Identifier: twiceroundclocko00sala (find matches)
Title: Twice round the clock; or, The hours of the day and night in London
Year: 1859 (1850s)
Authors: Sala, George Augustus, 1828-1895 McConnell, William, 1833-1867
Subjects:
Publisher: London, Houlston and Wright
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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t from Lope de Vega. Come, let us leave the green-room to its simple devices, and see whatthey are doing Behind the Scenes. You and I, we know, are in thereceipt of fern-seed, and can walk invisible without incommoding our-self or anybody else, be the pressure ever so great; but I shouldstrongly advise all swells and other intruders, if any such remain,either to withdraw into the shadiest recesses of the green-room, or to get out of that—to use an Irishism, without the least possible delay.For Behind the Scenes is clearly no place for them. If I were themanager of a theatre, I would not admit one single person into thecoulisses save those connected with the nights performance, nay, norallow even the employes of the theatre, till the call-boy summoned themto approach the wing. Madame Vestris established this Spartan ruleof discipline, and found it answer in making her theatre the best-managed in Europe; but it will be observed that no such ordre du SEVEN V.^Sl. BEHIND THE SCENES. 210
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250 TV>rICE ROUND THE CLOCK. jour has been promulgated in the theatre behind whose scenes we find• ourselves to-night. What a confusion, what a hubbub, what a throngand bustle! The dramatis personce, you will perceive, no longer con-template the performance of the Green Bushes. Hoops, powder,brocade, black-patches, high-heelel shoes, bag-wigs, flapped waistcoats,and laced-hats prevail. This must be some Pompadour or Beau Tibbspiece— Court Favour, or u Loves Telegraph, or some last centurydramatic conceit by Mr. Planche or Mr. Dance. How the carpentersscuffle and stamp, entreating the bystanders, not always in the politestterms, to get out of the way ! Now and again the prompter rushesfrom his box, and in a hoarse sotto voce, that would be a shriek if itwere not a whisper, commands silence. Upon my word, there is that unlucky old Flathers, the heavy man,who never knows his part ; there he is again, evidently imperfect, andtaking a last desperate gulp of study, sitting in the pro

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