Behind the Footlights

fessions—A Lovely Home—Sir Arthur Sullivan’s Gift—A Rehearsal of Pinafore—Breaking up Crowds—Punctualit

to this rule, however; he is as amusing himself as his Bab Ballads, and as sarcastic as H.M.S. Pinafore. A sparkling librettist, he is likewise a

of a dinner-party at once, and forthwith adapts

ks like his plays, turns everything upside-down with wondrous rapidity, and propounds nonsensical theories in delightful la

air and ponderous moustache, and owing to his youthful complexion appears younger than his year

ith great success. Not one line, not one word of its original text had been altered, yet it took London by st

difficulties with his bishop, who catches him in the act of embracing an airily dressed young lady, whom the bishop supposes to be a member of the corps de ballet. The bishop, reasonably enough, declines to accept the clergyman’s explanation that the you

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d Galatea, The Wicked Worlds, Broken Hearts, besides many serious and humorous plays and comed

” The public were right; they knew there was no other W. S. Gilbert; they wanted to be amused, so they continually clamoured for more; and if any one did not realise his genius at the first production, he can hardly fail to do so now, when the author’s plays are again presented after a lapse of years, without an altered line, and still make long runs. Some say the art of comedy-writing is dying out, and certainly no

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e evening in the green-room or in the wings of the theatre. Very few authors accept fame or success more philosophically than he does. When Princess Ida was produced he was sitting in the green-room, where there was an excitable Frenchman, who had supp

n, with a gesture of amazeme

e of the author on a first night; nevertheless nothing

cil Office, and was subsequently called to the[Pg 190] Bar at the Inner Temple. He was also an enthusiastic militiaman, and at one time an occasional contributor to Punch, becoming thus an artist as well as a writer. His pictures are well known, for the two or three hundred illustrations in the Bab Ballads are all from his clever pencil. Neatly framed they now adorn the billiard-room of his charming country home, and, strange to relate, the originals

her roses. Grim’s Dyke has an ideal garden, with white pigeons drinking out of shallow Italian bowls upon the lawn, with its wonderful Egyptian tent, its rose-walks and its monkey-house, its lake and its fish. The newly-made lake is so well arranged that it looks quite old with its bulrushes, water-lilies of pink,

-end parties, and the brightest s

interesting and clever people at Harrow Weald, for the brilliancy of the host and the charm of his wife naturally attract much that is best in this great city. It is a good house for entertaining, the music-room—formerly the studio of F. Goodall, R.A.—being a spacious oak-panelled chamber with a minstrels’ gallery, and cathedral wi

Weald is seen at hi

in London. Ten years later, that is to say 1899, it was again revived, and one Monday morning when I was leavin

have always understood that you and Mr. Pinero a

which at the moment was shrouded in darkness; he soon, however, pushed aside the white calico dust-sheets that hung before it, and after placing chairs for his wife and myself, and hoping we should be comfortable, departed. What a spectre that theatre was! Hanging from gallery to

, 23a, Old Bond S

S. GI

r sat on that chair. From 11.30 to 1.30—exactly two hours, he walked up and down in front of the stage, directing here, arranging there; one moment he was showing a man how to stand as a sailor, then how to clap his thighs in nautical style, and the next explaining to a woman how to curtsey, or telling a lover how to woo. Never have I seen anything mor

I think I should

the idea and copied the master. He even danced when necessary, to show them how to get the right

rs, and you must em

very garment, and the tilt of every hat. He has his plans and his ideas, an

but with so much strength of conviction that all his suggestions were adopted without a moment’s hesitation. He never lose

g he was the best actor in the whole company whichever part he might happen to undertake. If anything he did no

adies in twos,” accordi

e invented the idea of breaking them up, and thereafter, according to arrangement, when “twos” or “threes” were call

ny, who up till then had been in the stage manager’s hands and worked according to printed instructions. The scene was a very different affair after the mastermind had set the pawns in their ri

will halt for half an hour. I shall be back by five minutes past two—that is five min

ew minutes before two he rose from the table, er

hurry,” I la

er to be late. The company know I shall be th

gratulated him on

ost more time by being punc

o come upon the stage, and at a certain point half a dozen untidily dressed men with guns in their hands

way you hol

s,

ith his thumbs down before—in fact, I

am a volunte

to the stage manage

u I wanted

s a sergeant

Gilbert, “step forward.

fellows know nothing. Either bring me real soldiers, or else take these five men and d

went up to them, asked some questions about how they w

w your busines

bert’s universal knowledge of all sorts and conditions of men struck me as wonderful on this and many ot

of copyright, and poor Mr. Gilbert never received a penny from America excepting once when a kindly person sent

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anything of the stage will realise what this means, and that a master-mind was necessary to drill actors and chorus in so short a time—yet the production was a triumph.

cts perhaps better, than the original had been. A few of the people had played principals in

ed as I wish them; in the prov

f he had asked them all to stand on their heads in

rived at the theatre about one o’clock, to find Kyrle Bellew, who was to play the chief part, had fallen through a tra

ad paid their money, which the charity wanted bad

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hour and a half later walked on to the stage as an actor. He knew every line of the play of course, not only the hero’s, but all the others’, and he h

sit in front; but once, at a watering-place in the Fatherland where The

nd I should feel ashamed to sit and hear them

e a rather amusing little story about The Mikado. A gentleman who had been many years in the English Legation at Yokohama, attended some of the rehearsals, and was most useful in giving hint

the national Ja

said cheerily

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—it’ll j

ame from a Japanese, saying an insult had been offered the Mikado of Japan, the air to which that illustrious prince entered the scene instead of

gypt, or Greece, and at one time he was the enthusiastic owner of a yacht; but this amusement he ha

of this “retired humourist,” as a local cab-driver onc