Bismarck weekly tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1884-1943, 1890-12-19

modest garden, could they have looked
forward about fifty years and received a
glimpse of "Claudius Nero"-just a glimpse
as presented now on the stage Of Niblo's
Garden in New York?
Real flowers, forsooth. What we're they
compared to the tropical ]luxuriance, the
opulence of the setting over which Nero
reigns nightly? Here there are real flames
and real lions, lions that snarl and snap
and fawn upon their tanner, leaping to the
cracking Of his whip; great. tawny beasts
forced to the indignity of riding ~tricycles
and leaping over scarfs in their captivity,
yet now and then showing the only par
TALLY controlled savage in a snarl or a roar
that makes Adelina in her front row or
chestra chair nestle a little closer to George
with a delicious feeling of danger.
PrRtorians, ~lictors, Syrians and Moors
give color to the glittering scene. There
are priests of Isis and priestesses Of Vesta
carrying the eternal fire, barefooted Naza-
renes in shabby robes of blue, dancing
women, semi-nude, looking barbarously
beautiful in draped leopard skins and chap
lets of roses. They all pass with kaleido-
scopic change, bewildering the eyes with
the incessant Rhythmic movement and rap
idly changing color.
The house was literally packed to the
ceiling. 1t was Saturday night, and the
gods were out in force and in form, you
may be sure. The spectacles on Niblo's
stage never fail to bring them pouring up
the gallery stairs, that open on Crosby
street, with u broad smile on their hastily
scrubbed faces and the requisite twenty-five
cents in their presumably horny palms.
There they we're, literally hanging over the
ro;1;rr IF fbn ctaar h;,rb ro )1orr fo)1o,u;rr
the play with breathless interest.
How they did applaud every devout SELL
timent of Carrie Turner's Acte, the perse-
cuted Christian girl. And Wilton Lackaye
as Nero knew they were with him.
when he stopped from his high place to
kiss her hair and marvel at his great love
for her.
. From the front Nero" is a poem. When
Invent behind the scenes the glamor of
ancient Rome disappeared. How could it
be otherwise? Three hundred supernu-
meraries jammed in the narrow wings, a
cross stage manager gluring and shaking
his fist at Il giggling vestal, prisoners in
ropes side by side with the Empress Agrip-
pima; a scene shifter in shirt sleeves and
with a dingy felt hat over one eye sitting
comfortably in Nero's great chair, %canopied
in purple and gold; a red whiskered
young man working a magnesium fash
light for the lightning that illuminated
Acte as she prayed-was it my wonder
that I lost sight of the splendors of impe-
rial Rome and wondered how much per
week the poor, painted, hollow checked
ballet corps shivering in their tulle trap
pings received?
I saw one girl discharged for impotence,
and thefaces of dozen others expressed
deep rooted, silent mutiny. Oh, to throw
down tunbourinas or rose garlands and
strike boldyfo for ~justicel But they didn't.
They wisely remembered how cold the
night was, and that Nero" will have win
ter quarters at Niblo's.
"You SEQ l must be severe" said Max
Freeman, the stage manager. IF I were
Meth, presto!thsy would all be up in
arms. It requires more finesse to be q