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 quant.i.ty. 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 n.o.ble 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 circ.u.mstances, 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_.

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 pa.s.ses, 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 cla.s.s, 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 gla.s.ses?

_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!