The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 23, 1901, Page 7

THE SUNDAY CALL. GREAT painter of worldwide cesco- oned to paint a of C te, for symbolic pur- g the personality of 2 " wt esents its per~ e - > = when me 1 in fference Plotur: eatrical ar be running with the m who is being pursued, and bef he vanish, am can tonhole a secret door leading imme Roeder, is ever on w the curious off lasco’s extreme ser » some people Who at- of his nature, an as his short, rapld frerence to ., that T was en- abled lues of ti man In his own atmosphers, where the alr is laden wi high rebellion existing in theatrical conditlons against art being behind in moil of New York 5 Snehtwre St Feu dramatic secrets. he holds Lis head he is erect, at ease, the left e tu Suggestions of Emotionalism. His face is rems kable for the countless it. It those swirt suggest] emotionalism in bears out the ise of all subtleties of expression that T have seen in the faces of great emotional actresses, without an resemblance to woman | can think of. While there is the predominant stamp of tenderness in his face, there is also the remorseless cunning of the man who risk any danger to find out the ent truths of human passions, good and direct ey It is the same enthusiasm of daring re- that has incurred the world's obfi- gation to sclentists and artists who spend n digging for new discoveries. a sheet of paper on his over a bottle of smelling urse of working out a a dramatic situation, he will attain guch a piteh of itement that he lite ally faints and needs some reviving stim ulant at hand There is o space in his workshop for any elegancies The room is live with the labor of impressions, has- v serawled on loose scraps of paper and in every conceivable corner, high and low. Two desks, raised high enough for the writer to work at them standing, and be- gearch scene of fashion. opposite are ‘Placed - at angies, tween the two Belasco moves about rest- lessly, jotting down an idea at one of these and, hav ossed the room, using t other bne likewise. This is the beginning of my new play,” he said, indicating the scraps of paper pinned loosely on the draperies on the walls; some high up. near the cornice, others ncar the floor. *“A complicated maruseript 1 said, imperfectly decipher- ing a note here and there. “These are just notes that occur to me, bearing upon every phase and feature of the play.” ‘It Jooks like interminable disorder.” It was quite comprehensible when he ex- plained § 1 in order. though,” he contin- WITIB [RPTESSioNs ued. amused at the mystery it seemed to be but was not. Handwriting on the Wall. “You has his or her space on the wall, and In that space belongs every detail connected with the development of that character.” He dug his hands deep in the pockets of his dressing gown and looked around com- fortably at the latent personalities care- lessly inscribed about him. “How many acts have you here?” I asked, scanning the walls where they were stretched in chaotic mystery. “Five acts—there they are, and I can tell at a moment’s glance whether these people are going to act well or not,” he said, apparently seeing them in mask and gown arrayed before him. “Sc this is the way you construct a play?” . *“This is one way, the way I work on an absolutely original play.” “And the writing of it is gathered from these scraps on the wall?” “The writing of it—well, It is far from any literary method.” “Is not handwriting literature “Let me explain myself,” he said, and moving rapidly to his accustomed position behind the desk he leaned on.it and con- tinve “For instance, I am at work on the prison scene in the fifth act of my play. There it is, over there,” he =aid, seizing s pen nervously and pointing it straight, out before him. Following the direction) indicated I saw only curtains, a mantel- piece, a bookcase, a portrait of Leslie Car- ter. see, every character in the play (LAsSK S7E HAS [UEVER FELT 4NV GREAT EMOTION JSAF Hap Fo [ HAVE JEEN ALL “WWhere js that prison scene?’ I asked. He hurried round from béhind his desk with the quick enthusiasm of a child bent on being clezrly understood, and tapping n sheet of paper on which was scrawled a much altered diagram, he sald pa- tlently: b “There, there is my prison scene!” “I understand,” and he walked rapidly back to his dosk, his eyes fixed before Lim, as he went on: Very well. Now there is a woman thers who is in great distress. She is in prison.” He paused. hand. crept iInstinctively to his lips, alreddy tremulous with the emotion of her situation. : “Some one is {rying to comfort her. He says-to her, ‘Now be brave, take courage, be brave.’” 'He passed the back of his hand over his forehead and T saw the woman’s agony of mind in his face. He Lives the Parts. “I will! T will!” he went on, living In the mind and soul of the woman for the mo- ment, his voice suggesting her emotlons, but it is so hard to die: life is so beauti- ful; I can’t die. T don't want to diel” He sank into a chair as a woman would in terror, limp, without form or fashion. “‘Take courage! All will be well; be brave!’ " and she answered him with an effort at strength that was clearly simu- lated. ‘T will be brave. T will try; but T want to live. Sece how cold my hands are! Oh, T cannot, you must not let me die!’ "—Then she buried her face in her hands—that is to say, Belasco did all this, and as he =at up In the chair he seemed choked with the emotional effort to real- ize the situation. It was not the words he had relied on for effect, but upon accurate sensations as they might occur to a woman eon- demned to death. “Is that the -way you conceive your scenes?” 3 “I live them, I breathe the individual lines of every character in my play, imagining the pressure put upon them by given situations. “And so the lines are written.” A stenographer will be in the room with me, and as I work out a scene I ignore his presence, and he reports what I do and say. You see, a literary sen- tence would lack the vivid impulse, the IBE Broriapar : DEPTHS 9/ A WAL SOUL I A& TLEF % SRULE actual emotion required, for a ment. When 1 am at we am, by turns, a saint, a villain, 2 mother, a courtesan, a king. a bheggar, quently, when I read what I hive under the Influence of acting out a scene 1 am afraid tp change a word in it, be- leving finally in the expression of a first impulse. The difference in very clear to an audlence betwen a literary rentence in a play and an acting sentence.” An Early Offense. terse mo- on a play, 1 “What was the first ¥ you ever wrote?” “‘Jim Black. or the Regulator's Re- venge. T was only 14, and it was pro- duced at Mozart Hall in San Franelsco, Those were the days when I was fecling a way in the world. I must have been a very morbid, romantlc boy. I used to spend most of my time in Chinatown or at the Morgue. I always went out “6f my way to see the body of some one who had met a violent death, and it was not unusual in those days. I was particular- ly interested in observing the. different symptoms of death by different poisons, like arsenic or strychnine, noting the vari- ous contortions of face and limbs.” “You were sensational?" “No, no; not that,” he sald, a radiant light of life in his eves; “there is a gieat deal of the woman in me. T used to have great fear of death. Tt was all I could do to pass an undertaker's shop. and yet when I saw a crowd inside, in spite of my fear, T would be drawn there, and the first thing I knew I would find myuel? standing close to that body, watching It with morbid interest.” ‘ou conquered superstition?"” “I've never done that. I'm dreadfully superstitious to this day. I never pass a nail or'a piece of coal or a horseshoe.” I{e dived into a vase on the mantelpl “Here, I've got nails I picked up in Lon dqn, even; nothing would jnduce me to part with them.” i “How did you become a playwright?"” “I just drifted into it. I was brought up in the theater, you know, and my eager- ness to learn every department of it sonn made me useful. I became stage manager of a small traveling company in the West. These were the days when we couldn’t afford the luxury of manuscripts. and I Sarony Punve = DAVIO BIEILASCO (a—] NN [BUI0070 used to run on . ‘Frisve and see ‘Frou- Frou,' for instance, or ‘Bast Lynne,’ or Floyd,” and write a version in a Then T drifted to the Baldwin Theater, where we, put on two plays a week with a cast that have since became traveling stars. Those were the days of the stock dramatist; poor Cazauran was the last of the lot. Dramatized Npvel a Mistaks., “But the stock dramatist is bysy to- day with the dramatized novel.” “I know, but he's quite a different breed. Those old plays\of former years will live and are still going the rounds in theaters all over the country, but the dramatized novel is a mistake; it is ephemeral; it is generally a disgrace to the novel, because it is done too hurriedly.” “Yet it draws!” “Ot course, for the time being. Man- agers are forced to put on these dramatiz- ations by the great reading public, bu* there is one man who will stop these dra- patic makeshifts, and that Is the pub- lisher.” “But the publisher’s profits are large!"” “Not when a play is ruinous to the an- thor's reputation, as it frequently must be.” “Then we shall get back to a system whereby the dramatist lived by the work of his own brains, instead of digging the novelist's with a pair of scissors?” “Original plays will bring about a treaty of peace between managers. publishers, authors and audiences,” sald Mr. Belasco. “It is generally believed that you are a sort of dramatic Cagliostro; that your magic can make of crude material theat- rical miracles,” I said. “Impossible. Mrs. Carter’s success, for Instapce—it was born in her. When I first met her, after five minutes’ conversation 1 made up my mind that I was in the presence of an exceptional, rare creature TBF IRDE AFTIST FOSSESSES A a great mace th “Not beauty; man Is very beautiful, ures are cla: BT no heart.” to lpok fnwar meaning. “Who can describe magnetism? It is dlscovered, not ma logk of the ey>, gesture. In the vision of Then he sa Henry ward. - A foave apry (/ npallty “with mn temperament and vital art. man T “What do vo: ok who aspires to the stage ic, emotion; even must netism!" he re for clf in the s For instanc She was 1 with life Irv Wa h him w the stage, hear his we delive with greater magnetism? nerisms appezl in harmony to all the and yet do de: do ail “If mere heauty is ibe 7" “She must b s depict emotions the emotie: debuts, atest debut T ever saw.” ot preserce, have maghetism,” eetness ng—eccentric, 1 for the stage, what e a face that depths- of Jve seen but Mrs. Carter for first in a woman emperament, above all things; tem- perament.” “Not beauty?” y SN oli-rio!” he safd vehemently, waving aside a veritable pieth beautifl women fin vigorous ges When a wo- o that her feat- she has never felt any as a child she had I sug- peated, as he seemed a definition of his de. It may betray of voice, in the in a smile, in an abrupt e; th nk of Adelaide a blood-red feeling ant a presence “And look at Sir almost awk- hen he stalks across ird peculiarities of es there lite a man His very-man- unnecessary in wo- ould her face can and . Why, I have seen a woman's “in the lives 6f men and women. ture that mere superficial education does not disturb. Honesty, gentleness, human- ity are qualities born in the artist and combine to create magnetism.” “What distinctive quality ‘attracts yow most n women who seek stage fame “Volce! A woman's velce must be in harmony with her face. almost one in dramatic influence, inseparable by sug- gestion, the one from the other.” “And she must have imagination?" “Imagination is the master of tempera- ment, the spur to all passion and feel- ing. There are many women with dor- mant imagirations to whom the stage is a great awakening of their souls.” “There must be great physical endur- ance also™" “The artistic constitution is a strange thing. It possesses the vitality of a grey- hound, sleepy in manner, storing its pow- ers for the highest leap. It may collapse after a great effort, but a moment’s rest, the sound of applav and the artist is up. refreshed. renovated, stronger tham ever. The expression of work is food to artists; they fatten on it. The artistic temperament is like a flower, lifting its tired head at the first grateful morning dew.” “Then your work on a play is all im- pulse, emotional expression?"” “I don’t know. You haye seen how I work out a scene; but before I reach that point there is the outline to decide upon. T am very careful to obtain correct in- formation. When writing ‘Men and Wo. Mr. I spent a great deal of time with Case, the cashier of the Second Na- tional Bank. He allowed me to be pres- ent at a directors’ meeting. Then I real my play to him, when it was written, for fear T might have been inaccurate in *t. T read evervthing bearing upon a sfbject T am writing, sometimes boiling down the information of a book into ten 'ines of dialogue. I usually arrange five manuscripts before T decide on the acting version, and then when T get my people on the stage I study their peculiarities and alter whole scenes, dictating to each actor the new lines as they oceur to me.” Studying Every -Detail. “And what are the last touches?” He leaned his head on his hand and de- ibed how the subtleties of human na- ture receive the touch of life on the stage. “There are changing ' expressions of emotion that occur differently under dif- ent c ances,” he said, slowly. instance. if a man receives news of the loss of his mother, how will he ex- press it? Is he a stoic. a tender nature, an emotional Will he receive the news with tears or with rigid lines of pain in his face? Or. ke has lost his wife— there will be a difference in expression according to the relationship. A sweet- heart will exvress the loss of the man she loves more poignantly than if he were her husband and they had been married awhile.” “Ard how have you gathered accuracy in these sacred emotions?” I asked. “I have watched and followed, nature? and squeezed my way in at solemn moments “For the sake of art?" “Because I have an Insatiable curiosity, a profound sympathy with life, life, life!"" he said. looking fixedly at me, his hand buried in his hair, his head bowed low in a pose of concentrated purpose. There is a deep significance in the pro- ces when it is freely told, of artistic expression, To the lavman it has the significance of the tremendous possibilities of human en- joyment in the hidden springs of his own nature. To the artist it has the greater signifi- cance of professional ambition, for it stimulates and reawakens the deep mur- mur in his soul that grumbles or an ouz- let, for a voice. Belasco described the Infallible intut- tion of the artist when he said: “Becauss I have a profound sympathy with life, lite PENDENNIS. —————— following ing figures have heen compiled by the French newspaper, L'Aviron: Of members. of nautical soei- oties there are in France 6000: Germany; e The intere: Electro-Vapor Launches soul in a fleetine smile.” England, $0,000. Fencing—France, “Is there any standard of proportions?” %5.000: Germany, 20.000: England, 5000 orefer slender women for the stage: Athletic clubs, football, tennis, ete.— g Ny P €€} Prance, 50,000; Germany. 10,000: England, they are usually more facile and lthe g~ GymnasticsFrance, 41.285: Ger- ith grace. many England, 500. Cyclists— “Should she be highly.educated?” France, - 475,000; Germany, 200,000, and “The true artist po ses a native cul- England, 130, s < 2 & - for Pleasure or Dusiness Light, but strong Racine launches, from 15 to 35 feet in length, capable of carrying from 8 to 30 persons, or 1,000 to 4,000 Ibs. Speed from 6 to 10 miles an hour. Just the thing for hunting, fishing, pleasure; business, carrying mail, passengers, etc. So simply arranged and constructed anyone can run them. Motive power : electro-vapor ; requires but small space—no heat, smoke, soot, noise or grease. No engineer, pilot or government license necessary. A perfect boat, free from complica- cions and care. Absolutely safe and reliable. 29 inches of water and costs from $185.00 up. Send 10c in stamps for 80 page catalogue beautifully illustrated. Row Boats in all sizes and most thoroughly ccnitructed, also cn(zlogued—priced'u low as $47.50. 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