“‘L’Assommoir’ is a disgusting piece,—one prolonged sigh, from first to last, over the miseries of the poor, with a dialogue culled from the lowest slang and tritest claptrap. It gave me no points that I could use, and the only novelty in it was in thelavoirscene, where two washwomen (the heroine and her rival) throw pails of warm water (actually) over each other and stand dripping before the audience.”
“‘L’Assommoir’ is a disgusting piece,—one prolonged sigh, from first to last, over the miseries of the poor, with a dialogue culled from the lowest slang and tritest claptrap. It gave me no points that I could use, and the only novelty in it was in thelavoirscene, where two washwomen (the heroine and her rival) throw pails of warm water (actually) over each other and stand dripping before the audience.”
Notwithstanding his correctly adverse opinion of “L’Assommoir” Daly was induced, in deference to the wish of his father-in-law, John Duff, to buy theAmerican copyright of the work (for which he paid £200, furnished by Duff), and to make a version of it, considerably denaturized,—in five acts, containing twelve tableaux,—which he produced at the Olympic Theatre, New York, April 30, 1879. It was a complete failure. (The only memorable incident associated with that production is that in it, asBig Clémence, Ada Rehan, the supreme comedy actress of her day, made her first appearance under the management of Daly.) On June 2 an adaptation of the French play, made by Charles Reade, was brought out at the Princess’ Theatre, London,—which, because of the extraordinarily effective acting in it of Charles Warner (1847-1909), asCoupeau, achieved immediate and, unhappily, enduring success. Maguire, reading in a newspaper dispatch of that London success, undeterred by Daly’s New York failure (perhaps stimulated by it), had at once asked Belasco to make a play on the subject for the Baldwin Theatre. This, as soon as “The Moonlight Marriage” was launched, Belasco had done,—basing his drama on an English translation of Zola’s book and completing his work within one week. All concerned were hopeful that this new drama of violent sensation would please the popular taste and serve to set the Baldwin once more in the path of prosperity. It was presented at that theatre July 15, 1879, andit was sufficiently successful to gain and hold public interest for two weeks,—a result due in part to the excellent acting with which it was illustrated, in part to the dexterity of Belasco’s exacting stage management. A single comparative incident is significantly suggestive: in Daly’s New York production the fall ofCoupeaufrom a ladder was, palpably, made by substituting a dummy figure for the actor who played the part: in Belasco’s San Francisco presentment the fall ofCoupeauwas so skilfully managed that, on the opening night, it was for several moments supposed by the audience that an actual accident had occurred. This was the cast:
Talking with me about this play, Belasco remarked: “We had a lively time getting that piece licked into shape and produced. The cast was, practically, an ’all star’ one (far finer, I know, than I could get together to-day), several of the members having been specially engaged, and it took a good deal of diplomacy to keep things tranquil and everybody contented. I remember I had an even more disagreeable passage with Lillian Andrews (who had been brought in to playBig Virginie) than that at my first meeting with Miss Coghlan. The Washhouse Scene was a hard one—you couldn’t fool with it; the only way to make it go was todoit!—and at the dress rehearsal Miss Andrews refused point-blank to go through it as it was to be done at night. Both she and Miss Coghlan were under dressed with close-fitting rubber suits to keep them dry; but, even so, it was no fun to be drenched with hot soapy water, and I was sorry for them. But, of course, the scene had to be properly and fully rehearsed, and the upshot was I had to tell Miss Andrews she must do her business as directed or leave the company. And, after a grand row, we had the scene as it was to be at night. She and Coghlan and everybody concerned were in such tempers by the time I finishedreading the riot act that everything was marvellously realistic; I doubt whether it was ever quite so well done at a public performance!”
Belasco’s “L’Assommoir” ran until July 30, when Miss Coghlan ended her season in San Francisco. On the 31st Steele Mackaye’s “Won at Last” was first performed at the Baldwin; and, on August 11, came little Lotta, in “Musette,” “La Cigale,” and other plays, her engagement extending to September 6.
While thus employed at the Baldwin Theatre,—that is, at some time between May and August, 1879,—Belasco was asked by James O’Neill to write a play for his use and that of Lewis Morrison (1844-1906), his intimate friend, and he had begun the adaptation of an old drama, which he purposed to entitle “Chums.” His original intention was that this should be produced with O’Neill and Morrison in the chief parts (those actors being desirous of leaving the Baldwin Theatre stock company and establishing themselves, under a joint business management, as co-stars); but he had made no contract nor even mentioned his project, and when, later, his adapted play, then incomplete, by chance became
Photograph by Taber, San Francisco.Courtesy Mrs. Morrison.Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.LEWIS MORRISONJAMES O’NEILLAbout 1880
Photograph by Taber, San Francisco.Courtesy Mrs. Morrison.Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.LEWIS MORRISONJAMES O’NEILLAbout 1880
Photograph by Taber, San Francisco.Courtesy Mrs. Morrison.
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
LEWIS MORRISON
JAMES O’NEILL
About 1880
known to Mr. and Mrs. Herne, with whom he was closely associated, he acceded to a proposal which they made to form a partnership with them for its production. Herne, who had first appeared in California in 1868, was then well established in popular favor; moreover,—notwithstanding that most of the actual labor of stage management devolved on Belasco,—authoritative control of the Baldwin stage and, to a great extent, selection of the plays to be represented at that theatre were vested in Herne. His coöperation, therefore, was desirable, if, indeed, it was not essential; he became a co-worker with Belasco, and between them the play was finished. During the engagement of Lotta Herne arranged for a tour of Pacific Slope towns by O’Neill and Morrison, leading the Baldwin Dramatic Company, beginning at Sacramento, Sunday, September 7, in a repertory which comprised “Diplomacy,” “A Woman of the People,” “Pink Dominos,” “Won at Last,” “L’Assommoir,” and “Within an Inch of His Life,” thus leaving the way clear for rehearsal and production of “Chums.” Belasco and the Hernes were expectant of great success for this play. Handsome scenery had been painted for it, and ample provision had been made for the display of those accessories which please the public taste for what is known as “realism.” The prospect seemed bright.The first performance occurred on September 9, 1879, at the Baldwin Theatre, Katharine Corcoran (Mrs. Herne) taking a benefit. The result was a bitter disappointment. The receipts were extremely small (“I remember,” writes Belasco, “that, one night, they were only $17.50!”), and after a disheartening run of two weeks “Chums” was withdrawn,—being succeeded by O’Neill and Morrison, in a revival of “Won at Last.” This was the San Francisco cast of “Chums”:
By this decisive failure Herne was much discouraged. Not so either Belasco or Mrs. Herne, and on a suggestion made by the latter it was determinedto take the play on a tour into the East. “I took a benefit at the Baldwin,” Belasco told me, “and itwasa benefit! Everybody volunteered; Maguire [the manager of the Baldwin] gave us the use of the theatre; the actors gave their services; the orchestra gave theirs; the newspapers gave the ’ads.’ All that came in was clear gain, and I got a little more than $3,000. That was our working capital.”
With money thus raised on Belasco’s behalf, and with a play projected by him, the business alliance was arranged,—the Hernes to have one-half interest and Belasco the other. A company was engaged and the expedition was undertaken,—the design being to act “Chums” in various cities on the way to the Atlantic Seaboard, with hope of securing an opening in New York and making a fortune. Ill luck, however, attended it. “Chums” was played in Salt Lake City and other places, but everywhere in vain. At last, the scenery having been seized for debt, the company was disbanded and the partners, almost penniless, made their way to Chicago. The chief managers in that city then were James Horace McVicker (1822-1896) and Richard Martin Hooley (1822-1893). Both werebesought to produce “Chums” and both declined. “We were in a dreadful way,” said Belasco, in telling me this story; “we had gone to the old Sherman House and taken the smallest, cheapest rooms we could get, and Alvin Hurlbert, the proprietor, had let our bills run. But at last they had run so long we had to make an explanation,—and I did the explaining. It wasn’t an easy thing to do,—though I’d done it before, in the early, wild days in the West. But Hurlbert was very kind: ’I believe in you, my boy,’ he said, ’and it’s all right,’—so we had a little more time to hustle in. And wehustled! By chance Herne and I went into a kind of beer-garden, called the Coliseum, kept by John Hamlin. There was a stage, and “Fred” Wren, in “On Time,” was giving impersonations of German character,—sort of imitation of J. K. Emmet in ’Fritz.’ The ’business’ was bad; there weren’t thirty people in the house when Herne and I chanced in. I immediately proposed to Hamlin that we bring out ’Chums,’ which we had renamed ’Hearts of Oak.’ He agreed to let us have the theatre, but Hamlin had no money to invest, so we had to get a production and assemble a company, all without a cent of capital! However, we got credit in one place or another, and did it,—a production costing thousands, on credit, and without a dollar of our own in it! We had abig success, although Hamlin’s Coliseum wasn’t much of a place.”
“Hearts of Oak” (“Chums”) is based on a melodrama called “The Mariner’s Compass,” by an English dramatist, Henry Leslie (1829-1881), which was first produced at Astley’s Theatre, London, in 1865, under the management of that wonderfully enterprising person Edward Tyrrell Smith (1804-1877), and was first acted in America, at the New Bowery Theatre, New York, May 22, that year,—with Edward Eddy asSilas Engleheart, the prototype ofTerry Dennison, and Mrs. W. G. Jones asHetty Arnold, the prototype ofChrystal. It was announced in Chicago as “Herne’s and Belasco’s American Play, in Five Acts and Six Tableaux,” and it was first produced there on November 17, 1879, at Hamlin’s Theatre,—I find no authority for calling it the Coliseum, but my records of Chicago theatres in that period are meagre,—with this cast,—Mrs. Herne (Katherine Corcoran) then making her first appearance in that city:
After its production at Hamlin’s Theatre,—designated by Belasco as “a big success,”—“Hearts of Oak” was taken on a tour, but was presently brought back to Chicago, and on March 15, 1880, it was presented at Hooley’s Theatre, where it was again received with public favor. In the meantime the fact that it was in a considerable degree a variant of an English play of earlier date had been perceived and made known, and Hamlin, offended and resentful because Herne and Belasco, returning to Chicago, had chosen to appear at Hooley’s instead of coming back to him, announced a revival of the earlier play,—Leslie’s “The Mariner’s Compass,”—with the title of “Hearts of Oak.” A suit at law followed, the ultimate decision being that “The Mariner’s Compass,” unprotected by American copyright, was free to any person in the UnitedStates who might choose to use it, irrespective of its author’s moral rights, but that the title of “Hearts of Oak” was owned by Herne and Belasco, in association with their play, and could not lawfully be associated with another. The inimical purpose of Hamlin was thus, in a measure, defeated, but Belasco’s troubles did not stop there. Herne evinced much displeasure on learning that Belasco’s play, on which he had co-labored, was not strictly original. An alleged ground of Herne’s displeasure was the lawsuit. “Why didn’t you tell me about “The Mariner’s Compass’?” he said, reproaching Belasco: “nowI’ve a damned lawsuit on my hands!” “Well,” Belasco rejoined, “I don’t see why I should have told you anything about the old play; and, anyway, I don’t see what you have to complain about. You ought to be mighty glad you’ve got a half-interest in something worth a lawsuit to protect,—and you haven’t got the suit onyourhands any more than I have onmine!” The actual ground of Herne’s dissatisfaction, judging by his subsequent treatment of Belasco, probably was his realization that, if he had, in the first place, been made acquainted with “The Mariner’s Compass,” he could himself have adapted that play to his own use without forming a partnership with anybody.
The success gained in Chicago and other cities relieved the Belasco-Herne triumvirate from immediate pecuniary embarrassment, and notwithstanding the existence of a latent and growing antagonism the path to fortune seemed to have opened for them. From Chicago, after two weeks at Hooley’s Theatre, those managers carried their play to New York, an opening having been obtained through the agency of Brooks & Dickson (Joseph Brooks [1849-1916] and James B—— Dickson, now [1917] business manager for Robert B. Mantell), and “Hearts of Oak” was presented, for the first time in the metropolis, March 29, 1880, at the New Fifth Avenue Theatre, then opened under the management of Edward E. Rice and Jacob Nunnemacher. This was the cast:
James Alfred Herne (1839-1901) has been incorrectly and injudiciously vaunted as a great, original, representative American dramatist. The claim is preposterous. Herne was not a dramatist, he was a playwright (that is, a mechanic, amakerof plays, mechanically, from stock material, precisely as a wheelwright is a maker of wheels), and as a playwright he was less distinctive than as an actor. He adopted the latter vocation in youth, first as an amateur, then as a member of a stock company, making his first professional appearance at a theatre in Troy, New York. He obtained good training. He participated in performances of standard plays with some of the best actors who have graced the American Stage,—among them James Booth Roberts (1818-1901), Edward Loomis Davenport (1815-1877), and the younger James William Wallack (1818-1873). He did not possess a tithe of the power and versatility of Davenport, but he was deeply affected by the influenceof that noble actor, and he played several parts in close imitation of him,—notablySikes, in “Oliver Twist.” His dramatic instinct was keen, but his mind was not imaginative and the natural bent of it was toward prosy literalism. He was early, strongly, and continuously dominated by the literal methods and the humanitarian and reformatory spirit of the novels of Dickens. He liked the utilitarian and matter-of-fact embellishments with which some of those novels abound, and he was attracted by such characters asPeggotty, a part which he acted and of which his performance was creditable. As an actor he aimed to be photographic, he copied actual life in commonplace aspects as closely as he could, and often he was slow, dull, and tedious. As a playwright he was deficient in the faculty of invention and in the originality of characterization. He tinkered the plays of other writers, always with a view to the enhancement or introduction of graphic situations. The principal plays with which his name is associated are “Hearts of Oak,” “Drifting Apart,” “Sag Harbor,” “Margaret Fleming,” “Shore Acres,” and “The Rev. Griffith Davenport.” “Hearts of Oak” is Belasco’s revamp of “The Mariner’s Compass,” modified and expanded. The characters in it are not American: they are transformed English characters. It was not Herne’s plan, it was Belasco’s, to rehabilitate the earlier play by Leslie, shift the places of the action, shuffle the scenes, change the names of the persons, introduce incidents from other plays, add unusual “stage effects,” and so manufacture something that might pass for a novelty. In reply to a question of mine as to Herne’s share in the making of “Hearts of Oak,” Belasco said “he dida lot of good workon it,” and when I asked for specification of that work I was told “he introduced a lot ofRip Van Winklestuff.” “Drifting Apart” is based on an earlier play, called “Mary, the Fisherman’s Daughter.” “Sag Harbor” is a variant of “Hearts of Oak.” “Margaret Fleming” is mainly the work of Mrs. Herne, and is one of those crude and completely ineffectual pieces of hysterical didacticism which are from time to time produced on the stage with a view to the dismay of libertines by an exhibition of some of the evil consequences of licentious conduct. In that play a righteously offended wife bares her bosom to the public gaze in order to suckle a famished infant, of which her dissolute husband is the father by a young woman whom he has seduced, betrayed, and abandoned to want and misery: libertines, of course, are always reformed by spectacles of that kind! (This incident, by the way, occurs, under other circumstances, in the fourthchapter of “Hide and Seek,” by Wilkie Collins, published in 1854.) “The Rev. Griffith Davenport” was deduced from a novel called “The Unofficial Patriot,” by Helen H. Gardner. “Shore Acres” is, in its one vital dramatic ingredient, derived from a play by Frank Murdoch, called “The Keepers of Lighthouse Cliff,”—in which Herne had acted years before “Shore Acres” was written. It incorporates, also, many of the real stage properties and much of the stage business,—the real supper, etc.,—used in “Hearts of Oak.” Its climax is the quarrel of the brothersMartinandNathan’l Berry, the suddenly illumined beacon, kindled byUncle Nat, and the hairbreadth escape of the imperilled ship,—taken, without credit, from Murdoch’s drama. Herne localized his plays in America and, to a certain extent, treated American subjects, but he made no addition to American Drama, and his treatment of the material that he “borrowed” or adapted never rose above respectable mediocrity. It was as an actor that he gained repute and merited commemoration. He was early impressed by the example of Joseph Jefferson and was emulative of him: he appeared in Jefferson’s most famous character,Rip Van Winkle, but he did not evince a particle of that innate charm, that imaginative, spiritual quality, which irradiated Jefferson’s impersonation of the pictorial vagabond and exalted it into the realm of the poetic ideal. Herne earnestly wished for a part in which he might win a popularity and opulence in some degree commensurate with those obtained by Jefferson asRip Van Winkle: he eventually found it, or something like it, inTerry Dennison, in “Hearts of Oak,” which he acted, far and wide, for many years, and by which he accumulated a fortune of about $250,000. The influence of his acting, at its best, was humanitarian and in that respect highly commendable.—On April 3, 1878, Herne and Katherine Corcoran were wedded, in San Francisco,—that being Herne’s second marriage. His first wife was Helen Western. He was a native of Cohoes, New York. The true name of this actor was James Ahearn, which, when he adopted the profession of the Stage, he changed to James A. Herne. It is given in the great register of San Francisco as James Alfred Herne. His death occurred, June 2, 1901, at No. 79 Convent Avenue, near 145th Street, New York.
I remember the first performance of “Hearts of Oak” in New York. The play was a patchwork of hackneyed situations and incidents, culled andrefurbished from such earlier plays as “Little Em’ly,” “Rip Van Winkle,” “Leah the Forsaken,” and “Enoch Arden.” Some of those situations were theatrically effective, and the quality of the fabric was instinct with tender feeling. The articulation of the parts, meaning the mechanism, indicated, to some extent, an expert hand,—which unquestionably its chief manipulator, Belasco, possessed, and which he has since more amply shown. The element of picture, however, exceeded that of action, and the element of commonplace realism, manifested partly in the drawing of character, partly in the dialogue, and largely in the accessories and stage business, was so excessive as to be tiresome. Real water, real beans, real boiled potatoes, and various other ingredients of a real supper, together with a real cat and a real (and much discontented) baby, were among the real objects employed in the representation. Such things, particularly when profusely used in a play, are injurious to dramatic effect, because they concentrate attention on themselves and distract it from the subject and the action to be considered. Accessories should blend into the investiture of a play and not be excrescences upon it. There is, however, a large public that likes to see on the stage such real objects as it customarily sees in the dwelling or the street,—a real fireplace,
From a photograph by (Stevens?).The Albert Davis Collection.JAMES A. HERNE
From a photograph by (Stevens?).The Albert Davis Collection.JAMES A. HERNE
From a photograph by (Stevens?).The Albert Davis Collection.
JAMES A. HERNE
a real washtub, a real dog, a real horse, all the usual trappings of actual life: that is the public which finds its chief artistic pleasure inrecognition. It was present on many occasions during the career of “Hearts of Oak,” and with this plethora of real and commonplace objects it was much pleased.
In the story of “Hearts of Oak” a young man,Ruby Darrell, and a young woman,Chrystal(Dennison?), who love each other and wish to wed, privately agree to abnegate themselves in order that the young woman may marry their guardian and benefactor,Terry Dennison, out of gratitude to him. This immoral marriage is accomplished and in time the wife becomes a mother. In time, also, the injured guardian discovers,—what, if he had possessed even ordinary discernment, he would have discovered in the beginning,—that his wife’s affections are fixed onDarrell. The miserableDennisonthen goes away, after privately arranging that if he does not return within five yearsDarrellshall wed withChrystal. Six years pass;Dennisonis reported to have perished at sea in the wreck of a Massachusetts ship, andChrystalandRubyerect a churchyard monument to his memory. ThenChrystal, believing herself to be a widow, marries her lover. But the desolate husband is not dead; he reappears, blind, destitute and wretched, on thewedding day, and in a colloquy with his child, outside of the church within which the marriage is being solemnized and seated on the base of his memorial among the graves, he ascertains the existent circumstances and presently expires, while his wife and little daughter pitifully minister to him as to a stranger. The misery and pathos of the experience and situation are obvious. It is also obvious that, in the fulfilment of a central purpose to create a situation and depict a character instinct with misery and pathos, the element of probability was disregarded. The chief part is that of the injured, afflicted, suffering guardian, who, as a dramatic character, is a variant ofEnoch ArdenandHarebell.
In actingDennison, Herne, while often heavy and monotonous, gained sympathy and favor by the simplicity of his demeanor, his facile assumption of manliness, and his expert simulation of deep feeling; but he did nothing that had not been done before, and much better done, by other actors,—in particular, by Edwin Adams inEnoch Arden, and by William Rufus Blake and Charles Fisher inPeggottyand kindred parts, of which the fibre is rugged manliness and magnanimity. Katherine Corcoran, playingChrystal, gave a performance that was interesting more by personality than by art. She had not then been long on the Stage. Shewas handsome, graceful, and winning, of slender figure, with an animated, eagerly expressive face, blue-gray eyes, silky brown hair, and a sweet voice. In calm moments and level speaking she was efficient. In excitement her vocalism became shrill and her action spasmodic. Scenery of more than common merit, painted by William Voegtlin, was provided to embellish the play, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre. One picture, in particular, representing a prospect of a tranquil seacoast, was excellent in composition, true and fine in color, and poetic in quality; another effectively portrayed a broad expanse of troubled sea, darkening ominously under a sombre sky tumultuous with flying scud. Herne somewhat improved the play in the course of his protracted repetitions of it, after he parted from Belasco, but he always retained in it the “real” trappings which Belasco had introduced. Both those actors, as playwrights, were conjunctive in favor of “limbs and outward flourishes,”—the “real tubs” ofMr. Crummles.
The play, which without Belasco’s consent or knowledge was announced in New York as “by James A. Herne” (mention being made, in the programme, that it was remotely based on “The Mariner’s Compass,” but, practically, was Herne’s original composition!), failed there. Belasco states, in his “Story,” that it was produced in “the summer time,” and adds that “notwithstanding the play’s success, we could not combat the intense humidity.” That statement is incorrect. March is not summer, and it was not “intensehumidity” but intensefrostthat could not be combated. The business was further injured by the fact that Herne was on several occasions incapacitated to appear, and Belasco replaced him asTerry Dennison. The initial expenses had been heavy, the profit was soon almost dissipated, the engagement was ended April 16, and, on going to Philadelphia, to fulfil an engagement at Mrs. Drew’s Arch Street Theatre, the partners quarrelled. Herne there expressed to Belasco his opinion that the play was rubbish, that he was wasting his time by acting in it, and proposed that Belasco should buy his half interest, for $1,500, or that he should buy Belasco’s for the same amount,—“knowing,” Belasco has told me, “that I had not drawn any of my share of the profits, while there were any; that I had been living and keeping my family, in San Francisco, on $50 a week (I was allowed that and talked to all the time about ’the barrels of money “Dave” would have at theend of the season’!), and also knowing that I didn’t have fifteen hundred cents!” Herne, after profuse condemnation of the play and harsh censure of Belasco, in which he was sustained by his business associate, Frederick W. Burt, finally obtained Belasco’s signature to an agreement to sell to Herne, for $1,500, all his half-interest in “Hearts of Oak,” and so that play became Herne’s exclusive property. The purchase money was not paid, but Herne gave a promissory note for it. Later, realizing that he had acted imprudently, Belasco called on his friend Mrs. John Drew, informed her of the business, and asked her advice. That eminently practical lady was both sympathetic and indignant. She commended him to her attorneys, Messrs. Shakespeare and Devlin, and desired that they should see what could be done “for this boy.” There was, however, little to do. “You are of age,” said Devlin, “you’ve signed an agreement; you’ll have to stand by it,—but I’ll get you the $1,500. The first thing is to find where Herne banks.” That information was easily obtained, and Belasco and Devlin repaired to the bank,—where they met Herne coming out, and where, a few moments later, they were told that he had withdrawn his money and closed his account. The $1,500 was not paid until several years later, when Belasco, then employed at the MadisonSquare Theatre, New York, stated the facts to Marshall H. Mallory, one of the managers of that house, and, with assistance of his lawyers, obtained from Herne payment of the debt, with interest.
Meantime, Belasco had been left in a painful predicament. “I had,” he told me, “quite honestly, but very extravagantly, painted our success in brilliant colors when writing to my dear wife,—and there I was, in Philadelphia, without enough money to pay my fare back to San Francisco, and nobody to borrow from. I went, first, to New York, hoping to get employment, but luck was against me—I could get nothing, and I spent three nights on the benches in Union Square Park. I met Marcus Mayer, a friend of mine, in the Park one morning, and he got part of my story from me, lent me some money, and promised to try to help me further. But I had to get to San Francisco, and as soon as he lent me a little money I made up my mind tostart. It took me eighteen days to make the trip, but I did it,—paying what I could, persuading conductors and brakemen to let me ride free, if only for a few miles, and, when I was put off, stealing rides on anything that was going. I got there, but it was a pretty wretched homecoming. I hadto swallow any pride I had left and go to work again at the Baldwin,—where I’d been stage manager and playwright and amounted to something,—and where now I played anything,—‘bits,’ mostly,—given me: I got only $25 a week.”
The story of Belasco’s venture with “Hearts of Oak” has been told minutely for the reason that it involves his first determined effort to break away from what he viewed as thraldom in the Theatre of San Francisco, and make for himself a position in the metropolis of the country. The failure of that effort was a bitter humiliation and disappointment to him. It did not, however, weaken his purpose. After he rejoined the Baldwin he was not long constrained to occupy a subservient position.
One of the associations of Belasco’s professional life much prized by him is that with the lovely woman and great actress Adelaide Neilson. Miss Neilson first appeared in San Francisco, March 10, 1874, at the California Theatre, actingJuliet,—of which part she was the best representative who has been seen within the last sixty years. During her engagement at the California, which lasted till March 30, and in the course of which she actedRosalind,Lady Teazle,Julia, in “The Hunchback,” andPauline, in “The Lady of Lyons,” as well asJuliet, Belasco was employed in the theatre, acting as an assistant to the prompter, and participating as a super in all the plays that were presented. “Little a thing as it is,” he has said to me, “I have always been proud to remember that I danced with her, in the minuet, in ’Romeo and Juliet,’ the first night she ever played in our city. I never saw such wonderful eyes, or heard a voice so silver-toned, so full of pathos, so rich and thrilling. I shall never forget how deeply affected I was when, in the dance, for the first time I touched her hand and she turned those wonderful eyes onme.”
When Belasco was re-employed at the Baldwin Miss Neilson was acting there, in the second week of her farewell engagement, which began on June 8. On July 17 that engagement closed, and one of the brightest yet saddest of theatrical careers came to an end. Belasco, always closely attentive to his stage duties, never depended on anybody but himself to give the signals for raising and lowering the curtain, and, on that night, he “rang down” on the last performance Adelaide Neilson ever gave. The bill was the Balcony Scene, from “Romeo and Juliet,” and the play of “Amy Robsart.” In the course of the performance Belasco, after theBalcony Scene, went to assist her in descending from the elevated platform and, as she came down, she laid a hand on his shoulder and sprang to the stage,—losing a slipper as she did so. Belasco took it up. “You may keep it,” she said, “for Rosemary,”—and, says Belasco, “having thanked her I nailed it, then and there, to the wall by the prompter’s stand and there it stayed, as a mascot, for years.” Referring to that last night of her stage career, Belasco has written the following reminiscence:
THE BLACK PEARL.
“Like other stars of the day, Miss Neilson expressed a desire to give every member of her company a memento. I was waiting at the green-room door to escort her to the hotel, when she called me into her dressing-room. ’You are so weird and mysterious, and perhaps I may never see you again. Look over those things and choose something for yourself.’ On her dressing-room table she had piled all her wonderful jewels, a fortune of immense value. I remember that her maid, a little deformed woman, stood by me as I hesitated. ’Yes, to bring you luck,’ she replied and there was a faint chuckle in her throat. Rubies, diamonds, emeralds—they dazzled my eyes. I finally reached forward and picked a black pearl. I said, ’I’ll take this.’ Miss Neilson’s face turned white, and she closed her eyes. ’Oh, David, why do you ask for that?’ she cried, and I dropped it as though I had done an evil thing. ’I’m superstitious,’ she confessed. ’My trunk is full of nails, horseshoes, and the luckiest thing of all is that little black pearl. I disliketo refuse you anything, but I know you will understand.’ I hastily selected a small emerald, and with a feeling almost of temerity I left the room. All during the farewell supper that followed she would bring the conversation back to the strangeness of my choice, until I thought she would never cease, and just on my account. ’If I gave up that pearl, I shouldn’t live a month. Some one told me that, and I believe it,’ she said.“When she left on the morrow she made me promise that if I ever visited London I would seek her out, but that was the last I saw of Adelaide Neilson. She had gone no farther than Reno when she wrote me, sending me a little package in which was buried the black pearl. ’I cannot get your voice out of my mind,’ she wrote. Six months afterwards she died in a little French village. She had returned tired and dusty to the inn from a ramble in the leafy lanes of Normandy, and, drinking a glass of ice-cold milk, was suddenly dead in an hour. [She died in less thanonemonth—August 15, 1880, at a châlet, in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris, becoming ill while driving.—W. W.]“Of course I had told my family the incident, and one afternoon, while I was out, my mother went to my room, and, for fear of ill-luck pursuing me, destroyed the black pearl. Such incidents have been put into plays and audiences have laughed over the improbability, but here’s an indisputable fact. Charge it to the long arm of coincidence, if you will, but in my own career I have met so many occurrences that are stranger than fiction that I cannot doubt the workings of coincidence any longer.“Often during this engagement she had spoken of Mr. William Winter in terms of gratitude and respect, and that the sentiment must have been mutual we have ample verification in his many valuable books. From thesepages we of to-day are able to recreate once more the golden art of the greatestJulietof all times. ’Dear William Winter,’ I remember hearing her say, ’how much I have to thank him for help and advice!’”
“Like other stars of the day, Miss Neilson expressed a desire to give every member of her company a memento. I was waiting at the green-room door to escort her to the hotel, when she called me into her dressing-room. ’You are so weird and mysterious, and perhaps I may never see you again. Look over those things and choose something for yourself.’ On her dressing-room table she had piled all her wonderful jewels, a fortune of immense value. I remember that her maid, a little deformed woman, stood by me as I hesitated. ’Yes, to bring you luck,’ she replied and there was a faint chuckle in her throat. Rubies, diamonds, emeralds—they dazzled my eyes. I finally reached forward and picked a black pearl. I said, ’I’ll take this.’ Miss Neilson’s face turned white, and she closed her eyes. ’Oh, David, why do you ask for that?’ she cried, and I dropped it as though I had done an evil thing. ’I’m superstitious,’ she confessed. ’My trunk is full of nails, horseshoes, and the luckiest thing of all is that little black pearl. I disliketo refuse you anything, but I know you will understand.’ I hastily selected a small emerald, and with a feeling almost of temerity I left the room. All during the farewell supper that followed she would bring the conversation back to the strangeness of my choice, until I thought she would never cease, and just on my account. ’If I gave up that pearl, I shouldn’t live a month. Some one told me that, and I believe it,’ she said.
“When she left on the morrow she made me promise that if I ever visited London I would seek her out, but that was the last I saw of Adelaide Neilson. She had gone no farther than Reno when she wrote me, sending me a little package in which was buried the black pearl. ’I cannot get your voice out of my mind,’ she wrote. Six months afterwards she died in a little French village. She had returned tired and dusty to the inn from a ramble in the leafy lanes of Normandy, and, drinking a glass of ice-cold milk, was suddenly dead in an hour. [She died in less thanonemonth—August 15, 1880, at a châlet, in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris, becoming ill while driving.—W. W.]
“Of course I had told my family the incident, and one afternoon, while I was out, my mother went to my room, and, for fear of ill-luck pursuing me, destroyed the black pearl. Such incidents have been put into plays and audiences have laughed over the improbability, but here’s an indisputable fact. Charge it to the long arm of coincidence, if you will, but in my own career I have met so many occurrences that are stranger than fiction that I cannot doubt the workings of coincidence any longer.
“Often during this engagement she had spoken of Mr. William Winter in terms of gratitude and respect, and that the sentiment must have been mutual we have ample verification in his many valuable books. From thesepages we of to-day are able to recreate once more the golden art of the greatestJulietof all times. ’Dear William Winter,’ I remember hearing her say, ’how much I have to thank him for help and advice!’”
MISS NEILSON’S GOOD INFLUENCE.
Adelaide Neilson, whatever may have been the errors of her early life, was intrinsically a noble woman, and any man might well be proud to have gained her kindly interest. In the often abused art of acting, to pass, as she did, from the girlish glee and artless merriment ofViolato the romantic, passion-touched, tremulous entrancement ofJuliet, thence to the ripe womanhood ofImogen, and finally to the grandeur ofIsabella, is to fill the imagination with an ideal of all that is excellent in woman and all that makes her the angel of man’s existence and the chief grace and glory of the world. All acting is illusion: “the best in this kind are but shadows.” Yet she who could thus fill up the measure of ideal beauty surely possessed glorious elements. Much for her own sake is this actress remembered—much, also, for the ever “bright imaginings” she prompted and the high thoughts that her influence inspired and justified as to woman’s nature. As the poet bore in his heart the distant, dying song of the reaper, “long afterit was heard no more,” so and with such feeling is her acting treasured in memory. Woman, for her sake and the sake of what she interpreted, has ever been, by those who saw and knew her, more highly prized and reverenced,—a beneficent result the value of which cannot be overstated. As Byron wrote:
“The very firstOf human life must spring from woman’s breast;Your first small words are taught you from her lips;Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighsBreathed out in woman’s hearing.”
“The very firstOf human life must spring from woman’s breast;Your first small words are taught you from her lips;Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighsBreathed out in woman’s hearing.”
“The very firstOf human life must spring from woman’s breast;Your first small words are taught you from her lips;Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighsBreathed out in woman’s hearing.”
During Miss Neilson’s engagement at the Baldwin Belasco’s indefatigible industry had been bestowed on a play, modelled on “The Danicheffs,”—a drama on a Russian subject which had been produced at the Union Square Theatre, New York, February 5, 1877. His play, named “Paul Arniff; or, The Love of a Serf,” was derived in part from “The Black Doctor,” and was announced as “founded on one of the very best pieces ever produced at the Porte St. Martin Theatre, Paris.” It was not remarkable, being a loosely constructed melodrama,—some portions of which were well devised and
ADELAIDE NEILSON“And O, to think the sun can shine,The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom,And she, whose soul was all divine,Be darkly mouldering in the tomb!”—W. W.From a miniature on porcelain.Author’s Collection.
ADELAIDE NEILSON“And O, to think the sun can shine,The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom,And she, whose soul was all divine,Be darkly mouldering in the tomb!”—W. W.From a miniature on porcelain.Author’s Collection.
ADELAIDE NEILSON
“And O, to think the sun can shine,The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom,And she, whose soul was all divine,Be darkly mouldering in the tomb!”—W. W.
“And O, to think the sun can shine,The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom,And she, whose soul was all divine,Be darkly mouldering in the tomb!”—W. W.
“And O, to think the sun can shine,The birds can sing, the flowers can bloom,And she, whose soul was all divine,Be darkly mouldering in the tomb!”—W. W.
From a miniature on porcelain.Author’s Collection.
cleverly written, while other portions were clumsy and turgid. It depicted the experience of a Russian serf,Paul Arniff, who, loving an imperious woman of exalted social station,Marianna Droganoff, and finding his passion played with, first forced that disdainful female into marriage with him (as an alternative to drowning with him, on a remote tidal island to which he had lured her), and subsequently, raising himself to distinction by development of his natural talents, gained her genuine affection, and made her happy. Recalling the production of that play, Belasco writes: “At the time ’Paul Arniff’ was put into rehearsal there was in the Baldwin company a tall, slender young woman of singular complexion and striking appearance, whose stage name was Adelaide Stanhope. She came from Australia, where she had gained some reputation, but she had had no good opportunity at the Baldwin and was discouraged and dissatisfied. She and I had become friends, she was cast for the heroine of my play and, knowing the cause of her discontent and wishing to help her, I built up her character all I could during rehearsals,—O’Neill, ever chivalrous, generous and sympathetic, acquiescing, though it encroached a good deal on his own part: but the success she made and her consequent happiness more than repaid us both. She afterward became the wife of Nelson Wheatcroft, with whom I was associated at the Lyceum and the Empire, in New York.”—The Baldwin stock company, succeeding Miss Neilson, presented “Paul Arniff” on July 19, 1880, and acted in that play for one week. This was the cast:
Adelaide Neilson’s farewell season at the Baldwin Theatre (during which it was guaranteed that she should receive not less than $500 a performance) was almost the last notably remunerative engagement filled there during Maguire’s tenancy of that house. Indeed, theatrically, “the most high and palmy state” of San Francisco was passed, and the history of the Baldwin, and of the stock company at that theatre, for the two years which followed (July, 1880, to July, 1882), is one of anxious striving, strenuous endeavor, often brilliant achievement, public indifference, defeated hopes, declining fortunes, fitful renewals of prosperity quickly followed by periods in which bad business grew always a little worse, and ultimate failure and disintegration. When Belasco began his effort to rehabilitate and reëstablish himself there, “playing mostly bits,” as he expressed it to me, James H. Vinson and Robert Eberle were, officially, in charge of the stage and, though he did much, if not most, of the actual labor of stage management, his services were not publicly acknowledged. For reasons of business expediency, therefore, he, for a time, reverted to use of the name of Walter Kingsley, which appears in various programmes. After a few weeks, however, Eberle withdrew from the stage, devoting himself to business affairs of the theatre, and Belasco soon worked back into his former place as director and playwright. His “Paul Arniff” was followed, July 26, by the first presentment of a drama, taken from the French, entitled “Deception,” by Samuel W. Piercy, who personated the chief character in it,Raoul de Ligniers. Later, that play, renamed “The Legion of Honor,” was presented by Piercy in many cities of our country: it was brought out at the Park Theatre, New York, on November 9, 1880. That capital actor Frederic de Belleville, coming fromAustralia, made his first appearance in America when it was acted at the Baldwin. “Deception” was followed, August 9, by “An Orphan of the State” (known to our Eastern Stage as “A Child of the State”), and, on August 16, by the first appearance of John T. Malone, who performed asRichelieu,—Barton Hill playingDe Mauprat. Belasco greatly liked Malone and, in his “Story,” gives this glimpse of him: