How to Write a Play: Letters from Augier, Banville, Dennery, Dumas, Gondinet, Labiche, Legouvé, Pailleron, Sardou and Zola

In Short

This volume gathers a collection of letters from prominent French playwrights, framed by critical introductions and notes, addressing the central question of how a play is written. Rather than offering a neat step-by-step textbook, these theatrical figures offer conflicting, witty, and deeply candid responses about their creative habits, the unpredictable nature of audiences, and the limits of dramatic theory. The book endures because it demystifies the stage through the voices of those who actually worked on it, proving that great drama relies more on practical trial, instinct, and intuition than on rigid formulas.

The Story

The volume opens with an introduction by actor and playwright William Gillette, who sets a skeptical, humorous tone regarding the premise of the collection. He suggests that true creative geniuses rarely articulate their methods, and those who attempt to do so often fail to provide usable instruction. Gillette argues that dramatic writing cannot be learned from books or fireside reflection; it is an intricate craft of building visual and emotional traps to capture a fickle audience. The only true classroom for a dramatist is the theater itself, sitting out front among the spectators to learn their shifting appetites.

Following this prelude, the heart of the text consists of a series of letters written by leading French dramatists in response to an inquiry by Abraham Dreyfus. Émile Augier opens with a dry, ironic comparison between writing comedy and casting a cannon—simply taking a hole and pouring bronze around it—before recommending a dash of wit and gentle tears. Théodore de Banville sharply separates commercial success from artistic genius, claiming anyone can chase earnings, but lasting work demands an unteachable genius. Adolphe Dennery offers a succinct prescription to choose a subject neither too novel nor too old, while Alexandre Dumas fils details the intense pressure dramatists face from audiences who judge plays using everyday experience. Dumas insists the gift of playwriting is innate, inherited or discovered at birth, and cannot be acquired through sheer willpower.

As the letters progress, the playwrights reveal vastly different personal temperaments. Edmond Gondinet admits to a haphazard process driven entirely by personal amusement rather than artistic legacy. Eugène Labiche outlines a methodical approach, starting with a scene-by-scene outline on crisp linen paper and testing every moment to ensure the action never stalls. Ernest Legouvé compares playwriting to a high-speed express train, arguing that a dramatist must always work backward from the ending, unlike the meandering journey of a novelist. Édouard Pailleron recounts how even a play praised by managers, actors, and firemen can fall flat on opening night, proving that no author truly masters the outcome. Victorien Sardou emphasizes common sense and knowing one's destination, while Émile Zola expresses disdain for theatrical compromises, preferring the independence of novel writing. The book closes with biographical notes by B.M., contrasting Dumas's rapid, intuitive writing with Sardou's meticulous note-taking, detailed scenarios, and hands-on stage management.

How It Unfolds

The skeptic's warning Gillette establishes that dramatic instruction books are fundamentally flawed, asserting that playwriting relies on constructing mechanical traps for living audiences rather than following printed rules.

The craft defined and denied Augier and Banville provide contrasting initial takes, with Augier reducing comedy to an absurd recipe while Banville insists that commercial success and artistic survival depend entirely on rare, innate genius.

The public's heavy judgment Dumas fils explores why drama is uniquely difficult, explaining that theatregoers judge plays based on their own daily lives and expect to be flattered, pitied, and entertained rather than confronted with raw truth.

Outlines, trains, and chaotic opening nights Labiche and Legouvé explain the structural mechanics of plotting from the end backward, which Pailleron immediately counters by illustrating how a play can pass every rehearsal with flying colors and still fail completely before a real crowd.

The contrast of masters The concluding notes detail the working habits of Dumas and Sardou, showing how one writes impulsively in brief bursts while the other meticulously builds detailed scenarios, designs sets, and directs every physical movement on stage.

The People

• William Gillette: The American actor and dramatist who introduces the collection; he wants searchers to stop looking for textbook rules and instead study living audiences inside actual theaters.
• Alexandre Dumas fils: A celebrated playwright who wants to craft meaningful drama, yet feels limited by an audience that only desires to see itself reflected favorably; he ends up admitting that the true gift of playwriting cannot be taught or learned through work alone.
• Eugène Labiche: A prolific writer of comedies who wants to keep his audiences constantly engaged; he structures his plays strictly through detailed scene-by-scene plans, believing that a play must keep moving forward like a thousand-legged creature.
• Édouard Pailleron: A dramatist who wants to demystify artistic authority; he highlights the absurdity of theatrical production where everyone from the manager to the theater firemen can predict a triumph, only for the play to fail on opening night.
• Victorien Sardou: A master of stagecraft who wants complete control over his creative output; he accumulates endless notes, drafts elaborate scenarios, and personally directs every gesture, movement, and set design.

In Its Own Voice

"A play or drama is not a simple and straight-told story; it is a device--an invention--a carefully adjusted series of more or less ingenious traps..."

Gillette explains why dramatic construction differs entirely from standard storytelling, requiring technical precision to capture an audience's emotion.

"To write a sprightly play you must have a good digestion. Sprightliness resides in the stomach."

Labiche humorously links the physical energy required for comic playwriting to personal health and high spirits.

"A play is a railway journey by an express train--forty miles an hour, and from time to time ten minutes stop for the intermissions; and if the locomotive ceases rushing and hissing you hiss."

Legouvé uses a vivid transport metaphor to illustrate the relentless pace and tight structure required of a stage drama compared to a novel.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book explores the tension between deliberate craftsmanship and unpredictable creative instinct. It raises fundamental questions about whether dramatic art can ever be codified into a teachable science or if it remains entirely governed by temperament, luck, and intuition.

The collection also examines the unique relationship between the playwright and the public. Unlike literature, which allows a solitary reader to digest ideas at their own pace, the theater demands an immediate, collective reaction from a crowd. The text highlights how dramatic writing requires constant compromise between an author's artistic vision and the volatile, ever-changing expectations of the audience sitting beyond the footlights.

Why Read It Today

This collection will deeply resonate with aspiring dramatists, theater historians, screenwriters, and anyone curious about the mechanics of storytelling. It offers an engaging, unvarnished glimpse into the creative minds of nineteenth-century stage masters, stripping away romanticized notions of writing to reveal the anxiety, practical labor, and humor behind theatrical production.

The text feels remarkably fresh and conversational, reading more like a series of candid backstage debates than a dense academic manual. Readers will find immense charm in the writers' willingness to mock their own profession and admit their failures.

While the book touches on nineteenth-century stage terminology and references playwrights like Scribe who may be unfamiliar to modern readers, these historical details do not obscure its broader insights. The core conflicts discussed—how to structure a scene, how to handle audience expectations, and how to balance planning with intuition—remain completely relevant to contemporary storytellers facing similar creative hurdles today.