Miss Lily Hanbury, Miss Alma Murray, and Mr. George Grossmith.
"Grossmith," said Mr. Gilbert, "applied to Sir Arthur Sullivan first. Sullivan was pleased, thought him the very man for the part of John Wellington Wells in 'The Sorcerer,' and so did I. You see, when making an engagement, the composer tests the applicant vocally, whilst I try him histrionically. Previous to that Grossmith had done nothing, save in the way of entertainments at young men's societies and mechanics' institutes. He didn't want to offend them—what would I advise? 'Go on the stage,' I said, 'and you'll make such a success as to render yourself quite independent of them.' I think he has.
"Then in the 'Trial by Jury'—one of my early works, which I consider one of the best, and in which the Judge was played by Sir Arthur Sullivan's brother Fred, now dead—the foreman of the jury was played by a gentleman who only had a couple of lines to sing. But whenever he opened his mouth the audience. roared. The estimable foreman of the twelve good men and true on that occasion was Mr. W. S. Penley. Just a moment."
"My first fee."
It is post time, and on the day of my visit he had just finished the libretto of his new comic opera. He weighs the great blue envelope in his hand, and, after the servant has left the room, flings himself into his favourite chair, and suggestively remarks, "There goes something that will either bring me in twenty thousand pounds or twenty thousand pence!" And a favourite chair with Mr. Gilbert is an article of furniture not to be despised. It is of red leather, and he has used the same size and pattern for a quarter of a century. He takes it with him wherever he goes, for he never writes at a desk. When working he sits here with a stool exactly the same height, and stretching himself on these, he writes on a pad on his lap.
I asked him if he would write me a few original verses for publication in this article. "Thank you, very much," said he, "but I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me. When I have just finished a piece I feel for a few days that I am absolutely incapable of further effort. I always feel that I am quite 'written out.' At first this impression used to distress me seriously—however I have learnt by experience to regard it as a 'bogie,' which will yield to exorcism. This, however, is quite at your service; and he crossed to a recess by the window, and from a heap of papers took out a sheet. It was a couple of delightful verses, left over from "The Gondoliers," written in his best style, and seen by no one till this moment. Tessa was to have sung them in the ear of the Grand Inquisitor, when he commands the two kings of Barataria—one of whom the fair Tessa loves—to leave their lovers and rule their kingdoms. The following are the verses, the second being given in fac-simile:—
I.
"Good sir, I wish to speak politely—
Forgive me if my words are crude—
I find it hard to put it rightly
Without appearing to be rude.
I mean to say,—you're old and wrinkled—
It's rather blunt, but it's the truth-
With wintry snow your hair is sprinkled:
What can you know of Love and Youth?
Indeed I wish to speak politely;
But, pray forgive me, truth is truth:
You're old and—pardon me—unsightly,
What can you know of Love and Youth!
