In a second set of extracts from the same scene, a firmer grasp of the characters has permitted Ibsen to replace the general and conventional in the last two speeches of the left-hand column with the more specific and characterizing lines of Helmer and the lines of Nora that are an inspiration.
| Nora.... It never for a moment occurred to me that you would think of submitting to that man’s conditions, that you would agree to direct your actions by the will of another. I was convinced that you would say to him, “Make it known to the whole world”; and that then— | Nora.... When Krogstad’s letter lay in the box, it never occurred to me that you would think of submitting to that man’s conditions. I was convinced that you would say to him, “Make it known to all the world”; and that then— |
| Helmer. Well? I should give you up to punishment and disgrace. | Helmer. Well? When I had given my own wife’s name up to disgrace and shame—? |
| Nora. No; then I firmly believed that you would come forward, take everything upon yourself, and say, “I am the guilty one”— | Nora. Then I firmly believed that you would come forward, take everything upon yourself, and say, “I am the guilty one.” |
| Helmer. Nora! | Helmer. Nora! |
| Nora. You mean I would never have accepted such a sacrifice? No, of course not. But what would my word have been in opposition to yours? I so firmly believed that you would sacrifice yourself for me—“don’t listen to her,” you would say—“she is not responsible; she is out of her senses”—you would say that it was love of you—you would move heaven and earth. I thought you would get Dr. Rank to witness that I was mad, unhinged, distracted. I so firmly believed that you would ruin yourself to save me. That is what I dreaded, and therefore I wanted to die. | Nora. You mean I would never have accepted such a sacrifice? No, certainly not. But what would my assertions have been worth in opposition to yours? That was the miracle that I hoped for and dreaded. And it was to hinder that that I wanted to die. |
| Helmer. Oh, Nora, Nora! | Helmer. I would gladly work for you day and night, Nora—bear sorrow and want for your sake—but no man sacrifices his honour, even for one he loves. |
| Nora. And how did it turn out? No thanks, no outburst of affection, not a shred of a thought of saving me.[22] | Nora. Millions of women have done so.[23] |
Perfect phrasing rests, then, on character thoroughly understood and complete emotional accord with the character. Short of that in dialogue, one stops at the commonplace and colorless, the personal, or the literary.
Even, however, when dialogue expounds properly and is thoroughly in character, it will fail if not fitted for the stage. John Oliver Hobbes stated a truth, if somewhat exaggeratedly, in these lines of her preface to The Ambassador:
Once I found a speech in prose—prose so subtly balanced, harmonious, and interesting that it seemed, on paper, a song: But no actor or actress, though they spoke with the voice of angels, could make it, on the stage, even tolerable.... Yet the speech is nevertheless fine stuff: it is nevertheless interesting in substance: it has imagination: it has charm. What, then, was lacking? Emotion in the tone and, on the part of the writer, consideration for the speaking voice. Stage dialogue may have or may not have many qualities, but it must be emotional. It rests primarily on feeling. Wit, philosophy, moral truths, poetic language— all these count as nothing unless there is feeling of an obvious, ordinary kind.[24]
When reading a play aloud, do we give all the stage directions, or, cutting out those which state how certain speeches should be read, try to give these as directed? Even when reading some story aloud, do we not often find troublesome full directions as to just how the speakers delivered their lines? If given by us, they provide an awkward standard by which to judge our reading. If we wish to suppress them, they are not, in rapid reading, always seen in time. As was pointed out very early in this book, gesture, facial expression, movement about the stage, and above all, the voice, aid the dramatist as they cannot aid the novelist. These aids and the time limits of a play have, as we shall see, very great effect on dialogue. Note in the opening of The Case of Rebellious Susan, by Henry Arthur Jones, the effects demanded from the aids just named.
ACT I. SCENE. Drawing-room at Mr. Harabin’s; an elegantly furnished room in Mayfair. At back, in centre, fireplace, with fire burning. To right of fireplace a door leading to lady Susan’s sitting-room. A door down stage left.
Enter footman left showing in Lady Darby
Lady Darby. (A lady of about fifty.) Where is Lady Susan now?
Footman. Upstairs in her sitting-room, my lady.