CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE STORY OF LILY, THE TIGER GOD

I WAS landed into more scrapes and experienced more thrills because of Lily the Tiger than through any assistant used in my large repertoire of tricks and illusions. That royal Bengal tigress-to give her her full title--had a real talent for publicity.

I bought Lily from the late Frank Bostock, and I was pleased with the look of her.

"Now, Frank," I said, when all the bargaining was over, "what about someone to look after her?"

"I've got a boy here who would be the very person. He's nineteen, strong, and healthy, born in South Africa. You can have him for half a crown."

I looked at the photograph he held out for my inspection and saw a smiling and stalwart negro, dressed in a very smart uniform. The bargain seemed a good one.

We shook hands. I paid the price and was given a receipt. "Send him along," I said.

When he arrived, however, I found that I had to pay another thirty shillings for his uniform.

Lily the Tiger turned out very well, and I built up a popular act around her, the title of which was "The Tiger God". But, as I have said, she liked to be in the public eye even when she was not on the stage.

For rehearsal I dispensed with the live tiger to avoid accidents, and used only a dummy. It was the dummy which produced the first thrill. I was playing at a theatre in the South of England, and at that time I was not presenting the Tiger-God act, but only rehearsing it. I stayed late at the theatre perfecting this effect, and on returning to my hotel fell asleep as soon as I touched the sheets. At about four o'clock in the morning I was forcibly awakened by a policeman, who shouted in my ear: "Mr. Goldin--the tiger's escaped!"

My heart leaped into my mouth. In my mind's eye I could see women and children badly mauled, and the whole town thrown into a state of terror. Only half dressed (I remember I had only one shoe on), I dashed off to the theatre.

Arrived there, I found a state of the utmost confusion. Policemen were everywhere, armed with rifles and torches. They were systematically searching the theatre. Even as I ran up, one of them came out of the stage door and shouted joyfully: "It's all right, Mr. Goldin. We've shot the tiger."

This is the story they hastened to tell me. As the night-watchman was making his rounds, shining his light into all the corners and passage-ways, he was suddenly surprised and alarmed to see a huge beast of the jungle lurking in a dark corner and apparently preparing to leap upon him.

He turned and fled precipitately, banging all the doors behind him, and yet imagining all the while that he could hear the pad-pad of the tiger's steps just behind.

As soon as he got to the front of the house he 'phoned the police and told them that there was an escaped tiger in the theatre. They answered his call at once and held a consultation as to the best method of shooting the dangerous beast. The night-watchman suggested that if they climbed over the roof they could shoot through the skylight.

This method seemed the safest, so the gallant officers scrambled to the post of vantage at the skylight of the theatre and shone an electric torch on to the stage. There, sure enough, was the great tiger glaring up at them with hate and rage in its eyes. One of the men took aim and fired. There was a terrible roaring, and, fearful lest the beast should escape now that it was maddened by pain, as they thought, two other officers fired down at it. This had just happened when I arrived.

I interrupted the night-watchman in the middle of his graphic description of how the tiger had leaped at him and he had been just quick enough to escape, and went into the theatre to see what damage had been done. We opened the door, for there could be no danger now that the beast was dead; and then we were greeted by a terrific roar. The rest immediately bolted, but I stood my ground. It seemed to me that the roar came from the corner where the cage was kept.

Wondering if the next moment would be my last, I shone the torch into the corner. There was Lily prowling up and down in her cage, quite unhurt, but obviously upset about something!

I called to the others, and together we returned to the stage. Then the explanation became obvious to everyone. The real tiger was lashing her tail with fury, absolutely unharmed, while the dummy tiger was lying simply riddled with bullets!

This is what had actually happened. After rehearsal Lily was put back in her cage and the dummy tiger placed behind the cage until the next rehearsal. The night-watchman making his rounds, as already described, unaware that I had a dummy tiger, naturally thought it was Lily behind the cage, and therefore made up his mind that the tiger had escaped. He then did the best he could, causing the above commotion. A humorous ending, but a serious beginning!

It must have been a long time before that nightwatchman and those policemen heard the end of the chaff to which they were subjected.

A few months later Lily really did escape.

On June 19, 1915 I sailed for South Africa in the S.S. Caledonia from Southampton. I took with me thirty-six artistes and tons of baggage. Lily was there, of course, with her cage well lashed to a good spot in the aft of the vessel.

We had one scare during the voyage. The second day out was rough, and I retired early. Just as I was dozing off the officer of the watch awakened me.

"Come quickly," he said. "The tackle on the tiger's cage has broken loose."

When we arrived on deck I found that it was blowing a gale. The cage was being dashed from side to side. One steel rope was still secure; we had to do something to the broken end. And we were all scared in case the cage was smashed.

We laboured for an hour, and then we managed to secure the tackle. That gave us some time to look at Lily. She looked very sick and sorry for herself, so much so that I had to give her hot milk and a nip of brandy. Even great stars suffer at times!

The real thrill came in Johannesburg, where we played after a great reception at Capetown.

I was talking to my stage-manager at the rehearsal on the Sunday night, prior to our première the following Monday.

"Is everything set, Mr. Hawkes?"

"Yes."

I then left the stage, took a seat in the auditorium, and gave the signal to start. A company of thirty people appeared on the stage, including a chorus of eighteen ladies, when, to my great surprise, all of a sudden the curtain was lowered. I heard screams and shouts, and could see the people running to and fro. Even then it did not occur to me that the tiger could have escaped out of her cage, because this cage was constructed to guard against such accident happening.

There were three locks, each with a different key, and each key only fitting its own lock. The keys were held by three different men. Each man thought the other one had locked the cage and that two locks would be safe enough; in fact, one would have been safe enough.

As it happened, however, the side door of the illusion-cage was left completely unlocked, and it was through this door that Lily walked. She was first noticed by my electrician, who gave the alarm. The curtain when lowered did not quite touch the stage, and through the space I could see Lily's paws crossing the stage.

I quickly rushed through the pass-door of the theatre on to the stage. I looked for the keeper, but he was not to be found, nor were the rest of the company, with the exception of my secretary, Gilbert Brown.

We made a dash for the nearest door, which happened to be the property-room. This door was shut, and as I pushed the handle I heard the voice of the electrician (speaking in broken English) "Oh, mein Gott, he de tiger. Oh, what shall I do?

"No, you fool!" I shouted. "It's me!" And so we got in safe and sound.

We pushed the stage-manager through the window into the passage-way leading to the stage door. I told him to warn all the artistes to keep to their rooms.

We heard a rich bass voice singing "On with the Motley", from Pagliacci. The song stopped abruptly. There was a shout, "Oh, my God, the tiger--!" A slam of the door and the sound of running water.

I heard afterwards that Oriente, who was playing a part in "The Tiger God, not knowing that the tiger was loose, had started to descend the stairs to find out why he had not been called. As soon as he saw the tiger he made for the nearest room, which happened to be the lavatory. He said that he thought the noise of running water would keep the tiger away.

I concocted a plan of campaign. My secretary and I took several pieces of scenery called "flats" and held them in front of us, looking for the tiger, for we had lost track of her. Suddenly I noticed a dressing-room door standing open. I crept up gently, looked inside, and there was Lily; I closed and locked the door, which belonged to the dressing-room of one of the ladies in the show. Evidently Lily did not like the style of the lady's costumes, for she destroyed several expensive dresses, for which I refunded the lady twenty pounds.

Once Lily was in the dressing-room we felt much relieved, for, with both door and window shut, as we believed, she could not do any harm. We now had to devise some way to get her into the cage again.

Later I discovered that my leading lady had fainted. When the tiger escaped, the leading lady had been in the first room up the stairs, which had a door half of glass. At the very time the tiger passed, it looked in and seemed to smile. The leading lady was so astonished, not being aware that the tiger was loose, that she shut the door quickly, pushed a trunk, table, chairs, etc., against the door--then fainted. It was no wonder, after such a terrible ordeal!

We then continued building the alley of flats, extending it to the entrance of the scenery dock. While doing so I happened to look up to the small window of the dressing-room which Lily was in, and there stood Lily, looking straight at us. Her head suddenly disappeared, and we hastened to put a piece of scenery in front of the window.

We managed to bring the travelling-cage into the improvised alley we had built up from various pieces of scenery. I tied a piece of meat to a long rope. This was taken through the front bars of the cage, through the back of the cage, through the scenery dock, and out on to the sidewalk. We had the two doors off the sidewalk closed, with the exception of an opening of about one inch in width. I then obtained a second rope, tied it to the sliding door at the back of the cage, pulled the door up to the top of the opening, and fastened the rope to the top of the door, and by straining it prevented the door from falling into its closing position. I let Brown hold the door-rope, straining it, while I took the rope with the meat on.

The other end of the rope on which the meat was tied I carried to Lily's dressing-room, opened the door (thus allowing her to come out), threw in the meat, and ran like hell to the sidewalk!

Sure enough, I felt Lily at the other end of the rope, and I kept pulling the meat-rope through the cage, and finally pulled the meat inside. As it was Sunday (which was her fasting day), Lily was very hungry, and jumped into the cage after the meat. I then released the rope of the sliding door (which Brown was holding) and it fell into position, and Lily was safe inside her travelling-cage.

That operation lasted forty-five minutes. I was outside looking through the crack of the two doors, wide enough for the ropes to be pulled. I was in a stooping position, and did not realize that the manager, Sidney Hyman, was also looking through the crack behind me, with his hands on my shoulders. The excitement prevented my noticing any extra weight.

When I released both ropes the policemen and firemen called out by the management appeared, all complete with the water-hose and guns, some loaded with chloroform, some with bullets. I begged them not to shoot unless life was in danger. They obeyed and I told them everything was O.K.

It was then I felt the strain; I could not walk for an hour; my knees gave way from under me, and I was given brandy and milk.

The "Tiger God" act was a very elaborate affair, and I had many compliments paid to me because of it. This was the act which particularly interested the King of Siam, and which brought me three Royal Command performances in three days.

I had a cast of twelve principals and twenty-eight supernumeries. I both wrote the story and produced the drama. The theme was based on the lessons to be drawn from the old Arab maxim, "Do not believe all you see, for he who believes all he sees will often believe that which is not".

There were three scenes, and to give the show an added touch of realism I produced moving pictures of the places which furnished the locale of my story, and where the film ended we continued with real life.

Here is the tale as I wrote it at the time.

~ PROLOGUE ~ Raymond, a magician, whilst travelling in Morocco with a party of Europeans, is commanded by the Sultan to give an exhibition of his skill. After causing a beautiful white girl (Freda) to disappear in mysterious fashion he is commanded by the Sultan to cause her reappearance. This being accomplished, the Sultan gives a secret order to Abd-er-Rahman, a Moorish guide, for the girl to be captured for the Imperial harem. The magician's attention is distracted and the girl is seized by the Sultan's guards. On discovering this, Raymond traces her to the Sultan's palace, and at the point of the revolver forces Abd-er-Rahman to divulge the whereabouts of the beautiful captive. ~ THE STORY ~ The next scene showed the dawn of day; a day above all others sacred to the hearts of the Mohammedans--the Great Feast Day of Ard-el-Kebir. In the old market-place of Mequinez is assembled, as is their usual wont, the retinue of the reigning Sultan. The bell of the great mosque tolls with measured solemnity. The sacred tiger paces to and fro in the "Cage of Death", eager for her share of the sacrificial offerings. On either side of the cage stands, motionless, a white-robed sentinel. From quaintly wrought bowls ascends the sacred incense. Facing the cage and in attitudes of prayer the ladies of the harem kneel. In the centre the high priest, with swinging censer, chants a mournful dirge. As the golden rays of the rising sun cast their shadows around, the worshippers rise, and, to weird Eastern music, the Imperial dancers execute a nautch-like movement, whilst the high priest kneels before the sacred tiger. Then, to a stirring chorus of welcome, the Sultan enters seated in his "Chair of Office", borne by four bearers, preceded by his white favourite, Freda, whose pride of place is indicated when the Sultan rises and motions her to the seat he has just vacated. The high priest now advances and blesses the Sultan and his fair companion. The two sentinels before the cage present arms and then pace to and fro. Whilst pacing back to back one of them is quickly seized, unobserved by the other, and his place is taken by the magician, Freda's brother, who is disguised in robes similar to those worn by the soldier. After worshipping before the Tiger God the Sultan withdraws, and Freda vacates the "Chair of Office" and looks around with an anxious expression. As she nears the front of the tiger's cage her brother slips her a letter. Very agitated, she quickly reads it and then turns with a puzzled look to her brother, who quietly removes a mask, disclosing his identity. The surprise causes her to drop the letter, and the other sentinel, seeing the stranger within the palace, gives the alarm. Abd-er-Rahman, the faithful guide, appears and warns Freda and the magician of their danger. The magician forces his sister into the empty sedan chair, and he himself enters the shrine. These movements are seen by the soldier, who tells all to the Sultan. That dignitary now approaches the chair and flings back the curtain, disclosing, to his own astonishment and that of his retinue, an empty chair. The shrine also is seen to be empty. Drawing his sword, the Sultan bids his retainers follow him to search for the fugitives. The guide enters and raps on the shrine. Raymond the magician immediately appears. He makes a few passes before the sedan chair, pulls; back the curtain, and there is Freda comfortably seated. just as they are about to escape together the soldier who had been left on guard, but who had been chloroformed by Abd-er-Rahman, revives, and Raymond is forced to shoot him. This shot gives the alarm, and both Freda and the magician are captured. So enraged is the Sultan by the perfidy of his favourite that he has her stripped of her clothing and placed on a pedestal to be burned alive. The soldiers pour oil all over her, while others stand by with lighted torches. The magician is, meanwhile, held prisoner by two soldiers. After placing a shroud over Freda the Sultan orders the soldiers to set her alight. Immediately the magician struggles and manages to fire a revolver. The shroud falls and the girl has vanished. Foiled again, the Sultan furiously orders the magician to be flung into the tiger's cage. There is another struggle, during which Abd-er-Rahman fires a shot, and the magician vanishes, leaving only his cloak, which falls to the ground at the feet of his bewildered captors. Balked by these two victims, the Sultan turns to wreak vengeance on the faithful guide. Amid uproar and excitement Abd-er-Rahman is flung to the tiger in the cage. Scarcely is the door closed when further shots are heard from within, and the front of the cage flies open, disclosing, in place of the tiger, the magician. All assembled are struck dumb with astonishment. The magician descends unharmed from the cage, and the crafty potentate, now thoroughly demoralized and overcome with superstitious fear, mutely demands of the magician what has become of Freda. With a smile of triumph the magician turns to the nearest soldier, pulls off the hat and cloak, and there stands Freda, unharmed and happy. ~ CURTAIN ~

I have another tiger story which also concerns my old friend "Lily". During 1917, playing a return engagement at Johannesburg, Mr. Gus Schlesinger, who was at that time producing films, wanted something to excite two hundred natives in a scene, in which all were eccentrically dressed and all were on roller-skates. There was also in the same scene an orchestra of about twenty-five natives playing the instrument of their country, the calaboos piano. Mr. Schlesinger asked me how best to create this excitement and so enhance the value of the scene.

I suggested bringing my tiger out! He thought it such a wonderful idea that he said; "That let loose among them would certainly be exciting." I said, "No, it is too dangerous." We discussed the matter at length, and the following was arranged and took place.

We procured a dog almost as big as a tiger; we made a costume for the dog from tiger-skins, copied Lily's head in papier mâché, and dressed the dog up like Lily. We kept it hidden behind the building where the scene took place. The natives were not aware of the imitation Lily, but we brought Lily in her cage before the scene started so that the natives could see the real tiger. It proved to be a wonderful attraction. They were informed that the tiger, too, would be filmed later on.

I arranged that the five props supporting the elevated platform for the calaboos-piano orchestra should break away at a given signal. The scene started, the film machines going at full speed, and the two hundred actors on roller-skates waltzing to and fro and enjoying themselves thoroughly. At the given signal the platform and musicians collapsed, their attention being attracted to one part of the building which was open on all sides, only a roof supported by posts; and from the other side of the building the dog dressed as Lily was let loose among them. Like a dog, it actually started to play, jumping about, but the actors thought it was the real tiger escaped. Some of them thought that they should have been informed that the tiger would be let loose during the scene!

They had no time to be annoyed. They started to run. There was not one actor left. Some of them nearly knocked the filming-machines over.

That scene, so far as I know, was never finished, and although the management sent out scouts to bring back the actors, only about twenty-five returned, and ten or twelve were never accounted for. I wonder if they are still running!