A BOHEMIAN INTERLUDE.

“The story of ’The Little Hero’ related the adventures of a stowaway who was discovered in his hiding-place by the sailors when they were in mid-ocean, and the lad was forced to work, and was beaten and starved into the bargain. As a boy I had read a like tale, which had so stirred my imagination that I used to dream of it by night, and in my spare time by day I would wander along the wharves to gaze at the shipping. How it happened I don’t quite know, but my feet led me on board a boat and, simply as an experiment, I hid myself. Then a rash notion came into my head! Suppose I stayed where I was and put into practice what the poem had so graphically described! For thirty hours I crouched behind my sable bulwark, and after interminable sailing it seemed to me about time that I was discovered, so I made myself visible. I was dragged up on

JOHN MC CULLOUGH“This was the noblest Roman of them all!”—Julius CaesarPhotograph by Sarony.Author’s Collection.

JOHN MC CULLOUGH“This was the noblest Roman of them all!”—Julius Caesar

JOHN MC CULLOUGH

“This was the noblest Roman of them all!”—Julius Caesar

Photograph by Sarony.Author’s Collection.

deck with no tender touch, and there the analogy between the little hero and myself vanished. The captain of the schooner was a friend of my father’s. ’Aren’t you Humphrey’s boy?’ he asked, and I was obliged to confess to my identity. ’Take him downstairs and wash him,’ the captain ordered, for contact with the coal had made me look like a blackamoor; despite my protestations that this was not the correct treatment for a stowaway, I was taken below. ’Give him something to eat,’ he called after us, but I was as obdurate as a militant suffragette in the matter of food. Later on, when I was ’swabbed down,’ I was taken on deck again, where I was obliged to tell the captain my story, and the reasons for my escapade. ’I’ll be blazed if I lick you as you seem to want!’ said he. I was reciting the story to the queer group gathered about me, when I suddenly realized that my old enemy seasickness was creeping over me. ’Let me scrub the floor,’ I pleaded. ’They always do.’ At first they laughingly refused, but presently, to humor me, I was put to work on a brass rail that needed shining. However, the smell of the oil polish hastened my catastrophe. I was put to bed and very glad to be there. From Vancouver I was shipped home, where I found my mother rejoiced to get me back. She was not so perturbed as she might have been, because the poor lady was used to my ’disappearances’ in search of adventure and the romantic. She always knew that I was doing something or other to gain new impressions, and her heart was wonderfully attuned to mine.”

Belasco left school in June, 1871. In August, 1878, he married. It has been impossible to fixprecise dates for some of his proceedings within that period of about two years and three months. Though he steadily, if at first slowly, progressed, and though specific records of his doings become more and more frequent as the years pass in review, it is not until about 1876-’79 that they are numerous. During all, or almost all, of the period indicated (1871-1879),—more so in the earlier part than in the later,—he was a nomadic bohemian. At first he often roamed the streets at night and would visit the saloons and low “dives” which abounded in San Francisco, and recite before the rough frequenters of those resorts,—sometimes giving “The Maniac,” sometimes “Bernardo del Carpio,” sometimes “shockers” of his own composition (things which he wrote with facility, on any current topic that attracted his attention), and gather whatever money might be thrown to him by those unruly but often liberal auditors. On a Sunday he was sometimes fortunate enough to earn as much as ten or twelve dollars by his recitals. Another means of gain that he employed was the expedient of volunteer press reporting. He would visit every gambling “den,” opium “joint,” hospital, and police-station to which he could obtain access (the morgue was one of his familiar resorts), and write brief stories of whatever scenes and occurrences he mightobserve, to be sold to any newspaper that would pay for them,—when he was lucky enough to make a sale. In talking to me about his youthful days, as he has done in the course of a friendly acquaintance extending over many years, he has particularly dwelt on the intense, often morbid, and quite irresistible interest which, in early life, he felt in everything extraordinary, emotional, sensational, dramatic,—everything that might be called phenomenal. “As a young fellow,” he once said to me, “I visited the scene of every murder that I heard of—and they were many. I knew every infamous and dangerous place in San Francisco. Once I tried to interfere between a blackguard and his woman, whom he was abusing, and I got a bullet along the forehead for my trouble: I have the scar of it to this day. It was freely predicted that I would end in state’s prison, probably on the gallows. Only my dear mother seemed to understand me. My adventures and wanderings (’Wandering Feet,’ she used to call me) worried her, which I grieve to think of now, but she always took my part. ’Davy is all right,’ she used to say; ’leave him alone; he’s only curious about life, and wants to see everything with those big, dark eyes of his.’ She was right; and, if I didn’t see everything, I saw a good deal.”

The miscellaneous knowledge that young Belascoaccumulated in observation of “the seamy side” of life by night, in one of the most vicious, turbulent, and perilous cities in the world,—which San Francisco certainly was, in his juvenile time,—was of much use to him when, later, he became employed as a hack-writer of sensation melodramas, in the theatres of that city and other cities of the West.

It is not possible to furnish an entirely full, clear, chronological account of Belasco’s earliest relations with the Theatre in San Francisco. Various current sketches of his career which I have examined either give no details as to this part of it, or make assertions about it which I have ascertained to be incorrect. The subject is not explicitly treated in his autobiographical fragment, “The Story of My Life,” a formless, rambling narrative, obviously, to a discerning reader, evolved from discursive memory, without consultation of records or necessary specification of dates or verification of statements, and which I have found to be, in many essential particulars, inaccurate. Few persons possess an absolutely trustworthy memory of dates,

From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.BELASCO’S PARENTSHumphrey Abraham, and Reina Martin, Belasco, About 1865

From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.

BELASCO’S PARENTS

Humphrey Abraham, and Reina Martin, Belasco, About 1865

and Belasco is not one of them. His recollections of his boyhood and specially of his early association with the Theatre in San Francisco are sometimes interesting and in a general way authentic, and certainly they are believed by him to be invariably correct; but careful research of San Francisco newspapers of the period implicated, and of other records, discovers that frequently they are hazy, confused, and erroneous. “He who has not made the experiment,” says Dr. Johnson, “or is not accustomed to requirerigorous accuracyfrom himself, will scarcely believe how much a few hours take from certainty of knowledge and distinctness of imagery.” How much more must the lapse of many years take from memory! According to Belasco’s recollection, his first formal appearance on the San Francisco Stage was made while he was yet a pupil at the Lincoln Grammar School in that city, when Mary Wells (Mrs. Richard Stœples, 1829-1878) was (as he alleges) filling an engagement at the Metropolitan Theatre, in a play called “The Lioness of Nubia.” Mary Wells was an English actress, well known and much respected on the New York Stage about fifty years ago. She made her first appearance in this country at Albany, in 1850, and in 1856 she appeared at Laura Keene’s Theatre, New York, asMme. Deschapelles, in “The Lady ofLyons.” She did not figure as a star: her “line” was old women: there is no record of her appearance at the Metropolitan Theatre, nor of her appearance anywhere in San Francisco, until April 4, 1874, when she acted with “The Lingard Combination,” at the Opera House (opened as Shiels’ Opera House), playingMme. Dumesnil, in an English translation of Octave Feuillet’s “La Tentation.” There is, moreover, no play entitled “The Lioness of Nubia.” There is, however, a play called “The Lion of Nubia,” and there was an actress, of the soubrette order, named Minnie Wells, who appeared in that play at the Metropolitan Theatre, December 16, 1872, acting the central part,Harry Trueheart. The play was billed as “The Great Eastern Sensational Military Drama, ’The Lion of Nubia,’ introducing Banjo Solos, Banjo Duets,” etc. This play was thus advertised in San Francisco newspapers, December 16 to 22, 1872. John R. Woodard and Frank Rea, both of whom Belasco specifies as having been in the performance he supposes to have been given by “Mary Wells,” were members of the company supporting Minnie Wells at the Metropolitan in December, 1872, and it was with the latter and in “The Lion of Nubia” that Belasco made the appearance which he has misremembered and inadvertently misstated in his published “Story.” The part that he played,Lieutenant Victor, was practically that of a super. He was billed on that occasion as “Walter Kingsley,” the name of the circus clown who had befriended him in his childhood. It was a common expedient of the time for actors to adopt names not theirs when embarking on a theatrical career, and it pleased Belasco, for no special reason beyond a boyish whim, to do likewise. He used the name of Walter Kingsley for a little while, but his doing so distressed his mother and therefore he presently dropped it and wisely reverted to his own. In the early records that I have found it generally appears as “D. Belasco,” and often various superfluous initials are inserted through compositors’ errors. Belasco’s account of the appearance with Miss Wells, as given to me, specifies that he had one line to speak, which was “Perhaps the stress of the weather has driven them further up the coast”; that his schoolmates, in large number, were in the gallery; that his appearance was hailed by them with applause; that they clamorously demanded he should recite “The Maniac”; that their boisterous behavior interrupted the performance and annoyed the actress, and that she caused Woodard to discharge him.

Itcertainlyis true that Belasco was carried on the stage, in childhood, at Victoria, that later hethere “went on” for the littleDuke of York, in “King Richard III.,” with Charles Kean,—as previously mentioned,—and that he made informal appearances, as declaimer and as super, in the theatres of San Francisco, while yet a schoolboy,—all those juvenile essays being cumulative toward his final embarkation on the career of actor, dramatist, and theatrical manager: thus, on December 20, 1868, he participated in a public entertainment, given at Lincoln Hall, by pupils of the Lincoln Grammar School, reciting “The Banishment of Catiline” and “The Maniac” (the latter a recitation he was often called on to make and with which, at one time or another, he won several prizes); in the “Catiline” recital he appeared in a costume comprising his father’s underdrawers and undershirt and a toga of cheap cloth. On November 24, 1869, he appeared, for a night or two, with Mme. Marie Methua-Scheller (18—-1878), at Maguire’s Opera House, as one of the newsboys, in Augustin Daly’s “Under the Gas-Light,” and in the course of that performance he played on a banjo and danced: on November 27 he “went on,” at the same theatre, as anIndian Brave, in a presentment by Joseph Proctor (1816-1897) of “The Jibbenainosay.” “I was much too small,” he told me, “but Proctor kept me because I gave such fine warwhoops.” OnMarch 17, 1871, at the Metropolitan Theatre, he assumed the character of anIndian Chieftain, in “Professor Hager’s Great Historical Allegory and Tableaux, ’The Great Republic,’”which prodigy was performed by a company of “more than 400 young ladies and gentlemen” of various schools in the city, and for the benefit of those schools: it was several times exhibited: in the Second Part thereof he personatedWar. On June 2, following, he figured prominently in “competitive declamations” given at Platt’s Hall, by pupils of the Lincoln School, and also in an amateur theatrical performance, on the same occasion, appearing asHigh-flyer Nightshade, in “The Freedom of the Press.” Hager’s “The Great Republic” was a pleasing entertainment of its kind, and, after the close of the Lincoln School, Hager arranged to give it in Sacramento, and obtained permission to take with him to that city young Belasco and his friend, James O. Barrows, who were considered the bright particular stars of the performance. They appeared there, in the “Allegory,” April 15, 1871, “for the benefit of the Howard Association.” “I consider Professor Hager to have been my first manager,” says Belasco,—why, I do not know.

On August 23, 1869, Lotta (Charlotte Crabtree, whom John Brougham described as “the dramaticcocktail”) acted, for the first time in San Francisco,Fire-Fly, in a play of the same name by Edmund Falconer, based on Ouida’s novel of “Under Two Flags.” She was, then and later, exceedingly popular in it. Belasco and other stage-smitten youths organized an amateur theatrical association, called, in honor of the elfin Lotta, “The Fire-Fly Social and Dramatic Club.” As a member of that association Belasco played several parts. On June 22, 1871, he appeared with other fire-flies, at Turnverein Hall (Bush Street, near Powell), in—— Sutter’s drama of “A Life’s Revenge; or, Two Loves for One Heart,”—actingFournechet, Minister of Finance. “The San Francisco Figaro,” noting this entertainment (the fifth given by the “Fire-Flies”), remarked, “Among those who will take part in its representation is David Belasco, his first appearance in leading business”; and in a review of the performance a critical writer in the same paper recorded that “David Belasco displayed much power.”

Soon after the opening of the California Theatre (1869) Belasco, who attended every theatrical performance to which he could gain admission, had the good fortune to meet John McCullough, and, pleasing

From an old photograph.Author’s Collection.WILLIAM HENRY SEDLEY-SMITH

From an old photograph.Author’s Collection.

WILLIAM HENRY SEDLEY-SMITH

that genial actor, he was from time to time employed to hear him say the words of parts which he was committing to memory. In this way, by McCullough’s favor, he was enabled to see many performances at the California, sometimes from a gallery seat, sometimes from the stage, and in this way, also, he chanced to make another auspicious acquaintance, that of the sterling old actor William Henry Sedley-Smith, who took a strong fancy to Belasco, perceiving his native ability, talked with him, became genuinely interested in the romantic, enthusiastic lad, and gave him valuable advice, encouragement, and assistance.

To the present generation of playgoers that veteran actor has ceased to be even a name (the present generation of playgoers being, according to my observation of it, specially remarkable for its vast and comprehensive ignorance of theatrical history), but in other years his name was one to conjure with, and to the few persons extant who cherish memories of our Stage in the eighteen-fifties it recalls a delightful reality. There are players whose individuality is so vital, so redolent of strength and joy, that the idea of death is never associated with them. Like great poetic thoughts, they enjoy an immortal youth in the imagination, and to hear that they are dead is to suffer the shock of something seemingstrange and unnatural as well as grimly sad. Such an actor was Sedley-Smith. Robust, rosy, stately, with a rich, ringing voice, a merry laugh, and a free and noble courtesy of demeanor, he lives in my remembrance as a perfect incarnation of generous life,—glad in its strength and diffusive of gladness and strength all around him. His talents were versatile. He played all parts well and in some he was superlatively excellent. There has been noSir Oliver Surfaceon the modern Stage to be compared with his. It came upon the duplicity and foul sentimentalism of the schemingJosephlike a burst of sunshine on a dirty fog, and the gladness that it inspired in the breast of the sympathetic spectator was of the kind that brings tears into the eyes. The man who inspired the personation was felt to be genuine—a type of nature’s nobility. HisOld Dornton, in “The Road to Ruin,” was a stately, pathetic type of character, animated by what seems, after all, the best of human emotions,—paternal love. He could impart an impressive dignity even to the fur-trimmed anguish of the sequesteredStranger.

Sedley-Smith’s professional career covered a period of more than fifty years. He began at the foot of the ladder and he mounted to a pinnacle of solid excellence and sound repute. He was born, December 4, 1806, near Montgomery, in Wales.His father was an officer in the British Army and was killed in battle in one of the engagements, under Wellington, of the Peninsular War. His father’s brother, also a soldier, fought at Waterloo, was twice wounded there, and became a Knight Commander of the Bath. It will be seen that this actor had an ancestry of courage and breeding. He was a posthumous child, and the widowed mother married again,—thus, unwittingly, imposing on her boy the misfortune of an unhappy home. The stepfather and the child were soon at variance. One day, the lad being only fourteen years old, a contention occurred between them, which ended in his being locked into his chamber. At night he got out of a window and escaped, leaving home forever. To earn his living he joined a company of strolling players, and to avoid detection and recapture he adopted the name of Smith, by which name he was ever after professionally known, though in private affairs he used his true name, Sedley.

The early part of his career was full of vicissitude and trouble. He was not one of those dreamers who think themselves commissioned to clutch at a grasp that proficiency in a most difficult art which scarcely rewards even the faithful and loving labor of a lifetime. He chose to learn his profession by study and work—and he did so. His first appearance on the stage was made at Shrewsbury, and some of his earlier successes were gained at Glasgow. He came to America in 1827 and appeared at the Walnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, asJeremy Diddler, in “Raising the Wind.” His most valuable repute was won in Boston, where he first appeared in 1828, at the Tremont Theatre, asRolando, in “The Honeymoon.” In 1836 he managed Pelby’s National Theatre in that city, and from 1843 to 1860 he was stage manager of the Boston Museum. He married, shortly after his arrival in America, Miss Eliza Riddle (1808?-1861), in her time one of the most sparkling, bewitching, and popular performers of Comedy that our Stage has known. His first performance in New York occurred at the Chatham Street Theatre, November 3, 1840, when he actedEdgarto theKing Learof Junius Brutus Booth. The public also saw him at that time asLaertes,Gratiano, andMarc Antony. His last professional appearance in New York was made at the Winter Garden, May 6, 1865, for the benefit of his daughter, Mary Sedley, known to contemporary playgoers as Mrs. Sol. Smith. Later, he went to San Francisco, where he immediately became a favorite—and he deserved his favor and his fame, because his art was intellectual, truthful, conscientious, significant with thought and purpose, and warm with emotion. He

Courtesy Miss Blanche Bates.The Albert Davis Collection.MRS. FRANK MARK BATESSALLIE HINCKLEYFrom old photographs

Courtesy Miss Blanche Bates.The Albert Davis Collection.MRS. FRANK MARK BATESSALLIE HINCKLEY

From old photographs

died, in San Francisco, January 17, 1872, in the sixty-sixth year of his age, leaving no work undone that he could do and therefore ending in the fulness of time. He was acquainted with grief, but there was one sorrow he escaped,—he never knew “how dull it is to pause.”

It is obvious that no influence could have been more helpful to the eager, ingenuous, stage-struck Belasco than that of this sturdy, experienced, grand old actor and director, attracted and pleased by the fervor of a schoolboy seeking ingress to the Theatre. Belasco’s assurance that he wrote a good hand when he was a boy, however difficult that may be to believe now, is correct (I have independently ascertained that he took a prize for penmanship at the Lincoln School), and Smith,—who was stage manager of the California Theatre,—gave him odd pieces of work to do making fair copies of prompt-books of plays produced at the California, and also, from time to time, employed him to “go on” in the mobs, crowds, etc. To him Belasco confided his ambition to actHamlet,Iago, and romantic characters, and by him he was advised to throw away ambition of that kind, physical exility making his success improbable (“you would need to be a head taller,” the veteran assured him), and to devote himself to what are termed “character parts” (miscalled by that designation,every part being acharacterpart: “eccentric” is the quality really meant) and the study of stage management. If Smith had lived a little longer Belasco probably would have had better opportunity at the California Theatre, but the old man died before the youth had been more than about six months embarked on his professional theatrical career. Nevertheless, he owes much to the instruction and advice of that wise and kind friend.

Belasco’s actual adoption of the dramatic calling as a means of livelihood, as nearly as the fact can be determined, occurred on July 10, 1871, near the close of his eighteenth year, when he acted a minor part in a play called “Help,” by Frederick G—— Marsden, which was presented with Joseph Murphy (1832-1915) in its central part. This actor had been for some time a favorite minstrel and variety performer in San Francisco, generally billed as “Joe” Murphy (his real name was Donnelly), and had made his first appearance in this play of “Help,” May 8, 1871, at Wood’s Museum, New York, actingNed Daly, an Irish comedy character, shown under several aliases and in various amusing and otherwise effective situations. Murphy’s professional associates at the Metropolitan, among whom Belasco was thus launched upon actual theatrical employment, were John R. Woodard, J. H. Hardie, J. C. McGuire, W. C. Dudley, Frank Rea, H. Swift, George Hinckley, R. A. Wilson, J. H. Vinson, Mrs. F. M. Bates (mother of that fine actress Blanche Bates, so widely and rightly popular in our time), Mrs. Frank Rea, Sallie A. Hinckley, Carrie Lipsis, Jennie Mandeville, Susie Soulé, and Ada Shattuck. Belasco, at first, was a super, but later he was provided with a few words. His school days had now come to an end, and from the time of his appearance in “Help” he continued, irregularly but persistently, and at last successfully, in the service of the Theatre.

Belasco believes that soon after his appearance with Murphy, in “Help,” he was associated with the Chapman Sisters, but he is again mistaken. Murphy was at the Metropolitan in July, 1872. There is no record of an appearance of the Chapman Sisters there between that time and March 5, 1873, on which latter date a “Grand Re-Opening of the Metropolitan Theatre” occurred, under thedirection of John Woodard. That “re-opening” was announced thus:

“The want of a People’s Theatre having long been felt in this community, the management has determined to present their patrons a First Class Theatre with First Class Stars and a First Class Company, with prices of admission placed within the reach of all.PRICES:Dress Circle75 cents.Orchestra50 cents.Gallery25 cents.“The Talented and Beautiful Chapman Sisters will appear in [H. J.] Byron’s splendid burlesque, ’Little Don Giovanni; or, Leperello and the Stone Statue.’ Performance to begin with ’Ici on Parle Français.’”

“The Talented and Beautiful Chapman Sisters will appear in [H. J.] Byron’s splendid burlesque, ’Little Don Giovanni; or, Leperello and the Stone Statue.’ Performance to begin with ’Ici on Parle Français.’”

Belasco was a member of the Metropolitan Company at that time, having appeared five days earlier, in a performance by way of “A Grand Complimentary Benefit to Marian Mordaunt,” with, among others, Alice Harrison, D. C. Anderson, Owen Marlowe, James C. Williamson, Henry Edwards, Henry Courtaine, John Woodard, and Charles E. Allen,—those players having been assembled from several companies. The bill included “A Morning Call,” “The Colleen Bawn,” and the First and Second acts of “Darling.” Belasco, on the occasion

From old photographs.Belasco’s Collection.THE CHAPMAN SISTERSElla ChapmanBlanche Chapman

From old photographs.Belasco’s Collection.

THE CHAPMAN SISTERS

Ella ChapmanBlanche Chapman

of that benefit, playedPeter Bowbells, in “The Illustrious Stranger.” In the opening bill of the Chapman Sisters, “Little Don Giovanni,” Belasco acted theFirst Policeman. Other plays in which the Chapmans appeared during that engagement were “Checkmate,” March 21; “Schermerhorn’s Boy,” April 2; “The Wonderful Scamp; or, Aladdin No. 2,” and “The Statue Lover,” April 3; “Pluto,” April 15; and “The Beauty and the Brigands.” In those plays Belasco acted, respectively,Strale,Reuben, theGenius of the Ring,Peter True, theFirst Fury, andMateo, the Landlord. “A Kiss in the Dark” and “A Happy Pair” were also played at the Metropolitan at this time, and probably he appeared in them, but I have not found specification of his doing so. The Chapman Sisters, Blanche and Ella, were daughters of an English actor, Henry Chapman (1822-1865), and were handsome and proficient players of burlesque. One of their most successful vehicles was “The Gold Demon.” Belasco appeared in it with them (March 18, 1873), asPrince Saucilita, and made up and played in imitation of a local eccentricity, known as “Emperor” Norton. His performance, practically a caricature, was considered clever and it elicited considerable commendation. “The Figaro” critic wrote of him: “D. Belasco took the house by storm with his make-up for’Emperor’ Norton, which was quite a feature of the piece.” Actors have often exhibited theatrical travesties of anomalous individuals: Samuel Foote (1720-1777), on the old English Stage, frequently did so: sometimes such exhibitions have proved attractive to the public and largely remunerative: generally they are trivial and contemptible. Thomas D. Rice (1808-1860), the actor who carried Joseph Jefferson, as a child, upon the stage, in 1833,—the first time he was ever seen there,—gained wealth and popularity by copying the grotesque behavior of an old negro named “Jim” Crow, who had been a slave and who was well known to residents of Louisville, Kentucky, about 1828-’29. Edwin Booth, in his novitiate, made a “hit” in San Francisco, about 1852-’53, by imitating a local notoriety named Plume. It did not, however, in his case, lead on to fortune,—nor did it in that of young Belasco as “Emperor” Norton. His remuneration was, for a long time, extremely small. While employed at the Metropolitan Theatre he earned six dollars a week, extra, by copying sets of the “parts” of plays, for the use of actors,—work done after the performance at night. “I wrote a beautiful hand in those days,” he told me; “almost like engraved script,—though perhaps you won’t believe it now.”

Belasco was fortunate in his early days in an acquaintance with an actor and theatrical agent, James H. McCabe, who loaned him many old plays, which he studied, and also with R. M. Edwards, a representative in San Francisco of Samuel French, the New York publisher of French’s Standard Drama, etc., who provided him with opportunity to augment his knowledge of theatrical publications and of plays in manuscript. McCabe sometimes procured professional employment for him, but his occupation was consistently desultory. He traversed the Pacific Coast, to and fro, during several years, with various bands of vagabond players, gleaning a precarious subsistence in a wild and often dangerous country, going south into Lower California and into Mexico, and going north to Seattle and to the home of his childhood, Victoria. Sometimes he ventured into the mountain settlements and mining camps of the inland country, travelling by stage when it was possible to do so, by wagon when he and his associates were lucky enough to have one, often on horseback or muleback, oftener on foot, performing in all sorts of places and glad and grateful for anything he could earn. His account of that period, as he has relatedit to me, is quite as replete with vicissitude, hardship, squalor, toil, romance, and misery as are the narratives over which the theatrical student muses, marvels, and saddens when reading the “Memoirs of Tate Wilkinson,” Ryley’s “Itinerant,” Charlotte Charke’s miserable narrative, or the story of Edmund Kean. “Many a time,” Belasco has told me, “I’ve marched into town, banging a big drum or tooting a cornet. We used to play in any place we could hire or get into,—a hall, a big dining room, an empty barn; anywhere! I spent much of my second season on the stage (if it can be called ’on the stage’) roaming the country, and in that way got my first experience as a stage manager,—which meant being responsible for everything; and in the years that followed I had many another such engagement. I’ve interviewed an angry sheriff ’many a time and oft’ (the sheriffs generally owned the places we played in), or an angrier hotel-keeper, when we couldn’t pay our board. I’ve been locked up because I couldn’t pay a dollar or two for food and a bed; I’ve washed dishes and served as a waiter; I’ve done pretty much everything, working off such debts; and sometimes I’ve had the exciting pleasure of running away, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, before the hotel-keeper got ’on’ that we hadn’t money enough to

From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.DAVID BELASCOAbout 1873-’75

From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.

DAVID BELASCO

About 1873-’75

pay. I acted many parts in my first seasons ’on the road’—among themRaphael, in ’The Marble Heart’;Mr. Toodle, in the farce of ’The Toodles’;Robert Macaire;Hamlet;Uncle Tom;Modus, in ’The Hunchback’;Marc Antony, in ’Julius Cæsar’;Dolly Spanker, in ’London Assurance’;Mercutio, and scores of others I can’t instantly call to mind.”

After considerable of the nomadic experience thus indicated, Belasco, returning to San Francisco, obtained, through his friend McCabe, an engagement in the company of Annie Pixley (Mrs. Robert Fulford, 1858-1893), remembered for her performance ofM’liss, in a rough melodrama, by Clay M. Greene, remotely based on Bret Harte’s tenderly human and touching story bearing that name. For Annie Pixley he made a serviceable domestic drama on the basis of Tennyson’s “Enoch Arden” (which poem had been published in 1864), and he acted in it, with her, asPhilip Ray. That subject had been brought on the stage in a play by Mme. Julie de Marguerittes (1814-1866), in which Edwin Adams gained renown as the unhappy, heroicEnoch. For his play on the subject Belasco received from Fulford $25. Later, he figured as an itinerant peddler, frequenting fairs at various towns in the neighborhood of San Francisco. In this character his attire comprised a black coat andtrousers, a “stovepipe” hat, and a wig and whiskers. “I used to buy goods on credit,” he told me, “and take them along; then I would get a soap-box or a barrel on the lot, or perhaps on a corner, and recite until I had a crowd, and then work attention ’round to my goods, which I generally managed to sell out.”

Belasco, in his youth, entertained an admiration that was almost idolatrous for Walter Montgomery, an American actor who, coming from Australia, played in California when the boy was about seventeen years old. His spirit of emulation was fired by the extraordinary efforts which were put forth by that fine player to signalize the close of his engagement in San Francisco. On the night of June 17, 1870, supported by Barrett, McCullough, and the California Theatre stock company, Montgomery actedShylock,Romeo,King John,Hotspur,Hamlet,BenedickandKing Louis the Eleventh, in selected scenes from seven plays. On the next night he actedMarc Antony, in a revival of “Julius Cæsar,”—that being his last appearance in California as an actor. On June 20 and 21 the California Theatre was devoted to “Walter Montgomery in His CelebratedRoyal Recitals.” This was his programme on the first night:

On the second night he gave:

As soon as possible after seeing Montgomery’s remarkable display of talent and versatility Belasco began to give public recitals, arranged in general upon the model of Montgomery’s, though varied to suit his own requirements. Chief among his selections were “The Vagabonds,” “The Maniac,” “Curfew Must Not Ring To-night,” “Bernardo del Carpio,”Hubert’sscene withPrince Arthur, from “King John”;Marc Antony’sOration, andHamlet’sSoliloquy on Death. He also gave imitations of various actors well known to the California public.

In the latter part of 1870 or early in 1871, while giving recitations at Platt’s Hall and elsewhere in San Francisco, his attention was attracted by an exceptionally handsome girl,—whom he has described as one “all compact of sweetness,”—who occupied a front seat on every occasion of his appearance. This young lady (she was little more than a child, being then only fifteen years old) was Miss Cecilia Loverich. After some time he was fortunate enough to obtain an introduction to her, at a private house where he had been engaged to give some recitations, and the acquaintance thus formed, and earnestly pursued by the romantic youth, soon ripened into a serious attachment. “I was nobody,” said Belasco to me, “and she was a beauty, of wealthy family, and,—young as she was,—already much followed. I did not have much hope at first; but I didn’t despair altogether, either. If I was only a struggling

CECILIA LOVERICH. MRS. DAVID BELASCOFrom a photograph.Belasco’s Collection.

CECILIA LOVERICH. MRS. DAVID BELASCO

From a photograph.Belasco’s Collection.

beginner on the stage, a sort of strolling spouter, stillshefound my performances worth coming to see, over and over again!” The lover’s suit was not impaired by the fact that presently he suffered a serious physical injury, the rupture of a vein in one of his feet, which took a course so unfavorable there was danger that amputation would be necessary: a dark-haired, pale, dreamy-eyed, romantic youth sometimes becomes more than usually interesting to a gentle, compassionate young woman when he is hurt and suffering. Although incapacitated for several weeks, during which time Miss Loverich paid him many delicate attentions, Belasco finally recovered, after a minor operation,—though, from his account of this episode, I surmise he came near dying under an anæsthetic. For a while he was compelled to use crutches, but ultimately he resumed his professional labor. The marriage of David Belasco and Cecilia Loverich was solemnized, August 26, 1873, at the home of his parents, No. 174 Clara Street, San Francisco,—Rabbi Neustader performing the ceremony. At that time the actor was employed at Shiels’ Opera House: during about a year after their marriage his wife travelled with him on some of his various barnstorming expeditions—and that was the happiest experience of his life.

The engagement of the Chapman Sisters at theMetropolitan Theatre was ended on April 27, 1873, with a representation of “Cinderella” (produced there April 23),—in which Belasco probably participated,—that being the last regular theatrical performance given there. During several weeks immediately sequent to that event Belasco travelled with the Chapman Sisters, under the management of Woodard, playing in Sacramento (May 3) and in many other California and Pacific Coast cities and towns. By about the middle of June, however, he had returned to San Francisco; and, not being able to obtain immediate employment in the theatres, he worked for about two months as amanuensis for an old actor, James H. Le Roy, who had turned his attention to playwrighting. On June 30 Belasco was present at the opening of Shiels’ Opera House (afterward the Opera House, Gray’s Opera House, etc.), when Bella Pateman (1844-1908) made her first appearance in San Francisco,—actingMariana, in “The Wife,” with Frank Roche asJulian St. Pierreand A. D. Billings asAntonio. “They did three or four more plays at Shiels’,—‘The Marble Heart,’ ’The Lady of Lyons,’ and other well-worn old pieces,”—so Belasco has said to me; “but the business was light and they needed a novelty. I had mentioned Wilkie Collins’ ’The New Magdalen’ [published that year] to Le Royas containing good material for a play and he had bought a copy of the book and begun to make a dramatization. He told Miss Pateman about it and when she agreed that it would make a fine play for her he hastened his work, dictating to me, and it was brought out soon afterward.” Le Roy’s “dramatization” of Collins’ novel was produced at Shiels’ Opera House on July 14, 1873, and it was the first, or one of the first, stage adaptations of the story to be acted in America: piratical versions of it eventually became so numerous that, at one time, they could be bought for $10! Collins, in the disgraceful state of American copyright law at that time, was helpless to prevent what he designated, in writing to me, as the “larcenous appropriation of my poor ’Magdalen.’”As illustrating the practical value of priority in such matters and an injury often inflicted on authorship, it is significant to recall that Le Roy’s scissored version of the novel and Miss Pateman’s performance in it were much preferred, in San Francisco, to the drama made by Collins, as it was acted there, at the California Theatre, by Carlotta Leclercq (1838-1893), September 22, 1873.—This was the cast of the principal parts at Shiels’:

Writing about the production of Le Roy’s “larcenous appropriation,” Belasco has said: “When it was ready it represented a week of pasting, cutting, and putting together.... It proved to be one of the greatest successes San Francisco ever had.... As for the actress, Bella Pateman, she was a wonderful woman of tears, always emotionally true, and she became the idol of the hour, for herMercy Merrickshowed her to be an artist of great worth.” Miss Pateman was an accomplished actress (her professional merit was much extolled in conversation with me by both Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett), and she became an exceptional public favorite in San Francisco. Her first engagement in that city continued until August 16, and, after July 14, it was devoted on all but four nights to repetitions of “The New Magdalen.”

Belasco’s association with Le Roy brought him into contact with persons influential in management of Shiels’ Opera House and he was fortunate enough to be engaged as a member of a stock company which was organized to succeed Miss Pateman there. The first star to appear with that company was Joseph Murphy, in a revival, made August 18, of

From an old photograph.The Albert Davis Collection.From an old photograph.Courtesy of Mrs. Lou. Devney.JOSEPH MURPHYJOHN PIPER

From an old photograph.The Albert Davis Collection.

From an old photograph.Courtesy of Mrs. Lou. Devney.

“Maum Cre,” which held the stage for one week and in which Belasco acted the small part ofBloater. On August 25, the night before his wedding, he played with Murphy asBob Rackett, in “Help,” and on September 1 asBaldwin, in “Ireland and America.” Murphy’s engagement ended September 7. The next night Frederick Lyster made his first appearance at Shiels’ (of which A. M. Gray had become “sole proprietor”) in “The Rising Moon,” and I believe that Belasco played in it, though I have not found a record of his doing so. On September 10 Laura Alberta was the star, in “Out at Sea,” Belasco playing with her asHarvey. During the next six weeks he acted at Shiels’—personatingSambo, in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” andMajor Hershner, in “Twice Saved; or, Bertha the Midget,” with Miss Alberta;Spada, in “The Woman in Red,” with Fanny Cathcart, andDarley, in “Dark Deeds,” with Miss Cathcart and George Darrell. Other plays presented at Shiels’ during the period indicated include “More Blunders Than One,” “Little Katy; or, The Hot Corn Girl,” “The Stage Struck Chamber-Maid,” “Man and Wife” (Darrell’s version), “The Mexican Tigress,” and “Evenings at Home.” It is probable that Belasco appeared in all or most of those plays, but I have not been able to find programmes or other records showing that he did so.On October 18 he participated in a benefit for James Dunbar at Gray’s Opera House (that name was first used on October 3), playingMons. Voyage, in the Third Act of “Ireland As It Was.”

After his employment at Gray’s Opera House Belasco obtained an engagement with John Piper and joined the theatrical company maintained by that manager at Piper’s Opera House, Virginia City, Nevada, at that time one of the most disorderly, dissolute, and disreputable towns in the United States. This “Opera House” was built by Maguire, in 1863, and did not become known as “Piper’s” till several years later. It was utilized for all kinds of public meetings, social and political, as well as for theatrical performances, and, judging from the history of Nevada, was, in early days, most noted as the scene of prize pugilistic combats. Piper, who was not only a speculative manager, but also a hotel-keeper, seems likewise to have been a shrewd, hard, unscrupulous person, not, however, devoid of rough kindness. By way of keeping his theatrical company well in hand he pursued the ingenious method of permitting its members to run into debt to him, to theamount of $1,500, and then withholding their salaries, thus, practically, making them prisoners till they had worked off the debt. Charges for everything were extortionate in Virginia City in that period, and Piper readily succeeded in entangling his actors, and he made it exceedingly difficult for them to extricate themselves. “I tried to run away from him,” said Belasco, telling me this story, “but got no further than Reno, where the sheriff, a ’pal’ of his, took me in charge and ’returned’ me for the debt!” In Virginia City he saw much more of that lawlessness, recklessness, and savagery which had already colored his thoughts and served to direct his mind into the lurid realm of sensation melodrama. There, also, he renewed acquaintance with various actors of prominence whom he had previously met in the course of his wanderings, and there he became associated with other performers, then or afterward distinguished. He acted many parts under Piper’s management, among themBuddicombe, in “Our American Cousin,” when Edward A. Sothern, asLord Dundreary, was the star, andDon Cæsar, in John Westland Marston’s “Donna Diana” (published 1863), a drama based on a Spanish original by Augustin Moreto (1618-1661), which was presented by the oncefamous Mrs. David P—— Bowers (1830-1895), an actress of great ability and charm, whom persons who saw her in her best days do not forget. Belasco remembers having acted with her, either at Virginia City or elsewhere in the West, asMaffeo Orsini, in “Lucretia Borgia”;Charles Oakley, in “The Jealous Wife”;Richard Hare, in “East Lynne,” and aPage, in “Mary Stuart,” and I have heard him speak of her with an ardor of admiration which I can well understand, and with deep gratitude for kindness shown him in the time of his necessitous youth.

Another eminent actor whom he met for the first time at Piper’s Opera House,—according to his recollection, in the Winter of 1873,—was Dion Boucicault (1822?-1890), who appears to have noticed him as a youth of talent and promise and to have treated him with favor. Boucicault could ingratiate himself with almost any person, when he chose to do so, and,—whenever they may have met,—he readily won the admiration of young Belasco, who closely studied his acting and the mechanism of his plays, and whose work, as a dramatist and a manager, has been, in a great degree, moulded by his abiding influence. Boucicault,

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