“Always yours, “Peter.”
Belasco, I surmise, must have smiled a little grimly at this airy admonition “not to work himself up” about the active antagonism of the Syndicate: the cheery advice to the weaker party in a conflict, “Go in and win,” is doubtless excellent, but often, unhappily, it is somewhat more difficult to follow than it is to give. Viewed from the secluded tranquillity of the old Bohemian Club—that genial harbor of congenial spirits—a struggle with the Syndicate may have seemed like a fight with a phantom. For Belasco it was, and for many years remained, a hard reality, and had it not been for his wary vigilance and indomitable resolution he would certainly have been defeated, overwhelmed, and ruined.—Poor Robertson never realized his “hope of better fortune”: for several years after 1904 he continued to be the dramatic critic of “The San Francisco Chronicle”: then, the whole duty of the managing editor (as defined by my old friend, the journalist William Seaver—“first, to wring your brains dry; second, to throw you away”) having been performed, he was dismissed from his employment and, after two or three years of anxious, dispirited, lonely waiting, he died—and, save by a few old friends, he is thought of no more.
METHOD OF COLLABORATION.
The tragedy of “Adrea,” begun in 1903, was completed before September, 1904, and it was put into rehearsal, at the Belasco Theatre, in October of the latter year. The following letters which passed between Belasco and his friend and associate John Luther Long afford an informing glimpse of their methods of collaboration in authorship, which Belasco has described in these words: “Before the actual writing of ‘Adrea’ we had the story [worked out] to the smallest detail. He lived in Philadelphia, but spent the latter part of each week with me. After the plot was finished we adopted a new system of collaboration. Mr. Long and I worked on the scenes apart, then met and joined them together. Then he revised the result and then I revised the result, and so on, until the sixth or seventh version found the scene in very good condition.”
(John Luther Long, in Philadelphia, to David Belasco, in New York.)
“———, (?) 1903.
“I have now, my dear Goliath, been pretty well over the history of Rome, once more, and I have found only two places where we MIGHT possibly stick in our pin. One is the Augustan Era, and Livia and Julia; the other is the reign of Claudius and Messalina. I don’t think you would like either. I am sure I don’t! Besides, both have been done to death. There were NO woman rulers of Rome, and only one—Messalina—who took much of a hand at politics. I think we shall finally agree upon some island or mountain plateau—the latter commends itself because the other has been so often done. I think we could use either the island of Pandataria in the Adriatic, or the little island of Ilva in the Mediterranean. We could have all the Roman splendor there, without the handicap of being, unhistorically, IN Rome. Here is the scheme which outlines itself in my mind:
“When Rome was finally subdued, in A.D. 476, Romulus was on the throne. He was kicked out and sort of lost—though he is said by some of the histories I have read to have gone to live privately in the Campagna. He does not seem to have left any heirs. But let us give him some. Or one. This one seeks out one of these islands and takes with him some Romans to build anew the debased Roman Empire with the blood of the old Patricians alone. It is this kingdom, several hundred years later,—so that four or five of Romulus’ descendants may intervene,—where we locate our play. And now, there are no males of the pure Roman blood and the succession falls to the two women.
“I rather dislike the creation of a name, such as Romancia or Ruritania or such like, and I think we could use the real name of the island, if we adopt it. And both are pretty good names. Pandataria. Ilva. Or we could, as you suggested, make some name out of the real names: Pinda—Illus—Illa—and so on. All the histories stop at that wonderful period of ours, 476 A.D., when our Odvokar did the trick. (One of them goes on to say that he stops there because the rest is too indecent for publication!) But I am on the track of some good books treating of that period—though I don’t expect to find a woman or a ruler in it all. For, in this period, ALL the sovereigns, without exception, were elected by the soldiers in the field and the corrupt pretorians at home—with, once in a while, the people waking up and saying a word. After I have well looked up this period, I will run over and we will talk—when you can spare the time.
“Don’t forget to tell your girl to send me the copies she makes. If anything should happen, by fire or flood, you have all the stuff over there.