Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 June 1886 — Behind the Scenes. [ARTICLE]

Behind the Scenes.

It is the first night of the season. All is in readiness for an opening night’s representation. The company’s members answer to well-known names upon the “stock lists.” They have been engaged with much care and due consideration of properly supporting the eminent and worldrenowned actress who gives her name to the company.

Upon the stage, the first scene is set, every rope, every slide is in place. The carpenter has ceased his hammering and the paint-pots are at rest. There must be no waits on this first night. Faint and soft from beyond the heavy curtain may be heard the orchestra playing the opening overture. There is a subdued palpitation in the atmosphere which indicates nervous anticipation and restrained excitement. Tbe ladies and gentlemen have patiently submitted, during the last month, to multitudinous rehearsals, eagerly availed themselves of all new “business” the efficient stage manager has suggested, and to-night it, as well as themselves, is to be put to the test, and they can not tell how they will do until it is done. The oldest veteran loses confidence.

In the dressing-rooms above the stage, on a level with the flies, all is bustle. The star’s room is sacred from intrusion, but in the ladies’ general room the gas jets glare and flash within their globes of wire, rouge-pots, pow'der-boxes, pencils, wigs, etc., litter ever}’ available spot. The “old woman” is padding out her young, slim hips; the “leading lady” is drawing in her rather matronly waist, and the “maid in waiting” is assorting some stage jewelry. A knock at the door, and it is unceremoniously pushed ajar by the “first walking gentleman,” who imparts the valuable information that if they will “put a small round dash of black just below the lower lid, at the outside corner of each eye, it will make them look as large-as saucers.” It is received with disdain, and he is peremptorily ordered out, vowing he will never give them another point. A bell sounds, the curtain rises, and all is quiet around the

stage as tho play proceeds. Shortly upon the narrow stairs leading from the dress-ing-rooms, the “old .man” buttonholes a young reporter and is giving him “copy.” “I have appeared in *ll the principal cities, supported the most noted 6tars,” you can hear him say, his voice raising as he proceeds. “I am letter-proof in lago and Claude Melnotte; and” —assuming a heroic, tragical tone of voice—“if I can not play Othello better than Mr. Bnstup.yon may take this” —tapping his forehead lightly—“from this,” at the same time throwing out his broad chest and loudly slapping himself in the region of his heart. The reporter disappears, apparently in a state of collapse caused by the bare idea of such a possibility, no one can tell which possibility. The play moves on, a door opens and closes above, light Bteps sound near the stairs. It is the “soubrette,” a pretty, modest, young girl. She has had some experience in slightly abbreviated skirts, but this is her first appearance in tights. To-night she takes the part of a page. She has made her toilet with elaborate care. There is not a wrinkle in the fine silk webbing that encases her round, straight limbs. Every ribbon is in place. The plume in her little cap waves gracefully erect. Reaching the steps, she hesitates, then runs back, and you might hear her murmur, “How can I ever go down? The audience does not alarm me. but those people on the stage, how they will criticise me!” Presently she reappears, wrapped in the Newmarket cloak she has worn to the theater. She descends with a painful assumption of indifference. It is some time before she must go on; she has come down early to become accustomed to it. She stands around in the flies. “How can I over take off this cloak?” is her mental cry. But here comes “the star,” regal, dazzling, and panting with excitement. Her most trying scene is just finished. She is RECALLED AGAIN and again. At last she turns back for the last time. Her sharp eye catches sight of the little “soubrette.” She comprehends tho situation v ith a glance, and, holding out her hand, says: “Ah! my dear, let me see how you look.” The bright girl takes the cue instantly. She throws off the cloak, doffs her cap, drops on one knee, and kisses that friendly hand. The lady, raising her, exclaims: “Beautiful! Magnificent! You look just like a prince!” The embarrassment is all passed. The queen has spoken. There is now no need to be afraid. One of her smallest but most appreciative audiences has had a glimpse of the kind, generous woman hidden beneath the robes of the stage artist, the star. —Chicago Ledger.