The daily telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1901-1926, 1904-05-18
BEHIND THE SCENES
THF MARvELs AND HE MYSTERIES
or STAGE REALISM.

Bow Aimlc storms, Rain, Lightning,
Thunder and snow Are Produced.
The Tagging sea and the FIyIng
sprRy-TIle Pomp OF War.
If you want to realize how easily the
senses can be deceived by simple ar
ritices. said a well known actor to the
writer, you should Just take peep be-
hind the scenes Of q 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 IL
lusions, but If you don't mind I'm sure
! don't, and will guarantee that you
will find the little secrets OF my trade
vastly interesting.
OF course you've often seen the stage
storm, and most realistic thing 1t is.
as you know. You see the coy room,
with Its glowing fire and its general
atmosphere Of cheerlness and, warmth,
made all the more so by the bowling Of
the blast outside. Suddenly the door
is flung 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 PUSHES in, pursued by
hurricane of snow, and bangs the
door in the face OF the baftled 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 If you only knew how 1t is all pro-
duced yeu 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, as they revolve, 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 gY:ws,
the wind sobs and means and whistles,
until 1t rises, as the wheel goes swifter
and swifter, into tumult of shrieks
and bowls, as If all the demons of the
lir were reused to a frenzy of fury.
The snow? oh, that's just as simple.
The landscape you catch shiyering
glimpse of is made arctic by plenty OF
cotton wool and paste brush, and the
Hakes 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 elows SO warm
it is merely SO many electric lights
shining through n medium of rudy
gelatin paper, while the smoke by no
means comes from the fire as 1t ought
to do, but from concealed receptacle
containing n 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 get
capital thunder by rolling cannon
ball or two along the floors overhead
or by shaking piece of sheet iron
pretty much as you would shake
buster. But bark! There's the rain
pattering on the roof. knew it would
come, and so did certain man behind
The 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 descent that's 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 riss
even Of 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 vanishes into the watery
depths is 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 off to the WARP 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 it fires your blood and
makes you long to join them!
Well, come below decks, and viii
show you a handful of men, half
dozen or SO, marking time" on
loose board, clicking pieces Of meta,
together, cheering and shouting words
of command to one another. and there
you have 1t all, the passing of might,
host, the jingling of accouterments, tht
many voiced, cheerlng~crowd- the
"pomp and panoply OF war."-London
Tit-Bits.
TOO Muck Of Row.
There Is a good story told of Brig.