MISTRESS S. [_aghast_]. To London. My Will?
WILL [_quietly_]. Thou knowest, mother, what I ha" told thee, things I told to no other, and now the good time has come that I can see more of England.
MISTRESS S. But I canna let thee go. Oh, Anne, I knew the boy was restless, but I did not think for it so soon. He is only a boy.
WILL [_coloring_]. In two years I shall be a man--I am a man now in spirit. I canna stay in Stratford. [_MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE sinks down in a chair._]
MISTRESS S. What o" me? And, Will, "twill break thy father"s heart!
[_WILL looks ashamed._]
WILL. I know, he would not understand. "Tis hard. He must not know till I be gone.
MISTRESS S. [_To PEELE_]. Oh, sir, how could you wish to lead the lad away? Hath not London enough a"ready?
PEELE [_who has been listening uncomfortably, faces her gravely_]. I but played with the lad at first, till I saw how earnest he was; then I would take him, for I loved his boldness. But, boy, I"ll tell thee fairly, thou"lt do better here. Thou"st seen the brave side of it, the gay dresses, the good horses, the cheering crowds and the court-favor.
But "tis dark sometimes, too. The pouches often hang empty when the people turn away--the lords are as the clouded sun, now smiling, now cold--and there come the bitter days, when a man has no friends but the pot-mates of the moment, when every man"s hand is against him for a vagabond and a rascal, when the prison-gates lay ever wide before him, and the fickle folk, crying after a _new_ favorite, leave the old to starve.
ANNE. Will, canst not see? Thou"rt better here--
WILL [_bravely_]. I know--all this may wait me--but I must go.
MISTRESS S. [_alarmed_]. Must go, Will? [_He kneels by her side._]
WILL. [_tenderly_]. Hush, mother, I"ll tell thee. "Tis not entirely my longing, for this morning the keeper of old Lucy--
GILES. Ha, poaching again, young scamp!
WILL. Brought me before him--I was na poaching, I"ll swear it, not so much as chasing the deer--but Sir Thomas had no patience, and bade me clear out, else he would seize me. I--I--dare na stay.
MISTRESS S. I feared it; thy father forbade thee in the great park.
And now--Oh, Will, Will--I know well how thou"st longed to go from here--and now thou must--what shall I do, lacking thee?
PEELE [_frankly_]. Will, if thou must go, thou must. London is greater than Stratford, and there is much evil there, but thou"rt true-hearted, and--by my player"s honor--I will stand by thee, till the hangman get me. But we must go soon. "Tis a dark road to Warwick--I"ll see to the horses. Is it a compact? [_WILL gives him his hands._]
WILL [_huskily_]. A compact, sir--to the end. [_PEELE hurries out._]
GILES. Look at "e now, breaking "is mother"s heart, and mad wi" joy to revel in London. "Tis little "e recks of she.
WILL [_hotly_]. Thou liest. [_Bending over her_] Mother, "tis not true. I do love thee and father, I love Stratford. I"ll never forget it. But "tis so little here, and I must get away to gain learning and do things i" the world, that I may bring home all I get; fame, if G.o.d grant it, money, if I gain it, all to those at home.
ANNE. Thou"rt over-confident.
WILL. Aye, because I"m young. G.o.d knows there is enough pain in London, and I"ll get my share--but I"m _young_! Mother, thou"rt not angry?
MISTRESS S. I knew "twas coming, and "tis not so hard. We will always wait for thee at home, when thou"rt weary.
GILES [_at the door_]. The horses are waiting. "Tis dark, Will.
WILL [_breaking down_]. Mother, mother!
MISTRESS S. The good G.o.d keep thee safe. Kiss me, Will. [_He bends over her, then stumbles to the door, ANNE following._]
WILL [_turning_]. Anne--Anne--thou dost not despise me for deserting Stratford. I _must_ go.
ANNE. Oh, I know. Thou"lt go to London and forget us all.
WILL. No, no, thou--I couldn"t forget. I"ll remember thee, Anne--I"ll put thee in my plays; all my young maids and lovers shall be thee, as thou"rt now--and I"ll bring thee rare gifts when I come home.
ANNE. I do na want them. Will--I--I--did na mean to be unkind. We were good friends, and I trust in thee, for the future, that thou"lt be great. Good-by--and do na forget the little playmate.
WILL. I will na forget [_kissing her_], and, Anne, be good to my mother. [_She goes back to MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, and he stands watching them in the dusk._]
PEELE [_at the window_]. Come, come, Will! We must go.
WILL [_turning slowly_]. I--I"m coming, sir.
[THE CURTAIN.]
All the dramatic motives that have been enumerated so far have been more or less literary in origin, but "A play may start from almost anything: a detached thought that flashes through the mind; a theory of conduct or an act which one firmly believes or wishes only to examine; a bit of dialogue overheard or imagined; a setting, real or imagined, which creates emotion in the observer; a perfectly detached scene, the antecedents and consequences of which are as yet unknown; a figure glimpsed in a crowd which for some reason arrests the attention of the dramatist ... a mere incident--heard in idle talk or observed; a story told only in barest outline or with the utmost detail."[18]
[Footnote 18: George Pierce Baker, _Dramatic Technique_, Boston and New York, 1919, p. 47.]
The great dramatic critic, William Archer, has said that "the only valid definition of the dramatic is: Any representation of imaginary personages which is capable of interesting an average audience a.s.sembled in a theater." For the purposes of the definition the Boy Will of Robert Emmons Rogers"s little piece and Drinkwater"s Abraham Lincoln are equally imaginary personages. In the case of the one-act play the theatre in question is more often than not a Little Theatre or a school theatre, the representation is more frequently at the moment by amateur than by professional actors and the audience, being small and close to the stage, is likely to a.s.sume a co-operative att.i.tude towards the playwright, the actor, and the other immediate factors in the production. Since the success of a play depends on its adaptability to the requirements of actor, theatre, and audience, it is well for inexperienced playwrights to study the conditions under which one-act plays are likely to be produced.
One very practical consideration to hold in mind is that the one-act play has a shorter time in which to focus attention than the full-length play and so the indispensable preliminary exposition must be quickly disposed of and an urgent appeal to the emotional interest of the audience must be made at the beginning. As has been said, every artistic consideration that calls for singleness of impression in the short-story is of equal importance in determining the unified structure of the one-act play. For the reason that a one-act play is almost never given by itself, if for no other, its effect will be dissipated if plot, characterization, or atmosphere fails in unity.
The writer exercising himself in the art of play-making had best begin with the procedure common to many professional playwrights. This first step is the drawing up of a scenario, which is an outline showing the course of the story, identifying the characters, indicating the setting and atmosphere and explaining the nature of the play; that is, whether, for example, it is to be a fantasy like _The Pierrot of the Minute_, or a comedy of manners like _Wurzel-Flummery_.
Here for instance is such a scenario as might have been drawn up for _The Boy Will_:
THE BOY WILL (Historical fantasy) Scenario for a one-act play, by Robert Emmons Rogers
CHARACTERS (in order of their appearance)
MASTER GEORGE PEELE, player of the Admiral"s Company.
GILES, a plump and peevish old rogue, a tapster.
ANNE HATHAWAY, at sixteen a slim girl, niece to Giles.
WILL SHAKESPEARE, a st.u.r.dy, ruddy boy, Anne"s playmate.
MISTRESS SHAKESPEARE, a kindly faced woman of middle age, Will"s mother.
Within the White Luces Inn on a late afternoon in spring, 1582. (Here a description of the interior would follow.)
Peele is eating and drinking at the inn, waited on by Anne Hathaway.