Dramatis Personæ
Captain La Rue, a little sea captain.
Bromley Barnes, former special investigator for the U.S. Customs Service.
Patrick Clancy, his friend.
A burly Butler.
John Felspar, junior partner of the firm of Felspar & Felspar, wine merchants.
Two Dinner Guests, members of the firm.
Carl Cozzens, the firm’s Canadian representative.
SCENE. The dining-room of Felspar’s Summer Cottage
Time: Early evening
The Captain is discovered sitting on the end of the table next the window with his legs dangling dejectedly. Suddenly he sees something and, rushing to the window, goes through a violent pantomime imploring help and caution from some one without and indicating the way to enter the house. He then wrings his hands and paces the floor excitedly ending at D. R. C. where he listens. The key turns in the lock and Barnes and Clancy enter cautiously. The Captain throws himself at their feet and tells them of being kidnapped and confined and his Ship’s papers taken from him and asks frantically for the time. Barnes tells him, and the Captain becomes at once dejected and silent. The other two, however, draw from him the story of how he has been racing over the Atlantic to get a cargo of champagne to an American port in time to get the benefit of the old tariff rate, just increased by the governments concerned. He got in in time but was drugged and confined in this house till too late and his papers taken from him. They advise him to stay where he is and, promising to help him at once, slip out as they came. The Butler comes in D. R. C. and begins setting table, joking the Captain about the supper to be held in his honor, but growling about the suddenness of his master’s decision to have it. The Captain is excited and helps him in mock politeness. As they are working, Felspar comes in. Butler tells him that he has hired a waiter for the evening, subject to his approval—a man who happened to be walking by, with a friend. Felspar congratulates him and the new waiter is called. It is Clancy. La Rue controls himself as he recognizes him. Felspar orders the Butler to lock La Rue in the up-stairs bedroom, which has been prepared, till he shall be wanted, telling him at the same time that all the guests have arrived but Mr. Cozzens, who is to be brought directly to the dining-room when he arrives. The others will not wait for him. The Butler hurries La Rue off. Felspar gives a few parting instructions to the new waiter and goes to bring the guests. Clancy finishes the preparations and signals out the window to Barnes to come. Felspar comes back with the guests D. L. C. The Butler reappears, is called to the door-bell and ushers in Barnes as “Mr. Cozzens.” Felspar introduces him as the Canadian representative of the firm whom he has never seen before. Barnes takes the cue and excuses his costume, saying that he arrived late and has not had time to change. All sit again and Felspar, telling the Butler to bring La Rue, tells the company that the ship’s papers of the rival business house have come into his hands. These he produces and passes along the table. Barnes, at the opposite end, pockets them as they come to him and refuses to give them up. All are astonished and half-angry. The Butler, having brought in the Captain at Felspar’s order (who stands unnoticed at the back) again answers the bell and ushers in Mr. Cozzens, announcing him in a doubtful voice. Felspar stutters, “You—you Mr. Cozzens?” “So me mother and father says,” the new-comer replies. “And you?” says the wine-merchant wheeling on Barnes. Barnes presents his card which is read aloud by Felspar, who goes into a white heat and demands the papers back. Barnes blandly refuses. Felspar threatens, saying he has four to one. At this point Clancy and La Rue step forward and signify their readiness to side with Barnes. Felspar laughs and tells them to take the papers then as the new law went into effect at four-thirty that afternoon. But Barnes informs him that the provisions of the French-American commercial treaty demand that the customs houses remain open till midnight when such a law goes through, and that they still have several hours. Felspar is again furious and orders them out and the three go together leaving the company in an angry stupor.
Curtain
Let it be clearly understood that there is no definitely established length for a scenario. It may run from one to two pages for a play of one act to twenty or more pages for a longer play. Obviously, a scenario should be as brief as clear presentation of what it must give permits, for it primarily exists as a short cut for the person who reads it to necessary information about a proposed play. Clearness is the first essential; brevity the second. The exact length must in each case be decided by the particular needs of the subject treated and the best judgment of the writer.
Above all, it should be remembered that a scenario unless it is simply an abbreviated presentation of a play already in manuscript should be considered something flexible. What is meant by this is that many a writer working with a scenario which has been approved by a manager or actor feels hampered because as he writes he has almost irresistible impulses to break away from the scenario as planned into situations or details of characterization and even of general treatment which, though they occur to him at the moment, seem to him undoubted improvements. Yet he hesitates to change his plan because it has been approved. This is folly. A scenario is at its best when it concerns not a completed but a proposed play and is held to be not fixed but thoroughly flexible. If changes suggesting themselves are felt by the writer to be improvements, he should by all means incorporate them. A good scenario bears much the same relation to a completed play that an architect’s plans bear to a completed house. Where would the carpenter be without such plans, yet where is the set of plans which has not been modified or even greatly changed while the building is in construction? “Ibsen had no respect for any dramatist who proceeded otherwise [than from a carefully prepared scenario]. Once besought by a young dramatist to read the manuscript of his new play, Ibsen curtly asked for the scenario. When the young man proudly replied that he needed no scenario, having followed his inspiration whithersoever it led him from scene to scene, Ibsen grew furious and showed the pseudo-dramatist the door, declaring that any one who dispensed with a scenario didn’t know what a drama was and couldn’t possibly write one. And yet, after all, the scenario as first outlined by Ibsen may best be regarded as an experimental foreshadowing subject to radical modification as the writing of the play itself proceeds. It serves as the skeleton framework for Ibsen’s later ideation.... While it is true, then, that the material took shape in his mind long before he wrote a word of actual dialogue, yet Ibsen expressly acknowledged that it never took such unalterable shape in his mind as to permit him to write the last act first or the first act last. During the course of the work the details emerged by degrees.”11
The fact is, a scenario is almost always a photograph of the mind of the person who writes it. If he is not ready to write his play, the scenario will show it, making clear whether this unreadiness comes from insufficiently understood characterization; thin or incomplete story; a lack of right proportioning of the material so that what is unimportant seems important; or a general vagueness as to what the author wants to do with his material. Just here lies the strong reason why every would-be dramatist will do well to become expert in scenario writing. He may for a long time fool himself into thinking that he can work better without a scenario; he may be able to write without putting on paper all that in this chapter has been required from the writer of a scenario, but sooner or later he goes through all the processes in his mind and either on paper or in his brain fulfils these requirements. The very people who shrink from forcing themselves to work out all the details required by a good scenario are merely dodging the inevitable. They avoid something irksome as a preliminary merely to do all this work before the completed play is ready. He who wants to write his play rapidly will find that he makes time in his final composition by taking all the time he needs in the preliminary task of drawing a good scenario. Undeniably, a scenario is the most effective way of forcing oneself to know the characters and the story of a play before one begins to write the play in detail. Work out a scenario carefully and all the difficult problems the play involves will have been solved except those of dialogue and perhaps some subtleties of characterization. Regard the resulting scenario as something entirely flexible and the composition of the play should be safe and even sure. He who steers by the compass knows how with safety to change his course. He who steers by dead reckoning is liable to error and delay.
Often questions as to scenarios are asked which imply that there must be some set form fulfilling all the requirements stated which can be adhered to strictly. Not at all. These various requirements may be met in almost as many ways as there are writers. One man may use more description. Another writer may use more narration. Some will use dialogue very freely. Some will characterize more than others. Yet all these different workers may produce scenarios equally good in that they are clear, brief, move by suggested dramatic action, are definite in genre, and make thoroughly evident their elements of suspense and climax.
Here are some scenarios which use dialogue rather freely. They are given not because such use is especially commendable but merely to illustrate it.
THE LEGACY
The persons
David Brice, a young attorney.
Reene Brice, his uncle.
Benjamin Doyle, his fiancée’s father.
Dr. Wangren, family physician.
Mrs. Brice, the mother.
”Ditto” Brice, the sister.
Katherine Doyle, fiancée.
The Time: The present.
The Place: Any city.
SCENE. The Brice living-room comfortably furnished in walnut. A piano centre L., a round table rear R. Four entrances: upper L., rear centre, upper right, right centre. Curtained windows rear R. & L.
Joy seems to radiate through the household. Ditto and Katherine are discovered; Katherine, a pretty enthusiast of 22 playing diminuendo a joy-melody at piano; Ditto, pretty, 20 and nervous, crossing R. with an armload of tagged packages of various sizes and prettily tied—birthday presents for her brother David. Arrived at table, rear R., she deposits them.
Ditto. (Stacking packages.) Don’t you wish you were getting these birthday presents, Katherine?
Katherine. (Playing.) I am, Ditto, dear. David is mine; therefore, what is David’s belongs to me.
Ditto. (Petulantly.) And what is yours....
Katherine. (In fun.)... Belongs to father.
(Begins to sing merrily.)
(Exit Ditto, R.)
Enter Mrs. Brice, L., a thoughtful woman of 50, quite grey and though careworn, attractive. She carries a linen spread and goes to the table. Katherine sings softly, playing diminuendo.
Mrs. Brice. (Covering presents.) You are very happy tonight, aren’t you?
Katherine. (Cheerily.) Why shouldn’t I be, Mrs. Brice? It is David’s birthday. (Going to her.) But you aren’t.
Mrs. Brice. (Bravely.) Yes, I am. But you see this is probably David’s last birthday at home and....
Katherine. (Lovingly.) By no means! I shall bring him home every birthday. (Kissing her.)... And once in a while between.
Mrs. Brice. (As they go down, arm in arm.) I know you will, Katherine, but we mothers...
David. (Entering centre rear, overcoat, hat and traveling grip.) Hello everybody!... (Tosses grip on table and makes for them.)... Merry Christmas, Happy New Year (kisses mother) and a quiet Fourth of July. (Kisses Katherine.)
(David is a well-built handsome man of 28 neatly dressed in business suit, light-weight overcoat and hat.)
David. (Removing coat, Katherine assisting.) Well, how are all the little details?
(Coat off, he begins kissing Katherine again. Enter Ditto, R.)
Ditto. (Petulantly.) Do you realize this is your birthday?
David. (Kissing mother.) I am doing my best to show it! (Tossing Ditto his coat.) Hang that up and I will show you.
(Exit Ditto, R., with his coat and hat.)
David. (Coming down from table with blue-print in hand.) Now, mother and child, look ye!
(He shows them the architectural plans of the new cottage he is going to build as a wedding present to Katherine. They like them very much. More joy. Ditto, reëntering, is also enthusiastic over plans.
David next announces that he has been invited to become a member of his employer’s law firm, one of the most successful in the State. More joy, manifested by another round of kisses.
But he has not only been asked to join the firm; the firm has promised him a straight loan, without interest, with which to build his house. Otherwise he would have had to borrow from a building and loan association. Therefore, bids are now being advertised for and work will begin very soon. Great joy. Ditto seizes mother’s hand and Katherine’s and dances a ring around David.
As the jollification subsides, David inquires for his uncle, Reene. He must approve the plans, for he was a great architect in his day. His mother informs him that the uncle went for a ride with Doctor Wangren.)
David. How is he feeling today?
Mrs. Brice. Not quite so well. In fact, I never saw him so despondent.
David. He must not look at it that way. We all have our little troubles. (To Katherine.) Don’t we?
(They go toward piano. Exit Mrs. Brice, L., taking Ditto with her.
In a short scene at the piano, during which Katherine plays diminuendo, the fact is revealed that her father opposes the match between her and David; not because he does not like David but for reasons which he has not divulged to his daughter. This cloud passes by quickly, however.)
THE CONSULTATION
The persons of the play
Marian.
Katherine.
Dr. Thomas Wells.
Dr. Benjamin Crawford.
The scene represents a sitting room in Marian’s home. It is very cheaply furnished. There is a door at back centre, and also one at R. At upper left is a curtained window, not practicable. In the centre is a table, on which is a lighted lamp. Near the window is a couch. There are chairs about the room, and a few cheap pictures on the walls. It is evening, and the room is dimly lighted.
When the curtain rises, there is no one in the room, but in a moment the door at rear opens, and Katherine enters noiselessly. She is a pleasant looking woman of 30. She is followed by Dr. Wells, who closes the door behind him very softly. He is a young man, with a Van Dyke beard. The two go to right of table, and Katherine looks at the doctor inquiringly. He speaks with some hesitation.
Dr. Wells. You want the truth?
Katherine. Of course.
Dr. Wells. I think he’s dying. This is the crisis, and the chances are a thousand to one against him.
Katherine. I’m afraid my sister can’t bear the shock. She loves her husband more than I can tell you, Doctor.
(They are discussing the case when Marian enters from the rear. She lingers a moment and looks back into the other room. Then she slowly closes the door, and advances towards the others. She is a pretty woman, about 25, but she looks pale and anxious.
Dr. Wells and Katherine stop talking when she comes near and watch her. She turns to the Doctor and asks for his verdict. He doesn’t reply, but looks inquiringly at Katherine. After a moment, she says he’d better tell her. Very gently he breaks the news, and informs her that her husband will probably die. The disease is vicious and can’t be checked.)
Marian. (Anxiously.) You mean my husband will die?
Dr. Wells. I fear so.
Marian. Don’t say that, Doctor. It will kill me. You don’t know what John means to me.
(The Doctor assures her that he has done his best, and the patient is now in the hands of God. He’s sorry but in all honesty he believes the man will die.
Marian refuses to believe, and maintains that her husband will not die. No doubt he’s a very sick man, but he will live. She declares she has sent for a man who can save him.)
Marian. You’ve been good, Doctor, and God will bless you. But you won’t blame me for saying that perhaps some one else might look at the case differently. You don’t feel hurt? Don’t blame me, but I’ve sent for Dr. Crawford, so you can have—what do you call it?—a consultation. I know he can save my husband’s life.
Dr. Wells. (Surprised.) You mean Dr. William Crawford, the famous specialist?
Marian. Yes. Oh, Doctor, he’s so wonderful!
Dr. Wells. (Enthusiastically.) Wonderful? I should say so. He’s one of the most remarkable men in the profession. If there’s any one in the world who can save your husband’s life, he is the man. (Doubtfully.) But can you pay his fee?
SCENARIO
THE WINNING OF GENERAL JANE
(A farce of three persons, a dog, and a gun “that wasn’t loaded”)
Cast
Jane, about twenty.
Aunt Sophy, her maiden aunt, about 45.
Bobby Holloway, a lodger, about 23.
Place, Jane’s bedroom. Time about 11 at night
SETTING. Lower left a closet, door opening inward. Upper left a door leading to Aunt Sophy’s room, opening inward. Rear centre, double-windows set in a shallow alcove. The curtains are draped to right and left. Right, up stage, a fireplace without a fire. Left, down stage, a dressing-table with mirror. A low stool stands before it. Against rear wall to left a washstand half-hidden by a Japanese screen, shoulder height. Against right wall and about halfway down stage a bed. It is low and preferably wooden.
At rise Jane is discovered at dressing-table occupied in braiding her hair. Enter Aunt Sophy. She asks Jane if Mr. Holloway, their single lodger, is in for the night. Jane replies with some petulance that she does not know. A dissection of that gentleman’s character ensues in which Jane anathematizes him, while Aunt Sophy, despite her avowed dislike for all things masculine, champions his cause. At last Jane intimates that in all probability Mr. Holloway will propose to Aunt Sophy at a very early date. The latter cannot conceal her delight. She is not content with Jane’s assurance on this point but must know how she discovered the state of Bobby’s affections. Jane finally admits that she bases her deduction upon the fact that he “proposes to everybody, in season and out!”—that he has proposed to her, Jane, no less than 237 times.
Aunt Sophy is hurt and shocked at this revelation of perfidy and immediately sides with Jane, declaring that she will oust Mr. Holloway on the following morning. Jane however does not want to be sided with. With true feminine variability she shifts her attitude as completely as Aunt Sophy has hers, and pleads with the outraged old maid to reverse her decision. She shows that she really cares for Bobby more than at first appeared. Aunt Sophy however is obdurate, and departs, leaving Jane almost dissolved in tears.
At this juncture a racket arises outside Jane’s window. It is a mixture of blasphemous English, growls and hurried footsteps. Jane starts to investigate, but seeing an arm and a leg thrust hastily over the sill, retreats to the door in alarm. Immediately Bobby climbs in, and a smothered exclamation from Jane identifies him. He glances about hurriedly, and not perceiving her, turns his attention to the dog who still growls below. He epitomizes him with surprising fluency, until Jane, unable to stand more, interrupts. This precipitates a profuse apology for the intrusion and other things, an explanation, and later a proposal.
Jane is angered beyond measure not only at this invasion of her privacy but also at Bobby’s attitude towards the whole affair. She orders him to leave. He attempts to do so by way of the door.
Jane. (Frightened.) W-w-where are you going?
Bobby. (Shrugging.) Hump!—to heaven—eventually!
Jane. (Barring way.) N-n-not through Aunt Sophy’s room!
(She informs him that he must depart the way he came. He consents but only in a very half-hearted manner. Between Aunt Sophy and Towser he is in a quandary. After several unsuccessful starts he flatly refuses to descend, and upbraids Jane for her cruelty. He dwells at length on the horrors of dog-bites, hydrophobia, madness, and death.)
Bobby. (Injured.) As if I had not already been chewed up so that I can scarcely sit—(hastily)—I mean walk.
Jane. (Relenting.) Gracious! Bobby, did he bite you?
Bobby. Did he?
Jane. (Seizing bottle from table.) Heavens! You must put something on it! Some antiseptic! Bobby come here!
Bobby. Oh, no, no! No, it’s not serious!
Jane. Come here this instant!
Bobby. (Flatly.) I won’t do it!
(He succeeds so well in working upon her sympathies that even a knock at Aunt Sophy’s door is not enough to make her change her attitude. She now as obstinately refuses to let him descend to certain death as previously he had refused to do it. The knocks are continued. Jane is rapidly losing her head when it suddenly occurs to her that if she stores Bobby away under the bed until Towser has departed or Aunt Sophy has gone to sleep, all may yet be well. While Bobby is ensconcing himself in this new position a three cornered conversation takes place, in which Jane becomes more and more involved.)
Aunt Sophy. (Outside.) Jane, Jane, are you ill?
Jane. Ill? Oh, oh! I don’t know!
Aunt Sophy. Open the door this minute or I’ll break it down!
Jane. Break it down?
Aunt Sophy. Yes, this instant!
Jane. Oh, oh! Don’t do that! It’s not locked!...
It may be interesting to compare the scenario of A Doll’s House from which Ibsen wrote his first draft with his original notes. Here is perfect illustration of the difference between sketchy notes which mean much to the writer and a scenario which at least broadly will convey to a reader the artistic and ethical purposes in the play the dramatist means to write.
NOTES FOR THE MODERN TRAGEDY
Rome, 19. 10, 78.
There are two kinds of spiritual law, two kinds of conscience, one in man and another, altogether different, in woman. They do not understand each other; but in practical life the woman is judged by man’s law, as though she were not a woman but a man.
The wife in the play ends by having no idea of what is right or wrong; natural feeling on the one hand and belief in authority on the other have altogether bewildered her.
A woman cannot be herself in the society of the present day, which is an exclusively masculine society, with laws framed by men and with a judicial system that judges feminine conduct from a masculine point of view.
She has committed forgery, and she is proud of it; for she did it out of love for her husband, to save his life. But this husband, with his commonplace principles of honour is on the side of the law and regards the question with masculine eyes.
Spiritual conflicts. Oppressed and bewildered by the belief in authority, she loses faith in her moral right and ability to bring up her children. Bitterness. A mother in modern society, like certain insects who go away and die when she has done her duty in the propagation of the race.12 Love of life, of home, of husband and children and family. Here and there a womanly shaking-off of her thoughts. Sudden return of anxiety and terror. She must bear it all alone. The catastrophe approaches, inexorably, inevitably. Despair, conflict, and destruction.
(Krogstad has acted dishonourably and thereby become well-to-do; now his prosperity does not help him, he cannot recover his honour.)13
Persons
Stenborg, a Government clerk.
Nora, his wife.
Miss (Mrs.) Linde (a widow).
Attorney Krogstad.
Karen, nurse at the Stenborgs’.
A Parlour-Maid at the Stenborgs’.
A Porter.
The Stenborgs’ three little children.
Doctor Hank.
SCENARIO. FIRST ACT
A room comfortably, but not showily, furnished. In the back, on the right, a door leads to the hall; on the left another door leads to the room or office of the master of the house, which can be seen when the door is opened. A fire in the stove. Winter day.
She enters from the back, humming gaily; she is in outdoor dress and carries several parcels, has been shopping. As she opens the door, a Porter is seen in the hall, carrying a Christmas-tree. She: Put it down there for the present. (Taking out her purse.) How much? Porter: Fifty öre. She: Here is a crown. No, keep the change. The Porter thanks her and goes. She continues humming and smiling with quiet glee as she opens several of the parcels she has brought. Calls off, is he at home? Yes! At first, conversation through the closed door; then he opens it and goes on talking to her while continuing to work most of the time, standing at his desk. There is a ring at the hall-door; he does not want to be disturbed; shuts himself in. The maid opens the door to her mistress’s friend, just arrived in town. Happy surprise. Mutual explanation of the position of affairs. He has received the post of manager in the new joint-stock bank and is to enter on his duties at the New Year; all financial worries are at an end. The friend has come to town to look for some small employment in an office or whatever may present itself. Mrs. Stenborg gives her good hopes, is certain that all will turn out well. The maid opens the front door to the debt-collector. Mrs. Stenborg, terrified; they exchange a few words; he is shown into the office. Mrs. Stenborg and her friend; the circumstances of the debt-collector are touched upon. Stenborg enters in his overcoat; has sent the collector out the other way. Conversation about the friend’s affairs; hesitation on his part. He and the friend go out; his wife follows them into the hall; the Nurse enters with the children. Mother and children play. The collector enters. Mrs. Stenborg sends the children out to the left. Great scene between her and him. He goes. Stenborg enters; has met him on the stairs; displeased; wants to know what he came back for? Her support? No intrigues. His wife cautiously tries to pump him. Strict legal answers. Exit to his room. She (repeating her words when the collector went out): But that’s impossible. Why, I did it from love!
SCENARIO. SECOND ACT
The last day of the year. Midday. Nora and the old Nurse. Nora, impelled by uneasiness, is putting on her things to go out. Anxious random questions of one kind and another give a hint that thoughts of death are in her mind. Tries to banish these thoughts, to turn it off, hopes that something or other may intervene. But what? The Nurse goes off to the left.—Stenborg enters from his room. Short dialogue between him and Nora.—The Nurse re-enters, looking for Nora; the youngest child is crying. Annoyance and questioning on Stenborg’s part; exit the Nurse; Stenborg is going in to the children.—Doctor Hank enters. Scene between him and Stenborg.—Nora soon re-enters; she has turned back; anxiety has driven her home again. Scene between her, the Doctor and Stenborg. Stenborg goes into his room.—Scene between Nora and the Doctor. The Doctor goes out.—Nora alone.—Mrs. Linde enters. Short scene between her and Nora.—Krogstad enters. Short scene between him and Mrs. Linde and Nora. Mrs. Linde goes in to the children.—Scene between Krogstad and Nora.—She entreats and implores him for the sake of her little children; in vain. Krogstad goes out. The letter is seen to fall from outside into the letter-box.—Mrs. Linde re-enters after a short pause. Scene between her and Nora. Half confession. Mrs. Linde goes out.—Nora alone.—Stenborg enters. Scene between him and Nora. He wants to empty the letter-box. Entreaties, jests, half playful persuasion. He promises to let business wait till after New Year’s Day; but at 12 o’clock midnight—! Exit. Nora alone. Nora (looking at the clock): It is five o’clock. Five;—seven hours till midnight. Twenty-four hours till the next midnight. Twenty-four and seven—thirty-one. Thirty-one hours to live.—
THIRD ACT
A muffled sound of dance music is heard from the floor above. A lighted lamp on the table. Mrs. Linde sits in an armchair and absently turns the pages of a book, tries to read, but seems unable to fix her attention; once or twice she looks at her watch. Nora comes down from the dance; uneasiness has driven her; surprise at finding Mrs. Linde, who pretends that she wanted to see Nora in her costume. Helmer, displeased at her going away, comes to fetch her back. The Doctor also enters, but to say good-bye. Meanwhile Mrs. Linde has gone into the side room on the right. Scene between the Doctor, Helmer, and Nora. He is going to bed, he says, never to get up again; they are not to come and see him; there is ugliness about a death-bed. He goes out. Helmer goes upstairs again with Nora, after the latter has exchanged a few words of farewell with Mrs. Linde. Mrs. Linde alone. Then Krogstad. Scene and explanation between them. Both go out. Nora and the children. Then she alone. Then Helmer. He takes the letters out of the letter-box. Short scene; goodnight; he goes into his room. Nora in despair prepares for the final step; is already at the door when Helmer enters with the open letter in his hand. Great scene. A ring. Letter to Nora from Krogstad. Final scene. Divorce. Nora leaves the house.14
Finally, here is the full scenario of a play which made a great success both in England and the United States and was seen by practically all the Continental countries, namely, Kismet. Notice how well it fulfils the requirements for a good scenario stated in this chapter, not because Mr. Knobloch had these rules in mind as he composed it, but because, as a trained dramatist, he instinctively gave these qualities to his scenario. Carefully studied in relation to the essentials of scenario writing just stated, it should remove all doubt in the mind of a student as to what a good scenario is and why it is an essential preliminary to a good play.