CHAPTER VIII.
Coming to the first stage-rehearsal very early, Wilhelm found himself alone
upon the boards. The appearance of the place surprised him, and awoke the
strangest recollections. A forest and village scene stood exactly represented as he
once had seen it in the theatre of his native town. On that occasion also, a
rehearsal was proceeding; and it was the morning when Mariana first confessed
her love to him, and promised him a happy interview. The peasants’ cottages
resembled one another on the two stages, as they did in nature: the true morning
sun, beaming through a half-closed window-shutter, fell upon a part of a bench
ill joined to a cottage door; but unhappily it did not now enlighten Mariana’s
waist and bosom. He sat down, reflecting on this strange coincidence: he almost
thought that perhaps on this very spot he would soon see her again. And, alas!
the truth was nothing more, than that an afterpiece, to which this scene belonged,
was at that time very often played upon the German stage.
Out of these meditations he was roused by the other actors, along with whom
two amateurs, frequenters of the wardrobe and the stage, came in, and saluted
Wilhelm with a show of great enthusiasm. One of these was in some degree
attached to Frau Melina, but the other was entirely a lover of the art, and both
were of the kind which a good company should always wish to have about it. It
was difficult to say whether their love for the stage, or their knowledge of it, was
the greater. They loved it too much to know it perfectly: they knew it well
enough to prize the good and to discard the bad. But, their inclination being so
powerful, they could tolerate the mediocre; and the glorious joy which they
experienced from the foretaste and the aftertaste of excellence surpassed
expression. The mechanical department gave them pleasure, the intellectual
charmed them; and so strong was their susceptibility, that even a discontinuous
rehearsal afforded them a species of illusion. Deficiencies appeared in their eyes
to fade away in distance: the successful touched them like an object near at hand.
In a word, they were judges such as every artist wishes in his own department.
Their favorite movement was from the side-scenes to the pit, and from the pit to
the side-scenes; their happiest place was in the wardrobe; their busiest
employment was in trying to improve the dress, position, recitation, gesture, of
the actor; their liveliest conversation was on the effect produced by him; their
most constant effort was to keep him accurate, active, and attentive, to do him
service or kindness, and, without squandering, to procure for the company a
series of enjoyments. The two had obtained the exclusive privilege of being
present on the stage at rehearsals as well as exhibitions. In regard to “Hamlet,”
they had not in all points agreed with Wilhelm: here and there he had yielded;
but, for most part, he had stood by his opinion: and, upon the whole, these
discussions had been very useful in the forming of his taste. He showed both
gentlemen how much he valued them; and they again predicted nothing less,
from these combined endeavors, than a new epoch for the German theatre.
The presence of these persons was of great service during the rehearsals. In
particular they labored to convince our players, that, throughout the whole of
their preparations, the posture and action, as they were intended ultimately to
appear, should always be combined with the words, and thus the whole be
mechanically united by habit. In rehearsing a tragedy especially, they said, no
common movement with the hands should be allowed: a tragic actor that took
snuff in the rehearsal always frightened them; for, in all probability, on coming
to the same passage in the exhibition, he would miss his pinch. Nay, on the same
principles, they maintained that no one should rehearse in boots, if his part were
to be played in shoes. But nothing, they declared, afflicted them so much as
when the women, in rehearsing, stuck their hands into the folds of their gowns.
By the persuasion of our friends, another very good effect was brought about:
the actors all began to learn the use of arms. Since military parts occur so
frequently, said they, can any thing look more absurd than men, without the
smallest particle of discipline, trolling about the stage in captains’ and majors’
uniforms?
Wilhelm and Laertes were the first that took lessons of a subaltern: they
continued their practising of fence with the greatest zeal.
Such pains did these two men take for perfecting a company which had so
fortunately come together. They were thus providing for the future satisfaction
of the public, while the public was usually laughing at their taste. People did not
know what gratitude they owed our friends, particularly for performing one
service, — the service of frequently impressing on the actor the fundamental
point, that it was his duty to speak so loud as to be heard. In this simple matter,
they experienced more opposition and repugnance than could have been
expected. Most part maintained that they were heard well enough already; some
laid the blame upon the building; others said, one could not yell and bellow,
when one had to speak naturally, secretly, or tenderly.
Our two friends, having an immeasurable stock of patience, tried every means
of undoing this delusion, of getting round this obstinate self-will. They spared
neither arguments nor flatteries; and at last they reached their object, being aided
not a little by the good example of Wilhelm. By him they were requested to sit
down in the remotest corners of the house, and, every time they did not hear him
perfectly, to rap on the bench with a key. He articulated well, spoke out in a
measured manner, raised his tones gradually, and did not overcry himself in the
most vehement passages. The rapping of the key was heard less and less every
new rehearsal: by and by the rest submitted to the same operation, and at last it
seemed rational to hope that the piece would be heard by every one in all the
nooks of the house.
From this example we may see how desirous people are to reach their object
in their own way; what need there often is of enforcing on them truths which are
self-evident; and how difficult it may be to reduce the man who aims at effecting
something to admit the primary conditions under which alone his enterprise is
possible.
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