The members of the theatrical profession have always been notoriously superstitious. This was especially true during the Edwardian 'golden age' of theatre (persisting to a lesser extent even to this day).
This is perhaps not difficult to understand, since the livelihoods of the actors of that period were very much dependant on the publics reaction to, and reception of, the productions in which they appeared. If a play failed, an actor might be out of work for some time, at least whilst he/she was rehearsing for a new part (rehearsals being generally unpaid in those days), whereas a success might bring a guarantee of work for many weeks to come.
The problem is, of course, that the public are fickle, not only capricious but frequently inconsistent in their opinions, making it almost impossible to predict the success of a new production with any degree of accuracy. A new play which was well received in one town, might very well be roundly jeered in the next only a short distance away, even though it was performed in exactly the same way by exactly the same players.
No wonder then, that they should put such store in 'luck', looking for omens that may give an insight into, or better still influence, the outcome of a new piece. Any notable incident which occurred in the preparation of a successful production might then be considered to have been a lucky omen, sure to bring similar success if it occured, or was made to occur, again in connection with another production. And of course, the opposite would be true in the case of a failed production.
Take for example the superstition that it is unlucky to utter the name "MacBeth" inside a theatre. This is believed to stem from a series of calamities associated with early productions of the play, beginning indeed from the very opening night when a boy named Hal Berridge, who was due to play Lady Macbeth (there being no actresses in those days), was stricken with a sudden fever and died. This led to claims that Shakespeare had used genuine witches incantations for the spell-casting women in his drama and had thus incurred the wrath of real witches who placed a curse upon the play. To use the name of the play inside a theatre, therefore, is to risk invoking this curse and bring further bad luck.
A common individual superstition is the wearing of certain items of 'lucky' clothing. Some actors and producers feeling it necessary to always carry a particular kercheif, or wear the same shoes, or even the same underwear, until such time as the success of a new production was assured.
Consequently, over the years a wealth of superstitions have accumulated, probably more than exist in connection with any other profession, and many of which have escaped the confines of the stage to become well known in every day life. Some of these superstitions are rooted in real perils, whilst others appear almost incomprehensible, the reasons for their origins being long forgotten.
Reproduced below are a collection of articles from period publications concerning the superstitions that were then prevalent in theatrical circles (most woould not be unfamiliar to most actors of the present day.
The Theatre (UK) - December 1st, 1890
Modern Stage Superstitions
BY A.J.D.
We hear a great deal nowadays about the close relationship existing between Church and Stage, and the conclusion popularly deduced from the union of those dissimilar institutions is that the clerical friendship recently extended towards the denizens of stage-land has exercised a distinctly beneficial effect upon the theatre in many ways. Let this, regarded from a moral and a theological standpoint, be as it may: on such delicate and debatable ground it would be dangerous to trespass. It is very clear, however, that in the matter of superstition the stage is still very far behind the times.
The spread of education has swept away most of the ancient superstitions which owed their origin to the ignorance and mysticism of the Dark Ages, and which held until comparatively recently a prominent place in the minds of the community at large. Yet, although this same educational influence has made itself felt to an equal degree in the dramatic world, it certainly appears to have failed to exercise the same effect. This is in itself surprising; but when, in addition, it is remembered that the Church has bestowed special attention upon the extensive and daily increasing community of actors and actresses, and that in spite of its teachings the faith in good luck, bad luck, omens, charms, and all the paraphenalia of superstitious belief, still prevails behind the scenes as extensively as of yore, the subject of this article is invested with a certain amount of serious interest, which deserves more than passing notice.
Into the origin of the many curious superstitions which sway the minds and guide the actions of nine actors and actresses out of ten I have no intention to enter. It is sufficient for my purpose that they exist, and though in numerous cases it would be possible to trace them back to a condition closely akin to that of Pooh-Bah's "protoplasmal primordial atomic globule," there are one or two theatrical superstitions still extant so eccentric and ludicrous, that the conclusion is irresistibly forced upon one that they owe their existence to the exuberant jocularity of some irrepressible humourist.
Take, for instance, the curious notion of exorcising the evil spirit of bad luck by hurling fragments of coal from the stage to the gallery of a theatre. This curious performance was at one time also considered absolutely necessary before playing in a new theatre; the popular idea being that a curse hung over the building - a curse of so peculiar a nature that nothing but the projection of a lump of Silkstone or Wallsend through space would dissipate it.
Much importance is attached to black cats. In some theatres a black cat is considered the embodimant of good luck; in others the appearance on the stage of a feline pet of sable hue is calculated to create a veritable panic.
To a black cat is attributed the successful run of "The Private Secretary." As is generally known, that play, on its original production, proved anything but a success, and the wiseacres viewed its removal from the Prince of Wales's Theatre to the Globe with disapproval. The Globe, they said, is an unlucky theatre, and failure is certain to stare Mr. Hawtrey in the face in the course of a week or two at the utmost. Their gloomy predictions were not realised, however, for the play in its new quarters became an instantaneous success. Amongst the company this change was attributed to the appearance of a black cat on the stage. Miss Fannie Leslie some time since informed an interviewer that she regards black cats as very lucky when they cross the stage at rehearsal.
To open an umbrella or parasol on the stage is usually looked upon as a proceeding calculated to result in the most terrible consequences, involving not only the person who performs the operation but his or her associates as well. The umbrella seems indeed to have a very bad name on the stage, for it bodes ill for all concerned if one of these useful articles is placed on the prompter's table.
Perhaps the most popular superstition - if one may use the adjective - is that it is unlucky to speak the "tag" of a play at rehearsal. Any nonsense may be spoken save the author's final words, and terrible nonsense indeed is usually uttered, nonsense thoroughly calculated to frighten half-a-dozen evil sprites bent upon "wrecking" a piece.
To stumble on entering a theatre or on going on the stage is another omen of dreadful import, though its effects are not always disastrous. Mr. Toole relates an instance to this effect in his 'Reminiscences': "On the 9th July, 1853," the famous comedian tells us, "I made my first appearance on the Edinburgh stage as Hector Timid in the play of 'The Dead Shot.' I had travelled from Dublin, and arrived in Edinburgh in the afternoon, very tired and weary. I put up at Milne's Hotel in Leigh Street, and after a rehearsal went to bed fairly worn out. I left instructions with the landlady to call me and bring me a cup of tea at a certain hour which would give me plenty of time to get to the theatre; but she forgot her instructions, and I was still sleeping soundly when a messenger arrived from the theatre to enquire for me. The curtain was up. I was in a terrible fright. I sprang out of bed, dressed, rushed to the theatre, and was just in time to scramble upon the stage and take up my cue. In entering, I stumbled over a mat and almost fell, and this so worried and upset me that throughout the whole piece I was nervous and wretched. Next day, however, I was agreeably surprised to find the critics unanimous in their praise of my acting, specially pointing out how 'appropriate to the character of Hector Timid was the uneasy, manner and faltering gait of the young comedian.'" In Mr. Toole's case the accident proved anything but of ill-omen.
Virtues - respectively good and bad - are supposed to be associated with the possession of a crooked back and what are vulgarly termed cross-eyes. Madame Patti entertains a peculiar objection to persons who are afflicted in the latter way - the jettore, or "evil eye" as Italians term it - and Madame Sarah Bernhardt always takes good care that there is no cross-eyed person on the stage when entering upon her nightly labours. A hunchback, on the other hand, is regarded, for some unknown and mysterious reason, with anything but aversion. Indeed to meet a hunchback is looked upon as an omen of singularly favourable import, and to touch the hunch is to insure a run of good luck.
The actor who thoughtlessly whistles in his dressing-room or in the dressing-rooms of any of his colleagues does a terrible thing, for the general supposition is that the person standing nearest the door of the apartment is destined to be stricken with illness. That the whistling of Locke's music to "Macbeth" is also calculated to bring the run of a play to an abrupt termination is also a very old superstition which carries much weight in the theatrical profession.
Among minor superstitions is the fear of a yellow clarionet in the orchestra, and the belief in the ill-luck of peacock's feathers, and the colour lavender. Cobwebs behind the scenes are regarded with an amount of respect closely bordering on reverence.
Many actors and actresses have implicit faith in the lucky properties of certain garments or special portions of their wardrobes, such as wigs, gloves, shoes, and other minor details, believing that the wearing of them will ensure a favourable reception at the hands of their audience, and who knows perhaps glowing criticisms in the papers. I am afraid, however, that the average dramitic critic is rather a matter-of-fact sort of individual, whose soul is not likely to be swayed by any mystic influence of this sort.
Friday is so universally regarded as an unlucky day, that it is not surprising to find that the fifth day of the week should be looked upon in the romantic world of the drama as one to be carefully avoided when setting forth on a theatrical campaign. Still there are exceptions even to this very general rule. Friday is, I believe, Mr. Edward Terry's favourite day, and he invariably selects that day for the production of his new plays in the provinces. Mr. Augustin Daly's luck, too, has been frequently associated with Friday.
The number 13 is considered by some to possess talismanic properties. A dinner party of thirteen in ordinary society is a fatality fraught with the most direful results, but the ill-luck attaching to the number is carried still farther in stageland. Madame Jane Hading has a horror of anything with 13 in it; Mr. Fred Leslie, on the other hand, has dressed in room No. 13 at the Gaiety Theatre, and so has Miss Letty Lind, and the latter popular lady attributes the enthusiastic reception accorded her on her first appearance to the fact that she attired herself under the shadow of the so-called unlucky number.
Many other superstitions equally curious might be named, but generally speaking, they are either of minor importance, or else prevail only among certain sections of the theatrical community.
From London Tit Bits, February 1908
Superstitions of the Stage
Apropos of the description of Miss Lena Ashwell a animal mascot which recently appeared in these columns it is a curious fact that on the French stage nearly every actress regards the number thirteen with fear and Jane Hading on one occasion, remarked that she "would go hungry to bed rather than sit down a thirteenth guest at any table, Mme Patti is a firm believer in the evil eve, and a cross-eyed conductor would have frightened her off the stage - a superstition shared by Sarah Bernhardt who absolutely refused on one occasion to go on with a play because one of the actors was cross-eyed. Mme AlbanI thoroughly believes in the virtues of the black cat. The fact that she attributed all the success attending her debut as a singer at Covent Garden in 1872 to the sudden appearance of a big black cat In her dressing room is well known. In other ways the famous singer was superstitious and firmly believed in the good luck which followed upon the occupation of the same dressing room every time she appeared at Covent Garden.
| Author: Don Gillan, www.stagebeauty.net. |
| Primary Sources: Various online and literary sources. |
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