Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Master of Arts
in the College of Letters, Arts, and Sciences, of the
University of Arizona
1933
Approved: S. ? 'iaJJs&r* •
DateMajor adviser
f x >
onMT
.<.
Z-
11 was my poo<2 fortune to have the pleasure of beginninr my thesis under Miss Frances M . Ferry’s supervision. I wish to express my sincere appreciation of her encouragement, gentle admonitions, and gracious end generous help.
I wish to acknowledge ray indebtedness to Professor Sidney ?. Tattison for his kindly interest and advice.
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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION iCHAPTER I Purpose of the Play 1
Use through Pleasure 1Mere Entertainment 9Delight with Use 10Teaching and Delighting 18Moral Purpose of Shaw 21
CHAPTER II Plot and Action 26Subject Matter 26Completeness and Probability 37The Three Unities and Magnitude 41Plots 52In Me dies Res 61Number of Acts and Persons 62Simple1 and Complex Action 66Double and Single Construction 69Propriety in Stage Presentations 72
CHAPTER III Character 75Universal Type Characters 75
CHAPTER IV Diction 104General Language 104Moral Instructions 105
CHAPTER V The Plays 108"Arms and the Man" 109"Candida" 111"You Never Can Tell" 114"Saint Joan" 119"Androcles and the Lion" 128"The Shewing-Up of Blanco Posnet" 134"The De vil’s Di sciple" 136"Captain Brasshound’s Conversion" 138"Pygmalion" 140"Man and Superman" 141"Back to Methuselah" 150"Heartbreak House" 158"Overruled" 160"Major Barbara" 160"Midtowers' Houses" 168"The Philanderer" 169"Mrs. Warren’s Profession" 171"The Doctor’s Dilemma" 174"Getting Married" 175
"Misalliance" 178"Fanny’s First Play" 181"John Bull’s Other Island" 181"The Apple Cart" 186"Caesar and Cleopatra" 187"The Dark Lady of the Sonnets" 190"Great Catherine" 191
CHAPTER VI Summary 192BIBLIOGRAPHY 196
OUTLINE
IntroductionI General statement of the caseII Definition of terms
h .Behel (how applied to Shaw)B.Dramatic tradition (what it is to apply to in
the discussion herein)III Purpose of the paperIV Plan of treatment of the subject
Shaw, Rebel against Dramatic TraditionI Rebel in purpose of the play
A.History and summary of the traditional purposel.The nurpose of use through pleasure (emphasis
on use)a. Comic catharsis as purpose
1) Aristotle’s expression2) fiastelvetro’s expression3) de la Taille’s expression ^Racine’s expression
b. Satiric ridicule as purpose1) Aristophanes’ expression2) Expression by Beaumont -and Fletcher3) Fielding’s expression4) BuckIngham’s expression
2. The purpose of mere entertainmenta. Plautus’s expressionb. Sebillet’s expressionc. Corneille’s expression
3. The purpose of delight with use (emphasis ondelight)
a. Scenic representation of human life aspurpose ...
1) Classical expressionsa) Menander’s point of viewb) Terence's point of view
2) French and Italian expressionsa) Dante’s point of viewb) Donatus’s point of viewo)Ariosto’s point of viewd) Minturno’s point of viewe) Soileau’s point of viewf) Mo Here’s point of view
3) German expressionsa) Lessing’s point of viewb) Schiller's point of view
b. General emphasis on delight as purpose1) Shakespeare’s expression2) Dryden’s expression
3) Expression by Restoration comedy writersa) Et he radge1 s point of viewb) Wycherly’ s point of viewc) Vanbru^h1 s point of viewd) Farquhar*s point of viewe) Congreve* s point of view
4) Expression by Sheridan and Goldsmith4. The purpose of teaching and delighting (equally
emphasised)a. Horace’s expressionb . Sidney’s expressiono. Samuel Johnson’s expression
B. Purpose expressed by Shaw in his problem plays.
II Rebel in action and plot in the playA. Attitudes toward subject matter for play.
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. Attitude that common human nature should be
imitated1) Ancients’ expression
a) Aristotle’s point of viewb) Ho race’s point of viewc) Menander’s point of viewd) Point of view of Terence and Plautus
2) Ariosto’s expression3) Mo Here’s expression4) Expression by writers of the ItalianRenaissance
a)Danielle’s point of view
b)Minturno’s point of view5) John Fletcher1 s expression6) De Vega* s expression7) Corneille’s expression8) Ben Jonson’s expression9) Schlegel’s expression10) Expression by Restoration dramatists11) Goldoni’s expression12) Lessing’s expression
(The following go into more detail as to imitation),13) Castelvetro’a expression14) Abbe D’Auhignac’a expression15) Bo lleau’s expression
b. Attitude that the•subject should begin withan idea
c. Attitude that all human nature should be imitated1)Johnson's expression
2. Shaw's attitude toward subject matter B. Attitude towards completeness and probability
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. Attitude of the ancients
1) Ar is to tie* s expression2) Ho race’s expression
b. Attitude of Italiansl}Soaliger*s expression2) Ca stelvetro* s expression3) Minturno1s expression
o. Attitude of French1) Chapelain* s expression2) Corneille’s expression3) Diderot's expression4) Hugo's expression
d. Attitude of the English1} Jonson1 s expression2) Dryden's expression3) Johnson's expression4) Lamb’s expression
e. Lessing's attitude2. Shaw's attitude
C. Attitude toY/ards the three unities and magnitude1. History and summary of traditional attitude
a. Attitude in favor of the unities1) Attitude of the Italian
a) Minturno's expressionb) Sc aliger's expressionc) Castelvetro* s expression
2) Attitude of the Frencha) do laTaille's expressionb) Cervantes's expression
3)Attitude of Tirso de Molina 4}Attitude of the English
a)Sidney’s expression »h) Jenson* s expression '
5) Attitude of the 17th century French writersa) Chape la in’s expression h) Corneille1 s expressionc)Boileau’s expression
6) Attitude of Dryden7) Attitude of Lessing8) At titude of Vo Itaire
b . Attitude opposed to the unities1) De Vega’s expression2) Ogier’s expression3) Farquhar’s expression4) Johnson’s expression5) Goldoni’s expression6) Goethe’s expression
c. Attitude towards magnitude1) Ar istotle* s expression2) Jo ns on* s expression3) Corneille* s expression4) Goethe*s expression
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. Attitude that plots be satirical
1)Aristophanes’ expression
2) Expression by Beaumont and Fletcher3) Expression by Henry Fielding-
b . Attitude that plot be like those of theold manner comedy
1) Menander1 s expression2) Plautus’s expression3) Terence's expression4) Ariosto's expression5) Mo Here's expression
c. Attitude that plot be like those of thenew manner comedy
1) Jonson's expression2) Expression by Restoration dramatists
2. Shaw's attitude2. Attitude toward JLn medias res
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. Horace's expressionb. Sidney's expressionc. Jonson's expression
2. Shaw's attitudeF. Attitude toward number of acts and persons in play
1 Jlistory and summary of traditional attitudea. Aristotle’s expression (four parts to play)b. Horace's expressionc. Corneille's expressiond. Jean de laTaille's expressione. Samuel Johnson'a expressionf. Tirsa de Molina's expression
2. Shaw's attitude
G. Attitude toward simple and complex action1. History and summary of traditional attitude
a. Horace’s expressionb. Racine’s expressionc. Dryden’s expressiond. Diderot’s expression
2. Shaw’s attitudeH. Attitude toward double and single construction
1Si story and summary of traditional attitudea. Aristotle’s expressionb. Menander’s expressionc. Johnson’s expressiond. Dryden’s expression
2. Shaw’s attitudeI. Attitude towards propriety in stage presentations
(and narration)1. History and summary of traditional attitude
a. Horace’s expressionb . Daniello’s expressionc. Dryden’s expressiond. Johnson’s expression
2. Shaw’s attitude
III Rebel in characters in the playA# History and summary of traditional attitude
1. Attitude that characters be universal a.Expression in general
1) Aristotle1 s point of view2) Ho race1 s point of view3) Sidney1s point of view4) Corneille1 s point of view
b. Expression of decorum1) Aristotle1 a point of view2) Ho race1 s point of view3}Corneille1 s point of view ijBolleai^s point of view
. 5)Farquhar1 s point of view6) Goethe’s point of view7) Johnson1 s point of view
c. Expression of consistency1) Aristotle1 s point of view2) Chape la in1 s point of view3) Corneille1 s point of view
2. Attitude that characters be stock typea. Menander1 s expressionb. Plautus’s expressiono. Terence’s expressiond. Ariosto’s expressione. Mo Here’s expression
4. Attitude that characters he manner typea. Expression by Farquharb. Expression by Restoration dramatists
1) Lamb^s views on2) Johnson’s views on3) HazlittTs views on
5. Attitude that characters be sentimentala. Lamb’s expressionb. Goldsmith’s expression
6. Attitude that characters be individuala. Shakespeare’s expressionb. Diderot’s expressionc. Freytag’s expression
B. Shaw's attitude
Rebel in diction in the playA. Attitude generally toward language
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. Scaliger’s expressionb. Be Vega’s expressiono. Horace's expressiond. Jonson's expressione. Boileau’s expression
2. Shaw’s attitudeB. Attitude toward moral instructions
1. History and summary of traditional attitudea. D’Aubignao’s expressionb. Corneille's expression
2. Siaw’s attitude
Demonstration of rebel qualities in description of Shaw’s plays
A. The three pleasant plays1. ’’Arms and the Man”2. ”Candida”3. ’’You Never Can Tell”
B. ”St. Joan”C. Plays on religion
1. ”Androeles and the Lion”2. ”The Shewing up of Blanco ’’osnet”3. ”The Devil's Disciple”4. ”Capt’n Brassbound* s Conversion”
D. /’Pygmalion”S* Plays on creative evolution
1. ”Man and Superman”2. ’’Back to Methuselah”
F. PIays on social problems1. ’’Heartbreak House"2. "Overruled”3. "Major Barbara"4. "Widowers' Houses”5. "The Philanderer”6. "Mrs. Warren’s Profession”7. "Getting Married”8.. "The Doctor’s Dilemma"
G. Plays on parents and children1. "Misalliance"2. "Fanny’s First Play”
H. Plays on politics1. "John Bull’s Other Island"2. "The Apple Cart"
I. Plays on historical characters1. "Caesar and Cleopatra"2. "The Dark Lady of the Sonnets"3. "Great Catherine"
ConclusionI Summary of Shaw’ s differences from the traditional play ideas. IIII Re suit
1
INTRODUCTION
The prevalent feeling about Bernard Shaw is best expressed by Will Rogers:
"Wisecracking is the American pastime, and when a fellow like him can wisecrack better than we can, we have to take our hats off. He’s more than seventy years of age and even the Irish don’t know yet whether he is for them or against them— a fellow that can keep them guessing that long has to be pretty good."1
Shaw is an enigma to most people although many consider himtoo acrid and too sarcastic especially when he focusses hiswitty slams on America.. • It is Shaw who is one of the foremost users of the "dis-
cussion method" in the "problem play." During the last half century these terms have been thrust into our drama consciousness. They both indicate a new movement in the play art, and anything new, particularly if it is startling enough, arouses our curiosity.
Shaw is not only puzzling, but by his extreme self-con- -f fidenoe sometimes takes our breath away. He tells us he went to an oculist to have his eyes examined. He found he had a perfectly normal eye. However, there are only ten percent of the people who have this "normal" eye, the Inference being that the other ninety per cent look at the world wrongly or through glasses which correct their lop-sided vision.
(!) T u o ^ D a ^ o r y ^ , "Will Rogers is Visiting Tucson " March 25, 1933 '
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Suddenly, It came to Shaw that he not only had a normal physical eye, but that he also had a normal mental eye— a normal mental eye which is equally possessed by only ten per cent of the people and which enables Shaw to see things in their right proportions unusually clearly. To those of us who have no glasses for our illusory mental eye or who are wearing roseoolored ones when we should be wearing near or far-sighted glasses,. Shaw's views seem radical and an investigation of them should prove interesting.
George Bernard Shaw was born at Dublin, Ireland in 1856.His novels, plays, critical essays, and treatises on
socialism have now made him famous the world over.The purpose of this paper is to examine the particular
dramatic traditions as given by the principal critics and play writers of the past centuries from Aristotle to the nineteenth century and to see in which Shaw is a rebel. It is only toward the end of the century that the drama again comes into its own. The traditions had been built up before this time sufficiently for our examination. Rebel means one who is disobedient to authority. Tradition is transmitted knowledge or belief which has come from ancestors to posterity and which has come to be looked on as authority, I wish to consider the following questions: What effect does Shaw'srevolt against tradition have on drama? Is it a help? Is Shaw a lasting dramatist? What does he accomplish?
1.
Chapter I
PURPOSE OF THE PLAY
Purpose— Use through PleasureThe drama first originated in the fall festivals to
Dionysus (or Bacchus) who was god of wine, movement, dance, and eostaoy in Greece. He became father of tragedy and comedy and the satyr-play.
"Aristotle, the first great authority on matters drama tio, writing two centuries later, chronicles the birth of tragedy and oomedy in this manner, •Both tragedy and comedy originated in a rude and unpremeditated manner, the former from the leaders of the dithyramb, the latter from those who led off the phallic songs'."1
The phallic dances were interspersed with songs and coarse rlFpartes. "In time this medley became organized and took on theform of rude oomedy, which.was later developed into a highly
2artistic achievement." "The Poetics recognizes the origin of comedy in the. phallic procession and dance. To the mime, in which modern authorities find the other chief source of the genus, Aristotle alludes in connection with the Dialogues
I of Plato." For five or six days the fall festival to Dionysus: . / ■ - . ■ ' ' ' ' ... ; ' ■ ■ ■ - ■I lasted and there were choruses, games, concerts, rites, andcontests. The last three days were given over to dramatic
: events. Five plays were presented: three tragedies, a satyr-• ■ ■
play, and a oomedy.
: : : : : : P. M
"The proudest boast a nation oan make is that of beingf 4 • ' .. . > .- • • . , , -
Buooessor to the ancient Greeks.* The Greeks— and when Ispeak of the Greeks, I mean principally the free citizens of
eroise, in training the mind for public and private debate, in exhorting the young to patriotism— for the Greek was individualistic and much devoted to the interests of family, community, and state— and in teaching self-control. In the drama they found some relief for their feelings, which they were zealously taught to control. Plato says:
"If you consider, I said, that when in misfortune we feel a natural hunger and desire to relieve our sorrow by weeping, and lamentation, and that this feeling which is kept* under control in our own calamities is satisfied and delighted by the poets;— the better nature in each of us, not haying been sufficiently trained by reason or habit, allows the sympathetic element to break loose because the sorrow Is another’s; and the spectator fancies that there can be no disgrace to himself in praising and pitying anyone who comes telling him what a good man he is, and making a fuss about his troubles; he things that the pleasure is a gain, and why should he: be supercilious and lose this and the poem too?"2
He goes on to say that "the same is true in the ridiculous." In comedy "a fault or deformity of such a sort as is neitherpainful nor destructive" in the character is set before us. This arouses our sympathy and though we laugh we may have a tear behind the laughter and we relieve our emotions. "The' ■ ; ' 1 Y , . O - ' " ■ • •* ••• t ijjjj s •
case of pity is repeated.*To Aristotle the purpose of the tragedy was to purge the
Athens— took much care in training the body by athletic ex
2
--3
* P. 395Saintsbury.Loci gritloj
P . 4~
3
emotions of pity and fear;by showing characters like ourselves suffering from the hands of friends or relations. As Shaw’s plays, whether serious or not serious, are comedies, it will be necessary to take only the elements from Aristotle*s orit- ioism which oan be applied to comedy quite as well as to tragedy. His (Aristotle's) tragic purpose is a catharsis of the emotions. His definition of tragedy is "an imitation of some action that is serious, entire, and of some magnitude.” The Imitation is of characters better than they appear in life, the imitation of the ideal. He defines comedy as "an imitation of
'characters inferior, not with respect to every sort of vice,but to the ridiculous only, as being a subdivision of tur-
2pitude or deformity." Lane Copper covers many pages proving in a Sherlock Holmes manner that Aristotle might have written and probably did write a criticism of comedy in full detail, but whether he did or not, we can take his general maxim that the effect of any imitative action on the spectator is to give pleasure to him. In more pages, Lane Cooper explains that comedy, instead of. purgingrthe .emotjohslofi pltyiandbfear, should, according to Aristotle, if he had written in detail about comedy, purgn then of anger and envy but this time by an allopathic rather than, as in the first instance, by a homeopathic treatment. "The generalized emotions of pity andfear in a tragic poem are a specifio for the pity and fear of
8 Lool^ormol, p. 5
4.
the individual in the audience; whereas anger and envy in theindividual may be removed by something very unlike them in
1comedy." Aristotle’s comio pleasure could easily have been to purge the emotions of anger and envy (or even some other emotion) by means of showing the ridiculous to make people laugh. The feelings are in this way cleared through pleasure and laughter.
Gastelvetro*s purpose is clearly that of comic catharsis,for if we are moved by pleasing things which appeal to ourfeelings or emotions, there is bound to be a purging of thosefeelings to some degree. He says:
"The function of oomedy is the be|ng moved by pleasing things appealing to the sentiments of the imagination.... Comedy has to do with human turpitude either of mind or of body; but if of the mind, arising from folly, not from vice; if of the body, a turpitude neither painful nor harmful."2
The purpose is a corrective one, too. Through oomio catharsis folly may be remedied.
Jean de la Taille in his The Art of Tragedy (1572) refers to oomio pleasure:
"I would to heaven that our kings and great ones knew what pleasure there is in hearing recited and seeing acted a real tragedy or comedy on a stage such as I oould devise, and which was formerly held in suoh high esteem as a pleasure for the Greeks and Romans."3To Racine the principal
to stir, all others are simply means to arrive at that end."4
| the4 Ibid, p. 158 Drama)
5.
To stir refers,of course, to our feelings or our emotions, and if our emotions are stirred, they will he purged.
One purpose for comedy which emphasizes the element of use more than that of pleasure is comic catharsis, I have shorn how Aristotle, Castelvetro, de la Taille, and Racine all had this particular .purpose in mind. The next purpose for comedy with the emphasis on its moral use is that expressed by Aristophanes. This purpose is satiric ridiculev "Aristophanes was a witty and gifted lyric poet, who found comedy the most natural form of expression for his biting s a t i r e . H e would improve the ethics of his time in politics, philosophy, and the drama by holding up their vices before the eyes of the spectator and by making the spectator laugh at them. "What, for instance, was Aristophanes doing but 1 to laugh back intotheir senses "revolting" sons and wives, to defend the ortho-
2dox faith against philosophers and men of science'?" For instance, in "The Frogs" he ridicules Euripides, his moral purpose being to get the spectators to laugh at Euripides and what he represents in the drama. In Euripides' tragedies the characters are much more emotional and less objective than those of the older dramatists. Euripides made his characters more human and appealing. Aristophanes was a conservative and he did not like this new phase introduced into the drama by Euripides. In the play 'above mentioned, Bacchus makes his way to the underworld to try to bring back some of the good old
T 5eTbdyai& Broslua. Readings in European Literature, p. 108 2 Dobree, Re atoratlon Comedy.~Tntroduction, p. li
6.
dramatists because, at this time, the Greek theater was falling into decay. Bacchus holds a debate between Euripides and Aeschylus. Aeschylus wins the debate. Ben Jonson says, "Many • things in Euripides hath Aristophanes wittily reprehended, not out of art, but out of truth." In The Clouds Aristophanesridicules Socrates and the sophists, and in The Birds he rl-
' >",dioules politicians and the political conditions. "Wheneverthe Poetics was written, we can see from the reference in itto Aristophanes that he was then considered the outstanding2poet of his class." Aristophanes shows the decline of the people's belief in the Greek gods in his plays, for he makes fun of them (the gods), and uses them slightingly.
"The object of the poetic and dramatic art is to instruct without offence; to give men hints of their faults and errors, sufficiently strong to enable them, each for himself, to make the personal application to his own case, but. so that neither the author nor the actor shall appear
-iin the character of an accuser, or even of a monitor, which among equals, is always odious. In order to effect this, truth must be mixed up with some ingredients of unreality; either the persons must be obviously fictitious, as in fable, or the events must be impossible, as in the Aristophanio comedy."3
"V/ehhave the testimony of Olympiodorus that Plato 'greatly delighted. in the comedies of Aristophanes and the mimes ofSophron; so much so that, when he died, these works, we are
'4 .told, were discovered in his bed'."
The comic drama with satiric ridicule for purpose has been
T* Jonson. Ben. Works, Vol. 9, p.2£o2 Cooper, Aristotle in Comedy, p. 223 Aristophanes, The Frogs and Three Other Plays, Intro., p. xii4 Cooper, AritotIe~in ComelyT P. a8
7.
used by Beaumont and Fletcher in The Knight of the Burning Pestle and by Henry fielding in his famous burlesque Tom Thumb, the Great or The Tragedy of Tragedies. Besides these, many other noted burlesques have been written which follow this purpose, as, for instance, Buckingham's The Rehearsal. "The Rehearsal (1571) and The Critic (1779) attack the same weakness in tragedy as does The Tragedy of Tragedies— lofty un-
Treality and inflated grandiloquence."
In speaking of critical comedy, of which the burlesqueand satire plays are examples, Dobree says it
"tends to repress eccentricity, exaggeration, any deviation from the normal: it wields the Meredithian * swordof common sense1. It expresses the general feeling of the community, for which another name is morality; it is, to quote Meredith again, the ’guardian of our civil fort,’ and it is significant that when comedy has been attacked, it had always been defended not on aesthetic but on moral grounds. .... its lesson is to be righteous, but not to be righteous overmuch, which in the mouths of those who hold the doctrine becomes
J’aims mieux un vice commode (ju’une fatigante vertu.
Its object is to damp enthusiasm, to prick illusions. It is in a sense prig-drama; it flatters the vanity of the spectator, for whose amusement the weaknesses of his friends are held up."2With Ben Jonson, the man who carried on in the seventeenth
century the classical elements found in Sidney, the pleasure side of the comio purpose, is only instrumental in getting a moral lesson across to the audience, but his plays are not burlesques. They are plays of humours and the Restoration
1 Fielding, Henry. The Tragedy of Tragedies. Intro., n. 22 Dobree, Restoration Comedy, Intro., p. n
9 .
comedies of manners have some of their traits, although in the matter of purpose the Restoration comedies generally try not to admit the moral element aide. As the purpose expressed by tJoniBon when he says that comedy is a thing throughout pleasant and ridiculous, and accommodated to the correction of manners" approaches that of Shaw, I will refer to it later in detail. I mention it here as one of the purposes which place the emphasis on use in ths comedy.
The oryi^ of the vox populi and the tendency of the time of the Golden Age of Spain is very nicely shown by Cervantes in Don Quixote (10051: "I was discouraged, too, whenever I reflected on the present state of the drama, and the absurdity and inooherenoe of most of our modern comedies, whether fictitious or historical: for the actor and author both say that they must please the people, and not produce compositions which oan only be appreciated by half a score ofmen of sense;.and that they would rather gain subsistence by
' - 2the many than reputation by the few.0 And later he says:"The spectator of a good drama is amused, admonished, and improved by what is diverting, affecting and moral in the representation; he is cautioned against deceit, corrected byexample, incensed against vice, stimulated to the love of
3virtue." So, although the people’s voice says that there should be no moral, Cervantes would recommend plays with morals. :I'bobree, Restoration Comedy, Intro, p. 12 ” """ , , "~2 Clarke, p. 863 Ibid., 87
9,
Purpose— Mere EntertainmentEntertainment has its place in all literature, It is
called by many the literature of escape. Certain it is that the plays for mere entertainment are not the outstanding plays in most cases. And yet those plays of Plautus which were meant only to lead people into loud laughter have made themselves felt in later ages. Plautus is a representative of the new comedy. His plays are patterned after the plays of Menander, only, as we shall see later, Menander had a moral purpose.
Thomas Sebillet tells us in his Art of Poetry (1548) that the French farce aims merely at unrestrained laughter and is what the Latins called Mimes or Prlapses. The Morality Play of this period has a serious purpose.
So the French farce would be classed easily with those plays which are for entertainment merely. It does not even have the substance of the plays of Plautus.
In the seventeenth century-Eisrre Corneille in France writes (First Discourse. 1660): "At the opening of thisDiscourse, when I said that 'the sole end of the drama is to please the audience,' I did mean to enforce this maxim arbitrarily upon those who strive to ennoble dramatic art by considering it as a means to supply moral purpose as well as pleasure.... It is a fact that from one end to the other of Aristotle's Poetics not onoe does he make use of the word (moral); on the contrary, he says that the end of drama is
10
the pleasure we experience in observing the actions of men 1
imitated." Dohree says that Corneille "declared that ‘Dramatic poesy has for object only the delight of the speotatdf^f but he was forced to add that Horace was right, and that everybody would not be pleased if some useful precept were net at the same time slipped in, ‘at que les gens graves et serieuxles vieillards, et les amateurs de la vertu, s‘y ennuieront2s*ils n’y trouvent rien a profiter'.*
- The purpose of the drama is to please through imitation. The imitation may improve the morals of men by showing how they should or shouldn't act,^/but Corneille pleads for the pleasing rather than the instructing aspect. So we have Plautus and Corneille at least who come out strongly for the entertainment phase of oomedy.
Purpose— Delight with UseThe plays which give a scenic representation of human
life place the emphasis on delight more generally than on usealthough there is a distinct moral value to all of them.These plays include nearly all of the comedies of manners."After the Macedonian conquest the Athenians, lacking thestimulus of complete political independence, turned more andmore to rhetoric, to ethical philosophies, to aestheticcomplacency and to the New Comedy of Manners. This New Comedy no longer offers the lyric beauty, the rapier wit, nor— as weknow it in Menander at least— the naked licence and the daring
1 Clarke, p. 140 ~ ~ ----- — ------- —2 Dobree, Has.toratljan Comedy, Intro, p. 12
11.
personal or political satire of Aristophanes. It does not, indeed, always nor only seek to provoke laughter, but is the scenio representation of human life: the pathetic, the serious,the gay, the ajnusing, the commonplace. ;
: "Menander* s rival, Philemon, with his coarser jests,enjoyed a greater measure of popularity, and so far over- shadowed Menander's more delicate character-drawing that the latter won the prize only eight times."1Menander was probably born in the year 343 B.C. and al
though only pieces of his plays are preserved for us today, he has shown his influence on drama. Six of Terence's plays are said to be copies of Menander's. In many of his prologues he (Terence) defends himself against the criticism he has received for his wholesale plagiarism, chiefly for his extensive use of Menander.
"The patent familiarity of Menander with Euripides must not be allowed to obscure his contacts with the other great writers of Tragedy, nor with Aristophanes himself, whose fervid vigour still crops out in Menander although 'in Plautus and Terence the lineaments of this kinship have been effaced ...Even if the New Comedy is the adopted child of the Tragedy of Euripides its mother was, after all, the Old Comedy.' But even less must we forget that the main source of Menander's vitality was life itself— the daily life in Athens.■2Menander represented virtue rewarded and evil punished.
"Menander, to judge from Terence, was doing the same kind of thing, as was Terence himself. This is the classical comedy from which much modern comedy is derived. It sets out definitely to correct manners by laughter; it strives to 'cure excess'."3Terence wrote plays much like those of Plautus. He, 1 2 3
however, has like Menander a moral purpose in his plays. He presents life as he sees it, excellently characterising and giving authentic psychology. "His viewpoint was that of a patrician, not that of a practical man of the theater." He decided to raise the language standards, and thought this could best be accomplished by making the language in his plays elegant. Dante says, "Comedy, indeed, beginneth with someadverse circumstances, but its theme hath a happy termination,' ' 1 . ■■ ■ ' ; - . ' : : - 2 ■ ■ ' ' -as doth appear in. the comedies of Terence."
Donatus (4th Century A.D.) says:"Comedy is a story treating of various habits and
customs of public and private affairs from which one may learn what is of use in life, on the one hand, and what must be avoided on the other. .... Cicero says that comedy is »a copy of life, a mirror of custom a reflection of truth.* .... Livious Andronicus first (of the Latins) invented comedy and the national drama; he said, 'Comedy is the mirror of everyday life,1 nor is this without reason.”3Ariosto olosely-ifollows the comedies of Plautus and Terence.
"He shows, however, genuine power to assimilate his material,and his added touches of local colour come easily and naturallyinto a play which is indeed a transition product, but is in-
' 4spired throughout with his own graceful and vivacious wit."His plays are licentious, but they portray human life nicely.
Mintumo in his The Art of Poetry (1563) says:"But before you define comedy, tell me what is the
mission of the comic poet?
1234Sevoyar and Brosius, Readings. in European Literature, vClarke , p. 43 “— ---------------Ibid., p. 47 . .Gascoigne, Supposes. Intro., p. xix-
. 239
13.
"What else but that of teaching and pleasing? According to Plato, the gods took pity on the tedious life of mortals, wearied with never-ending tasks and labors, and that they might not laok recreations and that they might take heart again, the gods established festivals, banquets, and games, favored by Bacchus, Apollo, and the Muses. Then mankind, celebrating these holidays with poetry and with musio, discovered comedy. And comedy not only delighted the hearer with imitations of pleasant things and with the charm of words, but since in those days poetry afforded a certain way in which to educate children to a proper manner of living— it even bettered their lives, affording as it did an image of their customs and everyday existence. It pleased them greatly to see the happenings of their own lives enacted by other persons. I shall not speak of the suavity of the language which is always one of the delights of comedy. The oomic poet moves his hearers, though he does not stir them as deeply as the tragic poet. The oomio poet awakes in the souls of those who listen pleasant and humanefeelings."1Mollere in his School for Wives Critiolzed has his char
acters argue for and against obeying the rules explicitly as laid down by Aristotle and Horace. Dorante says in this, "I should like to know whether the great rule of all rules is not to please; and whether a play which attains this has not fol- lowed a good method." Moliere's plays follow the rule of pleasing and yet his Miser becomes even more repulsive than that of Plautus. They instruct in their portrayal of human life. His Amphitryon has a wise and delicate touch.
Boileau in The Art of Poetry refers to Aristophanes1 mistreatment of Socrates: "A Socrates himself in that looseage, was made the pastime of a scoffing stage.* To him— just as it is to Minturno and Molierc— the purpose is torepresent human life. While we laugh at the eccentricities1 Clarke, p. 59 --------- ---- — -- ----------— ------2 Ibid., p. 151
14.
. sof the lifelike characters, we are bettered by seeing the play.Towards the end of the neo-classical period in Germany,
Lessing writes (Hamburg Dramaturgy, 1769):"Hanine belongs to pathetic comedy. It has also many
laughable scenes, and only in so far as these laughable scenes alternate with the pathetic, Voltaire would admit
: of them in comedy. An entirely serious comedy, wherein we never laugh, not even smile, wherein we should rather always weep, is to him a monstrosity.
"Comedy is to do us good through laughter; but not through derision; not just to counteract those faults at which it laughs, nor sinmly and solely in those persons who possess these laughable faults. Its true general use consists in laughter itself, in the practice of our powers to discern the ridiculous, to discern it easily and quickly under all cloaks of passion and fashion; in all admixtures of good and bad qualities, even in the wrinkles of solemn earnestness. Granted that Moliere's Miser never cured a miser; nor Begnard* s Gambler, a gambler; conceded that laughter never could improve these fools; the worse for them, but not for comedy. It is enough for comedy that if it cannot cure an incurable disease, it can confirm the healthy in their health. The Miser is instructive also to the extravagant man; audiohim who never plays The Gambler may prove of use. The follies they have not goi themselves, others may have with whom they have to live. It is well to know those with whom we may pome into collision; it is well to be preserved from all empressions by example, A preservative is also a valuable medicine, and all morality has none more powerful and effective than the ridiculous.*1Schiller, writing near the close of the eighteenth century,
expresses the purpose of the stage in the following:"Much af all this is shown up on the stage. It is a
mirror to reflect fools and their thousand forms of folly, which are there turned to ridicule. It curbs vice by terror, and folly still more effectually by satire and Jest. If a comparison be made between tragedy and comedy, guided by experience, we should probably give the palm to the latter as to effects produced. Hatred does not
X Clarke. European theories"of ihe Drama, p, £59
15
wound the conscience so much as mockery does the pride of man. We are exposed specially to the sting of satire . by the very cowardice that shuns terrors. From sins we are guarded by law and conscience, but the ludicrous is specially punished on the stage. Where we allow a friend to correct our morals, we rarely forgive a laugh. We may bear heavy judgment on our-transgressions, but our weaknesses and vulgarities must not be criticised by a witness. ' ■ ' ' : : . V ' "
"The stage alone can do this with impunity, chastising us as the anonymous fool. We can bear this rebuke without a blush, and even gratefully.
"But the. stage does even more than this. It is a great school of practical wisdom, a guide for civil life, and a key to the mind in all its sinuosities. It does not, of course, remove egoism and stubbornness in evil ways; for a thousand vices hold up their heads in spite of the stage, and a thousand virtues make no impression on oold-hearted spectators. Thus, probably, Moliere's Harpagon never altered a usurer's heart, nor did the suicide in Beverley save anyone from the gaming-table.Nor, again,is it likely that the high roads will be safer through Karl Moor's untimely end. But admitting this, and more than this, still how great is the influence of the stage 1 It has shown us the vioes and virtues of men with whom we have to live. We are not surprised at their weaknesses, we are prepared for them. The stage points them out to us, and their remedy. It drags off the mask from the hypocrite, and betrays the meshes.of intrigue. Duplicity and ounning have been forced by it to show their hideous features in the light of day. Perhaps the dying Sarah may not deter a single debauchee, nor all the pictures of avenged seduction stop the evil; yet unguarded innocence has been shown the snares of the corrupter, and taught to distrust his oaths. ; -. -
"The stage is an institution combining amusement with instruction, rest with exertion, where no faculty of the mind is overstrained, no pleasure enjoyed at the cost of the whole."1 ;Before leaving the interpretation of the purpose of comedy
as that of delighting principally but also of teaching, weshould turn a moment to Shakespeare and then to Dryden, and 1
1 Sohiller's, Aesthetical Essays (The Stage as a Moral Institution), pp. 3^6-333 “
16
finally see what the English writers of the oomedy of manners consider the purpose of comedy.
There has been so much material written on Shakespeare and he himself has written so much that it would be impossible in this thesis to go into detail about him and his plays. He does present life to us clearly. His comic plays seem to have no deliberate moral purpose and yet they do leave the audience better for seeing them. He draws from life noble lessons of conduct, of virtue, and of divine guidance. .Samuel Johnson says of Shakespeare:
"His first defect is that to which may bie imputed most of the evil in books or in pen. He sacrifices virtue to convenience, and is so much more careful to please than to instruct, that he seems to write without any moral purpose. From M s writings indeed a system of social duty may be selected, for he that thinks reasonably must think morally; but his precepts and axioms.drop casually from him; he makes no just distribution of good or evil, nor is always careful to shew in the virtuous, a disapprobation of the wicked; he carries his persons indifferently through right and wrong, and at the close dismisses them without further oare, and leaves their examples to operate by chance . This fault the barbarity of his age cannot extenuate; for it is always a writer’s duty to make the world better, and justice is a virtue
. independent on time or place."1 2"He omits opportunities of instruction or delighting."
Shakespeare Is not the remorseless justifier in comedythat Ben Jonson is. He alms to please more. ,
"To instruct delightfully is the general end of all 3 " : " ■ ' ; . ■ 'poetry,” writes Dryden and the emphasis is on the word 1
1 Johnson, The Oritioal Opinions of Samuel Johnson, p. 892 Ibid, p. 28l *“““ : . ------------------3 Clarke, p. 194 ‘
17.
delightfully. The comic purpose is to give pleasure. Instruction has a secondary place.. Comedy is or should be "a just and: lively image of human nature, representing Its passions and humors, and the changes of fortune to which it is subject, for the delight and instruction of mankind.8 All writing should delight first; *1 am satisfied, if it cause delight: for delight is the chief, if not the only, end of poesy: instruction can be admitted but in the second place; for..... ' gpoesy only instructs as it delights." ....
"It was in comedy that the Restoration made its great contribution to English drama. Early in the 1660*8 Etherege won the town with his sprightly, satirical comedies in prose soon to be followed by the splendid prose plays of Wycherley, Vanbrugh, Farquh&r, and Congreve, the four,supreme wits of Restoration comedy.Their spirit pervades the best of English comedy, through Fielding, Sheridan, and Goldsmith, down to Wilde and
.... . ShaW."3 . . __ , - :As soon as we take up Restoration comedy, we find a dif
ference of opinion as to the purpose of it. It pleased and did not have for its purpose mending according to Samuel Johnson. But Dobree points out that, hard as the Restoration comedy writers tried to get. away from the moral element, they nearly all must admit it. He says:
"Congreve m d Vantni^i^-^yoherley* s moral purpose is overwhelmingly evident in three of his plays— stimulated by Collier’s declaration that ’The business of plays is to recommend virtue and. discountenance vice’, were loud in their protestations. Congreve even forestalled the 1 2 3
1 Clarke, p. 176 .2 Saintsbury, Lool Critic! p. 153-1543 British Prose and Poetry. Ed. by Lieder, Loveh, & Root,
P & C, p . 29^-355
18
frenzied divine In his preface to The Double Dealer, where he said * It is the business of the coraio poet to paint the vice and follies of humankind’. Vanbrugh in his heart thought that the object of plays was to divert, and to get full houses', but he accepted the moral standpoint In his Short Vindication, saying, ’the business of comedy' is to show people what they should do , by representing- them on the stage doing what they should not*.Who would refuse to be moralist on those terms? ?ar- quhar, modifying the olalas of comedy, declared in his preface to The Twin Rivals. ’that the business of comedy
. is chiefly to ridicule folly; and that the punishment of vice falls rather into the province of tragedy', thus curiously forestalling Coleridge, who thought wickedness no subject for comedy.*1 -
Farquhar also says, "Comedy is no more at present than a wellframed tale handsomely told as an agreeable vehicle for counsel &or reproof.* This shows that he admits a serious purpose.Hazlitt says, "The comedies of Steele were the first that werewritten expressly with a view not to imitate the manners, but
3to reform the morals of the age." Steele follows the Restoration dramatists. We see that Hazlitt’s view corresponds with Johnson’s that the Restoration oomedy did not instruct. I think we are safe, however, in placing it under the general purpose which emphasizes delight more than instruction but which does possess the teaching phase. Perhaps Etherege should be placed with Plautus and Corneille as a dramatist with mere entertainment as his aim*
PURPOSE— -TEACHING AND DELIGHTINGThere are some writers and critics who give the purpose 1 2 3
1 Dobreet Restoration Comedy. Intro, p. 12-132 Clarke, p. £21 ”3 Ibid, p. 446
19.
of teaching and delighting equal place' in comedy. Delightinghere may be distinguished from mere laughter, Sidney says:
"But our Comedians think there is no delight without laughter: which is very wrong, for though laughter may.come with delight, yet cometh it not of delight, as though delight should be the cause of laughter. But well may one thing breed both together. Nay, rather in themselves they have as it were a king of contrariety: for delight we scarcely do, but in things that have a convenienoy to ourselves and nature. Delight hath a joy in it, either permanent or present. Laughter hath only a scornful tickling. For example, we are ravished with delight to see a fair woman, and yot are far from being moved to laughter. T,& laugh at deformed creatures, wherein certainly we cannot delight.91
And his comic purpose follows closely: "But I speak to thispurpose, that all the end of the comical part be not upon suchscornful matters, as stirreth laughter only: but, mixt with
1it, that delightful teaching which is the end of Poesy.9
Horace before him had said: "Either follow tradition,2or, if you invent, let your creation be consistent,9 and
further:"Poets aim either to benefit, or to delight, or to unite what will give pleasure with what is serviceable for life. In moral precepts be brief; shat is quickly said, the mind readily receives and faithfully retains:— all that is superfloue runs over from the mind, as from a full vessel. Fictions meant to please should be as like truth as possible; the play_ought not to demand unlimited belief; after the dinner of an ogress, let no live boy be taken from her stomach. The centuries of the senators drive from the stage poems devoid of moral lessons; the aristocratic knights disapprove of dry poems; that poet gets every vote, who unites information with pleasure, delighting at once and. instructing the reader. Such a a poem brings money to the publishers, and is sent across „ the sea, and gives immortality to its illustrious author.9*5 1 2 3
1 Galntsbury, Loci Critloi, p. 5$ — —2 Horace, Works, p..2093 Horace, Works, p. 214 —
20.
Samuel Johnson defines the aim of drama:"•Tis yours, this night-----
To chase the charms of sound, the pomp of show,For useful mirth and salutary woe;Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, .And Truth diffuse her radiance from the stage,**"The greatest graces of a play, are to copy nature and instruct.life.Again he says, "By pleasing only he can become useful.85 'v -The comic purpose is to instruct and delight. We have
seen that some authors and oritios claimed the purpose of use- •- ' - .
through pleasure. These are those who claimed comic catharsisand satiric ridicule for the end of comedy. There are others
> who said or seemed to say that entertainment only is the end; of comedy. Still others emphasized the delightful side ofi comedy and yet would not dispense with its use. These arethose who gave us scenic representations of human life or thecomedies of manners. The last group felt that use and delightare equal in their share in comedy*s end.
Ben Jonson, as a representative of the first group, says,8The parts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy,
and the end. is partly the same; for they both delight and teach.1"® And, "Nor is the moving of laughter always the end of comedy, that is rather a fowling for the people’s delight, or their fooling. For as Aristotle says rightly, the moving of laughter is a fault in comedy, a kind of turpitude, that depraves some part of a man’s nature without a disease— As also it is devinely said of Aristotle, that to seem ridiculous is a part of dishonesty, and foolish.
1 Johnson, fhe Critical Opinions of Samuel Johnson, p. 75 2 Ibid, p.
3 Ibid, p. 24 Jonson, Ben, Works. Vol. 9, p. 221
81.
"So jests that are. true and natural seldom raise laughter with the beast the multitude. They love nothing that is right and proper. ”*■Here we see that comedy has a more serious purpose than
to move to laughter. Moral examples as allopathic cures are put before us in Jenson’s plays, and when we laugh or derive pleasure from them, v/e are just that much nearer to clearing the vice in ourselves.
“Dumas fils was an incorrigible adherent of the ’useful’ drama— the drama which should expose vices, remedy wits, and be in general an instrument of public and private good.... He says, •I realize that the prime requisites of a play are laughter, tears, passion, emotion, interest, curiosity: to leave life at the cloak room; but I maintain if, instead of treating effects I can treat causes; if, for example, while I satirize and describe and dramatize adultery I can find means to force people to discuss the problem, and the law-maker to revise the law, I shall have done more than my part as a poet, I shall have done my duty as a man’.... Together with Emile Augier, he brought the thesis-play to its highest point of development. His influence is seen in many ofIbsen’a worksA— (and) in the plays of Paul Horvieu and Eugene Brieux."8
MORAL PURPOSE OF SHAWNow we come to Shaw. In this particular tradition, as
we first look at it, Shaw oould never gain his reputation for : v.' ■ ' ■ .
being a rebel. His general purpose for comedy is much likethat of Ben Jonson— to cure faults through pleasure. He was ,influenced by Ibsen who had been influenced by Dumas Fils.A man in a theater should not be seeking entertainment buthave come cringingly before the bar of justice to see hisfaults laid out before him. Every play brings home each man’s 1 21 Jonson. "Sen. Works'.'Voi.'-p B. 262-883 ' ” '2 Clarke, p. 38^
22.
guilt to him. "Both in theory and in practice he has stoodfor the thesis-play: and like Tolstoy, he maintained that itis the function of the drama to teach and serve a practical /and immediate purpose for the community and society. To himthe theater is merely a means and not an end. Throughout '/Vhis lectures, essays, reviews, prefaces, and even in his playshe has preached his dootrine, which has been largely influen-//
1tlal in England, Germany, and United States." He believes that through making a man laugh at follies, he can best drive home their evils, but the man must realize that they are follies which he himself commits and not those only in his neighbors and friends. 2
To him "any fool can make an audience laugh." It isnot to make the audience laugh that he writes plays, but to ,,educate the public out of idealism into common sense ways oflooking at things. Idealism to Shaw is simply the illusionswhich people build around themselves when life is not all itshould be to make them believe it in all it should be. If aman and woman are unhappily married but through many yearshave "stuck it out," it is hard for them to believe that loveis everlasting and marriage a saored institution. And yet ifthey deny these things, it makes their whole life a failurewhich is unbearable. So they build up an ideal about marriage. They are scandalized when their friends get a divorce. They 1 2
1 Clarke, p. 471 . ^2 Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant, Vol. II, Preface xv
25.
surround themselves with illusions, ideals, and romance which are wrong to both of them and to any others who fee 1 tho affects of their incompatible existence. But it in not only in private life that ideals are harmful. Bhaw says: .
"In spite of a Liberal Revolution or two, I can no longer be satisfied with fictitious morals and fictitious good conduct, shedding fictitious glory on overcrowding, disease, crime, drink, war, cruelty, infant mortality, and all the other commonplaces of civilization which drive men to the theater to make foolish pretences that these things are progress, science, morals, religion, patriotism, imperial supremacy, national greatness and all the other names the newspapers call them. On the other hand, I see plenty of good in the world working itself out as fast as the:Idealist will allow it; and if they would only let it alone and learn to respect reality, which would include
' the beneficial exercise of respecting themselves, and incidentally respecting me, we should all get along much better and faster. At all events, I do not see moral chaos and anarchy as the alternative to romantic oonven- .tion.*x
Shaw ls strongly opposed to those illusions which cover theevils in politics and morals, and these he calls romance,idealism, fiction. He says, "To me the .tragedy and comedy oflife lie in the consequences, sometimes terrible, sometimesludicrous of our persistent attempts to found our institutionson the ideals suggested to our imaginations by our half-satisfied passions, instead, of on a genuinely scientific
2natural history."
The fact that a host of dramatists and critics before Shaw had seen in comedy a use which far transcended its pleasure led me to say that Shaw was not a rebel in the
1~ Shaw, Flays, Pleasant and Unpleasant. Vol. IT. Profan* w m 2 Ibid, xix .
24
purpose of the play. He is not a rebel merely on the surface of the thing. Before we travel far, we find that the thing he is hitting at, the good he would do by writing his plays, is quite different from the moral purpose of Ben Jonaon or any of the others. True, both Ben Jonson and Shaw have a moral X purpose which is far greater to them than mere entertainment in the drama, but this moral purpose in itself is different.In Ben Joneon the common faults of mankind are shown to the audience for saoh member of it to cure the one or more faults he possesses. In Shaw, as we have seen above, it is idealism and all the covering.up of evils, that it means which he strives to correct. The fact that he looks uoon idealism as a fault is new. The question each member of the audience faces is now not, "What stupid fault or humour should I erase from my character?* but rather, "Am I an idealist? If so, how may I
; be hurting myself and others?" and further, "Am I sitting back and letting the evils of society go on while I exist in an unreal world of good? Am I directly responsible for any social evils?" Hhaw takes in a biggor,deeper field than Jonoon. .
The drama is revolting against itself into something higher according to Shaw. But the only way wo may-have a coherent understanding of the revolt is after it is over. How a fow far-sighted men, a few geniuses, are catching this light of a new drama and flashing it to the common man. "Nay,the artist himself has no other way of making himself conscious of the ray: it is by a blind instinct that he keeps on building
up his masterpieces until their pinnacles catch the glint of1the unrisen sun." Shaw is one of the geniuses who is flashing
4 the light of the new revolutionary drama into our eyes with his "problem plays." But it is through the medium of the comic drama that the light best pierces our souls. Shaw says, "I * am convinced that fine art is the subtlest, the most seductive, the most effective means of propagandism in the world, excepting only the example of personal conduct, and I waive even this exception in favour of the art of the stage, because it works by exhibiting examples of personal conduct made intelligible and moving to crowds of unobservant, unreflecting
' 2people to whom real life means nothing." Shaw writes his problem-plays about social and economic problems, sex and marriage problems, and ethical and religious problems. If he can not solve the problems for each individual man, he can, at least, start the man thinking about them and suggest solutions. 1 2
85.
1 Shaw. Plays, Pleasant and Unpleasant. Preface viii (Vol.m2 Balmforth, The Problem Play, Chapter I, p. 12
26.
Chapter II
PLOT AND ACTION
SUBJECT MATTERPlays Imitate the actions of men. They imitate the
Ideal nature. To Plato the poet’s art was thrice removed from truth. There is the ideal world existing parallel to this world, the ideal world or the real world or the world of truth; it is the world of perfection. Now in the tree exists the idea or ideal of the bed or chair which is to come from it. The carpenter imitates this ideal bed when he makes a bed from the wood of the tree. The poet or painter is merely imitating an imitation when he writes of or paints bed; and is thus thrice removed from truth. Aristotle, Plato’s pupil, corrected this. To Aristotle the imitation of the ideal was the imitation of that perfect bed or that perfect object which lies back of the object we see. The way to arrive at the imitation of the ideal or perfection is to study many beds and copy only the perfect traits of each bed, so that when you write or paint bed, you have an ideal or perfect bed. Aristotle carries this over into the imitations of actions of men. In a play, nature (human nature) mist be imitated ideally. In tragedy the actions are better than life, in comedy worse. Comedyis "the artistic imitation of an action which is ludicrous i (or mirthful), organically complete, and of a proper length,” 1
1 Cooper, Aristotle on Comedy, p. 179
87.
says Lane Cooper In interpreting what Aristotle meant to say about comedy. If eoaedy imitates grotesque actions, it must imitate ideal grotesque actions. The comic writer must copy the perfect grotesque from many models. Both Homer and Aristophanes •imitate persons engaged in acting; whence also, it is said that certain persons call their works dramas be- cause they imitate those who are engaged in doing something.*
Comedy imitates the actions of common man and purges the emotions through ooaio catharsis. But there are other men who write that oomedy is to imitate nature, the nature of. the common man. Down through the ages this has been brought before our attention.
Horace remarks, n,Tis thought that oomedy, drawing its subjects from humble life, requires less pains; but the truth is, the labour is greater as the indulgence is less." Menander, Plautus, and Terence before him and Ariosto and Moll&re after him get their material for their plays from life; they imitate the actions of common man. Horace would have the dramatist follow the ancients, too, and observe the way they write. It is no easy task to represent the faults of mankind on the stage. Moll'Sre thinks "that it is much easier to soar with grand sentiments, to brave fortune in verse, to arraign destiny and reproach the Gods, than to
28.
D&niello tells us that the material for comedy may "be ofcommon stuff, "everyday occurrences, not to say lowly andcommonplace, while the tragic poets treat of deaths of high
. ■ 1 kings and the ruin of great empires.*
Minturno says that dramatic poetry is "imitation of things— to he presented in the theater— complete and perfect in form and circumscribed as to length. Its form is not that of narration; it introduces several persons who act and converse. " He adds that there are three kinds of subjects treated in the theatre. The first is for tragedy.
"A second recognizes the middle strata of society— common folk of the city or the country: the farmer, the commonsoldier, the petty merchant, and similar persons. These afford matter for comedy. The third division has to do with humble persons, mean and ludicrous, with all those in fact who seem most fitted to provoke merriment, thus supplying subject matter for satirical poetry."3
We may say comedy is no other"Than an imitation of pleasing and amusing happenings whether public or private. It must be presented in a complete and perfect form, and is circumscribed as to length.— Incidents adapted to comedy are amusing and ludicrous."4 .Comedy to John Fletcher, must be "a representation of
familiar people, with such kind of trouble as no life is 5
questioned."To De Vega comedy should "imitate the actions of men and 1
1 Clarke, p. 642 Ibid., p. 553 Ibid, p. 554 Ibid, p. 595 Ibid, p. 100
29.
paint the customs of their age," and. comedy is different from tragedy "in that it treats of lowly and plebian actions.■
Alfonso Sanchez (1618) says, "And the principal precept■ v. " : . ■ : . ‘ 8": . ' . - - ■ : ■ - ' .is— To Imitate Maturestt-■ Corneille says:"Comedy, then, differs from tragedy in that the latter requires an illustrious, extraordinary serious subject* while the former stops at a common, playful subject. The latter demands great dangers for its hero; the former contents itself with the worry and displeasures of those to whom it gives the first rank amongst the aotorsv Both have this in common, that the action must be complete and . finished, that is, in the event which finishes it the
, spectator must be so clearly informed of the feelings of all who have had a part in it that he leaves with his mind quiet and doubting of nothing."*When we come to Ben Jonson we find another kind of imi-
. tat ion . : - : , . ■ r . . - . ;■: / ."The third requisite in our poet or maker, is imitation, to be able to convert the substance or riches of another poet to his own use."4 But he adds, "Without nature, art can claim no being."s And again, "So that what either in the words or sense of an author, or in the language or actions of men, is awry, or depraved, does strangely stir mean affections, and provoke for the most part to laughter.
He would have the play represent actions:of men.Castelvetro goes more into detail as to the subject; It
must imitatet-"The greatest source of the comic is deception; either through folly, drunkeness, a dream, or delirium; or through * 3 4 5 6
1 Clarke^ p. 902- Salhtsbury;' LOcl Critic! ,, p. 1373 Clarke, p. 142-1434 Jonson, Works. Vol. 9, p. 2165 Ibid, p. 2176 Ibid, p. 222
30
ignorance of the arts, the sciences, and one’s own pdiwrs; or through the novelty of the good being turned in a wrong direction or of the engineer hoist with his own _ petard or through deceits fashioned by man or by fortune!1Abbe D*Aubignao further enlightens us as to the subject
for comedy. There are three kinds of subjects:"The first consists of incidents, intrigues, and new events, when almost from act to act there is some sudden change upon the stage which alters all the face of affairs when almost all the actors have different designs;— the. second sort of subjects are of those raised out of passions;— the last sort of subjects are the mixed or compound of incidents and passions, when by the unex- . peoted events, but noble ones the aotors break out into different passions;"«Boileau says:"The mind is most agreeably surprised,When a well-woven subject, long disguised,You on a sudden artfully unfold,And give the whole another face and mold."5 .And again, "Let Hature, then, be your only study."1 2 3 4
• . ( ill, 359, L*Art Poetlqud"We must never separate ourselves from Nature.
ail, 414, L'Art Poetlque}Dryden says a play is "a just and lively image of human
nature, representing its passions and humors, and.the changesof fortune to which it is subject, for the delight and instruc-
- ■ 5 . . , ' . /tion of mankind.* And further:
"Those ancients have been faithful imitators and wise observers of that nature which is so t o m and ill represented in our plays; they have handed down to us a perfect resemblance of her; which we, like ill Copiers, neglecting to look on, have rendered monstrous and disfigured."6
1 Clarke, p, 682 Ibid; p. 1333 Ibid, p. 1594 Saintsbury, Loci Critioi, p. 1405 Clarke, p. T %6 Ibid, p. 177
31.
Comedy Is "where the action is trivial» and the persons ofinferior rank." r.. .
.Oliver Goldsmith tells u®: . : •"Comedy is defined by Aristotle to be a picture of the frailities of the lower part of mankind, to distinguish it from tragedy which is an exhibition of the misfortunes of the great*. "2 - > ; .Goldoni says:;"Comedy, which is an imitation of nature, ought not to reject virtuous and pathetic sentiments, if the essentialobject be observed of enlivening it with those comic and prominent traits which are the very foundations of its existence."3
/ To Lessing ; : ;■ ' - . :"Htuaan life is nothing but a constant chain of such trans-
* itions (from the pathetic to oomicT]» and comedy should be a mirror of human life .*4 , j ' f;Sohiller in his plays has done "no more than literally .
copy nature." "But presently (Goethe meets) with somethingwhich violates the truth of nature Q n Schllled, and I can gono further.*v ' n . . ' . ' : ' ' " - ■■■■■■ : ' • ■: ’ . *, . 'Gchlegel says:
"As .earnestness, in the highest degree, is the essence of tragic representation so is sport of the oomlo. The imperfections and the irregularities of men are no longer an object of dislike and_ppmpass1on, but serve, by their strange inconsistencies, to entertain. The comic poet must therefore carefully, abstain from whatever is oal- , ; culatad to exoite more indignation at the conduct or "sympathy with the situations of his personages, because
T Clarke, p. 1§42 Ibid, T>. 2363 Ibid, p. 2484 Ibid, P. 2595 Ibid, p. 3190 Ibid, p. 326
38.
this would inevitably bring us baok again Into earnestness. He must paint their irregularities as springing out of the predominance of the animal part of their nature, and the incidents which befall them as merely ludicrous distresses, which will be attended with no fatal consequences.The dramas of the Restoration imitated manners.William Hazlitt remarks that the reason we have lean
years in comedy is because "it holds the mirror up to nature; and men, seeing their most striking defects pass in gay review before them, learn either to avoid or conceal them."
Hugo says:"It seems to us that some one has already said that drama is a mirror wherein nature is reflected. But if it be an ordinary mirror, a smooth and polished surface, it will give only a dull image of objects, with no relief— faithful but colorless; every one knows that color and light are lost in a simple reflection. The drama, therefore, must be a concentrating mirror, which, instead of weakening, concentrates and condenses the colored rays, which makes of a mere gleam a light and of a light a flame.Then only is the drama acknowledged by act."* 2 3The subject matter for Aristophanes is more than just an
imitation of the actions of the common man. He starts with anidea. This idea may have arisen from conversation with hisfriends, but however it arose, it came before his attentionand was then made into a play.— After him we have many instancesof plays as portraits of the life of their time; the probabilityin these was placed on the action and events for the language.and characters were idealized
"But the ancient Aristophanic comedy proceeded upon a principle of compensation totally different. In this
1 Clarke, p. 3452 Ibid, p. 4413 Ibid, p. 381
33.
Bpeoieo,of. composition, the utter extravagance and impossibility of the supposed action is an indispensable requisite; the portion of truth and reality which is admitted as a counterpoise, consists wholly in the character and language, It is a grave, humorous, impossible, Great Lie, related with an accurate mimicry of the language and manner of the persons introduced, and great exactness of circumstance in the inferior details. In its simpler state, it appears to be one of the commonest and most spontaneous products of the human mind; and usually arises in some strong expression, which, a moment after, is taken literally, converted into a reality, and invested with all the circumstances of action and dialogue."1
The object of Aristophanes was to instruct without giving offense. He takes his ideas about politics, religion, drama, philosophy, etc., and by mixing some ingredients of unreality with the ideas he wishes to present and the imitation of the actions of common man, he produces his play.
To Diderot the poet who would interpret human actions"must be a philosopher who has looked into his own mind and soul, he must know human nature, he must be a student of the social system, and know well its function and importance, its advantages, and its disadvantages.
"•But how,* it will be asked, •can all that has to do with the condition of man be compressed within the rigid limits of a play? Where iSgto be found the intrigue that oan carry such a subject?'"The condition of mam may furnish us a play. Problems
existing in affairs of family or other kind of life may be brought out.
"When you write, you must always keep virtue and virtuous people in mind.
"In the serious and good drama the subject is of no less importance than in the gay comedy, only it is treated more truthfully."* 1 2 3
1 Aristophanes, The progs and Three Other Plays; Intro., p . lx2 Olarke, p. 2373 Ibid, 288
34
Freytag oays:"In the soul of the poet the drama gradually takes shape out of the crude material furnished by the account of some striking event,"1 The subject may be suggested by the newspaper. "This Idea, the first invention of the poet, the silent soul through which he gives life to the material coming to him from external sources, does not easily place itself before him as a clearly defined thought; it has not the colorless clearness of an abstract conception."1 2 3 4 And again: "The material which is transformed through the dramatic idea, is either invented by the poet specially for his drama, or is an incident reflated from the life which surrounds him, or an account which history offers, or the contents of a tradition, or novel, or narrative poem."6
He, like Aristophanes, would have the writer begin with an idea.'
So far there has been only the imitation of men of theeveryday walks of life allowed in comic drama when mention wasmade at all. Samuel Johnson is the first to tell us:
"Thus ., some make comedy a representation of mean, and others of bad men; some think that its essence consists in the unimportance, others in the fiotitiousness, of the transaction. But any man's reflections will Inform him, that every dramatic composition which raises mirth, is comic; and that to raise mirth, it is by no means universally necessary that the personages should be either mean or corrupt, nor always requisite that the action should be trivial nor ever that it should be fictitious.The subject of comic drama is an imitation of common
human nature; it may be aided by ideas which spring to thepoet's mind or which he gleans from newspapers or books; itmay involve the characters in intrigue and passion; but it isa representation of the actions of man— vulgar man-low man.
1 Clark#, p. 3542 Ibid, p. 3553 Ibid, p. 3564 Ibid, p. 231
35
It is Samuel1 Johnson who forashadows the imitation of otherthan low actions. Corneille before him thought it proper forkings to oome into comedy "when their actions are not above
1it." When we oome to Shaw, we find that oven the oharaoters of queens are not sacred in his hands. He presents before us the actions of nobles, kings, and saints on the one hand, and gutter rats, street flower girls, and bad women on the other.He presents their actions to us in comedy. Sven our inviolable Will Shakespeare and Queen Elizabeth do not exoape his wit.How different is this from the plays of those who went before him 1 Pew dare to make kings look ridiculous, or aooord them the light touches and gift for wit which Shaw has in "The Apple Cart" and "The Inca of Perusalem".
1"Dramatic art," says Mr. Granville Barker, "is the working out— not of the self-realization of the individual, but of society itself. A play is a pictured struggle and reconciliation of human wills and ideas; internecine with destiny
2or with circumstance."* The drama should "recreate human life
3according to spiritual laws."
Shaw’s subject matter-!s life— human life of any kind y which he can take and present with no illusions, no unreality, before us so that we may see clearly the faults of mankind,but most of all our faults.-.
During the Middle Ages only useful art existed. It wasnot until the Renasoenoe that "art for art’s sake"came into1 — qiarkgl, p. U R --- ----- !............. ...............2 Balmsforth, The Problem Plav. n. ll3 Ibid, p. 13 .----------- *
39
being. And now with Shaw, Ibeen, Tolstoy, Galsworthy, Granville Barker, and others we are returning to art for use’s sake, but now art arid use are indelibly linked together."And this work of discrimination between right, healthy, and true feelings, and emotions, and wrong, false, and base feelings and emotions is always being thrown back upon us, upon
" : " V . ' ' " • 1 ‘ ' . ' ■ ' .our intellectual and moral Judgments." It is the business of the dramatist to cultivate in people true Judgments for beauty by portraying the right things in life.
Shaw has a problem back of each of his plays. This may / be his idea, much like the ideas which lie back of Aristophanes and Freytag. Only his ideas are for our present generation. They are olearly the problems which exist in our today’s life. Shaw places before our eyes the actions of all kinds and conditions of men and women, royal and poor alike. He makes us see their characters by their own words. Their own mouths"condemn them. He uncovers the existing evils simply by giving us life as it exists so plainly that we cannot keep from getting the moral. He covers his lessons with thecleverest kind of wit and the"most interesting actions.
.Hugo says: \“hi"a word, civilization begins by singing of its dreams, then narrates its doings, and lastly, sets about dos- cribing what it thinks. It is, let us say in passing, because of these last ^ drama, combining the mostopposed qualitiesi may be at the same time full of profundity and full of relief/ philosophical and picturesque."^
1 Balmforth, The Problem PlaTT2 Clarki, p. 372-373 P. 17
37.
We know now that there is a difference between the actions Shaw presents and those of the propounders of dramatic tradition. His actions are deeper, more inclusive, and are not confined to one class of man.
COMPLETENESS AND PROBABILITYAristotle and a host of others following him have told
us that the play must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It must be complete. It must also be probable. Let us see what authors and critics say particularly of the completeness and probability in the play.
To Aristotle "one should prefer things which are impossible but probable, to such as are possible but improbable.— Care should be taken (if there is an irrational circumstance
1that it) does not pertain to the fable (plot)." If there isany absurdity, the writer must conceal it by his art. A poetto Horace must have good sense to write well. "If you wish me
2to weep, you must first yourself express-real sorrow." Inother words make the sorrow real, probable. Soaliger saysthat if we take plots from history, we must not depart toowidely from Facts. The events should approach as nearly aspossible truth by their sequence and arrangement. "Disregard
. 3of truth is hateful to almost every man.". Things should be made to appear true if they'are not.
Castelvetro says that the solution ought to be brought
1 Clark*, p. 9-10 ~ % ' '2 Saintsbury, Loci Crltici-r-p. 553 Clarke, p. 62
38
about by the plot itself according to verisimilitude.Minturno insists that the episodes be few and brief and
that the play have a beginning, middle, and end for completeness.
"Now, the natural, rather than the true is, according to Aristotle, the province of epic and dramatic poetry, which, having for its purpose the pleasure and profit of the auditor or the spectator, the epic or dramatic poet can the more surely encompass by making use of the natural, or verisimilar, rather than what is simply true, or matter of faot, because it convinces men the more easily as it finds no resistance in them, which it would if the poet adhered, to mere facts, and which might well be so strange and incredible that they would think them false and refuse to be persuaded of them."1
Thus Ohapelain discusses probability.Corneille tells us that the play must be complete and
have nothing unnecessary in it. "The poet must treat his2
subject according to ’the probable* and *the necessary*."Ben Jonson says:"Of which Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only outgone Plautus, or any other in that kind; but expressed all the moods and figures of what is ridiculous, oddly. In short, as vinegar is not accounted good until the wine be corrupted, so jests that are true and natural seldom raise laughter with the beast the multitude. They love nothing that is right and proper. The farther it runs from reason, or possibility with them, the better it is."5To Dryden "the spirit of man oanhot be satisfied but with truth, or at least veriaimility.”4 "To invent therefore a probability, and to make it wond%££)A> ^ 6 -mostdifficult undertaking in the art of Poetry; for that which is not wonderful is not great; and that which is not
1 Clarke, p. 252 Ibid, p. 1393 Jonson, Ben, Works, Vol. 9, p. 222-2234 Clarke, p. 185"
39
1probable will not delight a reasonable audience.*Samuel Johnson tells us that the play must be probable, for
nothing is good tmless ifc is consistent with truth or probability.
Lessing knows "full well that the sentiments in a drama must be in accordance with the assumed character of the person who utters them. They can therefore not bear the stamp of absolute truth, it is enough if they are poetically true, if we must admit that is character under these circumstances, with these passions could not have.judged otherwise. But on the other hand this poetical truth must also approach to the absolute and the poet must never think so unphilosophically as to assume that a man could desire evil for evil's sake, that a man could act on vicious principles, knowing them to be vicious and boast of them to himself and to others."*
"Because the known portion which the tragic poet borrows from history makes us accept the imaginative part as if it were history. The part he invents is given a verisimilitude from the historic part. But nothing is given to the comic poet; therefore he is less able to rely upon extraordinary combinations of events, *4 says Diderot.To Hugo "The stage is an optical point. Everything that exists in the world— in history, in life, in man— should be and can be reflected therein, but under the magic wandof art..... Thus the aim of art is almost divine: tobring to life again if lt_is writing history, to create if it is writing poetry."8The plays of Congreve and Wyoherly are to Lamb "a passing
pageant, where we should-sit as unconcerned at the issues, for6
life or death, as at the battle of the frogs and mice." But we take them too seriously. They lack verisimilitude or at 1
1 Clarke, p. 194H'3 „Clarke, p. 2534 Ibid, p. 2975 Ibid, p. 3816 Ibid, p. 437
40
least they are not meant to be taken as true, according toLamb; but as Maoaul&y says, "The morality of the Country Wifeand the Old Bachelor is the morality, not, as Mr. CharlesLamb maintains, of an unreal world, but of a world which is a
1 . good deal tod real." They present the morality of immoralpeople and he disapproves beoause he does take them as real.
Prom the above selections it is not hard to come to the conclusion that the play must be probable.
As to completeness Jonson says, "So that by this definition we conclude the fable to be the imitation of one perfectand entire action, as one perfect and entire place is required
2to a building." And again, "Whole we ball that, and perfect,
3which hath a beginning, a midst, and an end." And forCorneille "A poem must have, then, to be of the right size, a
. 4 - ,beginning, a middle, and an end."Shaw’s plays are always complete. No good piece of art
is incomplete. ,As to their probability— they are mostly impossible
probabilities which Aristotle says we should disregard for the probable impossibilities. That is, the plays are too true.They exaggerate just the human, true-to-life, ridiculous traits in each of us. No matter how decorous each of us is, there may be a time when v;e would step out of our shells and unbend 1
1 Clarke, p. 440 '2 Ibid, p. 1073 Jonson, Works. p. 2244 Clarke, p. 144
41
to the actions to which each of his characters unbend— butwhether we ever actually do or notj we may often want to. the
/prime minister of Russia in "Great Catherine" is so truly untidy, so naturally dirty we cannot believe it. And yet when we stop and think, is not this a truer picture of Catherine’s prime minister than a picture of a cleanly, truly decorous, historical figure-head? ; ,
Shaw’s Joan d’Arc is no saint. She is no angel. And yet after the first shook of having the picture of your ideal Jem d’Arc torn from your mind, you recognize that his Joan is undoubtedly truer than the image history has built for you.
So with all his plays and all the actions in his plays— they are too true. In "Back to Methuselah" it is perhaps a lack of imagination which keeps us from thinking it probable, but I believe when we discuss comprehensibility and the unities , ,we shall find a better answer to our question, "Why is ’Back to Methuselah’ so difficult to understand and so improbable to our minds?" .
THE THREE UNITIES AND MAGNITUDEThe problem of the three unities has long bothered dra
matic thought. It was not Aristotle, however, who first inflicted them on the human race, but Jean de la Taille whowas first to insist on their observance. Aristotle says that the play must be of some magnitude, Neither too great so thatwe cannot see it as a whole, nor too small so that we can’tsee it at all, but of a proper length. There must be unity
48
of action in the play. This, however, is only one unity, theonly one mentioned by Aristotle. Just because there is oneman doing the acting, that is no reason to believe there isjust one action, for one man may perform many actions.
"It is requisite, therefore, that as in other imitative arts one imitation is the imitation of one thing, thus, also, the fable, since it is an imitation of action, should be the imitation of one action, and of the whole of this, and that the parts of the transactions should be so arranged that any one of them being transposed, or taken away, the whole would become different and changed.."1Castelvetro tells us that the plot must be limited to
one action of one person, or two actions, which by their interdependence, can be counted one because of the essential unities of time and place. From this time forth the three unities are spoken of together. I will, therefore, discuss them together. All those who have been for their strict observance I will place first.
Castelvetro, besides insisting on the unity of action,insists on the unities of place and time.
* •.
"The scene of the action must be constant, being not merely restricted to one city or housej but indeed to that one place alone which could be visible to one person."® "The time of the action ought not to exceed the limit of twelve hours."3
He goes on to say that the spectators couldn’t believe the play if more time had passed. Minturno and Sealiger before Castelvetro had insisted on observing the unity of time. Minturno had said:
I— O i a m , ' 122 Ibid, p. 643 Ibid, p. 64
45.
"But in bo far as the nature of the subject is concerned, the action should be prolonged until there ensues some change of fortune— from good to ill, or from grievous to gay. One who carefully studies the works of the greatest among the ancients will discover that the action of the dramatic poem transpires in a day, or is never prolonged beyond two, just as it is said that the action of the longest eplo poem should transpire in a year."1Then with Jean de la Taille we have the first urgence of
these rules on the dramatist:"The story, or play, must always be presented as occurring on®the same day, in the same time, and in the same place."-To Cervantes no unity of place or time was absurd."What, for instance, can be more absurd than the introduction in the first scene of the first act Of a child in swaddling clothes, that in the second makes his appearance as a bearded man? — Nor are they more observant of place than of time ! I have seen a comedy, the first act of which was laid in Europe, the second in Asia, and the third in Africa; and had there been four acts, the fourth would doubtless have been in America— and, all this without any appearance of probability, but on the contrary, full of the grossest absurdity?"®Tirsa de Molina writes in regard to the unity of time
and plaoe:"Among the many blemishes— what tries my patience is to see how ruthlessly the poet disregards in this play the limits and laws with which the first inventors of drama (oomedia) so carefully defined its cardinal principle, namely, that a play must concern itself with an action whose beginning, middle, and end oooupy at the most twenty- four hours, and in one and the same place."4Sidney says, "For it is faulty both in plaoe and time, the two necessary companions of all corporal actions.For where the stage should always represent but one place,
1 Clarkei, p. 572 Ibid, p. 773 Ibid, p. 874 Ibid, p. 94
44
and the uttermost time presupposed In it should be,both by Aristotle*s precept and common reason, but one day: this is both many days, and many places, inartifioially imagined. But if it be so in Oorboduo, how much more in all the rest? Where you shall have Asia of the one side, and Africa of the other, and so many other underkingdoms, that the player, when he someth in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived. Now ye shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden. By and by we hear news of shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame, if we accept it not for a rook. Upon the back of that, comes out a hideous monster, with fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are. bound to take it for a cave. While in the meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field?"!Jonson writes that the action in a comedy is not good
unless it is in fit bounds. It should grow until the necessity asks a conclusion. It must not exceed the compass of one day. As to unity of action, an action in a play.is composed of diverse parts but it becomes one fable; so "a houseconsisting of diverse materials becomes one structure and one 2dwelling.V
Ghapelain speaks of the unity of action, the twenty-fourhour rule, and the unity of place. He summarizes: "All thisis a necessary corailary to the verisimilar, without which the
3mind is neither moved nor persuaded."
Where unity of action is not mentioned by the above authors, it is probably presupposed.
Gomel lie says, "The poet must observe unity of action, * 2 3
T Clarke, p. 104-1052 Saintsbury, Loci Critic!, p. 1343 Clarke, p. i W
45
time, and place. Mo one denies this, but it is a matter ofno small difficulty to determine what unity of action is andto realize the extent and limit of the allotted unity of time
1and place."
Soileau says:"Your place of action must be fixed and rest A Spanish poet may with good event In one day’s space whole ages represent;There oft the hero of the wandering stage Begins a child, and ends the play of age.But we, that are by reason’a rule confined,Will that with arts the poem be designed,That unity of action, time, and place, oKeep the stage full, and all our labors grace."8Dryden gives us the following on the unities:"Out of these two have been extracted the famous Rules, which the French call Des Trols Unites. or, The Three Unities, which ought to be observed in every regular play; namely, of Time, Place, and Action.
"The Unity of time they comprehend in twenty-four hours, the compass of a natural day, or as near as it can be contrived;....
"For the second unity, which is that of Place, the ancients meant by it, that the scene ought to be continued through the play, in the same place where it was laid in the beginning: for, the stage on which it isrepresented being but one and the same place, it is unnatural to conceive it many— and those far distant from one another. ....
"How the poet is to aim at one great and complete action, to the carrying on of which ail things in his _ play, even the very obstacles, are to be subservient."Lessing writes: ."It is one thing to circumvent the rules, another to observe them. The French do the former, the latter was only understood by the ancients.
"Unity of action was. the first dramatic law of the 11 Clarke, p. 139 ““ ' " ~ : ----------- —2 Ibid, p. 1593 Ibid, p. 178
46.
ancienta; unity of time and place were mere consequences of the former which they would scarcely have observed more strictly than exigency required had not the combination with the chorus arisen."1Voltaire says:"What is a play? The representation of an action. Why one action only, and not of two or three? Because the human brain cannot focus its attention upon several objects at the same time; because the interest which is dispersed when there is more them one action, soon disappears; because we are shocked to observe two events in the same picture; because finally, nature herself has given us this precept, which ought to be like her, immutable.
"For the same reason, unity of place is. essential: asingle action obfiously cannot transpire in several places at once» *.». • >
"Unity of time naturally goes hand in hand with the other two unities. ....
"We often extend the limits of uhity of time to twenty- four hours, and that of unity of place to the walls of a whole palace.
"Let us, therefore, together with the great Corneille, adhere to the three unities, within which the other rules— that is.to say, the other beauties— are likewise to be bound."1 2While Dryden observed the three unities in the earlier
part of his life, he changed his mind about them to a considerable extent later. He was a great admirer of Shakespeare, who did not observe the unities of time and place. His "All for Love", a rewriting of Shakespeare’s "Antony and Cleopatra," is in a strict sense much more unified than Shakespeare’s play, but it also lacks the force and strength of Shakespeare. In it he observes the unities, but he is not as strict as theabove quotation from him would make us feel he is. In other of his plays he has shown a~ turn-coat tendency toward theunities.1 Ulafk#, p. ttoo ' *2 Ibid, p. 281
47.
There are other writers who consider the unities of time and place foolish; at least they consider their strict observance foolish.
De Vega says, "There is no use in advising that it shouldtake place in the period of one sun, though this is the viewof Aristotle; but we lose our respect for him when we mingletragic style with the humbleness of mean comedy. Let it take
1place in as little time as possible."Ogier criticizes the tragedies and comedies of ancients
because so many things happen in one day— so many people appear at just the right time, it is not probable* He seems to insinuate it would be better to have no unity of time than to have this fault. Then, too, certain actions follow one another immediately, "although of necessity they require an appreciable interval between them in order to be appropriately carried out."
"The second disadvantage that the ancient poets have incurred because they wish to confine the events of a tragedy within one day, is their being compelled continually tointroduce messengers In order to relate the events which are
3taking place on the stage at the moment."
Farquhar asks:Now, is it feasible in rerum natura that the same space or extent of time can be three hours by your watch and twelve hours upon the stage, admitting the same number of minutes or the same measure of sand to both? (and 1 2 3
1 Clarke, p. 91 ™~* : ” _~2 Ibid, p. 1183 Ibid, p. 119
43
continues), I'm afraid, sir, you must allow this for an impossibility, too, and you may with as muoh reason allow the play the extent of a whole year; and if you grant me a year, you may give me seven, and so to a thousand.
"So muoh for the decorum of Time; now for the regularity of Plaoe. I might make the one a consequence of t'other, and allege that by allowing me any extent of time, you must grant me any change of plaoe, for the one depends upon t'other.“1
He goes on to say that it is just as reasonable to have a change of scene on the stage as for you to change from your surroundings when you are talking in the pit before the play commences to the scene in the play. At that Farquhar prefers to have a certain amount of unity of action and time, but he would not condemn great Shakespeare who did not observe them.
Samuel Jonson writes: " *"With no greater right to our obedience have the critioks confined the dramatiok action to a certain number of hours. Probability requires that the time of action should approach somewhat nearly to that of exhibition, and those plays will always be thought most happily conducted which crowd the greatest variety into the least space. But since it will frequently happen that some delusion must be admitted, I know not where the limits of imagination can be fixed. It is rarely observed that minds, not prepossessed by mechanical criticism, feel any offense from the extension of the intervale between the acts; nor can I conceive- it absurd or impossible, that he who oan multiply three hours into twelve or twenty-four, might image with equal ease a greater number.*a
"There are other rules more fixed and obligatory. It is necessary that of every play the chief action should be single— two actions equally Important must evidently constitute two plays."3Goldoni says:"The censors of my plays of character had nothing to reproach me with in respect to the unity of action and of time, but they maintained that in the unity of plaoe 1
1 Clark6, p. 224-2852 Ibid, p. 82-833 Ibid, p. 83
*9.
I had been deficient#"The action of my comedies was always confined to the
same town,.and the characters never departed from it. It is true that they went from one place to another; but all these placeb were within the same Malls, and I was then and am still of. the opinion that in this manner the utility of place wae sufficiently observed.91All these bespeak■the fact that men of common sense of
the theater were beginning to see that the strict observancesof time and place were absurd.
Goethe speaks slightingly of the three unities:"Goethe agreed with me (on another matter) and laughed . to think that Lord Byron, who, in practical life, could never adapt himself, and never even asked about a law, finally subjected himself to the stupidest of laws— that of the three unities. .
"'He understood the purpose of this law, said he, 'no bettor than the rest of the world. Comprehensibility is the purpose, and the three unities are only so tar good as they conduce to this end.'".Hugo tells us:"Unity of time rests on no firmer foundation than unity of place. A plot forcibly confined within twenty-four hours is as absurd as one confined within a peristyle.... . To cross unity, of time and unity of place like the bars of a cage, and pedantically to introduce therein, in the name of Aristotle, all the deeds, all the nations, all the figure® which Providence sets before us in such vast numbers in real life,— to proceed thus is to mutilate men and things, to cause history to make wry faces;—
•And theni' if twenty-four hours can be comprised in two, it is a logical consequence that four hours may contain forty-eight.
"But these are the wretched quibbles with which mediocrity envy, and routine has pestered genius for two
; centuries past 1 By such means the flight of our greatest poets has been out short, Their wings have been clipped with the scissors of the unities.Speaking of the unityof action he adds: 1 2 3
1 Clarke, p. 247 ' ' ' : '2 Ibid, p. 327-3283 Ibid, p. 376
50,
“This one is as essential as th® other two are useless.— There can no more be three unities in the drama than three horizons in a picture.
The unity of action does not mean simplicity of plot.As to magnitude Ben Jonson remarks:"Therefore, as in every body so in every action, which is the subject of a just work, there is required a certain proportionable greatness, neither too vast nor too minute;"2 Later he adds: "How in every action it behooves the poetto know which is his utmost bound, how far with fitness and a necessary proportion he may produce and determine it; that is, till either good fortune change into the worse, or the worse into the better. For as a body without proportion cannot be good, no more can the actions, either in comedy or tragedy, without his fit bounds.-"3To Corneille comedy and tragedy resemble each other again
in that their subject "must have the requisite size; that is,that, it must not be so little that it escapes from sight atan atom, nor so vast that it confuses the memory of the
. 4listener and bewilders his imagination."Goethe says:"I thought, too, that the unities of time and place were natural, and in accordance with the intention of the Greeks, only when a subject is so limited in its range that it can develop itself before our eyes with all its details in the given time; but that with a large action, which occurs in several places, there is no reason to be confined to one place, especially as our present stage arrangements offer no obstacle to a change of scene."DIt was Aristotle's. idea that the subject should not be so
large that it need have more than one change of scene. Inother words his magnitude seems to me to place the play within1 Clarke, p. 377 ' - ““ , : ~ ” "2 Saintsbury. Loci Critici, p. 1323 Ibid, p. 133 —4 Clark*, p. 1445 Ibid, p. 328
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certain limits of time and place— but I see no reason why these limits must be twenty-four hours and one place only.
The rigid unities of time and place so long in tradition have given way to a considerable extent, but Aristotle’s unity of action still remains. In Shaw’s "Back to Methuselah". I -fail to see any unity of action. The play certainly has no unity of time since it begins with Adam and Even In the Beginning:B. 0. 4004 and ends As Far As Thought Can Reach: A. D. 31,920.The place is just as ununified since it goes from the Gardenof Eden to England to no place in particular or a thickly
. . ■ : ■ ■ ' ■ •wooded spot anywhere. Covering such a long time and suchnumerous places, it is not unified as to action— it can’t be,At first reading it is incomprehensible. Men do not live longenough is his theme, "To make the suggestion (that they canlive longer if they wish to) mere entertaining than it wouldbe to moot people in the form of a biological treatise, I havewritten Back to Methuselah as a contribution to the modern
■ ' 1 . “ * —Bible,” says Shaw. Here we have a treatise in the form of aplay. In the first part we have a complete play with a unity
1 ' ' ■ . •
of its own, and in each of the succeeding parts there is a complete unity of action. But the different parts of the play do not hang together to make one complete unified action. The magnitude is not proper either, but too long for one to get a view of the whole. It is like trying to view an over-grain elephant when you stand close to it. It is too large for a II ghiaw. Back to Methuselah, Preface, xlx
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comprehensive view.Shaw does not in his other plays pretend to follow the
unities of time and place, but aside from the play above mentioned I believe he follows the unity of action fairly well.A sub-action is permiesable even in a play where there is unity of action; so while he has sub-actions in many of hie plays, they may still be said to be unified as to action.
PLOTSNow that we have discussed the subject matter for plays,
their completeness, and the three unities, let us turn to an examination of the particular kinds of plots which make up the majority of plays. For in many instances the plots are similar. Aristotle tells us that the plot is the chief thing of all. Shakespeare thought that the plot was the main part of the play. When we come to Dryden, we find that he differsfrom Aristotle. To him, "the story is the least part." It
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is the treatment of the plot which matters for "the price lies1
wholly in the workmanship.*Ooaliger says: "The beginning of a comedy presents a
confused state of affairs^ and—this confusion is happily cleared2 1up at the end.”
To Ohampelain "the action of the play consists in exposition, of the story, its complication,, and its development."* 3 The spectator should be puzzled to know the outcome.
^ ibe ^ — —3 Ibid, p. 127
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Aristophanoo* plots are exaggerated and unreal, for betreats his subjeot satirically and can best bring it forththis way. Ben Jonson speaks of Aristophanes:
"What oould have made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, that example of all good life, honesty, and virtue, to have him hoisted up with a pully, and there play'thetph'iloBo'pherhlh-acibasketitmeasnrelhow many foot a flea oould skip geometrically, by a just scalo, and edify the people from the engine. This was theatrical wit,, right stage jesting, and relishging a play-house, invented for scorn and.laughter; whereas, if it had savoured of equity, truth, perspicuity and candour, to have tasten a wise, or a learned palate— spit it our presently I this is bitter and profitable; this instructs and would infora us. What need we know anything that are nobly born, more than a horse-race, or a hunting- match, our day to break with citizens, and such innate mysteries?*1The plots of burlesques are exaggerated and unreal as a
rule— witness "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" by Beaumont and Fletcher and Henry Fielding*o "Tom Thumb, the Great,"
When we turn to Menander, and Plautus and Terence who patterned after him, we find that the plots are similar. It is the treatment of them which differs with each man. They . consist usually of the near forcing of a young man who has seduced a young girl, usually a slave or courtesan, into & marriage with some other girl. The slave or courtesan turnsout to be of noble birth, and the young man marries her instead of th. girl his father has # ^ ' Everything en<ls happily.The plot generally involves money or deceit or duplicity in love. There are two women, one either a slave or deceived; the noble son is taken in by a slave girl who turns out to
1 Jonson. Worfe, Vol. 9. p. 223
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be of noble birth. There are often oases of mistaken identity, lost children, shipwreck, and stingy parents. But whatever the intrigue in which the plot is involved, the lovers are always united nicely finally. "This is the classical comedy from which much modern comedy is derived. It sets out definitely to correct manners by laughter; it strives to ’cure
1excess’."
Abbe D‘Aubignao says:"We may say the same thing of comedies, for the Greeks and Romans, with whom the debauches of young people with courtesans was but a laughing matter, took pleasure to see their intrigues represented; and to hear the discourses of those public women, with the tricks of those ministers of their pleasures countenanced by the laws. They were also delighted to see old covetous men over-reached and cheated of their money by the circumvention of their slaves in favor of their young masters. They were sensible to all these things because they were subject to them one time or another. But amongst u® all this would be ill received, for as Christian modesty does not permit persons of quality to approve of those examples of vice, so neither do the rules by which we govern our families all of those flights of our servants, nor do we need to defend ourselves against them.Corneille tells us:"For comedy, Aristotle demands as the only precept that it may have as ending, the enemies becoming friends.Which must be understood in a more general sense than what the words seem to carry and to extend it to a reconciliation, as when one sees M s son returning into the good favor of a father who has been angry with him for his debauchery, which was the usual end to ancient comedies, or two lovers separated by some trick done them, or by some controlling power, are reunited by the unraveling of that trick or by the consent of those who placed the obstacle there,„as noarly"always happens in our oomedy which very rarely has other endings than marriages.■1 2 3
1 Dobree, Restoration comedy, p. i i : -------- — ----:--- :----- -2 Clarke, p. 1343 Ibid, p. 143
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Dryden Interprets the Roman oomedies for us:"In their oomedies, the Romans generally borrowed their plots from the Greek poets; and theirs was commonly a little girl stolen or wandered from her parents,brought back unknown to the city, there (falling into the hands of) some young fellow, who, by the help of his servant,
- cheats his father; and when her time comes, to cry,—Juno Luoena, far opera— one or other sees a little box or cabinet which was carried away with her, and so dls- .covers her to her friends if some god do not prevent it, by coming down in a machine, and taking the thanks of it to h i m s e l f . . .To Diderot "comedy (demands) delicacy (in the method).In a jealous lover uncertain of the feelings of his beloved? In such a scene, Terence brings a Davus upon the stage to listen to the lover* s discourse, and will repeat it later to his master.*Ariosto acknowledges his indebtedness to Plautus and
Terence, His plays are full of deceits and substitutionswhich make up a good share of the plays of those dramatists."The grace and spirit (and perhaps, too, the licentiousness)of Ariosto’s comedies commended them to foreigners as well as
3his own countrymen." It was Gascoigne who translated Ariosto's Supposes into English.
"As to the intrinsic merits of Gascoigne's Supposes opinions may differ, and doubtless there are some who will hold Professor Gayley's praise exaggerated; but there can be no question about the influence of the play upon the subsequent development of the English drama.Professor Herford remarked that The Supposes is "most
5Jonsonian of English Comedies before Jonson.* In his introduction to The Supposes he proves that it has influenced
1 Clarke, p. 1312 Gascoigne's Supposes and Jooasta, Intro., p. xx3 Ibid, Intro, p.xxiii4 Ibid, p. xxiii5 Clarke, P, 390
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Shakespeare in hie writing of The Taming of the Shrew. The plot is about a young woman, Polynestra, who is in love with the supposed servant, Dulypo* They have an affair which is discovered eventually by the father, who has been trying to marry his daughter to Oleander, a middle-aged doctor. The father is very angry, for the doctor is wealthy and the father (as most father's in the comedies I have mentioned) has an eye for money. Everything turns out all right when Dulypo is discovered to be only a supposed servant and really the master and scholar which his servant is supposed to be. He brings money with him to satisfy the father when he marries Polynestra. This is a very good sample plot for all the plays of Menander j Plautus, Terence, Ariosto, and later Mol lire's •For Moliere borrowed heavily from Plautus and a bit from Terence. Lessing considers Plautus‘s The Captives better than The Supposes as to plot structure. Jonson and Shakespeare, as we have seen above, were influenced by Ariosto arid probably by Plautus and Terence also. Their comic plots are similar. But it is hard to get much of a variety in plot when one considers that there are only a limited nimber anyway.
It is only some of Moliere*s.plots which look back toPlautus and Terence. Others look forward to the comedies ofthe Restoration. "The Highbrow Ladies" foreshadows the comed^B? of manners although Dobree would not give the credit extensivelyto him, but rather to Jonson and writers of the comedies ofhumour in England. To Dobree the influence of Moliere isremoved when his writings cross the water.
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Dryden says of Corneille1’ s comedies, "He tells you himself, his way is, first to show two lovers in good imtelligenee with eaoh other} in the working up of the play to embroil themby some mistake, and in the latter end to ole&r it, and reoon-
1oils them."There is a certain inter-relationship between the plots
of all the comedies from Aristophanes through the comedies ofmanners. However, the plots of Menander, Plautus* Terence,and Ariosto, with variations by Moliere, may be considered asone group. These have already been described# To Dryden2their plots are "too much alike to please often."
Jonson’s comedies have a different oast. The emphasis on the various humours in the characters places a different emphasis on the plot. There Is not so much to do with women and love intrigues, and more to do with money intrigues• They are not so simple. He takes a group of men of differenthumours and groups them around a central character# In "The■■ . ■ . ' ' . ■ ' '
Magnetic Lady” it is she who draws them, in"Volpohe? they .•hover around the Fox to get his money, in "The Silent Woman®the interest is centered in Morose, the man who oahnot standnoise. The action thus revolves about the one character. ToDryden Jonson has more than the French have £n theirs together. "As a rule the English could not forbear pointingthe moral; the curse of the -humours nearly always threatened3any structure that aimed at being purely poetic."
T~-’Clarke, p. 188 ~ ' ' ' " -------2 Ibid, p. 1883 Restoration Comedy, p. 49, Dobree
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Dobreo ’writes:"The fact that English ooeedy from the early years of the Restoration until well into the eighteenth century abounds with French plots has led people to think that our stage was thereby influenced. This is very doubtful. Our writers, like Mol 1%re himself, took their good things where they could find them, from Latin, Spanish, and French sources, but above all from the life around them. For although there are olose translations as well as free adaptations from Mollere, Regnard, Boursault, and others, theser always rmaintaincthe standpointyuthev.fbymjndnd ither, atmosphere^ of English comedy, that is to say, the essen- % tial things that distinguish one work of art from another."Dryden defends the English plots against the idea that
they are borrowed from the French?"We have borrowed nothing from them; our plots are weaved in English looms: we endeavor therein to follow thevariety and greatness of characters which are derived to us from Shakespeare and Fletoher; the copiousness and well-knitting of the intrigues we have from Jenson; and for the verse itself we have English precedents of elder date than any of Corneille’s plays."2
About the time of Dryden the French were close friends to theEnglish. It is all the more surprizing that at this timeDryden should hold out the differences between the drama inEngland .and that in France, approving the English, in placesriding the French, although from his viewpoint judging themfairly.
Farquhar discusses this same-subject:"And by the same rule we have nothing to do with the models of Menander or Plautus, but must consult Shakespeare, Johnson, Fletoher, and others, who, by methods much different from the ancients, have supported the _ English stage and made themselves famous to posterity."* There is a closer connection between the English comedies 1
1 Dobree. Restoration Comedy, pp. 47-48 "2 Clarke, p. 192 -3 Ibid, p. 222 ..
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themselves. 6In truth," to quote Dohr^e again, "Restorationwriters themselves saw no vast unllkeneas between the Jonsonlanform and their own, and In the great majority of oases never
. 1 got the difference In atmosphere clear."Restoration comedy, however, was written by courtiers,
gentlemen, and it was written about the capital. It waslighter in touch and necessarily pictured corruption, sincethat was the style of the times. It is to the Jonsonlan drama,as the Corinthian architecture is to the Doric. The plotswere generally concerned with a wife's making a cuckold of herhusband. The plots of Sheridan and Goldsmith's comedies arerelated to the comedies of manners and to the sentimentalcomedies. The immorality is omitted in their comedies almostentirely.
The plot or fable of a play is not like Aesop's fables according to Lessing.
"Now, the drama on the contrary makes no claim upon a single definite axiom flowing out of its story. It aims at the passions which the course and events of its fable arouse and treat, or it aims at the pleasure accorded by a true and vivid delineation of characters and habits. Both require a certain integrity of action, a certain harmonious end which we do not miss in the moral tale because our attention is-solely directed to the general axiom of whose especial application the story affords suoh an obvious instance."2
, Diderot gives us the requirements for a good plot:"The requisites for constructing a good plot are: imagination, the ability to observe the course of events and the relations between them; the courage to develop long scenes, and to work hard; to attack a subject at the
r Dobree. Restoration Comedy, p. 34 " --------2 Clarke, p. 263 r‘”“
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vital point; to bo able to so® exactly where your story begins, and how much to relegate to the past, and to recognize the most affecting scenes for representation on the stage.*1In general traditional plots are concerned with ingrlgue,
the separating of lovers by obstacles, and plans to get money from the miser of the play. They are, we have said, imitations of human actions, but the plots themselves cannot be considered.as true to life by people of today because too many things happen at just the proper time and there is too much meddling in other peoples• business and making plans and plots of different sorts.
When we study Shaw a little, we see that his plots are very different from the traditional plots. Shaw’s plots are much like Irving's stories, merely the framework upon which to hang local color, characters, humour, etc. Shaw hangs discussion mostly on his plots. Take the "Doctor's Dilemma" or "Getting Married" for instance. In the former there is no plot in the true sense of the word. In the first act many doctors come in to congratulate one of their friends and colleagues. It is in his private consultation room that they meet and then they sit and discuss and argue. They all have different views bn medicine. Each has his pet hobby. To make & problem for them to solve a lady patient is shown inwho pleads for her husband's life. The rest of the play istaken up in working out whether the leading doctor will save the lady's husband's life or one of the other doctor's life.He cannot save both. His personal feelings enter in and he saves the doctor's life in order to perhaps marry the lady1 Clarke, "p. -----------
when her husband dies. He is foiled in this attempt. TThat a slender thread upon whioh to hang a play, you may say, but the discussions of the doctors is quite worth the time it takes to see or read the play. The slim plot is forgotten as our interest in the characters and the problems of medicinedevelops.y. -
So, too, in "Getting Married* Here the setting is the scene just before a wedding. This necessarily brings many friends and relatives together. They sit and discuss marriage. ' In "The Apple Cart" the prime minister and his cabinet sit and discuss politics.
In some plays there are more notions, more plot. In "Misalliance* the heroine shows one of Shaw*s absurd ideas when she runs after the young man she wishes to marry. In a very undignified fashion, she tells her father to buy her the handsome man. In "Saint Joan* there is much action. The plot simply follows history. In "Hearbreak House* the characters meet end discuss the use of culture.
In all, Shaw*s plays whether there is action or just enough movement of the characters to keep the play together, there is discussion about the different problems of life. In very few oases are his plots more than just enough to save the play.
IN M3DIA5 RESThe play should begin in the middle of things. That is,
it should not begin with a man’s birth and carry him through to old age, but rather begin the most important part of his
61.
1
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life. Horace a&ys:.**• always hastens on to the event: and hurries awayhis reader into the midst of interesting circumstances, no otherwise than if they were (already) known; and what he despairs of, as to receiving a polish from his touch, he omits; and in such a manner forms his fictions, so intermingles the false with the true, that the middle, is not inconsistent with the beginning, nor the end with the middle. And again: "He (Homer) aims not at following flash and crash with smoke, but at blowing his smoke into flame.*1 2 3The introduction should not be long and drawn out or
ab ovoj but the play should begin in mediae res. "If theywill represent an history, they must not (as Horace saith)begin ab ovo: but they must come to the principal point of
3that one action, which they will represent," says Sidney.Jenson speaks of Virgil*s Aeneas:"He never tells how he was bom, how brought up, how he fought with Achilles, how he was snatched out of the battle by Venus; but that one thing, how he came into Italy, he prosecutes in twelve books. ... So Homer laid by many things of Ulysses, and handled no more than he saw tended to one and the same end."4
This beginning with the story proper is to be commended in theauthor.
With the exception of "Back to Methuselah" and perhaps "Saint Joan," Shaw’s plays begin according to Horace’s, Sidney’s, and Jonson’s rule, in the midst of things.
NUMBER OF ACTS ABD P3RS0HSIt was not until Horace’s time that the rule that a play
1 Clarke, p. 312 Saintsbury, Looi Critic!. p. 563 Clarke, p. 1054 Jonson, Works. Vol. 9, p. 826-227
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should possess five acts came in. Dryden tells us howAristotle divided the play into four parts.
"Aristotle indeed divides the integral parts of a play into four. First, the Protasis , or entrance, which gives light only to the characters of the persons, and proceeds very little-into any part of the action. Secondly, the F.pitasis, .or working up of the plot; where the play grows warmer, the design or action of it is drawing on, and you see something promising that it will come to pass. Thirdly the Cantastasis, called by the Romans, Status, the height and full growth of the play. .... Lastly, the Catastrophe. which the Grecians called Ai<ris, the French le denouement, and we the discovery, or unraveling of the plot."1
• Corneille also divides the play into four parts:"The first are called parts of quantity or extension, and Aristotle names four of them— the prologue, the episode, the exodus and the chorus."2The denouement should, according to Aristotle, arise out
of the plot itself and not depend upon machines. C&stelvetro, -says of the denouement:
"The happy denouement of comedy is formed by the removal of insult from the hero or from one dear to him, or by the cessation of a longstanding shame, or by the recovery of an esteemed person or possession which was lost, or by the fulfilment of his love; and the sorrowful denouement of comedy is formed by the occurrence of the opposite of these things."'5Horace first said that there should be five acts only.
He also said that if a fourth person speaks, let his words be brief and minor.
"Comedy should not exceed the limit of five acts, nor comprise less; four characters must not speak at once, but only two or three at most, while the others stand to one side quietly listening.p4
1--ciareg , p. 1602 Ibid, pp. 141-1423 Ibid, p. 654 Ibid, p. 55
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Dryden writes: . ."But what poet first limited to five the number of the ■ acts, I know not; only we see it so firmly established in the time of Horace, that he gives it for a rule in comedy."1Jean de la Taille says there should be but five acts.Ghapelain describes the different functions of the acts:"In the first act the principal points of the story are made clear; in the second, complications arise; in the third, the trouble deepens; in.the fourth, matters look desperate; in the fifth, the knot is loosed— in a natural way, however, but in an unforeseen manner— and from this results the Marvelous."1 2Corneille tells us that the denouement should grow out of
the play in the fifth act."We must be careful, however, that this agreement does not come by a simple change of will but by an event which furnishes the occasion,for it. Otherwise there would be no great art to the 'denouement1 of a play, if, after having upheld it during two acts, on the authority of a father who does not approve the love of his son or daughter, he should suddenly consent to it in the fifth for the sole reason that it is the fifth and that the author would not dare to make six."3"By what accident," says Samuel Johnson, "the number of acts was limited to five, I know not that any author has informed us; but certainly it is not determined by any necessity arising either from the nature of action or propriety of exhibition. An act is only the representation of such a part of the business of the play as proceeds in an unbroken tenor, or without any intermediate pause. Nothing is more evident than that of every real, and by consequence of every dramatic action, the intervals may be more or fewer than five; and indeed the rule is upon the English stage every day broken in effect,
1 Clafk*, p. 18U " '2 Ibid, p. 1273 Ibid, n. 143
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without any other mischief than that which arises from an absurd endeavor to observe it in appearance, Whenever the scene is shifted the act ceases, since some time is necessarily supposed to elapse,while the personages of the drama change their place."John Locke tells us that we should conform to the laws of
society and he would have us conform to other laws of mankind, too. Here we find that Johnson does not conform to the five act law, but on the contrary does not find it necessary for the drama. Tirsa de Molina, before him, had asked for three acts if possible in each of which the space of the day was to be unbroken. And Dryden had complained about this same law when he said:
"But since the Spaniards at this day allow but three acts, which they call Jornadas. to a play, and the Italians in many of theirs follow them, when I condemn the ancients,I declare it is not altogether because they have not five acts to every play, but because they have not confined themselves to one certain number: it is buildingan house without a model; and when they succeeded in such undertakings, theypought to have sacrificed to Fortune, not to the Muses.*Johnson also disagrees with Horace and the other traditional
writers about the number of persons who should be on the stage and speak.
"That many rules have been advanced without consulting nature or reason, we cannot but suspect when we find it peremptorily decreed by 'the ancient masters, that only three speaking personages should appear at once upon the stage; a law which, as the variety and intrioaoy of modern plays has made it impossible to be observed, we now violate without-soruple, and, as experience proves, without inconvenience.
If the conditions of any people were perfect, then we might 1 2 3
1 Clarke, p. 2332 Ibid, p. 1803 Ibid, p. 233
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agree with Look# that v/e should conform to their laws and ways. But since that state of being has not arisen yet, v/e sympathize with Johnson in his arguments against ancient traditions because they do not follow reason.
The play according to the ancients should possess five acts, and have only three persons speaking at the same time (or on the stage at the same time). Johnson disagrees. Dryden says that while it is not necessary to have five acts, v/e should have a uniform number. Shaw, although following generally what other modern writers use in the way of number of acts, decidedly goes against the ancients and does not even make the number he uses uniform at the advice of Dryden. The majority of his plays possess three acts. He has written at least nine one-act plays. In "Back to Methuselah" there are four parts; in "Saint Joan" there are six scenes and an . epilogue. In several plays there are four acts.
In the number of persons conversing together on.the stage at the same time, Shaw does no better for the ancients. Six and more characters sit and discuss together. In fast his plays are usually social gatherings of one kind or another where he gets people of varying temperaments and ability together and lets them talk.
SIMPLE AND COMPLEX ACTIONAristotle says:"the greatest parts by which fable allures the soul, are
67;
the revolutions and discoveries.These are found only in a complex plot; so the plot should he complex, according to him. The revolutions are mutations of actions into a contrary condition according to the necessary he tells us. In "Oedipus Rex" when the messenger comes to give him (Oedipus) good tidings, they turn out to be bad ones and the queen in further trying to console him only makes matters worse.
"Discovery is ... a change from ignorance to knowledge, or into the friendship or hatred of those who are destined to prosperous or adverse fortune."
In tragedy the discoveries and resolutions excite pity and fear and lead to the cleansing of the emotions. In comedy it follows reasonably that they excite anger and envy and through a comic catharsis purge the emotions. The best discoveries are those invented by the poet which rise from the play and are natural to it— but the second best are syllogisms, that is when a person like me arrives, I know .there is only one person like me, therefore it must be that person.
Horace and those following him disagree with Aristotle. Horace rules:
"In a word, be your subject what it will, let it be merely simple and uniform."3
Racine calls our attention to the fact that Horace insisted on simplicity and ends by saying: 1
1 01ark#, p. Id2 Ibid, p. 133 Ibid, p. 29
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"And finally, we aee ihooe who favored Terence justly placing him above all other comic poets, for the elegance of his style and his careful observation of the manners of his day, but confessing none the less that Plautus had a distinct advantage over him, namely, in the simplicity of the majority of his plots. It was doubtless this marvelous simplicity that caused the ancients to praise him so highly. How much simpler must Menander have been, since Terence was obliged to take, two of that poet's comedies to make one of his own l"*LDryden points out the simplicity of the French plots.
The French as & rule followed Horace."Another thing in which the French differ from us and from the Spaniards, is that they do not embarrass or oumber themselves with too much plot; they only represent so muoh of a story as will constitute one whole and great action sufficient for a play; we, who undertake more, do but multiply adventures which, not being produced from one another, as effects from causes, but rarely following, constitute many actions in the drama, and consequently make it many plays,"*
Since their plots were different from the English, we may conclude that the English found complex plots more to their taste.
Diderot writes:"If a play were meant to be produced only once and never printed, I should say to the poet: 'Complicate as muoh as you like; you will arouse the interest and emotions of your audience; but if you desire to be read and known to posterity, be simple.* n3The opinion or dramatic tradition seems to be divided on
this point, Shaw certainly uses revolutions and discoveries in his plays, yet his plots are not very involved, not.involved enough to be considered complex. Perhaps there are not enough
1 Clark#, p. 1562 Ibid, p. 1853 Ibid, p. 291
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discoveries to make any difference, but at least we do not feel the portentioue weight of them. In many cases they seem to affect the plot very little. We may conclude that his plays are simple with enough discoveries and revolutions to afford aid to his comic action.
DOUBLE AND SINGLE CONSTRUCTIONAristotle says that the pleasure of double construction
belongs to comedy, “for there, if even the bitterest enemies,like Arestes and Aegisthus, are introduced, they quit the
1scene at last as friends, and nobody is killed.* Doubleconstruction is almost the same thing as poetic justice, the
- / ' ;
kind of ending to a play where the good are rewarded and the evil punished.
Menander represented virtue rewarded and evil punished.In "The Arbitrants" Pamphila who is the innocent sufferer comes to a good end after she stays by her husband against her father's wishes.
"He (Menander) holds his mirror to contemporary life but contrives to reflect far more of good than of evil.
“Pamphila, innocent throughout except for the not unnatural concealment of her misadventure, is loyal to her husband when the uncomfortable results of his real transgression bear most heavily upon him. Both are rewarded for their rightmindedness.
"The harp-girl, Abrotonon, though canny enough in her own interest, is 'honest* and generousminded. The Sterling goodness of Syriscus, the charcoal-man, might convert coab into diamonds. Davus is—the only villain in the play, as preserved, and swift retribution overtakes his contemptible willingness to defraud the baby of his chance of a 'recognition'."8 1 2
1 Saintsbury. Loci Orltici. p,_ 132 Allimson, Menander, p. 7-8
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Samuel Johnson remarks on poetic justice:"Whatever pleasure there may be in seeing crimes punished and virtue rewarded, yet, since wickedness often prospers in real life, the poet is certainly at liberty to give it prosperity on the stage. For if poetry has an imitation of reality,how are its laws broken by exhibiting the world in its true form? The stage may sometimes gratify our wishes; but, if it be truly the mirror of life, it ought to shew us sometimes what we are to expect.^
But he thinks that virtue should be rewarded and evil punishedgenerally in a play.
"Angelo's orimes(in Measure for Measure) were suchi as must sufficiently justifypunishment, whether its end be to secure the innocent from wrong, or to deter guilt by example; and I believe every reader feels some indignation when he finds him spared."*
And again he says that he prefers Tate's happy ending of "Lear"• "A play in which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous miscarry, May doubtless be good, because it is a just representation of the common events of human life: butsince all reasonable beings naturally love justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of justice makes a play* worse; or, that if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rise better _ pleased from the final triumph of persecuted virtue."*3Comedy should have double construction usually. However,
Dryden tells us that the French comedies have single construe-“t ion % ■-• ••' . -
"And this leads me to wonder why Lisideius and many others should cry up the barrenness of the French plots above the variety and copiousness of the English. Their plots are single; they carry on one design, which is pushed forward by all the actors, every scene in the play contributing and moving towards it.?* 1
1 Critical Opinions of Samuel Johnson, p. 812 Ibid, p. 803 Ibid, p. 79-804 Clarke, p. 189 •
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He does not think French plots superior to English because of their singleness.
When we come to deciding whether Shaw rewards the ' virtuous and punishes the evil in his plays, we find that we first have to decide which is the evil and which the virtuous. All our falsely ideal heroes and heroines here are torn into hits. Often the righteous, that is the consciously righteous, characters are punished. But before the play is finished, we are sure that they need to be punished. Often the villainous, the consciously villainous, are rewarded or are neither rewarded or punished, but again we feel that they deserve theirreward. So many of the characters see the evil which the: \ •; " . 1 . ■ - v-. % :consciously righteous and the idealists are doing everyday that they do not wish to be like them and are like the Devilts deciple: they try to be bad in order to throw off all of the false pretenses and be human, not idealists, but these are the .very ones who turn out to be innately good in the end. liVhat can we say for poetio Justice or the double construction then when we think of Shaw? The ending of his plays oomee logically from the rest of them, but he does do good. He shows us the idealists punished. Are these the modern villains? Evidently so, to judge from Shaw’s plays. In fact, I think we must conclude that his plays do have double construction and do show poetio justice. -
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PROPRIETY IN STAGS PRESENTATIONSNarration of Things Improper
There are oertain things proper for stage presentationand there are other things which should not be shown on thestage but narrated. Horace advises:
"You must not, however, bring upon the stage things fit only to be acted behind the scenes: — Let not Medeamurder her sons before the people; nor the execrable Atreus openly dress human entrails; — Whatever you show to me in.this manner, not able to give credit to, I detest.Daniello rules that cruel deeds cannot be performed on
the stage.Dryden says:"Not that I commend narrations in general— but there are two sorts of them. One, of those things which are antecedent to the play, and §re related to make the conduct of it more clear to us."*
This kind is not good for if a proper subject is chosen, it. is unnecessary.
"But there is another sort of relations, that is, of things happening in the action of the play, and supposed to be done behind the scenes; and this is many times both convenient and beautiful; for by it the French avoid the tumult to which we are subject in England, by representing duels, battles, and the like; which renders our stage too like the theaters where they.fight prizes. ....
"When we see death represented, we are convinced it is but fiction; but when we hear it related, our eyes, the strongest witnesses, are wanting, which might have undecided us; and we are all willing to favor the sleight, when the poet does not too gcossly impose on us."*
"That is, those actions which by reason of their • cruelty will cause aversion in us, or by reason of their
impossibility, unbelief, ought either wholly to be avoided by a poet, or only delivered by naraation. ... Examples * 2
1 . Clarke, p. 322 Ibid, p. 186 :
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of all these kinds are frequent, not only among all the anoients, but in the best received of our English poets.We find Ben Jonson using them in his Magnetic Lady, where one comes out from dinner, and relates the quarrels and disorders of it, to save the undeoent appearance of the® on the stage, and to abbreviate the story; and this in express imitation of Terence, who had done the same before him in his Sunuoh, where Pythias makes the like relation of what had happened within at the Soldier'** entertainment. The relations likewise of Sejanue* s death, and the prodigies before it, are remarkable; the one of which was hid from sight, to avoid the horror and tumult of the representation; the other, to shun the introducing of things impossible to be believed. In that excellent play, A King and No King, Fletcher goes yet farther; for the whole unraveling of the plot is done by narration in the fifth act, after the manner of the ancients; and it moves great concernment in the audience, though it be only a relation of what was done many years before the play. I could multiply other instances, but these are sufficient to prove that there is no error in choosing a subject which requires this sort of narrations; in the ill management of them, there may.
Dryden doesn't know why but the English people "will scarcelysuffer combats*and other objects of horror to be taken from
2them i," ' - * . . . ■ 1
But narration is not always the best thing in drama."Narration in dram&tiok poetry is naturally tedious, as it is unanimated and inactive, and obstructs the progress of the action; it should therefore always be rapid, and enlivened by frequent interruption,"1 2 3 says Samuel Johnson.In his plays, Shaw, in the course of the character's
conversation, lets them narrate enough so that we get an ideaof where we are and what has happened just before the curtainwent up. In other words there is a certain amount of necessarynarration in his plays to let. us know what we need to know of what has gone on before the play begins. This is minor, however,
1 Clarke, p. 187 " --------- ------ --2 Ibid, p. 1903 Critical-Opinions of Samuel Johnson, p. 160
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and could not be orltloized by Johnson.He does not present Impossible things on the stage. Saint
Joan is burned off the stage: in •Heartbreak House® two men areblown to pieces off the stage; in "John Bull’s Other Island*
. / ; ' ; ; ■ ■■ • ■. . - ' . /the pig of,the play takes Broadbent for a iride and nearlycauses serious injuries.when he jumps all oyer Broadbent who is driying a car-in anxiety to get out, but this all happens off the stage; an aeroplane., crashes in "Misalliance® but this eilso happens off, the stage. In "Saint, Joan* we do not need to have her burning related to us, but the effect of it on the characters and the bits of conversation which they utter in their extreme wonder at her death give us a vivid picture
. . ' - ■ ■ ■’ ' i ; :' ••• ' . ' . ' >, '■ : ■■■ . v - , ;of it. In "Heartbreak ,House* an explosion ie heard and thev; ; . = v " ■ :characters know at.once without being told what has happened.
In "John Bull's Other Island" and "Misalliance", the action which cannot be presented on the stage is related. In this
' : ' ' ' .. . ■■■ . V . • ■ . . , :tradition Shaw, behaves himself very well. Even Horace would approve of him here.
Chapter IIICHARACTERS
There are several different types of traditional characters. There are the universal type., the stock type, the humour type., and the sentimental type characters. There are also the Individual characters which do not belong to any type and which are advocated by a few traditional writers. UNIVERSAL TYPE CHARACTERS
The universal type characters are those which are recommended by Aristotle. When I spoke of the Imitation of the ideal or of the perfect human nature in regard to subject matter for the play, I said that the subject could represent human actions. These human actions may be performed by human men. But when we imitate the ideal nature or belle nature, we make a universal piece, a patchwork of the most perfect parts of dozens of men. The universal type characters are just these - the most perfect characters, perfect pieces of several characters which are like the type we wish to develop, which can be made to represent a certain type of man. The figures of comedy are to be ridiculous; so it will concern itself with perfect ridiculous characters. Aristotle said that Homer. Malone imitated well (and) first demonstrated 1
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the figures of comedy, not dramatically exhibiting invective, but ridicule."1
There are four requisites for the universal characters. These requisites should also be a part of the other characters we discuss. The character must be good: that is, the speech and action of the character mist manifest a good disposition.It must be decorous: that is, a man must be manly, a woman, womanly. It must be true to life, and it must be consistent: that is, it must act the same way throughout and even if it is inconsistent, it must be consistently inconsistent.
Aristotle says: -"And since Tragedy is an imitation of our betters, we
should follow the example of skillful portrait painters, who, while they express the peculiar lineaments, and produce a likeness, at the same time improve upon the original. And thus, too, the poet, when he imitates passionate men (or indolent, or others of a similar kind)9 should draw them as they are, but reasonably attractive.112Horace goes a little into detail as to what the characters
should be."If as a poet you have to represent the renowned
Achilles; let him be Indefatigable, wrathful, inexorable, courageous, let him deny that laws were made for him, let him arrogate everything to force of arms. Let Medea be fierce and untraotable, Ino an object of pity, Ixlon perfidious, lo wandering, Orestes in distress."3Sidney says of character:
"And the great fault even in that point of laughter, and forbidden plainly by Aristotle, is, that they stir laughter in sinful things, which are rather execrable than ridiculous, or in miserable, which are rather to be
^Clarkf, p. 8 2Ibid, p, 17 ^Ib id, p. 31
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pitied than Boomed, For what is it to make folks gap® at a wretched beggar, or a beggarly clown; or, against the law of hospitality, to jest at strangers because they speak not English so well as we do? .... But rather a busy loving courtier, a heartless threatening Thraso; a self-wise-seeming school master; an awry-transformed trar.eler; these if we saw walk in stage names, which we play naturally, therein were delightful laughter, and teaching delightfulness."1Corneille says that Cleopatra in Rodomine is very wicked:
" " " !........ -"But all her crimes are accompanied by a loftiness of soul which has something so high in it that, while one despises her actions, one admires the source from which they spring."2
In Le Menteur"the chief character utters his lies with such presence of mind and quickness that this imperfection acquires grace and makes the listeners aoknowledre that to lie in such a manner is a vice of which imbeciles are incapable."* *
Corneille thinks because Aristotle says the poet must paint thecharacter better than life, he must even idealize choleric orslovenly men, But the character must be as virtuous aspossible, "so that we do not exhibit the vicious and criminalon the stage if the subject which we are treating does notrequire them.DECORUM AND CONSISTENCY
The character is to be.decorous, Horace says that we should keep to the type, that old men must act and truly be old, young men, young.
"Imitate1. Keep to typel Observe propriety*. Let the Greek patterns be never out of your hands by night or day,"4
"Carefully must you observe the characteristics of each * age, and assign to each the proprieties of shifting
^Clarke, p. 106 #lbld, p. 146 "*Ibid, p. 144 ^Saintsbury. Loci Criticl. p, 57
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dispositions and changing years. First comes the hoy, who Just knows how to form words, and with steadier foot to walk; he delights to play with his mates, and on slight cause flies into passion, quickly is appeased, and changes every hour. Next the beardless youth, at last free from his guardian, rejoices in horses and hounds, and the grass of the sunny plain of Mars; easily moulded, like wax, to vice, to those who would admonish him rough, slow to provide what is useful, lavish of his money, high-spirited, passionate in his desires, quick to relinquish his faneies. Then comes a change in a man's spirit, for the temper of middle life seeks wealth, and interest, is the slave of ambition, is careful lest it do that in a hurry, which afterwards it must labor or amend. Last of all, many are the discomforts that gather around old age*..*. Now, lest perchance 7/e attribute an old mem's part to a youth, or a man's to a boy, never must we wander beyond the limits of what suits and is akin to each age,"l
He advises"a well-instructed imitator to have an eye ,to the model which life and manners give, and henoe to draw the language of reality. Sometimes a play embellished with moral sentiments, and rightly representing manners, though lacking grace and force and art, delights the people more, and interests them to the end of the piece, rather th$n verses void of sense, and prettily-sounding trifles/6'
An d further: :"The manners of every age must be marked by you, and
a proper decorum assigned to men's varying dispositions and years/3The character is to-be consistent. Chapelain tells us:
"But since several things are required to make a story natural - that is, observation of time, of place, of the condition, age, manners and customs, and passions, - the principal point of all is that each personage must behave according to-his character as set forth early in the poem,
• For instance an evil man must not do good deeds/^ * 2
^Horace, Works, p. 2102Ib id, pTrrs
^Clark*, pp,31-32 *Ibld, p. 126
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He also makes the following remarks as to the decorousnee of the character#
"They take particular care to make each personage speak according to his condition, age, and sex; and by propriety they mean not only that which is decent, but what is fitting and appropriate to the characters - be they good or evil «• as they are at first set forth In the play."1And this we have from Corneille as to the deoorousness of
the characters:"The poet must consider the age, dignity, birth, occu
pation and country of those whom he paints; he must know what one owes to one?s country, to one's parents, to one's friends, to one's kind; what the office of a magistrate or an army general, so that he may verify and then show That her wants his public to love, and eliminate those whom he wants it to hate, because it is an infallible maxim that to achieve success one must ge± the audience on the side of the important characters
He continues by saying that each age must act itself, the old,old and the young, young; They may do the same things, ’ but theywill do them differently. If we use historical characters,we must make them like history.
As to consistency or equality in the character: it"forces us to keep in our characters the manners which we gave them in the beginning,"3
He continues:"This has made me consider that 'manners’ are not only the foundation of action, but also of reasoning. A man of condition thinks and acts as such; a wicked man aots and thinks as such, and both the one and the other depict divers moral maxima according to his habit."5Boileau likes"an author that reforms the age,And keeps the right decorum of the stage,
Clarke, p,, 187 . % id, p. 145 % b id, p. 146
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fhat always pleases by Just reason’s rule.* *1 .... . , Farquhar would let those rest In peace who "by a true
decorum In these material points, have writ successfully and answered tbs end of dramatic poetry In every respect,1,2
Goethe speaks of Mo Here;' 1
"There is in him a grace and a feeling for the decorous and a tone of good society which his innate beautiful nature could only attain by daily intercourse with the most eminent meh of his age,"3Samel Johnson remarks that there are "some characters
not proper for representation: e.g; leading characters whose good and bad qualities are equally conspicuous,"*
They all preach decorum to us and consistency in the characters. In the other types and in the oharaoters of manners; too* it is necessary to have decorous and consistent Characters and characters which are true to life. These three precepts for oharaoters have come down as true traditions and are accepted by the critics and dramatists, STOCK CHARACTERS
Having sufficiently discussed the universal type characters, I shall turn to what I have designated as stock type characters. These are the characters portrayed by Menander, Plautus, Terence, Ariosto, Mo Here, and by other writers on the continent. They are the characters which have become the Pierrot and Columbine
• . 2 ^ ^ e* p* % l d , p.*Ibid, p. 225 ^Critical Opinions of Samuel. Johnson, p. 92
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and Pantaloon of the frenoh stage and the Punch and Judy of the English* However, when they reach this stage they are merely types and are rather puppets than characters.
Stock characters and their development are very interesting, Let us begin with Paupus, the simple old man of the play or the weak old simpleton, • call him what you will. We find that two characters develop from him. Sometimes he becomes Skinflint, the old miser, and sometimes he becomes the old suitor or the old husband, later the doctor or lawyer of the play. This last development of his became a favorite with Italian audiences. He is always the absurd suitor for. a young and beautiful woman. In Plautus* "The Crook of Gold? he Is called Megadorus Senex, Old,Trusty, end is the suitor to Buollo*s daughter. In Ariosto we find the same situation. 01eander, the Dootor, la thesuitor to PcBynestra and is the ancient simpleton. Later the aged suitor is given the name of Pantaloon, In Shakespeare’s seven ages of man, the last age is that of the "lean and slippered Pantaloon," This is an unkindly picture of old age, Shakespeare*a Malvolio is modeled after Pantaloon, but to everything which Shakespeare borrows he gives new life, Malvolio is the old suitor to Olivia, but he has new individual characteristics.
The other development of the old simpleton into the miser is seen in Menander’s Sminorines who is inclined to love money. He becomes Euollo Senex, Old Skinflint, in
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•fhe Crook of Gold* by Plautus* It is interesting to notice how he acts when he hears the cooks dig up beets with a spade, for he has his gold hid in the garden and he knows they are digging for it. His imagination torehers him until he is told again and again that it is for beets they are digging. He suspects everyone of trying to rob him of his gold, and his life is perfectly miserable. In Ariosto*s "The Supposes" Damon is interested in money; and this same character, begun originally by Menander, becomes Harpagon, -die miser, in "The Miser11 by Mo Here. In all instances he is the father of the heroine. % is shows the relation of the comedies of these men. It was Moliere who, influenced by Plautus and the Italian comedy, developed the m!ser to its highest point. ; Sometimes it is Dassennus, the sharper, who becomes Old Skinflint, rather than the old simpleton.
The tendency of classical literature always was to simplify, but when there is too.much simplification, it is too obvious. Moliere is like Plautus except that he is more complex, yet when he is compared with Shakespeare and Shaw, he is too simple. Eliot has made of the Miser a highly complex.character. She has analysed the reason for hie miserlino^S and made him very subjective and understandable
• i
In her "Silas Marnef."Stock oharaoters are found in Plautus, in Lope de Vega
who was the prolific writer of 120 plays, and in Molibre.
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There are even some in Ben Jenson1 s "Aleheraiste”Other stock characters besides Paupus and Doesennue
are Maeeius, the oloirn; Tittus, the flat-footed olow&j Buooo, the loud noisy fellow; Manducua, the glutton; trro women, Lamia and Mamia; and later a parasite; a procurer; an old woman who may be Mother Bunch or a procuress; two women, one thought to be a courtesan, slave, or foreigner, who turns out to be of good birth and a citizen, the other usually q wife or woman of good standing; a captain; one or more slaves; and Pander, the slave-dealer.
In Ariosto's "The Supposes" it is Pasyphilo, the Parasite, who is Manduous, the glutton, also. He is always hungry and since his master, the old doctor, has skinflint tendencies, Pasyphilo never gets enough to eat.
The captain which is used in so many plays becomes the braggart soldier mixed with gull qualities in the %lles Gloriosls" of Plautus. He reminds us extremely of Major Hoopla in our today's funny papers. He is always bragging and his parasite feeds his vanity. Pyrgopolinices, the braggart captain, makes away with a courtesan in the story, and her lover, in order to get her back, plays aftrick on him. Pleusioles,the lover, with the help of his servant, Palaestria, persuades the captain to believe that the supposed wife of the neighbor (the neighbor is also in league with Pleusioles) is in love with him. The boastful soldier gladly sends the courtesan off with her supposed.
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twin slater and mother so he may have his neighbor* s wife. When he goes to hold his t&te a tSte with her, he is soundly beaten. His vanity makes it very easy for the plot to work because he can readily imagine many women in love with him. The gull side of the soldier is used by Jonson in many of his plays.
Anyone laughing at Plautus* exaggerated, worried old misers would be less inclined to be a miser,, and anyone , laughing at his braggart soldier would be less a gull and less a braggart himself after the show.
In Shakespeare’s Fa Istaff we have the braggart soldier, but he is endowed with so many new and loveable characteristics he becomes nearly a different character. The character is taken partly from life, partly from the stock character. Wars and soldiers were always a pest in time of peace.
Besides the above mentioned characters Terence used the suave city fellow, lax in his ways, and contrasted him with the strict narrow country brother in "The Brothers."We find in this play also the slave-dealer. Pander, who is later used by Chaucer in "Trollus and Creseida." Terence, as did Plautus and the others, made much use of twins in his plays. In his time, since the dress was the^^ame^It was much simpler for one person to be mistaken for the other.
Staphyla Anus, Mother Bunch, in the "Crock of Cold" becomes Madge Mumbeldust in "Royster Doyster." "The
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Menaeohmi” of Plautus was the chief source for Shakespeare’s MComedy of Errors” and "The Aaphytryo” was Imitated in "Jack Juggler.”Horace writes about the Roman characters:
"Observe how Plautus supports the characters of the young man In love, of the careful old father, of the tricky pander; how great and grand Dossennus is in greedy parasites, how loose the sock in which he runs o’er the stage; to fill his purse is his desire, if that be done, he cares not whether his play succeeds or fails. If vanity in her windy chariot bears the poet to the stage, an inattentive spectator takes the breath out of his sails, an attentive one puffs them out again. So light, so small is that, which oasts down,or revives a soul craving for praise. Farewell the stage’, if. as my play fails or thrives, I grow lean or fat.”1Donatus tolls of the custom of his day:
"The old men in comedies wear white costumes, because they are held to be the oldest sort. Young men wear a variety of colors. The slaves in comedy wear thick shawls, either as a mark of their former poverty, or in order that they may run the faster. Parasites wear twisted pallas. Those who are happy wear white robes; the unhappy wear soiled robes; the rich wear royal purple, paupers wear reddish purple ... a procurer, a robe of many colors; yello# to
. designate greed, is given to the courtesan."*'John Dryden tells us of the characters used in the
Roman comedies patterned after the Greek:"By the plot you may guess much of the characters
of the persons. An old father, who would willingly, before he dies, see his son well married; his debauched son, kind in his nature to his mistress, but miserably in want of money; a servant or slave, who has so much wit to strike in with him, and help to dupe his father; a braggadocio captain, a parasite, and a lady of pleasure.
"As for the poor honest maid, on whom the story is built, and who ought to be one of the principal actors
^Horace, Works, p. 193 ^Clarke, p. 45
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in the play, she is commonly a mute in it: she has the breeding of the old Elizabeth way, which was for maids to be seen and not to be heard; and it is enough you know she is willing to be married, when the fifth act requires, it."!Goldoni says:
"Those who could read (and neither the great nor the rich were of the number), finding that in the comedies of Plautus and Terence there were always duped fathers, debauched sons, enamored girls, knavish servants, and mercenary maids; and running over the different.districts of Italy, they took the fathers from Venice and Bo logna, the servants from Bergamo, and the lovers and waiting maids from the dominions of Borne and Tuscany.112From the folk stock characters which Plautus and Terence
found and developed, we find a further development in Mo Here. He makes the stock characters more complex and puts into them life-like, human qualities. He says:
"When you paint heroes you can do as you like. These are fancy portraits, in which we do not look for a resemblance; you have only to follow your soaring imagination, which often neglects the truth in order to attain the marvelous, But when you paint men, you must paint after nature. We expect resemblance in these portraits. You have done nothing, if you do not make us.recognize the people of your day. In a word, in serious pieces, it suffices to escape blame, to speak good sense, and to write well. But this is not enough in comedy. You must be merry; and it is a difficult undertaking to make gentlefolk laugh."3Lessing discusses the characters admissible in a play
as follows:"An absentminded person is said to be no motif for
a comedy. And why not? To be absent, it is said, is a malady, a misfortune and no vice. An absent man deserves ridicule as little as one who has the headache. Comedy must only concern itself with such faults as can * 2
Jciark*, p. 181 % b id,op. 150-1512Ibid, p. 248,
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be remedied. Whoever is absent by nature can merit this as little by means of ridicule, as though he limped."1
He goes on to tell us of Mo Here:"He says, for instance, Molidre makes us laugh at
a misanthrope and yet the misanthrope is the honest man of the play, Mo Here therefore shows himself an enemy to virtue in that he makes the virtuous man contemptible. Not so; the misanthrope does not become contemptlble, he remains what he was, and the laughter that springs from the situations in which the poet places him does not rob him in the least of our esteem. The same with the distrait, we laugh at him, but do we despise him on that account? We esteem his other good qualities as we ought; why, without them we oould not even laugh at his absence of mind. Let a bad, worthless man be endowed with this absence of mind, and then see whether we should still find it laughable? It will be disgusting, horrid, ugly, not laughable."2Voltaire writes:
"Moliere and Racine have equally succeeded in handling this subject: the one amuses and diverts, the other moves us with terror and compassion. Moliere exposes the ridiculous fondness of an old miser; Racine describes the foibles of a great king, and makes them even venerable. "3Goethe writes of Moliere: ' .
"His (Moliere1 s] Miser, where the vice destroys all the natural piety between father and son, is expecially great, and in a high sense tragic. But when, in a German paraphrase, the son is changed into a relation, the whole is weakened, and loses its significance.....
"Mollbre chastised men by drawing them just as theywere."4Hugo finds a place for the grotesque in characters:
"It is the grotesque, still the grotesque, which now oasts into the Christian hell the frightful faces which the severe genius of Dante and Milton-will evoke,
^Clarkf, x). 260, (col. 1) ?Ib id, p. 279^Ibid, -- p. 260, (col. 2) 4Ibid, p. 329
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and again peoples it with those laughter-moving figures amid vzhioh Callot, the burlesque Miohelangelo, will disport himself. If it passes from the world of Imagination to the real world, it unfolds an inexhaustible supply of Scaramouches, Crispins and Harlequins, grinning silhouettes of man, types altogether unknown to seriouaminded antiquity, although they originated in classic Italy.It is the grotesque, lastly, which coloring the same drama with the fancies of the North and of the South in turn, exhibits Sganarelle capering about Don Juan and Mephistopheles crawling about Faust .”■*•
’’The latter Ob he grotesque) assumes all the absurdities, all the infirmities, all the blemishes. In this partition of mankind and of creation, to it fall the passions, vices, crimes* it is sensuous, fawning, greedy, miserly, false, incoherent, hypocritical; it is in turn, I ago, Tartuffe, Basils, Polonius,Harpagon, Bartholo, Falstaff, Soapin, Figaro. The beautiful has but one type, the ugly has a thousand,”2
’’And so, let addle-pated pedants (one does not exclude the other) claim that the deformed, the ugly, the grotesque should never be imitated in art; one replies that the grotesque is comedy, and that comedy apparently makes a part of art. Tartuffe is not handsome, Pouroeaugnao is not noble, but-Pouroeaugnac and Tartuffe are admirable flashes of art.”-After Mo Here we find instances of the stock characters
in Jonson and Shakespeare, but they have by this time become humanized and, in Shakespeare especially, very individualized. HUMOUR CHARACTERS
Jonson uses humour in two distinct ways when he refers to his characters. Some of his characters are characters of humour, that is, each character has one basic underlying trait or humour and is a humour character or a character of singularity, and some are characters with humours, that is with wits, follies, affectations, babbits. In a third sense the humours are blood, phlegm, bile, and black bile, the
C lark A, p. 370 %bid, p. 371 31b id, p. 374
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underlying causes of the peculiarities found in a man of humour. In this sense it is used in "Every Man Out of His Humour."
"0, I crave pardon, I had lost my thoughts.Why Humour, as tis ens. we thus define it To be a quality of a Ire or water,And in itself holds these two properties,Moisture and Fluxure: As, for demonstration,Poure water on this floor®, 1 twill wet and runne;
. Likewise the a ire, fbro* t through a home or trumpet, Flows instantly away, and leaves behind A kind of due; and hence we do conclude,That what do’ ere hath fluxure and humiditle,As wanting power to contain itself,Is Humour; so in every human bodyThe oho Her, melancholy, flegme , and bloud,By reason that they flow continually In some one part, and are not continent,Receive the name of Humours."!
Then Jonson goes on to say that by metaphor humour in thissense may be applied to humour characters:
"Now thus farreIt may, by Metaphor®, apply itself Unto the general disposition,As when some one peculiar qualityDoth so possess® a man, that it doth drawAll his affects, his spirits, and his powers,In their confluotions all to runne one way,This may be truly said to be a Humour. ...Cordatua; He speakes pure truth;Now if an IdiotHave but an Apish or Phantasticke straine,It is his Humour. ....As per: ...for, if he shame to have his follies known First -he should shame to act him: my strict hand Was made to oeaze on vice, and with a gripe Crush out the Humor of such apongie souls,As lick up -ev'qry idle, vanity."* ' .
Ijonson, Works, Vo 1. II, p. 16 ^Ibid, p.“T 7 ”“
90
In ’’The Magnetic Lady he often refers to humour in the third sense, that is, just as an affectation. "A superb humour," "he has his humour, sir," "this running humour,""thy humour, thy humour - thou mistaketh," "the humour of a fool," "too sudden in your humour,"^ and expressions like these are used meaning in general mannerisms dr affectations. These humours are little idiosyncrasies of which a large percent of us are guilty and which are to be remedied by Jonson by making fun of them.
To Congreve humour is used in the sense of singularity or peculiarity. Humour characters show what they are.Humour according to Congreve is "a singular and unavoidable manner of doing or saying anything. Peculiar and Natural to one Man only, by which his Speech and Actions are distinguished from those of other men."2 The late Miss Frances Perry considered the humour characters type characters fallen over backwards - that is type (of stock) characters carried to an exaggerated extreme. Humour like wit has an infinite variety so that it is hard to place one’s finger on a comprehensive definition of it. It is not wit, however. Congreve says:
"Such a thing is very humorously spoken: There is a great deal of humor in that part. Thus the character "of the person speaking, may be, surprisingly and pleasantly is mistaken for a character of humour which indeed Is a character of wit .... The saying of humorous things
^Jonson, Works Vo 1 6, pp. 11-113^Clarke, ■p7"Zl’4
91
does not distinguish characters; for erery person In a comedy may be allowed to speak thea."1
Humour characters may possess wit,."but the manner of wit should be adapted to the humor, a s , for Instance, a character of a splenetic and peevish humor should have a satirical wit, A jolly and sanguine humor should have a facetious wlt."l
Folly Is not humour and neither are personal defects. Theseare often confused' with it^ /
"Affectation Is-generally mistaken for humor.....These are indeed so much alike that at a distance they may be mistaken one for the other. For what .is humor in one may be affectation in another; and nothing is ' more common than for some to affect particular ways
' of saying and doing things, peculiar to others whom they admire and would Imitate. Humor is the life, affectation the picture. He that draws a character of affectation shows humor at the second hand; he at best but publishes a translation, and his pictures are but conies,"®
Further Congreve says: - ' ;" "Humor is from nature, habit from custom, and affectation from industry,
"Humor shows us as we are."Habit shows us as we appear under a forcible im
pression. • -"Affectation shows what we would bounder a
voluntary disguise."Though here I would observe by the way. that a con
tinued affectation may in time become a habit."2A man may change his opinion'but not his humour.
Dryden describes humor characters in the following:"The manners arise from many causes; and are either
distinguished by complexion, as choleric and phlegmatic, or by the differences of age or sex, of climates, or quality of the persons, or their present condition.They are likewise to be gathered from the several virtues, vices, or passions, and many other commonplaces,
Vlarkf, p. 212 2Ibld, p. 213
92.
which a poet must he supposed to have learned from Hatural Philosophy, Ethics, and History; of all which , whosoever is ignorant does not deserve the name of poet.*
rtA character, or that which distinguishes one man from all others, cannot he supposed to consist of one particular virtue, or vice, or passion only; hut ’tis. a composition of qualities which are not contrary to one another in the same person; thus, the same man may be liberal and valiant, hut not liberal and covetous; so in a comical character, or humor (which is an inclination to this or that particular folly), Falstaff is a liar, and a coward, a glutton, and a buffoon, because all these qualities may agree in the same man; yet it is still to be observed that one virtue, vice, and passion ought to be shown in every man as predominant over all the rest; as covetousness in Crassus, love of his country in Brutus; and the same in characters which are feigned."*
Again Dryden says:"But among the English 'tis otherwise: where by
humour is meant some extravagant habit, passion, or affectation, particular (as I said before) to some one person, by the oddness of which, he is immediately distinguished from the rest of men; which being lively and naturally represented, most frequently begets that malicious pleasure in the audience which is testified by laughter; as all things which are deviations from common customs are ever the aptest to produce it: though by the way this laughter is only accidental, as the person represented is fantastic or bizarre; but pleasure is essential to it, as the imitation of what is natural. The description of these humours, drawn from the knowledge and observation of particular persons, was the peculiar genius and talent of Ben Jonson."®In "The Silent Woman," "Every Man Out of His Humour,"
and "Volpone" Jonson uses humour in the sense of a humour character. In "The Magnetic Lady," "Ever Man In His Humour," and "Cynthia’s Revels, or The Fountain of Self-Love" he uses humour in the second sense (that is, of characters of
^Clarke, p. 19 5 "Ibid, p. 196
5Pryden. Essays.we. 85-86
93
affectations and manners.)Volpone is a character of arch-greed, the stock miser
character to such an extreme - in fact, fallen over backwards, as we before remarked - that he has become a humour character. Morose is a humour character so irritated by noise that he also is exaggerated. Drummond says that Morose is an extreme egoist. These are humour characters. They are unique, eccentric characters and in being just this they lose their chief reason for being in comedy, for derisive laughter will not correct when the character we laugh at is so different from us and our neighbors we cannot see him in them.
Congreve says of Morose:"Let us suppose Morose to be a man naturally
splenetic and melancholy; is there anything more offensive to one of such a disposition than noise and clamor? .... ’Tis ten to one but three parts in four of the company that you dine with are discomposed and startled at the cutting of a fork or scratching a plate with a knife.As to characters with humours,, which are the basic ones
in Jenson* s plays, for he wrote to ridicule vices, Kitely in "Every Man in His Humor" and Kitely* s wife have jealous humours, Bobadill is boastful, but his bragging is merely his affectation. His poverty, frugality, and humorousness are his other humours. Knowell, while a scholar and a gentleman, has humours in regard to his son which we might
' - .......... ........- . ' ' ^ - . ... . - .
■kJlarkfr, p. 213
94.
call fatherly huniors because they consist of worries and interests in his son*s welfare. Stephen and Mathew hare gull humors, Mathew having the additional poetry humor whereby he quotes poetry all the time. The humours of Brainworm are the disguises or characters he assumes in oaring for hie master’s needs. He is a begging soldier and an officer of Justice besides being a servant.
Congreve says; ,"The character of Sir John Daw in the same play
C’The Silent Woman1!) is a character of affectation.He everywhere discovers an affectation of learning, when he is not only conscious to himself, but the audience also plainly perceives that he is ignorant,"1
"The character of Cob in "Every Man in His Humour" and most of the under characters in "Bartholomew Fair," discover only a singularity of manners, appropriate to the several educations and professions of the persons represented. They are not humors, but habits controlled by custom,"2The characters which hover around Volpone and Morose
may be said to be characters with humors. In "The Magnetic Lady" Captain Ironside is more interested in slaughter than in marriage.: He is a brusque captain, and his humoursare his dislike for people and society which leads him to
'
anger, fighting, and rudeness. He says, "My humour [is) as stubborn as the rest and as unmanageable."3 Rut, the physician; Palate, the minister; and Practice, the lawyer, are all characters with the humours of their professions which amount to habits or customs rather than true humours. Sir
^Clark#, p. 213 2Ibid, p. 213 3Jonson,, Works, VoP • &
95.
Diaphanous Silkwonn is described as ’'a courtier extraordinary; who by diet Of meats and drinks/ his temperate exercise, choice music, frequent baths, his horary shifts Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize Mortality Itself, and make the essence Of his whole happiness the trim of court."l He shows his own character:
"There’s nothing vexes me, but that he has stain’d... My new white satin doublet, and bespatter’d My spick and span silk-stockings on the day nThey were drawn on; and here’s a spot in my hose, tool"*'
He has the humours of a courtier. Sir Moth Interest, trueto his name, is a mighty money-bawd. One of his humours isthat "he likes nothing that runs your way,"3 Polish, thegossip and parasite talks incessantly and pretends to besympathetic, interested, and kind, but this pretense isjust one of her humours, for at heart she plots evil and iscoldly calculating.
Jonson speaks of Ajax’s humour:"In that humour he doth many senseless things,
and at last falls upon the Grecian flock, and kills a great ram for Ulysses: returning to his senses, he grows ashamed of the acorn, and kills himself; and is by the chiefs of the Greeks forbidden burial. These things agree and hang together not as they were done, but as seeming to be done, which made the action whole, entire, and absolute."*
Ajax is not really the kind of man who goes around killing sheep for men. We must .conclude he is a character with humours and this is one of them.
^Jonson, Works • Vo 1. ‘6, p".. 23 . ^Ibid, n. 17 ^Ibid, p. 54 *Ibid, Vo 1. 9, pp. 227-228
96.
Bolleau refers to the following eharaoteis with humors,some of which could he humor oharactera:
"Each one was nicely shown in this new glass.And smiled to think he m s not meant the ass,A miser oft would laugh at first; to find A faithful draught of his own sordid mind;And fops were with such care and cunning writ,They liked the piece for Which themselves did sit,
"You, then, that would the comic laurels wear.To study nature be your only care.Whoe'er knows man, and by a curious art Discerns the hidden secrets of the heart;He who observes, and naturally can paint ,.The jealous fool, the fawning sycophant,A sober wit, an enterprising ass,A humorous Otter, or a Hudibraa,-May safely in those noble lists engage, ; .And make them aot and speak upon the stage.Strive to he natural in all you write,;And paint; with colors that may please the sight.Nature in variousifigures does abound,And in each mind are different humors found;A glance, a touch, discovers to the wise,But every man has not discerning eyes, ....
"Those little fallings in your hero's heart Show that of man and nature he has part.To leave known rules you cannot be allowed;Make Agamemnon covetous and proud,Aeneas in religious rites austere, -Keep to each man his proper character.Of countries and of times the humors know,From different climates different customs grow; •And strive to shun their fault, who vainly dress An antique hero like a modern ass,Who make old Romans like our English move, . , = .Show Cato sparkish, or make Brutus love. . .Exact- decorum we; mast always find."” •jfonson was the originator and developer of humor
characters of both sorts. But Chaucer before him represented .men wit|i humors, according to Drydem
"He CChauoeid must have been a man of a most wonderful comprehensive nature, because, as-it has been
^Clarke, p. 161
97.
truly observed of him, he has taken into the oompaas of his Canterbury Tales the various manners and humours (as we nojr call them) of the whole English nation, In his age/1
MAHNER CHARACTERSThe stodk characters were developed until they reached
the stage of over development or humour characters. At the same time characters with humours were portrayed and these were no more than characters with affectations which lead Into the characters of manners, for affectations.are but manners, -- they are not the deep-rooted ingredients of a man but rather the surface ways he has of acting. The Restoration dramas are full of characters of manners.Farquhar says that characters are much like the characters of Aesop’s fables. Aesop ’’would improve men by the policy of beasts, so we endeavor to reform brutes with the examples of men. Fondlewlfe and his young spouse are no more than the eagle and cookie; he wanted teeth to break the shell himself, so aomebody else run away with the meat. The fox in the play is the same with the fox in the fable, who stufft his guts so full that he could.not get out at the same hole he came in; so both Reynards, being delinquents alike; come to be trussed up together. Here are precepts, admonitions, and salutary innuendoes for the ordering of our lives and conversations couched in these allegories and allusions,
oSaintsbury; Loci brltlol. p. 167 "Clark#, p.
98 #
Lamb writes of the Restoration dramatists:."Take one of their eharanters, male or female
(with few exceptions they are alike), and place it in a modern play, and ngr virtuous indignation shall rise against the profligate wretch as warmly as the .Catos of the pits could desire;. because in a modern play I am to judge of the right and the wrong. The standard of police is the measure, of •political justice.The atmosphere will blight it; it cannot live here.It has got into a moral world, where it has no business, from which it must needs fall headlong, as dizzy, and incapable of making a stand, as a Swedestborgian bad • spirit that, has wandered unawares into the sphere of one of his Good Men, or Angels. But in its own world do we feel the creature is so very bad?. ... The Fainalls and the Mirabels, the Dorimants, and the Lady Touchwoods, in their own sphere, do not offend my moral sense; in fact, they do not appeal to it at all. They seem engaged in their proper element. ..They break through no laws or conscientious restraints. They know of none."They have got but of Christendom into the land what shall I call.it? - of euokoldry - the Utopia of gallantry, whefe pleasure is duty, and the manners perfect freedom.It is altogether a -speculative scene of things, which has no reference whatever to the world that is. ....
"Translated.into real life, the characters of his, and his friend Wycherley's dramas, are profligates and strumpets the business of their brief existence, the undivided pursuit, of lawless gallantry. ....
"No reverend institutions are insulted by their proceedings - for they have'none among.them. No peace . of, families is violated - for no family ties exist among them. No purity of the marriage bed is stained - for none is supposed to have a being. No deep affections are disquieted, no holy wedlock bands are snapped asunder - for affection* s depth and wedded faith are not of the •growth of that soil. There is neither right,nor wrong - gratitude or its opposite - claim or duty - paternity or sonship.' Of what consequence is it to Virtue ,or how is she at all concerned about it, whether Sir Simon or Dapperwit steal away Miss Martha; or who is the father ofLord Froth* a or Sir Paul Pliant^h' ohildreti?**1
' . . . . - • . • -------- . • . . . .
Of -Sie character Joseph Surface in "The.School for Scandal"he writes:
^-Clarks; .pp.436-437
99.
"Its hero, when Palmer played it at least, was Joseph Surface. Ihen I remember the gay boldness, the graceful solemn plausibility, the measured step, the insinuating voice - :to express it in a word - the downright acted villainy of the part, so different from the pressure of conscious actual wickedness, - the hypocritical assumption of hypocrisy, - which made Jack so deservedly a favorite in that character,I must needs conclude the present generation of playgoers more virtuous than myself, or more dense.I freely confess that he divided the palm with me " with his better brother; that, in fact, I liked him quite as well.rt3-To Samuel Johnson:
"The wits of Charles found easier way's to fame,Nor wish’d for Johson’s art, or Shakespeare’ a flame. Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.Vice always found a sympathetic friend;They pleas’d their age, and did not aim to mend:Yet bard: like these aspir’d to lasting praise,And proudly hop’d to pimp in future days."2
And ago in:"Shere is all the difference in the world between
characters of nature and characters of manners• and there is the difference between the characters of fielding and those of Richardson. Characters of, manners are very entertaining; but they are to be understood, by a more superficial observer, than characters of nature, where a man must dive into the recesses of the human heart’...In comparing those two writers, he (J.) used this expression:’that there was as great a difference between them as between a man who knew how a. watch was made, and a man who could tell the hour by Iboking on the dial-plate.'"3Hazlitt says:
"There is a certain stage of society in which people become conscious of their peculiarities and absurdities, affect to disguise what they are, and set up pretensions to what they are not. This gives
klarkt, p. 438 3Ibid, p. 453^Critical Opinions of Samuel Johnson, p. 81
90825
100
rise to a corresponding style of comedy, the object of which Is to detect the disguises of self-love, and to make reprisals on these preposterous assumptions of vanity, by marking the contrast between the real and the affected character as severely as possible, and denying to those, who would Impose on us for what they are not, even the ' merit which they have, This Is the comedy of artificial life, of wit and satire, such as we see it in Congreve, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, etc. To this succeeds "a state of society from which the same sort of affectation and pretence are banished by a greater knowledge of the world, or by their successful exposure on the stage; and which by neutralizing the materials of comic character, both natural and artificial, leaves no comedy at all - but the sentimental. Such is our modern comedy. There is a period in the progress of manners anterior to both these, in which the foibles and follies of individuals.: are of nature’s planting, not the growth of art or study; in which they are therefore unconscious of them themselves, or care not who knows them, if they can but have their whim out; and in which as there is no attempt at imposition, the spectators rather receive pleasure from humoring the inclinations of the persons they laugh at, than wish to give them pain by exposing their absurdity.
.This may be called the comedy of nature, and it is the comedy which we generally find in Shakespear."1The1sentimental comedy with its characters of sentiment
succeeds the comedy of manners. Of this sentimental comedy,Goldsmith remarks:
”These oomedies have had of late great success, perhaps from their novelty, and also from their flattering every man in his favorite foible. In these plays almost all the characters are good, and exceedingly generous; they are lavish enough of their tin money on the stage; and though they want humor, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator Is taught, not only to pardon, but /to applaudY,khem, in consideration of the goodness of the if hear is; so that folly, instead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the comedy aims at touching our passions without the power of being truly pathetic."*5 * 2
L lciark%, p. 4452Ibid, p. 237
101.
INDIVIDUAL CHARACTERS .Shatoespear* s characters are the ones which appeal over
the longest period of time. No two of his characters are alike and they are not stock characters, humour characters, or characters of manners, but Individual characters. No matter what stock character traits they may have, there is more of real human individuality in them than any type traits,
Dryden discusses Shakespear's characters:"To- return once more to Shakespeare; no man ever drew
so many characters, or generally distinguished 'em better from one another, excepting only Jonson. I will instmoe but in one to show the copiousness of his intention; it is that of Caliban, or the monster, in the Tempest. .... "The characters of Fletcher are poor and
. narrow in comparison of Shakespeare's ♦r,iDiderot tells us that when we write we must "always keep
2virtue and virtuous people in mind,Freytag tells how to represent characters in the drama:
"The dramatis persona must represent human nature, not as it is aroused and mirrored in its surroundings, active and full of feeling, but as a grand and passionately excited inner power striving to embody itself in a deed, transforming and guiding the being and conduct of others. Man, in the drama, must appear under powerful restraint, excitement, transformation. Specially must there be represented in him in full activity those peculiarities which come effectively into conflict with other mm, force of sentiment, violence of will, achievement hindered through passionate desire, just those peculiarities which make character and are intelligible through characters.But the characters which are brought forward by poetry and her accessory arts, can evince their inner life
^Clarke, pp. 197-198 ^Ibid, p. 288
102.
only as participants in an event or occurrence, the course and internal connection of which becomes - apparent to the spectator through the dramatic processes in Hie soul of the poet. This course of events, when it is arranged according to the demands of dramatic art, is called action."!
SHAW'S CHARACTERSThese last critics all give us samples of what indivi
dual characters should be, and surely individual characters have their places in drama. But the dramatic tradition rests generally with the type characters whether universal, stock, humour, manner, or sentimental. Even when we find Individual characters in the plays, they are not like Shaw's characters. And yet Shaw's characters have more verisimilitude and consistency than those of the older dramatists. In fact, sometimes we may be Inclined to think they are too true to life. But his characters are not decorous1. When a woman behaves so unseemly as to run after a man, or a maid so out of place as to feel herself equal to marrying a friend of the man who employs her, or when two young people go into a dentist's office and invite him to lunch when they hardly know him and give him most of their family history into the bargain, the woman, the maid, and the young people are not behaving decorously. They arc out of place. Shaw's women are unwomanly in their actions; sometimes his men are not manly; his kings are surely not always proud and haughty as
Clarke, p. 357
103.V
kings should be; in one instance a spoiled young man acts like a baby one moment and the next acts like a man of fifty. No, Shaw’s characters will not stay in their places. Saint Joan is certainly an unwomanly woman rather than a saint in the meek, folded-hands, raised-eyes sense of the word, but it is much more reasonable to assume she was the former in real life. Adam and Eve are not mute figures walking about in the Garden of Eden, but very real characters - maybe more as they, too, really were, - who knows? In rtGetting Married" a divorcee treats her ex- husband very tenderly and doesn’t really see why she couldn’t marry two men. The chain of interesting characters found in Shaw’s plays which I could discuss is endless, I will stop with Shaw’s interesting descriptionof the Lion in "Aridrooles and the Lion,” for the Li on is-a real character in this play,
"A lion’s roar, a melancholy suffering roar, comes from the jungle. It is repeated nearer. The lion limps from the jmgle on three legs, holding up his right forepaw, in which a huge thorn sticks. He sits down and contemplates it. He licks it. He shakes it,.He tries to extract it by scraping it along the ground, and hurts himself worse. He roars piteously. He licks it again. Tears drop from his eyes. He limps painfully off the path and lies down under the trees, exhausted with pain. Heaving a long sigh, like wind in a trombone, he goes to sleep."*Shaw violates the character traditions, for be does not
use type characters of any description and he does not make his characters decorous. They are, however, consistent and too true to life.
*5haw, Androcles and the Lion, p . 3
Chapter IT DICTION
GENERAL LANGUAGEThe language of oomedy should he that of everyday life,
according to Soaliger, and also simple according to De Vega,Horace abhors the coarse language used by Plautus:
"But our ancestors commended both the numbers of Plautus, and his strokes of pleasantry; too tamely,I will not say foolishly, admiring each of them; if you and I but know how to distinguish a coarse joke from a smart repartee, and understand the proper oadenoe, by (using) our fingers and ears."lBen Jon son says:
"And therefore it was clear that all insolent and obscene epeeohes, jests upon the best men, injuries to particular persons, perverse and sinister sayings -- in the old oomedy did move laughter, especially where it did imitate any dishonesty and sourrily came forth in the place of wit, which, who understands the nature and genius of laughter cannot but perfectly know,"* 2
And again:"Language most shows a man; speak that I may see thee
Bo 1 leau says:"With well-bred conversation you must please,
And your intrigue unr^ye^led b# with ease,"4Shaw is very frank in his plays,'but there are no coarse
' • ' V. ' ' .or obscene jokes. He is witty and clever, and in the
jjclark*, p. 30 ^Saintsbury, Loci Crltioi, p. 1212Ibid, p. 108 ^Clarks, p. 162
105.
general style of his conversation should please the ancients, although I expect they would be shocked In an entirely different way by the ideas which his characters express and the frankness with which they do it. He uses, as I mentioned before, the discussion method in his plays. So with him the conversation is the most Important part of the play. To the ancient the action was most important and the characters were more objective. Furthermore, they never sat down and expressed their views on life and things in general. They never argued over such interesting subjects as slum landlordism, or whether the Salvation Army should accept money from the manufacture of ammunition.MORAL INSTRUCTIONS
Abbe D'Aubignac insists that the play should teach through maxims:
"First, these general maxims must be so fastened to the subject, and linked by many circumstances .with the persons acting, that the actor may seem to think more of that concern of his he is about, than of saying fine things, -- for by this means the poet avoids the suspicion of aiming to instruct pedantically, since his actors do not leave their business which they are about* For example, I would not have an actor spend many words to prove that Virtue is always persecuted; but he may say to the party concerned:- ,
"'Do you think to have better measure than virtue has always had, and can you expect to be privileged from persecution more than So crates or Cato?'"1
He would secondly have figurative speech, interrogation,irony, or other means used to get across the virtuous idea.Irony would be better than preaching when advising a ,young
lClarbq,pp. 135-135
106 k
woman to obey her parents."As thus:"'That's a fine way indeed, for a virtuous young
lady to attain the reputation of a good daughter, to be carried away by her own passions,and neglect not only the censure of the best sort of people, but break through the fences of duty and honor'.1 ....
"My third observation is, that when any of these great maxims are to be propoaed bluntly and in plain words, it be done in as few words as may be. ....
"One may likewise successfully enough burlesque all these common truths, but that can be performed nowhere but in comedy, where by that means they forsake their natural state, and are disguised under a new appearance, whidh causes both variety and ornament."1Corneille says on this subject:"The first sort of play is that which contains maxima and moral instructions, scattered throughout."2
These should be used sparingly and given in "small doses,especially when they are put into the mouth of an impassionedcharacter."2 They should be specific. One should say:
"’Love gives you great cause for uneasiness,' (rather) than 'Love gives those who are in its power great cause for uneasiness.’"2'• "The second use of dramatic poetry is in the simple description of the vices and virtues, which never misses its effect if well conceived, and if the marks of it are so clear that one cannot confuse the two nor take vice for virtue."3The third use of the theater is to show us virtue rewarded
and evil punished. The fourth use is the purgation of passions.Shaw gets across his instruction simply enough. He has
his characters sit and talk about the problems which to him are paramount in our daily life of today. They argue about
r Jciarkf, pp, 135-136 ’ 2Ibid, p. 140 3Ibid, 141
107.
them, and they are so clever, and they bring up so many new sides to the problem that we are glad to listen - that is, most of us are. When the play is over, our heads are throbbing with new ideas and whether we1 are settled in our minds as to what the solution of the problem should be or not, we at least are thinking about it.
108
Chapter V THE PLATS
V/e are now prepared to see how Shaw deliberately presents comedies which do not observe traditions in characters, plot, or purpose although in some lesser things they do agree with tradition.
Ideals and idealism are the things he sends his daggers against. I have spoken before of idealism. To most of us ideals are will-o-the-wlsps of perfection which hover ever before our eyes and beckon us to higher places. They are visionary goals towards which we strive but seldom reach . The dictionary defines ideal as "a mental conception......regarded as the standard of perfection.” We look around and see the real and yet with our mind's eye we see the ideal, and we try to go from the real to the ideal. To Shaw the idealist does not see the real. He is a visionary who looks at things as they should be rather than as they are• The ideals have covered the real in the idealist's mind; to Shaw most of the real is evil and the ideals lauded by the idealist serve only to shield the evil. In a sense the realists like Shaw are idealists themselves in thinking and hoping that someday we can tear down ideals. Their ideal is to see
109/
a day when there will he no Idealists covering up the evils of society In a romantic glow. Let as keep In mind then that It Is this illusory sort of Idealism at which Shaw Is forging his sledge-hammer blows.’’ARMS AND THE MAlf
We are not surprised to find as we turn to "Arms and the Man” that the Man In Arms or the Soldier is not a romantic hero with the glories of the chlvalrlo ideals heaped upon his back, but a very ordinary person with an extra ounce of common sense• The brave soldier of the play, the romantic hero, is shown to be a fool. It is only because he knows nothing about war that he is not afraid of it.The professional Swiss soldier who is being chased by Bulgarians enters the bedroom of a lady, who can only admire the ideal soldier. The Swiss is far from the ideal. He is timid and startled by every noise. As he says in answer to her boast that she is as brave as he,-
"I should think so. You haven't been under fire for three days as I have. I can stand two days without shewing it much; but no man can stand three days: I’m as nervous as a mouse• (He sits down on the ottoman and takes his head in his hands.) Would you like to see me cry?”1He carries chocolate creams, with him instead of ammu
nition and he is so dead for sleep he cannot keep awake even when the lady is talking to him. He. knows enough to turn
1Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant Vol II, p/ 16
110
and run Instead of fighting when the odds are against him. Here we see that war is truly no fun; it is not an heroic romantic business but real work and one of the evils of civilization which we should avoid. The chocolate cream soldier is highly amusing throughout. Through comedy Shaw tears off the rosecolored glasses from our mind’s eye and presents us with a corrective pair so we may soe without Illusions, war as it really is. And he tells us that theliberal critics aoouse him of denying the existence of. •courage and patriotism.
The Swiss Servian soldier turns out to be the practical man, the man who oan help the idealist soldier out of difficulties, and incidentally he wins the lady. But the surprising bit comes when we learn that our real, practical common-sense soldier’s chances in life have been mined by an incurably romantic disposition. He wouldn't have climbed to the lady's bed chamber, but would rather have ducked into the nearest cellar had he. been other than romantic. Shaw sugar coats the pill so well that we cry for more. The play is delightful; it is charming' According to Luoretius this is the most reasonable way to present the medicine:-
"Next since, concerning theme# #° dark, I frame Song so pellucid, touching all throughout Even with the Muses' charm - which, as 'twould seem.Is not without a reasonable ground:
Ill
But aa physicians, when they seek to give Young boys the nauseous wormwood, first do touch The brim around the oup with the sweet juice
, And yellow of the honey, in order that The thoughtless age of boyhood be cajoled As far as the lips, and meanwhile swallow down The wormwood's bitter draught, and, though befooled.Be yet not merely duped, but rather thus Grow strong again with recreated health;So now I too fsince this my doctrine seems In general somewhat woeful unto those V/ho've had it not in hand, and since the crowd Starts back from it in horror) have desired To expound our doctrine unto thee in song Soft-speaking and Pierian, and, as 1twere.To touch it with sweet honey of the muse,”1Ibsen cannot explain "why the building of churches
and happy homes is not the ultimate destiny of Man, nor whyat the bidding of the younger generations, he GnazO mistmount beyond it to heights that now seem unspeakably giddyand dreadful to him, and from which the first climbers mustfall and dash themselves to pieces," says Shaw, But "hecan. shew it to. CusJ as a vision in the magic glass of hisart work; so that (y/eD may catch his presentiment and makewhat (we] can of it."* 2"CAimiDi' ■ -•
In "Candida" Shaw presents the "higher, but vaguer, timlder vision, and the incoherent, mischievous, and even ridiculous, unpraotloalness,"3 in the form of the poet and pits this against the clear, bold, sure, sensible, benevolent, salutarily shortsighted Christian Socialist idealism as found in Candida's husband, Bev. Morell• Marohbanks, the
^Lucretius, Of the Mature of Things, pv 36-362Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. Vol II .Preface
p. VIII3Ibid, Prbfaqe, p.IX
112
poet, tells Morell that David's wife thirsted for lovewhile he was daneing "before the people and despised himin her heart. Jest "before the climax of the play, Morellsays in the soene between Morell, Candida, and Marohhanke,-
"Morell (taking the cue with a debater's adroitness).Dancing before all the people, Candida; and thinking he was moving their hearts by his mission when they were only suffering from — Prosoy's complaint. (She isabout to protest: he raises his hand to silence Her,explaining) Don't try to look indignant^ Candida:
"Prossy's complaint" is her love for Morell. He seems torealize here that all he does is "dance before the people."Candida must decide between her husband and the poet sinoethey both love her and her husband fears she doesn't lovehim* They both make her their offers. Morell speaks withproud humility:-
"I have nothing to offer you but my strength for your defence, ray honesty of purpose for your surety, my ability and industry for your livelihood, and my authority and position for your dignity. That is all it becomes a man to offer a woman.
"Candida (quite quietly). And you, Eugene? Yihat do you offer?
"Marohbanks. My weakness'.* my desolation', my heart's need!
"Candida (Impressed). That's a good bid, Eugene.How 1 know how to make my choice.
"She pauses and looks curiously from one to the other, as if weighing thenu Morell, whose lofty eon- fldenoeHE'aB changed into heartbreaking dread at Eugene 'a bid, loses all power o f concealing his anxiety. Eugene, 8trung~To~the hlghestTenslon, does not move a muscle.
Morell (in a suffocated voice - the appeaT bursting from the depths of his anguish). Candidal"Marohbanks (aside, in a flash~~of contempt). Coward 1"Candida (slgnlflcantlyT. 1 give myself to the weaker
Ishaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. Vol II P, 164
113
1 H:of the two. •"Su one divinea her meaning at onoe: hia facewhitens lllce steel in a furnace that cannot melt it."Morel! (hov/lng his head wlih the calm of collapse) .I accept your sentence, Candida."Candida. Do you understand, Eugene?
"UarohWnfcs. Oh, 1 feel I'm lost. He cannot hear the /burden."Morell (Incredulously; raising his head with prosaic abruptness). Do you mean me, Candida?
"Candida (smiling a little) L e t us sit and talk comfortably like three friends.
She sits and continues:-"You remember what you told me about yourself,
Eugene; how nobody has oared for you since your old nurse died; how those clever, fashionable slaters and successful brothers of yours were your mother's and father's pets; how miserable you were at Eton; how your father Is trying to starve you into returning to Oxford; how you have had to live without comfort or welcome or refuge, always lonely, and nearly always disliked and misunderstood, poor boy."Marohbanka (faithful to the nobility of his lot).I had ray books. 1 had Harare. And at lasT i met you.
"Candida. IIever mind that just at present. Mow I want you to look at this other boy here -• my boy - spoiled from his cradle. We go onoe a fortnight to see his parents. You should come with us, Eugene, and see the pictures of the hero of that household. James as a babyl the most wonderful of all babies. James holding his first school prize, won at the ripe age of eight! James as the captain of his eleven! James in his first f*ook oo&t1 James under all sorts of glorious oiroom- stanoesl You know how strong he is (I hope he didn't hurt you) - how clever he is - how happy! (With deepening gravity). Ask James's mother and his three sisters what it cost to save James the trouble of doizg anything but be strong and clever and happy. Ask me what it costs to bo James's mother and three slstefs and wife and mother to his children all in one. Ask Prosay and Maria how troublesome the house is even when we have no visitors to help us to slice the onions. Ask the tradesmen who want to worry James and spoil hie beautiful sermons who it is that puts them off. When there is money to give, he gives it; when there is money to refuse . 1 refuse it. I build a castle of comfort and indulgence and love for him, and stand sentinel al-
^Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. Vol II P. 166 2lbid, p;.‘ 157-168 [See foot-note next page)
waya to keep little vulgar cares out* I make him master here, though he does not know it, and could not tell you a moment ago how it came'to be so. (With sweet irony). And when he thought I might go away with you, his only anxiety was what should become of met And to tempt me to stay he offered me (leaning forward to stroke his hair caressingly at each phrase) his strength for,"my defence, his industry for my live-* lihood, his position for ray dignity, his - (Relenting)Ah, I am mixing up your beautiful sentences and spoiling them, am I not, darling? (She lays her cheek fondly against his.)And we see why it is the Christian Socialist idealism
which Candida decides la the weaker. The wormwood tastes a bit more in this than in "Arms and the Han” and yet it is a pleasant play. Shaw says, "When a comedy of mind is performed, it is nothing to me that the spectators laugh — I want to see how many of them, laughing or grave, have tears in their eyes.”2 And further,
.”1 have always oast my plays in the ordinary practical oomedy form in use at all the theatres; and far from taking an unsympathetic view of the popular demand for fun, for fashionable dresses, for a pretty scene or two, a little music, and even for a great ordering of drinks by people with an expensive air from an if-possible-oomlo waiter, I was more than willing to shew that the drama can humanise these things as easily as they, in undramatic hands, can dehumanizethe drama.”3
"you never CAN TELL” v : ,In "You IIever Qan Tell” he has given us the ‘ if-posslble-
oomlo1 waiter. In reading the play one wonders if after all the waiter is not the main character. The play effervesce with guyety, sparkles with wit, and leaves us with a olean-
|lbid, pi 157-158^Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. Preface p. XV (Vol.I-*-)
4.15
sing pleasant laughter In on* throats. Dolly and Phillip Invite Valentine, the dentist, to dinner. Valentine’s landlord is Invited also without their mother meeting him first.A situation is indeed oreated when, just before lunah, we discover that the landlord is the father of Phillip and Dolly and their older sister, Gloria. Beoau.se of his wife's cold heart he took to drink and finally was forced by his wife to leave home when the children.were young. Hie wife has been
, : ■; ; j ' . . . ' *'■ ... - - ; ; ;supporting the children by publishing her "Twentieth Century Treatises"'in cooking, creeds, clothing, conduct, children,and parents. She is surely the idealist who in real life isV f : ■- ; ■■■■■ V / ,■ ' . ■ • ■ . .oruel, but writes books on right living. V/hen luncheon isserved with so uncongenial a group, there cannot but be friction. The landlord is irritable, stubborn, and soured on the world. His wife is coldly polite. The younger children side with their mother and make unintentionally rude wise oraoks to the solicitor who is friend of both parents. Valen tine is so in love with Gloria that he can hardly eat. Throughout the meal quarrels arise, but as each gets to its peak, the waiter steps in and with his gentle voice lulls their tempers. The waiter smoothes over many difficulties throughout the play. Hi? voice is always soothing. The following gives a little picture of him.
"Walter (philosophically). Well, sir, you never
116
oan tell. That's a principle in life with me, sir, if you'll excuse ray having such a thing, sir. (Delicately sinking the philosopher in the waiter for a moment.) Perhaps you haven't noticed that you hatin'¥ touched that seltzer and Irish, sir, when the party broke up. (He takes the tumbler from the luncheon table. and sets it before Brampton). Yes, sir, you never oan tell.TEere was ray son, sir’ Who ever thought that he would rise to wear a silk gown, sir? And yet today, sir, nothing less than fifty guineas, sir. What a lesson, sir l -
"Crampton. Well, I hope he is grateful to you, anti recognizes what he owes you,
"Walter. We get on together very well, very well indeed! oir, considering the difference in our stations.
’ (With another of his irresistible transitions). A small lump of sugar, sir, will take the flatness out of the
; seltzer without noticeably sweetening the drink, sir. Allow me, sir. (He drops a lump of sugar Into the tumbler) . But as I say to him, where's the difference after all? If I must put on a dress coat to show what I am, sir, he must put on a wig and gown to show what he is. If my income is mostly tips, and there's a pretence that I don't get them, why, his income is mostly fees, sir; and I understand there's a pretence that he don't get theml If he likes society, and his profession brings him into contact with all ranks, so does mine, too, sir. If it's a little against a barrister to have a waiter for his father, sir, it's a little against a waiter to have a barrister for a son; many people consider. it a groat liberty, sir, I assure you, sir. Can I get you anything else, sir?
"Crampton, lo. thank you. (With bitter humility).I suppose there's no objection to my sitting here for a while; I can't disturb the party on the beach here.
"Walter (with emotion). Very kind of you, sir, to put it as if it was not a compliment and an honour to us, Mr. Crampton, very kind Indeed. The more you are at home here, sir, the better for us.
"Crampton (In poignant irony). Homo!"V/aiter (reflectively). Well, yes, sir; that's a
way of looking at it, too, sir. I have .always said that the great advantage of a hotel is that it's a refuge from home life, sir.
"Crampton. I missed that advantage today, I think. "v/altorT"’ You did, sir, you did. Dear mel It's
the unexpected that always happens, Isn't it? (Shaking hia head). You never oan tell, sir; you never oan tell. (He goes into the hotel)."1
3-Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. ppv 378-379 (Vol.II)
116
can tell. That's a principle In life with me, sir, if you'll excuse my having such a thing, sir. {Delicately sinking the philosopher in the waiter for a moment'.) Perhaps you haven't noticed that you hadn't touched that seltzer and Irish, sir, when the party broke up. <(He takes the tumbler from the luncheon table, and sets it before 'fframpton). Yes, sir, you never can tell•Were was my son, sir! Who ever thought that he would rise to wear a silk gown, sir? And yet today, sir, nothing less than fifty guineas, sir. What a lesson, sir l .
"Crampton. Well, I hope he is grateful to you, and recognizes what he owes you,
"Waiter. Wo get on together very well, very well in- deed, sir, considering the difference in our stations.(With another of his irresistible transitions). A small lump of sugar, sir, will take the flatness out of the seltzer without noticeably sweetening the drink, sir. Allow me, sir. (He drops a lump of suprar Into the tumbler) . But as I say to him, where' a the' ’difference after all? If I must put on a dress coat to show what I am, sir, he must put on a wig and gown to show what he is. If my income is mostly tips, and there’s a pretence that I don't get them, why, his income is mostly fees, sir; and I understand there's a pretence that he don't get theml If he likes society, and his profession brings him into contact with all ranks, so does mine, too, sir. If it's a little against a barrister to have a waiter for his father, sir, it's a little against a waiter to have a barrister for a son; many people consider it a groat liberty, sir, I assure you, sir. Can I get you anything else, sir?
"Crampton. Bo. thank you. (With bitter humility).I suppose there's no objection to my sitting here for a while; I can't disturb the party on the beach here.
"Walter (with emotion). Very kind of you, sir, to put it as if it was not a compliment and an honour to us, Mr. Crampton, very kind indeed. The more you are at home here, sir, the better for us,
"Crampton (in poignant irony). Homel "Walter treflectively). Well. yes, sir; that's a
way of looking at it, too, sir. I have always said that the great advantage of a hotel is that it's a refuge from home life, sir.
"Crampton. I missed that advantage today, I think, " W a l t e r You did, sir, you did. Dear mel It's
the unexpected that always happens, isn't it? (Shaking his head). . You never can tell, sir; you never can tell. TBe goes into the hotel)."3-
3-Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant. p% 378-379 (Vol.II)
117
Before the play is over the landlord father says he will go into court for the custody of his children• When he separated from his wife, he decidedly got the worst of the bargain because he wished to cover it up and not bring it before the public's eye on account of his mother and sisters. This makes us wonder if his idealism in protecting the family, having wronged him, isn't after all a poor idealism. The father finally realizes that his children will be grown up shortly; Gloria consents to marry Valentine; there is a family reconciliation; and everyone goes dancing off to the masquerade party whloh is being held in the hotel. Valentine, who has boasted to be the Duellist of Sex, is left alone with the waiter, having unsuooessfully tried to get a danoe with one of the ladles.
"Valentine (collapsing on the ottoman and staring at the waiter). I mightas well bo a married man al- ready. (.The waiter contemplates the captured Duellist of Sex with a?feotionate oommlseratTon." shaETnr His" head slowly)".'Shaw says:-
"The theatre is growing in importance as a social organ. Bad theatres are as mischievous as bad schools or bad churches; for modern civilization is rapidly multiplying the numbers to whom the theatre is both school and ohuroh. — In the face of snob conditions there oan be no question that the commercial limits should be over-stepped and that the highest prestige, with a personal position of reasonable security and oomfort, should be attainable in theatrical management by keeping the public in constant touch with the high-
^Ibid, p, 340 (Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant,Vo 1.13)
118
681 achievements of dramatic art."1 . .The throe plays of his already referred to are some
of the highest achievements of comic dramatic art.To make Idealism a little clearer let us quote from
Shaw1s "Quintessence of ibsenism." Primitive man was timid; as he grew older, he grew bolder.
"Per in his infancy of helplessness and terror he could not face the inexorable; and facts being of all things the most Inexorable, he masked all the threatening ones as fast as he discovered them; so that now every mask requires a hero to tear it off. The king of terrors, Death, was the Arch-Inexorable: Man couldnot.bear the dread of that» He must persuade himself that Death can be propitiated, circumvented, abolished. How ho fixed the mask of personal Immortality on the face of Death for this purpose we all know."*But personal immortality does not represent all the ways
in which he avoided this horror. Lucretius does it in a verydifferent way by considering that we do not exist at all afterdeath except in diffused atoms, and these have no feeling orremembrance. Man built up masks for other terrible realities.
"The masks were his ideals, as he called them; and what, he would ask, would life be without Ideals? Thus he became an idealist, and remained so until he dared to begin pulling the masks off and looking the spectres in the face - dared, that is, to be more and more a realist. But all men are not equally brave; and the greatest terror prevailed whenever some realist bolder than the rest laid hands on a mask which they did not yet dare to do without.
The brutalities of the sexual instinct wore disguised by novels and romances.
Today there is a much larger proportion of idealists than
^Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant, Preface . p. XII (Vol. I I) fShaw.Quintessence of Ibsenism. P. 20 3Ibid, F T T f i S --------- ;--- *
•119
real1sta#. "The realist at last loses patience with ideals al
together, and.sees in them only something to murder self in us, something whereby. Instead of resisting death, we can disarm it by committing suicide. The idealist, who has taken refuge with the ideals because he hates himself and is ashamed of himself, thinks that all this is so much the better. The realist, who has come to have a deep respect for himself and faith in the validity of hie own will, thinks it so much the worse. To the one, human nature, naturally corrupt, is helf back from ruinous excesses only by self-denying conformity to the Ideals. To the other-these ideals are only swaddling clothes which man has outgrown, and which insufferably impede his movements. lio wonder the two cannot agree. The idealist says, "Realism means egotism; and egotism means depravity." The realist declares that when a man abnegates the will to live and be free in a world of the living and free, seeking only to conform to Ideals for the sake of being, not himself, but 'a good man, ’ then he is morally dead and. rotten, and must be left unheeded to abide his resurrection, if that by good luck arrive before his bodily death."*
"SAINT JOAN"In turning to "Saint Joan" we find one of Shaw's most
outstanding plays. He calls it a tragedy. Saint Joan is made human for us and yet prominent in her power to sway thelives of men. Her purity is unquestioned. Her character isclear cut and rigorous. V/e cannot help loving her and sympathizing with her. V/ith all we get a picture of the Middle Age feudalism and church dominance which corresponds to what history of philosophy and history of politics tell us of the period. Shaw presents us with the struggle of the church to maintain its power against the influx of protestant ideas and feudal lords to maintain their power against kings. It was
Shaw, Quintessence of Ibsenlsm, P. 51-52
lag
a real struggle in Joan's time - the time when the Renaissancewas beginning to oome in. Shaw makes it real in his play.. . ... • ' . ; '
The Inquisition was carried on by right minded men, - Christians, - out of necessity. It was the last struggle of the church to maintain its supreme authority. The righteous men persecuted heretics because they had a righteous reason. They had to prevent the downfall of the church which would mean also the downfall of the state and civilization, they thought. Shaw gives us a oleareyed view of what happened. Things are real and not covered with sentimental romanticism in the play.
Moan of Arc, a village girl from the Vosges, was born about 1412; burnt for heresy, witchcraft, and sorcery in 1431; rehabilitated after a fashion in 1456; designated Venerable In 1904; declared Blessed in 1908; and finally canonized in 1920. She is the most notable Warrior Saint in the Christian calendar, and the queerest fish among the eccentric worthies of the Middle Ages. Though a professed and most pious Catholic, and the projector of a Crusade against the Husites, she was in fact one of.the first Protestant martyrs. She was also one of the first apostles of nationalism, and the first French practitioner of Napoleonic realism in warfare as distinguished fgom the sporting ranson-gambllng chivalry of her time. CBhe was the pioneer of rational dressing for women,.and, like Queen Christina of Sweden two-centuries later, to say nothing of the Chevalier D*Eon and innumerable obscure heroines who have disguised themselves as men to serve as soldiers and sailors, she refused to accept the specific woman's lot, and dressed and fought and lived as men did."!^Joan was decidedly unwomanly and to be unwomanly is not
to be ideal. Shaw tells of an editor in 1890 who was confronted with the dilemma, after reading the diary of Marie Bashkirtseff, that either she was not a woman or his ideals
Ishaw, Saint Joan. Preface p, V
121
atout a woman were false to nature. He actually ohose the former; He made any number of grossly Incorrect statements about her because, not being in some things like his ideal woman, she could not bo like his ideal woman in anything.Yet he found her delightfully fascinating. She was not a self-sacrificing woman, and self-saorlfloe is the most outstanding of womanly traits. How Joan is not a womanly woman at all.. But Andrew Lang and Mark Twain would make her so. They make her beautiful and ladylike with a capacity for leadership. Anatole France makes her Ideals come only from clerical promptings. Before these men Shakespeare. In "Henry VI" pictured a beautiful and romantic figure who becomes a sorceress and a harlot before the play is over..
When Shaw takes up the parable, we find a Joan who is "an ablebodied country girl of seventeen or eighteen respectably dressed in red, with an uncommon face; eyes very^wide apart and bulging as they often do in very imaginative people, a Idng well-shaped nose with wide nostrils, a short upper lip,.resolute but full-lipped mouth, and handsome fighting ohln,"l •
She has pretensions beyond those of the proudest Pop® or the haughtiest emperor. She. talks directly to God through her guardian saints without the aid of the church and yet she recognized its place in life. This was the thing that finally
^Ibid, P. 6 (Shaw, Saint Joan)
122
killed her - the fact that she did not find the church ah- / solutely necessary to. her own salvation, Rer salvation camp through her own individual will, her own faith and power toj commune with God, and this the church could not stand. '
Shaw in his preface compares her to Socrates. Socrates went around showing people hov/ ignorant they were but he did not fight and even as he showed others their Ignorance, he was humble. So he lasted until he was an old man. Joan, .on the other hand, was arrogant without meaning to be and she showed people they were wrong without the gentleness of Socrates. She fought, and she was dangerous. So she was burned.
Joan was unwomanly, too. In her desire to dress like a man. "This was not only because she did a man's, work, but because it was morally necessary that sex should be left out of the question as between her and her comrades-in-arms•She wanted to lead a man's life. She had a erase for soldiering, - but, as Shaw points out, there are many women in petticoats through history and today who manage their own affairs and other people's, in other words, who want to, and do lead a man's life.
Joan was not good looking, but she had a magnetic power. Her voices and visions are explained easily by Shaw as merely her own practical advice coming to her so loudly, because of her imagination and her early training, that she believed she
3-Shaw, Saint Joan, Preface p; XIX .
123
actually heard voices# This Is proved at her trial. Shehad every reason to believe she would be saved; so her voices told her she would be. . When she found they had failed her, she Immediately threw them over; but rather than go to prison for, life she decided to be burned, and again accepted her voices. As long as her voices were practical, she believed in them.... _ . •
She was young, and had not learned to handle people withgloves# For this reason and because of her strong belief in her voices and her own ability, she was either worshipped or despised by the people around her. .
’’She was tried not as a traitress, but as a heretic, blasphemer, sorceress, and idolater."^ At her trial she did not know of what they wore accusing her . / She was quite unconscious of her pretentions. She knew she was right in what she wanted to do and overran kings and archbishops in doing it. This was all Well and good as long as she could carry the king, people and soldiers With her. ’’From the moment when she failed to stimulate Charles to follow up his coronation with a swoop on Paris she was lost. The fact that she insisted on this whilst the king and the rest timidly and foolishly thought they could square the Duke of Burgundy, and
x effect a combination with him against the English, made her a terrifying nuisance to them, and from that time onward eh®
llbid, Preface,?# I%VII (Shaw, Saint Joan)r
124
could do nothing hut prowl about the battle fields waiting for some luolsy ohanoe to sweep the captains into a big move. But it was to the enemy that the chance came: she was takenprisoner by the Burgundians fighting before Compiegne and at once discovered that she had not a friend in the political world.”
While Shaw calls his play a tragedy, in places it hasthe light touch of oomedy• In the second scene, for instance,when Charles hides to see if Joan will know him as king eventhough he isn't on the throne, there is certainly not theweighty movement of tragedy. Bluebeard takes Charles' plaee.
* ’’Joan. Coora, Bluebeardl Thou oanst not fool me. Where be Dauphin?
"A roar of laughter breaks out as Glllee. with a gesture of surrender. joins in the~Taugh, and" jumpiT down from the dais beside~Ta‘~l?remouillo. Joan; also on the broad grin, turns back, searching along the row of oourtiers, and presently makes a dive, and drags out TJEarlea by the arm.
''Jban’■ (releasing him and bobbing him a little curtsey) Gentle little Dauphin, I am sent to you to drive the English away from Orleans and from France, and to crown you king in the cathedral at Bhelms, where all true kings of France are crowned.
"Charles (triumphant. to the Court)• You see, all of you; she knew the blood.royal. Who dare say now that I am not ray father’s son?”"'
She persuades Charles to be crowned although he is a timid soul and he gives her the command of the army.
"Charles (rising) I have given the command of the army to l1 he Maid. The Maid is to do as she likes with it. (He descends from the dais).
"General amazement. '17a Hire, delighted, slaps his
^Shaw, Saint Joan, Preface,?. XVII 2Ibid, P: 37
125
steel thlgh-ploee with his gauntlet>"fremoullie (turning threateningly towards Charles)
What Is this? I*”conmand the army.'’Joan (qalokly puts her hand on Charles’s shoulder
as he Instinctively reoolls)i"Charles (with a grotesque effort. culminating in an
extravagant gesture. snaps his fingers in the GhamSer- laln's face)L
’’Joan, thou *rt answered, old Gruff-and-Qrura.(Suddeiily flashing out her sword as she divines that her moment Has come). Who is for God and” His MalAf ' Who Ts~ for Orleans and me?
”La Eire (carried away* drawing also). For God and His Halil To Orleans! .
"Joan, radiant, falls on her knees in thanksgiving Jfcjj. God. TEey all kneel, except the Archbishop, who gives His henediotion wlth_a sign, and ia Tremoullie,wHoT collapses, cursing. xShav/ tells us that it is necessary in a play to have more
unity of time and place than nature has. It Is not to Ve supposed that this means he limits his play to twenty-four hours, however, or to one place, but he is forced'to make the events happen more quickly and in fewer places.
"Therefore the reader must not suppose that Joan really put Robert de Baudricourt in her posket in fifteen minutes, nor that her excommunication, recantation, relapse, and death at the stake were a matter of half an hour or so."* 2
He does not claim verisimilitude for her contemporaries as he presents them. Instead of making Bishop Cauchon and the inquisitor villains in the play as Mark Twain and Andrew Lang do, Shaw makes them a little better and more intelligent than they probably were in real life. He remarks, "I have represented both of them as capable and eloquent exponents of The Church Militant and The Church Litigant, because only by doing
^Shaw, Saint Joan, pp. 45-462Ibid, Preface-?? mil
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80 oan I maintain my drama on the level of high tragedy and cave it from becoming a mere police court s e n s a t i o n . T o Shaw«-
"It in the business of the stage to make its figures more intelligible to themselves than they would be in real life; for by no other means cun they be made intelligible to the audience. And in this case Cauohon and Lemaltre have to make Intelligible not only themselves but the Church and the Inquisition........Butthe play would be unintelligible if I had not endowed them with enough of this consciousness to enable them to explain their attitude to the twentieth century."2The Chaplain, one of the most ruthless accusers of Joan,
is a changed man after her burning,-"The silence is broken by someone frantically howling
and sobbing."V/arv/iok. What in the devil’s name"%he tfhanlain staggers in from the courtyard like a
demented creature. his face streaming with tears, making the piteous sound that■Warwlok has heard. He stumbles to the prisoner’s stool" ind throws himself upon it with heartrending sobs.
Warwick (going to him and patting him on the shoulder) What is it, Master TohnY” Shat is the matter?
"The Chaplain (clutching at his hands) My lord, my lord: or Christ'e sake pray for my wretched guiltysoul."*3The whole play shows the dominance of Joan’s personality
from her first move in enlisting the military squire’s aid to her final death from burning at the stake. We see her against the background of her own age. But Shaw would do more; he would give ue the canonised Joan as well as the incinerated one because he considers the canonisation more important. Twenty-five years after she was burned, the verdict was reversed, but this was only to validate the coronation of Charles VII, It was when she was canonized that tho people really
llbid, Preface,pg.lxxv-lxxvi' (Shaw, Saint Joan) 2Shaw, Saint Joan, Preface.pp. Ixxvi'i-lxxviiiSIbid, P .135
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realized her genius. In the Epilogue L&dvenu, who tried to get Joan to say the things which would, as far as the church was concerned, save her soul and would certainly save her body; Joan; Bishop Cauohon; lunois, who was one of her captains; the soldier who handed her a wooden cross as she was . dying; the Chaplain; the executioner; and the Earl of Warwick , one by one, come into Charles VII's bed chamber in a real vision. They talk generally of old times and of what has happened since Joan's burning. Then a gentleman enters and shows them all visions of the future. Joan's statue is seen in Winchester Cathedral. Then "A vision of the statue befoie Rheims Cathedral a p p e a r s . T h i s gives us a picture of the history of Joan after her death. The epilogue ends with all of the men gone and Charles in bed asleep.
"The last remaining rays of light gather into a white radlanoo descending oh~Toan. The hour continues to strike. ~
"Joan. 0 God that madest this beautiful earth, when will it be ready to receive Thy saints? Bow long, 0 lord, how long?In this play as an unwomanly woman or an indecorous .
character and several characters which do not possess verisimilitude are presented, as the tragedy has a country girl of the common people as principal character, as there are six scenes and an epilogue, as there are ten people on the stage at a time and more than three conversing together,there Is no doubt that Shaw violates traditions.
' - ' * *
%Ibid, P; 159 (Shaw, Sa int Joan)*Shaw, Saint Joan. Pr 165 .
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"AHDROCLES MI) THE LION-tShaw has written a number of plays which concern re
ligion. Jesus to Shaw was neither a coward nor a martyr, but believed quite sincerely that He was the Son of God. Ho matter what we believe as to his divine birth and life, most of us are forced to admit that his principles of right living are the most practical for life today. The majority of people in the world are not interested in religion, but rather in their own welfare. This is a money seeking, family and self- centered world which, according to Shaw, would be remedied by the principles of communism taught by Christ. To go back a bit in history,-
"The primitive idea of justice is partly legalised revenge and partly expiation by sacrifice*
There has always been the idea of punishment for sins, andat last the Imagination came to the rescue.
"Why not Instead of driving ourselves to despair by insisting on a separate atonement by a separate redeemer for every sin, have one great atonement and one
> great redeemer to compound for the sins of the world once for all?"2 -
At the time of Christ's life the Roman world was in an upheaval . It was a time of change. It was not many centuries before the people seized upon Christianity, one of the many minor religions in the early centuries, beoeuse it did have so much of emotional faith value to it — the people were tired of thinking and sought a religion which they could accept on faith — and because it had the element of a God
Ishaw, Androoles and the Lion, P< xxiv (introduction) 2lW, 5refao.;S:-5xf------ V
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made human* who sacrifices himself for our sins. Jesus realized that if you “try to root up the taros you will root up the wheat as w e l l * a n d he did not wish to convert to a new religion so touch as to point a "better way of living life in the old religion. The miracles do not add to nor take from hi8 teachings, for they are entirely separate from them. According to Shaw one day Jesusf disciples said that he was the Son of God and the idea struck him so that he believed itthoroughly thereafter.
“The doctrines in which Jesus is thus confirmed are, roughly, the following:
"1. The kingdom of heaven is within you. You arc the son of God; and God is the son of man. God is a spirit,: to be worshipped in spirit and in truth, and not an elderly gentleman to be bribed and begged from. We are members one of another; so that you cannot injure or help your neighbor without injuring or helping yourself.God Is your father;. you are here to do God's work; and you and your father are one.
”2. Get rid of property by throwing it into the common stock. Dissociate your work entirely from money payments. If you let a child starve you are lotting God starve. Get rid of all anxiety about tomorrow's dinner and clothes, because, you cannot serve two masters; God and Mammon.
"3. Get rid of judges and punishment and revenge.Love your neighbor ae yourself, he being a part of yourself. And love your enemies; they are your
*4. Get rid of your family entanglements. Every mother you meet is as much your mother as the woman who bore you. Every man you meet is as much your brother as the man she bore after you. Don't waste your time at family funerals grieving for your relatives; attend to life, not to death; there are as good fish in the sea as ever oarrie out of it, and better. In the kingdom of heaven, which, as aforesaid, is within you, there is no marriage nor giving in marriage, be cause you cannot devote your life to two divinities;God and the person you are married to.”* 2
^Shaw. Androcles and the Lion. Preface.P. xxxvi2Ibld, ]?re£ao"e" P .~IxviiT
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If these teachings are interpreted correctly, they willlead to a true communism. Jesus teaches "That we should allhe gentlemen and take care of our country because our countiytakes care of us, instead of the commercialised cads we are,doing everything and anything for money, and selling oursouls and bodies by the pound and the inch after wasting halfthe day haggling over the p r i c e . H o found the family tiesbinding and he preached a broader tie of all humanity, but,as Shaw points out, marriage is better than celibacy. Thereis an inconstancy of the sox instinct where on the one sidethere is the creating of life and the propagation of the raceand on the other hand there is the destroying of self if thiscreating instinct is overindulged in. Marriage laws havebeen enacted to meet this emergency. There are some borncelibates like Paul, and even he allows men to be married ifthey think so much on the subject of sex that it interfereswith their living the best life they are capable of. Paul,according to Shew changed Christ’s doctrine to fit his ownlife. He had a terror of sin and a terror of doath. He preached that we come from Adam and that Adam fell becausehe sinned,
"Howbeit, Paul succeeded in stealing the image of Christ crucified for the figure-head of his Salvationist vessel, with its Adam posing as the natural man, its doctrine of original sin, and its damnation avoidable only by faith in the sacrifice of the cross• In fact, no sooner had Jesus knocked over the dragon of superstition- than Paul0boldly set it on its legs again in the name of Jesus."4 * 2
l&haw, Androcles and the lion, pvlxxx2Ibid, p v o
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Paul preached strongly the Hell which Is necessary to make the atonement of sin necessary.
To get hack to Jesus, his doctrine could he ’’assented to hy a Brahman, a Mahometan, a Buddhist or a Jew, without . any question of their conversion to Christianity."^ But he was distinctly anti-clerical.
This discussion is in Shaw’s preface to "Androolee and the Lion" and it is for the purpose of tearing the romantic clothes from Christianity to let us see what v/e are in reality worshiping. The play itself shows the Roman persecutions of the Christians, - as most persecutions really are, - as an attempt to suppress propaganda which seems to threaten the established law and order.
"Therefore my martyrs are the martyrs of all time, and my persecutors the persecutors of all time. My Emperor, who has no sense of tho value of common people's lives, and amuses himself with killing as carelessly as with sparing, is the sort of monster you can make of any silly-clever gentleman hy idolizing him......An&rocles is a humanitarian naturalist, whose views surprise everybody. Lavinla, a clever anti fearless freethinker, shocks the Pauline Perrovlus, who is comparatively stupid and conscience ridden. Spintho, the blackguardly debauchee, is presented as one of the typical Christians of that period on the authority of St. Augustine, who seems to have come to the conclusion at one period of his development.that most Christians were what we call wrong tins."* 2
In Perrovlus we have the- giant who loves to fight trying to control his temper and fighting instincts and keep them within the bonds of Christ’s peace instructions. The following amusing bit shows his strength end also his character. He
ilbid, p. cxxvi(Introduction) (Shaw, Androcles, Etc.)2Ibld, pp. 52-53 , .
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converts people because they are terrorized by him although he doesn’t realize this.
"lavlna (taking his hand) So that is how you con- vert people, i’errovlus.
"Ferrovius. Yes: there has been a blessing on my work in spite of my unworthiness and my baokslidings — all through my wicked, dev ill six temper. This man —
"Androdes (hastily) Don’t slap me on the back, brother. She knows you mean me.
'Terroylus. How I wish I were weak like our brother "here! For then I should perhaps be meek and gentle like him. And yet there seems to be a special providence that makes my trials loss than his. I hear tales of the crowd scoffing and casting stones and reviling the brethren; but when I cone, all this stops; my influence calms the passions of the mob; they listen to me in silence; and infidels are often converted by a straight heart-to-heart talk with me. Every day I feel happier, more confident. Every day lightens the load of the great terror."Lavlnla., The great terror? 7/hat is that?
"Ferroviaa shakes his head and does not answer. He •sits, down'beside"her on her left , and buries His^face in hi stands in gloomy meditation.
"A'ndrocTcsTlfell, you see, sister, he's never cuite sure of himself« Suppose at the last moment in the arena, with the gladiators there to fight him, one of them was to say anything to annoy him, he might forget himself and lay that gladiator out."l
Lator he realises he has two faiths:"Faithl. V/hloh faith? There are two faiths. There
is our faith. And there is the warrior’s faith, the faith in fighting, the faith that sees God in the sword. Row if that faith should overwhelm me?"2Spintho believes that if he is a martyr he will be
saved. Ferrovlus calls Spintho animal names and Androclesshows his nature when he says,
"Don’t call him by the names of the animals. We’ve no right to. I’ve had such friends in dogs. A pet snake is the best of company. I was nursed on goat’s
gShaw, Androcles and the Dion, p. 23
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milk. Is it fair to them to oall the like of him a dog or a snako or a goat?"1
Sprintho rises v/ith a yell of terror viien The Kditor points out the horrible death in store, ana he rushes out hastily to sacrifice to the Homan gods so ho will be saved. A minute later The Keeper of the lions rushes in and says,-
"Here’s a nice business'. Who lot that Christian out of here down to the dens when we were changing the lion into the oago next the arena?
"The Editor, liobody let him. He let himself•"The Zeeper. Well, the lion's ate him.
To Lavinia Sprintho’s cowardice means that a man cannot die "for a story and a dream; he must have something stronger - possibly God.
Here Shaw presents us with a realistic view of Christianity. lie is like one who would say, "Hero are the bare and real facts. How that you see clearly, go and let your reason guide you." He shatters our false Ideals and yet gives us new ideals for which to struggle and ho does it all in a very entertaining way. lio traditional writer would have written so boldly, nor so cleverly. His characters, again, are individuals and his plot is original.
^Ibid, p; 26 (Shaw, Androcles and the Lion)2ibia, p. si ----------------------
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"THE SHMING-UP OF BLANCO P03NBT""Shaw*s religious spirit is simply an illustration of
the spiritual mystery which theologians call * grace,1 the mystery with which The 3hewlng-up of Blanco Posnet specially deals.nlThe spirit is within us and we are in the spirit. The
Life Force is striving by creative evolution (explained later) towards higher goals. In the play mentioned Blanco Posnet, a fairly mean character, is arrested for horse stealing in a disreputable, rowdy community. The punishment is death by hanging. He had stolen from his brother, Elder Daniels, in order to get even with him. (The horse, however, belonged to the Sheriff.) As he was riding away he met a woman who possessed a divine spirit evidently, for she persuaded him to give her the horse so she could get her baby to the doctor in time to save it from dying. As Blanco's case comes before the Sheriff, we have no proof of his stealing, for the horse was not found near him. A woman who h"s always followed the primrose path is the only one who trill testify against him. They are about to hang him on her shady evidence when the lady Blanco helped appears. Her child died after all. When the woman or doubtful reputation- is asked to swear again that Blanco is guilty, she cannot because of the spirit of divinegrace which she sees in the lady's eyes. Blanco is.inspired to give a sermon.
"Blanoo ... Boys: this is a rotten world."Another Boy. Lord have mercy on us, miserable sinners
1 Balmsforth, The Problem Play, p. 96
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"Blanco (Forcibly) No: that's where you're wrong.Don't flatter yourselves that you're miserable sinners.Am I a miserable sinner? No: I'm a fraud and a failure.I started in to be a bad man like the rest of you. You all started in to be bad men or you wouldn't be in this jumped-up, jerked-off, hospital-tumed-out camp that calls itself a town. I took the broad path because I thought I was a man and not a snivelling canting turaing- the-other-cheek apprentice angel serving hia time in a vale of tears. They talked Christianity to us on Sun- . days; but when they really meant business they told us never to take a blow without giving it back, and to get dollars. When they talked the golden rule to me, I just looked at them as if they weren’t there, and spat. But when they told me to try to live my life so that I
\ could always look my fellow man straight in the eye and tell him to go to hell, that fetched me. ....
"Yes; but whats come of it all? Am I a real bad man? a man of game and grit? a man that does what he likes and goes over or through other people to his own gain? or am I a snivelling cry-baby that let a horse his life depended bn be took from him by a woman, and then sat on the grass looking at the rainbow and let himself be took like a hare in a trap by Strapper Kemp: a lad whose backI or any grown man here could break against his knee?I'm a rotterner fraud and failure than the Elder here.And you're all as rotten as me, or you'd have lynched me.
"A Boy. Anything to oblige you, Blanco."Another. We can do it yet if you feel really bad
about ii."Blanco. No: the devil's gone out of you. We're all
frauds* there's none of us real good and none of us real bad."1 .
He ends by shaking hands with Feemie, the woman who sworeagainst him.
As to Shaw’s religion Balmsforth states the following:"Bernard Shaw's religion is based on all that is best
in the great world-religions, East and West, but interpreted and expounded with his peculiar genius,
"First, that the Life-Force, God, the Spirit of Life,1s one. —■—
"Second, that mankind, being born of the Spirit of Life, are children of the Spirit, and therefore are fellow-workers with him, 'members one of another.'
1 Shaw. "Doctor's Dilemma, pp. 459-440
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"Third, that wo oan only * live righteously,» and play the great game towards that Spirit of Life, by identifying ourselves with it. Not by otherlorn, or altruism, or philanthropy, or any other of the fine self-glorifying names with which we olothe our spiritual pride and think we are religious when we are only sentimental and conventionally pious and self-seeking, and trying to escape the obligations of real religion by donations to charitable institutions which will take off our hands the unpleasant and disagreeable work of cleansing and healing the sores and wounds of the body politic, which our own selfishness or thoughtless negligence may have caused. In other words: * Inasmuch as ye did these things— these mean, and low, and base things, or these great and high things— unto one of these My brethren, even these least, ye did them unto Me’— the Spirit which is Life.
"THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE"The same idea found in "The Shewing-up of Blanco Posnet*
when he says that though we try to be bad, we can't be altogether bad, is brought out again in "The Devil's Disciplew*In this play, too, the priest who was really out out to be a soldier is portrayed much like Ferrqviua in "Androoles and the Lion." In addition we have the embittered mother who thinks that by.poisoning her own and others' lives, she is doing her Christian duty because she stays by her husband whom she doesn't love. We have many typical Christians, who are not Christians at all in heart, in the shape.of the relatives.
Act I presents Mrs. Dudgeon and all her relatives as they come to be present aththe reading of Mr. Dudgeon's will. They are all embittered when they find that everything is left to Richard, the Devil's disciple by his own admission and the second son of the family. He immediately assumes charge of 1
1 Balmsforth. The Problem Play, pp. 107-108
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hla unole*a bastard daughter, but he shows a true Christian spirit towards her. Like Blanco he cannot be truly bad. He warns the minister, who is present at the reading of the will, that his life is in danger, for the British soldiers (the play takes place at the time of the American Revolution in America) are liable to seize on anyone and to make a public, example of him by hanging him for treason. '
In the second act, the minister has left a word of warning for Richard. He wishes to see him to tell him the British are near and may make him (Rictiprd) the example. Richard comes to get his message and is invited to tea. The minister is called out to the death-bed of Richard•s mother. While he is gone, the British soldiers arrive and take Richard, thinking, by Richard1s own suggestions, that he is the minister. The minister* s wife is inspired by his heroism and as she misjudged him before, she now flies to the opposite extreme and imagines she is in love with him. When the real minister arrives home and finds what has happened, his fighting blood is aroused and he goes for help.
In the third act his wife tries to rescue Richard thinking her husband has fled to save his own neck and that there is no help there. But Richard will not be rescued. BeforeGeneral Burgoyne she admits she is not Richard* s wife and that he is not the minister. The British must have an example,however, so they will hang him anyway. Richard is openly defiant and frank as he was before his relatives in the earlier
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scene. At the opportune moment, the real minister arrives as a counselor from the revolutionary army under a white flag and Burgoyne, realizing his forces are weak, submits easily to the demand that Richard be set free. The minister’s wife begs Richard not to tell on her to her husband. Richard as the Devil's disciple is merely revolting against the show-case style of religion. He is a realist trying to let us see what real religion looks like without the pretenses in which it is enveloped so often.
■CAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSION"The setting for this play is in Morocco. Here the mis
sionary of the play has made one convert, a gutter rat from London hiding out in this country.
In Lady Cicely we find the most extraordinarily charming lady of any of the plays. She so thoroughly expects everyone to be good and to do as she wishes, that all do it in spite of themselves. She is the typical Robin Hood, arriving just at the right time, saying just the right things to save the critical situation. She wants to take a trip into the interior. Capt'n Brassbound and his out-throats agree to accompany Sir Howard and her. Sir Howard is the uncle of Capt'n Brassbound as it turns out and he has wronged Capt'n Brassbound's mother. The Capt'n is going to hand Sir Howard over to the Arabs to revengs his mother's wrong although he didn't care overmuch for her when she lived, as Lady Cicely points out to him.Lady Cicely dresses one of the men's wound, generally takes
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care of all of them on the trip, and finally, practically rescues the party from the Arab chieftain by saying she will go in place of Sir Howard. She knows she will be perfectly safe because the Arab chieftain has such a kind face. In fact most men, even Capt’n Brassbound*a cut-throats, have "kind faces" to her. At this juncture the Cadi arrives on the scene and sends them all home safely, for he has been threatened by an American warship. The troubles are not over, however, for now Sir Howard wishes to persecute Capt»n Brassbound. Lady Cicely gets around him and saves the Capt’n, She seems to have taken all the power to command and surely all of the destructive purpose in life (to kill Sir Howard) for which he lived out of the Capt’n and he believes he is in love with her. He gets his power back in the last little scene:
"Lady Cicely (shaking her head). I have never been in love with any real person: and I never shall. How couldI manage people if I had that mad little bit of self left in me? That’s my secret.
"Brassbound. Then throw away the last bit of self. Marry me.
"Lady Cioely (vainly struggling to recall her wandering will). Must I?
"Brassbound. There is no must. You can. I ask you to. My fate depends on it,
"Lady Cicely (quite 16st, slowly stretches out her hand to give it to him). I--(Gunfire from the Thanksgiving.His eyeeMdilate. It wakes her from her tranced. What is that?
"Brassbound. It is farewell. Rescue for you, safety, freedom 1 You were made to be something better than the wife of Black Faqulto, (He kneels and takes her hands). You can do no more for me now: I have blundered somehowon the secret of command at last (he kiesesL her hands): thanks for that, and for a man’s power and purpose restored and righted. And farewell, farewell, farewell.
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feeling; farewell, farewell. '"BraesbounA. With my heart's noblest honor and triumph,
farewell. (He turns and flies.). . ILady Jllssly.an escape l"A
How glorious '. how glorious l And what
Certainly Lady Oioely's expecting to find good, her unbounded faith, and her selflessness are examples for any Christian. She is withal a delightful character. She converts Capt'h Brassbourid out of revenge, when the little missionary would not have tried, by her appeal to his better nature. The play also "Glams" the corrupt practices of judges. Sir Howard, who had been a judge, was a bit of a scoundrel, but he was no worse than any other judge.
"PYGMALION8Shaw says, -
"It is so intensely and deliberately didactic, and its subject is asteamed so dry, that I delight in throwing it at the heads of the wiseacres who repeat the parrot cry that art should never be didactic. It goes to prove my contention that art should never be anything else.""Pygmalion* teaches that if clothes make the man, speech
surely may go a long way in making the lady. In England there .is such a conglomeration of speech, from the ookney accent ofthe streets to the polished language of the university, thatit disgusts many good citizens. Partioularly does'it disgustone man, a Mr. Sweet, professor in'Phonetics; In the play a -young man, Higgins, who possesses incidentally many of Sweet'scharacteristics, takes a street flower girl and educates her
1 Shaw, Three Plays for Puritans, pp. 293-294 "™~- —2 Shaw, Androdes and the Lion, p. 113
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speech and dresses her like a lady. He presents her to society and she is a success. This shows that the difference in speech makes all the difference in station. She is a pure, right- minded girl, and, although Higgins never quite realizes it, possesses both a heart and a soul. There is a murmur that it is not fair to tamper with human souls. Higgins took Liza Doolittle from the slums, changed her into a lady* making her want the costly life of a lady, and would have thrown her back after his experiment which started out as a bet, had not Pickering, the man with whom he made the bet and who is equally interested in phonetics, made it possible for her to marry Freddy, a nice young man, and set up a flower shop. Liza really loves Higgins in a way, but she realizes that she could never be happy with him. Higgins is the Pygmalion who brings his girl to life— that is, he lets the poor slum waif realize her possibilities— but, unlike Pygmalion, he does not fall in love with her, or rather, as Shaw puts it, he has so idealized his mother that he is not the marrying kind.
"MAN AND SUPERMAN"There is evolution in the world, but evolution of the
Lamarckian, Shaw thinks, rather than of the Darwinian variety. There must be evolution in the theater as well as in other fields of human endeavor. .
"On the stage (and here I come at last to my own particular function in the matter), Comedy, as a destructive derisory, critical, negative art, kept the theatre open when sublime tragedy perished. From Moliere to Oscar Wilde we had a line of comedic playwrights who, if they had
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nothing fundamentally positive to Bay, were at least in ^revolt against falsehood and imposture, and were not only, as they claimed, •chastening morals by ridicule,• but, in Johnson1s phrase, clearing out minds of oant^ and thereby shewing an uneasiness in the presence of error which is the surest symptom of intellectual vitality."!
While Shaw admires Shakespeare, he does not consider that hissubjects are original.
"Ever since Shakespeare, playwrights have been struggling with the same lack of religion; and many of them were forced to become mere panders and sensation-mongers because, though they had higher, .ambitions, they could find no better subject Jtiattett’? Frojhh0bngr6vet.totSheridan they were so sterile in spite of their wit that they did not achieve between them the output of Moli&re*s single lifetime; and they were all (not without reason) ashamed of their profession, and preferred to be regarded as mere men of ' fashion with a rakish hobby. Goldsmith’s was the only saved soul in that pandemonium."1 2 ;
Goethe has accomplished the necessary creative evolution in thetheater. But few authors have accomplished this. Shaw giveshis part in the matter of evolution and incidentally gives agood survey of his writings in the following:
"In my own activities as a playwright I found this state of things intolerable. The fashionable theater prescribed one serious subject: clandestine adultery: thedullest of all subjects for a serious author, whatever it may be for audiences who read the police intelligence and skip the reviews and leading articles. I tried slumland- lordism, doctrinaire Free Love (pseudo-Ibsenism), prostitution, militarism, marriage, history, current politics, natural Christianity, national and individual character, paradoxes of conventional society, husband-hunting, questions of conscience, professional delusions and im- • postures, all worked into a series of comedies of manners in the classic fashion, which was then very much out of fashion, the mechanical tricks of Parisian ’construction’ being de rlgueur in the theatre. But this, though it occupied me and established me professionally, did not
1 Shaw, Back to Methuselah, Preface, p. xciv2 Ibid, Preface, p. xovi - '
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constitute me an ioonographer of the religion of my % time, and thus fulfil my natural function as an artist."
So Shaw wrote a play on creative evolution and religion tofulfil his "natural function as an artist.■ This he called"Man and Superman," It was followed by "Back to Methuselah,”a play on the same subject of creative evolution.
The story of "Man and Superman" oonoerns a girl, Ann,who pursues her man until she finally captures him. It is man'sbusiness to seek money, woman1e to seek marriage and children.
"The Don Juan play, however, is to deal with sexual attraction, and not with nutrition, and to deal with it in a society in which the serious business of sex is left by men to women, as the serious business of nutrition is left by women to men. That the men, to protect themselves against a too agreeeive prosecution of the women's business, have set up a feeble romantic convention that the initiative in sex business must always come from the man, is true; but the pretence is so shallow that even in the•theatre, that last sanctuary of unreality, it imposes only on the unexperienced. In Shakespear1n plays the woman always takes the initiative. In his problem plays and his popular plays alike the love interest is the interest of seeing the woman hunt the man down. She may do it by blandishment, like Rosalind, or by stratagem, like Mariana; but in every case the relation between the woman and the man is the same: she is the pursuer and contrive? he the pursued anddisposed of."8 -There is, besides sex in the play, this underlying idea
of the improvement of the speoies through conscious thought.In two ways the play reminds us of Nietzche. In its predominantidea that woman* s purpose is to propagate the race and that tofulfill this purpose she will go to any length in capturingthe man she desires as father of her children, it merges closely with the following from Nietzsche: ..... 1 2
1 Shaw, gaok to Methuselah. Preface, n: xcvlli2 Shaw, Man and Superman7“Preface, p. xvl
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"Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always thechild."1
In the idea of the Superman (the Being man mist desire to be, the Being woman must, select her mate carefully to eventually create) Shaw reflects Nietzsche’s:
"I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman, the lightning out of the dark cloud— man."1 2 3Don Juan expresses the former in Shaw’s play:
"Don Juan. Pardon me, Ana: I said nothing about awoman's whole mind. I spoke of her view of Man as a separate sex. It is no more cynical than her view of herself as above all things a Mother. Sexually, Woman is Nature's contrivance for perpetuating its highest achievement. Sexually, Man is Woman’s contrivance for fulfilling Nature's behest in the most economical way.She knows by instinct that far back in the evolutional process she invented him, differentiated him, created him in order to produce something better than the single- sexed process can produce. Whilst he fulfils the purpose for which she made him, he is welcome to his dreams, his follies, his ideals, his heroisms, provided that the keystone of them all is the worship of woman, of motherhood, of the family, of the hearth. But how rash and dangerous it was to invent a separate creature whose sole function was her own impregnation '. For mark what has happened. First, Man has multiplied on her hands until there are as many men as women; so that she has been unable to employ for her purposes more than a fraction of the immense energy she has left at his disposal by saving him the exhausting labor of gestation. This superfluous energy has gone to his brain and to his muscle. He has become too strong to be controlled by her bodily, and too imaginative and mentally—vigorous to be content with mere self-reproduction. He has created civilization without consulting her, taking her domestic labor for granted as the foundation of it."5As the play opens, we find the situation all prepared for
Ann's pursuit. Her father has recently died and left Ramsden
1 Nietzsche, Thus Spake Sarathustra. p. 80 ” '2 Ibid, p. 35 ~ — —3 Shaw, Man and Superman, p. Ill
145.
and Jack Tanner ao his joint guardians. They both try to get out of assuming the guardianship but she cleverly keeps them caught. (She had suggested that Jack be appointed her guardian.) For a moment the conventional audience is scandalized when Violet, Octavius's sister, is discovered to be pregnant although supposedly unmarried. By the end of the act, however, she assures the people of the play that she is married and the people of the audience can sit back safely in their seats. Octavius is the suitor for Ann's hand. Tanner warns him that she will eat him, but he is so in love with her that he wants to be eaten.
In Act II we are introduced to the shrewd mechanic, the new man. He sees at once that it ie Tanner whom Ann is going to marry, not Octavius. An.amusing part comes in Ann's conversation with Jack. He works himself up into a sociological rage and utters a long speech. When he is finished Ann says:
"(Watching him with quiet curiosity) I suppose you will go in seriously for politics some day, Jack.
"Tanner (heavily let down) Eh? What? Wh — ? (Collecting his scattered wits) What has that got to do with what I have been saying?
"Ann. You talk so well."Tanner. Talk'. Talk 1 It means nothing to you but
talk. Well, go back to your mother, and help her to poison Rhode's imagination as she has poisoned yours. It is the tame elephants who enjoy capturing the wild one.
"Ann. I am getting on. Yesterday I was a boa constrictor: to-day I am an elephant.
"Tanner. Yes. So ,pack your trunk and begone. I have no more to say to you."1
At the close of the act Straker, the mechanic chauffeur, enlightens. Tanner by showing him that it is he Ann is going to 1
1 Shaw,Man and Superman, pp. 59-50 ' '
146.
marry, and Tanner Immediately runs away.The next act finds him In the Sierra Nevada. He and
Straker are captured by a group of anarchist, socialist, andother "1st" hobos who talk about politics. He discovers thattheir leader Mendoza has had an unhappy love affair. Mendozaoften dreams of his girl; in fact the Sierra Nevada is a placewhich induces dreaming. We are thus prepared, when Jack goesto sleep, to see his dream before us. He appears as Don Juan;Mendoza, as the devil; Ramsden, as the statue of the fatherwhom Don Juan killed; Ann as the daughter who screamed forhelp. They are all dead and the time, Eternity, and the place,Hell, give them a marvelous opportunity, since they met sohappily, to discuss all their ideas about woman's pursuit ofman, creative evolution, and what Hell and Heaven are andwhich is better. Don Juan tells Ann that Hell is the "home of
1the unreal and the seekers of happiness." A great deal is said about the Life Force. To Shaw this is a mixture of the force which brings man and woman together to create life and creative evolution. To Don Juan it is contemplation.
"Do would I enjoy the contemplation of that which interests me above all things: namely, Life: the forcethat ever strives to attain greater power of contemplating itself."I 2 3To the Devil it is death."The highest form of literature is the tragedy, a play in which everybody is murdered at the end."*
I Shaw. Man and Superman.p. 103,2 Ibid, p. ToS •3 Ibid, p. 108
147.
Then Don Juan answers the Devil:"Pshaw l all this is old. Your weak side, my diabolic
friend, is that you have always been a gull: you take Manat his own valuation. Nothing would flatter him more than your opinion of him. He loves to think of himself as bold and bad. He is neither one nor the other: he isonly a coward. Call him tyrant, murderer, pirate, bully; and he will adore you, and swagger about with the consciousness of having the blood of the old sea kings in his veins. Call him liar and thief; and he will only take an action against you for libel. But call him coward; and he will go mad with rage: he will face death to outface that stinging truth. Man gives every reason for his conduct save one, every excuse for his crimes save one, every plea-for hi^ safety save one; and that one is his cowardice, oYetiall histcivlllzatlon is founded on his cowardice, on his abject tameness, which he calls his respectability. There are limits to what a mule or an ass will stand; but Man will suffer himself to be degraded until his vileness becomes so loathsome to his oppressors, that they themselves are forced to reform it.
"The Devil. Precisely. And these are the creatures in whom you discover what you call a Life Force i
"Don Juan. Yes; for now oomes the most surprising part of the whole business.
"The ntatue. What’s that?"Don Juan. Why, that you can make any of these .
cowards brave by simply putting an idea into his head."Which recalls us to Lanark’s evolution theory that by simplyknowing we need a thing and willing it, we accomplish it.Again Don Juan speaks of it:
"But to Life, the force behind the Man, intellect is a necessity, because without it he blunders into death. Just as Life, after ages of struggle, evolved that wonderful bodily organ the eye, id that the living organism could see where It was going and what was coming to help or threaten it, and thus avoid a thousand dangers that formerly slew it, so it is evolving to-day a mind’s eye that shall see, not the physical world, but the purpose of Life, and thereby enable the individual to work for - that purpose instead of thwarting and baffling it by setting up shortsighted personal aims as at present."8 1 2
1 Shaw, Man and Superman, p. 1092 Ibid, p. l l T
148.
Marriage is a convenience for the Life Force. After more detailed discussion the characters in our dream vanish and the cry of "Automobile* is heard. Another car is captured by the brigands. This time.it is Ann and the rest of the party.Jack sees her and realizes he is caught. Soldiers come to the rescue of the party, but Jack,kindly tells them the brigands are his escort.
As yet only the audience are enlightened as to the Identity of Violet* s husband. In the next aot we find he is Malone, an Irish man educated in America, who is the son of a billionaire furniture manufacturer. Violet gets around her father-in-law and the sub-plot ends happily. . Octavius proposes to Ann, but she refuses, shifting the blame to her mother by saying that her mother insists that she marry Tanner. After a hard struggle Tanner succumbs.
As to his indebtedness for his characters, Shaw gives us the following:
"I should make formal acknowledgment to the authors whom I have pillaged in the following pages if I could recollect them. all. The theft of the brigand-poetaster from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is deliberate; and the metamorphosis of Leporello into Enry Straker, motor engineer and New Man, is an intentional dramatic sketch for the contemporary embryo of Mr. H. G. Wells’s anticipation of the efficient engineering class which will, he hopes, finally sweep the jabberers out of the way of civilization. Mr, Barrie has also, whilst I am correcting my proofs, delighted London with a servant who knows more than, his masters. The conception "of Mendoza Limited I trace back to a certain West Indian colonial secretary, who, at a period when he and I and Mr. Sidney Webb ware sowing our political wild oats as a sort of Fabian Three Musketeers, without any prevision of the surprising respectability of the crop that followed, recommended Webb, the a
149
encyclopedic and inexhaustible, to form himself into a company for the benefit of the shareholders. ... Annwas suggested to me ^y the fifteenth century Dutch morality called 1 Every Man’."
1 Shaw, Man and Superman, Preface, pp. xxvii, xxviii
150.
"BA.CK TO METHUSELAH" '"Back to Methuselah" is, as I .mentioned before, Shaw’s
second work on the subject of creative evolution. I also said before that this is a treatise reather than a play; although it possesses some humour, it lacks the taste of the sweet shop which "Man and Superman" holds. In this Shaw broaches his idea of longevity and although Shaw is noted for his startling ideas, this may reasonably be classed as one of the worst or best of them, whichever way you care to look at it. To Shaw it is theoretically quite possible, following again the Lamarckian theory of evolution, that man can, if he but wants to, live for longer than seventy or one hundred years. He may live three hundred years or even a thousand eventually. Now Darwin claims that, if we use the giraffe for an example, the reason the giraffe has such a long neck is because he ate the leaves from trees and as all the lower leaves were eaten off, he had to eat the higher ones or starve; the shorter giraffes were eliminated by starvation. The neck of the giraffe became longer and longer through the ares because only the long-necked giraffes were left to mate. Lamarck’s theory is that because the giraffe liked the younger and tenderer leaves found higher up, he gradually stretched his neck until he could reach the higher ones. He first wanted the higher leaves and was then beautifully evolved so he could reach them. So with eyes and other parts of our bodies;
151.
they came because of our need of them.rtLamarck, whilst making many Ingenious suggestions
as to the reaction of external causes on life and habit, such as changes of climate, food supply, geological upheavals and so forth, really held as his fundamental proposition, that living organisms changed because they
' T-;anted to.*"All of which Is rank heresy to the Neo-Darwinian,
who Imagines that if you stop Circumstantial Selection, you not only stop development but Inaugurate a rapid
* and disastrous degeneration.*2Mixed In with Shaw*s theory of evolution we have his
metaphysical Ideas on the first cause. He calls to ourminds Daley’s experiment with a watch. We see the watchin all its smoothly running mechanism and we cannot but thinkthat It was made by a skilled worker. We look around us andsee the world in what is to us a smoothly running order,everything in our bodies with its correct place, etc., andwhy shouldn’t we consider there is a maker of us, too. Theonly trouble with this argument (and one which Shaw does notmention) is that we are assuming because everything seems soperfectly adjusted in our minds, the bee to the flower,etc.,that that is the best, smoothest and most possible way theworld can he made. Of course, God would make the world mostperfect as the watch maker makes the watch most perfect, butis the world most perfect? It is only in our minds that it.vseems perfectly adjusted. If we could see another world, perhaps we should consider it the more perfect. How can we assume that because things fit so nicely together in our eyes..................' ......... -.-... '.-.................'..... ' ' . ' ' " -
% h aw. Back to Methuselah. Preface, p. xxiii %bid,p.xxv
152.
they were purposely made to do so? Doesn’t this knock out a hit of Paley’a argument? Shaw says that we make our own selves by wanting something. But here he realizes his difficulty, which he shows by an anecdote. He is talking to a Jesuit priest. ' ,
"The universe exists, said the father; somebody must have made it. If that somebody exists, said I, somebody must have made him. I grant you that for the sake of argument, said the Jesuit. I grant you a maker of God, I grant you a maker of the maker of God. I grant you as long a line of makers as you please; but an infinity of makers is unthinkable and extravagant: it is no harder to believe in number one than in number fifty thousand or fifty million; so why not accept number one and stop there, since no attempt to get behind him will remove your logical difficulty?By your leave, said I, it is as easy for me to believe that the universe made Itself as that a maker of the universe made himself; in fact much easier; for the universe visibly exists and makes itself as it goes along, whereas a maker for it is a hypothesis.”^
The question is, of course, what is the first purpose orcause back of the things we evolve into?
”It was easy enough to say that every man makes his own eyes: indeed the embryologists had actually caught him doing it. But what about the very evident purpose that prompted him to do it? Why did he want to see, if not to extend his consciousness and his knowledge and his power?”* 2Shaw is bitter against Darwin especially in comparing
h 1m to Laimarok: •”Though Lamarck’s way, the way of life* will, aspiration,
and achievement, renained still possible, this newly shewn way (pf Darwin) of hunger, death, stupidity, delusion, chance, and bare survival was also possible: was indeed most certainly the way in which many
?Shaw. Back to Methuselah. Preface, n.xxxix2Ibid, pTxll 1 1
153.
apparently Intelligently designed transformations hadactually come to pass.11*
It is not possible to refute Darwinism absolutely. To Shaw people evolve through the mind, not through heredity. For instance if mice’s tails are cut off through many generations, they will still be born with long tails, but if they are made to believe it will be to their advantage to have short tails, eventually they will have short tails. Nietzsche, one of the Vitalist philosophers, "thinking out the great central truth of the Will to Power instead of cutting off mouse-tails, had no difficulty in concluding that the final objective of this Will was power over self, and that theseekers after power over others and material possessions were
.2on a false scent."The artists are prophets of this new creative evolution.
There is or should be creative evolution in all branches of the affairs of mankind. Romance hinders the church from evolving as much and as rapidly as it should. But in our present play it is the span of life which evolves and only by stretching our imagination back centuries and forward centuries can we have any conception of the play. The play, then, is to show us that by his will, man may achieve longer life, and it is an addition to the modern Bible. In the Begim ing the wise serpent enlightens Adam and Zve as to the
ishaw. Back to Methuselah. Preface. 2ib idlpprrTx-Txi— ----------
p. xlvi
154 .
meaning of death, life, husband, and wife. Eve Is afraid that some day she and Adam will fall as the fawn In the Garden of Eden and die, and she Is anxious to leave something when she dies. So the serpent whispers to her the way of creating life. In the second act of the first part we see Adam and Eve at work. She spins; he digs.They are to live one thousand years, as that was the time ' when they decided to die; - Cain, as a minister of death says:
"You did well: I, too, do not want to live for ever.But if you invented death, why do you blame me, who am a minister of death?"*
After Gain leaves, Adam says:"If they are lazy and have a will tovards death I
cannot help it. I will live my thousand years: if they will not, let them die and be damned.
"Eve. Damned? What is that?"13am. The state of them that love death more than
life. Go on with your spinning; and do not sit there idle while I am straining my muscles for you.
"Eve (slowly taking uo her distaff) If you were not a fool, you would find something better for both of us to live by than this spinning and digging,
"Adam. Go on with your work, I tell you; or you shall go without bread. . :
"Eve. Man need not always live by bread alone. There is something else. We do not yet know what it is; but some day we shall find out; and then we will live on that alone; and-there shall be no more digging nor spinning, nor fighting nor killing. '
"She solns resignedly: he digs impatiently."g• Part II deals with the Gospel of the Barnabas Brothers.
They begin talking of longevity and the . c o u n t r y ^ It. The year is 2170 A, D. in Part III, and..The Thing Happens. ..... . We now find many peculiar ideas presented to us as to the future
%haw. Back to Methuselah. p« 36 %haw, Ibid, pp.37-38
155.
Barnabas, a descendant of the Barnabas brothers apparently. Is the Accountant General of the President. When the Accountant General presses a button the President Is before him. Confucius, a Chinaman, and a negress have important government posts. They develop mentally earlier than the English, There is political satire, but the interest is centered in the Archbishop, who is recognized as the Rev. Bill Haslam, the suitor to Miss Savvy Barnabas in the preceding part. He and the Domestic Minister, who in the preceding part was a parlor maid, are the long-lived ones of the age. They are doomed to live three hundred years, Burge-Lubin, the President, is anxious to see the handsome negress attaohee of the government. He is about to hire an aeroplane and take a parachute Jump near her place, but Confucius says he might get rheumatism for life.
11 Confucius. Good. You have at last become prudent: you are a sensible coward, almost a grown-up man. I congratulate you. '
"Buree-Lubln (reaolutely) Coward or no coward, I will hot face an eternity of rheumatism for any woman-that ever vWas'born.’11 ' : .
He has caught the idea of longevity.Part IV is the Tragedy of an Elderly Gentleman. Here
the long-lived ones have an , island all by themselves. Someshort-livers come to the island. The brilliance of the .
' 'three hundred year old lady’s face is too much for the .
e-hub in. For life’. That settles it: I won’t
*Shaw, Baok to Methuselah, p, 154
156.
short-livers ..hen she lifts her veil. She has lived so long and Is so wise, the short-livers cannot stand looking upon her.
In Part V, rtAs Far As Thought Can Reach,1! In the year 31,920 A. D., we have further development. Now the characters are the He-ancient, and the She-ancient, the Newly Born, the Youth, etc. Children are hatched from eggs. They are full grown when they come to life and they reach maturity in three years. While they are young, they laugh, dance, love, and play. When they become three years old, they begin to think:
*The He-nnclent. We are very tired of this subject.I musT"leave you.
11 The Newly Born. What is being tired?"The She^anolent. The penalty of attending to children.
FarewellT”"The two Ancients <?o away severally, she into the
grove, he uu to the hills behind the temple,hA11. Ouf, _P?esit sifh of re 11 ef 1 ! ."Sorasia. Dreadful people1."Sirephon. Bores’,'’Martellus. Yet one would like to follow them; to
enter into their life; to grasp their thought; to comprehend the universe as they must. .
"Ar.1 lllajc. Getting,old, Martellus?"Martellus. Well, I have finished with the dolls; and
I am no longer Jealous of you. That looks like the end. Two hours sleep is enough for me. I am afraid I am beginning to find you all rather silly.
"Strephon, I know. My girl went off this morning. She hadn’t slept for weeks. And she found mathematics more interesting than me."1As the play ends, we return to Adam and Eve, Lilith, the
mother of creation, tries to solve the riddle of lift: '
*Shaw. Back to Methuselah, p. 294
157.
"TheyGaankind of the futur^ ‘ have accepted the burden of eternal life. They have taken the agony from birth; and their life does not fall them even In the hour of their destruction. Their breasts are without milk: their bowels are gone: the very shapes of them are only ornaments for their children to admire and caress without understanding. Is this enough;, or shall I labor again? Shall I bring forth something that will sweep them away and make an end of them as they have swept away the beast of the garden, and made an end of the crawling things and the flying things and of all them that refuse to live for ever? 1 had patience with them for many ages: they tried me very sorely. They did terrible things: they embraced death, and said that eternal life was a fable,,... The pangs of another birth were already upon me when one man repented and lived three hundred years; and I waited to see what would come of that. And so much came of it that the horrors of that time seem now but an evil dream. They have redeemed themselves from their vileness, and turned away from their sins. Best of all, they are still not satisfied: the impulse I gave them in that day when I sundered myself in twain and launched Man and Wdraan on the earth still urges theme after passing a million goals they press on to the goal of redemption from the flesh, to the vortex freed from matter, to the whirlpool in pure intelligence that, when the world began, was a whirlpool in pure force. And though all that they have done seems but the first hour of the infinite work of creation, yet I will not supersede them until they have forded this last stream that lies between flesh and spirit, and disentangled their life from the matter that has always mocked it.I can wait: waiting and patience mean nothing to the eternal. I gave the woman the greatest of gifts: curiosity. By that her seed has been saved from my wrath; for I also am curious; and I have waited always to see what they will do tomorrow. Let them feed that appetite well for me. I say, let them dread, of all things, stagnation; for the moment I, Lilith, lose hope and faith in them, they are doomed..... I am Lilith:I brought life into the whirlpool of force, and compelled my enemy, Matter, to obey a living soul. But in enslaving Life’s enemy I made Life’s master; for that is the end of all slavery; and now I shall see the. slave set free and the enemy reconciled, the whirlpool become all life and no matter..... And for what may be beyond the eyesight of Lilith is too short. It is enough that there is a beyond. (She vanishes.)"!
haw, Back to Methuselah. pp.299-300
158
"HEARTBREAK HOUSE"In "Heartbreak House" we come back with a vengeance to
attack idealists more carefully. This is one of the plays on social problems. It is about the "cultured, leisure Europe before the war." 1 It lap lies that Europe was lazy as well as cultured and leisured. •
"Heartbreak. House was far too lazy and shallow to extricate itself from this palace of evil enchantment.It rhapsodized about love; but it believed in cruelty.It was afraid of the cruel people; and it saw that cruelty was at least effective. Cruelty did things, that made money, whereas Love did nothing but prove the soundness of Laroohefouoauld*s saying that very few people would fall in love if they had never read about it. Heartbreak House, in short. did hot know how to live, at which point all that was left to it was the boast that at least it knew how to die: a melancholy accomplishment which the outbreak of war presently gave it practically unlimited opportunities of displaying.Thus were the firstborn of Heartbreak House smitten; and the young, the innocent, the hopeful expiated the folly and worthlessness of their elders,"2During the war it was impossible to present so serious
a play as this. The soldiers sought relaxation in theatersand wanted follies and farces rather than problem plays,
"War cannot bear the terrible castigation of comedy, the ruthless light of laughter that glares on the stage. When men are heroically dying for their country, it is not the time to show their lovers and wives and fathers and mothers how they are being sacrificed to the blunders of boobies, the cupidity of capitalists, the ambition of conquerors, the electioneering of demagogues, the Pharisaism of patriots, the lusts and lies and rancors and bloodthirsts that love war because it opens their prison doors, and sets them in the thrones of power and popularity, For unless these things are mercilessly exposed they will hide under the mantle of the ideals
tshaw. Heartbreak House. Eto. Preface, p. lx "Ibid, 1% xix
159.
on the stage just as they do in real life•”3- After the war this play was put forth. It contains
the practical business man which the useless people set up a shriek for.
"By this they meant men who had become rich by placing their personal interests before those of the country, and measuring the success of every activity by the pecuniary profit it brought to them and to those on whom they depended for their supplies of capital. ....They proved not only that they were useless for public work, but that in a well-ordered nation they would never have been allowed to control private enterprise."2The characters in the play are not pleasant. The
captain is one of the most readily like and he is a bit crazy.
A young lady comes to a country home, She has previously fallen in love with the man who is married to the lady she is visiting but until she sees him in the house, she doean11 realize it. When she finds he is married, she is disillusioned. She decides to marry the practical business man against her hostess's advice.There is much flirting when the sister of the hostess
town to make money for her. The young girl at last decides she loves and will marry the old Captain. A burglar who breaks into the house and the practical business man fly
arrives with her lover, - she has left her husband in
<Shaw, Heartbreak House .Preface, p. liv Ibid, p. xxxv
160
to a dynamite pit nearby for protection from an air raid, one of the first of the war, and they are blown to pieces.
There Is an atmosphere of discontent and unhappiness about the play which Is not satisfying to the reader.Shaw tears the mask of Ideals from the face of duty to one's country In the face of war, bigotry, and Idleness. tfTERHJLED"
In this play Shaw presents the subject of polygamy in a farcical fashion. The theoretical libertine usually leads a blameless family life. There are two couples in the play who, having become tired of their respective mates, separate for a long trip. They come together in a hotel drawing room, but Mrs. Juno's husband is now making love to Mrs. Gregory and Mr. Gregory to Mrs'. Juno.The play is cleverly and sensitively written,"MAJOR BARBARA."
Shaw in this play tells us that all our pretty illusions about the honesty and goodness of poverty are bosh,
"In the millionaire Undershaft I have represented a man who has become intellectually and spiritually as well as practically conscious of the irresistible natural truth which we all abhor and repudiate: to wit, that the greatest of evils and the worst of crimes is poverty, and that our first duty — a duty to which every other consideration should be sacrificed —is not to be poor..... It is exceedingly difficultto make people realize that^an evil is an evil."*
All through the preface this lesson is repeated. It iswicked to be poor. In the play when Undershaft talks to
%haw. ohn feull1 s Other Island.Eto..
161
Mr. Shirley, the proud poor man, we have our lesson repeated onoe again:
"Barbara, Then I’m afraid you and Mr, Shirley won’t be able to comfort one another after all. You’re not a Millionaire, are you, Peter?
**3hirlev. no: and proud of it,"Undershaft (gravel^ Poverty, my friend, is not a
, thing io be proud of,"Shirley (angrily) Who mdde your millions for you?
me and my like, What’s kep us poor? Keepin you rich,I wouldn’t have your oonsoienoe, not for all your income,
"TJndershaft. I wouldn’t have your income, not for all your conscience, Mr Shirley,"1
TJndershaft speaks to Cusins on the same subject:"I think, my friend, that if you wish to know, as
the long days go, that to live is happy, you must first acquire money enough for a decent life, and power enough to be your own mater,"* 2With the thought of money as good and no money as evil,
let us turn for a brief review of the play. It opens in the 1 ibrary in Lady TJndershaft’a home in Wilton Crescent, We are introduced to Stephen, the son under his mother’s thunt), Sarah and Barbara with their respective young men Charles Lomax and Adolphus Cusins,
"Sarah is slender, bored, and mundane, Barbara is robuster, Jollier, much more energetic, Sarah is fashionably dressed: Barbara is in Salvation Army ' uniform, Lomax, a young man about town, is like many other young men about town. He is afflicted with a frivolous sense of humor which plunges him at the most inopportune moments into paroxysms of imperfectly suppressed laughter, Cusins is a spectacled student, slight, thin haired, and sweet voiced,; with a more
Jshaw, John Bull’_s Other Island, p, 2272Ibid, ^ 7^33
16?'.
complex form of Lomax’a complaint. His sense of humor is intellectual and subtle,' and is complicated by an appalling temper. The lifelong struggle of a benevolent temperament and a high conscience against impulses of inhuman ridicule and fierce impatience has set up a chronic strain which has visibly wrecked his constitution.He is a most implacable, determined, tenacious, intolerant person who by mere force of character presents himself as --and indeed actually is — considerate, gentle, explanatory, even mild and apologetic, capable possibly of murder, but not of cruelty or coarseness. By the operation of some instinct which is not merciful enough to blind him with the illusions of love, he is obstinately bent on marrying Barbara, Lomax likes Sarah and thinks it will be rather a lark to marry her. Consequently he has not attempted to resist Lady Brltomart* s arrangements to that end,T,x
The people all are met to welcome Undershaft, who is separatedfrom his wife. They have a very interesting discussion, mostof them disagreeing with Undershaft.
In the next act Barbara is actually at her Salvationistwork. She deals with Bill Walker who "having assaulted theSalvation Lass, presently finds himself overwhelmed with anintolerable conviction of sin under the skilled treatment ofBarbara.”^
"Jenny comes to Barbara, purposely keeping on the side next Bill, lest he should suppose that she shrank fromhim or bore malice.
"Barbara, Poor little Jenny*. Are you tired? (Looking at the wounded cheek) Does it hurt? ^
"Jenny, wo: It’ a all right now. It was nothing."Barbara (critically] It was as hard as he could hit,
I expect. Poor Sill’, You don’t feel angry with him, do you?
"Jenny. Oh no, no, no: indeed I don’t Major, blesshis poor heart’. (Barbara kisses her: and she runs away merrily into the shelter. Bill writhes with aiTagonlzing returnof his new and alarming symptoms, but sava nothing.Ta
3haw, John Bull’s Other Island. Etc., Cb id) p! 226
p. 200
163.
’’Straightway he begins to try to unassault the lass and derufflanlze his deed, first by getting punished for it in kind, and, when that relief is denied him, by fining himself a pound to oompensate the girl. He is foiled b o # ways. He finds the Salvation Army as inexorable as fact itself. It will not punish him: it will not take his money. It will not tolerate a redeemed ruffian: it leaves him no means of salvation except ceasing to be a ruffian,”1 y''
’’Major Barbara, not being a modern Tetzel, or the treasurer of a hospital, refuses to sell Bill absolution for a sovereign. Unfortunately, what the Army can afford to refuse in the case of Bill Walker, it cannot refuse in the case of Bodger, Bodger is master of the situation because he holds the purse strings. ’Strive as you will,’ says Bodger, in effect: ’me you cannot do without, . You cannot save Bill Walker without my money.’ And the Army answers, quite rightly under the circumstances, ’We will take money from the devil himself sooner than abandon the work of Salvation,’ So Bodger pays his consoienoe*money and gets the absolution that is refused to Bill. In real life Bill would perhaps never know this. But I, the dramatist, whose business it is to shew the connexion between things that seem apart and unrelated in the haphazard order of events in real life, have contrived to make it known to Bill, with the result that the Salvation Army loses its hold of him at once.’’*Barbarafe father visits the Army headquarters and presents
a check to Mrs, Baines,VUndershaft, (tearing out the cheque and pocketing the
book as he rises and goes past Cuslns to MrsTBa Inesf I also, Mrs. Baines, may claim a little disinterestedness. Think of my business’, think of the widows and orphans’, the men and lade torn to pieces with shrapnel and poisoned with lyddite (Mrs, Ba ines shrinks: but he goes on remorselessly) l tbe oceans of Mood, not one drop of which is shed in a really just caused the ravaged crops’, the peaceful peasants forced,women and men, to till their fields under the fires of opposing armies on pain of starvation’, the bad blood of the fierce little cowards at home who egg on others or fight for the gratification of their national vanity1. All this makes money for me:I am never richer, never busier than when the papers are
jshaw, John Bull’s Other Island. Etc. , p. 1712Ibid, p T I ? T ~ ~
164.
full of It, Well, It Is your work to preach peace on earth and goodwill to men, (Mrs, Baines1 s face lights up again.) Every convert you make is a vote against war, (Her lips move in prayed. Yet I give you this money to help you"’'to haetenTmy own commercial ruin.(He gives her the cheque).
Mrs, Baines thankfully takes the check. She hopes she doesn’t hurt Barbara’s feelings by doing so.
"Some of Qihe oritiosl thought that the Army would not have taken money from a distiller and a cannon founder: others thought it should not have taken 1t: all assumed more or less definitely that it reduced itself to absurdity or hypocrisy by taking it. On the first point the reply of the Army itself was prompt and conclusive. As one of its officers said, they would take money from the devil himself and be only too glad to get it out of his hands and into God’s. They gratefully acknowledged that publicans not only give them money but allow them to collect it in the bar •»* sometimes even when there is a Salvation meeting outside preaching teetotalism. In fact, they questioned the Verisimilitude of the play, not because Mrs, Baines took the money, but because Barbara refused it."2The Salvation Army accepts the check because it can do
good with it, but the fact that tainted money la used forgood purposes is a shook to serious young souls. "Thewhole thing is revolting to Barbara."®
’’Religion, the holiest and most sacred thing in the world, to be bolstered up by the profits of industries which lead directly to misery, organized slaughter, and deathV She will have none of it. And as the officers of the Army prepare to strike up their drums and tambourines and trumpets for the "Glory, Hallelujah," Barbara, in an agony of spiritual despair, cries: "My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" takes off her Army badge and outfit, and there and then renounces a religion which bases its propaganda and its socialwork on profits of misery and slaughter."®.
. . . ' " ; . :
x
ishaw, John Bull’s Other Island. Etc.. p. 247 j bld, 7716!““ ------ — '®Ba 1msforth. The Problem Play, p, 35
165.
However, Barbara visits her father’s plant and finds It all orderly and clean. This sets her to thinking further. Her lover, Cualns, establishes himself as a waif and Is t'’ken Into the business by Under shaft, for Under shaft, who was an orphan himself, had previously remarked that he would not have his own son In business with him, but a brilliant young man with no family connections. It is no wonder that’Barbara feels earthquake shocks to her soul at the outcome of things,
’’Undershaft. Come, come, my daughter*, don’t make too much of your little tinnot tragedy. What do we x do here when we spend years of work and thought and thousands of pounds of solid oash on a new gun or an aerial battleship that turns out just a hairs- breadth wrong after all? Scrap it. Scrap it without wasting another hour or another pouhd on it. Well, you have made for yourself something that you call a morality or a religion or what not. It doesn’t fit the facts. Well, scrap It. Scrap it and get one that does fit. That is what is wrong with the world at present. It scraps its obsolete steam engines and dynamos; but it won’t scrap its old prejudices and its old moralities and its old religions and its old political constitutions. What’s the result?In machinery it does very well; but in morals and religion and politics it is working at a loss that brings, it nearer bankruptcy every year, Don’t persist in that folly. If your old religion broke down yesterday, get a newer and a better one for tomorrow.
"Barbara. Oh how gladly I would take a better.one to my soul1. But you offer me a worse one (Turning on him with sudden vehemence). Justify yourself: shew me some light through the darkness of this dreadful place, with its beautifully clean workshops, and respectable workmen, and model homes,
’’Undershaft. Cleanliness and respectability do not need justification, Barbara: they justify themselves.I see no darkness here, no dreadfulness. In your Salvation shelter I saw poverty, misery, cold, and hunger. You gave them bread and treacle and dreams of heaven. I give from thirty shillings a week to twelve thousand a year. They find their own dreams;
166
but I look after the drainage.!>Barbara. And their souls?wttndershaft. I save their souls just as I saved yours."Barbara .T'r evolted) You saved my soul*. What do you
mean?"Undershaft. I fed you and clothed you and housed
you. I took care that you should have money enough to live hansomely — more than enough; so that you could be wasteful, careless, generous. That saved your soul from the seven deadly sins.
"Barbara (b ewlldered) The seven deadly sins’."Undershaft. Yes, the deadly seven. (Counting on
his fingers)"Pood, clothing, firing, rent, taxes, respectability and children. Nothing can lift those seven millstones from Man’s neck but money; and the spirit cannot soar until the millstones are lifted,I lifted them from your spirit, I enabled Barbara - to become Major Barbara; and I saved her from the crime of poverty. , ,
"Barbara. Do you call poverty a crime?"Undershaft. The worst of crimes. All the other
crimes are virtues beside it: all the other dishonors are chivalry itself by comparison, Poverty blights whole cities; spreads horrible pestilences; strikes dead the very souls of all who come within sight, sound or smell of it. What you call crime is nothing: a murder here and a theft there, a blow now and a curse then: what do they matter? they are only the accidents and illnesses of life: there are not fifty genuine professional criminals in London. But there are millions of poor people, abject people, dirty people, ill fed, ill clothed people. They poison us morally and physically: they kill the happiness of society: they force us to do away with our own liberties and to organize unnatural cruelties for fear they should rise against us and drag us down into their abyss. Only fools fear crime: we all fear poverty. Pah’, (turning on Barbara) you talk of your half-saved ruffian in Wes O f am: you accuse me of dragging his soul back to perdition. Well, bring him to me here; and I will drag his soul back again to salvation for you. Not by words and dreams;but by thirtyeight shillings a week, a sound house in a handsome street, and a permanent job. In three weeks he will have a fancy, waistcoat; in three months a tall hat and a chapel sitting; before the.end of the year he will shake hands with a duchess at A Primrose League meeting, and join the Conservative Party."1
%haw. John Bull’s Other Island. Etc., pp. 279,280,281
16T.
Before the play closes Barbara has built her ooneept of religion anew;
"My father shall never throw It In my teeth again that my converts were bribed with bread, (She Is transfigured). I have got rid of the bribe of bread.1 have got rid of the bribe of heaven. Let God’s work be done for its own sake: the work he had to create us to do because it cannot be done except by living men and women. When I die, let him be In my debt, not I in his; and let me forgive him as becomes a woman of my rank. . ,
"Cueins. Then the way of life lies through the factory of death?
"Barbara. Yes, through the. raising of hell to heaven, arid of man to God, through the unveiling of an eternal light in the Talley of the Shadow. (Seizing him with both hands) Oh. did you think my courage would never come back? did you believe that I was a deserter? that I, who have stood in the streets, and taken my people to my heart, and talked of the holiest and greatest things with them, could ever turn back and chatter foolishly to fashionable people about nothing in a drawingroom? Never, never, never, never; .Major Barbara will die with the colors. OhV . and I have my dear little Dolly boy still; and he has found me my place and my work. Glory Hallelujah1.(She kisses him)In the respect that Shaw not only tears down our idols,
but gives us constructive programs upon which to build anew, he is different from the mere iconoclast like Tolstoy. His work is both destructive and constructive, "destructive in that he shows how utterly ineffective is. a cheap and easy philanthropy for remedying the diseases of civiliza- ,: tion;and on the other hand, how even the Mammon of Unrighteousness may be- turned- to righteous uses by a fertile and intelligent mind."2
ihaw. John Bull's Other island. Etc.. pp. 291-2§2 iaImforth. trie Problem Play, p, 34
168.
Balmforth adds: .’’The reader will see what I mean when I say that
Shaw* unlike ^olstoy, is both destructive and constructive, Even by the aid of the Mammon of Unrighteousness, In the person of Undershaft, his mind is vigilant and alert to point the way to better things. For when Barbara visits her father! s munition works, expecting to see a;group of noisome and pestilential factories surrounded by workmen’s and labourers’ hovels and slum buildings, she finds instead clean, spick-and- span, well- lighted buildings, to which is attached a garden city with all the amenities of civilization - a public library, an art gallery, a concert hall, a theatre, public and private gardens, playgrounds,' baths, clubs, co-operative associations, and all that helps to make life healthy, decent, and liveable.So may even the Mammon of Unrighteousness, when it has vision and intelligence, point the way of life to superficial piety and a cheap and sentimental philanthropy."!
"WIDOWERS' HOUSES"In "Widowers' Houses" Shaw attacks the problem of
slum landlordism. A young man falls in love with a young girl, but when he finds that her father gains his living by collecting exorbitant rents from slum houses, he refuses to marry her and live from money made in this way. She refuses to give up her luxuries and live on his income.He finds that his income is from the same source as her • father's,- rent from slum buildings where conditions are not sanitary and where decaying steps make it unsafe to enter. Finally Lickcheese, the degraded collector of rents, broaches a new idea which naturally brings Trench, the young man, into business relationship with Sartorius, the girl'a
LBaImforth, The Problem Fla] 37-36
169.
father. The new idea is to rebuild the houses. But this is only to make the property more valuable because they hear it can be sold shortly. Trench and the girl, Blanche, make up."THE PHILANDERER"
In this play we. are introduced to the Ibsen Club where the women must be unwomanly and the men unmanly in order to become members. The characters use Ibseniam to cover up their philandering tendencies. This' is Shaw* s discussion of doctrinaire Free Love (pseudo-Ibsenisri).
In the first act Charteris makes love to Mrs. Grace Tranfield, widow. He has tired of Julia, but Julia will not give.-him up. so easily. She appears on the scene and then an embarrassing situation is created when her father and Grace’s father come in together. Grace has already disappeared to bed by the time they are in the room. Julia makes a hurried exit; Grace’s father goes in search of her.We learn that Guthbertson, Grace*s father, is a dramatic critic; he is a member of the Ibsen Club, Craven, Julia’s father, has been sentenced, if he doesn’t remain on a strict diet, to death by a doctor. Craven says his good night, and Charteris has a final word with Cuthbertson:
"I tell you, seriously, I ’m the matter. Julia wants to marry me: I want to marry Grace, I came here to-nightto sweetheart Grace. Enter Julia. Alarums and excursions. Exit Grace, Enter you and Craven. Subterfuges and excuses. Exeunt Craven and Julia. And here we are. That’s the whole story. Sleep over it. Good night.(He leaves)
170.
’’Cuthbortson (staring after him). Well I'll be In Act II we get a view of the Ibsen Club. Grace tells
Charteria that she loves him but she will never marry him . because she loves him too much. He is a philanderer; she, a believer in Free Love,
In Act III Dr. Paramore discovers that-his diagnosisof Craven's trouble is wrong - that Craven will live along time and he may eat as much as he likes. When Cravenremembers all the past years of starvation on diet when hecould have been eating, he is very angry. Paramore isconcerned only with the fact that his pet liver theory isproved false. -Grace accuses Julia of being a womanly womanand* wishes her put out of the club. Julia flees to Dr.Paramore and Charteris hopes he will propose to her since
' •it has been evident all along that he loves her.In Act IV Paramore does propose, and in desperation
Julia accepts him. She see Charteris again. She alreadyrealizes that he thinks of noone but himself, but in thisfinal conversation with him she is deeply hurt again.Finally he approaches to congratulate her on her engagement:
"Craven. Julia: Charteris has not congratulated you yet, jSW 1 s coming to do it. (Julia rises and fixes _a dangerous look on Charteris.) , ~
"SyIvia (whisnering oulckly behind Charteris as he is about to advanceV.Take care. She's going to hit you. T"*know her. (charterls stops and looks cautiously at
LShaw, Plays:Pleasant and Unpleasant. Vol I, p. 103
171.
Julia, measuring the situation. They regard one another steadfastly for a moment. C-raoe so?tly rises and pets oloselo Julia.~ MTha'rteris"'" (whisnerinp over his shoulder to Sylvia). I* 11 chance it, (He walks confidently ut> to Julia.) Julia? (He -proffers his hand.)
"JulisTTezhausted. allowing herself to take it).You are right. I am a worthless woman.
^Julia. Because I am not brave enough to kill you# nGrace (taking her in her arms as she sinks, almost
fainting*away froifTTriicTT Oh. no. “lever make a hero of a philanderer. “(ITEarteris, amused and untouched, shakes his head laughingly. The rest look~~at Ju 11a with concern, and even a little awe, feeling for the flrstTime the presence of a keen sorrow,)
’’MRS. WARREN'S TROF^SION" ."Mrs. Warren's Profession* presents us with the grew-
some background of houses of prostitution. Yet Shaw makesus see clearly how a woman of Mrs, Warren's character andenvironment could not very easily have any other profession,
Vivie, Mrs. Warren’s daughter, is highly educated anddeeply interested in Mathematics. She does not know of hermother's profession when the play opens. She soon finds out,however. (Frank, who is supposed to be in love with Vivie,disgustingly makes love to Mrs, Warren.) la ter Mrs, Warrenpleads her side of the case for her business, and Vivie isforced to admit that she was justified in her life from,thebusiness point of vies, Mrs. Warren's only alternative tothe kind of life she went into was working in a lead factory
1 Shaw, Plays ?1 easant arid Unpleasant, p 161 (Vel £l)
172. '
wnere she would have been nolsoned by lead sooner orlater. Here she would have earned a mere oittanoe; In factat any work that was open to her except this one alone shewould have earned only enough to keep her from starving,-
It Is not until Aot III that 71 vie grasps the wholesignificance of her mother's llfe-ln partnership with the
7. ' ' 1 ' 'beast, Crofts. She says to Crofts:> ■ ■■
nI hardly find you worth thinking about at all now, (She rises and turns towards the gate, pausing on her wav to contemplate him and sav almost gently, hut with intense conviction.) When I think of the society that tolerates you, and the laws that protect you — when I think of how helpless nine out of the ten young girls would be in the hands of you and my mother — the unmentionable woman and her capitalist bully -nlIn Ac t IV Vivie has rented a cheap office in Chancery
lane and has gone to work. She,is utterly disillusionedwith her mother and wishes to cut her from her heart. Shew . . .refuses to marry Frank. She has lived so far on her mother’s money, but she will do so no longer. However, her mother visits her and tries to get her to come into her lazy,i - •fashionable, good-for-nothing life which her money buys,
"Mrs, Warren. But you- don’t know all that [moneg) means: you*re too young.? It means a new dress everyday; it means theatres and balls every night> it means having the pick of all the gentlemen in Europe at your feet; it means a lovely house and plenty of servants; it means the choicest of eating and drinking; it means everything you like, everything you want, everything you can think of. And what are you here?A mere drudge, tolling and moiling early and late for
1 Shaw, Flays:?leasant and Unpleasant, p 222 (Vo 1. I)
Vi :i i .
J 'your tore living and tv/oroheap dresses a year*Think over it,(Soothingly) You’re shocked, I know. I can - 'nter into your feelings; and I think * they do you credit; but rust me, nobody will blame you: you may take ay word, for that. I know thatyoung girls are; and I krow you’ll think better of it when you’ve turned it ever in your mind,
”71 vie. So . that’s howr it’s done, is it? You ' . musthave said all that to many a woman, mother, to have it so pat.** ?---- -• . • _ T
VIvie tells her mother that she wants to work; she willenjoy it. Then she asks her mother why she doesn’t giveup the life she’s leading now that she has plenty of money,- :But her mother likes the excitement of it and the work,' " i \ -She could not stand being idles
T •
"71vie. Yes: it's better to choose your line and go through with it. If I had been you, mother, I might have done as you did; but I should not have lived one life and believed in another. You are a conventional woman at heart. That is why I am . bidding you goodbye now.* I am right, am I not?
"Mrs. Harren (taken abaok), Hight to throw away all my money! >
"Vivie, No: right to get rid of you? I should be a fool-not to? Isn't that so?
"Mrs Warren (sulkily)> Oh, well, yes, if you come to that, I suppose you are. But lord help the world if everybody took to doing the right thing! An(L^now I’d better go than stay where I’m not wanted." ”There was much objections to the presenting of this
play. But after all the objection was raised to it, a NewYork newspaper "which was among the most abusively clamorousfor the suppression of ’Mrs, Warren*s Profession.' Gras}
: ■■: ■ ' vfined heavily for deriving part of its revenue from 1 2
173. i
1 Shaw, Plays Pleasant and Unpleasant, ; 244 (Vo 1. I)2 Shaw, John Bull's Other Island. Etc, p 128
advertisements of Mrs. Warren*s h o u s e s . A n d those loudest in' their opposition to1 the play were largely those who were deriving profits from-this profession. The people wish to cover up the real evils with sham illusions that say it is wicked to talk about:it. It is not the talking that is wicked but the thing itself.
nAt all events, to prohibit the play is to protect the evil which the play* exposes; and in view of that fact, I see no reason for assuming that the prohibition* lets are disinterested moralists, and that the author, the managers, and the performers, who depend for their livelihood on their personal reputations and not on rents, advertisements, or dividends, are grossly inferior to them in moral sense and public responsibility." •
"THE DOCTOR’S DILEMMA.11In this play Shaw points*out the evils of the medical
profession as well as its good-. I have very briefly summarized the play before and:will not go mere in detail about it here. Shaw suggests fourteen rules to follow in order to remedy the present evils in this lines
"l. Nothing is more dangerous than a poor doctor; not even a poor employer*or a poor landlord,
"2. Of all the anti-social vested interests the worst is the vested interest in ill-health.
"3. Remember that an*illness is a misdemeanor; and treat the doctor as an accessory unless he notifies every case to the Public Health authority.
n4 , Treat every death as a possible and under our present system a probable murder, by making it the subject of a reasonably Sonduoted inquest; and execute the doctor, if necessary, jis a doctor, by striking him off the register.
m Shaw,John Bull’s Other Island, Etc p 122 2 lb id ” p"12T
175■i
*9 • Make up your mind how many doctors the community needs and let registration constitute the doctor a civil servant with a dignified living wage paid out of public funds'. ....
"7 • Treat the private operator exactly as you would treat a private executioner,
rt8 . Treat persons who profess to be able to cure disease as you treat fortune tellers.
”9. Keep the public carefully informed, by special statistics and announcements of individual cases, of all illnesses of doctors or in their families, ~
"10. Make it compulsory for a doctor using a brass plate to have inscribed on it, in addition to the letters indicating his qualifications, the words •Remember ■ that I too am mortal.*
"11. •. .But the mam who costs more than he is worth is doomed by sound; hygiene as inexorably as by sound economics, f
"12, Do not try to live for ever. You will not succeed. •
"13, Use your health, even to the point of wearing it out. . That is what it- is for. Spend all you have before you die; and do not outlive yourself.
"14. Take the utmost care to get well born and well brought up. This means that your mother must have a - good doctor." 1 L
The eleventh means that too much time should not be given to chronic invalids. -"GETTING M&RRI5D"
In the history of moderns drama there are many instances where the play has led the way; to. new laws in marriage and has agitated governments until*' divorce laws have been made.
Shaw presents his play on "Getting Married" to point the way to new improvements ini marriage and divorce. To make sexual relations between men and women decent v
Shaw. Doctor* s Pi lemma, Getting Married, Etc, ppXCI-XCl I
176.
and honorable they must both have Independent Incomes.”’.7e also have to bring ourselves Into line with
the rest of Protestant civilization by providing means for dissolving all unhappy, improper, and Inconvenient marriages. ....We should recognize that the ancient system of specifying grounds for divorce, such as adultery, cruelty, drunkenness, felony. Insanity, vagrancy, neglect to provide for wife and children, desertion, public defamation, violent temper, religious heterodoxy, contagious disease, outrages, indignities, personal abuse, "mental eingulsh," conduct rendering life burdensome and so forth (all these are examples from some code actually in force at present^ is a mistake, because the only effect of compelling people to plead and prove misconduct is that oases are manufactured and clean linen purposely smirched and washed in public, to the great distress and disgrace of innocent children and relatives, whilst the grounds have at the same time to be made so general that any sort of human conduct may be brought within them by a little special pleading and a little mental reservation on the part of witnesses examined on oath. When it comes to "conduct rendering life burdensome," it is clear that no aarriare is any. longer Indissoluble; and the sensible thing to do then is to grant divorce whenever it is desired, without asking why."!In "Getting Married” all the relatives and friends are
brought together. The uncle of the bride on her father*s side is in love with her aunt on her mother*s side. But Lesbia, the aunt, likes her independence and is a confirmed old maid. Reginald, another uncle, is getting a divorce from his wife. Both of them appear but they are not at all embarrassed. Before the play is over they have decided to annul their divorce proceedings. The bride and groom
Shaw, Doc tor* s Pi lemma. Etc.. p. 205
receive pamphlets which set them to thinking, and, as the general manager of the wedding, Collins, says, It is dangerous to think before getting married. You'e best do your thinking afterwards. They decide not to get married, but to show the inevitability df marriage, before the play
• V*. '
is done, they change their minds and run off and get married, Hotchkiss, who had made love to Reginald* s wife, falls in love with Mrs. George Collins,?sister-in-law to the Colling mentioned, even though she is the wife of a coal merchant,
■ 1 -iThere is much discussion on the evils of marriage, polygamy,
' r :divorce, and what not. In one?place they decide to draw upan ideal marriage contract, but as Collins points out,people are different and there?would have to be many contractsto please the different types of peonle*
i *• . • -V - . : :
"Co 11ins. Well, my lord, you see people do persist in talking"as if marriages was all of one sort, but there's almost as many different sorts of marriages as there’s different sorts of people. There's the young things that marry for love, not knowing what they're doing, and the old things that marry for money and comfort and companionship. There's the people that marry for children and that aren't fit to have them. There's the people that marry because they're so much run after bF the other sex that they have to put a stop to It somehow. There's the people that want to have" done with experiences. How are you to please them a*ll? Why, you,' 11 want half a dozen different sorts of- contract," 1With all the talk the plot of the play is negative.
People move, discuss, make love, and so forth, but they in
the end do Just what they were: going to do in the beginning, the most prosaic things, too, most of them. In other words we can nearly say that nothing' happens. Things are Just talked about, but nothing startling does happen. There are the wild ideas of the young people that they won’t getmarried because it places them;so much in each other'spower as to property, etc,, and the beginning of the divorce proceedings between Reginald and Leo. But the young people do get married, and Leo and Reginald don'tget divorced, and Mrs. George prohibits Hotchkiss her
.hoUwe; so the play ends on a very conventional vein insoite of all the unusual ideas? presented,
■ 1 ■ ■ rt MIS.XLLIAICE" -This play deals with the;problem of the relation
between parents and children. :Instead of spanking the childfor doing something wrong, parents build up inhibitions inthe child’s mind,
"Most children can be, and many are, hopelessly warped and wasted by paresis who are ignorant and silly enough to suppose that they k^ow what a human being ought to be, and who stick at nothing in their determination to force their children into their , moulds. Every child has a right to its own bent," A
It should not be forced into fixed patterns. Childrennaturally make a great deal of noise, for they have nonerves compared with the adult. Consequently many people
^ Shaw, Mi salllance. St c ., Pr efacep.xix
179.X
are only too glad to get rid of them and send them to schools "which are nearly as had as orphan asylums. Others leave the child in charge of the nurse. Many children are petted and worried and noticed-, too much.
In this play we find Bentley: he cries and screams when he doesn’t get his own way and yet he has been through college and is well educated. ?Lord Sunimerhays can manageall kinds and conditions of men but he cannot manage bis own son. Tarleton, the self-made man, is always referring one of the other characters to a book he’s read. He continually says, ’’Read the Bible. Read this. Read that.” Hypatia, Tarleton’s daughter, feets heartily tired of the conversation. She is crude in her non-respect for Lord Summerhay’a feelings. He proposed to her and she keeps referring to it and laughing at him. This wounds his sensitive nature.
An aeroplane lands nearby in a crash. Lina and Reroival appear on the sc'bne, ^eroival is Bentley’s friend. Bentley is engaged to Hypatia, a s soon as Hypatia sees. Peroival, she decides she wants to marry him and she pursues him until he consents. Lina is proposed to by each of the men in turn. She is an acrobat. She refuses them all. A burglar appears and is terrified; he is about to be kicked out when Mrs, Tarleton discovers she knew his mother and
180.
'welcomes tCim. Lina decides to take the weak-kneed Bentley with her in the aeroplane the next day. He loves her and will do anything although he is mortally frightened of the plane ride. So we see the children in their cruel relations to older people, in their lack of sensitiveness; and we see the parents who cannot manage their children. Another monster, the mistaken rearing of children, is laid In are ho us.
181.
••yANKY'S FIRST PLAY*’.This ahowa how two young people escape from the humdrum
respectable life* meet real coarse life face to face* spend a fortnight in prison, and on coming out are am oh better for the experience.
"nowadays we do not seem to know that there is any other test of conduct except morality? and the result is that the young had better have their souls awakened by disgrace, capture by the police* and a month’s hard labor* than drift along from their cradles to their graves doing what other people do for no other reason than that other people do it, and knowing nothing of good and evil, of courage and cowardice, or indeed anything but hew to keep hunger and concupiscence and fashionable dressing within the bounds of good taste except when their excesses can be concealed.
Shaw hates "to see dead people walking about: it is unnatural and our respectable middle class people are all as dead as mutt on."2 Mrs. Knox in the play condemns them. This is a little play within a play. ,
We hear the critics talking before and afterwards. It is very amusing and interesting, and yet the morals are there: wake up, middle class? young people, know why evil is evil and why it is better to do the good 1 "JOHN BULL’S OTHER ISIAND"
In this play Shaw presents us with two characters, onetypically English, the other typically Irish, Broadbent andDoyle. Through these two characters we get a very good view 6f the English and Irish national characteristics, respectively.
!■ Shaw, Misalliance, Etc, p 159 2 Ibid, p 160
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The play presents the uncompromising old Ireland. The English were convinced on seeing the play that the success of the business of the two men was due to the Englishmanithe Irish, that It was due to the Irishman. As Shaw presents
■ 'it, they each have a contribution;- .
"Broadbent's special contribution was simply the / strength, self-satisfaction, social confidence and cheerful bumptiousness that money, comfort,,and good feeding bring to all healthy people; and that Doyle1s special contribution was the feedom from illusion, the power of facing facts, the nervous industry, the sharpened wits, the sensitive pride of the imaginative man who has fought his way up through social persecution and poverty."I,.Shaw is typically Irish, the Irish of the Danish, Borman
Cromwellian andScotch invasions. Perhaps that is why he is so clear sighted and so realistic, for the sanity and the realism of the Irish are two of their characteristics. When they dream, they realize they are dreaming. Their reason governs their imagination although they have an unusual amount of imagination, Hie Englishman is entirely at the mercy of hia imagination, having no sense of reality with which to check it. Shaw is not only typically Irieh, but really Protestant.
"The Protestant is theoretically an anarchist as far as anarchism is practicable in human society* that is, he is ah individualist, a freethinker, a self-helper, a Whig, Liberal, a mistruster and vilifier of the State,a rebel. " 2
j- S&aw, John Bull's Other Island,Etc, Preface, p VII * Shaw, John Bull’s Other Island,Etc, Preface, p xix
183.. < ' ’■V
The popular* democratic Irish ape CatholieSe.however» and Between "being ruled by the Vatican and England there is no ehoiee for them. The gentlemanly and *oligarchical are Protestants# ; - . • . - - ■ : ' ■ : : . ■ ':: . - '
"The English philosopher# the English author, the English orator o#n attack every abuse and expose every superstition vlthput strengthening the hands of any common enemy. In Ireland every such attack, every such exposure, is a service to England and a stab to Ireland.If you expose the tyranny and rapacity of the Churchi it is an argument in favor of Protestant ascendency.If you denounce the nepotism and ,1 obbery of the new local authorities, you are demonstrating the unfitness of the Irish to govern themselves, and the superiority of the old oligarehieal grand juries.
"And there is the same pressure on the other side.The Protestant m e t stand by the garrison at all costsi the Unionist must wink at every bureaucratic abuse, connive at every tyrannyj magnify every official blockhead, because their exposure would be a victory for the Nationalist enemy. Every Irishman is in Laneelot’s positions his honor rooted in dishonor standss and faith unfaithful keeps him falsely true."1Shaw comes out strongly for Home Rule. , The English will
do nothing unless, they are frightened into it . In any countryit is perfectly .right to have a foreign judge to settle internalstrife, but not a foreign ruler. England oouId do more witha Roman Catholic at the head of Ireland than with a Protestant.A country which is not its own boss is intensely conscious ofits nationalism and it is like a man with a broken arm. He isconscious of it until it is set. So a country is conscious ,of its nationalism until it gains its independence. A furtherargument for nationalism and Home Rule in Ireland is what the1 ■ • - ' ' ' ■ . - ■ - - ' '
- / .All through the Preface for Politicians with which
Shaw introduces "John mill's Other Island," we see illusWn# shattered, polltleal needs laid bare, a M Home Rule pleaded.At the end he makes his final stab at politicians with a 1
1 Shaw, john Bull's Other Island, Preface, p XIV ”
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description of the Denehawae horror. This is merely an attempt to show the injustice of the British government in its dealing with foreign possessions» Injustice which has heretofore been covered up by the pretension that, it was preserving the British Empire, British soldiers entered a town in Egypt, shot domestic birds, were remonstrated with by the inhabitants, shot two men and a woman accidentally, and escap#d after he1 beaten seyerely. Then the British govermment stepped in and with.unbelievably harsh measures punished the offenders against the British officers. Shaw pleads that it is not yet too late to withdraw the sentence of life imprisonment for;.two. of; the men and that it shouldbe done . ... .. . , . . ■
In Act II Doyle and Broadbent arrive in Ireland. Father Keegan is introduced philosophizing to a grasshopper as the act opens• Broadbent, when he meets Nora, Doyle1s girl, proposes to her almost at ones. She is a slight, weak woman common in Ireland but decidedly different from an Englishwoman.
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She is startled and then io quite sure Broadbent is drunk when he asks her to marry him. We are here reminded by the author that an Englishmn in lore and sentimental is much like a drunken Irishman*
In Act III there are some interesting political discussions most of which have "been summed up in the preface to the play. Broadbent, who is for free trade and Home Rule, is elected to run for parliament and immediately becomes the politician catering to everyone. He offers to drive Patsy Farrell's pig home for him.
In Act IV we find the whole company of Irishmen extremely amused at the outcome of the pig adventure. The pig was not used to riding in a car and incapacitated Broadbent as chauffeur so that he smashed the ear. Broadbent comes into the scene quite unconscious of the mirth he has aroused.Nora decides to marry him although she prefers1 larry. The act ends with Broadbent expressing his feelings that he is right in,devoting his life to the cause of Ireland."THE APPLE CART"
This play has been termed & political extravagancy.It paints the king of England as an extremely witty, intelligent ruler. The play takes place some time in the future. In the first act the cabinet meets and of all the petty squabbles between nonsensical politicians, here is presented the worst. They even get to insulting each other's
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relatives. The king can do nothing with them* They try to force the king to abdicate, but he shows them that the result of his abdication would be far worse for them than his present place. He has a silly lightheaded mistress who amuses him and *e thinks he should; divorce the queen and marry her. He has no intentions of doing so. America is satirised in the American minister* This man comes to propose to the king that the United States and Great Britain consolidate. The United State would come back within Britain’s pale, but, of course, the capital of this United nation (Britain and United States) would have to be moved to some place in the United States. This problem so terrifies the cabinet that they gladly cooperate with the king for five minutes. As soon as the crisis is over, they return to their infantile babblings.
Here Shaw lays bare in a very clear way the absurdity of our governments today, run as they are by power-thirsty, brainless grafters."CAESAR AND CIEOPATRA"
Shaw’s Cleopatra in this play is a barbarian. The only refining influence in her is brought through Caesar, and even after her association with him (and in Shaw, he is refined and tenderhearted), she sends her nurse to kill a man because he tried to trick her, and on the nurse’sreturn she "looks at her [the nurse) for a moment with an\ ^ • ■exultant reflection of her murderous expression. Then
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she flings her arms round her; kieses her repeatedly and savagely; and tears off her jewels and heaps them on her#"1
According to Shaw’s own modest statement he himself has drawn a Caesar better than Shakespear’s. He recognises, toe, that Brutus is the leading character in Shakespear’s play,and hopes in his play to remedy the weakened character of' -Caesar. Shaw says the whole philosophy of a people changes from age to age and it is only with a new philosophy we can have a new Shakespear. This reminds me of a cartoon I once saw. There was the statue of Shakespear and towering above it, the caricatured statue of Shaw with his elbow on Shakespear’s farther shoulder. Below was written* "Man and Superman."....Shaw would as soon think himself the superman, thedramatist of a philosophy of this, our modern age, or so it seems, for neons truly knows what lies behind the bright eyes of that quick-witted gentleman. At any rate when Shaw presents his Caesar, we do not recognize him as Caesar. In the first place.he (the Caesar of Shaw) is kind almost to ridiculousness in a Roman ruler and leader of military men.He does not desire blood-shed, will not have hie prisoners killed even though it take an extra man to guard them and more food, but will have them go free first. He is not infatuated with Cleopatra, but treats her as a misled child and tries
^ Shaw. Three Plays for Puritans, pjTil •
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to direct.'her steps in the right direction. He has a well- developed sense of humor. He does not worry or have fits of epilepsy. He wears a wreath to hide his baldness and is worried a little about his age. He is a strange C&esar come into our midst, a Caesar more Shaw than Caesar. Shaw disparages Antony’s and Cleopatra’s passions in his preface.He deploree the fact that their lax morals are held up to the pub11c eye as beautiful - their weaknesses fine, and he says:-
"Shakespeare finally strains all his huge command of rhetoric and stage pathos to give a theatrical sublimity to the wriiehed end of the business and to persuade foolish spectators that the world was well lost by the twain."1
But even if Shakespeare does make beauty out of an immorallove affair, when Shaw can command the rhetoric and stagepathos of Shakespeare, he will be a greater dramatist.However, he manages this touch of fun at Antony and Cleopatrain the following very well:
"Caesar; He (Antony) is in excellent condition considering how much he eats and drinks.Cleopatra: Oh, you must not say common earthly things
about him, for I love him. He is a god.Caesar;,He is a great captain of horsemen, and swifter of foot than any other Roman."2 •"Cleopatra: (springing up) Oh yes, yes, yes, I forgot. Go quickly and work, Caesar; and keep the way over the sea open for my Mark Antony." 3:
Shaw’s play is a comedy. It presents Cleopatra as a little
1 Shaw, Plays for Puritans, Preface, p.xxviii2 ibid p. 128 '3 Ibid p. 129
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»vulgar bit of humanity and Caesar aa the generous-hearted magnanimous, decidedly unwarlike general.
"Caesar: Hy way hither was the way of destiny for I am he or whose genius you are the symbols part brute, part woman, and part God - nothing of man in me at all. Have I read your riddle* Sphinx?The Girls — -— — old gentlemanCaesars, •Immortal gods.The Girls Old gentleman: don’t run away.
Under the eyes of
Caesar (stupefied): "Old, gentleman: don’t run awayl!V This I to Julius Caesar . 1"Theodotus (with viperish relish)s his wife and ohiIdi Remember that, Caesari They saw it from the ship he had just left. We have given you afull and sweet measure of vengeance.. ■ : ' . : • • . ' ' . ' ' • : '
Caesar (with horror): Vengeancel*®"Cleopatra: 2 ove mel Pothimis, Caesar loves no one#Who are those we loves Only those whom we do not hates W l people are strangers and enemies to us except those
'v'^F'-^ove.:' But' it is not so with Caesar. He has no hatred in him; he makes friends with everyone as he does with dogs and children. His kindness to me is a wonders neither mother, father, nor nurse have ever taken so much care for me, or thrown open their thoughts to me so■ freely."3 ' " ' ' - ' " " ' . ;;V-v ■ v - ■/
Shaw gets his characters oh.the stage with enough action to■ ; ‘ *hold the feeble plot together and makes them talk. They talk out purely Shawlan philosophies,-clever,•keen-sighted philosophies —"THE DARK LADY OF THE SORBETS" •
In his preface to this play, Shaw says: 1 * 3
1 Shaw, Plays for Puritans, p. 101% Ibid , p . 1223 Ibid , p. 166
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"It is dangerous to cite Shakespe&r’s pessimism as evidence of the despair of & heart broken by the Dark Ea dy. Tliere is an irrepressible gaiety of genius which enables it to bear the whole weight of the world’s misery without blenching. There is a laugh always ready to avenge its tears of disoourageaent." 1
He cannot see that Shakespee-r writes his sonnets with abroken fcwart. In the play proper we find a light treatmentof Shakespear. Shakespear cannot remember lines but as soonas Q,ueen Elisabeth utters beautiful phrases, he hastens tojot thera ,down. . He makes love to her, not knowing who she is,and is interrupted by the arrival of The Dark lady, whoslaps the queen before, she sees who it is. The Dark Ladyis glad enough after that to escape with her life andShakespear and the Queen part friends."GREAT CATHERIIE"
This is a short play in three scenes written so that M s s Kingston could play the part of a queen. It is a delight ful play giving an interesting picture of Catherine and her sloppy, animal-like yet witty prime minister# Patiomkln. To make a plot a young British officer comes to pay his respects to Catherine, She decides she would like to have him, but he is already engaged. He escapes with his fiancee after an uproariously funny time with Catherine which is a very serious cruel, and embarrassing time for the poor man.
Ahaw, Misalliance, Etc, pp.I23-l£4 -
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Chapter VI SUMMARY
Ho change comes about at once. So In the drama, different traditions have "been questioned and broken down from time to time and there has ever been a building anew. There are other men who are like Shaw in being rebels against tradition. Ke is not the only one. It is only because of hie extreme egotism and his keeping himself in rebellious clothes before the public’s eye that he in particular is looked upon as a rebel. I have tried.to show in the preceding pages just how far he is a rebel. In the purpose of the play he does as many of his forebears did - holds that the play is a place to improve men's morals. But he does it more earnestly, more cleverly, more clearly, than those who went before him, and his use of the problem play, his use of the stage as 11 the most effective means of propigandlsa in the world," and his struggle to tear down ideals so that society may rebuild more successfully, more morally are all part of the new movement in the drama.
As to the subject matter he uses anything which corns handy - the actions of either the great or the small. His plays follow the requiremente for completeness, but they are too true to life to be probable. He observes the unity of action in most of his plays but not the unities of time and
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place and in at least one play he does not have a proper magnitude.
He does not observe the rule that the play should have five acts and he is not even consistent in the number of acts his different plays have, although the majority are three-act plays. He has more than three or even four persons on the stage conversing together. In the tradition of propriety in things presented on the stage, he does not rebel, but places his impossible scenes off the stage and they are laternarrated as tradition would have them.
....... . ■ ■ - - . • ■ • ■ • • ' • .... *
. He begins his plays according to tradition, generally 8peaking/and observes poetic justice in plays with double construction as .tradition generally, would have him do. He uses discoveries and some resolutions in his plays and yet they are not very complex.
In many things Shaw is a rebel against dramatic tradition. When the dramatic tradition is reasonable and necessary for & good play, he observes it* The characters in his plays are essentially different from traditional characters of any kind and they are not decorous. His plots are not traditional plots either in their importance in the play or in their subject matter. In the purpose of the. play he brings forth the new idea that ideals are evils and. presents the principal problems of humanity before our eyes to be solved. His comedies are ethical just as the traditional comedies are, but he departs from them in presenting problems of evil for
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general mankind which each individual is to do hie share in remedying* rather than manners which are to he corrected in the individual and are for him mainly, Shaw shows ways of living which, if corrected, would benefit society as a whole. In a sense nearly all coraedies, are plays of manners. Shaw speaks of his plays as plays of manners * hut they differ extremely in their representation of manners from the plays of Plautus, Terence, and Molitre, and from those of the English Renaissance. His long prefaces, minute description of settings and persons, and his stage directions are all new In the play. There la nothing in the traditional drama to which they can he compared. Therefore, he is & rebel against tradition.
In ay summary of hie plays I have emphasized different things in different ones, hut I have tried to show clearly the problems he presents, his aversion to idealism, his interesting and unique oharacters, and his discussion method.
In the things that are essential to the drama as drama,Shaw is not a rebel unless we would Consider that so much discussion and so little action is harmful. He is doing a large amount of good in presenting the subject matter he does present and in holding before us the problems of the day. His amusing characters only serve to attract people to the problems, and his unpleasant characters at least hold attention because of their reality. Then h:s revolt against tradition into something higher and his genius in leading us forward to a new and better day are a help to mankind.
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I cannot but feel that his plays will be read In future years. If all the problems which he sets before us are at any time solved, the plays may still bo read for their wit. His new and startling Ideas may grow old, but In many of his plays his wit will remain.
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Alllnson, Francis G. (Tr an slat or)
Menander (The Principal Fragments) ifev/ fork, 0. V, r'utnam,s Sens,1921
Ar istonhanes The Frogs and Three Other r’lays (Tr ansla ted %y J rere, Hichie, Mitohe.il, and Cumberland)
Hew York, E. ?. Dutton and Co., 1911Balforth, Rams den The Problem Play
Re.w York, H. Holt, and Co. ,1928Cheney, Sheldon Th e Th e* ter
WewYork, Longmans, Green,& Co., 1929Clark, Barrett H. European Theories of the Drama
New York, 5. 1919Cooper, Lane An Aristotelian Theory of Comedy
Wew Ybric, Sarcourt, Brace, an^ Co. 1922
Do bree.Bonamy Restoration Comedy.: 1660-1720 dxford-C larendfon Press, 1924
Dryden, John Essays of John Dryden (selected arid edited 'by IV. P. (Cer)’ To 1. I Oxford Clarendon Press, .1900
Fielding, Henry The Tragedy of Tracadies-or. The Li fe and tieatE of tom Thumb tihe Great; wiih Ihe annotations of H, Scriblerus Secundus, Edited by James T. Hillhouse.Hew Haven, Yale University Press,
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(Translator) ~Supposes and Jo casta, edited by John W. Cu'riliffe,Boston, U. S. , D. C. Heath & Go. ,1906
Gregory, Lady (Translator)
The KiItartan Moliere "Buhlin, Maunsel Sr Company, Luitd. 1911
Ho race The Works of Horace (Translated lay James Lonsdale and Samuel Lee) Lo ndon, .Macmillan and Co.,ltd. 1923
Johnson, Samuel
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Jonson, Ben
Lleder, Lovett.&Root (Editors)
Lucretius
Nietzsche
Plato
Plautus
SaIntsbury, Ge orge
Schiller
Seboyar and Brosius
Shaw, George Bernard
The Critical On ini one of Samuel 16tinson (Gomplied by JosepH Spes Brown) Princeton, University Press 1926Ben Jonson filth notes and critical and explanatory and biographical memoir by 7f . Gifford Esq.) To Is. 1,2,3,6,. and 9. London, Bickers and Son, Henry Sotheran and Co., 1875Britlsh Poetry and ProseNe w York', Hough tori kifflin Co ., 1928Of the Nature of Things, a metrical translation ty Ui111am Ellery Leonard Ne w To pk , ■ E.' .P7 . Bd tton & 'Go., 1921Thus Spake Zarathustra. translated *By¥homas Common New York, The Modern Library ’Dialogues (Translated by B. Jowett),Toll I flew York, Bigelow, Brown, and Co.,Inc.,The Comedies of Plautus (lit, tr« into English prose~Ty HenryThomas Pi ley) London, G. Bell and Sons, 1902-1909Lo cl Critic!
York, Ginn and Company, 1903Eaaass. aestheticnl and philosophical Wewly translated from the German London , G. Bell and Sons, 1916Readings in Euronean Literature flew York,”?. S. Crofts & Co., 1931His PlaysAndrocles and the LloniOverruled;Py^nalien ?r entano1 s , Mew York, 1916^he Apple Co rt; a political extravaganza Brentano's, New York, 1931Back to Eethusaleh Krentano1 s , new ork, 1921
) 98.
The Doctor1 s Dilemma, Getting SarrTed, The Shoeing up of Slanod Posnet”5r ehiano's, l ew York, 1911Heartbreak House, Great Catherine, 'and'TYayTets**of the^/'ar Er entano's , New ?ork% 1919John Bull's Other Island, and MajorBarSara---------------- V ------XV Constable, London, 1907Man and Superman Manteno's, New York, 1907Mlsalliance. The Dark Lady of the Sonnets, and fanny* s First FTay ■Ma. nteno' s, New York, T 5 H “Plays: Pleasant and Unpleasant Manteno* s, New York, 1$0% (S vols.)The Quiotessenoe of Ibsenlsm Santeno's, Wew YorE, 1908Saint JoanManteno* s, New York, 1924Three Plays for Puritans Manteno's, New York, 1906
