Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1904-09-03
DISENCHANTED
tOriginal.l


fell in love with the name Of Cyril
st. Cyr, the great actor. as soon as l
heard It, Soon after. my tiancc, George
Marsh, took me to sU him play.
st. Cyr took the part of a civil engi-
neer upon whose management rested n
great enterprise. The thoughtful ex-
preston of his face, his noble brow,
his massive head, were all well fitted
to the part. He WAS not only star" in
name, but in reality. The whole play
hung upon him.
sighed when | left the theater.
Cyril st. Cyr and George Marsh-there
was as much difference in the men as
in the names. George was II good fell
low, had been graduated with honors
at college and was gentleman. but he
was not Cyril st. Cyr.
Within two weeks had seen st. Cyr
play three times. While Georges pho
tograph. prettily framed, decorated my
dressing case st. Cyr's WAS in my
handkerchief case, where no eye but
mine ever saw 1t and from which l
took it many times during the day and
every night before going to bed to gaze
on 1t rapturously. Week after week
Cyril st. Cyr grew more splendid; week
after week George Marsh more COM
monplace. 1t was plain to me that had
made mistake. l was OF an artistic
temperament. and George was n busi-
ness man. With me the world was art,
not business; with George 1t was buSi-
ness, not art, and when he claimed
that the two were Incompatible men
toned st. Cyr and the money he coined
every night.
One evening my dream received
shock. At dinner several people We're
discussing the great actor.
"Everythng about him." said a lady,
SIS artistic, even to his name"
Ills name?" said one of the men.
est. Cyr isn't his name. He's Thomas
Branagan Murphy"
l gave a gasp and looked for some
one to refute the statement MS base
allegation, but no one seemed to think
there was anything Improbable or I'M
usual in 1t. When l looked at my
treasure that night put it back into
my handkerchief case disappointed.
There were the same noble expression,
lofty brow and massive head, but
somehow they did not fit Thomas Bran
agan Murphy.
One evening George came In hurried
ly and asked me to get ready at once
to 90 to the theater. He had made the
acquaintance of st. Cyr, and we We're
to go behind the scenes. l flew up
stairs and down again. my heart throb-
bing like kettledrum.
We were Mt the thenter half an hour
or more before the play began and
went directly to the stage door. We
were admitted on Georges sending in
card and asked to come to Mr.. st.
Cyr's dressing room. At the door we
We're given chairs while some one was
inside with the actor The door was
open, and we could hear what was
said.
II have considered your proposition
to write me up" said the sonorous
voice of st. Cyr, land accept it pro-
y
myself. Here is what have written:
"'Cyril st. Cyr. the greatest living
motor, owes his success to his natural
adaptation for his work. There is moth
ing artificial about him. In private life
he is the character of the modest,
brainy engineer he personatcs' -
l heard no more of this. which was
1t y 4
of that sublime modesty had seen in
my adored one. l fancied George was
watching me and took ont my hand
kerchief to conceal blaze in my
cheeks, mutterlng something about
"stuffy" atmosphere Presently man
came ont. folding up paper. and hur
ried away. Another came to the door
and said in st. Cyr's voice:
"Come In. Mr.. Marsh. have five
minutes before | begin to dress"
This wasn't st. Cyr 1t couldn't be
st. Cyr. st. Cyr was god. This man
was as ordinary creature rs l ever
saw. The noble brow was q bald
dome; the massive head was the shape
Of a football; the ears stuck out like
those of an ape. His body was thick;
his legs were thin. He was Murphy.
l will never call him st. Cyr again. He
put out big red hand to me- then
handed me seat and said to George:
You won't mind If make up my
head and face, will you?"
George assured him that we would
not, and, sitting on Il stool before a
mirror, he put on a whole head. hair
and all, slipped springs over his ears
then covered his pug nose with Ro-
man. This done, he took UP paint
brushes and began to blend the arti
fetal with the natural. AS he worked
he talked.
"Finc line of business we're doing,
Mr.. Marsh. The secret of my success
is knowing how to do II. Most young
people who 90 OH the stage waste Il lot
Of time laundering about art. 1t isn't
art; It's business. The only art in it is
to fool the public, especially the silly
young. There's the letters got today"
pointing, from young ladies who ad-
mire this stuffed head. Don't open
any more. But l like to get 'em.
never knew n great run without EN-"
When he came to n pause | told
George couldn't stand the air in there
and asked him to take me out. At the
stage door | told him | didn't want to
Sfov for tho NAV \Na GOT intn tha oar.