The prompter, too, who by the way is a most responsible person among the individuals who populate the mimic world, has control of the rain machine. This is a wooden cylinder, about two feet in diameter, and four or five feet long. It is filled with dried peas which rattle against wooden teeth in its inside surface, as the machine, which is in the "flies," is operated by a belt running down to the prompter's desk. This reminds me that I have used the expression "flies" several times without explaining what is meant. The "flies" is a term used to designate the scenery and spaces above the stage, and as there is a great deal of it, it has as much importance in a theatrical sense as any other part of the back of the house. Well, to resume the explanation, the prompter has the rain machine in the "flies" fully under control and can turn out any kind of a rain-storm the play may require; if a swirl of the aqueous downpour is needed,—such a manifestation of wrathy lachrymoseness as you find in a storm that at intervals beats mercilessly against your windows and the side of your house,—one good, strong, sharp pull at the rope will effect it. Less atrocious efforts of the elements may be obtained with a slighter exertion of muscle at the rope or belt. The wind machine is a very necessary adjunct of these storm effects, and it is to be found in every large theatre, furnishing "a nipping and an eager air" or one of those howling blasts that make night desolate and day disastrous. The wind machine may be moved to any part of the stage. Sometimes it is behind the door of a hut through which snow is fiercely driven, and at other times it may be in the side scenes, or any locality to which or through which the storm is rushing. It is an awful funny thing to the man at the wind machine to think of the cold chill he sends down the back of the sensitive play-goer as the wind whistles across the scene in which poor blind Louise, in the "Two Orphans," figures, or that scene in "Ours" where Lord Shendryn is at the mercy of the pitiless storm. The wind that makes the warm blood frigid under such circumstances is very easily constructed. A cylinder from which extend paddles is set in a suitable frame and above its top is stretched a piece of grosgrain silk. The silk is stationary, but the cylinder and paddles are operated by means of a crank and sometimes by a "crank." Swift motion produces woeful gusts of the windy article, and a steady blast may be duplicated by patiently working the machine. When the property-man is driven to the necessity of providing rain and wind in theatrical districts that do not boast of modern appliances he obtains a rain effect by rolling bird-shot over brown paper that has been pasted around a hoop, and the wind is raised by swinging around a heavy piece of gas-hose. This kind of thing is called "faking" the wind or rain.
FERDINAND AND MIRANDA.
Miranda:—If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the while.
Tempest, Act, III., Scene 1.
When real water is used on the stage to simulate rain, as in the first act of the "Hearts of Oak," or "Oaken Hearts," as they at one time tried to call a pirated edition of it, the effect is obtained by carrying water to the stage lofts, during the day, where it remains in a tank connected with a long piece of perforated pipe, back of the proscenium border, and stretching across the stage. At night when the proper time arrives the water is allowed to run into the pipe, from which it of course falls in numerous small streams upon a rubber tarpaulin that has been stretched below to receive it. So too in mountain rivulets with "real water," as in "The Danites," a tank in the loft must be filled daily with water to supply the nightly scene. In all instances of this sort the effect is quite realistic, and never fails to meet with a hearty appreciation by the audience.
LESTER WALLACK.
The snow-storm is also usually a pleasing stage picture, and is brought about in a most simple manner. White paper is cut into very small pieces, which are carefully treasured by the property-man, whose duty it is to see to everything of this kind in and around the stage, and who regards the manufacture of a snow-storm as a very slow and tedious piece of work. When the snow is ready it is placed in what is called the snow-box, a long narrow affair with slats on the bottom leaving room enough for the pieces of paper to sift through, when the box is given a swaying motion. The contrivance is swung over the stage by means of two ropes, and is operated by a third leading to one side of the stage. When the chilled heroine comes upon the scene amid a terrible fall of snow and draws her thin garments tightly over her shoulder, while she shivers, the snow-box up above is swinging to and fro, and the white flakes are only bits of paper frauds that the property-man or an assistant will carefully sweep up after the scene or act, to do duty again the following night and for many a night to come.
