“About this time [1874-’75?] I think it was that I completed my play, ’The Doll Master,’ which served so many emotional actresses on the road. It was founded on many incidents in my Virginia City career, and I remember how much I made of the scene occurring in the house of Annie Grier. I even went to the extreme of introducing the casket of the dead girl, and her weeping companions around it. Then it was that I learned my first big lesson insuggestion—a lesson which has been one of the greatest that has ever been brought home to me. As a dramatist it was not incumbent on me to show everything to the audience—only enough to stimulate the imagination. My task was to let the audience know that somewhere near was the casket. How many times since then have I spent hours and hours devising the best means of thus appealing to the imagination. In the olden days when there was a battle scene a scanty crowd of supers was marshalled upon the stage in farcical fashion, and you could hear the tin armor rattle as the warriors fought half-heartedly. This matter of suggestion being uppermost in my mind, it occurred to me that much more effect could be gained, as far as proportion and magnitude were concerned, by having those fights off stage. I put this theory of mine into practice when the time came for me to produce my ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ The audience heard the Indians chanting,and heard the approach of the United States soldiers off stage, and they did not know whether there were ten or ten thousand men at hand. It is my impression that this was the first instance of suggested warfare seen in the East.”
“About this time [1874-’75?] I think it was that I completed my play, ’The Doll Master,’ which served so many emotional actresses on the road. It was founded on many incidents in my Virginia City career, and I remember how much I made of the scene occurring in the house of Annie Grier. I even went to the extreme of introducing the casket of the dead girl, and her weeping companions around it. Then it was that I learned my first big lesson insuggestion—a lesson which has been one of the greatest that has ever been brought home to me. As a dramatist it was not incumbent on me to show everything to the audience—only enough to stimulate the imagination. My task was to let the audience know that somewhere near was the casket. How many times since then have I spent hours and hours devising the best means of thus appealing to the imagination. In the olden days when there was a battle scene a scanty crowd of supers was marshalled upon the stage in farcical fashion, and you could hear the tin armor rattle as the warriors fought half-heartedly. This matter of suggestion being uppermost in my mind, it occurred to me that much more effect could be gained, as far as proportion and magnitude were concerned, by having those fights off stage. I put this theory of mine into practice when the time came for me to produce my ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ The audience heard the Indians chanting,and heard the approach of the United States soldiers off stage, and they did not know whether there were ten or ten thousand men at hand. It is my impression that this was the first instance of suggested warfare seen in the East.”
The principle here expounded is exactly right,—and, as used in the original production of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” it was splendidly successful. Yet when that drama was revived, March 12, 1894, at the Academy of Music, where it ran till June 2, Belasco, deferring to an alleged or assumed requirement of popular taste, introduced, at the climax of the Third Act, a troop of mounted cavalry, which dashed upon the stage—and, though popular enough with the “groundlings,” spoiled the artistic effect of the play.
An interesting sidelight with regard to the writing of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” is provided in the following fragment of reminiscence by Belasco,—though, whether consciously or not, it is certain that the influence of Boucicault’s “Jessie Brown” (which he had produced in San Francisco in his stock company days) operated on his mind in writing his Indian drama:
A SUGGESTIVE REMINISCENCE OF FRONTIER DAYS.
Writing of the inception of this play, Belasco says:
“During the ’Heart of Maryland’ days, when I was in the South, I met Mrs. George Crook, widow of General George Crook, who fought in the Civil War and afterwards gained fame as an Indian fighter. Mrs. Crook delighted in relating her husband’s exploits and I delighted in hearing them. Her tales were exciting, and the general’s uniform, his sword and pistols, his boots and spurs, made the scenes she was describing very convincing and in my mind I dramatized everything she told me.“‘I always accompanied the general,’ said Mrs. Crook, ’and shared many of his dangers.’ Immediately there came before me the spectacle of a woman within easy reach of the firing-line, facing the anguish and uncertainty of never seeing her husband alive again, and her own terrible fate if the battle went against him. One incident impressed me particularly. ’The general had rounded up a band of Indians whom he had been pursuing for some time,’ said Mrs. Crook, ’and the place where he was to give them battle was so close to our camp that he was in great distress for my safety. He condemned himself bitterly for having permitted me to come with him. If the battle were lost, we in the camp would be at the mercy of the Indians. An orderly was holding the general’s horse, but my husband could not bear to leave our tent. Three times he started and returned. He and I once made an agreement that were I in danger of being captured I was to shoot myself. And now, under the stress of great necessity, he reminded me of the compact, and saw that my revolver was in good order.We read the Bible together, prayed, kissed, and parted. All through the night I sat in the camp, knowing if the battle were lost I must die before the savages could surround us. I heard the sounds of firing, and knew the fighting was desperate. After hours of waiting I heard hurried steps. Some one was running towards my tent. I grasped my pistol, thinking my time had come. “We’ve licked ’em,” I heard a soldier cry. He had been sent by the general to tell me all was well. I sank to the ground, overcome by the relief, after the suspense I had endured. You can imagine my joy when the general came back to me!’“I had always intended to dramatize this adventure of Mrs. Crook’s, and decided to do it now. This was the inspiration for ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’”
“During the ’Heart of Maryland’ days, when I was in the South, I met Mrs. George Crook, widow of General George Crook, who fought in the Civil War and afterwards gained fame as an Indian fighter. Mrs. Crook delighted in relating her husband’s exploits and I delighted in hearing them. Her tales were exciting, and the general’s uniform, his sword and pistols, his boots and spurs, made the scenes she was describing very convincing and in my mind I dramatized everything she told me.
“‘I always accompanied the general,’ said Mrs. Crook, ’and shared many of his dangers.’ Immediately there came before me the spectacle of a woman within easy reach of the firing-line, facing the anguish and uncertainty of never seeing her husband alive again, and her own terrible fate if the battle went against him. One incident impressed me particularly. ’The general had rounded up a band of Indians whom he had been pursuing for some time,’ said Mrs. Crook, ’and the place where he was to give them battle was so close to our camp that he was in great distress for my safety. He condemned himself bitterly for having permitted me to come with him. If the battle were lost, we in the camp would be at the mercy of the Indians. An orderly was holding the general’s horse, but my husband could not bear to leave our tent. Three times he started and returned. He and I once made an agreement that were I in danger of being captured I was to shoot myself. And now, under the stress of great necessity, he reminded me of the compact, and saw that my revolver was in good order.We read the Bible together, prayed, kissed, and parted. All through the night I sat in the camp, knowing if the battle were lost I must die before the savages could surround us. I heard the sounds of firing, and knew the fighting was desperate. After hours of waiting I heard hurried steps. Some one was running towards my tent. I grasped my pistol, thinking my time had come. “We’ve licked ’em,” I heard a soldier cry. He had been sent by the general to tell me all was well. I sank to the ground, overcome by the relief, after the suspense I had endured. You can imagine my joy when the general came back to me!’
“I had always intended to dramatize this adventure of Mrs. Crook’s, and decided to do it now. This was the inspiration for ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’”
Belasco and Charles Frohman were intimate friends during many years. Their amicable relations continued until some time after the Theatrical Syndicate became operative, and, although then temporarily interrupted, were renewed before Frohman’s death. In the Spring of 1893 Belasco, conscious of crippling restraint in his activities in theatrical business life, became dissatisfied with Frohman, particularly as to his managerial connection with the presentment of Mrs. Carter in “Miss Helyett.” Some disquietude occurred, but no serious dissension arose, as the following letter, showing Frohman in an amiable light, sufficiently indicates.This epistle relates to negotiations concerning possible productions in London of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” “The Heart of Maryland” (then unfinished), and “The Younger Son,”—the latter being meant by “your new play that goes on here at the Empire.”
(Charles Frohman to David Belasco.)“Empire Theatre, New York,“June 15, 1893.“My Dear Dave:—“I have not written you in reply to your second letter to me, hoping that you might run in and see me. Roeder tells me that you are very busy on your play and could not say when you could run over to see me.“First: I wish to say that I have made no arrangements in London for the production of ’The Girl I Left Behind Me,’ or the new play. The points in this regard I prefer giving you personally.“Second: I extremely regret the several censures you have made in respect to my end of the work in connection with ’Miss Helyett.’ I do not think that you have given me credit for the absolute personal interest in the matter that I have taken, as far as you are concerned, and which went far beyond the business part of the enterprise. I think, viewing the fact that the opera itself did not make a sensation, that I stayed with you, in the matter, to the last, and should have continued, no matter how long we were together in the thing. Whether or not you have thought over thesefacts, and my determination in the matter, when you see the thing from the start, I don’t know. I felt that you did.“Now in regard to the new play—‘Maryland’—I want you to arrange the thing in any way that you like. I prefer losing the play itself to your friendship, which I was in hopes was strong and solid, in spite of everything. I am perfectly willing to have you make any arrangement that you may think best for the play. I would rather withdraw than to have matters in a business way come up during the season that would, in any way, annoy you, as far as I am concerned, and which constantly seem to come up, when there are a number of people concerned with an enterprise. I say to you again, don’t consider me in any way; but, under any circumstances, I should like to do the following for you, if you feel disposed to have me do it:“I will furnish you with theatres to play the piece in. I will absolutely protect the route for you, and as you wish it, in any way. I should like to protect the piece in England for you, for, if it is very successful, it would do no harm to spend a little money to have Mrs. Carter play the piece over there, three or four weeks next Summer. The arrangement can easily be made, if the play turns out what you think it will. I should like to furnish you with any people that you care to have, that I may have. In fact, do anything in my power for you, or continue my interest in any way that you may suggest; but it is impossible to give the personal time and attention over to the work that I feel you expect of me, and which it is impossible to give; and that is the reason the handling of plays comes so easy. When they are once started, I do not have to give them attention. If they are successful [then], the season will run [them] along in their own way. At any rate, I am entirely inyour hands in regard to the matter and hope the outcome may be that it will not interfere with the friendship that I feel sure has existed between us.“In regard to my announcement on my return here: you will notice that I did not speak of your new play that goes on here at the Empire. My intention was simply to give a list of the work I had accomplished abroad, because the papers insisted upon having it. If I could have had my own way I would not have spoken of any of the plays I have secured, but it was necessary to do so, and as the list looks very English and French I prefix my remarks by showing a list of American authors that I have been making arrangements with, previous to my sailing, so as to show that I was still doing American work, and to save any comment on this point;—and, naturally, [I] consider your piece to come under the head of plays that I had already made arrangements for.“I should like very much, if possible, for you to give over a little time to Unitt, in arranging the models of your new play. I want to commence on same, just as soon as Unitt is through with his present work, so as to have the production ready, when we open with ’Liberty Hall’ here.“Yours truly,“Charles Frohman.”
(Charles Frohman to David Belasco.)
“Empire Theatre, New York,“June 15, 1893.
“My Dear Dave:—
“I have not written you in reply to your second letter to me, hoping that you might run in and see me. Roeder tells me that you are very busy on your play and could not say when you could run over to see me.
“First: I wish to say that I have made no arrangements in London for the production of ’The Girl I Left Behind Me,’ or the new play. The points in this regard I prefer giving you personally.
“Second: I extremely regret the several censures you have made in respect to my end of the work in connection with ’Miss Helyett.’ I do not think that you have given me credit for the absolute personal interest in the matter that I have taken, as far as you are concerned, and which went far beyond the business part of the enterprise. I think, viewing the fact that the opera itself did not make a sensation, that I stayed with you, in the matter, to the last, and should have continued, no matter how long we were together in the thing. Whether or not you have thought over thesefacts, and my determination in the matter, when you see the thing from the start, I don’t know. I felt that you did.
“Now in regard to the new play—‘Maryland’—I want you to arrange the thing in any way that you like. I prefer losing the play itself to your friendship, which I was in hopes was strong and solid, in spite of everything. I am perfectly willing to have you make any arrangement that you may think best for the play. I would rather withdraw than to have matters in a business way come up during the season that would, in any way, annoy you, as far as I am concerned, and which constantly seem to come up, when there are a number of people concerned with an enterprise. I say to you again, don’t consider me in any way; but, under any circumstances, I should like to do the following for you, if you feel disposed to have me do it:
“I will furnish you with theatres to play the piece in. I will absolutely protect the route for you, and as you wish it, in any way. I should like to protect the piece in England for you, for, if it is very successful, it would do no harm to spend a little money to have Mrs. Carter play the piece over there, three or four weeks next Summer. The arrangement can easily be made, if the play turns out what you think it will. I should like to furnish you with any people that you care to have, that I may have. In fact, do anything in my power for you, or continue my interest in any way that you may suggest; but it is impossible to give the personal time and attention over to the work that I feel you expect of me, and which it is impossible to give; and that is the reason the handling of plays comes so easy. When they are once started, I do not have to give them attention. If they are successful [then], the season will run [them] along in their own way. At any rate, I am entirely inyour hands in regard to the matter and hope the outcome may be that it will not interfere with the friendship that I feel sure has existed between us.
“In regard to my announcement on my return here: you will notice that I did not speak of your new play that goes on here at the Empire. My intention was simply to give a list of the work I had accomplished abroad, because the papers insisted upon having it. If I could have had my own way I would not have spoken of any of the plays I have secured, but it was necessary to do so, and as the list looks very English and French I prefix my remarks by showing a list of American authors that I have been making arrangements with, previous to my sailing, so as to show that I was still doing American work, and to save any comment on this point;—and, naturally, [I] consider your piece to come under the head of plays that I had already made arrangements for.
“I should like very much, if possible, for you to give over a little time to Unitt, in arranging the models of your new play. I want to commence on same, just as soon as Unitt is through with his present work, so as to have the production ready, when we open with ’Liberty Hall’ here.
“Yours truly,“Charles Frohman.”
Belasco, though his disagreements with Charles Frohman were, for the time, amicably adjusted, was not acquiescent to remain in a position which, continuously maintained, would have kept him stilla carrier of bricks to the theatrical buildings of other men. He was now forty years old. For more than twenty years his lot had been chiefly toil and hardship: experience had taught him that “living is striving”: abundant opportunity had been provided for him to learn the truth so tersely stated by Wendell Phillips that the world is made up of two kinds of persons,—those whodothings, and those who stand by to tell others how things should be done. Though not embittered, he was in danger of becoming so, and he felt more than ever resolved tomakea place for himself in the managerial field, if he could notfindone. “I, too,” he has said, “as well as Charles Frohman, had my dreams of a theatreof my own,—a place where I could do things in my own way,—andI meant to have it!”
Finding it impossible to obtain support such as he desired and a satisfactory opening in New York (notwithstanding Charles Frohman’s offer to furnish theatres for presentation of “The Heart of Maryland”), Belasco now determined to try R. M. Hooley, of Chicago, who had manifested interest and confidence in him, during the engagement in that city of “The Ugly Duckling”; who, perhaps, remembered his early mistake in refusing “Hearts of Oak,” and who certainly, like all other theatrical workers of the time, had been favorably impressedby the success of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Belasco at first wrote to Hooley about Mrs. Carter, but, later, he visited Chicago, for the purpose of stating his project in detail. There he found that Mr. “Harry” Powers, Hooley’s agent and business manager of his theatre, was strongly opposed to the idea of bringing out Mrs. Carter in that city. Powers frankly said: “I have advised Mr. Hooley to havenothing whateverto do with your venture. This is the most fashionable theatre in Chicago: Mrs. Carter is not wanted here, and we cannot afford to make enemies.” Hooley, however, was in a more propitious mood, and expressed himself willing to rely on Belasco’s judgment, if he really believed that in Mrs. Carter he had a fine actress and also that he had a suitable new play in which to present her. Belasco fervently extolled the ability of Mrs. Carter, and read to him “The Heart of Maryland.” Hooley was favorably impressed and agreed to produce the play, presenting Mrs. Carter in the central part, provided that Belasco would agree to give him an option on all plays which he might thereafter write. The influences which, later, crystallized in the Theatrical Syndicate, were already beginning to make themselves felt in the theatrical world, and Hooley, like many other managers, perceived a danger and was wary of it.“I purpose to produce my own ’attractions,’”he informed Belasco, “and let the Eastern producers go hang!”
Hooley offered fair terms, the agreement for the presentment of Mrs. Carter as a “star” in “The Heart of Maryland” was formally made, and thus cheered and encouraged Belasco returned to New York, to prepare his play for production and engage a company to act in it. “As I was leaving,” he said, “Hooley delighted me by asking me to send him a large framed portrait of Mrs. Carter, to hang in the lobby of his theatre.” In New York Belasco read his play to Maurice Barrymore (1848-1905) and E. J. Henley (1862-1898) and engaged them for the company, and he was engaging other members thereof when Hooley suddenly died,—September 10, 1893. Mr. Powers was placed in charge of the theatre which had been Hooley’s, and, as he promptly notified Belasco, made a long-term contract with Messrs. Klaw & Erlanger to furnish him with “attractions” for that house, and repudiated the engagement which Hooley had made: “I was politely kicked out,” said Belasco, “and that was the end ofthat! It was too late in the year to make new arrangements for that season about ’Maryland,’ and, besides, I didn’t know exactly what to do or which way to turn. If ’The Younger Son,’—which came next and on which I worked hard,—had proved successful, things might have turned out differently; but that fizzled, and afterward I seemed to be just as far as ever from being able to strike out for myself.”
The Empire closed for the season with the final performance there of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” and reopened on August 21, with a performance of “Liberty Hall,” which ran till October 23. Meantime, Belasco, having heard of the success of a German play entitled “Schlimme Saat” (“Evil Seeds”), had bought the American rights and, on receiving the manuscript,—knowing that Frohman’s establishment at the Empire Theatre was not yet entirely secure, and being wishful still further to help him,—had immediately laid aside “The Heart of Maryland” and addressed himself to making an English version of the German drama. “They proved evil, even fatal, seeds tome,” he said. “I know now that six months’ time would have been little enough for so great a work, but I made a version of it in four weeks, working night and day. When it was completed, I took the play to ’C. F.’ and in response to his suggestion, called it ’TheYounger Son.’”Why Belasco should have deemed this German play a “great work” I do not understand. It is, in fact, a tediously prolix and sometimes morbid story dealing with the history of two brothers, the elder a selfish, heartless profligate, the younger an ambitious artist, both the idols of a foolishly fond mother. The artist is delighted by the news that his favorite picture (a work of no special merit) has been bought by a rich picture fancier, who is willing to send him to Italy to study. This apparent benevolence is, in fact, a plot to get him out of the way and rob him of the girl he loves, who has agreed to sell herself in order to get for him this opportunity to study abroad. In Belasco’s English version all the hydrostatic pressure that the story could possibly be made to carry had been added, but, as the performance of “Evil Seeds” was a complete failure, it would be superfluous to dwell upon it. The play was produced at the Empire on October 24 and withdrawn on October 27, after four performances. It has never been revived. For the purpose of record the cast is appended:
Writing about this dismal failure, Belasco says:
“I had no doubt about the merits of the First and Second acts, but the Third Act needed slow and careful work in the writing. The fate of the piece depended upon one situation in this Act,—a period of about two minutes. With this situation made convincing, the play’s success was assured. On the opening night, everything went well up to this point. ‘“C. F.,” I whispered, ’if we pass this crisis we are safe.’ But it was not long before I whispered disconsolately, ‘“C. F.,” we have failed.’ And not waiting for the supper party I slipped away in the darkness and walked the streets all night.”
“I had no doubt about the merits of the First and Second acts, but the Third Act needed slow and careful work in the writing. The fate of the piece depended upon one situation in this Act,—a period of about two minutes. With this situation made convincing, the play’s success was assured. On the opening night, everything went well up to this point. ‘“C. F.,” I whispered, ’if we pass this crisis we are safe.’ But it was not long before I whispered disconsolately, ‘“C. F.,” we have failed.’ And not waiting for the supper party I slipped away in the darkness and walked the streets all night.”
The next day Belasco earnestly advised Frohman to withdraw the play at once, and, after brief hesitation, this was done—“Liberty Hall” being revived at the Empire, and Belasco, presently, turning again to work on “The Heart of Maryland.”
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.BELASCO, ABOUT 1893
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.BELASCO, ABOUT 1893
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
BELASCO, ABOUT 1893
There are, I believe, few instances in theatrical history of a more protracted experience of the “hope deferred” which “maketh the heart sick” than befell Belasco with this fine melodrama. The subject, and, roughly, the story, of that play were in his mind when first he undertook the training and direction of Mrs. Leslie Carter (1889): again and again he endeavored to have his play brought on the stage,—but it was not produced till more than six years after he had resolved to use it as a vehicle for that actress, and within that period he altered and reshaped it at least four times. After the death of Hooley and the failure of “The Younger Son” he was for some time dejected and inert. Then, reviewing the manuscript of his “Maryland,” he imbibed belief that the play lacked sufficient verisimilitude to Southern life. “What I needed most,” he said, “was atmosphere; so I decided to visit a Southern town and meet some typical Southern families. Mrs. Carter, her mother, and I went to Oakland, Maryland [1894?], where I added the finishing touches to the play. When we reached a certain point I bade my associates good-by and boarded a train for New York, to make another attempt to find a manager.” Speaking of the experience immediately preceding the actual accomplishment of his long obstructed purpose, Belasco told me: “It has always seemed very strange that I should have been rebuffed on almost every side with that play. If there did not exist a strong opposition to my getting an independent foothold as a manager,whywas my play of ’Maryland’ refused, over and over again? Look at the list of successes which I had brought out,for others, in the preceding ten years, including ’La Belle Russe,’ ’May Blossom,’ ’The Highest Bidder,’ ’The Wife,’ ’Lord Chumley,’ ’The Charity Ball,’ ’Men and Women,’ and ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ Good, bad, or indifferent—whatever anybody thinks about them—there is no room for argument as to thebusinessproposition. Those wereallgreat big popular successes—money-getters. Why, when I was more than usually hard-up, I had been able, often, to get money in advance on my royalties on plays that had not even been begun. Yet, with a finished play, agoodone, one I’d worked on for years, that Iknewwas good and that anybody could see was good; with an actress for whom the leading part had been made as carefully as though it were a dress for her to wear, I could not get a hearing. I think pretty nearly every producing manager in New York refused that play. Why? I neverknew—and I don’tknownow: yet I believed then and I believe now that, underlying all my difficulty, was far more than any antagonism to Mrs. Carter; that the men whom afterward I fought for so many years were glad enough to have me workfor themas a stage manager and stock playwright, but that they werenotwilling I should get established as an independent manager.”
This view of Belasco’s position has been stated before, and I have heard it ridiculed. In my judgment the record of facts fully supports it. It cannot be proved, but “if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth, will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.” There is the record—and readers must decide for themselves. Writing of his dark days in 1894, Belasco has declared:
“My private possessions, my library (containing some very valuable historical books),—my few antiques,—everything—had been sold. As a last economy, I decided to give up my little office at Carnegie Hall. ’This breaks the camel’s back! Thisisthe last straw!’ Mrs. Carter said. ’Mr. David, I’m in the way. They want your manuscript, but the fact of the matter is, they won’t have me. You’ve kept your promise and done all you could, but you can’t do any more; let some one else have my part.’ It was a case of the blind leading the blind, but I refused to give up.“I left her and walked down Broadway, where I came faceto face with Paul Potter. ’Dave,’ he exclaimed, ’I was looking for you. A. M. Palmer has been very unfortunate of late and needs a play. Read “The Heart of Maryland” to him.’“In less than an hour Paul Potter and I were on our way to Stamford. At last my luck had turned! Palmer accepted my play.”
“My private possessions, my library (containing some very valuable historical books),—my few antiques,—everything—had been sold. As a last economy, I decided to give up my little office at Carnegie Hall. ’This breaks the camel’s back! Thisisthe last straw!’ Mrs. Carter said. ’Mr. David, I’m in the way. They want your manuscript, but the fact of the matter is, they won’t have me. You’ve kept your promise and done all you could, but you can’t do any more; let some one else have my part.’ It was a case of the blind leading the blind, but I refused to give up.
“I left her and walked down Broadway, where I came faceto face with Paul Potter. ’Dave,’ he exclaimed, ’I was looking for you. A. M. Palmer has been very unfortunate of late and needs a play. Read “The Heart of Maryland” to him.’
“In less than an hour Paul Potter and I were on our way to Stamford. At last my luck had turned! Palmer accepted my play.”
Negotiations with Palmer,—who at the time of Belasco’s withdrawal from the Lyceum Theatre had been sympathetic with him, had placed the stages of two theatres at his disposal for rehearsal of Mrs. Carter, and had even then shown some interest in the projected play,—were brought to a satisfactory issue, and, in August, 1894, a contract was formally made whereby Palmer agreed to produce “The Heart of Maryland,” “with his own stock company, known as ’A. M. Palmer’s Stock Company,’ at Palmer’s Theatre, in the City of New York, not later than January 1, 1895,” and also agreed that whether in New York or elsewhere Mrs. Carter should be employed “to play the part entitledMaryland Calvert.” Active preparations to produce “The Heart of Maryland” immediately were begun; scenery was designed, built and painted, involving an investment of more than $3,500; but Palmer was heavily involved, financially, and the rehearsals, which Belasco was eager to begin, werepostponed from week to week. At last the date limit specified in the agreement passed, yet Belasco continued to hope and to expect that Palmer would fulfil his agreement. One day, however, happening to meet Charles Frohman, that manager told him: “I am very sorry for you, but Palmer won’t be able to produce ’The Heart of Maryland.’”Belasco at once went to Palmer and asked him to state his purpose,—“Because,” he said, “I mean that playshallbe produced! If you can’t do it—somebody elsecan.” Palmer, foreseeing the success of the play, wished to hold it; if Belasco could have been given any reasonable assurance that, eventually, the elder manager would be able to bring it out, he would have been glad to wait; but, after some hesitation, Palmer admitted that he could not set any definite time, manifesting, at first, a disposition to prevent Belasco from placing his drama elsewhere. Realizing, however, that the passage of the date-limit within which he had agreed to produce the play had, in fact, released Belasco from his contract with him, he finally acquiesced, asking the latter to take and pay for the scenery which had been made for it. This Belasco promised should be done, as soon as the play was produced.
Once more opportunity had seemed to be within his grasp: once more it eluded him: yet he persevered and resolutely resumed his quest of a producer. Writing of the manner in which, at last, some months after the collapse of the arrangement with Palmer, he found one, Belasco has recorded incidents of his search and the process of his ultimate success:
“One day I met Mr. Henry Butler in New York. He suggested that we interest wealthy men and form a stock company. ’But let’s try another plan first,’ he said. At this time three enterprising young men were the lessees of the Herald Square Theatre. They were ’Charlie’ Evans, who made a fortune with Hoyt’s ’A Parlor Match,’ F. C. Whitney, and Max Blieman, a picture dealer. They opened the house with a musical comedy, but wanted to produce a ’straight’ drama. ’I’ll go down and see them myself,’ Butler volunteered, ’and you wait here for me.’ He brought back good news. ’They have confidence in you,’ was the cheerful message, ’and they are willing to “gamble.”’“Blieman called on Palmer and paid cash for the scenery made at the time Palmer intended to produce the play. The play was to be the opening attraction at the Herald Square, under joint management.“But early in the summer Blieman sent for me. ’Whitney has “cold feet”,’ he remarked, ’and has dropped out.’ ’There are still two of you left,’ I answered. Several weeks after this Blieman sent for me again and this time he was in despair. ’Charlie’s dropped out now,’ he said; ’but by—— I believe in the play and I’ll stick....’“The opening took place in Washington; and as I could not get into the theatre before Sunday we were not readyto open until the middle of the week. We practically lived in the theatre. We made a great sensation on the opening night, but Washington, unfortunately, was in the grip of a financial panic, and the houses in consequence were very poor,—so poor, indeed, that Blieman’s pocket was empty. He was obliged to confess that he had not enough money left to send the company back to New York. So here we were,—stranded, billed to open in New York on Monday night and no money to get there.“Blieman summoned courage and made a hasty trip to New York to try to raise some money, and when I saw him in the evening he was all smiles. ’What do you think,’ he confided to me, ’I’ve just borrowed fifteen hundred dollars from “Al” Hayman on a picture worth thirty thousand.’ Here was a boy after my own heart! The fifteen hundred dollars enabled us to return to New York, and at last the poor old storm-tossed ’Heart of Maryland’ had its metropolitan opening—on the strength of a pawned painting!”
“One day I met Mr. Henry Butler in New York. He suggested that we interest wealthy men and form a stock company. ’But let’s try another plan first,’ he said. At this time three enterprising young men were the lessees of the Herald Square Theatre. They were ’Charlie’ Evans, who made a fortune with Hoyt’s ’A Parlor Match,’ F. C. Whitney, and Max Blieman, a picture dealer. They opened the house with a musical comedy, but wanted to produce a ’straight’ drama. ’I’ll go down and see them myself,’ Butler volunteered, ’and you wait here for me.’ He brought back good news. ’They have confidence in you,’ was the cheerful message, ’and they are willing to “gamble.”’
“Blieman called on Palmer and paid cash for the scenery made at the time Palmer intended to produce the play. The play was to be the opening attraction at the Herald Square, under joint management.
“But early in the summer Blieman sent for me. ’Whitney has “cold feet”,’ he remarked, ’and has dropped out.’ ’There are still two of you left,’ I answered. Several weeks after this Blieman sent for me again and this time he was in despair. ’Charlie’s dropped out now,’ he said; ’but by—— I believe in the play and I’ll stick....’
“The opening took place in Washington; and as I could not get into the theatre before Sunday we were not readyto open until the middle of the week. We practically lived in the theatre. We made a great sensation on the opening night, but Washington, unfortunately, was in the grip of a financial panic, and the houses in consequence were very poor,—so poor, indeed, that Blieman’s pocket was empty. He was obliged to confess that he had not enough money left to send the company back to New York. So here we were,—stranded, billed to open in New York on Monday night and no money to get there.
“Blieman summoned courage and made a hasty trip to New York to try to raise some money, and when I saw him in the evening he was all smiles. ’What do you think,’ he confided to me, ’I’ve just borrowed fifteen hundred dollars from “Al” Hayman on a picture worth thirty thousand.’ Here was a boy after my own heart! The fifteen hundred dollars enabled us to return to New York, and at last the poor old storm-tossed ’Heart of Maryland’ had its metropolitan opening—on the strength of a pawned painting!”
“The Heart of Maryland” was acted for the first time anywhere at the Grand Opera House, Washington, D. C., October 9, 1895; and the first performance of it in New York occurred on October 22, that year, at the Herald Square Theatre. It is a meritorious and highly effective melodrama, and its New York production marks a vital point in the career of its indefatigible and brilliantly accomplished author. When the curtain rose on its first performance in the metropolis he had been for nearly a quarter of a century toiling in the Theatre,working in every capacity connected with the Stage; he had written and produced, for others, plays which had received thousands of representations and to see which several millions of dollars had been paid: yet he was,—through no fault of his, no improvidence, dissipation, reckless neglect or abuse of talent,—still a struggling author, without recognized position, without place or influence in the field of theatrical management, and so poor that, if the venture failed, he had no better prospect than renewed drudgery in a subservient place, working for the profit and aggrandizement of men vastly inferior to himself in every way. Perhaps the best explanation of and commentary on this fact were supplied, several years later, when, testifying in court during trial of a lawsuit of his against the late Joseph Brooks, he said of himself:
“I have long been connected with the theatrical business and know its customs, but I know more about the stage part of it than I do about the business side. I have been a manager for twenty-five years, and have always managed to get the worst of my business affairs.”
“I have long been connected with the theatrical business and know its customs, but I know more about the stage part of it than I do about the business side. I have been a manager for twenty-five years, and have always managed to get the worst of my business affairs.”
“The Heart of Maryland” belongs to the class ofpost-bellumplays represented in the years immediately
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.MRS. LESLIE CARTER, ABOUT 1895
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.MRS. LESLIE CARTER, ABOUT 1895
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
MRS. LESLIE CARTER, ABOUT 1895
following the close of the American civil conflict by Boucicault’s “Belle Lemar” (which was first acted at Booth’s Theatre August 10, 1874), and, more recently, by Howard’s “Shenandoah” and Gillette’s “Held by the Enemy,”—being much superior to both the latter dramas. The scene of that play is in and near an old Colonial homestead, called “The Lilacs,” inhabited by theCalvertfamily, at Boonsboro, Maryland, in the Spring of 1863. It is comprised in four acts and six scenes, requiring five sets of scenery for their display. Its action passes within about thirty-six hours and implicates about thirty persons, of whom five are important,—namelyGeneral Hugh Kendrick,Colonel Alan Kendrick, his son,Colonel Fulton Thorpe,Lloyd Calvert, andMaryland Calvert.MarylandandAlan Kendrickare lovers and have been betrothed, but she is passionately devoted to the Southern cause, while he ardently supports that of the North,—holding rank as a colonel in the Federal Army,—and their political difference has divided them, though without lessening their love. In the First ActAlan, who has been captured by the Rebels and imprisoned at Dansville, is exchanged and, in passing through Boonsboro on the way to the Union lines, he meets both his sweetheart,Maryland, andColonel Thorpe.Thorpe, a Northern spyand a double traitor, whomAlanhas publicly flogged for blackguardly conduct and then caused to be drummed out of his regiment, holds rank as a colonel in the Rebel Army. In revenge for the humiliation to which he has been subjectedThorpeexpedites the transport ofAlanand other exchanged Federal prisoners, so that they shall be conveyed immediately to Charlesville,—his purpose being thus to cause their death along with that of the entire garrison at that place, whichGeneral Kendrick, in command of an overwhelming Confederate army, purposes to surprise by night and utterly to destroy.Lloyd Calvert, unknown to his family, is a Northern spy. He has learned ofGeneral Kendrick’splan and seeks to warn the Federal forces at Charlesville. Unable to do so, he informsMarylandof the projected assault and she, to save her lover, communicates knowledge of the impending danger to him, thus causing the failure of the surprise attack.
In the Second ActAlan,—supposing that the Confederate Army has moved away—rashly returns to Boonsboro, desiring to effect reconciliation with his sweetheart.Lloyd, trying to bring about a meeting between the lovers, speaks, ambiguously, toMarylandabout “a Northern friend” whom he wishes her to meet for him and “detain.” Later, while trying to make his way to the Union lineswith important information,Lloydis shot and, dying, is detected as a spy:Alanis, meantime, recaptured, wearing the hat and overcoat of a Confederate officer, andMaryland, unaware of his identity and thinking to clear her brother’s reputation as a loyal Southerner, denounces the prisoner toGeneral Kendrickas the real spy.Alan, by order of his father, is then tried by court-martial and condemned to death.
In the Third ActMarylandmakes her way into the Union lines and obtains fromGeneral Hooker, there commanding, a letter toGeneral Kendrickcertifying that the presence of his son,Colonel Kendrick, within the Confederate lines, was due to a personal, not a military, motive,—in short, thatAlanis not a spy. Returning with this letter to her home, which has become Confederate Headquarters,Marylandfinds thatGeneral Kendrickhas been killed in action and thatColonel Thorpeis in command.Thorpe, whom she visits in his quarters in the old church of Boonsboro,—part of which is also used for confinement of military prisoners,—and to whom she appeals for mercy, perceiving thatHooker’sletter, if it should reach any Confederate officer other than himself, would imperil his own life, not only refuses a reprieve forAlan Kendrickbut orders that execution of the death sentence be hastened.Then, half drunken and wholly bestial, he insults the unfortunateAlan, who, pinioned and helpless, is on his way to the gallows and, in his presence, threatens his sweetheart with outrage.Maryland, in desperation, defending herself, stabsThorpewith a bayonet (a weapon ingeniously introduced for this purpose among the articles accessory to the stage setting, being thrust into a table-top and used as a candlestick), wounding and disabling him. She then liberatesAlan, who makes his escape.Thorpe, rallying, orders the church-bell rung, a prearranged signal warning all sentries that a prisoner has broken jail; butMaryland, making her way to the belfry, seizes the clapper of the great bell and, thus enacting the devoted expedient ofBessie, in “Curfew Must Not Ring To-night,” prevents the alarm and enables her lover to make good his escape.
In the Fourth ActThorpe’sdouble duplicity has been discovered in the Rebel capital and he is ordered under arrest byGeneral Lee; the Confederate troops, defeated in a general engagement, are forced to evacuate Boonsboro, and the play ends with a prospective reconciliation of the lovers.
“The Heart of Maryland,” though somewhat intricate in its story (only the main thread of which has been followed in the above recital), is compact in construction, fluent and cumulative in dramaticmovement and interest, written with profound sincerity and contains passages of tender feeling and afflicting pathos. The “Curfew” expedient, if, in cool retrospect, it seems a little artificial, is, in representation, a thrillingly effective climax to an affecting portrayal of distress and danger. The first picture, exhibiting the ancestral home of theCalvertfamily, an old Colonial mansion, deep-bowered among ancient, blooming lilac bushes and bathed in the fading glow of late afternoon and sunset light, was one of truly memorable loveliness. Indeed, the scenery investment, throughout, was of exceptional beauty and dramatic appropriateness, and the manifold accessories of military environment, with all “the proud control of fierce and bloody war,”—the suggested presence and movement of large bodies of infantry and cavalry; the denoted passage of heavy artillery; the stirring sounds of martial music and of desperate battle; the red glare and dun smoke-pall of conflagration, and the various employment and manipulation of light and darkness to illustrate and intensify the dramatic theme,—were extraordinarily deft in devisement and felicitous in effect. Belasco was also peculiarly fortunate in selection of the actors who performed the principal parts in his play. The handsome person and picturesque, romantic mien of Maurice Barrymore,who appeared asAlan Kendrick, were perfectly consonant with that character; John E. Kellerd gave an impersonation of remarkable artistic merit—true to life and true to the part—as the despicable yet formidable scoundrelThorpe, and Mrs. Carter, profiting richly by the zealous schooling of her mentor, embodiedMaryland Calvertat first in a mood of piquant playfulness, veiling serious feeling, then with genuine, wild and intense passion. This was the cast in full of the performance at the Herald Square Theatre:
Popular approval of the representation was immediate and bounteous and there was little critical cavilling in the press. On the first night in New York, after the Third Act, the audience many times called the entire company before the curtain and, at last, Belasco, in an obviously painful state of nervous excitement, responding to vociferous demands, made a brief and grateful speech, in the course of which he said:
“It is very difficult for me to speak, to thank you. Your kind and generous approval to-night means so very, very much to Mrs. Carter and all the splendid company that has worked so loyally for the success of this play. It means more to me than any words of mine can say. This production to-night is the culmination of twenty-five years of work; of hard, hard work and often bitter disappointment. I have been a supernumerary, a call boy, an actor, a stage manager for others, an adapter of plays: now I am encouraged to hope I have proved myself a dramatist.... Itis many long years since I first dreamed of an independent success in New York—a success I might keep in my own hands. If this is at last the turning of the tide that leads on to fortune, I shall never forget my debt to you: I shall strive, as long as I live, to give you, to give the people of this great and wonderful city, not only the best there is in me but the very best the Theatre can give. Thank you from my heart! I thank you—I thank you!”
“It is very difficult for me to speak, to thank you. Your kind and generous approval to-night means so very, very much to Mrs. Carter and all the splendid company that has worked so loyally for the success of this play. It means more to me than any words of mine can say. This production to-night is the culmination of twenty-five years of work; of hard, hard work and often bitter disappointment. I have been a supernumerary, a call boy, an actor, a stage manager for others, an adapter of plays: now I am encouraged to hope I have proved myself a dramatist.... Itis many long years since I first dreamed of an independent success in New York—a success I might keep in my own hands. If this is at last the turning of the tide that leads on to fortune, I shall never forget my debt to you: I shall strive, as long as I live, to give you, to give the people of this great and wonderful city, not only the best there is in me but the very best the Theatre can give. Thank you from my heart! I thank you—I thank you!”
It was, indeed, “the turning of the tide.” “The Heart of Maryland” was played at the Herald Square Theatre for 229 consecutive performances, and it occupied a large part of Belasco’s time and attention during the period of about two years which followed its New York production.
The season ended at the Herald Square on May 16, 1896. From about that date until June 23 Mrs. Carter and Belasco underwent the painful ordeal incident to trial of his lawsuit against N. K. Fairbank,—which, as already recorded, terminated on the latter date with a verdict in favor of the manager. In the course of the next six weeks Belasco made a revision of Clay M. Greene’s “Under the Polar Star,” which was produced by William A. Brady, August 20, at the New York Academy of Music. On October 5, at the Broad Street, Philadelphia, the first tour of “The Heart of Maryland” was begun, under the personal direction of its author. That tour was everywhere amply successful and it
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.MRS. LESLIE CARTER ASMARYLAND CALVERT, IN “THE HEART OF MARYLAND”.
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.MRS. LESLIE CARTER ASMARYLAND CALVERT, IN “THE HEART OF MARYLAND”.
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
MRS. LESLIE CARTER ASMARYLAND CALVERT, IN “THE HEART OF MARYLAND”.
lasted without special incident,—except that toward its close Belasco purchased (April, 1897) the interest of Mr. Max Bleiman in the production,—until the following May 1. The season was ended on that date at the Grand Opera House, New York, and Belasco soon afterward visited San Francisco. The third season of “The Heart of Maryland” began at the scene of so much of his early experience, the Baldwin Theatre, in that city, August 17, and continued in unabated prosperity for about seven months.
While Belasco was in San Francisco he witnessed several performances of a play called “The First Born,” written by Francis Powers, which had been produced, May 10, under the management of his brother, Frederick Belasco, at the Alcazar Theatre, and he was so favorably impressed with its merits that he arranged to present that drama,—which ran for ten weeks in San Francisco,—in New York, in association with Charles Frohman. That arrangement was successfully consummated, at the Manhattan (previously the Standard) Theatre, October 5, 1897. “The First Born” is a tragic sketch of character and life in the Chinese quarterof old San Francisco,—a region with which the acquaintance of Belasco was peculiarly intimate and exact and one of which the mingled squalor and romance had always strongly attracted him. The posture of circumstances and experience depicted in that play is simple and direct.Man Low Yek, a rich Chinese merchant, has stolenChan Lee, the wife ofChan Wang, also a Chinese and a dweller in the Chinatown. That ravagementWanghas borne with equanimity; but whenChan Lee, returning to San Francisco with her paramour, enticesChan Toy, their first born and only son, from him and in her endeavor to steal the child accidentally causes his death, the unfortunateWangbecomes at first an image of agonized paternal love and then an embodiment of implacable vengeance. The play is in two acts. In the first, Chinatown is shown in the bright light and bustle of a busy noonday and against that setting is displayed the sudden bereavement and afflicting anguish of the father. In the second, an alley-end in the same district is shown, with a glimpse of contiguous gambling hells and opium dens, under the darkening shadows of evening. There the inexorable avenger lounges, leaning against a door post,—apparently an idler smoking his evening pipe and talking with a Chinese girl, who leans from a window; in fact, vigilantlyobservant ofMan Low Yek, visible within a shop, and intent on slaying him. The alley grows dark and becomes deserted. The neighboring houses are illumined. The chink of money and the bickering chatter of unseen gamblers are heard. A police officer saunters by and disappears.Man Low Yekcomes forth from his shop, closing it after him. Then, suddenly, as he passes,Wang, with fearful celerity, leaps upon him wielding a hatchet, strikes him down, drags the dead body into convenient concealment, and is back again at his former loitering place, outwardly placid, before the fire in his pipe has had time to become extinguished.
Belasco’s presentment of this play in New York was a gem of histrionic illustration,—the grouping and movement of the players and the many super-numeraries, the employment of light and sound, every expedient alike of action and repose, every detail of dress, every accessory of scenic embellishment, all were so adroitly used and blended as to create an impression of perfect verisimilitude, and the spectator seemed to behold two veritable segments of Chinatown life. The acting, especially that of Mr. Powers asChan Wangand of May Buckley asLoey Tsing, a Chinese girl who loves him, was exceptionally earnest and effective. This was the cast:
“The First Born” was acted at the Manhattan Theatre in association with “A Night Session,” a farce derived from the French: later, other farces were performed with the Chinatown tragedy. Its success was decisive and it was acted in New York until December 11;—at the Manhattan from October 5 to November 6, and at the Garden Theatre (in association with an English version, by Benjamin F. Roeder, of “L’Été de St. Martin,” by Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy) from November29 onward. Belasco and Frohman, elated by their American victory with this play, were eager to repeat it in London. A second company was, accordingly, at once engaged, rehearsed, and brought forward at the Manhattan,—the original company sailing for England October 23, and emerging at the Duke of York’s Theatre, London, November 6. The enterprising manager William A. Brady had, however, hastened to the British capital before them with another and similar play, called “The Cat and the Cherub,” which he presented at the Lyric Theatre, October 30, thus fore-stalling “The First Born” and causing its flat failure in London. It was withdrawn after one week, Belasco and Frohman losing about $20,000 on their undertaking.
During the dramatic season of 1897-’98 Belasco and Charles Frohman arranged with the Messrs. Gatti, managers of the Adelphi Theatre, London, for the production of “The Heart of Maryland” in the British capital. The expenses of presenting that play were large, but so, also, was public attendance on its performance, the average grossreceipts amounting to about $11,000 a week: that is, in three seasons the public had paid a total of about one million and fifty thousand dollars to see it. Belasco’s share of the profits had set him well forward in the path of prosperity and he was at last able to formulate definite plans for ventures which finally enabled him to seize a conspicuous, independent, and influential place among the foremost theatrical managers of the world. His expedition into England with Mrs. Carter and “The Heart of Maryland” was one of the first of those ventures. The utility of his play as a starring vehicle for that actress in America was practically exhausted, but he felt strongly assured of further prosperity with it abroad. Moreover, he knew that Mrs. Carter would be, by an English success, exalted in the esteem of the American public—which is in some respects provincial and is always impressed by foreign approval. And, finally, he hoped that, while in London, he would be able to obtain a suitable new play for her use. The third season of “The Heart of Maryland,” accordingly, was closed at Hartford, Conn., March 26, 1898; on March 30 Mrs. Carter, the other members of the theatrical company which had been acting in it, and Belasco sailed for England on board the steamship St. Paul, and on April 8 that play was performed at the Adelphi Theatre, London. It was, originally, “booked” for a season of one month, but it was received with such abundant popular favor that it was acted there, to crowded houses, for twelve weeks,—receiving about eighty performances. There was some adversity of critical comment in the press, but only one stricture then made disturbed Belasco’s equanimity and has rankled in his recollection,—namely, the unwarranted and mean intimation that he had copied the stirring “mechanical effects” (so called) used in course of the performance of his play from William Gillette’s “Secret Service,” which had been brought out in London, May 15, 1897, at the Adelphi. Such gratuitous disparagement is characteristic of a patronizing and carping spirit frequently encountered in British journalism. Inquiry as to the facts in this case at once displays its injustice. Belasco’s “The Heart of Maryland” was begun in 1890, and the “mechanical effects” employed in it were devised by its author during the four years that followed; they were, furthermore, an elaboration and improvement of various contrivances first used by him in his variant of “Not Guilty,”—San Francisco, December 24, 1878,—and some of them were used by him in “The Girl I Left Behind Me,”—January, 1893. Gillette’s “Secret Service” was tried at theBroad Street Theatre, Philadelphia, May 13, 1895, where it failed and was at once withdrawn. After having been entirely rewritten that play was successfully produced at the Garrick Theatre, New York, October 5, 1896,—one year later than “The Heart of Maryland.” “Secret Service,” though a useful melodrama, is a hodge-podge fabrication (one of its most essential situations is conveyed, bodily, from “Don Cæsar de Bazan”) and is in every way inferior to “The Heart of Maryland”: if the production of either of those plays owed anything to that of the other, it is manifest that Belasco’s could not have been the debtor.
Belasco’s quest for a new drama for the use of Mrs. Carter seemed destined to be a barren one, when, as the London career of “The Heart of Maryland” was drawing toward its close, he chanced to read, in a theatrical newspaper, an outline of the plot of a French play named “Zaza,” which had been produced, May 12, 1898, at the Vaudeville Theatre, Paris, and which he thought might be adapted to the use of his star. On mentioning the play to Charles Frohman and inquiring whether he knew anything about it Frohman informed him that he did not believe it would prosper in America and that, therefore, he had permitted an option on the American right of producing it tolapse. Belasco, nevertheless, visited Paris, witnessed a performance of “Zaza,” as acted by Mme. Gabrielle Réjane and her associates at the Vaudeville, and was so impressed by it that he immediately cabled Frohman, urging him to purchase the American rights of production,—which Frohman forthwith did. On June 25 the London season of “The Heart of Maryland” ended, and on September 1, on the steamship Majestic, Mrs. Carter, the “Maryland” company, and Belasco sailed for home,—the latter having entered into an engagement with Charles Frohman whereby that influential speculator in theatrical wares agreed to produce “Zaza” in partnership with him and to “present Mrs. Leslie Carter, by arrangement with David Belasco.” Belasco was much elated at having made that contract. Writing about it, he says: “Patience and perseverance had won! At last I had not only a star and a play, but a partner with money, unlimited credit, and vast influence. As soon as I returned to New York I began preparations for the next season, and then I went cheerfully into exile to adapt ’Zaza.’”
Two plays have been produced by Belasco the presentment of which, in my judgment,—although both of them were received with extravagant favor by numerous writers in the press and were acted profitably and with much manifest public approbation for a long time,—should be recorded as a grievous blot on the fair record of his professional career. One of those plays is this notorious drama of “Zaza,” adapted and altered by Belasco from the French original by MM. Pierre Berton (1840-1912) and Charles Simon (1850-1910); the other is the vulgar and repulsive drama called “The Easiest Way,” concocted by an American journalist, Mr. Eugene Walter, containing a long-drawn portrayal expositive of the immoral character, unchaste conduct, and necessarily wretched retributive experience, of a courtesan. Both of those plays reflect the gross aspect of what Carlyle happily designated Demirepdom,—a domain of licentiousness and bestiality which should never be treated in Drama or illustrated on the Stage.
Opinion on this point is, I am aware, sharply divided. Shakespeare, we are continually reminded, speaking for himself (most inappropriately, by the way) in the character ofHamlet, and referring to“the purpose of playing,” says that its “end both at the first and now was, and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up tonature; to showvirtue, her own feature,scornher own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”
What does that mean? Does it mean that everything existent in Nature is material suitable to be presented on the Stage? Does it mean that there should be no restriction as to the choice of subjects, from “the age and body of the time,” to be illustrated in public, before a mixed audience of both sexes and of all ages and conditions? No sound, convincing exposition of that view of the subject has ever been made, and I cannot accept it. Shakespeare, in his plays, has depicted “people of all sorts,” and among others he has depicted several sorts of depraved women, one of them,Cressida, being a natural, typical, representative harlot. It is, however, to be observed that he has not dilated on her career, has not expatiated on her licentiousness, has not enumerated her intrigues, has not analyzed her libidinous propensities, has not tinged his portrayal of her misconduct with any sophistical coloring, has not entered for her any plea in extenuation; has simply drawn her as a type of rank carnality and so dismissed her. Such persons have always existed, they exist now, and they always willexist. That it is necessary, right, or defensible that they should be exploited in the Theatre I have never been able to perceive,—whether they be depicted by Shakespeare or by anybody else. From “Jane Shore” and “The Stranger” to “Denise” and “Camille,” nothing has ever come of the long, dreary, speciously sophistical exhibition of sexual vice and consequent misery but corruption of the moral sense, loose, flabby thinking, cant, and maudlin sentimentality. No good has come of it to anybody, least of all to the victims of their evil passions.
Altruism should prevail in the conduct of life, and with all fine natures it does prevail. The instinctive desire, while not universal nor perhaps general, is very considerable to help the weak, to shield the innocent, to liberate the oppressed, to comfort the afflicted, to find excuses for frailty, to take a charitable view of human infirmity; but while lovely in itself and beneficent in some of its results, it is, in vital particulars, ineffectual: it cannot eliminate depravity from a nature that is innately wicked, and it cannot dispel remorse,—or even mitigate that agony,—from a mind innately conscientious.
Belasco, by obtruding harlots on the stage,—as he has not scrupled to do, in presenting to public observanceZazaandLaura Murdoch,—follows many precedents and impliedly approves theexploitation of such persons,—unfortunate, pitiable, deplorable, sometimes amiable and gentle, more frequently hard, fierce, treacherous, and wicked. His published writings avow his views on this subject, and I have found his private assurances concurrent with his published writings. Those views do more credit to the kindness of his disposition than to the clarity of his thought. From his youth onward he has been deeply interested in aberrant women, studious of their aberrancy, solicitous for their rescue and reformation, charitable toward them, wishful to befriend them, and strenuous, when writing about them, to place them in the best possible light. “Whenever I rehearse a situation of passion, of crime, of wrongdoing” (so he writes), “I rememberthe heart.I make an excuse—seek out themotive, to put the actor in touch with the culprit’spoint of view. Theexcuse is always there.” No form of reasoning could be more sophistical, more delusive, more mischievous. Thereasonfor sin, for crime, for wrongdoing,isalways there: but a broad distinction exists between thereasonand theexcuse. Some persons, naturally good, nevertheless do wrong, commit crime, sin against themselves and against both moral law and social order, because they cannot help it, because they are weak and cannot resist temptation. Other persons commit crime knowingly, deliberately,intentionally, because they wish to do so, because they delight in doing so, and find their greatest possible gratification in acts of wickedness. Selfishness and greed are, in a vast number of cases, impervious to anything other than the operation of external forces painful to themselves: there are persons who possess no moral sense whatever. The notion that there is a substratum of goodness in every human being is one of the most flagrant delusions that ever entered the mind of sensible persons acquainted with the history of the world and aware of what is passing around them every hour. “I rememberthe heart” says Belasco: it would not be amiss to remember what was long ago said of that interesting organ by one of the wise prophets of his nation: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” It is in the highest degree creditable to Belasco as a man that he possesses a tenderly compassionate, humane spirit and has always practically acted on the impulse of it; neither wisdom nor justice is discernible in the “moral teaching” that he has liberated by his indiscriminate subservience to it in the instances I have named.
“Zaza” was first produced, December 25, 1898, at the Lafayette Opera House (now, 1917, the Belasco Theatre), Washington, D. C. The first presentment of it in New York occurred, January 9, 1899, at the Garrick Theatre, where it was acted till June 17, receiving 164 performances. “Zaza” is not so much a play as it is a series of loosely jointed, sequent episodes. The story is simple and vulgar.Zazais a French prostitute. She has passed from the streets to the stage of country music halls and has become a singer. She is a common, shameless, termagant wanton, possessed, however, of an animal allurement which infatuates a man of respectable position and outwardly decent character. His name isDufrène. By him she is removed from a life of miscellaneous degradation and,—“purified” by “love”!—she dwells with him, in contentment, for six months,—remarking, as she pulls on her stockings, “I do think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world when two lovers come together.” At the end of that time she discovers that her paramour is married, and that he maintains his wife and their child in a respectable rural home and, at intervals, bestows upon them the boon of his precious company. With the tigerish resentment often characteristic of her class, she immediately repairs to that home, intent to “revenge” herself uponDufrène’swife by revealing the husband’s infidelity. Her amiable purpose is diverted by an encounter with his child, whose prattle so profoundly affects her supersensitive “better feelings” that she quits the field, returns to her civic bower, which has been provided byDufrène, there provokes a violent quarrel with that hypocritical libertine, so enrages him that he threatens to strike her, and finally elicits from him the assurance that his wife is much more precious to him than his harlot is. The separation of this edifying couple ensues. Stimulated by this experience of “purification by love,”Zazadetermines to achieve artistic greatness without further delay, and this she incontinently does, becoming, within two years,—“through much misery, much grief, much work, and a little luck,” as she expresses it,—a great artist, wealthy and (general concomitant of wealth!) respected, and, most delightful of all, a paragon of virtue, gently dismissing her recalcitrant paramour,Dufrène(who, unable to forget the rapturous interlude of his amatory association with her, has sought to renew it), in the peaceful seclusion of the Champs Elysees!
The play of “Zaza,” in the French original, is even more offensive than in Belasco’s adaptation,but it possesses more unity as a dramatic fabric and more authenticity as a portrayal of a revolting phase of life. Belasco’s version is much the superior as a commercial and theatrically useful vehicle. His purpose in adapting the play for the English-speaking Stage is thus stated by himself: “I wanted my audience to find someexcuseforZaza’spast and to have less pity for the wife. When the play was produced in America andZaza sacrificed her own feelings for the sake of a childthe audience was so entirely in her favor that she won the tears of New York and, later on [sic], of London.” “The tears” of New York, London, or any other residential locality are not difficult to “win” when an experienced hand at the theatrical fount pumps hard enough for them. Freed of flummery, what does this play signify? A woman essentially vile in nature, degraded by a career of vice, gross in her conduct, vitiated in her principles and feelings, is sentimentally affected by the babble of a child, and her holy “sacrifice of her own feelings” consists in abstention from wrecking the happiness of an innocent and injured woman who has never done her any harm. As a matter of fact, such a drab asZazawould not have denied herself that gratification for the sake of a whole regiment of children,—but truth was not the goal desired: that object wasprofitable effect. Such dramas as “Zaza” defile the public mind and degrade the Stage, and it would be propitious for the community if they could be played on from a fire hose and washed into the sewer where they belong.
MRS. CARTER’S IMPERSONATION OFZAZA.
Mrs. Carter’s performance of the patchouly-scented heroine of this tainted trash was much admired and extravagantly commended. As a work of dramatic art it was trivial: as a violent theatrical display of common surface traits,—a demonstration, in “Ercles’ vein,” of ability to tear a cat,—it was highly effective. The language of the gutter was spoken in the tone and with the manner of the gutter. The method of the execution was direct, broad, swift,—and coarse. The best technical merit of it was clarity of utterance. InZaza’sscene with the child Mrs. Carter was mechanical and monotonous. It was the utter, reckless abandon, the uncontrolled physical and vocal vehemence, the virago-like intensity of her abuse of her lover, which, communicating themselves to the nerves of her auditors and overwhelming them by violence, gained the actress her success in the part. If to “tear a passion to tatters, to very rags,” to take up the carpet tacks