Square Theatre since September 7, 1885, being in financial
difficulties,--which soon caused his failure,--found it expedient to
dispose of his interest in that theatre, which he sold to his brother,
Richard Hill, who directed it for a short time, beginning June 6, 1892,
after which it was hired by A. Y. Pearson and Henry Greenwall. During
several months preceding Hill’s failure a lease of the Union Square
could have been obtained, and that fact was generally known in the
theatrical community. William Harris (1845-1916), desiring to obtain a
theatre in New York, and knowing that Charles Frohman cherished a like
ambition, proposed to the latter that they should coöperate and lease
one. Frohman agreed to this, specifying that the Union Square was
available. Harris immediately undertook to confer with the persons then
in control of that house, but, casually meeting Mr. Al. Hayman, he
mentioned the
[Illustration:
Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.
MRS. LESLIE CARTER AS _MISS HELYETT_]
project to that person. In a concoction of records, errors, and idle
praise which has been put forth as a “Life” of Charles Frohman the
following account is printed of the conversation which ensued between
them:
“‘That’s foolish,’ said Hayman; ’Everything theatrical is going
uptown.’
“‘Well,’ answered Harris, ‘“C. F.” wants a theatre, and I am
determined that he shall have it, so I am going over to get the
Union Square.’
“‘If you and Frohman want a theatre that badly, I will build one
for you,’ he responded.
“‘Where?’ asked Harris.
“‘I’ve got some lots at Fortieth and Broadway, and it’s a good
site, even if it is away up-town.’
“They went back to Frohman’s office, and here was hatched the plan
for the Empire Theatre.”
This theatre was built as an investment by Al. Hayman, William Harris,
and Frank Sanger. The corner-stone was laid in May, 1892, and the house,
leased by Charles Frohman and Messrs. Rich & Harris, was opened under
the direction of Frohman eight months later. That enterprising
speculator in public amusement, who had long been eager to establish
himself in the metropolis, in a fine theatre under his direct control,
keenly appreciated Belasco’s abilities, and at the time when the new
house was projected was associated with him in the presentment of Mrs.
Carter in “Miss Helyett.” Frohman’s main interest, however, was centred
in the Empire, and, though aware that Belasco was preoccupied with work
on “The Heart of Maryland,” he urgently requested him to write a new
play with which to open that theatre. At first Belasco demurred to the
undertaking, deeming it essential to restrict himself to the work he had
already begun, and to devote all his strength to the establishment of
Mrs. Carter. That actress, however, hearing of Frohman’s proposal and
appreciating the possible advantage that might accrue to Belasco from
his acceptance of it, insisted that he should provide the play for the
opening of the Empire, even at the sacrifice of an early appearance for
herself. The upshot of the negotiation was Belasco’s agreement to write
the desired play, in collaboration with his friend Franklyn Fyles
(1847-1911),--then dramatic reviewer for “The New York Sun.” “All
through the storm of malicious lies that Mrs. Carter and I had to
weather,” said Belasco, “Fyles had been sympathetic and kind to us;
writing under the pen-name of ’Clara Belle,’ he had given Mrs. Carter
many a lift and helped us a lot. I was grateful and I wanted to help
him, if I could; and he was an experienced, good writer, and I was glad
to have him to help me, for I wanted ’Charlie’s’ venture to succeed,
and I felt the responsibility.”
“THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.”
The result of that collaboration was the widely known and admired drama
of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,”--the title of which was suggested by
Daniel Frohman. “We had much difficulty in choosing a title for this
play,” writes Belasco; “in fact, we had none as we neared the last
rehearsals. A Fourth of July celebration occurs in the First Act, during
which a band plays ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ Daniel Frohman was in
front, at one of the rehearsals, and sent me a slip of paper on which
was written ’The Girl I Left Behind Me,’ and that was how our play was
named.” Few persons, I believe, hear even the name of that stirring air
without a thrill: the associations with it that rise in any sensitive
mind,--the agony of solicitude, doubt, hope, grief, and joy,--are
irresistibly affecting; it singularly arouses apprehension and
exultation, and its association with this play is specially appropriate
because of its relevancy to the desperate military enterprise which
creates the splendid climax of the drama.
“After I had agreed to write the opening play for Frohman,” Belasco has
told me, “I said nothing of my subject, because I had made up my mind
to try to bring on the American Stage a phase of American life, on our
Western frontiers, involving the American Indian, in a new way; I didn’t
want discussion and I dreaded discouragement.” That, surely, was
discreet, because it is immeasurably wiser, where works of art are
concerned, to execute them rather than to talk about them. Belasco’s
interest in the Indian and Indian affairs began in his childhood: one of
his stepping-stones into the Theatre was his performance of an _Indian
Chief_, in Hager’s “The Great Republic”: and his determination to
undertake depiction, at once dramatic and veritable, of an aspect of
actual yet romantic life on our frontiers displayed sound artistic taste
in selection of a theme and shrewd judgment in opening a fresh field,
thitherto practically untouched.
At that time, early in 1892, the Indian troubles in the West were much
in the public mind. The fierce insurrections of 1876, under the
leadership of Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Spotted Tail, and others, and
the lamentable slaughter of the gallant Custer and his intrepid
followers in the terrible battle at the Little Bighorn (June 25, that
year), had not been forgotten. Indeed, they could not be: the rising
under Sitting Bull, in 1890, after his return from Canada; the death of
that wily old Medicine Man, who was shot, December 15, that year, with
300 braves, when he sought to escape, during the fight at Wounded Knee;
the resistance to disarmament and the frightful massacre at the Pine
Ridge Agency, two weeks later; the vigilant and finally successful
movements of United States troops under General Nelson A. Miles, against
the Indians, especially the Sioux, incident to the “Ghost Dance” furor,
which was inspired by Sitting Bull and which extended through 1890-’91;
and the massacre at the Rosebud Agency,--all those events made the
subject unusually prominent in the public mind. Belasco and Fyles
labored zealously at their task and it was duly completed; Frohman
enthusiastically expressed himself satisfied; and, on January 25, 1893,
the Empire Theatre (thereafter, till the day of his death, that
manager’s headquarters) was auspiciously dedicated with a performance of
one of the most deservedly popular plays ever produced under his
management: it had been acted for a week, beginning January 16, at the
New National Theatre, Washington, D. C., in preparation for the New York
presentment.
EXCELLENCE OF THAT INDIAN DRAMA.
The play of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” is among the best with which
Belasco has been concerned and likewise one of the best that have been
contributed to American dramatic literature. Its superiority to all the
problematic, polemic, didactic, sociologic disquisitions, pretending to
be plays, which have, of late years, so cluttered our Stage, is very
great. The story is clear, direct, animated, sympathetic, and thrilling.
The persons introduced are various, natural, interesting, discriminated,
and finely drawn. The greater part of the dialogue is terse and
characteristic. The scene is laid in the country of the Blackfoot Sioux,
in Montana, chiefly at a remote and lonely outlying United States Army
Post; otherwise at Fort Assiniboine. The chief characters are
_Scar-Brow_, an Indian Chief, who has been educated in civilization and
bears the name of _John Ledru_, but whom education has only made more
bitter and revengeful, and who has rejoined his malignant tribe;
_General Kennion_, a veteran of the United States Army, in command of
the district in which he is stationed; _Lieutenant Edgar Hawksworth_,
_Lieutenant Morton Parlow_, and _Kate Kennion_, the _General’s_
daughter. _Hawksworth_ is a gentleman and a gallant soldier. _Parlow_
is a specious rascal, as yet undetected. _Kate Kennion_, though she
loves _Hawksworth_, has promised to marry _Parlow_,--this being an
inscrutable incongruity of the plot. _Parlow_ has, much earlier, seduced
and abandoned the wife of a brother officer, _Major Burleigh_ by
name,--under whose command he is now enrolled,--but who has long vainly
sought to ascertain the identity of his wronger.
The situation, at the opening of the play, is one of unrest, discontent,
and impending danger. The Indians, commanded by _Scar-Brow_, are sullen,
hostile, and on the verge of revolt, and they are about to participate
in one of their religious ceremonials called “The Sun Dance,”--of which
purpose the military authorities in Montana disapprove. A vague sense of
coming calamity broods over all the region and whispers of peril are
borne on every breeze. A formal conference is held, between _General
Kennion_ and his officers and _Scar-Brow_ and his savage warriors, at
which the _General_ commands that the “Sun Dance” shall not take place,
and from which the Indian _Chieftain_ then angrily and defiantly
withdraws. The time is the Fourth of July, and appropriate arrangement
has been made for a patriotic festival and ball, at the Post. _Kate
Kennion_ has come from the Fort and joined the ladies, to enjoy the
festival. There, in the lonely outpost of civilization in Montana, even
as in populous and brilliant Brussels, on the night before Waterloo, the
ball begins, even while the menace of danger and death draws ever
nearer. _Scar-Brow_ has desired, more than anything else, occasion for
an outbreak. After the angry parting from _General Kennion_ a small
detachment of troopers from the Post is treacherously and through the
cowardice of _Parlow_ overwhelmed in an ambuscade, and while the guests
of the Post are dancing and frolicking in one room _General Kennion_, in
another, is receiving dispatch after dispatch by telegraph from Fort
Assiniboine apprising him of a spreading insurrection among the Indians;
of messengers murdered, troops embattled against overwhelming odds,
intercepted appeals for help, and the swiftly approaching peril of an
Indian besiegement of the Post. Then, suddenly, telegraphic
communication ceases and the yells of the savages denote that the
investment of the stockade has begun. One hope--and but one--remains:
that of apprising the Fort, by messenger, of the desperate situation of
the Post. _Lieutenant Hawksworth_, every chance against him, undertakes
to attempt the passage of the cordon of Indians surrounding the
beleaguered garrison, and he goes forth, to almost certain death. The
poor remains of white men, with the women and children, are left to
face hundreds of savages, wrought to frenzy and capable of demoniac
cruelty almost equal to that of the educated, civilized Germans of the
present day.
Then comes one of the most effective acts of the kind that I have ever
seen. The place is within the stockade of logs surrounding the Post.
There has been an all-night vigil, with fierce, intermittent fighting.
The time is just before daybreak. The first faint gray of light is
beginning to steal into the sky; there is a reflected glow of distant
fires, and, far off, yet clear and indescribably horrible, are heard the
“blip-blip” of the Indian war-drums and the shrill, hideous cries of the
savage warriors, working themselves to frenzy for the last murderous
rush to storm and overwhelm the defenders of the Post. A parley has been
sought with _Scar-Brow_, and he rides up, heard but unseen, in the
slowly growing light, contemptuously secure and safe under protection of
the white man’s flag of truce. At the same time his daughter, a gentle
girl, friendly to the whites, making her way into the fortress to bring
water for the garrison, has been mistaken for a foe, has been fired on
and hit by a sentry but has stoically persevered and made her way in.
_General Kennion_ speaks from the stockade to _Scar-Brow_, warns him of
the punishment sure to follow his rebellion, and appeals to him to
restrain and withdraw his rebellious warriors. The savage is bitterly
contemptuous in his answer; the men within the Post shall die,--those
that die fighting the fortunate ones; the women, in particular the
_General’s_ daughter, shall _not be killed_! _Kennion_ cries out to the
ruffian, warning him that _his_ daughter, little _Fawn Afraid_, is at
that moment in the Post and that she is hostage for the safety of the
women and the garrison. There is a pause: in the reptile nature of
_Scar-Brow_ there is a strong affection for his daughter; then he
speaks: “Show her to me--let me _see_ her,” he demands; and as, standing
unseen outside the stockade among the sage-brush, he makes this demand,
his daughter, within, reels and falls and the doctor, tending her,
whispers to the _General_ “She’s _dead_, sir!” It is a situation of
terrible significance. The Indian leader waits for a moment, then he
denounces the _General_ as a liar,--and the next instant the wild
hoof-beats of his horse are heard as he gallops away.
A situation even more poignant ensues. There is a ripple of shots--then
a pause. _Kate Kennion_ steals from the shadow of the stockade: she has
heard the parley,--she knows her danger: on her knees she begs her
loving father, brave, noble old man, when the last terrible storm of
attack shall come, when there is no other alternative, that he will,
with his own hand, shoot her dead. This the agonized father promises to
do. Then, suddenly through the heavy silence, bursts the infernal din of
the Indian war-cries--the increasing crackle of rifle shots--the devoted
garrison answering, while ammunition lasts, shot for shot--and then the
poor old father takes his daughter in his arms, kisses her farewell,
causes her to kneel, bids her pray to God, and as, clasping his hand in
both hers, she sinks upon her knees and begins the Lord’s Prayer, he
slowly draws his revolver: “Our Father which art in heaven,” the poor
child’s lips murmur--and in the breathing pause is heard the single
sharp click of the pistol-hammer being raised--“hallowed be thy name:
thy kingdom come”--and slowly the weapon begins to turn toward her--“thy
will be done on earth”--and the barrel almost touches her temple--“as it
is in heaven”--“WAIT!“--and frantically she thrusts the pistol from her:
the father believes she is unnerved--wrenches his weapon free--is about
to do his deed of dreadful mercy--his child seizes the pistol
barrel--“WAIT--WAIT!” she cries--and, faint, far-off, yet clear,
unmistakable, thrilling, what she has heard before is now heard by the
audience--the cavalry-bugle blowing “Charge!” Then follows the rapidly
increasing beat of horses’ hoofs--the crackle of rifle fire, fiercer and
fiercer--the wild cries of the savages--the increasing tumult of
galloping steeds as, struck behind, they break and fly, and the
successful _Hawksworth_ and the relieving reinforcements sweep up,
driving the enemy before them to save the garrison and “The Girl I Left
Behind Me.”
That the _situations_, with one exception, are not new is known to all
persons of experience, whether of life or art. The situation, invented
by Belasco, of the death of _Fawn Afraid_, in the moment when _General
Kennion_ warns her father, _Scar-Brow_, that her life and safety depend
upon those of the women and the garrison, is new; the others, in form,
are old: the ball on the eve of battle has never been more imaginatively
used than by Byron, in “Childe Harold”; the representation of the father
who is to kill his daughter to save her from outrage is, in substance,
_Virginius_ and _Virginia_; the rescue of the beleagured garrison is the
climax scene of Boucicault’s “Jessie Brown; or, The Relief of Lucknow”
over again, with a difference. But what of it? The dramatic situations
possible in human life are limited in number. In “The Girl I Left Behind
Me” the treatment of the situations is fresh, vivid, vital. I have read
that those situations are made to order and “merely theatrical.” That is
untrue. There is not an essential situation in this play that is
improbable, for there is not an essential situation or experience in it
that might not happen, nor one that has not happened in the region and
period designated. The play, of course, has faults, and they are as
obvious as need be, to please even the most captious disciple of
detraction. There is a story of a Mormon preacher who deemed it
desirable to convince his auditors that “the Lord was but a man, as
other men,” and who undertook to do so by citations from Holy Writ. “The
Lord _saw_” he quoted--therefore the Lord had eyes; “the Lord
_heard_“--therefore he had ears; “the Lord _spake_“--therefore he had a
mouth and vocal organs; “the Lord _sat_“--therefore the Lord had hinder
parts, and so following. That is very much the method of criticasters:
they clamber and crawl about upon a work of art with a foot-rule and a
plumb-bob of censure, and seem to find delight and to suppose they have
fulfilled the duty of criticism when they have ascertained and
enumerated the defects or faults of the work under consideration. The
impartial critic, on the other hand, who studies “The Girl I Left Behind
Me” will, I think, most strongly feel a mingled regret and wonder that,
when a play of such exceptional merit had been created, the
comparatively small and easy amount of additional labor required to
relieve it of every considerable defect should have been withheld. The
necessity of completing it in a definite time and Belasco’s anxious and
harassed situation may, no doubt, explain the lack of needfully
scrupulous revision, though they make it no less deplorable. The
“comedy” elements, the passages between young _Dr. Penwick_ and
_Wilber’s Ann_, are juvenile, thin, and weak, and (the most serious
fault in the play, which easily could have been obviated) there is no
adequate reason provided why _Kate Kennion_, loving _Lieutenant
Hawksworth_, to whom eventually she is united, _Parlow_ being slain,
should ever have engaged herself to wed that skulking traitor. But, set
against it every objection that can be raised, “The Girl I Left Behind
Me” remains a work of sterling merit and an honor to its authors. The
atmosphere is pure. The characters are veritable. The events are
credible. The sentiment is elemental and sincere. The action is definite
and fluent. The dramatic effect, to the end of the Third Act, is
cumulative and thrilling. The treatment of the different
persons,--especially of _Major Burleigh_, _General Kennion_, _Kate
Kennion_, and _Scar-Brow_,--is remarkably felicitous; and the influence
is stimulative of manliness, gallantry, and heroism. The play was
splendidly stage-managed and superbly acted,--the elements of illusion
and thrilling suspense, in the Second and Third acts, being perfectly
created and sustained. A remarkably artistic performance, instinct with
authority, power, bitter pride, malevolence and cruelty, was given by
Theodore Roberts, as _Scar-Brow_. The obnoxious character of _Lieutenant
Parlow_--an exceedingly well dramatized scoundrel--is one that requires
a fine order of histrionic talent for its adequate representation, and
that requirement was entirely fulfilled by Nelson Wheatcroft, who
personated him with minute precision, yet in such a way as to win pity
for his weakness and miserable failure and death, as well as to inspire
antipathy for his wickedness. Sydney Armstrong acted with inspiring
vigor and feeling as _Kate Kennion_, and Frank Mordaunt with force,
dignity, and reticence as the _General_. Not many persons, surely, could
have gazed on the climax of the Third Act of this play without
tear-dimmed eyes. W. H. Thompson, who played _Major Burleigh_, gave a
picture of sturdy, simple manhood, suffering with fortitude, such as has
seldom adorned our Stage. It has ever seemed to me that some of the
extreme enthusiasm generally bestowed on “natural method” and
“perfection of detail” as exemplified in the performances of foreign
actors on our Stage might, more justly, have been bestowed on the
original production of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” There was, however,
no lack of general appreciation. The play ran at the Empire till June
24, 1893, receiving 288 consecutive performances. This was the original
cast:
_General Kennion_ Frank Mordaunt.
_Major Burleigh_ Frank Thompson.
_Lieut. Edgar Hawksworth_ William Morris.
_Lieut. Morton Parlow_ Nelson Wheatcroft.
_Dicks_ Thomas Oberle.
_Orderly McGlynn_ James O. Barrows.
_Private Jones_ Orrin Johnson.
_Dr. Arthur Penwick_ Cyril Scott.
_Dick Burleigh_ Master “Wallie” Eddinger.
_Andy Jackson_ Joseph Adelman.
_John Ladru, or Scar-Brow_ Theodore Roberts.
_Fell-An-Ox_ Frank Lathrop.
_Silent Tongue_ Arthur Hayden.
_Kate Kennion_ Sydney Armstrong.
_Lucy Hawksworth_ Odette Tyler.
_Wilber’s Ann_ Edna Wallace.
_Fawn Afraid_ Katharine Florence.
After the first week Stella Teuton replaced Odette Tyler as _Lucy
Hawksworth_; and on March 27, 28 and (matinée) 29 Emmett Corrigan
replaced Wheatcroft as _Lieutenant Parlow_. On March 29, at night, the
play was acted with the following cast:
_General Kennion_ Maclyn Arbuckle.
_Major Burleigh_ Mart E. Heisey.
_Lieut. Edgar Hawksworth_ Harold Russell.
_Lieut. Morton Parlow_ Henry Herman.
_Dicks_ G. E. Bryant.
_Orderly McGlynn_ J. P. MacSweeney.
_Private Jones_ Frank Dayton.
_Dr. Arthur Penwick_ Harry Mills.
_Dick Burleigh_ Master George Enos.
_Andy Jackson_ T. S. Guise.
_John Ladru, or Scar-Brow_ Harry G. Carleton.
_Fell-An-Ox_ William Redstone.
_Silent Tongue_ Arthur Hayden.
_Kate Kennion_ Mrs. Berlan Gibbs.
_Lucy Hawksworth_ Irene Everell.
_Wilber’s Ann_ Lottie Altar.
_Fawn Afraid_ Bijou Fernandez.
The original company was conveyed to Chicago, and there, during the
World’s Columbian Exposition in that city, it performed “The Girl I Left
Behind Me” at the Schiller, now (1917) the Garrick, Theatre, for many
weeks.
THE VALUE OF SUGGESTION IN ART.
In the stage history of this play there is a significant and important
illustration of the vital principle in dramatic writing,--often
recognized and expounded by Belasco, yet sometimes by him ignored,--of
the value of _suggestion_ instead of _realism_ in creation of
effect,--the device, that is, so well expressed by Wordsworth in the
line “part _seen_, _imagined_ part.” Writing with regard to what he
learned from dramatization, at first literal, afterward suggestive, of
an incident witnessed by him during his wild Virginia City days,--the
funeral of a poor, misled girl who died in a vile resort,--Belasco says: