Chapter XII: Act V: (A lapse of years.) During the Revolution (9)

Belasco described this fabric as “a play in three acts and an epilogue in Child’s,” and it was announced as having been written by Miss Alice Bradley. During its first performance in New York Mr. Emmett Corrigan (who impersonated the character of _Slade_) came before the curtain and, in a brief speech on behalf of Miss Bradley, made known that she disclaimed credit for anything more than “the central idea” of the play. Neither that “central idea” (the idea, presumably, of showing the patient acquiescence of _Mrs. Slade_ suddenly turned into resolute and triumphant opposition by discovery of the full extent of her husband’s baseness) nor anything else in the piece is dramatically precious or extraordinary. Many other “collaborators” with Belasco might, however, fairly emulate Miss Bradley’s frankness. The construction of “The Governor’s Lady” is sometimes arbitrary and the characters in it are in some respects extravagantly drawn--causing more the effect of rough sketches than that of finished portraits. The dialogue possesses the merit of suitability to the situations and, in general, of seeming to arise spontaneously from them. The notable excellence of the production was its exact fidelity to the surface details of everyday life and the really remarkable smoothness, harmony, and sincerity with which it was acted--imparting to much that was crude and improbable an aspect of veracity.--The play was cast as follows:

_Daniel S. Slade_ Emmett Corrigan. _Senator Strickland_ William H. Tooker. _Robert Hayes_ Milton Sills. _Wesley Merritt_ S. K. Walker. _Brigham Hunt_ Bert Hyde. _Ex-Governor Hibbard_ John A. Dewey. _Colonel George Smith_ Will H. Nicholson. _John Hart_ Albert Lane. _Charles Ingram_ Harry B. Wilson. _William_ Jack Smith. _Martin_ Frank Hand. _Jake_ John N. Wheeler. _A Passerby_ James Singer. _A Bookworm_ Stuart Walker. _Jake’s Friend_ Edward Horton. _A Cashier_ George H. Shelton. _A Man Behind the Pastry Counter_ Robert J. Lance. _Waiter No. 7_ John H. McKenna. _Waiter No. 2_ Harrison Fowler. _Mary Slade_ Emma Dunn. _Katherine Strickland_ Gladys Hanson. _Mrs. Wesley Merritt_ Teresa Maxwell-Conover. _Susan_ Jane Briggs. _A Girl of the Streets_ Eloise Murray. _A Scrubwoman_ Judith Snaith.

“YEARS OF DISCRETION.”

Satirical and amusing use has been made in various works of fiction of the old, or elderly, parent who behaves in an inappropriately youthful manner. Charles Mathews built the capital old farce (I wonder if anybody else ever recalls it now?) of “My Awful Dad!” around that idea: Collins utilized it when he sketched _Madame Pratolungo’s_ “Evergreen Papa.” It is one of the expedients of comicality in “Years of Discretion,” a farcical comedy by Frederick Hatton and Fanny Locke Hatton which Belasco presented, November 4, 1912, at the Empire Theatre, Syracuse, New York, and at the Belasco Theatre, New York, on December 12, following. In that entertaining play a buxom widow of fifty, _Mrs. Farrell Howard_ by name, growing intolerably weary of a humdrum life, leaves the little rural town where she resides and repairs to New York,--where, with the aid of hair dye, tight lacing and a fashionable dressmaker, she puts on the semblance of a gay young woman and recklessly participates in frivolous dissipations, fascinating many ardent males and scandalizing her somewhat sedate and priggish son. At the last she consents to marry one of her numerous admirers, to whom she is honestly attached. After a little struggle with vanity and the fear of losing his regard she confesses to him that, with her, things are not what they seem; that she is not really a roguish young woman eager for social festivity, but rather an elderly one who has grown tired of it, who is inclined to be stout and is extremely uncomfortable by reason of restrictive stays and tight shoes. She is surprised and delighted when he, in turn, confesses to rheumatism, years equal to hers, and a strong preference for easy old slippers instead of dancing pumps. They then agree to abandon a projected honeymoon trip around the world, to which both of them have looked forward with dread, and to take their ease sensibly, in the home surroundings which they prefer.--This was the cast of “Years of Discretion”:

_Christopher Dallas_ Lyn Harding. _Michael Doyle_ Bruce McRae. _John Strong_ Herbert Kelcey. _Amos Thomas_ Robert McWade, Jr. _Farrell Howard, Jr._ Grant Mitchell. _Metz_ E. M. Holland. _Mrs. Farrell Howard_ Effie Shannon. _Mrs. Margaret Brinton_ Alice Putnam. _Anna Merkel_ Mabel Bunyea. _Lilly Newton_ Ethel Pettit. _Bessie Newton_ Myrtle Morrison.

“THE TEMPERAMENTAL JOURNEY.”

Leo Ditrichstein adapted “The Temperamental Journey” from a French original called “Pour Vivre Heureux,” by André Rivoire and Yves Mirande, and Belasco produced it, for the first time, at the Lyceum Theatre, Rochester, New York, August 28, 1913, and, September 4, following, for the first time in New York, at the Belasco Theatre. It is an unusually clever, sometimes humorous, sometimes bitterly satirical, farce blent with elements of comedy and constructed around the struggles and tribulations of a sincere, capable, “temperamental,” and unappreciated painter named _Jacques Dupont_,--a part that was admirably acted (with discretion, humor, feeling, and even a touch of passion) by Mr. Ditrichstein. Notwithstanding the merit of his art _Dupont_ is unable to sell his paintings. In a moment of despair, having been meanly upbraided for his ill-fortune by his wife,--a shallow, selfish hypocrite,--_Dupont_ resolves to destroy himself. He writes a farewell letter to his wife, which he leaves with his clothes on the shore and, forgetful of the fact that he is a capital swimmer, flings himself into the waters of Long Island Sound to drown. The immersion so much refreshes him that he changes his mind about dying, swims lustily, and, being hauled on board of a sailing craft, makes a voyage to Halifax. Upon returning home a fortnight or so later he finds his hypocritical wife and friends, indulging to the full in “the luxury of woe,” about to hold funeral services over a dead body which they receive as his; and, also, he finds that his paintings, previously the objects of contumely, are selling for high prices,--public interest having been inspired by the pathetic circumstances of his supposed suicide. After observing from an unsuspected coign of vantage in their home his hypocritical “widow’s” ready acceptance of the embraces of one of his “friends,” and after witnessing with ironic contempt the funeral over what are supposed to be his remains, _Dupont_ betakes himself to Paris, where he paints many landscapes. After an interval of three years he returns to America, representing himself to be a collector of pictures, named _Lenoir_, who has gathered together a large number of paintings by the defunct _Dupont_--whose works now sell for enormous sums. He finds his “widow” married to his former “friend” and the mother of a child by him, and also he finds that person to be industriously engaged in forging paintings by _Dupont_. During an auction sale of his works _Dupont_, stung by manifestations of injustice, sordid meanness, and duplicity, declares his identity and rebukes those who have wronged and contemned him. Then, for the sake of the child, he agrees to arrange for a divorce from his unworthy wife,--signifying his purpose, in due course, to unite himself in matrimony to a loving young girl who has befriended him in his earlier afflictions and remained faithful to his memory while supposing him to be dead.

The opportunity for gibes and railings provided by the successive postures of circumstance thus indicated are obvious and many. Yet, at best, the comicality evoked by them is bitter and painful.--“The Temperamental Journey,” which was much admired and exceptionally successful, was cast as follows:

_Jacques Dupont_ Leo Ditrichstein. _Prof. Babcock Roland_ Henry Bergman. _Vernon Neil_ Frank Connor. _Billy Shepherd_ Richie Ling. _Dorval_ Edouard Durand. _Howard Locke_ Julian Little. _Carrington McLiss_ Lee Millar. _Tamburri_ M. Daniel Schatts. _Roy_ } { Edwin R. Wolfe. _Max_ } { Earle W. Grant. _Edna_ } _Prof. Roland’s_ { Carree Clarke. _Eleanor_ } Pupils. { Anna McNaughton. _Marjorie_ } { Dorothy Ellis. _Lina_ } { Annette Tyler. _Messenger_ William Dixon. _Delphine_ Isabel Irving. _Maria_ Josephine Victor. _Fanny Lamont_ Cora Witherspoon. _Teresa_ Gertrud Morisini. _Maid_ Alice Jones.

A REVIVAL OF “THE AUCTIONEER.”

An incident of the theatrical season of 1913-’14 which requires passing record here is the revival by Belasco of “The Auctioneer,”--a play which, in all essentials, was original with him and which for this revival he again revised, making it somewhat more closely-knit and effective than it was when first he brought forward David Warfield in it. “The Auctioneer” was acted at the Knickerbocker Theatre, New York, September 30, 1913, with the following cast:

_Simon Levi_ David Warfield. _Mrs. Levi_ Mrs. Jennie Moscowitz. _Mrs. Eagan_ Marie Bates. _Callahan_ Louis Hendricks. _Isaac Leavitt_ Harry Lewellyn. _Mrs. Leavitt_ Helena Philips. _Meyer Cohen_ Harry Rogers. _Mrs. Cohen_ Marie Reichardt. _Mo Fininski_ Frank Nelson. _Richard Eagan_ George LeGuere. _Minnie_ Charlotte Leslay. _Dawkins_ Horace James. _Customer_ John A. Rice. _Helga_ Janet Dunbar. _Miss Manning_ Frances Street. _Misses Crompton_ { Margaret Johnson. { Maud Roland. _Miss Finch_ Ethel Marie Sasse. _Mrs. Smith_, a shopper Geraldine de Rohan. _Policeman_ George Berliner. _Chestnut Vendor_ Tony Bevan. _Visitors_ { Watson White. { Douglas Farne. { Irving Laudeutscher. { Frank L. Van Vlissingen. _Man from Hester Street_ Michael Levine. _Newsboys_ { Meyer Howard. { Jess Kelly.

A MANIAC’S PLAY--“THE MAN INSIDE.”

A singular yet characteristic incident of Belasco’s career was his production of a play called “The Man Inside,” written by a madman who had been the central figure in one of the most notorious murder cases in modern criminal annals,--Roland Burnham Molineux. That poor wretch is the son of a much respected citizen, General Edward Leslie Molineux, who gained rank and honorable distinction in the Union Army during the Civil War. He was arrested, February 7, 1899, charged with the murder of Mrs. Katherine J. Adams, who died, December 28, 1898, of poisoning by cyanide of mercury, which she unwittingly swallowed mixed with a medicine received through the mails and which it was alleged that Molineux had prepared and sent. His trial began, November 14, 1899, before Recorder (now Supreme Court Justice) John B. Goff and continued for fifty-five days, ending, January 7, 1900, with his conviction of murder in the first degree. On February 16 Recorder Goff sentenced Molineux to death and he was then taken to the Sing Sing Prison, where, for many months, he was incarcerated in the “Death House.” His case was carried to the Court of Appeals and, October 15, 1901, he was granted a new trial which began, before Justice Lambert, in Part--of the Supreme Court, October 17, 1902, and ended, November 11, with his acquital,--an issue which, at the time, was regarded by some persons as a miscarriage of justice. The second jury which heard all the testimony, however, found him not guilty and he therefore stands vindicated. Mrs. Adams, meanwhile, certainly was murdered and the guilt of that crime has never been legally placed.

Throughout the ordeal of his trials, his condemnation, and his imprisonment under sentence of death Roland Molineux was sustained by the unwavering support of his devoted parents--his sturdy old father resolutely maintaining the son’s innocence and laboring without remission to establish it. The younger man’s health, however, was hopelessly undermined by the dreadful strain to which he was subjected and after his release he became ill and morose. In 1912 his parents obtained an introduction to Belasco and appealed to him for help. “His mother said to me,” writes the manager, “‘My boy’s life has been ruined. His health is gone--he has never been the same since he was released from prison. He has written a play which he believes will do great good and he has set his heart on getting it acted. If he is disappointed in this, on top of all the rest that he has suffered, we fear that he will die. If his play should be a success it might open a new life to him. Will you read it and help us, if you can?’ They told me other things--dreadful and afflicting things some of them, that I need not repeat. I had been tremendously impressed by General Molineux’s great fight for his son; I felt a great sympathy and pity for them--and I consented to read the young man’s play and to do it, if I found it practicable.

“When the manuscript came to me I found the piece long and crude, but I saw possibilities in it and I told the parents I would produce it. Their gratitude was very touching. Soon afterward, I met young Molineux, gave him several interviews, and went to work to knock his play into shape. At the beginning everything seemed all right and he accepted my first cuts and suggestions in a proper spirit and worked hard. But toward the end, along about August or September [1913], when I put the piece into rehearsal and began to make extensive changes, he turned sullen and very ugly. Sometimes, instead of working, he would sit and roll his eyes or glare at me; and, what was very dreadful, he gave off a horrible, sickening odor like that of a wild beast. I shall never forget the last night I ever had him with me. He was furious because of the changes I was making and I am sure he was going to attack me. Suddenly I stopped arguing with him and, picking up a heavy walking stick, I said: ‘See here, Molineux, stop looking at me like that; I’m not afraid of you. If you had brought me a finished play instead of a lot of words I wouldn’t have had to change your manuscript. Now, it’s hot and I’m tired, so we’ll call the whole thing off for to-night and you can go home and think it over.’ He pulled himself together then and tried to apologize and say how much he appreciated all I was doing, but I wouldn’t have it and just showed him out of my studio as quickly as I could--and I took care _he_ should walk in front, all the way! There wasn’t another soul in the place, except the night watchman, away down at the stagedoor. I never let him come near me again.”

When “The Man Inside” had been made ready for production Molineux was permitted to attend the dress rehearsal in New York, during the first act of which he was self-contained and quiet. But after the curtain had been lowered he became so violently excited and created so much disturbance that Belasco was constrained to order him to be taken out of the theatre. “It was hard to do, but it had to be done,” he writes; “I didn’t know whether to go on or drop the whole thing, and I really expected the man would break out and kill somebody.” Molineux’s unfortunate family and friends were, however, happily able to intervene and restrain him and no act of violence was committed. On November 7, 1914, he was placed in the King’s Park State Hospital, Long Island, and there he is still confined,--hopelessly insane. His brave, devoted old father, worn out and heart broken, died, June 10, 1915: his mother, a few months earlier. [Roland B. Molineux died, in the King’s Park State Hospital for the Insane, on November 2, 1917, of paresis. There is no doubt that he was a dangerous madman when first Belasco met him.--J. W.]

_The Man Inside_ of Molineux’s play is, symbolically, Conscience; and the fundamental idea which it expounds is that Society errs in its treatment of criminals, because crime cannot be prevented by punishment but only by an effective appeal to the self-respecting moral nature and “better self” of the criminal,--who must first be taught to “think right” before he can be made to _do_ right. Sublime discovery! No intimation is made as to what method Society ought to employ in cases--unhappily numerous--of criminals who do not possess any “better selves” and who cannot by any means, not even the threat of death, be restrained from crimes which profit them or gratify their ruling passions. There was, without doubt, an honest altruistic purpose in the distempered, tortured mind of Molineux,--though, since he did not possess the power to elucidate it, there is no need to dwell upon the subject in this place. Belasco, having through kindness undertaken to produce an ill-digested, “talky” and undramatic play, revised it as well as possible in the circumstances, making of it a moderately effective melodrama, dealing with crime and injustice. In that melodrama a philanthropic young man, who is also an Assistant District Attorney of the City of New York, resorts to the haunts of criminals in order to ascertain, if possible, why they persist in crime in spite of efforts to reclaim them. He there becomes deeply interested in a girl named _Annie_, the daughter of a desperate forger known as _Red Mike_, and also he becomes so incensed at the viciousness and cruelty of some methods employed by the Police Department and officials from the District Attorney’s Office to insure convictions of accused criminals that he assists _Annie_ in the theft of a forged check, upon possession of which the fate of her father depends,--thus himself becoming party to a crime, and, later, participating in a general bath of “whitewash.” The First Act of “The Man Inside” passes in an opium den of the New York “Chinatown”; the Second, in the office of the District Attorney--with the Tombs Prison visible through the window; the Third, in a squalid tenement house. Belasco placed the play on the stage in a setting of extraordinary verisimilitude and caused it to be acted in a well-nigh perfect manner. It was first produced at the Euclid Avenue Opera House, Cleveland, Ohio, October 27, 1913, and, November 11, was brought forward in New York at the Criterion Theatre. Public interest in it, however, was languid and it did not long survive. This was the original cast:

_Mr. Trainer_ A. Byron Beasley. _James Poor_ Charles Dalton. _Richard Gordon_ Milton Sills. _“Red” Mike_ A. E. Anson. _“Big” Frank_ Edward H. Robins. _“Pop” Olds_ John Cope. _Josh Hayes_ John Miltern. _Larry_ Joseph Byron Totten. _“Whispering” Riley_ Lawrence Wood. _Cafferty_ Erroll Dunbar. _Clusky_ Jerome Kennedy. _Wang Lee_ J. J. Chaille. _Chong Fong_ H. H. McCollum. _“The Major”_ Herbert Jones. _Murphy_ Karl Ritter. _Raleigh_ Charles B. Givan. _“Frisco” George_ Joseph Barker. _“Monk” Verdi_ J. A. Esposito. _Annie_ Helen Freeman. _Maggie_ Clare Weldon. _Lizzie_ Gertrude Davis.

BELASCO IN CHINATOWN.

While Belasco was preparing “The Man Inside” for the stage he made several expeditions into the “Chinatown” of New York, accompanied by members of his staff and his theatrical company, in order that some of the ways and denizens of that place--the very prose of the earth--might be pictured with literal exactitude. On those occasions he and his companions, including Mr. Gros, the scenic artist, were convoyed and protected by an eccentric being once well known in the purlieus of vice and crime, whose disreputable acquaintance he had made by chance and to whom he had commended himself by kindness. Describing the last of those insalubrious visits Belasco wrote the following characteristic letter to the young woman who afterward played the principal female part in his adaptation of the Molineux play:

(_Belasco to Miss Helen Freeman_.)

“My dear Miss Helen:--

“We went on the postponed, and probably the last, trip into the
‘underworld’ last night. It might have been useful to have had you
see it once more; but, on the whole, I think you have seen enough
for the purpose and am glad you weren’t along. Familiar as I am
with the sights of such places (and far worse, such as I used to
visit in old San Francisco) I found some of it last night rather
shocking. But as I promised to give you an account of this trip I
will write a little description of our adventures--which, perhaps,
you may find suggestive.

“At half-past nine my boys [meaning some members of the technical
staff of the Belasco Theatre and two actors] and I met at the
stagedoor and left for Chinatown, where, by appointment, we met a
very ardent admirer of yours--Mr. ‘Chuck’ Conners, no less! Perhaps
one of the reasons why I like the man is because, in his
unpicturesque, rough, human fashion, he felt and expressed your
sweetness--the quality which will help you so much in this play,
and in all parts. I shall tell you more particularly what he said
about you presently, and if you will translate his primitive
speech into the finer shaded meanings of a cultivated man, I am
sure it will touch your heart as it did mine. But I must get to my
story....

“First we sat in the Chatham Club, and had a few ‘rounds,’--which I
had a hard time to avoid drinking. I don’t know what the others did
with theirs--I was too busy with my own troubles to watch! While
human beings put such stuff inside themselves I can’t wonder at
anything they do. While there, the girls came and did some
‘ragtime’ for us. ‘Chuck,’ I must tell you, was dressed for the
occasion,--‘to kill,’--with a white ’kerchief about his neck and
_one_ shoe polished! The other was a characteristic contrast. We
listened to the same old stories and ‘our hero’ sang the same old
songs. Also, as aforetime, to punctuate his remarks he found it
necessary to _punch_ me in the ribs, and so to-day I find myself
more or less black and blue. The old pianola was set to the wildest
airs, and they had a new one, for our especial benefit, called ‘In
the Harem,’--which is so good that I am going to introduce it in
our play. Do you remember the big, tall girl, with the flat nose
and her poor teeth out? She was still sitting in her corner, more
forlorn than ever, and with her sad ‘lamps’ looking into my very
heart. I gave her another five dollars and told her that if I came
again I should expect to see her wearing a new pair of shoes,--for
her poor toes were peeping out of frayed stockings, through the
impossible boots, and it was all very sad.

“Well, from there we went to the same old opium bungalows and the
same old ‘Chink’ ‘hit the pipe’ for us,--afterward, however, taking
us into a female ‘joint,’ where we saw several regular denizens of
the place. It is all part of the show; but I am glad Conners did
not take us to it when you and the other ladies were along.... One
of the women there had been a belle of Philadelphia: another, a
runaway wife. Gradually, they have slipped down the ladder of shame
and remorse, until their poor, wavering little hands could hold the
rungs no longer, and so they fell into that ‘Slough of Despond,’
with the ‘pipe’ for their favorite companion. I was glad to get
away from it, for it made my heart ache. With infinite
understanding there would be infinite tolerance; and if we knew the
springs of action, the circumstances and environment, of these
poor, stray souls, perhaps we shouldn’t judge them very harshly.

“But to return to my story: ‘Chuck’ was in his element. Never did I
know that such unmentionable slang, such mere depravity of phrase,
could come from human lips, although my experience has been a
varied one! The night you ladies were with us the ‘choicest gems’
of his vernacular were bottled up: last night the cork was
drawn--with a vengeance! And yet, after all (though I’m glad you
did not hear him), it was only words. At heart, the man is kind and
generous, and he lives up to his code closer than many another who
has had every advantage.

“Of course, he asked all about you. He said you were ‘Der real
t’ing,’ ‘der right stuff,’ ‘der whole cheese,’ etc. ‘Next day,’
said he, ‘all der fleet wanted t’ know who der swell little skoit
was. “And,” I sez, “why dat’s der Princess Nicotine!” I sez.’

“He was anxious to know your opinion of him, and so I said that he
had made ‘a great hit’ with you. This pleased him mightily. I then
said that he ‘was tearing every skirt’s heart wide open!’ ‘Stop
dat--stop dat!’ he said; ‘Go ‘way back! She was kidding of yer!’

“We wound up by dining at the Chinese Delmonico’s on tea and rice
and chop suey. Of course, I ordered some, but not daring to eat it
I slipped my plate to ‘Chuck,’ whose chop-sticks soon made short
work of the concoction. He ordered _more_, afterward, and I wish
you could have seen his expression when he had at length reached a
stage of repletion and exclaimed ‘Hully gee! dis is goin’ some! I
wouldn’t change me feed-bag dis minute wif Rockefeller!’...

“We parted with ‘Chuck’ about three in the morning. He escorted us
to the same old car, which was piloted by the same old chauffeur.
As we were leaving he blew me a kiss! ‘Hully gee!’ he said, ‘I
likes youse; an’ don’ yer ferget to tell de little skoit dat she’s
der _real t’ing_!’ We were about to start when he gave a yell that
frightened us and said he had forgotten something. He pulled the
enclosed book from his pocket and, using the chauffeur’s back as a
desk, wrote the inscription on the fly-leaf!...

“The last act will soon be in final shape. Study hard, but don’t
over-do,--and everything will be all right. Good-night and good
luck.

“Faithfully, “DAVID BELASCO.”

AN ADMONITION TO STAGE ASPIRANTS.

(_Belasco to a Recalcitrant Novice_.)

Another letter which Belasco wrote at about the same period as that above quoted is characteristic and informative as to his views concerning the Stage and stage aspirants and can conveniently be placed here:

“The Belasco Theatre.

My dear Mrs. H.------:--

“It is not an easy task to write what I have to say, but it is time
that it should be written and understood. If I am to do for your
cousin, Miss V------, what I want to do and have hoped to do; if I
am to open the way for her to a career, she must be guided by me;
_my_ influence, not yours nor that of anybody else, must
predominate. The Stage is a harsh master. Real success on it does
not ‘happen’: it is _made_--made of striving and sacrifice and
self-denial and _hard work_.

“What you do is, of course, no concern of mine and I have no wish
to meddle in anybody else’s business, having far more of my own
than I can properly look after. But I have every reason to think
that, if it were not for your influence, I might not have so many
causes to be dissatisfied with Miss V------. At present, my wishes
are not heeded by her. And so that we may all reach an
understanding, I want to say to you that I resent Miss V------‘s
recent conduct; that, in view of the fact that I have taken the
trouble to interest myself in her future as an actress, I resent it
_very much_, and will not any longer tolerate it.

“If I am in some ways a strict master I am always a fair and
considerate one. But,--and please realize this,--in everything
connected with my theatre, from the waterboys in the smoking room
to the ‘star’ on the stage; from the carpets to be laid on the
floors to the plays that are produced, _I am the Master, and my
word is the absolute and final law_.

“Miss V------ is a very young girl, who has seen very little of the
world. She is not only exceptionally talented but pretty,
attractive, and charming. Consequently she is admired by the idlers
who have time to kill in dangling after young women of the
Stage--and nothing better to do. Miss V------ is much sought after
by matrons who are ever on the look-out for pretty girls to attract
men to their dances and their ‘week-end’ visits. Such women care
nothing at all about a girl’s career or whether they ruin it or
not--and they will ruin it, every time, if the girl is weak or
foolish enough to be persuaded. Miss V------ likes this kind of
attention, which is natural, but it won’t do--not if she is to
remain with _me_. No big man or woman has time for frivolities; it
is either one thing or the other: we work and work and rise and
rise; or else we try to flutter through life on butterfly
wings--and then we fall by the wayside.

“Miss V------ has, I am informed, been neglecting her duties at the
theatre. True, at present she has only the minor position of an
understudy; but she should at least be conscientious enough to
attend to its duties. She knows very well that she should keep Mr.
L------ informed of her whereabouts. She has no right, no excuse,
to go anywhere, or to be in any place, where he cannot reach her at
a moment’s notice, by telephone. An understudy is just a reserve
soldier, subject to instant call. If Mr. Dean had been well, of
course he would have attended to this matter of Miss V------‘s
neglect. But as it is, Mr. L------ has too many details to look
after. Her conduct is not fair to him, to say nothing of me, nor
does it show any proper respect for the theatre, for Miss V------
so to ignore her obligations. Last evening, through an
indisposition, Miss------, whom she understudies, was nearly
obliged to remain away. If she had done so, the house would have
been dismissed, and Mr. L------ would have been discharged, through
her negligence. Have you any conception what it would mean to me to
disappoint an audience, _in my theatre_?

“If Miss V------ is to remain under my guidance she must obey _my_
wishes: not yours, or her own, or anybody else’s, but _mine_--at
all times and in everything. If she does not see fit to follow my
advice, I shall reluctantly leave her to her own resources.
Inasmuch as I have made myself responsible for her artistic
success, her mental and physical condition are matters of much
moment to me and I will not have them jeopardized as [they are] by
her present mode of life. Automobile rides, midnight suppers and
dances until daylight are all very well--but they are not conducive
to health. They are a sapping of the vitality which, if she wishes
to succeed, should be reserved for higher things....

“Do you realize that, for months past, I have given two nights a
week to Miss V------,--time and work that no money could buy and no
influence induce me to waste? _I_ realize it! I once refused a
fortune, a theatre in London and an endowment for life, in return
for which I was to give a popular actress what I have given Miss
V------ for nothing, simply because she has great talent and I have
believed in her. And I refused to direct that actress because I
knew she would never sacrifice her society life and pleasures for
her work. Understand, please; _I_ have a reputation to maintain, a
standard to live up to. Sickness, weariness, accident, trouble,
death--the Public does not want and will not take excuses. That is
not what they [it] comes into my theatre for. It comes to see the
best plays I can put on, acted by the best artists I can engage
and train. Miss V------ can be one of these, if she will pay the
price; if, like the women who have made a success of their lives
she can be strong enough to give up everything else, ‘for the love
of the working.’ Miss ------ did, and little Miss ------; otherwise,
they would not be where they are to-day....

If it is your intention for Miss V------ to make her _début_ in
society, with matrimony in view for her, then I suggest that you
and she be frank enough to let me know, so that I may make my plans
accordingly. Matrimony is a career with which _nothing else_ can
compete....

“I have been very lenient and have written at length and explained
myself, because Miss V------ is very young, and because I hold you
more to blame than I do her. But if I am to continue the moulding
of her artistic career it must be with the distinct understanding
that my wishes and my influence shall dominate, in everything.

“If Miss V------ wishes to continue under my direction,--absolute
obedience, application, study, effort, and constant hard work are
the conditions. On the other hand, when you have read this letter
to her, she is at liberty to consider herself released from all
engagements to me if she so desires.

“Yours faithfully, “DAVID BELASCO.”

“THE PHANTOM RIVAL.”

“The Phantom Rival,” adapted by Leo Ditrichstein from an Austrian original by Ferenc Molnar, postulates that a woman idealizes the man whom she first loves and never forgets him; and, by presenting her extravagant notions about him in a dream and then showing,--in an individual case,--that he turns out to be a commonplace person, implies that the ideals founded in youth and cherished by females in after life are mistakes and absurd. It may be so. It probably is true that all ideals of human perfection are unsound and even ridiculous. It certainly is true that the longer we live and the more we see of human nature the more disappointed we are, in ourselves as well as in others, till we come at last to believe, as Lockhart wrote:

“That nothing’s new and nothing’s true
And nothing signifies!”

The “visible dream” is an old device of the theatre and a good one. It was exceedingly well managed in this play--the only blemish, indeed, being a certain effect of monotony which, being inherent in the dramatic fabric, was ineradicable in the stage exhibition of it. The principal persons in this drama, which centres around “the dream,” are an American woman, _Mrs. Marshall_, and an Austrian, named _Sascha Taticheff_. In youth they dwelt in the same Brooklyn boarding house. Propinquity had a usual consequence. The girl, romantic, admired the youth and became fond of him. The youth was flattered and reciprocated. Then, suddenly, he went away, called back to his native land, taking a sentimental farewell and writing a letter filled with ardent vaporings. Years have passed. The girl has met and loved and married a successful American lawyer; they dwell together; they would be happy, in a staid, conventional way, were it not for the preposterous, boorish jealousy of the husband. He suspects his wife of having had an earlier lover and he tortures himself and her because of this suspicion, this paltry jealousy of “the phantom rival” of a youthful attachment. And then, by chance, in a public restaurant, _Taticheff_ and _Mrs. Marshall_, who is with her husband, meet again. Scarce able to recall each other, they exchange formal bows. Having returned to their home _Marshall_ badgers his wife about the stranger in the restaurant until, exasperated, she admits that she once knew _Taticheff_ and was fond of him; and, finally, she surrenders to her husband, who reads it, the farewell letter of her youthful sweetheart. The sentimental folly of that screed so amuses _Marshall_ that he declares himself cured of his jealousy, speaks of the writer with contempt, and, laughing heartily, goes out to a business conference. The wife, incensed by this cavalier attitude toward the object of her girlhood affection, rereads his perfervid protestations: then, falling asleep, she has a dream in which her _Sascha_ returns to her, at a fashionable ball, in, successively, the different characters suggested by his letter:--first, as an all-conquering military hero; then as a world-dominating statesman; next as a peerless singer, the idol of two hemispheres; finally,--after she has been turned out of doors by an indignant hostess because of the scandal of her conduct with her multiform lover,--in the guise of a wretched, one-armed street-beggar, upon whom her husband makes a furious assault, whereupon, shrieking, she awakes. Then, her husband returning with the actual _Sascha_ (who proves to be subordinately concerned with the business which _Marshall_ has in hand), she is left alone with him. The interview that then occurs between them is much the cleverest passage in the play. The woman, rather forlornly, tries to discover in the man before her some trace of the romantic glamour with which she had fancifully invested him, but finds only a plebeian dullard, stupidly embarrassed, inveterately selfish and petty, and much interested in her husband’s brandy. At last, when she is relieved of his tiresome presence, she drops his long-cherished letters into the fire and joins her husband in his contemptuous amusement at her sentimental memories and the sorry figure of his “phantom rival.”--Belasco’s preservation of an unreal, dream-like atmosphere throughout the dream scenes of this play was perfect. And, of the kind, nothing so good as the acting of Miss Laura Hope Crews and Mr. Ditrichstein in the last scene of it has been visible on our Stage for many years. “The Phantom Rival” was first produced, September 28, 1914, at Ford’s Opera House, Baltimore: on October 6, it was presented at the Belasco Theatre, New York. This was the original cast:

_Sascha Taticheff_ Leo Ditrichstein. _Frank Marshall_ Malcolm Williams. _Dover_ Frank Westerton. _Earle_ Lee Millar. _Farnald_ John Bedouin. _Oscar_ John McNamee. _Waiters_ { Louis Pioselli. { Frank E. Morris. _Louise, Mrs. Marshall_ Laura Hope Crews. _Mrs. Van Ness_ Lila Barclay. _Nurse_ Anna McNaughton. _Maid_ Ethel Marie Sasse.

“THE BOOMERANG.”

It was an opinion of the philosophic Bacon that women “will sooner follow you by slighting than by too much wooing.” That is an opinion shared by many and one which observation perceives to be grounded on fact: _some_ women _will_. It is the basic idea underlying the play by Messrs. Winchell Smith and Victor Mapes, called “The Boomerang,” which Belasco produced at his New York theatre, August 10, 1915,--and which, slender as it is, has proved one of the most richly remunerative of all his ventures. In that play a youth, _Budd Woodbridge_ by name, loves a girl, _Grace Tyler_, so unreservedly that she finds him wearisome and is inclined to repel his devotion and bestow her affections upon another youth. Young _Woodbridge_ so peaks and pines under his mistress’ disdain and the pangs of juvenile jealousy that his mother fears that he is passing into a decline and insists on his consulting a physician. That physician, _Dr. Gerald Sumner_, finds the young man depressed, irritable, and in extreme nervous distress. He questions him shrewdly and soon ascertains the nature of the distemper for which he is desired to prescribe. He rather cynically undertakes to cure the youth and his directions are obeyed. His patient is sent home and put to bed; a daily hypodermic injection is ordered of a mysterious, vivifying serum (in fact, water), and a young woman nurse, beautiful and peculiarly kind and sympathetic, is employed to administer the injection and to amuse and cheer the unhappy sufferer, who is obediently responsive to her angelic ministration. The capricious _Miss Tyler_, seeing her adorer apparently succumbing to the fascinations of the lovely nurse and finding herself rather slighted off, discovers that she cannot live without him and _Woodbridge’s_ amatory anguish is soon in a fair way to be assuaged. The relevancy of the title of this farce, “The Boomerang,” is revealed in a dictionary comment on that implement of Antipodal warfare which declares that: “in inexperienced hands the boomerang recoils upon the thrower, sometimes with very serious results.” This is illustrated by the fate of _Dr. Sumner_, who, having been scornful on the subject of love and jealousy, becomes violently enamoured of the charming nurse and for a time suffers much because of her affectionate tendance upon his patient,--until, at last, he learns that her regard is really fixed upon himself.

This play was designated as a “comedy,”--and, if Dr. Johnson’s definition of a comedy as something to make people laugh be accepted, that definition is plausible. The piece is, in fact, a farce and, in my judgment, rather a slight one; but it was so exquisitely stage-managed and so admirably acted that it passed for being something far more substantial and worthy than, intrinsically, it is. With the view that it is slight and merely ephemeral Belasco emphatically disagrees. “I maintain,” he has declared to me, “that ‘The Boomerang’ has a vital theme, of universal appeal, no matter how much you may ridicule it: I mean Calf Love. Everybody has had it--and, while it lasts, it’s terrible. No matter how much we may laugh at the boys and girls suffering from juvenile love and jealousy, we sympathize with them, too. That’s why everybody in the country wants to see our little play--why men and women have stood in line all night (as they have done in many places) to buy tickets for the performance. I believed in the little piece from the very first. I wish I knew where to get another as good!”

One of many scores of letters received by Belasco, commendatory of this play and its exemplary presentment, came from perhaps the most generous of contemporary patrons of the Theatre and it may appropriately be quoted here:

(_Otto H. Kahn to David Belasco._)

“52 William Street, New York, “November 8, 1915.

“Dear Mr. Belasco:--

“I need not tell you that I have frequently and greatly admired
your art and skill, but there are gradations of achievement even in
an acknowledged master and, having just seen your latest
production, ‘The Boomerang,’ I cannot refrain from sending you a
few lines of particularly warm appreciation and congratulation.
Nothing is more difficult in art than to produce great effects with
simple means, to do a simple thing superlatively well. Nothing is
more rare in art than restraint. Nothing is a greater test of the
art of the producer than to maintain throughout an entire evening
the atmosphere, the illusion and the effect of comedy, unaided as
he is by either the stirring incidents of drama or the broad appeal
of farce. Your wisdom in picking out one of the very best and most
genuine comedies that I have seen in many a day, your judgment in
providing an admirable cast, and your skill and art in producing,
have combined to bring about the most happy result, and I owe you
thanks for that rare treat, a wholly delightful evening at the
theatre, unmarred by any jarring note.

“Believe me, “Very faithfully yours, “OTTO H. KAHN.”

“The Boomerang” was originally produced at The Playhouse, Wilmington, Delaware, April 5, 1915. This was the cast:

_Dr. Gerald Sumner_ Arthur Byron. _Budd Woodbridge_ Wallace Eddinger. _Preston de Witt_ Gilbert Douglas. _Heinrich_ Richard Malchien. _Hartley_ John N. Wheeler. _Mr. Stone_ John Clements. _Virginia Xelva_ Martha Hedman. _Grace Tyler_ Ruth Shepley. _Marion Sumner_ Josephine Parks. _Gertrude Ludlow_ Dorothy Megrew. _Mrs. Creighton Woodbridge_ Ida Waterman.

“SEVEN CHANCES.”

“Odds life, sir! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands!” exclaims _Sir Anthony Absolute_, in “The Rivals,” to his son, when mentioning that his proffer of “a noble independence” is “saddled with a wife.” Such arbitrary bestowal of wealth contingent on matrimony--frequent in actual experience--is one of the best established and most respected expedients of comical stage dilemmas, and it recurs, at intervals, in one form or another, with much the inevitability of death and taxes. It is the basis of another entertaining farce, called “Seven Chances,” which Belasco produced at the George M. Cohan Theatre, New York, August 8, 1916, and which also enjoyed a long and prosperous career. That farce was built on a “suggestion” derived from a short story by Mr. Gouverneur Morris, entitled “The Cradle Snatcher,” and, originally, it was called “Shannon’s Millions.” It was several times rebuilt, under Belasco’s supervision,--Mr. Roi Cooper Megrue being the last of his coadjutory playwrights. It was produced, April 17, 1916, at the Apollo Theatre, Atlantic City, New Jersey, under the name of “The Lucky Fellow.” Its comical incidents revolve around _Jimmy Shannon_, an amiable young bachelor with a vigorous antipathy to matrimony, whose sardonic grandsire, dying, leaves to him by will a fortune of twelve million dollars, conditional upon his being married by the time that he is thirty years old. _Shannon_ is informed of that contingent bequest on the eve of his attainment of the specified age. He is at a Country Club where, also, there are seven young women. “The affair cries haste and speed must answer it.” The impecunious _Shannon_ will propose marriage to each one of those females, if necessary: thus he has “seven chances” of obtaining the impendent fortune,--which, at last, he gets, along with a bride so young and beauteous as to reconcile him to the imposed change in his state. The opportunities for fun in all this are obvious; critically to dilate upon them would be much like breaking a butterfly on the wheel. They were utilized to the full under Belasco’s direction by a good company,--the parts being cast as follows:

_Jimmie Shannon_ Frank Craven. _Billy Meekin_ John Butler. _Earl Goddard_ Hayward Ginn. _Ralph Denby_ Charles Brokate. _Joe Spence_ Frank Morgan. _Henry Garrison_ Harry Leighton. _George_ Freeman Wood. _Anne Windsor_ Carroll McComas. _Mrs. Garrison_ Marion Abbott. _Lilly Trevor_ Anne Meredith. _Peggy Wood_ Emily Callaway. _Irene Trevor_ Beverly West. _Georgiana Garrison_ Gladys Knorr. _Florence Jones_ Florence Deshon. _Betty Brown_ Alice Carroll.

“THE LITTLE LADY IN BLUE”: THE LAST PLAY EVER SEEN BY WILLIAM WINTER.

[The last play ever seen by my father was “The Little Lady in Blue,” which Belasco produced on October 16, 1916, in Washington, and, on December 22, at the Belasco Theatre, in New York. It is a very agreeable piece, with a somewhat trite but expertly handled story. The period of it is 1820. The scene of it is England. The principal character in it is named _Anne Churchill_. She is an impoverished little governess who sets out to be an adventuress. She wins the affection of a wild young naval officer named _Anthony Addenbrooke_., incidentally rescuing him from the clutches of a much bepainted Circe of the Portsmouth waterfront. Next she helps him to meet the conditions under which he will inherit £60,000, intending to marry him for the sake of that money. Then she discovers that she really loves him, she is ashamed of her conduct, and she cannot go through with the part of a mercenary adventuress. She confesses to _Addenbrooke_ the real origin of her interest in his affairs and releases him from his engagement to marry her. Being recognized as an earthly paragon she is not permitted to retire into indigence but is wedded to her lover, who has gained a lieutenant’s commission through her assistance and is about to sail away to fight for King and country.--The piece was written by Messrs. Horace Hodges and T. Wigney Percyval.

My father was unable to attend the first New York performance of that play, and his work on this Memoir prevented his seeing it until several weeks later. In his “Journal” he wrote:

[1917] “February 8. More damnable peace blather!--Belasco kindly
invited us to visit his Theatre and sent his automobile for us, and
‘Willy’ and I went and saw performance of ‘The Little Lady in
Blue,’--a pleasing entertainment.”

Two days afterward Mr. Winter wrote the following letter, which records his critical views of the production.

--J. W.]

(_William Winter to David Belasco._)

“New Brighton, Staten Island, “February 10, 1917.

“Dear Belasco:--

“It was indeed a pleasure to see, at your theatre, the play of ‘The
Little Lady in Blue.’ It is long since I have so much enjoyed
anything. The rightly conducted Theatre still remains to me what it
always was--the home of that magic art which cheers the loneliness
of life and opens the portal into an ideal world. Alas, that it is
not more generally conducted for such a purpose! ‘The Little Lady’
can hardly be considered _a play_; but, as you have presented it,
it is a charming entertainment--a whimsical, almost grotesque,
portrayal of eccentric characters and incredible incidents, which
are made to _seem_ real, for the moment by the glamour of the
Stage. Since the plot is so frail, I was all the more surprised and
delighted that so much interest could be excited and sustained and
so much pleasure diffused by the histrionic treatment of a theme so
slender. You have set the play on the stage in an exquisite manner,
and it is acted throughout with a scrupulous care and zeal that, in
recent years, I have seldom seen equalled. It is easy to ridicule
such quaint, fantastic, almost dream-like pieces. As Frederick
Locker wrote:

‘We love the rare old days and rich
That poetry has painted;
We mourn that sacred age with which
We never were acquainted!’

“But they have a potent charm, a sort of mignonette and wild-thyme
fragrance, a power to touch the gentler feelings and soothe the
mind, and so they are precious.

“There is one blemish that should be removed--namely, the character
of _A Girl of Portsmouth Town_: it adds nothing to the situation,
and it is only a blot on the delicacy of the play.

“I am glad to know the production is prosperous: it deserves to
be--and it ought to fill your theatre for months, and I hope it
will.

“With kind regards, “Faithfully yours, “WILLIAM WINTER.”

The cast of “The Little Lady in Blue appended:

_Admiral Sir Anthony Addenbrooke_ A. G. Andrews. _Anthony Addenbrooke_ Jerome Patrick. _Captain Kent, R. N._ Frederick Graham. _Joe Porten_ Horace Braham. _Baron von Loewe_ Carl Sauerman. _John Speedwell_ Charles Garry. _Cobbledick_ George Giddens. _A Waiter_ Adrian H. Rosley. _A Process Server_ Harry Holiday. _Landlord of the Portsmouth Inn_ Roland Rushton. _Anne Churchill_ Frances Starr. _Miss Quick_ Lucy Beaumont. _A Girl of Portsmouth Town_ Eleanor Pendleton.

“THE VERY MINUTE”--A MEMORANDUM.

_Memo._--David produced a new play called “The Very Minute” last Monday night [April 9, 1917], at his N. Y. theatre, with Mr. Arnold Daly in the principal part. All about bad effects of drinking too much liquor, &c. Novelty--striking! Good old Towse calls it “a shallow pretence of a serious play” and says it is a “nightmare.” Commends D. B.’s “meticulous attention to the material and manner of production.” Also commends A. D. for “moments of _powerful_ acting.” Well--he was there and I was not; but how A. D. must have changed! _I_ never saw any more “power” in him than there is in a pennywhistle. Used to have a sort of _sonsy_ quality that was pleasing. Competent in a commonplace way: unusual assurance--great conceit. Knows his business--generally _definite_, which is a merit. Disagreeable personality. Head turned with vanity. And nothing really IN him--that ever _I_ could see.

This play written by John Meehan. Young man, said to be related to me by marriage. I never met him and do not know. Suppose I must see his play and write about it. Don’t want to! “What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?” Where do they [plays] all come from, I wonder? Hope David has got another success, but surmise it’s an awful frost,--as ’twere “the very _last_ minute of the hour,” I fear. Wish he would stop producing plays altogether until after I get through writing this “Life”!

[“The Very Minute” was first acted at The Playhouse, Wilmington, Delaware, April 5, 1917: it was “an awful frost,” as my father surmised, and it was withdrawn on May 7--the Belasco Theatre being then closed.--J. W.] This was the cast:

_Horace Cramner_ Forrest Robinson. _Mrs. Cramner_ Marie Wainwright. _Francis Cramner_ Arnold Daly. _Kathleen_ Cathleen Nesbitt. _Philip Cramner_ William Morris. _Mr. Husner_ John W. Cope. _Dr. Monticou_ Lester Lonergan. _Robert_ Robert Vivian. _Bennett_ Leon E. Brown.

SUMMARY.

[The various passages in the following “Summary” of the character and career of Belasco were written disjointedly. They are here gathered and arranged in what appears to be their natural sequence,--as nearly as I can judge in the order in which Mr. Winter would have placed them. In two or three instances an unfinished sentence has been completed and here and there an essential word or two has been inserted or added. Otherwise the matter stands unrevised: I have not attempted to write connecting passages.--J. W.]

“_Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress,_
_But always resolute in most extremes._”
--SHAKESPEARE.

The estimate that observation forms of a person still living cannot always be deemed conclusive: the person can invalidate it, in an instant, by some sudden action, some unexpected development, some surprising decadence; and, as a general rule, it should be remembered that no person is ever completely

Inscription:

“_To my friend of many years, William Winter._”

From a photograph not before published--by the Misses Selby.

Author’s Collection.
]