Belasco’s estimate of Sheridan is interesting and it should be preserved—because it is Belasco’s: the opinion of the foremost stage manager of his time, about any actor, should be of interest. It would, however, be far more instructive and valuable if the reasons for it were also given: but in a long experience I have found few commentators on acting who give reasons for their declared opinions. Why Sheridan should have felt that he had “found it all out when it was too late” passes my understanding,—because, in 1880, he was in the very prime of life, forty years of age; contrary to Belasco’s impression, he was well known throughout our country, and, moreover, he continued to be abundantly successful for more than six years after his initial appearance in San Francisco. He was a sterling actor and richly deserved success. I knew him and liked him much. He took up “King Louis XI.” because of the immense impression created by Irving’s revival of that play at the London Lyceum, March 9, 1878, and he gave an effective and admirable performance in it. Nevertheless, he was not, in my judgment, even for a moment rightly comparable in the part with Irving,—because nowhere in his embodiment of Louis did he reveal even an approximate of the wonderful personality, the indomitable intellect, the inerrant apprehension of subtle traits of complex character, or the faculty of identification, the grim menace, the baleful power, the grisly humor, or the exquisite felicity of expressive art with which Irving displayed his ideal of that human monster of cruelty and guile. Such acting as that of Henry Irving in the scene of King Louis’ confessional, the scene of his paroxysm of maniacal wrath, the scene of his supplication for life, and the scene of his august and awful death, opens the depths of the human heart, lays bare the possible depravity of human nature, depicts a great character in such a way as to illumine the historic page, and conveys a most solemn monition on the conduct of life.
During his first engagement in San Francisco Sheridan acted Rover, in “Wild Oats”; Lesurques and Dubosc, in “The Lyons Mail”; Claude Melnotte, Shylock, Richelieu, Othello, Hamlet, and Sir Giles Overreach, in “A New Way to Pay Old Debts.” Laura Don, making her first appearance in San Francisco, November 24, played Lady Amaranth to his Rover, and Julie to his Lesurques: Lillie Eddington played Pauline, Portia, and other leading female parts with him. He was supported by “the new Baldwin Company,” which had been organized just prior to his coming to San Francisco, and which included Joseph R. Grismer and “Harry” Colton. All the plays were produced under Belasco’s stage management, and his familiarity with them and his indefatigable zeal in rehearsals made his assistance invaluable to Sheridan. That actor filled several subsequent engagements in San Francisco, and his acting so vividly impressed Belasco that he gave public imitations of him in King Louis and in other parts. Sheridan served in the Union Army during the Civil War and attained to the rank of captain. He married the actress Louise Davenport (his first wife, Sarah Hayes, died in 1872), went with her to Australia in 1886, and died there, in Sydney, May 15, 1887. He was the impersonator of Beamish McCoul, in “Arrah-na-Pogue,” when that play was originally performed in America, at Niblo’s Garden, New York, July 12, 1865,—an occasion I have particular reason to remember because that was the first theatrical performance reviewed by me for “The New York Tribune.”
Of Laura Don, with whom Belasco became acquainted at the time of Sheridan’s first San Francisco engagement, he gives this recollection:
LAURA DON.—AN UNFULFILLED AMBITION.
“Laura Don was a painter whose landscapes and portraits had won her distinction in the art world. Indeed, she was quite a spoilt child of the Muses, for the gods had dowered her with many gifts. Nature had been kind to her in every way, mentally and physically, for she had a face and figure of great attractiveness; her every movement was serpentine and voluptuous. This was further heightened by an excitable temperament, keyed to the highest pitch, and I never saw anyone who had a more insatiable thirst for fame; so much so, indeed, that her health was on the verge of being undermined. I saw in this woman every possibility of making a wonderful Cleopatra, and when she had joined the Baldwin Theatre I spent many hours after performances training her in the rôle (sic). Then one Sunday afternoon, when we had reached the Death Scene, Laura Don fell in a faint, and I looked down to find drops of blood coming from her mouth. So this was the reason for the hectic flush, for the irresponsible moods and eccentricities! When she came to, we had removed every outward sign of her fatal malady. But Laura Don was not to be deceived. Many times when we had been working together she would exclaim, ’Why is it I am so weak? Why is it I do not gain strength?’ For two days she remained in her room, and then she sent for me and confessed that she had known all along of her consumptive tendencies. ’I shall never play Cleopatra,’ she said; ’you must find someone else to take my place. I suppose we cannot escape the fate imposed upon us. I was born a butterfly and I shall die one. I’ve fought the idea for years, and I have been conquered. So I shall go East and pass the time as well as I may until the end. If you are anywhere near when “it” occurs, send me a few violets in memory of those you have always kept on the rehearsal table.’ Soon after her arrival in the East came her tragic death, so that it was not very long before I had to send the flowers.”
Laura Don’s true name was Anna Laura Fish. She was the first wife of the theatrical agent and manager Thomas B. McDonough. She afterward married a photographer, resident in Troy, New York, whose name I have forgotten. She lived for
DAVID BELASCO AS KING LOUIS THE ELEVENTH
Photograph by Houseworth, San Francisco.
Original loaned by Mrs. David Belasco.