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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Oct. 27, 1912)
V " THE SUNDAY OREGOXIAN, PORTLAND, OCTOBER 27, 1912. Tf" fIillJ ss -mil. riKfe ' if W j w ' A Facf Story of Grim Make-Believe That Surpasses Any Record in His- ( toryIf There, Is Any Death That Sarah Has Not Died She Is Unaware of It. To' Death ia the Riyer. HOW would you like to die and die and die again and then again, and to keep on dying until your deaths bad totaled many thousands? And what If none of these deaths were of the conventional sort, but Instead were brought about by means of pistol, poison, dagger, dirk, despondency, drowning, remorse, renunciation or come dread and mysterious malady? What If you knew that tonight you were to "shuffle off" this classic "mortal coil," which all of us cling to so closely, by the simple method of drinking hemlock or some equally con venient poison, while you fully realize that tomorrow evening you must ful fill the demand of Nature by baring your bosom to the assassin's blade? Probably if such a proposition were made to you you would unhesitatingly decline It, yet no less a person than the world's greatest actress, Madame Sarah Bernhardt, has found that dying frequently Is one of the sources of a long and busy life. At least, such might be Inferred from ber record, for Madame Bernhardt has publicly died considerably more than 10,000 times in the course of her long and distinguished career before the footlights. An ingenious statistician some time ago computed the number of death scenes she had enacted In her life and found them to be far In excess of this number. Her deaths by self-admln-lstered' poison. It was calculated, to taled well over 5000; she had Jumped Into the scenic artist's Seine no less than 2000 times; had sent approxi mately 1500 bullets into her head; and her deaths by stabbing, consumption and in other forms totaled many thou sands more. Dying Night After Right. All told the estimate was far In ex cess of the number here given, and 10, 000 Is an exceedingly conservative fig ure at which to place the number of PoUon. deaths the great French artist has simulated. And It must be remem bered that she has been "dying" night after night and season after season now for more than 50 years. It is her versatility in this respect, as well as her wonderful gifts In other branches of her art, that has made her position so supreme in the realm she has chosen to rule. Imbued with the spirit of eternal youth, she yet knows how to "die" more effectively and In more different ways than any other woman in the world. In "Camille" she seems visibly to waste away with consumption; In "La Tosca" she Is stabbed to death; In "Phedre," where In the original Greek tragedy the heroine hangs herself, in the adaptation made by Racine, which Madame Bernhardt acts, she drinks a deadly drug; in "Adrienne Lecouvreur," In which the "Divine Sarah" made her debut in this country, the death of Adrienne is brought about by a psy chological poison the haunting fear of madness. And so on to the end of the Immense repertoire of plays which Madame Bernhardt has Interpreted. In nearly all the supreme moment is the death scene, and It Is here that the great Pdqiard. actress Invariably reaches the summit of her art. There are those who say that Sarah Bernhardt Is morbid: that in spite of her gayety of exterior she is essen tially a creature of somber moods. They hold that this constant portrayal of deaths In divers forms has hfid a strange psychological effect on the mind of the great artist and that It has produced many eccentricities. Selecting Own Cneket. In proof of whioh they point to her magnificent mausoleum In the ceme tery of Pere la Chaise, erected under her direction and supervision and after her own design, and to the cof fin which she has long kept in her home, to be ready when the last death scene is enacted the final lowering of the curtain on the great artist's career. But those who know her best de clare that none of these things are indicative of any morbidity of mind, but of her artistio sense of the fitness of things, which makes even the se lection of a casket and the erection of a tomb a necessary task of life. .It Is the artist in her that demands that her surroundings, even in death, shall be in consonance with her tastes and ideas when living. The tomb, which was finished In 1906, will he a classical resting place for Its creator. It Is of marble, faced on Its four sides with open arches, and across the top of the arch which forms its front is the name Bernhardt. And around the tomb are always garlands for the living garlands which are kept fresh. When it was finished the great act ress determined that it was necessary for her also to have her casket made ready one that would be artistically in accord with her newly designed mausoleum In the cemetery of Pere la Chaise. So she had one constructed under her own direction, and when It was finished brought It home and kept It la her boudoir. Death la Slnfnlated. Then there came a time when she desired to be photographed In her cas ket. She wished to see herself as she would look In death. She had an overwhelming desire to He down in the coffin and remain there until she had composed her features in a semblance of death. And straight away she went and did it. She wished really to feel the cold clutch of death through her Imagina tion, thus obtaining the requisite knowledge for the expression of death on the stage. It was not morbidity which led her to make this experiment, she averred. Instead she but fulfilled the demand of her art. And the pose in the coffin for the photographer was purely the result of necessity. She found that she had ac quired the proper death expression, but unfortunately, as her eyes were closed, she was unable to obtain an idea of how she looked. She Judged innately; she accepted the opinions of competent but horror-stricken observers. Still she wished to know precisely how she looked In death, and so Blie sent for the photographer and ordered him to take several photographs of Sarah Bernhardt in death Sarah, with a peaceful and glorious expression on her features and garlands in her hands, and at her feet more garlands, and be side her head a lighted taper. At first Madame Bernhardt was much averse to the publication of this photograph, though it is said that she was much pleased with It. But while there was a possibility of some day making pictures of her in real death, there was no probability of it, and her manager was besieged with requests for the negative. But the "divine Sarah" steadfastly refused to grant permission for the publication of the picture. "Camille" in death was one thing. But this was an entirely different mat ter. The Parisians retorted that she should not have built for herself either a tomb or a casket. Still she remained adamant. Then someone, by some secret means, obtained a proof of the photo, and all the world viewed how the great suc cessor of Rachel would look In death. All Paris talked of it, regarding her death likeness with a rapture pecu liarly tragic, and by the same token peculiarly Parisian. For after all it is only Paris that can weep over the morbid semblance of their beloved geniuses In death or can take a thorough delight in a con templation of their sorrow. But in spite of the strange fancies that led her to make preparations for the inevitable long though it be and long may it be deferred and for all her multitudinous portrayals of death in many forms, Madame Bernhardt has little fear of the Destroyer. Although she is a great-grandmother now and close to seventy she retains all the spirit and buoyancy of youth. Only a short time ago when greeted by a crowd of admirers she turned to one of them and said: "You make me feel young." One more eagerly solicitous than the others expressed a fear lest she over tax her strength. She smiled. "No, I never really feel tired," she said. "I attribute it to living for but one thing-my art. Nothing else mat ters to me. I shall never retire. I dream of dying like the great Irving in the -harness. Fancy dying after playing Hecket! What could be more glorious?" So it is that It may chance one day that this peerless actress shall enact one of her death scenes which have brought her fame, fortune and friends for the last time, and that her audi ence may see a reality where before was only art Whether it be Camille, the persecuted Phedre, the beautiful Greek, gentle Adrienne Lecouvreur or any of the host of roles she has played In the past, what matters it? Even at the last she shall triumph as-of yore. And, as the "Divine Sarah" herself has Bald, "What could be more glorious?" TEN MINUTE? T TTT 1HLTUNNT MEN Terse Tales From Humorous Pens EN ERGY OF SI EX OF AFFAIRS. Pierre Lotl, the famous French au thor, praUed American energy at the Hotel Marie Antoinette in New York. "There's a story," he said, "that illus trates well the energy of your men of affairs. "A gentleman called ,at the office of an indefatigable millionaire financier. It was 4 o'clock In the afternoon, and the financier lay back in the revolving chair with his feet on his desk, and a pictorial magazine In his hand. " "I've worked mighty hard for the last ten years without a day's vaca tion,' he explained. 'I feel all run down, and I'm now going to take a long rest.' " 'And a well-earned rest It will be, too,' said the visitor heartily. ' "He departed, expecting that the mil lionaire would set out at once for Eu rope or California; but the next morn ing he saw him presiding as busily as ever at an important directors' meet ing. 'Why, how about that long rest? he asked. "The millionaire frowned In amaze ment. " 'Didn't I take it yesterday after noon? he said." A GOOSDAD PRITER'S IMC Simon Ford, the humorist, said In praise of newspaper advertising at a banquet In New York: "There Is a fable that all advertisers should have by heart. It runs like this: "As a shopkeeper dozed, his head on the dusty counter of his shop, the gray cobwebs across his door were rent apart, and a goose entered. "The shopkeeper rose with a glad smile; he thought he had a customer; but when he saw the goose he uttered an oath. 'What do you want here?" he said. This Is no place for geese.' 'Isn't It?" said the goose. "Quack, quack!' And It regarded the shop keeper derisively, then went on. " "I've come, my dear sir, because I saw your advertisement on the fence that Incloses our barnyard. I knew that you must be a goose or else a donkey because otherwise you would place your advertisement In a news paper, where it would be read by human beings, and not upon an Isolated fence, where it Is only read by donkeys and geese and other barnyard denizens. So, being lonely today, I thought I'd make you a fraternal call. A couple of donks will probably drop in later. Quack, quack!'" New York Press. ' NO USE FOR WATER. "In the days of the old volunteer fire department, tnere was more quenching of thirst than quenching of conflagra tions," said Fire Chief Kenlon, of New York. "The volunteer firemen, ' I'm afraid, were a sad lot of roysterers. There's a story they tell about a fire back in '69. "It was a fire at an outlying farm, and when the firemen arrived with en gine and hose, the buildings were pretty well destroyed. . "The farmer met them at the gate. He said bitterly: " 'No use yer comin' In, boys. There hain't a drop o' water within two mile of us.' "But the firemen, mindful of the usual merrymaking that accompanied every fire, pushed right on with their ap paratus. "'Oh, that's all right,' they Bald heartily. 'We don't mind drinking it straight.1 " New York Herald. ABBREVIATION OF NAMES. Robert D. Heinl, who writes maga zine articles, and never overlooks a chance to get a laugh at the expense of somebody else, went one day to interview Speaker Champ Clark. Heinl knew, as everybody else knows, that Mr. Clark dislikes any aristocratic pomp or affectation of any kind. He also kne-w that the Speaker, whose name had originally been Beauchamp, had abbreviated it for popular reasons. "Heinl," asked the Speaker, "how on earth did you ever snorten that name of yours? It should be spelled H-e-i-n-e-1." "I suppose," said Heinl, very solemn ly, "I did that the same way you shortened Beauchamp to Champ." Popular Magazine. DOWN THE SCALE. A certain bride is very much in love with her husband and very willing to admit it. She likes to Bound his praises to her mother and to her girl friends. She has a number of original expres sions. When her husband Is good she says he Is "chocolate cake, three layers deep." When he Is very good he is "chocolate cake, four layers deep," and so on up the scale. Occasionally, how ever, things take a turn. The bride's mother dropped in the other day. The bride was a trifle peev ish, but her mother pretended not to notice this. . "And how Is John today?" was her inquiry, "chocolate, four layers deep?" "No." "Three layers deep?" "No." "Two layers deep?" "No." This with a pout. "Then what Is her ' "Dog biscuit!" National Monthly. " v THE DISAPPOINTED BOSS. Apropos of the temperance leanings of the various Presidential candidates, Addison Mlxner told a story at Sherry's In New York. "A boss," he said, "was dining two rival nnnri'riA.tAa- Hirmonr was hlhlv desirable, and the boss, hoping to es tablish a harmonious atmosphere, said genially: " "Boys, what'll we drink with our dinner?" " 'I'll have er buttermilk," said the first candidate. " "Give me a small glass of seltzer and lemon," said the second. "The waiter turned to the disap pointed boss, whose red, fat. Jovial face was wrinkled up in a frown. "'And what's yours, sir?' " "Gee," said the boss dismally, I guess you'd better bring me an emetic' " Quips and Flings KATHARINE'S KINDLY INTEREST. Katharine Is 2 years old. Her father came home one afternoon, after working three days and three nights at high pressure, with almost no sleep. He lay down with the feeling that he did not want to wake up for a week. Half an hour later, from the depths of his dreams, he heard a small, clear voice: "Father!" "Fatherl father!" He stirred again, and moaned. "Father! father!" He struggled and resisted and floun dered, and finally raised his eyelids like a man lifting heavy weights. He saw Katharine smiling divinely beside his couch. "Father! father!" "Whai is it, daughter?" "Father, are you having a nice nap?" Youth's Companion, First Bachelor What's your Idea of a hero? Second Bachelor A Mormon. Judge. "Is she rich?" "Heavens, yes! A specialise gets $10,000 a year for doc toring her poodle." Birmingham Age Herald. . Dutch Comedian I played Hamlet once. Chorus Did you have a long run? Dutch Comedian About three miles. Judge. , - Editoir Have you submitted this poem anywhere else? Jokesmith No, sir. Editor Then where did you get that black eye? Satire. First Member They say' Homebully bosses his wife terribly. Second Mem ber Yes; he certainly wears the skirts. Philadelphia Bulletin. George I told her I was going to kiss her once for every step of the way home. Jack And what did she do? Georges-Got awful mad; then went up stairs and put on a hobble skirt. Chaparral. "Darling," whispered the young man, "please rest that lovely cheek on my other shoulder a while." "Is this one tired, Gerald?" "No, dear, but It's get ting more than its share of the face powder." Chicago Tribune. "So he believes that nearly all pres-eht-day reformers are actuated by sel fish motives?" "Yes, he even Insisted that a bald-headed man started the swat-the-fiy crusade." Buffalo Ex press. Blobbs How did you get along in Paris? Slobbs Not very well. Blobbs Don't you speak French? Slobbs Only enough to make myseir misunder stood. Philadelphia Record. She If fashion makes our dresses any skimpier, I really don't know what we women will do. He I do; you'll wear the dresses. Boston Transcript. "John." said the minister of a Scotch Darish. "I fear you are growing remiss In your religious duties. I have not seen you In the klrK tnese inree sun- days.". "No," answered John, "It's no that I'm growln' remiss; I'm Just tink erln away wi' my soul masel." Metho dist Recorder. ( "That fellow who filled my legs full of shot didn't express the slightest sympathy," said the' hunter. "Wasn't he worried?" "Yes. He said he'd have brought down a fine bunch of birds if I hadn't got in the. way." Washington Star. Constance Is it an engagement? Clare (with a new ling) No. Just a skirmish. Liverpool Mercury. ""What do you think will finally be selected as our National plant? "Well, it is dollars to dimes it will be the mint." Baltimore American. m Never Goes By. Marks I never go Dy a jewelry siore wnen j. am out wnw ing with my wife. Parks Neither do I; she drags me in. Exchange. Teacher Now you have In front of you the north, on your right the east, on your left the west. What have you behind you? Small Boy A patch on my pants. I told mother you'd see it! London Opinion. "Why does your servant go about the house with her hat on?" "Oh, she's a new girl! She only came this morn ing, and hasn't made up her mind whether she'll stay yet." Stray Stories. Knicker Did you explain baseball to your girl? Bocker Yes, she said she understood all about diamonds. New York Sun. "Why don't you marry him he Is rich and old?" "Old? He may live for 10 years yet!" "Marry him and do your own cook ing." Houston Post. He (moralizing) After all, man Is weak. She (coyly) In union there Is strength. "I had a remarkable experience to day," said the, real estate man. "What was it?" "I was showing houses to prospec tive tenants and I actually found two people who admired the same style of wall paper." Celia (gently) You shouldn't have proposed to me. You might have known Id refuse you. George (savagely) I did know, or I' wouldn't have proposed. London Opin ion, ' Among the Poets of the Daily Press DA 'MERICANA IJEEZ'XESS MAN. Da Gover'mant eet walk eets beat Een uniforma blue, For keep an eye upon da street An' watcha w'at you do. An' eef eet theenk you mak' so moooh You soon weel own da town, Eet tak' banan', peanut an' eooch For keep da profit down. But gooda beez'ness man He smile da best he can, Tak' off hees hat an' looka pleas' w'en Gover'manta call; Ees mak' no odds to. you Wat Gover'manta do, Baycause you know you steell can mak' da peopla pay for all. Da gooda peopla com' an' buy So long you are so smart For keep politeness een your eye , An' beez'ness een your heart. An' dey weell buy da theengs dey want. An' pay da prices, too, Baycause dey theenk da Gover'mant ees keep an ye on you. So goo.da beez'ness man He smile da best he can, Tak' off hees hat an" looka pleas' w'en annybody call; Ees mak' no odds to you W'at Gover'manta do, Baycause you know you steell can mak' da peopla pay for all. T. A. Daly, In New York Sun. ITS MAN'S WAY. I've noticed now for forty years, have read and listened with my ears To things that people say. And everywhere and all the time men have dropped into prose and rhyme, Well, nearly every day. To hand a package to the girls, to crit icise their puffs and curls, Their ribbons and their rats: To laugh at them about their clothes. their skirts, their gloves, their shoes, their hose And how they wear their hats; Their powder puffs an' powder rags. their willow plumes and shopping bags. The beauty patch they wore Way back in my grandfather's time. Their clothes were looked on as a crime In those glad days of yore Just as they are looked on today; what ever way was woman's way Was thought absurdly wrong. The galluses they used to wear, the crinolines that made men stare Were Jeered In prose and song. Today the hobble Is the thing that points the bard's envenomed sting. And keeps him up at night To think of meaner things to say and build up sentences to flay Their victims when tlicy write. But here's one thing I've noticed, too? From the old days that Adam knew In the first dawn of life. Men bagged their trousers at the knees in desperate attempts to please The girls and get a wife! New York Globe. THE NEW ENGLAND NOVEL. To write a New England novel Take Boston, a man and a maid. And start with an erudite chapter On calling a shovel a spade. Work in something soulful and earnost. Such as "What is the Why?" And mix with the briny sea breezes And a dried apple pie. Make all of your characters drawling In dialect Ktlltcd but quaint; Put most of them into eyeglasses; And make them say "hasn't" not "hain't." Your hero might rush to the army And try hard to die Mix this with the Mall and the Com mon And a dried apple pie. To write a New England novel Don't overlook history's aid; Use Washington, Webster and Henry, Work in a heroic brigade Of statesmen and scholars and sages Who say "It is I"; And don't forget any one's accent Or the dried apple pie. Chicago Post QUERIES. If a burglar skipped through a base ment door To steal a ham, would the furnace roarl If he stopped to learn If the ham was good. Would the coal-chute quick as- the kindllngwood? e-SaUre,