ng effects than on
the Brunswick stage, and this, too, was all done by gas, incandescent
electric light not then being dreamed of even. I had imagined in my
simplicity that effects were far easier to produce on the modern stage
since the introduction of electric light. Sir Johnston
Forbes-Robertson, than whom there can be no greater authority, tells me
that this is not so. To my surprise, he declares that electric light is
too crude and white, and that it destroys all illusion. He informs me
that it is impossible to obtain a convincing moonlight effect with
electricity, or to give a sense of atmosphere. Gas-light was yellow,
and colour-effects were obtained by dropping thin screens of coloured
silk over the gas-battens in the flies. This diffused the light, which
a crude blue or red electric bulb does not do. Sir Johnston
Forbes-Robertson astonished me by telling me that Henry Irving always
refused to have electric light on the stage at the Lyceum, though he
had it in the auditorium. All those marvellous and complicated effects,
which old playgoers must well recollect in Irving's Lyceum productions,
were obtained with gas. I remember the lovely sunset, with its
after-glow fading slowly into night, in the garden scene of the Lyceum
version of Faust, and this was all done with gas. The factor of safety
is another matter. With rows of flaming gas-battens in the flies,
however carefully screened off, and another row of "gas lengths" in the
wings, and flaring "ground-rows" in close proximity to highly
inflammable painted canvas, the inevitable destiny of a gas-lit theatre
is only a question of time. The London theatres of the "sixties" all
had a smell of mingled gas and orange-peel, which I thought delicious.

Mr. Spiegelberg most sensibly suggested that as I was absolutely
ignorant of German, the easiest manner in which I could accustom my
ears to the sound of the language would be to take an abonnement at the
theatre, and to go there nightly. So for the modest sum of thirty
shillings per month, I found myself entitled to a stall in the second
row, with the right of seeing thirty performances a month. I went every
night to the theatre, and there was no monotony about it, for the same
performance was never repeated twice in one month. I have seen, I
think, every opera ever written, and every single one of Shakespeare's
tragedies. A curious trait in the German character is petty
vindictiveness. A certain Herr Behrens had sign