Amateur Drama

Irish Jesuit Province

Amateur DramaAuthor(s): Emily HughesSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 67, No. 798 (Dec., 1939), pp. 837-840Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20514632 .

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837

Amateur Drama By EMILY HUGHES.

N the way? Not at all, not at all-you mustn't think that for a moment. Just sit in here on the foot of this ladder and don't raise your voice above a whisper-silence in the

wings, you know. Ha! Ha! The producer doesn't care for visitors at rehearsals. He said yesterday that they were a--well, I won't say what, I don't want to hurt your feelings. Don't let it worry you; I'll say you're a friend of mine and we'll keep very quiet.

No, we haven't actually started yet. Of course I've been here since ten o'clock this morning-the producer is de"ad nuts on unpunctuality. It's most important in a thing like this. No, I didn't have any lunch. Someone went out and bought chocolate-as good as two poached eggs and a glass of milk, you know. Ha! Ha! Sometimes the rehearsal doesn't get started until quite late in the evening, but we seasoned old troupers don't mind.

That hammering sound? Oh, that's Claude, our stage manager. Making a trellis-gate for the garden scene in the first

act, all out of his head. Never had a lesson in carpentry in his life. Gifted, that's what he is, gifted.

That ladder doesn't look too steady, by the way. Claude made it, too. I say ! It's going to fall. . . .

Good heavens! Did you have to yell like that? The producer looked up here quite crossly. You're not really hurt, you know, it's the shock, more than the actual pain. Please try to make less noise. It's just a matter of habit, you know. We of the bast have got quite used to keeping silence in the wings.



888 THE IRISH MONTHLY

Doesn't it give you a thrill to be up here on the inside of the footlights? Not that they're on at this hour of the afternoon, of course, but you can imagine what it must be like to be an actor-the glare of the limelight, and the darkness beyond, and the hushed audience hanging on every word. You know, it's like life, in a way. What are those lines?-" Man's but a poor player; he struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is seen no more." Ah, yes! There's nothing like Shakespeare really, when all is said and done. Oh, please, no smoking! 'lThat's one of our very strictest rules.

Yes, that's the producer down there, in the riding breeches, with the cigar in his mouth. Mr. O'Hardly. No, I've never seen him actually on horseback; he does ride a motor-bike, though. His wife runs a draper's shop, and that leaves him free to devote a lot of his time to the drama. Not for profit, of course. There's a touch of genius about him, really; you ought to hear him declaim. You know, recite. I'm as hard-headed as the next person, but when I hear him doing that big speech of the heroine's about money not being able to buy happiness, I don't mind admitting that I am deeply moved. There's a part where he clasps his hands together and says: " Pray heaveni, some day I shall cast off these golden fetters and flee from this sumptuous prison !" that would bring the house down if he were playing the part. Unfortunately, the girl who is doing it has a a bit of -a lisp, and she seems to have great difficulty with the

word " sumptuous ". As a matter of fact, she really can't act at all, and she's so shy that she wvon't be heard beyond the front row of the audience; but her father's getting us the hall for nothing. It's rather a pity that she can't sing, either, or she

might have been satisfied with doing a solo in the interval. But there you are, the poor girl's doing her best, and I'm sure she'll be all right on The Night. Anyhow, if the part was being



AMATEUR DRAMA 839

given out in the ordinary way, there would have been a lot of jealousy about it among the girls. You know what women are.

Me? Oh, I'm Quillpush, the family lawyer, a character part, you know. Haven't very many lines to say, perhaps, but I've a lot of acting to do. In a way it's the key part of the whole play. You see, I'm the one who knows " The Somerby Secret "

all the time. Even though I'm not actually on the stage during the first hour or so of the play, the other characters are continually

making references to me. Right in the beginning, the old Earl says: " Quillpush, the lawyer, knows more about this than I do ;" and the heroine says later on: " I shall go to London and consult Mr. Quillpush, the lawyer, to-night." But she changes her mind during the afternoon, and doesn't.

So then when I do come on, in the last scene, as a matter of fact, I have to express all that. It calls for a lot of technique. 'l'he scene is the old Earl's funeral, and I come in from over there beside where the piano is now, walking rather slowly. I take the heroine's hand in both of mine and say nothing. It's remarkably effective, that bit; silent sympathy, you see. Rather difficult to do, too.

'Then I say-Oh, you'd prefer not to hear it until The Night, would you? Well, maybe you're right. After all, that's where the " Secret " comes out at last, and it would spoil the whole thing for you if you knew it in advance. What? I can't hear you, what with the hammering and the gramophone and everything. Oh, please don't raise your voice. Silence in the wings, you know. That's what we call this part of the stage the wings.

Yes, it does get cold at this hour of the evening. What are we waiting for? Well, I couldn't exactly say. Everyone seems to be here. Of course, when Mr. O'Hardly and Cuchulainn MeManaghy get talking together there's no know



840 THE IRISH MONTHLY

ing when they'll stop. Naturally, no one likes to interrupt them, although it does seem rather futile sometimes, hanging about the stage for hours doing nothing. They're talking about the play, of course. Sometimes they go right away, talking all the time, and don't come back for ages.

Old Cu-he takes the part of the Earl-is one of the best, really. Of course, he does fancy himself a bit as an actor, because he was once on a play at the Abbey Theatre. Quite a

minor part, it was-an old fisherman or an old beggarman or

something like that-and he'd never have been let on if the real

actor hadn't taken ill suddenly; but he was paid for it, and he thinks that makes him a professional actor. In confidence I

don't mind telling you that none of us are at all impressed by

his performance as the Earl.

Look at the way the girls have their heads together over their knitting; tearing their best friends to pieces, I suppose.

Next year we may do " Hamlet ". That's yvhat I like Shakespeare. Of course, the casting of the gloomy Dane is the big problem. It's not everyone who can take a part like that, you know. It needs a tremendous amount of technique. " To

be or not to be, that is the question. . . ." It's a strange thing, but I often experience that identical mood myself. I think an actor portraying Hamlet should be able to get right into the skin of the part, don't you? " To be or not- to be. . . *" That

reminds me, will you hear me my part? Here's the page, where

it says " Enter Quillpush." Where are you? Are you gone? I didn't notice you going away. . . .



Amateur Drama

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