The daily telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1901-1926, 1904-05-13
BEHIND THE SCENES
THF mARyeLs AND The MYSTERIES
OF STAGE REALISM.

Pow Mimic storms, Rain, Lightning,
Thunder and snow Are Produced.
The Ringing Sea and the Flying
sprny-The Pomp Of War.
II you want TO realize how easily the
senses can be deceived by simple ar
rifices, said well known actor to the
writer, yon should just take peep be-
hind the scenes of theater. I'm not
sure whether 1t is kind to allow you to
take the peep. though. for it is not al
ways desirable thing to lose ones H.
iusions, but IL you don't mind I'm sure
| don't. and VIII guarantee that you
viii find the little secrets of my trade
vastly interesting.
OF course you've often seen the stage
storm, and most realistic thing it Is,
as you know. You see the coy room,
with its glowing fire and its general
atmosphere OF cheeriness and warmth.
made all the more so by the bowling OF
the blast outside. Suddenly the door
is hung open, you catch glimpse OF
the arctic world. and the wind rises to
positive shrek as the hero or the vii
lain of the piece rushes in, pursued by
hurricane of snow, and bangs the
door in the face of the baified storm
Send whose clutches he has just es-
capped.
1t is all so terribly real that you in.
sensibly shiver in your warm seat and
draw your coat closer round you, and
yet II you only knew how it is all pro-
ducea you would = well. you would
smile. Where, for instance, does that
wind coIpe from with its wonderful
crescendo. from the faint sigh to the
shrieks and bowls Of lost spirit? Let
me introduce you to the genius OF the
storm, gentleman who is busy turn
ing small wheel with projecting pad.
dies, which, MS they reyolve. scrape
against tightly stretched piece OF
strong silk. As he turns very slowly
the wind just signs gently, like child
In its sleep; faster. and the gale grows.
the wind sobs and means and whistles,
until 1t rises, as the wheel goes swlfter
and swifter, into tumult OF shrieks
and bowls, as If all the demons of the
air were reused to frenzy of fury.
The snow? Oh, that's just as simplel
The landscape you catch shivering
glimpse of is made arctic by plenty OF
cotton wool and a paste brush. and the
fakes which cover the hero from head
to foot and melt and trickle under the
genial warmth of the fire are so many
splashes Of soapsuds. All, see now
you are getting disillusioned! Pity,
isn't 1t? But still It's always fascinat
ing to find out how things are done.
AS for the fire which glows so warm,
1t Is merely SO many electric lighta
shining through a medium of rudy
gelatin paper, while the smoke by no
means comes from the fire as it ought
to do, but from concealed receptacle
containing a little quicklime and hot
water There you have 1t all-shriek-
ing wind, drifting snow and glowing
fire realistically produced In the most
absurdly simply way.
You can make the lightning zigzag
in binding flashes and the thunder roll
and rattle equally easily. You can gel
capital thunder by rolling cannon
BAH or two along the floors overhead
or by shaking piece of sheet iron
pretty much as you would shake
duster. But bark! There's the rain
pattering on the roof. | knew it would
come, and so did certain man behind
she scenes who has poured a pound or
two of split peas into a barrel. Inside
the barrel, you must know, are several
crosspieces of.wood, against which the
peas rattle in their DESCENDANTS the
rain-and when they get to the bottom
he turns the barrel, and the patter pat
ter continues while wanted.
The hero who plunges with reckless
courage into the sea runs little risi
even Of a wetting. The waves which
open TO receive him are painted india
rubber, which are made to roll and
heave by very human agency below.
The foam that he sends flying up In
cascade as he yanlshes into the watery
depths is a handful of common or table
salt thrown up from beneath, and in
stead of disturbing any mermaids IN
their grottoes he Is content to tumble
on to mattress.
Then could anything be more real
than the scene in which the heroine
looks down from the upper window as
the soldiers-her lover, of course, among
them march on TO the war? Tramp.
tramp, tramp-why, there must be
hundreds of them. And just listen to
the cheers of the crowds lining the
streets and the short, sharp words Of
command. How 1t fires your blood and
makes you long to join them!
Well, come below decks, and will
show you a handful OF men, half a
dozen or so, marking time on a
loose board. cllnking pieces of metal
together, cheering and shouting words
Of command TO one another. and there
you have 1t all. the passing OF mighty
host, the juggling OF Announcements, the
many voiced, cheering crowd-all the
''polnp and panoply Of London
Tit-Blts.