PRIVATE THEATRICALS; ACTING PROVERBS AND CHARADES.

Wherever the amateur actor pitches his tent or erects his stage, he
must consider wisely the extraneous space behind the acting arena
necessary for his exits and entrances, and his theatrical properties.

In an ordinary house the back parlor, with two doors opening into the
dining-room, makes an ideal theatre; for the exits can be masked, and
the space is specially useful. One door opening into a large hall is
absolutely necessary, if no better arrangement can be made. The best
stage is, of course, like that of a theatre, with areas all around and
behind it, so that the actors have a space to retire into. This is
difficult in a parlor, unless it be a very large one. The difficulty,
however, has been and will be solved by the ingenious. Drawing up the
big sofa in front of the footlights, and arranging a pair of screens
and a curtain, has often served well for a parlor play.

It is hardly necessary to say that all these arrangements for a play
depend, in the first place, on the requirements of the play itself and
its legitimate business, which may demand a table, a bureau, a piano,
a fireplace, etc. And here we would say to the youthful actor, Select
your play at first with a view to its requiring little change of scene,
and not much furniture. A young actor needs space; he is embarrassed by
too many chairs and tables. Then, again, choose a play which has so
much varied incident in it that it will, as it is said, “play itself.”
Of this branch of our subject we will treat later.

The first thing to be built is the stage. Any carpenter will lay a few
stout boards on end-pieces, which are simply squared joists, and for
very little money will take away the boards and joists afterward; or
a permanent stage can be built for a few dollars. Sometimes ingenious
boys build their own stage with old boxes; but this is apt to be
dangerous. Very few families are without an old carpet, which will
serve for a stage-covering; and, if this is lacking, green baize is
very cheap. A whole stage-fitting--curtains and all--can be made of
green cambric; but it is better to have all the stuffs of woolen, for
the danger from fire is otherwise great. Footlights may be made of tin,
with pieces of candle put in; or a row of old bottles of equal height,
with candles stuck in the mouth, make a most admirable and very cheap
set of footlights. The mother, an elder brother, or some one with
judgment, should see to all these things, or the play may be spoiled by
an accident.

The curtain is always a trouble. A light wooden frame should be made
by the carpenter; firm at the joints, and as high as the stage, to the
front part of which it should be attached. This frame forms three sides
of a square, and the curtain must be firmly nailed to the top-piece.

A stiff wire should be run along the lower edge of the curtain, and a
number of rings be attached to the back of it in squares--three rows
of four rings each, extending from top to bottom. Three cords are now
fastened to the wire, and, passing through the rings, are run over
three pulleys on the upper piece of the frame. It is well for all young
managers of garret theatres to get up one of these curtains, even if
they have to hire an upholsterer to help them. The draw-curtain never
works surely, and often hurts the _dénoûment_ of the play. In the case
of the drop-curtain which we have described, one person holds all the
ends of the cords, tied together; and, on pulling this, the curtain
goes up and down as if by magic, and rarely gets out of order, which is
a great gain.

Now as for stage properties. Almost any household, or any
self-respecting garret, will hold enough of “things.” If it does
not, let the young actors exercise their ingenuity in making up,
with tinsel-paper and other cheap material, all that they will want.

Turnips, properly treated with a jackknife, have heretofore served for
Yorick’s skull in the great play of “Hamlet.” A boy who knows how to
paint can, on a white cotton background, with a pot of common black
paint, indicate a scene. If he be so fortunate as to know a kindly
theatrical manager who will let him for once go behind the scenes, he
will find that the most splendid effects are gained by a very small
outlay. As for the theatrical wardrobe, that is a very easy matter, if
the children have an indulgent and tasteful mother, who will help a
little and lend her old finery.

A brigand’s costume (and brigands are very convenient theatrical
friends) is easily arranged. Procure a black felt hat, fastened up
with a shoe-buckle; a bow and a long feather; a jacket, on which Fanny
will sew some brass buttons; one of mamma’s or sister’s gay scarfs,
tied round the waist several times; an old pair of pantaloons, cut off
at the knee, and long stockings, tied up with scarlet ribbons; a pair
of pumps, with another pair of buckles, and any old pair of pistols,
dirks, or even carving-knives, stuck in the belt, and you have, at very
small expense, a fierce brigand of the Abruzzi.

Girls’ dresses are still easier of attainment. But the great trouble in
the dressing of girls for their characters is the frequent inattention
to the time and style of the character. A young lady who plays the part
of Marie Antoinette must remember the enormous hoops which were a part
of the costume of the unlucky queen. She must not be content to merely
powder her hair. She must remember time, place, circumstance, and dress
herself accurately, if she wishes to produce a proper dress. A lady
once wore in the part of Helen of Troy, for private theatricals in New
York, a pair of high-heeled French slippers, with the classic _peplum_.

A gentleman of archæological tastes declared that he could not stay in
a house where such crimes were committed against historical accuracy!

She should have worn the classic sandal, of course--not modern black
slippers.

The “make-up” of a character requires study and observation. In
the painting and shading of faces, adaptation of wigs, application
of mustaches and whiskers, there is much to be done. A box of
water-colors, a little chalk, camel’s-hair pencils, a saucer of rouge,
a burnt cork, and some India ink, all are useful. If these can not be
got, one burnt cork, aided by a little flour, will do it all. Mustaches
can be made by borrowing mamma’s old discarded artificial curls,
cutting them off to a proper length, and gumming them on the upper lip.

The hair of a good old Newfoundland dog has served this purpose. A very
pretty little mustache can be painted with India ink. However, if near
a barber or a hair-dresser--or, still better, a costumer--it is well to
get ready-made mustaches, which come of all colors, already gummed. If
the make-up of an old man is required, study a picture of an old face,
and trace on your own face with a camel’s-hair pencil and India ink the
wrinkles, the lines of an aged countenance. Make a wig of white cotton
if you can not hire one of gray hair.

If a comic face is needed, stand before a glass and grin, _watch the
lines_ which the grin leaves, and trace them up with a reddish-brown
water-color. Put on rouge particularly about the nose and eyes. A
frown, a smile, a sneer, a simper, or a sad expression, can always be
painted by this process. The gayest face can be made sad by dropping a
line or two from the corners of the mouth and of the eyes.

For a ferocious brigand, cork the eyebrows heavily, and bring them
together over the eyes. If you wish to produce emaciation or leanness,
cork under the eyes, and in the hollow of the cheek (or make a hollow),
and under the lower lip. To make up a pretty girl, even out of a young
man’s face, requires only some rouge and chalk and a blonde wig. There
should be also a powdering about the eyebrows, ears, and roots of the
hair. There should be a heavy coat of powder on the nose, and after
the rouge is put on, a shower of powder over that. All will wash off
without hurting the complexion. For a drunkard or a villain, purple
spots are painted on chin, cheek, forehead, and nose.

The theatrical wardrobe, to be complete, should have several different
wigs, and as these can not be made well except by an artist in hair, we
recommend the actors to lay out all their spare cash on these adjuncts.

Having dressed for the part, the acting comes much more easily. No one
knows the effect of dress better than the real actor, who calls it “the
skin of the part.”

The lines to be spoken should be committed most thoroughly to memory.

Without this no play can be a success. Each performer should write out
his own part, with the “cues,” or the words which come directly before
his own speeches, and commit the whole to memory. When the performer
hears the words of the cue, the words of his own part come to his lips
immediately.

The exits and entrances, and what is known as “stage business,” are
always difficult to beginners. The necessity of closets, etc., in
a small stage, places to retire to, and the like, can be managed,
however, by screens, and these are so useful in all private theatricals
that one should be made, six feet high by three feet wide, hinged, and
covered with wall-paper, before any plays are attempted.

We are describing the very cheapest and most unsophisticated private
theatricals--such as those which school-boys and girls could get up in
the country, or in a city basement or garret, with very little money
or help from their parents. And these are the ones which give the most
pleasure. Expensive and adroitly-conducted theatricals, in a city where
experts can be hired to do these things, have no lasting charm. It is,
as in all other things, _the amount of ourselves_ which we put into
anything which makes us enjoy private theatricals. And in a city, grown
people have the privilege of the best theatricals, beside which all
amateur efforts are lamentably tame. But a party of fresh young people,
full of the ichor of youth, can with the slightest help produce the
most delightful effects with very simple means.

Young girls are too apt, in playing private theatricals, to sacrifice
character to prettiness. Now this is a fatal mistake. To dress a
part with finikin fineness, which is to be a representation of quite
different sorts of qualities, is poor art. Let them rather imitate Miss
Cushman’s rags in Meg Merrilies, or Bastian Le Page’s homely peasant
simplicity in Joan of Arc. Remember, the drama is the mirror of nature,
and should produce its strong outlines and its deep shadows. It is in
this realism that men surpass women. The college theatricals, in which
all parts are played by men, are by far the best.

In selecting a play, amateurs should try and find one, as we have
said, which “plays itself.” They should not attempt those delicate and
very difficult plays which only great artists can make amusing. They
should select the play which is full of action and situation, like “The
Follies of a Night,” or “Everybody’s Friend.” The most commonplace
actors fail to spoil such plays as these; and there are for younger
performers hundreds of good plays, farces, and musical burlesques
to be found at every book-store. “Naval Engagements,” “A Cure for
the Fidgets,” “The Two Buzzards,” “Betsey Baker,” “Box and Cox,” “A
Regular Fix,” “Incompatibility of Temper,” “Ici l’on parle Français,”
“To oblige Benson,” are among the many which really help the amateur,
instead of crushing him.

But no one who is not a first-rate actor should attempt “Two can play
at that Game,” “A Morning Call,” “A Happy Pair,” or any of those
beautiful French trifles which look so easy, and in the hands of good
actors are so charming, for they depend upon the most delicate shades
of acting to make them even passable.

For those players of a larger growth, who attempt the very interesting
business of amateur theatricals on a more ambitious plane, we can
illustrate our meaning as to plays which “play themselves” by two
instances:

“Ici l’on parle Français” gives the two amusing situations of a man
who is trying to speak French with the aid of a phrase-book, and the
counterpoise of a Frenchman who is trying to speak English in the same
fragmentary manner. Their mutual mistakes keep the house in a roar; and
almost any clever pair of young men can assume these two characters to
great advantage. They each have an eccentric character mapped out for
them, and very little shading is necessary.

Again, for a very much more poetical and entirely different range of
part, but yet one which “plays itself,” we would suggest “Pygmalion
and Galatea,” Gilbert’s beautiful and poetical play. Here we have the
great novelty of a young lady disguised as a marble statue. She can be
“made up” with white powder and white merino drapery to look very like
a marble statue, and a powerful white lime-light should be thrown on
her from above. There is a tableau within a play to begin with, and
something novel and interesting. The marble statue, however, at the
very start becomes endowed with life, steps down from her pedestal,
walks forward to the footlights, talks, and receives the homage of a
lover. Now, almost any pretty and intelligent maiden can make this part
very interesting. She needs nothing but grace and a good memory to do
this Galatea well. The part plays itself.

The same young actress could not do Lady Teazle--that delightful and
intricate bit of acting, so dependent upon stage tradition and stage
training that old theatre-goers say that in fifty years only five
actresses have done it well. Still less could she approach the heroine
in the “Morning Call” or the young wife in “Caste.” These parts demand
the long, severe stage training of an accomplished artist. The Galatea
is assisted by the novelty of the position, by the fact that every
young maid is a marble statue, in one sense, until Love makes her a
woman, so that each person may give a strikingly individual portrait;
and, above all, it is a play which is a new creation, and therefore
capable of a new interpretation.

We do not advise amateurs to undertake Shakespeare, unless it be
“Katherine and Petruchio,” which is so gay and scolding that it
_almost_ plays itself.

The very beautiful comedies of Robertson seem very easy when one sees
Mr. Wallack’s company play them; but they are very difficult for
amateurs. They depend upon the most delicate shading, the highest art,
and the neatest finish.

The sterling old comedies--all excepting “The Rivals”--are almost
impossible, even those which are full of incident and full of costume.

Their quick movement seems to evade the player; and what is so terrible
to the listener as to endure even a second’s suspension in the “give
and take” of a comedy? “The Rivals,” strange to say, is a very good
play for amateurs.

Boucicault’s farces and society plays run very well on the amateur
stage. Lady Gay Spanker is not a difficult part. Bulwer’s “Lady of
Lyons” should never be attempted by amateurs. It becomes mawkishly
sentimental in their hands. But Charles Reade’s “Still Waters run Deep”
is excellent for amateurs; and “Money” runs off rather more easily than
one would suppose.

Amateurs are very fond of “A Wonderful Woman,” but we can not see
much in it. “The Wonder” is very picturesque. It is one of the plays
which plays itself; and the Spanish costumes are beautiful. The
famous comedies, “My Awful Dad,” “Woodcock’s Little Game,” and “The
Liar,” should be studied very thoroughly by observation and by book
before being attempted by amateurs. The “Little Game” has two very
hard parts to fill, Mrs. Colonel Carver and Woodcock; still it has
been done moderately well. For a parlor comedy, “The Happy Pair” is
a great favorite; and “Box and Cox” can be done by anybody, and is
always funny. Music helps along wonderfully, as witness the immortal
“Pinafore,” which has been played by amateurs to admiration for
hundreds of admiring audiences.

A stage manager is indispensable. In getting up ambitious plays in
a city, which the courageous amateur sometimes attempts, an actor
from the theatre is generally hired to “coach” the neophytes. In the
country, some intelligent friend should do this, and he can properly
be arbitrary. It is a case for an absolute monarchy. The stage
manager must hear his company read the play over first, and tell John
faithfully if he is better fitted for the part of the lackey rather
than that of the lover. He must disabuse Seraphina of the belief that
she either looks or can play the _ingenu_, and relegate her to the part
of the housekeeper. We all have our natural and acquired capabilities
for various parts, and can do no other.

Then, after reading the part, comes the rehearsal; and this is the
crucial test. The players must study, rehearse, rehearse, study,
and not be discouraged if they grow worse rather than better. There
is always a part lagging, and the dress rehearsal is invariably a
discouraging thing. But that is a most excellent and advantageous
discouragement if it inspire the actors to new efforts. Nothing can
spoil a private theatrical attempt like conceit and self-satisfaction.

The art is as difficult a one as playing on the violin; and, although
an amateur may learn to play pretty well, the distance between him and
a professional is as great as that between an amateur violinist and
Vieuxtemps. The amateur must remember this fact.

“Acting proverbs” is an ingenious way of suggesting an idea by its
component parts rather than stating it outright. The parts are not
written, but merely talked over, and are often done by clever young
people on the spur of the moment. It is well, however, to consult
beforehand as to the argument of the play. The books are full of little
plays written upon such proverbs as “All is not Gold that Glitters,”
“Honor among Thieves,” “All is Fair in Love and War,” etc. But we
advise young people to take up less well-known proverbs, and to write
their own plays. They might learn one or two as a sort of exercise, but
the fresh outcrop of their own originality will be much better. The
same may be said with the acting of charades.

A dramatic charade is a very ingenious thing, and a very neat little
play in four acts can be made from the word AB-DI-CATE. A B, of course,
presents a school scene. And at a watering place, if some witty man
or woman will represent the schoolmaster or schoolmistress, all the
pupils can be the grown men and women who are well known. The entrance
of a fashionable mamma, her instantaneous effect on the severity of the
teacher, the taking off the fool’s-cap from the head of Master Tommy,
who has been in disgrace--all will cause laughter and an opportunity
for local jokes. This is Act I. Di can be represented by the _dyeing_
process of a barber who has to please many customers; or “The _die_ is
cast”; or an apposite allusion to Walter Scott’s “_Die_ Vernon”; or
some comico-tragico scene of “I can but _die_.” This is Act II. Cate,
to “_cater_,” “_Kate_”--for bad spelling is permitted--all these are
in order. This is Act III. The last act can be the splendid pageant of
a Turkish _Abdication_, in which a sultan abdicates in favor of his
son. All the camel’s-hair shawls, brilliant turbans, and jewelry of the
house and neighborhood can here be introduced with effect.

Charades in which negroes, Irish or German people, or anybody with a
dialect, enter in and form a part, are very amusing if the boys of the
family have a genius for mimicry. Amateur minstrels are very funny. The
getting up of a party of white men as black men is, however, attended
with expense. The gift of singing a comic song is highly appreciated in
the family circle of amateur dramatists, and a little piece with songs
is very sure to be acceptable.

If every member of the party will do what he can, without any
false shame, or any egotistical desire to outdo the others, if the
ready-witted will do what they can to help the slow-going, and if the
older members of the family will help along, these amusements will
cheer many a winter’s evening, many a long rainy week, and will improve
all who are connected with them; for memory and elocution, good manners
and a graceful bearing, are all included in the playing of charades,
proverbs, and the little dramas.