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HOME FUN

HOME FUN
BY
CECIL H. BULLIVANT

NEW YORK
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
214-220 East 23rd St.

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY

PREFATORY NOTE

Not to produce workers of wonders or exponents of marvelous mysteries; not to launch on an already over-crowded market a host of professional or semi-professional entertainers—but rather to give to those who can find real pleasure in amusing others, such knowledge as shall enable them to transform the lagging winter hours into periods of sheer delight, has this book been written.

While in no sense does it claim to be an exhaustive guide to home amusements, it represents a serious effort to bring within the scope of one volume almost every form of popular home diversion.

The subjects have been dealt with from a simple but perfectly practical point of view. In addition to the different accomplishments being so explained as to be easily comprehended and acquired, the successful presentment of them is made possible at a minimum of expense. The greatest difficulty which formerly faced the amateur entertainer was the heavy cost of production, but even the most expensive form of amusement explained in the following chapters comes well within the modest “pocket-money bounds” of the average boy.

It is hoped that in “Home Fun” will be found much that is entirely new concerning subjects about which little or nothing has hitherto been written. Whereas the paths so well trodden by authorities on entertaining are here more or less passed over, excursions are made into equally fascinating by-ways, an acquaintance with the delights of which cannot fail to win success and widespread approval for the promoter of entertainments at home.

That those who follow the many chapters on subjects so amusing and diverse may obtain from them as great pleasure as he who has compiled them is the sincere wish of the author.

Cecil Henry Bullivant.

CONTENTS

HOME FUN

CHAPTER I
AMATEUR THEATRICALS

Stage Construction and Home-made Scenery

A great many people are deterred from embarking on the sea of amateur theatricals for the reason that the expense and trouble incurred in providing an adequate stage, and in finding plays suitable for amateurs, seem to outweigh other considerations.

The following hints and suggestions, then, are not intended for the lordly Thespians who would aspire to flaunt their histrionic powers in public assembly-room or civic town-hall. For them there are those who make it their business to erect stages, provide “swell” scenery, and all the paraphernalia required.

It is, of course, possible to act without a stage proper at all, especially if you happen to live in a house that boasts a double drawing-room with folding doors, in which case a curtain would also be a superfluity, for the doors could be closed and thrown open when the audience are in their places, though if a curtain should be deemed necessary it would be an easy matter to fix a rod from door to door.

But before going on to the description of how to erect a stage of a more pretentious character, it might be as well to offer a word or two of warning. Remember that private theatricals are rather apt to turn a house upside-down, so that before the performance is given it is of importance to see that all breakables are stowed away, and that superfluous furniture is disposed of.

If you are going to turn your drawing-room into a theater, take care that your guests can enter without having to pick their way in and out of needless chairs and tables. Details such as these may seem trivial. They are, nevertheless, just the things that may make or mar an entertainment.

Above all, let there be harmony. Once having chosen your stage-manager, see to it that his word is law. Nothing is more galling or disastrous than for every one to try and “boss the show.” And if expense has to be considered, do not try to be too elaborate with your accessories.

It is, nevertheless, possible for any one to erect in any drawing-room of average dimensions a stage that will be found perfectly adaptable to plays made adequate for it, and that without calling in the aid of any professional carpenter or stage furnisher.

The stage can be constructed in the following simple manner:—Hire a number of ordinary benches or stout boxes of equal dimensions, and on these superimpose lengths of scaffold-boarding or planks. These latter should be of equal thickness throughout, in order that a perfectly level staging may be obtained. The whole may be made quite secure by the judicious use of nails, although care should be taken that no damage is done to the benches, or this will have to be paid for when they are returned. A floor covering of felt or linoleum will also prove serviceable.

The Drop Curtain

An essential piece of stage furniture for amateur theatricals is the drop curtain. It can be made from two equal widths of some serviceable material such as dark cretonne, supported by brass rings on a stout bamboo rod, to either end of which are attached large steel eyes (A, A, [Fig. 1]).

Fig. 1.—Back view of drop curtain.

The bamboo rod should be cut to such a length that when the eyes have been added, the whole can be fixed to steel hooks screwed into the picture-molding on either side of the room. Should any difficulty be experienced in procuring a rod of sufficient length, the difficulty may be overcome by the use of two shorter pieces joined at the middle by iron sockets.

In the case where it is intended to give the performance in either a schoolroom or a small hall, a curtain of much greater size and of stouter material would be required, and this latter can be supported on a length of strong gas pipe held in position by brackets nailed to the wall at each end.

The arrangement for raising or lowering the curtain is shown in the [diagram], in which A A is the rod. A number of small brass rings are then sewn to the back of the curtain, as at A X and A E. Top rings, much larger, are also attached to the curtain and passed along the rod. Cord is next run from X and E respectively through the rings at A, and allowed to hang loose as at D. The bottom of the curtain should be weighted with shot.

Four screens, two on each side, can also be requisitioned for the wings, and a small steady table placed in each recess ([Fig. 1a]) for moderator lamps—preferably of the self-extinguishing pattern, in case they should be upset by an untoward accident—to make up for the deficiency of footlights, though these can be provided by the aid of a little ingenuity, e.g. candle reading-lamps with shades and reflectors begged or borrowed from accommodating neighbors. Tin cans cut in half, and night-lights will serve the purpose equally well. Here, again, the inventive genius of the promoters of the enterprise will have to be called into play.

Fig. 1a.—Showing arrangement of screens for exits and entrances.

All risk of fire should be obviated as much as possible, and appliances for the swift extinction of a blaze near at hand.

By the judicious arrangement of the screens it will be possible to provide for exits and entrances on both sides of the stage.

Home-made Scenery

Scenery, as a rule, proves a great barrier to the would-be promoters of amateur theatrical enterprises. The purchase of suitable surroundings for the presentation of various scenes is a luxury only to be indulged in by the well-to-do. In fact, to carry out an ordinary play on these lines involves the expenditure of many dollars. It is hoped that the practical instructions given here will not only avoid such unnecessary and perhaps unwarrantable expense, but will also tend greatly to increase the interest of those taking part in the work.

Where scenery is required, it is as well to confine oneself to a play that takes place indoors, though, of course, it is possible even without a back-drop to give a praiseworthy presentment of an open-air scene by means of a plain background, against which are fastened boughs of trees, while the judicious grouping of greenhouse plants can be used at the sides, plus a plain green felt underfoot to add to the effect. However, even these small items run away with money. Cut boughs fade and need replacing, and this mode of constructing scenery will often be found by the would-be economist to cost more than he can reasonably afford.

Of course, for those who care to do so, proper mounted scenery all ready for use may be purchased, but undoubtedly the better plan is for the stage-manager to endeavor to find from amongst the members of his company one or two who are expert in the use of tools. Generally there are many such available, and by the aid of the following diagrams and explanatory notes a most useful interior box scene (comprising five “flats” which fit together and form the whole) can be constructed at a cost certainly not exceeding $5.00.

By repapering and making other obvious alterations, such scenery can be transformed as necessity demands to suit any particular play—that is to say, the addition of a few hangings and pictures, and the substitution of other appropriate furniture will speedily change a poor man’s kitchen or parlor into quite a presentable stage drawing-room.

How to Make the “Flats”

To deal first with the “flats” or separate parts of the scenery. The primary essentials for these are a number of lengths of 2¹⁄₂-inch battening; other requisites being a plenitude of nails of all sizes, glue, brown paper or canvas, powdered color, and size. The purpose of this latter commodity is for painting the wood-work or any other desired article, such as a sideboard, dresser, or fireplace.

Cut the battening to lengths appropriate to the dimensions of the stage, or, in other words, with due regard to the height of the room and the width and depth of the platform.

[Fig. 2] shows the general arrangement of the five “flats,” placed in the order shown, with the largest one, consisting of the double doors, in the center.

Now, as the width of these “flats” depends entirely upon the space they occupy when put into the position indicated by the diagram, the stage carpenter must commence his plan of construction with this fact clearly in mind. Should a particularly large stage be available, then it may be desirable to extend the scenery, in which case one or more straight “flats,” similar to that numbered 4 in [Fig. 2], can be added at each end or where desired.

Fig. 2.—Showing usual arrangement of flats.

Fig. 3.—Construction of “flat” containing door.

Fig. 4.—Flat for window opening.

The frame-work for the respective “flats” appears in [Figs. 3], [4], [5], and [6], the method of joining corners being indicated by the elevation and sectional drawing depicted in the corner of [Fig. 5]. The vertical and horizontal supports are merely fitted in flush and glued. For doors and window openings a slightly stouter battening will be found necessary.

[Fig. 3] gives a clear idea of the main lines of construction of a practical door, which is to be fixed to the “flat” by means of hinges. When hingeing doors, take particular care so to place the hinges that the doors swing outwards—that is, from the point of view of the audience. This precaution obviates the necessity of painting both sides of the doors.

A reference to [Fig. 4] shows a window opening which can be used either as a lattice, working on the same principle as the door, or as an ordinary window, which can be suggested by gluing a strip of wood horizontally across the center.

Fig. 5.—Flat for double doors.

Fig. 6.—Plain flat.

In [Fig. 5] the central opening (the double doors of the plan) serves for curtains fixed to rods by means of sliding rings, or merely as French windows. Of all the “flats,” this is the most valuable, because it is capable of utilization in a multitude of ways. For instance, should the scene be an elaborate drawing-room, the opening will lend itself to French windows, through which can be seen park-land or gardens in the distance. Again, for the presentment of a humble apartment, it has only to be covered with a dresser or any other commonplace article of furniture. Should an opening be required to another room, curtains of course can be hung.

[Fig. 6] depicts a plain “flat.”

The next operation is the covering of the frames, accomplished by the use of brown paper, or, should expenses permit, of canvas. The brown paper is first cut to the size required, and then glued to the frames, only the openings for windows and doors being left. If canvas is chosen for the covering, nailing will be found necessary. To prevent sagging, and to preserve the flat appearance of the material, coat thinly and evenly with a solution of size and water.

Papering

The next item for consideration is papering. A visit to almost any paperhanger’s will reveal the fact, that the shopman possesses quantities of certain designs, perhaps not quite large enough to be of practical service to him for papering a room. In this circumstance the stage carpenter should be able, by the expenditure of a few cents, or a quarter at the outside, to obtain quite enough for his purpose. Next, he can procure from any builder’s yard a few lengths of architrave or beaded edging for doorways and windows. This will have to be mitered and fixed to the frames. A few slips of board, with beading along one edge, should also be purchased at the same time for fixing to the bottom of the frames to form the skirting. Now paste the wall-paper to the frames.

Fig. 7.—Complete door with section.

Fig. 8.—Flat 1 or 5 converted into exterior cottage door.

Having satisfactorily constructed all the “flats,” fix them together in the order shown in the plan—i.e. each to each—by means of pieces of bent zinc and screws. Additional supports are often required, such as iron brackets screwed to the bottom of the “flat” and the floor, as indicated by the crosses in [Figs. 3] and [5].

To give a finished effect, paste brown paper over the whole of the door frames, and produce the appearance of panels by the addition of mitered thin beading or slips of wood ([Fig. 7]). The door panels may then be painted according to taste with a mixture of any powdered color and dissolved size. The fixing of a knob or handle with a long screw renders the thing complete.

Reference to the plan marked [Fig. 2] reveals the fact, that the two end “flats” (1 and 5 respectively) are alike. Now, while one of these “flats” may be utilized for an interior door ([Fig. 3]), it may be found extremely useful so to prepare its fellow that it represents an exterior cottage door, and to use it as a wing at one side of the stage in another scene. It should then appear as in [Fig. 8]. To obtain this result, a section of scenery has to be covered with brown paper or canvas, as already described for the interior door. Should canvas be decided upon, first prepare it by adding a coating of mixed size and whiting, to form a background for the painted design. In this case the door itself is covered on the outside with paper, and lines are drawn down to give an idea of planks nailed vertically together. A latch-handle can either be purchased and fixed for a few cents, or an imitation one painted in.

The lintel and doorposts are constructed by gluing or nailing battening of a sufficiently stout nature, that it projects to the degree indicated by the section in [Fig. 8]. The purpose of this latter projection is to allow for the addition of a latticed porch, which will give that picturesqueness so essential to stage scenery.

Making a Portable Porch

A glance at [Fig. 9] will put the amateur stage carpenter in full possession of all details relating to the construction of this latticed porch. Of course, it will be found necessary to make two pieces of the part numbered 1—i.e. the batten frame and cross-pieces—as one will be fixed on either side of the door to support the roof. The lattice-work may be purchased in a length, or made from laths, and nailed to the frame. Fix the sides of the porch close up to the doorposts by means of zinc brackets and pins, as indicated by the two crosses. Next pin on the roof, as at 4, [Fig. 9]. Paint the finished porch bright green and the roof red.

A second reference to [Fig. 8] shows that it suggests a design of bricks, covered with creeper or a tree. If necessary, treat the other side of the window “flat,” by painting it in similar fashion, and fix it alongside the door to form an additional wing.

A Portable Fireplace

A very useful adjunct to the plain “flat” ([Fig. 6]) is a portable fireplace, which is depicted in detail in [Fig. 10]. To make this, buy a length or so of ³⁄₄-inch planking, one length of which should be cut for the mantelpiece, according to the size required. Next cut two supports of equal dimensions to form the sides (A, A, in elevation). These are nailed to the “flat,” and the mantelpiece is kept in position by two solid wooden brackets (D, D). Two slips are also added to the base of the supports at E, E. The piece C is let in flush with A, A.

Fig. 9.—Construction of portable porch.

Fig. 10.—Portable fireplace and grate.

Below this, to the back of the rectangular opening, attach a piece of very stout blackened cardboard, of the shape shown, leaving an opening for a real or a painted grate (F). Should the former be preferred, it may be produced from pieces of thin battening, as shown in the elevation and section.

To obtain a realistic effect, fill the grate with non-inflammable metal tinsel (C, C), and further to enhance the realism, support a small galley-pot on a blackened bracket or block of wood (A), the galley-pot being filled with cotton-wool soaked in methylated spirit. The application of a match produces a flame at B (see section of grate, [Fig. 10]).

A Movable Counter or Sideboard

[Fig. 11] gives the front and back view of this very useful piece of stage furniture, which may be utilized either as a counter, sideboard, or bottom of a dresser; or, appropriately draped and surmounted by a looking-glass, it may serve as a dressing-table.

Fig. 11.—Portable counter or sideboard.

Fig. 12.—Detached parts of counter or sideboard.

The sections are illustrated in [Fig. 12], the pieces marked 1 forming the sides, 2 the top, and 3 the front. Steel eyes are numbered 4, and their purpose is to hold the sides, front, and top together by strong cord, attached as in the back view of [Fig. 11]. 5 in [Fig. 12] is a projecting panel, also seen in the front view of Fig. 11. 6 ([Fig. 12]) indicates the back supports to which the front joined boards are nailed. The beading which is fixed along three sides of the top is seen at 7 ([Fig. 13]).

Having thoroughly grasped the details outlined above, commence to make the sideboard from ³⁄₄-inch boarding.

To each of the side-pieces add a bottom support of stouter material, marked with a cross in [Fig. 12]. The front is next placed across the supports in such a position that the top fits down on them and holds all three pieces in place. (See dotted line at 7, [Fig. 13]; this diagram also depicts the separate pieces in elevation.)

It is not worth while “spoiling the ship for a ha’p’orth o’ tar,” or, in this instance, the sideboard for a coat of paint. Before applying this latter, paste the structure over with brown paper, and then give it a coating of yellow ochre and size. A grained appearance may be produced by utilizing an old coarse comb, the fine grain being attained with the thin teeth and the coarse grain with the stout. To obtain the graining, proceed as follows: on the dry coating of yellow ochre put a second coating of dark brown ochre, mixed with size as before, and whilst wet comb in zigzag lines.

Fig. 13.—The separate pieces in elevation.

The great advantage attaching to all the scenery and artificial furniture described is that it can be easily fitted together, taken to pieces, and packed flat, thus occupying a minimum of space. For practical purposes it will be found quite equal both in appearance and for durability to that for which many dollars are charged at a theatrical supply dealer’s.

A Back-Cloth

The construction of home-made theatrical effects may be closed with brief hints regarding the much-needed and ever-useful back-cloth, which plays a part in most exterior scenes, such as park lands, gardens, &c. It consists of several lengths of calico joined together to form a square of the size required. This is then fixed on a large wooden roller with a similar roller at the bottom to weight it, and prepared with a coating of size and whiting.

A friend of unquestionable artistic ability should be asked to paint in a view or other scenery.

In scene-painting bear in mind that only the brightest and most vivid colors are to be used. The colors are made from powder mixed with size, and must be applied with broad touches for distant effects. The back-cloth can be fixed according to the means available.

For the proscenium, three pieces of wood to suit breadth and size of stage must be requisitioned, the portion destined for the top being gently sloped from an arch or apex in direct line with the center of the curtain, and covered with some tastefully-colored paper which gives the appearance of heavy satin panels.

A sewing bee should be formed among the ladies interested in the company, and she who has sufficient prowess with her scissors should be chosen to cut the garments and superintend the needlework of her friends. This will prove a profitable way of spending the long winter afternoons.

Imitation hair wigs, beards, &c., may be procured at various prices.

The best plan to adopt in finding a play suited to the limitations of material of an embryo company is to spend a small sum on some “Guide to Selecting Plays.” In these pages will be found abundant suggestions and explanations of specimens, dealing from the simplest one-act, thirty minutes’ production to the five-act, three hours’ drama. The outline of each plot is given, and a summary of the dramatis personæ required.

Miss Keating’s “Plot of Potzentausend,” for example, is an excellent one-act play, in which only male characters are required. Interest in the fair sex is, however, cleverly maintained, for the four swains have each a lass to occupy their affections.

The costumes, a description of which is given on the front page, are of the time of Louis XIV., and the scene is a small frontier village in Germany. This is an admirable, amusing, and not too ambitious performance for boys home for the holidays.

Grindstone is a miller of a sour and unfriendly disposition. He is secretly involved in small political intrigues, and, in order to meet the Chevalier d’Espion without the knowledge of the villagers, refuses to allow the lads and lasses their usual yearly privilege of dancing in his barn, to which they naturally take exception. Grindstone’s personality and physical appearance are as gray, grim, and cold as the substance after which he is named. He is tight of lip, thin of figure, and possessed of a countenance which expresses a miserly cunning, dislike of frivolities, and hypocritical semblance of virtue. Although vastly respected, he is not overwhelmed with the affections of his fellow-men, and is termed, even by his servant Sacks, to be something of a rogue.

Sacks, his man, is a thick-set hunchback, with a round, jolly face and optimistic temperament, which presents a strong contrast to his master’s saturnine character.

Max, a young sergeant, of smart demeanor, is weighted by a sense of his own importance, insipid of face, and overbearingly superior in manners.

Louis, a lawyer’s clerk, pale and meek, rat-faced and rather wily, grasping in disposition, and something of a flirt.

Fritz, a young peasant, whose sentences generally terminate with “as a body may say,” shows a priggish and cautious attitude to preserve his own skin at any cost. His expression is a delightful mixture of rustic placidity and guileless cunning.

The Chevalier d’Espion, a smart, condescending person of uncertain age and carefully preserved complexion; his gold lace and feathers lend him as irreproachable an aloofness and pride as the peacock demonstrates towards the jackdaw.

Plan of Room in Grindstone’s House

The table should be covered with a cloth sufficiently long to touch the ground on all sides. The rear of the high-backed chair and window-curtain are to be used as hiding-places, and must be practicable for the purpose. Small chairs and an old stool are also required. Except for a small lighted lamp which Sacks, the first to enter, places on the table, the stage is in darkness.

This play takes thirty-five minutes. The plot is built on the misunderstanding that arises between the four swains—who have unconsciously chosen the same place and hour to meet their ladies—and the Chevalier d’Espion, who, expecting to find a quartette of fellow-conspirators, mistakes them for such in disguise. Soldiers appear to arrest the Chevalier, who manages to escape. Sacks proves the identity of the rest, and so all ends happily.

The dialogue must be brisk and the action kept interesting. Acted in the right spirit, it cannot fail to produce roars of merriment. It has a further advantage of not being too great a strain on the memorizing powers of those who have never previously essayed to learn prose by heart.

A reliable prompter, concealed from the audience, should be close at hand. His business is to follow the dialogue intently, giving aid when necessary in a clear, low voice. Words should never be whispered, nor too loudly spoken. A happy medium is acquired by experience.

The make-up required by the characters is as follows:—

Sacks (florid flesh tint), grease paint (red) No. 2¹⁄₂; a slight cobweb of good-natured wrinkles and crowsfeet, such as would be caused by laughter. Red, black, or gray wig, according to taste.

Grindstone (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peevish and discontented lines about the mouth, furrowed forehead, peruke slightly gray, nose paste to enlarge nose, sparse ruffled eyebrows.

Louis (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peruke any color fancied, premature wrinkles, small white. A few front teeth in upper gum stopped out with small noir.

Max sunburnt. Fritz ruddy. The Chevalier d’Espion bronzed. Officer and guard, 2¹⁄₂ medium flesh.

Another fascinating play for boys is “The Poor Relation,” also written by Miss Keating, and included with “The Plot of Potzentausend” in “A Series of Original Comedies.”

Grease paints should be composed of pure chemical fat and colors free from lead, otherwise they will make havoc with sensitive skins.

Artificial complexions should never be scrubbed from the face by means of soap and water.

Cocoa butter gently applied on the corner of a soft dry towel will rapidly erase every mark, and is an excellent tonic for the skin.

Grease paints, rouge powder, cocoa butter, spirit gum, sponge-towel, puff, crêpe hair, hare’s foot, patches, tongs, hairpins, joining paste, brush and comb, lip salve, liquid blanc de perle, scissors, mirror, mustache, vanquisher, needles, cotton, soap, sponge, &c., can be purchased in compact make-up cases at prices from $15.00 down to $2.50.

Amateurs are sometimes prone to stiffness and artificiality of gesture and exaggeration of expression, also to too much or too little movement. A perfectly natural manner can only be gained by throwing oneself whole-heartedly into the play, and uniting oneself with the other dramatis personæ. Acting editions of both playlets mentioned above may be obtained of Messrs. Samuel French, of 28 West 38th St., New York.

Each actor has, as it were, his little orbit of movement, but this should not be circumscribed in a conventional, studied manner. Ease and self-control should cover all mastered technique in voice, attitude, and gesture. Words should be clearly delivered, and pronounced without any pedantic phrasing or forced utterance; and this will only be achieved by constant and careful rehearsing. The personality of each character must be distinct and individual.

When an amateur company is formed, each member should pay a fee in proportion to the strength of the casts and the drama they hope to produce. The stage-manager’s choice of characters should stand inviolable, providing, of course, he presents sufficient discretion and insight to distinguish between the different trends of talent possessed by his players.

In almost every company there are a few players who are inclined to fancy that they can do justice to a rôle given to some one else, rather than to the one they are studying. This is a form of very human discontent which Quince, the stage-manager of the players in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” had to battle against.

Flute bemoaned his fate, and excused himself from playing the woman’s part, on the plea, “I have a beard coming.”

Bottom was torn between a desire to undertake Thisby and the lion. “I will roar that I will make the duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar again.’ ... I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove.”

As adamantine as the sagacious Quince against these eloquent appeals must be the modern stage-manager when the would-be tragedian importunes him to play the heavy rôle, or the individual who believes himself endowed with hidden genius, to portray the part of light comedian.

Thus only is success achieved.

CHAPTER II
MYSTERIES OF MAKE-UP

The Foundation

It is necessary that the amateur who wishes to make his efforts at private theatricals a success should have a fair knowledge of the art of “make-up.”

While no great amount of money need be expended, at the same time the best results can be obtained only from the use of good cosmetics. Grease paints, obtainable from any purveyors of theatrical appliances, are excellent and not very expensive.

There is no doubt that many people consider it quite sufficient to dab a little paint on the face, smear it over carelessly with the addition of some powder, and imagine, quite erroneously, that they are well made-up.

The outward signs of character are to be represented by “make-up,” and it is quite essential that this effect should be produced; therefore, with a slight knowledge of what is to be avoided, and what effected, the home-actor should attain to some degree of success.

“Wig-paste,” No. 2¹⁄₂, is usually considered the best foundation for pink complexions, and according to shade required, deeper colors can be used, such as 3, 4, &c. Thus, if being made up for the part of a pretty young girl, the first number is best; if for a middle-aged woman, No. 3; while for elderly men of choleric temperament No. 4 would be more suitable.

It must be borne in mind that the foundation of wig-paste should be carefully put on, and well smoothed before the structure or blending of colors to produce a natural appearance is commenced. Whether this is done well or badly will make all the difference to the final results.

Lining

Lining is an important part of “make-up,” by its aid the lines of the face being diminished or deepened, shadows created for sunken effects, and “high lights” produced—i.e. touching up the cheek-bones to give them prominence. By careful use of this latter branch of “make-up” the whole character of the face can be changed. High lights are produced by a lighter shade of grease paint than that used for the rest of the complexion, being placed upon the feature to be emphasized; for instance, if the actor wishes his nose to appear thinner, he will draw a straight white line from the top to the tip, enhancing the effect with a careful application of the gray paint ([Fig. 1a]). The cheek-bone, nose, chin, and brow are parts of the face which are made up for high lights, though if wrinkles are to be accentuated this is usually done by the addition of a “high light” effect on each side of the existing dark line ([Figs. 1b] and [1c]).

Fig. 1a.—High lights.

Fig. 1b.—High lights.

Fig. 1c.—High lights.

To make cheeks appear hollow, gray-lining paint is used, the effect of emaciation being produced by the careful blending of the last-named paint with the grease paint previously put on.

Fig. 2.—Low lights.

Shadows, or low lights, give the effect of hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, and instead of making features more pronounced, as is the case with a careful “high light” make-up, decrease the prominence which certain parts usually possess ([Fig. 2]). When making-up for a beldame, or some other character which should appear more than usually haggard, a striking effect is obtained by adding a spot of either dark-gray or brown, and blending it outwards.

Fig. 3.—Before lining.

Fig. 4.—After lining.

The lining of the eyes requires special attention, more particularly as their appearance depends so much upon the change of the eyelids ([Figs. 3] and [4]); eyelashes too, when properly treated, make a vast difference to the usual expression.

When it is necessary that the eyelashes should be more pronounced, black grease paint is put on to the end of an artist’s stump, melted very slowly by being held over a candle or other flame, and so applied. Care should be taken, however, that no grease paint goes into the eye, so when melting it must not be allowed to become too soft. Black-lining grease paint is the best for eyelashes, and the amount applied depends entirely upon their natural thickness and darkness.

For darkening or lightening the eyebrows, grease paint “liners” are indispensable, and much preferable to India ink. Sometimes it is necessary to obliterate part of the eyebrow before the rest is “drawn-in,” in which case it is first of all coated with soap and then covered with the same grease paint as used for the groundwork of “make-up.” This done carefully, and toned to the same shade as the rest of face, leaves the actor free to “draw-in” any shaped eyebrow he desires. For a very thin eyebrow a toothpick can be utilized to advantage, a little melted grease paint being rubbed upon it, and the line drawn with it ([Figs. 5] and [6]).

For Oriental effects the obliteration of the eyebrows is essential, and fresh ones with an upward tendency can be drawn-in at will, when once the natural ones have been made to disappear.

More often than not it is necessary to increase the eyebrows, making them look thick and heavy, and if Nature has endowed the player with massive ones, it is an easy matter to comb them up the wrong way and apply a small quantity of grease-paint; but if they are naturally thin the aid of false ones must be sought. Crêpe hair, which is an indispensable accessory to the “make-up” art, can here be brought into use, the ever-helpful “adhesia” being required as well.

Fig. 5.—Eyebrow before lining.

Fig. 6.—Eyebrow after lining.

The best plan is to model on a comb the eyebrow according to the shape desired; then, placing the latter in position, make it fast with the use of the adhesia, taking care that the gum is only on the edges and not on the hair of the real eyebrow.

To obtain a sinister expression, eliminate the outer edges of the eyebrows and paste a piece of crêpe hair over the eyebrows near the nose, the Mephistophelian effect being gained in the same way, except that the outer corners should curl upwards ([Figs. 7] and [8]). By fixing on pieces of crêpe hair so that they meet over the nose, a stern and even fierce expression is produced.

Fig. 7.—Natural eyebrow.

Fig. 8.—Mephistophelian effect produced with crêpe hair.

“Juvenile” Make-up

In making-up for the character of a juvenile, the strength of light on the platform or stage is to be taken into consideration. If a fairly strong light, the make-up must not be too deep, but the player will soon become experienced in this matter by taking the trouble to consider the effect of different lights.

Before commencing with the grease paints the face is well rubbed with cold cream or cocoa butter, and wiped with a towel, so that none of the former remains visible.

Fig. 9.—Preliminary lining.

The flesh-colored paint may now be drawn across the face several times, the method of procedure being: two lines across forehead, two on each cheek, one down the nose, and several on the neck ([Fig. 9]). With the palms of the hands this is smoothed over carefully, and finally rubbed quite lightly with a dry towel. The foundation is thus formed, and is really the most important part of the make-up, for if not carefully done the rest will be unsatisfactory. One of the chief facts to be borne in mind is that very little paint should be used, so little as to be scarcely seen.

Rouge is next applied, red-lining paint or paste lip-rouge being used upon the cheek-bones, and carefully smoothed until it tones with the flesh on the cheeks. After an application of powder, when the face feels perfectly smooth, comes the task of lining-in, which has already been described.

Fig. 10.—Natural lips.

Fig. 11.—Lips accentuated by rouge.

The lip-rouge accentuates the lips ([Figs. 10] and [11]), and should it be necessary to make them of a more symmetrical appearance, this may be accomplished by extending the rouge a trifle beyond the natural outlines, though women need this little extra touch more often than men. When it is required to make the chin more prominent, a touch of dry rouge beneath the lower lip will accomplish the effect, still more being added to the cheeks if they are not quite colored enough ([Fig. 12]).

Fig. 12.—“Juvenile” make-up.

For juvenile darky parts, burnt cork will do instead of the grease paints.

“Middle-Age” Make-up

This is perhaps the most difficult make-up, for it is much easier to go to one extreme from another, than to make a fairly young person look like a middle-aged one ([Fig. 13]).

In the case of a man it is advisable to depend on the addition of whiskers and mustache, and even glasses or spectacles lend age.

A sallow paint is usually required for middle-age make-up, and it can be blended with a lighter paint for pale effects; but to produce a hearty bloom or florid complexion, the application of a little red or brown is recommended.

Fig. 13.—“Middle-age” make-up.

Fig. 14.—“Old-age” make-up.

The mid-gray wig is also an immense aid, but failing this, a small amount of powder sifted over the hair will give a similar effect.

“Old-Age” Make-up

If the character desired to be represented is carefully studied, notice being taken of where there is a high light and where the shadows of the face lie, there should be little or no difficulty in producing a lifelike representation.

Particular notice should be taken of wrinkles and lines, and these must be carefully blended as in [Fig. 14].

The next essential is the wig, either gray or white being the most useful. For the old age complexion it is better to get the grease paint for that purpose; but when the necessity for it is but seldom, an application of the sallow paint, or in the case of great emaciation, the addition of a little blue, well blended, will create quite a good effect.

Fig. 15a.—Natural features.

Fig. 15b.—Putty applications.

Fig. 15c.—Finished features.

Sometimes it is required that the nose shall be made larger; then the “nose putty” is called into play, carefully modeled on to the nose, and with the aid of the same grease paint as is utilized for complexion, made to correspond with the rest of the face ([Figs. 15a], [15b], and [15c]).

Fig. 16.—Hand made-up for “old age.”

Dark shadows under the eyes can be produced by gray grease paint, but for the formation of crow’s-feet, the brown will be found the best.

Fig. 17.—How to measure for a wig.

The hands must receive careful attention when the face and neck are finished, and “made-up” according to character. If juvenile, they require coloring; if middle-age, a little of the sallow paint: the veins accentuated, and the flesh made to look pale for old age parts ([Fig. 16]).

When measuring for a wig, take the various lengths and widths as indicated by the numerals in [Fig. 17].

Beards and Mustaches

The most inexpensive of these necessary adjuncts to the home entertainer’s make-up are undoubtedly those he models for himself from crêpe hair, which can be bought in a plait and untwined as it is wanted, a coarse-toothed comb being passed through it. With a few twirls it can be made the desired shape and cut, and when wanted for a beard, opened out until it has a hollow cone-shape appearance, and placed on the chin after a thin coating of adhesia has been applied.

The same method applies to eyebrow and mustache making. When it is desired to create an unshaven, unkempt effect, pieces of crêpe hair are cut up exceedingly fine on to a newspaper, the chin covered with adhesia and the finely-cut hair sifted evenly over the skin. These little pieces are also useful for sprinkling where the false beard meets the face, in order to take away the “abrupt” appearance that is often produced.

The Removal of Make-up

Having told how to put on make-up, a few instructions for its easy removal may not be out of place. Whilst soap and water will take off the grease paint, the simpler method is to remove it with one of the following: Cold cream, cocoa butter, or olive oil. Vaseline is to be avoided, as it will often cause a growth of hair; and for this reason when purchasing cold cream it is advisable to procure the best, for in the cheaper makes vaseline is largely employed. Pieces of cloth kept specially for the removal of “make-up” are to be recommended, one for taking the chief layer off and another of soft texture for final rubbing before the much-needed wash is resorted to.

For dispelling traces of the prepared burnt cork used for minstrels and negro burlesques, a pure vegetable soap is all that is required.

CHAPTER III
THE QUICK-CHANGE ARTIST

How It’s Done

The machinations of the full-fledged quick-change artist afford the mind of his amazed spectator much speculation and curiosity as to how his marvels of dexterity and transformation are achieved. His velocity would put summer lightning to the blush. His mind and body are as pliable and elastic as his face; his very nature appears to undergo a swift metamorphosis of changes in the adoption of the various manners, idiosyncrasies, attitude, and gait of the character he portrays. Although agile and unerring, he possesses something of the stoic calm of the hedgehog, and is as natural in his art as when partaking of a beefsteak in privacy.

He flashes before the vision on stage or drawing-room platform in dress so immaculate that it would seem to the uninitiated that his toilet is the result of hours of care and deliberation. In the costume of an old-world dandy he struts about, swaying his long-laced sleeves with exquisite grace over his snuff-box, the while he patters his part. A moment after, like a shooting star, he has swung himself through a door, reappearing almost instantaneously by means of another entrance, transformed in wig and attire to a totally different individual in age and character.

Thus he continues playing his many parts so nimbly that one can scarcely believe he has not a bevy of actors hidden in the wings ready to fly through doors and windows as quickly as a cork pops from a bottle.

That his agility is grounded on a studied method, and his versatile acting the result of wheels within wheels, well-oiled, and precise as the mechanism of a clock, is difficult to believe until his secrets of manipulation are revealed.

“How is it done?” whispers the youth, palpitating with aspirations to do likewise. Well, in only one way—that way simplicity itself, when once practice has made it perfect.

I am dealing now with the man who produces a play in which each rôle is played by himself, and will proceed to explain his proceedings from the start, so that the ambitious amateur may, at the next Christmas party or home gathering, try a humble imitation, and gradually achieve glory and greatness in the eyes of his family.

An Inexpensive “Stock in Trade”

Let us study the tools and qualities essential to the quick-change artist. His stock and properties are all inexpensive, save the wigs. It is not advisable to purchase cheap ones, as they soon show the signs of wear; while hair in good condition, and carefully kept, lasts for years.

His wardrobe contains garments of the cheapest material, and here the old clothes-bag of the house, in which articles doomed for a jumble sale are placed, is invaluable. A clever needle and a little ingenious manipulation result in splendid effects.

Fig. 1.—Front view of “one-piece” garment; dotted lines denote springs.

Fig. 1a.—Back view of “one-piece” garment.

Every garment is made in one piece, and fastens at the back of the performer by means of clock springs, which may be purchased from any clockmaker ([Figs. 1] and [1a]). The springs are pliable bands of steel, cut and rounded, according to the size required, and punched with small holes, by means of which they are fixed with stitches to neck, waist, legs and wrists. These springs should be carefully concealed in the hem, with sufficient material over to hide the opening at the back.

There is no time for fastening of buttons, tying of strings, adjusting of pins, or plastering of gum. Even the mustaches used are fixed by means of small silver springs, which adhere to the interior of the nostrils as firmly as the springs of eyeglasses pinch the top of the nose ([Fig. 2]).

Fig. 2.—Back and front view of mustache fixed by spring.

The scenery required is also easily manufactured at home by the amateur carpenter. Thick brown paper, light wooden frames, or, better still, samples of wallpaper, fixed with small brass hinges, will serve excellently as an interior.

Until the student is far advanced in dexterity, it is wisest to limit his production to one environment.

The first thing, of course, is to choose a suitable piece. If you are clever with your pen, you may compose a sketch to please yourself. This is a good plan, for you will be governed in your production by what is most suitable and easy to your limitations. If, however, no suitable idea presents itself to you, go to any good dramatic firm, and spend a morning in looking through plays until you alight on something answering to your purpose.

In choosing a play, avoid an elaborate cast, complicated plot, or speeches. Long monologues are wearisome and monotonous; while, on the other hand, conversations of too rapid a character will be impossible to manage satisfactorily, however skillful your manipulation.

The novice should begin with a curtain raiser, containing two or three persons, and the movement should be brisk and interesting. Having fixed on his play, he studies his scenery.

He must have sufficient entrances and exits. To use only one, so that the audience always knows through which door he is about to appear, spoils the effect of his cunning. It is far more dramatic to burst upon them from a direction least expected, and, to do this successfully, as many doors or windows are necessary, as in a production played by several persons; but these should not be so placed as to be aggressively prominent,—curtains, palms, screens, a sham cupboard or fireplace, by means of which sudden comings and goings lend a thrilling reality to every movement. [Fig. 3] depicts a suggested plan.

The different costumes to be used should be numbered in the order required, and this is where a cool-headed and reliable dresser is absolutely essential.

Fig. 3.—Suggested plan of scenery arrangement for the quick-change artist.

To robe oneself by means of picking up garments and wigs from chair or different pegs is slow work, and leaves the stage empty for too long a time to keep the spectators interested in one’s movements. The swiftest manipulation will be too slow to those awaiting the re-appearance, and, unless the movement is kept jogging, there will be no semblance of reality in the performance.

The Dresser

The dresser plays a part no less important than the artist. Upon leaving the stage the latter immediately wrenches from his person the garment in which he has just appeared. The dresser is close to the exit with costume No. 2 held out widely. The performer walks straight into the clothes, of which the clock springs are widely expanded. In a flash they close round his person. Another dresser adjusts wig, beard, &c., as he passes to his next entrance ([Fig. 4]), with the result that he appears to answer the remark made by himself in the character No. 1 without any break being perceptible to the audience. Whilst speaking the words in the rôle of No. 2, the dresser is awaiting him at the next exit with No. 3 or No. 1 clothes, (if No. 1 and 2 are having a conversation), which he has swiftly picked up from the floor when discarded.

It is obvious that in order to be of real service the dresser must be as familiar with the words of the play as the performer. It is not enough only to know the cues. He must, by his knowledge, calculate to a hairbreadth how long No. 2 takes to reply, and be prepared upon the instant of exit with the apparel of No. 1.

Fig. 4.—System of “changing” behind the scenes.

A plan of modes of entrances and exits should be arranged beforehand between actor and dresser, and never altered. Each sketch must be founded on a different plan, and in each the movements should be so carefully practiced that they become almost a habit. Any chance alteration or mistake leads to bungling and loss of time, for, if No. 1 disappears through the exit fixed upon for No. 2, naturally the dresser will not be there awaiting him, and this mischance will probably throw all the succeeding movements into confusion.

The quick-change artist is employed in a race with time, and, time being swift and fleet of foot, the human competitor cannot possibly afford to loiter or blunder.

In a play or sketch in which several characters are to be impersonated it does not make for speed to have installed as many dressers behind the scenes. One, or at the most, two reliable and experienced assistants are ample. A larger number will only hinder the artist’s and their own movements.

That there is a certain amount of nervous strain about this mode of performance cannot be denied, but, by constant practice and coolness, the artist greatly facilitates the mental effort that accompanies his portrayals.

A sketch should at most be of a half-hour’s duration. The actor needs some knowledge of acting, and must be able to change his voice to the different pitches required. It should range from the high-pitched falsetto of the aggressive female type of uncertain years to the gruff bass of the dogmatic father, while the cooing notes of the immaculate heroine should be carefully cultivated.

Fig. 5.—Showing wig, eyebrow, nose, and mustache combined.

Fig. 6.—Another example, showing bonnet, wig, nose, spectacles, and veil combined.

The artist must of necessity be clean-shaven, so that he can adapt beard, “mutton chops,” or mustache as required.

[Figs. 5] and [6] show completed examples of one-piece transformations. [Fig. 7] depicts coat and breeches combined.

Most important of all the quick-change artist must be self-reliant, self-confident, and absolute master of emotions engendered by nervousness, for these lead to loss of memory where words and modes of entrance and exit are concerned. While on the stage his mind must be concentrated on the part he is playing to the exclusion of everything else, his attention as completely focused upon the impersonation as though the other characters were being undertaken by different individuals.

For many of these practical suggestions the writer is indebted to a versatile quick-change artist, who willingly revealed some of the secrets connected with his favorite form of entertainment. He emphasized the fact that success is not achieved by means of numerous wigs and costumes—a performer may possess the most elaborate wardrobe, repertoire, and paraphernalia, and yet sadly fail to move the interest and sympathy of his spectators.

As this artist remarked, the true art lies in facial expression, gesture, attitude, and change of voice. These must be cultivated assiduously before any one-man play is produced, for it is only when the features are plastic as rubber, gesture and attitude the perfection of mimicry, the voice containing every note in the range in which language is expressed, that the steep ladder of success is scaled, and the timid novice becomes transformed into the popular resourceful artist.

Fig. 7.—Breeches and boots, showing front and back views; dotted lines indicate springs.

CHAPTER IV
CHARACTER IMPERSONATIONS

Talent v. Material Aids

A very popular means of amusing a house-party is the impersonation of various characters. It is an entertainment more suitable to the limits of a drawing-room than tableaux or amateur theatricals, which of necessity entail a certain amount of expense, scenery, lighting, and much labor and anxiety in securing and drilling an efficient cast.

Although it is doubtless true that this art needs some natural talent, skill, and mastery of detail, much can be done by practice and self-reliance.

A clever man in the street amuses a long line of patient theater-goers, his only paraphernalia being a soft, pliable disc of black felt.

The metamorphosis that article undergoes in his hands is a marvel. Dexterously he wields it—a mere twist, and it is the three-cornered biretta of a cardinal. Another, and it shades the villainous glare of a brigand, who appears quite capable of cutting the throats of his audience. A deft touch and a strut, and it tops the head of a swaggering dandy. Next it shades the solemn, ascetic features of the priest. Tipped to a different angle, and the cockney grins with happy-go-lucky impertinence. Thus it is used to represent every grade of society from the highest to the lowest of humanity.

But miraculous as that piece of felt seems, it is really the eyes and gestures of the artist plying it that lend it personality, power, and magic of transformation. In the hands of one ignorant of the tricks, it is a futile and clumsy piece of mechanism.

A man may put a tea-cosy on his head and look absurd; another does the same, and behold!—a living Napoleon stands before us. The greater the artist, the simpler the preparations used, for the skilled representative trusts to eyes, gesture, and figure rather than to the material used.

Elasticity of feature is essential. Without this it is impossible to produce a living likeness. One may possess wigs, beards, eyebrows, sham noses, and skulls of every imaginable shape and size, and yet fail through inability to assume the expression peculiar to the study undertaken.

In rehearsing impersonations a mirror is as good and true a friend as in reciting. Observe how faithfully it reflects every change in the human countenance.

Supposing the character studied to be that of King Lear. First read your Shakespeare and memorize the lines which reach the very crisis of the agony and woe of love of that unfortunate monarch, as when, turning to his ungrateful, malignant daughters, Regan and Goneril, he cries—

“I will do such things,—
What they are yet I know not,... but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep;
No, I’ll not weep:
I have full cause for weeping, but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws
Or ere I’ll weep. O fool! I shall go mad!”

Understand the breaking, raging, heart-throbbing beneath them. Repeat them aloud before the glass, with wild, burning eyes and quivering lips, with shaking hands upthrown and tensely up-drawn figure, and by-and-by, if not at once, you will see King Lear peering at you distraught.

When you have thoroughly gripped that image you may crown it with snowy hair, pent brows, and ragged beard—but not till then.

And now, supposing, for a change—for there is nothing like variety—you undertake so utterly different a character as that of his faithful fool. Here no jingling bells and jester’s folly are needed to aid you, for these may be, and frequently are, but the danger signals to discerning eyes of incompetent treatment; you want his shrewd, loyal heart in your breast, his pulse beating in your brain, your finger-tips. His cunning grin must be a wavering crack in a wizened face as you memorize such caustic saws as—

“Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides, and left nothing i’ the middle; here comes one o’ the parings.”

This method of memorizing and voicing some sentiment characteristic of the figure presented, is only for private use during rehearsals.

Costume performances are dumb, and, this being the case, it is easy to realize how eloquent and exact the physical contour must be for faithful similitude.

Regard the idea as an object being photographed. When you have gripped it, and, as it were, posed it before the camera of your brain, focus, produce, and develop it on your features, which may well be likened to a film.

Knowledge from Nature

In order to master the idiosyncrasies, mannerisms, eccentricities, and habits of characters, study is essential, and for this reason it is probably best to acquire knowledge, not from imaginary heroes of fiction or drama, but from the fount of Nature.

Popular statesmen, musicians, admirals, soldiers, prelates, scientists, novelists, and famous actors walk our streets to-day, and each possesses some anomaly of expression, feature, speech, gesture, or mannerism which is distinctly his own, and distinguishes him from his kind. Just as no two leaves of a tree or petals of a flower are exact duplicates, so in mankind—no matter how subtle the anomaly—it exists, and must be fathomed and included in the portrait; delicately if it is delicate, proportionately broadly and ostentatiously as it is broad and ostentatious.

For example, there are some persons whose peculiarities are as evasive and subtle as the bouquet of a wine, the bloom of a grape. We feel their influence, we realize them to be the essence of their individuality, and yet we fail to catch and master them; while there are other persons we meet whose eccentricities flare out at us in a moment, and illuminate a character more fully and faithfully than any words.

The pouting lip, the flickering eyelid, the shrug, the drumming on the table with the fingers, the stroking of nose or chin, the revolving of thumbs, the pushing or patting of the hair, are eloquent signs that he who runs may read, and make his own. These may be called ostentatious mannerisms.

The subtle peculiarities are far more difficult to catch and convey faithfully. One man suddenly narrows his eyes and looks introspectively at you, or the mouth clinches unexpectedly over the teeth without any apparent reason. A pulse suddenly quivers into sight at the temples, and is gone again. The expression falls into repose, but that very stillness indicates a perplexing and evasive expression of temperament and individuality that you cannot catch to your own satisfaction. You may note coloring of hair, beard, mustache, &c. You may purchase their exact match, and find the likeness only a shell, because the essence that lends delicate fragrance and character has escaped you, and without it your representation, however flawless in coloring and texture, is as unsatisfactory and unreal as the marble statue to the human face and form.

Fundamental to the successful rendition of character impersonation is the cultivation of dexterity and quickness. The dumb representative must have all his regalia of wigs, beards, eyebrows, hats, helmets, cloaks, &c., well arranged, and within easy reach.

In a sense he is a conjuror—a magician. His movements must be swift as lightning. Indecision creates a jar; a pause or bungling spells failure. A small velvet-draped stand or table placed behind him, and within easy reach, with each article ready in the order wished, is essential. In the center of this should be a mirror, with a good electric light over it, but shaded as much as possible from the audience ([Fig. 1]).

Fig. 1.—Character impersonator’s stage table.

The stand must be draped in dark colors, so as to obtrude as little as possible on the audience. While in preparation, all other lights near you should be turned off, and only switched on for a moment or two the instant you are ready. The attitude should be struck in the dark, and this must be sure and swiftly taken, and absolutely in keeping with the character assumed. Avoid grease paints as far as possible.

A pianoforte or small orchestra playing some melody suitable to the impersonation will prove a most valuable adjunct to the imagination of artist and audience.

Avoid such hackneyed characters as Napoleon, the late Sir Henry Irving, the German Emperor, and similar portrayals that may be witnessed any evening at almost any vaudeville hall. An audience is frequently more amused by the imitation of types than of individuals.

Fig. 2.—The costermonger.

Fig. 3.—The lady-killing curate.

The fat saloonkeeper, the costermonger ([Fig. 2]), the blasé gentleman of fashion, the racetrack bookmaker, the ruddy countryman, the lady-killing curate ([Fig. 3]), and the typical Soap King ([Fig. 4]), the country rustic ([Fig. 5]), and many other such types are excellent studies for representation.

Fig. 4.—The soap king.

Fig. 5.—The country bumpkin.

Although the character portrayals of the costumed and wigged impersonator depend on wordless demonstrations between the items and in ordinary evening dress, the artist may announce the name of the personality to be represented, or have it worked in almanac fashion and shown to the audience as it appears.

The former method, however, is quite usual, and perhaps more suitable to drawing-room entertainments.

It may be kept in mind that this style of performance should not be unduly long, and should never exceed twelve or fifteen minutes.

Speaking Impersonations

Speaking impersonations are more difficult to achieve successfully, for in them, as a rule, the artist has no regalia to depend upon. His hair, his face, his voice, his limbs, his fingers are his only aids, but these are more than sufficient for the talented and skilled performer. His voice is as elastic as his features in power of mimicry.

He should be clean-shaven, but with a plentiful crop of hair, which he can arrange and manipulate as he wishes with a mere twirl or pat of the hand, and these must be sympathetic and convincing expressions of his every movement. “There is no more expression in the back of the hand than in the back of the head,” yet of what subtle demonstrations is it not capable?

A whole epitome of human emotions may be demonstrated by the gradual unfolding of the flexible, sensitive fingers. The first finger raised, and intelligence and meaning begin to develop. The palms upturned, the shoulders uplifted, and the head slightly bent, and you see the suave helplessness typical of the Frenchman.

The arms flung outward, with the palms parallel, and the fingers falling naturally, indicate sentiments of affection, welcome, and cordial invitation. Stretched farther away, with fingers distended, and you have entreaty, desire, passionate pleading, and supplication. The wrists upturned, the fingers crooked, and grasping, and we see the personification of rage and avarice, while the raising of the open hand, what horror it indicates!

Yet the hand is only a part of the mechanism. Its soul is in the eye, which combines in partnership and signifies calm, candor, liberality, love, gentleness, meditation, resentment, boldness, defiance, wrath, and fear, in complete accord with its dumb component.

The nostrils inflate in scorn, the head is proudly raised in dignity or joy, and meekly bowed in humility; bent forward in shame, squarely upright, with firm compressed features, for determination and will power.

The artist must never be tempted to sacrifice his cultured discretion in a portrayal. For instance, to give the cockney the musician’s hand, or the priest the bookmaker’s wink, the sly housebreaker anxious to escape notice the loud, boisterous guffaw of the countryman, is to be guilty of the most insensate blunders.

Action and gesture should be skilled and practiced handmaidens to the brain that molds the idea, and their service must be winged to respond.

“True ease in action comes from art, not chance,
As they move easiest who have learnt to dance.”

Temperament

The psychological treatment of characters depends and is influenced in no slight degree by temperament. The character the student is about to study has its peculiar atmosphere of mind and body, which unconsciously dictates and regulates its actions from head to foot. The most important temperaments are:—

1. The optimistic temperament, embracing impulsive, warm-hearted, sanguine, easily-pleased, tender, ambitious dispositions.

2. The pessimistic temperament, embracing nervous, timid, sensitive, overwrought, peevish, unstable, irritable, depressed, neurotic, restless, dissatisfied, cynical, morbid, self-conscious dispositions.

3. The artistic temperament, embracing extravagant, sympathetic, imaginative, languid, reckless, turbulent, excitable, hot-tempered, brooding dispositions.

4. The commercial temperament, which embraces the phlegmatic, lymphatic, enigmatic dispositions.

Now, the first way of approaching a new study is to consider what characteristics it possesses, and to what class of temperament it belongs, and, when this is decided, the student asks himself, what gesture will be the most symbolic and eloquent of that temperament?

This method, conscientiously adhered to, will provide a safe and firm groundwork for the beginner.

With judgment and sense, he will soon be able to place his character in its right niche, and to plan his actions in accordance, even if he has never seriously studied gesture. The movements of an open-hearted, liberal man are usually large, free, and liberal. He opens his arms widely for an embrace. He gives you his hand in greeting warmly, and with frank, cordial pressure. His eyes shine clear and steady below a benevolent forehead. His walk, with its free, steady swing, is the index of his generous and kindly disposition.

Now contrast him with the mean man, the usual type of which is pinched in physical delineation, action, expression, and thought. His hair grows sparsely on a skull, screwed as grimly to his face as the upper section of a bicycle bell to the lower. His eye is squeezed in a narrow slit of socket, roves backwards and forwards like a marble in a puzzle-box. His mouth is withered in bitter antagonism for his fellow-men. To catch a generous smile upon his colorless lips is to surprise a sunbeam at midnight.

Of course, there are many shades in the scale between these extremes of the very liberal man and the very mean one, and the artist who is imitating the thrifty soul must remember the infinitesimal points of difference which distinguish him alike from the benevolent and avaricious.

And, in the wide margin of temperaments, an artist must be careful not to label and pigeon-hole his characters as if they were bottles of physic, for in the complex nature of one man there may be vast contradictions, just as in many good medicines there is a minute quantity of poison, so a disposition may be tinted with qualities not at all worthy of admiration.

There are occasions when the most impulsive becomes cold and hesitating, the most affectionate cruel, the most benevolent calculating, and the most patient, hot-tempered and passionate.

Character and Circumstance

The artist must never forget the important crucible of circumstances which molds and forms each character, and sometimes is potent to change the most optimistic temperament to one of pessimism and cynical bitterness. Yet, while remembering this, one must probe beneath the stamped envelope of environment to decipher the hieroglyphics of the fettered soul inclosed.

One does not find the wild, untutored gestures of the stump orator in the refined politician, nor the turbulent raving of the fanatic in the sermon of the cultured ecclesiastic, while the expression natural to the plebeian is such as the aristocrat never indulges.

There are many natures so complex as to defy all classification, and to portray them successfully is an almost impossible matter unless one masters the delicate mechanism of their nature. A grandfather’s clock to outward appearance is a figured circle in a narrow wooden case, with softly regularly-moving pendulum, but get behind that exterior to the revolving wheels, and see what an amount of intricacies are involved. So the man who presents a calm, self-possessed exterior to the world, may in reality seethe with qualities not at all phlegmatic or level-headed.

In conquering the technicalities of character, one must, as far as possible, grip the crisis the personality has reached in his lifetime, and this is one reason why a historic character is easier to grasp than one contemporaneous. For example, he who portrays Napoleon in the flush of success and victory, does not represent him as he who images him at the end of his career—broken-hearted, alone, and in despair, suffering the calumny and scorn of those who exhibited most faith and admiration of his sanguinary achievements.

Correct attitude and pose are extremely important, and should be carefully studied. The old man has tottering bowed knees, but the youth stands firmly.

The reverberation of the interior gestures rules and gives to the torso or trunk the inspiring grace of truth and beauty. It is only when a soldier or sailor on duty is being represented that the artist may stand bolt upright and move automatically. At all other times the torso should be held with flexible ease, ready to combine with eye, face and gesture, in the emotion and force of the impersonation. To portray the child with mature and abandoned gesture is to present a caricature of nature, and, in like manner, to represent the adult with the careless gestures of the child, is to convey the impression of one inane and undeveloped.

In attitude, remember the maxim of Cresollius: “Without the hand, no eloquence.”

To imagine a boy stealing jam with the wild eye and hand-clawing attitude of the miser snatching at gold is to exaggerate grossly and confuse the human emotions, and to paint comedy as the burlesque of tragedy. The hands are capable of such a vast amount of expression that they have been considered “numerous and copious as words themselves.”

While imitating characters, never be bound by the representations of other artists you have seen. See with your own eyes, study with your own brain, avoid that conventionality of fashion and ideas that cripples progress. Let your maxims be your own, and, when they are mastered, be not ashamed to demonstrate them with grand and self-reliant originality.

CHAPTER V
THE UNIVERSAL HAT

Marvels of Chapeaugraphy

Every entertainer must have felt at some time or other the need of a short “gag” to fill up that awkward gap which so frequently occurs between the conclusion of one long piece and the commencement of another.

The mind of an audience is of a flighty nature and requires to be kept continually amused, or it will wander into paths of boredom; and many a good entertainment has failed for the simple reason that the ball has not been kept rolling.

It is during one of these uncomfortable pauses that the Universal Hat may be appropriately introduced, and, if worked well, it cannot fail to gain approval.

You can either buy or make a Universal Hat, and as to do the former will cost a dollar or more, whilst the latter can be done for less than half that sum, it is well to be your own hat-maker.

Obtain a piece of fairly strong black felt, measuring 24 inches square, and cut it into a ring, the diameter of the whole circle being 24 inches, with a hole in the center 7 inches across. That is all that is required as far as the hat is concerned, and the success of your piece will now rest entirely with yourself.

Arrange a screen behind which to retire, and have a good-sized mirror, so placed that you will be able to see in a moment how your head-dress suits. Keep a little rouge ready, as well as a burnt cork for blacking eyebrows, making mustaches, &c. Remember that quickness is a necessity, for the smarter you are in changing your hats the more the audience will appreciate the effect.

Now to give a few examples of what can be done with the universal hat, so arranged as to give scope for any amount of ingenuity in inventing new ideas.

Before beginning your show step from behind the screen, raise the ring of felt in your hand, and exhibit it to the audience. Then step back under cover, put the hat on your head, giving it a tilt in front and a rakish tip to one side, assume a stern expression, and, if you have a dog-whip amongst the stage properties, grasp it firmly in your hand, and make an appearance before the spectators in the character of Buffalo Bill. Take care always to face the audience as in [Fig. 1], otherwise the top of your head will be seen through the hole in the hat.

Fig. 1.—Buffalo Bill.

Remember that in this, as in all the other characters, a lot—indeed, almost everything—depends upon your expression, which should be entirely in keeping with the person you represent. Buffalo Bill must not wear a grin, but must appear as grimly in earnest as though he were hastening to the relief of the Deadwood stage.

Another point to bear in mind, is that you must not make a long appearance. A minute for each character is ample, and, as you appear before your audience, announce who you are in a tone suggestive of the person you are representing. A few remarks in keeping with the character will greatly add to the realism of your make-up, but let your words be like your appearances—brief and effective.

Popular Characters

Napoleon makes a good character to represent, and his hat is very easily made. Draw two sides of the felt through the hole in the center, and pull the hat firmly down about your ears, as in [Fig. 2]. Assume a stern expression, suggestive of Waterloo, thrust your left hand into your breast, hump your shoulders, and look fiercely at the audience as though you could see Wellington at the farther end of the room.

Later on in the performance you can represent Bonaparte’s great antagonist by making the hat in the same way, but wearing it with the peak forward as in [Fig. 3].

Fig. 2.—A hat suggesting Napoleon.

Fig. 3.—The Iron Duke.

General Wolfe is another easy character to assume. His hat is made in this way. Lay the felt ring flat on the table, lift up one side, draw it towards you and then pass it downwards through the hole. Pull back the piece that you have passed through the hole, in the direction from which you took it in the first place, and you will find it has made a hat of the shape shown in [Fig. 4]. When you fit it on your head pull it firmly down towards your ears, but not too tightly, and the effect will be complete. A little practice will serve to perfect you in making the twists necessary for this and other hats, and patience will soon reward you. To heighten the resemblance to General Wolfe, whiten your cheeks with a little chalk and draw them slightly in, to give the appearance of being haggard and wan. If you can get a sword, point to the ceiling with it enthusiastically, as one can imagine the General did when he encouraged his men to climb the Heights of Abraham.

As a contrast to these more exalted personages, you can now appear as the coal driver; although if you wish to increase the realism by smearing your face into a state of suitable dirtiness with burnt cork, it would be advisable to leave this character to the last. To make the hat, lay your felt flat as before and draw up a piece from the rim as was done in the case of General Wolfe. Now, instead of passing it completely through the hole, push it only halfway through, giving it what may be called a half twist. It will then appear as in [Fig. 5], ready for wear. Draw it tightly over your head, and slouch upon the scene, putting your hand to your mouth and shrieking “Coal O!” in a cracked voice.

Fig. 4.—General Wolfe.

Fig. 5.—The Coal Driver.

Fig. 6.—A Priest’s Biretta.

Fig. 6a.—A Priest.

You may now appear as a priest in a biretta. Place the felt upon the table and then draw a side from below, up through the hole, exactly the reverse way from that in which Wolfe’s hat was made. When you have drawn it right through, bend it down and pass it up through the hole once more, thus making two twists. It then resembles [Fig. 6], and if you draw it upon your head with the broad brim flush against the forehead, the impersonation will be striking. Tuck a little lapel of white into the collar, raise your right hand with two fingers extended, and face the company with as pious an expression as you can assume.

Fig. 7.—The Pied Piper.

As a last example, an effective appearance may be made as the famous Pied Piper of Hamelin. Having laid the felt flat, make a twist from below upwards, as you did in the former hat—the priest’s biretta. But for this hat only one twist is required, so when you have done this, the hat will appear as in [Fig. 7]. You must now put your hands in the opening and stretch it as wide as possible, thus making the rolls very taut and firm. Turn the felt over and fit it on the head as shown in the picture. Draw your collar up, take a tin whistle in your hand, and pipe a few notes before making your appearance. Then slink into view with a cunning smile upon your lips, reciting these lines from the poem:—

“Please your honors, I am able
By means of a secret charm to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim, or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole, the toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.”

Of course these are but hints. An ingenious person will soon discover endless other ways of adapting the Universal Hat in such a manner as to keep the audience amused for some considerable time. Always remember, however, these two axioms—

Let your make-up be done quickly.
Let your appearances be short.

CHAPTER VI
NIGGER MINSTRELSY

The Comical End-men

Some people imagine that a black face, a pair of large check trousers and a rather dilapidated hat, are all that’s necessary to make a nigger minstrel. This is, however, a great mistake, and whosoever feels the stirring of an ambition to amuse his friends with a nigger entertainment, must not be discouraged if he finds the road harder than he expected. Its difficulties, however, are far from insurmountable.

Fig. 1.—Seating arrangements of nigger minstrel troupe.

For a really successful nigger entertainment seven persons are necessary; the interlocutor—usually known as Mr. Johnson—one bass and one tenor singer and four “end-men.” The troupe should be arranged as shown in [Fig. 1]. Now, before describing what to do, a few words as to how you should arrange yourselves will not be out of place. The stage should be raised, if possible, to enable any member of the audience to see the performers. Unless you are performing a farce or drama, such as will be described later, a curtain is not absolutely necessary, provided the troupe can get to the stage without having to pass right through the assembled company.

Minstrels’ “Make-up”

As far as “make-up” is concerned, this should present no difficulty whatever. Many barbers, and some music shops, can supply “nigger black,” which must be rubbed into the face and hands, after the skin has been well washed and dried. When the performance is over the black can easily be removed by means of soap and hot water. To redden the lips and enlarge the mouth, use carmine or rouge; cover the lips and paint them to appear as though stretching almost from ear to ear ([Fig. 2]). Cheap wigs can be obtained for but a small sum from any hairdresser. Those of Mr. Johnson and the sentimentalists should be as shown in [Fig. 3], while each of the “end-men” should provide himself with one similar to that depicted in [Fig. 4]. The “interlocutor” and sentimentalists usually wear ordinary evening dress, the “end-men,” however, wearing frilled collars, cuffs and fronts, as shown in [Fig. 5]. A complete outfit comprising stockinette face, head, eyes, teeth, and hat can be purchased for about $2.50.

Fig. 2.—Showing how the lips are painted.

Fig. 3.—Interlocutor and sentimentalist’s wig.

Fig. 4.—End-man’s wig, showing workable tuft.

Music is a necessity with a troupe, and you will accordingly require another person to play the piano as an accompaniment to the songs and choruses, as well as for the overture and instrumental pieces. It is also presumed that the members of the troupe have fairly good voices and are able to sing, not only in tune but in time with one another.

In serious or sentimental songs, such as “Swanee River” and other favorites, the “end-men” must forego their love of mirth and take part in all solemnity, reserving their facetious behavior for a more timely moment. After these remarks the principal characters in the troupe may be discussed.

Fig. 5.—Frilled collar, shirt front, and cuffs used by end-man.

The interlocutor is one of the most important persons upon the stage. It is his duty to introduce each number of the programme to the audience; to be the butt of the “end-men’s” jokes; and to assume upon every occasion an air of the utmost ignorance and simplicity, that shall prove an admirable foil to the exuberant humor of his companions. He must appear absolutely innocent of any idea of the answers to the riddles and conundrums asked, and must reply to the occasionally personal remarks of his friends with the utmost suavity and good humor. In short, what with helping the others to sing and keeping the ball rolling generally, Mr. Johnson is responsible, to a large extent, for the success or failure of the entertainment.

From Failure to Success

The “end-men,” with whom lies the task of producing most of the fun of the nigger entertainment, must be possessed of a ready wit—able to tide over awkward pauses, prepared with some “gag” when the fun is beginning to flag, and capable of turning disaster into a mighty success. From Mr. Johnson’s placid obtuseness they will be able to draw much sport, and bandying jokes at each other’s and the interlocutor’s expense, should keep the audience shaking with laughter.

Whilst on the subject of jokes a note of warning may be struck. The moment humor changes to vulgarity, it produces disgust in any respectable audience. It is therefore well worth while to think over the regular jokes you intend introducing into the performance, and if there be any that are in the remotest way likely to offend the feelings of any person in the company, cut them out.

There is another point worth remembering in the matter of jokes. It may seem a truism to remark that a joke should be funny, yet the very funniest of jokes will fall flat if it is not led up to suitably. Don’t ask Mr. Johnson a conundrum in a meek tone as though you were requesting him to tell you the time. His immovably suave ignorance will extract the answer from you, it is true, but the chances are ten to one that the audience have either missed the question or will fail to see the point of the answer.

Jokes should be introduced by a certain amount of patter which serves to engage the attention of the hearers in such a way that when the inevitable fun really comes they are perfectly prepared to appreciate it. Books can be bought containing numbers of these jokes with the suitable patter, and these will prove very useful to the amateur, who must nevertheless remember that success really depends upon the way in which he springs the joke upon the audience.

Coon Songs

And now a word about the singing. It goes without saying that the larger the troupe and the better trained the voices, so much the more enjoyable will be the choruses. The number of songs from which to select is legion; the best plan is to write to some leading musical publisher, telling him what you want. He will be only too pleased to send his catalogue with some advice as to what will prove suitable. Avoid any comic songs with a double or doubtful meaning, and keep to strictly characteristic songs as far as possible. Old favorites never fail to win applause, and are always safe to fall back upon; but do not be too conservative—try some novelties.

Songs and “Gags”

Nigger entertainments are usually divided into two parts, the first consisting of songs and “gags,” as the short dialogues and impromptu jokes are called, whilst the second is devoted to stump speeches and one-act dramas or farces. So far as stump speeches are concerned, excellent collections are published by the leading publishers of that class of entertainment. Your bookseller will obtain a catalogue for you, and a choice can then be made. The speeches should be very carefully learnt by heart, together with the appropriate gestures (for which full instructions are always given), and unceasingly practiced until you are able to make your stump oratory bring down the house with delight. Stump speeches are the province of the “end-men,” and properly delivered, can be relied upon to prove one of the successes of the evening.

One-Act Dramas

With regard to one-act dramas and farces, a very exhaustive catalogue can be furnished by publishers, with full instructions as to how they should be performed. A word of advice, however, to the intending actors. Too much care cannot be expended upon preparation and rehearsals. Nothing will go of itself in this world, and least of all plays and sketches; it is a fatal mistake to imagine that the smallest drama or even “gag” will succeed by its own merits and with only a little help from yourself. Endless trouble and care must be taken in preparing the simplest joke, and boisterous as the fun may prove upon the stage, it cannot be spontaneous, but must be diligently rehearsed again and again before it can be presented to your audience.

Your great object is, not to enjoy the fun yourself but to make the others enjoy it, and if this is borne in mind, you will not only amuse them but have a delightful time yourself. Again, never forget that in a play one actor relies upon another to repeat the actual words of the “book,” as cues and stage directions depend upon verbal accuracy. Do not, therefore, introduce any novelties of your own—learn the words and keep to them, for any original introductions on your part may throw the whole play into disorder, exasperate the other actors and disgust the audience.

To keep to the “book” is easy enough, and if you act in earnest—and this is essential for the most comic pieces—you will find no difficulty in sustaining your part correctly and intelligently. Do not laugh at your own jokes, unless you are instructed to do so, but keep a grave face and appear as though to find yourself in the most farcical situations were a matter of everyday life.

To give an idea of a reasonably simple programme which shall include a farce, the following is suggested:—

PART I

Overture on the piano. A march.

Chorus. Some song in which all voices can join.

Solo. Preferably a sentimental song.

Jokes. Properly led up to by an end-man.

Comic Song. Also by an end-man.

Solo. Another sentimental song. And so on for ten or eleven turns, after which comes the

Interval. During this the pianist can entertain the audience with some operatic piece.

PART II

Chorus. As above.

Piano Solo. Whilst this is being played the stage should be prepared for the

Stump Speech.

Curtain and Piano Solo. During which the stage is arranged for the

Farce.

Solo. Sentimental song.

Finale.

This programme must, of course, be adapted to any exigencies of time, space or other circumstances, but will serve as an example of what can be done.

To conclude with a few hints as to the actual entertainment. If possible, have a sufficient number of programmes printed, or carefully and legibly written by hand, as the most tolerant audience grows restive if it does not know “what comes next.” Distribute these, and let one of your party make it his business to see that the company are properly and comfortably seated. Begin punctually; if your audience have to wait they become impatient, and as there are few people more incapable of seeing a joke than impatient folk, it will be to your own advantage to begin at the proper time. Be as silent as possible behind the scenes; it is very tantalizing for the spectators to hear a wild rushing hither and thither, hoarse whispering, and the various signs of excitement in which they are not allowed to participate.

Of course a certain amount of bustle is unavoidable, but reduce it to a silent minimum. Do not be shy; remember in the first place that the black hides all your blushes, and in the second place that nobody is there to see you, but to see a “nigger” who is going to make them laugh. Half of your audience have probably done the same in their time, whilst the other half would have done so if they could; so take heart, and show them all how really well it can be done. However well-disposed your company may be, do not let that be any excuse for slovenliness on your part, but let it rather incite you to work all the harder, so that when everything is finished and the black is off your faces, the universal opinion will be—“We would never have imagined that it could be carried out so well!”

CHAPTER VII
SOME SUGGESTIONS IN BLACK

For “Nigger Minstrels”

In the previous chapter hints have been given to enable a party of five or more performers to give a Nigger Minstrel Entertainment. The object of the following is to show how one or two people can contrive to amuse their friends with a few negro performances.

The pieces are suitable either as items in a variety entertainment, or as convenient “gags” to be introduced between longer entertainments when the interest of the audience is to be sustained by some timely diversion.

It might be remarked, by the way, that it is surprising how much the effect of a joke depends upon the humor of the audience. If they are feeling in a happy and pleasant frame of mind, the mere sight of a comic man is sufficient to bring forth roars and shrieks of laughter. But if a gloom or lack of interest has settled over the company, even the comic genius of the late Dan Leno would most probably have failed to raise a smile.

There are two things almost invariably associated with nigger songs—a banjo and bones. Proficiency with both these is necessary before attempting to give an entertainment.

Practice and a quick ear are indispensable for playing or even strumming a banjo. A very little practice will enable you to strike chords with ease, whilst a quick ear will show when they should be played.

To make a successful “hit” with the “bones” is a question, more or less, of knack.

A set of four bones costs about $1.00. When buying take care they are sound, i.e. with no crack or flaw, and that they contain no core of pith, as this is liable to dull the sound, rendering it quite impossible to obtain the sharp clean click so necessary for successful rendition.

Having obtained your bones—a pair for each hand—you must know how they should be held. Notice they are slightly curved, as in [Fig. 1]. With a pair in each hand place the ends between the first and second and second and third fingers, the convex sides towards each other ([Fig. 2]). Hold No. 1 (the bone between the first and second fingers) fairly firmly, although not so stiffly as to rob it of a distinct spring. No. 2 (the bone between the second and third fingers) must be rapped up against its companion by the action of the third and fourth fingers.

Fig. 1.—Curved bone used in nigger minstrelsy.

A sharp shake of the hand will make the bones clap together, while if you keep the hand quivering and also work bone No. 2 vigorously a continuous rattle is produced.

Fig. 2.—How to hold the bones.

Fig. 3.—Correct position for playing the bones.

A good plan, when once you are accustomed to having the bones between the fingers, is to hold the hand with the knuckles upwards, the bones pointing to the ground, as in [Fig. 3]. By this means the fingers are allowed freer play. At the same time a better appearance is given to the exhibition.

At first you will find your rattles jerky and spasmodic, but do not be content until you have the bones so entirely under command that you can make a long rattle as easily as a solitary tap, remembering that the less exertion you betray the better will be the effect.

Your own ear will show you how to introduce them into the music. Do not drown the air—the bones are only intended to give a point, to accentuate certain parts and not to render them inaudible. A smart rattle may be given at the commencement of the music and at the conclusion of the song.

Introducing Jokes

All jokes should be introduced by a certain amount of conversational patter between the Interlocutor and “Bones.”

Mr. Johnson, the interlocutor, is always a very simple-minded person, unable to see any joke until it has been fairly thrown at him, and perfectly innocent in the presence of the most obnoxious puns. He has a certain patronizing air with his companion which only serves to make his innate simplicity more delightful. Mr. Johnson maintains an impassive face in the most ludicrous and trying situations by his very matter-of-fact behavior, extracting all kinds of smart things from the funny man.

“Bones” is the very reverse of Mr. Johnson. He is up to all the latest catches, full of quips and puns, is possessed of a never-failing store of quaint experiences and remarkable stories, the most improbable of which are gravely swallowed by Johnson. Yet the big red lips on his broad black face must be immovable and never show the least symptom of a smile as he recounts with stolid solemnity his marvelous doings to his credulous friend.

The following dialogue is arranged for these two characters. Mr. Johnson asks Bones all kinds of simple and apparently harmless questions; but Mr. Bones replies with a constant succession of puns and jokes:—

Johnson. So you’ve been enjoying yourself, William, lately, I understand. Dining out a good deal?

Bones. Oh yes, that’s right. I’d dine with anybody.

Johnson. Yes, but I’m told you dined with the Mayor last week. Is that right?

Bones. Oh yes, that’s right.

Johnson. Then I suppose you had an excellent dinner—plenty to eat and drink. What was the menu?

Bones. Well, to tell you the truth, there was a lot of ’em there, but I don’t recollect him.

Johnson. Ah, you don’t understand me. I mean what was the bill of fare?

Bones. Oh, well, it was a pretty fair bill. I believe it cost him about $300.

Johnson. No, you don’t understand me. I mean what dishes did you have to eat?

Bones. Well, we didn’t eat any dishes.

Johnson. No, no, of course not; but what did you have to eat and drink?

Bones. Well, I believe the first thing we had to eat was something to drink.

Johnson. And what did you have to drink, then?

Bones. Well, it was a new soup.

Johnson. A new soup! Well, I should like to know what that was. What was it called?

Bones. Oh, I don’t remember exactly what it was, but you might mention the names of a few to help me.

Johnson. Well, was it Mullagatawny?

Bones. No, it wasn’t Multigatony.

Johnson. Was it Mock Turtle?

Bones. No, it wasn’t him.

Johnson. Was it gravy?

Bones. No.

Johnson. Was it spring?

Bones. No, it wasn’t spring, it was summer.

Johnson. Well, I must give it up, William. What was it?

Bones. Oh, I know, it was what they call—er—er—shadow soup.

Johnson. Oh, then, it must be a new soup. I’ve never heard of shadow soup.

Bones. Never heard of shadow soup?

Johnson. No, I haven’t. I should like to taste that. How is it made?

Bones. I’ll tell you. You go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take it home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken, reflects the shadow in the pail of water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.

Johnson. Oh, you go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take it home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken and reflects the shadow in the water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.

Bones. Yes.

Johnson. But, my dear sir, you’ve forgotten one of the principal things.

Bones. Oh, have I? What’s that?

Johnson. What’s that? Why, supposing you have no sun?

Bones. Well, then—you have no soup.

Stump Speeches

A little extra effort in the matter of make-up might be attempted for stump speeches, for the orator should be as “seedy” as possible in the way of costume. A tattered coat and battered hat are usually considered essential to the character, whilst an old dilapidated umbrella, of bulky form and shapeless proportions, is useful for brandishing at the emotional parts or thumping as the impressive points in the speech are reached.

The stump orator should deliver his speech mounted upon a rickety chair or table, for his exaggerated endeavors to maintain his balance will be certain to cause fun amongst the audience.

Having taken his position with much danger, and with a familiar look at the spectators, the speaker may embark upon the lecture. He should speak distinctly and slowly, pausing every now and again to illustrate his remarks with some quip or to steady himself upon the very rocky pulpit.

As an example he may take the following, which will serve for the opening sentences of a stump speech on “Sound”:—

Ladies and Gentlemen, and others. I have much, I have much (puts hand in pocket as if to feel how much money he has), I say I have much—much feeling of proudness in assembling here in large numbers before you—me—you here dis even. The subject of my investigation has been for many long years, that is to say early years, short years, new years, old years, pig’s and donkey’s ears, and the rest of the human race. I say the subject of my intellectual and not at all less pig’s-head-a-frying lecture on the various means of communicating our thoughts, words, title-deeds, and other chattels, such as sauce-pans, frying-pans, umbrellas, knobbed sticks, brick-bats and bricks without bats, I say the subject of this important question, whether it be the pop-shopular question or whether it be unwise to mention, or otherwise in dimension, let it be understood that previous to preparing myself to begin—to commence, I must ask a few questions about the temperaments, detriments out-o-debtriments, cape-abilities, cloak-abilities, hats, caps, boots, shoes, underlinen, socks, and other kind of earthenware. I say before I, as I said before I said “I say before”—this subject can be clothes-properly dissolved, we will, although I say it myself, ladies and gentlemen, I say we shall, ladies, we shall all be dead men. (Takes pinch of snuff, wipes nose with wet part of handkerchief, wiping off some black. Resumes dialogue.)

Music for Minstrelsy

Taking it for granted that the would-be minstrels have reasonably good voices, the only difficulty will be “selection.” Of course a great deal of tact is required to know what class of music is best suited to the audience.

Have as much variety as possible. Do not confine yourself exclusively to comic songs or to sentimental ditties alone. At all costs keep your audience cheerful and amused. Too much humor is apt to nauseate, but too much melancholy will certainly spell failure. Try to gauge the temper of your company, and if they seem to prefer the serious to the comic parts on your programme, or vice versâ, make as quick and effective an alteration as you can. They must be made to appreciate you—not simply to tolerate you.

To have a piano accompaniment is a distinct acquisition if the voices be of doubtful merit. For accomplished singers a banjo is quite sufficient, but the amateur will certainly find that a friend at the piano is very handy and reliable. This is, of course, entirely a matter of individual taste and circumstances.

A very good selection of nigger dialogues, speeches, &c., can be obtained from any theatrical publisher. The entertainer will be furnished with useful ideas for a programme, including some of the most successful minstrels’ songs and drolleries.

As the Stump Orator would say, “We must now draw a delusion to our not over long lecture,” feeling confident that the amateur nigger will find his entertainment as great a source of pleasure to himself as of amusement to the audience.

CHAPTER VIII
TABLEAUX VIVANTS

True-to-Life Representations

Tableaux may be divided into two important classes—the portrayal of abstract qualities, which usually includes motionless figures posed in sustained attitudes, and historic and romantic groups, in which the actor is allowed some occupation.

The Hero.

The Martyr.

The first class is most difficult of successful achievement. In it, the whole gamut of emotions common to mankind may be symbolized, and in these attitude and gesture are governed by the mind, which should be revealed in every muscle, curve, and limb of the human frame.

The Ascetic.

The Fanatic.

Strength, courage, fidelity, chivalry, purity, and honesty should be posed in such a manner that the simple grandeur and dignity of these attributes cannot be mistaken. The hero, the martyr, the ascetic, the fanatic have each a commonly recognized type and pose.

The shrinking form of the coward—he who fears all things greater than himself—must bear the stamp of the puny soul unveiled. The eye of the hypocrite, the cunning, the evil and degraded, is as different from the gaze of the pure of heart as the muddy, stagnant pool is different from the wide, blue expanse of salt sea—the air of a foul room from the breath inhaled beneath the open sky.

And in the same way that grand music is expressive of all human emotions, and as welcome to the ear as the song of birds, so form and color, attitude and character, in living pictures are potent emblems of the strength and weakness of complex humanity.

The figure that is to symbolize Hope must possess that wondrous attribute in herself, otherwise no trickery of dress or limelight can make her anything but a caricature of the spirit of optimism.

So that, in order to portray virtues and vices as they are, the stage manager’s craft reaches beyond superficial knowledge. Psychology and intuition are even more important to him than experience regarding blending of colors, arrangement of lights and grouping of forms, for the human mind is the keynote in which his music is revealed, the touchstone of his secret, the mystic spirit dominating the symmetry of gesture.

In the choice of individuals, personal character is weighty—pink and white flesh tints, however perfectly blended in a face, do not stand for Patience, Charity, or Sympathy unless the heart behind is pulsed on the pivot-springs of these virtues, for the experienced eye of the spectator probes beyond paint and attitude, and knows perfectly well whether these virtues are rightly embodied or merely distorted mimicry.

Therefore the stage manager of tableaux vivants, before all else, needs penetration in recognizing and choosing exponents suitable to interpret the abstract conditions he is anxious to depict, and it is only when his choice is made that the training, grouping, and scenic effects need be considered.

Tableaux vivants are in character not unlike a symphony. The theme in both is important. In the latter, the interweaving of other parts enhances the beauty of the dominating strain, as in the former, where harmonizing colors and stage effects, important as they are, remain ever subordinate to the principal conception aspired.

Of course, in the training of subjects, it is very necessary that one attitude should be maintained by each figure and remain unbroken from the lift to the fall of the curtain, and this without rigidity of body, unless the characteristic is typified in rigid lines; but even more important is the necessity that the mind should not waver nor the features change to an expression not in harmony with the attribute typified.

Hope does not frown or smile, and all nervous twitching is absent from the tranquil face and figure of Serenity. Courage shows a lofty brow and steady eye—the shoulders are squared resolutely, but not aggressively.

Mercy, Pity, Love, Gentleness, Sweetness, and Charity are most perfectly imaged by women, who naturally possess these virtues; Dignity, Determination, Steadfastness, and Chivalry by men. But the stage manager need not limit himself by any conventions in this particular, for it sometimes happens that a woman’s face and form breathe characteristics usually found in certain types of manhood, while a man’s countenance may be eloquent of the gentle virtues typical of womanhood.

The thoughts of each character must be concentrated on the part undertaken, and the onlookers absolutely forgotten. As far as possible the actors should forget that there is a certain amount of strain in the immovable pose, otherwise limbs will twitch and the balance and pose be in peril. With sufficient practice it will not be difficult to remain in the attitude fixed upon for the few minutes after the curtain is lifted. It is only at first that the limbs, either through inexperience or nervousness, prove rebellious. The impersonators should not be afraid to breathe regularly, for this prevents artificial rigidity.

Figures should not be crowded together. A small stage, such as would be used in a drawing-room, requires a picture in proportion. The dresses and lights should blend harmoniously with the background and frame.

Staging

[Fig. 1] depicts the lighting arrangement at back of frame. The guard-wires, running from side to side, are to prevent the possibility of dresses catching fire. The footlights usually consist of ordinary night-lights with illumination glass covers. Behind these are tin shades for reflectors. Electric light, if available, can be substituted for oil lamps as shown. In the same sketch a curtain-raising apparatus also appears. Two persons should be chosen for its manipulation, and be always stationed in such a position that they can draw and divide the curtain at the given signal.

Every separate production is timed by the stage manager or some other reliable person, and the duration of each should be exact. Three, or at the most four, minutes are ample time for the audience to take in the details of the picture, and the instant the curtain is drawn another group is arranged, the actors being perfectly familiar with the position and pose they are to take, going to their places without confusion or disorder.

In a succession of group-pictures different groups of actors are necessary, for it is impossible for the same persons to change their costumes in the minute or so that intervenes before the succeeding spectacle.

Where the number of players amounts to fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five, the number of tableaux arranged upon can be divided between them, and the productions, consisting of from two to five figures, arranged in such a way that during group A’s tableaux group B is ready in the wings and takes the stage the instant group A disappears through a different exit to the dressing-room. Next, group C takes group B’s place in the wings, and so on with all the groups. In this way each has a few minutes in which to change.

Fig. 1.—Lighting arrangement for back of frame.

Confusion and fussing will be prevented by each group knowing exactly their manner and mode of entrance. Some plan, which renders it impossible for group A leaving the stage to collide with group B in the wings, must be fixed upon. Because the tableaux take place in a strange drawing-room, where there is not much accommodation possible behind the platform, and few entrances and exits, is no adequate excuse for any bungling or confusion.

However limited the space, the stage manager and his company should hit upon some plan that makes for order and precision. To do this, the performers should come early to rehearse entrances and exits, and then memorize them, for any mistake behind the scene, even if of so slight a character that it does not retard the productions, is apt to disturb the nerves of the players, and rob them of their necessary calm.

There should be no laughing or talking, for sounds easily penetrate through a drawing-room, and not only disturb the audience, but draw from their task the attention of the group occupying the stage.

The stage manager, who feels unable to represent abstract qualities perfectly, would do well to avoid them altogether.

It may happen that his actors include a few who are absolutely raw material where tableaux are concerned, and upon such occasions he should always have a few studies in his repertoire in which motionless poses are not necessary.

Penelope and Ulysses

For example, a pretty novice, sitting at a spinning-wheel, weaving imaginary threads from a spindle of flax, will do very well as Penelope, spinning her endless garment during the absence of Ulysses. In a simple white or colored gown, with her hair falling over her shoulders, and her head bent slightly over the wheel, she makes a pleasing picture.

Cinderella, seated on the floor, gazing into the cinders, with her hands clasped round her knees, is another quite easily adopted attitude.

Another pretty scene, acted over the spinning-wheel, is the Lady of Shalott, weaving “a magic web with colors gay,” and peering from time to time at the mirror above her, which reflects “the highway near, winding down to Camelot.”

In this tableau the facial expression is wholly different from that which dominates Penelope’s features. Penelope’s labor is inspired by stratagem, to keep her unwelcome suitors at bay. Her soul is steeped in a patience so melancholy that it verges on despair, whereas the Lady of Shalott “weaves by night and day,” because she believes she is chained to her task by an awful power. If she pauses a moment, a curse will fall upon her. Her eyes, therefore, are wild with fear, her face contorted, her fingers pluck the threads feverishly, and there is none of Penelope’s listlessness in her wild agonized concentration.

History and fiction teem with incidents that can be easily translated into groups, wherein an absolutely motionless attitude is not required.

The three witches in “Macbeth,” in their cone-shaped hats, tattered rags, and disheveled hair, their wild, evil prophecy, seared in the deep lines of their withered faces, haunched on the ground conspiring together.

Guinevere, prone on the convent floor of “the holy house at Almesbury”; King Arthur, fully armed, and stained with battle, bending over her in agonized tenderness, pity, and shame; and many other examples, which will easily be found by the stage manager, ambitious to exhibit pictures more unique than those usually adopted.

Stage “Props”

The materials used for characters need not be expensive or difficult to procure. Cheap sateens, muslins, velveteens, gold paper pasted over cardboard and large buttons, glass diamonds and emeralds, tinsel and silver braid, bright-colored ribbons from the remnant basket, discarded shoes and stockings, transformed by cheap dyes, vari-colored beads, imitation ermines, tin swords and armor—all these are useful and effective beneath the lime-light.

Backgrounds may be arranged by means of curtains draped over the walls in colors that blend or contrast harmoniously as desired with the tableau produced. Properties, such as old wine flagons, lamps, &c., may be fashioned by means of cardboard, cut in the necessary shape, gummed together, and covered with gold or silver paper.

Fig. 2.—Tiers for back-stage grouping.

Fancy dress magazines and illustrated histories will reveal many secrets to the stage manager. Better still, a visit to a museum, when he is in doubt about the shape and period of some article he requires, and observation of the properties utilized in historic or Shakespearean plays will well repay time and trouble spent. Duplicates in lead, wood, or tin of almost any old article can be fashioned well enough to answer his purpose.

When a large group of figures is to be arranged, light wooden ladders, placed in a semicircle, and covered with some appropriate color, make easy and adaptable tiers, on each step of which a figure is posed, or an arrangement of tiers for back-stage grouping can be made as shown in [Fig. 2].

The most expensive aids in the stage manager’s paraphernalia—and these, alas, there is no overcoming—are the supply of the lime-light and the loan of the wigs. But in this direction he should not be too ambitious, contenting himself at the start with a moderate outfit in accordance with his means and inexperience.

CHAPTER IX
CHARADES

An Old Favorite for Indoor Parties

One of the most popular indoor entertainments for winter evenings, or indoor parties, both with children and “grown-ups,” is charades. Not only do they afford amusement to the audience, but the players themselves obtain a good deal of fun from their efforts to baffle those who are listening to them.

Suppose, for instance, that a “party” is composed of some twenty people. About five or six of them are selected to go outside, choose a word, which can easily be split into syllables, each making a word in itself.

The players must not waste too much time in planning how best to act the words, or the audience will show signs of impatience. This can also be averted by the hostess arranging for a musical, or other little “stop-gap” to fill up the time which must necessarily elapse between the moment when the players retire and their subsequent appearance.

Having thought of a little sketch which will take in all the several parts of the word chosen, the players arrange impromptu scenery and start the first act, taking care to bring in the first syllable, and yet not giving it undue prominence. This care must be observed all the way through the charade, as the fun is much greater when the listeners cannot guess the word too easily.

If the word chosen is “Indignation,” it is split into three syllables—In, dig, nation.

These words having been acted, in the last scene the complete word is brought in, and as it is through this act the audience will listen most carefully for a clew, the players, if they wish to baffle them, should do their best to bring in a variety of words in order to mislead the listeners.

In many cases a little scenery adds considerably to the successful presentation of charades. A “window” frequently proves of service. But it may happen that the end of the room where the actual window is situated does not lend itself conveniently to the performance of the charade, and in this circumstance the best plan is to improvise an “artificial window,” which, being portable, can be used in any required position.

An “Artificial Window”

A start can be made in construction by procuring a sheet of strong white paper of the requisite size. With India ink or chalk the thick black lines, as shown in [Fig. 1], are painted in. The dotted lines represent the sheet of paper, the four holes the positions at which the nails fasten it to the wall, and the finished effect of an interior window is obtained by the draping of art muslin or curtains, as suggested by the diagram.

Oftentimes a little exterior scene is wanted. A simple way of improvising a cottage is that of using two screens placed as shown (A, A, [Fig. 2]). A plank or the shelf of a cupboard is placed across the top (D, [Fig. 2]), and kept in position either by nails or gimlets screwed into the top of the screens.

A tablecloth of any bright color, preferably red, is stretched from points (B, B, [Fig. 3]), slanting downwards and slightly over the edge of the screens.

Fig. 1.—Interior artificial window for charades.

Two “artificial windows” (C, C, [Fig. 3]) should be then pinned to the screens, and the exterior of cottage is complete, an additional artistic effect being produced by fixing flower-stands with ferns in positions as shown (E, E, [Fig. 2]).

Fig. 2.—Plan for improvised cottage.

Fig. 3.—Exterior view of improvised cottage.

“A Seaside Scene”

At first sight it might seem out of the question to produce a really passable scene representing “the rolling deep.” This may be easily carried out, however, by a careful study of [Fig. 4], and the requisitioning of such commonplace articles as a large white sheet, which is stretched and nailed to the wall, a few rolls of stout white-backed wall-paper, hassocks, boxes, and old brown or gray cloths.

Fig. 4.—A sea scene.

The wall-paper is cut into three lengths corresponding with the width of the sheet, one about 18 inches in depth (A, [Fig. 4]), the next 28 inches (B, [Fig. 4]), and the third 34 inches (C, [Fig. 4]).

At each end a piece of wood is fastened (D, [Fig. 4]), behind which is glued a block of wood or small weighted box (E, [Fig. 4]).

The lengths of paper, marked A and B, are cut in zig-zag fashion at the top in order to produce the appearance of waves, the effect being enhanced by an application of blue paint used as shown in the [diagram]. The strip of paper marked C forms the horizon, therefore the top of this should be left straight and painted blue to a depth of about 10 inches.

To complete the effect, boxes, hassocks, and stools of different heights are grouped round and covered with the gray cloths to represent rocks (F, F, [Fig. 4]).

An empty barrel and a few coils of rope flung carelessly about help to make a more realistic scene, and well guarded lamps placed between the slips representing waves throw them up into necessary prominence.

A Portable Tent

Fig. 5.—A portable tent.

A portable tent is made from a few sheets of brown paper glued together to form a huge square (A, A, A, A, [Fig. 5]), the paper cut out to the shape described (B, B, B, B, [Fig. 5]), and folded at the dotted lines, C, C, C, C.

The whole is then arranged over three poles, crossed and tied together at the top, an opening or entrance being formed by the segment cut away.

Outfit for Highwayman

A highwayman’s mask will prove easy of construction, and a thing of delight to the average boy. Moreover, it will often find a place in charades.

Fig. 6.—A highwayman’s mask.

Fig. 7.—Highwayman’s leggings.

On a width of black sateen or any other suitable material a design is drawn as shown in [Fig. 6], marked with chalk and cut away to fit the face. A piece of thin black tape is fixed to either side, so that the mask may be tied round the head just above the ears.

Amongst the highwayman’s outfit there must certainly be a pair of high boots, but as these are not found in every household, it may be as well to give a few simple directions for the making of them.

From several sheets of stout brown paper four pieces of the shape indicated at (A, [Fig. 7]), are cut. So that the tops of the boot shall not crack when the leg is bent, small pieces of paper are gummed at either side, as shown (B, [Fig. 7]).

Only the fixing of a piece of tape, or double fold of the paper for the instep, remains to be done (C, [Fig. 7]), and an excellent pair of highwayman’s boots is to hand.

Fig. 8.—Highwayman’s hat.

An ordinary pliable felt or straw hat can be easily and quickly transformed into a three-cornered highwayman’s hat. A study of [Fig. 8] will explain where the stitches are to be taken from the brim to the crown.

A Policeman’s Helmet

Two hard felt derby hats properly treated make an excellent representation of a policeman’s helmet, which will very often be found useful for charade acting.

It is first of all necessary to cut off the brim of one of the hats at the point where the band comes. The crown of the second one is also cut off, but some three inches above the band.

Fig. 9.—Front and back view of a policeman’s helmet.

The first crown is next carefully fitted over the brim portion of the other one, and tacked round firmly so that the two pieces do not slip.

The headgear now presents the appearance of an abnormally high derby hat.

The curved part of the brim is cut away, and the front shaped to a point, as shown in [Fig. 9], and the brim at the back is nicely rounded.

The usual ornamentation may be suggested by the application of chalk, the addition of a large-sized wooden button mold glued to the top of the crown, a chin-strap of shiny black leather completing the article.

Fig. 10.—Skull cap, pigtail, and hat for Chinaman.

A Chinaman’s Head Covering

A Chinaman is a character quite easily portrayed, and one which can be simply represented by pressing into service articles of everyday use.

From a piece of pale pink sateen the head covering (A, [Fig. 10]) is fashioned, a string run through at C to be drawn out or in at will; and a piece of rope or twist of darning cotton, B, sewn on at the back for a pigtail.

Then if the would-be Chinaman wishes to cover his head still further, the lid of the linen basket provides him with a hat, when a piece of braid or black paper has been fixed to the rim, and a string sewn on for the chin-strap.

A highly-colored dressing jacket and a pair of rather loose white trousers complete the Chinaman’s outfit.

Advertisement Charades

Whilst some people consider the ordinary charades the best fun, there are others equally ready to admit that they prefer the “dumb” representation of words chosen, one of the most popular of these being the “advertisement” charade, wherein some well-known poster is chosen and acted in silence.

A well-known soap advertisement which has been so popular for years serves as an excellent illustration. There are few, if any, who could not recall the picture.

A man, dirty of face and hands, with torn clothing, sits at a table writing a letter.

A faithful representation of this can be easily produced by the aid of soot smeared carefully over the face and hands, and a wig of tousled hair.

Perhaps a dozen advertisements can be “played,” a few moments elapsing between each for the audience to write down their “guesses” on slips of paper, which are afterwards collected, and a prize awarded to the competitor who has the largest number of answers correct.

The two following examples of charades are given so that the players may fit in their own words. If the charades need to be written in dialogue form and committed to memory days before they are played, much more trouble is given, and the game becomes a somewhat irksome one.

Baronetcy
[BARON-ATE(ET)-CY(SEA).]

First Syllable.
BARON.

Enter two boys dressed as highwaymen. For this purpose art muslin scarves tied round the waist, hats and masks as already [described], and toy pistols are enough, with a scenery of trees painted on some stout paper.

First boy addresses his comrade in tones of mystery, glancing to right and left as though he is expecting somebody. At length he holds up a warning finger: “Hist! The Baron comes this way!”

They secrete themselves and wait until the Baron approaches. He looks round, whereupon the two highwaymen jump out, secure him, and make off.

The Baron’s servants arrive on the scene too late, but vow they will track the robbers, and start off in hot pursuit.

End of First Act.

Second Syllable.
ATE-(ET).

Baron asleep in one corner of a tent (made as previously [described]).

The robbers are eating their dinner, and talking in low tones of the ransom they expect to get for their prisoner. Whilst they are talking the Baron awakes. They are so intent upon their conversation that they do not observe him arise, creep up, and steal their food. He eats it, and returns to his corner again.

The ruffians discover their food is gone and are furious, but do not suspect their prisoner, who they suppose is still slumbering.

The Baron is so amused at their efforts to find the thief that he begins to laugh, rocking himself to and fro, and at last shouts, “I ate it, I ate it.”

Just as they are about to flog him a noise of tramping feet is heard, and they hasten to see who is coming.

End of Second Act.

Third Syllable.
SEA-(CY).

Baron and his faithful retainers are sitting by the seashore, and he is telling them how he made his escape from the robbers.

As they are talking an old beggar comes along. The Baron at once recognizes him as one of the robbers, and gives orders that he is to be seized and bound. Presently the other one arrives, and he is treated in the same way.

Finally the Baron promises to forgive them if they will give up highway robbery and go to sea.

End of Third Act.

Baronetcy

Enter several boys in ragged clothes as newsboys. They are shouting papers for sale, and the chief thing that can be heard is “Extry—Capture of a Baron at Sea.”

The boys discuss the news, and at last one of them bursts into a fit of laughter after having opened the paper. The others crowd round to see what is causing the merriment.

Laughingly he explains that it is not an account of an exciting piratical affair, but merely the report of the capture of a Baronetcy in England by a fair cousin from the United States.

Beanstalk

First Syllable.
BEAN.

Scene.—Widow Frankey’s kitchen. Representation of this made by use of window described [above], kitchen table and chairs, plates, pastry board, &c.

Widow Frankey, in apron and cap, is busy making pastry, and talking to herself about her son Jack, and wondering when he will return from the errand on which she has sent him.

Jack appears. Tells his mother where he has been, and she scolds him for being so slow.

He goes out in a temper, and Widow Frankey leaves her work, sits down and cries, finally falling asleep.

Jack returns, finds his mother asleep, and determines to make up for his ill-temper by finishing the pudding she has already begun.

(An amusing scene can be shown here by the funny mistakes he makes, putting into the pudding all kinds of odd ingredients, amongst them a bean.)

His mother awakes, to find dinner set, and ready.

There is great fun over the pudding when the widow finds the bean.

End of First Act.

Second Syllable.
STALK.

Scene.—Corner of market-place, where a flower-seller has her stall. For this purpose a table, draped with art muslin, with a few pots of ferns on it, and some flowers made from tissue paper, will be all that is required.

Girl sits on a stool doing up bunches of flowers.

Jack comes along running, and in his hurry knocks the table over.

Flower-seller pretends to be very angry, and insists upon Jack’s paying for the damage.

He does so, and the girl laughingly gives him the stalk of a flower for fun. He puts it in his button-hole and walks off, leaving the girl laughing.

End of Second Act.

BEANSTALK

Scene.—Widow Frankey’s kitchen.

Jack returns to his home, and tells his mother of his escapade, showing her the stalk which the flower-girl had given him.

Just then the door opens, and the flower-girl enters, throws Jack’s money on the table, telling him she took it only for a joke. He returns the stalk to the girl, who laughingly tells him that it is a beanstalk.

Widow Frankey retires, and Jack tells the pretty flower-girl that he loves her.

End of Last Act.

CHAPTER X
THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE MUSICAL SKETCH

The musical sketch occupies a high and prominent position in the scale of entertainments given by the individual. With many it is more popular than ventriloquism, impersonations, reciting, or conjuring, and needs as much skill and study as any of these other accomplishments. For its successful rendition the artist must be equipped with

1. Subtle humor and pathos.
2. Impromptu patter.
3. A good memory.
4. A clear pronunciation.
5. Mimicry.
6. Self-accompaniment from memory.
7. Individuality and mastery of the audience.

He must also be well versed in the popular topics of the day, and be able to dish them up in an attractive manner to suit the humor of his various hearers; and, of course, a certain amount of natural talent is indispensable.

In this mode of entertainment there should be no pause. The whole time the artist should either be engaged in patter or playing, and he must go from anecdote to anecdote smoothly and without jerkiness, always relating his stories as if they were his own experiences.

He should begin an after-dinner story in some such way as—

“The other night, when dining with my friend, Mr. A., I had the misfortune to be stuck down beside his elderly maiden aunt, Miss Dimbledock, who my host had previously informed me was a stanch adherent to the Blue Ribbon Army. Now, as Mr. A. is her only living relative, he naturally expected to inherit her wealth, and consequently had given instructions to Coggledab, the butler (who on ordinary occasions served as coachman), that especial attention and care were to be lavished upon her severe and abstemious person; but, alas, he had forgotten to instill him with her principles, and the result was that the poor old lady was mortally offended, for, ere we had reached the second course, Coggledab leaned over her chair in a fatherly and solicitous manner that well became his white hairs and portly person, and whispered in a voice that penetrated every corner of the room:

“‘Gin, whisky, or brandy, Mum? You can’t be enjyin’ of yourself! You’re not drinkin’!’

“And it is to this apparently trivial incident that a year ago a flourishing dogs’ home was opened in New York, and that my poor friend Mr. A. can be seen any day selling matches at his post in Times Square! And talking of the importance of trivialities, reminds me of an adventure that befell me the other day. I had hired a taxi-cab, and was just stepping into it——,” &c., &c., thus introducing quite a different anecdote.

Now, the outlines of the incident of Mr. A.’s dinner-party are taken from a comic paper, but twisted and colored to suit the requirements of the artist; and there are many stories that may be dished up in similar manner, while frequently personal experiences are extremely humorous when rightly treated.

The “All in All”

The artist should study and cultivate the correct and various methods of telling a story, remembering Pope’s adage—

“For style is all in all, whate’er is writ,
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.”

If the style of writing is important, how much more is the manner of verbal narration. The wittiest story may fall to pieces in the hand of the inartistic, while the most trivial incident humorously handled may be greeted with shrieks of merriment.

The raconteur must give his audience the impression of frank geniality and friendliness without familiarity, his attitude cunningly eloquent of the man who is about to open his heart to a confidante.

Orchestra chairs and gallery are his bosom friends. He twinkles and patters at them right merrily. If he paints their peculiarities or laughs at their social ways he must flavor his babbling with the tender fun of that greatest of humorists, Charles Lamb, who never aped or scoffed at physical deformity, and was never cynical at another’s expense.

The caricatures depicted by mimicry must be cleansed of that sour Voltaire bitterness and cruelty, the artist always remembering that he is performing in order to beguile, and he must cultivate that delicate tact which prevents him from imitating the withered idiosyncrasies supposed to be typical of the old maid in the drawing-room, when he knows that some spinster relative or friend is present.

The public possesses a vast fund of humor, and there is nothing it loves so much as a hearty laugh, but its risibilities should be handled as delicately as a trout is tickled, and if they are only provoked at the dear expense of some unfortunate individual, they are coarse and vulgar, and the artist himself is culpable. The broad double meanings of apparently innocent witticisms one might have heard at some vaudeville halls should be rigorously avoided. There are gentlemen, fine-souled and clean of mind, in your gallery as in your orchestra chairs. Treat them as such. Appeal to the best, to the refined sense of the ludicrous that lurks in every mind, and you will be as welcome in the most select drawing-room as in the theater.

Humor and fun are as bracing and purifying a tonic as a breath of sea air. They should be steeped in the salt ozone of wit, but never in the withering blight of vulgarity.

An Artist—and a Gentleman

The artist should be large-souled and natural in attitude and gesture—a gentleman from head to heel in the best sense of the word—and the result will brace up and encourage him, for he will observe the faded city merchant laughing with the heart-whole abandon of the child.

It is not necessary, and it may become even monotonous, to pose forever as the comedian who sees fun in every incident around him. A great and versatile artist, now deceased, in the middle of his recital would sit down at the zither when the room was still ringing with laughter, provoked by his keen shafts of humor, and win tears by the exquisite pathos of the refrain: “The mill will never grind with the water that is past.”

Maudlin melodrama is not pathos any more than vulgar mockery is humor. A thin veil lies between tears and laughter, and both are nearer the surface than some artists realize. Both are noble and wholesome, and so should never be made puny by too little giving or rendered grotesque by too much.

A most effective means of self-accompaniment is the harp, and one moreover which adapts itself exquisitely to the subtle charm and changing qualities of the human voice, but only in the performer’s more serious moments. To twang at this instrument and pose above it in the attitude of the comedian, to pluck it banjo fashion, is to displease and jar the sensibilities of the most uninitiated of the audience.

The dual art is a stumbling-block to many a versatile artist, and its perfection needs a tremendous amount of persevering and diligent practice. There are some gifted performers to whom the art of pattering or reciting to music is inborn, and so extremely facile, but to the less fortunate it presents discouraging obstacles, and the power of improvising an accompaniment suitable to the anecdote or poem related is not given to the majority.

However, the student should remember and be encouraged by the fact that “steady effort attracts unknown powers to our aid,” and work on determinedly until the difficulty is mastered.

In studying the dual art, the beginner is apt to hammer the words to the accompaniment, or the accompaniment to the words, and it seems at first impossible to arrive at that perfect blending of voice and music which is essential to this kind of performance. Another extremely common fault is to emphasize the wrong word or the wrong note, with the result that the achievement becomes meaningless.

The ear should be trained to the rôle of an exacting critic, and when this power is developed it will demonstrate faithfully wherein the failure of co-operation lies.

Music should never be suffered to overburden the words of the poem or anecdote related. It is usually but a ground-work upon which the artist builds, “at most, an undercurrent of answering emotion.” The instant it flows through the floodgates of restraint it obliterates the meaning and the sense of the words as the waters of a burst dam obliterate the natural features of dry land.

Another serious fault to be found in the rendition of the inexperienced student is permitting the time of his accompaniment to swing into his voice. Against this he must be severely on his guard, or he will develop a wearisome habit of chanting in monotone.

While taking pains to blend his voice with his accompaniment, he must take equal care to keep both distinct and apart. This sounds paradoxical, but practice and self-criticism will prove that both are true and possible.

Music and Words

The speaker should learn to harmonize his music so exquisitely with his words that to the uninitiated the accompaniment seems rather extempore improvising than the result of toil and diligence. As a matter of fact, it is extremely rare that even the greatest artists dare trust to the inspiration of the moment to provide them with adequate accompaniment.

An artist may have a theme or motif borrowed from some composer, and he may be sufficiently gifted to plan it out and develop it for himself, but always with careful thought and deliberation before he gives it public expression.

The dual art is as full of vagaries and traps as the French language, and at first the student who finds himself handicapped by inability to conquer it, cannot do better than study some poems written to music, and at these he must work steadily before he attempts to patter to accompaniment.

A few musical poems mastered will go far to secure him an air of ease and self-possession.

Correct attitude at piano.

For instance, undertake some such study as Racine’s tragedy of “Athalie,” which has been so exquisitely set to music by Mendelssohn. In the opening bar of “Allegro Moderato,” a few notes are played to introduce the passage, “Where do those women and their children go?” Then there are a few more notes, followed by the words, “The Lord hath laid the queen of cities low.”

The four succeeding bars are treated in the same way. The music ceases while “Her priests are captives” is recited. Then a chord is struck, and the voice goes on unaccompanied, “Her monarchs are rejected.” Another chord, “Her godly rites forsaken, unprotected.” The sixth bar opens with a chord, and is followed by the words, “Down, temple! Cedars, down!” and terminates with four semi-quavers.

This is an intensely dramatic poem, written in rhymed Alexandrines, and the student must take great care not to rend the words from the accompaniment, or the accompaniment from the words. The short phrases and detached chords must punctuate and emphasize the sentences, and lend weight and finish to the whole. This is not a difficult task when compared with such a study as “The Dream of Jubal,” in which the music accompanies the words in strict time, the combination of voice and pianoforte flowing smoothly, the components dependent and yet never waiting for each other.

The only way to reach perfection is to study the poem and music separately at first, until the student is fairly familiar with both. Then continue them with the aid of a metronome until the technicalities of the mechanism, which include correct emphasis, pauses, and rhythm, and the proper flow of the phrases, are mastered.

When this has been frequently rehearsed, the student may try his powers without the metronome, and gradually, but surely, he will master the antagonistic forces arrayed against him.

The artist who possesses a natural gift of composition will find it extremely useful, for there are many exquisite poems which, although seeming to clamor for a musical accompaniment, have not yet been touched; but this combination is fraught with perils, and those who approach it must be for ever wary of the grotesque and unfit.

In burlesque, of course, the artist has great license in the matter of accompaniment. He may exaggerate and slash his pianoforte (taking care never to drown his voice), and achieve the absolutely absurd and ludicrous, but, in the poems or patter that need delicacy, lightness of touch, melancholy cadences or bubbling, merry notes, he cannot be too careful in the theme he chooses to aid and color his portrayal. In such pieces, the right attitude, the right gesture, the right expression must be studied and gripped, so as to add their subtle beauty to the whole. The accompanying sketch shows the correct attitude at the piano, or rather, the attitude generally adopted by the professional musical-sketch artist. The body is turned “three-quarters” to the audience, the head full-faced, the left foot working the pedals, while the right usually follows the direction in which the performer is looking.

CHAPTER XI
VAMPING SIMPLIFIED

An Accompanist in an Hour

Whilst “vamping,” or the improvising of a musical accompaniment, is considered by many anything but a classical accomplishment, yet those who can accompany in this way are a decided help to a general or children’s party.

In either case among the guests will be found some who possess the gift of song, either comic or sentimental, but who lack the power or the ability to play their own accompaniments.

Fig. 1.—First chord.

Play [First chord]

Moreover, it may happen that the services of a skilled pianist are not available, and in these circumstances any one who can vamp will be deemed a useful acquisition.

The object of this chapter is not to give either intricate or comprehensive instruction, but rather to suggest, even to those who have had no musical training, a few rules whereby they will be enabled to step into the breach occasioned by the absence of an accomplished player.

An ordinary piano has fifty notes, comprising A, B, C, D, E, F, G, in succeeding order.

The whole keyboard is divided into two portions—treble and bass, the former starting from the fourth C up from the left; the notes below the fourth or middle C comprise the bass. (See [Fig. 1]. Arrow denotes middle C.)

Each black note above a white is its sharp, and each below its flat. For example, taking the treble note G, the black note above it is G sharp, the one below it G flat.

Before starting to vamp to a song, the singer must hum over a line or so of the song in order that the “vampist” may keep both the time and tone in his mind for transference to the piano.

His ear will tell him when he has struck a few chords whether they are in the key in which the song is written. If he finds that when a few bars of the song completing a distinct or rhythmical period have been hummed the note finished on is C, then he will know that the key is C, and find his chords as suggested by the diagrams given.

Vamping Chords and their Relative Changes

There are three principal chords in a key which are sufficient to cover the range of melody. Starting in C, the first chord for the right hand from the little finger to the thumb is made up of the notes middle C, bass G, and bass E. The left hand strikes the octave C immediately below the right hand thumb on E. ([Fig. 1].)

The second chord starts from little finger of right hand on F, first finger on C, and thumb on A in bass, the octave F, below the right hand A, being struck in the bass. ([Fig. 2].)

Fig. 2.—Second chord

Play [Second chord]

The third chord starts with little finger of right hand on G, third finger on F, and thumb on B in bass, the left hand striking the octave G below the B on which thumb of right hand is placed. ([Fig. 3].)

Fig. 3.—Third chord.

Play [Third chord]

To complete the melody it is necessary to go back to the chord started with, taking it up an octave or eight notes higher in both hands.

The relative changes are brought about by the use of the following chords. Striking the F sharp with the little finger of right hand, the first finger is placed on the D, and the thumb upon middle C, the left hand taking the octave F sharp immediately below middle C. ([Fig. 4].)

Fig. 4.—First chord of relative change.

Play [chord]

The second change starts with little finger of right hand on G, first finger on D, and thumb on B below middle C, the octave G in left hand completing the chord. ([Fig. 5].)

Fig. 5.—Second relative change.

Play [chord]

Another change is produced by the use of the next two chords.

Fig. 6.—Another change.

Play [chord]

Striking G sharp with the little finger of the right hand, the first finger strikes E, and the thumb D; the octave G sharp being struck in the bass by the left hand. ([Fig. 6].)

The twin chord to the one just described is made by placing the right hand little finger on A, the first finger on E, and the thumb on middle C; the octave A, immediately below middle C, being struck by the left hand. ([Fig. 7].)

Fig. 7.—Twin chord to that described in [Fig. 6].

Play [chord]

The final change necessary is produced by the two following chords.

Fig. 8.—First chord of third change.

Play [chord]

The little finger of the right hand is placed on C sharp, first finger on A, and the thumb on G, both the latter notes being bass—that is, below middle C. The left hand strikes the octave C sharp in the bass. ([Fig. 8].)

Fig. 9.—Final chord.

Play [chord]

The last chord is made by striking D above middle C with the little finger of the right hand, A below middle C with the first finger, and F also below middle C with the right hand thumb; the left hand takes the octave D in the bass. ([Fig. 9].)

By a study of the chords set forth above it is seen that the octave struck by the left hand in every case is a lower tone of the note played by the little finger of the right hand—viz., if the little finger of the right hand strikes G in the treble, the octave G is played by the left hand in the bass.

An effective ending to a vamping accompaniment is brought about by the use of a “run.” Starting from the C in the bass below the middle C (indicated by arrow on diagram), and playing the E and G with first and second fingers, the thumb is taken under, on to the middle C and the action repeated twice, the run finishing on the fourth C in the treble. ([Fig. 10].)

Fig. 10.—Showing the “run” on piano embracing three chords.

Play [“run”]

It is useful and interesting to bear in mind that any chord can be made by placing the little finger on a note desired, missing the next two covered by the second and third fingers, striking the note covered by first finger, missing the next, and striking the one covered by the thumb.

Having committed the above chords and “run” to memory, the performer can play them to suit the time in which the accompanied song is written.

CHAPTER XII
AN EVENING AT THE PHONOGRAPH

A Concert at Home

To possess a gramophone or phonograph is to be already furnished with the means of giving a very successful and pleasurable entertainment. There are so many “entertainments” that do not entertain, and so many “amusements” that do not amuse, that it is a distinct relief to know where to turn when a mixed party of guests have honored you with their presence.

With the number of gramophones, phonographs, talking-machines and zonophones now on the market, it is not the object of this chapter to specialize any particular make or type of article. As in most things, quality means expense, and there is little use in hoping for fine results from a cheap machine. Any respectable dealer will give useful advice as to the type of gramophone worth buying, and it must be left with you to make your own choice.

Presuming you have obtained your machine and accustomed yourself to the manipulation of its various parts, the next point to be considered is how a successful programme may be carried out for an entertainment.

In nothing, perhaps, is that old adage that “tastes differ” so true as in music. One person may shiver with disgust at everything but Bach, whilst her neighbor probably can appreciate nothing but old ballads; or whereas paterfamilias beats time ecstatically to the familiar old pieces of Verdi and Rossini which he remembers from his boyhood, his cultivated son is impatient for something out of “Elektra.”

Now it is the business of the entertainer to satisfy and please all these people—to send none away empty, but to make each person feel what a pleasant evening he or she has had. Whilst fully recognizing the difficulty of producing this result, it is hoped that the following hints may serve to render the construction of a catholic programme a little easier than would at first appear.

Records are of two kinds—instrumental and vocal. By blending these successfully a very charming variety can be obtained which will materially assist in keeping the programme from lapsing into sameness.

Commence with a stirring overture or a rousing march that will set the feet of your audience itching to mark time. Avoid anything dreamy or languorous; let their attention be attracted by a bold stroke, by the rattle of drums and the blaring of cornets and trombones. Sousa’s marches, the “Stars and Stripes” for instance, are admirable pieces to start the evening with, arousing the attention and stirring the blood of every healthy person in the room.

Having now excited the interest of your audience, give them some vocal music. Choose a good quartette of well-known singers in a selection or song from some up-to-date opera, or even from one of the old Italian favorites. “The Barber of Seville,” “La Bohême,” or “La Tosca,” all provide very fine quartettes.

The next piece might be a good instrumental solo, on violin, ’cello, piccolo or clarionet. Let it be short and characteristic; preferably a piece fairly well known to the majority of your audience.

At this point it may be remarked that people invariably like hearing what they already know. The gramophone is more generally appreciated when it reproduces a song or piece of music that the audience has heard before; whilst the machine is scarcely suitable for the introduction of wholly new music. Of course it is impossible to form an entire programme on these lines, but when making the selection of records, if you bear this fact in mind it will save you from obtaining a number of outlandish pieces, if one may so style them, which the majority of your company has never heard before and will be little likely to wish to hear again.

After the instrumental solo, it will be suitable to have a vocal solo—say a soprano. Again, select a good artist and a good song, for it is at this point that your fiercest critics will be upon the lookout. Do your best to disappoint them of their prey by having none but the best singers; and only then at their very best!

Humorous Songs

With a mixed company humorous songs are usually appreciated, and one may be very well introduced at this point. The greatest care must be exercised in avoiding anything that the most squeamish person might think objectionable. The number of perfectly harmless and refined comic songs is great, but unfortunately the number of vulgar songs is greater. Accept nothing, therefore, that you have not heard yourself and know to be perfectly suitable.

A good piano solo may now be very serviceable, or even a piano and violin duet. A piece of Chopin or Schumann, a short piece of Godard, or the like, is sure to be appreciated. The most carping of critics will be unable to find fault with the execution of Paderewski, Hoffman, or other great pianists, all of whose records are easily obtainable.

A popular item from one of the current operas or musical comedies will then be acceptable. If the works of Sullivan are too antiquated, records of the more recent pieces recently running at the theaters can easily be had. “Our Miss Gibbs,” “The Dollar Princess,” or the “Arcadians”—all will help to furnish you with some variety in the programme. Choose a favorite that will bring up pleasant recollections to all who have seen the original play.

A tenor and bass duet may follow the above admirably, something rather pathetic—a love song or the like. The task of making a choice amongst so many songs of this class would be invidious, and it is left to the taste and opportunities of the entertainer to select what seems best for the occasion.

It is now time for another piece of orchestral music, and a good waltz is suggested—“The Merry Widow,” or something of that kind, played by a good band, and of a rather catchy nature.

If you divide the entertainment into two parts, the familiar intermezzo of the “Cavalleria Rusticana” makes a very suitable overture for the second part. Obtain it on a good orchestra, and not as a piano or violin solo. Failing this any of Puccini’s overtures are good for such an occasion.

The second part of the programme should be constructed on very much the same principles as the first. A few classical pieces can be introduced—Wagner and Grieg, Schubert and Elgar, and similar contrasts.

Tenor, bass, soprano and contralto solos should be fitted in between the heavier items, whilst instrumental solos are generally highly appreciated amongst really musical audiences. Do not let the selections be too long, however.

Before closing the entertainment with “The Star Spangled Banner,” have a good orchestral waltz to put every one in good humor.

General Arrangements

And now for a few hints as to the actual performance. Do not be too ready to give encores. Many people really dislike to hear a thing twice, and unless you see there is a very general desire amongst your audience for a repetition, pass on to the next item immediately.

Have the seats comfortably arranged, and see that every one is seated before beginning your programme. Copies of the programme should be handed to each person present, and the name and number announced before starting the machine. Be careful that no hitch occurs in the arrangements.

Remember that the greatest of artists can be called to your assistance—Caruso, Melba, Patti, Albani, Tamagno (who though dead yet sings), Constantino, Tetrazzini, and numberless other great singers and musicians are at your beck and call, ready to sing to your friends or to exert their greatest talents on your behalf. Avail yourselves of them unsparingly, and you cannot miss success.

A Sunday programme is no more difficult to arrange. Magnificent records of the “Messiah,” “Elijah,” and many other great oratorios can be obtained, whilst numberless hymns and anthems are possible to the gramophone, sung by some of the finest choirs.

With these hints there should be no great difficulty in making a programme that will prove enjoyable to a mixed audience. They are, however, but hints; to give exact instructions would be impossible. The selection, even upon the lines sketched out in this chapter, must be individual and adapted to the more immediate requirements of your company, and in consequence no fixed rule for choice can be given.

CHAPTER XIII
MUSICAL GLASSES

A Great Inventor’s Hopes

A hundred and fifty years ago the fashionable society of London went mad over musical glasses. When the cloth had been removed and the company were seated at the polished table, discussing the dessert and enjoying the rare old port, it was considered a great attainment, after having partially filled the finger-bowls, to be able to extract music by casually rubbing a finger around their rims.

Strange as it may seem, even the great composer Gluck did not consider this musical trick beneath his genius, and used to pride himself upon the skill he had acquired in this kind of performance.

Mozart composed a song to be played in this manner, and many famous musicians devoted their energies to perfecting a branch of the science which they considered to be full of promise.

Even Benjamin Franklin turned his genius to the subject, and after many experiments succeeded in inventing an apparatus called a Harmonica, which he hoped would take its place amongst the recognized musical instruments of his day. From various causes, which shall be explained later, this invention was never attended with the success its author anticipated.

Considerable knack is required to obtain a clear note from a glass. A fine finger-bowl, preferably uncut, or a champagne glass, must be partly filled with water, and the performer should then damp his forefinger and also wet the rim of the glass. If the finger now be passed lightly but firmly round a portion of the rim, after a few touches a clear ringing sound will be produced. If at first this is difficult to obtain, pass the finger several times in one direction—e.g. from right to left, and then reverse from left to right. Having done this for a few seconds, the glass will, in all probability, begin to sound.

As has been said, quite a knack is requisite to perform this with any success, but the beginner should not be discouraged if failure attends the first few attempts, as, after a little practice, which seems to produce nothing but a sad groaning noise, the glass will suddenly begin to ring. Having devoted a little patience to learning the exact touch, the performer will find that the slightest movement of his finger produces the desired note.

Little Water = Low Note

The note given out depends entirely upon the amount of liquid in the glass. The less water the lower will be the note; the more water the higher it will be. Therefore taking eight glasses, or fine finger-bowls, and filling each one to a different level with water, a complete octave can be obtained.

The amount of water to be placed in each depends entirely upon the size of the bowl and the texture of the glass, and must therefore be determined by the performer himself. A keen ear will soon enable him to get the glasses thoroughly in tune, and they can then be arranged before him in the order of the notes in the scale.

For those who desire to attain proficiency in this art, it would be well to color the water distinctively in each glass, in a manner similar to the following:

By this arrangement the performer can tell at a glance which glass he must touch to obtain the note required. This is more especially applicable to beginners, for, after some practice, the relative positions of the glasses become fixed in the mind, and he knows instinctively where to turn for whichever note is wanted.

Half-Notes

Half-notes can be made by adjusting the amount of water, which can be colored accordingly; but for an ordinary entertainment the octave will be found quite sufficient, and at any rate to begin with, will require all the musician’s attention. When he can play quickly and correctly with his first eight glasses, he can introduce half-notes, but it is very unwise to start with too many vessels, for it will give both him and his audience far greater satisfaction to hear eight glasses played well than to hear a larger number played indifferently.

An important point to remember is to keep the finger and the rim thoroughly wet. If this be borne in mind, the notes will come much more easily and clearly, whilst the disagreeable droning sound will entirely disappear. Care must also be taken to see that the glasses are steady on their bases, as, in the case of champagne glasses, especially, they are liable to tip up under the pressure of the finger.

With regard to the music suitable to musical glasses, it has already been mentioned that Gluck and Mozart composed songs for this class of performance, but the beginner is not recommended to attempt these until he is very skillful. As some time will elapse before he can play even the scale with ease, perfectly simple music should be all that he tries to learn at first. When such easy, although somewhat hackneyed, pieces as “The Blue Bells of Scotland” and “Annie Laurie” have been mastered, he can try more advanced works.

Fig. 1.—Showing finger-bowls containing various colored waters at different levels, each level indicating a different note.

Many attempts have been made to discover some means of producing the sound other than by rubbing the finger over the rim of the glass. Violin bows and other similar contrivances have all proved ineffectual.

It would seem that the texture and surface of the human skin are alone suitable for this purpose, and nothing else has proved successful. This is the reason why musical glasses have not become more common, for the continual rubbing of the wet finger over the surface of the glass becomes after a time somewhat unpleasant. However, this hardly applies to the short period that an ordinary performer would devote to an entertainment. Yet such was the reason that caused the failure of Franklin’s instrument.

The following few bars of music, being the opening phrases of a well-known song, will prove very suitable for glass music, especially when played at the dinner-table after the dessert has been discussed. To simplify the matter for those who are not familiar with the usual notation of music, the notes are given by name, thus enabling any one to pick them out with ease:

E, E, E, F, F, G, F, E, D, E, F, G, C, F, E, D, C.

CHAPTER XIV
HAND-BELL RINGING

A Sweet-lipped Friend

There is something vital in the ordinary bell that dominates all of us. It is an important factor in our lives. The railway bell’s clamor reminds us that haste is needed to catch the departing train. The dinner bell tells that the meal is ready for our consumption. The church bell, the wedding chime, the fire bell, the tolling funeral bell, are all our faithful monitors and guardians, but the exquisite voice of the hand-bell is the sweet-lipped friend that wooes us in our hour of ease.

Hand-bell ringing is full of charm and interest, and it is astonishing of what changing harmonies these instruments are capable when manipulated by dexterous hands. Undertaken with perseverance and patience to overcome its rudimentary difficulties, this form of campanology may be achieved with great success.

The first thing to do is to go to a well-known firm to secure the necessary bells, which must be perfectly in tune. The beginner needs only a few, as for some time he must essay only the simplest tunes. The best hand-bells are somewhat expensive, but to buy cheap inferior instruments is false economy and most unsatisfactory, for sonorousness and sweetness of tone depend upon purity of metal and perfect balance.

Those known as the “four-in-hand” consist of four hand-bells attached by means of a leather handle to one base. This enables the player to manipulate eight bells at once. Of course, by making careful inquiries, or by advertising, good second-hand sets of bells can be bought quite cheaply.

It is advisable that the bells be tuned to old Philharmonic pitch, C—540, and they should be fitted with improved pegged clappers.

The first step undertaken by the novice at bell-ringing is to consider and study the construction of the bell. It is surmounted by a loop of leather, and the hinge of the clapper is so made that it can sound only when swayed towards the flat part of the handle. The part of the clapper that touches the bell is composed of felt and not of metal, but this alone is too light a material for the springs, which, it has been discovered, resist it.

To overcome this difficulty it is necessary that the felt should be weighted. This achievement needs skill and experience, for the springs and weight naturally vary according to the size of the bell, and are in exact proportion, small springs being necessary for the small bells and large springs for the large ones.

Bell-ringing Companies

Bell-ringing companies consist of five players, and these are generally composed of two ladies and three gentlemen; all should be physically strong and possessed of the sense of strict notation and music-reading ability. The ladies generally undertake the alto and tenor parts. The strongest player manages the bass bells, and the most reliable and cool-headed of the party the treble, which is divided into first and second, and is extremely important, needing no small amount of agility and nerve, especially in difficult and intricate passages.

There are many reasons why five players are advisable. Four could not manage the full harmonies of treble, alto, tenor, and bass, while more than five are apt to get in each other’s way, besides taking up too much space on a small platform in a drawing-room.

A long table, covered with some heavy material, such as thick baize or half-a-dozen pairs of good blankets, is essential. Blankets are the best. They should not be spread out or divided, but folded upon the surface, and then concealed by a cloth. This keeps the sound from vibrating through the wood of the table, as the bells are placed upon it, at the termination of each note.

The bells must be in easy reach of the ringer, and the company just formed will do well to chalk lines upon the cloth to divide their positions from that occupied by the neighbor’s bells.

Tenor and alto players should occupy the center of the table. Their work, compared with that of bass and treble, is light and subordinate, and this is why those parts may be undertaken by ladies. The second treble stands at the right end, next to the alto, and the first treble and bass occupy the head and bottom of the table, as shown in [Fig. 1].

Immediately after the bell is used the player must be careful to replace it in its former position in the chalked space, or confusion and discord will be the result, as it is almost impossible to remember the position of the bells unless this plan is strictly adhered to. To pick up the wrong bell will lead to disaster.

Fig. 1.

Many plans have been tried in which to place the bells so that each player may identify the different bells to be used. Perhaps the simplest and most usually adopted is to arrange them in rows upon the table. Supposing the number of bells required to be fifteen, place them in three lines of five. For the first row employ the letters of the alphabet; for the second, even rows of figures; for the last, single odd figures, thus:—

Fig. 2.

This plan should be learnt, and the position of the bells be as fixed and relative to each other as the notes of the keyboard of the pianoforte. At first the players stand with the left side turned slightly to the table, but frequently they will be obliged to change their positions, sometimes turning to the right and sometimes facing the table. The bell should never be placed with the flat side of its handle towards the manipulator, for in this position it cannot be struck, however much waved.

In holding the bell, the thumb must be pressed on the rivet, the fingers gripping the flat side of the handle. When lifting the bell, the handle should slope towards the body, thus forcing the weight of the clapper to swing to the side opposite to that upon which the strike sounds. The bell, being lifted in this position, is not struck, the hand changing its inclination from left to right. In so doing, the bell is turned to an opposite angle, the clapper falls, and the strike is achieved by a slight impetus of the arm or wrist.

The student should practice lifting and striking the bell with alternate hands, until it is as easy to manage it with the left hand as the right. When he has mastered this difficulty he may try the working of two bells—one in each hand, lifting one bell while the other is struck, taking care, however, always to place them in such a position that no turning or twisting of the handle is necessary before action, as this involves loss of time, and makes him liable to constant blunders when he takes part in a tune.

The length of the table varies according to the number of bells required and the style of music undertaken. Forty-four bells are sufficient for most simple melodies and exercises, and for them the space required is about 11 feet by 5 feet.

“Flourishing”

“Flourishing” the bells is impossible in quick music, and is only undertaken in slow passages, when the notes are to be sustained. In working the bells alternately, the dying vibration of one bell must never be allowed to mingle with the next, for this is even more discordant than when, in pianoforte playing, a pedal is kept down too long, and makes the vibration of one chord jar into the next.

To prevent this, the vibrating bell should be placed on the table immediately before the other is about to be struck, but not in such a manner as to rob the note of its proper value. In a staccato passage, on the contrary, the bells should be set quickly on the table as soon as they have sounded.

In practicing the ringing of alternate bells, make each vibration the value of a semibreve, then a minim, and lastly a crotchet, until perfect dexterity is achieved, thus:—

Play [semibreve (1)]
[minim (2)]
[crotchet (3)]

When the trebles are divided, the first treble plays the notes turned upwards, and the second treble the downward tailed—thus, in the scale of C:—

Play [music]

The notes should follow without any break as continuously and smoothly as though one player were ringing the scale.

Ringing two bells in each hand is difficult of accomplishment. In order to do this successfully, one bell is lifted and gripped in the right hand by the first and second fingers and struck downward. Then another bell is inserted between the thumb and first finger, the flat part of the handles at right angles. The first bell is again struck down, when it will be discovered that the second bell remains silent until it is slightly turned from left to right by a quick wrist movement, while in its turn the first bell gives no sound, simply because it needs a downward stroke, and the side stroke, which gives voice to the second bell, is in a contrary direction.

Extreme care and perseverance are necessary before these two bells can be properly manipulated, and a great number of exercises which the student can construct for himself should be practiced.

Chromatic notes present great difficulty, especially in more advanced music, and can only be mastered gradually. In simpler passages, when they occur, the student should place the chromatic bells in the back row in the order in which they are to be used. If his chromatics are arranged (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), and he has memorized their position beforehand, he will have no difficulty in finding them as they are required.

A company of bell-ringers should have a large répertoire of music of as much variety as possible. Many of the pieces which are most suitable are somewhat hackneyed, and yet are cordially welcomed when musically treated, and other works can always be arranged for playing.

Tone, expression, and phrasing are all-important. The rhythm of sounds must not alter with the changing of the bells. It must continue in a sweet flow of music, just as if one hand were manipulating every bell. The jerk, the overlong pause, or the lack of tone in one player’s work, has power to mar the whole performance.

In large orchestras constant playing together is necessary for proper union and harmonizing of sounds, and this is equally essential in bell-ringing. It must ever be remembered that “practice makes perfect,” and the blending of the bells needs unending patience and persistence.

For beginners such pieces as “The Minstrel Boy,” “She Wore a Wreath of Roses,” “Home, Sweet Home,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” and the National Anthem prove stepping-stones to enterprises of a more complicated nature, and should be carefully studied, for “vaulting ambition” is quite out of the question in the art of hand-bell ringing.

CHAPTER XV
THE ART OF DRAWING-ROOM SINGING

Correct Breathing and Voice Production

Fig. 1.

One of the most delightful sounds in the drawing-room is the music of the human voice, uplifted in song to a soft pianoforte accompaniment, if, of course, the voice be tuneful, easily produced, and sympathetic, and the breathing taken without effort.

The first steps to be considered in singing are (1) correct breathing, (2) voice production, (3) clear pronunciation. The tongue should be hollowed behind the teeth, not rolled up in a ball, thus closing the vocalist’s throat. The uvula, so called because of its supposed likeness to a grape, should be lifted to the roof of the soft palate, the mouth presenting a hollow open chamber, through which the notes issue in clear, bell-like tones ([Fig. 1]).

The beginner will find this a difficult matter, and effort and will are needed to keep the tongue down and the uvula up. The position of the former may be demonstrated by means of the handle of a teaspoon pressed against it. The tongue will prove rebellious until practice makes it perfectly easy and natural to subdue it in the necessary manner.

In breathing, inhale a long slow breath through the nose only, keeping the mouth closed. The air should originate in the upper part of the diaphragm, and be held until the ribs are slowly inflated, balloon fashion, when it should be exhaled through the open mouth, gently and without effort until the ribs contract. Never push the ribs to lengthen the expiration of breath.

A good plan to insure easy and quiet breathing is to count slowly to ten while the chest box is being inflated, and also when the air is being exhaled. In this manner the breath will be prevented from coming and going in spasmodic gasps and jerks. The number ten may be increased gradually to twenty or thirty, until the student is able to produce breath sufficient for the phrase vocalized. Regular breathing exercises should be taken every day before singing, the hands being placed upon the ribs, in order to feel and insure their gradual rise and fall.

An anatomical study of the throat, windpipe, and lungs should be made ([Fig. 2]), and this will considerably help the student to understand the difficult mechanism of voice production.

Fig. 2.—Throat, windpipe, and lungs.

Practice gradually adds new notes to the voice, but the young singer must be careful not to strain the vocal organs by endeavoring to sing high and low notes before they are naturally developed.

Concones and every variety of singing exercises should be practiced before a song is undertaken. Over-practice is harmful. Vocal organs should never be fatigued or unduly taxed, and half-an-hour’s practice is ample—indeed, more valuable than an hour at a stretch.

Singing directly after meals should be avoided, and the throat must not be coddled in furs or compressed by high collars.

Dainty Modern Songs

In drawing-room singing, four or five-versed lyrics are not nearly so charming as the dainty modern songs of two or three verses, and these must never be undertaken until the student has reached a proper understanding of phrasing, breathing, and expression.

Many singers prefer to accompany themselves, but this has its disadvantages, as the voice is far better produced when the vocalist is standing. The position should be easy and natural, the head erect, but not lifted back, as this contracts and narrows the larynx.

While the singer should enter into the idea of the composer, she should have her own conception of the song, and endeavor to give it, as far as possible, her own individual expression, her voice being colored by the cultivation of her soul; otherwise the most perfect vocalization will fail to move the audience.

These elementary rules hold good for the male as well as the female singer, and cannot be too carefully considered.

A further important factor in the art of singing is the hygiene of the human body. The singer must cherish physical health. Plenty of outdoor exercise should be taken. Indulgence in drinking and over-eating is injurious. To practice when fatigued, or indisposed, is to risk permanent harm to the voice; and to sing when suffering from a cold is extremely foolish. At such times, breathing exercises may be taken with advantage, as they clear the lungs and help towards recovery.

Lady singers are sometimes inclined to wear gowns which do not allow them sufficient room for breathing purposes, and they will often willfully sacrifice the well-being of their voices to be fashionably attired. In order to perform their functions properly, the lungs and ribs must have space and freedom from pressure. Too narrow bodices are almost as pernicious to the voice as tight lacing, for these seriously retard the breathing, and what in loose garments is natural and easy of accomplishment, becomes an obvious struggle, which fatigues the singer and renders her voice thin and poor in quality. This is often the reason why a vocalist is seen to lift her shoulders and pant audibly during her song, thus marring her conception, which may be, in every other particular, delightful and artistic.

Many singers with weak lungs find voice production extremely beneficial, for proper breathing and careful practice do more to strengthen a delicate chest than any bottled remedies.

The vocalist should never stoop (for this narrows and compresses the vocal organs), and in singing the first care should be to see that the shoulders are well thrown back, although not strained to an unnatural position.

In practicing, it is beneficial to keep the arms folded behind the back, placing the hands over the elbows, and taking care not to thrust the head forward. This will keep the chest expanded, and the body easily upright.

The Value of a Good Accompanist

When performing, it is necessary to be equipped with a good accompanist—one who understands the art thoroughly, and refrains from banging out the notes as if the voice of the singer were merely the background to his own performance. The three qualities essential in an accompanist are sympathy, artistic sensibility, and discernment to understand the temperament and conception of the vocalist.

An inefficient accompanist has power to transform an artist’s highest and most conscientious endeavor into irritability and inability to render individual expression. Pianists frequently are highly recommended to singers because of their gift of sight reading. Now this is a very valuable and important accessory, but there are many excellent sight readers who have no idea of that delicate and tactful manipulation of accompaniment found in the true artist, and who, even though they play correctly the most difficult music placed before them, sadly fail because of inadequate comprehension of the needs vital to the singer.

To hustle the singer is almost as heinous a fault as to lag behind. Some accompanists convey the fatiguing impression of a brake applied to a carriage wheel, and the artist feels as if she were pulling the pianist through the song, while others play as if they were racing to catch a train, and there is not a moment to lose. Both these defects are equally fatal. The pianist on these occasions should neither be independent nor dependent. She or he must realize that, although the pianoforte is subordinate, it is extremely important because of its power to influence the mind and conception of the singer, who should feel an electric tide of sympathy and support flowing from the pianoforte and carrying the voice on a wave of sound.

An accompanist should be chosen with care, rehearsed with frequently, and must possess individual qualities in common with the temperament of the singer. A sense of reliability and strength conveyed will do much to put the most nervous vocalist at ease, and give that tranquility and self-possession without which no singing is successful.

Rehearsing before a mirror is of great assistance, for it is only in studying the reflection of one’s features when singing that one is able to check nervous mannerisms and facial contortions. Pains must be taken to open the lips adequately wide, for the mouth is the mold; the voice, the molten gold; and, if the mold is twisted or narrowed, the gold will be warped and flawed in quality.

The simpler the manner of the singer the sweeter the song, for the affectation sometimes indulged in, the airs and grimaces commonly known as “side,” which some singers see fit to employ, are as unsightly as a mud-splashed window-pane. They are often also the insignia of the incompetent and the ignorant, for it is never the true artist who thus obtrudes herself on her hearers.

Of course, in some cases apparent affectation really originates in extreme nervousness and hyper self-consciousness. In such cases the singer must battle patiently with this embarrassing trait until it is overcome, for unless this is accomplished one’s singing can never be a joy and delight.

In order to be successful, a song must be delivered harmoniously; to voice sweet exquisite words accompanied by facial contortions is to make a pitiful caricature of your performance.

Take care, therefore, that your attitude, features, and expression combine to carry the emotion conveyed in your voice. Study unity and repose. Endeavor to forget your own identity for the time being, considering yourself only as the cage that holds the nightingale.

Although the singer should be perfect mistress of the songs forming her repertoire, she should always deliver them freshly and spontaneously.

There is an old saying, “Familiarity breeds contempt,” and, notwithstanding the fact that this is usually said of individuals, it may be applied very truly to the relationship that exists between singer and song.

Why Singers Often Fail

It is very usual for an ambitious student to be consumed with conscientious determination. She makes up her mind to learn a difficult song, and she works assiduously at it day after day, week after week, until she knows every word and every note.

By-and-by she performs it proudly to a select circle of friends, and she is surprised and discouraged to find that all her keen enthusiasm for the song has gone. It does not seem to suit her voice; the words have lost meaning. The emotion she at first poured into it has disappeared, and she is thoroughly disheartened, and is quite unable to find reason or remedy for her indifference.

An experienced artist would be able to show that student in a moment wherein her failure lay.

She had allowed herself to become too familiar, and familiarity had bred contempt. The song doubtless needed practice, but not incessant grinding and toiling. One cannot hammer the arts into one’s head as if they were nails being driven into wood. The subtle essence, the ephemeral spirit of the song will still evade the singer. To catch that, and to reveal it to others, the work must be as pure as the widespread petals of a flower.

So, when listlessness replaces your high enthusiasm for a song with which you have become too familiar, do not be disheartened, but put it away, and determine not to touch it or hear it sung until your first eagerness to master it is reborn. Then, and then only, take it out and sing it, and you will be astonished at the result; for having mastered the technicalities you are able to pour your heart into your words, and the result amazes you and delights your hearers, who think you have never sung anything better or more suitable to the pitch and timbre of your voice.

CHAPTER XVI
DRAWING-ROOM RECITALS

The Keynote of Success

Fig. 1.—Correct position for reciter.

Fig. 1a.—The stiff, unnatural position.

It is frequently and quite erroneously supposed by the uninitiated that, given a good memory and a pleasing voice, the young would-be elocutionist may become highly successful in the art of reciting. It is only the painstaking, experienced artist who realizes that these attributes are but as the husk to the nut, the calyx to the bud.

Cased in its shell is the kernel, and folded in its green sheath are the petals of the flower. So, likewise, the voice and power of memorizing must be but the covering of numerous other qualities, attained only by perseverance, judicious practice, and that artistic sense of fitness without which all attempts to excel are in vain.

It is impossible to play a symphony on the pianoforte before grinding away at the rudiments of music, and no one may build a house without mastering the elements of architecture. Yet the difficult art of reciting is often approached by a novice, who, having pounded some poem or prose into his or her memory (reciting is usually a feminine qualification) plunges into it with all the self-satisfaction of ignorance, and pains or fatigues her listeners by her flagrant and unsympathetic rendering of a masterpiece, which, in experienced hands, would be an exquisite piece of work, something to be remembered and dwelt upon with considerable pleasure.

The speaking voice, properly treated, is an instrument of exquisite music, capable of as many shades of feeling and power as the pipe organ. Before all else the voice must possess sympathy, sweetness, power of expression, and naturalness; and, unless these qualities are governed by a high sensibility, keen intuition, and common sense, they are futile.

The wing of the voice is the breath. Unless this is elastic, easily and naturally produced, the voice is like a crippled bird, or similar to a musical instrument with broken strings. Thus the cultivation of voice and breath is the most powerful adjunct to good reciting, and this only comes by constant practice.

In practicing, the reciter should stand in an easy attitude ([Fig. 1])—erect, but not stiffly upright, and with muscles neither tense nor unduly lax, as in [Fig. 1a]. “There are no straight lines in Nature.” This is an invaluable motto for the student. The best method of gaining a clear and flexible voice is to read aloud some paragraph or verse softly at first, studying the meaning and sound of every word spoken, and endeavoring to express its phonetic quality, not only with the lip, but with the eyes. A mirror is an excellent help ([Fig. 2]). It will show the beginner the difference between facial expression and facial contortion ([Fig. 2a]).

Fig. 2.—Facial expression.

Fig. 2a.—Facial contortion.

The Speaking Register

The paragraph may be repeated in a gradual crescendo until the full power of the voice is used, always taking care to avoid harsh and stridulous tones, and not strain or fatigue the throat. When the student has accomplished this to her satisfaction, she should allow her voice to die gradually away, until it is almost a whisper, but her tone must always be clear and round in quality. This method will bring many different shades of inflection and feeling into the voice, and she will be astonished at the notes she will add to her speaking register.

A good exercise is to make out a list of abstract words, and, concentrating attention upon them, endeavor to convey their full meaning with the aid of the mirror. Such sentences as: “I love you dearly,” “My hate is too deep for words,” “My scorn is intense,” “My tender concern,” “My pity,” “My contempt,” “My indifference,” “My desire,” “My despair,” and other impromptu phrases may be spoken in different tones, united, with eye and features, to express the qualities voiced.

The student need not despair because she has a bad or untrained memory. The power of memorizing verse or prose only requires diligence and concentration to become facile and natural. Exaggeration, affectation, melodrama, and meaningless gesture should be avoided, for there is nothing so appealing as simplicity.

Before reading a poem aloud, the reciter should master the meaning of the story it sets forward. She must remember that she is about to paint a picture in words. To do this effectively, she must avoid daubing in lurid colors. She will find it helpful to regard her mind as her palette, her voice as her brush, and her color tones as sympathy, tranquillity, gentleness, optimism, faithfulness, and clearness of expression. She should take as much pains when practicing as when performing before others, endeavoring to criticise her mode of speech and expression just as though she were listening to some one else’s recital.

The following simple rules will prove of great assistance:—

• 1. Breathe easily, inflating the lungs slowly, and without effort or sound.
• 2. Speak distinctly and clearly, and avoid shouting.
• 3. Sound the consonants, but do not hiss them.
• 4. Sound the syllables distinctly, but without undue emphasis.
• 5. Sound the definite article without giving it too much importance.
• 6. Read brightly and naturally.
• 7. Avoid monotony: graduate tones by feeling.
• 8. Understand clearly and sympathetically what is studied.
• 9. Read with earnestness, but without heaviness.
• 10. Mind pauses and emphasis.

Here is an example from “David Copperfield”:

“Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew! With a window near it, out of which our house can be seen, and is seen many times during the morning’s service by Peggotty, who likes to make herself as sure as she can that it’s not being robbed, or is not in flames. But, though Peggotty’s eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does, and frowns to me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the clergyman.”

In this passage the reciter is for the time being a little boy endeavoring to sit quietly in church and fix his eyes on the clergyman. She must be simplicity itself in order to depict the David and his surroundings, lending a sympathetic eye that probes the brain and heart of the child squeezed between his mother and nurse, and she must see every detail as he describes it.

In order to do this successfully, intuition is essential. It will inspire the voice to a like comprehension, with the result that her listeners will be able to see that little weary figure quite plainly. Thus, in everything undertaken, the student must learn to merge her personality into that of the man, woman, or child of whom she is speaking, so that the words spoken seem indeed to fall from the lips of the characters portrayed.

Appropriate Gesture

Appropriate gesture presents difficulties, and, although occasionally a powerful aid, it is more often a stumbling-block to the inexperienced reciter. Many otherwise excellent recitals have been marred by superfluous demonstrations, which remind one forcibly of the action songs and recitations performed in a kindergarten, whilst not a few reciters hedge themselves in with boundaries. They will mention the sea, and point to a horizon, indicate distant hills, wood and lake, frequently forgetting their respective situations. I have seen upon more than one occasion a reciter engaged in a ludicrous juggling of her scenery, pushing the sea aside to make room for the hills, and merging her forests in the lake. This forgetfulness, usually engendered by extreme nervousness, renders an artist ridiculous. How much better, then, to refrain from gesticulation, unless she has mastered its intricacies.

In drawing-room reciting the voice must expand according to the acoustic properties of the apartment. A good way of making the voice carry is to imagine it an india-rubber ball, which is being thrown against the opposite wall. This thought will gradually insure its elastic properties.

When reciting, the eyes should be kept from roving among the audience, nor should they be fixed in a strained, glassy stare on the ceiling, for they are too useful to the performer, and will be needed to express different shades of thought.

If the reciter is nervous, she should endeavor not to show it by twisting her fingers or moving her feet. The best cure for this harassing affliction is to glance quietly at the audience before beginning to recite. Taken individually, they will be found far from alarming. After this, a determined endeavor should be made to concentrate the mind on the artistic rendering of the recital.

Fig. 3.—The epic radius, or mental zone.

To many elocutionists, costumes are a help, enabling them to grip more powerfully the character portrayed. In this case a certain amount of gesture is advisable, but there are no hard and fast rules. Actions must be governed by discretion and common sense.

The hand may properly be called a second tongue. As such it should be treated, and, to continue the simile, should not be allowed to stammer behind or chatter meaninglessly before the reciter.

The hands and arms are capable of a vast amount of expression when properly used.

Gesture may be divided into three classes:—

1. The epic radius, or mental zone, is the movement above the head and horizontal with the shoulder ([Fig. 3]). These are sweeping and graceful, not jerky movements, indicating such sentiments as honor, conscience, awe, veneration, &c., and may be used with advantage in such lines as—

“Great ocean! strongest of Creation’s sons,
Unconquerable, unreposed, untired,
That roll’d the wild, profound eternal bass
In Nature’s anthem, and made music such
As pleased the ear of God! original,
Unmarr’d, unfaded work of Deity.
From age to age enduring and unchanged,
Majestical! inimitable! vast!
Uttering loud satire day and night on each
Succeeding race, and little pompous work
Of man!—unfallen, religious, holy sea.”

In Shakespearean recitals and other blank verse, this epic zone may be used, as, for instance, in such pieces as the choruses of Henry V.

Fig. 4.—Rhetorical radius or moral zone.

2. The rhetorical radius, or moral zone, includes the movements of the arm from breast to shoulder and from the region of the heart ([Fig. 4]), and may be used to appeal, implore, beseech, express love, hate, fear, contempt, &c., as in Queen Katherine’s speech in Shakespeare’s “King Henry VIII.,” Act ii. Scene 4:—

“Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,
And to bestow your pity on me.”