Life on the Stage: My Personal Experiences and Recollections

by Clara Morris

Ah, I can taste that vanilla soda yet—and, what is more, the old gentleman took the trouble to find out about the legality of the lead-pencil signature; and, as my statement had been correct, he took great pains to make the fact known to all who had heard him question it, and he added to my little store of knowledge, "that a contract made on Sunday would not stand," which, by the way, later on, saved me from a probably painful experience.

I mention this to show that even my unadvised reading had not been absolutely useless, I had learned a little about a variety of things; but now, plays continually presented new subjects to me to think and read about; thus "Venice Preserved" set me wild to find out what a Doge was, and why Venice was so adored by her sons, and I straightway obtained a book about the wonderful city—whose commerce, power of mart and merchant may have departed, but whose mournful beauty is but hallowed by her weakness.

So many plays were produced, representing so many periods, so many countries, I don't know how I should have satisfied my craving for the books they led me to had not the Public Library opened just then. I was so proud and happy the day my mother surprised me with half the price of a membership, and happier yet when I had the right to enter there and browse right and left, up and down, nibbling here, feeding long and contentedly there. Oh, the delight of reading one book, with two or three others in my lap; 'twas the pleasure of plenty, new to one who could have spelled "economy" in her sleep.

Then, again, if it is the Stage that is making you read, you have to keep your eyes wide open and take note of many things. Some girls read just for the sake of the story, they heed nothing but that, they are even guilty of the impertinence of "skipping," "to get to the story more quickly, you know." But if you are on the stage you understand, for instance, that different kinds of furniture are used for different periods and for different countries; so even the beginner knows, when she sees the heavy old Flemish pieces of furniture standing on the stage in the morning, that no modern play is on that night, and is equally sure that the bringing out of the high tile-stove means a German interior is in preparation. Therefore, if you read for the stage, you watch carefully, not only Sir Thomas's doings, but his surroundings. If his chair or desk or sideboard is described, you make a note of the "heavily carved wood," or the "inlaid wood," or the "boule," or whatever it may be, and then you note the date of the story, and you say to yourself: "Ah, such and such furniture belongs to such a date and country."

I once heard the company expressing their shocked amazement over the velvet robes of some Macbeth. I could not venture to ask them why it was so dreadful, but later I found some paper stating that velvet was first known in the fifteenth century, and was confined to the use of the priests or high ecclesiastical authorities—and my mind instantly grasped the horror of the older actors at seeing Macbeth swathed in velvet in the grim, almost barbaric Scotland of about 1012; for surely it was a dreadful thing for an actor to wear velvet four hundred years ahead of its invention.

You never know just where the Stage is going to lead you in your search for an education; only one thing you may be sure of, it will not keep you very long to any one straight road, but will branch off in this direction or in that, taking up some side issue, as it seems, like this matter of furniture, and lo, you presently find it is becoming a most important and interesting subject, well worth careful study. You come to believe you could recognize the workmanship of the great cabinet-makers at sight. You learn to shrink from misapplied ornament, you learn what gave rise to the "veneering reign-of-terror," you bow at the name of Chippendale, and are filled with wonder by the cinque-cento extravagance of beauty. You find yourself tracing the rise and fall of dynasties through the chaste beauty or the over-ornamentation of their cabinet work. If all that Sir Henry Irving knows on this subject could be crowded into a single volume, the book would have at least one fault—'twould be of most unwieldy size.

Then holding you by the hand the Stage may next lead you through the green and bosky places that the poets loved, and, having had your eyes opened to natural beauties, lo! you go down another lane, and you are learning about costumes, and suddenly you discover that "sumptuary laws" once existed, confining the use of furs, velvets, laces, etc., to the nobility. Fine woollens and linens, and gold and silver ornaments being also reserved for the privileged orders. That the extravagant young maids and beaux of the lower class who indulged in yellow starched-ruff, furred mantle, or silver chain were made to pay a cruel price for their folly in aping their betters. So it was well for me to make a note of the date of the "sumptuary law," that I might not some day outrageously overdress a character.

It is a delightful study, that of costume—to learn how to drape the toga, how to hang the peplum; to understand the meaning of a bit of ribbon in the hair, whether as arranged in the three-banded fillet of the Grecian girl or as the snood of the Scottish lassie; to know enough of the cestus and the law governing its wearing, not to humiliate yourself in adopting it on improper occasions; to have at least a bowing acquaintance with all foot-gear, from sandals down to an Oxford tie; to be able to scatter your puffed, slashed, or hanging sleeves over the centuries, with their correct accompanying, small-close, large-round, or square-upstanding ruffs. Why the mere detail of girdles and hanging pouches, from distant queens down to "Faust's" Gretchen, was a joy in itself.

Then a girl who played pages, and other young boys, was naturally anxious to know all about doublets, trunks, and hose, as well as Scottish "philibeg and sporran." And wigs? I used to wonder if anyone could ever learn all about wigs—and I'm wondering yet.

But as one studies the coming and going of past fashions in garments, it is amusing to note their influence upon the cabinet-makers, as it is expressed in the changing shape of their chairs. For instance: when panniers developed into farthingale and monstrous hoop, chairs, high and narrow, widened, lowered their arms—dropped them entirely, making indeed a fair start toward our own great easy-chair of to-day.