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:

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

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:

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.”

Blanche Bates is a native of Portland, Oregon, born August 25, 1872; her father was manager of the Oro Fino Theatre, Portland, at the time of her birth. Her youth was passed in San Francisco, where she was well educated. She went on the stage in 1894, appearing at Stockwell’s Theatre (later called the Columbia), in that city, in a play called “This Picture and That.” Her novitiate was served chiefly under the management of T. Daniel Frawley. For several years she acted in cities in the Far West, playing all sorts of parts. At one time, in California, she was professionally associated with that fine comedian Frank Worthing (Francis George Pentland, 1866-1910), who materially helped to develop and train her histrionic talents. Belasco first became acquainted with her while she was yet a child, at the time of his professional alliance with her mother, Mrs. F. M. Bates. In 1896, during Mrs. Carter’s first season in “The Heart of Maryland,” Blanche visited New York, witnessed that performance, and applied to Belasco for employment. At the moment it was not possible for him to engage her, but he was neither forgetful of an old promise of his made to Mrs. Bates that he would assist her daughter, if ever he should be able to do so, nor unmindful of the beauty, talent, and charming personality of the applicant, and he assured her that she “should have a chance” at the first opportunity. That opportunity did not present itself for nearly three years. Meanwhile, Miss Bates returned to California and acted there, for about two years more, with the Frawley company. In the Spring of 1898 she was engaged by Augustin Daly and for a short time she acted under his management. On February 9, 1899, she made a single brilliantly successful appearance, at Daly’s Theatre, as the Countess Mirtza, on the occasion of the first presentment in this country of the popular melodrama of “The Great Ruby.” She disagreed, however, with the autocratic Daly and immediately retired from his company. On March 13, 1899, acting at the Broadway Theatre, New York, in association with Belasco’s old friend and comrade

James O’Neill, she distinguished herself as Milady, in “The Three Guardsmen,” and on October 19, that year, at the Herald Square Theatre, she gave a notably fine performance,—splendidly effective in the principal scene,—of Hannah Jacobs, in Israel Zangwill’s stage synopsis of his novel of “The Children of the Ghetto.” A few weeks later Belasco informed Miss Bates that if she were willing to begin in a farce which he did not much esteem he was ready to undertake her management preparatory to “giving her her chance.” “The Children of the Ghetto” had proved a failure, and the actress joyfully accepted the manager’s proposal.

Blanche Bates first acted under Belasco’s management, December 25, 1899, at the Columbia Theatre, Washington, D. C., appearing as Cora, the principal person in Belasco’s “Naughty Anthony”: on January 8, 1900, she appeared in it at the Herald Square Theatre, New York. The title of that farce is not altogether felicitous, because possibly suggestive of impropriety, but there is nothing mischievous in the fabric itself. The piece is incorporative of one scene, varied and rewritten, from an unremembered farce of other days, and, with its freightage of old but always effective stage subterfuges and comic “business,” it reminded experienced observers of such plays, far and forgot now, as “Flies in the Web,” “My Neighbor’s Wife,” “Playing with Fire,” “To Oblige Benson,” etc. In it Belasco made use of one of the oldest theatrical expedients for creating comic confusion and mirthful effect,—the expedient of a mistaken identity. The chief male in it is Anthony Depew, a moral professor of the Chautauqua brotherhood, who becomes enamoured of a coquettish girl, in the hosiery business, and whose exploits in osculation lead him into a troublesome dilemma, from which he endeavors to escape by pretending to be somebody else. This kind of perplexity has been common on the stage since the distant days of “The Three Singles; or, Two and the Deuce.” Such themes do not require much comment. The chief fact to be recorded in this case is the uncommon felicity of the cast and the excellence of the stage direction. But such an actor as Frank Worthing (who was essentially a light comedian, and, as such, the most conspicuous local performer of the day, in his particular line) and such an actress as Miss Bates were practically wasted in so ephemeral a trifle. This was the cast in full:

Belasco’s serious purpose, in this play, underlying the quest of laughter, was to satirize moral humbug, and that good purpose he accomplished. Anthony Depew is an amiable impostor, established at Chautauqua, New York, to give lessons in moral conduct to persons who deem themselves tempted to go astray. He goes astray himself, as far as compromising osculation, and he causes all manner of disturbance, in several households, by fixing the guilt of a kiss upon an innocent booby, who is his landlord. Worthing embodied that humbug in an admirable manner. His plan was definite, his execution firm and true, his satire cumulative; and from first to last he never swerved from that demeanor of perfect gravity which makes absurd proceedings irresistibly amusing. Miss Bates, even more than usually beautiful as Cora, made the tempter of Anthony a compound of demure simplicity and arch, piquant glee, and, in her complete frustration of the Professor’s moral heroics, she was a delightful incarnation of honest, healthful, triumphant woman nature. A colloquy of these two players, as preceptor and pupil, has seldom been surpassed for pure fun. Specification of the fantastic situations in which the Professor involves himself and his landlord, Adam Budd,—abundantly comical in the seemingly unpremeditated humor, the soft, silky manner, and the grotesque personality assumed by Le Moyne,—would be a tedious business. Good acting, however, did not suffice to sustain the play in public favor. Writing about this venture Belasco says:

“MADAME BUTTERFLY.”

Some little while before the production of “Naughty Anthony” Belasco had received from a stranger a letter in which he was urged to read a story, called “Madame Butterfly,” by John Luther Long, with a view to making it into a play. When anxiously casting about for some means of providing required reinforcement for his farce he chanced to recollect that suggestion, procured a copy of Long’s book containing his tragic tale, read it and was so much impressed by the possibilities which he perceived of basing on it a striking theatrical novelty that he entered into communication with Long and arranged with him for the use of his story. This proved, in several ways, a most fortunate occurrence: it led to a valued and lasting friendship and, ultimately, to the writing of two other memorable dramas,—“The Darling of the Gods” and “Adrea,”—as well as to the composition of a beautiful and extraordinarily popular opera, and it resulted, directly, in the making and production, by Belasco, of one of the most effective short plays of the last twenty-five years,—the success of which did much to sustain him under the disappointment of failure and the burden of heavy loss.

Belasco’s tragedy of “Madame Butterfly” is comprised in one act, of two scenes, which, connected by a pictorial intercalation, are presented without a break, and it implicates eight persons, besides its heroine, all of whom are merely incidental to depiction of her tragic fate. The substance of its story is contained in Goldsmith’s familiar lines about the sad consequences of lovely woman’s genuflexion to folly. A man commits the worst and meanest of all acts, the wronging of an innocent girl, and then deserts her. The case has often been stated—but it is not less pathetic because it is familiar. In this instance the girl is a Japanese, and in Japan, and thus the image of her joy, sorrow, desolation, and death are investable with opulent color and quaint accessories. Her name is Cho-Cho-San, and, by her lover, she is called “Madame Butterfly.” Her family is one of good position, but her father, a soldier of the emperor, having been defeated in battle, has killed himself, and her relatives, being poor, have induced Cho-Cho-San, in order that she may be able to provide maintenance for them, to enter into the relation of housekeeping prostitute with an officer of the United States Navy, Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton by name, who is stationed for a few months at Higashi, Japan, and who feels himself to be in need of female companionship and that “comfort other than pecuniary” specified by Patrick Henry. According to the enlightened and advanced customs of Japan (which various English-speaking exponents of progress and free-everything, including free-“love,” are laboring to establish in our benighted country) this relationship is not degrading and despicable but respectable and, in circumstances which are of frequent occurrence, to be desired. As Butterfly expresses it, though the naval officer is described by the Japanese as “a barbarian and a beast,” “Aevery one say: ’yaes, take him—take him beas’—he’s got moaneys,’ so I say for jus’ liddle while, perhaps I can stan’.” Pinkerton, however, proves to be a delightful companion who wins the love of the Japanese girl and, with the crass cruelty common among viciously self-indulgent men, he assures that forlorn waif that her marriage to him is not merely a temporary arrangement of convenience, terminable, according to Japanese law, by the mere act of desertion, but is a binding, permanent one, according to American custom and law and that she is, in fact, Mrs. B. F. Pinkerton. Having led her to believe this, the amiable Pinkerton presently departs upon his ship, after making Butterfly a present of money, informing her that he has “had a very nice time” and assuring her that he will come back “when the robins nest again.” The girl, confidently awaiting the return of her lover, whom she declares and believes to be her lawful husband, after a little time becomes a mother by him. Two years pass—during which she refuses many suitors—and the money given her by Pinkerton has been all but exhausted: Butterfly is confronted by the alternative of beggary or starvation, yet she contemptuously rejects all proffers of rich alliances, serenely trusting in the faith of Pinkerton. Then, at last, he comes back, and she is apprised that though for two weeks after leaving her he was “dotty in love with her” he recovered from his sublime passion and that he has married another woman (who magnanimously offers to take away her child and rear it!)—whereupon Madame Butterfly kills herself.

The play is a situation, and, though some of its detail is trivial, it reveals elemental extremes and contrasts of much human experience; in its essential passages it possesses the cardinal merits of simplicity and directness, and in representation its effect is tragic and afflictingly pathetic. One feature of its performance, devised by Belasco, was, in respect to execution, unique,—namely, the intercalation whereby the two scenes of the tragedy are connected. When, at evening, the forlorn Butterfly,—after two years “jus’ waitin’—sometimes cry in’—sometimes watchin’—but always waitin’!”—sees the warship to which Pinkerton is attached entering the harbor of Higashi she believes that her “husband” will immediately repair to their abode and she becomes almost delirious with joy. She prepares for his

reception, attiring herself and their little child in fine array and decking the house with flowers and lighted lanterns. Then, with the child and a servant maid, she takes station at a window, to give him welcome—and there she waits and watches through the night, until the morning breaks. The lapse of time was, in the performance, skilfully and impressively denoted,—the shades of evening darkening into night; stars becoming visible, then brilliant, then fading from view; the lighted lanterns one by one flickering out; the gray light of dawn revealing the servant and the child prone upon the floor sunk in slumber, with the deserted mother standing over them, pale and wan, still gazing fixedly down the vacant road, while the rosy glow of sunrise grew into the full light of day and the sweet sound of the waking songs of birds floated in from a flowering grove of cherry trees. In the representation this scene, during which no word was spoken and no motion made, occupied fourteen minutes—and surely no tribute to Belasco’s resource and skill in stage management and stage mechanics could be more significant than the fact that during all that time never did the interest of his audiences waver nor their attention flag.

At the end, when Butterfly knows her lover faithless and her life ruined and desolate, she takes her father’s sword,—on which is graven his dying monition, “To die with honor, when we can no longer live with honor,”—and with it deals herself a mortal stroke. This desperate deed is done out of the audience’s sight and as, with ghastly face and a scarf bound round her throat to hide the wound, she staggers forward to clasp her child to her breast, Pinkerton enters the room and Butterfly, holding the child in her arms, sinks at his feet, turning on him a look of anguish as she murmurs “Too bad—those robin’—never nes’—again!”—and so dies.

“Madame Butterfly” was first presented at the Herald Square Theatre, March 5, 1900. The scenic habiliment in which Belasco attired that tragedy was one of great beauty and perfect taste and it had never been equalled by anything rightly comparable, excepting Augustin Daly’s exquisite setting of “Heart of Ruby” (a play on a Japanese theme adapted by Justin Huntly McCarthy from Mme. Judith Gautier’s “La Marchande de Sourires”), produced at Daly’s Theatre, January 15, 1895,—which was a complete failure: it cost Daly about $25,000 and it was withdrawn after seven performances. Belasco’s Japanese venture, happily, was fortunate from the first, creating a profound impression and achieving instant success. A notably effective scenic innovation was the precedent use of “picture drops,” delicately painted and very lovely pictures showing various aspects of Japan,—a rice field, a flower garden, a distant prospect of a snow-capped volcano in the light of the setting sun, and other views,—by way of creating a Japanese atmosphere before the scene of the drama was disclosed. Blanche Bates embodied the hapless Butterfly and animated the character with a winning show of woman’s fidelity, with a lovely artlessness of manner and speech, and with occasional flashes of that vivid emotional fire which was her supreme attribute. Her personation at first caused laughter and at last touched the source of tears,—but the predominant figure in the history of this play, both at the first and now, was and is that of Belasco: more, perhaps, in respect to “Madame Butterfly” than of any other of his productions it may properly be said that his personality seemed to have permeated every detail of this performance and its environment. This was the original cast:

“ZAZA” ABROAD.

VIEWS OF THE FRENCH DRAMATISTS.

“WITH SPEED FOR ENGLAND.”—ANOTHER SUCCESS IN LONDON.

The success which Belasco had gained with “Madame Butterfly” in New York was so great that, had he chosen to do so, he could have successfully prolonged his season there, at the Herald Square Theatre, throughout the summer of 1900. But his plans for producing “Zaza” in London were complete and he was bound “with speed for England”; he determined, therefore, to carry his little Japanese tragedy with him, having it in mind to show theatre-goers in the British capital, simultaneously, two vividly contrasted specimens of his theatrical resource and power. At first, he was disposed to transport the company, headed by Blanche Bates, as well as the production,—that is, the scenery, dresses, “properties” and effects. But when he sought to do this it proved to be impracticable: the only arrangement that he found it feasible to make was one with his partner in the “Zaza” venture, Charles Frohman, who, at the time, was successfully presenting, at the Duke of York’s Theatre, London, Jerome K. Jerome’s comedy of “Miss Hobbs.” With Frohman, accordingly, Belasco arranged to bring forward “Madame Butterfly” as an “afterpiece” to “Miss Hobbs,”—and as it was manifestly injudicious unnecessarily to maintain two stars at one and the same theatre, Belasco decided (to the lively disgust of Miss Bates) to cast the player of Miss Hobbs, Miss Evelyn Millard, at that time a popular favorite in London, for Madame Butterfly, depending on himself to train and guide her through the performance of that part. This self-confidence was fully justified,—the little tragedy being received with profound admiration both by the press and the public. It was acted at the Duke of York’s, April 28, with this cast:

PUCCINI AND BELASCO.

Belasco, as he told me, declined to attend the first London performance of his “Butterfly.” “I didn’t know how it might go,” he said, “—and I didn’t intend to be called out and ’boo-ed.’ Frohman was very confident and kept telling me it would be all right, but I didn’t go ’round (I was busy, too, at the Garrick) till right at the end and then I only went ’in front.’” At the end, however, the enthusiasm of the audience was so great and the calls for him were so long and urgent that he was at last compelled to go upon the stage and make his grateful acknowledgments. “I sometimes feel,” said Belasco, “that the tribute of that English audience, at first sitting in absolute silence, except for the sound of some women crying, then calling and calling for me and waiting and waiting, while Frohman came ’round in front and found me and insisted upon my going to the stage, was the most gratifying I ever received. Giacomo Puccini, the Italian composer, was in front that night and after the curtain fell he came behind the scenes to embrace me enthusiastically and to beg me to let him use ’Madame Butterfly’ as an opera libretto. I agreed at once and told him he could do anything he liked with the play and make any sort of contract he liked—because it is not possible to discuss business arrangements with an impulsive Italian who has tears in his eyes and both his arms round your neck! I never believed he did see ’Madame Butterfly’ that first night; he only heard the music he was going to write. Afterward I came to know him well, and found him the most agreeable and simple-hearted fellow in the world,—a great artist without the so-called ’temperament.’”

“MADAME BUTTERFLY” AS AN OPERA.—A PROPOSAL BY LADY VALERIE MEUX.

Puccini’s opera, entitled “Madama Butterfly,” was first performed in New York, in an English version, under the management of Henry Savage, at the Garden Theatre, November 12, 1906. Elza Szamosy, an Hungarian, sang Cio-Cio-San; Harriet Behne Suzuki; Joseph F. Sheehan Pinkerton, and Winifred Goff Mr. Sharpless. The first performance of it in Italian occurred in New York, at the Metropolitan Opera House, February 11, 1907, when,—with its composer among the audience—it was sung by the following cast:

Referring to the production of this opera at the Metropolitan, Belasco writes: “I loaned my models [for the scenery] and sent over my electricians.”—I have not heard Puccini’s music. My old friend and colleague Henry Edward Krehbiel has written of it:

And elsewhere Mr. Krehbiel remarks that

“Madame Butterfly” ran at the Duke of York’s Theatre until July 13. In America it was presented, throughout the season of 1900-’01, beginning at Elmira, New York, September 17, in association with “Naughty Anthony,” by a company headed by Miss Valerie Bergere and Charles E. Evans. On February 18, 1901, the tragedy was acted at Proctor’s Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, and ran till May 11. Miss Bergere performed as Cho-Cho-San until March 29, when she was succeeded by the French actress Mlle. Pilar-Morin. Since then “Butterfly” has been acted unnumbered times.

During the summer season of “Zaza” in London (1900), Belasco was approached by the eccentric Lady Valerie Meux, a person of great wealth and peculiar antecedents, with a proposal that he give up the management and direction of Mrs. Carter and assume that of Mrs. Cora Urquhart Potter, in whom she was then much interested. Belasco was well acquainted with Mrs. Potter, who, indeed, was one of the many amateur players trained by him while at the Madison Square Theatre (1884, et seq.) and for whose professional appearance on the stage, under the management of Daniel Frohman, he had arranged, in 1886,—an arrangement which Mrs. Potter suddenly abrogated. Belasco esteemed her histrionic abilities much higher than ever there was warrant for doing (he has written about her: “If I could have succeeded in drawing her away from society, from the host of admirers and over-zealous friends who fondled and petted her and kept her from really working, and if she could have appreciated the simplicity of life, she could have taken front rank in her profession”), but he would not give up the direction or Mrs. Carter’s career and therefore he declined Lady Meux’s proposal. That singular person then expressed a wish that he should transfer his theatrical activities from America to England, offered to build for him “the finest playhouse in the land” and to provide him with ample money with which to conduct it, so that he “might be free and untrammelled by financial cares” and fulfil all his ambitions. “Of course,” he has said, in telling me of these incidents, “her offer had a tempting sound, but nothing could have induced me to accept it. Not only would I not consider deserting Mrs. Carter, but I knew that Mrs. Potter could never give up the social world for the exclusive hard work of the Stage. And also I knew that within a year, perhaps less, Lady Meux would have grown tired of her fancy and my position would be intolerable. I wanted a theatre in London—in fact, I want one now and, perhaps, in spite of the war, I may have one yet—but not one tied up in apron-strings.” His decision to reject the offers of Lady Meux certainly was wise.

INDEX TO VOLUME ONE

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, U, V, W, Y, Z