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Show FORGOTTEN STAGE LINES. What Happened When the Actor ' Missed His Cue and Lost His Courage Mazeppa Zip ! The firstlings of my professional endeavor saw light at a minor theatre in Philadelphia. Life there was strenuous, stren-uous, salaries small and fitful in appearance, ap-pearance, and art, if it was spelled at all, was spelled with a small a. But it rhymed with heart and was backed by ambition. At nineteen I was tentatively the "first old man" of the company, and I know now that my nimble and over-youthful over-youthful legs and wildly-gcsticulativc arms were fearfully inconsistent with the powdered hair and gray wigs in which I played. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief, Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief. Once I was cast for a miser in an archaic melodrama called The Seven Clerks. The important scene in this play was one in which I gave my keys to a newly-engaged secretary, and bade him unlock a cabinet con- taining seven bags of gold. These he brought down to a table, counted solemnly (he could really have seen I at a glance that there were seven. 1 but the audience couldn't), and car- 1 ried back to the cabinet, which he I locked, returning the key to me. I One night the cabinet would not I open. I don't know what had hap pened; it was probably the work of a practical joker in the company". The secretary pulled and rattled the cabinet cabi-net door, but in vain. Then something some-thing like the following dialogue ensued: en-sued: Secretary: Master, 'twill not open. Miser: Hal Try again. Secretary: 'Tis useless. Miiscr: Is 't so? Mayhap the wrong key. Remain here. (Miser goes oft itagc, and desparately demands kcy they arc given Iiimi hurriedly by various stage-hands. He returns to ccrctaty, who has been left alo::c to voice his fears impromptu.) Miser: Here, young sir, among these you will find the key. Unlock the cabinet. (Secretary tries several, while the orchestra wails dismally.) Miser: Varletl Why so slow? Are thy brains addled? Secretary (with fine dramatic gesture ges-ture throwing all the keys down on the table): Before Heaven, master, not one will fit the lockl Aliscr (seeing property-man frantically fran-tically waving a bunch of keys just off stage): Ah, yes. My old brains grow forgetful. Stay! I did givv them to my servant. (Reaches ofi and grabs the bunch hastily.) Now, young sir, proceed, and with haste. (The attack is resumed, but with no result. The membcis of the orchctra arc growing hysterical.) Miser: Come, you trifle. Secretary (in profuse perspiration): Not one will fit not one! Miser (seizing keys): Ah, then, I sec some usurper has stolen the key. But remember, young man (coming back to real text of play), in that cabinet are seven bags of gold. As you value your life let them be found there on the morrow. (Exit Miser.) Stage Manager (in the wings): Well, Skinner, you got out of that very decently. But why did you say ''usurper?" "I don't know," I replied. "It was the only word I could think of, and it sounded well." And that, by the way,, was almost the key-note of the art of acting in those days: It sounded well. I have seen some of the old-timers forget their lines, roll out a lot or fragmentary senseless phrases in a furious roar accompanied by various maniacal gestures, stalk down the s,tage at the audicne: in a dominating manner and get a round of applause. But there were times when this "sound and fury signifying nothing" did not work well. In our company was an incorrigible incorrig-ible named Harold Fosburg. We played Mazeppa, and Fosburg was cast for the Khan of Tartary. At the rehearsal he noticed that one very longfspe"cch, in which he commanded com-manded to be brought forth 'the fiery, untamed steed" that the hapless hap-less youth may be bound thereon and sent galloping over "the burning plains of Tartary," was completely drowned in the hubbub of shouting supers, and the rattling of the fiery, untamed one's hoofs on the stage flooring. The air was full of noise and Forburg was apparently creating the most of it. The star was something some-thing of a humoiist, and, nonciiiH; that the Khan was not speaking the text, on one occasion, suddenly stopped stop-ped the shouting and checked the uneasy un-easy horse. Fosburg, to every one's fcunazc-ment, fcunazc-ment, was heard from his corner of the stage howling out: "Blim! Blang! San Francisco! Sacr-r-ramcn-to! Ayncsl Foncs! Bloom! Magin-nisl Magin-nisl Bar-r-rattal" However, I think that was prttty nearly as good as' the real text ot Mazeppa. Otis Skinner in The Post. |