The Curtain Falls38
Perhaps an even more interesting illustration of pantomime, because it gives us, instead of the heightening emotion of one person, the action of two characters upon each other, is found in Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s Die Frau im Fenster.
She remains leaning over the parapet thus for a long time. Suddenly she thinks she hears something as the curtain behind her, separating her balcony from the room, is thrown open. Turning her head she sees her husband standing in the doorway. She springs up; her features become distorted with the utmost anguish. Messer Braccio stands silent in the doorway. He wears a simple dark green dressing-gown, without weapons; low shoes. He is very tall and strong. His face has the quality that often shows itself in the old pictures of great lords and condottieri. He has an exceedingly large forehead, and little, dark eyes, thick black hair, short and curly, and a small beard round his face. Dianora wishes to speak, but can bring no sound from her throat. Messer. Braccio motions for her to draw in the ladder. Dianora does so automatically, rolls it together, and as though unconscious, lets the bundle fall at her feet. Braccio regards her calmly. Then he grasps his left hip with his right hand, also with his left hand, and looking down, notes that he has no dagger. Making an impatient movement of the lips he glances down into the garden and behind him. He lifts his right hand for an instant and looks at its palm. He goes back into the room with firm, unhurried steps.
Dianora looks after him continually; she cannot take her eyes from him. When the curtain falls behind him, she passes her fingers over her cheeks and through her hair. Then she folds her hands and with wildly twitching lips silently prays. Then she throws her arms backward and grasps the stone coping with her fingers, a movement revealing firm resolution and a hint of triumph.
Braccio steps out through the door again, carrying in his left hand a stool which he places in the doorway, and then sits down opposite his wife. His expression has not changed. From time to time he lifts his right hand mechanically and regards the small wound in its palm.
Braccio. (His tone is cold, slightly disdainful. He indicates the ladder with his foot and his eyes.) Who is it?
(Dianora lifts her shoulders, then lets them fall again slowly.)
Braccio. I know.
(Dianora lifts her shoulders, then lets them fall again slowly. Her teeth are pressed tightly together.)
Braccio. (Raising his hand with the movement but touching his wife only with his glance; then he turns his gaze toward the garden again.) Palla degli Albizzi.39
Such elaborate pantomime as the cases just cited is naturally rare, but a dramatist is always watching for an opportunity to shorten by pantomime a speech or the dialogue of a scene, or to intensify by it the effect of his words.40 Is anything in Shore Acres, by James A. Herne, more memorable than the last scene? In it Uncle Nat, who has established the happiness of the household, lights his candle deliberately and goes slowly up the long staircase to his bedroom, humming softly. He is the very picture of spiritual content. Words would have spoiled that scene as they have spoiled many and many a scene of an inexperienced dramatist.
Iris, at the end of Act III of Pinero’s play of that name, is on the point of leaving Bellagio. Maldonado has left lying on her table a checkbook on a bank in which he has placed a few hundred pounds in her name. Because of the defalcation of her lawyer, she is in financial straits. Maldonado wishes to help her but also to gain power over her. Unwilling to take the checkbook, she has urged him to remove it. Lacking firmness of character, however, she lets him leave it, saying she will destroy it.
With a troubled, half-guilty look, Iris attires herself in her hat and cape; after which, carrying her gloves, she returns to her dressing-bag. Glancing round the room to assure herself that she has collected all her small personal belongings, her eyes rest on the checque-book which lies open on the writing-table. She contemplates it for a time, a gradually increasing fear showing itself in her face. Ultimately she walks slowly to the table and picks up a book. She is fingering it in an uncertain, frightened way when the servant returns.
Man-servant. (Standing over the bag.) Is there anything more, ma’am—?
(She hesitates helplessly; then, becoming conscious that she is being stared at, she advances, drops the book into the bag, and passes out. The man shuts the bag and is following her as the curtain falls.)41
This passage from Act I of The Great Divide shows pantomime supplementing speech as the dramatist of experience frequently employs it. A writer of less sure feeling would have permitted his characters some unnecessary or involved speech.
(Ruth selects a red flower, puts it in the dark mass of her hair, and looks out at the open door.) What a scandal the moon is making out in that great crazy world! Who but me could think of sleeping on such a night?
(She sits down, folds the flowers in her arms, and buries her face in them. After a moment, she starts up, listens, goes hurriedly to the door, draws the curtains before the window, comes swiftly to the table, and blows out the light. The room is left in total darkness. There are muttering voices outside, the latch is tried, then a heavy lunge breaks the bolt. A man pushes in, but is hurled back by a taller man, with a snarling oath. A third figure advances to the table, and strikes a match. As soon as the match is lighted Ruth levels the gun, which she has taken from its rack above the mantel. There is heard the click of the hammer, as the gun misses fire. It is instantly struck from her hand by the first man (Dutch), who attempts to seize her. She evades him and tries to wrest a pistol from a holster on the wall. She is met by the second man (Shorty), who frustrates the attempt, pocketing the weapon. While this has been going on, the third-man (Ghent) has been fumbling with the lamp, which he has at last succeeded in lighting. All three are dressed in rude frontier fashion, the one called Shorty is a Mexican half-breed, the others are Americans. Ghent is younger than Dutch, and taller, but less powerfully built. All are intoxicated, but not sufficiently so to incapacitate them from rapid action. The Mexican has seized Ruth and attempts to drag her toward the inner room. She breaks loose and flies back again to the chimney place, where she stands at bay. Ghent remains motionless and silent by the table, gazing at her.)
Dutch. (Uncorking a whiskey flask.) Plucky little catamount. I drink its health.
(Drinks.)
Ruth. What do you want here?42
Hofmannsthal, in his Electra, uses pantomime as only one detail, but no words could so paint the mad triumph of the sister of Orestes as does her “incredible dance.”
(Electra has raised herself. She steps down from the threshold, her head thrown back like a Mœnad. She lifts her knees, stretches out her arms; it is an incredible dance in which she steps forward.
Chrysothemis appearing again at the door, behind her torches, a Throng, faces of Men and Women.)
Chrysothemis. Electra!
Electra. (Stands still, gazing at her fixedly.) Be silent and dance.
Come hither all of you!
Join with me all! I bear the burden of joy,
And I dance before you here. One thing alone
Remains for all who are as happy as we;
To be silent and dance.
(She does a few more steps of tense triumph, and falls a-heap. Chrysothemis runs to her. Electra lies motionless. Chrysothemis runs to the door of the house and knocks.)
Chrysothemis. Orestes! Orestes! (Silence.)