Before closing the chapter, a word may be said of the flat background near the curtain line. About four or five feet behind the curtain line—i.e. the place where the curtain falls to the stage—hang a drop, either of burlap, or else a white drop like that used in stereopticon lectures. This, either played upon by lights in "the house", or from behind the stage, forms a striking background for scenes of pantomime, a street—as in "Twelfth Night"—a wall, a forest, almost anything. Such a screen was most effectively used in one scene of Reinhardt's production of "Sumurûn." A still more striking effect was achieved in a performance of "Peer Gynt" at the Lessing Theater in Berlin. The scene was the one in which Peer Gynt is before the pyramid in Egypt. About five feet behind the curtain line a white screen was dropped. Diagonally across this screen was thrown a dark purple light, while over the remaining space a saffron yellow played. That was all, but the suggestion of the vast shadow of the pyramid and the yellow sunlight and the yellow sands of Egypt was far more impressive than any representation of the pyramid and desert could be.
In case the effect of a distant city is desired, then another (darker and thicker) cloth, cut to represent the outlines of buildings and the like, can be sewed against the drop, thus producing the effect of a silhouette.
In fine, the whole problem of staging resolves itself into this: achieve your effects in as simple a way as possible; suggest, do not try to represent; scenery, which ought indeed to be a delight to the eye, is after all only background. Experiment, but never hesitate to ask the advice of those who know the basic principles of color, line, and form, as well as those who have technical knowledge of every branch of the art and craft of the theater.
Costumes. In his introductory remarks to "The Romancers", Rostand says that the action may take place anywhere, "provided the costumes are pretty." This is the basis of the few brief remarks to be made here on the subject of costumes. It must not be concluded, however, that any costumes may be used on any occasion. A modern play must have modern costumes—except in such plays as "The Blue Bird" and "Chantecler"—and a "period play" must at least approximate in spirit the age in which the action transpires. But it makes little difference whether Hamlet wears a tenth or eleventh century Danish costume, or one of the age of Elizabeth. It is a well-known fact that in Shakespeare's days there was little or no regard for historical accuracy in costumes, and that even in the historical plays the actors wore contemporary clothes. The point to be impressed is not that we should play "Julius Cæsar" in dress clothes, but that such discrepancies as were allowed in Elizabethan days could not have made very much difference, and that nowadays it is not worth while to spend too much time over details. In Greek plays it is well to use Greek costumes, because we have long been accustomed to associate some sort of archeological detail with plays of a certain age; and besides, Greek costumes are beautiful. But, and this is of great importance, do not strive to be historically exact: so long as costumes are beautiful and harmonize with the setting, and so long as they are not absurd or too much out of harmony with the play, they are good. There are numerous exceptions. Where a play definitely calls for a distinct atmospheric setting—like Bennett and Knoblauch's "Milestones"—then the utmost effort must be made to obtain correct costumes and setting. But the reason why the first act of this play requires historical accuracy is that the audience knows very well what mid-Victorian clothes are like. If the play were given in the year 2500 A.D., it is safe to say that Elizabethan or Queen Anne costumes might do just as well.
However, historical accuracy, when it can be obtained as easily as not, is never superfluous.
