The sun., 1903-03-01
LENTEN SERMON FOR ACTORS.
RELATION OF ACTOR, PLAY.
WRIGHT AND PUBLIC.

Chsst eniBg Duty OF the SrIuc-Nsmy /"
stage People-Actors VINO Look Like
Actsrs-Anether word About Tolstoy
and His work--A Great World Artist.
To play In the proper key should be the
ambition of all actors on or on the stage
II Ia now the solemn season. Lent and ns
.usterities should possess the soul OF the
thinking man. It's outward rgors are Oh
small moment II there be no purihcsuon
OF the spirit; therefore 1t behooves Us
brethren Of the footlights to give over
idle testing and the discoursing OF profsne
things. II your mind be fixed upon your
art, study II as that one way TO saVauon'
II your greater inclination be TOT mat
tiers mundane by all means 60 your wsys-
and heed not our first Sunday Sermon
It will bore, not edify.
We say flrst. though we harbor a lurking
suspicion that we unconsciously lhoulse
in preaching every seventh day. This re-
calls that funny story told OF Charies
Lamb, who when he was asked TO go hear
Wordsworth preach replied with his in
imitable stutter: 'No, d--n 1t. he Is Away
preaching
To hurl Jeremy Taylor OF Jeremy Collier
at the heads OF actors during the penitentai
weeks would be lacking in charity. Both
these diyines-the first one had lips touched
by the burning coal Of eloquence-were
inevitably quoted at the men and women
of the stage long ago. Now when you
feel that your profession needs chastening
discipline, Mr.. George Moore and his famous
essay on Mummer Worship is read aloud
With subdued pride. And oh. how 1t bites!
How the laah deposits long, red and white
welts In the backs OF the unhappy ones!
For those to whom the stage is still pit
Of infamy, the occupants OF which are
doomed to an everlasting Gehenna. TO those
cheerful and charitable persons We do not
Mr.. Moore. He Is too oblique
in his irony to ever satisfy them that love
TO hear Sarah Bernhardt called the Woman
Of Babylon. Jeremy Collier is more fitting
food.
Nor shall We select Mr.. Moore this morn
ing. It 70, a. every ono knows misfort-
une to be an actor; but Is 1t not a misfort-
une to be born at alp So say the merry
pessimists, usually the jolliest beings on
the rind Of our mother planet. However.
let us waive paradox. Let US avoid stick
ing closely to our text. for discursiveness
Ia q pleasing diversion; 90 let us begin with
a modern instance. Let 1t be understood
that tho verbal sackcloth and ashes We
offer Ia to be considered merely ~ q sub
stitute for more strenuous methods OF
Nor do we propose
10 evade our share. Our own shoulders
shall feel the weight Of hasellating thongs.
Walter Raleigh, not the man with emer-
eency cloaks and the writer Of % eloquent.
lust and mighty deathl' but the twentieth
century professor OF the same sonorous
name. wrote Eve or six years ago an esssy
on style, In which he proved inter ala that
a literary style was no mere decorative
excrescence, but the most vital reflection Of
a mans nature. There Is nothing novel In
the idea-Mr. Raleigh only put It in clear
and supple prose. We arc not concerned
here with his divagstion on style qua style.
1t is digression Of his concerning tho actor
that Is worthy Of quotation.
.Besides the artist two things are to be
considered in every art-the instrument
and the audience: or, to deal In less figured
phrase. the medium and the public. From
both of these the artist. II he would find
for the exercise Of all his poweS.
must sit decently aloof. 1t u the mis-
fortune Of the actor, the singer and tho
dancer. that their bodies are their sole in
struments. On to the stage Of their &C.
tivities they carry the heart that nourishes
them and the lungs wherewith they breathe.
90 that the soul to escape degradation must
seek q more remote and difficult privacy.
That immemorial right to mako the body
its home, q welcome escape from publicity
and q refuge for sincerity must be largely
foregone by the actor, who has scant lib
erty to decorate and administer for his
private behoof an apartment that is also
q place OF business. His ownership Is lin
tied by the necessities Of his trade: when
the customers are gone, he eats and sleeps
in the bar parlor. Nor is the instrument
Of his performances a thing Of his choice;
the poorest skill Of the violinist may exer-
oiss Itself upon Stradivarius. but the actor
y reduced to fiddle for the term Of his nat
ursl life upon the face and fingers that he
got from his mother. The serene detach-
ment that may be achieved by disciples
Of greater arts can hardly DO his. applause
touches his personal pride too nearly
the mooling echoes Of derision infest the
solitude OF his retired Imagination. .
Society . . . has no warmer gift than pat
ronags for those whose skill and energy
exhaust themselves on the mimicry Of life.
Furthermore Mr.. Raleigh ssys 'The pub
lie, like the delicate Greek Narcissus IL
sleepiiy enAmored Of itself: and the nams Of
its only perfect lover is Echo.
Both Shakespeare and Ben Jonson wrote
for the stage. both were blown by the favor
ins breath OF their plebelan patrons into