SELINA DOLARO.
CHAPTER VI.
BEHIND THE SCENES.
My first experiences behind the scenes were in a small, dark cellar, owned by a man who is now a member of the Missouri Legislature, and where daily and nightly a select company of would-be Ethiopian comedians of tender age gave performances to small crowds of children each of whom had paid an admission fee in pins or corks—for we valued the corks highly as a necessary portion of our stock in trade; we charred many a one to blacken our faces and treasured them as if they were worth their weight in gold. Our stage was roughly constructed of boards laid upon barrels; bagging material hung around the rear and sides of the stage to shut in the mysteries of the remarkable dressing-room we had, and an old gray cloth and blanket formed the curtain which parted in the middle in the manner of the stage curtains of the Elizabethan age. Bits of candles were our foot-lights and the audience, made up of boys and girls, were satisfied to sit for hours on rude benches stretched across the width of the cellar. We played nothing but black-face pieces, and as they were not taken from books, but were the memories of sketches we had seen in some pretentious theatrical resort, they were, of course, short and entirely crude. No member of that little band has risen to greatness in the theatrical profession, but I think every one of them now living looks back fondly to the triumphs of our cellar career. To me that rude stage and its gunny-bag surroundings were more interesting and full of mystery than have been any of the wonderful and beautiful temples of Thespis which I have since entered; and I think when I played the part of Ephraim in some ludicrous sketch, and in response to the old man's cries from the stage, "Ephraim! Ephraim! say boy, whar is you?" and I got up suddenly in the rear of the audience and shouted back, "Hyar I is, boss!"—when this supreme moment arrived, and the crowd looked back surprised and laughed, the glow of conscious pride and artistic power that filled my heart was as genuinely agreeable as the thunders of applause that greet Booth or John McCullough when their admirers call them before the curtain after a great act.
JOHN W. M'CULLOUGH.
I have only a dim recollection of my first introduction to the professional stage. The fairy spectacle of "Cherry and Fair Star" was running at a local theatre, with Robert McWade, of recent Rip Van Winkle fame, and Miss Wallace in the cast. By some good or bad fortune I happened to be loitering in the neighborhood of the back door of the theatre, when the captain of the supers called me and hired me at twenty-five cents a night to go on as imp in one of the spectacular scenes. I was on hand promptly, and shall never forget my wonder and astonishment at getting a first glimpse of the secrets of the stage. It was almost pitch dark when the back door was entered, and there was nothing in the place at all suggestive of the glamour that the foot-lights throw upon the scene. Huge clouds of black canvas rose upon all sides, and men and boys in the dirtiest of workday clothes were the only persons met. The noise of hammer and saw rose on various sides, and it seemed as if the stage had not been one-half prepared for the play that the curtain would ring up on within an hour. The dressing-room in which fifty or sixty boys were arraying themselves looked like the interior of a costume establishment after a cyclone had passed through it. But when all were dressed, and the fairies and the goblins assembled in the "wings," and the foot-lights were turned up and the orchestra outside was rattling through some inspiring air, the small boy in impish raiment was immediately wrapt into a seventh heaven of delight. There was a multitude of girls in very low-necked and short dresses with glowing flesh-colored tights that seemed such inadequate covering for the rounded limbs that blushing was inevitable. The bright colors in their cheeks, the blackly outlined eyes and the blonde wigs added to the interest of the new charms. Every bit of glorious color in the gorgeous scenery appeared to flash out amid the flood of light. I ran against every variety of demon that was ever known to M. D. Conway, and was pushed out of the way of a hundred persons only to find myself obstructing somebody else's progress. The magnificent revelations of that night filled me with awe and astonishment for many a week afterward. It was the only night I appeared as an imp, for I had accepted the engagement without parental knowledge or consent, and when they learned of my success they at once put a decided and impressive veto upon any further efforts in the direction of the professional stage.