Nell Gwyn may be embraced by Charles II. in a cycling suit.
(The Daily Mail [London, UK] - 11th October, 1900)
AS ON THE NIGHT
Strange Period Mixtures Seen at Dress Rehearsals
The dress rehearsal of a play ought to be a very serious affair, seeing that it is the final test of weeks, sometimes indeed of months, of hard plodding work. Often, however, there are anomalies in the performance that would ruin the play were they to be part and parcel of its first representation before the-public.
Artists who make sketches for the Press are admitted to dress rehearsals; at which everything is supposed to be "as on the night," to quote from the call notice posted at the stage door. But the wary artist is careful to inquire specifically whether what he sees is actually what will be worn during the "run." And this is highly necessary, for sometimes a fairy pirouettes away in her gauze skirt topped by a cotton blouse and a sailor hat.
It may even happen that the leading lady, in a tailor-made gown, will dash forward to separate her rival lovers - a Cavalier and Roundhead respectively - or Nell Gwyn may be embraced by Charles II in a cycling suit.
Actresses of experience always circulate information about their toilettes to those who are sketching hard in the half-draped stalls, and sometimes, if they are as good-natured as Miss Ellen Terry is, will come down from the stage by way of the temporary platform slung across the orchestra, and "sit" for a few moments before a group of eager artists, who sketch her rapidly.
At some houses a dress rehearsal is almost precisely that of a first-night performance. The Savoy productions, for instance, are so carefully drilled in every detail that the audience that fills the theatre, from the gods to the stalls, enjoys everything in advance for nothing that the people will pay gold and silver for seeing and hearing at the first and subsequent performances. Just one incongruity is noticeable. A few seats in the very centre of the dress circle are reserved for the use of the stage manager, who closely watches the movements of the chorus and directs it by waving a couple of little white flags.
It is the funniest sight in the theatrical world to see the leading gentleman's part taken by the stage manager or the prompt-boy, and the lines he has to declaim read by him in a business-like and quite expressionless patter. The leading lady, as in duty bound, plays up to her utmost ability, declaims her passion, hisses her vengeance, cooes her love, but the unsympathetic blackcoated automaton, with his tall hat on the back of his head, gives her about as much response as a tailor's' block would do under like circumstances.
When Mr. Wyndham was rehearsing the part of Cyrano de Bergerac in the play of that name, he was so busy directing the lighting arrangements of the stage from the front that one whole scene was read in this way with the most absurd effect, which was enhanced by the fact that Cyrano was a being steeped in romance, and the reader most decidedly was not, or, if he were, disguised his feelings with the utmost success.
Though an actor and actress must be word-perfect by the time of the dress rehearsal, it is not incumbent upon them to speak so loud that every one in the theatre can hear. Probably it is an American practice to say the words in a speaking voice, without expression and declamation at rehearsal; at any rate Mr. Kyrle Bellew, Mr. R. Tabor, and Mrs. Brown Potter commonly do, in order to save their voices for the eventful night.
On the other hand all that is heard must not be taken as part of the play at a dress rehearsal. It is uncommonly startling in the middle of her lines to hear the leading lady declare that she can't and won't say any more "until that knocking behind is stopped". For a minute or two there is dead silence following a hasty retreat by distraught myrmidons to find the culprit; then the actress, appeased, ceasing stamping her imperious little foot, begins again, and all is well - until the next time.
The "house" usually has a cold and melancholy look at a dress rehearsal. All the actors and actresses come into the front between whiles, and sit about watching those parts of the play in which they are not engaged, and there is a running fire of comments, complaints, praise and blame from the actor-manager, who seems on such occasions to be possessed of the superhuman power of being in several places at once.
Refreshments are sometimes served to weary artists, who must often sit for eight or ten hours to get all the sketches they require, and have to face waits between the acts, which may spin out to one hour or several, as the exigencies of the case may demand. It is odd to see an improvised tea-table in the stalls piled with currant-cake and bread-and-butter! At the Lyceum Sir Henry Irving often gives sandwiches and other fare in the celebrated room called the Beefsteak Club, where are to be seen those so often talked of yet so rarely to be enjoyed by the outside public.
When all is going apparently well a manager will insist on having a whole act played through again so that some one's entrance or some one else's exit may be perfected. Or the lights may be unsatisfactory according to the ideas of the leading lady, and a fusillade of shouts and counter-shouts from the "front" to the wings be necessary.
Is it to be marvelled at, then, that the actor-manager always insists upon no Press use being made by those present at the dress rehearsal before the production of the play? A garbled account indeed would be the result of any such attempt. Dress rehearsals are sometimes of use to those theatrical critics who attend them. They are able to gain some idea of the play, and by attending the first night also their judgment is ripened.