Photograph by Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.
MRS. D. P. BOWERS
while in Virginia City, employed Belasco as an amanuensis, and (according to Belasco’s recollection) incidentally dictated to him a part of the drama of “Led Astray,” a fabric which he was then “conveying” from a French original, “La Tentation,” by Octave Feuillet (1821-1890). That play was first presented in New York, at the Union Square Theatre, December 6, 1873, with Rose Eytinge and Charles Robert Thorne, Jr., in the leading parts. Another important player with whom Belasco became professionally associated in Virginia City was Katharine Rodgers, a remarkably clever actress and fascinating as a woman, who had gained reputation on the English Stage and who came to America with Boucicault and for some time acted under his direction, in “Mimi,”—a play that he made for her use, out of “La Vie de Bohème,”—and in other plays, winning much popularity. This performer had been the wife of James Rodgers (1826-1890), a genial, respected English actor, long associated with the theatres of Manchester and Birmingham.
CONFLICTIVE TESTIMONY.
I have made scrupulous inquiry relative to Belasco’s first meeting with Boucicault (an event the exact date of which, since it profoundly influenced his career, ought to be established), and, although the former is positive that his memory of the occurrence is correct, I have become convinced that he has much confused the time and circumstances. The process of such misremembrances as this of Belasco’s is neither unusual nor difficult to understand. From 1873 to 1883 his life was feverish with activity. During that period he certainly met Boucicault, in Virginia City, and was there associated with him, as amanuensis. When “La Tentation” and Boucicault’s version of that play, called “Led Astray,” were acted in San Francisco (April, 1874), Belasco saw them, and, like many other persons associated with the Theatre, he heard much of the disputation which eddied round them. Years later, remembering his association with Boucicault, in Virginia City, the mistaken impression found lodgment in his mind that it was “Led Astray” on which the elder playwright was at work when they became acquainted, and, by repetition and elaboration, that erroneous belief has become fixed. To my objection that it is absolutely impossible that Boucicault could have dictated to him “Led Astray” Belasco’s reply, several times iterated, is, in effect, that Boucicault was working on the play “long before” it was produced in New York and that, whether possible or not, he is “very positive” Boucicault did dictate it to him, in Virginia City, during a blizzard. It would not be just to Belasco, he being sure that his recollection of this affair is absolutely accurate, to assert that it is wholly incorrect without giving his explicit statement of the incidents. Therefore, I quote it here, from his “Story”:
“When Boucicault reached Virginia City, he was under contract to deliver a play to A. M. Palmer, of New York. ’Led Astray’ was its title. But his writing hand was so knotted with gout that he could scarcely hold a pen. Boucicault was noted for being a very secretive man. He would never have a secretary because he feared such a man might learn too much of his methods of work. He was in the habit of saying: ’I can’t write a line when I dictate. I think better when I have a pen in my hand.’
“But now he had to have assistance to finish ’Led Astray.’ At this time I had some slight reputation as a stage manager and author. In those days everything was cut and dried, and the actor’s positions were as determined as those of the pawns on a chess-board. But whenever an opportunity offered itself, I would introduce something less rigorous in the way of action, much to the disgust of the older players. Boucicault must have heard of my revolutionary methods, for he sent me a message to come and see him and have a chat with him. With much perturbation, I went to his hotel and knocked on his door.
“‘They tell me you write plays,’ he began. Then followed question after question. He tested my handwriting, he commented on certain stage business he had heard me suggest the day before; then he said abruptly:
“‘I want you to take dictation for me,—I’m writing a play for the Union Square Theatre,—you have probably heard of the manager, A. M. Palmer,—at one time a librarian, but now giving Lester Wallack and Augustin Daly a race for their lives. I hope, young man, you can keep a secret; you strike me as being “still water.” Whatever you see, I want you to forget.’