27 December 19th, 1946
This article is not available from the National Library of Israel. The article was obtained from the New York Public Library’s microfiche archives.
The great news that Mogulesko has regained his speech. – The joy when he again appeared in his role “Feitl-Pavolye”.
Mogulesko speaks
He came to the Di Yidishe Velt to deny the false rumors.
Malicious gossip has been circulating that the famous comedian Sigmond Mogulesko, the liebling of the Yiddish stage, is still as ill as he was and still cannot speak. We find it necessary to thoroughly and categorically disavow these rumors. Mogulesko is healthy and lively, and his voice sounds just as good as it was in the old days. Last night he came to the office of Di Yidishe Velt and asked us to tell the Jewish community of New York that he is alright. “I live,” he said, “and I speak as I used to. The community of New York can be assured of this.” (Source)
We waited for so long until, at long last, it finally happened. On one beautiful morning, as they say in the stories, the news suddenly broke - that Mogulesko had regained his voice, and he was already speaking and can again perform.
It was such a wonderful miracle! While sitting in the park, pensive and preoccupied, Mogulesko tried to get a word out of his mouth, as he often did since losing since voice. He would always do this when he was alone, but usually he wasn’t ever able to get the words of his mouth and past his lips. He didn’t strain to hear the words, or even an echo of the word he tried say; there was nothing for him to hear. No voice came from his lips. But this time, to his great joy, he did hear a voice - his own voice, which he hadn’t heard before when he had tried to speak. And when he heard it he didn’t believe it at first, so he started to test it out again and again. When he was finally sure that he was really speaking on his own and his words were coming out out freely, no longer suppressed, he jumped up and ran home to share the news. And when, along his way home, he saw his oldest daughter across the street, he ran up to greet her with great joy:
– Liza! Liziku! I can talk!… Do you hear? I can talk!
He really loved her, his older daughter - “Liziku,” as he used to call her1 - and he was so pleased with her because she didn’t want to be an actress but preferred to get an education. During the times when he had lost his voice, he would spend hours and hours with her, and she knew how to speak to him to stave off his depression. And it’s not hard to imagine how his good daughter, his loyal daughter, rejoiced when she heard her father speak.
Everyone in the Mogulesko family was overjoyed. The whole family was elated. And Mogulesko himself went on and on, gaping,
– Do you hear? Do you hear? I can talk!
This story was later told to me many times. Mogulesko himself used to tell it over and over. And his family as well, whenever they had the chance, would tell the story as I have told it here. And I believe, that if someone writes Mogulesko’s biography, they’ll have to dwell on and give a detailed account of this, and maybe even recount a lot of details that I haven’t mentioned here.
As soon as Yosl Edelstein heard that Mogulesko had regained his voice and could talk again, he immediately went over to his home. And when he came back, his scowling face shone and he was in high spirits:
– Oh yes, it’s good, it’s good! Long live Zeligl Mogulesko! He can talk again!
And indeed, soon the great news made its way around the whole Jewish community of New York. Posters were printed and hanged far and wide to announce that Mogulesko will take the stage in the People’s Theater. He would appear in Shomer’s piece Di Imigranten playing his well-known role “Feitl-Pavolye”.
And people didn’t need to hear anything more. They immediately rushed to buy tickets, and on the evening of the performance2 the theater was so full that people were packed in like sardines, and people were crammed into the aisles3. And when Mogulesko came onto the stage, they gave him such an ovation; the whole audience stood up to applaud. And this moved Mogulesko so much that he remained standing on the stage, like someone reborn, and his eyes filled with tears.
![This advertisement from September 3rd, 1903 in the Forverts reads:
People’s Theater
Mogulesko is healthy, lively, and in good spirits to play in the People’s Theater. Friday evening September 4th, Mr. Mogulesko will appear as Feitl in Di Imigranten. (Source)(../img/newspaper_clippings/1903-09-03_forverts.png){width=“3in”}
People didn’t come to the theater that night to see Di Imigranten - they only came to see Mogulesko in the role of “Feitl-Pavolye”. Indeed, that’s what they mostly said when they came to buy tickets for Shomer’s Di Imigranten - they said they were buying the tickets just to see Mogulesko play “Feitl-Pavolye”.
It was usually like that in those days - whenever Mogulesko performed, his acting caused such commotion and stirred up such enthusiasm with the audiences that nobody cared what play was being put on - they only cared that Mogulesko was appearing in it. The specific play being put on wasn’t the point, only what role Mogulesko was playing. He would often add his own artistic flair to the role. In everything he did on the stage, he was so full of charm and exuded such warmth and love that people wanted to see him perform over and over again, and each time they were just as enthusiastic as the last.
Mogulesko brought such mastery to his roles with his own unique kind of intonation, that the audiences picked it up and “sang” it everywhere they went just as you would pick up a beautiful nign that you loved to sing along to.
Every little word that he said in a role, or that he snuck in on his own, became very popular with the audiences. After a show, you’d hear people reciting them everywhere - in the street, at home, in the shop; It was etched in your memory and you couldn’t forget it, and when someone would merely say a word of it, you saw before you the essence of Mogulesko, and that alone was enough to make your face shine with joy…
No other actor could ever make lines in a play as popular with the audience as Mogulesko used to be able to. No one ever did it and no one ever could do it, because there was only one Mogulesko.
Mogulesko didn’t perform more than once a week. This is what his doctor ordered, and he obeyed his doctor. He only performed twice a week when there was no other choice, but never more than that. The actors in the troupe worried over him and were always ready to do anything for him to give him a little bit of joy.
The few performances he played that season in People’s Theater were usually those from the old repertoire. He appeared in several roles which, in years past, he had made famous and beloved by the whole Jewish world4. Once, when the decision was made to put on Goldfaden’s Di tsvey Kuni-Leml, he requested that I play the second Kuni Leml - the fake one5.
I was really very moved by this. It was a great honor that Mogulesko himself requested that I play the second Kuni Leml, and I prepared for the performance as though it were a great simkhe. And at the same time, I was scared stiff and afraid that, playing alongside him on stage, the audiences wouldn’t care about me at all, or compared to him I’d look like a fool.
It’s no small thing to act alongside Mogulesko in Di tsvey Kuni-Leml!
At the rehearsals, I closely watched his every little gesture, trying to catch even the smallest little detail. Afterwards, I practiced them all carefully and tried with all my might to imitate the charming tricks he added to the role.
But I was still very worried about it. And Edelstein was always reminding me -
– Remember, boyele! You’re playing the second Kuni Leml with Mogulesko… You have to gird yourself… Yes, yes, anyone who plays with him needs to gird themselves…
The evening of the performance I was so nervous, as though it were my very first time on the stage. And when the scene where I meet him - the real Kuni Leml - arrived, and I saw him in all his wretchedness and pitifulness - which itself contained a whole world of charm - my eyes suddenly burst with joy and I couldn’t remember a thing of what I was supposed to do, as I looked at him and he looked back at me in just the same way…
And this was how it should be. This was a good was to play the role of the second Kuni Leml, because the real Kuni Leml should get all mixed up and then be able to say his famous line, which usually made audiences laugh:
– If I didn’t know that I was me, I would think that you are me and I am you…
What happened that evening in the theater was indescribable. Exactly like in other performances that Mogulesko appeared in in the People’s Theater after he regained his voice, the audience was packed in like sardines. It was not only his old fans who remembered him from before who came to see him, but also new fans, and among them were highly intelligent leading theater-connoisseurs who really appreciated genuine talent. And when Mogulesko came out on the stage, he said a few words and gave a short speech. I will never forget that he began by talking about me; with a loving little smile on his face, he said:
– You must understand - every time I play Kuni Leml, I have tsures6 because the fake Kuni Leml always hams it up too much and ends up overshadowing my own playing. But Kestin doesn’t, and that is good.
He praised me when he was called on stage between acts to say a few words. It was such a pleasure for me, and I felt so happy and valued.
I will never for the rest of my life forget that performance with Mogulesko, being on the same stage with him and seeing his artistic talent and creative process up close with my own eyes. Mogulesko’s whole being was a wonder on the Yiddish stage. Truly a miracle. He was a simple man, without much of an education, without any familiarity with acting theory or formal technique, and he didn’t know the history of the world stage. He didn’t know any of these things, and it didn’t concern him to know either. He had little interest even in the praise he received when people wrote about his acting. It seemed that he didn’t have any ambition. But he was so full of talent that he surpassed scores of other actors, and then some. And it was very characteristic that, when someone would ask him how he played a role so well, how he infused it with such charm.
– Eh… - he used to answer with a smile - I just do…
It’s also worth recounting what Jacob P. Adler, the Nesher Hagadol himself, used to say about Mogulesko:
– Mogulesko can make even the most foolish role sparkle and shine like a diamond…. He is such an artist that he can take a “crappy play” and give it such an ingenious jolt that when you look at the play after, you’ll see a real work of art…
There is only one Mogulesko on our Yiddish stage. There has never been another who can compare to him…
Her name, as written above, was “Liza.”↩︎
September 4th, 1903↩︎
Sam uses a phrase that must be an idiom, “hung from the walls;” this is my phrasing↩︎
Indeed, Mogulesko originated the role of Schmendrik, which in turn became a word/trope in Yiddish and now even English - all because of his acting.↩︎
There is no record of this performance in the papers between 1903–1906. However, this advertisement in Di Vahrhayt shows that Mogulesko performed in Di tsvey Kuni-Leml with Sam on April 13th, 1912 in People’s Theater. This may be the performance Sam is referring to. In addition, we know from newspaper cross-referencing that, by the time Mogulesko regained his speech, Sam had in fact already left the People’s Theater for the Windsor Theater (which he will describe in subsequent chapters), so the chronology is somewhat out of order here anyways. It makes sense that Sam might recall a performance in the People’s Theater here.↩︎
problems, difficulties↩︎