“BUT to return to ‘Much Ado,’” I said; “let us go a little into
detail as to the number of scenes, cloths, flats, properties, and
changes there are in the work. To have got through the piece, without
a hitch, within three hours on the first night, is a very remarkable
performance.”
“Well, then, there are five acts in the play, thirteen scenes. Every
scene is a set, except two, and they are front cloths; there is not a
carpenter’s scene proper in the entire representation. To begin with,
there is the opening scene,—the bay, with Leonatas’ palace, built
out twenty-four feet high,—a solid-looking piece, that has all the
appearance of real masonry. I am giving you these details now from a
cold, practical stage-manager’s point of view,—fact without color.
Well, this scene—the outside of Leonatas’ house—has to be closed in,
in two minutes and a half, discovering the inside,—the ball-room,
which extends right round the walls of the theatre. This finishes the
first act.
“Now, the second act was rung up in eight minutes, showing Craven’s
beautiful garden scene,—terraces, glades, and arbors,—in which set
the business of the entire act occurs.
“The next act opens in front of Craven’s cloth,—the terrace, which
changes to the morning view of the garden, which, in its turn, is
covered with the cedar cloth; thus accounting for three scenes. After
the last one, in two minutes the change was made to the effective
representation of the town at night; the riverside street; the quay
with its boats moored; the houses on the other side of the river
illuminated, Leonatas’ palace among them. This closes the second act.
“Our great anxiety, as you know, centred in the cathedral set. We
calculated that a wait of eighteen to twenty minutes would be required
to send the curtain up on that, no doubt, very remarkable scene. It
was rung up in fifteen minutes, displaying Telbin’s masterpiece,—the
cathedral at Messina, with its real, built-out, round pillars, thirty
feet high; its canopied roof of crimson plush, from which hung the
golden lamps universally used in Italian cathedrals; its painted canopy
overhanging the altar; its great iron-work gates (fac-similes of the
originals); its altar, with vases of flowers and flaming candles,
rising to a height of eighteen feet; its stained-glass windows and
statues of saints; its carved stalls, and all the other details that
are now almost as well known in New York as in London. What a fine,
impressive effect is the entrance of the vergers!”
“Yes, you were telling me once, when we were interrupted, how you came
to introduce this body of men into the scene; it might be worth while
to mention the incident along with these practical details of the
working of the piece.”
“It came about in this wise. I went into Quaritch’s bookstore one day,
and among other curious books I picked up an old, black-letter volume.
It was a work on ‘Ceremonies,’ with four large illustrations. I went
into the shop to spend four or five pounds; I spent eighty-four or
five, and carried off the black-letter book on ‘Ceremonies,’—all
Italian. I was at the time preparing ‘Much Ado’ for the Lyceum. In
the picture of a wedding ceremony I saw what struck me at once as a
wonderful effect, and of the period too,—the Shakespeare period. The
effect was a mass of vergers, or javelin men,—officers of the church,
I should imagine. They were dressed in long robes, and each carried a
halberd. I pressed these men at once into the service of Shakespeare
and his cathedral scene at Messina, and got that impressive effect of
their entrance and the background of sombre color they formed for the
dresses of the bridal party. And it is right too,—that’s the best of
it. Not long ago I was at Seville, and saw a church ceremony there,
where the various parties came on in something like the fashion of our
people on the stage; but we never did anything so fine in that way as
the entrances of the visitors at the Capulets in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Do
you remember the different companies of maskers, with their separate
retainers and torch-bearers? But I see you are about to suggest that we
get back to the stage of the Star Theatre; and so we will.
“The last act of ‘Much Ado’ was rung up in seven minutes, disclosing
the scene where Dogberry holds his court; this is withdrawn upon the
garden scene. Then we come to the tomb of Hero, never before presented,
except by us, I believe, since Shakespeare’s own time. This scene,
with its processions of monks, vergers, and mourners, and the few
lines that are spoken, gives us four minutes to make a remarkable
change, back to the ball-room in Leonatas’ house, where the story is
concluded. As you say, to have moved all this scenery, and represented
the piece with its many characters, smoothly and without a blemish, in
the various pictures,—and when you think what trifling mistakes will
upset the effect of the finest scenes,—to have done all this within
three hours is a great achievement. The theatre was handed over to us
on Sunday morning; on Monday night at a quarter-past eight the curtain
rose on ‘Much Ado,’ mounted and set with our Lyceum effects,—scenery,
properties, company,—and fell at twelve minutes past eleven.”
* * * * *
“And the longest journey comes to an end,” said Irving.