Stage Confidences | Page 6

o'clock every night to see if she is needed. And
it sometimes happens that the only sickness the poor "understudy"
knows of during the whole run of the play is that sickness of deferred
hope which has come to her own heart.
Not so very hard a day or night, so far as physical labour goes, is it?
But, oh! the sameness, the deadly monotony, of repeating the same
words to the same person at the same moment every night, sick or well,
sad or happy--the same, same words!
A "one-play" company offers the worst possible chance to the beginner.
The more plays there are, the more you learn from observation, as well
as from personal effort, to make the parts you play seem as unlike one
another as possible. A day like this admits of no drives, no calls, no
"teas"; you see, then, a theatrical life is not one long picnic.
If there is one among my readers to whom the dim and dingy half-light
of the theatre is dearer than the God-given radiance of the sunlight; if
the burnt-out air with its indescribable odour, seemingly composed of
several parts of cellar mould, a great many parts of dry rot or unsunned
dust, the whole veined through and through with small streaks of

escaped illuminating gas--if this heavy, lifeless air is more welcome to
your nostrils than could be the clover-sweetened breath of the greenest
pasture; if that great black gulf, yawning beyond the extinguished
footlights, makes your heart leap up at your throat; if without noting the
quality or length of your part the just plain, bald fact of "acting
something" thrills you with nameless joy; if the rattle-to-bang of the
ill-treated old overture dances through your blood, and the rolling up of
the curtain on the audience at night is to you as the magic blossoming
of a mighty flower--if these are the things that you feel, your fate is
sealed: Nature is imperious; and through brain, heart, and nerve she
cries to you, ACT, ACT, ACT! and act you must! Yes, I know what I
have said of the difficulties in your way, but I have faith to believe that,
if God has given you a peculiar talent, God will aid you to find a way
properly to exercise that talent. You may receive many rebuffs, but you
must keep on trying to get into a stock company if possible, or, next
best, to get an engagement with a star who produces many plays. Take
anything, no matter how small, to begin with. You will learn how to
walk, to stand still--a tremendous accomplishment. You will get
acquainted with your own hands, and cease to worry about them.
You can train your brain by studying Shakespeare and the old comedies.
Study not merely the leading part, but all the female parts; it is not only
good training, but you never know when an opportunity may come to
you. The element of "chance" enters very largely into the theatrical life.
Above all, try to remember the lines of every female character in the
play you are acting in; it might mean a sudden rise in your position if
you could go on, at a moment's notice, and play the part of some one
suddenly taken ill.
Then work, work, and above all observe. Never fail to watch the acting
of those about you. Get at the cause of the effects. Avoid the faults, and
profit by the good points of the actors before you, but never permit
yourself to imitate them.
One suggestion I would make is to keep your eyes open for signs of
character in the real life about you. The most successful bit of business
I had in "Camille" I copied from a woman I saw in a Broadway car. If a

face impresses you, study it, try afterward to recall its expression. Note
how different people express their anger: some are redly, noisily angry;
some are white and cold in their rage. All these things will make
precious material for you to draw upon some day, when you have a
character to create; and you will not need to say, "Let me see, Miss
So-and-So would stand like this, and speak very fast, or very slow," etc.
You will do independent work, good work, and will never be quite
satisfied with it, but will eagerly try again, for great artists are so
constituted; and the hard life of disappointments, self-sacrifices, and
many partings, where strong, sweet friendships are formed only to be
broken by travelling orders, will all be forgotten when, the glamour of
the footlights upon you, saturated with light, thrilling to music,
intoxicated with applause, you find the audience is an instrument for
you to play upon at will. And such a