CHAPTER XXX.

THE “SUPER.”

The theatrical supernumerary—­or the “super,” as he is familiarly called—­is a man who in his time certainly plays many parts, and yet obtains applause in none.  His exits and his entrances, his debut and his disappearance, alike escape criticism and record.  His name is not printed in the playbills, and is for ever unknown to his audience.  Even the persons he is supposed to represent upon the stage always remain anonymous.  Both as a living and fictitious creature he is denied individuality, and has to be considered collectively, massed with others, and inseparable from his companion figures.  He is not so much an actor, as part of the decorations, the animated furniture, so to say, of the stage.  Nevertheless, “supers” have their importance and value.  For how could the drama exist without its background groups:  its soldiers, citizens, peasants, courtiers, nobles, guests, and attendants of all kinds?  These give prominence, support, and effect to the leading characters of the theatre; and these are the “supers.”

Upon the French stage the minor assistants of the scene are comprehensively described as les choristes.  In this way the pedigree of the “super” gains something of nobility, and may, perhaps, be traced back to the chorus of the antique drama, a body charged with most momentous duties, with symbolic mysteries of dance and song, removed from the perils and catastrophes of the play, yet required in regard to these to guide and interpret the sympathies of the spectators.  In its modern application, however, this generic term has its subdivisions, and includes les choristes proper, who boast musical attainments, and are obedient to the rule of a chef d’attaque, or head chorister; les accessoires, performers permitted speech of a brief kind, who can be entrusted upon occasion with such simple functions as opening a door, placing a chair, or delivering a letter, and who correspond in many respects with our actors of utility; les figurants, the subordinate dancers led by a coryphee; and lastly, les comparses, who closely resemble our supernumeraries, and are engaged in more or less numbers, according to the exigencies of there presentation.  Of these aids to performance les comparses only enjoy no regular salaries, are not formally enrolled among the permanent members of the establishment, but are paid simply for appearing—­seventy-five centimes for the night, and fifty centimes for each rehearsal—­or upon some such modest scale of remuneration.  This classification would appear to afford opportunities to ambition.  Here are steps in the ladder, and merit should be able to ascend.  It is understood, however, that as a rule les comparses do not rise.  They are the serfs of the stage, who never obtain manumission.  They are as conscripts, from whose knapsacks the field-marshal’s baton