Truly yours,
Samuel Sourface,
Headmaster, Sourface Training School.
Cranktown, New Jersey.
THE FATE OF FALSTAFF
To the Editor of The Idler.
Dear Sir: I am an actor; a follower of Thespis, an interpreter of men and emotions. To become such was the dream of my boyhood’s ambition. At an early age (I shall not state when, since you would probably be incredulous) I used, Sir, to act plays for my own amusement and afterward for the amusement of my elders. Where other children were content to play in careless fashion, without attempting anything like an exact reproduction or imitation of Nature, I was most particular in this respect. If I played Julius Cæsar, I had, to satisfy my artistic instinct, to carry a short sword and not a long one; I must needs wrap myself in a sheet and swear by the heathen gods. Nothing short of this satisfied me. I could not, as so many children do, thrust a feather duster down the neck of my jacket and play at being an Indian chief; on the contrary, I must have the feathers in my hair and my complexion darkened until I bore some actual resemblance to the aborigine. Without these aids to illusion I could not enjoy myself or get any manner of amusement from the sport. I was so close a student of details, even at that age, that in playing Indian I acquired a habit of toeing-in which caused my mother much distress and which clung to me for many months.
Nor was I less particular in the matter of my speech. I was forever mouthing sentiments and speeches culled from my father’s library, some of them, I dare say, weird and bizarre enough upon my youthful and innocent lips. However this may be, I had an abiding horror of all sorts of anachronisms, and I preferred Ben Jonson to Shakespeare for the reason that he was less frequently guilty of offending my artistic sense in this respect.
It was not long before my parents were impressed with my natural bent in this direction and encouraged me in my favorite diversion by taking the part of an audience, while my younger brother was pressed into service with his harmonica and rendered the overtures and the interludes to the best of his somewhat limited ability; for I could no more act without an orchestra than I could act without a make-up. Incidentally I came to practise the art of elocution, and it was said in our neighborhood that I could interpret Horatio at the Bridge in a most telling fashion, and that not Riley himself could improve upon my rendition of The Raggedy Man.
With such a wealth of youthful experience, it was not surprising that I found myself at the age of twenty-one a supernumerary in a theater, nor that soon afterward I was given a speaking part and rose, before long, to the dignity of “leads” in a stock company of the first class. It was at this time that I was given my first opportunity really to distinguish myself. A prominent manager, who shall be nameless, sent for me and told me that he had chosen me to play Falstaff in a production of Henry the Fourth which he intended putting on the following winter.
Elated as I was at this splendid opportunity for a display of my genius for acting, I could not forbear voicing certain conscientious scruples as to my ability to do the part justice.