“His Excellency” at the Lyric Theatre

Daily Telegraph, 29 Oct. 1894, p. 3

Don’t play practical jokes, or you may be degraded to the ranks and left at sentry-go when other people are feasting. Such was the moral impressed upon a crowded audience at the Lyric Theatre, on Saturday night, by that censor of modern manners, Mr. W.S. Gilbert. It may, however, be assumed that “His Excellency” was not written for the sake of its moral. Practical joking is no longer in fashion, and only at distant intervals do we hear of sporadic cases in barracks and universities. There is consequently small need to show it up or write it down, and in this instance Mr. Gilbert does neither as an ultimate purpose. He simply wanted a groundwork for a new libretto, and the practical joker was chosen. The humour of it comes in with the person selected—perhaps something more than humour, since prior to deciding upon the Governor of Elsinore, Mr. Gilbert may have run his eye down the long list of rulers who played tricks upon their people. History is full of practical jokers in high places—exceedingly grim personages, some of them, and it is just possible that when reducing them to the absurdity of Governor Griffenfeld, the librettist of “His Excellency” felt all a satirist’s fierce delight. Be this as it may, the choice of motive and person was a happy one. On the basis of an exalted official who makes butter slides for his subordinates, issues bogus patents of nobility, and gives sham royal commissions to needy artists, a structure of almost limitless discussions might be raised. The mere notion becomes large with possibilities of absurdity, and is ready to burst into laughter at a touch. Mr. Gilbert not being at all the man to waste such a treasure, the book of “His Excellency” is one of the best that has come from the most ingenious and successful of modern librettists.

If we do not follow the order of events step by step it is, for one reason, because plot and incident are not the be-all and end-all of Mr. Gilbert’s books. The author—an Aristophanes without licentiousness—makes these things a means wherewith sometimes to scourge the follies of the day; more often to render them laughable by quip and crank, or through the distortions and extravagances of a caricaturist. For what, first of all, does one read a Gilbert libretto? Not for the characters, their doings and fortunes, but for Gilbertisms—for the quaint teachings and quainter humours of the author himself, who looks at us, unmistakable though in all manner of motley, from every page. The book of “His Excellency” is not less characteristic in this respect than its predecessors. Good things begin at the beginning. Christina, a ballad singer, falls in love with a statue of Denmark’s Prince Regent—the result of a sham Royal Commission forged by the Governor—and thus expresses herself as to the average modern man:

Mr. Gilbert is never more subtly humorous than when dealing with the “midsummer madness” of love, and here we have a lover who desires that all the world shall go mad over his mistress, and that he shall be triumphant. On this theme our author harps delightfully, with the following as a climax:

When Nanna and Thora, daughters of the Governor, encounter their respective would-be lovers, Erling and Tortenssen, whom Griffenfeld has duped into a belief of impending nobility, the girls, being in the secret, pretend diffidence before high social rank, and then we have:

This theme is very pleasantly worked out, as when, Tortenssen having remarked that he and Erling are not yet noble, Thora retorts, “Come, that makes conversation easier.” Fair sport this, which an audience of English folk should especially be able to appreciate and enjoy. One of the Governor’s jokes creates a guard of dancing soldiers, who, true to the traditions of the service, complains of its rules:

These remarkable Hussars dance from ten to two, and use their legs in the ordinary way from two to ten. Mr. Gilbert could not let such an arrangement pass without making it yield laughter, and therefore proceeds to treat it in his deftest manner. The soldiers complain that their girls deride them from ten to two, and Corporal Harold observes, “I think my betrothed wife might sympathise with the absurdity of my position. I think all our betrothed wives might sympathise with the absurdity of all our positions.” Elsa replies: “We sympathise with you as hard as we can, after two. We can’t do it before two, because we’re laughing all the time.” Harold further objects, “Who knows what may happen from ten to two. You might get engaged to someone else—to the Sergeant-Major, for instance.” Then one answers: “Well, of course, we don’t want to waste our mornings; but even if I were engaged to him from ten to two, 1 should always be true to you from two to ten.” There is no mistaking the writer of this dialogue.

One of the Governor’s jokes having gone aglee he finds himself pre-matrimonially complicated with an elderly lady, who, being “of singularly explosive disposition,” is appropriately named Hecla. Says Hecla to the Governor, “You shouldn’t upset me George. Within this fragile body two tremendous powers are in perpetual antagonism — a Diabolical Temper and an Iron Will. At first it didn’t seem to be any affair of mine, and I determined to let them fight it out among themselves; but this internal conflict of irresistible forces is very wearing, George, and I begin to wish they’d settle it one way or the other.” “Oh!” remarks the unsympathetic Griffenfeld, “what’s the odds?” “About seven to two on the temper just now, George.” Though the governor’s jokes do not all “come off,” he, with his daughters, sings their praises in a capital trio:

Space does not allow us to put upon our string all the gems of this libretto, nor would it be fair to do so; but there is strong temptation to quote the definition of a lawyer as “a technical gentleman—that is to say, by Act of Parliament”; and the remark of Nanna, who refuses to marry the poor sculptor because

So with the governor’s lament over the fact that every jocularity worth saying has been said:

The most ingenious part of the plot—that in which the Regent, disguised as a strolling player, personates his real self, and while apparently becoming accessory to the pranks of the Governor, covers that sportive official with confusion and the coat of a private—is one upon which the whole story chiefly turns. The Prince, alias Niels Egisson, goes through the drama a striking figure—a Nemesis, “out of repair,” but sound enough for retribution. It may be that he punishes the Governor too severely, and that this reflection rather damps the mirth of the fable, as poor Griffenfeld, who, his daughters say, did everything “in sheer good humour”—and they ought to know—is left a solitary sentry in the castle where he was once master. But, on the other hand, many hold that no penalty is heavy enough for a man who makes his neighbour’s door-stop a butter-slide.

The music of Dr. Osmond Carr now comes up for notice. We approach this subject with real consideration for the composer, who could not be expected to refuse the task which was offered him, and who, accepting it, put himself in a most difficult position. It was a foregone conclusion that his critics would place Sir Arthur Sullivan in the same field of view with himself and then proceed to draw comparisons. Granted that this is a course from which one refrains with difficulty, it is gratuitous and decidedly unfair. It is gratuitous because the question of Dr. Carr’s ability as compared with that of Sir Arthur has nothing to do with the music of “His Excellency,” and it is unfair because against one who is almost a beginner, unbacked by fame, it pits an old comic-opera hand of world-wide repute. If we are to treat our aspirants thus, who among them can succeed? And what becomes of the many composers in other branches of the art who need kindness and sympathy all the more because their works, so far, are but faint echoes of masters? Let us deal with Dr. Carr’s music on its merits as an accessory to Mr. Gilbert’s drama, not on its value as compared with the music of somebody else. So looking at it, our opinion is in large measure favourable. That Dr. Carr sometimes droops in his flight through a long evening is in fact not wholly without precedent. Indeed, we have more than once observed the same phenomenon, at moments when it was much less expected to occur. Hence we are not a bit surprised or concerned when Dr. Carr lapses into the conventional or commonplace, while as regards whatever in his work seems imitative of Sullivan, it is quite natural as, to illustrate small things by great, the young Beethoven’s imitations of Mozart. Putting almost inevitable defects aside, we see that with which true criticism has most concern—very much to admire, such as, for example, the distinctive melodic vein apparent in Christina’s ballad, “I see with a silent awe”; the charming orchestration of Nanna and Thora’s duet, “Oh, my goodness, here’s the nobility!”; the altogether delightful quartet sing by the lovers, “If all is as you say”; the melodramatic suggestiveness of the duet for the Governor and Hecla, “Now, what would I do if I proved untrue?”; the pretty and tasteful accompaniment to Nanna’s song, “my wedded life,” and the grip and power shown through the whole of the first finale. The merit of the music in the second act may be less marked, but we say that, taking the piece as a whole, there is evidence that Dr. Osmond Carr we have a composer of comic opera who should be encouraged, who has here done much and given the promise of still more. That is the main issue, not whether Sir Arthur Sullivan could have produced something better.

No words can praise too highly the manner in which “His Excellency” is staged and, as a general rule, performed. Mr. T. Ryan’s two scenes, the Market Place of Elsinore and the Courtyard of the Castle, are excellent. Admirable also are Mr. Lucchesi’s statue of the Prince Regent, the dresses designed by Mr. Percy Anderson, and Mr. John D’Auban’s dances. The artists included such old Savoyards as Miss Jessie Bond, Miss Alice Barnett, Mr. Rutland Barrington, and Mr. George Grossmith, whose reception, on making his appearance as the gubernatorial joker, was of overwhelming heartiness. It cannot be necessary to tell how these popular favourites acquitted themselves. The best will be assumed and justly. Valuable service was rendered also by Mr. Kenningham (Erling), Mr. A. Cramer (Tortenssen), Mr. Playfair (Corporal Harold), whose dancing was a feature of the performance, Miss Nancy M’Intosh (Christina), Miss Ellaline Terriss, a delightful Thora, and Mr. John LeHay, whose impersonation of a senile Syndic was a finished masterpiece. The orchestra and chorus left nothing for reasonable minds to desire, and, at the close, an enthusiastic audience lavished honours upon all concerned with “His Excellency.”

Transcribed by Arthur Robinson

Page modified 22 October 2020