The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1893-09-03

admirably. Then the carpenters carry
away the scenery and the stage Is set
roughly for the Bower scene IN the second
act. Mr. Terriss fesches > screen from the
left and places il behind Mss Ierrys
chair; Mr.. Irving sits facing Mss Terry.
backed by another screen 10 keep Oh
draughts; Mr.. Terriss sits little way
back, and the dog goes TO sleep IN the cen.
ter of the group. In the background aEs-
pear three or four costumed specimen
monks and retainers waiting 10 be IN
spected, one frivolous being trying 70
balance yard measure on the tip OF ms
nose in a manner which Ill accords with
his monkish vestments. The music cues
are very difficult 70 get right Nearly an
hour Is consumed in trying different eNeess.
Miss Terry insists that the whole scene en-
TREY depends upon the action, anu taas
the music must be suhordinated 10 II.
Whea the music browns her voice she sud
denly stops with s despairlng gesture.
I'VE couldn't speak through this any
more than the dead. Can'tis begin loudly,
Mr.. Ball, then die away" Then sac turns
to Miss Kate Philips. who is her maid IN
the play. please try your song at the
back there. Miss Phillips.
MISS Phillips sings very pretty OUT sao
little song, and Miss Terry nslens at
tentively
"Its an Irish wall" says Mr.. Irving.
''You don't want an Irish wall here, 'out
merry song. You should have q mirthiui
running accompaniment, ana the soma u
changed. THAT is enough for today.
At the full-dress rehearsal, the Lyceum
stage resembles beehive with Its swarnS
of busy occupants. Huge pieces OF seem
cry move about, propelled BY perspiring
carpenters in shirt sleeves; wnoie skies
suddenly float up into tine mes the
prompter converses amicabiy with a mail
clad baron then more scenery giides ma
lesticaliy down from the roof or springs
up suddenly through the stage. which IS
literally full of traps" for the unwary.
The tum, tum Ium OF the nddles In the
orchestra sounds weirdiy as the composer
of the incidental music, froi. stamford
Tiiiiers leans over from the stalls and
chats with Mr.. Meredith Ball, or makes
mysterious statement to him that 1.-The
staccato should be little more sfaccato."
Presently Prof Viliiers remarks TO the or
chestra: Instead Of playing two short
quavers. please play the crochet In three
time The orchestra respond vigorously.
but are stopped with further request 10
'play the first chord in the second bar as a
dotted minim instead of quayer," and
the professor wanders about all over the
house testing the effect oi every note.
The prologue goes off as smoothly as if
il had been played for hundred nights.
Miss Terry. clad in Rosamond's magnifi-
cent robes, sits in the stalls and watches
Sometimes the light is too blue. or too yell
low, or too white and in the first act the
rehearsal is stopped several times on this
account. When Miss Terry Is on the stage
Mr.. Irving watches the lights. when Mr..
Irving Is acting she studies each flash.
Apart from the interest OF the Bower
scene it is delightful to watch Miss Terry
and Master Byrne. who plays Godfrey.
When he comes ION" little before he is
wanted, Miss Terry throws her arms
around him and kisses the pretty little
fellow tenderly with There, run away for
a moment, darling. we're not quite ready
for YOU" 1t is this sweet and all-peryad-
ing womanliness of Miss Terrys which
fascinates the onlooker Suddenly, from
some dark recess, her voice floats out with
an eminently practical suggestion. a
shrewd idea as to effect. some playful
query. 1t comes from every quarter of the
theater and is marvellousiy thrilling, with
all the subtle fascination of what poet
musician would call its "tone-color."
When the curtain draws up for the Bower
scene and she playEuliy chides her royal
lover it is more exquisite still. The soli-
tary observer sits and listens TO it. the sole
representative from the outer world. All
this gorgeous pageantry is for him alone;
all this wealth of emotion. this story OF
love and murder, this work of the great
poet now passed away-all this is poured
into the ears of one man, who sits notion
less. entranced, until the tale Is told, the
play done, and he walks out into the quiet
night, quivering with the terrible pathos
of Becket's end. G. b. BURGIN.