continued till 1906. In some ways it proved advantageous, but
considerably more so to her than to him. The maiden name of that
singularly eccentric woman,--a compound of many opposed qualities, sense
and folly, sensibility and hardness, intelligence and dulness, an
affectionate disposition and an imperious temper,--was Caroline Louise
Dudley. She is, I understood from herself, of Scotch descent. She was
born in Louisville, Kentucky, June 10, 186(4?). In youth she was deemed
remarkable for something bizarre and alluring in her appearance, one
special feature of which was her copious, resplendent hair, of the color
that is called Titian red. When very young she became the wife (May 26,
1880) of Mr. Leslie Carter, of Chicago. The marriage proved unhappy,
and in 1889 her husband obtained a divorce from her in that city.
Comment on this case of domestic infelicity is not essential here. Mr.
Carter was legally adjudged to be in the right and Mrs. Carter to be in
the wrong. Society, knowing them both, sided with him and was bitterly
condemnatory of her. She had few friends and very slight pecuniary
resources. She was confronted with the necessity of earning a living,
and she determined to adopt the vocation of the Stage. She had
participated in private theatricals, as so many other young women in
kindred circumstances have done before emerging in the Theatre, but she
possessed no training for it. She had heard of Belasco’s repute as an
histrionic instructor, and proceeding with better (or perhaps only more
fortunate) judgment than she had ever before or has ever since
displayed, she sought an introduction to him for the purpose of
obtaining his assistance as a teacher. That introduction she procured
through Edward G. Gillmore (18---1905), then manager of the New York
Academy of Music, and to Belasco she made known her position and her
aspirations. How crude those aspirations were, and how indefinite her
plans as to a stage career, can be conjectured from her response to the
first inquiry he made,--whether she wished to act in tragedy or comedy.
“I am a horsewoman,” she replied, “and I wish to make my first entrance
on a horse, leaping over a hurdle.” No practical result attended that
interview. Belasco, of course, observed the peculiarities of the
impracticable novice and, perhaps, some glimmering indication of a
talent in her which might be developed; but he was at that time
preoccupied in collaboration with De Mille on “The Charity Ball,” and
Mrs. Carter’s application was put aside and, by him, forgotten. She
returned to Chicago, but she did not falter in her purpose. A little
later, learning that Belasco had again secluded himself at Echo Lake
(where, indeed, with De Mille, he had sought a secluded refuge in which
to finish “The Charity Ball”), she again presented herself before him
and besought him to become her teacher and to embark her on a dramatic
career.
“Mrs. Carter came to me,” he said, “while De Mille and I were at work on
’The Charity Ball.’ I was almost worn out the afternoon she arrived--not
having had any sleep to speak of in two days--and she was almost
hysterical and frantic with fatigue, trouble, and anxiety. She told me
much of the story of her domestic tragedy,--and a heart-breaking story
it is,--and, as she told it and I listened, I began to see the
possibilities in her,--if _only_ she could act, on the stage, with the
same force and pathos she used in telling her story. I think a real
manager and dramatist is, in a way, like a physician: a physician gets
so that he never looks at a human face without noting whether it shows
signs of disease or not: I never look at a face or listen to a voice
without noting whether they show signs of fitness for the stage. Mrs.
Carter showed it, in every word she spoke, in every move she made: if
only she could _act_ like that on the stage, I caught myself thinking.
The upshot of the matter was that I promised to give her a trial, to see
whether she could _act_ as well as she could _talk_, and that, if she
stood the test, I’d help her if I could. After I returned to New York I
rehearsed her in several parts I had given her; I became convinced that
she had the makings of a great actress in her, and I determined that, as
soon as I could, I would take up her training and, if she proved as
talented as I thought her, would try to strike out for myself and
establish her as a star.”
EPISODE OF “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER.”
After having safely launched “The Charity Ball” Belasco turned to the
task of making Mrs. Carter an actress. It seems almost incredible, but
such was the existing animosity toward her that,--notwithstanding his
theatrical connections and although he had performed many friendly
services for persons of authority in the Theatre, and was, moreover, the
stage manager and dramatist of the Lyceum,--Belasco was unable to secure
the use of a stage on which to conduct her rehearsals. To hire one, at a
high rental, might have been practicable, but neither he nor his pupil
possessed money enough to pay the rent of a stage. From this dilemma an
apparent means of exit presented itself. The beautiful and popular child
actress, Elsie Leslie, who had played at the Lyceum in “Editha’s
Burglar” and also, with phenomenal success, in “Little Lord Fauntleroy,”
had suggested to Samuel L. Clemens, “Mark Twain,” who was always
friendly toward her, a dramatization of his story of “The Prince and the
Pauper,” in which she should appear, playing both _Tom Canty_ and
_Prince Edward of Wales_. The plan suggested by that clever child had
been adopted; Mrs. Abby Sage Richardson had prepared an acting version
of Twain’s book, and it had been produced, December 24, 1889, at the
Park Theatre, Philadelphia, under the management of Daniel Frohman. The
venture was seen to be auspicious, but the play was found to be
inchoate, and the performances, aside from that of the little star, were
rough and unsatisfactory. Belasco’s need of the use of a stage for
rehearsals of Mrs. Carter was known to Daniel Frohman, who proposed to
him that he should revise and reconstruct Mrs. Richardson’s version of
“The Prince and the Pauper,” and also rehearse the company, so that a
production might be safely attempted in New York, in return for which
services he was promised the use of the stage of the Lyceum (when it was
not required for the Lyceum stock company), as often as he desired, for
rehearsals of Mrs. Carter. To that arrangement Belasco agreed. “I was
getting only $35 a week for my services at the Lyceum,” he told me,
“aside from royalties on my plays, and I knew the work on Mrs.
Richardson’s play and the rehearsals of the company would be heavy. But
what could I do? I have often been beaten--but I never give in. I knew
there was the real stuff in Mrs. Carter, but I simply had to have a
stage; I could make no progress with her till I got one. So I accepted
’Dan’s’ offer.” His
[Illustration:
Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.
ELSIE LESLIE AS THE _PAUPER-PRINCE_, IN “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER”]
expectation that the labor would prove onerous was amply justified. He
finally beat the play into an acceptable shape, but his trials with the
company were exasperating. Belasco, naturally amiable and ordinarily
both diffident and shy, can be, and when fully roused often is,
unpleasant on the stage. There came a time when he lost all patience
with “The Prince and the Pauper” company, and, at a dress rehearsal,
about three o’clock in the morning, called the company on the stage and,
singly and collectively, “in good set terms” and with expletive sarcasm,
gave assurance to everybody present that “except the little girl there
is not one, no, _not one_ of the lot of you that knows how to act--or
anything else!” This comprehensive denunciation did not redound to his
advantage or endear him to the management of the Lyceum. However, he
finally got the company drilled into respectable shape and the play was
successfully produced in New York, January 20, 1890, at the Broadway
Theatre, where it ran till March 1.
RETIREMENT FROM THE LYCEUM THEATRE.
Belasco, relieved of responsibility as to “The Prince and the Pauper,”
turned at once to the instruction of his pupil, Mrs. Carter, and for a
short time rehearsed her on the Lyceum stage. He had, however, hardly
begun the rehearsals, for the holding of which he had, in equity, given
so much more than it was worth, when the bargain was, in a singularly
disgraceful manner, repudiated,--Belasco receiving from the manager of
the theatre the following terse communication:
(_Daniel Frohman to David Belasco._)
“The Lyceum Theatre, New York,
“February 26, [1890]
“Dear David:--
“The Stockholders request me not to have Mrs. Carter rehearse on
our stage any more.
“Yours,
“DAN’L FROHMAN.”
Belasco’s resentment was, naturally and properly, very bitter. He had
been for some time conscious that he was effectively “cabined, cribbed,
confined” at the Lyceum. He had also been for some time in negotiation
with A. M. Palmer, looking to a presentation of the play which he had in
mind as a starring vehicle for Mrs. Carter. He wrote immediately, in
response to Mr. Frohman:
(_David Belasco to Daniel Frohman._)
“New York, February 27, [1890]
“My dear D. F.:--
“Your note in reference to Mrs. Carter received. When Mr. Palmer
was informed that the stockholders objected to Mrs. Carter’s use of
the Lyceum stage, he placed both his theatres at my disposal.
Therefore, she will trouble their over-sensitive natures no more.
As far as I myself am concerned, rest assured I shall not forget
their petty treatment of me.
“Sincerely,
“DAVE.”
It is probable that, without the sting of this contemptible conduct on
the part of the stockholders of the Lyceum (instigated, as I understand,
by complaints from Miss Georgia Cayvan), Belasco would, for some time
longer, have continued to toil in his treadmill at that temple of
liberal virtue. As the ultimate event has proved, it was fortunate that
he was thus annoyed. He had resolved to retire before he had finished
writing his acknowledgment of Mr. Frohman’s note; he sent in his
resignation soon afterward, and, on March 27, 1890, his association with
the Lyceum was ended.
A LONG, LONG ROAD.
One of my earliest and best friends, the loved and honored poet
Longfellow, sometimes cited to me a maxim (which, alas, I have all my
life neglected to heed!) that “he who carries his bricks to the building
of every one’s house will never build one for himself.” When Belasco
withdrew from the Lyceum Theatre (March 27, 1890) he had been for twenty
years,--notwithstanding his efforts toward independence,--carrying
bricks to build houses for other persons. He was conscious of this
mistake and dissatisfied with himself for having made it, and he now
resolutely determined to build for himself. During the five and one-half
years, March, 1890, to October, 1895, he worked with persistent
diligence, often in the face of seemingly insurmountable difficulties,
to train and establish the woman of whose histrionic destiny he had
assumed the direction and to achieve for himself position and power as a
theatrical manager. He had in mind for his embryonic star, Mrs. Leslie
Carter, a play which, ultimately, was written and successfully produced,
under the name of “The Heart of Maryland”; but when first he seriously
began the task of training that beginner for the stage even the plan of
that play was rudimentary, and it became imperative that he should at
once secure a practical vehicle for her use and should get her launched
as an actress. There could be no question of her beginning in a minor
capacity in some obscure company and working her way up: she had no
thought of enduring any such novitiate, though she was willing, in fact
eager, to perform any amount of arduous labor. But, with her, it was a
case of beginning at the top--or not at all. In general, that is a
mistaken plan; it results in utter failure a hundred times for once that
it succeeds; yet, sometimes, where backed by genuine ability and
indomitable courage, the course that seems rash proves really the most
judicious, and for those with the heart to endure to lose it proves the
way to win. The famous soldier Montrose wrote truly:
“He either fears his fate too much
Or his deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch
To win or lose it all.”
To that touch Belasco and Mrs. Carter determined to put her fate at the
earliest possible moment, yet not altogether without preparation for the
ordeal through which she was to pass. Belasco’s method of instructing
her was the only practical one: he treated her as if she had been the
leading woman in a stock company, under his direction, in circumstances
which made it peremptory that she, and only she, should act certain
parts, and with whom, accordingly, he must do the best he could. His
experience as a teacher was onerous and often discouraging, but he and
his pupil persevered. “Mrs. Carter,” he writes, “had no idea of the
rudiments of acting. In Chicago she had been a brilliant drawing-room
figure. Very graceful in private life, she became awkward and
self-conscious on the stage. Our first lessons included a series of
physical exercises, to secure a certain grace and ease of motion.”
During the period from April, 1890, to about June, 1891, according to
Belasco’s statement to me, Mrs. Carter, under his direction, memorized
and rehearsed (sometimes on the stage of Palmer’s Theatre, sometimes in
private rooms) more than thirty different parts, in representative
drama, ranging from _Nancy Sikes_, in “Oliver Twist,” to _Parthenia_, in
“Ingomar”; from _Camille_ to _Lady Macbeth_; from _Julia_, in “The
Hunchback,” to _Mrs. Bouncer_, in “Box and Cox,” and from _Leah the
Forsaken_ to _Frou-Frou_. Meantime, however, Belasco had a wife and
children to support, as well as himself; his resources were little and
day by day were growing less; Mrs. Carter and her devoted mother were no
better off, and it was essential that the hopeful but harassed
adventurer should add to his income, derived from miscellaneous private
teaching and coaching for the stage, to which precarious expedient he
was, at this period, compelled to revert, to eke out his slender
revenue. At this juncture his friend Charles Frohman, who had bought
Bronson Howard’s war melodrama of “Shenandoah” and had prospered with
it, and who had undertaken to provide dramatic entertainments for
Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, applied to him for a new play.
CONFEDERATION WITH CHARLES FROHMAN.
“There was an old building on Twenty-third Street. Proctor now
[1890] turned this building into a theatre, and ’C. F.’ asked me to
write a play _for the opening_.... Frohman,” writes Belasco, “had
persuaded F. F. Proctor to turn an old church ... into a theatre.
’C. F.’ was to supply the company and a new play. Proctor, a
pioneer with a tremendous amount of ambition, had been making money
in vaudeville and wanted to enter the theatrical field. ’Dave,’ ’C.
F.’ said, ’I shall depend upon you for the play.’... I advised him
not to wait an instant, lest Proctor’s enthusiasm die out. _The
following week_ the old church began dropping its ecclesiastical
aspect as fast as the wreckers could do away with it.
“I was strongly tempted to write the opening play alone, but when I
saw how much depended upon it I had a touch of stage fright.
Naturally, my thoughts turned to Henry De Mille.... We had always
been successful because our way of thought was similar and we were
frank in our criticism of each other’s work. He excelled in
narrative and had a quick wit. The emotional or dramatic scenes
were more to my liking. I acted while he took down my speeches.
When a play was finished, it was impossible to say where his work
left off and my work began [???--W. W.]. This is what collaboration
should be.
“It was five o’clock in the morning when I was seized with the idea
of asking De Mille to assist me and I hastened at once to his
house. I knocked on his door with the vigor of a watchman sounding
a fire alarm, and when De Mille at last appeared he was armed with
a cane, ready to defend his hearth and home. I told him of the
necessity for a play for ’C. F.’s’ opening and he agreed to work
with me. In the profession De Mille and I were thought to be very
lucky as ’theatre openers.’ Looking back, I see how many, many
times it has been my fate to break the bottle over the prows of
theatrical ships. Here we were again,--De Mille and I,--talking
over the birth and baptism of yet another New York manager!”
PROCTOR’S TWENTY-THIRD STREET THEATRE.
This recollection is not accurate relative to details concerning the
opening of Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre. The site of that
theatre was, at one time, occupied by a church. Later it was occupied by
an armory for the Seventy-ninth Regiment, N. G. S. N. Y. Then it was
converted into “Salmi Morse’s Temple Theatre,” but Morse was denied a
license and could not open it. Under management
[Illustration:
From an old photograph. Belasco’s Collection.
HENRY C. DE MILLE]
of Converse L. Graves, who took over Morse’s interest, it was opened,
May 21, 1883, as the Temple Theatre, with a play called “A Bustle Among
the Petticoats.” Max Strakosch succeeded Graves as manager of the house,
and in turn sold his interest to Albert G. Eaves, a New York theatrical
costumer, who, in association with Edward Stone, conducted the theatre
for a short time. Thereafter, about 1885, it was restored to
ecclesiastical service as the Twenty-third Street Tabernacle. F. F.
Proctor leased the property in 1888, tore down the old building and
erected a new one, which, as Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, was
opened, May 5, 1889, with a performance, by Neil Burgess and his
company, of “The County Fair.” Dockstader’s Minstrels succeeded Burgess,
and on August 31 “The Great Metropolis” was there first acted.
“Shenandoah,” transferred from the Star Theatre, where it was produced
for the first time in New York on September 9, 1889, was presented there
on October 21, that year, and it ran till April 19, 1890,--receiving, in
all, 250 performances. Stuart Robson played there, in “The Henrietta,”
from April 21 to May 31, when the theatre was closed. It was reopened on
September 8, 1890, with a farce by William Gillette, called “All the
Comforts of Home,”--adapted from “Ein Toller Einfall,”--which held the
stage till October 18, and, on October 21, for the first time anywhere,
“Men and Women” was there produced. That event occurred _a year and a
half after_ the theatre was first opened. Descanting on the inception of
the play of “Men and Women,” Belasco writes:
“About this time the newspapers were full of a bank scandal. A
young man employed in a bank had speculated with funds and found
himself in a very dangerous position. His father, a fine man of
business, and a stockholder, had the sympathy of the entire public
in his misfortune. Owing to the young man’s speculations, the bank
was on the verge of closing, and the newspapers were full of
harrowing details. As I read the accounts I came to this sentence
in a statement made by the father: ’I’ll save the bank if it costs
me a million a day!’ ’Henry,’ I said, ’there’s our play. We must
deal with a father’s pride and love for his only son, no matter
what deed the son may commit.’ To me the father’s statement meant:
’I’ll save my boy, though I am left without a penny and have to beg
on the streets.’...
“Next to inventing a plot and story, our greatest difficulty was to
find a title. Our play was to have a universal appeal. One of our
characters was a liberal _Jew_. Because of the broadness of the
theme, we selected the name of ’Men and Women.’ It was an accepted
rule at this time to have two sets of lovers, but we broke all
traditions by introducing three sets of heroes and heroines in ’Men
and Women,’ for we attempted to depict the frailties and weaknesses
of many men and women. The Third Act represented a directors’
meeting on the night before the closing of the bank, with a number
of Federal government officials present. In order to be accurate it
was necessary to get information from some one who had been through
this scene in real life. I went to a bank cashier whom I knew, and
explained our dilemma. ’I’ll give you all the details of such a
night,’ he agreed, ’but you must be very careful. You understand
that I must compromise no one, or my own position will be in
jeopardy.’ Then he gave me much information, describing the
feelings of the financiers who walked under the shadow of arrest.
When I left him I had all the facts necessary to create a rousing
climax. I felt like a reporter who has gone after the news of an
event and come away with a photograph of each moment of a tragedy.”
THE PLAY OF “MEN AND WOMEN.”
This play would have been called by Boucicault a “comedy-drama”: he was
fond of classifying plays and he invented that designation (as well as
various others) meaning thereby to denote a “sensation drama,”
illustrated with comedy. The pervasive defect of the play, like that
which mars some other plays written by Belasco, in association with De
Mille, is an excess of extraneous details. Nevertheless it tells an
interesting story, well devised to absorb attention, and it possesses
vital dramatic movement. The comedy element in it is trivial. The story,
though somewhat confused, is stronger than that in any other of the
several plays written by Belasco and De Mille.
The main theme is the desperate situation of a man named _William
Prescott_, cashier of a bank, who is guilty of peculation and who is
striving to escape the consequences of his crime. An accomplice in the
robbery is a broker, who has committed suicide. The assistant cashier of
the bank, _Edwin Seabury_ by name, _Prescott’s_ close friend and the
betrothed lover of his sister, is suspected of the theft. At first,
perceiving that for his personal security he need only remain silent and
permit his innocent comrade to be ruined, _Prescott_, though drawn as a
man essentially virtuous, yields to the temptation to hold his peace and
let _Seabury_ be condemned; but on discovering that his sweetheart,
_Agnes Rodman_, is aware of his guilt and, out of devotion to him, is
willing to condone his crime and his additional iniquity, _Prescott_ is
shocked into remorse and repentance and he determines that _Seabury_
shall be saved, at whatever sacrifice of himself. The portrayal of the
strife in the minds of _Prescott_ and of _Agnes Rodman_ is remarkably
expert, vivid, and effective, the element of suspense being most
adroitly sustained.
_Seabury’s_ peril is heightened by the implacable enmity of the attorney
for the bank, _Calvin Stedman_, who is _Seabury’s_ unsuccessful rival
in love, and who, honestly believing the young man guilty, exults in the
opportunity to ruin him, and opposes every effort made by the president
of the bank, _Israel Cohen_, to weather the storm and save the
institution from ruin. The vital scene of the play occurs in the Third
Act, when, late at night, in the library of the president’s home, the
directors of the bank assemble to consult with a National Bank Examiner
and seek to contrive means to avert publicity, forestall a destructive
“run,” and restore the stolen funds. One of those directors, _Stephen
Rodman_, father of the girl to whom _Prescott_ is betrothed, opposes the
purpose of _Stedman_ to force public avowal of the situation, regardless
of consequences to the institution, and is suddenly denounced by
_Stedman_ as being himself a former peculator whom he, _Stedman_, years
earlier, has prosecuted, who was convicted, and has served a term in
prison, and therefore should be deemed an unfit person to suggest such a
composition of the trouble. The incidents and the language used in
depicting that meeting of the directors of the tottering bank are
skilfully and impressively used, and Belasco’s extraordinary facility of
dramatic expression, once his desired situation has been obtained, is
finely exemplified. At the last, _Prescott_ assuming his
responsibility, the way out of the dilemma is provided by _Mr.
Pendleton_, one of the directors, a half-deaf, crusty, apparently fussy,
muddled old man, who is, in fact, clear-headed and practical and who
provides the necessary money to save the bank. Condonement of a felony
is a dubious expedient, but in a fiction it is often convenient,
especially when, as in “Men and Women,” justice is seen to be done, all
round.
One singular “effect” in the central scene of this play was caused by a
glimmer of simulated moonlight through a stained glass window, showing a
representation of the Christ (rather a surprising object of art to occur
in the private library of a Jew, however liberal), after a fervid
expression, by _Israel Cohen_, of the need of charity and forbearance.
The wise counsel of the old Oxford Professor (cited and approved by
Belasco’s mentor, Boucicault, and sometimes attributed to him), that
when you particularly admire any special passage in anything you have
written you had better cut it out, might well have been mentioned by
Belasco for the benefit of his collaborator. There are several passages
of “fine writing” in “Men and Women,” which show De Mille to
disadvantage. The play will not bear close analysis: it was artificially
constructed around the situation at the crisis of the bank’s affairs;
but it admirably answered the purpose for which it was written, and it
had 203 consecutive performances, at the Twenty-third Street Theatre.
This was the cast:
_Israel Cohen_ Frederic de Belleville.
_William Prescott_ William Morris.
_Edwin Seabury_ Orrin Johnson.
_Mr. Pendleton_ Charles Leslie Allen.
_Mr. Reynolds_ W. H. Tilliard.
_Mr. Bergman_ Arthur Hayden.
_Mr. Wayne_ Edgar Mackey.
_Calvin Stedman_ R. A. Roberts.
_Lyman H. Webb_ Henry Talbot.
_Stephen Rodman_ Frank Mordaunt.
_Col. Zachary T. Kip_ M. A. Kennedy.
_Dr. “Dick” Armstrong_ T. C. Valentine.
_Sam Delafield_ J. C. Buckstone.
_Arnold Kirke_ Emmett Corrigan.
_Crawford_ E. J. McCullough.
_District Messenger No. 81_ Master Louis Haines.
_Roberts_ A. R. Newtown.
_John_ Richard Marlow.
_Agnes Rodman_ Sydney Armstrong.
_Dora_ Maude Adams.
_Mrs. Kate Delafield_ Odette Tyler.
_Margery Knox_ Etta Hawkins.
_Mrs. Jane Preston_ Annie Adams.
_Mrs. Kirke_ Lillian Chantore.
_Lucy_ Winona Shannon.
_Julia_ Gladys Eurelle.