the student and the servant girl in the second gallery dream. On top of this goes powder and rouge, with which is conjured up that all-conquering tenderness of cheeks, and then there is the black pencil for the painting of the eyes, making them so deep and magically lustrous that they almost drive you mad.
Here you find flesh paint of a light hue for voluptuous creatures, while the darker is for poachers, gipsy women, and the human mobs. Here is to be found all those paints and powders and lipsticks that make the player’s face so repulsive at close quarters, dirty, greasy, so different from what the spectator sees from his stall that he would hardly believe it possible that it is the same face. All the deception of the stage is displayed here in broad daylight, that curious deception which is only transformed into beautiful illusion by the enflaming contact with the public. It is terrible at rehearsals, at the dress rehearsal, and on the first night, behind the scenes. Only when the lights go out, and the curtain rises, and the audience
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