OF THEATRICAL DRESS
The time has long gone by when the dress of his own period would serve
the turn of the actor in any character in any play, irrespective of the
century in which its story passed. That condition of affairs has no place
even in the mental treasure-trove of the oldest playgoer, who saw Edmund
Kean, and never lets you forget it.
Although it has not been stated that the most audacious actor ever
ventured to play _Hamlet_ in a tall hat, solecisms no less grave have
in the long ago been committed and condoned, even applauded. Imagine
Othello addressing the "most potent, grave, and reverend signiors" of
sixteenth-century Venice in a stiff-skirted coat, breeches and waistcoat
of the English fashion of George II.'s day, with a full-bottomed wig, a
three-cornered hat, and a black face! Yet that was how Garrick dressed
the part, and, notwithstanding, thrilled his audience to enthusiasm;
whilst handsome Spranger Barry won even Colley Cibber's applause when
he acted the dusky Moor dressed in a full suit of gold-laced scarlet,
a small cocked hat, knee breeches, and silk stockings! Then, picture
Macbeth, as Garrick played him, in a 1750 suit of black silk, and silk
stockings and shoes, with buckles at his knees and feet, and a tie wig,
or in the scarlet and gold-laced uniform of a British general of George
III.'s reign! And fancy Lady Macbeth in enormous hooped petticoats and
huge flounces, as Mrs. Yates dressed her; yet, when she said, "Give
me the daggers," and took them in her hands, as an old print shows
her doing, no one in the audience recorded a thought that the action
was incongruous with the costume, or the costume with the tragedy.
What a contrast to the superb green and gold glories of the costume of
Miss Ellen Terry's Lady Macbeth, immortalised by Sargent! But there
was no attempt in those days to give the audiences anything better.
When Benjamin West asked Garrick why he did not initiate reform in
stage-costume, his answer was that the public would not allow it. "They
would throw a bottle at my head," added the great actor, and he found it
easier to elude the bottle--at least, that particular bottle.
I believe it is to John Kemble we are indebted for the first careful
study of dressing a part on its merits, even though he did not allow
himself too near an approach to accuracy, lest, as he said, the public
should call him in disgust "an antiquary." So he did not hesitate, in
playing Macbeth, to wear a great bonnet of the 42nd Highlanders--the
Black Watch. But when Sir Walter Scott saw this, he was so shocked at
the anachronism that he plucked out the big plume and replaced it with a
single broad eagle's feather, the time-honoured symbol of the Highland
chieftain.
It was, however, to the antiquarian researches of R. J. Planché, for
Charles Kemble's production of _King John_ at Covent Garden in 1823,
that our stage owes its first important step in the reform of costume.
Macready, who urged the reform still further, carried his sense of the
importance of costume to such a point during the rehearsals of _Henry V._
that he went to bed in his armour, desiring that, not only should the
dress become the part, but he should become the dress. I recollect Sir
Henry Irving quoting this fact, when telling me that he himself always
followed the practice of wearing the clothes for a new part a few days
previous to assuming them on the stage.
Sir Henry was, of course, a past master in the art of theatrical costume,
and to his genius and taste more than to any other influence we may
attribute its present development on the English stage.
Let the old playgoer prate enthusiastically as he will about Charles
Kean, and his splendid Shakespearean revivals at the Princess's Theatre,
dramatic art has never been more picturesquely, richly, and appropriately
clothed than it was at the Lyceum Theatre in the great days of Henry
Irving. Even to talk to him of his productions was a liberal education in
all arts appertaining to the theatre. That the great actor took infinite
personal trouble with every detail, and would, in his own costume,
direct the cut of the drapery, the shape of the shirt collar, and the
exact position of the sash, or the fold of the turban, all who were
privileged to associate with him at work are fully aware. I recall many
conversations with him on the subject of stage costume, and invariably he
would bring out some point of its psychological bearing. As to variation
in the interpretation of a character under the influence of a different
dress, for instance, I remember his saying--"When you have the good
fortune to act with an actress like Miss Terry, the artist dominates the
woman under any conditions of costume, and the least suggestion is easily
grasped and appreciated. In all times, modes and manners must influence
each other, and different gestures inevitably accompany different
costumes. You would not, for instance, see a lady when wearing Grecian
draperies disport herself in the same fashion as one bearing the stiff
stomacher and monstrous farthingale of the Elizabethan period."
[Illustration: MISS ELLEN TERRY AS MISTRESS PAGE.]
Again, we were discussing the question of colour in relation to certain
emotions, moods, and traits of character. "Who would think of playing a
murderer in sky-blue satin and silver?" Sir Henry said. And not pausing
for my reply: "Of course one expects a woman to go mad in white. Can you
picture Hamlet in colours? Surely he demands black clothes, indeed the
text says as much,--although the colour for the expression of mourning in
Denmark at that period was, I believe, red."
But, after all, the first thing is, or should be, to fit the personality
to the character, and then the question of dress is comparatively easy.
John Ryder, by the way, used to explain his protracted engagement
with Charles Kean as being solely due to what he was wont to call his
"archæological" figure.
[Illustration: ISOLDE.]
It has been questioned whether the public cares, or knows, much about the
details of stage dress, upon which so much time and thought are bestowed;
but then it is recognised that amongst the neglected arts is the art of
costume, and pending the establishment of the Royal Academy of Dress,
over which, of course, Mr. Percy Anderson should preside, visits to the
theatre may offer to the student considerable instruction. In other days
the scholar resented any incongruities of stage-costume. The satire of
Pope pictures them vividly in the early eighteenth century:
Such is the shout, the long applauding note,
At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat!
Or when from Court a birthday suit bestowed,
Sinks the lost actor in the tawdry load.
Booth enters--Hark! the universal peal!
But has he spoken? Not a syllable.
What shook the stage, and made the people stare?
Cato's long wig, flowered gown, and lacquered chair.
Imagine an ancient Roman in a periwig and flowered gown after the Queen
Anne fashion! No wonder Addison, as he sat in a side box with two or
three friends to watch his tragedy on the first night, needed flasks of
Burgundy and champagne to support his spirits, for had he not pleaded
in a number of the _Spectator_ for the poet against the costumier? "The
ordinary method of making a hero is to clap a huge plume of feathers on
his head, which rises so very high that there is often a greater length
from his chin to the top of his head than to the sole of his foot....
As these superfluous ornaments make a great man, a princess gradually
receives her grandeur from those additional encumbrances which fall into
her tail. I mean the broad sweeping train which follows her in all her
motions, and forms constant employment for a boy who stands behind her
to open and spread to advantage. I do not know how others are affected
at this sight, but I must confess my eyes are wholly taken up with the
page's part, and, as for the Queen, I am not so attentive to anything she
speaks as to the right adjusting of her train, lest it should chance
to trip up her heels, or incommode her as she walks to and fro upon the
stage. It is, in my opinion, a very odd spectacle to see a Queen venting
her passions in a disordered motion, and a little boy all the while
taking care they do not ruffle the tail of her gown. The parts that the
two persons act on the stage at the same time are very different. The
princess is afraid lest she should incur the displeasure of the King
her father, or lose the hero her lover, whilst her attendant is only
concerned lest she should entangle her feet in her petticoat.... In
short, I would have our conception raised by the dignity of thought and
sublimity of expression, rather than by a train of robes or plume of
feathers."
But here was no plea for correctness of costume, which might have
obviated the distractions complained of. Nowadays we have altered all
that, and indeed we had one modern play, _Frocks and Frills_, frankly
devoted to dress as the pivot of its plot. Yet its author, Mr. Grundy,
never gives any very special instructions in the matter of costume, his
stage directions being very simple, merely stating whether a woman should
be handsomely or poorly dressed. He declares, however, that directly he
sees the players ready and "made up," he can realise whether or not his
work is going to be successful, feeling that if they have realised the
personalities, and look like the men and women he has conceived, they
will represent the characters convincingly. He audaciously advances the
dogma, that every woman is at heart a fashion-plate, and I wish I could
set him down for serious conversion by Mrs. Tree, one amongst the few
whose taste in dress on the stage is quite irreproachable, who never
makes a mistake in fitting her clothes to her part.
Mrs. Tree vows that if you gave her a dozen yards of white crêpe de
chine, she would make a costume in which she could appear as Ophelia,
Lady Macbeth, Constance, and Juliet, and would undertake in the disposal
of her draperies to satisfy the demands of the most exacting critic.
But on the subject of fashion Mrs. Tree is a heretic, refusing to treat
it seriously, and indulging in the theory that "everything is people,
nothing is gowns." The philosophy of clothes as expounded by Mrs. Tree,
if rendered popular, would not bring much grist to the mill of the
modiste; but then "In this life nothing comes off--except buttons" is her
favourite pessimism.
I have heard a famous dramatist declare that when he wants to mark a
situation strongly upon the minds of the audience, he never allows the
heroine to make entry in a new frock. He also contended that, in choosing
her own gown, the actress should choose it in relation to those to be
worn by other players appearing in the same scene, regarding herself, not
primarily as an individual but as one in a group. She should also take
care that her dress is suited not only to her surroundings but to her
"business," so that no drapery impede her movements, no tightness be a
bar to graceful gesture.
No less an authority than Mr. Pinero, when discussing the influence that
dress may exercise on the art of acting, has declared that our plays
are for the most part over-dressed, with extravagance, vulgarity, and
inappropriateness obtaining in place of artistic fitness. It is well
known that Pinero takes a personal interest in every detail pertaining
to his productions, and such condemnation from him is condemnation
indeed. Especially when he caps it by saying that he has found that the
new costumes have to some extent frequently undone the results of his
undress rehearsals, the actresses no longer representing his creations as
they did before the dressmakers sent home their gowns, while the variety
of their impersonations is swamped by the uniformity of their fashions.
Even while grumbling, Pinero admits that stage costume has made wonderful
progress since the time when Robertson's appropriately-dressed plays
doomed the theatrical stock wardrobe, and Alfred Thompson initiated
reforms making for artistic harmony; nevertheless, Pinero protests that
it is time for the dramatist, in the interests of dramatic art, to say to
the costumiers and the purveyors of fashion, "Thus far shall ye go, and
no farther."
Sir James Linton took up this cry, while declaring that the bane of the
dressmaker was over all feminine stage costume, and would be, until there
arose an autocratic manager. Sir James is severe, and would accept no
compromise, insisting that dress in historical plays should be absolutely
accurate, quite regardless of the becoming, and asserting that an element
of incongruity is always present on the stage, introduced by the mere
vanity of the mere woman.
In how far the art of costume may affect the art of drama I have my pet
theories, which include a predilection in favour of red of all shades for
historical dress; an appreciation of the charm of decoration in black and
gold; a recognition of the immense value of black in small quantities
wisely disposed, and much sympathy with trimmings of black and white on
light dress of modern fashion. Combinations of colour which in ordinary
circumstances would appear at least daring, and, at the most, unpleasant,
have a knack of being effective when worn on the stage. The deep crimson
lining to the scarlet cloak may be quoted as an example of this, together
with the alliance of emerald green with turquoise blue, and orange colour
with lemon. On fairies and other angels of the ballet the repetition of
the same costume is of great value, the multiplied mass enchaining the
eye, where smaller groups of diverse details fail to hold it.
[Illustration: GEORGE ALEXANDER AS GUY DOMVILLE.]
In moments of passionate emotion it is well that the actor or actress
should discard a hat. Irving rarely wore one at all, invariably taking
the first opportunity to remove his, bearing it with his special grace
under his arm or in his hand, as opportunity permitted.
In the management of classic drapery considerable skill and much
practice are demanded, and many an actor of contemporary methods finds
himself lost and awkward without the consoling comfort of his trouser
pocket for his restless fingers, or the convenient coat-tail to be
jerked, in fits of irritation. Undoubtedly, it is wise for the player
to accustom himself to unconventional clothes for some days before
assuming them on the stage: it is only thus that he can hope to avoid
self-consciousness and to escape inelegance of movement and gesture.
Women, although more easily adapted to new clothes, and less embarrassed
under their influence, because more accustomed to such privileges, yet
suffer restraint in different attire, and would yet do well to consider
the advisability of rehearsing in their frocks on more than one occasion
before they permit these to accompany them in their histrionic duties.
The stage has oftentimes had the privilege of introducing new fashions,
and the most apathetic patron of the playhouse may be lured to the
auditorium by the report of something new in petticoats, an ideal
coiffure, or the latest modish mandate obeyed to the letter in a
belt. Miss Violet Vanbrugh may have the credit of bringing to notice
the elegant charms of the corselet, and the trim fascinations of the
stock collar, worn with the right sort of cravat. To Miss Mary Moore I
attribute a revived popularity of the broad black Alsatian bow; she wore
this in velvet in her clever impersonation in _Mrs. Gorringe's Necklace_,
and all the world of women flocked to see and to copy; while her little
short-waisted white muslin frock, with broad ribbons and puffed sleeves,
in _Rosemary_ made that heroine an inevitable figure at fancy-dress
balls for months after the production of this dainty little play. Miss
Letty Lind, Miss Kate Vaughan, and Miss Jessie Milward--I take my
examples at random--may all be counted pioneers. To Kate Vaughan we owe
the lace-frilled petticoat, beneath the influence of which she daintily
danced her way into public favour. Miss Letty Lind first wore the
accordion-pleated dancing skirt, and Miss Jessie Milward popularised the
lawn-embroidered collars and cuffs. I forget which Adelphi melodrama she
graced with these trifles, but I am safe in asserting that she was the
heroine of the drama, and was made happy by wedding bells as the curtain
fell.
[Illustration: JULIAN L'ESTRANGE AS HERMES.]
It is easy for me to let my pictures in this chapter give me my cues
for dilating on specially splendid productions which it has been my
privilege to enjoy, for Mr. Anderson has been responsible for the
majority of these, and his pencil has illuminated the various centuries
with experience, infinite care, and a skill of which I have promised him
faithfully not to speak.
An exception, however, was _Coriolanus_ at the Lyceum, a play lending
itself pre-eminently to dignified interpretation, and it is needless
to say that Sir Henry Irving saw that it got this. Perhaps the great
actor never looked more imposing than in the military robes of dull red
and leopard skins, with a cuirass of richly-wrought gold, though, to be
sure, he always wore his ecclesiastical garb with the grand air, and as
Wolsey, Richelieu, and Becket he embodied the venerable magnificence of
established holiness.
[Illustration: BEERBOHM TREE AS MALVOLIO.]
Miss Ellen Terry, as Volumnia, also personified dignity, whether in a
loose garb of purple silk, with a mantle of yellow and brown falling
from a diadem-shaped head-dress set with turquoise, or when, after her
successful pleading with her son, she threw aside her garb of woeful
black, and was radiant in a draped tunic embroidered in pink and gold,
with gold ornaments round her arms and turquoise chains upon her neck.
The picture of Rome under Nero, Mr. Tree personally invested with a
purposeful effeminacy, and his tunics and garlands of flowers accentuated
the poet in the man. Mrs. Tree showed Agrippina at her best beneath the
influence of many-coloured veils, violet and red being the dominant
notes; and two gracious pictures rise before my eyes as I write, of Miss
Constance Collier as Poppæa in white, with a thick wreath of scarlet
poppies around her dusky head, and of Miss Dorothea Baird in peach
colour, with lilacs entwined in her fair hair.
[Illustration: LEWIS WALLER AS HENRY V.]
Amongst other notable figures which dwell in my memory is Miss Lily
Hanbury as Chorus in _Henry V._, produced by Lewis Waller, whose mien
in armour, bearing a fine cloak lined with Venetian red, breathed the
essential spirit of martial force. Miss Hanbury looked wonderful in
draperies of brilliant red over white, standing on a pedestal against a
black background. And the secret of the admirable conduct of her folds
was that the white under-dress of crêpe de chine was wrung when wet,
and round this were wound seventeen yards of blood-red crêpe. With this
splendid triumph of personality Miss Hanbury may class her appearance as
Lady Blessington in Mr. Tree's production, _The Last of the Dandies_,
when she appeared in a pale-blue satin gown, very full round the waist,
with a white chiffon double-frilled fichu over her shoulders, and
a bonnet bearing a lace veil pendent over the back, and clusters of
pink roses resting beneath the brim in front. _The Last of the Dandies_
was, as it should have been, quite a _succès de costume_, and it may be
written down under this aspect to the credit of Percy Anderson.
[Illustration: MISS CONSTANCE COLLIER AS VIOLA.]
This reminds me of the illustrations which adorn this chapter. Firstly,
of George Alexander in _Guy Domville_, that subtly clever play by Henry
James, which came before its time and died of its premature birth. Sombre
black is the dress chosen by this English Protestant gentleman about to
take holy orders in the latter part of the eighteenth century.
In _Ulysses_ the costumes were in form and colour essentially primitive,
archaic indeed, and no less a compliment has been bestowed on Mr.
Anderson's work in this direction than the proposition that the designs
should be acquired by the British Museum. The sketch of Julian l'Estrange
as Hermes may be taken as typical; gold and black and red expressed it,
and there were red wings to the cap and sandals to the feet.
As Malvolio Mr. Tree excelled all his predecessors. Even the old playgoer
yielded his admiration to the fantastic charms of this egotist, who
displayed just the right touch of absurdity in every gesture, in every
inflection of his voice, and in every detail of his clothes, who was so
elegant with his elongated stick, and his blade-green and yellow slashed
dress with its monster ruff and foppish frills.
Miss Constance Collier as Viola wore a dress of grey embroidered with
silver, the cap of scarlet tossing a blue tassel, while her pouch of
crimson velvet embroidered with gold had peculiar slits or pockets for
weapons, and her sleeves hung wing-like in exact copy of the Albanian
costume, a happy idea, since the Illyria of Shakespeare is the Albania of
to-day.
Desdemona, as played by Miss Gertrude Elliot in Forbes Robertson's
production of _Othello_ at the Lyceum Theatre, was a sweet and dainty
creature indeed, wearing the palest of colours, white, pale blue and
silver, and gold, with a trellis of pearls on her fair head, and ribbons
and pearls entwined in her flowing locks.
[Illustration: MISS GERTRUDE ELLIOT AS DESDEMONA.]
_Véronique_, the first of a new series of comic operas with a plot, was
remarkable altogether for its exquisite frocks. No prettier harmony could
have been imagined than the chrysoprase-green and white of the first
act, unless it be the many gradations of pink, cerise, and red which
graced the last act in company with a little band of maidens clad in
pale-lemon colour. The picture of Véronique shows her with the close lace
cap threaded with little green ribbons, and with short soft glacé sacque
trimmed with ribbons, and this she wore in the famous swing scene, where
the daintiest of little early Victorian brides danced in white muslin and
a poke bonnet under the shade of pink and white chestnut trees.
The Othello of my picture is wearing a dress of thick woollen fabric in
deep cream tone; his head is bound with a white turban, in which greenly
glistens a huge emerald, emeralds being embroidered on the sleeves
interspersed with a design of red silk; and there are jewels of all
colours encrusted in his sword-belt, and his sash is of red cashmere
fringed with red and green.
It is invidious to make comparisons--I have heard this for many years,
and known it even longer--yet I would boldly declare that there are but
few ladies upon the stage who understand the important fact that, by the
dressing of the hair and the decoration of the head, they may make or
mar the most gorgeous or most simple garment. Miss Ellen Terry and Mrs.
Tree share a talent for historical head-dressing, whilst of the younger
generation Miss Dorothea Baird and Miss Lily Brayton most justly deserve
the palm of excellence for the way they express their sense of period in
the arrangement of their tresses, and will dismiss all hankerings
after the merely becoming in the higher interests of the entirely
appropriate.
[Illustration: OTHELLO.]
[Illustration: VÉRONIQUE.]
The most interesting actresses of to-day make a cult of costume, and
are ever ready with views, theories, and even predilections. Miss Irene
Vanbrugh, for example, who, with her sister, Miss Violet Vanbrugh, would
seem to interpret all that is fashionable on the stage, and to speak
materially the last word of modern style, quite unlike Miss Baird, who
pleads for the lines of nature and would kill fashion, frankly declares
her favourite stage costume was the kimono in which she played that
exciting scene in _The Gay Lord Quex_. Her experience of the crinoline
period in _Trelawny of the Wells_, with the frilled skirts, pork-pie
hats, and the hair-nets, led Miss Vanbrugh to be thankful that in real
life she had escaped fashions "so detestably uncomfortable."
Another typically elegant actress is Miss Ellis Jeffries, and her
personal taste inclines towards the plainest and simplest costumes, as
she told me, while adding, "Of course you won't believe me, but it's
true. I choose my frocks to suit my circumstances on the stage, and also
to some extent the emotions I have to express; and I insisted, in spite
of criticism, that, when I had to play the part of an hysterical woman,
I should robe her in scarlet. I felt I couldn't be hysterical in white
muslin; could you?"
Miss Marie Tempest, exploiting to perfection the sartorial possibilities
of _Peg Woffington_, made her first appearance in that play in a dress
of daffodil yellow with pointed bodice outlined with sable, the skirt
trimmed with sable, and a lace cap fitting closely to her powdered head.
She was amazingly hooped and paniered, and looked her most gorgeous in
the second act, in a dress of white satin flounced with silver lace,
profusely ornamented with ruches and rosettes of pink chiffon. A scarf of
silver tissue was draped across the front of the skirt, a knot of black
velvet decked the low bodice, and a fascinating little black feather
nodded on one side of the head.
Again, as Becky Sharp, Miss Marie Tempest showed her nice sense of the
fitness of things, gracing the historic ball on the eve of Waterloo in
pink chiffon with clusters of roses, and choosing a Court gown of Empire
tendency, made with a white satin train lined with cloth of gold, and
embroidered in a leaf design of gold, which also appeared across the bust
and on the hem of the chiffon under-skirt.
Yet Miss Tempest avowedly does not believe that the actress should
subordinate her personality in any way to a general scheme. Discussing
the question, she said: "I think that designers of theatrical costume as
a rule are altogether oblivious of the special requirements of individual
faces and figures. To the designer, it seems to me, the actress is merely
a note of colour in his general scheme. Only that, and nothing more!
I would urge that exactly the same kind of costume cannot possibly be
becoming alike to tall, majestic women and a little insignificant _nez
retroussé_ person like me! I cannot afford to have two or three lines
going across my figure and cutting me up into slices; nor can I have my
neck muffled and ruffled up to the eyes, and my shoulders loaded with
heavy cloaks, without feeling perfectly swamped and overwhelmed--and
looking it, which is worse! I always think," she concluded, "that a
woman ought to have a large share in the designing and arranging of
stage-dresses, for she can understand what is becoming far better than a
man. Small matters of detail are carried out better by women than by men.
And women, of course, have more patience and more perseverance."
But theatrical costume is a subject for a whole volume, not for a chapter
merely, and I can touch but the fringe of it. I have felt tempted to
dwell upon the past, and endeavour to trace the evolution of the idea of
accurate costume on the stage from the day, perhaps, when the celebrated
Mrs. Mattocks of Covent Garden copied the attire of Rubens's second wife
in Vandyck's picture, so as to appear appropriately as the niece of the
Governor of Bruges, in _The Royal Merchant_, a play adapted from Beaumont
and Fletcher. But, lacking the pen of the historian and the science of
the psychologist, I have chosen the easier and more humble role of the
gossip. Yet, perhaps, the elusive chatter of the actress's dressing-room
may not be without its suggestive value, more vivid, possibly, than
the utterings of the student, for its memories have the fragrance of
yesterday. Before me as I write, secure under glass, together with its
authentic pedigree, is the lace collar that Edmund Kean used to wear
when he played Hamlet; yet it stirs no thrill in me because of Kean, as
old Sir William Gower, in Pinero's _Trelawny of the Wells_, was moved
at sight of the chain Kean wore as Richard, because in his youth he had
seen the great actor. But the mere thought of the soft lawn collar and
cuffs that H. B. Irving wore with his "inky cloak," gold-bordered and
crimson-lined, and his famous father's silver-clasped belt, brings the
latest and not the least accomplished of Hamlets vividly to my mind's
eye. Each tone, gesture, action, falls naturally into a harmony of
memory, because the costume was as appropriate as it was picturesquely
charming--in fact, it was right, which proves the truth of Sir Henry
Irving's doctrine, "You can take it that the right thing on the stage is
at once the most effective and the most becoming." A wise doctrine, which
may be applied with irrefutable truth to the art of costume on and off
the boards--a doctrine which may obtain as guidance through the land of
dress in all the centuries, under all circumstances, past and to come.
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.
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| Transcriber notes: |
| |
| P. 50. 'minever' changed to 'miniver' as in 'silk lined |
| with miniver'. |
| P. 148. 'a a long' changed to 'a long'. |
| P. 227. 'Egytian' changed to 'Egyptian'. |
| Various punctuation corrected. |
| |
| Note: The equals sign is used to surround =bold text=; |
| underscores to surround _italic text_. |
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