Reminiscence and anticipation jostle one another in the part-old, part-new “Fallen Fairies.” For in “Iolanthe” there is a Fairy Queen in love with a mortal; in “Princess Ida” we have rude and stalwart warriors in combat; in “The Mikado” they discuss the expediency of the kiss, and does not one of Jack Point’s most infallible jests turn on the locality—“preferably, just below the nose”? “Good-day to you, Away to you!” is the rhythm and substance of one of the most delightful moments of “Patience”; and when Sir Ethais sings a “Hey, lackadaydy, O” of “A love life-long,” the old tune that springs to the memory is hardly to be exorcised even by Mr. German’s pleasant strain. But “Fallen Fairies” is none the worse for being out-and-out Gilbertian. The fault most hearers will find is that it is not Gilbertian enough. Sir William, in his little speech on Wednesday night, spoke of the opera as “somewhat experimental.” It is, indeed, an experiment in styles so dissimilar that it strains the attention to bridge the gulf between them. It is a strange compound of trifling and tragedy, of gossamer and gnashings of teeth.

One misses the topsy-turveydom, for the course of the plot runs throughout on an even keel. There is no need to recall in detail the story which had been already forecasted in the columns of THE OBSERVER; how the fairies, living in immortal imperturbability “on the upper side of a cloud” (a cloud which, as presented on the stage, combined the unusual characteristics of extreme solidity with luxuriant vegetation), are stricken with pity for the poor sinful mortals below, and decide, in virtue of an old fairy law (wasn’t there another of these ethereal statutes in “Iolanthe”?), to summon two of their earthly “counterparts” to learn the beauty of fairy innocence and communicate it to their brutish fellow-men. How the two favoured ones, having been interrupted by the fairy mandate in a duel, emerge from the cloud, mailed and gigantic, hewing at one another in true berserker fashion; how the fairies watch them and pronounce it “very pretty”; how the acquaintance ripens, and the deadly leaven of mortal love spreads till the fairy community is a seething mass of jealousy and back-biting, and the Queen is deposed by her angry rivals for her excessive partiality to Sir Ethais; and how peace is only restored, and the dynasty re-established, by the return of the two knights to earth. All this latter part is very much in the grand style, which would not matter at all if it were the fairy grand style; but it is not. It is all very mundane, and petty, and tragic; and the effect is a little like that of an act of “Othello” placed into “The Merry Wives of Windsor.” No doubt it is just the author’s intention that the fairies shall behave like human beings instead of converting their guests into the spiritual likeness of fairies; but that does not make the pother the more convincing. It is the fault of the tradition Sir William has himself created. No audience can possibly take a Savoy fairy seriously. They can no more drop a tear over her woes than they can be roused to indignation by the atrocious slaughter of the pirates in “Peter Pan.”

But that is only the last half-hour or so of a very agreeable evening, for the book offers many quips and humours of the true Gilbertian variety, though we do not think he has before reached the height of cynicism implied in the dialogue of Darien and Lutin, Lutin being the gentleman who is, below, the unworthy husband of the termagant counterpart of Darine:--

This Lutin is, on earth, the henchman of Sir Phyllon, and makes a too tardy third in the mortal company of the cloud, comforting himself on his sudden arrival with the reflection that he is

The humours of the part lose nothing in the deft hands of Mr. Workman, who might, with advantage to the play, have more work to do, though the part is a spasmodic one, of no great importance to the plot. He is, of course, got up as a figure of fun, and quite justifies his lines on the advantages of ugliness:—

The music of Mr. German is quite excellent—tuneful, spontaneous, just obvious enough, and with more dramatic purpose than could have been achieved by the ghostly competitor against whom all Savoy musicians must inevitably be measured. If there was not Sullivan’s perfect precision and predestinate fitness as a setter of Gilbertian lyrics, there was what struck one as excellent imitations in the “Lackadaydy” song and the ditty about “the lady in the case”; and the songs in more characteristic style found great favour. Nearly everything, indeed, was encored on the first night.

The performance showed the careful directing hand of Sir William himself, particularly in a clearness of enunciation which it was a pleasure to listen to. None of the cast gave better effect to the fine quality of the blank verse than the Fairy Queen, Miss Nancy M’Intosh. In Darine, Miss Maidie Hope had the most “dramatic” part of all, and made a very capable and melodious vixen. As Zayda, Miss Jessie Rose contributed a touch of archness which did much to lighten the play, and obtained the cordial recognition of a house very sympathetic to Savoy traditions. But it was, of course, to Mr. Workman that the task fell of interpreting the principal humours of the play and the reward of arousing the greatest enthusiasm of the audience. The songs seemed a little low for his voice, but they all achieved their effect, and the scene of his arrival in cloudland and the subsequent explanations was the most successful of the evening. Mr. Claude Flemming and Mr. Leo Sheffield made sufficiently truculent warriors, and alternately fought and sang against one another with equal energy. Ideal as warriors, they seemed, as fairies, a little muscular for the part.

Page modified 4 May 2018