Chapter XIII: Preface (12)

There are, I believe, few instances in theatrical history of a more protracted experience of the “hope deferred” which “maketh the heart sick” than befell Belasco with this fine melodrama. The subject, and, roughly, the story, of that play were in his mind when first he undertook the training and direction of Mrs. Leslie Carter (1889): again and again he endeavored to have his play brought on the stage,--but it was not produced till more than six years after he had resolved to use it as a vehicle for that actress, and within that period he altered and reshaped it at least four times. After the death of Hooley and the failure of “The Younger Son” he was for some time dejected and inert. Then, reviewing the manuscript of his “Maryland,” he imbibed belief that the play lacked sufficient verisimilitude to Southern life. “What I needed most,” he said, “was atmosphere; so I decided to visit a Southern town and meet some typical Southern families. Mrs. Carter, her mother, and I went to Oakland, Maryland [1894?], where I added the finishing touches to the play. When we reached a certain point I bade my associates good-by and boarded a train for New York, to make another attempt to find a manager.” Speaking of the experience immediately preceding the actual accomplishment of his long obstructed purpose, Belasco told me: “It has always seemed very strange that I should have been rebuffed on almost every side with that play. If there did not exist a strong opposition to my getting an independent foothold as a manager, _why_ was my play of ’Maryland’ refused, over and over again? Look at the list of successes which I had brought out, _for others_, in the preceding ten years, including ’La Belle Russe,’ ’May Blossom,’ ’The Highest Bidder,’ ’The Wife,’ ’Lord Chumley,’ ’The Charity Ball,’ ’Men and Women,’ and ’The Girl I Left Behind Me.’ Good, bad, or indifferent--whatever anybody thinks about them--there is no room for argument as to the _business_ proposition. Those were _all_ great big popular successes--_money-getters_. Why, when I was more than usually hard-up, I had been able, often, to get money in advance on my royalties on plays that had not even been begun. Yet, with a finished play, a _good_ one, one I’d worked on for years, that I _knew_ was good and that anybody could see was good; with an actress for whom the leading part had been made as carefully as though it were a dress for her to wear, I could not get a hearing. I think pretty nearly every producing manager in New York refused that play. Why? I never _knew_--and I don’t _know_ now: yet I believed then and I believe now that, underlying all my difficulty, was far more than any antagonism to Mrs. Carter; that the men whom afterward I fought for so many years were glad enough to have me work _for them_ as a stage manager and stock playwright, but that they were _not_ willing I should get established as an independent manager.”

This view of Belasco’s position has been stated before, and I have heard it ridiculed. In my judgment the record of facts fully supports it. It cannot be proved, but “if imputation and strong circumstances, which lead directly to the door of truth, will give you satisfaction, you may have’t.” There is the record--and readers must decide for themselves. Writing of his dark days in 1894, Belasco has declared:

“My private possessions, my library (containing some very valuable
historical books),--my few antiques,--everything--had been sold. As
a last economy, I decided to give up my little office at Carnegie
Hall. ’This breaks the camel’s back! This _is_ the last straw!’
Mrs. Carter said. ’Mr. David, I’m in the way. They want your
manuscript, but the fact of the matter is, they won’t have me.
You’ve kept your promise and done all you could, but you can’t do
any more; let some one else have my part.’ It was a case of the
blind leading the blind, but I refused to give up.

“I left her and walked down Broadway, where I came face to face
with Paul Potter. ’Dave,’ he exclaimed, ’I was looking for you. A.
M. Palmer has been very unfortunate of late and needs a play. Read
“The Heart of Maryland” to him.’

“In less than an hour Paul Potter and I were on our way to
Stamford. At last my luck had turned! Palmer accepted my play.”

Negotiations with Palmer,--who at the time of Belasco’s withdrawal from the Lyceum Theatre had been sympathetic with him, had placed the stages of two theatres at his disposal for rehearsal of Mrs. Carter, and had even then shown some interest in the projected play,--were brought to a satisfactory issue, and, in August, 1894, a contract was formally made whereby Palmer agreed to produce “The Heart of Maryland,” “with his own stock company, known as ’A. M. Palmer’s Stock Company,’ at Palmer’s Theatre, in the City of New York, not later than January 1, 1895,” and also agreed that whether in New York or elsewhere Mrs. Carter should be employed “to play the part entitled _Maryland Calvert_.” Active preparations to produce “The Heart of Maryland” immediately were begun; scenery was designed, built and painted, involving an investment of more than $3,500; but Palmer was heavily involved, financially, and the rehearsals, which Belasco was eager to begin, were postponed from week to week. At last the date limit specified in the agreement passed, yet Belasco continued to hope and to expect that Palmer would fulfil his agreement. One day, however, happening to meet Charles Frohman, that manager told him: “I am very sorry for you, but Palmer won’t be able to produce ’The Heart of Maryland.’” Belasco at once went to Palmer and asked him to state his purpose,--“Because,” he said, “I mean that play _shall_ be produced! If you can’t do it--somebody else _can_.” Palmer, foreseeing the success of the play, wished to hold it; if Belasco could have been given any reasonable assurance that, eventually, the elder manager would be able to bring it out, he would have been glad to wait; but, after some hesitation, Palmer admitted that he could not set any definite time, manifesting, at first, a disposition to prevent Belasco from placing his drama elsewhere. Realizing, however, that the passage of the date-limit within which he had agreed to produce the play had, in fact, released Belasco from his contract with him, he finally acquiesced, asking the latter to take and pay for the scenery which had been made for it. This Belasco promised should be done, as soon as the play was produced.

Once more opportunity had seemed to be within his grasp: once more it eluded him: yet he persevered and resolutely resumed his quest of a producer. Writing of the manner in which, at last, some months after the collapse of the arrangement with Palmer, he found one, Belasco has recorded incidents of his search and the process of his ultimate success:

“One day I met Mr. Henry Butler in New York. He suggested that we
interest wealthy men and form a stock company. ’But let’s try
another plan first,’ he said. At this time three enterprising young
men were the lessees of the Herald Square Theatre. They were
’Charlie’ Evans, who made a fortune with Hoyt’s ’A Parlor Match,’
F. C. Whitney, and Max Blieman, a picture dealer. They opened the
house with a musical comedy, but wanted to produce a ’straight’
drama. ’I’ll go down and see them myself,’ Butler volunteered, ’and
you wait here for me.’ He brought back good news. ’They have
confidence in you,’ was the cheerful message, ’and they are willing
to “gamble.”’

“Blieman called on Palmer and paid cash for the scenery made at the
time Palmer intended to produce the play. The play was to be the
opening attraction at the Herald Square, under joint management.

“But early in the summer Blieman sent for me. ’Whitney has “cold
feet”,’ he remarked, ’and has dropped out.’ ’There are still two of
you left,’ I answered. Several weeks after this Blieman sent for me
again and this time he was in despair. ’Charlie’s dropped out now,’
he said; ’but by---- I believe in the play and I’ll stick....’

“The opening took place in Washington; and as I could not get into
the theatre before Sunday we were not ready to open until the
middle of the week. We practically lived in the theatre. We made a
great sensation on the opening night, but Washington,
unfortunately, was in the grip of a financial panic, and the houses
in consequence were very poor,--so poor, indeed, that Blieman’s
pocket was empty. He was obliged to confess that he had not enough
money left to send the company back to New York. So here we
were,--stranded, billed to open in New York on Monday night and no
money to get there.

“Blieman summoned courage and made a hasty trip to New York to try
to raise some money, and when I saw him in the evening he was all
smiles. ’What do you think,’ he confided to me, ’I’ve just borrowed
fifteen hundred dollars from “Al” Hayman on a picture worth thirty
thousand.’ Here was a boy after my own heart! The fifteen hundred
dollars enabled us to return to New York, and at last the poor old
storm-tossed ’Heart of Maryland’ had its metropolitan opening--on
the strength of a pawned painting!”

“The Heart of Maryland” was acted for the first time anywhere at the Grand Opera House, Washington, D. C., October 9, 1895; and the first performance of it in New York occurred on October 22, that year, at the Herald Square Theatre. It is a meritorious and highly effective melodrama, and its New York production marks a vital point in the career of its indefatigible and brilliantly accomplished author. When the curtain rose on its first performance in the metropolis he had been for nearly a quarter of a century toiling in the Theatre, working in every capacity connected with the Stage; he had written and produced, for others, plays which had received thousands of representations and to see which several millions of dollars had been paid: yet he was,--through no fault of his, no improvidence, dissipation, reckless neglect or abuse of talent,--still a struggling author, without recognized position, without place or influence in the field of theatrical management, and so poor that, if the venture failed, he had no better prospect than renewed drudgery in a subservient place, working for the profit and aggrandizement of men vastly inferior to himself in every way. Perhaps the best explanation of and commentary on this fact were supplied, several years later, when, testifying in court during trial of a lawsuit of his against the late Joseph Brooks, he said of himself:

“I have long been connected with the theatrical business and know
its customs, but I know more about the stage part of it than I do
about the business side. I have been a manager for twenty-five
years, and have always managed to get the worst of my business
affairs.”

STORY AND PRODUCTION OF “THE HEART OF MARYLAND.”--ITS GREAT SUCCESS.

“The Heart of Maryland” belongs to the class of _post-bellum_ plays represented in the years immediately

Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.

MRS. LESLIE CARTER, ABOUT 1895]

following the close of the American civil conflict by Boucicault’s “Belle Lemar” (which was first acted at Booth’s Theatre August 10, 1874), and, more recently, by Howard’s “Shenandoah” and Gillette’s “Held by the Enemy,”--being much superior to both the latter dramas. The scene of that play is in and near an old Colonial homestead, called “The Lilacs,” inhabited by the _Calvert_ family, at Boonsboro, Maryland, in the Spring of 1863. It is comprised in four acts and six scenes, requiring five sets of scenery for their display. Its action passes within about thirty-six hours and implicates about thirty persons, of whom five are important,--namely _General Hugh Kendrick_, _Colonel Alan Kendrick_, his son, _Colonel Fulton Thorpe_, _Lloyd Calvert_, and _Maryland Calvert_. _Maryland_ and _Alan Kendrick_ are lovers and have been betrothed, but she is passionately devoted to the Southern cause, while he ardently supports that of the North,--holding rank as a colonel in the Federal Army,--and their political difference has divided them, though without lessening their love. In the First Act _Alan_, who has been captured by the Rebels and imprisoned at Dansville, is exchanged and, in passing through Boonsboro on the way to the Union lines, he meets both his sweetheart, _Maryland_, and _Colonel Thorpe_. _Thorpe_, a Northern spy and a double traitor, whom _Alan_ has publicly flogged for blackguardly conduct and then caused to be drummed out of his regiment, holds rank as a colonel in the Rebel Army. In revenge for the humiliation to which he has been subjected _Thorpe_ expedites the transport of _Alan_ and other exchanged Federal prisoners, so that they shall be conveyed immediately to Charlesville,--his purpose being thus to cause their death along with that of the entire garrison at that place, which _General Kendrick_, in command of an overwhelming Confederate army, purposes to surprise by night and utterly to destroy. _Lloyd Calvert_, unknown to his family, is a Northern spy. He has learned of _General Kendrick’s_ plan and seeks to warn the Federal forces at Charlesville. Unable to do so, he informs _Maryland_ of the projected assault and she, to save her lover, communicates knowledge of the impending danger to him, thus causing the failure of the surprise attack.

In the Second Act _Alan_,--supposing that the Confederate Army has moved away--rashly returns to Boonsboro, desiring to effect reconciliation with his sweetheart. _Lloyd_, trying to bring about a meeting between the lovers, speaks, ambiguously, to _Maryland_ about “a Northern friend” whom he wishes her to meet for him and “detain.” Later, while trying to make his way to the Union lines with important information, _Lloyd_ is shot and, dying, is detected as a spy: _Alan_ is, meantime, recaptured, wearing the hat and overcoat of a Confederate officer, and _Maryland_, unaware of his identity and thinking to clear her brother’s reputation as a loyal Southerner, denounces the prisoner to _General Kendrick_ as the real spy. _Alan_, by order of his father, is then tried by court-martial and condemned to death.

In the Third Act _Maryland_ makes her way into the Union lines and obtains from _General Hooker_, there commanding, a letter to _General Kendrick_ certifying that the presence of his son, _Colonel Kendrick_, within the Confederate lines, was due to a personal, not a military, motive,--in short, that _Alan_ is not a spy. Returning with this letter to her home, which has become Confederate Headquarters, _Maryland_ finds that _General Kendrick_ has been killed in action and that _Colonel Thorpe_ is in command. _Thorpe_, whom she visits in his quarters in the old church of Boonsboro,--part of which is also used for confinement of military prisoners,--and to whom she appeals for mercy, perceiving that _Hooker’s_ letter, if it should reach any Confederate officer other than himself, would imperil his own life, not only refuses a reprieve for _Alan Kendrick_ but orders that execution of the death sentence be hastened. Then, half drunken and wholly bestial, he insults the unfortunate _Alan_, who, pinioned and helpless, is on his way to the gallows and, in his presence, threatens his sweetheart with outrage. _Maryland_, in desperation, defending herself, stabs _Thorpe_ with a bayonet (a weapon ingeniously introduced for this purpose among the articles accessory to the stage setting, being thrust into a table-top and used as a candlestick), wounding and disabling him. She then liberates _Alan_, who makes his escape. _Thorpe_, rallying, orders the church-bell rung, a prearranged signal warning all sentries that a prisoner has broken jail; but _Maryland_, making her way to the belfry, seizes the clapper of the great bell and, thus enacting the devoted expedient of _Bessie_, in “Curfew Must Not Ring To-night,” prevents the alarm and enables her lover to make good his escape.

In the Fourth Act _Thorpe’s_ double duplicity has been discovered in the Rebel capital and he is ordered under arrest by _General Lee_; the Confederate troops, defeated in a general engagement, are forced to evacuate Boonsboro, and the play ends with a prospective reconciliation of the lovers.

“The Heart of Maryland,” though somewhat intricate in its story (only the main thread of which has been followed in the above recital), is compact in construction, fluent and cumulative in dramatic movement and interest, written with profound sincerity and contains passages of tender feeling and afflicting pathos. The “Curfew” expedient, if, in cool retrospect, it seems a little artificial, is, in representation, a thrillingly effective climax to an affecting portrayal of distress and danger. The first picture, exhibiting the ancestral home of the _Calvert_ family, an old Colonial mansion, deep-bowered among ancient, blooming lilac bushes and bathed in the fading glow of late afternoon and sunset light, was one of truly memorable loveliness. Indeed, the scenery investment, throughout, was of exceptional beauty and dramatic appropriateness, and the manifold accessories of military environment, with all “the proud control of fierce and bloody war,”--the suggested presence and movement of large bodies of infantry and cavalry; the denoted passage of heavy artillery; the stirring sounds of martial music and of desperate battle; the red glare and dun smoke-pall of conflagration, and the various employment and manipulation of light and darkness to illustrate and intensify the dramatic theme,--were extraordinarily deft in devisement and felicitous in effect. Belasco was also peculiarly fortunate in selection of the actors who performed the principal parts in his play. The handsome person and picturesque, romantic mien of Maurice Barrymore, who appeared as _Alan Kendrick_, were perfectly consonant with that character; John E. Kellerd gave an impersonation of remarkable artistic merit--true to life and true to the part--as the despicable yet formidable scoundrel _Thorpe_, and Mrs. Carter, profiting richly by the zealous schooling of her mentor, embodied _Maryland Calvert_ at first in a mood of piquant playfulness, veiling serious feeling, then with genuine, wild and intense passion. This was the cast in full of the performance at the Herald Square Theatre:

_General Hugh Kendrick_ Frank Mordaunt. _Colonel Alan Kendrick_ Maurice Barrymore. _Colonel Fulton Thorpe_ John E. Kellerd. _Lieutenant Robert Telfair_ Cyril Scott. _Provost Sergeant Blount_ Odell Williams. _Tom Boone_ Henry Weaver, Jr. _Lloyd Calvert_ Edward J. Morgan. _The Sexton_ John W. Jennings. _Uncle Dan’l_ Scott Cooper _Captain Leighton_ A. Pearson. _Captain Blair_ A. C. Mora. _Lieutenant Hayne_ W. H. Foy. { Frank Stanwick. _Aides-de-Camp to General Kendrick_ { Robert McIntyre. { William Johnson. _Corporal Day_ Edwin Meyer. _Corporal_ H. E. Bostwick. _Bludsoe_ Edwin F. Mayo. _Little True Blue_ “Johnny” McKeever. _O’Hara_ J. H. Hazelton. _Ruggles_ Thomas Matlock. _Forbes_ Joseph Maxwell. _Phil_ Joseph A. Webber. _Sentry_ E. J. Boyce. _Scout_ C. H. Robertson. _Mrs. Clairborne Gordon_ Helen Tracy. _Maryland Calvert_ Mrs. Leslie Carter. _Phœbe Yancey_ Georgie Busby. _Nanny McNair_ Angela McCall.

Popular approval of the representation was immediate and bounteous and there was little critical cavilling in the press. On the first night in New York, after the Third Act, the audience many times called the entire company before the curtain and, at last, Belasco, in an obviously painful state of nervous excitement, responding to vociferous demands, made a brief and grateful speech, in the course of which he said:

“It is very difficult for me to speak, to thank you. Your kind and
generous approval to-night means so very, very much to Mrs. Carter
and all the splendid company that has worked so loyally for the
success of this play. It means more to me than any words of mine
can say. This production to-night is the culmination of twenty-five
years of work; of hard, hard work and often bitter disappointment.
I have been a supernumerary, a call boy, an actor, a stage manager
for others, an adapter of plays: now I am encouraged to hope I have
proved myself a dramatist.... It is many long years since I first
dreamed of an independent success in New York--a success I might
keep in my own hands. If this is at last the turning of the tide
that leads on to fortune, I shall never forget my debt to you: I
shall strive, as long as I live, to give you, to give the people of
this great and wonderful city, not only the best there is in me but
the very best the Theatre can give. Thank you from my heart! I
thank you--I thank you!”

It was, indeed, “the turning of the tide.” “The Heart of Maryland” was played at the Herald Square Theatre for 229 consecutive performances, and it occupied a large part of Belasco’s time and attention during the period of about two years which followed its New York production.

The season ended at the Herald Square on May 16, 1896. From about that date until June 23 Mrs. Carter and Belasco underwent the painful ordeal incident to trial of his lawsuit against N. K. Fairbank,--which, as already recorded, terminated on the latter date with a verdict in favor of the manager. In the course of the next six weeks Belasco made a revision of Clay M. Greene’s “Under the Polar Star,” which was produced by William A. Brady, August 20, at the New York Academy of Music. On October 5, at the Broad Street, Philadelphia, the first tour of “The Heart of Maryland” was begun, under the personal direction of its author. That tour was everywhere amply successful and it

Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.

MRS. LESLIE CARTER AS _MARYLAND CALVERT_, IN “THE HEART OF MARYLAND”.]

lasted without special incident,--except that toward its close Belasco purchased (April, 1897) the interest of Mr. Max Bleiman in the production,--until the following May 1. The season was ended on that date at the Grand Opera House, New York, and Belasco soon afterward visited San Francisco. The third season of “The Heart of Maryland” began at the scene of so much of his early experience, the Baldwin Theatre, in that city, August 17, and continued in unabated prosperity for about seven months.

“THE FIRST BORN.”--A SUCCESS AND A FAILURE.

While Belasco was in San Francisco he witnessed several performances of a play called “The First Born,” written by Francis Powers, which had been produced, May 10, under the management of his brother, Frederick Belasco, at the Alcazar Theatre, and he was so favorably impressed with its merits that he arranged to present that drama,--which ran for ten weeks in San Francisco,--in New York, in association with Charles Frohman. That arrangement was successfully consummated, at the Manhattan (previously the Standard) Theatre, October 5, 1897. “The First Born” is a tragic sketch of character and life in the Chinese quarter of old San Francisco,--a region with which the acquaintance of Belasco was peculiarly intimate and exact and one of which the mingled squalor and romance had always strongly attracted him. The posture of circumstances and experience depicted in that play is simple and direct. _Man Low Yek_, a rich Chinese merchant, has stolen _Chan Lee_, the wife of _Chan Wang_, also a Chinese and a dweller in the Chinatown. That ravagement _Wang_ has borne with equanimity; but when _Chan Lee_, returning to San Francisco with her paramour, entices _Chan Toy_, their first born and only son, from him and in her endeavor to steal the child accidentally causes his death, the unfortunate _Wang_ becomes at first an image of agonized paternal love and then an embodiment of implacable vengeance. The play is in two acts. In the first, Chinatown is shown in the bright light and bustle of a busy noonday and against that setting is displayed the sudden bereavement and afflicting anguish of the father. In the second, an alley-end in the same district is shown, with a glimpse of contiguous gambling hells and opium dens, under the darkening shadows of evening. There the inexorable avenger lounges, leaning against a door post,--apparently an idler smoking his evening pipe and talking with a Chinese girl, who leans from a window; in fact, vigilantly observant of _Man Low Yek_, visible within a shop, and intent on slaying him. The alley grows dark and becomes deserted. The neighboring houses are illumined. The chink of money and the bickering chatter of unseen gamblers are heard. A police officer saunters by and disappears. _Man Low Yek_ comes forth from his shop, closing it after him. Then, suddenly, as he passes, _Wang_, with fearful celerity, leaps upon him wielding a hatchet, strikes him down, drags the dead body into convenient concealment, and is back again at his former loitering place, outwardly placid, before the fire in his pipe has had time to become extinguished.

Belasco’s presentment of this play in New York was a gem of histrionic illustration,--the grouping and movement of the players and the many super-numeraries, the employment of light and sound, every expedient alike of action and repose, every detail of dress, every accessory of scenic embellishment, all were so adroitly used and blended as to create an impression of perfect verisimilitude, and the spectator seemed to behold two veritable segments of Chinatown life. The acting, especially that of Mr. Powers as _Chan Wang_ and of May Buckley as _Loey Tsing_, a Chinese girl who loves him, was exceptionally earnest and effective. This was the cast:

_Loey Tsing_ May Buckley. _Chow Pow_ Ellen Cummins. _Chan Lee_ Carrie E. Powers. _Dr. Pow Len_ George Osborne. _Man Low Yek_ Charles Bryant. _Chan Wang_ Francis Powers. _Hop Kee_ J. H. Benrimo. _Chum Woe_ Harry Spear. _Kwakee_ John Armstrong. _Duck Low_ George Fullerton. _Sum Chow_ Harry Levain. _A Chinese Ragpicker_ Walter Belasco. _A Provision Dealer_ Fong Get. _Chan Toy_ Venie Wells. _Way Get_ Joseph Silverstone. { Ysobel Haskins. _Tourists_ { Florence Haverleigh. { L. I. Fuller. { Hugo Toland.

“The First Born” was acted at the Manhattan Theatre in association with “A Night Session,” a farce derived from the French: later, other farces were performed with the Chinatown tragedy. Its success was decisive and it was acted in New York until December 11;--at the Manhattan from October 5 to November 6, and at the Garden Theatre (in association with an English version, by Benjamin F. Roeder, of “L’Été de St. Martin,” by Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy) from November 29 onward. Belasco and Frohman, elated by their American victory with this play, were eager to repeat it in London. A second company was, accordingly, at once engaged, rehearsed, and brought forward at the Manhattan,--the original company sailing for England October 23, and emerging at the Duke of York’s Theatre, London, November 6. The enterprising manager William A. Brady had, however, hastened to the British capital before them with another and similar play, called “The Cat and the Cherub,” which he presented at the Lyric Theatre, October 30, thus fore-stalling “The First Born” and causing its flat failure in London. It was withdrawn after one week, Belasco and Frohman losing about $20,000 on their undertaking.

BELASCO’S SECOND ENGLISH VENTURE.--“THE HEART OF MARYLAND” IN LONDON.

During the dramatic season of 1897-’98 Belasco and Charles Frohman arranged with the Messrs. Gatti, managers of the Adelphi Theatre, London, for the production of “The Heart of Maryland” in the British capital. The expenses of presenting that play were large, but so, also, was public attendance on its performance, the average gross receipts amounting to about $11,000 a week: that is, in three seasons the public had paid a total of about one million and fifty thousand dollars to see it. Belasco’s share of the profits had set him well forward in the path of prosperity and he was at last able to formulate definite plans for ventures which finally enabled him to seize a conspicuous, independent, and influential place among the foremost theatrical managers of the world. His expedition into England with Mrs. Carter and “The Heart of Maryland” was one of the first of those ventures. The utility of his play as a starring vehicle for that actress in America was practically exhausted, but he felt strongly assured of further prosperity with it abroad. Moreover, he knew that Mrs. Carter would be, by an English success, exalted in the esteem of the American public--which is in some respects provincial and is always impressed by foreign approval. And, finally, he hoped that, while in London, he would be able to obtain a suitable new play for her use. The third season of “The Heart of Maryland,” accordingly, was closed at Hartford, Conn., March 26, 1898; on March 30 Mrs. Carter, the other members of the theatrical company which had been acting in it, and Belasco sailed for England on board the steamship St. Paul, and on April 8 that play was performed at the Adelphi Theatre, London. It was, originally, “booked” for a season of one month, but it was received with such abundant popular favor that it was acted there, to crowded houses, for twelve weeks,--receiving about eighty performances. There was some adversity of critical comment in the press, but only one stricture then made disturbed Belasco’s equanimity and has rankled in his recollection,--namely, the unwarranted and mean intimation that he had copied the stirring “mechanical effects” (so called) used in course of the performance of his play from William Gillette’s “Secret Service,” which had been brought out in London, May 15, 1897, at the Adelphi. Such gratuitous disparagement is characteristic of a patronizing and carping spirit frequently encountered in British journalism. Inquiry as to the facts in this case at once displays its injustice. Belasco’s “The Heart of Maryland” was begun in 1890, and the “mechanical effects” employed in it were devised by its author during the four years that followed; they were, furthermore, an elaboration and improvement of various contrivances first used by him in his variant of “Not Guilty,”--San Francisco, December 24, 1878,--and some of them were used by him in “The Girl I Left Behind Me,”--January, 1893. Gillette’s “Secret Service” was tried at the Broad Street Theatre, Philadelphia, May 13, 1895, where it failed and was at once withdrawn. After having been entirely rewritten that play was successfully produced at the Garrick Theatre, New York, October 5, 1896,--one year later than “The Heart of Maryland.” “Secret Service,” though a useful melodrama, is a hodge-podge fabrication (one of its most essential situations is conveyed, bodily, from “Don Cæsar de Bazan”) and is in every way inferior to “The Heart of Maryland”: if the production of either of those plays owed anything to that of the other, it is manifest that Belasco’s could not have been the debtor.

Belasco’s quest for a new drama for the use of Mrs. Carter seemed destined to be a barren one, when, as the London career of “The Heart of Maryland” was drawing toward its close, he chanced to read, in a theatrical newspaper, an outline of the plot of a French play named “Zaza,” which had been produced, May 12, 1898, at the Vaudeville Theatre, Paris, and which he thought might be adapted to the use of his star. On mentioning the play to Charles Frohman and inquiring whether he knew anything about it Frohman informed him that he did not believe it would prosper in America and that, therefore, he had permitted an option on the American right of producing it to lapse. Belasco, nevertheless, visited Paris, witnessed a performance of “Zaza,” as acted by Mme. Gabrielle Réjane and her associates at the Vaudeville, and was so impressed by it that he immediately cabled Frohman, urging him to purchase the American rights of production,--which Frohman forthwith did. On June 25 the London season of “The Heart of Maryland” ended, and on September 1, on the steamship Majestic, Mrs. Carter, the “Maryland” company, and Belasco sailed for home,--the latter having entered into an engagement with Charles Frohman whereby that influential speculator in theatrical wares agreed to produce “Zaza” in partnership with him and to “present Mrs. Leslie Carter, by arrangement with David Belasco.” Belasco was much elated at having made that contract. Writing about it, he says: “Patience and perseverance had won! At last I had not only a star and a play, but a partner with money, unlimited credit, and vast influence. As soon as I returned to New York I began preparations for the next season, and then I went cheerfully into exile to adapt ’Zaza.’”

“ZAZA,” AND THE ETHICAL QUESTION.

Two plays have been produced by Belasco the presentment of which, in my judgment,--although both of them were received with extravagant favor by numerous writers in the press and were acted profitably and with much manifest public approbation for a long time,--should be recorded as a grievous blot on the fair record of his professional career. One of those plays is this notorious drama of “Zaza,” adapted and altered by Belasco from the French original by MM. Pierre Berton (1840-1912) and Charles Simon (1850-1910); the other is the vulgar and repulsive drama called “The Easiest Way,” concocted by an American journalist, Mr. Eugene Walter, containing a long-drawn portrayal expositive of the immoral character, unchaste conduct, and necessarily wretched retributive experience, of a courtesan. Both of those plays reflect the gross aspect of what Carlyle happily designated Demirepdom,--a domain of licentiousness and bestiality which should never be treated in Drama or illustrated on the Stage.

Opinion on this point is, I am aware, sharply divided. Shakespeare, we are continually reminded, speaking for himself (most inappropriately, by the way) in the character of _Hamlet_, and referring to “the purpose of playing,” says that its “end both at the first and now was, and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to _nature_; to show _virtue_, her own feature, _scorn_ her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”

What does that mean? Does it mean that everything existent in Nature is material suitable to be presented on the Stage? Does it mean that there should be no restriction as to the choice of subjects, from “the age and body of the time,” to be illustrated in public, before a mixed audience of both sexes and of all ages and conditions? No sound, convincing exposition of that view of the subject has ever been made, and I cannot accept it. Shakespeare, in his plays, has depicted “people of all sorts,” and among others he has depicted several sorts of depraved women, one of them, _Cressida_, being a natural, typical, representative harlot. It is, however, to be observed that he has not dilated on her career, has not expatiated on her licentiousness, has not enumerated her intrigues, has not analyzed her libidinous propensities, has not tinged his portrayal of her misconduct with any sophistical coloring, has not entered for her any plea in extenuation; has simply drawn her as a type of rank carnality and so dismissed her. Such persons have always existed, they exist now, and they always will exist. That it is necessary, right, or defensible that they should be exploited in the Theatre I have never been able to perceive,--whether they be depicted by Shakespeare or by anybody else. From “Jane Shore” and “The Stranger” to “Denise” and “Camille,” nothing has ever come of the long, dreary, speciously sophistical exhibition of sexual vice and consequent misery but corruption of the moral sense, loose, flabby thinking, cant, and maudlin sentimentality. No good has come of it to anybody, least of all to the victims of their evil passions.

Altruism should prevail in the conduct of life, and with all fine natures it does prevail. The instinctive desire, while not universal nor perhaps general, is very considerable to help the weak, to shield the innocent, to liberate the oppressed, to comfort the afflicted, to find excuses for frailty, to take a charitable view of human infirmity; but while lovely in itself and beneficent in some of its results, it is, in vital particulars, ineffectual: it cannot eliminate depravity from a nature that is innately wicked, and it cannot dispel remorse,--or even mitigate that agony,--from a mind innately conscientious.

Belasco, by obtruding harlots on the stage,--as he has not scrupled to do, in presenting to public observance _Zaza_ and _Laura Murdoch_,--follows many precedents and impliedly approves the exploitation of such persons,--unfortunate, pitiable, deplorable, sometimes amiable and gentle, more frequently hard, fierce, treacherous, and wicked. His published writings avow his views on this subject, and I have found his private assurances concurrent with his published writings. Those views do more credit to the kindness of his disposition than to the clarity of his thought. From his youth onward he has been deeply interested in aberrant women, studious of their aberrancy, solicitous for their rescue and reformation, charitable toward them, wishful to befriend them, and strenuous, when writing about them, to place them in the best possible light. “Whenever I rehearse a situation of passion, of crime, of wrongdoing” (so he writes), “I remember _the heart_. _I make an excuse_--seek out the _motive_, to put the actor in touch with the culprit’s _point of view_. The _excuse is always there_.” No form of reasoning could be more sophistical, more delusive, more mischievous. The _reason_ for sin, for crime, for wrongdoing, _is_ always there: but a broad distinction exists between the _reason_ and the _excuse_. Some persons, naturally good, nevertheless do wrong, commit crime, sin against themselves and against both moral law and social order, because they cannot help it, because they are weak and cannot resist temptation. Other persons commit crime knowingly, deliberately, intentionally, because they wish to do so, because they delight in doing so, and find their greatest possible gratification in acts of wickedness. Selfishness and greed are, in a vast number of cases, impervious to anything other than the operation of external forces painful to themselves: there are persons who possess no moral sense whatever. The notion that there is a substratum of goodness in every human being is one of the most flagrant delusions that ever entered the mind of sensible persons acquainted with the history of the world and aware of what is passing around them every hour. “I remember _the heart_” says Belasco: it would not be amiss to remember what was long ago said of that interesting organ by one of the wise prophets of his nation: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” It is in the highest degree creditable to Belasco as a man that he possesses a tenderly compassionate, humane spirit and has always practically acted on the impulse of it; neither wisdom nor justice is discernible in the “moral teaching” that he has liberated by his indiscriminate subservience to it in the instances I have named.

PRODUCTION, AND CONTENTS, OF “ZAZA.”

“Zaza” was first produced, December 25, 1898, at the Lafayette Opera House (now, 1917, the Belasco Theatre), Washington, D. C. The first presentment of it in New York occurred, January 9, 1899, at the Garrick Theatre, where it was acted till June 17, receiving 164 performances. “Zaza” is not so much a play as it is a series of loosely jointed, sequent episodes. The story is simple and vulgar. _Zaza_ is a French prostitute. She has passed from the streets to the stage of country music halls and has become a singer. She is a common, shameless, termagant wanton, possessed, however, of an animal allurement which infatuates a man of respectable position and outwardly decent character. His name is _Dufrène_. By him she is removed from a life of miscellaneous degradation and,--“purified” by “love”!--she dwells with him, in contentment, for six months,--remarking, as she pulls on her stockings, “I do think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world when two lovers come together.” At the end of that time she discovers that her paramour is married, and that he maintains his wife and their child in a respectable rural home and, at intervals, bestows upon them the boon of his precious company. With the tigerish resentment often characteristic of her class, she immediately repairs to that home, intent to “revenge” herself upon _Dufrène’s_ wife by revealing the husband’s infidelity. Her amiable purpose is diverted by an encounter with his child, whose prattle so profoundly affects her supersensitive “better feelings” that she quits the field, returns to her civic bower, which has been provided by _Dufrène_, there provokes a violent quarrel with that hypocritical libertine, so enrages him that he threatens to strike her, and finally elicits from him the assurance that his wife is much more precious to him than his harlot is. The separation of this edifying couple ensues. Stimulated by this experience of “purification by love,” _Zaza_ determines to achieve artistic greatness without further delay, and this she incontinently does, becoming, within two years,--“through much misery, much grief, much work, and a little luck,” as she expresses it,--a great artist, wealthy and (general concomitant of wealth!) respected, and, most delightful of all, a paragon of virtue, gently dismissing her recalcitrant paramour, _Dufrène_ (who, unable to forget the rapturous interlude of his amatory association with her, has sought to renew it), in the peaceful seclusion of the Champs Elysees!

The play of “Zaza,” in the French original, is even more offensive than in Belasco’s adaptation, but it possesses more unity as a dramatic fabric and more authenticity as a portrayal of a revolting phase of life. Belasco’s version is much the superior as a commercial and theatrically useful vehicle. His purpose in adapting the play for the English-speaking Stage is thus stated by himself: “I wanted my audience to find some _excuse_ for _Zaza’s_ past and to have less pity for the wife. When the play was produced in America and _Zaza sacrificed her own feelings for the sake of a child_ the audience was so entirely in her favor that she won the tears of New York and, later on [_sic_], of London.” “The tears” of New York, London, or any other residential locality are not difficult to “win” when an experienced hand at the theatrical fount pumps hard enough for them. Freed of flummery, what does this play signify? A woman essentially vile in nature, degraded by a career of vice, gross in her conduct, vitiated in her principles and feelings, is sentimentally affected by the babble of a child, and her holy “sacrifice of her own feelings” consists in abstention from wrecking the happiness of an innocent and injured woman who has never done her any harm. As a matter of fact, such a drab as _Zaza_ would not have denied herself that gratification for the sake of a whole regiment of children,--but truth was not the goal desired: that object was profitable effect. Such dramas as “Zaza” defile the public mind and degrade the Stage, and it would be propitious for the community if they could be played on from a fire hose and washed into the sewer where they belong.

MRS. CARTER’S IMPERSONATION OF _ZAZA_.

Mrs. Carter’s performance of the patchouly-scented heroine of this tainted trash was much admired and extravagantly commended. As a work of dramatic art it was trivial: as a violent theatrical display of common surface traits,--a demonstration, in “Ercles’ vein,” of ability to tear a cat,--it was highly effective. The language of the gutter was spoken in the tone and with the manner of the gutter. The method of the execution was direct, broad, swift,--and coarse. The best technical merit of it was clarity of utterance. In _Zaza’s_ scene with the child Mrs. Carter was mechanical and monotonous. It was the utter, reckless abandon, the uncontrolled physical and vocal vehemence, the virago-like intensity of her abuse of her lover, which, communicating themselves to the nerves of her auditors and overwhelming them by violence, gained the actress her success in the part. If to “tear a passion to tatters, to very rags,” to take up the carpet tacks

Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.

MRS. LESLIE CARTER AS _ZAZA_]

and demolish the furniture, be to act greatly, then Mrs. Carter’s _Zaza_ was a great piece of acting; not otherwise. Her popularity was unequivocal, and it constituted a triumph for Belasco even more remarkable than for her.

This was the original cast of “Zaza,” at the Garrick Theatre, New York, January 9, 1899:

_Bernard Dufrène_ Charles A. Stevenson. _Duc de Brissac_ Albert Bruning. _Cascart_ Mark Smith (Jr.). _Jacques Rigault_ Hugo Toland. _Chamblay, Jr_ Gilmore Scott. _Hector_ Lester Gruner. _Blac_ Harold Howard. _Brigard_ W. B. Murray. _Mounet-Pombla_ Gerard Anderson. _Joly_ Herbert Millward. _Carvallo Bros._ (_acrobats_) Leona and Master Bimbi. _Jabowski_ Walter Stuart. _Adolphe_ Lawrence Reeves. _Coachman_ Alfred Hollingsworth. _Criquet_ Edgar Hart. _Rosa Bonné_ Marie Bates. _Madame Dufrène_ Mabel Howard. _Divonne_ Lizzie DuRoy. _Lizette_ Emma Chase. _Toto_ Helen Thill. _Florianne_ Anne Sutherland. _Alice Morel_ Maude Winter. _Lolotte_ Marie Thill. _Juliette_ Eleanor Stuart. _Niniche_ Elizabeth Belknap. _Leonie_ Corah Adams. _Clairette_ Helma Horneman. _Adele_ Aurelia A. Granville. _Flower Girl_ Louisa Burnham. _Nathalie_ Helen Tracy. _Zaza_ Mrs. Leslie Carter.

(Mem. When “Zaza” was revived, in 1905, a minor character called _Lisvon_ was added: it was played by Amelia G. Granville.)

DEATH OF BELASCO’S MOTHER.--“CAN THE DEAD COME BACK?”--A STRANGE EXPERIENCE.

The instant and immense popular success of “Zaza” was embittered for Belasco by close association with a loss and sorrow that time has not lightened,--the death of his beloved mother, which befell on January 11, 1899, at No. 174 Clara Street, San Francisco. During rehearsals of his play and its presentments in Washington Belasco, so he has told me, “had _felt_ that she was ill,” but had no thought that her condition was critical. Writing about her death, he gives the following interesting account of a strange experience:

“Ever since my boyhood I have been interested in the subject of
spiritualism. For many years I have asked myself the question:
’_Can_ the dead come back?’... One morning, after a late
rehearsal, I reached home at three o’clock, completely fagged out.
No sooner had I fallen asleep than I seemed to waken, and there
stood my mother beside my bed. ’Davie, Davie, Davie,’ she said
three times, smiled, and bending over kissed me good-bye. She said
other things--told me she was happy--not to grieve. I could not
stir, but kept my eyes fixed upon her as she moved towards the door
and disappeared. How long I lay staring into the darkness I do not
know, but at last I managed to collect myself, put on my
dressing-gown, and, still dazed, went downstairs to a little
sitting-room. My family heard me. ’What are you doing downstairs?’
my youngest child, Augusta, asked, and she tried to coax me back to
bed. I went to my room, but I could not sleep. When I told my
family of my vision, and that I believed my mother was dead, they
suggested that I was overwrought and tired and had seen my mother
in a dream.

“I went to rehearsal the next morning, and during an interval had
luncheon at Churchill’s--then a small coffeehouse--with a member of
the theatre staff. I sat there, much troubled, thinking of the
figure of my mother as she appeared in the dawn. My companion
noticed my silence, and, when I told him of my experience, tried to
reassure me. As we rose to go he handed me some letters and
telegrams he had found in the box-office. Among the telegrams was
one telling me the sad news of my mother’s death. Later I found
that she died at the exact time she appeared at my bedside. At the
very moment I saw her she was passing out of the world. Several
years after, when I paid a visit to San Francisco, my brothers and
sisters told me my mother smiled and murmured my name three times
before she died.... I do not know that the dead _do_ come back. I
_do_ know that at the time of passing the spirit sends a thought
through space, and this thought is so powerful that the receiver
can see the sender. This was proved by my dear mother. She came to
me no more, however.”

In speaking of his parents Belasco has deeply impressed me by the fervor and sincerity of his filial affections. “My mother,” he has said, “was the best loved woman in Victoria and in San Francisco,--and she was the truest, best friend I ever had or shall have. She was called ’the Good Angel’ of the poorer quarters. As she grew older, in the latter city, when going about in streetcars, conductors would, when she wished to leave, escort her to the sidewalk, or would bring her to the car, if she wished to board it. When she died she had the greatest funeral a private person ever had in San Francisco. My brother told me it seemed as though every vehicle in town was in the line. She was very poetic, romantic, and keenly imaginative and gentleness itself. Any good I have ever done I owe to her.”--In a letter to a friend he writes thus about his mother:

“ ... I cannot tell you how close we were--how she seemed always to
understand me without words and often [seemed] to be near me when I
was in trouble and needed help. You know, I believe such feelings
are inspired by something real: ’the realities of the spirit are
more real than anything else.’... Very often we exchanged
messages just by sending flowers, and it was the same way with my
little ’Gussie.’... Flowers have always been a passion with me.
Ever since I was a little boy, in Vancouver, and my mother used to
come and find me dreaming among them on the hillside, I have loved
them all.... But the violets were always my favorites, as they were
hers. She always had them about her, from girlhood, and, indeed, my
father wooed her with them. There was a bunch of them beside her in
the little cellar-room where I was born (so she used to tell me),
and when they brought me to her on a pillow she took some in her
hand and sprinkled them over me. All my clothes, when I was a baby,
had a violet embroidered on them, somewhere. The last gift I ever
received from my mother was a black silk scarf, with violets
embroidered on it,--and long, long hours it must have taken her to
do it, for she could hardly hold a needle. Once, when I was a boy,
I took $20 from a secret little hoard of hers, to pay for an
operation on my throat which I didn’t want her to know about. Of
course she missed it but she never said a word, and when I had
saved up the money I just put it in a bunch of violets and left it
for her. And when at last she went away and I could not be there I
sent violets to cover her grave and say my ’Good-bye.’”

BLANCHE BATES AND “NAUGHTY ANTHONY.”

Much the most interesting person and much the ablest performer who has appeared under the management of Belasco is Blanche Bates. At the zenith of her career she exhibited a combination of brilliant beauty, inspiriting animation and impetuous vigor quite extraordinary and irresistibly winning. Her lovely dark eyes sparkled with glee. Her handsome countenance radiated gladness. She seemed incarnate joy. Her voice was clear, liquid, sweet; her enunciation distinct, her bearing distinguished, her action free and graceful. I have seldom seen an actress whose mere presence conveyed such a delightful sense of abounding vitality and happiness. In the last ten years no actress in our country has equalled her in brilliancy and power. She might have grasped the supremacy of the American Stage, alike in Comedy and Tragedy, personating such representative parts as Shakespeare’s _Beatrice_ and _Cleopatra_ and taking by right the place once occupied by Ada Rehan and afterward by Julia Marlowe. While under Belasco’s management she did give three performances which deservedly are remembered among the best of her time,--namely, _Cigarette_, in “Under Two Flags”; _Yo-San_, in “The Darling of the Gods,” and _The Girl_, in “The Girl of the Golden West.” But, although incontestably she possesses intellectual character, a strain of capricious levity is also among her attributes; she has weakly acquiesced to the dictates of vacuous social taste and sordid commercial spirit, paltered with her great talents, thrown away high ambition and golden opportunity, and so came at last to mere failure and obscurity. Her nature and her artistic style require for their full and free arousal and exercise parts of romantic, passionate, picturesque character, admitting of large, bold, sparkling treatment. She acted under Belasco’s direction for about twelve years: since leaving it, in 1912, she has done nothing in the Theatre of importance. “The modern, ’drawing-room drama’ in which she aspired to play,”--so Belasco once remarked to me,--“is not, to my mind, suited to her, and so we parted.”