“During the early days of my association with Mr. Frohman at the Lyceum Theatre much of my time was occupied with my duties in connection with Franklin Sargent’s Dramatic School. Mr. Sargent had leased the classroom, hall and stage, which Steele Mackaye had designed when the Lyceum Theatre was built. I am very proud to give the names of some of the pupils who made up my classes: Alice Fischer, Blanche Walsh, Charles Bellows, Maude Banks, George Fawcett, Harriet Ford, Emma Sheridan, Dorothy Dorr, Wilfred Buckland, George Foster Platt, Jennie Eustace, Grace Kimball, Cora Maynard, William Ordway Partridge, Robert Taber, Lincoln Wagnalls, E. Wales Winter, White Whittlesey, and Edith Chapman. This list stands as a refutation of the statement that the school of acting is not of benefit in preparing for the stage....

“A graphic picture of Robert Taber’s successful and almost superhuman effort to overcome his physical disadvantages will remain with me always. One day, as I sat in my studio, he limped in—pale, delicate—almost an invalid in appearance. An illness in childhood had left him with a shortened leg, so that he was obliged to wear a shoe with a sole at least two inches thick. After introducing himself, he told me of his ambition. ’Do you think I can possibly become an actor with these?’ he asked, pointing to his bent knee and drooping shoulder. The tragic pathos in his face aroused my sympathy and I asked him to read to me. All his selections were from the old classics, which he loved,—like many another youth I have met, with the spell of the stage upon him. So he read to me scenes from ’King Richard III,’ ’Julius Cæsar,’ and ’Romeo and Juliet.’ His reading was distinct, his interpretations spirited. A flash of genius ran through the fibre of the boy; there was strength and impressiveness in his delivery. He was thoroughly exhausted when he had finished, and I was in a quandary. ’Surely I can’t lengthen his leg,’ I thought; ’yet he wants to play juvenile leads; he wants to play Romeo!’ I saw at once that Robert Taber was not fitted to be a pantaloon actor, a parlor figure, for there was a flourish and breadth to his style of delivery that dedicated him to the costume play.

“He must have seen the perplexity in my face, for he said: ’Mr. Belasco, I can raise $20,000, which you can have if you will help me. You have assisted stammerers!’ I couldn’t tell him that a limp was a different matter. Nevertheless, I resolved to see what I could do for him. ’I’ll not take a cent of your money,’ I said, ’but if you will do as I tell you, we’ll see what can be done.’ He agreed and there followed a regular campaign against a limp. It was my idea to eliminate the defect through exercises. He worked faithfully. He walked, he lay on his back, practising stretching exercises; he studied the balancing of his body, throwing the weight so that his short leg could be brought down slowly to the floor, without any perceptible stooping of the shoulders. I had a shoe made, with a deep inner sole, to take the place of the unsightly shoe he wore when he first called upon me. After a year of daily work, when he was ready to enter the school of acting, his limp was so slight that it was barely perceptible! When he became leading man for Julia Marlowe, whom he afterwards married, who could have detected his deformity? His is a most remarkable instance, and I have often recalled it. For it is an example of what ambition and perseverance can accomplish, but few artists would be willing to practise the self-denial and go through such rigorous training.” [Robert Taber was born in Staten Island, New York, in 1865, and he died, of consumption, in the Adirondacks, in 1904.—W. W.]

THE TRUE SCHOOL IS THE STAGE.

Observation has convinced me that, while the accomplishments of elocution, dancing, fencing, deportment, and the art of making up the face (all of which are highly useful on the stage) can be, and are, well taught in some Schools of Acting, the one true, thoroughly efficient school, the only one in which the art actually can be acquired, is the Stage itself. A master of stage direction, as Belasco is, can direct novices in rehearsals, and, if they possess natural histrionic capability, can, in that way, materially help to prepare them for the Stage; but they cannot, in that way, be taught to act. An indispensable part of any dramatic performance is an audience: without it, a novice cannot learn to act, nor will it suffice to have an occasional audience. The decisive ground for objection to the Schools of Acting, moreover, is that, practically without exception, they are merely commercial enterprises: they accept, regardless of aptitude, every student who applies, because they want the fees. Belasco names nineteen pupils who studied under him, some of whom have become proficient actors. No doubt others could be named. What then? Belasco is a highly exceptional instance of an accomplished, enthusiastic, practical instructor, possessing the exceedingly rare faculty of communicating knowledge. “I’ll not take a cent of your money,” he told Taber. How many other instructors in acting are as scrupulous? Belasco applied the method of actual stage management to the instruction of the stage beginners, and, in some instances, with good effect; but it is to be remembered that every one of his pupils who has since succeeded as an actor (and not by any means all of them have) would have succeeded as well, or better, if employed in the first place in minor capacities in actual companies; and that against the number of graduates from Schools of Acting who have been successful in the Theatre should be set the much larger number of graduates—never mentioned—who, having studied in those schools, paid for tuition and expended time, have never been able to act or even to earn a dollar in the Theatre.

A REVIVAL OF “ELECTRA.”

After producing “The Kaffir Diamond,” and during the run of “Sweet Lavender,” Belasco devoted himself assiduously to The Academy of Dramatic Art (that being the correct name of the institution, which, earlier, had been called The New York School of Acting), where, in association with Franklin H. Sargent, who was the official head of the school, and De Mille, he prepared an English version of the “Electra” of Sophocles. This was presented at the Lyceum Theatre, on March 11, 1889, by students of the Academy, and it was received with favor.

Writing about this production, Belasco says:

“The pupils of the Sargent School entered with great enthusiasm into the preparations for our school productions, and we have had many notable successes. I believe I am safe in saying that one of these, the ’Electra’ of Sophocles, was the most remarkable exhibition of amateur art ever seen in this country. It was so accurate, so scholarly, so classical in every respect, that we were invited to present it before the students of Harvard University, as an illustration of the beauty and strength of ancient dramatic literature. The faculty and students were enthusiastic in its praise, and we felt highly honored that such distinction had been conferred upon us. I understood then that it was the first time in the history of Harvard that an amateur company had been transferred from another city.”

On the occasion of that amateurs’ performance of “Electra” at the Lyceum the stage was divided into two sections, the rear portion being higher than that in front, and the latter being built out into the auditorium in somewhat the manner of the “apron” of the old-time theatres. This lower platform, in the centre of which stood an altar with a fire on it, was reserved for the Chorus. The persons represented in the tragedy stood or moved upon the elevated rear portion of the stage, which showed the entrance to a Grecian house, with a view of countryside visible to the left and to the right. Footlights were not employed, the higher level of the stage being suffused with strong, white light which clearly revealed the characters thereon depicted, while the Chorus was kept in Rembrandt-like shadow. That Chorus comprised nine young women, in classic Grecian array, who declaimed and sang commentary upon, and advice to, the persons of the play proper. It should be noted in passing that,—without extravagance and affectation,—all