Gilbert and Sullivan

LIEUT.-COLONEL GEORGE A. DREW, President, introduced the speakers.

MR. STEWART: When I was asked by your distinguished president and managing directors to say some-, thing on Sir Arthur Sullivan, his life and his work, 1 was so enthralled by the possibilities and charm of the subject, which has always been dear to my heart, that

without thought I said, "Certainly, 1 will be delighted to do it." Within ten minutes 1 was mildly alarmed. In half an hour's time I was horrified, and before the hour was out I was filled with agony and misgivings--firstly, that the subject upon which I had so readily arranged to speak was one of such huge dimensions that it was well-nigh madness for me to attempt it in the short time at my disposal, and, secondly, that it was madness in full measure for one of such intelligence to attempt it under any circumstance. Whereupon 1 entered into a conflicta very unequal conflict I may say-with the men responsible, such conflict resulting in my total defeat and apparent victory for the other side. I say "apparent" advisedly because I know their victory will be of a very doubtful kind, and before these remarks are concluded they will be amazed at their own fool-hardiness in pressing a matter which has had such a disastrous effect upon them. (Laughter.)

Sullivan's life was so full and, to my way of thinking, so complete that anything approximating a biographical sketch here would be utter folly. I shall cheerfully content myself with giving you a few thoughts about the man and his work which you in your acquaintance with him might have failed to notice. I say this myself only because I know that the popular impression which prevails today is that Sir Arthur Sullivan was a writer of comic operas, who, had he been given the opportunity, might have produced a few good serious works capable of ranking with the finest products of his time. How many people realize that he did produce fine master works, great, magnificent achievements in the realm of serious music? How many people realize that from 1870 to his death in 1900 Sullivan was the most forceful figure in British music? He would leave his composing and travel to the North to conduct a concert and have to dash back to the train to get back to London before the audience had even filed out of the hall. Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Edinburgh were his most intimate friends, and when anything of an official nature had to be composed Sullivan was requested to do it. When any big national movement had to he launched it was to Sullivan they came. When any of the large continental symphony orchestras and festival choirs wanted new British works they came to Sullivan. At the Prince of Wales' request he was made principal of the National Training School of Music for British musicians, out of which emerged in the fullness of time the Royal College of Music. In short, he was looked upon as the. leader of musical thought, saviour of British music.

I think few people realize that Sullivan wrote more religious music than he did secular, and that in the years between 1871 and 1874, in addition to writing many cantatas, overtures and oratorios, etc., he wrote no fewer than 47 hymns. I am not going to say that all of the hymns are splendid musical works, but a great many of them have attained tremendous popularity-such hymns as Onward Christian Soldiers, for instance. He always. felt that he composed religious music best, and his later writing of religious music showed how clear, how full, was his understanding of religious thought in music. Somewhere stored in the back of his brain was an inexhaustible store of memory upon which he drew to express religion as no contemporary composers could express it, with the exception perhaps of Stayner.

The strain of his busy life and demands of his body for restdemands which were flung aside-militated against his health, and from 1879 he suffered terribly from a stone in the kidney which afflicted him at intervals with relentless agony. In the train, even when conducting his concert the enemy would awake and assault him. He once wrote in his diary after a performance at the Royal Albert Hall, "I did not see the audience. 1 did not even hear the applause, for the tears were rushing out of my eyes in agony." It is rather characteristic of the man that many of the merry, sparkling tones of his operas were written while he was suffering great pain. He once said to a friend, "It is perhaps rather interesting that the music to Pinafore, which was considered so merry and so sparkling, was written while I was suffering tortures from a cruel illness. I would write a few bars and then be almost insensible from pain. When the paroxysms had passed I would again compose a few bars until the pain overwhelmed me again." Never was music written under such distressing conditions.

By the way, now that I have come to the operas, it might be rather interesting to you to know something of how these two, Gilbert and Sullivan, came to meet and later to collaborate. I do not think for a moment that I am giving you this information for the first time. I quite realize a good many of you here are familiar with everything I have said, and a good many privileged persons, like Mr. Munro Grier, have actually witnessed first performances of the operas and consequently are much better qualified to discuss the subject than I. Those of you who are familiar with their background will remember that this partnership, which turned out to he the greatest partnership in light opera the world has ever known, and probably will ever know, was unheralded and unexpected. It just happened. Frederick Clay, a composer friend of Sullivan, was collaborating with Gilbert in the writing of a piece called Ages Ago, and Frederick Clay asked Sullivan if he would like to come down to rehearsal. At that rehearsal Gilbert and Sullivan met. There was no portent at that meeting of any future collaboration that was to prove so remarkable. No collaboration was discussed or even suggested. I am sure it never even entered their minds. The collaboration first took form in the mind of D'Oyly Carte, who was at that time managing the Theatre Royal, in Soho. This is the year 1875 Chancing to meet Gilbert on the street, D'Oyly Carte asked Gilbert if he could write a piece which he could give to Sullivan for setting, and D'Oyly Carte's remark called to Gilbert's mind a piece that he had written some time before, and with the thing in his pocket he went down a few days later to see Sullivan, and read it over to him. He seemed quite dissatisfied with the work, which he called Trial BY Jury, and which was a satire on British justice with special reference to breach of promise cases. Sullivan was overjoyed at the thing and completed the music in two weeks. D'Oyly Carte then produced it in March, 1875, and from the very first night there was no doubt about its success. It drew all London, for it contained freshness and cleverness quite absent from current productions. The house was filled at every performance. Even standing room was exhausted, and the piece ran triumphantly for more than a year.

Such then was the beginning of a friendship and a partnership that was to last for a great many years and was destined to completely change the complexion and the conception of English light operatic movement. The operas were so successful that they were produced in nearly every country and their authors' names became household words. Sullivan tells a rather amusing incident that happened whilst he was making a tour in the States. He went to visit some friends in California, and on the way he stopped off at a small mining town and the driver said to him, "You are expected here, Mr. Sullivan". Sure enough, there was gathered a small knot of prominent citizens in front of the store where, they stopped, and a tall man came up to Sullivan and ,he said, "How much do you weigh?", and Sullivan said, "one hundred and sixty two pounds." "Hell,! how did you come to give hell to John H. Sheehan?"---(Laughter.) 'I did not give hell to John H. Sheehan." "Are not you John H. Sullivan, the slugger? Who are You ,anyway?" 'I am Arthur Sullivan." "Arthur Sullivan! Are you the guy that put Pinafore together?" "Yes, I am." "Well, say, we are just as glad to see you as the slugger any day, come and have a drink." (Laughter.) And so the success of the operas continued through the production of Trial By Jury, His Majesty's ,Ship Pinafore, Iolanthe, Princess Ida, The Mikado, The Yeomen of the Guard and The Gondoliers.

And then occurred the rift in the lute. These two 'who had worked so harmoniously together for fifteen years quarrelled, and all over a carpet--a historic carpet now, but one that was shorn of all magical effect. just when the partnership seemed more secure than ever the thunderbolt fell. Gilbert wrote to Sullivan that he had been having trouble with D'Oyly Carte, that he had been appalled to learn that the initial expense in connection with The Gondoliers had amounted to the stupendous sum of $4,500. This, it seemed to him, was so unaccountable that he had asked for details, and the most surprising item had been $500 for a new carpet for the front of the house. (Laughter.) The agreement that the authors had with D'Oyly Carte was that they were liable only for expenses incidental to the performance, and Gilbert objected. At first Sullivan attempted to keep out of the controversy, but later he had to take sides and he did so in favour of D'Oyly Carte. I have made some extracts from Sullivan's diary at that period, which shows how serious was the situation when, on April 26th, 1890, Sullivan wrote: "Long interview between Gilbert and myself. He gave me account of interview between D'Oyly Carte and himself. 1 could not agree with him on some of the disputed points about which the quarrel arose, such as question of renewal of worn out carpets and responsibility of the preliminary stage expense. As a discussion of the accounts seemed advisable and very much desired by Gilbert, I undertook to arrange a meeting at my house between Gilbert, D'Oyly Carte and myself for calm consideration of them, Gilbert himself suggesting that we should meet and discuss them on the condition that no reference whatever should be made on either side to the heated conversations which had taken place between himself and Carte. 1 undertook to, arrange this and proposed that it should stand over for a week as I was anxious to go out of town and the delay would tend to smooth matters. April 27th-Gilbert came to see me and brought with him a paper showing the heads of new agreement to be made between us three. These he read to me and left paper with me for consideration. I myself proposed a delay in 'taking any active steps for a week. Gilbert agreed with me in this, quoting from The Gondoliers, and giving me the impression that the breach should not be widened but, on the contrary, that our mutual relations should be placed on our former amicable footing."

That Sullivan agreed with D'Oyly Carte in this dispute angered Gilbert who wrote a letter to Sullivan dated May 5th: "The time for putting an end to our collaboration has at last arrived. In accordance therefore with the points of my note to you this morning I am writing a letter to D'Oyly Carte of which I enclose copy, giving him notice that he is not to produce or perform any of my libretti after Christmas of 1890. In point of fact, after the withdrawal of The Gondoliers our united work will be heard in public no more."

Once these words were written any chance of the partnership surviving disappeared and Sullivan had no choice but to send his agreement to the termination of the collaboration. A few days after the lawsuit which resulted, Gilbert wrote to Sullivan suggesting a reconciliation with D'Oyly Carte, but Sullivan replied with great frankness in a letter which I have copied for you. He says to Gilbert:

'You will, I am sure, readily understand the difficulty I feel in answering your letter. My old personal regard for you as a friend pleads as strongly to let the past be,, and I find it pleading out of our years of friendship as if they had never been lived through, as if the pain and suffering I, and I honestly believe you also, have endured have been only a nightmare. I am only human and I confess frankly of my feeling of the ungenerous treatment I have received at your hands. If there is to he a reconciliation let it he a thorough one with confidence restored all round, not merely a patched up truce, but confidence cannot be restored while you still contend no other course was open to you but to take the action which was, and you are doing your nature a grave injustice in pleading this. 1 would much rather believe, as I now solemnly believe, that you plunged without forethought into these disastrous proceedings in a fit of uncontrolled anger, greatly influenced by the bad health you were suffering. Do not think me exaggerating when I tell you I am physically and mentally ill. I have not yet got over the shock of seeing our names coupled--not in brilliant collaboration for work destined for worldwide celebrity, but in hostile antagonism over a few miserable points."

As he weeks passed the breach widened, Meanwhile the Savoy Theatre was filled to overflowing. All seats for the performance were gone days before. The public realized something was amiss, and when Gilbert put his case in the hands of lawyers they realized that the dispute had reached very serious proportions. It was not until November that there was any sign of cessation of ,hostilities, but on November llth, Sullivan wrote in his diary: "Gilbert had an interview with D'Oyly Carte and admitted he was wrong." Then there was peace at the Savoy, but the collaboration, when it was resumed, was never the same again. The old spirit that had made it the adventure, the romance had departed for them. They wrote two more operas-Utopia and The Grand Duke and although they were not very successful they must have held some pleasant memories for the authors, not the least of which would he their joint appearance together on the stage of the Savoy Theatre an the occasion of the first appearance of Utopia. They shook hands and the world rejoiced.

Now, my time is up and so we shall leave these two shaking hands on the stage of the Savoy Theatre. If they had only been given eyes to look out upon the future and see the thousand performances that have been given of their works, to have seen the pages of an eulogistic nature that had been printed of them, I am sure they would have experienced a sense of gratification that no other twain in the history of the world would have experienced. Of Sullivan I say as my final tribute, that more than a quarter of a century has passed over his dust, yet his work remains the last pillar in the whole structure of English composition. He created a form of light music which the years have striven vainly to copy. and just as the lapidarist may strive in vain to imitate a gem, so in turn they fail who strive to imitate Sullivan. In all of his work he was a melodist. He sang of light, of life, the heart of life, and he gave back to life what he derived from it-the understanding and the sympathy of the human race. (Loud applause.)

MR. MONRO GRIER: Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, so far as I can make out from. my watch which, like its owner, is very inaccurate at times, I have only two or three minutes to bother you with. (The time allotted for broadcasting the meeting was almost exhausted.)

VOICES: Goon, goon.

MR. GRIER: I must say that I really have been the victim of a most extraordinary set of charges-the most serious of which is, perhaps, that 1 have 'accurate knowledge' of the matters about which I am going to talk to you. I absolutely refute any such statement, a refutation which you will consider to have been superfluous by the time 1 have finished talking to you.

And now to start. Imagine my amazement when I came to read the notice of this present meeting, which stated that my remarks would have a "negro background." Well, really, you know I was somewhat dumbfounded. What did it mean? I felt that I was ready to take up the white man's burden. But this! I did not as I still do not, know quite what to think of it. Of course there was a sort of faint suggestion of relevancy in indicating the contrast between any background 1 could give and the brilliancy of Gilbert's own work. Black against white, so to speak.

You will recall that of all the people who lived in his time, it has been suggested that virtually anybody might have written Shakepeare's works except Shakespeare himself. For instance, they were discovered by an American lady by the name of Hogg, or some such name, to have been written by Bacon. The last utterance upon the subject known to me was by a man who said he was quite convinced that they were not written by Shakespeare, but by a gentleman of the same name.

Now, if by any chance the announcement cards of this present meeting should get out in the southerly part of the United States of America, you will find some American lady writing from there, say 300 or 500 years hence, stating that no such characters as Gilbert and Sullivan ever lived, but that they were in fact two other men with the same initials, G. & S., but Stewart standing for Sullivan and Grier for Gilbert- (laughter) -and that, in point of fact, they were two coloured gentlemen- (laughter)of extraordinary erudition, who came from the southern States of the United States of America. (Laughter.).

Besides those interesting items--they are transcendent, of I course, in importance--I must really give you some bald facts--Gilbert was born in 1836 and died on May 29th, 1911. It is interesting to reflect that there were distinct points of likeness between him and the historic character of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, from whom the family claims to have been descended. They were both hot in temper; their physical proportions were much the same, and they both had a passion for the sea. It was said of one of Gilbert's plays that it was salted with sea brine, and, of course, Sir Humphrey Gilbert was a very great navigator in his day. I venture to say, but of course sotto voce, it is entirely likely, if we ever come to deal with the purchase of Newfoundland, that its people will claim a great price, by reason of the facts that Sir Humphrey Gilbert founded it, and that W. S. Gilbert was one of our great English poets. (Laughter.)

I must pass on quickly. Perhaps I should give you something of Gilbert's life. He went, at the age of thirteen, to Great Ealing School, which numbered amongst its pupils, at one time or another, Thackeray, John Henry Newman, Thomas Huxley and Captain Marryat. From Great Ealing School he went to King's College and stayed there a short while; and then, the Crimean War being on at that time, he determined to apply for a commission in the army. He did so apply, but happily for us today that war came to a rather abrupt end and Gilbert turned his attention elsewhere. He then took a position in the Educational Department of the Privy Council Office, hut finally went in, as doubtless you know, for the English Bar.

I shall not he able to give you much of legal (which 1 now understand was the telephoned original of "negro") background, though I may say a word or two on matters legal as I go on. Gilbert's first literary efforts were contributed to Fun, a very humorous and, in my judgment, quite excellent journal, which ran contemporaneously with Punch for a considerable number of years. Amongst the contributions to that paper were some of the Bab Ballads, which were issued from time to time, and which if any of you have not read them, 1 strongly recommend you to read, if for no other reason, because the core of nearly every opera that Gilbert afterwards came to write is to be found in them.

He wrote in all about 22 plays, and amongst them one called Rozenkrantz and Guildenstern, which was a sort of travesty on Hamlet He objected to calling such a production by the name of Hamlet. I give you two lines, which, to my mind, are very joyous ones, in view of the extraordinary amount of altercation that has gone on through the ages as to whether Hamlet was or was not insane. Gilbert came to this conclusion:

Hamlet is idiotically sane,

With lucid intervals of lunacy. (Laughter.)' I may say in respect to my utterance today, there are only two claims I make, one is that I exhibit throughout the spirit of topsy-turvydom. and the other that I occasionally exhibit lucid intervals of lunacy.

I shall for a moment engage your attention with reference to Patience, of which I saw a performance during its original run in London. 1 do this because 1 want to throw out something which, to my mind, should be very encouraging to such of you as have imagination and to whom the world hereafter may be indebted for some fine invention. When 1 saw Patience at the Savoy Theatre, it was the first theatre-certainly in England and I think anywhere in the world-lighted by incandescent electric light. I may say that gas was kept in reserve in case of failure, but the gas was never called upon. Therefore, it was a very wonderful occasion for myself entering as a young lad. Now, I want you to pay particular attention to the following:

Assume that, on the evening when 1 was there, some one had come up to a certain young lad and had said to him: "Listen, my lad, the time will come when you will be interested in a development of power made simply by means of tumbling water. which will produce enough electricity to illuminate not one theatre only, but myriads of theatres of the size of this; a time when you yourself, thanks to the extraordinary range of activities and avenues to and along which electrical energy will be devoted, will be addressing an audience through a medium to be called 'Radio' upon the subject of this play Patience, an audience that will hear every word you utter though some of them may be hundreds or thousands of miles away from you or from each other."

Assume further that the young fellow, who at that time was studying law in London, had known that the man speaking to him was a trustee of an estate for which his Finn acted as Solicitors and had succeeded in getting a commission de lunatico inquirendo with regard to that trustee. Almost inevitably the man would have been adjudged a lunatic and have lost his trusteeship. Yet every single Word of the apparently wild prediction would have been absolutely justified.

Now, let me give you one or two other points that occur to me with regard to Gilbert. In the first place, there is the spirit of topsy-turvydom, which is a notable, an outstanding thing in his works and which perhaps started with his Palace of Truth, in which he made the, characters speak the truth "willy nilly!' Another thing is his capacity to discern the essential weakness of any human being, or of any class or aggregation of people with whom, or with which, he was dealing. He had a most amazing and unerring capacity to seize upon the weak points. He could get at the essential things, and if you want to realize how true that is, just, in retrospect, contemplate the joy you had in listening today to the song of a Lord Chancellor (so admirably rendered by Mr. Lucas) recounting the agonies suffered by a man who could not sleep comfortably in bed.

Another quality that is very evident is Gilbert's capacity to state conditions, sentiments, emotions, what-not, in the fewest possible words. If you want to study that. look at some of the songs, filled with sentiment, yet with a minimum number of words.

Then, passing on to another point which occurs to me, observe his great lyrical quality. It may surprise some of you to know, if you have not already heard it, that Sullivan, whilst recognizing that Gilbert was not inherently musical, yet recognized that he had a most amazing capacity for the appreciation of lyrical quality, and much preferred his words, for the setting of music, to the best songs by Tennyson. Another critic, in speaking to some people, put them in a ferment when, after giving the names of quite a number of lyrical writers, he stated that Gilbert was better than the whole lot of them put together.

Can I go on for a minute or two longer?

VOICES: Yes, yes.

MR. GRIER: I ought to give you one or two stories, although you have already listened to some, because, mark you, stories told of Gilbert really illustrate the man. Gilbert gave Boughton, an artist, and his wife two firstnight tickets to Ruddigore. Boughton, in his letter of thanks to Gilbert, said that he was inclined to the view of the critics who thought that Ruddigore suggested "bloody gore." Gilbert, in replying said "I cannot at all agree with you that there is the slightest connection between 'ruddy' and 'bloody'. For instance, if I were to call your cheek a 'ruddy' cheek, that would be poetical licence. But if I were to call your letter 'bloody' cheek--that would be the strict truth."

Burnand, who was then Editor of Punch, once said to Gilbert: "You have no idea how many good things I get from perfectly unknown people", to which Gilbert replied "Do you, my dear fellow? Then why the deuce don't you print them?"

A certain rather commonplace tragic actor was always hinting that he was an Oxford man-which he was not. At a Garrick dinner he vociferated: 'When I was at Oxford, when I was in Oxford--" which Gilbert cut short with the monosyllable "Street!"

The following story does give a certain amount of legal background to my utterance. It must be borne in mind that it relates to a judge in England and not to one in Canada. Gilbert frequently indulged in litigation, but was not always successful. In one instance he lost disastrously, and, in writing of the case afterwards he said "The Judge was in the last stage of senile decay. He knew absolutely nothing whatever about the case!' (Laughter.)

The next story, and the last 1 am going to tell, deals with a trick played by Gilbert on a Shakespearean pundit, whose solemnity bored him. Gilbert enquired of him the meaning and context of the following line: "I would as lief creep through a quickset hedge as cry 'plush' to a throttle." In reply the pundit evaded the question as, to the context and proceeded to explain the meaning of the words. "'Lief,' you must know, is the AngloSaxon 'lieb,' and as for the 'cry "plush" to a throttle' it is a rare term of the bird-limer's art, of which Shakespeare was a master!' "Quite so," said Gilbert, "many thanks, only I wrote the line not Shakespeare!'

Gilbert had once expressed this wish: "I should like to die upon a summer day in my own garden!' In the morning of the day of his death, 29th May, 1911, he went to Chelsea Hospital to spend some time there with his friends Sir Charles and Lady Crutchley. From there he went to the junior CarIton Club, where he saw Kendal, the actor, with whom and with whose wife he had been "at cuts," and they had a very pleasant and friendly luncheon together. He then called at a hospital to see a Miss Fortescue, a beautiful actress, who recently had met with an accident. She had been thrown from her horse, and the jolt had affected her optic nerve. She was kept largely in the dark, and here I give you Gilbert's last jest, a charming and beautiful thing. The mother of Miss Fortescue, meeting him before he went in to see her daughter, said to him: I won't ask what you think of her appearance, for you can scarcely see her!' And Gilbert replied, "Her appearance matters nothing; it is

her disappearance we could not stand." That evening, in the swimming pool in his garden at Grim's Dyke, at Harrow, he had as guests Miss Winifred Emery and a pupil of hers. Miss Emery and her pupil started to swim before Gilbert got into the water. The pupil went ahead of Miss Emery, and presently cried out that she was drowning. Miss Emery thereupon called to Gilbert, who rushed into the water and swain quickly to the young girl and said to her, "Put your hands on my shoulders and don't struggle!' This she did, but almost immediately cried Gut that he had sunk under her hand and had not come up. His body was recovered by the gardener who went out in a boat. There was no water in the lungs, and his death was not due to drowning, but to heart failure. To those of you who are interested in coincidences it will he interesting to know that the doctors in effect uttered the last line of Gilbert's then reigning success, The Hooligan, namely,--"Dead--Heart Failure!'

Now I am sorry if I have trespassed an your time, but I cannot sit down on this day, St. Patrick's Day, without expressing the hope, no matter what the views of certain of those who are resident in that blessed isle may be, that we shall always find that the several component parts of this great Empire may remain intact just as they do at the present moment. It was not very long ago that I, in company with many of you here, listened to Sir Malcolm Campbell, and were glad to congratulate ourselves on the fact that there are some general qualities which pertain really to the several portions of the Empire. Speaking for myself, I have never got over the immense effect produced on my mind on listening to a man who at one time was an enemy, and fought against the British namely, General Smuts--(Applause.) Something that he referred to then, and which has often been in our minds, I should like to allude to now:--that in the British Empire there is throughout it, from east to west, north to south, a spirit which, deny it as some may, is constantly there-the spirit which dominates in work as well as in play. Indeed, I sometimes think that I never feel so close to the Empire, as a whole, as when I am sitting in Lord's cricket grounds, because, not only am I seated amongst those who come from the several parts of the Empire, but I am seated amongst those who are content, as befits Gilbert's fellow citizens, to listen tolerantly to criticisms of themselves and are chiefly concerned in this: That in whatever they do, whether it be work or play, they play cricket. (Applause.)