Part 11

“And it was in my beloved Boston, where I had first met her, that I played my first part, and in her company, only the theater was the old Boston Museum, not the Hollis Street.”

DANCED ON CHURCH STEPS.

Front of a Negro Place of Worship Was the Scene of Henry E. Dixey’s Preparation for the Stage.

“The steps of a colored church near where I lived was my practise-ground, and I was on the stage when I was eight.”

Thus spoke Henry E. Dixey, in his dressing-room at the Lyric, between the acts of “The Man on the Box,” in response to my question about his start in his stage career—a career that stands out more remarkably than the majority. After achieving a reputation in a burlesque with which his name became so closely identified that it was often used interchangeably with his own, he went into Daly’s theater and played _Malvolio_ in “Twelfth Night,” in a fashion to cover himself with glory. He has scored high in the Gilbert & Sullivan operas, and is now a successful star in high-class comedy.

Dixey’s real name is Dixon. He was born in Boston on January 6, 1859. His parents had no connection with the theater, and had no idea that Harry’s predilection for dancing was going to lead him there. When very young he helped eke out the family income by becoming a cashboy in a dry-goods store but he wasn’t a shining success at it. The part he liked best was being sent on errands, which gave him an opportunity to collect cronies about him and practise fancy steps on his improvised stage in front of the African meeting-house, as aforesaid.

Failed to Serve Two Masters.

It didn’t take the dry-goods people long to “get on” to the idiosyncrasies of their youthful employee, and in due course he lost his job and was cooling his heels all day long on the sidewalk, most of the time in the vicinity of the stage-door of the Howard Athenæum, then under the management of the late John Stetson.

When Stetson was putting on “Under the Gaslight,” he needed a street urchin, so he decided to give the little Dixon chap a chance to show what he could do. The child introduced a song and dance, made an instantaneous hit, and thus started on his career. His part was called _Peanuts_, and he was retained at the Howard for small bits with James S. Maffit and his partner, Bartholomew, in their pantomime work.

How he managed to pick up an education, with his head full of the stage, is difficult to determine; but one has only to talk with Mr. Dixey to know him for a man of keen intelligence and common sense. But his parents continued to keep him under their eye in Boston until after “Evangeline” was produced. Here he encountered his old friend, James S. Maffit, again, as the _Lone Fisherman_. Crane was in the cast, too, doing _Le Blanc_, the notary. Dixey was the forelegs of the famous _Heifer_, the hind ones submitting to the direction of Richard Golden. But during the tour of the famous piece Dixey did very many of the other parts in the burlesque.

In the course of the early eighties John Stetson extended his field of operations to New York, and set up a stock company at the Fifth Avenue Theater. Dixey, as one of its leading members, created _Christopher Blizzard_ in “Confusion.”

“Adonis” and Its Successors.

In New York he fell in with William F. Gill. Dixey had some of the ideas for “Adonis.” Gill had more, and put them together in the shape of a burlesque. They tried to get Dixey’s old friend and first manager, Stetson, to bring it out at the Boston Globe. But he got cold feet on the proposition, declaring that it was too expensive to mount. Rice took it in hand, and after he had demonstrated the thing to be a success Stetson wanted an interest in it, in exchange for which he was willing to plank down twenty thousand dollars, but it was then too late.

“Adonis” ran at the Bijou in New York for more than three hundred nights, and was afterward done in London.

“The Seven Ages,” built on the same lines, was a frightful frost, if a thing can be said to be so when done in a temperature of one hundred and three degrees, which Mr. Dixey avers the thermometer registered at the old Standard in the early—and last—nights of the piece.

After “The Seven Ages”—Daly’s for Dixey, and in this connection I want to quote from an interview the actor gave to a writer for the New York _Dramatic Mirror_ some ten years ago.

“Do you know,” he said, “that I really was the first _Svengali_ on the stage? In ‘The Tragedy Rehearsed’ I introduced a little Trilby burlesque, where Miss Rehan was hypnotized into singing ‘Ben Bolt.’ That was the very earliest stage use of Miss O’Ferrall.

“Afterward I went to Augustin Daly and proposed that he should dramatize ‘Trilby,’ have Miss Rehan play the character, and let me do _Svengali_. It would have revolutionized things at Daly’s. But he pooh-poohed me, and wouldn’t listen to the idea. Instead, he put on ‘A Bundle of Lies,’ where I had a fifteen-line part. The play was a fearful frost.”

Takes Dark View of Future.

Just previous to the death of Stuart Robson, Dixey made a big success as _David Garrick_ in the play “Oliver Goldsmith,” which Augustus Thomas wrote for Robson; then, by way of striking variety, Dixey went to London in a Casino review, “The Whirl of the Town,” which failed to please England.

A few years later, when Charles Frohman imported Barrie’s “Little Mary” to the Empire, puzzling New York by the play written around the stomach, Dixey was the _Earl of Carlton_.

Dixey, by the by, does not believe in stock companies, and is rather pessimistic as to the future of our stage, in the way of the supply of actors.

“Where are they coming from?” he said to me the other night, in the course of his chat about his own start in the business. “What training do they get under the present system to fit them for any work out of a set groove into which chance and the powers that be happen to drop them? Suppose, for example, you are a young man who has done good work in amateur theatricals, and with a ‘pull’ in the shape of a letter of introduction to a big New York manager. You are also straight and tall and would make a presentable appearance on the stage.

“Well, you have your interview with the big manager of to-day. He looks you over, presses a button, and to the obsequious underling who answers the summons, he says: ‘Put this gentleman in the juvenile part in Number Three company of “Mrs. Prettytoes’ Shoestrings.”’

“You are elated at first at getting a job, but you find later on that ‘Mrs. Prettytoes’ Shoestrings’ has long since exhausted its drawing powers in the big cities, and is billed for six months through the one-night stands of Texas and Arkansas. You play the same part for all that period, and the next season maybe you will receive a rôle exactly on the same lines when, if you are lucky, week stands may replace the single night stops.

Where Are Actors to Come From?

“And so it goes. Because you look the character you are assigned to it, and you never have an opportunity to show what you can do in the way of versatility, and consequently you never grow. Again I repeat, Where are the big actors in the next generation to come from?

“How about the stars of to-day? Were they not nearly all of them shining marks twenty years ago, having been cultivated under the old order of things? The only show a man has nowadays outside of the few cheap stock companies, to play more than one part a season, is when the first play put out fails.

“How different this was around Civil War times, when your star traveled from town to town and the companies in the various theaters were obliged to be up in the various plays he put out? Our cities were so small then that the same people had to be counted on to support a week’s engagement, so the bill had to be changed nightly. Twenty years from now I wonder who will be the stars, how many of them there will be, and—save the mark!—to what artistic merit will they attain?”

In a sense Mr. Dixey is himself a victim of the system he deplores. His season in “The Man on the Box” having been so successful, his manager has secured the dramatic rights to Cyrus Townsend Brady’s novel. “Richard the Brazen,” which will give Dixey a part on very similar lines to the conscienceless _Lieutenant Worburton_ he enacts in the Harold MacGrath story.

THE ROMANCE OF HALLOWE’EN.

Old Superstitions and Observances to Which the Scotch Still Cling Tenaciously—Ceremonies That Accompanied Lighting of Hallow Fires—How Lassies Compel Spirits to Reveal Natures of Those Who Are to Wed Them.

Like almost all of the Christian festivals, Hallowmas, or All Saints day, is associated with an ancient pagan celebration of great antiquity, and from this older rite many of its curious and singular observances are derived. Hallowe’en is the vigil of the feast of All Saints, and the custom of its elaborate observance is general everywhere, though its greatest development has been reached in Scotland.

Modern practise has largely omitted what was at one time the most important part of Hallowe’en ritual—that is, the lighting of bonfires at nightfall by each household. From this practise the relationship that it bears to the older Druidical festival of Samuin is apparent. This was a great occasion in the days of the ancient pagan worship, and all the hearths were on this day rekindled from the sacred fire.

Indeed, sacred fires seem to have been a part of the various forms of worship of many nations. The Germanic people had their fires, as well as the Celtic, so the custom was not wholly Druidical, but from the Druids came most of the superstitions that now cluster around the eve of the Christian festival.

Origin of the Feast.

The feast of All Saints was introduced very early by the Christian Church because of the impossibility of keeping a separate day for every saint. In the fourth century, when the persecutions of the Christians had ceased, the first Sunday after Easter was appointed by the Greek Church as the day for commemorating the martyrs generally.

In the Church of Rome a like festival was introduced about 610 A.D., this being the time when the old heathen Panthéon was consecrated to Mary and all the martyrs.

The real festival of All Saints, however, was first regularly instituted by Pope Gregory IV, in 835, and appointed for the first day of November. It was admitted into England about 870, and probably about the same time into Ireland and Scotland. The festival is common to the Roman Catholic, English, and Lutheran branches of the Church.

The leading idea of Hallowe’en is that it is the time of all others when supernatural influences are strong, and charms, therefore, will not fail to work. Spirits, both good and evil, walk abroad on this one mysterious night, and divination attains its highest power. All who choose may avail themselves of the privileges of the occasion with the certainty that their questions will be answered.

Prying into the Future.

Nuts furnish the principal means of reading the secrets of the future, and in some parts of England the night is known as “nutcrack night.” The nuts are cracked and eaten, as well as being made the oracles of the occasion, and apples also are used in the games and for divination.

The poet Burns, in the notes to his poem, “Hallowe’en,” speaks of the passion which human nature has had, in all ages, for prying into the future—particularly unenlightened human nature; yet it is not always the ignorant who indulge in the Hallowe’en pranks. It is by the peasantry in the west of Scotland, however, that the night is regarded with sincere veneration and believed to be truly great with meaning.

Burns gives some of the spells and charms whereby the lassies test their fate. Among these customs are the pulling stalks of corn, the blue clue, and eating an apple before the glass. He also mentions sowing hemp-seed, “to winn three wechts o’naethings,” “to fathom the stack three times,” “to dip your left shirt-sleeve in a burn where three lairds’ lands meet,” and, finally, a curious process “with three luggies or dishes.”

Another writer tells of fagots made of heath, broom, and dressings of flax tied upon a pole. These are lighted and then carried upon the shoulders of some one who runs around the village, attended by a crowd. Weird effects are produced on a dark night, when numbers of these fagots are blazing at the same time.

Still another writer tells of the custom of collecting the ashes from the bonfire when the fire has burned out. They are carefully gathered into the form of a circle, and a stone for every person of the several families interested in the fire is put into this magic pile. If any stone is injured or moved next morning it signifies that the person represented by that stone is “fey,” and will not live a twelve-month from that day.

Kindling the Hallow Fire.

In the days when the “hallow fire” was kindled, various magic ceremonies preceded its lighting. These exorcised the demons and witches and rendered them powerless. When the ceremonies were finished, the fire was lighted and carefully guarded by the men of the family from the depredations of certain societies which were formed, sometimes through pique and at other times for fun alone, for the purpose of scattering these fires. The attack and defense were often “conducted with art and fury.”

The first ceremony of Hallowe’en was pulling the kail (stalk). By its shape and size the young women determined the figure and size of their future husbands, while any “yird,” or earth, sticking to the roots meant fortune. The taste of the “custoc,” or heart of the stalk, showed the temper and disposition, and finally the stems or “runts” are placed above the door, and the Christian name of the person whom Fate sends first through the door gives the name of the gentleman.

In an old book of the early part of the sixteenth century there is a passage as follows:

“We rede in olde tyme good people wolde on All Halowen daye bake brade and dele it for all crysten soules.”

This refers to the ancient custom of the poor going “a-souling,” or asking for money which they earned by fasting for the souls of the alms-givers and his kinsfolk. Presumably the “brede” was not eaten until the day after.

In some places these loaves were called “sau’mas loaves”—soul-mass—and were kept in the house for luck. Bakers gave them to their customers, and thus they resembled the Good-Friday bread and cross-buns.

The vigil and ringing of bells all night long upon All Hallows was abolished under Henry VIII, but, in spite of this, half a century later, under Elizabeth, a special injunction forbade all superfluous ringing of bells. Evidently the laws were not enforced then any more than now, and the nerves of the people were tried as they are in these days. It is our doorbells, however, not church-bells, that keep us on edge, with the small boy at the button.

A Collector’s Bequest.

“My wish is that my Drawings, my Prints, my Curiosities, my Books—in a word these things of art which have been the joy of my life—shall not be consigned to the cold tomb of a museum, and subjected to the stupid glance of the careless passer-by; but I require that they shall all be dispersed under the hammer of the Auctioneer, so that the pleasure which the acquiring of each one of them has given me shall be given again, in each case, to some inheritor of my own tastes.”—_From the Will of Edmond de Goncourt._

A LETTER FROM CHRIST.

TWO INTERESTING DOCUMENTS, RECOGNIZED AS AUTHENTIC, THAT BEAR UPON THE LIFE OF THE SAVIOUR.

The Greek Church preserves a very interesting tradition which seems to rest upon some evidence which many Biblical scholars accept as quite convincing. The tradition relates that while Christ was working His miracles in Palestine the report of His divine power spread throughout Asia Minor until it reached the ears of Abgar, the Prince of Edessa in Mesopotamia. Abgar was afflicted with leprosy; and at last, in his despair, he is said to have written a letter to Christ beseeching Him to journey to Edessa and heal the prince of his disease. To this appeal the legend says that Christ dictated a reply by the hand of St. Thomas the Apostle, and that after the crucifixion St. Thomas sent Thaddeus, one of the Seventy, to Edessa, where he cured Abgar, who, with all his subjects, became converted to Christianity.

The tradition is very old, and is believed among the Eastern Christians. It is first found recorded by the Greek writer, Eusebius, in his “Ecclesiastical History,” written about the year 330. Eusebius gives copies of both letters. It was not until the year 494 that the Roman Church declared the letter of Christ to be fictitious. The Greek Church has never made any such declaration. Among those scholars who have accepted the letters as authentic are Tillemont and the German theologian Welte. The following is a translation of the two documents:

ABGAR TO JESUS CHRIST.

“Abgar, Prince of Edessa, to Jesus, the merciful Saviour, who has appeared in the country of Jerusalem, greeting. I have been informed of the prodigies and cures wrought by you without the use of herbs or medicines, and by the efficacy of your words alone. I am told that you enable cripples to walk; that you force devils from the bodies possessed; that there is no disease, however incurable, which you do not heal; and that you restore the dead to life. These wonders convince me that you are some god descended from heaven, or that you are the Son of God. For this reason, I have taken the liberty of writing this letter to you, beseeching you to come to see me, and to cure me of the indisposition under which I have so long labored. I understand that the Jews persecute you, murmur at your miracles, and plan your destruction. I have here a beautiful and pleasant city which, though it be not very large, will be sufficient to supply you with every thing that is necessary.”

JESUS CHRIST TO ABGAR.

“You are happy, Abgar, thus to have believed in me without having seen me; for it is written of me, that they who shall see me will not believe in me, and that they who have never seen me shall believe and be saved. As to the desire you express in receiving a visit from me, I must tell you that all things for which I am come must be fulfilled in the country where I am. When this is done, I must return to Him who sent me. And when I am departed hence, I will send to you one of my disciples, who will cure you of the disease of which you complain, and give life to you and to those that are with you.”

Valuable Secrets Lost to Men.

Fame and Fortune Await Those Who Rescue from Oblivion’s Great Storage-House Bits of Knowledge That Enabled Old-Time Workmen to Obtain Results That Cannot be Duplicated To-day.

The nineteenth century was distinctively a century of invention. Whether the twentieth is destined to rival it by making discoveries that will rank with steam, electricity, wireless telegraphy, the harvester and the typewriter it is now too soon to say. It is safe to predict, however, that if by any series of fortunate chances it should earn the right to be called a “century of rediscovery,” it would win the gratitude of posterity, and fortune as well as fame would be the portion of men who might reclaim for mankind some remarkable secrets that were well known to the civilized world many centuries ago.

In Oblivion’s great storage-house are thousands of bits of knowledge which were possessed by many men when the world was much younger than it is to-day. But they have been so thoroughly forgotten by mankind that they are now referred to as lost secrets, as difficult to rediscover as those which lurk in the mystical notes of a Stradivarius violin.

Art of Egyptian Embalmers.

Thousands of years ago, for instance, the Egyptians used to embalm the bodies of their dead kings and nobility so perfectly that the bodies are in wonderful preservation to-day, as may be seen at the British Museum. Clever as we are in this age, we cannot do the same. The valuable secret is lost, and modern science cannot recover the lost knowledge. We can, of course, and we do, embalm bodies; but only for temporary preservation, and, comparatively speaking, in a most unsatisfactory manner.

Bodies which are embalmed nowadays will not be preserved for more than a few years at most; very many of the bodies the Egyptians embalmed before the birth of Christ are still so perfect that the lines of their faces are as clearly marked as when they were first embalmed.

Sheffield turns out the finest, hardest, and most perfect steel the world produces; but even Sheffield cannot produce a sword-blade to compare with those the Saracens made and used hundreds of years ago, and the Saracens never possessed the machinery we have nor had the advantage of knowing so much about metals as we are supposed to know.

A huge fortune awaits the man who discovers the secret which enabled the Saracens to make sword-blades so keen and hard that they could cut in two most of the swords used in our army to-day.

French Paste Diamonds.

There are a dozen different methods of making artificial diamonds, but none of the stones produced by these methods can compare with those made of old French paste, the secret of which is lost. So perfect were paste diamonds that it was difficult for even a person with expert knowledge of diamonds to tell that they were artificially produced, whereas most of the modern artificial diamonds can easily be detected, and their durability is nothing like so great as the old paste diamonds; indeed, good paste diamonds are now almost as valuable as real diamonds.

Probably not one out of every ten thousand buildings standing in all parts of the world and built by modern masons will still be standing five hundred years hence. We do not know how to put stones and bricks together as the ancients did, and consequently the buildings we raise nowadays are really mere temporary structures, and will be in ruins when the ancient buildings of Greece and Italy, which were built thousands of years ago, are in as good condition as they are now.

The secret is not in the bricks or the stone, but in the cement and mortar, neither of which essentials can we make as the ancients made them.

In modern buildings the cement and mortar are the weakest points; in the buildings which the Romans and Greeks raised thousands of years ago the cement and mortar are the strongest points, and hold good while the very stones they bind together crumble away with age. We cannot, with all our science, make such cement and mortar, and therefore we cannot build such buildings as the ancients raised.

Wonderful Ancient Dyes.

Chemistry, one might Imagine, is the science which has, perhaps, made the greatest strides during the last five or six decades. Yet modern chemists cannot compound such dyes as were commonly used when the great nations of to-day were still unborn. Now and again it happens that searchers after antiquities come across fragments of fabrics which were dyed thousands of years ago, and they are astonished by the wonderful richness of the colors of the cloths, which, despite their age, are brighter and purer than anything we can produce.