The Life of David Belasco; Vol. 1

recall a somewhat painful incident of the first night of “May Blossom,” which should be recorded as indicative of its author’s peculiar constitution. Belasco had made arduous efforts in preparing the play for the stage and also during the performance of it, and when, after the last curtain, he was called and constrained to thank his enthusiastic audience, he could hardly speak, and after saying a few words he fainted. This collapse, genuine and, to a hypersensitive person, natural, was, by some observers, cruelly derided as affectation. Many persons, fortunately for themselves superior to trepidation, seem incapable of understanding as genuine the “fears and scruples” which sometimes overwhelm others: I remember once, at a banquet, in Boston, to Dr. Holmes, noting with surprise the impatience with which my table neighbor, Colonel Higginson, gazing at Holmes,—who was trembling with excitement in view of what he had to do,—said to me: “What’s he worried about! He has only to read some verses!” Many years after the first presentment of “May Blossom,” which it was my privilege to hail, the next morning, in “The New York Tribune,” as the best new play which had, up to that time, been produced at the Madison Square Theatre, Belasco said to me: “Your verdict meant everything to me,—more, during the first week or two, than the public approval. Bronson Howard’s recognition of my work in improving ’Young Mrs. Winthrop’ and your support of my ’May Blossom’ did more to help me break the iron ring I was shut up in in New York than everything else put together!”

The prosperity of “May Blossom” much facilitated the progress of Belasco toward the attainment of his ambitious object, which was the control of a high-class theatre in New York; but he was yet to meet with disappointments and hardships and to undergo many trials. The venomous practice of stigmatizing him as a plagiarist, which has long prevailed, began almost coincidentally with the success of “May Blossom.” It should here be mentioned again that this play was transformed by him from an earlier play of his, called “Sylvia’s Lovers,” written about 187(5?), and first produced, in that year, at Piper’s Opera House, in Virginia City. When he had prepared it in a new and definitive form for presentment at the Madison Square Theatre he showed the manuscript to Howard P. Taylor, a writer for “The New York Dramatic Mirror,” at that time edited by Harrison Grey Fiske, and consulted him as a reputed expert relative to historical details of the Civil War. That person had offered to the managers of the Madison Square Theatre a play called “Caprice” (produced August 11, 1884, at the New Park Theatre, New York, by John A. Stevens and the author, in partnership—Minnie Maddern, now Mrs. Fiske, being the star), which those managers rejected. After “May Blossom” had been successfully presented, Taylor accused Belasco of having caused the Mallory brothers to reject “Caprice,” and also with having stolen ideas from that play,—which, as stage manager and adviser of the Madison Square Theatre, he had seen,—and used them in “May Blossom.” Belasco urgently requested him to make the accusation in court, but Taylor, though he long and maliciously persisted in publishing his defamatory charge, would never bring the matter to a legal test. On the occasion of the 1000th performance of “May Blossom,” at a dinner given by Daniel Frohman and “Harry” Miner, in celebration of the event, Harrison Grey Fiske, who, at his own request, had been included among the speakers, stated that he felt he had a duty to perform in tendering an apology for the unfounded accusations repeatedly made by Taylor, in “The Dramatic Mirror,” impugning the integrity of Belasco as an author and a man.

This was the original cast of “May Blossom,” at the Madison Square:

Whiffen was succeeded, as Hathaway, in this company, by De Wolf Hopper,—one of the few genuine and intrinsically humorous comedians on our Stage to-day.

FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND.—“CALLED BACK.”

In the summer of 1884 Belasco was sent to London by his employers in order that he might see a performance of a play entitled “Called Back,”—founded on the novel of that name by Hugh Conway,—which those managers had bought for representation in America. He sailed aboard the Alaska, on July 5, making his first voyage across the Atlantic, and it was then our personal acquaintance began,—as I chanced to be a passenger aboard the same ship. He was not, I remember, a good sailor, and for several days he remained in seclusion, but before the end of the voyage we met and had a pleasant conversation, and I found him then, as I have found him since, a singularly original and interesting character and a genial companion. He said that his stay in England would be brief, as indeed it was, for having, on arrival in London, witnessed a representation of “Called Back,” then being acted at the Haymarket Theatre by Beerbohm-Tree and his dramatic company, he came back to New York on the return voyage of the same ship that had carried him over. His task,—which was duly performed,—was to prepare “Called Back” for presentment at the Madison Square, but as “May Blossom” continued to be prosperous there it was decided not to interrupt its successful run, but to produce the new play at another theatre, and that play, accordingly, was brought out, September 1, 1884, under Belasco’s direction, at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, then managed by John Stetson,—the leading parts in it being acted by Robert B. Mantell and Jessie Millward. The work done by Belasco in connection with “Called Back” was, practically, the last that he ever did for the Mallorys. In London the play had been so fashioned that Paolo Macari was the star part, acted by Beerbohm-Tree. Belasco’s task, as adapter, was that of devising minor modifications rendering the play better suited to presentment before American audiences: it was desired that the part of Gilbert Vaughan should be made as conspicuous as possible,—the Mallorys being intent to make the most of the popularity of Mantell, who had been brilliantly successful in “The Romany Rye” and “Fedora” and had become a favorite with the public. Macari, however, remained the principal character in the drama, and William J. Ferguson, by whom it was exceedingly well played, maintained it in its natural place.

CHANGES AT THE MADISON SQUARE.

Frohman, the business manager, was dissatisfied with his situation and prospects, and his retirement soon occurred. The Mallorys were forming a business alliance with Albert Marshall Palmer (1838-1905), when Belasco returned from his trip to England in their interests, and on August 29, 1884, public announcement was made that Palmer had become a partner in their enterprise. Palmer was a dictatorial person, and Belasco, much more experienced in technical aspects of theatrical matters and far abler as a stage director, came almost immediately into conflict with him. The particular incident which precipitated the rupture was trivial. At a rehearsal of “Called Back” which Belasco was conducting Palmer made his appearance, accompanied by Boucicault. Their presence disconcerted the actors and Belasco (as he told me) requested them to retire, explaining the reason for that request. Boucicault, appreciating the situation, politely said, “All right, my boy, I’ll go.” Palmer, on the contrary, brusquely exclaimed, “I’ll be damned if you will,” and added the assurance that he was a partner in the business and intended to be present at all rehearsals. To this Belasco replied, “Mr. Palmer, the actors can’t rehearse with you and Mr. Boucicault here, and if you don’t go I shall dismiss the rehearsal,”—whereupon Palmer went. This encounter and Palmer’s general manner satisfied Belasco that he could not long retain his office, and although Palmer subsequently requested him to remain at the Madison Square (after “Called Back” was safely launched at the Fifth Avenue) and continue to rehearse the company there, benevolently proposing that he would himself, in each case, supervise the last two or three full rehearsals (an old theatrical practice, whereby one man does all the work and another comes in at the last moment to take all the credit for it, while actually doing almost nothing), he insisted on obtaining, and did obtain, acceptance of his resignation. The Mallorys themselves were the next to leave the Madison Square, and on March 13, 1885, Palmer became sole manager of that theatre.

A LABORIOUS INTERLUDE.—LYCEUM THEATRE.

and become as prosperous as certain other actors then were,—notably Jefferson, as Rip Van Winkle, and John S. Clarke, as Major de Boots. “I was keen to act then,” he said to me, “and sometimes now I wish I had stuck to it.” With him as with most other persons, however, the path that he should tread was ordained by the iron force of circumstance. He did whatever work he could find to do, and his occupations were various. He trained members of an amateur society, in Brooklyn, called “The Amaranth.” He revised a play called “Caught in a Corner” (it had previously been tinkered by Clay M. Greene, and it was produced in New York, Belasco’s arrangement, November 1, 1887, at the Fourteenth Street Theatre) for Maurice Bertram Curtis, an actor now dimly remembered for his performance in “Sam’l of Posen,” with whom he had, in 1878, been affiliated as a member of the “Frayne Troupe,” travelling in California. More particularly he became associated with Steele Mackaye, in the Lyceum. That theatre was situated in Fourth Avenue, next to the old Academy of Design, which stood on the northwest corner of Twenty-third Street and Fourth Avenue. It was built, on ground leased from William Y. Mortimer, by Philip G. Hubert, Charles W. Clinton, and Michael Brennan, and it was opened by Mackaye on April 6, 1885, with a play called “Dakolar,” which he had “conveyed” from “Le Maître de Forges,” by Georges Ohnet. The chief parts were played by Robert B. Mantell, John Mason, Viola Allen, and Sadie Martinot. Belasco’s position at the Lyceum was that of assistant stage manager and general helper for Mackaye, whose signal ability he appreciated and admired. He was engaged at a salary of $150 a week,—which, however, he never received,—was installed in a private office, and, for a short time, was happy because deluded as to what he was about to accomplish. In his “Story,” referring to the play of “Dakolar,” he relates that, prior to its production, Mackaye read it, at his home, to a group of critical persons, of whom I was one, in order to obtain their opinions of it. As to one point his memory is at fault: I was not present. Mackaye (who was a friend of mine) did read “Dakolar” to me, but that reading occurred privately, in his office. We sat, I remember, at a large table, he at an end of it and I at the right-hand side. He was a highly excitable person, and as his reading progressed he became wildly enthusiastic, hitching his chair nearer and nearer to me, with much extravagant gesticulation, so that I was impelled to hitch my chair further and further away from him, till the two of us actually made an almost complete circuit of the table before the reading was finished! It was a tiresome experience. At the critical symposium which Belasco recalls various opinions were expressed by Mackaye’s auditors, that of Belasco being withheld until Mackaye insisted on its expression, when it was made known as strongly adverse to the play. Thereafter a coolness ensued between the manager and his assistant. Other causes of friction occurred, and presently Mackaye remarked to him, “There is room for only one genius in this theatre, and one of us ought to resign.” This intimation caused Belasco to retire, and so ended that episode.

Mackaye, who, in his youth, had studied in Paris, under the direction of François Delsarte (1811-1871),—an eccentric person, of whom and his peculiar character, ways, and notions the reader can pleasantly obtain an instructive glimpse from that delightful book, by Mme. Hagermann-Lindencrone, “In the Courts of Memory,”—had, from the time of his advent in New York theatrical life (1872), sedulously striven to promote the tuition of histrionic aspirants according to the tenets of that instructor; and in opening the Lyceum Theatre he started, in connection with it, a School of Acting. In this Franklin Sargent at first co-labored with him, but after a short time withdrew, to carry on a school of his own. When Belasco left Mackaye and the Lyceum he joined Sargent, and as his extraordinary talent for stage direction had made him popular with Mackaye’s pupils, the larger part of them followed him to Sargent’s school,—to the lively disgust of Mackaye.

“VALERIE” AT WALLACK’S.

company at the time], and with a character for me similar to Henry Beauclerc, in ’Diplomacy.’ Another ’Diplomacy’ would carry us over.” Belasco had no original play in mind at that time and Wallack had no definite suggestion to make, beyond his wish for something similar to “Diplomacy,”—which he had produced, for the first time in America and with great success, at Wallack’s Theatre (the Thirteenth Street house), April 1, 1878. The result of several long conferences between manager and playwright was, accordingly, that a new version of Sardou’s “Fernande” (which had been first produced in America, at the Dalys’ Fifth Avenue Theatre, June 7, 1870, with Daniel H. Harkins, George Clarke, and Agnes Ethel in the chief parts) would be the most auspicious venture. On this play, accordingly, Belasco began to work. “I had no home in those days,” he told me, “except a small hall bedroom at No. 43 West Twenty-fourth Street, and no proper place in which to write. I used to do much of my work in the public writing-room of the old Fifth Avenue Hotel [which stood at the northwest corner of Twenty-third Street and Broadway], but I wanted to be near Wallack, because frequent consultations were necessary, in order that I might meet his requirements and fit his company, and so I asked him if he couldn’t give me some place in his theatre where I might work conveniently. He very courteously and greatly to my delight opened his own library to me, in his house ’round the corner [Wallack dwelt in a house on the north side of West Thirtieth Street, No. 13, adjoining his theatre], and there I made my version of ’Fernande’ and, practically, lived till it was done.”

That version, called “Valerie,” was completed within four weeks, and it was produced at Wallack’s Theatre on February 15, 1886. Wallack, instead of buying the refashioned play outright from Belasco, as was the usual custom of the time, agreed to pay him the handsome royalty of $250 a week, as long as it held his stage,—the adapter, moreover, being privileged to present it outside of New York. “Valerie,” while serviceable in a theatrical way, is not a thoroughly good play, and it is distinctly inferior to the earlier version, by Hart Jackson,—as, indeed, could scarcely be otherwise, since Belasco had worked under the disadvantage of being required to make a new play on the basis of an old one, then still current, in which the best possible use of the material implicated had already been made. In the building of “Valerie,” which is comprised in three acts, reliance was placed in whatever of freshness could be imparted to the method of treatment,—and that was not much. The scene of the action was shifted from France to England. The foreground of the life of Fernande, appearing under the name of Valerie, was omitted. The names of the other characters were also changed. The First Act deals largely with preparation and is devoted mainly to a somewhat preposterous scene in which the evil agent of the drama, Helena, allures her lover, Sir Everard Challoner, by a false confession that she is tired of him, to make a true confession not only that he is tired of her but that he loves another woman. Challoner is represented as of a noble English family and of a singularly ingenuous mind. He states that the woman whom he loves is a young stranger whom he has casually encountered, leaning against a post, in the street, in a condition of faintness, and the deceptive Helena thereupon proffers her services to discover the unknown object of his sudden affection. She has rescued a vagrant female from the streets, and it turns out that this waif is the interesting stranger for whom they are to seek. In the Second Act the malignant Helena exults in the marriage of her former lover to a woman whom she believes to be a demirep. That is to consummate her revenge for having been discarded by Challoner, but when she is about to overwhelm him with the declaration that he has wedded an outcast, Walter, the good genius of the story, forcibly compels her sudden retirement behind a velvet curtain. This is the “strong situation” of the drama. In the Third Act this evil woman’s scheme of vengeance, which she endeavors to push to a completion, is finally discomfited by the vindication of the girl, Valerie, and a happy climax crowns an incredible fiction.

The play is long and portions of it are tedious. The dialogue is generally commonplace. Two strikingly original lines, however, attracted my attention: “Love at first sight, you know,” and “this is the happiest day of my life!” The postulate illustrated is kindred with that of Congreve’s well-known (and almost invariably misquoted) couplet,

That theme may, perhaps, be interesting. It seemed to interest auditors at Wallack’s, but the manifestations of approval were probably due to the manner in which the play was acted rather than to its intrinsic appeal. Annie Robe appeared as Valerie. There was in the personality of that actress a certain muscular vigor incompatible with the ideal of a sweet, fragile girl, intended in the original scheme of Sardou and suggested in its paraphrase, but Miss Robe’s performance evinced a fine, woman-like intuition and it was suffused with touching sincerity. Wallack, as Walter, had to personate a character which, for him, was of trifling moment,—the poised, self-possessed man of the world, at home amid difficulties and always master of the situation. The kindness of his nature shone through his embodiment and the grace of his action made it delightful. In Wallack’s acting there was that delicate suggestion of great knowledge of human nature and of the world which can be expressed only by those who have had ample experience of life, and also there was the denotement of a nature which had been sweetened, not embittered, by the trials through which it had passed. Kyrle Bellew acted with simple dignity in situations which sometimes were of such an irrational character as might well perplex or baffle the art of the most accomplished comedian. His performance was much and justly admired. Sophie Eyre, who assumed the affronted female, pursued her baleful purpose with surpassing energy, much breadth of treatment, and frequently fine theatrical effect: but her performance excelled in force rather than in refinement.

This is the complete cast of the play as acted at Wallack’s Theatre:

Such merit as “Valerie” contains was derived from the French original. It is a piece of journeyman work, undertaken as such, and as such well enough done. Wallack seems to have been conscious of its defects: in a letter of his to Belasco, which the latter has carefully preserved, he says:

Handsome scenes were provided for the play at Wallack’s and it received some measure of public support, holding the stage till March 14. Wallack’s first appearance in it was his first appearance in the season of 1885-’86, and Walter was the last new part that he ever acted. Belasco had great respect for Wallack, recognizing and appreciating his wonderful powers as an actor and his extraordinary achievements as a manager. Wallack, while Belasco was writing “Valerie,” offered him employment, as stage manager, to produce it, but Belasco wisely declined. “I knew,” he said, “that Wallack would not be able to sit by and let me direct his company—much less himself—and so I thanked him but declined, telling him, ’Mr. Wallack, I should be afraid of Mr. Bellew and Miss Robe, and of you!’ When he asked me to ’come in from time to time and watch the rehearsals,’ of course I agreed, and I did go in and made a few suggestions to him. I could have remained at Wallack’s, in charge of the stage, but I saw my doing so would lead to nothing, so I refused an offer he made me and kept myself free. I treasure the memory of Wallack and my association with him. He was one of the big figures of our Stage, very pathetic, to me, in his last efforts to stem the tide running against him, and he was the most courteous gentleman I ever met in the Theatre.”

MORE ERRORS CORRECTED.

York, for the first time in our country, “The Taming of the Shrew,” in which Ada Rehan gave her matchless personation of Katharine and which was the most successful of all his ventures in the second half of his great career, ending in 1899. The Madison Square, so far from “going downhill,” was just entering on a period of notable prosperity and influence, with Jones’s “Saints and Sinners,” Mansfield’s presentment of “Prince Karl,” which ran from May 3 to August 14, 1886; “Jim the Penman,” “Heart of Hearts,” etc. Palmer remained in management of the Madison Square till September, 1891.

AN EXTRAORDINARY COMPANY AND A SUMMER SEASON IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Soon after “Valerie” was withdrawn at Wallack’s,—that is, March-April, 1886,—Belasco received and accepted an invitation to return to the city of his birth, and the scene of much of his vicissitudinous early career, as stage manager of what was fairly denominated “a stock company of stars” and was, without question, one of the strongest theatrical companies ever assembled in America. That company was organized by Al. Hayman to fill a summer season at the Baldwin Theatre (of which he had obtained control in 1883) and it comprised the following players:

Hayman’s company began its engagement under Belasco’s direction, at the Baldwin, May 31, in a dramatized synopsis of Ouida’s novel of “Moths,” which was cast thus:

On June 7 Belasco’s “Valerie” was presented, the parts being distributed as follows:

“Valerie” was received with favor and played for one week. It was succeeded, June 14, by a revival of “The Marble Heart,”—in which Mantell played Phidias and Raphael, Ferguson Volage, and Miss Eyre Marco. “Anselma” was acted on the 21st; “The Lady of Lyons” on the 24th, and “Alone in London” on the 28th. A particularly rich setting was provided for the last named presentment, which was warmly commended for the perfection of Belasco’s stage management, the excellence of the acting and “beautiful and bewitching scenery and stage effects.” Mme. Modjeska appeared on July 12, supported by members of the Hayman company, in Maurice Barrymore’s nasty play of “Nadjezda”: this, however, appears to have been brought forth under the stage management of its author and without any assistance from Belasco. On July 18 the latter took a benefit at the Baldwin, at which the theatre was densely crowded by a wildly enthusiastic audience. The occasion was made a general testimonial of the cordial admiration and high personal esteem in which Belasco had come to be held in his native city, by the public as well as by fellow-members of his profession. It was directed by a committee of which Charles Bozenta (Modjeska’s husband and manager) was the President and Clay M. Greene and Maurice Barrymore the Vice-Presidents, many distinguished men and women of the Theatre and of public life in California being members. The programme included the names of more than sixty-five players and the principal features of it were as follows:

On July 26 Belasco left San Francisco for New York,—where immediately after his arrival he did some unacknowledged tinkering and readjusting of a play by Archibald Clavering Gunter, called “A Wall Street Bandit,” which was produced, September 20, at the Standard Theatre, under the management of Charles Frohman. Belasco’s next employment was at the Lyceum Theatre.

AFFAIRS OF THE LYCEUM.

Wallack’s company did not last much more than a year after the time when Belasco was offered an opportunity to join it as stage manager: it was disbanded on May 30, 1887, after giving a final performance, at Daly’s Theatre, in “The Romance of a Poor Young Man.” Thus Belasco’s decision not to ally himself in any permanent capacity with that organization proved fortunate for him. Meantime Mackaye’s administration of the Lyceum Theatre was not successful. “Dakolar” ran there from April 6 to May 23 (1885), when the house was closed. On September 15, following, a re-opening was effected, with a new version, by Mackaye, of Victorien Sardou’s “Andrea,” presented under the name of “In Spite of All,”—the chief parts of it being acted by Minnie Maddern (now Mrs. Fiske), Eben Plympton, Richard Mansfield, and Selina Dolaro. That play held the stage till November 7, when Mackaye relinquished his lease of the Lyceum and control of that theatre was obtained by Daniel Frohman. “In Spite of All” was taken to Boston by Charles Frohman, Belasco going with it as stage-manager. After the presentment of it in Boston Belasco returned to New York, and soon entered into the engagement with Wallack which has been described. Having finished “Valerie,” he renewed his association with Sargent, in the School of Acting, thus coming into indirect connection with the Lyceum Theatre. On November 10, 1885, that house had been opened under the direction of Helen Dauvray (“Little Nell, the California Diamond”), Daniel Frohman being the lessee, in a play written specially for her by Bronson Howard, called “One of Our Girls,” in which she made a success as Kate Shipley. That play was acted for 200 nights, the run closing on May 22, 1886, when Miss Dauvray retired from the direction of the Lyceum. Daniel Frohman then announced himself as the manager of that theatre, opening it, on May 24, with Frank Mayo, in the play of “Nordeck,” which ran for two weeks, when the season ended. It was reopened on September 18, following, with Henry C. De Mille’s play of “The Main Line; or, Rawson’s Y.” Belasco, through his indirect connection with the Lyceum, came into employment in rehearsal of various plays for the English actress May Fortesque (Finney), who, on October 18, 1886, began a brief engagement at the Lyceum, appearing in W. S. Gilbert’s “Faust,” acting Gretchen, and later, November 8, played Frou-Frou, and, November 29, Iolanthe, in “King Rene’s Daughter,” and Jenny Northcott, in “Sweethearts.” Miss Fortesque was not successful in America and on March 23, 1887, she sailed for England. While Belasco was rehearsing her company Daniel Frohman engaged him at the Lyceum, at a salary of $35 a week, as stage manager, adviser, and general assistant, and that position he held till early in the year 1890. Meanwhile Belasco, besides his activities as a teacher in the Lyceum School of Acting (the pupils of that school, under his direction, gave a creditable performance of a translation of Molière’s “Les Précieuses Ridicules,” March 23, 1887, at the Lyceum), was at work on the revision of a play by John Maddison Morton (1811-1891) and Robert Reece, called “Trade,” which was written for Edward A. Sothern and had been inherited by his son, Edward Hugh Sothern, whose contract with Miss Dauvray had been assumed by Daniel Frohman, and who was soon to figure at the Lyceum as leading man and, practically, as star. The play of “Trade,” in its original form, was defective. The elder Sothern, an intimate friend of mine, consulted me about it, I remember, and at his request, and as a friendly act, I suggested some changes and wrote into it one scene. My work, however, was not important. Belasco practically rewrote the play, and, under the name of “The Highest Bidder,” his version of it was produced at the Lyceum, May 3, 1887, with E. H. Sothern as Jack Hammerton, the leading part.

“THE HIGHEST BIDDER.”

society, impulsive in temperament and prone to entangle himself in foolish embarrassments, but capable of calm, decisive action in situations of danger. An old friend of his, resident in the country, has become involved in financial difficulties and a valuable estate is to be sold to relieve him. The young auctioneer is employed to conduct the sale, and he finds that his old friend has a charming young daughter, supposed to be an heiress, who is being courted by a specious baronet who is a dishonest gambler and a forger. In trying to unmask this rascal the amiable auctioneer involves himself in a distressing tangle of misapprehension, but eventually he discomfits the wily schemer (who incidentally makes an abortive attempt to murder him), frees himself from suspicion, and proves at once the rectitude of his intentions and the ardor of his devotion to the lady whom he loves and whom he wishes to rescue from the toils of a villain. At the climax of the auction scene he “knocks down” his friend’s estate to himself, in the capacity of “the highest bidder,” and then lays it, with his heart, at the feet of the object of his adoration,—who, after an excess of hesitancy, accepts him and his property.

“The Highest Bidder” was set in handsome scenery and the parts in it were judiciously cast:

LeMoyne and Miss Archer, on this occasion, made their first appearance at the Lyceum. The play was well acted, Sothern animating the serio-comic part of Hammerton with earnest feeling and sustained and winning vivacity. The success had not been expected. Dismal forebodements had preceded its production. “We had a small private audience at a dress rehearsal,” said Belasco, “and it was ghastly; everybody was unresponsive and chilly, they pretty well took the starch out of all the actors, and made us all nervous, despondent, and miserable. We had another ’go’ at the piece, with nobody in front, and it seemed a little better; but we were all stale on it; we couldn’t tell what would happen. What a difference when we had a friendly audience, fresh to the piece and willing to be pleased!” “The Highest Bidder” held the stage from May 3 to July 16, when the Lyceum was closed for the season, but it was revived on August 29, and it ran till September 17. Then, on September 20, under Belasco’s stage direction, Cecil Raleigh’s neat farce of “The Great Pink Pearl” was brought out, together with the drama in one act called “Editha’s Burglar.” The latter is an adaptation of a story by Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, and its production is specially notable as being that of the first play by the brilliant and representative American dramatist Augustus Thomas, and because of the instant success achieved in its central character by Elsie Leslie,—certainly the most remarkable child actor of the last sixty years and one of the loveliest and most enchanting children ever seen anywhere. To her captivating personality, and to her instinctive histrionic talent, judiciously fostered and elicited by Belasco, was due the success of the “double bill”: it held the Lyceum stage until October 30, and thereafter was acted in many other cities. In New York the principal adult part, that of the Burglar, was assumed by E. H. Sothern: “on the road” it was played by William Gillette.

“PAWN TICKET 210.”

Another venture, made in 1887, that was important to Belasco, was the production, by his friend of early days, the fay-like little Lotta, of a play which he wrote for her in collaboration with Clay M. Greene, entitled “Pawn Ticket 210.” In the summer of that year, after those authors had submitted their play to her, Lotta expressed herself as favorably impressed by it but as being doubtful as to whether the public would care for her in its central character, which contains some touches of serious feeling. “I play and dance and sing,” she said, “and that seems to be about all my audience expects of me.” Her interest in the piece, however, finally overcame her hesitation; she agreed to buy it outright, for $5,000, and produce it, provided that Belasco would direct the rehearsals. To that stipulation he readily consented; a first payment of $2,500 was made, and the play was prepared for public representation on the stage of the Lyceum, immediately prior to the rehearsals there of “The Great Pink Pearl” and “Editha’s Burglar”: it was first acted at McVicker’s Theatre, Chicago, September 12, 1887.

“Pawn Ticket 210” is a melodrama, in four acts, based in part on an idea in the novel of “Court Royal,” by Baring-Gould, and containing two characters derived therefrom. The story is extravagant to the point of absurdity. The mother of an infant girl, being in desperate need of money, leaves her babe with a Jewish pawnbroker, as security for a loan of $30, and then disappears. The child, Mag, attains to young womanhood and is about to be, practically, forced into marriage with the old pawnbroker, Uncle Harris, who holds her as “collateral,” when her mother returns and, with the assistance of a youth named Saxe, redeems the girl and provides for her happiness. Spectators of this amazing medley might well have been puzzled to divine its purpose, since they were at one moment required to contemplate scenes of violence and bloodshed and the next were regaled with the capers of burlesque,—Lotta, abandoning all endeavor at serious portrayal of character, skipping over barrels, frisking upon tables, kicking off her slippers, grimacing, dancing, and singing as only Lotta could.

That play was greeted by the writers for the Chicago newspapers with extreme and derisive censure. Belasco and Greene, reading the adverse reviews, were much disheartened and expected that Lotta would withdraw their play and revive one of her early and successful vehicles. “I had been in Chicago, for the dress rehearsal,” writes Belasco, in a memorandum, “but my duties as stage manager at the Lyceum required me to return to New York before the first performance. The rehearsals hadn’t been satisfactory to me. And when, on top of the scathing notices, I received a wire from Lotta [after “The Pearl” and “Editha’s Burglar” had been produced] asking us to come out to Chicago again, I felt sure it meant that our play was to be dropped.” When, however, in company with Greene, he called on the actress, his dismal forebodings were happily dispersed. “Don’t pay any attention to the criticisms,” admonished the sensible little Lotta; “I have just had word from my manager saying there is a line that extends around the block, trying to get to the box office. The house has been packed to the roof, at every performance. None of my plays has ever received good notices—but the public comes. We have a great big success in this piece!” Lotta’s mother, who was present, by way of confirming this auspicious view, said, “We’ll show you what we think of it,” and forthwith handed to the delighted authors a check for the second payment of $2,500,—although, writes Belasco, “it was a month ahead of the stipulated time.” “Pawn Ticket 210” was the chief reliance of Lotta during the season of 1887-’88, and thereafter it was utilized by several of the various performers who sought to emulate her,—conspicuous among them Amy Lee. This is the cast of the original production at McVicker’s: