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

Loey TsingMay Buckley.
Chow PowEllen Cummins.
Chan LeeCarrie E. Powers.
Dr. Pow LenGeorge Osborne.
Man Low YekCharles Bryant.
Chan WangFrancis Powers.
Hop KeeJ. H. Benrimo.
Chum WoeHarry Spear.
KwakeeJohn Armstrong.
Duck LowGeorge Fullerton.
Sum ChowHarry Levain.
A Chinese RagpickerWalter Belasco.
A Provision DealerFong Get.
Chan ToyVenie Wells.
Way GetJoseph Silverstone.
Tourists— Ysobel Haskins.
Florence Haverleigh.
L. I. Fuller.
Hugo Toland.

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 It was withdrawn after one week, Belasco and Frohman losing about $20,000 on their undertaking.

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

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

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

“ZAZA,” AND THE ETHICAL QUESTION.

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

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

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