“Strange as it may appear,Cainwas my hero.Abelhad never appealed to me, any more than his forebears, in the garden of the bright flaming sword, whence the apple-eating Eve had been so forcibly, ejected. ’The Curse of Cain’ in embryo was a simple trifle of an allegory, which afterwards developed into a four-act drama with prologue and epilogue. And now that I look back upon it I think it was somewhat remarkable for strange innovations to the stage of that day. For the first time realistic thunderstorms and lightning effects were introduced, more naturally than anything that had gone before. I do not wish to pooh-pooh modern inventions, double stages, and all the paraphernalia of the latter-day drama, but I do contend that we could not have been outdone.”
“Strange as it may appear,Cainwas my hero.Abelhad never appealed to me, any more than his forebears, in the garden of the bright flaming sword, whence the apple-eating Eve had been so forcibly, ejected. ’The Curse of Cain’ in embryo was a simple trifle of an allegory, which afterwards developed into a four-act drama with prologue and epilogue. And now that I look back upon it I think it was somewhat remarkable for strange innovations to the stage of that day. For the first time realistic thunderstorms and lightning effects were introduced, more naturally than anything that had gone before. I do not wish to pooh-pooh modern inventions, double stages, and all the paraphernalia of the latter-day drama, but I do contend that we could not have been outdone.”
It will not, I think, appear “strange” to most persons that to Belasco, as a dramatist, the character of Cain should be more attractive than that of Abel. It is, I know, sometimes asserted that evil is merely the absence of good and a passive state. But thatassertion is untrue.Whyevil should exist at all is a mystery. But that it does exist and that, existing, it is a positive, active force which supplies the propulsive dramatic movement of most great representative plays,—of “Othello,” “Hamlet,” “King Richard III.,” and “Macbeth,” for example,—is obvious. Many of the great poets have felt this and exhibited it in their poetry.Mephistophelesis the dominant figure and the animating impulse of Goethe’s “Faust” and of Bailey’s “Festus,” and that is true, likewise, ofSatan, in Milton’s “Paradise Lost.” Cain is the exponent of evil in the Bible narrative, the active, dramatic figure—and Cain, not Abel, accordingly engaged the attention of Byron, in one of his greatest poems, and of Coleridge, in a fragment on the same subject. Belasco’s declared preference, as a dramatist, seems to me to be an inevitable one. There is not, however, much relevancy in the expression of it as regards his play of “The Curse of Cain.” That fabric does not relate to the Bible narrative: it is a melodrama, of the period in which it was written, which tells, in an artificial but momentarily effective and diverting manner, a conventional tale of good and evil in conflict,—of crime long unpunished and honor much abused; of prosperous villainy and persecuted innocence borne down under a false accusation ofmurder; of harsh suffering in gypsy camps and prison cells, and, finally, of the vindication of virtue and retributive justice overtaking the transgressor. It was avowedly fashioned on the model of such earlier plays as “The World” (which Belasco had successfully set upon the stage fourteen months before), “The Lights o’ London,” “Mankind” and “Youth,” and it was devised for the purpose of making lavish scenic display and startling theatrical effects, in the hope of winning back public support for the Baldwin. That purpose though not that hope was fulfilled, all contemporary commentators, in effect, agreeing with the published declaration that “never before in San Francisco has there been such a liberal and beautiful display of scenery as that provided for this play.” “The Curse of Cain” was divided into seven acts, all of which were richly framed, and four of which,—Waterloo Bridge, London, during a snowstorm; a Gypsy Camp, in rural England; a Ruined Abbey, and “the Whirlpool Lighthouse,”—were affirmed “marvels of stage painting and effect.” In the scene of the Gypsy Camp Belasco indulged to the full his liking for literalism,—providing for the public edification a braying donkey, neighing horses, cackling hens, crowing cocks, quacking ducks, and a rooting, grunting pig. In the Lighthouse Scene, as one accountrelates, having assembled hisdramatis personæfor the final curtain by the novel yet simple expedient of “washing them all up from the ocean,” after a shipwreck, like flotsam, he introduced a frantic struggle between the villain and the hero, beginning on the wave-beaten rocks, conducted up a spiral stairway within the lighthouse and intermittently visible through the windows thereof, and terminating in the fall of the villain from the pinnacle of that edifice to a watery grave,—with which fitting demise, and the union of lovers, the spectacle drew sweetly to a close. “The critics,” writes Belasco, “had plenty of fun with the absurdities of the piece (which hardly needed to be pointed out), and I had many a good laugh at it myself; but, for all that, it was the most elaborate scenic production of the kind ever made in the West, and the people who came to see it went wild over it. The only trouble was not enough of ’em could be induced to come!”
“The Curse of Cain” was acted from March 7 to 18, except on the evenings of the 8th and 15th, when Frederick Haase acted at the Baldwin. J. B. Dickson, of Brooks & Dickson, who saw the play there, purchased the right to produce it in the East, in English, and Gustav Amberg (then in San Francisco as manager of the Geistinger Opera Company) arranged to bring out a German version of it at theThalia Theater, New York,—but I have not found that either of those managers ever presented it. A fragmentary record of the original cast, which is all that diligent research has discovered, shows Mrs. Saunders and Ada D’Aves as members of the company and signifies that the chief characters were allotted thus:
On March 15 Osborne superseded Colton asAshcroft,—his place, asTom Gray, being taken by Joseph W. Francœur.
Maguire’s control of the Baldwin Theatre and Belasco’s career in San Francisco were now drawing toward an end. The Geistinger Opera Company came to the Baldwin for a few days, when “The Curse of Cain” was withdrawn: “The Great Divorce Case” was acted there March 30: then came Haase, in “Hamlet,” “The Gamester,” and other old plays, which were performed by him “to a beggarly array of empty benches”: and, on April 11, the Italian tragedian Ernesto Rossi (1829-1896)
Photograph by (Houseman?).Belasco’s Collection.THOMAS MAGUIRE
Photograph by (Houseman?).Belasco’s Collection.THOMAS MAGUIRE
Photograph by (Houseman?).Belasco’s Collection.
THOMAS MAGUIRE
emerged in his supremely repulsive perversion of Shakespeare’sOthello: Rossi acted in association with Louise Muldener and he played at the Baldwin for one week,—closing with “Edmund Kean.” Attendance throughout his engagement was paltry—the treasury was empty—neither Baldwin nor anybody else would advance more money to Maguire—and the end had come. To Belasco it came as a relief. “The last year or so at the Baldwin,” he has declared to me, “was a good deal of a nightmare. Although Maguire and I had our differences, I liked him, I pitied him, and I stuck to him till the end. But my salary and my royalties were often unpaid: we had much trouble with our actors, so that sometimes I had to bring in amateurs who wanted experience and would play for nothing, or, sometimes, even pay for an opportunity to go on! I not only was stage manager, but I painted scenery, played parts when we were left in the lurch, helped in the front of the house, attended to the advertising, and even borrowed money for Maguire, whenever I could. But the Rossi engagement was the last straw. Baldwin’s lawyer notified Maguire that the theatre was up for lease—and I was glad when it was all over.”
Nobody, however, seems to have been eager to rush in where so many others had recently failed, and the Baldwin, except for a couple of benefits (the first, a performance of “Chispa,” May 18, given for Phœbe Davis, under direction of J. R. Grismer; the second, given May 27, a revival of “The New Magdalen,” for the public favorite Mrs. Judah), remained closed for about two months. During that period Gustave Frohman, the eldest of three brothers influentially associated with the American Stage, came to San Francisco, as representative of the proprietors of the New York Madison Square Theatre, in charge of a company headed by Charles Walter Couldock and Effie Ellsler, presenting “Hazel Kirke.” With Gustave Frohman Belasco immediately formed a friendly acquaintance which vitally affected his subsequent career. “Hazel Kirke” was brought forward at the California Theatre on May 30—and even before that presentment had been made Belasco had suggested to Frohman another venture. This was a “sensation revival” of the old play of “The Octoroon.” Calender’s Colored Minstrels had just concluded an engagement at Emerson’s Standard Theatre, and it was part of Belasco’s scheme to employ that negro company andmake use of it as auxiliary to performance of Boucicault’s play. Gustave Frohman acceded to Belasco’s suggestion, arranged for the proposed appearance of Callender’s Minstrels, leased the Baldwin Theatre, and there revived “The Octoroon,” on June 12, at low prices,—twenty-five to seventy-five cents. This shrewdly conceived enterprise was, because of Belasco’s felicitous treatment of old material and his skilful direction of the players, an instant popular success. A contemporaneous commentator writes about it as follows:
“The present management has engaged the best professional talent the city affords, and has put it under the direction of a stage manager who can make the most of it.... Without a single strong feature in the cast, with possibly the exception of theWah-no-teeof George Osborne, there were effects introduced which give more than their ordinary interest to the performance. The clever pen of Mr. Belasco had evidently elaborated the auction scenes, and the scene in whichSalem Scuddersaves theIndianfrom the mob....”
“The present management has engaged the best professional talent the city affords, and has put it under the direction of a stage manager who can make the most of it.... Without a single strong feature in the cast, with possibly the exception of theWah-no-teeof George Osborne, there were effects introduced which give more than their ordinary interest to the performance. The clever pen of Mr. Belasco had evidently elaborated the auction scenes, and the scene in whichSalem Scuddersaves theIndianfrom the mob....”
This was the cast:
In making this revival of “The Octoroon” Belasco employed the “altered and retouched” version of it, prepared by him, which had been acted under his direction at the Baldwin July 8, 1878,—still further varying and expanding several scenes of the original. The most popular variety features, dances, “specialties,” and songs of the minstrel show were deftly interwoven with the fabric of the drama, being utilized with pleasing effect in an elaborate representation of the slave quarters by moonlight, and in the first and fourth scenes of the Last Act: in the latter the slaves were shown, slowly making their way homeward, at evening, through the cotton fields, singing as they went, and the result was extraordinarily picturesque and impressive. More than 150 persons, besides the actors of the chief characters, participated in the performance, and the slave sale and the burning of the river steamboat Magnolia were portrayed with notable semblance of actuality. Writing to me, Belasco says: “I used a panorama, painted on several hundred yards of canvas, and I introduced drops, changing scenes in the twinkling of an eye, showing, alternately and in quick succession, pursued and pursuer,—Jacob McCloskeyand theIndian,—making their way through the canebrake and swamp, and ending with the life and death struggle and the killing ofMcCloskey. I must say the people were wildly enthusiastic and I was proud of the whole production.Ithought the acting very good.”
“The Octoroon” was played for two weeks and then, June 26, gave place to “Caryswold,” an inconsequential play which Belasco tinkered,—introducing into it a “Fire Scene, showing the destruction of a Mad-House,” suggested by the terrible passage in Reade’s “Hard Cash,” descriptive of the burning of an asylum for the insane and the escape ofAlfred Hardy. Ada Ward, an English actress, who came from Australia, acted the principal part in it.
Gustave Frohman’s lease of the Baldwin Theatre expired on July 1, and on the 3rd Jay Rial, havinghired the house for a week, presented “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” there. On July 10 occurred the last event of the first period of Belasco’s theatrical life,—the presentment at the Baldwin of “American Born.” Edward Marble, an actor who had come to San Francisco as a member of the “Hazel Kirke” company, was advertised as lessee of the theatre and the play was brought out under the auspices of Gustave Frohman. It was a free adaptation by Belasco of “British Born,” by Paul Merritt and Henry Pettitt, and was a wild and whirling, spread-eagle, bugle-blowing melodrama, in which the heroine, at a climax of desperate adventure, saves her lover from being shot to death by Bolivian soldiers by wrapping him in a flag of the United States. Its production was chiefly remarkable for handsome scenic investiture and a really impressive portrayal of a volcano in furious eruption. This was the cast of “American Born”:
DAVID BELASCO ASUNCLE TOM, IN “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN”Photograph by Houseworth, San Francisco.Original loaned by Mrs. David Belasco.
DAVID BELASCO ASUNCLE TOM, IN “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN”Photograph by Houseworth, San Francisco.Original loaned by Mrs. David Belasco.
DAVID BELASCO ASUNCLE TOM, IN “UNCLE TOM’S CABIN”
Photograph by Houseworth, San Francisco.Original loaned by Mrs. David Belasco.
Belasco was, during one period of his life, closely allied to Charles Frohman. Later, after Frohman had, with others, formed the iniquitous Theatrical Syndicate, he was, for many years, resolutely and rightly, antagonistic to him. Age and change, however, sometimes wear out antagonisms, and those estranged friends were reconciled not long before Frohman’s death in the Lusitania murder: the last production made by Frohman was a revival, at the Empire Theatre, New York, April 7, 1915, in association with Belasco, of “A Celebrated Case.” The first meeting of those managers occurred in San Francisco, while Belasco was rehearsing “AmericanBorn.” He has made this record of that significant incident:
“Charles Frohman came to San Francisco at the head of the Haverley Minstrels. Gustave Frohman told me he thought his brother and I should meet. The artists of the town had a rendezvous at a Rathskeller at the corner of Kearny and Sutter streets, where we were in the habit of gathering after the theatre. Gustave Frohman and I were at a table, when he exclaimed: ’There’s my brother Charlie!’ I looked at Charles, our eyes met. We bowed. That was our introduction. We never had a formal one, Charles Frohman and I; we just knew each other.... He came to see ’American Born,’ was favorably impressed by it, and conceived the idea of forming a company and taking the play East. We selected Chicago as the best starting point for an Eastern tour and set busily to work to organize our company and arrange details of the business.”
“Charles Frohman came to San Francisco at the head of the Haverley Minstrels. Gustave Frohman told me he thought his brother and I should meet. The artists of the town had a rendezvous at a Rathskeller at the corner of Kearny and Sutter streets, where we were in the habit of gathering after the theatre. Gustave Frohman and I were at a table, when he exclaimed: ’There’s my brother Charlie!’ I looked at Charles, our eyes met. We bowed. That was our introduction. We never had a formal one, Charles Frohman and I; we just knew each other.... He came to see ’American Born,’ was favorably impressed by it, and conceived the idea of forming a company and taking the play East. We selected Chicago as the best starting point for an Eastern tour and set busily to work to organize our company and arrange details of the business.”
While Belasco was thus busily engaged with preparation for the presentment in Chicago of his drama of “American Born,” a proposal was made to him by Daniel Frohman, business manager of the Madison Square Theatre, New York, through his brother, Gustave Frohman, that he should undertake, on trial, the stage management of that theatre. The opportunity thus offered was alluring, and, having ascertained that he might improve it without detriment to his purposed venture in Chicago,Belasco determined to seek once more for the success in the metropolis of the country which had long been the chief object of his ambition. He accepted the proposal, and likewise he accepted an invitation to work his way eastward as stage manager of the [Gustave] Frohman Dramatic Company. That company, organized in San Francisco, included Ada Ward, “Virgie” Emily, Abbie Pierce, “Rellie” Davis, “Jennie” Lamont, Charles Wheatleigh, M. A. Kennedy, John Dillon, George Osborne, “Harry” Colton, W. F. Doyle, Joseph W. Francœur, Logan Paul, and Hawley Chapman. It left San Francisco, on or about July 18, 1882, to perform in towns and cities of Colorado, and on July 31 began an engagement at Denver, where it played for two weeks during the Industrial and Mining Exposition held in that city. The repertory comprised “The Octoroon,” “East Lynne,” “Mary Warner,” “Our Boys,” “Leah the Forsaken,” “The Woman in Red,” “Arrah-na-Pogue,” and “American Born.”
At, apparently, about the time when Maguire ceased to be potent in San Francisco theatrical affairs Belasco received a personal letter from F. F. Mackaye (himself an excellent stage manager and a severe judge of achievement in that vocation), which,—because it is representative of the advice of several friendly admirers in the same period, andbecause it had some influence on his decision to accept the Frohman proposals,—may appropriately be printed here:
(F. F. Mackaye to David Belasco.)“Hotel, Pike’s Peak,“Colorado (date? 1881-82?).“My dear Belasco:—“I fear that I hardly appreciated you fully while under your direction in San Francisco: but I think I have done so since we have been here, and my daily toil has placed me under the direction of Mr. S——. He seems a very clever man. Yet his lack of form, of constructive direction, is very much felt by one who has had the pleasure of being under your direction at the Baldwin. I sometimes wonderwhyyou have stayed so long in the West. I know some people who have been there all their lives think it the greatest place in the world, but I am sure that if you were to go to New York, which is really the centre of art in the United States, your work would be more fully recognized and appreciated. I feel that a man of your progressive mood should not be content to remain on the outside of the world when you could just as well be in the middle of it. I am sure that your final efforts, or, rather, that your continuous efforts should be made in the city of New York, where you would be rightly appreciated.“I wouldn’t say one word in disparagement of the people of San Francisco: they have treated me splendidly. But I tell you New York is the place, and I have had long experience. I began this profession in 1851, and you are the first director that I have met in that time and felt that he really loved the work he was doing—and we know very well that, however much a man may know about any art,
(F. F. Mackaye to David Belasco.)
“Hotel, Pike’s Peak,“Colorado (date? 1881-82?).
“My dear Belasco:—
“I fear that I hardly appreciated you fully while under your direction in San Francisco: but I think I have done so since we have been here, and my daily toil has placed me under the direction of Mr. S——. He seems a very clever man. Yet his lack of form, of constructive direction, is very much felt by one who has had the pleasure of being under your direction at the Baldwin. I sometimes wonderwhyyou have stayed so long in the West. I know some people who have been there all their lives think it the greatest place in the world, but I am sure that if you were to go to New York, which is really the centre of art in the United States, your work would be more fully recognized and appreciated. I feel that a man of your progressive mood should not be content to remain on the outside of the world when you could just as well be in the middle of it. I am sure that your final efforts, or, rather, that your continuous efforts should be made in the city of New York, where you would be rightly appreciated.
“I wouldn’t say one word in disparagement of the people of San Francisco: they have treated me splendidly. But I tell you New York is the place, and I have had long experience. I began this profession in 1851, and you are the first director that I have met in that time and felt that he really loved the work he was doing—and we know very well that, however much a man may know about any art,
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.Photograph by Bradley & Rulofson, S. F.Courtesy of Mrs. Frohman Davidson.F. F. MACKAYEGUSTAVE FROHMAN
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.Photograph by Bradley & Rulofson, S. F.Courtesy of Mrs. Frohman Davidson.F. F. MACKAYEGUSTAVE FROHMAN
Photograph by Sarony.Belasco’s Collection.
Photograph by Bradley & Rulofson, S. F.Courtesy of Mrs. Frohman Davidson.
F. F. MACKAYE
GUSTAVE FROHMAN
unless he loves the work he is doing there is always a lack of interest which the public is sure to detect. Don’t for one moment think that I try to flatter you by these remarks. I say these things because I love the Art of Acting very much, and I have found your love and sympathy for it so great that I dearly and sincerely admire your work. Long may you live to continue in the labor which is always good for the art and instructive for the public!“With very sincere regards, and hoping to see you again, I am,“Yours very sincerely,“F. F. Mackaye.”
unless he loves the work he is doing there is always a lack of interest which the public is sure to detect. Don’t for one moment think that I try to flatter you by these remarks. I say these things because I love the Art of Acting very much, and I have found your love and sympathy for it so great that I dearly and sincerely admire your work. Long may you live to continue in the labor which is always good for the art and instructive for the public!
“With very sincere regards, and hoping to see you again, I am,
“Yours very sincerely,
“F. F. Mackaye.”
* * * * * *
Belasco was only twenty-nine years old when he brought his career in San Francisco to an end and embarked on the venture which was at last to establish him in the Theatre of New York. He had been eleven years on the stage. A brief retrospect and summary of his early achievement will be useful here. Throughout his life he had enjoyed the blessing of family affection, admiration, and sympathy, and he had received respectable schooling. Otherwise, his experience had been one of unremitting, strenuous, often anxious, toil; frequent hardship, injustice, disappointment,—in short, a painfully laborious struggle. He had been, in childhood, a circus rider, a newsboy, a messenger, a willing, helpful drudge, a shopboy in a cigar factory and in a bookstore; then, as he grew older, a scribbler for the newspapers, a salesman of haberdashery, an itinerant peddler, a strolling player, a reader and reciter, a mimic, a theatrical manager, an agent “in advance” of theatrical companies, a teacher of acting, a scene painter, a stage manager, and a playwright. He had seen much of the best acting of his period and had been intimately associated with many leaders of the Stage,—sometimes as student and assistant, sometimes as adviser and director. He had acted, in all sorts of circumstances and in all sorts of places, more than 170 parts,—ranging from mere bits to characters of the highest and most exacting order. He had altered, adapted, rewritten, or written more than 100 plays and he had been the responsible director in the production of more than three times that number. A catalogue is seldom interesting reading; nevertheless, students of the Theatre and of Belasco’s extraordinary career will do well to ponder the following significant though incomplete schedule of the plays set upon the stage under his direction prior to midsummer, 1882:
Minute exposition of all the early dramatic works of Belasco is not practicable; a succinct estimate of their quality will suffice here. Crudity is often obvious in them—as it is in the early works of almost all writers—and it sometimes is notably visible in the sentiment and the style. Nevertheless, they display the operation of a mind naturally prone to the dramatic form of expression, frequently animated by the vitality of its own experience, steadily if slowly growing in self-mastery of its faculties, and at once keenly observant of, and quickly sympathetic with, contrasted aspects of life. Along with defects,—namely, perverse preoccupation with non-essential details, occasional verbosity, extravagant premises, and involved construction,—they exhibit expert inventive ability, perspicacious sense of character, acute perception of strong dramatic climax, the faculty of humor, much tenderness of heart, wide knowledge of human misery and human joy, special sympathy with woman, and the skill to tell a story in action. Belasco’s dramatic works, before he left San Francisco, exceed not only in number but in merit and practical utility those of many other writers produced as the whole labor of a long lifetime, and the basis of reputation and respect: at least two of his early plays—“Hearts of Oak” and “La Belle Russe”—were, even before he came to the East, gaining fortunes—for other persons. And for a long, long while afterward other persons were to enjoy the chief profit of his labor: itwas not until more than thirteen years later that he was able to launch a successful play,—“The Heart of Maryland,”—and retain personal control of it.
* * * * * *
Gustave Frohman (who left San Francisco on August 8, 1882, to join his brother Charles, in Chicago, relative to a consolidation of Callender’s and Haverley’s minstrel shows) appears to have disbanded his dramatic company in Denver. At any rate, I have found no further record of it, and Belasco’s play of “American Born” was successfully produced at the Grand Opera House, Chicago, apparently under the joint management of Gustave and Charles Frohman, on August 16.
I have not been able to ascertain, independently, whether or not Charles Frohman travelled to the East with his brother’s dramatic company. According to the “Life of Charles Frohman,” that manager left San Francisco as agent for Haverley’s Mastodon Minstrels and relinquished his position in Indianapolis. According to Belasco’s memory, he and Charles Frohman travelled together coming East from San Francisco, in which case the latter, probably, was business agent of his brother’s company. In this biography I have seldom placed reliance on Belasco’s memory, except when I have verified his recollections by records contemporary with the incidents discussed,—because I have found that (as he has several times testified in court) he has “no head for dates.” In this matter, however, I believe that his remembrance is accurate. This is his statement of the facts as he recalls them:
“During the trip to Chicago, where I was to halt for the first performance of ’American Born’ at Hamlin’s Opera House, Charles Frohman and I became fast friends. We instinctively understood each other as though we had been acquainted for years. When we reached Chicago we found that Samuel Colville was about to produce Henry Pettitt’s ’Taken from Life,’ at McVicker’s, and Charles Frohman was quick to see that there would be great rivalry between Colville’s production and ours. A point in our favor was that the people at McVicker’s were no more ready than we. The rival play was to exploit scenery made from English models, and the advertising announced from fifteen to twenty big scenes. We saw that our comparatively modest production would not do, and decided to improve it, working night and day. We strengthened our company by engaging George Clarke, who was at odds with Daly; ’Harry’ Courtaine, who was passing through the West, and Ada Warde, who had just returned from Australia. The race to see which would open first was closely contested. By a shrewd move on the part of ’C. F.’ our play was announced for a certain evening; then we worked like demons to give it three nights sooner.In this way we were ready first. Though we went through the first night without any serious mishaps, ’Harry’ Courtaine was taken ill in the Second Act, and I had to step into his part myself. But we had a great success and astonished our audience with twenty-one scenes, each a sensation!“After our engagement was finished inducements came to me from all quarters to give up my New York opportunity and continue with ’American Born.’ I knew there was a fortune in the play, but I was loath to come East with the reputation of a writer and producer of highly sensational melodrama. I had an uneasy feeling that it would hurt me with the powers at the Madison Square. Of course I could have kept my interest in ’American Born’ without letting my name appear, but I was going to a new land, practically to begin all over again, and I wanted to enter it free of any possible handicap. So I took the claptrap manuscript and burned it.”
“During the trip to Chicago, where I was to halt for the first performance of ’American Born’ at Hamlin’s Opera House, Charles Frohman and I became fast friends. We instinctively understood each other as though we had been acquainted for years. When we reached Chicago we found that Samuel Colville was about to produce Henry Pettitt’s ’Taken from Life,’ at McVicker’s, and Charles Frohman was quick to see that there would be great rivalry between Colville’s production and ours. A point in our favor was that the people at McVicker’s were no more ready than we. The rival play was to exploit scenery made from English models, and the advertising announced from fifteen to twenty big scenes. We saw that our comparatively modest production would not do, and decided to improve it, working night and day. We strengthened our company by engaging George Clarke, who was at odds with Daly; ’Harry’ Courtaine, who was passing through the West, and Ada Warde, who had just returned from Australia. The race to see which would open first was closely contested. By a shrewd move on the part of ’C. F.’ our play was announced for a certain evening; then we worked like demons to give it three nights sooner.In this way we were ready first. Though we went through the first night without any serious mishaps, ’Harry’ Courtaine was taken ill in the Second Act, and I had to step into his part myself. But we had a great success and astonished our audience with twenty-one scenes, each a sensation!
“After our engagement was finished inducements came to me from all quarters to give up my New York opportunity and continue with ’American Born.’ I knew there was a fortune in the play, but I was loath to come East with the reputation of a writer and producer of highly sensational melodrama. I had an uneasy feeling that it would hurt me with the powers at the Madison Square. Of course I could have kept my interest in ’American Born’ without letting my name appear, but I was going to a new land, practically to begin all over again, and I wanted to enter it free of any possible handicap. So I took the claptrap manuscript and burned it.”
Soon after making that fiery purgation Belasco left Chicago and came to New York to confront Daniel Frohman and negotiate concerning employment under that manager.
The Madison Square Theatre, situated on the south side of Twenty-fourth Street, a little way westward from Madison Square and adjacent to the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, stood on the site of what had been Daly’s first Fifth Avenue Theatre,opened August 17, 1869, and burnt down January 1, 1873. That site had, previous to 1869, been for several years occupied by a building, erected in the Civil War time, by Amos R. Eno, and devoted to public amusements. I remember it as once the professional abode of negro minstrels, and again as a sort of vaudeville theatre conducted by a journalist, then well-known, Thaddeus W. Meighan (1821-18—). In 1868 the notorious James Fisk, Jr., acquired control of it, and, in a much improved condition, it was opened, January 25, 1869, as Brougham’s Theatre, and such it continued to be until the following April 3, when Fisk summarily ousted Brougham and presently installed a company of French performers in opera bouffe, headed by Mlle. Irma. A few weeks later Augustin Daly obtained a lease of the building from Fisk, made extensive alterations in it, and opened it as the Fifth Avenue Theatre. Some time after its destruction by fire, in 1873, it was rebuilt, and presently it was leased by James Steele Mackaye (1842-1894), an actor and manager of rare talent and eccentric character, who named it the Madison Square Theatre, and opened it, April 23, 1879, with a revival (as “Aftermath; or, Won at Last”) of his play which had originally and successfully been produced, as “Won at Last,” December 10, 1877,at Wallack’s Theatre. Later, Mackaye formed an association with the Mallory brothers,—the Rev. Dr. George Mallory, editor of an ecclesiastical newspaper called “The Churchman,” and Marshall H. Mallory, a highly energetic and enterprising man of business,—the Mallorys becoming the proprietors of the theatre and Mackaye the manager. Under this new control great changes were made in the building; the auditorium was newly and richly decorated, a double stage, which could be raised and lowered, thus facilitating changes of scene, was introduced (the device of Mackaye), on a plan somewhat similar to that which had been successfully adopted ten years earlier by Edwin Booth, at Booth’s Theatre; a strong dramatic company was organized, and on February 4, 1880, the house was opened, with a drama by Mackaye, called “Hazel Kirke,” a rehash of an earlier play by him, called “An Iron Will,” which, in turn, had been adapted from a French drama.
“Hazel Kirke” met with extraordinary success, chiefly because of the superb impersonation of its central character,Dunstan Kirke, by Charles Walter Couldock (1815-1898). It was acted 486 consecutive times, at the Madison Square, and subsequently it was performed all over the country. Couldock withdrew from the cast, temporarily,after the 200th performance in New York, and Mackaye succeeded him. The run of “Hazel Kirke” at the Madison Square terminated on May 31, 1881, and on June 1 it was succeeded by William Gillette’s farce of “The Professor,” which held the stage till October 29, following, when it gave place to a play called “Esmeralda,” by Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, which had 350 performances. Meanwhile Mackaye had become dissatisfied with his position and had determined to withdraw from it. His contract with the Mallorys, as he told me at that time (for I knew him well and he often talked with me about his affairs), had been heedlessly made and largely to his disadvantage. Contract or no contract, Mackaye and the Mallorys could not have long remained in association on amicable terms, because they were as antagonistic as fire and water. Mackaye was a wayward genius, of poetic temperament, wildly enthusiastic, impetuous, capricious, volatile, prone to extravagant fancies and bold experiments, and completely unsympathetic with regulative, Sunday-school morality. The Mallorys, on the contrary, were shrewd, practical business men, in no way visionary, thoroughly conventional in character,—in fact, moral missionaries, intent on making the Theatre a sort of auxiliary to the Church, their whole scheme of theatricalmanagement being, originally, to profit by the patronage of the Christian public. Some persons, like some things, are incompatible. Mackaye resigned and withdrew while “Esmeralda” was still current, and thus the office was left vacant to which David Belasco succeeded.
On reaching New York and presenting himself at the Madison Square Theatre as a candidate for the office of stage manager,—or, as it is now often and incorrectly designated, “producer,”—Belasco was subjected to minute interrogation, first by Daniel Frohman, the business manager, and then by both the Mallorys. This ordeal appears to have been rigorous, but it was satisfactorily ended and the appointment was duly made. Belasco remembers that, after a long conversation, the Rev. Dr. Mallory remarked, “I’m glad you have laid such small stress on the melodramatic emotions of life, for here we are trying to uphold those emotions which are common to us in our daily existence.” By what means the candidate contrived to convey that impression to his clerical inquisitor must remain a mystery, because in all Belasco’s views of dramatic composition, and in all his contributions to it, the most prominent and obvious fact is his propensityto melodrama,—meaning the drama of startling situation and striking stage effect. Dion Boucicault was the originator and the denominator of “the sensation drama,” and David Belasco has been, from the first, and is now, a conspicuously representative exponent of it. He was approved, however, he entered at once on the performance of his duties, and thus began his permanent connection with the New York Stage.
It is doubtful whether Belasco decided wisely when he accepted the office of stage manager of the Madison Square Theatre, under the Mallory management. His play of “American Born” having succeeded in Chicago, he might have accumulated capital from its success and from other resources, and so happily escaped from an association which imposed on him a heavy burden of exacting labor, without advantage of public recognition, and without adequate monetary recompense. He believes, however, that his acceptance of that office laid the cornerstone of his success. Conjecture now is useless. He did accept the office, and he held it, industriously and honorably, for about three years. The terms of his contract with the Mallorys, as he has stated them to me (the original document, I understand, perished in the San Francisco earthquake fire), were, in my judgment, iniquitously unjustto him. As stage manager he was obligated to render all his services to the Madison Square Theatre management,—that is, to the Mallorys. His salary was $35 a week for the first season, $45 a week for the second season, and thereafter to be increased in the same proportion the third, fourth, and fifth seasons. The contract was to continue in force for five years, unless the Mallorys should become dissatisfied. The Mallorys further acquired, by the terms of the agreement, a first option on any play he might write during the period of his employment by them. If a play of his were accepted and produced by them he was to be paid $10 a night, and $5 for each matinée, during its representation,—a possible $70 a week. Furthermore, if a play, or plays, of his which had been rejected by the Mallorys should be accepted and produced by another management, Belasco was to pay to the Mallorys one-half of all royalties he might receive from such play or plays. In Charles Reade’s powerful novel “It’s Never Too Late to Mend” one of the persons, expostulating with the honest old Jew,Isaac Levi, who has declared his intention to leave the Australian goldfields, exclaims: “But, ifyougo, who is to buy our gold-dust?” To this inquiryLevireplies, “There are theChristianmerchants”; whereupon the other earnestly rejoins, “Oh, but theyare such damnedJews!” Perhaps some such thought as this passed through the mind of the Jew Belasco as he signed his bond with his Christian employers. He has been successful and has risen in eminence, but his experience has been far from tranquil,—has been, on the contrary, one of much painful vicissitude and many hardships. At the Madison Square and at several other theatres with which, later, he became associated his labors were, for a long time, as far as the public was concerned, conducted almost entirely under the surface. He worked hard, his industry being incessant, and it was useful to many persons, but his name was seldom or never mentioned in public or in print. The managers by whom he was employed, while utilizing his talent, may almost be said to have been intent on hindering his advancement,—that is, David Belasco, as stage manager, hack dramatist, and general factotum, would be far more useful to those persons than David Belasco, independent and recognized dramatist and theatrical manager, could ever be, and therefore he was repressed: the terms, above stated, of his first Madison Square Theatre contract and the conditions of all his labor during the thirteen years or so succeeding 1882 disclose his situation. He, nevertheless, made his way, slowly but surely, by patient, persistent effort, by therepeated manifestation of special skill in stage management, by felicity as a mender of plays, and by good judgment in the assembling of companies and the casting of parts. At the Madison Square Theatre he was materially benefited by Bronson Howard’s public recognition of his service in having, with the sanction and approval of that author, made minor emendations of the play of “Young Mrs. Winthrop,”—the first play presented there under his direction,—and in having placed it on the stage in a correct, tasteful, and effective manner,—recognition expressed in terms of cordial compliment, on the night of its first performance, October 9, 1882.
Among the plays which were produced at the Madison Square Theatre, under Belasco’s efficient and admirable supervision, subsequent to the presentment of “Young Mrs. Winthrop,” were Mrs. Burton N. Harrison’s “A Russian Honeymoon,” April 9, 1883; William Young’s “The Rajah; or, Wyndcot’s Ward,” June 5, 1883; Henry C. De Mille’s “Delmar’s Daughter,”—which failed,—December 10, 1883; and Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen’s “Alpine Roses,” January 31, 1884. Mrs. Harrison’s “A Russian Honeymoon,” one of those exotics that bloom in select society, had been acted, in private, December, 1882, by amateurs, prior to its exposure to the profane gaze,—the amateur company including Mrs. Bradley Martin, Mrs. William C. Whitney, Mrs. August Belmont, and Mrs. Cora Urquhart Potter,—and thus had obtained social patronage which was specially advantageous to it when shown in the theatre. A revival of “The Rajah” occurred on December 17, 1883. Boyesen’s “Alpine Roses” ran till April 10, 1884. Belasco’s treatment of all those plays redounded to his credit, but his first signal personal victory ensued on the production of his play called “May Blossom,” effected April 12, 1884.
The Mallorys, he has told me, did not like this play, because of the character of its chief male part, did not wish to present it, and did so, finally, with reluctance, after strong opposition, and only because another play which they were preparing to produce was not ready. “May Blossom” pleased the public and kept its place on the Madison Square stage for nearly five months. The 100th performance of it occurred on July 21, the 150th on September 9, and, on September 27, 1884, its first run was ended: it is included in French’s Miscellaneous Drama, being No. 59,—but the version of it there published is not the authentic text ofBelasco’s prompt book as used at the Madison Square Theatre: it is printed from a manuscript furnished by Gustave Frohman.
That play, which marks the beginning of Belasco’s lasting achievement as a dramatist, claims particular consideration as representative of the character of his mind, the peculiarity of his method of dramatic mechanism, and the quality of his style. He has written better plays than “May Blossom,”—plays which are more symmetrical because more deftly constructed and more fluent and rapid in movement, plays which contain more substantial and interesting character, more knowledge of human nature, and more stress of feeling,—but he has written no play that more distinctly manifests his strength and his weakness, his scope and his limitations,—what, intrinsically, he is as a dramatist.
May Blossomis the daughter of an old fisherman, resident in a village on the coast of Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, in and some time after the period of the American Civil War. She is beloved by two young men,Richard AshcroftandSteve Harland, both estimable and both by her esteemed. Each of those lovers, on the same day, asks her to become his wife. She accepts the proposal ofAshcroft, whom she loves, and in rejecting that ofHarlandapprises him of her betrothal to hisrival, who is also one of his friends.Harland, though bitterly wounded, accepts her decision in a right and manly spirit. Later,Ashcroft, who is sympathetic with the Confederate cause and who has been secretly in communication with the Confederate Army, is suddenly and privately arrested, at night, by Federal military authorities, as a Rebel spy. The arrest is witnessed byHarland, whomAshcroftbeseeches to informMay Blossomof his capture and who solemnly promises to do so.Harland, however, believing, or persuading himself to believe, thatAshcroftwill inevitably be shot as a spy, and being infatuated by passion, breaks his promise and permits the girl to believe that her affianced lover has perished in a storm on Chesapeake Bay. After the lapse of a yearHarland, still persistent as a lover, persuadesMay Blossomto marry him, and for a time they dwell happily together and a child is born to them. On the second anniversary of their wedding, just before the occurrence of a domestic festival which their friends have arranged in their honor,Ashcroft, having escaped from prison, arrives at their home, and, in an interview withMay, tells her of his arrest and imprisonment, and ofHarland’spromise, and so reveals her husband’s treachery.Harlandis confronted by them and a scene of painful crimination ensues.Ashcroft, maddened by jealousy, declares his purpose of forcible abduction ofMay, who, thereupon, speaking as a wife and mother, repels him.Ashcroftdeparts.Harlandcan plead no defence for his perfidy in breaking his promise toAshcroftexcept the overwhelming strength of his great love, and his wife is agonized and horrified. The domestic festival, nevertheless, is permitted to proceed. The guests arrive. The miserable husband and wife, masking their wretchedness in smiles, are constrained to participate in merrymaking, and finally are caused by the village pastor to kneel before him, receive his blessing, and embrace and kiss each other, after which ceremonial their guests depart and they are left alone. ThenHarland, condemning himself and feeling that his wife can no longer love him, leaves her, purposing to join the Rebel Army. Their separation lasts six years.Ashcroftis heard of no more.Harlandsurvives and ultimately returns to his Virginia home, where a reconciliation is effected between him and his wife, partly by the benevolent offices of the village pastor, but more becauseMayhas realized that she truly loves him, and because the inevitable action of time has dissipated her resentment of a wrong.
The analyzer of the drama that tells this story perceives in it a constructive mind that is imaginative, romantic, and eccentric, an ardently vehement faculty of expression, and a nimble fancy intent on devising pictorial and pathetic situations, while often heedless of probability—sometimes even of possibility. Things happen not because they would, in actual life, so happen, under the pressure of circumstances, but because the dramatist ordains them to occur, to suit his necessity. Experience has taught the indiscretion of declaring thatanythingisimpossible, but it is at least highly improbable that a good man would, in any circumstances, break a promise solemnly made to a friend whom he believed was about to die.Harlandis depicted as a gentleman and one of deep feeling.Ashcroft’sdeath, ifHarlandconsiders it to be inevitable, would at once relieve him of any need to break his promise, even if he had been ever so strongly tempted to do so: doubt ofAshcroft’sdeath would inspire far more poignant remorse and fear thanHarlandactually denotes.May Blossom, furthermore, would not have omitted to inquire, with far more insistence than she is represented to have shown, into the disappearance of the lover to whom she is betrothed.Ashcroft, though a prisoner, would have been permitted to communicate with his friends, since at his trial nothing was proved against him,—yet he was still held in captivity. It is questionable whether the manlyHarland, a thoroughly good fellow, would have marriedMay Blossom, however much he might have loved her, knowing that she loved another man. It is more than questionable whetherMay, having marriedHarlandand borne a child to him, would have repudiated her husband, would have acquiesced in his parting from her and their child, because of the particular wrong that he had done in breaking his promise toAshcroft. The sin that a man commits out of the uncontrollable love that he feels for a woman is, of all sins, the one that she is readiest to forgive. The likelihood thatMay Blossom, lovingAshcroft, betrothed to him and mourning for him, would, after the lapse of so short a time as one year, have married anybody is, likewise, open to doubt. Belasco, however, was bent on devising situations, and he accomplished his purpose: grant his premises (as a theatrical audience, in the presence of a competent performance of this play, almost invariably will do), and his dramatic fabric captivates entire sympathy.
I saw and recorded the first performance of “May Blossom.” The play was then exceedingly well acted. Georgia Cayvan (1858-1906), personating the heroine, gained the first decisive success of her career. That actress, a handsome brunette, was fortunate in person and in temperament. Herfigure was lithe, her face was brilliantly expressive, her voice was rich and sweet, she possessed uncommon sensibility, and she could be, at will, ingenuously demure, artlessly girlish, authoritatively stern, or fervently passionate. She attained distinction among American actresses of “emotional” drama and was long and rightly a favorite on our Stage. AsMay Blossomshe was first the lovely, simple, charming girl, and later the grave, tranquil wife and mother. In the expression of mental conflict she was, for a time, artificial in method, using the well-worn, commonplace expedients of reeling, staggering, and clutching at furniture; but she reformed that altogether, and her capability of intense passion in repose was clearly indicated: the character was developed and truly impersonated. Among her associates in the representation were Joseph Wheelock, Sr. (183[8?]-1908), and William J. LeMoyne (1831-1905), both actors of signal ability, now forgotten or only dimly remembered. Wheelock, in his early day, was a favoriteRomeo. LeMoyne was an actor of rare talent and remarkable versatility. His impersonations of eccentric, humorous, peppery old gentlemen were among the finest and most amusing that our Stage has known. In this play he personatedUnca Bartlett, a benevolent, affectionate, whimsical rural clergyman. I