Page 90
"A home position opener
is illustrated in Diagram #56. From a home position uplift,
toss the entire three-box arrangement clockwise. Grab the
outside boxes as they come around, box "R" with the left
hand, and box "L" with the right hand. Pin box "M" in home
position. Note that the right hand catches box "L" palm up,
then end-turns counterclockwise to home
position."
Diagram
56
Page
91
Some
of the gaffed-prop gags in Chapter 7 can be adapted as
openers as well. One strategy is to deliberately open with a
few bits of fakery, then dazzle the doubting audience with a
flawless legitimate routine.
PROGRESSION
Plan
your progression through the routine to (I) suit your style
and character; and (2) suit your chosen musical
accompaniment. Routines performed to musical accompaniment
customarily advance to the most rhythmic moves, i.e. the
various permutations of the end-turn. As a rule the typical
routine moves on to more complex tricks, breaks from the
music, and builds to the big
finish.
In
many ways a verbally accompanied routine permits more
freedom. The boxes can be used to illustrate a narrative,
for example. (In this type of routine the juggler is not
always tied to the task of outdoing himself every 10
seconds!)
In
any case, take stock of your inventory of moves. My advice
is to be realistic. Keep in mind that a public performance
is not a practice session. It is wise not to list a move in
your current inventory unless you hit it 95 -1 00070 of the
time. Analyze your list, and plot the course for your
routine accordingly.
THE
BIG FINISH
The
finish is the trick that really counts. An inconsequential
drop in the beginning of a routine is easily dealt with. But
a drop at the finish can negate an otherwise fine show. So
your finish trick deserves plenty of attention. Not only
does it have to be a crowd-pleaser . . . . but the pressure
is on to hit it every time! A routine based on pure skill
demands a dazzling finish; a jump- through, pirouettes,
around the back, or perhaps a nifty cross- handed
combination. A well-conceived comedy or "throw-away" routine
could resort to a gaffed prop finish with fine result. Once
again there is no "best way" to present cigar boxes or any
other routine. . . . so the choice is
yours!
If
you can anticipate this kind of audience, and all else is
going well, you are in a good position to try an intentional
drop. The drop (intentional or otherwise) establishes you as
a "mere mortal" after all. This can payoff in audience
response at the end of your
show.
Your
own routine determines the strategic placement of the
intentional drop. Many jugglers insert the intentional drop
as they lead into the finishing trick, having successfully
completed the rest of the
routine.
The
experienced juggler converts a drop to his advantage
whenever possible. The juggler can turn the drop into a
laugh, or use the drop to showcase his confidence and utter
imperturbability. The rule here is to cover drops with
utmost style and aplomb. Often the audience is convinced
that every drop is intentional.
CHAPTER
10:
CONDITIONING
The
average so-called "man-on-the-street" sees little
relationship between physical conditioning and juggling. The
cigar box juggler knows
otherwise.
The
constant up-and-down motion required in a three-box routine
places a workload on both the back and legs. At the same
time the arms are jerking back and forth across the body.
The hands are constantly clutching at the boxes. Combine all
this sustained effort with a jump-through and a few
pirouettes, and you have a routine that is a demanding
endurance exercise. Hence this brief attention to
conditioning.
Physical
conditioning is not so necessary for one isolated three-box
routine as it is for worthwhile practice sessions. The
better your heart and lungs accept the workload, the longer
and more efficient your practice sessions will
be'...."
Page
97
IN
CONCLUSION
In
closing, I hope The Juggler's Manual of Cigar Box
Manipulation and Balance contributes to your growth as both
a juggler and performer.
The
material put forth in this book gives you access to well
over 200 individual moves, gags, stunts, and balances---plus
hundreds of further combinations. I trust that you will go
forward with this knowledge and enjoy the rewards of your
own creativity.
Thus
he lay; and thus, in high summer, the year was once more
rounding out, the seventh year, though he knew it not, of
his sojourn up here.
Then,
like a thunder-peal-
But
God forbid and modesty withhold us from speaking over- much
of what the thunder-peal bore us on its wave of sound! Here
rodomontade is out of place. Rather let us lower our voice
to say that then came the peal of thunder we all know so
well;
THE
THUNDERBOLT 709 that deafening explosion of long-gathering
magazines of passion and spleen. That historic thunder-peal,
of which we speak with bated breath, made the foundations of
the earth to shake; but for us it was the shock that fired
the mIne beneath the magic mountain, and set our sleeper
ungently ()u~ide the gates. DaZed he sits in the long grass
and rubs his eyes - a man who, despite many warnings, had
neglected to read the papers.
.
His Medite~ean friend and m~ntor ~aa ever t~ied to prompt
hIm; had felt It Incumbent upon hIm to instruct hIS
nurslIng, tfie object of his solicitude, in what was going
on down below; but his pupil had lent no ear. The young man
had indeed, in a stock- taking way,
preoccu
f
ied himself with this or that among the subjective shadows 0
things; but the things themselves he had heeded not at all,
having a wilful tendency to take the shadow for the
substance, and in the substance to see only shadow. For
this, however, we must not judge him harshly, since the
relation between substance and shadow has never beefi
defined once and for all.
Long
ago it had been Herr Settembrini who brought sudden
illumination into the room; sat down beside the horizontal
Hans and sought to influence and instruct him upon matters
of life and death. But now it was the {>upil, who, seated
with his hands between his knees, at the bedsIde of the
humanist, or near his couch in the cosy and retired little
mansard study, with the Clzr- blmllro chairs and the
water-bottle, kept him company and listened courteously to
his utterances upon tne state of Europe - for in these days
Herr Ludovico was seldom on his legs. Naphta's vio- lent
end, the terroristic deed of that desperate antagonist, had
dealt his sensitive nature a blow from which it could
scarcely rally; weakness and infirmity had since been his
portion. He could no longer work on the Sociological
Pathology; the League waited in vain for that lexicon of all
the masterpieces of letters having human suffering for their
central theme. Herr Ludovico had per- force to limit to oral
efforts his contribution to the organization of progress;
and even so much he must have foregone had not Hans
Castorp's visits given him opportunity to s{'read his
gospel.
His
voice was weak, but he spoke with convIction, at length and
beautifully, upon the self-perfecting of the human spirit
through social betterment. Softly, ;is though on the wings
of doves, came the words of Herr Ludovico. Yet again, when
he came to speak of the unification and universal well-being
of the liberated peoples, there mingled a sound - he neither
knew nor
willed
it, of course - as of the rushing pinions of eagles.
That
710
THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN
was
the political key, the grandfatherly inheritance that united
in him with the humanistic gift of the father, to make up
the litterateur - precisely as humanism and politics united
in the lofty ideal of civilization, an ideal wherein were
blended the mildness of doves and the boldness of eagles.
That ideal was only biding its time, until the day dawned,
the Day of the People, when the principle of reaction should
be laid low, and the Holy Alliance of civIC democracies take
its place. Yes, here seemed to sound two voices, with
differing counsels. For Herr Settembrini was a hu-
manitarian, yet at the same time, half explicitly, he was
warlike too. In the duel with the outrageous little Naphta
he had borne himself like a man. But in general it still
remained rather vague what his position was to be, when
humanity in an outburst of enthusiasm united itself with
politics in support of a triumphant and dominating
world-civilization, and the burgher's pike was dedicated
upon the altar of humanity. There was some doubt whether he
would then hold back his hand from the shedding of blood.
Yes, it seemed the prevailing temper more and more held sway
in the Italian's mind and view; the boldness of the eagle
,vas gradually outbidding the mildness of the
dove.
Not
infreque.n~y his attitude towar~ the existing great
political systems was divIded, embarrassed, dIstUrbed by
scrup[es. The diplomatic rapprochement between his
country and Austria, their co-operation in Albania, had
reflected itself in his conversation: a co-operation that
raised his spirits in that it was directed agajost Latinless
half-Asia - knout, Schliisselburg, and all- yet tormented
them in that it was a misbegotten alliance with the
hereditary foe, with the principle of reaction and
subjugated nationalities. The autumn previous, the great
French loan to Russia, for the purpose of building a network
of railways in Poland. had awakened in him similar
misgivings. For Herr Settembrini belonged to the Fran-
cophile party in his own country. which was not surprising
when one recalled that his grandfather had compared the six
days of the July Revolution to the six days of the creation,
and seen that they were as good. But the understanding
between the en- lightened republic and Byzantine Scythia was
too much for him, it oppressed his breast, and at the same
time made him breathe quicker for hope and joy at the
thought of the strategic meaning of that network of
rJilways. Then came the Serajevo murder, for everyone
excepting German Seven-Sleepers a storm-signal; de- cisive
for the informed ones, among whom we may reckon Herr
Settembrini. Hans Castorp saw him shudder as a private
citizen at the frightful deed, while in the same moment his
breast heaved
THE
THUNDERBOLT 711
with
the knowledge that this was a deed of popular liberation,
direCted against the citadel of his loathing. On the other
hand, was it not also the fruit of Muscovite activity, and
as such giving rise to great heart-searchings? Which did not
hinder him, three weeks later, from characterizing the
extreme demands of the monarchy upon Servia as a hideous
crime and an insult to human dignity, the consequences of
\vhich he could foresee well enough, and awaited in
breathless excitement.
In
short, Herr Settembrini's feelings \vere as complex as the
fatality he saw fast rolling up, for which he sought by
hints and half-words to prepare his pupil, a sort of
national courtesy and compunction preventing him from
speaking out. In the first days of mobilization, the first
declaration of war, he had a way of putting out both hailds
to his visitor, taking Hans Castorp's own and pressin~ them,
that fairly went to our young noodle's heart, if not
precISely to his head. " My friend," the Italian would say,"
gunpowder, the printing-press, yes, you have certainly given
us all that. But if vou think we could march against the
Revolu-
.
CI
,~
tlon
- aro. . . .
During
those days of stifling expectation, when the nerves of
Europe were on the rack, Hans Castorp did not see Herr
Settem- brini. The newspapers with their wild, chaotic
contents pressed up out of the depths to his very balcony,
they disorganized the house, filled the dining-room with
their sulphurous, stifling breath, even penetrated the
chambers of the dying. These were the mo- ments when the
"Seven-Sleeper," not knowing what had hap- pened, was slowly
stirring himself in the grass, before he sat
up,
rubbed
his eyes - yes, let us carry the figure to the end, in
order
to
do justice to the movement of our hero's mind: he drew up
his legs, stood up, looked about him. He saw himself
released, freed from enchantment - not of his own motion, he
was fain to confess, but by the operation of exterior
powers, of whose activities his own liberation was a minor
incident indeed! Yet though his tiny destiny fainted to
nothing in the fac~ of the gen- eral, was there not some
hint of a personal mercy and grace for him, a manifestation
of divine goodness and justice? Would Life receive again her
erring and "delicate ., child - not by a cheap and easy
slipping back to her arms, but sternly, solemnly, peni-
tentially - perhaps not even among the living, but only with
three salvoes fired over the grave of him a sinner? Thus
might he return. He sank on his knees, raising face and
hands to a heaven that howsoever dark and sulphurous was no
longer the gloomy grotto of his State of
sin.
7
I Z THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN
And
in this attitude Herr Settembrini found him - figura- tively
and most figuratively spoken, for full well we know our
hero's traditional reserve would render such theatricality
im- possible. Herr Settembrini, in fact, found him packing
his trunk. For since the moment of his sudden awakening,
Hans Castorp
had
been caught up in the hurry and scurry of a cc wild"
de-
parture,
brought about by the thunder-peal. .c Home " - the Berghof -
was the picture of an ant-hill in a panic: its little popu-
lation was flinging itself, heels over head, five thousand
feet down- wards to the catastrophe-smitten flat-land. They
stormed the little trains, they crowded them to the
footboard -luggageless, if nee~ must, and the stacks of
luggage piled high the station platform, the seething
platform, to the height of which the scorching breath from
the flat-land seemed to mount - and Hans Castorp stormed
with them. In the heart of the tumult Ludovico embraced him,
quite literally enfolded him in his arms and kissed him,
like a southerner - but like a Russian too - on both his
cheeks; and this, despite his own emotion, took our wild
traveller no little aback. But he nearly lost his composure
when, at the very last, Herr Settembrini called him ..
GIovanni" and, laying aside the form of address common to
the cultured West,. spoke to him with the
thou!
cc
E cosl in girl," he said. cc Coil vat' in girl finalmente -
ad-
dio,
Giova1mi mio! Quite otherwise had I thought to see thee go.
But be it so, the gods have willed it thus and not
otherwise. I hoped to discharge you to go down to your work,
and now you go to fight among your kindred. My God, it was
given to you and not to your cousin, our Tenente! What
tricks life plays! Go, then, it is your blood that calls, go
and fight bravely. More than that can no man. But forgive me
if I devote the remnant of my powers to incite my country to
fight where the Spirit and sacro egoismo point the way.
Addio! "
Hans
Castorp thrust out his head among ten others, filling the
little open window-frame. He waved. And Herr Settembrini
waved back, with his right hand, while with the ring-finger
of his left he delicately touched the corner of his
eye.
What
is it? Where are we? Whither has the dream snatched us?
Twilight, rain, filth. Fiery glow of the overcast sky,
ceaseless booming of heavy thunder; the moist air rent by a
sharp singing whine, a raging, swelling howl as of some
hound of hell, that ends its course in a splitting, a
splintering and sprinkling, a crackling, a coruscation; by
groans and shrieks, by trUmpets blowing fit
to
THE
THUNDERBOLT 713
burst,
by the beat of a drum coming faster, faster - There is a
wood, discharging drab hordes, that cnme on, fall, spring up
again, come on. - Beyond, a line of hill stands out against
the fiery sky, whose glow turns now and again to blowing
flames. About us is rolling plough-land, all upheaved and
trodden into mud; athwart it a bemired high road, disguised
with broken branches and from it again a deeply furro\ved,
boggy field-path leading off in curves toward the distant
hills. Nuc!e, branchless trunks of trees meet the eye, a
cold rain falls. Ah, a signpost! Useless, though, to
question it, even despite the half-dark, for it is
shattered, illegible. East, west? It is the flat-land, it is
the war. And we are shrinking shadows by the way-side,
shamed by the security of our shadowdom, and noways minded
to indulge in any rodomontade; merely led hither by the
spirit of our nar- rative, merely to see again, among those
running, stumbling, drum~ mustered grey comrades that swarm
out of yonder wood, one we know; merely to look once more in
the simple face of our one-time fellovo; of so many years,
the genial sinner whose voice we know so well, before we
lose him from our sight.
They
have been brought forward, these comrades, for a final
thrust in a fight that has already lasted all day long,
whose ob- jective is the retaking of the hill position and
the burning villages beyond, lost two days since to the
enemy. It is a volunteer regi- ment, fresh young blood and
mostly students, not long in the field. They were roused in
the night, brought up in trains to morning, then marched in
the rain on \vretched roads-on no roads at all, for the
roads were blocked, and they went over moor and ploughed
land with full ~it for seven hours, their coats sodden. It
was no pleasure excursion. If one did not care to lose one's
boots, one stooped at every second step, clutched with one's
fingers into the straps and pulled them out of the quaking
mire. It took an hour of such work to cover one meadow. But
at last they have reached the appointed spot, exhausted, on
edge, yet the reserve strength of their youthful bodies has
kept them tense, they crave neither the sleep nor the food
they have been denied. Their wet, mud-bespattered faces,
framed between strap and grey-covered helmet, are flushed
with exertion - perhaps too with the sight of the 105.'ies
they suffered on their march through that boggy wood. For
the enemy, aware of their advance, have concentrated a
barrage of shrapnel and large-calibre grenades upon the way
they must come; it crashed among them in the wood, ~nd
howling, flaming, splashing, lashed the wide ploughed
land.
They
must get through, these three thousand ardent
youths;
714
THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN
they
must reinforce with their bayonets the attack on the burn-
ing villages, and the trenches in front of and behind the
line of hills; they must help to advance their line to a
point indicated in the dispatch their leader has in his
pocker. They are three thou- sand, that they may be tWo
thousand when the hills, the villages are reached; that IS
the meaning of their number. They are a body of troops
calculated as sufficient, even after great losses, to attack
and carry a position and greet their triumph witll a thou-
sand-voiced huzza - not counting the stragglers that fall
Ollt by the way. Many a one has thus fallen out on the
forced march, for which he proved too young and weak; paler
he grew, stag- gered, Set his ~erh, drove himself on - and
after all he could do fell out notWithStanding. Awhile he
dragged hi!nself in the rear of the marching column,
overtaken and passed by company after company; at length he
remained on the ground, lying where it was not good to lie.
Then came the shattering wood. But there are so many of
them, swanning on - they can survive a blood- letting and
Still come on in hosts. They have already overflowed the
level, rain-lashed land; the high road, the field road, the
boggy ploughed land; we shadows stand amid and among them.
At the edge of the wood they fix their bayonets, with the
practised grips; the horns enforce them, the drums roJI
deepest b~ and
forward
they stumble, as best they can. with shrill cries; night-
.c
marishly,
for clods of earth cling to their heavy boots and fetter 1
them. c~
They
fling themselves down before the projectiles that come
::1
howling
on. then they leap up again and hurry forward; they exult.
in their young, breaking voices as they run. to discover
themselves still unhit. Or they are hit. they fall. fighting
the air with their arms, shot through the forehead, the
hean. the belly.. They lie, their faces in the mire, and are
motionless. They lie, their backs elevated by the knapsack,
the crowns of their heads pressed into the mud, and clutch
and claw in the air. But the wood emits new SWanns, who
fling themselves down, who spring up,
who-
I
"
shrieking
or silent, blunder forward over the fallen.
~
Ah,
this young blood, with its knapsacks and bayonets, its
;
mud-befouled
boots and clothing! We look at it, our humanistic-
-
resthetic
eye pictures it among scenes far other than these: we see
these youths watering horses on a sunny arm of the sea;
roving with the beloved one along the strand, the lover's
lips to the ear of the yielding bride; in happiest rivalry
bending the bow.
Alas,
no, here they lie, their noses in fierr filth. They are
glad!
to
be here - albeit with boundle§ angwsh. with unspeakable
J
-
THE
THUNDERBOLT 715
sickness
for home; and this, of itself, is a noble and a shaming
thing - but no good reason for bringing them to such a
pass.
There
is our friend, there is Hans Castorp! We recognize I.im at a
distance, by the little beard he assumed while sitting at
the cc bad " Russian table. Like all the others, he is wet
through and glowing. He is running, his feet heavy with
mould, dte bayonet swinging. in his hand. Look! He treads on
the hand of a fallen comrade; with his hobnailed boot he
treads the hand deep into the slimy, branch-strewn ground.
But it is he. What, singing? As one sings, unaware, staring
stark ahead, yes, dtus he spends his hurrying breath, to
sing half soundlessly:
cc
And loving words I've carven
Upon
its branches fair - "
He
stumbles, No, he has flung himself down, a hell-hound is
c~ming howling, a huge explosive shell, a disgusting
sugar-loaf from the infernal regions. He lies with his face
in the cool mire, legs sprawled out, feet twisted, heels
turned down. The product of a perverted science, laden with
death, slopes earthward thiny paces in front of him and
buries its nose in the ground; explodes inside there, with
hideous expense of power, and raises up a fountain high as a
house, of mud, fire, iron, molten metal, scattered fragments
of humanity. Where it fell, two youths had lain, friends who
in their need flung themselves down together - now they are
scattered, commingled and gone.
Shame
of our shadow-safety! Away! No more! -But our friend? Was he
hit? He thought so, for the moment. A great clod of earth
struck him on the shin, it hurt, but he smiles at it. Up he
gets, and staggers on, limping on his earth-bound feet, all
un- consciously singing:
cc
Its waving branches whi -
ispered
A
mess-age in my ear-"
and
thus, in the tumult, in the rain, in the dusk, vanishes out
ot our sight.
Farewell,
honest Hans Castorp, farewell, Life's delicate child! Your
tale is told. We have told it to the end, and it was neither
short nor long, but hermetic. We have told it for its own
sake, not for yours, for you were simple. But after all, it
was your story, it befell you, you must have more in you
than we thought; we will not disclaim the pedagogic weakness
we conceived fn..
716
THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN
you
in the telling; which could even lead us to press a finger
deli- cately to our eyes at the thought that we shall see
you no more, hear you no more for
ever.
Farewell
- and if thou livest or diest! Thy prospects are poor. The
desperate dance, in which thy fortunes are caught up, will
last yet many a sinful year; we should not care to set a
high stake on thy life by the time it ends. We even confess
that it is without great concern we leave the question open.
Adventures of the flesh and in the spirit, while enhancing
thy simplicity, granted thee to know in the spirit what in
the flesh thou scarcely couldst have done. Moments there
were, when out of death, and the rebellion of the flesh,
there came to thee, as thou tookest stock of thyself, a
dream of love. Out of this universal feast of death, out of
this extremity of fever, kindling the rain-washed evening
sky to a fiery glow, may it be that Love one day shall
mOUQt?
J'DfD0H8II
|