After leaving that house Belasco for about two years worked as a free-lance in the theatrical arena. One plan which he seriously entertained and strove to accomplish in that interval was the formation of a theatrical company, headed by himself as a star, to traverse the country, presenting “Hamlet,” or a new, sympathetic, popular drama of his own fabrication,—possibly to present both those plays,—in which he might, perhaps, make a personal hit

and become as prosperous as certain other actors then were,—notably Jefferson, as Rip Van Winkle, and John S. Clarke, as Major de Boots. “I was keen to act then,” he said to me, “and sometimes now I wish I had stuck to it.” With him as with most other persons, however, the path that he should tread was ordained by the iron force of circumstance. He did whatever work he could find to do, and his occupations were various. He trained members of an amateur society, in Brooklyn, called “The Amaranth.” He revised a play called “Caught in a Corner” (it had previously been tinkered by Clay M. Greene, and it was produced in New York, Belasco’s arrangement, November 1, 1887, at the Fourteenth Street Theatre) for Maurice Bertram Curtis, an actor now dimly remembered for his performance in “Sam’l of Posen,” with whom he had, in 1878, been affiliated as a member of the “Frayne Troupe,” travelling in California. More particularly he became associated with Steele Mackaye, in the Lyceum. That theatre was situated in Fourth Avenue, next to the old Academy of Design, which stood on the northwest corner of Twenty-third Street and Fourth Avenue. It was built, on ground leased from William Y. Mortimer, by Philip G. Hubert, Charles W. Clinton, and Michael Brennan, and it was opened by Mackaye on April 6, 1885, with a play called “Dakolar,” which he had “conveyed” from “Le MaÎtre de Forges,” by Georges Ohnet. The chief parts were played by Robert B. Mantell, John Mason, Viola Allen, and Sadie Martinot. Belasco’s position at the Lyceum was that of assistant stage manager and general helper for Mackaye, whose signal ability he appreciated and admired. He was engaged at a salary of $150 a week,—which, however, he never received,—was installed in a private office, and, for a short time, was happy because deluded as to what he was about to accomplish. In his “Story,” referring to the play of “Dakolar,” he relates that, prior to its production, Mackaye read it, at his home, to a group of critical persons, of whom I was one, in order to obtain their opinions of it. As to one point his memory is at fault: I was not present. Mackaye (who was a friend of mine) did read “Dakolar” to me, but that reading occurred privately, in his office. We sat, I remember, at a large table, he at an end of it and I at the right-hand side. He was a highly excitable person, and as his reading progressed he became wildly enthusiastic, hitching his chair nearer and nearer to me, with much extravagant gesticulation, so that I was impelled to hitch my chair further and further away from him, till the two of us actually made an almost complete circuit of the table before the reading was finished! It was a tiresome experience. At the critical symposium which Belasco recalls various opinions were expressed by Mackaye’s auditors, that of Belasco being withheld until Mackaye insisted on its expression, when it was made known as strongly adverse to the play. Thereafter a coolness ensued between the manager and his assistant. Other causes of friction occurred, and presently Mackaye remarked to him, “There is room for only one genius in this theatre, and one of us ought to resign.” This intimation caused Belasco to retire, and so ended that episode.

Mackaye, who, in his youth, had studied in Paris, under the direction of FranÇois Delsarte (1811-1871),—an eccentric person, of whom and his peculiar character, ways, and notions the reader can pleasantly obtain an instructive glimpse from that delightful book, by Mme. Hagermann-Lindencrone, “In the Courts of Memory,”—had, from the time of his advent in New York theatrical life (1872), sedulously striven to promote the tuition of histrionic aspirants according to the tenets of that instructor; and in opening the Lyceum Theatre he started, in connection with it, a School of Acting. In this Franklin Sargent at first co-labored with him, but after a short time withdrew, to carry on a school of his own. When Belasco left Mackaye and the Lyceum he joined Sargent, and as his extraordinary talent for stage direction had made him popular with Mackaye’s pupils, the larger part of them followed him to Sargent’s school,—to the lively disgust of Mackaye.