"Mr. W.S. Gilbert at Home."

MR. W.S. GILBERT AT HOME.
HE CHATS ABOUT HIS WORK.
THE NEW SAVOY OPERA.

In these golden days for dramatic authors, when a single success may mean a competence, and a series of successes a fortune, it is not surprising to find so prosperous a playwright as Mr. W.S. Gilbert living in a veritable palace. 39, Harrington Gardens is, I should say, one of the most beautiful houses in London, suggesting by its interior architecture, its preponderance of fine oak work, and its stained glass windows the baronial hall of Elizabethan origin, rather than the modern South Kensington mansion. As one stands in the hall or on the oaken staircase, one almost expects to hear the yelping of hounds and the neighing of horses preparing for the chase; but the dominating electric light, ever ready to hand, is so assertively "up to date" that one is promptly reminded this is only the residence of one of our most successful modern dramatists, and not of some feudal lord. And moreover the mind and taste of the individual are over all; but, strange to tell, nothing is topsy-turvy. Elegance, comfort, and luxury combine in the home of the master-humourist who has given us the "Bab Ballads," "The Mikado," and "Engaged," the poet of "Broken Hearts" and the dramatist of "Sweethearts," of "Dan’l Druce," and "Pygmalion and Galatea."

Calling to see Mr. Gilbert the other morning at the unconventional hour of half-past ten, I found him in his delightful and most inspiring study, restless and alert, and keenly attentive to the clock.

"Now, I can just spare you half an hour’s chat, and then you must excuse me, for I am due for rehearsal at the Savoy at half-past eleven; and as I expect punctuality from the company, I never like to be late myself."

"Of course you are very busy preparing your new opera, Mr. Gilbert?"

"Yes; rehearsing five hours a day."

"And will it present any new departure, as ‘The Yeomen of the Guard’ did?"

"No; it will rather revert to the style of "The Mikado," except that there will be more music and less dialogue. In the case of "The Yeomen," we thought perhaps the public might prefer a little change, and so we gave a dramatic story with a vein of sentiment; but though the result has been quite satisfactory—the opera running for fourteen months—we believe that, after all, picturesque whimsicality is more acceptable to our audiences. The plot of the new opera you have, of course, read, for it has been revealed, most unfairly, to a ‘London correspondent.’"

"Oh, that was correct? But why is there always so much mystery about the plot of a new Savoy opera?"

"We make no mystery of it, but we do not go out of our way to make it common property before the legitimate time. And I am not sure that when Mr. Beerbohm Tree is producing a new comedy at the Haymarket he discounts the interest of the production by giving away the plot to the newspapers; nor is he ridiculed and abused for not so doing. We take no special pains to preserve secrecy. The piece is read, as a rule, to the whole company, consisting of some sixty or seventy persons, and they generally respect our confidence. I usually read the piece on the stage, but in the case of the new opera I read it to the principals only in a room in the Savoy Hotel, as the stage was otherwise occupied. And yet the plot has leaked out, but I have reason to believe that the disclosure was not made by a member of the company."

"Well, Mr. Gilbert, I don’t think these paragraphs discount the interest in the least. They rather whet it, if anything. Indeed, you ought to take them as evidence of the enormous popularity of your operas."

The prince of librettists smiled incredulously.

"Are you a rapid worker, Mr. Gilbert?"

"No; very slow. It took me four months to write this new opera. You see, I constantly alter and correct. Look at this manuscript, for instance, and even this printed proof—full of corrections."

"Have you much trouble in writing lyrics for Sir Arthur Sullivan’s music?"

"No; for I have a very sensitive ear for rhythm, though not for tune, which is quite a different thing; and I seldom have to alter my lyrics for the sake of the music. Sullivan and I work very well together. First I invent a story, and if its musical structure is satisfactory, I prepare a very complete and elaborate scenario, with every entrance and exit. I then write all the lyrics, and Sullivan sets to work to compose the music, and I proceed with the dialogue at leisure. Then I work out the entire stage-management with little blocks on a model of the Savoy stage, with scenery and everything made to scale. Just come into the billiard-room and see it. This, you see, is the scene of the second act, and these little blocks of different colours represent soprani, contralti,&c., of the chorus, and these are the principals. Now, with these I am able to plan any groupings, and arrange how many persons can stand on one part of the stage, how many can go out together between one pair of "wings," and so on. Thus I am able to go down to rehearsal with all the stage business clear in my head, and I know exactly what I am going to do—of course, subject to modification."

"All these charming arrangements of colour we get in the Savoy operas are due to you, I believe?"

"Well, Mr. Hawes Craven paints the scenes, and Mr. Percy Anderson designs the dresses, and then when I see what colours I have to deal with I group them with a view to harmony, both in repose and in movement. Now, in the opera we are rehearsing there is an elaborate Spanish dance, the Cachuca, so that I shall have to dispose the dancers with regard to their kaleidoscopic effect altogether."

"Have you any difficulty in getting the company to carry out your ideas?"

"None whatever. They all work admirably together, and I must say our pieces are interpreted to our complete satisfaction. We always try to keep our company intact, though we shall have two new recruits in the new opera—Mr. Frank Wyatt, whose clever performance in "Paul Jones" suggested him at once to me as the very actor for our purpose, and for whom consequently I wrote this part; and Miss Decima Moore, a very charming young débutante, who will develop some day into a valuable actress. I am glad, however, that we still have three members of our original Opera Comique Company—Miss Jessie Bond, Miss Brandram and Mr. Rutland Barrington, besides some of the chorus. Miss Bond is a really excellent comedienne, and she and Barrington, whom I consider a very humorous actor, work capitally together, having been so long associated. At rehearsal they invent and arrange funny ‘business’ between themselves, and then submit it to me for approval; and, indeed, a great measure of the success of ‘The Mikado’ was due to the laughable ‘business’ they introduced. But every member of the company acts loyally, and I am pleased to say that in all the twelve years our operas have been running, we have not had an angry word with one of them, and we can boast also that we have never had a part refused by one of our artists. A statement which recently appeared to the effect that Mr. Richard Temple had refused his part in the new opera is absolutely without foundation. There is no part in the piece suited to him, and consequently no part was offered to him."

"And it is actually twelve years since you produced ‘The Sorcerer’?"

"Yes; and this will be our twelfth opera, so that we can claim an average run of fifteen months for each one. Even our so-called failure, ‘Ruddigore, or the Witche’s [sic] Curse,’ ran ten months!" So much hostility was provoked by the title of this play, which was regarded by sensitive critics as unnecessarily horrible, that we had it in serious contemplation to alter it to "Kensington Gore, or Robin and Richard were Two Pretty Men."

"Well, Mr. Gilbert, you and Sir Arthur Sullivan and Mr. D’Oyly Carte may well be proud of your record."

"And I think we have proved that comic opera may be amusing, attractive, and successful without the French indecencies that degraded our comic-opera stage at the time we commenced to produce our operas. We determined to do our best to improve the public taste for this class of entertainment, and to show that an indelicate plot and girls in men’s clothes were not necessary adjuncts of comic opera. So we made it a rule that in our pieces no lady should be asked to wear a costume that she might not decently wear at a private fancy dress ball, and we have maintained that principle with success. I hold that it is horribly inartistic for a woman to appear in man’s attire, unless it be a disguise rendered necessary by the story, as in the case of Rosalind or Viola."

"Apropos of French opera bouffes, do you intend to prosecute your case against Messrs. Boosey?"

"Most certainly I do, for it involves a question which must affect all literary men, whether they merely adapt French opera bouffe libretti, or write original dramas, or even scientific works; the question of the right of a theatrical manager or publisher to alter an author’s work without his consent. I have already stated the facts of the case in print, so there is no need to go over them again now, but I am going to fight the case for the principle involved, which is certainly an important one."

"And are you at work on any new play, Mr. Gilbert?"

"No; I shall never write another. The public will not have my plays now at any price, though at one time I was overwhelmed with commissions."

"But I think you are unjust."

"No; I don’t see why I should submit again to the annoyance of being held up to execration and contempt as I was over ‘Gretchen,’ ‘The Vagabond,’ ‘Foggerty’s Fairy,’ and ‘Brantinghame Hall,’ plays with which I took infinite pains, as I do with everything I write."

"‘Brantinghame Hall’ contained some beautiful writing and charming scenes, though one might not approve the whole of it. You exaggerate the disapproval of the critics surely. I do not remember any execration or contempt."

"I only know what I was told. I never read notices of my pieces."

"And so, because of some adverse criticism of a few plays, which it seems you only learnt at second-hand, we are to enjoy no more serious dramatic work from you?"

"No; I feel convinced that my more serious work is not to the taste of the present race of theatre-goers. I hope, however, to write many more Savoy operas, and apropos of them I may mention that I shall shortly publish my ‘Songs of a Savoyard,’ with fifty drawings by myself, after the manner of the ‘Bab Ballads’ illustrations."

"Have you any special views with regard to the much-discussed music-hall question?"

"I see no necessity for restricting music-hall entertainments to be knockabout niggers and idiotic "comic songs." Many of my brethren borrow largely from the music-halls, and I can think of no reason why, if the drama is a good thing, it should not be allowed to exercise its beneficent sway over the frequenters of those places of entertainment."

Here Mr. Gilbert compared his watch with his study clock, and the immediate result of the conference was a movement towards the door.

"You really must excuse me, but the Savoy Theatre is my task-master at present."

As we went from his study, he gave me time to admire a splendidly carved alabaster over-mantel—a credit to British craftsmanship—and his own portrait in riding costume, by poor Frank Hall, and a few other choice works of art, while the library made me envious.

And as I left this brilliant, original, and prosperous author, whose Savoy operas, at all events, are more frequently quoted, perhaps, than any other stage-literature save the plays of Shakespeare—a test of popularity, surely—yet who will actually allow his dramatic muse to be stifled by criticism, I could not help moralizing on the hyper-sensitiveness of genius.

Page modified 8 April 2014