this use of the telephone has come to stay, for daily there is proof that nothing is too intimate for it. There are, however, more ambitious workers who, weary of servants, confidants, telephones, stenographers, and dictaphones, want to set forth necessary information so naturally that no one may question whether it might have come out in this way. Also, they want the information to be so interestingly conveyed that an auditor thinks of what is happening rather than merely of the facts.

In the first act of _The Second Mrs. Tanqueray_,[13] the audience must hear a narrative setting forth Aubrey Tanqueray's position in society, his first marriage, his relations with his daughter, and the nature of his proposed second marriage. What complicates the task is that the narrative must be told to old friends, so that much of it is to them well known. What device will make the narrative, under the circumstances, plausible? Here is where a modern dramatist sighs for the serviceable heralds, messengers, and chorus of plays of decades long past or for the freer methods in narrative of the novelist. How easy to tell much of this in your own person, as have Thackeray or Meredith, in comparison with stating it through another so placed that he will be glad to hear again much which he already knows! The necessity creates with Sir Arthur the device of the little supper party in Aubrey Tanqueray's chambers in the Albany, to which he has invited four of his oldest friends. The moment chosen for the opening of the play is when the old friends, over the coffee, fall quite naturally into reminiscent vein. What helps to freer exposition is their chance to talk of Cayley Drummle, who, even yet, though bidden, has not appeared. Before the chat is over and Cayley enters, much needed information is in the minds of the audience. Cayley brings news of a terrible _mesalliance_ in a family known to all the supper party. In his efforts to advise and comfort the distracted mother he has been kept from the meeting of old friends. The news leads Aubrey Tanqueray to avow his quixotic scheme for a second marriage. Through the contrasting comments of the friends, even through their reservations, the audience becomes perfectly informed as to the view the world will take of this second marriage. Indeed, as the supper party breaks up, all the audience requires in order to listen intelligently to the succeeding acts, is a chance to see Paula herself. Her impulsive visit to Tanqueray, just after the supper party ends, provides the information needed, for in it her character is sketched in broadly as it will be filled out in detail in the succeeding acts. Evidently device, the ingenious discovery of a plausible reason for exposition necessary in a play, is basal in the best stage narrative. Without it, character is sacrificed to mere necessary exposition; with it, the spectator, absorbed by incident or characterization, learns unconsciously that without which he cannot intelligently and sympathetically follow the story of the play. In other words, successful discovery of devices for such exposition clearly means that disguising which is essential to the best narrative in drama.

The first quality of good expository device is clearness. Secondly, it should be an adequate reason for the exposition it contains: i.e., it must seem natural that the facts should come out in this way. Thirdly, and of the utmost importance, the device must be something so interesting in itself as to hold the attention of an auditor while necessary facts are insinuated into his mind. Lastly, the device should permit this preliminary exposition to be given swiftly. It is hard to conceal exposition as such if the movement is as slow as in the first two scenes of Act I of _The Journey of Papa Perrichon_.