The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1892-03-20

ing to the theater, accompanied by her
mother, and passing in at the administra-
ton entrance between two rows of loung-
ers. Does she not look quite a grave
woman under the quilted front of her
bonnet, under the soft shelter of her
back shop, where their fathers, stern
house-porters or tradesmen, keep their
household gods.
Are they tradesmen's daughters? It
can not be possiblel improbable, perhaps
but it is true, and nothing seems more
natural to him who really knows the
Partisan shop keeper, his devouring pas
sion for strolling actors and his instructive
admiration for everything connected with
the theater.
Yes, quite serious people, shop-keepers,
those who display their wares upon the
street, cutters, locksmiths, dealers in skins
and fruit, are all delighted to see their
miserable but beloved offspring direct their
steps toward the stage as soon as they are
s years old. Their children will pluck
the laurels which they have dreamed of
for themselves. This little girl will not
be common woman, she will be an artist
sir" And the heart of the skin-dealer, of
the poor printer, of the paper-maker or of
the coppersmith swells with unspeakable
satisfaction at this sweet thought. You
will find cloth, double width, for two car
dinals in every shop-keeper in Paris.
e The little girls are greatly petted. too,
and, in vague way, considered of some
cloak, her two hands tightly clasped in
her warm muff?
With dignihed and slow steps she has
entered, greeted the doorkeeper like an old
acquaintance, and without haste, has
climbed the flights leading TO her dressing
room. When / say her dressing-room of
course L do not mean that it belongs
to her alone, but is the little girls dress
ing-room in common, and, to go with this
article. Renouard's clever pencil has
sketched an exceedingly true and life-like
representation of it, with the little girls
scattered about the dressers and the mirror.
in which is reflected this swarming lot of
little creatures. On one side of the glass
is shining globe of light, on the other,
ribbed bottles of fire extinguishing fluid.
In q twinkling Mini is out of her cloak
has tossed her shoes, her petticoats and
her waist into her own wardrobe, and L
see her, in this deshabille, kneeling at the
feet of Nine. Baliveau, a dresser, who Is
hastily sewing up slipper.
This evening they play the "Chatte
Blanche" Mini and her enthusiastic lit
tie companions will soon be parading on
stage dressed like birds.
Do you remember the bird kingdom in
the "Chatte Blanche" and that amusing
procession of winged animals varying in
plumage and size from an ostrich to a
humming bird, from solemn pelican to
a happy warbler?
Notice how Mini hurries. She worms
herself into her tights, pulls them up, and,
TO bring them closer to her, squats down,
wraps the strings about her hands and
pulls with all her strength. That is right;
she has succeeded! Mini is standing now:
she has tied the strings about her waist
and puts on her little coat. its tail brist-
ling with feathers and its sleeves covered
with feathers too. She is all ready but her
head--an instant and her head is ready
too. Mini thanks Madame Baliveau with
smile, kisses her prettily, and is gone.
She runs radiantly through the long cor
ridors and joins her little friends behind
the scenes.
Now IT Is another's turn 10 pull on her
tights, to lightly climb up the table and.
aided by the dresser to put on the winged
costume of the evening
All kinds Of birds are there. The canary.
just Matched, is airing his shining coat Of
tender yellow, his tail still entangled in
the fragments of the shell which ne just
now broke with his bill. At the door a
white plumage, gives his last good
bye to the baby, from whom
he has been unable to tear him
self, in spite Of regulations, and whom
he soon runs back TO put in bed. A crane
Familiarity takes hold of a little swallows
chin. And from this medley, of colors
and mass of plumes comes great cack-
ling that perfectly completes the illusion.
"A lot Of parrotsv' grumbles a passing
scene-shifter. "R-r-r-r-r," says the
electric bell.
1t is wonderful All has become still.
and in this silence a clear voice, that OF
the stage manager is heard, saying: ain
position, my childrenI