“The pupils of the Sargent School entered with great enthusiasm into the preparations for our school productions, and we have had many notable successes. I believe I am safe in saying that one of these, the ’Electra’ of Sophocles, was the most remarkable exhibition of amateur art ever seen in this country. It was so accurate, so scholarly, so classical in every respect, that we were invited to present it before the students of Harvard University, as an illustration of the beauty and strength ofancient dramatic literature. The faculty and students were enthusiastic in its praise, and we felt highly honored that such distinction had been conferred upon us. I understood then that it was the first time in the history of Harvard that an amateur company had been transferred from another city.”
“The pupils of the Sargent School entered with great enthusiasm into the preparations for our school productions, and we have had many notable successes. I believe I am safe in saying that one of these, the ’Electra’ of Sophocles, was the most remarkable exhibition of amateur art ever seen in this country. It was so accurate, so scholarly, so classical in every respect, that we were invited to present it before the students of Harvard University, as an illustration of the beauty and strength ofancient dramatic literature. The faculty and students were enthusiastic in its praise, and we felt highly honored that such distinction had been conferred upon us. I understood then that it was the first time in the history of Harvard that an amateur company had been transferred from another city.”
On the occasion of that amateurs’ performance of “Electra” at the Lyceum the stage was divided into two sections, the rear portion being higher than that in front, and the latter being built out into the auditorium in somewhat the manner of the “apron” of the old-time theatres. This lower platform, in the centre of which stood an altar with a fire on it, was reserved for theChorus. The persons represented in the tragedy stood or moved upon the elevated rear portion of the stage, which showed the entrance to a Grecian house, with a view of countryside visible to the left and to the right. Footlights were not employed, the higher level of the stage being suffused with strong, white light which clearly revealed the characters thereon depicted, while theChoruswas kept in Rembrandt-like shadow. ThatChoruscomprised nine young women, in classic Grecian array, who declaimed and sang commentary upon, and advice to, the persons of the play proper. It should be noted in passing that,—without extravagance and affectation,—all
Photograph by Byron.Belasco’s Collection.A scene from the “Electra” of Sophocles, as produced by Belasco, at the old Lyceum Theatre, New York
Photograph by Byron.Belasco’s Collection.A scene from the “Electra” of Sophocles, as produced by Belasco, at the old Lyceum Theatre, New York
Photograph by Byron.Belasco’s Collection.
A scene from the “Electra” of Sophocles, as produced by Belasco, at the old Lyceum Theatre, New York
the much admired and highly extolled “modern novelties” of simplicity in stage settings and lighting displayed by Mr. Granville Barker, at Wallack’s Theatre, in 1915, were used by Belasco, in presenting “Electra,”—twenty-eight years earlier! The principal parts in the Greek tragedy were thus cast:
Concurrent with his work in connection with the amateur presentment of the Greek tragedy Belasco had also prepared for Daniel Frohman’s stage a revival of Sardou’s “Ferréol,” produced at the Union Square Theatre, March 21, 1876. Under the name of “The Marquis,” and under Belasco’s stage direction, it was acted at the Lyceum Theatre, by the stock company of that house, on March 18, 1889, but it proved a failure. It was withdrawn after one week, and on March 29 a revival was effected there of “The Wife,”—with the original cast, except that Louise Dillon succeeded Vida Croly asAgnes. “The Wife” ran till May 18, when the Lyceum closed for the season. Belasco, however,did not finish his work with the revival of that play. Mr. Gillette had made a drama of the novel of “Robert Elsmere,” by Mrs. Humphry Ward, and, gratified by the assistance Belasco had rendered in the vivification of “She,” he secured his services, with consent of the Lyceum management, as stage manager, to set that drama on the stage. This was accomplished, April 29, at the Union Square Theatre.
With the close of the season of 1888-’89 at the Lyceum, in May, Belasco found himself once more commissioned, in association with De Mille, to write a new play with which to open that theatre, the following season, and thus again under the painful necessity of producing a work of dramatic art not as a matter of artistic expression but under compulsion of necessity. This task seemed very formidable. He had worked hard. His health was impaired. His spirits were low. His physician had ordered that he should take a long rest. It is a good prescription, and doubtless, in most cases, it is the best that can be given; but few of the weary workers of the world can take advantage of it, and no workers are more strictly bound to incessant routine duty than those who wield the pen in service of the Theatre. In these unfavorable circumstances Belasco again repaired to the peaceful seclusion of De Mille’s home at Echo Lake, and there the two dramatists once more sought to strike a spark of inspiration into the tinder of dramatic material. The result of this confabulation was, eventually, the comedy of “The Charity Ball.”
With regard to the question as to what subjects are best suited for treatment in the Drama, Belasco, writing (February 9, 1909) to Mr. William Bullock, relative to the plays of the late J. M. Synge, made this significant statement: “I think thatdomestic lifeoffers more possibilities to the playwright than any other theme.”
Those possibilities (as he understands them), which he has utilized in several plays, are specially exemplified in “The Charity Ball,”—so named because its purpose is to inculcate the virtue of taking a charitable view of human infirmity, and also because one important scene of it occurs at a ball given for charity, in the New York Metropolitan Opera House. It rightfully ranks among the best existent dramas of its didactic and benevolent class.
The principal characters in “The Charity Ball” are theRev. John van Buren, his brother,Dick van Buren,Ann Cruger, andPhyllis Lee. TheRev.Johnis Rector of a fashionable church, in New York, whileDickis a Wall Street stock gambler, a person of exceptional ability, naturally amiable, but weak in character, self-indulgent, and wild; he is harassed by business cares and is breaking under the strain of his speculative pursuits.Dickhas seducedPhyllis Lee, an orphan, and, though he is represented as being truly fond of her, has discarded her, with the purpose of marryingAnn Cruger, who is an heiress.Ann Cruger, secretly, is enamoured of theRev. John. TheRectorbefriendsPhyllis, not, however, being aware of her misfortune and miserable plight as the victim of his brother’s duplicity, and the parson soon succumbs to her charms, fancies himself in love with her, and becomes a wooer. His method of courtship is indirect. Being inscrutably,—and impossibly,—blind to the amorous attachment ofAnn Cruger, he seeks the aid of that lady to win for him the love ofPhyllis. Then occurs the gay scene of the Charity Ball, in the course of which a painful interview happens betweenPhyllisandDick van Buren, supplemented byPhyllis’srevelation toAnn Crugerof her relation toDick, his admission toAnnof his misconduct, and her offer toPhyllisof an asylum in her own home.
The wretchedPhyllis, immediately after the ball,distracted by her sense of shame and degradation, speeds through night and storm to her benefactor, the compassionate clergyman, finds him in his study, and, appealing to him as a Christian minister, tells him her sad story and supplicates for any word of comfort. The arrival ofAnn Cruger, who has followed her, prevents the disclosure of her seducer’s name. The clergyman, however, surmises the truth, and when his brotherDickreturns home denounces his iniquity, implores him to make the only possible reparation, and finally induces that selfish sinner,—whose conduct has been that of a blackguard, soften it how you may,—to wed the girl whom he has wronged. A midnight marriage then ensues, theRev. Johnuniting in holy matrimony his dissolute brother and the woman whom, in his blindness, he has himself wished to wed. This scene is crowded with interest, incident, character, feeling, suspense, and dramatic effect. Later,Dick van Burenhas died, theRectorhas discovered that he lovesAnn Crugerand that she loves him (and not another, as for a time he feared), and general felicity prevails.
The surge of deep feeling in this play is sometimes effectively commingled with playful levity: its pivotal scene contains a strong, vital, emotional appeal. Under Belasco’s expert direction it wasrichly set on the Lyceum stage and it was acted with exceptional felicity and force. Nelson Wheatcroft played the libertine,Dick van Buren, in a way to make him credible and somewhat to redeem the cruel turpitude of his conduct. Herbert Kelcey was duly grave, gentle, manly, and eloquent as theRector. Effie Shannon, asBess, the clergyman’s sister, with her sweet face and agile figure, enlivened the representation by her effervescence of girlish frolic. Grace Henderson,—much commended as theEffie Deansof this play,—gave an admirable personation of weak, bewitching womanhood. The persistent choice of a singularly beautiful and engaging woman for assumption of persons to be abandoned was again mysteriously exemplified in the casting of this actress forPhyllis. “The Charity Ball” was first produced at the Lyceum, before a representative and cordial audience, on November 19, 1888, and it had 200 consecutive performances there. As originally produced the play was thus cast:
Belasco’s association with Mrs. Leslie Carter began in 1889 and continued till 1906. In some ways it proved advantageous, but considerably more so to her than to him. The maiden name of that singularly eccentric woman,—a compound of many opposed qualities, sense and folly, sensibility and hardness, intelligence and dulness, an affectionate disposition and an imperious temper,—was Caroline Louise Dudley. She is, I understood from herself, of Scotch descent. She was born in Louisville, Kentucky, June 10, 186(4?). In youth she was deemed remarkable for something bizarre and alluring in her appearance, one special feature of which was her copious, resplendent hair, of the color that is called Titian red. When very young she became the wife (May 26, 1880) of Mr. LeslieCarter, of Chicago. The marriage proved unhappy, and in 1889 her husband obtained a divorce from her in that city. Comment on this case of domestic infelicity is not essential here. Mr. Carter was legally adjudged to be in the right and Mrs. Carter to be in the wrong. Society, knowing them both, sided with him and was bitterly condemnatory of her. She had few friends and very slight pecuniary resources. She was confronted with the necessity of earning a living, and she determined to adopt the vocation of the Stage. She had participated in private theatricals, as so many other young women in kindred circumstances have done before emerging in the Theatre, but she possessed no training for it. She had heard of Belasco’s repute as an histrionic instructor, and proceeding with better (or perhaps only more fortunate) judgment than she had ever before or has ever since displayed, she sought an introduction to him for the purpose of obtaining his assistance as a teacher. That introduction she procured through Edward G. Gillmore (18—-1905), then manager of the New York Academy of Music, and to Belasco she made known her position and her aspirations. How crude those aspirations were, and how indefinite her plans as to a stage career, can be conjectured from her response to the first inquiry he made,—whethershe wished to act in tragedy or comedy. “I am a horsewoman,” she replied, “and I wish to make my first entrance on a horse, leaping over a hurdle.” No practical result attended that interview. Belasco, of course, observed the peculiarities of the impracticable novice and, perhaps, some glimmering indication of a talent in her which might be developed; but he was at that time preoccupied in collaboration with De Mille on “The Charity Ball,” and Mrs. Carter’s application was put aside and, by him, forgotten. She returned to Chicago, but she did not falter in her purpose. A little later, learning that Belasco had again secluded himself at Echo Lake (where, indeed, with De Mille, he had sought a secluded refuge in which to finish “The Charity Ball”), she again presented herself before him and besought him to become her teacher and to embark her on a dramatic career.
“Mrs. Carter came to me,” he said, “while De Mille and I were at work on ’The Charity Ball.’ I was almost worn out the afternoon she arrived—not having had any sleep to speak of in two days—and she was almost hysterical and frantic with fatigue, trouble, and anxiety. She told me much of the story of her domestic tragedy,—and a heart-breaking story it is,—and, as she told it and Ilistened, I began to see the possibilities in her,—ifonlyshe could act, on the stage, with the same force and pathos she used in telling her story. I think a real manager and dramatist is, in a way, like a physician: a physician gets so that he never looks at a human face without noting whether it shows signs of disease or not: I never look at a face or listen to a voice without noting whether they show signs of fitness for the stage. Mrs. Carter showed it, in every word she spoke, in every move she made: if only she couldactlike that on the stage, I caught myself thinking. The upshot of the matter was that I promised to give her a trial, to see whether she couldactas well as she couldtalk, and that, if she stood the test, I’d help her if I could. After I returned to New York I rehearsed her in several parts I had given her; I became convinced that she had the makings of a great actress in her, and I determined that, as soon as I could, I would take up her training and, if she proved as talented as I thought her, would try to strike out for myself and establish her as a star.”
After having safely launched “The Charity Ball” Belasco turned to the task of making Mrs. Carter an actress. It seems almost incredible, but such was the existing animosity toward her that,—notwithstanding his theatrical connections and although he had performed many friendly services for persons of authority in the Theatre, and was, moreover, the stage manager and dramatist of the Lyceum,—Belasco was unable to secure the use of a stage on which to conduct her rehearsals. To hire one, at a high rental, might have been practicable, but neither he nor his pupil possessed money enough to pay the rent of a stage. From this dilemma an apparent means of exit presented itself. The beautiful and popular child actress, Elsie Leslie, who had played at the Lyceum in “Editha’s Burglar” and also, with phenomenal success, in “Little Lord Fauntleroy,” had suggested to Samuel L. Clemens, “Mark Twain,” who was always friendly toward her, a dramatization of his story of “The Prince and the Pauper,” in which she should appear, playing bothTom CantyandPrince Edward of Wales. The plan suggested by that clever child had been adopted; Mrs. Abby Sage Richardson had prepared an acting version ofTwain’s book, and it had been produced, December 24, 1889, at the Park Theatre, Philadelphia, under the management of Daniel Frohman. The venture was seen to be auspicious, but the play was found to be inchoate, and the performances, aside from that of the little star, were rough and unsatisfactory. Belasco’s need of the use of a stage for rehearsals of Mrs. Carter was known to Daniel Frohman, who proposed to him that he should revise and reconstruct Mrs. Richardson’s version of “The Prince and the Pauper,” and also rehearse the company, so that a production might be safely attempted in New York, in return for which services he was promised the use of the stage of the Lyceum (when it was not required for the Lyceum stock company), as often as he desired, for rehearsals of Mrs. Carter. To that arrangement Belasco agreed. “I was getting only $35 a week for my services at the Lyceum,” he told me, “aside from royalties on my plays, and I knew the work on Mrs. Richardson’s play and the rehearsals of the company would be heavy. But what could I do? I have often been beaten—but I never give in. I knew there was the real stuff in Mrs. Carter, but I simply had to have a stage; I could make no progress with her till I got one. So I accepted ’Dan’s’ offer.” His
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.ELSIE LESLIE AS THEPAUPER-PRINCE, IN “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER”
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.ELSIE LESLIE AS THEPAUPER-PRINCE, IN “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER”
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
ELSIE LESLIE AS THEPAUPER-PRINCE, IN “THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER”
expectation that the labor would prove onerous was amply justified. He finally beat the play into an acceptable shape, but his trials with the company were exasperating. Belasco, naturally amiable and ordinarily both diffident and shy, can be, and when fully roused often is, unpleasant on the stage. There came a time when he lost all patience with “The Prince and the Pauper” company, and, at a dress rehearsal, about three o’clock in the morning, called the company on the stage and, singly and collectively, “in good set terms” and with expletive sarcasm, gave assurance to everybody present that “except the little girl there is not one, no,not oneof the lot of you that knows how to act—or anything else!” This comprehensive denunciation did not redound to his advantage or endear him to the management of the Lyceum. However, he finally got the company drilled into respectable shape and the play was successfully produced in New York, January 20, 1890, at the Broadway Theatre, where it ran till March 1.
Belasco, relieved of responsibility as to “The Prince and the Pauper,” turned at once to the instruction of his pupil, Mrs. Carter, and fora short time rehearsed her on the Lyceum stage. He had, however, hardly begun the rehearsals, for the holding of which he had, in equity, given so much more than it was worth, when the bargain was, in a singularly disgraceful manner, repudiated,—Belasco receiving from the manager of the theatre the following terse communication:
(Daniel Frohman to David Belasco.)“The Lyceum Theatre, New York,“February 26, [1890]“Dear David:—“The Stockholders request me not to have Mrs. Carter rehearse on our stage any more.“Yours,“Dan’l Frohman.”
(Daniel Frohman to David Belasco.)
“The Lyceum Theatre, New York,“February 26, [1890]
“Dear David:—
“The Stockholders request me not to have Mrs. Carter rehearse on our stage any more.
“Yours,“Dan’l Frohman.”
Belasco’s resentment was, naturally and properly, very bitter. He had been for some time conscious that he was effectively “cabined, cribbed, confined” at the Lyceum. He had also been for some time in negotiation with A. M. Palmer, looking to a presentation of the play which he had in mind as a starring vehicle for Mrs. Carter. He wrote immediately, in response to Mr. Frohman:
(David Belasco to Daniel Frohman.)“New York, February 27, [1890]“My dear D. F.:—“Your note in reference to Mrs. Carter received. When Mr. Palmer was informed that the stockholders objected to Mrs. Carter’s use of the Lyceum stage, he placed both his theatres at my disposal. Therefore, she will trouble their over-sensitive natures no more. As far as I myself am concerned, rest assured I shall not forget their petty treatment of me.“Sincerely,“Dave.”
(David Belasco to Daniel Frohman.)
“New York, February 27, [1890]
“My dear D. F.:—
“Your note in reference to Mrs. Carter received. When Mr. Palmer was informed that the stockholders objected to Mrs. Carter’s use of the Lyceum stage, he placed both his theatres at my disposal. Therefore, she will trouble their over-sensitive natures no more. As far as I myself am concerned, rest assured I shall not forget their petty treatment of me.
“Sincerely,“Dave.”
It is probable that, without the sting of this contemptible conduct on the part of the stockholders of the Lyceum (instigated, as I understand, by complaints from Miss Georgia Cayvan), Belasco would, for some time longer, have continued to toil in his treadmill at that temple of liberal virtue. As the ultimate event has proved, it was fortunate that he was thus annoyed. He had resolved to retire before he had finished writing his acknowledgment of Mr. Frohman’s note; he sent in his resignation soon afterward, and, on March 27, 1890, his association with the Lyceum was ended.
One of my earliest and best friends, the loved and honored poet Longfellow, sometimes cited to me a maxim (which, alas, I have all my life neglected to heed!) that “he who carries his bricks to the building of every one’s house will never build one for himself.” When Belasco withdrew from the Lyceum Theatre (March 27, 1890) he had been for twenty years,—notwithstanding his efforts toward independence,—carrying bricks to build houses for other persons. He was conscious of this mistake and dissatisfied with himself for having made it, and he now resolutely determined to build for himself. During the five and one-half years, March, 1890, to October, 1895, he worked with persistent diligence, often in the face of seemingly insurmountable difficulties, to train and establish the woman of whose histrionic destiny he had assumed the direction and to achieve for himself position and power as a theatrical manager. He had in mind for his embryonic star, Mrs. Leslie Carter, a play which, ultimately, was written and successfully produced, under the name of “The Heart of Maryland”; but when first he seriously began the task of training that beginner for the stage even the plan of that play was rudimentary, and it became imperative that he should at once securea practical vehicle for her use and should get her launched as an actress. There could be no question of her beginning in a minor capacity in some obscure company and working her way up: she had no thought of enduring any such novitiate, though she was willing, in fact eager, to perform any amount of arduous labor. But, with her, it was a case of beginning at the top—or not at all. In general, that is a mistaken plan; it results in utter failure a hundred times for once that it succeeds; yet, sometimes, where backed by genuine ability and indomitable courage, the course that seems rash proves really the most judicious, and for those with the heart to endure to lose it proves the way to win. The famous soldier Montrose wrote truly:
“He either fears his fate too muchOr his deserts are small,That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.”
“He either fears his fate too muchOr his deserts are small,That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.”
“He either fears his fate too muchOr his deserts are small,That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.”
To that touch Belasco and Mrs. Carter determined to put her fate at the earliest possible moment, yet not altogether without preparation for the ordeal through which she was to pass. Belasco’s method of instructing her was the only practical one: he treated her as if she had been the leading woman in a stock company, under his direction, in circumstances which made it peremptory that she, and only she, should act certain parts, and with whom, accordingly, he must do the best he could. His experience as a teacher was onerous and often discouraging, but he and his pupil persevered. “Mrs. Carter,” he writes, “had no idea of the rudiments of acting. In Chicago she had been a brilliant drawing-room figure. Very graceful in private life, she became awkward and self-conscious on the stage. Our first lessons included a series of physical exercises, to secure a certain grace and ease of motion.” During the period from April, 1890, to about June, 1891, according to Belasco’s statement to me, Mrs. Carter, under his direction, memorized and rehearsed (sometimes on the stage of Palmer’s Theatre, sometimes in private rooms) more than thirty different parts, in representative drama, ranging fromNancy Sikes, in “Oliver Twist,” toParthenia, in “Ingomar”; fromCamilletoLady Macbeth; fromJulia, in “The Hunchback,” toMrs. Bouncer, in “Box and Cox,” and fromLeah the ForsakentoFrou-Frou. Meantime, however, Belasco had a wife and children to support, as well as himself; his resources were little and day by day were growing less; Mrs. Carter and her devoted mother were no better off, and it was essential that the hopeful but harassed adventurer should add to his income, derived from miscellaneousprivate teaching and coaching for the stage, to which precarious expedient he was, at this period, compelled to revert, to eke out his slender revenue. At this juncture his friend Charles Frohman, who had bought Bronson Howard’s war melodrama of “Shenandoah” and had prospered with it, and who had undertaken to provide dramatic entertainments for Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, applied to him for a new play.
“There was an old building on Twenty-third Street. Proctor now [1890] turned this building into a theatre, and ’C. F.’ asked me to write a playfor the opening.... Frohman,” writes Belasco, “had persuaded F. F. Proctor to turn an old church ... into a theatre. ’C. F.’ was to supply the company and a new play. Proctor, a pioneer with a tremendous amount of ambition, had been making money in vaudeville and wanted to enter the theatrical field. ’Dave,’ ’C. F.’ said, ’I shall depend upon you for the play.’... I advised him not to wait an instant, lest Proctor’s enthusiasm die out.The following weekthe old church began dropping its ecclesiastical aspect as fast as the wreckers could do away with it.“I was strongly tempted to write the opening play alone, but when I saw how much depended upon it I had a touch of stage fright. Naturally, my thoughts turned to Henry De Mille.... We had always been successful because our way of thought was similar and we were frank in our criticism of each other’s work. He excelled in narrative and had a quick wit. The emotional or dramatic scenes were more to my liking. I acted while he took down my speeches. When a play was finished, it was impossible to say where his work left off and my work began [???—W. W.]. This is what collaboration should be.“It was five o’clock in the morning when I was seized with the idea of asking De Mille to assist me and I hastened at once to his house. I knocked on his door with the vigor of a watchman sounding a fire alarm, and when De Mille at last appeared he was armed with a cane, ready to defend his hearth and home. I told him of the necessity for a play for ’C. F.’s’ opening and he agreed to work with me. In the profession De Mille and I were thought to be very lucky as ’theatre openers.’ Looking back, I see how many, many times it has been my fate to break the bottle over the prows of theatrical ships. Here we were again,—De Mille and I,—talking over the birth and baptism of yet another New York manager!”
“There was an old building on Twenty-third Street. Proctor now [1890] turned this building into a theatre, and ’C. F.’ asked me to write a playfor the opening.... Frohman,” writes Belasco, “had persuaded F. F. Proctor to turn an old church ... into a theatre. ’C. F.’ was to supply the company and a new play. Proctor, a pioneer with a tremendous amount of ambition, had been making money in vaudeville and wanted to enter the theatrical field. ’Dave,’ ’C. F.’ said, ’I shall depend upon you for the play.’... I advised him not to wait an instant, lest Proctor’s enthusiasm die out.The following weekthe old church began dropping its ecclesiastical aspect as fast as the wreckers could do away with it.
“I was strongly tempted to write the opening play alone, but when I saw how much depended upon it I had a touch of stage fright. Naturally, my thoughts turned to Henry De Mille.... We had always been successful because our way of thought was similar and we were frank in our criticism of each other’s work. He excelled in narrative and had a quick wit. The emotional or dramatic scenes were more to my liking. I acted while he took down my speeches. When a play was finished, it was impossible to say where his work left off and my work began [???—W. W.]. This is what collaboration should be.
“It was five o’clock in the morning when I was seized with the idea of asking De Mille to assist me and I hastened at once to his house. I knocked on his door with the vigor of a watchman sounding a fire alarm, and when De Mille at last appeared he was armed with a cane, ready to defend his hearth and home. I told him of the necessity for a play for ’C. F.’s’ opening and he agreed to work with me. In the profession De Mille and I were thought to be very lucky as ’theatre openers.’ Looking back, I see how many, many times it has been my fate to break the bottle over the prows of theatrical ships. Here we were again,—De Mille and I,—talking over the birth and baptism of yet another New York manager!”
This recollection is not accurate relative to details concerning the opening of Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre. The site of that theatre was, at one time, occupied by a church. Later it was occupied by an armory for the Seventy-ninth Regiment, N. G. S. N. Y. Then it was converted into “Salmi Morse’s Temple Theatre,” but Morse was denied a license and could not open it. Under management
From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.HENRY C. DE MILLE
From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.HENRY C. DE MILLE
From an old photograph.Belasco’s Collection.
HENRY C. DE MILLE
of Converse L. Graves, who took over Morse’s interest, it was opened, May 21, 1883, as the Temple Theatre, with a play called “A Bustle Among the Petticoats.” Max Strakosch succeeded Graves as manager of the house, and in turn sold his interest to Albert G. Eaves, a New York theatrical costumer, who, in association with Edward Stone, conducted the theatre for a short time. Thereafter, about 1885, it was restored to ecclesiastical service as the Twenty-third Street Tabernacle. F. F. Proctor leased the property in 1888, tore down the old building and erected a new one, which, as Proctor’s Twenty-third Street Theatre, was opened, May 5, 1889, with a performance, by Neil Burgess and his company, of “The County Fair.” Dockstader’s Minstrels succeeded Burgess, and on August 31 “The Great Metropolis” was there first acted. “Shenandoah,” transferred from the Star Theatre, where it was produced for the first time in New York on September 9, 1889, was presented there on October 21, that year, and it ran till April 19, 1890,—receiving, in all, 250 performances. Stuart Robson played there, in “The Henrietta,” from April 21 to May 31, when the theatre was closed. It was reopened on September 8, 1890, with a farce by William Gillette, called “All the Comforts of Home,”—adapted from “Ein Toller Einfall,”—which held the stagetill October 18, and, on October 21, for the first time anywhere, “Men and Women” was there produced. That event occurreda year and a half afterthe theatre was first opened. Descanting on the inception of the play of “Men and Women,” Belasco writes:
“About this time the newspapers were full of a bank scandal. A young man employed in a bank had speculated with funds and found himself in a very dangerous position. His father, a fine man of business, and a stockholder, had the sympathy of the entire public in his misfortune. Owing to the young man’s speculations, the bank was on the verge of closing, and the newspapers were full of harrowing details. As I read the accounts I came to this sentence in a statement made by the father: ’I’ll save the bank if it costs me a million a day!’ ’Henry,’ I said, ’there’s our play. We must deal with a father’s pride and love for his only son, no matter what deed the son may commit.’ To me the father’s statement meant: ’I’ll save my boy, though I am left without a penny and have to beg on the streets.’...“Next to inventing a plot and story, our greatest difficulty was to find a title. Our play was to have a universal appeal. One of our characters was a liberalJew. Because of the broadness of the theme, we selected the name of ’Men and Women.’ It was an accepted rule at this time to have two sets of lovers, but we broke all traditions by introducing three sets of heroes and heroines in ’Men and Women,’ for we attempted to depict the frailties and weaknesses of many men and women. The Third Act represented a directors’ meeting on the night before theclosing of the bank, with a number of Federal government officials present. In order to be accurate it was necessary to get information from some one who had been through this scene in real life. I went to a bank cashier whom I knew, and explained our dilemma. ’I’ll give you all the details of such a night,’ he agreed, ’but you must be very careful. You understand that I must compromise no one, or my own position will be in jeopardy.’ Then he gave me much information, describing the feelings of the financiers who walked under the shadow of arrest. When I left him I had all the facts necessary to create a rousing climax. I felt like a reporter who has gone after the news of an event and come away with a photograph of each moment of a tragedy.”
“About this time the newspapers were full of a bank scandal. A young man employed in a bank had speculated with funds and found himself in a very dangerous position. His father, a fine man of business, and a stockholder, had the sympathy of the entire public in his misfortune. Owing to the young man’s speculations, the bank was on the verge of closing, and the newspapers were full of harrowing details. As I read the accounts I came to this sentence in a statement made by the father: ’I’ll save the bank if it costs me a million a day!’ ’Henry,’ I said, ’there’s our play. We must deal with a father’s pride and love for his only son, no matter what deed the son may commit.’ To me the father’s statement meant: ’I’ll save my boy, though I am left without a penny and have to beg on the streets.’...
“Next to inventing a plot and story, our greatest difficulty was to find a title. Our play was to have a universal appeal. One of our characters was a liberalJew. Because of the broadness of the theme, we selected the name of ’Men and Women.’ It was an accepted rule at this time to have two sets of lovers, but we broke all traditions by introducing three sets of heroes and heroines in ’Men and Women,’ for we attempted to depict the frailties and weaknesses of many men and women. The Third Act represented a directors’ meeting on the night before theclosing of the bank, with a number of Federal government officials present. In order to be accurate it was necessary to get information from some one who had been through this scene in real life. I went to a bank cashier whom I knew, and explained our dilemma. ’I’ll give you all the details of such a night,’ he agreed, ’but you must be very careful. You understand that I must compromise no one, or my own position will be in jeopardy.’ Then he gave me much information, describing the feelings of the financiers who walked under the shadow of arrest. When I left him I had all the facts necessary to create a rousing climax. I felt like a reporter who has gone after the news of an event and come away with a photograph of each moment of a tragedy.”
This play would have been called by Boucicault a “comedy-drama”: he was fond of classifying plays and he invented that designation (as well as various others) meaning thereby to denote a “sensation drama,” illustrated with comedy. The pervasive defect of the play, like that which mars some other plays written by Belasco, in association with De Mille, is an excess of extraneous details. Nevertheless it tells an interesting story, well devised to absorb attention, and it possesses vital dramatic movement. The comedy element in it is trivial. The story, though somewhat confused, is strongerthan that in any other of the several plays written by Belasco and De Mille.
The main theme is the desperate situation of a man namedWilliam Prescott, cashier of a bank, who is guilty of peculation and who is striving to escape the consequences of his crime. An accomplice in the robbery is a broker, who has committed suicide. The assistant cashier of the bank,Edwin Seaburyby name,Prescott’sclose friend and the betrothed lover of his sister, is suspected of the theft. At first, perceiving that for his personal security he need only remain silent and permit his innocent comrade to be ruined,Prescott, though drawn as a man essentially virtuous, yields to the temptation to hold his peace and letSeaburybe condemned; but on discovering that his sweetheart,Agnes Rodman, is aware of his guilt and, out of devotion to him, is willing to condone his crime and his additional iniquity,Prescottis shocked into remorse and repentance and he determines thatSeaburyshall be saved, at whatever sacrifice of himself. The portrayal of the strife in the minds ofPrescottand ofAgnes Rodmanis remarkably expert, vivid, and effective, the element of suspense being most adroitly sustained.
Seabury’speril is heightened by the implacable enmity of the attorney for the bank,Calvin Stedman, who isSeabury’sunsuccessful rival in love, and who, honestly believing the young man guilty, exults in the opportunity to ruin him, and opposes every effort made by the president of the bank,Israel Cohen, to weather the storm and save the institution from ruin. The vital scene of the play occurs in the Third Act, when, late at night, in the library of the president’s home, the directors of the bank assemble to consult with a National Bank Examiner and seek to contrive means to avert publicity, forestall a destructive “run,” and restore the stolen funds. One of those directors,Stephen Rodman, father of the girl to whomPrescottis betrothed, opposes the purpose ofStedmanto force public avowal of the situation, regardless of consequences to the institution, and is suddenly denounced byStedmanas being himself a former peculator whom he,Stedman, years earlier, has prosecuted, who was convicted, and has served a term in prison, and therefore should be deemed an unfit person to suggest such a composition of the trouble. The incidents and the language used in depicting that meeting of the directors of the tottering bank are skilfully and impressively used, and Belasco’s extraordinary facility of dramatic expression, once his desired situation has been obtained, is finely exemplified. At the last,Prescottassuminghis responsibility, the way out of the dilemma is provided byMr. Pendleton, one of the directors, a half-deaf, crusty, apparently fussy, muddled old man, who is, in fact, clear-headed and practical and who provides the necessary money to save the bank. Condonement of a felony is a dubious expedient, but in a fiction it is often convenient, especially when, as in “Men and Women,” justice is seen to be done, all round.
One singular “effect” in the central scene of this play was caused by a glimmer of simulated moonlight through a stained glass window, showing a representation of the Christ (rather a surprising object of art to occur in the private library of a Jew, however liberal), after a fervid expression, byIsrael Cohen, of the need of charity and forbearance. The wise counsel of the old Oxford Professor (cited and approved by Belasco’s mentor, Boucicault, and sometimes attributed to him), that when you particularly admire any special passage in anything you have written you had better cut it out, might well have been mentioned by Belasco for the benefit of his collaborator. There are several passages of “fine writing” in “Men and Women,” which show De Mille to disadvantage. The play will not bear close analysis: it was artificially constructed around the situation at the crisis of thebank’s affairs; but it admirably answered the purpose for which it was written, and it had 203 consecutive performances, at the Twenty-third Street Theatre. This was the cast:
The stage setting of “Men and Women” was uncommonly fine and much of the acting was excellent,—notably the performances ofIsrael Cohenby Frederic de Belleville,William Prescottby William Morris,Calvin Stedmanby R. A. Roberts,Stephen Rodmanby Frank Mordaunt, andMr. Pendletonby Charles Leslie Allen. Roberts was specially admirable for the manner with which he suffused his impersonation of the savagely implacable attorney with an antipathetic but wholly veritable air of saturated self-approbation in his cruel assumption of righteousness.
The whole moral doctrine of Belasco, not only in this play but in several others of the same class,—a doctrine upon which he dwells with what, considering the existing way of the world, seems rather a superfluous insistence,—is comprised in four well-known lines by Robert Burns which, on the programme, were used as an epigraph for this play:
“Then gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman,Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang,To step aside is human.”
“Then gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman,Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang,To step aside is human.”
“Then gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman,Tho’ they may gang a kennin wrang,To step aside is human.”
It is. But many things that are human are reprehensible. “To step aside” sometimes causes sins that can never be expiated, sorrows that can neverbe assuaged, wrongs that never can be righted. The most terrible of all words is the wordCONSEQUENCES.
Belasco, while colaboring with De Mille in the writing of “Men and Women” and subsequently while rehearsing, for Frohman, the company which acted in that play, concurrently continued his tuition of Mrs. Carter; but it was beyond even his aspiring spirit and indefatigable industry to undertake at the same time the additional task of writing a new play for her use. In this dilemma he presently effected an arrangement with Mr. Paul M. Potter whereby that playwright agreed to furnish him with “a comedy drama” for Mrs. Carter’s use, so that he was left free to work at his other tasks and to seek for capital with which to launch his star. His next step was to arrange with Edward D. Price, a person widely experienced in theatrical affairs, to act as business manager of Mrs. Carter’s tour, Price accepting the office on condition that Belasco would provide a capital of $10,000, to be placed on deposit in a bank before beginning the season. This Belasco undertook to do,—not at that moment knowing how he was to do it, but feeling confident, nevertheless, that it could be done. On conferring with Mrs.Carter and her mother he was apprised that the latter had contrived to obtain the sum of $1,500. On learning that this would be wholly inadequate for the production of the new play, Mrs. Carter suggested that application for assistance should be made, on her behalf, to wealthy friends of hers, Mr. and Mrs. N. K. Fairbank, of Chicago, who had been kind to her throughout the distressing ordeal of her domestic troubles and who evidently believed in her integrity and ability. This application was at once made, and it was successful. “We will deposit $10,000 to your credit,” said Mr. Fairbank (so Belasco has stated to me), “and it is to be used for launching Mrs. Carter as a star. If you need more, you can get it by applying to my legal representatives in Chicago.” “The only restriction that Fairbank stipulated for,” added Belasco, “was the very reasonable one that I should keep an account of the expenditures,—which I did, to the last penny.”
Having secured a competent business manager and, apparently, sufficient financial support, it only remained to wait for the play and to improve Mrs. Carter as much as possible as an actress. Mr. Potter soon forwarded the manuscript of his play, which was called “The Ugly Duckling.” On reading that fabrication Belasco,—who seems to have expected much from Mr. Potter,—was chagrined to find itartificial, flimsy, and insufficient. Instead of at once undertaking to rewrite it himself he injudiciously employed for that purpose a person named Archibald C. Gordon, who was commended to his favor as being qualified to perform the required work. This Gordon, however, turned out to be not only a blackguard who could not be tolerated but also to be wholly incompetent as a playwright, and Belasco, in consequence, after much annoyance, was ultimately compelled himself to rectify, as far as possible, the gross inadequacies of the piece. Testifying on this subject, in court, in 1896, he said: “I cut outeverythingthat Mr. Gordon wrote.” Notwithstanding all impediments, delays and vexations, a company was at last engaged, a theatre was secured, rehearsals were effected, and, on November 10, 1890, Mrs. Carter, actingKate Graydon, made her first appearance on the stage, at the Broadway Theatre, New York.
The play of “The Ugly Duckling” is founded, in part, on the idea of Andersen’s fairy tale, from which its name is taken,—the idea, namely, that the supposedly least promising and least esteemed member of a brood may prove to be the finestand most worthy of admiration. The story relates to domestic tribulations in a prominent New York family, namedGraydon. The youngest member of that family,Kate Graydon, returning home from England, finds her more valued sister,Hester, engaged to be married to an Englishman,Viscount Huntington, by whom she has herself been courted, in London. She keeps her secret for her sister’s sake, andHesterbecomesHuntington’swife. A vindictive Corsican,Count Malatesta, believing that inHuntingtonhe has found the betrayer of his wife, theCountess Malatesta, enticesHesterto his apartments, and then causesHuntingtonto be apprised of her presence there.Kate, having followed her sister, liberates her from this scandalous situation, at the cost of compromising herself.
The play will not bear consideration. That Mrs. Carter should not have been irrevocably damned as an actress by making her first appearance in such a puerile composition speaks much for her natural talent and for Belasco’s skilful tuition and management. That he should have risked her advent in such a fabric of trash is astounding. Since, ultimately, he established her as a highly successful star, I suppose he would maintain that his judgment has been vindicated. I cannot but feel, however,