Belasco had planned to open his new theatre with a play by the eccentric Jerome Klapka Jerome, entitled “The Passing of the Third Floor Back.” In his “Story” he gives the following account of his plan and purposes and of the way,—surely most unjust,—in which they were defeated. The actual reason for Mr. Jerome’s “misunderstanding” undoubtedly was that he preferred to have Forbes-Robertson, instead of Warfield, act the principal part in his “idle fancy,” as he designated his monotonous but amazingly popular fabric of insipid colloquy:
“I was about to make a new version of ‘The Lone Pine,’ which I wrote for Denman Thompson many years ago, when Mr. Jerome K. Jerome came to see me. He and I had travelled from London on the same ship, and I found him a most interesting companion. He was the author of the charming little Christmas story, ‘The Passing of the Third Floor Back,’ and suggested turning it into a play for Warfield. I was delighted. The contract was signed and a payment made in advance. ‘I shall sail for home at once,’ said Mr. Jerome, ‘to go into the country, for I shall need the trees and flowers and birds about me as I work. I am going to write it with David Warfield in mind. He shall be the Stranger and I shall dip my pen into my heart as well as into the ink.’ Mr. Jerome suggested that the action of the entire play take place in one scene. ‘But I wish the actors could face the audience as though a wall of the room were between them and the auditorium,’ he said. ‘You want the fireplace in front of the footlights,’ I suggested. A sketch of the scene was made then and there.
“Our contract stated that the play was to be completed in time for the opening of the present Belasco Theatre, which was being built. ‘I’ll have your play finished,’ said Mr. Jerome; ‘I’ll bring it over myself.’ With my mind at rest, I turned to other matters. It was not long before Mr. Jerome wrote for an extension of time. I readily agreed to this and shortly after Mr. Jerome wrote again to ask for another postponement. The play depended largely upon the mood in which it was written and moods are not to be summoned at will; so once more I agreed to a delay. Mr. Jerome sent me a model of the scene and costume sketches by Percy Anderson. They bore Mr. Jerome’s ‘O. K.,’ and I cheerfully paid a fee of $500 for them. I still have the sketches in my possession. The time for the opening of the new theatre was drawing near and I engaged the company. Mr. Warfield was eager to have the script, that he might begin to study the part. Then came bad news from England. Mr. Jerome could not finish the play in time. I saw that I could not depend upon it for the opening of my new theatre and must find something else. I once heard Mr. Warfield recite James Whitcomb Riley’s ‘The Old Man and Jim,’ and I knew that a character like the Old Man’s would be delightful in his hands. I had in my possession a manuscript, written by Pauline Phelps and Marion Short. It contained the very idea for the character I wanted, so I made arrangements with the ladies and rewrote parts of the play. By the time my work was done and I had engaged a company I received a cable from Mr. Jerome: ‘The manuscript is finished. Am bringing it to you.’ I had been obliged to disband the company selected for ‘The Passing of the Third Floor Back,’ and preparations for ‘A Grand Army Man’ were completed. I doubted if the other play could possibly be made ready for production in so short a period. When Mr. Jerome arrived, he read his piece to Mr. Warfield, Mr. Roeder and me, and we found the idea more and more to our liking. I felt, however, that the play should be held over until the following season. Before I could reach a decision Mr. Jerome left unexpectedly for London. It was my moral, to say nothing of legal, right to postpone the production, as it was no fault of mine that the script had not been delivered sooner. I told Miss Marbury, Mr. Jerome’s representative in this country, to cable to him to that effect. He showed some surprise in his reply. But in a long communication I explained my dilemma. In response to this he sent a very satisfactory answer, and I was about to write another letter to him, enclosing an additional advance on the contract—so anxious was I to have the piece—when Miss Marbury abruptly inquired what steps I intended to take in the matter. She insisted upon another large payment, which displeased me, since I had so willingly complied with every request Mr. Jerome had made, and I hastily scribbled an impatient note. To my astonishment, I received a telegram from her saying: ‘The play is sold to Forbes-Robertson.’ Three years after, when Mr. Jerome asked me to read a new piece, we spoke of ‘The Passing of the Third Floor Back.’ I explained the matter, and he said it was all the result of a mistake. I was of course very sorry the mistake had occurred. This mistake was most fortunate for Sir Johnson Forbes-Robertson, who might have missed the greatest success of his career. The piece could not add to his fame, but it certainly added to his fortune.”
“THE WARRENS OF VIRGINIA.”
Belasco opened the season of 1907-’08, at the Belasco Theatre, August 31, with a revival of “The Rose of the Rancho,” which he continued to present there until November 9. On November 11 Miss Bates appeared at that theatre, where she acted for three weeks, in “The Girl of the Golden West.” On December 3 he there brought out, for the first time in New York, a play called “The Warrens of Virginia,” written by William C. De Mille, son of his old friend and early collaborator, Henry C. De Mille, and retouched by himself. It had been acted at the Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia, on November 18. In that play the interest is concentrated on the character of a general in the service of the Southern Confederacy, toward the close of the American Civil War, and on the conduct of his daughter, in a well-contrived emergency, involving the conflict,—perennial as a dramatic expedient,—between love and duty. The story is interesting, and it illustrates, in a manner that is both pictorial and pathetic, the contrasts of circumstances and the vicissitudes of domestic experience that, necessarily, were incident to the harrowing condition of fraternal strife then prevalent in this country. The play, however, is not in any sense either political or sectional. It has no didactic drift. It does not discuss the war. It does not advocate either union or disunion. It tells a story, and, necessarily therefore, it portrays characters. The predominant element in it is picture, but it contains much incident, of a kind more notable for utility than novelty, and some of its situations are fraught with the dramatic element of suspense. Its special charm is a sweet and gentle domestic atmosphere.
The action is supposed to pass during the twenty-four hours immediately preceding the surrender of the Confederate army, at Appomattox, April 9, 1865, and to close five years later. Act First occurs in a woodland glade, near to the abode of the Warrens of Virginia. Acts Second and Third proceed in a room in that dwelling. Act Fourth, and last, is placed in a rose garden adjacent to the Warren home. General Warren, a Confederate commander, is ill, broken by care and privation, and he has been ordered from the field, for rest. General Griffin, a Union commander, has acceded to the request of General Lee that Warren should be passed through the Union lines to his home. Warren’s daughter, Agatha, trying to reach the Confederate forces, with such little relief as the Warren family could supply, has been stopped by Lieutenant Burton, a Union officer,—known to her before the outbreak of the war,—who loves her, and who is by her beloved, although she has repulsed him. Lieutenant Burton, in turning Agatha back to her home, begs the privilege of visiting her, if he can obtain leave of absence, but his request is denied. General Warren, however, on the way to his dwelling, meets with Burton and consents to the proposed visit. A supply train is expected by the Confederates, and its arrival is vital to them, while the stoppage of it is equally essential to the forces of the Union. Stratagem is planned. A bogus despatch is prepared, ordering the interception of the train at a certain point, and it is desired that this despatch be captured by the Confederate commander, so that he will be deceived by it and will send the train another way. The Union commander utilizes Lieutenant Burton’s wish to visit his sweetheart, and compels him to carry the despatch,—having previously ascertained that a movement of the Confederates is intended which will insure Burton’s capture at General Warren’s home. Various reasons constrain Burton to carry the despatch,—although his expectation is that he will be shot as a spy. When the scene shifts to the Warren home Agatha and Burton meet and they plight their faith as lovers. Burton is captured by the Confederates, but Agatha has obtained the despatch and has concealed it in her shoe. Her purpose is to shield her lover; but General Warren, surmising that she knows where the document is concealed, appeals to her in such a way that she breaks down and surrenders it. The General is deceived. The supply train is despatched in a wrong direction and is captured by the Union forces. The conduct of Burton thereupon is stigmatized as grossly dishonorable; Agatha renounces him; and, making no defence, he is likely to be shot. The surrender of the Confederate army terminates the war, and thus Burton’s life is saved. After the lapse of five years he once more repairs to the Warren home and renews his suit for the hand of Agatha. At first his prayer is denied,—notwithstanding the girl still loves him. The talk of the lovers is heard by General Warren, who appears all the while to have been asleep, and presently the father recalls the departing lover, and, for his daughter’s sake, consents to a reconciliation and a marriage: and thus a pretty picture of happy love and peace is made to close an ordeal of trouble and grief. It seems a pity that some device could not have been found to make the young soldier carry the despatch without being aware of the treachery that was intended. He is forced to act in a dishonorable manner, and he forfeits all sympathy in the action of the play.
There is no limit to the pathos of conflicting emotions that can be pictured, incident to war, and especially to a civil war. Some of that pathos is indicated at moments in this drama. The little children, concocting a letter to their soldier brother; the agonized lover, who while waiting for the moment in which the trick to which he has lent himself will be accomplished, is fondly treated by the girl whom he loves, and toward whom he feels that he has been deceitful; the worn, ill, suffering Confederate general, gleeful in his supposed triumph, waiting for the safe arrival of the supplies that will relieve his wretched troops, and sitting with his wife by his side and their two young children at their knees; the blind, almost insane fury of that deceived, resentful old man when he learns of the capture of those supplies—those incidents and others like to them are exceedingly effective. There is excess of dialogue and there is too much attention to unimportant detail delaying the action. The incident of the father’s kneeling to his daughter is copied from Wills’s splendid play of “Charles I”—in
Photograph by Otto Sarony. Belasco’s Collection.