and indolence in the fibre of contrasted races is conveyed in two casual remarks in this play: “Civilization,” says the “land-jumper,” Kinkaid, with blatant vulgarity of manner, when announcing his purpose of legalized robbery, “must progress”; and when it is found that certain muskets which have been collected for use in defending the Castro ranch are useless because of lack of powder, the Spanish cavalier is heard to murmur: “I meant to have got that powder to-morrow.” Charles Richman, as the intrepid Kearney, and John W. Cope, as the sinister Kinkaid, gave performances of sterling merit, because true to life and symmetrical and fluent in expression,—the one presenting, in a notably earnest spirit, a sonsy, healthful, interesting, thoroughly good fellow: the other assuming, in a painfully natural way, the obnoxious characteristics,—including a repulsive personal appearance,—commonly, and correctly, ascribed to the Western breed of ruffian.
Belasco has, in drama, made use of the element of natural accessories,—meaning peculiarities of climate, cloud, sunshine, rain, storm, calm, the sound of the sea, the ripple of leaves in the wind, the swirl of dust, the gentle falling of flower petals, the incessant variations of light according to place and time, whether morning or evening, noonday or midnight, and so following,—with an unerring skill akin to that of Wilkie Collins in the writing of fiction. In “The Rose of the Rancho” he took almost unparalleled pains to render his effects perfect. Writing of this work, he has recorded:
“To get the strong sunlight of my beloved California and the wonderful shades and tones of sunset, night, and dawn as they come out there I had my electrician, Louis Hartman, carry our experiments to the point of making our own colors for our lamps, as we could find none on the market that would give me the desired result. At the present time we mix all our own colors for the lights used in my productions, but in those days this had not been done. I took twenty-five electricians with me to Boston, for the opening of ‘The Rose’: usually, two or three are enough with any company....”
A NEW PROJECT:—THE SECOND BELASCO THEATRE.
Although Belasco held the Belasco Theatre under a lease with an option of renewal, he was at all times during the early years of his theatre management conscious of a certain weakness in his position: an unforeseen disaster—a fire, for instance,—might leave him with many theatrical enterprises and no metropolitan theatre to present them in. “Besides,” he writes to me: “not only was I always confronted by the fact that the lease of my Forty-second Street house might not be renewed, but also it was natural that I should desire to have a theatre all my own, in the making of which I could carry out, fully, my ideas of stage construction, lighting, and seating.” The result of this desire and of his wary vigilance to maintain managerial freedom is the second Belasco Theatre (which originally was named David Belasco’s Stuyvesant Theatre), which was built by Meyer R. Bimberg (18—- 1908), on designs made by Belasco and under his personal superintendence. The cornerstone of that theatre was laid on December 5, 1906. David Warfield came from Philadelphia, where he was acting, to participate; Miss Bates came from Boston; Miss Starr was at the time filling her first engagement in New York in “The Rose of the Rancho.” Belasco, those players, his business associates, and a numerous company of friends gathered round the site of the new theatre. Miss Starr deposited in a niche beneath the bed of the cornerstone a copper casket containing various records and programmes of Belasco’s productions, photographs of himself and of the chief players then appearing under his direction, and a miscellaneous assortment of souvenirs, cards, and “good luck pieces” contributed by various friends. Miss Bates then spread the mortar upon which the stone was to be laid and uttered this touching sentiment as she did so: “Here’s hoping that Mr. Belasco will stick to all of us, and we and all his friends will stick to Mr. Belasco, as this mortar will eternally stick to this stone.”
The cornerstone was then swung into place, settled, and declared to be “well and truly laid,” whereupon Belasco’s daughters, Reina and Augusta, each broke a bottle of champagne against it, saying, in unison, “David Belasco’s Stuyvesant Theatre.” The dramatist Bronson Howard (who had risen from a sick-bed to attend this ceremony) then spoke, saying:
“My dear Public and Friends: This is one of the greatest pleasures of my whole life—to be here to-day to dedicate the theatre that David Belasco is building. He has always given of his best in the past and you know what he is doing now. This theatre and the plays that it will house will live in the Future even as Wallack’s, Daly’s, and Palmer’s, of the Past, live now in the Present. Here, where we stand to-day, will stand the future Temple of Dramatic Art in America. David Belasco has played a great part in the advancement of the drama in this country and he will play a greater one. He has never disappointed us and he never will. His heart and soul will be in every brick of this theatre and in every production he makes on its stage.
“Belasco and I have been friends and co-workers for many years. We first met when the gods were favoring me most,—when, long, long ago, he came, a young man out of the West, with black hair and eager face, to begin his career here. I was fortunate enough to put into his hands, in his first position as stage manager, at the Madison Square Theatre, the manuscript of my play ‘Young Mrs. Winthrop.’ I want to tell you an anecdote connected with that. I expected, when I gave it to him, that I should be obliged to do a lot of work on it; but after he had had it a few days he came to me and told me of many beautiful things in my play that I did not know were there! I decided, then, to keep away and did not see the play until the dress rehearsal. I found I had done well to leave it all to him. [Turning toward Mr. Belasco and stretching out his hand to him.] Come here, David! I am proud to clasp your hand, to utter a word of thanks for all you have done for us, for the workers in the Theatre; to congratulate you and say ‘God bless you and give you success!’”
Writing of this occasion and of his new theatre, Belasco says:
“With all my associates gathered round me I felt like the Vicar of Wakefield when he got out of gaol and once more assembled his family round his hearth!