The Secrets of a Savoyard Part 5

In "Haddon Hall" I was _McCrankie_, dressed in a kilt and playing the bagpipes when the explosion occurred. It plunged both stage and auditorium into darkness. I could hear the injured stage-hand groaning near the wings. Somehow I managed to grope my way to the man, pick him up in my arms, and carry him to one of the exits from the stage. I remember that a number of the chorus ladies, who could not find the door in the darkness, were clawing the walls of the scenery, for in their panic that was the only way they thought they could make their escape.

The strange thing was that the door was not a yard away.

Still dressed as a kilted Scot, I carried the injured man into the street, and already a crowd had gathered in the belief that there had been a terrible disaster. If not as serious as that, it had been quite bad enough, and it was a miracle that there had not actually been a calamity. In one of the boxes was one of those hardy playgoers who attended our shows night after night. We had nicknamed him "Festive."

The concussion had lifted him out of his seat on to the floor. He complained that the thunder had been far too realistic!

Fortunately we were able to go on with the performance, though many of us were suffering from nerves very badly. The stage hand had been speedily taken to hospital with serious injuries. It was typical of Mr.

Carte's kindness that, although the man had been guilty of a very grave fault, he did not dismiss him from his service, but on his recovery made him a messenger and afterwards gave him a pension.

Early in my career as a D'Oyly Carte princ.i.p.al on the provincial tours, we had a fire on the stage at the Lyceum, Edinburgh. It was the week before Henry Irving was due there to give his first production of "Faust." I remember that because we had his great organ behind the stage. Our piece that night was "Ruddigore" and while I was singing one of my numbers I became aware that something was amiss. It proved to be an outbreak of fire in the sky borders over the stage, and small smouldering fragments were falling around me in a manner that was entirely unpleasant. The steps at the back also caught fire, and it was a lucky thing that, the piece being then a new one, the audience should have taken it as a bit of realism added to the ghost scene. Otherwise nothing could have avoided a panic.

I remember the stage manager shouting to me from the wings "Keep singing, keep singing." It was not easy, I can a.s.sure you, to keep on with a humorous number in circ.u.mstances like those, and with sparks dropping over one's head, but I did keep on with the song until they decided to ring down the curtain. Then I was told to run upstairs to warn the girls, whose dressing-rooms were near the flies. Now, as a young man I had made a reputation for myself as a practical joker, and one of my favourite antics was to tell this person or that, quite untruly, "You're wanted on the stage." Thus, when I rushed up to sound the real alarm, it was treated as a cry of "wolf." I banged the doors and entreated them to come out, but it was not until the smoke began to creep into the rooms that the girls knew positively that there was a fire, and promptly scurried for safety. Fortunately the outbreak was speedily subdued and the performance proceeded.

A minor incident of this kind may be worth mentioning. We were in "Erminie" at the Comedy, and at the close of one of the acts the chorus, the ladies dressed as fisher girls and holding lighted candles, were singing a concerted "Good Night." Suddenly I noticed that one of the girls who was not paying much attention to her work had let the candle ignite the mob cap she was wearing. If the flame had reached her wig--and wigs in those days were cleaned with spirit--she must have been seriously burnt. So I ran up and tore off her cap, only to be rewarded with a haughty, "How dare you!" Later, when she realised what her danger had been, her apology and thanks were profuse.

It may not, I think, be amiss if to these combustible reminiscences is added just one more story, though in a much lighter vein. It occurred in "The Sorcerer." _John Wellington Wells_, the "dealer in magic and spells," disappears at last into the nether regions, as it were, through the trap-door in the stage. One night the trap, having dropped a foot or so, refused to move any further, and there was I, enveloped in smoke and brimstone, poised between earth and elsewhere. So all I could do was to jump back on to the boards, make a grimace at the refractory trap-door, and go off by the ordinary exit. "h.e.l.l's full!" shouted an irreverent voice from the "G.o.ds." The joke, I know, was not a new one, for legend has it that a similar incident occurred during a performance of "Faust."

Whether it did or not I do know that it occurred in that performance of "The Sorcerer."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HENRY A. LYTTON AS "JACK POINT" IN "THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD."]

VI.

PARTS I HAVE PLAYED.

_List of my Gilbert and Sullivan Roles--Parts in Other Comedies--Excursions into Vaudeville--A Human Shuttlec.o.c.k--When Gilbert Appeared before the Footlights--Essays as a playwright--A Burlesque of Shakespeare--Embarra.s.sing Invitations--A Jester's Hidden Remorse--My Life's Helpmate._

It is my melancholy distinction to be the last of the Savoyards. Numbers of my old comrades, of course, are playing elsewhere or living in their well-earned retirement, but I alone remain actively in Gilbert and Sullivan. In all I have played thirty parts in the operas--no other artiste connected with them has ever played so many--and it may interest my innumerable known and unknown friends if I "put them on my list." In the following table I give incidentally the date of the original production of the comedies in London.

"Trial by Jury" (1875) _Judge_; _Counsel_; _Usher_.

"The Sorcerer" (1877) _Hercules_; Dr. _Daly_; _Sir_ _Marmaduke_; _John Wellington Wells_.

"H.M.S. Pinafore" (1878) _d.i.c.k Deadeye_; _Captain Corcoran_; _Sir Joseph Porter_.

"The Pirates of Penzance" _Samuel_; _The Pirate King_, (1880) _Major-General Stanley_.

"Patience" (1881) _Grosvenor_; _Bunthorne_.

"Iolanthe" (1882) _Strephon_; _Lord Mountararat_, _Lord Chancellor_.

"Princess Ida" (1884) _Florian_; _King Gama_.

"The Mikado" (1885) _The Mikado_; _Ko-Ko_.

"Ruddigore" (1887) _Robin Oakapple._ "The Yeomen of the Guard" _Lieutenant of the Tower_; (1888) _Shadbolt_; _Jack Point_.

"The Gondoliers" (1889) _Giuseppe_; _The Duke of Plaza-Toro_.

"Utopia Ltd" (1893) _The King._ "The Grand Duke" (1896) _The Grand Duke._

My connection with the D'Oyly Carte company falls into three periods.

The first of these was in 1884 and 1885, when I went on tour for twelve months with "Princess Ida," to be followed by the heart-breaking time I have recounted in the "Vagabondage of the Commonwealth." Then, in 1887, I rejoined it to win my first success as George Grossmith's understudy in "Ruddigore." That period was destined to continue almost without interruption until 1901. For most of this time I was touring in the provinces, though I was in London for many of the revivals, as well as for several of the plays not by Gilbert and Sullivan produced by Mr.

D'Oyly Carte. Eventually this latter enterprise was brought to an end by the death of Sir Arthur Sullivan in 1900, and by that of Mr. Carte himself four months later in 1901. London saw the Gilbert and Sullivan works no more until 1906, though the suburban theatres were sometimes visited by the provincial company, which in the country kept alight the flickering torch that was to burn once more with all its accustomed brightness.

Shortly after my old chief had pa.s.sed away, I closed my second period with the company in order to throw in my lot with the musical comedy stage, and it was my good fortune to play leading comedy parts under several successful managements. Looking back on those years, I regard them as amongst the most prosperous and happy in my career, and yet it is no affectation to say that all other parts seemed shallow and superficial when one has played so long in Gilbert and Sullivan. Shall I say I was anxious to return to them? In a sense that would be true.

Certainly the yearning was there--if not the opportunity. Then, in 1909, Sir William Gilbert earnestly invited me to rejoin the company, and I relinquished a very profitable engagement in order to play once more the parts I loved so well. Thus began my third period with the operas. This period has still to be finished.

Sir William, I ought to say, was at this time an ageing man, and he had retired with a comfortable fortune. Grim's d.y.k.e and its beautiful grounds gave him all the enjoyment he wanted, and to the end he had the solace and companionship of his devoted wife, Lady Gilbert. He died in 1911. Following a visit to town, he had gone to bathe in the lake in his grounds, and had a heart seizure whilst swimming. He was rescued from the water and carried to his room, but there life was found to be extinct. The curtain had fallen.

But to proceed. I propose to give a list of the comedies in which I played between 1901 and 1909. Lacking a good memory for dates, I cannot guarantee at all that the order in which they appear is correct, though approximately this may be the case:--

Comedy. Part. Management.

"The Rose of Persia" _The Sultan_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Emerald Isle" _Pat Murphy_ D'Oyly Carte.

"Merrie England" _Earl of Ess.e.x_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Beauty Stone" _Simon_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Lucky Star" _Tobasco_ D'Oyly Carte.

"His Majesty" _The King_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Grand d.u.c.h.ess" _Prince Paul_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Vicar of Bray" _The Vicar_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Princess of Kensington." _Jelf_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Earl and the Girl" _The Earl_ William Greet.

"The Spring Chicken" _Boniface_ George Edwardes "The Little Michus" _Aristide_ George Edwardes "My Darling" _Hon. Jack_ _Hylton_ Seymour Hicks.

"Talk of the Town" _Lieut. Reggie_ Seymour Hicks.

_Drummond._ "The White Chrysanthemum" _Lieut. R._ Frank Curzon.

_Armitage_ "The Amateur Raffles" _Raffles_ Music Halls.

"Mirette" _Bobinet_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Chieftain" _Peter Grigg_ D'Oyly Carte.

"The Grand d.u.c.h.ess" _Prince Paul_ D'Oyly Carte.

"Billie Taylor" _Captain Flapper_ D'Oyly Carte.

In the opinion of many friends, my best piece of pure character acting was that as _Pat Murphy_, the piper in "The Emerald Isle." Without a doubt it _was_ a fine part. I had to be blind, and in contrast to the manner in which most blind characters were played at that time, my eyes were wide open and rigid. From the moment I entered I riveted my gaze tragically on one particular spot, and my eyes never moved, no matter who spoke or however dramatic the point. Naturally the strain was tremendous. Then, at last, _Pat's_ colleen lover began to have suspicions that he was not really blind--that the idle good-for-nothing fellow was shamming. And when _Pat_ admitted it, the subterfuge had been kept up so long that, both to those on the stage and to the audience, the effect was marvellous to a degree. I loved playing the piper and speaking the brogue. "The Emerald Isle," as is now generally known, was the last work that Sir Arthur Sullivan composed, and on his lamented death the music was completed by my gifted friend, Edward German. I remember that when, later on, the piece was taken to Dublin, we had doubts as to whether anything in it might offend the susceptibilities of the good people of the "disthressful counthree." Strangely enough, no objection of any kind was raised until the jig in the second act, and as it was believed that this was not done correctly and that the girls were lifting their heels too high, the dance was greeted with an outburst of booing. This was quelled by the l.u.s.ty voice at the back of the pit.

"Shame on ye," he shouted. "Can't ye be aisy out of respect for the dead?" And another voice: "Eh, an' Sullivan an Oirishman too, so he was!" The appeal was magical. The interruption died away and the performance proceeded.

"The Earl and the Girl," the most successful of all the musical comedies in which I appeared and the one which gave me my biggest real comedy part, ran for one year at the Adelphi, and then for a further year at the Lyric. When it was withdrawn I secured the permission of the management to use "My Cosy Corner," the most tuneful of all its musical numbers, as a scena on the music-halls, and with my corps of Cosy Corner Girls it was a decided success.

One other venture of mine on the music-halls was in conjunction with Connie Ediss when we had both completed an engagement at the Gaiety.

"United Service," in which we figured together, ran for fourteen weeks at the Pavilion, and it provided me with one of the best salaries I ever drew. The idea of this piece was a contrast in courtships. First we would imitate a stately old colonel paying his addresses to an exquisite lady, and then a ranker making love to the cook, with an idiom appropriate to life "below-stairs." Eighteen changes of dress had to be made by each of us, and the fun waxed fast and furious when the colonel commenced pouring his courtly phrases into the ears of the cook, and when, by a similar deliberate mishap, the soldier in his most ardent vernacular declared his pa.s.sion for m'lady.

Connie Ediss and I might have done as well with a successor to "United Service." But the theatre, she said, "called her back," and accordingly we went our separate ways in "legitimate."

Some reminiscences still remain to be told of my struggling early days on the stage. One of these concerns my brief and boisterous connection with the well-known Harvey Troupe. I was chosen as deputy for their page boy, whom these acrobats threw hither and thither as if he were a human shuttlec.o.c.k, and a very clever act it was, however uncomfortable for the unfortunate youngster. I scarcely relished the job, but old Harvey told me "All you've to do is to come on the stage; leave the rest to us; we'll pull you through." It was not a case of pulling me through. They literally _threw_ me through. For half-an-hour I was thrown from one to another with lightning speed, and that was about all I knew of the performance. "You did very well," they told me afterwards, "didn't you hear the laughs?" I am afraid I hadn't heard them. I had been conscious only of an appalling giddiness and of feeling bruised and sore. Next day I was black and blue, and unable to perform, but in those hard days, when food was scarce, one had to be ready for anything.

It was about this time in my career that I secured a pantomime engagement at the Prince's, Manchester, though my role was merely that of standard-bearer, in the finale, to the "show lady," before whom I walked with a banner inscribed, "St. George and the Dragon."

Unfortunately, in my nervousness, I marched on with the reverse side of the banner to the front, and at the sight of this piece of tawdry linen the audience laughed uproariously.

When the Second Demon was absent I was chosen as his understudy, and it seemed to me to be a wonderful honour, because it gave me eight words to speak. I had the comforting feeling of being a big star already. How well I remember those lines:--

Second Demon (sepulchral and sinister): Who calls on me in this unfriendly way?

Fairy Queen (in a piping treble): A greater power than yours; hear and obey!

Coming to a much later date, I include in my list of memorable theatrical occasions the benefit matinee given in the Drury Lane Theatre for Nellie Farren, for many years the bright particular star at the Gaiety. The stage was determined to pay the worthiest tribute it could to the brilliant artiste who, once the idol of her day, was now laid aside by sickness and suffering, and never had such a wonderful programme been presented. King Edward, then Prince of Wales, gave the benefit his gracious patronage, and it was in every way a remarkable success. The D'Oyly Carte contribution to the entertainment was "Trial by Jury." Gilbert himself figured in the scene as the _a.s.sociate_. It was, I believe, his only appearance before the footlights in public, and it was a part in which he had not a line to speak. I played the _Foreman_. Amongst other benefit performances in which I have taken part were those to Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Dacre and Miss Ellen Terry. We gave "Trial by Jury" on these occasions also, and my part was _Counsel_.

Speaking of King Edward, I am reminded that when, by going to the Palace Theatre after his accession, His Majesty paid the first visit of any British Sovereign to a music-hall, the occasion coincided with the run there of an operetta of my own, called the "Knights of the Road." It was a d.i.c.k Turpin story, for which I had written the lyrics, and the music had been provided by my good friend Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Princ.i.p.al of the Royal Academy of Music. I conceived the idea that pieces of this kind, based on English stories and typically English alike in sentiment and musical setting, might be made an attractive feature on the music-halls, and in point of fact, all that was wrong with the experiment was that it was a little too early. To-day, when the better-cla.s.s music-halls have attained a remarkable standard of taste, they would be just the thing. Nevertheless, my "Knights of the Road" had a successful career, and it served to give Walter Hyde, now one of our leading operatic tenors, one of his first chances to sing in the Metropolis.