I came across this short essay by
the D’Oly Carte singer and actor Henry A. Lytton (1865-1936). It had been
published in October 1925 under editorship of Percy Pitt [1]. It is a good personal insight into life with
D’Oly Carte and also his relationship with W.S.
Gilbert. I have included a few footnotes and have made some slight edits
to the text.
Thirty Five years is a long time
to have played the same parts, and I am sometimes asked whether I am not tired
of them? Probably I should be if they belonged to anything else except the
Gilbert and Sullivan operas. But I never tire of these. They are so perfect from
every point of view; they are such a wonderful blend of everything that should
be there, that they seem to have eternal freshness and the capacity to keep one's
interest constantly alive.
The public takes very much the
same view. One might imagine that the enthusiasm shown for these operas in years
past could not be exceeded. The D' Oyly Carte Company, in its travels,
visits a particular town and
breaks its previous records there; the limit appears to have been reached. Yet
when the town is revisited records are broken again. So it goes on all over the
country.
The older people who have been
listening to the operas for thirty or forty years flock to the theatres as if
taking part in a yearly ritual; the younger ones go to see if all the fuss is justified,
and quickly become as enthusiastic as their elders. Many people keep a record
of their attendances. Often enough, while making my way through crowds at the
stage-door,
someone has shouted to me: ‘Good
old Lytton! This is my fortieth time at The
Mikado.’
I know a man at Liverpool who
books two stalls for every performance during our season here. He invites a
friend to dinner and theatre each evening.
One night, unfortunately, he
found the odd man who does not like Gilbert and Sullivan. The opera was Patience, and when I came on as
Bunthorne he asked what my part was. ‘That is Bunthorne, a poet,’ he was told.
Then Grosvenor entered. ‘Who is he?’ was his next
question. ‘He is another poet,’
was the reply. What, two poets in one opera?’ he exclaimed. ‘I've had enough of
this!’ and out he went.
Perhaps Irish audiences are the
most demonstrative of all. They do not merely applaud, but shout and cheer at
the top of their voices, and simply insist upon I had not been on the stage
more than a few minutes before I felt glad that he encore after encore. But the
enthusiasm
everywhere is tremendous. We members
of the company always feel that our audiences and ourselves belong to one big family:
that there is an atmosphere of friendliness in front and that even if we do
make a slight slip we shall be forgiven
More than one actor has found a decided
change on leaving to join another company. He misses immediately the Gilbert
and Sullivan ‘goodwill’ if I may give it that name; the constantly crowded houses,
and the never-failing appreciation.
I remember that when I left the company
many years ago, to take part in the new production of The Earl and the Girl [2] at
the Adelphi, Walter Passmore [3] said on the opening night:
‘Let me say a friendly word to
you. Don't lose heart if you don't find the usual enthusiasm. You've really got
to start all over again here. You won't begin with a friendly atmosphere; you'll
have to manufacture it.’
I had not been on the stage more
than a few minutes before I felt glad that he had spoken to me. How different
from the infectious enthusiasm of a Gilbert and Sullivan audience! The piece was
a big success, but I have never forgotten the chilly ordeal of the first few
nights.
It is all a great tribute to the
Savoy operas. The goodwill of the public has not been won without reason: only
a combination of circumstances of the rarest kind could have brought it into existence.
It is late in the day to heap fresh praises upon the extraordinarily perfect
blend of music and libretto, but perhaps I may speak of the great personal care
which Gilbert bestowed upon the production of the operas.
His knowledge of stagecraft was remarkable,
and this stood him in excellent stead. He has sometimes been spoken of as a martinet.
I knew him for many years, and never found him anything but a perfect. English
gentleman, kindly and considerate in every action. As an example of his
thoughtfulness, he always arranged, if it were humanly possible, that an actor's
entrances and exits should be on the side of the stage nearest to his dressing-room.
What that means in the course of an
evening only an actor knows. Yet he could be satirical to a degree when it
suited him, as all the principals of the company at the time knew. I had an
experience of it during a
rehearsal of Ruddigore.
My part was that of Robin
Oakapple, a nephew whom his uncle tells at a certain point to leave. I wondered
how I should make my exit, and, turning to Gilbert, asked him how he thought it
should be done.
“Oh, exit like a nephew," he
said, without a smile. I had asked a rather silly question, and Gilbert gave me
what he considered a suitable reply.
The late George Grossmith [4] once
suggested to him that if certain ‘business’ were introduced it would make the audience
laugh.
“So it would if you sat down on a
pork pie," was the dry reply.
Gilbert knew exactly what he
wanted, and insisted upon having it. The operas are still presented as he
directed, and so they will continue to be.
Musical Masterpieces, October 1925
Footnotes
[1] Percy Pitt (1870-1932)
English organist, composer and conductor.
From 1926 to 1930 he was General Musical Director of the BBC.
[2] The Earl and the Girl is a musical comedy in two acts by Seymour
Hicks, with lyrics by Percy Greenbank and music by Ivan Caryll. It was produced
by William Greet and opened at the Adelphi Theatre in London on 10 December
1903. It transferred to the Lyric Theatre on 12 September 1904, running for a
total of 371 performances. (Wikipedia accessed 17/3/12)
[3] Walter Henry Passmore (10 May 1867 – 29 August 1946) was an
English singer and actor best known as the first successor to George Grossmith
in the comic baritone roles in Gilbert and Sullivan operas with the D'Oyly
Carte Opera Company. (Wikipedia accessed 17/3/12)
[4] George Grossmith (9
December 1847 – 1 March 1912) was an English comedian, writer, composer, actor,
and singer. His performing career spanned more than four decades. As a writer
and composer, he created 18 comic operas, nearly 100 musical sketches, some 600
songs and piano pieces, three books and both serious and comic pieces for
newspapers and magazines. (Wikipedia accessed 17/3/12)
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