Belasco has written the following reminiscence of the production of “The Music Master,” in which he shows just appreciation of the destructive result of those excessive expedients of stage “realism” which, in some of his earlier productions, impaired precisely the effect they were designed to create:

“We always spoke of von Barwig as ‘the music teacher.’ Naturally that became the name of the play; but as the character grew our musician impressed us as a master, and our title was changed to ‘The Music Master.’

“I think there were at least fourteen versions of this comedy-drama. Even after the cast was engaged, we went over the manuscript again. The entire Supper Scene in the First Act was written while the company was assembled on the stage; so, too, was the ending of the play. Such radical alterations were made at the last rehearsal that one of the acts was almost entirely rewritten. We had a scene, wherein von Barwig dreamed of his past life in Leipzig. While the stage was dark, a double took Warfield’s place in the armchair and remained in view of the audience while Warfield himself moved through the following scenes. He was shown as a young man, writing the intermezzo which was to bring him fame and fortune. Then he was seen directing the orchestra, then in his home, where he came fresh from his triumph, to find a note from his wife, telling of her departure, and on the floor a broken toy,—the toy by which after many years he was to identify his daughter. These scenes were mounted on movable platforms, easily set in place without loss of time. They were shown with telling effect at rehearsals, but I felt that the beauty of the actor’s art was hampered by machinery. While Warfield was making quick changes, hurrying on and off the stage, the beautiful simplicity of his work was lost. The artist was of less importance than scenic changes and effects. ‘This is not a spectacular play,’ I thought, ‘all these external matters are carrying us too far from this man’s performance.’ To the surprise of everyone, I ordered the scenes cut out. Instead, I showed Warfield sitting in revery, and by means of his changing expression and a few phrases dropped now and then the story of his past was conveyed to the spectators. His simple acting made it all as clear as though I had really used the various scenes. At the same time attention was centred on the actor, not on canvas.... The Last Act represented an attic with a skylight with its cracked panes stuffed with cloths which fluttered violently in the wind until some of them fell out and snow drifted through the openings. I liked the snowstorm very much, as it accentuated the misery of the characters grouped about a little stove. Warfield did not like the storm, but he did not wish to say so; so he took a novel way to be rid of it. ‘Brrr!’ he said as he walked off the stage, ‘I’m cold! The snowstorm is so realistic it has given me a chill!’ I ordered the weather changed at once....”

“The Music Master,” when first acted in New York,—at the original Belasco Theatre, September 26, 1904,—was cast as follows:

Herr Anton von Earwig David Warfield.
Signor Tagliafico Musicians W.G. Ricciardi.
Mons. Louis Pinac of the Louis P. Verande.
Herr August Poons Liberty Café. Leon Kohlmar.
Henry A. Stanton Campbell Gollan.
Andrew Cruger William Boag.
Beverly Cruger J. Carrington Yates.
Mr. Schwarz Alfred Hudson.
Mr. Ryan Tony Bevan.
Al. Costello Louis Hendricks.
Joles Harold Mead.
Ditson H. G. Carlton.
Danny Master Richard Kessler.
A Collector Downing Clarke.
Mrs. Andrew Cruger Isabel Waldron.
Helen Stanton Minnie Dupree.
Miss Houston Marie Bates.
Jenny Antoinette Walker.
Charlotte Sybil Klein.
Octavie Jane Cowl.

After the Second Act Belasco was many times called before the curtain and finally, responding to insistent requests, addressed the audience in an exceptionally animated way, saying:

“I hope you will excuse me from making a formal speech; but I am most happy to take this occasion to say that I am glad you like our little play and glad that Mr. David Warfield has succeeded. And I am happy, too, to take this occasion to say publicly how proud I am of him and how very, very grateful I am for his loyalty to me—loyalty that no persecution could shake and no malice undermine! There have been lawsuits, plots, perjuries, and lies; there have been vexations enough to weary the patience of a saint (and I am not a saint, ladies and gentlemen!): but Mr. Warfield has remained through it all unshaken and true to me—and I honor and thank him: and, ladies and gentlemen, as long as I possess your confidence and friendship no theatrical syndicates, with all their money and outside influence, can crush me or dictate to me in what way I shall conduct my business. I rejoice in Mr. Warfield’s success, and since this play pleases you, I will only say that our prosperity is just so much more ammunition with which to continue the struggle for Justice and the triumph of Right in American theatrical management!”

The appended letter, written by Belasco during the toil and strain of preparing his “Music Master” and “Adrea” productions, indicates his strenuous labor to make the former a success and his almost diffident estimate of his practically invaluable contributions to it as a playwright:

(David Belasco to Charles Klein, at Merriewold Park, N. Y.)