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Part 374: Ramona’s House

During his free time in San Diego, Thomas G. Moses enjoyed going on sketching trips. “I went to the ruins of ‘Ramona’s’ in Old Town, many times and sat among the ruins and dreamed of the scenes that had been enacted there in the sun-lit patio around the fountain and under the giant grapevines.”

Moses was likely referring to Rancho Camulos, also recognized as the “Home of Ramona.” In 1884, Helen Hunt Jackson published her best-selling novel “Ramona” that presented the Native American’s plight in California, illustrated by the fictional heroine Ramona.

Jackson’s previous book, “A Century of Dishonor,” also recited past injustices to Native American’s in California, but had received very little notice. Set after the Mexican-American War, the plot depicted the life of a mixed-race Scots-Native American orphan girl.  Ramona is raised by Señora Gonzaga Moreno, the sister of her deceased foster mother. Ramona is only raised by Moreno due to Ramona’s foster mother’s dying wish. Because of Ramona’s bi-racial heritage, Moreno does not love her at all; she only cares for her only child, Felipe Moreno. Furthermore, Señora Moreno remains loyal to her own Spanish Heritage and resents the Americans who have cut up her huge “rancho.”

Señora Moreno delays a major event – the sheep shearing. She waits for the arrival of the sheep sheerers, a group of Native Americans led by Alessandro, the son of Pablo Assís, the chief of the tribe. Alessandro is the story’s hero who falls in love with Ramona and agrees to stay on at the ranch. Señora Moreno is outraged because of Alessandro’s Native American heritage. Ramona also realizes that Señora Moreno has never loved her, so she and Alessandro elope.

The remainder of the story follows the lives of the young couple over the course of two years: the birth of their daughter and their travels around Southern California. During this time, Alessandro’s tribe is driven off their land to make way for a new wave of European-American settlers who demand their houses and farming tools. They finally move into the San Bernardino Mountains where Alessandro slowly loses his mind after constant abuse. He deeply loves Ramona, but regrets not being able to provide a stable home for Ramona and their daughter, “Eyes of the Sky.” Their daughter dies because a white doctor refused to go to their homestead to treat her. They have another child, named Ramona, but the couple continue to struggle. One day Alessandro rides off with the horse of an American, who follows him and shoots him, even though he knew that Alessandro was mentally unstable.

Felipe Moreno, who always loved Ramona, finds the young widow and returns both her and her daughter to the Moreno estate. Although Ramona still loves the late Alessandro, she marries Felipe and they have several children together.

“Ramona” inspired five motion pictures. In addition, an annual play was performed outdoors, beginning in 1923 in Hemet, California.

Ramona’s home on the “Moreno Ranch” was located “midway in the valley [between lands] to the east and west, which had once belonged to the Missions of San Fernando and San Bonaventura [sic].” This geographical location accurately matched Rancho Camulos.”

Rancho Camulos was selected as the setting for a portion of her novel, as advised by her close friends, Antonio and Mariana Coronel; it was one of the few remaining ranches still that reflected colonial origins. Camulos was also well known among Californians for the accomplishments of the Del Valle family; three generations were incredibly active in both the political and agricultural history of the state. In 1888, Charles Lummis, a close friend of the Del Valle family, published a promotional booklet proclaiming Rancho Camulos as the home of Ramona.

“Ramona” became so popular that even schools, streets and towns were named in honor of this fictional character. This popularity prompted many communities to claim Ramona as their own, profiting from the increased tourism throughout the state. Many visitors frequented places such as Rancho Guajome and the Estudillo house (Ramona’s Marriage Place) in San Diego to photograph the novel’s setting.

Of Moses’ trips to visit Old Town, he wrote:

“The stone flagging must have been bordered with all the flowers that California could furnish. Not far from here were the old Palms, supposed to be over one hundred years old. Trees as old as palms. They were planted by Father Serra or his followers, who planted and built these missions to assist in their work of giving the nobel redskins an uplift. During the summer months, the thick layer of dust that covers everything emphasized the fact that we had a very dry season ahead of us. Through all this thick dust, the repulsive lizard crawled and wriggled, leaving a deep trench behind him. In the tall, dry grass numerous wicked spiders were busy making their webs. The awful silence was oppressive. I was thankful to hear the distant braying of a “Burro.” The slight cooling breeze through the pepper trees was very welcome. It was always cool in the shade. The air is filled with bees and butterflies that float about with the same careless ease of the native Spaniard. My sketchbook was idle on my lap, as with closed eyes, I drifted back many years when this old adobe house held wedding guests of the charming “Ramona.” I was widely awakened by the sound of the approaching horse, ridden by a picturesque Mexican who was anxious to know why I was asleep in the old adobe house. He was very polite and spoke very good English. A few days later he brought me a tile from the roof of his house. It is now in my studio. It was made in Spain. I offered to pay him, but he wouldn’t accept it.”

To be continued…

Painted details from the Ascension scene at the Scottish Rite in Deadwood, South Dakota.

Part 373: Chula Vista

While working for John C. Fisher in San Diego, Moses enjoyed his time with Modjeska’s company. He wrote, “We were like a big happy family, especially the real working force.” Mike Coyne was the property man and “Deacon” Goodrich the master carpenter.” Moses noted that Mark Fenton and Clarence Love also worked with him on backstage projects, in addition to performing with the company.

When the group had time off from the production, they went on trips into the countryside. Moses wrote, “We had many Sunday trips to ‘Tia Juana, Mexico’ in big Tallyho. Then some jolly crowds on a yacht out on the Pacific, and fishing; Sunday dinners given us by our friend Belcher, out at “Chula Vista” on his lemon ranch. This wonderful romantic country was so full of old Spanish architecture in the old adobe houses and ruins of the old missions, that I am sure I could be contented in living among then with my paint box and sketch book the balance of my life.”

Chula Vista, National City, and Bonita were originally part of a Mexican land grant called Rancho de La Nation. Frank Kimball and his brothers purchased the land in 1868 and first developed National City as a town. Then they developed 5,000 acres south of National City and called this agricultural community Chula Vista. Five-acre lots sold for $300 per acre in 1887 and the purchaser was required to build a home within six months on the parcel. In 1888, the Sweetwater Dam was completed, bringing water to Chula Vista and increasing land sales. Ten houses were under construction by 1889, thus contributing to the city of Chula Vista. Frank Kimball became the State Commissioner of Agriculture and discovered citrus trees to be the most successful crop for the area. The environment was perfect for growing lemons and by the twentieth century Chula Vista was recognized as the “Lemon Capital of the World.”

The average grove was probably no more than ten acres, and there were thousands of citrus growers, each selling their production to a limited number of packing houses. Such was the case when Moses recorded visiting his friend Belcher at his lemon ranch in Chula Vista. It must have been quite a sight for the middle-aged scenic artist – the scenery, the smell of citrus, and the time-honored art of picking lemons.

Lemons must be picked one at a time, the picker grasping the lemon with one hand and cutting the stem with the other hand. The picker must cut the stem very close to the lemon, but not too close as to damage the fruit. If the stem is left too long, it can puncture and damage other lemons when it goes through the packing process. One lemon with an excessively long stem can damage 20 other lemons in the packing-house process as they tumble together. There were eight packing house in Chula Vista by 1913 when the great drought occurred. Pickers were paid by how many lemons they picked so they had to work quickly, yet not too quickly and inadvertently damage the fruit.

To be continued…

 

Part 372: Thomas G. Moses and Mme. Modjeska

John C. Fisher contracted Thomas G. Moses to design and paint all of the new settings for Mme. Modjeska’s 1899 tour. Modjeska traveled with her husband, Count Bozenta [Chalanowska]; the couple had been married since 1868.

Bozenta was extremely active in all of his wife’s productions and kept Thomas G. Moses busy in 1899 at the San Diego public library. They researched the period and looked up data for the upcoming “Marie Antoinette” play. Moses and Bozenta did all of their research in the old library building, as the new Carnegie Library would not be completed until 1902. In 1899, Andrew Carnegie donated $60,000 to build the San Diego Library, the first of his libraries west of the Mississippi.

Moses noted that Bozenta “was very particular, and well posted on many details that went into the production.” Of the final product, Moses wrote, “I never painted better, and the Madam congratulated me on the success of each scene.” The scene of the prologue was placed in the summer home of Marie Antoinette, built for her by Louis XVI at Tranon. There, the ladies of the court gathered and Marie expresses he hatred for the rigid court customs. The other settings included the Palace of Versailles, the Queen’s private apartments, the Tuilleries (The Capital, Vol X, no. 11, Sept 9, 1899). The extensive research conducted by Moses greatly contributed to the successful run of the production.

A newspaper article in the Democrat and Chronicle reported, “John C. Fisher, under whose direction Madame Modjeska is again to tour during the coming season, announces that his elaborate scenic productions for each play in the repertoire are well under way. Special efforts are being made for “Marie Antoinette,” the new play, which, is successful will be seen during Modjeska’s engagement at the Fifth Avenue theater. Thomas G. Moses, who is to be the scenic artist for the American theater next season, is now at work on “Marie Antoinette” at Mr. Fisher’s theater in San Diego, Cal.” (Rochester, New York, 9 July 1899, page 15). The San Francisco Chronicle reviewed the new play by Clinton Stuart – “Marie Antoinette”, commenting, “The play was written expressly for Mme. Modjeska, and her interpretation of it was received with enthusiasm. The play was magnificently staged by John C. Fisher, Modjeska’s manager, and the scenery painted by a New York artist, Thomas Moses, was much admired” (6 Sept 1899, page 3).

“Marie Antoinette,” was the opening engagement at the Los Angeles Theater. The prologue and five-act play were set in Paris from 1787 to 1793. The Los Angeles Times described the production in detail, reporting, “The play is sumptuously furnished. The scenery by Thomas G. Moses, and the costumes, made under the personal supervision of Mme. Modjeska, leave little to be desired in their respective lines” (12 Sept, 1899, page 8). The article continued, “[The play] deals in the storm and stress of the dark and blood-stained period in which its action is laid. It exploits the emotional and womanly side of Marie Antoinette’s character – her love and tenderness, rather than her queenly attributes and haughtiness and pride and unconquerable will…[Modjeska’s] portrayal of the unfortunate queen, Marie Antoinette, is a powerful, though very, very tearful, piece of dramatic characterization.”

To be continued…

Part 371: Start Spreading the News, I’m Leaving Today

In 1899, Henry Savage, John C. Fisher, and Jacob Litt all wanted to hire Thomas G. Moses to be their scenic artist. Sosman & Landis also wanted Moses to return to their studio. Regardless of the numerous opportunities that were presented to Moses in Chicago, his “vagabond shoes” were “longing to stray.” He accepted some appealing opportunities offered from coast to coast.

Early in the year, Moses painted “special scenery” for Litt’s production of “The Club’s Baby,” an English farce by Lawrence Sterner and Edward G. Knoblauch at McVicker’s Theatre (The Inter Ocean, 14 May, 1899, page 32). Litt intended for Moses to continue working for him in New York at the Broadway Theatre. Little had just leased this East Coast venue, but Moses had better offers.

Henry Savage (1859-1927) asked Moses to paint for his opera company at the American Theatre in New York for $165 a week. Less than a week later, John C. Fisher dropped in to see Moses, requesting that he travel to San Diego, California, and paint three productions for Mme. Modjeska, “Mary Stuart,” “Marie Antoinette” and “Macbeth.” Moses accepted both offers, writing, “Litt was rather put out when he learned I was going with Fisher and Savage.” He also commented, “Sosman and Landis were also provoked with me, as they wanted me back in the Studio.”

Moses’ contract for Fisher in San Diego was from June 2 until August 10. By August 27, he would be in New York, painting for Savage. The small window of time between engagements left him with just enough time to travel to from West Coast to East Coast.

Ed Loitz and John Fielding accompanied Moses to San Diego to paint at the Fisher Opera. The Fisher opened in 1892 and had a seating capacity of 1,400 (450 seats in parquet and dress circle, 420 seats in the first balcony, 460 seats in gallery and 70 seats in 12 boxes). The building was situated on an entire block between Fourth and Fifth Streets for two hundred feet. The stage was 43 feet wide by 43 feet deep. The grid was 74 feet above the stage floor, with another 12 feet above that. The venue was illuminated with an electrical system that consisted on 1,000 sixteen-candle power Edison incandescent lamps. The theatre was rechristened in 1902 as the Isis Theatre and later as the Colonial Theatre.

Moses recorded that he, Loitz and Fielding lost no time in getting to work immediately upon their arrival at the Fisher Opera House. On August 27, 1899, the San Francisco Chronicle reported, “Thomas G. Moses of New York and a staff of well-known artists have been at work for the past few weeks painting scenery for the tour. This includes elaborate productions for the play of “Marie Antoinette,” which is to be the most pretentious in Modjeska’s repertoire. Other strong plays are “Macbeth,” “Marie Stuart,” “Much Ado About Nothing,” “Gringoire,” and the “Ladies’ Battle,” the last two being a joint production” (page 31). Moses recorded that he had a nice room at the Brewster Hotel.

He ate his meals at Rudders, as Fisher paid all his expenses. Moses wrote that his “salary was clear and a lot of night work was necessary to complete the work on time.”

The company soon arrived and started rehearsals. Moses wrote, “The Modjeska company gave me a fine send-off – a large tent was put up on a vacant lot; refreshments were served and different members of the company did a little stunt. After a hearty God-speed, I was off for New York City. I regretted not being able to stay until Modjeska opened, but I knew I had a big time ahead of me in New York.”

To be continued…

 

Part 370: The Machinery of the Grand Opera, 1897 (third section) 

Here is the last of three posts concerning “The Machinery of the Grand Opera” by E. F. Keller:

“This work, in any one of the heavy operas produced at the Metropolitan, requires the services of thirty-six stage hands. The entire force of men who work behind the scenes, out of sight of the audience, including property men and electricians and gas men, brings the number up to sixty persons. There are eight rows of border lights – namely, the lights across the stage behind the proscenium arch – and all of these, together with the remaining lights in the entire house, are worked from a single switchboard at the side of the stage.

Of “drops” – which are the pieces of canvas upon which the scenes are painted – there are over three hundred in use in this establishment. Of set pieces, such as wings, rocks, pillars, outlined trees, and other examples of profile work, there are probably more than one thousand. When the scenic artists and carpenters began to make these pieces they were numbered and indexed systematically. But after the total reached six hundred or more the numbering process was abandoned, so that there is no definite knowledge at present on that score.

The regular day force of carpenters employed as the Opera House numbers fifteen men, whose work consists of building new scenes and repairing old ones. In case there is a big production on hand, requiring entirely new scenery, this force of men is materially enlarged and often doubled.

Another exceedingly vital department is that which involves the manipulation of the light effects. This does not merely require a knowledge o the part of the operator as to whether the illumination in the auditorium or on the stage is at a proper height, but it also demands an intimate knowledge of the shades and colorings necessary to the production of atmospheric effects.”

Tomorrow we will continues with the life and times of Thomas Moses as he makes the decision to accept work in New York.

To be continued…

Part 369: The Machinery of the Grand Opera, 1897 (second section)

Here is the second of three posts of “The Machinery of the Grand Opera” by E. F. Keller:

“On the afternoon that all this interior working of the Metropolitan Opera House was being inspected by the writer, a rehearsal of “Carmen” was being held. One of the bridges was in use in the last act of the opera. It was lifted to a height of perhaps twelve or fourteen inches above the stage level, and eight or ten horses at a time were ridden over it at a gallop without producing so much as a tremor.

The bridges are used not alone for such purposes as the one described, but also in producing mountainous and rocky scenes. Any section of any one of the bridges can be lifted separately and held in position by steel pins; to the front of these elevations are attached painted pieces representing rocks, trees, etc., and their perfect security is a very important item, as the artists need have no other fear of falling platforms or other dangers commonly associated with built scenes.

Those who are familiar with the machinery of the stage have seen, either in actual use or in published illustrations, what are termed stage braces.

These are long, sectional pieces of wood, with a sort of hook at one end and a piece of steel at the other, placed at such an angle that when the brace stands upright the steel lies flat upon the floor, where it may be fastened in place with a screw. These braces are erected behind the scenery to hold it in place and keep it from toppling over; as there is quite an angle from the point where they are screwed to the stage at the bottom, they take up a great deal of room and are constantly being tripped over by people who are wandering about or crossing the stage in the semi-darkness.

At the Metropolitan there are a number of upright posts, rigged with counter weights, that may be pulled up through the stage to any desirable height. To these the scenery is attached, with the advantage of saving space and also of making the scenery as firm and solid as the side of a house. This is a comparatively new contrivance that has been brought to its present state of perfection by C. D. McGiehan, the master mechanic and carpenter of the establishment. It was, indeed, Mr. McGiehan who built this stage, and who is quite naturally proud of it as the most perfectly constructed and appointed institution of its kind in the world.

One hundred and eighty sets of lines are used in hoisting and lowering the scenery of the Metropolitan Opera House.

The making of these lines involved the use of one hundred and ninety coils of rope, each coil being about twelve hundred feet in length. Several truck-loads of these coils were brought to the stage door at the time the work of fashioning the lines was begun. On some of the modern stages of the country – as for instance, the Lafayette Square Opera House in Washington – the scenery is all operated from the stage by a series of counterweight cables so nicely adjusted that a whole scene may be lifted out of sight by one man. In building the stage of the Metropolitan Mr. McGiehan preferred a different system, and while the scenes are counterweighted so that they may be easily handled, the work is done entirely from the fly galleries. The wings and set pieces are handled by men on the stage itself.”

To be continued…

 

Part 368: The Machinery of the Grand Opera, 1897 (first section)

A few months back, I stumbled across an 1897 article, “The Machinery of the Grand Opera” by E. F. Keller. It provides a little more context for life and times of Thomas G. Moses during 1897-1898. This article is also is a good follow-up to “How Scenery is Made,” as Jos. A. Physioc worked at the Metropolitan Opera during the beginning of his career. This is the first of three posts:

“The great throngs of diamond-bedecked women and dress-coated men who gather from night to night in the enormous auditorium of the Metropolitan Opera House have little realization of the machinery, by which the magnificent stage pictures which pass like a living panorama, full of light and color, before their eyes, are produced. They see perfect groupings, great ensembles, perfect processions, and constant changes of scenery and lights, but it is not possible for them to comprehend the enormous amount of attention to detail and knowledge of the handling of masses of people and quantities of stage paraphernalia required for the bringing forward of these results.

The Metropolitan Opera House stage is one of the greatest in the world, and is certainly the most modern, in all its parts, of any of the big structures of its kind in Europe. When the building was partly destroyed by fire several years ago, it became necessary, among other things, to erect an entirely new stage, and this was done upon all the latest lines of invention.

The area occupied by the stage is one hundred and one feet in width and eighty-seven feet deep. The proscenium arch, which is fifty-five feet square, really gives but little indication of the great amount of space at the disposal of the scene shifters, carpenters, mechanics, electricians, scene painters, and property men who form the portion of the equipment of the establishment never appearing in sight of the audience.

In addition to the room at both sides of the visible stage, there is a great deal of space above and below which is constantly utilized. It is ninety feet from the level of the stage to the rigging loft – which is sometimes called the gridiron in the language of the theatre. There is the clear limit to which scenes may be hoisted without interference when they are pulled above the line of sight of the occupants of the audience room. Below the stage surface there is clear depth of twenty-eight feet to the base of the sub-cellar. By this double arrangement, above and below, sets of scenery and other articles may be either lifted up or lowered down, as the exigencies of the case may require.

Surrounding the stage, at the height of thirty-six feet, is the first fly gallery, upon which the men who handle the scenery are stationed. In the Metropolitan there are two other fly galleries above this one. Here the ropes are coiled or fastened, as may be necessary, and a great many of the changes of scenery are carried out.

The half of the stage nearest the audience is made in sections – some times called traps – that are easily removed for the production of scenic effects. The rear half of the stage is built in bridges, eight or ten feet broad, and crossing the entire width. These are supported by steel trusses readily hoisted by counter-weights to any desired height up to twenty-three feet above the floor level.

They are a great improvement over the old system, partly on account of the readiness with which they are lifted and fastened at any desired point, and partly for the reason that they are as firm and secure as the stage itself.”

To be continued…

Part 367: “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (profile pieces, part 4)

An article depicting Joseph A. Physioc’s studio and his art was published in “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43). It provides some insight into the construction of wings and profile pieces at the end of the nineteenth century. Here is the fourth of four installments describing Physioc’s studio and his artistic process:

“The profile pieces or wings are painted after the carpenter has made the frames. He takes the designs and works out the best manner of making them strong and at the same time easily handled. Every thing must either fold up or roll up, and everything must be able to stand a strain and be light at the same time. In the hurry of scene changing and of loading and unloading, the scenery doesn’t receive the most delicate treatment.

The skeleton work is made of strips three inches wide by one inch thick, and the joints are all braced. The background for the painting is in thin pieces of wood covered with flimsy, loose-metal material, which is glued on and which makes it very strong. Over this the canvas is stretched and the painting is done. The foliage of trees is carefully sawed out, and this is tedious work.

It may be remarked that a tree is never made all in one piece. The profile piece ends some nine or ten feet from the floor. The upper part of the tree is a fly. They are joined together so that the division is not seen.

The making of these flies, which must be perforated, is rather delicate. Not having any background support the Russian linen would soon tear. Therefore the foliage is glued onto stout netting with rather large meshes, and this must be done carefully or the whole fly will be ruined.

There are ever so many more mysteries in Physioc’s studio. You can see there how locomotives, old fashioned clocks, logs, books and ever so many things that look true to life on the stage are manufactured. You can see how rocks and waving grain are cut up in nine-foot sections that look like nothing in nature when they are not in position on the stage. But nothing is quite so extraordinary as that little stage where the models are tested.”

 

Side note:

A touring production of “The Bonnie Brier Bush” opened at the Theatre Republic in 1901. It also had scenery by designed by Physioc. This production is listed in the Internet Broadway Database. There is additional information about this show, here is the link: https://www.ibdb.com/broadway-production/the-bonnie-brier-bush-5495

 

To be continued…

 

Part 366: “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (translucent drops, part 3)

An article depicting Joseph A. Physioc’s studio and his design process was published in “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43). It provides great insight into some nineteenth-century scenic art techniques. Here is the third of four installments describing Physioc’s studio and his artistic process:

“The drop in the third act of “The Bonnie Brier Bush” must be transparent, so it is made of the finest unbleached muslin. It is stretched on a frame and then given a coat of starch sizing. This is nothing more than a starch made into paste and thinned down. It is laid on with a kalsomine brush. This stretches the muslin very tight. If Physioc is particularly interested in a drop he may paint it himself, but it is more likely that he will turn it over to scenic painters, who can follow the model and do it just as well.

The whole scene is first sketched in with charcoal, after the canvas is laid out in squares to make sure of perspective. The painter works constantly beside his canvas. The bridge is only three or four feet wide. He cannot walk away and see how the thing will look, and it would not do him much good if he did, because a scene in daylight bears little resemblance to one at night.

The painter simply has to know what his work will look like illuminated by artificial light. In daytime the best scenes are frightful looking things, outrageous daubs for the most part, utterly untrue in drawing and color. Having sketched the scene with charcoal, the painter may lay it in with ink in order to preserve it. Then he lays on a thin priming.

“It looks to be blind and uncertain work to a lay man,” said Physioc, “but the painter knows exactly the effect he is producing. Things that look like mere daubs to the unskilled eye have a deal of meaning to the educated one. The painter can see the broad effects toned down, the yellow turned whiter, the purples grayer, the blues deeper, the pinks pinker. One has to learn these things by going constantly to the theatre and watching the effect of light on scenes and the results of using different tones.”

Nothing emphasizes more clearly the difference between a landscape or figure painting and scene painting than the palette. Your oil artist has a palette which he holds in his thumb and upon which he mixes his colors daintily. The scenic painter has a palette. It is a bench seven feet long and a foot and a half wide. There is a little shelf on the back, which runs the whole length. This supports the colors, placed in dishes like the abominable things in which vegetables are served in country hotels.

There are thirty-two colors in active use as a rule. Of course, a painter blends now and then in order to get an effect. When you look at one of the drops on the frame, you wonder what the painter does with the thirty-two colors. They look amazingly untidy. The painter dips his brush into a jar of very dirty water [size], gathers up some paint, mixes it on the palette and applies it in an offhand manner that suggests a determined effort to get rid of it.

When it comes to painting in the river in this “Bonnie Brier Bush” scene, the matter becomes delicate. To begin with, the Drumtochty is flowing along as peacefully and smoothly as Scotch dialect. But the storm causes it to overflow its banks and make trouble, just as the Scotch dialect does when there is too much of it.

The painter must make allowances for the rising and general misbehavior of that river, just as he must make allowances for the sky. The effect is gained by manipulating the back of the drop. If you look at the drop on the miniature stage with the lights in front the Drumtochty is peaceful. Place a light behind and it is moving over the banks and tearing down the bridge. Of course both scenes are painted in, and one or the other is brought out by the different position of the lights and the stereopticon. A stereopticon properly played on a drop prepared with this end in view can give almost any effect. The difficulty is in the preparation of the drop.

After the drop is painted for the sunlight scenes, it must be painted for the night scenes, the dark ones rather. This is done by painting the back. A boy takes his position at the back. A strong light is played upon the drop. It is plain enough where are the trees and other things through which the light is not to shine. The back of these is painted brown or black so that they are opaque. Whereas the sky, the interstices in the foliage and river are left translucent so that the red light behind it will suggest a sunset, and a blue light will convey the idea of a moon and so on.

It will, therefore, be seen that the relation between lighting and the scenery is peculiarly intimate, and Physioc’s reason for taking up the mysteries of lighting as well as painting is apparent. It may be remarked incidentally that in this third act in Ian Maclaren’s dramatized story the audience is in London, before Westminster, to be exact. The change is made in a few seconds.

“This Westminster drop is a good deal harder to paint that the Drumtochty scene,” says Physioc. “It doesn’t require any creative power or any great draft upon the imagination, but it must be exact for the reason that Westminster Abbey is a reasonably well-known piece of architecture. Not only is it necessary to make a close copy, but we must be careful about the coloring. As a matter of fact, the majority of people cannot see Westminster Abbey as it really is. Therefore we must paint it as the majority think they see it. This holds good in the whole realm of scenic painting. If we were absolutely truthful, if we copied nature as closely as may be, the scenes would be frightful failures. The truth, the actual thing would look not in the least a bit real. We must present what the greater number thinks is true, and this makes the difference between good and bad scene painting. We cannot forget for an instant that people look at our work over the footlights.”

To be continued…