THE FIRST NIGHT.

Otago Witness, Issue 2078, 21 December 1893, Page 23

THE FIRST NIGHT.

(Specially Written for the Witness Christmas

Number of 1593.)

By B. S.

Thß first performance of a new pieca is always a trying occasion in a theatre, and very naturally tne leadiog players are those who appreciate that difficulty most. Words or s peaches have an unpleasant way of becoming forgotten at the last moment, and between that and the unsettled condition the business of a play is always in until ib has enjoyed one representation, and settled into a groove of movement, the poor player has his hands and head full.

All the while an actor is dressing he is also repeating his lines. He shoots from his mirror to his open book, takes a glanoe at his part to refresh his memory, and then resumes his business of making up and muttering his part over again. His makeup finished, he resumes study in deep

earnest, and you will find him walking up and down the stage, or pacing the green room, with his book in his hand.

There is no skylarking about the stage of a theatre on a fhst-night. Work, and real hard work, too, is the order of the night.

Follow me for a few moments with the stage manager. Time, 20 minutes to eight. First we go and see the Bupei-3. Each one marches up to the S.M. As they come up they are inspected up and down, back and front. This is no light ta&k, for, in a big production — say, " A Sailor's Knot," as staged in Holt's style — there are some 60 supers engaged, and all have to be dressed — and that correctly — at a quarter before eight. One's trousers are too baggy. Ha must change them for another pair. The nest one's hat is on wrong ; one has forgotten his wig ; another is seat to the wardrobe xnistiess to get a button sewn on his coat, and so on.

After the super 3 the members ot the company are looked up. With principals like Brough and Boucicault, if a member has anything wrong with his dress or make-up, he is told to ratura to his dressing room, wash off, and make up again ; bat is never told where the fault lies.

Aa we return to the stsge wa see gasmen, braceboys, carpenters, flyman, scane shiEters, " props.," mechanists, &c, all attention, ready to obey orders, or waiting for the 'scene to opan on the risiag of the curtain.

The all-eventful hour approaches. Eight o'clock strikes. The orchestra takea its placa. The " god? " yahooo, clap, and stamp as they think fis. The overture is started.

Oa the back, as the band strikes up, the stagd manager cries out, " Try your lime 3." Ga3 i 3 turned on, limes ara laid, and the S.M. inspects the scene set. Everything is O.K.

Tub last few bars of the overture are reached, tha order " Stand by, everybody 1 " is given, the SM. blows his whistle, the curtain rises — the play has begun !

Bub at the last moment, when ths cavtain is up and the play in progress, wa find the lady lead, waitirg for her cue in the wings, still conning the little volume in. which the words which are to hit the public are to ba found.

Oar fair fiiend has found her giip loossuicg at the last minute. She beckons to the call boy, in whoso hands she plac2S a gold coin, and he rushes off on some errand only to return with something wrapped in very fine paper. A bottle is opened, something in liquid form is poured into a glass. The actress quaffs it, listening for her cue, and as she catche3 it she thrusts the half -drained gliS3 into the call boy's hand, drops her part, and makes her entrance to a round of applause.

But the champagne has done its work, the pait is a hit, and the curtain closes on the best scene in the piece, which the audience acknowledge with thunders oE applause. There aro cries of " Author ! Author 1 " The author appears — he is applauded to the echo. The piece is a success. Poverty Point, Ohristma3 1893.