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 JAMES V.CHLOUPEK 
 
 ,,Oe P.EASANT V.U.C^ -VENUE 
 
 OAKLAND. CAUFORN.A
 
 UCSB LIBKAKV
 
 TRANSFORMATION SCENE.
 
 THEATRICAL 
 
 AND 
 
 CIRCUS LIFE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SECRETS OF THE STAGE, 
 
 GREEN-ROOM AND SAWDUST ARENA. 
 
 EMBRACIN(i 
 
 V HISTORY OF THE THEATRE FROM SHAKESPEARE'S TIME TO THE PRESENl 
 DAY, AND ABOUNDING IN ANECDOTES CONCERNING THE MOST PROMI- 
 *NENT ACTORS AND ACTRESSES BEFORE THE PUBLIC; ALSO, A 
 COMPLETE EXroSITION OF THE MYSTERIES OF THE STAGE, 
 SHOWING THE MANNER IN AVHICH WONDERFUL SCENIC AND 
 OTHER EFFECTS ARE PRODUCED; "^HE ORIGIN AND 
 GROWTH OF NEGRO MINSTRELSY; THE MOST ASTON- 
 ISHING TRICKS OF MODERN MAGICIANS, AND A 
 HISTORY OF THE HIPPODROME, ETC., ETC. 
 
 Illustrated with Numerous Engravings and 
 Fine Colored Plates. 
 
 By JOHN J. JENNINGS. 
 
 CHICAOO: 
 (Tl()l)te E^iiblisiliiog Co.
 
 l--nterc(\ accDrdiriK to Act of Congress, in the year iSS6, by 
 
 (JLOHK in;i?LISHING CO., 
 Ill the nfticc- of the Lihr;iri;in of Congress, ;it Washington.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The theatre and the circus, both sources of unlim- 
 ited amusement to the world, are also objects of the 
 greatest interest to all who have had even a single 
 peep at the stage or pressed their feet even once upon 
 the sawdust precincts of the tented show. The tricks 
 and illusions that are mystifying to nine-tenths of 
 those to whom they are presented rarely fail to be 
 productive of pleasure, and the performers, whether 
 before the foot-lights or within the circus ring, gen- 
 erally succeed in so thoroughly winning the hearts of 
 the public, that, though their faces, when the paint is 
 off and the atmosphere of glory has departed, might 
 not be recognized upon the street, their names are so 
 fixedly identified with the pleasant moments associated 
 with their art, that they become household words, and 
 are spoken, with admiration and praise, by all classes, 
 from the newsboy and bootblack up through the vari- 
 ous strata of society even to the ruler of the nation. 
 
 In presenting this volume to the public the inten- 
 tion has been to bring the player and the people into 
 closer relations, and by revealing the secrets of the 
 stage and sawdust arena to show that what appears at 
 first to be deep mystery and to many, who are bigoted 
 and averse to theatrical and kindred entertainments, 
 the blackest diabolism, is merely the result of the 
 simplest combinations of mechanical skill and studied 
 art, and is as innocent of the sinister character be- 
 stowed upon it as are the efforts of school children at 
 their annual exhibitions or the exercises of a Sabbath 
 School class before a row of drowsy and nodding church- 
 deacons. Fault may be found with the private lives 
 
 (3)
 
 4 PROLOGUE. 
 
 of numbers of the members of the theatrical and cir- 
 cus profession, but the sins and shortcomings of indi- 
 viduals, can bo visited upon the entire class witii no 
 more justice than can the frailties of a few preachers 
 be applied generally to the pul])it, or the dishonesty 
 of a handful of lawyers be reflected u[)ou all the dis- 
 ciples of Blackstone in existence. 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 disreputa])lc men and women whose low 
 tastes are catered to ])y men and women every bit as 
 disreputaljle 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 })rivate lives of i)erformers 
 and giving biographies of the most noted actors and 
 actresses now before the pu])lic, an attempt has been 
 made to be perfectly accurate in every detail. The 
 anecdotal i)ortion 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, Theatkical and 
 Ciiicus Life may nieet 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 l)e i)laced u[)on his sentences, naught but respect 
 and alTection is felt for the true and good men and 
 women of the stage, the author parts from his volume 
 regretting that it is not large enough to give everybody 
 a place in its pages, or to say as much about each in- 
 'Jividual as each deserves. J. 'h .1. 
 
 St. Louis, August 1, 1H82.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 A I'UKLIMINAliY I'lCEP, 
 
 PAGES 
 
 Admission Fees — Cerberus at the Back Door — The Awe- 
 Stricken Stranger behind the Scene — Swarms of Ac- 
 tors and Emploj'ces — Description of Stage Settings — 
 The Green-Roora and Dressing-Room Explored — A 
 Visit to the Dressing-Tent of the Circus — An Act 
 that Beats anything of the kind in the World — The 
 Female Minstrel Gang and the Break-o'-Day Girls - 19-27 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A TIIEATKE OF SHAKESPEARE'S DAY. 
 
 Rude Carts as Primitive Stages — Followed by Stone Thea- 
 tres with Pits for Stages — Theatres of the Elizabetlian 
 Period — Sunday Theatres in the " Golden Age " — 
 Description of the Globe in Shakespeare's Time — 
 Plays in the Times of Henry VIII. — Sign-boards as 
 Scenes — Anecdote of Charles II. — The "Wits," 
 "Clever" Men and the Vulgar Crowd — Pipes, Tank- 
 ards, and Gossip - ...... 28-36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 
 
 Davy Garrick at Drury Lane, London — English Actors sail 
 for America — Vo}'age in the Charming Sally in 1752 — 
 The First American Tiieatre — The First Programme — 
 The First New York Theatre, 1753 — Tlie First Per- 
 formance in Philadelphia, April, 1754 — The First 
 Show in Boston, August, 1792 — The Priest and the 
 Spanish Lady — Elegant Theatres of the Present 
 Period 37-42 
 
 (5)
 
 () CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 PAQKS 
 
 Front Door and Back Door Entrances — " Mashers " at the 
 "Stage-Door" — The Cerberus "who Stands Guard — 
 Perquisites Paid to Him — Bulkhead and the Ballet 
 Girls — The Tricks of the Scene Painter on the Girls — 
 The Girls' Revenge — Bold and Heartless Lovers — 
 Notes Pushed under the Drcssing-Room Door — Alice 
 Oates's Mash — Watching the Manu3uvres of the 
 "Mashers" — Tale of the Pink Synimetricals - - 43-54 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 « 
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 People who Patronize the Theatre — The Young Blood — 
 Members of the " Profesh " — The Giddy and Gushing 
 Usher — The Bouncer — The Peanut Cruncher — The 
 People who go out "Between Acts" — The Big Hat 
 Nuisance — Anecdote of George and Harry - - - C5-C8 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 An Amateur Theatre — The Author's Experience as " Imp" 
 
 in a Spectacular Scene — \ Trip to the Moon - - C9-85 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I\ Tin: 1>KESSING-1«)<)M. 
 
 Goodwin's " Make-up " for Hobbies — Booth and Company 
 Playing "Hamlet" in Street Costume — Dressing- 
 Roonis of Uld-Time and Present Theatres — Louis 
 Harrison Spoils a Play at San Francisco — How Actors 
 "Makeup" for Various Parts — Tin; Hair-Dresser 
 and (iie Actress SC.-IOS 
 
 CHAPTER Vill. 
 
 WmilN IIIK WINiiS. 
 
 The Stage Promi)ter and His Duties — Actors who " Stick" 
 and scnne who " Never Slick " — A Popular Actress and
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGES 
 
 her Useful Husband — The Firemen's Amours — Mary 
 Anderson and Her Chewing-Gum — Emmet's Indiscre- 
 tions 106-121 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 Burning of the Southern Hotel and Kate Claxton's Pres- 
 ence — Superstitions of John McCuUough, Eaymond, 
 Joe Jefferson, Sothern, Florehce, Booth, Chanfraii, 
 Byron, Tliorue, Neilson, Lotta, etc., etc. — Coui'tainc 
 andlnce 122-143 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 Actors who Memorize whole Newspapers — Lovely Peggy — 
 Kean Dying as ho Played — Sol. Smith's Fuany Adven- 
 ture — A Masher made Serviceable — Charlotte Cush- 
 man and the Colored Bell-Boy who brought Down the 
 House — The Call-Boy's Revenge — The Lecturer, 
 Trick Candle and Trap Door — An English Performance 
 of William Tell 144-161 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OP THE STAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Bellamy and Mr. St. Leger in Dublin — Rousseau's 
 Description of Paris Opera — Modern Mechanism — • 
 Producing Steam, Fire, Thunder, Lightning, etc. — 
 Olive Logan and her Jewels — Snow Storm in "The 
 Two Orphans" — Rain in "Hearts of Oalv " — Rivu- 
 lets in " Danites " — Funny Inventory of "Property " 
 in a London Theatre 162-182 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 
 
 The Property-Mau and lils Duties — Sunlight — Moon- 
 light — Twinliling of Stars — Ocean Waves — Fire in 
 " Phcenix " and " Streets of New York " — Full Descrip- 
 tion of the Famous Raft Scene ----- 183-104
 
 8 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAlTKIi XIII. 
 
 TIIK ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 PACKS 
 
 Broken Down or "Crushed" Actors as Door-Kcepera — 
 The Treasurer of the Theatre — The Uslier — Orchestra 
 and Leader — Stage Manager — The Scenic Artist — 
 Tlie Stage Carpenter, Supes and Minor Attaches, and 
 Last but not Least the Call-Boy 195-205 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 STAGE STRUCK. 
 
 The Young Man from Cahokia — The Box of Gags — 
 Stage Struck Girls of Louisville — Tlie College Graduate 
 from Illinois — "The Warrior Bowed His Crested 
 Head"— The "N. G." Curtain — Marie Dixon's Fail- 
 ure — Mrs. II. M. Lewis, of Charleston, Duped by 
 Schwab & Rummel — Harry Russell Tseudo "Mana- 
 ger" — A Colored Troop's Curious Epistle - - - 20G-22C 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THK REHKAUSAI,. 
 
 Old-Time and Present Rehearsals — Olive Logan's Descrip- 
 tion of a Rehearsal — Rehearsal of the Corps de Bal- 
 let — Appearance of Tagliom, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, 
 Lucile Grahn at Her Majesty's Theatre, in London - 227-240 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 
 
 Advertising for Ballet Girls — Salaries Paid them — Who 
 Apply — Where the Can-Can Flourishes — The Ups and 
 Downs of a Ballet Girl's Life — The Nautch Dancers 241-250 
 
 CIIAI'TER XVII. 
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 Interviewing Sig. J. F. Cardella — The French School 
 Theatre La Scala — Amount of Practice Reciuired — Tiie 
 American Ballet — Salaries of Premieres, Coryphees, 
 etc. — The Time Required — A Little Fond and Foolish 
 at Times 251-2C3 
 
 CHAPTF.R XVIII. 
 
 PLAYS AM) ri.AYWRIGHTS. 
 
 The Trials and Tribulations of the Gawky Young Drama-
 
 CONTENTS. 9 
 
 PAGES 
 
 tist — English, French and American Playwrights — 
 The Desire for Foreign Plays — Bartley Campbell's 
 Christmas Story 264-275 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MASHERS AND MASHIXG. 
 
 Gunakophagists or Woman-Eaters — Corner Loafers — 
 Mashers of the Profession — Female Mashers — The 
 * Blonde Beauties of the Leg Drama — Model Letter — 
 Lillian Russell's Escapades — " Patti " and the Midget 
 "Foster" — The Old Masher Squeezed — The Girl in 
 Red Tights at Uhrig's Cave — Music and Mashing - 27C-296 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 
 
 Ambleleg — His Soul Full of Art and Throat Full of 
 Music — Miss Justaytine the Pink of Beauty and Per- 
 fection of Belleship — The Chorus Singer Mashed on 
 the Maiden — The Mash Mutual — The Brother and 
 Lover Mash the Tenor — Suit for ^10,000 and the Com- 
 promise 29G-a02 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. 
 
 A First-Class Puff in a Leadville Paper — All Anxious to 
 Appear in Print — Various Ways of Puffing — Sending 
 Photos — Diamond Robberies — Falling Heir to a For- 
 tune, etc. — Minnie Palmer's Artless Display of Un- 
 derwear — The Abbott Kiss — Catherine Lewis Fling — 
 Emelie Melville's Presents to Critics — The Morning 
 Buzzard and the Evening Crow - - - - - 303-314 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 
 
 All Performers must Meet the Interviewing Fiend — How 
 the Interviewer is Received by Patti, Nilsson, Gerster, 
 Kellogg, Cary, Ilauk, Abbott, Bernhardt, Morris, Mod- 
 jeska, Neilson, Andei'son, Davenport, Mitchell, Lotta, 
 and Others 316-319 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 Mistress Woffington — Children as Actors and Actresses —
 
 10 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAfiE.S 
 
 Little Corinne — Debut of Emma Livry — Nell Gwynuc 
 the Fish Girl — Lola Montez, the Pretty Irish Girl — 
 Adali Isaiics Menken as Mazeppa — Mar}' Anderson the 
 Tragedienne — Lotta and Maggie Mitchell, and a Host 
 of Others a20-342 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 Great Length of the Play — Description of a phinese Thea- 
 tre — The Prompter — The Audience — The Actors — 
 The Musicians — Japanese Theatres — No "Reserved 
 Seats"— Prices of Admission — Side Shows - - 3-t3-.'552 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 OPKRA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 Palmo, the Father of Italian Opera in America — Interview 
 with Col. Mapleson — The Cost of Rigging a Com- 
 pany — What it Costs Every Time the Curtain is Rung 
 Up — Mme. Grisi's Superstition — The Best Operas — 
 Salaries of Singers — Neilson and the Diamond Mer- 
 chant 353-300 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 Emmet, Brower, Whltlock and Pelham among the Earliest — 
 Pot-Pie Herbert — Daddy Rice and Jim Crow — Zip 
 Coon — Coal Black Rose — My Long Tail Blue — Early 
 Days of George Cliristy — Minstrel Men Generally Im- 
 provident — Minstrel Men as Mashers — Ilaverly's Mas- 
 todon Minstrels — The Boys at Rehearsal - - - 3C7-381 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 l-ANIOMIME. 
 
 George L. Fox, tlie King — G. H. Adams, liis Successor — 
 
 Boxing Night in London 382-388 
 
 CHAPTKR X.WIII. 
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 FirBt-Class Varieties — Harry Hill's Famous Resort — In- 
 terview with Harry Hill — Ida and Johnnie — Deacons 
 in a Dive — The Bouncer at Work — The Cow-Boy's 
 Call for Mary — The Can-Can — Music by Bands — 
 Over the Rhine 389-415
 
 CONTENTS. 11 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 PAGES 
 
 Ginnis the Alderman ---.... 41G-429 
 
 The Song and Dance Men — Ilarrigan & Hart — Levi Mc- 
 
 CH AFTER XXX. 
 
 THE BLACK ART. 
 
 Sword Swallowers — Jugglers in America, Europe, China, 
 and Hindoostan — Herman Sells the Barbers — Her- 
 man Sold by the "Boys" — Wonderful Chinese Jug- 
 glers — How Ladies are Suspended iu Mid-Air — How 
 to Eat Fire — Walk on Red Hot Iron — Cut off a Man's 
 Head, etc., etc. 430-439 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE INDIAN BOX AND BASKET TRICK. 
 
 The Trick-Box — The Board — The Basket — The Magi- 
 cian's " Ghost Story " 440-448 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 * 
 
 VENTRILOQUISM. 
 
 Prof. Kennedy and Val Vose — Louis Brabant Valet de 
 Chambre to Francis I. Wins Wife and Fortune through 
 his Wonderful Gift — M. St. Gille and his Wonderful 
 Exploits — Alexandre and the Load of Hay — The De- 
 lusion Fully Explained — How to do it — The Suffo- 
 cated Victim .-- 449-458 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 Making Dates at the " the Square " — Copy of Contracts — 
 
 Billing the Town — The Cyclonic Advance Agent - 459-465 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 
 
 The Street Arabs and Lotta — The Stage at the Beginning 
 of the Eighteenth Century — Little "Accidents" of 
 Bernhardt and Indiscretions of Patti — " Sudden John- 
 nie " and Colombier — Lizzie McCall's Crime — Miss 
 Bertha Welby and Miss Cleves — The " Old Gray " and 
 the Skipping Rope Dancer — Husband and Wife and 
 Ballet Girl — Mephistopheles and Venus - - -466-483
 
 12 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 JOHN WILKES BOOTH, PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN. 
 
 PACKS 
 
 Shooting of Abraham Lincoln — Booth's Rehearsal at Wal- 
 lack's — All Old Actor's Opinion of J. W. Booth — His 
 Eichard the IH. a Fine Piece of Acting — Booth and 
 Collier as Eichard and Eichmond 484-491 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE SUMMEK VACATION. 
 
 How the Stars and Lesser Lights Disport Themselves — 
 Actors at the Seaside — The *' Old Gray " Surprises the 
 Actors at the Banquet — Millions Spent upon Theatri- 
 cals .... 4<i2-501 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVn. 
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 
 
 Who the "-Elks" are — .Tughandle's Friend Wants to be an 
 Elk — Getting the Candidate Ready— The High iMuck- 
 a-Muck — The Peculiar Circle — The Descent — The 
 Path of Progress — The Upward Flight to Glory — 
 Down ! Down ! ! Down! ! ! -«- On " Elncycle " —The 
 Merciful Net -An Elk 602-511 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIir. 
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 
 
 The Disengaged Canvasman's Poetry — Circus Posters — 
 The Grand Parade — The 825,000 Beauty — Twelve 
 Ponies and Forty Horses on a Rampage — Henry Clay 
 Scott and his Aged Father — Sold his Stove to go to 
 the Circus 512-521 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 The Small Boy and the Circus — Beating the Show — Slack 
 Wire and Balloon Performances — Donaldson's 111- 
 Fatcd Trip — Frightful Accident in Mexico — Circus 
 Green-Room and Dressing- Rooms — The Clown — Bare- 
 back Riders and Tumblers — Merryman's Admission 
 Fee — The Clown's Baby 522-r.35 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AIUOHATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 Training Clilldrcn — Olive Logan on the Circus — Trajjezc
 
 CONTENTS. 13 
 
 PAGES 
 
 Performers — Tight Kope Feats — Training Riders — 
 Tlie Leading Equestrienne — Tlie Great English Rider, 
 Miss Lily Deacon — The Georgia Lady's Experience — 
 Cow-Boys Raid on the Ring ... - - 536-552 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 
 
 Shadowville — Miss Nannie Florenstein, the most Wonder- 
 ful Bareback Rider in the World — Her Cruel Task- 
 master — Nod Struthers to the Rescue — 'All's Well 
 that Ends Well" 553-562 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 
 
 The Athlete of Ancient Rome — Grand and Lofty Tum- 
 bling of To-day — Double and Triple Somersaults - 5G3-57I 
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL, 
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 
 
 Capt. M. V. Bates and Wife— The Tallest Couple In the 
 World — The Eat Woman and the Living Skeleton — 
 The Circassian Girl 572-580 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 
 
 The "Ad." in the Morning Paper — Capt. Costentenus — 
 The Modus Operandi- — ^Henneberry and the "Old 
 Salt " — Singular Story Told by Henry Frumell — Tat- 
 tooed by South Pacific Savages - . . . 581-589 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 IN TUB MENAGERIE. 
 
 Zazel Shot out of a Cannon — The Zulus — Gen. Tom 
 Thumb and Wife — Thumb and Campanini — Hugged 
 and Kissed by an Ape — Millie Christine the Famous 
 Two-Hoadcd Lady — The Eighth Wonder of the 
 World — Jocko Spoils a Comedy — Circus in Winter 
 Quarters 590-608
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 Froxtispiece (Colorkd Platk) 1 
 
 Stage of Modern Theatre - 18 
 
 Lotta 22 
 
 Interior of Modern Theatre 3G 
 
 Decorating a Scene Painter 47 
 
 The "Masher" '- - 56 
 
 Tlie Big Hat 61 
 
 George and Harry - - 63 
 
 Louise Montague 64 
 
 Maud Brausconibc - - - 65 
 
 Selina Dolaro - . . o8 
 
 John McCullougli - 70 
 
 Belle Howitt 73 
 
 John A. Stevens . . - 76 
 
 Lillie West - - 79 
 
 Pauline Markiiam (Colored Plate') .... 80 
 
 Adah Isaac Menken 83 
 
 Millie La Fonte 85 
 
 Ballet Girl's Dressinir-Boom 87 
 
 Edwin Booth 89 
 
 McKee Rankin --...-..- 91 
 
 The Throe Villas 93 
 
 Sarah Bernhardt 96 
 
 The Late Adelaide Neilson 99 
 
 Dressing an Ad rcss' Hair 102 
 
 Marie Roze . - - 105 
 
 In the Green-Room 106 
 
 A Green-Room Tableau 107 
 
 Getting their "Lines" .------- 109 
 
 Milton Nobles 110 
 
 Improving Spare Moments - 112 
 
 An Actress' Useful Husband 113 
 
 Making Love in the Side Sci lies - - - - - 115 
 
 M'lle Geraldine and Little Gerry - - - - 117 
 
 Sobering a Comedian 120 
 
 McCull(<ugh as Virginius 121 
 
 Kate Claxton 123 
 
 The Late Venie Clancie - - 126 
 
 Catherine Lewis ... - - - 128 
 
 Chanfrau - - - 131 
 
 Fanny Davenport 134 
 
 Dion Boucicault 136
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 15 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Boucicault ..-.----. 136 
 
 Maud Granger ---------- 139 
 
 Portia and Shylock - - - - - - - - - 143 
 
 Lizzie McCall - - - » - - - - - - - 145 
 
 Pin up my Skirts --------- 148 
 
 Annie Pixley as M'liss - - - - - - - - 150 
 
 The Call Boy's Reveniie - - - ----- 151 
 
 Thos. W. Keene --------- 154 
 
 Emma Thursby --------- 156 
 
 Lillian Russell . - 153 
 
 Joe Jefferson ---------- 159 
 
 Roland Reed - - - - - - - - - - ICO 
 
 Lizzie Webster (Colored Plate) - - - - - IGO 
 
 Lawrence Barrett - - IGl 
 
 J. K. Eramett ---------- 164 
 
 John T. Raymond - - - 166 
 
 Katherine Rogers --------- 168 
 
 Josephine D'Orme - 170 
 
 Fendinand and Miranda - - - - - - - - 173 
 
 Lester Wallack . . - - 175 
 
 Clara Morris ---------- 177 
 
 Helen Dingeon - . - - 178 
 
 Scott-Siddons -----'-.--- I8I 
 John Parselle ----------] 84 
 
 Sol Smith Russell - - - - 187 
 
 Rose Coghlan ---------- 189 
 
 The Raft Scene - - - - ----- 192 
 
 Minnie Hauk ---------- 197 
 
 Helping the Scene Painter ------- 20I 
 
 The Old Woman of the Company - - 204 
 
 The Esthetic Drama -------- 205 
 
 Kitty Blanchard --------- 209 
 
 Mrs. Langtry - . . , 213 
 
 Marie Prescott as Parthenia - - - - - - - 217 
 
 Mme. Fanny Janauschek - - 222 
 
 Rose Eytinge 226 
 
 Agnes Booth - - - 230 
 
 "Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, all ToreUier" - - 234 
 
 Training Ballet Dancers 235 
 
 National Dances ..-----.. 237 
 
 Marion Elsiore (Colored Plate) - - - . - 240 
 
 Drilling for the Chorus -------- 245 
 
 The "Sucker" 248 
 
 Donna Julia's Eyes -, = -,---- 253
 
 16 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTIIATIONS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Obcron and Titauia 255 
 
 Measuring for the Costume 257 
 
 M. B. Curtis 260 
 
 A Premiere before the Audience 262 
 
 A Bowery "Masher" 276 
 
 Lady Macbeth 278 
 
 Working a Greeny at a Matinee 280 
 
 From one of the Mashed 282 
 
 Adelina Patti's "Mash" 287 
 
 J. II. Haverly 288 
 
 A Monkey Spoiling a Mash 292 
 
 Ambleleg 295 
 
 Serving a Writ on Fauny Davenport 304 
 
 Ernesti Rossi 307 
 
 Slippers for Free Puffs 311 
 
 Miss C()NNOI,LY (COLORKD PlATE) 320 
 
 Little Corinnc 322 
 
 Taglioni Congratulating Emma Livry 326 
 
 Lotta 332 
 
 Maggie Mitchell 333 
 
 Emma Abbott 334 
 
 Called before the Curtain ' 338 
 
 Fay Templeton 342 
 
 Chinese Theatre 348 
 
 Ciiinese Property Room 351 
 
 Minnie Maddern 352 
 
 Crowning a Tenor - - 356 
 
 Patti 359 
 
 Gerster 361 
 
 George Christy 370 
 
 You are the Sort of Man I Like 373 
 
 Jim Crow 378 
 
 G. H. Adams 382 
 
 Fencing Scene in Black Crook 390 
 
 Mad. Thoo 392 
 
 Gus Williams 394 
 
 She Tickled Ilim Under the Ciiiii 399 
 
 M'lle Genf:vieve (Colored Plait.) 400 
 
 Armado and Jaquenetta 402 
 
 Laura Don -- 404 
 
 Benedick and Beatrice 405 
 
 Materna 406 
 
 Thatcher, Primrose and Wvkt 407 
 
 A "Bowery" on a Lark 408
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 17 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Concert Saloon Band 410 
 
 Female Band - - . . . m 
 
 Female Orchestra - - 412 
 
 James O'Neill '?. 413 
 
 An Ideal Masher -._ 414 
 
 Edwin Ilarrigan 417 
 
 Tony Hart 418 
 
 Herman's Sell . . . . 432 
 
 The Box Trick, Fig. 1 440 
 
 The Box Trick, Fig. 2 441 
 
 The Box Trick, Fig. 3 441 
 
 The Box Trick, Fig. 4 -442 
 
 The Box Trick, Fig. 5 443 
 
 On the Road --. 405 
 
 The McCall Tragedy 472 
 
 Blackmailing an Actress 474 
 
 Jealousy ---. 47g 
 
 Edward Kendall 473 
 
 Out in the Cold 480 
 
 John Wilkes Booth 485 
 
 Scene from Grand Duchess - - 493 
 
 John W. Norton - 496 
 
 Mary Anderson (Colored Plate) - - . . . 496 
 
 A Candidate in Regalia - 504 
 
 Muck-a-Muck ---- 508 
 
 The Circus World - - - - * 512 
 
 Twenty-five Thousand Dollar Beauty 517 
 
 Adam Forepaugh - - - - - ... . 520 
 
 Beating the Circus 623 
 
 W. H. Donaldson 525 
 
 Catalina Georgio's Frightful Death - - . . . 526 
 
 Bareback Riding 537 
 
 Trapeze - - 539 
 
 Mdme.Lasalle 542 
 
 Annie Li\aNGSTONE (Colored Plate) .... 545 
 
 Circus Riders --- 546 
 
 Dan Rice _ ^^ . . 55O 
 
 A Human Pyramid ------.--. 562 
 
 Leaping 565 
 
 Bicycle Riding --" - 571 
 
 Giant and Giantess - - 579, 580 
 
 Performing Elephants - - - 596 
 
 Jumbo 699 
 
 Curtain 608
 
 .STAOK OF A modi:kn 1 1 1 i:a 1 lUI,
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 
 
 Anybody can get into the auditoriuin of a theatre 
 by paying an admission fee reaching from twenty-five 
 cents up to $1.50, and the sawdust precincts of the 
 circus may be penetrated for the modest sum of fifty 
 cents ; but behind the curtain of the theatre and beyond 
 the screeneddoor through which circus attractions enter 
 tlie exhibition arena, are sacred places, witli secrets 
 that are so valua])le to their owners that they dare not 
 for less than a small fortune allow the public to view 
 or even to understand them. A general knowledge 
 of the simplicity of theatrical and circus tricks — of 
 the delusions that make up the stock in trade of show- 
 men generally — would destroy their value as salable 
 articles, and make everybody a little Barnum or Jack 
 Haverly of his own, with ability to furnish himself 
 with amusement at home, while the former masto- 
 donic managers could only look on and weep at the 
 educational facilities with which the country was over- 
 run, and mourn the Shakespearian days when people 
 were easily pleased with the poverty-ridden stage and 
 bare representations that were ofi^ered them. But 
 there is no fear that the public will ever be instructed 
 up to such a high degree in regard to the inside work- 
 ings of the theatre and circus, that there \vill not at 
 all times be plenty of patrons for both these excellent 
 forms of entertainment. The manao-ers take a-ood care 
 
 (19)
 
 20 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 
 
 to keep their secrets to themselves, ;is those "who go 
 jjiying around the shrines in which the theatric arcana 
 arc held, very soon find out. At the back door of 
 every theatre — the entrance to the stage — is a cer- 
 berns of the most pronounced kind, who would sooner 
 bite his own grandfather's ear off than allow anybody 
 not entitled to the privilege, to i)ass him ; Avhile at the 
 door of the circus dressing-room and all around it are 
 faithful sentinels who wmII 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 
 somersault over seventeen horses, w^ith 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 staije and sawdust 
 arena as one can well do without knowing absolutely all 
 about them, and by the time the last page isTead and 
 the volume is ready to be closed, I think the readers 
 will be both deliirhted and astonished with the revela- 
 tions that have been made. 
 
 Turn the average man loose on the stage of a theatre 
 at night, while a play is going on, and it is a Kussian 
 kobol against a whole San Juan mining district that he 
 will not know whether he lias struck the seventh circle 
 of heaven or is in a lunatic asylum. He w^ill meet 
 some very queer creatures in the scenes ; he will see 
 many strange things; the brilliant lights around him, 
 the patches of color flashing into his eyes, thesea of 
 faces and the tangle of millinery in the auditorium, will 
 mystify him ; the startling streaks of black upon the 
 faces of the men ami women who Jostle him as he 
 closely hugs the wings, their red noses and blooming 
 cheeks, the general tomato-can aspect of their faces, 
 the sha</<ry wisrs and stra2:i;lin<; beards that look as if 
 they had been torn off the back of a goat only ten
 
 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 21 
 
 minutes before ; the dismal, commonplace clothes that 
 shine so radiantly when seen from a chair hi the par- 
 quette or dress circle, — all these things will set his poor 
 brain in a whirl ; and whiie he is looking on awe-stricken, 
 the scene shifters will come rushing down upon him 
 with a new delusion, trampling on his toes in a manner 
 that suggests in a most potential way his superfluity in 
 that particular jjlacc, and pushing him aside without the 
 merest apology, and perhaps with no other remark than 
 a fragment of fervent profanity, as if he were a wretched 
 street Arab in that mimic world in which the scene 
 shifter and the captain of the " supers " play such very 
 important parts. People come out of every imagina- 
 ble place all around him. There seem to be doors 
 everywhere, — in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and 
 even in space; and as the "vasty deep" and the 
 rest of the surroundings give up their dwellers, the in- 
 truder receives fresh jolts and thrusts, and possibly 
 additional donations of profanity. This, of course, 
 applies only to the male apparitions that overwhelm 
 the strange visitor to the new world behind the scenes. 
 Thp female portion of that illusory sphere have noth- 
 ing to say to him except with their eyes, which very 
 forcibly inquire the meaning of his presence there. 
 
 If a person would like to understand how awfully 
 strange and lonely it will be for the last individual left 
 alive upon earth, he need only pay a first visit to the 
 stage of a theatre where he is not acquainted with any 
 of the actors or actresses, and has not even the pleasure 
 of knowing one of the minor attaches. Any attempt to 
 form an acquaintance is promptly and unmistakably 
 repelled, and all the poor unfortunate has to do is to 
 move up where he is out of everybody's way, and 
 he can look on and wonder to his heart's content. As 
 he inspects his surroundings and has his attention called
 
 22 
 
 A PRELIMINARY PEEP 
 
 to the actions of the people whose business it is to 
 place the stage in shape for an act or scene of a play, 
 ho will readily comprehend the meaning of forming a 
 world out of chaos. If they are getting ready the 
 
 y. 
 
 L. 
 
 LOTTA, 
 
 balcony scene for " Komeo and -Juliet," wing pieces are 
 pushed out to rt[)r('sent trees and the side of the house 
 of the Cai)ulct6 — and what a house it usually is, too,
 
 A I'KELIMINAKY PEEP. 23 
 
 for such elegiiiit people ! The front of the house is 
 rapidly placed in position })etween two wings, the bal- 
 cony is quickly nailed on, and with the aid of a rude 
 scaffolding behind the scene and a ladder, the fair Juliet 
 mounts, and, feeling her way carefully, at last. steps out 
 upon the frail structure to tell the sweet moon her love 
 for Romeo. The whole thins: looks ridiculous. Even the 
 stately daughter of the Capulets has not beauty or skill 
 enough to remove the absurditv from the scene which has 
 the appearance of being, and is in reality nothing else 
 than wood and canvas freely splashed with paint of 
 the proper colors. A painted box represents a stone ; 
 a green carpet passes for grass ; the beautiful bric-a- 
 brac that opens the eyes of the aesthetic people in the 
 audience is only brown paper hurriedly daubed by the 
 scene painter's apprentice; the wall of the Capulets' 
 garden is a very frail canvas concern, and the floral 
 attributes are frauds of the deepest dye from the scenic 
 artist's long table of colors. The whole picture is 
 simple, but unintelligible to the looker-on for the first 
 time, and as he vanishes through the door he laughs 
 heartily at the very thin disguise tragedy and comedy 
 are required to put on to delude and please the public. 
 Let him return to the theatre in the mornins: and 
 view its mysteries shorn of the dazzle and splendor 
 that the night brings. He will be more astonished 
 still. The place is usually as dark as a dungeon, there 
 being something peculiar in the construction of the- 
 atres which makes them brio;ht at ni2:ht and dismal 
 during dajdight. If a stray slant of light falls any- 
 where upon the stage it will be rudely mocked by the 
 bits of burning candle by the aid of which the stage 
 carpenter is at work right in the very sjsot where, 
 twelve hours before, Romeo and Juliet lived and died 
 for each other in such a lamental)ly pathetic way that
 
 24 A PRELIMINARY I'EEP. 
 
 the audience shed tears, and only gave the hichrymal 
 rainstorm a rest at intervals long enough to shower 
 the star with ap2)ldusc. 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 a 
 lugubrious and whollj' uninteresting way, — all are at 
 work, and as heedless of the attendance of strangers as 
 the actors and stao;e hands of the nii^iit before had 
 been. The scenes have lost their color — such as are 
 left, and this mimic world that hud its admiring and 
 aspiring hundreds is 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 attractiveness. 
 The green-room may be explored, and the dressing- 
 rooms, but they will reveal nothing ; their former oc- 
 cupants are probably still abed, and unless there is to 
 be a rehearsal they will not be seen around again until 
 7 o'clock at nijj^ht. 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 world to him. Moving 
 down the stairs that lead to the space under the stage, 
 the explorer will find it dai-ker and more dungeon-like 
 still, and even if it were li<::ht nothing could bo seen 
 but the steam boiler, for heating and power purposes, 
 the ventilating ai)i)aratus, the numerous trap-door 
 openings and the posts about them, with a few other 
 accessories that are hardly worth mentioning. Again 
 he will l)e forced to confess that everything is very 
 simple, but he cannot understand any part of it, and 
 again he goes uway with a laugli on his lips and mer- 
 riment in his heart because the people are so easily
 
 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 25 
 
 pleased, and theatrical managers find it so easy to 
 entertain them. 
 
 A visit to the dressino--tent of the circus will be 
 equally barren of appreciable results. He can see the 
 dazzling costumes, the shapely limbs of the females, 
 the gaily-caparisoned steeds, the red gold-laced coats 
 of the supers, and a chaotic heaping up of a number 
 of indescribable articles, but behind the canvas screen 
 that divides the tent lie secrets that he must not 
 attempt to penetrate, for there are the lives, the lies 
 and the fascinations of the performers. There, awk- 
 ward limbs receive their roundly shaping, and old age, 
 by a magic touch with the elixir of the " make-up " 
 box, puts on the masquerading bloom of youth. The 
 same might, to some extent, be said of the dressing- 
 rooms of the theatre, only the application could not 
 be as wide or general as in the circus profession, for 
 the lives these people lead soon lay waste their beauty 
 if they happen to be young, and crowd senility upon 
 them long before the usual time. Their work is always 
 hard, their surroundings are of the very worst kind, 
 they grow up in an atmosphere of fraud, and they 
 necessarily learn early the arts of deception whereby 
 their employers make fame and fortune. But I have 
 taken a stranger into the dressing-tent, and I nmst not 
 abuse the hospitality of the place by exposing its sins 
 in his presence. The stranger is introduced all around, 
 shakes hands with everybody, even the premiere 
 equestrienne, or, perhaps, the charming and daring 
 little lady who is twice daily shot out of a cannon, and 
 besides makes two headlong dives a day from the dome 
 of the tent into the net spread beneath. All are glad 
 to see him, and he is surprised to find that the two 
 Indians who juggle fire-brands and do other feats not 
 at all consistent with the traditions of the aborigines,
 
 26 A rUELIMINARY PEEP. 
 
 have not sufficient savaj^e blood in their veins to make 
 respectable cigar store signs, but are base counterfeits 
 of the noble red man, ap[)lications of chocolate and 
 vermilion 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 an act that beats anything of the kind in the 
 world." 
 
 As in the material 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 
 least bit, the reader can have a peep at the most at- 
 tractive of the events and incidents that go to make 
 the romantic career of an actor or actress. There are 
 various little things that look simple and innocent 
 enough when they appear in tiie shape of a newspaper 
 paragraph that contain a world of meaning to the ini- 
 tiated. There are methods of getting and keeping 
 players before the; })ublic of which the latter know no 
 more 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, 
 too, some of the saintliost, sweetest, manliest and 
 womanliest of individuals in a profession that almost 
 the entire world looks upon willi the wildest suspi(Mon, 
 and whose briirht names and fair fames can never be 
 tarnished by the inifpiitous doings of persons lower 
 and less respectable in character. Jn all that will l)e
 
 A PRELIMINARY PEEP. 27 
 
 written here regarding the dark side of tlieatrical life, 
 I wisli it distinctly understood that there is no desire 
 or intention to cast even the slightest reflection upon 
 the honored and respected members of a grand pro- 
 fession, and wherever a seemingly sweeping and un- 
 complimentary statement may be made, the reader 
 will be kind enouijh to add a savins: clause in favor of 
 all those who do not deserve such condemnation. In 
 the concert saloon, the variety den, the boys' theatre, 
 and the numerous other dives in which vice parades 
 boldly and nakedly, will be found ample field for 
 trenchant and graphic writing. These pits of infamy 
 flourish everywhere, and are as freely patronized as 
 the charms of their female attractions are freely dis- 
 played ; the girls in short dresses, in gleaming tights, 
 with padded bust and cotton-rounded limbs, their se- 
 ductive wiles, their beer-thirstiness, their reckless 
 familiarity with male friends and strangers, alike from 
 the beardless boy of fourteen to the bald and wither- 
 ing roue, the ample freedom with which they throw 
 themselves into the arms of victims and give them- 
 selves up to the most outrageous revels ; the female 
 minstrel gang and the break-o'-day girls, who supple- 
 ment their sins on the stage with subsequent and even 
 more surprising iniquity in the hop or dance that fol- 
 lows the show, — all these phases of the lower strata 
 of theatrical life, as being more productive of interest- 
 ing secrets of a so-called stage, must be touched upon, 
 that the reader may be able to contrast the extremes 
 of the amusement world, and understand that in mimic 
 as well as real life, there are abject misery and squalid 
 sinfulness while, above all, shines the grand and stain- 
 less character of the noble and pure-minded people 
 who bring genius and virtue to the profession of 
 which they are bright, shining ornaments.
 
 CHAPTEll ir. 
 
 A THEATRE OF SIIAKESPEAIIE's DAY. 
 
 If some of the old Greek dramatists could shake to- 
 gether their ashes and assume life, thoy Avould open 
 their ancient eyes to look upon the beauty, comfort, 
 and charming symmetry of the first-class theatre of 
 the present day. The ancients were at first obliged 
 to put up with representations given upon rude carts ; 
 afterwards stone theatres were constructed, with the 
 performers placed in a pit in the middle space, but no 
 such effort at decoration, or to provide for the con- 
 venience of spectators, was to be seen as is to be found 
 everywhere now. The plays, too, while they may 
 have been delightful to our Hellenic })redecessors, 
 would hardly draw a corporal's guard at the present 
 time, when spectacular melodrama is all the rage, 
 and the only chorus the average theatre-goer cares to 
 see is the aggregation of pretty girls in entrancing 
 tights, and with the utmost scantiness of clothes to 
 hide their personal charms, who sing the concerted 
 music in comic oi)era. This is the kind of chorus that 
 sends a thrill of ecstacy through the heart, and around 
 the res[)londent dome of thought of the much-maligned 
 modern l)al(l-head. The strophe and anti-strophe of 
 the ancient drama would set the nineteenth century 
 citizen crazy as a wild man of Borneo. The ancient 
 drama was gradually replaced by the ecclesiastical 
 drama, — the mystery or mirach; play, — an example of 
 
 (28)
 
 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE 's DAY. 29 
 
 which remains to us in the celebrated " Passion 
 Phiy," performed at Obarammergan at stated intervals, 
 and over the projected production of which, in this 
 country, there was so much trouble that the play was 
 never produced. In this style of drama, events in the 
 life of the Savior, or the great mysteries of the church, 
 were the topics dealt with by the saintly play-wright, 
 and the actors personated characters ranging from 
 the Devil up through the various grades of saintliness 
 and angelic beatification to God Almighty himself. 
 The miracle play flourished during the middle ages, 
 and survived down almost to the Elizabethan period, 
 when Shakespeare appeared upon the scene ; and with 
 his advent there came a revolution, the outgrowth of 
 which is the present perfect and beautiful theatre. 
 The change in the style of plays brought a change in 
 the style of places for their representations, and while 
 the Bard of Avon was making his reputation in 
 the dramatic line, the Globe and Blackfriars were 
 leading the way to advancement in the matter of the- 
 atrical structures. They had performances on Sun- 
 day in those olden times, and while good Christians 
 were worshipping God in their sanctuaries, the iinde- 
 vout Britons of the "golden age" were worshipping 
 Thespis in his. 
 
 Let us drop back into a theatre of the Shakespearian 
 epoch, some Sunday afternoon when the weather is 
 fine, and you will not be compelled to stand bare- 
 headed in the pit. Let us go to the Globe. It was 
 situated on the Bankside. It was a wooden build- 
 ing, of hexagonal sh:ipe, open to the sky, and 
 partly thatched. To a little tower-like projection from 
 the roof was fastened a staff of no inconsideral)le 
 height, from which always fluttered the flag of Eng- 
 land. Windows were sparsely distributed here and 
 there, on each side of the building, while over the door
 
 30 A THEATRE OF SHAKESrEARE's DAY. 
 
 was displayed the figure of Hercules bearing the clobc 
 upon his brawny shoulders. Whether the mythologi- 
 cal giant came with his terrestrial burden to dedicate, 
 171 propria persona, this temple to the mightiest of the 
 muses, or whether the whole thing was only a cunning 
 contrivance of some skilful artisan, eml)odying 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 footl)oys, eager 
 for a chance to hold a fjentleman's horse, or lonnirin<'^ 
 gallants, who collected to show themselves and to ogle 
 the ladies as they entered. It was a lively sjiectacle, 
 as stiff dames and ruffled noblemen, poor artisans and 
 sleek gallants, wits and critics, footmen and lal)orers 
 and ragged urchins stepped forward to pay the admit- 
 tance fee of a shilling or a sixpence, or to make a re- 
 spectful offer of their credit, which was usually most 
 disrespectfully condemned as unlawful tender. It was 
 a lively sight as gouty old gentlemen flourished huge 
 batons over the scrajj-iry heads of malicious l)ovs who 
 jostled them purposely ; as titled old dames 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 l)ent and l)o\vc'd and 
 shook tiieir powdered wigs, twirled their glove-fingers, 
 or turned out their toes fastidiously, at the imminent 
 risk of dislocating their tarsals. 
 
 But let U3 enter with the crowd and observe the in- 
 ternal economy of the theatre, and the; charatiter of 
 the performance. Though externally hexagonal, the 
 building within is circular in form. There is no roof, 
 as before intimated, and the exhiI)itions occurring only 
 in the summer and in i)leasant weather, the air is
 
 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE' 8 DAY. 31 
 
 always serene and pure, and the audience requires no 
 protection from storms or wind. In the centre of the 
 enclosure is the pit, as in modern play-houses. Here, 
 " the understanding gentlemen of the ground," as 
 Ben Jonson has it, revelled in the delights of the 
 drama at sixpence a head ; the bosom of the earth 
 their sole footstool, and the blue canopy of heaven 
 their only shelter. The " great unwashed did congre- 
 gate " upon this spot, sometimes in immense numbers, 
 to luxuriate at once in Shakespeare and tobacco ; for 
 be it known, the ancient theatres of London were to 
 the working classes very much what its modern porter 
 and beer shops are. They were places of resort where 
 tradesmen and tradesmen's wives assembled to gossip 
 and smoke and steep. 
 
 Surrounding the pit upon all sides except where the 
 stage completed the circle, were the boxes or rooms, as 
 they were called. In these were assembled those who 
 could lay claim to rank or wealth. They were fur- 
 nished Avith wooden benches — a luxury of which the 
 pit could never boast, and which was purchased for a 
 shilling. It will be observed, from what has been said, 
 that the internal arrangements of the ancient theatres 
 were upon precisely the same plan as those of the 
 modern. The cause of this identity of structure may 
 be easily traced. As. late as the reign of Henry VIII., 
 it was customary to enact plays and pageants in the 
 courts of inns. These were usually quadrangular in 
 form, with balconies or piazzas projecting into the 
 court, and corresponding with the stories of the build- 
 ing. The stage was erected near the entrance-gate, 
 and occupied one entire side of the quadrangle. The 
 inn-yard thus formed the pit or parquette, for the ac- 
 commodation of the " understandino; o-entlemen," 
 while the balconies or rooms (rising al)ove each other
 
 32 A THEATRE OF lSHAKESPEARe's DAY. 
 
 ill tiers varying Avitli the miinbcr of stories) corrc- 
 sponded to tlie boxes. It wiis from this crude, origi- 
 nal conception that the architects of Queen Elizabeth's 
 re'is^n fashioned the Globe and Blackfriars, and from 
 thence has it come down to the present day. 
 
 Directly 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 rod. When the performance was about to 
 commence it was drawn aside — opening from the 
 middle ; the rolling up process is an achicvment of 
 some later mind. 
 
 Hark ! Do you hear the gentle grating, the jin- 
 gling, the rustling of Avoollen ? Without the slightest 
 premonitory symptoms there has been a rupture of 
 the curtain, and the mysteries it so securely hid are 
 most unexpectedly revealed. Seated upon wooden 
 stools or reclining upon the rushes with which the 
 stage is strewn, are a number of individuals com- 
 posedly smoking long pipes, whom the unsophisti- 
 cated might take for actors. Far from it ; they are 
 the perpetual bane of actors — wits and gallants, who 
 delifrht in nothinnf 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. 
 
 Protrudininr from the further wall of the staijc is a 
 balcony, supported on wooden pillars, and ilanked by 
 a pair of boxes in which those who rejoiceil in be- 
 ing singular or who could not afford tlie full price of 
 admission Avere accommodated. The balcony was 
 used by the actors. It served as tlic rostrum when a 
 largo company was to be addressed ; it was the throne 
 of kings and pi'incos, the grand judgmont-seatof mighty 
 um[)ires, and in cases of necessity was convenient as the
 
 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE' S DAY. 33 
 
 first-stoiy window of an imaginiiry dwelling-house. 
 For this latter purpose it was particularly useful in 
 the o;;irden scene between Romeo and Juliet. But 
 while we have been delaying in description, the rushes 
 upon the boards have rustled, the actors have made 
 their appearance, and the business of the play has 
 commenced. 
 
 For the purpose of illustrating the manner in which 
 performances were conducted, we select the " As You 
 Like It," of Sliakespeare, as beiug most familiar to the 
 general reader, and also j^eculiarly adapted to our pur- 
 pose. Orlando and Adam make their appearance, 
 and a siijnboard nailed to one of the side entrance 
 communicates the altogether unsuspected fact that we 
 are gazing upon an orchard. We see nothing which 
 in any way favors the agreeable illusion : there are 
 the rushes, the smoking fops, the balcony and a maze 
 of pine boards, but nothing that looks like trees. 
 Still, let not these things move you to that degree 
 of uncharitableness or presumption that you doubt 
 whether there be an orchard ; does not the infallible 
 board with its painted letters positively affirm, " This 
 be an orchard? " Other dramatis personoe soon enter, 
 and the hypothetical orchard becomes the scene of a 
 most animated and interesting colloquy — the assem- 
 bled company receiving no intimation that the fruit 
 trees are no more, until the curtain falls, or rather is 
 drawn, upon the first act. 
 
 When the woolen hangings are again separated, the 
 imagination is no longer painfully strained to support 
 the illusion of tlie apples, but the unerring board 
 directs the wandering eye to the vast forests of Ard en. 
 Here Jaques makes his sublime forest meditations in 
 an area of ten feet by twelve, enclosed in rough pine 
 boards ; his enthusiasm, considerably damped by the
 
 34 A TllEATKE OF SHAKESPEARE's DAY. 
 
 provoking witticisms of critics and gallants, and his 
 utterances ciiokcd by the volunies of t()l)acco smoke 
 which roll in lazy, suffocating clouds toward the ceil- 
 ing from a score of pipes. The affectionate ditties of 
 Orlando are naih'd to visionary trees, and he makes 
 passionate love to the fair Rosalind amid fumes which 
 strangle tender phrases, and convert sighings into pul- 
 monary symptoms of a different character. 
 
 It should here be observed by way of explanation, 
 that Rosalind, when personated in Elizabeth's time, 
 was fair only by courtesy ; for female })arts were en- 
 acted during her reiijn, and indeed, during many sub- 
 sequent reigns, by boys or young men. There is an 
 anecdote related of Charles II., which is a matter of 
 history, and illustrates this point very well. It is 
 said that on one occasion, visiting the theatre at the 
 bringing out of a new play, l)y some great author, 
 he became impatient at the unusual delay in drawing 
 asunder the curtain. The royal wrath soon became 
 extreme, and it was essential to the prospects of the 
 *' management " that it should l)e appeased. Accord- 
 ingly, when the vials of iniperial indignation were 
 aljout 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 sliaving, — and the tem- 
 pest immediately subsid(Hl. At each successive act 
 new boards with fresh inscriptions inf(UMn us of the 
 situation of tlie performers. The saloons of tiie duke's 
 palace and the cottage of the peasant — scenes in 
 doors and scenes out o( doors — are precisely the 
 same, Avith the exception of the invariable and ever- 
 changing signboard. 
 coo 
 
 But there is one novelty, one new feature in the 
 representation as the i)lay progresses. It will be
 
 A THEATRE OF SHAKESPEARE's DAY. 35 
 
 recollected that the balcony was mentioned as furnish- 
 ing a throne for princes, and a judgment-seat for dis- 
 pensers of justice. During the wrestling contest 
 between Charles and Orlando, this most serviceable 
 commodity comes into requisition. Here "sits the 
 " duke " as umpire of the combat and general of the 
 troops and retainers who stand on guard below. It 
 is quite refreshing to hear his stentorian voice issuing 
 from so unusual a quarter — it furnishes quite an 
 agreeable relief to the tedious monotony of insipid 
 dialoijue "•oino; on amons; the rushes below. 
 
 The play, however, proceeds rather sluggishly from 
 the utter mea<j:reness and insufficiency of the " scenery, 
 machinery and decorations," so indispensable to the 
 attractiveness of theatrical exhibitions. The trades- 
 men in the pit turn their backs to the stage and their 
 eyes to the skies, as they clasp affectionately the 
 almost exhausted flagon, and pour into their thirsty 
 throats the residue of half a dozen })ot;itions. The 
 crimpled dames in the boxes relax their majestic 
 stiff'ness, and relapse sonmolent into the arms of the 
 gouty old gentlemen, their husbands. The wits and 
 "clever" men upon the stage grow more boisterous 
 in their pleasantries, and fumigate more zealously as 
 they pelt the unfortunate actors with rushes, or trip 
 them as they " exeunt." To the vulgar crowd the 
 only attractions which the performance offers, are the 
 brilliant dresses of the actors and the vestige of a plot 
 which the personation enables 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 cverj'body is glad when Orlando 
 succeeds in obtaining his hereditary rights, wins the 
 hand of the beautiful Rosalind, is dismissed in happi-
 
 36 
 
 A TIIEATRE Or SHAKESPEARE S DAT. 
 
 ness, and the woolen screen slips along its iron rod 
 for (he hist time. 
 
 Such was the style of dramatic exhibitions in the 
 Elizabethan 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, places of fes- 
 tivity and scenes of shipwreck, all existed merely in 
 the. imagination, with neither properties nor scenery 
 to aid in the deception. 
 
 1NTE1;1< 'i; (..1 A MMi>hi;N tHKA riili.
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 
 
 Goocl-natured, rosy-cheeked, cheerful little Davy 
 Garrick, as Dr. Johnson called the tragedian, was in 
 the zenith of his glory at the Drury Lane, London, 
 about the middle of the last century, and Goodman's 
 Fields, which had cradled the wonderful actor, was in 
 its decline. It declined so rapidly after Garrick 
 deserted it that its manasfer, Wm. Hallam, failed in 
 1750, and the theatre was closed. Hallam at once 
 turned his thouo:hts toward America as a tield in which 
 his fortune might be replenished, — English actors and 
 managers still look upon this country as an El 
 Dorado, — and so he consulted with his brother Lewis 
 Hallam, a comedian, and the two came to the conclu- 
 sion to organize a company and run the risk of being 
 scalped by what they considered the liberal but blood- 
 thirsty tomahawk-wielding citizens of the New World. 
 They got a company together, twenty-four stock plays, 
 many of them Shakespearian, were selected, Avith 
 eight farces and a single pantomime," The Harlequin 
 Collector, or The Miller Deceived." Wm. Hallam 
 and his brother were to share the profits of the ven- 
 tur<j, and the former was to remain at home while the 
 latter managed the company and threw in his services 
 as first low comedian, his wife and children also takino- 
 parts in the performances. 
 
 Under the direction of Levvis the company, with 
 
 (37)
 
 38 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 
 
 sonic scenery, costumes, ;uul all Uic usual stage acces- 
 sories, set sail on l)oard the Chariniiig Sally in 1752. 
 During the voyage when the weather permitted, the 
 company rehearsed their plaj's on the quarter-deck 
 of tlie vessel, having the crew and officers for their 
 audience, and receiving from them many manifesta- 
 tions of the dcli<2:lit which their histrionic efforts 
 brought to the Jack Tars' hearts. They landed at Wil- 
 liamsburg, then the capital of Virginia, and the mana- 
 ger after a diliixent search found a store-house on 
 the outskirts of the town, which he thouirht would 
 suit his pur[)ose. This he leased and metamorphosed 
 into a theatre with j^it, gallery, and boxes, and having 
 the establishment ready on September 5, 1752, on that 
 day the first performance ever given in America by 
 a regular company of comedians, was given to a pre- 
 sumal)1y large and delighted audience. As was the 
 custom in those days, the bill was a double one, con- 
 sistins: of "The Merchant of Venice" and the farce 
 ♦' Lethe." The cast for '« The Merchant of Venice" 
 was as follows : Bassanio, Mr. Rigb}'- ; Antonio, Mr. 
 Clarkson ; Gndiano, Mr. Singleton ; Salanio and 
 Duke, !Mr. Herbert ; Salarino and Gohhs, ]\lr. "^^'ig- 
 nel ; Launoelot and Tubal, Mr. Ilullam ; S/ii/lock, ]\Ir. 
 Malone ; Servant to Portia, Master Lewis Hallam (be- 
 ing his first ajjpearance on any stage) ; A^ere.s.s'rt, Miss 
 Palmer; Jesica (her first ap[)earance on any stage). 
 Miss Ilallam ; Portia, ]\Irs. Ilallani. The cast for 
 "Lethe" was as follows (the Tailor ha\ing beei^cut 
 out, and the [)art of Lord CJialkstoii not having been 
 written into the fai'ce at thet-ini«' ihc Hallam company 
 left pjigland): Exop, Mi-. Clarkson; Old Man, Mr. 
 Malone ; Fine Gentleman, Mr. Singleton ; French- 
 man, Mr. Kigby ; Charon, Mr. Ilcrbort ; Mercury, 
 Mr. Adcock ; Drunken Man and Tattoo, Mr. Ilallam ;
 
 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 39 
 
 John, Mr. Wignel ; Mrs. Tattoo, Miss Palmer ; Fine 
 Lady, Mrs. Hnlhim. 
 
 The Williamsburg theatre was a very rude structure, 
 and so near the woods that the manager could, as he 
 often did, stand in the back door of the building; and 
 shoot pigeons for his dinner. Still the company re- 
 mained here for a long time and met with much sucess. 
 The house was finally destroyed by fire and the company 
 removed to Annapolis, where a substantial building 
 was converted to their use and where they remained 
 with fortune -favoring them until they got ready to go 
 to New York. This they did in 1753, opening a 
 theatre in the metropolis on September 17th, that on 
 Nassau Street, in a building afterwards occupied by 
 the old Dutch Church. The bill for the first nig-ht was 
 " The Conscious Lovers" and the ballad-farce " Damon 
 and Phillida. ' ' But three performances were given each 
 week — on Mondays, "Wednesdays, and Fridays — and 
 this continued to be the rule up to the beginning of 
 the present century. The price of admission was 
 eight shillings to the boxes, six shillings to the pit and 
 throe shillings to the gallery. This was on the first 
 night, but the second night the prices were lowered to 
 six shillings, five shillings, and three shillings for boxes, 
 pit, and gallery respectively, and by the middle of Octo- 
 ber a fourth reduction was made, so that admission to 
 the pit could be had for four shillings and to the gallery 
 fortwo shillings. The performance began atsix o'clock, 
 and on the bill for the opening night appears 
 a request that ladies and gentlemen will come 
 to the theatre in time, and a statement that nothing 
 under the full price will be taken during the en- 
 tire performance. This seems to be a departure from 
 the custom of the mother country, where half price 
 was received for admission after the third act. The 
 Nassau Street theatre was closed on the evening; of
 
 40 THE AMEKICAJf THEATRE. 
 
 March 18, 1754, with " The Beggars' Opera" and 
 "The Devil to Pay.'" 
 
 While the company was still in New York, ]\Ianager 
 Hallani was endeavoring to come to terms with the 
 Quakers of Philadelphia, who strenuously objected to 
 having })layers in their midst, or to allowing stage repre- 
 sentations in their city. Mr. Malone, a meml)er 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 farces 
 provided there was nothing indecent or innnoral in 
 them. In April, 1754 the company gave its first per- 
 formance in Philadelphia, playing the tragedy of " The 
 Fair Penitent, " and the farce, " Miss in Iler Teens." 
 The 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 
 been 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 erected a theatre on Crugcr's wharf, between 
 Old Slip and ColTee House Slip, and prospered. 
 
 Boston did not have a theatre until 171)2, and then 
 got its first place of amusement only because Wignell 
 and three other members of Hallam's company, for 
 some reason or other, seceded from it. The secoders 
 brought to their standard some money men of the Hub, 
 aljuilding was erected, and on August 10, 1792, the 
 first show was given ; feats on the tight rope and acro- 
 batic and other artists contributing to Ihe entcrtainmont. 
 Five years later New York had two theatres, one on 
 the Johns, and the other on Greenwich Street, and when 
 the nineteenth century l)eg;ni, amusements were in a
 
 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 41 
 
 flourishing condition in all the large cities of the coun- 
 try, and the theatre had taken firm root and gave full 
 promise of its present jDrosperity in the New World. 
 
 They were a queer band, these early strollers on 
 American soil. It reads like a romance to follow them 
 through the history of their early struggles, and to 
 scrutinize the personal peculiarties of the individuals 
 who composed the company. One of them — I forget 
 which at the present moment — was an imaginative 
 fellow given up to all sorts of schemes and inventions, 
 and published far and wide the announcement that he 
 had discovered a process of manufacturing salt from 
 sea water. A member of one of the earliest orches- 
 tras — a short time after Hallam had ceased furnishing 
 music to his audience with ** one Mr. Pelham and his 
 harpischord " or the single fiddle of a Mr. Hewlett — 
 had been a Catholic priest in Switzerland, and had 
 suffered the tortures of the Inquisition. He told his 
 story to his manager one day and it was really touch- 
 ins:. His mother, he said, had dedicated him in his 
 infancy to the priesthood. When he became old 
 enough he was placed in a theological seminary, 
 instructed and duly ordained. He was a priest when 
 Spain went to war against France. His canton raised 
 a regiment, and the priest being made its chaplain ac- 
 companied it to Madrid. In Madrid he for the first 
 time learned to love. He met in the street a hand- 
 some Spanish lady who won his heart and lit the fire 
 of passion in his frame. He became acquainted with 
 her, and ascertained that the lady reciprocated his af- 
 fection. There were many moments of stolen pleasure, 
 nuiny sighs and vows, until they finally agreed to flee 
 together to America. The day and hour were 
 agreed upon, and the lovers were in readiness, when a 
 strong hand was laid upon the recreant priest's shoulder 
 and he was thrown into prison. He realized his awful
 
 42 THE AMERICAN THEATRE. 
 
 position at once, knowing that lie 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 suft'ered severely, he was put to the tor- 
 ture, and weak, dying, and distracted was led to the 
 gate of his prison, thrust 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 rude and uncomfortal)le theatre of a century 
 affo, with dressing-rooms under the stage, and but a 
 single fiddle or harpsichord player for the orchestra, 
 with poorly lighted and illy ventilated auditoriums, 
 with measfre scenery and rairii:ed wardrobes — from the 
 primitive theatre of the New World has grown the mag- 
 nificent, symmetrical, and elegantly ai)pointed houses 
 of amusement of the present day — structures beaut i- 
 fullv and chastely ornamented in their exteriors, while 
 their interiors have received the most delicate touches 
 of the artist's brush and the most careful attention 
 from the upholsterer — beautiful in color and drapery, 
 rich in furniture, and the very perfection of architec- 
 tural desiirn. Our sta<;es are revelations of dramatic 
 completeness, sometimes presenting scenic pictures 
 that challenjre nature itself in their attractiveness, and 
 at all times surrounding the actors of a ])lay with ac- 
 cessories gorgeous and extensive enough to mystify as 
 well as delight nine out of every ten patrons of the 
 theatre. The manner in wiiich these extraordinary 
 and pleasing illusions are produced is one of the great 
 secrets of the stage, and when the me(.-hanisni cm- 
 ployed is exi)lained tiie reader will be surprised to learn 
 how simple and almost midisguised are the methods 
 whereby the people behind the scenes work and multi- 
 ply wonders.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 The patrons of the theatre must all find their way 
 into the house through the front doors ; only the priv- 
 ileged few are allowed access to the mysteries and 
 wonders of the stas^e throuo;li the back door. Here 
 stands a gentleman, generally of repulsive mien and 
 unattractive manners, whose special business it is to 
 see that nobody, not entitled to do so, penetrates the 
 sacred ijrecincts, and who learns at once to distinguish 
 between the people who come prj'ing around his baili- 
 wick merely for curiosity, and those who are there to 
 "mash " a susceptible ballet girl or perhaps an indiscreet 
 member of the company. Those who are led to the 
 stage-door by curiosity are numerous and they are all 
 promptly repulsed ; and the " mashers " who stand at 
 the stage-door after the performance is over, must get 
 into the good graces of the door-keeper, and retain his 
 friendship if they desire the course of true love to run 
 smoother than the old adage says it runs. 
 
 In the large theatres of Eastern cities the cerberus 
 who guards the stage entrance generally has a little 
 sentry box just inside the door, with a window cut in 
 it, a stove placed inside in cold weather, a numl)er of 
 pigeon-holes for letters, and indeed all modern con- 
 veniences, as the saying goes. Here he sits and 
 smokes, hailing everybody who passes in and saying a 
 kind or snarling word to all who pass out. If the mail 
 
 (43)
 
 44 AT THE STAGE-DOOK. 
 
 has brought a letter for any member of the company, 
 or a " masher " has sent one of the gh'ls a dainty lit- 
 tle note expressive of the sentiment that is swelling in 
 his twenty-six-inch 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 it. Sometimes this guardian 
 of the theatric arcana will take advantage of his posi- 
 tion to tyrranizc over the ballet girls and other sul)or- 
 diiiates of a company, and will rule in his autocratic 
 way to his owu pecuniary and other profit. In the 
 East he is made a kind of time-keeiDcr, notes when 
 the performers appear for duty and when they are 
 absent, besides otherwise making himself serviceal)le 
 to the management and careful of the interests of his 
 house. 
 
 A story is told about one of them — I think his 
 name was Bulkhead — 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 
 his fantastic mug on ; they paid for innumerable hot 
 drinks with which ho rounded out the waist of his 
 pantaloons ; they dropped cigars into his always out- 
 stretched paw, :ind otherwise drained their own 
 resources to make Mr, Bulkhead as happy and coni- 
 fortal)le as possil)lc. He, at first, took whatever was 
 oflfered, but soon grew bold, and demanded fifty cents 
 each of their little five dollars a week, every salary 
 day. The girls made up their minds not to accede to 
 this demand, which they deemed unjust and exorbitant ; 
 they not only positively refused to give Bulkhead any 
 money, but would give him nothing else, not even a 
 two-cent cigar. As a result, al)out one-half of the girls 
 forfeited a portion of their salaries next pay-day. This
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 45 
 
 aroused nil the fury there was in the entire ballet, and 
 when they found out, too, that Bulkhead had driven 
 away their male admirers they were as wild as so many 
 hyenas. It did not take 'long for them to hit upon a 
 means of wreaking vengeance upon the heartless and 
 unscrupulous door-keeper. They clubbed together 
 what change they had and got Bulkhead boiling 
 drunk ; by the time the show was over on that (to him) 
 memorable night he did not know which way to look for 
 Sunday. After the final curtain had fallen and the 
 lights were dimmed. Bulkhead sat at the door on his stool 
 swaying like an unsteady church-steeple and snoring 
 like an engine when its boiler is nearly empty. The 
 girls 2)icked him up and carried him into a remote 
 corner of the stage, Avhere they piled a lot of old 
 scenery around him after tying his hands and feet 
 securely. Then they got red and blue fire ready, al- 
 most under his cherry red and panting nose ; one of 
 the girls took her position at the thunder drum ; an- 
 other had hold of the rain wheel ; another was at the 
 wind machine ; a fourth got a big brass horn out of the 
 music room and a fifth ffot the bass drum : the remain- 
 der stood ready to lend assistance with their hands and 
 throats. At a given signal the thunder rolled louldly, 
 the wind whistled vigorusly, the rain came down in tor- 
 rents, the brass horn moaned piteously, the bass drum 
 was ])eaten unmercifully, and pans of burning blue 
 and red fire were poked through crevices in the piled- 
 up machinery right under the drunken door-keeper's 
 nostrils, while all the girls shouted at the tops of their, 
 voices and clapped as enthusiastically as if they were 
 applauding a favorite. Bulkhead after opening his eyes 
 and having his ears assailed by the din, shouted wildly 
 for assistance and mercy and all kinds of things ; but 
 he got neither assistance nor mercy. The racket con- 
 
 — Seep. 18.
 
 46 AT THE STAGK-DOOR. 
 
 tiiiued for nearly ten niinutcs when quiet and darkness 
 were restored, and the girls quietly stole away leaving 
 Bulkhead alone in his agony under the pile of scenery, 
 where he was found by the stage carpenter next morn- 
 ing, a first-class, doul)le-l)arrelled case of jim-jams. Ho 
 is now ill ail insane asylum, and employs most of his 
 time telling peo[)lc that notwithstanding all Bob Inger- 
 soU's buncombe and blarney there must be a hereafter, 
 for he has himself been throui^h the sunstroke sec- 
 tion of it. 
 
 The ballet girls of another theatre played an equally 
 effective and amusing trick npon an obnoxious scene 
 painter. The artist had been in the habit of ])ainting 
 2)osts, doorsteps, etc., in the neighborhood of the 
 stage-door in colors that were not readily perceptible, 
 and when the young ladies' "mashes" came around 
 after the performance to wait lor them to dress, they 
 innocently sat down u[)on or Icaiicil against the fresh 
 paint and ruined their clothes. Tiie scene painter and 
 his friend were always in the neiirlil)orhood to raise a 
 laugh when the disaster w^as made known, and the re- 
 sult was that the gay young men would come 
 near the stage-door no more, and that the sweetly 
 susceptible creature known as the ballet girl was 
 obliged to go home alone, sup[)erless. Well, one day 
 the girls found the artist asleep against his paint-table 
 with a half emi)ticd [)itcher of beer by his side. This 
 was their o[)portunity. One of the girls who was of a 
 decorative Oscar-Wilde-like turn of iniiid irot a small 
 brush while another held the colors, and in ten minutes 
 they had that man's face painted so th:it he would pass 
 for a whole stock of scenery ; the tattooed Greek was 
 a mere five-cent chronio alongside of him, and a Sioux 
 Indi.'iii with forty pounds of wni-p.iint on would Ite a 
 ten-cent side-show beside a twelve-monster-shows-in-
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 47 
 
 one-iincler-a-single-canvas exhibition. In this ehiborate 
 but imdecorative condition the scene painter wandered 
 off to a neio-hborino^ saloon, the Avonder and merriment 
 of all who saw him. He did not understand the cause 
 
 DECORATING A SCENE I'AINTER. 
 
 of the general stare and unusual laugh at him, until a 
 too sensitive friend took him to a mirror and showed 
 him his frescoed feature?. Profanity and gnashing of
 
 48 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 teeth 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 oil' to the calaboose. He was sorry when he got 
 sol)er, and from that day to this has not attempted to 
 i^aint 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 till in tlie crevices and chinks of a play, or air 
 their limbs in the labyrinths of a march, or shake them 
 in some strange and fascinating dance. They look upon 
 the ballet giil, whether she be a dancer or merely be- 
 low the line of utility, as legitimate prey, and without 
 the slightest scruple will waylay or spread a net to 
 catch her in some quiet but successful manner. They 
 forget that many girls enter the theatre with the in- 
 tention of making honorable and honest livinijs : that 
 they prize their virtue as highly as the most respected 
 young lady who moves in the topmost circles of the 
 best society, and that the theatrical profession is only 
 misrepresented by the men and women who give 
 themselves up to debauchery, and allow their passions 
 to run riot to such an extent that they win notoriety 
 of the most unsavory and unenvial)le kind. It is only 
 because the stage is besieged by so many scoundrels 
 and villains who have either bought or begged the 
 privileges of the l)ack door that the profession is dan- 
 gerous to young and innocent girlhood. The stage 
 itself is pure, and could be kept so, if these hangers-on 
 were only done away with and the j^outhful student 
 and aspirant for histrionic honors were allowed to pur- 
 sue her vocation unassailed by the handsome tempters 
 who })egin by flattery and after an usually easy con-
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 49 
 
 quest, end the dream of love by rudely casting the 
 fallen s:h*l aside to make room for another victim. 
 
 Stand here in the shadow awhile. The performance 
 is at an end, and the gentlemen who haunt the stage- 
 door are beginning to assemble. There are probably 
 a half dozen of them. They stand around sucking the 
 heads of their canes and anxiously awaiting the ap- 
 pearance of their inamoratas. A burlesque company 
 has the theatre this week, and there are probably 
 eighteen or twenty handsome young ladies in the com- 
 bination. Nearly every one of them is a " masher,'* 
 and can be depended upon to hit the centre of a weak 
 male heart, with an arrow from her beaming eye, at 
 one hundred yards. Some of them have received 
 tender notes from the front of the house during the 
 night, making appointments for a private supper at one 
 of the free and easy restaurants ; others have met 
 their gentlemen friends before and can depend upon 
 them to wait at the stage-door every night. Those 
 who send the notes during the performance are of what 
 is classed as the ultra-cheeky kind. A man of this 
 class will do anything to make the acquaintance of a 
 ballet or chorus girl. I knew one, one night, to push 
 a dozen different notes under the door of Eme Eous- 
 seau's dressing-room, which opened into the parquette, 
 and he would not desist until Samuel Colville, the 
 manager, caused him to be dragged out of the theatre 
 and given over to the police. Another gentleman of 
 the same proclivities having failed to gain Alice Oates's 
 attention when she was in Chicago, followed her to St. 
 Louis, Cincinnati, and Louisville, and still being una- 
 ble to effect a proper " mash," endeavored to intro- 
 duce himself successfully and gain her favor forever bv 
 making her a present of a pair of fast horses. Alice 
 
 4
 
 50 AT THE STAGK-DOOR. 
 
 very sensibly refused to accept 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 the women who enter the profession, partly for 
 the purpose of prostituting their art, find easy conquest 
 among the hair-brained fellows who arc oidy too will- 
 ing to be captives and rarely tr}^ to break the fetters 
 of roses with which they find themselves ])Ound. But 
 keep here in the shadow a while and watch the manoeu- 
 vres of the "mashers." The stage-door opens 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 mIio arc obliged to 
 sret into ridiculous costumes of enormous dresses or 
 unpadded tights, to increase the throng of court-ladies, 
 the number of pages, or add to the proi)ortions of a 
 crowd. She doegnot dress any better than a girl who 
 finds employment in a factory. She is young, however, 
 and stage-struck. She has gone into the profession, 
 braving all its danjjers and with a linn resolution to iro 
 unscathed through it, carrvinir with her a sincere love 
 for art and a l)urning desire to attain eminence. 
 But alas ! she has little talent, and absolutely no jrc- 
 nius. This can be seen and Mpjireciated already, 
 although she has not had two lines to speak since enter- 
 ing tlie theatre. She has been in tlie employ of the 
 house only since the beginning of the season. The 
 " mashers " ])art to make room for her as with eyes 
 cast down she trips along tlie street. Some of them 
 say smart and pretty things, and some have the im- 
 pudence to raise tiicir hats and 1)1(1 her good-t'vening. 
 She pays no attention to tiiem, however, and it is 
 probably fortunate that the tall muscular gentleman in 
 work-day clothes who- has had a pass to tiic gallery or
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 51 
 
 may not have been in the theatre at all, and who is 
 waiting a block below to escort her home, does not 
 know the petty insults that are put upon her or the 
 snares that beset her path. Every night the big burly 
 fellow waits for the modest little ballet girl to see her- 
 home in safety. The girl does not tell them at home 
 to what dangers she is exposed, and they never learn 
 until sometime the fall comes, when a troupe of negro 
 minstrels or a large comic opera chorus invade the 
 house and lay siege to the hearts of all the females 
 they find behind the scenes. 
 
 Here come two lauo-hing blondes through the stage 
 door. The light falling upon their faces shows that 
 although they try to appear light and cheery, there is 
 weariness in their limbs and perhaps distress in their 
 hearts. They select their male friends at once ; in- 
 deed, the latter have been waiting for the gay bur- 
 lesquers. 
 
 " Charley dear, I didn't see you in front to-night," 
 says one. 
 
 "Neither did I," says the other ; " but George was 
 there. I could tell him by his red eyes and cherry 
 nose." 
 
 "Yes," responds Charley, "there was too much 
 champagne in that last bottle, and I didn't care about 
 iretting out of bed until half an hour ao-o." 
 
 '•'You had considerable of the juicy nnder your 
 vest, last night," the first girl remarks ; and then there 
 is a laugh, and Charley says he feels in a good humor 
 for tackling more wine at that particular moment, and 
 the quartette move off to a hack-stand, jump into an 
 open carriage and with lots of laughter the party are 
 driven away to some suburban garden wdth wine-room 
 attachment, or to some urban restaurant where wine 
 may flow as freely as morality may fade away with the
 
 52 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 speeding hours, and the pleasure may hist just as 
 long as the restauranteur thinks he is being well paid 
 for the privileges of his establishment. 
 
 Another girl conies through the stage-door. She is 
 probably twenty-four years of age, is tall, handsome, 
 and most attractive in her manners. There is the 
 least 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, anil says ; — 
 
 " No, Fred, I cannot go to-night. Sister is sick at 
 the hotel, and the baby has no one to take care of her. 
 I must 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 nio to-niiiht. You Avill have to excuse me this 
 once. 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 care. Come, go along." 
 
 *' No, I cannot. I will not to-night." But Fred 
 continues to plead, asking the pleasure of her i)resencc 
 at a supper, just for a half hour and no more. Un- 
 able to resist the warmth of his appeals, she at last 
 consents, and it is safe to say, that once the evening's 
 entertaimnent begins, morning breaks upon the sleepy 
 babe and sick sister at the hotel before Fred and his 
 companion are ready to part.
 
 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 53 
 
 I knew a friend — a dramatic writer — vvlio stood at 
 the back door one night and waited for a pair of pretty 
 chorus singers. My friend had another friend with 
 him — a prominent merchant. The two gay and giddy 
 young girls, who were only foolish flirts, did not kuow 
 that the gentlemen who had invited them to a midnight 
 ride and a late supper were married. Indeed, they 
 may not have cared. So when the opera of " Oli- 
 vette " was over and the pair of chorus singers 
 emero;ed at the back door of the stao;e and found the 
 two gentlemen waiting patiently for them, the girls 
 each gave over a bundle to her particular friend to 
 have him carry in his pocket until such time as the 
 quartette got ready to separate. The bundles each 
 contained a pair of pink " svmmetricals " — ■ padded 
 tights. The young ladies informed their friends of 
 this fact, and cautioned them to be sure to return the 
 bundles before leaving. Well, the night wore on joy- 
 ously with wine and singing and the usual pleasures of 
 a late drive. At last, at 3 a. m., the girls got ready 
 to return to their hotel. They were driven thither, 
 and the entire party having imbibed more wine than 
 was necessary, soft and sweet adieus were so tenderly 
 spoken that nobody thought about the two pairs of 
 pink svmmetricals. The gentlemen ordered the car- 
 riage driver to speed homeward with them, and he did 
 so. First the dramatic writer disembarked at the door 
 of his residence, ran up stairs, pulled off" his clothes, 
 and was soon sound asleep. The merchant was soon 
 at his own door, had settled with the driver and the car- 
 riage had just rolled away when, as he was fumbling 
 at the latch-key he thought of the pair of tights. 
 With one bound he cleared the steps, and running 
 into the street, shouted after the carriage. The driver 
 heard him, stopped, and was given the pair of tights to 
 take around to the chorus girl's hotel that day and a $5
 
 54 AT THE STAGE-DOOR. 
 
 bill to pocket for the services. It was a narrow escape 
 for the merchant. For the dramatic writer it was no 
 escape at all. He was rudely awakened at ten o'clock 
 in the morning, and the first sight that met his eves 
 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 husl)and, 
 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, put them there. He told me he had a pair that 
 he was going to make a present of to one of the " Oli- 
 vette" girls at the " 
 
 Brilliant as this thought was, it did not satisfy the 
 little lady. She kept uj) the argument all day, and 
 that night paid a \ isit to the merchant's wile, where 
 the affair got into such a tangle that the two husbands 
 brought in a bachelor friend to shoulder the bhinie, 
 and who made the excuse that the whole thing was a 
 trick pnt up by a few gentlemen (among them the 
 bachelor was not) on the dramatic man and merchant 
 to get them into domestic trouble, as they had suc- 
 ceeded in doing, beyond their most sanguine desires. 
 
 And now that we have been long enough at the back 
 door of the theatre, let us go home and come ai'ound 
 to-morrow night to have a view of the plagues and au- 
 noyances to be found before the foot-lights.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 There are people who patronize the theatre who do 
 not go there simply to see 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 wdiich to display his fascinations and call 
 upon the susceptible fraction of femininity to inspect 
 and avail themselves of his heart-breaking and soul- 
 wasting wares. Whether he modestly takes his stand 
 in the rear of the auditorium, overcoat on arm and 
 stovepipe hat gracefully poised upon the thumb of his 
 left hand, while, with polished opera-glass, he sweeps 
 the sea of variegated millinery and obtrusive-hued cos- 
 metics, or bravely hangs up his charms to view on the 
 front row of the dress circle, or prominently displays 
 them in a proscenium box, he is ever the same offen- 
 sive and shameless barber-and-tailor-shop decoration, 
 moved by a wild ambition to attract and hold feminine 
 attention, and always attaining to a degree of notoriety 
 among the masculiue theatre-goers that keeps him 
 overwhelmed with contempt, and causes him to be as 
 readily recognized as if he had a tag tied to his back or 
 spread across his vest front, declaring him to be a 
 fisher after femininity. When the "masher" takes 
 the shape of the young blood, whose short and tightly- 
 fighting coat is matched by the shallowness of the 
 
 (55)
 
 56 
 
 BEFORE TIIF FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 crown of his stniight-brimmcd hat, and whoso eye- 
 glasses straddle his nose as gracefully as his twcnty- 
 
 iive-cent cane is carried 
 in his hand, and this ir- 
 resistible combination of 
 attractions is thrust n[)on 
 the audience from a box 
 opening, the acme of the 
 nSv ladv-killingart is reached 
 and if all the world does 
 not admire the effective 
 tableau it must be l^e- 
 cause all the world is 
 unappreciative and the 
 " masher" stands on an 
 THE " MASHER." jesthctic 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 opening 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 lieaving 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 a hundred wa^'s of annoying an audience, and 
 who make a very efleclual use of their gifts in this 
 direction. Tiiere is the member of the " i)rofesh," — 
 the gaseous advance agent, or the bloviate business 
 manager, the actor " up a stump," or the "super" 
 who has ])]aycd the part of a silent but spectacular 
 Victor with John MeCiilIongh or Tom Keenc, and who 
 sits in the rear of the house, but sufKcienlly for- 
 ward to be distinctly heard by people in the dress
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 57 
 
 circle, criticising the mannerisms of the ladies or 
 gentlemen on the stage and "guying" everybody 
 in the cast from the star down to the frightened and 
 stiff-kneed little ballet girl whom an inscrutable Provi- 
 dence has allowed to wander in upon the scene occa- 
 Bionally, to say, " Yes, mum, "or " No, mum." The 
 leisurely but loud professional who thus disports him- 
 self must necessarily enjoy a large share of the 
 audience's attention, and the more of this he attracts 
 the more he is encouraged to be extravajjant in his 
 criticisms and unreserved in his elocution. He some- 
 times must dispute the title to obstreperous obtrusive- 
 ness with some liquor-laden auditor who has succeeded 
 in passing the door-keeper only to find that the heat 
 of the house has accelerated his inebriation and sfiven 
 freedom and license to his tongue until the " bouncer " 
 lifts him out of his seat by the collar and deposits him in 
 a reflective and emetic mood on the curbstone in front 
 of the theatre. Then, too, a crowd of friends sometimes 
 get together in the parquette, who begin a conversation 
 before the first curtain rises and keep it going on in 
 careless and annoying tones until the final flourish of 
 the orchestra arrives with the dimmino; of the liahts 
 as the audience files out. But if the loud members of 
 the " profesh," the interjective inebriate, and the crowd 
 of communicative friends are not on hand to furnish di- 
 version for the folks who are trying to follow what is 
 going forward on the stage, there is one other never- 
 failing source of distraction and annoyance — the giddy 
 and gushing usher. It is safe to bet that just when the 
 most pathetic passage of a play is reached, or the 
 tragedian is singing smallest, a few ushers will throw 
 themselves hastily together in the lobby and hold a 
 mass meeting long and loud enough to be taken for a 
 November night political meeting, if there were only
 
 58 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGIITS. 
 
 a sttikc "vvairon and a few Chinese lanterns strewn 
 around. Indeed, the usher seems to assume that he 
 is a sort of safety-valve through which a disturbance 
 must break out now and then to offset the quiet of the 
 audience. If the usher isn't plying his fiendish pro- 
 clivity, some bald-headed man in the parqucttc is sure 
 to throw his skating rink over the back of the scat, and, 
 with shinning brow turned uj) towards the suh-burnerin 
 the dome, mouth rounded out like the base of a cupola 
 and uostrils 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 " ov-<x-s-2:-s:-<x-iX-i^ ! " 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 scene — 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- 
 wit and finally a i)rey to the inexorable " bouncer," 
 who roams around the upper tiers of every theatre and 
 unceremoniously dumps disturbers down stairs. Last, 
 but by no means least, in the distracting and disturb- 
 ing features at theatrical performances is the pea- 
 nut cruncher. He is the most cold-blooded and least 
 excusable of all the annoyances with which amusement 
 patrons are aftlicted. He wraps his teeth around the 
 roasted goober, utterly reckless of the distress he is 
 stirring up in the bosoms of those around him, and he 
 grinds and smacks and continues to crunch, stopping 
 occasionally to charge his dental quartz-crusher anew,
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 59 
 
 and always beginning on the latest goober with the 
 greatest ferocity, while he seems to make it go ten 
 times further, as far as time and agony are concerned, 
 than any of its predecessors. All the other disturb- 
 ance consequent npon 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, 
 making 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 
 every time they hear the rustling of a goober-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 seances with neighbor- 
 ing bar-keepers, while the orchestra is playing a Strauss 
 waltz or a medley 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 iraaijine. In nine cases out of 
 ten, the man who goes out to see another man, as the 
 saying is, has his seat in the middle of a row, so that it 
 is necessary for him to make trouble for ten or a 
 dozen persons before he can reach the aisle. He 
 tramples on ladies' dresses, comes into collision with 
 their knees, and sends a thrill of pain to the utmost 
 ends of the roots of every man's corn he treads on. 
 The same thing is repeated on the way back to his seat, 
 and there are bitter mutterin2:s, a great deal of sub- 
 dued or smothered profanity, and fierce, rebuking looks 
 flash from beneath the beautiful bonnets of the females. 
 It doesn't seem to aflect the nuisance any, however, for 
 he does the same thing over every act, and at each rep-
 
 60 BEFORE THE FOOT-LICIITS. 
 
 etltion increases to the dumaijc he does and the com- 
 motion he creates. Tiien, to make bad Avorso, he 
 manages to surround himself with a distillery odor that 
 assails feminine nostrils in a most offensive manner, and 
 that will not suffer itself to 1)0 concealed or temi)ered 
 hvthe chewing of coffee-ground.s, cloves, or oranj^e-Deel. 
 I "witnessed the discomfiture of a young man of this 
 kind, one night, and the scene was a very funny one. 
 lie occupied a seat in the orchestra, in the centre of a 
 row of seats princi[)ally filled with ladies. As the cur- 
 tain went down the young man determined to go over 
 and have a look through the saloon opposite. Unwill- 
 ing to incommode the ladies ia the least, the young 
 man, with Chesterficldian grace, elevated a pedal ex- 
 tremity over the back of his chair, with the intention 
 of going out through the aisle l)ehind. Unfortunately 
 he stepped between the seat and the back, the in()val)le 
 seat flew up, and the thirsty young man was left as- 
 tride of the chair in a decidedly uncomfortable posi- 
 tion. By this time the gallery gods had marked him 
 for their victim. They hooted, whistled, cat-called, 
 and made slaniz; remarks about straddlinof the " rajjiifed 
 edjje," to his evident discomfiture. In vain he at- 
 tem))ted to diseniraire his No. lO's. The rest of the 
 audience became interested, and opera-glasses were 
 directed toward the blushing young man. The 
 feminine jriirirlcs in his neiijhhorhood rendered him 
 frantic ; laughter and uproar wcic I)ec()ming general, 
 when a good-natured individual kindly assi.sted him to 
 escape from his awkward i)o.sition. Amid " thunders 
 of applause" ho disapi)ear(!d. 
 
 The ladies, too, sometimes contribute largely to the 
 annoyance of an audience. They are, as everybody 
 knows, inveterate talkers, and insist on saying almost 
 as nmch during a i)eifbrmancc as the })laycrs say.
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 61 
 
 Their criticism of the toilets of friends and of strans:- 
 ers also, is loud-sweeping and usually denunciatory, 
 and they have a style of pillorying their victims in 
 speech that is decidedly heartless, yet refreshing. But 
 all the faults of loud and untamed talk micfht have 
 been forgiven had thej not introduced the tremendous 
 big hats which 
 rise high above 
 their heads and 
 stick far out 
 from their ears 
 c o m p 1 c t c 1 3^^ 
 shutting off a 
 view of the 
 stage from the 
 persons imme- 
 diately in the 
 rear. Strong 
 men have shed 
 tears to find themselves conquered by these big hats ; 
 they have tried to peep around them, and have stood 
 tip-toed on their chairs to have a glance over the tops 
 of the millinery structures, but in vain. The hats 
 were too much for them. In a mild, cesthetic way the 
 ladies' big hats rank among the greatest plagues that 
 have ever visited the modern })lay-house. 
 
 I was in the Grand Opera House at St. Louis, one 
 evening, sitting in seat No. 3, row B, centre section, 
 parquette circle. Before the play began two ladies, 
 one dressed in black silk Avith a white satin jacket and 
 black beaver hat, with long sweeping feather, and the 
 other i)lainly dressed in black cashmere, with a " Sen- 
 sation " hat and tassel on, came in and took scats 1 
 and 2 in row A, same section. Prior to settling ^own 
 in their places, they looked inquiringly around the rear 
 
 THE BIG HAT.
 
 62 BEFORE 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 vacant. The hidies had come unattended. 
 After they liad arranged themselves the lady with the 
 beaver hat drew out a letter and held it ui) to the liirht 
 so that the reporter could read it. It had a cut of one 
 of the principal hotels at the top and was note-pajier 
 from that establishment. It said : — 
 
 To Mamie and Sadie : Your note of to-day re- 
 ceived. AVe 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, George and Harry. 
 
 Just as the orchestra bes^an t^io 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 Avell dressed ; he had a 
 sandy mustache, and what hair was left on his head 
 was reddish, crisp, and curly. He was 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 ladies smiled as 
 the gentlemen took their i:)laces. The men looked at 
 each other, winked, and laughed. When the two were 
 seated, the bald-headed man made a close and evi- 
 dently satisfactory scrutiny of the ladies, and catching 
 the eye of the one in the beaver hat, the two exchanged 
 smiles — not broad, committal grins, l)ut soft sjniles 
 of mutual recognition. The second lady only dared 
 to look sideways now and then. The second gentle- 
 man, who sat next to the ladies, was rather shy and 
 kept his hand up to his face from beginning to end of 
 the play. It was evident this was the first time the
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 63 
 
 quartette had met, and it was evident also that they had 
 made up their minds to act with all due decorum while 
 in the theatre. Smiles were now and then exchanged, 
 but no words were spoken. Once one of the ladies 
 sent her programme to the bald man, who had none. 
 During the third act of the play the baldhead began 
 writing short notes which the lady in the beaver 
 hat answered affirmatively with a nod of her head. 
 When the show was over the two ladies went 
 around one street, the two men around an- 
 other, and they met in the middle of the block 
 opposite the theatre. There was a brief conver- 
 sation in which a great deal of tittering was heard, and 
 then the quart- • 
 ette proceeded 
 to a quiet res- 
 taurant of the 
 most question- 
 able reputation 
 and took one 
 of the private 
 supper-rooms, 
 which are at 
 the disposal of 
 people whose 
 visit to the es- 
 tablishment is 
 not by any 
 means for the 
 sole purpose of 
 drinkino; a n d 
 eating, but has 
 a broad and very unmistakable suggestion of immor- 
 ality in it. 
 
 The key to the whole affair can be found in the fol- 
 
 GEORGE AND HARRY.
 
 64 
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 T.OlISi: >I()NTA(JrE. 
 
 lowing advertisoniciit, ])iil)Ii>Ii('il in tlio GIohc-Democrat of 
 tlio proccfliiiir Sim<l;i\ : —
 
 BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS. 
 
 65 
 
 Personal. — Two gentlemen of middle age and 
 means desire to become acquainted with two vivacious, 
 fun-loving young ladies who like to go to the theatre. 
 Address George and Harry, this office. 
 
 MAUD BRANSCOMB. 
 
 George and Harry had received an answer to this 
 advertisement from "Mamie and Sadie," and, just to 
 Ineet and become acquainted with them, had purchased 
 the four seats in row A, centre section. Grand Opera
 
 CG BICFOKE THK FOOT-LICIITS. 
 
 House, making the tlieatrc their phicc of assignation. 
 " Mamie and Sadie " were ])y no means the innocent 
 and unsopliisticated creatures they seemed to be. 
 One of them was the wife of a travelling man Avho was 
 necessarily away from home ten months in a year ; the 
 other was nymph dn pave — a street-walker — who 
 scoured the i)rincipal tiioroughfares at night for vic- 
 tims to carry to her " furnished room," and who had 
 been educated up to the "personal" racket by the 
 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 
 display themselves, to flash their jewels and flaunt 
 their silks and laces in the faces of the community, 
 have become so accustomed to the scneral run of 
 theatrical attractions that they are really no longer 
 spectators, and may be justly classed among the dis- 
 tractins: agencies in the audience. Their mission is a 
 " mashing" one to a certain extent, but it is " mash- 
 injr " of a vain and bv no means harmful character. 
 Other ladies are seen in the dress circle and the boxes 
 who do not disijuise the fact that they have come to 
 the theatre to fascinate the too, too yielding men. At 
 the matinees there are women of questional)le repute 
 who unblushingly advertise their calling and who must 
 bo set down as a feature most objectionable to the 
 respectable portion of any community. They behave 
 themselves as far as words or actions go, but their 
 mere presence in the play-house is an annoyance that 
 refined and elegant i)eople cannot tolerate. That is all 
 about them. Now for the very worst practices that 
 are occasionally noted in theatres, and that the mana- 
 irers know verv little if anything al)OUt, — the women 
 who are 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. It is a notorious and flagrant 
 fact that fast women use the theatre as phices of assig- 
 nation, wherein they meet old and make new acquaint- 
 ances, and it is equally notorious that men whose 
 whole 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 Harry before they got 
 through with them. 
 
 The very same evening my attention was called by 
 a young lady to a thinly-bearded, spectacled, sickly- 
 lookinof middle-ao;ed man who sat in the next seat to 
 the lady, and who, she complained, had stepped on her 
 foot several times and in other ways tried to attract 
 her attention and get her. into a conversation. I at 
 once recognized the fellow as one of an unscrupulous 
 set who pored over big ledgers in the Court-House, and 
 gave the greater portion of their time to discussions 
 concerning female friends of ill-repute, and to boast- 
 ing of the ruin they had brought or were about to bring 
 to some innocent young girl. 
 
 The same man was in the habit of buying single 
 seats in the dress circle and visited the theatre fre- 
 quently. He represents a class of venerable, but 
 iniquitous fellows who make a practice of mixing in 
 among the ladies, in the hope of scraping an occa- 
 sional acquaintance, and who have no good intention 
 in desiring to extend the circle of their female friends. 
 They should be kept out of every respectable place of 
 amusement.
 
 (68) 
 
 fcjELlNA DOLAUO.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES . 
 
 My first experiences behind the scenes were in a 
 smiili, dark celhir, owned hy a man who is now a mem 
 ber of the Missouri Legishiture, and where daily and 
 nightly a select company of would-be Ethiopian come- 
 dians of tender age gave performances to small crowds 
 of children each of whom had paid an admission fee in 
 pins or corks — for we valued the corks highly as a 
 necessary portion of our stock in trade ; we charred 
 many a one to blacken our faces and treasured them as 
 if they were worth their weight in gold. Our stage 
 was roughly constructed of boards laid upon barrels ; 
 bagging material hung around the rear and sides of 
 the stage to shut in the mysteries of the remarkable 
 dressing-room we had, and an old gray cloth jind 
 blanket formed the curtain which parted in the middle 
 in the manner of the stage curtains of the Elizabethan 
 age. Bits of candles were our foot-lights and the au- 
 dience, made up of boys and girls, were satisfied to sit 
 for hours on rude benches stretched across the width 
 of the cellar. We played nothing but black-face 
 pieces, and as they were not taken from books, but 
 were the memories of sketches we had seen in some 
 pretentious theatrical resort, they were, of course, short 
 and entirely crude. No member of that little band 
 has risen to greatness in the theatrical profession, but 
 I think every one of them now living looks back 
 fondly to the triumphs of our cellar career. To me 
 
 (69)
 
 70 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 f 
 
 that rude stage and its gunny-bag surroundings were 
 more interesting and full of mystery than have been any 
 of the wonderful and beautiful temples of Thespis 
 which I have since entered ; and I think when I played 
 
 JOHN W. M CULLOLUII. 
 
 the part of Epliraim in some hidicrous sketch, and in 
 response to the okl man's cries from the stage, " Epli- 
 raim ! Kphraiiii I say l)oy, whar is you?" and I got 
 up suddenly in the rear of the audience and shouted
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 71 
 
 back, " Hyar I is, boss!" — when this supreme mo- 
 ment arrived, and the crowd looked back surprised and 
 laughed, the glow of conscious pride and artistic 
 power that filled my heart was as genuinely agreeable 
 as the thunders of applause that greet Booth or John 
 McCullough when their admirers call them before the 
 curtain after a great act. 
 
 I have only a dim recollection of my first introduc- 
 tion to the professional stage. The fiiiry spectacle of 
 " Cherry and Fair Star" was running at a local theatre, 
 with EobertMc Wade, of recent Rip Van Winkle fame, 
 and Miss Wallace in the cast. By some good or bad 
 fortune'I happened to be loitering in the neighborhood 
 of the back door of the theatre, when the captain of 
 the supers called me and hired me at twenty-five cents 
 a night to go on as imp in one of the spectacular 
 scenes. I was on hand promptly, and shall never 
 forget my wonder and astonishment at getting a first 
 glimpse of the secfets of the stage. It was almost 
 pitch dark when the back door was entered, and there 
 was nothing in the place at all suo-orestive of the o-lamour 
 that the foot-lights throw upon the scene. Huge clouds 
 of black canvas rose upon all sides, and men and boys 
 in the dirtiest of workday clothes were the only persons 
 met. The noise of hammer and saw rose on vari- 
 ous sides, and it seemed as if the stage had not been 
 one-half prepared for the play that the curtain would 
 ring up on within an hour. The dressing-room in which 
 fifty or sixty boys were arraying themselves looked 
 like the interior of a costume establishment after a 
 cyclone had passed through it. But when all were 
 dressed, and the fairies and the goblins assembled in 
 the " Wings," and-the foot-lights were turned up and 
 the orchestra outside was rattlino; throuoh some in- 
 spiring air, the small boy in impish raiment was im-
 
 72 BEIIIKD THE SCENEfl. 
 
 mediately wT.apt into a seventh heaven of dclijirht. 
 There was a multitiule of girls in very low-necked and 
 short dresses with jjlowino: flesh-colored ti2;hts that 
 
 DO O 
 
 seemed such inadequate covering for the rounded 
 limbs that blushing was inevitable. The brijjht colors 
 in their cheeks, the blackly outlined eyes and the 
 blonde wijj^s 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 variety of demon that was ever known 
 to jNI. D. Conway, and was pushed out of the way of a 
 hundred persons only to find myself obstructing some- 
 body else's progress. The magnificent revelations of 
 that niffht filled me with awe and astonishment for 
 many a week afterward. It was the only night I ap- 
 peared as an im[), for I had accepted 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 eflbrts in the direc- 
 tion of the professional stage. 
 
 That first experience was not, of course, as a1)un- 
 dant in opportunities for ol)servation as later experi- 
 ences have been. The world behind the foot-liijhts — 
 the mimic world as it is called — is a realm of the 
 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 jirolific 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, often make the time as lively and the 
 surroundings as enjoyable as it i* possible for really 
 clever and good-natured people to do. The best time 
 to go behind the scenes is during the engagement of a
 
 i'„l,lll,ll' ,1' 1,1^1 
 
 1 
 
 BELLE HOWITT IN "BLACK CKOOK." ( 73J
 
 74 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 burlesque or comic opera company, and I will intro- 
 duce the reader to a happy crowd of this kind that I 
 •once found myself in. 
 
 In 1879 the Kiralfys brought out their spectacular 
 burlesque entitled "A Trip to the Moon," and I 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 thousand miles 
 from here — that is the one reputed to be made of 
 green cheese, and having phases as numerous as the 
 occasions that ring the April skies with rainbows. 
 But the Kiralfys' moon Avas in another firmament, 
 shining out amid stars that, when they wink their 
 twinkling eyes or shuffle their shining feet, as they do 
 frequently, the celestial shiners have -got to put on 
 their cloud ulsters, and sit down while the lachrymose 
 eyes of the heavens give u[) their tears. That is why 
 it was raininix torrents the niirht I went hehind the 
 scenes with Mr. Bolossy Kiral fy. As I went in the 
 back door Prof. 3Iirroscope, one of the funny charac- 
 ters in the play, brushed by with a telescope under his 
 arm that was large enough to i)ut Lord Ross's famous 
 spy-glass into its vest pocket, if it had one. The 
 moon to which the trip was to be made was not so far 
 as two hundred and eighty thousand miles by a half 
 block or so, but it was a very funny world, full of gas- 
 light and laughter, and with the most mirthful sports 
 ima<rinablc on its flowing surface. I Avas inclined 
 somewhat to lunar ways, and thinking like a great 
 many other credulous mortals, that the trans-atmo- 
 spheric trip was really made in a cartridge-built coach 
 that was fired out of a huge mortar at the rate of al)out 
 eighteen thousand six Imndred and sixty-six and two- 
 thirds miles a minute, had fully made up my mind to
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 75 
 
 ride on the roof or cow-catcher of the concern, at what- 
 ever risks to life and limb space might abound in, I 
 expected to find something like a solid space-annihilat- 
 ing Colnmbiad behind the scenes, but I was somewhat 
 mistaken. 
 
 Just before the curtain was rung up 1 found myself 
 in the midst of the fairy world upon which the brilliancy 
 of the foot-liirht falls. While the curtain was still . 
 down, and before the gasman had opened the flood- 
 gates of splendor, the place was dark ; not pitch dark, 
 but pretty dark, compared with the brilliancy that 
 shown in, over, and around its space a few minutes 
 later. And then its intricacies, pieces of scenery here, 
 various properties there, and sections of everything 
 and anything scattered anywhere and everywhere, 
 made a fellow feel as if the place was darker than it 
 really was. Glittering and glowing as the stage 
 appears before the foot-lights ; wonderfully romantic as 
 are its shades and lights, its love and laughter ; and 
 astounding as are its scenic effects ; its area and sur- 
 soundings are terriblv realistic when the foot-lights are 
 left behind, and the " business " of a play is once laid 
 bare. Here the sighs of love-sick 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 proper social and 
 friendly relations to each other, and, once the prompt- 
 er's book is closed, stage talk and stage manner are 
 under metaphoric lock and key, and romance is for a 
 while at an end. 
 
 On opera boufie or burlesque nights, however, a
 
 76 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 great deal of the stage charm clings to the characters 
 even when off the stage, and one is compelled to bo 
 interested in the grotcsqueness of those to be met in 
 the side scenes — the odd and often pretty creatures 
 who stand, sit, lie or lean around in the " wings" at 
 
 JNO. A. STEVENS. 
 
 their own sweet leisure and pleasure. There is some- 
 tliiiiir so indcscribablv funny in the costumes, in the 
 facial make-up, and all that, of the happy opera-boufTor 
 or festive burlescjucr, that the eye follows a quaint 
 character throujjh the scenes with the same inalienable
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 77 
 
 interest as that with which the small boy hovers around 
 the heels of an Italian with a hand-organ and a monkey. 
 The eye, however, must not, cannot linger or languish 
 long upon a single one of these walking wardrobes. 
 There is a moving panorama constantly in front of the 
 surprised vision, and before an electric flash could 
 photograph one single individual in his droll toggery 
 there would be a dozen or more " shassaying " before 
 the camera. 
 
 There was leaning against one of the "wings" a 
 naive and sprightly piece of feminine beauty, set ofi" in 
 the handsomest and most enticing manner in the world 
 by a well-rounded, gracefully curved pair of pink 
 tights, a white satin surtout and mantelet, plentifully 
 besprent with glittering braid and flashing beads, 
 dainty silk slippers that would have made a Chinese 
 princess weep with envy, and a jaunty white hat to 
 match. 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 talking to little pink tights. He was 
 gotten up like a circus poster in forty colors, with a 
 plentiful array of red on his head and legs and a sort 
 of sickly-looking, rainbow-sandwich built about his 
 body. Red, blue and black streaks straying over his 
 features made it appear as if he might have been as- 
 signed the role of an ogre and was accustomed to 
 nightly look around for his fair companion to make a 
 meal of her. I immediately 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 Alice Harrison ; the red- 
 legged comedian was King Pin, the young Princess
 
 78 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 funny father and Mr. Louis Harrison was hidden 
 under the remarkable royal disguise. 
 
 " Well, when are we going to start for the moon?" 
 I asked, good-humoredly. 
 
 •♦ In a few fleetimc moments," was the regal douefh- 
 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 she thinks she 
 does," put in the Prince, pertly; "only the King, 
 Prof. Microscope and m3'self ride in the cab." 
 
 Prof. Microscope was a long, scrawny fellow. lie 
 was twirlin£r «i shaijjTy moustache and l)uzzin2: a hand- 
 some and not at all bashful ballet girl at the same 
 time, a short distance away. lie was gotten up in a 
 blue-striped, swallow-tail coat, long enough, if the 
 Professor cared about lending or renting it out, to be 
 used for a streamer on the City ILiU llagstafl', and 
 short enough in the back to have the waist-buttons 
 constantly challenging the collar to a prize light or 
 wrestling match. Very tight black pants, a luxuri- 
 antly frilled shirt front, fluted culTs, and white hair 
 allowed to grow to the length worn by Buffalo Bill, com- 
 pleted his outfit. When I was introduced to him, the 
 Professor swore ])y the bones of Copernicus' s grand- 
 mother on a volume of patent offioe reports that he 
 was the sole originator and engineer of the only direct 
 moon line, and he'd bet his boots or cat his hat that it 
 never took more than fifteen minutes to make the 
 trip. 
 
 " You see," said King Pin, " that Microscope is a 
 queer fellow — not a coney man, you mind." 
 
 "Although," said the Prince, "he now and then 
 casts his lot on the turn of the die."
 
 LILLIE WEST,
 
 80 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 "Yes, his lot of last year's clothing," the jolly 
 King remarked, " on the turn of the dyer." 
 
 This ellbrt resulted in six of the supers, who were 
 gotten up in voluminous dominoes with elaborate, but 
 inexpensive, pasteboard trimmings, and Avho were within 
 hearing distance, falling stiff and stark to the stasre. 
 
 " Does this kind of thing occur often? " I inquired. 
 
 *'0h," growled the Professor^ "that gag was 
 stuffed and on exhibition at the Centennial. It was 
 found in an Indian mound near Memphis, and is old." 
 
 And so the talk went on for a while, when up went 
 the curtain and King 7-*/?i leaping on the stage amidst the 
 laughter and plaudits of the house, told how the pretty 
 Prince Caprice had tired of mundane things and was 
 heavilv siirhing for the fountain-head of the lambent 
 silvery moonlight. Microscojje, who was at the head 
 of the Royal College of Astronomers, was besought to 
 do something to aid the Prince in accomplishing the 
 journey to jNIerrie Moonland, 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 
 moon wards was to be made. I hurried around to the 
 prompter'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- 
 ordinary piece of ordnance made entirely of pasteboard, 
 a substance that a few grains of gunpowder would l)low 
 into as many pieces as the leaves of Vallambrosia. 
 Still the passengers were to be fired out of this con- 
 trivance, and I felt that if they and the cannon could 
 stand it, it was none of my business. It had all been 
 explained to tlie audience, that King Pin, Prince 
 Cajjrice and Prof. Microscope were the on]y three jier-
 
 PAULINE MARKHAM
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 81 
 
 sons to be given seats 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 characters that crowded the " wings." 
 There were <' supers " in black, yellow and mottled 
 dominoes with high papier-mache casques, and huge 
 ear-trimmings that reminded one of the flaps that 
 decorate the sides of a Chicago girl's head, or the sails 
 of a lake lumberman. There were star-gazers with 
 zodiacal garments and tin telescopes, all set ofi" by 
 great pairs of soda-bottle-lens eye-glasses, that gave 
 them the air of a Secchi, 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 chapeaux 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 
 across 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 girls, with gauze-garnished limbs and dissipated- 
 looking blonde wigs. A precocious ballet-debutante is a 
 bit of Dead-Sea fruit shot backward off Terpischore's 
 head, and if the bullet does 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 
 each one could safely fling her foot on looking at her. 
 The girl who was making her first appearance had not 
 yet gotten over her splayfootedness, and every time
 
 82 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 she took :i })cep iit the audience unci l)eg;iii to realize 
 the airiness of her costume and gawkiness of her man- 
 ners, her knees knocked together fast enough to keep 
 a few notes ahead of her chattering teeth. And her 
 dress ! thei-e was nothing marvellous about it — noth- 
 ing that would carry a person off into the ideal linan- 
 cial realms of a national de])t. It was powerfully 
 plain with a stiff and provoking eflbrt 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 -olipping-off of the super- 
 abundant clothing that encumbers the latest additions 
 
 CD 
 
 to the corps. The coryphees, though, are fadiant in 
 glittering, close-fitting silver mail, and there is ac- 
 quired grace in their actions, and a high haughtiness 
 in the toss of their heads. The premieres everybody 
 understands and recognizes, who has once seen them 
 pirouette on their toes or slam around in a wild 
 ecstasy of dancing delight that would give anybody 
 else a vertigo and lead to numerous and possibly se- 
 rious dislocations. Well, all these were whispering or 
 prattling together, in the way of the scene-shifters, 
 who went around reckless of their lano^uagc, with 
 sleeves rolled up and anxious faces and questioning 
 eyes turned upon all whom they encountered there. 
 It struck me, as I gazed upon this almost naked and 
 highly interesting ballet, that if the moon had no 
 atmosphere, as those who know best claim, the cos- 
 tumes of these gay and giddy girls were airy enough 
 to stock it with a pretty extensive and healthy one. 
 Out of this ju!nble of scenery and from tiie midst of 
 these jostling characters the start was made for the 
 moon. There was no carriage, no cartridge, no load 
 in the cannon. Her tri|) as a trip was a most undis- 
 guised and diaphanous fraud. \\'hile Kiiuj Pin, the
 
 ADAH ISAAC MENKEN, (83")
 
 84 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 Prince, the Professor, and the rest were arr;in<nn<T 
 themselves in a happy tableau behind the second " flat " 
 bang ! went a gnn fired by one of the supers, across 
 the stage flew several " dnmniies " or stufled fiirures 
 in the direction of the roof, the scene opened and lo 
 the jolly crowd were in Moonland. King Pin, Prince 
 Caprice and 31icroscope were there together, as fresh 
 and fair as if they were accustomed to making two- 
 hundrcd-and-eighty-thousand-mile trips. The mon- 
 arch of the moon. King Kosmos (W. A. Mestayer), 
 after having summoned his retinue of Selenites — the 
 same long-robed, i)illow-stomached and pasteboard- 
 eared crew who had died behind the scenes a few min- 
 utes before from an over-stroke of punning -r- and 
 having things explained to everybody's satisfaction, 
 came forward and foil on the several necks of the ter- 
 restrial visitors, was punched in the paunch, by the 
 King, enough times to set all the Moonites into roars 
 of laughter, and then thoy all joined in stretching their 
 necks and rasping their throats in a welcoming chorus 
 
 to their guests. 
 
 It was unfortunate for the visitors that King Kostnon 
 
 had a beautiful little princess of a daughter called 
 Fantasia (Miss Gracie Plaisted), with a voice that rip- 
 pled and rolled in music, earthly as the bulbul's notes 
 and celestial as the songs of the spheres ; and, of course, 
 foolish little Caprice had to go and fall in love with 
 her and sing innumerable sweet songs to her, all of 
 which only got jioor old Pin and his friends into all 
 sorts of trouble. 1'his they finally managed to get out 
 of })y returning to mother earth in a gorgeously-aj)- 
 pointed flying ship, as grand as Clco[)ratra's galley. 
 Before decamping, however, Moonland was visited in 
 every part, and its gardens of silver-tinged foliage, its 
 crystal palaces, that made pale Luna's light more bril-
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 85 
 
 liant still, its icy mountains with m.ass of frostage, 
 in and about which the ballet wound in the graceful 
 rhythm of " Les Flocons de Niege," were all taken in, 
 
 MILLIE LA FONTE. 
 
 and notwithstanding an occasional hitch in getting the 
 panorama around, everything in this new and gleaming 
 sjihere was really glorious for a first-mght visit.
 
 CHATTEK VII. 
 
 IN THE DRESSING-KOOM 
 
 These same people who appear grotesque, and out 
 of the pah' of ordinary cvcry-day existence on the 
 stanfe, are nearly ahvays the most unromantic and real is- 
 tic-looking folks in the world when you meet them on 
 the street. The extraordinary metamorphosis they go 
 through to arrive at an appearance suital)le for pre- 
 sentation before the foot-lisrhts is a secret of the dress- 
 ing-rooiii. 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 fre(|uently, are subjected to processes 
 that produce the most remarkable results. Anybod}' 
 who has seen Nat Goodwin, of " Hobbies " reputation, 
 will readily understand that it takes a pretty extensive 
 tiansformation to change his appearance from that of 
 the man to that of Prof. Pi/(jin(dion Wliijjles, the 
 eccentric character that makes " Hobbies " the laugh- 
 able and })0[)ular i)lay that it is. Mr. Goodwin is 
 young — not more than twenty-four — but I saw hiui 
 slil) out of liis youthfulncss into llic bald-headed, red- 
 wigged and merry old professor one night in almost as 
 short a time as it takes a boy to fall through a four- 
 story elevator shaft. I accompanied him to his dress- 
 ing-room one night. He had just a few minutes to get 
 ready, and was in })roper shape in time to make his 
 appearance at the upper entrance, amid the crash that 
 always accompanies his first appearance in the play, 
 
 (8(5)
 
 IN THE UKESSING-KOOM. 
 
 ■ ■ ' ■.■nlllllflH|l||P|,||l[j|||T^' 
 
 87 
 — 1 
 
 BALLET GIRLS DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 and gives him an opportunity to make some remarks 
 ohowt Maj . Bang' s dog, which has ripped his "ulster'*
 
 88 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 up the back. Well, Goodwin went to work the 
 moment he was inside the door. Oil' came the every- 
 day clothes, and in a jifly on went the one white and 
 bhick stocking that will be remembered by all who 
 have seen " IIobl)ies." 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 lightninii' and then bendins: 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 coat followed the making-up of 
 the lace ; 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 pla^^ed 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-cla[)ping and 
 the howls of delight with w-hich a crowded house was 
 nrreetinff 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 
 be understood when the story told l)y Maze Edwards, 
 who was Edwin Booth's manairor durini; the tour of 
 1881-2, is recited. * • * Xhe company got to 
 Watcrbury, Connecticut, ahead of tlKsir baggage. 
 When the hour for the performance arrived the bag- 
 gage, consisting of all their costumes and parajjherna- 
 lia was still missing. The manager was in a terrible 
 plight ; but I will lot him tell his own story as he told 
 it to a newspaper reporter a short time after the occur- 
 rence. 
 
 ♦' "When I found the baggage, with the costumes,
 
 Iisr THE DRESSING-KOOM. 
 
 89 
 
 had not arrived," said Edwards, " I was just going to 
 throw myself into the river. Tlien 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- 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH. 
 
 ment Mr. Booth took it as coolly as you would take an 
 invitation to drink. He said, inasmuch as the people 
 were in the hall, he would make a few remarks to them
 
 90 IN THE DKESSIXG-ROOM. 
 
 about the accident, and then they would go on and 
 
 play three acts of " ILunlct " in the clothes thev had 
 
 on. And so it was fixed up that way. "Well, the 
 
 thoujrht of Hamlet in a short-tailed coat and liji^ht 
 
 pants almost made me sick, and when Mr. Booth came 
 
 upon the stage, looking like an Episcopal minister, 
 
 with a Knight Temi)lar's cheese knife that he l)or- 
 
 rowed, I couldn't think of anything but Hamlet. I 
 
 forjTot all about his clothes, and I believe if he liad 
 
 only had on a pair of sailor's pants and a red llannel 
 
 fireman's shirt that the people would only have seen 
 
 Hamlet. I tell you he is the greatest actor that ever 
 
 lived. The people sat perfectly still, and seemed 
 
 wraiiped up in Booth. That is, they were when they 
 
 did not look at the other fellows. But when they took 
 
 Laertes, with a short, ham-fat coat on, a pair of lah- 
 
 de-dah pants and a pan-cake hat, it seemed to me I 
 
 could hear them smile. And the King, HamleC s BiQ,\)- 
 
 fathcr, he was a siixht. Ima<j^ine a kinij with a cut- 
 
 away chcckei'ed coat, a Pullman car blanket thrown 
 
 over his shoulder for a robe, and a leg of a chair for a 
 
 sceptre, mashed on a queen Avith a travelling dress and 
 
 a gray woollen basque with buttons on it. And think 
 
 of Pokmins, with a linen duster and a straw hat with a 
 
 blue ril)bon on. Oh, it made me tired. Ophelia was 
 
 all right enough. She had on some crazy clothes that 
 
 she had been travelling in, and we got some straw out 
 
 of a barn and some artificial flowers off the bonnets, 
 
 and she i)ulled through pretty well. But the Ghost / 
 
 You would have died to have seen the Ghost. He had 
 
 on one of those long hand-me-down ulster overcoats 
 
 with a buckle on the back as big as a currycomb and the 
 
 belt was hanging down on both sides. The boys got 
 
 him a green mosqtiilo l):ir to put over it, and with a 
 
 stuffed club for a sceptre, he fell over a chair and then
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 91 
 
 came on. I should have laughed if I had been on my 
 death -bed when he said to Hamlet, ' I am thy father's 
 irhost ! ' He looked more like a drummer for a whole- 
 sale confectionery house, with a sort of tin skimmer 
 
 M KEE RANKIN. 
 
 on his head, and I believe the audience would have 
 gone wild with laughter if it had not been for Mr. 
 Bootli. I don't believe you could get him to laugh on 
 the stage for a million dollars. He just looked at the 
 Ghost as though it was a genuine one, and the audience
 
 92 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 looked at Booth, and forgot all about the ulster and 
 the Ghofifs pants being rolled up at the bottom. It 
 was probably the greatest triumph that an actor ever 
 had for ^Ir. 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 
 truidis up-stairs, I 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, I had rather the bairsffiojc would be there. It 
 makes a manager feel better." 
 
 In the olden times, and in the days of the early 
 American theatre, the dressing-rooms Avere beneath 
 the stage, and were by no means the perfect and cozy 
 places that are to be found in existence at present. 
 Ilodgkinson, I think it was, who, durnig the last cen- 
 tury l)uilt the first theatre having dressing-rooms above 
 and upon the stage. Later improvement has removed 
 the dressing-rooms, in first-class houses, entirely from 
 the stage, ample and neatly-furnished rooms being 
 provided in adjoining buildings. This change has been 
 necessitated by the demand made upon theatrical man- 
 agers for greater stage room and better opportunities 
 than they had heretofore in keeping uj) with the grow- 
 ing taste for extensive scenic representations with 
 magnificent appointments. The star of a company, 
 male or female, always has the best dressing-room the 
 establishment affords, and it is generally very close to 
 the green-room. Minor performers share their rooms ; 
 and the captain of the supers usually has an apart- 
 ment beneath the stage where he gathers his Roman 
 mob, or marshals his mail-clad but awkward squad of 
 warriors ^o better burlesque upon this ill-clothed,
 
 IN THE DKESSING-ROOM. 
 
 93 
 
 dirty-faced, knock-kneed and ridiculous theatrical con- 
 tingent has ever been presented either in type or on 
 the stage, than the character of the Roman Lictor 
 created by Louis Harrison in San Francisco, and after- 
 
 THE THREE VILLAS. 
 
 wards relegated to another performer in " Photos." 
 The story is told that Harrison having been cast for 
 the part of a lictor in a tragedy in which John McCul-
 
 0-4 IN Tilt: DHESSINCJ-ROOM. 
 
 lou«;h took the leading role, ho ^rcw oflciulctl, liavinir 
 higher aspirations than mere utility business, and de- 
 termined to make the part funny and, if possible, spoil 
 the scene. When became on the stage, he was in war- 
 paint, his face strewn with gory colors and interming- 
 ling l)lack ; he had on the dirtiest costume he conld 
 find, with a battered rnsty helmet, and carried the 
 insignia of his office so awkwardly, while his knees 
 came together his toes turned in, and liis general atti- 
 tude was that of a man in the third week of a hard 
 spree. lie ])rought the house down, spoiled the play 
 and was discharged for makini; too much of a success 
 of the part. But this is a digression, and we must 
 hurry back to the dressing-room. 
 
 The most difficult part of the actor's work prelim- 
 inary to going on the stage is to make-up his face. 
 By the judicious useof powder and paint, and a proper 
 disposition of wigs, beard, etc., the oldest man may 
 be made to assume juvenility and the youngest to 
 seem to bend with the weight of years. Wigs are 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 
 the old fashioned beard is going out of style, and gray 
 Avool stuck on the face with grease is generally used. 
 I can recall vividly how a beard of this sort worn by 
 poor George Conly, the basso, while singing the part 
 of Gaspard in " The Chimes of Normandy," while 
 with the Emma Al)l)ot troupe last season, struck me 
 as the perfection of deception. It always requires a 
 dresser to put on one of these l»eards in anything like 
 a satisfactory manner. 
 
 An old actor of the " crushed '" type who has l)een 
 almost forred ofT the stage and into running a dra- 
 matic college, by the young and pushing eU'ment in
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 95 
 
 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 : " I like to study 
 faces. To my 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 
 in my profession, because I'm an enthusiast in a cer- 
 tain sense. I belong to the times when the study and 
 make-up of faces was mighty important in the theatri- 
 cal line. It wasn't such a longtime ago, either; but 
 the times have changed since then, until now there 
 seems to be almost no effort at all to make-up and 
 look your part. 
 
 *' It must be a great deal of trouble to make up 
 every night." 
 
 " Oh, but, my boy, look at the result ! Go down to 
 the theatre, where they still do it, and if only five 
 years have elapsed between the acts, see how it is 
 shown on every face on the stage." 
 
 " It is difficult to make-up well, is it not?'* 
 
 "Well, no," said the actor, lighting a fresh cigar 
 and assuming a more confidential pose, " the rules 
 are simple enough, and with a little practice, almost 
 any amateur could learn to make up artistically if he 
 has any eye for eflect. Some parts, like Romeo, 
 Charles Surface, Sidney Darrell or Claude Melnotte, 
 require very little make up for a young and good-look- 
 ing actor. The face and neck should be thoroughly 
 covered with white powder, and the cheek bones 
 and chin lightly touched with rouge, which should not 
 be too red. Then, as the lover ought to look handsome, 
 he should draw a fine black line under his lower eye- 
 lashes with a camel hair brush and burnt umber. 
 This makes the eyes brilliant. I'm sure it isn't much 
 trouble to make up that way."
 
 96 
 
 IN THE DUESSINO-KOOM. 
 
 SAUAIi litKMlAKUT. 
 
 ♦' Otliur cbunicters are luirdcr, thou«,Mi? " 
 '1 Oh, iinincasunibly so. But to niako a maturcr 
 man, like Cusmo, lar/o, Merculio, John Midioay or
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 97 
 
 Hawksley, it requires only a little more work. After 
 the actor has laid on his powder and rouged his face 
 pretty heavily — for men are commonly rather red- 
 faced — he must take his brush and umber and trace 
 some lines from the outer corners of the eyes, and 
 other lines down toward the corners of the mouth 
 from the nose. In short, he must make the ' crows ' 
 feet that are visible in all men who have lived over 
 thirty years in this tantalizing world of ours. Then 
 the chin should be touched with a little blue powder, 
 which makes it look as if recently shaved. These pre- 
 cautions will make the most juvenile face look mature. 
 If he has to go further, and look like old age, as in 
 such characters as Lear, Vh'ginius, — for, as I said 
 before, Virginius, was an old man, — Richelieu, Sir 
 Peter Teazle, and so on, more work is necessary. 
 Heavy false eyebrows must be pasted on, and the eye- 
 hollow darkened and fairly crowded with lines. 
 AVrinkles must be painted across the forehead, furrows 
 down the cheeks, downward lines from the corners of 
 the mouth, and (very important) three or four heavy 
 wrinkles painted around the neck to give it the shriv- 
 eled appearance common to old age. The hollow 
 over the upper lip should be darkened, and also the 
 hollow under the lower lip. This gives the mouth 
 the pinched and toothless look. A little powdered 
 antimony on the cheeivs makes them look fallen in and 
 shrunken. Then tone the face down with a delicate 
 coating of pearl powder, and you'll have as old a look- 
 ing man as you'd care to see.". 
 
 "How does it feel?" 
 
 "At first your face feels tightened, and the muscles 
 don't play easily, but after a few grimaces it comes out 
 all right. It's a great relief to get off, however, after 
 three hours' work."
 
 98 IN TJIK UliESbl^G-KOOM, 
 
 " It inust cause rather inoiinirul lorecasts wIhmi a 
 man looks on his own face made up for the age of, 
 say, eighty years." 
 
 *' Not so bad as when he makes up for a corpse, 
 however. I'll never forget the first glance I had at 
 my face after it had been made up for GaMon s death 
 scene, Avhen playing the " Man of the Iron Mask," in 
 '02. It positively ai)[)alled me, sir, and I lay awake 
 all that night thinking of it, and dreamed of myself 
 in a coffin for a month afterward." 
 
 " How is it done? " 
 
 " "Well, it varies slightly. You see, such characters 
 as Lear, Virginlus, Werner, and Beverly are before 
 the audience some time before they actually die, and 
 therefore, their faces cannot be made very corpse-like ; 
 but Mathias in 'The Bells,' Louis ^I., Gaston and 
 Danny Mann are discovered dying when the scene 
 opens, or are brought in dead, so that their faces can 
 be made extreme. For the last series the face and 
 neck should be spread with prepared pink to give it a 
 livid hue in places. Then put a deep shading of pow- 
 dered antimony under the eyebrows and well into the 
 hollow of the eye, on the cheeks, throat and temples. 
 This is very effective, as it gives the face that dread- 
 fully sunken appearance as in death." The sides of the 
 nose and even the upper li[) 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." 
 
 " In the make up of grotesque faces do they use 
 false 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 paint it us you would 
 the n:itui;il nose for grotesipic or comedy parts. Paste
 
 THE LATE ADELAIDE NEILSON. 
 
 (99)
 
 100 TX THE PRKSSING-KOOM. 
 
 i.s put oil with gum, instead ol" wool, sometimes. 
 Clowns have to encase themselves fairly with whitinj^, 
 and they lind this trouble enough without l)uilding u[) 
 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 l)est Dutcii 
 and Irish comedians owe their first lift to a lucky 
 make-up." 
 
 *' I 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 l)el()ng, 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." 
 
 " Is much Avork necessary on the hands? " 
 " In witches it is of great importance that the hands 
 and arms should be skinny and l)ony. This is usually 
 done by a liberal powdering of Dutch piidv, and })aint- 
 ine: between the knuckles with burnt umber. Paint- 
 ing ])etween the knuckles, you see, makes them look 
 large and bony. l>ut this sounds a good deal like 
 ancient history, now, does it not? The art is falling 
 into disuse, my boy, and I've no doubt, the time is not 
 far oil' when we shall have youngsters jdaying old 
 men with signs on their baclv reading, ' Please, sir, 
 I'm eighty years old,' while their faces are as fresh as 
 aisies. 
 "To what do you attribute this tendency." 
 " Laziness. The theatrical age of to-day is a won- 
 der to me. The entire profession wants to star. An 
 actor plays old men now simply for a living, while he
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 101 
 
 matures his plans for his coutemphited starring tour. 
 An actress does old women heavies or juveniles only 
 until she can find a capitalist who will enable her to 
 star, and none of them seem to take any pride in the 
 minor parts. Hence, they don't take the trouble to 
 makeup artistically, and the stage is robbed of its chief 
 charm — realism." 
 
 The looking-glass and the pots of paint and boxes of 
 powder upon the shelves of the dressing-room are as im- 
 portant adjuncts of the play, and even more important, 
 sometimes, than the huge boxes and trunks filled with 
 costumes that are found in the same place. They hold 
 their place amid the diamond necklaces and brilliant 
 bracelets of the prima donna, the cheaper jewels of the 
 dramatic artiste and the crowns of kino-s and helmets 
 of warriors. Their power is great, and that power 
 is fully recognized by all who are within the domain 
 of dramatic art. And the actor or actress, the prima 
 donna and the swell tenor, all generally make it their 
 business to attend to their own beautification in this 
 way themselves. Nearly all star actors carry male 
 servants who are known as dressers,. and all prominent 
 actresses have nuiids who accompany them to the 
 theatre and these help to complete the artiste's 
 toilets. Formerly there were barbers and hair- 
 dressers, as well as other specialists, attached to places 
 of amusement, and whose business it was to shave an 
 actor or dress a head of hair before the performance. 
 Many establishments retain these yet, but they are not 
 as numerous or as well-known as they were before the 
 days of travelling combinations. Apropos the theat- 
 rical hair dresser there is quite an interesting story told. 
 One of this class fell in love with a popular actress he 
 was frequently called upon to beautify. He confessed 
 his devouring passion on his knees and she laughed
 
 ft s 
 
 ■mj^ 
 
 
 •^-_ . / 
 
 iVT>, 
 
 (102) 
 
 DKESSING AN ACTRESS HAIR.
 
 IN THE DRESSING-ROOM. 103 
 
 him to scorn. More than tluit, she insisted on his 
 continuing his ministrations to her and made him the 
 butt of her heartless o-jbes while he was dcvotino; him- 
 self to enhance her cruel loveliness. The iron entered 
 his soul and he swore veno-eance. One niffht, when 
 he had to prepare her for a most important part, he 
 surpassed himself in the splendor of her crowning dec- 
 oration. Havinof finished he anointed her jrolden locks 
 with a compound of a peculiarly fascinating aromatic 
 odor, which so attracted his callous enslaver's notice 
 that she asked him what it was. 
 
 " It is a mixture of my own, Madame," he replied. 
 *' I call it the last breath of love." 
 
 The actress remarked that she would call him a fool, 
 and he bowed and withdrew. A few minutes later, 
 when she appeared behind the footlights, instead of 
 the roar of applause which she expected, she was 
 hailed with a tempestuous scream of laughter. Her 
 discarded lover had had his revenge. He had dyed 
 her golden locks with a chemical which turned pea 
 green as soon as it was dry. She dresses what hair 
 she has left herself now, while he is boss of a five-cent 
 shaving emporium, never speaks to any lady but his 
 landlady, and has a Chinaman to do his washing. 
 
 If there is a ballet or a burlesque crowd or comic 
 opera chorus in the theatre the scenes in their rooms 
 will be of a more diversified nature. • The o-irls in 
 addition to making their faces pretty, must have their 
 limbs so shapely that no fault can be found even by 
 the most cavilling of the gentlemen who crowd up 
 behind the orchestra while the house holds a host 
 of female attractions. The rage for limb exhibitions 
 rendered it necessary that some means should be 
 devised to hide the calves or poorly turned ankles of 
 the creatures whose limbs are displayed. HajDpily the
 
 104 IN' THE DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 syiiinietricals, us padded tights are called, were hit upon 
 and now you cannot find an unsightly piece of under- 
 pinning in any combination, and even the poor ballet 
 girl who does page's parts or helps to make up a crowd 
 for $6 a week, will, if she has sense and taste, go early 
 to the dealer in theatrical goods and have symmetri- 
 cals made to suit the exigencies of her case. These 
 artistic accessories of feminine fictitiousness are leji^o^infjs 
 or tights w^oven in such a manner the thickness of a 
 deficient thigh, the iiipe-stem character of a calf, are 
 filled out with silk and cotton into shapefulncss and 
 beauty that Venus de Medici herself would not be 
 ashamed to make a display of. I heard a story a])out 
 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 members were too 
 attenuated to attract anything else but ridicule. Lately 
 she 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 wide pantaloons heretofore can now burst forth 
 upon the sight of his adored in all the gorgeous loveli- 
 ness and perfection of an attractive anatomy.
 
 MAKIE KOZE. 
 
 (105;
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WITIIIX TIIK AVINGS. 
 
 The fjreen-voom, except Avherc stock companies pre- 
 vail — and there are not more than three or four in tlic 
 
 United States now — has passed out of the shadow of 
 the rigorous rules that sometime ago were posted here, 
 and that had to be observed. By this I do not mean 
 (100)
 
 WITHIN THE WINGS. 
 
 107 
 
 that rules have boon entirely done away with behind the 
 scenes ; but travelling companies arc governed by their 
 own rules, carry their own stage manager, prompter, 
 etc., and the only persons that local green-room rules 
 could apply to now-a-days would be the four or five 
 poorly paid young girls who, in their desire to go on 
 the stage and become stars, start and generally stay at 
 the bottom of the ladder, whore 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- 
 
 A GREEN-ROOM TABLEAU. 
 
 murely on chairs in the corner of the green-room until 
 the call-boy sends them word that they are needed to 
 fill up some silent gap in the entertainment. Beyond 
 these there are few to be found in the green-room dur- 
 ing a performance. Occasionally an actor will drop in 
 to pace the floor as he mumbles his lines over, or an 
 actress, who is tired from standing in the wings, or on 
 the stage, will hurry in and drop to rest on the sofa. 
 The side scenes, or " wings," as they are termed, are 
 the places in which to find almost everybody who has 
 any business around the stage of a theatre. Under
 
 108 IN THK WINGS. 
 
 the stage, in a " nuisic-room," the musicians may bo 
 found when they arc not harassing the audience with 
 some unanimously discordant air. 
 
 Gathered together in the entrances and within easy 
 call of the prompter, whose business it has recently 
 become to mind everyljod}'^ else's business, are the 
 performers, male and female mingling together, waiting 
 for their cue to go on. The absence of chairs makes 
 it necessary for all to remain on their feet, and only 
 when a friendly " property " that may be used for 
 sedentary purposes is within reach will a weary actor 
 CXI" actress take possession of it. Enough has been 
 said already about the general aspect of affairs l)chind 
 the scenes and the groupings in the green-room. Now, 
 let us turn our attention to sonic of the individuals and 
 incidents of this remarkable little world. The stage 
 prompter is, probably, as inijiortant a gentleman as we 
 could first run against. Tlie pr()in[)ter stands at his 
 desk at one side of the stage, with a book of the play 
 before him during the entire performance. It is his 
 business to furnish the players with tiicir lines when 
 memory fails 'them. lie must be quick to give the 
 performer the exact word that has thrown him oflf the 
 track, and just as soon as an actor or actress looks ap- 
 pealingly towards liiin he knows what it means — that 
 the performer is " stuck" — and he must run to their 
 aid at once. His position is almost as responsible as 
 that of the prompter in the Japanese theatre, who 
 goes from one actor to the other, during the whole 
 performance, and, with a lantern i)laced up against the 
 play-book, reads off tin; lines which the actor is ex- 
 pected to repeat. lie nmst be at the theatre during 
 the morning rehearsals ; and he also writes out i)arts ; 
 changes of scenes ; makes lists of the properties or 
 articles needed ; and altogether, his position is nothing
 
 IN TIIK WINGS. 
 
 109 
 
 like a sinecure. A rule of the theatre, that in many 
 places, has glided quietly out of existence, is to the 
 eflect that no])ody must lounge in the prompter s 
 
 GETTING THEIR " LINES 
 
 5' 
 
 corner. But they do. Many a fairy queen, with 
 shining raiment and powerful wand, loiters around to 
 catch a glimpse of the few lines she has to speak,
 
 110 
 
 IN TIIK WINGS. 
 
 while dulling little princes in the nicest of tiuhts, 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 regain the lost words. 
 
 MILTON NOBLES. 
 
 A veteran prompter, who has evidently seen a great 
 deal of the world beyond the foot-lights, in givmg his 
 reminiscences, said- " Some actors l)oast that they 
 never stick. No matter if they have totally forgotten 
 their lines, they ' say something,' as they i)hrase it, and 
 I have never seen the diirerenee noted by the andiencc 
 vet. Once, while I was making the rounds of tlic 
 Pacific coast, twenty years or so ;igo, 1 wmt to see 
 a jx-rfoi-mancc of ' Macbeth,' by the company of a
 
 IN THE WINGS. Ill 
 
 friend of mine in San Francisco. It was a touirh cora- 
 pany, a band of regulation old-time barn stormers, 
 and the fellow who played Macbeth was so far gone in 
 the dreamy vacancy of whiskey that he ' gagged ' his 
 part more than once in the first scene. Finalh^ in the 
 middle of his second, he was also dead lost. He hesi- 
 tated, but only for a moment. Then he threw his 
 arms around Lady Macbeth' s waist, and drawing her 
 to him, coolly said: 'Let us retire, dearest chuck, 
 and con this matter over in a more sequestered spot, 
 far from the busy haunts of men. Here the walls and 
 doors are spies, and our every word is echoed far and 
 near. Come, then, let's away ! False heart must 
 hide, you know, what false heart dare not show.' 
 They made their exit in a roar of applause, and I 
 thought, ' There's a man who has no use for a 
 prompter, sure enough.' 
 
 "All actors are not like him, however. Raw actors 
 are the prompter's horror. The debutante is another. 
 She will forget every line the moment she strikes the 
 stage, and be so nervous, moreover, that she will not 
 be able to repeat those the prompter reads to her. I 
 remember one young lady who thought she had a mis- 
 sion to play Juliet. She made her appearance, sup* 
 ported by a country company, and lost every line, as 
 usual. Wo prompted her through her lirst scene, some- 
 how. When the balcony scene was on, her mother stood 
 on the ladder behind her, reading her speeches word for 
 word, which she repeated after her. But the old lady 
 was a heavy weight, and the step-ladder was no longer 
 in the flower of youth ; so, in the middle of the fare- 
 well, it gave Avay. The old lady was tumbled forward 
 against the ricketty staging of the balcony, and it fell 
 against the set piece that masked it in from the audi- 
 ence. So Juliet, mother, balcony, and all toppled
 
 (112) 
 
 IMPROVINd SrAKi: MOMKNTS.
 
 IN THE WINGS. 113 
 
 down on Romeo ^ and by the time he was taken from 
 
 the wreck he was as mournful a lover as the play makes 
 him out to be." 
 
 Looking around among the players again we find a
 
 114 IN THK "NVINOS. 
 
 fairy leaning up against some object with licr 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 
 it is a tiny pair of socks for the little ])aby that is wait- 
 ing for her at home. For many of these youthful, 
 charming, and heart-breaking fairies and fair bur- 
 lesqners are married, and frequently their husljands 
 are in the same company. A story is told of a well- 
 known and popular actress who brings her hnsband 
 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 Romeo, and 
 clin^ino: to him with all the warmth and allcction of 
 the fair Juliet's young love. 
 
 The story is told of a New York fireman, who made 
 real love, 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 ke[)t 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 
 valuable services in suppressing it. liut it is very 
 seldom that his services are called into recpiisition, and 
 consequently the position at the theatre is much sought 
 after by the gallant fire laddies. As a rule, tiie mem- 
 bers of the department are a fine body of men, but those 
 detailed at the theatres are very fine-looking and con- 
 sequently very popular with the actresses at the thea- 
 tres. The natural result is that tlu; fireman soon has 
 a ♦' mash," and having unrestricted liberties perambu- 
 lates through the building without hindrance. Becom- 
 ing well acquainted with the nooks and corners he is en-
 
 MAKING LOVE IN THE SIDE-SCENES. (l^^)
 
 llfi IN THE WINGS. 
 
 ablcd to siuitch a few moments' sweet converse with the 
 object oi' his tifVections, and in a })hice where they can 
 commune with one another uninfhienced by the presence 
 of anyone. But recently the reguhir disappearance of 
 the lireman of a certain theatre at a stated time l)ecaine 
 the sul)ject of comment anioniz; 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 an 
 unfrequented nook among the ruins of ancient moun- 
 tains, pillars and broad tields — on canvas — stood the 
 object of her disappointed affections, eni])racing the 
 fair form of her rival and giving vent to the pent-up 
 feelings of his heart, while she, coy, and dove-like, 
 stood, l)lushingly receiving the compliments which 
 were being showered upon her. This was too much 
 for the slighted fair one, and the place that knew the 
 lovimx hearts for many eveninirs is now vacant and 
 ready for the occu[)ancy of another loving couple. 
 
 Another fire lad of the same department thought he 
 smelt fire one night just before the performance began, 
 lb; pried around through every nook and corner in the 
 fidfilment of his dutv, and at last was satisfied that he 
 had found the place. Ho was not snfliciently well 
 posted to know that he liad located the incipient blaze 
 in one of the ladies' dressing-rooms. So in he [)()ppcd 
 without giving any warning. The girls were dressing 
 for the ballet and already one of them was in condition 
 to tret into her svnnnetricals. Imagine the consterna- 
 tion of the girls at sight of the apparition in blue 
 clothes, ca[), and bra-s buttons. They hastily got 
 behind towels and other articles within reach and set 
 up a screech that came near creating a panic among the 
 audience. The fire boy did not wait to find the origin 
 of the smoke, and it took all the persuasive powers of
 
 IN THE WINGS. 117 
 
 the manager and company to keep the girls from swear- 
 
 m'lLE GERALDINE and little GERRY. 
 
 ing out warrants for burglary or something of that kind 
 against the luckless laddie. 
 
 There are a great many other ludicrous things that
 
 118 IN THE ^v^xGs. 
 
 have liappcnccl behind the scenes, and l)nt few of 
 which have reached the public. The legend about 
 Atkins Lawrence's lion skin, which he wears when he 
 plays Inr/o?7iar, and which was so heavily si)rinkled 
 with snuff as a preservative against moths that when 
 Parthcnia began to woo the barbarian chief and leant 
 lovingly upon his shoulder she almost sneezed her 
 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 says : — " Tt is well known 
 that Miss Anderson is addicted to the gum-chewing 
 habit, and that when she goes 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 i)art in the play who had been treated scornfully 
 by ]\Iary, as he thought, and he had been heard to say 
 he would make her sick. He did. lie took her chew 
 of gum and s[)rcad it out so it M'as as thin as p:iper, 
 then i)laced a chew of tobacco inside, neatly wrapi)ed 
 it up, and stuck it back on the old castle. Mary came 
 off, when the curtain went down, and going up to the 
 castle she bit like a i)ass. Putting the gum, which she 
 had no idea was loaded, into her mouth, she mashed it 
 between her ivories and rolled it as a sweet morsel 
 undci her tongue. It is said by those who ha[)pened 
 to be behind the scenes, that when the tobacco began 
 to j;et in its work there was the worst translbrmation 
 scene that ever appeared on the stage. The air, one 
 supc said, seemed to be fidl of fine cut tobacco and 
 spruce gum, and Mary stood there ami leaned against 
 a j)ainted rock, a })icture of homesickness. She was 
 pah; about the gills, and trembled like an aspen leaf 
 shaken bv the Aviiid. She was calm as a summer's 
 morninLT, and while concealment like a worm in
 
 IN THE WINGS. 119 
 
 an apple, gnawed at her stomach, and tore her cor- 
 set strings, she did not upbraid tlio wretch who had 
 smuggled the vile pill into her countenance. All she 
 said, as she turned her pale face to the painted ivy on 
 the rock, and grasped a painted mantel piece with her 
 left hand, as her right hand rested on her li^aving 
 stomach, was, 'I die by the hand of an assassin.' 
 Women can't be too careful where they put their 
 gum. " 
 
 Actors are not fonder of or indulge more in liquor 
 than any other class. Occasionally you will find a 
 member of the profession whose passion for the ar- 
 dent will lead him far enough to disappoint the public. 
 Joe Emmet's indiscretions in this direction gave him 
 world-wide notoriety, and for this reason only do I 
 mention them here. He is a favorite everywhere and 
 for that reason the entire public regretted his one fault 
 among so many agreeable virtues. But Joe has occa- 
 sioned many comical situations in the side scenes while 
 actors and manager were plying him with seltzer, 
 bromide of potassium and other soberatives in order 
 to get him to begin or finish a play, when there was a 
 jammed house waiting to applaud him at every turn in 
 " Fritz." But Emmet has crossed the Rubicon ao;ain 
 and once more his worldful of friends rejoice in his 
 happiness and grcf\ying fortune. He is not the only 
 one in the profession who has been addicted to the cup 
 that cheers and inebriates at the same time. I have 
 heard that a pretty and popular soubrette must have 
 her glass of brandy between the acts, and that an actor 
 already at the top of the ladder is succumbing to the 
 seductive and rosy liquid. Still liquor has not made 
 nearly the number of victims in the ranks of the 
 theatrical class that it has in other professions, and it 
 is only alluded to here to illustrate a comical incident
 
 120 
 
 IN THE NVIN*GS. 
 
 that once occurred dining the engagement of a l)ui'- 
 lesque combination in Kansas City. It was not known 
 until six o'clock at night that the comedian of the 
 comedy was in a sad state of intoxication somewhere 
 through the town. Parties were sent out at once 
 
 aOBEKINO A COMEDIAN. 
 
 to look liiin up. They did not succeed in lindinfjc him 
 until 7 : ;^() when they hurried iiini (o liie theatre. It 
 was a tcriihh! job to get him into his stage-clothes and 
 to keep his head steady and his eyes open h»ng enough
 
 IN THE WINGS. 
 
 121 
 
 to allow his friends to make him up for his part. By 
 the time this had been done the impatient audience 
 shouted and whistled and stamped so violently that at 
 last the manager Avas obliged to ring the curtain up. 
 Mr. Comedian was in the wings reluctantly accepting 
 the remedies provided by his friends, while they waited 
 for his cue to go on. He was fairly sober when he 
 
 M'CULLOUGH AS " VIRGINIUS. 
 
 reaoiied the presence of the audience and although he 
 betrayed his condition slightly, few in the house 
 knew enough about the trouble that had been taken 
 with him in order that the manager might keep his 
 word with the public. It is needless to add that Mr. 
 Comedian was very sorry, and sick when he got sober.
 
 CHAPTKll IX. 
 
 STAGE CHARMS AXl) OMENS. 
 
 The niglit the Southern Hotel hiinied down in St. 
 Louis, I was standing at the ladies' entrance when Kate 
 Chixton, whose i)resencc is now always regarded in a 
 citviis ominous of a contlajrration, canie down throuffh 
 the fire and smoke in her night dress and was hurried 
 across the ptrect and out of damper l)v a e:entleman who 
 lent her his overcoat while she made her way to 
 another hotel. There were seventeen lives lost that 
 terrible night, and a young and beautifid actress — 
 Frankie ^[cLellan — in a frantic effort to escape the 
 flames, jumped from a three story window and had her 
 face marked for life by the fall. Just as soon as i)eo- 
 plc got over the horror of the first news of the catas- 
 trophe, gossip turned to theorizing and from that 
 diversant stories Avere told concerning the prominent 
 people who figured in the calamity. Then it became 
 known tiiat Milton Nobles had lost a brand new pair of 
 lavender trousers, in the pockets of which were several 
 hundred dollars that " 1'iie Phcenix " had brought 
 him that same evening. Then too, the narrow escape 
 of Kose Osborne, of the Olympic stcx-k company, was 
 recited ; but prominent above all. Miss Kate Claxton's 
 presence in the hotel was dwelt upon, and, as she had 
 already fairly earned the unanimous rei)utation that has 
 since folh)wed her, her name became part of the his- 
 tory of the conflagration, as it lias been associated with 
 cvcrv eonflairration that occurred in her vicinaj'c since. 
 
 (122)
 
 STAGK CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 123 
 
 /5he is rather uiigallantly and untruly styled the " Fire 
 Fiend," and all sorts of predictions are made about 
 the theatre she plays in, the hotel she has her rooms at, 
 and the very town and county in which she is tempo- 
 
 KATE CLAXTON. 
 
 rarily domiciled. But Kate Claxton, who by the way 
 is Mrs. Stevenson, is not the first person in her pro- 
 fession to have acquired such an unenviable reputation. 
 Thomas S. Haml^lin, an actor and manager of the early 
 half of the present century, who came from England in
 
 124 STAGE CHARMS AXD OMENS. 
 
 1825 to still' ill " Sliiikospcarc," was followed I)}- tire even 
 more relentlessly than Miss Claxton has been. No less 
 than four theatres burned under his nianaijement, and 
 it Avas generally said "when he luidcrtook to open or 
 run a place of amusement that from that moment it 
 was fated to the tlamos. Ilaniljlin liirures conspicu- 
 ously in the history of the Bowery. II*; died in 1854. 
 
 The sailor who braves tlie 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 jjoor ,Iaek, 
 and even bewilders his superior otlicers. The artist 
 who undertakes to sail bef"ore tiie public and to amuse 
 it for a living is quite as mudi at sea as your genuine 
 Jack Tar. He or she finds himself or herself on a 
 veritable ocean, beset by dangers, surrounded liy un- 
 known and fickle conditions of atmosphere and i)hc- 
 nomena. All the loiric of the drv land is of no avail 
 in such a situation. Tlie relations of cause and elfect 
 are broken up. Magic is the only excuse ior the an-i- 
 val of the unexpected. The seemingly impossil)le in 
 results is always the most possible. Once embarked 
 in the dramatic sea, no one can tell where the voyage 
 mav end, or what it mav bring forth. A shipwreck 
 on auriferous rocks ma}' prove a success. 
 
 Triumpli may come from ruin ; hai)pincss from dan- 
 jrer, and the lonufcst vovaire and the richest freii;ht are 
 often given the most leaky and shallow craft. There 
 is no knowiniT which ])oat will float the longest on the 
 dramatic sea — the best equipi)ed or the most shaky 
 and flimsy. So it is no womler that actors are all 
 superstitious. They have no compass even to guide 
 them when l)eset by the varying winds of public opin- 
 ion. The impossible is always sure to meet 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. 
 Tlie pul)lic is constantly under the influence of the 
 voudoo arts of actors, and incantations and mystic 
 signs rule the world of Thespis and enslave the j^ublic 
 without its knowledge. Some of these fancies and 
 formula of intelligent actors are, indeed, more simple 
 and childlike than those that characterize poor Jack of 
 the briny deep. 
 
 Imaijine, for instance, an actor like John Mc- 
 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 
 charm of success. Imagine, too, a lot of other trifling 
 things that beset him — signs, omens and the like. 
 If he stumbles when he first enters a scene it is a siirii 
 of good luck. If he receives faint applause in the first 
 scene he is sure to succeed, amid thunderous plaudits, 
 in the last ; if Forrest's sword, used in the Gladiator, 
 becomes dim by damp air 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 per- 
 formance, that is a never-failing omen of a prosperous 
 engagement, while to encounter a cross-eyed woman 
 (not a man, for strabismus in that sort of creature 
 does not afi"ect John, probably because it is only the 
 woman lie looks at), is a sure sign if not of failure, 
 at least of annoyance to himself and coldness on the 
 part of his audience. The Macbeth music is, of 
 course, his great bugbear, as it is with all actors.
 
 (126) 
 
 TliK LATE YEN IE CLANUIE,
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 127 
 
 No success could attend any of his performances if 
 any one were to hum or whistle the witclies' chorus in 
 the wings or the dressing-rooms. Any poor, inexpe- 
 rienced devil who might try it would find John, and, 
 in fact, all the company, wrestling with him, and him- 
 self lying in the gutter at the back door before he had 
 warbled through two bars of the fatal music. This is, 
 in the opinion of every actor, a sure invocation of dis- 
 aster. Under the malio;n influence of this melodic 
 devilishness either the theatre will be burned down 
 (for, if we are to believe the actors and stage tradi- 
 tion, every theatre that was ever burned in this coun- 
 try was put under the spell of fire by some singer or 
 whistler of the witches' chorus), or salaries will not be 
 paid, or the manager will bring his season to an early 
 and disastrous end. Something ill is sure to happen 
 if the Macbeth music is heard, and John shares that 
 belief in common with even the humblest Roman of 
 them all who parades his scraggy shanks nightly in 
 ridiculous contrast with the heroic le2:s of the trage- 
 dian. 
 
 John T. Raymond, while believing faithfully in all 
 the regular signs and omens of the stage, has his own 
 special claims to " hog 'em," using the stage vernacu- 
 lar. He has only one suit of clothes for Colonel 
 Sellers, and would not have any other under any cir- 
 cjLimstances. It would change his luck from good to 
 bad. 
 
 "Remark," he says, "there never was a success 
 continued where a play was entirely re-costumed. 
 The public interest began to flag always in some mys- 
 terious way from the time the new dresses came on. 
 It is the old story of old wine in new bottles. The 
 wine will burst the bottles. There's oroino; to be no 
 burst with my wine. I stick to my old clothes as long 
 as Ihev will stick to me."
 
 128 
 
 STAGE CIIAHMS AND OMENS. 
 
 Ho has also a lucky $') gold piece, which he always 
 carries in hi^ vo^t pnrlcpf on tho stno-o, wliatever part 
 
 1^.-.- 
 
 (jATHh:iaNh: lkwis. 
 
 he is playing, and when ho i.s iiorvous and fearful of 
 lack of appreciation ho has only to rub hi.-j magic coin
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 129 
 
 to make everything lovely. In getting out of bed he 
 will not slip out with the left foot first, lest he may 
 have bad luck 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 toss up of a cent. 
 
 Joe Jefferson is also impressed with the magical 
 potency of old clothes. He has never changed his 
 first " Kip Van Winkle " suit, but he has been forced 
 to have it patched and renovated. His hat, wig, beard 
 and " trick " rifle — the one that falls to pieces after 
 his long sleep — are the same that he used when he made 
 his great success in the part in London fifteen years 
 ago. He mislaid this gun last season, just before he 
 played at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and was forced to 
 get another. That eno;ao;ement was his first failure, 
 and a bad one. He has found the old rifle, and, the 
 charm being now complete again, he has opened the 
 season with a very successful week in Brooklyn. Joe 
 would break an engagement in any theatre if a dog 
 were to walk across the stage at the first rehearsal. 
 That is a sure sign of death, loss, or fire, as every 
 actor knows. A cat parading the coulisses or walking 
 with dainty tread across the scene, however (even at 
 an evening performance), would be hailed by him and 
 colleagues with delight as an unfailing sign of pros- 
 perity, health and renown. 
 
 Sothern felt that he was sure to fail with his audi- 
 ence if his valet, by an accident, handed him his wig 
 before his coat was on, while, if he put it on his head 
 at the last moment, and not before the voices of the 
 call-boy was heard summoning all on for his first scene, 
 he had •' got 'em dead to rights." 
 
 Florence, like Raymond, carries a lucky $5 gold 
 piece, and believes the charm of his popularity reposes
 
 130 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 in the fact that he always puts on his costumes in a 
 ncvcr-vaiying order, and never changes his old brushes 
 and articles of " make-up." He, too, is afraid of tlie 
 necromantic powers of the evil-omened dog, and be- 
 lieves in the magic spells of fairy grimalkin. If the 
 orchestra plays a waltz between the first and second 
 acts of his piece, success is more likely than ever to seal 
 his eflbrts 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 })lay in the company 
 where there is a cross-eyed girl. The cross-eyed man 
 doesn't count. If the 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 contretemps 
 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 known to fiil in her experience. 
 
 Booth will never u-o on the staijfc, no matter how 
 late or hurried he may be, without first pacing 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 ou, sure of his triumph. 
 If he should fail in his fornnila, the audience would be 
 cold and unappreciative. It has been his custom to 
 have Desdemona'.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 bo set in the 
 centre door, behind curtains, exactly in front of the 
 audience. Booth believes in signs, however, and
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 131 
 
 should he consent to have De^detnona slunil>er in iiny 
 other pkicc than U. E. L. ho woukl h)sc his charm in 
 the character of lago. 
 
 Frank Chanfrau believes in the. efficacy of old 
 
 
 CHANFKAU. 
 
 clothes. He has only one suit in ITif, and his success 
 is unvarying in that piece. He hates dogs on the 
 stage, believes in cats, knows birds are bad luck, is 
 convinced that a house decorated in a prevailing hue
 
 132 STAGE ClIAUMS AND OMENS. 
 
 of decided blue is sure of ill-fortune, jind shudders at 
 the mere mention of the Macbeth iimsic. He has 
 steered clear of all these evil influences durinir his 
 stage career, and has been uniformly successful. 
 
 Oliver Doud Byron has a special claim in addition 
 to the regular superstitions of his class. lie has a 
 certain tattoo mark of India ink on his riirht forearm. 
 When he rolls up his sleeves for his " terrible com- 
 bat" in 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 scene 
 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 " Avalk over " before his critics. 
 Once or twice he has inadvertently stepped Out with 
 his left, and on these occasions he has failed, or the 
 })iece has fallen Hat. Such an accident happened him 
 on the first niirht of "Lost Children." Manaij^er Pal- 
 mer, of the Union Square, who has also become a vic- 
 tim of stage superstitions, is fearful of Thorne stei)ping 
 out with his terril)lc left foot on a first night, just out 
 of retaliation for some slight or disaij^reement. Thorne, 
 possessing tills magic power for good or e\il, not at 
 his fingers' ends, but at the ends of his toes, is a ter- 
 ror to the establishment, and on first nights is treated 
 with distinguished consideration by the entire com- 
 pany. No one gets in his way when he is about to 
 make his stage entrance on ;i first night, lest ho may 
 1)0 thrown out of step and advance with sinister elToct 
 upon the scene. Thome's right foot once put forward, 
 every one breathes freer and plays with greater vim. 
 The critical point of every new play, therefore, lies,
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 133 
 
 though the critics may not think it, in the mahgn or 
 favorable magic of Thornc's feet, according as he puts 
 them forward. 
 
 Adehiide Neilson was as superstitious as all actresses 
 are. Her evenly-balanced beauty and brains did not 
 free her from the slavery of omens. 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 
 she could not succeed in the scene in any part of the 
 world. She brought the silken r;ig across the water 
 with her again and again. The drapery was somewhat 
 faded and tattered from long service in the two worlds, 
 but she still clung fondly to it, and said it was pos- 
 sessed of all its olden magic. 
 
 Lotta 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. Tf any one 
 whistles in a dressinsf-room within her hearino; Avhile 
 she is donning her costume, she is sure the person is 
 " whistling away her luck," and the house is going to 
 be bad. 
 
 Fanny Davenport would not, for any consideration, 
 miss rearranging her wig before the green-room mirror 
 just previous to going on the stage. She has a regular, 
 unvarying formula to go through to guarantee success. 
 She first presses her hands to the sides of her head to 
 be sure the springs are firmly fixed (although she has 
 just had her dresser make that sure in her dressing- 
 room), then gives the " bang" three smart tugs, puffs 
 up the frizzes with a nervous twitch of her fingers, 
 presses the entire wig down from the top of her head,
 
 134 
 
 STACK CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 ffives her silken trail a final kick to indiicc it to unfold 
 itself, and then rushes pell mcU to the staije in answer 
 to the alarming cry of " stage waiting." Without this 
 formality she would not be herself the whole evening. 
 
 [•■•-■'■\ 
 
 
 i/ 
 
 >,, 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 
 .■'■^^^^*r_ j^^ ^ 
 
 FANNY DAVKM'OUT. 
 
 Clara Morris believes in the efficacy of a small medi- 
 cine vial, which she carries (empty) through every 
 scene, she says, through habit, though it is fair to 
 presume, through superstition. Without the vial she 
 
 could not jjret alonif.
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 135 
 
 Neilson also had a vial — a special one — which she 
 insisted should only he used for Romeo^s poison po- 
 tion. She would handle no other, and has been known 
 to have the bill changed because the vial was mislaid, 
 and would not allow " Komeo and Juliet "to be put 
 up for performance until it was found. 
 
 Frank Mayo thinks his magic lies in an old fur cap 
 and a hare's foot, 
 for rou2;ing, which 
 he had ever since 
 he has been on the 
 stage. 
 
 Boucicault trem- 
 bles and is sure of 
 failure for any one 
 of his pieces which 
 is greeted with mf - 
 commendation by 
 all the actors with- 
 out a dissentins: 
 voice. If the play-:| 
 ers condemn hisi 
 piece at the rehear- 
 sals, he is sure the'j 
 audience will like': 
 it. But in any event^ 
 no play of his can 
 be a success unless 
 he tears off the cov- 
 er to the first act, and makes away with the title page 
 at the last rehearsal. 
 
 Maude Granger has a certain magic smelling-bottle 
 which she puts to her nostrils just before going on the 
 stage. 
 
 Maggie Mitchell attributes her success in " Fan- 
 
 DION BOUCICAULT.
 
 13() 
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 chon " to Jill old pair of shoes which she wears in that 
 
 piece. 
 
 Eliza Wcathcrsby hates birtls, doesn't like whistlers, 
 
 and has for her special charm an embroidered rose, 
 
 which alwa^-s ai)pears on her dress or lights, according 
 
 to the style of part she may l)c playing. 
 
 Paola-^Iarie, the 
 little Parisienno of 
 Gran's opera 
 boufle, has a pet 
 pug (log which she 
 always fondles at 
 the side-scenes for 
 luck, before going 
 on the stage. This, 
 too, to the intense 
 horror of the rest 
 of the company, 
 who think dogs in 
 theatres bad luck. 
 Sara Jewctt im- 
 agines that she com- 
 mands success and 
 enslaves her au- 
 diences by walking 
 through her posi- 
 
 jms. BOUCICAULT. 
 
 tions on the stage 
 in her first scene 
 every night before the curtain is rung up for the play. 
 The managers, too, .share this weakness of their 
 actors. None of them would change; their ticket- 
 boxes for fear of a change of luck. AVhen they move 
 they take their ticket-boxes with them. Wallack has 
 the same boxes that were used at tlie doors of his 
 father's theatre years ago, and Daly has those which
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 137 
 
 received the pasteboards during his first season of suc- 
 cess. When Tony Pastor removed from the Bowery 
 to Broadway he took his boxes over there, and has 
 them with him now in his tour over the country. 
 With all our modern innovations and realism, we have 
 not made any inroads on the folk-lore of the drama. 
 The theatre is still fjxiry-land, and its creatures, though 
 not fairies themselves, commune with them closel3^ 
 
 Actors like many other people have a perfect horror 
 of the number thirteen. The only man in the profes- 
 sion who openly defies the superstition attaching to 
 this number is John R. Rosrers, the mana<z:er of the 
 " My Sweetheart " Company, of which Minnie Palmer 
 and Robert E. Graham are the star features. Rogers, it 
 is said, not only got together a company of thirteen peo- 
 ple, in which the thirteen letters of Mr. Graham's name 
 stood out in uninviting prominence ; but he began his 
 season on Friday, the 13th of the month, and in other 
 ways wooed a dire and speedy fate for himself and his 
 people ; but good luck appears to have attended him, 
 and he is still defiant as ever of the terror-laden and 
 ominous number. In contradistinction to Mr. Roo;er's 
 success, the failure of another combination may be 
 given. Frank L. Gardner, who has thirteen letters in 
 his name, brought out the play " Legion of Honor," 
 whose title is composed of exactly thirteen letters, and 
 had Samuel W. Piercy, — who died last winter in 
 Boston, while supporting Edwin Booth in his tour, — 
 for leading man, and by doing so freighted down his 
 enterprise with another ill-starred feature, for Mr. 
 Piercy' s name contained thirteen letters. The play 
 failed, and the superstitious people of the profession 
 immediately attributed the failure to the presence of 
 too many baker's dozens in the organization. A cer- 
 tain well-known prima donna whose engagement was
 
 138 STA(iE CIIAUM.S AND OMKNS. 
 
 to begin on the 13th of the niontli Avent to the im- 
 pressario and begged to have the date changed ; she 
 said she knew she wonld have no luck if she bcijan to 
 sing on the date provided for lier ; besides that her 
 friends had persuaded her that fortune would only 
 frown upon her if she made her first appearance on the 
 13th. The 12th was Friday, another day fraught 
 with frightful evil to the sinsjiufj and actiniii: fraternity, 
 so rather than make an unlucky beginning, the prima 
 donna opened on the 11th, and sang two nights for 
 nothiuir, althouijh two niixhts' warl)ling under her con- 
 tract meant an amount of money that would make a 
 poor man's head swim. 
 
 The New York Dramaiic News \\\ a late number 
 contained a funny story al)out Harry Courtaino and 
 John E. Ince, both gentlemen "well and favorably 
 known in the profession. Mr. Ince had solemnly pro- 
 fessed his non-belief in good or bad luck, after which 
 he was invited by Mr. Courtaine to walk with him. 
 The News tells the story in this happy style : To a 
 query as to where he was going, Mr. Courtaine replied 
 that he was to make an cmiaii-ement for the cominji: 
 season with a gentleman now awaiting him at the 
 Union Square Hotel, " and I want a witness," he said, 
 " but I wouldn't have one of those superstitious fel- 
 lows with me for all the world. They, make me 
 ashamed of myself with their besotted — " 
 
 Mr. Courtaino stoi)ped suddenly and turned deadly 
 pale. " TT( TO, here!" he cried, "cross fingers, 
 quick!" and seizing Mr. luce's hand, he crossed the 
 forefinger of liis own over it while a tramp with one 
 arm slouched by them. " 1 saw him over my left 
 shoulder, too," nmrmurod Mr. Courtaine. *' Dear 
 me 1 dear me I how exceedingly annoying 1 '* 
 
 «' What's the matter? " asked Mr. Ince, whom tiie
 
 STAGE CIIAKMS AND OMENS. 
 
 139 
 
 performance of his companion had thrown into a pro- 
 found amazement. "Don't you feel well? What 
 is it?" 
 
 ''Nothing," replied Mr. Courtaine, in some confu- 
 sion. "A slight twinge of my old gout. Those fel- 
 
 ss^sN^;':vy;«vvi«.yi'.>-.y^^s;^ms" 
 
 
 rimxSa^ I 
 
 MAUD GRANGER. 
 
 lows on the square are enough to give a man the colic, 
 with their eternal talk about Jonahs, unlucky houses, 
 hoodoo managers and the like. I don't know any- 
 thing I detest more than superstition," said Mr. Cour-
 
 140 STAGE CIIAUMS AND OMENS. 
 
 taine, witli indignant fervor. " I think it is a lower 
 and more debased vice than hal)itu:il drunkenness. 
 If there was a law passed to make it a capital oflence, 
 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 j\Ir. 
 Courtaine by the sleeve and rolled two eyes, which 
 squinted across at each other almost at right-angles, 
 towards the sky, as she Avhined : — 
 
 " 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 his pocket to respond to this 
 artful appeal, and as he did so, glanced at the old 
 woman. Tlien he l)egan a performance Avhic^h plunged 
 his companion in a stupor of wonder. Crossing his 
 forefingers, he deliberately spat upon the ])avcmcnt 
 over them, and then turning in a circle, repeated the 
 expectoration at each of the four points of the com- 
 pass. This accomi)lished, he mopped the perspiration 
 from his pallid brow, and shuddered visibly. " It's 
 Friday, too," he muttered. "D — n it all ' I might 
 have known it." 
 
 " Known what? " asked Mr. Ince. 
 
 "Let's go down to Thciss's and get a beer," said 
 Mr. Courtaine abruptly and irrelevantly. 
 
 *' You'd better see your man first," suggested the 
 prudent Mr. Ince. 
 
 "Oh, no. lie can wait; besides I think it's too 
 late to catch him in now. I'll hunt him up to-mor- 
 row. Come along." 
 
 The libation performed, Mr. Ince suggested that 
 they should drop in at the matinee at Pastor's. Mr. 
 Courtaine favored a stroll. Mr. Ince suggested that
 
 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 141 
 
 his programme would turn out the most pleasing one, 
 and Mr. Courtaine said: "Hold on; Ave can easily 
 see;" and producing a half-dollar he flipped it, ask- 
 ing, " What is it? " 
 
 " Heads," answered Mr. Ince. 
 
 " It's tail," remarked Mr. Courtaine. " So the 
 stroll will turn out best. Let's be moving." 
 
 They inoved along, and as they passed a fruit stand 
 Mr. Ince remarked: "Hello! there are some straw- 
 berries . ' ' 
 
 " Ze first-a of ze season a-Signore," said the Neapoli- 
 tan nobleman, who presided over the destinies of the 
 stand, with a bow of invitation, " ze very first-a, only 
 feefty cent-a ze 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 eat new fruit or vegetables make 
 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 " corpo di diavola! 
 zese actor 'ave-a ze sheek-a of a policeman. Oh ! 
 Madonna mial Eef zem boys 'ad not steal-a my 
 club!" 
 
 The stroll was varied by no further incidents except 
 that Mr. Courtaine walked a block around to avoid 
 passing a drunken man, and nearly lost his life snatch- 
 ing a cast horseshoe up from in front of a street-car. 
 As they turned homeward Mr. Courtaine's eyes singled 
 out a lady approaching with an armful of bundles, and 
 he commenced a species of maniac gavotte, waving his
 
 142 STAGE CHARMS AND OMENS. 
 
 hands at her and shoutinjx: '< Go into tho street. 
 Iloy ! Iley ! look out for the ladder !" 
 
 And when in spite of his adjurations, Mrs. Cour- 
 taine — for the lady was none other — walked under a 
 ladder leaninijaixainst tho side of a risiuij: buildinu:. He 
 sank upon a row of beer keirs and fastened a cuniula- 
 tive grip on Mr. Ince's arm, cxelaiming — " Did you 
 witness it wasn't my fault? I warned her in time, 
 didn't 1?" 
 
 " Do you remember my wife %valking under a ladder 
 yesterday?" observed Mr. ('ourtaine to Mr. Inco on 
 the morrow. 
 
 "Yes, wdiat of it?" 
 
 " Well, when we got home we found thecal had 
 killed the canary bird — • killed and ate it all but the 
 tail feathers," said Mr. Courtaine triumphantly. 
 " Now what do you think of that? Here come around 
 to Theiss's or we'll have those fellows around us with 
 their infernal low-minded superstitions again."
 
 PORTIA AND SHYLOCK. 
 
 POBTIA : — Nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation of a hair, 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Scene 1.
 
 CHATTEK X. 
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 Some very queer things happen behind tlie scenes, 
 and even on the staixc in full view of the audience — 
 occurrences that often mar the i)leasure of the play 
 for the people in the auditorium, and raise the wrath 
 of the performer. Anything out of the usual run 
 of business that occurs behind the scenes throws the 
 players off the track frequently. There is a great deal 
 of work jToing on at all times, out of si<i:ht or knowl- 
 edge of the audience, and a slight disturbance may be 
 an interruption fraught with dire disaster. There are 
 actors and actresses in the Avings, often, completing the 
 memorization of their parts — " winging" parts, 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 ; ami to these i)eople, of course, an inter- 
 ruption is a matter of the merest moment. Actors 
 and actresses have always been credited with good 
 memories, l)ut even the best memory may sometimes 
 be thrown off the track, and, indeed, sometimes is, 
 by an untoward or startling incident. 
 
 Speaking of memory, reminds me that an actor 
 once memorized an entire newspai)er, when they were 
 smaller than now, in a single Jiiirht. The actor was a 
 man named Lyon, Avho was playing small parts through 
 the country. An English actor connnittcd the contents 
 of the London Tifiir^, advertisements and all, within 
 a week, besides studying a new part for every night. 
 
 (144)
 
 NOT DOWN IN TIIK 15ILL. 
 
 145 
 
 The feat was accomplished on a wager. An actor in 
 London, sat through a play, and although he had 
 
 Itc-rn i — 
 i|rl'i:l|i|'i|lli I 'i ' I 
 Wl 'I ,'| ' |i 
 !Wi ' ;ni,i''' 
 ii'ii'lii'iiii Mill, 
 J 'II, I .ii nil, I 
 
 [|ii;iWI'iiii''i1''iii|i' 
 i,iii'iih I i'" 
 
 rf I" 'if 
 
 ,,,i,"ii'|i' 
 i'iriii.|ii' ' 
 
 iii''i||i|''i 
 
 iirww iVi 
 
 ii'!i,iii|i'iii 
 
 ii'iiiiii 1 ,1 
 III ,iiii 
 
 I '\4 < I 
 
 'ilVi 11 I'l , ii ill 
 i|,i,|'i,i|H|,ii i|Vii if 
 
 'ii'i'i,' 'I' I I /I'l- 
 I'll I , I ' 
 
 ii''; i'\'iiiii 
 1 1 1 III 
 
 J I ■iilli 'ii' I 
 I.I £ 
 
 LIZZIE M CALL. 
 
 never seen it before, could repeat every line and word 
 
 ]0
 
 141) KOT DOWN IX TlIK I'.ILL. 
 
 of it when he got lioino. lie sat down and wrote it 
 out, and the copy thus written was used for the per- 
 formance of the phiy in New York. Many readers 
 will recollect the New York couple prosecuted by the 
 xMadison 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. There 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 ijoing on the sta<re without having studied 
 the lines at all, the actor carrying the book in his 
 pocket, and -pulling it out evefy time he gets out 
 of sight of the audience, studying the part in the 
 *' winds'' until he receives his cue to go on ai^ain. 
 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 arc 
 several instances of actors and actresses, prominent and 
 minor, receiving their death strokes on the stage while 
 playing. Mistress Wofiington, known as "lovely 
 Peggy," while playing at Covent Garden, London, May 
 3, 1757, fell to the stage a1 the end of the fourth act of 
 "As You Like it," in which slu; was \)]iiy\ug JRosaJind, 
 and after muttering "() Clod! () fJod ! " was car- 
 ricd home to die after a lingering conlinement of three 
 years to her ])ed. George Frederick Cooke received 
 liis death ^Iroke in New York, while i)laying )Sir 
 (rihs Ovcrrear/i, and IMinund Kcan di('<l in England
 
 NOT DOAVN IN THE BILL. 147 
 
 under similar circumstances. The elder Kean and his 
 son Charles were playing together, the former having 
 the role of Othello^ the latter that of lago. The date was 
 March 25, 1833. 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's occupation's gone." 
 Then he gasped for breath and fell upon his son's 
 shoulder, moaning, " I am dying — speak to them for 
 me ! " And 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 Eichmomd. And she came. 
 An hour before he died he sprang out of bed, exclaim- 
 ing, "A horse, a horse, ray kingdom for a 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. Instances of the same appalling 
 kind might be multiplied, but it is not the purpose of 
 the writer to cover the stasfe with gloom, or to cause 
 death to masquerade any more than is absolutely nec- 
 essary 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 a traged}^, to 
 turn from the lachrymose attitude 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 a chest, but which turned out to be the 
 coffin used in the play that evening, and when it was
 
 (148) 
 
 •' PIN UP MY SKIRTS.
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 149 
 
 carried out on the stage young Smith was so terrified 
 that he pushed up the lid and bounded out, to the sur- 
 prise of botli actors and audience. N. M. Ludlow, 
 who was Smith's partner in the theatrical business, re- 
 hites a somewhat similar incident about himself. 
 
 The awkward position of a " masher " who gets into 
 the " wings " by some hook or crook is often extremely 
 laughable. I saw a serio-comic vocalist — as the 
 songstresses of the variety stage are named — astonish 
 a well-dressed and admiring gentleman who was loung- 
 ing around at his leisure, — having in some mysterious 
 manner passed the stage door-keeper, — by handing 
 him a pin and remarking, " Pin up my skirts." The 
 man's eye-glass was knocked .out of place by the im- 
 pertinence of the demand, but he took the jDin and 
 obeyed the lady's command, and this, too, notwith- 
 standing a second female in tights, was near by, who 
 could have done the job a thousand times better. It 
 was the sweet singer's little joke, though. 
 
 Charlotte Cushman and her sister were playing in 
 Trenton, New Jersey, one night. The bill announced 
 was " Romeo and Juliet," with Miss Cushman in her 
 afterwards famous impersonation of the male character 
 and her sister as Juliet. The ball-room of the town 
 which was used as a theatre, when occasion required, 
 was sadly lacking in scenery and properties. The sis- 
 ters went to work, however, and succeeded in ffettin<r 
 together everything they needed for the performance, 
 except the balcony in the garden scene. After looking 
 around they found an old bed-quilt, patched, and 
 abounding in numerous colors ; it was arranged that a 
 colored bell-boy from an adjacent hotel should, while 
 stationed in the side-scenes, out of view, hold up one 
 end of the quilt while the fair Juliet supported the 
 other. The boy was on hand in the evening, and
 
 150 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 everything went swimmingly mitil towards the end of 
 
 A-^.NJl^ iiXl.i.i A.^ ■' .>i 1-ISS. 
 
 . »> 
 
 the scene, and in :i mo.st tender part, the darkey stuck 
 his head out from the side and said; **I say, Miss
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE lilLL. 
 
 151 
 
 Gushing, I hear my bell ringiii' an' Ize obliged to let 
 my side ob de house drap ! " He dropped the quill; 
 and not only the balcony, but "the house" — the 
 
 THE CALL-BOY S EEVENGE. 
 
 audience — came down, and that brought the scene to 
 an abrupt and ridiculous end.
 
 152 KoT i)OM'\ IN' Tin-: rill. 
 
 Another occasion that was a source of nifinitc amuse- 
 ment to an audience that had been fully worked up to 
 tragic interest in the play of " Hamlet," occurred at 
 Baltimore, Maryland, a short time ago. The actor 
 cast for King Claudius had given some offence to the 
 call-boy — treated him badly in the presence of the 
 company — so the boy made up his mind to have am- 
 ple revenge, lie got a needle, fitted a long piece of 
 thread in it, and then placed it in the cushion chair 
 that answered for the King's throne, in such a way 
 that when the time arrived, by a simple jerk of the 
 string he might move the needle skyward. He waited 
 until Claudius was supposed to be most interested in 
 the scene before the players, when jerk went the thread, 
 and King (Claudius, with an alacrity unbecoming roy- 
 alty, bounded out of his chair as quickly as if he had 
 suddenly eat down upon the sharp end of a lightning 
 rod. He dropped his sceptre and shouting " Ouch ! " 
 and nursing the injured part of his anatomy, jumped 
 and danced around as if he had just caught sight of 
 IlamleCs father's ghost. There was an interruption 
 to the scene that the audience filled in with boisterous 
 laughter. After the act the King, instead of sending 
 one of his officers or guards for the call-boy, as be- 
 fitted his exalted station, went scouring around the 
 scenery himself, muttering the wildest threats and ap- 
 plying names to that i)()or boy that he could hardly 
 have won for himself if he lived to be a thousand years 
 old. It is hardly necessary to say that the call-boy did 
 not wait around until the end of that act. 
 
 Mrs. Farrel, who was an actress of abjlily in her 
 time, after being hissed in the part of Zaira, the 
 lieroine of •* The Mourning Bride," and particularly in 
 the dying scene, rose from the stage, and, approaching 
 the foot-lights, expressed licr regret at not having mer-
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 153 
 
 ited the applause of the audience, and explained that 
 she had only accepted the part to oblige a friend, and 
 hoped she would be excused for not playing it better. 
 After this little speech she once more assumed a re- 
 cumbent position, and was covered by the attendants 
 with a black veil. 
 
 On one occasion a danseuse was listening to the pro- 
 testations of an 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 moment 
 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 dress 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- 
 jecting from the wing in search of its artificial cover- 
 ing. Stories, too, are told of imprudent admirers, 
 who, having excited the jealousy of the stage carpen- 
 ter, did not take the precaution to avoid traps, and as a 
 consequence found themselves shot up into the " flies," 
 or hastily dropped down to the dismal depths below 
 the stage. 
 
 It is a very common trick to let people through a 
 trap-door. I was present several times in the theatre 
 when victims were carried down to the black and un- 
 inviting space below the stage. At a benefit given to 
 a popular treasurer in St. Louis, a well-known young 
 man who was in the liquor business was prevailed upon 
 to appear in the programme and was put down for a 
 lecture on temperance. The house was crowded that 
 
 night, and P H was there in all the glory 
 
 and wealth of his wardrobe, fully prepared to entertain 
 the audience for half an hour or so. One of the boys 
 had had the pleasure — so he termed it — of hearing 
 H read his lecture through, and he gave the
 
 154 
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 others the cue for the fun. The lecturer's table was 
 placed just at the edge of a trap, and a trick candle, 
 one such as is used in pantomime, and that keeps ou 
 
 TnOS. W. KEENE. 
 
 growing taller and taller as the clown in vain tries to 
 get within reach of the flame, stood at one side of the 
 piece of furniture. II — 
 
 went on the stajxo bowinff
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 155 
 
 his neatest and smiling his sweetest. He was, of 
 course, received with " thunders of apphiuse," and 
 storms of the same kind interrupted him at frequent 
 intervals. At last the place was reached where the 
 fun was to commence. " Ban"-!" went a gun iu the 
 air, the thunder rolled, there was red fire, and the 
 
 floor parted. Down went H slowly, and up went 
 
 the candle. He was so terror-stricken that he could 
 do nothing, and was left to grope his way through the 
 darkness to the stairs. The language he used when 
 he once more found himself amons; his friends was 
 stronger and less elegant than were the jjhrases of his 
 lecture. He appears at no more benefits. 
 
 A young society man now of Cincinnati was treated 
 in the same way, a trap having been left open upon 
 which he stepped in the middle of a play in which he 
 took the leading part with a company of amateurs, 
 when down he went, to the dismay of his friends, the 
 delight of the young fellows who had "put up the 
 job," and to his own horror. In Leadville, Col., a 
 serio-comic singer who had incurred the displeasure of 
 one of the stage hands, was retiring into the side 
 scenes bowing gracefully and kissing her hand to the 
 audience, when suddenly down went one of her pink- 
 clad limbs through an open trap, and her moment of 
 triumph was turned into one of ridicule, and in addi- 
 tion to her mortification the leg was broken. Such 
 tricks are always dangerous and more frequently are 
 followed by mourning than fun. 
 
 Powell, the English actor, sought in vain one night 
 for a " super" who was wont to dress him, but who 
 on this occasion had undertaken to play the part of 
 Lothario's corpse in "The Fair Penitent." Powell, 
 who took the principal character, shouted in an angry 
 tone for Warren, who could not help raising his head
 
 156 
 
 KOT DOWN IV THE RILL. 
 
 from out the colHii in which ho was lying, and an- 
 swering, " Here, sir." " Come, then," continued 
 Powell, not knowing where the voice came from, " or 
 I'll break every bone in your body!" Warren, know- 
 
 
 i;mma rin iismy. 
 ing that his master was quite capable of carrying 
 the threat, sprang in his fi-ight out of the coflin 
 ran in his winding-sheet across the stage. 
 
 The dying heroes and heroines of the j)rescnt 
 
 out 
 and 
 
 day
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 157 
 
 wait to regain animation nntil the curtain has fallen, 
 when they reappear in their own private characters at 
 the foot-lij^hts. A distino-nishecl tenor, Sij^nor Gius:- 
 liiii, being much applauded one night for his singing in 
 the " Miserere " scene of " II Trovatore," qnitted the 
 dungeons in which Manrico is supposed to be confined, 
 came forward to the public, bowed, and then, not to 
 cheat the executioner, went quietly back to prison 
 again. A much more modern story of the confusion 
 of facts with appearances is told, and with trnth, of a 
 distinguished military amateur, who had undertaken, 
 for one occasion only, to play the part of Don Gio- 
 vanni. In the scene in which the profligate hero is 
 seized and carried down to the infernal regions, the 
 principal character conld neither persuade nor compel 
 the demons, who were represented by private soldiers, 
 to lay hands on one whom, whatever part he might 
 temporarily assume, they knew avcU to be a colonel in 
 the army. The demons kept at a respectful distance, 
 and, when ordered in a loud whisper to lay hands on 
 their dramatic victim, contented themselves with fall- 
 ing into an attitude of attention. 
 
 Jules Janin, in the collection of his feuilletons pub- 
 lished under the title of " Histoire de la Litteraturo 
 Dramatique," tells how in the ultra-tragic tragedy of 
 " Tragadalbas," an actor, in the midst of a solemn 
 tirade, let a set of false teeth fall from his mouth. 
 This was nothinsr more or less than an accident which 
 might happen to any one. Lord Brougham is said to 
 have suffered the same misfortune while speaking in 
 the House of Lords. But the g-reat tragedian showed 
 great presence of mind, and also a certain indifference 
 to the serious nature of the work in which he was en- 
 gaged, when he coolly stooped down, picked up the
 
 158 
 
 NOT DOWN l>f TFIK Rir,L. 
 
 teeth, rei)l:KvM] tluMii l)ct\vcen hi.s jaws, ami continued 
 his spcocli. 
 
 
 .,«f 
 
 7/:.^ 
 
 ^h 
 
 ■NvxMj^f 
 
 t 
 
 >/ «= 
 
 T.. -'^' 
 
 
 %miir 
 
 •m' 
 
 n^ 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
 y*iiir^^=^ 
 
 j.iLi-iAN i:l.s.-i:ll. 
 
 At some French provincial theatre, where a piece 
 was being played in which the principal character was
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 159 
 
 that of a blind man, the actor to whom this part had 
 been assigned was unwell, and it seemed necessary to 
 call upon another member of the company to read the 
 part. Thus the strange spectacle was witnessed of a 
 
 JOE JEFFERSON. 
 
 man supposed to be totally blind, who read every word 
 he uttered from a paper he carried in his hand. 
 
 At an English performance of "William Tell," the 
 traditional arrow, instead of going straight from TelVs 
 bow to the heart — perforated beforehand — of the
 
 160 
 
 NOT DOWN 1\ THE BILL. 
 
 apple placed on the head of TeJVs son, stopped half 
 way on the wire over which it should have travelled 
 to its destination. Everythinir, however, succeeded m 
 
 KOLANU ICKED. 
 
 Kossini's "William Tell," except the apple incident, 
 as everything failed in "Dennis's Appius, except that 
 thunder which Dennis recognized and claimed as his 
 own when he heard it a few nights afterward iu " Mac-
 
 LIZZIE WEBSTER
 
 NOT DOWN IN THE BILL. 
 
 161 
 
 beth." Yet it has never been very diiEcult to repre- 
 sent thunder on the 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-thunder, and mistaking 
 it for the real thinof, makes the sisn of the cross. 
 
 11
 
 C HATTER XI. 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 A person can gain :in idea of the extent of stage 
 decorations and the possibility of scenic ilhisions in the 
 old English theatre hy reading a description of the 
 theatre as it existed in its poverty of costume and 
 bareness of paint in the Elizal)ethan era. Rousseau 
 has left a description of the Paris Opera House as he 
 saw it and it will i)e found interesting to all who are 
 acquainted with the methods and tiie absolute magni- 
 tude of the theatre of the present day. It must be 
 remembered, however, when considering the smallness 
 of the staire 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 sat in rows 
 by the side of the singers while the plebeian music 
 lovers stood up in the pit. It was 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. Bollamy one evening 
 as she passed across the stage at Dublin was kissed 
 upon the neck by a Mr. St. Legcr, whose ears the 
 actress l)oxed there and then ; Lord Chesterfield rose 
 in his box on this occasion and applauded ; the entire 
 audience followed his example and at the end of the 
 performance St. Leger was obliged by the viceroy to 
 make a iiublic apology to the actress. 
 
 " Imagine," writes Rousseau about the Paris Opera, 
 •* an inclosurc fifteen feet broad, and long in propor- 
 
 (ir,2)
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 163 
 
 tion ; this inclosure is the theatre. On its two sides 
 arc 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 at a 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 
 seen hung out to dry in any washerwoman's yard. 
 The sun, for it is seen here sometimes, is a lighted 
 torch in a lantern. The cars of the gods and god- 
 desses are composed of four rafters, secured and hung 
 on 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 coarse cloth, 
 well dirtied, which acts the part of clouds for the 
 magnificent car. One may see toward the bottom of 
 the machine two or three foul candles, badly snuffed, 
 which, while the greater personage dementedly presents 
 himself swinging in his see-saw, fumigate him with 
 incense worthy of his dignity. The agitated sea is 
 composed of long angular lanterns of cloth and blue 
 pastel^oard, 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 agree- 
 able instrument heard at our opera. The flashes of 
 lightning are made of jjinches of resin thrown on a 
 flame, and the thunder is a cracker at the end of a 
 fuse. The theatre is, moreover, furnished with little 
 square traps, 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
 
 164 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 stuircd brown cloth are substituted for them, or some- 
 times real chimiie^'-swecps, who swing about sus- 
 pended on ropes, till they are majestically lost in the 
 rags of which I have spoken." 
 
 This sad condition of theatrical illusions cannot bo 
 
 J. K. EMMETT. 
 
 rccfarded otherwise than strange when it is recorded 
 that decorations were of a higher order in the reign 
 of Louis XIV. Saint-Evremond is authority for the 
 statement tiial the sun and moon wo''f> so well repre-
 
 THfi ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 165 
 
 sented at the French opera during this period that the 
 ambassador of Guinea, who assisted at one of the 
 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- 
 teries of our stage would have made his great heart 
 leap within him. Modern art and modern mechanism 
 have brought stage representations so close to nature 
 that the scenes seem to be small sections, either of 
 country or city, mountain or vale, lifted from the face 
 of the world and placed in all their beauty at the 
 stajje-end of the theatre. Mana^-ers do not fear to "o 
 to any length in mounting plays properly, and there 
 is nothing in the outer world that defies reproduction 
 in the mimic sphere. Steam is freely used ; fire 
 rages fiercely through folds of inflammable canvas ; 
 the li2;htnino:s flash ; Hendrick Hudson and his men 
 roll nine-pins in the Catskills, and the low rumble 
 of the thunder, as the balls rattle down from eras: to 
 crag, is distinctly heard by the audience ; poor, de- 
 mented old Lear cries to the winds to crack and blow 
 their cheeks, and they do so to his full satisfaction ; 
 there is genuine rain in the shipwreck scene of " The 
 Hearts of Oak ; " a plentiful fall of the beautiful snow 
 for " The Two Orphans ; " a perfect reproduction of a 
 mountain rivulet for " The Danites ; " steamboat and 
 railroad explosions of a realistic character in every- 
 thins; : an almost horizonless sea for the srreat raft 
 scene in " The World ; " and gorgeous coloring, rich 
 furniture, choice bric-a-brac, rare paintings and the 
 Lord only knows what, for the thousand and one 
 melodramatic and society plays that are now flooding 
 the stage. Then there are gems apparantly rich 
 enough to have come from the treasuries of Khedive 
 or Sultan, and lobes so redolent of royalty in color
 
 ir,6 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 and nuiteiiul tluit the Iciimlo portion ot" the iiutlicnce 
 is almost driven to distraction in adiniriiis: and gov- 
 cting them. Little docs the average lady patron of 
 the theatre imagine that the finery she covets is often 
 the product of the artiste's own needle, and that the 
 
 JOHN T. RAYMOND. 
 
 gaiety and glory of an actress's career — with hundreds 
 of admirers pouring diamonds into her lap, and hun- 
 dreds of others feasting upon her charms, while many 
 hang with reverence upon the words that fall from her
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 1G7 
 
 lips — is but the merest 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 fairest and purest 
 woman in private life, and that her only sacrifice is 
 made to the art which she loves and to which she has 
 consecrated herself. 
 
 There are but fcAV who have not an exao:2i:erated idea 
 of the 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 first water ; but it is 
 equally true that many others are jDoor, and that the 
 gems they wear come from the cheap stock of articles 
 ke-pt in the theatrical property-room. An amusing 
 story is told by Olive Logan, who was an actress, 
 about the false value placed upon stage jewels. 
 
 *' While I was fulfilling a round of theatrical engasfe- 
 ments in the South, during the war," says Miss 
 Logan, " I w^as compelled by 'military necessity,' to 
 pack up my jewels and send them to Cincinnati. Of 
 course there were a number of stao-e trinkets in the 
 bag 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. 
 
 " ' I'll give you ten thousand dollars for it without 
 opening,' said one gentleman ; ' I want those eaivrings 
 for my wnfe ? ' 
 
 " 'No,' I answered, 'no; those things were given 
 me in France, and I shouldn't like to part with 
 them.'
 
 108 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF T'lK STAGE. 
 
 " 'Are the ear-rings in here? ' " 
 " * Yes,' I imswerod. 
 " 'And the bracelet?' " 
 ♦' 'Yes.' " 
 
 KATIIERINE UQCJEKS. 
 
 " ' Fifteen thousand — will you? ' " 
 
 " ' No, no,' I answered, and the matter ended. I 
 couldn't liclj) lauifiiinu;, for truly J niiirlit have made a 
 sharp bargain if I had wished. Somebody would have
 
 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 elfects awaiting me in good order. One day 
 in the Burnet House I was accosted by a pleasant- 
 lookinsTijentleman, who informed me that he had taken 
 charge 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.' 
 
 " ' I'm very much obliged to you,' I said. 
 
 " 'Indeed, you have cause to be,' he said, good- 
 naturedly. ' I give you my word it's the last time I'll 
 have on my mind the charge of fifty thousand dollars' 
 worth of diamonds.' " 
 
 After an English lady of rank returned from the 
 continent, she found her trunl^ robbed of its jewels. 
 Detectives traced the jewels to a London pawnshop, 
 where they had been sold for $5. The thieves were 
 arrested, and when one of them was asked why he had 
 been so foolish as to sell nearly one hundred thousand 
 dollars' worth of diamonds for $5, he answered : 
 *' Why, yer honor, we never thought for a minute as 
 how they Avere real jewels ; we just thought the lady 
 was some play-actor woman, and that the whole lot 
 wasn't worth but a few shillino-s." 
 
 The trinkets are no more deceptive than are many 
 other means employed to astonish and gladden the 
 public. The production of thunder, the simulation of 
 rain-fall, the fictitious roaring of winds, and the mul- 
 tiplication of suns, moons and stars are among the 
 numerous illusions that give to the theatre that mar- 
 vellous charm under whose spell thousands are nightly 
 placed and held. In the olden times these effects were 
 produced in a simple and b}^ no means mystifying 
 manner, but late years have made them so perfect in
 
 170 
 
 TIIK ILLUSIONS OF TlIK STACSK. 
 
 their appHc.it ion that none but the initiated can even 
 begin to think out the sohition of the wondrous effects 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 !■)'■■ 
 
 ..-h^.:vlri!| 
 
 JOSEPIIINK D OKMK. 
 
 in 
 as 
 
 Avliicli the Kt:ii:c now aboimtls. A new offoct, such 
 the enormous stretch of sea and s^ky to be fouud in
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 171 
 
 " The World," is something that dramatic authors and 
 stage mechanics are always seeking after and are ghid 
 to find. The revolving tower in " The Shau<2:hran " 
 was a puzzle to everybody. Now there are hundreds 
 of effects of this kind with foldinc; and vanishing; scenes 
 that are even more wonderful than Boucicault's. tower. 
 Viewed from the wings the simplicity of the means 
 employed to produce these effects makes them abso- 
 lutely laughable. They shall be explained in this 
 chapter. 
 
 Thunder-storms are common efforts at realism, and 
 they are sometimes simulated in a way that makes 
 them appear to fall very little short of nature. The 
 earliest style of stage thunder was effected by vigor- 
 ously shaking a piece of sheet iron which made a rat- 
 tling and ear-disturbing noise. Even now when a 
 show is " on the road" and a hall without the usual 
 first-class accessories must be used, the audience, and 
 the actor too, must be satisfied with sheet-iron thun- 
 der. The modern invention is known as the thunder- 
 drum, and it stands over the prompter's desk where 
 it can be easily reached by a long stick with a thick, 
 soft padding at the end — similar to the sticks used in 
 beating bass-drums. The thunder-drum consists of a 
 calf-skin tightly drawn over the top of a box frame. 
 With this instrument the low rumbling of distant thun- 
 der or the long roll of the elemental disturbance may 
 be attained, and, following the sharp rattling of the 
 shaken sheet of iron and the flash of ii^nited mao;ne- 
 sium an effect is produced that completely awes the 
 simple citizen who knows nothing of the mechanism of 
 the stage. 
 
 The prompter, too, who by the way is a most re- 
 sponsible person among the individuals who populate 
 the mimic world, has control of the rain machine.
 
 172 THE ILLUSIONS OI* THE STAGE. 
 
 This is :i wooden cylinder, about two feet in diameter, 
 and four or five feet long. It is filled with dried peas 
 which rattle ai^ainst wooden teeth in its inside surface, 
 as the machine, which is in the " flies," is operated by 
 a belt running down to the prompter's desk. This 
 reminds me that I have used the expression "flies" 
 several times without explaining what is meant. The 
 "flics" IS a term used to desiijnate the scenerv 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 prom[)ter has the rain 
 machine in the "flies" fully under control and can 
 turn out any kind of a rain-storm the play may 
 require ; if a swirl of the aqueous downpour is needed, — 
 such a manifestation of wrathy lachrymoseness as you 
 find in a storm that at intervals beats mercilesslv 
 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 nmscle 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 nijjping and an eager air" or one 
 of those howling blasts that make night desolate and 
 day disastrous. The wind machine may bo moved to 
 any part of the stage. Sometimes it is behind the 
 door of a hut through 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 is rush- 
 ing. It is an awful funny thing to the man at the wind 
 machine to think of the cold chill he sends down the 
 back of the sensitive play-goer as the wind whistles 
 across the scene in which poor blind Louise, in the 
 "Two Orphans," figures, or that scene in "Ours"
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 173 
 
 where Lord Shendryn is at the mercy of the pitiless 
 storm. The wind that makes the warm blood frigid 
 
 FERDINAND AND MIRANDA. 
 
 Miranda: — If you'll sit down, 
 
 I'll bear your log's the while. 
 
 I'empest, Act, III., Scene 1. 
 
 under such circumstances is very easily constructed. 
 A cylinder from which extend paddles is set in a suit-
 
 174 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 able frame and above its top is stretched a ])ieco of 
 grosgraiii silk. 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 dui)licated 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 ap[)liances ho obtains a rain eflcct 
 by rolling bird-shot over brown paper that has been 
 pasted around a hoop, and tiic wind is raised by swing- 
 ing around a heavv piece of <ras-hose. This kind of 
 thinj? is called " fakiniz;" the wind or rain. 
 
 When real water is used on the staiijo to simulate 
 rain, as in the lirst act of the " Hearts of Oak," or 
 " Oaken 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 da}^ where it re- 
 mains in a tank connected with a long pierce of per- 
 forated pipe, back of the proscenium border, and 
 stretching across the stage. At night when the proper 
 time arrives the water is allowed to run into the pipe, 
 from wliicli it of course falls in numerous small streams 
 upon a rubber tarpaulin that lias been stretched below 
 to receive it. So too in mountain rivulets with " real 
 water, " as in " The Danites," a Uiwk in the loft must 
 be filled daily with water to supply the nightly scene. 
 In all instances of this sort the elfect is (piite realistic, 
 and never fails to meet with a liearty appreciation by 
 the audience. 
 
 The snow-storm is also usually a i)leasing stage pic- 
 ture, and is brought about in a most simi)lo manner. 
 White paper is cut into very small pieces, which are 
 carefully treasured by the jiroperty-man, whose duty 
 it is to sec to everything of this Uind in and around
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE, 
 
 175 
 
 the sta2:c, and who reo-ards the manufacture of a snow- 
 storm as a very slow and tedious piece of work. When 
 the snow is ready it is placed in what is called the 
 snow-box, a long narrow affair with slats on the bottom 
 
 
 
 LESTER \VALLACK. 
 
 leaving room enough for the pieces of paper to sift 
 through, when the box is given a swaying motion. 
 The contrivance is swung over the stage by means of 
 two ropes, and is operated by a third leading to one 
 side of the stage. When the chilled heroine comes
 
 176 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 upon the scene amid a terrible fall of snow and draws 
 her thin garmcnts'tightly over her shoulder, while she 
 shivers, the snow-box up above is swinging to and fro, 
 and the white flakes are only bits of pai)cr frauds that 
 the property-man or an assistant will carefully sweep 
 up after the scene or act, to do duty again the follow- 
 injr niijht and for manv a nifrht to come. 
 
 The snow-storm and the other illusions described 
 above are only a fraction of the things the property 
 man has to look after and keep in order. He has 
 charge of everything upon the stage and is responsible 
 for everything except the scener}'. When a play is 
 running that requires handsome appointments, it is his 
 business to provide. "Within the ])ast decade or so of 
 years it has become the custom to borrow expensive 
 furniture from generous local dealers who are often 
 satisfied with the simple and easy remuneration of a 
 line or two acknowledging the loan, in the programme ; 
 or a certain price is paid for the use of the furniture 
 during the run of the play; or the set is purchased 
 outriirht from the dealer and repurchased bv him at a 
 reduction when tlic theatre is done with it. Nearly 
 all theatres, however, are supplied with suital)ly hand- 
 some furniture for an oixlinary society play, and it is only 
 when ixorireousnessis aimed at that manaircrsare obliired 
 to borrow. Pistols, knives, helmets, lances, battle- 
 axes, canes, cigars, money, i)()cket-books, the vial from 
 which Juliet takes the fatal draught, the marble or 
 majolica j^edestals, the rich vases, sunflowers such as 
 are used in the lesthetic play of " The Colonel," the 
 paste-board ham, the tin cups, or cut glasses that the 
 characters drink from, fire-place, mantel, and looking- 
 glass — these, and many other articles the property- 
 raan furnishers the players, either placing the station- 
 ary fixtures on the stage, or sending the call-boy to
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 177 
 
 the performers with the articles they require. The 
 check-book that the rich banker draws from his pocket 
 when he hands $100,000, more or less, over to some- 
 body else in the play, the quill or pen he writes the 
 
 # 
 
 CLARA MORRIS. 
 
 check with, and the bottle out of which he dips the 
 imaginary ink, all come from the property-room, and 
 go back to it again after the act is over. A list of the 
 articles required for a play is furnished the property-
 
 178 
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF TIIK STAGE. 
 
 man when a play is to he put on, and those articles ho 
 must have when the prompter calls or sends for them. 
 Somotimcs the property-man forgets, and then there 
 is trouble in the camp. It is related that having for- 
 
 HELEN DINOEON. 
 
 gotten to provide a Jidiet ^vith her vial of poison, in 
 time, the article being culled for as the actress was 
 about to go on the stage, the j)roi)erty-inan snatched 
 up the first thing that looked like !i vial that ho got his 
 vyo.<, on. Tt was ;i l)ottle from the pi'onipter's dt'«k,
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 179 
 
 and when Juliet placed the awful draught to her lips 
 and took a pull at the bottle, she discovered to her 
 horror that she had swallowed a 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. 
 
 I find in Miss Los-an's book from which I have before 
 quoted in this chapter, the following funny inventory of 
 properties furnished a new lessee of the Drury Lane 
 Theatre, London: "Spirits of wine, for flames and 
 apparitions, £12 2s. ; three and one-half bottles of 
 lightning, £ — ; one snow-storm, of finest French paper, 
 3s. ; two snow-storms of common French paper, 2s. ; 
 complete sea, with twelve long waves, slightly dam- 
 aged, £1 10s. ; eighteen clouds,' with black edges, in 
 good order, 12s., Gd. ; rainbow, slightly faded, 25. ; 
 an assortment of French clouds, flashes "of li^htnino; 
 and thunder-bolts, 15s. ; a new moon, slightly tar- 
 nished, 15s. ; imperial mantle, made for Cyrus, and 
 subsequently worn by Julius Ctesar and Henry VIII., 
 10s. ; Othello's handkerchief, 6tZ. ; six arm-chairs 
 and six flower-plots, v/hich dance country dances, £2." 
 The same author adds another quotation that gives a 
 better idea of the quantity and character of the pro- 
 perty-man's possessions, saying: — 
 
 " He has charge of all the movables and has to exer- 
 cise the greatest ingenuity in getting them up. His 
 in-ovince is to preserve the canvas water from o-ettino- 
 wet, keep the sun's disk clear and the moon from 
 getting torn; he 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 fallino- tow- 
 ers. 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 growl of ferocious wild beasts ; penny 
 whij^tles for the ' cricket on the hearth ;' powdered 
 rosin for liij^htning flashes, where gas is not used ; rose 
 pink, for the l)lood of patriots ; money, cut out of tin ; 
 fincl}'^ 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 coin ; balls of cotton wad- 
 ding for apple dumj)lings ; links of sausages, made of 
 painted flannel ; snm[)tuous boquets of papier mache ; 
 block-tin rings with painted beads puttied in for royal 
 signets ; crowns of Dnt(^h gilding lined with red ferret ; 
 broomstick handles cut u[) for truncheons for command ; 
 brooms themselves for witches to ride ; branches of 
 cedar for Birnam wood ; dredijini; l)oxes 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 spurs for 
 its heels ; armor made of leather, and shields of wood ; 
 fans for ladies to cofjuet behind ; quizzing-glasses, for 
 exquisites to ogle with; legs of mutton, hams, loaves 
 of bread and pluni-puildings, all cut from canvas, and 
 stuffed with sawdust; together with all the pride, 
 pomp, and circumstance of a dramatic display. Such 
 is the pro[)erty-nian of a theatre. Ho bears his honors 
 meekly ; lie mixes molasses and water for wine and 
 darkens it a little shade for brandy ; is always busy 
 behind the scenes, but is seldom seen, unless it is to 
 clear the stage, and then what a shower of yells and 
 hisses does he receive from the galleries I The 
 thoughtless gods cry ' Supe I Supe ! ' which if intended 
 for an abV)reviation of superior or superfine, may bo 
 opposite, but in no other view of the case. What 
 would a theatre be without a property-mau ? A world
 
 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 181 
 
 without a sun * * * Kings would be trunch- 
 eonless and crownless ; brigands without spoils ; old 
 men without canes and powder ; Harlequin without 
 his hat ; Macduti* without his leafy screen ; theatres 
 
 
 SCOTT-SIDDONS. 
 
 would close — there would be no tragedy, no comedy, 
 no farce without him. Jove in his chair was never 
 more potent than he. An actor might, and often does 
 get along without the words of his part, but not with-
 
 182 THE ILLUSIONS OF THE STAGE. 
 
 out the pro[)orties. What strange quandaries have we 
 seen the Garricks and Siddonses of our stajje cret into 
 when the i)ropertj-nian hipsed in his duty ! We liave 
 seen Ronico distracted because the bottle of poison was 
 not to be found; Virginius tear liis hair because tiio 
 butcher's knife was not ready on the shaml)les ; Baillie 
 Nicol Jarv'e n(>nplussed l)ecause there was no red-iiot 
 poker to singe the Tartan fladdic with ; Macbeth 
 frowning because the Eightli Apparition did not bear a 
 glass to show him any more ; William Tell in agony 
 because there was no small ai)ple for Gcsler to i)ick ; 
 the First Murderer in distress because there was no 
 blood for his fiice ready ; Ilecato fuming like a hell- 
 cat because her car did not mount easil}' ; Richard the 
 Third grinding his teeth because the clink of iiammers 
 closing rivets up was forgotten ; Hamlet l)rought up 
 all standing because there was no i2;obk't to drink the 
 poison from, and Othello stabbing lago with a candle- 
 stick because he had no other sword of S[)aiii, tiie 
 Ebro's tem[)c'r, to do the deed with. So, the property- 
 man is no insignificant personage — he is the main- 
 spring which sets all tlie 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 
 canvas-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 cham- 
 pagne of such quality that its sparkle makes the eyes 
 of the tipplers in the audience dance, and their mouths 
 run water. In this and many other ways the desire to 
 get as near to the real thing as 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 each carry one. Besides the magnificent 
 work of producing snow-storms from pajjer, etc., there 
 are minor details of his business that he brino-s as 
 much art to as the average actor and actress take to 
 the stage. He builds a warrior's helmet from simple 
 brown maniUa paper and makes a pair of bronze urns 
 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 goes about the work like 
 an artist. He first makes a model in clay of the arti- 
 cle — say it is an urn. This done he builds a wooden 
 box around it, and mixing plaster of paris and water 
 pours the mixture between the box and model where 
 
 (183)
 
 184 
 
 M()R15 or TlIK MVsTEniR.^i. 
 
 it is allowed to harden. After the day mould has been 
 withdrawn the plaster of paris mould is greased, and 
 five successive coats of small pieces of thick brown 
 paper that have been soaked in water are carefully laid 
 
 JOHN PAKSELLE. 
 
 on. A laver of Tuiisliu and "rluo follows, and three 
 more coats of the brown ])apcr. ^Vh(Ml the applica- 
 tion lias tlioronghly di'iccl, tlic; last three layers of 
 brown j)apcr are removed, and the nni which has been
 
 • MORE oi' tKe mysteries. 185 
 
 four days in process of completion is ready for use. 
 Goblets for royal or knightly banquets are manufac- 
 tured by the property-man in the same manner. Often 
 has a golden goblet, ewer, amphora, or salver fallen 
 to the floor from the hands of awkward Ganymedes 
 and Hebes without creating any consternation among 
 the gathered gallants, or making a sound loud enough 
 to ripple above the lightest notes of the orchestra. 
 These properties are light, but very durable, and well 
 withstand the harsh and careless treatment they fre- 
 quently receive. Often the entire " banquet set " is 
 made of paper, the skilled w^ork of the worthy prop- 
 erty-man, who holds probably the most independent 
 place in the theatre, being obliged to carry no article 
 to anybody — not even a foreign star — but leaves that 
 menial work to the stage manager, prompter, or call- 
 boy. 
 
 Moonlight is one of the most poetical and beautiful 
 
 of stage efiects. The first work in producing it is 
 done by the scenic artist, who places a moonlight pic- 
 ture on his canvas. The calcium liojht filtered throuo;h 
 a ofreen glass fills the foreo-round with its mellow influ- 
 ence. At the back of the stas^e a row of aro;and 
 burners with light green shades, gives the faint and soft 
 touches that fill in the distance. A "ground piece" 
 or strip of scenery runs along the floor at the back of 
 the stage, and just under the main scene hides the 
 ** green mediums," as the shaded burners are called, 
 from the eyes of the audience. Sometimes the row is 
 above the stage, and protected from sight by the 
 *' sky-borders." Silver ripples on the surface of 
 water, and twinkling stars in the sky are frequently 
 made features of moonlight scenery. The twinkling 
 stars are bright spangles hung by pin-hooks to the 
 scenes, and the ripples are only slits in the water can-
 
 180 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 
 
 vas, bt'liiiul which an endless towel with slits cut in its 
 surface and a stron<x jxasliuht 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 arc 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 ellccted by lifting 
 the " moon-box," as it is carried slowly up behind a 
 muslin canvas, upon which heavy paper is fastened to 
 represent clouds. Tiie "moon-box" is an ordinary 
 cubial affair with a round liole at one end, over Avhich 
 a strip of muslin is fastened, and l)ehind which is a 
 strouij illumination. Two wires from above are man- 
 ipulatcd causing the moon to move through its orbit. 
 When its j^ath lies behind one of the paper clouds the 
 fraudulent Cynthia, just like the genuine queon of the 
 heavens, fails to shine, but as soon as she emerges from 
 the dark spot and the outer ruin of the illnminated cir- 
 cular surface of the " moon-box " touches the white 
 muslin once again, she is the fair queen of night and 
 the young lovers in the audience feel as happy as if 
 they were at home swinging on the front gate, while 
 pa is at the club and ma is entertaining an amiable 
 cousin in the second jjarhu-. The flushed countenance 
 of the moon, as she is just rising frowi "^rhctis's arms, 
 as you see her every night when she is taking her first 
 dainty steps up the eastern sky, is obtained by having 
 the lower edge of the muslin painted red and grad- 
 ually 1)lending with the whites while floating clouds are 
 oidy the result of hanging or sewing on the gauze drop 
 in front of the muslin screen, pieces of muslin or canvas 
 cut into the proper shapes. The change from day to
 
 MORK OF TIIK MYSTERIES. 
 
 187 
 
 night, or vice versa, effects that surpass the other in 
 real beauty, and also in attractiveness for the public, 
 is produced by having a drop twice the usual length, 
 painted one half in a sunset and the other half in moon- 
 
 '>; 
 
 
 SOL SMITH RUSSELL. 
 
 light. If the change from day to night, which is the 
 more effective, is desired, the sunset sky occupies the 
 upper half of the drop — that is nothing but the sunset 
 sky is presented to the eyes of the audience. The dis-
 
 188 MORE OF THR MYSTERIES. 
 
 t<aiK'C sccnciy 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 gl()\^o 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 \ip Avith it, while the usual moonlight mediums 
 arc brought into requisition to increase the brightness 
 of the view. 
 
 There are two ways of producing ocean waves. 
 Sometimes a 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, each billow may bo made to show separate 
 with the alternate rows of billows rearinij their white 
 crests between the tips of the row on each side. 
 These billows are rocked backward and forward — to 
 and from the audience — while the ocean's roar comes 
 from a wooden box lined with tin and containinsr a 
 small quantity of bird shot. The desired sound is 
 produced by rolling the box around. 
 
 Anybody who has witnessed Milton Noble's ♦' Phoe- 
 nix " properly placed on the stage, or "The Streets 
 of New York," must have been, the first time, both 
 terrified, and still somewhat delighted, with the fire 
 pcenes. Of late years tiicy have been made wonder- 
 fully thrilling, and almost perfect fac-similes of the 
 Fire Fiend himself. The scene-painter gets up his 
 bouse in three pieces. The roof is swung from the 
 "flies"; the fi'ont wall is 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
 
 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 
 
 189 
 
 fall, as in " The Streets of New York," they are fas- 
 tened to the scene with "quick match," a preparation 
 of powder, alcohol, and lamp wick. Iron window and 
 door frames are covered with oakum soaked in alcohol 
 
 ROSK COGHLAN. 
 
 or other fire-quickening fluid. Steam is made to 
 represent smoke, and the steam itself is obtained by 
 dissolving lime in water. A platform from the side 
 aff'ords a footing to the firemen who are fisfhtino: the 
 flames in the very midst of the burnhig buildina;, and
 
 190 MOKE OF THE MYSTERIES. 
 
 an endless towel with painted flames keeps moving 
 across the picture after the first wall and roof have 
 been allowed to fall in, while red tire plays upon the 
 whole picture and " flash torches " are made to repre- 
 sent leaping tongues of flame. There appears to be a 
 great deal of danger from the operation of a scene of 
 this kind, but if proper care is taken the danger is as 
 worthy of consideration as that attending the presenta- 
 tion of a parlor scene. 
 
 "The World" has been pronounced a novelty in 
 scenic efl*ects. I went l)chind the scenes to see how 
 the thing worked, and had the i)k'asure of finding out 
 all about it. The play is in seven set scenes. The first 
 had nothing unusual in it except that the ship with full 
 steam on and the dock was produced very artistically. 
 The ship and the buildings were in. profile with a good 
 stretch of sky beyond, that was all. Next came the. 
 explosion scene, when the vessel was, by the sui)posed 
 use of dynamite, sent flying in splinters in mid-ocean, 
 and all save four souls went down to the briny depths. 
 The mere ship setting, with its boilers, iis hatches, its 
 galleries, spars and guys, was woi-thy of admiration. 
 While the pcrfoi'iniM-s were hading up to the i)oint 
 where the awfni and fateful moment comes, a man sat 
 quietly behind the scenes rea<ly to fire an anvil of 
 guns, each charged to the muzzle ; men stood at the 
 numerous openings in the rear, and men with chem- 
 ical red-lire occupied the side-scenes, while others with 
 powdered lycopodiiim were under the stage beneath a 
 half-dozen grated openings. At the left, in the wings, 
 stood an array of *' supers," to rush on and increase 
 the connnotion when the shock came. When the 
 heavy villain announced that there was a dynamite 
 machine on board, and the captain gave orders to his 
 men to ovcrhairt evervthing below and try to find it —
 
 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 191 
 
 then the thunder came. Bang went the young can- 
 nons in the rear. The stage shook, and the theatre 
 seemed ready to fall about our ears ; the females 
 shrieked ; the " supers " rushed on and shouted ; then 
 came the leaping flames from below and from the 
 sides, until, finally, the whole picture was one burning 
 srlow and whirl of smoke, and the curtain came down 
 in time, I suppose, to prevent a panic, for women 
 shrieked, and men got up from their seats to flee from 
 the theatre. Act three brought the grandest illusion 
 of all — the great raft scene. This picture shows a 
 raft tossing on a rolling ocean with a vast stretch of 
 sea on all sides, the sky and waters apparently meeting 
 as far away as if they were realities and not mere at- 
 tempts at nature. This scene always struck me with 
 awe until I saw it from the stage. The second act 
 at an end, the stage mana2:er has the stao:e cleared in 
 a short time ; then the carpenter and his assistants go 
 to work. A " ground piece " of sea is placed across 
 the stao;e at the first entrance. All the side scenes are 
 removed and a huoh curtain of lio;ht blue is huno- in a 
 semi-circle from one side of the stage, up around to 
 the rear and then down to the other side. A couple of 
 men now come down to the centre of the stage bearing 
 something that looks like an old barn-door with four 
 swinging legs, one at each corner. A pivot is fastened on 
 the stage ; the barn door is balanced on it and down 
 through four small openings in the stage go the four 
 arms or legs, at points corresponding with the four 
 corners of the door. I can see now that the upper 
 side of the door bears a slio:ht resemblance to a rude 
 raft, the timber being artistically painted upon its sur- 
 face. Somebody sticks a pole in the side up the stage. 
 A box is placed at one end for the villain who is among 
 the saved ; a cushion is furnished at the other end for
 
 102 
 
 MORE OF THK MYSTERIES. 
 
 the young lady who phiys Iho lad, Ned; Old Otven, 
 the miner, lies along the lower side and Sir Clement 
 Ihmdnrjford, the hero, takes his stand at the mast, 
 pale and haggard with hunger and anxiety. The sea 
 
 THE RAFT KCENE. 
 
 cloth, covering the stage except for a rectangular 
 aperture that goes around the raft and has its edges 
 fastened to the raft, is spread ; hoys crawl under tho
 
 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 193 
 
 sea and lie upon their backs ; men stand in the 
 side scenes holding the ragged edges of the already 
 white-crested sea. Everything is ready now, and amid 
 the right kind of music the curtain goes up on the 
 magnificent raft scene. Four men under the stage 
 have hold of the four pieces hanging from the corners 
 of the raft, and by pulling in exact line give it the 
 motion of the heaving sea ; the men in the side scenes 
 agitate the blue cloth and the boys beneath it toss and 
 roll the cloth with hands and feet. Old Owen dies 
 before Sir Clement sights a ship no bigger than a star 
 away off in the horizon. He ties a rag to the mast for 
 a signal ; but the ship keeps moving past, until at last, 
 to the despair of all on board the raft, it is about to 
 dip below the horizon. But it suddenly tacks ; there 
 is a tiny rocket seen curving in the air ; the ship has 
 noticed the signal of distress and down comes the cur- 
 tain upon the happy trio left alive on board their storm- 
 tossed and frail raft. Passing over two acts that are 
 only eventful the sixth comes, which represents the 
 yard of a lunatic asylum, with two great walls on 
 either side of an iron gate that is set well up the stage, 
 and through which a stretch of the Eiver Thames and 
 the overhanging sky are seen. Sir Clement, who is 
 the rightful heir to certain property, has been confined 
 here through the machinations of his brother, who is in 
 possession, and of another scoundrel. Here, though, 
 the hero makes his escape by knocking the officers right 
 and left and bounding through the gate ; in a moment 
 the walls part and a house with cornices and wide pro- 
 jections folds together like a stuffed valentine that has 
 been sat upon. One of the walls moves off the stage 
 to the left, the other to the ris^ht, each movinsr in an 
 arc of a circle, and the whole disappearing from the 
 stage, while Sir Clement is discovered paddling safely
 
 194 MORE OF THE MYSTERIES. 
 
 down tho Thames from his pursuers. The walls are 
 moved from tho stage through tho agency of men 
 stationed inside. Rollers are provided for tho scenic 
 structures, and there are two men inside of each piece, 
 tho one in advance having a lookout hole and acting as 
 guide. The only thing attractive in the last act is an 
 elevator in the Palace Hotel. This is a simple me- 
 chanical eftect, however, and needs no explanation. I 
 should have said in describing the sea that the horizon 
 rises gradually from the stage to a height of about 
 three feet at the back, and the sail that is sighted is a 
 tiny ship mounted on a frame work on rollers and 
 pulled across tho stage by a small cord. This raft 
 scene is all that has been claimed for it, and the illu- 
 sion has not its equal on the stage. The revolving 
 tower in " The Shaughraun," and the vanishing scene 
 in " Youth," are both worked in the same manner as 
 the lunatic asylum walls in ♦' The World."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE ARMY OF ATTACHiSS. 
 
 I have already written about the property-man, his 
 many duties, and the great responsibility that rests 
 upon him. I have also written about the prompter, 
 and the vast amount of work he is required to do. 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 
 circumstances 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 pecu- 
 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 hope opened before their dazzled vision. 
 These are full of reminiscences of the old-time saints 
 of the sock and buskin. If one could believe all they 
 have to say, these victims of circumstances could be 
 looked upon as individuals whose destiny it had 
 originally been to knock their shiny stove-pipe hats 
 against the stars of heaven, but, by some strange fatal- 
 ity, had their backs broken and their majestic tread 
 
 (195)
 
 lOG THE AUMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 lamed, so that now they can only shuffle into a frce- 
 hnK-li saloon and bend their necks over the counter as 
 they lovingly embrace a schooner of beer. 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 Uie 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 
 U})on as attaches, are people that all patrons of thea- 
 tres arc 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 professionals who frequent his 
 house, and is usually a jolly-featured, good-natured 
 man who knows how to entertain his friends, to retain 
 the good o[)ini()n of his manager, while filling up the 
 ticket-box with ptisses, 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 frecjucntly 
 is made to do all llic hard work, may be iiad for $12 
 or $15. A door-k('e})('r is i)aid iVoin $10 to $15 a 
 "Week. 
 
 The great American type of youthliil 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 in getting you 
 into the wrong chair and almost into a prize fight with
 
 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 197 
 
 every man who comes into the same row of seats. He 
 does this gracionsly and with such an exhibition of 
 carefulness in comparing the number on your coupon 
 with the number of the chair, that you actually feel 
 ashamed of yourself to have made a mistake after what 
 
 MINNIE HAUK. 
 
 appeared to you to be an honest, vigorous, and suc- 
 cessful effort to show you what was right. The ushers 
 in Western cities are mere boys in uniform ; in the 
 East they are 3'oung men, and at Haverly's, Wal-
 
 198 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 lack's, ami other first-class New York establishments, 
 you will find them in full evening dress with as large 
 an exhibition of shirt front as the swellcst of the 
 society noodles who are among the patrons of the 
 house. The usher gets $G or $8 a week, but 
 impresses the stranger as if he owned an interest in the 
 theatre. lie 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 M-^ere 
 a blood relation, tries to make you ])elieve he has *' a 
 solid girl " in the ballet, and will offer you any favor, 
 from an introduction to the star to a dozen matinee- 
 passes or a game 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 she 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 tlie cue is given, works his 
 hands and feet as vigorously as I have often seen 
 Henry Maplcson in ai)i)lauding Marie Roze, his wife, 
 or a travelling manager in commending the 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 
 shinofi. Often he is interesting, ])ut sometimes, es- 
 pecially among the leaders for combinations on the 
 road, he has a life history that compels now tears and 
 now again laughter. Wiicn ho is on the road he may 
 have a wife or daughter in the comi)any, and if he lias 
 neither he is bound to look lovingly upon some of the 
 fair talent whose toes twinkle, or voices ripple in song to 
 the tunc of his waving baton, and he will smile out 
 through his gold-rimmed spectacles upon his favorite
 
 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 199 
 
 even while she is courting the 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 leader. It 
 may be that he will find out that the wife he has done 
 everything for to make famous has j^ounger and hand- 
 somer lovers, 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-li2:hts 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 a 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 encounter 
 the stage manager. Every travelling company has its 
 own employee who directs and runs the stage business, 
 and notwithstanding the abolition of stock companies, 
 several 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, 
 etc. The stage manager may be an actor, or he may 
 not, but he must be a man of theatrical training, and 
 thoroughly conversant with all the requirements of the 
 stage. In travelling combinations he usually plays a 
 minor part, and, although he may not be able to act as 
 well as his brethren of the play, he must possess the 
 requisite artistic knowledge to point out and dictate
 
 200 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 what all shall do. Ho supervises rehearsals ; casts 
 plays, — that is, assigns to each performer his character ; 
 and he looks after the mounting of plays 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 scenic artist, who is often known to the people 
 only by his work, has some extraordinary duties to 
 perform. When a combination or company has a date 
 at a 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 general appear- 
 ance and size the toy theatres that are sold to childi^en. 
 The stage carpenter, who goes around day and night 
 treading the staire in his own shulllinsr and careless 
 way, and who is entirely unknown to the public, takes 
 the models and builds frames over which canvas or 
 muslin is spread. Then the canvas-covered frame is 
 taken to the scene painter's bridge Avhen it is ready for 
 the colors. In many theatres the bridge is a platform 
 extending across the stage, and distant from the rear 
 wall about a foot. It is on a level with the Hies, and 
 the opening l)etween it and the rear wall is used for 
 lowering and hoisting a scene, which is hung on a largo 
 wooden frame while tlio artist is at work upon it. 
 This frame moves u[) and down, being swung on pul- 
 leys. The most improved theatres East and West, in 
 addition to having the dressing-rooms, engines, etc., 
 in a building separate from the theatre, have the jiaint 
 bridge also separate. Great iron doors, three or four 
 stories high, close the opening to the painting estab- 
 lishment, and all scenery not in use on the stago 
 durmg the run of a play is stored in the space under 
 the bridge, Avhile the bridge itself is really a long nar-
 
 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 201 
 
 fow room with an opening at one side of a foot or less, 
 
 
 feaMu,. 
 
 
 '! II , 
 
 HELPING THE SCENE PAINTER. 
 
 through which communication is had with the store-
 
 202 TlIK AKMV or ATTACHES. 
 
 room, and which gives space for the operation of the 
 frames upon which scenes are painted. The artist's 
 palette is a h)ni;; tabU' with comi)artments at the back 
 for ditferent coh)rs, and there is besides a profusion of 
 paint cans, jars, etc., with huge brushes that might 
 serve the whitewaslicr's wide-spread pui'posc, and 
 otliers thin enough to paintahidy's eyc-hish. Water- 
 colors are used, and great splotches of it arc found 
 along the lengthy palette. The removal of the paint- 
 bridixe from the sta<2:e is a blessin<r to actors and 
 actresses alike, for often during a performance at night 
 or a i-ehearsal in the morning broadcloths and silktj re- 
 ceived dashes of paint from the brush of the man at 
 work in mid-air. Still actresses do not often keep shy 
 of the })aint-bridge. The ballet-girls are sometimes 
 to be found there amusing themselves with the artist 
 and his assistants, and they tell'the story of two New 
 York actresses who actually i)ut on aprons, took hold 
 of the big brushes, and assisted a scenic artist in 
 "priming" his canvas. They were bantering him 
 about the slow progress he was lUMking with a scene 
 that was wanted that night, when he remarkcMl : "If 
 you arc in such a hurry for the scene, why don't you 
 come up here and help me?" They accepted the in- 
 vitation at once, and went to work in the manner I 
 have suggested. The scene was ready that night, but 
 the actresses were very tired. They painted no more. 
 The "priming" of a scene which I have mentioned 
 in the i)rcceding anecdote, consists in laying a coat of 
 white mixed with sizing u[)on the canvas. When this 
 is dry the artist outlines his scene in charcoal. He 
 first gets his perspective, which he does by attaching a 
 long piece of twine to a pin lixi'd at his " vanishing 
 point." Then blackening the string and beginning at 
 the top he snai)S it so as to make a black line which is
 
 THE ARMY OP ATTACHES. 203 
 
 afterwards gone over with ink. This line is repro- 
 duced whenever the drawing requires, and the advan- 
 tage it aftbrds will be readily 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," as 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, Mars- 
 ton, Fox, and Voegtlin, in New York ; Goatcher, in 
 Cincinnati ; and Dick Halley, Tom Noxon, and Ernest 
 Albert, in St. Louis, are among the best scene painters 
 in the country. The salaries paid in this branch of 
 the profession vary from $40 to $150 a Aveek. A New 
 York artist, it is said, who works very fast, receives as 
 much as $100 to $150 for one or two scenes. When it 
 is 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 is nobody's mother in 
 particular, but talks in a motherly way to all, and ex- 
 ercises a special supervision over the female members 
 of the company. In strange contrast to her is the 
 call-boy, a mischievious devil-may-care young fellow, 
 who calls Booth " Ed," Bernhardt " Sallie," and has 
 familiar appellations for the most prominent and digni- 
 fied people in the profession. It is his business to call 
 - performers from the green-room in time for them to 
 take their " cue" for going on the stage, and this is 
 about all he has to do except to make trouble, to learn
 
 (204) THE "OLD MOM AN " OF THE COMPANY'.
 
 THE ARMY OF ATTACHES. 
 
 205 
 
 secrets that he whispers about, and to become an imp- 
 ish nuisance revelling in more fun and freedom than 
 anybody else behind the scenes. Aimee took a liking 
 to one of these little g-entlemen once and fed him 
 cigarettes, and let him tell her lies ad libitum. She 
 said she liked him because he was such " a charming 
 little beast." Alice Oates, 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 AESTHETIC DRAMA. 
 
 denly one day with a lot of her jewels. The call-boy 
 comes last in the list of attaches, but he is not at all 
 least. If you believe all he tells you, like the usher, 
 you will think him a great man, for he often boasts of 
 playing poker with John McCuUough, of taking Lotta 
 out for a drive, or of rolling ten-pins with Salvini or 
 some equally illustrious representative of the highest 
 dramatic art. A call-boy gets about $10 a week, and 
 in five cases out of ten he isn't worth ten cents.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 George Mc^Iamis, treasurer of tlio Grand Opera 
 House, St. Louis, in addition to being a good story- 
 teller, is as fond of a practical joke as he is of three 
 meals a day. Diirini!: the season of 1880—81 George 
 was at the box-otfi(;c window, one day, lookincj out at 
 the Dutch laijcr beer saloon across the street, and 
 wondering why it was that i)eople were so fond of 
 "schooners," when a tall, thin, melancholy, Hamlet- 
 like young fellow, with the air and clothes of rusticity, 
 stalked sloAvly into tlic vestibule and n[) to the box- 
 office. 
 
 " Well, sir," said George, as the young man got iu 
 front of the window and fixed his elbows on the sill. 
 
 " I want to be an actor," the young man began; 
 "I kein hero from Cahokia, a small i)laco you may 
 havp hcern about, and I'd like to go on the stage and 
 play somethiu' or other." 
 
 *» Oh," answered George, smiling, " if that's all you 
 want"! can fix you. When do you want to begin?" 
 
 " I am ready to start in right neow," was the reply. 
 " I told the old folks when I left 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 letters 
 more'n a yard long, an' Tin goin' to do it or die." 
 
 '* I sec you're made out of the right kind of stulT," 
 said George, "ami 111 give you a first-class ciiancc. 
 You'ie ambitious and you're lean — lean enough to 
 
 (200)
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 207 
 
 pliiy Falstaff — and lean 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, bnt the Cassius of ' Julius 
 Coesar.' I'll bet you feel just like him now ; you look 
 like him." 
 
 The Cahokian candidate for Thespian honors blushed. 
 
 *' Well," the practical joker went on, "you can begin 
 work this morning. The minstrels will be here in a 
 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 smiles the Cahokian Cassius 
 stalked off towards the Comique while George went 
 out and gathered in a few friends to enjoy the joke. 
 The Cahokian went to the ('omique, 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 the stage-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 Avith it. It took a great deal of 
 exertion for him to get the box to his shoulder, and 
 when he had it there he staggered along under the load 
 like 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 usins: 
 any new gags, and requested the Cahokian to carry
 
 208 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 tlicin over to the 01ym]iic. The Cahokiiin looked at 
 McMiimis, tlien took ;i woofiil and -weary look at the 
 box, and, wiping the perspiration from his high fore- 
 head and thin face, he swnng his slonch hat over his 
 brow and remarked that he was tired. 
 
 ♦' 1 say, Mister," he said, " if that's what a fellow's 
 got to do to be a actor I'd sooner plow corn er 
 run a thrashiir-masheen twenty-three honrs out'n the 
 twentv-four. 1 thonu^ht there was more fun in the 
 business than canyin' 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-lye." 
 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 arc 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 ill being an actor or an actress, and that it does 
 not require any special effort to arrive" at the point 
 where a person becomes a full-Hedged professional. In 
 this they arc just as much mistaken as was the Caho- 
 kian, 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- 
 rvin"" the box of " irairs." There is a ji^eneral wild 
 desire among the young people of this country to 
 make ])layers of themselves. They dream that the 
 stage is something like a seventh heaven where there is 
 nothing but music and singing and golden glory for- 
 ever — admirers, wealth, and an uninterrupted good 
 time generally. They do Jiot know anything al)out 
 the long and toilsome hours of work and the compar- 
 atively i)oor i)ay that form the portion of all who are 
 not at the top of the dramatic ladder. 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 life is 
 its bright gilded side, the tinsel that looks valuable, 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 is in her home plying her needle or studying 
 
 14
 
 210 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 the long leuirths tliiit belong to her part. It is because 
 people are so ignorant of the realities of dramatic life 
 that so many become stage-struck and go around strik- 
 ing tragic attitudes and rating imaginary scenery in 
 a rabid rant through Othello's address to the Sen- 
 ate, or Hamlet's scene with his mother in the hit- 
 ter's chamber. There are forty thousand young ladies 
 in this land "svho want to be Mary Andersons, and as 
 many more who think they can kick as cutely as Lotta, 
 while one hundred thousand semi-bald vounij men im- 
 airine thcv could out-Hamlet Booth if they had a 
 chance, or lift the mantle of Forrest from John Mc- 
 Cullcuirh if the latter dared enter the ring: with them. 
 A Louisville newspaper reporter gave a very humor- 
 ous description of an epidemic of this kind that pre- 
 vailed in Mary Anderson's home city some time ago. 
 " One half tlie girls of the city," said the writer, 
 ** are staore-struck ! — starlv,starin<x stao^e-struck. Hun- 
 dreds of residences have been converted into amateur 
 play-houses, where would-be female stars tear their 
 hair, rave and split the air with their arms, and stalk 
 majestically across imaginary stages to the imaginary 
 music of imaginary orchestras, and amid burst of im- 
 aginary a[)[)lause and showers of imaginary boquets. 
 In the dry goods stores young ladies rush u[) to the 
 counters with inspiration dropping from their eyes in 
 great hunks and in hollow tones command the allVi":ht- 
 ened clerk to — 
 
 "Haste thee, cringing vassal; pr-r-r-r-ro-duce and 
 br-r-r-r-r-ing into our pi--r-r-r-r-esence thy sixty-five- 
 cent hose !*' 
 
 In the ice cream saloons the maidens shove the; cool- 
 ing cream into their lovely mouths ;ind sweetly min-- 
 raur to their escorts : — 
 
 "Now, by me faith, Orlando, but is't not a nectar
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 211 
 
 fit for the gods? Speiik, me beloved; is't not a 
 dainty dish that graces our festal board? " 
 
 And practical Orlando replies : — 
 
 " I bet you." 
 
 On the street-car the maiden stalks forward toward 
 the driver and howls : — 
 
 " What, ho, there, charioteer, give mc, 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 vic- 
 tim at arms' length and roars : — 
 
 " Ha-a-a-a ! I have thee at last, vile craven. For 
 many nights thy visits to me chamber have br-r-r-ought 
 unrest. Now at la-a-st thou art in me clutches and I 
 will shower vengeance upon thy thr-rice accursed head. 
 Die, vile in-gr-rate, and may the seething fires of per- 
 dition engulf thy quivering soul forever-r-r-r ! " 
 
 Then she opens her fingers a little to get a good 
 squeeze at 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. 
 
 It is the very height of absurdity to see an amateur 
 company on a stage, and particularly on the stage of a 
 theatre. In the midst of the most solemn tragedy one 
 is compelled to laugh at them. If they have on tights 
 and trunks they try to get their hands into side pock- 
 ets, and if they carry swords the weapon gets tangled 
 in their legs, and ten to one after the blade has left its 
 scabbard, the wearer will be unable to get it back 
 again. Then the way they walk upon each other's 
 heels, and tread upon each other's corns ; jostle each 
 other in the entrances and stick in their lines is enousrh 
 to make one of the painted figures in the proscenium
 
 212 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 arch tear itself out of its mcdalion frame and die from 
 excessive lai^ditcr. More ludicrous even than their 
 performance is the frantic rush a young amateur makes 
 foi' the ph(Uograph gallery to have himself preserved 
 as a courtier, and the 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 a page in tights. She has 
 no hesitancy in displaying her a.vkward limhs in a 
 picture, although she would he ashamed to show her 
 ankle in the parlor. 
 
 Sometimes, instead of heing made the suhject of a 
 practical joke on the street, as was the Cahokian of 
 whom I told the story at the oi)ening of this chapter, 
 the joke is carried even farther — the aspirant being 
 taken to the staije to jrivc a sami)le of his work. Oc- 
 casionally the show is given to the i)eo[)le of the thea- 
 tre only, and the victim is quietly let through a tra[), 
 or guyed unmercifully, until he is glad of an op[)()r- 
 tuuity to make his escai)e. I was present on an 
 occasion when an Illinoisan wlio had just graduated 
 from coUeire was aUowed to <;o on the staijc during a 
 matinee performance, when the house was light, to 
 speak his ])iece. He chose, of course, the selection ho 
 had inflicted on the suH'ering audience that attended 
 the Illinois college graduating exercises. It was " The 
 Warrior BowcmI his Crested Head," a very dramatic 
 recitation and a difUcult one even for a good reader. 
 Thed(il)utant was about eighteen years of age, tall, and 
 manly looking. He came forward trembling, and did 
 not attempt to proceed further than about twelve feet 
 from the entrance, — making a school-boy bow he 
 began. The audience wondered at the innocence 
 and awkwardness of the entertainei' who did not 
 appear in the programme, l)ut ;ill soon understood the
 
 STAGE STRUCK. 
 
 213 
 
 MRS. LANQTRY, THE JERSEY LILY.
 
 214 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 afTiiir. The debutant had noi reached the second line 
 of the second verse, when hang caino a pistol shot 
 from the side of the stage. The speaker ducked his 
 head, trembled a little more than before, but went on. 
 Bang went another pistol shot, and again the speaker 
 acknowledged receipt of a shock by twitching his head 
 and knocking his knees together. Still he kept on re- 
 citing. Sheet-iron thunder rattled through the place, 
 horns w'cre blown, drums beaten, horse-rattles ke[)t in 
 motion and lor more than half an hour pistol shots and 
 flashes of tire kei)t coming from both sides of the stage. 
 Still he spoke on, making gestures, twitching his limbs, 
 and ducking his head until the last liiu? was reached, — 
 something about the hero's weapons t;hiniiig no more 
 among the spears of Spain, — when he bowed and re- 
 tire<l hardly able to walk. He was an exception, 
 however, to the general rule that stage-struck people 
 are easily frightened out of their wits, under such cir- 
 cumstances, and (lis[)layed such perseverance that he 
 was complimented by the audience that had scarcely 
 he:ird a word of what he had said — aloud burst of 
 applause following his exit, wiiich was continued until 
 he came forward again and by a bow acknowledged 
 their kindness. II(Mnust liavc been a bi'ave fellow, for 
 nextdav he was around at the manairi'r's office askiui; 
 for an engagement 
 
 Managers arc; sometimes very cruel in their treatment 
 of young people who arc anxious to adopt the stage. I 
 saw a newspaper item staling that at the Buckingham, 
 a variety show in I^ouisville, a drop curtain was 
 painted with the huge letters " N. (x.," standing for 
 ♦' no good," and the manager ordered that this verdict 
 be lowered in front of every ))erfornier who failed to 
 show a fair degree of merit. It happened that the first 
 to deserve this crushing verdict was a remarkably pretty
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 215 
 
 girl, and the audience sympathized with her. She had 
 given an execrable dance, and was in the midst of a 
 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- 
 lice had arrested the more gallant and noisy among 
 them. 
 
 Amateurs who have any money to mingle with their 
 desire to go on the stage find ready takers. I could 
 name several gentlemen who are now alleged 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 a theatre, and hire a company for a night or a 
 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- 
 phis, 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 
 it swept away the possessions of many others. She 
 was educated and accomplished, but was stage-struck. 
 She had appeared at several amateur concert enter- 
 tainments in Memphis, and the local papers having 
 complimented her, and her friends having remarked 
 that she was intended for an actress, she boldly, but 
 foolishly, resolved to become one. She made up her 
 mind to rival Mary Anderson, and to overshadow the 
 memory of Ristori and all the great queens of the stage 
 that have made a place for themselves in dramatic 
 history. She paid $2,000 for the use of a St. Louis 
 theatre for six nights ; she hired a very bad company
 
 216 STAGK-STRUCK. 
 
 at, to tlicni, very extravagant salaries; she bought a 
 wardrobe Lirgcr and in some respects riclier than that 
 of any established star ; then she came to St. Louis 
 with her aged father, Avhose hopes and money were 
 staked upon her; they put up at the Lindell Hotel, 
 and having left Memphis amid a flourish of trumpets, 
 they fondly expected a wikler liourish when they 
 returned. Miss Dixon appeared before the St. Louis 
 public for six nights, and was a failure. She was no 
 actress. She was ashamed to return to Memphis, and 
 at this writing is still absent from there. The father 
 went home, and, I hear, died of a broken heart. Dis- 
 appointed friends at first pitied, then laughed at this 
 accomplished lady, whose only fault seems to be that 
 she was one of the grand army of the stage-struck. 
 
 Miss Helen M. Lewis, a Charleston, South Caro- 
 lina, heiress, who was anxious to become a Sarah 
 Bernhardt or a Siddons, was taken in recently by an 
 advertisement in a New York paper. The advertise- 
 ment stated that a lady with a little capital was wanted 
 to head a first-class dramatic combination, and that 
 she might call at No. G02 Sixth Avenue, New York. 
 Miss Lewis, who was without any training, answered 
 the advertisement, and was told that $1,000 would be 
 required to obtain the position, which was leading 
 lady in the '♦ Daniel Rochat " Combination, which was 
 to begin its tour, by opening at the Boston Theatre. 
 The negotiations were carried on with Maurice A. 
 Schwab and Robert J. Rummel, who received $700 
 from Miss Lewis, and fm-nished her with an allejred in- 
 structor in the dramatic art. In order to be near the 
 theatre Miss Lewis took rooms at the Revere House, 
 Boston, where Schwa)) and Rummel also established 
 themselves, and proceeded to study her part after en- 
 gaging an alleged instructor recommended by Schwab.
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 217 
 
 After two or three weeks' standing off by the swin- 
 dlers, 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 '< PARTHENIA." 
 
 "Daniel Rochat " were progressing. She was told 
 that there were no rehearsals in progress and learned 
 that she had been swindled. Schwab and Rummel 
 fled, leaving her to pay her hotel bill, but she had them 
 arrested in New York, and both on trial were, I
 
 218 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 think, convicted and sent to tlic penitentiary, where 
 plenty more managers of their stripe should be. 
 
 ^Managers of what are known as " snap " companies 
 are just as bad us Schwab and Kummcl. They are 
 glad to find some young lady or gentleman of means 
 with lots of ready cash, and they do not hesitate to 
 make victims even of professional people. The snap 
 manager has no money of his own. He sits around a 
 theatrical printing ollice all da}', and pretends to be 
 running a circuit of several towns. lie watches his 
 opportunit}'' until a comi)any conies along which he 
 thinks he can take over to his villages. By false 
 representations he manages to run up a big bill Avith the 
 printer and to borrow money from the company, who 
 go as far on his circuit as their means will permit, 
 when the snaj) manager deserts them, leaving them to 
 walk, or bog, or borrow their way home as best they 
 can. Marie Prescott, who supi)orted Salvini dni-ing 
 his last American tour, and who is an actress of merit, 
 was caught in tiic clutches of one of these managers at 
 one time and was put in a pitiable plight. Other ac- 
 tresses of good reputation have accepted engagements 
 from strange managers only to find themselves mem- 
 bers of ily-l)y-night combinations, giving their ser- 
 vices without even the show of a ])robal)ility of ever 
 receiving any salary. 
 
 Even so exalted a gentleman and eminent an impre- 
 sario as ("ol. Manleson is allcLred to Iiave l)i-outrht a 
 young girl from France promising he would make a 
 fortune for liei-. The girl's fath(>r and mother accom- 
 panied her, and when the gallant colonel of Italian 
 troupes failed to keep his contract with the sweet 
 singer, the father became enraged and wanted to fight 
 a duel with th(^ militaiw inipicsjuio. The family went 
 back to France almost ])enniless.
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 219 
 
 The worst class of manao-ers in the world, arc those 
 who take advantage of the ambition of young girls to 
 effect their ruin. In some of the variety theatres man- 
 agers pay salaries to young ladies or introduce them 
 to the stage for none other than a base and iniquitous 
 purpose. Frightful stories of this kind have been told, 
 and the success real managers have met with in this 
 direction has caused numerous pretenders to arise, and 
 has made the theatrical profession a bait to secure in- 
 nocent o-irls for Western and Southern bawdv-houses, 
 concert dives, and low dancing-halls. I read the fo*l- 
 lowino; advertisement in the Glohe-Democrat one 
 mornino; ; — 
 
 P 
 
 ERSONAL —Wanted, three or four young ladies to join a trav- 
 elling company. Address Manager, this office. 
 
 I knew that reputable theatrical managers did not 
 advertise in this style — 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 veil 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- 
 swers, are here selected as specimens of the remainder, 
 answers to all having been received. One of the ap- 
 plications ran as follows : — 
 
 St. Lours, February 6, 1878. 
 Mr. Manager : I want to adopt the stage ; have ap- 
 peared as an amateur, and will join you if I can learn. 
 I am seventeen, a blonde, small, and my friends say I 
 look well on the stage. I sing and perform on the guitar. 
 I have a friend — a very pretty brunette — who is very 
 anxious to go with me, but she has never acted. She is 
 same age. Please let me know where I can see you,
 
 220 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 if you liavo not iilreiuly employed cnougli ; but I must 
 be particular, as my mother docs not want nie to go 
 away. Address Ettie IIolan, 
 
 City Post-Office. 
 I will call at general delivery and get it. 
 
 The other was written in this strain and in these 
 words : — 
 
 St. Louis, February (I, 1S77. 
 
 Dear Sir : I saw your advertisement iu this morn- 
 ing's Globe- Democrat ^ asking for three or four young 
 ladies to join a travelling theatrical company, and as I 
 am desirous of going on the stage, and am of good 
 form and pretty fair appearance, and have a pretty 
 good voice, I would wish to join your company. I 
 have never appeared on any regular stage, but made 
 several amateur appearances, which were pronounced 
 very successful. I have an ambition for the stage, 
 and think I would succeed. 1 am seventeen years of 
 age, and medium height, with black hair and dark 
 eyes, and am a tasty dresser. I hope 3'ou will not 
 pass over my api)lication, but Avill receive it fav()ral)ly. 
 Anxiously awaiting an early reply, I remain, respect- 
 fully yours, etc., Lizzik IIilokr. 
 
 P. S. — Address 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 would 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 brigiit and early on Thursday morning, I 
 went around to the post-office, presented my string of 
 names, and met with no little opposition from the gen- 
 tlemanly delivery clerk, at first, who naturally did not 
 like to give an annt'ul 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 thecorner of Eightli and Locust Streets," 
 at hours varying from noon to sundown on Thursday 
 afternoon. It was just what had been expected. Ettie 
 Holan, the i^etite blonde, who could play the guitar, 
 was answered as follows : — 
 
 St. Louis, Mo., February 6, 1878. 
 Miss Ettie Holan : Your letter throuo-h 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 yourself and lady friend. As you 
 are very particular about your folks, you might possibly 
 object to coming to our ofiice, so if you desire the en- 
 gagement, please pass the corner of Locust and Eighth 
 Streets with your lady friend about four (4) o'clock P. 
 M. to-morrow (Thursday), the 7th. 
 
 Yours, respectfully, Harry Russell. 
 
 And Lizzie Hilger, with nothing to recommend her 
 but a voice and fio-ure that she had recommended her- 
 self, was encouraged in her ambitious aspirations in the 
 followins^ manner : — 
 
 St. Louis, Mo., February 6, 1878. 
 Miss Lizzie Hilger : Your favor at hand. Araono- 
 numerous applicants I 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 ofiice, so
 
 222 
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 ]ile:ise pass the corner of Locust and Eiglilli Streets 
 to-morrow afternoon (Thursday) about 2:30 (half- 
 past two) o'clork. 
 
 Yours, respectfully, IIauuv Russell, 
 
 ManajTcr. 
 
 Ilcrc then was the " niauairer's " little came. Of 
 
 M.Mi;. FANNY JANAUSHKK. 
 
 course Tluiry Kussdl was not the iMinTs name at all, 
 and of course he had no olHce to which either Miss 
 Ettielloiaii or Miss Liz/ie Ililger, or any of the four
 
 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 Chicasro em>:a2:ements. 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 
 lady passed to or from her home, and every time she 
 came 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 finoers run throuijh the hair, 
 and, as a last and finishing touch, the ends of his dainty 
 moustache were fingered and carefully set away from his 
 lips with a silk handkerchief. But here came the 
 young lady. How he stared her in the face as she came 
 towards him, ogled her when near by, and cast a dis- 
 consolate and disappointed look after her as 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 was gone through with as 
 many times as there were young ladies who passed. At 
 last it was evident to the two persons who had their eyes 
 on Harry that he was beginning to weaken, and was
 
 224 STAGK-STRUCK. 
 
 about to leave the place for a time at least. Under 
 these circumstances there was only one thins; 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 llarrv Kussell. 
 
 *' Do you know of a man named Harry Russell stop- 
 ping about hero? " 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-wliat is he? " stammered out Harry. 
 
 " I believe he's manager of a theatrical company." 
 
 " Hamy " had somewhat regained his mental equi- 
 librium l)y 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 cn2i;a£^cment to meet me 
 here." 
 
 " I haven't boon here but a1)out ten minutes," and 
 away "Harry" and his friend sailed. 
 
 The detective and myself had been watching 
 the pseudo manager for over two hours Tr(»m a room 
 across the street, and, of course, knew there was no 
 truth in the measure he placed u[)on the time he was 
 Avatciiinij: and waitinj]: for victims that never came. 
 He was not a theatrical man, but some dirty scamp. 
 
 Some time ago an advertisement of the same char- 
 acter as the "Personal" quoted above, appeared in 
 the Chicago papers, and many young ladies, anxious 
 to adopt the stage as a i)rofession, applied for posi- 
 tions. They obtained admission to the quasi manager, 
 whr), when no resistance was made by the applicants, 
 shipped them to Texas and other .Southern points,
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 225 
 
 where 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 sold. 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 fascinating 
 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, and it is dreadful to contem- 
 plate the havoc which must have been wrought by this 
 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 means 
 of making Neilsons, Cushmans, Morrises or 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 obtainino; the recomition of the " manao;er." 
 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 opportunity 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 
 get it if we can. i and my trop can do a great meny 
 performence on the stage. W. H. Terrell he can do 
 the Iron Joyrl [iron jaw] performence and do a Jig 
 Dance and a Clos; and Double Son«: and Dance and 
 other tricks. Mr. Benjermer Frankler [Benjamin 
 Franklin] waltz With a pail of water on his head and 
 plays the frence harp the sanetime on the stage and 
 laying down with it on his head and roal all over the
 
 ■2-2i] 
 
 STAGE-STRUCK. 
 
 floor :iii(l .lump G feet hiagli in the :iir on IkukI and feet, 
 allso and we have the Best IVcncli liai'i) players in tho 
 ■world that ever plaid on one. and leaping throuirh a 
 hoop t)f lire same as a circus. If you can git it lor 
 
 ROSE EYTINGE. 
 
 me pleas write soon and let me know. Sam Clirismau 
 is one of my atctcrs. yours Truly, B. Franklin. 
 
 Excuse writing and paper. This is a Cold trop. 
 
 It is hardly necessary for me to say Ben De Bar did 
 not give tho *' Cold trop" an engagement. Toor old 
 Ben was dead at that time.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 
 
 When the seeker after histrionic honors has at hist 
 crossed the threshold of the stao;e, he or she will find 
 it entirely diflercnt from the glitter and glory with 
 which the iniaijination had clothed thinijs 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 p. m. In the old days of 
 stock companies, performers had more laborious work to 
 perform than men who carry railroad iron out of, or into, 
 steamboats. Often there were new plays every night, 
 which meant now parts to be memorized, and rehearsals 
 every day. Leaving the theatre at eleven p. m., 
 about the usual hour of closing a performance at that 
 time, the actor took his part with him, and instead of 
 going to his bed, was obliged to sit up and study his 
 lines — no matter how many lengths there were. 
 Torn and worn out with his niofht's work on the stage, 
 and the mental toil that followed, it was often al- 
 ready mornin2: when the actor souj^ht his couch. He 
 was then obliged to be up in a few hours and at the 
 theatre at ten. If he absented himself there was a fine 
 that Avould materially reduce his already low salary. 
 Where was the room for enjoyment for the actor or 
 actress in those daj^s? There was little opportunity 
 given to anjdjody at all employed upon the stage to be 
 of dissolute habits or to indulge in any of the excesses 
 that pulpit-pounders and their intolerant and intoler- 
 
 (227)
 
 228 THE REHEARSAL. 
 
 al)le followers generally charged against the profes- 
 sion. These super-moral individuals could not make 
 a distinction between the stage of the days of Mrs. 
 Bracogirdle and Mistress "VVoffington, of Mrs. Jordan 
 and Mrs. Kobinson, when tilth and licentiousness pre- 
 vailed because the public found no fault with it, and 
 the. same things were prevalent in ranks of the very 
 best 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- 
 fession 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 rciiearsal might be found going on in any theatre 
 in the country between the hours of ten a. m. and 
 two r. M. Now it is a rare thing to tind 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 oi)ening or first performance is on the 
 same night. As travelling goes now, a company 
 reaches a town either the nii^ht before, or the mornin<x 
 of the day for their initial entertainment. No matter 
 what the time of arrival — unless it be, as often hap- 
 pens, that the (■om[)any gels oil' 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 m'ueral arranp^c- 
 ment of the liouse. The staije manager is there and 
 the orchestra is in its place. If it is comic opera there 
 is a rehearsal of the music, and if it is one of the 
 musico-farcical or burlesque pieces that were epidemic
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 229 
 
 during the past two seasons, the play will be rehearsed 
 that the musicians may come in with their flare up at 
 the proper time. 
 
 A rehearsal is calculated to take all the starch out of 
 the ambition of a neophyte, and to drench his hopes in 
 a sorrowful manner. The stao;e bereft of its flood of' 
 light, of its gorgeous color and wealth of splendor, is 
 the darkest, dreariest, and most commonijlace reo;ion 
 in the world. The buzz of saw and the clatter of 
 hammer are heard in all directions, while men in aprons, 
 overalls, and greasy caps are making the saw-and-ham- 
 mer noises, and others even less romantic are drao-o-inor 
 about scenery or boxes ; gas men are at work on the 
 foot-lights, and there is noise and confusion enough to 
 set a whole villagefuU of sybarites crazy. Down in 
 front a group of ladies 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 
 her form. The other actors are also in eveiy-day dress, 
 some showing that their owners patronize first-class 
 tailors and others that they have been handed down 
 from the shelves of cheap ready-made clothing houses. 
 The stage manager is pushing everybody around, and 
 the actors and actresses are talkins: at one another in 
 lines. Some have books of the play, for they are re- 
 hearsing, and all rattle over their lines as if running a 
 race with a locomotive that is drawins^ Vanderbilt's 
 special car over the road at its topmost speed. It is 
 impossible to understand what they are saying, and
 
 230 
 
 THE KEITEARSAL. 
 
 the oii-lookcr would he williunj to wairor a $10 "old 
 piece :i2::iinst a silver dime with a hole in it th:it the 
 pcrforniers do not hear or understand each otlu-r. 
 But a Calitbruia journalist has Avritten a very truthful 
 
 a(;n'Es i$ootii. 
 
 and fuiniv ac^eouut of a rehearsal ho attendcid in San 
 Frtiucisco. Olive Logan has it iu her l)()ok, l)nl it is 
 so <jood I will make use of it ajjaiu. Here it is : — 
 Yon may get as perfect an idea of a i)lay by seeing it
 
 THE IJEIIEARSAL. 231 
 
 rehearsed as 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 th.e non-appearance of certain members 
 of the troupe. At what theatre? Oh, never mind 
 what theatre. We will take liberties and mix them 
 thus : — 
 
 Stage Manager (calling to some one at the front en- 
 trance) : " Send those people in." 
 
 The people are finally hunted up one by one and go 
 rushing down the passage and on to 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-buz — never — 
 um-um " (great sawing of boards somewhere). 
 
 Echearsal reading, mind you, consists in the occa- 
 sional distinct utterance of a word, sandwiched in be- 
 tween large quantities of a strange, monotonous sound, 
 something 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, 
 S'tand there, and then when I approach you, Mr. 
 B — r — y, step a little to the left ; then the soldiers 
 pitch into the villagers and the villagers into the sol- 
 diers, and I shoot you and escape into the mountains." 
 
 Stage Manager (who thinks ditFerently) : "Allow 
 me to suggest, Mr. B s, that" — (here the ham- 
 mering and sawing burst out all over the stage and 
 drown everything). 
 
 This matter is finally settled. The decision of the
 
 232 TTIR rvEIlEARSAL. 
 
 oldest member of the troupe having been appealed to, 
 
 is adopted. Then Mr. I\Ic h is missinix. The 
 
 manager bawls "Me h!" Everybody bawls, 
 
 ^^^Ic- h!" "Gimlet! Gimlet!"' This is the 
 
 playful rehearsal appellation ^oy Hamlet. Gimlet is at 
 length captured and goes rushing like a locomotive 
 down the passage. 
 
 Stage Manager : *' Now, ladies and gentlemen. All 
 on!" 
 
 They tumble up the stage steps and gather in groups. 
 H — 1 — u fences with everybody. Miss H — w — n exe- 
 cutes an imperfect j9f/s seul. 
 
 Leading Ladv : " I-a-a-a-a love-um-um-um — and-a- 
 a-a another — " 
 
 Miss II — 1 — y. Miss M — d — c, or any other woman : 
 •' This engagc-a-a-a 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-a-um-um devour 
 thee." 
 
 Mrs. S— n— s : " IIow ! What ! ! " 
 
 Mrs. J li : "Arc those peasantry up there?" 
 
 Boy conies up to the stage and addresses the mana- 
 ger through his nose : " Mr. G., 1 can't find him any- 
 where." 
 
 II y J n : " For as much as I " — (terrible 
 
 hammering). 
 
 Nasal boy: "Mr. G., I can't find hini anywhere." 
 
 I> — c — h : " Stoj) my paper ! " 
 
 Manager: " Mr. L., that must be brought out very 
 strong ; thus, Stop mi/ paper! " 
 
 L— c — li (bringing it out with an emphasis which 
 raises the roof off the theatre) : " Stop my taper I " 
 
 The leading lady hero goes through the motion of
 
 TttES REHEARSAL. 233 
 
 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— r dances 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 amusino; a-aitch a-aitch a-aitch !" 
 
 Tt puzzled me for a long time to find out what was 
 meant by this repetition of a-aitch. It is simply 
 the readino; of lauo-hter. A-aitch is where *' the 
 laugh comes in." The genuine pearls of laughter are 
 reserved for the regular performance. Actresses can- 
 not afford to cachinate during the tediousness and 
 drudgery of rehearsal. Usually they feel like crying. 
 
 Stage Manager: "We must rehearse this last act 
 over a2;ain." 
 
 CD 
 
 Everybody at this announcement looks broadswords 
 and daggers. There are some pretty pouts from the 
 ladies, and some deep but energetic profanity from the 
 gentlemen. 
 
 The California journalist has just about done justice 
 to the subject. I have attended rehearsals when it 
 was utterly impossible to comprehend whether they 
 were readino^ Revelations or oroino- throuo^h Mother 
 Goose's melodies. Drilling the chorus for opera is 
 attained by the same trials and tribulations as rehear- 
 sals for dramatic representations. The leader grows 
 furious at the surrounding noise, and the distractions 
 that members of the chorus give themselves up to. It 
 is a bad thing to get them together at first and harder 
 still to keep them together afterwards. When the 
 leader with an atmosphere of the kindest humor sur- 
 rounding his smooth head holds his baton aloft imagin-
 
 234 
 
 THE KEHEAKSAL. 
 
 ing that everything is all right, says : " Now, ladies and 
 gentlcnicn, all together," lie gracefully lowers his arm, 
 but suddenly arises in an angry mood, for thoy are not
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 
 
 235 
 
 all together. About one-half the throng begin, and 
 the other half loiter behind to drop in at intervals. 
 And so 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 
 rehearsing grand opera only one act is taken at a time, 
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 and the scenes presented, with the mellifluous Italian 
 and the sweet-scented garlic floating around the stage, 
 are picturesque to the eye, charming to the ear, and 
 simply entrancing to the nose. The principals re- 
 hearse sitting. 
 
 Ballet dancers have as hard work, if not harder than
 
 23f*) TIIR RF.nEARSAL. 
 
 any other class in llic pi-ofcssioii, Tlioy must rehearse 
 or practice daily, aiul for hours and hours at a time. 
 The maitre is there with cane and eye-glass, with velvet 
 coat and lavender trousers, to show them the motions, 
 and line after lino the strength and limberness of the 
 limbs of the corps de hnUet are tested. From the 
 premiere who sits with sealskin sack over her stage 
 costume with her pet dog l)y her side down to the 
 latest acquisition to the maitre' s (the ballet master's) 
 corps, all must be on hand to rehearse with or without 
 music. In the latter instance the steps are slowly but 
 carefully gone through. Not only is there a day 
 rehearsal, but there is private individnaj rehearsal of 
 the steps at night previous to going on the stage ; for 
 there is much grace in a corps de ballet^ and no girl in 
 love Avith her art wishes to be considered awkward or 
 in the rear ; hence the emulation that exists, and the 
 private rehearsals in the dressing-room. Many of these 
 ballet-dancers live poor lives, getting salaries which 
 after buvinn; their stage dresses leaves them little for the 
 cupboard and very little to waste upon street costumes. 
 Some are frail, and have admirers whose purse-strings 
 they pull wide open, and are therefore able to rustle 
 around in silks and sport rich golden and jewelled or- 
 naments, while the honest girls must sup at home on 
 crusts and share the opprpbrium their shamless com- 
 panions bring on the entire class. Ballet girls every- 
 where have a throng of giddy, dissipating male follow- 
 ers, and those who resist the temptations thrown in 
 their way are deserving praise rather than condemna- 
 tion. 
 
 Just as the Spanish have their Manzai, the Hindoos 
 tlicir Xaiitrli girls, the Jaj^anese that remarkable 
 dance travellers have written so frequently and so much 
 about, and each country its own particular sway or
 
 NATIONAL DANCES. 
 
 (237)
 
 238 THE REHKARSAL. 
 
 whirl, so this country seems to have taken kindly to 
 the ballet. When ii ballet dancer — one of the fa- 
 mous dancers of the beginning of the century — })re- 
 sented herself for the first time to an Albany, New York, 
 audience, the ladies rushed from the stage and there 
 was almost a panic. But it did not take long to 
 accustom the Albanians 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, thei'e was a ballet ever}'' night in the fir>t- 
 class variety theatres ; now there are few, except in 
 the East, that have this feature, and for this reason — 
 the abandonment of it in the West and South — the 
 ])eople who draw conclusions from everything they see 
 and hear cry out that the ballet is dvinix out. This is 
 not so. The ballet has been dropi)cd from the list of 
 attractions in the West, because the manaijers thoujjht 
 it too costly an institution for them to carry and not 
 .because the peoj)le did not want it. Some of the best 
 paying theatrical investments of the day are based 
 upon the fascinating and drawing qualities of a dis- 
 played female liinl). Hurlescjiic with its l)l()nde attri- 
 butes kept the country in a rage for man}' }'ears, and 
 the reason why it is so rare now is that comic opera 
 and the minor musical attractions of the quasi legiti- 
 mate stage have usur[)ed its princii)al feature — the leg 
 show — and under tin; cover of art ijet the ijatronairo 
 of p(.'o[)le who would shun bnrlcsfpies, and at the same 
 tinu! supply the dennuul of al)ont three-fourths of the 
 male persuasion who are as fond of as much anatojny 
 in pink tights as the law will allow them. If any one 
 thinks th(^ ballet is on the decay Just let him wait 
 until such an attraction !■< announced in his neighbor- 
 hood and then stand back and count as the bald-headed 
 brigade goes to the front.
 
 THE REHEARSAL. 239 
 
 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 Pictoral 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 annals, and one 
 which, some two score years hence, may be handed 
 down to a new generation by garrulous septuagena- 
 rians as one of the most brilliant reminiscences of days 
 gone by. The appearance of four such dancers as 
 Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi and Lucile Grahn, on 
 the same boards and in the same pas, is truly what 
 the French would call " une solemnite tJieatrale,^^ and 
 such a one as none of those who beheld it are likely to 
 witness again. It was therefore as much a matter of 
 curiosity as of interest, to hurry to the theatre to 
 witness this spectacle ; but every other feeling was 
 merited in admiration when the four o-reat dancers 
 commenced the series of picturesque groupings Avith 
 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 poetry 
 than that formed by these four danseuses. Taglioni 
 in the midst, her 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 poet would have alike been employed to 
 perpetuate its remembrance. No description can 
 render the exquisite, and almost ethereal grace of 
 movement and attitude of these great dancers, and 
 those Avho have witnessed the scene, may boast of
 
 240 THE REHEARSAL. 
 
 having once, at least, seen the perfection of the art of 
 dancing so little understood. There was no affectation, 
 uo api)arent exertion or strnggle for effect on the part 
 of these gifted artistes ; and though they displayed their 
 utmost resources, there was a simplicity and case, the 
 ahsencc of which would have completcdy broken the 
 spell they threw around the scene. Of the details of 
 this i)crformance it is ditHciilt to speak. In the solo 
 steps executed by each danseuse, each in turn seamed 
 to claim pre-eminence. Where every one in her own 
 style is perfect, peculiar individual taste alone may 
 l)alance in favor of one or the other, but the award of 
 public applause must be equally bestowed ; and the 
 penc/icnit 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 (Lucilc Grahu), did 
 not prevent the warm appreciation of the charming 
 archness and twinkling steps of Carlotta Grisi, or the 
 wonderful Hying leaps and revolving bounds of Cerito. 
 Though each displayed her utmost powers, the emula- 
 tion of the fair dancers was unaccompanied by envy. 
 Every time a shower of boqncts descended on the 
 conclusion of a solo jjas of one or the other of the fair 
 ballei'inf, her sister dancers came forward to assist her 
 in collecting them. The api)lause was universal and 
 equally distributed. This, however, did not take from 
 the excitement of the scene. The house, crowded to 
 the roof, presented a concourse of the most eager faces, 
 never diverted, for a moment, from the performance ; 
 and the extraordinary tumult of enthusiastic applause, 
 joined to the delightful effect of the spectacle pre- 
 sented, iiiqiarted to tlic whole scene an interest and 
 excitement that can hardly be imagined by those not 
 present."
 
 *Siiv:b.*cS/''''*^'^: 
 
 * ^^ 
 
 
 MARION ELMORE,
 
 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 iu the 
 want columns of the daily papers : — 
 
 WANTED — Three hundred girls for the ballet in "The Blue 
 Huntsman," at Bishop's Theatre. Call at stage-door at 
 ten A. M. Monday. 
 
 In this simple advertisement the theatrical instinct 
 which prompts the press agent to exaggerate facts con- 
 cerning his attraction is very beautifully displayed. 
 The number of girls wanted is probably not in excess 
 of fifty ; still 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 advertisement would have 
 attracted in former years, but still enough 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 awkwardness and to drill them in the 
 marches in which they will be expected to participate. 
 The girls, as they come in singly or in pairs — shyly 
 and coyly approaching the stage-door, but taking 
 courao;e at the sight of the others who are there before 
 them — are told to come around again iu the afternoon, 
 or perhaps the following morning to meet the ballet. 
 16 (241)
 
 242 CANDIDATES FOR SHOUT CLOTHKS. 
 
 There doesn't seem to be any particular clioicc in cjet- 
 ting up a l)allet of this kind. A round-shouhUn-ed. 
 broad-waisted, squint-eyed, rcd-lioaded girl has lier 
 name entered on the stage manager's book as readily 
 as the charming little blonde who looks as if she be- 
 longed to the upper walks of life, and appears many 
 ■degrees more accomplished, graceful, and int(dligent 
 than the strabismal, carroty-headed creature who has 
 preceded her. When all have been registere«l, n[) to 
 the requisite number, some of the astonisluMl and de- 
 liffhted candidates, after having learned that thcv will 
 receive $4 or $(), or, maybe, $8, for the week's ser- 
 viceg, lose themselves in the intricacies of the scenery 
 and wonder at the beauties of the new worM in wliicU 
 they find themselves. Their next visit brings them 
 into the presence of tlie ballet master, M'ho regards 
 them physically, scrutinizing each as the name is 
 called, and seldom rejecting any not absolutely de- 
 formed who appear l)efore him. Tliey are sent to the 
 costumer's and their work begins at once. All they 
 are required to do is to run up and down or around the 
 stage in drills and marches, or to group themselves in 
 heart-rending tableaux at intervals during the dance. 
 The best — that is, the girls who are quick to perceive 
 and swift to accomplish the commands of the master, 
 are selected for leaders and for the principal Avork in 
 this subordinate branch of the spectacle. Day after 
 day they are drilled until the night of the first per- 
 formance arrives, when, often in tights tliat do not fit 
 them, in costumes that are wrinkled and dirty, they 
 flash in all their awkwardness and gloominess upon the 
 scene, to be laughed at, ajid to detract from instead of 
 adding to the beauty of the spectacle. 
 
 A newspaper writer of experience in this line says: 
 Few of those who observe and admire the gracefid
 
 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 243 
 
 attitudes, easy movements, and picturesque evolutions 
 of the well-trained chorus or l)allct 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^jallet girls were in 
 greater demand than at present, an advertisement in- 
 serted in New York papers or those of any other large 
 city for material to fill np the corps de ballet would 
 bring in applicants by dozens, and sometimes even by 
 hundreds. The same is true in a less degree to-day, 
 but at that time the waj^es paid to \vorkin<j: ffirls 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 bv 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 faces and forms theiraces 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 slamour of 
 the stage has so fascinated girls in better circumstances 
 that they are ready to begin at any round of the lad- 
 der in a profession that seems so entirely imbued 
 with roseate 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 
 stuffed with sawdust," and they are prepared to cry 
 out vanitas vanitahim, and enjoy the rest of their 
 stage experiences from the other side of the foot-lights.
 
 244 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 
 
 These girls vary soiucAvhat in age, but the majority 
 of tlicm arc not above twenty, as a general rule. In 
 making an apj)lication, they present themselves first to 
 the stage manager. He takes note of their age, size, 
 appearance and general contour of figure, and if he l)o 
 favorably impressed sends them to the costumer. He, 
 in his turn, hands them over to the women in his cm- 
 ploy. There they are compelled to strip and undergo 
 a complete examination of their limbs and form, and 
 on the physical examination depends their acceptance 
 or rejection. 
 
 In companies where the ballet girls are simply femak 
 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 nmsic. But even this is no small task. 
 
 These girls are naturally fitted for anything but 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 dillerently from 
 their usual custom, they twist their l)odie3 and stalk 
 about in a manner that is beyond description. These 
 improvised ballets generally present an exhibition of 
 stiilhess and awkwardness at the first public appear- 
 ance ; but that is not to be compared with the ungainly 
 antics of a first rehearsal. In cases where crreater 
 pains are taken, and whore the ballet girls go throufh 
 many intricate evolutions, the rehearsals are continued 
 daily, when possible, for a period of six or eight weeks, 
 and some idea of the trials of a ballet master may be 
 gathered from the contrast of the first rehearsal and 
 the first performance. 
 
 A gentleman of long experience in theatrical mat-
 
 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 
 
 245 
 
 ters says in a talk with an interviewer: "Well, I 
 should think I ought to know something about ballet 
 girls. Why, when I used to be at the Old Comique 
 they were as plentiful as supers and used 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 
 pandemonium. The chorus is being put through its 
 final drill on 
 one side, the 
 actors are 
 practising 
 their e n- 
 trances, ex- 
 its, and cues 
 on the other ; 
 behind, the 
 scene painter drilling for the chorus. 
 
 and his assistants are daubing away, and the trap man 
 and gas man are both working away in their line." 
 *' What kind of girls were they for the most part? " 
 ♦* Oh, they came out of factories and all that ; they 
 could make from $6 to $8 a week on the stage, a good 
 deal better than they could do at their old business. 
 We used to have such a lot of applicants then we could 
 pick out a 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- 
 ions 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
 
 24G CANDIDATES FOll SIIOHT CLOTHES. 
 
 how long they shoukl stay there. I wouldn't bo at all 
 surprised if they talked about starring it in another 
 season ; that's wiiat all these lly-by-nights at the 
 theatres do now. Why, do you know I have had peo- 
 ple come to me and ask what part Miss So-and-So was 
 taking, and on looking into the matter I would find 
 that she was a ballet girl." 
 
 '* Can't you tell me of some cases of girls who have 
 a little romance about their history? " 
 
 " Well, possibly, but to one behind the scenes there 
 is little enough of the romantic, I can tell you. I re- 
 menil)er another case of a girl, one of the prettiest and 
 best behaved we had — quite a modest little thing, in 
 fact. But she got picked up by a middle-aged rake, 
 and went to the bad. I do not know her whole story, 
 but I know she used to meet this fellow after the [)uv- 
 formancc very often. After a time she stated in con- 
 fidence to one of her companions that she was married 
 to him, and I have no doui)t that she thought she was. 
 She left the theatre after a few weeks and went to live 
 with him. But I guess it didn't last long, for I saw 
 her several years afterwards in one of the lowest trav- 
 elling com[)anics I know of, as vile and broken-down a 
 wreck as you ever saw. If there is any romance in the 
 lives of these girls, this is generally the style of it." 
 
 " Do these girls ever rise in the profession?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, some of oni- best actresses rise from the 
 rank-. It wouM make a cat laugh, though, to seethe 
 first time they have a little speaking part in a regular 
 drama. A girl can get along all right as long as her 
 individuality is concealed in the; ranks, but when she 
 has to step to the front and say a few words, she 
 waltzes up as though she was walking on eggs. She 
 looks as if she would like; to fall through the stage,
 
 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 247 
 
 swallows and hesitates, and puts you in doubt as to 
 whether you ought to hiugh or pity her." 
 
 Here is a writer who takes another view of the 
 affiiir: " To the uninitiated male citizen the period of 
 supreme interest in aflairs behind the scenes is the 
 period of a grand ballet or spectacular show, where a 
 hundred or two girls, who have undergone an exami- 
 nation of their faces, shoulders and limbs, and been 
 accepted as presentable upon the stage, don tights and 
 make their bow to the public. It is not always easy 
 to secure the required number of girls who have the 
 requisite qualifications for an 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 
 a dollar. There are a few who have been in the bal- 
 let a number of times before. They have come to look 
 upon it very much as a business. They knit and sew 
 and crochet and do fancy-work behind the scenes dur- 
 ing the stage waits. Their pay is liberal compared 
 with what they can earn 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 themselves. Considerable judgment has to 
 be exercised in the selection 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 these 
 charms there is no door to the ballet stage. Once ac- 
 cepted as a constituent part of a pageant which is to 
 disport itself before the foot-lights, the Jignrante has a 
 wide field for conquest open to her. It's man's weak-
 
 248 
 
 CANDIDATES FOR SHOUT CLOTHES. 
 
 ; 'tm 
 
 ncss to l)c forever ' jTfcttiiii:: iroMc ' on tlie fiivorites of 
 the foot-lights, to believe them till beiuitiful :uul luscious 
 as thej seem from the front of the house. And so it is 
 thiit the watchman at the stage-door and call-boys divide 
 between them many a dollar for carrying in billet-doux 
 from the great army of mashed masculines. 'Another 
 sucker dead gone,' mutters the call-boy as he pockets 
 _^___ his liberal fee as mail-carrier. 
 UK RIGS Perhaps the fair object of the 
 masher's admiration ' won't 
 have it,' but there arc 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 sec how they 
 do these things in France, 
 where the cancan flourishes and 
 the Jardin Mal)illc, with its 
 high kickers, is the temple to- 
 wards which pleasure-seeking pilgrims bend when they 
 visit their Mecca — La Belle Paris. A visitor to the 
 dancing green-room of tiu^ Grand Opera, there, will 
 find that at night it is brilliantly lighted, and the ef- 
 fect of the gas-jets is greatly increased l)y the numer- 
 ous larjre mirrors which almost conceal the walls. In 
 front of each of these mirrors stands a wooden post a 
 little higher than one's waist, and bcfon; a dancing girl 
 sets off, she raises one foot after the other until she 
 
 THK " SUCKER
 
 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 she is 
 about to dance on the stage. The leading dancing 
 girlscommonly wear old pumps and small linen gaiters, 
 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 gaiters 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; o-irls hasten to the stao^e. Amono^the Parisian 
 ballet corps one sees the strangest vicissitudes of for- 
 tune, the most wonderful ups and downs of life. 
 Some, who yesterday were glad to receive the meanest 
 charity of their comrades, who joyfully accepted old 
 dancing pumps, and wore them for shoes, and faded 
 bonnets and thrice-mended clothes, appear to-day in 
 lace, silks, cashmeres, with coachman, valet, carriage 
 and pair. The sufferings, the privations, the ftitigue, 
 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 half 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 shoeless to 
 their morning dancing lesson, rehearsals, and evening 
 performances, and on their return home, long after 
 midnight, in the summer's rains and the winter's
 
 250 CANDIDATES FOR SHORT CLOTHES. 
 
 snows, nothing ])noys them np hut the fond liopc, 
 often delusive, that the future has ii I)iighter and bet- 
 ter time in store for them. 
 
 The Nautcli dancers, mentioned in the preceding 
 chapter, are consecrated to the temple from chiklhood, 
 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 jiirls came to this countrv oriixinallv, and all 
 but one died. Still, there were forty so-called Nantch 
 dancers put upon the variety stage and in specialty 
 troupes, ordinary but clever American ballet girls 
 being painted for the occasion, and dressed in a semi- 
 oriental costume. They made no pretensions to do 
 the Nautch dance, in which the swaying of the body, 
 keeping time with the feet, and howling a lugubrious 
 hymn are the features, there being no hopi)ing or 
 whirling around ; but the fraudulent Kautch girls of 
 the specialty troupes pirouetted and pranced in the 
 steps of the old-time l)allet, with which we all ought to 
 be familiar if wo are not.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 " Well, now, I don't think that's so awful hard," 
 said a fellow knight of the pencil, one evening as we 
 both leaned upon 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 
 evolutions of the premiere as she spun around on one 
 toe and threw a graceful limb up toivards the roof of 
 the house every time she gave a whirl. 
 
 " If you don't," said I, "you just try it once, and 
 you'll find out exactly how hard it is?" 
 
 I had made this retort wildly and without knowing, 
 myself, anything much about the difficulties of ballet 
 dancino;. It dawned on me that here was an excellent 
 field for inquiry, so having obtained the permission of 
 Manager W. C. Mitchell, who was running the 
 Comique, to go behind the scenes to interview the bal- 
 let master ; next evening found me early at the stage 
 door. I was soon inside picking ray way through the 
 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 impromptu 
 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) 
 
 "o-
 
 252 TUAINIXa BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 dclla, a thin, wiiy man who sccincd to be in tlic decline 
 of life — was found in his tights, leaning in an easy 
 attitude airainst one of the " winijs." 
 
 ^'■Bona sera, Sifjnor,^^ I said in the best Italian I 
 could muster. 
 
 '■'■ Gvazia,^^ returned the mailre in the most welcom- 
 ing manner in the world, as he invited me to a qui(!l 
 corner where we sat down on a cracker-box. 
 
 The object of the visit was briefly ex[)lained, and 
 Sig. Cardella rattled off his answers in a ready and 
 intelliirible 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 appearance in 
 the ballet twenty years before, when he was twenty 
 years of age. IIo had been put in training, like other 
 children, at the age of twelve years, in the Theatre La 
 Scala — the government school — which has given 
 the world so many famous dancers. Here he remained 
 eiirht vears. 
 
 ♦' Children," said Cardella, " are admitted to this 
 school as early as ten years 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 especially difficult when it is understood that 
 pupils in this cC)untry arrive at stage honors in an im- 
 mensely less time, in fact in as many months as we arc 
 required to put in years of study in the old country." 
 
 " I sup[)oso La Scala is under the tuition of the 
 very best masters," said I. 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed," responded the maitre de ballet, 
 assuringly ; " my fiist teacher was the celebrated 
 l)lo/,is, and al'ter him ( )usse, both French, and both 
 great masters." 
 " But old?"
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 253 
 
 <( 
 
 Yes, old ; but they had their stage triumphs, and 
 the recollection of these kept theii* limbs strong and 
 
 DONNA JULIAS' EYES. 
 
 their joints almost as supple as they had been in their 
 younger years, when they themselves went forth from
 
 25i TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 La Scala as premieres, to win the a])i)laus(> of the 
 public." 
 
 " l^ovs ami jrirls are admit tod to La Scala? " 
 "Boys and i^ii-ls ; ])iit all must pass a i)liysical 
 examination just as applicants for army service are 
 required to flo. If they are fortunate in haviiiu- hccn 
 endowed by nature with health and symmetry of form 
 they arc received into the school and enter at once 
 upon its rigorous course of training. Oh, I tell you a 
 ballet school is not the same here as it is in the old 
 country. There must be perfect silence ; not a word 
 from the moment the master appears before the line 
 of pupils, and after that nothing but the motions of 
 the hundred or more bodies and the beating of the 
 master's stick upon the floor." 
 
 " IIow long must they practice each day? " 
 *' Well, ])efore they are supposed to enter the 
 academy at all, they must have had one or two years' 
 practice outside. In the acadcn)y they have four 
 hours' practice under the direction of the master 
 ever}' day ; but many of them do more work than this, 
 especially the most ambitious. I used to practice from 
 'eight to twelve hours daily, and even after having left 
 the academy I kept u\) my daih' exercise for increas- 
 ing the limberness of the joints and the toughness of 
 the cartilages. The more practice, the nearer per- 
 fection." 
 
 r>L""Mnoso the pupils arc divided into classes, aro 
 they not?" 
 
 *♦ Yes ; we have four lines of dancers in Italy. You 
 have only three here. Wo place our coryphees farth- 
 crcst ofTfrom the premiere ; you put them alongside. 
 The beginners at La Scala go into the coryphee class, 
 from which they are gradually advanced to the 
 secunda Una, then to the prima Una, ami, after-
 
 (255) 
 
 OBERON AND TITANIA. 
 
 Oberon: — What thou see'st when thou dost wake 
 Do it for thy true love take. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, Act, II., Scene 3.
 
 25G TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 wjirds, to solo parts, wlicn they practically become 
 premieres." 
 
 " But ci<^ht years," I suggested, " is a long time to 
 be working without any return in the shape of either 
 money or glor}'? " 
 
 "Ah, there you are mistaken," Cardella answered, 
 pleased to find that newspaper men sometimes make 
 mistakes. " Tiie pui)ils at La Scala are paid some- 
 thing from the time they enter the academy. They 
 first, while mere cor^'phecs, get thirty francs a month ; 
 in the second line, sixty francs; in the third, eighty; 
 and when advanced to solo parts, two hundred francs 
 a month. At this they stop until they finish their 
 schooling, when- they take places in the principal 
 theatres, make the usual tour of the provinces and 
 of the continent, and finally settle down, if tlioy have 
 not become fainous, to some solid competency, just as 
 I have done myself." 
 
 " So much for the dancing boys and girls of Italy ; 
 but how about the Iwdlet in this country?" 
 
 *' Oh, it is nothing like Avhat Europe produces. 
 You have no schools here except the theatres, and girls 
 when they come to learn the ballet, as they have often 
 came to me, ask : ' Do you tiiink I can dance in a 
 week or two? ' It is absurd the way they want to do. 
 "Why, in my country I practised for eight years before 
 I would be allowed to appear i)ublicly in the theatre, 
 and had 'practised two years before that at home, and 
 yet these American girls think they can become good 
 dancers in a week or two." 
 
 " What do you say to such applicants?" 
 
 " I say, ' No, you can't dance in a week or two, 
 nor in a month or two ; but if you want to practice for 
 several months I can place you on the stage.' And I 
 say this because I know American girls can make good
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 
 
 257 
 
 dancers if they are in earnest and apply themselves 
 hard ; they can make passable ballet girls even if they 
 give only a fair share of their attention to the study." 
 " What do you think of the American ballet?" 
 
 MEASURING FOR THE COSTUME. 
 
 " It cannot be good, of -course, as long as the public 
 does not give it the attention and patronage it requires 
 to make it good. In the old country the ballet is 
 everything ; in this it is comparatively nothing. They 
 
 17
 
 258 TUAININO IJALLET DANCERS. 
 
 make it sul).scrvicnt to everything else oii tiie stage. 
 Managers do not care to pay for good troiii)cs, and tho 
 tronpes arc eonsccpiently small and poor." 
 
 *' But is there not plenty of employment for good 
 ballet dancers?" 
 
 "Always. Each company has few that can bo 
 ranked as soloists, and this is because sfood dancers are 
 not numerous. As I have sugirostcd before, the 
 American girl is not sufficiently ambitious in this line ; 
 their stage yearnings are mostly for speaking parts on 
 tho dramatic stage, and they arc not very devout wor- 
 shippers at tho shrine of Terpsichore." 
 " How are American ballet girls paid? " 
 *' Pretty well ; but nothing like what they got before 
 the war. ]\Iadame Gallati, Avho was my wife, l)eforo 
 the rebellion, never got less than $150 a week, and 
 after the war was paid $100. Premieres now do not 
 get more than $75, and they are in very good luck 
 when they get that nmch. The coryphees and others 
 get from $35 a week down as low as $15. And out of 
 this they must furnish their own wardrobes. They 
 must lay out from $5 a week upwards for their stage 
 clothes, and when a ballet is on that requires rich 
 dressing the wardrol)es may exceed their whole week's 
 salary ; but then, you know, they can prepare for an 
 emergency of this kind by laying l)y a portion of the 
 salary of the weeks in which no new ballet is brought 
 out. Some of the ballets run lor a month, but tho 
 usual run is two weeks." 
 
 *' The maitre does not always dance? " 
 '* No, he dances very seldom ; but he earns his 
 money though. lie is kept busy two or three hours 
 every day, Sunday included, teaching the old and 
 young ideas of th(^ ballet, how to shoot out their 
 limbs, pose, pirouette, etc. It requires all tlu; time
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 259 
 
 I can give to it to prepare a 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 
 the day before the novelty is to be presented to the 
 public. During this time of preparation I have tiie 
 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 
 so." 
 
 " Have you many applicants now-a-days? " 
 
 "Not very many. Once 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. 
 I do not care so much for nice features, for the ugliest 
 can be embellished sufficiently to look handsome be- 
 fore the foot-lights but good forms are indispensable, 
 and particularly strong, symmetrical limbs. The ap- 
 plicants come from all grades and classes of life, and 
 not a few are young girls of good but obscure connec- 
 tion, who have ambition to win glory and money and 
 all that sort of thing from the public, and who fondly 
 imagine that the ballet girl lives a butterfly existence, 
 instead of being the hardworking, temptation-beset 
 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 then they want me 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 says, begin at the beginning. You 
 can't know music without learning the notes ; you 
 can't read without knowing the ABC; and so with
 
 <^s^>^- 
 
 _/ ■ ■ .-^ 
 
 j: 
 
 %"-: 
 
 h 
 
 .' f 
 
 J 
 
 (2GU) M. J;. cuKTib, IN sam'l of ro&ExN.
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 2G1 
 
 the ])allet, you can't dance without first having acquired, 
 its alphabet." 
 
 *' 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 got up from the cracker-box, and taking 
 hold of a " wing," placed his feet heel to heel, turned 
 them out straiii:ht without bending the knees into an 
 unsightly attitude, and said this was the first ste^j ; the 
 four others Avere much the same as the attitudes taken 
 at difierent times by elocutionists, one foot being pushed 
 forward and then another. " Then I show them how 
 to do this," andhebeo:an twistins; one les; after another 
 backward and forward until I thought he would twist 
 both off, but he didn'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 then we see a very fresh and green 
 foot, if I 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 see although the American ffirl 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 fundamental principles of 
 ballet dancing, she frequently faces an audience and 
 does well — sometimes astonishiiiorlv well in fact. Some 
 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 last,
 
 202 
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCEUS. 
 
 for j^ears, luul iire really in a ballet master's way all the 
 
 time." 
 
 " How are ballet girls as a class? " 
 
 " Some of them," said Cardella, with a shake of his 
 head and an expression of i)ity on his face, " are a little 
 fond and foolish at times." 
 
 "And they have their admirers who bother them, in 
 and out of the theatre, and send them pretty presents, 
 big boqucts and such ? ' ' 
 
 A I'lIEMIKUK ]5I:F()KK 'IIIIO AUDIKNCE. 
 
 "Oh well, now, I kn(;w very little about that. Some 
 of them have families to support, and manage to wear 
 l)etter clothes and more jewelry than th(!ir salaries 
 could pay for. I could tell you lots of funny incidents 
 about ballet girls, billet-doux and ]V\]\y boys, but you 
 see that nigger act is nearly through, and I've got to 
 go and look after my girls." And with an "-AdiOf 
 Siqnorr' and a wave of his hand, he withdrew.
 
 TRAINING BALLET DANCERS. 263 
 
 I went up to the Alcazar on Monday night to see 
 Bonfanti dance. I have a great respect for Bonfanti. 
 She is a woman of character. When she first danced 
 here the town was wild about her, and one young man, 
 the son of rich and proud parents, offered her his 
 hand in marriage. She hesitated for awhile, but he 
 argued that 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 
 cry 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 
 ill and died. Then Bonfanti, or Mrs. Hofi'man, 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 as Hoffmans have pride — and she declined to 
 accept any aid from them whatever. "As long as I 
 have my feet to dance with," she said, " I can take 
 care of myself, and I want none of their money." So 
 she went back to the ballet, and has been dancing ever 
 since. 1 couldn't help thinking as 1 looked at her the 
 other night, that scions of proud New York families 
 had often made worse matches. She has a good and 
 still handsome face, and she dances as gracefully as 
 ever. She is modest even when pointing at the foot- 
 li«>-hts with one toe and at the chandelier with the other. 
 Bonfanti is not one of the grinning dancers. Her face 
 wears a rather sad expression, and she only smiles in 
 acknowledgment of the applause of the audience. 
 The competition with Lepri makes her do her best, 
 and it is a regular dancing mutcu every night.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PLAYS AND I'LAY WHIG UTS. 
 
 At seven o'clock one morning during the season of 
 1881-2 a tall, jjawkv, anixular-lookin": young man in a 
 suit of smutty aiul wrinldod gray, under a battered 
 sloucli hat with a l)andit curl to its wide brim, stood at 
 the door of one of the rooms of the Southern Hotel in 
 St. Louis. He had a big bundle under his ai-ni, 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 same result, and again and 
 again. The fifth time somebody said " Come in,'! 
 and the young man twisted the knob and in a moment 
 was standing at the bedside of the late Oscar G. Ber- 
 nard, business manager of the Couldock-Ellslcr Hazel 
 Kirke Company. Bernard was still in bed and very 
 sleepy. 
 
 ** I've got a play I want to read to you," said the 
 young man, shifting the bundle he had under his arm 
 down into his hands, wMiero ^Ir. Bernard could sec it. 
 
 *»A what?" the manager exclaimed, rising hinriedly 
 upon his elbow and looking out through drowsy eye- 
 lids at a pile of foolscap manuscript big enough to fill 
 a French Cyclopedia. 
 
 "A phiv," was the visitor's answer, in a quiet, un- 
 alarnx'd tone. 
 
 ( 2<M )
 
 PLAYS AND PLAYWllIGHTS. 265 
 
 *' Is that it? " Bernard asked, as he eyed the pack- 
 age of manuscript with astonishment. 
 
 *' Yes, sir ; there 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 
 as possible. 
 
 " There are forty-seven characters in the dramatis 
 personce,''^ the playwright ans^v«red, nothing daunted, 
 " nine acts, and it mio;ht take three hours or more to 
 play it through." 
 
 *' How many people get killed in it? " 
 
 *' Only thirteen." 
 
 *' Oh, pshaw ! " said 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 leave any 
 more of them alive than just enough to group into a 
 happy tableau at the end of the last act." 
 
 " I don't think I can do it," said 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 
 produced, except possibly A. C. Gunter. He was fully 
 six feet high, large and sharp-featured, with a light 
 like lunacy dazzling in his black eyes and across his 
 sallow face. His hands were large and his feet big, and 
 as he ambled along the hotel hall he looked like an 
 over-grown plowboy who had suddenly and mysteri-
 
 2C>C) TLAYS AND PLArU'iaOIITS. 
 
 ouslj turned book-pocKllcr. Besides all this he scenicd 
 very hungry. 
 
 Early the next morning he was at Bernard's l)ed-sidc 
 again. He had seen ♦' Hazel Kirke," and thought over 
 the manager's advice, but had not made the chansres 
 suggested 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? 
 Its title was *' Love and the Grave." The manairer 
 said he might leave the manuscript to bo 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 
 airain carlv the next morniuir. The manaucr was still 
 too busy and too sleepy to hear the play. The dram- 
 atist said he hated to i)art from his manuscript ; he had 
 been live years writing the play, but he liked Mr. 
 Bernard and would leave it with him for twenty-four 
 hours. The manairer suirirestcd that there was a pos- 
 sibility of the play being lost if the hotel were to take 
 lire, but the young man answered that he had ascer- 
 tained that the hotel was fire-proof, and he was willing 
 to take the chances. He went away leaving the vol- 
 uminous manuscri])t in the manager's possession. Of 
 course Bernard didn't read it, but when the dramatist 
 returned Friday morning he told him it was very good, 
 and if the dramatist cared he could give him a letter 
 to the manager of a Chinese theatre in San Francisco, 
 who would l)e glad to purchase and produce such a play. 
 The dramatist hoisted his maimscript under his arm, 
 said he was sorry the Madison Sfjuare people couldn't 
 use it, and went out hungrier-looking and more awkward 
 than ever. Bernard hoped that it was the last of him. 
 But it was not. AVhile Bernard was in John T. 
 Raymond's room the following afternoon a knock was
 
 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 267 
 
 heard at the door and in walked the dramatist. He 
 did not recognize Mr. Bernard but told Raymond in 
 piteous tones 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. 
 It 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 Chinese play to him. After the comedian had had 
 his laugh, he pulled a nickel with a hole in it out of 
 his pocket, and, turning to the playwright, said : — 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do. "I'll match you for 
 the play. If I win I take the manuscript. If you win 
 you take the nickel." 
 
 The dramatist was disgusted. He said all he wanted 
 was money enough to get back to Springfield, 111., 
 where he edited a daily paper. If he had that he would 
 be happy. Bernard and Raymond each gave him a 
 $5 bill and sent him on his way rejoicing. 
 
 The trials and tribulations of the gawky young dra- 
 matist 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 
 since we made anything like an attempt at a distinc- 
 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 as hungry for fame and fortune as he was badly in 
 need of a meal, 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
 
 2(j8 plays and playwrights. 
 
 agilution, was told to return iii :i week or luontli. You 
 may ])c sure the clays ami nii^hts were nervously passed 
 until the appointed time rolled around. Then, bright 
 and early, still hopeful and still hungry, the author 
 was at tlie manager's door. 
 
 " "Well, sir, what do you wish? " was the abrupt and 
 startling greeting accorded the author. 
 
 " I suppose you have read my play " — 
 
 «' What play?" 
 
 The author names it and the manager sternly says : 
 *' No, sir, I haven't read it and know nothing about it. 
 When did you leave it here? " 
 
 *'A month ai^o, sir." 
 
 " Well I don't think it would do jnc any good to 
 read it. I haven't either the time or the inclination. 
 If you want it search in that box, and if you can't find 
 your own you can take your choice of any of those in 
 there." 
 
 This was, of course, a crusher. The young author 
 moved away with a bleeding heart, and liis armful of 
 manuscript, and the stage to which his hopes and am- 
 bition had been attracted proba])ly never ollered him 
 an opportunity to have his play damned on a first 
 night. American draunitists are to-day pretty much 
 in the same plight in regard to American managers 
 and the American stage. Very few of our dramatic 
 authors have received proper recognition, and few who 
 have toiled at writing and dramatizing for years have 
 much fame or money to show for their Avork. Ameri- 
 can managers have a rage for foreign works, and just 
 now are pouring thousands of dollars into the jxx-kets 
 of English and French playwriglits, whose woi-k is by 
 no means superior to that to be found in Ihe home 
 market. Some years ago that vci-y successfid phiy of 
 "The Two Orphajis " was purchased by an American
 
 I'LAYa AND PLAYWUIGHTS. 269 
 
 from its French author for :i mere song. Now,^ Sar- 
 dou gets $10,000 for a phiy like " Odette," which has 
 so far, I believe, failed to bring that amount back to 
 Mr. French, the purchaser. Samuel Colville paid 
 Messrs. Pcttitt & 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 a drama, before a line of it is written, and sells the 
 American right to Lester WalliKjk on the same terms. 
 
 All the American actors, actresses and manasfers 
 nowadaj^s 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 ac- 
 cepted at all. Some few late 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, few writers among journalists succeed in dramatic 
 work. Robert G. Morris, of the New York Telegram, 
 is among 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 fortuuatd^ 
 having, according to report, during his career made 
 something like $70,000. 
 
 Bartley Campbell may be taken as an excellent ex-
 
 270 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 
 
 jimplc of the nianiK'r in whicli the American dramatist 
 works, and the almost dcspairinp; circumstances attend- 
 ing his long and weary chase of fortune. He is a 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 ever 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 hiw 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 Pittsburs 
 Leader, where he himself says he received the munifi- 
 cent salary of $5 a week for the hardest work he has 
 ever done. Here is another illustration of the old 
 saying, that when you have failed at everything else 
 make up your mind to adopt the profession of actor or 
 journalist. Young Campbell chose the latter. He 
 preferred the stationary drudgery of a newspaper Bo- 
 hemian's existence to the wandering chance-life of the 
 equally hard worked, and, at that tinie, poorly paid 
 actor, liy diligence and close api)lication to study he 
 rose rapidl}', and soon was entrusted with the responsi- 
 ble i)osition of dramatic critic. He must have been a 
 good one. It is said that he was a faithful critic ; so 
 faithful, indeed, as to warrant the chastisement of a 
 bad actor, and endanger the publication of flic i)apcr 
 with libel suits. He deserted the Leader and com- 
 menced })ublishing the Mail, and it is hci-c, while edit- 
 ing this journal, that he first attempted play-writing. 
 His early effort was the sensational drama called
 
 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 271 
 
 " Throuirh the Fire," broiiuht out in 1871 ; then fol- 
 lowed the comedy, "Peril," produced in 1872; the 
 third WHS, "Fate," which was subsequently purchased 
 by Miss Carlotta Leclerq, 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 later as " The Vigilantes "), "Clio," " Fair- 
 fax," " My Partner," and lastly, " The Galley Slave." 
 It was the success of "My Partner" that brought 
 about the turning-point in Mr. Campbell's fortune. 
 That he had suflfered the severitv of want, he 
 confesses liimself 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 years ago, yvhen his luck 
 was away down. The statement of the night's re- 
 ceipts 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 mio;ht 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? " 
 
 " I don't growl about a few dollars ; but now is the 
 time — see ? When you can growl about them do it.
 
 272 PLAYS AND PLATl-AVHIGHTS. 
 
 Well, Iin gt'ttinu: on an average $1,500 a week now." 
 
 " You'll soon he rich, Bartley." 
 
 " Well, I am so accustomed to had luck, perhaps I 
 may meet some — sec? " 
 
 Bartley CamphcU always says "bcc" in an inter- 
 rogative way without much or any desire for an an- 
 swer. In a ramhling conversation ahout 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 : "I had just gone to New Orleans 
 with my wife, arriving there just when a newspaper 
 had susi)ended, and twelve w'riters were, like myself, 
 seeking journalistic work — only, unlike myself, they 
 had acquaintances and friends ; I neither ; nor money, 
 except live cents — see? The row was a hard one. 
 After various ' shifts ' — one of which was starting the 
 /Southern ^[agazine, which was hrought out — wo 
 found ourselves, just before Christmas time, with 
 nothing of importance except a grocery hill — see? I 
 wrote a poem about Eddystone Light, and sent it to 
 the NinetefnlJt Cenlunj, then ])ublished in Charleston, 
 S. C, by Felix de Fontaine & Co. It was the small 
 beginning of which the present Nineteenth Century is 
 the great result — see ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, I marked on the MS. — jn-ice $15. Com- 
 mercial poetry — see? We confidently expected that 
 money before Christmas. Why, Ave took it as a mat- 
 ter of course that the money must come. Jf it 
 didn't — well, tiiat was a view of things that wo 
 couldn't take for a moment — see? Well, the day 
 before Christmas came, but that money did not. I 
 visited the post-office again and again that day, but no 
 letter. The situation was gloomy tiien, and in the 
 evening I said to my wife, ' I guess I'll have to go to 
 the grocery, anyway.' ' I wouldn't go, Bart,' she
 
 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 273 
 
 said ; ' I am afraid he'll say something about the ac- 
 count.' 'I can't 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 w^ent to bed 
 things looked a little brighter. I got up in the morn- 
 ing, and they were gloomy again — see? I started 
 down to the post-office, my wife saying it was a fruit- 
 less errand, and got there just before the Christmas 
 rule of closing at 10 a. m. 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 
 a check for $15. My legs couldn't carry me 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 was the biggest piece of news ever was, and that it 
 was common talk was perfectly natural. ' Bartley, I 
 have got flO,' she cried. 'And I have got $15,' I 
 yelled ; and she, not noticing it, went on, 'I sold the 
 war book about women, that nobody Avould buy be- 
 fore, to some people who wanted it. Now, don't be 
 extravagant, Bartley, please. We had a bottle of 
 champagne that day, and presently I got the position 
 of official reporter of the Legislature at $16 a week; but 
 Christmas time never comes that I do not wonder if I 
 
 18
 
 274 I'LAVS AM) rLAVW!;l(;ilTS. 
 
 ■vs'ill have as merry and h:ippy ;i d:iy as the one we 
 celebrated in New Orleans just after the war." 
 
 In view of what has been said about the abnost mer- 
 ciless treatment the American dramatist, as a general 
 rule, receives from the American theatrical manager, 
 it may be well to add here the statement made lately 
 by Mr. William Seymour, stage manager of the Madi- 
 son Square Theatre, New York. He exhil)ited 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 as many more 
 left. As a usual thing the plays offered Avere, 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 ril)- 
 bon, and looking very like a young girl's graduating 
 essay or poem, Mr. Seymour said : Here is a play in 
 seven acts, which opens in America at some large sea- 
 port town, the author isn't particular where, and an 
 embarkation scene ends the first act. In the second 
 the ship has made its Avay in toward the Arctic regions 
 and is wrecked l)y an iceberg. The hero bravely cuts 
 down a spar, lashes himself to it and jumps overboard. 
 In the third act he is discovered ni)()n an ice- 
 berg beyond the Arctic circle, starving 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 icel)erg. A marine encounter 
 between Chinamen and pirates in the Arctic Ocean is 
 l)ad enf)Ugh, but even this is outdone in tlM- liftli act, 
 where the hero is discovered upon a ti'opical island 
 with his feet frostl)itt('n. The rcinainiiig two acts are 
 Used to get him bade to America, whirli is (jniic in full
 
 PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. 275 
 
 accordance with the rest of the play. I have many 
 others just as bad. Here is one with fifty-two speak- 
 ing characters, and here is anotheV in four acts, which 
 would require but twenty-nine minutes to play the 
 whole thino^ throuo-h. But strange and curious as the 
 j)lays are, I think that the letters I receive from the 
 authors are still greater curiosities. Occasionally 
 some of them are modest enough to admit the possi- 
 bility of failure, but as 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 : — 
 
 "Dear Sir: The undersio-ned 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 preserved, 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 Proprietor of my play. 
 
 " Terms, I will sell you My copyright and Manu- 
 script, And Give you 100 Printed copies, for the use 
 of actors, for $1000 dols. 
 
 " The name of My Play is 
 
 " Charles Ryan. 
 
 " The scenes are in Italy, Time 1868. 
 
 " Yours, Very Respectfully, etc., etc., etc., 
 
 "Author. 
 
 "P. S. — I inclose my card, I don't be at Home 
 •every day, but am at home nearly every evening bet. 
 8 and 10 o'clock. 
 
 " (I did not have my Play Printed yet.) "
 
 CIIAPTEK XIX. 
 
 "mashers" and "mashing. 
 
 The maslier is a remarka])lc creature. Ho hovers 
 everywhere, from the inarkot-phioe to tlic meeting- 
 house and from the iiromenade to the theatre. Ho is 
 many-phased and many-faced, and nlay come from the 
 slums or be the son of a first-class preacher of tiic Gos- 
 pel. The class has been termed gunaikophagists by 
 
 some follow reck- 
 less alike of the 
 feelings of i)hilo- 
 loixists and of the 
 jaws of the rising 
 generation, who 
 says it means wo- 
 man-caters, but 
 may be less poly- 
 syllabically styled 
 corner loafers and 
 miseral)lc 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 tli<^ mid- 
 dle, for malacca, ])amboo, and rubber sticks — 
 and last, but not least, some indulge a pre- 
 cocious vanity by planting eye-glasses across their 
 noses. These are, par excellence, the cane-and-eye- 
 (27G) ♦ 
 
 a bowery '* masher.
 
 MASIIEES AND MASKING. 277 
 
 glass friends, arid they remind one of nothing else in 
 the world than a sickly looking cross between a 
 saw-buck and a half-resuscitated dried herring. The 
 masher's solo ambition, is to win hearts, which he hopes 
 to do by staring ladies out of countenance, and which 
 he often does in a most flagrant and audacious manner. 
 There are young and old of this class, and they are of 
 all grades, from the young man who negotiates with 
 you over a counter for a paper of pins or a dozen shoe- 
 strings, up to his employer, and fi'om that up the 
 monetary scale to the man who wholesales the em- 
 ployer tiic pins which the "mashing" salesman dis- 
 poses of a nickle's worth at a time. Sandwiched 
 between these at proper, or rather improper, intervals 
 are the "What d'ye soy?" crowd, the "toughs" 
 wearing high felt hats turned up with care before and 
 behind, and, without exception, sporting the inevitable 
 tight jeans breeches. Their influence extends only to 
 a certain class — to the concert and variety dives — and 
 it is unfortunate to the poor girls, outside of this class, 
 who fall a prey to these ruthless " mashers." 
 
 The theatre appears to possess loadstone qualities 
 for the masher ; it is as attractive to them as the flame 
 of the candle is for the moth or the flower for the bee. 
 I have already in a preceding chapter said a great deal 
 about the " mashing " that is done in the audience by 
 both male and female exponents of the disreputable 
 art. I shall now confine myself to the " mashers " in 
 the profession and those who try to " mash " the pro- 
 fession. Some young gentlemen with more money 
 than brains imaofine that actresses have nothino: else 
 to do but receive attentions from the opposite sex, and 
 that there is no " wall of China " around the virtue of 
 any woman on the stage. They therefore not only make 
 bold to talk freely about actresses, but are valiant
 
 278 MASHERS AND MASIIINO. 
 
 enough to try to ensnare them by letters abounding in 
 
 LADY MACIJKTH. 
 
 Lahv Maciiktii: — "Inllnii of piiriioHcl 
 Give me the <lafr>fcrH; the plccpinjr, find llir <lcaa 
 Aro but as iiirtiin-s: 'lis llic cy«! of cliildliooil 
 That Jcara aimiuictl <Icvil." 
 
 Macbeth, Art J I., Scene 2. 
 
 hyperbole and odorcscent of cologne-besprent idiocy.
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 279 
 
 The variety actress is the ideal 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 
 lustily over the successful capture of a ballet girl, when 
 he himself had been the capture. These girls know 
 what their charms are worth and hold them 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 conquest which guarantees 
 them all the greater gain. The young gentleman of 
 whom I speak was lured in this way ; and as she sat 
 with well-rounded limbs pulsating through silken tights 
 and gracefully thrown upon an opposite chair, and he 
 leant over her whispering soft words and looking 
 fondly upon her painted face, while they clinked cham- 
 pagne glasses, she with downcast eyes was playing 
 innocence, but all the while congratulating herself upon 
 the arch manner in which she had won him. 
 
 Just as bad as the female " masher " on the stage 
 is the female " masher " who has no claims on the 
 profession. The latter has studied her art perfectly, 
 that it may assist her in throwing her net about the 
 unsophisticated. Females of this class in the East 
 make it their business to frequent the matiness, where 
 witt the assistance of the ushers, whom they remu- 
 nerate handsomely for their co-operation, they gather a 
 cfrano-er in, and within twelve hours or so send him 
 bome whining at his idiocy in not having resisted the 
 temptation that left him penniless. The gay sirens 
 who are in this business generally go in pairs. The 
 usher locates them next to their victim, and once there 
 they've got him for all the cash he took out of the
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. ^Sl 
 
 family sock before leaving Jerusha and liis eight little 
 ones. 
 
 The blonde beauties of the leg drama, or the fair 
 burlesquers, as some people call them, are considered 
 legitimate prey by the " mashing ' ' fraternity. Indeed 
 it is often a case of diamond cut diamond, for the bur- 
 lesquers are themselves notoriously liberal in making 
 acquaintances, and the majority of them will accept a 
 midnight drive or a morning supper as readily as they 
 do the friendship of the gentleman who tenders them. 
 The bewildering array of limbs and shapely forms, the 
 golden hair and apparently fresh and handsome faces 
 set the young swells wild, and the rnsh for orchestra 
 chairs down front where a quiet 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 the writer but agree to " work him " 
 to the full extent of his wealth. The comedian who 
 knows that the girls have got *' another sucker on a 
 string" comes up and wants to see the last " letter 
 from home." He gives the girls a funny bit of advice 
 about retaining their innocence if they would be happy, 
 but adds that if there is anvthing in the fellow, to 
 " catch on " at once — which of course the girls have 
 already made up their minds to do. 
 
 A veteran in the business says : "Actresses have the 
 most marked talents for wheedling the gilded youth 
 out of money. Such ' guys ' and ' gillies ' fancy that 
 if they are known as the patrons and friends of stage 
 stars 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
 
 282 
 
 MASriKRS AND MASHING. 
 
 lUOM ONE OF THE "MASHED." 
 
 sense I 'Jlio .silly ninny rcjoicinjj: in the .sliowy and jirt- 
 ful woman's f:ivors counts hini.self a privileged mortal, 
 hut his chief ])rivilcge in regard to a cunning, sehcm-
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 283 
 
 ing stage siren is the privilege of pcayiug her bills. Of 
 the men with money she makes fools. When she 
 scents a full pocket-book she runs it low. Her affec- 
 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 hira. It is a paradox of feminine nature that 
 the women who are unscrupulous and heartless in 
 wheedling men of money seem so lavishly free in be- 
 stowing favors and bounty on loaferish lovers, from 
 whom they can make nothing. An actress is psychi- 
 cally a study, always curious and unaccountable, how- 
 ever talented.' 
 
 Some comic opera choruses, particularly those of the 
 limb-exhibiting kind, have attained to almost equal 
 notoriety with the burlesquers in the *' mashing" line. 
 The fact of the matter is that in the branches of the 
 profession where women are employed, not for their 
 artistic qualities, but on account of the plumpness of 
 their limbs and the a<2:reeableness of their entire figure 
 to the male eye, there is so much laxness and so much 
 that is altogether bad, that the ladies of the hio:her 
 walks of the profession do not always escape, and the 
 " masher," who is alwavs ffoiiig around seekinsr what 
 fair females he may devour, frequently dares to ap- 
 proach some of the best women in the profession. Here 
 is a specimen of the work of one of this class ; it is a 
 letter received by one of the best and handsomest little 
 ladies the stage ever saw, and whose retirement from the 
 boards was really a great loss to the dramatic art : — 
 
 Exchange Hotel, 
 Montgomery, Ala. 
 
 , 187-. I 
 
 I know I am violating the cold conventionalities of 
 life by addressing you, but if it angers you, the friendly 
 fire which blazes before you will prove a suitable altar
 
 284 Mashers and masiiixg. 
 
 upon wliich you c:iii sacrifice my homage. I never saw 
 you before to-niirlit, but to see von is to be dazed — 
 glamoured with a glare. May I dare to hope that I 
 shall ever stand abashed in your presence, waiting vour 
 sweet will to raise my eyes to your dear face in adora- 
 tion ? Tell me that I may follow you through all the 
 world upon my bended knees, to find at last your 
 favor, that I may live in hope upon the memory of 
 your smile, and know that at the last von will be con- 
 tent to let me kneel at your feet and tind reward in 
 that alone. Oh, dear heart, let me dream of you until 
 you awaken. Yours, devoted, 
 
 y. II. M. 
 
 Can anyljody imagine a more glowing and positive 
 piece of idiocy? This would-be " masher" should Ix; 
 taken out in the woods and brained with a five-svllable 
 adjective that he would not be able to identify in the 
 next world. Many actresses refuse to receive letters 
 that are sent to them from stranixc admirers. Marv 
 Anderson never sees such a letter, although bushels of 
 them are sent to her. And she is only one of hun- 
 dreds who adopt the i)olicy of rejecting strange letters 
 at sight. Frequently nuirried ladies in the profession 
 are made targets of by the letter-writing l»rigado of 
 mashers, and more than one hea<l has been aiiisti- 
 cally mutilated as a retui-n for the " masher's " imper- 
 tinent pains. 
 
 A New York corrcspendcnt writes as follows about 
 a pretty little actress and singer, who while fullillinf 
 an engagement at the Bijou Opera House, New York, 
 last summer, broke the hearts of nil the "swells" 
 and " bloods" of the metropolis, .iixl li.id the house 
 filled nightly with rival admirers, among whom was 
 the melancholy son of a Washington, 1). O., judge : 
 "Miss Lillian Russell is a beauty without a shadow 
 
 (T 
 
 o
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 285 
 
 of doubt. She is about tweuty-six, I believe. It is 
 by no mecans generally known that she is marrier], and 
 that her husband is an honest, hard-working, and thor- 
 ough orchestra leader, to whom she owes her present 
 proficiency in vocal culture. He was very fond of her, 
 and alwaj^s believed in her success. No man could 
 have Avorked more faithfully. Finally he found an 
 opening for her on the variety stage as a serio-comic — 
 as the phrase goes — singer. She attracted attention 
 at once, and he labored vigilantly until he found a 
 legitimate opening in English comic opera. I believe 
 it was 'The Snake Charmer.' She was very glad to 
 get out of the variety rut so soon, and expressed de- 
 lio-ht at the admiration she excited. Then came the 
 club-men with their swell slang, gaudy carts and flow- 
 ing money. Now she is suing her husband for divorce. 
 Such is life. The husband, I hear, harassed by care, 
 and perhaps something else, had become so nervous 
 or inattentive that he lost his position in the orchestra, 
 and so the shades of prosperity and adversity arc more 
 clearly defined than ever. Miss Russell seems to have 
 been under the especial care of a theatrical goddess of 
 sensationalism. Everj^thing has conspired to make 
 her name familiar. Her escapade with one of the 
 young men was inevitable. The only question was 
 which one she would select. It happened to be 
 Howard Osborne, the son of the wealthy banker. 
 One night when it was time for the curtain to rise, and 
 the audience was o-ettino- into a Avhite heat, the manag-er 
 came forward displaying a decided desire to swear 
 like a pirate, and announced that Miss Russell had 
 suddenly and unwarrantedly run away. The next 
 morning Mr. Osborne, Sr., wondered where in thun- 
 der his son was. He received a letter later, and 
 immediatelv fell into a howling rage. Shortly after-
 
 286 MASHERS AND MASHING. 
 
 wards Mr. Howard Osborne was hoard of in Cliican-o, 
 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 rcadino- 
 at breakfast a cable in the morning papers relatiu"- a 
 little excursion of a certain Mr. Howard Osborne, Esq., 
 said to be of New York, with Miss Alice Burvillc, the 
 burlesque actress, at the Ascot races. Hcigho ! 
 ' Which the ways of the world is peculiar, Mrs. 'Arris, 
 sezl.'" 
 
 A Californian, who reached the Pacific slope in '49 
 as a peddler, but is now a bachelor millionaire, has 
 been sued for breach of promise by the walking lady 
 of a San Francisco theatre, who seems to have elfec- 
 tually succeeded in "mashing" the old man. Tlio 
 defendant it is said first saw the plaintiff at a perform- 
 ance at the theatre where she was euL^aircd. lie 
 became impressed with her charms and sought an in- 
 troduction. He gained it and became an assiduous 
 attendant upon her. Their intimacy, the lady 
 alleges, 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 of a year. Then business called 
 him to his mines in Amador County. Ho was to be 
 away some weeks, but returned sooner than he had 
 anticipated. He 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 see 
 her walk away with another man. That other 
 man, moreover, was an actor with whom rumor 
 had associated her name more than once, thou<rh
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 
 
 287 
 
 she had succeeding in arguing suspicion in the 
 matter away from the mind of her senile lover. 
 This time, however, argument failed 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 
 man, and he literally as well as metaphorically 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 "MASH. 
 
 Adelina Patti is credited with a strange fascination, 
 while in New York, the diva havins; succumbed to the 
 blandishments of a midget. The story is that she saw 
 a picture of the midget Dudley Foster on exhibition 
 at Bunnell's museum, and driving down Broadway, 
 stopped at Bunnell's establishment and asked George 
 Starr, the wily awd polite manager, for the loan of the 
 diminutive specimen of humanity. Starr agreed and 
 the midget was handed into her carriage. " Here is a
 
 288 MASHERS AND MASHING. 
 
 pretty toy," gushed the pritna donna, covering the 
 little creature with kisses. She took him to her hotel 
 and passed an entire afternoon singing to him and 
 chattinix. How Kicolini took to the new crank of his 
 sinking bird is not stated. Mr. Foster plumes himself 
 
 J. H. HAVEIILY. 
 
 consideral)Iy on the fact that he has done what princes 
 have tried in vain — cutout Nicolini — and he boasts, 
 too, tiiat the prima donna before she would let him go 
 made him promise to call on lier the following week. 
 
 Actors have their ♦* mashes" too, the same as ac- 
 tresses, and tht gentlemen who own flexible voices, and
 
 MASHERS AND IMASHING. 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 nuich make-up, they refuse to analyze the charms 
 of a tenor, and his grease, paint, luxuriant locks, and 
 graceful mustache are admired as his very own. A 
 case in point was that of a young lady whose father is 
 well known on the Chicago Stock Exchange. She was 
 violently smitten with Campanini, 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 Italian, and evidently by 
 some one who was more romantic than fast or wild. 
 There was little trouble in finding out the fair corres- 
 pondent, and Mme. Campanini, who has a good and 
 lovely soul, sent a note to the young lady and asked 
 her to call. It is needless to say the hitter's delight- 
 ful delusions were quickly dispelled before the domes- 
 tic life of the silver-toned tenor and the kindly advice 
 of his good wife. 
 
 The extent to which these serio-comic love affiiirs 
 are carried on is enormous, and sometimes the parties 
 show an amusing ingenuity in their correspondence.- 
 Del Puente once went nearly wild with ungratified 
 curiosity through the pranks of a mischievous school 
 girl, who was perpetually sending him love letters, in 
 which she declared she never 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 
 him and be present at every performance. Sure 
 enough, in every cit}'^ where he sang he received a 
 
 19
 
 2'JO MASlIEliS AND MAblUNG. 
 
 pretty note of congratulation, with the iisuiil informa- 
 tion that the Avriter — dressed, as usual, in blu k — 
 ^vas present. Of course, there were always a nninher 
 of young and })retty women in this sonihie hue, but 
 which Avas his correspondent Del Puentc never could 
 decide. The letters were always post-marked with tiie 
 name of the city he happened to be in, and finally he 
 became really nervous with the idea of an unknown 
 woman following him in this shadowy fashion. His 
 curiosity was not destined to be satisfied until long 
 afterward, when he found that the fair unknown, clev- 
 erly following the i)ublished route, would send a 
 stamjicd but undirected letter to the postmaster of the 
 city he ha[)pened to bo in, with a request that he would 
 ascertain the singer's address and forward it. As long 
 as the letter was stamped this was sure to be done, and 
 the tenor never failed to receive the missive. 
 
 A case of basso-infatuation was that of a daughter 
 of an ex-Senator, still prominent in "Washington cir- 
 cles, who used to spend all her pin-money in buying 
 presents and baskets of flowers, Avhich she sent to 
 Conley. In some mysterious way her father received 
 a hint of it, and the young lady was sent to the 
 Georijetown convent, where she was educated for a 
 couple of years by way of i)unishment. She probal)ly 
 dill not know that Conley was married. Poor fellow, 
 he was drowned last .summer. 
 
 Castle, though neither so young nor so charming as 
 ho once was, still receives loads of gushing epistles, 
 which Mrs. Castle demurely twists into cigar lighters ; 
 and Pjrignoli says, " I haf teachcd missel f /.e Inglis 
 language with these liddle letters." 
 
 In Chicago there resides a wealthy and charming 
 young married lady who entertains handsomely, and is 
 well known in society, but who distracts her elderly
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 291 
 
 husband by a mania for making the acquaintance of 
 evciy new male singer of note, and entertaining him 
 with the greatest elegance and expense. Of course a 
 majority of these affairs are entered into either in the 
 spirit of romance or mischief, but in either case it is 
 apt to result disastrously, and the world has a cruelly 
 uncomfortably way of stamping them with another and 
 harsher name. 
 
 Having noticed that there was a stain on the lips of 
 the portrait of Campanini the tenor, hanging in the 
 lobby of the Academy of Music, New York, a visitor 
 called an attendant's attention to it and advised him to 
 wipe it off. "Why, bless you," said the attendant, " we 
 do so every day. That's where the girls kiss it. That 
 picture makes as many mashes as Campy himself, and 
 if he was kissed half as often his lips would be quite 
 worn away. Lord what fools women are, to be sure ! " 
 The visitor waited long enough to see a well-dressed 
 and handsome young lady approach and kiss the pic- 
 ture. At least he says he saw it. 
 
 There is also a humorous side to this "mashinof" 
 business. Men and boys who run after actresses gen- 
 erally get themselves into trouble, particularly is this 
 the case with old men — men old enou2:h to be think- 
 ing of the designs for their tombstones instead of 
 running around variety theatres hugging girls and lav- 
 ishing champagne and beer upon them. An old sinner 
 of this stamp got into trouble in a New York theatre 
 one day. He made himself conspicuous and obnoxious 
 at a rehearsal by stumbling over the stao:e and ffettino- 
 in everybody's way. The supes cursed him and the 
 stage carpenter called down anathemas on his aged 
 head, but the old fellow was indifferent, for he was 
 basking in the smiles of a well-known soubrette and 
 was happy. Finally he posed in the centre of the sta2:e
 
 202 
 
 MASHERS AND MASFIINO. 
 
 jnstas an 'Miiterior " was to be set. The scene shifters 
 saw lie was in a good position to he squeezed, and they 
 quietly shoved the scenes together. The lover, intent 
 
 -^V MONTtKY SPOILINfJ A "MASH. 
 
 on his inamorata, discovered his predicament only when 
 cauglit, hut the scene shifters were deaf to his cries, 
 and he was held a prisoner. He was only released on
 
 MASHERS AND MASHING. 293 
 
 swearing never again to poke liis nose inside the stage- 
 door, and furnishing enough to treat the boys. When 
 at hist 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 a part to play 
 in a piece running at one of the metropolitan variety 
 theatres. There was a pretty burlesque actress play- 
 ing there at the same time and she had a 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 that realm of dirt, paint, 
 and faded tinsel *' behind the scenes," and he stationed 
 himself in the winirs in order to welcome his charmer 
 when she retired amid the plaudits of the audience. 
 But alas, the '< bqst 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 a swoop with its long arm and the masher was 
 scalped. He cried lustily, but the monkey made off 
 with its trophy and the masher sloped with a hand- 
 kerchief tied over hi?5 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 prattle of a silly old man. He was protest- 
 ing heartily his love for the young lady, and was on
 
 294 MASHERS AXD MASFIING. 
 
 tlie ]K)int of kissinic her hand, when, as lie stooped 
 down, she snatched his wMij from his head. At tliat 
 moment she had to appear on the stage, and did so 
 amid huighter and apphiiise ; for she carried with her 
 tlic old fellow's scalp as if by way of trophy. The 
 applause Avas less loud, hut much more humorous on 
 the stage ; for the gay old lover and his bald head had 
 to stand a deal of quizzing from those who, like him- 
 self, were in the wings waiting for their " little dears " 
 to return. 
 
 Since the establishment of garden theatres for the 
 summer months, in nearly all the large cities of the 
 Union, the " masher" finds am[)le field for the kind of 
 sport he indulges in. A girl in red tights created a great 
 commotion among the swell mashers who frequented 
 Uhrig's Cave, 8t. 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 
 lit, and dust some of the chairs with their coat-tails and 
 pantaloons. They watch the singers as they enter and 
 endeavor to catch some suggestion from them that a 
 mash has hccn eflccted. Now and then a soft, gazelle- 
 like glance or a sweet, girlish simper, like the smile on 
 a sick monkey's under lip, gives a token of slight 
 recognition, and then the masher's heart and eye are 
 full of gladness. When the curtain is rung \\\) and the 
 glare turned on, tlu>- " mashers " move in a body 
 towards the front of the stage and dust some more of 
 the chairs. Then they fhx 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 arsle of the garden, and, opening 
 ranks, wait for the actresses to come out. When 
 the actresses do come out they are 
 oblio-ed to run a £::auntlet 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 cap- 
 tures a girl, but it is seldom. The 
 professional poser has too wide a 
 reputation and his figure is as 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 her friends is obdurate to 
 the glances, the moustache, the 
 smiles, the white hat, light pant- 
 aloons, bamboo canes, and cheap 
 button-hole bouquets — 
 
 AMBLELEG. 
 
 See p. 296. 
 
 The Saturday matinee young man, 
 
 The five-cent-cigai- young man, 
 
 The sweetly susceptible, somewhat disrep'table, 
 
 Gaze-and-admire-me young man. 
 
 And so it goes on every night. Music and " mash- 
 so charmingly dovetail themselves to the enter- 
 tainment that there is as much amusement in looking 
 up one as in listening to the other. 
 
 ms:
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 
 
 Mr. Troubadour Ambleleg was a tenor. He waved 
 his light voice for a light salary in the chorus of an 
 unexpensive opera company that made the summer 
 months of 1881 and the opera air of the West End of 
 St. Louis melodious to a sometimes quite harassing 
 degree. His soul was as full of art as liis throat was 
 of music. He doted upon the beautiful wherever he 
 came in contact with it, and frequentljs when he heard 
 of beauty lying around in languid looseness in any 
 direction, he went out of his way to find it. It was in 
 this manner he became acquainted with Miss Silica 
 Justaytine. She was the belle of an uppcrly upper 
 circle, a glowing, brown-eyed maiden, with sun-kissed 
 hair, and the sweetest smiles that ever played in Polar- 
 light style over the ruffs and ruchings of an expensive 
 toilet. Indeed, an aurora borealis of fjlintiufr cood 
 nature shone upon the horizon of her lips, and a 
 single glance of her eye was worth more trf a man in 
 love than the advent of a sprinkling cart to a traveller 
 perishing of thirst on a dry and burning desert. 
 When Mr. Amidelcg saw Miss Justaytine, that pink of 
 beauty and perfection of belleship, gracing a front 
 bench, Avhcrc the susceptil)le tenor was nightly airing 
 his voice at a salary of ten dollars a week, their eyes ' 
 met and their loves at once intertwined. Like Tecetl, 
 tho daughter of Montcztuna, Avho found in the yellow- 
 haired warrior, Alvarado, the lover she had dreamt of 
 
 (206)
 
 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. » 297 
 
 long before the prow of the "fair god's" vessel 
 touched the shores of Mexico, the super-aesthetical 
 maiden of my story saw in the chorus singer the 
 affinity for which she had long looked and sighed. 
 Mr. Ambleleg, too, at once became aware that in Miss 
 Justaytine he had met his fate. They smiled, and 
 sighed, and ogled, and encouraged each other across 
 the foot-1 lights. The chorus sinsrer foro;ot all the other 
 maiden beauty that flourished under* the foliage, and 
 there were crushed and trampled hearts lying in the 
 chasm across which Ambleleg and Miss Justaytine ex- 
 chano:ed their affections. But Ambleleg did not mind 
 it. He had learned that Miss Justaytine was the queen 
 of her circle, and he determined to share her crown 
 with her. Now, Ambleleg was not wealthy ; neither 
 was he rich in prepossessing features. His teeth were 
 freckled, his mouth was big, his forehead small, his 
 eyes expressionless, his hair of a buttery yellow, his 
 moustache vapid, his shirt calico, and usually required 
 to do long service without washing, while his general 
 appearance was not extravagantly pleasant, and cer- 
 tainly not over-abundant in that grace and ease for 
 which pretty girls have, at all times, a fondness. 
 Therefore, it was surprising that Miss Silica Justaytine 
 fell in love with the chorus-singing tenor. But she 
 did so, and, it seems, fell so deeply into admiration of 
 himself and his voice, that* she could not have done 
 better had she made the start, in falling, from the top 
 of a seven-story house. When love is once kindled in 
 the glow of a pair of admiring eyes, look out for a 
 conflagration in the neighborhood of the pericardium. 
 Night after night, as the moon washed the tree tops 
 with waves of silver, and the leaves rustled their whis- 
 pers to each other. Miss Silica Justaytine sat in the 
 front row, either joining with the chorus of eesthetic
 
 298 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 
 
 nuiidcns in " Patience " in singing to her own ideal 
 BuntJiorne, — 
 
 Turn, oh turn in this direction, 
 
 Shed, oh shed a gentle smile ; 
 • With a glance of sad perfection 
 
 My poor fainting heart beguile! 
 On such cj'es as maidens cherish 
 
 Let thy fond adorer gaze. 
 Or incontinently perish 
 
 In their all-consuming rays. 
 
 Or followino: Bettina throu<z;li the mazes of the 
 " Mascotte " gobble song, while she had a Pippn of 
 her own in mind all the time. Ambleleg noticed this 
 growing allectioii, and sang all the louder, and all the 
 wilder, to the great endangcrnientof the performances. 
 At last Miss Silica Jiistaytine left him a token of her 
 love — a soft, white rose, which she kissed and })laced 
 in her chair as she departed one evening. Ambleleg 
 cleared the stajje at a I)()und, secured the cream v 
 flower, pressed it to his li[)s 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 Justaytine was toying with a 
 $10,000 necklace 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 as she looked at it, then opened and 
 read it, smiled and floated gracefully up to an escritoire, 
 where she indited a charming little note on pink mono- 
 gram i)aper with heavy gold edges, and placed it in one 
 of the nattiest and most scrumptious envelopes you ever 
 saw. Ambleleg read that note that very night to a 
 group of wide-eyed and open-mouthed chorus singers. 
 It invited him to call on Miss .Fustaytine the next day. 
 The call was made. Miss Silica Justaytine received 
 Ambleleg at the front door, and led him to the magni- 
 ficent parlor as gracif)usly as if he were a prince.
 
 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 299 
 
 <' My Pippor' she cried, as she flung her arms 
 around his neck, and almost knocked over the piano 
 stool. 
 
 ♦' My Bettinaf 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. Cruel f\ite had dealt 
 harshly with both. One w^as already engaged to be 
 married ; the other would not begin to have a ghost 
 of a show at monogamy if wives were to be had at ten 
 cents a dozen. Miss Justaytine was betrothed to Mr. 
 Praymore, a young man who had hopes of coming into 
 a fortune some day or other, providing he survived 
 the parent who accumulated it. Mr. Ambleleg was 
 impecunious ; still she said she could scrape up enough 
 to buy him a suit of clothes and a box of tooth-powder, 
 and then they might fly together as far as East St. 
 Louis anyhow. Miss Justaytine was to become a wan- 
 derino- minstrel's bride. She took the $5,000 diamond 
 engagement ring Mr. Praymore had 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 shutters of the third-story window and 
 softly sang, — 
 
 For I mi-hy turkey's love, 
 to which Pippo melodiously responded, — 
 
 And I my shee-eep love. 
 
 After which there was a mixture of " gobble, gobble, 
 fjobble," and " ba-a-a-ahs." Not content with this 
 innocent and artistic way of amusing himself while he
 
 300 THE MAIDEN AND THE TENOR. 
 
 kept i)Ooplo awake for blocks iirouiul, Ambleleg very 
 indiscreetly boasted of his success, and exhibited Miss 
 Silica Justaytine's notes and photoirraphs to indiscrim- 
 inate crowds. One day he met Mr. Prayniore and a 
 prize-lighting 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 claret in a nose so inviting as that which 
 decorated the middle of Mr. Aml)leleg'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 toucii 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 
 
 ofiicial statement of their side of the ca.se. Ambleleo- 
 
 o 
 
 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. Aml)leleg hired him 
 two lawyers to plead his cause, and then there was a 
 great uproar all over the country. The papers busied 
 themselves al)out the matter very much, and impu- 
 dently published all the details that they could get 
 hold of. (^uitc natural it was that when Miss Silica 
 Justaytine arrived at the Rosebud Sulphur Springs, 
 the fashionable and celebrated beauties there should 
 be so jealous of her triumj)!! over a chorus singer, that 
 they were sparing of their attentions and cutting in 
 their remarks. 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 
 Justaytiue's capture of a $15,000,000 ex-Prcsideiital 
 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 Kosebud 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 him, 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 Ambleles; a messajje accom- 
 panied by the talismanic words, "Pzp/)o" 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 coat-tail and followed, the two arrivins; 
 there out of breath, the one bent on money, the other 
 called by the sweet voice of love. 
 
 ''Oh, Pippol" . 
 
 "Oh, Bettina!'' 
 
 This was the salutation 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 cannot 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. 
 
 "I'll cut it down, Bettina^'''' he said, '• but I do it 
 only for your sweet dear sake." 
 
 "How much?" she asked.
 
 302 THE MAIDEN AND TIIK TENOR. 
 
 "All I want," he answered, "is enoni:;h to huy a 
 silver watch, a new snit of clothes, pay my hoard and 
 wash hill, get me three cigars for ten cents, and take 
 me home to my mother. I think I can get along with 
 $500." 
 
 " Is that all?" the charminiz; and deli<2;lited creature 
 inquired. 
 
 "Not quite all," put in Auil)lelcg ; " the two law- 
 yers I have hired cannot he assuaged with less than 
 $")00. We three — that is, the two lawyers and my- 
 self — want $.500 a[)iece. Thus you see I cut the 
 $10,000 down $8,500," and he jammed his thunihs 
 into the arm-holes of his vest and assumed the attitude 
 of a man who could lose that amount in a game of 
 poker every day in the week and never feel the loss. 
 
 " Oh, Pippo, you arc so good to reduce so liher- 
 ally," said Miss Justaytine, and she threw her arms 
 around his n(jck and kissed him in a wild and irre- 
 sponsihle way. 
 
 Thus the interview ended, and as Ami)lele<r amhled 
 down the front steps Miss Silica Justaytine sat down 
 at her i)iano, ecstatically thrummed it and enthusiasti- 
 cally sang : — 
 
 A feather-licaded youii^ man, 
 
 A goosey-goosey young man, 
 
 An utterly Ic^oncy, much too-sooney, 
 
 Swallow-the-biiit young man. 
 
 The lawyers suhsequently fixed the matter up among 
 themselves, and Ambleleg, after getting a few dollars 
 and a new pair of heavy-soled shoes, struck out nobly 
 for the home of his mother. When last heard from 
 he still had a good chorus voice and was helping to 
 fill in the intervals of comic opera with his low and gen- 
 tle howl. 
 
 • •••«»
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. 
 
 The merchant who has anything to dispose of adver- 
 tises it, and the most successful men in any line of 
 business are those Avho 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 a puff or notice is beauti- 
 fully set forth in the following funny paragraph which 
 I found floating around in the newspapers : — 
 
 "A Leadville paper stated that a well-known actress 
 who visited that city went to a saloon after a per- 
 formance, played poker, got drunk, 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 pufi" that Avould 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 
 a cent what the means employed are or what the 
 printed matter is, so the names are their own and once 
 more they are before the people. The great majority, 
 however, while anxious to appear in print as often and 
 in as many columns as a paper can spare without 
 throwing out paying advertisements, are very scrupu- 
 lous about the character of the statements credited to 
 
 (303)
 
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 p. 
 >'. 
 
 > 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 a: 
 
 > 
 
 O 
 CO 
 
 ''^^M^
 
 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. - 305 
 
 them or actions spoken of, while all affect to be ntterly 
 independent of the press and to have no 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 fact that day after day the most out- 
 rageous stories about professional people go uncon- 
 troverted, is an indication that not only 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 one as the announcement of the 
 attempt of a sheriff to lasso Miss Fanny Davenport, 
 in order that he might be able to hold her long 
 enouo;h to read a writ of some sort to her. 
 
 Different 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 'Sargent likes a reporter to see 
 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- 
 umn puff of the pretty creature whose counterpart 
 presentment has been sent to him. Diamond robberies 
 
 20
 
 306 FISHINC Foil TFJKE PUFFS. 
 
 arc Avoith at least a coluiiiii. Falling heir to $5,000,- 
 000 or more will briiiix -"i interview that will l)e worth 
 almost as much as the Iciracv. In everythiiiii: an 
 actor or an actress says and does the newspaper will 
 find something wvirth printing, and in i)rinting it the 
 pa[)er does exactly what the actor or actress wants — 
 places him or her before Ihe public. Mme. Janauschek 
 gets a slight jolt in going down the shaft of a Colorado 
 mine, and the country is immediately informed that 
 she has had a narrow escape from death. Minnie 
 Maddern, a new star who ex[)ects to rival Lotta, is 
 made a brevet officer of the Continental Guards of 
 New Oi'leans, and her manager feels assured that the 
 people of the United States would not sleep well if 
 they didn't hear about it within twenty-four hours, so 
 he gets the Associated Press to telegraph it in all direc- 
 tions, that at least a few lives may be saved. A Bo- 
 hemian prince presents Emma Thursby, at Prague, 
 with a pair of nightingales, and about ten lines of 
 every newspaper this side of the Atlantic are wasted 
 in making the silly announcement. The souvenir and 
 ilower " rackets " both carry a certain weight, and the 
 lithograph that fdls the eye as one gazes into a shoe 
 store window is a glory that can never fade from the 
 optic that has even for a second of time dwelt upon it. 
 Minnie Palmer, if all i-cports l)c Irue, came to the 
 front some time ago with a new hid I'or a free adver- 
 tiseraent. She entertained a Louisville (Jowiei'-Jour- 
 7i«? reporter with a display that must have made the 
 3'oung man blush. " Our company has got into the 
 chemise fever," exclaimed Minnie, artlessly, " and 
 we're trying to see which can make the prettiest one. 
 I'll show thcni to you," and then, i-ogardlcss of the 
 helpless man's blushes, she disemboweled a trunk and 
 buried him beneath an avalanche of snowv underwear.
 
 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS, 
 
 307 
 
 Their construction was minutely explained, and then 
 the conversation naturally led to flannels, which Min- 
 nie confidentially remarked could not be Worn by 
 actors because of the risk of colds wheu compelled to 
 
 ERNESTI ROSSI. 
 
 leave them off*. The theme could scarcely be pursued 
 further than flannels, and the interview closed with 
 Minnie's confession that she didn't like to be hii2:2:ed 
 
 oo" 
 
 on the stage in warm weather. In winter, and unen-
 
 308 FISHING FOR FREE rUFFS. 
 
 cumbered by flannels, the operation was not so dis- 
 tasteful. All of this may seem irrelevant, and having 
 very little to do with dramatic art, but it made a col- 
 umn for Minnie all the same. 
 
 The Abbott Kiss, invented by John T. McEnnis, a 
 reporter on the St. Louis Post- Dispatch^ but always 
 claimed by Jimmy ]\Iorrissey, who was her agent at 
 the time, traveled everywhere and was printed in 
 every newspaper from New York to San Francisco. 
 It had just about played out when in 1881, during the 
 prevalence of small-pox, Miss Abbott had herself vac- 
 cinated on one of her lower limbs, and again tiie papers 
 advertised her. She afterwards acted in the capacity 
 of interviewer for the St. Louis Globe- Democrat, and 
 was commissioned to get a talk out of Patti, but spent 
 all the time she was with the diva in kissing and hug- 
 ing her, and when she came away from her had noth- 
 ing to write about. Still Miss Abbott is a hard-work- 
 ing, gifted, and agreeable little lady, and must be 
 regarded as the best lyric prima donna America can 
 boast of. 
 
 Speaking about Patti : she came to the United States 
 under foreign management, and with all her sweetness 
 and beauty of voice and the greatness of her reputa- 
 tion, she could do nothing until an American manager 
 who understood the art of advertising took hold of 
 her. lie began his work at once by decorating his 
 theatre in lavish style for her first concert, and com- 
 pleted his initial triumi)li by causing a crowd of 
 young fellows to unhitch the horses from Patti's car- 
 ria^re and run with the vehicle through the streets to 
 her hotel. The report next day said the amateur 
 horses were society swells, and so the news went into 
 every State of the Union. Neilson's carriage was 
 drairged through the street in the same way once at
 
 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. 309 
 
 Toronto. Patti got another free " ad." by visiting 
 Paddy Ryan, the pugilist John Sullivan knocked out 
 of time, in his training quarters at New Orleans, just 
 as Bernhardt went to see Eno-lehardt's whale at Bos- 
 ton for the sake of the advertisement she got. 
 
 Just as Schneider kicked herself into the good graces 
 of the Parisians, Catherine Lewis, of *' Olivette " fame, 
 managed to *' fling " herself into popularity here. The 
 Lewis fling in the farandole was known and sought 
 after everywhere. It was a wild and wayward tossing 
 of limbs and arms that caught the eye and held the 
 attention not so much because there Avas anything 
 artistic in it, but because one expected every minute 
 to see it grow less and less restrained until it broke 
 out into something like the reckless indecency of the 
 cancan. It advertised Catherine Lewis as she has not 
 been advertised since, and as she probably never will 
 be again. As the "fling" is not dead yet I will try 
 to describe it. After the solo and while the first chorus 
 is being given she moves back with the other dancers, 
 throwing her arms from right to left and left to right 
 again, when the dancers came to a standstill. Olivette 
 is seen posing in a lop-sided, Pisa-like attitude, with 
 both arms and head inclining to the left. The chorus 
 is repeated, and as the repetition begins the dancers 
 turn themselves loose with Olivette in the van. 
 *' Oho " she sings and swings to the left ; " Oho " to 
 the right, " Oho" to the left again, when out pops 
 the left slipper, followed swiftly by the right ditto, and 
 the toe of the latter foot-covering tumbles over the 
 horizon of the orchestra leader's head, and there is a 
 confusion of embroidery and white linen and silk hose 
 that fills the eye of the man in the parquette with a 
 flash of joy and causes a warm still wind to roll in a 
 breezeful way around his cardiacal region. "Oho,"
 
 310 FISHING I OR FREE PUFFS. 
 
 *' Oho " aiul " Oho " aG^ain, with more hodv tlirow- 
 inir, and this time the elevation of the toe of the K-Ct 
 slipper above the line of vision, just a little higher than 
 before, followed by three more '* Oho's," and the 
 quivering of the satin slipper on the right foot high 
 over the foot-lights and in close range to the man with 
 iield glasses to his eye."? who is sitting in the first row 
 of the panjuette. And that's all there is to the faran- 
 dole — nine swings or throws of the body and three 
 kicks every time she comes down the staije, the nlti- 
 tude.of the kick growing with each succeeding ellort 
 until the last spasmodic, airial evolution of the satin 
 slipper brings about a display of linen that would do 
 
 Tcdit to the lingerie counter of a dry gockls store. 
 
 )Hvette has the attention of the entire audience while 
 this is eroiuiX <>n. She ijoes up and comes down the 
 rtaire twice, swinizinc: and kicking with an anatomical 
 riot behind her, every female member of the company 
 from the chorus girl up to the Countesfi vying with 
 Olivette in sendini; the farandole ofT with a hurrah and 
 multii)licity of " flings." When the chorus has come 
 
 o an end, there is a bold encore for its repetition, and 
 away they go again. 
 
 Oh! oil! Oh! Oh! 
 
 Tlien would they be missinjr, 
 Surely the girls went round about 
 So long it took them finding out. 
 Oh! Oh!' Oh! Oh! 
 
 Till something like kissing, 
 Told us plainly as could be 
 Where were he and she. 
 
 Miss Lewis at one time while in New York was freely 
 advertised in both meanings of the word, because she 
 sold tickets for her bciicliL in her room at the hotel, 
 where all could apply to purchase them. 
 
 Maggie Duggan, a young lady until recently compar-
 
 FISIIINa rOU FREE PUFFS. 
 
 311 
 
 ativcly unknown, has suddenly made herself famous by 
 nightly kicking her slipper to the top of the Bijou 
 Theatre, New York. She is a comic opera singer. 
 
 SLIPPERS FOR FREE PUFFS. 
 
 This is lofty limb work that Mile. Sara, the original 
 high kicker, might envy. 
 
 Emilie Melville, an operatic star of California, in look-
 
 312 FISHING Fon FREE PUFFS. 
 
 ing over her stock of presents could think of noth- 
 ing more suitable or anything that would prove more 
 acceptable to the dramatic critics of San Francisco and 
 her friends than to give each one of her slippers. So 
 she held a reception; and, dressed in Oriental toilet, 
 she presented each as he came with one of the tiny 
 silken slippers in which her tootsies used to slumber on 
 the stage. It was such a novel proceeding that Miss 
 Mt'lvillegot more gratuitous i)uffing 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 for them. They would follow us around 
 and give scraps of our conversation, and one fellow 
 even sat iit the same dinner-table Avith us in Kansas 
 City and printed a list of all the things my wile ate, 
 making it about 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 avc determined to 
 have our supper in our room, and, as the landlord would 
 not consent to that, I bouijht a steak during the even- 
 ing, and Marie Roze, still dressed as Helen of Trny^ 
 began to cook it over a spirit lamp. Wo were con- 
 gratulating ourselves that no reporter would know any- 
 thing about that supper, when a knock was given on 
 the door. ' Who's there?' I called out. The answer 
 came l)aok through the keyhole : ' I am a reporter of 
 the MoniiiKj Buzzardy and I want to know what you
 
 FISHING FOR FRRE PUFFS. 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 a plan straightway that led him out of the diffi- 
 culty, as had happened to him many a time before. He 
 went to the room of his star — his leading lady — and 
 knocked. He was admitted. " Why, Sam," said 
 she, " what do you want at this hour?" 
 
 " I want your ear," said he. 
 
 *' 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." 
 
 *' It'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 he ; " there may be a Napoleon 
 in petticoats as well as in trousers." 
 
 ' ' Very well , what is it ? " 
 
 " I want to get a column in each 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 artful ao-ent. 
 
 ** What is that?" inquired '^e guileless actress.
 
 314 FISHING FOR FREE PUFFS. . 
 
 *' You know the railroad bridire outside of town?" 
 
 ♦' That shaky old wooden structure of patched logs 
 and sleepers? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ♦♦ Well, what of it?" 
 
 *' That bridge will get us roliimns in every paper for 
 forty miles around." 
 
 " You've got 'em, Sam, sure.' 
 
 ♦' No, I haven't. I'm solid on the biz. Now listen : 
 I 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'U I do that for? " 
 
 «« For an 'ad.' " 
 
 *' And where will I be when the trains pass? " 
 . *' Wliy, if you're smart and listen to me, you'll be 
 clinging to the trestle-work underneath until they pass 
 over yon, 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 the agent. She stood on the bridge 
 at the a{)pointed time. She slirieked in the most 
 frantic manner. The enj'ineer reversed the en<;ine and 
 whistled down bi-akcs, ])nt in spite of all the train 
 passed over her. Tiiere was a great sensation. She 
 was dragged out from the trestle-work and taken to 
 the hotel. Tiie papers which would not take the 
 advertiseuKMit of the show because the manager could 
 not pay in advance sent reporters to interview the 
 actress on her narrow escape, and gave columns to the 
 company. The result was a series of full houses and 
 the "snides" made a triumi)hant march eastward 
 on the impetus of the shrewd agent's ♦' g^g-^'
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 
 
 In no other country in the world does the inter- 
 viewer's profession thrive as in these United States. 
 From the cabinet minister — na3% the President him- 
 self — down to the common felon, all at different times 
 are liable to what is called " the pressure of the pump- 
 ing process." Some classes naturally like being 
 interviewed, because all publicity ad(is to their impor- 
 tance and notoriety. The politicians are a specimen of 
 this species. Then, again, another class regards the 
 interview as a legitimate means of advertising and 
 of attracting public attention to themselves and their 
 doings. This class 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 somethins: of the foot-lio;ht favorites when thev 
 have doffed the stage costume, rubbed off the paint and 
 powder, and become, as 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 newsj)aper man in the Western country, 
 
 (315)
 
 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 jSIarquis de Caux rendered her aristocratic in 
 manners, and her behavior always has in it a tinge of 
 noblesse oblige. There is an almost imperceptible 
 flavor of condescension in her tone, which, while 
 courteous, is rather formal. Since her separation from 
 Do Caux, La Marquise has become more accessible, 
 and both she and Nicolini are almost warm in their 
 etViisions to journalists. 
 
 Christine Nilsson receives the interviewer pleasantly, 
 but rather dignified in manner. She is somewhat cold 
 in conversation, but her manners are alwa^'S conrteous. 
 She talks little. 
 
 Etclka Gerster likes the interviewer. At first she 
 regarded him as an American curiosity, l)ut having 
 learned his value she began to caress him. Gerster is 
 not at all so sweet in i)i-ivate life as is generally be- 
 lieved. The Hungarian prima donna is very passionate 
 and quick-tempered, and rnles her husband. Dr. 
 Gardine, with her 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 
 reirard. 
 
 Clara Kellogg submits to an iiilcrview as if it were 
 a rcgnlar business transaction. Ilcr mother is always 
 present and will frequently make suggestions. Miss 
 Kellogg chats pleasantly, bnt she has no warmth in her 
 manner ami no magnotism in her conversation. 
 
 Annie Louise Cary is what the journalists term a
 
 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 317 
 
 " j"l^y " gii"^' She does not care a whit what she says 
 or does. She will lausrh and chat as if the interviewer 
 were an old acquaintance. She greets him with a sjDon- 
 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 iuto the journalist's ears with re- 
 markable loquacity. But Miunie has a mother. After 
 the interviewer is gone Minnie will send him a 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 impetu- 
 osity. She is frank to a fault, and confides a good deal in 
 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 troujDe, 
 and thus always keeps the impressario in a state of 
 nervousness. 
 
 Emma Abbott is the gusher par excellence. At the 
 first glance of the interviewer she rushes towards him, 
 seizes him with both her hands, is Oh, so, so glad to 
 see him ! She talks with great rapidity and unceas- 
 ingly. The scribe to her is an old familiar friend. 
 She insists on his calling on her, dining with her, etc., 
 etc. Her friendliness is overwhelmino;. She loads the 
 journalist with favors, and almost embraces him in the 
 ardor of her afiection. 
 
 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 them. She never tires, and is a study
 
 318 THE ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 
 
 to the newspaper man. She 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. 'Slio is 
 fond of inviting thera to breakfast. 
 
 Clara Morris is an excellent subject for an interview. 
 Miss Morris always prepares to receive the representa- 
 tive of the press in some picturesque attitude or pose. 
 She has a fine perception of artistic eflcct, and never 
 loses sight of the fact that it is an interview, and hence 
 has an eye to what will appear in print. Tn her dis- 
 course she aims to" be epigrammatic and Avitty ; likes 
 to be novel and original. Her knowledge is very 
 varied, and she converses with ease and fluency. Her 
 face sparkles, and her reception is always extremely 
 cordial. 
 
 Modjeska, otherwise the Countess Bozcnta, is, per- 
 haps, the best educated actress on the sta<re. She is a 
 gifted linguist, well read in French, German, and Ejig- 
 lish literature. She is a charming conversationalist. 
 In manners she is a perfect lady, without any stage 
 eccentricities. She is a deliirhtful hostess, and dis- 
 penses hospitality most gracefully. Her bearing is 
 courteous but thoroughly friendly, and there is the 
 im[)rcss of ]a grande dame in her demeanor. She is 
 partial to canine pets. 
 
 Adelaide Neilson captured every journalist who ever 
 interviewed her. She seemed to bend :ill licr eneriries 
 to cajjtivate her visitor. Her remarkable beauty was 
 a powerful aid, and the charm of her manner was irre- 
 sistible. When necessary, she was almost a man of 
 business, and transacted her affairs with much abilit3\ 
 Poor Adelaide was too potent a spell for ordinar}' iu- 
 ten'iewers to withstand, and she always carried her 
 point. 
 
 Mary Anderson is a great talker. I lor mother and
 
 THK ACTRESS AND THE INTERVIEWER. 319 
 
 wtep-fiither, Dr. Hamilton Griffin, are usually in at- 
 tendance at an interview. She is decided in her opin- 
 ions, and expresses 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 neverthe- 
 less she thinks it a decided bore to entertain. 
 
 Maggie Mitchell is a whole-souled,, generous 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. BoAvers is a pleasant lady to visit. She 
 is quite motherly in her manners. Her conversation 
 contains much shrewd, caustic depth. 
 
 Charlotte Thompson is intellectual. She possesses 
 what the French call esprit and her conversation is 
 always enjoyable. 
 
 Emma Thursby is an interesting lady. The queen 
 of the concert-room is vivacious, lively, and talkative. 
 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 she is merely doing a necessary duty.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 Little PciTG^Vj afterwards the famous Mistress Wof- 
 fington, was down at the shores of Liffey drawing 
 water for her mother, when jMadamo Viohmte, a rope- 
 walker, met her, and taking a liking to the girl, made 
 terms with the parents and obtained possession of her. 
 Madame Violante Vvalkcd the rope with a child tied to 
 her feet, and lovely little Peggy for a 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 once 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 theatricals, from and before Wofhng- 
 ton's time, children were made participants in the 
 play, and the seeds planted thus early ripened into 
 the richest fruit. Until a very recent date it was not 
 deemed the duty of anybody to interfere with this 
 kind of trainiuij — not even with the barbarous treat- 
 ment to which children training for the circus ring 
 were submitted. Less than a half century ago the 
 Viennese children went through the country dancing, 
 and were unmolested by any philanthropically inclined 
 body or any excessively humane individual. The 
 
 (320)
 
 MISS CONNOLLY IN ENCHANTMENT.
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 321 
 
 juvenile "Pinafore" companies of two seasons ago 
 were regarded kindly by press and public ; and, in- 
 deed, until quite recently no extraordinary war was 
 made against presenting the talents of a child actor or 
 actress to the people. The 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 earliest, which begins 
 slowly, and widens only with the slow progress of the 
 years. There are very few actors or actresses who 
 have 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, gain 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 have 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. 
 I think the society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
 
 21
 
 (322) 
 
 LITTLE COUINNE.
 
 A FEW rOOT-LIGIlT FAVORITES. 323 
 
 Children did a very good thing when it took Little 
 Corinno from the staije. 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 inartisti- 
 cally. It was more 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 
 13ublic 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 
 left 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 will ins; to overlook faults and exaijo^erate excel- 
 lencies ; but there are cold, stern, critics, too, anxious 
 to puncture the new candidate for public favor in every 
 tender spot their cruel eyes can search out, and there 
 is the great public, that fickle body 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 
 to the heart of the actress, if actress it be ! What a 
 dream of glory she already begins to live in ! How 
 her brain throbs and her heart bounds, and all the 
 world seems a paradise, beautiful and fair as Eden was
 
 324 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 Avhou it loft tlio hands of I ho Crculor ! Friciuls crowd 
 :iround, the house is ringing with apphuiso, and she 
 tears away from Iho 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 i)rofoundh' thankful obeisance to the audience. 
 Then she returns to her crowdinLj friends on the stage, 
 from the manager down to the call-boy and scene- 
 shifters, and her 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 early cut down by death, is described in a very in- 
 teresting manner l)y one who was present. It was at 
 the Grand 0[)era House, Paris, and the theatre was 
 filled from parquctte to dome with an extraordinary 
 audience. Louis Napoleon was there, and the Empress 
 Eugenie ; princes and dukes filled the boxes, and the 
 nobility of France, representative Americans and 
 prominent Englishmen were in the audience. Emma 
 Livry was then only sixteen. From her earliest child- 
 hood, says the writer, she had been devoted to the art 
 of dancing — though this was no extraordinary thing, 
 for th(!re are a large number of girls always in training 
 for the Grand Opera in Paris, who are taken at the age 
 of four years, and kept in constant practice until they 
 reach womanhood, when they appear in })nl)lic. But 
 this girl had shown extraordinary genius. In her later 
 years the celei)rated dancer, Marie Taglioni, Countess 
 de Voisius, heai-ing of tlu; new dancer, left her villa on 
 the Lake of Como, and her })alacc in Venice, to como 
 to Paris to give the girl lessons. Ibr improvement 
 was miraculous. Taglioni said slu; would renew the 
 triumphs she herself had won in former days.
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 325 
 
 And now sho glided upon the stage. The brilliant 
 audience ceased their chatter as she appeared. The 
 occasion took the character of Avhat it was afterwards 
 called in the newspapers — "a great solemnity." Sho 
 was very young and was just at that period in the life 
 of a girl when her figure is apt to be what old-fash- 
 ioned people call raw-boned. She was tall, thin, and 
 pale. Her fiice was not handsome. Her form gave 
 no evidence of physical strength. 
 
 She was received in a hush of silence. " Let us 
 see," this great audience seemed to say, " what you 
 really can do in this poetic art." Any one who could 
 have connected sensuality or grossness with this girl 
 would have been baser than a sybarite ; and yet her 
 dress was the conventional dress of ballet dancers — 
 short to the calf of the leg but thickly clad above. 
 
 She began. O Grace, you never found a prototype 
 till now ! O Painting, Sculpture, you paled before this 
 supple, elastic, firm, yet dainty tread. 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- 
 tendino; her slender arms and delicate hands towards 
 the audience, as if to ask, " Come, what is the ver- 
 dict on me now?" a burst of enthusiastic applause, 
 loud shouts of " Brava ! " and " Bravissima ! " 
 *' C'est magnifique ! " waving of perfumed handker- 
 chiefs, a deluge 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 ofler 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,
 
 V 
 
 V 
 
 1-^ 
 
 (320) TAGLIOM CONGRATULATING EMMA LIVKY,
 
 A few' foot-light favorites. 327 
 
 " take this the queen of dance, Marie Taglioni, is 
 dead — long live the queen, Emma Livry ! " 
 
 As I passed out amongst the dense crowd, the 
 writer continues, I saw a woman of middle age, a;|d 
 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, Monsieur," she replied, " but it is with joy. 
 Who would not be proud of such a daughter, and of 
 such 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 fish-girl, 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, managed with- 
 out much trouble, and during a short stage experience, 
 to win the heart of Charles II., 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. She 
 died in poverty and left a line of dukes to perpetuate 
 her plebeian blood in royal veins. She died 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 each other and re-
 
 328 A FEW roOT-LIUIlT I'AVOinTES. 
 
 turning to England studied dancing and wont on the 
 stage, was another of those fortunate and unl'ortunato 
 fascinating women whose lives fade awaj fast and 
 Tfho 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 in male 
 attire, died in this country January 17, 18G1. Her 
 ashes rest in Greenwood Cemetery, but she was saved 
 from a pauper's grave oidy through the charity of 
 some friend. During her life she had thrown away 
 millions. Fallin, the husband of Maude Granger, is 
 the son of the man with whom LolaMontcz had her last 
 escapade, Fallin, Sr., deserting his family in New 
 York to accomjiany Lola to San Francisco. Her real 
 name was Mario Dolores Eliza Rospanna Gilbert. 
 
 Another child of genius whom waywardness and 
 frailty brought to an early grave was Adelaide McCord, 
 better known to the world as Adah Isaacs Menken. 
 She was born near New Orleans, June 15, 1835, and 
 when still young went on the stage as a ballet dancer 
 in one of the theatres of the Crescent City. She had 
 been expelled from school, and tiring of her native vil- 
 lage, where she had created a sensation by embracing 
 the Jewish faith, she made the journey to New Orleans, 
 and as I have said went on the stage. Her career 
 there was not a very brilliant one until she began l)lay- 
 ing Mazcppa, the ])art with which her name has since 
 been identified. Prior lo her tiin<! men had appearcid 
 in this role. Ilcr first appearance was on Monday 
 night, Jinie 17, 18(11, in the Green Street Theatre, 
 New Yoi-k, then umler the management of ('apt. John 
 B. Smith. On the liist att<Mnpt to go up the run the
 
 A ITEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 329 
 
 horse after iiuikuiji: one turn fell, crashino; tliroii2i;h the 
 scenery with the Menken on its back. Horse and rider 
 were picked up, and after some delay the ascent was 
 made amidst a great deal of enthusiasm. The appear- 
 ance of so beautiful a woman as Menken in the scarcity 
 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 audience. Previous to this she had married 
 Alexander Menken, a musician in Galveston, but 
 by this time also she had obtained an Indiana 
 divorce. While in New York she met John C. Hee- 
 nan, fresh from his victory over Tom Sayers, and 
 after a brief courtship married him. Another Indiana 
 divorce soon dissolved this knot, as it did a third time 
 in the case of Orpheus C. Kerr (Robt. H. Newell). 
 All this time her fame was o-rowino;. She Avent 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 186(3. The 
 brief 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 lons-ing to be an actress from 
 her earliest years, and all her readings tended in 
 the direction of the stage. She was taken away from 
 school at the age of thirteen, to pursue her studies for
 
 330 A i'i:\v rooT-LiciiT favouites. 
 
 the profession to wljidi she seemed to be so strongly 
 inclined. At the age of fifteen she went to Cincinnati 
 to see Charlotte Cushman act. While there she 
 called on Miss Cushman, who said she could give her 
 only a five-minute audience. Miss Anderson recited 
 passages from " Kichard III.," Schiller's " Maid of 
 Orleans," and "Hamlet." She remained Avith Miss 
 Cushman three hours, and the great actress had such 
 confidence in her talents that she told her to study a 
 few hours each day for a year and tiien she might go 
 on the stac^e. This Miss Anderson did. An accident 
 of some kind or other left Macaulev's Theatre in Louis- 
 ville with a Saturday night for which there was no at- 
 traction. Macauley knew Miss Anderson's desire to 
 go on the stage, and meeting her step-father, Dr. 
 Hamilton Griffin, in the street, told him the girl, who 
 was then only sixteen, might have the theatre that 
 night. Miss Anderson was overjoyed. She chose 
 JuHt'l for her debut, got a costume hurriedly together 
 and after one rehearsal and three days' preparation, :ii)- 
 peared before a large audience, and made a decided 
 hit. This was on November 27, 1875. Macauley was 
 so pleased with the debutante that he gave her his first 
 open week at starring terms. She then went to St. 
 Louis, in March, 1870, and added greatly to the repu- 
 tation she had won in her home city. Mr. John W. 
 Norton supported her. Ben DcBar sent her to his 
 New Orleans Theatre, and while in the Crescent City she 
 was presented, by the citi/.ens, with a check for $500, 
 and the Washington artillery presented her with a 
 jewelled badge of the battalion. Returning to Louis- 
 ville airain she continued her studies through the sum- 
 mer, began starring the following season, and has l)een 
 before the public ever since. She is a younglady of re- 
 markable personal })c:mty, intelligent and accom-
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 331 
 
 plishetl, a hard student, and one of the noblest and 
 fairest of her 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 California, and Lotta 
 made her first appearance on a stage at a concert given 
 at Laport ; her second appearance was at Petaluma, in 
 1858, when she played Gertrude in "The Loan of a 
 Lover." She starred, they say, for two years 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 Sheppard, Backus and other prominent minstrels 
 were eniraixod. The Worrell Sisters, Mao-irie Moon 
 (now Mrs. Williamson) and Lotta were in the com- 
 pany, and there was great rivalry between them at the 
 time. The theatre was crowded every night up to the 
 close of the first jDart 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. Each favorite had 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 very 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 McYicker's. Fortune began to smile on her there,
 
 335 
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIUllT TAVOlilTES. 
 
 iuul her success dates from this point. One night dur- 
 iu2r this cnsrao^oniout an unknown admirer threw a 
 
 I.UTTA. 
 
 $300 gohl watch and chain npon the stage. Lotta 
 cannot sing any mon^, l)iit she kicks as cutely as of
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 333 
 
 yoro, dances neatly, and is as vivacious as a girl of six- 
 teen. 
 
 Maggie Mitchell, who has been a great favorite ever 
 since she produced " Fanchon " at Laura Keene's 
 
 MAGGIE MITCHELL. 
 
 Theatre, June 9, 1862, was born in New York in 
 1832, of poor parents. She began to play child parts 
 at the old Bowery and in 1851 had advanced to 
 responsible business. She made a hit at Burton's 
 Theatre as Julia in " The Soldier's Daughter," and
 
 334 
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIOUT FAV0U1TE8. 
 
 then began stiirring in '<Tho Fiencli Spy," " Tho 
 Young Prince," and like plays, but did nothing remark- 
 able until, as I have already said, slie made a hit in 
 *'Fanchon," an adaptation of George Sands's novel 
 "La Petite Fadctte." Following tiiis canio " Jano 
 Eyre," "The Pearl of Savoy," and " Mignon." 
 Miss Mitchell has amassed a fortune by her efforts. 
 Her name oil' the stage is Mrs. Paddock, she having 
 
 ■.«?«'• 
 
 
 \ A 
 
 EMMA AnnOTT. 
 
 married Mr. Ilcnry Paddock, of (Jlcvchind, Oiiio, in 
 Troy, New York, October 15, ISCS. 
 
 Emma Abbott, the finest of Ameiican lyric artistes, 
 after the usual freaks of an ambitious childhood and 
 the trials of an operatic; training in ]Milan and Paris, 
 was giv(!n a London engagement by Mr. Gye and 
 made her debut at th(; Koyal Italian Opera, Covent 
 Garden, on May 2, IHUj. The debut was a success,
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 335 
 
 and with the congratulation of friends, the best wishes 
 of all 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 EngUmd 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 Vu-ginia," 
 and Juliet III " Romeo and Juliet," both which operas 
 she introduced here. Her repertory includes, besides 
 the two named, " Mignon," " Maritana," "The 
 Bohemian Girl," "Martha," "II Trovatore," and 
 " Faust." She has a sweet, clear, crystalline voice, 
 which she uses to great effect, is a charming lady per- 
 sonally, a careful, pure, and energetic artiste, and 
 altogether wholly deserves to be called, as she is, 
 " Honest Little Emma." 
 
 Marion Elmore, a charming little soubrette who is 
 looking after Lotta's laurels, is a native of England 
 and has been on the stage since her third year, having 
 then played Meenie with Joe Jcflerson in " Rip Van 
 Winkle." She was born in 1860 in a tent on the gold 
 fields of Sandhurst, Australia. She came to this 
 country with Lydia Tliompson in 1878, and pUiyed in 
 burlesque until the season of 1881-2 when she took 
 a soubrette part in Willie Edouin's " Sparks." She is 
 now starring under the management of Hayden & Davis 
 in " Chispa," a California play. 
 
 Edwin Booth, the illustrious son of Junius Brutus 
 Booth, was born at Belair, near Baltimore, Maryland, 
 in November, 1833. He was his father's dresser, 
 accompanying him on all his tours, and receiving from 
 him lessons in histrionism. On September 10, 1849, 
 he made his first appearance at the Boston Museum as
 
 33 n A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 T/r.svsW, ill " Kichurd III.," nnd on May 22, 1850, 
 ;il)poaivd at the Airli Street Theatre, Pliihidelpliia, as 
 
 Wil/ord, in the " Iron Chest." In 1850 he distin- 
 guished himself by phiying " Kichard III.," at tho 
 Cliathani Theatre, New York, in the phaee of his father, 
 who had disappointed. Ilis first independent appear- 
 anee inthe metropolis, however, was made on May 4, 
 1857, as RicJiard III.^ at the Metropolitan, afterwards 
 the Winter Garden Theatre. In 1851 he went to Cali- 
 fornia and thence wandered to the Sandwieh Islands 
 and Australia in 1854. In 1857 he returned to New 
 York. lie was known as an actor of al)ility, hut it 
 was not until his famous cn2:a<2:ements at the Winter 
 Garden that he succeeded in making a really profound 
 impression on tlic public. Dining this revival "Ham- 
 let" run one hundred nights and ]\lr. Booth at once 
 stepped to a foremost position before the public. Ilis 
 disastrous investment in the theatre that bore his 
 name in New York is well known. It compelled him 
 to go into bankruptc}' in 1872, since which time he 
 has been the most successful of American stars. He 
 has been twice married — to Mary Devlin, an actress 
 in 18f;i, who died in 1802, and to Mary McVickor, 
 dauirhtcr of J. II. jNIcVicker, of Chicaijo, who died in 
 1881. His Hamlet is the finest interpretation of that 
 character on the American stage, and this with J)(:r- 
 iuccio, in " The Fool's Revenge," and Bnitus, are his 
 best impersonations. 
 
 John McCullough, though born in Ireland, came to 
 this country when very 3'oung. He was poor and an 
 orphan, and })overty had been " looking in at the door " 
 of the hum))lo home where he passed his boyhood for 
 many a year. Yet the tenant farm which liis father 
 held was onco the pride of all tho country round, and 
 the child's earliest recollections called to mmd a hap[)y
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 337 
 
 time which too soon, ahis, passed away. His mother 
 had died when the son was a mere hid, and misfortunes 
 came not singly but in hosts after that bereavement. 
 Sir Harvey Bruce, the hmdlord of the estate, though 
 a kindly man, as Mr. McCullough testified, claimed his 
 legal rights, and all that appertained 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. I was a boy of 
 about twelve years or so, and the greatest trial to me 
 was the sale of a pony which I prized most highly. I 
 couldn't bear to part with the pony, and Sir Harvey 
 Bruce, who saw my grief and knew its cause, kindly 
 arranged matters so that before long I was able to call 
 the animal once more my own. It was an act of good- 
 ness which, of course, I have never forgotten." 
 
 Not long after the eviction the father died, and the 
 boy was left in the care of an uncle. But, like thou- 
 sands of othei's, young McCullough hacl heard of the 
 land of freedom beyond the Atlantic, and it was not 
 long before he decided to 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. He followed various callin<rs, 
 but soon felt within him the desire to become anactor. 
 Fortunately the foreman of a chair factory in Phila- 
 delphia, where he was employed, sympathized with the 
 aspirations of the future actor, and often studied with 
 him the great 'Shakespearean tragedies in which Mc- 
 Cullough afterward attained such renown. 
 
 It was in the winter of 1857 that the young aspirant 
 for Thespian honors first stood upon the stage ; and he
 
 3;;8 
 
 A rtW FOOT-LIGHT FAVOIUTES. 
 
 
 | ^ ^ ^*»li ■^tmimim.i'ifiiiti. 
 
 CALLED LLiUKE THE < linAIN. 
 
 bo<x:in ill Philudolphiji liis profcs.sioiial career at the 
 iminiliccnt .salary of $1 ;i week. For several ^^easo^s
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 339 
 
 he acted the " heavy vilUiin " line in the Shakespearean 
 drama, and made steady improvement in his art. A 
 great event in his career was his engagement to sup- 
 port the great Forrest in 18G2 ; for it gave him oppor- 
 tunities which such a man as McCullouo;h was not slow 
 to improve. The grand qualities which marked 
 Forrest's acting were made the subject of careful study 
 by the young actor, and to-day John McCullough is re- 
 cognized everywhere as the successor to the famous 
 American tragedian. His career as an actor, inter- 
 rupted only by a brief managerial experience in San 
 Francisco, has been one of steadily increasing success. 
 
 John McCullough' s starring experience dates from 
 only a few years back ; yet his impersonations, with 
 peerless Virginius at the head, have won fame and for- 
 tune in all parts of the country, and gained for him 
 also the highest honors on the English stao;e. 
 
 J. K. Emmett, or Joe Emmett, as he is 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 a cellar-door better than any of his com- 
 panions. He began life as a painter, but soon left the 
 pot and brush for the stage of the St. Louis Bowery, 
 where his specialty was Dutch "wooden-shoe busi- 
 ness." He could sing finely, and was as graceful as a 
 woman. So popular did he become in his line that 
 Dan Brvant engaged him for his New York house 
 m 1866. Two seasons later Charles Gayler wrote 
 " Fritz," a nonsensical 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
 
 340 A FEW FOOT-LIOIIT FAVORITES. 
 
 in many i)lacos outside of the United States. lie is 
 the great i)et of the public. Time and again lias he 
 disappointed them, but it makes no dilference ; the 
 next time he announces himself ready to plav they are 
 there in throngs. Joe Emnictt has friends the whole 
 world over, and he is welcomed and admired every- 
 where. 
 
 John T. Raymond's real name is John T. O'Brien, 
 lie became stage-struck while clerking in a store, and 
 after a brief amateur experience made his first appear- 
 ance on the ])rofessional stage as Lope::, in " The 
 Honeymoon," on June 27, 1853, and played comedy 
 with varying fortune until 1874, Avhen "The Gilded 
 Age," which had l)een dramatized, was brought out at 
 Rochester, New York, on August 31st, and he made an 
 immense hit as C(jI. Midherry Sellers. Next to 
 Colonel Sellers, John T. Raj-moud's enduring popu- 
 larity rests upon his impersonation oi' Frrs// , (he Ameri- 
 can, in the drama of that name, whicli he is now 
 imi)ersonating throughout the country. In connection 
 with ])oth his best known parts Mr. Raymond may be 
 said to have "made" the plays they are framed in. 
 Without them those plays would be Hat, and in any 
 other hands than his the characters which relievo them 
 of that odium would be insiijid. It is the actor's art 
 and personal magnetism alone which make them what 
 they are — successes. ' A good story, whether it 1)0 
 true or not, is told about Raymond and John McCul- 
 lough. The latter was asked to ai)pear as Ingomar, 
 with Miss Anderson as Parthenia, at a ])enefit perform- 
 ance f(}r a friend. As an additional inducement the 
 beneficiary asked Raymon<l to play Polydor. " Cw- 
 tainly, with great pleasure," said Sellers; "I will 
 travel one thousand miles any time to play Polydor to 
 M<'(Jullough's Irifjomar," The happy man ran off to
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 341 
 
 tell his good fortune to McCuIlough ; but the trage- 
 dian, in his deepest Virginius voice, answered him: 
 " No, sir, never, never again ! Once and out." The 
 explanation of Mac's refusal to have Raymond in the 
 cast is o-lven as follows : — 
 
 It seems that at a certain benefit in Virginia City, 
 " Ingomar " was the play, Mr. McCuUough sustaining 
 the title role and Mr. Raymond played Pohjdor. Poly- 
 dor^ it will be remembered, is the old Greek duffer 
 who has a mortgage on Myron's real estate, and presses 
 for payment in hopes to get Partlienia' s hand in mar- 
 riage. The performance went beautifully, and the 
 applause was liberal, for McCuUough was playing his 
 best. Raymond was the crookedest and most miserly 
 of Poly dors, 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 Ingomar 
 offered himself us 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 Ingomar. 
 Ingomar stepped l)ack 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 Ingomar, 
 sotto voce, "if I only had you at the wings?" But 
 Pohjdor nimbly eluded 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 he clung, and, to make matters 
 worse, grinned cheerfully at the pursuers he had 
 escaped, and rapidly worked the string of a trick wig, 
 the long hair of which flapped up and down in the
 
 342 
 
 A FEW FOOT-LIGHT FAVORITES. 
 
 most ludicrous fashion. It was inipossiblo for the play 
 to proceed, and the curtain was rung down, leaving 
 PoJydor still on his lofty perch, while the uudiencc 
 laughed and shouted itself hoarse. And this is the 
 reason why Mr. IMcCulIoiigii said, " No, sir. never 
 airain ! " to Mr. Eavniond's offer. 
 
 FAY TEMPLETON IN " niEEEE TAYEOU. 
 
 1 may add ll»,at among tlic}()UMg pcoi)](! of the stage 
 who are })ossessed of that personal magnetism tiiat 
 makes them popular, is Fay Tem[)leton, who is not 
 only pretty, but thoroughly original.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 If the Chinese must go they will have to close up 
 the large theatres in San Francisco owned and con- 
 trolled by Celestial managers. In these temples of 
 the almond-eyed Thespis extraordinary plays are en- 
 acted running through months and even years, in a 
 to-be-continued style, for, the Chinese dramatist, Avho 
 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 merest mcident 
 pass until his or her friends are ready to sit down to a 
 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 a cofiin 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 
 die before they have time to finish the play. I don't 
 know that any American has 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- 
 nary glue or cement advertisement to the blush. It is 
 the same, too, when they patronize a theatre in which the 
 
 (343)
 
 344 CIIINESK AM) JAPANESE TIIEATIlfCALS. 
 
 suri-ouiuliiigs and language arc Englisli ; once in their 
 scats, they stay — forgetting even to go out between 
 the acts for an opera-glass or a bottle of pop. 
 
 But to return to the Chinese theatre. Its interior 
 dillers very little from the interior of the places of 
 amusement frequented b}^ his American brother. The 
 general contour and arrangement of the auditorium is 
 pretty much the same. The men sit together on 
 benches partitioned olf into sinirle seats in the lower 
 portion of the house, or pit, with their little round 
 hats on, and their pipes or cigars in their mouths ; the 
 ladies, who are not allowed into the male portion of the 
 auditorium, have galleries for themselves whence they 
 look down upon the actions of their male friends be- 
 low. Everywhere except on the stage quiet and the 
 utmost serenity prevail, no person in the audience 
 moving a hand, raising a foot, or opening a lip, even 
 when the villain is cut into ribbons by the Sunday- 
 school hero ; and at no stage of the performance does 
 the slightest manifestation of delight or disapproba- 
 tion come from the patient and enduring on-looker. 
 In this respect John Chinamen has neglected to take 
 a lesson from his American cousin, or to acquire the 
 character of the howling short-haired <rentlemen who 
 apf)theosize Dennis Kearney and think there is no better 
 worshipping place in the world than " the sand lots." 
 
 The largest Chinese theatre in San Francisco is on 
 Washington Street and was opened in l.S7i). Its 
 auditorium is almost a copy of the best theatres 
 of the large cities of the country. Its audience 
 is seated and separated in tlie manner 1 iiave de- 
 scribed, and their behavior is, in accordance with 
 the custom of their country, (juiet and respectful. 
 The stage of the theatre, though, is a eiiriosilv- 
 There is no curtain, and but one scene that never
 
 ClllNESIl AMD JAtANfiSE l-HEATIlICALg. 345 
 
 changes. On the side of the stage — or prosce- 
 ninni — long slips of colored paper with Chinese 
 characters on them are huno; — the ada<>'es and axioms 
 of what is familiarly known as tea-chest literature — 
 and numerous multi-colored lanterns shed their radi- 
 ance around 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- 
 IDortant elements in the action and meaning of the 
 play as the actors themselves are. As soon as the per- 
 formance begins they immediately tune up, and from that 
 on until the show is over they never give the audience 
 or the 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 Cliinese audience must be more 
 than mortal to stand both the music and the actors for 
 some hours at a stretch. The actors make themselves 
 as hideous as possible, employing wigs and long beards 
 with plenty of paint to disguise themselves. They 
 stalk and stam[) around in a manner highly suggestive 
 of the English-speaking " scene-eater," and there is 
 a jjreat deal of stabbino; and killino; — thunder and 
 blood, so to speak — which is wasted, as the audience 
 does not seem to rise to the enthusiasm of the occa- 
 sion and there are no " gallery gods" to help bring 
 the house down. While the actors are shoutino; loud- 
 est, the musicians, all of whom seem to be playing 
 different tunes, are workins: hardest and the din and 
 discord of a supremely grand moment of Chinese 
 tragedy are something horrible to hear and simply 
 torturesome to endure. Boys or young men play the
 
 340 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 female parts as Avas the custom on the English stage 
 in the time of Elizabeth. There is no levity in the 
 performance, no prancing or dancing, nothing hut the 
 utmost severity and solemnity, Avhich leaves me in 
 doul)t whether the Ciiincsc go to the theatre to he 
 amused or arc compelled l)y some law of their country 
 or religion to do so. 
 
 The property-room of a Chinese theatre is a very 
 queer concern, lilled up Avith lanterns, old clothes, 
 spears, etc., hut the most extraordinary feature of the 
 place is the quantity of eata1)lcs that liiid their way 
 into the room and down the throats of the performers. 
 That most delicious morsel, roast pig, of whose dis- 
 covery by the Celestials diaries Lamb has written so 
 charmingly, occupies a prominent place on the board, 
 and is frc(iuenllv attacked by the actors, wlio api)ear 
 to come oft' the stage as hungry as six-day go-as-you- 
 please pedestrians are when they leave the track. 
 "When the Chinese actor is not acting or i)utting on his 
 costume you may dei)end upon it that he is eatiug. 
 This histrionic peculiarity is strongly marked among 
 the descendants of IIo-Fi, who if they are not good 
 tragedians have tirst-class ai)[)(^tites and stomachs 
 whoso capacity is not measured by three meagre meals 
 a day. 
 
 A correspondent writing from Yokohama gives an 
 idea of the amusements served u|) in the Japanese 
 capital by its enterprising theatrical managers. The 
 Japanese, says this writer, are a theatre-going i)cople, 
 and their taste is cat(U'ed unto continually. Whether 
 the managers accumulate riches I know not, but theat- 
 rical amusements are provided for the wants aii<l means 
 of all classes. At the first-class establishment is a 
 revolving stage, upon which is placed the scenery and 
 properties devoted to the play on the boards. The
 
 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 347 
 
 orchestra occupy the left-hand side of the stage, or 
 rather they are phxced in an elevated pen at the left of 
 the stage floor. The revolving part of the business is 
 about fifteen feet from the foot-lights, the intervening 
 space being permanent. The wings are not elaborate, 
 and not much machinery is employed to work up 
 eflfects. 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- 
 gardless of expense" must be their motto; and here 
 are produced all the famous plays known to the na- 
 tives, they being all of national significance. 
 
 The 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 — descriptive of their fables and 
 romances, as well as reproducing actual episodes in 
 the history of the empire. To the stranger who is 
 alien to the language their plays are first-class panto- 
 mimes only, though one can but accord the actors rare 
 dramatic ability. I must say, however, that the style 
 affected in their stage step is something too awfully 
 too too for anything. The poetry of motion is a dif- 
 ferent affiiir here from what is considered the correct 
 thing elsewhere. Keene or Billy Emerson could, 
 either of them, get a new kink in a stage walk if they 
 could study Japanese methods a while. It costs 
 thirty cents to enter the temples of dramatic art — that 
 is, to be in the place for the upper tendom, the gal- 
 lery — or dress circle, it may be called — which runs 
 on both sides of the house, as well as on the end front- 
 ino; the stao;e. This o-allery is about five feet wide, 
 and is entered from the passage-way running along it 
 through openings in the partition without doors. It
 
 CHINESK AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 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, 
 as the occupants are expected 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 necessity 
 to iro outside for a clove or browned coflee. When 
 once seated you are at your ease, not having to draw 
 yourself up for any other fellow. The second-grade 
 places are of a cheaper order, where one can sit on the 
 floor, there being no seats, or stand upon the ground, 
 there being no floor, the earth doing duty in that re- 
 crard. One cent and a half and two cents and a half 
 give the grades of the establishments. They are all, 
 best as well as inferior, lighted with the domestic-made 
 candle, and when the original dips of our grand- 
 mothers are remembered, the kind of a candle used is 
 described. The candles smoke as well as the audience. 
 There is a large stock of amusement to be had in a 
 one and a half cent concern, that is, if you are not 
 particular about the testhetic nature of the surround- 
 ings, and do not carry with you a cultivated musical 
 ear. These places do not carry on their paj^-roU any 
 large number of star actors, or a numerous stock 
 compan}^ and they do not devote much time to the 
 rehearsal of parts, as it is the duty of the prompter- to 
 flit from one actor to another with the lines of the dia- 
 logue in one hand, and in the other a stifi" paper lan- 
 tern. Bending low, he reads in a tone readily caught
 
 350 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 by the actor the lines, which are duly repeated, while 
 the jn-()inptcr " is doing his duty" by the next one. 
 It 15 one of the most interesting features of a play, 
 this constant ilitting of the prompter. If any fellow 
 about the establishment earns his pay, the prompter is 
 the man. 
 
 There are very many side-shows to attract the pleas- 
 ure-seeker, all of them being within the compass of 
 the huml)lest, the charge being from one-half cent to 
 one and one-half cents. In these places are witnessed 
 juggling tricks of real merit, and top-spinning that is 
 a bewilderment to the looker-on. Toj)s of all sizes 
 are spun with the aid of a string, and made to revolve 
 by the action of the hands only. An expert will 
 throw his tc>p from him, and l)y the action of the string 
 as it unwinds draw it back so that it is cau<rht in his 
 hand — of course, without it having touched the 
 ground. An unopened fan is then taken in the other 
 hand, and the top is placed upon one of its sides and 
 spun along it. Then the fan is opened, and the top 
 continues to spin along its edge to its farther side, and 
 along it until the hand is reached, when up it runs on 
 the arm to the shoulder, and across the back and down 
 the other arm, on to tlie fan again. Then it will bo 
 tossed into the air and caught upon one of the corners 
 of the opened fan, from which it is tossed again and 
 again into the air and caught as it descends. It is 
 wonderful the way they can manijjulate a top. I have 
 seen tiiem take a large-sized one, having a s])indIo by 
 which it was made to rotate, and by simply jjlacing the 
 spindle between the palms of the hands, and drawing 
 one hand back while advancing the other a numl)er of 
 times it attained sufficient velocity, when it was taken 
 from the tal)lc on which it was spinning and a turn taken 
 around the spindle with a string that was pendant from
 
 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 351 
 
 a paper lantern hanging liigh up against the ceiling oC 
 the building. Up wont the top into the lantern, which 
 opened into the shape of an uni])rella, and a wealth of 
 festoons of bright-colored tissue paper descended from 
 
 c 
 
 o 
 
 c 
 
 w 
 
 Ph 
 W 
 W 
 
 K 
 
 it all about the stage. Those who witnessed Little 
 All Right and the troupe of Japanese acrobats that ex- 
 hibited their tricks years ago in the United States will 
 remember the many surprising feats done by them.
 
 352 
 
 CHINESE AND JAPANESE THEATRICALS. 
 
 What they paid $1 for seeing can l)e witnessed in 
 Yokohama in the oi)en air for just what one is pleased 
 to contrihutc, or under cover for from one to three 
 cents. 
 
 > 
 
 J 
 
 MINNIE MADDERN. 
 
 There arc no inanilestatioiis of applause, no cat-calls 
 or signs of impatiimeo. In the })laces 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 quietness that is amazing. 
 They exiiihit a deference for the comfoit of th(Mr fel- 
 lows that is worthy of imitation. One great reason, 
 pcrha[)s, that the .i)eoplc are so gentle and accom- 
 modating, one to the other, may be found in their 
 com[)lete sol)riely. No exhibition of drunken rowdy- 
 ism is to be seen, and yet the entire people, women as 
 well as men, drink of the national beverage, " sake," 
 a liquor distilled from rice. As there is no ''taran- 
 tula juice" in its composition, its inebriating (juality 
 is rather mild. Its clfect upon the brain is not lasting, 
 ucither is it injurious.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 Ferdinand Pal mo, 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 
 venture returned to Virginia. After paying two visits 
 to Europe he again tried New York and built a cafe, 
 which he run until 1835 when he opened a saloon cham- 
 ber, which was afterwards converted by him into 
 Palmo's Opera House, and m which Italian opera was 
 for the first time presented to the American people 
 on February 2, 1844. The opening opera was " II 
 Puritani," and during the season the best operas of 
 the day were produced. The venture, however, did 
 not prove a financial success. Palmo was reduced to 
 poverty.' With the assistance of friends he opened a 
 small hotel, and after nine months became cook for a 
 Broadway restaurant " where," says a wi-iter, " he 
 might often have been seen wearing his white apron and 
 square cap and engaged in preparing the delectable 
 dishes for which that establishment 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 
 and musical professions met and organized a Palmo 
 "^ (353)
 
 354 OrEHA AND OPKKA SINCKRS. 
 
 Fund, each person in tlic organization agreeing to pay 
 $13 per year toward the okl man's relief, and he lived 
 eoralbrtal)ly on this fnnd until the day of his 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 tasto 
 of the people of the United States. Italian opera 
 now is one of tJie 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 sea- 
 son is to be held will be bothered by applicants for 
 places. Douljle and treble the ordinary price of ad- 
 mission is asked, but that makes no diUbrence ; every- 
 body seems desirous of patronizing Italian opera, and 
 the extra price is paid without grumbling. These high 
 prices of admission must be paid l)ecause it costs a vast 
 amount of money to run Italian o[)ora, transporting 
 large companies long distances, paying immense sala- 
 ries, and shouldering the enormous expenses of equip- 
 ping an opera organization and mounting the pieces. 
 
 It is a great sight to sec an opera company travel- 
 ing. The principal singers must have their sleeping- 
 cars and dining coaches, those beneath them put up 
 with sleeping berths merely, while the members of the 
 chorus are crowded like emigrants into an ordinary 
 coach, from out Avhich roll odors of fried garlic and 
 Italian sausage. When tiieir destination is reached 
 the ])rima doniK; liiid carriaGfes in wait ins; to drive 
 them to the best hotel in the place. Tiie secondary 
 artists may also have carriages, but they go to minor 
 hotels, "while the chorus jjcople are left to themselves 
 to seek cheap Ijoarding-houses and do the best they 
 can. Wagon loads of trunks follow the carriages and 
 wagon loads 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 trou[)e arrives the principal artists fall 
 into the hands of the interviewer, and as the tenor and 
 the prima donna and the others, too, are tired, the news- 
 paper man gets very little to write about unless he runs 
 across such a good fellow as Campanini, or happens to 
 meet Charles Mapleson, if it is Her Majesty's Com- 
 pany. 
 
 Then on the followino; mornins: 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 as a committee of the whole behind 
 the scenes one night to place a wreath of bay leaves 
 on the head of their favorite warbler, only 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 having a 
 season at the Academy of Music, New York, two 
 years ago, a newspaper man interviewed Col. Maple- 
 son, the impresario, and took a look at the interior of 
 the establishment, exploring many of its mysteries. 
 In the course of the conversation he asked : — ■ 
 
 " How many rehearsals do you give a new opera? " 
 
 *'Ah, now lean 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 a cost of 
 $10,000, will come to me and say, 'Aw, I've seen 
 "Aida" twice ; when are you going to give us some- 
 thing new? ' And the poor manager has to smile and 
 mount something equivalent to it immediately. Ke-
 
 OPEKA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 y^ 
 
 o 
 
 hearsuls I P^/r example 'i'liis is tlio sixth fuil-l):iii(l 
 rchearsiil for the orchestra uh)iic — (Irilliiig for two 
 and three hours — to f,'et the li^'ht and shade of the
 
 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 357 
 
 pianissimo and forte. After some more band rchccar- 
 sals — the slight alterations in the score by Arditi kept 
 four copyists at work all last night and until day- 
 break — the principal artists rehearse about twenty 
 times with the piano ; then comes a full rehearsal with 
 band, the artists seated all around the stage on chairs ; 
 then the property-man has to have his rehearsal. The 
 carpenters now come in for their rehearsals, with 
 scene 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 then 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 
 I am going to give somethino; new." 
 
 An attendant here brought the colonel his letters, 
 over which he hastily glanced. 
 
 " Here is a letter from the Prince of Wales," he 
 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. 
 I'll act as guide, philosopher and friend. I'd'like you 
 to see what's going on, and to let the public know 
 what a herculean task it is to run 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 a peep into the armory, which, from its 
 aroma of oil, painfully reminded me of my ocean ex-
 
 358 OPERA AND OPEUA SINGERS. 
 
 perieiico. Here the " Talismano " holincts, Oriental 
 of design ; here the liead-pieccs worn in the " Puri- 
 tani," reminding one of Cromwell's crop-eared knaves ; 
 here the Italian so well known in " Trovatore." 
 Morions and breastplates and shields were here, and 
 matchlocks of ancient pattern, with guns of the Martini- 
 Henry design. 
 
 " Do you see these guns? " suddenly exclaimed the 
 colonel. " I bought four hundred of them for live 
 .shillings a jjiece at an auction. They had been sold 
 by an English lirm to the French government during 
 the Franco-Prussian war at a fabulous price. One 
 night, at Dublin, we were doing ' Der Freischut/,' 
 and poor Titjens was standing at the wing. One of 
 these guns was loaded with a little i)owder ramme(l 
 down by a piece of paper only. When fired, the lock 
 l>lew ofl", and a piece of it went right through Titjens's 
 dress, sticking in the wall behind her. AVhat chance 
 had the French with such wea})ons in their hands? " 
 
 From the armory we proceeded to the barber shop, 
 where " Mignon," "Aida," "Traviata," and " Lucia" 
 wigs, curls, moustaches and beards showed grizzly on 
 shelves. A French l)arber was enirai^ed in titifving 
 Campanini's wig for " Linda," and he expatiated on 
 its wonderful a[)proach to nature with all the chic of 
 his very expressive mother tongue. 
 
 \n one of the wardrobes were the costumes for half 
 a dozen operas, each opera folded away and labelled. 
 Colonel Ma[)l(!Son has about two thousand costumes 
 Avith him, and his packing-cases, each the size of a 
 small a[)artment, number nearly one hundred. AVc 
 found the Nilsson Hall full of newly painted scenery, 
 and the Hies thronged with carpenters. The scene 
 painter's room was devoted lo "Aida," while the 
 stage-man's room was choked fidl of flotsam and jet-
 
 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 359 
 
 gam, from the lamp of a Vestal Virgin to the statuette 
 
 PATTT. 
 
 of Cupid in purihus naturalibus, and from a loaded 
 pistol to a roleau of stage gold. 
 
 *'The stage brass band is rehearsing in the lower
 
 360 OrKKA AM) Ol'KRA 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 a large room, 
 and a set of coryphees blazing away in a distant 
 corner. Listen ! " 
 
 In the first saloon were the "Trovatore" party, 
 lounging around a piano, presided at by Bisaccia, the 
 accompanist to the company. Mile. Adini, nee Chap- 
 man, the Leonora^ was warbling right under the mous- 
 tache of her husljand, Aramhuro, the tenor who was 
 frantic because Mapleson refused £800 to release him 
 from his engagement ; while Del Puente was slapping 
 his leg vigorously with his walking-cane, as he occasion- 
 ally burst in with a superb note in harmony with the 
 score. Madame Lablache leant with her cll)Ows upon 
 the bar, and knowing every square inch of a role she 
 had performed from St. Petersburg to Gotham, turned 
 from the perusal of a newspaper at the right moment 
 in order to discharge the electricity of her Azucena^ 
 while her daughter, who is studying for the operatic 
 stage, attended en amateur^ a toy black-and-tan ter- 
 rier in her arms. Having listened to a delicious mor- 
 ceaii from " II Trovatore," we ascended to saloon No. 
 2, from whence a Niagara of melody was grandly 
 thunderini;. Here we found the chorus, numbering: 
 al)out eighty, seated'hatted and bonneted, with 8ignor 
 Rialp presiding at the pianoforte. The rehearsal was 
 ♦'Marta." After visiting a dozen dillerent depart- 
 ments, every one of which is presided over by a vigi- 
 lant chief, we again found ourselves on the stage. 
 
 ** lioiv,'' 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 nie^ after seeing it twice, when 1 am
 
 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 361 
 
 going to give something < new.' Do you know that 
 every one in that chorus 3^ou have just seen is an 
 Italian, and selected after considerable trouble and 
 
 GERSTER. 
 
 great expense? Do you know what it costs me to 
 operatically rig up each member of that chorus ? 
 "I camiot tell."
 
 3G2 OPKRA AND OI'ERA SINGKRS. 
 
 " Woll, it costs me $000, uiul it cost nic $15,000 to 
 biiiig the troiii)e across the Athintic. Do you know 
 what it costs mc every time I ring up my curtain? 
 Two tliousand seven hundred and iil'ty dolhirs, and 
 then add the weekly hotel bills, $2,200. I am doing 
 opera at Her Majesty's at this moment. Here's the 
 bill " — handing me the programme of Her Majesty's — 
 " doing the same operas as here, and that in order to 
 do them here, 1 am ohligcMl to get a second set of 
 everylhing^ from a drinking-cui) to a l)ootlace, 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 mc, 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 13th ; it is considered 
 utducky. I once recollect having engaged Mmc. 
 Gri^si and Signor Mario for a tour in England, eom- 
 mencing the 13th of Sei)teniber. On sending them the 
 programme, Mine. 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 
 nienced on the ' twclftli,' 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 again that there was nothing mean al)out the al- 
 teration, as she would be the only loser; she there- 
 fore desired me to commence! it on the * eleventh,'
 
 OrEKA AND OPERA SINGERS. 363 
 
 when both she and Signer Mario would sing without 
 sahiry until the proper date of the commencement of 
 the contract. One of the artists went to Tiffany's tlie 
 other day to purchase a bangle. The price was $13. 
 ' Won't you take 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 impresario, " a 
 letter 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 family 
 circle, balcony, parquette, 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 : — 
 
 " What opera pays the best, colonel? " 
 
 " Oh, there are a dozen trumps." 
 
 " Is not ' Carmen ' one of them? " 
 
 *' Yes, 'Carmen' has been one of my best suc- 
 cesses." 
 
 In conclusion. Colonel Mapleson said : — 
 
 " I am nervous as to the future, as nearly every 
 comino: 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 donne 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 — 
 Candidus, the tenor, too ; all the coming talent is 
 American." 
 
 The salaries paid prima donne are very high. As 
 far back as 1870, Mme. Patti was paid $50,000 a year,
 
 3(34 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 besides being given numerous presents })y the Enipcroi 
 of Russia, Last winter Mr. Henry E. Abl)cy paid 
 Mme. Patti at the rate of eight times the imperial sal- 
 ary, giving the diva $4,000 for each concert she sang 
 in, and she sang two in each week. All)ani was paid at 
 the same rate as Patti in Russia. Nilsson, before her 
 retirement, got $1,000 a night in the provinces. Now, 
 that she is to return to the staire and come to America, 
 she will be paid probably as handsomely as Patti was. 
 Nearly all the foreign singers and artists have London 
 agents through whom American impresarios carry on 
 their negotiations. Gye is one of these agents and IL 
 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 Avas well provided with them. B. 
 Spyer, the St. Louis diamond merchant, with whom 
 theatrical and operatic people deal almost exclusively, 
 and who enjoys the patronage of nearly all foreign 
 artists who visit this country, told me a very funny 
 story about the first diamond ho sold Christine Nils- 
 son, lie had a splendid stone worth $4,000, and tak- 
 ing it with him he went up to the Lindell Hotel, and 
 knocking at Nilsson 's door was told to come in. Ho 
 opened the door and there on a sofa the great songs- 
 stress was reclining covered with an old calico gown. 
 Ho showed her the stone, but she did not want to buy 
 it and would not. Nilsson having left the room for a 
 while, Mr. Sj)yer approached the dressing-maid, who 
 was an old lady, and showing her a handsome diamond 
 riuir told her he would ^irivo it to her if she used her
 
 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 3G5 
 
 influence to induce her mistress to buy the $4,000 dia- 
 mond. She said she would, and while they were talk- 
 ing in walked a gray-haired old gentleman in common 
 clothes who looked like a servant, and whom Mr. 
 Spyer engaged in conversation. He told the old man 
 of his scheme with the dressing-maid, when the latter 
 said,. *' Tut, tut, she can do nothing for you ; she's got 
 no influence." 
 
 ♦' Then can you do anything?" Mr. Spyer asked. 
 "I'll make it all right if you help me to sell the 
 Madame that stone-" 
 
 " Well," said the old gentleman, " I want a pair of 
 ear-rings for my daughters, who are in England." 
 
 "All right " was the diamond broker's answer ; " you 
 use your influence and if I make the sale you shall 
 have the ear-ring's." 
 
 The old gentleman said he would do what he could. 
 Mr. Spyer sold the diamond to Nilsson and in a few 
 days the old gentleman walked into his store and after 
 looking over the stock 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 H. C. Jarrett, then and 
 now Nilsson' s confidential ao;ent. 
 
 Mr. Spyer told me another story which I 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 the 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 ofier for the property had been 
 accepted or rejected. If he did not receive a tele- 
 gram by twelve o'clock noon the following day, he 
 would buy the ring. At noon next day Mr. Spyer was 
 at the Southern Hotel, where Mr. Lee and his wife were
 
 360 OPERA AND OPERA SINGERS. 
 
 stopping. lie asked the clerk if he had seen Mr. Leo 
 arouiid 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 jou what to do — " mention- 
 ing his first name, for the diamond merchant knew the 
 clerk, "you'll oblige me very much and do me a great 
 favor if you'll keep that telegram down here until I 
 go up stairs and see Lee." 
 
 The clerk agreed ; Mr. Spyer went up stairs and sold 
 his diamond ring. Himself and Mr. Li^c walked down 
 the stairs to get a drink. The clerk called Mr. Lee, 
 handed him the telegram and lie 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 liave some Apollinarius." 
 
 One morning during that same week Mr. Si)yer was 
 sitting in the store when Ncilson came in alone and 
 bouirht a diamond ring for $175, paid for it and told 
 the merchant to saj' nothing to Philip al)Out it. There 
 was nothing so very extraordinary in this ; but wlien 
 Mr. Lee came in an hour aftei'wards and picked out a 
 ring about the same value and l»aying for it enjoined 
 Mr. Spver to sav nothing to Adelaide about it, he was 
 surprised at the remarkableness of the eoineidenee. 
 He never heard anything more about either of the 
 
 rings.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 The idea of negro minstrelsy in its present shape 
 originated forty years ago with Dan Emmett, Frank 
 Brower, Billy Whitlock and Dick Pelhani . This happy 
 quartette organized the Virginia Serenaders in 1841, 
 giving their first performance on December 30th. An 
 idea of the "first part " furnished by that combination 
 was given last season, when Dan Emmett himself ap- 
 peared with three others in an act in which the old 
 jaw-bone figured, and the other instruments were 
 banjo, tambourine and fiddle. Fifty years before the 
 time of the Virginia Serenaders a Mr. Grawpner is 
 said to have blacked up at the old Federal Street 
 Theatre, in Boston, where he sang an Ethiopian song 
 in character. The first of the negro melodies that 
 have been preserved is " Back Side of Albany Stands 
 Lake Champlain." It was Sung by Pot-Pie Herbert, 
 a Western actor who fiourished long before the days of 
 "Jim Crow," Rice, or Daddy Rice, as they called 
 him. Herbert's song was as follows : — 
 
 Back side Albany stan' Lake Champlain, 
 
 Little pond half full o' water; 
 Platteburg dar too, close 'pon de main, 
 
 Town small, he grow bigger berearter. 
 
 On Lake Champlain Uncle Sam set he boat 
 
 An' Massa McDonough he bail 'em; 
 While General Macomb make X^iatteburg he home 
 
 Wid de army whose courage aebber fail 'em. 
 
 (367)
 
 3(J8 THE MIN'STllKL BOYS. 
 
 Diultly Rico was employed in Ludlow & Smith's 
 Southern theatre as property-man, lanip-liirhter, stage 
 carjienter, etc., and lie made no roj)utation nntil he 
 began jumpinui; Jim Crow, in Louisville, Kentucky, in 
 1829, after which he became famous and made a for- 
 tune ])y singing his song in this country and England. 
 The oriijinal " Jim ('row," with the walk and dress, 
 were copied from an old Louisville negro, and ran along 
 regardless of rhythm in this manner: — 
 
 I went down to creek, I went clown a fishing, 
 I axed the old miller to gim me chaw tobacker 
 To treat old Auut Ilanner. 
 
 Chorus. First on de heel tap, den on dc toe, 
 
 Ebery time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow. 
 
 I goes down to dc branch to pester old miller, 
 
 I wants a little light wood; 
 
 I belongs to Capt. Hawkins and don't care a d-^n. 
 
 CiiOKUS. First on de heel tap, etc. 
 
 George Nichols, a circus clown, claims to have been 
 the first negro minstrel, and some award this distinc- 
 tion to George Washington Dixon, wlio disputes the 
 authorship of " Zij) Coon" with Nichols, who first 
 sanir " Chire Dc Kitchen," which he arranijed from 
 hearing it sung l)y negroes on the Mississippi, Bill 
 Keller, a low comedian, was the original " Coal Bhick 
 Rose," in 1830, John Clements having (•()m[)osed the 
 music. Barney Burns, a job actor and low comedian, 
 first sang " My Long Tail Blue," and " Such a Get- 
 ting U}) Stairs," 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 MINSTKEL BOYS. 369 
 
 In the year following the organization of the 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, 1853, owing 
 to some dispute between himself and E. P. His 
 salary 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 during 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 was 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 by the dozens, song 
 and dance men by the scores and no less than forty 
 ("count 'em ") artists now amuse tlie public that was 
 satisfied with four in '41. By the way it was in this 
 year on July 4th, that bones were first played before an 
 audience, the player being Franli Brower of the Vir- 
 ginia Serenaders. 
 
 George Christy, who was the most celebrated Ethio-
 
 370 
 
 THK MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 pian performer the world knew in those days was 
 born in Puhiiyra, State of New York, November 3, 
 1827. He was sent to school at an early age, and 
 althouijh he excelled in all the branches of education 
 
 jS&'?Sj.^;^S^i 
 
 GKOIUSE ("IIKISTY. 
 
 peculiar to boys of liis age, after school hours tho 
 master often found him at the head of a party of boys 
 whom he had assembU;d together for the purpose of 
 giving theatrical entertainments, or, as they called it,
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 371 
 
 a show. 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 as 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 coarseness that pervades many of the 
 sketches and crops out in the songs and funny sayings. 
 The old-time ne2;ro character has been sunk out of 
 sight and the vulgarity of the gamin has taken the 
 place of the innocent comicalities that were in vogue 
 ibrty years ago. It is true that the negro character 
 has undergone a change and that the black man now 
 vies with his white brother in everything that is low 
 and vicious ; but the 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 ol)jectionable to fastidious people 
 must be pruned ofFbefore it can be said to be deserving 
 that full recognition which the public always accords to 
 whatever is good in the amusement line. 
 
 The negro minstrel is an institution entirely outside 
 of the pale of commonplace people. He talks differ- 
 ently from other people, acts differently, dresses 
 differently. A " gang of nigger singers " can be 
 identified three blocks away 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 
 patent-leather, low-quarter shoes every time they pull 
 up their light trousers to look at their red or clocked 
 silk stockmgs. Their clothes are of a minstrelsy cut, 
 and like the party who came to town with rings on her
 
 372 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 fingers and rings on her toes, they must have tlieir 
 fingers covered with amethysts or cluster-diamond 
 ornaments, and they rarely ever fail to display a 
 "spark" in their gorgeous shirt fronts. They arc 
 " mashers " of the most pronounced type on the stage 
 and off, and just as soon as they take possession of a 
 small town, it is safe to say that all the feminine 
 hearts lying around loose will be corraled within 
 twenty-four hours of their arrival. They are as gen- 
 erous now as they were years ago, and few of them 
 save a cent for the frequently mentioned rainy day. 
 The very best of them have died in poverty, and found 
 graves only through the charit\^ of friends. Johnny 
 Diamond and his partner, Jim Sanford, the former of 
 whom helped Barnum in his first steps along the road 
 to fortune, both died in the same Philadelphia alms- 
 house. They had commanded l)ig salaries, but dressed 
 flashily and lived fast, and when the rainy day came 
 they had to run for shelter to a pul)lic charity. Very 
 few performers who die in poverty now are allowed 
 to seek any other than the charity of their i)r()fessional 
 brethren. The Benevolent and Protective Order of 
 Elks takes care of the unfortunates, assisting them 
 trenerouslv while livinir and j;ivin<2: them decent burial 
 at their death. 
 
 As I said, the minstel boy is an irresistiljle " masher." 
 His particular weakness is women, with wine often 
 only a little behind. He lives at as rapid a rate 
 as his salary will allow, and turns night into day l)y 
 ♦' taking in the town " after the performance. They 
 frequently get into scandalous history owing to the 
 promiscuousness with which they pick up with 
 petticoats, and tlieir amours get them into great 
 trouble. Women seem to have a lavish fondness for 
 the end-man, and juany of them have left husband,
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 373 
 
 cliildrcn, and home to follow the fortunes of a fickle 
 minstrel. The story of" the Chicago gambler's wife 
 who ran off with Billy Arlington is still fresh in the 
 minds of the people of the city by the lake, and still 
 
 "YOU ARE THE SORT OF A MAN I LIKE. 
 
 >i 
 
 fresher is that of the St. Louis demi-mondaine who 
 sold out her house to be always near her " Johnny," 
 who, I think, was one of the Big Four. 
 
 A mash that created a sensation, though, was one
 
 374 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 
 
 that (lovelopod in a 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 a banjo solo, shouted in a voice that 
 was clear and loud, " You're the sort of a man I like !" 
 The audience cheered lustily and the young woman 
 accepted the applause with a courtesy, while the ban- 
 joist staggered into the wings, too much amazed to be 
 flattered. A young man from whose side the lady had 
 made her leap upon the stage, succeeded with some 
 difficulty in coaxing her back into the box and the 
 show went on. The pair had been dining and wining 
 together, and the young gentleman had not been as at- 
 tentive to his companion as she thought i)ro[)er. So 
 she had chosen the original method of at once re- 
 bukinix and shaming him. She succeeded. He did not 
 dure to look at another woman on or off the stajje 
 again until the curtain fell. 
 
 Those who have never witnessed the rehearsal of a 
 minstrel company can have but a very faint idea of the 
 amount of worry and vexation to which the manager 
 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 at a dramatic 
 rehearsal is tlic scene of perfect peace and harmony 
 compared with that of a minstrel comi)any. 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 tlic author's ideas closely, while minstrels, 
 or " nigg(!r singers " as they are called l)y members of 
 the profession, work with only one end in view, and that 
 is, to be funny. A minstrel having a speech of a dozen 
 lines will mukv. it twenty-live times anil never make it 
 twice alike. Every time ho speaks it he will drop
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 375 
 
 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 minstreb managers have been driven to strons: 
 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. I 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 scrub 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 a condition proper for the promul- 
 gation of sweet strains, and then the comedians and 
 singers came 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 shuffle, cock 
 his hat over his left eye and swagger off up the stage 
 with a satisfied smile. Each having been successfully 
 delivered of his matutinal shuffle, and having satisfied 
 himself that he hadn't contracted the " string-halt " 
 during the night, all seated themselves and awaited the
 
 376 THE MlNsTliEL BOYS. 
 
 appearance of the nianngev. Divested of their burnt 
 cork and stage toggery, the company looked more like 
 a collection of Avell-to-do young men in the commer- 
 cial walks of life than minstrel performers. All 
 looked as 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, aud at midnight were 
 snoring the snores of the innocent and blessed. The 
 onl}'^ member of the company Avho lo(;ked as if ho 
 might have gone wrong on the previous night was Frank 
 Cushman. His right eye was l)loodshot, and he had a 
 protuberance on his forehead over the optic such as 
 might be raised by the kick of a mule. His condition 
 was afterward explained by the fact that in attempting 
 to make a " funny fall " iu " Uncle Tom's Cabin," on 
 the night })revious, he had made a miscue and had re- 
 ceived a genuine fall, striking on his head. Suspicion 
 was therefore allayed, and I became satisfied tliat Cush- 
 man, too, hud said his prayers and had gone regularly 
 to bed unloaded. 
 
 Pr()m[)tly at eleven o'clock, the hour set for rehear- 
 sal, Manager Gulick arrived and j)roceeded at once to 
 business by delivering an address to the orchestra 
 leader : — 
 
 "Now we don't want any break in tliis first jiart 
 finish to-niijht. You want to make that first chorus 
 very forte and then work it ofi' gradually very })iano. 
 Then when they all come on you want a short wait and 
 then a crash — see ? ' ' 
 
 The leader nodd<'d to iudicate that he saw. 
 
 •'Then," resumed Mr. Ciulick, " when you hear the 
 pistol fired, woik in that (e um iddle de te um ah liddle 
 um t iddle tah — seci"'
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 377 
 
 The leader cagain saw, and the manager continued : 
 
 "Then when you come to 'The girl I left behind 
 me,' put in la la turn liddle la la 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." 
 
 Then there was a rush of the " 40-count 'em" 
 down to the foot-lights, and everybody began to talk. 
 Each man struck a different subject and a 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 fin- 
 ished Mr. Gulick took his seat at the foot-lights, while 
 the company arranged itself in the usual semi-circle, 
 with E. M. Kayne, the interlocutor, in the centre. 
 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 Billy Rice. 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollar prize," replied Mr. Kayne. 
 
 " What did I tell you? " said Rice. 
 
 " Take us out and treat us," said Cushman 
 
 " Didn't 1 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 Europe 
 on a pleasure trip if they would pack their trunks in
 
 378 
 
 THE MINSTREL 1J9YS. 
 
 five minutes. A chorus was Iheu sung and tho trunks 
 were announced packed. Jimmy Fox then camo 
 forward and announced that he was ctiptaiu of tho 
 Pinafore. The other members of the company must 
 
 
 •^-i-. 
 
 JIM CROW. 
 
 have been looking for him, lor they shot liim dead with 
 a vociferous " banir I " and tlien i)roceeded to sinjr 
 •' Gh)ry Ilallclujali," over liis coi'pse. This brought 
 him to life aj^ain and he was readmitted to the excur-
 
 THE MINSTREL BOYS. 379 
 
 sion party. One of the vocalists then sang "Old 
 Folks at Home," and at its conclusion Mr. Kayne asked 
 if there was no one else to whom they wished to say 
 " 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 paid, 
 
 Sail o'er the ocean blue ; 
 Of the briny wave we're not afraid, 
 
 Sail 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 reach the promised land. 
 
 There was nothing strikingly classical about the 
 words, but the melody was charming, and covered them 
 with a charitable cloak. 
 
 The first part finish having been rehearsed, Manager 
 Gulick discovered some flaws in it and ordered it to be 
 done over again. On hearino; this the man at tiie bass 
 viol looked up piteously at Billy Rice and asked : — 
 
 "Are we going through it again? " 
 
 " Of course," replied Rice ; " do you want to rest 
 all the time? " 
 
 This question was not answered and the bass viol 
 dropped into a seat apparently completely discouraged.
 
 380 THE MINSTREL 1JOY8. 
 
 The piece was rehearsed, not once only, but half a 
 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 wore inventing new steps, and Charley 
 Dockstader was reading tiie Clipper. It was an ex- 
 ceedingly lively scene, and there was noise enough to 
 wake the dead. Vocal and instrumental music fought 
 a pitched battle, while the dancers hammered the stage 
 with their feet as if by way of aiiplauso. A boiler- 
 shop is a haven of rest beside a minstrel rehearsal at 
 this stage. 
 
 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 tiie heartiest laughter, be- 
 cause those who saw it then had not seen how the per- 
 formance was constructed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 PANTOMIME. 
 
 There are two kinds of clowns familiiir to people 
 who patronize amusements — the clown who juggles 
 old jokes in the circus ring, and the clown whose 
 only language 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 the 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 an audience as far and 
 hold them there longer than George L. Fox, the king 
 of pantomimic merry-makers. His was a face readable 
 as the pages of a book printed in good large type, and 
 the wonderful swift chamjes that came over it were like 
 
 CD 
 
 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, his 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. 
 
 GEOKGK n. AlJAMS IV HUMITV DUMITY.
 
 PANTOMIME. 383 
 
 It is pleasant to visit a theatre during the progress 
 of a pantomime. The house is filled with old and 
 young in equal proportions, or if there is any prcpon- 
 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 turret above poor old Pantaloon's wig. 
 And the old people laugh all the heartier 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 Avhatever name you will, an 
 intense interest is taken in it, and new enjoj^ment is 
 found in every performance. The tricks are the same, 
 the mechanical effects identical with those of every 
 other pantomime you may have seen, and even the 
 specialty sketches that divide the acts of the dumb 
 show seem to be of very close kindred with those of 
 former attractions of this kind. Still everybody enjoys 
 the fun just as many jDeople laugh at the " chestnuts " 
 — vulgariter , old jokes — of the man in motley attire, 
 who tries to make the patrons of the circus feel happy. 
 
 It makes 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 paper boxes ; that the 
 trick pump is worked from the 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 strong black
 
 384 PANTOMIME. 
 
 thread, which the little ones cannot sec at a distance, at- 
 tached to them ; the big policeman is to them a stern 
 and gigantic reality ; and it aflbrds them more fun to 
 imagine every time llumpty throws or makes a blow at 
 anybody, that the stinging sound is a sure indication 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 and of the action are to them actual facts, and 
 they appear all the more ridiculous and arc all the 
 more eflective on this accomit. AVhen llumpty 
 Dumpty dives through the side of a house, disappear- 
 ing behind, there arc 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 as ho 
 attempts to go higher with a suddcMi bang, and the 
 clown comes tumblinfj down after it as Jill did after 
 Jack when they went up the hill for the bucket of 
 beer, few of the big or little people know that the can- 
 dle runs down through one of the legs of the table and 
 is all wood except the waxen bit at the top. All these 
 little mysteries have their charms for the years of 
 childhood, and in no country are the pleasures of the 
 pantomime so fuUj^-ecognized as in England, where on 
 BoximrNi'dit — the 2(!lh of Docembcr — 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 not 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 said to have mant Ics — a short biography may not bo 
 out of i)laco. He is twenty-eight years old, is a native
 
 PANTOMIME. 385 
 
 of Eno-lancl, unci is the eldest son of Charles H. 
 Adams, one of the best Pantaloons in the country. 
 lie comes from a family of circus people, 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 eight years. After appearing as clown with a 
 circus in Denmark, he came to America, and for sev- 
 eral years travelled with different circuses. 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 
 Christmas holidaj^s. His father was the stage man- 
 ager for Donnelly, and suggested to George the idea of 
 playing clown. George refused at first, but finally at 
 his father's earnest solicitation decided to go on. 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. 
 
 In the last Christmas number of the London Graphic 
 I found the following excellent article on " Boxino" 
 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 been 
 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
 
 3.Sn PANTOMIME. 
 
 stage ill u hcartli-nig, pretending to be a wolf or l)t':ir, 
 and to hear the laujrhter of kind friends in front ; but 
 all that home amusement, the curiosity and contriv- 
 ances, the songs and dances were, indeed, child's play 
 when compared to a real tlicatre on Boxing Night. 
 What importance is given to the child b}^ being con- 
 sidered old enough to sit up so late as this ; what a 
 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 electric light on 
 the bridges and embankment ! But this is far better 
 than all, and only a very little removed from fairyland. 
 IIow the myriad lights in the great chandeliers glisten 
 and sparkle, and the stage foot-lights dazzle ; how 
 splendidly the orchestra seems to play ; and hark ! the 
 boys in the gallery are taking up the tune, and singing 
 together with wonderful swing and precision. One 
 comic sonii: and street tune follows another; the band 
 suggests and the young musicians tiUvC it ui) with a 
 will. Just now they had been a pelting of the pit with 
 orange peel — 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 horse l)lay is quieted b}' music and melody. 
 It is l>oxiiig Night, and tli(!re must be patriotism as 
 well as i)leasurc. ' Rule Britannia,' ' God bless the 
 Prince of Wales,' and ' God Save the Queen,' arc sung 
 from thousands of lusty throats, and all the audience 
 rise to their feet, waving hats and handkerchiefs. 
 Loyalty is as necessary as love at Christmas-time. 
 And what lias that good old wizard Blanchard prejiared 
 for the liaj)py childi-cn? He must be as immortal as 
 Father Christmas, ami certainly is (piite as popular. 
 He will be the guide iip tin- rocks of romance, and 
 away to the fields of fairyland. He will lead his hapjiy
 
 PANTOMIME. 387 
 
 followers amidst ogres and giants and elves and fays, 
 to wizard castles and enchanted dells ; now you will be 
 at the bottom of the sea, where lovely queens wave 
 sea-weed wands ; and now on land amidst the yellow 
 corn-fields and the bluebell lanes. Tlicre will be song- 
 and dance, and the madcap pranks of thousands of 
 children, liliputian armies and glittering armor, poe- 
 try and processions, hobby-horses and the dear old 
 Clown and Harlequin and Pantaloon supporting ' airy 
 fairy ' Columbine, if they would only ring that 
 prompter's bell and pull up tluit 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 o-reat 
 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 bad, the winter has advanced too soon, wao-es 
 have been slack ; but all will be mended now that 
 Christmas has come again. Hearts beat lightly under 
 the prince's tunics and the dancers' bodices, for every 
 mickle makes a muckle, and there is work here, from 
 the proud position of head of the Amazonian army to 
 the humble individual who earns a shillinir a nisfht for 
 throwing carrots in a crowd and returning slaps in a 
 rally. And the training and discipline of the rehear- 
 sals 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 learned 
 something, perhaps their letters, perhaps the art of
 
 388 PANTOMIME. 
 
 singing in nnison, certainly tlic merit of being smart 
 and nscful. But now it is the great examination day. 
 The lessons are over, and the result is soon to bo 
 known. What a wild fantastic scene it is — a very 
 carnival of costumes. Fairies and hop-o'-my-thnml)s, 
 monkeys, and all the miscellaneous mixture of the 
 menagerie, gorgeous knights in armor and spangled 
 syrens, Titania and her train, i)astel)oard chariots, 
 wands and crystal fountains, fruits and forest trees, 
 mothers, dressers, carpenters, and costermongers for 
 the crowd, all mixed up in ajiparent confusion, but in 
 reality as well drilled and disciplined as an army pre- 
 pared for action. All belong to some separate depart- 
 ment oi- division ; there is a leader for every scpiad, 
 who is responsible for his men, and if anything goes 
 wrong a prompt fine is a very wholesome punishment. 
 It has 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 late enoui2;h before these busy 
 bees have irot to bed. But the excitement of the mo- 
 ment gives new vitality. The night has come, and 
 evervone is bound to do his or her best. Everything 
 is smart and new, and the girls and children are proud 
 of their costumes, in whitii they strut about admir- 
 ingly. The stiige manager has recovered his amiability, 
 and calls everyone " my dear." A rai)id, business- 
 like glance is cast over the various scenes to see that 
 everything is straight and ship-shape ; the reports come 
 np fi'om the various departments to say there are no 
 defaulters. The gas man is at his i)ost, and the lime- 
 liirht man at his station. The ballet master, with his 
 tlag in hand, is standing ready on his stool. Keady ? 
 Yes, sir! is the answer. Up go the foot-lights with a 
 flare, a Ixll rings, the curtain rises, and th(! liappy 
 people before and behind the Christmas curtain meet."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 VARIETY DI^^S AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 Outside of the leoitimate theatres there is a larsce 
 variety of places of amusement — that is, they are 
 called places of amusement, but the fumes of vile 
 tobacco, the odor of stale beer, the fiery breath of 
 cheap 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 but 
 pleasant and the while the incidents that attract the 
 visitor's attention are anvthinoj but amusins;. There 
 is, of course, no complaint of this sort to urge against 
 the first-class variety theatres. These cater in a modest 
 way to a low standard of intellect, but usually their 
 programmes are chaste enough, and unless a person 
 has an aversion to having beer spattered over his 
 clothes by unhandy waitei's while ministering to the 
 thirsty wants of a neighbor in the same row, or objects 
 to the attention of the gay girls who open wine in the 
 private boxes and flirt with the people in theparquette, 
 he will find a first-class variety show as pleasant a place 
 as a good, long,- mixed programme with the Glue 
 Brothers in song and dance at one end, the Irish Trip- 
 lets, in " select vocalisms and charming terpsichorean 
 evolutions," in the middle, and a lugubrious sketch at 
 the other end can make it. By some mysterious law 
 known only to variety performers, the variety stage 
 only about once in a century produces anything new or 
 anything attractive. In the good old days of the bal- 
 
 (389)
 
 300 
 
 VAKIETY ])IVi:S AND COXCEUT SALOONS. 
 
 let there was dniwing power in the display of shapely 
 limbs and the graceful music-of-niotion lik(; manner in 
 which the girls tip-toed or piroutted across the stage ; 
 or when tho variety Ihcah-o was as much the homo of 
 
 P^^^i }SMi 
 
 FENCING SCENE IN 15LACK CROOK. 
 
 spectacle as the legitimate houses pretended to he, 
 and on the \':iu(l(villc stage scenes were i)rcsented 
 that belonged to the same class of labyrinthine scen<'ry 
 and profuse female beauty that the ♦' I'l.uk (^rook "
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCEU'J? SALOONS. 3U1 
 
 and "The Green Huntsman" were the representa- 
 tives of. When spectacles were the rage and the fenc^ 
 ino- scene in the " Bhick 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 money-makers, who 
 appearin the legitimate houses. 
 
 Joe Emmett graduated from the variety theatre. 
 Gus. Williams was a 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 Otto. 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 have improved very much since. 
 This Avas twelve years ago. Mrs. Geo. Knight 
 (Sophie Worrell) danced on a concert saloon stage in 
 San Francisco. So did Lotta, and so did Mrs. Wil- 
 liamson. Den Thompson, whose Joshua Whitcomb is 
 a perfect picture of the New England farmer, first tried 
 this same character in the variety^ theatre, and Neil 
 Burgess and the " Widow Bedotte " were 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 had 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 comedy or farce or burlesque foist a 
 lot of specialty people from a first-class stage upon 
 an intelligent audience. The musico- mirthful pieces 
 that began to blossom forth in 1880 made a heavy
 
 392 
 
 VARIETV DIVES AND CONCEKl' SALOONS. 
 
 demand upon the resources of the variety houses, and 
 within a year threaten to leave them entirely at tho 
 mercy of*' ham-fats," as the lower order of this kind 
 
 f-,^^^^<-. 
 
 
 i\ 
 
 
 MAD. THEO. 
 
 of talent is de.sigimtod. "Fun on the Bristol " and 
 fifty more flimsy patchworks of the same kind wero 
 sailing around tho country in a sliort time, and every
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND COKCEUT SALOONS. 393 
 
 " team " that had a specialty act of fifteen minutes 
 duration wanted a play built to fit it and went around 
 telling friends that they guessed they'd go starring 
 next season. A great many of them did not go, but a 
 great many others did. The worst were left behind, 
 and the result was poor variety programms and in 
 consequence poor patronage for them. 
 
 I picked up a programme the other day, belonging 
 to what was once a first-class house, and is so still in 
 all except the 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 
 so 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 latter, 
 as 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 its 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 churchy looking gentlemen stand- 
 ing around studying the aspect of the establishment 
 and dwelling with melting ej^es 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- the place, its proprietor and its fre- 
 quenters : " Harry Hill's grows bigger as its notoriety 
 extends with years, but it never changes. It is not a 
 bar-room, not a concert saloon, not a pretty waiter- 
 girl establishment, and not a free-and-easy. 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
 
 304 
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 prize ring, a l)are space for dancing, tables, seats, a 
 balcony, and a few so-called wine-rooms. There are 
 always as many women as men in the place. The 
 women are admitted by a private entrance, free. Men 
 
 GUS WILLIAMS AS JXO. MISHLER. 
 
 pass through a neglected l)ar-room on the ground floor 
 at a cost of twenty-five cents. Prosperity has added a 
 mansard roof and a clock-tower to the original struc- 
 ture, and Hill has taken in an adjoining building, and
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 3^5 
 
 turned its best apartments into billiard and pool-rooms 
 and a shooting gallery. Let us go in through the bar- 
 room, up a 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 s^reatest effort was to avoid hurtinc^ one 
 another's breasts or bruising one another's faces. 
 
 " In the chairs around the tables are many men, and 
 an equal number of women. The men are mainly 
 young, and a majority seemtobecountvy 3'ouths or store 
 clerks. There are others evidently country men or for- 
 eigners. The women wear street-dress, hats and all. 
 They are Americans, often of Irish or German extrac- 
 tion. As a rule they are not pretty, but they are 
 quiet and mannerly. They know the cast-iron rules 
 of the house — no loud or profane talking, no rt)ud 
 lauirliinji:, no qiiarreliuir, "no lovins;." 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, 
 bio- 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
 
 396 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 with Hill. lie knows them ;ill, is kind to :ill, and is 
 liked by all. He has nothing to do with them or 
 their allairs, however, his phice being merely their 
 exchange, and their dnty being merely to behave 
 while there. The boxers bow and retire, and a yonng 
 woman, who was a few minutes before at one of the 
 tables with a l)roker, who was opening champagne, 
 now faces the foot-li<2;hts in a short silk skirt, l)aro 
 arms, bare head and red clogs. She sprinkles white 
 sand 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 dance. It is a waltz 
 tune that she is keeping time to, and a tall young 
 woman of extremely liaughty mien and rich apparel 
 seizes a shy and seedy little product of the pavement 
 and whirls her round and round in the bare space 
 on the floor. The lookers-on gather there, and a 
 callow stripling from the country, without previous 
 notice or formality, grasps a snuhnosed, 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 farst they're sure to go too far.' 
 
 "Do they reform? Well, Mr. Hill says there arc 
 so many notions of what reform really is, that he 
 can't say. Some of them 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 Nellie, and says she 
 went away and w^is going to lead a strictly honest life, 
 disappeared for six months, and the other night came 
 back again.
 
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 397 
 
 " I kept my eye on Nellie, and, needing no introduc- 
 tion, seized a chance to talk with her. 
 
 " ' I 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 get 
 " 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 knees and ask them to 
 treat will go there again if they can possibly get the 
 fifty cents that is asked as an admission fee. 
 
 Sometimes a party of really Christian men unfamil- 
 iar with city ways will get into a variety dive by mis- 
 take, and what is more, into the boxes. The jrlarino- 
 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 are twenty-five, thirty-five and fifty cents," 
 answers the dapper little man in the box-office who 
 looks as if he ought to be a bar-keeper or a barber. 
 
 " Give us five of your half-a-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 occupants crowd when
 
 398 VARIETV DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 anything interesting is going Ibnvard on the stage. 
 As I have already said these boxes arc connected by 
 doors with the stairc ami the serio-comic vocalist who 
 has a few minutes to spare will loiter in to strike 
 somebody for a drink. 
 
 " Say, baby, can't I have a wet?" one of the female 
 wrestlers remarks as 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 tlahby breast violently enough to disarrange 
 the black cnrl}^ hair he had slicked down at the barber 
 shop just before he came in. 
 
 "A what?" he asks, trying to get his neck suffi- 
 ciently released to be at least comfortal)le. 
 
 "A drink, darling," and she hugs him again and 
 begins playing with a little curl ever his forehead. 
 
 " Why, 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 a 
 diink?" 
 
 " I sui)pose so," responds the victim ; and there i« a 
 loud shouting at the stage-door for " Ida," or some- 
 body else, and Ida, knowing what she is wanted for, 
 liiiiiics to till! spot. In iIh' meantime " Johnnie," the 
 waiter, has been summoned. 
 
 " Give me a port wine sangaree," says Ida's part- 
 ner. 
 
 ".Vnd give me a stone fence" (cider and brandy), 
 says Ida. 
 
 "And what are you going to driidv, l)aby?" the 
 wrestler sitting on his knee asks. 
 
 " (Jive me glass of heer," says the " baby," in a tone
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 31) D 
 
 saffioicntly disconsolate to suggest that he was afraid 
 he might not* have enough money to pay for the treat. 
 
 O 
 
 H 
 M 
 H 
 
 W 
 ft 
 
 P 
 
 M 
 
 w 
 ft 
 
 o 
 
 
 One night a party of saintly looking grangers from 
 Indiana, — five of them, — who appeared as if they were
 
 400 VAKIETY 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 
 early and it was late when they left. The whola thing 
 appeared novel, startling to them. They had never 
 before seen so much unstripped womanhood exposed 
 to the naked ej'e. 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 ;yul the "nigger" end-men sit in a circle and 
 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 liml)s ; but 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 sang "Tickled Him Under the Chin," they were 
 in a frenzy and did not know what to do with their 
 hands, or how to sit still, because the singer kept 
 throwing glances in the direction of their box. Then 
 came the supreme exaltation of their feelings ; the 
 serio-comic danced over to the box as she sang, and ac- 
 tually tickled the most clerical member of the quin- 
 tette on his fat, white chin, while the four others looked 
 on in astonishment, and the audience ("airly howled. 
 
 The grangers were " guyed" pitilessly by the audi- 
 ence, l)ut they paid little, if any, attention to it. As 
 soon as the serio-comic had done her "turn" she 
 rushed for their box, and before long the five Iloosiers 
 were as happy as the lark when it trills its song to the 
 morning. 
 
 Tiie " 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
 
 
 M'LLE GENEVIEVE.
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 401 
 
 jeans pants and braided coats often precipitates a row. 
 Scarcely a night passes 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, bat who, like hot-headed Irish 
 policemen, do more towards increasing the dimensions 
 of a row than forty other men could do. It is bad policy 
 to attempt open criticism 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 say : — 
 
 *' Young man, do ye expect us to give ye Sary Burn- 
 hart an' Fannie Divenpoort 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 fwhere ye'll have plinty toime to 
 cool yersel' afi*." 
 
 If the oflender dares to argue the point the 
 "bouncer" will catch him by the neck, and then a 
 strui2:o;le ensues, canes are flourished, the audience 
 rise to their feet, some of the girls run in fright from 
 the stage, and there is pandemonium in the place for 
 ten or fifteen 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 '11 come along an' get 'im." 
 
 Occasionally there will be 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, one night and made quite a scene. 
 His "mash" was a "chair sweater" in the show. 
 Entering the place one night considerably under the 
 
 2S
 
 402 
 
 vauii:ty i)ive8 and concert saloons. 
 
 iiiiluence of hriiic, he culled to his love in stentorian 
 tones : — 
 
 " Mtirj, get jour duds on and come with me." 
 
 *'Sh-h-]i!" said Mary. 
 
 ARMADO AM) JAQUENETTA. 
 
 Akm.: — I love thoo. 
 
 jAy.: — So I licard voii say. 
 
 Love's Labuur "Lost, Act I.. Scene 2, 
 
 •' Sh-h, iiothinir," was the lover's response. *' You 
 jest tog up quicker'u li — , or 1*11 dnii-c these glims."
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 403 
 
 *'I'll be through in an hour," urged Mary pacift- 
 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 " stutter" 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 enouo-h to 
 display her limbs, and join in the choruses if she can 
 do so without knocking the life out of ^le 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 audience — in the lowest 
 of these dens — and flits from one place to another 
 getting a drink here, and by that time "spotting" 
 somebody over there whom she esteems worthy of 
 " striking." She keeps this up all night, until the 
 after-piece — the cancan, or whatever else it may be — 
 is reached, w^ien she goes behind the scenes and ap- 
 pears on the stage in the same street costume she has 
 worn out in the audience. The " chair sweater's " lot 
 is not a happy one. While pursuing her sudorific vo- 
 cation she innocently imagines that she 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," and as the sale is etfected
 
 404 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 quietly, even an honest granger now and then buys 
 cue, "just to show 'em up around the grocery." 
 
 Tho variety «' dive" usually ch)ses its performance 
 with a iiery and untamed cancan, all the people of the 
 
 
 LAURA DON. 
 
 company joining in the dance, the men usually in the 
 character costumes and " inakc-np " in which they 
 have ai)pear(!d l)erorc in their sketches or iu-ts. 
 
 Then follow tlif. orgies behind the scenes. Some-
 
 BENEDICK AND BEATRICE. 
 
 Beatrice: — Talk with a man out of window? — a proper saying 
 Benedick:— Nay but Beatrice; — 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, Act IV., Scene 1. 
 
 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 
 
 (405)
 
 406 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 Dry; or i)crh;ips tlicy will shiimpoo the swelled head of 
 one of the «reiitleineii. 
 
 Ill tlio wiiic-rooin, wlindi is an adjunct of all tlicso
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS, 
 
 407 
 
 houses, juul which is a place that affords sechision to 
 those who want to be out of the way of meeting friends 
 
 THATCHER, PRIMROSE AND WEST. 
 
 or attracting the notice of strangers, many extraordi- 
 nary exploits are to be witnessed. Plenty of drink,
 
 408 VAKIETY DIVES AM) COXCEUT SALOOXS. 
 
 however, is necessary to stiinul:itc the fun, and when 
 the girls get au old victim into their clutches they 
 "play" him so nicely that he believes the whole lot 
 
 A " IJOWEIiV ON' A "1.AI;K, 
 
 of them are in love with him, and every few minutes 
 comes the cry, *' Let's have another bottle," and they
 
 Variety t>ivEs and concert saloons. 409 
 
 have it. They sit on his lap or phiy circus riding on 
 his shoulders, and until the last bottle has come, and 
 the victim has run dry of funds they keep him in good 
 humor ; then they show him the door, coldly say 
 *' Ta, ta ! Baldy," and laugh heartily at his verdant 
 innocence as he stao-o-ers away. 
 
 The man who allows any of these women — these 
 cancan dancers or " chair sweaters " — to entice him to 
 their home is lost. If he has money and they know it 
 they will not take him to their home, but to some 
 lodging-house with the proprietor of which the can- 
 can dancer is acquainted, and whom slie knows she 
 can trust. A pitcher of beer and a bit of drugging 
 for the victim's glass does the business. While she is 
 strokino; his beard and kissins^ the end of his nose the 
 drug is flowing gently into the goblet of beer. They 
 drink, and in a short time the soporific has its effect, 
 and the slumberins: 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 ao-ain the next niijht but she knows 
 nothing about it. The proprietor of the lodging-house 
 is dumb as an 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 j^lace for these 
 dives. There are any number of them, and the Bowery 
 actress who is brazen enough to smoke her cigarettes 
 in the street, especially when she is " on a lark," may 
 be distinguished by the boldness of her face and the 
 almost masculine atmosphere that surrounds her. She 
 seems to care for nobody and nothing except her small 
 dog and the loafer who spends her money, and looks 
 upon herself as the equal of the best woman in the 
 profession.
 
 410 
 
 A'AlUEXr DIVES AND CONCEUT SALOONS. 
 
 The l)ov theatres whicli ilourish in all larsfc cities, 
 aiul which arc tlirty, tlingy miniature jjlaccs -with gal- 
 lery and pit, and six hy nine stages upon -which the 
 goric.-^t of l)lood-curdling dramas are enacted, have a 
 variety j)ha.se to them, specialty performers preceding 
 1h(^ dramatic representations, and half-nude women 
 
 CONCEUT SALOON BAND. 
 
 mingling and drinking with Ix'ardlcss vouths in the 
 boxes. 
 
 The concert saloon, as some of the low jjlaces that 
 have a fat German with pink-spotted shirt and stove- 
 })ipe hat playing the i)iano, while a chap that has the 
 outward ai)pcarance of a speculative })hilosopher is 
 blowing a cyclone through a cracked cornet, is called, 
 has its uttructions for manv ; and if there are ladies to
 
 VARIETY DIVES AND CONCERT SALOONS. 
 
 411 
 
 eke out the entertainment by squeezing discord out 
 of an accordeon with flute obligato of an ear-piercing 
 and peace-destroying kind — or, in fact, if there arc 
 any female musicians on the grounds, the proprietor 
 of the establishment may count on liberal patronage. 
 The female orchestras to be found in the Bowery, 
 New York, where a squad of pretty girls all* dressed 
 in white, with a female leader wielding the baton with 
 
 FEMALE BAND. 
 
 as much nerve as if she were old Arditi himself, are 
 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 great 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. 
 It is but a few years since that the keeper of a beer 
 o-arden first introduced these institutions into American 
 
 ,^ 
 
 '„?f^#^ 
 
 
 
 JAMES O NEILL. 
 
 life. His venture proved so sliccessful that imitators 
 sprang up all along the Bowery. The tenements of
 
 414 VAIJIKTV DIVES AND COXCKRT SALOONS. 
 
 the East Side were cx[)l()iod, :uk1 every female who 
 coiikl torture the neighbors with an accordeon, scrape 
 the catgut or hang 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 
 cheap and vicious amusements. A correspondent writ- 
 ing from there says: "The places of amusement 
 
 AN IDEAL "MASIIEU." 
 
 "Over the Khinc " line Vine Street for lialf a dozen 
 blocks. They arc of the democratic and, with one 
 exception, rude order, more fauiiliar to the backwoods 
 than to the civilization east of the Mississippi. Some 
 are large cstal)lisiiments with all the tittings of an East 
 Side variety theatre. Olhors are mere halls with a 
 limited stage at one end. To some an admission is 
 charged, ranging from tea cents up to twenty-five
 
 vauif:ty dives and concert saloons. 415 
 
 cents, but most of them are free. The performers in- 
 clude many familiar stars of the variety stage, for the 
 sahirics paid are of the best. The performances, 
 thougli vulgar, are clean enough. The drinks pay all 
 expenses, of course. Beer is served throughout the 
 house and s,moking 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 one 
 of the leading papers."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 Tho variety stage is responsible for a great many 
 theatrical "what-is-its." A few years ai;o there was 
 not so much variety to the variety business ; the pro- 
 jectors of mastodon ami megatherian companies were 
 not in the field to encourage poor artists, and only the 
 really eminent and excellent in this branch of the 
 profession were allowed to iiillict themselves on first- 
 class audiences. Now the dizziest of tho tlirou'*- make 
 their way to the foot-lighis under respectable auspices 
 in the largest cities, and share with their really deserv- 
 ing ])rethern, about in equal parts, the sympathy and 
 applause of large and fashionable houses. The differ- 
 ent branches of the business are, at present, subdivided 
 into more parts than there were formerly principal 
 divisions, and every new feature of the profession has 
 its exalted and also its insignificant exponents. There 
 are a hundred and one dilfercnt stvles of sonsr-and- 
 dance men anil song-and-dance women ; serio-comics 
 arc as widely variant in their styles and repertoires, as 
 they call the few songs tlioy sing threadbare, as they 
 are numerous and diverse in their types of beauty or 
 ugliness ; sketch artists have in their multiplicity in- 
 fringed upon the legitimate comedians, tho wihl bur- 
 lesques, and tho highly operatic stars' territories ; 
 there are scores and scores of sciiools of musical mokes 
 and thousands of performers with eccentric acts of one 
 kind or another that are intended to astonish and be- 
 
 (4ii;)
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 417 
 
 wilder the " natives," as they call the vast number of 
 people who patronize their shows. But the Irish com- 
 edian stands out amid all these changes, immutable in 
 his make-up and unmindful of the hoary age of the 
 
 EDWIN HARRIGAN. 
 
 jokes with which he tortures the intelligent portions of 
 his audiences. He has been dressed and redressed 
 and placed before the public in any number of shapes 
 that were intended to be novel, extendiuij from the one 
 
 27
 
 418 
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 extreme ot" the so-called noiit Irish huinorist to the 
 other, at which sttiiuls the loiitl-moutluHl, heel-clicking 
 aiul hcatl-breuking North of Ireland character ; but tlic 
 disguise is always thin, the eflbrts of the performers 
 
 TONY HART. 
 
 arc vapid, and all the comedians succeed in looking 
 pretty much alike, in saying the same melamholy 
 thin"-s, and in betraying a kinship that is unmistak- 
 able and strongly provocative of pity.
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 419 
 
 A few performers have been successful in making 
 reputations as North of Ireland characters, but they 
 are very few. Ferguson and Mack 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 " l)usiness " 
 to Enghind and back, until tliey have fallen pretty 
 much to the rear ranks. Harrio-an & Hart, wlio have 
 a large theatre in New York, and whose phiy, " Squat- 
 ter Sovereignty," had a run of almost a year, are now 
 the best known and really the cleverest of the members 
 of the profession who make a specialty of Irish comedy. 
 Billy Barry and Hugh Fay have made fame and money 
 with their laughal)le " 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 in all other lines, however, the ranks have 
 been filled up with men and boys who are even more 
 iarnorant and ridiculous off the stao^e than on : who 
 have graduated from newspaper hawking and boot 
 blacking routes to the back door of the stage, and 
 whose limited powers of mimicry, whose retentive 
 memories for old and poor jokes, and whose rhinoce- 
 ros-hide cheek — absolute "gall" they would call it 
 themselves — are their only recommendations to any 
 consideration. They, like all other really bad actors, 
 look down upon every brother professional and imagine 
 that they alone have attained 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 in 
 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
 
 420 A TEAM OF IlilSII COMEDIANS. 
 
 SO he would l)e set down as the very g^ausiost of " <riiys " 
 for his i):uns. 
 
 The Irish comedian, and es[)ccially the cct'iMitric 
 gentleman who liails from the North of Ireland, has 
 muUii>lied so rai)idly of late that the stock of jokes 
 with whic-h the oriijinal North of Ireland comedian 
 start«'d out many years ago has been turned over thou- 
 sands of times, and occasionally a modern audience 
 iictually ci-y when they are made [)arties to the ghoul- 
 ish crime of resurrecting the dead and buried giigs. 
 It is my intention to licro present tiic jjicture of a team 
 of North of Ireland comedians, and give an idea of 
 the nianiKM- in wliich they amuse their audiences; for 
 some of the i)eoplc who go to the theatre are so guile- 
 less and so easily tickhMl that they find themselves 
 orreatlv amused bv a diah)irue teemin<x with ancient 
 Hil)erniaiiisnis. Tlu! stories chosen are in\ariably of 
 the most vulgar and disgusting character, abouiuling 
 in references and suggestions that would not be lis- 
 tcn<'(l to outside of the theatre. The peddlers of 
 these rare bits of stage humor choose all manner of 
 make-u[)s to set olf their stock in trade. A gorgeous 
 plaid suit with ])agL;v 1 rousers and shoil coat top[)ed 
 1)V a high white hat, and the oullit com])h'ted with a 
 can(! ; or a wardrohe i-onsisting of a semi-res])ectable 
 thin-sleeved, .s((uai"e-tailed frock coat and high- 
 water broadcloth })ants, with polished and lowering 
 stove-i)ipc hat; or a hod-carrier's rig; or any half- 
 idiotic attempt to duplicate a workingman's get-up — 
 a " ir:is-hf)Use tanier," who tells you aI)out- Micky 
 DnllV ha\ ing got a jot) to ^\heel out smoke or to suck 
 wind from bladders, — any of these maybe chosen. 
 The clothes mav diller, hut the jokes, the " business," 
 and the facial i)ictures will always be found the same. 
 Caues und stove-pipe huts — white or black — ari3 even
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 421 
 
 more necessary for the success of an Irish comedian 
 than is talent of any kind ; the canes are used for 
 thumping the floor of the stage', and the stove-pipe 
 hats for banging each other in the face, for this class 
 of comedians always travel in pairs. There is a great 
 deal of floor-thumping and hat-slapping in one of their 
 acts, and among the rough acrobatic aspirants to fame 
 the feet are freely used upon each other, and there is 
 a reckless lot of fallino; and tumbling in breakneck 
 style upon the stage. 
 
 In 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 aims at anything like decency in his 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 eccentricity, 
 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- 
 lar 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, Avhich 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 flat," for 
 the street scene comes together, the orchestra with a 
 wild flourish of bass drum and cornet strikes up a 
 familiar Irish melody, and, after a few bars, one of the 
 comedians enters. He is tall, wears a gray woollen suit
 
 422 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 of fasliionablo cut, a hat that never in the world would 
 ait ou an Irish head ; a red-haired wig, i)artly bald, is 
 secMired under the hilt ; gaiters with black over-gaiters 
 clothe the feet, and the face is smooth and genteel, 
 except upon the chin, whence a long thin beard pro- 
 trudes like a plo\vshare. An ordinary twenty-five-cent 
 cane puts the finishing touches to his wardrobe. He 
 looks like a hack-driver out for a holiday, or a Kerry 
 Patch politician dressed for a Skirmishing Fund picnic. 
 He facesthe audience from the middle of the lower part 
 of the stas^e as boldlv as if he were going to entertain 
 them with something new. He pretends to be angry, 
 and when the music has ceased, begins to pace wildly 
 u}) and down the front of the i^tage, as ho shouts re- 
 gardless of all the rules of common sense and elo- 
 cution : — 
 
 " The oidea av callin' me a tarrier ! Why a Span- 
 yard can't walk the shtrcets nowadays widout bein' 
 taken for a Mick or a tarrier ! " 
 
 There are always a few indiscreet people in the 
 audience who laugh at this sally, and the comedian 
 goes on : " But there's iiO use talkin', my b'y's bad as 
 the rest av 'em. ^Vlliu he wint away from home, two 
 years ago, he sez to m(\ sez he : ' Father, whin you 
 hear from me ag'in I'll be President av the United 
 States.' 1 got a letter froiu him last week sayin' he was 
 wan av the foinest shoemakers iii the State's i)rison." 
 Tiiis also raises a laugh, and he continues: "But 
 there's nawthin' but trouble in this wurrld. The 
 other day I bought a horse, and the man tould me 
 he'd thrf)t a mih; intwominits; and be heavens he 
 could <1() it only fur wan thing — the disthance is too 
 inucli I'm- the toime. [Laughter by the audience.] 
 Till lailly ashamed ivery toime I take that animal out 
 a roidin', fur Fve got to put a soign upon him sayin',
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 423 
 
 ' This is a horse.' [Laughter.] My woife an' her 
 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-haw war thrun out an' kilt. 
 Now, whether you belave me or not, more than five 
 hundred married min have bin afther me 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' 
 av gettin' married ag'in meself. [Laughter.] I've 
 got a gerrl — she's a swate crayther av sixteen sum- 
 mers, several hard winters [titter], and I think she's 
 put in a couple av hard falls [laughter] ; but she'll 
 spring up ag'in all right. [Loud and indiscriminate 
 laughter] I tuck her to the shlaughter-house the 
 other day to see 'em kill hogs. She wuz watchin' 'cm 
 butcher the poor craythers whin all to wonst she turns 
 to me an' sez, sez she, ' Whin'll yure turn come, dear 
 John?' [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 tuck 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 I wint out an' 
 got dhrunk, wint home and got in bed ; the same cat 
 kem and sucked my breath, and be heavens ! whither 
 ye belave 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 among the queer things Hierokles, the Joe 
 Miller of ancient times, wrote,' — and these persons 
 laugh at the ghastly joke, while the orchestra gives a 
 chord, and the comedian, tilting his hat forward, flour- 
 ishing his cane and walking around the stage with the 
 air of a man who has done an act of charity of which
 
 424 A TEAM OF lUISII COMKDIANS. 
 
 he is proud, ut l:ist comes down to the foot-lights und 
 
 sings : 
 
 I'm Levi McGinnis 
 Tlie alderman! The aldenuaul 
 
 I'm Levi McGinnis 
 The alderman so gay. 
 
 Or sonic equally nonsensical and jingling lines, after 
 which he dances a few steps and hurriedly exits. As 
 he is going off at one side his partner comes on at the 
 opposite side with another armful of " chestnuts " — 
 as they call worn-out gags, in the show business. The 
 partner is known as Solomon O'Toole. He is dressed 
 in square-cut frock coat, high vest, and short panta- 
 loons, has a squatty, white, square-top, stiff hat, side- 
 whiskers, — " Gal way sluggers " or " Carolinas " they 
 are usually called, — carries a cane, and altogether 
 from the expression of his face seems a quiet and 
 harmless fellow. His tongue is broguey but clear, 
 and ho speaks with a rapidity which suggests that he is 
 either ashamed of what he is saying or is afraid he Avill 
 forget some part of it. lie says : — 
 
 " Now, I'm a man can shtand a joak, but whin I go 
 into a barber shop on Sunday mornin' and the colored 
 barber pins a newspaper under me chin an' hands me 
 a towel to read, its goin' a little too far. [Laughter.] 
 But whin a man goes out in the mornin', these days, 
 there's no knowin' whether or not he'll come back 
 ag'in at night The other day I went to see a friend 
 o' moine named fJolin Gilligaii, Avho lives at Newton 
 Stuart, about tin moilo from Poketown, on the Iloir 
 an' Hominy Road, an' he tuck me to hear a South 
 Caroliny pr'acher who was pr'achin' an cloquint sar- 
 miu. Everything wint all roight until the })r'acher 
 sez, 8ez he, "When (lod med the fust man ho stud 
 him up ag'instafiuce to dhry I " I hollered out, "Who
 
 A TEAM OF iRtSir COMEDIANS. 425 
 
 med the fince?" an' be heavens, they bounced me on 
 the impulse av the momiut. [Laughter.] But az I 
 sed afore, whin a man goes out iu the mornin' he never 
 knows what's goin' to happen. The other mornin' 
 I wint over to the Grand Pavcific Hotel — I o-o there 
 every morning' ; there's a friend av mine boardiu' 
 there be the waik, an' whin he laves town I jro over an' 
 ate his males for him ; but I wint over there th' other 
 mornin' an' picked up a paper an' I 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 him ag'in. [Laughter.] 
 A friend av moine named GilliGjan boug-ht a o-oat the 
 other day, an' he goes about the shtreets atin' eysther- 
 cans an' knockin' the childher over in the gutter. He 
 butted over a little nagur b'y th' other mornin', and 
 whin Gilligan was taken to coort he summoned me as 
 a witness for the prosecution. Whin I tuck the wit- 
 ness shtand the judge axed me what me name waz, an' 
 I sed Michael Mahoney ; an' he axed me what war me 
 nationality, whin be way av a joak I sez, sez I, 
 'I-talyan,' an' be heavens, he gev me six months for 
 perjuree. [Laughter.] I wint into a salune th' other 
 day ; some av the ■ b'ys war settin' around a table 
 play in' cassinoe, an' whin they saw me come in, one 
 av 'em sez, sez he, ' Luck out for the Mick, or he'll 
 swipe up all the lunch!' [Laughter.] I've got a 
 b'y that the Chicago base-ball club used for a foul 
 flag on rainy days. [Smiles.] They threw a ball to 
 him th' other day an' hit him in th' eye ; I tuck him 
 to an occulist who tuck the eye out an' laid it on a 
 table ; be heavens, a cat 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 had cut out wan av his cat's eyes, an' he puts
 
 42() A TKAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 
 
 it into the b'ys head. [Audible smiles.] Now the 
 b'ys doin' fust rate, only whin he goes to Ix'd at 
 noiirht wan eye stczoi)cn an' keeps roaniin' around fur 
 rats. [Laui^hter.] Gilligan has got two b'ys. Wan 
 av thini liasn' spint a cint fur two year ; he'll be out 
 (ofprison ) in October. [Laughter.] The other l)'y 
 will make his mark in the world ; in faet he metl his 
 mark on me the other noight. He put a tack on a 
 chair with the belligeriut ind to'rds mo, an' whin I 
 wint to sit down I got up ag'iii very suddintly. I 
 don't care how ould a mau is, or how tired he is, whin 
 he sils down on the belliji-erint ind av a tack he is 
 bound to assoom agility an' youthfulness. [Laughter.] 
 It maybe but a momentary assumjjtion, but the agility 
 is always there. The other mornin' I intered a friend's 
 salune. There war grape shkins on the flure, an' I 
 sez to him, ' How do ye do, Mr. Cassidy? I see you 
 had a party last night.' ' What makes you think 
 so?' sez he. ' Because I see the grape shkins on the 
 flure,' sez I. * Thim's uot grape shkins,' sez he ; 
 thim's eyes. Some of the b'ys hcd a fight here lasht 
 noight an' you're now surveyin' the baltle-lield.' 
 [r^aughter.] But T was expectin' a (Vicnd av moine 
 down here, Levi McGinnis. Ah, here he comes. 
 Levi, how are you ? " 
 
 " I'm well, Solomon," says the other, who has como 
 on the stai'e and is shakini; hands with Solomon. 
 " ^^'hat kept you so (juick?" 
 
 " I'd been here sooner," is the smart r('S[)onsc, 
 " only 1 couldn't get down any lat(U\" 
 
 " It waz ;i very wet winther we had lashl winther, 
 Solomon? " 
 
 ♦♦Yes. Did ynu luiy any rubbers yet this yeai-? " 
 
 ♦♦ Not this year." 
 
 ♦♦ Goodyear."
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 427 
 
 " Where did you go when you left me Ih' other 
 noight? " Levi continues. * 
 
 " 1 Avent down to the maskeerade ball." 
 
 " I heard you was there. They put you out because 
 you wouldn't take your mask off after 12 o'clock." 
 
 " But I didn't have any mask on. It waz me own 
 face," 
 
 " That's what I tould them," sa3^s Levi, " but they 
 wouldn't belave me." 
 
 This raises a laugh, Solomon looks for a moment 
 with astonishment at Levi, then thumps his cane 
 against the floor in an angry manner, and walks in a 
 circle around the stage as if terribly disgusted at 
 having allowed himself to be sold. This look,^ cane- 
 thumping and walk-around are stereotyped Hiber- 
 nianisms, and are introduced at the end of each " sell." 
 As Solomon O'Toole gets sold all the time this end 
 of the business is as exclusively his as if he had a 
 patent on it. 
 
 " I went into a salune thismornin'," said Solomon, 
 " to git a glass av beer. I got me beer, ped foive 
 sints, and waz jist goin' to blow the foam oflfit when 
 somebody cries out, ' Foight !' I laid down me beer 
 an' run out the dure to see where the foight waz, but 
 there was no foiijht. Whin I oot back me beer waz 
 gone. I called for another glass an' waz goin' to 
 dhrink it down, when somebody shouts, ' Foire ! ' 
 Now I Avanted to see 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, ' I have shpit in this beer.' When 
 I puts the paper on tap av the beer an' wint out to see 
 the foire. There was no foire, an' what do you think 
 happin'd whin I got back? " 
 
 " Your beer waz gone," said Levi. 
 
 *' No it wazn't," Solomon interposed. " The beer
 
 428 A TEAM OF lUISlI COMEDIANS. 
 
 waz there an' the bit av paper waz on tap av it, but 
 some sucker had wrote roight andcr my wroitin', ' So 
 hevl.'" 
 
 The conclusion of the story is ot* course greeted with 
 hiughter. 
 
 " Here, Solomon," says -Levi, " I want to make 
 you a prisent." 
 
 *' An' what's this? " Asks Solomon, examining the 
 article that has been handed to him. 
 
 "A shoe horn." 
 
 "An' what do I want wid an ould shoe horn?" 
 
 " Thry an' get your hat on your head with it" an- 
 swers Levi, amid an outburst of merriment from the 
 audience. 
 
 "How louse can a man live widout br.iins?" is 
 Solomon's next conundrum. 
 
 " T don't know," says Levi. " How ould are you 
 now? " [Laughter.] 
 
 " What is a i)late of hash? " Levi asks; 
 
 "An insult to a s(|uaro meal," Solomon answers 
 triumi)hantly. 
 
 " Thin you can shtand more insults than any other 
 man 1 ever saw," says Levi, whereat Solomon's indig- 
 nation causes him to manoeuvre to the right of stage 
 in proper position for the next question. 
 
 "What's the dilf'rence betwane you and a jack- 
 ass? " he asks, looking sternly at Levi. 
 
 The latter measures the iloor with his eye, and an- 
 swers, "About twelve foot." Solomon (humps his 
 cane ajrainst the floor once more, looks bereft of all 
 the pleasure he ever possessed on earth, and moving up 
 to Levi, says : — 
 
 " No, that's not the roight answer." 
 
 "Well, " says Levi, " I'd loike to know what is the 
 ditf 'rince betwane you an' a jackass?"
 
 A TEAM OF IRISH COMEDIANS. 429 
 
 "No cliff 'rlnce," shouts Solotnou, throwing up his 
 hands, and coming down the stage shaking with laughter. 
 Suddenly the fact dawns upon him that he has made 
 a mule of himself. His face assumes a bewildered ex- 
 pression, and he hastily returns from the scene fol- 
 lowed by Levi McGinniss, while the orchestra stril^es 
 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 
 a team of Irish comedians of average ability, and the 
 reader will at once understand from it what ridic- 
 ulous and almost disgusting language and incidents 
 are made use of to raise a laugh, and how very easy it 
 is to please a variety theatre audience. Pat Rooney's 
 shrug of the shoulders and Land-League phiz, or some- 
 body else's queer walk becomes the rage, and imme- 
 diately there are a hundred weak and pitiful imitators. 
 So, too, with such a dialogue as the foregoing; it 
 seems to " catch on " with the public, and every Irish 
 comedian on the stage must appropriate at least a por- 
 tion of it, — and usually the very worst portion. It 
 is safe to assume that the variety stage to-day has 
 no so-called North of Ireland Irishman who does not 
 flino; at least a half-dozen of the sorrv witticisms I have 
 here given, at 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.
 
 CIIArXER XXX. 
 
 THE IJLACK AKT. 
 
 Tho l)l;ick nrt, as the art of magic is termed, lias 
 arriv(>d at a degree of pci'fectiou that is aiuazing. 
 Tho magicians of the Orient for a long time Averc held 
 np as superior to any rivals outside their country. 
 They sat in the streets, and without paraphernalia 
 caused flowers to Imrst from i)ots of earth and spring 
 into instantaneous growth ; they had their then wonder- 
 ful l)asket trick, in which a l)oy, having entered a l)askct, 
 to all appearances just large enough to receive hiin, re- 
 mained there while the mai^ician ran his sword throuirh 
 the basket in all directions, after which the boy came 
 forth unharmed ; there were sword swallowers amonir 
 them, and altogether their skill in and knowledge of 
 the art of mystifying was considered beyond reproach. 
 The Chinese, too, i)rofess to be irood iuirijlers and 
 magicians, and so they are. IJiit thc^ Europeans .and the 
 Americans have stepped in, and the Hindoo and the 
 Chinaman may now go to the rear in magic. Iloudin, 
 Heller, Macallister, and Hermann have done tricks far 
 superior to anything th(! Eastern wonder-workers are 
 capable of, cither in the way of mechanical intricacy or 
 manual dexterity. The latter feature is ciiltivatrd en- 
 tirely, and you no longer see the magician's stage -cov- 
 ered high and low with glittering paraphernalia, whose 
 brightness was beautilully set olV by the black velvet 
 hangings in the 1)ackground. Now there is nothing 
 presented to the view of the audience except a small 
 
 (430)
 
 THE BLACK ART. 431 
 
 table in the centre of the stage. Taking 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 tricks he car- 
 ries 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 stasfe, iroino- 
 only up to the last entrance, where, by standing 
 against the projecting wing his confederate can fill his 
 pockets with what he need^. A magician's coat looks 
 like a very common-place effort at the swallow-tail ar- 
 ticle. That's all it is exteriorly, but if you got a 
 glimpse of the side the lining is 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 a great trickster, not only on the 
 stage, but off. He walked into a barber-shop in Mem- 
 phis one day, went up to the place where the razors 
 were kept, and taking up one, calmly cut his throat, 
 standing before the glass after the gash had been 
 made, and with evident pleasure regarding the profuse 
 flow of blood from the wound. The barbers and their 
 customers ran wildly into the streets yelling like a 
 tribe of Feejees around a barbecue of roast missionary. 
 They called the police, and raised a small 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 was only a
 
 432 
 
 THE BLACK ART. 
 
 little practical joke. There was not the slightest siirn 
 of any wound upon his throat, and it was only when 
 the barbers were told that it was Hermann, the macri- 
 cian, that they could be brought to believe that he had 
 not really cut his throat throuidi, and then l)y some 
 wonderful healing art closed the gap again. 
 
 IIKUMANN's «* SKLL." 
 
 During his engagement in New York last season, 
 the famous magician demoralize*! a waiter and the 
 proprietor of a German beer saloon by making tho 
 foaming glass appear and disappear, and in receiving 
 the accurate chanfro of a five-dollar note counted it be-
 
 THE BLACK ART. 433 
 
 fore the chagrined proprietor and made it appear that 
 the amount returned was $12, which he coolly pock- 
 eted. But his best trick was the "sell" he per- 
 petrated on the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
 to Children. He had it announced that he would re- 
 sume his old feat of blowins; 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 once. 
 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 feat on Thursday morning, 
 anyhow ; whereupon an agent of the society, with a 
 writ of habeas corpus, rushed upon the scene. Just 
 as he was about to ram the child into the [:iece of 
 heavy ordnance aimed at the gallery of the Grand 
 Opera House, the agent seized it and a tussel ensued 
 between him and the magician. In the pulling and 
 hauling one of the legs of the disputed youngster came 
 off, and 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 Her- 
 mann was playing South, and doing his cabinet trick, 
 some of the boys around the theatre put up a job on 
 him that resulted disastrously as far as the trick was 
 concerned. The cabinet is a large contrivance greatly 
 resembling the huge refrigerators in use in grocery 
 stores, and some who know, say, bearing a great re- 
 semblance to saloon refrigerators. It has a false back 
 and is so constructed that one 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 TIIK BLACK AIIT. 
 
 alike in size and facial ap[)earaiice. Only one of the 
 boys figures in the trick at first, going through a funny 
 bit of play and dialogue with the magician, until at 
 last he leaves the stage to get a knife with which to 
 combat a big monkey that has been locked u[) in the 
 cabinet. When boy No. 1 goes off the stage for a 
 knife boy No. 2 comes back with it and is hurriedly 
 pushed into the cabinet. Meanwhile boy No. 1 h.is 
 left the stai!:e-doorand is runnin<j: fast as he can around 
 the block. The magician after standi ni>: at the cal)inet 
 a 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. 2 is gone. *'Boyee! Boy-ee ! " 
 the magician shouts, " Say boy-ee w'ere are you, 
 boy-ee?" "Here I is, boss," the boy shouts, rush- 
 ing breathlessly up the aisle. The trick surprises 
 everybody, and is a good one. On the occasion I refer 
 to, the *' boys " got a p(;liceman to arrest the lad 
 while he was running around from the back to the 
 front door. The blue-coat took him to the station and 
 Hermann shouted in vain for his " boy-ee," and was 
 finally ol)liged to close the trick without the appear- 
 ance of his darkey confederate. 
 
 As I have spoken above about the jugglers and 
 tricksters of the Orient 1 may as 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-l)asket trick alone 
 being the only thing of an astonishing character that 
 he presented, and that being susceptible of easy expla- 
 nation, the boy being light and sup[)le and c:i[)ablo of 
 moving or contracting his body so as to kei^p out of 
 the way of the sword thrusts, which by the way were 
 not of a violent character. In a private entertainment 
 given l)y this juggler he ap|)('ar(Ml moiH^ awkward and
 
 THE BLACK ART. 435 
 
 clumsier iliaii 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 having broken it off short enough in 
 the process of concealing it. Again he swallowed a 
 yard of black 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 place of concealment. 
 
 A correspondent writing from China about the street 
 jugglers to be seen there, says: " Sword-swallowing 
 and stone-eating appear to be the commonest feats, 
 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 buo-le-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 bal- 
 anced it upon his head. He then blew a sort of chir- 
 ruping whistle, when immediately a number of rice 
 birds came 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, when 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 tree from his foreliead, and setting it down, took 
 up a dish, which he held above his head, wlicn all the 
 birds flew into it, then covered it over Avith a cover, 
 and giving it a whirl or two about his head, opened it 
 and dis[)layed a (juantity of eggs, the shells of which 
 he broke with a 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. Borrowinii: a 
 handkerchief from one of his spectators, he took an 
 orange, cut a small hole in it, then scjueezed all the juice 
 out, and crammed the handkerchief into it. Giving 
 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, ho 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 
 rerial sus[)ension and the Indian box-trick. The latter 
 I explain in the next chapter. The atrial suspension, 
 which is best seen in Prof. Seeman's performances, 
 consists in apparantly mesmerizing a young lady 
 while she is standing on a stool between two upright 
 bars, uj)on each of Avhich slu; rests an elbow. When 
 she is in the mesmeric state the stool is removed, 
 leaving her suspended upon both elbows ; then one 
 of the 1)ars — that uinlcr the Icl't ell)ow — is removed, 
 and the fair subject slill remains motionless, her entire 
 weiirht resting ui)on th(^ ell)ow of the right arm, which 
 is extended out from the bod}', with the hand thrown 
 easily and gracefully against the check. Next, her 
 figure is pushed out from the bar through various
 
 THE BLACK ART. 437 
 
 angles, until at last she reclines upon her strange 
 rerial couch, which is scarcely more than one 
 inch in diameter. The illusion is a beautiful one, 
 and astonishes all who see it. Occasionally the 
 creaking of tlie steel joints under the elbow is heard 
 out in the audience, " o:ivino- awav " the feat, for the 
 actual fact is that the young lady is not in a mesmeric 
 condition, but is held in position by a steel armor 
 worn under her costume, with a joint at the elbow 
 that fits into the upright bar, where a powerful sj'stem 
 of leverage holds the body in any position desired. 
 
 Hermann's bird trick is a fine one. He comes be- 
 fore the audience with a livino; bird in a small caoe 
 held between both hands, and " Wan I Two ! T'ree ! " 
 with a sudden movement, and without turning away 
 from the audience spreads his arms, when, lo ! the bird 
 and cage have disappeared. The explanation given by 
 some is that the cao:e is made of rubber, which, when 
 
 C; 7 7 
 
 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 
 a magician on the stage, wants to master the black 
 art. It is very easy for him to do so. All he needs 
 is a great deal of what is vulgarlj^ known as " cheek," 
 and termed in theatrical slang, " gall," a quick eye, 
 and ease and rapidity of movement in handling articles. 
 The first thing to be learned is the art of " palming " — 
 concealing small objects in the palm of the hand. 
 Coins, balls, handkerchiefs, etc., are hidden in this 
 way, being held in the open hand by the pressure of 
 the fleshy part of the thumb. In this way the shower 
 of coin and many like tricks are done. When the art 
 of" palming" is understood, rapidity of movement is 
 the next thing, and then come the mechanical and 
 other tricks.
 
 438 THE BLACK AKT. 
 
 Only the okl-school magicians — tlio fakirs — retain 
 the fire-eating trick in their entertainments. Any 
 school-boy can do it now, as the preparation for it is 
 very simple. By anointing the tongue with liquid 
 storax, a red-hot poker may be licked cool, or coals taken 
 from the fire may l)e placed upon the tongue and left 
 there until they become black.. To any person who 
 has an appetite for flames, or for -whom five-cent 
 ■whiskey is not fiery enough, a trial of this trick will be 
 gratifying. And should there be a desire to walk on 
 fire or on red-hot iron, let the aspiring salamander 
 take half an ounce of camphor, dissolve it in two ounces 
 of aqua vitiB, add to it one ounce of quicksilver, one 
 ounce of liquid storax, Avhich is the dro[)pings of myrrh, 
 and prevents the camphor from firing ; take also two 
 ounces of hematis, which is red stone, to be had at the 
 druggist's. Let them beat it to a powder in their 
 great mortar, for l)eing very hard it cannot well be re- 
 duced in a small one ; add this to the iuirredients al- 
 ready specified, and when the walking is to be done 
 anoint the feet with the preparation, when the ti'ick 
 mav be accomplished without the sliirhtest danirer. 
 
 If anyl)ody desires to be ghastly in his trickery, he 
 may cut a nmn's head off and put it in a platter a yard 
 from his body. This is done by causing a board, a 
 cloth, and a platter to 1)0 purposely made with holes in 
 each to fit a boy's neck. The board must be made of 
 two })lanks, the longer and broader the better ; there 
 must be left within half a yanl of the end of each jjlank 
 half a hole, that both the planks being put together, 
 there may remain two holes like those in a pair of 
 stocks. There must be made, likewise, a hole in the 
 cloth ; a platter having a hole of the same size in the 
 middh;, and having a piece taken out at one side the 
 size of the neck, so that he may place his head
 
 THE BLACK AIlT. 439 
 
 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 make 
 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 be 
 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 
 same size as the first boy must be placed, his body on 
 the table and his head through the hole in the table, 
 at the opiDosite end to where the head is which is ex- 
 hibited .
 
 CHAPTER XXXr. 
 
 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 
 
 The Indiiiu box-and-basket trick was for a long time 
 a mystery even among magicians, and now it pnzzles 
 astnte people to understand how the young man or 
 young woman who has been tied in a sack and placed 
 under lock and key in a wicker basket on top of a box 
 not only locked and sealed but tied in all directions 
 with stout rope, can get out of the sack and basket 
 and into the box within very few minutes. In 1873 
 Barnuai paid £1,000 to a London trickster for the so- 
 called mystery- This extraordinary feat which puz- 
 zled the knowing ones for so long a time was explained 
 to me once by a magician, and will be found so simple 
 as to astonish those who read the exi)lanati()n. 
 
 The magician begins by announcing the trick ; he 
 
 tl 
 
 icn 
 
 brings 
 
 on 
 
 Fig. I- 
 
 the staf2:e a larjje 
 wooden box-like 
 trunk ( Fig. 1 ) 
 with hinges and 
 has[)s on it. A 
 c oni in i 1 t (' (; is 
 
 generally called from the audience to examine 
 the })nx to sec that there is no deccplion in its 
 apparent stoutness. They look it over and ovci- and 
 discover nothing. Tin^y then lock the box, retain the 
 keys, and stop up the key-holes with sealing-wax. The 
 committ(!0 also, amid the siionts of the audience to 
 (440)
 
 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKKT TRICK. 
 
 441 
 
 " tie it up tight," wind rope around the box in all di- 
 rections, making innumerable knots and using every 
 effort to secure the box firmly. Then on top of the 
 box is placed a board about as wide as the lid of the 
 box, and on the opposite ends of which are heavy 
 
 plate staples. 
 (Fig. 2.) The 
 magician's 
 j^-ig 2. 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 
 box, gets into the sack, within which there is generally 
 a stool, so that the jDcrson inside may sit down. The 
 magician begins to tie up the sack ; he gathers the top 
 of it in his hands, and in the ii^antime the assistant 
 thrusts through the opening 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, with a heavy 
 ring around its 
 mouth and two 
 large staples at 
 opposite sides. 
 (Fig. 3.) When 
 the basket is 
 placed over the 
 assistant, the sta- 
 ples in its ring 
 fit exactly over 
 
 those on the mg. 3. 
 
 board above the box ; padlocks are passed through
 
 442 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 
 
 the staples and locked, the comniiltec hold the 
 key, and sealing-wax is again applied to the key- 
 hole. The trick is now ready, the magician draws 
 a screen across to hide the box and basket from the 
 andience, and usnally within two minutes the signal is 
 given that the feat has been accomplislied. Sometimes 
 this signal is a pistol shot ; at other times a. whistle. 
 The screen is thrown aside, the seals on the locks are 
 un1)roken ; everything is in exactly the position in which 
 the committee left it, tiie ropes remain securely tied, 
 seem undisturbed, and on opening tlie 1)ox, which is 
 still stout and innocent-looking as ever, the assistant 
 tumbles out and the tri(tk comes to an end amid the 
 wild plaudits of the audience and an occasional uncom- 
 plimentary hoot at the committeemen. 
 
 How is it done? The siini)le-looking contrivance 
 that forms the foundation of tiie mvstery is nothinj; 
 more or less than a trick-])()x. Along the edijres of the 
 front, back and ends are fastened stout battens, as can 
 be seen in the cut. These battens ai'e 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 tilled with iron 
 plat OS pierced with holes of the shape to be seen in 
 
 Fig. 4. The screws on the lower 
 l)artsof th(! batten are dummies 
 — that is, they go o\\\y partly 
 through the battens, and do 
 ^'"J-'^- ^ not reach the panels. On the 
 
 inner sides of the battens are iron plates, each carry- 
 ing a stud, so that when the parts of the panel plates 
 marked A come directly opposite the studs of the bat- 
 tens, the panel, if pressed or pushed, will fall inside 
 the box ; but if the studs bo jircssed through yl, and
 
 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 
 
 443 
 
 the panels shoved along so that the shanks of the studs 
 slide through the slatted parts, B, 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 small iron rod he may 
 slide the panels backward or forward. 
 
 There is another piece of trickery in the construc- 
 tion of the board that rests on the box and upon which 
 the basket is 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, as shown in 
 Fig. 5. Inside the board are two 
 double bolts w^hich pass through 
 these holes and keep the staples 
 in place. The person under the 
 basket passes a thin steel blade 
 
 between the boards and slides p ; 
 
 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 tig-o. 
 
 down, its rounded ends acting like wedges to 
 
 pushing the bolts back, which come together again 
 
 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 back in its place and the trick 
 
 is at an end. 
 
 Occasionally a performer does not find it as easy to 
 do this trick as it reads here. He may sometimes get
 
 444 TIIK INDIAX BOX-AND-IJASKKT TRICK. 
 
 stuck ill the basket, or may find it impossihle to get 
 into the box. The sack is no troiil)le" to him at all, 
 for he is never really tied in the saek, — all lu; has to 
 do is to crawl out of it. Caral)<>fral)a, I think it was, 
 while cxhii)itin<2: the Indian box-triek in Chieairo at the 
 Adelphi Theatre, in 1874, met with tin accident that 
 set the house in an uproar, and came near precipitat- 
 ing a panic. His assistant, who had succeeded in get- 
 ting out of the l)asket, snapped in two a small iron rod 
 he used for sliding the ])anel, and despite a long and 
 desperate effort could not succeed in opening the box. 
 All he could do was to come from behind the screen, 
 walk to the foot-liirhts and beg to be excused. An 
 expert rope-tier had secured the box, as one of the 
 committee called upon to do so, and the juidience cred- 
 iting the expert with the failure of the tricdc, cried 
 fraud, and grew greatly excited. They would listen 
 to no explanation until Leonard (xrovcr, then manager 
 of the Adelphi, came forward and promised that the 
 trick would be performed later in the evening, and 
 that, in the meantime, the box should remain in full 
 sight of the audience, i)oth of which promises were 
 faithfully kept. 
 
 As it always takes some time to do this trick, the 
 ma<T^ician has some kind of a '< uhost storv " fixed up 
 to entertain his audience. An old ex-conjurer, writing 
 in /Scrih)ier\s Mont hi 1/ on the subject, gave the follow- 
 ing talk, with which he usually diverted his patrons 
 while his assistant was getting into the box : — 
 
 "And apropos of spiritualism," I would say, " I 
 will, with vour permission, relate the advcntui'c of a 
 seiwant girl at a spiritual seance. Miss Ilonora Mur- 
 phv, a young female (Mig.ig(<l in the honorable and 
 praiseworthy occupation of general housework merely 
 to dispel ennui, not licaring in some time from the
 
 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TRICK. 445 
 
 * b'y at home ' to whom she was engaged to be 
 
 * marrid,' Avas advised by the ' gerrl next doore ' 
 to consult the spirits. Miss Murphy objected at first 
 on the o;round that she had taken her ' Father 
 Matchew seventeen year afore in her parish cliurch 
 at home an' niver drunli sperrits,' but finally con- 
 cluded to follow the advice. The result I shall give 
 you as detailed by her to her friend :" — 
 
 " 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 maruin' I ast Maggie Harna- 
 han, the up-stairs gerrl, where was herself. * In her 
 boodoore,' sez Maggie, an' up I goes to her. 
 
 " ' What's wantin', 'Nora? ' sez she. 
 
 " ' I've jist heerd as how me cousin's very sick,' 
 sez I, « an' I'm that frettin', I mus' go an' see her.' 
 
 "Fitter fur yer ter go ter yer wurruk,' sez she, 
 lookiu' mighty crass, an' she the lazy hulks as niver 
 does a turn from mornin' till night. 
 
 *' ' Well, dear, I niver takes sass from anny av 'em, 
 so I ups an' tould her, ' Sorra taste av wurk I'll do 
 the day, an' av yer dou't like it, yer can fin' some wan 
 else,' an' I flounced mesel' out av the boodoore." 
 
 " Well, I wintto me room ter dress mesel,' an' whin 
 I got on me sale-shkin sack, I thought av me poor 
 ould mother — may the hivins be her bed! — could 
 only see me, how kilt she'd be intoirely. Whin I was 
 dressed I wint down-stairs, an' out the front doore, 
 an' I tell yer I slammed it well after me. 
 
 " Well, me dear, whin I got ter the majum's, a big 
 chap wid long hair and a baird like a billy-goat kem 
 inter the room. Sez he : — 
 
 " ' Do yer want to see the majum? ' 
 
 " ' I do,' sez I. 
 
 *' ' Two dollars,' sez he.
 
 446 THK INDIAN 150X-AND-BASKET TRICK. 
 
 " ' For what? ' says I. 
 
 *' ' For the sajants,' sez he. 
 
 " ' Faix, it's no aunts 1 want to see,' soz I, ' but 
 Luke Corrigan's own self.' Well, mo dear, Avid that 
 he gev a lauirh ye'd thluk 'd riz the roof. 
 
 " 'Is he yer husban' ? ' sez he. 
 
 " 'It's mighty 'quisitive ye nrc,' sez 1, 'but he's 
 not inc husban', av 3'er want ter know, l)ut I Avant ter 
 larn av it's alive or dead he is, which tiie Lord forbid !' 
 
 " ' Yer jist in the nick er time,' sez he. 
 
 " ' Faix, Ould Nick's here all the time, I'm thiukin', 
 from what I hear,' sez I. 
 
 " Well, ter make a long story short, I ped me two 
 dollars, an' wint into another rooui, an' if ye'd guess 
 froni now till Aisther, ye'd never thiuk what the 
 majum was. As I'm standin' here, 'twas notJiiii' hut 
 a luoman! I was that bet, I was a'niost spacheless. 
 
 " ' Be sated, madam,' sez she, p'ntin'^ to a chair, 
 an' I seed at wanst that she was a very shu[)erior sort 
 o' person. 'Be sated,' sez she. 'Yer inus' jiiie the 
 circle.' 
 
 " ' Faix, I'll ate a thriaugle, av yer wish,' sez I. 
 
 " 'Yer mus' be very quite,' sez she. An' so I sot 
 down along a lot av other folks at a table, 
 
 " 'First, I'll slug a him,' sez the majum, 'an' thin 
 do all yces jiue in the chorus.' 
 
 " 'Yer mus' axcusc me, ma'am.' sez I. ' I niver 
 could sing, but rather than spile the divarshuu o' the 
 company, av any wan' 11 whistle, I'll danco as purty a 
 jig as ye'll see from here to Bal'nasloe, though it's 
 mescl' as sez it.' 
 
 " Two young wliii)per-snappcrs begin ter laugh, but 
 the Ink I gev'em soon shut 'em up 
 
 "Jist then, the big chap as had me two dollars kem
 
 THE INDIAN BOX-AND-BASKET TKICK. 447 
 
 into the room iin' turned down the lights ; in a minit 
 majum, shtickin' her face dose to me own, whispers: 
 
 " ' The sperrits is about — I kin feel 'em ! ' 
 
 " ' Thruc for you, ma'am,' sez I, ' fur I kin smell 
 'em ! ' 
 
 "'Hush, the inj^tience is an me,' sez the majum. 
 ' I kin see the lion an' the lamb lying down together.' 
 
 " ' Begorra ! It's like a wild beastess show,' sez I. 
 
 "'Will yer be quite?' sez an ould chap nex' ter 
 me. ' I hev a question to ax. 
 
 " 'Ax yer question,' say I, ' an' I'll ax mine. I 
 ped me two dollars, an' I'll not be put down.' 
 
 " ' Plaze be quite,' sez the majum, ' or the sperrits 
 '11 lave.' 
 
 " Jist then kem a raj) on the table. 
 
 " ' Is that the sperrit of Luke Corrigan? ' sez the 
 majum. 
 
 " ' It is not,' sez I,- ' for he could bate any boy in 
 Kilballyowen, an' if his fist hit that table 'twould 
 knock it to smithereens.' 
 • " ' Whist? ' sez the majum ; 'it's John's Bunions.' 
 
 " 'Ax him 'bout his progress,' sez a woman wid a 
 face like a bowl of stirabout. 
 
 "'Ah, bathershiu ! ' sez I. 'Let John's bunions 
 alone and brino; Luke Corrioran to the fore.' 
 
 " ' Hisli ! ' whispers the majum ; ' I feel a sperrit 
 uare me.' 
 
 " ' Feel av it has a wart on its nose,' sez I, ' for be 
 that token ye'll know it's Luke.' 
 
 " ' The moment is suspicious,' says the majum. 
 
 " ' I hope yer don't want to asperge me character,' 
 sez I. 
 
 " ' Whist ! ' sez she ; ' the sperrits is droopin.' 
 
 "'It's droppin' yer mane,' sez I, pickin' up a- 
 small bottle she let fall from her pocket.
 
 448 THE INDIAN IJOX-AND-BASKKT TKICK. 
 
 " ' Put that woman out,' scz an ould chap. 
 
 " ' Who do yc call a woman? ' soz 1. ' Lav a tinker 
 on mc, an' I'll scratch a map of the (\)nnty Clare on 
 yor ugly i)hiz.' 
 
 " ' Put her out I ' ' 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' sjjerrits,' I cried, " from 
 Julus Sazar to Tim ]Maconle, an' I'll bate 'em all fur the 
 gloiy av ould Ireland ! ' 
 
 " The big chap as had me money kem bchin' me, an' 
 put his elbow in me eye ; 1)ut me jewel, I tassed him 
 over as if he bin a feather, an' the money rowled out 
 his pocket. AA'id a crv av ' Fau<rh-a-l)allah ! ' I crab- 
 bed six dollars, runned out av the doore, an' Til 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 woi'lc the trick. Sometimes a mauficiaii 
 whoso conHdencc in his assistant is not strong, or 
 whose i)ara[)hernalia 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 XXXII. 
 
 VENTKILOQUISM. 
 
 All Avho have heard Prof. Kennedy or Val Vose 
 with their funny little figures have wondered how they 
 managed to produce such an effect upon their au- 
 dience — to completely delude them into the belief 
 that the speech came from the moving lips of the lit- 
 tle wooden heads and not from the closed and motion- 
 less labials 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 cen- 
 tury have we anecdotes 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 cliambre 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- 
 mandino; her to jjive their daugjhter in marriasje to 
 Louis, that he (the ftither) might be relieved from pur- 
 gatory. The widow was only too glad to comply. 
 Now, Louis wanted a wedding portion, so he went to 
 one Cornu, 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 purgator^^ 
 
 The works of M. L'Abbe La Chapelle, issued 1772, 
 29" (449)
 
 450 vi:NTRiLOQUis:yr. 
 
 contain dt'sciii)ti()ns of the ventriloquial achiovcnionts 
 of Baron Mcngcn at Vienna ; and those of M. St. Gillc, 
 near Paris, are equally interesting and astonishing. 
 The former in<xeniousl v constructed a doll with moveable 
 lips, which he could readily control l)y a movement of 
 the finijcrs under the dress ; and with this automaton 
 he was accustomed to hold humorous and satirical dia- 
 logues, lie ascribed proficiency in his art to the fre- 
 (^uent gratification of a propensity for counterfeiting 
 the cries of the lower animals, and the voices of })er- 
 sons with whom he Avas in contact. 
 
 La Chapelle, having heard many surprising circum- 
 stances related concerning one M. St. Gille, a grocer 
 at St. Germaincn-Laye, near Paris, whose powers as a 
 ventriloquist had given occasion to many singular and 
 diverting scenes, formed the resolution of seeing him. 
 Being seated with him on the op[)osite side of a fire, in a 
 parlor on the ground iloor, and very attentively observ- 
 ing him, the Abbe, after half an hour's conversation 
 with M. St. Gillc, heard himself called, on a sudden, 
 by his name and title, in a voice that seemed to come 
 from the roof of a house at a distance ; and whilst he 
 was pointing to the house from which the voice had 
 appeared to him to proceed, he was yet more surprised 
 at hearing the words, " it was not from that quarter," 
 apparently in the same kind of voice as before, but 
 which now seemed to issue from under the earth at 
 one of the corners of the room. In short, this fic- 
 titious voice ])layed, as it were, everywhere about him, 
 and seemed to proceed from any quarter or distance 
 from which the o[)erator chose to transmit it to liim. 
 To th<^ Abbe, t hough conscious that the voice proceeded 
 from the mouth of M. St. (iille, Ik; appeariui abso- 
 lutely mute while he was exercising his talent ; nor 
 could an}' change in his countenance be discovered.
 
 VENTRILOQUISM. 451 
 
 But ho observed that M. St. Gille presented only the 
 profile of his face to him while he was speaking as a 
 ventriU)quist. 
 
 On another occasion, M. St. Gille sought for shelter 
 from a storm in a neiohboring convent ; and finding 
 the community in mourning, and inquiring the cause, 
 he Avas told that one of their body, much esteemed bv 
 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 his 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 community 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 occa- 
 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 phih^sophers on the article of 
 ghosts and apparitions ; and St. Gille. found it difficult 
 to convince the fathers that the whole was a deception. 
 
 M. Alexandre, the noted ventriloquist, had an 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 in the character of a 
 noted clergyman, with whose real features the sculp- 
 tor was well acquainted. When the sittings were
 
 452 VKNTUILOQUISM. 
 
 closed aiul the l)iist modelled, the mimic cast off his 
 wig and assumed dress, and appeared with his own 
 natural countenance, to the terror almost of the sculp- 
 tor, and to the great amusement of Sir AValter Scott 
 and others who had been in the secret. 
 
 Of this most celebrated ventriloquist it is related 
 that on one occasion he was passing ah)ng the Strand, 
 when a friend desired a specimen of his abilities. At 
 this instant a load of hay was i)assing along near Tem- 
 ple Bar, when Alexandre called attention to the suflb- 
 cating cries of a man in the centre of the hay. A 
 crowd gathered round and stopped the astonished 
 carter, and demanded why he was carrying a fellow- 
 creature in his hay. The complaints and cries of the 
 smothered man now became painful, and there was 
 every reason to believe that he was dying. The 
 crowd, regardless of the stoppage to the traffic, in- 
 stantly proceeded to unhxid the hay into the street. 
 The smothered voice ur2:ed them to make liaste ; but 
 the feelings of the people may be imagined when the 
 cart was empty and nol)ody was found, while Alexan- 
 dre and his friend walked off laughing at the unex- 
 pected results of their trick. 
 
 The individual who wishes to know anything tkbout 
 this wonderful art must learn to distinguish distances, 
 and be able, by giving the proper pitch to the voice, to 
 make it reach exactly to the })oint indicated. He 
 must also know that the attention of the audience 
 should be directed either by the eyes or a gesture of the 
 hand to the sjjot whence the voice is supposed to issue. 
 In order to cover the features of any nuxh-rn ventrilo- 
 (piial entertainment, I will here give the rules for the 
 two voices required, with an example of tiie dialogue 
 in each case.
 
 VENTRILOQUISM. 453 
 
 VOICE I. 
 
 The first is tlie voice in whicli Frederic Maccabe 
 excelled. To acquire tliis voice, speal?: one word or 
 sentence in your own natural tones ; tlien open tlie 
 mouth and fix the jaws fast, as thougli you were trying 
 to hinder anyone from opening them farther, or shut- 
 ting them ; draw the tongue bade in a ball ; speak the 
 same words, and the sound, instead of being formed in 
 the mouth will be formed in the pharynx. Great at- 
 tention must be paid to- holding the jaws rigid. The 
 sound will then be found to imitate a voice heard from 
 the other side of a door when it is closed, or under a 
 floor, or through a wall. To ventriloquize with this 
 voice, let the operator stand with his back to the audi- 
 ence against a 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 (explained 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- 
 versation with the imaginary person. As the door is 
 now open, it is obvious that the voice must be altered, 
 for a voice will not sound to the ear Avhen a door is 
 open the same as when closed. Therefore, the voice 
 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, ar towards the ear. Then let the lips open at 
 that corner only, the other part to remain closed.
 
 451 VE^•TKILOQL•lSM. 
 
 Next bi-eatlio, as it were, the words out of tlu; orifice 
 foniu'd. Do not speak distinctly, but exi^'I llu" 
 ])reatli in short puff's at each word, and as h)ud as i)os- 
 sihle. Bv so doing you will cause the illusion in the 
 mind oi" the listeners, that they hear the same voice 
 which they heard when the door was closed, hut which 
 is now heard more distinctly and nearer, on account of 
 the door being open. This voice must always be used 
 when the ventrilo(iuist wishes it to a[)i)ear that the 
 sound comes from some one close at hand, but through 
 an obstacle. The description of voice and dialogue 
 mav be varied, as in the following example : — 
 
 THE SUFFOCATED VICTIM. 
 
 A lar<''o i)()X or close cuijboard is used indiscrimi- 
 nately, as it may be handy. The student will rap or 
 kick the box ai)parently by accident. The voice will 
 then utter a hoarse and subdued groan, apparently 
 from the box or closet. 
 
 Student ([)ointiiig 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 caftie you there? 
 
 Voice: I only wanted to see what was going on. 
 Let me out, do. 
 
 Student: But I don't know who you are. 
 
 Voice : Oh yes, you do. 
 
 Stmlciit : Wlio arc yoii? 
 
 \'oirr : VoUl' ohi scliooircjiow, 'I'oUl . "> oU 
 
 know inc. 
 
 SludiMit : \\'hy, hr"s in Canada. 
 
 Voice (shari)ly) : No Ik; ain'l,ln''s lien-; but be 
 <jui<k.
 
 VENTRILOQUISM. 455 
 
 Student (opening the lid) : Perhaps he's come by 
 the underground railroad ? Hallo ! 
 
 Voice (not so muffled, as described in directions: 
 Now then, give us a hand. 
 
 Student (closing the lid or door sharply) : No, I 
 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 I 
 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 ! I am chokins:. 
 
 Student: Shall I let him out? (opening the door.) 
 There's no one here. 
 
 VOICE II. 
 
 The second voice is the more easy to be acquired. 
 It is the voice by which all ventriloquists make a 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 
 jjointing to it or by 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 as near the lips as possible, inas- 
 much as that will help the illusion. Then in exactly 
 the same tone and jDitch answer ; but, in orderthat 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 be elevated and drawn
 
 45G VENTKILOQUISM. 
 
 nearer to tlie pharynx, and tlic sound will l)e reflected 
 in that cavity, and appear to come from the roof. Too 
 much attention cannot be paid to the manner in whicli 
 the breath is used in this voice. When speaking to 
 the supposed person, expel the words with a deej), 
 (juick breath. 
 
 ^Vhen answering in the imitative manner, the breath 
 must be held back and cxi)clled very slowly, and the 
 voice will come in a subdued and muffled manner, little 
 above a whisj)er, 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 elVect, At tlic same time make a mo- 
 tion downwards with your hand. Hold some conver- 
 sation with the voice and cause it to sav, '* I am 
 coming," or " Here I am," each time indicating the 
 descent with the hand. AVhen the voice is supposed 
 to approach nearer, the sound must alter, to denote 
 the progress of the movement. Therefore Idt the 
 voice at every supposed step, roll, as it were, by de- 
 grees, from the pharynx more into the cavity of the 
 mouth, and at each supposed step, contracting the 
 opening of the mouth, until the lips are drawn u[) as if 
 you were whistling. By so doing the cavity of the 
 mouth will be very much enlarged. This will cause 
 the voice to be obscured, and so a[)poar 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 cavity 
 of the mouth ; niid in all imitative voices the conso- 
 nants must scarcely be articulated at all, especially if 
 the vcntrilorpiist faces the andionco. For example : 
 suppose the imitative voici; is made to say, " Mind 
 what you are doing, you bad bo}'," it must l)e spoken, 
 as if it were written, *' 'ind 'ot you're doing, you 'ad
 
 VENTRILOQUISM. 457 
 
 whoy." This kind of articulution may be practised 
 by forming tlie 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 
 is 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 the illusive voice is supposed to pro- 
 ceed : — 
 
 Student: Are you up there, Jem? 
 
 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 3'ou here, Jem. 
 
 Voice : I am coming directly. 
 
 Student : Which way, Jem ? 
 
 Voice : Over the roof and down the trap. (Voice 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. 
 
 Student : How long shall you be ? 
 
 Voice : Onlv a few minutes. I am comin£i:as fast as 
 I can. 
 
 The voice now approaches the door, and is taken up 
 by the same tone, but produced as in the first voice. 
 
 I 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
 
 458 VENTIIILOQUISM. 
 
 sound must be confined iind prolonged in the throat : 
 the greater the pressure, the higher will be the faint 
 note jiroduccd, and which Avill perfectly resemble the 
 buzzing of the bee or wasp. Now, to imitate the 
 buzzing of a blue])ottle fly, it will be necessary for the 
 sound to be made with the lips instead of the throat; 
 this is done l)y closing the lips very tight, except at 
 one corner, where a small aperture is left ; fill that 
 cheek full of wind, l)ut not the other, then slowly 
 blow or force the wind contained in the cheek out of 
 the ai)erture : if this is done pro[)erly, it will cause a 
 sound exactly like the buzzing of a bluebottle fly. 
 
 The noise caused by ))laning and sawinof wood can 
 also be imitated without much difficulty, and it causes 
 a great deal of amusement. The student must, how- 
 ever, bear in mind that every action must be imitated 
 as well as the noise, for the ej'e assists to delude the 
 ear. We have even seen ventrilocjui.sts carry this eye 
 deception so far as to hayo a few shavings to scatter 
 as they proceed, and a piece of wood to fall when the 
 sawing is ended. To imitate planing, the student 
 nnist stand at a table a little distance from the audi- 
 ence, and appear to take hold of a i)lane and push it 
 forward : the sound as of a plane is made as thouirh 
 you were dwelling on the last part of the word \\\isJl — 
 dwell U[)on the sh a little, as tsh y and then clip it short 
 by causing the tongue to close with the palate, then 
 over again. Letters will not convey the })eculiai- sound 
 of sawiuiT — it must be studied from nature.
 
 CHAP TEE XXXIII. 
 
 " ON THE ROAD." 
 
 Theatrical life is full enough of business and bustle, 
 even when a company is pla3dug a long engagement in 
 a large city ; but when " on the road," travelling fi'om 
 town to town — playing here a week and there a week, 
 with one-night stands in the intervening "villages," 
 actors and managers find it no easy task to retain their 
 health and spirits, and keep up with their " dates ; " 
 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 lasts through forty weeks of each year — makes 
 up the easy, glorious, and blissful 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 a company's season as 
 can be arranged in New York during the summer, is 
 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. Havino; 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 are 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 made and signed in New York during 
 
 (459)
 
 400 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 the summer vacation. The others fire completed while 
 the company is on the road. 
 
 Ahead of every attraction is a press agent, herald, 
 avant-courier, or, as he hegan to call himsolC two 
 years ago, a business manager. When he invades a 
 town the first place he makes a rusii for is the most 
 availal)le opeia house or hall, with the proprietor of 
 which he makes a contract like the followinir: — 
 
 Belleville, Ili 1882. 
 
 Thrs is to certify that I have rented the hall (room 
 
 or theatre) known as to the jSIadison 
 
 Square Theatre Company for night. . . . , 
 
 viz for the sum of 
 
 dollars per night, which includes license, stage hands, 
 ushers, ticket-seller, etc. Said hall, passage-way, and 
 stage to be well lighted, and also to be kept clean and 
 well warmed, with services of janitor and privilege of 
 matinee included. 
 Signed: 
 
 Lessee. 
 
 WitULSH : 
 
 IJusincss ]Mana<;er. 
 
 Numerous other contracts are made, — for hauling 
 baggage, for carriag<!S and oiuiiibus, lor orchestra, 
 etc. The hotel contract, wiiich is as follows, is very 
 explicit : — 
 
 '* This is to certify that the laniUord of 
 
 does hercbv a<>;rec with the A;rent of the 
 
 Madison Square Tiieatre Company to board and lodge 
 
 the said conq)any, consisting of person.^, more 
 
 or less, for days, more or less, at the rate 
 
 of cents p(!r day for each person. Three 
 
 meals and one (night's) lodging to constitute a day's
 
 ON THE ROAD. 461 
 
 board, and for anj 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 cents 
 
 per each room. No charge to be made under the 
 above agreement providing the party see fit to go else- 
 where. Agent to be kept at same rates. 
 
 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 
 laro-e 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 few 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 McCuUough, 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. Louis during the season of 1881-2, Mr. 
 W. R. Cottrell, the city bill-poster, told me that Davis
 
 402 ox Tim iioAD. 
 
 put out :il)out four thousand sheets, nnd evcrlastinirly 
 spi-inklod tlic windows with colored lithographs. Mr. 
 Cottrcll also told mo that this does not approach the 
 lavishness of circuses in decoratini; the fences and 
 walls and hill-boards of cities. These latter usually 
 put out not less than ten thousand sheets, and the 
 Great London Show a few seasons ago would sjjread 
 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 })onanza 
 to the bill-poster. 
 
 From the big typo of the bill-boards the advance 
 agent uaturall}^ turns his attention to the smaller, but 
 prol)al)ly more etfective, type of the newspaper. lie 
 rushes into the editorial rooms like a whirlwind, if he 
 is a cyclonic aijent, asks in a voice of thunder for the 
 dramatic critic, an<l 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 Bnijlc, the Bragtown l^oomerang , ami forty 
 other equally important and severely critical 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 otTice. 
 
 " I tell you what, my boy," he shouts, " w(> just 
 laid 'cm out cold in J^ilot Knob last night. Just got a 
 
 tele<Tr:ini from the inaiKiLTcr. See here: 'House 
 
 c 
 
 jammed to the doors; jiundreds turned away; great 
 enthusiasm ; big sales to-morrow night.' Now that's no 
 gag, but the dead srjuai-e, bang-up truth, s'clp me 
 God."
 
 ON THE ROAD. 463 
 
 " I see the Horse-Tail Bar Sentinel gives you folks 
 fits," the dramatic critic quietly suggests. " It says 
 your i^lay is bad and 3'our 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 a little trouble with him about comps. He wanted 
 a bushel of 'em, and because we wouldn't give 'cm up 
 blasted us. But we did a rattling srood business all 
 the same, and don't you forget it? " 
 
 And in this way the cyclonic 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 manaorins: editor 
 comes out and asks the dramatic critic : — 
 
 " Who was that d— d fool? " 
 
 "The agent of the Doorstep Comic Opera Com- 
 pany," the dramatic critic replies. 
 
 " Well, the next time he comes in here just tell him 
 this is not a deaf and dumb asvlum. 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 style of advance 
 agent is dying out, and men who understand news- 
 papers better are coming in. There are many real 
 gentlemen, clever, quiet and effective, in the business, 
 like Mr. E. D. Price, formerly of the Detroit Post 
 and Tribune; Frank Farrell, who graduated from the 
 New Orleans Times office, and others who have for- 
 saken journalism for the equally arduous, but more 
 lucrative positions that enterprising and long-headed 
 theatrical managers offer them. 
 
 The advance agent sees that the hall or theatre is in 
 proper condition, looks after the sale of reserved seats,
 
 464 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 distributes his " comps " as jiidiciou.^^ly as circum- 
 stances will allow, and confronts everywhere he o-oes 
 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 i)urchased for $1. If the 
 dead-head fails to circumvent the agent he (piictly 
 awaits the coming of the company, when he lies in am- 
 bush for the manager, of whom he demands a pass or 
 his life. In fact, the 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-courior had seemin«Wv 
 
 1 . O J 
 
 done m a satisfactory manner. The company, too, 
 frequently iind the way not so smooth or pleasant as 
 the agent has represented it to Itc : 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 mayor, the town council, and sometimes the 
 prominent citizens, 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 nmst, in the face of most 
 discouraging circumstances, appear as entertainers or 
 meet with the severest denunciations of the pigmy 
 press and the most galling criticism from the ungrate- 
 ful army of dead-heads. 
 
 Now and then an actor or an actress contracts a cold 
 during a barn-storming tour, and the nomadic life not 
 being calculated to aid the healing power of medicines, 
 the seeds of death arc sown, and soon the played-out 
 l)layer sinks from sight, and without causinff a siuirle 
 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, 
 share this danger, and altogether the life of profes- 
 
 < 
 o 
 
 a 
 
 W 
 
 H 
 
 o 
 
 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. 
 
 so
 
 C II A r T K K XXXIV. 
 
 THE GRr:EN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 
 
 To the outside Avorlcl the player's life seems always 
 bright — a rose-carpeted path with sunshine forever 
 strayiiiij about the feet and l)rcath of the sweetest 
 gardens always in their atnios[)herc. To the i)hiyers 
 themselves, notwithstanding the hard work, it has the 
 same beauty and fascinations that other professions 
 have for those wlio have entered them. Lotta receiv- 
 ing the wild i)laudits of her newsboy admirers — for 
 all over the country the street Aral)s express their 
 wiHinij:ness to " do ennvthin' in de worhl fnr Lottie " — 
 accepting the baskets of llowers tiiey send her with the 
 pennies they have pooled, and doing her utmost to i-e- 
 spond to a score of encores in response to their appeals 
 is as charming a little picture of i)erfect hajjpiness and 
 contentment as we could find anywhere. Judic, the 
 great opera l)oufFe singer, peddling cherries, at the 
 great charity fair in Paris, from two i)anniers borne by 
 a iaekass, crvinir, " \^\\V mv cherries, monsieur. I 
 don't sell them dear. Five francs, the little basket," 
 is a noble example of the geneVosity that tlistinguishes 
 the profession of which she is a mcnd)er. A poi)ular 
 American actress selling photogra[)hs for a little crip- 
 ple she met in the street, and who had been rei)nired 
 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 thry tnrn their backs, sa3Mng, as the Kev. Mr. 
 
 (4G6)
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 407 
 
 Sabini said, that ho didn't want to have anything to do 
 with actors. The reader has probably heard the story, 
 but I will repeat it here : George Holhmd, the actor, died 
 in his eightieth year, on December 20, 1870. He was a 
 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. Salniii and asked him to officiate. He declined, 
 saying: " I want to have nothing to do with an actor. 
 There is a little place around the corner 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 " j)lace " is now 
 known among actors and by the public too as " the 
 little church around the corner." It is the Church of 
 the Transfiguration, and is on Twenty-ninth Street 
 near Madison Avenue. 
 
 It is only occasionally that scandal is given by the 
 theatrical profession, but these few and far-between 
 occasions are sufficient to keep alive the bad opinion 
 that certain people have of actors and actresses. It 
 is true the class is weak at many points, as are other 
 classes, but as I have urged before, they maintain 
 a higher standard of morality and adorn their circle 
 better than any other people whose paths are strewn as 
 plentifully with temptations. At the beginning of the 
 eighteenth century the stage was in very bad condi- 
 tion 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- 
 roundings compel them to be what they are, and even 
 under this compulsion they can hold their heado
 
 4G8 THE OREEN-EYED AXD OTHER MONSTERS. 
 
 as high as their neighbors and h)()k (hem in the 
 face without feeling that they arc an}' worse than the 
 rest of the workl, even if they are so bad. It is my 
 pur[)ose to say something about the dark side of the- 
 atrical life that tlie reader may see just what there is 
 ill Ihe talk indulged by the scandal-mongers of the 
 anti-theatrical class, and that it may be known that 
 their indiscretions and their sins are no more heinous 
 than the sins and transgressions of other people, and 
 that in very few instances are they the outcome of the 
 actor or actress's professional surrouudings. 
 
 The estranu^ement of Edwin Booth and his wife or 
 the divorce of Edwin Fori'est from his wife did not 
 cause the world to think any the less of these gentle- 
 men as actors, and the events did not bring any op- 
 probrium upon the iirofession. Sarah Bernhardt's 
 open avowal that her children were fatherless and they 
 were only "accidents" was a frank confession of an 
 early indiscretion that almost everyljody was read}' to 
 forgive. She was not received by society in this coun- 
 try, but society knelt before her at the shrine of 
 Thespis, as they did at the feet of Mme. Patti, who 
 Haunted Nicolini in the face of the ])nblic, as the suc- 
 cessor of the Marquis de Caux in all the lights of a 
 husband although there never had l)een any marriage 
 ceremony to make the tenor the legal companion o( 
 the beautil'ul diva. For the sake of their art the sins 
 of these two gifted women were partially forgotten, 
 and while society could not o})en its doors to Mdlle. 
 Bernhardt or Mine. Patti, it went readily 1o the o[)en 
 doors through which the presence of the actress and of 
 the sonijstress was to be reached. 
 
 A New York correspondent says: "Having men- 
 tioned two French actresses, let mo drop into the true 
 story of Bernhardt and Coloinbicr's quarrel, and the
 
 THK GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 4G9 
 
 book about America which has been put forth in Colom- 
 bier's name. When Bernhardt came over here, she 
 was accompanied by Jelian Soudan, a Parisian Avriter. 
 He was very small, closely buttoned up to the neck, 
 very bushy haired, and very much like a particularly 
 mild and girlish divinity student. For all that, he was 
 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 considerable ridicule, and his name 
 was maltreated from Jehan Soudan into Sudden 
 Johnny. But Colombier, the fair and fat actress of 
 Bernhardt' s company, did not regard him as comic. 
 Quite on the contrary, she fell in love with him, and 
 he fell in love with her. However, this new 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 smack was heard by 
 Bernhardt. I don't ima2;ine that she cared much for 
 Johnny, or would have missed him from the ranks of 
 her favored admirers ; but it made her just as mad 
 as she could be to lose him to Colombier. Now, 
 Colombier' s beauty was marred by a deflection of her 
 nose to one side. That's not much, for the chances 
 are ten to one that the sides of your own face don't 
 exactly agree. Try a glass critically, and see. Well, 
 when Colombier emerged from her room with Johnny, 
 to go on the stage, Sarah regarded her quizzically, 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 and truly bent your nose 
 awry. Do let the other side have some of Jehan' s 
 attentloUo' 
 
 "No more was said. But that Johnny and Colom-
 
 470 riiK (Mjr.KN-KVKi) and otiiku MON'STKUS. 
 
 biiT })l()th'(l :i deep rovengo is cvi(lei>t, for tlic l)0()k 
 ai)i)e;irs ill Paris with the name of Coloinbier instead 
 of Bernhardt as anthor, and auu)n<x its numerous 
 ridiculous lies al)out Americans are some spiteful little 
 flings at Sarah. Thus Sudden Johnny gets even." 
 
 Mine. Patti, loo, had a voungnian with her — Michael 
 Mortici-, brothel- of the editor of the Paris Figaro — 
 who was to write a book for her, but in St. Louis he 
 spoke two freely to a ncwspajjcr 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, where it is to be ho[)ed he is at 
 present . 
 
 A London correspondent tells us how a favorite 
 actress of that place faced three husbands, and as it is 
 in order to continue turning tlie crank of the scandal 
 machine while foreign talent is the material to be 
 irround, I will give the paragraph. He says: "The 
 true glory of the Lyceum Theatre is that English Bern- 
 hardt, Miss Elh-n Terrv. This bjue-eyi'd, bhmde- 
 locked, Saxon siren is not a radiant be;iut\' as was the 
 ill-fated AchdaideNeilson, but she is something better — 
 she is a diarnieuse, as the Fi'cnch call any one pos- 
 sessing that ])eculiar rciuinine — which she exercises so 
 powerfuly — niagnc^tism. She is the most gifted, 
 and withal the most naturallv graceful, woman that I 
 hav(! ever seen. The little movements and artistic 
 attitudes of Sarah BeiMihardt would seem ibrced and 
 artilicial Ix'side that uuboin charm an<l harmonv of 
 gesture, unstudied and perfect as the ripple of tall 
 grasses or th<; swa\ing of the branches ot" a weeping 
 wilh)W beneath a summer bree/e. She is pure 
 womanlv, everv inch of \\vv. She cannot be awkward 
 even when she tries ; and I >-aw her try the other night 
 in ' The Belle's Stratagem;' but instead of transform-
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 471 
 
 ing Letitia Handy into a country hoyden in accordance 
 with the text, she only succeeded in assuming a pretty 
 espieglerie that, had I been Doricourt, would have 
 driven nie to catch her straightway in my arms and 
 kiss her, declaring that she was charming anyhow. Off 
 the stage I am told that she is quite as fascinating as 
 when before the foot-lights. She has proved the extent 
 of her power of enchantment by successfully winning 
 and wedding three husbands, all of whom are still 
 living, divorce and not death having released her from 
 two of them. In fact, it is reported that while walking 
 in the Grosvenor Gallery recently, with her present 
 spouse, Mr. Kelly, she came face to face with her two 
 former husbands, who were promenading there to- 
 gether, and that the only embarrassed 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 her present spouse, and that 
 she will then become the wife of a prominent English 
 actor. Truly this wonderful and interesting lady 
 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 I survive 
 I'll have 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 is a peculiarly sad one. She had been a favorite 
 burlesque actress, and was playing young heroines with 
 Boucicault in 1880 when she met and married Geors^e 
 Barry Wall, a young man of twenty-five years, she 
 being twenty-three. She promised him to leave the 
 stage forever, and in order that she might not be
 
 47-2 
 
 THE GUEEX-EVED AND OTHER MOXSTER.'^. 
 
 placed ill the vray of tomptation Wall made his homo 
 
 1! 
 
 > 
 
 in New Utrecht, Long Island, removing thence to New 
 I'oiU. Jealousy early made its appearance in thei;*
 
 THE GREEN-E-iED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 473 
 
 home, and their married life was not happy or peaceful. 
 The}'' lived together for eighteen months, however, until 
 one fine morning after a violent quarrel she snatched 
 lip a pistol and shot her husband through the throat. 
 
 A Russian theatre not long since was the scene of a 
 real drama which dejserves a place among the serious 
 accidents of the staofe. 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 some time. 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 led to a separation of the whilom 
 friends. They remained members of the same com- 
 pany, however, and their jealousies found vent about 
 the theatre. One nisfht after a dinner washed down 
 with much champagne, the jilted actress became very 
 violent, and attempted to assault her rival in her 
 dressing-room. She 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 a 
 stage box, the jilted artiste lost control of herself, and 
 instead of a warning, dealt her rival a stab. The 
 wounded woman fell bleed in 2; to the stage. For- 
 tunately she was not fatally hurt, and her assailant 
 escaped with an authoritative order to leave Russia, 
 and stay away. 
 
 Miss Bertha Welby, who is a popular and talented 
 actress, was a 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 
 
 TIIK GKEEX-EYKD AN'I) OTHER MOXSTERS. 
 
 together. Miss Wclhy iiisLstod tliut Mis.s Clcvcs was 
 jealous of lier rival's suceess ; and so it went on, 
 until at last a low ruffian visited Miss AVelby in her 
 dressing-room one night, after the performance, and 
 demanded money from her for having applauded her 
 in several towns. She was afraid of the fellow, she 
 said, and so paid him the sum he asked — $1'). She 
 then told him to go, and ho went ; but Miss Cloves, it 
 
 BLACKMAILING AN ACTRESS. 
 
 appears, liad assembled the members of the company 
 at the door of the dressing-room to witness the J^ay- 
 inent of the man, who, as she declared, had led the 
 clarpic that was making Miss "Welby a greater actress 
 than the star. Miss Welby asserted that the whoh; 
 thing was a piece of blackmail, and that Miss Clcvcs 
 had instigated it. 
 
 Operatic stars arc violent sometimes in those exhi- 
 bitions of jealousy. Jt wilM)e remembered llial at the 
 last Cincinnati music festival, Gcrster absolutely re-
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 475 
 
 fused to sing if Miss Caiy preceded her, and the Hun- 
 garian prima donna was induced to appear only by tlie 
 jrraceful withdrawal of the fair American songstress. 
 Miss Kelloijsr JHid Mile. Roze had a bitter Avar in St. 
 Louis in 1879, on account of their dressing-rooms, the 
 American prima donna insisting on having the best the 
 Grand Opera House afforded. She got it at last, and 
 was shocked when she heard a story to the effect that 
 Wakefield , 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. 
 
 The jealousy of Mrs. McKee Rankin (Kitty Blanch- 
 ard) has more than once been made the subject of news- 
 paper articles. She thought her robust husband went 
 through the love scene with the Widow (Miss Eva 
 Randolph) in the play with too lavish a display of 
 affection, and the green-eyed monster took possession 
 of her. She stood in the wings every night 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 newspapers praised the new Billy 
 so highly that Mrs. Rankin hurried back to resume the 
 part, but remained cold 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 
 the success of their new play, " 49," will keep them 
 happy forever. 
 
 Now and then the jealous actress's feelings are ex- 
 pressed in a rather ridiculous manner. During the run 
 of a spectacular play in one of the large cities one of
 
 47G 
 
 THE GKEEX-EYED AND OTHER MONSTEUS. 
 
 those old chaps who like to linger behind the scenes 
 !ind tickle the fairies under the chin succeeded iu inakin«^' 
 hiinslf the admirer of one of the ladies — one who 
 played a i)rince or something of that kind. He 
 brought her flowers every night, took her to supper 
 
 .jj-ALui:>v, 
 
 after the play, and often j)aid for a ride under the 
 starry night at a time when he shouM have been rest- 
 ing his hoary head upon jiis ])iI]ow at home. He kept 
 tiiis up for a while; then he suddenly turned his at- 
 tention to another gill, who was doing a ski])ping-rope
 
 THH GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 477 
 
 dance during an interval in the pla3^ He 1)egan to 
 bring her flowers and to feed her on midnight oysters, 
 and to take her on moonliglit rides. The pretty prince 
 stood it as 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 uj) a broom, and steal- 
 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 amon<r 
 the fcAV 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 
 was 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 after re- 
 gaining possession of his battered hat. He was ad- 
 vised that if he returned any more the broom would 
 be used upon himself instead of his hat ; and the scenes 
 that he had haunted so long knew him no more after 
 that nioht. 
 
 A New York wife wondered for a Ions: time where 
 her husband went at night. At least she learned that he 
 haunted a down-town theatre. She knew her husband 
 was very fond of the drama, but was astonished when 
 she found out that he was patronizing the play without 
 taking her along, so she dressed 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 the right source 
 for her information. Mr. So-and-So had taken away 
 the affections of one of the actresses from the man in 
 the box-office ; therefore the man in the box-office 
 manfully replied that Mr. So-and-So was back in Miss
 
 47.S 
 
 Tin: (;kki:n-kvi:i) and (vriii:u monstkus. 
 
 Whatdvccallcr's clrcssiiiir-rooin. Would the inaii in 
 the box-office bo kiiid enoui:;h to show Mr. So-aiid-So's 
 wife where the dressing-room was ? IIi; would,' most 
 gladly. Calling his assistant to the window the 
 treasurer took the lady in llirongli the stage entrance 
 
 EDWAKU KKNDALL. 
 
 and pointed out the dressing-room. Sure enough 
 there was Mr. So-and-So in very close relation and 
 very close conversation Avith Miss "Wliatdyccallcr, who 
 beiuf a ballet irirl, in llic act of getting herself into
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 479 
 
 her gauze and spangles, had little else on than her 
 tights. The husband was astounded ; the wife was 
 boiling over with rage ; the dancer did not know what 
 to make of it. The husband said that there was blood 
 in his 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 words that ended in 
 the actress snapping her fingers in the wife's face, 
 while the latter, unable to do or say anything in her 
 rage, strutted out after her faithless lord and master, 
 who was afraid to return home for three days, and did 
 not return until he saw a " personal " in the Herald 
 saying that all would be forgiven and no questions 
 asked. 
 
 The meanest trick, I think, that was ever prompted 
 by jealousy was one in which a well-known comedian 
 and a handsome juvenile lady were made the victims. 
 Having determined to go to a fancy dress ball, they 
 borrowed a Mephistopheles and Venus costume, and 
 having dressed at the theatre in "which they were play- 
 ingj took their clothes to their boarding-house, the 
 comedian retaining only his ulster and the young lady 
 only her silk fur-lined cloak. In the same house the 
 leading lady roomed, and as the comedian had been 
 somewhat attentive to her she grew jealous when she 
 saw him escortino; the other flame to the ball, and that 
 both might be. taught a lesson she resolved upon a plan 
 of action which she faithfully carried out. The 
 comedian and his companion had plenty of fun at the 
 ball. They returned to their boarding-house about three 
 A. M. Both had latch-keys, but they wouldn't work. 
 Somebody had fastened down the bolt. What were 
 they to do? It was a cold morning with snow on the 
 irround and snow still fallinsr. Their carriao;e had 
 gone ; they didn't wish to go to a hotel in masquerade
 
 480 TUF f;F>KE\-KVFn wn otiikii :moxi5ters. 
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 
 
 stylo, so they resolved to stiek it out until the door 
 would 1)C opened. And they did so. The comedian
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 481 
 
 wrapped his ulster around him and sat down on the 
 doorstep ; the young lady gathered her cloak around 
 her as tightly as she could and stood up in a 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 laughed 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 hall 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 a 
 New York paper in the following : A handsome young 
 actress attached regularly to one of the New York 
 theatres has a husband and a baby, a sickly little thing, 
 and the husband is outrageously jealous, all the more 
 that this season he 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 table lay a note addressed to her in a masculine 
 hand. It was open and ran thus : — 
 
 ' ' Dear Friend ; I do not think you have any cause 
 to be anxious al)out 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 
 are away at the theatre, I will come to-night about 
 nine and stay all night Avith you. Don't speak of the 
 trouble. I shall only be too glad to let you get a little 
 sleep after being up so much with baby. 
 
 Your true friend, K. S. Stanton, M. D." 
 
 The husband was furious at this note, seemingly so
 
 482 THE CiUEEN-EYED AND OTllKU MONSTEUS. 
 
 harmless. He thrust it into his pocket, and witliout 
 waitini' to see his wife strode from the house. He 
 had now, ho thoui^ht, what he had h)Mg sus})ccted, 
 proof of his wife's infidelity. Why, it was shamless ! 
 Dr. Staunton would pass the night, would he, and 
 blame it on the ba])y ! hut he should find that there 
 was a husband around ready to deal terrible vengeance 
 ujion the betrayer. Ilis feelings were not i)leasant 
 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 Iialf-past ten that evening, while she 
 "was at the theatre, the door of her bed-room was 
 dragged open furiously, and the enraged husl)and 
 rushed in. lie 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 a lady sitting at a small table on Avhich lay sev- 
 eral little bits of white paper into which she was 
 pouring some globules from a tiny bottle. Her eyes 
 were blue, her complexion a pure 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 make such a noise; you'll wake the child. 
 Are you a burglar or what do you want? " 
 
 The husband paused in his fruitless search and re- 
 plied : " I want that man." 
 
 "AVhat man?" 
 
 " The man that's made an appointment Avith my 
 wife for to-niirht." 
 
 " Who is your wife and what business have you in 
 Miss 's bed-room?" asked the lady.
 
 THE GREEN-EYED AND OTHER MONSTERS. 483 
 
 *' Miss 's my wife," 
 
 *' Iiideccl ; well, you can't make me believe that she 
 ever made any appointment with any man she oughtn't 
 to make." 
 
 " I can't, can't I? read that then," he said, throw- 
 mir the letter on the table and scatterini>: tlie medicine. 
 The lady read' the letter and began to laugh, which en- 
 raged the husband still more. 
 
 " Where have you hidden this Dr. Stanton? I will 
 blow his brains out," he cried. 
 
 " No, you Avon't." 
 
 "You see if I don't." 
 
 " Well, blow then : I am Dr. Stanton, the author of 
 that letter," said the lady. 
 
 She had to sign her name, Kate S. Stanton, and 
 show him that the writing was the same as in the note, 
 before he would be convinced, and then he was the 
 most sheepish-looking man in New York The story 
 got out, and he was the butt of every actor in the 
 city. They refused to believe that he " walked 
 home." They condoled with him on account of his 
 ill health, which forced him to stop acting. They 
 recommended him to consult a doctor, especially a 
 lady doctor, Kate Stanton, for example. Altogether 
 he was so " roasted " that he 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 get 
 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?"
 
 CHAP TEE XXXV. 
 
 JOHN WILKES liOOTlI, PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S ASSASSIN. 
 
 All interview with .'in old stager was pul)lishecl a few 
 months aj^o in tlie New York Dramatic Neios, which 
 furnishes some new ideas about John Wilkes Booth, 
 brother of the fllustrious Edwin, and the terrible crime 
 with which he shook a nation to its centre. John 
 "Wilkes Booth, it will be remembered, was the man 
 who shot and killed President Lincoln, while the latter 
 was witnessing a performance of "Our American 
 Cousin," at Ford's Theatre, Washington, D. C, on the 
 night of April 14, 1805. Laura Kecne was on the 
 staire at the time. Wilkes Booth entered the Presi- 
 dent's box and shot him in the back of the head. He 
 then made his escape ])y leaping from the box to the 
 staire, and rumiinu: thence through the stage entrance 
 to the street, where he leaped on a horse in waiting for 
 him. As he sprang from the l)ox, his foot caught in 
 the American flag which was draped around the railing, 
 and he fell, spraining his ankle. Landing on the stage, 
 he jumped np, and waving a dagger over his head, 
 he shouted, " tiic semper tyrannic.'' He was subse- 
 quently shot by Sergeant Corbett, while attempting to 
 escape from a barn in which he had sought I'cfuge. 
 
 Said a veteran actor, referring back a score of 
 years, to Wilkes Booth's opening at Wallack's old 
 theatre, on Broadway, near Broome Street: "The 
 piece to open in was ' Kichard III.' Monday morn- 
 ing came for rehearsal with the star, and the company 
 
 (484)
 
 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 
 
 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 
 
 imy 
 
 a terrific hit. Said he : ' I am an old man at the 
 business and have seen and played with some of the 
 greatest tragedians the world has ever seen. I've
 
 486 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 
 
 phucd second to Macrcudy. I've divided the aj)pl;uiso 
 with Charles Kean. I've acted often with Forrest, 
 but in all my long years of professional exi)ericnce this 
 young man Wilkes Booth (I might call him a boy), 
 this boy is the first actor that ever (to use a })r()fes- 
 sibnal term) knocked me olf my i)ins, n[)set and com- 
 pletely left me without a word to say ! Yes, sir, an 
 old actor like me that you would sui)pose an earth- 
 quake could not move, was tongue-tied — unable to 
 speak his lines.' ' Perhaps you never knew them,' 
 said our saucy soubrette. The old man smiled, and 
 then glaring at her said : ' Not know Shakespeare ? ' He 
 turned from her with a contemptuous smile. ' Why, 
 then,' said Jim Collier, ' were you so much at sea if 
 you were so well up in the lines? ' ' Wait till you see 
 him yourself, then ask. I tell you, gentlemen, there 
 is more magnetism in Wilkes Booth's eye than in any 
 human bein£i:'s I ever saw.' I listened to the old 
 actor with pleasure, and set him down as an enthu- 
 siast — a not uncommon thing among some veterans 
 of the stage, although, as a rule they are apt to carp at 
 the present and deplore the downfall of the i)ast. 
 ' What do you think? ' said Ed. Tilton to me. « You 
 know the young man's brother, Edwin, and })layed 
 with the father of the boys. So have I ; but don't 
 you think our friend exaggerates a bit?' * No, I do 
 not,' said I, ' for 1 know the genius that runs in the 
 blood of the Booth family, and have seen it crop up 
 at times in just such a manner as he describes. The 
 last engagement that the great Junius Brutus Booth 
 plavcd in San Francisco only a few weeks before his 
 death, I was cast for Parson Welldo in a " New Way 
 to Pay Old Debts." And when tSir Giles, hemmed in 
 on all sides, is unable to break the combination against 
 him, sees the parson approaching, the lion imnicdi-
 
 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 487 
 
 ately becomes a lamb. His look of heavenly sweet- 
 ness when I told him of the marriage of his daughter 
 was a study ; 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 out 
 to be.' 
 
 "At that moment a commotion was heard at the 
 back of* the stage, and Baker'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 Avas destined to play such an unfor- 
 tunate part in the history of our country afterwards. 
 The stage being dark at his entrance, the foot and 
 border lights were suddenly turned up and revealed a 
 face and form not easily described or forgotten. You 
 have seen a high-mettled racer with his sleek skin and 
 eye of unusual brilliancy chafing under a restless im- 
 jDatience to be doing something. It is the only living 
 thing I could liken him to. After the usual introduc- 
 tions were over, with a sharp, jerky manner he com- 
 menced the rehearsal. I watched him closely and per- 
 ceived the encomiums passed upon him by the old actor 
 were not in the least exaggerated. Reading entirely 
 new to us, he gave ; business never thought of by the 
 oldest stager, he introduced ; a)id, when the rehearsal 
 was over, one and all admitted a great actor was 
 amongst us. Knowing his own powers, he was very 
 particular in telling those around him not to be af-
 
 488 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 
 
 frighted at niglit, as ho might (he siiid, with a smile) 
 throw a little more lire into the part than at rehearsal. 
 Lady Anne (Miss Gray) was gently admonished ; 
 liichtnond, who was Jim Collier, was blnntly told to 
 look ont in the combat scene. Jim, who was (and prob- 
 ably is now) something of an athlete, smiled a sickly 
 smile at the idea of anybody getting the best of him in 
 a combat scene, and in asottovoice said to Jim Ward, 
 ' Keep your eye on me to-night.' 
 
 '*The evening arrived, the house was fair only, and 
 his reception was not as warm as his merits deserved. 
 The soliloquy over, then came the scenes M'ith King 
 Henrijy and breaking loose from all the old orthodox, 
 tie-wig business of the Richards since the days of 
 Garrick down to Joannes, he gave such a rendition of 
 the crook-back tyrant as was never seen before, and 
 pcrhai)s never will be again. Whether it was in the 
 gentle wooing of the Lady Anne, the hypocrisy of the 
 king, or the malignant joy at Buckingham\s capture 
 down to the light and death of the tyrant, originality 
 was stamped all over and through the performance. 
 It was a terrible picture, but it had a humerous side 
 one night. At the commencement of tiie combat, 
 when Richard, covered with ])lo()d and the dust of the 
 battle-liold, crosses swords with RicJimond, Collier 
 looked defiant and almost seemed to sav : * Now, Mr. 
 Wilkes Booth, you have been frightening everyl)ody 
 to-night, try it on me?' And at the lines where 
 liicliard says, 'A dreadful lay ; here's to decide it,' 
 the shower of blows came furious from Richard's 
 sword upon the devoted earl's head. Now was 
 Collier's turn, and bravely did he retiiiii thorn ; with 
 renewed strength Richard rained l)lows upon blows 
 80 fast that the athletic Jim began to wince — as much
 
 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 489 
 
 as to say, ' How long is this going to last? ' Nothing 
 daunted, Collier with both hands clenched his power- 
 ful weapon, but it was only a feather upon Booth's 
 sword. Jim was the first to show evidence of exhaus- 
 tion, and no wonder, nothing could withstand the 
 trip-hammer blows of that Richard. Watching for 
 his head's protection, he was too unmindful 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 suc- 
 cess — a positive and an unqualified success, so much 
 so that it was kept on the balance of the week. " The 
 Robbers " was called for rehearsal next, and as usual the 
 war (then in progress) was the sole topic 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 that the mer- 
 chant had who saw his trade diverted through other 
 channels. Not a 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 George P. Kane in Baltimore, and his 
 incarceration in Fort McHenry by order of Stanton.
 
 490 JOHN WILKES BOOTH. 
 
 One of tho company (now dead) who shall be name- 
 less, approved heartily bf the act, and denounced tho 
 entire city of Baltimore as ^a hot-bed of rebels, and 
 should be razed to the ijround. His opponent took 
 an entirely different view ot" the question, and thought 
 the levelling to the earth shoukl be done to one Edwin 
 Stanton by tho aid of a pistol shot. The unfortunate 
 Lincoln's name was never mentioned. At tho suff- 
 gestion of shooting Stanton, a voice, tremulous with 
 emotion, at tho back of the stage was heard to ex- 
 claim. ' Yes, sir, you are right ! ' It was Booth's. 
 ^ I know George P. Kane well ; he is my friend, and the 
 man who could drag him from the bosom of his family 
 for no crime whatever, but a mere suspicion that he 
 ma]/ commit one some time, deserves a dog's death I ' 
 
 *' It was not the matter of what he said, it was the 
 manner and general appearance of the speaker, that 
 awed us. It would remind you of Lucifer's defiance 
 at the council. He stood there the embodiment of 
 evil. But it was for a moment only, for in the next 
 breath with his sharp, ringing voice, he exclaimed, 
 ' Go on with the rehearsal ! ' 
 
 *' That day and its events passed from memories of 
 the majority of us, but I never could forget the scene ; 
 the statuesque figure of the 3'oung man uttering those 
 few words in the centre of the old stage of Wallack's 
 can never be forgotten. Some months after I was 
 awakened from a sound sleep and told tliat President 
 Lincoln had been shot. Half dazed I inquired when, 
 and where, and being told, asked who was the assas- 
 sin? Wilkes Booth is thought to be, but it is only a 
 supposition tliat ho is the guilty one. I felt it was but 
 too true, for I could see him in my mind's eye as upon 
 that day in the old theatre when ho would have under-
 
 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 XXXVT. 
 
 THE SUIMMEII 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 summer 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 — probably needing one with money — he 
 can button-hole the financiers of the " Square," as 
 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 even members of the variety profession with the 
 thinnest pretensions in the world to dramatic distinc- 
 tion, and there are few on the legitimate stage above 
 the ranks of utility, who have 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 tlireo weeks brings 
 them back, either " on their baggage," or " on their 
 uppers," — that is, the railroad company carries them 
 home and holds the baggage lor their fares, or they 
 *' count the railroad ties," which is a metaphoi-ic way 
 of saying they walk home. Very few of the cheap 
 
 (iU2)
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 
 
 493 
 
 variety artists of the present day are worthy of even 
 a mean phice in the " legit., " as they designate the 
 legitimate stage; and it may be said, too, that some 
 stars who have succeeded in reachino: the lei»:itimate 
 boards would scarcely be reckoned bright ornaments 
 among the gems of the variety stage. This, however, 
 is a subject beyond the purposes of this work, and so 
 I will not go further into it. 
 
 LA GRAND DUCHESS. 
 
 The actor and actress who have settled down to the 
 regular routine of general work are among the persons 
 who get most enjoyment for their money during their 
 summer vacation. Stars, male and female alike, who 
 have 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 pretentious character, can also be counted 
 among the number who *' loaf and invite their 
 souls " in a profitable and pleasurable manner. Most
 
 494 THE SUMMER VACATION. 
 
 of the niJile stars have nice little nooks by river, lake, 
 or seaside, in quiet, cool, and shady spots, Avhile the 
 tragediennes and comedieinies of prominence and for- 
 tune seem to prefer either handsome residences in New 
 York or other Eastern metropolis, or else a watering- 
 place cottage. Maggie Mitchell prefers Long Branch. 
 So docs Mary Anderson, who lives a very secluded life 
 at this gay resort. Most of her time is passed in play- 
 ing with her little step-sister on the lawn of their 
 pretty place. She rides on horseback agreat'deal, and 
 takes an occasional short cruise on her new yacht, 
 *' The Galatea," which she has named after the latest 
 role added to her repertoire. Minnie Palmer, about 
 the only real rival Lotta has got, summers at Long 
 Branch. Emma Al)bott goes to Capo Ann. Lester 
 "Wallack devotes himself and his vacation to makin^r 
 short trips in his steam yacht. John McCuilough 
 hasn't settled down auywhere yet. Last year he went 
 to England to work and win a London reputation ; 
 this year he is with Gen. Sheridan in the Yellowstone 
 Valley. Fred. Marsden likes to go fishing at Salmon 
 Lake. ]\IcKee Raukin has a stock farm at Bois Blanc, 
 Canada, where he spends his summers. Joiiii W. 
 Norton flics away to Coney I.slaud, Long Branch, and 
 a round of the Eastern watering-places, Mrs. Norton 
 always accompanying him. And so the category 
 mijzht be leuirthened out. But it is useless. Estab- 
 lished stars have estal)lished fortunes as well as repu- 
 tations only by dint of the hardest, and, 1 might add, 
 in many cases, least appreciated kind of work, and 
 they deserve the thousands of dollars they make every 
 year. Few of the great stars fall less than $50,000 
 for a forty weeks' season, and there are few whoso 
 share goes under $1,000 a week. Joe Emmet accumu- 
 lates money faster, probably, than any other man who
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 495 
 
 pliijs to the same prices, and John McCullough and 
 Mary Anderson are among the reapers of the richest 
 harvests. Booth seldom phiys a season through, but 
 when he does he, of course, carries off the honors. 
 
 Actors and actresses, while generous as a class, save 
 their money, and very few are found loitering around New 
 York " broke," during the vacation months. Still there 
 are cases of poverty. I have known a former popular 
 Irish comedian, who belongs to a family of popular 
 and prosperous members of the profession, to walk 
 the 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, and standing at the door of 
 starvation, donned an old gray wig, and was found 
 singing and begging around Union Square. It 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 
 at a 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, gi'ay 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 under 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 knife and fork 
 in hand, was waiting anxiously for each course when it
 
 490 
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 
 
 came. As soon as ho was noticed tlie question passed 
 around, ♦' Who is the old gray? " and fun was poked 
 at him ruthlessly ; but it rebounded lightly froni the 
 folds of his linen duster, and he heeded not the blows. 
 When the toasts went around the old man was asked 
 
 JOHN W. NORTON. 
 
 to respond to one, and got uj) and sjjoke charmingly 
 for half an hour or more, introducing thelMarscillaise, 
 both as a martial hymn, and as a song and dance. 
 Then he explained how the city editor of a local paper 
 had sent him to report the banquet ; how he came shiv- 
 ering to the marrow of his bones to the door of the
 
 
 y?. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Ki t 
 
 A>i 
 
 '.># 
 
 MARY ANDERSON
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 497 
 
 Club House — the most fashionable in the city — and 
 asked permission to go into the kitchen 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, Pat 
 Short, treasurer of the Olympic, at the instigation, I 
 think, of Manager Norton of the Grand Opera House, 
 picked up a hat and took up a collection from the 
 ten newspaper men and ten actors present. The col- 
 lection netted $39.75, which was poured in the 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 a two-column article out of it that travelled 
 all over the country, and in which all the credit of the 
 charity with the figures greatly increased was appro- 
 priated unjustly, by Messrs. Robson & Crane. But 
 this is not what I started out about. 
 
 " While the actor seeks deep shadows 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 one is working out his programme for the 
 next season. This ' some one ' is often confounded 
 with the actor himself, or is taken for the parasite who 
 fosters and thrives on some indirect vein of the livino; 
 and active theatrical body. The sturdy man of 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 theatrical
 
 498 THE SUMMER VACATION. 
 
 exchange of the Wej^tern World, where bushiess h 
 carried on in the same honorable mode as at the 
 Stock Exchange, without the Bedlam noises, and that 
 the seeming drifters under the grateful shade of the 
 Morton House are as shrewd in lookins: at the run of 
 the theatrical market as any "Wall Street broker. 
 Every theatre or nomadic attraction throughout the 
 United States has, at some time during the day, a 
 * some one ' looking out for * dates ' and ' book- 
 ing ' memoranda for future contracts. Without any 
 aijreement to meet or transact business, the ' some 
 one ' appears with the June roses and makes it a point 
 to pass the Rialto between the hours of ten a. m. and 
 four p. M. The affairs of this exchanji^e are jriirantio 
 (when for instance one manager gi^cs bona Jide evi- 
 dence that he has cleared $40,000 in the past season), 
 and though it would be impossible to make an estimate 
 of the total amount, it is safe to say that millions are^ 
 the result of these seemingly casual meetings. 
 
 *' A guide published last year gives a total of about 
 four thousand five hundred theatres, that kept open 
 their doors for an average of forty weeks. Taking 
 the poor attraction, with the star that fills the theatre 
 to overflowing, the average receipts would be about 
 $150 for each theatre, or $(575, 000 paid every night 
 for amusements throughout the United States. This 
 would make a total for one week, of $4,050,000, or, 
 for the entire season of'iorty weeks, $102,000,000, not 
 counting matinees. Taking, tiien, an industry that 
 brings in over $1(50,000,000 inroundnumbersduringthe 
 season, the neatly dressed men that are said to ' hang 
 around the Square ' are the men that control or pull 
 the wires and set the machinery in motion. Tiie fig' 
 urcs ai)ove are, after all, but a[)proximate, and neither 
 include matinees, which in themselves would count one
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 499 
 
 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 salaries 
 from these receipts ; and about twelve thousand more, 
 consisting of carpenters, property-men, scene-shifters, 
 the employees of the front of the theatre, etc. Twenty 
 dollars a week each 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 live hundred diflerent theatres 
 and halls which, at a moderate calculation of say 
 $4,000 each, would make $18,000,000 for the year. 
 
 *' ThB season having closed, actors seek secluded 
 spots, revel in the enjoyment of fljumel shirts and 
 country life, enjoying a dolce 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, as soon 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 his route will then likely be New Orleans. After 
 having his date 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, Avhich, in- 
 terpreted, means that his company plays for one or two 
 nights in a city. Starting in September, he works his 
 way down by Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, 
 and then in the beaten route through Kichmond, Mem- 
 phis, Atlanta, etc. This route fixing shows the ex- 
 perienced manager ; for should he, for instance, have 
 ihe week commencing February 1st in New Orleans,
 
 500 THE SUJDIER VACATION. 
 
 be would liavc a niiiht in Mobile, Alabama, before 
 reacbins: tbere. To a new man tbe Mobile manan^cr 
 migbt ofler Saturday, giving tbe company time to 
 reacb Now Orleans on Monday. If tbis be accepted, 
 it would sbow inex]:)eriencc in the route maker, as tbe 
 fat^bionable nigbt at Mobile is Friday, Saturday being 
 * niircfers' ' niixbt. Ho sbould so time it as to reach 
 Mobile on Friday, play that night to big business, have 
 his matinee, and do the best he could with Saturday 
 night. In other sections of the country he must know 
 when the workman's pay-day is. In the oil and mining 
 regions, for instance, the men are paid but every fort- 
 night. The attraction which reaches there soonest 
 after the pay-day faros the best. 
 
 "Another of the grave considerations is the question 
 of railroad fares. All but the big attractions must 
 take into serious consideration the general increase of 
 railroad rates to the profession. Some of the roads 
 have not joined in the pool, and still cater to theatrical 
 custom. The cities on these routes are likely to have 
 a rush of attractions this season, and, as aconso(|uence, 
 will before long yield i)Oor receipts. At any rate there 
 is a tendency, even among the best-paying companies, 
 to take short 'jumps ' this season (1882-3) and visit 
 cities that would have been passed over with contempt 
 a short time since. But the difference of travelling 
 expenses one or three hundred dollars in a day, with a 
 company of forty people, dragging extra baggage, 
 moans a big diHoronoc in profits. 
 
 " The man on the Square has to look out for all 
 these things, as well as the pi-inting of the company, 
 one of the most inq)ortant and expensive items of 
 a travelling conq)any, an item which will often make 
 him pass wakoftd ihiyn and sleepless nights. Those 
 contracts, of course, vary for the different organiza-
 
 THE SUMMER VACATION. 501 
 
 tions. The big theatrical gun as Avell as the smallest, 
 either personally or through agents, keeps himself 
 posted of the aifairs of the Rial to. 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 theatres, 
 eairer to fill the time for their houses, travel eastward 
 to the Mecca of theatredom, or have their booking 
 done by local 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, chansino; 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 his com- 
 pany rest before appearing.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 
 
 The benevolent and protective order of Elks is a 
 mystic organization whose membership is made up al- 
 most entirely of theatrical people, newspaper men, 
 and people who have some claim or other on the dra- 
 matic profession. It is a nol)le institution, having for 
 its foundation those grand and beautiful principles — 
 friendship, charity, and justice. Every prominent 
 actor in the country is found on its rolls, and the good 
 work it accomplishes i'rom one year to another is 
 extensive, and worthv the widest recognition. The 
 only thing I have to tind fault with is its initiation bus- 
 iness. Being a jolly, fuu-loviiig set, every candidate 
 is put through in the liveliest kind of style. I had a 
 friend, a low comedian named Jughandle, who got me 
 to be an Elk, and I tlunk they put u[) an unusually inter- 
 esting bill for mv initiation. In fact, I don't think it 
 was a genuine Elk initiation at all, but it was awful 
 funny for those who witnessed, and not a bit pleasant 
 for me. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon when I was introduced to 
 the mysteries ofthis Order. The first person I met in 
 the ante-chamber of the lodge room was an otHcer 
 called Ihe Outer Spyglass. He ordered two strange 
 Elks to lead me away to .-inollier room where I was 
 Itlindfolded, and a long gown was thrown over me. A 
 lai-ge red box, coffin-shaped, with hinges in the middle 
 of lln^back, and a rf)und hole in the middle of the split 
 
 (.002)
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 503 
 
 lid, SO 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 coiBn and the lower portion which had been sawed 
 short was not boarded up, so that the legs might be as 
 free as possible under the circumstances, in walking. 
 Into a wooden overcoat of this kind I was hurriedly 
 thrust, with my head protruding through the hole in 
 the lid. The garment had been built for a 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 column 
 threatened to crack any minute, my arms and legs 
 were suffering the severest torture. It was certainly 
 a comfort to know that dead people do not as a gen- 
 eral thing wear their ligneous ulsters in this style. 
 When I had the overcoat on, the attendants tied -a 
 piece of rope around my neck, a three-pound ^^I'^^yer- 
 book was placed in my right hand, and a euchre deck 
 of cards in my left. Being ready for the sacrifice, one 
 of the Elks was delegated to introduce 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-a-Muck of 
 the Order. 
 
 "Quivering candidate!" the Muck-a-Muck ex- 
 claimed. "The Elks give you greeting. Every person 
 here assembled stretches out his right hand to you, and
 
 504 
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 
 
 the champion Indian-Chib Swinger will now give you, 
 in one solid chunk, the congratulations of this entire 
 gathering for tiie success that promises to attend your 
 
 A CANUIDATK IN UliOALIA. 
 
 attempt to enter our Order. Cluh-Swinger, congratu- 
 late ! " 
 
 The Club-Swiuicer did so. It was the most startling 
 congratulation I was ever the recij)ient of. If a train of
 
 I^UN AMONG THE ELKS. 505 
 
 cars travellino; at the rate of 100 miles an hour had run 
 into nie I could not have been more surprised. A blow 
 that Avould have made a pile driver or a quartz hammer 
 feel that it had no more force than the hind leg of a 
 house-fly was pljmted on the cofiin lid right over the 
 first button of my vest, and for three minutes I sped 
 through space. When I landed on my back I felt as if 
 I had 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 toe-nails, and the 
 wrench my neck got in the sudden stopjDage gave me 
 the impression that my spine had been all at once 
 lengthened out sixteen feet and was still growing. 
 
 "Potential Pill-Prescribcr ! " the Hiijh 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,— 135," and answered "He has 
 stood it well, your Majesty." 
 
 " Then let him thrice make the circuit 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 a rapid trot around the lodge room. 
 Wherever 1 passed heavy blows were rained upon my 
 coffin covering, and I imagined I heard several half- 
 suppressed laughs among my tormentors. I was begin- 
 ning to get mad and had about made up my mind to 
 throw ofl'the wooden yoke I was carrying around, tear 
 the bandage from my eyes, and sail in and punch the 
 heads of half-a-dozen Elks, when I was pounced upon, 
 dragged to the floor and roughly relieved of the coffin.
 
 506 FUN AMONG THE KLKS. 
 
 I felt better after this und calmly awaited the next 
 move. 
 
 *' Bring the candidate })efore the throne," was the 
 next command of the High Muck-a-^Iuck. 
 
 With the assistance of a few Elks I succeeded in 
 reaching a spot where we stopped, and which, I suppose, 
 was rijrht in the midst of the radiance that hovers near- 
 est the presiding officer's throne. It is needless to say 
 that I felt very badly, and I must have looked frightful, 
 especially wdien, as happened just then, somebody 
 clapped a demolished stove-pipe hat on my head to add 
 to my already ridiculous aspect. I had hopes, how- 
 ever, that the end was near ; but I was sadly mistaken. 
 
 " Now, tremlding neophyte," said the High Muck-a- 
 Muck, in very impressive tones, " the most important 
 part of our ceremony still remains. Hitherto you have 
 had all the fun ; from this time on the fun will be on the 
 side of the assembled P^lks. Let the Grand Microscoi)e 
 search the candidate. See that he has no life-preserver 
 under his vest, or prc-Kaphielite panel of sole leather 
 concealed in that portion of his pantaloons to which 
 the hind straps of his susi)enders are fastened." 
 
 " He is entirely defenceless, your Majesty," reported 
 the Grand Microscope, after having made the necessary 
 examination. 
 
 " Then let him learn the three motions through which 
 every Prophet passes liefore attaining to the grand 
 secrets of our Order. Let him tost the swiftness of 
 the Descent, the roughness of the Path of Progress, and 
 the suddenness of the Upward flight to glory, and the 
 possession of the everlasting talisman. When this has 
 been done, if tlic candidate still lives, prepare, my 
 mystic l)retiircn, to welcome him into your circle." 
 
 My attendants now dealt with me very kindly. I 
 hardly knew what to think of the easy, almost respect-
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 507 
 
 ful, manner in which they took me by the arm as we 
 walked along. Not a 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 going upward — 
 to my path. , I paid little attention to this, however, 
 because I was receiving unusually kind treatment at the 
 time. I 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 a rough plank at a very steep incline, 
 down which I shot like lightning, regardless of the 
 splinters that ran up into the tenderest portions of my 
 pantaloons, and occasionally went on short and sharp 
 expeditions into the neighborhood of my backbone. 
 Down ! Down I ! Down ! ! ! I slid, until I thought I had 
 started from the top end of Jacob's ladder, away up 
 beyond the furtherest space through which the tiniest 
 stars twinkle, and was on a 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 upon that portion of my anatomy on which 
 I usually do my sleighing. I felt myself falling, and 
 then I felt myself stop. The force of gravitation was 
 never before so fully and satisfactorily impressed 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 my flesh. Add to this that
 
 508 
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 
 
 the first thing I struck was not a spring mattress, or a 
 hii;h hair cushion, but a wheel-barrow, tilled with small 
 wooden cones, with sharp edges and cruel points. The 
 shock caused me to send up such a howl that I imagined 
 1 could see the hair of every Elk in the land standing on 
 end. A well-defined laugh answered the howl, and 
 before I could think of the front end of the prayers for 
 the dead, I heard the High Muck-a-Muck's voice ring 
 out : — 
 
 ♦' Wing him away," he commanded, " on Eincycle, 
 the one-wheeled horse of the Hereafter." 
 
 They wung me away at once. I discovered that the 
 one-wheeled horse designated by the High iVIuck-a- 
 
 Muck when he made use of the half 
 German and half Latin word in his 
 command was a very modern wheel- 
 barrow. The road over which the 
 winging was done was, to say the 
 least, an unpleasant one. There 
 was an obstruction of some kind 
 every six inches — hills and hollows 
 without number — and, even if I had 
 not already been i)hysically shattered 
 by the exciting episodes of the first 
 part of the initiation, the merciless 
 jolting I got and the shar[)-pointed 
 cones I kei)t dancing up and down 
 on were sufficient torture to make 
 MUCK-A-MUCK. ^^^^ Yon^r for some quiet, peaceful spot 
 
 on which I might stretch out my wearied limbs and close 
 my eyes forever. I don't know how far I was carried over 
 this rough road, which terminated in a tank ol' chilly 
 water, into which I was unceremoniously dnniix'd, 
 while a shout went up from the assembled brotherhood 
 that indicated that they were highly delighted over my
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 509 
 
 IDrospects of being drowned. After sinking three 
 times without any apparent effort having been made to 
 rescue me, I evinced a disposition to remain under 
 water. I was beginning to fill up rapidly, and celes- 
 tial visions were already flitting before me, when 
 something sharp ran through my shoulder and I felt 
 myself lifted to the water's surface. 
 
 " See that he remains blindfolded," shouted the 
 High Muck-a-^Iuck, and, while I still dangled from an 
 iron hook on the end of a stout pole, 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 heels while another held my head, I was rolled 
 and rolled until I had passed through one of the most 
 violent spells of sea-sickness anybody ever experi- 
 enced. 
 
 "Will the candidate recover?" asked the High 
 Muck-a-Muck. 
 
 " I have some hopes, your Majesty," answered the 
 Potential Pill-Prescribcr. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 I was trembling with cold up to the time the High 
 Muck-a-Muck mentioned the Krupp gun ; just 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 placed in position 
 near where I stood. 
 
 " Spread the merciful net three hundred yards 
 away," ordered the High Muck-a-Muck, " and sprinkle 
 the carpet in its centre with fourteen papers of tacks.
 
 510 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 
 
 Place the sheet-iron bumper ten yards beyond, to pre- 
 vent the candidate from beini' shot out ot" l)()unds. 
 Charge the cannon with thirty pounds of powder ; load 
 her up and let her fly ! " 
 
 They poured the thirty pounds of powder into the 
 huge mouth of the cannon, rammed down an iron or 
 steel plate, and then to my horror, grabbed me and 
 pu:?hed me into the piece of ordnance until my feet 
 rested on the metallic plate and my head barely pro- 
 truded from the top of the war-engine. Buckets of 
 chopped ice were poured in to fill up the vacant space, 
 and before the congealed wadding was all in, my toes 
 and fingers were completely frost-bitten. When every- 
 thing: seemed to be in readiness the Hij^h Muck-a-Muck 
 said : — 
 
 " The candidate has no hat on. Fish his plug out 
 of the lake, put an air-cushion, inside and then deco- 
 rate his head with it." 
 
 The "air-cushion" referred to was only a l)lown 
 bladder. It was placed in the top of my bruised and 
 battered wet hat, which was tightly and gracefully 
 placed upon my head. 
 
 "Is he ready?" shouted the High Muck-a-Muck. 
 
 " He is," was the Grand Microscope's answer. 
 
 " Then, let her go ! " 
 
 Fiz ! boom ! ! bang ! 1 I I knew the match was at 
 the fuse ; felt tiie whole busiiu's.s give way ; heard the 
 scream of the powder leaving the cannon at the same 
 moment as myself; saw the flash of Are as it burned 
 my eyebrows, moustache and the ends of my hair ; had 
 my breath swept away by the swiftness of my flight, 
 and while all these experiences were mingled in one 
 instantaneous jumble in my mind, whack went my 
 head against the sheet-iron bumper; bang 1 went the 
 explosive bladder in my hat, and, hurled back by the
 
 FUN AMONG THE ELKS. 511 
 
 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 tacks that had been sprinkled there for my 
 benefit. I howled and jumped into the air, but every 
 time I 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 
 pastry-cook's ball. Then they took me out of the 
 net, picked the tacks out of my back, and stood me 
 up, weak and exhausted, according to instructions, in 
 front of the throne. 
 
 *< The candidate," said the High Muck-a-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 I could under the circum- 
 stances. * 
 
 " Now remove the blindfold." 
 
 The handkerchief was removed from my eyes and I 
 saw — nothing. But I was an Elk. 
 
 I have seen many candidates initiated into this Order 
 since that time, but I have never seen any such pro- 
 ceeding as that here described, which leads me to in- 
 fer that some friends, and among them Jughandle, put 
 up a job on me and used me a little roughly, for the 
 sake of the sport it afforded them.
 
 (512) 
 
 THE CTRrus WORLD.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 
 
 A "disengaged canvasman " 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 upon the circus tent, 
 
 And the active agents' fancies on " advances " all are bent. 
 
 In the spring the "bounding brothers " try some new and daring 
 
 games, 
 While the opposition " fakirs " call each other awful names. 
 
 In the spring the "sideshow-blowers," with their never-failing 
 
 tongues, 
 Pump out paralyzing language from their copper-fastened lungs. 
 In the spring the fair Circassian, with her every hair on end, 
 Leaves again her native Brooklyn, on the road her steps to wend. 
 
 In the 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 conundrums bright and new 
 (Dug up by the Christy Minstrels in the year of '62). 
 
 In the spring — and in the ring — the riders whirl around in style, 
 While the air is filled with romance (and rheumatics — I should 
 
 smile) ! 
 In the spring — oh, well, I'll cheesf it, for I haven't got a cent, 
 And I think I hear the landlord, coming up to ask for rent ! 
 
 There is more foct than poetry in these lines. The 
 
 spring brings gaily colored posters, like flowers of 
 
 many hues, to decorate the dead walls and fences ; and 
 
 litters the streets witli small hand-bills in Avhich the 
 
 '^ ' (518)
 
 514 THE ClltCUS IS IlEUE. 
 
 wonders of the evening show are dwelt upon in :i style 
 of rhetoric that wonld nnd^e George Francis Train 
 sick. The name of the show is too long to print in 
 this book, even if I began at the title-page and wrote 
 small and close through every page down to the lower 
 right-hand corner of the back cover. Since they got 
 to consolidating shows, they have by some elastic 
 process begun to lengthen out the name, and at every 
 reappearance of a circus in a town the bill-poster must 
 add a few yards to the length of his fence to get the 
 improved and newly elongated name on it, and to make 
 a few square yards of additional space for the fresh 
 stock of impossible pictures the artist has 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 somethinjr 
 that it is impossible to understand. They ask and they 
 must have the patronage of the public they insult by 
 spreading such absurdities upon the wall as the picture 
 of ouQ horse lying on his back with his legs up and 
 another horse standing above him, their eight hoofs 
 meeting ; or of a man being blown from the mouth of 
 a cannon, or indeed an}'^ of the other ridiculous and 
 gaudy illustrations which are designed to catch the eye 
 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 as the imagination can sug- 
 gest, and to make people pay for the privilege of find- 
 ing out that they have been bamboozled. It seems to 
 be remunerative thoni^h, for a circus can create irreater
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 515 
 
 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 and the opening of its doors always 
 finds a throng with tickets in hand anxious to set in- 
 side as early as possible, to have a thorough look at 
 the menagerie and in the other way, by putting in full 
 time to get their money's worth out of the show. 
 
 The circus always 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 jaunty hat of gay 
 ribbons and feathers flying in the breeze. The lion 
 tamer is in the cage with the feeble animals that he 
 keeps stirring up with his whip ; the clown in his lit- 
 tle chariot with his trick mule, aflbrds amusement to 
 the children along the line ; then the snake charmer 
 rolls by fondling the slimy reptiles, and after that 
 comes a procession of red wagons with trampish 
 drivers in red coats, and perhaps there are some gro- 
 tesque figures on top of the wagons. At the rear some 
 enterprising clothier has an advertising vehicle. That 
 is about all there is to it, if we add the Undine wao-on 
 that has a place sometimes at the head and sometimes 
 in the middle of this "gorgeous street pageant." 
 Still it goes from one end of town to the other, scarinir 
 horses and creating the greatest excitement among the 
 circus-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
 
 516 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 
 
 performance. Barniim tried to make some free adver- 
 tising for himself this season by annoniicing that ho 
 would pay $10,000 to the handsomest man and 
 $20,000 to the handsomest lady, but he was shrewd 
 enouirh to see that the scheme Avould not brinir him 
 back $30,000, so he allowed it to fall through. 
 
 This subject of costly ])eauties recalls an incident 
 that took place in a Western theatre. At the house in 
 question an actress was performing who, in times gone 
 by, figured as the faithless sweetheart of an eminent 
 sport in that very city. That gentleman hearing that 
 his light of love was about to appear in a new line vis- 
 ited the theatre to see for himself whether or not it was 
 really she. The memory of past troubles caused him 
 to drink rather more than was good for him, and when 
 he took his seat in the parquette near the stage, he was 
 in a great measure incapacitated from acting with cool- 
 ness and iudgmcnt. He believed be recognized the 
 woman as the one who had caused him so much sorrow 
 and trouble. His feelings got the better of him, and 
 standing up in his seat he exclaimed : — 
 
 "You cost nie $25,000, you cost me $25,000, and 
 I'll cut your d — d heart out ! " 
 
 This outcry brougiit one of the members of the com- 
 pany to her assistance, armed with a property revolver, 
 and the air was full of war and rumors of war until 
 the police arrived. The $2">,000 victim was led out 
 and the play went on. 
 
 While the parade is on its way back to the circus 
 lot, I will tell the reader of an exciting parade that was 
 witnessed at Runcorn, England, last summer: Messrs. 
 Sanger & Son, who were exhil)iting in the town, had 
 announced a procession in coimection witii their great 
 hippodrome, and from twelve to one o'clock, altiiough 
 rain was falling very heavily, large crowds of people
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 
 
 517 
 
 began to assemble in the Market Square, Bridge Street 
 and the wide space in front of the Town Hall and the 
 public offices. To one very large car forty horses had 
 been harnessed, to be driven through the town by one 
 
 TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLAR BEAUTY. 
 
 man. This was drawn up waiting for the start, almost 
 opposite the Guardian office, while higher up Bridge 
 Street stood twelve ponies harnessed to a smaller car. 
 Near the Town Hall stood two other cars, and as one
 
 518 THE CIRCUS IS HERE, 
 
 o'clock ;ipproachcd and the rain showed signs of abat- 
 ing, the procession was expected very shortly to form 
 and make the circuit of the town. Suddenly, anions 
 the horses standing near to the shop of Messrs. Iland- 
 ley & Co., there was a great commotion, and loud 
 shouts were heard to " Clear the road." The twelve 
 ponies had taken fright and were rushing down Bridge 
 Street towards the fountain. There was no one in 
 charge, and it was evident that some very serious acci- 
 dent would result from the panic which seemed to have 
 seized the horses. To make matters worse, the forty 
 horses became frightened, and, with the ponderous car 
 behind them, joined the ponies in their gallop. Many 
 persons sought refuge in the shops and doorways. 
 Those who were not fortunate enough to reach this 
 shelter were trampled upon and crushed, and the scene 
 was one of the wildest excitement. At one moment it 
 seemed as though the great colossal car wouhl be over- 
 turned among the struggling crowd, while the plate- 
 glass windows in the shops on the south side of the street 
 were within an inch of being sma,shcd. The scene was 
 not of long duration, but it lasted Ions: euoufjh to in- 
 jure at least ten people and imperil the safety of hun- 
 dreds more. When nearing the commissioners' offices, 
 several constables who were in the court-room, liear- 
 ing the noise outside, rushed into the street, and were 
 just in time to seize the ponies by the heads and turn 
 them down Mersey Street before they reached the 
 Royal Hotel. TIh^ horses, through the courageous 
 exertions of the police and some of Messrs. Sanger & 
 Son's diivers, wero brought to a standstill opposite the 
 Royal Hotel. 
 
 Many people affect to l)c Indifferent to the attrac- 
 tions of the circus, sayiug that they saw one when they 
 were young and as all circuses are the same there is
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 519 
 
 no use in going to see canotlier. 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 take them out 
 of the circus ring as it took the lion-taming act. I 
 can remember the time when the cao-e 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 unchangeal)le 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 circus after 
 witnessing a performance and while the sawdust fever 
 was still on them. A short, funny sketch that appeared 
 in the Louisville Courier- Jour rial will do to illustrate 
 the hold the circus has upon the average boy's heart. 
 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 : — 
 
 " ' It'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.'
 
 520 
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 
 
 ADAM I'OUKrAUOH. 
 
 " " You used to go, ' urged the boy. 
 ♦' ' Siirtiu I did, but what w:is do result? I had sich 
 ft load oil my conscioiico dat I couldu't sleep niglits.
 
 THE CIRCUS IS HERE. 621 
 
 I cum powerful nigh bein' a lost man, an' in dem days 
 de price of admishun was only a quarter, too.' 
 
 *' * Can't we both git in for fifty cents? ' 
 
 " < I '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 crawlin' under de 
 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 awfullest lickin' a 
 boy eber got, or have a glass of dat red lemonade an' 
 go to Heaben when you die? Befo' you decide let me 
 explain dat I mean a lickin' which will take ebery inch 
 of de hide oif, an' I also mean one of dem big glasses 
 of lemonade. In addishun, I would obsarve dat a 
 circus am gwine on in Heaben all de time, an' de price 
 of admisshun am simply nominal. Now, sah, 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 stove to a neighbor to obtain funds to take 
 his family to a circus that had pitched its tents near 
 the city. When he got back he said he was not a bit 
 sorry, that " he'd seen the clown, an' the gals a ridin'j 
 an' the fellows doin' flip-flaps, an' waz so perfectly 
 satisfied that ef another suck-cus came alono; 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 small ])oy's heart, as he 
 stands at a respectful distance from the ticket wagon 
 watching the huge canvas rise and siniv — apparently 
 with as much ease as the flag flies from the top of the 
 centre-pole — is to get inside the tent before the band 
 begins to play. He may not have a cent to pay the 
 admission, but he has Micawbcrish hopes that far 
 surpass any money value that might bo placed upon a 
 small boy, that something will turn up to gain him 
 admission to the show. He knows that if the canvas- 
 men jjive him a ""ood 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 su(;h a trick the 
 showmen will drag him to the dressing-tent and fill 
 his hair full of powdered sawdust. The canvas-men 
 are, 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 on hoping until the show is 
 out. In this respect the minute ])oy 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- 
 sidered the acme of honesty to beat the circus in 
 that region — in fact, paying is heartily deprecated. 
 Although only a month in the place, the Baltimore 
 belle was thoroughly imbued with the cowboy spirit, 
 (r)22)
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 523 
 
 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 was going to do. At night, when 
 
 *« beating' the circus. 
 
 the show was under headway, she calmly approached 
 the circus tent on stilts, and viewed the first half
 
 524 tINDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 of the performance through the opening between the 
 canvas and the roof. One of the fiujhters of the show 
 detecting somctliing wrong, crept around with a club 
 to ''smash" the intruder, but received a kick in the 
 eye 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 she at a safe distance 
 applauded the conquering herders. The troupe left 
 town that night in a sadly damaged condition. 
 
 Until late years circuses generally gave a balloon 
 ascension before the afternoon i)erf()rmance took 
 place, and sometimes a slack-wire performance was 
 added. The latter free exhibition dropped out of sight 
 a short time ago, and since 187G 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 teronaut in the employ 
 of Bamiim at the time, the latter, a Chicago newspaper 
 reporter. They left Chicago July 15, 1875, in a tat- 
 tered old balloon. It was a remarkal)ly fine day, and 
 not the remotest shadow of danger fell across the sun- 
 shine. The balloon was carried out over the lake, 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 ]\Iichii2;an 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 tri^) was written by John 
 A. Wise, the jcronaut, who himself perished in Lake 
 Michigan while attemi)ting to complete a night ascen- 
 sion. He and George Burr started from St. Louis at 
 dusk, and as the terial ship was vanishing into the
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 525 
 
 clouds it was seen for the last time. For weeks noth- 
 iiiof was heard of the missins; men or the balloon. 
 They were thought to be lost in the Michigan prairies. 
 At last Burr's body was found on the east shore of 
 Lake Michiijan. 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- 
 sembled to witness the balloon ascension of Senorita 
 Catalina Georgio, a beautiful girl only seventeen years 
 old. There was no car attached to the balloon, only 
 the trapeze on which the girl performed. The balloon
 
 526 
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 shot up amid the deafening cheers of the crowd which 
 was present. Catalina, meanwhile, was seen clinging 
 
 CATALFNA GKORGIO S FllKJUTFUL DEATH. 
 
 to the trapeze ;iii<l performing daring feats of agility. 
 When tlid halloon was three-quarters of a mile high it
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 527 
 
 suddenly exploded and fell to the ground with the un- 
 fortunate girl. Her dead 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- 
 bevoie, 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 a number of athletic feats on a trapeze suspended 
 from a Montgolfier balloon named the Vidouvillaise. 
 Rejecting the advice of bystanders, Navarre refused 
 to allow himself to be tied to the trapeze. There was 
 no car attached to the balloon. At about five o'clock the 
 Vidouvillaise was let loose from its moorings and rose 
 majestically in the air. Navarre, hanging 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 cruslred and mano^led almost bevond recoj^nition. 
 Meanwhile the balloon, freed from its human ballast, 
 shot up with lightning speed, and soon disappeared 
 from view. Late in the evenino; 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 serial ascensions as circus advertise- 
 ments are past.
 
 52.S UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 While waiting for the pcrlbnnancc to begin let us 
 drop into the dressing-tent. It is divided in the mid- 
 dle by 11 strip of canvas about seven feet wide, and 
 this half space is again divided into dressing-rooms, 
 one for the men, the other for the women. The large 
 space is the green-room of the circus. It is not only 
 that, but it is the property-room. The performers are 
 preparing for the grand entree. Helmets arc lying 
 around loose, and wardrobes appear to be in a state of 
 great confusion. Cheap velvet gaily bespangled is 
 quite plentiful. It looks best at a distance. Quanti- 
 ties of white chalk are brought into use, each-man's 
 face being highly powdered, his eyebrows blackened, 
 etc.^ The dressing-room is small and there is appar- 
 ently much confusion while the performers are donning 
 their respective costumes. But each knows what his 
 duty is, and does it accordingly, without really inter- 
 fering with anyone else. On the other side is the 
 ladies' room ; into this we are not permitted to cast 
 our profane peepers, but we know from exterior 
 knowledge that paint and powder, short .dresses and 
 flesh tights are rapidly converting ordinary women 
 into equestrienne angels. Outside of the dressing- 
 rooms are the horses, ranged in regular order. At a 
 o-iven siirnal the riders appear, mount and enter the 
 rin<T. As they are dashing about in apparent reckless- 
 ness let us look more clearly at them. They all look 
 young and fresh, but there are old men in the party 
 who for twenty-five or thirty years have figured in the 
 sawdust ring. Chalk hides their wrinkles, dyestuffs 
 their gray hairs, and skull caps their baldness. Yon- 
 der ladv who sits her steed gracefully, and who looks 
 as blooming as a rose on a June morning, is not oidy 
 a mother, ))ut a grandmother. And there is George 
 who was engaged last winter to do " nothing, you
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 529 
 
 know." He finds his duties embrace riding, leaping, 
 tumbling, object-holding, and occasionally in short 
 times drive a team on the road. There is one rider 
 who was formerly a 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 
 after 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 does 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 charcoal, and has painted 
 bright red spots on his cheeks. You think him a mere 
 boy as he springs into the ring, but he has been a 
 mere boy for many a long year, and his bones are get- 
 ting stifli' and his joints ache in sjDite of his assumed 
 agility. The "gags" that he repeats and the songs 
 that make you laugh are not funny to him, for he has 
 repeated them in precisely the same 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 usually 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
 
 530 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 imi.st be slowed iiway and tlie journey nuide 1)y nij^lit. 
 The following day brings a recurrence of the dangers 
 and toil of circus life. 
 
 A clown Avho was importuned by some young ladies 
 of Mill City, Iowa, as they passed the dressing-tent, to 
 let them in, said he'd do it for a kiss from each. There 
 were four in the party and they held a brief consulta- 
 tion when they came back and wanted to know if one 
 kiss wouldn't do. 
 
 " Yes, one each," said Mr. Merry man, who had his 
 paint on and looked anything but pretty. 
 
 Again they consulted, and at last agreed. They 
 were respectable young ladies and were slow to do 
 anythinir that miirht compromise tliem, still thev kissed 
 the clown, who lifted a flap of the tent and passed in 
 each as she paid the osculatory fee. The kisses did 
 his old heart good, and when he went into the ring so 
 fresh and htippy did he feel that he actually got olT a 
 new and good joke, which is an extraordinary thing for 
 a clown. The clown is pretty much the whole show to 
 the little folks, and there are many grown peojjle who 
 cherish fondly the childish admiration they had had for 
 the retailer of old jokes and singer of i)oor comic songs. 
 He talks and jumi)s around as lightly as if he were a 
 young man ; but often if the reader could be aroimd 
 when the chalk and the streaks of black and rod have 
 been washed off he would see that the light-hearted 
 lau"-h-provoker is an old man wriidvled and gray, and 
 that he is to be pardoned for not being able to say 
 anything funny that would be new at his time of life. 
 I like everything about a flown, his clothes, his comi- 
 cal hat, his ohl jokes, liis poor voice and his worse 
 sonics. He tries to amuse other people's children, and 
 therefore I am glad when I hear he has children of his
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 531 
 
 own, as the following touching story told in verso has 
 something to say about : — 
 
 THE CLOWN'S BABY. 
 
 It was out on the western frontier — 
 
 The miner's, rugged and brown, 
 Were gathered around the posters ; 
 
 The circus had come to town 1 
 • Tlie great tent shone in the darlvuess, 
 
 LilvC a wonderful palace of light, 
 And rough men crowded the entrance — 
 
 Shows didn't come every night. 
 
 Not a woman's face among them! 
 
 Many a face that was bad, 
 And some that were only vacant, 
 
 And some that were very sad ; 
 And behind the canvas curtain, 
 
 In a corner ot the place, "~ 
 The clown with chalk and vermilion, 
 
 Was " making up " his face. 
 
 A weary-looking woman. 
 
 With a smile that still was sweet, 
 Sewed on a little garment. 
 
 With a candle at her feet. 
 Pantaloons stood ready and waiting; 
 
 It was the time for the going on. 
 But the clown in vain searched wildly- 
 
 The " property baby " was gone ! 
 
 He murmured, impatiently hunting, 
 
 "It's 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 — 
 "I must take you, little Ben! " 
 
 The mother started and s*hivered. 
 
 But trouble and want were near; 
 She lifted her baby gently, 
 
 "You'll be very cai-eful, dear? "
 
 532 UNDER THE CANVAS. 
 
 " Careful ! You foolish darling — " 
 
 How tenderly it was said! 
 What a smile shone through the chalk and paint - 
 
 " I love each hair of his head! " 
 
 The noise rose into an uproar, 
 
 Misrule for the time was Ivins; 
 The clown, with a foolish chuckle, 
 
 Bolted into the ring. 
 But as with a squeak and a flourish, 
 
 The liddles closed their tune, 
 "You hold him as if he was made of glass! " 
 
 Said the clown to Pantaloon. 
 
 The jovial follow nodded : 
 
 " I've a couple myself," he said; 
 " I know how to handle 'em, bless you I 
 
 Old fellow, go ahead I " 
 The fun grew fast and furious, 
 
 And not one of all the crowd 
 Had guessed the baby was alive, 
 
 When he suddenly laughed aloud. 
 
 Oh, that baby-laugh! It was echoed 
 
 From the benches with a ring. 
 And the roughest customer there sprung up 
 
 With'" Boys, it's a real thing! " 
 The ring was jammed in a minute, 
 
 Not a man that did not strive 
 For "A shot at holding the baby — " 
 
 The baby that was " alive! " 
 
 He was thronged by kneeling suitors 
 
 In the midst of the dusty ring. 
 And he held his court right royally — 
 
 The lair little baby-king — 
 Till one of the shouting courtiers, 
 
 A man with a bold, hard face, 
 The talk of miles of the country, 
 
 And the terror of the place, 
 
 liaised the little king on his sliouldcr, 
 And chuckled, " Look at that! " 
 
 As the baby fingers clutched his hair. 
 Then " Boys, hand round that hat! " 
 
 There never was such a hat-full
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 533 
 
 Of silver, and gold, and notes ; 
 People are not always penniless 
 Because they don't wear coats. 
 
 And then, "Three cheers for the baby! " 
 
 I tell you those cheers were meant; 
 And the way in which they were given 
 
 Was enough to raise the tent. 
 And there was a sudden silence, 
 
 And a gruff old miner said : 
 «' Come boys, enough of this rumpus! 
 
 It's time it was put to bed." 
 
 So looking a little sheepish, 
 
 But with faces strangely bright, - 
 The audience, somewhat lingeringly, 
 
 Flocked out into the night. 
 And the bold-fdced leader chuckled, 
 
 " He wasn't a bit afraid ! 
 He's as game as he is good-looking — 
 
 Boys, that was a show that paid ! " 
 
 The public at large has but a very vague idea of how 
 a circus is run, and the people, besides the managers 
 and regular employees, who make a living by it. ^hen 
 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 as the 
 " privileges," which are, as a rule, understood to em- 
 brace not only the candy and lemonade-stands and the 
 side-shows, but all sorts of gamblmg devices by which 
 the unsuspecting countryman is fleeced out of his earn- 
 ings, or borrowings, as the case may be. Monte men, 
 thimble-riggers, sweat-cloth dealers, and all classes of 
 gamblers and thieves who have not yet risen to the 
 dignity of '<^ working" the watering-places and sum- 
 mer resorts, look upon the route of a circus as their 
 legitimate field of operation. The circus proprietor 
 who rents the lot upon which his tent or tents are
 
 534 UNHER THE CANVAS. 
 
 pitched has the right to sul)lct such portions of the 
 ground as he does not use, for such i)uiposes as he 
 deems proper, and which Avill not make him personally 
 amenable to the laws for whatever crimes m:iy be com- 
 mitted there. It has been shown that in manv cases 
 the managers not only sell to gamblers the privilege of 
 locating on the ground and robbing the patrons of the 
 circus, ])ut also receive a share of the ill-gotten wealth. 
 "There are," said Mr. Coup, the circus owner, to 
 an interviewer, " lots of shows with bis: bank accounts 
 who have made their money by actually robbing their 
 patrons. They used to swindle on the seats, but th:it 
 is done away with now entirely, or nearly so. Of 
 course, I am not at liberty to mention mimes, but I 
 c(nild astonish you by desiijnating shows the manairers 
 of which have made the greater portion of their 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 
 fact, he denies that he has anything to do with it, and 
 yet he is really employed by the managers. This man 
 canvasses the town and finds some man who has a bi<x 
 bank account and who is G:ullible enou<::h to confide in 
 strangers. The agent makes his acquaintance, gets 
 into his confidence, and then with a great show of 
 secrecy informs him iiow he can make a pile of money 
 when the circus comes along. 'J'lie innocent citizen 
 bites at the bait and is steered afjainst a i^amblinj; 
 scheme either inside or outside of the tent, and loses 
 ol"len large sums of money. Pei-Jiaps lus is a man 
 whose social standing prevents him from making his 
 loss known, or, more frecjuently, hci'ails to suspect the 
 agent, who l)lust('rs around and declares that he, too, 
 has lost money on the scheme. And thus the show 
 goes from town to town, making almost as much by
 
 UNDER THE CANVAS. 535 
 
 Stealing from its patrons as 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. I have 
 made war on these fellows for years and am determined 
 to keep it up. If I cannot run a show without having 
 a lot of gambling schemes attached to it, why then I'll 
 stop running a show. I 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 away from your show? " 
 
 "I did at first, but it is now known amons; them 
 that I will not allow it and they keep away. My life 
 has 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 rob my patrons by camp-followers, 
 so you can see that the privilege is worth something. 
 In Georgia a gang threatened publicly to kill vag on 
 sight for refusing to let them hang around my tents, 
 but 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 any way. The side-shows can be made to pay with- 
 out robbery. Last season the side-shows that traveled 
 with my show, made $75,000, which was more than I 
 made."
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 Nearly every man connected with the rinij work of a 
 circus is an acrobat of one kind or other. His al)ility 
 may be limited to turninj? a sin^jle somersault, still he 
 will be brought into the arena with the rest of the 
 company and opportunity will be atlbrded him to do 
 his best. It is not expected, however, to recruit the 
 ranks from such a class. Children must be trained to 
 the i)rofession, and a long and arduous training it 
 requires. If their parents are i)rofessionals their 
 studies will be all the more severe, and cuffs and blows 
 will be the only encouragement given their struggling 
 children. Fathers have been known to beat their sons, 
 to kick them in the presence of the audience, and to 
 add other and severer punishment when tlic young 
 acrobat reaches home. The Society for the Prevention 
 of Cruelty to Children could find plenty to do in pre- 
 venting brutal parents from abusing their little folks, 
 if not in putting an end entirely to the swift and rough 
 training that boys are put through in order that they 
 may be hired out or leased to circus managers. In 
 New Yolk I understand that l)roken-down ring })er- 
 formers have schools in which boys are taught every 
 branch of the circus business, just as there are riding 
 schools where young men and young women may learn 
 pad-riding and go even as far as riding bareback. The 
 schools for acrobats are usually conducted by cruel, 
 heartless fellows who urge the pupils to their tasks 
 
 (536)
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 537 
 
 with a club, and while forgetting to say a kind word 
 when the pupil has done well, will never fail to say a 
 
 > 
 
 H 
 > 
 
 a 
 
 o 
 
 Iiarsh one when any mistake has been made. These 
 places are filled up with all the appliances of a gym-
 
 538 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTIUANISM. 
 
 nusiiiiu — burs, r()i)o.s, weights, trapezes, tight-rope, 
 etc. Circus manairers in want of talent for small 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. Its task is set 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 feat is at last satisfactorily 
 presented. Olive Logan was at a circus performance 
 at Cincinnati at which she witnessed an extraordinary 
 instance of cruelty on the part of a circus proprietor to 
 a child rider. The circus was owned and managed by 
 a certain clown. The clown-proi)rietor. Miss Logan 
 goes on to say, introduced a little girl to the audience, 
 saying that she would exhibit her skill in 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 ap[)rehension of serious accident, as the 
 arena was soft and injury would be impossible. It was 
 surely an unhappy introduction for the child, and cal- 
 culated to fill her with fear and doubt. The child 
 whirled rapidly round the ring two or three times, using 
 neither rein nor binding strap. She stood on one 
 foot, then chanjjfcd to the other. After this she was 
 called upon to jump the stretchers. Had her horse 
 been well trained, the feat would have been no very 
 dilliiull one. But she became entangled in the cloth 
 and fell to the ground, under the horse's feet. She 
 was placed again on the l>a(k of the horse and com- 
 pelled once more to try the feat. Her fall had not 
 
 given her new coniidcnce and she fell a second time, 
 o
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 539 
 
 Again 
 
 Evidently much against her inclination and in spite of 
 her trembling and her tears, nature's protest against 
 barbarity, she was tossed again to her place. But her 
 nerve had gone. She was utterly demoralized. Judg- 
 ment of distance, and faith in herself were lost, 
 she attempted to execute 
 the leap. Again she fell to 
 the ground, striking heav- 
 ily upon her head. She 
 rolled directly under the 
 horse's feet and only by 
 a sheer chance escaped a 
 terrible death. The au- 
 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 do!" " Take 
 her out ! take her out ! " 
 came up from every side. 
 It would not answer to 
 disregard such commands, 
 and with a smile the rino; 
 master went to the child, 
 raised her from the dust trapeze. 
 
 where she lay, and led her, crying and sobbing, to the 
 dressing-tent. 
 
 The men and women who perform at dizzy heights 
 on the trapeze and flying rings frequently meet with 
 terrible accidents. Still the difiiculty of these feats is 
 being constantly increased, and performers, not satis- 
 fied with having their eyes open during their perilous
 
 540 ACROliATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 flight from one tnipcze to another, envelope their heads 
 in sacks, and althou<ih not wholly blindinu: themselves, 
 very materially interfere with the vision, which in all 
 such instances should not be obstructed. A typical 
 accident of the trapeze kind happened at a performance 
 of old John liobinson's circus at South Pueblo, Col- 
 orado, on June 12, 1882. While the Alfredo Family 
 were performing on the trapeze, the stake which sup- 
 ports the rope pulled out of the ground, which had 
 been softened by the afternoon storm, and let the per- 
 formers — three in number, William, Lewis, and his 
 wife, Emma Alfredo — suddenly to the ground. The 
 act is a sort of double bicycle and trapeze performance. 
 William propels a bicycle back and forth on a lino 
 stretched from pole to pole, and Lewis and Emma 
 perform on two trapeze-bars suspended from the bi- 
 cyle. AVhen the stake pulled up last night the rope 
 collapsed just at the moment th;it Lewis was hanging 
 by his feet from the lower bar and Emma from the 
 upper, both straight down, with arms folded. Emma 
 caught herself on the lower bar and the side ropes, 
 but her husband fell straight to the ground, alighting 
 on the back of his head, the fall being twelve or four- 
 teen feet. He Avas at once removed to his dressing- 
 room, and tlie physicians who were summoned said 
 that his spine was iujurod. Half an hour later he was 
 removed to a hotel, where he died at four r. M., 
 June 13th. 
 
 A gymnast who fell from a trapeze in New Orleans 
 gave the following account of his sensations: *'Amid 
 the sea of faces before me I looked for a familiar one, 
 but in vain, and, turning, I stepped back to the rope 
 by which we ascended to the trapeze, and going up hand 
 over hand was soon seated in my swinging perch. As 
 I looked down I caught sight of a fac(> in one of the
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 541 
 
 boxes, that at once attracted my attention. It Avas 
 that of a beantiful girl, with sweet bhie eyes, and 
 golden hair falling unconfined over her shoulders in 
 heavy, waving masses. Her beautiful 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 l)egan our performance. In the 
 pauses for breath I could see that sweet face, now pale 
 as death, and the blue eyes staring wide open with 
 fear, and I dreaded the 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 feet 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 i3ast my foot. 
 My heart gave a grand jump, and then seemed to stop, 
 as I realized our awful situation. The lashintr which 
 held the bar had parted, the rope was gliding round 
 the bar, and in another moment we should be lying 
 senseless on the stage. I shouted ' under ' to the ter- 
 rified ' super,' who instantly swung the bar back to its 
 place, and I dropped my brother on it as the last 
 strand snapped and I plunged downward. 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 ! 
 Down through the air I fell, striking heavily on the 
 stage. The blow rendered me senseless and my col- 
 lar bone was broken. I was hurried behind the scenes, 
 and soon came to my senses. My first thought was 
 that I must go back and go through my performance
 
 542 
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 at once, and I actually made a dash for the stage — 
 but I was restrained, and it was many weeks ])eforo I 
 was able to perform again." 
 
 The circus-goers of a decade ago were accustomed 
 to tight-rope and slack-wire performances in the ring, 
 when old men and young women, emulative of the eel-. 
 
 jroME. LA8ALLE. 
 
 cbrated Blondiii, wont through some wonderful evolu- 
 tions in mid-air. Now the tight-rope and loose wire 
 have both almost entirely disappeared from the ring, 
 and only in the small shows are they given a place in 
 the programme. Still there are many excellent per- 
 formers in this line who find cm[)loyment on the variety 
 stage among specialty people. The best of these is 
 Zanfretti, the pantomime clown, avIio though an old
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 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 as rope-walkers. One of 
 the most beautiful and at the same 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 feet above the 
 ground without net beneath and with nothing but 
 hard ground to receive both in case of a fall, trundles 
 the barrow over a long 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, however, 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- 
 mand. 
 
 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 upon the animal in 
 motion ; but if a boy or girl is taken up at an age 
 when it is no longer easy to carry him around the ring 
 on the back of a horse, he is put in training with what 
 the circus people call " the mechanic." This is a beam 
 extending out from a pivoted centre-pole and having a 
 rope hanging down at the edge of the ring with a strap 
 at the end which is ftistened around the pupil's waist. 
 The rope is long enough to allow the pupil to stand
 
 544 ACK015ATICS AM) KQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 upon the back of an animal, and by means of its sup- 
 port he is kept in an upright position until he gets 
 accustomed to the motion of a liorse, and is prevented 
 from falling should he miss his footinc;. He bcirins 
 with a pad on the back of a gentle animal, and keeps 
 on with "the mechanic" until he is able to stand 
 alone on the horse, from which time on the pad is dis- 
 carded and the pupil goes it bareback. Ed. Showles, 
 a good rider and prominent in his line, told me that it 
 takes about six months to break a boy in so that he 
 will be able to ride fairly, but that a girl may bo taught 
 in three months. 
 
 This trainini? goes on during the winter months 
 ■while the circus is in quarters. A small ring is always 
 a department of the winter quarters, and in lliis the 
 trained animals are kept in practice and new ones are 
 broken in, the whip being freely used upon all in giv- 
 ing them their lessons. A horse that is intended for 
 the educated class after having acquired the ordinary 
 manoeuvres, for instance, must learn to get up on his 
 hind legs and paw the air with the fore legs, as wo see 
 them in pictures of the Ukraine stallions, etc. To do 
 this the animal must have his haunches strengthened. 
 Hv whi[)ping the fore legs ho is made gradually to rise 
 on the hind ones. The horse finds it difficult at first, 
 but judicious whii)ping gets him up in the air at last 
 and the sight of the threatening whip keeps him there 
 as long as there is strength in his haunches to keep 
 him up. 
 
 " The work of the leading c(juestrienne is one of the 
 most laborious in tin; whole range of tin; circus pro- 
 fession. It requires physical courage of the highest 
 order, combined with great ])ower of endurance and a 
 capacity for adopting oneself to a constant change of 
 scene and .•-urniuntiing. People who witness only the
 
 ANNIE LIVINGSTONE,
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 545 
 
 brilliant performances in the ring in an atmosphere 
 laden with light and mnsic, little dream of the weari- 
 some toil and drndgery which precede them." 
 
 The speaker was Miss Lilly Deacon, a fair-haired 
 English lady, with the form of a Juno, who arrived in 
 this country from London sometime ago to fill an en- 
 engagement as leading equestrienne in Forepaugh's 
 circus. As she appeared in the parlor in an interview 
 with a Philadelphia reporter, she might naturally have 
 been taken for the preceptress of some fashionable 
 English boarding-school, or the daughter of some 
 stiff old country squire of Kent or Sussex — or anybodj^ 
 in fact, rather than the daring rider whose perform- 
 ances have bewildered and startled the circus-going 
 multitude of London, Paris, and Berlin. In feature 
 and manner her appearance was that of the English 
 gentlewoman, while her conversation throughout re- 
 vealed a delicacy of thought and expression common 
 only to the well-bred lady. 
 
 *' The 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 rugged health ever withstand it, and 
 no one without a perfect physical organization should 
 undertake it. The ordinary exercises of the riding- 
 school are trifles as compared with the tasks 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 art. 
 She must then enter the circus 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 scoldings and correc- 
 tions from the instructors. No woman, unless she be 
 possessed of extraordinary natural skill, ought to ap-
 
 51(5 
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 pear in the ring l)oforo an aiulicnce until she has grad- 
 uated from a riduig-school, and then practised in tho 
 
 rin"- four or five hours every day for at least six months. 
 Those six months will 1)0 a period of torture and weari- 
 ness to her, ])ut she must undergo them or run the risk of
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 547 
 
 almost certain failure and humiliation upon her first 
 appearance in public. 
 
 " The best equestrian instructor in Europe — in fact 
 the only one of established reputation — is M. Sal- 
 monsky of Berlin. He is one of the grandest horse- 
 men in the world, and in his great circus includes some 
 of the finest stock on the continent. He saw me first 
 in London, my native place, many years ago when 1 
 was performing with my brothers and sisters in Hen- 
 ley's Eegent Street circus, and oifered to take me with 
 him to Berlin and complete my training. I accepted,- 
 and entered his circus at the German capital, where I 
 received the most careful instruction he could give 
 me. 
 
 " M. Salmonsky would send me 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 
 I received, and I at last triumphed. Emperor William 
 and the crown i^rince attended the circus the night I 
 made my debut, and complimented me formally and 
 personally from their box. 
 
 " M. Salmonsky's course of training is very rigid, 
 and that accounts 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 had better give up her am- 
 bition and abandon the profession. She will never
 
 548 ACUOBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 succeed so lonjj; us she is afraid either of herself or her 
 horses. 
 
 "l)iit, as I said l)efore, no one iinac(|uaintcd with 
 the dangerous ])rcparatory instruction of an eques- 
 trienne has any proper estimate of tlie toil and weari- 
 ness which her performances represent. One never 
 knows the boundless capacity of the human frame for 
 pains and aches until one has gone into training for 
 circus-riding. What, with unruly horses, uncomfort- 
 ahlc saddles, and the violent exercise involved, five or 
 six hours of practice every day for months is certain 
 to do one" of two things — it either kills the pupil or 
 l)rings her up to the perfection of physical womanhood. 
 The hours 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 
 l)ecome a 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. 
 
 "A <neat many persons w^ho have the idea that the 
 life ()[ a 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 real thing. These people 
 ai-e mistaken. It is really a life of hard work at pretty 
 much all hours of the day. When the splendid Mile. 
 Peerless isn't speeding around the ring, lashing her 
 spirited b:ire-l)a(k 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 practice ol' tiie circus 
 rider is like the rehearsal of the actor, only more so, 
 for while the actor has only to rehearse until his first
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 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 circus has for people who 
 know nothing about its hardships, is illustrated in the 
 case of a 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 sj^ort tights and gauze 
 dresses, and whirl about the ring on a 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 Texas some months afterwards, and had an 
 interview with his wife, who had became an equestrienne 
 in a small way, doing a pad-riding act in each perform- 
 ance. An interview with the lady failed to make her 
 see her folly. The husband now grew desperate, 
 went away and hired a lot of cowboys whom he took 
 to the show with the understandino- that as soon as 
 Mile. Eulalia (the wife's adopted name) put in an ap- 
 pearance they were to rush forward, and seizing her 
 carry her from the tent. When the lady appeared and 
 had been lifted upon the horse by the clown, and the ring- 
 master was touching up the heels of the animal to get 
 him into a funeral jog, the husband and cowboys ad- 
 vanced. The husband seized his wife, drao-oed her 
 from the horse, and while the cowboys fought back 
 the performers and attaches he got her into a carriage 
 and drove her away, leaving the audience in the wildest 
 state of excitement. Kind words and gentle treat-
 
 550 
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTlilANISM. 
 
 ment brouirlit the woman back to licr senses, and she is 
 now in licr Georgia homo and docs not want any more 
 circus experience. 
 
 A Paris correspondent tells us that the funeral of 
 that charming circus rider, Emilic Loisset, who was 
 
 ^ 
 
 DAN. RICE. 
 
 killed in Ai)ril, 1882, was a Parisian event. The poor 
 o-irl had long inhal)itcd the United States, and had the 
 freedom of maimer and self-respect which so often dis- 
 tinguish the American young lady. She was on horsc- 
 bat^k one of the most graceful creatures imaginable. 
 The figure was lithe, but without moagerness. Ilcr 
 poses in the saddle were simply exquisite, and they
 
 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. ' 551 
 
 appeared unstudied. The features were elegantly 
 formed, and the eyes expressed a brave, kind soul. 
 Emilia Loisset was more popular than Sarah Bern- 
 hardt had ever been in Paris. Her less successful 
 rivals in the circus were brought by her exceeding 
 amiability to pardon her public triumphs. She did 
 not seem ever to excite jealousy. On the days and 
 nights on which she performed the circus was crowded 
 with fashionable people. There was no amount 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 Eue Oberkampf, where she had a small lodging 
 on the fifth floor. A number of aristocratic and plu- 
 tocratic admirers used to escort her to the door, 
 through which none of them were allowed by her to 
 pass. She aspired to create for herself a happy home 
 and to marry somebody whom she could love and 
 esteem. Her sister, Clotilde, is the morganatic Avife 
 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 Eliza- 
 beth for Emilie was increased by the fact that the 
 charming circus rider spurned the address of the crown 
 prince of Austria. 
 
 He was very much in love 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 here, 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 hand. The horse on which 
 she rode with imperial Elizabeth in the shaded alleys 
 of the Bois was the one that occasioned her death by
 
 552 ACROBATICS AND EQUESTRIANISM. 
 
 rollins' over on her and drivino: the crutch of the 
 saddle into her side. The august hidy noticed the 
 hardness of the brute's mouth, and the teasing and at 
 the same time irresohite way in which Euiilio held her 
 bridle. 
 
 Emilie Loisset aimed at classic purity of style. 
 There was nothing sensational in her manner. Her 
 imperial friend Elizabeth thought her the most lady- 
 like person she had seen in Paris. Her gestures were 
 simple, her address amiable, and there was serious- 
 ness even in her smiles. Members of the Jockey 
 Club spoke to her hat in hand. Her death was 
 entirely due 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 
 on his hind legs. Balance was lost, the horse rolled 
 over, and the crutch of the saddle smashed in the 
 ribs upon the lungs 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 XLI. 
 
 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 1 
 found the following pretty and touching story, which 
 had evidently been copied from some other paper 
 without credit, and which, as it deals with circus life, 
 and particularly that feature of it we have just left — 
 equestrianism — I believe it will be found interesting, 
 and in reproducing it regret that I am unacquainted 
 with the source 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 haunted shadow that envelopes the town 
 after sunset ; and 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-backed " open sesame," the ground 
 and two streets leadino; 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)
 
 554 A ROMANCE OF TIIK RING. 
 
 "gutter snipes" simply begged the people to "wait 
 for Miss Nannie Florenstcin." 
 
 The " doors arc thrown open," and in less than 
 twenty minntes the immense canvas is rising and 
 falling with the concentrated respirations of five thou- 
 sand people. Such a crowd ! Charles Dickens, An- 
 thony Trolloi)o, or Bret Harte would hava been in 
 ecstacies at the curious collection of faces, costumes, 
 and vernacular, not to mention the expressions of 
 genuine enthusiasm or surprise at the entries into 
 the ring of even the sawdust rakers.- 
 
 The band has ended its attempt at one of Strauss's 
 waltzes, and the master of ceremonies, INIr. Lunt, 
 walks consc({ucntially into the ring^ bowing to the 
 vast concourse, who applaud at — they scarce know 
 what. 
 
 "This way, Mr. Oliphant." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir ! 'Ere hi ham. Ah, sir! this bevy 
 of smilinj]^ faces is rcfreshin«: even to the sawdust. 
 [Applause.] What shall we have 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 I No I The pad rider, 
 sir." 
 
 " It's all the same, Mr. Lunt ; but time's Hying. 
 Ah ! here is Karl ! Now, then, Mr. Karl, that's the 
 way I used to ride — (aside) in my mind." 
 
 And so it goes. One act after another, each one 
 showing agility, daring, and skill ; while the old jester 
 and ring master entertain the crowd and rest the per- 
 formers. 
 
 "Miss Nannie Florenstcin, ladies and gentlemen, 
 will now have the honor of iippearing before you in
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 555 
 
 her wonderful bareback ;ict — riding a wild, untamed 
 horse without either bridle, saddle or surcingle. An 
 act never before accomplished — although often at- 
 tempted — by any lady in the world ! Miss Nannie 
 Florenstein ! " 
 
 A lithe, pretty little lady, with an anxious, care- 
 worn face, 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 aronnd the forty- 
 two-foot circle she goes, pirouetting, posturing, and 
 doing a really graceful and wonderful act. 
 
 She is what all the papers had claimed she would 
 be. There is a spirit of reckless daring flashing from 
 her dark eyes as she jumps " the banners," and even 
 the old and stoical ring master watches her anxiously 
 as she attempts one act more daring than the rest — 
 that of standing on her tip-toes on the horse's hind- 
 quarters and slowly pirouetting as the animal con- 
 tinues his mad career. 
 
 Suddenly she reels. She has lost her balance. 
 Over she goes. Her head has struck the ring board. 
 A shriek of a thousand anxious voices rends the air, 
 and all is confusion. 
 
 She is bleeding, bleeding profusely from a cut in her 
 forehead. 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 ? ' ' 
 
 Instinctively every one obeys him. 
 
 " Yere's a doctor. Doctor, this gal I know. 'Tend 
 ter her, an' look ter me for the perkisites."
 
 556 A KOMANCE OP THE RING. 
 
 A quiet, confident-looking gentleman, Dr. Adiiras, is 
 alread}'- by her side, stopping the flow of blood, sind 
 under his directions she is conveyed to her dressing- 
 tent, the miner, tall, athletic, and with immense, sun- 
 burned beard, following anxiously in the rear. 
 
 The performance has been renewed and the crowd 
 are forgetting the accident, when the miner appears in 
 the ring dragging after him a performer. Monsieur La 
 Forge, as he is called, "the strongest man in the 
 world," who resists with all his might the iron muscles 
 that arc clinched like a vice on his collar. 
 
 A trapeze act is being performed, but all eyes are 
 on the miner and his victim, not one of the performers 
 having interfered, as they all dislike and fear La Forge 
 for his bull vino; braggadocio character. 
 
 " Lcddies and gintlemin, this yere coyote am ther 
 cause on that yere young gal er falling. I knows 'em 
 both. He wanted tor kill her. Yes, yor did, ye 
 skunk ! lie stole her when she war a chile from my 
 sister. I knowed him ; I knowed her. He hcarn I 
 was coming ter-day and he sed that he'd kill her. 
 Lay down, ycr he-bar ! Lay down, I say. 
 * *' I was standinj:^ close on ter this rinij^ when I seed 
 him fire sumthing at her. She turned her putty e^'es 
 to see what it Avur and over fhe went. Mister per- 
 formers, ye'll 'sense me fur interruptin' yer perform- 
 ances, but I thought I'd let these yere know who this 
 skunk is. Now, then, Meester Ler Forgey, alias John 
 liafferty, what have yer got to say to my statement? " 
 
 "Hang him! Hani' him 1 Strannjle him!" broke 
 in the crowd as they left their seats and rushed for th6 
 
 rmg. 
 
 "Back! Back! Ycr shan't hang him! Do yer 
 hear? Ther fust man that raises a finger to throttle
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 557 
 
 him, I'll pile ill 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 a 
 whole army of Indian 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 oflf 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, Mifeter? Oh, yer mean rat- 
 tlesnake ! Pray she may live — pray! Ef she dies, 
 I'll hang yer scalp on her coffin ! Do you hear? " 
 
 Poor Eafferty, by the intervention of the sheriff, 
 who had a free pass to the show, and was present, was 
 released from Ned Struthers' 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, an anguish-stricken few around her ; for 
 she was loved by the company. Her lustreless eyes 
 would open appealingly, and looking with tear-bedim- 
 med expression at some familiar face near her, try to 
 smile them a recognition — a sad, painful recognition. 
 
 The doctor knelt beside her with one hand on her 
 pulse and one on her bandaged forehead, and as he no- 
 ticed the weary, faint pulsation, would shake his head, 
 prophetic of her death.
 
 558 A R05IANGE OF THE RING. 
 
 The flaps of her tent arc raised, and old Ned 
 Strutliers, hat in hand, looks in, asking in a mute 
 way permission to enter. The doctor sees him and 
 beckons him to her side. 
 
 Nannie hears his footstep as it crushes the straw be- 
 neath his weight, and, slowly oi)ening her eyes, looks 
 at liini in an indifferent, inquisitive way. Suddenly 
 they brighten ; she closes them as if to think — in a 
 minute opens them with a glad smile of affectionate 
 recognition lighting U[) her handsome, pale face, raises 
 her weak hand, beckons him to her, and as he takes 
 her little fingers into his brawny palm she pulls him 
 gently to her and whispers something in his ear. She 
 cannot speak loud. 
 
 Old Ned cannot keep back the tears as they slowly 
 run down his bronzed cheek and are lost in the shadow 
 of his beard. He has now knelt beside her and an- 
 swers her whispered question. 
 
 " Yes, little un ! I'm yer uncle — ycr loving uncle I 
 Got well, little un, and I'll take care on yer." He 
 could say no more. 
 
 She, poor little bruised body, turns to him a grate- 
 ful smile of affection, and again drawing him to her, 
 kisses his wrinkled old forehead, while the group who 
 are silent witnesses of the scene turn away their heads 
 in silent sorrow. 
 
 " Say, Doctor, can't we move her to sum more kum- 
 fortable (juartcrs? — to ther hotel? Her aunty lives 
 some twenty miles from yere, and I'll send for her." 
 
 Again Nannie opened her eyes, looking anxiously at 
 the doctor, but a shadow darkened the tent opening 
 and a young, handsome-faced man enters ; instantly 
 her eyes meet his, and she beckons him to her, and 
 drawing him down to her side, whispers a few Avords in 
 his ear. His face brightens, and turning to Ned —
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 559 
 
 who is curiously watching this hist scene — puts out a 
 hard, muscuhir hand as he says : — 
 
 " Mr. Struthers, Nannie tells me you are her uncle. 
 I am engaged to be married to Nan." 
 
 Old Ned eyed him curiously and doubtingly as he 
 replies : — 
 
 " Wal, sir ! what Nan tells yer is gospel truth. I'm 
 her uncle ; but about the other part of the bizncss I 
 ain't so sartin " — but seeing Nan's troubled face ap- 
 pealingly turned to him, he continues : " But Avas she 
 right? Nan oughter be married. Ef she was she 
 wouldn't be yere, a jumping on bar horses' backs, he 
 showing her — I mean, sir, she oughter be at hum, and 
 I'd do thar barback ridin' for ther crowd — thet is, our 
 leetle crowd, ter hum ; but 'sense me, we must move 
 Nan — what's yer bizness, sir? " 
 
 " I'm in the same business as Nan ; we were brought 
 up together, trained together, and next week we were 
 to be married." 
 
 " Together, I serpose? " laughingly answered Ned, 
 as he saw Nan brighten and smile at her intended's 
 words. 
 
 Nan was carefully removed to a hotel, the proprie- 
 tor of the circus defraying all the necessary expenses 
 of a large room and extra attendance. Old Ned was 
 about to start for his sister's, Nan's aunt, to attend 
 her, as the doctor had taken a more hopeful view of 
 her recovery if properly nursed, when he, entering the 
 bar-room of the hotel, preparatory to starting, was 
 suddenly made aware that he was the target of at least 
 a dozen eyes, all staring with a perplexed gaze at him. 
 First he thought it might be something in his dress, 
 but this he quickly ascertained was not so ; then he 
 surveyed his face in the mirror opposite, At last he 
 got angry.
 
 560 A ROMANCE OF THE RING. 
 
 " What arc yo all staring at? Do I owe cnny on 
 yer cnnything, ch? " He was defiant now. 
 
 " No, Mr. Struthcrs, you don't owe anybody hero 
 anything that I am aware of! We have congregated 
 here to congratulate you. We have heard you had re- 
 covered your niece and your mine, and wo come, as 
 fellow-townsmen, to congratulate you." It was the 
 town justice who spoke. 
 
 " My neese, parduer, I've diskivered, but ther mine 
 I wanter sell out to-morrow, and " 
 
 " Mr. Struthcrs, here's a telegram for you." A 
 messenger boy handed him a telegram. 
 
 *'Read that fir me, jidge, will yer?" And he 
 handed the telegram to the justice of the peace. 
 
 " Mr. Struthcrs, it is an offer from Col. Allston, of 
 San Francisco. He says : ' I will give you three hun- 
 dred thousand dollars and one quarter share for your 
 Red Gulch mine. Answer. Pay in cash.' That's 
 all, sir, only the news has been on the street for half 
 an hour ! ' ' 
 
 " Wal, I declare that's prime news I Let's take a 
 drink, l)oys. Squire, you jist answer that tillygram, 
 will yer? Tell Kurnel Allston I'll take the offer, and 
 he may send the cash yere. Say, boys, thet's gud 
 news, but I must tell my neese ! " 
 
 " Mr. Struthcrs, before you go will you tell us about 
 your niece ? " 
 
 "Sartlingly! Yer see boys, abeout fifteen years 
 agone my sister died an' left har leetle one — Nannie 
 was her name — left her with a widder woman in 
 'Fresco. I war away in Nevady ; hed only been gone 
 three months. The young un war only nine y'ars old, 
 an' wdicn I got thet news I war struck dumb. Yer see, 
 my sister hed heart disease. I started with my pack 
 mule fir 'Fresco, but whin I 'rived thar the young un
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE KING. 561 
 
 and the widder war gone. I hearn she hed gone to 
 
 Brazzel with her husband, a man named Kaflerty, a 
 
 sirkus performer, so I waited. Abeout thet time I 
 
 was takin sick with small-pox, and whin I got well I 
 
 could not get no news on thet young un, so I 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 I got on thar trail, found 
 
 this yere Eafferty hed her as his' n — or raether his 
 
 darter — got $200 a week fir her an' gave her nuthing, 
 
 so I lit on him yere to-day, drapped on him foul, and 
 
 ther war wolf meat in the 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. 
 **** ***** 
 
 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 me a happy woman and 
 Frank a happy man." 
 
 *' Yas, leetle un, I serpose so. It is better than 
 bar'-back riding, ain't it? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle. But how can I thank you for all the 
 wealth you have showered on me, and for the home 
 you have bought us?" again asked Nan, as she kissed 
 his happy face.
 
 562 
 
 A i;()MAN< H OF Tin: KINCf, 
 
 "Wall, Icctle nil, I don't kiiuU'r want ciiy thanks, 
 
 only pk'.se don't — I 
 niean et" ycr licv cny 
 children, Icetlc un, 
 don't trust 'cm ter 
 euy widdcrs ter sell 
 'cm out ter sirkus 
 pcoidc fur bar' -back 
 ridin'." 
 
 " You may be cer- 
 tain of that Uncle 
 Str u th er s, " an- 
 swered Frank, as he 
 kissed his bride. 
 
 " "Wall, I hope so. 
 Enyhow, if ycr do, 
 see they doesn't fall 
 from thar horse's 
 back into a rich un- 
 c 1 e ' s ])ockct — eh, 
 you little pet! " And 
 the carriaj^c stopped 
 in front of their new 
 home, hajipy, bright 
 and cheerful. 
 
 A HU3IAN PYUAMID.
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 LEAPING AND TIBIBLING. 
 
 One of the great features of all travelling tent-shows 
 and, indeed, in the long years a very prominent fea- 
 ture of the legitimate show when juggling, tumbling 
 and thino^s 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 aims 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- 
 ilous somersaulting with skilful riding, and the nearer 
 the performer goes towards breaking his neck the 
 better the people seem to like it. 
 
 The athlete who displayed his 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 acme 
 of physical perfection. The successful athlete, acro- 
 bat, or charioteer of two thousand years ago was a pop- 
 ular hero, and his triumphs, loves, and career were 
 immortalized in poetry and song. A successful ath- 
 
 (563)
 
 564 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 
 
 lete was then of more importance than tlio congress- 
 man of to-day. And yet the modern athlete, Avhile 
 occupying a much lower social scale 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 circus 
 arena now-a-days is counted a member of the corps 
 that does both grand niid lofty tumbling. In small 
 shows the corps of Icapcrs and tumblers is increased 
 by the addition of several dummies who can do little 
 more than turn a hand-spring or a forward somersault 
 either on the sawdust or from the spring-board. Many 
 of the best acrobats have begun their studies in the 
 open streets by walking on their hands 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 arenic profession. From the ranks of these 
 two classes some of the best acrobats and athletes 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 air without 
 alighting on their feet" — as the ring master usually 
 announces this act, in his most grandiloquent style — 
 were attcmjjtod itt the peril of young and frail necks. 
 So too with many horizontal l)ar and tra[)eze perform- 
 ers. But to come back to the loapors and tumblers. 
 The band gives a flourish and in lliey 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 TUMBLING. 
 
 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 reached, when the clown, 
 who is frequently as good an artist in the business as 
 
 the rest of his turablinsi: confreres, 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 the inner edge of the ring. A short in-
 
 5(l6 LEAPfNG AND TminLING. 
 
 tervnl, and the le:i})crs coino in, — tlio same men as 
 those who have done the tumbling, — how, and retire to 
 follow each other rapidly down an inclined plane, ])oimd 
 from the spring-board, and after a forward somersault 
 land safely and gracefully in the soft mattress beyond. 
 One, two, three, four,, and five horses arc 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 Icapers 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 is a 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 : 
 " L-.idies 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 can accomplish. Ladies and 
 gentlemen, Mr. Balchcllor," and Mr. Batchellor, who 
 is an excellent Icapor, and shares the championship 
 with Frank Gardner, formerly of Cole's show, but 
 now with Barnum, makes the leap in a clever and 
 comparatively easy manner. 
 
 This dilHcult feat, never executed, it is asserted, till 
 within the past one hundred years, can now be wit- 
 nessed at almost every first-class circus performance in 
 this country — but not always for the same distance 
 attained by Messrs. Batchellor and Gardner. Forty 
 years ago the Britisli i)er former who could throw a 
 double somersault was looked on as a wonder. The
 
 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 567 
 
 jvriter, some thirty-three years ago, saw Torakinson, a 
 famous British clown and acrobat, execute this feat 
 in Franconi's circus, then stationed for the season at 
 Edinburo;, ScotLand. It was the same Franconi who 
 afterward managed the hippodrome in New York in 
 1863-4, and the company was booked as first-chiss in 
 every respect. Tlie 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 Avhich 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 on the back, amid 
 the applause 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 ditficult by clearing a number of horses at the 
 same time. But soon a number of acrobats were able 
 to follow his example, and even excel 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 do it. The most surprising 
 and unexcelled feat of double somersault throwinij: was 
 that of the Garnella Brothers, who performed it in 
 variety halls and circuses a few years ac^o. 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 somersault by 
 other performers is accomplished liy a short spurt, a 
 spring-board, and no restriction as to the spot ol 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 that few 
 have even attempted it. Fame and fortune awaits any 
 performer Avho can do it, say twenty times in one 
 tentinf' season. Were it not that circus manaofcrs 
 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 w^ere it not, 
 too, a proven fact, it would seem that the laws of 
 gravitation and the limitations of physical dexterity 
 forbade the turning of a triple somersault except I)y 
 accident. In turning a double somersault off a spring- 
 board, it is necessary to make a leap at an angle of 
 about thirty degrees to obtain the necessary " ballast" 
 or impetus to turn twice. If an almost perpendicular 
 leap is made, the leaper would not have leverage 
 enough to turn. In order to make the doul)le somer- 
 sault the performer has to leap from the springboard 
 with all his might to get the proper angle as well as 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 hi<rher int.) fh^* -'ir.
 
 LEAPING AND TtTMBLING. 569 
 
 All American named Turner accomplished a triple 
 somersault once in this country and again in England. 
 He tried it a 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 ex-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 be in- 
 creased 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 diffi- 
 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 head being 
 heavier than his feet, he is very apt to light on it first 
 and break his neck. 
 
 The first recorded attempt to throw a triple somer- 
 sault in this country was made by a performer in Van 
 Amburgh's circus 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 & Gushing, the American 
 managers. In this company was M. J. Lipman, a fine 
 vaulter, Levi J. North, now in Brooklyn, New York, a 
 famous equestrian ; the late William O. Dale, a native 
 of Cincinnati, who died here, blind and broken down, 
 and who was an acrobat and equestrian of great 
 reputation, and Wm. J. Hobbes, a fine leaper. It 
 was previously announced that Hobbes would attempt
 
 570 LEAPIXa AND TUMBLIXO. 
 
 a triple somersault, and the house was jammed. lie 
 tried it, and "was instantly killed. The next to try it 
 was John Amor, who was born under the roof of Dan 
 Rice's father's domicile, near Girard, Pennsylvania. 
 Amor travelled for years in this country with Dan Rice's 
 circus, and in that day was considered the greatest 
 gymnast in America, if not in the world. He is said 
 to be the first performer in America to turn a double 
 somersault over four horses. In 1859 he went to 
 England and travelled with a circus all through the 
 united kingdom. In the salne year he attomi)ted to 
 turn a triple somersault at the Isle of Wight, but 
 landed on his forehead and broke his neck. 
 
 Billy Dutton, it is said, performed the great feat 
 while a member of Lake's circus, at Elkhorn, Illinois, 
 in 18t)(), at a rehearsal, in the presence of John Law- 
 ton, the famous clown, now with Robinson's circus. 
 Dutton was ambitious to have it to say he did it, and 
 did not make the attempt with the intention of repeat- 
 ing it. lie made the leap from a high spring-board. 
 Dutton said then he would not try it again, and that 
 his lighting upon his feet was an accident, as he could 
 not control his body after turning the second time. 
 Frank Starks, who was well known in Cincinnati, un- 
 dertook the feat at the fair grounds in Indianapolis in 
 1870, for a wager of $100. In the first attempt ho 
 turned three times, but alighted in a sitting posture. 
 Every one was satisfied with the result, and the money 
 was tendered him. lie proudly refused it, saying he 
 would repeat it, and light U[)on his feet before he felt 
 sufficiently justified in taking the $100. He did re- 
 peat it, but struck on his head, dislocating his neck, 
 and death resulted a few hours afterward. Bob Stick- 
 ney accomplished the great feat when fourteen years of 
 age, while practising in a gymnasium on Fourteenth
 
 LEAPING AND TUMBLING. 
 
 571 
 
 Street, New York. William Stein, an attache of 
 Eobinsoii's circus, was one of the persons who held 
 the blanket for him to alight upon. Sticknoy says he 
 believes he coukl do it again, but would not attempt it 
 for less than $10,000, c c 
 
 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 Co- 
 lumbus, when with 
 the Cooper & Bailey 
 Circus at Toledo, in 
 1860, not being sat- 
 isfied with turning 
 double somersaults, 
 tried to add another 
 revolution. He 
 turned twice and a 
 half, alii^hting on the 
 broad of his back, and was disabled for a short pe- 
 riod. The fiict that a triple somersault was ever accom- 
 plished before a circus audience, after due announce- 
 ment, and under the same conditions as double somer- 
 saults are performed — namely, landing on a mattress 
 — may be seriously doubted. The best informed cir- 
 cus 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 beeen accomplished except in that way. 
 
 BICYCLE RIDING EXTRAOR- 
 DINARY.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 
 
 I was ill 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, who 
 wanted them interviewed, they visited the newspaper 
 office. A very small reporter had been assigned to do 
 the talking, and he waited patient ly around the estal)- 
 lishment until a carriage 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 jriant 
 and giantess saw the diminutive reporter or not they 
 kept on coming in, and the scribe saw no other way 
 out of it than to dive into the ample recesses of the 
 basket, and nestle upon a bed of school-girl poetry, 
 statesmen's essays, and applications from last year's 
 and the coming year's college graduates, for manag- 
 ing editorship. There is a barbaric sesquepcdalianism 
 (which is a good long word to ring into a chapter about 
 six-storied people) and a prevailing atmosphere of 
 suffocation in such a waste-basket ; nevertheless, the 
 tiny re2)orter crouched closer as the Brobdignaggian 
 people approached with a labble that noised their heels 
 upon the iloor, their tongues against the roofs of their 
 mouths, and that made things look and sound as if all 
 the (piarreling powers of Europe had set their com- 
 (572)
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 573 
 
 bined forces clown in the Evening Post office for the 
 special purpose of driving tlie 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 a million 
 horse-power jackscrew, I should think, to raise the fal- 
 len hopes of the reporter just then. A man stands some 
 chance if a custom-house falls on him hurriedly, but 
 chance crushed to earth never rises a2:ain, when a ofiant 
 like this is threatening to make any easy-chair out of him. 
 I suppose nearly everybody has heard the funny story 
 about the fat woman and the living skeleton, in a New 
 York museum, who fell in love with each other. They 
 got along very nicely for a while, and were as affec- 
 tionate as if the two had pooled their issues of flesh, 
 blood, and bone, and divided up so that each tipped 
 the scale 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 a 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 
 was made aware of the fact. Then the monster that 
 is usually represented as green-eyed, took possession 
 of her. She kept a careful vigil of all " Skin-and- 
 bones' " doings, as she called him, until one day she 
 found him during the noon hour, with his lean arms 
 around the Circassian girl's neck, and his thin lips 
 glued to her pouting labials of cherry-red. It is ira-
 
 574 AN ADVENTURE -WITH GIANTS. 
 
 possible to describe the terrible manner in which she 
 swooped down upon Mr. Skeleton. It was enough to 
 say that she covered space with alarming rapidity, and 
 takiiigher thirty-pound husband by the back of the neck, 
 shook an Irish jig out of his rattling bones, after which 
 she threw him on the floor and deliberately sat upon him. 
 The vivacious showman who told this story said a mill- 
 stone could not have made a nicer sheet of wall-paper 
 out of the living skeleton, had one fallen on him, and 
 only for the buttons on his vest he could have been 
 pushed tiirough the crack under the door, after the fat 
 woman jjot throuMi with him. But to come back to 
 Capt. Bates, the table upon which he had seated him- 
 self groaned, and the little reporter moaned. The 
 fleetini? seconds were masruified into centuries, and the 
 man in the waste-basket afterwards told me that he 
 felt himself shrinking into somethinij: like a homoeo- 
 pathic pill. The tal)le, however, appeared to stand the 
 pressure a great deal better than the i)erson under it, 
 and it was sometime before the latter came to recon- 
 cile himself to the safety of his situation. When he 
 did so he peeped out. 
 
 The sight that met his gaze was a curious one. 
 There was the great towering giantess, of jjleasing 
 features and Avith nothinc^ofa " fcc-fo-fum " air about 
 her, quietly seated in the editor's chair, taking in the 
 situation as if she had l)een accustomed to the thing 
 since Adam's father was bald-headed. And there 
 were the editors and news-hunters gazing on admir- 
 ingly, with one or two of them particularly awe-stricken 
 and wild-eyed. But the background was the thing. 
 It was a circus in itself. At the doors and windows, 
 upon tables and chairs, and perched further up on the 
 top of an inoffensive and weak partition, as high as the 
 giant himself, was a ghastly array of gajjing mouths and
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH 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 
 were newsboys and boot-blacks till one couldn'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 : — 
 
 " I had a young fellow assigned to interview you, 
 Captain, but I don't know where he is just now." 
 
 "Perhaps he's gone 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 swung back and collided 
 with the waste-basket. To say it was a big foot would 
 be like calling the pyramid of Cheops a brick-bat or 
 the Colossus of Rhodes an Italian plaster-cast. They 
 say Chicago girls have big feet ; I don't know this to 
 be a fact, but if they have anything like the pedal 
 spread of Captain Bates they are entitled to the credit 
 generally given them of greatness in this 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, aud 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 "
 
 576 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 
 
 literature in which ho had been. Capt. Bates's greet- 
 inir was most kind, and so was that of his wife. The 
 reporter saw at once there had been no necessity for 
 his previous timidity, and managing to get within a 
 couple of yards of the giant's ear, he excused his 
 awkward and silly actions. A pleasant chat followed, 
 ill which the giant and giantess gave brief outlines 
 of their personal history. 
 
 Capt. Bates is now (1879) thirty-five years of age, 
 stands seven feet eleven and one-half inches in heiirht, 
 and Aveighs about four hundred and eighty pounds. lie 
 is well put together, handsome in features, genial in 
 speech, and has the reputation of being a sharp, 
 shrewd man of the world. ]Mrs. Bates is thirty-two 
 years old, of the same height as her husband, although 
 she really seems to bo 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 
 face as that constantly worn by her husband. She 
 says she likes the show business, because it brings 
 her in contact 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 before the 
 public. It has been his desire of late years to live in 
 private, quietly 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 ISSO, I think it was, a giant child was 
 born to this enormous couple The infant weiglied 
 twenty-eight pf)nnds at 1)irth. 
 
 After listening patiently to the Captain and his wife
 
 AN ADVENTURE WITH GIANTS. 577 
 
 as they spoke of themselves, the little reporter whom 
 I have introduced the reader to alreadv, sujjo-ested 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. I could not help 
 thinking, however, that a fellow must feel awful queer 
 with four hundred and odd pounds of sweetheart upon 
 his knee. Himalayan hugging going on all the time, 
 and lovc-sio;hs 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- 
 vice 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 nmst have gone- on, and ice cream eating, 
 })crhaps a plate as large as a Northland yoA'eZ at a time, 
 and no two spoons in it, either? Oh, but it must have 
 been a heavenly thing ! 
 
 "You weren't afraid of her big brother. Captain, 
 were you? " friendly interrogated the reporter, 
 
 *' Oh, no ; not at all," answered the Captain. - 
 
 " If you sat down on him once you could have sold 
 him for a bundle of tissue paper, couldn't you? " 
 
 " That is not it, my boy," said 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 splacmucks — as 
 the Brobdignaggians called ordinary mortals — who 
 are contemplating marriage with giantesses.
 
 578 AN ADVENTUKE WITH GIANTS. 
 
 ** I suppose Mrs. Bates does not wield an ordinary 
 rolling-pill?" the reporter half queried, addressing 
 himself to Capt. Bates. 
 
 *♦ No, indeed," the lady herself replied, laughingly. 
 *' I have one made expressly for my own use, from 
 one of the largest of the Yosemitc Valley trees." 
 
 "And you lay it on the old man now and then?" 
 the reporter asked. 
 
 " I can answer for that," put in the Captain. " She 
 sometimes brings it down so heavily on the rear eleva- 
 tion of my skull that it feels as if I had run against a 
 pile-driver on a drunk or lost my way under the h;im- 
 mers of a quartz mill." 
 
 Mrs. Bates certainly had the physical strength to 
 make a rolling-pin dance a lively jig in any direction, 
 and if the weapon is anything at all like what it is here 
 represented to be, Thor's celebrated hammer -will have 
 to go to the hospital as a weak and debilitated concern 
 until the gi<iiits lay their domestic difficulties aside and 
 retire permanently from active service. 
 
 •' It miist be a gigantic thing 'svhcn the Captain comes 
 home late at night, from the lodge, you know, falls 
 through the kitchen window into a pan of dishes, and 
 after stumbling up stairs goes to bed with his boots 
 on?" the reporter insinuated, as he looked sorrow- 
 fully at the giantess. 
 
 " Oh, he never docs that," said tiic lady ; and after 
 a minute she added, " and he'd better not." 
 
 The giantess looked knowingly at the giant who looked 
 down at the floor. My thoughts wreathed themselves 
 fondly around the Yosemite-tree rolling-pin, and I guess 
 Capt. Bates's thoughts were turned in the same direc- 
 tion. 
 
 "Nobody ever dares to write billet-doux to Mrs. 
 Bates," said the reporter. " I suppose you know
 
 AN ADVENTURE AVITII GIANTS. 
 
 579 
 
 circus and theatrical people are subject to that sort of 
 
 thillir. " 
 
 " Not any body that I know of, " the Captain an- 
 swered. 
 
 " And I suppose if anybodydid they wouldn't care 
 about having you 
 know it, either? said 
 the little Evening 
 Post man. 
 
 The Captain made 
 no reply, but a mys- 
 terious kind of look 
 crowded into his |i 
 eyes, and if anybody B 
 around the newspa- g^ 
 per office had dared =^^ 
 to entertain a spark i^ 
 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 I have 
 one more q[uestion I 
 would like to ask 
 
 you. It is about ho- _ 
 
 tel accommodations. giantess. 
 
 Don't jou occasionally have to hang your head or feet
 
 580 
 
 AN ADVKNTUUi: WITH GIANTS. 
 
 over the cmls of 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 
 s w e p t out of the 
 news[)aper office, and 
 stepping into their 
 carriage were driven 
 away. 
 
 Another notable 
 ir i a n t is Colonel 
 Routh Goshan, who 
 was born in the city 
 of Jerusalem, on the 
 .'>tli day of Ma}', '37, 
 of Arabian parents. 
 Ho is the youngest 
 of a family of 15 
 children, who like 
 himself, father and 
 mother were all gi- 
 ants, lie served 
 with distinction in 
 the Crimean war, 
 niid aflcrwards in the 
 Mexican army. 
 
 Colonel Goshen 
 stands? feet 1 1 inch- 
 es in his stocking 
 feet, and measures 
 75 inches jnonnd the chest, 25 inches around the arm, 
 and wears a 'So. 1 1 siioc. I lis ^vcight is (JHG pounds. 
 
 ^ 
 
 GIANT.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE *' TATTOOED TWINS." 
 
 WANTED —The address of some one who can tattoo with Indian ink on the 
 person. A. J. H., No. , th Street. 
 
 This advertisement appeared in a St. Louis Sunday 
 morning paper. 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 atti-acts one like a 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 along until he is per- 
 fectly lost in the maze of an aflectiou 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, I 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 half a dozeq 
 Chinese Tartars, who were industriously pricking him 
 with pointed instruments, which were ever and anon 
 dipped into the little basins of blackish-blue liquid. 
 The scene changed suddenly into a room at No. — 
 
 th Street, and the Tartars were metamorphosed 
 
 into a single individual of a decidedly Caucasian aspect, 
 
 (581)
 
 582 THE TATTOOED T\riNS. 
 
 but with features wrought in that indistinctness which 
 very frequently is eh:iracteristic of the shapes and 
 forms seen in waking dreams, and the Greek Captain 
 was rephiccd by an equally Caucasian subject, who was 
 quietly undergoing the operations of having his breast 
 tattooed in the most hivish and picturesque manner that 
 the artist knew how. This idea fastened itself in my 
 mind to such an extraordinary extent that merely for 
 the purpose of gratifying a certain instinctive curi- 
 osity, as well as to see if my suppositions were cor- 
 rect, I called at the house indicated next afternoon. 
 
 It was a large three-story boarding-house in a very 
 quiet part of the city, and situated romantically 
 enough to lend the coloring of fact to the picture I 
 had previously conjured up of the surroundings of the 
 
 jrcntleman who wanted to be tattooed, 
 c 
 
 A young girl opened the door, who knew nothing of 
 the person who owned the initials that appeared in the 
 advertisement. I explained that this was the number 
 and street — it .was certainly the right house — and 
 couldn't she recollect some name that besran with an 
 H. No, she could not. She did not think there was 
 any gentleman boarding in the house whose name be- 
 gan with an II, and then she recollected that there 
 had come to the house a few days before a man whose 
 name she did not know. She would call her mother. 
 "Ma! oh, ma!" rang down through the hallway, 
 and around behind tiie staircase, and down into the 
 dining-room, and up came the assuring response, 
 " I'll be there in a minute." Enter the landlady with 
 a wet towel on her head, and wiping her fingers on the 
 corner of her apron. In answer to the daughter's query 
 as to what the " new gentleman's " name was, she re- 
 plied, as if she had known him since the corner-stouo 
 of Cheops was laid, that he was Mr. Ilenneberry.
 
 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 583 
 
 Was he in? No, not just then, but he wouUl be back 
 in time for dinner, which would be spread in al)outhalf 
 an hour. Somewhat disappointed I replied that I 
 Avoukl take a walk around and call at the end of the 
 half hour, and was about to leave the door when a 
 voice was heard on the upper landing, and the words 
 " Hold on ! " shouted in a very peremptory manner 
 brought me to a halt. It was Mr. Henneberry, as I 
 soon ascertained, when a tall, stout, well-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 Avas 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 American sailer, so he says, and who 
 appears to be pretty expert. I rather like the man, 
 and I think he Avill about suit me. He 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, I 
 don'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? " 
 
 I bared my arm and exhibited a large death-head 
 and cross-bones, an American eagle, and a bust of 
 George Washington, which I had tattooed into me, 
 when young and fond and foolish, by a Greek sailor I 
 met in Milwaukee.
 
 584 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 
 
 *' That's pretty good," said Henneberry. " Where 
 did you learn the business — if I might call it a busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 Here I explained that an old sail-maker had taught 
 me the art and that, having aequired the modus oper- 
 andi of pricking the color into the flesh, I was perfectly 
 at home in the business, as I was also an experienced 
 sketch er. 
 
 Further talk followed, in which Mr. Henneberry 
 spoke of tattooing generally, but made no allusion to 
 the person to be tattooed nor the extent of the work to 
 be done. At last, as he rose from his chair, as a gentle 
 reminder that he had said about all he wanted to say, 
 remarked that I might call again, as lie had yet made 
 no detinitc arrangement with the man up-stairs and 
 probably would need two. 
 
 I went off chagrined, and wished that the old salt 
 with the broken leg, who had gotten in ahead of me 
 had broken his neck when he fell from the spar of that 
 South American sailer. I left the door whistlmg, "We 
 Parted by the River Side." 
 
 A saunter into a shady spot at a safe distance from 
 the house, and a mind made up to await the outcoming 
 of tiio successful rival, were the results of a sudden 
 insi)iration. An hour passed, a half more, three 
 quarters, and it was just about an even couple of hours 
 when out from the door of No. — , — th Street, limi)ed 
 a middle-aged, bent man, and he came directly towards 
 me. He passed me by, for about half a block, when I 
 caught up, and introduced the opening wedge of con- 
 versation by remarking that the weather was a little 
 cooler than folks around there had been used to for the 
 past month or so. 
 
 "Well, yes," was the reply, " but I don't mind it 
 so much. You see I've hove to in hotter })orts than 
 this'll ever be. That sui-troke period was Injun
 
 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 585 
 
 summer compared with the brimstun climate I've 
 pulled through. I've been along the African coast 
 when it was hot 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 fif- 
 teen minutes." 
 
 And then the crippled sailor told of other experi- 
 ences in other warm climates, and 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. I said I was going to do the same, and as soon 
 as we were seated on the shady side of the conveyance 
 I remarked in a careless, off-hand way : — 
 
 " You got ahead of me in that job down at Henne- 
 berry's, old man." • 
 
 He opened his eyes, looked at me half suspiciously, 
 and said: "Then you're the young man the gentle- 
 man was talking about to me. You went to see him, 
 this afternoon ?' ' 
 
 An affirmative was the answer. 
 
 " Well, you needn't be so put out. He ain't en- 
 gaged nobody yet. At least he ain't closed with me. 
 You see, he's a bit scary. Didn't he tell you what he 
 wanted ? ' ' 
 
 *' Yes. At least, he left me to infer that he wanted 
 either himself or somebody else tattooed." 
 
 "All over?" 
 
 " I thought that was what he meant." 
 
 " Well, blast his jib ! He made me make all sorts 
 o' promises not to open my port-hole about it." 
 
 " It is a very funny project, isn't it? " asked the re- 
 porter. 
 
 "Oh, no, not at all. I've been at it afore. I 
 worked at a man up in Canada for about three months 
 and got him nigh half done, when he died."
 
 580 TIIK TATTOOED TWINS. 
 
 "It's ji pretty dangerous operation, this tattooing? " 
 was the next gentle insinuation. 
 
 "Yes, sometimes. But IIennc1)crry can stand it. 
 He looks as if he had the constitution and he appears 
 to be reckless of the consequences. He wants to bo a 
 show-fellow. He's struck on it, just the same as that 
 Canada chap who kicked. He's got an idea that 
 there's money in it, and he's always talkin' about that 
 Grecian chap as is with the circuses, you know." 
 
 " How long will it take to do the job? " 
 
 "Well, that I don't exactly know. He talks of 
 havin' two of us at it. ]\Iaybe you're the other fellow, 
 and he's in a stormy hurry al)out havin' it finished up, 
 and wants a fellow to stay in the house with him all 
 the time so that he can take his tattooini; just when he 
 feels like it. Are you good in drawin' dragoons, ilyin' 
 fish, elephants, boey constrictors and sich, young 
 man?" 
 
 I replied that I was an adept in delineating animals 
 of the sort named. 
 
 "Then I guess he'll want you. I used to be a 
 pretty good drawer myself afore I fell fi-om that South 
 American, but my hand shakes no little now ; l)nt you 
 just lay the lines, and if I don't stick 'em in as clean 
 as a copper }jlate, my name ain't Jack Hogan." 
 
 " What will he pay for the job? " 
 
 "Well, I asked $(;()() calc'latin' six months would 
 do it, but he brought me down to $if)0 and will pay 
 my l)oard and lodgiiT. That ain't l)ad." 
 
 The reporter coincided witJi Jack Hogan that it 
 appeared to be a pretty good thing. 
 
 "And you don't git your money down cither. He 
 wants to be fixed up from the soles of his feet to near his 
 shirt collar and wristbands, in the house where he is 
 now, and then he's goin' oil' to some quiet spot and
 
 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 587 
 
 have his face and hands and even his ears 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." 
 
 «' I can'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 circus 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- 
 uable 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 a young man who 
 stopped over in Albany one evening last summer on 
 his way from Saratoga to his home in Syracuse. His 
 name is Henry 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 ran away from home, shipped on a merchant vessel 
 which was trading among the Washington Islands in 
 South Pacific. While there he underwent the tattoo- 
 ing process, which he described as the most painful 
 torture ever endured.
 
 588 THE TATTOOED TWINS. 
 
 " IIow was it done, and by whom? " ho was asked 
 by a reporter. 
 
 " By the natives, and with six needles fastened to a 
 stick. Do you see them (showing the backs of his 
 hands and wrists)? There is a lady's face on one and 
 a man's on the other. Vermilion red and indigo blue 
 were used, being pricked in with the needles. Now you 
 see that the work is executed just as neatly and per- 
 fectly as it could possibly ])e on the human skin. 
 Well, it took weeks before the design was finished, 
 and it had to be pricked over a number of times." 
 
 *' It must have been painful." 
 
 " It was. But then I had no choice but to sub- 
 mit." 
 
 " Why, were you compelled to undergo the tattoo- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Hardly that, but it was wiser to do so." 
 
 "IIow could natives execute the work so per- 
 fectly?" 
 
 " They used designs given them by a sailor named 
 John Wells, who belonged to an English vessel. 
 Those on my wrist are not so i)erfect as on other por- 
 tions of my body." 
 
 " Did they tattoo you all over? " 
 
 "All except a small portion of the left leg above the 
 ankle." 
 
 The designs so ineffaceably worked into Frumell's 
 skin arc numerous and beautiful, and some of them so 
 appropriate to the young man's nationality that it is 
 difficult to imagine how a South Pacific savage, even 
 with an English sailor for an advisor, should have se- 
 lected such fitting pictures. On his back, extending 
 from shoulder to shoulder, and from the nape of the 
 neck downward was a spirited illustration of two ships 
 in action. Below it is a snake with protruding fangs
 
 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. 
 The 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, and he says that he 
 does 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 
 burninfi:, but without avail.
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 Before cnterinjr the menao^crlc let us look at the 
 huire cimiioii standiiiiji: here outside the dressin^^-tent. 
 It looks like a ponderous affair, but investigation shows 
 that it is made of wood. There is a latitudinal slit 
 at the lower end and a lever. It requires an effort to 
 push the lever back which indicates that there is a 
 pretty strong spring in the bottom of the cannon. 
 This is the piece of ordnance that Zazel is shot out of 
 into a uet some distance away. She lies on her back in 
 the cannon, which is tilted to an angle of al)out forty- 
 five dcirrees, assumes a rijjid position, and at the word 
 fire the lever is pulled back, the spring released, a 
 pistol is fired, and while Zazel is coming through the 
 air a little cloud of smoke rolls from the cannon's 
 mouth and is swept away almost l)efore she lands on 
 her back in the net. Sig. Farini says Zazel is his 
 daughter. Barnum savs that when he was in London 
 where Zazel was doing the cannon act, creating a 
 great furore, the pretty little French girl c.inio to him 
 crying and asked to bo taken away. She was only 
 irettinir about six dolhirs a week for the perilous work 
 she was doing and Farini was (bawing a large salary 
 out of wliich she got this pittance. 
 
 SiiT. Farini also owns the Znlns that have appeared 
 here. As their manager he is well paid for them, and 
 as the Zulus sh'('[) in the menagerie tent and have but 
 few wants and he gives them about a dollar a day — 
 
 (590)
 
 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. 
 Amono; the crowds who thron2:ed 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, a music teacher by occupation, and 
 the daughter of a Mr. Corsini 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 dausfhter and a negro, and did evervthing 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 her 
 promise to obey him and leave the Zulu he changed 
 his mind and took her home. But she again met 
 Charley and, accompanied 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
 
 592 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 ceremony l)ctwccn the right parties. The newly mar- 
 ried couple then went to the museum, where the 
 bridegroom took part in the usual Zulu war-dance. 
 
 The tattooed Greek Costentenus Avith his picture- 
 covered flesh is always an ol)ject of admiration to the 
 ladies. He says he was tattooed into his present 
 shape by Chinese Tartars and tells a harrowing story 
 of his sufTerinss. 
 
 The torturing doesn't seem to have impaired his 
 health or bothered his ai)petite any. He is a magnifi- 
 cent looking man physically and in his unstripped con- 
 dition is a figure that the eye of an artist would de- 
 light to dwell u[)on. His only rival is a lady who 
 is now on exhil)ition in England and whose breast 
 and upper and lower linil)s are covered with tattoo- 
 ing. I do not know her history, but she probably 
 submitted to the process to make money out of 
 it. Dr. Lacassagne, a French physician, has pub- 
 lished a book on the habit of tattooing as 
 practised in the French army. Tliere are profes- 
 sional tattooers in Paris and Lyons who charge half a 
 franc for each design. Generally the tattooer has car- 
 toons on paper and reproduces these on the skin by a 
 mechanical i)rocess. Large designs cost a good deal ; 
 a big representation of an Indian holding up the flag 
 of the United States costs the decorated person fif- 
 teen francs. China ink is the coloring substance pre- 
 ferred, touched up with vermilion. Dr. Lacassagne 
 has collected one thousand throe luuidnKl and thirty- 
 three designs, tattooed on three hundred and seventy- 
 ciirht members of the Second African Battalion or on men 
 imder arrest in military j)risons. Many were tattooed 
 on every part of the body except the inner side of the 
 thighs. Patriotic and religious designs and inscrip- 
 tions amounted to ninety-one. There were two hun-
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 593 
 
 dred and eii^hty 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 
 servants rushing to their heads. The great efforts of 
 art 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- 
 triotic and religious emblems are cited two devils, nine 
 theological virtues, six crucifixes, two sisters of char- 
 ity, three heads of Prussians, not flattered, and five 
 portraits of ideal girls 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 the pansy is generally preferred. The sesthetic 
 classes will be grieved to hear that not a single lily a^3- 
 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 swiniring around the sawdust circle with 
 their old friend Barnum. Gen. Thumb is the most 
 successful dwarf the world has ever seen. He is rich 
 and as happy as if he and his wife were as tall as 
 Captain and Mrs. Bates, the giant and giantess whose 
 immense forms loom up above the crowds that throng 
 the menagerie tent. I have written elsewhere about 
 captain and his wife. 
 
 "Tummy T'um is ze worst blufi" at pokair I ever 
 saw," said Campanini one day, in a confidential mood ; 
 " I ride wiz heem in sefenty-seex from Pittsburg to 
 Veeling, and he loose me elefen dollars on a pair of 
 deuces. Ze Generale is a bad man at ze national 
 game."
 
 594 IX TIIK MENAOEIIIE. 
 
 Campanini, it is well known, is exceedingly economi- 
 cal, and the loss of eleven dollars he gulped down as 
 well as he could, sinking it away below the region of 
 his lower rejjistcr. It was a misfortune he will never 
 1)C able to forget entirely, but General Thomas Thumb 
 is a perfect basilisk to the distinguished tenor. When- 
 ever their shows exhibit in the same town the singer 
 looks up the dwarf and challenges him to a game of 
 chance. They last met in St. Louis, a short time 
 before Campanini's departure for Europe, and oddly 
 enough they settled on a game of billiards, although 
 probably for prudential reasons on Campanini's 
 part, as it was impossible for Tom Thumb to win such 
 a disastrous sum as eleven dollars from the Italian at 
 that manly game. 
 
 The game took place in the principal billiard-room of 
 St. Louis, and it was rendered doubly interesting l)y the 
 fact that Charles Maplcson, faultlessly attired, kept 
 the talley. A great crowd was soon attracted into the 
 room, and the only regret of the two distinguished 
 players was that they had not charged a general 
 admission, reserved seats extra. 
 
 As the game proceded Campanini grew excited, and 
 the sonorous notes of his full, rich voice resounded 
 through the corridors of the great hotel. This, in 
 turn, irritated the General, and his weak, })iping tones, 
 with a tinge of anger in them, contrasted .strangely 
 with the Italian's. The crowd laughed, and Cam- 
 panini unconsciously exhibited some of tiie richest 
 treasures of his stock-in-trade, while the General grew 
 desperate and absolutely tried to reach across the 
 table. 
 
 ♦' Fcfteen," shouted Campanini. 
 
 Failing in his first etfort, the General again tried to 
 accomplish the impossible.
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 595 
 
 " Fefteen," Campanini shouted once more. 
 
 Just theu Charles stepped forward and offered to 
 lift up little Hop-o' My Thumb. 
 
 " Who is playing this game, anyhow? " the General 
 fiercely demanded. 
 
 ♦* Fefteen," again shouted Campanini. 
 
 "That makes three times the bloody Italian has 
 said < fefteen,' " Thumb remarked, reo^aining his lost 
 temper, and then to Campanini' 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. 
 
 The "Wild Ape of Borneo " seems 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 huirged 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 in a smack tliat more than discounted 
 the old minstrel joke about the sound resembling the 
 noise made by a cow pulling her hoof out of the mud. 
 It was no 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 climbino^ one of the 
 quarter-poles, all the females in the neighborhood 
 shrieked, and the males began to dive under their 
 seats. At last a gentleman rushed up with drawn re-
 
 590 
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 volver and fired a shot close to the ape's ear, where- 
 upon he at once abandoned his osculatory efforts, and 
 made his escape. 
 
 A curiosity that has been before the pnblic for 
 almost twenty years is the *' two-headed woman ," 
 
 Millie Christine. The fact of the matter is tiiat there 
 are two women joined together l)olow the waist, but as 
 they have a sinirle piiy.sical organization their manager 
 has seen fit to call them one. This freak of nature is 
 more astonishing than were the Siamese twins or the 
 Ilunirarian sisters. Tiio two-headed woman was born
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 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 girls, all of ordinary size and without deformity. 
 The " tAvo-headed woman" will be best understood 
 by redding an extract from a lecture by Prof. Pan- 
 coast of the Jeiferson Medical College, Philadelphia. 
 The Professor examined this curiosity and discussed 
 upon the subject before a large gathering of medical 
 men. In introducing Millie and Christine, he said he 
 considered them the most interesting monstrosity of 
 their class that has ever come under the notice of 
 scientific men, far more interesting than the 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, each 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. Touchingthem on any extreme of the body, on any 
 foot, for example, both in common were conscious of 
 the touch. Christine has been and is now the larger 
 and stronger of the two. As children they used to
 
 598 IX THE MENAOEUIE. 
 
 have little struggles and (quarrels for suprcinacy, l)ut, 
 as they could not got away from each other, they early 
 concluded that the best way to get along in their novel 
 path through life was to yield to each other. Their 
 present happiness and allcction for each other is an 
 example for couples who are 3'^oked together in marital 
 bonds. Sometimes Christine rolls over Millie in bed 
 without awakening her. Both can sleep separately. 
 They can stand and walk on their outside legs, but 
 they prefer to walk on all fours. Millie cannot lift up 
 Christine's legs, or Christine Millie's legs. Since the 
 Hungarian sisters, there has been no similar case re- 
 ported reaching adult life for one hundred and seventy 
 years. The bond of union between these, which is 
 just above the bones of the spine, is chiefly cartilagin- 
 ous, but the spines are so closely approximated that 
 there is an osseous union between them. To the ques- 
 tion by Professor Pancoast, whether either was engaged 
 to bo married, each denied the soft impeachment with 
 decision, though the Professor explained that physi- 
 cally there are no serious objections to the marriage 
 of Her or Them ; but morally there was a most de- 
 cided one. Durino the Professor's lecture the Misses 
 Christine Millie and Millie Christine api)eared very 
 much interested in tho diagnosis of their sinirular con- 
 dition and evidenced their superior intelligence by 
 their apt and ready answers. 
 
 Turning from the human to the zoological branch of 
 the exhibition, we find the usual assortment of animals 
 from the moidvcy up to Jumbo, the elephant, who is only 
 one of a dozen in the possession of his owner. All jier- 
 forming elephants arc well trained, and there is scarcely 
 one that cannot ligure in the ring, responding to the 
 good advice of the trainer, as the keepers often style 
 themselves. The monkeys are always a source of
 
 IN THE MENAGEUIE. 
 
 599 
 
 amusement, and never loose their drawing power. 
 Thej are intelligent animals, but the inclination they 
 have for mischief makes them quite dangerous. They 
 tell a funny story about an actor out West who had a 
 pet monkey that he carried with him wherever he 
 
 JUMBO. 
 
 went, even to the theatre. Jocko appeared to be per- 
 fectly harmless, and as he had been at the theatre 
 night after night without making trouble, his master 
 never dreamed that he would do anything out of the 
 way. Imagine his surprise therefore when one night 
 as he was in the midst of a comedy part down came
 
 600 IN TIIK MENAORRTE. 
 
 Jocko tVom the " flies " with :i false face he had filched 
 out of the property-room. His appearance brought 
 down the house and the play was spoiled. 
 
 A traveller in Japan writing about the amusements 
 there tells us of a very remarkable Sigmian specimen. 
 He says : "There is an unpretentious show, costing 
 one cent to witness, that is full of interest to those 
 who have leanings toward Darwin's theory of the 
 origin of mankind. It has a trained monkey of no 
 mean attainments. The creature stands upright about 
 three feet high, a well-developed and intellectual- 
 looking monkey, which \v\\\ go through all the postur- 
 ing known to the famous India-rul)ber man, and some 
 that that famous individual could not throw himself 
 into, but the crowning feat that he has been taughf i» 
 to dance the Ja})anese dance to perfection, taking the 
 exact step, having the correct sway of the body, keep- 
 ing time faultlessly, and using his arms and hands in 
 exact accord with the movements of the feet. It is 
 difficult to realize that a dumb brute can be educated 
 as completely as this creature is. Oscar Wilde and 
 this monkey would make a strong partnership in the 
 platform business, for the monkey is certaiidy an 
 lesthete — " a darling and a daisy." 
 
 If any reader wants to l)uy a menagerie he can ob- 
 tain his curiosities from dealers in New York or Europe. 
 He must have plenty of money though, as the ])riees 
 of animals range high, as will be seen in the following 
 figures: An elephant may be had for $1G,00() ; lion 
 and lioness with cage, $9,000; sea cow, $8,000; })air 
 of large leopards and two smaller ditto, $5,000 ; Aus- 
 tralian kangaroo, $2,000 ; Australian wombat, $12,000 ; 
 ostrich, $1,000; rf)yal tiger, $r),000; sacred camel, 
 $2,000 ; rare birds, monkeys and lesser animals, in-
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 601 
 
 eluding those of American nativity, $20,000 ; total, 
 $60,000. 
 
 Among the rarest animals, says a writer on this sub- 
 ject, are the hippopotamus and the gnu, or horned- 
 horse. A first-class hippopotamus is worth five or six 
 thousand dollars, an elephant from three to six thou- 
 . sand dollars, a giraffe is worth about three thousand 
 dollars, a Bengal tiger or tigress will bring two thou- 
 sand 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 
 price-list shows that, although expenses may be heavy, 
 receipts are proportionately large, and that it does not 
 require many large beasts to make a good business for 
 one trader. A New York house in three years sold 
 twenty lions, twelve elephants, six giraffes, four Bengal 
 tigers, eight 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 alone, exclusive of the smaller show- 
 beasts, such as monkeys, and exclusive also 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 elephant is always in demand, and sells, 
 whether it be male or female, large or small, " trick" 
 or otherwise. Ostriches, 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 are not the only 
 creatures that eat glass. Heller or Houdin — I forget 
 which of these magicians — found a taste among Ori- 
 ental jugglers for pounded glass, which they ate in
 
 602 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 largo qunntitics. A trial by the Caucasian trickster 
 developed the fact that glass was not only not injuri- 
 ous when taken in reasojuiblc doses, but that it served as 
 an appetizer, stimulating the stomach to hunger after 
 food. There are two species of ostrich known to the 
 trade, the black and the gray ; both are very strong, 
 fleet, and practically untamable. Lions, tigers and 
 leopards form constituent attractions of almost all 
 menageries, and are too familiar to need description. 
 It may be here remembered, however, that peo})le who 
 deal with these creatures find that there is compara- 
 tively little danger to themselves to be dreaded from 
 either lions or lionesses. These animals never attack 
 any human being, save when excessively hungry ; and 
 when enraged, from any cause, always show such visi- 
 ble signs as put their keepers on their guard ; whereas, 
 the opposite of these statements is true in regard to 
 tigers and leopards — the latter especially, which are 
 regarded by those in the trade as the most dangerous, 
 cruel and treacherous of all the beasts with which they 
 are brought in contact. American lions or jaguars, 
 and American or Brazilian tigers are very fierce, un- 
 tamable and stronir, altliou<j:h inferior in size to the 
 lion or tiger proper. Of monkeys and baboons little 
 more than has already been saiil need be repeated here. 
 There are al)out one hundred and fifty dillerent species 
 of these creatures, the most intelligent of which is the 
 ringtailod monkey, and the most stupid, that variety 
 known as the lion monkey, from its being gifted, 
 instead of brains, with a long mane. The variety of 
 deer and antelope are numerous, and always find ready 
 purchasers ; the genuine antelope will bring two or 
 three hundred dollars in the market. 
 
 A show of wild animals is one thing, and a very 
 good thing sometimes ; but the same number of wild
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 603 
 
 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, as 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 maybe, 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 cage-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 — his mane. 
 Next box to this you will find a lioness, about the same 
 age as her 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 peace 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 partner, and every now and then 
 gives the lioness a bit of his 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 
 hunting leopards, as playful as young kittens, which
 
 G04 IN THR MKNAOERtE. 
 
 spend their time in culling to the cats of the noighbor- 
 hood, the lower one being the scene of the imprison- 
 ment of a full-grown, very handsome, very cross 
 leopardess, who is always snarling and seeking whom 
 or what she may devour. This latter beat^t has a 
 special antipathy to a young lad who has charge of her, 
 and tries half a dozen times a day to make mince-meat 
 of him. On the opposite side are a number of boxes, 
 containing monkeys of various species and baboons. 
 One of these monkeys is a jovial female, christened 
 Victoria, and is one of the most expert pickpockets in 
 New York, which is saying a great deal. Vic can 
 relieve a visitor of his watch and chain or pocket-book 
 in a manner most refreshing to a monkey and moralist 
 to witness, and although as ugly as sin is as quick as 
 lightning. Next door to this klei)tomaniac ape is a 
 hai)py family of monkeys — father, mother and baby — 
 who live together lively as clams at the turn of tide. 
 On the ground, at a little distance, lies another box, 
 which contains a monster bal)oon. This fellow is 
 called Jonas, and is, without exception, the ugliest 
 individual in existence to which the Almighty has ever 
 given a shape — such as it is. These big apes are fre- 
 quently palmed off on the public for gorillas ; they are 
 strong as giants, gentle as lambs, and can be taught 
 tricks like dogs. As in the case of canines, severity 
 and kindness are resorted to in training them. Prof. 
 Harry Parker, in speaking to mo about educating his 
 dogs, said he rarely used the Avhij) upon them, but 
 endeavored, by i)roperIy feeding and speaking kind 
 words to them, to make them obedient to his com- 
 mand, still the whip must be used. Dogs that hop 
 around on two f(!et have their little limbs lashed from 
 under them until they almost feel the sting of the raw- 
 hide in tiie tone of the trainer's voice. Clown doirs.
 
 IN THE MENAGERIE. 605 
 
 which have recently been prominent features of circuses 
 and variety shows, are taught to go through every 
 article that is put down upon the floor by their 
 masters ; that is why they squirm through a hoop, run 
 under and overturn chairs, pass under bundles and 
 upset the leaping basket that is used in dog circuses. 
 Prof. Parker and Prof. Willis Cobb, I may here 
 remark, are the best dog-trainers in the country, and 
 both have large and fine collections of educated cani- 
 nes. 
 
 In 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 is 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 cataloo;ue of cao;es 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-eaters in the collection are fed only once a day — 
 at noon — and cost about a dollar per day to feed ; the 
 fruit-eaters, like the elephant, eat all the time, as fancy 
 prompts ; while the vegetarians, like the monkeys, take 
 their three square meals a day. As a rule, all animals 
 enjoy a better average of health than man, because 
 they have no acquired tastes or dissipated habits. The 
 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 made in the menagerie tent ; but the figures all 
 seem broken or enfeebled by long usage, and instead of
 
 (506 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 being; attractive, many of them arc repulsive. How 
 different from Madame Tnssaud's exhibition — the 
 prototype of all the efforts that have been made in the 
 wax-work line ! A correspondent who visited this dis- 
 play many years ago, when the display hud a world- 
 wide fame, wrote : — 
 
 " Madame Tnssaud's famous exhibition of wax stat- 
 uary and works in wax afforded me a very entertaining 
 evening's occupation. Here are full-length portraits 
 in wax of all the notables of the world ; Queen Victo- 
 ria, Prince Ali)ert, the royal children, George IH., 
 Queen Charlotte, George IV., William IV., George 
 II., Louis XIV., Emperor Louis Napoleon and his 
 empress in their bridal costume, Henry VIII., Cardi- 
 nal "Wolsey, all the present sovereigns of P^urope, Kos- 
 suth, Gen. Tom Thumb, etc., nurnl)ering nearly two 
 hundred figures in all, so artistically arranged and so 
 well executed that the effect upon the visitor on enter- 
 ing is the same as on comini; into a jjrand drawing-room 
 filled with noble ladies and gentlemen. So perfect is 
 everything that you look to hear the figures speak, and 
 can hardly convince yourself that they do not move. 
 
 "The second room of Madame Tnssaud's exhibition 
 is called the Robe Room, which contains the figure of 
 George IV. wearing the order of the Garter. This 
 robe was worn by his majesty in the i)rocession to 
 Westminster Abbey, at his coronation. To the right 
 of this is the robe the same monarch Avore at the open- 
 ing of Parliament, and on tlie left the robe worn hy 
 the King in returning to Westminster Abbey after the 
 coronation. The cost of these three robes was about 
 $90,000. The third room of the exhibition is called 
 the Golden Chamber, and contains relics of the Em- 
 peror Napoleon, among which is the camp bedstead 
 used by Napoleon during his seven years at St. Helena,
 
 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 Ell)a ; the 
 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 campaign 
 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 
 Ee volution, among which are the instruments by which 
 the unfortunate Louis XIV. was beheaded, as also 
 Robespierre and others. These are but a few of the 
 many curious and interesting objects to be seen at this 
 exceedingly entertaining exhibition ; and I passed sev- 
 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 be, always has much within its cages 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 time its pictures 
 and pages seem as fresh and entertaining as they were 
 in the beginning. So, too, the collection of curiosi- 
 ties, that now-a-days form a very important part of 
 every tent-show, never loses its attraction for the 
 public. Gray-haired men who in boyhood looked, 
 open-mouthed and astonished, into the den of lions, 
 still find the same pleasure in contemplating these
 
 608 IN THE MENAGERIE. 
 
 wonderful beasts from a safe distance, and take dclii^ht 
 in making their children acquainted with them. The 
 tangled forests and matted iunsjles of new re2:ions are 
 constantly giving up new specimens of wild animal 
 life ; and with the old reliable attractions still plen- 
 tiful, and startling novelties occasionally coming to 
 the surface, there is every reason to believe that the 
 menagerie will retain its i)resent hold upon the hearts 
 of the people, and last as long as there is canvas in 
 the world to cover one or color enoujjh to fill an ordi- 
 nary stand of bills. 
 
 Now we have seen about all there is to see. Passing 
 out and by the side-show blower with his fat woman 
 and lean man, his glass blower and Irish Circassian 
 girls, his juggler, and the heartless l)and of music he 
 has playing at one end of his dirty tent ; we move 
 down the street, the sound of the side-show music dies 
 out, the canvas fades behind the house-tops, and we 
 have left the show world with all its sunshine and 
 shadow, its laughter and tears.
 
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