The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1915-08-28
THE sTAeE-sTRuck GIRL.

She wants to go on the stage. She
or wise, or well educated, but she can
sing a little and she is young and
pretty The stage like them that way.
She has watched performances from
in front of the footlights, and she
has taken part in amateur theatre
CATS. The lights dazzle her, the ex-
element and color charm her. She
is delighted with it all and her breath
comes fast as she dreams of the parts
she will play and the fame she will
win in the future.
The pity of it. To waste the girl
ish sweetness of her, the youth, viva
city and innocence of her, on such a
cruel, heartless, soul-destroying thing
as the stage. IT'S true, some win
place, but the price, ah, the price they
pay! The world does not hear of
this, it is just a whisper between
friends when the lights are dim and
the storm bowls without; just a
whisper, as of things the world must
never, never know.
She will be a winner in vaudeville,
then she will begin to climb in ear
nest. Will she? She doesn't know a
great deal of stage life. She has never
been thrown into it alone. The anna
teurs were well managed, and well
chaperoned. Some of her friends al
ways took her home afterwards. She
never had an opportunity to become
thoroughly acquainted with the clev-
er people she sees through the bewil-
dering dazzle of the footlights. Oc-
casionally she has met some of them,
and she thinks they are charmingly
Bohemian. Those of us who are old
er and we'll hope wiser, have learned
to rate Bohemianism at it's true value.
We have learned that it is a pitifully
cheap affair after all.
Old fogies have whispered to her,
but she doesn't believe them. Any
way, nothing could be more tiresome
than a long, dreary life in the midst
of old fogies. You see, she is SO very
young and the poor girl doesn't know.
She doesn't know of the cheapness,
the tawdriness, the heart breaking
nastiness of stage life as it really is.
She doesn't know of the horror of
one-night stands, the dull, deadly
dreariness of vaudeville. Neither does
she know of the prowling harpies
that dog her footsteps, the deliberate,
scoundrelly cleverness of the hang
ers-on who plot her destruction so
dispassionately Brazenly they eye
her from the day her girlishness and
fresh-faced innocence are noted. Ap-
praisingly they watch the beginners,
the new faces. She doesn't know of
applause behind which turks lech-
erous jest. She doesn't know of the
blackness, the despair, the heartache,
that must be covered by makeup,
| the horrible soul-diSaster that must
be hidden by rouge. She doesn't
know of Golgotha, the place of skulls.
The lights burn brilliantly, the
world is kind. She will work hard
and win her place. The poor girl
doesn't know of the glistening mile
posts that stretch so dishearteningly
ahead of her, marking the way. I'm
der the glare of the lights they look
like purest marble. IT'S only as the
lights wane and the pale, garish dawn
shows them in all their hideousness,
that their real nature is apparent.
They are human skeletons! Some
with the withered remnants of flesh
still draping them ironically; others,
with deep-socketed eyes, glare fiend-
ishly in the uncertain light. But, as
the music plays and the lights flare
on, they disguise; themselves merrily,
laughing ghoulishly at their own hid
eous joke.
These things are hidden from a
young, innocent girl. She is such a
one, youthful and wide-eyed; but she
will learn of them. Her mind is made
up. She is determined. They lie in
wait for her. They know that moth
ing will stop her. They are very
patient.