Read Ebook: The Life of David Belasco; Vol. 2 by Winter William Winter William Jefferson

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LENORE ULRIC.--AND "THE HEART OF WETONA."

Many players of talent and present eminence have been fostered and developed under Belasco's management--that being, indeed, one of his most important services to our Stage. He is an inveterate theatre-goer,--attending performances everywhere and, sooner or later, seeing practically everything and everybody visible on the American Stage. This customary vigilant observance of all activity within his profession he facetiously describes as "my fishing trips," and, conversing with me on the subject, he has remarked: "It is often a long time between 'bites,' but one of the delights of the sport is that you never know, as the curtain goes up, how soon you may 'hook a big one.' Among the biggest I have ever landed is, I believe, little Miss Ulric: I think she will grow bigger every season she is before the public."

In its original form the scene of that play was "A Middle Western Town" , its five characters were Caucasian, and its story was one of erring love, deceit, shame, and rescue set in a commonplace rural environment,--a main purpose of its author being, presumably, to exhibit a group of conventional persons impelled by violent passion yet restrained by religious feeling. In that form it received a trial presentment, June 28, 1915, at Atlantic City, New Jersey, with this cast:

"Although its material was undeniably good, I had felt strong doubts about the piece, from the first, but I gave it a 'try-out,' anyway," said Belasco. "Then I saw that it would not do as it stood and took it off, and, at my suggestion and under my supervision, with such assistance as I could give, Mr. Scarborough rewrote 'The Girl' and eventually we had a real success with it."

The rewritten play was first acted, January 20, 1916, at Stamford, Connecticut, under the title of "Oklahoma"; soon after it was called "The Heart of Wetona," and under that name it was brought forth, February 29, at the Lyceum Theatre, New York, where it held the stage until May 20.

The ethics of all this will hardly bear scrutiny--but the dramatic effect of it in representation was undeniable; and, perhaps, where virtue is, presumably, intended it is to consider too curiously to consider further. Miss Ulric presented with vigor, skill, simplicity, sustained continuity of identity, and remarkable force a true, pathetic, and alluring ideal of unsophisticated girlhood, confiding feminine ardor and passionate distress, and she gained an auspicious success.--The cast of "The Heart of Wetona," as acted at the Lyceum under the management of Belasco and a corporation called "Charles Frohman, Inc.," is appended:

VARIOUS PRODUCTIONS--MISCELLANEOUS RECORD: "WHAT'S WRONG."--"THE VANISHING BRIDE."--"THE LOVE THOUGHT."--"ALIAS."

During the last five years Belasco has made productions of various plays which do not require extended consideration, though they must be specified and briefly described in this Memoir in order to complete the record of his labors. Those plays are "The Governor's Lady," "Years of Discretion," "The Temperamental Journey," "What's Wrong," "The Man Inside," "The Vanishing Bride," "The Phantom Rival," "The Boomerang," "The Love Thought," "Seven Chances," "Alias," "The Little Lady in Blue," and "The Very Minute."

Of these, "What's Wrong," by Frederick Ballard; "The Love Thought," by Henry Irving Dodge; "The Vanishing Bride," adapted by Sydney Rosenfeld from a German original called "Tantalus," by Leo Kastner and Ralph Tesmar; and "Alias" , by Willard Mack, are plays to which Belasco gave trial productions, and all of which, except "The Vanishing Bride," he purposes to present in New York hereafter, when they have been smoothed and polished and are deemed by him to be ready for metropolitan presentment. "What's Wrong" was brought out at the National Theatre, Washington, D. C., May 4, 1914; "The Vanishing Bride" at Long Branch, New Jersey, July 27, the same year; "The Love Thought," at the Parsons Theatre, Hartford, Connecticut, April 26, 1915; and "Alias," first under its original title, at the Apollo Theatre, Atlantic City, May 8, 1916, then, February 5, 1917, at the Belasco Theatre, Washington. "The Vanishing Bride" would have been produced in New York soon after its trial had not Belasco found Mr. Rosenfeld excessively fractious and troublesome to deal with. "I had spent ,000 on that play," Belasco has told me, "and I know it could be made a success, because it has excellent material in it. But life is too short for disputes with Mr. Sydney Rosenfeld. I am always glad to do my best for the men and women, writers or actors, who work with me, but I am not willing to wrangle and fight with them for the privilege of doing so! Therefore, I preferred to pocket my loss and let the piece go--with my blessing and the hope that its adapter will find a more satisfactory producer."

The casts of the trial productions enumerated are here appended:

CAST OF "WHAT'S WRONG."

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:

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 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 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.

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:

"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 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 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....

"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 , 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!'

"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.

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.

"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 BOOMERANG."

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 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:

"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:

"SEVEN CHANCES."

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

"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.

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

"Dear Belasco:--

'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.

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