Hor. A piece of him.
Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcellus.
Notice how naturally and in what a businesslike way Bernardo, Francisco, Horatio and Marcellus are all introduced to the audience, and the care taken to stamp their identity upon the mind of the spectators. The natural easy way in which it is done springs from the good craftsmanship of Shakespeare, but the doing of it is the business of every playwright.
One would suppose that such a simple matter as that could not be overlooked, but if one turns to the plays of some modern dramatists and seeks to understand them without studying the stage directions and noticing carefully the name of the speaker, one is apt to get into confusion. The latest craze is to publish a programme with the “order of going in” like a cricket card and thus you can buy for sixpence information that the playwright is too slovenly and too ignorant of his business to provide for you. There were no programmes in Shakespeare’s time, but there were playwrights.
It may occur to those who have not studied the rules of the game that there is not the same necessity for careful workmanship in the matter of entrances in a play of to-day that there was three hundred years ago. The answer to that is that a play or a wheel of to-day is essentially the same as a play or a wheel was in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. The duty of the playwright to make his entrances obvious to his audience is equally clear, and is equally understood by the man who knows his business.
Compare as a modern instance Sir Arthur Pinero’s opening of “Sweet Lavender.” The scene is a sitting-room at 3 Brain Court Temple. Left and right are two doors leading to the rooms of Richard Phenyl and Clement Hale. Ruth, the housekeeper, is discovered, and Bulger, the barber, enters the room and the play begins. Now note the workmanship.
Bul. I’ve give Mr. ’Ale a nice shave, Mrs. Rolt, clean and quick. Water’s ’ot enough for me jist to rub over Mr. Phenyl’s face if ’e’s visible.
Ruth. I’m afraid Mr. Phenyl isn’t well enough for you this morning, Mr. Bulger.
Bul. Not one of ’is mornings, hey?
(Ruth goes to the right-hand door and knocks sharply).