TABLEAUX VIVANTS.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
There is nothing much more entertaining than getting up tableaux, the fun compensating for all the work and study.
In the November number of Harper's Young People, in the year 1894, there is an article explaining the stage in the parlor, with all the paraphernalia of curtain, foot-lights, and scenery. Therefore the present article will omit mechanical directions; excepting to state that for those who will not undertake tableaux on such an elaborate scale, very desirable effect may be produced by using a drapery of dark green, red, or brown canton flannel, or shawls concealing the back and sides of the room. And a curtain may be made to draw in front by suspending it over a wire or stout cord, provided the cord or wire is fastened taut and strong. A small curtain of the same color should be hung to conceal the lights, and also the persons who draw the stage curtain.
The lights should be put at the left, and they should be arranged to bring out the desired detail. Therefore the placing of them will have to be tried beforehand. Put some on the floor and others on the top of a table, and others still higher. A row of wax candles would be better foot-lights than none at all. Only be careful of draught, and keep from catching on fire by stretching a stout wire across the stage, two feet back of the candles, and from this fasten a wire netting directly over the candles, so as to completely cover the blaze from possible contact with the curtain, or other inflammable stuff. Put mirrors behind all of the stage lamps, and also behind the candles; the mirrors act as reflectors, and heighten the effect. If you cannot provide mirrors, use tin reflectors.
Before arranging tableaux vivants, ask some older person than yourselves to take charge. By so doing you will overcome the greatest of all difficulties, because you have shifted the responsibility. To this person you can even turn for advice and decision.
The first question to decide is always the character of the tableaux; whether they are to be of mixed variety, with no special subject in view but of pretty or amusing entertainment, or whether they are to teach or illustrate a special theme. The latter is generally preferable, and always so at the time of a great festival, such as Christmas. This point settled, the next would naturally be whether the entertainment should be entirely, or in part, of a religious character. If in part religious, it would be delightful to show Christmas Carillons, Twelve Chimes, Christmas to Twelfth Night.
The First Tableau would be entitled the Annunciation, when
"The angel greets the Virgin mild;
Hail, Mary, full of grace! thy child
The Son of God shall be."
This tableau represents an interior: the room has a deep frieze drapery over the mantel, before which Mary kneels on a low cushion; to her left, and considerably before her, is a large jardinière filled with ascension lilies; and directly before her is a table, on which is a roll of parchment partly unfastened. By the table stands the angel with hand outstretched towards her.
Tableau Second.—The shepherds see the angels bright.
Scene out of doors, with shepherds in their usual costume, each shepherd holding a crook, while back of them, huddled close together, stand the herds of sheep. Before the shepherds, and a trifle to their right, is the angel, with outstretched hand, indicating the way.
Tableau Third.—Ye lads and lassies, go fetch ivy, holly, and mistletoe.
An out-of-door winter scene, showing overturned trees, dried and leafless branches, frozen streams, and a light snow, while playfully rushing down the hillside come the gay young people with armfuls of green branches.
Tableau Fourth.—Bringing in the boar's head.
"Was-haile!
Bring in, upon his silver tray,
With minstrelsie
The boar's head, armed with garlands gay
And rosemarie."
The jolliest and tallest boy should take this character, and hold the tray above his head.
If the readers will find the Harper's Monthly for December, 1880, they can copy the tableaux with greatest ease.
While these tableaux are shown the poem should be recited in entirety, and, if thought advisable, more tableaux might be readily added.
Other examples of the religious would be to show an out-of-door winter scene, with snow-covered hills and leafless tree branches, on which a little snow has fallen. Towards the front of the stage half a dozen girls and boys, in gay attire with picturesque wraps and hats, should stand. They should be naturally grouped; some of the boys should have their hands in their pockets, others, again, have them drawn under their short cloaks. It is a cold night, and the young people should indicate it. While they thus stand an invisible chorus should sing a hymn of the Nativity. Or, with a similar background, show five girls standing in a straight line, a tall one in the centre; the two shortest should stand on each end. The girls should be attired differently, but all in warm apparel, with fur-edged cloaks or fur garments of any sort; each girl should have her hands in a muff. Show a quantity of warm color, which can readily be done by silk mufflers, frocks, ribbons, and feathers. Back of these girls an invisible chorus must sing a Christmas carol.
A catchy tableau series would be Mother Goose and her children celebrating Christmas.
Tableau First.—Mother Goose in her tall cone-shaped hat, riding on an enormous goose. Copy hers and all the other costumes from Mother Goose's book.
Tableau Second.—Her children faithfully charactered. Little Jack Horner should be sitting in a corner, eating his Christmas pie. The King in his parlor should be dressed to represent a king. Simple Simon should meet pie-man going to the fair, etc.
Tableau Third.—A sleeping apartment, Mother Goose and her family in bed. Great prominence must be shown to Mother Goose, whose bed is in front, and near hers some of her more notable children. This scene may be readily arranged by putting small cots on the stage; the children can lie down dressed, the coverlets hiding their clothing. Near each bed put that which would indicate their character, as example, the big pie for the pie-man.
Tableau Fourth.—Santa Claus at home about time to start. Interior of a room, simply packed with all sorts of hobby-horses, dolls—big and little, dressed and undressed—musical birds, woolly sheep, sleighs, drums, tenpins, everything in the toy line that could be imagined or described, while in a large easy-chair before the lighted grate-fire sits old Santa himself, as gray-bearded, fat, and jolly as ever.
Tableau Fifth.—Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep and dreamt—
Show Santa Claus again, this time out-of-doors, on his sled drawn by swift reindeers; but the reindeers have stopped, for Bo-Peep stands before them, her shepherd's crook leaning over her shoulder, her sheep all around, and they, as also Po-Beep, gazing at the presents—sled, Santa Claus's pack, hat, beard, miniature tree, full stockings, and all. Bo-Peep wears the regular shepherdess costume, the sheep are toy sheep on wheels. The bells should jingle loudly until Bo-Peep appears.
Tableau Sixth.—The Christmas tree.
A large tree filled with toys; leaning against it is a ladder, which Mother Goose climbs, and then unfastens the various gifts. Her children are all grouped around the bottom, and impatiently await the arrival of their presents.
Tableau Seventh.—The Christmas dance.
Mother Goose and her children dance around the Christmas tree. Waltz music is played; they dance once around, when the curtain is drawn.
Tableau Eighth.—Mother Goose's children eating their Christmas supper. A long table covered with a white cloth, and decorated with lighted candelabra, flowers, bonbons, fancy cakes, china, silver, and cut glass. All the children are seated around, Mother Goose at the head, and to her right her son Jack, then Jack's wife, then a boy, then a girl, and so on around. Each child is in the act of eating, drinking, lifting a cup, a candy, or indicating some natural movement at a supper table; their heads should be turned as though they were in conversation.
Tableau Ninth.—Mother Goose and her family in a well-arranged group now stand and sing a jolly good-night song. This song may be acted by those on the stage, but the singing is done by an unseen chorus.
Follow this with two tableaux, opposite in meaning.
Tableau One.—The empty stocking. A poverty-stricken-looking room—bare floor, a hard wood chair and table (on the table stand a few pieces of cheap china), a window with a broken pane, in which a bunch of paper or canton matting is stuffed to keep out the snow; a small kerosene lamp, the light from which comes dimly. A poorly clad and as poorly fed appearing little girl; one of her thin hands rests on the table, while the other holds an empty stocking, on which the child sadly gazes.
Tableau Two.—Bless you honey-bugs! Yo' feels gay.
This also is a plainly furnished room, but it is trimmed with Christmas greens, a large star and tree being particularly conspicuous. There are several colored children running around, some dancing, with toys in one hand and a full stocking in the other, others taking things off a little tree, others again eating sugar plums, or striding across the bare door in eager pursuit of a dropped cornucopia or cinnamon cake. Their dusky-faced mammies, meanwhile, laugh at them through the half-open doorway.
And thus tableau might be described after tableau, but a few hints may be helpful.
Carefully study scenic effect. "How beautiful!" is so often the exclamation regarding a well-dressed stage, even before any person appears or one word is spoken. Remember to use harmonizing colors, and to throw on different-colored lights. The latter may cost a little money, but it will repay a hundredfold. A white light, changing to pink, again to yellow, rose, or green, as the scenery may require. In every way catch the eye.
Remember, the tableau is but for a minute; let that minute be perfection.
Sometimes, for example, let a fountain play in the large grounds or garden. This can be easily arranged by the proper management of a hose. You can surely place a piece of oil-cloth under the moss over which the water flows, and have sponges conveniently near.
Be careful to select pretty and noticeable toilettes. If you are taking the character of a queen at a drawing-room, dress as the queen, not as her maid; but should you be a maid, wear jaunty, gay attire, and not costume yourself in a severely cut brown-cloth tailor suit.
Use all the accessories possible—music, song, recitation, as either may be given off the stage, as an accompaniment to a tableau. Be sure there is no catch in the stage curtain, and that the prompter understands all his duties. Every one should be punctual at rehearsals; and the night of the entertainment all the cast should be ready thirty minutes ahead of time, as that will prevent worry and nervousness. And if everybody is calm, and understands his part, there is no question as to success.
The Birds' Christmas Carol would make a very pretty tableau-vivant evening, and so would any one of the Christmas plays that have appeared in the Round Table.
All that is needed on such occasions is care in arranging details, a little painstaking in making up costumes, so that the colors shall harmonize one with another, and patience and persistence on the part of the young actors.
[AN UP-TO-DATE SANTA CLAUS.]
BY H. G. PAINE.
When Santa Claus came to town last year,
His deer,
'Tis said,
Struck a live wire and fell down dead.
Poor Santa felt sad to lose them so,
I know;
But he
Was not of the kind to give up, you see.
So he rigged up his sleigh like a trolley-car,
And far
That night,
Viâ telegraph wires, he took his flight;
To each little child in bed
He sped,
Nor missed
A single one of all the list.
But this year he's going to take in hand
A brand-
New way,
And deliver his goods in a horseless sleigh.
[CHRISTMAS IN A GIRLS' SCHOOL A CENTURY AGO.]
BY E. IRENÆUS STEVENSON.
A good many of the grandmothers and the mothers of readers of Harper's Round Table were school-girls at a certain very old school in Pennsylvania still flourishing to-day—the Bethlehem Female Seminary. It was begun far back, in 1785, under the charge of the wise and kind Moravian Church people, who came to our country nearly two hundred years ago. The girls who were taught in this quiet seminary did not, let us say eighty years back from to-day, learn many things that nowadays are part of a girl's course of study. But they were also instructed in some matters always well to know, such as good manners and gentle behavior, love of their country and high principles of womanhood, and their life seems to have been a happy, helpful, and busy one.
A great deal was made in this school of birthdays and holidays. Particularly was Christmas a notable event, celebrated by teachers and pupils; for there was not much home going when December came. For weeks they prepared the feast. The woods were ransacked by special committees of girls, big and little, aided by some white-capped "Sister" Hübener or "Sister" Benade. Every room and hall was gradually turned into a bower of green for the fortnight. The spinning that was left over from the year's "stint" was hurried to its end, the pupils being allowed regular "spinning-days," when, in place of books, they sat in rows, with their wheels whirring away all the morning and afternoon, often a school feast of "chocolate and pancakes" winding up the evening. Next, the "Sisters" of the community and the older girls began to arrange an elaborate scene of the birth of Christ as described in the Gospels, much as in many Roman Catholic churches it is done to-day. The Virgin and the Child Jesus, Joseph and the three Wise Men, the Shepherds, the rude stable—all were imitated by dressed and good-sized figures, with care, and as tastefully as possible. But no girl was allowed a peep at this (unless she were helping in preparing it) until Christmas eve. It can be imagined that curiosity ran in a strong current, among the smaller scholars especially.
Besides this, a little Christmas play, or rather a dialogue, was often written expressly for performance more or less in public (to invited guests, as well as the scholars and teachers), rehearsed and polished to the utmost, in honor of Christmas. Some of these, many of them written by a certain clever "Sister" Langard, or by poetical "Sister" Kleist, are quaint and amusing reading nowadays—not at all like the sort of "private theatricals" that young ladies' boarding-schools relish in our time, but they had a beauty of their own not yet vanished. In the great school—for it frequently had several scores of pupils—the idea of home life was kept strongly in view, and part of the process was the dividing of the pupils into groups called "home companies," which entertained each other, assisted each other, and at Christmas-time stole away to concoct gifts for each other, to be delivered on Christmas day in the school-room or hall.
The afternoon before Christmas brought the expected surprises and pleasures. The patrons of the school, clergy-men, lawyers, and doctors, and all the honored folk of Bethlehem town, in their best wigs and finest petticoats, came from far and wide. During the Revolutionary war, in 1777, it is recorded that "physicians and surgeons and convalescent officers" were among the company. The Christmas play was played; and very charming must some of the young speakers in it have been, as they gravely spoke its sober lines, some of them pretty long ones. The concert was not less formal nor less enjoyed, and "the newest music by Herr Mozart or Mr. Cherubini" was played and sung. In the evening came a meeting in the chapel, at the close of which each girl "under twelve years of age" was given a burning taper to hold while a Christmas Hymn was sung. By this time, too, the great mystery of the decorated room was opened, and all the scholars were invited to admire its wonders. The morning of Christmas brought the signal for present-making and a general holiday, on which occasion the ancient school buildings were full of quiet happiness.
Many famous men in the war and peace of that time were glad to be honored by invitations to "the Moravian Christmas at Bethlehem." General Washington, General Lafayette, General Greene (whose daughters were educated in the school), General Schuyler, Colonel Ethan Allen, Benjamin Franklin, and scores of other Revolutionary names were always on its invitation list and more or less regularly expected to be present. And it is pleasant to think that to-day Christmas comes to the same stanch old school—not to be celebrated in the same way, but not less honored within its walls.
This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.
All this question of spending and saving money which Edith and Charlotte ask me to talk about is one that cannot be settled in a few paragraphs. It is too large. The fact is, we ought to regard money as a talent, something to be used in a responsible way, and neither wasted nor hoarded, but handled so as to bring us the best returns in profit and pleasure.
It is pleasant for a girl to earn money and feel that it is her very own. Ethel's mother is paying Ethel for teaching her little brother Eddie to play the piano, and I have no doubt that Ethel earns the money, for Eddie is a perfect flutter-budget, and does not yet realize the necessity for careful practice, and so he must be called and seated and supervised generally, every afternoon, by his young music teacher, who, being only "sister," and not a rigid disciplinarian with a severe face and stern manner, has sometimes a rather difficult time of it. When a young girl can assist her mother in some way, as, for instance, by becoming her private secretary, and looking after her mother's social duties, answering notes, taking care of an address list, and in many ways lightening her mother's burden, she ought to have a little regular salary, in acknowledgment of her services, if her mother can afford to give it to her. All daughters, I am sure, are happy to assist their mothers without payment, but when it can be given, it is a pleasant arrangement for both sides.
In earning money by the exercise of any art, as, for instance, painting on china, embroidering on linen, or designing book-covers, a girl's ambition should be to do the very best and finest work she can. She must compete with skilled workers, and she must not be satisfied with slipshod work of her own. Then, whether she be a rich or a poor girl, she must ask the price given by the best houses, not underselling other people. For instance, simply because a young girl has a nice home and no expenses to speak of, and is in want of pin-money, she should not dispose of a doily worth ten dollars for five, even if the purchaser be her aunt Mary. She has no right in any case to undersell another girl, though she may give her work away freely if she chooses.
It may be extravagant for Marjorie to take a street car, when she is quite able to walk, while it would be quite proper for Elsie to go delicately to and fro in a carriage. All this depends on circumstances, and on the margin you can honestly afford for expenses.
When you happen to meet a friend in a public conveyance, you do not pay her fare, nor does she pay yours. Each person defrays her own expenses. Never permit chance acquaintances to pay for your railway tickets, nor to be in any way out of pocket on your account.
[THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE.]
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.
VI.—THE CIRCUS (Concluded).
"Hullo," said Jimmieboy. "Back again?"
"Do I look it?" asked the Imp.
"Yes, I think you do," returned Jimmieboy. "Unless you are your twin brother; are you your twin brother?"
"No," laughed the Imp, "I am not. I am myself, and I am back again just as I appear to be, and I've had a real dull time of it since I went away from you."
"Doing what?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Well, first I had to tell your mother that the butcher couldn't send a ten-pound turkey, but had two six-pounders for her if she wanted them; and then I had to tell him for her that he could send mutton instead. After that I had to blow up the grocer for your father, whose cigars hadn't come, and then tell your father what wasn't so—that the cigars hadn't been ordered—for the grocer. After that, just as I was leaving, the cook came to the 'phone and asked me to tell your Aunt Susan's cook that her cousin in New York was very ill with a broken wheel on his truck, and that if she would meet her in town at eleven o'clock they could go to the matinée together, which she said she would do, and altogether it has been a very dull twenty minutes for me. Have you enjoyed yourself?"
"Hugely," said Jimmieboy, "and I hope now that you've come back I haven't got to stop enjoying myself in the same way. I'm right in the middle of the Fish Circus."
"Oh, are you," said the Imp, with a smile. "I rather enjoy that myself. How far have you got?"
"The Shark and the Lobster had just gone off when you came back."
"Good," returned the Imp. "The best part of the performance is yet to come. Move over there in the chair, and make room for me. There—that's it. Now let's see what's on next. Oh yes. Here comes the Juggling Clam; he is delightful. I like him better that way than if he was stewed."
The Book interrupted the Imp at this point, and observed:
"Now glue your eyes upon the ring,
And see the Juggling Clam
Transform a piece of purple string
Into a pillow-sham.
"Nor think that when he has done so
His tricks are seen and done,
For next he'll turn a jet-black crow
Into a penny bun.
"Next from his handsome beaver hat
He'll take a piece of pie,
A donkey, and a Maltese cat,
A green bluebottle fly;
"A talking doll, a pair of skates,
A fine apartment-house,
A pound of sweet imported dates,
A brace of roasted grouse;
"And should you not be satisfied
When he has done all that,
He'll take whatever you decide
Out of that beaver hat.
"And after that he'll lightly spring
Into the atmosphere,
And show you how a Clam can sing
If he but persevere.
"When he has shown all this to you,
If you applaud him well
He'll be so glad he'll show you through
His handsome pinky shell."
Jimmieboy didn't believe the Clam could do all this, and he said so to the Imp, but the Imp told him to "wait and see," and when the boy did wait he certainly did see, for the Clam did everything that was promised, and when Jimmieboy, just to test the resources of the wonderful hat, asked the Clam to bring out three dozen jam tarts, the Clam brought out the three dozen jam tarts—only they were picture jam tarts, and Jimmieboy could only decide that it was a wonderful performance, though he would have liked mightily to taste the tarts, and see if they were as good as they looked.
"What comes next?" queried Jimmieboy, as the Clam bowed himself out of the ring.
"Listen, and the Book will tell," returned the Imp.
The Book resumed:
"We now shall have the privilege
Of witnessing the Whale
Come forth, and set our teeth on edge
By standing on his tail.
"When this is done, he'll open wide
That wondrous mouth of his,
And let us see how the inside
Of such great creatures is;
"And those who wish to take a trip—
Like Jonah took one time—
Can through his mammoth larynx slip
For one small silver dime.
"For dollars ten, he'll take you to
The coast of Labrador,
The Arctic Ocean he'll go through
For dollars twenty-four;
"And should you wish to see the Pole,
He'll take you safely there,
If you will pay the usual toll—
Ten thousand is the fare."
"I'd like to go to the North Pole," said Jimmieboy.
"Got ten thousand dollars in your pocket?" queried the Imp, with a snicker.
"No; but I've got a dollar in my iron bank," said Jimmieboy; "perhaps he'd take me for that."
"YOUR EARS WOULD BE FROZEN SOLID."
"Very likely he would," said the Imp. "These circus fellows will do almost anything for money; but when he got you there he would tell you you could stay there until you paid the other $9999; and think how awful that would be. Why, your ears would be frozen solid inside of four weeks."
"Is it as cold as that at the Pole?" said Jimmieboy.
"Colder!" ejaculated the Imp. "Why, when I was there once I felt chilly in spite of my twenty-eight seal-skin sacques and sixty-seven mufflers, so I decided to build a fire. I got the fagots all ready, lit the match, and what do you suppose happened?"
"What?" queried Jimmieboy, in a whisper, for he was a little awed by the Imp's manner. "Wouldn't the match light?"
"Worse than that," replied the Imp. "It lit, but before I could touch it to the fagots the flame froze!"
Jimmieboy eyed the Imp closely. This seemed to him so like a fairy story, in which the first half is always untrue and the last half imaginary, that he did not exactly know whether the Imp meant him to believe all he said or not. It did him no particular good, though, to scrutinize the Imp's countenance, for that worthy gave not the slightest sign that there was any room for doubt as to the truth of this story; indeed, he continued:
"Why, the last time I went to the North Pole I took forty-seven thermometers to register the coolth of it, and the mercury not only went down to the very bottom of every one of them, but went down so quickly that it burst through the glass bulb that marked 4006 below zero, and fell eight miles more before it even began to slow up. It was so cold that some milk I carried in a bottle was frozen so hard that it didn't thaw out for sixteen months after I got back, although I kept it in boiling water all the time, and one of the Esquimaux who came up there in midsummer to shoot polar bears had to send for a plumber after his return home to thaw out his neck, which had frozen stiff."
"Maybe that is why the whale charges so much to take people there," suggested Jimmieboy.
"It is, exactly. There is no risk about it for him, but he has to eat enough hot coal and other things to warm him up, that really it costs him nearly as much as he gets to make the trip. I don't believe that he clears more than half a dollar on the whole thing, even when he is crowded," said the Imp.
"Crowded?" echoed Jimmieboy. "What do you mean by that?"
"Crowded? Why, crowded is an English word meaning jamful and two more," said the Imp.
"But crowded with what?" queried Jimmieboy.
"Why, passengers, of course. What did you suppose? Ink bottles?"
"Then he takes more than one passenger at a time," said Jimmieboy.
"Certainly he does. He'll hold twenty-five boys of your size in comfort, thirty-five in discomfort, forty-five in an emergency, and fifty at a pinch," said the Imp. "But see here, we are losing a lot of circus. There goes the Educated Scallop out of the ring now. I'm sorry you missed him, for he is a tender."
"A what?"
"A tender. That is, he is ten times as marvellous as a wonder. Why that Scallop is the finest comic actor you ever saw. His imitation of a party of sharks off manning is simply the most laughable thing I ever saw," said the Imp, enthusiastically.
"I wish I could understand half of what you say," said Jimmieboy, looking wistfully at the Imp. "Because if I did, you know, I might guess the rest."
"What is it you don't understand now?" asked the Imp.
"What is a party of sharks off manning?" queried Jimmieboy.
"Did you ever see a man fishing?" questioned the Imp.
"Yes."
"Well, if a man can fish, why shouldn't a fish man? Sharks can catch men just as easily as men can catch sharks, and the Scallop shows how sharks behave when they catch men—that's all."
"I wish I'd seen it; can't you turn back to that page in the book, and have it done all over again?" asked the boy.
"No, I can't," said the Imp. "It's against the rules of the Library. It hurts a book to be turned back, just as much as it hurts your little finger to be turned back, and in nine cases out of ten turning back pages makes them dogeared; and dogs, or anything that even suggests dogs, are not allowed here. Why, if the other Imps who own this Library with me knew that I had even mentioned dogs they would suspend me for a week. But, my dear boy, we really must stop talking. This time we've missed the Crab with the iron claw—why, that Crab can crack hickory nuts with that claw when he's half asleep; and when he's wide awake he can hold a cherry stone a hundred miles a minute, and that's holding mighty fast, I can tell you. Let's hear what the Book has to say now."
"Bang!" said the Book.
"Dear me!" cried the Imp. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "What does it mean?"
"It means the circus is all over," said the Imp. "That was the shutting up of the Book we heard. It's too bad; but there are other things quite as well worth seeing here. I'll tell you what we'll do—I'll find the Pixyweevil Poetry Book, and turn that on, and while you are listening, I'll see who that is ringing, for I am quite sure the bell rang a minute ago."