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THEATRICAL 


AND 


CIRCUS LIFE; 


or, 


SECRETS OF THE STAGE, 


GREEN-ROOM AND SAWDUST ARENA. 


EMBRACING 


A WISTORY OF THE THEATRE FROM SHAKESPEARE’S TIME TO THE PRESENT 
DAY, AND ABOUNDING IN ANECDOTES CONCERNING THE MOST PROMI- 
NENT ACTORS AND ACTRESSES BEFORE THE PUBLIC; ALSO, A 
COMPLETE EXPOSITION OF THE MYSTERIES OF THE STAGE, 
SHOWING THE MANXER IX WHICH WONDERFUL SCENIC AND 
OTHER EFECTS ARE PRODUCED; THE ORIGIN AND 
GROWTH OF XEGRO MINSTRELSY; THE MOST ASTON- 

ISHING TRICKS OF MODERN MAGICIANS, AND A 
MI8TORY OF THE HIPFODEOME, ETC., ETC. 





Illustrated with Numerous Engravings and 
Fine Colored Plates. 


By JOHN J. JENNINGS. 





ST. LOUIS, MO.: 
DAN LINAHAN & CO, 
1882, 


t 
we 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 18%, by 
SUN PUBLISHING COMPANY, 


In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 











4 PROLOGUE. 


of numbers of the members of the theatrical and cir- 
cus profession, hut the sins and shortcomings of indi- 
viduals,can be visited upon the entire class with no 
more justice than can tho frailties of a few preachers 
bo applied generally to the pulpit, or the dishonesty 
of a handful of lawyers be reflected upon all the dis- 
ciples of Blackstone in existenee. Neither is it just to 
class as theatres places of resort that do not deserve 
the name— the **dives’’ and ‘+ dens‘? that are fre- 
quented by disreputable men and women whose low 
tastes are catered to by men and women every bit as 
diareputable as their patrons. Such establishments 
receive, in this volume, only the severe treatment they 
fully merit. 

In explaining the mysteries of stage representa- 
tions, and indicating the tricks of ring performances, 
as well as in speaking of the private lives of performers 
and giving biographies of the most noted actors and 
actresses now before the public, an attempt has been 
made to be perfectly accurate in every detail. Tho 
anecdotal portion of the book has likewise received 
careful attention, and indeed every feature of the 
work has been given due consideration, in the hope 
that in and out of the profession,” TurarricaL aNp 
Cmovs Lire may meet with a favorable reception and 
be regarded as worthy the subjects of which it treats. 
Commending it to the kindness of all into whose 
hands it falls; and assuring the inhabitants of the 
mimic and real worlds, that, whatever construction 
may be placed | upon his sentences, naught but respect 
and affection is felt for the true and good men and 
women of the stage, the author parts from bis volume 
regretting that it is not lange enough to cirasescebody 
a place in its pages, or to say as muc 
dividual as cach deserves, 4 

Sr. Lours, August 1, 1 













6 CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER Iv. 


AT THE stTadEDoON. 


Front Door and Back Door Entrances —* Mashers" at the 
"Stage-Door—The Cerberus who Stands Guard — 
Perquisites Paid to Iim— Bulkhead and the Ballet 
Girls —The Tricks of the Scene Putnter on the Girls — 
‘The Girls’ Revenge —Bold and Heartless Lovers — 
Notes Pushed under the Dressing-Room Door—Alice 
Oates's Mash— Watching the Manavuvres of the 
“Mashors” —'Tale of the Pink Symmetricals - + 


CHAPTER Y. 


puvors Tum FooT-LGHTS. 





People who Putrontze the Theatre —The Young Blood — 
Members of the "Profes” —'The Giddy and Gushing 
Usher —The Bouncer—The Peanut Cruncher—The 
People who go out “Between Acts" —The Big Hat 
Nuisance —Anvcdote of Georye and Harry - — - 





CHAPTER V1. 
DRIEND TI ACENEA. 


An Amatour Theatre — The Author's Rxperionce as “ Imp” 
{na Spectacular Scone—A Trip to the Moon =~ 


CHAPTER VII. 
1 THM PHEAEING-ROOM, 


Goodwin's “ Make-up’! for Hobbies — Booth and Company 
Playing Hamlet" In Street Costume — Dressing. 
Rooms of Old-Time and Present Theatres — Louis 
Harrison Spoils a Play at San Francisco — How Actors 
“Make up" for Various Parts—The Hair-Dresver 
end the Actress - . : - - - . . 






CHAPTER VIL. 


WITy THE Wi 





s. 


‘The Stage Prompter and His Dutles Actors who “ Stick’ 
nd some who “ Never Stick" —A Popular Actress and 





PAGES 





56-08 


8-105 








8 CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIIT. 
THE ARMY oF ATTACIEES, 





Broken Down or “Crushed Actors ax Door-Keapers— 
Tho ‘Treasurer of the Theatre —'Tho Usher —Orchostra 
and Lender— Stage Managor—The Sconic Artist— 
‘The Stage Carpenter, Supes and Minor Attaches, and 
Last but not Feast the Callkioy - «+ + 195-205 


CHAPTER XV. 


STAGE STHCCK. 
The Young Man from Cnhokla—The Box of Gags— 
Staye Struck Girls of Loulsville —'The College Graduate 
from Iilinoli—‘"The Warrier Bowed His Crusted 
Head” —'The “N, G,"" Curtain —Maric Dixon's Fail- 
ure —Mrs. H. M. Lowls, of Charleston, Duped by 
Schwab & Rummel—Tlarry Russell 
gor! —A Colored Troop"s Curious 



















SHATTER XV. 
a 

Old-Time and Present Relwarsaly— Olive Logan"s Deserip- 
tion of a Kehoarsal—Rohearsal of the Corps de Bal- 

Jet —Appearance of Tagliont, Cerito, Carlotta Grisl, 
Lucile Grae at Her Majesty's Theatre, In London ~ 





IEUETEATS 








240 


CHAPTER XV. 





CANDEDATES ¥ 





h SORT CLOTINS. 

Advertising for Ballet Girls —Salarios Paid thom — Who 
Apply — Where the Can-Con Flourishos —The Ups and 
Downs of n Ballet Girl's Life —The Nautch Dancers 241 











CHAPTER XVI. 


YRAENING NALLET DANCES. 
Interviewing Sig. J. F, Cardella—The French School 
‘Theatre La Scala —Amount of Practice Required —The 
American Ballet —Salaries of Premieres, Coryphees, 
ele, The Timo Required —A Little Foust and Foolish 
aiTimes- - + - oe. lg Sa 








CHAPTER XVUT. 


PLAYS ARD PLAMWROITS, 
The Trials gud Tribulations of the Gawky Young Drama- 





10 ; CONTENTS. 


rages 
‘Little Corinne — Debut of Emma Livry — Neil Gwynne 
the Fish Girl—Lola Montez, the Pretty Irish Girl— 
Adah Isanes Menken as Maseppa— Mary Anderson the 
‘Tragedtoane — Lots and Magia Mitchell, ana Hon 
of Others - - - - + DHE 


CHAPTER XX 


CHINESY AND JAPANHS THRATRICALS. 

Great Length of the Play —Description of a Chinese Thea- 
tre—The Prompter—The Andionce —The Actors — 
‘The Musiclans —Jnpanese ‘Thoatres—No \* Resurved 
Seats" —Prices of Admission—Side Shows - > S43. 

CHAPTER XXV. 
OPERA AND OFEHA SIXOERS. 

Palmo, the Father of Italian Opera in Amerioa— Interview 
with Col. Mapleson—'The Cost of Rizzing u Com- 
pany — What it Costs Every Time the Curtain Is Rang 
Up—Mmo. Griai’s Superstition —The Best Operas — 


Salaries of Singers —Nellyon and the Diamond Mei 
Ce Se 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

TK MINSTEEL noYs. 

Emmet, Brower, Whitlock and Petiam among the Rasliext— 
Pot-Me Herbert— Daddy Rice and Jim Crow —Zip 
Coon — Coal Black Rose — My Long Tail Blue —Barh 


Days of George Christy — Minstrel Men Generally i 
provident —Minatrel Men as Mashers —Haverly’s Mus- 


Yodon Minstrels —"Tho Boys at Roboarsal - 367-381 
CHALTER XXVIt. 




















PANTOMIME 


George L. Fox, the King —G. 1. Adams, hls 5 
Boxing Night in ondon ~~ - - -  - See-sies 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
VARIED DIVES AND CONCKIT SALOONS, 
‘First-Class Varieties —Harry Hill» Famous Resort —In- 
terview with Harry Hill—Ida and Jotinnie— Deacons 
tn & Dive—The Bouncer at Work —The Cow-Boy’s 
Call for Mary —The Can-Can—Music by Benita 
Overthe Rhine - - - - - - + seus 








12 CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 
JOHN WILKES NOOTH, PRESIDENT LINCOLN’S ARAABSIN, 


YAGKE 
Shooting of Abraham Lincoln —Booth's Rehearsal at Wal- 
Inek’s —An Old Actor's Qpinion of J. W. Booth — His 
Richard the TH. « Fine Pieco of ilies Booth and 
Collier as Richard and Richmond - - = $4491 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


RE SUMAEER VACATION, 


How the Stars and Lesser Lights Disport ‘Themselves — 
Actors at tho Seaside — The “ Old Gray" Sarprises the 
AAstons at the Banquet — Mlillens Spent apon Thoatr!- 
ads (othe acer ow te ae fe) 6 MBS-50L 


CHAPTER XXXVIT. 
YOS AMONG TIE ELKS. 

Who the “Rika” aro —Jaghandie's Friend Wants to be an 
Elk — Getting the Candidate Roady — "The High Muck- 
a-Muck—Tho Peculiar Circle —'Tho Descent — The 
Path of Progross—The Upward Filght to 
Downt Dowat! Down!!! —On #Blaoycte 
Merelful Net—-An Elk = ~~ See 


CHAPTER XXXVIEL 
Tim ornoUs ts KIL 
Tho Disongaged Canvasman's Pootry —Cirens Posters — 
‘The Grand Parade —The $25,000 Beauty — ‘Twelve 
Ronles aud Forty Horses on a Rampage — Heury Clay 
Scott. anit his Aged Father —Sold his Stove ta go to 
+ the Clus + = = = = + b12-s2t 


CHAPTER XXXIX, 





UNDER THE caxvas. 


‘and the Cirous — Beating the Show —Slack 
4: Balloon Performances — Donaldson's [il 
)— Frighttu 


 Aceldent in Mexlco—Cirens 








LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


rt 
Frontiseicce (Couonep Pate) =» - + = = 1 
Baikhead and the Ballet Girls - . . - - - 18 
lotta -  - at Et ds - a 
DeomiogtasomeFusur © 2 2 5 2 < 4F 
‘The"*Masher™ - ~- oie Ore “ 
TheBigHat - - - Z tf 
Georgeand Harry - - +” > . 
Louise Montague - + - - Sane. ys 4 
Mando Branscombe «5 
SelimDolro- + - + - - : 6 
John McCollough + - - - 0 
Belle Howett - - - - 18 
WileHouget - - - - - - - = ie 
Lillie West - - - - . - . 7 
Pawiaxn Mamicirast (Corona Prarn 20 


Adah Isaac Menken = 5 ae 
Millie La Fonte 5 tyr 
Ballot Glely Dressing-Room 

Edwin Booth - - - - a : 
McKee Rankin- - ~ + - “ o 
Tho Three Vitius 

Samh Bernhardt - - 
‘The Late Adelaide Netlson Serie > ) 
Dressing anActress's Hair - - - - - - - 102 








MarieRese - - - - - - - - = - 105 
IntheGreen-Room- - - - - - - 108 
AGroen-Room Tableau - - = = - Ps lot 
Getting their Lines” - — - - 100 
Wine inthe Wings - =~ - = 0 
Improving Spare Moments - - - - - - + lg 
Au Actress’s Useful Husband 1g 
Making Love Inthe Side Scenes - =~ sf. ons 
‘The Fire Laddie's Mistake - ~~ - ws 
Sobering Comedian - - - 190 
McCullough us Virginias == - - - a} ee 1M 
etiate i ~ - - se - 128 
Whe Late VenleClncle- - - - - - 196 


(4) 


ne 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 15 

PAGE 

Catherine Lewis - - - - = - = = = 128 
Chanfrau- = = = 5 2 = = = = = IL 
Fanny Davenport - - - - - - - + = 18¢ 
Dion Boucieault - - - - + = + = = 185 
Mrs.Boucicault - - - - = - - - = 186 
MaudGranger - - - - + - + + + 189 
MileMontrse - - - - - - - - - MB 
Lizzie MeCall op dren Msi ge SS eo a8 
PinupmySkirts - - - - - - - - = U8 
Annie Pixley as M’ oy ey EPs an ce oe HTS 
The Call Boy's Revenge- - - - - - - - 181 
NellGwynne - - = = = = + + = = 18K 
EmmaThurby - - - - - - - = = 186 
LillianRussell- - - = - = = = = = 188 
JoeJefferson- - - - - - - - + = 169 
Sola Montes! = 862.22 A, Se soca A ab: 
Luzzre Wenster (Covorep Pate) - = = == 160 
LawrenceBarrett.- - - - - - = - = I6l 
J.K.Emmett- - - - - - - - = + 166 
JohnT.Raymond - - - - - - = = = 166 
Katherine Rogers - - - - - - = - - 168 
Josephine D'Orme- - - - - - - = = 170 
CoraPerl = = - - = + + + = + 18 
sLesterWallck = - - = - = + + + 15 
Clara Morris SS ae om eee iat A fee ay, 
HelenDingeon - - - - - = = = = 198 
Scot-Siddons- = - - - - = - = = 181 
JotnParselle- - - + - + + = = = 186 
SolSmithRussell - - - - - - - - - 187 
RoseCoghlan - - - - - - - - + 189 
TheRaftScene - - - - - - - = + 192 
Minnle Hauk 5 shits: asa ~ Spray sbda Tian 
Helping the Scene Painter. = = = =. sO 
‘The Old Woman of theCompany - - - - - - 206 
‘The EstheticDrama - - - - - - += = 205 
KittyBlanchard = - - = - = = + + 209 
Photographing an Amateur - = - = - - 213 
Marie Prescott as Parthenia - - - - - - - 217 
Mme. Fanny Janauschek - - - - - - - 292 
RoseEytinge - - - - - - - - + + 2% 
Agnes Booth - -  - - oe ete 880 
“Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, all Together” - - 284 
Training Ballet Dancers- - - - - - - - 235 
National Dances - - = - - - - + = 237 


Manton Exmore (Covonen Puate) - = - - = 240 














20 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 


to keep their secrets to themselves, a3 those who go 
prying around tho shrines in which the theatrie arcana 
ave held, very soon find out. At the back door of 
every theatre — the entrance to the stage —is a cer- 
berus of the most pronounced kind, who would sooner 
bite his own grand{ather’s car off than allow anybody 
not entitled to the privilege, to pass him; while at the 
door of the circus dressing-room and all around it are 
faithful sentinels who will listen to no password, and 
through whose ranks it is as impossible to break ua it 
is for the fat boy in the side show to throw a double 
somersault over seventeen horses, with an elephant as 
big as Jumbo at the far end of the line. It will, how- 
ever, be the proud privilege of the readers of this book 
to get as close to the secrets of the stage and sawdust 
arena as one can well do without knowing absolutely all 
about them, and by the time the last page is read and 
the volume is ready to be closed, I think the readers 
will be both delighted and astonished with the revela- 

tions that have been made. 
Turn the average man loose on the stage of a thea 
at night, while a play ix going on, and it: ix a Russian 
Kobol against x whole San Juan mining district that he 
| will not know whether he has struck the seventh circle 
| of heaven or isin a lunatic asylum. He will meet 
some very queer crestures in the scenes; he will see 
many strange things; the brilliant lights around him, 
the patches of color flashing into his eyes, the sea of 
fuces and the tangle of millinery in the auditorium, will 
mystify him; the startling stroaks of black upon the 
faces of the men and women who jostle bim as } 
closely hugs the wings, their red noses and blooming 
cheeks, the general tomato-can aspect of their fic 
the shigey wigs and straggling beards that look as if 
they had been torn off the back of a goat only ten 

































22 A PRELIMINARY PRED. 


to the actions of the people whose business it is to 
place the stage in shape for an act or scene of a play, 
he will readily comprehend the meaning of forming a 
world out of chaos. If they are getting ready the 











| LOTTA, 


balcony scene for ‘* Romeo and Juliet,” wing picves are 
pushed ont to represent trees and the side of the house 
of the Capulets—and what a house it usually is, too, 








AND THE BALLET GIRLS. 





20 A PRELIMINARY PEED, 


to keep their secrets to themselves, as thoee who go 
prying around the shrines in which the thoatric arcana 
are held, very soon find out. At the buck door of 
every theatre —the entrance to the stage —is a cer- 
berus of the most pronounced kind, who would sooner 
bite his own grandfather's ear off than allow anybody 
‘not entitled to the privilege, to pass him; while at the 
door of the circus dressing-room and all around it are 
faithful sentinels who will listen to no password, and 
through whose ranks it is as impossible to break as it 
is for the fat boy in the side show to throw a double 
someraault over seventeen horses, with an clephant as 
big as Jumbo at the far end of the line. It will, how- 
ever, be the proud privilege of the readers of this book 
to get as close to the secrets of the stage and sawdust 
arena a3 one can well do without knowing absolutely all 
about them, und by the time the last page is read aud 
the volume is ready to be closed, T think the readers 
will be both delighted and astonished with the revela- 
tions that, have been made. 

‘Turn the average man loose on the siage of a theatre 
st night, while a play is going on, and it is a Russian 
kobol against a whole San Juan mining district thathe 
will not know whether he has struck the seventh circle 
of heaven or isin a lunatic asylum. He will meet 
some very queer ereatures in the scenes; he will see 
many strange things; the brilliant lights around him, 
the patches of color flashing into his eyes, the sea of 
fuees and the tangle of millinery in the auditorium, will 
mystify him; the startling streaks of black upon the 
faces of the men and women who jostle him as he 
losely hugs the wings, their red noses and blooming 
cheeks, the general tomato-can aspect of their faces, 
tho shaggy wigs and straggling beards that look us if 


| oo? torn off the back of a goat only ten 














22 A PRELIMINARY PRED. 


to the actions of the poople whose business it is to 
place the stage in shape for an act or scene of « play, 
he will readily comprehend the meaning of forming a 
world out-of chaos. If they are getting ready the 





LOTTA. 


balcony scene for * Romeo and Juliet,’” wing pieces are 
pushed out to represent trees and the side of the house 
of the Capulets—and what a house it usually is, too, 








24 A PRELIMINARY PREP, 


the audienco shed tears, and only gave the lachrymal 
rainstorm a rest at intervals long enough to shower 
the star with applause. The stage carpenter's assist~ 
ant is there too, the machinist, the scene painters, the 
men who have charge of the company’s baggage, the 
property man, and others. They fill the scene in 
lugubrious and wholly » —ull are at 
work, and as heedless of the attendance of strangers as 
the actors and stage hands of the night before had 
been. The scenes have lost their color —such as are 
left, and this mimie world that had its admiring and 
aspiring hundreds ia as bare and desert-like as a bald 
head after its owner has been using hair restoratives 
for about six months. It has neither shape nor any 
suggestion of its whilom beauty and attractivenoss, 
The green-room may be explored, and the dressing- 
rooms, but they will reveal nothing; their former oc- 
cupants aro probably still abed, and unless there is to 
be a rehearsal they will not be seen around again until 
7 o'clock at night. He must not be too searching in 
his explorations or the attention of the attaches will be 
attracted, and the conversation that will follow may 
not be the most pleasant in the worldto him, Moving 
down the stairs that lend to the space under the stage, 
the explorer will find it darker and more dungeon-like 
atill, and even if it were light nothing could be scon 
but the steam boiler, for heating and power purposes, 
the ventilating apparatus, the numerous trap-door 
openings and the posts about thom, with a few other 
‘accessorios that ure hardly worth mentioning. Again 
he will be forced to confess that everything is very 
simple, but he cannot understand any part of it, and 
in he gocs away with a laugh on his lips and mer- 
nt in his heart because the people are so casily 











26 A PRELIMINARY PREP. 


have not cufficiont savage blood in their yeina to make 
respectable cigar store signs, but are base counterfeits 
of tho noble red man, applications of chocolate and 
yermilion to their faces, and the usual accompaniment 
of black hair, feathers, and deerskin clothing having 
bestowed upon them all the air of the child of the 
forest that they possessed, As the band sounds the 
music for the riding act the equestrienne’s horse 
dashes tamely into the ring, and the gentlemanly 
agent of the show pushes the visitor out to have him 
“look at au act that beats anything of the kind in the 
world.”” 

As in the materinl or mechanical features of the 
show there are mysteries of the most interesting and 
instructive kind, so, too, the personal features of the 
realm of entertainment —the great world of amuse- 
ment—contain much that will not only surprise, but 
will tickle the unsophisticated, By lifting the veil the 
leust bit, the reader can have peop at the most ate 
tractive of the events and incidents that go to make 
the romantic carcer of an actor or actress. There are 
various little things that look simple and innocent 
enough when they appear in the shape of a newspaper 
paragraph that contain a world of meaning to the ini- 
tiated. There are methods of gotting and keeping 
players before the public of which the latter know no 
moré than they do of the wife of the man in the moon. 
‘There are flagrant scandals mingling with the innocent 
revels of these masquerading people, and there are, 
toa, some of the saintliest, sweetest, manliest and 
Wwomanlicst of individuals ina profession that almost 
the entire world looks upon with the wildest suspicion, 
‘and whose bright names and fair fames can never bo 
tarnished by the iniquitous doings of persons lower 

and less respectable in character. In all that will be 


CHAPTER I. 
A THEATRE OF SHAKESIEARK'S DAY. 


If some of the old Greek dramatists could shake to- 
gether their ashes and assume life, they would open 
their ancient eyes to look upon the beauty, comfort, 
and charming symmetry of the first-class theatre of 
the present day, ‘The uncients were at first obliged 
to put up with representations given upon rude 
afterwards stone theatres were constructed, with the 
performers placed In « pit in the middle space, but no 
such effort at decoration, or to provide for the eon- 
venience of spectators, was to be seen as is to be found 
everywhere now. The plays, too, while they may 
have been delightful to onr Hellenic predecessors, 
would hardly draw a corporal’s guard at the present 
time, when spectacular melodrama is all the rage, 
and the only chorus the aver 
see is the aggro 





arts 5 











o thentre-goer caros to 





tion of pretty gir 
tights, and with the utmost scantiness of clothes to 





in entrancing 





hide their personal charms, who sing the concerted 
music in comic opera. This is the kind of chorus that 
sends a thrill of ecstacy through the heart, and around 
the resplendent dome of thought of the much-maligned 
modern bald-head. The strophe and anti-strophe of 
the ancient drama would set the nineteenth century 
citizen crazy a3 a wild man of Borneo. The ancient 
drama was gradually replaced by the ecclesiastical 
drama, — the mystery or mi: 











e play, —an example of 
(38). 





30 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE’S DAY. 


was displayed the figure of Hercules bearing the globe 
upon his brawny shoulders, Whether the mythologi- 
cal ginnt came with his terrestrial burden to dedicate, 
in propria persona, this temple to the mightiest of the 
muses, or whether the whole thing was only a cunning 
contrivance of some skilful artisan, embodying the 
conception of a clever play writer, history does not 
record. 

Whenever a play was to be enacted, the entrance to 
the Globe was always jammed with footboys, eager 
for a chance to hold a gentleman's horse, or lounging 
gallants, who collected to show themselves and to ogle 
the Indies as they entered. Tt was a lively spectacle, 
as stiff’ dames and ruffled noblemen, poor artisans and 
sleek gullants, wits and critios, footmen and laborers 
and ragged urchins stepped forward to pay the admit- 
tance fee of a shilling or a sixpence, or to make a re- 
xpectfal offer of their credit, which was usually most 
disrespectfully condemned as unlawful tender. Tt was 
a lively sight us gouty old gentlemen flourished huge 
batons over the scraggzy heads of malicious boys who 
jostled thom purposely ; us titled old dunes in im- 
mense flaring petticoats endeavored to smooth their 
noble wrinkles, and look mincing and modest under 
the impertinent gaze of the bedizened fops, and as the 
fops themselves twisted and bent and bowed and 
shook their powdered wigs, twirled their glove-tingers, 
or turned out their toes fastidiously, at the imminent. 
risk of dislocating their tarsals. 

But let us enter with the crowd and observe the ine 
ternal economy of the theatro, and the character of 
the performance. Though externally hexagonal, the 
building within is circular iu form. There is no roof, 
‘4&5 before intimated, and the exhibitions occurring only 
‘in the summer and in pleasant weather, the uir is 












32 A THEATRE OF SHAKESYRARE'S DAY. 


in tiers varying with the number of stories) corre. 
sponded to the boxes. Tt was from this crude, origi- 
nal conception that the architects of Queen Elizabeth's 
reign fashioned the Globe and Blackfriars, and from 
thence has it come down to the present day. 

Direetly in front of the pit was the stage, protected 
by a woollen curtain. Unlike modern ** drops,” it was 
divided in the middle, and suspended by rings from 
an iron red. When the performance was about to 
commence it was drawn aside—oponing from tho 
middle; the rolling up process is an achievment of 
some later mind. 

Hark! Do you hear the gentle grating, the jin- 
gling, the rustling of woollen? Without the slightest 
premonitory symptoms there has been a rupture of 
tho curtain, and tho mysteries it so securely hid are 
most unexpectedly revenled. Seated upon waoden 
stools or reclining upon the rushes with which the 
stage is strewn, are « number of individuals com- 
posedly smoking long pipes, whom the unsophisti- 
eated might tuke for actors. Far from it; they are 
the perpetual bane of actors —wits and gallants, who 
delight in nothing so much as in exhibiting themselves 
for the public to admire, or confusing the actors by 
their pleasantries and disturbing the progress of the 
play. 

Protruding from the further wall of the stage isa 
baloony, supported on wooden pillars, and flanked by 
& pair of boxes in which those who rejoiced in be- 
fog singular or who conld not afford the full price of 
‘admission were accommodated. The balcony was 
ed bythe actors. Itserved as the rostrum when 

e company was to he addressed ; it was the throne 
and princes, the grand judgment-seat of mighty 
and in cases of necessity was convenient as the 













34 A THEATRE OW SHAKISPRARE’S DAT. 


provoking witticisms of crities and gallants, and his 
utterances choked by the volumes of tobacco smoke 
which roll in lay, suffocating clouds toward tho ceil- 
Ing from a score of pipes. The affectionate ditties of 
Orlando are nailed to visionary trees, and he mukes 
passionate love to the fair Rosalind amid fumes which 
strangle tender phrases, and convert sighings into pul- 
monary eymptome of a different character. 

Tt should here be observed by way of explanation, 
that Rosalind, when personated in Elizabeth's time, 
was fair only by courtesy; for formale parts were en- 
acted during her reign, and indeed, during many sul- 
sequent reigns, by boys or young men, There is an 
ancedote related of Charles II,, which is a matter of 
history, and illustrates this point very well. Ib is 
said that on one occasion, visiting the theatre at the 
bringing out of a new play, by some great author, 
he became impatient at the unusual delay in drawing 
asunder tho curtain. The royal wrath soon became 
extreme, and it was essential to the prospects of the 
“ managoment "’ that it should be appeased. Aceord- 
ingly, when the vials of imperial indiguation were 
about to be emptied promiscuously upon the assembly, 
when the storm was just about to burst, a messenger 
from the green-room informed his majesty that the 
fair heroine had not finished shaving, —and the tem- 
pest immediately subsided. At each successive act 
new boards with fresh inscriptions inform us of the 
situation of the performers. The saloous of the duke’s 
palace and the cottage of the peasant—scenes in 
doors and scenes out of doors—are precisely the 
same, with the exception of the invariable and ever- 
changing signboard. 

But there ix one novelty, one new feature in the 
representation ux the pliy progresses. It will be 








‘A THEATRE OF SHAKESIEARL’S DAT. 35 


recollected that the balcony was mentioned as farnisb- 
ing « throne for princes, und a judgment-seut for dis- 
pensers of justice. During the wrestling contest 
between Charles and Orlando, this most serviceable 
commodity comes into requisition, Here sits the 
«duke "? a8 umpire of the combat and general of the 
troops and retainers who stand on guard below. It 
is quite refreshing to hear his stentorian yoieo issuing 
from so unusual a quarter —it furnishes quite an 
agreeable relief to the tedious monotony of insipid 
dialogue going on among the rushes below. 

‘The play, however, proceeds rathor sluguishly from 
the utter meagreness and insufficiency of the ** scenery, 
machinery and decoritions,’’ so indispensable to the 
attractiveness of theutrical exhibitions. The trades- 
men in the pit turn their backs to the stage and their 
eyes to the skies, as they clasp affectionately the 
almoet exhausted flagon, and pout into their thirety 
throats the residue of half a dozen potations. The 
erimpled dames in the boxes relax their majestic 
stiffness, and relapse somnolent into the arms of tho 
gouty old gentlomen, their husbands, The wits and 
“clover”? men upon the stage grow more boisterous 
in their pleasantries, and famigute more zealously us 
they pelt the unfortunate actors with rushes, or trip 
them as they “exeunt.”’ To the yulgar crowd the 
only attractions which the performance offers, are the 
brilliant dresses of tho actors and the vestige of a plot 
which the personation enablee them to glean. Asa 
general thing, however, the stage now receives hardly 
any attention. Pipes, tankards,and gossip are the 
order of the day, and everybody is glad when Orlando 

‘in obtaining his hereditary rights, wins the 
f the beautiful Rosalind, is dismissed in happi- 


—_e 





36 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE’S DAY. 


ness, and the woollen screen slips along its iron rod 
for the last time. 

Such was the style of dramatic exhibitions in the 
Elizabethun era. The stage was totally devoid of all 
scenic appendages calculated to produce the illusion 
necessary to add interest and intelligence to the plot. 
Rocks and trees, palaces and hamlets, pluces of fes- 
tivity and scenes of shipwreck, all existed merely in 
the imagination, with neither properties nor scenery 
to aid in the deception. 








38 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 






sotne scenery, costumes, and all th ual stugo acees= 
sories, set sail on board the Chars Sully in 1752. 
During the voyage when the weather permitted, the 
company rehearsed their plays on the quarter-deck 
of the vessel, having the crew and officers for their 
audience, aid receiving from them many manifesta- 
tions of the delight which their histrionie efforts 
bronght to the Jack Tars’ hearts. They landed at. Wil- 
liamsburg, then the capital of Virginia, and the mana~- 
ger after a diligent search found a store-house on 
the outskirts of the town, which he thought would 
suit his purpose. This he leased and metamorphosed 
into a theatre with pit, gallery, and boxes, and having 
the establishment ready on September 5, 1752, on that 
day the first performance ever given in Ameriva by 
a regular company of comedians, was given to a pre- 
sumably large and delighted audienee, As was the 
custom in those days, the bill was » double one, con- 
sisting of ‘*The Merchant of Yonice"’ and the farce 
Lethe.” The cust for The Merchant of Venico” 
was us follows: Bassanio, Mr. Righy ; Antonio, Mr, 
Clarkson; Gratiano, Mr. Singleton; Salanio and 
Duke, My. Herbert; Salavino und Gobbs, Mr. Wig- 
nel; Launcelot and Tubal, Mr. Hallam; Shylock, Mr. 
Malone; Servwnt to Portia, Master Lewis Hallam (be- 
ing hia first appearance on any stage); Nerissa, Mise 
Palmor; Jesica (hor first appoarance on any stage), 
Miss Hallam; Portia, Mrs. Hallam, ‘The cast for 
* Lethe ” was as follows (the Tailor having been cut 
‘ont, and the part of Lord Chatkston’ not having been 
written into the farce at the time the Hallam company 
0 land): Hsop, Mr. Clarkson; Old Man, Mr. 
; Fine Gentleman, Mr. Singleton; French- 
‘Mr, Rigby; Charon, Mr. Herbert; Mercury, 
; Drunken Man and Tattoo, Mr. Halim ; 

















40 FH AMERICAN THEATRE, 


Mareh 18, 1754, with ‘* The Beggars’ Opera’? and 
“The Devil to Pay.” 

While the company was still in Now York, Manager 
Hallam was endeavoring to come to terms with the 
Quakers of Philadelphia, who strenuously objected to 
having pluyers in theirmidst, or to allowing stage repre- 
sentations in theircity. Mr. Malone, a member of the 
company, was at length sent on to the Quaker City, as 
Hallam’s ambassador, and after considerable trouble 
succeeded in obtaining Gov. Hamilton's permission to 
present twenty-four plays and their attendant farees 
provided ther 8 nothing indecout ov immoral in 
thom. In April, 1754 the company give its first per- 
formance in Philadelphia, playing the tragedy of « The 
Fair Ponitent,’’ and the faree, ** Miss in Her Teens,”* 
Tho building occupied by the actors is designated by 
William Dunlap, the historian of the early American 
theatre, as “ the store-house of a Mr, Plumstead, '’ and 
was situated ‘on the corner of the first alley above Pine 
Street.” After the twenty-four performances had 
heen given by “authority of his excellency,’’ Gov. 
Hamilton, the players were allowed to add six more 
nights, after which they returned to New York. Here 
they crested a theatre on Cruger’s wharf, between 
Old Slip and Coffee House Slip, and prospered, 

Boston did not have a theatre until 1792, and then 
got its first place of amusement only becayge Wignell 
and three ether members of Hullam’s company, for 
gome reason or other, sceeded from it. The seceders 
brought to their standard some money men of the Hub, 
albmilding was erected, and on August 16, 1792, the 
first show was given; feats on the tight rope and acro- 
hatic and other artistecontributing to the entertainment. 
Five years later New York had two theatres, one on 
the Johus, and the other on Greenwich Strect, and when 
the nineteenth contury began, amusements were in a 











_ = 


42 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 


position at once, knowing that he was in the power of 
that monster, the Inquisition. For weeks he remained 
chained to the floor of his cell. Once he was led out to 
execution, but by some miracle or accident, was saved. 
At last, having suffered severely, he was put to the tor- 
ture, and weak, dying, and distracted was led to the 
gate of his prison, thrast out into the street, and 
warned as he valued his life to leave Madrid within ten 
days. It is needless to say he did so, and never learned 
or saw anything more of his Spanish sweetheart. 
From the rade and uncomfortable theatre of a century 
ago, with dressing-rooms under the stage, and but 
single fiddle or harpsichord player for the orchestra, 
with poorly lighted and illy ventilated auditoriums, 
with meagre scenery and ragged wardrobes —from the 
primitive theatre of the New World has grown the mug- 
nifieent, symmetrical, and elegantly appointed houses 
of amusement of the present day—structures beauti- 
folly and chastely ornamented in their exteriors, while 
their interiors haye received the most delicate touches 
of the artist's brush and the most careful attention 
from the upholsterer — beautiful in color and drapery, 
Tich in furniture, and the very perfection of architec- 
_ tural design. Our stages are revelations of dramatic 
© leteness, sometimes presenting scenie pictures 
arcing nature itself in their attractiveness, and 
at all times surrounding the actors of a play with ac 
Zories gorgeous and extensive enough to mystify as 
ts delight nine out of every ten patrons of the 
The manner in which these extraordinary 
‘ing illusions are produced is one of tho great 
‘the stage, and when the mechanism em- 
‘explained the reader will be surprised to learn 
and almost undisguised ave tho methods 
people behind the scenes work and multi- 

















44 AT THE STAGE-DOO:. 


has brought a letter for any member of the company, 
or a “ masher ”’ has sent one of the girls a dainty lit- 
tle note expressive of the sentiment that is swelling in 
his twenty-six-inck bosom, the cerberus will have it, 
and will hand it out to the person for whom it is 
intended with an appropriate and not, always compli 
mentary remark about ii. Sometimes this guardian 
of the theatricarcana will take advantage of his posi- 
tion to tyrranize over the ballet girls and other subor- 
dinates of a company, and will rule in bis autocratic 
way to his own pecuniary and other profit. Tn the 
Fast he is made a kind of time-keeper, notes when 
the performers appear for duty and when they are 
absent, besides otherwise muking himself serviceable 
to the management, and careful of the interests of his 
house. 

A story is told about one of them—I think his 
name was Bulkhend—who was employed at a theatre 
where the ballet was large, and the girls paid very 
liberal tribute to him. They gave him silk handker- 
chiefs of the prettiest and most expensive kind to wipe 
Ais fantastic mug on; they paid tor anumerable hot 
drinks with which he rounded out the waist of his 
; they dropped cigars into his always out- 
paw, and otherwise drained their own 
to make Mr. Bulkhead as happy and com- 
possible. He, at firat, took whatever was 
f#oon grew bold, and demanded fifty cents 
ir little five dollars a week, every salary 
made up their minds not to accedo to 
‘hich they deemed unjust and exorbitant ; 
itively refused to give Bulkbead any 
give him nothing else, not even a 
aresult, about one-half of the girls 
f their salaries next pay-day. ‘This 




















46 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 


tinned for nearly ten minutes when quictand darkness 
were restored, and the girls quictly stole away leaving 
Bulkhead alone in his agony under the pile of scenery, 
whore he was found by the stage carpenter next morn- 
ing, a first-class, double-barrelled case of jim-jams. He 
is now in an insane asylum, and employs most of his 
time telling peoplo that notwithstanding all Bob Inger- 
soll’s buncombe and blarney there must be a hereafter, 
for he has himself been through the sunstroke sec- 
tion of it, 

The ballet girls of another theatre played an equally 
effective and amusing trick upon an obnoxious scene 
painter. he artist had been in the habit of painting 
poste, doorsteps, etc., in the neighborhood of the 
stage-door in colors thut were not readily perceptible, 
and when the young ladies’ + mashes’’ came around 
after the performance to wait for them to dress, they 
innocently sat down upon or leaned against the fresh 
paint and ruined their clothes. The scene painter and 
his friend were ulways in the neighborhood to mise a 
Tangh when the disaster was made known, and the re- 
sult was that the gay young men would come 
neur the stage-door no more, aud that the sweetly 
susceptible creature known as the ballet girl was 
‘obliged to go home alone, supperless. Well, one day 
girls found the artist asleep against his paint-table 
1a half emptied pitcher of beer by his side. ‘This 
as their opportunity. One of the girls who was of a 
ive Oscur-Wilde-like tarn of mind got » small 
while another beld the colors, and in ten minutes 

‘that man’s faoe painted so that he would pass 
@ stock of seenery ; the tattooed Greck was 

nt. chromo alongside of him, and « Sioux 
cougar of war-paint on would be a 

how beside « twelve-monster-shows-in- 
















48 AT THE 8TAGE-DOOR, 


Seoth followed, and the artist was prevented from going 
back to the theatre to murder ten or twelve people 
only by a thoughtful policeman who picked him up as 
he flew out through the door of the saloon, and carried 
him off to the calaboose. He was sorry when he got 
sober, and from that day to this has not attempted to 
paint the coat-tails of the ballet girls’ lovers. 

A great many of these lovers, as they are designated, 
are bold and heartless wretches, who have in some 
way or other obtained an introduction to or scraped 
acquaintance with the sometimes fair young creatures 
who fill in the crevices and chinks of « play, or air 
their limbs in the labyrinths of a march, or shake them 
insome strange and fascimting dance. They look upon 
the ballet girl, whether she be a dancer or merely be= 
low the line of utility, as legitimate prey, and without. 
the slightest seruple will waylay or spread a net to 
eatch her in some quiet but successful manner. They 
forget that many girls enter the theatre with the in- 
tention of making honorable and honest livings ; that 
thoy prize their virtue as highly as the most respected 
young Indy who moves in the topmost circles of the 
best society, and that the theatrics! profession is only 

presented by the men and women who give 

elyes up to debauchery, and allow their passions 
it riot to such an extent that they win notoriety 
$ most unsivory and unenviable kind. It is only 
the stage is besieged by so many scoundrels 
who have either bought or begged the 
2 of the back door that the profession is dan- 
young and innocent girlhood. The stago 
and could be kept so, if theso hangers-on 
away with und the youthful student 
nt for histrionic honors were allowed to pur 
unassniled by the handsome tempters 
ttery and after an usually exsy con- 




















50 AT THE STAGE-DOOR, 


very sensibly refused to necept the gift, and told the 
fond and foolish young man to go home to his mother. 
Many cases of this kind might be cited to show how 
easily tho women who enter the profession, partly for 
tho purpose of prostituting their art, find easy conquest 
among tho hair-brained fellows who aro only too will- 
ing to bo captives and rarely try to break the fetters 
of roses with which they find themselves bound. But 
keep here in the shadow a while and watch the mancu-~ 
vres of the “mashers.’’ The stage-door opena and 
out comes a very modest little girl. She does not be- 
long to the combination playing at the house this week, 
but is a member of the regular ballet of the theatre, — 
one of the few poor creatures who are obliged to 
get into ridiculous costumes of cnormous dresses or 
unpadded tights, to increase the throng of court-ladies, 
the namber of pages, or add to the proportions of a 
crowd. She does not dress any better than a girl who 
finds employmentin a factory. She is young, however, 
and stage-struck, She has gone into the profession, 
braving all its dangers and with a firm resolution to go 
unscathed through it, carrying with her a sincere love 
for avt and a burning desire to attain eminence. 
But alas! sho has little talent, and absolutely no ge- 
nius. This can be seen and appreciated already, 
although she has not had two lines to speak since enter- 
¢ the theatre. She has been in the employ of the 
ouly since the beginning of the season. The 
ers"’ part to make room for her as with eyes 
she trips along the street. Some of them 
and pretty things, and some haye the im- 
‘raise their hats and bid her good-evening. 
fs no attention to them, however, and it is 
tunate that the tall muscular gentleman in 

es who has had a pass to the gallery or 















be AT THE STAOK-poon. 


speeding hours, and the pleasure may last just as 
long as the restauranteur thinks he is being well paid 
for the privileges of his establishment. 

Another girl comes through the stage-door. She is 
probably twenty-four years of age, is tall, handsome, 
and most attractive in her manners. There is the 
Jeast suspicion of the matron in her appearance, that 
dignity of carriage that characterizes women after 
marriage being clearly defined in her motions. She 
knows somebody has been waiting for her, —a young 
fellow as tall, handsome, and attractive as herself. He 
sees her at once as she comes out, and goes to meet 
her. Her footsteps are bent in his direction also. As 
they come together she lays her hand upon his ex- 
tended arm, and says :— 

** No, Fred, T cannot go to-night, Sister is sick at 
the hotel, and the baby has no one to take care of her, 
T mast go home to my child.”" 

+ Pshaw !"" says Fred, «I had everything arranged 
for an elegant drive and a rattling supper.”” 

**I'm so sorry, Fred; the woman pleads, ** but I 
can't go to-night. You will hive to excuse me this 
ence. You know it was daylight when we parted this 
‘morning.”” 

I know,” her friend insisted ; ** but what's the use 
‘in worrying about the baby. She's propably asleep 

"now and won't need your cure, Come, go along.’* 
No, Teannot, 1 will not to-night." But Fred 
to pload, asking the pleasure of her presence 
t, just fora half hour and no more. Un- 
o weist the warmth of his appeuls, she at last 
1, and it is safe to say, that once the evening's 

nt begine, morning breaks upon the elecpy 
sick sister at the hotel before Fred and his 
bare ready to part. 
















oA AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 


hill to pocket for the services, It was a narrow escape 
forthe merchant, For the dramatic writer it was no 
escape atall, He was rudely awakened at ten o’clock 
in the morning, and the first sight that met his eyes 
was his infuriated wife holding the pair of pink tights 
by the toes and stretching them out so that the sin of 
the husband stood revealed to him in all its fulness. 

“Where did these come from?’’ the exasperated 
wife shrieked, flaunting them before the husband’s 
eyes. 

«* Where did you get them?’’ He asked, trembling, 
and unable to think of any good excuse to make. 

‘I got them in your coat pocket,”’ his spouse 
shouted, piling up the evidence and agony in a way 
that was excruciating, 

«By jingo! is that so?!’ exclaimed the husband, 
coming suddenly to a sitting posture in bed, and bring 
ing his hands together vehemently. ++ Now, I'll bet 
$4 Charley giving the name of his merchant 
friend, pot them there. He told me he had a pair that 
‘he was going to make present of to one of the ** Oli- 
vette” girks at the * 

‘Brilliant as this thought was, it did not satisfy the 
Je lady. Sho kopt up the argument all day, and 
night paid a visit to the merchant's wife, where 
into such 4 tangle that the two husbands 
ft ina buchelor friend to shoulder the blame, 

wade the exense that the whole thing was a 
by a few gentlemen (among them the 
jas not) on the dramatic man and merchant 
into domestic trouble, as they had sue~ 
beyond their most sanguine desires. 
have been long enough at the back 
tre, let us go home and come around 
E Eviave st view of the plagues and an- 




















CHAPTER Y. 


BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 























There are people who patronize the theatre who do 
not go there simply to seo the play or to be pleased by 
the players, and whose interest in the stage is more 
than double discounted by the interest they manifest in 
and towards the audience. The «*masher’? makes it 
a market in which to display his fascinations and call 
upon the susceptible fraction of femininity to inspect 
and avail themselves of his heart-breaking and soul- 
wares. Whether he modestly takes his stand 
fin the rear of the auditorium, overcoat on arm und 
hat gracefully poised upon the thumb of his 
while, with polished opera-glass, he sweeps 
of variegated millinery and obtrusive-hued cos 
‘or bravely hangs up his charms to view on the 
ow of the dress circle, or prominently displays 
proscenium box, he is ever the same offen- 
Shameless barber-aud-tailor-shop decoration, 
wild ambition to attract and hold feminine 
id always attaining to a degree of notoriety 
masculine theatre-goers that keeps bim 
owith contempt, and causes him to be as 
gnized as if he had a tag tied to his back or 
his yest front, declaring him to be a 
femininity. When the + masher"? takes 
young blood, whose short and tightly- 
Ws matched by the shallowness of the 
(55) 







56 BEFORE THF POOT-LIGHTS. 


crown of his straight-brimmed hat, and whose eye- 
glasses straddle his nose as gracefully as his twenty- 
five-cent cane is curried 
in his hand, and this ir 
resistible combination of 
attractions is thrust upon 
the andience from a box 
ss opening, the aeme of the 
SG ledy-killingurt is reuchod 
¥<" and if all the world does 
not admire the effective 
tableau it must be be- 
* cause all the world is 
unappreciative and the 
“ masher’? stands on an 
rie ** MasHen."* wathetic plane to which 

the rest of mankind cannot hope to aspire. 

But the ** masher "’ is only a fraction of the class of 
amusement patrons to which attention has been called 
in the epening sentence of this chapter. Apart from 
the people who deem it their duty to come tramping 
into the theatre while the performance is going on, 
and whose coming is followed by a triumphal flourish 
of banging seats, and the heaving footbeats of hurry~ 
ing ushers, to the intense disgust of all who care to 
hear the first act of the play, there are others who 
have 4 hundred ways of annoying an audience, and 
‘who make a very eflectual use of their gifts in this 

Metion. There is the member of the * profesh,”’ — 
eous advance agent, or the bloviate business 
, the actor **up a stump,’’ or the “super” 


















Joim McCullough or Tom Keene, and who 
the rear of the house, but sufficiently for- 
| be distinctly heard by people in the dross 


~ BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 57 


circle, criticising the mannerisma of the ladies or 
gentlemen on the stage and * guying’’ everybody 
in tho cast from tho star down to the frightened and 
stiff-knood littlo ballet girl whom an inscrutable Provi- 
dence has allowed to wander in upon the scene occa- 
sionally, tosay, * Yes, mum, or‘ No, mum,’’ The 
leisurely but loud professional wha thus disports him- 
self must necessarily enjoy « lunge share of the 
audience's attention, and the more of this he attracte 
the more he is encouraged to be extravagant in his 
criticisms and unreserved in his clocution. He some- 
times must dispute the title to obstreperous obtrusive- 
‘ness with some liquor-laden auditor who has succceded 
im passing the doorkeeper only to find that the heat 
‘of the house has accelerated his inebriation and given 
freedom und lieense to his tongue until the * bouncer ”’ 
Tifts him out of his sent by the collar and deposits him in 
a reflective and emetic mood on the curbatone in front 
‘of thetheatre. Then, too, a crowd of friends eometimes 
get together in the parquette, who begin a conversation 
before the first curtain rises and keep it going on in 
careless and aunoying tones until the final flourish of 
the orchestra arrives with the dimming of the lights 
#5 the audience files out, But if the loud members of 
the “ profesh,’’ the interjective inebriate, and the crowd 
oe friends are not on hand to furnish di- 
folks wha ure tying to follow what is 
ind on the stage, there is one other never- 
ree of distraction and annoyance—the giddy 

rusher, It is safe to bet that just when the 

tio passage of a play is reached, or the 
smallest, a few ushers will throw 
together in the lobby und hold « 
gand loud enough to be taken fora 
political meeting, if there were only 




















58 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS, 


a etake wagon and a few Chinese lanterns strewn 
around. Indeed, the usher seems to assume that he 
is a dort of safety-valve through which a disturbance 
muet break out now and then to offset the quiet of the 
andience, If the usher isn’t plying his fiendish pro- 
clivity, some bald-headed man in the parquette is eure 
to throw his skatiug riukoverthe back of the seat, and, 
with shinning brow turned up towards the sun-burnerin 
the dome, mouth rounded out like the base of a oupola 
and nostrils working like a suction pump, his beauti- 
ful snore will rise above the wildest roar of the orches- 
tra and drown the mellifluous racket of the big bass 
drum, until some friendly hand disturbs the dreamer, 
and the ‘ or-g-g-g-g-g-g-g 1"" that rushes up his nos- 
trils, down his throat and out through his ears, is thus 
gently and perhaps only temporarily interrupted. The 
enthusiast —the man who is carried away by the spirit 
of the seene—is also a source of annoyance, and 
when he signifies from the balcony his willingness to 
take a hand in what is being enacted on the stage, 
damning the villian heartily, and, like the sailor of 
old, openly sympathizing with femininity in distress, 
he first becomes a target for the gallery boys’ gutter- 
witand finally « prey to the inexorable “ bouncer,” 
who roams around the upper tiers of every theatre and 
unceremoniously dumps disturbers down stairs. Lust, 
but by no means least, in the distracting and disturb- 
ing fostures at theutrical performances is the pea- 
auteruncher, He is the most cold-blooded and least 
excusable of all the annoyances with which amusement 
patrons are afflicted. He wraps his teeth around the 
goober, utterly reckless of the distress he is 
up in the bosoms of those around him, and he 
und smacks and continues to crunch, stopping 
ly to charge his dental quartz-crusher anew, 
















BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 59 


and slways beginning oh the latest goober with the 
greatest ferocity, while he seems to make it go ten 
times further, ae far as time and agony are concerned, 
than any of its prodecessors. All the other disturb- 
ance consoquent upon attending a play are petty, 
compared with peanut-crunching, and it is the opinion 
of the writer that a law should be passed at once, 
tmuking it a felony for any banana-stand or hand-cart 
man to sell peanuts to citizens who are on their way 
to the theatre. If such a law were passed, and if it 
were not a dead letter, the people whose backbones 
feel as if they were being fondled by a circular saw 
eyory time they boar the rustling of a gooher-shell, 
would flop right down an their knees and renew their 
confidence in the wisdom of Providence. 

‘The young men and the old men, too, who go out 
between acts’ to hold spirit scunces with neighbor- 
ing bar-keepers, while the orchestra is playing a Strauss 
waltz or armedley of comic opera numbers for the 
solace of the lovely ladies they have left behind them, 
are A greater nuisance to the audience of a first-class 
‘theatre than one would imagine. In nine eases out of 
ten, the man who goes out to seo another man, as the 
‘saying is, hus his seat in the middle of a row, so that it 
sani for him to make trouble for ten or a 
dozen persons before he can reach the aisle. He 
on fadies’ dresses, comos into collision with 
, and sends a thrill of pain to the utmost 
roots of every man’s corn he treads on. 
gis repeated on the way back to his seat, 
pe are bitter mutterings, a great deal of sub- 
ed profanity, aud fierce, rebuking looks 
n Tsdvaath the beautiful bonnets of the fermles, 
seem tonffect the nuisance any, however, for 
thing over every uct, and at exch rep- 
















60 BEFORA THE POOT-LICHTS. 


ctition increases to the damage he does and the com- 
motion he creates. Then, to make had worse, he 
manages to surround himself with a distillery odor that 
assails feminine nostrils ina most offensive manner, aud 
that will not suffer itself to be concealed or tempered 
by the chewing of coifee-grounds, cloves, or orange-peel. 
I witnessed the discomfiture of a young man of this 
kind, one night, and the scene was a very fanny one. 
He occupied a seat in the orehestra, in the centre of 
row of seats principally filled with ludies. As the cur 
tain went down the young man determined to go over 
aud have a look through the saloon opposite. Unwill- 
ing to incommode the ladies in the least, the young 
man, with Chesterfieldian grace, elevated a pedal ex- 
tremity over the back of his chair, with the intention 
of going out through the aisle behind. Unfortunately 
ho stepped between the seat and the back, the movable 
seat flew up, and the thirsty young man was left as- 
tride of the chair in a decidedly uncomfortable poxi- 
tion. By this time the gallery gods had marked him 
for their victim. They hooted, whistled, cat-called, 
aud rude slang remarks about straddling the  ragyed 
edge,”’ to his evident discomfiture. In vain he at- 
tempted to disengage his No, 10's. The rest of the 
audience became interested, and opera-glasses were 
directed toward the blushing young man. The 
feminine giggles in his neighborhood -rendered him 
frantic; laughter and uproar were becoming general, 
When a good-natured individual kindly assisted him to 
escape from his awkward position, Amid ‘ thunders 
of applause" he disappeared. 

_ ‘Phe ladies, too, sometimes contribute largely to the 
of an audience. They are, ns everybody 
fuveterate talkers, and insist on saying almost 
during 5 performance as the players say. 













BEFORE THE FOOT-LLONTS, 61 


‘Their criticism of the toilets of friends and of strang- 
ers also, is loud-aweeping and usually denunciatory, 
and they have a style of pillorying their victims in 
speech that is decidedly heartless, yet refreshing. But 
all the fanlts of loud aud untamed talk might have 
been forgiven had they not introduced the tremendous 
big hats which 
vise highabove 
theirheads and 
stick far out 
from their enrs 
completely 

off a 
view of the 





















THE WIG HAT. 
‘tears to find theuselyes conquered by these big hata ; 
they have tried to peep around them, and have stood 
on their chairs to have a glance over the tope 
millinery stractures, but in vain. The hate 
Were too much for them. Ina mild, esthetic way the 
adios’ big hats rank among the greatest plagues that 
fisited the modern play-house, 
the Grand Opera House at St. Louis, ono 
sitting in seat No. 3, row B, centre section, 
te circle. Before the play began two ladies, 
Blick silk with a white satin jacket and 
ig sweeping feather, and Lhe 
dressed in black cashmere, with a “* Sen- 
and tassel on, care in and took seats L 
"A, same section. Prior to settling down 
@, they looked inquiringly around the rear 


#2 REPORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 


of the theatre, one remarking to the other as they 
plumped down in the chairs, ** I suppose they haven't 
got here yet.” Seats three and four adjoining them 
were vacunt. The ladies had come unattended. 
After they had arranged themselves the lady with the 
beaver hat drew out a letter and hold it up to the light 
so that the reporter could vead it. It had a cut of one 
of the principal hotels at the top and was note-paper 
from that establishment, It enid : — 


To Mamm axp Sapm: Your note of to-day re- 
ceived. We like your style and enclose two seats for 
Grand Opera House to-night, where we hope to meet 
you both and make your acquaintance. 

Yours sincerely, Gronor anp Harry. 


Just as the orchestra began the overture in walked 
two gentlemen whom the usher showed to the vacant 
seats in row A. One of the men was tall, bald, portly 
and rather good-looking and well dressed; he had a 
sandy mustache, and what hair was left on his head 
was reddish, crisp, and curly. He wus probably forty- 
five years old. His companion was probably not more 
than twenty-one, tall, thin, dark-complexioned, with 
but a semblance of a mustache. The ladiva smilod as 
the gentlemen took their places, The men looked at 
each other, winked, and langhed. When the two were 
seated, the bald-headed man made a close and evi- 
dently satisfactory scrutiny of the Jadies, and catching 
‘the eye of the one in tho beaver hat, the two exchanged 
“smiles—not broad, committal grins, but soft smiles 
mutual recognition. The sccond ludy only dared 
ak sideways now aud then. The second gentle- 
ho sat next to the ladies, was rather shy and 
hand up to his face from beginning to end of 
It was evident this was tho first time the 
















66 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS, 


House, making the theatre their place of assignation, 
** Mamie and Sadie’ were by no meana the innocent 
and unsophisticated creatures they seemed to he. 
One of them was the wife of a travelling man who was 
necessarily away from home ten months in a year; the 
other was nymph du pave—a atreet-walker —who 
scoured the principal thoroughfares at night for vic~ 
tims to carry to her ‘+ furnished room,’ and who had 
been educated up to the ‘ personal” racket by tho 
lonely and wayward young wife of the commercial 
drummer. 

So much for the noisy, otherwise obtrusive phases 
of the subject. The ladies who go to the theatre to 
dieplay themselves, to flash their jewele and flaunt 
their silks and laces in the fices of the community, 
have become so accustomed to tho general run of 
theatrical attractions that they are really no longer 
spectators, and may be justly classed among the dis- 
tructing agencies in the audience. Their mission isa 
“mashing "’ one to a certain extent, but it is ** mash- 
ing”’ of a vain and by no means harmful character, 
Other ladies are seen in the dress cirele and the boxes 
who do not disguiso the fuct that they have come to 
the theatre to fascinate the too, too yielding men. At 
the matinces there are women of questionable repute 
who unblushingly advortise their calling and who must 
he sct down a3 a feataro most objectionable to the 
‘respoctable portion of any community. They behave 
themselves as far as words or actions go, but their 
‘presence in the play-house is gin annoyance that 

and elegant people cannot tolerate, Thatis all 
Now for the very worst practices that 
c ally noted in theatres, and that tho mana- 
Know very little if anything about, —tho women 
there for nefarious purposes, and the men who 















BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 67 
have other ideas than gratifying their vanity or merely 


making heart-conquests, Tt is a notorious and flagrant 
fuet that fast women use the theatre as places of ussig- 
nation, wherein they meet old and make new acquaint 
ances, and it ix equally notorious that men whose 
wholo energy seems bent to the distruction of inno- 
cent girlhood make it a rendezvous for the purpose of 
selecting and snaring their victims. 

‘It is perfectly safe to assume that the cunning and 
sinful pair fleeced George and Hurry before they got 
through with them. 

The very sume evening my attention waa called by 
a young lady to a thinly-bearded, spectacled, sickly- 
middle-aged man who sat in the next seat to 
the lady, and who, she complained, had stopped on her 
foot several times and in other ways tried to attract 
hor attention and get her into o conversation, Lat 
onee recognized the fellow as one wf uu unscrupulous 
set who pored over big lodgers in the Court-House, and 
go ‘the greater portion of their time to discussions 
female friends of ill-repute, and to boast- 
ruin they had brought or were about to bring 
me innocent young girl. 

‘same man was in the habit of buying single 
thie dress circle und visited the theatre fre~ 
He represents a class of venerable, but 
fellows who make a practice of mixing in 
Tadies, in the hope of scraping an ocea- 

ntance, and who have no good intention 

o exterd the circle of their female friends. 
d be kept out of every respectuble place of 

































72 BEHIND THE SCENES. 


modiately wrapt into a ecventh heaven of delight. 
Thore was a multitude of girls in very low-neckod and 
short dresses with glowing flesh-colored tights that 
acomed such inadequate covering “for the rounded 
limbs that blushing was inovitable. ‘The bright eolors 
in their checks, the blackly outlined eyes and the 
blonde wigs added to the interest of the new charms. 
Every bit of glorious color in the gorgeous scenery ap- 
peared to flash out amid the flood of light. I ran 
against every varicty of demon that was ever known 
to M. D. Conway, and was pushod out of the way of a 
hundred persons only to find myself obstructing some- 
body else's progress, ‘The magnificent revelations of 
that night filled me with awe und astonishment for 
many a week afterward. It was the ooly night I ap- 
peared as an imp, for I had accopted the engagement 
without parental knowlege or consent, and when they 
learned of my success they at once put a decided and 
impressive veto upon any further offorts in the direc 
tion of the professional stage. 

That first experience was not, of course, as abun- 
dant in opportunities for observation as later experi- 
ences have been, The world behind the foot-tights — 
the mimic world as it is called —is a realm of tho 
most startling and pleasing kind. Not only is there 
food for wonder in what the eye falls upon, but the 
people who furnish the fun for the world are often 
among themselves as prolific of pleasantry as if they 
expected the applause of a full house to follow their 
jokes. They say and do the strangest things, and for 
a visitor who is investigating the mysteries of their 
surroundings, oflen make the time as lively aud the 
surroundings as enjoyable as it is possible for really 
clever and good-natured people to do. The best time 
to go behind the scenes is during the engagement of a 

















74 BEHIND THE BCRNPS. 


burlesque or comic opera company, und T will intro~ 
duce the reader to a happy crowd of this kind that T 
once found myself in, 

Tn 1879 the Kiralfys brought out their spectacular 
burlesque entitled “A Trip to the Moon,” and 1 had 
the pleasure, during its run, of dropping in behind the 
scenes of a Western theatre one night to have a peep at 
the pictures there presented. Now, the moon is 
something like two hundred and eighty thousnnd tiles 
from here —that is the one reputed to be made of 
green cheese, and having phases as-numerous as the 
oceasions that ring the April skies with rainbows. 
* moon was in another firm: 

















ent, 
shining out wink their 
twinkling eyes or shufile their shining fect, as they do 
frequently, the celestial shiners have got to put on 
their cloud ulsters, and sit down while the luchrymose 
eyes of the heavens give up thelr tenrs. That is why 
it was raining torrents the night I went behind the 
scenes with Mr. Bolossy Kiralfy. As I went in the 
back door Prof. Microscope, one of the funay chara 
ters in tho play, brushod by with a toloscope under his 
arm that was 
spy-glis into its vest pocket, if it had one. ‘Tho 
moon to which the trip was to be made was not so fur 
as two hundred and eighty thousand miles by a half 
block or 80, but it was a very funny world, full of gas 
light and laughter, and with the most mirthful sports 
waginable on its glowing surface, I was inclined 
somewhat to lunar ways, and thinking like a great 
many other credulous mortals, that the trans-atmo- 
spheric trip was really mado in a eartridge-built coach 
that was fired out of huge mortar ut the rate of about 
eighteen thousand ix hundred and sixty-six and two- 
thirds miles a minute, had fully made up my mind to 


rs that, when the: 

















‘ge enough to put Lord Ross's famous 




















BEHIND THE SCENES, 75 


ride on the roof or cow-cateher of the concern, at what- 
over risks to life and limb space might abound in. I 
expected to find something like a solid spaco-annihilat- 
ing Columbiad behind the scenos, but I was somewhat 
mistaken. 

Just before the curtain was rung up I found myself 
in the midst of the fhiry world upon which the brillianey 
of the foot-light fills. While the curtain was still 
down, and before the gusman had opened the flood- 
gates of splendor, tho place was dark; not piteh dark, 
but pretty dark, compared with tho brilliancy that 
shown in, over, and around its space a few minutes 
later. And then its intricacies, pieces of scenery here, 
Yarious properties there, ayd sections of everything 
and anything scattered anywhere and everywhere, 
made a fellow feel as if the place was darker than it 
really was. Gilittering and glowing as the stage 
appears before the foot-lights ; wonderfully romantic as 
fre its shades and lights, its love and laughter; and 
astounding a are its scenic effects; its arca and sur- 
soundings are terribly realistic when the foot-lights are 
Joft behind, and the ‘ business ’” of a play is once Inid 
bare. Here the sighs of love maidens and the 
spooning of gilt-edged but uncourageous wooers, the 
tears of injured innocence and the self-gratulations of 
hard-hearted villains who still pursue the flying female, 
the prattle of young mouths and the mumblings of 
“old men’? and * old women," are lost with the 
departed scenes of the play in the unceasing desire of 
the actors to get back into their prop 
friendly relations to each other, and, o} 
ers book is closed, stage talk and stage her are 
metaphoric lock and key, and romance is for a 
while at an end. 

‘Oni opera boulfe or burlesque nights, however, a 





social and 
the prompt- 









—_ 





76 BEHIND THE SCENES. 


great deal of the stage charm clings to the characters 
even when off the stage, and one is compelled to be 
interested in the grotesqueness of those to be met in 
the side scenes —the odd and often pretty creatures 
who stand, sit, lie or Jean around in the * wings’? at 








M'LLE 1OUGET, 


their own sweet leisure and pleasure. ‘There is some- 
thing so indeseribably funny in the costumes, in the 
facial make-up, and all that, of the happy opera-bouffer 
or festive burlesqner, that the eye follows « quaint 
character through the scenes with the same inalienable 


DEHIND THY SCENES. 7 


interest as that with which the small boy hovers around 
the heels of an Thatian with « hand-organ and a monkey. 
‘The eye, however, must not, ennuot linger or languish 
long upon a single one of these walking wardrobes, 
There isa moving panorama constantl, front of the 
surprised vision, and before an elec! flush could 
photograph one single individual in his droll! toggery 
there would be « dozen or more  shussaying "before 
‘the camera. 

‘There was leaning against one of the + wings"? a 
naive and sprightly piece of feminine beauty, set off in 
the handsomest and most enticing manverin the world 
by 4 well-rounded, gracefully curved pair of pink 

a white satin surtout and mantelet, plentifully 
hosprent with glittering braid and flashing beads, 
duinty silk slippers that would have made a Chinese 
princess weep with envy, und a jaunty white hat to 
tmateli. She was, of course, to figure as the charming 
little hero of the evening, if burlesques can be said to 
Have such things as heroes, A doughty old chap, 
with bristling hair and a porcupine moustache, 
was standing by tulking to little pink tights. He was 
gotten up like a eireus poster in forty colors, witha 
plentiful array of red on isis head and legs and a sort 
of sickly-looking, rainbow-sandwich built about his 
body, Red, blue and black stroaks straying over his 
features made it appear us ff he might have been as- 
‘signed the role of an ogre and was accustomed to 
nightly look around for bis fair companion to make a 
‘meal of her. Limmoediately made friends with the comic 
horror and the little lady in pink tights and learned 
who and what they were. The latter was (in the play, 
of course) a nobby young blood known as Prince 
Caprice, personated by Miss Alico Harrison ; tho ved- 
‘Tegged comedian was King Pin, the young Prince's 




















— 





78 BEHIND THE SCENES. 





iny father and Mr. Louis Harrison was hidden 
under the remarkable royal disguise. 

+ Well, when ave we going to start for the moon?’” 
Tasked, good-hamoredly. 

* Tn a few fleeting moments,” was the regal dough 
belly’s reply. 

And are all these folks going into the projectile 
pointing to the crowd of curious characters passing and 
repassing us. ’ 

** Not if the court knows herself and sho thinks she 
does,"” put in the Prince, pertly; ‘ only the Hing, 
Prof. Microscope and myself ride in the cab.’” 

Prof. Microscope was w long, scrawny fellow. He 
was twirling 2 shaggy moustache and ‘buzzing a hand- 
some aud not at all bashful ballet girl af the same 
time, a short distance away. He was gotten np ina 
blue-striped, swallow-tail coat, long enough, if the 
Professor vared about lending or renting it out, to be 
used for a streamer on the City Hull flagstaff, and 
short enough in the back to have the wuist-buttons 
constantly challenging the collar to « prize fight or 
wrestling match. Very tight black pants, a luxuri- 
antly frilled shirt front, fluted culls, and white hair 
allowed to grow tothe length worn by Buffalo Bill, com- 
pleted his outfit. When I was introduced to him, the 
Professor swore by the bones of Copernicus’s grand- 
mother on a volume of patent office reports that he 
was the sole originator and engineer of the only direct 
moon line, and he'd bet his boots or eat his hat that it 
never took more thin fifteen minutes to make the 





























ou see,”? said Ang Pin, ** that Microscope is a 


fellow —not a coney man, you mind.” 
“Althoagh,” said the Prince, he now aud then 
casts his lot on the turn of the die.” 





80 RCHIND THE SCENES. 


“Yes, his lot of last year's clothing,’’ the jolly 
Hing remarked, *+ on tho turn of the dyer."’ 

This effort resulted in six of the supers, who were 
gotten up in voluminous dominoes with elaborate, but 
inexpensive, pasteboard triminings,und who were within 
h 2 distance, falling stiff and stark to the stage. 
Does this kind of thing occur often?”’ I inquired. 

“Oh,” growled Professor, ‘that gaz was 
stuffed and on exhibition at the Centennial. It was 
found in an India: mound near Momphis, and is old."* 

And so the talk went on for a while, when up went 
the curtain and King Pin leaping on the stage amidstthe 
laughter and plaudits of the house, told how the pretty 
Prince Caprice bad tired of mundane things and was 
heavily sighing for tho fountain-head of the lambent 
silvery moonlight. Microscope, who was at the head 
of the Royal College of Astronomers, was besought to 
do something to aid the Prince ia neeomplishing the 
journey to Merrie Moonlund, and in a neat speech un~ 
folded his plans for a grand dynamo-etherial line that 
would speedily carry the Prince to the wished-for 
happy Land of Luna. 

Then came the glorious moment when the flight 
moonwards was to be made, I hurried sround to tho 
prompten’s side of the stage where I saw the mouth of 
the huge cannon gaping, and got there as they were 
about to fire it. Imagine my surprise to find the extra- 
onlinary piece of ordnance made entirely of pasteboard, 
a substance that a few grains of gunpowder would blow 
into a¢ many pieces as tho leaves of Vallambrosin, 
Still the passengers were to be fired out of this con- 
trivance, and I folt that if they and the cannon could 
‘stand it, it was none of my business. It had all been 
explained to the audience, that Ming Pin, Prince 
Capirice and Prof. Microscope were the only three per- 

















BEHIND THK SCENES. 81 


‘s0n8 to be given soats in the cartridge-cab in which the 
wonderful journey was to be made. The question 
therefore naturally arose, what was to become of the 
multitude of chaructere that crowded the * wings." 
There were + supers '" in black, yellow and mottled 
dominoes with high papisr-maché caaques, and huge 
car-trimmings that reminded one of the flaps that 
decorate the sides of a Chicago girl’s head, or the saila 
of a lake lumberman, There wore star-gazers with 
zodiacal garments and tin telescopes, ull set off by 
great pairs of soda-bottle-lens eye-glassex, that gave 
them the air of a Seechi, or somebody else of astro- 
nomical aspect. There were guards who shouldered 
tooth brushes made entirely of wood, with index hands 
surmounting the tops of their chapcaux and serving to 
indicate that their intellects had gone moon-hunting ; 
and there were other creatures, among them, horrible 
genii, who started for the moon by some short route 
neross lots and got there long before the regular ex- 
cursionists. 

But the corps de ballet! It was everything but a 
beauty, If there is anything likely to strike a theatre- 
goer as ludicrous, it is an awkward squad of over- 
grown gitls, with gauze-garnished liniba and dissipated- 
looking blonde wigs. A precocious ballet-debutante is a 
Dit of Dead-Sea fruit shot backward off Terpischore’s 
head, and if the bullet docs not lay Terpsichore her 
self out in a first-class undertaker’s style it is because 
‘Terpsichore happens to be in terribly good luck. 
“These reflections were suggested by a sight of the 
‘intermingling danseuses that kept pretty well in the 
rear of the stage. You could tell the height to which 
one could safely fling her foot on looking at bor. 
1 who was making her first appearance had not 
over her splayfootedness, and every time 









82 BEHIND THR SCENES. 


she took « peop at the audience and began to realize 
the airinese of her costume and gawkiness of her man- 
nerd, her knees knocked together fast enough to keep 
a few notes ahend of her chattering teeth. And her 
dress! there wae hothing marvellous about it —noth- 
ing that would carry a person off into the ideal fnan- 
cial realms of a national debt. It was powerfully 
plain with stiff and provoking effort at showiness. 
The next line, who also may be classed as figurantes, 
are plainly to be distinguished by their natty air of 
sauciness and a noticeable clipping-off of the super- 
abundant clothing that encumbers the latest additions 
to the corps. ‘Phe coryphees, though, are radiant in 
glittering, close-fitting eilver mail, and there is ac- 
quired grace in their actions, and « high haughtiness 
in the toss of their heads, The premieres everybody 
understands and recognizes, who has once seen then 
pirouette on their toes or slam around in a wild 
ecstasy of dancing delight that would give anybody 
else a vertigo and Jead to numerous and possibly se- 
rious dislocations. Well, all these were whispering ov 
prattling together, in the way of the scene-shifters, 
who went around reckless of their language, with 
sleeves rolled up and anxious faces and questioning 
eyes turned upon all whom they encountered there. 
Tt struck me, as I gazed upon this almost naked and 
highly interesting bullet, that if the moon had no 
atmosphere, as those who know best claim, the cos 
tumes of these gay und giddy girls were airy enough 
to stock it with a pretty extensive and healthy one. 
Out of this jumble of scenery and from the midst of 
e jostling characters the start was made for the 
mn. There was no carriage, no cartridge, no load 
je cannon, Her irip as a trip was a most undix- 
‘and diaphanous fraud. While King Pin, the 
















CHAPTER VIL. 
IN THE DRESSING-ROOM 


These same people wha appear grotesque, and out 
of the pale of ordinary every-day existence on the 
stage, are nearly always the most unromantic and realise 
tic-looking folks in the world when you meet them on 
the street. The extraordinary metamorphosis they go 
through to arrive at an appearance suitable for pre- 
sentation before the foot-lghts is a secret of the dress- 
ing-room. In the privacy of this carefully guarded 
apartment street clothes are laid aside, and what is 
more wonderful still, faces, eyes, and hands and lower 
limbs, too, very frequently, are subjepted to processes 
that produce the most remarkuble results, Anybody 
who has soon Nat Goodwin, of ** Hobbies ' reputation, 
will readily understand that it takes a pretty extensive 
transformation to change his appearance from that of 
the man to that of Prof. Pygmalion Whiftes, the 

trie character that makes ** Hobbies" the laugh- 
popular play that it is. Mr. Goodwin is 
it more than twenty-four—but I saw him 
youthfulness into the bald-headed, red- 
admerry old professor one night in almost as 
as it takes a boy to fall through a four- 
shaft. I accompanied him to his dross- 
ne Hight, He had just a fow minutes to got 
was in proper shape in time to muko his 
sat the apper entrance, amid the crash that 
mpanies his first appearance in the play, 























88 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 


up the back, Well, Goodwin went to work the 
moment he was inside the door. Of! came the every~ 
day clothes, and in a jiffy on went the one white and 
black stocking that will be remembered by all who 
have seen ‘* Hobbies,’’ The shirt, coat, pantaloons, 
linen duster and hat that forms the rest of his toilet, 
were carefully laid upon a side table. The shirt was 
flapped over his head in a second, the pantaloons went 
on like lightning and then bending towards a looking- 
glass he dipped his fingers in red and black color 
boxes, and soon had the necessary painting done upon 
his face. The velvet cont followed the making-up of 
the face ; then the torn linen duster, finally the red wig 
with its charming bald spot, was clapped upon his 
head ; the white hat was gracefully tilted over it, and 
with a call to the man who played Arthur Doveleigh 
for his cane and an ** I'll see you later”’ to his visitor, 
he bounded up the stairs, and the next moment, as I 
left the stage door, I could hear the hand-clapping and 
the howls of delight with which a crowded house was 
greeting their favorite. 

The great value of the art of making-up, as the 
preparation for participation in a play is called, both 
in the matter of painting the face and costuming, will 
bo understood when the story told by Mazo Edwards, 
who was Edwin Booth’s manager during the tour of 
1881-2, is recited. * * * The company got to 
Waterbury, Connecticut, ahead of their baggage. 
When tho hour for the performance arrived the bag- 
gage, consisting of all their costumes and parapherna- 
Tia was still missing. The manager waa in a terrible 
lights but I will let him tell his own story as he told 
newspaper reporter a short time after the occur- 





Piso 
“When I found the bagguge, with the costumes, 





IN THR DRRSSING-ROOM. 89 


had not arrived,” said Edwards, «I was just going to 
throw myself into the river: Then I thought I would 
go and tell Mr, Booth about it and bid good-bye to 
some of the people who had always thought a good 
deal of me, before killing myself. To my astonish- 








" Hy as you would take an 
invitation to drink. Hoe said, inasmuch as the people 
Were in the hall, he would make a few remarks to them 
bs 


——— 








92 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM- 


looked at Booth, and forgot all about the ulster and 
the Ghost’s pants being rolled up at the bottom. It 
was probably the greatest. triumph that an actor ever 
had for Mr. Booth to compel the vast audience to for- 
get the ludicrous surroundings and think only of the 
character he was portraying. I wouldn’t have missed 
the night's performance for a thousand dollars, and 
when, at 10 o'clock, I heard the boys getting the 
trunks up-stairs, [ was almost sorry. The last two 
acts were played with the costumes, but they were no 
better performed than the first. Still, I think, on the 
whole, Thad rather the baggage would be there. It 
makes a manager feel /better.’* 

Tn the olden times, and in the days of the early 
American theatre, the dressing-rooms were beneath 
the stage, and wero by no means the perfect and cozy 
places that are to be found in existence at present. 
Hodgkinson, I think it was, who, during the last cen- 
tury built the first theatre having dressing-rooms above 
and upon the stage. Later improvement bas removed 
the dressing-rooms, in first-class houses, entirely from 
the stage, ample and nently-furnished rooms being 
provided inadjoining buildings. This change has been 
nocessitated by the demand made upon theatrical man- 
greater stage room and better opportunities 
yhad heretofore in keeping up with the grow- 
for extensive scenic representations with 
appointments. ‘Che star of a company, 
always hus the best dressing-room the 
affords, and it is generally very close to 

Minor performers share their rooms ; 
of the supers usually has an apart- 
‘stage where he gathers his Roman 
Ais mail-clad but awkward squad of 
tter burlesque upon this ill-clathed, 






















cy IN ‘THE DRESSING-KOOM. 


lough took the leading role, he grew offended, having 
higher aspirations than mere utility business, and de- 
tormined to make the part funny and, if possible, spoil 
the scene, When hecame ou the stage, he was in war- 
paint, his face strewn with gory colors and interming- 
ling black; he had on the dirtiest costume he could 
find, with a battered rusty holmet, and carried the 
insignia of his office so awkwardly, while his knees 
came together his tovs turned in, and his general atti- 
tude was that of a man in the third week of a hard 
spree. He brought the house down, spoiled the play 
and was discharged for making too much of a success 
of the part, But this is a digression, and we must 
hurry back to tho dressing-room. 

‘Tho most diffienlt part of the actor's work prelim- 
inary to goihg on the stage is to make-up his fico. 
By the judicious use of powder and paint, and a proper 
disposition of wigs, beard, cte., the oldest man may 
be made to assume juvenility und the youngest to 
scem to bend with the weight of years. Wigsare to 
a great extent reliable, but the old fashioned false 
beard is clumsy and apt to make the wearer feel dis- 
satisfied with himself and the rest of the world. But 
fashioned beard is going out of style, and gray 

el on the face with grease is goncrally used. 
vividly how a beard of this sort worn by 
Conly, the basso, while singing the part 
h**'The Chimes of Normandy,” while 
bhot troupe last season, struck me 
of deception, It always requiresa 
one of these beards in anything like 
















F the ** crushed” type who has been 
the stage and into running a dra- 
the young and pushing clement in 


IN THE DKESSING-KOOM. 05 


the profession, in an interview had with him lately in 
Philadelphia, remarked, as he looked with evident in- 
terest upon the crowds in the street: ** [like to study 
faces. Tomy mind it is the most absorbing study in 
the world —that of men’s faces, You see, the thing 
has more interest. for me than for the run of men even 
fn my profession, because I'm an enthusiast inn cor- 
tain sense. I belong to the times when the study and 
make-up of fiices was mighty important inthe theatri- 
cal line. It wasn't such o long time ago, either; buat 
the times have changed since then, until now there 
seems to be almost no effort, at all to make-up and 
look your part. 
“Tt must be a great deal of trouble to make up 
every night.”” 
«Oh, but, my boy, look at the result! Godownto 
the theatre, where they still do it, and if only five 
years huve elapsed between the acts, see how it is 
shown on every face on the stage.” 
4 Tt is difficult. to make-up well, is it not?"” 
“Well, no,"” said the netor, lighting fresh cigar 
and assuming a more confidential pose, + the rules 
are simple enough, and with a little prietice, almost 
any amateur could learn to make up artistically if be 
i aye for effect. Some parts, like Fomeo, 
wface, Sidney Darrell or Claude Metnotte, 
very little make up for a young and good-look- 
The face and neck should be thoroughly 
white powder, and the cheek bones 
ly touched with rouge, which should not 
‘Then, ws the lover ought to look handsome, 
draw a fine black line under his lower cyo- 
“& camel hair brush and burnt umber. 
the eyes brilliant. I'm suro it isn’t much 
ke uy that way.” 






















98 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM.. 


"Tt must cause rather mournful forecasts when a 
man looks on his own face made up for the age of, 
say, cighty years.”” 

“Not so bud as when he makes up for a corpse, 
however, ' I'll never forget the first glance T had at 
my fuee after it had been made up for Gaston's death 
seene, when playing the * Mun of the Iron Mask,’* in 
"62. Tt. positively appalled mo, sir, and I lay awake 
all that night thinking of it, and dreamed of myself 
in u coffin for a month afterward,’” 

“ How is it done?" 

Well, it varies slightly. You see, such characters 
as Lear, Virginius, Werner, and Beverly are before 
the audience some time before they actually die, and 
therefore, their fuces cannot be made very corpse-like ; 
but Mathias in+ The Bells,’ Louis XZ, Gaston and 
Donny Mann are discovered dying when the scene 
opens, or are brought in dead, so that their faces can 
be made oxtreme. For the last series the face and 
neck should be spread with prepared pink to give it a 
livid ue in places, ‘Then put.a deep shading of pow- 
dered antimony under the eyebrows and well into the 
hollow of the eye, on the checks, throat and temples. 
This in very eflective, as it gives the fice that dread- 
fully sunken appearance us in death. ‘The sides of the 
nose and even the upper lip should also be darkened, 
and the lips powdered blue. ‘Then the face will look 
about as dead as it would three hours after a real 
death.”” 

“Inthe make up of grotesque faces do they use 
falso noses and chins? 

«Very rarely. Usually the method is to stick some 
wool on the nose with a gum and mold it in whatever 

Shape you will; then powder and paintit as you would 
natural nose for grotesque or comedy parts. Paste 











z 
E 
* 
" 
3 
3 
3 
Ft 
42 
§ 
Aa 
= 
E 





100 TN THE DRESSING-ROOM.- 


is put on with gum, instend of wool, sometimes. 
Clowns have to encase themselves fairly with whiting, 
and they find this trouble enough without building up 
noses or cheeks. Grotesque artists have to work hard 
with their faces as a rule, but they are often repaid by 
discovering neat points. Many of our best Dutch 
and Trish comedians owe their first lift to a lucky 
make-up." 

** | suppose there are types of the representation of 
different nationalities?" 

Well, a gentleman is usually made-up the same, 
no matter where he may be supposed to belong, but 
the caricature is usually one of the well-known make- 
ups. A Frenchman has to be powdered with dark 
rouge, and has his eyebrows blackened with dark ink, 
All dark characters, as mulattoes, creoles, Spaniards, 
and so on, are done with whiting and dark rouge, with 
plenty of burnt cork and umber.’” 

“«Ts much work necessary on the hands?’” 

«+ Tn witehes it is of great importanee that the hands 
and arms should be ekinuy and bony. This is usually 
done by a liberal powdering of Dutch pink, and paint- 
ing between the knuckles with burnt umber. Paint- 
ing between the knuckles, you sec, makes them look 
large and bony. But this sounds a good deal like 
ancient history, now, docs it not? Tho art is falling 
into disuse, my boy, and I’ve no doubt the time is not 
far off when we shall have youngsters playing old 
men with signs on their back reading, * Please, sir, 

n years old,’ while their faces are as fresh as 










do you attribute this tendency,” 

. The theatrical age of to-day is a won- 
. The entire profession wants to star, An 

ys old men now simply for a living, while he 














104 IN ‘THE DRESSING-nOOM. 


symmetricals, us padded tights are called, were hit upon 
and now you cannot find an unsightly piece of und. 
pinning in any combination, and even the poor ballet 
gitl who does page’s parts or helps to make up # crowd 
for $6 a week, will, if she has senseand taste, go early 
to the dealer in theatrical goods and have symmetri- 
cals made to suit the exigencies of her case. These 
artistic necessories of feminine fictitiousness nro leggings 
or tights woven in such a manner the thickness of a 
deficient thigh, the pipe-stem character of a calf, are 
filled out with silk and cotton into shapefulness and 
beauty that Venus de Medici herself would not be 
ashamed to make a display of. [heard a story about 
an operatic artist who for a long time refused to play 
parts demanding the exhibition even of a fraction of a 
limb, and all because her lower mombers were too 
attenuated to attract anything else but ridicule. Lately 
sho has found her way to the pad-maker’s and now can 
present as pretty an ankle and as round a calf to the 
audience as sister artists who have more flesh and 
blood in their composition, Men as well as women 
patronize the pad-maker and any actor of the mashing 
persuasion who may have had to keep his bandy legs 
in wido pantaloons heretofore cum now burst forth 
upon the sight of his adored in all the gorgeous loveli- 
ness and perfection of an attractive anatomy. 































MARIE nozK. (105) 


CHAPTER VII. 


WITHIN THE WENGS. 


The green-room, except where stock companies pre= 
yail —and there are not more than three or four in the 








te —has passed out of the shadow of 
Tiles that sometime ago were posted here, 
to be observed. By this I do not mean 






winms THE Wines. 107 


that rules have been entirely done away with behind the 
scones; but trayelling companies are governed by their 
own rules, carry their own stage manager, prompter, 
eto., and the only persons that local green-room rules 
could apply to now-a-days would be the fout or five 
poorly paid young girls who, in their desire to go on 
the stage and hecome stars, start and generally stay at 
the of the ladder, where they are paid pitiful 
salaries and continue to “ mash" wandering minstrels, 
or the equally poorly paid and badly treated members 
of some male chorus. These girls usually spend the 
lengthy leisure a performance gives them sitting de- 


Hi 


A GREEN-ROOM TABLE. 












in the corner of the green-room until 

ds them word that they are needed to 
lent gap in the entertainment. Beyond 
é few to be found in the green-room dur- 
Occasionally an actor will drop in 
as le mumbles his lines over, or an 
tired from standing in the wings, or on 
hurry in and drop to rest on the sofia. 
or “‘ wings,"* as Buoy) are termed, are 


the stage of a theatre, Under 








110 IN THE WINGS. 


while darling little princes in the nicest of tights, or 
pirates, or bandits, with symmetrical limbs fully dis- 
played, and the softest of hearts beating under their 
corsets, get alongside of him, and because they have 
had little parts to memorize, and have let them slip 
lightly and swiftly beyond their recollection, tease the 
prompter to help them to regain the lost words, 














, who has evidently seen a great 
beyond the foot-lights, in giving his 
“Some actors boast that they 

if they have totally forgotten 
rsomething,’ 2s they phrase it, and 
‘the difference noted by the audience 
was making the rounds of the 
sre, or so ago, I went to see 








i IN THE WENGE. 


fairy leaning up against some object with her lithe 
limbs crossed, and she putting in the spare time allowed 
her in doing crochet or some kindred work. Perhaps 
she is knitting a purse for some distant lover, or maybe 
itis a tiny pair of sooks for the little baby that is wait- 
ing for her at home, For many of these youthful, 
charming, and heart-breaking fairies add fair bar- 
lesquers are married, and frequently their husbands 
are in the same company, A story is told of a well- 
known and popular actress who brings her husband 
with her to the theatre every night, and while the old 
man—a dear, innocent and uncomplaining old fellow 
sits in the side scenes nursing baby with a bottle, on 
one knee, and holding an English pug on the other, 
while the mother is out before the admiring public 
throwing her arms about some strange Ztomeo, and 
clinging to him with all the warmth and affection of 
the fair Juliet's young love. 

The story is told of a New York fireman, who made 
real Jove, and too much of it, on the stage. Accord- 
ing to the rules of the fire department there, a mem- 
ber of the department is kept on duty at every per- 
formance in the theatres. While there he has nothing 
to do except respond to any call of fire, and give his 
yaluable services in suppressing it. But it is very 
seldom that his services are culled into requisition, and 
quently the position at the theatre is much sought 
‘by the gallant fire laddies. As a rule, the mem- 
the department area fine body of men, but those 
Lat the theatres are very fine-looking and con- 
very popular with the actresses at the thea- 
natural result i= tat the fireman soon has 
and having unrestricted liberties perambu- 
| the building without hindrance, Become 

ited with the nooks and coruers he is en- 











116 IN THE WINGs. 


abled to snatch a fow moments’ swect converse with the 
object of bis affections, and in a place where they can 
commune with one another uninfluenced by the presence 
of anyone. But recently the regular disappearance of 
the fireman of acertain theatre at a stated time became 
the subject of comment among the attaches, and an- 
other female admirer of the gallant fireman, actuated 
possibly by jealous motives, watched him receding 
from view and followed his footsteps silently, In un 
unfrequented nook among the ruins of ancient moun- 
tains, pillars and broad fields — on canvas —stood the 
object of her disappointed affections, embracing the 
fair form of her rival and giving vent to the pent-up 
feelings of his heart, while she, coy, and dove-like, 
stood, blushingly receiving the compliments which 
were being showered upon her. This was too much 
for the slighted fair one, and the place that knew the 
loving hearts for many evenings is now vacant and 
ready for the ocoupancy of another loving couple. 
Another fire lad of the same department thought he 
smelt fire one night just before the performance began. 
He pried around through every nook and corner in the 
fuléilment of his duty, and at last was satisfied that he 
Te was not sufficiently well 
ow ‘ipient blaze 
ladies’ dressing-rooms, So in he popped 
ny Warning. The girls were dressing 







articles within reach and set 
near creating panic among the 
d not wait to find the origin 
all the persuasive powers of 


is IN THE WrNos. 


have happened behind the scenes, and but few of 
which have reached the public. The legend about 
Atkins Lawrence’s lion skin, which he wears when he 
playe Zngomer, and which was eo heavily sprinkled 
with snuff as a preservative against moths that when 
Parthenia. began to woo the barbarian chict and leant 
lovingly upon his shoulder she almost ‘sneezed hor 
head off before the alarmed audience, is told of Mary 
Anderson. The Milwaukee Sun printed something 
about the same actress, that whether true or false is 
equally good. The writer anys: —** It ia well known 
that Miss Anderson is addicted to the gum-chewing 
habit, and that when she gocs upon the stage she 
sticks her chew of gum on an old castle painted on the 
scenery, There was a wicked young man playing a 
minor part in the play who had been treated scornfully 
by Mary, as he thought, and he had been heard to say 
he would make her sick. He did. He took her chew 
of gum and spread it out so it was as thin as paper, 
then placed a chew of tobacco inside, neatly wrapped 
it up, and stuck it back on the old castle. Mary came 
off, when the curtain went down, and gothg up to the 
‘ bit like a bass, Putting the gum, which she 

loaded, into her mouth, she mashed it 

















there and leaned against 
homesickness. She was 
mbled like an aspen leaf 
was calm as a summer's 


ment like & worm in 














STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS, 123 


She is rather ungallantly and untruly styled the ‘ Fire 
Fiend,’’ and all sorts of predictions are made about 
the theatre she playsin, the hotel she has her rooms at, 
amd the very town and county in which sho is tempo- 








KATE CLAXTON. 


domiciled. But Kate Claxton, who by the way 
Stevenson, is not the first person in her pro- 
to have acquired such an unenviable reputation. 
‘8. Hamblin, an actor and manager of the early 
‘the present century, who came from England in 









124 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 


1825 to star in ‘*Shakospeare,”’ was followed by fire even 
more relentlessly than Miss Claxton has been. No less 
than four theatres burned under his management, and 
it was generally said when he undertook to open or 
run a place of amusement that from that moment it 
was fated to the flames. Hamblin figures conspicu- 
ously in the history of the Bowery. He died in 1854, 

The sailor who braves the dangers of the deep is al- 
ways blindly superstitious. There is something in the 
vastness of the ocean, in its misty immensity, in its 
magic mirage, its wonders and its terrors, that puzzles 
the mind and sets fire to the imagination of poor Jack, 
and even bewilders his superior officers. The artist 
to sail before the public and to amuse 
a living is quite as much at sea as your genuine 
Jack Tar. He or she finds himself or herself on a 
veritable ocean, beset: by dangers, surrounded by un- 
known and fickle conditions of atmosphere and phe- 
nomena. All the logic of the dry land is of no nyail 
in such a situation, ‘The relations of cause and effect 
are broken up. Magic is the only excuse for the 1 
yal of the unexpected. ‘The seemingly impossible in 
results is always the most possible, Quce embarked 
in the dramatic sea, no one can tell where the voyage 
may end, or what it may bring forth. A shipwreck 
on auriferous rocks may prove a success. 

‘Triumph may come from ruin; happiness from dan- 
ger, and the longest voyage and the richest freight are 
often given the most leaky and shallow craft. There 
is no knowing which boat will float the longest on the 
jatic soa—the best equipped or the most shaky 
flimsy. So it is no wonder that actors are all 

stitious. They have no compass even to guide 
m whon beset by the varying is of public opin- 
. The impossible is always sure to mect them ; so 



















STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 125 
they are always on the lookout for magic, and depend 







in secret quite as much upon their simple necromancy 
as upon their talent or their study. Every star has, 
so to speak, a fetich that insures success, or goes 
through an imaginary formula to invoke prosperity. 
‘The public is constantly under the influence of the 
voudoo arts of actors, and incantations and mystic 
signs rule the world of Thespis and enslave the public 
without its knowledge. Some of these fancies and 
formulw of intelligent actors are, indeed, more sitple 
and childlike than those that characterize poor Jack of 
the briny deep. 
Imagine, for instance, an actor like John Me- 
Cullough refusing to approach a theatre except by one 
route (the one he first takes, no matter how round- 
about) from night to night, for fear of breaking the 
charg of success. Tmagine, too, a lot of other trifling 
things that beset him—signs, omens and the like. 
Té he stumbles when he first enters a scene it is a sign 
Of good luck. If he receives faint applause in the first 
scene he is sure to succeed, amid thunderous pliudits, 
in the last; if Forrest's sword, used in Glidiator, 
Hecomes dite hy damp sir or other cause, it is a sign 
of lack of fervor in the audience of the evening, while, 
on the contrary an extraordinary brightness of the 
‘weapon is a sure sign of great success. If a negro 
should cross his path while he is on his way to a pers 
, that is a never-failing omen of a prosperous 
while to encounter a cros-eyed woman 
‘man, for strabismus in that sort of ereature 
ot affect John, probably beeause it is only the 
Tooks at), is a sure sign if not of fuilure, 
‘Honoyance to himself xn] coldness on the 
audience. The Macbeth music is, of 
#, his great bugbear, as it is with all actors. 































STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 129 


to make everything lovely. Tn getting out of bed he 
will not slip out with the left foot first, lest he may 
have uck all the day. His dreams decide his ac- 
ceptance of a play, and when he is puzzled between 
two methods of working up a “ point,” he is perfectly 
satisfied to settle it by the toxx up of 2 cent. 
Joe Fofferson is also impressed with the magical 
otency of old clothes. He hus never changed his 
un Winkle '* suit, but he hus been forced 
patched and renovated. His hat, wig, beard 
«”’ rifle —the one that falls to pieces ufter 
p —are the same that housed when he made 
in the part in London fifteen years 
laid this gun Inst season, just before he 
the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and was forced to 
rv. That engagement was his first failure, 
He has found the old rifle, and, the 
aw complete again, he has opened the 
‘a Vory successful week in Brooklyn. Joe 
am engagement in any theatre if a dog 
ik across the stage at the first rehearsal. 
sign of death, loss, or fire, as every 
‘ent parading tho coulisses or walking 
d across the ecene, however (even at 
ance), would be hailed by him and 
| delight a3 an unfailing sign of proa- 
renown. 
that be was eure to fail with bis audi- 
|, by an accident, handed him his wig 
on, while, if he put it on his hend 
and not before the voices of the 
d summoningall on for his first seene, 
dead to rights."" 
@ Raymond, carries a lucky $5 gold 
8 the charm of his popularity reposes 



















130 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 


in the fact that he always puts on his costumes in a 
never-varying order, and never changes his old brushes 
and articles of “*make-up.’’ He, too, is afraid of the 
necromantic powers of the evil-omened dog, and be- 
lieves in the magio spells of fairy grimalkin. If the 
orchestra plays a waltz between the first and second 
acts of his piece, suecess is more likely than ever to seal 
his efforts of the evening. 

Mrs. Florence, on the contrary, does not believe in 
old clothes, but quite the reverse. She thinks, how- 
ever, that birds (canaries, or any other variety ) are sure 
to bring bad luck, and will not play in the company 
where there is a cross-eyed girl. The cross-eyed man 
doesn't count. Ifthe prompter should tear a page of 
manuscript accidentally, or, moreover, if the page 
should contain the name or a speech of the character 
she is acting, there is no use in hoping for a great 
furor that evening, for there will be nothing but dis- 
appointments in the making of points and coutretemps 
in the management of the stage. If the prompter 
turns out the foot-lights or a row of border-lights, 
swift disaster is sure to come on the theatre, This 
was never kaown to fail in her experience. 

Booth will never go on the stage, no matter how 
lute or hurried he may be, without first paeing three 
time across the green-room, mumbling over not the 
first, but the very last speech of the piece he is to play 
that night. Then he walks on, sure of his triumph. 
If he should fail in his formula, the audience would be 
cold and unappreciative. It has been his custom to 
have Deademona's couch set in the second entrance on 
the stage, left in the Last scene of '* Othello.” Ac- 
cording to the old style, the couch should be set in the 
centre door, behind curtains, exactly in front of the 
audience. Booth believes in signs, however, and 














132 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 


of decided blue is sure of ill-fortune, and shudders at 
the mere mention of the Macheth music. He has 
steered clear of all these evil influences during his 
stage career, and has been uniformly successfal. 

Oliver Doud Byron has a special claitn in addition 
to the regular superstitions of his class. He his a 
certain tattoo mark of India ink on his right forearm. 
When he rolls up his sleeves for his “* terrible com- 
bat’? i the last act of “+ Across the Continent,” he 
must uncover that mark without looking at it, or his 
fetich is not complete, and the charm of his prosperity 
will be broken. 

Charles Thorne believes his success lies in the fact 
that he always steps on the stage in the first seene 
with his right foot foremost, and keeps it in advance 
until he has delivered his first speech. This done, be 
is safe and sure of a ‘walk over '* before his eritics. 
Once or twice he has inadvertently stepped out with 
his left, and on these oeeasions he bas failed,or the 
plece has fallen flat. Such an accident happened him 
on the first night of ** Lost Children." Manager Pale 
mer, of the Union Square, who has also become a vic- 
tim of uperstitions, is fearful of Thorne stepping 
0 terrible left foot on « first night, just out: 

for some slight or disagreement. Thorne, 
‘this magic power for good or evil, not nt 

ds, but at the ends of his toes, is a ter= 
and on first nights is treated 
consideration by the entire com- 
ne gots in his way when he is about to 
trance on a first night, lost ho may 
‘step and advance with sinister effect 
'Thome’s right foot onee put forward, 
es freer and plays with greater vim. 
of every new play, therefore, lies, 
















STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 188 


though the crities may not think it, in the malign or 
favorable magic of Thorne’s feet, aceording as he puts 
them forward. 

Adelaide Neilson was as superstitious as all actresses 
are. Her evenly-balanced beauty and brains did not 
free her from the slavery of omenz. She carried about 
with her, ever since her first London success in Juliet, 
a lucky silken rag— a dingy, straw-colored drapery — 
which she insisted upon hanging over the railing of 
the balcony when Juliet breathes her complaints to 
the moon. Without this, the fair Adelaide was sure 
_sho could not succoed in the scene in any part of the 
world. She brought the silken rag across the water 
with her again and again, The drapery was somewhat 
faded and tattered from long service in the two worlds, 
hut she still elung fondly to it, and said it was pos- 
sessed of all its olden magic. 

Lotia sleeps three hours by daylight, but if she 
should wake up ten minutes before the usual time (just 
the time to rush to the theatre) the fates are against 
her, and she will not do well that evening. If any one 
whistles in a dressing-room within her hearing while 
she ix donning her costume, shé is sure the person is 
oe away her luck,” and the house is going to 












BS Dareotor would not, for any consideration, 
; ging her wig before the green-room mirror 
ous to going onthestage. Shehasa regular, 
formula to go through to guarantee success. 
presses hor hands to the sides of her head to 
Springs are firmly fixed (although she has 
© drosser make that sure in her dressing- 
gives the “bung” three smart tugs, pulls 
with a nervous twitch of her fingers, 
Hire wig down from the top of her head, 





STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS, 185 


Neilson also had a vial —a special one — which she 
insisted should only be used for Romeo's poison pox 
tion. She wonld handle no other, and has been known 
to have the bill changed because the vial was mislaid, 
and would not allow ** Romeo and Juliet” to be put 
it was found. 

s his magic lies in an old far cap 















and a hare's foot,| 
for rouging, which 
he had ever since| 
he has been on the 
stage, 
Roncicault trem- 
Iles and is sure 
failure for any in 
of his pieces whi 
is greeted w 
commendation by_ 
ull the actors with- 
out 8 dissenting. 
yoice. If the play-| 
ers condemn his 
pieee at the rebe: 
nls, he is sure the’ 
wudience will like! 
it. Butin any event’ 
no play of his cai 
bo a success unless 
he tears off the cov- DION HOUCICAULT. 
ieee first act, and makes away with the title page 
at the last rehearsal. 

‘Maude Granger has a ce agic sinel 
Which she puts to her nostrils just before 
























bottle 
om the 






stage. 
Maggie Mitchell attributes her success in « Fan- 


de 


136 STAOR CHARMS AND OMENS. 


chon”? to an old pair of shoca which she wears in that 
pice. 

Eliza Weathersby hates birds, docen’t like whistlors, 
and bas for her special charm an embroidered rose, 
which always appears on her dress or tights, according 
to tho style of part she may be playing. 

Paola-Marie, the 
little Parisienne of 
Grau’s opera 
boufle, has a pet 
pug dog which she 
always fondles at 
the side-scenes for 
luck, before going 
on thestage. This, 
too, to the intense 
horror of the rest 
of the company, 
who think dogs in 
theatres bad luck. 
8: 

































ra Jewett. im-= 





aginesthatshecom= 
mands success and 
onslaves her ue 
diences by walling 





every night b 
The ms 
actors. 
boxes 
they 

the 
















140 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 


taine, with indignant forvor, “T think it i a lower 
and more debased view than habitual drunkenness. 
Tf there wae a law passed to make it e capital offence, 
I'm d—d if I wouldn’t serve as hangman without ask- 
ing a cent pay.” 

At this juncture an old woman, enveloped in an 
odorous combination of rags and liquor, seized Mr. 
Courtaine by the sleeve and rolled two eyes, which 
squinted across at each other almost at right-angles, 
towards the sky, as she whined ; — 

‘* Please, good gentleman, a penny to buy a poor 
widow bread. Only a penny, dear, handsome gentle- 
man, and God go with you.”” 

Mr. Courtaine dove into bis pocket to respond to this 
artful appeal, and as he did so, glanced at the old 
womui, Then he began a performance which plunged 
his companion in a stupor of wonder. Crossing his 
forefingers, he deliberately spat upon the pavement 
over them, and then turning ina circle, repeated the 
expectoration at each of the four points of the eom- 
pass, This accomplished, he mopped the perspiration 
from his pallid brow, and shuddered visibly. * Tits 
Friday, too,” he muttered. “ D—n it all! T might 
have wn it.?” 

** Known what?” asked Mr. Ince. 

«Let's go down to ‘Cheiss's and get a beer,”* said 
Mr. Courtaine abruptly and irrelevantly. 

“You'd better see your man first, 
prudent Mr. Tnee. 

“Oh, no. He can wait; besides T 
late to catch him in now. TL 
row. Come along.’” 

The libation performed, 
they should drop in at 
Courtaine favored a 


















suggested the 













STAGE CHANMS AND OMENS. 141 


his programme would turn out the most pleasing one, 
and Mr, Courtaine said: « Hold on; we can easily 
see ;"? and producing a half-dollar he flipped it, ask- 
ing, ‘* What is it?”' 

“Heads,” answered Mr. Inee. 

««Tt’s tail,” remarked Mr. Courtaine. **So the 
stroll will tarn out beat. Let's be moving.”’ 

‘They moved along, and as they passed a fruit stand 
Mr. Tnee remarked: ‘* Hello! there are some straw- 
berries.”* 

“+ Ze first-a of zo season a-Signore,”’ said the Neapoli- 
tan nobleman, who presided oyer the destinies of the 
stand, with a bow of invitation, ‘*ze very first-a, only 
feofty cent-a xe box-a. 

«By Jove!” cried Mr. Courtaine, picking out three 
of the finest and leaving the box a quarter empty, 
** now, then, Ince, make a wish.”’ 

““What for?’ demanded Mr. Ince, making a raid on 
the box on his own account. 

«Never mind,” replied Mr. Courtaine, evasively, 
“only whenever you cat new fruit or vegetables muke 
a wish.’” 

And he posted the strawberries into his oratorical 
orifice, and walked off, leaving the fruit vender foam- 
ing at the mouth, and snarling “ compo dé diavola! 
wese actor ‘ave ze sheck-a of a policeman, Ob! 
Madonna mia! Eef rem boys ‘ad not steal-n my 
elabt"” 

















was varied by no further incidents except 
ite walked a block around to avoid 


up from ii 
Mr. Courtaine’s eyes sir 


142 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 


ands at her and shouling: Go into the street. 
Hey! Hey! look out for the ladder !” 

And whon in spite of his adjurations, Mrs. Cour- 
taine — for the lady was none other — walked under a 
Jadder loaning against the sido of arising building. He 
sank upon a row of beer kegs and fastened 2 cumula~ 
tive grip on Mr. Ince’s arm, exclaiming —** Did 
witness it wasn’t my fault? I warned her in time, 
didn’t 12” 

[re . . « 

* Do you remember my wife walking under a ladder 
yesterday?” observed Mr. Courtaine to Mr. Ince on 
the morrow, 

«Yes, whut of iv?” 

“ Woll, when we got home we found the eat bad 
killed the ary bird — killed and ute it all but the 
tuil feathers,” said Mr. Courtaine triumphantly. 
++ Now what do you think of that? ELere come around 
to Theiss’s or we'll have those fellows around us with 
thoir infernal low-minded superstitions again.” 











CHAPTER X. 
NOT DOWN IS THR BIEL, 


Some very queer things happen behind tho scenes, 
and even on the stage in full view of the audieuce — 
occurrences that often mar the pleasure of the play 
for the people in the auditorium, and raise the wrath 
of the performer, Anything out of the ugual run 
of business that occurs behind the scenes throws the 
players off the track frequently, ‘Thero is a great deal 
of work going on at all times, out of sight or knowl- 
edge of the audience, and a slight disturbance may bo 
an interruption fraught with dire disaster. There are 
actors and actreases in the wings, often, comploting the 
memorization of their parts— ** winging "’ parte, as it 
is called —or it may be going over their lines again, 
if they are not confident that they have full possession 
of them; and to these people, of course, an inter- 
ruption is a matter of the morest moment. Actors 
and actresses have always been credited with good 
memories, but even the best memory may sometimes 
be thrown off the track, und, indeed, sometimes is, 
by an untoward or startling incident. 

Spenking of memory, reminds me that an actor 
otiee memorized an entire newspaper, when they were 
smaller than now, in a single night. ‘The actor was a 
man Hamed Lyon, who was playing small parts through 
the country. An English actor committed the contents 
of the London Times, advertisements and all, within 
a week, besides studying a new part for covery night. 


(14) 








46 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 


of it when he got home. He sat down and wrote it 
out, and the copy thus written was used for the per- 
formance of the play in New York. Many readors 
will recollect the New York couple prosecuted by the 
Madison Square Theatre Company for selling copies 
of ** Hazel Kirke"? to companies that had no right 
to play the drama. The wife, it was explained, went 
to the theatre, sat the play out a few times, and dic~ 
tated the lines to her husband from memory. She 
had been an actress. Thero are many other remark- 
able instances of swift and retentive memories in the 
profession, but one of the most astonishing of all 
these feats is what is known as * winging a part,”* an 
expression I have used before in this chapter. This 
consists in going on the stage without having studied 
the lines at all, the actor carrying the book in his 
pocket, and pulling it out every time ho gets out 
of sight of the audience, studying the part in the 
«wings ’’ until he receives his cue to go on again. 
This method of going through the part continues 
during the performance, the actor speaking the lines 
to the best of his ability, and following the text as 
closely as possible. 

Returning to the subject of the chapter, there are 
several instances of actors and actresscs, prominent and 
minor, receiving their death strokes on the stage while 
playing. Mistress Woffington, known as “lovely 
Peggy,’ while playing at Covent Garden, London, May 
3, 1757, fell to the stage at the end of the fourth act of 
“As You Like it,” in which she was playing Rosalind, 
and after muttering “*O God! O God!"" was car- 
Tied home to die after a lingering confinement of three 
years to her bed. George Frederick Cooke received 
Bis deuth stroke in New York, while playing Sir 
Giles Overreach, and Edmund Kean died in Eugland 


















NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. M7 


under similar circumstances. The elder Kean and his 
son Charles were playing together, the former having 
the role of Oviedo, the latter that of Jago. The date was 
March 25, 1883, ‘The event, says a chronicler, created 
great excitement among play-goers; the house was 
crammed, Kean, who had worn himself out with dis- 
sipation, went through the part, ‘* dying as he went,'” 
until he came to the * Farewell,’ and the strangely 
appropriate words, ‘ Othello’ occupation’s gone.'" 
Then he gasped for breath and fell upon bis son’s 
shoulder, moaning, ‘*I am dying—speak to them for 
me!" Aud so the curtain descended upon him — for- 
ever. His wife had separated from him. ‘+ Come 
home to me; forget and forgive!" he wrote her after 
he had been conveyed to Richmond. And she came. 
An hour before he died he sprang out of bed, exclaim- 
ing, “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for « horse!” 
and he expired with the dying words of Octavian, 
+ Farewell, Flo— Floranthe!* upon his lips. This 
was on May 15, 1833, and he was buried in Rich- 
mond churchyard. Tnstances of the same appalling 
Kind might be multiplied, but it is not the purpose of 
the writer to cover the stage with gloom, or to cause 
death to masquerade any more than is absolutely nec- 
eseury before the foot-lights. More interest will be 
felt, and the heart will be lighter and the appetite 
better, if we turn to the ludicrous incidents that have 
caused audiences ready to shed tears over « tragedy, to 
turn from the lachrymose uttitude to one which might 
be represented as laughter holding both his sides. 

"Sol Smith tells a funny story about his earliest ex- 
periences on the stage; how he stole in through the 
back door before the performance, and hid in what he 
thought was 4 chest, but which turned out to be the 





“coffin used. in the play that ovening, and when it was 


lle 














NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 153 


ited the applause of the audience, and explained that 
she hud only accepted the part to oblige a fend, and 
hoped she would be excused for not playing it better. 
After this little speech she once more assumed a re~ 
eumbent position, and was covered by the attendants 
with a bluck veil. 

On one occasion a danseuse was listening to the pro- 
testations ofan elderly lover, who was on the point of 
kissing her hand, when, as he stooped down his wig 
caught in the spangles of her dress. At that momont 
she was called to the stage, and made her appearance be- 
fore the audience amid general laughter and applause ; 
for on the front of her drees was the old beau’s wig 
or scalp, hanging like a trophy from her belt. The 
applause was renewed when a bald head was seen pro- 
Jeeting from the wing in search of its artificial cover- 
ing. Stories, too, aro told of imprudent admirers, 
who, having excited the jealousy of the stage carpen- 
ter, did not take the precaution to avoid traps, and asa 
consequence found themsclves shot up into the ** flics,"’ 
or hastily dropped down to the dismal depths below 
































very common trick to let people through a 
Iwas present several times in the theatre 
were carried down to the black and un- 
ca below the stage. At a benefit given to 
er in St. Louis, « well-known young 
in the liquor business was prevailed upon 
) programme and was put down for a 
ec. The house was crowded that 
H—— was thero in all the glory 
“wardrobe, fully prepared to entertain 
fan hour or so. One of the boys 
—so he termed it—of hearing 
through, and he gave the 





‘NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 155 


his neatest and smiling his sweetest. Ho was, of 
course, received with “thunders of applause," and 


storms of the same kind interrupted him at frequent 
intervals. At lust the place was reached where tho 
fun was to commence. * Bang!’ went a gun in the 
air, the thunder rolled, there was red fire, and the 
went H— slowly, and up went 
} was so torror-stricken that he could 
was left to grope his way through the 
stairs. Tho language he used when 
found himself among his friends was 
‘elegant than were the phrases of his 
at no more benefits. 
man now of Cincinnati was treated 

















in the middle of a play in which he 
g part with a company of amateurs, 






young fellows who had “put up the 
) his own horror, In Leadville, Col., a 
er who had incurred the displeasure of 









g gracefully and kissing her hand to the 
suddenly down went one of her pink- 


ification the leg was broken. Such 
dangerous und more frequently are 
ig than fun. 

h actor, sought in vain ono night 
who was wont to dress him, but who 
nt had undertaken to play the part of 
in * The Fair Penitent.” Powell, 
al character, shouted in un angry 
, who could not help raising his head 





156 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 


from out the coffin in which he was lying, and an- 
swering, ‘* Here, sir.’ ** Come, then,’’ continued 
Powell, not knowing where the voice came from, * or 
ll break every bone in your body!" Warren, know- 






his fright out of the coffin and 
et across the stage. 
s and heroines of the present day 


NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 157 


wait to regain animation until the curtain has fallen, 
wheu they reappear in thelr own private characters at 
the foot-lights. A distinguished tenor, Signor Giug- 
Tint, being much applauded one night for his singing in 
the ** Miserere '* scene of + Il Trovatore,”’ quitted the 
dungeons in which Manrico is eupposed to be confined, 
came forward to the public, bowed, aud then, not to 
cheat the executioner, went quietly back to prison 
again. A much more modern story of tho confusion 
of facts with appearances is told, and with truth, of 
distinguished military amateur, who had undertaken, 
for one occasion only, to play the part of Don Gio- 
vanni. Tn the scene in which the profligate hero is 
seized and carried down to the infernal regions, the 
principal character could hoither persuade nor compel 
tho demons, who wero represented by private soldiers, 
to lay hands on one whom, whatever part he might 
ussume, they know well to be a colonel in 
‘The demons kept at a respectful distance, 
n ordered in a loud whisper to lay hands on 
tic victim, contented themselves with fall- 
titude of attention. 
‘in the collection of his feufllefons pub- 
the title of ‘* Histoire de Ia Littératnre 
* tells how in the ultra-tragie tragedy of 
"an actor, in the midst of a solemn 















Ing more or less than an nocident which 
Lord Brougham is said to 
same misfortune while speaking in 
ds. But the great tragedian showed 
mind, and also a certain indifference 
nature of the work in which he was en- 
je coolly stooped down, picked up the 








NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 161 


beth.” Yet it haa never been vory difficult to repre- 
sent thunder onthe stage. One of the oldest theatrical 





LAWRENCE BARRETT. 


anecdotes is that of the actor, who, playing the part 
of a bear, hears a clap of stage-thundor, and mistaking 
it for the real thing, makes the eign of the crozs. 

a 





= 


CHAPTER XI. 
THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 


A person can gain an idea of the extent of stage 
decorations and the possibility of scenic illusions in the 
old English theatre by reading a description of the 
theatre as it existed in its poverty of costume and 
bareness of paint in the Elizabethan era. Rousseau 
has left « description of the Paris Opera House as ho 
sew it and it will be found interesting to all who are 
acquainted with the methods and the absolute magni- 
tude of the theatre of the present day, It must he 
remembered, however, when considering the smallness 
of the stage described by Rousseau, that it was blocked 
up on both sides, as was the early English stage, by 
the aristocratic section of the audience, who gat in rows 
by the side of tho singers while tho plebeian music 
lovers stood up in the pit. It wus in exactly the same 
condition as the English stage, when actors and ac- 
tresses were interrupted and even insulted by their 
lordly patrons ; —as when Mrs. Bellamy ono evening 
as she passed across the stage at Dublin was kissed 
upon the neck by a Mr. St. Leger, whose cars the 
actress boxed there and then; Lord Chesterficld rose 
in bis box on this oocasion and applauded; the entire 

| o- gadience followed his example and at the end of the 
| performance St. Leger was obliged by the viceroy to 
mulke u public apology to the actress. 

* Tmagine,”’ writes Rousseau about the Paris Opera, 

Yan inclosure Gfteen feet broad, and long: in propor 

(162) 





THR IELUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 163 


tion; this inclosure is the theatre. On its two sides 
are placed at intervals screens, on which are curiously 
painted the objects which the scene is about to repre- 
sent. At the back of the inclosure hangs a great cur- 
tain, painted in like manner, and nearly always pierced 
and torn, that it may represent ata little distance 
gulfs on the earth or holes in the sky. Every one 
who passes behind this stage, or touches the curtain, 
produces a sort of earthquake, which has a double ef- 
fect. The sky is made of certain bluish rags, sus= 
pended from poles, or from cords, as linen may be 
seon hung out to dry in nny washerwoman's yard. 
The sun, for it is seen here sometimes, is a lighted 
toreh in a lantern. The cars of the gods and god~ 
desses are composed of four rafters, secured and hung 
ou a thick rope in the form of a swing or see-saw ; be= 
tween the rafters is a coarse plank, on which the gods 
sit down, and in front hangs a piece of course cloth, 
well dirtied, which acts the part of clouds for tho 
mugnificent car. Ono may see toward the bottom of 
the machine two or three foul candlos, badly snuffed, 
which, while the greater personage dementedly presents 
himself swinging in his soo-saw, fumigate him with 
incense worthy of his dignity. Tho agitated sea ix 
composed of long angular lanterns of cloth and blue 
pasteboard, strung on parallel spits, which are turned 
by little blackguard boys. The thunder is a heavy 
cart, rolled over an arch, and is not the least agroe- 
able instrument heard at our opera, The flashes of 
lightning are mado of pinches of rosin thrown on a 
flame, and the thunder is a cracker at tho end of a 
fiise, Tho theatre is, moreover, furnished with little 
Square trips, which opening at the end, announce 
that the demons are about to issue from their cave. 
When they have to rise into the air, little demons of 


— 














THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 165 


sented at the French opera during this period that the 
ambassador of Guinea, who assisted at one of tho 
performances, was decoyed into leaning forward in 
his box and religiously saluting the orbs. Had Rous- 
seau lived to the present day, the wonders and mys- 
terles of our stage would have made his great heart 
leap within him. Modern art and modern mechanism 
have brought stage reprosentations so close to nature 
that the sconos soem to be small sections, cithor of 
country or city, mountain or vale, lifted from the face 
of the world and placed in all their beauty ut the 
stage-end of the theatre. Managers do not foar to go 
to any length in mounting plays properly, and there 
ia nothing in the outer world that defies reproduction 
in the mimic sphere, Steam is freely used; fire 
tages fiercely through folds of inflammable canvas; 
the lightnings flash; Hendrick Hudson and his men 
roll nine-piis in the Catskills, and the low rumble 
of the thunder, as the balls rattle down from erag to 
_ orig, is distinctly heard by the audience; poor, de~ 
mented old Lear cries to the winds to crack aud blow 
their cheeks, and they do so to his full satisfaction ; 
there is genuine rain in the shipwreck scene of ‘The 
Hearts of Ouk;”’ « plentiful full of the beautiful snow 
for ** The Two Orphans ;”” a perfect reproduction of a 
mountain rivulet for «The Danites ;” steamboat and 
Tiilroad explosions of a realistic character in every~ 
thing; an almost horizonless sea for the great raft 
scene in Tho World ;"’ and gorgeous coloring, rich 
furniture, choice bric-a-brac, rare paintings and the 
Lord only knows what, for tho thousand and one 
Melodramatic and society plays that are now flooding 
the stage. Thou there are gems apparantly 
enough to have come from the treasuries of Khedive 
‘or Sultan, and robes so redolent of royalty in color 














—— 





THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 187 


lips—is but the morest of dreams; and that the 
sister whose professional successes cause her to look 
upon the stage as a place of pleasure only, may live 
in a tenement surrounded by a poor family to whose 
support her life-efforts are devoted; that she has few 
admirers; that she is pure as the fuireat and purest 
woman in private life, and that her only sneritice is 
made to the art which she loves and to which she has 
consecrated herself, 

There are but few who have not an exaggerated idea 
of tho value of everything they see upon the stage. 
It is true that many actresses are rich enough to wear 
diamond necklaces, and to otherwise sprinkle their 
persons with brilliants of the firet water; but it is 
equally true that many others ave poor, and that the 
gems they wear come from the cheap stock of articles 
Kept in the theatrical property-room. An amusing 
story is told by Olive Logan, who was an actress, 
aboutthe false value placed upon stage jewels. 

“While I was fulfilling a round of theatrical engage~ 
ments in the South, during the war,’ says Miss 
Logan, “I was compelled by ¢ military 
pack up my jewels and send them to Ci 
course there were a number of stage trinkets in the 
‘tag as well as some little jewelry of real value, but as 
it happened a fabulous idea had got afloat of the value 
of my little trinkets, and I was offered large sums for 
the carpet sack, ‘ just as it stood,’ after I had packed 
it to send it to Cincinnati. 

#4 Tl give you ten thousand dollars for it without 
‘opening,’ said one gentleman ; ‘I want thoso ear-rings 
for my wife?’ 

4 No,’ Tanswered, ‘no; those things were given 
France, and 1 shouldn't like to part with 


















THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 169 


been sold, and that somebody not myself. I returned 

to Cincinnati after my trip to Nashville, and there 

found my effects awaiting me in good order. One day 

fn the Burnet House I was accosted by a pleasant- 

gentleman, who informed me that he had taken 

of the bag from Louisville to Cincinnati. 

«* «Did not Mr. —— send it by express?’ I asked. 

***No, I was coming up, and he thought it best to 

entrust it to me.” 

* «Dm very much obliged to you,’ I said. 

Indeed, you have cause to bo,’ he said, good- 

naturedly. ‘I give you my word he last time I'll 
eon my mind th charge of By thousand doflars’ 






















ran English lady of aa returned from the 
she found her trunk robbed of its jewels. 
traced the jewels toa London pawnshop, 
had been sold for $5. The thieves were 
when one of them was asked why he had 
list as to sell nearly one hundred thousand 
of diamonds for $5, he answered: 
‘honor, we never thought for a minute as 
real jewels; we just thought the lady 
ci womay, and that tho whole lot 
but a few shillings.”* 
is are no more deceptive than are many 
employed to astonish and gladden the 
production of thunder, the simulation of 
fictitious roaring of winds, and the mul- 
suns, moons and stars are among the 
lusions that give to the theatre that mar- 
under whose spell thousands are nightly 
held. In tho oldion times these effects were 
@ simple and by no means mystifying 
it late years have made thom ¢o perfect in 








THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 171 
“ The World,” is something that dramatic authors and 














are always seeking after and are glad 
to find. The revolving tower in * The Shaughran”’ 
was a puzzle to everybody. Now there are hundreds 
of effects of this kind with folding and vanishing scenes 
thab areeven more woiderful thin Boucicanlt's tower. 
Viewed from the wings the ivity of the means 
employed to produce these effects makes them abso- 
lutely Inughable. They shull be explained in this 
chapter. 


‘Thunder-storms are common efforts at realism, and 
they are sometimes simulated in a way that makes 
em appear to fall very little short of nature. The 
u style of stage thunder was effected by vigor- 
ously shaking 2 pioce of sheet iron which made a rat- 
ting and ear-disturbing noise. Even now when a 
show is “on the road"? and a hull without the usual 
first-class accessories must be used, the audience, and 
the actor too, must be satistied with sheet-iron thun- 
‘The modern invention is known as the thunder- 
d it stands over the prompter’s desk where 
easily reached by a long stick with « thick, 

the ond — similar to the sticks used in 

ms. The thunder-drum consists of a 
ly drawn over the top of a box frame. 
instrument the low rumbling of distant thun- 
long roll of the elemental disturbance may 
and, following the sharp rattling of the 
f iron and the flash of ignited magne- 
produced that completely awes the 
ho knows nothing of the mechanism of 










lar, too, who by the way is a most re- 
among the individuals who populate 
id, has control of the rain machine. 


172 THE WAVSIONS OF THE STAGE. 


This is a wooden cylinder, about two fect in diameter, 
und four or five fect long. It is filled with dried peas 
which rattle against wooden teeth in its inside surface, 
asthe machine, which is in the ** flies,"’ is operated by 
a belt running down to the prompter’s desk. This 
reminds me that Ihave used the expression * flies "” 
several times without explaining what is meant. The 
“flies "’ 18 term used to designate the scenery and 
spaces above the stage, and as there is a great deal of 
it, it has as much importance in a theatrical sense as 
any other part of the back of the house. Well, to 
resume the explanation, the prompter has the rain 
machine in the ‘flies’? fully under control and can 
turn out any kind of a rain-storm the play may 
require ; ifaswirl of the aqueous downponris needed, — 
such a manifestation of wrathy lachrymoseness as you 
find in a storm that at intervals beats mercilessly 
against your windows and the side of your house, — 
one good, strong, sharp pull at the rope will effect it. 
Less atrocious efforts of the elements may be obtained 
with a slighter exertion of muscle at the rope or belt. 
‘The wind machine is a very necessary adjunct of these 
storm effects, and it is to be found in every large thea- 
tre, furnishing ‘+a nipping and an eager alr’ or one 
of those howling blasts that make night desolate and 
day disastrous. The wind machine may be moved to 
any part of the stage, Sometimes behind the 
door of a hut throngh which snow is fiercely driven, 
and at other times it may be in the side scenes, or any 
locality to which or through which the storm ix 1m 
fog. Tt is an awful funny thing to the man at the 
machine to think of the cold chill he sends down the 
back of the sensitive play-goer us the wind whistles 
geross the scene in which poor blind Lowise, in the 
Two Orphans,” figures, or that scene in ++ Ours"? 













174 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 


able frame and above its top is stretched a piece of 
grosgrainsilk, The silk is stationary, but the cylinder 
and paddles are operated by means of a crank and 
sometimes by a ‘‘crank.’’ Swift motion produces 
woeful gusts of the windy article, and a steady blast 
may be duplicated by patiently working the machine. 
When the property-man is driven to the necessity of 
providing rain and wind in theatrical districts that do 
not boast of modern appliances he obtains a rain effect 
by rolling bird-shot over brown paper that has been 
pasted around a hoop, and the wind is raised by swing- 
ing around a heavy piece of gas-hose. This kind of 
thing is called «* faking ** the wind or rain. 

When real water is used on the stage to simulate 
rain, as in the first act of the ** Hearts of Oak,’ or 
««Oakon Hearts,” as they at one time tried to call a 
pirated edition of it, the effect is obtained by carrying 
water to the stage lofts, during the day, where it re= 
mains in a tank connected with a long piece of per- 
forated pipe, back of the proscenium border, and 
stretching across the stage. At nieltt when the proper 
time arrives the water is allowed to run into the pipe, 
from which it of course falls in numerous small streams 
‘upon a rubber tarpaulin that has been stretched below 
o receive it. So too in mountain rivulets with * real 
ater,’ asin ‘* The Dunites,”’ a tank in the loft must 
iNled daily with water to supply the nightly scene, 
all instances of this sort the effect is quite realistic, 
fails to meet with a hearty appreciation by 











sBawstorta is alzo usually a pleasing stage pic- 
and is brought about ina most simple manner. 
per is cut into very emall pieces, which are 
treasured by the property-man, whose duty 
“pee to everything of this kind in and around 














“Theatre, London 


THE ILLUSIONS OF THK STAGE, 179 


and when Juliet placed the awful draught to her lips 
and took « pull at the bottle, she discovered to her 
horror that she had swallowed « dose of ink. ‘The ac- 
tress, who tells the story herself in her autobiography, 
said, she wanted to ‘‘swallow a sheet of blotting- 
paper,”’ when she made the inky discovery. 

T fifd in Miss Logan's book from whieh T have before 
quoted in this chapter, the following funny inventory of 
properties furnished a new lessee of the Drury Lane 
h * Spirits of wine, for flames and 
Apparitions, £12 2e.; three and one-half bottles of 
lightning, £— ; one snow-storm, of finest French paper, 
3s. ; two snow-storms of common French paper, 2s. 5 
complete sea, with twelve long waves, slightly dam~ 
aged, £1 10s. ; eighteen clouds, with black edges, in 
good order, 12s., 6d.; rainbow, slightly faded, 2s. ; 
wn assortment of French clouds, flashes of lightning 
and thunder-bolts, L5s,; a new moon, slightly tar- 
nished, 15s. ; imperial tle, made for Cyrus, and 
subsequently worn by J Cesar and Henry VIIL., 
10s,; Othollo’s handkerchief, 6d.; six arm-chaire 
and six flower-plots, which dance country dances, £2."" 
The same author adda another quotation that gives a 
better idea of the quantity and character of the pro- 
perty-man’s possessions, caying : — 

** He has charge of all the movables and haa to exer- 
cise the greatest ingonuity in getting them up, His 
province is to preserve the canvas water from getting 
wet, keep tho sun’s disk clear and the moon from 
getting torn ; ho manufactures thunder on sheet iron, 
or from parchment stretched drum-like on a frame; he 
prepares boxes of dried peas for rain and wind, and 
huge watchman’s rattles for the crash of falling tow- 
era. He has under his charge demijohns for the fall 
of concealed china in cupboards; speaking trum- 












180 ‘THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 


pets to imitate the grow! of ferocious wild beasts ; penny 
whistles for the ‘cricket on the hearth ;' powdered 
rosin for lightning flushes, where gus is not used ; rose 
pink, for the blood of patriots ; money, cut out oftin; 
finely cut bits of paper for fatal snow-storms ; ten-pin 
balls, for the distant mutterings of a storm; bags of 
gold containing bits of broken glass and pebbles, to 
imitate the musical ring of eoin ; balls of cotton wad- 
ding for apple dumplings ; links of sausages, made of 
painted flannel ; sumptuous boquets of papier mache ¢ 
block-tin rings with painted beads puttied in for royal 
signets ; crowns of Dutch gilding lined with red ferret ; 
broomstick handles cut up for truncheons for command ; 
brooms themselves for witches to ride; branches of 
cedar for Birnam wood; dredging boxes of flour for 
the fate-desponding lovers ; vermilion to tip the noses 
of jolly landlords; pieces of rattan silvered over for 
fairy wands ; leaden watches, for gold repeaters ; dog- 
chains for the necks of knighthood, and tin spars for 
its heels; armor made of leather, and shields of wood ; 
fans for ladies to coquet behind; quizzing-glasses, for 
exquisites to ogle with; legs of mutton, hams, loaves 
of bread and plam-puddings, all cut from canvas, and 
stuffed with sawdust; together with all the pride, 
Pomp, aud circumstance of « dramatic display. Sueh 
the property-man of « theatre. Ho bears his honors 

; he mixes molasses and water for wine and 
it a little shade for brandy; is always busy 
|the scones, but is seldom seen, unless it is to 
‘the stage, aud then what a shower of yells and 
oes he receive from the galleries! Tho 
godsery ‘Supe! Supe!’ which if intended 
mi of superior or superfine, may be 
in no other view of the case. What 
be without a property-man? A world 













THE ILLUSIONS OF TIKE STAGE. 1st 


without a sun * * * Kings would be trunch- 
conless and crownless; brigands without spoils; old 
men without canes and powder; Harlequin without 
his bat; Macduff without his leafy screen; theatres 





SCOTT-SIDDONS, 


would clase — there would be no tragedy, no comedy, 
no farce without him. Jovo in his chair was never 
more potent than he. An actor might, and often does 
get along without the words of bis part, but not with- 


182 THE ILLUSIONS OF TI STAGE, 


out the properties. What strange quandarics have we 
seen the Garricks and Siddonses of our stage get into 
when the property-man lapsed in his duty! We have 
scen Romeo distracted because the bottle of poison was 
not to be found; Virginius tear his hair because the 
butcher’s knife was not ready on the shambles ; Baillie 
Nicol Jarvie nonplussed because there was uo red-hot 
poker to singe the Tartan fladdie with; Macbeth 
frowning because the Eighth Apparition did not bear a 
glass to show him any more; William Tell in agony 
because there was no small apple for Gesler to pick ; 
the First Murderer in distress because there was no 
blood for his face ready ; Hecate fuming like a hell- 
cat because her car did not mount easily ; Richard the 
Third grinding his teeth because the clink of hammers 
closing rivets up was forgotten; Hamlet brought up 
all standing because there was no goblet to drink the 
poison from, and Othello stabbing Iago with a candle- 
stick because he had no other sword of Spain, the 
Ebro’s temper, to do tho deed with. So, the property- 
man is no insiguificant personage —he is the main- 
spring which sets all the work in motion ; and an actor 
had better have a bad epitaph when dead than his ill 
will while living.” 








CHAPTER XII. 
MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 


A few companies have done away entirely with the 
canyas-outlined turkey and the sawdust-stuifed dump- 
ling, and have meals that figure in the play served on, 
the stage piping hot from some neighboring restau- 
rant. There is genuine wine too, and often it is eham~ 
pagne of euch quality that its sparkle makes the eyes 
of the tipplers in the audience dance, and their mouths 
ron water. In this and many other ways the desire to 
get aa near to the real thing 2s possible in art has 
caused encroachments on the property-man’s terri- 
tory, and gradually his treasures are decreasing. Still 
his occupation is not as gone as Othello’s. Travelling 
combinations have their own property-man, and the 
theatres cach carry one, Besides the magnificent 
work of producing snow-storms from paper, etc., there 
are minor details of his business that he brings as 
much art to as the average actor and actress take to 
the stage. He builds a warrior’s helmet from simple 
brown manill paper and makes a pair of bronze urna 
in the same cheap way, although they may appear to 
be worth $300. Bronze figures, too, are obtained 
from the same material; also flower-pots, mantel- 
pieces, and such things. He goos about the work like 
an artist, Ho first makes a modol in clay of the arti- 
ele—say itis anurn. This dono he builds a wooden 
box around it, and mixing plaster of paris and water 
pours the mixture between the box and model where 

(183) 








‘MORE OF TH MYSTERIES. 185 
four days in process of completion is ready for use. 


Goblets for royal or knightly banquets are manufie- 
tured by the property-man in the sume manner, Often 
has 4 golden goblet, ewer, amphora, or salver fallen 
to the floor from the hands of awkward Ganymedes 
au without creating any consternation among 
gallants, or making a sound loud enough 
above the lightest notes of the orchestra. 
operties are light, but very durable, and well 
and the harsh and careless treatment they fre~ 
receive. Often the entire ** banquet set "’ is 

J skilled work of the worthy prop- 
probably the most independent 
‘the theatro, being obliged to carry no article 
Jody — not even 4 forcign star — but leaves that 
ork to the stage manager, prompter, or call- 


ight. ix one of the most. poetical and beautiful 
effects. The first work in producing it 1 
seenic artist, who places a moonlight pic~ 
canvas. The calcium light filtered through 
fills the foreground with its mellow influ- 
ME the back of the stage a row of argand 
ith light green shules, gives the faint and soft 
at fll in the distance. A.“ ground piece” 
runs along the floor at the back of 
just under the main scene hides the 
as the shaded burners are called, 
‘of the audience. Sometimes the row is 
stage, and protected from sight by the 
Silver ripples on the surface of , 
‘twinkling stars in the sky are frequently 
of moonlight scenery. The twinkling 
spangles hung by pin-hooks to the 
ripples are only slits in the water can- 































186 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 


vas, behind which an endless towel with slits cut in its 
surface and a strong gaslight between the rollers and 
the sides of the towel, is made to revolve. Every 
time the slits in the towel came opposite the slits in 
the canvas the light shines through and the silver 
dance upon the lake or river. When the slits in the 
towel are made to move upward the ripples seem to 
lift their silvery tops towards the bending sky. Moon- 
rise, which is always an agreeable illusion, even to 
those who know how it is done, is effected by lifting 
the © moon-box,”’ as it is carried slowly up behind a 
muslin canvas, upon which heavy paper is fastened to 
represent clouds, The ‘moon-box’' is an ordinary 
eubial affair with a round hole at one end, over which 
a strip of muslin is fastened, and behind which is a 
strong illumination. Two wires from above are man- 
ipulated causing the moon to move through its orbit. 
When its path lies behind one of the paper clouds the 
fraudulent Cynthia, just like the genuine queen of the 
heavens, fails to shine, but 2s soon as she emerges from 
the dark spot and the outer ruin of the ilaminated cir- 
cular surface of the ** moon-box "’ touches the white 
muslin onco again, she is the fair queen of night and 
the young lovers in the audience feel as happy as if 
they were at home awinging on the front gate, while 
pa is at the club and ma is entertaining an amiable 
cousin In the second parlor. The flushed countenance 
‘of the moon, aa she is just rising from Thetis’s arme, 
8 you see her every night when she is taking her first 
dainty eteps up the eastern sky, is obtained by having 
the Jower edge of tho muslin painted red and grad- 

blending with the white, while floating clouds are 

the result of hanging or sewing on the gauze drop 
‘in front of the muslin screen, pieces sof muslin oF canvas 
“cut into the proper shapes. The change from day to 








MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 187 


night, or vice verea, cffocts that surpass the other in 
real beauty, and also in attractivenoss for the public, 
is produced hy having a drop twice the usual length, 
painted one half ina sunset und the other half in moon- 





= 











SOL SMITH RUSSEL 


light, If the change from day to night, which is the 7 
more effective, is desired, the sunsct sky occupies the 
upper half of the drop — that is nothing but the sunset ! 
sky is presented to the cyes of the audience. ‘The dis- 


a 
A 


188 MORE OF THR MYSTERIRS. 


tance scenery is painted upon a separate piece and the 
outlines of the objects are sharply cut out so that the 
sunset sky can be seen above the irregular outline of 
the horizon. A gauze drop hangs in front to give the 
picture the required hazy effect, and red lights give a+ 
sunset glow to the entire scene. Rolling up the back 
drop the change is made slowly and carefully until the 
moon is discovered in the night half of the sky and 
goes up with it, while the usual moonlight mediums 
are brought into requisition to increase the brightness 
of the view, 

There ure two ways of producing ocean waves. 
Sometimes « piece of blue cloth with dashes of white 
paint for wave-crests covers the entire stage, when the 
necessary motion of the waters is obtained by having 
men or boys stationed in the entrances to sway the sea. 
Again, exch billow may bo made to show separate 
with the alternate rows of billows rearing their white 
crests between the tips of the row on each side. 
These billows are rocked backward und forward —to 
and from the audience — while the ocean's roar comes 
from 2 wooden box lined with tin and containing a 
small quantity of bird shot. The desired sound is 
produced by rolling the box around. 


XY Anybody who has witnessed Milton Noble's ** Pha- 


pees 


nix”’ properly placed on the stage, or ** The Streets 
of New York,”’ must bave been, the first time, both 
terrified, and still somewhat delighted, with the fire 
scenes. Of Jute years they have been made wonder- 
fully thrilling, and almost perfect fac-similes of the 
Fire Fiend himself. Tho scene-painter gets up his 
house in three pieces, The roof is swung from the 
“flios '’; the front wall ie in two pieces, a jagged 
line running from near the top of one side of the scene 
to the lower end of the other side. If shutters are to 


CHAPTER Xl. 
THE ARMY OF ATTACHES, 


T have already written about the property-man, his 
many duties, and the great responsibility that rests 
upon him. I have also written abont the prompter, 
and the vast amount of work he is required todo. But 
there remain behind the scenes and in the body of the 
house, other persons who go to make up the grand 
army of theatrical attaches, and whose place in the 
amusement world is one of some importance, as they 
are the adjuncts without which the drama would be 
left naked of its present beauty and splendor and the 
eireumstances under which it would be patronized 
would be full of inconvenience and discomfort. The 
door-keepers of theatres are often interesting charac- 
ters. Sometimes they have been selected outside the 
ranks of the profession, when, of course, they have 
little more to tell you about than the habits and peeu~ 
liarities-of the theatre-going public; but many of them 
are broken-down actors,—actors who have been 
‘crushed,’ and in whose better days vistas of 
unlimited hopo opened before their dazzled vision. 
‘These are full of reminisccuces of the old-time saints 
ofthe sock and buskin. If one could believe all they 
aye to say, those victims of circumstances could be 
looked upon as individuals whose destiny it had 
originally been to knock their shiny stoye-pipe hats 
against the stars of heaven, but, by some strange fatal- 
ity, bad their backs broken and their cares SE 

(19. 


196 ‘THE ARMY OF ATTACHES, 


lamed, so that now they can only shutile into a free- 
lunch saloon and bend their necks over the counter as 
thoy lovingly ombraco a schooner of beor. There is 
always room at the bottom for the unfortunates of the 
profession, and they find such provision usually made 
for them, as taking tickets at the door, or working 
outside among the newspaper boys in the capacity of 
agent. The treasurer of a theatre and the ticket seller, 
who, in the broad sense of the word, may be looked 
upon as attaches, are people that all patrons of thea- 
tres ure familiar with. They, with the door-keeper, 
must in the blandest manner at their command resist 
the advances of the very numerous dead-heads. A 
courteous refusal is always deemed the best, but fre- 
quently the harshest treatment must be resorted to to 
get rid of this theatrical nuisance, of whom I shall take 
occasion to speak later on, as well as of the free-pass 
system. The treasurer of a theatre is always on terms 
of intimacy with the protessionals who frequent his 
house, and is usually a jolly-featured, good-natured 
man who knows how to entertain his friends, to retain 
the good opinion of his manager, while Gilling up the 
ticket-box with passes, and who understands and ap= 
preciates the full value of the saying that a soft answer 
turneth aside wrath. His salary ranges from $25 to 
$50 a week, while a good ticket-seller, who frequently 
is made to do all the hard work, may be had for $12 
or $15, A door-keeper is puid from $10 to $ 
week. 

‘The great American type of youthful citizen, with all 
the manners and dignity of old age and the advisory 
qualities of a Nestor, is the theatrical usher —the 
young chap who takes your reserved seat ticket with a 
smile full of malignity and succeeds fu getting you 
into the wrong chair and almost into a prize fight with 








198 ‘THE ARMY OF ATTACHES, 


lack's, and other first-class New York establishments, 
you will find them in full evening dress with as large 
an exhibition of shirt front as the swellest of the 
society noodles who are among the patrons of the 
house. The usher gets $6 or $8 a week, but 
impresses the stranger as if he owned an interest in the 
theatre. He may sell calico or run a lemonade stand 
during the day, but at night he is master of all he sur- 
veys, talks of the actresses as familiarly as if he were 
a blood relation, tries to make you believe he has ‘a 
solid girl” in the ballet, and will offer you any favor, 
from an introduction to the star to 2 dozen matinee- 
passes or a gume of seven-up with the manager, Like 
the claquers, he is a regular nuisance. After the first 
act he will sit or stand and give his opinion of the play, 
commenting upon the performers in such brief, half 
ejaculatory, half interrogatory way, as, ** Ain't sho a 
daisy, though?”’ or, “Ain't he a dandy, you bet?’* 
He is expected to applaud even the vilest and least 
deserving things, and when the cue is given, works his 
hands and fect a8 vigorously as I have often seen 
Honry Mapleson in applauding Marie Roze, his wife, 
ora travelling manager in commending tho efforts of 
his favorite among the females of his company. 
Down in front, right under the glow of the foot 
lights, the bald head of the leader of the orchestra 
‘shines. Often ho is interesting, but sometimes, es- 
‘pecially among the leadcrs for combinations on the 
d, he has a life history that compels now tears and 
‘gain Jaughter. When he is on the road he may 
a wife or daughter in the company, and if he has 
he is bound to look lovingly upon some of the 
lent whose toes twinkle, or voices ripple in song to 
be of his waving baton, and he will smile out 
his gold-rimmed spectacles upon his favorite 










THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 199 


‘even while she is courting tho favor of the audience, or, 
perhaps, while she is trying to mash some beefy blonde 
in the front rows of the parquette. Jealousy often takes 
possession of the breast of the orchestra teader, It 
may be that he will find out that the wife he has done 
everything for to make famous has younger and hand- 
somer Joyers, from whose glowing presence she comes 
to her musical lord cold as a Christmas morning with 
eighteen inches of ice on pond and river; or it may be 
that the favorite of the foot-lights whom he adores has 
found another favorite in the audience; then there is 
war, and sometimes the orchestra is left without its 
leader and a story of unrequited love is told in a cor- 
oner’s inquest held upon a body found floating in a 
pool, or hanging from a transom in the room of some 
hotel. To leave the pathetic and get down to solid 
facts it may be stated that the leader of an orchestra 
is paid from $75 to $100 « week, and has from a dozen 
to sixteen musicians whose salaries range from $18 to 
$30 a week, 

Again returning to the bosom of the stage — to the 
sacred precincts beyond the foot-lights —we eucounter 
the stage manager. Every travelling company has its 
own employee who directs and runs the stage business, 
and notwithstanding the abolition of stock companies, 
soveral theatres retain stage managers of their own 
who work in conjunction with the company’s, looking 
after the setting of scenery, bossing the stage hands, 
“ete. ‘The stage manager may be an uctor, or he may 
not, but he must be a mau of theatrical training, and 
thoroughly conversant with all the requirements of the 
stage. Th travelling combinations he usually plays a 
minor part, anid, although he may not be able to act as 
“well as his brethren of the play, he must possess the 
“Fequisite artistic knowledge to point out and dictate 


-j- 


a 








200 THE ARMY OP ATTACHES. 


what all shall do. He supervises rehearsals: ensta 
plays, —thatis, assigns to each performer his character ; 
and he looke after tho mounting of playa and the cos- 
tuming, giving the scenic artist the period to which the 
play belongs, and imparting the same information to 
the costumers so that there may be no anachronism in 
the representation on the stage. 
The scenie artist, who iz often known to the people 
only by hie work, his some extraordinary duties to 
perform. When a combination or company has a date 
ata theatre a week or so beforehand, they send on 
small models of the scenery they require for their play. 
‘These models greatly resemble in their gencral appear- 
ance and size tho toy theatres that are sold to children. 
The stage carpenter, who goes around day and night 
treading the staze in his own shufiling aud careless 
way, aud who is entirely unknown to the public, takes 
the models and builds frames oyer which canyas or 
muslin is spread. Then the canvas-covered frame is 
taken to the scene painter's bridge when it is ready for 
the colors. In many theatres the bridge is a platform 
extending across the stage, aud distant from the rear 
wall about a foot. It is on a level with the flies, and 
the opening between it and the rear wall is used for 
ing aud hoisting a scene, which is huog on a large 
frame while the artist is at work upon it. 
me moves up aud down, being swung on pul- 
)most improved theatres East and West, in 
having the dressing-rooms, engines, ete., 
g peveralo from the theatre, have the paint 
i Great irou doors, three or four 
the opening to the painting estab- 
| all seenery not in use on the stage 
play is stored in the space under 
the bridge itself is really a long nar- 

















‘THE ARMY OF ATTACHES, 203 


afterwards gone over with ink, This line is repro- 
duced whenever the drawing requires, and the advan- 
togo it affords will be roadily understood by all who 
know anything about art or appreciate the value of 
good perspective in drawing. ‘The sky of the scene is 
first filled in rapidly with a whitewash brush, after which 
follows a swift but clever completion of the view. 
The side scenes which are to be used as continuations 
of the * flat,” a3 the principal or back part of a scene 
is called, must be in perspective with the rest of the 
picture. Scenic artists work very quickly, and can 
prepare a view in a very short time. Morgan, Mara- 
ton, Fox, and Voegtlin, in New York ; Goatcher, in 
Cincinnati; and Dick Halley, Tom Noxon, and Ernest 
Albert, in St. Louis, ave among the best scene painters 
in the country, The salaries paid in this branch of 
the profession vary from $40 to $150 a week. A New 
York artist, it ix snid, who works very fast, receives ux 
much a4 $100 to $150 for one or two scenes. When it 
ig taken into consideration that at the end of the run 
of a play these scenes are blotted out to make way for 
others, the price paid for them is simply enormous. 
The old woman of the company is an elderly 
matronly female, who may be found hovering in the 
wings of every theatre. She ix nobody's mothor in 
particular, but talks ina motherly way to all, and ex- 
erolses a special supervision over the female members 
‘of the company. In strange contrast to her is the 
eall-boy, 2 mischievious devil-may-care young fellow, 
who calls Booth « Ed,"’ Bernhardt ** Sallie," and has 
familiar appellations for the most prominent and digni- 
le in the profession. It is his business to call 
from the green-room in time for them to | 
Keue’? for going on the stage, and this is 
he has to do except to make trouble, to learn 












Ny. 3 
KE 
: 
g 
t=) 
3 
Na 





FRE ARMY OF ATTACIINS. 205 


secrets that he whispers about, and to become an imp- 
ish nnisance revelling in moro fun and freedom than 
anybody else behind the scenes, Aimoo took » liking 
to oné of these little gentlemen once and fed him 
cigarettes, and let him tell her lies ad [bitum. She 
said she liked him because he was such “a charming 
little beast."” Alice Ontes, of flagrant fame, allowed 
one of them out West to get into her good graces, and 
repented it, when she found that he disappeared sud- 





THE ¥STHETIC DRAMA, 


denly one day with a lot of her jowols. Tho call-boy 
comes Inst in the list of attaches, but ho is not at all 
Teast. If you believe all he tolls you, like the usher, 
you will think him « great mun, for he often boasts of 
playing poker with John McCullough, of taking Lotta 
out for a drive, or of rolling ten-pins with Salvini or 
fome equally ilustrions ropresentative of tho highest 
dramatic urt. A call-boy gets about $10 a week, and 
in five cases out of ton he isn’t worth ten cents. 


——— 


CHAPTER XIy. 
STAGE-STRUCK. 


George McManus, treasurer of the Grand Opera 
House, St. Louis, in addition to being a good story- 
teller, is as fond of « practical joke as he is of three 
meals a day, During the season of 1880-81 George 
was at the box-office window, one day, looking out at 
the Dutch lager beer saloon across the street, and 
wondering why it was that people were so fond of 
*<schooners,”* when 2 tall, thin, melancholy, Hamlet- 
like young fellow, with the air and clothes of rusticity, 
stalked slowly into the vestibule and up to the box- 
office. 

“ Well, sir,"" said George, ns the young man got in 
front of the window and fixed his elbows on the sill. 

“Twant to be an actor," the young man began; 
“T kem here from Cahokia, a small place you may 
have heern about, and I'd like to go on the stage and 
play somethin’ or other.’” 

*Oh,"’ answered George, smiling, ** if that’s all you 
want I can fix you. When do you want to begin?’” 

«*T am ready to start in right neow,"* was the reply. 
4«T told the old folks when T loft the house last night 
that they needn't expect to see me ag'in "til my name 
wuz on the walls an’ the sides o’ houses in lettors 
more’n a yard long, an’ I’m goin’ to do it or die."" 

“T see you're made out of the right kind of stuff,’’ 
said George, ‘and I'll give you a first-class chance. 
You're ambitious and you're lean—lean enough to 

(206) 


© STAGE-STRUCK. 207 


play Falstaf!—and Jean and ambitious people always 
make their mark. Have you ever heard of the lean 
and hungry Cassius? —I don’t mean a depositor at 
the door of a busted bank, but the Cassius of ‘Julius 
Cwsar.’ I'll bet you feel just like him now ; you look 
like him.’"" 

‘The Cahokian candidate for Thespiun honors blushed. 

* Well,” the practical joker went on, ** you ean begin 
work this morning. The minstrels will be here ina 
few minutes for rehearsal, and they want a new box 
of gags. Go over to Harry Noxon, at the Comique, 
and ask him to give you a box of the best gags he’s 
got. Tell him they're for me." 

With a face wreathed in amiles the Cahokian Caasins 
stalked off towards the Comique while George went 
out and gathered in a few friends to enjoy the joke. 
The Cabokian went to the Comique, and Harry Noxon, 
understanding what was meant, gave the poor fellow a 
box half filled with bricks, and telling him that was all 
he had, directed him to go up to Pope's and ask for 
Ed. Zimmerman, who would fill the box for him, 
Shouldering the heavy load, the Cahokian moved 
bravely out towards Pope's, six and one-half blocks 
away. He was pretty tired when he got there. Ed. 
Zimmerman, in obedience to his request, sent the box 
around to thestage-door, where the carpenter removed 
the lid and added bricks enough to fill the receptacle. 
Nailing the lid on again the stage-struck youth was 
once more presented with it. It took a great deal of 
exertion for him to get the box to his shoulder, and 
when he had it thero he staggered along under the load 
Tike a drunken man, to the Opera House seven blocks 
away. When he reached the Opera House, McManus 
said the Minstrels had changed their mind about. using 
any new gags, and requested the Cuhokiari to carry 


= 


208 STAOE-STRUCK. 


them over to the Olympic. The Cahokian looked at 
MeManus, then took a woeful and weary look at the 
box, and, wiping the perspiration from his high fore- 
head and thin face, he swung his slouch hat over his 
brow and remarked that he was tired. 

“T say, Mister,’’ he said, ‘+ if that’s what « fellows 
got to do to be a xctor I'd sooner plow corn er 
run a thrashin'-masheen twenty-three hours out'n the 
twenty-four. T thonght there was more fun in the 
business than carryin’ around two or three hundred 
pounds of iron or somethin’ like it, all day in the sun. 
I guess I'll throw up my engagement. “Good-bye.” 
And he strode out into the street, while George and 
his friends had a laugh that was as hearty as the lungs 
that led in the merriment were loud and strong. 

There are a few young men and young ladies in this 
world who do not take the same view of the stage that 
the Cahokian took: they imagine there is a great deal 
of fun in being an actor or an actross, and that it does 
not require any special effort to arrive at the point 
where a person becomes « full-fledged professional. Tn 
this they are just as much mistaken as was the Caho- 
kinn, and sometimes, after they have gone into training 
for the profession, they tire of the hard work as readily 
almost as the stage-struck young farmer tired of car- 
rying tho box of * gags.”’ There is a goneral wild 
desire among the young people of this country to 
make players of themselves. Thoy dream that the 
stage is something like 4 seventh heayen where there is 
nothing bat music and singing and goldon glory for- 
ever —admirers, wealth, and an uninterrupted good 
time generally. They do not know anything about 
the long and toilsome hours of work and the compar- 
atively poor pay that form the portion of all who are 
hot at the top of the dramatic Jadder. They never 


















STAGE-STRUCK. 209 


pause to think if they are girls of the temptations into 
which they will be thrown, and of the slanders that will 
be uttered against their fair names upon the slightest 
provocation. All they see or know of theatrical lifo is 
its bright gilded side, the tinsel that looks valuuble, the 






KITTY BLANCHARD, 
Jewels that are paste, the silks and satins that are not 
what they seem, and the beautiful faces and bright smiles 
beneath which are wrinkles and toil-laden looks, when 
the actress isin her home plying her needle or studying 








STAGE-STRUCK. 211 


fit for the gods? Speak, me beloved; is't not a 
dainty dish that graces our festal board?”* 

And practical Orlando replies : — 

“«T bet you.” 

On the street-car the maiden stalks forward toward 
the driver and howls : — 

“ What, ho, there, chavioteer, give me, I pray thee, 
diminutive coin for this one dollar bond an’ I will upon 
the instant requite thee for thy services upon this 
journey.”” 

When one of them catches a flea she holds the vie- 
tim at arme’ length and rours : — 

*Ha-a-a-a! I have thee at last, vile craven. For 
many nights thy visits to me chamber haye br-r-r-ought 
unrest. Now at li-a-st thou art in me clutches and I 
will showor vengeance upon thy thr-rice accursed head. 
Dio, vile in-gr-rate, and may the seething fires of per- 
dition engulf thy quivering soul forever-r-r-r 1" 

Then she opens her fingers a little to get a good 
squeeze ut him and the flea hops out and goes home 
to tell its folks about it. They have got it bad and 
none of the old established methods of treatment seem 
to avail. 

Ibis the yery height of absurdity to see an amateur 
company on a stage, and particularly on the stage of a 
theatre. In tho midst of the most solemn tragedy one 
is compelled to laugh at them. If they have on tights 


trunks they try to get their hands into side pock- 
if they carry swords the weapon gets tangled 










Togs, and ton to one after the blade has left its 
the wearer will be unable to get it back 
‘Then the way they walk upon each other's 
tread upon each other's corns; jostle each 
the entrances and stick in their lines is enough 
of the painted figures in the proscenium 


voy joe 


212 STAGE-STRUCK, 


arch tear itself out of its medalion frame and die from 
excessive laughter. More ludicrous even than their 
performance is the frantic rash a young amateur makes 
for the photograph gallery to have himself preserved 
48 a courtier, and thé equally rapid progress the young 
society lady makes in the same direction — anxious to 
have her picture taken no matter whether she plays a 
queen, a lady of honor, or « page in tights, She has 
no hesitancy in displaying her awkward limbs in a 
picture, although she would be ashamed to show her 
ankle in the parlor. 

Sometimes, instead of being made the subject of a 
practical joke on the street, as was the Cahokian of 
whom L told the story at the opening of this chapter, 
tho joke is carried even farther —the aspirant being 
taken to the stage to give a sample of his work. Oc- 
casionally the chow is given to the people of the thea- 
tre only, and the victim is quietly let through a trap, 
or guyed unmercifully, until he is glad of an oppor- 
‘tunity to make his escape. I was present on an 
‘occasion when au Ilinoisan who had just graduated 
from college was allowed to go on the stage during a 
performance, when the house was light, to 
He chose, of course, the selection he 
on the suffering audience that attended 

cradunting exercises, It was * The 
Crested Head,’ a very dramatic 
difficult one even for a good reader. 
a L eighteen years of age, tall, and 
eaine forward trembling, and did - 

| further than about twelve feet 

ing a school-boy bow he 
6 wondered at the innocence 
he entertainer who did not 

t all soon understood the 
























aTAGE-eTRUCK. 215 


. 
girl, and the audience sympathized with her. She had 
given an execrable dance, and was in the midst of » 
‘woeful recitation, when the ** N, G.”’ curtain was low- 
ered. The audience demanded her reappearance and 
did not permit anybody else to perform until the po- 
ice had arrested the more gallant and noisy among 
them. 

Amateurs who bave any money to mingle with their 
desire to go on the stage find ready takers, I could 
pame several gentlemen who are now ulleged profes- 
sionals, with talents that are not even mediocre, who 
are tolerated in first-class company only because they 
pay for the privilege. One way a moneyed, stage- 
struck person has of getting before the public is to 
rent « theatre, and hire a company for a night ora 
week or a month, as the case may be. Society swells 
generally do this kind of thing, and they never suc- 
ceed. Marie Dixon was, under another name, a fairly 
well-to-do, well connected and popular lady of Mem- 
‘Tennessee. She was old enough to have a mar- 
ried son, but did not appear to be more than thirty-six 
years. Her family had been very wealthy before the 
war, but that event swept away their possessions, as 
away the possessions of many others, She 
w and accomplished, but was stage-struck. 
hoy appeared at several amateur concert enter- 
ats in Memphis, and the local papers having 
ted her, and her friends having remarked 
Was intended for un actress, she | boldly, but 
resolved to become one. She made up her 

val Mury Anderson, and. to overshadow the 
ri and all the great queens of the stage 
lo a place for themselves in dramatic 
She paid $2,000 for the use of a St. Lous 
‘six nights; she hired.a very bad company 























STAGE-STRUCK, 217 


After two or three weeks’ standing off by the ewin- 
dlere, who made constant demands on her for money 
for her wardrobe and other things, she chanced to call 
at the Boston Theatre to hear how the rehearsals of 





MARIE PRESCOTT AS “ PARTIHLENIA.”* 


that there were no rehearsuls in progress and learned 
that she had been swindled, Schwab and Rummel 
fled, leaving hor to pay her hotel bill, but she had them 
arrested in New York, and both on trial were, I 


“Daniel Rochat! wore progressing. She was told | 


(ale i 


218 STAGE-STRUCK. 


think, convicted and sent to the penitentiary, where 
plenty more managers of their stripe should be. 

Managers of what are known as * snap’? companies 
are just as bad as Schwab and Rummel. They are 
glad to find some young lady or gentleman of meaus 
with lots of ready cash, and they do not hesitate to 
make victims even of professional people, The snap 
manager hes no money of his own. He sits around a 
theatrical printing office ull day, and pretends to be 
running a cireuit of several towns. He watches his 
opportunity until a company comes along which he 
thinks he can take over to his villages. By false 
representations he manages to run up a big bill with the 
printer and to borrow money from the company, who 
goas fur on his circuit as their means will permit, 
when the snap manager deserts them, leaving them to 
walk, or bog, or borrow their way home as best they 
can, Marie Prescott, who supported Salvini during 
his last American tour, and who is an actress of merit, 
was caught in the clutches of one of these managers at 
one time and wus putin a pitiable plight. Other ac~ 
tresses of good reputation have accepted engagements 
strange managers only to find themselves mem- 
y-by-night combinations, giving their ser- 
even the show of a probability of ever 

salary. 
p da gentleman aud eminent an impro- 
lapleson is alleged to have brought a 
m France promising ho would make a 
~ The girl's father and mother accom- 
hen the gallant colonel of Italian 
‘keep his contract with the sweet 
p became enraged and wanted to fight 
y impresario. The family went 
t penniless, 




















STAGE-STRUCK. 219 


‘The worst class of managers in the world are those 
who take advantage of the ambition of young girls to 
effect their ruin. Tn some of the variety theatres man- 
agers pay salaries to young ladios or introduce them 
to the stage for none other than a base and iniquitous 
purpose. Frightful stories of this kind huve been told, 
and the success real managers have met with in this 
direction has enused numerous pretenders to arise, and 
has made the theatrical profession a bait to secure in- 
socent girls for Western and Southern bawdy-houses, 
concert dives, and low dancing-halls. I read the fol- 
lowing advertisement in the Globe-Democrat one 
morning : — 





NAL — Wanted, threo or tour young ladies to join a trav- 
elling company. Addrosa Manager, this office. 

I knew that reputable theatrical managers did not 
advertise in this stylo — indeed, they need not adver- 
tise at all, for there is always plenty of talent in the 
market—and came to the conclusion that the 
* Personal’ was a yeil to hide some piece of dirty 
work, Therefore I sat down, and, in varying feminine 
hands, wrote letters to the manager, asking for an 
opening. Two letters, with their corresponding an- 
‘sewers, are here selected as specimens of the remainder, 
‘answers to all having been received. One of the ap- 
plications ran as follows : — 

Sr. Lours, February 6, 1878. 

‘Mx. Maxacen: I want to adopt the stage ; have ap- 
peired as an amateur, and will join you it T can learn. 
Tam seventeen, a blonde, small, and my friends 
lookwell onthe stage, Ising and perform on theguitar, 
Thavo a friend —a very pretty branette — who is very 

| anxious to go with me, but she has never acted. She is 
same age. Pleaze let me know where I can see you, 


a 





220 STAGE-8TRUOK. 


if you havo not already employed enough ; but I must 
be particular, as my mother docs not want me to go 
away, Address Ertre Honax, 
City Post-Office. 
I will call at general delivery and get it. 


The other was written in this strain and in these 
words :—~ 
Sr. Lours, February 6, 1877, 
Dear Ste: I caw your advertisement in this morn 
ing’s Globe-Democrat, asking for three or four young 
ladies to join a travelling theatrical company, and as T 
am desirous of going on the stage, and am of good 
form und pretty fair appearance, and have a pretty 
good voice, I would wish to join your company. J 
have never appeared on any regular stage, but made 
several amateur appearances, which were pronounced 
vory successful, I have an ambition for the stage, 
and think I would succeed. Iam seventeen years of 
age, and medium height, with black hair and dark 
eyes, and am a tasty dresser. I hope you will not 
pass over my application, but will receive it favorably. 
Anxiously awaiting an early reply, I remain, respect- 
fully yours, etc., Luzie Hincer. 
P. S. —Addresr your reply to me to the post-office. 


‘These and the others were all calculated to make the 
“manager "' feel that he had captured a whole shoal of 
gudgeons. He sould certainly reply to such unsophis- 
ticated notes as these, and he did. The letters were 
placed in the newspaper office box on Wednesday after- 
“noon, and bright and early on Thursday morning, I 
vent around to the post-office, presented my string of 

, and met with no little opposition from the gen- 
munty delivery clerk, at first, who naturally did nob 
2 give un armful of mail for females to one who 













STAGE-STRUCK. 221 


was not a female, The situation was explained, how-- 
ever, and a half dozen rose-tinted envelopes, all prop- 
erly backed and stamped, and each containing an 
epistle, was the result. They were opened one after 
another, and the rose-tinted and perfumed pages of 
each told, in a bold running hand exactly the same 
story — ‘*pass the corner of Eighth and Locust Streets," 
at hours varying from noon to sundown on Thursday 
afternoon, It was just what had been expected. Ettie 
Holan, the petite blonde, who could play the guitar, 
‘was answered as follows : — 


Sr, Louis, Mo., Fobruary 6, 1878. 
Miss Errim Hota: Your letter through the G.-D. 
at hand, We desire to engage several young ladies for 
the company now traveling, and among numerous ap- 
plicants note yours, and think it possible to fix an 
engagement both for yourzelfand lady friend. As you 
are very particular about your folks, you might possibly 
object to coming to our office, so if you desire the en- 
gugement, please pass the corner of Locust and Eighth 
Stroots with your lady friond about four (4) o'clock r. 

M. to-morrow (Thursday), the 7th. 
Yours, respectfully, Haury Russev.. 


And Lizzio Hilger, with nothing to recommond ber 
but a voice and figure that she had recommended her- 
self, was encouraged in her ambitious aspirations in the 
following manner : ~ 

Sr. Lous, Mo., February 6, 1878. 

‘Miss Lizere Hicoer: Your fayor at hand. Among 
numerous applicants [ have remembered yours. We 
desire several young ladies to strengthen the company 
for our Chicago and Boston engagements, and desire 
to meet you personally, if possible, to-morrow after- 
noon, You may object to coming to our office, so 


STAGE-STRUCK. 223 


other girls who had applied for positions through me, 

“might object to coming,’ and of course he had noth- 

ing to do with strengthening any company’s Boston 

or Chicago engagements. It was evident now, if not 
* before, that the advertisement was a snare to trap the 
unwary and to pull the wool over the eyes of the inno- 
cent and unsuspecting, and I made up my mind to pay 
a visit to the locality named in the above letters. 

A visit was paid, after dinner, to the proposed place 
of meeting. On the way up I met a detective friend, 
to whom my business was disclosed, The detective 
said he would go along and * spot” the fellow for 
future reference, and he did. Handsome Harry was 
found at his post, gazing up and down and across the 
street. He was standing in front of a saloon, on the 
corner, and a friend was hard by, who was to witness 
the success of the little game. Now and then a young 
Tady passed to or from her home, and every time she 
caine within sight “* Manager’ Harry began to prepare 
himself for the * mash.”? The coat front was read- 
Justed, the shirt collar straightened up, the hat lifted 
from the head and the fingers run th 
and, asa last and finishing toi 











ually set away from his 
» But here came the 
young lady. How he stared her in the face as she e 
towards him, ogled her when near by, and east a dis- 
consolate and disappointed look after her a3 she passed. 
‘Then he went back to communicate to his friend that 
she was probably ** not the one,” or that ** maybe she 
weakened,”’ and again took his stand to watch the next 
comer. This little business wae gone through with as 
‘many times as there wore young ladies who passed, At 
‘ast it was evident to the two persons who had their eyes 
on Harry that he was beginning to weaken, and was 














224 STAGE-STRUCK. 


about to leave the place for a time at least. Under 
these circumstances there was only one thing to do— 
to go over and have a talk with him about the show 
business and make further engagements for the young 
ladies who were so anxious to blossom forth on the 
stage. The detective walked up to the man who was 
presumably Harry Russell. 

“Do you know of a man named Harry Russell stop- 
ping about here?” asked the detective. 

Harry was with his friend now, and both became al- 
most livid in the face and were evidently taken back 
by the inquiry. 

*<N-no; w-what is ho?'’ stammered out Harry. _ 

* **T believe he’s manager of a theatrical company.’* 

“Harry” had somewhat regained his mental equi- 
librium by this time, and answered positively: ** Don't 
know him ; never heard of him.’” 

“Have you seen any man around in the past half 
hour? Russell made an engagement to meet me 
here."" 

**T haven't been here but about ten minutes,’’ and 
away ‘Harry’? and his friend sailed. 

The detective and myself had been watching 
the peeudo manager for over two hours from 4 room 
across the street, and, of course, knew there was no 
truth in the measure he placed upon the time he was 
watching and waiting for victims that never came. 
‘He was not a theatrical man, but some dirty scamp. 

Somo time ago an advertisement of the same ehar- 
actor as the “ Personal’ quoted above, appeared in 
the Chicago papers, and many young ladica, anxious 
to udopt the stage as a profession, applied for posi- 

“tions, They obtained admission to the quasi manager, 
who, when no resistance was made by the applicants, 
them to Texas and other Southern points, 





BTAGE-3TRUCK. 225 


whore they found themselves perhaps penniless in the 
midst of a life of uncertainties, into which they had 
been duped and to which they had been sokd, Many 
of these had been, and would still be, respectable 
young girls and ornaments to their respective home 
circles, were it not for the serpent with the fnecinating 
eyes that peeped out at them from under the three or 
four lines in the advertising columns of that Chicago 
paper. Discoveries of the same kind were made in 
several cities of the East, und it is dreadful to contem- 
plate the havoc which must have been wrought by thia 
means, for surely many of the hundreds of really good 
girls, who are always sure to answer such an advertise- 
ment in the innocent belief that it may be the meatis 
of making Neilsons, Cushmans, Morrises ov some other 
equally firmamentary individual in the galaxy of the 
stage of them, and who refused to be debauched, were 
sorely disappointed in the result of their apparent good 
fortune in obtaining the recognition of the * manager,” 

The following letter from a band of stage-struck 
young men of color is an extraordinary document, and 
may be taken as a sample of the letters received every 
day by theatrical managers : — 

Kansas City, 1789 [1879], January 14. Mr. De 
Bar, Dear Sir, I take thes opportumty of witring you 
theas few lines to ask you for an engagement at the 
Orepry [Opera] house if you can as we would like to 
getitif weean. i and my trop can doa great meny 
performence on the stage. W. H. Terrell he can do 
the Tron Joye] [iron jaw] performence and do a Jig 
Dance and a Clog and Double Song and Dance and 
other tricks. Mr. Benjermer Frankler [Benjamin 
Franklin) waltz With « pail of wator on his head and 
plays the fronce harp the sanetime on the stage and 
laying down with it on his head and roal all over the 


ide 











CHAPTER Xv. 
THE REHEARSAL. 


When the sccker after histrionic honors has at last 
crossed the threshold of the stage, he or she will find 
‘itentirely different from the glitter and glory with 
which the imagination had clothed things theatrical. 
‘The first revelation made to new-comers in the pro- 
fession is the rehearsal. This generally begins about 
ten A. m. and ends about two r.a. In the old days of 
stock companies, performers had more laborious work to 
‘perform than men who carry railroad ivon out of, or into, 
steamboats. Often there were new plays every night, 
which meant new parts to be memorized, and rehearsals 
every day. Leaving the theatre ut eleven Pp. m., 
ut the usual hour of closing a performance at that 

the actor took his part with him, and instead of 
to his bed, was obliged to sit up and study his 
no matter how many lengths there were. 
and worn out with his night's work on the stage, 
s mental toil that followed, it was often wl- 
ing when the actor sought his couch. He 
obliged to be up in a few hours and at the 
ten. If he absented himself there was a fine 
materially reduce his already low salary, 
the room for enjoyment for the actor or 
days? There was little opportunity 
whody at all employed upon the stage to be 
its or to indulge in any of the excesses 
ders and their intolerant and intoler- 


(227) 
a 
















228 THE REWEARSAL. 


able followers generally charged against the profes- 
sion. These super-moral individuals could not make 
@ distinction between the stage of the days of Mrs, 
Bracegirdle and Mistress Wofington, of Mrs. Jordan 
and Mrs. Robinson, when filth and licentiousness pre~ 
vailed because the public found no fault with it, and 
the same things were prevalent in ranks of the very 
bost society, Now that we have travelling combina- 
tions, and that one part will last a man or woman who 
pays attention to business for a year or more, the pro- 
fossion is not so heavily taxed; still there is plenty of 
work, and there is little, if any, time to devote to any 
of the pleasures or excesses that prurient piety points 
out as the portion of players. But this is moralizing: 
Let us get back to the rehearsal. Less than ten years 
ago a rehearsal might be found going on in any theatre 
in the country between the hours of ten a.m. and 
two r.m. Now it isarare thing to find a rehearsal ex- 
cept on Monday, and in the few cities where Sunday- 
night performances are given this day may be set 
apart, when the opening or first performance is on the 
sume night, As travelling goes now, a company 
reaches a town either the night before, or the morning 
of the day for their initial entertainment. No matter 
what the time of arrival —unless it be, as often hap- 
pens, that the company gets off the train and to the 
theatre fifteen minutes before the curtain is to go up — 
every member of ‘the company will be expected at the 
| theatre in the morning for rehearsal, not so much to 
go through their parts as to familiarize themselves 
with the entrances and exits and the general arrange- 
ment of the house. The stage manager is thore and 
‘tho orchestra is in its place. If itis comic opera there 
‘4s & rehearsal of the music, and if it is one of the 
eo-farcical or burlesque picces that were epidemic 


















‘THN REHEARSAL, 229 


during the past two seasons, the play will be rehearsed 
that the musicians may come in with their flare op at 
the proper time. 

A rehearsal is evleulated to take all the starch out of 
the ambition of a neophyte, and to drench his hopes in 
# sorrowful manner. The stage bereft of its flood of 
light, of its gorgeous color and wealth of splendor, is 
the darkest, dreariest, and most commonplace region 
in the world. The buzz of saw and the clatter of 
hammerare hoard inall diroctions, while men in aprons, 
overulls, and groasy caps aro making the saw-and-ham- 
mer noises, and others even less romantic are dragging 
about scenery or boxes; gas men are at work on the 
foot-lights, and thore is noise and confusion enough to 
set a whole yillagefull of sybarites crazy. Down in 
front a group of Isdies and gentlemen are moving 
about and talking. These are the players — the peo- 
ple we saw the night before in rich attire, with glowing 
jewels and surrounded with all the magnificence, 
wealth could bestow or royalty command. Now, the 
king’s crown is a black slouch hat and the royal robes 
are a dark sack coat and vest, light trousers, and white 
shirt with picadilly collar, The queen has a last-year 
bonnet on her head and a water-proof cloak envelopes 
herform, The other actors are also in every-day dress, 
some showing that their owners patronize first-class 
tailora and others that they have been handed down 
from the shelves of cheap ready-made clothing houses. 
Tho stage manager is pushing everybody around, and 
the actors and actresses are talking at one anothor in 
lines. Some have books of the play, for they are re- 
hearsing, und all rattle over their lines as if running a 
race with a locomotive that is drawing Vanderbilt's 
special car over the road at its topmost speed. It is 
‘impossible to understand what they are saying, and 





= FBX, eye se ey THE REMEANSAT, 


the on-looker would be willing to wager a $10 gold 
piece against a silver dime with a hole in it that the 
performers do not hear or understand each other. 
But a California journalist hes written a very truthful 





AGNES BOOTH. 







and funny account of a rehearsal he attended in San 
Francisco. Olive Logan has it in her book, but it is 
80 good T will make use of it again. Here it i 
“You may got a3 perfect an idea of a play by seoing it 





THE REMRARSAL, 231 


rehearsed a8 you would of Shakespeare from hearing it 
read in Hindustani. The first act consists in an exhi- 
bition of great irritability and impatience by the stage 
manager at the non-appearance of certain mombers 
of the troupe. At what theatre? Oh, nover mind 
what theatre. We will take libertios and mix them 
thus : — 

Stage Manager (calling to some one at the front en- 
trance): “ Sond those people in.”* 

The people are finally hunted up one by one and go 
rushing down the passage and on te the stage like hu- 
man whirlwinds. 

Leading Lady (reading): ‘*My chains a-a-a-a-a 
rivet me um-um-um (carpenters burst out in a tre- 
mendous fit of hammering) this man.”’ 

Star: “But I implore —buz-buz-haz— never — 
um-um "* (great sawing of boards somewhere), 

Rehearsal reading, mind you, consists in the occa- 
sional distinct utteraice of a word, sandwiched in be- 
tween large quantities of a strange, monotonous sound, 

between a drawl and a buz, the last two or 
three words of the part being brought out with an 
emphatic jerk. 

Here Th—n rushes from the rear: — 

“Now my revenge.’ 

Star (giving directions): ** No, you Mrs. H—s—n, 
stand there, and then when I approach you, Mr. 
B—r—y, step a little to the lef; then the soldiers 
Pitch into the villagers and the villagers into the sol- 
diers, and T shoot you and escape into the mountains.” 

Stage Manager (who thinks differently): “Allow 
me to suggest, Mr, B—s, that’? —(here the ham- 
meting and sawing burst out all over the stage and 
drown everything). 

‘This mutter is finally settled, The decision of the 


ae 


oldest member of the troupe having been appealed to, 
is adopted, Then Mr, Me——h is missing. The 
manager bawls ‘*Mc——h!'' Everybody bawls, 
“Mo——h!" «Gimlet! Gimlet!"’ This is the 
playful rehearsal appellation for Hamlet. Gimlet is at 
length captured and goes rushing like a locomotive 
down the passage. 

Stage Manager: ‘ Now, ladies and gentlemen. All 
ont”? 

They tumble up the stage steps and gather in groups. 
H——n fences with everybody. Miss H—w—n exe- 
cutes an imperfect pas seul. 

Leading Lady: ¢* T-a-n-1-1 love-um-um-um —andan- 
aan another —" 

Miss H—I—y, Miss M—d—e, or any other woman: 
« This enguge-n-a-n my son's um-um Bank Exchange." 

A—d—n raises his hands and eyes to heaven, say= 
ing: ** Great father! he's drunk!" 

Leading Lady (very energetically): ‘* Go not, dear- 
est Hawes! The Gorhamites are a-a-2-um-um devour 
theo,” 

Mrs. S—n—s: ** How! What! !"" 

Mrs, J——h: ‘*Are those peasantry up there?" 
Boy comes up to the stage and addrosses the mana- 
gh his nose: ‘* Mr. G., 1 can’t find him any- 










nz “For as much as 1"' — (terrible 


G., I can’t find bim anywhere."” 
my paper!” 
L., that must be brought out very 
yp 
¢ it out with an emphasis which 
h ): “ Srop uy parer!"’ 
through the motion of 


THE REWBARSAL. 238 


fainting and falls against the star, who is partly unbal- 
anced by her weight and momentum. The star then 
rushes distractedly about, arranging the supernumer- 
aries to his liking. Ed—s and B—y walk abstract- 
edly to and fro. S—n—rdances to a lady near the 
wings. These impromptu dances seem to be a favor- 
ite pastime on the undressed stage. 

Second Lady: ‘ Positively a-a-a- Tom Fitch um- 
um amusing a-aitch a-aitch a-aitch t”* 

Tt puzzled me for a long time to find out what was 
meant by this repetition of a-nitch. It is simply 
the reading of laughter. A-aitch is where «the 
Jungh comes in.” ‘The genuine pearls of laughter ure 
reserved for the regular performance. Actresses can= 
not afford to exchinate during the tediousness and 
drudgery of rehearsal. Usually they feel like crying. 

Stage Manager: ** We must rehearse this Iast act 
over aguin.”” 

Everybody at this announcement looks broadswords 
and daggers. There ure some pretty pouts from the 
ladies, and some deep but energetic profanity from the 


The California journalist has just about done justico 
to the subject. I have attended rehearsals when it 
was utterly impossible to comprehend whether they 
were reading Revelations or going through Mother 
Goose's melodies. Drilling the chorus for opera is 
attained by the samo trials and tribulations a3 rehear- 
sals for dramatic representations, The leader grows 
furious ut the surrounding noise, and the distractions 
that members of the chorus give themselyes up to. It 
is a bad thing to get them together at first and harder 
still to keep them together afterwards. When the 
Teader with an atmosphere of the kindest humor sur- 
Founding his smooth head holds his baton aloft imagin- 


== 





‘THE REMGARSAL. 235 


all together. About one-half the throng begin, and 
the other half loiter behind to drop in at intervals. 
And s0 it goes from act to act until the opera is fin- 
ished. The singers are in street dress and the shab- 
biest of garments brush against the most stylish. In 
grand opera only one act is taken at a time, 















CRRAINING BALLET DaNcEns, 
presented, with the mellifluous Italian 
cented garlic floating around the stage, 
to the eye, charming to the ear, and 
g to the nose. The principals re- 


have as hard work, if not harder than 








238 THE RKAEARS AL. 


whirl, so this country seems to have taken kindly to 
the bullet. When a ballet dancer —one of the fa- 
mous daucers of the beginning ofthe century — pre- 
sented herself for the first time to an Albany, New York, 
audience, the ladies rushed from the stage and there 
wis almost a panic. *But it did not take long to 
accustom the Albaniane to the undraped drama, and 
they are as fond of it now as any of the rest of the not 
over-scrupulous people of the country, Not so many 
Years ago, there was a ballet every night in the first- 
class variety theatres; now there are few, except in 
the Enst, that have this feature, and for this reason — 
the abandonment of it in the West and South — the 
people who draw conclusions from everything they see 
and hear cry out that the ballet is dying out. This is 
not so. The ballet has been dropped from the list of 
attractions in the West, because the managers thought 
it too costly an institution for them to carry and not 
, because the people did not want it. Some of the best 
paying theatrical jnvestments of the day are based 
upon the fascinating and drawing qualities of a dis- 
played female limb. Burlesque with its blonde attri- 
butes kept the country in a rage for many years, and 
tho reason why it is 80 rare now is that comic opera 
and the minor musical attractions of the quasi legiti- 
‘mate stage have usurped its principal feature — the leg 
‘show—and under the cover of art get the patronage 
people who would shun burlesques, and at the same 
ue supply the demand of ‘pod three-fourths of the 
Jv persuasion who are as fpnd of as much anatom, 
k tights asthe law will-allow them. If any ae 
cs the ballet is on the decay just let him wait 
‘such an attraction is announced in his neighbor= 
pand then stand back and count as the bald-headed 
to the front. 








THE RENEARSAL. 289 


And for those who take any interest in the ballet, or 
care to hear anything about the women who have 
become famous as dancers, the following bit of his- 
tory which I found in Gleason's Pictorad for 1854 will 
be very agreeable reading: “A recent performance at 
her majesty’s theatre in London has been signalized by 
an event unparalleled in theatrical annuls, and one 
whieh, some two score years hence, may be handed 
down to 4 new generation by gurrulous septuagena= 
rians a8 one of the most brilliant reminiscences of days 
gone by. The appearance of four such dancers as 
Tagliovi, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn, on 
the sume boards and in the same pas, is truly whut 
the French would call ** une soleranite theatrale,’ and 
such a one us none of those who beheld it are likely to 
witness again. Tt was therefore as much a matter of 
curiosity as of interest, to hurry to the thentre to 
witness this spectacle; but every other feeling was 
merged in admiration when the four great dancers 
commenced the series of picturesque groupings with 
which this performance opens. Perhaps a scene was 
never witnessed more perfect in all its details, The 
greatest of painters, in his loftiest flights, could hardly 
have conceived, and certainly never executed, a group 
more faultless and more replete with grace and pootry 
than that formed by these four danseuses, Tuglioni 
in the midst, hor head thrown backwards, apparently 
reclining in the arms of her sister nymphs. Could 
such a combination have taken place in the ancient 
palmy days of art, the pencil of the painter and the 

pen of the poot would have alike beon employed to 
Perpetuate its romembrance. No description can 
‘render the exquisite, and almost othereal grace of 
‘movoment and attitude of these great dancers, and 
those who have witnessed the scenc, may boast of 


ie 


240 THE REHEARSAL, 


having once, at least, seen the perfection of the art of 
dancing so little understood. There was no affectation, 
no apparent exertion or struggle for effect on the part 
of these gifted artistes ; and though thoy displayod their 
utmost resources, there was a simplicity and ease, the 
absence of which would have completely broken the 
spell they threw around the scene. Of the details of 
this performance it is difficult to speak, In the solo 
steps executed by cach danseuse, each in turn seemed 
to claim pre-eminence, Where every one in her own 
style is perfect, peculiar individual taste alone may 
balance in favor of one or the other, but the award of 
public applause must be equally bestowed; and the 
penchant for the peculiar style, and the admiration for 
the dignity, the repose and the exquisite grace which 
characterize Taglioni, and the dancer who has so bril- 
liantly followed the same track (Lucile Grahn), did 
not prevent the warm appreciation of the 
archness and twinkling steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the 
wonderful flying leaps and revolving bounds of Cerito. 
Though each displayed her utmost powers, the emula- 
Hon, of the fair dancers was unaccompanied by envy. 
a shower of boquets descended on the 
pas of one or the other of the fair 

¢ dancers came forward to assist her 
The applause was universal and 









CHAPTER XVI. 
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES, 


About a week before the date of the opening of a 
spectacular play at any metropolitan theatre an adver- 
tisement reading something like this appears in the 
want columns of the daily papers : — 


“ANTED—Three hundred girls for the ballet in “The Blue 
Huntsman,” at Bishop's Theatre, Call at stage-door at 
ten A. 21. Monday. 

In this simple advortisement the theatrical instinct 
which prompts the pross agent to exaggerate fucts con- 
corning his attraction is very beautifully displayed. 
The number of girls wanted is probably not in oxcess 
of fifty; etill the local manager does not care to waste 
money upon this little advertisement without getting 
an advertisement for his show out of it. Monday 
morning brings a number of applicants — not as large 
a number as such an advertisemont would haye 
attracted in former yours, but still onough to meet the 
demands of the ballet-master, who has come on ahead 
of his troupe to select the girls and give them a little 
training, just sufficient training to tone down the rough 
edges of their awkwarduess and to drill them in the 
marches in which they will be expected to participate. 
The girls, az they come in singly or in pairs—shyly 
and coyly approaching the stage-door, but taking 
courage at the sight of the others who are there before 
them — are told to come around again ia the afternoon, 
‘or perhaps the following morning to meet the ballet. 

“ (241) 


—— | 





CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 243, 


attitudes, easy movements, and picturesque evolutions 
of the well-trained chorus or ballet in an opera have 
any adequate conception of the amount of practice and 
hard work necessary for the stage of perfection arrived 
at. A number of years ago, when ballet girls were in 
greater demand than ut present, an advertisement in- 
serted in New York papers or those of any other large 
city for material to fill up the corps de ballet would 
bring in applicants by dozens, and sometimes even by 

» hondreds. The sume is true in a less degree to-day, 
but at that time the wages paid to working girls were 
far more meagre than at the present time, and the few 
dollars per week to be obtained in the theatre was a 
princely sum by comparison, and, though the engage- 
ment be but a few weeks, the opportunity was gladly 
accepted. 

The great majority of these applicants come from 
the lower working class, who are induced by pecuniary 
motives alone to exhibit themselves. They show in 
their tices and forms the traces of hard work and poor 
living, and an expert master of the ballet has need of 
all his skill to train them and dispose them on the stage 
so that their natural disadvantages of form may be 
kept as much as possible from public view. Now and 
then, however, there is a case where the glamour of 
the stage has so fascinated girls in better circumstances 
that thoy are roady to hogin at any round of tho lad- 
dor in & profession that seoms so entirely imbued 
with rogeate tints, It is the exception, and not the 
rule, for these to persevere ; for, when brought face to 
face with the stern realities of the case, their ardor is 
dampened, the world seems hollow, ‘their dolls are 
sstuffed with sawdust,’’ and they are prepared to ery 
out vanilas vaniletum, and enjoy the rest of their 
stage exporionces from the other side of the foot-lights, 








244 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 


Those girls vary somewhat in age, but the majority 
of them arc not above twenty, asa general rule, In 
making an application, they present themselves first to 
the stage manager, He takes note of their age, size, 
appearance and general contour of figure, and if he be 
favorably impressed sends them to the costumer. He, 
in his turn, hands them over to the women in his em- 
ploy. There they are compelled to étrip and undergo 
acomplete examination of their limbs and form, and 
on the physical examination depends their acceptance 
or rejection. 
In companies where the ballet girls are simply female 
supernumeraries and do nothing but march about while 
the danseuse and coryphees engage the attention of 
the audience, any extended amount of training is not 
necessary, Care is only taken to obtain girls of ordi- 
narily fair physique and teach them to march correctly 
with the music. But even this is no small task. 
These girls are naturally fitted for anything bub this 
business, and it is ludicrous to observe the positions 
they assume and the gait they adopt. Impressed with 
the idea that they must act and walk differently from 
their usuul custom, they twist their bodies and stalk 
about in a manner that is beyond description, These 
-improvised bullets generally present an exhibition of 
Stiffness and awkwardness at tho first public appear- 
ance; but that is not to be compared with the ungainly 
antics of a first rehearsal. In cases where greater 

pains are taken, and where the ballet girls go through 
intricate evolutions, the rehearsals are continued 
when possible, fora period of six or eight weeks, 
‘ides of the trials of « ballet master may be 
d from the contrast of the first rehearsal and 













n of long experience in theatrical mat- 


CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 245 


ters says in a talk with an interviewer: “Well, T 
should think I ought to know something about ballet 
girls. Why, when I used"to be at the Old Comiquo 
thoy were na plentiful as supers and wed to appear as 
peasant girls in the regular drama. 

“The rehearsals would be frightfully confusing to 
an outsider, During the last rehearsal, before a piece 
of this kind is put on, the stage looks like a perfect 

ndemonium, The chorus is being put through ita 
final drill on ora Er si 
one side, the 
actors are 
practising 
thoir en- 
trances, e¢x- 
its, and cucs 
on the other ; 
bebind, the ont = 4 te 
scene painter DRILLING FOR THE CHORUS. 
and his assistants are daubing away, and the trap man 
and gus man are both working away in their linc." 

* What kind of girls were they for the most part?” 

“Oh, they came out of fuctories and all that; they 
could make from $6 to $8 « week on the stage, a good 
deal better than they could do at their old business. 
Woe used to havo such « lot of applicants then we could 
pick out # pretty good crowd. Some of them were 
Very nice, respectable girls, but the associations ruined 
most of them. A good many of them were rather fly 
when they first came in, and besides being crooked 
would put on any amount of lug among their compan- 
fons outside. After playing in the ballet two or three 
weeks for $6 or $7 a week, they would go around and 
say that they were actresses, playing an engagement 
at the Opera House, but they didn’t know exactly 





=— 





CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 247 


swallows and hesitates, and puts you in doubt as to 
whether you ought to laugh or pity her.” 

‘Hore is*a writer who takes another view of the 
affair: **'To the uninitiated male citizen the period of 
suprome interest in affairs behind the scones is the 
period of a grand ballet or spectacular show, where a 
hundred or two girls, who have undergone an oxami- 
nation of their faces, shoulders and limbs, and been 
accepted a5 presentable upon the stage, don tights and 
mike their bow to the public. It is not always easy 
to secure the required number of girla who have the 
requisite qualifications for un appearance in tights. 
Girls who have never been on are extremely bashful 
about making their first appearance, The majority of 
the girls who answer the call for ‘ ladies for the bal- 
let” are shop girls, girls who take work to their 
homes, girls suddenly thrown out of employment, 
poor girls who have no other way of honestly earning 
adollar, There are a few who have been in the bal- 
Jet number of times before. They have come tolook 
upon it very much as a business. They knit and sew 
and crochet and do fancy-work behind the scenes dar- 
‘ing the stage waits. Their pay is liberal compared 
with what they can eara even in ways that are consid- 
ered more respectable, and they have the novelty and 
‘excitement, which, of course, are something of an at- 
traction in themselres. Considerable judgment has to 
‘be exercised in the select of those who aspire to the 
costume of a pair of tights and trunks or a gauze 
“dress. It is a lamentable fact that all ladies are not 
Plump and symmetrical, and for those lacking those 
is no door to the ballet stage. Once ac~ 
Jeonstituent part of a pageant which is to 
elf before the fuot-lights, the sigurante has # 
for conquest open to her. It’s man’s weak- 
















ness Lo be forever * getting gono’ on the favorites of 
the foot-lights, to believe them all beautifuland luscious: 
az they seem from the front of the house. And so itis 
that the watchman at the stage-door and call-boys divide 
between them many a dollar for carrying in bilet-dowse 
from the great army of mashed masculines. ‘Another 
sucker dead gone,’ mutters the call-boy as he pockets 
his liberal fee as mail-carrier, 
Perhaps the fair object of the 
masher’s admiration ‘ won't 
have it,’ but there are among 
her sisters those who, to a 
promisingly liberal and attrac~ 
tive stranger, would not let the 
lack of an introduction stand in 
the way of their graciousness. 
“’Sh,’ they say to the call-boy. 
“Sh! Don't say a word. Tell 
him we'll see him later. Look 
for us at the stage-door when 
our act is over.’ "* 

And now let us see how they 
do these things in, France, 
where the cancan flourishes and 
















. 
CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 249 


places it horizontally on one of these posts, where she 
keeps it for some time, then quitting this position and 
taking hold of the post with one hand she practices all 
her steps, and after having in this way * set herself 
off," she waters the floor with a handsome watering- 
pot, and before the large mirrors, which reach down to 
the mop-board, she goes through all the steps sho is 
about to dance on the stage, The leading dancing 
girls commonly wear old pumps and small linen guiters, 
very loose, in order to avoid soiling their stockings or 
stocking-net. When the call-boy gives his first notice, 
they hasten to throw off their guiters and put on new 
pumps, chosen for their softness and suppleness, 
whose seams they have carefully stitched beforehand. 
‘The call-boy appears at the door, ‘* Mesdemoiselles, 
now's your time! the curtain is up!"' and the flock of 
dancing girls hastento the stage. Among the Purisian 
ballet corps one sees the strangest vicissitudes of for~ 
tune, the most wonderful upa and downs of life. 
Some, who yesterday were glad to receive the meanest 
charity of their comrades, who joyfully accepted old 
‘dancing puinps, and wore them for shoes, and faded 
bonnets and thrice-mended clothes, appear to-day in 
lace, silks, cashmores, with conchman, valet, carriage 
‘and pair. The sufferings, the privations, the fatigue, 
‘and the courage of these poor girls ere the miserable 
worm, the chrysalis, is metamorphosed into the brilliant 
butterfly, cannot be conceived. Bread and water sup- 
| port the life of more than balf of them; many would 
‘be glad to feel sure of it regularly twice a day, A 
great number who live three or four miles from the 
Grand Opera trudge that distance almost shocless to 
eit morning dancing lesson, rehearsals, and evening 
aces, and on their return home, long after 

in the summer's rains and the winter's 







250 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES, 


snows, nothing buoys them up but the fond hope, 
often delusive, that the future has a brighter and bet- 
ter time in store for them. 

The Nautch dancers, mentioned in the preceding 
chapter, are consecrated to the temple from childhood, 
and the graceful and fascinating poses to which the 
people of this country have been introduced by an en- 
terprising American, are portions of their sacred dances 
before the shrines of their dizzy deities. I think four 
of these girls came to this country originally, and all 
but one died. Still, there were forty so-called Nauteh 
dancers put upon the variety stage and in. specialty 
troupes, ordinary but clever American ballet girls 
being painted for the oeeasion, and dressed in a somiq 
oriental costume. They made no pretensions to do 
the Nauteh dance, in which the swaying of the body, 
keeping time with the feet, and howling a lugubrions 
hymn are the feutures, there being no hopping or 
whirling around; but the fraudulent Nautch girls of 
the specialty troupes pirouetted and pranced in the 
steps of the old-time ballet, with which we all ought to 
be familiar if we are not. 


CHAPTER XVII. 
TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 


* Well, now, I don't think that’s so awful bard,” 
said a fellow knight of the pencil, one evening as we 
both leaned upoo the rear row of chairs in the old 
Theatre Comique at St. Louis, since destroyed by fire, 
and bent our heads forward in an inquisitive look at 
the ballet of * The Fairy Fountain,” or something of 
that sort. The remark was meant to apply to the 
evolations of the promiere as she spun around on one 
toe and threw 4 graceful limb up towards the roof of 
the house every time she gave a whirl, 

**If you don’t,’ snid T, * you just try it oneo, and 
you'll find out exactly how 

had made this retort wildly and without knowing, 
myself, anything mach about the difficulties of ballet 
dancing. It dawned on mo that here was an excellent 
field for inquiry, so having obtained the permission of 
Manager W. ©. Mitchell, who was ranoing the 
Comique, to go behind the scenes to interview the bal- 
Jet master; next evening found me carly at the stage 
door, 1 was soon inside picking my way through tho 
labyrinth of scenery, stage properties, scene shifters, 
Supers, actors and people generally who crowd and 
jostle each other in this mimic world, and I was in im- 
minent danger every now and then of an tmpromptu 
debut before the public, and of finding myself stand- 
ing figuratively on my head before an unappreciative 
audience. At last the ballet master — Sig. J. F. Car- 

(251) 








dolla, a thin, wiry man who seemed to be in the decline 
of life—was found in his tights, leaning in an easy 
attitude against one of the ‘* wings.”” 

“Bona sera, Signor,” 1 said in the best Italian T 
could muster, 

+ Grazia,” returned the maitre in the most weleom- 
ing manner in the world, as he invited me to = quiet 
corner where we sat down on a cracker-box. 

The object of the visit was briefly explained, and 
Sig. Cardella rattled off his answers in a ready and 
intelligible manner, the sweet Italian accents falling 
from his tongue with the same rapidity and precision 
that he twinkled his feet in the ballet when occasion 
required. He said he had made his first appearanee in 
the ballet twenty years before, when he was twenty 
years of age. He had been put in training, like other 
children, at the age of twelve years, in the Theatre La 
Scala—the government school —which has 
the world so many famous dancers. Here he remained 
eight years, 

* Children,’’ said Cardella, «* are admitted to this 
school as early as ten yours and as late as twelve, 
and there is a regular routine of study that cannot be 
finished in less than eight years. It is long and ardu- 
ous, and especiully difficult when it is understood that 
pupils in this country arrive at stage honors in an im- 
mensely leas time, in fact in as many months as we are 
required to put in years of study in the old country.”” 

**T suppose La Scula is under the tuition of the 
very best masters,’’ said I. 

“Oh yes, indeod,’’ responded the maitre de ballet, 
assuringly; ‘“my firet toachor was the colebrated 
‘Blozis, and after him Ousse, both Fronch, and both 

Great musters."” 
 “Butold?” 





TRAINING BALLET DANCERS, 253 


«Yes, old; but they had their stage triumphs, and 
the recollection of these kept their limbs strong and 





WINE IN THE GRERN-ROOM. 


their joints almost as supple as they had been in their 
Younger years, when they themselves went forth from 








256 TEAINING BALLET DANCERS, 


wards, to solo parts, when they practically become 
premieres."* hy 

** But eight years,"’ T suggested, **is a long time to 
be working without any return in the shape of either 
money or glory?" 

“Ah, there you are mistaken,’’ Curdella answered, 
pleased to find that newspaper men sometimes make 
mistakes. ‘*The pupils at La Scala ave paid some- 
thing from the time they enter the academy. They 
first, while mere coryphoes, got thirty francs a month; 
in the second line, sixty francs; in the third, eighty ; 
and when advanced to solo parts, two hundred franes 
month, At this they stop until they finish their 
schooling, when thoy take places in the principal 
theatres, make the usual tour of the provinces and 
of the continent, and finally settle down, if they have 
not become famous, to some solid competency, just as 
T have done myself.” 

So much for the dancing boys and girls of Italy; 
but how about the ballet in this country? 

Oh, it is nothing like what Europe produces. 
You have po schools here exeept the theatres, and girls 
they come to learn the ballet, as they have often 
to me, ask: *Do you think I ean dance in a 
or two?’ It is absurd the way they want to do, 
in my country I pructised for eight years before 

allowed to appear publicly in the theatre, 
two years before that at home, and 
girls think they can become good 

or two.” : 

aay to such applicants ?’? 

You can’t dance in a week or two, 
‘two; but if you want to practice for 

‘can place you on the stage.’ And I 
se I know American girls can make good 



















TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 259 


Tecan give to it to prepare « new ballet. Just as soon 
as a new one is put on the stage I begin to train the 
girls in another one, and this training is kept up until 
tho day before the novelty is to be presented to the 
public. During this time of preparation I have the 
entire troupe on the stage two hours every morning, 
except matinee days, when, of course, there is no re- 
hearsal. I show them the steps and they have to 
practice them. They are supposed to practice some at 
home, but, of course, the majority of them never do 
$0.” 

** Hayo you many applicants now-a-days?" 

“Not very many. Onee in a while a girl or two 
will apply, but nearly all of them are unworthy in 
point of physique to be received, and so are sent away. 
Ido not care s9 much for nice features, for the ugliest 
can be embellished sufficiently to look handsome be- 
fore tho foot-lights but good forms are indispensable, 
and particularly strong, symmetrical limbs. The ap- 
Plicants come from all grades and clusses of life, and 
not 4 few are young girls of good but obscure connec- 
tion, who have ambition to win glory and money and 
all that eort of thing from the public, and who fondly 
imagine that the ballet girl lives a butterfly existence, 
instead of being the hardworking, tomptation-beaet 

_ creature that she really is.”” 

“And they all want to get on the stage in a very 
short time?’’ 

«+ Yes, the invariable question is, ‘Can I dance in a 
few weeks?’ and thon they want mo to show them the 
‘steps’ and to let them try to duplicate them, I tell 
them there is no use ; if they want to dance they must, 
as the Irishman eays, begin at the beginning. You 

can’t know music without learning the notes ; you 
can’t read without knowing the A B C; and so with 


— 





TRAINING BALLET DANCERS, 261 


the ballet, you can’t dance without first having acquired 
its alphal 

“ How do you generally start a pupil out?" 

“ They have got to go to what we call the ‘sideboard’ 
practice first ; that is, they must take hold of something 
for a rest, and go through the first five steps "—and 
here the maitre gotup from the cracker-box, and taking 
hold of a** wing,’’ placed his feet heel to heel, turned 
them out straight without bending the knees into an 
unsightly attitude, and said this wus the first step; the 
four others were much the same as the attitudes taken 
at different times by elocutionists, one foot being pushed 
forward and then another. ‘Then I show them how 
to do this,” and he began twisting one leg after another 
backward and forward until I thought he would twist 
both off, but hedidn’t. «After that,’’ continued Sig. 
Cardella, © which in this country takes about a month, 
but in La Scala takes six months, I begin to show 
them a step or two at a time, and gradually lead them 
up until they know a little."" 

“But now and thon we soe a very fresh and groon 
foot, if T may use the expression, on the stage."* 

* Oh, of course; we've got to make up a fair num- 
ber for a troupe sometimes, and I then allow a girl to 
go on, whom I think smart enough not to make a fool 
of herself. You seo although the American girl is 
smart and sharp, and pretty original in many other 
things, she is entirely imitative in dancing. She 
‘watches the other girls, and although she may not even 
be fairly grounded in the findamental principles of 
ballet dancing, she frequently facos an audience and 
does well— sometimes astonishingly well in fact. Somo 
of these girls climb up out of the ranks very fast ; others 
who are lazy and give too much time to flirting and 
drinking wine, remain in the same line, usually the lust, 


= 


262 TRAINING BALLET DANCEMS, 


for yoars, and are really in a ballet master’s way all the 
timo.’” 

“ How are ballet girls as a class?" 

“(Some of them,”’ said Cardella, with a shake of his 
head and an expression of pity on his face, * are a little 
fond and foolish «at times.” 

“And they have their admirers who bother them, in 
und out of the theatre, and send them pretty presents, 
big boquots and such?”’ 














A PREMIERE DEYORE THE AUDIENCE." 
“Oh well, now, T know very little about that. Some 
of thom have families to support, and manage to wear 
better clothes aud more jewelry than their salaries 
could pay for. Tcould tell you lots of funny incidents 
about ballet girls, billet-donx and Billy boys, but you 
see that nigger act is nearly through, und I've got to 
go and look afer my girls.” And with an ‘*Adio, 
Signor!”’ anda wave of his hand, he withdrew. 


TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 263 


Twent up to the Alcazar on Monday night to seo 
Bonfanti dance. I have a great respect for Bonfanti. 
She is s woman of character. When she first danced 
here the town was wild about hor, and one young man, 
the son of rich and prond parents, offered her his 
hand in marriage, She hositated for awhile, but he 
argued thut because he was rich and his parents proud 
was no reason that he should be made unhappy by her 
refusal to marry him. She thought it over and came 
to the conclusion that he was right. So Mile, Bon- 
fanti became Mrs. Hoffman forthwith. The hue and 
ery raised by the Hoffmans was so violent that the 
young man could not stand it, and took his wife to 
Europe. His family allowed him little or no money, 
and he, having been very unpractically educated, could 
find no means of support. He was delicate and he fell 
land died. Then Bonfanti, or Mrs. Hoffman, came 
to New York to claim her rights as the wife of the 
son and heir of the Hoffmans, but they behaved in 
a way that wounded her pride—for ballet dancers as 
well us Hoffmans have pride—and she declined to 
accept any aid from them whatever. ‘As long as T 
have my feet to dance with," she said, ‘*T can take 
care of myself, aud I want none of their money." So 
she went back to the ballet, and has been dancing ever 
since. [couldn't help thinking as I looked nt her the 
other night, that scions of proud New York families 
Thad often made worse matches. She has a good and 
still handsome face, and she dances as gracefully as 
ever. Sho ix modest even when pointing at the foot- 
lights with one toe and at the chandelier with the other. i 





Bonfanti ix not one of the grinning dancers, Her face 
rears a rather sad expression, and she only smiles in 
ledgment of the applause of the audience, 

I ‘The competition with Lepri makes her do her best, 


i ig a regular dancing match every night, a 


CHAPTER XVII. 
PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 


At seven o'clock one morning during the season of 
1881-2 « tall, gawky, angular-looking young man in a 
suit, of smutty and wrinkled gray, under a battered 
slouch hat with a bandit curl to its wide brim, stood at 
the door of one of the rooms of the Southorn Hotel in 
St. Louis. Ho had a big bundle under his arm, and 
seemed tired, as indeed he was, for he had climbed four 
pairs of stairs and walked the lower hall-ways from one 
end to the other looking for the room which he had now 
found. He knocked kindly at first, but got no answer; 
knocked again with the eame result, and again and 
again. The fifth time somebody said ‘*Come in,” 
-and the young man taisted the knob and in a momont 
‘was standing at the bedside of the late Osear G. Ber- 
i business manager of the Couldock-Elisler Hazel 
Company, Bernard was still in bed and very 










ot a play I want to read to you,” said the 
iting the bundle he had under his arm 
nds, where Mr. Bernard could see it. 
"the manager exclaimed, rising hurriedly 
and looking out through drowsy eye- 

olsenp manuscript big enough to fill 


Yisitor’s answer, Iu 4 quict, un 


PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 265 


«Ts that it? '’ Bernard asked, as he eyed the pack- 
age of manuscript with astonishment. 

“ Yos, sir; thore are only 439 pages.'’ 

«Oh, is that all? How many characters, scenes, 
and acts, and how long do you think it would take to 
play it?’’ asked the manager, trying to be as sarcastic 
a3 poseible. 

“There are forty-seven characters in the dramatia 
persone,”’ the playwright answered, nothing daunted, 
“nine acts, and it might take three hours or more to 
play it through."’ 

** How many people get killed in it?"" 

“ Ouly thirteen.’’ 

«Oh, pshaw!”’ suid the manager; “ go and kill off 
thirty more of ’em and then you will have a play worth™ 
talking about. You've got to kill somebody off every 
five minutes to make it stick. You needn't eave any 
more of them alive than just enough to group into a 

tablean at the end of the last act." 

“T don’t think I can do it,"? suid the playwright. 

“Oh, yes, you can,"' the manager insisted. ++ Just 
try it once; and here, take this pass and go and see 
‘Hazel Kirke’ to-night. It plays only until eleven 
o'clock, and we don’t think it quite long enough. If 
you could tone your play down so that we might use 
it for a kind of prologue or something of that sort it 
would be better." 

The young man took the pass and departed. He 
was the queerest, dramatist. the country and century have 

except possibly A. C. Gunter. He was fully 
six feet high, large and shurp-featured, with a light 
like lunacy Mazzling in his black eyes and across his 
sallow fice. His hands were large and his feet big, and 
ashe ambled along the hotel ball he looked like an 


‘over-grown Plowboy who had suddenly aud mysteri- 


— a 





266 FLAYS AND PLAYWKIGHTS. 


ously turned book-peddler. Besides all this he seemed 
very hungry. 

Early the next morning he was at Bernard's bed-side 
again. He had seen * Hazel Kirke,”” and thought over 
the manager's advice, but had not made the changes 
suggestel because he was of the opinion now more 
than ever that the play would suit Mr, Bernard, 
Would the manager allow him to read it out to him? 
Tis title was ** Love and the Grave." The manager 
said he might leave the manuscript to be looked over 
during the day, but the dramatist said he preferred to 
read it so that none of the good points would be lost. 
Then the manager told him to call again. He called 
again early the next morning. The manager was still 
too busy and too sleepy to hear the play. The dram- 
atist said he hated to part from his manuseript ; he had 
been five years writing the play, but he liked Mr. 
Bernard and would leave it with him for twenty-four 
hours. Tho manager suggested that there was a pos- 
sibility of the play being lost if the hotel were to take 
fire, but the young man answered that he had aseer- 
tained that the hotel was fire-proof, and he was willing 
to take the chances. He went away leaving the vol- 
wminoue manuscript in the manager’s possession. Of 
course Bernard didu’t read it, but when the dramatist 
“as Friday morning he told him it was very good, 







the dramatist cared ho could give him a letter 
manager of a Chinese theatre in San Francisco, 
would be glad to purchase and produce such a play. 
jist hoisted his manuscript under his arm, 
was sorry the Madison Square people coulda’t 

d went out hungrier-looking and more awkward 
Bernard hoped that it was the last of him. 







PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 267 


heard at the door and in walked the dramatist. Ho 
did not recognize Mr. Bernard but told Raymond in 
piteous tonea that the man he (Raymond) had recom- 
mended him to would not allow him to read the play, 
and didn’t want it. A light flashed upon Bernard. 
Raymond laughed heartily. Bernard did not laugh. 
Tt was one of the comedian’s practical jokes. He had 
sent the Illinois dramatist to the «* Hazel Kirke’? man- 
ager with positive instructions to insist upon reading 
the Chinose play to him, After the comedian had had 
his laugh, he pulled a nickel with x hole in it out of 
his pocket, and, turning to the playwright, said; — 

“Til tell you what Fil do. ‘T'll match you for 
the play. IfI win I take the manuscript. Ifyou win 
you take the nickel.”’ 

The dramatist was disgusted. Ho anid all he wanted 
was monoy enough to get back to Springfield, Ill., 
whore ho edited a daily paper. Ifho had that ho would 
he happy. Bernard and Raymond cach gave him a 
$5 bill and sent him on his way rejoicing. 

The trials and tribulations of the gawky young dra- 
matiat from the Sucker State is but a slightly exagger- 
ated and caricaturish recital of the difficulties that have 
been lying in the path of American dramatists ever 
sineo we made anything like an attempt at « distine- 
tively national dramatic literature. It has been all 
along, pretty much the same with the young American 
who wrote a play as it was with the seedy English 
authors of Sheridan's time. Fresh from his garret, 
and a8 hungry for fame and fortune as he was badly in 
need of ameal, the young man who had written a 
drama appeared in shabby-genteel attire at the door of 
the manager's office, and after introducing himself, 
handed over his manuscript, which was tossed into a 
drawer or box, while the poor author, trembling with 


= 





PLAYS AND PLaywulonTs. 269 


feom its French author for a mere song. Now, Sir- 
dou gets $10,000 for a play like ** Odette,’ which bas 
20 far, I believe, failed to bring that amount back to 
Mr. French, the purchaser, Samuel Colville paid 
Mossrs. Pettitt & Merritt, of London, an enormous 
sum for the melodrama of «* The World,’” which, how- 
ever, made $75,000 for him. Messrs. Brooks & 
Dickson bought ‘ Romany Rye,” an untried play, 
from Sims, for America, paying him $10,000 cash ; 
Colville paid a high price for «Taken from Life,’* 
and D’Oyley Carte planks down $12,000 to Mr. Sims 
for n drama, before a line of it ja written, and sells the 
American right to Lester Wallack on the sume terms. 

All tho American actors, actresses and managers 
nowadays want foreign plays and are willing to 
pay exorbitant prices for everything that is offered. 
On the other hand it is the exception when an Ameri- 
can playwright does well, or indeed when his work is ae- 
-eepted atall. Some fow lite successes this side of 
the water have set all the ambitious young men of play- 
writing proclivities to work. One day it will be an- 
nounced that John McCullough has bought a tragedy 
from a rising journalist, and next day all the journal- 
ists will be writing plays for him. So, too, with Ray- 
mond, and Mary Anderson, and a score of others. 
But, fow writers among journalists succeed in dramatic 
work. Robert G. Morris, of the New York Telegram, 
isamong the latest successes with his «* Old Shipmates,”” 
and probably one of the greatest is Bartley Campbell, 
who sprang into fame in a night, after plodding 
patiently and poorly paid for years, Fred, Marsden, 
Who writes Lotta’s plays, is also among the fortunate, 
Taving, sccording to report, during his carver made 
something like $70,000. 

“Bartley Campbell may be taken as an excellent exe 


| r 


270 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 


ample of the manner in which the American dramatist 
works, and the almost despairing circumstances attend- 
ing his long and weary chase of fortune. Heiss man 
with a history. That history he made himself. From 
an office boy he has risen to a place of honor. Not 
that the position of office boy is dishonorable, but very 
few who begin life in that sphere erer attain as high a 
place as that now enjoyed by the greatest of our 
American dramatists, He was born at Pittsburg, 
Pennsylvania, some thirty-seven years ago, and as 
soon as he graduated from the lap of infancy he en- 
tered a lawyer's office with the view of studying for 
the bar. But the reading of law he soon discovered 
was not at all to his liking, and he was declared an un- 
promising student, being too poetic and sentimental. 
His next move was to the office of the Pittsburg 
Leader, whore he himvelf says he received the munifi- 
cent salary of $5.4 week for the hardest work he hax 
ever done. Here is another illustration of the old 
saying, that when you have fuiled at everything else 
make up your mind to adopt the profeasion of actor or 
journalist. Young Campbell chose the latter. He 
preferred the stationary drudgery of 1 newspaper Bo- 
hemian’s existence to the wandering chance-life of the 
c hard worked, snd, at that time, poorly paid ~ 
_ By diligence and close application to study he 
;, and soon was entrusted with the responsi- 

n of dramatic critic. He must have been a 
Tt is said that he was a faithful evitie; so 
ed, as to warrant the chustisement of a 
endanger the publication of the paper 
its. He deserted the Leader and com- 
ing the Mail, and it is here, while edit- 
‘that he firet attempted play-writing, 
rt was the sonsational drama called 











PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS, 271 


“Through the Pire,”’ brought out in 1871; then fol- 
lowed the comedy, ‘‘ Peril,'’ produced in 1872; the 
third was, “ Fate,”’ which was subsequently purchased 
by Miss Carlotta Leclerg, who played it with much 
success for several years; then followed, ‘* Risks,” 
now the property of John T. Raymond, and, in swift 
succession, the mill ground out ‘The Virginian,” 
*©On the Rhine,”’ «Gran Uale,”’ ‘* The Big Bonanza,”” 
which, it will be remembered, was one of the successes 
of 1875. “A Heroine in Rags,’’ ‘How Women 
Love"’ (later known as ‘The Heart of the Sierras,’’ 
and still ater as + Tho Vigilantes"), “Clio,” « Fu 
fax,"” “ My Partner," and lastly, «The Gulley Slave." 
Tt was the succoss of “My Partner"? that brought 
about the turning-point in Mr, Campbell's fortune. 
That he had suifered the severity of want, he 
contesses himself in a neat little Christmas story told 
by him to a newspaper correspondent, who met him at 
the door of Haverly’s Theatre, New York, one night 
during the run of ‘* The Galley Slave ’’ in the metropo- 
lis. His tall figure, his slouch hat, rather dishevelled 
hair, twelve-cornered moustache, Prince Albert coat 
and disordered necktie looked just as they did when I 
first saw their owner some yours ago, when his luck 
was away down. The statement of the night's re- 
ecipts was brought him while we stood there, and his 
share was a few dollars more than six hundred. 

* House not.as good as last night," he said, ‘* within 
a couple of dollars, Fact is, the business, although 
good, has not been better than it might be.” 

+ Why, Bartley, you don’t quarrel about a couple 
of dollars, now you are in the height of success? 
What is your income from plays, anyway?” 

*T don’t growl about a few dollars; but now is the 
timie—see? When you can growl about them do it. 











= 


272 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGUTS. 


Well, I'm getting on an average $1,500 « week now." 

You'll soon bo rich, Bartley."” 

** Well, Lam 50 accustomed to bud luck, perhaps I 
may mecl some — sce? ”” 

Bartley Campbell always says sce" in an inter- 
Togative way without mach or any desire for an an- 
swer. In a rambling conversation about his varied 
career that followed, the drift of the talk got Christ- 
mas and poverty mixed, and Bartley told this story of 
his early struggles : 
with my wife, arriving there just when a newspaper 
had suspended, and twelve writers were, like myself, 
seeking journalistic work— only, unlike myself, they 
had acquaintances and friends ; I neither; nor money, 
except five cents—see? The row was a hard one. 
After various ¢ shifts’ — one of which was starting the 
Southern Magazine, which was brought out —we 
found ourselves, just before Christmas time, with 
nothing of importance except a grocery bill—see? I 
wrote a poem about Eddystone Light, and sent it to 
the Wineteenth Century, then published in Charleston, 
5. C., by Felix de Fontaine & Co. It was the small 
beginning of which the present Vinetoenth Ocutury is 
8 great result — see?"* 

Well I marked on the MS.— price $15, Com- 
pootry— see? We confidently expected that 
Christmas. Why, we took it as 4 mat- 
that the money must come. If it 
that was a view of things that we 
for a moment—seo? Well, the day 
came, but that money did not. I 
fice again and again that day, but no 
tuition was gloomy then, and in the 
ymy wife, *I guess I'll have to go to 
way.” ‘I wouldn't go, Bart,” she 


















PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 278 


said; ‘Tam afraid he'll say something about the ac- 
count.’ ‘leant help it—I am going, anyhow,’ I 
answered, and grabbed the basket and rushed out, 
for fear that my wife’s fears would deter me from 
going at all— see? He didn’t say anything about the 
account, and I ordered sparingly. When he got the 
things all in the basket, he slipped in with them a 
bottle of nice liquor, and he said: ** Now, Mr. Camp- 
bell, this is Christmas Eve.’ I went home, and I 
drank some of the liquor, and when we went to bed 
things looked a little brighter, I got up in the morn- 
ing, und they wore gloomy again—see? T started 
down (0 the post-office, my wife saying it was a fruit- 
Tess errand, und got there just before the Christmas 
rule of closing at 10 a. x. shut down the delivery 
window. The clerk ran through every letter, and 
when he had got to the last one, and as I half turned 
to leave, he threw me down a letter which bore the 
date mark + Charleston,’ I opened it, and there was 
acheck for $15. My legs couldn't carry mo home 
fast enough. I got there, and my wife met me, her 
face all aglow. * Well, Bart,’ she said. + Well,’ I 
said, and I felt that she had heard the news —that 
some one had told her my check had come, for to me 
it wae the biggest piece of news ever was, and that it 
was common talk was perfectly natural, * Bartley, I 
have got $10,’ cho cried, “And I haye got $15,’ I 
yelled; and sho, not noticing it, went on, ‘1 sold the 
war book about women, that nobody would buy be- 
fore, to sone people who wanted it. Now, don’t be 
extravagant, Bartley, please. We had a bottle of 
champagne that day, and presently | got the position 
ofofficial reporter of the Legislatureat $16 nweck; but 
Christmas time never comes that 1 do not wonder if I 
8 








= 


274 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 


will have a3 merry and happy a day as the one we 
celebrated in New Orleans just after the war.’” 

Tn view of what has been said about the almost mer- 
cilesé treatment the American dramatist, a5 a general 
rule, receives from the American theatrical manager, 
it may be well to add here tho statement made lately 
by Mr. William Seymour, stage manager of the Madi- 
son Square Theatre, New York, He exhibited to a 
visitor a drawerful of manuscripts, and said, although 
he had read and rejected one hundred and fifty plays 
within nine months, he still had almost us many more 
loft. Asa usual thing the plays offered were, he 
claimed, weak imitations of ** Hazel Kirke" and kin- 
dred plays, or wretched translations from the German 
or French, One or two were very original attempts. 
Picking up a heavy manuscript bound with blue rib- 
bon, and looking very like a young girl’s graduating 
essay or poem, Mr, Seymour said; Hore is a play in 
seven acts, which opens in America at some large sea- 
port town, tho author isn’t particular where, and an 
embarkation scene ends the first act. In the second 
the ship has made its way in toward the Arctic regions 
and is wrecked by a: berg. ‘The hero bravely cuts 
down a spar, lashes himself to it aud jumps overboard. 
In the third act he is discovered upom an ice 
berg beyond the Arctic circle, stai and almost 
dead, while in the distance a battle is in progress be~ 
tween a pirate ship and Chinese junk. The China- 
men are destroyed, and in the fourth act the hero 
is rescued from the iceberg. A marine encounter 
between Chinamen and pirates in the Arctic Ocean is 
had enough, but even this is outdone in the fifth act, 
where the hero is discovered upon a tropical island 
with his feet frostbitten, The remaining two acts are 
used to get him back to America, which is done in fall 











VLAYS AND PLAYWHIGHTS. 275 


accordance with the rest of the play. T have many 
others just as bad. Here is one with fifty-two speak. 
ing characters, und here is another in four xcts, which 
would require but twenty-nine minutes to play the 
whole thing through, But strange and curious as the 
plays are, I think that the letters I receive from the 
authors aro still greater curiosities. Occasionally 
some of them are modest enough to admit the possi- 
bility of failure, but us a general thing they do not 
hesitate to dwell upon the beauties of their productions 
and the certainties of success. Moreover, they are al- 
ways ready to make terms and some of their offers 
are very amusing. Here is one that will serve as a 
sample: — 

“Dean Sm: Tho undersigned is the Author of a 
new three act Drama it is romantic, Dramatic and 
Scenic, and has a good plot. The Story is interesting. 
‘The dialogue is bright and Witty, the unities of the plot 
‘are preservod, and the Situations Are Picturesque and 
effective. I have had it nicely copied. 

“And wish to sell it to you if you wish to become 
the Proprictor of my play. 

“ Torms, I will sell you My copyright and Manu- 
script, And Give you 100 Printed copies, for the usc 
‘of uctors, for $1000 dols. 

“The name of My Play is 

“ Charies Ryan. 

* The scenes are in Italy, Time 1868. 

* Yours, Very Respectfully, etc., ete., ete., 
“ 





“Author. 
§.—TI inclose my card, I don’t be at Home 
“every day, but. am at home nearly every evening bet. 
Latclock. 
Pdid Hot have my Play Printed yet.)’* 











li 


CHAPTER XIX, 
“<MASHERS"’ AND ‘ MASTIING."” 


‘The masher is a remarkable creature. He hovers 
everywhere, from the market-place to the meeting- 
house and from tho promenade to the theatre. He is 
many-phased and many-faced, and may come from the 
slums or be tho son of a first-class preacher of the Gos- 
pel. The class has beon termed gunaikophagists by 
some fellow reck- 
loss alike of the 
foolings of philo- 
logists and of the 
jaws of the rising 
generation, who 
says it means wo- 
man -eaters, but 
may be less poly- 
syllabicallyatyled 
corner loafers and 
miserable scoun- 
drels, who live on 
the curbs and in 
some instances 
hug the wall—have a pardonable affection, con- 
sidering that they part their hair in the mid- 
dle, for malacea, bamboo, and rubber sticks — 
and last, but not least, some indulge a pre- 
cocious vanity hy planting eye-glasses across their 
noses. These are, par excellence, the cane-and-eye- 

(276) r 





A powERY ‘* MASHER.’ 





278 MASHERS AND MASHING. 


vnough to try to ensnare them by letters abounding in 





HOW Sim Won MIM. 


hyperbole and odorescent of cologne-besprent, idiocy. 


MASHERS AND MASHING. 279 


The variety actress is the ideul prize of this class, and 
they are in their greatest glory when within the frolic- 
some precincts of the wine-room, I have seen many a 
young man whose hair was parted in the middle crow 
lastily over the successful captare of a ballet girl, when 
he himself had been the capture. These girls know 
what their charms ave worth and hold thom at that 
price, when they see a victim well dressed and with 
an apparently healthy pocket-book. They, in expres- 
sive but slangy language, lay for him. They are not 
foolish enough to invite him to their side; they allow 
him to make an apparent conqueet which guarantees 
them all the greater gain. The young gentleman of 
whom I speak was lured in this way; and as sho sat 
with well-rounded limbs pulsating through silken tights 
and gracefully thrown upon un opposite chair, and be 
Jeant over her whispering soft words and looking 
fondly upon her painted faco, while they clinked cham- 
, she with downcast eyes was playing 
but all the while congratulating herself upon 

the arch manner in which she had won him, 
Just a5 bad as tho female * masher’ on the stage 
ini female “ masher’ who has no claims on the 
n. The latter hus studied her art perfectly, 
assist her in throwing her net about the 
ed, Females of this class in the East 
‘thelr businces to frequont the matiness, where 
sistance of tho ushors, whom they remu- 
dsomely for their co-operation, they gather a 
nd within twelve hours or so send him 
ig at his idiocy in not having resisted the 
that left him penniless, The gay sirens 
in this business generally go in pairs. The 


“‘isher Ioeates them next to their victim, and once there 
“they've got him for all the cash he took ont of the 


| 











MASHERS AND MASHING. 281 


family sock before leaving Jerusha and his eight little 
ones, 

‘The blonde beauties of the leg drama, ar the fair 
burlesquers, ns some people cull them, are considered 
legitimate prey by the * mashing’? fraternity. Tndeed 
it is offen a case of diamond cut dinmond, for the bur- 
lesquers are themselves notoriously liberal in making 

‘intances, and the majority of them will accept « 
midnight drive or « morning supper as readily as they 
do the friendship of the gentleman who tenders them. 
‘The bewildering array of limbs and shapely forms, the 

* — goliten hair and apparently frosh and handsome faces 
set the young swells wild, and the rush for orchestra 
chairs down front where a quict flirtation can be car- 
ried on shows the great extent of rivalry that exists 
among their number. Any number of scented notes 
on rose-tinted paper find their way through the stage- 
door into the hands of the giddy throng behind the 
scenes, and as they glance through it they laugh at 
the foolishness of tho writer but agree to * work him’* 
to the full extent of his woulth, ‘The comedian who 
knows that the girls have got “another sucker ona 

“comes up and wants to soc the last “ letter 

from homo." He gives the girls a funny bit of advice 
tibout retaining their innocence if thoy would be happy, 
but adds thot if there is anything in the fellow, to 
“catch on’? at ouee —which of course the girls have 
already made up their minds to do. 

A Yeteran in the business says; ‘Actresses have the 
most marked talents for wheedling the gilded youth 
oubof money. Such * guys’ and ¢ gillios * fancy that 
if they are known a8 the patrons and friends of stage 
‘Sars all the world is staring at them and envying 
their conquests. Poor idiots, their entire conquest 
consists in that they make over their own common 


= 4 










‘MASHEKS AND MASHING. 283 


ing stage siren is the privilege of paying her bills. Of 
the men with money she makes fools. When she 
scents n fall pocket-book she rans it low. Her affece 
tion, so far as she has any to bestow, is probably lav- 
ished on a big animal of a loafer from whom she gets 
no money, and who, perhaps, beats her and makes her 
support him. It is a paradox of feminine nature that 
the women who are unscrupulous and heartless in 
wheedling mon of money seem so lavishly free in be- 
stowing favors and bounty on loaferish lovers, from 
whom they can make nothing. An actress is paychi- 
eally a study, always curious and unaccountable, how- 
ever talented.” 
_ Some eomie opera choruses, particularly those of the 
limb-exhibiting kind, have attained to almost equal 
E with the burlesquers in the ** mashing’” line. 
of the matter is that in the branches of the 
on where women are employed, not for their 
qualities, but on account of the plumpness of 
limbs and tho agreoableness of their entire figure 
male there is so much laxness and so much 
Fis altogether bad, that tho ladies of the higher 
the profession do not always escape, and the 
who is always going around seeking what 
f he may devour, frequently dares to ap- 
eh some of the best women in the profession, Here 
cimen of the work of one of this class; it is a 
by one of the best and handsomest little 
ever saw, and whose retirement from the 
really a groat lose to the dramatic art: — 
Excnanon Hore, 
Morrcomery, ALA., —, 187-. i 
w Tam violating the cold conventionalities of 
2s ing you, but if it augers you, the friendly 
before you will prove a suitable altar 





























MASHERS AND MASIIING. 285. 


of doubt. She is about twenty-six, I believe. It is 
by no means generally known that she is married, and 
that hor husband isan honest, hard-working, and thor-- 
ough orchestra leader, to whom she owes her present 
proficiency in yocal culture. He was very fond of her, 
and always believed in her success. No man could 
have worked more faithfully. Finally he found an 
opening for her on the variety stage as a serio-comic — 
asthe phrase goes— singer. She attracted attention 
at once, and he Iabored vigilantly until he found a 
legitimate opening in English comic opera, T believe 
it was * The Snake Charmer.’ She was very glad to 
get out of the variety rut so soon, and expressed de- 
light at the admiration she excited. Then came the 
elub-men with their swell slang, gandy carts and flow- 
ing money. Now she is suing her husband for divorce. 
Such is life. The husband, I hear, harassed by care, 
and perbaps something else, had become so nervous 
or inattentive that he lost his position in the orehestra, 
and so the shades of prosperity and adversity are more 
clearly defined than ever, Miss Russell seems to have 
been under the especial eare of s theatrical goddess of 
2 lism. Evorything has conspired to make 
‘name familiar, Her escapade with one of the 
men was inevitable. The only question was 
fone sho would select. It happened to bo 
Osborne, the son of the wealthy banker, 
shen it was time for the curtain to rise, and 
was getting into o white heat, the manager 
displaying a decided desire to swear 
le, and announced that Miss Russell had 
unwarrantedly run away. The next 
Osborne, Sv., wondered where in thun- 
was, He received a letter later, and 
iL into « howling rage. Shortly after- 


















286 MASHERS AND SMASHING. 


wards Mr. Howard Osborne was heurd of in Chicago, 
whence it was blandly stated Miss R. had gone to visit 
an aunt. The young man was sent spinning over the 
sea to Europe, and the steamer had just arrived when 
his fond parent had the exquisite pleasure of reading 
at breakfast a cable in the morning papers relating a 
little excursion of'a certain Mr. Howard Osborne, Esq., 
said to be of New York, with Miss Alice Burville, the 
burlesque actress, at the Ascot races. Heigho! 
* Which the ways of the world is peculiar, Mrs. 'Arris, 
sex I.'** 

A Californian, who reached the Pacific slope in ‘49 
asa peddler, but is now « bachelor millionaire, has 
been sued for breach of promise by the walking Indy 
of a San Francisco theatre, who seems to huve effec- 
tually succeeded in «*mashing’’ the old man. The 
defendant it is said first caw the plaintiff at a perform- 
ance at the theatre where she was engaged. He 
became impressed with her charms and sought an in- 
troduction. He gained it and became an assiduous 
attendant upon. her. Their intimacy, the lady 
alloges, ended in a promise of marriage, and she 
claims to possess letters in which she is addressed by 
those endearing epithets good husbands apply to the 
spouses they love. However that may be, the defend- 
ant showered bounties on her, both in jewels and 
money, for upwards ofa year. Thon business called 
him to his mines in Amador County, He was to be 
away some weeks, but returned sooner than he had 
anticipated. Ho drove directly to the theatre where 
the plaintiff was performing at the time of his arrival 
in San Francisco, and got there just in time to ace 
her walk away with another mau. That other 
man, moreover, was an actor with whom rumor 
had associated ber name more than once, though 


‘MASHERS AND MASHING, 287 


she had succceding in arguing suspicion in the 
mutter away from the mind of her senile lover, 
‘This timo, however, argument fuiled to do the work 
required of it, Detectives employed by the defendant 
resulted in the discovery that his gifts and favors had 
only served to benefit a younger and more fascinating 
mun, and he literally as well as motaphorically shook 
the dust of his false one’s door-mat off his feet forever. 
Then followed the suit, which he calls blackmail, and 
she, a demand for justice. 












ADELINA PATTI’S ‘* Masit,”” 


Patti is credited with a strango fascination, 
fn New York, the diva baying succumbed to the 
mts ofa midget. The story is that she saw 
of the midget Dudley Foster on exhibition 
Mi’s imuseum, and driving down Broadway, 
Bunnell’s establishment and asked George 
“Wily and polite manager, for the loan of the 
specimen of humanity. Starr agreed and 
Wis banded into her carriage. “Here is a 











288 MASHERS AND MASITING. 


pretty toy,’’ gushed the prima donna, covering the 
little creature with kisses. She took him to her hotel 
and passed an entire afternoon singing to bim and 
chatting. How Nicolini took to the new erank of his 
singing bird is not stated. Mr, Foster plumes himself 

















considerably on the fact that he has done what princes 
have tried in yain—cut ont Nicolini —and he bonsts, 
too, that the prima donna before she would let him go 
made him promise to eall on hor the following week. 
Actors have their “ mashes’ too, the sume as ace 
tresses, und the gentlemen who own flexible voices, and 





MASHERS AND MASHING. 289 


flourish them through all the glorious variations of 
operatic music, seem to be most successful in captivat- 
Ing the fair and susceptible sex. ** It is hard to under- 
stand why it is,’’ says a Chicago newspaper, * but 
somehow, while girls recognize the powder and paint, 
the blonde wigs and penciled brows of a prima donna 
as so much make-up, they refuse to analyze the charms 
of a tenor, and his grease, paint, luxuriant locks, and 
graceful mustache are admired as his yery own, A 
ease in point was that of a young lady whose futher is 
well known on the Chicago Stock Exchange. She was 
violently smitten with Campsnini, and used to send 
him no end of beautifully written missives, and every 
night a bouquet of red roses, The letters especially 
attracted the attention of the tenor because they were 
written in smoothly flowing Itulian, and evidently by 
some one who wus more romantic than fist or wild, 
‘There was little trouble in finding out the fair corres- 
pondent, and Mme. Campanini, who has a good and 
lovely soul, sent note to the young lady and asked 
her to call. It is needles to say the latter's deligit- 
ful delusions wore quickly dispelled before the domes- 
tic life of the silver-toned tenor and the kindly advice 
of his good wifo. 

‘The oxtent to which these serio-comie love affairs 
are carried on is enormous, and sometimes the partics 
‘show an amusing ingenuity in their correspondence, 
Del Puente once went nearly wild with ungratified 
curiosity through the pranke of a mischievous school 
1, who was perpetually sending him love letters, in 
she declared she nover missed a single night 
“when he sung, and that when he left New York on his 
tour with Her Majesty's Company she should follow 
and be present at cvery performance. Sure 
in every city where he sang he received a 















MASHERS AND MASHING. 293 


swearing never again to poke his nose inside the etage- 
door, and furnishing chough to treat the boys. When 
at lust he was free, he made hasty tracks for the exit, 
and was heard to mutter as he went out, he’d be d—d 
if he wanted to be squeezed again, even by his charm- 
ing soubrette. 

The bald-headed men, though, get it worse than any- 
body else, and particularly so when their bald heads 
are hidden under wigs. A monkey had apart to play 
im & piece running at one of the metropolitan variety 
theatres. There was a pretty burlesque actress play- 
ing thore at the same time and she had « host of admir- 
ers with more money than brains. Among the num- 
ber was an addle-pated old rascal, who preferred the 
society of the ‘‘ artiste *' to that of his aged wife, who 
had lost the charms which enraptured his fancy when 
he led her years ago as a blushing bride to the altar. 
‘One evening the fellow bribed the door-keeper at. the 
stage entrance to admit him to thatrealm of dirt, paint, 
and faded tinsel « behind the scenes,” and he stationed 
himself in the wings in order to welcome his charmer 
when she retired amid the plaudits of the audience. 
But alas, the * best laid plans of mice and men gang 
aft aglee.”” ‘The monkey espied him, and at once fell 
in love with the glossy wig which covered the bald 
head. Swinging itself down from the flies the monkey 
made aswoop with its long arm and the masher was 
scalped, He cried lustily, but the monkey mado off 
with its trophy aud the masher sloped with a hand- 
kerchiof tied over bis head. 

Almost similar was the fate of a bewigged Parisian 
who was loafing and ++ mashing” behind the scenes of 
the Grand Opera. A dancer stood in the wings listen- 
ing to the prattlo of a silly old man. He was protest- 

- ing heartily his love for the young lady, aud was on 


294 MASHERS AND MASHING, 


the point of kissing her hand, when, as he stooped 
down, she snatched his wig from his head. At that 
moment she hud to appear on the stage, and did so 
amid laughter and applause; for she carried with hor 
the old fellow’s scalp ax if by way of trophy. The 
applause was less loud, but much more humorous on 
the stage; for the gay old lover and his bald head had 
to stand a deal of quizaing from those who, like him- 
self, were in the wings waiting for their ** little dears "” 
to return. 

Since the ostablishment of garden theatres for the 
summer months, in nearly all the large cities of the 
Union, the masher’’ finds ample field for the kind of 
sportheindulgesin. A girl in red tights created a great 
commotion among the swell mashers who frequented 
Ubrig's Cave, St. Louis, during the summer of 1881, 
and in that connection there could have been revela- 
tions that would carry grief into a few homes and bring 
disgrace upon not young and irresponsible men, but 
upon prominent citizens who were foolish enough to be 
fascinated by the crimson symmetricals. The frater- 
nity have a peculiar way of working a summer*garden, 
‘The phalanx of mashers begin operations early in the 
evening. They get to the garden before the lamps are 

id dust some of the chairs with their coat-tails and 
os. They watch the singers as they enter and 
orto catch some suggestion from them that a 
been effected. Now and then a soft, gazelle- 

nee or a sweet, girlish simper, like the smile on 
moukey’s under lip, gives a token of slight 
9, and then the masher's heart and eye are 

. When the curtain is rung vp and the 
don, the ‘*mashers'’ move in a body 
front of the stage aud dust some more of 
- Then they Gx their eyes like so many 










MASHERS AND MASHING. 295 


lances upon the girls and again attempt to impale 
hearts. After the performance they move in a double 
line to the side aisle of the garden, and, opening 
ranks, wait for the actresses to come out. When 
the actresses do come out they are 
obliged to run a gauntlet that would 
put any but a cast-iron woman 
with a heavy veil on to the reddest: 
blush, Sometimes a ‘masher’? 
accomplishes his aim in life and cup- 
tures u girl, but it is seldom. The 
professional poser has too wide a 
reputation and his figure is ax clear 
a “give-away”? as the cigar-sign 
Indian's, so that a reputable young 
lady who cares anything about con- 
tinuing to be respected and esteem- 
ed by ber friends is obdurate to 
the glances, the moustache, the 
smiles, the white hut, light pant- goles 
aloons, bamboo canes, and cheap & 

feditesttidle booquets = a URES 








‘Tho Saturday matinos young man, 
Tho tive-cont-clgar young man, 
‘The sweetly susceptible, somewhat disrep "table, 
Gare-and-admire-me young man. 

And so it goes on every night. Music and ‘‘ mash- 
ing" so charmingly dovetail thomselves to the enter 
tainment that thore is as much amusement in looking 
‘Up one as in listening to the other, 








298 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 


maidens in “ Patience’? in singing to her own ideal 
Bunthorne,— P 
‘Taro, ob turn in this direction, 
Shed, oh shed a gentle smite; 
‘With a glance of sad perfection 
My poor fainting heart beguile! 
‘On such eyes as maidens cherish 
Tet thy fond adorer gaze, 
Or tncontinently perish 
In thoir all-consuming rays. 
Or following Bettina through the mazes of the 
‘*Mnseotte”’ gobble song, while she had a Pippo of 
her own in mind all the time. Ambleleg noticed this 
growing affection, and sang all the louder, and all the 
wilder, to the great ondangerment of the performances. 
At last Miss Silica Justaytine left him a token of her 
love—a soft, white rose, which she kissed and pluced 
in her chair as she departed one evening. Ambleleg 
cleared the stage at a bound, secured the creamy 
flower, pressed it to his lips and over his calico shirt 
bosom, after which he carefully stowed it away in a 
pocket-book with his wash and board-bills. ‘The follow- 
ing day Miss Silica Justaytino was toying with a 
$10,000 neekluce in the bay window of her palatial resi- 
dence on Pinafore Avenue, when the postman handed 
her a letter in a yellow envelope. It was from Amble- 
leg. She blushed a3 ehe looked at it, then opened and 
read it, smiled and floated gracefully up'to an escritoire, 
whore she indited charming little note on pink mono- 
hum paper with heavy gold edges, and placed it in one 
of the nuttiest and moat serumptions envelopes you ever 
saw. Ambleleg road that note that very night to a 
oup of wide-eyed and open-mouthed chorus singers. 
d him to call on Miss Justaytine the next day. 
il was made, Miss Silica Justaytine received 
eg at the front door, and led him to the magni- 
4 graciously as if he were a prince. 











THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 209 


“My Pippo!” she cried, as she flung her arms 
around his neck, avd almost knocked over the piano 
stool. 

** My Bettina!” sighed the tenor, as he pressed her 
to his glowing bosom. 

After the first agony of meeting they sat down and 
told the stories of their love. COrnel fate had dealt 
harably with both. One was already engaged to be 
married ;-the other would not begin to have a ghost 
of a show at monogamy if wives were to be bad at ten 
conts a dozen. Miss Justaytine was botrothed to Mr. 
Praymore, « young man who had hopes of coming into 
afortine some day or other, providing be survived 
the parent who accumulated it. Mr. Ambleleg was 
impecunious ; still she said she could scrape up enough 
tobuy him a suit of clothes and a box of tooth-powder, 
and then they might fly together as fur as Eust St. 
Louis anyhow. Miss Justaytine was to become a wan- 
dering minstrel’s bride. She took the $5,000 diamond 
engagement ring Mr. Praymore bad given her, from 
her finger, and put on a $2 imitation amethyst that 
the chorus singer gave her. What simple, pure, and 
unselfish love. 

But the course of true love is as rough as the rocky 
roads in Dublin, Not content with wandering under 
his inamorata’s window every night wasting his breath 
in whistling Sullivan's music to pieces, while Bettina 
opened the shatters of the third-story window and 
softly sang,— 





For I mi-hy turkeys lore, 
to which Pippo melodiously responded, — 
Anil 1 my shoe-eep love. 
After which there was a mixture of + gobble, 
gobble,” and “ba-a-a-ahs."” Not content 
innocent and artistic way of amusing himself while he 








300 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR, 


kept people awake for blocks around, Ambleleg very 
indiscreetly boasted of his suceces, and exhibited Miss 
Silica Justaytine’s notes and photographs to indiscrim- 
inate crowds. One day he met Mr. Praymore and a 
prize-fighting brother of Miss Justaytine in the street. 
This brother had done yoeman’s service in the 24- 
foot ring, and required but slight provocation to 
disturb the clarct in a nose so inviting as that which 
decorated the middle of Mr. Amblcleg’s face. By the 
free use of whiskey punches these young men finally 
inveigled Ambleleg into a deep and dark cellar where 
they proceeded to touch him up with fists and feet 
that he might not be able to identify himself again. 
After materially spoiling his appearance, they made 
themselves presents of the photographs and letters 
which they found in his possession, gave him a few 
parting touches, and then went away to prepare an 
official statement of their side of the case. Ambleleg 
now had no more use for the Justaytine mansion, or 
the Justaytine beauty, so he made up his mind to heal 
his heart and his bruises with a $10,000 balm, For 
this purpose he went into court, Miss Silica had 
winged herself away to the Rosebud Sulphur Springs, 
and was not aware of the fame herself and her chorus 
singer were achieving at home. Ambleleg hired him 
two lawyers to plead his cause, and then there wns # 
great uproar all over the country. ‘The papers busied 
themselves about the matter very much, and impu- 
dently published all the details that they could get 
hold of. Quite natural it was that when Miss Silica 
Jnstaytine arrived st the Rosebud Sulphur Springs, 
the fashionable and celebrated beauties there should 
‘bo £0 jealous of hor triumph over a chorus singer, that 
‘they were sparing of their attentions and cutting in 

rremarks. Some of the same envious ones had had 








THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 301 


food for gossip a season or two before over Miss Silica 
dustaytine’s capture of a $15,000,000 ex-Presidental 
candidate. That a woman should range all the way 
from a Presidential candidate to a chorus singer, was 
unusual and interesting. So unpleasant did the gos- 
siping souls at Rosebud Sulphur Springs make it for 
Miss Silica Justaytine, that she hastened back to the 
more congenial atmosphere of her home on Pinafore 
Avenue. In the meantime, her prize-fighting brother 
and Mr. Praymore had, with the same courage that 
impelled them to decoy Mr. Ambleleg into a cellar, 
and beat him, and draw a Gatling gun on bim, fallen 
down on their knees before Miss Silica Justaytine and 
asked her to plead their cause. She consented, and by 
a swift-footed courier sent Ambleleg a message accom= 
panied by the talismanic words, “Pippo” and 
“Amethyst.” He stopped smoking a five-cent cigar 
and rushed out to the Justaytine mansion like a fire- 
engine pursued by an insurance man. His lawyer 
seized his cout-tail and followed, the two arriving 
there out of breath, the one bent on money, the other 
called by the sweet voice of love. 

“Oh, Pippo!” 

«Oh, Bettina!" 

‘This was the sulutation that fell from the two lovers 
as their eyes melted into each other. 

“Pippo, you have sued my prize-fighting brother 
and my ostensible lover for $10,000. They are short 
of cash just now and eannot conveniently pay. Please 
cut down the amount just a little bit, dear Pippo. 
For the sake of this amethyst (shows him the ring) I 
beg of you cut it down,” said she. 

** Til out it down, Bettina,” he said, ** but I do it 
only for your sweet dear sake,"? 

“How much?” she asked, 





302 ‘THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 2 


“AIL T want,” he answered, is enough to buy a 
silver watch, a new suit of clothes, pay my board aud 
wash bill, get me three cigars for ten cents, and take 
me home to my mother. I think I can get slong with 
$500." 

“Ts that all?” the charming and delighted creature 
inquired. 

«Not quite all,’ put in Amblelog ; ‘+ the two Jaw- 
yors I have hired cannot be assunged with less than 
$500. We three —that is, the two lawyers and my~ 
self—want $500 apiece. Thus you sce I cut the 
$10,000 down $8,500," and he jammed his thumbs 
into the urm-holes of his yest and aseumed the attitude 
of aman who could lose that amount in a game of 
poker every day in the week and never feel the loss. 

‘©Oh, Pippo, you are so good to reduce so libor- 
ally,’” said Miss Justaytine, and she threw her arms 
around his neck and kissed him in a wild and jrre- 
sponsible way. 

‘Thus the interview ended, and as Amblelog ambled 
dosn the front steps Miss Silica Justaytine sat down — 


CHAPTER XXI. 
FISHING FOR PREK PUFFS. 


The merchant who has anything to dispose of adver- 
tises it, and the most successful men in any line of 
business are those who are most liberal in the use 
of printers’ ink. The theatrical fraternity thoroughly 
understand this, and their first and foremost idea in 
everything they do is to get themselves before the 
public, and, if possible, keep themselves there. Their 
Appreciation of the value of « puif or notice is beauti- 
fully set forth in the following funny paragraph which 
T found floating around in the newspapers : — 

“A Leadville paper stated that « well-known actress 
wha visited that city went to a saloon after a per- 
formance, played poker, got drank, licked the bar= 
tender, and cleaned out the crowd. Of course she was 
very indignant and was going to cowhide the editor, 
when the amazed journalist explained to her that it 
‘Was a first-class puff that would get her an opening in 
society in Leadville, And then she thanked him and 
gave him a dozen passes." 

Some actors, and some actresses, too, do not care 
& cent what the means employed are or what the 
“pritted matter is, xo the names are their own and once 
more they are before the people. Tho great majority, 
hawever, while anxious to appear in print as often and 
Tis many columns us a paper can spare without 
‘out paying advertisements, ure very scrupu- 

ut the ehayscter of the statements eredited to 
- (303) 












FISHING FOR FREE FUFES. 305 


them or actions spoken of, while ull affect to be niterly 
independent of the press and to have ne regard what~ 
ever for the good it can do them, or the harm either. 
If they meant what they said they might be set down 
as foolish; but they do not mean anything of the 
kind, and the fuct that day after day the most out- 
mugeous stories about professional people go uncon= 
troverted, is an indication that not ouly are they 
willing to have such things published, but may have 
instigated them themselves. 

The only kind of newspaper notice a Thespian might 
not court, but which, once printed, would be looked 
upon philosophically as so much printers’ ink obtained 
for nothing—so much advertising had that wasn’t 
paid for—is such a ono as the announcement of the 
‘attempt of a sheriff to lasso Miss Fanny Davenport, 
in order that ho might be able to hold her long 
enough to read a writ of some sort to her. 

Difforent actors and actresses have different ways of 
advertising themselves. The interview is a favorite 
with some, and often the interview is so arranged that 
the player can appear before the newspaper man in 
some eccentric attitude that will attract more attention 
than all the player could say if he talked for one hun- 
dred years. Harry Sargont likes a reporter to eee 
Modjeska,; and as the visitor enters he finds the Polish 
actress firing across the room with a pistol at a small 
target, which she manages to hit every time. Dis- 
playing diamonds is another scheme to catch the un- 
Wary newspaper man. Sending along photographs is 
expected to throw an editor into an ecstacy of liberal- 
ity out of which he will come with at least a half-col- 
winn puff of the pretty creature whose counterpart 
‘Presentment has been senttohim, Diamond robberies 

» 


= 

















312 FISHING FOR FREE PUPFS. 


ing over her stock of presente could think of noth- 
ing more suitable or anything that would prove more 
acceptable to the dramatic oritice of Sun Francisco and 
hor friends than to givo each one of her slippers. So 
sho held a reception ; and, dressed in Oriental toilet, 
she prosented cach as he came with ono of the tiny 
silken slippers in which her tootsics used to slumber on 
the stage. It was such a novel proceeding that Miss 
Melville got more gratuitous puffing than she could have 
paid for with the profits of one of her best seasons, 
Henry Mapleson, whom I know has no fear of the 
newspaper man, but rather courts his society and wooes 
the columns of his paper, made the following ridiculous 
statement (to a reporter) concerning the manner in 
which he and his wife, Marie Roze, were pestered by 
reporters on the road; ‘They began early in the 
morning. When I first opened my bed-room door I 
was sure to find one or two outside of it. No detail 
was too small forthem. They would follow us around 
and give scraps of our conversation, and one fellow 
even Sut at the same dinner-table with us in Kansas 
City und printed a list of all the things my wife ate, 
muking it sbout five times as long as the truth called 
for, and adding such trifles as four oranges, six pieces 
of cake, etc. My wife was so angry when this account 
appeared in the afternoon paper that we determined to 
have our supper in our room, and, as the landlord would 
‘not consent to that, I bought a steak during the even- 
ing, and Marie Roze, still dressed us Helen of Troy, 
began to cook it over u spirit lamp. We were can- 
gratulating ourselves that no reporter would know any- 
thing about that supper, when a knock was given on 
the door. * Who's there?’ Tealled out. The answer 
camo back through the keyhole: +Iam a reporter of 
‘the Morning Buzzard, and I want to know what you 











PISHING FOR PREE PUPFS. 813 


had for supper. That Evening Crow fellow got ahead 
of me on the dinner, but I'll fetch him on the supper.’ '” 

A story that illustrates, in an exaggerated way, 
though, the tricks of the dramatic profession, is told of 
a shrewd agent who found himself in Mansfield, Ohio, 
with a company on his hands and pursued by bad 
business so relentlessly that he began to have doubts 
that he would ever see Union Square again. In this 
strait he called his never-failing wits to his aid and 
devised « plan straightway that: led him out of the diffi- 
culty, as had happened to him many atime before. He 
wont to the room of his star — his lending lady ad 
knocked. He was admitted. «* Why, Sam," said 
sho, ** what do yougrant at thts hour?!” - 

« L want your ear,” said be. 

“Oh, is that all,”’ said the leading lady, recovering 
from her pallor ; «* I thought — but no matter; go on."” 

** You know business is bad,’’ said he. 

«© Well, I should smile,”’ said the artiste; ** since I 
haven't had any salary for four weeks. What's the 
new racket."" 

* Tt's this,”” said the agent: ** If we expect to go out 
of this town we've got to do something Napoleonic. 
And you've got to do it." 

“You forget my sex,’’ said she. 

** No, I don’t,”’ said ho; ‘* there may be a Napoleon 
in petticoats as woll as in trousers,” 

“* Very well, what is it?’’ : 

“1 want to got a column in cach of the daily 
Papers.”” 

* Well, I guess you'll want it, for all the newspaper 
boys know we've got a snide show this time,'’ she 
said, 
“ Well, I guess not, if you'll do what I tell you,’” 
said the artfal agent. 

“What is that?’’ inquired the guileless actress. 





B14 YISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. 


“You know the railroad bridge outside of town?” 

«That shaky old wooden structure of patehed logs 
and sleepers? ”* 

Yes" 

** Well, what of it?” 

“ That bridge will get us columns in every paper for 
forty miles around." 

* You've got. ‘em, Sam, sure.’ 

“No, Thaven’t. I’m solid on the biz. Nowlisten: 
[want you to go to-morrow and stand in the middle 
of that bridge when the two 2:20 trains pass each 
other going in opposite directions.”” 

* Well, you are fresh, What'll T do that for? '* 

« Por an ‘ad, . 

** And where will I be when the trains pass?" 

“Why, if you're smart and listen to mo, you'll be 
clinging to the trestle-work underneath until they pass + 
over you, then I'll head on back to the hotel and have 
all the reporters come up and interview you, and then 
there will be columns published, the house will be 
filled that night and we will rake in a heavy stake.’’ 

The actress saw the point and had the pluck to exe- 
cute the project of theagent. She stood on the bridge 
at the appointed timo. Sho shricked in the most. 
frantic manner, Tho ongineor reversed the engine and 
whistled down brakes, but in spite of all the train 
passed over her. There was a great sensation, She 
was dragged out from the trestlework and taken to 
the hotel. The papers which would not take the 

. advertisement of the show because the manager could 
not pay in advance sent reporters to interview the 
actress on her narrow eseape, and gave columns to the 
company. The result was a series of full houses and 
the *snides" mado a triamphant march castward 
on the impetus of the shrewd agent's ** gag.’” 











CHAPTER XXII. 
THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 


Tn no other country in the world does the inter- 
viewer's profession thrive as in these United States. 
From the cabinet minister —nay, the President him- 
self — down to the common felon, all at difforent times 
aro liable to what is called «the prossure of the pump- 
ing process.” Somo classes naturally like being 
interviewed, because all publicity adds to their impor- 
tance and notoriety. ‘The politicians are a specimen of 
this specios. Thon, again, another class regards the 
interview as a legitimate means of advertising and 
of attracting public attention to themeclyes and their 
doings. This claze specially includes the dramatic pro- 
fession. An enterprising manager is always ready to 
introduce his star to a journalist. Actresses and prima 
donne are to a great degree public personages, and 
there is an insatiable desire on the part of individuals 
to learn something of the foot-light favorites when they 
have doffed the stage costume, rubbed off the paint and 
powder, and become, ns it were, for the time being an 
ordinary mortal. Hence, the newspapers have catered 
to this popular inquisitiveness, and there is scarcely an 
actress or sweet singer of note who has not passed the 
ordeal of the interviewing fiend. Mr. Henry W. 
Moore, city editor and dramatic critic of the St. Louis 
Post-Dispatch, who has done as much interviewing in 
this line as any newspaper min in the Western country, 

(315) 





i 





316 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 


thus records his impressions of the operatic and 
dramatic celebrities whom he has met: — 

Adelina Patti, the casta diva, always receives the 
journalist attired in handsome toilettes. Her marriage 
with the Marquis de Caux rendered her aristocratic in 
manners, and her behavior always has in it a tinge of 
nobilesse oblige. There is an almost imperceptible 
flavor of condescension in her tone, which, while 
courteous, israther formal. Since her separation from 
De Caux, La Marquise has become more accessible, 
and both she and Nicolini are almost warm in their 
effusions to journalists. 

Christine Nilsson receives the interviewer pleasantly, 
but rather dignified in mannéF, She is somewhat cold 
in conversation, but her manners are always courteous. 
She talks little. 

Etelka Gerster likes the interviewer, At first she 
regarded him as an American curiosity, but having « 
learned his value she began to caress him. Gerster is 
not at all so sweet in private life as is generally be- 
lieved. ‘The Hungarian prima donna is very passionate 
and quick-tempered, and rules her husband, Dr. 
Gardine, with ber whims. In the presence of the 
journalist she conceals her claws beneath her velvety 
hand and is sweetness itself. She talks much, dotes 
on America and the American people, and all that sort 
of gush, Her dresses are not particularly artistic, 
conveying the impression that she is slovenly in this 
regard. 

Clara Kellogg submits to an interviow as if it were 
aregalar business transaction. Her mother is always 
present and will frequently make suggestions. Miss 
Kellogg chats pleasantly, but she has no warmth in her 
manner and no magnetism in her conversation. 

Annie Louise Cary is what the journalists term a 


‘THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 3a 


‘jolly’ girl. She does not care a whit what she says 
or does. She will laugh and chat as if the interviewer 
were an old acquaintance. She greets him with a spon~ 
taneous warmth and familiarity which are pleasant to 
him. He may ask the most inquisitive questions and 
she will reply with a shrewd smile. Amiable, good- 
tempered and lively in disposition, she is a great 
favorite with newspaper men. 

Minnie Hauk is impetuosity personified. Minnie 
usually has a grievance against her manager, and she 
will pour her woes into the journalist’s ears with re- 
markableloquacity. But Minnie hasa mother. After 
the interviewer is gone Minnie will send him 2 note or 
a messenger requesting him in Heaven's name not to 
publish what she said or she would be undone. Yet, 
the next time Minnie meets a night of the quill she 
reiterates her woes and wrongs with the same linpetu- 
osity. Sheis frank toa fault, and confides a good dealin 
human nature. Her frankness has Involved her several 
times in trouble. She is very apt to become unrea- 
sonably jealous of any other prima donna in the troupe, 
and thus always keeps the impressario in a state of 
nervousness. 

Emma Abbott is the guaher par excellence. At the 
first glance of the interviowor sho rushes towards him, 
Seizes him with both her hands, is Olt, so, so glad to 
see him! Sho talks with groat rapidity and unceas- 
ingly. Tho scribe to her is an old familiar friend. 
She insists on his calling on hor, dining with her, etc., 
ete. Her friendliness is overwhelming. She loads the 
Journalist with favors, and almost embraces him in the 
ardor of her affection, 

‘Sarah Bernhardt has all the French warmth and 
demonstrativeness. She is witty and vivacious in her 
conversation, really likes journalists, and will spend a 
‘whole day with thom. She never tires, and is a study 


318° ‘THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 


to the newspaper man. Sho is, however, not insensi- 
ble to flattery. Her curiosity about things American 
is very keen. Being a delightful entertainer, she was 
very popular with the journalistic profession, She is 
fond of inviting them to breakfust. 

‘Clara Morris is an excellent subject for au interview. 
Miss Morris always prepares to receive the representa~ 
tive of the press in some picturesque attitude or pose. 
Sho has a fine perception of artistic effect, and never 
loses sight of the fact that it is an interview, and hence 
has an eye to what will appear in print. In her dis- 
course she aims to be epigrammatic and witty; likes 
to be novel and original. Her knowledge is very 
varied, and she converses with case and fluoney, Her 
face sparkles, and her reception is always extremely 
cordial. 

Modjeaka, otherwise the Countess Bozenta, is, per 
haps, the best educated actress on the stage. Sho is a 
gifted linguist, well read in French, German, and Eag- 
lish literature. She is a charming conversationalist. 
In manners she is a perfect lady, without any stage 
eccentricities. She is a delightful hostess, and dis- 
penses hospitality most gracefully. Her bearing is 
courteous but thoroughly friendly, and there is the 
impress of fa grande dame in her demeanor. She is 
partial to canin® pets. 

Adelaide Neilson captured every journalist who ever 
interviewed her. She seemed to bend all her energies 
to captivate her visitor. Her remarkable beauty was 
“a powerfal aid, and the charm of her manner wus irre 
le. When necessary, she was almost a man of 
and transacted her affairs with much ability. 
Adelaide was too potent a spell for ordinary in- 
‘to withstand, and she always carried her 










‘Anderson is great talker. Her mother and 


‘THE ACTRESS AND TIE INTERVIEWER. B19 


etop-fathor, Dr. Hamilton Griffin, are usually in at- 
tendanee at an interview. She is decided in her opin- 
fons, and oxpresses her views fearlessly, but her 
remarks are superficial, She is lively and a regular 
tom-boy, and hesitates at nothing. 

Fanny Davenport, who is noted for her expensive 
costumes on the stage, is the reverse in private life. 
She is nearly always in a neglige attire and looks some- 
what slovenly. Fanny is rather averse to the inter- 
viewer, but when she submits she is as charming and 
pleasant a hostess as can be imagined. But nevertho- 
less she thinks it a decided bore to entertain. 

Maggie Mitchell is a whole-souled, gencrous woman, 
without a spark of affectation. She is frank, pleasant, 
and amiable. 

Lotta, vivacious Lotta, is very demure in the pres 
ence of her mother and the journalist. She is quite 
unlike the Lotta of the stage. Mrs. Crabtree joins in 
the conversation, which Lotta carries on in a very sub= 
dued but friendly manner. 

Janauschek is firm, solid, and determined in her 
convictions. She has strong likes and dislikes. She 
talks with much emphasis. 

Mrs. D. P. Bowers is a pleasant lady to visit. She 
is quite motherly in her manners. Her conversation 
contains much shrewd, caustic depth. 

Churlotte Thompson is intellectual, She possesses 
what the French call esprit and her conversation is 
always enjoyable. 

Emma Thursby ix r ‘The queen 
of the concert-room is vivacious, lively, and talkutive. 
She is exceedingly fond of representatives of the press. 

Marie Roze is only an indifferent entertainer. She 
is very fond of pet dogs. The effort is always visible 
in her conversation, and the visitor feels that she be~ 
lieves sho is merely doing « necessary duty. 





CHAPTER XXIIL 
A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAYORITES, 


Little Peggy, afterwards the famous Mistreas Wof- 
fington, was down at the shores of Liffey drawing 
water for her mother, when Madame Violante, a rope- 
walker, met her, and taking a liking to the girl, made 
terms with the parents and obtained possession of her, 
Madame Violante walked the rope with a child tied to 
her feet, and lovely little Peggy for « while assisted in 
this way at her mistress’s entertainments. When the 
Madame got to Dublin she found a juvenile company 
playing <*Cinderella”’ there, and at onee began the 
organization of a class of children, who appeared in 
the play with Peggy as one of the bright luminaries. 
This was her introduction to the stage, which she trod 
with such brilliant success in after years. Nor was 
she the only one of the famous old English actresses 
trained to the drama from childhood. All through 
the history of thentricals, from and before Woffing~ 
ton’s time, children were made participants in the 
and the seeds planted thus early ripened into 
richest fruit, Until a very recent date it was not 
| the duty of anybody to interfere with this 
jing —not even with the barbarous treat- 













th Less than a half century ago the 
‘ehildren went through the country dancing, 
olested by any philanthropically inclined 
excessively humane individual. The 








A YEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. S21 


juvenile ‘ Pinafore’’ companies of two seasons ago 
wore regarded kindly by press and publie; and, in- 
deed, until quite recently no extraordinary war was 
mado against presonting the talents of a child actor or 
netress to the people, Tho Society for the Prevention 
of Cruelty to Children has, however, organized a 
stubborn resistance to the employment of little ones 
in stage representations; and while it may be well to 
exercise some authority for the protection of infants 
and for the preservation of the stage from a deluge 
of child-talent, there can be no justification in allowing 
that authority to run riot in plucking every blossom 
from the tree of histrionism, and erecting a permanent 
barrier against the development of native talent, when 
any happens to exist in a child of tender years. The 
experience of more than two centuries shows that the 
best training is that which begins carliest, which begins 
slowly, and widens only with the slow progress of the 
years. There are very few actors or actresses who 
haye walked out of private life into the glare of the 
foot-lights with anything like success. The amateur 
may sometimes be suddenly metamorphosed into a 
full-fledged professional, with a bit of reputation to 
help him along the road he has chosen to travel, but 
this happens very rarely. Only those who begin early 
and study hard, and who have often to wait a long 
time for recognition, guin a place in the Thespian 
temple, and it is to those whose infant eyes open 
almost upon the mysteries and wonders of the mimic 
world, whose little limbs grow to strength behind the 
scenes, and whose lives are identified completely with 
all that huve place or being behind the foot-lights, that 
it is given to hope for position in the profession into 
which they have been born instead of kidnapped. 

T think the society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 

a 











—— 


A FEW FOOT-LIOHT FAVORITES. 323 


Children did a very good thing when it took Little 
Corinne from the stage, The child was overtaxed far 
beyond her years; there was nothing very clever about 
her any more than there would be about a school-girl 
of the same age who had been taught to speak her 
piece and did it boldly, but awkwardly and inavtisti- 
cally. It was moro painful than pleasant to sit out a 
performance of * Cinderella’’ with this offspring of 
the Kemble family in the role of the heroine of the 
glass slipper, and it was a temporary blessing to the 
public while the little thing was kept out of the way. 
Like all the precocious ventures on the stage, Corinne 
‘will gradually fade from memory, and the only thought 
Tet of her will be a painful recollection of her childish 
efforts to please the grown people who were foolish 
enough to go to the theatre to see her. 

The young man or the young lady who has given 
years of study to preparation for the stage finds the 
debut night one fraught with fears and hopes. There 
are friends behind the scenes and friends in the audi- 
ence willing to overlook faults and exaggerate excel- 
Joncies; but there are cold, stern critics, too, anxious 
to puncture the new candidate for public favor in every 
tender spot their cruel eyes ean search out, and there 
i the great public, that fickle hody whose applause or 
condemnation often depends upon the whim of the 
moment. The effort is an enormous one to the new 
player; the suspense, frightful. A whole life's work 
may be swept out of sight in a moment, and the life 
itself blighted forever, But when the moment of suc- 
cess arrives—what a thrill of joy the triumph sends 
tothe heart of the actress, if actross it be! Whata 
droam of glory she already begins to live in! How 
hor brain throbs and her heart bounds, and all the 
‘world scems a paradise, beautiful aud fair as Eden was 











S24 A FEW FOOTLIGHT FAVORITES. 


when it loft. the hands of the Crestor! Friends crowd 
around, the house is ringing with applanse, and she 
tears away from the congratulations and kisses and 
hand-shakings to step out before the curtain, and, with 
glowing face and tears in her eyes, kisses her hand and 
makes a profoundly thankful obeisance to the audience. 
‘Then sho roturns to her crowding friends on the stage, 
from the manager down to tho call-boy and sceno- 
shifters, and hor cars ring with praise and encouraging 
words until it is time for the curtain to go up once 
more. 

The debut of Emma Livry, an artiste who promised 
to lead a very brilliant career, but who was suddenly 
and carly cut down by death, is described in a very in~ 
teresting manner by one who was present. It was ab 
the Grand Opera House, Paris, and the theatre was 
filled from parquette to domo with an extraordinary 
audience, Louis Napoloon was there, and the Empresa 

ic ; princes and dukes filled the boxes, and the 

nobility of France, representative Americans and 

prominent Englishmen were in the audience, Emma 

Livery was thon only sixteen. From her carliest ehild- 

hood, says the writer, she had heen devoted to the art 

dancing —though this was no extraordinary thing, 

are a large number of girls always in training 

nd Opera in Paris, who are taken at the age 

rs, and kept in constant practice until they 

when they appear in public. But 

shown extraordinary genius. In her later 

rated dancer, Marie Taglioni, Countess 

of the new dancer, left her villa on 

no, and her palace in Venice, to come 

the girl lessons. Her improvement 

us, Tuglioni said she would renew the 
if had won in former days, 









A FEW POOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 825 


And now she glided upon the stage. The brilliant 
audience ceased their chatter as she appeared. The 
oceasion took the character of what it was afterwards 
called in the newspapers —** a great solemnity.’’ She 
was vory young and was just at thit period in the life 
of « girl when hor figure is apt to bo what old-fash- 
foned people call raw-boned. She was tall, thin, and 
pale. Her face was not habdsome. Her form gave 
no evidence of physical strength. 

She was received in a hush of silence, “Let us 
seo,” this great audience seemed to say, ** what you 
really can do in thi poetic art.” Any one who could 
haye connected sensuality or grosancss with this girl 
would have been baser than a sybarite; and yet her 
dress was the conyentional dress of ballet dancers — 
short to the ealf of tho leg but thickly clad above, 

She began. O Graco, you never found a prototype 
tillnow! © Painting, Sculpture, you paled before this 
supple, clastic, firm, yet dainty troud. At the conclu 
sion of her first movement, when with a gush of sweet 
music she sprang like a fawn to the foot-lights, and ex- 
tending her slender arms and delicate hands towards 
the audience, as if to ask, ‘* Come, what is the ver- 
diet on me now?’ a burst of enthusiastic applause, 
Tod shouts of “ Brava!’ and ‘ Bravissimal’’ 
«C'est magnifique !'' waving of perfumed handker- 
chiefs, adeluge of sweet flowers formed the response, 

The whole evening was a series of triumphs. The 
Emperor and Empress sent an aid-de-camp behind the 
scene to offer her the Imperial congratulations, Marie 
Taglioni, accompanied by her noble husband, sought 
the girl also, and taking from her breast a magnificent 
diamond star, which had been given her in former 
days by the Emperor of Russia, ‘Here,’ said she, 





A FEW POOTIIGHT PAVORITES. 327 


“take this the queen of dance, Marie Tuglioni, is 
dead — long live the queen, Emma Livry!”’ 

As 1 pasted out amongst the dense crowd, the 
writer continues, I saw a woman of middle age, and 
respectably dressed, leaning against one of the mar- 
ble columns in the vestibule. Her face was flushed 
and she was wiping tears from her eyes. 

* You weep, Madonna?"’ said a gentleman who was 
passing. 

«Yes, Monsicur,’* she roplied, ** but it is with joy. 
Who would not be proud ab auch a daughter, and of 
sueh a tribute to her genius? 

There are few favorites of the public to-day who 
have not fought their way to the front inch by inch, 
who have not sacrificed everything for their art, toiling 
through the day that the work of the night might 
show improvement —very few who have not served 
years of apprenticeship on the stage before the mo- 
ment of success arrived. And this has been the rule 
always. Nell Gwynne, the fishegitl, whose beauty 
and bright repartee attracted the attention of Lacy, the 
actor, and who peddled oranges to the audience before 
she began to amuse them on the stage, mauaged with- 
out much trouble, and during 9 short stage experience, 
to win the hourt of Charles I., who made her his mis- 
tress and retained her while he lived, his parting 
words to those around his death-bed being, ‘* See that 
poor Nelly doesn’t starve ;"" but Nelly did starve, Sho 
died in poverty and left a line of dukes to perpetuate 
her plebeian blood in royal veins. She dicd in 
November, 1687, in her thirty-seventh year. 

Lola Montez, the pretty Irish girl who in her four- 
teenth year eloped with one Capt. James to avoid a 
disagreeable marriage, accompanied him to India, 
where they got mutually tired of ench other and re- 








328 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT Favorites. 


turning to England studied dancing and went on the 
stage, was another of those fortunate and unfortunate 
fascinating women whose lives fude away fust and 
who after a brief hey-day of luxuries lie down in rags 
and poverty to seek a needed rest that is never broken. 
She won the hearts of kings, led a revolution in 
Poland, and finally, after being driven from her Bava- 
rian castle where, as Countess of Lansfield she had 
ruled, and strutting a brief hour in London ia male 
attire, died in this country January 17, 1861. Her 
ashes rest in Greenwood Cemetery, but sho waa saved 
from a paupor’s grave only through the charity of 
some friend. During her life sho had thrown away 
millions. Fallin, the husband of Maude Granger, is 
the son of the man with whom Lola Montez bud her last 
escapade, Fallin, Sr., deserting his family in New 
York to accompany Lola to San Francisco. Her real 
name was Marie Dolores Eliza Rospanna Gilbert. 

Another child of genius whom waywardness and 
frailty brought to an early grave was Adelaide McCord, 
better known to the workl as Adah Isaacs Menken. 
She was born near New Orleans, June 15, 1835, and 
when still young went on the stage asa ballet dancer 
‘one of the theatres of the Crescent City. She had 
expelled from school, and tiring of her native yil- 
where she had created a sensation by embracing 
faith, she made the journey to New Orleans, 

have said went on the stage. Her career 

ota very brilliant one until she began play- 

the part with which her name has since 
d. Prior to her time men had appeared - 

. Her first appearance was on Monday 

» 1861, in the Green Street Theatre, 

wm under the management of Capt. John 

‘the first attempt to go up the run the 





A FEW FOOT-LIOHT FAVORITES. $29 


horse after making one tira fell, crashing throagh the 
seenery with the Menken on its back. Horse and rider 
were picked up, and after some delay the ascent was 
mude amidst a great denl of cuthusinsm. The appeur- 
ance of 80 beautiful a woman os Menken in the seareity 
of clothing that Mazeppa requires created a furore, 
and from that time her success was assured, She 
fought spiritedly in the combat scene, breaking her 
sword and otherwise won the good opinion of her 
first andience. Provious to this sho had married 
Alexander Menken, a musician in Galveston, but 
by this time also she had obtaincd an Indiana 
divorce. While in New York she met John C, Hee- 
nan, fresh from his victory over Tom Suyers, and 
after a brief courtship married him. Another Indiana 
divorce soon dissolved this knot, as it did « third time 
in the case of Orpheus C, Kerr (Robt, H. Newell). 
All this time her fame was growing. She went to 
London, and after setting the English metropolis on 
fire with her beauty returned to New York, where she 
married James Barclay, a merchant, in whose mansion 
she and her friends held such wild orgies that Barclay 
was glad when she fled to Paris, where she was stricken 
down in the midst of her mad career, in 1868. The 
bricf but expressive epitaph, “Thou knowest,’” is 
carved upon her tomb. 

Mary Anderson, the tragedienne, is the most phe~ 
nomenal success of late years. She was born July 28, 
1859, in Sacramento, California. Her parents re- 
moved to Louisville when she was one year and a half 
old, and there she was educated in the Ursuline Con- 
vent. She had a longing to be an actress from 
her earliest years, and all her readings tended in 
the direction of the stage. She was tiken away from 
school at the age of thirteen, to pursue hee studies for 

















A PEW FOOT-LIGHT FavontTES. 3al 


plivhed, a hard student, and one of the noblest and 
fairest of hor sex that ever adorned the stage. 

Lotta Mignon Crabtree, another of the very success- 
ful women on the stage, and one of the brightest sou~ 
brettes that ever delighted a public, was born at No. 
750 Broadway, New York, on November 7, 1847. In 
1854 her people removed to Califoruia, and Lotta 
made her first nppearance on a stage at a concert given 
at Laport; her second appexrance was at Petaluma, in 
1858, when she played Gertrude in ‘The Loan of a 
Lover.” She starred, they say, for two yeurs as La 
Petite Lotta. Before she made her appearance in New 
York we hear of her In San Francisco at Burt's New 
Idea and Gilbert’s Melodeon —~concert saloons — 
where Joe Murphy, Barnard, Cotton, Pest, Burbank, 
Billy Shoppard, Backus and other prominent minstrels 
were engaged. The Worrell Sisters, Maggie Moon 
(now Mrs. Williamson) and Lotta were in the com- 
pany, and there was great rivalry between them at the 
time. Tho theatre was crowded every night up to the 
close of the first part in which there was a ** walk 
around,’’ in which the girls entered into the liveliest 
kind of a competition, Each did her utmost to out- 
dance the other. Eneh favorite hud her host of 
admirers and the demonstration on the part of the 
audience was intense. After the * walk around”’ the 
house became almost empty, showing that this was the 
attractive feature, Lotta was yery ambitious, and 
whenever she failed to score a triumph she would 
retire to her dressing-room and cry bitterly. From 
San Francisco her parents took her to New York, 
where she gave her first performance at Niblo’s Saloon, 
June 1, 1864. She wasn't a success in New York, so 
she went to Chicago and played “The Seven Sisters" 
at McVicker’s. Fortune began to smile on her there, 





B34 A PEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 


then began starring in ‘The French Spy,” “ The 
Young Prince,” and like plays, but did nothing remark- 
able until, as I have already said, she made a hit in 
“Panchon,’’ an adaptation of George Sands's novel 
‘La Petite Fadette.” Following this came ‘‘ Jane 
Eyre,’ «The Pearl of Savoy,” and ‘ Mignon.” 
Miss Mitchell has amassed a fortune by her efforts. 
Her name off the stage is Mrs. Paddock, she having 





POA ANNOTT. 


married Mr. Henry Paddock, of Cleveland, Ohio, in 
Troy, New York, October 15, 1868, 

Emma Abbott, the finest of American lyric artistes, 
after the usual freaks of an ambitious childhood and 
the trials of an operatic training in Milan and Paris, 
was given a London engagement by Mr. Gye and 
made her debut at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent 
Garden, on May 2, 1876. The debut was a success, 


A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES, B35 


and with the congratulation of friends, the best wishes 
ofall who knew her, and the predictions of the best. 
judges of vocal music that she had a brilliant future 
ahead of her, she set out on a tour of the provinces, 
Singing through England and Ireland and everywhere 
winning the love and applause of the people. Return- 
ing to her own country the artiste gave two seasons of 
concerts, and began to sing light opera. She has 
created the role of Virginia in ** Paul and Virginia,” 
and Juliet in « Romeo and Juliet,” both which operas 
she introduced here. Hor repertory includes, besides 
the two namod, “Tho 
Bohemian Girl,’ “ Martha,’ «Il Trovatore,’ and 
“Faust.” She has a sweet, cleur, crystalline voice, 
which she uses to grent effect, is a charming Indy por- 
sonally, a careful, pure, and energetic artiste, and 
altogether wholly deserves to be culled, as she is, 
** Honest Little Emma.”’ 

Marion Elmore, a charming little soubrette who is 
looking after Lotta’s laurcls, is a native of England 
and bas been on the stage since her third your, having 
then played Meente with Jo Jefferson in “ Rip Van 
Winkle.” She was born in 1860 in a tent on the gold 
fields of Sandhurst, Australia, She camo to this 
country with Lydia Thompson in 1878, and played in 
burlesque until the season of 1881-2 when she took 
a soubrette part in Willie Edouin’s ** Sparks.”’ Sho ix 
now starring under the management of Hayden & Davis 
in “« Chispa,”’ a California play. 

Edwin Booth, the illustrious son of Janius Brutus 
Booth, was born at Belair, neur Baltimore, Maryland, 
in November, 1833. He was his father’s dresser, 
accompanying him ou all his tours, and reoeiving from 
him lessons iu histrionism, On September 10, 1849, 
he made his first appearance at the Boston Muzeum as 





336 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 


Tressel, in “ Richard TH.,"’ and on May 22, 1850, 
appeared at the Arch Street Theatre, Philidelphia, as 
Wilford, in the ‘Tron Chest."' In 1850 he distin- 
guished himself by playing ** Richard I1.,"" at the 
Chatham Theatre, New York, in the place of his father, 
who had disappointed, Tis first. independent. appear= 
ance in the metropolis, however, was made on May 4, 
1857, ax Richard ITT., ut.the Metropolitan, afterwards 
the Winter Garden Theatre. Tu 1851 he went to Cali- 
fornia and thence wandered to the Sandwich Islands 
and Australia in 1854. In 1857 he returned to New 
York. He was known xs an actor of ability, bot it 
was not until his famous engagements at the Winter 
Garden that he succeeded in making a really profound 
impression on the public. During this revival «“Ham- 
let? run one hundred nights and Mr. Booth at once 
stepped to a foremost position before the public, His 
disastrous Investment in the theatre that bore his 
name in New York is well known. It compelled him 
to go into bankruptey in 1572, since whieh time he 
has been the most successful of Amorican stars. He 
has been twice marr to Mary Devlin, an actress 
in 1861, who died in 1862, and to Mary MeVieker, 
daughter of J. H. MeVicker, of Chicago, who died in 
1881, His Hamlet is the finest interpretation of that 
character on the American stage, and this with Ber- 
tuceio, in ** The Fool's Revenge,’* and Brutus, are his 
best impersonations, 

John McCullough, though born in Ireland, eame to 
thie country when very young. He was poor and an 
orphan, and poverty had beon * looking in at the door”? 
of the humble home where he passed his boyhood for 
many a year. Yet the tenant furm which bis father 
hold was once the pride of all the country round, and 
the child's earliest recollections called to mind a happy 




















A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES, 387, 


time which too soon, alas, passed away. THis mother 
had died when the son was a mere lad, and misfortunes 
came not singly but in hosts after that bereavement. 
Sir Harvey Bruce, the landlord of the estate, though 
« kindly man, as Mr. McCullough testified, claimed his 
legal rights, and all that xppertained to the estate held 
by the family was taken possession of by law, and 
father and son driven out from their home. 

** How well I recall the time,”’ said Mr. McCullough, 
‘and every scene and incident of that eviction —as it 
would, I suppose, be called now. IT was a boy of 
about twelve years or so, and the greatest trial to me 
was the sale of « pony which I prized most highly. 1 
couldn't bear to part with the pony, and Sir Harvey 
Bruce, who saw my grief and knew its cause, kindly 
arranged mattors so that before long I was able to-call 
the animal once more my own. Tt was an act of good~ 
ness which, of course, I have never forgotten.”* 

Not long ufter the eviction the father died, and the 
boy was left in the care of an uncle, But, like thou- 
sands of others, young McCullough had heard of the 
land of freedom beyond the Atlantic, and it was not 
long before he decided ta leave kindred and friends, 
and seek a home in America. With all his earthly 
possessions in a bundle the young lad landed at New 
York, and with characteristic pluck and energy began 
the battle for existence. Hoe followed various callings, 
but soon felt within him the desire to become an actor. 
Fortunately the foreman of a chair factory in Philn- 
delphia, where he was employed, sympathized with the 
aspirations of the future actor, and often studied with 
him the great Shakespoarcan tragedies in which Me- 
Cullough afterward attained such renown. 

Tt was in the winter of 1857 that the young aspirant 
for Thespian honors first stood upon the stage; and he 








A FEW YOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 339 


he acted the ‘ heavy villain’ line in the Shakespearean 
drama, and made steady improvement in his art. A 
great event in his cureer was his engagement to sup- 
port the great Forrest in 1862; for it gave him oppor- 
tunities which such a man as McCullough was not slow 
to improve. The grand qualities which marked 
Forrest's noting were made the subject of careful study 
by the young actor, and to-day John MeCullough is re~ 
cognized everywhere a3 the successor to the famous 
American tragedian. His career as an actor, inter- 
rupted only by 4 brief managerial experience in San 
Francisco, has been one of steadily increasing success. 

John McCullough’s starring oxperionce dates from 
only a few years back; yet his impersonations, with 
peerless Virginius at the head, have won fumo and for~ 
tune in all parts of the country, and gained for him 
also the highest honors on the English stage. 

J, K. Emmett, or Joo Emmett, a3 he ia familiarly 
called the world over, was born in St. Louis on March 
23, 1841, He early had a penchant for the stage, 
and could rattle bones, play a drum or do a song and 
dance on & cellar-door better than any of bis com- 
panions. He began life as a painter, but soon left the 
pot and brush for tho stage of the St. Louis Bowery, 
where his specialty was Dutch * wooden-shoc basi- 
ness.’ He could sing finely, and was as gra Las a 
womin, So popular did he become in hia line that 
Dan Bryant engaged him for his New York house 
in 1866. Two seasons later Charles Gayler wrote 
4 Fritz,”’ a tousensical play without rhyme or reason, 
and Emmett opened with it in Buffalo. His success 
was indifferent at first, but within a short time ** Fritz”” 
and Emmett became the rage, and for fifteen years the 
people have actually run after this star, His name 
and play will fill any theatre in the United States, and 














A PRW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 841 


tell his good fortune to McCullough; but the trage- 
dian, in bis deepest. Virginius voice, answered him: 
‘No, sir, never, never again! Onee and out.” The 
explanation of Mac's refusal to have Raymond in the 
east is given as follows: — 

Tt seems that at a certain benofit in Virginia City, 
* Ingomar ”’ was the play, Mr, McCullongh sustaining 
the title role and Mr. Raymond played Polydor. Poly- 
dor, it will be remombered, is the old Greek duffer 
who has a mortgage on Myron’s real estate, and prosses 
for payment in hopes to get Pardhenia's hand in mar- 
tinge. ‘The performance went beautifully, and the 
applause was liberal, for McCullough was playing his 
best. Raymond’ was the erookedest and most miserly 
of Polydors, and the savage intensity he threw into his 
acting surprised all who imagined he could only play 
light comedy. All went more than well until Zngomar 
offered himself as a slave to Polydor in payment of 
Myron's little account. ** What, you?’’ screamed 
Polydor, and, apparently overcome by the thought, 
he “ took a tumble,’ and fell forward upon Jagomar. 
Ingomar stepped back in dismay, when Polydor, on all 
fours, crept nimbly between his sturdy legs and tried 
to climb up on his back. The audience * took a tum= 
ble,”’ and the roof quivered and the walls shook with 
roars of laughter. ““D—n you,” groaned Zngomar, 
sotto vooe, if L only had you at the wings?” Bat 
Polydor nimbly cluded his grasp, and, knocking right 
and left the dozen supes, who were on as the army, he 
skipped to the front of the stage and climbed up 
out of reach of the projecting mouldings of the pros- 
cenium. Here be clung, and, to make matters 
worse, grinned cheerfully at the pursuers he had 
eseaped, and rapidly worked tho string of a trick wig, 
the long huir of which flapped up and down in the 

















B42 A PEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 


most Indicrous fashion. Tt was impossible for the play 
to proceed, and the curtain was rang down, leaving 
Polydor stil! on his lofty perch, while the sndience 
Taughed and shouted itself hoarse. And this is the 
reason why Mr. MeCullough said, * No, sir, never 
again !"* to Mr. Raymond's offer. 











FAY TEMPLETON IN § RILEER TAYLOR.” 


I may add that among the young people of the stage 
who are possessed of that personal magnetism that 
makes them popular, is Fay ‘Templeton, who is nob 
only pretty, but thoroughly original. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICAL. 


If the Chinese must go they will have to close up 
the large theatres in Sun Franciaco owned and con- 
trolled by Celestial managers. In these temples of 
the almond-eyed Thespis extraordinary plays are on- 
acted ranning through months and even years, in a 
to-be-continued style, for, the Chinese dramatist, who 
never writes anything but tragedy of the wildest and 
most harrowing kind, always begins with the birth of 
his hero or heroine and does not let the merost incident 
pase until his or her friends are ready to sit down toa 
feast of roast pig and rice by the side of the principal 
character’s grave. The dramas are mainly historical, 
and many a Chinaman who starts in to see a first-class 
play of the average length is on his way back to China 
in & coffin or box with his cue neatly folded around 
him for a burial robe, long before the last act of the 
drama is reached. So, too, the star actors frequently 
dic before they have timo to finish the play. I don’t 
know that any American bas ever had the patience 
to wait for the denouement of a Chinese drama, but 
to the saffron-skinned, horse-hair-surmounted and 
slanting-eyed citizen of San Francisco, his theatre is a 
place next in importance to the Joss House or temple, 
and when he once buys his season ticket for a show, he 
sticks to it with a pertinacity that would put an ordi- 
Mary glue or coment advertisement to the blush. It is 
the same, too, when they patronize a theatrein which the 

(348) 


~ 





OUISESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 345 


changes. On the side of the stage—or prosce- 
nium —long slips of colored paper with Chinese 
characters on them are hung — the adages and axioma 
of what is familiarly known as tea-chest literatare — 
and numerous multi-colored lanterns shed their radi- 
ance uround the place. At the back of the stage sit 
several musicians with tom-toms, cymbals, fiddles, and 
divers other instruments all of wonderful construction 
and with frightful capacity for setting anybody but a 
Chinaman crazy, These musicians seem to be as im- 
portant elements in the action and meaning of the 
play aa the actors themselves are. As soon as the per- 
formance begins they immediately tune up, and fromthat 
on until the show is over they never give the audience 
orthe music a single rest, The play usually begins at 
five o'clock in the afternoon and continues until two 
the following morning, so it will be readily understood 
that the Chinese musician has a pretty wide scope for 
his genius, while the Chinese audience must. be more 
than mortal to stand both the music aud the actors for 
some hours at a stretch. The actors make themselves 
ay hideous as possible, employing wigs and long beards 
with plenty of paint to disguise themsolves, They 
stalk and stamp around in a manner highly suggestive 
of the English-speaking + scenc-cuter,”” and there is 
4 great deal of stabbing and killing—thunder and 
Blood, so to spenk — which ix wasted, as the audience 
not seein to rise to the enthusiasm of the occa- 

and there are no “ gullery gods” to help bring 
house down. While the actors are shouting loud 
the musicians, all of whom seam to be playing 
nt tunes, are working hardest and the din and 
of a supremely grand moment of Chinese 
are something horrible to hear and simply 
toendure. Boys or young men play the 










—_ 





CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. SAY. 


orchestra oecupy the left-hand side of the stage, or 
rather they are placed in an elevated pen at: the left of 
the stage floor. The revolving part of the business is 
ay feet from the foot-lights, the intervening 
permanent, The wings are not olaborate, 
NEE ated eeathiory, iit Riorloyed tare 
effects, The inevitable trap is utilized on this stage, 
it being the only place that boasts of the improve- 
ment. The actors at this theatre are of the first rank, 
and their dresses are gorgeous in the extreme. “* Re- 
gardlezs of expense’ must be their motto; and here 
are produced all the fumous plays known to the na- 
tives, they being all of national significance. 
Tho Japanese are patriotic in their instincts, and do 

not run after strange representations with which to 
amuse themselves. Everything on the board is in- 
tensely Japanese —doscriptive of their fables and 
Yomances, as well as reproducing actual episodes in 
the history of the empire. To tho stranger who is 
alien to the language their plays are first-class panto- 
only, though one can but uccord the actors rare 
iy. I must say, however, that the style 
ir stage stop is something too awfully 
thing. The poetry of motion is a dif- 
ir here from what is considered the correct 
c » Keene or Billy Emerson could, 
m, get a new kink in a stage walk if they 

Japanese methods a while. It costs 
to enter the temples of dramatic art — that 
in the place for the upper tendom, the gal- 
d circle, it may be called —which runs | 
of the house, 1s well as on the end front- 

This gallery ix about five feet wide, 
from the passage-way running along it 
‘openings in the partition without doors. It 


: gi 



















CHINESE AND JAPANESE THmaTRICALs, — 349 


is divided into spaces of five feet or more by placing a 
round piece of timber of say two inches in diameter 
from the gallery front and the back of it. The front 
is elevated above the floor about fifteen inches only, 
asthe occupants are oxpected to sit upon their haunches 
on the matted floor. Between acts tea is served to 
any who will buy, and smoking is allowed all over the 
house during the play. The body of the theatre is 
supplied with benches without backs for the accommo 
dation of the audience. 

There is no sharp practice in the way of reserved 
seats in Japanese theatres, Neither is there novessity 
to go outside for » clove or browned coffee. When 
onee seated you ure at your exe, not having to draw 
yourself up for any other fellow. The second-grade 
places are of a cheuper order, where one can sit on the 
floor, there heing no seats, or staud upon the ground, 
there ulelng uo floor, the earth doing duty in that re- 

~ One cent and a half and two cents aud a half 

givo the grades of the establishments. They are all, 
best ag well as inferior, lighted with the domestic-made 
candle, and when tho original dips of our grand- 
mothers are remembered, the kind of « candle used ig 
described. Tho candles smoke as well as the audience. 
There is a lange stock of amusement to be had in a 
one and a half cont concern, that is, if you are not 
‘particular about the wsthetio nature of tho surround- 
ings, and do not carry with you a cultivated musical 
‘ear, These places do not carry on their pay-roll any 
urge number of star actors, or a numerous stock 
company, and they do not devote much time to the 
rehearsal of parts, as it is the duty of the prompter to 
flit from ono actor to another with tho linea of the dia- 
| in one hand, and in the other a stiff paper lan- 
| tern, Bending low, he reads in a tone readily caught 


ke 





CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 351 


a paper lantern hanging high up against the ceiling of 
the building. Up went the top iuto the lantern, which 
opened into the shape of an umbrella, and a wealth of 
festoons of bright-colored tlesue paper descended from 


CHINESE PhOrERTY-noom. 





it all about the stage, Those who witnessed Little 
All Right and the troupe of Japanese acrobats that ox- 
hibited their tricks years ago in the United States will 
Temember the many surprising feats done by them. 


> 





352 CHINESH AND JAPANISK THEATEICALS. 


What they paid $1 for seeing can be witnessed in 
Yokohama in the open air for just what one is pleased 
to contribute, or under cover for from one to three 
cents. 





MINNIE MADDERN. 


There are no manifestations of applause, no cat-calls 
or signs of imputicnce. In the places visited by even 
the poorest, where the accommodations are of the 
rudest, perfect order is observed, and every one seems 
to be possessed of a patient quictness that is amazing. 
They exhibit a deference for the comfort of their fel- 
lows that is worthy of imitation. One great reason, 
perhaps, that the people are so gentle and accom- 
modating, one to the other, may bo found in their 
| complete sobriety, No exhibition of drunken rowdy- 
_ emis to be seen, and yet the entire people, women as 
Wells men, drink of the national beve: 
Tiguor distilled from rice, As there is no * taran- 
Juice in jts composition, its inebriating quality 
Wrmild. ts effect upon the brain is not lasting, 

is it injurious. 

















CHAPTER XXyY. 
OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 


Ferdinand Palmo, who died in New York in Sep- 
tember, 1869, as poor as the proverbial church 
mouse, was the father of Italian opera in this country, 
He was born’in Naples in 1785 and came to America 
when twenty-five years old, settling in Richmond, Vir- 
ginia, After remaining there six years he moved to 
New York, but not proving successful in a business 
yenture returned to Virginia, After paying two visits 
to Europe he again tried New York and built a café, 
which he run until 1835 when he opened a saloon cham- 
ber, which was afterwards converted by him into 
Palmo’s Opera House, and in which Italian opera was 
for the first time presented to the American people 





on February 2, 1844, The opening opera was ‘Tl 


Puritan and daring the season the best operas of 
the day were produced. The venture, however, did 
not prove a financial success. Pulmo was reduced to 
. poverty. With the assistance of fei 
small hotel, and after nine months beeame eouk for a 
Broadway restaurant * where. 
might often have been seen wear 
square cup and engaged in preparing the delectable 
dishes for which thut blishment. was noted.*’ The 
death of his employer threw Palmo out of work and 
reduced him to straitened circumstances. As he 
was too old to do anything, members of the dramatic 
aud musical professions met and organized 1 Palmo 
Ld (353) 











ids he opened a 





says a writer, + he 
is white apron and 















354 OPERA AND OPERA SINGHIRS. 


Fund, each person in the organization agreeing to pay 
$15 per year toward the old man's relief, and he lived 
comfortably on this fund until the day of bis death. 
It is a curious fact that no musical or theatrical ce~ 
lebrities attended his funeral. 

Forty years have effected a great change in the taste 
of the people of the United States. Italian opera 
now is one of the best paying things in the musical or 
dramatic market. Announce a season of grand opera 
in any city, and from that time on until the date of 
opening the manager of the theatre in which the sen- 
son is to be held will be bothered by applicants for 
places. Double and treble the ordinary price of ad~ 
miseion is uaked, but that makes no difference; every- 
body scems desirous of patronizing Italian opera, and 
the extra price is paid without grumbling. These high 
prices of admission must be paid because it costs a vast 
amount of money to run Italian opera, transporting 
large companies long distances, paying immense gala- 
ries, and shouldcring the enormous expenses of equip- 
ping an opera organization and mounting the pieces. 

It is a great sight to sce un opera company travel- 
ncipal singers must haye their sleeping- 
ing coaches, those beneath them put up 
with sleeping berths merely, while the members of the 
chorus are crowded like emigrants into an ordinary 
couch, from out which roll odors of fried garlic and 
Italian sxusnge. When their destination is reached 
the prima donne find ¢ es in waiting to drive 
them to the best hotel in the plice. The secondary 
artists may also have carriages, but they go to minor 
hotels, while the chorus people aro left ta themselves 
to seck cheap boarding-houses and do the best they 
ean. Wagon louds of trunks follow the carriages and 
wagon lows go to the theatre, Sometimes there is 

















OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 355 


scenery. For instance, Mapleson always carries the 
scenery for ‘*Aida,”’ even to big cities where there are 
first-class theatres. Hundreds of pieces of baggage 
are left at the hotels, and hundreds at the theatre. 
Immediately the troupe arrives the principal artists fall 
into the hands of the interviewer, and as the tenor and 
the prima donna and thé others, too, are tired, the news 
paper man gets very little to write about unless he runs 
actoss such a good fellow as Campanini, or happens to 
meet Charles Mapleson, if it is Her Majesty’s Com- 
pany. 

Then on the following morning comes the rehearsal, 
The triumph is the usual sequel. All the young ladies 
are immediately «‘ mashed”’ on the tenor, and, would 
willingly follow the example of some New York 
beauties, who went usu committee of the whole behind 
the scenes one night to place a wreath of bay leaves 
onthe head of their favorite warbler, ouly they have 
amateur tenors of their own by their sides who might 
not relish such a display of their appreciation of good 
music. 

While her Majesty's Opera Company was baying 
season at the Academy of Music, New York, two 
years ago, 2 newspaper mun interviewed Col. Maple- 
son, the impresario, and took » look at the interior of 
the establishment, exploring many of ils mysteries. 
Tn the course of the conversation he asked : — 

** How many rehearsals do you give a new opera?”? 

"Ah, now Icun tell you something that the public 
know nothing of. A man of the crutch-and-toothpick 
school, after I've put on, let me say ‘Aida’ at acostof 
$10,000, will come to me and sa Aw, I've s 
“Alda” twice; when are you going to give us some 
thing new?’ And the poor manager has to smile aud 
mount something equivalent to it immediately. Re- 


































OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 857 


pianissimo and forte. After some more band rehear- 
als —the élight alterutions in the score by Arditi kept 
four copyists at work all last night and until day- 
break —the principal artista rehearse about twenty 
times with the piano; then comes a full rehearsal with 
band, the artists seated all around the stago on chairs ; 
then the property-man has to have his rehearsal. ‘Tho 
carpenters now come in for their rehearsals, with 
seene framers, etc, ‘Then comes the first stage re- 
hearsal, with everybody without the scenery, and then 
another with the scenery; later on again with the 
properties and the business, and éAen it is fit for public 
representation. Then a languid swell will tell me he 
has seen the opera twice, and will want to know when 
Tam going to give something new."” 

An attendant here brought the colonel his letters, 
over which he hastily glanced. 

“Here is « letter from the Prince of Wales,”’ le 
exclaimed, showing me the note, dated Hotel Bristol, 
Paris, October 22d, It’s in reference to his omni- 
bus box at Her Majesty’s. While I am free for a 
moment from my den, just take a tour of this place. 
TM net as guide, philosopher and friend. I'd like you 
fo see what's going on, and to let the public know 
what a herculean task it is to ran old operas, let alone 
producing new ones." 

We strode across the stage and plunged into a cav- 
ernous passage, to emerge on a staircase and into a 
property-room. 

“What dummy is this?”’ demanded the colonel, 
administering a kick to the decapitated form of a bux- 
omly-proportioned female, * and where’s the head?" 

It is the * Rigoletto ’’ corpse. 

We took » peep into the armory, which, from its 
aroma of oil, painfully reminded me of my ocean exe 








360 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 


regions, the principal artistes doing ‘Trovatore’ in 
the first saloon, the chorus rehearsing ‘Marta’ in the 
second saloon, the orchestra on their own ground 
rehearsing ‘Aida,’ the ballet at work in « large room, 
and # set of coryphees blazing away in o distant 
corner, Listen !** 

In the first saloon were the * Trovatore" party, 
lounging around a piano, presided at by Bisaccia, the 
accompanist to the company. Mlle. Adini, neé Chap- 
man, the Zronora, was warbling right under the mous= 
tache of her husband, Aramburo, the tenor who was 
frantic because Mapleson refused £800 to release him 
from his engagement; while Del Puente was slapping 
his leg vigorously with bis walking-cane, ns he occasion~ 
ally burst in with a superb note in harmony with the 
score. Madame Lablache leant with her elbows upon 
the bar, and knowing every square inch of a role she 
had performed from St, Petersburg to Gotham, turned 
from the porusal of a newspaper at the right moment 
in order to discharge the electricity of her Azucena, 
whilo her daughter, who is studying for the operatic 
stage, attended en amateur, a toy bluck-and-tan ter- 
rier in her arms. Having listened to a delicious mor- 
veau from * Tl Trovatore,'’ we ascended to zaloon No. 
2, from whence a Niagara of melody was grandly 
thundering. Here we found the chorus, numbering 
about eighty, seated hatted and bonneted, with Signor 
Rialp presiding at the pianoforte. The rehearsal was 
‘*Marta.’’ After visiting a dozen different depart- 
ments, cyery one of which is presided over by a vigi- 
lant chief, we again found ourselves on the stage. 

“ Now,’’ exclaimed the colonel, ‘you have some 
little idea of what I have to look after, and yet when I 
produce a new opera, a crutch-and-toothpick fellow 
will coolly ask me, after secing it twice, when I am 


OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 361 ~ 


going to give something ‘new.’ Do you know that 
every one in that chorus you have just seen is an 
Ttalian, and selected after considerable trouble and 








GERSTER. 


great expense? Do you know what it costs me to j 
operatically rig up cach member of that chorus? 
“«T cannot tell.’” 


362 OPREA AND OPERA SINGERS. 


“ Well, it costs mo $600, and it cost me $15,000 to 
bring the troupe across the Atlantic. Do you know 
what it costs mo every time I ring up my curtain? 
Two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars, aud 
then add the weekly hotel bills, $2,200. Tam doing 
opera at Her Majesty's at this moment. Here's the 
bill’ — handing me the programme of Her Majeaty’s — 
“doing the same operas as here, and that in order to 
do them here, I am obliged to get a second set of 
everything, from # drinking-eup to a bootlace, and this 
costs me £120,000 before I started at all, as this is a 
distinct and separate undertaking.”’ 

‘* How many operas does your repertoire include?” 

“Thirty. I have thirty with me, and I can play 
any one of them. Another element I have to deal with is 
the superstition, or whatever you like to call it, of 
some of my people, They won't go into any room in 
a hotel with the number thirteen, and an artist won't 
make his or her debut on the 14th; it is considered 
unlucky, I once recollect having engaged Mme. 
Grisi and Signor Mario for a tour in England, com- 
meneing the 13th of September. On sending them the 
programme, Mme. Grisi’s attention was drawn to the 
‘thirteenth.’ She thereupon wrote a very kind letter 
stating that nothing could induce her to appear on the 
“thirteenth ;’ but to show there was nothing mean 
about her, she would rather commence it on the 
+ twelfth,’ although her pay was to commence on the 
“thirteenth” I amended her programme and com 
menced on the ‘ twelfth,’ but as that date happened to 
be a Friday it was again returned to me with a most 
amiable letter, which I still preserve, in which she 
stated aguin that there was nothing mean about the al- 
teration, ax she would be the only loser; she there- 
fore desired me to commence it on the ‘eleventh,’ 











OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 863 


when both she and Signor Mario would sing without 
salary until the proper date of the commencement of 
the contract. One of the artists went to Tiffany's the 
other day to purchase a bangle. The price was $13. 
«Won't you tuke less?” *No.” And would you be- 
lieve it, she paid $14 sooner than pay $13." 

We regained the managerial sanctum, 

“Here is more of it,”’ cried the impresurio, «a 
lotter from Campanini. I'll read it to you, * Dear 
Mr, Mapleson: I am very ill, and cannot possibly sing 
to-night unless you send me —some tickets for fasnily 
eircle, balcony, parquetto, and general circle. Cam- 
panini.’ ” 

Here the colonel was summoned to hear a young 
lady sing—an amateur who aspired to the vocal 
majesty of grand opera. Upon his return, after the 
lapse of a few minutes, I asked s — 

** What opera pays the best, colonel? "’ 

«Oh, there are a dozen trumps.” 

«Ta not ‘Carmen * one of them?"” 

“Yes, ‘Carmen’ has been one of my best suc- 
‘coages.”” 

Tn conclusion, Colonel Mapleson said : — 

**T am nervous as to the future, as nearly every 
coming artist has the misfortune to be American,’’ 

* Misfortune, colonel? '’ 

Yes, I use the word advisedly. Albani, Val- 
leria, Adini, Van Zandt and Durand, one of the best 
dramatic prima donno on the stage, who, by the way, 
has gone to sing at the Grand Opera in Paris instead 
of coming here, and Emma Novada, a new prima— 
Cundidus, the tenor, too; all the coming talent is 
American,” 

‘Tho suluries paid prima donne are very high, As 
fur back as 1870, Mme. Patti was paid $50,000 a year, 





/ 
4 


* son. He h; 





864 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 


besides being given numerous presenta by the Emperor 
of Russia, Last winter Mr. Henry E. Abbey paid 
Mme, Patti at tho rate of eight times the imperial sal- 
ary, giving the diva $4,000 for each concert she eang 
in, and she sung two in each week. Albani was paid at 
the same rate as Patti in Russia. Nilsson, before hor 
retirement, got $1,000 night in the provinces. Now, 
that she is to return to the stageand come to America, 
she will be paid probably as handsomely na Patti was. 
Nearly all the foreign singers and artists have London 
agents through whom American impresarios carry on 
their negotiations. (ye is one of these agents and H. 
C. Jarrett, of London, who accompanied Bernhardt, 
as her agent, and who represents Nilsson, is another, 

Singers and dramatic people, too, are fond of dia~ 
monds. They have thousands of dollars’ worth of 
them; still they believe in investing in them because 
they represent so much value in such little space. Sara 
Bernhardt had a wonderful wealth of these precious 
stones, and Neilson was well provided with them. B. 
Spyer, the St. Louis diamond merchant, with whom 
theatrical aud operatic people deal almost exclusively, 
aud who enjoys the patronage of nearly all foreign 
artists who visit this country, told me a very funny 
story about the first diamond he sold Christine Nils- 
1 splendid stone worth $4,000, and tak- 
ing it with him he went up to the Lindell Hotel, and 
Knoeking at Nilsson's door was told to come in. He 
opened the door and there on a sofa the great songs 
strews was reclining covgred with an old calico gown. 
He showed her the stone, but she did not want to buy 
ftand would not. Nilsson having left the room for 
while, Mr. Spyer approached the dressing-maid, who 
was on old lady, and showing her a handsome diamond 
ring told her he would give it to her if she used her 























OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 865 


influence to induce her mistress to buy the $4,000 dia- 
mond, She eaid she would, and while they were talk- 
ing in walked a gray-haired old gentleman in common 
clothes who Jooked like a servant, and whom Mr, 
Spyer engaged in conversation, Ho told the old man 
of his schome with the dressing-maid, when the latter 
said, ‘* Tut, tat, she can do nothing for you; she’s got 
no influence,"* 

“Then can you do anything?'’ Mr. Spyer asked. 
“Tl muke it all right if you help me to sell the 
Madame that stone’? ‘ 

*© Well,”’ suid the old gentleman, ‘* I waut a pair of 
ear-rings for my daughters, who are in England.” 

“Allright "’ was tho diamond broker's answer ; “* you 
use your influence and if L make the sale you shall 
have the ear-rings.”” 

‘The old gentloman said he would do what he could, 
Mr. Spyer sold the diamond to Nilsson and in a few 
days the old gentleman walked jnto his store and after 
looking over the atock selected a $650 pair of ear-rings. 
Spyer was surprised, but his surprise was greater 
when he learned that the person he had taken for a 
servant was none other than EH. C. Jarrett, then and 
now Nilsson’s confidential agent. 

Mr. Spyer told me another story which T may as 
well bring in here, of how he sold a ring to Adelaide 
Neilson for $3,000, Mr, Lee, who was then Neilson’s 
husband, was conducting tho negotiations, and told 
Mr. Spyer that he was going to buy some property in 
Chicago, and would receive a telegram in regard to it, 
to know whether his offer for the proporty had been 
accepted or rejected. If he did not receive a tele- 
gram by twelve o’elock noon the following day, he 
would buy the ring. At noon next day Mr. Spyer was 
atthe Southern Hotel, where Mr. Lee and his wife were 








366 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 


stopping. He asked the clerk if he had seen Mr, Lee 
around the rotunda, and the clerk answered no, that 
he himself was looking for Mr. Lee, as he had a tele~ 
gram for him. 

* Well now, I'll tell you what to do —’’ mention- 
ing his first name, for the diamond merchant knew the 
clork, ‘you'll oblige me very much and do mon great 
favor if you'll keep that telegram down here until 1 
go up stairs and sco Leo.”? 

The clerk agreed; Mr. Spyer went up stairs and sold 
his diamond ring. Himself and Mr, Lee walked down 
the stairs to get a drink. The clerk called Mr. Lee, 
handed him the telegram and he opened and read it. 

* By Jove, Barney,’’ he said, holding out the tele- 
gram, “if I'd gotten this ten minutes sooner I 
wouldn’t have bought that ring."* 

«« Well, I'm glad you didn’t get it,” Mr. Spyer re- 
sponded, + Let’s go and have some Apollinarius.”” 

One morning during that same week Mr, Spyer was 
sitting in the store when Neilson came in alone and 
bought a diumond ring for $175, paid for it and told 
the merchant to say nothing to Philip about it. There 
was nothing so very extraordinary in this; but when 
:. Lee came in an hour afterwards and picked out a 
ring about the same value and paying for it enjoined 
v. Spyer to say nothing to Adelaide about it, be was 
surprised at the remarkableness of the coin 
He never heard anything more about either of the 
rings. 





















Jenee. 








CHAPTER XXVI. 
THE MINSTREL BOYS. 


The iden of negro minstrelsy in its present shape 
originated forty years ago with Dan Emmett, Frank 
Brower, Billy Whitlock and Dick Pelham. This happy 
quartette organized the Virginia Serenaders in 1841, 
giving their first performance on December 80th. Au 
idea of the ‘first part "’ furnished by that combination 
wus given last season, when Dan Emmett himself ap- 
peared with three others in an act in which the old 
jew-bone figured, and the other instruments were 
banjo, tambourine and fiddle. Fifty years before the 
time of the Virginia Sevensders a Mr. Grawpner is 
said to have blacked up at the old Federal Street 
Theatre, in Boston, where be sang an Ethiopian song 
in charactor. The first of the negro melodies that 
hate been preserved is ** Back Side of Albany Stands 
Lake Champlain.’” It vas sung by Pot-Pio Herbert, 
a Western uctor who Courished long before tho days of 
“Jim Crow,'’ Rice, or Daddy Rice, as they called 
him. Herbert's song was as follows : — 








Back eile Albany stan’ Lake Champlain, 
Little pond half full o* waters 

Platteburg dar too, close "pon de main, 
Town small, ho grow bigger borvarter, 


On Lake Champlain Uncle Sam set he boat 
Aa! Massa McDonough he pall "em; 

While Genera! Macomb make Piatteburg he home 
Wid de army whose courage nebber fait ‘om, 


(367) 


368 THY MINSTREL BOYS. 


Daddy Rice was omployed in Ludiow & Smith's 
Sonthern theatre as property-man, lamp-lighter, stage 
carpenter, ete, and he made no reputation until he 
began jumping Jim Crow, in Louisville, Kentueky, in 
1829, after which he became famous and made a for~ 
tune by singing his song in this country and England. 
The original «* Jim Crow,” with the walk and dress, 
were copied from an old Louisville negro, and ran along 
regardless of rhythm in this mauner :— 





I went down to creek, I went down a fishing, 
Taxed the old millor to gim me chaw tobackor 
‘To treat old Aunt Hanner. 


Citonvs, First onde heel tap, den on de toc, 
Ebery the | wheel about I jump Jim Crow. 


I goes down to de branch to pester old miller, 
T wants a little light wood; 
I belongs to Capt. Hawkins and don't care a den, 


Cronvs. First on dé hee! tap, ete 


George Nichols, a circus clown, ¢laims to haye been 
the first negro minstrel, and some award this distine- 
tion to George Washington Dixon, who disputes the 
authorship of ‘Zip Coon’’ with Nichols, who firet 
sang “Clare De Kitchen,’ which he arranged from 
hoaring it sung by negroes ov tho Mississippi. Bill 
Keller, « low comedian, was tho original “Coal Black 
Rose,’* in 1830, John Clements having composed the 
musi¢. Barney Burns, a job actor and low comedian, 
first sang ‘My Long Tail Blue,” and * Such a Get- 
ting up Stuirs,"’ written and composed by Joe Black- 
burn. These were all about Daddy Rice's time, and 
nearly all the songs of the day were constructed in the 
style of ** Jim Crow.’’ They were taken from hearing 
the Southern darkies singing in the evenings on their 
plantations. 











THE MINSTREL BOYS, 369 


In the year following the organization of tho Virginia 
Serenaders the original Christy Minstrels were organ- 
ized by E. P. Christy, in Buffalo. The troupe con- 
sisted of E. P. Christy, Geo. Christy (whose real name 
was Harrington), L. Durand and T. Vaughn. They 
first called themselves the Virginia Minstrels, but 
changed to Christy Minstrels in a short time, when 
Enon Dickerson and Zeke Bakers joined them. The 
party continued to give concerts up to July, 1850, when 
E. P. Christy died and was buried in Greenwood, 
George Christy had withdrawn in October, 1858, owing 
to some dispute between himself and E. P. His 
sulary during the two years and six months pre- 
ceding the withdrawal amounted to $19,680. The 
troupe gave two thousand seven hundred and ninety- 
two concerts du its existence, took in $317,- 
589.30, paid out $156,715.70, and had a profit 
left of $160,873.60, The profits of the first year did 
not exceed $300. Companies were now springing up 
everywhere, and so great wax the rage for ministrelsy 
that the troupes were obliged to give morning concerts. 
The entertainment has been one of our public amuse- 
ments ever since, and a good company of burnt cork 
artists can command a good house anywhere. Follow- 
ing the spirit of enterprise of the age and the tendency 
to gigantic proportions in everything, minstrelsy has 
developed into Mastodon Megatherion and other 
mammoth organizations. End men bythe dozens, song 
and dance men by tho scores and no less than forty 
(*fcount ’em *’) artists now amuse the public that was 
satisfied with four in ‘41, By tho way it was in this 
year on July 4th, that bones were first played before an 
audience, the player being Frank Brower of the Vir- 
ginia Serenaders. 

George Christy, who wae the moat celebrated Ethio- 














370 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 


plan performer the world knew in those days was 
born in Palmyra, State of New York, November 3, 
1827. He was sent to school at an early age, and 
although he excelled in all the branches of education 





i GFORGE cumery. 


peculiar to boys of his age, after school hours the 
master often found him at the head of a party of boys 
whom he had assembled togethor for the purpose of 
giving theatrical entertainments, or, ns they called it, 









THE MINSTREL Bors. 871 


ashow. George was, as he ever has been, the very 
head and front of this species of amusement; and 
subsequently, under the auspices of E. P. Christy, 
made his debut a8 Julius, the bone-player, in the 
spring of 1839, and afterwards attained to the very 
first rank in his profession. He survived his name- 
sake many years. 

The only fault to be found with the minstrelsy of the 
present day is the coursoness that pervades many of the 
sketches and crops out in the songs and funny sayings. 
The old-time negro character has been sunk out of 
sight und the vulgarity of the gamin hus taken the 
place of the innocent comicalities that were in vogue 
forty years ago. It is true that the negro character 
has undergone a change und that the black man now 
vies with his white brother in everything that is low 
and vicious; but tho criticism still holds good that 
negro minstrelsy is not what it was or what it ought to 
be, and that no matter how grand its proportions 
may be made by enterprising managers the many 
features that make it objectionable to fastidious people 
must be pruned off before it can be said to be deserving 
that full recognitin which the public always accords to 
whatever is good in the amusement line. 

The negro minstrel is an institution entirely outside 
of tho pale of commonplace people. Ho talks diffor- 
ently from other people, acts differently, dresses 
differently. A “gang of nigger singors'? can be 
identified three blocks awny by an ordinary observer 
of human nature. They have a fondness for high and 
shining silk hats that are reflected in the glaze of their 
patont-leather, low-quarter shoes every time they pull 
up their light trousers to look at their red or clocked 
silk stockings. heir clothes are of a minstreley cut, 
and like the party who cume to town with rings on hor 





372 ‘THX MINSTREL BOYS. 


fingers and rings on her toes, they must have their 
fingers covered with amethysta or cluster-diamond 
ornaments, and they rarely ever fail to display a 
‘spark”’ in their gorgeous shirt fronts. They are 
** mashers ” of the most pronounced type on the stage 
and off, and just a6 soon as they tuke possession of a 
small town, it is eafe to say that all the feminine 
hearts lying around lovse will be corraled within 
twenty-four hours of their arrival. They are as gen- 
erous now us they were years ago, and few of them 
gaye a cent for the frequently mentioned rainy day. 
The very best of them have died in poverty, and found 
graves only through the charity of friends. Johnny 
Diumond and his partner, Jim Sanford, the former of 
whom helped Baroum in his first steps along the road 
to fortune, both died in the same Philadelphia alms- 
house. They had commanded big salaries, but dressed 
flashily and lived fast, and when the rainy day came 
they had to run for shelter to a public charity. Very 
fow performers who die in poverty now are allowed 
to seck any other than the charity of their professional 
brethren. The Benevolent and Protective Order of 
Elks takes cure of the unfortunates, assisting them 
generously while living and giving them decent burial 
at their death. 

As said, the minstel boy is an irre 
His particular weakness is women, with wine often 
only a little behind. Ho lives at as rapid a rate 
as his salary will allow, and turns night into day by 
“taking in the town" after the performance. They 
frequently get into scandalous history owing to the 
promiscuousness with whieh they pick up with 
petticoats, and their amours get them into great 
trouble, Women seem to have a lavish fondness for 
the eud-mun, and many of them have left hushand, 














td THE MINSTREL BOYS, 


that developed ina New York Bowery theatre, one 
night, when a young woman elegantly attired jumped 
out of a private box, and embracing a performer who 
was just finishing 2 banjo solo, shouted in a voice that 
was clear and loud, ‘* You're the sort of'a man T like !"* 
The audience cheered lustily and the young woman 
accepted the applause with a courtesy, while the ban- 
joist stargered into the wings, too much amazed to be 
flattered. A young man from whose side the lady had 
made her lenp upon the stage, succeeded with some 
Aifficulty in coaxing her back into the box and the 
show went on. The pair had been dining and wining 
together, and the young gentleman bad not been as at- 
tentive to his companion as she thought proper, So 
she*had chosen the original method of at once re- 
buking and shaming him. She succeeded. He did not 
dare to look at another woman on or off the stage 
again until the curtain fell. 

Those who have never witnessed the rehearsal of a 
minstrel company can have buta very faint idea of the 
amount of worry and vexation to which the mavager 
is subjected before he becomes satisfied that the com- 
pany has mastered the work so that it is in a condi- 
tion to present to the public. The scene ata dramatic 
rehearsal is the scene of perfect peace and ‘harmony 
compared with that of a minstrel company. The dif- 
ference is caused by the fact that dramatic performers 
study their lines and business carefully, and have the 
idea constantly before them that they must adhere to 
the text and the author's ideas closely, while minstrels, 
or ‘*nigger singers '’ as they are called by membors of 
the profession, work with only one ond in view, and that 
iz, to be fanny. A minstrel having a speech of a dozen 
lines will make it twenty-five times and never make it 
twice alike. Every ¢ ho speaks it he will drop 





THE MINSTREL nOYs, 875 


out something or insert something which the author 
did not intend to be there. The result is that a man- 
ager superintending a rehearsal is in hot water, figura- 
tively, all the time. If he storms and swears at the 
performers, he only makes matters worse, and, there- 
fore while he is inwardly boiling with vexation he must 
retain a calm exterior and appear as smiling as a June 
morning. There have been well authenticated cases 
where minstrel managers have been driven to strong 
drink by the intense strain upon their mental faculties 
occasioned by superintending rehearsals. These cases, 
however, are rare. 

Through the courtesy of Manager J. A. Gulick, I 
had the pleasure, last spring, of witnessing a rehearsal 
of Haverly’s Mastodon Minstrels. 1 took a seat under 
the shadow of the balcony to watch developments, and 
passed ten or fifteen minutes in inspecting the dull, 
dismal aspect of the house, Everything was quiet and 
oppressively sombre. Occasionally a serub woman 
who was working a broom in the dress circle would 
bark one of her shins against one of the iron chair- 
frames and sit down and howl in a subdued tone, but 
beyond this there was nothing to break the stillness 
until the members of the company began to arrive. 
Presently the orchestra came in and began to tune up 
their instruments to 2 condition proper for the promul- 
gation of sweet strains, and then the comedians and 
singers eame sauntering in on the stage. Apparently, 
the first duty of each and every one of them upon get- 
ting out of the wings, was to execute a shuille, cock 
his hat over his left eye and swagger off up the stage 
with a satisfied smile. Each having boen successfully 
delivered of his matutinal shuffle, and having satisfied 
himeelf that he hadn't contracted the ** string-halt ”” 
during the night, all seated thomselves and awaited the 


876 THE MINSTREL ioYvs. 


appearance of the manager. Divested of their burnt 
cork and Stage toggéry, the eompauy looked more like 
a collection of well-to-do young men in the commer- 
cial walks of life than minstrel performers, All 
looked az if they had passed a comfortable night, and 
had not indulged in those revels which are erroneously 
supposed to be inseparable from the life of a minstrel. 
Consequently I was bound to conclude that they had 
said their prayers at 11: 30, and at midnight were 
snoring the snores of the innocent and blessed. ‘The 
only member of the company who looked aa if he 
might have gone wrong on the previous night was Frank 
Cushman, His right eyo was bloodshot, and he had a 
protuberance on his forehead over the optic such as 
might be raised by the kick of a mule, His condition 
owas afterward explained by the fuct that in attempting 
to make a** funny fall’ in * Uncle Tom's Cabin,* on 
the night previous, he lad made a miscue and had re- 
ecived a genuine full, striking on his head. Suspicion 
was therefore allayed, aud I became satisfied that Cush- 
man, too, had said his prayers and had gone regularly 
to bed unloaded. 

Promptly at eleven o’clock, the hour set for rehear= 
sal, Manager Gulick arrived and proceeded at once to 
business by delivering an address to the orchestra 
leader :— 

“\Now we don’t want any bresk in this first part 
finish to-night. You want to make that first chorus 
very forte and then work it off gradually very pinno. 
Then when they all come ou you want a short wait and 
t crash —sco?’* 
feader nodded to indicate that he saw. 

+ Then,"* resumed Mr. Gulick, + when you hear the 
fired, work jn that te um iddle de te um ah tiddle 
tah — seo?*" 











~ 





THE MINSTREL BOYS, 377 


The leader again suw, and the manuger continued ; 

Then when you come to *The girl T lef behind 
me," put in la In tum Liddle In Ia tum liddle ah — see?” 

But without waiting to see whether the leader saw 
or not the manager turned to the company with: 
+ Now, boys, get down to business and we'll rehearse 
that first part finish.” 

Thon there was a rush of the + 40-count ‘em’ 
down to the foot-lights, und everybody began to tall, 
Euch man struck « different subject and « different key 
apparently, and the finish appeared to be so thoroughly 
jumbled up that it seemed an impossible task to 
straighten it out again. But the performance appeared 
to be an adjunct of the rehearsal, for when it was fine 
ished Mr. Gulick took his seat at the foot-lights, while 
the company arranged itself in the usual semi-circlo, 
with E. M. Kayne, the interlocutor, in the centro, 
More instructions were given by the manager, when a 
young man rushed in and performed the pantomime of 
handing Mr. Kayne a telegram, which the latter pan- 
tomimically opened and calmly announced that he had 
just received news that he had just won the prize of 
$50,000 in the Kentucky State lottery, He didn’t 
make as much fuss over it as any other man would over 
finding a half-dollar on the street, The news must 
have pleased him, for he remarked : — 

** Boys, I'm in luck.” 

“What is it?'’ said Rice. 

‘Fifty thousand dollar prize,”’ replied Mr. Kayne, 

‘What did I tell you?’’ said Rico, 

“Tako us out and treat us,'’ suid Cushman 

“Didn't L tell you I was a Mascot,’ said another. 
‘They all called for lemonade, and Mr. Kayne compro~ 
mised the matter by agreeing to take them all to Burope 
on # pleasure trip if they would pack their tranks in 














378 THE MINSTREL OYE. 


five minutes. A chorus was then sung and the trunks 
were announced packed. Jimmy Fox then came 
forward and announced that he was captain of the 
Pinafore. The other members of the company must 





JIM CROW. 


have been looking for him, fur they shot him dead with 
a vociferous “hang!” and then proceeded to sing 
“Glory Hallelujah,” over his corpse, ‘This brought 
him to life again and he was readmitted to the exeur- 





THE MINSTREL BOYS. 379 


sion party. One of tho vocalists then aang ‘* Old 
Folks at Home,"’ and at its conclusion Mr. Kayne asked 
if there was no ono else to whom they wished to aay 
« good-by,”” but all responded, ‘* No, not one.’” 
‘Yes, there is,'’ said Mr. Kayne, and the orchestra 
opened with ** The Girl I Left Behind Me.” 
The rehearsal was interspersed with very sweet little 
melodies, which redeemed such verses as this: 
Our trunks are packed and our passage Is pald, 
Sail o'er the oconn blue; 
Of tho briny wavo wo're not afrald, 
Sall o'er the ocean blue. 
Then Cushman sang : — 


Oh, fare you well, St. Louis girls, 
Fare you well for awhile; 

We'll sail away in the month of May 
And come back In July. 


Rice retaliated with : — 


Fare you well, you dandy coons, 
We'll show you something grand; 
We'll sail away o'er the ocean blue, 
‘Till we Teach the promised land. 

There was nothing strikingly classical about the 
words, but the melody was charming, und covered them 
with a charitable cloak. 

The first part finish having been rehearsed, Manager 
Gulick discovered some flaws in it and ordered itto be 
done over again, On hearing this the mun at the bass 
yiol looked up piteonsly at Billy Rice and asked : — 

“Are we going through it again?” 

+ Of course,”’ replied Rico; «do you want to rest 
all the time?" 

This question was not answered and the bass viol 
dropped into a scat apparently completely discouraged. 


380 ‘THE MINSTREL BOYS. 





The piece was rehearsed, not once only, but half 
dozen times, and when it was pronounced all right the 
bass viol gave a sigh of relief that shook the building. 

Several songs were then rehearsed, during which 
everybody was busy. At one side of the stage the 
quartette was singing, Cushman was practising an end 
song, the orchestra was at work on an overture, three 
or four men were brushing up on a farce, two song 
and-dance men were inventing new steps, and Charley 
Dockstader wos vending the Clipper. It was an ex- 
ceedingly lively seene, and there was noise enough to 




















**sHOO PLY.” 


wake the dead. Vocal and instrumental music fought 
apitehed battle, while the dancers hammered the stage 
with their feet as if by way of applause. A boiler 
minstrel rehearsal at 





shop is a haven of rest heside 
this stage. 

A closing farce was then called and the performers 
were given an opportunity to assault lines. All they 
wanted apparently was the idea, which they pro 
ceeded to work up to suit themselves regardless of the 











THE MINSTREL BOYS. 381 


author’s language. This probably is what makes a 
negro farce funny. The performers make an effort to 
retain cues, but they insert impromptu speeches into 
the parts asthey occur tothem. Oue of the comedians 
repeated a speech of ten lines, as many times, and 
each time he hud something new in it. All of them 
left out or added something every time, much to the 
evident annoyance of Manager Gulick, but he said 
nothing. 

The rehearsal lasted nearly two hours without a 
rest, and was as utterly unlike a minstrel performance 
as can well be imagined. There was nothing particu- 
larly amusing in it except its oddity, and yet when it 
was presented with black faces and varied costumes it 
caused roar upon roar of the heartiest laughter, be- 
cause those who saw it then had not seen how the 
performance was constructed. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 
PANTOMIME, 


There are two kinda of clawns familiar to people 
who patronize amusements —the clown who juggles 
old jokes in the circus ring, and the clowa whose 
only Iunguage is that of facial expression, and 
whose grins and grimaces together with his extraordi- 
nary antics and white face are more acceptable to and 
interpretable by childhood than tho ancient and petri- 
fied humorisms of his brother laugh-maker of the saw- 
dust circle. There is no circus clown in the world 
could stretch the heart-strings of un audience as farand 
hold them there longer than George L. Fox, the king 
of pantomimic merryrmakers. His was a face readable 
as the pages of a book printed in good large type, and 
the wonderful swift changes that came over it were like 
fleecy clouds and sunshine chasing each other across a 
summer sky. Poor Fox, who sent a thrill of joy into 
the hearts of thousands of little folks and caused their 
rosy lips to over-bubble with silvery laughter, bis was 
a hard, an undeserved fate—death in a madhouse, 
without a glint of reason to light him on his journey 
across the dark river, He has left no successor more 
worthy of his place than George H. Adams, whose tal- 
ent obtained him the recognition of Adam Forepaugh, 
the showman, with whom he is now in partnership. 
Frazier and clowns of minor merit fill the rest of the 
places, but Adams is at the top of the heap, and may be 
fitly termed the Grimaldi of to-day. 

(382) 








PANTOMIME, 383 


It is pleasant to visit a theatre during the progress 
of a pantomime. The houee is filled with old and 
young in equal proportions, or if there is any prepon- 
derence it is on the side of the little folks, who clamber 
up on'the backs of chairs and laugh freely and sweetly as 
the birds in the forest sing, every time they catch sight 
of the chalked head of the clown and the gray tuft 
standing like a turrot above poor old Pantaloon’s wig. 
And the old people laugh all the hearticr because the 
innocent young people have their hearts and mouths 
filled with joy. The pantomime may be “ Humpty 
Dumpty" or “The Magic Flute”’ or ** The Merry 
Miller’? —call it by whatever name you will, an 
intense interest is taken in it, and new enjoyment is 
found in every performance. The tricks are the same, 
the mechanical effects identical with those of every 
other pantomime you may have scen, and even the 
specialty sketches that divide the acts of the dumb 
show seem to be of yery close kindred with those of 
former attractions of this kind, Still everybody enjoys 
the fun just as many people laugh at the ** chestnuts’ 
—vulgariter, old jokes — of the man in motley attire, 
who tries to make the patrons of the cireus feel happy. 

Tt mukes no difference to the miniature men and 
women who are Humpty Dumpty's best friends and 
admirers, how the mechanical effects of a pantomime are 
produced. They do not care much to know that the 
pig Humpty Dumpty and Pantaloon stretch across the 
width of the stage in an endeavor to tear it from each 
other, has a rubber body; that the bricks the clown 
throws at everybody are only papor boxes; that the 
trick pump is worked from tho side scenes with a 
string; that the clothes which suddenly, and as if by 
some invisible influence, vanish into the sides of houses 
or up through windows have light but etrong black 











S84 PANTOMIME. 


thread, which the little ones cannot see at a distance, at- 
tached to them; the big policeman is to them a stern 
and gigantic reality ; and it affords them more fun to 
imagine every time Humpty throws or makes a blow at 
anybody, that the stinging sound is a sureindieation that 
his aim was well taken— they do not know that the 
sound as of receiving a blow is the result of slapping 
the hands together. All the simple illusions of the 
scene aud of the action are to them actual facts, and 
they appear all the more ridiculous aud are all the 
more effective on .this account. When Humpty 
Dumpty dives through the side of 1 house, disappear 
ing behind, there are men in waiting to catch him, and 
when he sits down to read his newspaper and the can~ 
dle begins to grow beyond his reach, then falling a8 he 
attempts to go higher with a sudden bang, and the 
clown comes tumbling down after it as Jill did after 
dack when they went up the hill for the bucket of 
beer, few of the big or little people kuow that the can- 
die rans down through one of the legs of the tuble and 
is all wood except the waxen bit at the top, All these 
little mysteries have their charms for the yeurs of 
childhood, and in no country are the pleasures of the 
pantomime so fully recognized as in England, where on 
Boxing Night — the 26th of December—children crowd 
the theatres to witness the Christmas pantomime. In 
some theatres here the custom of providing pantomime 
for the Christmas holidays is adhered to, but as there 
are nob enough Grimaldis or Foxes or Adamses or 
Fraziers to go around, the supply being very limited, 
we cannot compete with England in this respect. 

As Adams is the only pantomimist who can lay any 
claim to the mantle of George L. Fox — if clowns can 
be raid to have mantles —u short biography may not be 
put of place. Heis twenty-eight years old, i a native 





PANTOMIME. 385 


of England, and is the eldest son of Charles H. 
Adams, one of the best Pantaloons in the country. 
He comes from a family of circus peoyle, being a de- 
scendant of the famous Cookes, riders and clowns, 
and is a cousin of W. W. Cole, the circus manager. 
He was apprenticed to the manager of Astley’s, in 
London, when he was six years of age, and remained * 
there cight years. After appearing as clown with a 
cirous in Denmark, he came to America, and for scy= 
eral years travelled with different civcuses. His first 
appearance as clown in the pantomime was in Brooklyn, 
New York, in 1872, under the management of Tim 
Donnelly, who gave a pantomime every year during the 
©hristmas holidays. His father was the stage man- 
ager for Donnelly, and suggested to Geo 
playing clown. George refused at first, but finally at 
his father’s earnest solicitation decided to goon, He 
made an unmistakable hit, and from that time deserted 
the sawdust arena and adopted the stage. After sev- 
eral successful seasons with Nick Roberts and Tony 
Denier he last season accepted an offer of partnership 
with Adam Forepaugh to run a show under his own 
name, 

Tu the last. Christmas number of the Londou Graphic 
I found the following excellent article on ++ Boxing 
Night "’ as the little folks of London enjoy it: +The 
very first night of anticipated pleasure has come to 
nine-tenths of the little ones who gaze upon the scene 
in silent wonder and astonishment. Imagination in its 
wildest dreams never pictured anything so wonderful as 
this. There have been little theatricals at home, plays 
in the back drawing-room ; some fairy tale has boon 
enacted for which kind sisters have supplied the ward- 
robe, whilst mamma has presided over the piano or- 
chestra, It was good fun to crawl across the mimic 




















386 PANTOMIME. 


stage in a hearth-rug, pretending to be a wolf or bear, 
and to hour the laughter of kind friends in front; but 
all that home amusement, the curiosity and contriv- 
ances, the songs und dances were, indeed, child's play 
when compared to a real theatre on Boxing Night. 
What importance is given to the child by being con- 
sidered old enough to sit up so lute as this; whata 
sense of mystery and wonderment to be driven through 
the lighted streets ; to see the decorated shops set out 
with Christmas presents and New Year's gifts; and to 
behold for the first time, the bright clectrie light on 
the bridges and embankment! But this is far better 
than all, and oly a very little removed from fairyland. 
How the myriad lights in the great chandeliers glisten 
and sparkle, and the stage foot-lights dazzle; how 
splendidly the orchestra scoms to play; and hark! the 
boys in the gallory are taking up the tune, and singing 
togethor with wonderful swing and precision. Ono 
comic song and street tune follows another; the band 
suggests and the young musicians take it up with a 
will. Just now they had been u pelting of the pit with 
orange pecl —all in good fun, of course. The lads in 
their shirt sleeves had whistled and screamed, and 
saluted friends in distant corners of the gallery; but 
now all this horso play is quieted by music and melody. 
It is Boxing Night, and there must be patriotism as 
well as pleasure. ‘Rule Britannia,’ ‘God bless the 
Prince of Wales,” and « God Save the Queen,’ are sung 
from thousands of lusty throats, and all the audience 
rise to their feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs. 
Loyalty is as necessary asx love at Christmas-Lime. 
And what has that good old wizard Blanchard prepared 
for the happy children? He must be as immortal as 
Pather Christmas, and certainly is quite as popular, 
He will be the guide up the rocks of romance, und 
away to the fields of fairyland, Pewil\ eal Vis bay 














- 7 


PANTOMIME. 387 


followere amidst ogres and giants and elves and fays, 
to wizard custles and enchanted delle ; now you will be 
at the bottom of the sea, where lovely queens wave 
sea-woed wands; and now on Jand amidst tho yellow 
corn-fields and the blucbell lancs, Thor will be song 
and dance, and the madcap pranks of thousands of 
children, liliputian armics and glittering armor, poc- 
try and processions, hobby-horses and the deur old 
Clown and Harlequin and Pantaloon supporting * airy 
fairy’ Columbine, if they would only ring that 
prompter’s bell and pull up that tantalizing curtain. 
‘The noise is hushed, the music stops, the overture is 
over — but wait. 

“© What are they doing behind the curtain? There 
are beating hearts also in the manufactory of pleasure. 
Christmas-time means food and raiment to the great 
majority of those who are awaiting the prompter’s 
signal. They have come from courts and alleys, from 
cold, comfortless rooms, from care and poverty, from 
watching and from want, to this great busy hive that 
uncharitable people abuse and ridicule. Times have 
been had, the winter has advanced too soon, wages 
have been slack; but all will be mended now that 
Christmas has come again. Heurts beat lightly under 
the prince's tunies and the dancers’ bodices, for every 
mickle makes a muckle, and there is work hero, from 
the proud position of head of the Amazonian army to 
the humble individual who ewns a shilling a night for 
throwing carrots in a crowd and returning slaps in a 
rally. And the training and discipline of the rehear- 
suls up to this anxious moment have not been without 
their advantage, Punctuality, silence, order, and 
sobriety are the watchwords here. There have been 
no idling, dawdling, and philandering, as many silly 
people imagine. Even the little children have learwed 
something, perhaps their lotters, perhaps Yhe art of 





388 PANTOMIME. 


singing in unison, certaiuly the merit of being smart 
and useful. But now it is the great examination day. 
The lessons are over, and the result is soon ta be 
known, What a wild fantastic scene it is—a very 
carnival of costumes, Fairies and hop-o’-my-thambs, 
monkeys, and all the miscellaneous mixture of the 
menagerie, gorgeous knights in armor and spangled 
syrens, Titania and her train, pusteboard chariots, 
wands and crystal fountains, fruits and forest trees, 
mothers, dressers, penters, and costermongers for 
the crowd, all mixed up in apparent confusion, bat in 
reality as well drilled and disciplined as an army pre= 
pared for action. All belong to some separate depart= 
ment or division; there is a leader for every squad, 
who is responsible for his mon, and if anything goes 
wrong # prompt fine is a very wholesome punishment, 
It hag been weary work during the last few rehearsals, 
and certain scenes have had to be repeated again and 
again. The testing of the scenery has delayed the 
action, and it has been lute enough before these busy 
hees have got to bed. But the excitement of the mo- 
ment gives new vitality. ‘The night has come, and 
everyone is bound to do his or her best. Everything 
ig emart and new, and the girls and children are proud 
of their costumes, in which they strut about adinir 
ingly. Tho stage manager has recovered his amiability, 
and calls everyone + my dear.’ A rapid, business- 
like glance is cast over the various scenes to see that 
everything is straight and ship-shape ; the reports come 
up from the various departments to say there are no 
defuulters. The gas man is at his post, and the lime- 
light man at his station. The ballet master, with his 
flag in hand, is standing roady on his stool, Ready? 
Yes, sir! is the answer. Up go the foot-lights with a 
Hare, a bell rings, the curtain rises, and the happy 






































people before nod behind Use Chvietmas cartain meet,” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


Outside of the legitimate theatres there is a large 
variety of places of amusxement—that is, they are 
called plices of amusement, but the fumes of vile 
tobacco, the odor of stale beer, the fiery breath of 
ehenp whiskey, the sight of filthy women and filthier 
men, and the most excruciating and torturesome kind 
of music, all combine to make the resort anything bat 
pleasant and the whilo the incidents that attract the 
visitor's attention are anything but amusing. There 
is, of course, no complaint of this sort to urge against 
the first-class variety theatres. ‘These cater ina modest 
way to a low standard of intellect, but usually their 
programmes are chasto enough, and unless 4 pereon 
has an uversion to having beer spattered over his 
clothes by unhandy waiters while ministering to the 
thirsty wante of a neighbor in the same row, or objects 
to the attention of the gay girle who open wine in the 
private boxes and flirt with the people in the parquette, 
he will find a first-class varioty show as pleasant « place 
as a good, long, mixed programme with tho Glue 
Brothers in song und dance at one end, the Irish Trip- 
lets, in * select vocalisms and charming terpsichorean 
evolutions,” in the middle, and a lngubrious sketeh at 
the other end can muke it. By some mysterious law 
known only to variety performers, the variety stage 
only about once in a century produces anything new or 
anything attructive. In the good old days of the bal- 
{389) 

















390 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


let there was drawing power in the display of shapely 
limbs and the graceful music-ofsmotion like manner in 
which the girls tip-toed or piroutted across the stage; 
or when the variety theatro was as much the home of 





FENCING SCE! BLACK CROC 


spectacle as the legitimate houses pretended to be, 
and on the Vaudeville stage scenes were presented 
that belonged to the same class of labyrinthine scenery 
and profuse female beauty that the ‘ Black Crook” 


VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 301 


and “The Green Huntsman ’' were the representa- 
tives of. When spectacles were the rage and the fene- 
ing scene in the ** Black Crook "’ would set the boys 
at the top of the house wild with joy, the variety 
theatre had among the bright stars of its stage actors 
and actresses who are now among the most popular, 
and certainly among the heaviest: mouey-makers, who 
appear in the legitimate houses, 

Joe Emmett graduated from the variety theatre, 
Gas. Williams was x shining light on the same stage. 
J.C. Williamson was a variety artist. Geo. D. Knight 
did ** Dutch business” in the minor theatres before he_ 
got to be famous as Orto. I recollect having seen 
Knight play Rip Van Winkle in Deagle’s old variety 
theatre on Sixth Street, in St. Louis, and he played it 
well —not like Jefferson, of course, but it was his first 
attempt at the part, and if Jefferson did any better the 
first time he must not haye improved very much since. 
This was twelve years ago. Mrs. Geo. Knight 
(Sophie Worrell) danced on a concert saloon stage in 
San Franciseo. So did Lotta, and so did Mrs. Wil- 
liamgon. Don Thompson, whose Josiua Whitoomb is 
& porfect picture of the Now England farmer, first tried 
this same character in the variety thoatre, and Neil 
Burgess and the ** Widow Bedotte "’ wore first intro- 
duced to the public as the tail-end of a nigger-singing 
and specialty programme. 

Those were the palmy days of the variety show 
before negro ministrelsy hud grown to its present 
enormous proportions and before plays were written so 
as to take in a whole variety entertainment, and under 
the disguise of comody or farce or burlesque foist a 
Jot of specialty peoplo from a first-class stage upon 
4n intelligent audience Tho musico-mirthful pieces 
that begun to blossom forth in 1880 made a heavy 








VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS, 393 


great many others did. The worst were left behind, 
and the result was poor variety programmes and in 
consequence poor patronage for them. 

T picked up a programme tho other day, belonging 
to what was onco a first-class house, and is so still in 
all except tho standard of the performance, and found 
such old and worn-out features as a lightning crayon 
artist and a lightning change artist, both of which are 
80 threadbare that even a ten-cent theatre wouldn't 
care to give them stage room. It is an easy step from 
this kind of thing down to the dives — the chiof yarioty 
shops where hoodlums congregate and where tho 
women are not only shameless on the stage, but are 
bold enough to penetrate the private boxes and make 
chuirs of the knees of strange men. ‘The variety dive _ 
a8 an institution flourishes wider and pays better than 
places of less savory notoriety, There is such a charm 
to vice that even the saintly do not hesitate to linger 
in ite neighborhood «a while, and take a sniff of its 
Pungent atmosphere. Anybody who drops into Harry 
Hill’s place in New York, any night in the week, will 
see some remarkably churchly looking gentlemen stand- 
ing around studying the aspect of the establishment, 
and dwelling with melting eyes upon some of the 
painted faces that look up from the beer tables 
ranged at one side of the hall. A correspondent who 
visited Harry Hill's very recently gives the following 
description of tho place, its proprietor and its fre 
quenters: Harry Hill's grows bigger as its notoriety 
extends with years, but it never changes. Tt is not a 
bar-room, not a concert saloon, not a pretty waiter- 
girl establishment. and nota free-and-exsy. None of 
these terms describe it, for it is all those things in one 
and at once — big second-story room, containing a bar, 
a theatrical stage, which can quickly be made into a 








VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 395. 


turned its best apartments into billiard and pool-rooms 
and shooting gullery, Let us go in through the bar- 
room, up « winding stair and suddenly into the glare 
and bustle and merriment of the so-called theatre. On 
the stage two women are exhibiting as pugilists, with 
boxing-gloves, high-necked short dresses, soft, fat, 
bare arms, and a futile effort to look very much in 
earnest, and as if they did not realize how apparent it 
was that their greatest offort was to avoid hurting one 
another's breasts or bruising one another's faces. 

“In the chairs around the tables ave many men, and 
an equal number of women. The men are mainly 
young, and a majority seem to be country youths or store 
clerks. There are others evidently country men or for~ 
signers. Tho women wear stroet-dress, huts and all, 
They are Americans, often of Irish or Germun extrac- 
tion. As a rule they are not pretty, but they are 
quiet and manuerly, They know the cast-iron rules 
of the house— no loud or profane talking, no loud 
laughing, no quarreling, **no loving.”’ These are 
printed and hang on the walls, and all who go there 
either know or speedily find out that the slightest 
breach of them results in prompt expulsion from the 
house. All are drinking, and many of the women 
are smoking big cigars or tiny cigarettes, Other 
women, without hats or sacques, but wearing big 
white aprons, serve as waiters and as bartenders. 

“ Harry Hill himself, a smoth-faced old man, broad, 
big and muscular, who shares with Lester Wallack 
the secret of looking twenty years younger than he is, 
sits at a table with a detective and a chief of police 
from some suburb. Hill is always there, and is ever 
entertaining distinguished strangers. Clergymen from 
the cities drop in at the rate of one a night. The 
women, as they come and go, stop and salute or speak 


—_ i 


896 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCKET SALOONS. 


with Hill. He knows them all, is kind to all, and is 
liked by all. He has nothing to do with them or 
thelr affairs, however, his place being merely their 
exchange, and their duty being merely to behave 
while there. The boxers bow and retire, and a young 
woman, who was a fow minutes before at one of the 
tables with a broker, who was opening champagne, 
now faces the foot-lights in a short silk skirt, bare 
arms, bare head and red clogs, She sprinkles white 
sund on the boards from a gilt cornucopia, the music 
of a piano and three violins strike up, and she rattles 
her heels and toes through a clog danes, It is a waltz 
tune that she is keeping time to, and a tall young 
woman of extremely haughty mien and rich apparel 
seizes a shy and scedy little product of the pavement 
and whirls her round and round in the bare epace 
on the floor, The lookers-on gather there, and a 
callow stripling from the country, without previous 
notice or formulity, grasps a snubnosed, saucy-looking 
girl in the throng and joins the dancers, 

«Some of these girls "as bin a-coming ‘ere ten or 
fifteen years,’ says Harry Hill, ‘and looks better to- 
day than others which left their 'omes a ‘alf year ago, 
Hit’s hall hacordin’ to ’ow they take to drink, Hif 
they go too furst they're sure to go too far.” 

“Do they reform? Well, Mr. Hill says there are 
so many notions of what reform really is, that he 
eau’t say. Some of then reform and become mis- 
tresses when they get a chance, and some of them 
reform and return and reform again by spells. He 
points out one whom he calls Nellic, and says she 
went away and was going to lead a strictly honest life, 
disappeared for six months, and the other night came 
back again. 














VARLETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. B97 


“T kept my eye on Nellie, and, needing no introdue- 
tion, seized a chance to talk with her. 

+**T got married, and was as straight as a string for 
six months,’ said she; * but I had misfortune, and 
had no other way to support myself but to come back 
here.” 

+©* Husband leave you?” 

‘** He got caught cracking a dry goods store, and is 
up for two years,’ '" 

The patrons of the variety “ dives"? are usually 
young men, clerks, salesmen, and sometimes the 
trusted employee of a bank or broker's office will got 
mashed "’ upon one of the almost naked women who 
appear upon the stage, and will thereafter be numbered 
among the patrons of the resort. Those who have 
gone into the private boxes once and find the girls 
obliging enough to sit on their knocs and ask them to 
troat will go there agnin if they can possibly get the 
fifty cents that is asked oa un admission fee. 

Sometimes a party of really Christian men unfamil- 
jar with city ways will get into a variety dive by mis- 
take, and what is more, into the boxes. ‘The glaring 
sign over the front of the house which simply an- 
nounces that the place is a theatre attracts them to the 
box-office. 

‘Say, Mister, what do you tax us to go in?" one 
of the party asks. 

«+ Tickets ave twenty-five, thirty-five and fifty cents,” 
answers the dapper little man in the box-ollice who 
looks as if he ought to be a bar-keeper or a barber. 

* Give us five of your half-u-dollar chairs,”” says the 
spokesman, throwing down his money, and they are 
forthwith led to seats in the private boxes, which are 
no more than long galleries walled in and having two 
or three windows to which the ovcupants crowd when 








398 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


anything interesting is going forward on the stage. 
As [have already said these boxes are connected by 
doors with the stage and the serio-comie vocalist who 
has a few minutes to spare will loiter in to strike 
somebody for a drink. 

‘Say, baby, can't I have awet?”’ oue of the female 
wrestlers remarks aa she plumps herself down in her 
tights on the quivering knee of a weak little fellow who 
appears young enough to be fond of molasses candy 
yet, and throws her arms around his neck and hugs 
him to her flabby breast violently enough to disurrange 
the black curly hair he had slicked down ut the barber 
shop just before he came in, 

“A what?’’ he asks, trying to get his neck suffi- 
ciently released to be at least comfortable. 

“A drink, darling,’ and she bugs him again and 
ng with a little curl over his foreheud, 
of course you can,” is the overwhelmed 
young man’s reply. 

Now she looks fondly into his eyes and with the most 
affectionate expression at her command asks: “And 
how about my partner, baby. Can't she have # 
drink? ’? 

“I suppose so," responds the vie 
loud shouting at the stage-door for * Tdi 
body else, und Ida, knowing what she is wanted for, 
hurries to the spot, Tn the meantime ** Johnnie,’* the 
waiter, has been summoned, 

“Give mea port wine sangarce," says Tda’s part 
ner. 

“And give me a stone fence’? (cider and brandy), 
says Ida. 

“And what are you going to drink, baby?”? the 
wrestler sitting on his knee asks. 


















** Give me gluss of heer,’’ says the ** baby,”’ in atone 











400 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


a delegation to some sort of a religious conven- 
tion, got into a Bowery dive by some mistake, but 
made no mistake in remaining there. They got in 
carly and it was late when they left. The whole thing 
appeared novel, startling to them. They had never 
before geen so much unstripped womanhood exposed 
to the nuked eye. They hired a cheap opera-glass 
from the peanut boy, and they bought ‘pop’’ the 
whole night long. During the first part, when all the 
girls and the “ nigger" end-men sit in a circle add 
sing dismal songs and deal out smutty jokes, the 
grangers were in a perfect ecstacy of wonder and ad- 
miration for the shortness of the women’s dresses and 
the symmetry of their padded limbs; bat when the 
first part was over and a serio-comic singer came trip- 
ping out upon the stage without any dress at all on— 
nothing but a bodice, trunks and flesh-colored tights — 
and sung ** Tickled Him Under the Chin,’ they were 
ina frenzy and did not know what to do with their 
hands, or how to sit still, because the singer kept 
throwing glances in tho direction of their box. ‘Thea 
came the supreme exaltation of their feelings; the 
sorio-comic danced over to the box as she sang, and ae- 
tually tickled the most clerical member of the quin- 
totte on his fat, white chin, while the four others looked 
on in astonishment, and the audience fairly howled. 

The grangers were * guyed’” pitilessly by the audi~ 
ence, but they paid little, if any, attention to it, As 
soon as the serio-comic hid done her ‘turn’ she 
rushed for their box, and before long the five Hoosiers 
were a8 happy a3 the lark when it trills its song to the 
morning. 

The * dive *’ audiences are mixed in their character, 
as has been already suggested, and the proximity of a 
well-dressed young man to a crowd of hoodlums in 





MLLE GENEVieve 





VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT BALOONS, 401 


joans pants and braided conte often precipitates a row, 
Scarcely a night pusses in the flash variety shows that 
there is not some trouble. A * bouncer”’ is connected 
with each establishment, whose business it should be 
to quell disturbances, but who, like hot-headed Trish 
policemen, do more towards increasing the dimensions 
of a row than forty other men could do. It is bad policy 
to attempt open oriticism of the performers or perform- 
ance in one of these dens, A hiss will attract the at- 
tention of the bouncer, who will come down to the 
sibilant offender and sn; 

“ Young man, do ye expect as to give ye Sary Burn- 
hart an’ Fannie mpoort and Ed’in Booth fur 
twinty-five sints. Af ye don’t loike the show lave it, 
but af ye open yer mug ag'in, or say so much as 
* Boo,’ I'll put ye {where ye'll have plinty toime to 
cool yersel’ aff."” 

If the offender dares to argue the point the 
**bouncer ** will catch him by the neck, and then a 
struggle ensues, canes are flourished, the audience 
rise to their feet, some of the girls run in fright from 
tho stage, and there is pandemonium in the place for 
ton or fificen minutes, by the end of which time the 
«+ bouncer’ has taken his man out, and returning to 
business, triumphantly answers a question as to the 
whereabouts of the hisser : — 

“Oh, I left him lyin’ out there in the gutther 
where the collar ‘il come along an’ get 'im.”” 

Occasionally there will bo an incident of a more 
dangerous kind, but tinged slightly with romance. It 
is related that a cowboy went into a variety show in 
Marshal, Texas, ove night and made quite a scene, 
Hia “mash” was a ‘‘chair sweater’ in the show, 
Entering the place one night considerably under the 

n 
















= 
& VARIETY DIVES AND CONCHRT SALOONS. 403 

“Pll be through in un hour,” urged Mary pucili- 
cally. 

“This show’ll be out sooner than that,’ was the 
cowboy's answer, as he pulled his barker and began 
shooting the tips off the side lights, He had just 
emptied his ‘* weapin’? and was about loading up 
again, when the frightened audience was reassured by 

. the stage manager stepping on the stage and saying, 
“Mary, you are excused for the remainder of the 
evening. Go dress right away.’” 

A ‘chair sweater,” or ‘* staffer”’ as she is called out 
‘West, is a girl who sits in the first part, and who has 
nothing else to do than wear skirts short enough to 
display her limbs, and join in the choruses if she ean 
do so without knocking the life ont of the selection. 
After the first part she sits in the boxes and ** works"" 
the boys for drinks. If she can’t make anything in the 
boxes she goes out into the audienee—in the lowest 
of these dens —and flits from one plice to another 
getting a drink here, and by that time “ spotting” 
somebody over there whom she osteoms worthy of 
*atriking.”’ She keeps this up all night, until the 
ufter-piece —the cancan, or whatever else it may be — 
is reached, when she goes behind the scenes and sp- 
pears on the stage in the same street costume she has 
worn out inthe audience. ‘The * chair sweater's ’? lot 
is nota happy one. While pursuing her sudorific vo- 
cation she innocently imagines that sho is making an 
actress out of herself, and I guess she is—a* dive” 
actress, 

Now and then the ‘chair sweater’? combines her 
own business with that of her employer by selling her 
own or other photographs to ** grays.” Some of these 
pictures are of the vilest kind, but they sell readily to 
the patrons of the ‘dive,’ aud as the sule ix effected, 





404 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


quietly, even an honest granger now and then buys 
one, ** just to show ‘em up around the grocery.’” 

The variety ‘dive’? usually closes its performance 
with a fiery and untamed cancan, all the people of the 
company joining in the danco, the men usuully in the 
character costumes and ‘make-up ’’ in which they 
have appeared before in their sketches or acts. 





SELLING En PICTURE, 





Then follow the orgies behind the scenes. Home- 
times it is a wine supper with champagne from the bar 
of the house flowing so freely that the undressed 
divinities do not hesitate to empty bottle after bottle 
over their heads as if they were Roman candles, there- 
by giving the assemblage a shower of Mumm’s Extra 











VARIRTY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 409 


havo it. They sit on his lap or play circus riding on 
his shoulders, and until the last bottle has come, and 
the victim hus run dry of fands they keep him in good 
humor; then they show him the door, coldly eay 
Ta, tal Baldy,’ and Inugh heartily at hie verdant 
innocence as he staggers away. 

The man who allows any of these women — these 
cancan dancers or * chair sweaters’? — to entice bim to 
their home is lost. If he has money and they know it 
they will not take bim to their home, but to somo 
lodging-house with the proprietor of whieh the can- 
can ‘dancer is acquainted, and whom she knows she 
can trust. A pitcher of beer and.a bit of dragging 
for the victim's glass does the business. © While she is 
stroking his beard and kissing the end of his nose the 
drug is flowing gently into the goblet of beer. They 
drink, and in a short time the sopovific has its effect, 
and the slumbering man is relieved of his valuables 
and cash. He appeals to the police, and they promise 
to do something for him, but they don’t. He sees the 
cancan dancer. again the next night but she knows 
nothing about it. . The proprietor of the lodging-house 
is dumb as au oyster. All-the victim can do is to 
balance the account by putting experience on the debit 
side of the ledger and damphoolishness on the other. 

In New York the Bowery is the great place for these 
dives, ‘There are any numberof them, and the Bowery 
actress who is brazen enough to smoke her cigurettes 
in the street, especially when she ix ** on a lark,"’ may 
be distinguished by tho boldness of her face and the 
almost masculine atmoxphere that surrounds her. She 
seems to care for nobody aud nothing except her small 
dog antl the loafer who spends her money, and looks 
upon herself as the equal of the best woman in the 
profession. 












410 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


The boy theatres which flourish in all large cities, 
and whigh are dirty, dingy miniature places with gal- 
lery and pit, and six by nine stages upon which the 
goriest of blood-curdling dramas aro enacted, have a 
variety phase to them, specialty performers preceding 
the dramatic representations, and half-nude women 


vou 
tcf. NN 





CONCERT SALOON BAND, 


mingling and drinking with beardloss youths in tho 
boxes. 

The concert saloon, as some of the low places that 
have a fat German with pink-spotted shirt and stoye- 
pipe hat playing the piano, while a chap that hag the 
outward appearance of a speculative philosopher is 


blowing a cyclone through a cracked cornet, is called) | 


has its attractions for many; and if there are Is 


es >|... 


VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 4uL 


eke out the entertainment by squeezing discord out 
of au accordeon with flute obligato of an ear-piorcing 
and peace-destroying kind—or, in fact, if there are 
any female musicians on the grounds, the proprietor 
of the establishment may count on liberal patronage. 
Tho female orchestras to be found in the Bowery, 
New York, whero a squad of pretty girls all dressed 
in white, with a female leador wielding the baton with 





FEMALM BAND, 


as much nerve as if she were old Arditi himself, aro 
irresistible attractions to those whose tastes lead them 
to lager beer, and who like to partake of the beverage 
particularly in pleasant surroundings. A person does 
not get very much beer, but he hears a grent deal 
of wild music, and unless he is over-sensitive he will 








VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 413 


forgive the music and forget the beer—if he can. 
Tt is bot a few years since that the keeper of a beer 
garden first introduced these institutions into American 


ja 








“over THE 


life, His venture proved so successful that imitators 
sprang up all along the Bowery. The tenements of 











44 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 


the East Side were explored, and every female who 
could torture the neighbors with an accordcon, scrape 
the catgut or bang the piano was enlisted in the grand 
scheme of catering to the musical tastes of Gotham’s 
beer drinkers. 

« Over the Rhine,” in Cincinnati, is a great place for 
chexp aud vicious amusements. A correspondent writ~ 
ing from there says: ‘*The places of aimusement 





AN IDEAL *! MASHER.”” 


«Over the Rhine" line Vine Street for half a dozen 
blocks. They are of the democratic and, with one 
exception, rude onder, more funiliar to the backwoods 
than to the civilization east of the Mississippi. Some 
are Jurge establishments with all the fittings of an East 
‘Side variety theatre. Others are mere halls with a 
limited stuge at one end. To some an admission is 
gharged, ringing from ten cents up to twenty-fivg 





VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONB. 415 


cents, but most of them are free. The performers in- 
clude many familiar stars of the variety stage, for the 
salaries paid are of the best. The performances, 
though vulgar, are clean enough. The drinks pay all 
expenses, of course. Beer is served throughout the 
house and smoking is perpetually in order. In most 
places there is a gallery of boxes where the young 
women from the stage mingle with such of the 
audience as, by their generosity, deserve such honor. 
These are ‘‘ stuffers,’’ or as they call them here ‘* chair 
warmers.’”” One of them has conquered the soul of a 
local critic and he is actually puffing her into promi- 
nence in her peculiar line through the columns of oue 
of the leading papers.” 








A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS, 419 


A fow performers have been successful in making 
reputations as North of Ireland characters, but they 
are very few. Ferguson and Muck were for a time at 
the head of this class of variety comedians, but they 
got lazy, failed to exhibit anything like extensive orig 
inality, and carted their old jokes and stale ** business "’ 
to England and back, until they have fallen pretty 
much to the rear ranks, Harrigan & Hart, who have 
a large theatre in New York, and whose play, « Squat~ 
ter Sovercignty,”’ hada run of almost a year, are now 
the best known and really the cleverest of the members 
of the profession whe make a specialty of [ri# comedy. 
Billy Barry aud Hugh Pay have made fame and money 
with their laughable ‘* Muldoon’s Picnic,’’ and there 
are probably a score of others whose efforts would be 
worth mentioning if they could be recalled at this mo- 
ment. As inall other lines, however, the ranks huve 
been filled up with men and boys who are even more 
ignorant and ridiculous off the stage than on; who 
have graduated from newspaper hawking and boot 
lacking routes to the back door of the stage, and 
whose limited powers of jicry, whose retentive 
memories for old and poor jokes, and whose rhinoec- 
ros-hide cheek —absolute gall" they would call it 
themselves — are their only recommendations to any 
consideration. ‘They, like ull other really bad actors, 
look down upon every brother professional and imagine 
that they alone have uttained to the privileged height 
above which there is no firm foothold for anybody 
else. It is the pleasing prerogative of all poor artists 
to have hallucinations of this kind, and to dwell im 
temples of fame that are built upon the sands of their 
own imaginations. Nobody ever disabuses them of 
their egotistical ideas, and if anybody attempted to do 

















A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 421 


more necessary for the sueves of an Trish comedian 
than is talent of any kind; phe canes are used for 
thumping the floor of the stage, and the etove-pipe 
huts for banging each other in the fiwe, for this cliss 
of comedians always travel in pairs. There is a great 
deal of foor-thumping and hat-slapping in one of their 
acts, and among the rough acrobatic aspirants to fame 
the feet ure frecly used upon each other, and there is 
a reckless lot of falling and tumbling in breakneck 
style upon the stage. 

Tu making up his face the Irish comedian generally 
likes to indulge in a shrubbery of beard around the 
neck under either a clean shaven or stubble-strewn 
chin; if he aime at anything like decency in bis ap- 
pearances he will affect only brushy side-whiskers. A 
red expression around the nose and under the eyes, 
and a red or black wig to match his special eccentri 
complete his needs in this respect. The two speci- 
mens of Irish comedians that I have chosen for pre- 
sentation here were of the alleged neat type in their 
profession. They were travelling with Tony Pastor 
when I saw them, and in their outward aspect greatly 
resembled Harry and Johnny Kernell. They were 
credited with holding a high position in their particu- 
Jar line, and their names were on the walls and fences 
in letters a foot long; in addition to this they came on 
late in the programme, which is always a sure indica 
tion of the importance of the estimate placed on an 
act or artist by the management. 

But here comes one of them. The Stein Sisters 
have just finished a song-and-dance, © the flit,” for 
the street scene comes together, the orchestra with a 
wild flonvish of bass drum and cornet strikes up a 
familiar Irish melody, and, aflera few bars, one of the 
comedians enters. Ho is tull, wears a gray woollen suit 

















Im 


422 A THAN OF Ins COMEDIANS. 


of fashionable cut, a hat that never in the world would 
sit on aw Trish hoad ; a.rod-haired wig, partly bald, is 
secured under the hat; gaiters with black over-gaiters: 
elothe the feet, and the face is smooth and genteel, 
except upon the chin, whenee a long thin beard pro- 
trudes like a plowshare, An ordinary twenty-five-cent 
cane puts the finishing touches to his wardrobe. He 
looks like a hack-iriver out for a holiday, or a Kerry 
Patch politician dressed fora Skirmishing Fund picnic. 
He faces the audience from the middle of the lower part 
of the stage as boldly as if he were going to entertain 
them with something new. He pretends to be angry, 
and when the music has ceased, beging to pace wildly 
up and down the front of the stage, a3 he shouts re- 
gardless of all the rules of eommon sense and elo- 
ention : — 

“Tho oidea ay callin’ mo a tarrier! Why a Spun- 
yard can't walk the shtrects nowadays widout bein” 
tuken for a Mick or a tarrior!”* 

There are always a few indiscreet people in the 
audience who laugh at this sally, and the comedian 
goca on: ‘ But thero’s no use talkin’, my b'y’s bad as 
the rest ay’em. Wohin he away from home, two 
years ago, he sez to me, h Father, whin you 
hear from me agin I'll be President av the United 
States.’ Igot a letter from him last week sayin’ he was 
wan ay the foinest shoemakers in the State's prison.” 
This also raives a laugh, and he continues: ** But 
there's nawthin’ but trouble in thia wurrld. The 
other day I bought « horse, and the man tould me 
he'd throt a mile in two minits; and be heavens he 
could do it ouly fur wan thing—the disthance is too 
much fur the toime. [Laughter by the audience,] 
Tm railly ashamed ivery toime I take that animal ont 
movin’, fur I've got to put a soign upon him sayin’, 











A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 423. 


“This is a horse.’ [Laughter.] My woife an’ hor ~ 
mother tuck the horse out fur a droive in the park the 
other day; the horse run away, the buggy upsot, an’ 

my woife and mother-in-law war thrun out an’ kilt. 
Now, whether you belave me or not, more than five, if 
hundred married min have bin afther mo thryin' to b'y 
that horse. [Laughter by the male portion of the au- 
dience.] But I won't sell him, because I'm thinkin’ 
ay gettin’ married ag'in meself. [Langhter.] I've 
got a gerrl—she's a swate crayther ay sixteen sum- 
mers, several hard winters [titter], and I think she's 
pat in a couple ay hard falls [laughter]; but she'll 
spring up agtin all right. [Loud and indiscriminate 
Jaughter } I tuck her to the shlaughter-house the 
other day to sce ‘em kill hogs. She waz watchin’ 'em 
butcher the poor eraythers whin all to wonst she turns 
to me an’ sez, sex she, * Whin'll yure turn come, dear 
Johu?? [Laughter.] We're married now. My woife 
is very fond of cats. Three weeks ago she axed me to 
make her a prisint av wan, and I tuek wan home. 
That noight the cat got into my woife’s bed-chamber, 
got into the bed, sucked her breath, and in the mornin’ 
my woife was dead, ‘The other noight T wint out. an? 
got dhrunk, wint home and got in bed; the same eat 
kom and sucked my breath, and be heavens! whither 
ye bolave me or not, in the mornin’ the cat was 
dead !"" 

There are many persons in the audience who seem 
not to have read this story in the original Greek, —for 
it appears umong the queer things Hierokles, the Joe 
Miller of ancient times, wrot and these persons 
Tangh at the aobend joke, j@ the orchestra gives a 
chord, und the comedian, tilting his hat forward, flour- 
ishing his cane and walking around the stage with the 
alr of 2 man who has done an act of charity of which 































A TEAM OF Infsif COMEDIANS. 425 


med the fince?’’ an’ be heavens, they bormecd me on 
the impulse ay the momint. [Laughter.] But az 1 
sed afore, whin a man goes out in the mornin’ he never 
knows what's goin’ to happen. The other mornin’ 
Twint over to the Grand Paycitie Hotel —I go there 
every morning’; there's a friend uv mine boardin’ 
there be the waik, an’ whin he laves town T go over an’ 
ate his males for him; but [ wint over there th’ other 
mornin’ an’ picked up a paper an’ L read an arteckle 
headed * The Chinaise Must Go.’ Now, be heavens, 
I don't want the fellow that's got my three shurrts to 
go until I git ’em back from himag'in, [Laughter] 
A friend ay moine named Gilligan bought a gout the 
other day, an’ he goes about the shtrects atin’ eysther= 
cans an’ knockin’ the childher over iu the gutter. He 
batted over a little nagur b’y th’ other mornin’, and 
whin Gilligan was taken to coort ho summoned me as, 
a witness for the prosccution, Whin I tack the wit- 
ness shtand the judge axed mo what me name waz, an’ 
an’ he axed me what war me 
iy av a jouk T sex, sex T, 
“ an’ be heavens, he yev me six months for 
perjuree. [Laughter.]  Twint into a salune th’ other 
day; some ay the b’ys war settin’ around a table 






















playin’ cass! ’ whin they saw me come in, one 
ay ‘em sez, sez he, * Luck out for the Mick, or he'll 
swipe up all the lunch!* ‘[Laughter.] Pve got a 


Wty that the Chicago base-ball club used for a foul 
flag on rainy days. [Smiles.] ‘They throw a ball to 
him th’ other day an’ hit him in th’ eye; I tack him 
to an occulist who tuek the eye out an’ daid it on a 
table; be heavens, a eat kem along an’ swallied the 
eye. [Smiles.] The docthor tould me to kum 
around next day, an’ I tuck the b’y wid me. The 
occulist bad cut out wan ay his eat’s eyes, an’ he puts 








A TRAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 437 


“Where did you go when you left me th’ other 
noight?" Leyi continues. 

“T went down ta the muskeerade ball.” 

««Theard you was there. They put you out because 
you wouldn't take your mask off after 12 o’elock." 

«© But I didn’t huve any mask on. It waz me own 
fawo,”* 

“That's what I tonld them,"* says Levi, ** but they 
wouldn't belave me."* 

‘This raises alangh. Solomon looks for 2 moment 
with astonishment at Levi, then thumps his eune 
against the floor in an angry manner, and walks in a 
elrele around the stage as if terribly disgusted at 
having allowed himself to be sold. This look, cane- 
thumping and walk-nround are stereotyped Hiber- 
nianiams, and are introduced at the end of euch **sell."* 
As Solomon O'Toole gets sold all the time this end 
of the business is ns exclusively his as if he had a 
patent on it. 

**T went iuto « salune this mornin’,’’ said Solomon, 
“to git a gluss av beer. I got me beer, ped foive 
sints, and waz jist goin’ to blow the foam off it when 
somebody cries out, ‘Foight!’ I laid down me beer 
an’ ron out the dure to see whore tho foight waz, but 
there was no foight. Whin I got back me beer wae 
gone, I called for another glass an’ waz goin’ to 
dhrink it down, when somebody shouts, ‘ Foire!’ 
Now I wanted to sce the foire an’ I didn’t want to 
lose me beer, so I pulls out a bit av pincil an’ paper 
an’ wroites on it, ‘Ihave shpit in this beer.’ When 
1 pots the paper on tap ay the beer an’ wint ont to see 
the foire, There was no foire, an’ what do you think 
appin'd whin I got back?" 

* Your beer waz gone," said Levi, 

“No it wizn't,'’ Solomon interposed. ++ The beer 


— 











428 A TRAM OF ITSM COMEDIANS. 


waz there an’ the bit av paper waz on tap ay it, but 
some sucker had wrote roight ander my wroitin’, *So , 
hevI.'"" 

The conclusion of the story is of course greeted with 
laughter. 

** Here, Solomon,” 
you # prisent.’” 
An’ what's this?"’ Asks Solomon, exatnining the 
article that hus been handed to him, 

“A shoe horn,’* 

“An? what do I want wid an ould shoo horn? ’’ 

“They an’ get your hut on your head withit’ an- 
awers Levi, amid an outburst of merriment from the 
audience. 
How long can a man live widout brains?’’ ia 
Selomon’s next conundram, 

“T don’t know,” says Levi. “ How ould are you 

[ Laughter. 


says Levi, **I want to make 

















* Levi aska, 
sult to u square mel,” Solomon answers 
triumphantly. 

“Thin you can shtand mo 








insults Uhin any other 
whereat Solomon's indi, 
tion causes him to manwuvre to the right of stage 
in proper position for the next question. 









ass?”? he asks, looking ste 
‘The latter measures the floor with his eye, and an= 
swers, ‘About twelve foot.’’ Solomon thumps bis 
cane against the floor ence more, looks bereft of all 
the pl 
to Levi, say: 
No, that's not the roi 
“Well, "says Levi, * I'd loike to know what is the 
ait *rin j a 








sure he ever possessod im earth, and moving up 








t answer,”* 








etwane you an’ 





A TRAM OF TRISH COMEDIANS. aug 


“No diff 'rince,'’ shouts Solomon, throwing up bis 
hands,and coming down the stage shaking with laughter. 
Suddenly the fact dawns upon him that he has made 
amule of himself. His face assumes a bewildered ox- 
pression, and he hastily returns from the scene fol- 
lowed by Levi McGinniss, while the orchestra strikes 
up a lively air in anticipation of the encore which is to 
call the comedians out to do a wild Irish reel. 

This is a fair sample of the dialogue indulged in by 
ateam of Irish comedians of average ability, and the 
reader will at once understand from it what c= 
ulous and almost disgusting language and incidents 
are made use of to raise a Jangh, and how very easy it 
is to please a variety theatre audience. Pat Rooney's 
shrug of the shoulders and Land-League phiz, ov some= 
Iody else’s queer walk becomes the rage, and imme- 
diately there ave a hundred weak und pitiful imitators. 
So, too, with such a dislogue as the foregoing; it 
seems fo “catch on” with the public, and every Trish/ 
comedian on the stage must appropriate at least 2 por- 
tion of it, —and usually the very worst portion. Tt 
is sufe to assume that the variety stage to-day has 
no so-called North of Irelund Irishman who does not 
fling atleast a half-dozen of the sorry witticisms T have 
here given, nt the heads of his audience. There is no 
law against it, —no protection for the patrons of the 
theatres, who can do nothing else than to grin and 
stand it, —and therefore the Irish comedian and his 
* chestnuts’ forever flourish in this land of the free 
and home of the brave. 

















TH BLACK ART. 431 


table inthecentre of the stage, ‘Tuking Mr. Hermann, 
for example: This magician comes out in full even- 
ing dress, with coat sleeves pushed back revealing his 
immaculate shirt cuffs and gorgeous sleeve buttons. 
Whatever articles he will inject into his trieks he car- 
ties in the capacious pockets of his coat or in the 
palm of his hand. He introduces himself pleasantly 
to the audience in his broken English, and at once the 
performance begins. From that time on until the last 
illusion is given the audience remains in darkness as 
to his methods, He seldom leaves the stage, going 
only up to the last entrance, where, by standing 
against the projecting wing his confederate can fill his 
pockets with what he needs. A magician’s cout looks 
like a very common-place effort wt the swallowstail ar- 
ticle. ‘That's all it is exieriorly, but if you wet a 
glimpse of the side the lining {s on, you will find from 
eight to a dozen large and small pockets in the gar- 
ment. ‘Two of the pockets are huge affairs, running 
from the front edge back under the arms, thus leav- 
ing a wide mouth, so that large articles can quickly be 
dropped into them. 

Hermann is x great trickster, not only on the 
stage, but off. He watked into a barber-shop in Mem- 
phis one day, went up to the place where the rmzors 
were kept, and taking up one, culmly cut his throat, 
standing before the glass after the gush had been 
made, and with evident pleasure regarding the profuse 
flow of blood from the wound-—The barbers and t 
enstomers ran wildly into the streets yolling like a 
tribe of Feejees around a barbecue of roast missionary. 
They called the police, and raised 4 smull riot in their 
immediate neighborhood. ‘The police came and entered 
the shop, only to find Hermann coming forward to 
greet them, laughing and remarking that it wa 


























mnly 





432 THE BLACK Ant, 


little practical joke. There was not the slightest sign 
of any wound upon his throat, and it was only when 
the barbers were told that it was Hermann, the magi- 
cian, that they could be brought to believe that he had 
not really cut his throat throuzh, and then by some 
wonderful healing art closed the gup again, 


















During hix engagement in New York last season, 
the fimous magician demoralized a waiter and the 
Proprietor of a German beer saloon by making the 

 fhtining glass appear and disappear, and in receiving 
secarate change of x five-dollar nota counted it be- 











THE BLACK AKT. 433 


fore the chagrined proprietor and made it appear that 
the amount returned $12, which he coolly pock- 
eted. But his best trick was the ‘sell’? he pers 
petrated on the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Children. He had it announced that he would re- 
sume his old feat of blowing a child from a cannon, 
and making it appear safe and sound in the gallery of 
the theatre. This set, the society in arms at onee. 
He was notified that if he tried it the child (an appren- 
tice) would be taken from him. He replied that he 
was going to rehearse the fext on Thiftsday morning, 
anyhow ; wherenpon an agent of the society, with a 
writ of Aabeas corpus, rushed upon the scene. Just 
as he was about to ram the child into the piece of 
heavy ordnance aimed at the gallery of the Grand 
Opera House, the agent seized it and a tassel ensued 
between him and the magician. In the pulling and 
hauling one of the legs of the disputed youngster came 
off, aud it was dicovered that it was only a gigantic, 
well-made-up doll. The agent escaped amid roars of 
laughter, leaving his trophy behind. The press, too, 
had been sold by the trick, so none of the papers pub- 
lished the item. 

Much as Hermann has sold others, he has been pretty 
badly sold himself. I remember one night while Hor- 
mann was playing South, and doing his cabinet trick, 
some of the boys around the theatre put up a job on 
him that resulted disastronsly as far as the trick was 
concerned. The cabinet is a large contrivauce greatly 
resembling the huge refrigerators in use in grocery 
stores, and somo who know, say, bearing a grout ro- 
semblance to suloon refrigerators. It has a false back 
and is so constructed that ono or more persons may be 
hidden in the rear compartment. In the trick Her- 
mann makes use of two colored boys, who must be 











434 THE BLACK ART, 


alike in size and facial uppeurance. Only one of the 
boys figures in the trick ut first, going through a fuony 
bit of play and dialogue with the magician, uutil at 
last ho leaves the stage to get a knife with which to 
combat a big monkey that has been locked ap in the 
enbinet. When boy No. 1 goes off the stage for a 
kuife boy No. 2 comes back with it and is hurriedly 
pushed into the cabinet. Meanwhile boy No. 1 has 
Jeft the stage-doorand is ranning fast as he can around 
the block. The magician after standing at the eabinet 
4 few minutes —just long enough to allow boy No. 1 
to get to the front entrance of the theatre —opens the 
door, and lo! boy No. 2is gone. ** Boyee! Boy-eo!’” 
the magician shouts, *‘* Say boy-ve w'ere are you, 
boy-co?"’ * Horo I is, boss,”’ the hoy shouts, rush- 
ing breathlossly up the aisle, ‘The trick ‘surprises 
everybody, and is a good one, On the occasion I refer 
to, the boys"? got a policeman to arrest the Ind 
while he was running around from the back to the 
front door. The blue-cout took him to the station and 
Hermann shouted in vain for hia ** boy-ce,’’ and waa 
finally obliged to close the trick without the appear 
ance of his darkey confederate. 

As I have spoken above about the juggtera and 
tricksters of the Orient L may os well say that I wit- 
nessed the performances of the trickster who was in 
Harry French's Hindoo troupe. There was nothing 
marvellous in his feats, the boy-and-basket trick alone 
being the only thing of an ast ing character that 
he presented, and that being susceptible of easy expla- 
nation, the boy being light and supple and capable of 
moving or contracting his body so as to keep out of 
way of the sword thrusts, which by the way were 
of violent character. In a private entertainment 
on by this juggler be appeared more awkward and 














THE BLACK ART. 435 


clumsier than many an amateur who undertakes to fur- 
nish a parlor entertainment for his friends, It was 
evident that he would undergo suffering and pain for 
the success of a trick, as he took an ordinary wooden 
tooth-pick and while pretending to push it, in its en- 
tirety, into one corner of his eye, actually did push 
part of it in, not baying broken it off short enough in 
the process of conceuling it. Again he swallowed a 
yard of blk thread, and taking a knife cut a small 
opening in his side and brought forth a yard of black 
thread that had, of course, been concealed there before~ 
hand. The thread was bloody and was drawn slowly 
from its plaice of concealment, 

A correspondent writing from China about the street 
jugglers to be scen there, says: * Sword-swallowing 
and stone-eating appear to be the commonest fonts, 
and operators of this description may be found in 
almost every street. One fellow, however, performed 
a number of feats in front of our hotel, which demand 
from me more than a passing notice. He stationed 
himself in the middle of the street, and having blown 
a bugle-blast to give warning that he was about to 
begin his entertainment, he took a small lemon or 
orange tree, which was covered with fruit, and bule 
anced it upon his head. He then blew a sort of chir- 
ruping whistle, when immediately a number of rice 
birds canie from every direction, and settled upon the 
boughs of the bush he balanced or fluttered about his 
head. He then took a cup in his hand, and began to 
rattle some seeds in it, whon the birds disappeared. 
Taking a small bamboo tube, he next took the seeds 
and putting one in it blew it at one of the fruit, when 
it opened and out flew one of the birds, which flut- 
tered about the circle surrounding the performer. He 
continued to shoot the seeds at the oranges until 














436 THE BLACK ART. 


nearly a dozen birds were released, He then removed 
the tres from his forehead, and setting it down, took 
up adish, which he held above his head, when all the 
birda flew into it, then covered it over with a cover, 
aud giving it a whirl or two about his head, opened it 
and displayed a quantity of eggs, the shells of which 
he broke with « little stick, releasing a bird from each 
shell, The trick was neatly performed, and defied 
detection from my eyes. The next trick was equally 
astonishing and difficult of detection, Borrowing a 
handkerchicf from one of his spectators, he took an 
orange, cuta small hole in it, then squeezed all the juice 
out, and crammed the handkerchief into it. Gi 
the orange to a bystander to hold, he caught up a 
teapot and began to pour a cup of tea from it, when 
the spout became clogged. Looking into the pot, 
apparently to detect what was the matter, he pulled 
out the handkerchief and returned it to the owner. 
He next took the orange from the bystander and cut it 
open, when it was found to be full of rice." 

‘Two of the finest tricks now on the stage are the 
wrial suspension and the Indian box-trick, The latter 
Toxplain in the next chapter. The rial suspension, 
which is best seen in Prof. Seeman’s performances, 
consists pparantly mesmerizing a young lady 
while she is standing on a stool between two upright 
tars, upon exch of which she rests an elbow. When 
she is in the mesmeric state the stool is removed, 
Teaving her suspended upon both elbows; then one 
of the bars — that under the left, elbow —is removed, 
and the fair subject still remains motivnless, her entire 
weight resting upon the elbow of the right arm, which 
‘extended out from the body, with the hand thrown 
and gracefully against the cheek. Next, her 
2 is pushed ont from the bar through various 

















THE BLACK ART. 437 


angles, until at Inst: she reclinos upon her strange 
rial couch, which is searcely more than one 
inch in diameter. The illusion is a beautiful one, 
and astonishes all who see it. Occasionally the 
creaking of the steel joints under the elbow is heard 
ont in the audienco, * giving away’ the feat, for the 
actual fact is that the young Judy is not in a mosmoric 
condition, but is held in position by a stecl armor 
worn under her costume, with a joint at the elbow 
that fits into the upright bar, where a powerful system 
of leverage holds the body in any position desired. 

Hermann’s bird trick ie a fine one, He comes be- 
fore the audience with a living bird in a small eage 
held between both hands, and ** Wan! Twol T’ree 1”? 
with a sudden movement, and without turning away 
from the audience spreads his arms, when, lo! the bird 
and cago have disappeared. ‘Tho explanation given by 
some is that the cage is made of rubber, which, when 
released envelopes the bird in a sort of sack which 
flies up the magician’s sleeve. 

Nearly every young man in the land who has seen 
magician on the stage, wants to master the black 
art. It ia very easy for him todo ao. All he needs 
is a great deal of what is vulgarly known as ‘* cheek,’ 
aud termed in theatrical slang, * gall,” a quick eye, 
and ease and rapidity of movement in handlihg articles. 
The first thing to be learned is the art of * palming 
concealing small objects in the palm of the hand. 
Coins, balls, handkerchiefs, ete., are hidden in this 
way, being held in the open hand by the pressure of 
the fleshy part of the thumb. Tn this way the shower 
of coin and many like tricks are done. When the art 
of * palming pidity of movement, is 
the next thing, and then come the mechanical and 


other tricks. 











is understood, 








THE BLACK ART, 489 


above; must be set directly over it; then the boy 
sitting or kneeling under the board must let the head 
only remain upon the board in the frame. To mako 
the sight more dreadful, put a little brimstone into a 
chafing-dish of coals, and set it before the head of the 
boy, who must gasp two or three times that the smoke 
may enter his nostrils and mouth, and the head pres- 
ently will appear stark dead, and if a little blood bo 
sprinkled on his face, the sight will appear more 
dreadful. This is commonly practised with boys in- 
structed for that purpose. At the other end of the 
table, where the other hole is made, another boy of the 
samo size as the first boy must be placed, his hody on 
the table and his head through the hole in the table, 
at the opposite end to where the head is which is ex- 
hibited. 








‘THD INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK, 441 


‘«tio it up tight,’’ wind repe around the box in all di- 
rections, making innumerable knots and using every 
effort to seeure the box firmly, Then on top of the 
box is placed a board about us wide ns the lid of the 
box, aud on the opposite ends of which are heavy 
pe staples. 

(Fig.2.) Tho 

mentee "8 

assistant now 

steps to the foot-lights and is introduced to the crowd 
he, or she, is to astonish. A sack is brought forward, 
the assistant lightly mounts to the board on top of the 
hox, gets inte the sack, within which there is generally 
a stool, so that the person inside mi down. Tho 
magician begins to tie up the sack ; he gathers the top 
of it in hia hands, and in the meantime the assistant 
thrusts through the ope: a portion of another sack, 
and with his hands over his head holds in place the 
gathered end of the sack in which he is concealed 
while the magician ties a rope around the false end. 
The basket is a 
high, comical 
shaped wicker af- 
fair, witha heavy 
ring around its 
mouth and two 
large staples at 
opposite sides, 
(Fig. 8.) When 
the basket is 
placed over the 
assistant, the sts 
ples in its 
fit exactly over 
those on the Pig. 
board above the box; padlocks are passed through 


_= 






























442 THe INDIAN HOX-AND-BASKEY TRICK. 


the staples and locked, the committeo hold the 
key, and soaling-wax is again applied to the key- 
hole. Tho trick is now ready, the magician draws 
screen ucross to hide tho box and basket from the 
audience, and usually within two minutes the signal is 
given that the feat has been accomplished. Sometimes 
thia signal is a pistol shot; nt other times a whistle. 
The ecreen is thrown aside, the seals on the Ineks are 
unbroken ; everything is in exactly the position in which 
the committee left it, the ropes remain securely tied, 
scom undisturbed, and on opening the box, which is 
still stout and innocent-looking as cver, the assistant 
tumbles out and the trick comes to an end amid the 
wild plaudits of the audience and an occasional uncom- 
plimentary hoot at the committeemen. 
How is it dono? The simple-looking contrivance 
that forms the foundation of the mystery is nothing 
more or less than a trick-box. Along the edges of the 
front, back and ends arc fastened stout battens, as can 
be seen in the eut, These battens are screwed to the 
boards which form the upper part of the box. The 
lower boards at front and back and both ends are sim- 
ply sliding panels. The parts of these panels which 
come directly behind the battens are filled with iron 
plates pierced with holes of the shape to be seen in 
. Fig. 4. The screws on the lower 
parts of the batten are dummies: 
that is, they go only partly 
through the battens, and do 
Shaatad not teach the panels, On the 
of the battens are iron plates, each carry- 












THE INDIAN ROX-AND-DASKET TRICK. 443 


the panels shoved along se that the shanks of the studs 
slide through the slatted parts, 4, the panels will be 
locked securely. The unsuspicious air-holes you see 
in the panels are there for a purpose; the performer 
uses them to give him a purchase, so that either with 
his fingers or by means of a smail ivon rod he may 
slide the panels backward or forward. 

There is another piece of trickery in the construe- 
tion of the board that rests on the box and upon which 
the basket ix placed. ‘The plate staples are crooked ;"? 
that is, the staples are not of a piece with the plates, 
but are separate; they are made with a shoulder, and 
on each of the ends which fit tightly into holes through 
the plates, there is an oval-shaped hole, ax shown in 
Fig.6. Inside the board are two 
double bolts which pass through 
these holes and keep the staples {A 
in place, The person under tho 
basket passes a thin steel blade 
between the boards and slides 
back the bolts at one end. He 
then lifts the basket, and with it 
the staple. Once outside the 
basket he replaces it against the 
staple in the plate, pushes it ponte) 
down, its rounded ends acting ‘like wedges to 
pushing the bolts back, which come together aguin 
through the oval holes of the staple, locking it 
firmly to the board again. All that remains to be 
done, then, is to slide the panel of the box, push it 
in, creep through the closely woven ropes and inside 
the box, put the panel buck in its place and the trick 
ig at an end. 

Occasionally « performer does not find it a3 eaay to 
do this trick as it roads hore, He may sometimes got 











44d ‘THE INDIAN NOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 


stuck in the basket, or may find it impossible 
into the box. The sack is no trouble to him at all, 
for he is never really tied in the sack,—all he bas to 
do is to crawl out of it. Carabgraba, I think it was, 
while exhibiting the Indian box-trick in Chicago at the 
Adelphi Theatre, in 1874, met with an ageident that 
set the house in an uproar, and came near pi 
ing a panic. His assistant, who had succeeded in get~ 
ting out of the basket, snapped in two a small iron vod 
he used for sliding the panel, and despite a long and 
desperute effort could not succeed in opening the box. 
All he could do was to come from behind the screen, 
walk to the foot-lights and beg to be excused. Aw 
expert rope-tier had secured the box, as one of the 
committee called upon to do so, and the audience ered= 
iting the expert with the failure of the trick, eried 
fraud, and grew greatly excited. They would listen 
to no explanation until Leonard Grover, then manager 
of the Adelphi, came forward and promised that the 
trick would be performed later in the evening, apd 
that, in the meantime, the box should remain in full 
sight of the audience, both of which promises were 
faithfully kept. 
As it always takes some time to do this trick, the 
icin haz some kind of a ** ghost story” fixed up 
u his audience, An old ex-conjurer, writing 
's Monthly on the subjoct, gave the follow- 
with which he usually diverted his patrons 
assistant was getting into the box 

os of spiritualism,” 1 would say, +1 

permission, relate the adventure of a 
ul Miss Honora Mur- 





















of goneral housework morely 
hearing in some time from the 










THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK, AMS 


*b'y at home’ to whom she was engaged to be 
‘marrid,’ was advised by the *gerrl next doore’ 
to consult the spirits. Miss Murphy objected at first 
on the ground that she had taken her ¢ Father 
Matchew seventeen year afore in her parish church 
at home an’ niyer drunk sperrits,’ but finally con- 
cluded to follow the advice. The result I shall give 
you as detailed by her to her friend 3°’ — 

“How kem I by the black eye? Well, dear, I'll 
tell yer. Afther what yer wur tellin’ me, I niver 
closed me eyes. The nixt marnin’ ast Maggie Harna- 
hun, the up-stairs yp where was herself. ‘In her 
hoodoore,’ sez Maggie, an’ up I goes to her. 

“What's wantin’, Nora?” sez she. 

«T've jist heerd as how me cousin's very sick,’ 
sez T, ‘an’ I'm that frettin’, T mus’ go an’ see her.’ 
yer ter go ter yer wurruk,’ sex she, 
* mighty crass, an’ she the lazy hulks as niver 
does a turn from mornin’ till night. 

«* Well, dear, I niver tukes sass from anny ay ’em, 
so Lups an’ tould her, * Sorra taste av wuark I'll do 
the day, un’ av yer don’t like it, yer can fin’ somo wan 
else,’ un’ I flounced mesel’ out av the boodoore."* 

« Woll, I wint to me room ter dress mesel,’ an’ whin 
Egot on me sale-shkin sack, 1 thought avy me poor 
ould mother — may the hivins be her bed !— could 
only see me, how kilt she'd be intoively. Whin I was 
dressed I wint down-stairs, an’ out the front doore, 
an’ [tell yer J slammed it well after me. 

* Well, mo dear, whin [ got tor the majum’s, a big 
chap wid long hair and a baird like a billy-gout kom 
inter the room. Sez he: — 

4+ Do yer want to see the majum?* 

Ido,’ sez I. 

++ Two dollars,’ sez he. 































THY INDIAN MOX-AND-MASKET THICK, 447 


into the reom an" turned down the lights; in a minit 
majum, shtickin’ her face close to me own, whispers: 

+ The sperrits is shout — I kin feel ‘em! * 

***Thrue for you, ma'am,” sez 1, * fur I kin smell 
"em!" 

*Hush, the ingluence is an me,’ sez the majum. 
+I kin seo the lion an’ tho lamb lying down togethor.’ 

“¢Begorral It's like a wild beastess show,’ sex I. 

+s Will yor be quite?” soz an ould chap nox’ ter 
me, ‘] hov a question to ax- 

‘© *Ax yer question,’ say I, ‘an’ I'll ax mine. T 
ped me two dollars, an’ I'll not be put down.’ 

4 Plaze be quite,’ sez the majum, * or the &perrita 
"Il lave." 

++ Jist then kem a rap on the table. 

“Ts that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan?’ sea the 
majum, 

‘© It is not,’ sea I, «for he could bate any boy in 
Kilballyowen, an’ if his fist bit that table “twould 
knock it to smithereen: 

‘6+ Whist?? sez the majuy 

*6Ax him "bout his prog 
face like a bow! of atirabout, 

“Ah, bathershin!’ sez I. Let John’s banions 
alone and bring Luke Corrigan to the fore.’ 

“<Hish!' whispers the majum; ‘I feel a sperrit 
hare me." 

“4 Pool av it has a wart on its nose,’ sex I, * for bo 
that token yell know it's Luke.’ 

“+The moment is suspicious,’ says the majum. 

“*«T hope yer don't want to usperge me character," 
sez I. 

“<«Whist!' sez she; ‘the spe 

*<It's droppin? yer mane,’ sex I, pick 
small bottle she let full from her pocket. 











‘it’s Jobn’s Bunions.” 
3,’ sex ® woman wid m 








rits is droopin. 





up a 











448 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICE. 


«<« Put that woman out,’ sez an ould chap. 

**¢Who do yecalla woman?’ sez I. ¢ Lay a finger 
on me, an’ I’ll scratch a map of the County Clare on 
yer ugly phiz.? 

*««Put her out!’ * Put her out!’ sez two or three 
others, an’ they med a lep for me. But, holy rocket ! 
I was up in a minute. 

‘«*Bring an yer fightin’ sperrits,’ I cried, «from 
Julus Sazar to Tim Maconle, an’ I’ll bate ’em all fur the 
glory av ould Ireland!” 

*¢ The big chap as had me money kem behin’ me, an’ 
put his elbow in me eye; but me jewel, I tassed him 
over as if he bin- feather, an’ the money rowled out 
his pocket. Wid a cry av ¢ Faugh-a-ballah!? I grab- 
bed six dollars, runned out av the doore, an’ I'll never 
put fut in the house ag’in. An’ that’s how I kem be 
the eye.” 

A story like this gives the magician’s assistant plenty 
of time to work the trick. Sometimes a magician 
whose confidence in his assistant is not strong, or 
whose paraphernalia is limited, will have only the box, 
and will satisfy himself with merely «tying ”” his as- 
sistant in a sack on top of the box. This way the 
trick is surer and a great deal easier than when the 
basket is used. 





CHAPTER XXXIL 
YENTRILOQUISM. 


All who have heard Prof. Kennedy or Val VYose 
with their funny littlo figures have wondered how thoy 
managed to produce such an effect upon their au- 
dience —to completely delude them into the bolicf 
that the speech came from the moving lips of the lit- 
tle wooden heads and not from the closed and motion- 
Jess Iabials of the ventriloquists. Both gentlemen are 
thoroughly familiar with their art, and the entertain- 
ment they give may be taken as a sample of the pos- 
sibilities of ventriloquism. ‘The history of the art goes 
back to Biblical times, but not until the eighteenth een- 
tury have we ancedotes of the remarkable performances 
of men endowed with the gift. The earliest notice of 
the illusion, as carried out in modern times, has refer- 
ence to Louis Brabant valet de chambre to Francis I. 
Having been rejected by the parents of a rich heiress 
he wished to wed, he waited until the father was dead ; 
then he visited the widow, whom he caused to hear 
the voice of her husband coming from above com- 
manding her to give their daughter in marriage to 
Louis, that he (the father) might be relieved from pur- 
gatory. The widow wax only too glad to comply, 
Now, Louis wanted a wedding portion, so he went to 
one Corm, a rich, miserly, and usurious banker at 
Lyons, whom he terrified into giving him ten thou- 
sand crowns by the old trick of parent and purgatory. 

The works of M. L’ Abbe La Chapelle, issued 1772, 

» (449) 











YENTRILOQUISM. 451 


But ho observed that M. St. Gille presented only the 
profile of his face to him while he was speaking as a 
ventriloquist. 

‘On another occasion, M. St. Gille sought for shelter 
from a storm in a neighboring convent; and finding 
the community in mourning, and inquiring the cause, 
he was told that one of their body, much esteemed by 
them, had lately died. Some of their religious brethren 
attended him to the church, and showing him the tomb 
of their deceased brother, spoke very feelingly of the 
scanty honors that had been bestowed on bis memory, 
when suddenly a voice was heard, apparently proceed- 
ing from the roof of the choir, lamenting the situa- 
tion of the defunct in purgatory, and reproaching the 
brotherhood with their want of zeal on his account. 
The whole come being afterwards convened in 
the church, the voice from the roof renewed its la 
mentations and reproaches, and the whole convent fell 
on their faces, and vowed a solemn reparation. Ac- 
cordingly, they first chanted a De profundis in full 
choir; during the intervals of which the ghost peeu- 
sionally expressed the comfort he received from their 
pious exercises and ejaculations in his behalf. The 
prior, when this religious service was concluded, en- 
tered into a serious conversation with M. St. Gille, 
and inveighed against the incredulity of our modern 
sceptics and pretended philosophers on the article of 
ghosts and apparitions; and St. Gille found it difficult 
fo convince the fathers that the whole wis a deception. 

M. Alexandre, the noted ventriloquist, had au extra 
ordinary facility in counterfeiting the faces of other 
people. At Abbotsford, during a visit there, he actu- 
ally sat to a sculptor five times iu the character of a 
noted clergyman, with whose real features the sculp- 
tor wus well nequainted. When the sittings were 














VENTRILOQUISM. 453 


VOICE 1. 


The first is the voice in which Frederic Maceabe 
excelled. To acquire this voice, speak one word or 
sentence in your own natural tones; thon open the 
mouth and fix the jaws fast, as though you were trying 
to hinder anyone from opening them further, or shut- 
ting them; draw the tongue back in a ball; speak the 
sume words, and the sound, instead of being formed in 
the mouth will be formed in the pharynx. Grent ut- 
tention must be paid to holding the jaws rigid. The 
sound will then be found to imitate a voiee heard from 
the other side of a door when it ia closed, or under a 
floor, or through a wall. To Yentriloquize with this 
voice, lot the operator stand with his back to the audi- 
ence against 1 door. Give a gentle tap at the door, 
and call aloud in a natural voice, inquiring, ** Who is 
there?’’ This will have the effect of drawing the at- 
tention of the audience to the person supposed to be 
outside, Then fix the jaw as described, and utter in 
voice No. 1 (expluined above) any words you please, 
such as, I want to come in.’ Ask questions in the 
natural voice and answer in the other. When you 
have done this, open the door a little, and hold a con- 
yersation with the imaginary person. As the door is 
now open, it is obvious that the voice must be altered, 
for a yoice will not sound to the ear when a door is 
open the same as when closed. Therefore, the yoice 
must be made to appear face to face, or close to the 
ventriloquist. To do this the voice must be altered ~ 
from the original note or pitch, but be made in an- 
other part of the mouth. ‘This is done by closing the 
lips tight and drawing one corner of the mouth down- 
wards, or towards the car, Then let the lips open at 
thut corner only, the other part to remain closed. 













454 VENTRILOQUISM. 


Next breathe, as it were, the words out of the orifice 
formed. Do not speak distinctly, but expel the 
breath in short puffs at each word, and as loud as pos~ 
sible. By eo doing you will cause tho illusion in the 
mind of the listeners, that they hoar the same voice 
which they heard when the door was closed, but whieh: 
is now heard more distinctly and nearer, on account of 
the door being open. This voice must always be used 
when the ventriloquist wishes it to appear that the 
sound comes from sume one close at hand, but through 
an obatacle, The description of voice and dialogue 
may be varied, as in the following example: — 


THE SUFFOCATED VICTIM, 


A large box or close cupboard is used indiscrimi- 
nately, as it may be handy. The student will rap or 
Kick the box apparently by accident, The yoice will 
then utter @ hoarse and subdued groan, apparently 
from the box or closet. 

Student (pointing to the box with an air of astonish- 
ment): What is that? 

Voice: I won't do so any more, I am nearly dead, 

Student: Who are you? How came you there? 

Voice: I only wanted to see what waa going on, 
Let me ont, do. 

Student: But I don’t know who you are, 

Voice: Oh yes, you do. 

Student: Who are you? 

Voice: Your old schoolfellow, Tom 
know me. 

Student: Why, he's in Canada, 

Voice (sharply): No he ain’t, he’s here; but be 
quick. 








~ You 


=| 


VENTRILOQUISM. 45S 


Student (opening the lid): Perhaps he's come by 
the underground railroad? Hallo! 

Voice (not so mufiled,as described in directions : 
Now then, give us a hand. 

Student (closing the lid or door sharply): No, T 
won't. 

Voice (as before): Have pity (Tom, or Jack, or 
Mr. . as the case may be), or I shall be choked. 

Student: I don’t believe you are what you say, 

Voice: Why don’t you let me out and see before T 
am dead? 

Student (opening and shutting the lid and varying 
the voice accordingly): Dead! not you. When did 
you leave Canada? 

Voice: Last week, Oh! Iam choking. 

Student: Shall I let him out? (opening the door.) 
There's no one here, 





VOICE It. 


‘The second voice is the more easy to be acquired. 
Tt is the voice by which all ventriloquists make » sup- 
posed person speak from a long distance, or from, or 
through the ceiling. In the first place, with your back 
to the audience, direct their attention to the ceiling by 
pointing to it or hy looking intently at it. Call loudly, 
and ask some question, as though you believed some 
person to be concealed there. Make your own voice 
very distinct, and ng near the lips as possible, inas- 
much 28 that will help the illusion, Then in exactly 
the same tone and pitch answer ; but, in order that the 
same voice may seem to proceed from the point indi- 
cated, the words must be formed at the back part of 
the roof of the mouth. To do this the lower jaw 
must be drawn back and held there, the mouth open, 
which will cause the palate to bo olevated and drawn 





456 VENTRILOQUIBM, 


nearer to the pharynx, and the sound will be reflected 
in that cavity, and appear to come from the roof. Too 
much attention cannot be paid to the manner in which 
the breath is used in this voice. When speaking to 
the supposed person, expel the words with a deep, 
quick breath. 

When answering in the imitative manner, the breath 
must be held back and expelled very slowly, and the 
voice will come in a subdued and muffled manner, little 
above a whisper, but so as to be well distinguished. 
To cause the supposed voice to come nearer by de- 
grees, call loudly, and say, * I want you down here,’” 
or words to that effect. At the same time make a mo- 
tion downwards with your hand. Hold some conver- 
sation with the voice and cause it to say, “IT am 
coming,” or ‘* Here Tam,"* each time indicating the 
descent with the hand. When the voice is supposed 
to approach nearer, the sound must alter, to denote 
the progress of the movement. ‘Therefore let the 
voice at every supposed step, roll, as it were, by de~ 
grees, from the pharynx more into the eavity of the 
mouth, and at each supposed step, contracting the 
opening of the mouth, until the lips are drawn np as if 
you wore whistling. By so doing the cavity of the 
mouth will be very much enlarged. This will cause 
the voice to be obscured, and so appear to come nearer 
by degrees. At the same time, care must be taken 
not to articulate the consonant sounds plainly, as that 
would cause the disarrangement of the lips and eavity 
of the mouth; and in all imitative voices the conso~ 
nante must scarcely be articulated at all, especially if 
the ventriloquist faces the andience. For example: 
suppose the imitative voice is made to say, ** Mind 
what you are doing, you bad boy,” it must be spoken, 
4s if it wore written, ** ‘ind ‘ot you're doing, you ‘ad 








VENTRILOQUISM, 457 


whoy.’? This kind of articulation may be practised 
by forming the words in the pharynx, and then send- 
ing them out of the mouth by sudden expulsions of the 
breath clean from the lungs at every word. This is 
most useful in ventriloquism,and to illustrate it we 
will take the man on the roof as an illustration, This 
ig an example almost invariably successful, and is con- 
stantly used by skilled professors of the art. As we 
have before repeatedly intimated, the eyes and atten- 
tion of the audience must be directed to the supposed 
spot from whence tho illusive yoice is supposed to pro- 
coed : — 

Student: Are you up there, Jom? 

Voice: Hallo! who's that? 

Student: It’s I! Are you nearly finished? 

Voice: Only three more slates to put on, master. 

Student: I want you here, Jem. 

Voice: Iam coming dircetly. 

Student: Which way, Jem? 

Voice: Over the roof and down the trap. (Voive is 
supposed to be moving, as the student turns and points 
with his finger.) 

Student: Which way? 

Voice (nearer): Through the trap and down the 
stairs. 








How long shall you be? 
Dnly « few minutes. Tam coming as fast as 
Teun. 

The voice now approaches the door, and is taken up 

by the same tone, but produced as in the first voice. 
. . . . * 

T have room to add only a few polyphonic imita- 
tions. To imitate the tormenting bee, the student 
must use considerable pressure on his chest, as if he 
was about to groan suddenly, but instead of which, the 








TAPTER XXXII. 





‘ON THE ROAD." 


Theatrical life is full enough of business and bustle, 
even when a company is playing a long engugement in 
-a large city ; but when ** on the rosd,”’ travelling feom 
town to town — playing here a week and there a week, 
with one-night stands in the intervening * villages,” 
actors aud managers find it no casy task to retain their 
health and spirits, und keep up with their « dates 5" 
and with all but a few organizations located almost 
permanently in New York, thus flitting from place to 
place —a round of anxiety and railroad experiences 
that Insts through forty weeks of each year —makes 
up the easy, glorious, and bliseful existence that so 
many people outside of the profession imagine is the 
unalloyed portion of those who are in it. 

As much of the business of company’s season a8 
can be arranged in Now York during the summer, iz 
attended to by the manager. He meets the prominent 
theatrical managers of the country on “The Square’? 
and makes dates at their respective houses for his at- 
traction. Having located his route as to the large cities 
he proceeds to fill in the intervals with one or two- 
night stands in smaller places, and this being done he 
and his company ure ready to take the road just as 
soon as the season begins. The contracts for cities 
like Chicago, Cincinnati, Louisville, New Orleans, and 
St. Louis are mado and signed in New York during 

(459) 




















460 ON THE ROAD, 


the summer vacation. The others are completed while 
the company is on the road. 

Ahead of every attraction is a press agent, herald, 
avant-courier, or, as he began to call himself two 
years ago, 4 business manager. When he invades a 
town the first place he makes a rush for is the most 
available opera house or hall, with the proprietor of 
which he makes « contract like the following :— 


Bevievinwe, [on oo 1882. 

This is to certify that I have rented the hall (room 
or theatre) known as,...++.-++ to the Madison 
Square Theatre Company for.. seonighte see, 
Vides sees ee for the sum of... 
dollars per night, w cludes license, stage hands, 
ushers, ticket-seller, ete. Said hall, passage-way, and 
stage to be well lighted, and also to be kept clean and 
well warmed, with scrvices of janitor and privilege of 
matinee included. 
Signed: 




















Lessee. 
Witness: 
sot ies asceed «-. Business Manager. 


Numerous other contracts are made, — for hauling 
baggage, for carriages and omnibus, for orchestra, 





‘© This is to certify that the landlord of, ..-.++.0+« 
aa docs hereby agree with the Agent of the 
Madison Square Theatre Company to board and lodge 
the said company, consisting of........persons, more 
or leas, for....... ..days, more or less, at the mte 
of...........cents per day for each person, Three 
meals and one (night's) lodging to constitute a day's 















ON THE ROAD, 461 


board, and for any time less than one day the charge 
shall be at the same rate per diem as is above men- 
tioned. Fires to be furnished at......-....-..conts 
per exch room. No charge to be made under the 
ubove agreement providing the party see fit to go else- 
where. Agent to be kept at same rates. 

ceca bevesdansnh leone’ Landlord.” 


Having got through with making contracts the agent 
begins to ‘bill the town.” The amount of billing 
that is done depends largely upon the reputation of 
the star or attraction, and the manner in which the 
newspapers have been worked. An actress like Mary 
Anderson puts out but about one hundred three-sheet 
bills—a three-sheet bill being the ordinary poster 
that is seen upon a single bill-board —in any of the 
large cities. Sarah Bernhardt and Adelina Patti, who 
were kept before the public by the press for many 
months before they came to this country, needed but 
a fow three-sheet bills and a simple announcement of 
their coming in the newspapers. Mrs. Langtry, 
Christine Nilsson, and Henry Irving will be billed in 
the same economical way when they reach our shores. 
Edwin Booth and John McCullough, like Mary Ander- 
son, use only a small quantity of three-sheet bills for 
advertising on the walls, These people require few 
lithographs, and are likewise fortunate in not being re- 
quired to buy large space in the papers. Nearly all 
the minor melodramatic and comedy attractions take 
to the circus style of advertising. Charles L. Davis, of 
“Alvin Joslyn"’ fame, who wears the largest diamond 
and carries the finest watch in the profession, boasts 
that he always likes to bill against a circus. When he 
was in St. Lonis during the season of 1881-2, Mr, 
W. R. Cottrell, the city bill-poster, told me that Dayis 





462 ON THE ROAD. 


put out about four thousand sheets, and everlastingly 
sprinkled the windows with colored lithographs. Mr. 
Cottréll also told mo that this does not approach the 
lavishness of circuses in decorating the fences and 
walls and bill-boards of cities. These latter usually 
pot out not less than ten thousand sheets, and the 
Great London Show a few seasons ago would spread 
from eighteen to twenty thousand sheets before the 
eyes of a city having a population of four hundred 
thousand. The bill-poster gets three cents per sheet for 
posting, and $1 per hundred for distributing litho- 
graphs, so that, as will be understood, a circus or a 
theatrical attraction like Charles L. Davis is a bonanza 
to the bill-poster. 

From the big type of the bill-boards the advance 
agent naturally turns his attention to the smaller, but 
probably more effective, type of the newspaper. He 
rushes into the editorial rooms like a whirlwind, if he 
is a cyclonic agent, asks in a voice of thunder for the 
dramatic critic, and when that gentleman is pointed 
out, after depositing a gilt-edged card and bestrewing 
the journalist's desk with a mass of notices from the 
Oakland Bugle, the Bragtown Boomerang, and forty 
other equally important und severely eritical journals, 
proceeds to talk so loudly that he disturbs all the 
writers in the room, and has the managing editor on 
the point nineteen times out of twenty of ordering him 
out of the office. 

“T tell you what, my boy,” he shouts, * we just 
nid *em out cold in Pilot Knob last night. Just got a 
telegram from tho manager, See here: * House 
jammed to the doors; hundreds turned away; great 
enthusiasm ; big sulos to-morrow night.’ Now that’s no 
gag, but the dead square, bung-up truth, s’elp me 

od."” 


ON THE ROAD. 463, 


“ T see the Horse-Tuil Bar Sentinel gives you folks 
fits,” the dramatic critic quietly suggests. ** Tt says 
your play is bad and your company worse — how is 
that?’” : 

“Oh that fellow is a bloody duffer,”’ the agent re- 
plies at the top of his voice,‘ Tell you the truth, we 
had « little trouble with him about comps. He wanted 
a bushel of ‘em, and because we wouldn't give ‘om up 
blasted us. But we did a rattling good business all 
the same, and don’t you forget it?" 

And in this way the eyclonic agent rattles along, 
tormenting everybody within hearing distance until he 
gets ready to go; and when he is gone there is a sigh 
of relief all around the office. The managing editor 
comes out and asks the dramatic criti 








+ Who was that d—d fool?” “ 
“Tho agent of the Doorstep Comic Opera Com- 





\y,"? the dramatic critic replies. 

“ Well, the noxt time he comes in here just tell him 
this is not a deaf and dumb asylum. We don't want 
any Serenades from side-show blowers. Don't give 
his d—d old company more than two lines, and make 
it less than that if you can."* 

Fortunately for the profession this atyle of advance 
agent is dying out, and men who understand news- 
papers better are coming in. There are many real 
gentlemen, clover, quict and effective, in the business, 
like Mr. E. D. Price, formerly of the Detroit Post 
and Tritune; Frank Farrell, who graduated from the 
New Orleane Times offive, and others who have for- 
saken journalism for the equally arduous, but more 
lucrative positions that enterprising aud low; 
theatrical managers offer them, 

The advance agent secs that the hall or theatre is in 
proper condition, looks after the sale of reserved seats, 





464 ON THE ROAD. 


distributes his ‘‘comps'’ as judiciously as cireum- 
stances will allow, and confronts everywhere he goos 
the cunning and omnipresent dead-head — that abomi- 
nation of the show business who will spend $5 with an 
agent to get a free ticket from him, when admission 
and a reserved seat may be purchased for $1. If the 
dead-head fails to circumyent the agent he quietly 
awaits the coming of the company, when he lies in am- 
bush for the manager, of whom he demands « pass or 
his life. In fuct, tho manager often has to undo a 
great deal that his agent has done in a town, and to do 
over again much that the avant-courier had seemingly 
done in a satisfactory manner. The company, too, 
frequently find the way not so smooth or pleasant aa 
the agent has represented it to be: the hall or theatre 
in which the performance is to be given is often a 
dingy, dismal place that is not only without conven- 
iences of any kind, but what is worse, may not be 
proof against anything like demonstrative weather; 
the hotel fare is bad, and the accommodations no bet~ 
ter; the mu: the town council, and sometimes the 
prominent oc must have free passes; the local 
papers want hatfuls of complimentary tickets, and 
with a house half filled with dead-heads and one-third 
of the benches empty, they must, in the face of most 
discouraging circumstances, appear as entertainers or 
meet with the severest denunciations of the pigmy 
press and the most galling » from the ungrate= 
ful urmy of doad-hoads, 

Now and then an actor or an actress contraets 4 cold 
during a barnstorming tour, and the nomadie Jife not 
being calculated to aid the healing power of medicines, 
the seeds of death are sown, and soon the played-out 
player sink» from sight, and without causing a single 
ripple upon the surface of the great sea of life, goes 





















ON THE ROAD, 465 


down to the grave, The agent and the manager, too, 
sharo this danger, and altogether tho life of profes. 





z 
z 
z 





sional people when * on the road”? is not so bright or 
joyful as to cause any one acquainted with their trials 
and troubles to envy them their lot. 

» 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 


To the outzide world the player's life seems always 
bright —a rose-carpeted path with sunshine forever 
straying about the feet and breath of the sweetest 
gardens always ia their atmosphere. To the players 
themsclyes, notwithstanding the hard work, it bas the 
same beauty and faseinations that other professions 
havo for those who have cutered thom, Lotta receiy— 
ing the wild plaudits of her newsboy admirers —for 
all over the country the street Arabs express their 
willingness to ** do eanythin’ in de world fur Lottie "’— 
accepting the baskets of flowers they send hor with the 
pennies they have pooled, and doing her utmost to re- 
spond to a score of encores in response to their appeals 
is as charming a little picture of perfect happiness and 
contentment us we could find anywhere, Judic, the 
great opera bouffe singer, peddling cherries, at the 
great charity fair in Paris, from two panviers borne by 
a jackass, crying, ‘Buy my cherries, monsieur. [ 
don’t sell them dear. Five francs, the little basket,’” 
isa noble example of the generosity that distinguishes 
the profession of which she isa member. A popular 
Anierican actress selling photographs for a little crip- 
plo she met in the street, and who had been rebuffed 
at several, is another example of the leaning towards 
charity and the kind-heartedness of a class of people 
against whom many bigots raise their hands and to 
whom they tam their backs, saying, as the Rev. Mr. 

(466) 


. 


THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 467 


Subini said, that he didn’t want to haye anything to do 
with actors. The reader has probably heard the story, 
but I willrepeat it here ; George Holland, the actor, died 
in his eightieth year, on December 20,1870. He wasa 
player of exceeding merit in his day, and his demise 
was widely and deeply regretted. Friends gathered 
around his casket in the awful moment when they were 
to part with him forever. The rites of the church were 
wanted for him, of course, and an actor friend went to 
Rev. Sabini and asked him to officiate. He declined, 
saying: “* I want to have nothing to do with an actor. 
There is a little place aroutid “the curnér’ were they do 
these things.’’ And sure enough there was, and the 
actors took their dead friend into ** the little place 
around the corner,”’ and Dr. Houghton said the last 
prayer over the dead player. That place" is now 
known among actors and by the public too as the 
little church around the corner.” It is the Church of 
the Transtiguration, and is on Twenty-ninth Street 
near Madison Avenue. 

It is only occasionally that seandal is given by the 
theatrical profession, but these few and fur-betweon 
occasions ure sufficient to keep alive the bad opinion 
that certain people have of actors and actresses, It 
is trae the 3 is weak at many points, as are other 
classes, but as [ have urged before, they maintain 
abigher standard of ality and adorn theie circle 
better than any other people whose paths are strewn 2g 
plentifully with temptations. At the beginning of the 
eighteenth century the stage was in very bad condi 
jon because society was in a worse condition, and if 
there is frailty in the ranks of actresses of to-day, and 
weaknesses among actors, it is because their sur- 
roumdings compel them to be what they are, und even 
under this compulsion they can hold their heads 




















TU ORREN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 409 


book about Ameriva which has been put forth in Colom~- 
bier’s nime. When Bernhardt came over here, she 
was secompanied by Jehan Soudan, a Parisian writer. 
He was very emall, closely buttoned up to the neck, 
vory bushy haired, and very much like a particularly 
mild and girlish divinity student. For all that, he waa 
the accredited temporary lover of Bernhardt. His 
other errand was to write an account of her tour, to 
be published as from her own pen. While in this city 
he was an object of conziderable ridicule, and his name 
was maltreated from Jehan Soudan into Sudden 
Johnny. But Colombier, the fiir aud fat actress of 
Bernhardt’s company, did not regard him aa comic. 
Quite on the contrary, she fell in love with him, and 
ho fell in love with her. However, this now reciproc- 
ity of hearts was kept hidden until near the end of 
the journey. Then it came out through Sudden 
Johnny carelessly kissing Colombier too loud in a thin- 
partitioned dressing-room. The smuck wus heard by 
Bornhardt. Idon’t imagine that she cared mach for 
Johnny, or would have missod him from the ranks of 
her favored admirers; bat it made her just as mad 
aa she could be to lose him to Colombier. Now, 
Colombier’s beauty was marred by a deflection of her 
nose to onc side. That's not much, for the chances 
are ten to one that tho sides of your own face don’t 
oxuctly agree. ‘Try 0 glass critically, and sec, Well, 
when Colombier emerged from her room with Johnny, 
to go on the stage, Sarah regarded her quizzieally, and 
then said something in French equivalent to :— 

**« Ah, my dear, I fear you kiss too much on one side 
of your mouth. It has really aud teuly bent your nose 
awry. Do lot the other side have some of Johan’ 
attention,” 

“No more was said. But that Johuny and Colom 





470) THM GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS, 


bier plotted «deep revenge is evident, for the book 
appears in Paris with the name of Colombier instend 
of Bernhardt as author, and among its numerous 
ridiculous lies about Americans are some spiteful little 
flings at Surah. Thus Sudden Johnny gets even.”” 

Mme. Patti, too, had a young man with her — Michael 
Mortier, brother of the editor of the Paris #igaro — 
who wus to write a book for her, but in St. Louis he 
spoke two freely to a newspaper reporter about Mme. 
Patti's relations to Nicolini, and Mortier’s life was there- 
after made so miserable that he was glad soon to make 
a bee line for Paris, whore it is to be hoped he is at 
present. 

A London correspondent tells us how a favorite 
actress of that placo faced three husbands, and as ib is: 
in order to continue turning the crank of tho scandal 
machine while foreign talent is the material to be 
ground, I will give the paragraph. He says: “The 
true glory of the Lycoum Theatre is that English Bern= 
hardt, Miss Ellen Terry. This bluo-eyed, blonde- 
locked, Saxon siren is not a radiant beauty as was the 
ill-fated Adelaide Neilson, but she is something better — 
she is a charmeuse, as the French call any one pos- 
sessing that peculiar feminine — which she exercises so 
powerfuly — magnetism. She is the most gifted, 
and withal the most naturally graceful, woman that T 
haye ever seen, The little movements and artistic 
attitudes of Sarah Bernhardt would seem forced and 
artificial beside that unborn charm and harmony of 
gesture, uostudiod and perfect as the ripple of tall 
grasses or the swaying of the branches of a weeping 
willow beneath a summer breeze. She ia pure 
womanly, every inch of her. She cannot be awkward 
even when she tries ; and Leaw her try the other night 
in ‘ The Belle’s Stratagem ;’ but instead of transform~ 





THE GRERN-EYRD AND OTHER MONSTERS. 471 


ing Letitia Handy intoa country hoyden in accordance 
with the text, she only succeeded iu assuming # pretty 
espieglerie that, had I been Doricourt, would have 
driven me to eateh her straightway in my arms and 
kiss her, declaring that she was charminganyhow. Off 
tho stage I am told that she is quite as fascinating as 
when bofore the foot-lights, She has proved the extent 
of her power of enchantment by successfully winning 
and wedding three husbands, all of whom aro still 
living, divorce and not death having released her from 
two of thom. In fact, it is reported that while walking 
in the Grosvenor Gallery recently, with her present 
spouse, Mr, Kelly, she came face to fuce with her two 
former husbands, who were promenading there to~ 
gether, und that the only ombarrassed personage of 
the quartette was Mr. Kelly ; and they do say that the 
law will soon be called into requisition to break the 
bonds that unite her to hor present spouse, and that 
she will then become the wife of a prominent English 
actor. Truly this wonderful and interesting Indy 
ought to inscribe on her wedding-ring the motto said 
to have been adopted by the old Countess of Desmond 
‘on the occasion of her fourth marriage ; — 





If 1 aorvive 
ithave five. 


Jealousy is at the bottom of nearly every scandal 
connected with the stage, or with people who have 
been on the stage The story of Lizzie McCall's 
crime {8a peculiurly sad one. She hud been a favorite 
burlesque actress, and was playing young heroines with 
Boucicault in 1880 when she met and married George 
Barry Wall, a young man of twenty-five years, she 
being twenty-three, Sho promised him to leave the 
stage forever, and in order that she might not be 












TU GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MoNsTERS. 473 


home, and their married life was not happy or peaceful. 
They lived together for eighteen months, however, until 
one fine morning after a violent quarrel she snatched 
up a pistol and shot her husband through the throat, 

A Russian theatre not long since was the scene of a 
real drama which deserves a plice among: the serious 
accidents of the stage. The two leading actresses 
were Frenchwomen who had come to St. Petersburg 
together as friends. They had occupied the same 
house, and lived on terms of the warmest intimacy 
for sometime. Then a young swell, who had enrolled 
himself among the admirers of one of them, began to 
pay court to the other, ‘The consequence was a jeal- 
ousy which finally lod ta a separation of the whilom 
friends. They remained members of the same com- 
pany, however, and their jealousies found vent about 
the theatre. Ove night after a dinner washed down 
with much champagne, the jilted actress boexme very 
violent, and attempted to assault her rival in her 
dressing-room, Sho was prevented, and went off 
threatening vengeance. The course of the piece 
brought them together in an impassioned scene, in 
the conclusion of which the one had to warn the other 
off with a dagger. Heated with wine, her jealousy 
inflamed by the presence of her faithless lover in » 
stage box, the jilted artiste lost control of herself, and 
insterd of a warning, dealt her rival a stab. The 
wounded woman foll bleeding to the stage. For- 
tunately sho was not fatally hurt, and her assailant 
escaped with an authoritative order to leave Russia, 
and stay away. 

Miss Bertha Welby, who ix a popular and talented 
netress, was & member of the “Only a Farmer's 
Daughter” company, of which Miss Lilian Cleves 
was the star. The two ladies could not get along 








474 Th GRKEN-EYRD AND OTURE MONSTERS. 


together, Miss Welby insisted that Miss Cleves was 
jealous of her rival's snecess; und so it went on, 
until at last a low raffian visited Miss Welby in her 
drossing-room one night, after the performance, and 
demanded money from her for having applanded her 
in several towns. Sho was afraid of the fellow, sho 
said, and so paid him the sum he asked—$15. Sho 
then told him to go, and he went; but Miss Cleves, it 


pre 












BLACKMAILING AN ACTRESS. 


appears, had assembled the members of the company 
at the door of the dressing-room to witness the pay- 
ment of the man, who, as she declared, had led the 
claqno that was making Miss Welby a greater actress 
than the star. Welby asserted that the whole 
thing was a piece of blackmail, and that Miss Cleves 
had instigated it. 

Operatic stars are violent sometimes in these exbi- 
Ditions of jealousy, It will be remembered that at the 
Jast Cincinnati music festival, Gorster absolutely re- 











THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MoNsTERS. 475 


fused to sing if Miss Cary preceded her, and the Hun- 
garian prima donna was induced to appear ouly by the 
graceful withdrawal of the fair American songstress. 
Miss Kellogg and Mlle. Roze had a bitter war in St. 
Louis in 1879, on account of their dressing-rooma, the 
American prima donna insisting on having the hest the 
Grand Opera House afforded. She got it at last, and 
was shocked when she heard a story to the effect that 
Waketield, then one of the proprietors, had a peep-hole 
above the dressing-room which he not only made use of 
himself but invited his friends to use. 
lousy of Mrs, McKee Rankin (Kitty Blanch- 
wore than once heen made the subjeet of news= 
paper articles. Sho thought her robust husband went 
through the love seene with the Widow (Miss Eva 
Randolph) in the play with too lavish a display of 
affection, and the greeti-eyed monster took possession 
of her. She stood in ihe wings every wight and 
watched the scene, and the more she watched it the 
madder she got until at last she demanded from her 
husband that Miss Randolph be dismissed. This Mr. 
Rankin sternly refused to do. Then Mrs. Rankin re- 
fused to play, and a clever young lady was given the part 
of Billy Piper. The nowspapers praised the now Billy 
so highly that Mes. Rankin harried back to resume the 
part, but remained eold toward and entirely estranged 
from her husband.. After some time the wound was 
healed and the couple reunited. There were several 
split-ups of this kind, but Mr. and Mrs. Rankin are 
now living happily together, and it is to be hoped that 
tho auccess of their new play, 49,’ will keep them 
happy forever. 

Now and then the jenlous actress's feelings are ex- 
pressed ina rather ridiculous manner. During the ran 
of a spectacular play in one of the large cities one of 














476 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTEEH. 


those old chaps who like to linger bohind the scenes 
and tickle the fairies under the chin succeeded in making 
himsIf the admirer of one of the ladies —one who 
played a priace or something of that kind. He 
brought her flowers every night, took her to supper 








JEALOUBY. 


after the play, and often paid for a ride under the 
starry night at a time when he should have been rest= 
ing bis hoary head upon his pillow at home. He kept 
thik up for a while; then he suddenly turned: his ate 
teution Lo another girl, who was doing 2 skippina-rope 





THY GRERN-EYRD AND OTITER MONSTERS. 477 


dance during an interval in thé play. He began to 
bring her flowers and to feed her on midnight oysters, 
and to take her on moonlight rides, Thepretty prince 
stood it ns long as she could; then she made up her 
mind to be revenged on the old deceiver. She waited 
one night until she saw him talking to the skipping- 
rope dancer, when she picked up a broom, and stenl- 
ing to the opposite side of the scene, made a high hit 
at his plug hat, just as he was presenting the rival a 
bouquet, and knocked the piece of head-gear clear into 
the outfield. The ancient Lothario felt around among 
the few hairs on the top of his head to see whether 
a piece of skull had not been chipped off; the skipping- 
rope dancer laughed; the pretty prince hauled off and 
wag about to bat the bouquet to second base when the 
dancer danced, and what remained to do was to advise 
the ** old gray *" to go, which he did rapidly afterere~ 
gaining possossion of his battered hat, He was ad- 
vised that if he returned any more the broom would 
bo used upon himsetf instead of his hat; and the scenes 
that he had haunted so long knew bim no more after 
that night. 

A New York wife wondered for a long time where 
her husband went at night, At least sho learned that he 
haunted « down-town theatre. Sho knew her husband 
was very fond of the drama, but was astonished when 
sho found out that he was patronizing the play without 
taking her along, so she dreased up one evening and 
going up to the box-office, asked the young man whose 
smiling face shone through the window, if Mr. So-and- 
So was there? Now she had gone to tho right source 
for her information, Mr. So-and-So bad takon away 
the affections of ono of the actresses from the man in 
the box-office; therefore the man in the box-office 
maonfully replied that Mr, So-and-Se was back in Mise 





THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 479 


her gauze and spangles, had little else on than her 
tights. Tho husband was astounded; the wife was 
boiling over with rago; tho dancer did not know what 
to make of it. The husband ssid that there was blood 
in bis spouse’s eye and fled the scene. Mrs. So-and- 
So then turned her attention to the lady in summer 
costume, and there was a war of worde that ended in 
the actross snapping her fingers in the wife's face, 
while the latter, unablo to do or say anything in her 
rage, strutted out aftor her faithless lord and master, 
who wus afraid to return home for three days, and did 
not return until be saw a personal” in the Herald 
saying that all would be forgiven und no questions 
asked. 

Tho meanest trick, I think, that was ever/prompted 
hy jealousy was one in which a well-known comedian 
ania handsome juvenile lady were made tht victims, 
Having dotermincd to go to a fancy dress bull, they 
borrowed a Mephistopheles and Venus costume, aud 
having dressed at the theatre in which they were play- 
ing, took their clothes to their bourding-house, the 
comedian retaining only his ulster and the young lady 
only her silk fur-lined cloak. In the sume house the 
leading Indy roomed, and as the comedian had been 
somewhat attentive to hor she grew jealous when sbe 
saw him cscorting the other flame to the ball, and that 
both might be taught lesson she resolved upon a plan 
of action which she faithfully carried out. The 
comedian and his compa: had plenty of fan at the 
ball, They returned to their boarding-house about three 
A.M. Both had Iatch-keys, but they wouldu’t work, 
Somebody had fastened down the bolt, What were | 








they todo? It was a cold morning with snow on the 
ground and snow still falling, Their carringe had 
gone; they dida't wish to go to 4 hotel in masquerade 


THE GREEN-EYED AND OTMER MONSTERS. 491 


wrapped his alster around him and sat down on the 
doorstep; the young ludy gathered her cloak around 
her as tightly as she could and stood up in # corner of 
the entrance, shivering and wondering what the people 
thought who passed by and looked at them. They re- 
mained there three hours, and when the door was 
opened, it was the leading lady who did the opening. 
She langhed as if she would lose her life in the effort 
when she saw the plight the two were in, and said as 
they passed up the hull that she was sorry she had put 
down that bolt when she came home, but she thought 
they were both in the house. , 

‘The story of an actor's jealousy is nicely told by 2 
New York paper in the following: A handsome young 
actress attached regularly to one of the New York 
theatres has 2 husband and « baby, asickly little thing, 
and the husband is outrageously jealous, all the more 
that this season ho has done * job work,’ which has 
kept him ** on the road’’ pretty constantly. Lately 
he ** came in,”’ the ** combination '’ with which he was 
connected having ‘gone up.’ He arrived unexpect- 

-edly late one afternoon, and found his wife out. On 
the tuble lay a note addressed to her in a masculine 
hand. It was open and ran thus: — 


«« Deak Frrenp: I do not think you have any cause 
to be anxious about the baby. It is only cutting its 
teeth a little hard —that's all. However, as you de- 
sire it, and say it would relieve your mind while you 
aro away at the theatre, T will come to-night about 
nine and stay all night with you. Don"t speak of the 
trouble. I shall only be too glad to let you get n little 
sleep after being up so much with baby. ] 
Your true friend, K. 5. Sranron, M. D."" 


‘The husband was furions at this note, seemingly so 


482 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 


harmless. He thrust it into his pocket, and without 
waiting to sce his wife strode from the house. He 
had now, he thought, what he had long suspected, 
proof of his wife's infidelity. Why, it was shamless! 
Dr. Staunton would pass the night, would he, and. 
blame it on the baby! but he should find that there 
was a husband around ready to deal terrible vengeance 
upon the betrayer. His feelings were not pleasant 
ones, as he lay perdue the rest of the day, nursing his 
wrath, to keep it warm. When the pretty young 
actress came home she was told that a gentleman had 
called and gone away in a great hurry, leaving no 
name. At about half-past ten that evening, while she 
was at the theatre, the door of ber bedroom was 
dragged open furiously, and the enraged husband 
roshed in. He looked around under the bed and into 
the closets, but found no man. 

There were, however, two persons in the room. 
One an infant slumbering peacefully in the crib, the 
other «lady sitting at a small table on which Jay sev= 
oral little bits of white paper into which she was 
pouring some globules from a tiny bottle. Her eyes 
were blue, her complexion a pare pink and white, and 
her hair, curling in loose ringlets over her well-formed 
head, was just touched with gray. She looked up as- 
tonished and said : — 

“Don't muke such a noise; you'll wake the child, 
Are you a burglar or what do you want?" . 

‘The husband paused in bis “fruitless search iar re- 
plied: ** I want thatman.”” 

“What man?’’ 

“Tho man that’s made an appointment with my 
Wife for to-night."” 

“« Who is your wife aid what business have you in 
Miss ——'s bed-room?’ asked the lady. 


THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS, 483 


** Miss ——'s my wife," 

** Indeed ; well, you can’t make me belleve that she 
ever made any appointment with any man she oughtu't 
to make.” 

*«Tcun’t, can’t 1? read that then,”’ he said, throw- 
ing the letter on the table and scattering the medicine. 
‘The Jady rend the letter and began to laugh, which en- 
raged the husband still more. 

** Where have you hidden thie Dr. Stanton? 1 will 
blow his brains out,”’ he cried. 

** No, you won't.”’ 

*« You see if I don’t.”’ 

“ Well, blow then: Iam Dr. Stanton, the author of 
that letter,”” said the lady. 

She had to sign hor name, Kate S. Stanton, and 
show him that the writing was the sume as in the note, 
before he would be convinced, and then he wis the 
most sheepish-looking man in New York The story 
got out, and he was the butt of every actor in tho 
city, They rofused to believe that he * walked 
home."? They condoled with him on account of his 
il health, which forced him to stop acting. They 
recommended him to consult a doctor, especially u 
lady doctor, Kate Stanton, for example. Altogether 
he wis so ** roasted '’ that be will have to have more 
than a mere letter in future to make him thirst for 
vengeance. 

* Hang these women doctors! ** is all you can got 
him to say; ‘if they must be doctors, why can't 
they sign their full name, and not make trouble be- 
tween man and wife?” 





JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 485 


had all assembled awaiting him. Many were the 
stories told of his wonderful gifts and eccentricities. 
One old member of the company, who had played 
with him through Georgia, prophesied he would make 





JOUN WILKES BOOTH, 


s terrific hit. Said he: ‘1 am an old man at the 
business and have seen and played with some of the 
greatest tragedians the world hus ever seen. I’ve 


li 





JOUN WILKES BOOTH. 487 


ately hocomes a lamb. His look of heavenly sweet- 
ness when I told him of the marriage of bis daughter 
was a atudy ; but when he learned she was wedded to 
his bitterest enemy, only a Dore’s pencil could depict 
the diabolical malignity of the man. The marks of his 
fingers I carried upon my throat for days after, and 
when he shrieked in my ear with his hot breath, and 
the foam dropping from his lip —* tell me, devil, are 
they married?”' I had but to reply ** they are,’’ but 
was unable to do so, So you see I am prepared for 
anything this wonderful young man may turn ont 
to be.’ 

**At that moment x commotion was heard at the 
back of-the stage, and Buker’s voice was heard to say : 
«Oh! not waiting long; you are on time!’ And 
striding down the centre of the stage came the young 
man himself who was destined to play sueh an unfor~ 
tunate part in the history of our country afterwards. 
The stage boing dark at his entrance, the foot and 
border lights were suddenly turned up and revealed a 
free and form not easily described or forgotten, You 
have seon 4 high-mettled racer with his sleek skin and 
eye of unusual brillianey chafing under a restless im- 
patience to be doing something. It ia the only living 
thing I could liken him to. After the usual introduc- 
tions wore over, with a sharp, jerky manner he eom- 
monced the rehearsal. I watched hin closely aud per- 
ceived the encomiums passed upon him by the old actor 
were not in the lewst exaggerated. Reading entirely 
now to us, he gave; business nover thought of by the 
oldest atager, he introduced ; and, when tho rehearsal 
was over, one and all admitted a groat actor was | 





amongst us. Knowing his own powers, he was very 
particular in telling those around him not to be af- 





JONN WILKES BOOTH. 489 


aa to aay, ‘ How long is this going to last?’ Nothing 
daunted, Collier with both hands clenched hia power 
ful weapon, but it was only a feather upon Booth’s 
sword, Jim wus the first to show evidence of exhaus- 
tion, and no wonder, nothing could withstand the 
trip-hammer blows of that Zickard, Watching for 
his head's protection, he was too unmindfal of his 
heels, and before he was aware of it, the doughty Jim 
for once was discomfited — beaten ; and lay upon his 
back in the orchestra, where the maddened Booth had 
driven him. 

* The fight over, the curtain descended, but Booth 
could not rise. Many believed him dead, but no! 
there was the hard breathing and the glazed, open eye. 
Could it be possible this was the man who only a few 
moments before nobody could withstand in his fury ; 
now a limp mass of exhausted nature, his nerves all 
unstrung, and whom a child might conquer? 

“Well, the piece, as may be imagined, was a sue 
cess — a positive and an unqualified guecess, so much 
so that it was kept on the balance of the week. “ The 
Robbers" was culled for rehearsal next, and as usual the 
war (then in progress) was the sole topie of conver- 
sation. ‘The company was pretty evenly divided on 
the question, a majority of them having played through- 
out the South, and had the same sympathy thatthe mer- 
chant had who saw his trade diverted through other 
channels. Not « word of politics was ever heard from 
Booth during the first week of his engagement, 
although he was an attentive listener to the angry dis- 
cussions pro and con., till one morning somebody (I 
forget who) read aloud from a newspaper of the ar- | 
rest of Marshal Geonge P. Kane in Baltimore, and his 
incarceration in Fort Melenry by order of Stanton. 





JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 491 


taken any task, however bold. A few hours after 
proved the rumor to be true. The last act of the 
tragedy all are familiar with, and one day standing at 
the grave outside of Baltimore where all that is mor- 
tal of father and son lie, I could not stifle memories of 
the past, and felt like dropping a tear of pity over the 
sudden and early downfall of one so promising, that 
had he lived might now be delighting nightly thousands 
with his powerful acting.’’ 





CHAPTER XXXVI. 


THE SUMOIER VACATION. 


‘The close of a theatrical season, which rarely exceeds 
forty weeks, and which terminates in the month of June, 
is always hailed by the prosperous actor as an occasion 
when he can find enjoyment and rest in some cosy 
spot; or if he is in the ranks, and is ambitious to be 
reckoned in the constellation of dramatic stars, he 
looks forward to his summor vacation as a time in 
which he will have opportunity to fix up his business 
for the coming season; or if he has not yet secured 
a manager—probubly needing one with money — he 
can button-hole the financiers of the ** Square,” a8 
the meeting-place and mart of the theatrical fraternity 
of the entire continent is termed. The stars are 
becoming so numerous, and, indeed, so insignificant, 
that ovon members of tho variety profession with the 
thinnest pretensions in the world to dramatic distine~ 
tion, and there are few on tho legitimate stage above 
the ranks of utility, who bave not aspirations of the 
same bright and twinkling kind. The beginning of 
every season finds a hundred or more new combina~ 
tions, with little talent and less money, starting out 
on the road; and one, two, or three weeks brings 
them back, cither ‘on their baggage,” or * on their 
uppers,’ —that is, the railroad company carries them 
home and holds the baggage for their fares, or they 
“count the railroad ties,’’ which is a metaphoric way 
of saying they walk home. Very few of the cheap 

(492) 





THE SUMMER VACATION. 493 


variety artists of the present day are worthy of even 
a mean place in the “legit..’’ as they designate the 
legitimate stage; and it may be said, too, that some 
stars who have sueceeded in reaching the legitimate 
boards would scarcely be reckoned bright ornaments 
among the gems of the variety stage. This, however, 
ix a subject beyond tho purposes of this work, and so 
Twill not go further into it. 


\ 
AT THE SEASIDE, 


The actor and actress who have settled down to the 
regular routine of general work aro among the persons 
who get most enjoyment for their money during their 
summer vacation, Stars, malo and female alike, who 
lve made money and reached a satisfactory round on 
the ladder of fame, though they may not have cottages 
by the seaside, or summer residences of anything 
like a pretentidus charactor, can also be counted 
among the number who ‘loaf and invite their 
souls" in o profitable aud pleasurable manner, Most 








a 





‘THE SUMMER VACATION, 495, 


plays to the same prices, and John McCullough and 
Mary Anderson are among the reapers of the richest 
harvests. Booth seldom plays a sexson through, but 
when he doos he, of course, carries off the honors. 
Actors and actresses, while generous n3 a class, save 
theirmoney, and very few are found loitering around New 
York ** broke,” during the vacation monthe. Still there 
are causes of poverty. I have known a former popular 
Trish comedian, who belongs to a family of popular 
and prosperous members of the profession, to walk 
tho streets of a Western town many a day without a 
cent in his pockets and nothing to look up to at night 
for shelter but the stars high and pitiless over his bald 
head, Everybody has read about the English actor, 
who, driven to distress, aud standing at the door of 
starvation, donned an old gray wig, and was found 
singing and begging around Union Square. Tt was 
only when a policeman in arresting him accidentally 
pulled off his wig that the actor's identity and condi- 
tion were known, The former was carefully concealed 
and the latter cheerfully and liberally relieved. I was 
ata banquet given by the press of St. Louis to Thomas 
W. Keene, the tragedian, during his first starring sea- 
son, when among the few guests who sat down to the 
table, between Billy Crane and Stuart Robson, was a 
short, stout, gray-headed, and long gray-bearded man, 
whom nobody knew. The night was bitterly cold, 
still the old fellow wore only a long, gray linen duster 
over a thin, red woollen shirt, with a very queer pair of 
pantaloons and rough brogans. His high, battered 
and wide-brimmed hat rested noder his chair as if he 
was afraid some of the company would steal it. He 
swept clean every dish set before him, emptied every 
glass of wine, and with bent head, and koife and fork 
in hand, was waiting anxiously for each course when it 











THE SUMMER VACATION. 497 


Club House — the most fashionable in the city — and 
asked permission to go into the kitehen to warm him- 
self previous to appearing at the banquet board, a per- 
mission which was granted. The old man spoke so 
eloquently in telling a pitiful story of his poverty, Put 
Short, treasurer of the Olympic, at the instigation, I 
think, of Manager Norton of the Grand Opera House, 
picked up 4 bat and took up a collection from the 
ton newspaper mon and ten actors prosent. The col- 
lection netted $39.75, which was poured in tho old 
man's two hands, while his eyes were wet with tears. 
‘Then he was freely plied with wine, and danced, sang, 
and gave phrenological examinations for two hours, 
when the crowd dispersed in the greatest good humor. 
Stuart Robson told this story to a Boston Times man 
who made « two-column article out of it that travelled 
all over the country, and in which all the credit of the 
chavity with the figures groatly increased was appro- 
priated unjustly, by Messrs. Robson & Crane. Bat 
this is not what 1 started out about. 

“« While the actor secks deep shudows under the far- 
reaching arms of huge trees,'’ writes the New York 
Dramatic Times man, “or leisurely smokes his pipe 
beneath heavy boughs, thick with scented buds and blos- 
soms, some oue is working out his programme for the 
next season. This ‘some one’ is often confounded 
with the actor h ', or is taken for the parasite who 
fosters and thrives on some indirect vein of the living 
and active theatrical body. The sturdy man af busi- 
ness, who by chance happens to pass the pavement 
between Broadway and Fifth Avenue, on the south 
side of Union Square, fancies that the crowd of well- 
dressed and, as a rule, quiet men, are idle profes~ 
sionals, lounging away a warm day between gossip 
and beer. He little knows that this is the thentrical 











THE SUMMER VACATION. 4098 


million, nor does it include the circus world, which is 
not represented on the Rialto, 

* On the other side of the ledger will be found 
twenty-eight thousand actors drawing their suluries 
from these receipts ; and about twelve thousand more, 
consisting of carpenters, property-men, scene-shifters, 
the employees of the front of the theatre, ete. Twenty 
dollars a week euch would make a fair average for the 
entire forty thousand, and would aggregate a total of 
$32,000,000 in salaries alone. Add to this the rent 
of the four thousand tive hundred different theatres 
and halls which, at a moderate calculation of say 
$4,000 cach, would make $15,000,000 for the year. 

“The season having closed, actors seek secluded 
spots, revel in the enjoyment of flannel shirts and 
country life, enjoying a dolee far niente either by sea 
shore or in wooded glens, and are described as * rest- 
ing.’ In the nooks many have charming households, 
and under their roof-trees happiness reigns, without 
much reference to ‘shop,’ The manager or agent, 
however, #8 s00n as one season ends, procures his 
* booking’ book and starts for the Square, His plan 
may be to play his attraction in the South. The end 
of bis route will then likely be New Orleans, After 
having his dato in that city, he will «fill up” his time 
going and coming back. If the attraction be good, he 
fills his time by playing in larger cities for one week; 
if not, he makes one or two-night stands, which, in- 
terpreted, means that his company plays for one or two 
uights in a city. Starting in September, he works his 
way down by Philadelphis, Baltimore, Washington, 
and then in the beaten route through Richmond, Mem- 
phis, Atlanta, ete, This route fixing shows the ex- 
perienced manager; for should he, for instance, have 
the week commencing February Ist in New Orleans, 





—————— 


THY SUMMER VACATION. 501 


tions. The big theatrical gun as well as tho smallest, 
either personally or through agents, keops himself 
posted of the affairs of the Rialto. No matter as to 
how heavy calibre the big gun may be, he may tell his 
friend he don't visit the Square, but he does, or is 
sure to let it be known that he lives at the Union 
Square Hotel, or at some other hotel near by, where 
his booking is done. Managers of provincial thestres, 
eager to fill the time for their houses, travel eastward 
to the Meeca of theatredom, or have their booking 
done by locul agents or firms engaged in this city in 
that specialty —the commission for an attraction 
being from $5 to $7, One firm of this kind in Union 
Square do the booking for more than fifty theatres, 
while another and larger one in Twenty-third Street 
controls entire circuits, and furnishes attractions for 
several hundred theatres. The manager having laid the 
foundation of his plan, takes the summer to complete 
it, changing a town here, or a date there, to make his 
route as complete as possible, and as convenient to 
travel over, so as to reach a town and have bis com- 
pany rest before appearing. 











FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 503 


lid, a0 that by opening the box, adjusting a man’s 
neck to the place intended for it, and then closing the 
box again, the contrivance became the ghastliest sort 
of a pillory. There were arm openings in the sides of 
the coffin and the lower portion which had been sawed 
short was not boarded up, so that the legs might be as 
free as possible under tho circumstances, in walking. 
Into a wooden overcoat of this kind I was hurriedly 
thrust, with my head protruding throngh the hole in 
the lid. The garment had been built fora man with a 
longer and thinner neck than mine, and its proportions 
were so entirely out of keeping with my physique, 
that while I was choking, and my spinal colamn 
threatened to crack any minute, my arms and legs 
were suffering the severest torture. Tt was certainly 
a comfort to know that dead people do not as a gen- 
eral thing: wear their ligncous ulsters in this style. 
When IT had the overcout on, the attendants tied a 
piece of rope around my neck, a threespound prayer= 
book was placed in my right hand, and 2 euchre deck 
of cards in my left. Being ready for the sucrifice, one 
of the Elks was delegated to introdnce me to the 
Order. He took hold of the rope that hung from my 
neck and hauled me up to the door at which the Grand 
Microscope stands guard, 

“<The candidate is ready,’ said the outer Spy- 
Glass. 

«Let him enter!"* was the Microscope’s command. 

Trembling and helpless, I stood at last, a picture of 
the utmost ridiculousness and misery, in the presence 
of the High, Mighty and Magnificent Muck-n-Mack of 
the Order. 

“« Quivering candidate!'? the Muek-a-Muck ex- 
claimed. ‘The Elks give yougreeting. Every person 
here assembled stretches out his right hand to you, and 








504 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 


the champion Indian-Club Swinger will now give you, 
in one solid chunk, the congratulations of this entire 
gathering for the success that promises to attend your 





A CANDIDATE IN RKEGALTA. 


attempt to enter our Order. Club-Swinger, congratu= 
Tate !’” 

The Club-Swinger did so. It was the most startling 
congratulation I was ever the recipient of, Ifa train 


FUN AMONG THR ¥LKS. 505 


cars travelling at the rate of 100 miles an hour had ron 
into mo I could not have been more surprised. A blow 
that would have made a pile driver or « quartz hammer 
feel that it had no more force than the hind leg of a 
house-fly was planted on the coffin lid right over the 
first button of my vest, and for three minutes I sped 
through space. When I landed on my back | felt as if 
Thad run against another such blow speeding in an 
opposite direction to the first. Every bone in my body 
was jarred to my finger tips and toc-nails, and the 
wreuch my neck got in the sudden stoppage gave me 
the impression that’ my spine had been all at once 
lengthened out sixteen feot and was still growing. 

“ Potential Pill-Preseriber!’’ the High Muck-a- 
Muck commanded, ‘ examine the candidate’s condition 
and immediately report upon the same! How has he 
stood the congratulation?" 

The Master Physician felt my pulse, muttered to him- 
self + 14,—48,—96,—155,'" and answered ** He has 
stood it well, your Majesty." 

“ Then let him thrice make the cireuit of the Peculiar 
Circle!” was the next command, 

Several Elks helped me to my feet, and after gather- 
ing up the scattered euchre deck and restoring it and 
the prayer-book to my outstretched hands, the first 
attendant seized the rope still dangling from my neck, 
and led me on # rapid trot around the lodge room. 
Wherever 1 passed heavy blows were rained upon my 
coffin covering, and T imagined T heard several half 
suppressed lnughs among my tormentors, I was begin« 
ning to get mad and had about made up my mind to 
throw off the wooden yoke T was carrying around, tear 
the bandage from my eyes, and sail in and punch the 
heads of half-a-dozen Elka, when I was pounced upon, 
dragyed to the floor and roughly relieved of the coffin, 








FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 507 


ful, manner in which they took me by the arm as we 
walked slong. Not « word was said. Silence intense 
as that which wields a spell over an audience while some 
daring act is in progress on the flying trapeze, seemed 
to surround me, As we walked I felt that there was 
the slightest bit of a rise —a gradual golug upward — 
tomy path, I paid little attention to this, however, 
because T was receiving unusually kind treatment atthe 
time. T had just made up my mind that I had passed 
all the perilous places along the road, and was about to 
mutter to myself a mixture of thanks and self-gratula- 
tions for the security and comparative blissfulness of 
my condition, when, with surprising suddenness, my 
attendants caught me by the arms and legs, gave me a 
gentle waft forward, and then, reversing the motion, 
clapped me upon « rough plank ut a very steep incline, 
down which I shot like lightning, regardless of the 
splinters that ran up into the tenderost ‘portions of my 
pantaloons, and oceasionally went on short and sharp 
oxpoditions into the neighborhood of my backbone. 
Down! Down!! Down!!! Talid, until Ithought Thad 
started from tho top end of Jacob's ladder, away up 
beyond the furtherest space through which the tiniest 
stars twinkle, and was ona rapid and important journey 
to the centre of the earth. I kept on thinking this way 
until, for a moment, there was a cessation of the splinter 
annoyance tipon that portion of my anatomy on which 
T usually do my sleighing. I felt myself falling, and 
then I felt myself stop. Tho force of gravitation was 
never before so fully and satisfactorily improssed upon 
me. I got so heavy when I had no further to go that 
I nearly crushed my life out with my own weight, and 
the sitting down was done with such alacrity that a 
pile-driver couldn't have sent the splinters that clung 
to my pantaloons further into myflesh. Add to this that 








~S 





508 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 


the first thing I struck was not a spring mattress, or a 
high hair cushion, but a wheel-barrow, filled with small 
wooden cones, with sharp edges and cruel points. The 
shock caused me tosend up such 2 howl that I imagined 
1 could see the hair of every Elkin the Jand standing on 
end. A well-defined laugh answered the howl, and 
beforgI could think of the front end of the prayers for 
the dead, I heard the High Muck-a-Muck's volee ring 
out:— 

«Wing him away,’’ he commanded, ** on Kineyele, 
the onc-wheeled horse of tho Hereafter."’ 

‘They wung me away at once. I discovered that the 
ono-wheeled horse designated by the High Muck~a- 
Muck when ho made use of the half 
German and half Latin word in his 
command was a very moderg whoel- 
barrow, The road over which tho 
bh winging was done was, to say the 
B) least, an unpleazant one, There 
was an obstruction of some kind 
every six inches — hills and hollows 
W without number —and, even if I had 
not already been physically shattered 
by the exciting episodes of the first 
part of the initiation, the morciless 
jolting I got and the sharp-pointed 
cones I kept dancing up and down 
on were sufficient torture to make 
me long for some quiet, peaceful spot 
on which I might stretch out my wearied limbs and close 
my eyes forever. Idon’t know how far] was carried over 
this rough road, which terminated in a tank of chilly 
water, into which I was unceremoniously dumped, 
while a shout went up from the assembled brotherhood 
that indicated that they were highly delighted over my 













—= 
MUCK-A-MUCK, 





FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 509 


prospects of being drowned. After sinking three 
limes without any apparent effort having been made to 
rescue me, I evinced a disposition to remain under 
water. Iwas beginning to Gill up rapidly, and celos~ 
tial visions were already flitting before me, when 
something sharp ran through my shoulder and I felt 
myzelf lifted to the water’s surface, 

* See that he remains blindfolded,’’ shouted the 
High Muck-a-Mack, and, while I still dangled from an 
iron hook on the end of a stout polo, the dripping 
handkerchief was tightened across my eyes. 

“Put him through the Purgation rite,’’ was the 
next order, in accordance with which I was thrown, 
face forward, upon a barrel, and one Elk taking me by 
the heela while another held my head, I was rolled 
and rolled until I bad passed through one of the most 
violent spells of seu-sickness anybody ever experi- 
enced, 

“Will the candidate recover?’ asked the High 
Mack-a-Muck. 

“«T have some hopes, your Majesty,’ answered the 
Potential Pill-Prescriber. 

“Then bring in the Krupp gun,'’ the Muck-a-Muck =. 
commanded, “and while he still has life, let the can- 
didate climb the cloud-heights around which many a 
Prophet has soared." 

Twas trembling with cold up to the time the High 
Muck-a-Muck mentioned the Krupp gun ; jast then a 
chill of fear ran down my back and my knees knocked 
together so violently that I could hear the bones rattle. 
‘The great cannon was rolled in and pluced in position 
near whore I stood. | 

“Spread the merciful net three hundred yards 
ordered the High Muck-u-Muck, «and sprinkle 
the earpet i in its centre with fourteen papers of tacks. 


— 














FUN AMONG THE ELKs. bl 


recoil, I fell right in the middle of the carpet space in 
the merciful net, just back in the midst of the fourteen 
papers of tucks that had been sprinkled there for my 
benefit. I howled and jumped into the air, but every 
time T jumped I fell back again and got a fresh invoice 
of tacks in my flesh. Although there seemed to be 
nothing particularly mirth-provoking in my situation, 
the assembled Elks laughed heartily until I was stuck 
as full of carpet tacks as a boiled ham is of cloves at a 
pustry-cook’s ball. Then they took me out of the 
net, picked the tacks out of my back, and stood me 
up, weuk and exhausted, aecordiug to instructions, in 
front of the throne. 

“The candidate,” said the High Muckea-Muck, 
«has given satisfactory evidence of his fortitude and 
endurance, and we are now prepared to receive him 
forever into our number as an Elk. Let him take 
the oath and kiss the branching antlers.”* 

‘The oath was administered and I saluted the antlers 
with my lips as fervently as T could under the cireum- 
stances. 

«« Now remove the blindfold.’* 

The handkerchief was removed from my eyes and I 
saw —nothing. But I was an Elk. 

Ihave seen many candidates initiated into this Order 
since that time, but I have never seen any such pro- 
ceeding us that here described, which leads me to ine 
for that some friends, and among them Jughandle, put 
up a job on me and used me o little roughly, for the 
sake vf the sport it afforded them. 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL. 
THE CIRCUS 18 HERE. 


A “disengaged canvayman’? who was probably 
driven to poetry for lack of other work wrote the fol- 
lowing spring verses which were published in the New 
York Clipper: — 


In the spring the gorgeous banners float npon the etrens tent, 
And the active agents’ fancies on “advances” all aro bent. 
Io the spring the “tounding brothers” try some new and daring 


games, 
While the opposition “ fakkirs'? call each other awful names. 


In the spring the “sideshow-blowers,"" with thelr never-falling 
tongues, 

Pomp out partlyzing language from their copper-fastened umes. 

e spring the fair Clreasstan, with her every hair on end, 

Leaves again her native Brooklyn, on the road her steps to wend. 





In tho spring ye ‘*candy-butcher" shows confections old and 
tough, 

While the gentle lemonadist juggles with the same old stuff. 

In the spring ye merry jester learns conundrams bright and now 

(Dug op by the Christy Minstrels in the year of '82). 


fn the spring —and In the ring— the riders whirl sround fo stylo, 

While the air ts flied with romance (and rheumatics—{ should 
smile)? 

In the *pring —ob, well, Vit chemo It, for 1 haven't got a cent, 

And I think I honr the Isndiond, coming up to ask for rent! 


‘There is more fact than poetry in these lines, The 
spring brings guily colored posters, like flowers of 
ney hues, to decorate the dead walls and fences ; and 
ers the streets with small hand-bills in which the 

“ (513) 











54 THE CIRCUS 15 HERE. 


wonders of the evening show are dwelt upon in astyle 
of rhetoric that would make George Francis Train 
sick. The name of the show is too long to print in 
this book, even if I begun at the title-page and wrote 
small and close throagh every page down to the lower 
right-hand corner of the back cover. Since they got 
to consolidating shows, they have by some clastic 
process begun to lengthen out the name, and at every 
reappearance of a circus in a town the bill-poster must. 
add afew yards to the length of his fence to get the 
improved and newly elongated name on it, and to make 
a few square yurds of additional space for the fresh 
stock of impossible pictures the artist hus chopped 
out for the show, I like to regard the ridiculous art 
and the brazen exaggeration of these posters. What 
consummate impertinence prompts the managers of 
these concerns to put a circus on paper that could 
never have an existence under the sun is something 
that it is impossible to understand. ‘They ask and they 
must have the patronnge of the pablic they insalt by 
spreading such absurdities upon the wall as the picture 
of one horse lying on his back with bis legs up and 
another horse standing above him, their eight hoofs 
meeti or of a man being blown from the mouth of 
& cannon, or indeed any of the other ridiculous and 
gaudy illustrations which are designed to catch the eyo 
at a distance of one hundred yards and to hold the at— 
tention long enough to make the investigator of bill- 
board literature part with a half dollar. But it seems 
that circus managers and circus agents have no other 
idea of advertising than to make the ink and the colors 
on their posters say as much us the imagination cau sug~ 
gest, aud to make poople pay for the privilege of find~ 
ing out that they have been bamboozled, It seams to 
be remunerative though, for a cirous can create greater 
















THE CIRCUS 18 HERE. 51h 


commotion in a town than a big fire, and from the mo- 
ment it pitches its tents —a city of canvas, they usually 
call it— until the glory of the visit. fades, thousands 
are interested in it und the opening of its doors always 
finds a throng with tickets in hind anxious to get in- 
side x early us possible, to have a thorough look at 
the menagerie and fn the other way, by patting in full 
time to get their money's worth out of the show. 

The elreus ulways comes to town with a flourish. 
There is a grand street parade, The dozen elephants 
and sixteen camels follow the band wagon, and then 
comes the cavalcade, gentlemen in court costumes and 
ladies in rich trailing robes with juunty hat of gay 
ribbons and feathers flying in the breeze. The lion 
tamer is in the cage the fechle animals that he 
keeps stirring up with his whip; the clown in his lit- 
tle chariot with his trick mule, affords amusement to 
tho children along the line; then the snake charmer 
rolls by fondling the slimy reptiles, and aftor that 
comes o procession of red wagons with trampish 
drivers in red coats, and perbaps there are some gro- 
tesque figi on top of the wagons. Atthe rear some 
enterprising clothler has an advertising vehicle. That 
ie nbout all there is to it, if we add the Undine wagon 
that hae a place gometimes at the head and sometimes 
in the middle of this ‘*gorgeous street pageant.’ 
Still it goes from one end of town to the other, scaring 
horses und creating the greatest excitement among the 
cireus-going public. The $10,000 beauty gag’? 
that worked so successfully last season when Adam 
Forepaugh claimed to have paid that amount to Miss 
Louise Montague, a variety actress, for merely appear 
ing in the street parade, riding on a howdah high 
upon the back of his largest elephant and for partici- 
pating in the grand entree at the opening of each 














THE CIRCUS I8 HERE. 519 


no nse in going to see another. These people are 
about right. There has been nothing new in the gen- 
uine features of the circus for the past fifty years. 
There are a few deceptive tricks that have been seen 
only of late years but they are mere ephemeral illu- 
sions, easy of explanation, and time will tale them out 
of the circus ring as it took the lion-taming act. I 
can remember the time when the eage of lions was 
dragged into the middle of the arena and amid the 
greatest excitement the alleged lion-tamer went in 
among the animals, beat them about, lay down upon 
the back of one and put his head between the wide- 
open jaws of another. Now that performance is lost 
sight of among the multitude of curiosities in the 
menageries. The great unchangeable features of a 
show, the gymnastic, acrobatic and equestrian work, are 
the same now that it was a half century ago. Still 
with all its want. of novelty it is attractive, as are all 
shows, and grown people have been known to share 
the enthusiasm of the little ones in playing cireus after 
witnessing a performance and while the sawdust fever 
was stillon them. A short, funny sketch that appeared 
in the Louisville Courier-Journal will do to illustrate 
the hold the circus hax upon the average boy's hourt. 
The writer says :— 

“After the circus had opened to the public yesterday 
a gray-haired colored brother, who held the hand of a 
boy of fourteen as both stood gazing at the tent, 
shook his head In a solemn manner, and observed : — 

«<Tt's no use to cry "bout it, sonny, kase we am 
not gwine in dar no how.” 

«+ But I want ter,’ whined the boy. 

«**In course you does, All chill’en of your aige | 
run to evil an’ wickedness, an’ dey mus’ be sot down 
on by dose wid experience.’ 


ee 


. THE CIRCUS 18 HERE. 521 


Teum powerful nigh bein’ « lost man, an’ in dem days 
de price of admishun was only a quarter, too.” 

««<Con't we both git in for fifty cents?” 

ey ‘speck we might, but to-morrer you'd be bilin’ 
ober wid wickedness an’ I'd be a backslipper from de 
church, Hush up, now, kase I hain't got but thirty 
cents, and dar am no show fur ¢rawlin’ under do 
canvas.” 

“The boy still continued to cry, and the old man _ 
pulled him behind a wagon, and continued : 

“««Henry Clay Scott, which had you: rather do— 
go inter de circus an’ den take de awfallest lickin’ a 
boy eber got, or have a glass of dat red lemonade an’ 
go to Hexben when you die? Befo’ you decide let me 
explain dat T mean a lickin’ which will take ebery inch 
of de hide off, an’ T also mean one of dem big glasses 
of lemonide. In addishun, I would obsarve dat a 
circus am gwine on in Heaben all do time, an’ de price 
of admisshun am simply nominal, Now, sak, what 
do you say?” 

** The boy took the lemonade, but he drank it with 
tears in his eyes."’ 

A man living near Bloomington, Illinois, in 1870, 
sold his etove to a neighbor to obtain funds to take 
his family to acircus that had pitehed its tents near 
tho city. When he got buck he said he was not a bit 
sorry, that ** he’deseen the clown, an’ the gals a ridin’s 
an’ the fellows doin’ flip-flaps, an’ waz so porfectly 
satiefied that ef another suck-ens came along next 
year, an’ he had a stove, he'd go to see it on the same 
terms ag"in.”’ 














CHAPTER XXXIX. 
UNDER THE CANVAS. 


The one great wish of the emall boy's heart, ae he 
stands at a respectful distance from the ticket wagon 
watching the huge canvas rise and sink— apparently 
with as much ouse as the flag flies from the top of the 
centre-pole —is to got inside the tent before the band 
begins to play. He may not have a cent to pay the 
admission, but he has Micawberish hopes that far 
surpass any moncy valuo that might be placed upon a 
small boy, that something will tura up to gain him 
admission to the show. He knows that if the canyas- 
men give him a good chance he can crawl in under the 
cloth and make his way up through the seats. He 
has been told that if he is caught at such a trick the 
showmen will drag him to the dressing-tent and fill 
his hair full of powdered sawdust, The canyas-men 
ure, however, viglilant; besides that, they are lazy 
and do not care to move around, so the small boy 
must be content to throw handsprings in the sawdust- 
sprinkled lot, and keep ou hoping until the show is 
out. In this respect the minute boy does not betray 
the same shrewdness credited to a Baltimore girl. 
She was on a visit to her brother’s ranche near Austin, 
Texas, when a small circus came along. It is con- 
the acme of honesty to beat the circus in 
m—in fact, paying is heartily deprecated, 
Although ouly a mouth in the place, the Baltimore 
belle was thoroughly imbued with the cowboy spirit, 

(522) 








UNDER THE CANVAS, 528 


in as far as ‘* beating’' the circus was concerned, and 
when the show pitched its tents she made up her mind 
as to what she wus going to do. At night, when 


























“BEATING”? THE CIRCUS, 


the show was under headway, she calmly approached 
the cirous tent on stilts, and viewed the first half 


| 


ou UNDER THE CANVAS. 


of the performance through the opening between tho 
canvas and the roof. One of the fighters of the show 
detecting something wrong, crept sround with a elub 
to ‘smash’? the intruder, but received a kick in the 
oye from the fair stilt performer, and was so taken 
aback that the cowboys had time to rally to her sup= 
port and raid the show while sho at a safo distance 
applauded the conquering herders, The troupe left 
town that night in a sadly damaged condition. 

Until Inte yours circuses generally gaye a balloon 
ascension before the afternoon performance took 
place, and sometimes a slack-wire performance was 
added. The latter free exhibition dropped out of sight 
a short time ago, and since 1876 there have been few 
circus balloon ascensions; they have been abandoned 
on account of the danger and frequency of acci- 
dents. Everybody remembers the fate of Donaldson 
and Greenwood, the former an «ronaut in the employ 
of Barnum at the time, the latter, a Chicago newspaper 
reporter. They left Chicago July 15, 1875, in a tate 
tered old balloon, It was a remarkably fine day, and 
not the remotest shadow of danger fell across the sun- 
shiné. The balloon was curried out over the Jake, dis- 
appeared from view, and the fate of the missing men 
was not known until a portion of the tattered balloon 
and the body of Greenwood, with his note-book and ~ 
other articles that helped to identify him, were found 
on the Michigan shore of the great lake. The balloon 
had been wrecked and both men had perished in the 
waves. Donaldson's body was never recovered. An 
imaginary sketch of this fatal trip was written by John 
A, Wise, the wronaut, who himself perished in Lake 
Michigan while attempting to completo a night ascen- 
sion. He and George Burr started from St. Louis at 
and a8 the wrial ship was vanishing into the 


al 







UNDER THE CANVAS. 525 


clouds it was seen for the last time. For weeks nath- 
ing was heard of the missing mon or the balloon, 
They were thought to be lost in the Michigan prairies. 
At last Burr's body was found on the exst shore of 
Lake Michigan. Wise’s remains were never recov- 
ered. 

A lady balloonist met with a terrible death at 





WASHINGTON H. DONALDSON. 


Cuantla, Mexico, some time ago. A great crowd as- 
sombled to witness the balloon ascension of Senorita 
Catalina Georgio, a beautiful girl only seventeen yoars 
old. There was no cur attached to the balloon, only 
the trapeze on which the girl performed, The balloon 





UNDER THE CANVAS, 527 


suddenly exploded and foll to the ground with the un- 
fortunate girl. Her dend body was found horribly 
crushed and mangled beside the wrecked balloon. 
The remains were tenderly cared for by the natives. 

-A frightful balloon accident occurred lately at Cour- 
beyoie, near Paris. A large crowd had assembled to 
witness the novel and perilous ascent of a gymnast 
called August Navarre, who had volunteered to per- 
form i number of athletic feats on a trapeze suspended 
from a Montgolfier balloon named the Vidouvillaise. 
Rejocting the advice of bystanders, Navarre rofused 
to allow himsolf to be tied to the trapezo. Thero was 
nocar attached tothe balloon, Atabouttiveo’clock the 
Vidonvilluise was lot loose from its moorings and rose 
majestically in the air. Navarre, banging on to the 
trapeze, appeared quite confident, and repeatedly sa- 
luted the spectators, When, however, the balloon 
had reached a height of nearly one thousand yards 
the crowd was horrified to see him suddenly let go the 
bar and fall, ‘The descent was watched in breathless 
excitement. At last the body reached the ground, 
striking with such force that it made a hole in the 
earth two feet deep, and rebounded four yards. It 
was crushed and mangled almost beyond recognition. 
Meanwhile the balloon, freed from its human ballast, 
shot up with lightning speed, and soon disuppeared 
from view. Late in the evening it burst and fell at 
Menilmontant, much to the consternation of the in- 
habitants of that busy Parisian quarter. 

The day after Donaldson's fatal ascension, Dave D. 
Thomas, then press agent for Barnum, and filling the 
same place still, made a successful ascension. Mr. 
Thomas is familiar with ballooning, and often laments 
that the days of wrial ascensions as circus advertiso- 
ments are jutst. 








UNDER THE CANVAS, 629 


know.” He finds his duties embrace riding, leaping, 
tumbling, object-holding, and occasionally in short 
times drive a team on the road. There is ono rider 
who was formerly 1 manager himself, He had a big 
fortune once, but a few bad seasons swamped it, and 
he is now glad to take his place as a performer on 
a moderate salary. Returning to the dressing-room 
ufler the entree, we find the clown engaged in putting 
the finishing touches to his make-up. We must look 
closely at him to recognize him. He doos not seem to 
be the same fellow we met at the breakfast table, in 
stylish clothes and a shirt-front- ornamented with a 
California diamond. He has given himself an im- 
possible moustache with chareoal, and has painted 
bright red spots on bis cheeks, You think him a mere 
boy as he springs into the ring, but he has been a 
mere boy for many « long year, and his bones are get- 
ting stiff and his joints ache in epite of his assumed 
agility. The ** gage'’ that he repeats and the songs 
that muke you laugh are not funny to him, for he has 
repeated them in precisely the samo inflection for an 
indefinite number of nights. He comes out to play 
for the principal act of horsemanship. Meantime in the 
dressing-room, if it is damp or chilly, the performers 
are wrapping themselves in blankets or moving about 
to keep warm. When the bareback rider returns from 
the ring he waually disrobes, takes a bath and dons his 
ordinary attire; but the less important performers 
must keep themselves in readiness to render any assis~ 
tance which they may be called upon to perform, 
There is but little repose for the weary circus people 
during a season. Frequently they stay but one day in 
a place, and the next town is fifteen or twenty miles 
distant. All the properties must be packed up, the 
helmets and cheap velvet, the tights and the tunics 





UNDER THE CANVAS. 531 


own, asthe following touching story told in verse has 
something to say about : — 


‘THE CLOWN'S BABY. 


{twas ont on the western froutier— 
‘The miner's, ragged and brown, 

Were gathered around the posters; 
‘Phe eircus had come to yown! 

‘Tho frreat tent ahiono tn the darkness, 
Like @ wonderful palace of Light, 

‘Aud rough men crowded the entrance — 
‘Shows didn’t come every night. 


Not a womun’s face among them! 
Many a face that was bad, 
And some that were only vacan 

And some that were very sad ; 
And behind the canvas enrtain, 
Ina corner of the place, 
‘The clowu with chalk sud vermilion, 
Was ‘making up" bis face, 





A weary-looking woman, 
With a sulle that still was sweet, 
‘Sowed on a little garment, 

With a candle at her fect, 
Puntaloons stood ready aud waltiug 
It was the time for the going on, 
But the clown in vain scarched wildly 
The ‘property baby"* was gone! 


Ho murmured, impatiently hunting, 
“10s strange that I cannot find 

‘There! I've looked in every corner; 
It must have been left behind.” 

‘The miners were stamping and shouting ~ 
‘They were not patient men; 

‘The clown bent over the cradle — 

“T must take you, little Ben! 


‘The mother started and shivered, 

But trouble and want wore near; = 6 | es 
‘She lifted her baby geutly, 

‘You'll be very careful, deart” 





UNDER THE CANVAS. 533 


Of sliver, and gold, and motes; 
People are not always penniless 
Because they don't wear coats. 
And thea, ‘Three cheers for the baby!" 
I tell you those cheers were mesut; 
And the way in which they were given 
‘Was enowgh to raise the teat. 
And there was a sedden silence, 
And a groff old miner said: 
Comme boys, enowgh of this rumpus! 
‘It's tlme it was put to bed.'* 


“The wasn't bit afraid! 
He's as game as he ts good-looking — 
Boys, that was a show that paid!” 


The public at large has but avery vague idea of how 
acireus is run, and the people, besides the managers 
and regular employees, who make a living by it, When 
the tenting season is about to open, a class of people, 
who in the winter hang about the saloons, variety 
theatres and gambling hells of the large cities, start 
for the circuses to bid for what are known ss the 
* privileges,"’ which are, as a rule, understood to em- 
brace not only the candy and lemonade-stands and the 
sido-shows, but all sorts of gambling devices by which 
the unsuspecting countryman is fleeced out of bis earn- 
ings, or borrowings, as the case may be. Monte men, 
thimble-riggers, sweat-cloth dealers, and all classes of 
guinblers and thieves who have not yet risen to the 
dignity of + working "’ the watering-places and sam- 
mer resorts, look upon the route of a circus as their 
legitimate field of operation. The cireus proprietor 
who rents the lot upon which his tent or tents are 





5 UNDER THE CANVAR. 


pitched has the right to sublet such portions of the 
ground as he does not use, for such purposes as he 
deems proper, and which will not make him personally 
amenable to the laws for whatever crimes may be com- 
mitted there. It has been shown that in many cases 
the managers not only sell to gamblers the privilege of 
locating on the ground and robbing the patrons of the 
cireus, but also receive a share of the ill-gotten wealth. 

«There are,’’ said Mr. Coup, the cireus owner, to 
an interviewer, ‘* lots of shows with big bank accounts 
who have made their money by actually robbing their 
patrons. They used to swindle on the seats, but that 
is done away with now entirely, or nearly so. Of 
course, I am not at liberty to mention names, but T 
could astonish you by designating shows the managers 
of which have made the greater portion of theic money 
in this way. But a great trick which is being practised 
is this: A man is sent ahead of the show who is not 
known to have any connection whatever with it. In 
fuet, he denies that he has anything to do with it, und 
yet he is really employed by the managers, This man 
canvasses the town and finds some man who has a big 
bank account and who is gullible enough to confide in 
strangers. The agent makes his acquaintance, gets 
into his confidence, and then with a great show of 
secrecy informs him how he can make a pile of money 
when the circus comes along. The innocent citizen 
bites at the bait and ix steered against a gambling 
scheme either inside or outside of the tent, and loses 
often large sums of money. Perhaps ho is # man 
whose social standing prevents him from making his 
loss known, or, more frequently, he fails to suspect the 
agent, who blusters around and declares that he, too, 
as Jost money on the scheme, And thus the show 
foes from town to town, making almost as much by 





= 


UNDER THH CANVAS. 535 


stealing from its patrons us it does at the ticket wagon. 
There are shows which make from $30,000 to $40,000 
a season in this way and that goes a good way toward 
paying for their printing, and is quite-an item. T have 
mado war on these fellows for years and am determined 
to keep it up. If I cannot run a show without having 
alot of gambling schomes attached to it, why then T'll 
stop running a show. [ abolished everything of the 
kind last season, even down to the selling of lemonade 
in the seats. I allow lemonade to be sold now, but 
the men are watched carefully and the first one caught 
swindling my patrons, off goes his head.” 

“ Do you not find it difficult to keep gamblers and 
confidence men uwuy from your show?" 

««T did at first, but it is now known among them 
that I will not allow it and they keep away. My life 
hus been threatened several times just on account of 
this, but I still live and still propose to keep up the 
fight. I have been offered as high as $1,000 a week 
for the privilege to reb my patrons by camp-followers, 
so you can see that the privilege is worth something. 
In Georgia « gung threatened publicly to kill me on 
sight for refusing to lot them hang around my tents, 
bat some of my men went for them and cleaned them 
out very effectually. ‘The side-show privileges are sold 
only on condition that no gambling shall be carried on 
in the tents and that the patrons shall not be swindled 
in anyway, The side-shows can be made to pay with- 
out robbery. Last season the side-showe that traveled 
with my show, made $75,000, which was more than I 
made,”” 








538 , ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 


nasium — burs, ropes, weights, trapezes, tight-rope, 
etc. Circus managers in want of talent forsmall shows 
going South or West apply here and take their choice 
of the boys. A bargain is quickly made and the child, 
for many of them are still mere children, goes forth 
to join the throng engaged from April until October in 
amusing the public in the sawdust arena. 

When the child gets into the circus ring there need 
be hope of no further sympathy. Tis tusk is seb and 
must be done at all hazards. A failure one time to 
accomplish a feat must be followed by another and 
another attempt until the font is at Inst satisfactorily 
presented, Olive Logan was ata circus performance 
at Cincinnati at which she witnessed an extraordinary 
instance of cruelty on the part of aelrens proprietor to 
achild rider. ‘The circus was owned and manujed hy 
a certain clown. The clown-proprictor, Miss Logan 
goes on to say, introduced a little girl to the audience, 
saying that she would exhibit her skillin riding. He 
stated that the horse was somewhat unused to the ring 
and if it should happen that the rider fell, no one need 
entertain any apprehension of serious accident, a& the 
arena was soft and injury would be impossible. It was 
surely an unhappy introduction for the ehild, and eal- 
culated to fill her with fear und doubt. The ehild 
whirled rapidly round the ring two or three times, using 
neither rein nor binding strap. She stood on one 
foot, then changed to the other. After this she was 
called upon to jump the stretchers. Had her horse 
heen well trained, the feat would have been no very 
difficult ono, But sho beeamo entangled in the cloth 
and fell to the ground, under the horse's fect. She 
Was plied again on the back of the horse and com- 
pelled once more to try the feat. Her fall hud not 
given ber new confidence and she fell a sevond time, 








ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM, 539 


Evidently much against her inclination and in spite of 
her trembling and her tears, nature's protest against 
barbarity, she was tozsed again to her place. But her 
nerve had gone. She waa utterly demoralized. Judg- 
ment of distance, and faith in horself were lost. Again 
she attempted to execute 

the leap. Aguin she fell to 

the ground, striking heay- 
ily upon her head. She 
rolled directly under the 
horse’a fect and only by 
a sheer chance escaped a 
terrible death. The an- 
dience, — more merciful 

than those within the ring, 

by this time had been 

thoroughly aroused and in- 
dignant. Cries and shouts 

were heard from all quar- 

ters: “* Shame! shame!” 

“That'll dol’? « Take 

her out! take her out!’? 

came up from every side. 

Tt would not answer to 

disregard such commands, 

and with « smile the ring 

master went to the child, 

raised her from the dust TRAPEZE, 

where she lay, and Jed her, erying and sobbing, to the 
dressing-tent. 

The men and women who perform at dizzy heights 
on the trapeze and flying rings frequently meot with 
terrible accidents. Still the difficulty of those feats is 
being constantly increased, and performers, not satis~ 
fied with having their eyes open during their perilous 














ACKOBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM, OAL 


boxes, that at once attracted my attention, It was 
that of a bosntiful girl, with eweet blue oyes, and 
golden hair falling unconfined over her shoulders in 
heavy, waving masses. Her boautiful eyes, turned 
toward me, expressed only terror at the seeming dan 
ger of the performer, and for the moment I longed to 
assure her of my perfect safety, but my brother was 
by my side and we began our performance. In tho 
pauses for breath I could sec that sweet face, now pale 
as death, and the blue eyes staring wide open with 
fear, and [dreaded tho effect of our finish, which — 
being the drop act — gives the uninitiated the impres- 
sion that both performers are about to be dashed head~ 
long to the stage. Having completed the double 
performance I ascended to the upper bar, and, casting 
off the connect, we began our combination feats. 
While hanging by my fect in the upper trapeze, my 
brother being suspended from my hands (the lower 
bar being drawn back by a super), I felt a slight 
shock, and the rope began slowly to slip past my foot, 
My heart gave a grand jump, and then seemed to stop, 
as I realized our awful situation, The lashing which 
held the bar had parted, the rope was gliding round 
the bar, and in another moment wo should be lying 
senseless on the stage. I shouted * under’ to the ter- 
rified ‘super,’ who instantly swang the har back to its 
place, and I dropped my brother on it as the last 
strand snapped and I plunged dowaward. I saw the 
lower bar darting toward me and I made a desperate 
grasp at it, for it was my last chance. I missed it! 
Dowu through the air I fell, striking heavily on the 
stage. The blow rendered me senseless and my col- 
Jar bone was broken, Twas hurried behind the scenes, 
and soon came to my senses. My first thought was 
that [mast go back and go through my performance 











542 ACKOBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 


at once, and I actually made s dash for the stage — 
but I was restrained, and it was many weeks before I 
was able to perform again.” 
The circus-gocrs of a decade ago were accustomed 
‘0 tight-rope and slack-wire performances in the ring, 
pba ala oe aad young womon, emulative of the cel- 





MOMB. LASALLE. 


ebrated Blondin, went through some wonderful evolu- 
tions in mid-air. Now the tight-ropo and loose wire 
faye both almost entirely disappeared from the ring, 
‘and only in the small shows aro they given a place in 
the programme. Still thero are many exellent per- 
ers in this line who find cmployment on the variety 
© among specialty people. The best of these is 
the pantomime clowa, who though an old 


ACROBATICS AND EQUEKTRIANISM. 543 


man displays wonderful agility when with balance-pole 
in hand he finds himself at the half-way point on his 
rope. Ladies who have taken to the hempen path 
have attained prominence aa rope-walkers. One of 
the most beautiful and at the sume time dangerous, of 
the performances that the small shows offer to their 
audiences is that of Madame Lasalle, who places her 
little eight-year-old daughter in a wheelbarrow filled 
with flowers, and on a rope thirty fect above the 
ground without net beneath and with nothing but 
hard ground to receive both in case of a full, trundles 
the barrow over along rope while the people below 
look up in breathless fear lest the barrow tip and 
a dreadful accident result before the feat is accom- 
plished. Tight-rope walking, howover, is not nearly 
so difficult as it appears to be, The performer needs 
steady nerves, a cool eye, firm limbs and a balance- 
pole, the last-named article being the most essen- 
tial. Training is required, of course, but it is not of 
the rigorous and protracted kind that other feats de- 
wmund. 

‘The training of riders is not so difficult, or attended 
with such dangers, although it is perilous enough, If 
a circus-rider has a son or daughter he wishes to bring 
up for the ring he will begin by carrying the child, as 
soon as it is strong enough, upon the horse with him, 
thus accustoming it to standing upou the animal in 
motion; but if « boy or girl is tuken up at an age 
when it is no long him around the ring 
on the back of a horse, he is put in training with what 
the circus people call # the m Thisis « beam 
extending out from 2 pivoted centre-pole and having a 
rope hanging down at the edge of the ring with a strap 
ut the end whieh is fastened around the pupil's waist. 
The rope is long enough to allow the pupil to stand 



























ACROBATICS AND FQUESTRIANISM. 45 


_ brilliant performances in the ring in an atmosphere 
laden with light and music, little dream of the weari- 
some toil and dradgery which precede them."” 

Tho speaker was Miss Lilly Deacon, « fair-haired 
English lady, with the form of a Juno, who arrived in 
this country from London sometime ago to fill an op- 
engagement as leading equestrienne in Forepaugh’s 
circus. As she appeared in the parlor in an interview 
with « Philadelphia reporter, she might naturally have 
heen taken for the preceptress of some firshionable 
English boarding-echool, or the daughter of some 
stiff old country squire of Kent or Sussex —or anybody, 
in fact, rather than the daring rider whose porform- 
ances have bewildered and startled the cireus-going 
multitude of London, Paris, and Berlin. In feature 
and miuuner her appearance was that of the English 
geutlewoman, while her conversation throughout ro- 
vealed a delicacy of thought and’expression common 
only to the well-bred judy. 

“Tho training necessary to success in equestrian 
performances,”’ continued Miss Deacon, ** is monoto- 
nous in the extreme and in some parts very dangerous, 
None but those in ragged health ever withstand it, and 
no one without a perfect physical orgunization should 
undertake it. The ordinary exercises of the riding- 
school are trifles as compared with the taske imposed 
in professional training. When a woman has obtained 
all the knowledge to be acquired in a riding-school, 
she has only got the rudiments of real equestrian srt. 
She must then enter the cireus ring and familiarize 
herself with the duties required of her there, She 
must be prepared to endure falls and bruises without | 





number, together with frequent ecoldings and eorrec~ 
tions from the instructors. No woman, unless eho be 
possessed of extraordinary natural skill, ought to ap- 


= 





M46 ACROBATICS AND RQUESTRIANISM. 


pear iu the ring before an audience until she has grad- 
uated from a riding-school, and then practised in the 





ting four or fire houra every day for at least six months. 
Those six months will bo a period of torture and weari- 
bees tu her, but she must undergo them or ran the riskot 


ACROBATICS AND KQUESTRIANISM. DAT 


almost certain failure and humiliation upon ber first 
appearance in public. 

* The best. equestrian instructor in Europe — in fact. 
the only one of established reputation— is M. Sul- 
monsky of Berlin, He is one of the grandest horse- 
men in the world, and in bis grent circus includes some 
of the finest stock on the continent. He saw me first 
in London, my native place, many years ago when I 
was performing with my brothers and sisters in Hen~ 
ley's Regent Street cireus, and offered to take me with 
him to Berlin and complete my training. I accepted, 
and entored his circus at the German capital, where I 
received the most careful instruction he could give 
me. 

“M, Salmonsky would send mo into the ring with 
his most spirited horses every day and stand by to 
direct my exercises. Sometimes I thought I should 
never survive the terrible discipline, and often thought 
I should go back to London and content myself with be- 
ing a second-rate rider, but the kindness of my good old 
instructor softened the innumerable bumps and bruises 
T received, and I at last triumphed. Emperor William 
and the crown prince attended the cireus the night I 
nade my debut, and complimented me formally and 
personally from their box, 

** M. Sulmonsky"s course of training is very rigid, 
and that aceounts for its thoroughness. The pupil 
must surrender wholly to the instructor and become 
very much as a ball of wax in his hands. At the out- 
set, however; the scholar must obtain complete mas- 
tery of her horses. Fear is a quality utterly hostile 
to successful equestrianism, and unless the pupil can 
banish it at the start, she hud better give up her am- 
bition and abandon the profession. She will never 





548 ACROBATICS AXD EQUESTRIANIEM, 


succeed so long as she is afraid either of herself or her 
horses. 

“But, as IL said before, no one unacquainted with 
the dangerous preparatory instruction of an eques- 
trienne has uny propor estimate of the toil and weari- 
ness which her performances represent, Ono never 
knows the boundless capacity of the human frame for 
pains and aches until one has gone into training for 
cireus-riding. What, with unruly horses, uneomfort- 
able saddles, and the violent exercise involved, five or 
six hours of practive every day for months is certain 
to do one of two things —it either kills the pupil or 
brings her up to the perfection of physical womanhood. 
The houre for practice adopted by M. Salmonsky were 
in the forenoon— generally from eight to twelve, 
with, perhaps, another hour or two in the evening. 
‘To withstand this course one must dress loosely and 
become « devotee to plain living and the laws of 
hygiene. Any neglect of those principles, or any great 
loss of sleep usually results in broken health and pro- 
fessional failure. 

“Agreat many persons who have the idea that the 
life of 2 circus star is a happy one —that it is a round 
of gorgeous tulle, tinsel, and ring-master -embel- 
lished “splendor — would be sadly shocked if they 
could get a glimpse of the 
are mistaken. Tt is really a 
much all hours of the day. When the splendid Mile. 
Peerless isn’t speeding around the ring, lashing her 
spirited bure-back horse to fury, amid the plaudits 
of admiring thousands, she is mending her tights, 
stitching tinsel on her costume, annointing her bruises 
with balsam, or practising. The pr:ctice of the eireus 
rider is like the rehearsnl of the actor, only mora #0, 
for while the actor has only to rebearse until his first 





















ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANIGM. 549 


performance and then can go on playing a part without 
further trouble, the rider must put in an hour or two 
every day to keep her joints limber and her muscles in 
proper trim. But for this daily practice the perform- 
ances of our circuses would be the theatre of many a 
tragedy instead of the scenes of mirth and gladness 
that they are. 

The fascination that the cireus has for people who 
know nothing aliout its hardships, is Mustrated in the 
case of n Georgia lady, who lived in luxury, and whose 
husband was numbered among the most prominent of 
the State's citizens. She became imbued with a de- 
sire that she would like to sport tights and gauze 
dresses, and whirl about the ring on # spirited horse, 
so she struck up acquaintance with an equestrian, who 
happened to come along with a fly-by-night show, 
and eloped with him. The husband followed the 
show to Texus some months afterwards, and had an 
interview with his wife, who had heeame an equestrienne 
inasmall way, doing a pad-riding net in each porform- 
ance, An interview with the lady fuiled to make her 
her fully. ‘Tho husband now grew desperate, 
went away and hired a lot of cowboys whom he took 
to the show with the understanding that a8 soon ax 
Mile. Eulalia (the wife's adopted name) put in an ap- 
pearance they were to rush forward, und seizing her 
earry rom the tent. When the lady appeared and 
had boon Tiited upon the horse by the clown, and thering- 
muster was touchiug up the heels of the animal to got 
him iuto « funeral jo ry 
vanced, Tho husband seized his wife, drngged her 
from the horse, and while the cowboys tought back 
the performers and attaches he got her into a carriage 
y, leaving the audience in the wildest 
state of excitement. Kind words and gentle treat- 




















and drove her awa 








550 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 


ment brought the woman back to hersenses, and she is 
now in her Georgia home and does not want auy more 
circus experience. 

A Paris correspondent tells us that the furoral of 
that charming circus rider, Emilio Loisact, who was 


COW-BOYS’ RAID ON THR TING, 








killed in April, 1882, was a Parisian event. The poor 
girl had long inhabited the United States, and bad the 
freedom of manne f-respect which so often dis- 
tinguish the American young lady, She was on horse- 
back one of the most graceful creatures imaginable, 
The figure was lithe, but without meagreness. Her 
poses in the suddle were simply exquisite, and they 









AGKOBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. SOL 


appeared unstudied. The features were cleguntly 
formed, and the eyes expressed a brave, kind soul. 
Emilie Loisset was more popular than Sarah Bern- 
hardt had ever been in Paris. Her less successful 
rivals in the circus were bronght by her exceeding 
amiability to pardon her public triumphs. She did 
not seem ever to excito jeslousy, On the days and 
nights on which she performed the cireus was erowded 
with fashionable people. There was no umount of 
wealth that she might not have possessed had she not 
been a proud, strong-willed, self-respecting girl. She 
had no carriage and used to walk from the hippodrome 
to the Rue Oberkumpf, where sho had a small lodging 
on the fifth floor, A number of aristocratic and plu- 
tocrutic admirers used to oxcort her to the door, 
through which none of them were allowed by her to 
puss. She aspired to create for herself a happy home 
and to marry somebody whom she could love and 
esteem. Hor sister, Clotilde, is the morganatic wife 
of the Prince de Reuss, brother of the German ambas- 
sador at Constantinople, and is looked up to in her 
family circle. The admiration of the Empress Bliza- 
both for Emilie was increased by the fact that tho 
charming cireus rider spurned the address of the crown 
prince of Austria. 

He wus very much in Jove with her when she was in 
Germany, a couple of years ago, and would have for- 
sworn marriage if she would have consented to be his 
Dubarry. She did not like the young man, and told 
him so. The empress, when she was hero, used to 
make appointments to ride in the Bois with Emilie, 
Her majesty thought the ecuyere charming to look at, 
but wanting in firmness of hind. The horse on which 
she rode with imperial Elizabeth in the shaded alleys 
of the Bois was the one that oveasioned her death by 


552 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 


rolling over on her and driving the crutch of the 
‘saddle into her side. The august lady noticed the 
hardness of the brute’s mouth, and the teasing and at 
the suine time irresolute way in which Emilie held her 
bridle. 

Emilic Loisset aimed at classic purity of style. 
There was nothing sensational, in her inanner. Her 
imperial friend Elizabeth thought her the most lndy- 
like person she had seea in Paris. Her gestures were 
simple, hi ess aniable, and there was serious 
ness even in her smiles. Members of the Jockey 
Club spoke to her bat in hand. Her death was 
entirely duo to the hard mouth of her horse, At a 
rehearsal the horse turned round, made for the stable, 
and, finding the door shut against him, reared up 
ou his hind legs. Bulance was lost, the horse rolled 
over, and the cruteh of the saddle smashed in the 
ribs upon the Jungs and heart. Poor Emilie had the 
courage in this state to walk to the Infirmary, and 
when she was taken home to mount five flights of 
stairs. 











CHAPTER XL. 
A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 


There is a great deal of romance in the life of a 
circus performer ; and as the theatrical world is often 
penetrated in search of subjects rich in fiction, so, 
too, romancers enter the circus ring to find a hero or 
heroine for an o’er-true tale. In a Western paper I 
found the following pretty and touching story, which 
had evidently becy copied from some other paper 
without credit, and which, as it deals with circus life, 
and particularly that few 
equestrianism —T believe it will be found interesting, 
and in reproducing it regret that I am unaequainted 
with the souree whence it came, as the publication in 
which it originally appeared certainly deserves men= 


















tion: — 

‘The North American Consolidated Circus was to 
show in Shadowville. Shadowville was named after 
a legend of a hiunted shadow that envelopes the town 
aflor sunset; und long before the canvas flaps were 
drawn back and the highly gilded ticket-wagon, with 
the * electric ticket seller” was ready to change green- 
backs for the red-hacked ‘* open sesame,”* the ground 
and two streets leading to the lot were crowded with an 
anxious, expectant, peanut-munching, chewing-gum- 
masticating collection. The large posters and hand- 
bills announced in highly colored style the arrival of 
** Miss Nannie Florenstein, the most wonderful bare- 
back rider in the known world!" while the little 
(553) 











i 


554 & ROMANCE OF TILE RING. 


“gutter snipes "’ simply begged the people to ** wait 
for Miss Nannio Florenstem.’” 

The ‘doors are thrown open,”’ and in lees than 
twenty minutes the immense canvas is rising and 
falling with the concentrated respirations of five thou- 
sand people. Such a crowd! Charles Dickens, An- 
thony Trollope, or Bret Harte would have been in 
ecatacies at the curious collection of faces, costumes, 
and vernacular, not to mention the oxpressions of 
genuine enthusiasm or surpriso at the entries into 
the ring of cven the sawdust rakers. 

The band has ended its attempt at one of Strausa’s 
waltzes, nod the master of ceremonies, Mr. Lunt, 
walks consequentially into the ring, bowing to the 
vast concourse, who applaud at—they scarce know 
what. 

«Thus way, Mr. Oliphant.” 

“Aye, aye, sir! “Ere hi ham. Ah, sir! this bevy 
of smiling faces is refreshing even to the sawdust. 
[Applause.] What shall we haye now, sir?” asks 
the jester(?) as he throws his hat in the air and 
catches it on —the ground. 

“Mr. Tom Karl.” 

« Not the tender singer, sir?” 

«You mean tenor singer! No! The pad rider, 
siv.”” 

“It’s all the sam 








Mr. Lunt; but time's flying. 
Aht hore is Karl! Now, then, Mr. Karl, that’s the 
way [used to ride — (aside) in my mind.”? 

And so it goes. One act ufler another, each obe 
showing agility, daring, and skill; while the old jester 
and ring master entertain the crowd and rest the per- 
formers. 

** Miss Nannie Florenstein, Indi 
will now have the honor of appe: 


















and gentlemen, 
ing before you in 


A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 555 


hor wonderful bareback act —riding a wild, untamed 
horse without cither bridle, saddle or surcingle. An 
act never before aceomplished—although often at- 
tempted — by any lady in the world! Miss Nannie 
Florenstein 1" 

A lithe, pretty little Indy, with an anxious, eare= 
worn fice, stepped into the ring, and, acknowledging 
the applause of the audience, vaulted lightly on the 
back of her black horse, and quicker than a flash 
of lightning was off. Around and around the forty- 
two-foot circle she goes, pirouetting, posturing, and 
doing a really graceful and wonderful aet. 

She is whut all the papers had claimed she would 
be. There is n spirit of reckless daring flashing from 
hor dark eyes as she jumps ‘the banners,’? aud even 
the old and stoienl ring master watches her anxiously 
ag she attempts one aet more daring than the rest — 
that of standing on her tip-toes on the horse's hind~ 
quarters and slowly pironetting as the animul con- 
tinues his mad career. 

Suddenly sho reels, She has lost her balance. 
Over she goes. Her head has struck the ring board. 
A shriok of a thousand anxious voices rends the air, 
and all is confusion. 

Sho is bleeding, bleeding profusely from a cut in her 
forehoud. A hundred hands are ready to convey her 
to the dressing-tent. 

A rough-hewn specimen of a man suddenly appears 
in their midst. Where he came from or what moved 
him no one knows. 

* Stand back! stand back, I say, and give the gal 
air! Do ye hear?” 

Instinetively every one obeys him. 

“ Yere’sadoctor, Doctor, this gal Lknow. "Tond 
ter her, an’ look ter me for the perkisites."” 





556 A ROMANCE OF THE RING: 


A quiet, confident-looking geatleman, Dr. Adams, is 
already by her side, stopping the flow of blood, and 
under his directions she is conveyed to her dressing- 
tent, the miner, tall, athletic, and with immense, eun- 
burned beard, following anxiously in the rear, 

The performance has been renowed and the crowd 
are forgetting the accident, when the miner appears in 
the ring dragging after him a performer, Monsiour La 
Forge, a6 ho is called, “the strongest man in the 
world,”’ who resists with all his might the iron museles 
that are clinched like a vice on bis collar. 

A trapeze act is being performed, but all eyes are 
on the miner and his vietim, not one of the performers 
having interfered, as they all dislike and fear La Forge 
for his bullying, bragadocio character. 

“« Leddies and gintlomin, this yere coyote om ther 
cause on that yere young gal er falling. I knows "em 
both. He wanted ter kill her, Yos, yer did, ye 
skunk! He stole her when she war a chile from my 
sister. I knowed him; I kuowed her. He hearn I 
was coming ter-day and he sed that he'd kill her. 
Lay down, yer he-bar! Lay down, I say. 

“Lwas standing close on ter this ring when I seed 
him fire sumthing at her. She turned her putty eyes 
to see what it wur and over she went, Mister per- 
formers, ye'll ‘suse me fur interruptin’ yer perform= 
ances, but [ thought I'd let these yere know who this 
skunk is. Now, then, Meester Ler Forgey, alias Jolin 
Rafferty, what haye yer got to say to my statement?” 

“Hang him! Hang bin Strangle him!” broke 
in the crowd as they left their seats and rushed for the 
ring. . 

“Back! Back! Yer shan’t hang him! Do yer 
hear? Ther fust man that raises « finger to throttle 















A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 557 


him, I'll pile in that yere saw dust! Do yer 
hear?" 

His revolver levelled at the angry, grumbling crowd 
held them back. They all knew him, All knew old 
Ned Struthers, the most daring and best shot on the 
frontier; a man whom the redskins feared more than 
a whole army of trained United States soldiers; a 
remnant of a race of men who could settle the Indian 
question quicker, better, and with less expense than # 
whole army of Tudian whiskey-selling agents; a man 
who they knew was dangerous and vindictive when 
aroused. So all kept their distance, 

** Now, thin, yer goll-darned skunk, git up off yer 
knees! Git! "" 

«The doctor says Miss Florenstein is dying! ** the 
ring master, pale and breathless, announced as he ran 
into the ring. 

‘* Dying, did yer say, Mister? Oh, yer moan rat~ 
tlesnake! Pray she may live—pray! Ef sho dios, 
Til hang yer scalp on her coffin! Do you hear? "” 

Poor Rafferty, by the intervention of tho sheriff, 
who had a free pass to tho show, and was present, was 
released from Ned Strathers’s hold and taken away to 
the lock-up while Ned hurried to the bedside of his 
sister's child, Miss Nannie Florenstein, 

She tossed and moaned upon her improvised bed 
of straw, au anguish-stricken few around her; for 
she was loved by the company. Her Iuetroless eyes 
would open appealingly, and looking with tear-bedim- 
med expression ut some familiar face near her, try to 
smile them o recognition —a snd, painful recognition, 

The doctor knelt beside her with one hund ou ber 
pulse and one on ber bandaged forehead, and a3 he no~ 
tied the weary, fisint pulsation, would shake his head, 
prophetic of her death. 














_—— 


Sai ier 





A ROMANCE OF THE RING, 559 


who is curiously watching this last scene —puts out a 
hard, muscular hand as he says :— 

“« Mr. Struthers, Nannie tells me you are her uncle, 
Tam engaged to be married to Nan.” 

Old Ned eyed him curiously and doubtingly as he 
replies ; — 

« Wal, sir! what Nan tells yer ix gospeltruth. I’m 
her uncle; but about the other part of the bizuess I 
ain't so sartin ’? — but seeing Nan’s troubled face ap- 
pealingly turned to him, he continues; ** But was she 
right? Nan oughter be married, Ef she was sho 
wouldn't be yere, 1 jumping on bar horses’ backs, ho 
showing her —I mean, sir, sho oughter be at hum, and 
I'd do thar barback ridin’ for ther crowd —thet is, our 
leetle crowd, ter hum; but "scuse me, we must move 
Nan — what's yer biznes, sir 

“T’'min the same business as Nan; we were brought 
up together, trained together, and next week we were 
‘to he murried.”” 

** Together, I serpose?”’ laughingly answered Ned, 
as he saw Nan brighten and smile at her intended’s 
words, 

Nan was curefully removed to a hotel, the proprie- 
tor of the circus detraying all the necessary expenses 
of a lurge room and extra attendance. Old Ned was 
about to start for his sister's, Nun's aunt, to attend 
her, a3 the doctor had taken a more hopeful view of 
her recovery if properly nursed, when ho, entering the 
bar-room of the botel, preparatory to starting, waa 
suddenly made aware that he was the targot of at loast 
a dozen eyes, all staring with a perplexed gaze at him. 
First he thougut it might be something in his dress, 
but this he quickly ascertained was not 30; then he 
surveyed lia face in the mirror opposite. At lust be 
got angry. 

















4 ROMANCE OF THE RING. 561 


and the widder war gone, I hearn she hed gone to 
Brazzel with her husband, a man named Rafferty, a 
sirkus performer, so [ waited. Abeout thet time I 
was takin sick with amallypox, and whin I got well I 
could not get no news on thet young un, so | gave up 
thar trial. Abeout one month ago I war at Red Gulch 
Canyon, er staking off my ‘find,’ whin Jim Parkins, 
my ole pard, wrote me from San Yosea thet my leetle 
un war with this yere sirkus, and thet her name was 
Nannie Florenstein. So L got on thar trail, found 
this yere Rafferty hed her as his'n—or racther his 
durter — got $200 a week fir heran’ gave her nuthing, 
so I lit on him yere to-day, drapped on him foul, and 
ther war wolf meat inthe air. But he crawled, an’ 
now I'm going ter send him ter prison. I think he 
can do more good breakin’ stuns than performing on 
cannons —eh?"* 

The crowd —it was a crowd by the time he had 
finished — gave the old man three rousing cheers and 
he escaped from them, hastening to Nannie’s room to 


find her wonderfully improved and able to sit up. 
Oe. eaters 


‘The circus left Shadowville without “ Miss Nannie- 
Florenstein,”” and to-day she has returned from a 
village church a blooming bride, ‘* Frank Grace, the 
celebrated bareback rider,"’ being her happy husband. 

Old Ned occupies a seat in their carriage. 

* Uncle, you have made mo 2 happy woman and 
Frank a happy man." 

* Yas, leetle un, I serpose so. It is better than 
bar’-back riding, ain't it?’* 

“Yos, uncle. But how can I thank you for all the 
wealth you have showered on me, and for the home 
you have bought us?"’ aguin asked Nan, a3 she kissed 
his happy face. 


562 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 


«Wall, leetle un, I don’t kinder want eny thanks, 
only plese don’t —I mean ef yer hev eny children, 
leetle un, don’t trust ’em ter eny widders ter sell ’em 
out ter sirkus people fur bar’-back ridin’.”” 

«© You may be certain of that, Uncle Struthers,’’ 
answered Frank, as he kissed his bride. 

«Wall, I hope so. Enyhow, if yer do, see they 
doesn’t fall from thar horse’s back into a rich uncle’s 
pocket—eh, you little pet!” And the carriage 
stopped in front of their new home, happy, bright and 
cheerful. 


CHAPTER XLT. 
LEAPING AND TUMBLING, 


One of the great features of all travelling tent-shows 
and, indeed, in the long years a very prominent feu- 
ture of the legitimate show when juggling, tumbling 
and things of that kind were either interspersed 
between the acts of a tragedy, or filled the intermission 
between the tragedy and farce, was the acrobatic art- 
ist, the athlete, the gymnast, or whatever else you may 
feel like calling him, At the beginning of this cen= 
tury there were several renowned acrobats, and the 
number has increased to such an extent—and the gen- 
eral desire for exhibitions of physical skill —that acro- 
batics have taken possession of many fields. The song 
and dance man sims to introduce as much as possible of 
it into his act or sketch, and even the equestrian and 
equestrienne attempts and succeeds in combining per- 
ious somersaulting with skilful riding, and the nearer 
the performer goes towards breaking hix neck the 
better the people seem to like it. 

The athlete who displayed bis prowess or skill in 
the arenas of ancient Rome or Athens was a much 
more important personage than the circus performer 
of to-day. It was the passionate love of manly sports 
which produced the matchless Greek form, the seme 
of physical perfection. Tho successful athlete, acro- 
bat, or charioteer of two thousand years ago was a pop- 
ular hero, and bis triumphs, loves, and career were | 
immortalized in poetry and song. A successful ath- 

(563) 


SGt LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 


Iete was then of more importance than the congress- 
man of to-day. And yet the modera athlete, while 
occupying a much lower social seale than the ancient 
practitioner, is just as strong, and the acrobat of 
to-day is even more skilful than his classic predeces- 
sor. The circus performer thinks nothing of execut- 
ing feats which no later than a century ago were 
deemed impossible. 

Nearly every man and boy who appears in the cireus 
arena now-a-days is counted a member of the corps 
that does both grand and lofty tumbling. In sinall 
shows the corps of leapers and tumblers is increased 
by the addition of several dummies who can do Tittle 
more than turn a hand-spring or a forward somersault 
either on the sawdust or from the spring-hoard. Many 
ofthe best acrobats have begun their studies in the 
open streets by walking on their bands or hammering 
their heels against the bare bricks in somersaults or 
hand-springs; others have been educated in the ring 
following their fathers and sometimes grandfathers 
into the nic profession. From the ranks of these 
two classes some of the best acrobats and athlotes have 
sprung. I can recall several very good leapers and 
tumblers, whose earliest efforts were witnessed and 
wondered at in some vacant lot or friendly stable 
yard — where spring-boards were improvised and feats 
as dangerous as * revolving twice in the sir without 
lighting on their fect''—as the ring master usually 
announces this act, in his most grandiloquent style — 
wore attempted at the peril of young and frail necks, 
So too with many horizontal bar and trapeze perform- 
ers. But to come back to the leapers and tumblers. 
The band gives a flourish and in they troop for the 
* ground act.” They form in a row, and bow to the 
audience and then away each one whirls in a hand- 








LEAPING AND TUMREING. 565 


spring and front somersault. Then they retire and 
singly, the men begin to tumble backward and forward 
across and about the ring, heads and feet are kept in 
a whirl until the final effort is reachod, when tho clown, 
who is frequently as good an artist in tho businoss as 





the rest of his tumbling econfreres, chases the swiftest 
of the number around the ring, the clown winding him 
up while the latter rolls like a wheel, in back hand- | 
springs along tho inner edge of the ring. A short in- 


566 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 


terval, and the leapers come in,—the same men as 
those who have done the tumbling,—bow, and retire to 
follow each other rapidly down an inclined plane, bound 
from the spring-board, und after « forward somersault 
land safely and gracefully in the soft: mattress beyond. 
One, two, three, four, and five horses are brought in 
and placed in front of the spring-board while the mat 
tress is drawn farther away. As the number of horses 
increases and the peril and distance grow greater, the 
number of leapers decrease till at last three appear, or 
perhaps more horses are added to the equine line, the 
mattress is placed at the farther end of the ring and 
the ring-master — sometimes it isa lecturer like Harry 
Evarts, the ‘little Grant orator,” of Coup's show for 
the past and present season — mounts a pedestal near 
the entrance, and with stentorian voice remarks > 
+ Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Batchellor, the champion 
leaper of the world, will now throw a double somer- 
sault over nineteen horses [sometimes fewer elephants 
are employed] —that is to say, the gentleman will re- 
volve twice in the air before alighting on his feet on 
the mattress —a feat that no other performer in this 
or any other country ean accomplish. Ladies and 
gentlemen, Mr. Balchellor,’’ and Mr. Batchellor, who 
ig an excellent leaper, and shares the championship 
with Frank Gardner, formerly of Cole's show, but 
now with Barnum, makes the leap in a clover and 
comparatively easy manner. 

This difficult feat, never executed, it is asserted, til 
within the past one hundred years, can now be wit- 
nessed at almost every first-clazs cireus performance in 
this country — but not always for the same distance 
attained by Mesara. Batchellor and Gardner. Forty 
years ago the British performer who could throw a 
double somersault was looked on ss a wonder, The 


= 


LEAPING AXD TUMBLING. 567 


writer, some thirty-three years ago, saw Tomkingon, a 
famous British clown and acrobat, execute this feat 
in Franconi's cireus, then stationed for the season at 
Edinburg, Scotland. It was the same Franconi who 
afterward managed the hippodrome in New York in 
1868-4, and the company was booked as first-class in 
every respect. Tho double somersault was performed 
by Tomkinson at his benefit, and the announcement of 
the then great feat packed the wooden building to suf- 
focation. When the ring-master had made the prelim- 
inary speech, and Tomkinson retired up the steep 
incline which termimated in the spring-board, every 
heart stood still. A quick, impetuous rush down the 
board, a bound high in the air, a slow revolution and the 
gymnast descended nearly to the ground. It seemed 
impossible to do it, but in the last six feet the curled 
up body turned once more, and Tomkinson alighted 
on the big, soft mattress on his feet, but staggering, 
He was prevented from falling by the ring-master, and 
as he turned to go inside, Franconi, the enthusiastic 
French manager, patted him warmly ou the back, amid 
tho applauge of the vast audience. It was a rare feat 
in those days. Tomkinson and the few other British 
double somersault performers did it only at infrequent 
intervals. 

In this country Costella, a noted circus leaper, made 
it more difficult by clearing a number of horses at the 
same time. But soon a number of acrobats were able 
to follow his example, and even exeel him in height 
and distance. Nowadays a circus acrobat: who cannot 
do a double somersault is not considered anything but 
an ordinary preformer unless he can do other sensa- | 
tional and original feats. Last year Barnum had a 
corps of acrobats, of whom seven preformed double 
somersaults every night during the season. John Rob- 





568 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 


inson has five men who can doit. The most surprising 
and unexcelled feat of double somersault throwing was 
that of the Garnelia Brothers, who performed it in 
variety halls and circuses a few years ago. ‘Standing 
on his brother’s shoulders the younger Garnella sprang 
up and revolved twice, landing again on the shoulders. 
When it is considered that the double somersaglt by 
other performers is accomplished hy a short spurt, - 
spring-board, and no restriction as to the spot of alight= 
ing, the feat of young Garnella must be classed among 
the unprecedented marvels of the acrobatic art. 

The triple somersault is a dream of every young and 
ambitious acrobat. It requires phenominal dexterity 
of body, and is known to be so dangerous thet few 
have even attempted it. Fame and fortune awaits any 
performer who can do it, say twenty times in one 
tenting season. Were it not that cireus managers 
know that the feat, or even the attempt, if repeated a 
limited number of times, will certainly result In a 
broken neck, they could well afford to pay the performer 
$10,000 to $20,000 for a season; and were it not, 
too, a proven fict, it would seem that the laws of 
gravitation and tho limitations of physical doxterity 
forbade the turning of a triple somersault except by 
accident. In turning 2 doublo somersault offa spring~ 
board, it is necessary to make a leap at an angle of 
about thirty degroes to obtain the necessary ‘ ballast’? 
or impetus to turn twice. Ifan almost perpendicular 
leap is made, the leaper would not have leverage 
enough to turn. In onder to make the doable somer- 
suult the performer has to leap from the springboard 
with all bis might to get the proper angle a3 wellas to 
attain a sufficient height, so that he may have time to 
turn twice over before alighting. The same conditions 
govern the triple somersault, only it is necessary to go 
about one-third higher int» the aire 








= 


LEAPING AXD ‘TUMBLING. ~ 569 


An American named Turner secomplished a triple 
somersault once jn this country and again in England. 
He tried it 2 third time and broke his neck, It is 
claimed that with this exception and the exception of 
Bob Stickney, of John Robinson's show, and Sam Rein- 
hardt, an ox-leaper, no acrobat has been successful. 
The skeptic may say triple somersaults may be accom- 
plished by the aid of higher and more powerful spring- 
boards than those in use, but that would merely change 
the angle, and the result would be the same. Of 
course the board could be placed high enough, but the 
specific gravity of the performer’s body would bo in- 
croased while descending, The height is not the only 
trouble. If it was only height, such men as Stickney, 
Batchellor, Gardner and one or two others, by improved 
appliances and practice would overcome that difli- 
culty. But after the double somersault is accomplished 
and the performer is ready to turn again, he ** loses 
his catch '’ or the control of his body, and is governed 
in his descent by gravitation alone. His hend being 
heavier than his feet, be is very apt to light on it first 
and break bis neck. 

The first recorded attempt to throw a triple somer- 
sault in this country was made by a performer in Van 
Amburgh’s cireus at Mobile, Alabama, in 1842. He 
broke his neck. Another attempt was made in London, 
England, in 1846. It was made in Astley's amphi- 
theatre, then leased to Howe & Cushing, the American 
managers, In this company was M. J. Lipman, a fine 
vaulter, Levi J. North, now in Brooklyn, New York, a 
questvian ; the late William O. Dale, a native 
nati, who died here, blind and broken down, 
and who was an serobat and equestrian of great 
reputation, and Wm. J. Hobbes, a fine leaper. It 
wus previously announced that Hobbes would attempt 




















LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 571 


Street, New York. William Stein, an attache of 
Robinson’s circus, was one of the persons who held 
the blanket for him to alight upon. Stickney says he 
believes he could do it again, but would not attempt it 
for less than $10,000, being fully convinced that the 
chances for his final exit from the arena would be good 
on that occasion. Sam Reinhardt, a former leaper, 
now a saloon-keeper at Columbus, when with the _ 
Cooper & Bailey Circus at Toledo, in 1870, not being 
satistied with turning double somersaults, tried to add 
another revolution. He turned twice and a half, 
alighting on the broad of his back, and was disabled 
fora short period. The fact that a triple somersault 
was ever accomplished before a circus audience, after 
due announcement, and under the same conditions as 
double somersaults are performed — namely, landing 
on a mattress — may be seriously doubted. The best 
informed circus men say that it cannot be done with 
anything even like comparative safety except in the 
sheets, a blanket held by a number of men being used 
to catch the alighting performer. It is claimed, also, 
that it has never been accomplished except in that 
way. 





CHAPTER XLII. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 


T was in the office of the old Evening Post, at St. 
Louis one afternoon in 1879, when it was invaded by 
Capt. M. V. Bates and wife, the tallest married couple 
in the world. They were travelling with Cole’s cir 
cus, and by invitation of the managing editor, wha 
wanted thom interviowed, they visited the newspaper 
office. A very small reporter hud been assigned to do 
the talking, and he waited patiently around the estab= 
lishment until a cnrringe drove up to the door and a 
shout went up, * Here they come,” at the sound of 
which the interviewer hurriedly made for the waste 
basket which was under the table. Whether the giant 
and giantess saw the diminutive reporter or not they 
kept on coming and the seribe saw no other way 
out of it than to dive into the ample recesses of the 
basket, and uestle upon a bed of school-girl pootry, 
statesmen’s eseays, and applications from Inst yoar’s 
and the coming year’s college graduates, for manag- 
ing editorship. ‘Chore is a barbaric sesquepedalianism 
(whieh is a good long word to ring into a chapter mbout 
six-storied people) and a prevailing atmosphere of 
suffocation in such a wast ket; nevertheless, the 
tiny reporter crouchod closcr as the Brobdignaggian 
people approached witha rabble that noised their heels 
upon tho Hoor, their tongues against the roofs of their 
mouths, and that made things look and sound as if all 
the quarreling powers of Europe had set their com- 

(572) 



























AN ADYENTURE WITIL GIANTS. 573 


bined forces down in the Meening Post office for the 
special purpose of deiving the senses of its whole staff 
out through the top of the building. But all this was 
seraphic bliss compared with the awful moment when 
the giant captain deliberately sat down on the table 
just over the waste-basket. It would take # million 
horse-power juckserew, I should think, to raise the fal- 
Jen hopesof the reporter justthen, A man stands some 
chance if a custom-house falls on him hurriedly, but 
chance crushed to earth never rises again, when a giant 
like this is threatening to make any any-chair out of him. 
T suppose nearly everybody has heard the fanny. story 
about the fat woman and the living skeleton, ina New 
York museum, who fell in love with ench other. They 
got along very nicely for a while, and were as affece 
tionate as if the two had pooled their issues of flesh, 
blood, and bone, and divided up so that each tipped 
the seale at two hundred and sixty pounds, instead of 
the whale-like spouse tipping the scale at four hundred 
and ninety, while the skeleton husband did not need 
any more than 9 thirty-pound section of the beam to 
balance his weight. They were as happy as the sweet- 
est of the singing birds until one day the husband al- 
lowed his heart to stray off to the Circassian girl, who 
had been orginally born in Ireland, but had her hair 
curled for a short side-show engagement. Mr. Skele- 
ton was making the weightiest kind of love to the fair 
Circassian for probably a month before the fat woman 
wus made aware of the fact. Then the monster that 
is usually represented as green-eyed, took possession 
of her. She kept o careful vigil of all * Skin-and- 
bones’ *' doings, a& she called him, until one day she 
found him during the noon hoar, with hie lean arma 
around the Circassian girl's neck, and his thin lips 
gluod to her pouting labials of cherry-red. It is im- 

















AN ADVENTURE WITID GIANTS. 575 


bursting eyes in a setting of eager and dirty faces, — 
inside and out, high and low, anywhere and every- 
where around the institution within seeing distance 
wero newsboys and boot-blacks till one couldo’t rest ; 
with a dim and distant horizon of more respectable 
visitors who had been tempted in by the unusual scene 
and noise. After the usual courtesies had been inter- 
changed, the editor remarked ; — 

“Thad a young fellow assigned to interview you, 
Captain, but I don’t know where he is just now.’" 

“Perhaps he’s gono to git an extension ladder,’” 
suggested a forward newsboy. 

“No, Skinny,’ said another; ** he told me he was 
going to get old Stout's balloon.” 

At this moment there was a commotion under the 
table. The giant’s foot had swang back and collided 
with the waste-basket. To say it was. big foot would 
be like calling the pyramid of Cheops a brick-bat or 
the Colussus of Rhodes an Italian plaster-cast. They 
say Chicago girls have big feet ; I don't know this to 
be a fuct, but if they have anything like the pedal 
spread of Captain Bates they are entitled to the credit. 
generally given them of groatness inthis way, At any 
rate the collision between the foot and the basket 
caused the recondite reporter to disclose his where- 
abouts. The managing editor qualified his conduct as 
unbecoming a newspaper-man, and the giant himself 
gently requested the scribe to come forward. 

«You won't make a watch-charm out of me?’? 
queried the reporter, apprehensively. 

** No, no,”’ the giant answered, in an assuring tone. 

** Nor a scarf-pin?”’ 

‘The giant said he wouldn't. 

This allayed the reporter's fears, and he came for- 
ward from the atmosphere of ** respectfully declined” 





36 AS ADVESTURE WITH GISTs. 


literature in which he had been. Capt. Bates’s greet- 
ing was most kind, snd so was that of his wife. The 
Feporter saw at once there had been no necessity for 
his previous timidity, and managing to get within a 
ovuple of yards of the giant's ear. he excused his 
awkward and siily actions. A pleasant chat followed, 
in which tie giant and giantess gave brief outlines 
of their personal history 

Capt. Bates is now (1479) thirty-five vears of age, 
stands seven feet eleven and oné-half inches in height, 
and weighs about four hundred and eighty pounds. He 
is well put tozether, handsome in features, genial in 
speech, and has the reputation of being a sharp, 
shrewd man of the world. Mrs. Bates 1s thirty-two 
years old, of the same heigit as her husbaad, although 
she really seems to be taller, and turns the scales at 
about four hundred and twenty pounds. She is thin- 
ner in form, but of excellent physique, is handsome, 
and has the same frank and smiling expression on her 
as that constantly worn by her husband. She — 
she likes the show business, because it brings 
with so many persons. The Captain, 
though, having been in it about twelve years, and 
accumulated considerable means, does not care much 
about parading his colossal proportions hefore the 
public. It has been his desire of late years to live in 
private, quictly on his farm in Ohio, where the couple 
have a house built expressly for them, with doors, win- 
dows, furniture, etc., on a giant scale; but until this 
year they received so many handsome offers that they 
forsook the sod for the sawdust, and the plow for the 
platform. In 180, I think it was, a giant child was 
born to this cnormous couple. The infant weighed 
twenty-cight pounds at birth. 

After listening patiently to the Captain and his wife 






























in cont 

















AN ADVENTURE WITIC GIANTS. nT 


as they spoke of themselves, the little reporter whom 
I have introduced the reader to already, suggested as 
he nearly dislocated his neck in looking up at the lofty 
couple, that it would have been a nice thing to be 
around when they were making love to each other, but 
Mrs. Bates said that was rather a delicate matter to 
call up, and the reporter subsided. TI could not help 
thinking, however, tht « follow must feel awful queer 
with four hundred aud odd pounds of sweetheart upon 
his knee. Himalayan hugging going on all the time, 
and lovesighs that needed a Jacob's ladder to come 
from the heart-depths playing above his head like 
mountain zephyrs around the Pike's Peak signal ser- 
vica station. And then when a fellow felt his love 
away down in his boots, what an Atlantic cable job it 
must have been to find out exactly where it was! And 
the old garden gate, how it must have been like the 
gates that brave Samson shouldered with probably a 
little extra bracing to it. And what chewing-gum 
Swopping must have gone on, and ice cream eating, 
perhaps 2 plate as large as a Northland joke! xt atime, 
and no two spoons in it, either? Ob, butTt mast have 
heen a heavenly thing f 

“You weren't afraid of her big brother, Captain, 
were you?’ friendly interrogated the reporter. 

“Oh, no; not ut all,’* answered the Captain, 

«Tf you sat down on him once you could have sold 
him for a bundle of tissue paper, couldu’t you?" 

« That is not it, my boy,” suid the Captain, + She 
didn't have any big brother." 

** Oh, yes, I see."" 

Then the discourse turned into other channels, in« 
tended to be of special interest to splaemucks — as 
the Brobdignaggians called ordinary mortals — who 
are contemplating marriage with giantesses, 








AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 579 


cireus and theatrical people are subject to that sort of 
thing?"* 

“Not anybody that I know of,’? the Captain an- 
swered, 

“And T suppose if anybody did they woulda’t care 
about having you kaow it, either?’’ said the little 
Evening Post wan. 

The Captain made no reply, but a mysterious kind 
of look crowded into his eyes, and if anybody around 
that newspaper office had dared to entertain a spark 
of affection for the giantess he could see at once that 
he didn’t stand the ghost of a show while the giant 
was around, 

“Now, Captain,’ the tiny and timid reporter 
remarked, moving to a distance, “I know you 
like travelling, and T have one more question 1 would 
like toask you. It is about the hotel accommodations, 
Don’t you oecasionally have to hang your head pr feet 
over the ends of the beds you encounter? "* 

This question disgusted the Captain and he rose 
from the table indignantly, as did Mrs. Bates from the 
editorial chair, and doubling themselves up as they 
reached the doorway they majestically swept out of 
the newspaper office, and stepping into their carriage 
were driven away. 














CHAPTER XLIV. 


THE ‘TATTOOED TWINS.”” 


Ones pare Find yt ne Ll 

‘This advertisement appeared in a St. Louis Sanday 
morning piper. The number and the street are not 
given for reasons that will at once present themselves to 
every intelligent reader. Now there is sometimes that 
in an advertisement which attracts one likes pretty girl. 
A few lines may furnish a neat little intellectual flirta- 
tion, and very frequently can, like a coy and pretty 
maiden, keep coaxing a fellow slong until he is per- 
fectly lost in the maze of an affection that he has 
neither the tact nor the willingness to try to escape 
from. As soon as my eyes lit upon them and the 
words from the capital W in the beginning to the pe- 
riod at the end were taken in, T was irrevocably gone 
on them. Like the immortal J. N., I immediately 
lifted the veil and looked at the suppositious sanctuary 
behind it, and then saw that walking art gallery, Capt. 
Costentenus—known to thousands of people who saw 
him travelling as the tatooed man — lying bound hand 
and foot upon the earth and surrounded by halfa dozen 
Chinese Tartars, who were industriously pricking him 
with pointed instruments, which were ever and anon 
dipped into tho little basins of blackish-blae liquid. 
The scene changed suddenly into a room at No. — 
—th Street, and the Tartars were metamorphosed 
into a single individual of a docidedly Caucasian aspect, 


a (981) 





THE TATTOOED TWINS. 583 


Was he in? No, not just then, bat he would bo back 
in time for dinner, which would be spread in about half 
an hour. Somewhat disappointed E replied that I 
would take a walk around and call at the end of the 
half bour, and was about to leave the door when a 
voice was heard on the upper landing, and the words 
* Hold on!" shouted in 4 very peremptory manner 
brought me to a halt. It was Mr, Henneberry, as I 
soon ascertained, when a tall, stout, woll-proportioned 
gentleman, of handsome features and the prettiest 
black hair my eyes ever gazed upon, came down, in- 
troduced himself, and invited me in. ‘The object of 
the visit was explained in a few words. 

“* Well,’ said Mr. Henneberry, «I’ve been just 
talking to a gentleman up in my room, an old sailor, 
who was crippled some years ago, by falling from the 
spar of a South Amorican sailor, so he says, and who 
appears to be pretty expert. I rather like the man, 
and I think he will about suit me. Ho needs money, 
what you don't appear to do, and I think he is just the 
very man for what I want. So you see, I think you're 
a little late."” 

I expressed my regret at not having seen the adver- 
tisement earlier. 

“You see,”” continued Mr, Henneberry, ‘I want 
somebody who will stay in the house here, and be 
available at all times during the day. It's a pretty 
long job—”’ and here he checked himself. «No, T 
dou't mean a long job, because there ain't much of it, 
but what there is has got to be done neat and right up 
to the handle. What sort of work can you do? ’* 

1 bared my arm and exhibited a large death-head 
and cross-bones, an American eagle, and a bust of 
George Washington, which T had tattooed into me, 
when young and fond and foolish, by a Greek sailor I 
met in Milwaukee. 





‘THE TATTOOED TWINS. 585 


summer compared with the brimstun climate I've 
pulled through. I’ve been along the African coast 
when it was hol enough to make a mill-stun sweat. If 
they could have just shipped that weather North it 
would thaw the North Pole into hot water inside of fi 
teen minutes.’” 

And then the crippled sailor told of other experi- 
ences in other warm climates, aud we talked on in 
an easy, friendly way for three or four blocks, when 
my companion remarked that he was going to take the 
cars, T said T was going to do the same, and as soon 
ns we were seated on the shady side of the conveyance 
T remarked in a careless, off-hand way : — 

“You got uhead of me in that job down at Henne- 
berry’s, old man.”” 

He opened his eyes, looked at me half suspiciously, 
and suid: ‘* Then you're the young man the gentle- 
man was talking about to me. You went. ta see him, 
this afternoon?” 

An affirmative was the answer. 

«Well, you needu't be so put out. Hoe ain't en- 
gaged nobody yet. At least he ain't closed with me. 
You see, he’s a bit seary. Didn't he tell you what he 
wanted 2"? 

«* Yes. At least, he left me to infer that he wanted 
vitber himself or somebody else tattooed.”* 

“+All over?” 

«T thought that was what he meant.”’ 

“Well, blast his jib! Ho made me make all sorts 
0” promises not to open my port-hole about it.’” 

«Tt is a very fanny project, isn’t it?" asked the re- 
porter. 

Oh, no, not at all, I've been at it afore. T 
worked at 2 man up in Canada for about three months 

and got him nigh half done, when he died.” 











THE TATTOOED TWINS. 587 


have his fuce and hands and even his cars and the top 
of his head, for he’s partly bald, done up in some place 
in the country, or may be out in some of the Pacific 
islands, and if it's a bargain between us I'll have to go 
with him.” < 

« What. catches me,” said I, as we got up to leave 
the car, ** is what Henneberry will do with himself when 
the finishing touches are all put on him,” 

*Tean’t say, but I s'pose he'll go off to the Sand- 
wich Islands, marry a nigger squaw, or something of 
that sort, and come back with a cock-and-bull story 
about being captured by savages, and then swing 
"round the circle with some cirews or other. He's got 
the money to push the thing through, and I believe he 
can stand it. Maybe he'll travel with old Cos’tenus, 
and they'll call themselves the tattooed twins.’ 

And the old fellow laughed heartily as he got down 
carefully from the platform of the car, and limped 
away towards the river— perhaps down to the Bethel 
Home on the levee. 

The foregoing story may be regarded as quite a val- 
uuble clue when associated with a piece of information 
furnished by an Albany, New York, journal, whose re- 
porter says the work on Capt. Costentenus’s body pales 
when compared with that shown by « young man who 
stopped over in Albany ono evening last summer on 
his way from Saratoga to his home in Syracuse. His 
name is Heury Frumell, and he is but twenty-three 
years of age. Although so young, he has, according 
to his own story, seen considerable of life. In 1876 
he rau away from home, shipped on a merchant vessel 
which was trading among the Washington Islands in 
South Pucific. While there be underwent the tattoo- 
ing process, which he described as the most painful 
torture ever endured. : 


= 





588 THE TATTOORD TWINS. 


“* How was it done, and by whom?"’ he was asked 
by a reporter. 

«« By the natives, and with aix needles fastened toa 
stick. Do you seethem (showing the backs of his 

_ hands and wrists)? ‘hore is a lady’s face on one and 

atnan’s onthe other. Vermilion red and indigo blue 
were used, being pricked in with the needles. Now you 
seo that the work is executed just as neatly and per- | 
fectly as it could possibly be on the human skin, 
Well, it took weeks before the design was finished, 
and it had Lo be pricked over a number of times.’” 

“Tt must have been painful.” | 

“Tt was. But then I had no choice but toe sub- 
mit.”" 

“Why, wero you compelled to undergo the tattoo 








** Hardly that, but it was wiser todo so,"” 
**How could natives execute the work so per 


hey used designs given them by a sailor named 
John Wells, who belonged to an English vessel. 
Those on my wrist are not so perfect as on other por= 
of my body,”* 

Did they tattoo you all over?” 

*+All except a small portion of the left log above the 
ankle."” 

Tho designs so inefficenbly worked into Framoll’s 
skin are numerous aud beautiful, and some of them so 
appropriate to the young man's nationality that it is 
difficult to imagine how a South Pacifie savage, even 
with an English suilor for an advisor, should haye se 
locted such 4g pictures, On his back, extending 
from shoulder to shoulder, and from the nape of the 
neck downward was a spirited illustration of two ships 
inaction. Below it is a eflake with protruding fange 








=| 


THE TATTOOED TWINS. 589 


and a scroll with Paul Jones’s motto, ‘* Don’t tread on 
me.” On his breast is the national coat of arms 
worked on the breast of an American eagle with 
pinions outspread, and the national colors in its beak. 
This covers the entire breast from armpit to armpit, 
and from the throat downward. Both arms are liter- 
ally covered with designs of beasts, birds, and flowers. 
Tho lower limbs are also ornamented, one with the 
Crucifixion of Christ ’’ and the other with the sham- 
rock, harp of Erin, and other designs. Each knee- 
cap looks like a full-blown rose, with its vivid coloring 
and almost perfect imitation of that flower. The re- 
mainder of his body is similarly decorated, over five 
months being occupied in the process, and consider- 
able more time being occupied in healing. His skin 
has the feeling of the finest velvet, und he says that he 
doos not experience any evil effects from the immense 
quantity of poisonous dye injected into the cuticle. 
He has tried to eradicate the designs on his hands by 
burning, but without avail. 





IN THE MENAGERIE. 591 


so Barnum says — Cetawayo’s subjects are a profitable 
investment for him. Zulu Charley on exhibition in 
New York gets the magnificent sum of one dollar a day 
for doing his native war-dance and standing fire under 
the numerous eyes that are leveled at him daily. 
‘There is a bit of romance about this black warrior. 
Among the crowds who thronged to see the antics of 
the Zulus at Bunnell’s Dime Museum, New York City, 
last winter, was an Italian girl named Anita G, Corsini, 
eighteen years old, 2 musi¢ teacher by occupation, and 
the daughter of 1 Mr. Corsint who is in business in 
New York. Zulu Charley won her admiration and 
love, and she spent many quarters from her hard-earned 
savings to see the dusky object of her affections. 
Charlie did not repel her affections and they swore to 
be true to each other. Mr. Corsini, however, did not 
regard with favor the prospect of a marriage between 
his daughter and 2 nogro, and did everything in his 
power to dissuade her from carrying out her inten- 
tion, Last week, however, the couple eloped, but 
while on their way to a minister's house they were ar- 
rested at the instance of Anita's father. 

When the case came up on the following morning in 
the Jefferson Market court the father wanted to have 
the girl sent to Blackwell's Island, but upon hor 
promise to obey him and leave the Zulu he changed 
his mind and took her home, But sho again met 
Charley and, aecompanied by another Zulu named 
Usikali, and Charles Richards, a white man, they went 
to the residence of the Rev. R. O. Page, Brooklyn, 
and asked to be married. The minister consented, 
but he seems to have made a mistake, addressing 
all the questions to Usikali instead of to Charley, 
and then pronounced them man and wife. On learn- 
ing his mistake, however, he performed another 








IN THE MENAGERIE. 508 


dred and eighty amorous and erotic devices and three 
hundred and forty-four works of pure fantasy, such 
as ladies driving in a carriage, the horses plunging and 
servauts rushing to their heads, The great efforts of 
wt are reserved for the surfaces of the breast and 
back. The subjects of many of the drawings are best 
left undescribed, the imagination of a dissipated sol- 
dier being quite savage in its purity. Among pa- 
trintic and religious emblems are cited two devils, nine 
theological virtues, six crucifixes, tivo sisters of char- 
ity, three heads of Prussians, not flattered, and five 
portraits of ideal virls of Alsace, with no fewer than 
thirty-four busts of the republic. Among animals the 
lion and the serpent are the favorite totems. Among 
flowers tho pansy is generally preferred. ‘The wsthetic 
classes will be grieved to hear that not a single lily ap- 
pears, and there was only one daisy, Among myth- 
ological subjects the sirens are the greatest favorites ; 
next comes Bacchus with his pards, Venus, Apollo and 
Cupid. 

Gen. Tom Thumb and his agreeable little wife are 
once more swinging around the sawdust circle with 
their old friend Barnum, Gen, Thumb is the most 
cessful dwarf the world ever seen. He is rich 
und as happy as if he and his wife were as tall as 
Cuptain and Mrs. Bates, the giant and giantess whose 
immense forms loom up above the crowds that throug 
the menagerie tent. T have written elsewhere about 
captain and his wife. 

‘Tummy T’um is ze worst bluff at pokair [ ever 
saw,"* said Campanini ono day, in a confidential mood ; 
«LT ride wiz hoom in sefenty-seex from Pittsburg to 
Veeling, und he loose me clefen dollars on a pair of 
deuces. Zo Generale js a bad man at ze national 


game,’ 














IN THE MENAGERIE. 595 


* Feftoon,”’ Campanini shouted once more. 

Just then Charles stepped forward and offered to 
lift up little Hop-o" My Thumb, 

“ Who is playing this game, anyhow? "’ the General 

safigreoly demanded. 

** Fefteen,’’ again shouted Campanini. 

“That makes three times the bloody Italian has 
eaid ‘fefteen,’’’ Thamb remarked, regaining his lost 
temper, and then to Cumpanini’s dismay he proceeded 
leisurely to win the game. 

** Elefen dollars at pokair, twenty-five cents at bil- 
liards — elefen twenty-five,’’ the tenor kept muttering: 
during the rest of the day, and that night at the opera 
Col. Mapleson could not understand why Campanini 
was so hoarse, 

Tho “Wild Ape of Borneo *’ scoms to be quite an 
intelligent animal and displays first-rate taste in choos- 
ing his company, He has learned by experience that 
girls were made to be hugged and kissed. Through 
the bars of his cage he has seen many a rural lass's 
waist in the power of a plough-boy’s arm, and watched 
their lips meet ina smack that more than discounted 
the old minstrel joke about the sound resembling the 
noise made by a cow pulling her hoof out of the mud. 
Tt was uo wonder, then, that when the ‘wild ape’’ got 
out of his cage, while the circus was exhibiting down 
South, he forgot all his Borneo breeding, and made a 
rush for one of the prettiest girls under the flapping 
canvas. He got one arm around her neck and with 
the paw that was free caught her chignon and made a 
desperate effort to obtain a kiss. ‘The girl's escort 
was at first terrified and felt like climbing one of the 
quarter-poles, all the females in the neighborhood 
shricked, and the males began to dive under their 
seats. At last a gentleman rushed up with drawn re~ 





596 IN THE MENAGERIE. 


volver and fired 1 shot close to the ape’s ear, where- 
upon he at once abandoned his osculatory efforts, made 
his way out of the tent and over the top of the canvas 
to the centre-pole, on the top of whieh he was soon 
seated, scratching his head and evidently enjoying the 
sensation he was making for the crowd in the street 
below. 

A curiosity that has been before the public for 





STEALING A KISS. 


almost twenty yours is the ‘ two-headed woman,’? 
Millie Christine. The fact of the matter is that there 
are two women joined together below the waist, but as 
they have a single physical organization their manager 
has seen fit to call them one. This freak of nature is 
more astonishing than were the Siamese twins or the 
Hungarian sisters, The two-headed woman was born 





IN THY MENAGERIT, 597 


of slave parents on the plantation of Alexander McCoy 
near the town of Whiteville, Columbus County, North 
Carolina, on July 11, 1851, Prior to this Millie 
Christine's mother had given birth to five boys and 
two girle, all of ordinary size and without deformity. 
‘The * two-hended woman’ will be best understood 
by reading an extract from a lecture by Prof. Pan- 
coast of the Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia. 
The Professor examined this curiosity and discussed 
upon the subject before a largo guthering of medical 
men. In introducing Millie and Christine, he said he 
considered them tho most interesting monstrosity of 
their class that has ever come under the notice of 
scientific men, far more interesting than tho Siamese 
twins, In the midst of his discourse the young ladies 
entered, clad in green silk on their two bodies, pretty 
little bronze boots on their four feet, white kids on 
their four hands. They moved forward like an ex- 
panded V, with a crab-like movement that was not 
ungraceful. Born back-to-back, the Professor ex- 
plained that the natural desire of each to walk face 
forward had twisted them in their present position. 
Separate entities, separate individualities, cach can 
pursue separate lines of thought and conversation inde- 
pendent of the other. From habit their appetites call 
for food and drink at the same time. All the ills of 
flesh are not, however, necessarily theirs in common. 
One may have the toothache and the other be free 
from any ache. But in the examination conducted to- 
day the Professor discovered a remarkable development, 
of sensibility since his previous examination, eight years 
ago. Touching them on any extreme of the body, on any 
foot, for example, both in common were conscious of 
the touch. Christine hax been and is now the la 

and stronger of the two, As children they used to 








IN THE MENAGERIE, 599 


amusement, and never loose their drawing power, 
They are intelligent animals, but the inclinution they 
have for mischief makes them quite dangerous. They 
tell a funny story about an actor out West who hada 
pet monkey that he carried with him wherever he 
went, even to the theatre. Jocko appeared to be per- 








JOCKO PLAYING COMEDY. 


fectly hurmless, and as he had been at the theatre 
night after night without making trouble, his master 
never dreamt that he would do anything out of the 
way. Imagine his surprise therefore when one night 
ashe was in the midst of w comedy part down came 





IXY THE MENAGERIE. 601 


eluding those of American nativity, $20,000; total, 
$60,000. 

Among the rarest animals, says a writer on this sub- 
ject, ure the hippopotamus and the gou, or horued- 
horse. A first-class hippopotamus is worth five or six 
thousand dollars, an elephant from three to six thou- 
sand dollars, a giraffo is worth about three thousand 
dollars, a Bengal tiger or tigress will bring two thou- 
sund dollars, leopards vary from six to nine hundred 
dollars, a hyena is worth about five hundred dollars, 
while an ostrich rates at three hundred dollars. The 
pricelist shows that, although expenses may be heavy, 
receipts are proportionately large, and that it does not 
require many lange beasts to make a good business for 
one trader. A Now York house in three years sold 
twenty lions, twelve elephants, six giraffes, four Bongal 
tigers, cight leopards, eight hyenas, twelve ostriches 
and two hippopotami, being a total business of about 
$112,000, or over $37,000 per annum, in the line of 
larger beasts ulone, exclusive of the smaller show- 
beasts, such a8 monkeys, and exclusive aleo of birds, 
which latter items more than double the amount given. 
Gnus, or horned-horses, have come into great demand 
of late years, both from their oddity and rarity, and 
are valued at seventeen or eighteen hundred dollars 
apiece. An clophant is always in demand, and sells, 
whether it be male or female, large or small, ‘ trick” 
or otherwise. Oatriches, though heavy eaters, are not 
very expensive, as they have cast-iron stomachs and 
digest stone, glass, iron, or almost anything else tha 
one chooses to give them, though they are judges 
of good meat when they get it. They ure not the only 
creatures that eat glass, Heller or Houdin—1 forget 
which of these magicians —found a taste among Ori- 
ental jugglers for pounded glass, which they ate iu 


a 








IN THE MONAGERIE, 608 


beasts when not in show—but merely in winter quar- 
ters or out and awaiting sale, presents a different, and, 
sometimes, a curious spectacle. Thus in a certain 
back yard in the city of New York, us singular a sight 
is presented to the lover of animal life as is afforded 
probably in the range of the whole world. You enter 
by a low doorway, and at first glance you see only a 
number of boxes, with iron bars in front—amateur 
cages in fact — and arranged alongside of each other, 
just as cases may be, without the slightest: order or 
general arrangement, If you look a second time at 
these boxes you will be made aware of the fact that 
they are inhabited by certain moving animals; for 
pairs of bright eyes will gleam out upon you through 
the iron bars and occasional switching of some beastly 
tails against the sides of the cages will become audible, 
as will every now and then a deep smothered roar, 
Inspecting the box-cages or eage-boxes, more closely 
you will see, further, that one of them contains a three- 
year old lion, just getting his young moustache, or, 
what answers the same purpose to a lion— bis mane. 
Next box to this you will find « Honess, about the same 
age as Ler mate, a fine specimen of African female, 
who seems very much attached to a dog that shares 
her cage with her in perfect harmony, at least so far 
as the lioness is concerned, for she does all she can to 
live at peaco with the dog, yielding to his wishes in all 
particulars, giving up her meat whenever he takes a 
fancy to it, and getting out of his way whenever he 
wishes to walk about, although doggy does not seem 
to be a very amiable partnor, aud every now and then 
gives the lioness a bit of bis mind by biting her in the 
ear. A little beyond this strange couple lie two more 
boxes—the upper one containing a pair of young 
huntifg leopards, az playful ss young kittens, which 









which have recently been prominent features of circuses 
and variety shows, are taught to go through every 
article that is put down upon tho floor by their 
masters; that is why they squirm through a hoop, run 
under and overturn chairs, Doss under bundles and 
upset the leaping basket that is used in dog circuses. 
Prof. Parker and Prof. Willis Cobb, T may here 
remark, are the best dog-trainers in the country, and 
both have large and fine collections of educated eani~ 
nes. 

Tn the rear portion of the yard which we have been 
visiting is an inclosure, in which three or four horned 
horses or ponies, called gnus, are digesting their 
rations ; next to these ix a case in which is confined a 
fretful porcupine, who shows his bristles on the least 
provocation, and sometimes when there is no insult 
meant at all. The catalogue of cages or boxes is com~ 
pleted by that in which is held in duress a Brazilian 
tiger of the fiercest possible description, who does 
nothing but glare upon you and want to eat you. The 
meat-caters in the collection are fod only once a day — 
at ‘noon —and cost about a dollar per day to feed; the 
fruit-eaters, like the elephunt, eat all the time, as fancy 
prompts; while the vegetarians, like the monkeys, take 
their three square meals a day. As a rulo, all animals 
enjoy a better average of health than man, because 
they have no acquired tastes or dissipated habits, Tho 
elephant lives for centuries ; the parrot is a centena- 
rian, while the lion lives but twenty years or so. On 
the whole, the average life of man is greater than that 
of the majority of the so-called beasts, though their 
average of health exceeds his. : 

Wax-works, of one kind or other, enter into the dis- 
play mado in the menagerie tent; but the figures all 
seem broken or enfoobled by long usage, and instead of 





IN THE MENAGERIE. 607 


with the mattress and pillow on which he died; the 
coronation robe of Napoleon and the robe of the Em- 
press Josephine; the celebrated flag of Elba; tho 
sword worn by the Emperor during his campaign in 
Egypt, and many other relics of him. In another room 
is the carriage in which Napoleon made the eampaign 
of Russia, and which was captured on the evening of 
the battle of Waterloo; also the carriage he used at 
St. Helena, in which, of course, I sat down, according 
to custom. 

«In another room are many relics of the French 
Revolution, among which are the instruments by which 
the unfortunate Louis XIV. was beheaded, as also 

- Robespierre and others, These are but a fow of the 
many curious and interesting objects to be seen at this 
exceedingly entertaining exhibition ; and T paseed seve 
eral hours here, quite lost in the examination of the 
collection and the recollections which the various arti- 


cles awakened. = 
. . . . . . . . 








The menagerie, no matter how small or how exten- 
sive it may he, always has much within its enges and 
lying around under its canvas to interest, young and 
old alike. It is like a volume of*natural history that. 
may be forever studied without exhausting the interest. 
that attaches to it, and the knowledge contained in 
it. Thrown down after a single perusal, the book is 
picked up again and again, and each timo its pictures 
and pages seom as fresh and entertaining ax they were 
in the beginning. So, too, the collection of curiosi~ 
fies, that now-a-days form a very important part of 
every tent-show, never loses its attraction for the 
public, Gray-baired men who in boyhood looked, | 
open-mouthed and astonished, into the den of lions, 
still find the same pleasure in contemplating these 








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