St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-03-19

unpropitious circumstances. The elements
seemed TO disfdg or the event, and the night
froWned darkly ON the city. There was a
moon struggling somewhere beneath the
depths of Clouds but its borrowed light
was too weak to pierce the folds OF Its
sombre mantle. Sitting down into
the streets and over the housetops
fell cloud of mist that
penetrated the outer wraps OF those VINO
had imprudently Yentured out unprotected
by water proof coverings. The street
lamps flickered feebly as though choked
and stitled by the heavy air and their rays
stretched but half across the turbid streets
and the pedestrian was left TO find his way
along the walks in a cropping and and I'M
certain manner. The street crossings were
buried beneath a shifting subtle coating OF
mud and il was almost impossible 10 lind
ones way from one curbstone TO an
other without sinking . a.. shoes
depth into the muddy bed Such
decorations as these would seemingly have
tendency 10 keep the people within the
limits of their own households, but they did
not: they went bravely forth to battle with
the elements and came OFF victorious, al
though many Of them went back TO their
houses bearing glaring scars of the muddy
conflict.
AT THE BOX OFFICE,
At 7:l5 the first carriage drove up to the
Grand and the door was quickly thrown
open by the liveried attendant and the occu-
pants stepped lightly out and trpped across
the slippery walk into the brilliantly
lighted entrance. 1t seemed as though the
arrival of this carriage was the signal for
the grand march, for an almost unbroken
line of covered vehicles followed and their
occupants were caught in the reSistless
tide of humanity that had almost without
warning begun to flow through the broad
corridor towards the heavy doors that shut
like flOod-gateS between the human tide
and the stage The crowd soon filled the
entrance and the doors were thrown open
five minutes after the arrival of the first
carriage The rush for the foyer was pain
full to those who happened TO be standing
i'm the crowd, and breathing room was at a
premium. A long line of men and women
who had neglected to secure their tickets
during the day stretched from the box Office
along the southern side Of the corridor al
most to the outer doors. Anxiety was pic
tured on every face and in the countenanceS
could be read the fear that they would be
unable TO get a seat. No quicker had one
applicant at the window been
supplied than another was in his place and
thus for more than an hour the man in the
boXofiice was kept busy answering ques-
tons and dealing out tickets. Near the
center of the corridor stood little man with
smooth face. black eyes and long dark hair
with a voice that sounded as though it had
lived on oat meal for years. He was selling
books OF the play, but he didn't
find traffic very brisk, as the people were
intent on getting through the doors and into
their seats. Yet he persisted, and his
shrill voice chanted the various features Of
the work that he was selling for 'Only er
dime" The ladies were attired in their
prettiest opera costumes and many of them
carried bouquets Of choice flowers
that their escorts found it necessary to hold
high in the air to prevent their beng
crushed into ugly wadS. Many of the gen
tlemen were in full dress and were dainty
bouttOnaires.
Standing near the outer entrance the
sight was an interesting one. two lines of
people stretching as far as one could see
marched from opposite directions, meeting
al the entrance and passing through,
and in front carriages were arriving
and departing in rapid succession. "Git
out er that cried one driver to another
that had fingered half minute longer than
necessary at the entrance.
Come OFF er Their roost," was the brief
away. Newsboys mingled with the crowd
and yelled Justify over railroad strikes
and terrific murders and suicides.
but their papers didn't sell. Ladies
coming from the ears imprudently walked
too near the curb and many of them carried
great biOtches of mud into the house on
their costumes, caught from the feet of the
horses as they dashed up to the door. nod
About 1880 a close carriage dashed I'D
Fourth street and halted before the stage
entrance to the theater. The driver sprang
down and quickly threw open the door.
The door had hardly swung back when a
heavily-mufie d figure stepped outupon the
sidewalk and balancing itself upon tip-toes
passed through the alley and up the steps
and disappeared through the doorway.
This was Mary Anderson, the tragic queen.
who seems ethereal as Galatea, but who
wears about the same amount of sealskin
and overshoes as real human being when
off the stage.
BEFORE THE FoOTLIGHTs.
When the curtain went up little past 8
o'clock, fully ZOO people looked upon the
scene in Pygmalion'S studio. The prosce-
MUM boxes were occupied by opera parties.
and the parquet looked like a vast garden
of flowers bathed in golden sunlight. The
dress circle was filled to the
last row of seats, and the balcony
was crowded, while the gallery held
its average quota. The stage setting was
very fine and something entirely different
from what had been seen before. 1t was
twenty minutes after the curtain went IN
before the last arrival was seated, and the
first part Of act was lost to the ears of
those who were not fortunate enough to
occupy front seats in the parquet.
flower of angelic purity and exquisite mold
prompted all the gentlemen and manv
OF the ladies to supply themselves with
lorgnettes with which to drink in her love-
Illness. Especially was this noticeable i'm
the aged front seats of the parquet. When
Mary came on to the stage there was a
hush, then burst of applause that came to
an abrupt termination, as though the people
had suddenly stopped 10 ascertain what
they were making so much noise about. |
But they had heard that she |
was beautiful, and of course
thought 1t best to act accordingly. There
were great many countenances noticeable
III the audience with disappointment
perched upon them, after second look at
the great actress had been taken. She was
not the moving picture of loneliness that
fame had painted her; she wore sad weary
look that was not affected; her cheeks were |
bit hollow; her eyes sunken and
her lips tinged with rosy hue
that cost money. Her form has LOST
its fullness, and there is not that subtle
grace in her movements that drew columns
of laudatOry eloQuence from the pens of the /
writers but few years ago. Mary Ander- \
son was grandly beautiful once. but to-day I
she is simply grand. Her deep. soulfn. 1
T7-T'ssnA has lost none of its influence, and her