Part 65 (2/2)

And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast As if I were a phantom: now 'tis--”Friend, Collect yourself!”--no laughing matter more-- ”Counsel the Court in this extremity, Tell us again!”--tell that, for telling which, I got the jocular piece of punishment, Was sent to lounge a little in the place Whence now of a sudden here you summon me To take the intelligence from just--your lips, You, Judge Tommati, who then t.i.ttered most,-- That she I helped eight months since to escape Her husband, is retaken by the same Three days ago, if I have seized your sense.[54]

It may be true that when one reads a dramatic monologue, the changes in thought caused by some movement or look of an imagined hearer may seem sufficiently motivated. When, on the other hand, this monologue is staged, it becomes exceedingly unreal because we feel that the second person would not be silent but would interrupt with question or comment.

More than this, unless the listening actor changes from pose to pose with rapid plasticity, he will become stiff in att.i.tude, thus making us conscious of him when we should be listening to the speaker. Increasing the number of hearers does not relieve the situation, but merely increases the number of possible interrupters or of people who stand about the stage more and more stiffly. Soliloquy is, therefore, to be avoided except when it seems or can be made to seem perfectly natural.

Monologue, acceptable perhaps to a reader, becomes well-nigh impossible on the stage.

The aside must be subjected to very nearly the same tests. In _Two Loves and a Life_ of Tom Taylor and Charles Reade, Musgrave and his daughter, Anne, are opening letters surrept.i.tiously. They come to the letter of William Hyde, which the girl opens with reluctance, crying,--

Ah, see, father, it is a blank!

_Musgrave._ A blank! Then it is as I thought!

_Anne._ How?

_Musgrave._ Here, girl!

(_He takes the letter and holds it to the fire in the brazier._)

_Anne._ See! Letters become visible!

_Musgrave._ A stale trick. 'Tis done with lemon juice or milk, when folks would keep what they write from those who are in their secret.

Politicians correspond so, Anne, and rebels.

_Anne._ But William Hyde is neither, father.

_Musgrave._ Of course not. Now then!

_Anne._ (_Aside._) Thank Heaven! 'tis all about his calling!

_Musgrave._ Read! (_Aside._) I have learned the key to their cypher, which I have copied from the priest's letter.

_Anne._ (_Reads._) ”Dear Will, we have thine advices, and shall be at Lancaster Fair. All the smart fellows--”

_Musgrave._ (_To himself._) Ah! Bardsea Hole--all the Jacobite gentlemen--good.

_Anne._ (_Reads._) ”By the time the grilse come ash.o.r.e--”

_Musgrave._ (_To himself._) Grilse? ammunition. Go on.

_Anne._ (_Reads._) ”Which shall be as you fix, on Tuesday the 16th, at ten of the clock, P.M. There is a bill against you and the old clothier, payable at Ulverstone today, drawn by the butcher. Look out and see that he does not nab either of you--”

_Musgrave._ (_Aside._) The proclamation!

_Anne._ (_Reads._) ”For your friends a.s.sembled. John Trusty.”

_Musgrave._ From Townley. It _is_ as I suspected. (_He starts up._)

_Anne._ Father!

_Musgrave._ I'm a made man, Anne. Give me joy--joy![55]

In this once popular drama we have five asides close together, for of course ”to himself” is the equivalent of an aside. All are bad, for in each case the other person on the stage must be supposed not to hear, and the aside is merely a device for telling us what the speaker is thinking. They vary in badness, however, for while Musgrave might well explain ”grilse” to Anne as ”ammunition,” he says, ”I have learned the key to their cipher, which I have copied from the priest's letter,” not as something which he is necessarily thinking at the time, but as something which the audience needs to know at this point. An aside is objectionable when a man speaks what he would be careful only to think, either because of the very nature of his thought or because somebody is near at hand who should not overhear. Asides should be kept for confidential remarks which may be made to some person standing near the speaker, but could not be heard by persons standing at a greater distance; and to what naturally breaks from us in a moment of irritation, terror, or other strong emotion. Asides of the first group, confidential remarks, gain much in naturalness if spoken in half tones.

Nothing could be more preposterous than the old stage custom of coming down to the footlights to tell an audience in clear-cut tones confidences which must not be overheard by people close at hand on the stage. Asides which are only brief soliloquies are little better. Asides in which the speaker merely says to the audience what he might perfectly well say to the people on the stage are foolish unless the author wishes to make the point that the character has the habit of talking to himself. The following from Vanbrugh's _The Provoked Wife_ shows two entirely natural uses of the aside by Lady Brute, and one debatable use by Sir John.

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