The Peace Egg and Other tales Part 10

G.o.d SAVE THE QUEEN.

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--I.

IN A LETTER FROM BURNT CORK TO ROUGE POT.

MY DEAR ROUGE POT,--You say that you all want to have "theatricals"

these holidays, and beg me to give you some useful rules and hints to study before the Christmas Play comes out in the December Number of _Aunt Judy_.

I will do my best. But--to begin with--_do_ you "all" want them? At least, do you all want them enough to keep in the same mind for ten days or a fortnight, to take a good deal of trouble, whether it is pleasant or not, and to give up some time and some of your own way, in order that the theatricals may be successful?

If you say Yes, we will proceed at once to the first--and perhaps the most important--point, on which you will have to display two of an actor's greatest virtues--self-denial and good temper:--

THE STAGE-MANAGER.

If your numbers are limited, you may have to choose the one who knows most about theatricals, and he or she may have to act a leading part as well. But by rights _the stage-manager ought not to act_; especially as in juvenile theatricals he will probably be prompter, property-man, and scene-s.h.i.+fter into the bargain.

If your "company" consists of very young performers, an elder sister is probably the best stage-manager you could have. But _when once your stage-manager is chosen, all the actors must make up their minds to obey him implicitly_. They must take the parts he gives them, and about any point in dispute the stage-manager's decision must be final.

It is quite likely that now and then he may be wrong. The leading gentleman may be more in the right, the leading lady may have another plan quite as good, or better; but as there would be "no end to it" if everybody's ideas had to be listened to and discussed, it is absolutely necessary that there should be one head, and one plan loyally supported by the rest.

Truism as it is, my dear Rouge Pot, I am bound to beg you never to forget that _everybody can't have everything_ in this world, and that _everybody can't be everything_ on the stage. What you (and I, and every other actor!) would really like, would be to choose the play, to act the best part, to wear the nicest dress, to pick the people you want to act with, to have the rehearsal on those days, and that part of the day, when you do not happen to want to go out, or do something else, to have the power of making all the others do as you tell them, without the bother of hearing any grumbles, and to be well clapped and complimented at the conclusion of the performance. But as this very leading part could only be played by one person at the expense of all the rest, private theatricals--like so many other affairs of this life--must for everybody concerned be a compromise of pains and pleasures, of making strict rules and large allowances, of giving and taking, bearing and forbearing, learning to find one's own happiness in seeing other people happy, aiming at perfection with all one's might, and making the best of imperfection in the end.

At this point, I foresee that you will very naturally exclaim that you asked me for stage-directions, and that I am sending you a sermon. I am very sorry; but the truth really is, that as the best of plays and the cleverest of actors will not ensure success, if the actors quarrel about the parts, and are unwilling to suppress themselves for the common good, one is obliged to set out with a good stock of philosophy as well as of "properties."

Now, in case it should strike you as "unfair" that any one of your party should have so much of his own way as I have given to the stage-manager, you must let me say that no one has more need of philosophy than that all-powerful person.

_The stage-manager will have his own way, but he will have nothing else._

He will certainly have "no peace" from the first cry of "Let us have some private theatricals" till the day when the performance ceases to be discussed. If there are ten actors, it is quite possible that ten different plays will be warmly recommended to him, and that, whichever he selects, he will choose it against the gloomy forebodings of nine members of his company. Nine actors will feel a natural disappointment at not having the best part, and as it is obviously impossible to fix rehearsals so as to be equally convenient for everybody, the stage-manager, whose duty it is to fix them, will be very fortunate if he suits the convenience of the majority. You will easily believe that it is his painful duty to insist upon regular attendance, and even to enforce it by fines or by expulsion from the part, if such stringent laws have been agreed to by the company beforehand. But at the end he will have to bear in mind that private theatricals are an amus.e.m.e.nt, not a business; that it is said to be a pity to "make a toil of a pleasure"; that "boys will be boys"; that "Christmas comes but once a year," and holidays not much oftener--and in a general way to console himself for the absence of defaulters, with the proverbial philosophy of everyday life, and the more reliable panacea of resolute good temper.

He must (without a thought of self) do his best to give the right parts to the right people, and he must try to combine a proper "cast"

with pleasing everybody--so far as that impossible task is possible!

He must not only be ready to meet his own difficulties with each separate actor, but he must be prepared to be confidant, if not umpire, in all the squabbles which the actors and actresses may have among themselves.

If the performance is a great success, the actors will have the credit of it, and will probably be receiving compliments amongst the audience whilst the stage-manager is blowing out the guttering footlights, or showing the youngest performer how to get the paint off his cheeks, without taking the skin off into the bargain. And if the performance is a failure, nine of the performers will have nine separate sets of proofs that it was due to the stage-manager's unfortunate selection of the piece, or mistaken judgment as to the characters.

He will, however, have the satisfaction (and when one has a head to plan and a heart in one's work, it _is_ a satisfaction) of carrying through the thing in his own way, and sooner or later, and here and there, he will find some people who know the difficulties of his position, and will give him ample credit and _kudos_ if he keeps his company in good humour, and carries out his plans without a breakdown.

By this time, my dear Rouge Pot, you will see that the stage-manager, like all rulers, pays dearly for his power; but it is to be hoped that the difficulties inseparable from his office will not be wilfully increased by

THE ACTORS.

They are a touchy race at any time. Amateur actors are said to have--one and all--a belief that each and every one can play any part of any kind. Shakespeare found that some of them thought they could play _every_ part also! But besides this general error, each actor has his own peculiarities, which the stage-manager ought to acquaint himself with as soon as possible.

It is a painful fact that there are some people who "come forward"

readily, do not seem at all nervous, are willing to play anything, and are either well provided with anecdotes of previous successes, or quite amazingly ready for leading parts, though they "never tried acting," and are only "quite sure they shall like it"--but who, when the time comes, fail completely. I fear that there is absolutely nothing to be done with such actors, but to avoid them for the future. On the other hand, there are many people who are nervous and awkward at first, and even more or less so through every rehearsal, but who _do not fail at the pinch_. Once fairly in their clothes, and pledged to their parts, they forget themselves in the sense of what they have undertaken, and their courage is stimulated by the crisis.

Their knees may shake, but their minds see no alternative but to do their best, and the best, with characters of this conscientious type, is seldom bad.

It is quite true, also, that some actors are never at their best till they are dressed, and that some others can put off learning their parts till the last moment, and then "study" them at a push, and acquit themselves creditably in the play. _But these peculiarities are no excuse for neglecting rehearsals, or for not learning parts, or for rehearsing in a slovenly manner._

_Actors should never forget that rehearsals are not only for the benefit of each actor individually, but also of all the characters of the piece as a whole._

A. and B. may be able to learn their parts in a day, and to act fairly under the inspiration of the moment, but if they neglect rehearsals on this account, they deal very selfishly by C. and D., who have not the same facility, and who rehea.r.s.e at great disadvantage if the other parts are not properly represented too.

And now a word or two to the actors of the small parts. It _is_ a disappointment to find yourself "cast" for a footman, with no more to do than to announce and usher in the princ.i.p.al personages of the piece, when you feel a strong (and perhaps well-grounded) conviction that you would have "made a hit" as the Prince in blank verse and blue velvet. Well! one must fall back on one's principles. Be loyal to the stage-manager. Help the piece through, whether it is or is not a pleasure and a triumph for you yourself. Set an example of willingness and good-humour. If to these first principles you add the amiable quality of finding pleasure in the happiness of others, you will be partly consoled for not playing the Prince yourself by sympathizing with Jack's unfeigned pride in his part and his finery, and if Jack has a heart under his velvet doublet, he will not forget your generosity. It may also be laid down as an axiom that _a good actor will take a pride in making the most of a small part_. There are many plays in which small parts have been raised to the rank of princ.i.p.al ones by the spirit put into them by a good actor, who "made" his part instead of grumbling at it. And the credit gained by a triumph of this kind is very often even beyond the actor's deserts. _From those who play the princ.i.p.al parts much is expected, and it is difficult to satisfy ones audience, but if any secondary character is made pathetic or amusing, the audience (having expected nothing) are willing to believe that if the actor can surprise them with a small part, he would take the house by storm with a big one._

I will conclude my letter with a few general rules for young actors.

_Say nothing whatever on the stage but your part._ This is a rule for rehearsals, and if it could be attended to, every rehearsal would have more than double its usual effect. People chatter from nervousness, explain or apologize for their mistakes, and waste quite three-fourths of the time in words which are not in the piece.

_Speak very slowly and very clearly._ All young actors speak too fast, and do not allow the audience time to digest each sentence. _Speak louder than usual, but clearness of enunciation is even more important. Do not be slovenly with the muscles of the lips, or talk from behind shut teeth._

_Keep your face to the audience as a rule._

If two people talking together have to cross each other so as to change their places on the stage, _the one who has just spoken should cross before the one who is going to speak_.

_Learn to stand still._

As a rule, _do not speak when you are crossing the stage_, but cross first and then speak.

_Let the last speaker get his sentence well out before you begin yours._

If you are a comic actor, _don't run away with the piece by over-doing your fun. Never spoil another actor's points by trying to make the audience laugh whilst he is speaking._ It is inexcusably bad stage-manners.

If the audience applauds, _wait till the noise of the clapping is over to finish your speech_.

_Rehea.r.s.e without your book in the last rehearsals_, so as to get into the way of hearing the prompter, and catching the word from him when your memory fails you.

_Practise your part before a looking-gla.s.s, and say it out aloud._ A part may be pat in your head, and very stiff on your tongue.

The Green-room is generally a scene of great confusion in private theatricals. Besides getting everything belonging to your dress together _yourself_ and in _good time_, I advise you to have _a little hand-basket_, such as you may have used at the seaside or in the garden, and into this to put _pins_, _hair-pins_, _a burnt cork_, _needles and thread_, _a pair of scissors_, _a pencil_, _your part_, _and any small things you may require_. It is easy to drop them into the basket again. Small things get mislaid under bigger ones when one is dressing in a hurry; and a hero who is fl.u.s.tered by his moustache having fallen under the washstand well out of sight is apt to forget his part when he has found the moustache.

Remember that _Right and Left in stage directions mean the right and left hand of the actor as he faces the audience_.

I will not burden you with any further advice for yourself, and I will reserve a few hints as to rough and ready scenery, properties, &c., for another letter.

Meanwhile--whatever else you omit--get your parts well by rote; and if you cannot find or spare a stage-manager, you must find good-humour and common agreement in proportion; prompt by turns, and each look strictly after his own "properties."