Act IV.--Scene 1. In the Royal Gardens. Before the dawn

of the following morning.

“FOLLY, QUEEN OF FRANCE.”

Scene 2. Within the Tent.

“THE HEART OF THE WOMAN.”

Act V.--(A lapse of years.) During the Revolution.

Scene 1. The Retreat in the Woods of Louveciennes.

“FATE CREEPS IN AT THE DOOR.”

Scene 2. (Five days later.) In Paris again.

“A REED SHAKEN IN THE WIND.”

Scene 3. In Front of the Milliner’s Shop on the

same day.

“Once more we pass this way again,

Once more! ’T is where at first we met.”

* * * * *

Time: Period of King Louis the Fifteenth and after the reign of his

Successor.

Place: Paris, Versailles, and Louveciennes.

* * * * *

Mr. Belasco wishes to state that, as the traditional parting of Madame

du Barry and the King of France is impossible for dramatic use, he has

departed entirely from historical accuracy in this instance. He also

begs to acknowledge his indebtedness to M. Arsène Houssaye for his

sequence of scenes. (“Nouvelle à la main, sur la Comtesse du Barry.”)

* * * * *

Between Acts I, II, and III there will be intervals of 12 minutes;

between Acts IV and V an interval of 15 minutes.

* * * * *

The entire production under the personal supervision of Mr. Belasco.

* * * * *

Stage Manager H. S. MILLWARD.

* * * * *

Scenery by Mr. Ernest Gros.

* * * * *

Incidental Music by Mr. William Furst.

* * * * *

Stage decorations and accessories after designs by Mr. Wilfred Buckland.

* * * * *

General Manager for Mr. Belasco MR. B. F. ROEDER.

* * * * *

As an epigraph for the first performance given in his theatre, and also

for a souvenir book then distributed,--a richly printed volume called

“The Story of Du Barry,” written by James L. Ford and issued in a

limited edition,--Belasco used, under the caption “Before the Curtain,”

the appended fourteen lines from Francis Bret Harte’s versified address

written for the dedication of the California Theatre, San Francisco,

January 18, 1869, on which occasion (when Belasco was among the

spectators) it was read by Lawrence Barrett:

“Brief words, when actions wait, are well;

The prompter’s hand is on his bell;

The coming heroes, lovers, kings,

Are idly lounging at the wings;

Behind the curtain’s mystic fold

The glowing future lies unrolled.

* * * * *

“One moment more: if here we raise

The oft-sung hymn of local praise,

Before the curtain facts must sway;

Here waits the moral of your play.

Glassed in the poet’s thought, you view

What money can, yet can not do;

The faith that soars, the deeds that shine,

Above the gold that builds the shrine.”

A STUPID DISPARAGEMENT.--INCEPTION OF “THE DARLING OF THE GODS.”

Among the meanest and most stupid disparagements of Belasco which I have

chanced to notice in recent years is one made by Mr. Albert Bigelow

Paine, the adulatory biographer of Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain). In

recording a conversation which he says he had with Clemens Mr. Paine

writes: “‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘the literary man should have a

collaborator with a genius for stage mechanism. John Luther Long’s

_exquisite plays_ would hardly have been successful without David

Belasco to stage them. _Belasco cannot write a play himself_, but in the

matter of acting construction his genius is supreme.’” (The italics are

mine.--W. W.) Remembering that Belasco is, among many other things, the

author of “May Blossom,” “The Heart of Maryland,” “The Girl of the

Golden West,” “Peter Grimm,” and “Van der Decken,” it seems to me that

Mr. Paine has, in that sapient comment, provided for thoughtful persons

a useful measure of his intelligence. Furthermore, his disparagement of

Belasco as a writer of plays suggests that it is competent, in this

Memoir, to inquire as to what, precisely, are the “exquisite plays” of

John Luther Long, one of Belasco’s collaborators in authorship. Mr. Long

is a fiction writer of talent, which has been widely and generously

recognized. His name is associated with six plays and no more,--namely,

“Madame Butterfly,” “The Darling of the Gods,” “Dolce,” “Adrea,” “The

Dragon Fly,” and “Kassa.” “Madame Butterfly,” as a play, is,

exclusively, the work of Belasco: it was written and produced before he

and Long met. “Kassa” is a commonplace farrago of theatrical absurdity,

rant, and miscellaneous trash, tangled into a mesh of sacerdotal

trappings and fantastic, complex, and dubious Hungarian embellishments

and is as devoid of literary merit as it is of dramatic vitality. It was

produced by Mrs. Leslie Carter, in 1909, after she had ceased to act

under the direction of Belasco, and it was a failure. “The Dragon Fly”

was written by Long in association with Mr. E. C. Carpenter, was

produced in Philadelphia, in 1905, and was a failure. “Dolce” has not

been acted or published and I know nothing about it. As to “The Darling

of the Gods” and “Adrea,”--not only did Belasco “stage” those plays

(that is, produce them), but he is at least as much _their author_ as

Mr. Long is; a fact which I venture to assume that Mr. Long would be the

last to deny.

“The Darling of the Gods” owes its existence wholly to Belasco. When he

had leased the Republic Theatre and while he was preparing to undertake

its renovation he also began to plan his managerial campaign there. In a

letter he writes:

(_David Belasco to William Winter._)

“...It was a strenuous, anxious time for me. I had so many things

to think of and so much to do that sometimes I felt like that man

in Dickens who tries to lift himself out of his difficulties by his

own hair! I saw that I was to be forced to fight for my

professional life--and I wasn’t ready. The public had been taught,

season by season, to expect always more and more from the actor,

the author, and, especially, the producer. The standard of

production was so high that the theatre-goer looked not only for

great acting but also for artistic perfection and beauty in the

stage settings. The progressive manager was forced to invest

immense sums in his stars and productions, and it was because I did

this without hesitation that I was so unpopular with some of my

contemporaries. According to them I “spoiled the public” because I

looked _first_ to the artistic instead of to the commercial

result.”

Belasco had for several years prior to 1902 desired to present Mrs.

Carter in a series of Shakespearean and classical plays which, as he

wrote to me in that year, “have long been in her repertory but in which

I have never yet had the opportunity of bringing her out.” Mrs. Carter

was then the principal player under his management: it was both justice

to her and sound business judgment for him to open his new theatre with

a performance in which she was the star. It would indeed have been a

brilliant achievement for him to have opened it with a superb revival of

one of Shakespeare’s great plays. But, on the other hand, theatrical

management,--although, rightly understood, it entails, first of all, a

moral and intellectual obligation to the public,--is a venturesome

business, not an altruistic amusement: Belasco had invested more than

$98,000 in making his presentment of “Du Barry”: it, plainly, was

necessary to earn with that drama at least the cost of producing it

before he could bring forth Mrs. Carter in another play. And it was

obvious that while he could impressively open his new theatre with a

sumptuous revival of that popular success it could not advantageously

hold the stage there for more than a month or two and that he must have

another striking dramatic novelty ready in hand with which to follow the

revival. Among the many plays which Belasco wrote and rewrote during the

strolling days of his youth is a melodrama entitled “Il Carabiniere,”

which he called “The Carbineer.” The scenes and characters of that old

play are Italian. Belasco resolved to refashion it for the use of

Blanche Bates. But the multifarious demands on his time and strength

made it necessary for him to have assistance in performing this task,

and remembering the success of Miss Bates in his Japanese tragedy of

“Madame Butterfly” he altered his purpose and determined to base on the

old Italian tale a romance of Japan, and he proposed to John Luther

Long,--well versed in Japanese customs,--that he should help him in the

work. This proposal was accepted; the manuscript of “The Carbineer” was

turned over to Long, and, about February, 1902, the collaborators began

their work on the play which afterward became famous under the name of

“The Darling of the Gods.” That play is practically a new one, not an

adaptation: the labor of writing it was finished in June, and it was

produced for the first time anywhere, November 17, 1902, at the New

National Theatre, Washington, D. C.: on December 3, following, it was

acted for the first time in New York, at the Belasco Theatre, where it

succeeded “Du Barry,” which had been acted there for the last time on

November 29. This was the original cast of “The Darling of the Gods”:

_Prince Saigon_ Charles Walcot.

_Zakkuri_, Minister of War George Arliss.

_Kara_ Robert T. Haines.

_Tonda-Tanji_ Albert Bruning.

_Sir Yuke-Yume_ James W. Shaw.

_Lord Chi-Chi_ Edward Talford.

_Admiral Tano_ Cooper Leonard.

_Hassebe Soyemon_ Warren Milford.

_Kato_ J. Harry Benrimo.

_Shusshoo_ F. Andrews.

_Inu_, a Corean Giant Harrison Armstrong.

_Yoban_ Carleton Webster.

_Crier of the Night Hours_ Charles Ingram.

_Kugo_ } { Maurice Pike.

_Shiba_ } { E. P. Wilks.

_Migaku_ } The seven spies { Rankin Duvall.

_Kojin_ } of _Zakkuri_ { Arthur Garnell.

_Ato_ } { Joseph Tuohy.

_Tcho_ } { Winthrop Chamberlain.

_Taro_ } { John Dunton.

_Man in the Lantern_ Westropp Saunders.

_The Imperial Messenger_ F. A. Thomson.

_First Secretary_ Legrand Howland.

_Second Secretary_ A. D. Richards.

_Banza_ } { Gaston Mervale.

_Nagoya_ } { Albert Bruning.

_Tori_ } { Fred’k A. Thomson.

_Korin_ } { Rankin Duvall.

_Bento_ } _Kara’s_ “Two-sword { J. Harry Benrimo.

_Kosa_ } Men” { Richard Warner.

_Takoro_ } { John Dunton.

_Kaye_ } { Arthur Garnell.

_Nagoji_ } { A. D. Richards.

_Jutso_ } { Dexter Smith.

[Illustration:

Photograph by Byron. Belasco’s Collection.

A SCENE FROM “THE DARLING OF THE GODS”

“_The Feast of a Thousand Welcomes_”]

_Little Sano_ Madge West.

_Chidori_ Mrs. Charles Walcot.

_Rosy Sky_ Eleanor Moretti.

_Setsu_ Ada Lewis.

_Kaede_ Dorothy Revell.

_Madame Asani_ France Hamilton.

_The Fox Woman_ Mrs. F. M. Bates.

_Isamu_ May Montford.

_Niji-Onna_ Helen Russell.

_Nu_ Madeleine Livingston.

_Princess Yo-San_ Blanche Bates.

_Gentlemen of Rank_, Messrs. Redmund, Stevens, Dunton, Smith, Meehan,

Richards, Shaw, Chamberlain and Shaw.

_Geisha Girls_, Misses Winard, Karle, Vista, Mardell, Coleman and Ellis.

_Singing Girls_, Misses Livingston, Mirien and Earle.

Heralds from the Emperor, maids-in-waiting to the Princess, screen

bearers, Kago men, coolies, retainers, runners, servants, geisha,

musume, priests, lantern bearers, banner bearers, incense bearers, gong

bearers, jugglers, acrobats, torturers, carp flyers, Imperial soldiers

and _Zakkuri’s_ musket-men.

THE PLAY AND THE PERFORMANCE OF “THE DARLING OF THE GODS.”

The tragic drama of “The Darling of the Gods” is an excellent play, one

of exceptional power and ethical significance. It is a unique fabric of

fancy, wildly romantic, rich and strange with unusual characters, lively

with incident, occasionally mystical with implication of Japanese

customs and religious beliefs, opulent with an Oriental splendor of

atmosphere and detail, like that of Beckford’s romance of

“Vathek,”--fragrant with sweetness,--like Moore’s “Lalla Rookh,”--busy

with movement, effective by reason of situation, and communicative of a

love story of enchaining interest and melancholy beauty. That story is

told in continuous, cumulative action,--each successive dramatic event

being stronger than its predecessors in the element of suspense; and at

the climax there is a weird picture of supernatural environment, a

thrilling suggestion of the eternity of spiritual life and personal

identity,--a poetic symbolism, at once pathetic and sublime, of the

glory and ecstasy, the supreme triumph, of faithful love.

The story of _Yo-San_, the heroine of that play, who is designated “the

darling of the gods,” separated from all adjuncts and accessories, is

simple. She is a princess in Japan, betrothed to a Japanese courtier

whom she does not wish to wed. She has stipulated, as a preliminary

condition of their marriage, that the courtier must prove his valor by

capturing a certain formidable outlaw, _Prince Kara_, who, on being

captured, will be put to death. She has been saved from fatal dishonor

through the expeditious courage and promptitude of that outlaw

(unrecognized by her as such), and on seeing each other they become

lovers. _Kara_ pledges himself to appear at the palace of her father, at

a “feast of a thousand welcomes” to be held in his honor, there to

receive that parent’s thanks. Thither he comes, passing through the

guards of _Zakkuri_, the dreaded _War Minister of Japan_, but sustaining

a desperate hurt in doing so. _Yo-San_, when her lover, wounded and

almost dying, has failed to make his escape from the precincts of the

palace through a cordon of enemies, conceals him in her dwelling, and

for many days she tends him, till his wounds are healed, and then, for a

time, those lovers are happy in their secret love. The girl is, however,

compromised by this indiscretion, and when presently her father, _Prince

Saigon_, discovers her secret,--and, as he thinks, her dishonor,--she is

declared an outcast; and her lover (taken prisoner while attempting to

fight his way to freedom) is doomed to torture and death. She is

compelled to gaze upon him as, stupefied with opium, he is led down into

a chamber of infernal torment. Then she is apprised that she can secure

his life and liberty by betraying the hiding place of her lover’s outlaw

followers, and in desperate agony she does betray them: but she gains

nothing by that action except an access of misery. _Prince Kara_,

surprised with his band by soldiers of the _War Minister_, having, with

a few of his followers, fought his way through the lines of his enemies

and discovered that the secret of their hiding place, confided by him to

_Yo-San_, has been by her revealed, commits suicide in the honorable

Japanese manner, and she is left alone, with only his forgiveness as a

comfort, and with the hope that,--after a thousand years of loneliness

and grief, in the underworld of shadows,--she will be again united with

him in the eternal happiness of heaven. The play shows _Yo-San_ as an

innocent, confiding, pathetic figure, a child-woman, passing amid stormy

vicissitude, cruel temptation, and afflicting trials to a forlorn and

agonized death by suicide, and leaves her at the last, redeemed and

transfigured, on the verge of Paradise, where _Kara_ stretches out his

arms to embrace her, and where there is neither trouble nor parting nor

sorrow any more.

The experience of this Japanese girl is the old ordeal over again, of

woman’s sacrifice and anguish, when giving all for love. Something of

Shakespeare’s _Juliet_ is in that heroine, something of Goethe’s

_Margaret_, something of the many passionate, wayward, mournfully

beautiful ideals of woman’s sacrifice that are immortal in story and

song. She is a loving and sorrowing woman, true, tender, faithful

forever, and celestial alike in her

[Illustration: BLANCHE BATES AS THE _PRINCESS YO-SAN_, IN “THE DARLING

OF THE GODS”

Photograph by Livingston Platt.

Belasco’s Collection.

]

love, her temptation, and her grief. The character of _Yo-San_ combines

some of the finest components of womanhood and, indeed, exemplifies

virtues such as redeem the frailty of human nature--purity of heart and

life, true love, endurance, heroism of conduct, and devoted integrity of

spiritual faith. Blanche Bates gained the greatest success of her

professional career by her impersonation of _Yo-San_. She was an

entirely lovely image of ardent, innocent, ingenuous, noble

womanhood--such an image as irresistibly allured by piquant simplicity,

thrilled the imagination by an impartment of passionate vitality, and by

its exemplification of eternal constancy in love,--the immortal fidelity

of the spirit,--captured the heart. Her facility of action and fluency

of expression were continuously spontaneous, and she was delightful both

to see and to hear. Indeed, the acting of Miss Bates, which, from the

first of her performances on the New York Stage, had shown a charming

wildness and freedom, was, in the character of _Yo-San_, more

unconventional than ever. Her appearance was beautiful, her action

graceful, alert, vigorous, and free from all restraint of

self-consciousness and finical prudery. The clear, keen, healthful north

wind was suggested by it, the reckless dash of a mid-ocean wave, the

happy sea-bird’s flight. There was no ostentation about it, no parade,

no assumption of the moral mentor. Her personation of Belasco’s _Juliet_

of Japan came in a time of dreary “problems,” “sermons,” “lessons,”

“arguments,” “symbols,” and the flatulent nonsense of siccorized novels

and dirty farces, and it came as a relief and a blessing--the authentic

representative of youth, health, strength, love, and hope.

There is one moment in “The Darling of the Gods” when suspense is

wrought to a point of intense tension, and when the inherent, essential

faculty of an actor, the power to reveal almost in a flash the feeling

of the heart and the working of the mind, is imperatively required. It

is when _Kara_, wounded, exhausted, desperate, has sought refuge in the

dwelling of the _Princess Yo-San_ and, by her, has been succored and

concealed. _Migaku_, _the Shadow_, a spy of the terrible _War Minister_,

_Zakkuri_, has traced him to that refuge, but a devoted guardian of

_Yo-San_, _Inu_, a Corean giant, has detected the presence of the spy,

has seized and slain him, and has hidden the body in a stream. _Zakkuri_

and the father of _Yo-San_ follow the spy, and come to the dwelling of

_Yo-San_. _Zakkuri_ wishes that it be searched, but he agrees to accept

her oath, if she will give it, that she knows nothing of the whereabouts

of _Kara_. The _Princess_ is summoned and, denying the presence of

_Kara_, is required by her father to swear that she has spoken the

truth. Words can faintly indicate the beauty of the picture and action

which follow, as the girl seeks to protect her lover. The time is night.

The scene is a strange, fantastic, fairy-like garden of old Japan, a

bower of flowers with twining wistaria wreathing the trees and houses,

and, far, far off, visible in the silver moonlight, a great snow-capped

volcano, the peak of which is touched with ruddy light. The father and

the dreaded _Minister of War_ stand before the door. Miss Bates, as

_Yo-San_, stood a little above them, dressed in soft, flowing white

garments, open at the throat, her black hair loose about her face and

shoulders, her beautiful dark eyes suffused with a fascinating

expression of innocence, tranquillity, and tenderness. Without a moment

of hesitation, on being required to take the most solemn of oaths, she,

with sweetly reverential dignity, raised a bowl of burning incense and,

holding it before her, spoke, in a voice of perfect music: “Before

Shaka, God of Life and Death,--to whom my word goes up on this

incense,--I swear, hanging my life on the answer, I have not seen this

Kara!” Then, as the discomfited searchers withdrew, she stood a moment,

in the soft light streaming upon her from within the house, and, gazing

after them, added, looking upward, “It is better to lie a little than to

be unhappy much!” If she had done nothing else,--though the remainder of

her professional life should be barren,--that single moment stamped her

as a great actress.

It is, in any time, a noble achievement--one too much praised in words,

too little sought in deeds--to bring home and make vital to the human

heart the sanctity and beauty of love. The actor who does this can do no

more. Pictorial art upon the stage attains to a marvellous height when

it presents such a scene as that of the River of Souls and the reunion

of long-sundered souls, in this romantic, imaginative, and beautiful

play. Such an achievement in the dramatic art as the setting before the

public of such a play and such a performance as Blanche Bates gave of

its heroine vindicate the beneficent utility of the Theatre, because it

cheers and ennobles, and thus practically helps society, through the

ministration of beauty. This is a hard world. Almost everybody in it

struggles beneath burdens of care and sorrow. Multitudes of human beings

dwell in trouble and suffering. An imperative need of our race is the

strength of patience and the light of hope. Dramatic art, or any art,

which satisfies that need, or even remotely helps to satisfy it, is a

blessing. The rest is little, if at all, better than a curse.

There was fine acting in “The Darling of the Gods” besides that of Miss

Bates. The part of _Zakkuri_, the _War Minister_,--a callous,

remorseless, cold villain, of the Duke of Alva type,--is the main source

of action in the drama, and it is elaborately and vividly drawn. It was

played by George Arliss, who gave in it a thrilling incarnation of

dangerous force and inveterate wickedness, almost humorous in its icy

depravity: he had an exceptional success, even for an actor who always

acts well.

And there are many splendid imaginative and dramatic passages in this

play besides those which have been particularly examined. As set upon

the stage by Belasco it was a spectacle of superb opulence, surpassing

all its predecessors in wealth of color and beauty of detail. In the

Scene of the Night Watch at the gates; in that of the stealthy,

nocturnal search for _Kara_, outside the lodge of the _Princess_, and in

that of _Yo-San’s_ supplication for her lover’s life there is the very

poetry of terror. Some of the expedients employed had been used in

earlier dramas,--such as “Patrie” and “Tosca,”--but they were so freshly

handled that they were made newly terrible with an atmosphere of grisly

dread. Belasco, in short, offered to his public in this production a

true dramatic work of novelty, variety, and scenic splendor,

extraordinarily rich in the element of histrionic art; an offering that

was symmetrical and magnificent, prompting a memory of the old days of

“Pizarro,” “The Ganges,” and “The Bronze Horse,” but proving that his

day also was golden and that Aladdin’s Lamp had not been lost.

THE CREATION OF DRAMATIC EFFECTS.--DIFFICULTIES WITH THE RIVER OF SOULS.

Supreme dramatic effects are, as a rule, produced in the Theatre as

results of patient, prescient labor, using known, definite means to

definite foreordained ends,--as, for example, in such perfect histrionic

epitomes as _Shylock’s_ return through the lonely midnight streets to

his deserted dwelling, as arranged by Irving; the momentary shuddering

horror of Mansfield’s _King Richard the Third_, when, alone, in the

dusk, seated upon the throne to which he has made his way by murder, he

sees his hand bathed blood-red in a seemingly chance-thrown beam of

light; the exquisitely poetic and lovely scene of the serenade, in

“Twelfth Night,” invented by Daly, in which the theme of the comedy is

pictured without a word; or the long, dreary vigil of _Madame

Butterfly_, waiting

[Illustration:

Photograph by Livingston Platt. Belasco’s Collection.

GEORGE ARLISS AS _ZAKKURI_, _THE MINISTER OF WAR_, IN “THE DARLING OF

THE GODS”]

through the night for her recreant lover, devised by Belasco. Sometimes,

however, even the most resourceful of stage managers, though possessed

of perfectly clear purpose, find themselves baffled and balked in every

endeavor to embody a picture in action and create a designed effect: it

is with them as it is with a painter who, while knowing exactly what he

desires to depict and, theoretically, exactly how to paint it,

nevertheless fails again and again in his attempts to do so, until, as

sometimes happens, chance seems to point a way to achievement. Such an

experience came to Belasco, in his execution of the imaginative and

lovely scene of the River of Souls, in this Oriental tragedy. Writing of

it, he records the following interesting recollection:

“There was one scene in ‘The Darling of the Gods,’ called the River

of Souls, which drove me almost mad and very nearly beat me. It was

a sort of purgatory between the Japanese Heaven and the Japanese

Hell. I engaged twenty young girls who were supposed to represent

the floating bodies of the dead, but they wouldn’t float. No matter

how hard I tried, the twenty souls looked like twenty chorus girls.

Night after night, I kept the young ladies and a number of

carpenters at work, but the illusion could not be carried out. The

play was produced in Washington, and during the last rehearsal the

River of Souls was the blot on the production; in fact, I had

postponed the opening for three nights because of this scene. At

last I made up my mind to give it one more trial and if it could

not be improved to cut it out. Dawn found Miss Bates asleep in a

stage-box, the company curled up on properties, the carpenters and

electricians ready to drop, and the River of Souls as bad as ever.

So I threw up my hands. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ I said,

‘out goes the River of Souls.’ I gave the order to strike [to clear

the stage of scenery]. At that moment all set-pieces were pulled

apart, the gauze curtain was down, and two calcium lights were at

the back of the stage. As the scene-shifters drew up the back drop

a carpenter walked across. His shadow was thrown several times on

the shifting gauze in a most spectral fashion. ‘Stop!’ I called

out. ‘Stop where you are! Don’t move! Don’t move!’ The poor

carpenter halted in his tracks: he must have thought me mad. ‘We’ve

got it!’ I exclaimed. I sent out for coffee and rolls, and called

another rehearsal at six in the morning. I must say everyone

rejoiced with me. When we finished breakfast I had the gauze so

arranged as to catch the shadows of the young ladies whose souls

were supposed to be floating between heaven and hell. I threw away

the expensive paraphernalia, and instead of permitting the young

women to be suspended in the air they walked behind the gauze,

stretching out their arms as though floating through the strong

rays of light. I have shown many different scenes, but none so

baffling as this and none more impressively effective.... When I

met Sir Herbert Beerbohm-Tree, who produced ‘The Darling of the

Gods’ in London, he said that as he read the description of this

effect in the manuscript he had not believed it could be carried

out.”

“The Darling of the Gods” was one of the most costly and least

profitable of all Belasco’s many lavish productions: the original

investment exceeded $78,000 and the expenses of presentment were so

great that, notwithstanding it was acted to immense audiences, at the

end of two years he had gained with it only $5,000.

AN OPERATIC PROJECT.--PETTY PERSECUTIONS.--AN ARREST FOR LIBEL.

While demolition of the Republic Theatre and construction of its

successor were in progress Belasco made an unsuccessful attempt to

fulfil a purpose which he had cherished for several years,--the purpose,

namely, to cause the writing of, and to produce, a series of true comic

operas, American in theme but similar in character to the brilliant and

delightful combinations of satire, melody, and fun which made famous the

names of Gilbert and Sullivan. “I hoped,” he said, “to find a pair of

American authors that could be developed into at least something like

such a team as Gilbert and Sullivan, and for a while I thought I should

succeed,--but it was too much to hope for.” As part of his plan for this

operatic enterprise Belasco engaged the well-known singer Miss Lillian

Russell, for whose talents he entertained high respect: “I _know_,” he

has said to me, “that Lillian Russell could have done far finer things

than ever she has done--and I wanted her to do them under my

management.” Inability to obtain any musical play for Miss Russell’s use

which was satisfactory to him finally compelled Belasco to release her

from engagement and to abandon a project which, adequately performed,

would have been of great benefit to our Stage.

From the time when it became publicly known that Belasco had assumed the

management of a theatre of his own, in New York, until 1909, when

self-interest at last reopened to him the long closed theatres dominated

by the Theatrical Syndicate, he was made the object of an almost

continuous series of attacks, annoyances, and persecutions, often merely

petty, sometimes extremely serious, the origin of which is not always

demonstrable but the motive of which, unmistakably, was to defame,

hamper, and injure him in his professional vocation. Thus, a few days

before the opening of his new theatre he was accused in several

newspaper diatribes of having “stolen” the services of three prominent

actors,--namely Lillian Russell, Blanche Bates, and David

Warfield,--then under engagement to him, from other theatrical managers,

regardless of prior contracts. The dispute on this subject has been

top-loftically described as a tempest in a teapot, but as the accusation

is, in fact, one of most dishonorable and illegal conduct the entire

refutation of it should be recorded. Miss Russell wrote about the matter

as follows:

“I am very proud to have it known that Mr. Belasco is to be my

future manager, but it is doing him a great injustice to assert

that he tried to get me away from other managers with whom I was

under contract. He, emphatically, did nothing of the kind.

Everything was done in the most amiable spirit among all concerned,

and, as a matter of fact, he and I were brought together, in a

business relation, entirely by outside parties.”

From Miss Bates came a letter in which she said:

“I was entirely free from all contract obligations when Mr. Belasco

first made me an offer to come under his management. I left Liebler

& Company quite voluntarily, as I did not care to go to London with

‘The Children of the Ghetto.’ I was therefore out of an engagement

when Mr. Belasco sent for me to create the leading part in a new

comedy.... I was given the greatest opportunity of my life in

‘Madame Butterfly,’ and I have grown from leading woman to a star

under his management. And because I know that my artistic future is

safer in his hands than with anyone else I would not for a moment

consider an offer from another manager.”

And Mr. Warfield sent to Belasco by telegraph from Boston this request

and statement:

“Please deny for me that I had one more year [of service under

contract] at Weber & Fields’. I came to you having always had an

idea you could better my position.”

A week before the first presentment of “The Darling of the Gods” in New

York an allegation even more injurious was made against Belasco when

several newspapers of the metropolis published affirmations by a female

author, known as Onoto Watanna, to the effect that characters and

incidents from two stories by her, “The Wooing of Wistaria” and “A

Japanese Nightingale,” had been appropriated by Belasco and incorporated

in “The Darling of the Gods” and that two acts of that play were pirated

from a dramatization of one of those stories.

To these aspersions Belasco made prompt rejoinder by institution of a

suit against Mrs. Bertrand W. Babcock, asking $20,000 damages for

malicious libel. Mrs. Babcock was arrested, December 3, 1902, on a

warrant issued in this action and held in $500 bail. At the time of her

arrest Belasco made a statement as to his motives and feelings in

bringing suit in which he said:

“My purpose in causing the arrest of Mrs. Babcock (Onoto Watanna)

is to stop, once and for all, the groundless persecution to which I

am subjected whenever I dare to present a new play. That my

productions are thorns in the sides of several managers I am

perfectly aware, but through Mrs. Babcock, who will now have to

give an account of her claims against me in court, I hope to reach

the real instigators of this attack against my integrity as a

manager and a man. I have never met Mrs. Babcock in my life nor

have I read either of her books, to one of which Klaw & Erlanger

have announced that they have purchased the dramatic rights. The

first I heard of Mrs. Babcock was about two months ago, at which

time my play had neither been put in rehearsal nor read to any one

who could possibly have told her of its plot, characters, or

incidents. At that time she informed a prominent morning newspaper

man that the firm of Klaw & Erlanger were very anxious to have her

bring a suit against me for plagiarism. I laughed at the whole

matter, for, knowing that ‘The Darling of the Gods’ was entirely

original with Mr. John Luther Long and myself, I could not conceive

of any person being foolish enough to make such a charge. But it

was the last shot in my enemies’ locker. From the day I started

work on this production I have been harassed in every direction. I

am almost as anxious to get this case into court and settled at

once and for all as I am to have the ‘Du Barry’ controversy

clinched. All I claim is the right of any citizen to pursue his

business unmolested.

“This whole affair from start to finish is a conspiracy to throw a

nasty slur on my name as a playwright and manager on the eve of a

new production in which I have invested a great deal of money: and

with the courts to help me I intend to unmask a few of the real

culprits. Furthermore, I find now that Mrs. Babcock’s story ‘The

Wooing of Wistaria’ was not published until last September. Our

play was finished early in June. By causing the arrest of this

woman I hope, in addition to justifying myself, to establish a

precedent whereby other playwrights, when they happen to be

successful, may be able to take drastic means to protect themselves

against similar persecutions.”

On February 6, 1903, at a hearing in this libel suit of Belasco’s,

before Justice Leventritt, of the Supreme Court, Mrs. Babcock, in

effect, withdrew the libel complained of (denying that she had made the

defamatory allegations ascribed to her), and the order of arrest

previously issued against her was, in consequence, vacated. The purpose

of the aspersions made was, undoubtedly, that stated by Belasco.--A

dramatization of Mrs. Babcock’s story of “A Japanese Nightingale” was

produced by Klaw & Erlanger, at Daly’s Theatre, New York, November 19,

1903, with Miss Margaret Illington as _Yuki_, its chief female

personage: the production of that play, it was generally understood in

theatrical circles at the time when it was made, was designed to exhibit

the authentic investiture and interpretation of a tragedy of Japan and

thus to display the artistic and managerial superiority of Messrs. Klaw

and Erlanger to Belasco: it was acted at Daly’s forty-four times and

then withdrawn.

On May 30, 1903, the 186th performance of “The Darling of the Gods”

occurred at Belasco’s Theatre, which was then closed for the season. On

June 6, at Minneapolis, Minnesota, Belasco brought to an end a tour by

Mrs. Leslie Carter and a theatrical company of 147 other players,

presenting his “Du Barry,” which began at Brooklyn, New York,

[Illustration: DAVID BELASCO

About 1889-’90

Photograph by the Misses Selby.

Author’s Collection.

]

December 2, 1902, which comprehended forty-two cities (extending as far

south as Galveston, Texas, and as far west as San Francisco), and which

involved travel of more than 10,000 miles, during most of which the

company was luxuriously transported on special trains.

SECOND SEASON AT THE BELASCO.--A CONTEMPTIBLE OUTRAGE.

The Belasco Theatre was reopened for its second season, that of

1903-’04, September 16, with a revival of “The Darling of the

Gods,”--acted by the original company,--which held the stage there until

November 14, sixty-four performances being given. On November 16 Mrs.

Carter emerged there in “Zaza,” which was acted for one week and was

followed, on the 23rd, by “Du Barry,” of which sixteen performances were

given. A peculiarly contemptible outrage, incidental to the protracted

campaign of persecution waged against Belasco, was perpetrated on the

first night of the “Zaza,” revival when a process server, employed and

instructed by the disreputable Abraham Hummel, leaped upon the stage

during the performance and served upon Mrs. Carter (who had nothing to

do with the matter) notice of an action at law brought by Miss Eugenie

Blair and Mr. Henry Gressit against Belasco, in which, alleging rights

of ownership in the play by Charles Frohman (who at the time was also

represented by Hummel), they prayed for an injunction to stop his

presenting “Zaza” in New York. “Few things,” Belasco has said, “could

have distressed me more than the thought that Charles Frohman could be

in any way a party to such conduct.” Among the many miscellaneous papers

which Belasco has permitted me to examine, in compiling material for

this Memoir, is a hurried note from Frohman which indeed reads strangely

in the light of this incident:

(_Charles Frohman To David Belasco._)

“New York, Friday,

“(August 30?), 1899.

“Dear Dave:--

“Don’t fail me on ‘Shenandoah.’ This is _my chance_, and you can do

much for me. _You know how I depend on you!_ After our engagement

the tour is arranged as you have asked it. 11 A.M., Tuesday, Star

Theatre. All details I have people to look after.

“CHARLES.”

The great success of “Shenandoah,” which made possible the career of

Charles Frohman, was in large part due to the sagacious and practical

help of Belasco, given in response to this appeal,--and the latter

manager, it seems to me, changing a single word, might well have

exclaimed with the betrayed monarch in Wills’s play about the Martyred

King, “Charles Murray, hast thou waited all these years to pay

me--_thus!_” Frohman, Belasco has informed me, assured him, long

afterward, when Gentle Peace had enfolded all their contentions, that he

was not priorly cognizant of Hummel’s outrageous instructions:

well,--perhaps he was not: but, if he was not, it is a pity he did not

so declare at the time of his quondam friend’s persecution and so shield

himself from contempt. Belasco’s lawyer, the Hon. A. J. Dittenhoefer,

commenting on this needless and shameful interruption of a public

performance, observed that “The case has remarkable features. As Mr.

[Charles] Frohman is half-owner of the play with Mr. Belasco, he is

really being served with papers by his own lawyers; moreover, Mrs.

Carter is not named in the papers, and it is against all precedent and

decency to serve them on her in such a way. They should have been served

on Mr. Belasco, or on the box-office, which stood open. There has been

plenty of time and ample opportunity for that.” Of course there had been

“plenty of time and ample opportunity”!--but such orderly and decent

service would not have annoyed and distressed a nervous, impulsive,

sensitive man, whom it was desired to harass and injure.--The injunction

asked for was denied by Justice Scott, December 11, 1903.

HENRIETTA CROSMAN AND “SWEET KITTY BELLAIRS.”

On June 15, 1900, Belasco entered into an agreement with the English

fiction writer Egerton Castle by which he obtained optional rights of

producing dramatizations of five novels by that author and his wife and

collaborator, Agnes Castle. He relinquished his rights in four of those

novels, “Young April,” “The Pride of Jennico,” “The Star Dreamer,” and

“The Secret Orchard,” but he exercised them with regard to a fifth, “The

Bath Comedy,” upon which he based a play. His purpose, originally, was

to bring forth Blanche Bates in its central character, when “The Darling

of the Gods” should have ceased to hold public interest. Many reasons,

however,--chief among them desire to please Mr. Castle by an early

production,--caused him to change his plan. He, accordingly, in January,

1903, engaged the accomplished actress Miss Henrietta Crosman to assume

the principal part in the play which he had founded on Mr. Castle’s

story, and, on November 23, of the same year, at the Lafayette Square

Opera House, Washington, D. C., he produced it for the first time, under

the title of “Sweet Kitty Bellairs.” Pursuant of what was, I am

convinced, a deliberate plan to harass Belasco and hinder him in his

managerial enterprises, the lawsuit instituted by Joseph Brooks

(incidents of which have already been recounted) was brought almost in

the moment of that first performance. Belasco, however, had grown

accustomed to persecution and remained unperturbed by it. On being

notified, November 24, of Brooks’s allegation in the matter and asked

for a statement, he dismissed the subject in two sentences: “It is,” he

said, “a pack of lies, and I am too busy with this production

[“Bellairs”] to make any answer to these persons [meaning Brooks and his

associates] now. When I am disengaged I will make a reply.”

Belasco’s presentment of his “Sweet Kitty Bellairs,”--made for the first

time in New York, December 9, 1903, at the Belasco Theatre,--revealed a

comedy as well as a spectacle, because, while it satiated the vision

with luxuriance of ornament and color, it set a truthful and piquant

picture of manners in the jewelled framework of a story generally

credible and always romantic as well as at once humorous and tender,

merry and grave. The central purpose of it is the display of a study in

womanhood, an exceptional female character, a peculiar and fascinating

type; and the predominant attribute of it, accordingly, is sexuality.

The dashing coquette of old English fiction lives again in his _Kitty

Bellairs_,--not precisely _Lady Froth_, _Lady Bellaston_, _Mrs. Rackett_

or _Mrs. Delmaine_, but a purified, glorified ideal of those gay,

tantalizing, roguish dames, a creature of sensuous beauty and reckless

behavior, whose whole occupation in life is the bewitchment of man; and,

in a silver fabric of gossamer comedy, this siren and all her associates

are engaged in adjusting their amatory relations. In other words, this

is a play of intrigue.

“The Bath Comedy” is an extravagant and flimsy novel, and the dramatist

derived but little material from it,--that little, however, comprising

the jealous, peppery, belligerent, irrational husband; the silly, pretty

wife, with her saccharine endearments and ever-ready tears; the

ingenuous young nobleman, _Lord Verney_, so readily dazzled; and the

burly, genial, blundering ardent Irish soldier, _O’Hara_, so fond and

faithful, so rich in desert, and, at the last, so completely forlorn.

Expert use is made, likewise, of the diverted love-letter, inclosing the

tress of red hair. No spectacle, indeed, could, intrinsically, be

funnier than that presented by the enraged, suspicious, tumultuous

husband, intent on fighting with every red-haired man in Bath, in order

to be avenged on the unknown epistolary suitor of his absolutely

innocent wife. Taking this bull-headed mistake as a pretext for action,

and taking as a basis _Kitty’s_ wicked scheme for the relief of _Lady

Standish_,--who has temporarily wearied her husband by her dulness and

who will be taught to win and hold him by gay indifference and the

piquant allurement of coquetry,--Belasco built a structure of story and

action practically original and certainly brilliant. Writing on this

subject, he modestly says: “The dramatization was not easy: I was

obliged to add to the plot, but I used the atmosphere and characters of

the book,”--and, it may be added, contrived to fashion a charming and

effective comedy where, perhaps, any other dramatist of the time would

have failed.

After an insipid Prologue, in crude rhyme, the old English city of Bath

is shown, in a beautiful picture, and therein is displayed a populous,

animated scene, constructed to exhibit as a background the raiment,

manners, morals, and pursuits of Bath society, in the butterfly days

that Smollett and Sheridan have made immortal. Then the story,--slender

and frail but amply adequate for its light purpose,--is rapidly

disclosed. _Kitty Bellairs_ will help _Lady Standish_ to bewitch her

indifferent husband by making him jealous; and when, through _Kitty’s_

artful roguery, his dangerous wrath is directed against _Lord Verney_,

whom she would like to have for her own sweetheart, she will intervene

to prevent the impending duel and will implicate herself in a most

disastrous and distressing tangle of comic trouble. Two situations ensue

that are essentially dramatic and that also involve affecting and

enjoyable elements of pathos and humor. _Kitty_ and _Lady Standish_,

having proceeded to _Lord Verney’s_ lodging, in hope to avert a

catastrophe that their mischief has invoked, are in peril of

compromising discovery there, and at the climax _Kitty_ takes upon

herself the apparent disgrace and shame by coming forward to shield her

friend. Later, in the thronged assembly-room,--in a pageant of almost

unprecedented magnificence,--the brilliant _Bellairs_, ostracized by the

ladies of Bath, appeals to _Lady Standish_ for vindication and finds

that spineless comrade too weak and too timid to speak the truth. The

latter incident provides the supreme moment of the comedy, and, however

much its probability may be questioned, no spectator of it, adequately

acted, will for an instant doubt its theatrical effect. The preparations

for it are made with extraordinary skill. The scenic adjuncts to it

provided by Belasco were of royal opulence. It is fraught with

emotional suspense; it is a sharp surprise, and it has the decisive

potentiality of a dramatic act. Later the scene shifts to a Bristol

tavern, where _Lady Betty_ makes a tardy explanation, retrieving the

wrong, while _Verney_ and _O’Hara_ and the rest of the soldiers march

away,--in a storm, most deftly managed (as Belasco showed it), of wind

and pouring rain,--and _Sweet Kitty Bellairs_ is left in possession of

the field, a little rueful, perhaps, but rehabilitated and triumphant.

This close seemed somewhat tame, as a sequel to the ballroom effulgence,

but it was inevitable: after the clock has struck twelve it must

necessarily strike one. There is no thirteen.

The antique moralist, while gazing on that gorgeous spectacle,--“the

teacup time of hood and hoop, or when the patch was worn,”--might,

perhaps, be moved to inquire whether women, in their traffic with the

impulses of love, the caprices of their own sex and the follies of the

other, do really think and act as they are made to think and act in this

play of Belasco’s: but, as the antique moralist knows nothing whatever

about women, he would only bewilder himself by such interrogatory.

Enough to know, in gazing on that spectacle, that it dazzles his vision

and that the story pleases his fancy. He sees a woman to whom humdrum

conventionality is intolerable; a woman who is fearless alike of

vindictive feminine spite and insolent masculine tolerance; a woman who

can be magnanimous; a woman who is nothing if not brilliant: and all

this ought to content even a cynic. The dramatist has made _Kitty

Bellairs_ much more of a woman and _Lord Verney_ much more of a man than

they were in the Castle novel,--where, indeed, _Bellairs_ is

unprincipled and heartless and _Verney_ foolish: a coarse flirt and a

callow milksop. Evil influence may be incarnate, without evil deed. In

the play this heroine is a thoroughly noble, gentle, and tender woman,

underneath her panoply of mirth and mischief, and she acts from a good

heart, and not from mere vanity and sensuous caprice. Miss Crosman

entered into this character with absolute sympathy, and, as to the

glittering side of it, so embodied it as to create a cogent effect of

nature. There is an appeal made by _Kitty_ to her Irish and other

military friends, when they behold her in apparent disgrace, that

strikes the true note of pathos, and, in the speaking of this, Miss

Crosman eloquently and nobly expressed the dignity of conscious virtue,

while in the denotement of tenderness she much exceeded

expectation,--because tenderness is not characteristic of her acting in

general, the drift of her temperament and style setting toward pert

assurance, skittish

[Illustration: HENRIETTA CROSMAN AS _MISTRESS KITTY BELLAIRS_, IN “SWEET

KITTY BELLAIRS”

Photograph

by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.

]

sport, sparkling raillery, and sprightly banter. _Kitty’s_ attitude,

during most of the comedy, is that of a maker of innocent

mischief,--with a spice of wickedness in it,--and she complicates

everything from pure love of drollery. This Miss Crosman made perfectly

and delightfully clear. The dilemma in Act Second, when _Kitty_ and

_Lady Betty_ are surprised in the bedroom at _Verney’s_, and the

exaction of an hysterical outburst at the end of Act Third a little

overtaxed the strength of the actress; but her impersonation of _Kitty

Bellairs_ lives in memory and is treasured for unity of purpose and

consistency of method, blithe spirit and buoyant action, sentiment

sweetly denoted beneath arch pleasantry and many winning graces of

manner, inflection, and playful prettiness. Belasco gained a new and

lasting laurel of success with this production, in which all points had

been well considered and nothing left to chance. The first performance

in New York was given in the presence of a brilliant and delighted

multitude. The final curtain did not fall till after midnight,--but

“Noiseless falls the foot of Time

That only falls on flowers.”

This is the original cast of “Sweet Kitty Bellairs”:

“_They lived in that past Georgian day

When men were less inclined to say

That ‘Time is gold’ and overlay

With toil their pleasures._”

* * * * *

_IN THE PROLOGUE._

* * * * *

_Master of Ceremonies_ Mark Smith, Jr.

_The Prologue will be spoken by_ Antoinette Walker.

* * * * *

_IN THE PLAY._

_Sir Jasper Standish_ John E. Kellerd.

_Col. the Hon. Henry Villiers_ Edwin Stevens.

_Captain Spicer_ } { Frank H. Westerton.

_Lord Verney, Lieut._ } Of the { Charles Hammond.

_Mr. Tom Stafford, Lieut._ } 51st { James Carew.

_Mr. Bob Chichester, Lieut._ } Regiment. { Clyde Fogel.

_Gandy, Private_ } { Addison Pitt.

_Fenwick, Private_ } { Shelley Hull.

_The Bishop of Bath and Wells_ H. Rees Davies.

_Col. Kimby McFiontan_ R. Peyton Carter.

_Capt. Denis O’Hara_ } { J. Malcolm Dunn.

_Major Owen MacTeague_ } Of the { Alfred Cahill.

_Mr. Lanty MacLusky, Lieut._ } “Inniskillings.” { Douglas Wood.

_Mr. Darby O’Donovan, Cornet._} { Emmet Lennon.

_Mallow_ Stanley Drewitt.

_The Innkeeper of the Bear Inn_ Harold Watts.

_First Courier_ Howard Hull.

_Second Courier_ S. K. Blair.

_Post Boy_ William Whitney.

_Mistress Kitty Bellairs_ Henrietta Crosman.

_Lady Standish (Julia)_ Katharine Florence.

_Lady Marie Prideaux_ Louise Moodie.

_Lady Bab Flyte_ Edith Crane.

_Mistress Bate-Coome_ Genevieve Reynolds.

_Hon. Mrs. Beaufort_ Charlotte Nicoll Weston.

_Miss Prue_ Bernice Golden.

_Miss Doll_ Sybil Klein.

_Miss Debby_ Jane Cowl.

_Miss Sally_ Lydia Winters.

_Selina_ Lillian Coffin.

_Lydie_ Estelle Coffin.

_Barmaid of the Bear Inn_ Mignon Hardt.

_Clorinde_ } { Mrs. Irvin Chapman.

_Dorothea_ } { Gertrude Dorrance.

_Arabella_ } _Mrs. Bate-Coome’s_ { Edith Rowland.

_Angela_ } daughters. { Helen Hale.

_Marjorie_ } { Edna Griffen.

_Mistress Tilney_ Sara Delaro.

SIDE-LIGHT AND COMMENTARY ON “SWEET KITTY.”

“Sweet Kitty Bellairs” was acted at the Belasco Theatre until June 4,

1904, when the season ended and that house was closed. It was revived

there in the fall, September 3, and, with Miss Crosman in its chief

part, was subsequently acted in many other cities. In the season of

1905-’06, Miss Crosman having retired from Belasco’s management, it was

again revived, with Miss Bertha Galland as _Kitty_, and on October 5,

1907, with Miss Eva Moore in that part, it was played at the Haymarket

Theatre, London. On February 3, 1904, while this comedy was in the full

tide of its first success, one of the many groundless suits against

Belasco, accusing him of plagiarism, was brought by Grace B. Hughes,

otherwise known as Mary Montagu, who asserted that Belasco’s play was an

infringement of one by her, entitled “Sweet Jasmine,” and applied for an

injunction to stop him from further presentment of it. Her application

was argued before Justice E. Henry Lacombe, March 18, and on March 26

was denied. One of the most vicious propensities of newspaper journalism

was sharply illustrated in connection with Miss Montagu’s wanton

aspersion on Belasco’s honesty: when it was _made_, her charge of

plagiarism was generally and conspicuously published by the press; when

it was _disproved_, it ceased to be “live news” and merely curt and, in

general, obscure record was made of the issue. Minor “resemblances”

between the two plays, adduced by the complainant in this action by way

of substantiating her charge of literary theft, were such as the facts

that in both a military band played music; in both “green” is mentioned

as the color of grass, and in both a lover states the nature of his

feeling toward the woman he loves. Yet, without any possibility of

redress, Belasco was compelled to expend energy, time, and money on

making a serious defence against the preposterous accusations of

irresponsible frivolity! To oppose and defeat the suit of Miss Montagu

cost him a large sum. There is no reasonable doubt that, in the majority

of cases, such accusations of plagiarism as those which have been

brought against Belasco are made in hope that the person accused will

buy off the accuser as the quickest and cheapest way of ending

annoyance. Belasco, however, has never gratified such hope; and he

assured me: “I never will--for I prefer to lose a thousand dollars in

money and ten thousand in time and trouble rather than to submit to

blackmail.” In denying the writ applied for by this impudent defamer the

court declared that “No direct evidence of copying, either of language

or dramatic situation, is shown. A comparison of the two plays shows

that _they are wholly dissimilar in plot, in characters, in text, and in

dramatic situations_. The climax of one act in each piece was

principally relied upon in argument--where the unexpected discovery of

the leading character in a place where she should not be makes a

dramatic situation.... This is an old device; it was common property to

all playwrights since Sheridan used it in ‘The School for Scandal’ [And

since long before that time!--W. W.]. Analyzing the details of the

situations as presented in these two plays, the points of _essential

difference_ so far outnumber the points of similarity that it is

difficult to understand how anyone could persuade himself that one was

taken from the other.”--The following letters provide an interesting

side-light and commentary on the history of “Bellairs”:

(_David Belasco to Egerton Castle, in London._)

“Cartwright Cottage,

“Manhanset Manor, New York,

“August 29, 1904.

“My dear Mr. Castle:--

“You must pardon me for not replying to your letter. I am much run

down by overwork, and as I had to finish Mrs. Carter’s new play for

the coming season besides much other work my doctor ordered me to

the Adirondack Mountains, and before going I gave orders to my

secretary to keep all mail for me until my return. Thank you for

the story you sent. It is charming, but as it so closely follows

the line of ‘Sweet Kitty Bellairs,’ and as that play has made such

a success, I am afraid that another on the same subject and in the

same period would fall flat in this country. So if anyone applies

to you for the rights you will understand that I relinquish them.

“Next week ‘Sweet Kitty’ opens at my theatre for a few weeks, then

it will be started off on tour. I need not tell you the condition

of things theatrical in America. The Syndicate has brought nothing

but disgrace and humiliation to the profession. Things artistic are

at their lowest ebb. Last season was the worst financially the

theatres ever experienced. Many fortunes were lost. Outside of

‘Sweet Kitty Bellairs’ I don’t think any manager produced a

success. Of course I lost money on the production. A play of that

period is expensive, and as I make my productions perfect it

invariably takes me a year to get back the original cost. This

coming season is the year of the Presidential Election, which

always hurts the theatres, but I think we shall do well on tour

because of our New York success. I think it inadvisable to attempt

‘Sweet Kitty’ in England until after its first tour in this

country. If by chance it should slip up over in London it would

hurt our prospects for the play here. While the papers attach very

little importance to a play successfully produced in England, they

cable over a failure with sensational particulars, and it hurts all

throughout the country. I think it would be wise to arrange for the

production of ‘Sweet Kitty’ in London later, making the

arrangements during the coming season, but, as I stated, I don’t

think it would be well to produce it yet.

“Hope that you are meeting with every success. With best wishes to

Mrs. Castle and yourself,

“Faithfully,

“DAVID BELASCO.”

(_David Belasco to Egerton Castle, in London._)

“The Belasco Theatre,

“New York, March 3, 1905.

“My dear Mr. Castle:--

“Your letter of February 5 received. I regret very much that ‘Sweet

Kitty Bellairs’ has not done better than it has. But I am

constrained to attribute this to the fact that, in order to please

you, I put it on during an unpropitious season, when there was

little or no interest in plays of the Georgian period, because the

country was surfeited with them--with comic operas of the

Eighteenth Century, and revivals of Sheridan. Again, I myself had

just finished the production of ‘Du Barry,’ which, while it is of a

more regal nature than ‘Bellairs,’ is still of the Eighteenth

Century, a costume play of manners and customs. All this tended to

take from ‘Kitty’ the charm of novelty, a detraction which could

not be overcome by the fact that I spent more than $65,000 on the

production and gave it a cast comprising some of the highest

salaried artists in America.

“It was my intention to hold the play in reserve for Miss Bates,

and produce it this year, with her in the title rôle. She is one of

my own stars, and very popular. Had I done so, waiting for the

flood of plays of that period to cease, I am convinced the result

would have been far different.

“Miss Crosman closes in April, and I shall then recall the company,

store the production and send it out when the road conditions in

this country are more favorable. I believe it to be a valuable

piece of property over here, and that it may yet make enough money

to enable me to get back at least my original outlay. My loss up to

date on the play is $50,000.

“In regard to the English production, I deem it inadvisable to

commit myself at present, because I yet hope to have a theatre of

my own in London, and, in consequence, am saving all my material

for that time. Moreover, in ‘Kitty Bellairs’ I know so well the

things that made it a great artistic success in this country, and

there are so many details about the production to need my personal

supervision, that I should really be afraid to let it be put on

without me. To make the play ‘go’ at all, it must have a special

cast, without which its fate would be foredoomed, and I do not care

to trust the selection of this cast to another. In short, the

English production is a risk I do not wish to take, until I can

give it my own personal attention.

“With kindest regards, I am

“Faithfully,

“DAVID BELASCO.”

“THE DARLING” IN LONDON.--A HEARTY TRIBUTE.

On December 28, 1903, the English actor and manager Herbert

Beerbohm-Tree produced “The Darling of the Gods,” with notable success,

at His Majesty’s Theatre, London,--himself appearing in it as _Zakkuri_,

with Miss Marie Löhr as _Yo-San_ and George Relph as _Kara_. A

characteristic instance of journalistic meanness was then provided by

“The London Times,” which ascribed the beauty and perfection of Japanese

detail in the production to the influence of Mme. Sada Yaco,--a Japanese

eccentricity who had appeared on the stage in London and profoundly

agitated the esthetic circle of “souls” resident in that city. As Tree’s

presentment of the tragedy of Japan was made in faithful adherence to

Belasco’s prompt book thereof and as Belasco never saw the Japanese

actress, either on the stage or off, it would be interesting to learn in

what manner her “influence” was exerted on him or his work. It is

pleasant to turn from such paltry carping to read the hearty tribute

paid by Tree, speaking from the stage of his theatre, in grateful

acknowledgment of public approval:

“Ladies and Gentlemen:--I thank you for this splendid, wonderful

reception of ‘The Darling of the Gods,’ but I must tell you that

all the credit for what you have seen here goes across the ocean to

that great idealist and genius of the Theatre, my comrade David

Belasco, whom I so much admire. Never in all my career have I

received from anybody [else] such a perfect ’script of a play.

Every detail, every bit of costume, every piece of business, every

light, is set down for us, and every note of music furnished,

making it all so easy to produce this play that we can only claim

credit for carrying out instructions! Concerning the genius and

imagination that created it all and is responsible for it all,--I

must say that, knowing him as I do, I can see that it is all

Belasco-Belasco-Belasco, from the rise to the fall of the curtain.

Words are inadequate to pay tribute to him; but I shall have the

pleasure of sending him a cable to-night, to tell him how

tremendously you have all enjoyed and applauded this wonderful play

and how grateful we all are to him as well as you!

“Hereafter, it is my hope that Mr. Belasco and I shall do some work

in collaboration and that I may induce him to send us more of his

productions--perhaps, to bring them over himself and have them

acted for you under his own supervision....”

“Tree was always most generous to me,” Belasco has said; “and his

‘Darling’ speech made me very happy. I like appreciation and

encouragement when I have worked hard and tried to deserve it. Always

after doing my ‘Darling’ Tree used to address me as ‘Sir David,’ and

several times in public speeches he said that if they had me in England

they would knight me--which was very kind and lovely, but plain ‘Mister

Dave’ is good enough for me!”

[Just before leaving this country for the last time Tree read Belasco’s

striking play about the spiritual survival of man, “The Return of Peter

Grimm,” and arranged to produce it in London,--an arrangement which was

abrogated by his sudden and untimely death, July 2, 1917.--J. W.]

A STRENUOUS YEAR.

The year 1904 was one of peculiar perplexity and vexation for

Belasco--of incessant strenuous labor and (as I deem) of most malicious

harassment which might well have broken both his health and his spirit

had he not been sustained by vital enthusiasm and a steadfast,

invincible will. In that year he had not only to bear the heavy expense

of producing “Sweet Kitty Bellairs,” together with the loss and

anxieties incident to theatrical management amid generally disturbed

business conditions and the distraction and annoyance of Miss Montagu’s

monstrous lawsuit, but, also, he had to provide new plays and new

productions for Mrs. Carter and for Warfield, to make his plans for the

future of Blanche Bates, and to encounter at last the open and

unrestricted animosity of the Theatrical Syndicate. “I am,” Belasco has

truly said about himself (1903), “a patient and peaceful man: I don’t

want to fight with anybody. I want to attend to _my_ business in _my own

way_--to do my work unmolested and to interfere with nobody. But neither

will I permit anybody to interfere with _me_, or to dictate to me, if I

am able to resist.” And speaking of Belasco’s course in theatrical

management, his general representative, B. F. Roeder, publicly declared

at about the same time (June, 1903): “Mr. Belasco’s policy will remain

exactly what it has always been. He will be independent of all factions

and [will] place his companies wherever he can get the best terms and

time.” Such a policy, indisputably right as it is, was not one which the

Theatrical Syndicate would brook, and it soon brought that oppressive

monopoly into direct and open conflict with Belasco in the conduct of

his business. Foreseeing an immense popular interest in the World’s Fair

(Louisiana Purchase Exposition) at St. Louis, in 1904, Belasco resolved

that his superb production of “The Darling of the Gods” should

concurrently be presented there. He felt great and wholly natural and

frank pride in that production: he knew that he could not much longer

hold together the company acting in it, and he desired that as many

persons as possible should see his tragedy to the best advantage. When,

however, he applied to the Syndicate booking agency, presided over by

Mr. A. L. Erlanger, to arrange for an engagement in St. Louis, during

“the Fair,” he was informed that it could not be done. He thereupon

instructed his own booking agent, an experienced manager, William G.

Smyth, to arrange for presentment of “The Darling of the Gods” at an

independent theatre there, the Imperial, and his order was at once

obeyed. It is not worth while to relate in detail the story of the

attempt to coerce Belasco into cancelling that engagement: it is enough

to state that (as he told me at the time) when it had proved impossible

to intimidate him the uncouth Erlanger destroyed the contracts

previously executed through his agency, between Belasco and theatre

managers in various cities,--and, in profane and insulting language,

sent him notice that he could not thereafter present his productions in

_any_ Syndicate theatre.

WARFIELD IN “THE MUSIC MASTER.”--AN ANIMATED SPEECH.

Once committed to “open war” with the Trust and having got the St. Louis

engagement of Miss Bates securely arranged, Belasco turned to completion

of the plays for Warfield and Mrs. Carter. He had, at first, intended to

write the Warfield piece unaided, but the demands on his time and

strength had rendered that impossible and he had employed the late

Charles Klein (1867-1915) to work with him. “I had,” he said, “given

much thought to the subject of the play I needed for Warfield, but with

all my other responsibilities and cares I found that I must get somebody

else to do much of the actual writing. One night while having supper in

a restaurant with Roeder, after the play, I told him that I was going to

ask Klein to undertake it. ‘Well,’ Roeder said, ‘this is a good time to

ask him--here he comes,’ and Klein, who had just come in, walked over to

our table and told me he had been thinking for some time about writing a

play for Warfield! I told him what I had in mind, and before we

separated we had agreed to do the piece together.”

The outcome of that agreement was the play of “The Music Master,” which

was produced for the

[Illustration:

Photograph by Sarony. The Albert Davis Collection.

DAVID WARFIELD AS _HERR ANTON VON BARWIG_, IN “THE MUSIC MASTER”]

first time at the Young’s Pier Theatre, Atlantic City, New Jersey, on

September 12, 1904. “The Music Master” is not remarkable for either

originality of design or felicity of construction, but it is pure in

spirit, interesting in story, picturesque in setting, and healthful in

influence, and it was apparent from the first that it would have a long

and abundantly prosperous career. There has been on our Stage such

excessive exposition of vice and degradation, of the possible depravity

of human conduct and wickedness of human motive, that it was an active

benefaction to place such a play before the public, a positive blessing

to receive the privilege of mental contact with its pure and noble ideal

of humanity. It was announced, without qualification, as having been

written by Charles Klein: that was an injustice. It is, in fact, a

patchwork,--in the form in which Klein first shaped it being based to

some extent on a play by Felix Morris (1847-1900) called “The Old

Musician,” and then made over by Belasco, with a distinctively

perceptible interfusion of dramatic expedients from that fine old drama

“Belphégor; or, The Mountebank.” The central person, _Herr Anton von

Barwig_, the Music Master, is a German musician, of a familiar

type,--peculiar but attractive; impassioned but gentle; droll but

piteous; fervid but patient: an image of moral dignity and

self-sacrifice,--and the posture of situations and incidents that have

been utilized for his presentment shows him as a loving father,

occupied, under conditions of almost sordid adversity, in a quest for

his daughter, whom an unworthy wife and mother has taken from him,

flying, with a paramour, from Germany to the United States, whither he

has followed them. That daughter, at last, he finds and, in

circumstances cruel to himself, practically befriends by keeping the

secret of her paternity. The conspicuous attributes of this

person,--attributes blended and interwoven beneath a serio-comic surface

of foreign manner and broken English,--are, intrinsically (of course

with variant investiture), those that have long endeared such characters

as _Michonnet_, _Triplet_, _Mr. Peggotty_, _Caleb Plummer_, and _Doctor

Primrose_: attributes, namely, of love, charity, fidelity, fortitude,

patience, humor, simplicity, spontaneous goodness, and an unconscious

grace equally of conduct, manner, and thought. The purpose, manifestly,

was to place an eccentric, gentle, affectionate, humorous, and somewhat

forlorn elderly man in a predicament of sad circumstance, and in that

way to arouse pity and stimulate the promptings of charitable impulse.

That purpose was accomplished; and therefore, aside from all

consideration of its inspiration and while the play is neither novel

with invention, potent with strong dramatic effect, nor brilliant with

polished dialogue, it possesses the solid worth of fidelity to simple

life, the charm of diversified character, and the beauty of deep,

tender, human feeling.

It was a wise choice to combine those attributes into a stage figure,

and David Warfield,--finding himself liberated, mind and heart, into a

congenial character,--gained in embodying it the most substantial

success of his professional career,--making of that figure a vital

emblem of heroism that is never flamboyant and virtue that is never

insipid; an image of paternal affection that typifies innate dignity of

character and the sweet, gentle, lovely patience of pure

self-abnegation. In earlier performances this comedian was almost

exclusively photographic; but time, thought, and practice,--the forces

that constitute experience,--gradually expanded and ripened his art, and

in his performance of this part (when repetition had eliminated

excessive nervous trepidation and made it “a property of easiness” to

him) he showed intuitive insight and was deeply pathetic. That is true

success; because the higher purpose of acting a play is not proclamation

of the talents of an actor, but liberation and enforcement of the utmost

of beneficial influence upon an audience that a play contains. Warfield

in “The Music Master” conquered by the two great virtues of simplicity

and sincerity. The principal artistic defects in the

personation--defects conspicuous in all Warfield’s acting and to the

elimination of which he seems to be curiously indifferent--were a hard,

metallic voice and a poor method of elocution. The best dramatic

expedient in the play is that by which the father’s dubious, inchoate

recognition of the daughter is confirmed. At that point and in the

sequent situation (“lifted” from “Belphégor”) the actor evinced

sympathetic delicacy and tempestuous fervor. The closing scenes of the

play are marred by episodes of irrelevant incident and by prolixity,

obscurity and artifice, in the long-drawn passage of parental and filial

recognition,--which, indeed, requires but a glance.

Belasco has written the following reminiscence of the production of “The

Music Master,” in which he shows just appreciation of the destructive

result of those excessive expedients of stage “realism” which, in some

of his earlier productions, impaired precisely the _effect_ they were

designed to create:

“We always spoke of _von Barwig_ as ‘the music teacher.’ Naturally

that became the name of the play; but as the character grew our

musician impressed us as a master, and our title was changed to

‘The Music Master.’

“I think there were at least fourteen versions of this

comedy-drama. Even after the cast was engaged, we went over the

manuscript again. The entire Supper Scene in the First Act was

written while the company was assembled on the stage; so, too, was

the ending of the play. Such radical alterations were made at the

last rehearsal that one of the acts was almost entirely rewritten.

We had a scene, wherein _von Barwig_ dreamed of his past life in

Leipzig. While the stage was dark, a double took Warfield’s place

in the armchair and remained in view of the audience while Warfield

himself moved through the following scenes. He was shown as a young

man, writing the intermezzo which was to bring him fame and

fortune. Then he was seen directing the orchestra, then in his

home, where he came fresh from his triumph, to find a note from his

wife, telling of her departure, and on the floor a broken toy,--the

toy by which after many years he was to identify his daughter.

These scenes were mounted on movable platforms, easily set in place

without loss of time. They were shown with telling effect at

rehearsals, but I felt that the beauty of the actor’s art was

hampered by machinery. While Warfield was making quick changes,

hurrying on and off the stage, the beautiful simplicity of his work

was lost. The artist was of less importance than scenic changes and

effects. ‘This is not a spectacular play,’ I thought, ‘all these

external matters are carrying us too far from this man’s

performance.’ To the surprise of everyone, I ordered the scenes cut

out. Instead, I showed Warfield sitting in revery, and by means of

his changing expression and a few phrases dropped now and then the

story of his past was conveyed to the spectators. His simple acting

made it all as clear as though I had really used the various

scenes. At the same time attention was centred on the actor, not

on canvas.... The Last Act represented an attic with a skylight

with its cracked panes stuffed with cloths which fluttered

violently in the wind until some of them fell out and snow drifted

through the openings. I liked the snowstorm very much, as it

accentuated the misery of the characters grouped about a little

stove. Warfield did not like the storm, but he did not wish to say

so; so he took a novel way to be rid of it. ‘Brrr!’ he said as he

walked off the stage, ‘I’m cold! The snowstorm is so realistic it

has given me a chill!’ I ordered the weather changed at once....”

“The Music Master,” when first acted in New York,--at the original

Belasco Theatre, September 26, 1904,--was cast as follows:

_Herr Anton von Earwig_ David Warfield.

_Signor Tagliafico_ } Musicians of the { W.G. Ricciardi.

_Mons. Louis Pinac_ } Liberty Café. { Louis P. Verande.

_Herr August Poons_ } { Leon Kohlmar.

_Henry A. Stanton_ Campbell Gollan.

_Andrew Cruger_ William Boag.

_Beverly Cruger_ J. Carrington Yates.

_Mr. Schwarz_ Alfred Hudson.

_Mr. Ryan_ Tony Bevan.

_Al. Costello_ Louis Hendricks.

_Joles_ Harold Mead.

_Ditson_ H. G. Carlton.

_Danny_ Master Richard Kessler.

_A Collector_ Downing Clarke.

_Mrs. Andrew Cruger_ Isabel Waldron.

_Helen Stanton_ Minnie Dupree.

_Miss Houston_ Marie Bates.

_Jenny_ Antoinette Walker.

_Charlotte_ Sybil Klein.

_Octavie_ Jane Cowl.

After the Second Act Belasco was many times called before the curtain

and finally, responding to insistent requests, addressed the audience in

an exceptionally animated way, saying:

“I hope you will excuse me from making a formal speech; but I am

most happy to take this occasion to say that I am glad you like our

little play and glad that Mr. David Warfield has succeeded. And I

am happy, too, to take this occasion to say publicly how proud I am

of him and how very, very grateful I am for his loyalty to

me--loyalty that no persecution could shake and no malice

undermine! There have been lawsuits, plots, perjuries, and lies;

there have been vexations enough to weary the patience of a saint

(and I am not a saint, ladies and gentlemen!): but Mr. Warfield has

remained through it all unshaken and true to me--and I honor and

thank him: and, ladies and gentlemen, as long as I possess your

confidence and friendship no theatrical syndicates, with all their

money and outside influence, can crush me or dictate to me in what

way I shall conduct my business. I rejoice in Mr. Warfield’s

success, and since this play pleases you, I will only say that our

prosperity is just so much more ammunition with which to continue

the struggle for Justice and the triumph of Right in American

theatrical management!”

The appended letter, written by Belasco during the toil and strain of

preparing his “Music Master” and “Adrea” productions, indicates his

strenuous labor to make the former a success and his almost diffident

estimate of his practically invaluable contributions to it as a

playwright:

(_David Belasco to Charles Klein, at Merriewold Park, N. Y._)

“Shelter Island, Long Island,

“New York, July 10, 1904.

“My dear Charles:--

“Act Second is now in the hands of Miss Edith. As you say you have

shipped the Third Act to me I am expecting it any hour. I shall

have Act One typed as soon as possible and fire it off to you. I

hope you will like the things I have done to it. I am so anxious

that your play shall be a sensational hit _that I am giving fifteen

hours a day to it_. Whatever I do I think will help the cause,--and

after all we are working for a big success. There is too much at

stake for us all not to take off our coats and work for life. You

have been bully, my dear Charles, from start to finish, and now

with good health and with God on our side you shall reap the

benefit of your patience and hard work.--I shall drop the acts

along to you as they leave Miss Edith, and as I said before, I hope

the work I have done on them will please you.

“Faithfully

“DAVID BELASCO.”

CONCERNING WARFIELD, JEFFERSON, THE ELDER SOTHERN, AND THE “ONE-PART”

CUSTOM.--AN AMAZING RECORD.

In commenting on Warfield’s great, indeed phenomenal, success and

popularity in “The Music Master,” Belasco writes: “I have no doubt that

he could become _a one-part actor_ and appear as _von Barwig_

perennially, just as Jefferson played _Rip Van Winkle_ and Sothern _Lord

Dundreary_. However, neither he nor I approve of this plan.” It is

singular, indeed, what a strange, delusive, ineradicable effect the

parrot-like repetition of words sometimes creates. Belasco,--like the

majority of other persons who mention the subject,--has got it firmly

established in his mind that Jefferson and Sothern were what he

designates as “one-part actors” (actors who, as he expressly states,

follow a professional course of which he does not approve), and he will,

I suppose, go to his grave serene in the conviction that such was the

case and unconscious of the injustice he does both those great actors.

Yet Sothern gave hundreds of performances in “Sam,” “David Garrick,”

“The Crushed Tragedian,” “Home,” and “An English Gentleman” after his

great success in “Lord Dundreary”; while Jefferson’s repertory embraced

well over 100 parts; for every five performances he gave of _Rip_ he

gave about three of _Bob Acres_, in “The Rivals,” and,--to the delight

of audiences throughout our country,--he acted, hundreds of times, as

_Dr. Pangloss_, in “The Heir-at-Law”; _Caleb Plummer_, in “The Cricket

on the Hearth”; _Mr. Golightly_, in “Lend Me Five Shillings” (which, by

the way, was the last part he ever played); _Dr. Ollapod_, in “The Poor

Gentleman”; _Hugh de Brass_, in “A Regular Fix,” and _Mr. Woodcock_, in

“Woodcock’s Little Game.” _Every_ exceptionally successful actor is

_more_ popular in some one part than he is in any other, and as it was

with Jefferson in _Rip Van Winkle_ and Sothern in _Dundreary_ so also is

it with Warfield in _von Barwig_. Yet Warfield certainly is not a

one-part actor,--though for every part he has played in the regular

Theatre, aside from that one (exactly four, that is), Jefferson and

Sothern each played anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five parts.

Warfield, since his initial triumph as _von Barwig_, thirteen years ago

[1917], has acted in a revival of “The Auctioneer,” and in “A Grand Army

Man,” “The Return of Peter Grimm,” and “Van Der Decken.” Yet, time and

again, wisely and rightly, Belasco has revived for him “The Music

Master,” and always the public,--whether in the greatest cities of the

country or the smallest “one-night stand” which he has visited,--has

hailed him in that piece with joy and flocked in crowds to witness his

touching and lovely performance. During the season of 1906-’07, when he

fulfilled engagements in that play, of four weeks each, at the Majestic

Theatre, Boston, and the Academy of Music, New York, the respective

managers of those houses caused to be prepared, attested under oath,

and delivered as souvenirs to Belasco statements which show that in

eight weeks $171,179.25 was paid for the privilege of seeing Warfield’s

impersonation of _von Barwig_. That is an amazing record, surpassing any

similar and fairly comparable one known to me, and, therefore, I here

transcribe the items of receipt:

_MAJESTIC THEATRE, BOSTON._

Week ending October 6, 1906 (seven performances), $16,443.50.

Week ending October 13, 1906 (seven performances), 16,227.75.

Week ending October 20, 1906 (eight performances), 18,676.50.

Week ending October 27, 1906 (eight performances), 20,864.00.

------------

$72,211.75.

_ACADEMY OF MUSIC, NEW YORK._

Week ending February 2, 1907, $21,857.25.

“ “ “ 9, “ 22,249.75.

“ “ “ 16, “ 25,149.25.

“ “ “ 23, “ 29,711.25.

------------

$98,967.50.

During the engagement at the Academy of Music, in 1907, the highest

price charged for a seat was $1.50.

[Perhaps nothing more conclusively manifests the unbreakable hold of

Warfield on the affections of the American public, in this play, than

the facts that in the present season (1917-’18), notwithstanding the

stress of war and that the character he portrays is a German, his

audiences everywhere have, seemingly, been limited only by the capacity

of the theatres in which he has appeared and that, as Mr. Belasco kindly

informs me, his average gross receipts have been well over $14,000 a

week.--J.W.]

The first engagement of “The Music Master” at the Belasco Theatre lasted

until January 7, 1905, when it was withdrawn to make way for Mrs. Carter

in “Adrea.” On January 9 it was acted at the old Bijou Theatre, and

remained there until June 3.

Belasco was subjected to a peculiarly impudent and contemptible

persecution when Joseph Brooks (the factotum of Klaw & Erlanger and, as

asserted by Belasco, a mere “dummy” for that firm) attempted to maintain

a claim of partnership with him in the production and presentment of

“The Music Master.” The contract signed by Brooks and by Belasco, in

1901, providing for professional exploitation of David Warfield,

assigned the contract made in November, 1900, between Belasco and

Warfield, to the Belasco-Brooks “partnership”; and

[Illustration:

Photograph in Belasco’s Collection.

SCENE IN FRONT OF THE BELASCO THEATRE, PITTSBURGH, PA.

Ten o’clock in the morning, December 6, 1906: Opening of the sale of

tickets for David Warfield’s engagement in “The Music Master”]

the Belasco-Warfield contract, which covered the seasons of

1901-’02-’03, provided for a renewal at the end of that term. Brooks,

accordingly, after “The Music Master” had been written on Belasco’s

instigation and in large part by him and after it had been produced

solely at his expense and risk, claimed a one-half interest in that

prosperous venture and sought an injunction to prevent the play from

being presented except under management of “Brooks & Belasco.” His claim

was flatly disallowed in a decision of the New York Supreme Court,

rendered by Justice Leventritt on October 31, 1904, in the course of

which the court said:

“...Undisputed proof by affidavit is offered that the [three]

theatrical seasons contemplated [in the Belasco-Warfield contract]

ended about the first of May or at all events before the first of

June. The _alleged_ renewal was made by the plaintiff Brooks

several weeks after this latter date.” Furthermore, held the court,

“Whether the option [of renewal] in fact passed to the firm [of

Belasco & Brooks]; whether, if it did, the plaintiff could exercise

it, are questions open to grave doubt; but, conceding the right of

the plaintiff Brooks, the papers show an exercise of the option

after the close of the third theatrical season and insufficient

proof of a custom that the right survived the termination of the

season.... To enjoin a successful actor’s lucrative performance of

a successful play under (_sic_) such circumstances, when in

addition no question of financial responsibility is presented,

would be to grant, in advance of trial, on insufficient proof, the

very relief which the action itself seeks. Motion denied, with ten

dollars costs.”

Belasco’s feeling about “The Music Master” and his esteem of and loyalty

to his friend Warfield are pleasantly shown in a declaration which he

made about them several years ago:

“From the time the play opened until the present day I have had

many offers for it. George Edwardes promised an enormous guarantee

if we would come to England. George Newnes, proprietor of ‘The

Strand Magazine,’ said: ‘I am not a theatrical manager, but I want

to bring your play and Mr. Warfield to England.’ Cyril Maude,

Arthur Bourchier, and Sir Herbert Beerbohm-Tree all applied for the

acting rights. Another great fortune could be made out of the piece

were I to allow it to be played in stock and moving pictures, but I

have turned a deaf ear to all inducements. ‘The Music Master’ is

for David Warfield; more than that, The Music Master _is_ David

Warfield.”

A SHEAF OF OLD LETTERS: IN THE MATTER OF THE THEATRICAL SYNDICATE.

All of the following letters by Belasco were written during the first

year of “The Music Master,” and they well characterize the purposes of

the Theatrical Syndicate and well indicate Belasco’s lively opposition

to that oppressive monopoly. The second of them is addressed to his

cousin, the son of the famous English actor David James, and it refers

to a proposal made by the younger actor so named that he should be

brought to America, to act in some of his father’s parts, under the

management of Belasco.

(_David Belasco to Blanche Bates._)

“Belasco Theatre, New York,

“September 28, 1904.

“My dear ‘St. Louis Pet’:--

“Thanks for your message. It was sweet of you and your dear mother

to think of me. Warfield and his little play hit them _hard_, and

we have struck another terrific blow in the _solar plexus_ of the

Syndicate.

“Mrs. Carter’s new play [“Adrea”] is written and I am already at

work on yours [“The Girl of the Golden West”]. I am crazy to see

you and go over the story before I get at the dialogue. As soon as

Mrs. Carter’s play is produced I shall join ‘The Darling of the

Gods’ for a few weeks, as we must have a lot of talks together. I

am going to do something _bully_ for you,--a part that you will

love. Won’t you be happy when you are again playing in New York at

the home theatre!

“Keep well. Love to your mother,--and remember I am

“Always your friend,

“DAVID BELASCO.”

(_David Belasco to David James, Jr., in London._)

“Belasco Theatre,

“New York, October 14, 1904.

“My dear David James:--

“Yours of October the 1st received. Yes, I did answer your former

letter. No doubt it followed you about and was finally lost.

Things theatrical are in a very bad way over here just now, and I

am still in the midst of a big combat with what is known as the

Theatrical Syndicate--a combination of men who have got together to

disgrace the Stage and commercialize it, root and branch. It is

rule or ruin with them, and unless they can force a heavy tribute

from a man he is blacklisted forthwith. I am fortunate enough to be

on their blacklist, and consequently am obliged, for the present,

to move with cautious steps and to make no more productions than I

can safely place. But it is to be hoped that a season or two will

see the lifting of this dark cloud. When that time comes, I shall

be only too happy to introduce you in this country. I know your

work and I feel sure that you would make yourself heard over here

had you the opportunity. Will you not drop me a line now and then?

I am always pleased to hear from you.

“Faithfully yours,

“DAVID BELASCO.”

(_David Belasco to Peter Robertson, San Francisco._)

RIGHT

“Belasco Theatre, New York,

“April 25, 1904.

“Dear Peter:--

“[E. D.] Price and Fred [Belasco] have been ‘kicking’ about the

vile cigars in San Francisco, so I am sending you a few weeds that

ought to be better than the Barbary Coast perfectos. Sorry I can’t

deliver them in person, but I cannot get away this year; so when

you are smoking them think of your old

Four-o’clock-in-the-morning-pie-chum. Heavens, my dear Peter, I

often think of those dear old days! They were struggling days for

us, to be sure, but sometimes I feel that, at least as far as I am

concerned, they were the happiest ones of life. Ambition is a

hard, hard master, and from the moment when I left ’Frisco it has

been constant work-work-work with me,

morning-noon-and-night--winter and summer! I don’t think I have had

half-a-dozen hours to myself in all that time, and to make my lot

easier, away off here in the East, I am surrounded by that

inartistic, low-lived Theatrical Syndicate, which for some reason

or other,--certainly not justly for anything I have done,--has

waged a relentless war against me. And since I cannot with honor

play in Syndicate houses I am sending my stars and productions

anywhere that I can find a roof to cover them. So far they have not

crushed me, as they said they would, for the public and the press

throughout the country have stood by me, and as long as I continue

to deserve their sympathies and friendship I shall be victorious.

In this combine against me, my dear Peter, are Al. Hayman and the

Frohmans, to whom you know I have given the best years of my life,

helping to make fame and fortune for them. Of course, with Charles

Frohman it is jealousy: Daniel Frohman resents not being able to

get my plays for nothing: with the Syndicate it is because they

feared I was getting a little too strong for them. But you knew me

as a boy--in fact, we were boys together--and no one in the world

knows better than you how I can struggle with privation and

adversity. I shall never surrender to this crowd: _never_--not even

if I am obliged to return to ’Frisco and do chores about a theatre

as you saw me do in the long, long ago.

“Well, I have written more than I intended to, telling you my

troubles, but I shall make it a rule to send you a line now and

then and let you know all the good and cheerful news of the East. I

would give a finger to be able to drop in on you at this moment

for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie in the little old

restaurant, if it is still in existence, and to have an old-time

heart-to-heart talk. But I hope it won’t be very long before I can

do this. Hurrah! God bless you!

“Faithfully,

“DAVID BELASCO.”

(_Peter Robertson to David Belasco, in New York._)

“Bohemian Club, San Francisco, Calif.,

“May 9, 1904.

“My dear Dave:--

“I shall smoke the cigars to your continued success. I was glad to

hear from you; but I don’t sympathize in the least with your

suffering from hard work. I did sympathize much more with you in

the days when you worked,--often quite as hard and got no

salary!--‘faking’ plays for Maguire, at the Baldwin. You would

never be happy, anyway, if you hadn’t your head full of schemes,

and were not constantly producing. Your work has achieved a great

success, and work that has success behind it and success before it

is life at its best. There is nothing so hard as work that has

failure to pull it backward and the prospect of failure to push it

back.

“_I_, too, think of the old days of coffee and cake; they were

pleasant, after all; if I had lived much beyond them since they

would still be pleasant to recall. However, my life goes on in its

even tenor, and I make myself as comfortable as possible, though I

do feel something like an old, worn-out hack--so many years I have

gone the same old round. Still, I have not quite given up hope of

better fortune.

“Go on and make your name and fortune greater than ever, and don’t

work yourself up over any Syndicates. They need you more than you

do them.--My regards to Mrs. Belasco and the family, and Fred and

Price.

“Always yours, “PETER.”

Belasco, I surmise, must have smiled a little grimly at this airy

admonition “not to work himself up” about the active antagonism of the

Syndicate: the cheery advice to the weaker party in a conflict, “Go in

and win,” is doubtless excellent, but often, unhappily, it is somewhat

more difficult to follow than it is to give. Viewed from the secluded

tranquillity of the old Bohemian Club--that genial harbor of congenial

spirits--a struggle with the Syndicate may have seemed like a fight with

a phantom. For Belasco it was, and for many years remained, a hard

reality, and had it not been for his wary vigilance and indomitable

resolution he would certainly have been defeated, overwhelmed, and

ruined.--Poor Robertson never realized his “hope of better fortune”: for

several years after 1904 he continued to be the dramatic critic of “The

San Francisco Chronicle”: then, the whole duty of the managing editor

(as defined by my old friend, the journalist William Seaver--“first, to

wring your brains dry; second, to throw you away”) having been

performed, he was dismissed from his employment and, after two or three

years of anxious, dispirited, lonely waiting, he died--and, save by a

few old friends, he is thought of no more.

METHOD OF COLLABORATION.

The tragedy of “Adrea,” begun in 1903, was completed before September,

1904, and it was put into rehearsal, at the Belasco Theatre, in October

of the latter year. The following letters which passed between Belasco

and his friend and associate John Luther Long afford an informing

glimpse of their methods of collaboration in authorship, which Belasco

has described in these words: “Before the actual writing of ‘Adrea’ we

had the story [worked out] to the smallest detail. He lived in

Philadelphia, but spent the latter part of each week with me. After the

plot was finished we adopted a new system of collaboration. Mr. Long and

I worked on the scenes apart, then met and joined them together. Then he

revised the result and then I revised the result, and so on, until the

sixth or seventh version found the scene in very good condition.”

(_John Luther Long, in Philadelphia, to David Belasco, in New York._)

“------, (?) 1903.

“I have now, my dear Goliath, been pretty well over the history of

Rome, once more, and I have found only two places where we MIGHT

possibly stick in our pin. One is the Augustan Era, and Livia and

Julia; the other is the reign of Claudius and Messalina. I don’t

think you would like either. I am sure _I_ don’t! Besides, both

have been done to death. There were NO woman rulers of Rome, and

only one--Messalina--who took much of a hand at politics. I think

we shall finally agree upon some island or mountain plateau--the

latter commends itself because the other has been so often done. I

think we could use either the island of Pandataria in the Adriatic,

or the little island of Ilva in the Mediterranean. We could have

all the Roman splendor there, without the handicap of being,

unhistorically, IN Rome. Here is the scheme which outlines itself

in my mind:

“When Rome was finally subdued, in A.D. 476, Romulus was on the

throne. He was kicked out and sort of lost--though he is said by

some of the histories I have read to have gone to live privately in

the Campagna. He does not seem to have left any heirs. But let us

give him some. Or _one_. This one seeks out one of these islands

and takes with him some Romans to build anew the debased Roman

Empire with the blood of the old Patricians alone. It is this

kingdom, several hundred years later,--so that four or five of

Romulus’ descendants may intervene,--where we locate our play. And

now, there are no males of the pure Roman blood and the succession

falls to the two women.

“I rather dislike the creation of a name, such as Romancia or

Ruritania or such like, and I think we could use the real name of

the island, if we adopt it. And both are pretty good names.

Pandataria. Ilva. Or we could, as you suggested, make some name out

of the real names: Pinda--Illus--Illa--and so on. All the histories

stop at that wonderful period of ours, 476 A.D., when our Odvokar

did the trick. (One of them goes on to say that he stops there

because the rest is too indecent for publication!) But I am on the

track of some good books treating of that period--though I don’t

expect to find a woman or a ruler in it all. For, in this period,

ALL the sovereigns, without exception, were elected by the soldiers

in the field and the corrupt pretorians at home--with, once in a

while, the people waking up and saying a word. After I have well

looked up this period, I will run over and we will talk--when you

can spare the time.

“Don’t forget to tell your girl to send me the copies she makes. If

anything should happen, by fire or flood, you have all the stuff

over there.

“Yours,

“J. L. L.”

(_David Belasco to John Luther Long, in Philadelphia._)

“The Belasco Theatre,

“New York, April 2, 1904.

“My dear Jonathan:--

“You are right about the bench. I had already noted it and called

Buckland’s and Gros’ attention to it, but outside of that

correction, when we make the model, both the scenes will be

corkers, full of the right sentiment and feeling--the atmosphere

perfect. I am running over to see Mrs. Carter to have a talk with

her about certain people for the cast

[Illustration: DAVID BELASCO

Inscription:

“_God bless you, dear friend!

Faithfully,

David Belasco._”

“_To William Winter, Esqre._”

Photograph by the Misses Selby.

Author’s Collection.

]

and also a general chat as to the costumer. She is miles deep

planning them already. Before she goes to ’Frisco you and I

together will have a talk with her.

“I am on the Fourth Act all the time. It is great--_great_--GREAT.

They can’t beat us--we are the top notches! Furst is going insane

with pleasure over his share of the work. He loves it and is so

infatuated that he is good for nothing else at present. In fact,

everybody who has anything to do with the play is wild over it. I

shall be back on Monday. What day after that can you come over? We

will get in some big licks with Buckland, as I want to start him on

the properties, etc., as soon as possible. God give us health and

strength to knock out the great play!

“Faithfully,

“DAVID.”

(_John Luther Long to David Belasco._)

“Gosh! but that letter is full of good news, Goliath dear! When the

scenery and costumes begin to materialize it looks as if the

brain-squeezing would really amount to something. I shall have the

Fourth ready for you by the middle of next week. Let me know a few

days in advance of the time you want it, so that it can be copied.

I am leaving a few little things to look up, but they are not

important: such as _drums_--whether they had them in the legions;

and, if so, what were their forms: and the Roman military salute.

But I am practically done with the act. I’d like to see the models

for the First. Perhaps I can, soon. I am feeling O.K. Equal to all

the work two hands and one head can do. Don’t bother about Frohman.

We’ve got him beaten! This Fourth Act, as I get into it, is

wonderful! Send on the Epilogue whenever you are ready with it. I

am doing nothing but the Fourth and shall not, till I send it on to

you.

“Hail, Luna of Adrea!”

“J. L. L.”

MRS. CARTER AND THE TRAGEDY OF “ADREA.”

The tragedy of “Adrea,” by Belasco and Long, is a composition of

exceptional imaginative scope and of great dramatic power. Its scene is

a royal court of a conjectural kingdom, situated on an imaginary island

in, perhaps, the Adriatic Sea. Its time is named as about the fifth

century of the Christian era,--a time well chosen for poetic and

romantic purposes; for the vast Roman Empire had then become

extinguished in Western Europe and was slowly crumbling to pieces in the

East, and minor monarchies can credibly be supposed to have flourished

in such an era of transition and a martial chieftain out of Noricum to

have dallied with the daughters of a Roman Prince. It is a play without

historic basis; an authentic creation of the inventive brain; a vigorous

and splendid work of art, moving freely in a broad field. It deals with

great themes,--great passions, crimes, and sorrows; great and terrible

punishments of sin, and the spectacle of great character made sublime by

grief. Much of its movement proceeds in the open air: some of it

beneath the vault of night; and its web involves the terrors of tempest

and the mystery and dread of spectres from the realm of death. The form

and color of it are modern,--a form and color of rosy amplitude and

voluptuous luxuriance; but the feeling that pervades it is the ominous

feeling of the old Greek tragedies of fate and doom. Its defect is

excess--an excess of persons, objects, pictures, emotions, and words;

the superflux that proceeds from intensely passionate feeling in the

conception of the story and especially in the conception and development

of its central character. An affluence of fancy is, however, more

grateful than the frigid sense of want. This is a synopsis of it:

The action begins in a spacious scene, in front of the royal palace of

the monarchs of the island kingdom. The _Princess Adrea_ is the blind

daughter of _Menethus_, _King of the Adrean Isles_. She is older than

her sister, the _Princess Julia_, and on the death of her father she

would succeed to the throne, if she were not blind: for the law of

_Menethus_ has ordained that “No sovereign shall wear the crown who is

not, both in mind and body, sound.” The play opens on the hundredth day

after the death of _Menethus_. The _King_ is dead, and the hour has come

for the crowning of his successor. The _Princess Julia_, long known as

“the imperial wanton,” with a company of her kind, is holding a

festival. _Kaeso_, born a barbarian, but later a pretorian tribune,

having come to Adrea, with his troops, intent on usurping the throne of

_Menethus_, sees a readier way of conquest, in a marriage with the

_Princess Julia_, soon to be _Queen_. He has been made her favorite, and

marriage with him is to follow her coronation.

In the course of the revel the blind princess, _Adrea_, passes, led by

an Egyptian named _Garda_, on her way to the temple, in which she is to

be secluded, so that her presence at court may not trouble her sister

_Julia_, whom the people of the kingdom detest. It is premised that in

Arcady, where _Adrea_ had dwelt with her father, she had known and loved

_Kaeso_, then one of the _King’s_ martial chieftains, and that he had

sworn to marry her, but had proved faithless. Now, at the _Princess

Julia’s_ festival, _Kaeso_ and _Adrea_ meet again, and _Kaeso_ kindly

greets the blind girl. This enrages the _Princess Julia_, who thereupon

commands him to declare to _Adrea_ that he does not love her, but loves

her sister _Julia_. This cruelty he must commit, as the price of the

kingdom. He submits; the imperious _Julia_ leads her train away; and he

is left alone with _Adrea_, to whom he discloses himself, and who

receives him with the deepest tenderness of faithful love. To her his

presence can mean only that he has come to keep his oath by marrying

her. _Kaeso_ forgets _Julia_, his ambitions--everything but the woman

who has come into his arms. The watchful _Princess Julia_, apprised by a

spy, the _Court Fool_,--_Mimus_, _the Echo_,--returns to see the lovers

in their ecstasy of reconciliation, and she at once determines on a

terrible revenge. _Kaeso_, seeing _Julia_, starts away from _Adrea_, and

_Mimus_, who madly loves the blind princess, takes his place. This

_Mimus_ happens to be in an armor like that of _Kaeso_, which he has put

on in a frolic; and when _Adrea_ reaches to find _Kaeso_ her hands touch

_Mimus_, and she eagerly claims him, believing him to be her plighted

lover. “And you shall marry him!” says the _Princess Julia_; grimly

adding, as a response to _Kaeso’s_ look of horror: “It is the price of

Adrea!”

A lapse of five hours is supposed. The scene is the same. The time is

near dawn. Soldiers are on guard. Challenges pass. Rumors have been

heard of ill to the beloved _Princess Adrea_. _Kaeso’s_ lieutenant,

_Arkissus_, devoted to _Adrea_, has heard these rumors, and he demands

an explanation of them from the now drunken and frenzied _Kaeso_. They

quarrel, and are about to fight, when a fearful cry is heard and they

halt. Then, staggering down the palace steps, moaning in agony, comes

the _Princess Adrea_, alone. Her prayer, like that of Ajax, is for

light. She beseeches the gods to grant her one moment of sight, so that

she may see the man to whom she has been given. The _Fool_ enters, to

drag her away,--for the _Princess Julia_, now _Queen_, has decreed

banishment of _Adrea_ and the _Fool_, and they must leave her kingdom

before the dawn. There is an ominous roll of thunder. The _Fool_ seizes

_Adrea_. Suddenly the heavens seem to answer her agonized supplication.

A bolt of lightning shatters the statue of her father, to which she has

been clinging, and there is an instant of darkness. When the light is

restored, a chaos stands revealed, in which _Princess_ and _Fool_ are

prostrated. _Adrea_ revives, and, with a wild cry, realizes that she can

see. Soon she remembers, and gazing down upon a “painted, hideous,

gibbering thing, in red and white,” she knows him for the _Fool_, who

has been described to her. She lifts his limp body and stares at his

vacant eyes: then she drops it and whispers, in horror: “Gods! _You!_”

The action now shifts to a structure called “The Tower of

Forgetfulness.” To this _Adrea_ goes, not thinking to take her throne,

but only wishing to die, and thus bury her shame. The Tower of

Forgetfulness is an obelisk of great antiquity, built half on the land

and half on the sea. Its door is never closed. Here the wretch who is

weary of life can drink “the cup of oblivion,” and, through “the door of

release,” sink into the sea, and be at rest. It is _Adrea’s_ purpose to

die. Then suddenly she hears the royal trumpets, the marriage song, and

_Kaeso’s_ song of battle. At the same moment her father’s ghost appears

and enjoins her to reign, for vengeance. Looking down upon the ocean,

she beholds _Kaeso_ and _Julia_, who are returning to the palace, after

their marriage. They are in her father’s royal galley, with his effigy

at the prow. “Stop them!” commands _Adrea_. “Bring my father’s galley

here! Say that _Queen Adrea_, rides to her coronation!” _Arkissus_

appears with his legions, and executes her will.

The coronation of _Adrea_ ensues. _Kaeso_ is brought before her, in

order that he may sue for pardon--which the heart of the injured _Queen_

is ready to grant. But _Kaeso_ is haughty, and the _Queen_ dismisses her

court, that she may judge him alone. She is temperate, lenient, and

fond. She pours out all her heart; but it is only to be dazed by

_Kaeso’s_ declaration that his regret is solely for his lost ambition.

He tells her that he knew of her spoliation, and allowed it. The _Queen_

recalls her court. “Set him upon a horse of state,” she says, “drest in

a robe of gold. Strew his way with roses! Let heralds go before him and

cry ‘Conqueror!’ ‘Imperator!’ Let maidens chant songs! And when he has

reached my gates, and his men and galleys are in sight,--_whip him!_

Whip him to his empty camp, and hold him captive there till the manner

of his death is decided.”

The scene changes to the _Queen’s_ Cabinet. _Kaeso_ is brought in on the

way to execution. It is the supreme moment of _Adrea’s_ life. The man

she loves is on the way to death. In spite of all her wrongs she will

look upon his face again, before it is mangled by wild horses’ hoofs.

Her heart still cries out for him. Even now she would save him, if she

could. But frenzied multitudes surround the palace, maddened with

knowledge of the outrages that the _Queen_ has suffered; and she is

powerless to save. _Queen Adrea_ must tell _Kaeso_ the manner of his

death. _Kaeso_ had thought to die as a soldier should--upon his sword,

but his death is to be that of a beast, trampled beneath the iron hoofs

of horses. This fate she proclaims, but, when the first shock of horror

is past, _Kaeso_ confesses that he deserves his doom, and declares that

he will die well: and then he says that he has always loved _Adrea_, but

has put his love aside, for the sake of his ambition. Again the _Queen_

relents. She will, at least, save him from a death of ignominy. She

offers him the sword of _Menethus_, with which to kill himself. But his

hands are chained. “You!” he begs. The thought is unendurable. She turns

away. But suddenly, turning back, she cries out, “Yes!” and drives the

blade through her lover’s heart.

The scene changes to Arcady. Eight years have passed. _Queen Adrea_ has

come to Arcady, and there she would remain at rest. But her people call

her back to Adrea. The stanch _Arkissus_,--who has always loved her,

whose one thought is of duty, and whose duty is to obey,--brings the

prayer of her subjects that she will return and rule over them. But here

are green fields, summer skies, and the shepherds and their pastoral

music: it is a halcyon place and time; and she would remain, and linger,

and die here, and rest beneath the sod that she and her first lover once

trod together. A trumpet sounds, and a captive youth is brought into her

presence. He is the son of _Kaeso_ and _Julia_, and he has sought the

throne of _Adrea_. He is vanquished, and his mother, _Julia_, has been

slain. But there are tears in _Queen Adrea’s_ eyes, as she looks upon

him, and her arms open to him--for he has the port and lineaments of

_Kaeso_. The _Queen_ and the captive play a game,--“the Game of Being

King.” _Adrea_ places the youth on her throne, sets her crown on his

head, puts her sceptre into his hands, throws her ermine on his

shoulders, and bids him “Reign in love.” “Open the casement,” cries the

captive boy, “Let in the sun, if you play fair and set no trap for me!”

“At the King’s command,” she answers; and in those words ordains her

fate, for _Adrea_ cannot again look upon the sun without loss of her

vision. She flings the casement wide open, and, in the sudden blaze of

light, goes blind: then, when the agony is past and night has come

again, she staggers to the throne and cries, “Long live the King!” For

still the law of succession is inexorable,--and so _Prince Vasha_

reigns, and _Adrea_ is once more only _Adrea of Arcady_.

No student of Roman history needs to be told that among the women of

Rome (and at one time all Italy was circumscribed within the capital)

there were females illustrious for almost celestial virtues and females

portentous for the monstrosity of their hideous crimes. The authors of

“Adrea” neither distorted nature nor exaggerated fact in their

portraiture of the two princesses, _Adrea_ and _Julia_, who are opposed

and contrasted in this remarkable drama of love, crime, frenzy,

retribution, atonement, and peace. _Adrea_ is not nobler or more

virtuous than Valentinian’s Eudoxia, nor is _Julia_ more malignant,

treacherous, and cruel than Justinian’s Theodora. In this tragedy the

purpose, obviously, was to present, amid regal accessories and in all

the paraphernalia of semi-barbaric splendor, a woman of lofty mind,

potent character, and impetuous passions, and, by making her the victim

not alone of blighted affection but of deadly outrage, to involve her in

a complex tangle of torment; to make her terrible in the delirium of

exasperated feeling; to display her emotional perturbation and fierce

and ferocious conduct in a vortex of tempestuous struggle; and, finally,

to depict her noble expiatory conquest of herself, and to leave her, in

her lonely majesty, a sublime image of triumphant virtue, gentle

fortitude, and patient grief. That purpose has been superbly

accomplished. To superficial observers, indeed, the presentment of

“Adrea” appealed chiefly by reason of its implication of theatrical

situation, its startling effects of climax, and its gorgeous scenic

investiture. To thoughtful minds it came home as an illuminative and

significant exposition of human nature, artfully made through the medium

of a wonderful picture of human life in the antique world,--and in that

it reached much further than merely to the fulfilment of any immediate

theatrical need. Like the more classic dramatists of the Garrick era,

its authors drew their inspiration from the great fountain of historic

antiquity--adjusting, rearranging, and emphasizing old types and old

examples to exhibit actually (and not by any dubious method of old

symbolism) what is in our own hearts and of what fibre we are all made.

Their play is an honor to them, and it is a rich and permanent addition

to the literature of the Stage.

Mrs. Carter impersonated _Adrea_, and finding in it a part into which

she could entirely liberate all her emotional power, without losing

control of it, she rose to the occasion. She had hitherto acted in

comedy, “sensation,” or sentimental, drama. The character of _Adrea_ is

wholly tragic. Through the wide range of conflicting emotions implicated

in her experience--the misery of blindness and loss of royal

inheritance, the ignominy of desertion by her idolized lover and of

betrayal into the lewd embraces of an odious menial, the paroxysm of

anguish when, to save her lover from a death of horror and shame decreed

by herself, she strikes him dead, and the humility of surrender when,

after years of bleak remembrance, she invites again the black eclipse

and forlorn disablement of blindness and delivers her kingdom to the

rule of her slaughtered lover’s son--Mrs. Carter moved firmly, steadily,

triumphantly,--commanding every situation and rising to every climax. No

denotement in Mrs. Carter’s acting of _Du Barry_ had even remotely

indicated such depth of tragical feeling and such power of dramatic

expression as she revealed in the scenes of the tempest, in pronouncing

_Kaeso’s_ doom, and, above all, in the terrible, piteous, tragic

self-conflict through which the Woman became the incarnation of Fate and

the Minister of Death. Mrs. Carter had long been known for her

exceptional facility of feminine blandishment, her command of the

enticing wiles of coquetry and the soft allurement of sensuous

grace,--known, likewise, and rightly admired for the clarity and purity

of her English speech, always delightful to hear: but observers studious

to see and willing to be convinced had not supposed her to be an actor

of tragedy. It took a long time for Belasco to bring her to a really

great victory, but she gained it in _Adrea_. The impersonation possessed

many attributes of beauty: symmetry, for the eye; melody, for the ear;

unity, continuity, sincerity, and sustainment, for the critical sense;

poetic atmosphere, for the imagination; but it possessed one supreme

attribute of terror,--absolute knowledge of human misery. “Look into

your heart, and write,” is an old poetic precept. “Look into your heart,

and act” ought to be joined with it: but God pity the heart into which

the true poet and the true actor must sometimes look!

“Adrea” was first performed in Washington, D. C., on December 26, 1904,

and in New York on January 11, 1905,--at the first Belasco Theatre. The

following is the original cast of that play:

_Kaeso of Noricum_ Charles A. Stevenson.

_Arkissus of Frisia_ Tyrone Power.

_Marcus Lecca_ R. D. McLean.

_Holy Nagar_ H. R. Roberts.

_Mimus, the Echo_ J. H. Benrimo.

_Bevilaccas_ Claude Gillingwater.

_Caius Valgus_ Marshall Welch.

_Sylvestros_ Gilmore Scott.

_Dyaixes_ Louis Keller.

_Bram-Bora_ Edward Brigham.

_Marlak_ H. R. Pomeroy.

_Master of the Tower_ H. G. Carlton.

_Servant of the Tower_ Gerald Kelly.

_The Shade of Menethus_ Charles Hungerford.

_Thryssos_ Francis Powers.

_Idmondus_ Gordon West.

_A Mock Herald_ Arthur Maryatt.

_Crassus_ Edwin Hardin.

_Herald of the Senate_ Franklin Mills.

_Page of the Senate_ Harold Guernsey.

_A Bargeman_ Luther Barry.

_Zastus_ Teft Johnson.

_Galba_ Harry Sheldon.

_Sigrad_ Charles Wright.

_Var-Igon_ F. L. Evans.

_Slave of the Whips_ James H. George.

_Slave of the Queen’s Door_ Joseph Moxler.

[Illustration: BELASCO’S “ADREA” CURTAINS

Photograph by Byron. Belasco’s Collection.

]

_The Child Vasha_ (in the epilogue) Louis Grimm.

_Julia Doma_ Edith Crane.

_Garda_ Maria Davis.

_Myris_ Corah Adams-Myll.

_Lefta_ Lura Osborn.

_Lelit_ Grace Noble.

_A Singing Bird_ Madeleine Livingston.

_Adrea_ Mrs. Leslie Carter.

Coincident with his production of “Adrea” Belasco’s fight for freedom in

the conduct of his business reached a climax that attracted nation-wide

and wondering attention and enlisted the sympathetic assistance of

eminent members of the national legislature. Whenever possible,

subsequent to his successful presentment of “The Heart of Maryland” in

Washington (October, 1895), Belasco has elected to bring out his new

plays in that city. There he desired to launch what was in some ways the

most ambitious venture of his career,--and there, accordingly, after

overcoming every obstacle that could be thrown in his way, he first made

known the tragedy of “Adrea.” But before narrating the manner in which

that production was effected it is desirable here to make somewhat

particular exposition of the antagonism he was compelled to encounter

and to record the significance of his long and costly conflict with it.

BELASCO AND THE THEATRICAL SYNDICATE.

JUSTICE AND THEATRICAL ACHIEVEMENT.

David Belasco has served the Public and the Theatre, ably and

brilliantly, in several fields and for many years, but his achievements

as at once theatre manager, stage manager, playwriter, instructor, and

“producer,” splendid and admirable as incontestably they have been and

are, have been equalled by other American managers, of earlier date. In

writing Biography it is prudent to remember that “there were heroes

before Agamemnon.” Much was accomplished on the American Stage long

before the advent of either David Belasco or any other theatrical

administrator of recent times, and when we review the history of the

drama in America for more than a hundred years, and consider the

managers by whom it has been fostered, conserved, and directed, we

should recall and honor the names,--among others,--of William Dunlap,

the elder Warren, William Wood, Francis Courtney Wemyss, James H.

Caldwell, Noah Ludlow, Edmund Simpson, Charles Gilfert, the elder

Hackett, the elder Wallack, William Evans Burton, and Thomas

Barry,--each of whom, in his day, deserved theatrical eminence and

gained it, and all of whom seem now to be forgotten. Lester Wallack, who

long preceded Belasco, and who also was theatre manager, stage manager,

playwriter, and actor,--and as actor with no superior and scarce an

equal in his peculiar realm,--gained laurels which will long endure.

John T. Ford, Boucicault, Barrett, McCullough, Edwin Booth, and John S.

Clarke,--all were accomplished and highly successful and distinguished

in every branch of theatrical management; and, although Belasco has

written his name imperishably on the honorable scroll of dramatic

renown, he has not eclipsed those eminent predecessors.

BELASCO’S UNIQUE SERVICE TO THE THEATRE.

In one service, however, that Belasco has rendered to the Theatre and

the Public he is peculiarly a benefactor, and in doing that service he

has encountered an antagonism and prevailed in adverse circumstances

with which the elder theatrical managers never had to contend. It would

be difficult to over-estimate the value of his intrepid opposition to

the tyrannical monopoly known as “The Theatrical Syndicate.” His

conflict with that arrogant, oppressive, pernicious organization,

sustained through a period of about twelve years, and finally

victorious, required unfaltering courage, tenacious purpose, skilful and

prompt action, and tireless persistence. It exacted from him prodigious

labor; it entailed upon him great expense and loss, and it compelled an

expenditure of time and strength which, if he had been left free to

devote it to his artistic labor, would have been productive of lasting

benefit to the Drama. But the sacrifice was well made, because the

Theatre and the Public profited by it,--as, earlier, and concurrently,

they profited by the resolute contest against the Syndicate (a valiant

and gallant fight for freedom and justice) waged by Harrison Grey Fiske

and Minnie Maddern Fiske. It should be noted that Augustin Daly,

Belasco’s immediate predecessor in the primacy of theatrical management

in America,--who, also, was theatre manager, stage manager, playwriter,

and “producer,” and who was consummate as an executive,--being assailed

by the Syndicate (as he several times declared to me), became one of its

active opponents and resisted its aggressions: but Daly, who died before

its despotic power had become matured, had long been an established,

powerful manager before it was formed, so that it could not do him much

harm. Belasco, on the contrary, was constrained to fight his way to

independence and influence against its active, relentless opposition

and inveterate hostility, from almost the beginning of his career in

theatrical management.

WHAT ARE WE DISCUSSING?

In the period of about sixteen years preceding 1912 the newspaper press

of America published many thousands of columns, often critical, at times

strongly censorious, about the “Trust” or monopoly which commonly is

known as “The Theatrical Syndicate.” Bitter fights likewise have been

waged not only in the press but in the courts relative to that

organization. The public has, from time to time, manifested interest in

the subject,--as, for example, relative to Mrs. Fiske’s appearance in

all sorts of unsuitable places, because the Syndicate had “barred” her

from the regular and (as they are technically styled) “first-class”

theatres, and to Mme. Bernhardt’s enforced performances in a circus

tent, for the same reason, and, especially, to Belasco’s almost

preterhuman efforts to present his plays in Washington (from which city

strenuous efforts were made by the Syndicate to exclude him). Yet I

believe that the public knowledge of the Syndicate,--its origin, aims,

character, policy, conduct, and effect,--has never been more than

superficial.

THE SYNDICATE-INCUBUS DEFINED.

What _is_ “The Theatrical Syndicate,” and _why_ should it rightfully be

denounced and opposed as a pernicious institution?

The Theatrical Syndicate, primarily, was a partnership of six men, all

speculative theatrical managers, formed for the purpose of dominating,

for the pecuniary profit, advantage, and personal aggrandizement of its

members, the theatrical business of America, and of doing this by

methods some of which, in their practical operation, are morally

iniquitous, and should be, if they are not, legally preventable, in the

public interest.

Those six men were: Al. (Albert) Hayman (deceased 1916), Charles Frohman

(deceased 1915), Marc Klaw, and Abraham Lincoln Erlanger, all of New

York; and Samuel F. Nirdlinger (known as Nixon) and J. Frederick

Zimmermann, both of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The contract under which

those persons formed their copartnership and carried on their syndicate

business was made in August, 1896, and it was renewed, in substance, in

April, 1900.

SPECIOUS PRETENSIONS TO JUSTIFY THE INCUBUS.

The founders of the Theatrical Syndicate have, with much fulsome

commendation of themselves and their purposes, directly or by

implication, sought to justify the position they have assumed by

specious assurances substantially to this effect:

That the theatrical business of America was disorganized, unstable, and,

in general, so conducted as to entail loss on many or most persons

engaged in it, by reason of _competition_, poor judgment, and lack of

discrimination in its transactions; that the prevalent administration of

it was not favorable to the development of actors and the promotion of

the art of the Theatre; that their combination was made to cure, and

that it did cure, the defects of theatrical business, stabilize it and

render it reputable and responsible,--placing it, in this respect, on a

level with other business; and that, incidentally, it would, and did,

tend to prosper the means whereby the Theatre must live--namely, Acting

and the exhibition of Acting. A. L. Erlanger, executive of the Booking

Department of this organization (that is, of the firm of Klaw &

Erlanger, the particular business of which was, and is, to “book,”

_i.e._, to arrange, the tours of theatrical companies), has thus stated

a part of his views relative to the character and doings of the

Syndicate:

“The American [theatrical] manager of to-day is _unique_,

_contrasting_ him with the _managers of long ago_, and that still

exist in England, France, and elsewhere, in that _he_ is

_qualified_ and _experienced_ in staging _all kinds_ of theatrical

entertainments.... As for the question of Commercialism _versus_

Art in Stage matters, I cannot see where the fact that financial

solvency, _making the business of the theatrical world comparable_

in its _integrity_ with that found in other occupations, lessens

the artistic value of the question [_sic_]. No actor will act the

worse because he knows his salary will be paid promptly; and the

fact that the business of the theatres is conducted on _firm lines_

is calculated to encourage, rather than dismay, the actor, the

dramatist, and everybody else whose interest in the Stage is

primarily artistic.”

In support of those views and in advocacy of the Syndicate of which he

was an active member the late Charles Frohman wrote (“The New York

Herald,” March 13, 1910): “Several men united to systematize the conduct

of the Theatre, _put the actor’s profession on a self-respecting

footing_, guard the playwright against piracy, protect the managers of

theatrical companies against unfair competition [_i.e._, competition not

profitable to the members of the Syndicate.--W. W.], at the same time

obliging them _to keep faith_ with managers of theatres.”

A third voucher for the exalted integrity and far-reaching beneficence

of the methods exemplified in the operations of the Syndicate was

furnished by Charles Burnham, at that time manager of Wallack’s Theatre,

not himself a member of the benign brotherhood, but obviously congenial

with it, and President of “The Theatrical Managers’ Association,” a

society which the Syndicate practically dominated:

“The commercialism of the drama,” so said that manager, “_has

justified itself...._ The Theatre of to-day is no Chicago

University or Carnegie Library. If you look after the _financial

end_ of the Drama, _which is the main thing_, the public may be

trusted to maintain a high standard.”

TENDENCY TO COMBINATION IN MODERN BUSINESS.

An honest, just, equitable organization of business is always right, and

no one but a fool or a knave would ever question the legality or

propriety of it. The drift of the present age, in commercial affairs,

is, and for a considerable time has been, toward combination,

organization--in a word, _efficiency_. Business men of the United

States, little by little, have awakened to the imperative necessity of

conservation of energy and resources, systematic labor, economy; the

sensible use of every force that tends to the advancement of

civilization, the increase of public prosperity, and the diffusion of

intelligence. One of those forces is the Theatre, and it is one of

prodigious influence. No intelligent observer acquainted with its

history would maintain that its condition, particularly as a business

institution, has ever been perfect or is perfect now. It is certain,

however, that its commercial condition has, within the last

half-century, very considerably improved, because not only have the ban

of the Church and the stigma of Society been, to a large extent, removed

from it, but great wealth has been bestowed on its enhancement, and

expert executive talent has sometimes been enlisted in the management of

its affairs.

CAUSES OF THEATRICAL PROGRESS.