Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
Man passes from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
Be scattered around and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.
The infant a mother attended and loved,
The mother that infant's affection who proved,
The husband that mother and infant who blessed,
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure--her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne,
The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap,
The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep,
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed,
That wither away to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
To repeat every tale that has often been told.
For we are the same that our fathers have been;
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,
We drink the same stream, and view the same sun,
And run the same course that our fathers have run.
They loved, but their story we cannot unfold;
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come;
They joyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb.
They died--aye, they died; and we things that are now,
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draft of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud--
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Superstitions of the Theater.
Nearly Everything That Occurs in the Actor's World Has Some Promise
of Good or Threat of Evil for "the Show" or the Individual.
_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.
Besides believing in many of the prevailing superstitions the people of
the theater have a number which are distinctly their own. In fact, there
is hardly anything that occurs in the actor's world that has not some
superstitious meaning attached to it, and accidents of the most trivial
character are construed by him into good or evil omens.
To the actor, such simple things as the lodging of a drop-curtain or the
upsetting of his make-up box, are sure forerunners of bad luck, as
likewise is the breaking of a stick of black grease-paint in the
performer's hand. If he stubs his toe on making a stage entry, he
considers himself irretrievably "hoodooed" for the rest of the evening.
Yellow is an Unlucky Color.
There are certain shades of yellow that are supposed to exert an evil
influence when worn in a play. This superstition does not apply to the
general dressing of the chorus or stage, but only to an individual costume
or part of a garment, such as a tie, vest, or hat.
There is hardly an orchestra leader who would allow a musician to play a
yellow clarinet under his direction, believing that if such a thing were
to happen the entire orchestra would go wrong.
Nor are yellow costumes the only kind that are supposed to cast an evil
spell over their wearer. If, for example, an accident happens to an actor
while wearing a certain costume, or if he forget his lines three or four
times while he has it on, the misfortune is invariably blamed on the
costume.
Certain wigs are considered harbingers of good luck, and actors will often
wear one when the part doesn't really require it. Moss hair, which is used
by the actors to make beards, mustaches, etc., plays its part in
superstition. A certain amount must be used at each performance if the
actor would keep in the good graces of the fates.
To use another's liquid glue (a glue used to stick moss hair to the face)
is a very good way to invite misfortune. If an actor's shoes squeak while
he is making his first entrance, it is a sure sign that he will be well
received by the audience.
To kick off his shoes and have them alight on their soles and remain
standing upright means good luck to him, but if they fall over, bad luck
is to be expected. They will also bring him all kinds of misfortune if
placed on a chair in the dressing-room.
If, when an acrobat throws his cuffs on the stage, preparatory to doing
his turn, they remain fastened together, all will go well, but if on the
other hand they separate, he must look out for squalls.
Cats have always been considered the very best fortune-producing
acquisitions a theater can possess, and are welcomed and protected by
actor and stage-hand alike. But if a cat runs across the stage during the
action of the play, misfortune is sure to follow. Bad luck will also come
to those who kick a cat.
Mirrors and Peep-Holes.
The actor goes the layman one better in mirror superstitions. He believes
it will bring him bad luck to have another person look into the mirror
over his shoulder while he is making up before it.
As much care must be taken by the actor on making his entrances as in the
repeating of the lines. Not for their importance as an effect on the
audience, but to avoid the "hoodoo" attached to certain entries. For
example: To stumble over anything on making an entrance, the actor firmly
believes, will cause him to miss a cue or forget his lines.
If his costume catches on a piece of scenery as he goes on, he must
immediately retrace his steps and make a new entrance, or else suffer
misfortunes of all sorts during the rest of the performance.
Even the drop-curtain contributes its share of stage superstitions, as
nearly every actor and manager believes it is bad luck to look out at the
audience from the wrong side of it when it is down. Some say it is the
prompt side that casts the evil spell, while others contend that it is the
opposite side. The management, not being sure of which side the bad luck
is likely to accrue, places a peep-hole directly in the center.
There is another superstition which passed away with the advent of the
frame curtain. In those days the curtain was rolled up like a window-shade
instead of running up and down in a groove as the modern ones do. In those
days for one to sit on the curtain-roller was a sure method of bringing
the boss carpenter or property man with a stage brace for the prompt
removal of the sitter. To them it was an infallible sign that salaries
were not going to be paid.
Vaudeville performers believe it is bad luck to change the costumes in
which they first achieved success, and many of them cling to these
costumes until they literally fall apart.
The Witches' Song is Side-Stepped.
The older members of the profession have always considered the witches'
song in Macbeth to possess the uncanny power of casting evil spells, and
the majority of them have strong dislikes to play in the piece. If you but
hum this tune in the hearing of an old actor, the chances are that you
will lose his friendship.
An actor who has been on the stage long enough to acquaint himself with
its superstitions, will not repeat the last lines of a play at rehearsals,
nor will he go on the stage where there is a picture of an ostrich
displayed if he can help it.
Some actors believe that if they accidentally try the wrong door of an
agent's or manager's office when looking for an engagement, their mission
will be a failure. It is also considered bad luck to change the position
of any piece of furniture or "props" of any description whatever, after
the stage has once been set, and before the rise of the curtain.
Whistling is Tabooed.
It is considered by all theatrical people to be the worst luck in the
world for any one to whistle in the theater, and there is no offense for
which the manager will scold an employee more quickly.
The players are not the only ones in the theater having superstitions. The
"front of the house" have their pet ones as well.
In the box-office, if the first purchaser of seats for a new production is
an old man or woman, it means to the ticket-seller that the play will have
a long run. A young person means the reverse. A torn bank-note means a
change of position for the man in the box-office, while a gold
certificate, strange to say, is a sign of bad luck.
The usher seating the first patron of the evening fondly imagines that he
will be lucky until the end of the performance, but if the first coupon he
handles calls for one of the many thirteen seats, he is quite sure that it
will bring him bad luck for the rest of the night.
To the usher, a tip from a woman for a program also spells misfortune, and
few of the old-timers will accept it. A woman fainting in the theater is
sure to bring bad luck to the usher in whose section she is seated. Not to
hear the first lines of the play is to invite misfortune, so he believes.
An usher feels sure that if he makes a mistake in seating the first person
in his section, it is sure to be quickly followed by two more. The first
tip of the season is always briskly rubbed on the trousers-leg and kept in
the pocket of the recipient for the rest of the season as a "coaxer." To
receive a smile over the footlights from one of the company also brings
luck.