Chapter XXVI: Act I

_The Lyons railway station at Paris. At the back, a turn-stile opening
on the waiting-rooms. At the back, right, a ticket window. At the
back, left, benches, a cake vender; at the left, a book stall._

SCENE 1. _Majorin, A Railway Official, Travelers, Porters_

_Majorin._ (_Walking about impatiently._) Still this Perrichon doesn't
come! Already I've waited an hour.... Certainly it is today that he is
to set out for Switzerland with his wife and daughter. (_Bitterly._)
Carriage builders who go to Switzerland! Carriage builders who have
forty thousand pounds a year income! Carriage builders who keep their
carriages! What times these are! While I,--I am earning two thousand
four hundred francs ... a clerk, hard-working, intelligent, always
bent over his desk.... Today I asked for leave ... I said it was my
day for guard duty.... It is absolutely necessary that I see Perrichon
before his departure.... I want to ask him to advance me my quarter's
salary.... Six hundred francs! He is going to put on his patronizing
air ... make himself important ... a carriage builder! It's a shame!
Still he doesn't come! One would say that he did it on purpose!
(_Addressing a porter who passes, followed by travelers._) Monsieur,
at what time does the train start for Lyons?

_Porter._ (_Brusquely._) Ask the official. (_He goes out at the
left._)

_Majorin._ Thanks ... clodhopper! (_Addressing the official who is
near the ticket window._) Monsieur, at what time does the through
train start for Lyons?

_The Official._ (_Brusquely._) That doesn't concern me! Look at the
poster. (_He points to a poster in the left wings._)

_Majorin._ Thanks.... (_Aside._) The politeness of these corporations!
If ever you come to my office, you...! Let's have a look at the
poster.... (_He goes out at the left._)

SCENE 2. _The Official, Perrichon, Madame Perrichon, Henriette_

(_They enter at the right_)

_Perrichon._ Here we are! Let's keep together! We couldn't find each
other again.... Where is our baggage? (_Looking to the right; into the
wings._) Ah, that's all right! Who has the umbrellas?

_Henriette._ I, papa.

_Perrichon._ And the carpet bag? The cloaks?

_Madame Perrichon._ Here they are!

_Perrichon._ And my panama? It has been left in the cab! (_Making a
movement to rush out and checking himself._) Ah! No! I have it in my
hand!... Phew, but I'm hot!

_Madame Perrichon._ It is your own fault!... You hurried us, you
hustled us!... I don't like to travel like that!

_Perrichon._ It is the departure which is tiresome ... once we are
settled!... Stay here, I am going to get the tickets.... (_Giving his
hat to Henriette._) There, keep my panama for me.... (_At the ticket
window._) Three, first class, for Lyons!...

_The Official._ (_Brusquely._) Not open yet! In a quarter of an hour!

_Perrichon._ (_To the official._) Ah! pardon me! It is the first time
I have traveled.... (_Returning to his wife._) We are early.

_Madame Perrichon._ There! When I told you we should have time. You
wouldn't let us breakfast!

_Perrichon._ It is better to be early! ... one can look about the
station! (_To Henriette._) Well, little daughter, are you
satisfied?... Here we are, about to set out!... A few minutes yet, and
then, swift as the arrow of William Tell, we rush toward the Alps!
(_To his wife._) You brought the opera glasses?

_Madame Perrichon._ Of course!

_Henriette._ (_To her father._) I'm not criticizing, papa, but it is
now two years, at least, since you promised us this trip.

_Perrichon._ My daughter, I had to sell my business.... A merchant
does not retire from business as easily as his little daughter leaves
boarding school.... Besides, I was waiting for your education to be
ended in order to complete it by revealing to you the splendid
spectacle of nature!

_Madame Perrichon._ Are you going on in that strain?

_Perrichon._ What do you mean?

_Madame Perrichon._ Phrase-making in a railway station!

_Perrichon._ I am not making phrases.... I'm improving the child's
mind. (_Drawing a little notebook from his pocket._) Here, my
daughter, is a notebook I've bought for you.

_Henriette._ For what purpose?

_Perrichon._ To write on one side the expenses, and on the other the
impressions.

_Henriette._ What impressions?

_Perrichon._ Our impressions of the trip! You shall write, and I will
dictate.

_Madame Perrichon._ What! You are now going to become an author?

_Perrichon._ There's no question of my becoming an author ... but it
seems to me that a man of the world can have some thoughts and record
them in a notebook!

_Madame Perrichon._ That will be fine, indeed!

_Perrichon._ (_Aside._) She is like that every time she doesn't take
her coffee!

_A Porter._ (_Pushing a little cart loaded with baggage._) Monsieur,
here is your baggage. Do you wish to have it checked?

_Perrichon._ Certainly! But first, I am going to count them ...
because, when one knows the number ... One, two, three, four, five,
six, my wife, seven, my daughter, eight, and for myself, nine. We are
nine.

_Porter._ Put it up there!

_Perrichon._ (_Hurrying toward the back._) Hurry!

_Porter._ Not that way, this way! (_He points to the left._)

_Perrichon._ All right! (_To the women._) Wait for me there! We
mustn't get lost! (_He goes out running, following the porter._)[14]

The first scene undoubtedly helps to create the atmosphere of a large railway station, but everything in it could be brought out in what is now Scene 2. Even the way in which Majorin is passed from one employee to the other could be transferred to Perrichon. Every fact in Majorin's soliloquy is either repeated in the scenes which follow, or could easily be brought out in them.

What has made necessary this swifter preliminary exposition is, probably, the growing popularity of three or four acts as compared with five. Less space has forced a swifter movement. Contrast, in the five-act piece _Une Chaine_[15] by Scribe, the slow exposition in a first act of thirty-two pages with the perfectly adequate re-statement in six and a half pages in the one-act adaptation by Sidney Grundy, _In Honour Bound_.[16]

It is easy, however, to overload a first act with what seems needed exposition but is not. Careful consideration may show that some part may be postponed for "later exposition." Here is the history which lies behind Act I of Sudermann's _Heimat_, or _Magda_.[17] The famous singer, Dall'Orto, who was Magda Schwartze, has returned to her native place for a music festival. Ten years before she was driven from home by her father, an army officer, because she would not marry the man of his choice, Pastor Hefferdingt. Going to Berlin to train her voice, she was betrayed by young von Keller, a former acquaintance. After six months he deserted her. A child was born to whom she is passionately devoted. Von Keller is now a much respected citizen of the home town, who lives in awe of public opinion. He and Magda have not met since their Berlin days and he does not know there was a child. Since his return to the town he has kept away from the Schwartzes. Hefferdingt has remained single, devoting himself to good works. Magda's father nearly lost his mind from an apoplectic shock when he learned of her flight, but he has won back some part of his health through the wise and tender aid of Hefferdingt. There has been no communication between Magda and her family in the ten years. Now the younger sister Marie is engaged to the nephew of von Keller, Max, but the young people have not enough money to marry. They have been hoping that an aunt, Franziska, who caused Magda much unhappiness in the old days, will aid them. The narrow life of the town and the subservience of the Schwartzes to it had much to do with the rebelliousness of Magda as a girl. Through hard work and much bitter experience, she has won a supreme place in the world of music. She has developed a somewhat cynical philosophy of life which calls for complete self-expression, at any cost to others. She craves sight of her family again, and especially of Marie, a mere child when Magda left home.

Somewhere in the course of the play an audience must learn all these facts. How many of them must be set forth in Act I, and how many may be set apart for "later exposition"? Sudermann decided to postpone till Act II any detailed statement of the past relations between Magda and Hefferdingt. In Act I we learn only that he wished to marry Magda, and that there is anger in the family because of the way in which she refused him. What that was is not stated. Thus by giving mystery to these past relations of Magda and Hefferdingt, curiosity and interest are aroused and suspense created.

Of Magda's relations with von Keller we really learn nothing in Act I. We are, it is true, made to suspect that his admitted meeting with her in Berlin covers more than he is willing to reveal, and that his avoidance of the Schwartzes means something, but we learn nothing clearly until Act III. Not till then do we know a child was born and is still alive. In other words, postponing detailed exposition of these matters provides the most important scene of Act II, that of Hefferdingt and Magda, and the central scene of Act III between von Keller and Magda. Note that deciding what shall be preliminary and what later exposition has much to do here, as always, with creating Suspense, a subject which will be treated under Movement. A difficult task for the dramatist is this determining what in the historical background of his play must be treated as preliminary exposition, and what may be postponed for later treatment, when the real action of the play is well under way.

Even when it is clear just what must go into preliminary exposition the ordering of the details chosen is very important. Look again at _Magda_. It is love for Marie which, in large part, draws Magda to her home, and at first keeps her there. The love affair which Magda fled from seemed to her conventional. Sudermann opens his play, therefore, with a picture of the thoroughly conventional engagement of Max and Marie, but remembering that the sooner a dramatist creates interest the better, he starts with the mysterious bouquet, far too expensive if sent by Max to Marie and wholly unacceptable if sent by any one else. When Max, entering, says that the flowers are not from him, there is a chance to emphasize two points of importance: the lovers' lack of money, and their fear of gossip. Meantime the fact has been planted that there is a music festival in the town. As the two young people talk of their need and the people who might help them, we learn that the father thinks Magda's departure was for some reason a "blot" on the family, and that Hefferdingt wished to marry her. The call of von Keller shows that since his return home he has been distant toward the Schwartzes; that he is afraid of public opinion; and that he met Magda in Berlin, "but only for a moment, on the street." With the entrance of the father and mother we have the petty social ambitions of the latter, and the tyrannical attitude of the former toward his family. The scene with von Klebs and Beckmann not only illustrates social conditions in the town, but begins to connect Dall'Orto with the lost daughter by showing the extraordinary interest of Hefferdingt in meeting the singer. The coming of Aunt Franziska with her announcement that the Dall'Orto is Magda ends the preliminary exposition, for with the arrival of Hefferdingt and his effort to bring Magda home, the real action of the play begins. Obviously much thought and care have gone into the re-ordering of these details, so that the facts which must be first understood are stated first and so that there shall be growing interest through the creation of more and more suspense.

In one of the early drafts of _Rosmersholm_, the opening page ran as follows. Note that there is no mention of any "white horses."

(_Mrs. Rosmer is standing by the farthest window, arranging the
flowers. Madam Helset enters from the right with a basket of table
linen._)

_Madam Helset._ I suppose I had better begin to lay the tea-table,
ma'am?

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Yes, please do. He must soon be in now.

_Madam Helset._ (_Laying the cloth._) No, he won't come just yet; for
I saw him from the kitchen--

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Yes, yes--

_Madam Helset._--on the other side of the millpond. At first, he was
going straight across the foot-bridge; but then he turned back--

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Did he?

_Madam Helset._ Yes, and then he went all the way round. Ah, it's
strange about such places. A place where a thing like that has
happened--there--. It stays there; it isn't forgotten so soon.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ No, it is not forgotten.

_Madam Helset._ No, indeed it isn't. (_Goes out to the right._)

_Mrs. Rosmer._ (_At the window, looking out._) Forget. Forget, ah!

_Madam Helset._ (_In the doorway._) I've just seen the rector, ma'am.
He's coming here.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Are you sure of that?

_Madam Helset._ Yes, he went across the millpond.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ And my husband is not at home.

_Madam Helset._ The tea is ready as soon as you want it.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ But wait; we can't tell whether he'll stay.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, yes. (_Goes out to the right._)

_Mrs. Rosmer._ (_Goes over and opens the door to the hall._) Good
afternoon; how glad I am to see you, my dear Rector![18]

In this version the "white horses" appear, definitely explained, after some sixteen pages:

_Rosmer._ ... My former self is dead. I look upon it as one looks upon
a corpse.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ Yes, but that is just when these white horses appear.

_Rosmer._ White horses? What white horses?

(_Madam Helset brings in the tea-urn and puts it on the table._)

_Mrs. Rosmer._ What was it you told me once, Madam Helset? You said
that from time immemorial a strange thing happened here whenever one
of the family died.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, it's true as I'm alive. Then the white horse
comes.

_Rosmer._ Oh, that old family legend--

_Mrs. Rosmer._ In it comes when the night is far gone. Into the
courtyard. Through closed gates. Neighs loudly. Launches out with its
hind legs, gallops once round and then out again and away at full
speed.

_Madam Helset._ Yes, that's how it is. Both my mother and my
grandmother have seen it.

_Mrs. Rosmer._ And you too?

_Madam Helset._ Oh, I'm not so sure whether I've seen anything myself.
I don't generally believe in such things. But this about the white
horse--I do believe in that. And I shall believe in it till the day of
my death. Well, now I'll go and-- (_Goes out to the right._)[19]

In the final draft, Ibsen put the "white horses" into his opening page. The beginning of this draft emphasizes particularly a grim, unexplained tragedy. The most mysterious touch in the new arrangement is given by the "white horses," here treated referentially, not in definite explanation.

(_Sitting-room at Rosmersholm; spacious, old-fashioned, and
comfortable._)

(_Rebecca West is sitting in an easy chair by the window and
crocheting a large white woolen shawl, which is nearly finished. Now
and then she looks out expectantly through the leaves of the plants.
Soon after, Madam Helseth enters from the right._)

_Madam Helseth._ I suppose I'd better begin to lay the table, Miss?

_Rebecca West._ Yes, please do. The Pastor must soon be in now.

_Madam Helseth._ Do you feel the draught, Miss, where you're sitting?

_Rebecca._ Yes, there is a little draught. Perhaps you had better shut
the window.

(_Madame Helseth shuts the door into the hall, and then comes to the
window._)

_Madam Helseth._ (_About to shut the window, looks out._) Why, isn't
that the Pastor over there?

_Rebecca._ (_Hastily._) Where? (_Rises._) Yes, it's he. (_Behind the
curtain._) Stand aside, don't let him see us.

_Madam Helseth._ (_Keeping back from the window._) Only think, Miss,
he's beginning to take the path by the mill again.

_Rebecca._ He went that way the day before yesterday, too. (_Peeps out
between the curtains and the window frame._) But let us see whether--

_Madam Helseth._ Will he venture across the foot-bridge?

_Rebecca._ That's what I want to see. (_After a pause._) No, he's
turning. He's going by the upper road again. (_Leaves the window._) A
long way round.

_Madam Helseth._ Dear Lord, yes. No wonder the Pastor thinks twice
about setting foot on _that_ bridge. A place where a thing like that
has happened--

_Rebecca._ (_Folding up her work._) They cling to their dead here at
Rosmersholm.

_Madam Helseth._ Now _I_ would say, Miss, that it's the dead that
clings to Rosmersholm.

_Rebecca._ (_Looks at her._) The dead?

_Madam Helseth._ Yes, it's almost as if they couldn't tear themselves
away from the folk that are left.

_Rebecca._ What makes you fancy that?

_Madam Helseth._ Well, if it weren't for that, there would be no white
horse, I suppose.

_Rebecca._ Now what _is_ all this about the white horse, Madam
Helseth?

_Madam Helseth._ Oh, I don't like to talk about it. And, besides, you
don't believe in such things.

_Rebecca._ Do _you_ believe in them?

_Madam Helseth._ (_Goes and shuts the window._) Now you're making fun
of me, Miss. (_Looks out._) Why, isn't that Mr. Rosmer on the mill
path again--?

_Rebecca._ (_Looks out._) That man there? (_Goes to the window._) No,
it's the Rector!

_Madam Helseth._ Yes, so it is.

_Rebecca._ How glad I am! You'll see, he's coming here.

_Madam Helseth._ He goes straight over the foot-bridge, _he_ does, and
yet she was his sister, his own flesh and blood. Well, I'll go and lay
the table then, Miss West.

(_She goes out to the right. Rebecca stands at the window for a short
time; then smiles and nods to some one outside. It begins to grow
dark._)

_Rebecca._ (_Goes to the door on the right._) Oh, Madam Helseth, you
might give us some little extra dish for supper. You know what the
Rector likes best.

_Madam Helseth._ (_Outside._) Oh yes, Miss, I'll see to it.

_Rebecca._ (_Opens the door to the hall._) At last! How glad I am to
see you, my dear Rector.[20]

How a dramatist opens his play is, then, very important. He is writing supposedly for people who, except on a few historical subjects, know nothing of his material. If so, as soon as possible, he must make them understand: (1) who his people are; (2) where his people are; (3) the time of the play; and (4) what in the present and past relations of his characters causes the story. Is it any wonder that Ibsen, when writing _The Pillars of Society_, said: "In a few days I shall have the first act ready; and that is always the most difficult act of the play"?[21]

What has just been said as to ordering the details in preliminary exposition is equivalent to saying: Decide where, in this exposition, you will place your emphasis. What a dramatist is trying to do will not be clear throughout his play unless he knows how properly to emphasize his material, for it is above all else emphasis which reveals the meaning of a play. Right emphasis depends basally on knowing what exactly is the desired total effect of the piece,--a picture, a thesis, a character study, or a story. Remember that Dumas fils said: "You cannot very well know where you should come out, when you don't know where you are going." Often, too, a play is either meant to set people thinking of undesirable social conditions, or to state a distinct thesis. With these two kinds particularly in mind, Mr. Galsworthy has said: "A drama must be shaped so as to have a spire of meaning."[22]

Whatever we make prominent by repetition, by elaborate treatment, by the position given it in an act or in the play as a whole, or by striking illustration, we emphasize, for it stays in the memory and shapes the meaning of a play for an auditor. In _Othello_, why does Shakespeare bring forward Iago at the end of an act as chorus to his own villainy? In order that the audience may not go astray as to the purposes of Iago and the general meaning of the play. Hence the soliloquies: "Thus do I ever make my fool my purse," as well as "And what's he, then, that says I play the villain?" It might almost be said that good drama consists in right selection of necessary illustrative action and in right emphasis.

Even though the general exposition of a play be clear, it is sure, without well-handled emphasis, to leave a confused effect. When a play runs away with its author, its emphasis is always bad. The cause of this trouble usually is that the author drifts or rushes on, as the case may be, lured by an idea which he tries to present dramatically; or by the development of some character who, for the moment, possesses his imagination; or by the handling of some scene of large dramatic possibilities. In a recent play meant to illustrate amusingly a series of situations arising from the gossip of a small town, Act I so ended that a reader could not tell whether the school principal, a woman dentist, or the atmosphere of gossip was meant to be of prime importance. Nor was this poor emphasis ever corrected anywhere. Result: a confusing play.

A story-play in some respects of great merit failed in its total effect because the author never really knew whether it was a study of the deterioration of a young man's character or of a mother's self-sacrificing and redeeming love, a mere story-play, or a drama intended to drive home a central idea which, apparently, always eluded the author. Fine realism of detail, good characterization in places, and genuine if scattered interest could not carry this play to success.

In another play, Act I ended with the failure of a well-intentioned friend to take a child from her father for her better bringing-up. Apparently, we were entering upon a study of parental affection. In Act II, however, this interest practically disappeared, and we were asked to give all our attention to the way in which a son-in-law was bringing ruin upon this same parent. In Act III, another cause for anxiety on the part of the parent appeared, the other disappearing. At the end of the play, however, we were expected to understand that the fond parent was in sight of calm weather. Proper emphasis which would have brought out the central idea illustrated by each of the acts was missing.

In _The Trap_, a four-act play developed from a vaudeville sketch, lack of good emphasis went far to spoil an interesting play. In the original sketch, a woman, induced by lies of the villain, comes to the apartment of a man who has at one time been in love with her. She is determined to know whether what the villain has told her is true or not. All is a trap which the villain has set for her. From it the astuteness and quick decision of her former admirer rescue her. In the vaudeville sketch, it was the former lover who was the active person,--advising, scheming, and controlling the situation. When this was made over, in Act I the heroine was the central figure; in Act II the villain took this position away from her; in Act III the hero, as in the original sketch, had the centre of the stage; in Act IV there was an attempt to bring the heroine back into prominence, but she divided interest with the hero. As a result of this uncertain emphasis, the play seemed intended for the heroine but taken away from her by the greater human appeal of the hero. Just as the lecturer keeps clear from start to finish the main theme of his discourse and the bearing upon it of the various divisions of the work, the dramatist keeps his main purpose clear and also the relations to it of scenes and acts. This he does by well-handled emphasis. Othello, for instance, must have some proof which the audience will believe conclusive for him of Desdemona's infidelity. This is the handkerchief which Iago tells Othello that Desdemona gave to Cassio. Notice the iteration with which this handkerchief is impressed upon the attention of the public just before it is used as conclusive proof of Desdemona's guilt.

_Othello._ I have a pain upon my forehead here.

_Desdemona._ Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again:
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour
It will be well.

_Othello._ Your napkin is too little; (_Lets fall her napkin._)
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you.

_Desdemona._ I am very sorry that you are not well.
(_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._)

_Emilia._ I am glad I have found this napkin;
This was her first remembrance from the Moor.
My wayward husband hath a hundred times
Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,
For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it,
That she reserves it evermore about her
To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,
And give it to Iago. What he will do with it
Heaven knows, not I;
I nothing but to please his fantasy.

(_Re-enter Iago_)

_Iago._ How now! what do you here alone?

_Emilia._ Do not you chide; I have a thing for you.

_Iago._ A thing for me? It is a common thing--

_Emilia._ Ha!

_Iago._ To have a foolish wife.

_Emilia._ Oh, is that all? What will you give me now
For that same handkerchief?

_Iago._ What handkerchief?

_Emilia._ What handkerchief!
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

_Iago._ Hast stolen it from her?

_Emilia._ No, faith; she let it drop by negligence,
And, to the advantage, I, being here took't up.
Look, here it is.

_Iago._ A good wench; give it me.

_Emilia._ What will you do with't, that you have been so earnest
To have me filch it?

_Iago._ (_Snatching it._) Why, what is that to you?

_Emilia._ If it be not for some purpose of import,
Give't me again. Poor lady, she'll run mad
When she shall lack it.

_Iago._ Be not acknown on't; I have use for it,
Go, leave me. (_Exit Emilia._)
I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin,
And let him find it. Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ; this may do something.
The Moor already changes with my poison,
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons,
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste,
But with a little act upon the blood,
Burn like the mines of sulphur.[23]

Five times the handkerchief is mentioned. The first time the action is such that Othello specially notices the handkerchief. The second time we find another reason why the Moor should specially remember the handkerchief, and learn that Iago wants it for some reason of his own. The third time appears the iteration,

... that same handkerchief?

_Iago._ What handkerchief?

_Emilia._ What handkerchief!

and emphasis on the ideas already stated:

_Emilia._ Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona;
That which so often you did bid me steal.

The next time, the action, as Iago snatches the handkerchief and Emilia tries to get it back, holds it before our attention. Finally, Iago, left alone, tells us his malicious scheme in regard to it. Surely, after all this, the audience has been properly prepared for the scenes in which Iago deceives and enrages Othello by means of this very handkerchief.

In the first few minutes of the play, _Lady Windermere's Fan,_ the attention of the audience is drawn to the fan:

_Lady Windermere._ My hands are all wet with these roses. Aren't they
lovely? They came up from Selby this morning.

_Lord Darlington._ They are quite perfect. (_Sees a fan lying on the
table._) And what a wonderful fan! May I look at it?

_Lady Windermere._ Do. Pretty, isn't it! It's got my name on it, and
everything. [Note the emphasis here.] I have only just seen it myself.
It's my husband's birthday present to me. You know today is my
birthday?

_Lord Darlington._ No? Is it really?[24]

Just before the close of the first act, it is with this fan that Lady Windermere points her threat against Mrs. Erlynne:

_Lady Windermere._ (_Picking up fan._) Yes, you gave me this fan
today; it was your birthday present. If that woman crosses my
threshold I shall strike her across the face with it.

That Lady Windermere owns a fan; that it bears her name; that, as a gift chosen by her husband and recently given her, he must recognize it on sight: all these important facts have been planted by neat emphasis when