A scene-painter’s palette is a strange affair; it is like a large wooden tray fixed to a table, and that table is on wheels; along one side of the tray are divisions like stalls in a stable, each division containing the different coloured paints, while in front is a flat piece on which the powders can be mixed. The thing that strikes one most is the amount of exercise the scenic artist takes. He is constantly stepping back to look at what he has done, for he copies on a large scale the minute sketch he has previously worked out in detail. Assistants generally begin the work and lay the paint on; but all the finishing touches are done by the master, who superintends the whole thing being properly worked out from his model.
The most elaborate scenery in the world is to be found in London, and Sir Henry Irving, as mentioned before, was the first to study detail and effect so closely. Even in America, where many things are so extravagant, the stage settings are quite poor compared with those of London.
Theatres in England and America differ in many ways. The only thing I found cheaper in the United States than at home was a theatre stall, which in New York cost eight shillings instead of ten and sixpence. They are also ahead of us inasmuch as they book their cheaper seats, which must be an enormous advantage to those unfortunate people who can always be seen—especially on first nights—wet or fine, hot or cold, standing in rows outside a London pit door.
There is no comparison between the gaiety of the scene of a London theatre and that of New York. Long may our present style last. In London every man wears evening dress in the boxes, stalls, and generally in the dress circle, and practically every woman is in evening costume, at all events without her hat. Those who do not care to dress, wisely go to the cheaper seats. This is not so across the Atlantic. It is quite the exception for the male sex to wear dress clothes; they even accompany ladies to the stalls in tweeds, probably the same tweeds they have worn all day at their office “down town,” and it is not the fashion for women to wear evening dress either. What we should call a garden-party gown is de rigueur, although a lace neck and sleeves are gradually creeping into fashion. Little toques are much worn, but if the hat be big, it is at once taken off and disposed of in the owner’s lap. Being an American she is accustomed to nursing her hat by the hour, and does not seem to mind the extra discomfort, in spite of fan, opera-glass, and other etceteras.
The result of all this is that the auditorium is in no way so smart as that of a London theatre. The origin of the simplicity of costume in the States of course lies in the fact that fewer people in proportion have private carriages, cabs are a prohibitive price, and every one travels in a five cents (2½d.) car. The car system is wonderful, if a little agitating at first to a stranger, as the numbers of the streets—for they rarely have names in New York—are not always so distinctly marked as they might be. It is far more comfortable, however, to get into one’s carriage, a hansom, or even a dear old ramshackle shilling “growler” at one’s own door, than to have to walk to the nearest car “stop” and find a succession of electric trams full when you arrive there, especially if the night happens to be wet. The journey is cheap enough when one does get inside, but payment of five cents does not necessarily ensure a seat, so the greater part of one’s life in New York is spent hanging on to the strap of a street car.
“Look lively,” shouts the conductor, almost before one has time to look at all, and either life has to be risked, or the traveller gets left behind altogether.
Not only travelling in cars, but many things in the States cost twopence halfpenny. It seems a sort of tariff, that five cents, or nickle, as it is called. One has to pay five cents for a morning or evening paper, five cents to get one’s boots blacked, and even in the hotels they only allow a darkie to perform that operation as a sort of favour.
It is a universal custom in the States to eat candies during a performance at the theatre, but when do Americans refrain from eating candies—one dare not say “chewing-gum,” for we are told that no self-respecting American ever chews gum nowadays!
The theatres I visited in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, New Orleans, and even in far-away San Antonio, Texas, were all comfortable, well warmed, well ventilated, and excellently managed, but the audience were certainly not so smart as our own, not even at the Opera House at New York, where the performers are the same as in London, and the whole thing excellently done, and where it is the fashion to wear evening dress in the boxes. Even there one misses the beauty of our aristocracy, and the glitter of their tiaras.