London at the End of the Century:A Book of Gossip
a Beckett, Arthur William
1900
PREPARATIONS FOR THE BALLETS.
And now as I came down the stairs that led to the stage, I had an opportunity of learning some of the reasons that probably were the cause of the manager's | |
107 | great popularity. I peeped into one of the dressing rooms now tenanted only by fine clothes waiting to be worn at the dress rehearsal. These neat apartments were a vast improvement upon the rooms of the past-order, cleanliness and comfort ruled supreme. And wherever I went I found the same consideration on the part of for the happiness of It is not unnatural, consequently, that everyone should be satisfied-County Council, Renters, and last, but not least, the great British Public. And now I found myself among the dresses. Scores of seamstresses were at work completing the costumes to be worn in the great procession, giving the The display reminded me of Planche's admirable work on things sartorial. Here were the dresses of some half-a-dozen centuries, correct to the minutest details. Besides these elaborate adornments there were the most exquisite fancies for a couple of the most elaborate ballets, to say nothing of the equipment for a company numbering the greater part of a thousand individuals! I was reminded of the interior of the cave of Ali Baba, wherein the rather-too-free-traders housed their merchandise. One room was crammed full of the most expensive silks, satins, and brocades, worth many guineas a yard. They were there because they had been bought on the chance of |
108 | And as a matter of fact that invariably arrived. Sir Augustus seemed to know intuitively the things that would be wanted, and purchased them when and where they could be got. |
I suggested to a bright-looking lady, who had kindly accompanied me at the request of her superior officer, the queen of the department. | |
was the reply. | |
And I saw that my kind and courteous informant was quite right. The passages and rooms had been invaded. During December every inch of the National Theatre, both before and behind the foot-lights has to be devoted exclusively to the needs of the pantomime. | |
I asked. | |
was the answer. | |
And again repeating my Yule-Tide greeting (which made me feel in my fur-lined coat rather like a premature Father Christmas), I walked into the saloon. In one corner were a number of ladies trying over a chorus; in another my friend Mr. D'Auban (to whom I shall ever be grateful for putting into action the quaint old tunes I discovered in the British Museum proper to the time of the ) was giving a lesson to a lady who was to dance a . I greeted my talented friend with great cordiality, and found that, like everyone else, he had been hard at work. Only that morning he had devised a dance appropriate-of all things in the world!-to animated newspapers! He had just seen the dresses of his ballet of seventy ladies, and was satisfied, too, that the combinations of colours would be perfect. | |
said Mr. D'Auban; | |
And, having once more qualified for Santa Claus, I took myself to the stage. Here, again, hard work ruled supreme. | |
