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Entomomania is a compulsive fascination with which type of creatures? | List of manias
A-
Ablutomania- Compulsion to wash or clean.
Agromania- Unreasonable desire for solitude or solitudinous wandering. Morbid desire to live in solitude or in the country.
Alcoholomania- Abnormal craving for intoxicants. (Personal note: this, I believe, is different than alcoholism in that alcoholism is a state of being and it is alcoholomania that leads to that state.)
Ailuromania- Intense enthusiasm for cats.
Anthromania- Inordinate interest in flowers.
Arithmomania- Craze for numbers and counting.
Automania- Compulsion toward solitude.
Bibliomania- Obsession with the collecting of books.
Bromomania- Mental disorder caused by chronic misuse of bromides.
Callomania- Belief in one's own beauty; a delusion of the insane.
Camphoromania- Abnormal craving for camphor (a gum obtained from an evergreen tree native to China and Japan).
Choreomania- Dancing mania. Seen in the Middle Ages.
Choromania- Dance mania, a form of chorea.
Cleptomania- Kleptomania. Impulsive stealing in which the motive is not related to the intrinsic value of the stolen article. There is often deep regret following the act.
Cocainomania- Intense desire for cocaine and its effects.
Cresomania- Hallucination of possessing great wealth.
Croesomania- Hallucination of possessing great wealth.
Cacodemonomania- Inordinate obsession with demonic possession.
Cheromania- Compulsion toward gaiety.
Chrematomania- Obsessive desire for money.
Coprolalomania- Obsession with foul speech.
Cynomania- Intense enthusiasm for dogs.
Dacnomania- An irrational impulse to kill.
Dipsomania- A morbid and uncontrollable craving for alcoholic beverages.
Drapetomania- Insane impulse to wander from home.
Dromomania- Insane impulse to wander.
Ecdemomania- Wanderlust; abnormal desire to wander.
Egomania- Abnormal self-esteem and self-interest.
Enomania- Craving for alcoholic beverages.
Enosimania- A mental state characterized by excessive and irrational terror.
Entheomania- Religious insanity.
Ergasiomania- An abnormal desire to be busy at work.
Erotomania- Pathological exaggeration of sexual behavior.
Erythromania- Uncontrolled blushing.
Esthesiomania- Insanity with sensory hallucinations and perverted moral sensibilities.
Etheromania- Addiction to use of ether.
Eleutheromania- Irresistible craving for freedom.
Entomomania- Inordinate fascination with insects.
Eremiomania- Irresistible craving for stillness.
Ergomania- Obsessive zeal for work.
K-
Kleptomania- Impulsive stealing, the motive not being in the intrinsic value of the article to the patient. In almost all cases, the individual has enough money to pay for the stolen goods. The stealing is done without prior planning and without the assistance of others. There is increased tension prior to the theft and a sense of gratification while committing the act.
Kathisomania- Uncontrollable compulsion to sit.
Logomania- Repetitious, continuous, and excessive flow of speech seen in monomania.
Letheomania- Obsessive fascination with narcotics.
Macromania- 1. Megalomania, q.v. 2. The delusion that the affected individual or his or her parts or surroundings are extremely large.
Megalomania- A psychosis characterized by ideas of personal exaltation and delusions of grandeur.
Methomania- Pathological craving for intoxicating drinks or other intoxicants.
Monomania- Mental illness characterized by distortion of thought processes concerning a single subject or idea.
Musicomania- Insane love of music.
Melomania- Excessive fascination with music.
Mythomania- Irresistible impulse toward exaggeration and lying.
Necromania- 1. Abnormal interest in dead bodies or in death. 2. Mania with desire for death.
Nostomania- Nostalgia verging on insanity.
Nudomania- Abnormal desire to be nude.
Nymphomania- Abnormal excessive sexual desire in a female.
Nesomania- Intense fascination with islands.
Noctimania- Intense fascination with night.
Oikomania- Nervous disorder induced by unhappy home surroundings.
Oniomania- A psychoneurotic urge to spend money.
Onomatomania- A mental derangement characterized by an abnormal impulse to dwell upon or repeat certain words by attaching significance to their imagined hidden meanings or by trying frantically to recall a particular word.
Onychotillomania- A neurotic tendency to pick the nails.
Opiomania- Insane craving for opium or its derivatives.
Opsomania- Craving for some special article of food.
Ochlomania- Intense obsession with crowds.
Oinomania- Inordinate fascination with wine.
Ophidiomania- Excessive interest in reptiles.
Ornithomania- Inordinate fascination with birds.
Paramania- A type of emotional disturbance in which the individual derives pleasure from complaining.
Paratereseomania- Insane desire to investigate new scenes and subjects.
Peotillomania- A nervous habit or tic consisting of constant pulling at the penis.
Pharmacomania- Abnormal desire for giving or taking medicines.
Phonomania- Insanity characterized by tendency to commit murder.
Photomania- 1. A psychosis produced by prolonged exposure to intense light. 2. A psychotic desire for light.
Planomania- Morbid desire to wander and to be free of social restraints.
Plutomania- Delusion that one is very rich.
Poriomania- Morbid desire to wander from home.
Posiomania- Addiction to alcoholic drinks.
Pyromania- Fire madness; mania for setting fires or seeing them.
Parousiamania- Obsessive zeal for the second coming of Christ.
Phagomania- 1. Irresistible craving for food. 2. Obsessive interest in eating.
Phaneromania- Uncontrollable impulse to pick at a spot or growth on one's body.
Phonomania- Obsession with noise or sound.
Satyromania- Satyriasis, q.v. (Excessive, and often uncontrollable, sexual drive in men.)
Sebastomania- Religious insanity.
Sitiomania- Periodic abnormal appetite or craving for food.
Sitomania- 1. Periodic abnormal craving for food. 2. Periodic abnormality of appetite.
Sophomania- Unrealistic belief in one's own wisdom.
Syphilomania- Morbid fear of syphilis or inference that one is suffering with it.
Scribomania- Obsessive zeal for writing.
Siderodromomania- Intense fascination with railroad travel.
T-
Thanatomania- Condition of homicidal or suicidal mania.
Theomania- Religious insanity; esp. That in which the patient thinks he is a deity or has divine inspiration.
Tomomania- 1. Tendency of a surgeon to resort to unnecessary surgical operations. 2. Abnormal desire to be operated upon.
Toxicomania- Abnormal craving for narcotics, intoxicants, or poisons.
Trichokryptomania- Abnormal desire to break off the hair or beard with the fingernail.
Trichorrexomania- The abnormal habit of breaking off the hair with the fingernails.
Tristimania- Melancholia.
Thalassomania- Intense fascination with the sea.
Timbromania- Inordinate enthusiasm for postage stamps.
Trichomania- Intense fascination with hair.
| Insect |
Tahir Square is in which North African city? | List of manias
A-
Ablutomania- Compulsion to wash or clean.
Agromania- Unreasonable desire for solitude or solitudinous wandering. Morbid desire to live in solitude or in the country.
Alcoholomania- Abnormal craving for intoxicants. (Personal note: this, I believe, is different than alcoholism in that alcoholism is a state of being and it is alcoholomania that leads to that state.)
Ailuromania- Intense enthusiasm for cats.
Anthromania- Inordinate interest in flowers.
Arithmomania- Craze for numbers and counting.
Automania- Compulsion toward solitude.
Bibliomania- Obsession with the collecting of books.
Bromomania- Mental disorder caused by chronic misuse of bromides.
Callomania- Belief in one's own beauty; a delusion of the insane.
Camphoromania- Abnormal craving for camphor (a gum obtained from an evergreen tree native to China and Japan).
Choreomania- Dancing mania. Seen in the Middle Ages.
Choromania- Dance mania, a form of chorea.
Cleptomania- Kleptomania. Impulsive stealing in which the motive is not related to the intrinsic value of the stolen article. There is often deep regret following the act.
Cocainomania- Intense desire for cocaine and its effects.
Cresomania- Hallucination of possessing great wealth.
Croesomania- Hallucination of possessing great wealth.
Cacodemonomania- Inordinate obsession with demonic possession.
Cheromania- Compulsion toward gaiety.
Chrematomania- Obsessive desire for money.
Coprolalomania- Obsession with foul speech.
Cynomania- Intense enthusiasm for dogs.
Dacnomania- An irrational impulse to kill.
Dipsomania- A morbid and uncontrollable craving for alcoholic beverages.
Drapetomania- Insane impulse to wander from home.
Dromomania- Insane impulse to wander.
Ecdemomania- Wanderlust; abnormal desire to wander.
Egomania- Abnormal self-esteem and self-interest.
Enomania- Craving for alcoholic beverages.
Enosimania- A mental state characterized by excessive and irrational terror.
Entheomania- Religious insanity.
Ergasiomania- An abnormal desire to be busy at work.
Erotomania- Pathological exaggeration of sexual behavior.
Erythromania- Uncontrolled blushing.
Esthesiomania- Insanity with sensory hallucinations and perverted moral sensibilities.
Etheromania- Addiction to use of ether.
Eleutheromania- Irresistible craving for freedom.
Entomomania- Inordinate fascination with insects.
Eremiomania- Irresistible craving for stillness.
Ergomania- Obsessive zeal for work.
K-
Kleptomania- Impulsive stealing, the motive not being in the intrinsic value of the article to the patient. In almost all cases, the individual has enough money to pay for the stolen goods. The stealing is done without prior planning and without the assistance of others. There is increased tension prior to the theft and a sense of gratification while committing the act.
Kathisomania- Uncontrollable compulsion to sit.
Logomania- Repetitious, continuous, and excessive flow of speech seen in monomania.
Letheomania- Obsessive fascination with narcotics.
Macromania- 1. Megalomania, q.v. 2. The delusion that the affected individual or his or her parts or surroundings are extremely large.
Megalomania- A psychosis characterized by ideas of personal exaltation and delusions of grandeur.
Methomania- Pathological craving for intoxicating drinks or other intoxicants.
Monomania- Mental illness characterized by distortion of thought processes concerning a single subject or idea.
Musicomania- Insane love of music.
Melomania- Excessive fascination with music.
Mythomania- Irresistible impulse toward exaggeration and lying.
Necromania- 1. Abnormal interest in dead bodies or in death. 2. Mania with desire for death.
Nostomania- Nostalgia verging on insanity.
Nudomania- Abnormal desire to be nude.
Nymphomania- Abnormal excessive sexual desire in a female.
Nesomania- Intense fascination with islands.
Noctimania- Intense fascination with night.
Oikomania- Nervous disorder induced by unhappy home surroundings.
Oniomania- A psychoneurotic urge to spend money.
Onomatomania- A mental derangement characterized by an abnormal impulse to dwell upon or repeat certain words by attaching significance to their imagined hidden meanings or by trying frantically to recall a particular word.
Onychotillomania- A neurotic tendency to pick the nails.
Opiomania- Insane craving for opium or its derivatives.
Opsomania- Craving for some special article of food.
Ochlomania- Intense obsession with crowds.
Oinomania- Inordinate fascination with wine.
Ophidiomania- Excessive interest in reptiles.
Ornithomania- Inordinate fascination with birds.
Paramania- A type of emotional disturbance in which the individual derives pleasure from complaining.
Paratereseomania- Insane desire to investigate new scenes and subjects.
Peotillomania- A nervous habit or tic consisting of constant pulling at the penis.
Pharmacomania- Abnormal desire for giving or taking medicines.
Phonomania- Insanity characterized by tendency to commit murder.
Photomania- 1. A psychosis produced by prolonged exposure to intense light. 2. A psychotic desire for light.
Planomania- Morbid desire to wander and to be free of social restraints.
Plutomania- Delusion that one is very rich.
Poriomania- Morbid desire to wander from home.
Posiomania- Addiction to alcoholic drinks.
Pyromania- Fire madness; mania for setting fires or seeing them.
Parousiamania- Obsessive zeal for the second coming of Christ.
Phagomania- 1. Irresistible craving for food. 2. Obsessive interest in eating.
Phaneromania- Uncontrollable impulse to pick at a spot or growth on one's body.
Phonomania- Obsession with noise or sound.
Satyromania- Satyriasis, q.v. (Excessive, and often uncontrollable, sexual drive in men.)
Sebastomania- Religious insanity.
Sitiomania- Periodic abnormal appetite or craving for food.
Sitomania- 1. Periodic abnormal craving for food. 2. Periodic abnormality of appetite.
Sophomania- Unrealistic belief in one's own wisdom.
Syphilomania- Morbid fear of syphilis or inference that one is suffering with it.
Scribomania- Obsessive zeal for writing.
Siderodromomania- Intense fascination with railroad travel.
T-
Thanatomania- Condition of homicidal or suicidal mania.
Theomania- Religious insanity; esp. That in which the patient thinks he is a deity or has divine inspiration.
Tomomania- 1. Tendency of a surgeon to resort to unnecessary surgical operations. 2. Abnormal desire to be operated upon.
Toxicomania- Abnormal craving for narcotics, intoxicants, or poisons.
Trichokryptomania- Abnormal desire to break off the hair or beard with the fingernail.
Trichorrexomania- The abnormal habit of breaking off the hair with the fingernails.
Tristimania- Melancholia.
Thalassomania- Intense fascination with the sea.
Timbromania- Inordinate enthusiasm for postage stamps.
Trichomania- Intense fascination with hair.
| i don't know |
What is the name of the absent-minded inventor in the 1968 film ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’? | Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) - Cast, Ratings, Awards
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968) Children and Fantasy | G | 2 hours and 36 minutes | December 18, 1968 (USA)
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Producer: Albert R. Broccoli
While truant from school, young siblings Jeremy and Jemima meet the beautiful Truly Scrumptious (Sally Ann Howes), who falls for their widowed father, Caractacus Potts (Dick Van Dyke), and his various oddball inventions, including the family's noisy rebuilt car, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. One day at the beach, Caractacus tells Truly and the children a fanciful fable about the villainous Baron Bomburst (Gert Frobe) and his evil designs on the Potts family car.
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| Caractacus Pott |
Which chemical element does ‘Li’ represent in the Periodic Table? | Film locations for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968)
See the village of Turville in Went The Day Well?
Schloss Neuschwanstein is, not surprisingly, featured in Luchino Visconti ’s 1972 Ludwig, his epic film about the life of the troubled monarch
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang film location: Baron Bomburst’s Vulgarian castle: Schloss Neuschwanstein, Germany
Photograph: iStockphoto / manfredxy
When Ian Fleming wasn’t dreaming up missions for 007, he kicked back and relaxed with this children’s story about the eccentric inventor who transforms a clapped-out racing car into a magical toy. In-joke spotters will have twigged that George Coggins, the original owner of of the dilapidated racer, is James Bond’s Q, the late Desmond Llewellyn .
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang film location: the home of inventor Caractacus Potts: Cobstone Windmill, Turville, Buckinghamshire
The windmill home of Caractacus Potts ( Dick Van Dyke ) is Cobstone Windmill, at Cadmore End on the B482 about four miles west of High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire .
Cobstone Mill was built around 1816, overlooking the village of Turville (it’s often called Turville Windmill).
Until 1873 it remained a working mill but, after being damaged by fire, it lay derelict. It was restored cosmetically for the film, and a few years later restored completely (even getting a swimming pool) as a home for actress Hayley Mills and husband, director Roy Boulting . They no longer live there, but it’s still a private home.
The house of Truly Scrumptious ( Sally Anne Howes ) is Heatherden Hall, at the heart of the Pinewood Studios lot at Iver Heath, also in Buckinghamshire . Being so convenient, the mansion is a familiar screen presence in Pinewood based films – which include James Bond and Carry On productions.
It seems the car has pretty miraculous powers already. When Potts drives Truly and the kids down to the beach from Cadmore End, they end up by the sea at Cape Taillat, near Saint-Tropez in the South of France .
The airship of Baron Bomburst ( Gert Frobe ) hovers over the hillside near the village of Turville, just southwest of Cadmore End. Turville itself is a regular location, seen as ‘Bramley End’ in the excellent wartime thriller Went The Day Well? and more recently as the village in which Peter Sarsgaard pulls a scam in 2009’s Oscar nominated An Education .
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang film location: the Vulgarian town square: Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany
Photograph: iStockphoto / SteffiL
Followed by the magical car, the balloon flies off to the child-hating kingdom of ‘Vulgaria’. The town square, where creepy Childcatcher ( Robert Helpmann ) and the cavalry (with horses from the famous stud farm near Munich) search for the kiddies, is Rothenburg ob der Tauber , in Bavaria.
Rothenburg was economically devastated by the Thirty Years War and, being hidden away from major commercial routes, has never been modernised. In the long run, this has turned out to be a boon and the town is now something of a tourist trap. A perfectly preserved 17th century wonder, it’s about 45 miles west of Nuremberg toward Stuttgart, in Bavaria. There’s the briefest glimpse of Rothenburg as the house of Gregorovitch in Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows: Part I .
Baron Bomburst’s Vulgarian castle, subliminally familiar as the model for Disneyland’s Sleeping Beauty castle, is Ludwig II’s marvelously kitsch fantasy of Schloss Neuschwanstein , in Germany , about 150 miles to the south of Rothenburg.
Built between 1870 and Ludwig’s mysterious death in 1886, not by an architect but by a theatrical set designer (one C Jank, who was responsible for designing the original production of Richard Wagner’s Tannhauser) high above the Schwansee and the Alpsee. There are guided tours (there’s a bus service from Schwangau, about a mile away), but t’s a popular destination and in summer can get mighty packed. Entrance tickets can only be bought at the Ticketcenter Hohenschwangau in the village of Hohenschwangau, below the castle. You can reach the village by train from Munich.
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Reggie, Jughead, Betty and Veronica were members of which fictional band? | The Archies | Archie Comics Wiki | Fandom powered by Wikia
Template:About Template:Infobox musical artist
The Archies are a garage band founded by Archie Andrews , Reggie Mantle , and Jughead Jones , a group of fictional adolescent characters of the Archie universe, in the context of the animated TV series, The Archie Show . The group is also known for their real world success, through a virtual band .
The fictional band's music was recorded by session musicians featuring Ron Dante on vocals and released as a series of singles and albums. Their most successful song, " Sugar, Sugar ", became one of the biggest hits of the bubblegum pop genre that flourished from 1968 to 1972. [1]
Contents
Hot Dog : mascot / conductor
The Archies are sometimes jokingly compared to The Doors , as they also had no bass player. However, there is some controversy as to whether Reggie played bass or not. In most drawings, his guitar looks identical to Archie's, making him the band's second (or co-lead) guitarist. However, a number of drawings (including the one above) clearly show Reggie's instrument to have four tuning keys, the most common bass design. Six-string bass guitars do exist, however, and the Archies' recordings regularly featured a bass player. In more than one comic strip, Reggie is described as playing bass (however, this is not necessarily canon , as storylines and hobbies/activities in the Archie world change from story to story). Finally, in the liner notes for 2008's The Archies Christmas Album, Reggie is listed as the bass guitarist.
One distribution mode for the Archies' music was cereal boxes: a cardboard record was embossed directly into the back of a box such that the record could be cut out and played on a turntable (although their music was also available on standard issue LPs and 45s). Though the group no longer appears in animation, they are still frequently used in stories published by Archie Comics .
Other cartoon groups
Edit
In the late 1960s and early 1970s, animated series often featured musical groups that were fictional or sometimes based on real life musicians. This dates at least as far back as 1965 with The Beatles , but the Archies helped popularize the concept. Most of these groups played bubblegum pop . Several were also teenage detectives, influenced by Scooby Doo . These groups included The Groovie Goolies , The Hardy Boys , Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids , The Banana Splits (actually live action with actors in animal costumes and dubbed speaking voices), The Cattanooga Cats , The Chan Clan , and The Neptunes . Animated versions of The Jackson 5ive , the Osmond Brothers , the Partridge Family , and The Brady Bunch also existed. Archie Comics ' own creation Josie and the Pussycats was successful both as an animated series and as a comic book (and later a live action motion picture ), but The Bingoes and The Madhouse Glads lacked its popularity and never appeared in animation. Two modern examples of the "cartoon rock group" could include the British band, Gorillaz —a musical project created in 1998 by British musician Damon Albarn and British cartoonist Jamie Hewlett, and Dethklok , a fictional death metal band created by Brendon Small .
Production
Edit
A set of studio musicians were assembled by Don Kirshner in 1968 to perform various songs. The most famous is " Sugar, Sugar ", written by Jeff Barry and Andy Kim , which went to #1 on the pop chart in 1969, sold over six million copies, and was awarded a gold disc . [2] In Billboard 's Hot 100 , it was ranked as the number one song of that year, the only time a fictional band has ever claimed Billboard's annual Hot 100 top spot. Other Top 40 songs recorded by The Archies include "Who's Your Baby?" (U.S. #40), "Bang-Shang-A-Lang" (U.S. #22), and "Jingle Jangle" (U.S. #10). "Jingle Jangle" also sold over one million copies, garnering a second gold disc award. [2]
Male vocals for the fictional Archies group were provided by The Cuff Links ' lead singer Ron Dante and female duet vocals were provided by Toni Wine . Wine, who was only paid for the recording session and quit the group when the song became a huge hit, was succeeded in 1970 by Donna Marie, who in turn was replaced on the final recordings by Merle Miller. The only Archies song not to feature Ron Dante on lead was 1971's "Love Is Living In You", sung by Richie Adams. The last single, released 1972, was "Strangers in the Morning"; its B-side song was "Plum Crazy".
Jeff Barry , Andy Kim , Ellie Greenwich , Susan Morse , Joey Levine , Maeretha Stewart , Bobby Bloom and Lesley Miller contributed background vocals at various times, with Barry contributing his trademark bass voice (portrayed as being sung by Jughead in the cartoon) on cuts such as "Jingle Jangle", "Rock 'n' Roll Music", "A Summer Prayer For Peace" (which hit number one in South Africa and Scandinavia in 1971), and "You Little Angel, You". Musicians on Archies records included guitarist Hugh McCracken , bassists Chuck Rainey and Joey Macho, keyboard player Ron Frangipane, and drummers Buddy Saltzman and Gary Chester .
The Archies' records were initially released on the Calendar Records label, but the name was shortly thereafter changed to Kirshner Records.
The sound engineer was Fred Weinberg, who was Jeff Barry's and Andy Kim's favorite, and who also recorded Barry's and Kim's other hits "Be My Baby", "Baby I Love You", and "Rock Me Gently". Fred Weinberg is an award-winning composer and producer in his own right. However, the music for The U.S. of Archie TV show which aired in 1974, was produced by Jackie Mills, a Hollywood producer, who also produced Bobby Sherman and the Brady Kids . The vocalist for these shows was Tom McKenzie, who also sang on some Groovie Goolie segments, and was a regular member of the popular singing group, the Doodletown Pipers.
Although the verses of Jingle Jangle are supposedly sung by either Betty or Veronica (the only two female members of the fictional group), in reality, it was not performed by any female vocalist, rather it was Dante using a falsetto voice. [3]
Dante returned for a 2008 Archies album, The Archies Christmas Party, with singers Danielle van Zyl and Kelly-Lynn . [4]
Discography
Edit
Music from the show was not only released on LP, but also sometimes on the backs of cereal boxes. (Note: There are also many songs which were released only as part of broadcasts of their numerous TV series—not on singles or albums. Template:Issue The style of music from series to series tended to evolve as popular music tastes changed.)
Albums
Feelin' So Good (S.K.O.O.B.Y.-D.O.O.) / Melody Hill / Rock 'n' Roll Music / Kissin' / Don't Touch My Guitar / Circle of Blue / Sugar, Sugar / You Little Angel, You / Bicycles, Roller Skates and You / Hot Dog / Inside Out - Upside Down / Love Light
Jingle Jangle (1969)
Jingle Jangle / Everything's Alright / She's Putting Me Thru Changes / Justine / Whoopee Tie Ai A / Nursery Rhyme / Get on the Line / You Know I Love You / Senorita Rita / Look Before You Leap / Sugar and Spice / Archie's Party
Sunshine (1970)
Sunshine / Who's Gonna Love Me / Mr. Factory / Love and Rock and Roll Music / Over and Over / Waldo P. Emerson Jones / A Summer Prayer for Peace / Dance Dance Dance / Comes the Sun / Suddenly Susan / One Big Family / It's the Summertime
The Archies Greatest Hits (1970)
Sugar, Sugar / Jingle Jangle / Get on the Line / Sunshine / Bang-Shang-A-Lang / Who's Your Baby? / Feelin' So Good (S.K.O.O.B.Y. D.O.O.) / Over and Over / Seventeen Ain't Young / Waldo P. Emerson Jones / Everything's Alright
This Is Love (1971)
This is Love / Don't Need No Bad Girl / Should Anybody Ask / Easy Guy / Maybe I'm Wrong / What Goes On / Carousel Man / Hold On to Lovin' / This is the Night / Little Green Jacket / Together We Two / Throw a Little Love My Way
The Archies Christmas Album (2008)
Here Comes Santa Claus / Up on the Housetop / Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree / Holly Jolly Christmas / Jingle Bell Rock / I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus / Run Rudolph Run / Santa Claus is Coming to Town / Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas / Sleigh Ride / Archies Christmas Party / Christmas in Riverdale
The Archies (1977 RCA Special Products DVL 2-0221 / Laurie House LH-8016)
A: Archie's Theme (Everything's Archie) / Sugar, Sugar / Sunshine / Bicycles, Roller Skates and You / Ride, Ride, Ride
B: Jingle Jangle / Don't Touch My Guitar / Kissin' / Who's Your Baby? / Everything's Alright
C: Sugar and Spice / Archie's Party / You Make Me Wanna Dance / Feelin' So Good ( S.K.O.O.B.Y.D.O.O.) / Rock & Roll Music
D: Bang-Shang-A-Lang / Boys and Girls / Senorita Rita / Seventeen Ain't Young / Waldo P. Emerson Jones
Singles
| The Archies |
Which country is bordered by China to the north, Laos to the northwest and Cambodia to the southwest? | GCD :: Issue :: Everything's Archie! #F4493
Everything's Archie! #F4493
color cover; black & white interior
Dimensions:
mass market paperback (4 1/4" x 6 7/8"; 10.9 cm x 17.3 cm)
Paper Stock:
Archie / cover / 1 page (report information)
Pencils:
Visit to a Small Panic (Table of Contents)
The Archies / comic story / 6 pages (report information)
Script:
humor; teen
Characters:
Archie Andrews; Jughead Jones; Betty Cooper; Veronica Lodge; Reggie Mantle; Lou Scheimer; Norm Prescott; Hal Sutherland
Synopsis:
The Archies visit Filmation, the animation studio that produces their Saturday morning cartoon. The producers and director are astonished to find that the real Archies are crazier than the TV cartoon versions.
Reprints:
from Everything's Archie (Archie, 1969 series) #1 (May 1969)
Indexer Notes
Filmation producers Lou Scheimer and Norm Prescott, and their primary director Hal Sutherland, are caricatured here; Harry Lucey uses a more realistic drawing style for the real people than he does for the regulars.
When reprinted in Archie Double Digest (Archie, 2011 series) #260, writing is credited to George Gladir.
The Music Man (Table of Contents)
The Archies / comic story / 6 pages (report information)
Script:
| i don't know |
Regicide is the killing of who? | Regicide - definition of regicide by The Free Dictionary
Regicide - definition of regicide by The Free Dictionary
http://www.thefreedictionary.com/regicide
1. The killing of a king.
2. One who kills a king.
[Latin rēx, rēg-, king; see reg- in the Appendix of Indo-European roots + -cide .]
reg′i·cid′al (-sīd′l) adj.
regicide
1. the killing of a king
2. a person who kills a king
[C16: from Latin rēx king + -cide]
ˌregiˈcidal adj
1. the killing of a king.
2. a person who kills a king or is responsible for his death.
[1540–50; < Latin rēg-, s. of rēx king + -i- + -cide ]
reg`i•cid′al, adj.
ThesaurusAntonymsRelated WordsSynonymsLegend:
regicide - someone who commits regicide; the killer of a king
killer , slayer - someone who causes the death of a person or animal
2.
regicide - the act of killing a king
murder , slaying , execution - unlawful premeditated killing of a human being by a human being
Translations
n (= act) → Königsmord m; (= person) → Königsmörder(in) m(f)
regicide
[ˈrɛdʒɪˌsaɪd] n (frm) (crime) → regicidio ; (person) → regicida m/f
Want to thank TFD for its existence? Tell a friend about us , add a link to this page, or visit the webmaster's page for free fun content .
Link to this page:
I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas.
Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide," again interjected an ironical voice.
Why revolutions fail..
It meant, however, that the advocates of that communal political ideology which the author terms "civic republicanism" were cautious about the r-word with all its connotations of regicide in the case of the French and English Revolutions and fratricidal strife in the American.
BrickWarriors Publishing's "Riddle of Regicide," Being Turned Into Lego
I have tried to visit Britain on the eve of every general election since the end of the Thatcher era (by Tory regicide, not the ballot box) in November 1990 in search of insights to help me trade sterling, gilts and UK equities.
Copyright © 2003-2017 Farlex, Inc
Disclaimer
All content on this website, including dictionary, thesaurus, literature, geography, and other reference data is for informational purposes only. This information should not be considered complete, up to date, and is not intended to be used in place of a visit, consultation, or advice of a legal, medical, or any other professional.
| Monarch |
Basque, Aranese and Galician are all languages spoken in which European country? | Regicides - definition of Regicides by The Free Dictionary
Regicides - definition of Regicides by The Free Dictionary
http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Regicides
1. The killing of a king.
2. One who kills a king.
[Latin rēx, rēg-, king; see reg- in the Appendix of Indo-European roots + -cide .]
reg′i·cid′al (-sīd′l) adj.
regicide
1. the killing of a king
2. a person who kills a king
[C16: from Latin rēx king + -cide]
ˌregiˈcidal adj
1. the killing of a king.
2. a person who kills a king or is responsible for his death.
[1540–50; < Latin rēg-, s. of rēx king + -i- + -cide ]
reg`i•cid′al, adj.
ThesaurusAntonymsRelated WordsSynonymsLegend:
regicide - someone who commits regicide; the killer of a king
killer , slayer - someone who causes the death of a person or animal
2.
regicide - the act of killing a king
murder , slaying , execution - unlawful premeditated killing of a human being by a human being
Translations
n (= act) → Königsmord m; (= person) → Königsmörder(in) m(f)
regicide
[ˈrɛdʒɪˌsaɪd] n (frm) (crime) → regicidio ; (person) → regicida m/f
Want to thank TFD for its existence? Tell a friend about us , add a link to this page, or visit the webmaster's page for free fun content .
Link to this page:
I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas.
Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide," again interjected an ironical voice.
View in context
Our intention was to tell the story of one fictional Russian oligarch with a very personal kind of biography and history that was not trying to, at a stroke, say 'here's what all wealthy Russians are like', anymore than, having played Macbeth in the theatre, the Scots are up in arms at being portrayed as murderers and regicides.
It was unlikely you'd have a film career of any kind when I started out... IN THE HOTSEAT Sir Kenneth Branagh is one of the UK's most esteemed actors and directors. The 53-year-old Belfast-born star of theatre, film and television talks about his latest movie project - thriller Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit
Our intention was to tell the story of one fictional Russian oligarch with a very personal kind of biography and history that was not trying to, at a stroke, say 'here's what all wealthy Russians are like', anymore than, hs aving played Macbeth in the theatre, the Scots are up in arms at being portrayed as murderers and regicides.
| i don't know |
What is the name of the light porous form of solidified lava used a skin abrasive? | Pumice: Solidified Frothy Lava | Rashid's Blog
Pumice: Solidified Frothy Lava
Posted on February 10, 2012 by Rashid Faridi
Pumice is an igneous rocks which formed when lava cooled quickly above ground. Little pockets of air can be seen in the rock . This rock is so light, that many pumice rocks actually float in water. Pumice is actually a kind of glass unike other rocks which are mixture of minerals. Because this rock is so light, it is used quite often as a decorative landscape stone.
By origin, Pumice is a is a solidified frothy lava typically created when super-heated, highly pressurized rock is violently ejected from a volcano . It is formed when lava and water are mixed. This unusual formation is due to the simultaneous actions of rapid cooling and rapid release of pressure. This release of pressure creates bubbles by lowering the solubility of gases (including water and CO2) dissolved in the lava, causing the gases to rapidly exsolve (like the bubbles of CO2 that appear when a carbonated drink is opened). The simultaneous cooling and pressure release freezes the bubbles in the matrix.
Economic Uses
Pumice is used extensively to make lightweight concrete or insulative low-density breeze blocks. When used as an additive for cement, a fine-grained version of pumice called pozzolan is mixed with lime to form a light-weight, smooth, plaster-like concrete. This form of concrete was used in Roman times. Roman engineers used it to build the huge dome of the Pantheon and as construction material for many aqueducts.
It is also used as an abrasive, especially in polishes, pencil erasers, cosmetic exfoliants, and the production of stone-washed jeans. “Pumice stones” are often used in beauty salons during the pedicure process to remove dry and excess skin from the bottom of the foot as well as to remove calluses. It was also used in ancient Greek and Roman times to remove excess hair. Finely ground pumice is added to some toothpastes and heavy-duty hand cleaners (such as Lava soap) as a mild abrasive. Pumice is also used as a growing substrate for growing horticultural crops.Its porous nature makes it a natural for filters.
In some aspects Pumice is like scoriain that both are frothy, lightweight volcanic rocks, but the bubbles in pumice are small
and regular and its composition is more felsic than scoria’s.Scoria differs from pumice in being denser. Pumice is glassy and scoria is lava with microscopic crystals.
Pumice differs from obsidian in that obsidian is all glass and lacks the extensive vesicles of pumice. Most pumice is acidic/felsic in composition associated with rhyolite since those lavas tend to have more volatiles, but intermediate and basic varieties are known to occur. Scoria is a much heavier ropey volcanic rock with larger but less prolific vesicles than pumice.
Pumice Islands
Some ocean volcanoes have produced what are known as pumice rafts, which are actual floating mini islands made of rock. These pumice islands can be there for years floating along the ocean currents. Some may have been responsible for the distribution of island hopping animals and plants of the Pacific Ocean. Some pumice islands were found with plants actually growing on them.
Links and Sources:
| Pumice |
A surgeon would perform brachioplasty on which part of the body? | Types of volcanic rock | Sciencelearn Hub
Types of volcanic rock
Rocks are not all the same. Some are heavy, some are light. Others are dark, while some can be almost pure white. Even igneous rocks that are all formed from magma in the Earth’s mantle can look very different.
Igneous rocks
Rocks are broadly classified into three groups – igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic . Igneous rocks are formed from magma in the Earth’s mantle. They generally don’t contain fossils, don’t react with acids, don’t usually contain obvious layers, can be made of different minerals, sometimes have holes or bubbles and may be glassy in appearance. Volcanologists look for these igneous rocks so that they can learn more about where these rocks have come from and whether they were formed during a volcanic eruption.
Geologists use the visual appearance of the rock as an initial clue to its composition but will then verify their ideas using specialised techniques. For example, scientists at The University of Auckland use an electron microprobe to measure the exact quantities of silica , iron , magnesium and many other chemicals that are in rock samples they collect. This information helps them to classify the rock and may give them direct clues about the volcano and the eruption that formed the rock.
Lava solidifies to rock
New Zealand has 3 main types of volcanoes, and each has been formed from a different type of magma. Once the lava has erupted, it cools and solidifies into rock:
Basalt magma often forms shield volcanoes.
Andesite magma often forms cone volcanoes.
Rhyolite magma often forms calderas . Depending on how much gas the magma contains, it can also form cone volcanoes.
Basalt
Image: Columnar basalt
The Earth’s crust is mainly basalt rock. It is a heavy, dark, grainy rock. Basalt is associated with great rock columns that are found in many places around the Earth, for example, the Organ Pipes in Dunedin or the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland.
Basalt magma is formed at high temperatures (around 1,200ºC). When it comes out of the volcano, it is hot and liquid. It contains very little silica (less than 50%) and a lot of magnesium and iron, which makes the rock look dark.
The Auckland volcanic field has erupted this type of hot, runny iron-rich lava, and the landscape is dotted with mountains made from basalt and scoria (a red-coloured rock that contains large amounts of iron-rich minerals). Both rock types are excavated for building materials and landscaping.
Andesite
Image: Andesite
Andesites are lighter coloured than basalt because they contain less iron and more silica (50–60%). Some scoria rocks fall within the andesite classification because of their chemical composition.
Magma that contains andesite is generally around 800–1,000ºC and forms steep-sided cone volcanoes (stratovolcanoes). Mount Ngāuruhoe is an example of an andesite volcano.
Rhyolite
Image: Pumice
Rhyolite is light-coloured or white – this is a clue that the rock contains a lot of silica (more than 70%) and not much iron or magnesium.
Rhyolitic magmas are associated with low temperatures (750–850ºC) and are often thick, which means gases can’t escape. Some rhyolitic rocks are quite light, for example, pumice , which may still have evidence of the bubbles of gas trapped as the rock solidified.
Nature of Science
Classification helps scientists organise things into groups. In rock classification, such grouping can help geologists see patterns and perhaps explain the reasons for rocks looking similar.
Metadata
| i don't know |
Which is the longest motorway in Britain? | CBRD » Motorway Database » M6
Main Images Timeline Exit List
Where would we be without the M6? Nowhere at all. It's Britain's longest motorway and carries (in total, over its whole length) more traffic than any other. Part of it was also Britain's first.
The first motorway in Britain was the Preston Bypass, which was then incorporated into the M6 when construction was continued. Today it's found between junction 29 and M55 junction 1. The M6 contains all kinds of ground-breaking sections: the section along the Lake District has won awards for enhancing the landscape, for example. In a more mundane area and the section between Shap and Tebay is the only one in Britain to have an unconnected local road running down the central reservation.
Opened in 2003, the M6 Toll bypasses Birmingham, and is Britain's first toll road. Recently completed is the A74 upgrade, which extended the M6 right up to the border, connecting to the A74(M) . The A74(M) and M74 were, when they were built, going to be renumbered as M6, creating a motorway over 350 miles long linking the M1 (and thus London) to Glasgow. That looks highly unlikely now.
However, the fact that the link between the two motorways was made at all is a cause for celebration, and it's fitting that it was on 5 December 2008 that the a new section opened — the fiftieth anniversary of the opening of the Preston Bypass.
Factfile
| M6 |
Who captained the England rugby union team in the 2011 World Cup in New Zealand? | CBRD » British Roads FAQ
British Roads FAQ
Links
You are here: Home » British Roads FAQ
As you would expect, these are the most Frequently Asked Questions where British Roads are concerned. It started off as somewhere to put answers to questions I got asked a lot, and grew into this formidable document. It's now been adopted as the official FAQ for SABRE , the Society for All British and Irish Road Enthusiasts. If the answer you want's not in here, or if you think I've missed one out, you can either ask me or pose your question to the kindly folk of SABRE who are bound to know the answer.
The FAQ is updated irregularly and erratically. Contributors are listed in no particular order at the end of this page. This system is about as organised as the roads themselves.
Other Sources of Information
CBRD has other pages explaining arcane technical terms. Try the Dictionary for a definition of words and phrases found in this FAQ and in the wider world of roads.
1.1 Who owns and runs the roads?
This is a surprisingly difficult question. There is a simple answer and a complicated answer.
The simple answer is that the public own and run them. Roads exist for the use of the public and are maintained by various government bodies at public expense. Roads in Great Britain can be divided into two categories for this purpose: trunk roads and non-trunk roads. Trunk roads (see 2.6 What is a 'trunk road'? ) are nationally important routes, which are maintained by the national highway authority of each country (for example, the Highways Agency in England). All other public roads are maintained by local authorities — usually a city or county council. Roads in Northern Ireland are all maintained by the Northern Ireland Roads Service.
The complex answer is that roads — or more properly public highways — cannot easily be said to be owned by anyone. Often the land on which they exist actually belongs to whoever owns the adjacent land, and theoretically, rather like a path across a field, the land is theirs even if the right of way is superimposed on top of it. If the right of way were ever to be removed, or the road were ever torn up, the land would revert to its historical owner. However, a public highway is extremely difficult to get rid of and for all practical purposes the land between its boundary fences is treated as though it is owned by the authority that maintains it.
Land for new roads that were built more recently (from the early 20th century), and did not evolve from ancient pathways and tracks, is bought from the landowner by compulsory purchase before construction begins, and is then owned, outright, by the Crown.
1.2 What are the roads like?
The British road network provides dense coverage of the whole country and is, by international standards, well developed and well maintained. It arguably has suffered from a lack of long-term planning and consistent investment.
Nearly all public roads were surfaced in the early part of the 20th century, and the country has a good coverage of purpose-built high speed roads, built from the 1950s onwards. New-build roads are subject to very high design standards. Older roads are generally well maintained and surfaced, but are rarely widened or re-aligned (particularly when compared to other countries in Western Europe) and often their courses have been unchanged for centuries.
1.3 How are the roads funded?
For trunk roads (see 2.6 What is a 'trunk road'? ), Central Government pays 100% of the maintenance costs. For roads maintained by local authorities, Central Government will pay 50% of the costs for A-roads and 30% for B-roads, with the remaining cost of maintaining these (and the entire cost of maintaining unclassified roads) met by the local authority itself.
1.4 How safe are the roads?
The UK generally has very safe roads and, compared to other countries, is among the safest places in the world to travel by road.
Motorways are the safest type of road, accounting for only 3-6% of all those killed or injured while carrying a large proportion of all road traffic. In total about 2,500 people die in road accidents every year and another 26,000 are seriously injured.
In 2013 there were 1,770 deaths on the UK's roads, which corresponds to 28 deaths per million of population. By that measure, in Europe in 2013, only Sweden had fewer deaths.
2. Classification and Numbering
2.1 How are the roads classified?
Classification refers to the allocation of numbers to British roads. Numbers are allocated on a national basis and within Great Britain each number is unique (except in certain places where a number has been duplicated by mistake). Northern Ireland has its own system which exists entirely separately.
There are three tiers of classification in both GB and NI: motorways, A-roads and B-roads. Motorways are grade-separated expressways and have 1, 2 or 3-digit numbers prefixed with 'M' or suffixed '(M)'. A-roads are the other major routes; they vary from motorway-standard to narrow local roads, and have 1, 2, 3 or 4-digit numbers prefixed with 'A'. B-roads are local routes and have 3 or 4-digit numbers prefixed with 'B'.
2.2 How are the roads numbered?
Road numbering in detail
You can read about road numbers, and the process of allocating numbers, in more detail in the Road Numbers article.
2.2.1 How are A- and B- roads numbered?
Numbering for these roads is based on nine zones which cover the mainland of Britain, numbered 1 to 9. All the roads that start in a given zone take the first digit of their route number from the number of the zone (so roads in the 5-zone include A511, B5203, etc). The zones are defined by the roads A1 to A9 and the coastline. Click the diagram to view a larger version.
These single-digit A-roads radiate from London and Edinburgh, which can be referred to as the 'hubs' of the network. A1 to A6 radiate clockwise from London; A7 to A9 from Edinburgh. The two systems align in the Scottish Borders. Each zone takes its number from the single-digit A-road on its anticlockwise edge. The exception is in Kent where the boundary between zones 1 and 2 is the river Thames and not the A2. This is to prevent a small isolated section of zone 1 falling along the bank of the river. See also 2.4 What happens when a road crosses a zone boundary? .
See 8 Contributors for copyright information on the map.
2.2.2 How are motorways numbered?
Motorways in England and Wales use their own numbering system. The principle is the same as for A- and B- roads (see 2.2.1 How are A- and B- roads numbered? ), the main difference being that in England and Wales the single-digit motorways M1 to M6 serve as zone boundaries. The different placing of the A5 and M5 means that the motorway zones look quite different to the A- and B- road zones, with zone 4 being a landlocked box in the Midlands.
In Scotland, motorways simply assume the number of the A-road they replace. In practice it is often hard to distinguish this from a zone-based system because Scotland's single-digit motorways form the same zone boundaries as its A-roads.
2.3 How are new roads allocated numbers?
New A- and B-roads can be assigned any available number within their zone. Since most two- and three-digit numbers are already taken in most zones, this usually means allocating a four-digit number. In the earliest years of road numbering, new numbers were strictly sequential, but now a "memorable" number will often be chosen — in general this means one with lots of zeroes or with multiple digits the same. On certain occasions a shorter number has been freed up through renumbering and is used: the present A14 and A42 were numbered in this way.
New motorways are very rare but when they do appear, they tend to be granted a new two-digit number. In most zones there are still plenty of numbers free.
It appears that there is no longer a reliable central list of road numbers and as a result numbers are sometimes duplicated or allocated in the incorrect zone.
2.4 What happens when a road crosses a zone boundary?
It takes its number from the furthest anticlockwise zone it enters. Examples include the A406 (London North Circular Road) which starts in the 4-zone but continues around London passing through the 5, 6 and 1 zones.
2.5 When were the roads classified, and who by?
In 1914, William Rees Jeffreys, the Secretary of the Road Board, set about commissioning the traffic surveys that would later allow the road network to be classified. The initial purpose of this work was to identify a hierarchy of roads in order to prioritise funding for maintenance. The proposals included assigning reference numbers to the roads so that they could be identified. This work was quickly halted by the start of the First World War. Sir Henry Maybury restarted the work in 1920 as Director-General of Roads in the brand new Ministry of Transport, having been Chief Engineer of the Road Board when the original surveys were started. Under the MOT it was realised that the numbers would be useful for navigation and the decision was taken to make them public. Provisional numbers were allocated within a year, and the final numbering scheme arrived in 1922-23. It is essentially the same system we use today.
2.6 What is a 'trunk road'?
"Trunk road" is a legal term that describes any road or section of road under the control of central government or one of its executive agencies (such as the Highways Agency in England). They were first established by the Trunk Road Act of 1936. They are distinct from primary routes (see 2.7 What is a 'primary route'? ) and from the colloquial meaning of the term, which refers to any major road. Any type of road may be designated a trunk road, but generally only motorways and A-roads will be trunk.
2.7 What is a 'primary route'?
Primary routes are distinct from 'trunk roads'. They are any roads that link the 'primary destinations', a fixed list of "places of traffic importance", meaning large towns, cities, and important bridges and tunnels. The routes between them will follow whichever A-roads or motorways are best to get between these locations. They exist as an aid to navigation, with green road signs and usually green colouring on maps (see 3.4.3 Green signs ). The primary route network is overlaid on the system of road numbering and primary routes often do not correspond to a single numbered route: an A-road can therefore gain and lose primary status several times along its route.
3. Signing and Directions
3.1 Where can I find information on the road signing system?
Basic signing conventions and common examples are found in the Highway Code . For the full set see "Know Your Traffic Signs" (published by the HMSO, £3.99). Diagrams of the whole lot plus all the rules and regulations that apply to them all are held in the official document, TSRGD (Traffic Sign Rules and General Directions) which is available online here . Scroll down the page for links to diagrams of each sign.
Some road signs, which are made to non-standard designs, are referred to as "non-prescribed". They are authorised on a limited basis by the Department for Transport.
3.2 Who puts up the signs?
Whoever maintains the road — either a national organisation or a local authority.
The AA and RAC, the two principal motoring clubs, were permitted to erect their own permanent road signs, to government standards, until the early 1960s. Today they still have the ability to erect temporary event signposting, which can often be seen around the country — yellow for the AA and blue for the RAC.
3.3 Who designs the signs?
Road signs in detail
The history of our current system of road signs is explored in the article War to Worboys .
There are set designs for each sign which were initially set in the 1960s by the Worboys Committee. The typeface and many of the symbols and pictograms were designed by noted graphic artists Jock Kinneir and Margaret Calvert. More graphic design details can be found at Public Lettering , and the Articles section of CBRD includes an article on the development of current road signs.
3.4 Colour coding on directional signs
3.4.1 How does the colour coding work?
Directional signs on different classes of road use several distinct background colours to allow motorists to easily tell between different types of road and information. The overall background colour of the sign indicates the class of the road or type of sign. Panels of other colours (see 3.4.8 What is patching? ) may then be overlaid on that to indicate the class of other roads or to indicate different types of information.
3.4.2 Blue signs
Blue signs with white text and white borders are found on motorways, where all direction signing uses this colour scheme.
On non-motorway roads, the same colour scheme is occasionally used for signs bearing miscellaneous written information (such as advance warnings of weight restrictions). They are also used for direction signs for pedestrians and cyclists (which are always accompanied by a pedestrian or cycle symbol).
3.4.3 Green signs
Primary A-roads (see 2.7 What is a 'primary route'? ) use green-backed signs, with white borders and text, and route numbers highlighted in gold. Green signs with white text but yellow borders are occasionally seen marking emergency services access points to places like airports and stadiums.
3.4.4 White signs
Signs with a white background are used on non-primary roads, with black text and black borders. Until 1994 there was an additional set that used black text and blue borders for 'local' directions, which were used on all types of road, but these are now being phased out.
White signs also exist with other colour combinations. Those with black text and red borders, for example, are used for directions to Ministry of Defence sites.
Devonshire County Council has a unique system to signpost its minor routes. White signs with no border and all-capitals black text indicate the most minor routes suitable for local traffic; white signs with brown borders and mixed-case black text indicate roads suitable for light traffic; white signs with blue borders and mixed-case black text (the same as those phased out elsewhere since 1994) indicate roads suitable for general traffic.
3.4.5 Yellow signs
Temporary signs, such as diversion routes or direction signs through roadworks, have black text on a yellow background. In the late 2000s black-on-yellow signs were erected in a small number of locations on motorways to draw attention to unusual junction layouts, but this is not standard practice and technically is not permitted.
3.4.6 Brown signs
Tourist attractions are signed using brown-backed signs with white text and borders. Most also include a small pictogram to represent the attraction (a silhouette of an elephant for directions to a zoo, or of a football for directions to a stadium, for example).
3.4.7 Black signs
Directions for Heavy Goods Vehicles (HGVs) appear in white on black, usually with a pictogram of a lorry to make clear who the sign applies to.
3.4.8 What are patches and panels?
In 1994 the TSRGD (see 3.1 Where can I find information on the road signing system? ) was revised and the "Guildford Rules" were introduced. The rules created panels, the biggest update to direction signs in thirty years. The practice allows signs of one type to incorporate the colour conventions for other types of route, in order to more clearly show the types of route at a junction.
For example, a green primary route sign could have a white panel with black text for a side road that is non-primary. Panels of any colour can be applied to directional signs, and the effect when used properly is to clearly denote the standard and type of road well in advance. It also, sadly, has the potential to create over-complicated signs if used improperly (see right).
This innovation extended the existing system of "patches". Patches existed before the Guildford Rules, and allowed a route number for a higher class of road to appear on non-primary direction signs on a green background. The creation of panels extended this to colour-code whole blocks of text according to the type of road they represented.
The main exception to the application of Guildford Rules is on the mainline of motorways, where signs remain white-on-blue in all circumstances, though patching does appear where a motorway sliproad or mainline is about to terminate on non-motorway roads.
3.5 Shapes of signs
The shapes and, in many cases, symbols on British traffic signs were based on the various versions of the Geneva Convention which define standard international road signs. The standard was adopted after the Worboys Committee looked at a variety of systems, including American yellow diamonds.
3.5.1 Triangular signs
Triangular signs are used as warnings, advising the road user about junctions ahead, road conditions and other hazards. A black symbol appears on a white equilateral triangle (pointing upwards) with a thick red border. The usual warning that a road does not have priority at a junction reads "Give Way" and is an inverted triangle.
3.5.2 Circular signs
Sometimes referred to as "roundels", circular signs give orders. White circles with thick red borders and black symbols give negative instructions — things you must NOT do. Blue circles with thin white borders and white symbols give positive instructions — things you MUST do.
3.5.3 Rectangular signs
Written information is relayed using rectangular signs. These come in many different colours and sizes. See 3.4 Colour coding for more information.
3.5.4 Why do signs have rounded corners?
Partly this is done for aesthetic reasons, but also because it is less dangerous for engineers fitting them. The New York State Department of Transport changed its policy to using rounded corners instead of squared ones after a number of complaints from its workforce.
3.6 Fonts on signs
3.6.1 What font is used?
There are two alphabets used on all road signs, which are "Transport Medium" and "Transport Heavy". These are differently weighted versions of the same letterforms; "Transport Medium" has a thinner stroke width and is used for light text on a dark background, while "Transport Heavy" has a thicker stroke width and is used for dark text on light backgrounds. Both were adapted from the existing typeface "Akzidenz-Grotesk" by graphic artist Jock Kinneir in the early 1960s.
Kinneir also designed a third typeface to complete the set, called "Transport Light", which was intended for use on internally lit signs. It was never adopted.
Not all signs use the Transport alphabets, usually as the result of a design mistake. North Yorkshire County Council sometimes use a generic Helvetica or Univers font (which looks very ugly indeed) and the Welsh Office used to have a fondness for Arial, though none of these imaginative substitutes are permitted.
3.6.2 What is the taller font used on motorway signs?
Both motorway and all-purpose road signs use the same "Transport" alphabets (see 3.6.1 What font is used? ) for most of the sign text. However, because Motorway signage was developed separately, a different style is used for the road numbers on motorways. It appears to be taller and thinner than other letters.
This different lettering is called "Motorway Permanent", and only contains the numbers 0-9, plus the other characters N, E, S and W (for cardinal directions); A, B and M (for road numbers); plus parantheses and the ampersand (&). As of summer 2007, the Department for Transport has modified Motorway Permanent to allow the road number "M6 Toll" to be written, meaning three new letters have been drawn up. The word appears as one single entity, "Toll", not as three separate letters. Existing signs on the M6 Toll had "Toll" written in Transport Medium (see above). The new lettering will be used whenever signs on the motorway are replaced.
M6 Toll, rendered in Motorway Permanent
There is also a heavier version of the alphabet called "Motorway Temporary", used for black-on-yellow temporary motorway signs. It has not been adapted to include the word "Toll", though it is not clear why this is so. Motorway Permanent was, like the Transport alphabets, developed by Jock Kinneir. Some sources claim this was done by modifying an existing typeface called Commercial Grotesque, but this has been difficult to confirm.
Technically, while Motorway appears taller than Transport, it is technically the same size. The characters stick out of the top and bottom of the line, while the width of each character is the same as the corresponding character in Transport.
3.6.3 What other countries use the font?
Both the "Transport" alphabets (see 3.6.1 What font is used? ) and "Motorway Permanent" (see 3.6.2 What is the taller font used on motorway signs? ) have been appropriated for use by other countries. You can see Transport on non-motorway signs in Spain (in a modified form even heavier than Transport Heavy), all road signs in Iceland and Ireland (both using only Transport Heavy), and some signs in Italy (which also uses a condensed version — the two often appear on the same sign and together look quite unpleasant). Malaysia seems to have adopted Transport in recent years.
Egypt and China both use Transport on road signs for the English translations of place names and instructions, and Greece sometimes uses a Worboys-reminiscent signage system complete with Transport font, but doesn't remain loyal to one particular typeface.
Ireland and Portugal also use the "Motorway Permanent" alphabet, Ireland on motorways and Portugal on all roads.
3.7 Old signs
3.7.1 What did the old-style signs look like?
Pre-1963 directional signs were black on white at all times, with direction arrows often sticking out of the side or top of the white panel — leading to very odd sign shapes. In urban areas they frequently had a coloured backing panel, yellow for main roads and blue for local directions. Older versions were cast, with the lettering standing out from the surface; later ones were produced like modern signs, with vinyl overlays on sheet metal.
Non-directional signs had a black on white panel with a pictogram and text describing the hazard or instruction. The top of the pole was surmounted with a cut-out shape signifying the type of sign — a hollow red triangle for warnings, a solid red disc for restrictions, etc.
These signs are frequently referred to as pre-Worboys signs, a term that encompasses all road signage prior to the Worboys report and the introduction of the modern road sign system in 1963.
The Photo Gallery includes a large set of pictures of Old Signs with numerous examples.
Image courtesy of Tony.
3.7.2 What font did they use?
It was an all-capitals font, sans-serif and quite similar to a narrower version of the American FHWA fonts. It appears to have been simply called "MOT".
3.7.3 Where can I see examples?
Surprisingly, these old signs — though officially phased out from 1963 — are still all over the place. Surefire places to spot them are the North York Moors, Yorkshire Dales and the Scottish borders. There are a few in every major city — with definite sightings in Bristol and Birmingham for example — and taking any little-used country backroad gives you a fair chance of seeing one. Directional signs are more common since they are more similar to modern signs and can safely be left in place. The example above at question 3.7.1 was taken in London's West End, though almost all examples of these signs in central London have been replaced since about 2010.
3.7.4 Why are they still around?
While they were originally programmed for complete removal by 1970, many are still standing, despite repeated demands from central government over the years that they are removed. Several local authorities apparently have a policy of maintaining them as much as is possible — North Yorkshire County Council for one — and very often the ones that are left are on roads of such little importance that it isn't worth replacing them.
3.7.5 How were motorways originally signed?
Motorways had white-on-blue signs from the start, and used the Transport and Motorway alphabets (see 3.6.1 What font is used? and 3.6.2 What is the taller font used on motorway signs? ). The most interesting difference is to the standard exit signage.
Modern designs have a vertical arrow for the motorway mainline, with a straight arrow leaving the mainline at about 60 degrees to indicate the exit. The originals had the exit curving away to the left, and the mainline arrow was angled to the right by about ten degrees. It's for this reason that modern-day road enthusiasts have affectionately termed them "wonky signs". Up until the late 1980s these signs could be seen on rural sections of M6 (especially the old Lancaster Bypass section) and on southern sections of the M1. It is now thought that none are left.
These original motorway signs are often referred to as Anderson signs, after the Anderson Committee which was responsible for formalising their design in the 1950s.
3.8 Specific questions about signing and directions
3.8.1 What do the black and yellow shape symbols found on direction signs mean?
Diversion routes in detail
You can read a full article on Emergency Diversion Routes and their black-and-yellow symbols.
Some direction signs have small coloured shapes patched on — a circle, square, diamond or triangle — in black and yellow. These are used to mark diversion routes, most commonly for diversions around motorway closures, but they can also be used to get around height or weight limits.
In the event of a motorway being closed, "trigger signs" are placed to instruct drivers to follow a certain shape in order to rejoin the motorway at the next junction.
There are a range of different shapes to allow diversions for traffic travelling in different directions and on different motorways to cross without conflicting. Often the symbols are stuck haphazardly onto existing signage.
4. Motorways
Wesley Johnston has full details at the Northern Ireland Roads Site .
5. Other Roads
5.1 Specific questions about the non-motorway road network
5.1.1 What's so bad about the Hanger Lane Gyratory?
Otherwise known as "Malfunction Junction", the Hanger Lane Gyratory is the interchange where London's North Circular Road (A406) crosses Western Avenue (A40). It was rebuilt in its current form in the 1970s to eliminate the flat signalised junction that preceded it. Essentially, it is a simple roundabout interchange but it is seriously restricted for space and its capacity is not adequate for the situation. It regularly backs up in all directions which is quite an achievement to say that the A40 doesn't even touch the roundabout itself.
5.1.2 What's wrong with the A42's number?
For complex historical reasons best explained in 5.1.3 Where was the original A42? , the A42 presently lies between Measham (near Tamworth) and Nottingham. The problem with this is that is is completely out of the correct numbering zone, and by all rights should begin with a 5. It isn't unusual for a road to be entirely out of zone, but usually this is because of gradual renumbering which erased the section of the road connecting it to its rightful zone, whereas the A42 was dropped directly into the wrong zone and no portion of it in its present alignment has ever been in the 4-zone.
5.1.3 Where was the original A42?
When roads were first numbered, the A42 was a major road from the A4 at Reading, through Oxford and up to Birmingham. It was renumbered very early on so that the A34 trunk road could be extended over its route and onwards to Manchester. The remaining part from Reading to Oxford was changed too, and is now the A329 and A4074. For a long time the number was unallocated.
In the 1970s the M42 was built, presumably numbered so it wouldn't be associated with another road anywhere else. When the 1980s extension towards Nottingham was built, it was designated an all-purpose road, not a motorway, and fortunately the A42 number was available to match its motorway counterpart.
5.1.4 Why is part of the A30 called the A303?
No section of the A30 is called the A303. Parts of the A30 from the M3 to Honiton are, however, of a very low standard, and long-distance traffic is directed onto the A303 instead. Originally, the A30 formed the main route from London to Penzance on its own, but as traffic increased and the road had to be improved, the routing of the A303 was picked as superior for whatever reason and this road was improved instead where it ran parallel. As a result, the A30 is a non-primary locally maintained road through the section where the A303 runs parallel, whereas the A303 is a national trunk road.
5.1.5 What happened to the road numbers around Cambridge, and where did the A604 go?
Large-scale renumbering of the roads around Cambridge means the city's road numbers have changed completely since 1990. The A604 has been completely wiped from the map, both at Cambridge and everywhere else it once ran. In brief, this is due to the A14, which has obliterated the need for the A45 and A604 in the area by trying to do both their jobs (though, between the M11 and A1 at least, it isn't doing very well at this).
5.1.6 Which is the shortest A or B road?
The simplest answer is that nobody knows. SABRE has been attempting to catalogue all the numbered roads in the UK since early 2002, but has yet to produce a definitive answer to this question. From their research it is also known that the Department for Transport no longer keeps an accurate and up to date record of all classified roads; in fact, even in its current state as a work in progress, SABRE's listing is alsmost certainly the more accurate and up to date of the two. Despite this, because the very shortest roads are extremely difficult to spot on maps, and because they almost never appear on signs, SABRE can never be sure it has found them all. Probably the shortest one found so far is all of 105 metres long.
5.1.7 Where is the greatest vertical separation between two carriageways of the same road?
On some dual carriageway roads, particularly in hilly terrain, the opposing directions of traffic might find themselves split across two levels, with one carriageway higher than the other. The M5 south of Bristol has a famous section like this, running for several miles with about 9m (30 ft) vertical difference between the northbound and southbound carriageways, as it passes through the Gordano Valley.
The greatest difference is actually in a much less mountainous area. It is believed to be on the A282, which forms the link between the two ends of the M25 east of London. Northbound traffic is carried in twin two-lane tunnels under the river, while southbound traffic crosses over the water on a four-lane cable-stayed bridge. There is the entire depth of the River Thames, plus space above it for shipping clearance, between the two opposing directions of travel.
5.1.8. What are bar code signs for?
On some trunk roads (and former trunk roads) small signs placed parallel to the kerb are mounted after junctions. They are a disused system for accurately tracking the location of maintenance vehicles. Mark Thorne writes:
During the 1990s, the Transport Research Laboratory were carrying out trials of condition surveys of the roads using lasers, cameras etc. and they needed a simple method of locating where they were on the road network. They could measure the lengths of road by means of the equipment on the vehicle carrying out the survey, resetting the chainage (length) at known points as they drove over the 2 white dots (known as Node Points) you see at the start & end of slip roads, centre of junctions etc.
These days GPS is used to locate the survey data to a great degree of accuracy, typically to the nearest centimetre.
5.2 Central London
5.2.1 What's so complicated about central London's roads?
Heated debates on the SABRE forums started when someone asked where the roads go in Central London. Theoretically the A-roads A1-A6 radiate from London to form zone boundaries for road numbering purposes, but what exactly happens where they all theoretically meet is not simple. The following is a breakdown of where each road goes and where the zone boundaries go. Other important roads are also here. Descriptions start from the North or South Circulars.
5.2.2 The route of the A1
The Great North Road runs from London to Edinburgh. It enters from the North, along Falloden Way, Lyttleton Road, Aylmer Road, Archway Road, Holloway Road, Upper Street, Goswell Road, Aldersgate Street to end infront of St Paul's Cathedral on Newgate Street, which is A40 to the west and unclassified to the east.
5.2.3 The route of the A2
Enters along Shooters Hill Road, Blackheath Hill, Blackheath Road, New Cross Road, Old Kent Road and Great Dover Street to end on the A3 Borough High Street
5.2.4 The route of the A3
Common North Side, Long Road, Clapham High Street, Clapham Road, Kennington Park Road, Borough High Street, London Bridge to end at Monument. North of this point, the road is the A10.
5.2.5 The route of the A4
Cedars Road, Ellesmere Road, Hogarth Lane, Great West Road, Talgarth Road, West Cromwell Road, Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, Knightsbridge, Piccadilly, Pall Mall, Strand, Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, Cannon Street to end at Monument with the A3 and A10.
5.2.6 The route of the A5
Edgware Road, Cricklewood Broadway, Shoot Up Hill, Kilburn High Road, Maida Vale, and Edgware Road to end on the A40 Bayswater Road at Marble Arch.
5.2.7 The route of the A6
The A6 doesn't, and never has, actually reached London. Historically it started on the A1 at High Barnet, where the A1081 forks off the A1000 today. The construction of the M25 meant that it was cropped short and now starts even further north at Luton.
5.2.8 The route of the A40
Western Avenue, Westway, Notting Hill Gate, Bayswater Road (from here forming the 1/5 zone boundary), Oxford Street, High Holborn, Newgate Street to end at St. Paul's Cathedral along with the A1.
5.2.9 The route of the Inner Ring Road
Within the Inner Ring Road, no other road numbers are signed, which is why the above was so fiercely debated. It takes on a lot of numbers in its erratic route around the city's streets (and it is literally city streets too, not purpose-built road).
6. Technical Terms
An explanation of most technical terms used by road enthusiasts can be found in the CBRD Dictionary . Explanations of these terms are no longer held in this FAQ.
7. More Information
7.1 Other roads websites
Other websites about British roads can be found in the first section of the Links page. Outside Britain some sites are found on the Links page, but a much better resource is AAroads who have links to the international roads community.
7.2 Discussion forums and newsgroups
The single biggest forum for the discussion of UK Roads is the SABRE Forum , part of the SABRE website . These boards are the central part of the Society for All British Road Enthusiasts (SABRE), and indeed this FAQ list has been adopted as their official FAQ. Other UK forums are the Usenet newsgroups uk.transport and uk.rec.driving , though both these tend to be concerned with wider motoring and political issues. Internationally the most active roads group is misc.transport.road (MTR), though international discussion is frequently drowned out by American voices here.
8. Contributors
I afraid I haven't kept a full record of those who have contributed and so the following is sadly a partial listing. Many thanks to those listed below and anyone else who has lent a hand.
Harry Strong, Chris Armitage, David McMahon, Ian Carr, Chris McKenna, Martin Radford, Terry March, Brian Freeman, Wesley Johnston, Tristram Grevatt, Peter Courtenay, Andrew Jackson, Alan Williams, Nick Booth, Ian Duff, Toby Speight, Jonathan Winkler, Simon Hollins, Ben, Patrick, Tony Baker, Jon B, Phil Baines, Richard Bullock, David D Miller, Tim Lidbetter, Ben Smithurst, Paul Martin, Guy Barry, Paul Berry, Simon M4Man, Adrian "Dadge", and of course the ever-knowledgeable members of SABRE.
Maps showing zone boundaries above: Reproduced from Ordnance Survey map data by permission of the Ordnance Survey © Crown copyright 2001.
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In astronomy, ‘The Big Dipper’ is another name for which constellation? | Astronomy for Kids - The Big Dipper
A map of Ursa Major.
The Big Dipper and Ursa Major
Since the Big Dipper is part of the constellation Ursa Major (The Great Bear), it is technically not a constellation. It's what is called an asterism, which is the name given to interesting star patterns that are easily recognizable, but not one of the "official" constellations.
Be that as it may, the Big Dipper is probably one of the first objects in the sky that we learn to find and identify. It's distinctive position at the top of the summer night sky and the graceful curve of its handle make it easy for almost anyone to find.
The link at right will take you to a map of the Ursa Major constellation where you will see where the Big Dipper is in relation to the actual constellation.
Map of the Big Dipper
A map of the Big Dipper.
The Big Dipper and its Companions
The Big Dipper is very impressive all by itself, but it also is very close to a number of other very interesting sights. Included in these sights, and noted on the map at right, are the Pinwheel galaxy and the Whirlpool galaxy. If you have a good pair of binoculars or a small telescope, you should be able to find these galaxies using the map we have provided. When you find them, they will usually look like a small smudge of light instead of the sharp well-defined light that you are used to seeing when you look at a star.
There are also several double stars in the Big Dipper, which you should be able to see using a small telescope. All in all, the Big Dipper is a very interesting place indeed.
Big Dipper and Polaris
A map of the Big Dipper and Polaris.
A Compass in the Sky
As you spend more time watching the sky, you will learn that the stars in one constellation can help lead you to other sky landmarks. The Big Dipper is no exception as you can use two of the stars in its "cup" to find the North Star and you can use the arc of its handle to find the giant red star Arcturus.
As the Big Dipper rotates around our north sky "pole", in what is caled a "circumpolar" orbit, two of the stars in its bowl can always ppoint the way to Polaris, the North Star. Although Polaris is not often at exactly North on a compass, it's fairly close and can help you get your directions when you are outside at night.
Terence Dickinson's book "Nightwatch", which we have a link to on the main Constellations page, has many examples of using constellations and their stars to find your way around the night sky. We recommend it highly.
Follow the Drinking Gourd
In the United States, during the nineteenth century, African-Americans that were being held as slaves in the south made very practical use of the Big Dipper's consistent northern sky location. The Big Dipper was also known as the Drinking Gourd and slaves trying to make their way to freedom used it as a guidepost to find their way North and escape the bonds of slavery.
The lyrics of folk song "Follow the Drinking Gourd" served as guide to help them find their way north and its chorus reminded them to always follow the Drinking Gourd, or Big Dipper.
When Can I See the Big Dipper?
The very best time to look at the Big Dipper is in the middle of the summer, when it is easily found on any clear night in the northernmost part of the night sky. Once you are outside, look in the northern sky and try to find it handle. The arc of the handle will stand out and once you have found the handle, finding the bowl is easy. Once you have found the entire Big Dipper, use the charts we have to find Polaris and Arcturus. You will be surprised at how easy it is.
Find Out More About the Big Dipper
| Big Dipper |
Which World War II battle was officially known as ‘The Ardennes Offensive’? | Big-Dipper – One Minute Astronomer
by Brian Ventrudo
The Big Dipper is perhaps the most famous and easy to find star group in the northern skies. While it’s not a constellation itself, the Big Dipper makes up the brightest section of the large and sprawling constellation Ursa Major, the Great Bear. There’s much to see for stargazers in and around the Big Dipper. Let’s take a look…
The stars of the Big Dipper include, from handle-tip to bowl: Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phad, Dubhe, and Merak (see image below). The dipper shape is a coincidence, but most of these stars (save for Alkaid and Dubhe), along with a few others, are moving together through space to a point in the constellation Sagittarius. The stars form a “moving group”, a loose association of stars once part of a star cluster but no longer gravitationally bound to one another. This so-called Ursa Major Moving Group is also recorded in Per Collinder’s list of star groups as Collinder 285.
********** Highly Recommended **********
Do you suffer from light-polluted city skies? The FREE Urban Astronomer’s Survival Guide will help you! Discover how to see even faint nebulae and galaxies, even from the center of a big city. It’s enough for a lifetime of viewing! Click here to learn more…
The stars of the Big Dipper and Ursa Major (click to enlarge)
The Big Dipper, or the “Plough” as it’s called in Great Britain, makes up the body and tail of Ursa Major, one of Ptolemy’s original 48 constellations from the 2nd century A.D. The bear’s head is marked by the star Muscida, the forepaws by Talitha, and the rear paws by Tania Borealis and Tania Australis.
Greek, Hebrew, and some native American cultures all see this constellation as a bear. According to Iroquois legend, the bowl of the Big Dipper is a giant bear and the stars of the handle are three warriors chasing it. As the constellation is low in the autumn evening sky, legend explains the hunters had injured the bear and its blood turned the leaves of the trees to red.
Greek legend holds the bear is the poor Callisto, a beautiful nymph who caught the eye of Zeus. His wife Hera turned Callisto into a bear and sent her into the forest. Thinking she was a fearsome beast, Callisto’s son Arcas almost killed her. To prevent this tragedy, Zeus cast them both into the sky.
Ursa Major is circumpolar for much of the northern hemisphere, which means it never sets below the horizon. But it’s highest in the sky in the evening hours from March through early July. In the southern hemisphere, at least from South Africa and Australia, you can just glimpse the star Alkaid in the tip of the handle of the Dipper in late May on the northern horizon. From southern parts of New Zealand, alas, the Dipper is never seen.
The Big Dipper is an excellent base of operations for finding other stars in the northern hemisphere. Draw an imaginary line from Merak through Dubhe out of the cup of the dipper and continue through 5x their separation to find Polaris, the North Star.
Or draw an imaginary arc along the handle of the Dipper and extend the arc around the sky. This leads you to the very bright star Arcturus in the constellation Boötes. Continue to reach Spica in Virgo. Remember: “Arc to Arcturus and Speed on to Spica.”
Or follow the other two stars in the cup of the dipper, Megrez and Phecda, down below the cup to get to Regulus, the brightest star in Leo.
For advanced stargazers, Ursa Major is awash in galaxies. We’ve met the superb pair M81 and M82 before. Other Messier objects include the harder-to-find Owl Nebula (M97) and the Pinwheel Galaxy (M101). Dozens more fainter galaxies await the experienced stargazer with a bigger telescope…
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How many days are in a Leap Year? | How Many Days Are in a Year? - PUMAS
View PUMAS Example
How Many Days Are in a Year?
Background: The true length of a year on Earth is 365.2422 days, or about 365.25 days. We keep our calendar in sync with the seasons by having most years 365 days long but making just under 1/4 of all years 366-day "leap" years.
Exercise: Design a reasonable calendar for an imaginary planet. Your calendar will consist of a pattern of 366-day "leap" years and 365-day regular years that approximates your planet's average number of days per year.
Grade Level: High School (9-12)
Subject Keywords: Leap year, Year, Calendar, Error analysis, Successive approximations, Fractions
Author(s): Evan M. Manning
| three hundred and sixty six |
In England and Wales, what is the date of the legal birthday for someone born on 29th February? | Number of days in 2014 - between January 1st, 2014 and January 1st, 2015
›› Date difference from Jan 1, 2014 to Jan 1, 2015
The total number of days between Wednesday, January 1st, 2014 and Thursday, January 1st, 2015 is
365 days
.
This is equal to 1 year.
This does not include the end date, so it's accurate if you're measuring your age in days, or the total days between the start and end date. But if you want the duration of an event that includes both the starting date and the ending date, then it would actually be
366 days
.
If you're counting workdays or weekends, there are 261 weekdays and 104 weekend days.
If you include the end date of Jan 1, 2015 which is a Thursday, then there would be 262 weekdays and 104 weekend days including both the starting Wednesday and the ending Thursday.
365 days is equal to 52 weeks and 1 day.
The total time span from 2014-01-01 to 2015-01-01 is 8,760 hours .
This is equivalent to 525,600 minutes .
You can also convert 365 days to 31,536,000 seconds .
›› January, 2014 calendar
January 1st, 2015 is a Thursday. It is the 1st day of the year, and in the 1st week of the year (assuming each week starts on a Sunday), or the 1st quarter of the year. There are 31 days in this month. 2015 is not a leap year, so there are 365 days in this year. The short form for this date is 1/1/2015.
›› Enter dates
Enter two dates below to find the number of days between them. For best results, avoid entering years before 1753. Examples include 1980-05-31 or Jun 13, 1980. You can also type words like today or yesterday, or use the American format, 1/17/2017.
Number of days between:
I'm feeling lucky, show me a random date difference .
›› Date calculator
This site provides an online date calculator to help you find the difference in the number of days between any two calendar dates. Simply enter the start and end date to calculate the duration of any event. You can also use this tool to determine how many days have passed since your birthday, or measure the amount of time until your baby's due date. The calculations use the Gregorian calendar , which was created in 1582 and later adopted in 1752 by Britain and the eastern part of what is now the United States. For best results, use dates after 1752 or verify any data if you are doing genealogy research. Historical calendars have many variations, including the ancient Roman calendar and the Julian calendar. Leap years are used to match the calendar year with the astronomical year. If you're trying to figure out the date that occurs in X days from today, switch to the Days From Now calculator instead.
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In which Gilbert and Sullivan opera does Frederic only count his Leap Year birthdays, so his apprenticeship would not end until he is in his eighties? | The Pirates of Penzance
The Pirates of Penzance
by Arthur Sullivan and libretto by W. S. Gilbert
The Pirates of Penzance; or, The Slave of Duty, is a comic opera in two acts, with music by Arthur Sullivan and libretto by W. S. Gilbert. The opera’s official premiere was at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in New York City on 31 December 1879, where the show was well-received by both audiences and critics.[1] Its London debut was on 3 April 1880, at the Opera Comique, where it ran for a very successful 363 performances, having already been playing successfully for over three months in New York.
The story concerns Frederic, who, having completed his 21st year, is released from his apprenticeship to a band of tender-hearted pirates. He meets Mabel, the daughter of Major-General Stanley, and the two young people fall instantly in love. Frederic finds out, however, that he was born on February 29, and so, technically, he only has a birthday each leap year. His apprenticeship indentures state that he remains apprenticed to the pirates until his 21st birthday, and so he must serve for another 63 years.[2] Mabel agrees to wait for him faithfully.
Pirates was the fifth Gilbert and Sullivan collaboration and introduced the much-parodied Major-General’s Song. The opera was performed for a century by the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company in Britain and many other opera companies and repertory companies worldwide.
It has received several modernised productions, including Joseph Papp’s 1981 production on Broadway, which ran for 787 performances, winning the Tony Award for Best Revival and the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Musical, and spawned many imitations. Pirates remains popular today, taking its place along with The Mikado and H.M.S. Pinafore as one of the most frequently played Gilbert and Sullivan operas
Background
The Pirates of Penzance was the only Gilbert and Sullivan opera to have its official premiere in the United States. At the time, American law offered no copyright protection to foreigners. After their previous opera, H.M.S. Pinafore, was a hit in London, over a hundred American companies quickly mounted unauthorised productions, often taking considerable liberties with the text and paying no royalties to the creators.[3] Gilbert and Sullivan hoped to forestall further “copyright piracy” by mounting the first production of their next opera in America, before others could copy it, and by delaying publication of the score and libretto.[4] They succeeded in keeping for themselves the direct profits of the first production of the opera by opening the production themselves on Broadway, prior to the London production. They also operated U.S. touring companies.[3] However, Gilbert, Sullivan, and their producer, Richard D’Oyly Carte, failed in their efforts over the next decade, to control the American performance copyrights over their operas.[5]
Genesis
After the success of Pinafore, Gilbert was eager to get started on the next opera, and he began working on the libretto in December 1878.[6] He re-used several elements of his 1870 one-act piece, Our Island Home, which had introduced a pirate “chief”, Captain Bang. Bang was mistakenly apprenticed to a pirate band as a child by his deaf nursemaid. Also, Bang, like Frederic, had never seen a woman before and was affected by a keen a sense of duty, as an apprenticed pirate, until the passage of his twenty-first birthday freed him from his articles of indenture.[7] George Bernard Shaw wrote that Gilbert, who had earlier adapted Offenbach’s Les brigands, drew on that work also for his new libretto.[8] The composition of the music for Pirates was unusual, in that Sullivan wrote the music for the acts in reverse, intending to bring the completed Act II with him to New York, with Act I existing only in sketches. When he arrived in New York, however, he found that he had left the sketches behind, and he had to reconstruct the first act from memory.[9]
Poster for the copyright performance at PaigntonGilbert told a correspondent many years later that Sullivan was unable to recall his setting of the entrance of the women’s chorus, so they substituted the chorus “Climbing over rocky mountain” from their earlier opera, Thespis.[10] Sullivan’s manuscript for Pirates contains pages removed from a Thespis score, with the vocal parts altered from their original context as a four-part chorus. Some scholars (e.g. Tillett and Spencer, 2000) have offered evidence that Gilbert and Sullivan had planned all along to re-use “Climbing over rocky mountain,” and perhaps other parts of Thespis, noting that the presence of the unpublished Thespis score in New York, when there were no plans to revive it, might not have been accidental. On 10 December 1879, Sullivan wrote a letter to his mother about the new opera, upon which he was hard at work in New York. “I think it will be a great success, for it is exquisitely funny, and the music is strikingly tuneful and catching.”
The work’s title is a multi-layered joke. On the one hand, Penzance was a docile seaside resort in 1879, and not the place where one would expect to encounter pirates.[11] On the other hand, the title was also a jab at the theatrical pirates who had staged unlicensed productions of H.M.S. Pinafore in America.[12] To secure British copyright, a D’Oyly Carte touring company gave a perfunctory performance of Pirates the afternoon before the New York premiere, at the Royal Bijou Theatre in Paignton, Devon, organised by Helen Lenoir (who would later marry Richard D’Oyly Carte). The cast, which was performing Pinafore in the evenings in Torquay, travelled to nearby Paignton for the matinee, where they read their parts from scripts carried onto the stage, making do with whatever costumes they had on hand.[13]
Production and Aftermath
Pirates opened on 31 December 1879 in New York and was an immediate hit. On 2 January 1880, Sullivan wrote, in another letter to his mother from New York, “The libretto is ingenious, clever, wonderfully funny in parts, and sometimes brilliant in dialogue – beautifully written for music, as is all Gilbert does. … The music is infinitely superior in every way to the Pinafore – ‘tunier’ and more developed, of a higher class altogether. I think that in time it will be very popular.”[14] Sullivan’s prediction was correct. After a strong run in New York and several American tours, Pirates opened in London on 3 April 1880, running for 363 performances there.[15] It remains one of the most popular G&S works.[16][17] The critics’ notices were generally excellent in both New York and London.[18][19]
The character of Major-General Stanley was widely taken to be a caricature of the popular general, Sir Garnet Wolseley. The biographer Michael Ainger, however, doubts that Gilbert intended a caricature of Wolseley, identifying instead General Henry Turner, uncle of Gilbert’s wife, as the pattern for the “modern Major-General”. Gilbert disliked Turner, who, unlike the progressive Wolseley, was of the old school of officers. Nevertheless, in the original London production, George Grossmith imitated Wolseley’s mannerisms and appearance, particularly his large moustache, and the audience recognised the allusion. Wolseley himself, according to his biographer, took no offence at the caricature[20] and sometimes sang “I am the very model of a modern Major-General” for the private amusement of his family and friends.[21]
Act I
On the coast of Cornwall, at the time of Queen Victoria’s reign, Frederic, a young man with a strong sense of duty, celebrates, amidst the pirates, the completion of his twenty-first year and the apparent end of his apprenticeship (“Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry”). The pirates’ maid of all work, Ruth, appears and reveals that, as Frederic’s nursemaid long ago (“When Frederic was a little lad”), she had made a mistake “through being hard of hearing”: she had misheard Frederic’s father’s instructions and apprenticed him to a pirate, instead of to a ship’s pilot.
Marion Hood: “Yes, ’tis Mabel!”Frederic has never seen any woman other than Ruth, and he believes her to be beautiful. The pirates know better and suggest that Frederic take Ruth with him when he returns to civilisation. Frederic announces that, although it pains him to do so, such is his sense of duty that, once free from his apprenticeship, he will be forced to devote himself to their extermination. He points out that they are not very successful pirates, since, being orphans themselves, they allow their prey to go free if they too are orphans. Frederic notes that word of this has got about, so captured ships’ companies routinely claim to be orphans. Frederic invites the pirates to give up piracy and go with him, so that he need not destroy them, but the Pirate King notes that, compared with respectability, piracy is comparatively honest (“Oh! better far to live and die”). The pirates depart, leaving Frederic and Ruth. Frederic sees a group of beautiful young girls approaching the pirate lair, and realises that Ruth lied to him about her appearance (“Oh false one! You have deceived me!”). Sending Ruth away, Frederic hides before the girls arrive.
George Power, the original Frederic in LondonThe girls burst exuberantly upon the secluded spot (“Climbing over rocky mountain”). Frederic reveals himself (“Stop, ladies, pray!”) and appeals to them to help him reform (“Oh! is there not one maiden breast?”). One of them, Mabel, responds to his plea, and chides her sisters for their lack of charity (“Oh sisters deaf to pity’s name for shame!”). She sings to him (“Poor wand’ring one”), and Frederic and Mabel quickly fall in love. The other girls contemplate whether to eavesdrop or to leave the new couple alone (“What ought we to do?”), and eventually decide to “talk about the weather,” although they steal a glance or two at the affectionate couple (“How beautifully blue the sky”).
Frederic warns the girls of the pirates nearby (“Stay, we must not lose our senses”), but before they can flee, the pirates arrive and capture all the girls, intending to marry them (“Here’s a first rate opportunity”). Mabel warns the pirates that the girls’ father is a Major-General (“Hold, monsters!”), who soon arrives and introduces himself (“I am the very model of a modern Major-General”). He appeals to the pirates not to take his daughters, leaving him to face his old age alone. Having heard of the famous Pirates of Penzance, he pretends that he is an orphan to elicit their sympathy (“Oh, men of dark and dismal fate”). The soft-hearted pirates are sympathetic and release the girls (“Hail, Poetry!”), making Major-General Stanley and his daughters honorary members of their band (“Pray observe the magnanimity”).
Act II
The Major-General sits in a ruined chapel on his estate, surrounded by his daughters. His conscience is tortured by the lie that he told the pirates, and the girls attempt to console him (“Oh dry the glist’ning tear”). The Sergeant of Police and his corps arrive to announce their readiness to go forth to arrest the pirates (“When the foeman bares his steel”). The girls loudly express their admiration of the police for facing likely slaughter at the hands of fierce and merciless foes. The police are unnerved by this, and remain around (to the Major-General’s frustration) but finally leave.
“Have mercy on us!”Left alone, Frederic, who is to lead the group, pauses to reflect on his opportunity to atone for a life of piracy (“Now for the pirate’s lair”), at which point he encounters Ruth and the Pirate King. It has occurred to them that his apprenticeship was worded so as to bind him to them until his twenty-first birthday – and, because that birthday happens to be on 29 February (in a leap year), it means that technically only five birthdays have passed (“When you had left our pirate fold”), and he will not reach his twenty-first birthday until he is in his eighties. Frederic is convinced by this logic that he must rejoin the pirates, and thus he sees it as his duty to inform the Pirate King of the Major-General’s deception. The outraged outlaw declares that their “revenge will be swift and terrible” (“Away, away, my heart’s on fire”).
Frederic meets Mabel (“All is prepared”), and she pleads with him to stay (“Stay Frederic, stay”), but he explains that he must fulfil his duty to the pirates until his 21st birthday in 1940. He promises to return then and claim her. They agree to be faithful to each other until then, though to Mabel “It seems so long” (“Oh here is love and here is truth”), and Frederic departs. Mabel steels herself (“No, I’ll be brave”) and tells the police that they must go alone to face the pirates. They muse that an outlaw might be just like any other man, and it is a shame to deprive him of “that liberty which is so dear to all” (“When a felon’s not engaged in his employment”). The police hide on hearing the approach of the pirates (“A rollicking band of pirates we”), who have stolen onto the grounds, meaning to avenge themselves for the Major-General’s lie (“With cat-like tread”).
The police and the pirates prepare for the fight (“Hush, hush! not a word”). Just then, the Major-General appears, sleepless with guilt, and the pirates also hide, while General Stanley listens to the soothing sighing of the breeze (“Sighing softly to the river”). The girls come looking for him (“Now what is this and what is that”). The pirates leap to the attack, and the police rush to the defence; but the police are easily defeated, and the Pirate King urges the captured Major-General to prepare for death. The Sergeant plays his trump card, demanding that the pirates yield “in Queen Victoria’s name”; the pirates, overcome with loyalty to their Queen, do so. Ruth appears and reveals that the orphan pirates are in fact “all noblemen who have gone wrong”. The Major-General is impressed by this and all is forgiven. Frederic and Mabel are reunited, and the Major-General is happy to marry his daughters to the noble pirates after all.
Musical Numbers
Overture (includes “With cat-like tread”, “Ah, leave me not to pine”, “Pray observe the magnanimity”, “When you had left our pirate fold”, “Climbing over rocky mountain”, and “How beautifully blue the sky”)
Act I
Drawing of Richard Temple as the Pirate King 1. “Pour, oh pour, the pirate sherry” (Samuel and Chorus of Pirates)
2. “When Fred’ric was a little lad” (Ruth)
3. “Oh, better far to live and die …I am a pirate king!” (Pirate King and Chorus of Pirates)
4. “Oh! false one, you have deceiv’d me” (Frederic and Ruth)
5. “Climbing over rocky mountain” (Chorus of Girls)
6. “Stop, ladies, pray” (Edith, Kate, Frederic, and Chorus of Girls)
7. “Oh, is there not one maiden breast?” (Frederic and Chorus of Girls)
8. “Poor wand’ring one” (Mabel and Chorus of Girls)
9. “What ought we to do?” (Edith, Kate, and Chorus of Girls)
10. “How beautifully blue the sky” (Mabel, Frederic, and Chorus of Girls)
11. “Stay, we must not lose our senses” … “Here’s a first-rate opportunity to get married with impunity” (Frederic and Chorus of Girls and Pirates)
12. “Hold, monsters” (Mabel, Major-General, Samuel, and Chorus)
13. “I am the very model of a modern Major-General” (Major-General and Chorus)
14. Finale Act I (Mabel, Kate, Edith, Ruth, Frederic, Samuel, King, Major-General, and Chorus) “Oh, men of dark and dismal fate”
“I’m telling a terrible story”
“Hail, Poetry”
“Oh, happy day, with joyous glee”
“Pray observe the magnanimity”
15. “Oh, dry the glist’ning tear” (Mabel and Chorus of Girls)
16. “Then, Frederic, let your escort lion-hearted” (Frederic and Major-General)
17. “When the foeman bares his steel” (Mabel, Edith, Sergeant, and Chorus of Policemen and Girls)
18. “Now for the pirates’ lair!” (Frederic, Ruth, and King)
19. “When you had left our pirate fold” (“A paradox”) (Ruth, Frederic, and King)
20. “Away, away! My heart’s on fire!” (Ruth, Frederic, and King)
21. “All is prepar’d; your gallant crew await you” (Mabel and Frederic)
22. “Stay, Fred’ric, stay” … “Oh, here is love, and here is truth” (Mabel and Frederic)
23. “No, I’ll be brave” … “Though in body and in mind” (Reprise of “When the foeman bares his steel”) (Mabel, Sergeant, and Chorus of Police)
23a. “Sergeant, approach!” (Mabel, Sergeant of Police, and Chorus of Police)
24. “When a felon’s not engaged in his employment” (Sergeant and Chorus of Police)
25. “A rollicking band of pirates we” (Sergeant and Chorus of Pirates and Police)
26. “With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal” (Samuel and Chorus of Pirates and Police)
27. “Hush, hush, not a word!” (Frederic, King, Major-General, and Chorus of Police and Pirates)
28. Finale, Act II (Ensemble) “Sighing softly to the river”
“Now what is this, and what is that?”
“Frederic here! Oh, joy! Oh, rapture!”
“With base deceit you worked upon our feelings!”
“You/We triumph now”
“Away with them, and place them at the bar!”
“Poor wandering ones!”
Critical Reception
The notices from critics were generally excellent in both New York and London in 1880.[23] In New York, the Herald and the Tribune both dedicated considerable space to their reviews. The Herald took the view that “the new work is in every respect superior to the Pinafore, the text more humorous, the music more elegant and more elaborate.”[24] The Tribune called it “a brilliant and complete success”, commenting, “The humor of the Pirates is richer, but more recondite. It demands a closer attention to the words [but] there are great stores of wit and drollery … which will well repay exploration. … The music is fresh, bright, elegant and merry, and much of it belongs to a higher order of art than the most popular of the tunes of Pinafore.”[25] The New York Times also praised the work, writing, “it would be impossible for a confirmed misanthrope to refrain from merriment over it”, though the paper doubted if Pirates could repeat the prodigious success of Pinafore.[18]
After the London premiere, the critical consensus, led by the theatrical newspaper The Era, was that the new work marked a distinct advance on Gilbert and Sullivan’s earlier works.[19] The Pall Mall Gazette said, “Of Mr. Sullivan’s music we must speak in detail on some other occasion. Suffice it for the present to say that in the new style which he has marked out for himself it is the best he has written.”[26] The Graphic wrote, “That no composer can meet the requirements of Mr. Gilbert like Mr. Sullivan, and vice versa, is a fact universally admitted. One might fancy that verse and music were of simultaneous growth, so closely and firmly are they interwoven. Away from this consideration, the score of The Pirates of Penzance is one upon which Mr. Sullivan must have bestowed earnest consideration, for independently of its constant flow of melody, it is written throughout for voices and instruments with infinite care, and the issue is a cabinet miniature of exquisitely defined proportions. … That the Pirates is a clear advance upon its precursors, from Trial by Jury to H.M.S. Pinafore, cannot be denied; it contains more variety, marked character, careful workmanship, and is in fact a more finished artistic achievement … a brilliant success.”[27]
There were a few dissenting comments: The Manchester Guardian thought both author and composer had drawn on the works of their predecessors: “Mr. Gilbert … seems to have borrowed an idea from Sheridan’s The Critic; Mr. Sullivan’s music is sprightly, tuneful and full of ‘go’, although it is certainly lacking in originality.”[28] The Sporting Times noted, “It doesn’t appear to have struck any of the critics yet that the central idea in The Pirates of Penzance is taken from Our Island Home, which was played by the German Reeds some ten years ago.”[29] The Times thought Gilbert’s wit outran his dramatic invention, and Sullivan’s music was not quite as good as that of The Sorcerer, which the Times critic called a masterpiece.[30]
Musical Analysis
The overture to The Pirates of Penzance was composed by Sullivan and his musical assistant Alfred Cellier. It follows the pattern of most Savoy opera overtures: a lively opening (the melody of “With cat-like tread”), a slow middle section (“Ah, leave me not to pine alone”), and a concluding allegro in a compressed sonata form, in which the themes of “How beautifully blue the sky” and “A paradox, a paradox” are combined.[31]
Parody
The score parodies several composers, most conspicuously Verdi. “Come, friends, who plough the sea” and “You triumph now” are burlesques of Il trovatore,[32] and one of the best-known choral passages from the finale to Act I, “Hail Poetry”, is, according to the Sullivan scholar, Arthur Jacobs, a burlesque of the prayer scene, “La Vergine degli Angeli”, in Verdi’s La forza del destino.[33] However, another musicologist, Nicholas Temperley, writes, “The choral outburst ‘Hail, Poetry’ in The Pirates of Penzance would need very little alteration to turn it into a Mozart string quartet.”[34] Another well-known parody number from the work is the song for coloratura, “Poor wand’ring one”, which is generally thought to burlesque Gounod’s waltz-songs,[35] though the music critic of The Times called it “mock-Donizetti”.[36] In a scene in Act II, Mabel addresses the police, who chant their response in the manner of an Anglican church service.[37]
Sullivan even managed to parody two composers at once. The critic Rodney Milnes describes the Major-General’s Act II song, “Sighing softly to the river”, “as plainly inspired by – and indeed worthy of – Sullivan’s hero Schubert”,[38] and Amanda Holden speaks of the song’s “Schubertian water-rippling accompaniment”, but adds that it simultaneously spoofs Verdi’s Il trovatore, with the soloist unaware of a concealed male chorus singing behind him.[39]
Patter, Counterpoint, and Vocal Writing
Writing about patter songs, Bernard Shaw, in his capacity as a music critic, praised “the time-honored lilt which Sir Arthur Sullivan, following the example of Mozart and Rossini, chose for the lists of accomplishments of the Major-General in The Pirates or the Colonel in Patience.”[40]
This opera contains two well-known examples of Sullivan’s characteristic combination of two seemingly disparate melodies. Jacobs suggests that Berlioz’s La damnation de Faust, a great favourite in Sullivan’s formative years, may have been the model for Sullivan’s trademark contrapuntal mingling of the rapid prattle of the women’s chorus in Act I (“How beautifully blue the sky”) in 2/4 time with the lovers’ duet in waltz time. Jacobs writes that “the whole number [shifts] with Schubertian ease from B to G and back again.”[16] In Act II, a double chorus combines the policemen’s dogged tune, “When the foeman bares his steel” and the soaring line for the women, “Go, ye heroes, go to glory”.[41] In adapting the four-part chorus “Climbing over rocky mountain” from Thespis for re-use in Pirates, Sullivan took less trouble: he wrote only a single vocal line, suitable for soprano voices.[42] Despite this, the number ends with another example of Sullivan’s counterpoint, with the chorus singing the second melody of the piece (“Let us gaily tread the measure”) while the orchestra plays the first (“Climbing over rocky mountain”).[43]
Sullivan set a particular vocal challenge for the soprano who portrays Mabel. The Sullivan scholar Gervase Hughes writes, “Mabel … must be a coloratura because of ‘Poor wand’ring one!’, yet ‘Dear father, why leave your bed’ demands steady beauty of tone throughout the octave F to F, and ‘Ah, leave me not to pine’ goes a third lower still.”[44]
In The Music of Arthur Sullivan (1959), Hughes quotes four extracts from Pirates, saying that if hearing each out of context one might attribute it to Schubert, Mendelssohn, Gounod or Bizet respectively, “yet on learning the truth one would kick oneself for not having recognised Sullivan’s touch in all four.” Hughes concludes by quoting the introductory bars of “When a felon’s not engaged in his employment”, adding, “There could never be any doubt as to who wrote that, and it is as English as our wonderful police themselves.”[45]
Versions
Because the work was premiered in three different places, there are more variations in the early libretto and score of The Pirates of Penzance than in other Gilbert and Sullivan works. Songs sent from New York to the D’Oyly Carte touring company in England for the Paignton premiere were then altered or omitted during Broadway rehearsals. Gilbert and Sullivan trimmed the work for the London premiere, and Gilbert made further alterations up to and including the 1908 Savoy revival. For example, early versions depicted the Pirate King as the servant of the pirate band,[46] and the words of the opening chorus were, “Pour, O King, the pirate sherry”.[47] In the original New York production the revelation by Ruth that the pirates are “all noblemen who have gone wrong” prompted the following exchange (recalling a famous passage in H.M.S. Pinafore):
GENERAL, POLICE & GIRLS: What, all noblemen?
KING & PIRATES: Yes, all noblemen!
GENERAL, POLICE & GIRLS: What, all?
KING: Well, nearly all!
ALL: . . . They are nearly all noblemen who have gone wrong.
Then give three cheers, both loud and strong,
For the twenty noblemen who have gone wrong….
In the original London production, this exchange was shortened to the following:
GIRLS: Oh spare them! They are all noblemen who have gone wrong.
GENERAL: What, all noblemen?
KING: Well, nearly all!
Gilbert deleted the exchange in the 1900 revival, and the Chappell vocal score was revised accordingly. For the 1908 revival Gilbert had the pirates yielding “in good King Edward’s name”.[46] Despite Helen Carte’s repeated urging, Gilbert did not prepare an authorised version of the libretti of the Savoy operas.[48]
In its 1989 production, the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company restored one of the original versions of the finale, which finishes with a variation of “I am the very model of a modern major-general”, rather than with the customary reprise of “Poor wand’ring one”,[49] but in later revivals, it reverted to the more familiar text.[38]
Production History
From the beginning, The Pirates of Penzance has been one of Gilbert and Sullivan’s most popular comic operas. After its unique “triple opening” in 1879–80, it was revived in London in 1888, in 1900, and for the Savoy repertory season of 1908–09. In the British provinces, the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company toured it almost continuously from 1880–1884, and again in 1888. It re-entered the touring repertory in 1893, and was never again absent through to the company’s closure in 1982.[50]
In America, after the New York opening on New Year’s Eve, 1879, Richard D’Oyly Carte launched four companies that covered the United States on tours that lasted through the following summer.[51] Gilbert and Sullivan themselves trained each of the touring companies through January and early February 1880, and each company’s first performance – whether it was in Philadelphia, Newark, or Buffalo – was conducted by the composer. In Australia, its first authorised performance was on 19 March 1881 at the Theatre Royal, Sydney, produced by J. C. Williamson. There was still no international copyright law in 1880, and the first unauthorised New York production was given by the Boston Ideal Opera Company at Booth’s Theatre in September of that year. The first non-D’Oyly Carte professional production in a country that had been subject to Gilbert’s copyright (other than Williamsons’ authorised productions) was in Stratford, Ontario, Canada, in September 1961. In 1979, the Torbay branch of the Gilbert and Sullivan Society presented a centenary tribute to the world premiere performance of Pirates in Paignton, with a production at the Palace Avenue Theatre (situated a few metres from the former Bijou Theatre).
New York has seen over forty major revivals since the premiere.[52] As discussed below, Joseph Papp’s 1980–83 Pirates on Broadway gave a boost to the opera’s popularity. Professional and amateur productions of the opera continue with frequency. For example, the Chicago Lyric Opera and English National Opera staged the work in 2004,[53] and in 2007, the New York City Opera and Opera Australia both mounted new productions.[54][55]
27 March 1909
43
Second Savoy repertory season; played with five other operas. (Closing date shown is of the entire season.)
Joseph Papp’s Pirates
In 1980, Joseph Papp and the Public Theater of New York City brought a new production of Pirates, directed by Wilford Leach and choreographed by Graciela Daniele, to the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park, one of the series of annual Shakespeare in the Park summer events. The show played for 10 previews and 35 performances. It then transferred to Broadway, opening on 8 January 1981 for a run of 20 previews and 787 performances at the Uris and Minskoff Theatres. This take on Pirates earned enthusiastic reviews[72] and several Tony Awards, including a Tony Award for Best Revival and the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Musical.
Compared with traditional productions of the opera, Papp’s Pirates featured a more swashbuckling Pirate King and Frederic, and a broader, more musical comedy style of humour. It did not significantly change the libretto, but it used an adapted orchestration and made a number of key changes and other minor changes in the score. The “Matter Patter” trio from Ruddigore and “Sorry her lot” from H.M.S. Pinafore were interpolated into the show. The production also restored Gilbert and Sullivan’s original New York ending, with a reprise of the Major-General’s song in the Act II finale.
Linda Ronstadt starred as Mabel, Rex Smith as Frederic, Kevin Kline as the Pirate King, Patricia Routledge as Ruth (replaced by Estelle Parsons for the Broadway transfer), George Rose as the Major-General, and Tony Azito as the Sergeant of Police. Notable replacements during the Broadway run included Pam Dawber, Karla DeVito and Maureen McGovern as Mabel; Robby Benson, Patrick Cassidy and Peter Noone as Frederic; James Belushi, Gary Sandy, Wally Kurth, and Treat Williams as the Pirate King; David Garrison as the Sergeant; George S. Irving as the Major-General; and Kaye Ballard as Ruth. The national tour of the production featured Barry Bostwick as the Pirate King, Jo Anne Worley as Ruth, Clive Revill as the Major-General, Dawber as Mabel, Paxton Whitehead as the Sergeant, and Andy Gibb as Frederic.
1984 Australian ProductionThe production opened at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, London, on 26 May 1982 to generally warm reviews for a run of 601 performances. Notable among the cast were George Cole and Ronald Fraser as the Major-General; Michael Praed and Noone as Frederic; Tim Curry, Timothy Bentinck, Oliver Tobias and Paul Nicholas as the Pirate King; Chris Langham as the Sergeant of Police; Pamela Stephenson as Mabel; Annie Ross as Ruth; Bonnie Langford as Kate; and Louise Gold as Isabel.
The Australian production opened in Melbourne in January 1984, opening the new Victorian Arts Centre, directed by John Feraro. It starred Jon English as the Pirate King, Simon Gallaher as Frederic,[73] June Bronhill as Ruth, David Atkins as the Sergeant of Police and Marina Prior as Mabel. The six week limited season was followed by an Australian national tour from 1984 to 1986 and another come-back tour with same cast in the mid 1990s.[citation needed] In 1985, Pirates opened the new Queensland Performing Arts Centre in Brisbane, setting attendance records that were not surpassed until many years later by The Phantom of the Opera.
The Papp production was turned into a film in 1983, with the original Broadway principal cast reprising their roles, except that Angela Lansbury replaced Estelle Parsons as Ruth. The minor roles used British actors miming to their Broadway counterparts. The film has been shown occasionally on television. Another film based loosely on the opera and inspired by the success of the Papp version, The Pirate Movie, was released during the Broadway run.[74]
Opera Australia’s 2007 touring production of Pirates, with Anthony Warlow as the Pirate King The Papp production design has been widely imitated in other modern productions of Pirates, even where traditional orchestration and standard score are used. Many modern productions are also influenced by the popular Disney film franchise Pirates of the Caribbean, combining aspects of the Papp production with the Disney design concepts. Not all of these revivals have generated the same enthusiasm as Papp’s 1980s productions. A 1999 UK touring production received this critique: “No doubt when Papp first staged this show in New York and London it had some quality of cheek or chutzpah or pizzazz or irony or something that accounted for its success. But all that’s left now … is a crass Broadway-style musical arrangement ground out by a seven-piece band, and the worst kind of smutty send-up of a historic piece of art.[75]
Recordings
The Pirates of Penzance has been recorded many times, and the critical consensus is that it has fared well on record.[76] The first complete recording of the score was in 1921, under the direction of Rupert D’Oyly Carte, but with established recording singers rather than D’Oyly Carte Opera Company performers.[77] In 1929, The Gramophone said of a new set with a mainly D’Oyly Carte cast, “This new recording represents the high-water mark so far as Gilbert and Sullivan opera is concerned. In each of the previous Savoy albums there have been occasional lapses which prevented one from awarding them unqualified praise; but with the Pirates it is happily otherwise; from first to last, and in every bar, a simply delightful production.”[78] Of later recordings by the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, the 1968 recording (with complete dialogue) is highly regarded: The online Gilbert and Sullivan Discography says, “This recording is one of the best D’Oyly Carte sets of all time, and certainly the best Pirates”,[79] and the Penguin Guide to Opera on Compact Disc also recommends it.[80] So too does the Penguin Guide to Recorded Classical Music, alongside the 1993 Mackerras recording.[81] The opera critic Alan Blyth recommended the D’Oyly Carte recording of 1990: “a performance full of the kind of life that can only come from the experience of stage performances”.[82] The online Discography site also mentions the 1981 Papp recording as “excellent”, despite its inauthentic 1980 re-orchestrations that “changed some of the timbres so as to appeal to a rock-oriented public”.[83] Of the available commercial videos, the Discography site considers the Brent Walker better than the Papp version.[84]
1929 D’Oyly Carte – Conductor: Malcolm Sargent[85]
1957 D’Oyly Carte – New Symphony Orchestra of London; Conductor: Isidore Godfrey[86]
1961 Sargent/Glyndebourne – Pro Arte Orchestra, Glyndebourne Festival Chorus; Conductor: Sir Malcolm Sargent[87]
1968 D’Oyly Carte (with dialogue) – Royal Philharmonic Orchestra; Conductor: Isidore Godfrey[88]
1981; 1983 Papp’s Pirates (with dialogue) – Director: Wilford Leach; Musical Director: William Elliott; Choreographer: Graciela Daniele[89]
1982 Brent Walker Productions (with dialogue) – Ambrosian Opera Chorus, London Symphony Orchestra; Conductor: Alexander Faris; Stage Director: Michael Geliot[90]
1990 New D’Oyly Carte – Conductor: John Pryce-Jones[91]
1993 Mackerras/Telarc – Orchestra and Chorus of the Welsh National Opera; Conductor: Sir Charles Mackerras[92]
1994 Essgee Entertainment (video adaptation) – Director and Choreographer: Craig Schaefer; Orchestrator and Conductor: Kevin Hocking; Additional Lyrics: Melvyn Morrow[93]
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Cultural Impact
Major-General’s Song
Pirates is one of the most frequently referenced works of Gilbert and Sullivan. The Major-General’s Song, in particular, is frequently parodied, pastiched and used in advertising. Parody versions have been used in political commentary as well as entertainment media.[94] Its challenging patter has proved interesting to comics, notable examples being Tom Lehrer’s song “The Elements” and David Hyde Pierce’s monologue, as host of Saturday Night Live.[95]
Pastiche examples include the Animaniacs version, “I am the very model of a cartoon individual”, in the episode “H.M.S. Yakko”;[96] the Doctor Who audio, Doctor Who and the Pirates, “I am the very model of a Gallifreyan buccaneer”;[97] the Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip version in the episode “The Cold Open” (2006), where the cast performs “We’ll be the very model of a modern network TV show”;[98][99] and the Mass Effect 2 video game version, where the character Mordin Solus sings: “I am the very model of a scientist Salarian”.[100] The song is also pastiched in the computer-animated series ReBoot, which ended its third season with a recap of the season set to the song’s tune and in the Scrubs episode “My Musical” (Season 6, Episode 6), where Dr. Cox sings a version of the song about why he hates J.D.[101]
The song is often used in film and on television, unchanged in many instances, as a character’s audition piece, or seen in a “school play” scene. Examples include a VeggieTales episode entitled “The Wonderful World of Auto-Tainment!”; the Frasier episode “Fathers and Sons”; The Simpsons episode “Deep Space Homer”; and the Mad About You episode “Moody Blues”, where Paul directs a charity production of Penzance starring his father, Burt, as the Major-General. In The Muppet Show (season 3, episode 52)[102] guest host, comedienne Gilda Radner, sings the song with a 7-foot-tall (2.1 m) talking carrot (Parodying the pilot/pirate confusion in Pirates, Radner had requested a 6-foot-tall (1.8 m) talking parrot, but was misheard). In an episode of Home Improvement, Al Borland begins to sing the song when tricked into thinking he is in a soundproof booth. In the Babylon 5 episode “Atonement”, Marcus Cole uses the song to drive Dr Stephen Franklin crazy on a long journey to Mars.
Film and Television
Other film references to Pirates include Kate and Leopold, where there are multiple references, including a scene where Leopold sings “I Am The Very Model of A Modern Major General” while accompanying himself on the piano; and in Pretty Woman, Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) covers a social gaffe by prostitute Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts), who comments that the opera La Traviata was so good that she almost “peed [her] pants”, by saying that she had said that she liked it almost as much as The Pirates of Penzance”. In Walt Disney’s cartoon Mickey, Donald, Goofy: The Three Musketeers (2004), there is a performance of Pirates that becomes the setting for the climactic battle between the Musketeers and Captain Pete. Pirates songs sung in the cartoon are “With cat-like tread”, “Poor wand’ring one”, “Climbing over rocky mountain” and the Major General’s song. “Poor wand’ring one” was used in the movie An American Tail.[103] The soundtrack of the 1992 film The Hand That Rocks the Cradle includes”Poor Wand’ring One” and “Oh Dry the Glistening Tear”.[104]
Television references, in addition to those mentioned above, included the series The West Wing, where Pirates and other Gilbert and Sullivan operas are mentioned in several episodes, especially by Deputy Communications Director, Sam Seaborn, who was recording secretary of his school’s Gilbert and Sullivan society. In Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, a poster from Pirates hangs on Matt Albie’s office wall. Both TV series were created by Aaron Sorkin. In the pilot episode of the 2008 CBS series Flashpoint, a police officer and his partner sing the policeman’s song. In an Assy McGee episode entitled “Pegfinger”, Detective Sanchez’s wife is a member of a community theater that performs the opera. In Family Guy episode “Peter’s Got Woods”, Brian Griffin sings “Sighing Softly”, with Peter Griffin’s assistance.
Other References
Other notable instances of references to Pirates include a New York Times article on 29 February 1940, memorializing that Frederic was finally out of his indentures.[105] Six years previously, the arms granted to the municipal borough of Penzance in 1934 contain a pirate dressed in Gilbert’s original costuming, and Penzance had a rugby team called the Penzance Pirates, which is now called the Cornish Pirates. In 1980, Isaac Asimov wrote a short story called “The Year of the Action”, concerning whether the action of Pirates took place on 1 March 1873, or 1 March 1877 (depending on whether Gilbert took into account the fact that 1900 was not a leap year).[106]
The chorus of “With cat-like tread”, which begins “Come, friends, who plough the sea,” which was used in the popular American song, “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here,” popularised by Fred Astaire. This song is also part of the soundtrack, along with other Gilbert and Sullivan songs, in the 1981 film, Chariots of Fire. The song was also pastiched in an episode of Animaniacs in a song about surfing a whale. The show is also referred to in the popular video game Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, in which a casino is called “Pirates in Men’s Pants”, a crude play on the title of the opera.
Adaptations
Di Yam Gazlonim, a Yiddish adaptation of Pirates by Al Grand[99] that continues to be performed in North America. The 2006 production at the National Yiddish Theater Folksbiene was nominated for the 2007 Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Revival. The Montreal Express wrote in 2009, “Grand’s adaptation is a delightfully whimsical treatment”.[107]
The Parson’s Pirates by Opera della Luna
The Pirate Movie
Pirates! Or, Gilbert And Sullivan Plunder’d (2006), is a musical comedy set on a Caribbean island, involving a voodoo curse that makes the pirates “landsick”. It was first presented 1 November 2006 at Goodspeed Opera House in East Haddam, Connecticut, then in 2007 at the Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, New Jersey, and in 2009 at the Huntington Theatre Company in Boston, Massachusetts. Other Gilbert and Sullivan numbers, such as the Nightmare song from Iolanthe are interpolated.[108][109]
Pirates of Penzance – The Ballet!
Essgee Entertainment produced an adapted version of Pirates in 1994 in Australia and New Zealand.[110] Their producer, Simon Gallaher (Frederic in the Australian Papp production), produced another adaptation of Pirates that toured Australia from 2001 to 2003[citation needed]
The Pirates of Penzance (1983 film), a film version of Papp’s Broadway production.
Several television adaptations of the opera have been made, beginning in 1939[111]
Recent all-male versions of the opera include a long-running adaption by Sasha Regan at the Union Theatre in 2009, which transferred to Wilton’s Music Hall in London in 2010.[112]
References
1. Helga Perry (27 November 2000). “Information from the Savoyoperas.org website”. Savoy Operas. Retrieved 25 July 2009.
2. This figure assumes that Gilbert was ignoring the fact that there was no leap year in 1900. Otherwise, the action of the play would take place in 1873 instead of 1877, and the figure would be 67 years. See Bradley (1996), p. 244
3. Prestige, Colin. “D’Oyly Carte and the Pirates”, a paper presented at the International Conference of G&S held at the University of Kansas, May 1970
4. “Article about international copyright pirating, focusing on Gilbert, Sullivan and Carte’s efforts”. Edward Samuels . Retrieved 25 July 2009.
5. “The Twilight of the Opera Pirates: A Prehistory of the Right of Public Performance for Musical Compositions”. SSRN – Social Science Research Network . 0. Retrieved 25 July 2009.
6. Ainger, p. 166
7. Our Island Home . Libretto at The Gilbert and Sullivan Archive, accessed 2 July 2010
8. Shaw (Vol. 1), p. 784. He quotes a relevant line from Gilbert’s adaptation: “Marry my daughter to an honest man! NEVER!”
9. Ainger, p. 177
10. Ainger, p. 179
11. From medieval times and in later centuries, however, Penzance was subject to frequent raiding by Turkish pirates, according to Canon Diggens Archive 1910.
12. Dexter, Gary. “Title Deed: How the Book Got its Name”. The Telegraph , 7 July 2010
13. Ainger, pp. 180–81
14. Jacobs, p. 133
15. Bradley (1982), pp. 86–87
16. Jacobs, Arthur. “Sullivan, Sir Arthur.” Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online , accessed 30 June 2010 (subscription required)
17. Smith, Tim. “A consistent Pirates of Penzance”, The Baltimore Sun , July 16, 2009
18. “Amusements; Fifth-Avenue Theatre”. The New York Times , 1 January 1880, p. 5
19. “Opera Comique”, The Era, 11 April 1880 p. 5
20. See Ainger, pp. 181-82, and Kochanski, Halik. Sir Garnet Wolseley: Victorian hero, p. 73, London, Hambledon Press , 1999. ISBN 1-85285-188-0
21. Bradley (1982), p. 118
22. In the first night version of the libretto, the Sergeant of Police was named Edward, and the Pirate King was named Richard and was titled “A Pirate Chief”. See Allen (1975), p. 112
23. The London theatrical newspaper The Era even gave the ad hoc performance in Paignton a good review: see “Gilbert and Sullivan’s New Opera”, The Era, 4 January 1880, p. 5
24. “The Pirates of Penzance”, The Daily News, 15 January 1880, p. 6
25. “The Pirates of Penzance”. New York Tribune , 1 January 1880, accessed 27 August 2010
26. “The Pirates of Penzance”, The Pall Mall Gazette, 6 April 1880, p. 12
27. “Music”, The Graphic, 10 April 1880, p. 371
28. “From Our London Correspondent”, The Manchester Guardian, 5 April 1880, p. 4
29. The Sporting Times, 10 April 1880, p. 1
30. The Times, 5 April 1880, p. 4
31. Hughes, p. 134
32. Hulme, David Russell. “The Pirates of Penzance”. The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online , accessed 30 June 2010 (subscription required)
33. Jacobs, p. 135
34. Temperley, Nicholas. “Mozart’s Influence on English Music”. Music & Letters, October 1961, pp. 307–18, Oxford University Press , accessed 1 July 2010 (subscription required)
35. Hughes, p. 151
36. “Guthrie’s Irreverent Pirates”, The Times, 16 February 1962, p. 15
37. Maddocks, Fiona. “These pirates have real swagger”. Evening Standard , 20 February 2008, accessed 2 July 2010
38. “Putting the Jolly in Roger”, The Times, 26 April 2001
39. Holden, p. 402
40. Shaw (Vol. 2) p. 492
41. Hughes, p. 80
42. Hughes, p. 88
43. Rees, pp. 62-63 suggests that in the original Thespis version, for male as well as female voices, the men would have sung the first theme while the women sang the second.
44. Hughes, pp. 92-93
45. Hughes, pp. 50–51
46. Bradley (1982) pp. 90–159
47. Anderson W. R. Changes in the ” Pirates”. The Gramophone , June 1950, p. 14
48. Bradley (1982), p. 7
49. See Bradley (1982), pp. 158–59
50. Rollins and Witts, pp. 11, 18, 22, 35 et passim
51. Bradley (1982), p. 86
52. Hischak, Thomas “Pirates of Penzance, The”, The Oxford Companion to the American Musical. Oxford University Press 2009. Oxford Reference Online, accessed 2 July 2010 (subscription required)
53. Hall, George. “Leave the laughs to us, you swabs!” The Independent , 12 December 2004, accessed 30 June 2010
54. Gates, Anita. “The Happy Return of the Pirate King and His Loyal Swashbucklers”. The New York Times , 26 November 2006, accessed 30 June 2010
55. Posted by Michael (28 June 2007). “Review of Opera Australia production”. On Stage (and Walls) Melbourne. Retrieved 25 July 2009.
56. The first performance was by invitation only. The official opening was on 26 December 1884. The Times announcement, 20 December 1884, p. 8
57-72 Rollins and Witts, p.7/11/15/18/22/28/30/42/132/148/160/170/175/183
72. Rich, Frank. “Stage: Pirates of Penzance on Broadway”. The New York Times , 9 January 1981, accessed 2 July 2010
73. “Information about Simon Gallaher”. Essgee.com . Retrieved 25 July 2009.
74. Shepherd, Marc. “ The G&S Operas on Film “. A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 3 September 2008, accessed 2 July 2010
75. McMillan, Joyce. “Sinking a Victorian classic – The Pirates of Penzance”, The Scotsman, 31 October 2001 p. 11
76. Lamb, Andrew. “The Pirates of Penzance”, Gramophone , November 1993, p. 162
77. Rollins and Witts, p. x
78. The Gramophone, September 1929, p. 25
79. Shepherd, Marc . “The 1968 D’Oyly Carte Pirates”. A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 7 September 2008, accessed 20 August 2009
80. March (1993), pp. 437-38
81. March (2007), p. 1338
82. Blyth, p. 109
83. Shepherd, Marc. “ Papp’s Pirates (1980)”. A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 7 September 2008, accessed 20 August 2009
84. Shepherd, Marc . List and assessments of recordings of the opera. A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 9 July 2009, accessed 20 August 2009
85. Shepherd, Marc. “ The 1929 D’Oyly Carte Pirates “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 29 March 2009, accessed 20 August 2009
86. Shepherd, Marc. “The 1957 D’Oyly Carte Pirates “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 23 December 2003, accessed 20 August 2009
87. Shepherd, Marc. “ The Sargent/EMI Pirates (1961)”, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 12 July 2009, accessed 20 August 2009
88. Shepherd, Marc. “ The 1968 D’Oyly Carte Pirates “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 7 September 2008, accessed 20 August 2009
89. Shepherd, Marc. “ Papp’s Pirates (1980) “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 7 September 2008, accessed 20 August 2009
90. Shepherd, Marc. “ The Brent Walker Pirates (1982) “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 13 April 2009, accessed 20 August 2009
91. Shepherd, Marc. “ The New D’Oyly Carte Pirates (1990)”, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 2 December 2001, accessed 20 August 2009
92. Shepherd, Marc. “ The Mackerras/Telarc Pirates (1993)”, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 7 September 2008, accessed 20 August 2009
93. Shepherd, Marc. “ The Essgee Pirates (1994) “, A Gilbert and Sullivan Discography, 9 July 2009, accessed 20 August 2009
94. Hinkle, A. Barton. “Hinkle: The Attorney General’s Song”. Richmond Times-Dispatch , 10 May 2010
95. “David Hyde Pierce’s Monologue”, SNL Transcripts , accessed 15 February 2010
96. “ Animaniacs – Cartoon Individual”, YouTube video, accessed 15 February 2010
97. “ Doctor Who Gallifreyan Buccaneer”, YouTube video of Dr. Who clips shown over the song, accessed 15 February 2010. Other songs, from Pirates, Pinafore and Ruddigore, are also parodied in the recording
98. “The Cold Open” at hulu.com , song starts at 40:00; Accessed 15 February 2010
99. Schillinger, Liesl: “Dress British, Sing Yiddish” The New York Times , 22 October 2006
100. “Mass Effect 2 Mordin Singing”. YouTube . 23 January 2010. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-HgVM6JSIY. Retrieved 24 January 2010.
101. “Scrubs: My Musical: Dr. Cox Rant Song”, YouTube , song starts at 0:40; Accessed 15 February 2010
102. “link” Information on Muppet Show from”. TV.com. Retrieved 25 July 2009.
103. “Soundtrack for An American Tail (1986)”. IMDB database , accessed April 22, 2010
104. The Hand That Rocks the Cradle soundtrack”. IMDB database , accessed 21 June 2010
105. “Frederic Goes Free”, The New York Times , 29 February 1940, p. 18
106. Description of the story , which appears in Banquets of the Black Widowers (1984)
107. “The Pirates of Penzance… in Yiddish?”, Montreal Express , 25 May 2009
108. Saltzman, Simon: CurtainUp New Jersey Review 2007 CurtainUp , Retrieved 13 June 2009
109. Nesti, Robert: “Pirates! (Or, Gilbert and Sullivan Plunder’d)” EDGE , 8 June 2009
110. “Information about Essgee Entertainment’s ”Pirates””. Simon Gallaher.
111. List of television and film adaptations
112. Church, Michael. “The Pirates of Penzance, Wilton’s Music Hall, London”. The Independent , 14 April 2010
| The Pirates of Penzance |
English actor Joss Ackland was born on 29th February in which year? | The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secrets Of A Savoyard, by Henry A. Lytton.
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secrets of a Savoyard, by Henry A. Lytton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: The Secrets of a Savoyard Author: Henry A. Lytton Release Date: April 6, 2012 [EBook #39392] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRETS OF A SAVOYARD *** Produced by Moti Ben-Ari, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
(After assisting at the first night of the new Gilbert-and-Sullivan revival.)
You may boast of your Georgian birds of song
And say that never was stuff so strong,
That its note of genius simply mocks
At yester-century's feeble crocks,
And floods the Musical Comedy stage
With the dazzling art of a peerless age.
But for delicate grace and dainty wit,
For words and melody closely knit,
Your best purveyors of mirth and joy
Were never in sight of the old Savoy;
They never began to compete, poor dears,
With Gilbert-and-Sullivan's Gondoliers.
For me, as an out-of-date Victorian,
Prehistoric and dinosaurian,
I hardly feel that I dare reflect
On the art of the day with disrespect;
But if anyone asks me, "Who'll survive—
The living dead, or the dead alive?
Which of the two will be last to go—
The Gondoliers or the latest show?"
I wouldn't give much for the latter's chance;
That is the view that I advance,
Trusting the public to bear me out
(The good from the bad they're quick to sever);
"Of this I nurse no manner of doubt,
No probable, possible shadow of doubt,
No possible doubt whatever."—O. S.
(Reprinted by kind permission of the proprietors of "Punch," and of Sir Owen Seaman.)
By
AN ADMIRER OF HIS ART.
Sincerely indeed do I offer my good wishes to my old friend, Henry A. Lytton, on his giving to the world this most interesting book, "The Secrets of a Savoyard."
Lytton represents a distinct type on our musical comedy stage. No other artiste, I think, has quite that gift of wit which makes one not merely a happier, but a better, man for coming under its spell. Its touch is so true and refined and delightful. Somehow we see in him the mirror of ourselves, our whimsicalities, and our little conceits, and could ever a man captivate us so deliciously with the ironies of life or yet chide us so well with a sigh?
Certainly it was fortunate both to him and to us that circumstances, in the romantic manner this book itself describes, first turned his early steps towards Gilbert and Sullivan, and thus opened a career that was to make him one of the greatest, as he is now the last, of the Savoyards. Like the natural humorist he is, he could be and has been a success in ordinary musical comedy r�les, but it is in these wonderful operas that he was bound to find just his right sphere. Lytton in Gilbert and Sullivan is the "true embodiment of everything that is excellent." He was made for these parts, just as they might have been made for him, and no man could have carried into the outer world more of the wholesome charm of the characters he depicts on the stage. He himself tells us on these pages how his own outlook on life has been coloured by his long association with these beautiful plays.
So closely, [10] indeed, is he identified in the public mind with the wistful figure of Jack Point, or the highly susceptible Lord Chancellor, or the agile Ko-Ko that the thousands of Gilbert and Sullivan worshippers who crowd the theatres know all too little of the man behind the motley, the real Henry A. Lytton. For that reason I want to speak less about the great actor whom the multitude knows and more about the manner of man that he is to those, relatively few in numbers, whose privilege it is to own his personal friendship.
Lytton's outstanding quality is his modesty. No "star" could have been less spoilt by the flatteries of success or by those wonderful receptions he receives night after night. Something of the eager, impetuous boy still lingers in the heart of him, and he loves the society of kindred souls who have some good story to tell and then cap it with a better one. But all the while he lives for the operas. Even now, after playing in them for twenty-five years, he is constantly asking himself whether this bit of action, this inflection of the voice, this minor detail of make-up, is right. Can it be improved in keeping with the spirit of genuine artistry? So severe a self-critic is he that he will take nothing for granted nor allow his work to become slipshod because of its very familiarity. If ever there was an enthusiast—and there is much in this book to show that he is as great an enthusiast in private life as he is while in front of the footlights—it is Harry Lytton.
The great enthusiasm of his life is Gilbert and Sullivan. Nobody who reads these reminiscences will have any doubt about that, for it shows itself on every page, and it is such an infectious enthusiasm that even we who love the operas already find ourselves loving them more, and agreeing with Lytton that they must not be tampered with and brought "up-to-date." From Sir William Gilbert's own lips he heard just what the [11] playwright wanted in every detail, and both by his own acting and by his help to younger colleagues on the stage he has worthily and faithfully upheld the traditions of the Savoy. I have been told more than once by members of the company how, when they have felt disheartened for some reason or other, he would come along with some cheery word, some little bit of advice and encouragement that would make all the difference to them. Often and often he has brightened up the dreary work of rehearsals by his buoyant humour and all-compelling good spirits.
What a happy family must be a company that is led by one who is so entirely free from vanity and petty jealousy and whose one aim is to help the performance along! Lytton is bound to have that aim because of his intense loyalty to the operas themselves, but how much springs as well from that inherent kindness of his, which, with that complete lack of affectation, makes him so truly one of Nature's gentlemen. "Each for all and all for each" was the motto of the heart-breaking Commonwealth days, of which he tells us such a pathetic human story here, and it seems to remain his motto now that he has climbed to the top of his profession as a principal of the D'Oyly Carte Company.
Lytton's acting always seems to me in such perfect "poise." It is so refined and spontaneous. Each point receives its full measure, and yet is so free of exaggeration or "clowning." He is, that is to say, an artiste to his finger-tips, and no real artiste, even when he is a humorist, has any place for buffoonery. Like the Gilbert and Sullivan operas themselves, he is always so clean and wholesome and pleasant. The clearness of his enunciation is a gift in itself, and his dancing reminds us of the time when all our dancing was so charming and graceful, and thus so different to what it is to-day. And then his versatility! Could one imagine a contrast so remarkable [12] as that between his characterisation of the ugly, repulsive King Gama in "Princess Ida" and the infinitely lovable Jack Point in the "Yeoman of the Guard"? Or between his studies of the engaging and more than candid Lord Chancellor in "Iolanthe" and that pretentious humbug Bunthorne in "Patience"? Or between the endless diversions of his frolicsome Ko-Ko in "The Mikado" and the gay perplexities of the sedate old General Stanley in "The Pirates of Penzance"?
So one might continue to speak of his quite remarkable gallery of portraits, both in these operas and apart from them, and one might search one's memory in vain for a part which was not a gem of natural and clever characterisation, rich in humour and unerring in its sympathetic artistry.
Yet no r�le of his, I think, stands out with such fascination in the minds of most of us as does dear Jack Point, the nimble-witted Merryman. The poor strolling player, with his honest heart breaking beneath the tinsel of folly, is a figure intensely human and intensely appealing, and no less so because of the mingling romance and pathos with which it is played. If Lytton had given us only this part, if he had shown us only in this case how deftly he can win both our laughter and tears, he would have achieved something that would be treasured amongst the tenderest, most fragrant memories of the modern stage.
Long may he remain to delight us in these enchanting operas of the Savoy! By them English comic opera has had an infinite lustre added to it—a lustre that will never be dimmed—and no less surely do the operas themselves owe a little of their evergreen freshness and spirit to the art of Henry A. Lytton.
THE SECRETS OF A SAVOYARD.
I.
YOUTH AND ROMANCE.
Apologia—Early Misfortunes of Management—Stage Debut in Schoolboy Dramatics—St. Mark's, Chelsea—The School's Champion Pugilist—The Sale of Jam-Rolls—Student Days with W. H. Trood—An Artist of Parts—A Fateful Night at the Theatre—The Schoolboy and the Actress—A Firm Hand With a Rival—Three Months' Truancy—Our Marriage and Our Honeymoon in a Hansom—The Dominie and the Married Man—First Engagement with D'Oyly Carte—Dilemma of a Sister and Brother.
Eight-and-thirty years on the stage!
Looking back over so long a period, memory runs riot with a thousand remembrances of dark days and brighter, and of times of hardship which, in their own way, were not devoid of happiness. It has been my good fortune to own many valued friendships, and it is to my friends that the credit or the guilt, as it may happen to be, of inspiring me to begin this venture belongs. Not once, but many times, I have been asked "Why don't you write your reminiscences, Lytton?" The late Lord Fisher strongly urged me to write them when I paid my last visit to his home a few months before he passed to the Great Beyond. So great was my respect for Lord Fisher, one of the noblest Englishmen of our age, that I felt bound to adopt his suggestion, and it is thus partly in homage to his sterling qualities and gifts that I begin now to reveal these "Secrets of a Savoyard." This much let me say at the very beginning. Naught that is [14] written here will be "set down in malice." Searchers for those too numerous chronicles of scandal will look here for spicy tit-bits in vain. For what it is worth this is the record of one who has lived a happy life, whose vocation it has been to minister to the public's enjoyment, and whose outlook has inevitably been happily coloured by such a long association with the gladsome operas of the old Savoy.
I cannot say that my love of the footlights was inherited, but at least it began to show itself at a very early age. One of my earliest recollections is concerned with a little diversion at the village home of my guardian. No doubt my older readers will remember the old gallanty shows which were in vogue some forty or fifty years ago. Explained briefly, these were contrived by use of a number of cardboard figures which, with the aid of a candle, were reflected on to a white sheet, and which could be manipulated to provide one's audience with a rather primitive form of enjoyment. Well, I do not recall where I had been to get the idea, but I decided to have a gallanty show at the bottom of the garden, and to invite the public's patronage. This ranks as my first venture in managerial responsibility. I rigged up a tent—a small and jerry-built contrivance it was—and an announcement of the forthcoming entertainment in my bold schoolboy's hand was pasted on to the outer wall of the garden. The charges for admission were original. Stalls were to be purchased with an apple, lesser seats with a handful of chocolates or nuts, while a few sweets would secure admission to the pit. The boys of the village, having read the notice, turned up and paid their nuts and sweets in accordance [15] with the advertised tariff, but the sad fact has to be related that the show did not please them at all, and by summarily pulling up the pole they brought the tent and the entertainment to grief. In other words, I "got the bird." Nor can I say that was the end of the tragedy. Under threats I had to repay all that the box-office had taken, and as most of the lads claimed more than they had actually given, the stock of nuts and sweets was insufficient to meet the liabilities. So in the cause of art I found myself thus early in life in bankruptcy! My partner in the enterprise proved to be a broken reed, for when the roughs of the village got busy he showed a clean pair of heels and left me alone with the mob and the wreckage.
Seeing that this is an actor's narrative, I ought to place on record at once that my first appearance on any stage was in schoolboy dramatics in connection with St. Mark's College, Chelsea. Of St Mark's I shall have much to say. I played the title r�le in "Boots at the Swan." Except that I enjoyed being the cheeky little hotel "Boots" and fancied myself not a little in my striped waistcoat and green apron, I don't remember whether my performance was held to be successful or not, but unconsciously the experience did give me a mental twist towards the stage.
St. Mark's was regarded in those times—and I am glad to know is still regarded—as an excellent school for young gentlemen. But certainly my name was never numbered amongst the brightest educational products of that academy. What claim I had to fame was in an entirely different sphere. I was the school's champion pugilist! In those days I simply revelled in fighting. [16] A day without a scrap was a day hardly worth living. Occasionally the older lads thought it good sport to tell the new-comers what an unholy terror they would be up against when they met Lytton. In most cases this was said with such vivid embellishments that the youngsters got a heart-sinking feeling. But there was one lad who was more adroit. He argued that it was all very well for the school champion to fight surrounded by and cheered on by his friends, but that this must put the challenger at a distinct disadvantage. He also considered that no harm would be done if he measured up this much-boomed light-weight before the time came for him to stand up publicly as his antagonist. Luring me, therefore, into a quiet corner one day, he commanded me in so many words to "put 'em up." Now while it is the privilege of a champion to name his own time and conditions, it really was too much to tolerate the pretensions of such an impudent upstart. So we set to in earnest, and very speedily the new boy was giving me some of his best—a straight left timed to the moment—and it needed only two such lefts to make me oblivious of time altogether. Certainly he succeeded in instilling into my mind a decided respect for his prowess.
Not being too richly endowed with pocket money, I conceived the idea that to set up in business as the school pastrycook would serve a "long-felt want." Strictly cash terms were demanded. Each day I bought a number of rolls at ½d. each and a pot of jam for 4½d. With these I retailed slices of most appetising bread and jam at a penny a time and made an excellent profit. If the truth must be told the smaller boys got no more [17] than a smear of jam on their bread and the bigger boys rather more than their share, but on the average it worked out fairly well, and the juniors had sufficient discretion not to complain.
Yr. Sincerely
Henry A Lytton
[18] If I had any bent in those days—apart from fighting and selling jam rolls—it was in the direction of painting. For water-colour sketches I had a certain aptitude, and painting remains one of my hobbies, taking only second place to my enthusiasm for golf. For tuition I went to W. H. Trood at his studio in Chelsea. Trood in his time was an artist of parts. He had a fine sense of composition and painted many beautiful pictures. If he had not been deaf and dumb he would have made a great actor, for his gift of facial expression was extraordinary. Clubmen are familiar with a well-known set of five action photographs representing a convivial card-player who has gone "nap." Trood was the subject of those photographs.
For some time I attended St. Mark's during the day and went to the studio each evening. I realised very early that there was no money in painting and that it was of little use as a profession. We students were a merry band, and though we had little money, we made the most of what we had to spend. Our studio was only a garret, and it was a common thing for each of us to buy a tough steak for no more than fourpence, grill it with a fork over the meagre fire, and make it serve as our one substantial meal for many hours. It was a Bohemian existence and I have remained a Bohemian ever since.
Trood and I were more than master and pupil. We were, if not brothers, then at least uncle and nephew. From time to time we contrived to visit the theatre, for although he could not hear, he loved to study the colour effects on the stage, and had an uncanny talent for following the course of the plot. And one of these nights out was destined to be most fateful for me in my future career. We had gone together into the gallery at the Avenue Theatre (now the Playhouse). The attraction was a French opera-bouffe called "Olivette." And I must confess that my susceptible heart was at once smitten with the charms of a young lady who was playing one of the subsidiary parts. From that moment the play to me was not the thing. Eyes and thoughts were concentrated on that slim, winsome little figure, and I remember that at school the following day the sale of jam rolls was pushed with redoubled vigour in order that I might have the wherewithal to go to the theatre and see my charmer again.
I am getting on delicate ground, but the story is well worth the telling. It was clear I could not go on worshipping my fair divinity afar from the "gods." We must make each other's acquaintance. So to Miss Louie Henri I addressed a most courteous note, paying her some exquisite compliments, and inviting her to meet her unknown admirer at the stage door after the performance one night. And my invitation was accepted. I ought to mention here that I was then scarcely seventeen years of age. Louie Henri, as it afterwards transpired, was the same.
Well, I bedecked myself in my best and marched off in good time to the trysting place at the stage door. I spent my last sou on a fine box of chocolates. Nothing I could do was to be left undone to make the conquest complete. But first there came a surprise. Another [19] St. Mark's boy was at the stage door already. He, too, had a box of chocolates, and it was bigger than mine.
"Who are those for?" I demanded. The tone of my voice must have been forbidding I already had my suspicions.
"Louie Henri," answered the lad. Seemingly he thought it wise to be truthful.
I had a rival! Crises of this kind have to be met with vigour and thoroughness.
"Give them to me," I insisted, "and hook it." The command was terrible in its severity. More than that, I was not the school's champion light-weight for nothing. The rival almost threw the chocolates into my hands and vanished like lightning. When Louie came out there I was with a double load of offerings! She was sensibly impressed.
From time to time further delightful meetings took place. Luckily the jam roll trade was flourishing, and so it was seldom the youthful swain met his lady-love empty-handed. Only once did the rival attempt to steal a march on me again. I discovered him loitering round the stage door, but when he saw my fists in a business-like attitude, he apparently realised that discretion was the better part of valour and bolted into the night. All of which proves anew that "faint heart never won fair lady."
Louie and I got on famously together, and although we were but children it was not long before we had decided to become engaged. The course of true love was complicated by the fact that while I was at St. Mark's in the daytime she at night had to play her part in "Olivette." So it occurred to me that the only [20] thing was to give up school. I accordingly wrote a letter, in my guardian's name, saying that I was being taken away from St. Mark's for a three-months' holiday, and posted it to the headmaster at Chelsea. Then followed the rapture of sweetheart days. Our pleasures were few—there were no funds for more than an occasional ride on a 'bus—but into the intimacies of those blissful times there is no need to enter.
We were married late in 1883 at St. Mary's, Kensington. Louie and I certainly never realised the responsibilities of married life, and love's young dream was not spoiled by anxious reflections about the problem of ways and means, as may be gathered from the fact that our funds were exhausted on the very day of the marriage. I remember that, after the fees at church had been paid, the cash at our disposal amounted to eighteen-pence. The question then was how far this would take us in the matter of a honeymoon. Strolling into Kensington Gardens we decided that we would spend it on the thrills of a ride in a hansom-cab, and the driver was instructed to take us as far as he could for eighteen-pence. The journey was not at all long. I rather think that if the cabby had known the romantic and adventurous couple he had picked up as fares he would have been sport enough to give us a more generous trip.
Our plan of action after this honeymoon in a hansom had already been decided upon. My wife went to the theatre for the evening performance. I, on my part, had arranged to go back to school and put the best face on things that was possible. During my absence, of course, it had become known that my guardian's letter was a deception and that my three months [21] care-free existence was truancy. Where I had been the headmaster did not know. What I had done he knew even less. But the delinquency was one which, in the interest of school discipline, had to be visited with extreme severity. The Dominie took me before the class and commenced to use the birch with well-applied vigour.
When at the mature age of seventeen one is made a public exhibition of one can have a very acute sense of injured dignity. The rod descended heavily.
"Stop it!" I shouted. "You can't thrash me like this. Do you know what you are doing? You're thrashing a married man!"
"You a married man! You lie!" The birching, bad as it had been, was redoubled in intensity. The master declared that he would teach me a lesson for lying.
"But I am a married man," I yelled. "I was married yesterday."
But even the dawn of truth meant no reprieve. The explanation put the offence in a still more lurid light. It was bad enough to tell a lie, but a good deal worse to get married, and the headmaster whacked me all the more severely as an awful example to the rest of the boys.
Following the thrashing, I enjoyed a fleeting notoriety in the eyes of my school mates, who crowded round to see the interesting matrimonial specimen. "Look who's married!" they shouted. "What's it like?" I'm afraid at the moment that, smarting under the rod, the joys of married life seemed to me to be, as Mark Twain would say, "greatly exaggerated." And [22] worse was to come. Next day the master, considering my knowledge of life made me too black a reprobate to remain in his school any longer, terminated my career as a pupil. For a married man to be in one of the lower classes was too much of an absurdity.
Here was a pretty how-d'ye-do! A bridegroom in sad disgrace, and finding himself on the day after his marriage with no work, no prospects, no anything! Louie it was who came to the rescue. "Princess Ida" had just been produced at the Savoy, and she had been engaged for chorus work in the company which was being sent out on a provincial tour, commencing at Glasgow. My wife contrived to see Mr. Carte, and she faithfully followed the strategy that had been decided upon. Seeing that theatrical managers were understood to dislike married couples in companies on tour, she was to ask him whether he would engage her brother for the tour, pointing out that he had a good voice and was "fairly good looking." The upshot was that I was commanded to wait on Mr. Carte. Later in life I came to know him well and to receive many a kindness from him, but this first interview remains in my mind to this day, because it was destined to put my foot on the first rung of the theatrical ladder.
"Not much of a voice," was the conductor's comment—not a very flattering compliment, by the way, to one who had been for a long time solo boy in the choir of St. Philip's, Kensington. "Never mind," replied Mr. Carte; "he will do as understudy for David Fisher as King Gama." And as chorister and understudy I was engaged. Each of us was to have �2 a week, and in view of our circumstances the money was [23] not merely welcome, but princely. Our troubles seemed to have vanished for ever.
One of our difficulties was that, having entered the company as brother and sister, that pretty fiction had to be kept up, and for a devoted newly-married couple that was not very easy. For a brother my attentiveness was almost amusing. The r�le was also sometimes embarrassing. Louie's charms quickly captivated a member of the company who afterwards rose very high in the profession—it would hardly be fair to give his identity away!—and one night he gave me a broad hint that my dutiful watchfulness was carried too far. "Leave her to me," he whispered, affably. When I told him I had promised mother I would not leave her, or some such story, a compromise was arranged whereby after the show, when we were going home, I should drop back and give him the opportunity for playing the "gallant." To have refused would have aroused suspicions that might have led to the discovery of our secret. So like Jack Point, I had to walk behind while the other fellow escorted my bride and paid her pretty compliments. It seemed less of a joke at the time than it does to-day.
Naturally, the little bubble was bound to explode before long, and it exploded when everything seemed to be going splendidly. It happened when one of the assistant managers, who also admired my wife, somehow induced us to invite him to visit our "digs."
"Nice rooms, these," he commented, taking them in at a glance. "What do you pay?"
"Only sixteen shillings? Three rooms for sixteen shillings!"
"No! Only two——." The fatal slip! Truth at last had to out.
We told him that we had been afraid that, if we had said we were man and wife, we should not have got the engagement, and we were in too much of a dilemma to be sticklers for accuracy. Our "marriage lines" were then and there produced.
"Well," said the manager, "you are remarkably alike; no wonder you easily passed for brother and sister." That, in fact, was true. Our marriage, he went on to tell us, would not have been a handicap in the D'Oyly Carte Company. Most managers, he said, did not care for husband and wife to travel together, but that was not the case with Mr. D'Oyly Carte.
The news quickly spread through the company, and on every hand we received congratulations. Only one of our colleagues considered that he had a grievance. He was the usurper who had insisted that I should allow him to escort my alleged sister from the theatre to our lodgings. "What a fool you've made of me," he complained. "Why I was going to propose! I did think she would make such a nice little wife!"
Long after this it was Mr. Carte's custom, when making enquiries as to my wife, to say dryly, "And how's your sister, Lytton?" Similarly, whenever he spoke to my wife, there was invariably a twinkle in his eye whenever he asked after the welfare and whereabouts of her "brother."
HENRY A. LYTTON AT THE AGE OF TWENTY.
II.
VAGABONDAGE OF THE COMMONWEALTH.
�. s. d. on Tour—The Search for Independence—The Old Showman of Shepherd's Bush—Not the "Carte" I Wanted—The Commonwealth—Our Repertory and Our Creditors—"Well, Mr. Bundle"—A Thirsty Situation and a Melodramatic Finale—A Stammerer's Story—Comradeship in Adversity—Roaming the Country—Back in London and the Search for Work—Diverse Occupations and Little Pay—A Savoy Engagement at Last—Understudy to Grossmith—A Real Opportunity.
The "Princess Ida" tour, as I have said, opened at Glasgow. It ran for about a year, with enthusiasm and success wherever the company played, though unluckily for me, my services as understudy were never required. The D'Oyly Carte companies then, as now, were always a happy family, the members of which were always helpful to one another and always remarkably free from those petty jealousies that distinguish some ranks of the profession.
Looking back on those romantic times, my wife and I often marvel how, with all our inexperience in housekeeping, our slender finances withstood the strain of our extravagance. Whenever we moved on to a new town we had the usual fears as to what sort of a landlady we were to get. In these times landladies do not always look on actors as their legitimate "prey." But then they were extortioners, though there were, of course, some pleasant exceptions. I remember, for instance, that in some places we were charged 5s. a week for [26] potatoes, and in others only 6d. On the whole, on that tour, we must have been in luck. Notwithstanding that we had lived fairly well—and we did indulge odd tastes for luxuries—we found that at the end of the 52 weeks' engagement we had saved �52.
Following the "Princess Ida" tour, we were sent out into the provinces again with other productions, and in this way we served under the Gilbert and Sullivan banner for the best part of two years. But they were not continuous engagements. From time to time we would find ourselves idle and our tiny resources steadily dwindling. Luckily, during this period we always managed to secure a fresh engagement before we had spent our last sovereign, though we were hardly as fortunate in the dark days that were coming.
I remember receiving at this time the advice of a dear old friend, a Mr. Chevasse, of Wolverhampton. "The turning-point in your career," he said to me, "will come when you have got 'independence.'" "What," I asked him, "do you mean by that?" "Get �100 in the bank," was his answer, "and in your case that will bring the sense of independence. It will put you on a different footing with everyone you meet, and you will know that at last you are beginning to shape your career yourself. Save everything you can. Save a shilling a week, or two shillings a week, but save whatever happens." And he was right. Later, when I had that �100 stored away, I found myself in a position that enabled me to assert my claim for principal parts, and I was sent out into the provinces to take three leading r�les—Ko-Ko, Jack Point, and Sir Joseph Porter. [27]
But this is anticipating my story. Before that time came there were dark days to pass through, days when we did not know where the next meal would come from, and days when we tramped the country as strolling players, footsore and weary. When our modest savings had been exhausted during one prolonged period of "resting," I remember being driven by sheer necessity to apply for an engagement at the booth of an old showman at Shepherd's Bush. I had to do something. So I walked up to the showman, who was standing outside the tent in a prosperous-looking coat with an astrakhan collar, and asked him for a job. What did I want to be? I wanted, I told him, to be an actor, and would play anything from melodrama to low comedy.
"All right," said the showman. "Go over there and wash that cart!"
I went "over there" and started the washing. But it was no use. Sorry as things were with us, I just could not come down to that, and off I bolted. That was not the sort of "Carte" I wanted.
Our next venture was very interesting. It brought us no fame, precious little money, a great deal of hardship, and yet a host of pleasant remembrances to look back upon in the brighter days. "We were seven" and one and all down on our luck. Failing to obtain any engagements in town, we decided to band ourselves together as fellow-unfortunates, and to seek what fortune there was as entertainers in the villages and small towns of Surrey. It was to be a Commonwealth. Whatever profits there were made were to be divided equally. One week this division enabled us to [28] take 7s. 10d. each! That was the record. What ill-success our efforts had was certainly not due to any want of "booming." The services of a bill-poster were obviously prohibitive. So at the dead of night we used to put our night-shirts over our clothes to save these from damage, creep out into the streets with our paste-bucket and brush, and fix our playbills to any convenient hoarding or building. It had to be done in double-quick time, but we had spied out the land beforehand, and generally we made sure that our notices were pasted where they would prominently catch the public eye.
Our repertory consisted of a striking drama entitled "All for Her," a touching comedy called "Masters and Servants," and an operetta known as "Tom Tug the Waterman." In addition, we did songs and dances, and as it happened these were the best feature of the programme. We had no capital available to spend on dresses and scenery. What we did was to take some ramshackle hall or barn, and then to make a brave show with our posters, though the printer was often lucky if he got more than free tickets for all his family to see our performance. Generally our creditors considered that, as there was small chance of getting any money from us, they might as well have an evening out for nothing. Our costumes were improvised from our ordinary attire. The men figured as society swells by using white paper to represent spats or by tucking in their waistcoats and using more white paper to indicate that they were in immaculate "evening dress." As to scenery all we had was our own crude drawings in crayons and pencil.
We presented our plays by what is known as "winging." [29] By that I mean that only one manuscript copy of the play was usually available, and each player had to get an idea of the lines which he or she had to speak after each entrance, though the actual words used on the stage were mainly extemporised. "Winging," even when one has theatrical experience behind one, is not at all easy. I know that in "Tom Tug" I dreaded the very thought of having to go on and make what should have been a long speech designed to give the audience a more or less intelligent idea of the plot. I was so uncertain about it that I took the book on with me in the hope of getting furtive glimpses at it as we went along.
"Well, Mr. Bundle," I began.
"Well?" Mr. Bundle responded.
"Well?"
"Well."
The next "Well" did not come from the stage; it came from the audience. "Well?" it yelled, accompanied, so to speak, by a tremendous note of interrogation. "Well?" it echoed again. "Say something, can't you?"
This was too much. In confusion I rushed off the stage. Even that was not all. I should, as I have said, have outlined the course of the story, but not only did I not do this but in my confusion I left behind me the book of words on which we were all depending. From the others in the wings there came anguished whispers. "Where's the book?" "You've left the book on the table!" So I had to put the best face on things and walk on to get it. But the audience had had enough [30] of me that night. "Get off" they shouted—and I did.
"Tom Tug" was also once the occasion of a painful fiasco. Instead of dashing on to the stage where my wife was playing the part of a simple fisher-girl, and greeting her like the jolly sailor-man I was with a boisterous "Here I am my darling," I found myself, standing behind her in such a state of stage-fright that I was absolutely "dried up." I could not utter a word. I simply stood behind her limp, speechless and motionless, and no amount of prompting would induce me to go on with the wooing. So there was nothing for it but to ring down the curtain, and for the rest of the evening we had songs and dances, with which we made amends.
"All for Her" was a drama of a desert island that should have melted hearts of stone. We were all dying of thirst (at least, according to the plot). Nowhere on that desert island was water to be found. They sent me out to explore for it while they rolled about the stage moaning and groaning in agony. During my absence from the stage I sat near a fire-bucket in the wings. Then came my cue to reappear.
I staggered on famished and weary. The quest had been in vain. "Not a drop," I croaked in a parched, dry voice; "not a drop of water anywhere."
"Liar!" screamed the audience in unison. Our audiences, as you will have gathered, were often critical folk who could sit with dry eyes through our most anguishing scenes. It transpired that while I was sitting near that fire-bucket the bottom of my Arab cloak had dipped into the water and there it was dripping, [31] dripping, dripping right across the stage! The dramatic situation was absolutely spoilt.
The company included, besides my wife and myself, a young actress named Emmeline Huxley, who after these hard times with us went to America and there undoubtedly "made good." Then there was a "character" whom we called "'Oppy." He was the general utility man who acted as conductor and orchestra rolled into one, and then went behind the scenes to play the cornet, to act as stage adviser, or at a pinch to take a small part. He was an enthusiast who was here, there and everywhere. "'Oppy," in addition to having a wall eye and a club foot, had a decided impediment in his speech, but, strangely enough, he was entirely unconscious of this disability. For that reason we often used to induce him to tell his story of the lady who sang "Home, Sweet Home."
This story is bound to lose some of its effect when put into cold print. As "'Oppy" told it the humour was irresistible. "Sh-sh-she wan-wan-ted to go on the sta-sta-sta-stage," he used to say, "and the man-an-an-ager he sa-a-a-aid to her, 'Wh-wh-wh-what can you sing?' And she said, 'Ho-ho-ho-home, Sw-we-we-we-weet Ho-ho-home,' And he told her to sing-sing-sing it. And (here he could not keep a straight face over the poor lady's misfortunes) she-she-she couldn't sing-sing-sing it for-for-for stam-stam-stam-stam-stam-mering."
Never did "'Oppy" tell this story, of the ridiculousness of the telling of which he seemed entirely unconscious, without his hearers exploding with laughter. "Wh-what makes you all lau-lau-laugh so?" he used [32] to ask, incredulously. "You lau-lau-lau-lau-laugh altogether to-to-to-too hearty. It's a good-good-good yarn, but I'm dam-dam-dam-damned if it's as fun-fun-fun-funny as that."
Once he received an unexpected windfall in the shape of a postal order from a relative for two or three shillings. "Come and have a little dinner with me to morrow," he said to me and my wife. "I know you're hungry." When we arrived we found his plate was already on the table and empty. He apologised profoundly. He had been too hungry to wait for us and had already eaten his dinner. So while my wife and I each enjoyed a chop—the first square meal we had had for many a day—he sat by and kept us entertained. Splendid fellow! Little did we guess that as he did so he was suffering the pangs of hunger accentuated by the sight of our satisfaction. Next day the landlady confided to us the fact that as our friend's windfall had been insufficient to provide chops and vegetables for three, he had smeared his plate with the gravy from the chops we were to have, and then made us believe that he had satisfied his hunger already.
What became of him later on I have never discovered. I only know that I have tried hard to find him in order that that noble act of self-denial might be in some generous manner repaid. Neither inquiries nor advertisements, however, have ever revealed his whereabouts to me, and it may be that already this honest fellow has gone to receive his reward. God rest his soul!
Then there was Arthur Hendon. If ever a Christian lived it was that sterling fellow. Time after time in those heart-aching days we were on the verge of despair. [33] Luck was dead out. Life was a misery. But Hendon, though he was as sore of heart and as hungry as the rest of us, was always ready with some cheery word, some act of kindness, some "goodness done by stealth." Louie and I were rather small in size, and often as we tramped from one place to another he carried one of us in turn in his arms. For we had little food, and were tired, footsore and "beat." And he, too, was "done." Only his great heart sustained him in those terrible times as our "captain courageous."
The Commonwealth venture lasted for about three months altogether. As I have shown it was one continual struggle against adversity and poverty. For some time we were located at Aldershot. Our show ran as a rule from six to eleven o'clock, and for want of better amusement the soldiers gave us a fair amount of patronage at threepence a head. If we did not please them they did not hesitate to fling the dregs of their pint pots on to the stage. One night we felt ourselves highly honoured by the presence of a number of military officers at our performance. "All for Her," I am glad to say, went without a hitch on that gala occasion. Our "theatre" was an outhouse owned by a publican, who was very considerate towards us in the matter of rent, because he found that our presence meant good business for his bar-parlour receipts.
From Aldershot we went on to Farnham, and from there to other hamlets where we believed there was an audience, however uncouth and untutored, to be gathered together. Eventually we reached Guildford. By then matters were getting desperate. The Mayor or some other local public man heard of our plight. He drove [34] out to where we were playing, witnessed part of our performance, and engaged us to sing at a garden-party. I remember that, exhausted as we were, gratitude enabled us to give of our very best as the only return we could make for his kindness. He told us it was a great pity that such clever people should be living a precarious existence in the country villages, and offered to pay our train fares to London in addition to the fee for the engagement we had fulfilled. This generosity we accepted with alacrity. The next morning we were back in town again—each to follow his or her different way. So ended the vagabondage of the Commonwealth. It was an experience which none of us was ever likely to forget.
Once more in London it would be idle to say that our troubles had disappeared. It meant the dreary search again for employment. Mr. D'Oyly Carte had no immediate vacancies. Other managers had nothing more to offer than promises. Lucky is the actor—if he ever exists—who throughout his career has been free from this compulsory idleness. During this period I had to turn my hand to all sorts of things. Once I called at a draper's shop and secured casual work as a bill distributor. I had to go from door to door in a certain select part of Kensington. I remember I looked at those gilded walls and those red-carpeted stairs with a good deal of envy. Later on I was destined to visit some of those very houses and walk up those same red-carpeted stairs as a guest—those very houses at which to earn an odd shilling or so to buy bread I had delivered those bills! Yes; and there was one house at which I called in those humble days where they abruptly opened the door, showed me a ferocious-looking dog [35] with the most business-like teeth, and significantly commanded me to "get off—and quick!" I had done nothing wrong, and my body and my heart were aching. Years afterwards I became a breeder of bulldogs—about that you shall hear later on—and sold one of them to those very people. And, as if in poetic justice, that bulldog bit them!
My training under Trood was turned to advantage during these empty days. A fashion had just set in for plaques. I painted some scores of these terra-cotta miniatures, and although it was not remunerative work, it served to put bare necessities into the pantry. We were living about that time in Stamford Street, off the Waterloo Road, and in those days it was a terrible neighbourhood where one's sleep was often disturbed by cries of "murder" and "police." Our baby's cradle was a travelling basket—we could not afford anything better. I remember, in connection with those plaques, that in after years I was dining at the house of a well-known writer and critic, and he showed me with keen admiration two beautiful plaques, which, he said, had been won by Miss Jessie Bond in a raffle at the Savoy. She had made a present of them to him. "Yes," I commented, "and I painted them." He was kind enough to say that that enhanced their value to him considerably.
For a time I went into a works where they made dies for armorial bearings. Here I had to do a good deal of tracing, and the work was fairly interesting. I drew five shillings the first week—hardly an imposing stipend for a family man—but the second week it was ten shillings and the third twenty shillings. Singing at [36] occasional smoking concerts and running errands supplemented this money very acceptably. The job at the die-sinkers might have continued, but the foreman wanted me to clean the floors in addition to doing my artistic work, and at that my dignity revolted. I left.
Some months went by in this flitting from one job into another, but it is useless to attempt a full catalogue of my versatility, for it is neither impressive nor very inspiring. During all this hand-to-mouth existence I was calling on theatrical managers. Slender as the rewards which the stage had thus far given me were—just a meagre livelihood and precious little encouragement—the call to return to it remained insistent and strong. Sooner or later I was bound to return, and whether it were to be to good fortune or ill, the very hope buoyed me up. I had worried Mr. Carte with ceaseless importunity. Every week at least I went round to try and see him on the off-chance of an engagement. And at last there came the turn of the tide.
It happened on the eve of the first London production of "Ruddigore." Concerning this new opera, the producers had for good reasons maintained an air of secrecy, and the unfolding of the mystery was thus awaited with more than usual public curiosity. It was the talk of the town and the subject of many skittish references in the newspapers. Calling once again at Mr. Carte's office, I caught him, after a long wait, just leaving his room and hurrying along a corridor. Without more ado I button-holed him and asked him once again for an engagement. Mr. Carte was not a man who liked that sort of conduct. "You should not interrupt me like this," he said, in a tone that betrayed his annoyance. [37] "You ought to send up your name." Explaining that I had done so and had been told he was out of town, I repeated my plea for an engagement. Hurrying on his way Mr. Carte told me to go down to the stage. Success had come at last! When Mr. Carte sent a man to the stage that man became ipso facto a member of the company. Later the news came through that Mr. Carte had chosen me as understudy to Mr. George Grossmith as Robin Oakapple. This was indeed a slice of good fortune. Understudy to Mr. George Grossmith!
"Ruddigore" was produced for the first time on Tuesday, the 22nd January, 1887, at the Savoy. Towards the end of that week Grossmith was taken seriously ill with peritonitis. By an effort he was able to continue playing until the Saturday. Then he collapsed and was taken home for a serious operation. Upon the Monday morning I was told I was to play his part—and play it that very night.
Chosen to step into the shoes of the great George Grossmith! Faced with such an ordeal to-day I verily believe I should shirk it. But then, the audacity of youth was to carry me through. The supreme chance had come. At all costs it had to be grasped.
III.
CLIMBING THE LADDER.
The "Ruddigore" Success—Congratulations from everyone—My First Meeting with Grossmith—Gilbert's Advice to a beginner—Irving's wonderful Acting and its Effect—Speaking to the Man in the Gallery—The Mystery of Jack Point—How My Tragic Ending Was Introduced—Gilbert's Approval—A Memorable Hanley Compliment—Laughter I ought not to have had—Bunthorne's Fall—Accidents, Happy and Otherwise—Ko-Ko's Mobile Toe—Not a Mechanical Trick—The Myth of the Poor Old Man of Seventy—Still Youthful in Spirit and Years.
The Savoy Theatre had its usual large and fashionable audience on that Monday night when I was to play my first big principal part either in or out of London. What my sensations were it would be hard to describe. Nervous I certainly was, and in the front of the house my wife was sitting wondering, wondering whether the stage-fright fiasco in "All for Her" was going to be repeated in this critical performance of "Ruddigore." Both of us knew that here was my great opportunity. If I won the future was assured. If I lost——! I knew the dialogue, and I knew the songs, but during the previous week there had been all too little chance for me to study Grossmith's conception of the part from the "wings."
Then my cue came and I went on. The silence of the audience was deathly. They gave me not the slightest welcome. The great Grossmith, the lion comique of his day, was not playing! Oakapple was being taken by an unknown stripling! No wonder [39] they were disappointed and chilling. First I had a few lines to speak, and then I had a beautiful little duet with Miss Leonora Braham, who was playing Rose Maybud. And when that duet, "Poor Little Man" was over, and we had responded to the calls for an encore, all my tremors and hesitation had gone. I knew things were all right. With every number the audience grew more and more hearty. The applause when the curtain fell was to me unforgettable. It betokened a triumph.
Behind the scenes the principals and the choristers almost mobbed me with congratulations. Up in my dressing-room there were many further compliments. Sir (then Mr.) William Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan came to see me together. I heard afterwards that they had been very anxious about the performance. Gilbert, as he shook me by the hand, declared "To-night there is no need for the Lyttons to turn in their graves." Mr. Carte, though always a man of few words, gave me to understand that he realised that his confidence in me had not been misplaced. Cellier, who had occupied the conductor's seat, told me that "From to-night you will never look back." He and I remained fast friends for life.
The second act was no less successful. Since then I have come to know how wonderful receptions can be, but never did applause fall more gratefully than when as a young man under the first ordeal of a terrible test, I was making that first appearance at the Savoy. Late as it is, I should like to thank any who were there and who read these lines for that sympathy and encouragement. It gave me confidence in myself and helped [40] me along. For every young artist who comes for the first time before the footlights, may I bespeak always the same kindly feeling? It does mean so much. The Press, to whom my debt has always been great, also said many nice things about that performance. "Carte and Company, it must be admitted," said one leading paper, "are wonderful people for finding out hitherto unexploited talent."
Although George Grossmith was at first not expected to live, he made an amazingly rapid recovery, and in about three weeks he was able to resume his part in "Ruddigore." One of the first things he did was to send for me. "Gee-Gee," as the older generation remembers, was in his day a veritable prince of comedians, and in the theatre he was always paid the deference due to a prince. Outside his dressing-room a factotum was always on duty. None dare think of entering without permission. Thus, when I, a mere member of the chorus, was summoned there into the great man's presence, it was regarded by the company as an event, and everyone wanted to know what it was like! Grossmith told me he had heard of my success, gave me a signed copy of his photograph as a memento, and thus laid the foundation of a friendship that was destined to grow very intimate during the coming years.
Grossmith was a man of brilliant accomplishments, and as an artiste in facial expression and in wistful fancy, perhaps we have not seen his equal. Shortly after he left the Gilbert and Sullivan operas, he went on tour with a repertory of charming songs he had himself composed, and in that venture he made a good deal of money. For a reason theatre-goers will understand—the desire to avoid becoming a pale imitation of a man playing the same part as oneself—I was never a spectator "in front" when he was in the cast at the Savoy.
THE LATE SIR WILLIAM S. GILBERT.
Connected [41] with my "Ruddigore" success I was proud to become the recipient from Gilbert of a gold-mounted walking-stick that is still one of my most treasured possessions, and the letter accompanying this gift it may be well to reproduce:—
39, Harrington Gardens,
W. S. Gilbert.
H. A. Henri, Esq.
Let me explain here that, in consequence of the "brother and sister" deception, when I joined the D'Oyly Carte organisation just after my marriage, I adopted my wife's name and was known as H. A. Henri during the early part of my career. It was on Gilbert's own suggestion that I made the change.
It was true, as Gilbert said, that I had no adequate rehearsal when I was bidden to step at short notice into George Grossmith's shoes, but during the next few weeks it was my good fortune to be under the playwright's personal coaching. Subsequently I shall [42] have to tell many reminiscences of Gilbert, who in after years gave me the privilege of being both his friend and confidant, but at this moment I want to refer to advice he gave me while "putting me through my paces" in "Ruddigore." In my anxiety I was rather hurrying the speech I was supposed to address to the picture gallery of my ancestors. He pulled me up.
"Let me tell you something, young man," he began. "That speech, 'Oh! my forefathers!' is now a short speech, but originally it consisted of three pages of closely-written manuscript. I condensed and condensed. Every word I could I removed until it was of the length you find it to-day. Each word that is left serves some purpose—there is not one word too many. So when you know that it took me three months to perfect that one speech, I am sure you will not hurry it. Try to remember that throughout your career in these operas." Later on he also gave me this sound counsel, "Always leave a little to the audience's imagination. Leave it to them to see and enjoy the point of a joke. I am sure you are intelligent," he went on to say, "but believe me, there are many in the audience who are more intelligent than you!"
Now, if an actor in these operas has to be careful of one thing above everything else, it is that of avoiding forcing a point. Gilbert's wit is so neat and so beautifully phrased that it would be utterly spoilt by buffoonery. The lines must be declaimed in deadly seriousness just as if the actor believes absolutely in the fanciful and extravagant thing he is saying. I can think of no better illustration of this than the scene in "Iolanthe" where Strephon rejects recourse to the [43] Chancery Court and says his code of conduct is regulated only by "Nature's Acts of Parliament." The Lord Chancellor then talks about the absurdity of "an affidavit from a thunderstorm or a few words on oath from a heavy shower." What a typical Gilbertian fancy! Well, you know how the "comic" man would say that, how he would whip up his coat collar and shiver at the suggestion of rain, and how he would do his poor best to make it sound and look "funny." And the result would be that he would kill the wittiness of the lines by burlesque. The Lord Chancellor says the words as if he believed an affidavit from a thunderstorm was at least a possibility, and the suggestion that he does think it possible makes the very idea, in the audience's mind, more whimsical still. Imagine, again, in "Patience" how the entire point would be lost if Bunthorne acted as if he himself saw the absurdity of his poem "Oh! Hollow, Hollow, Hollow!" Grosvenor, in the same opera, is intensely serious when he laments sadly that his fatal beauty stands between him and happiness. If he were not, the delightful drollery of the piece would, of course, be destroyed.
Gilbert, by the way, gave me two other hints which should be useful to those just beginning their careers in the theatre, and they are hints which even older actors may study with profit. He held that it was most important that the artiste who was speaking and the artiste who was being addressed should always be well to the front of the stage. "If you are too far back," he said to me, "you not only lose grip over the audience, but you also lose the power of clear and effective speech." Then there is that old trouble—nearly [44] every novice is conscious of it—as to what one should do with one's hands when on the stage. Somehow they do seem so much in the way, and one does feel one ought to do something with them, though what that something should be is always a problem. I mentioned this matter to Gilbert. "Cut them off at the wrists, Lytton," was his quick reply, "and forget you've got any hands!" Every young professional and young amateur should remember this. So long as one worries about one's hands or one's fingers, one is very liable to be nervous and to do something wrong, and so the only sound rule to follow is to forget them entirely.
For a good reason I am going to digress here to tell a story of Sir Henry Irving. It was my good fortune once to be in the wings at the Lyceum when he was playing Shylock in the "Merchant of Venice." The power of his acting upon me that day was extraordinary. Every word I listened to intently until at last, in the trial scene, he had taken out his knife to cut the pound of flesh. I knew, of course, that he was never really going to cut that pound of flesh, but the sharpening of the knife, the dramatic gleam in the great tragedian's eyes, the tenseness of the whole situation, was all too vivid and all too like reality. I hated the sight of bloodshed, and in the shock of anticipation, I fainted.
When I came round I was in the green room, and a little later, amongst those who came to see me, was Irving himself. I was deadly white, and if the truth must be told, rather ashamed. But Irving was immensely pleased. He took it as a compliment to the force of his acting. Learning that I was a young actor, [45] he declared that my emotionalism was a good omen, and said that my sensitive and highly-strung nature would help me in my work enormously. Then he went on to give me many hints that should be valuable to every aspirant for success on the stage. One hint I have never forgotten. "See to it," he said, "that you always imagine that in the theatre you have a pal who could not afford the stalls, and who is in the back of the pit or the gallery. Let him hear every line you have to say. It will make you finish your words distinctly and correctly."
If it is true, as friends have often told me, that one of the chief merits of my work is the clearness of my elocution in all parts of the house, it is due to the advice given to me in those early days by two of the greatest figures connected with the stage, Gilbert and Irving. Seeing that these operas are now being played by hundreds of amateur societies each year, I want to pass on to those who perform in them this golden rule: Always pitch your voice to reach the man listening from the furthest part of the building. Since Gilbert's death I have often had the feeling that someone is still intently listening to me—someone a long way away!
But now I must proceed with my story. When George Grossmith returned to the cast, I was sent out as a principal in one of the provincial companies, and in this work continued for years. Sometimes we played one opera only on tour—the opera most recently produced in town—and sometimes a number of them in repertory. It was towards the end of 1888 that I first played what is, I need hardly say, the favourite of all my parts, Jack Point, in the "Yeomen of the Guard," [46] the opera which was Gilbert and Sullivan's immediate successor to "Ruddigore." And in connection with this part let us finally clear up a "mystery." It has been a frequent source of enquiry and even controversy in the newspapers.
When at the close of "Yeomen" Elsie is wedded to Fairfax, does Jack Point die of a broken heart, or does he merely swoon away? That question is often asked, and it is a matter on which, of course, the real pathos of the play depends. The facts are these. Gilbert had conceived and written a tragic ending, but Grossmith, who created the part, and for whom in a sense it was written, was essentially the accepted wit and laughter-maker of his day, and thus it had to be arranged that the opera should have a definitely humorous ending. He himself knew and told Gilbert that, however he finished it, the audience would laugh. The London public regarded him as, what in truth he was, a great jester. If he had tried to be serious they would have refused to take him seriously. Whatever Grossmith did the audience would laugh, and the manner in which he did fall down at the end was, indeed, irresistibly funny.
So it came about that while he was playing Jack Point in his way in London I was playing him in my way in the provinces. The first time I introduced my version of the part was at Bath. For some time I had considered how poignant would be the effect if the poor strolling player, robbed of the love of a lady, forsaken by his friends, should gently kiss the edge of her garment, make the sign of his blessing, and then fall over, not senseless, but—dead! I had told the stage manager [47] about my new ending. From time to time he asked me when I was going to do it, and then when at last I did feel inspired to play this tragic d�nouement, what he did was to wire immediately to Mr. Carte: "Lytton impossible for Point. What shall I do?"
I ought to explain that any departure from tradition in the performance of these operas was strictly prohibited by the management. Thus, while I might demur to the implication that my work was impossible, the fact that he should report me to headquarters was only consistent with his duty. But the sequel was hardly what he expected. The very next day Mr. Carte, unknown to me at the time, came down to Bath. He watched the performance and, after the show, the company were assembled on the stage in order that, in accordance with custom, he could express any criticisms or bestow his approval. What happened seemed to me to be characteristic of this great man's remarkable tact. He first told us that he had enjoyed the performance. "For rehearsals to-morrow," he went on, "I shall want Mr. So-and-so, Mr. So-and-so, Miss So-and-so, Miss So-and-so," and several others. The inference was that there were details in their work that needed correcting. Then he turned to me, shook me most warmly by the hand, and just said very cordially, "Good night, Lytton." And then he left. No "Excellent"—that might have let down the stage manager's authority—but at the same time no condemnation. It was all noncommittal, but it suggested to me, as it actually transpired was the case, that he was anything but displeased with my reading.
Gilbert and I, when we had become close friends, [48] often had long talks about this opera, and particularly about my interpretation of the lovable Merryman. I told him what had led me to attempt this conception, and asked him whether he wished me to continue it, or whether it should be modified in any particular way. "No," was his reply; "keep on like that. It is just what I want. Jack Point should die and the end of the opera should be a tragedy."
For the sake of fairness I must mention that a fortnight after I had introduced this version of the part, another popular artiste, who was out with one of the other provincial companies, played the r�le in just the same way. It was entirely a coincidence. Neither of us knew that the other had evolved in his mind precisely the same idea, even down to the minutest details, and still less had either of us seen the other play it.
One little detail in my make-up for this part may be worth recording. Whenever kings or noblemen in the old days were pleased with their jesters they threw them a ring. For that reason I invariably wear a ring when I appear as Jack Point. Simple ornament as it is, it was once owned by Edmund Kean and worn by him on the stage, and another treasured relic of the great tragedian that I possess is a snuff-box, also given to me by my old friend, Charles Brookfield.
One of the finest compliments ever paid to me as an artiste occurred at Hanley. We were playing "Yeomen." Many of our audience that night were a rough lot of fellows, some of whom even sat in their shirt sleeves, but there could be no question but that they were keenly following the play. Everywhere we had been on that tour there had been tremendous calls after the curtain. At Hanley when the curtain fell there was—a dead silence! It was quite uncanny. What had happened? Were they so little moved by the closing scene of the piece that they were going out in indifference or in disgust? Gently we drew the edge of the curtain aside, and there, would you believe it, we saw those honest fellows silently creeping out without even a whisper. He was dead. Jack Point was dead!
THE LATE SIR ARTHUR SULLIVAN.
[49]
I changed in silence myself. The effect of the incident had been so extraordinary. And when I went down to the stage door a crowd of these rough men were waiting. Somehow they knew me for Point. "Here he is!" they shouted. "Are you all right, mister, now?" Then, as I walked on, they turned to one another and I overheard one of them say: "He wasn't dead, after all." As they saw the end of the opera they verily believed something had gone wrong. Such a thing in the theatre may possibly be understandable, but that the illusion should have lingered after the curtain had dropped, and even after they had left the theatre and come really to earth in the street, seemed to me extraordinary.
The "Yeomen of the Guard" was staged again the following night, but this time the audience must have been told by their pals that they had actually seen me afterwards, and that it was "only a play." Jack didn't die—not really. It was only "pretended."
That Hanley audience rather overdrew the gravity of things. Some audiences, on the other hand, go to the opposite extreme and they have their biggest laugh when and where I least expect it. I remember once playing the Pirate King in the "Pirates of Penzance," and as a result of a slip (a physical one) I was the sorry figure in [50] one of those incidents which I might catalogue as "laughs I ought not to have got." I had to come in, armed to the teeth, high up on the stage. By some mischance I slipped down the rocks, and encumbered with all those knives, pistols and cutlasses about me it was a pretty bad drop. The audience, of course, thought my undignified entrance a capital joke. I didn't—it hurt. But I turned the mishap to account, first picking up a dagger and putting it between my teeth, then groping round for the other weapons, and all the while cowing my pirate swashbucklers with a vicious look that suggested "Come on at your peril; I'm ready." That incident was not in the book.
Lovers of "Patience" will recall that little diversion where Lady Jane picks up Bunthorne in her arms and carries him off. Well, when Miss Bertha Lewis was playing with me in this scene quite recently, she did something quite unauthorised. She dropped me—it was a terrible crash—and the audience thought it a "scream." In the shelter of the wings I remonstrated with her, pointing out that this was a distinct departure from what Gilbert intended. All the sympathy I got was, "Well, I've dropped you only twice in eight years!" Scarcely an effectual embrocation for bruises!
When we were doing "Ruddigore" in Birmingham, some years ago, I broke my ankle in the dance with which the first curtain fell. Somehow I finished the performance, but when I went up to my dressing-room to change I fainted. When I came to I found that my foot had swollen enormously, that the top boot I was wearing had burst, and that they were doing their best to cut it away. The speediest medical aid to be found was that [51] of a veterinary surgeon, and although the pain was awful it was nothing like the feeling of doom when I overheard him saying, "He may not walk again!" Luckily his fears were altogether unfounded, but although the accident has not affected my dancing, the ankle has never been quite right to this day.
Once, in the "Yeomen," I kicked one of the posts near the executioner's block. It dislocated my toe, but what a happy accident it was I did not realise until some weeks later, when we were playing "The Mikado," and when I was doing the dance in the "Flowers that Bloom in the Spring," I trod upon a tin-tack, and instinctively drew my toe away, as it were, from the pain. From the audience there came a tremendous roar of laughter. For a moment I could not understand it at all. Looking down, however, I was amazed to find that big toe upright, almost at right angles to the rest of the foot. With my fan I pressed it down—then raised it again. This provoked so much merriment among the audience that I did it a second time, and a third. All this time the theatre was convulsed. I confess that to myself it seemed jolly funny. Here, indeed, was a quaint discovery.
This "toe" business has ever since been one of Ko-Ko's greatest mirth-provokers in the "Flowers that Bloom in the Spring." The explanation of its origin shows that it is not a trick mechanical toe nor, as some people suppose, that it is done with a piece of string. The fact is simply that the toe is double-jointed.
Now that I have made a brief reference to dancing, I think it may be well to correct a legend which has grown up about my age, and which usually turns up [52] when we have been encored a first or a second time for a dance or some boisterous number, especially in "Iolanthe" or "The Mikado." "Isn't it a shame?" I know some dear kind friends say, "making him do it again. Poor old man! He's well over seventy." Others declare, "Isn't he a marvel for sixty-five?" Well, if a man is as old as he feels, then my age must still be in the thirties, and certainly there is no intention on my part of retiring just yet. But if we have to go by the calendar, and if it is necessary that there should be "no possible shadow of doubt" in the future as to my age, I had better put on record the fact that I was born in London on January 3rd, 1867. The rest, a small matter of arithmetic, may be left to you. At all events I am still some distance from the patriarchal span.
The stage is a wonderful tonic in keeping one healthy and strong. Not once, but many times, I have gone to the theatre in the evening suffering from neuralgia, but the moment my cue comes the pain has entirely disappeared. No sooner, worse luck, have I finished for the night than it has returned!
IV.
LEADERS OF THE SAVOY.
Memories of Gilbert—His instinct for stagecraft—Stories of rehearsals—Jack Point's unanswered conundrum—The craze for the Up-to-Date—Gilbert's experiments on a miniature stage—Nanki-Poo's address—The Japanese colony at Knightsbridge—The geniality of Sullivan—A magician of the orchestra—The cause of an unhappy separation—Only a carpet—Impressions of D'Oyly Carte—Merited rebukes and generous praise—D'Oyly Carte and I rehearse a love scene—A wonderful business woman—Mrs. Carte's part in the Savoy successes—Our leader to-day.
Sir William Gilbert I shall always regard as a pattern of the fine old English gentleman. Of that breed we have only too few survivors to-day. Some who know him superficially have pictured him as a martinet, but while this may have been true of him under the stress of his theatrical work, it fails to do justice to the innate gentleness and courtesy which were his great and distinguishing qualities. Upright and honourable himself, one could never imagine that he could ever do a mean, ungenerous action to anyone, nor had any man a truer genius for friendship.
Gilbert, it is true, had sometimes a satirical tongue, but these little shafts of ridicule of his seldom left any sting. The bons mots credited to him are innumerable, but while many may be authentic there are others that are legendary. He was a devoted lover of the classics, and to this may be attributed his command of such beautiful English. Nimble-witted as he was, he would spend days in shaping and re-shaping some witty [54] fancy into phrases that satisfied his meticulous taste, and days and weeks would be given to polishing and re-polishing some lyrical gem. But when a new opera was due for rehearsal, the libretto was all finished and copied, and everything was in readiness.
Few men have had so rare an instinct for stagecraft. Few men could approach him in such perfect technique of the footlights. Up at Grim's Dyke, his beautiful home near Harrow, he had a wonderful miniature stage at which he would work arranging just where every character should enter, where he or she should stand or move after this number and that, and when and where eventually he or she should disappear. For each character he had a coloured block, and there were similar devices, of course, for the chorus. Thus, when he came down for rehearsals, he had everything in his mind's eye already, and he insisted that every detail should be carried out just as he had planned. "Your first entrance will be here," he would say, "and your second entrance there. 'Spurn not the nobly born' will be sung by Tolloller just there, and while he sings it Mountararat will stand there, Phyllis there," and so on.
When the company had become familiar with the broader outlines of the piece, he would concentrate attention upon the effects upon the audience that could be attained only by the aid of facial expression, gesture and ensemble arrangement. Not only did he lay down his wishes, but he insisted that they must be implicitly obeyed, and a principal who had not reached perfection in the part he was taking would be coached again and again. I remember once that, in one of [55] those moods of weariness and dullness that occasionally steal over one at rehearsals, I did not grasp something he had been telling me, and I was indiscreet enough to blurt out, "But I haven't done that before, Sir William." "No," was his reply, "but I have." The rebuke to my dullness went home! It was Durward Lely, I think, whom he told once to sit down "in a pensive fashion." Lely thereupon unmindfully sat down rather heavily—and disturbed an elaborate piece of scenery. "No! No!" was Gilbert's comment, "I said pensively, not ex-pensively." That quickness of wit was very typical.
George Grossmith once suggested that the introduction of certain business would make the audience laugh. Gilbert was quite unsympathetic. "Yes!" he responded in his dryest vein, "but so they would if you sat down on a pork pie!" Grossmith it was, too, who had become so wearied practising a certain gesture that I heard him declare he "had rehearsed this confounded business until I feel a perfect fool." "Ah! so now we can talk on equal terms" was the playwright's instant retort. And the next moment he administered another rebuke. "I beg your pardon," said the comedian, rather bored, in reference to some instructions he had not quite understood. "I accept the apology," was the reply. "Now let's get on with the rehearsal."
You will remember that in "The Yeomen" poor Jack Point puts his riddle, "Why is a cook's brainpan like an overwound clock?" The Lieutenant interposes abruptly with "A truce to this fooling," and the poor Merry-man saunters off exclaiming "Just my luck: my best conundrum wasted." Like many in the audience, I have often wondered what the answer to [56] that conundrum is, and one day I put a question about it to Gilbert. With a smile he said he couldn't tell me then, but he would leave me the answer in his will. I'm sorry to say that it was not found there—maybe because there was really no answer to the riddle, or perhaps because he had forgotten to bequeath to the world this interesting legacy.
Sir William not only studied the entrances and exits beforehand, but he came with clear-cut ideas as to the colour schemes which would produce the best effect in the scenery, laid down the methods with which the lighting was to be handled, and arranged that no heavy dresses had to be worn by those who had dances to perform. No alterations of any kind could be made without his authority, and thus it comes about that the operas as presented to-day are just as he left them, without the change of a word, and long may they so remain!
I ought, perhaps, to answer criticisms which are often laid against me when, as Ko-Ko in "The Mikado," I do not follow the text by saying that Nanki-Poo's address is "Knightsbridge." I admit I substitute the name of some locality more familiar to the audience before whom we are playing. Well, it is not generally known that Knightsbridge is named in the opera because, just before it was written, a small Japanese colony had settled in that inner suburb of London, and a very great deal of curiosity the appearance of those little people in their native costumes aroused in the Metropolis. Gilbert, therefore, in his search for "local colour" for his forthcoming opera, had not to travel to Tokio, but found it almost on his own doorstep near his home, then in South Kensington. A Japanese male-dancer and a Geisha, moreover, were allowed to come from the colony to teach the company how to run or dance in tiny steps with their toes turned in, how to spread or snap their fans to indicate annoyance or delight, and how to arrange their hair and line their faces in order to introduce the Oriental touch into their "make-up." This realism was very effective, and it had a great deal to do with the instantaneous success of what is still regarded as the Gilbert and Sullivan masterpiece.
THE LATE MR. RICHARD D'OYLY CARTE.
But [57] to return to the point about Knightsbridge. When "The Mikado" was produced at the Savoy, the significance of the reference to a London audience was obvious and amusing enough, but it was a different matter when the opera was sent into the provinces. Gilbert accordingly gave instructions that the place was to be localised, and there was and always is something very diverting to, say, a Liverpool audience in the unexpected announcement that Nanki-Poo, the great Mikado's son, is living at "Wigan." In the case of Manchester it might be "Oldham" or in that of Birmingham "Small Heath." What I want to make clear is that, so far from any liberty being taken on my part, this little variation is fully authorised, and it is the only instance of the kind in the whole of the operas.
Sir Arthur Sullivan I knew least of the famous triumvirate at the Savoy. I was under him, of course, at rehearsals, and we had pleasant little talks from time to time, but my relations with him were neither so frequent nor so intimate as they were with the other [58] two partners. We had a mutual friend in Francois Cellier, about whose work as conductor I shall have more to say, and it was through him that I learned much about the fine personal and musical qualities of the composer.
Certainly Sullivan was a great man, intensely devoted to his art, and fame and fortune never spoilt a man less. A warm-hearted Irishman, he was always ready to do a good turn for anyone, and it was wonderful how the geniality of his nature was never clouded by almost life-long physical suffering. Sullivan lived and died a bachelor, and I believe there was never a more affectionate tie than that which existed between him and his mother, a very witty old lady, and one who took an exceptional pride in her son's accomplishments. Nor is it generally known that he took upon himself all the obligations for the welfare and upbringing of his dead brother's family. It was to Herbert Sullivan, his favourite nephew, that his fortune was bequeathed.
Of Sullivan the musician I cannot very well speak. I have already owned that I have little real musical knowledge. But at the same time he always seemed to me to be something of a magician. Not only could he play an instrument, but he knew exactly what any instrument could be made to do to introduce some delightful, quaint effect into the general orchestral design. "No! No!" he would say at a rehearsal to the double bass, "I don't want it like that. I want a lazy, drawn-out sound like this." And, taking the bow in his fingers, he would produce some deliciously droll effect from the strings. "Oh, no! not that way," he would say to the flutes, and a flute being handed [59] up to him, he would show how the notes on the score were to be made lightsome and caressing. Then it would be the turn of the violins.
At the earlier rehearsals it was often difficult for the principals to get the tune of their songs. The stumbling block was the trickiness of rhythm which was one of the composer's greatest gifts. Now, although I cannot read a line of music, my sense of rhythm has always been very strong, and this has helped me enormously both in my songs and my dancing. Once when Sir Arthur was rehearsing us, and we simply could not get our songs right, I asked him to "la la" the rhythm to me, and I then got the measure so well that he exclaimed "That's splendid Lytton. If you're not a musician, I wish there were others, too, who were not."
One story about Sullivan—I admit it is not a new one—well deserves telling. Standing one night at the back of the dress-circle, he commenced in a contemplative fashion to hum the melody of a song that was being rendered on the stage. "Look here," declared a sensitive old gentleman, turning round sharply to the composer, "I've paid my money to hear Sullivan's music—not yours." And whenever Sir Arthur told this story against himself he always confessed that he well deserved the rebuke.
Gilbert and Sullivan were collaborators for exactly twenty-five years. It was in 1871 that they wrote "Thespis," a very funny little piece of its kind that was produced at the Gaiety, and it was this success that induced Mr. Richard D'Oyly Carte to invite them to associate again in the writing of a curtain-raiser destined to be known as "Trial by Jury." From that time until [60] 1889 they worked in double harness without a break, and it was in that latter year, after the most successful production of "The Gondoliers" that there came the unfortunate "separation." It lasted four years. When, in 1893, the two men re-united their talents, they gave us that delightfully funny play, "Utopia Limited." But with "The Grand Duke" in 1896—and the superstitious will not overlook that this was the thirteenth piece they had written together—the curtain finally came down upon the partnership.
It may be expected of me that I should say something about the cause of the famous "separation." It is a matter I should prefer to ignore, partly because the consequences of it were so very unfortunate to the cause of dramatic and musical art, and partly because the reason of it was trivial to a degree. Slight "tiffs" there may have been between the two from time to time—that was inevitable under the strain of rehearsals—but these minor differences were mended within a day or a night. What caused the rift was—would you believe it?—a carpet! This Mr. Carte, who under the contract was responsible for furnishings, had bought for �140, as a means of adding to the comfort, as he believed, of the patrons of the Savoy. Seeing this item in the accounts, Mr. Gilbert objected to it as a sheer waste of money, arguing that it would not bring an extra sixpence into the exchequer. The dispute was a mere "breeze" to begin with, but Gilbert and Carte had each a will of his own, and soon the "breeze" had developed into a "gale." And that miserable carpet led at last to the break-up of the partnership.
Sullivan, whether he agreed with the purchase or not, [61] did his best to put an end to the quarrel, but as in the end he had to adhere to one side or the other, he linked himself with Mr. Carte. This, then, was the sole cause of the breach, and by none was it more regretted than by the principals. Gilbert, I know, felt this severance from his old friend very acutely, though in our many talks in after years he was always inclined to be a little reticent as to this subject. Sullivan, too, though he went on composing, was not at all fortunate in his choice of lyrical writers, none of whom had the deftness and quaint turn of fancy of the playwright with whom he had worked so long and so successfully.
Before I leave Sullivan, I think students of music will be interested to hear what Cellier once told me as to the composer's methods in writing his beautiful songs. With Gilbert's words before him, he set out first to decide, not what should be the tune, but the rhythm. It was this method of finding exactly what metre best suited the sentiment of the lyric that gave his music such originality. Later, having decided what the rhythm should be, he went on to sketch out the melody, but it was seldom that he set to work on the orchestration until the rehearsals were well under way. In the meanwhile the principals practised their songs to an accompaniment which he vamped on the pianoforte. Sullivan, who could score very quickly, had a mind running riot with musical ideas, and he could always pick out the idea for a given number that fitted it like the proverbial glove. "I have a song to sing O!" he regarded, I have been told, as the most difficult conundrum Gilbert ever set him, and musicians tell me that, in sheer constructive ingenuity, it is one [62] of the cleverest numbers in the "Yeomen of the Guard."
Now I must turn to Mr. D'Oyly Carte. From time to time in this book I have given indications as to the manner of man that he was, but although much is known about his capacity as a business manager, the world knows very little indeed of his kindly generosity. It was impossible, of course, for him to take into the company every poor actor who was down on his luck, but certain it is that he never sent him empty away. Seldom did he leave his office without seeing that his pockets were well laden with sovereigns. Out in the Strand, as he knew, there would be some waif of our profession waiting for him, always sure that under cover of a handshake, Mr. Carte would press a golden coin upon him with a cheery "see you get yourself a good lunch," or "a good supper."
Mr. Carte, as I have said before, was a man of few words and of a rather taciturn humour, but it would be wrong to think that he was not fond of his joke. First, however, let me tell the story of a small youthful folly of mine, in "The Mikado." It happened in the second act where Ko-Ko, Pooh Bah and Pitti Sing are prostrate on the floor in the presence of the Emperor. We three had to do our well-known "roll-over" act in which I, like Pitti Sing herself, had to bear the weight of the 20-stone of dear old Fred Billington. Well, an imp of mischief led me one night to conceal a bladder under my costume, and when Fred rolled over it exploded with a terrible "bang." Billington had the fright of his life. "What's happened Harry?" he whispered anxiously, his nose still to the floor, "What have I done?" [63]
I am afraid that in those days I had an incurable weakness for practical joking. One night I went for dinner into a well-known hotel in the Strand. Soon after I had entered the restaurant I was roughly grasped by one would-be diner, who was obviously in a very bad temper, and who demanded to know why no one had been to take the order for himself and his guests. Well, if I was to be mistaken for a waiter, it would be just as well to play the part. "Pardon, monsieur!" I exclaimed, dropping at once into a most deferential attitude, and immediately getting ready to write down his order on the back of a menu-card that was handy. The diner, still in the worst of humours, recited the courses he had selected. "And wine, monsieur?" I asked. Yes, he wanted wine as well, and that order also was faithfully booked. Then I went to the far end of the room to join my own party of friends. What combustible heat the diner developed when he found that his wishes were still unattended to, and what verbal avalanche the real waiter had to endure when he had to ask that the order should be repeated, are matters upon which no light can be thrown—by myself! But to return to the story of the "explosion" in "The Mikado."
My little bit of devilment was duly reported to the management. Mr. Carte summoned me before him and looked very grave. Unauthorised diversions of this kind would never do—and certainly not when perpetrated by a leading principal. "I think it is about time you stopped your schoolboy pranks," was his rebuke.
But a different side of Mr. Carte was seen in connection [64] with a certain incident at the Savoy. The point to remember is that it had reference to something that did not involve any liberties with the performance, and this fact put it, in his eyes, in an entirely different category. We had in the company a man who was always telling tales about the rest to the stage manager. So one night some of us got hold of him, ducked his head in a bucket of dirty water, and kept it there as long as we dare. Naturally he reported us, and in due course we were summoned to attend and explain our conduct to Mr. Carte. We were bidden to enter his room one by one. I, as one of the ring-leaders, was the first to go in. "This is very serious," said Mr. Carte, but having heard my explanation of the incident, and still looking exceedingly severe, he warned me that "this sort of thing must not happen again." Then, as a smile stole over his face, he added "All the same I might have done it myself!"
With that he told me, when I went out of the room, to put one hand on my temple and, with the other stretched out in the air, to exclaim "Oh! it's terrible—terrible." What the effect of this melodramatic posture was on those anxiously waiting outside may well be imagined. It could only mean instant dismissal for all of us. Then Mr. Carte had another culprit before him, and having formally rebuked him, commanded him to make his exit in much the same way. It was an excellent joke—except for those at the end of the queue.
It was Mr. D'Oyly Carte, by the way, who once did me the compliment of saying, "My dear Lytton, you have given me the finest performance I have ever seen of any part on any stage." Strange as it may seem to-day, the r�le which I was playing then, and which drew those most cordial words from one whose praise was always so measured and restrained, was that of Shadbolt in the 1897 London revivals of "The Yeomen of the Guard." It was impossible for a small man to play the part just as the big men had played it, and so my interpretation of it was that of a creeping, cringing little dwarf who in manner, in method and in mood was not unlike Uriah Heep. This seemed to me to be consistent with the historical figure from which the part was drawn. Gilbert, it is not generally known, took him from a wicked, wizened little wretch who, in the sixteenth century, so legend says, haunted the Tower when an execution was due, and offered the unhappy felon a handful of dust, which was, he said, "a powder that will save you from pain." For reward he claimed the victim's valuables.
MR. RUPERT D'OYLY CARTE.
When, [65] by the way, Mr. Carte told me that mine was the best performance he had ever seen on any stage, I was so flattered by the compliment that I asked him if he would write his opinion down for me, and he readily promised to do so. Within a day or two I received a letter containing those words over his signature, and it remains amongst my treasured possessions. Only once did I know him to be guilty of forgetfulness, and that was when, meeting me in London, he said: "Oh! I think I can offer you an engagement, Lytton." I had to point out to him that I was actually playing in one of his companies. We were, I think, at Greenwich at the time, and I was making a flying visit to London.
Mr. Carte was a great stage manager. He could take [66] in the details of a scene with one sweep of his eagle eye and say unerringly just what was wrong. Shortly before I was leaving town for a provincial tour he noticed that Ko-Ko's love scene with Katisha might be improved, and so we went together for an extra rehearsal into the pit bar at the Savoy. Mr. Carte said he would be Katisha and I, of course, was to be Ko-Ko. Now, to make love to a bearded man, and a man who was one's manager into the bargain, was rather a task but we both entered heartily into the spirit of the thing. "Just act as you would if you were on the stage," was his advice, "though you needn't actually kiss me, you know!" For this scene we had an audience of one. Little Rupert D'Oyly Carte was there, and before the rehearsal commenced I lifted him on to the bar counter, where he sat and simply held his sides with laughter watching me making earnest love to his father! I imagine he remembers that incident still.
That "eye" for stagecraft, which in Mr. Richard D'Oyly Carte amounted to genius, has been inherited in a quite remarkable degree by his son, Mr. Rupert D'Oyly Carte. He, too, has the gift of taking in the details of a scene at a glance, and knowing instinctively just what must be corrected in order to make the colours blend most effectively, the action move most perfectly, and the stage arrangement generally to be in balance and proportion. I need not say that in all this he most faithfully observes all the traditions which have stood so well the test of time.
So far I have given in this chapter my random reminiscences of the chief three figures—the triumvirate, as I have called them—at the Savoy. But there was also [67] a fourth, and it would be a grave omission were I not to mention one who, in my judgment, was as wonderful as any of them. I refer to Miss Helen Lenoir, who, after acting for some years as private secretary to Mr. Carte, became his wife. There was hardly a department of this great enterprise which did not benefit, little though the wider public knew it, from Mrs. Carte's remarkable genius. It was not alone that hers was the woman's hand that lent an added tastefulness to the dressing of the productions. She was a born business woman with an outstanding gift for organisation. No financial statement was too intricate for her, and no contract too abstruse. Once, when I had to put one of her letters to me before my legal adviser, though not, I need hardly say, with any litigious intent, he declared firmly "this letter must have been written by a solicitor." He would not admit that any woman could draw up a document so cleverly guarded with qualifications.
Mrs. Carte, besides her natural business talent, had fine artistic taste and was a sound judge, too, of the capabilities of those who came to the theatre in search of engagements. The New York productions of the operas were often placed in her charge. Naturally enough, the American managers did not welcome the "invasion" any too heartily, and her responsibilities over there must have been a supreme test of her tact and powers of organisation. Yet the success of these transatlantic ventures could not be gainsaid.
When her husband died Mrs. Carte took the reins of management entirely into her keeping, and it was one of her most remarkable achievements that, notwithstanding [68] constant pain and declining health, this wonderful woman should have carried the operas through a period when, owing to the natural reaction of time, they were suffering a temporary eclipse. Long before she died in 1913 they had entered upon a new lease of life, and to-day we find them once more on the flood tide of prosperity, loved alike by those who are loyal to their favourites of other days and no less by those of the younger generation who have been captivated by all their joyous charm of wit and melody.
Our leader to-day is Mr. Rupert D'Oyly Carte. Of him I find it difficult to speak, as is bound to be the case when one is working in constant association with one who has the same cause at heart, and sharing with him the earnest intention that the great tradition of these operas shall be worthily and faithfully upheld. Upon Rupert D'Oyly Carte's shoulders has fallen the mantle of a splendid heritage. Speaking as the oldest member of his company, and no less as one who may claim also to be a friend, I can assure him that the happy family of artistes who serve under his banner, and who play in these pieces night by night with all the more zest because they love them for their own freshness and grace, will always do their part under him in keeping alight the "sacred lamp" of real English comedy that was first kindled into undying fires within the portals of the Savoy.
V.
ADVENTURES IN TWO HEMISPHERES.
Actors in real life—Reminiscences of my American visit—A thrill in Sing-Sing—The detective and the crook—Outwitting the Pirates—In "The Gondoliers" in New York—A cutting Press critique—Orchestral afflictions—Our best audiences—Enthusiasm in Ireland and a short-lived interruption—Exciting fire experiences—Too realistic thunder and lightning—"Hell's Full."
"Lytton," said a well-known man of affairs to me, "we are all actors. You are an actor. I am an actor. Come with me to a meeting at which I am to make a speech and I will show you a real-life drama truer than ever you will see or hear on the stage. The audience would kill me if they dare. They would rend me limb from limb. And yet in half-an-hour—mark my words, in half-an-hour!—they will be shaking me by the hand and everything will be ending happily."
We were in Holborn at the time and we took a short cab-ride into the City. My friend had to meet the shareholders of a company which he had promoted and which had not been prospering. No sooner had he entered the meeting room than he was met with a hostile reception. Epithets of an unequivocally abusive kind were flung at him from every side. Men shook their fists in his face. When he reached the platform the demonstration was redoubled, and at first he was not allowed to speak. Solidly he stood his ground waiting for the storm to subside. Eventually they did allow him to speak, and first to a crescendo and then to a [70] diminuendo of interruption he told them how the failure of things could not be his fault at all, how he was ready to stand by the venture to the very end, how he would guarantee to pay them all their money back with interest, and how he would work the flesh off his bones to put the company right.
Here, indeed, was real drama—and at a company meeting. Here was a man fighting for his commercial existence, and by the force of wits, sheer self-confidence and personal magnetism gradually winning. Just after the meeting closed a number of those infuriated shareholders were on the platform shaking him by the hand and telling him what a fine fellow he was. Towards the end of his speech I had seen him look at his watch and flash a significant glance in my direction. "Well," he said, when he rejoined me, quite calm and collected, "I did it under half-an-hour—in fact, with just a minute to spare."
It is an incident like this which proves that histrionics is no theatrical monopoly. I once met another actor in real life—this time in America. I had gone to New York to do the Duke in "The Gondoliers." Amongst the many delightful people I met there was General Sickles. Sickles was a "character," and also a man of influence. Only a few weeks before he had met Captain Shaw, the chief of the London Fire Brigade, whom Gilbert has immortalised in the Queen's beautiful song in "Iolanthe." Shaw had argued with the General that America's fire-fighting methods were not as speedy as they were in England.
"Oh! aren't they?" was the reply. "Come and see." Forthwith the General, who was not a fire chief [71] himself, but who had been Sheriff of New York and was thus a powerful individual, ordered out the New York Fire Brigade. No sooner had a button been touched than the harness automatically fell on the horses, the men came flying down a pole right on to the engine, and in so many seconds the brigade was ready. Long since, of course, all these methods have been adopted in this country, and I believe I am right in saying that the improvement followed this visit of Captain Shaw to the United States. I myself saw a turn-out of the brigade and thought their swiftness astonishing.
It was General Sickles who introduced me to Mr. Burke, a famous New York detective of his day, who took me on a most interesting tour of Sing-Sing Prison. He persuaded me to sit in the electric chair, and having put the copper band round my head and adjusted the rest of the apparatus, he took a big switch in his hand and said, "I've simply got to press this and you're electrocuted—dead in a jiffy!" I'll own up I did not share his affection for his plaything. The experience was not at all pleasant.
Burke, as an additional thrill, asked me if I should like to meet a notorious bank robber, whom I will call Captain S. It was arranged that the three of us should have dinner together. Captain S., the other real-life actor referred to, was at that time enjoying a spell of liberty, and to me it was amazing how cordial was the friendship between the great detective and the great "crook." When "business" was afoot it was a battle of wits, with the bank robber bringing off some tremendous haul and the detective hot on his tracks to bring him to justice, and probably it was because each had so much [72] respect for the other's talents that socially they could be such excellent pals.
"Yes, Burke," I heard Captain S. say, "you've 'lagged' me before this and I expect you'll do it again." I found him a delightful companion, with a fund of good stories, and he played the violin for us most beautifully.
Captain S. told us how he planned one of his earlier exploits. It was his custom to pose as an English philanthropist, who was almost eccentric in his liberality and who made himself persona grata in society. Even the most suspicious would have been disarmed by one so benevolent both in manner and in appearance. In this particular case, having decided on the bank he intended to rob, he took a flat over the building. One part of the day was spent in preparing his gang for the coup and the other part in performing kindly acts of charity. "I really felt sorry," he told us, "when the time had come to do the trick. I had been spending a lot of money and thoroughly enjoying myself. Luckily, we had found that, although the bank had steel walls and a steel floor, it had just an ordinary ceiling. That, of course, helped us enormously, and we got away with a regular pile. I left a note on the counter: 'You must blame the designer of the bank for this, not me.'"
I have not yet explained the circumstances that took me to America. Shortly after "The Gondoliers" had been produced in London it was put on in the States. No sooner had any new Savoy opera been successfully launched in London than preparations were pushed forward for its production on the other side of the Atlantic. This, in point of fact, was done as a precaution. Gilbert, Sullivan and Carte had learnt the need of that by bitter experience in their earlier ventures, which had been exploited by "pirates." These nimble gentlemen, having secured a rough idea of the new opera that was being produced in London, lost no time in bringing out a miserable travesty of it under the identical title that it was given at the Savoy. Thus not only did they trade on the reputation of these operas, but they were able to prevent the genuine production being given under its own title, inasmuch as this would have transgressed the law of copyright. So the "pirates" had to be forestalled by an immediate staging of the real operas, and in some cases these were put on in America simultaneously with, and in one case actually before, the productions in England.
THE LATE MRS. RICHARD D'OYLY CARTE.
[73]
"The Gondoliers" in America was not a success. Mr. Carte, who was there at the time, tried to mend matters by completely re-casting the play. I was in York, and I received a cable "Come to New York." It was never my custom to question my manager's requests. Whenever he commanded I was ready to obey. So from York to New York I travelled by the first available steamer and was soon playing the Duke of Plaza-Toro. During my first interview with Mr. Carte after my arrival there occurred an incident characteristic of the great manager. "Lytton," he said, producing his note-book, "I believe you owe me �50." I admitted it—the loan had been for a small speculation. "Well," was his reply, striking his pen through the item, "that debt is paid." It was in this way that he chose to show his appreciation of my action in responding to his summons immediately.
What I remember most about "The Gondoliers" [74] was the simply uproarious laughter with which the audience greeted the line in the Grand Inquisitor's song, "And Dukes were three a penny." It was quite different to the smiles with which the phrase is received in England. The significance of their merriment was the fact that no fewer than seven men had taken the part of the Duke of Plaza-Toro! I myself was there as the seventh! A Press critic, having drawn attention to this rather prolific succession, proceeded to place the seven in the order of merit—at least, as it appeared to his judgment. He gave six of the names in his order of preference in ordinary type, and then came a wide gap of space, followed by the last name in the minutest type. While I do not remember where I stood I do know that mine was not the name in such conspicuous inconspicuousness!
Speaking of Press criticisms, which in this country are almost invariably fair and judicious, it was my curious experience once to go into a barber's shop in a small town in which we were playing and to find the wielder of the razor very keen about discussing the operas. He then urged me to be sure to buy a copy of the Mudford Gazette. "I've said something very nice about you," he said. I looked perplexed. "Oh! I'm the musical critic, you know," explained the worthy Figaro.
Our "properties" in the small towns were sometimes a little primitive. Once in "The Gondoliers" our gondola was made of an egg-box on a couple of rollers, and we had to wade ashore. This was at Queenstown, where there was a strike, and we could not get all our baggage from the liner that had brought us from [75] America. But often the chief affliction was the orchestra. I remember one violinist whose efforts were woeful. "You can't play your instrument," the conductor told him at last in exasperation. "Neither would you if your hands were swollen with hard work like mine," was his retort. "This job doesn't pay me. I just come here in the evening." It transpired that he was a bricklayer. At another place the musicianship of one instrumentalist was truly appalling. "How long have you been playing?" asked the conductor. "Thirty years man and boy," was the response. "It is thirty years too long," was the retort.
From time to time I am asked where our best audiences are found. Really it is hard to say. Except for one big city—and why not there it is impossible to explain—the company has a wonderful reception everywhere. The Savoy audiences in the old days, of course, were like no other audiences, and it was something to remember to be at a "first night." Long before the orchestra was due to commence—with Sullivan there to conduct it, as he usually was also at the fiftieth, the hundredth and other "milestone" performances—it was customary for many of the songs and choruses from the older operas to be sung by the "gods." And wonderful singers they were.
The London audiences of to-day are also splendid. Our welcome in the 1920 season was a memorable experience. Gilbert and Sullivan operas depend for their freshness and their spirit far more on the audience than do any of the ordinary plays, and as it happens this enthusiasm on both sides is seldom wanting. Yet now and then we find an audience that is cold and quiet at [76] the beginning and then works up to fever-heat as the opera proceeds, whereas on the other hand there is the audience that begins really too well and towards the end has simply worn itself out, being too exhausted to let itself go.
The North, if not so demonstrative as the South, is always wonderfully responsive to the spirit of the witty dialogue and the sparkling songs, and two cities in which it is always a pleasure to play are Manchester and Liverpool. And those who declare that the Scots cannot see a joke would be disabused if they were to be at the D'Oyly Carte seasons at Glasgow and Edinburgh. Our visits there are always successful. But if I had to decide this matter on a national basis I should certainly bestow the palm on Ireland.
Nowhere are there truer lovers of Gilbert and Sullivan than the Irish. It may be that Gilbert's fantastic wit is the wit they best understand, and it may be, too, that their hearts are warmed by the "plaintive song" of their fellow countryman, Sullivan. Whatever the cause, we have no better receptions anywhere. One feature of our Dublin and Belfast audiences is, oddly enough, shared with those at Oxford and Cambridge. They do not merely clap, but openly cheer again and again, throwing all conventional decorum away. And when the Irish are determined to have encores—no matter how many for a particular piece—there is no denying them.
What we have found in the Emerald Isle—even during the unhappy times during and after the war—was that they kept their pleasures and their politics in watertight compartments. Sinn Feiners they might be outside the theatre, but inside it they are determined to [77] enjoy themselves, as an interrupter found on one of our latest visits, when he tried to protest against the song, "When Britain Really Ruled the Waves." "No politics here," shouted someone from the stalls, and the audience agreeing very heartily with this sentiment the protestor subsided into silence.
Looking back on the reference earlier in this chapter to fire brigades, I am reminded that I have more than once been on the stage at times when events have occurred which might have had terrible results, though my success as a panic-fighter is a distinction I would rather have foregone. One incident of this kind was at Eastbourne when we did "Haddon Hall." It will be remembered that in one part there are indications of an oncoming storm of thunder and lightning. Nowadays the authorities take care that effects of this kind are contrived with absolute safety to all concerned, but in those times the lightning was produced by a man in the wings taking pinches of explosive powder out of a canister, throwing these on a candle flame, and so securing a vivid flash over the darkening stage. Well, our man had done this so often that he had grown contemptuous of danger, and this time he took such an ample helping of the powder that the flash caught the canister, and there was a tremendous explosion. The canister went right through the stage and embedded itself in the ground.
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 [78] 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 principal 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 [79] 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 assure you, to keep on with a humorous number in circumstances 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 [80] 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. "Hell's full!" shouted an irreverent voice from the "gods." 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."
A. LYTTON
VI.
PARTS I HAVE PLAYED.
List of my Gilbert and Sullivan R�les—Parts in Other Comedies—Excursions into Vaudeville—A Human Shuttlecock—When Gilbert Appeared before the Footlights—Essays as a playwright—A Burlesque of Shakespeare—Embarrassing 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)
"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 passed 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 [83] 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 Dyke 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.
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 [85] 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 lusty 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 [86] 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 passion 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 shuttlecock, 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 r�le was merely that of standard-bearer, [87] 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 Associate. 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 [88] "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 Dick Turpin story, for which I had written the lyrics, and the music had been provided by my good friend Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Principal 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-class 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.
I wrote about eight of these pieces altogether. The libretto and the scores are still in existence, and for better or for worse, they may be produced even yet. One of them is written round the well-known picture, "The Duel in the Snow." This depicts a beautiful woman rushing between the two swords in a duel, and my object was to fill in the dramatic significance of the picture, representing how it came about that the men were fighting in those wintry surroundings for the hand of the lady. [89]
"For one night only" I appeared with the Follies. I was at the Palace in "My Cosy Corner," and Pellissier asked me to come on, garbed as the poet, in their burlesque on Shakespeare. Leaning from my pedestal, I had to reproach them for daring to take such liberties, and we finished up with a boxing match. Our jokes on that occasion were mainly extemporised. Nobody in the audience knew that I was acting deputy, but those in the wings had heard that a conspiracy of some kind was afoot, and they entered heartily into the spirit of the burlesque.
It is far easier, I think, to improvise on the stage than it is away from the footlights, and I well remember my dilemma when I was once invited to an "at home." It was a children's party, and my hostess had told the youngsters that they were going to see Ko-Ko, the "funny man" in "The Mikado." No doubt if I had come in my Oriental costume it would have been less difficult to act up to the part, but it was quite another thing to arrive in an immaculate frock-coat and silk hat, to be escorted at once into the circle of children, and invited then and there to act the clown in the circus with "jibe and joke and quip and crank." For some moments I stood almost tongue-tied. Luckily, as it happened, my hostess handed me a cup of tea, and in my nervousness I dropped it. The children giggled hugely. With that trivial incident the ice was broken.
Enjoyable as it is to meet so many people in the social sphere, our good friends who see us from the auditorium, and then shower their invitations upon us, are at times a little embarrassing. Kind as they undoubtedly are—and we do appreciate the hospitality [90] so readily offered to us wherever we go—they are perhaps forgetful that every week we have to get through seven or eight hard performances. With rehearsals taken into account, we have not over-much leisure for social enjoyment, and certainly no great reserves of energy. A Scotch lady was once most pressing that I should attend a dance she was arranging. Now, much as I love dancing on the stage, I have never had any taste at all for the conventional ball-room dancing, and really how could one have after doing, say, the courtly gavotte in "The Gondoliers?" "I never dance," I told my Scottish friend, "unless I'm paid for it." Evidently she mistook my meaning, for with her invitation to her dance she enclosed me—a cheque for �5. I returned it with my compliments.
From time to time on these social occasions we are prevailed upon to give one or two of our songs from the operas. Songs from the Gilbert and Sullivan operas, nevertheless, seldom sound well away from the stage and their familiar surroundings, and long ago most amateur vocalists dropped them from their repertory. I, personally, have found that the most suitable of my numbers for private circles are the Lord Chancellor's "Dream Song"—it is so dramatic that it goes quite well as an unaccompanied recitation—and King Gama's "I can't tell why." Here I must note a remarkable fact. When I am on the stage, I know not only my own lines, but the lines of everyone else, but away from the stage and the atmosphere of the play my otherwise excellent memory is not always so amenable to discipline. Indeed, I can recall an occasion when, at a garden party, I was asked to sing "Tit Willow." I cheerfully undertook [91] to do so, but half-way through I stumbled, and try as I would even with the promptings of obliging friends, I could get no further than the middle of the second verse. And yet on the stage I have sung "Tit Willow" without a fault many thousands of times.
I think I was only once in any danger of forgetting my lines on the stage. It happened in "The Mikado." Behind the scenes, unknown to me, Pooh Bah had fainted, and one of his entrances had to be made by Pish Tush. Well, I was on as Ko-Ko at the time, and the sound of an unexpected voice was so strange, so bewildering, that for a moment it seemed to me that my reason had gone! "Get off! It's Pooh Bah" I whispered, excitedly. Pish Tush managed to give me a hint that something had happened, and we continued our comedy scene, though in my frame of mind this might easily have come to grief!
Speaking of memory, I am reminded that my first recollection in life was that of listening, as a very small child, to a lad playing a quaint little tune on a banjo. I never heard that tune again, but it has ever since remained in my mind, and only a few years ago I was talking about it to a man who had spent nearly all his life in Australia. When we were children we were neighbours in the same village. "Yes," said my long-lost friend, "I was the lad who played that tune on the banjo, and you were lying in a cot in the garden!" Between that incident and our mutual recollection of it nearly fifty eventful years for both of us had passed.
Before I close this chapter of random reminiscences I feel I must pay my tribute to the best, the oldest and [92] the truest of all my friends—my helpmate in life, "Louie Henri." As Albert Chevalier would put it, "We've been together now for (almost) forty years, and it don't seem a day too much." Louie Henri, as I have already told, secured me my first engagement, and from that time to this she has been the intimate sharer in whatever troubles and successes have fallen to me in what is now a long and eventful career. Optimistic as I may be in temperament, there were times when her encouragement meant a great deal, and to my wife I pay this brief tribute (as brief it is bound to be). Our family has consisted of three sons and two daughters. Our two elder sons served during the war in the Royal Air Force, and one of them was lost whilst flying in a night-bombing raid in France. I well remember the time when my boy was first reported missing. With that anxious sorrow weighing on my mind, it was no small trial to keep alive the semblance, at least, of comedy.
Oh, a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon,
If you listen to popular rumour.
Jack Point's song appealed to me with peculiar poignancy during that time of heavy anxiety. But to return to my wife.
Louie Henri, as the older generation well remembers, is able to count herself amongst the distinguished Savoyards. Before she retired she had probably played a greater number of parts—soprano, contralto, and soubrette—than any other lady connected with the company. I am sure it will be of interest if I enumerate here the r�les she has played:—
"Trial by Jury"
"The Grand Duke"
Julia.
Mrs. Lytton, apart from her success as an actress, has always been an accomplished musician, and in that respect I owe much to her for the way in which, during the preparation of my new r�les, she has helped me, "a lame, unmusical dog, over the stile." Our pianoforte at home is the one on which Sir Arthur Sullivan first played over his music for "The Mikado." It is a handsome satinwood grand, designed for Mr. D'Oyly Carte by the late Sir Alma Tadema, R.A., and this most interesting and valuable souvenir was presented to me by Mrs. D'Oyly Carte.
VII.
FRIENDS ON AND OFF THE STAGE.
Lessons to the Prince on the Bagpipes—A Charming and Lovable Personality—Queen Alexandra's Compliment—An Afternoon with Fisher—Stories of the Great Seaman—George Edwardes and His Genius for Stagecraft—His Successes on the Turf—"Honest Frank" Cellier—A Model Conductor—Traditions of the Savoy—Rutland Barrington—An Admiral in Disguise—Fred Billington—A Strange Premonition—Our War-Time Experiences—Caught in the Toils of the Dublin Rebellion.
It was my great privilege and pleasure, when we were at Oxford on one occasion, to be introduced to the Prince of Wales, who was then in residence at Magdalen. Nothing impressed me more than his sunny nature and the wonderful knack he had of putting everybody at their ease immediately. Since then it has been just those qualities which have made him so immensely popular in his tours of the Empire.
Our first meeting was in His Royal Highness's own rooms, where he was accompanied by his tutor, Mr. H. P. Hansell. I remember that as I was speaking to him the members of a college team were brought in to be presented. "Ah!" exclaimed the Prince, "that's the best of being a celebrity, Lytton. I could not draw a muster like this." It was just a little pleasantry, this suggestion that it was myself who was the attraction, but it was an example of his happy knack of putting everybody at their ease immediately. I recall, too, that the Prince at that time was learning the chanter, [95] with which one proceeds to the full glory of playing the bagpipes. Greatly to his surprise, I took the chanter and proceeded to give him a lesson, to which he listened most attentively, and then played a skirl, with which he was delighted. It so happens that, although I am no musician, I do know how to handle the bagpipes, and once a group of Scottish yokels who were listening to me stood open-mouthed with astonishment that such skill should be possessed by a trousered Englishman. This was when I visited my old colleague Durward Lely's place in the Highlands. The Scotties were enjoying a homely dance in a barn, and as the piper had been hard at it and seemed tired, I volunteered to act as his deputy. I don't want to be boastful, but my performance was regarded as a tour de force, at least for a Saxon.
The Prince came to the theatre frequently during our stay, and one night he came round to our dressing-room, where once more one fell irresistibly under the spell of his lovable and attractive personality. He invariably addressed me as "Ko-Ko." The Prince told me then, as he had done on other occasions, how really delightful he thought the operas were, and he said he looked forward to seeing them again and again. Then he asked to be introduced to a member who, in more than one sense, is one of the stalwarts of the choristers, Joe Ruff. Seeing that Joe had been with us so many years, I thought this special "recognition" was particularly happy, and it was a very great pleasure to me to be allowed to introduce my colleague to the Heir-Apparent.
From time to time, both during my connection with D'Oyly Carte and when temporarily away from the [96] company, I have played before Royalty. Especially do I recall a night when Queen Alexandra occupied a box at the Savoy. It was in the "Yeoman of the Guard" revivals and my r�le was Shadbolt. Her Majesty was kind enough to send Sir Arthur Sullivan to my dressing-room to compliment me on the clearness of my enunciation, and I need hardly say how gratifying such praise was to me.
Seldom was "H.M.S. Pinafore" staged during the 1920 season without Lord Fisher coming to chuckle over Gilbert's clever satire on the "ruler of the Queen's Navee." He revelled in that opera. It was not only, I think, that it smacked of the sea, but he loved the gibes at the politicians and the hearty loyalty of the honest salt who, "in spite of all temptation," firmly resolves to "remain an Englishman." It was after he had seen me several times as Sir Joseph Porter that he invited me to bring a few of my colleagues and spend an afternoon with him at his home in London. I reproduce his very typical letter on another page. My recollections of that afternoon are very delightful. Lord Fisher was a wonderful veteran, and it was difficult afterwards to realise that a fortnight later he was stricken down with his last illness, to which he succumbed in the following July.
I remember that we did not have to do much of the talking. Lord Fisher walked up and down, up and down the room as if it were the quarter-deck, and he was telling us all the while such capital stories that we forgot that we, too, were still standing up! Of his yarns there were two that were very typical of the man and his ways.
A LETTER FROM THE LATE LORD FISHER.
"One [97] day," he began, "I was walking through Trafalgar Square, and as I always do, I looked up at the statue of the greatest man that ever lived. Then a woman who was munching a bun came along. 'Here, master,' she said, 'who's 'e?' 'That's Lord Nelson,' I answered. 'Is it?' she returned, 'and who's 'e?' Fancy! Never heard of Nelson! Such ignorance! 'Well,' I said, 'if it had not been for him, that bun would have cost you, not a halfpenny, but fourpence. Good day!' And I walked on. I suppose she thought she had been talking to a lunatic."
Then Lord Fisher spoke of the exertion needed in our dances on the stage. "Energy! Energy! That's what we want," he declared. "Why, I was fed by my mother until I was quite a big baby. I refused to be weaned—I was so determined even in those days! You must have good natural food when you are born. It means everything. It gives you stamina—it makes a man of you."
From that interview I brought away a signed portrait of the great seaman. "I'm an ugly blighter, aren't I?" he reflected, sadly, as he handed it to me, "but I'm good." Candour would have compelled one to admit that he was anything but strikingly handsome, but in that small, intensely sallow face there was, after all, something that was extraordinarily kindly and strong. In that sense his face was the faithful mirror of his character.
"Jackie Fisher's" candour reminds me of a frank admission made to me by a statesman who still wields a leading influence in present-day politics. I think I had better not mention his name, although he is numbered amongst my friends, and he has often [98] been exceedingly kind in his appreciation of my work on the stage. He told me he once met a lady whom he had not seen for several years, and having cordially greeted her, he said, "I'm so delighted to see you, Sybil." That he should have remembered her, and still more, that he should have remembered her first name, pleased the lady immensely. She said she was charmed that he had not forgotten her name. "Oh," responded the statesman, with the best of intentions, "I've a remarkable memory for trifles." The next moment he realised he had committed an awful faux pas. What was more, he saw that he, though a politician, could not explain it away.
Not many people remember now that Mr. George Edwardes, who created the vogue for musical comedies as we now know them, and who made a fortune out of his connection with the Gaiety and Daly's, was in his early days Mr. D'Oyly Carte's manager at the Savoy. When he became a producer his flair for stage effect amounted to genius. He could decide in a moment to make the most revolutionary changes in a production. For instance, I have heard him give orders that the first act should be made the second one and the second the first, because he saw that it would better work up the interest in the play. He would transpose a certain scene from here to there because he knew instinctively that there was its proper place. "I don't like that man singing that song," he said once, just before a new comedy was due to have its first performance, and when even the dress rehearsals were almost complete, "We'll give it to a lady." "But," it was objected, "it's a man's song—a military song." "Never mind," he answered [99] in that familiar drawling voice of his, "we'll dress her in a red coat, and we'll bring the chorus on as soldiers too." And his judgment was absolutely right. That girl's soldier song was the great hit of the piece.
George Edwardes was a generous, kindly-natured man, accessible to everybody, and a splendid companion. Keenly interested as he was in his theatrical ventures, he never made these his sole and only pre-occupation. Upon the Turf, as every sportsman knows, he was a shining light, and many horses from his stables won the biggest prizes of their year. He often invited me to join him at the races, and never failed to tell me the winners—"well, hardly ever." One day he gave me three running. Just then I was arranging to play under his management for a term of three years, and he said those three winners proved that we could make money together both on and off the stage, and that we must sign up the contract, which we did the next day.
One of my closest friends was Francois Cellier, of whom it would be literally true to say that he devoted his life, his talents and all his enthusiasm to the operas at the Savoy. For thirty-five years he served them as conductor, to the exclusion of all the fame he might have won in a wider field, for he was a musician of surpassing accomplishments. He was the younger brother of Alfred Cellier, who was the composer, amongst other delightful comedies, of "Dorothy." Both men were Bohemians, and both of them might have been the architects of their own fortunes if they had put only their own goal in front of them, and pursued it steadily.
Francois Cellier—Honest Frank they called him, and the name suited him well—was a prince of good fellows [100] and a most charming and helpful companion. I can never tell the debt I owe to him for all the advice he gave to me regarding our performances. He knew Gilbert's and Sullivan's ideas to the minutest detail, and, with all his love of the operas, he wanted those ideas carried through exactly on the stage. Even with the audiences he had a magnetic personality. Unlike most conductors, who feel they must allow just as many encores as the audience demands, he could indicate by some strange method to those behind him that an encore would be unreasonable or inconsiderate, and immediately the applause would subside and the play would proceed.
Cellier had his heart and soul in every performance, and what that means is known only to those who work on the stage, and who do sometimes become dull and listless because of their very familiarity with the parts they are playing or because the audience cannot easily be aroused to "concert pitch." What brightness they may give to their acting is of a superficial and mechanical kind that can give them no pleasure. It is at just such times as these that a real conductor is worth his weight in gold. Notwithstanding that he may have seen the piece hundreds of times—and might with reason be more bored than the principals themselves—he comes to each new performance with an enthusiasm which shakes the company out of themselves and makes everything go with a will.
Some conductors I have known have shown so little interest in their work that they did not even attempt to conceal their boredom. This is very unfair to the players. Can anyone expect there to be any spirit in the [101] singing of a chorus when the conductor is just listlessly waving his baton, or when he shows such little respect for the artistes that, during their dialogues, he either yawns sleepily or leans over for a chat with the strings? Cellier was never guilty of that discourtesy. From the time he picked up his baton for the first bar of the overture the "play was the thing." During a chorus you would see him alert and awake and stirring on the company to give their best, and during your own solos or dialogues you would see him listening intently so that, like a friendly critic, he could afterwards praise you for what you had done well or give you hints where there was cause for improvement. It is a great thing to the artistes to see a genial face at the conductor's desk, and the operas go with a great spirit and nerve whenever the conductor, seconded by the orchestra, is doing everything to help us along. Our company's record has been a very fortunate one in this respect.
Everybody who plays in Gilbert and Sullivan makes it a point of honour to do his or her best to preserve what we call the traditions of the Savoy. If I were asked to name the secret of the charm of these operas, I should have to answer that there was not one secret, but many, but that one of the chief is their sense of "repose." Gilbert, like the master playwright he was, would never have two situations running together. If, that is to say, the leading character was going to offer his hand to the heroine, the whole company must look on eagerly and expectantly. It would never do for them to be indifferent and uninterested. Still less would it do for subsidiary characters to do something that might [102] attract the audience's eye to them in some other part of the stage. Everything must be focussed on the central incident, and to this end every member of the company must think first and all the time of the play, and not indulge in those hateful individual touches of "pantomime."
What I mean is best seen in what happens quite frequently in ordinary plays. Nearly every minor actor and actress seems to take, or is allowed to take, licence to put in a little bit of "business" on his or her own account, and so draw kudos to himself or herself by being supposed to be "funny." It is really only "supposed." Generally it is not funny at all, and it mars the effect of the play by making the entire atmosphere restless and perplexed. Eyes are strained here, there and everywhere, and the poor audience in trying to catch this, that and the other point, is probably missing what is the chief point of the play. Well, if refinement is not the keynote of a production, this may possibly not matter so much, but it is certainly foreign to the tranquil atmosphere of Gilbert and Sullivan.
No one, I think, could have done more by his example on the stage to encourage refinement in these operas than my good friend, Rutland Barrington. During his playing career—now at an end, unhappily—he was an artiste to his finger tips. He had also a great asset in his fine presence and personality. Our friendship has been of the closest, and I call to mind an incident when we were at Portsmouth and when there was something important occurring at the Royal Dockyard. "We can't get in without a pass," I said to him, but he only smiled and said that, at all events, we could try. [103] "Watch me," he commanded. Straightening himself up, he walked to the gates as if in the manner born, took the salute from the sentries, and entered the yard. It looked ridiculously easy. So I decided to follow suit. The sentries would not let me through. "Can't come in without a pass," I was told, and let me through they would not on any account, however much I tried to "flatter, cajole and persuade." Barrington always did have "a way with him." I imagine the sentries were impressed by his bearing, or it may be that they had mistaken him for his brother, Admiral Fleet.
This naval reference serves to recall a most interesting story bearing on the subject of "make-up." Now, "make-up" has always been a fascinating study to me, and many kind friends tell me that I have a special gift for it, instancing how completely I transform my appearance for parts so different, for example, as the hunchback King Gama and the martial old General Stanley. Certainly I do spend more time than most actors do over the arts and deceptions of the dressing-room. For King Gama the make-up of the face alone takes an hour, apart from all the physical deformities that have to be contrived when playing this ugly, ungainly character in "Princess Ida." But all this by the way. What I was going to write about was an incident when a worried young naval lieutenant came to see me at the close of our show at the Savoy. He was at the romantic age then, a trifle oblivious to the passing of time when there was a charming lady at his side, and at the theatre he overlooked that by a certain hour he should have been back at the Naval College at Greenwich. Lieutenant X came round to see [104] me in a terrible state. What was he to do? If he went back, he told me, he would be stopped at the gates by the sentries and he would have to give explanations, of which none he could think of would be adequate. If, on the other hand, he did not return there would be a court-martial, and he would be dismissed from the Service. Before him, whichever way he turned, was the blank ruin of his career and he disgraced in the eyes of his family. Well I don't know which of us actually suggested it, but it occurred to us that if only he could be disguised as an Admiral, he might easily get into the college! An Admiral had to keep no strict hours when absent from duty, and if only he could look and act the part, the sentries would let him pass and ask no awkward questions. So in a very few minutes I was busy treating him with all the arts of "make-up." Certainly the addition of a pointed beard made a most effective disguise, and it answered splendidly, for at Greenwich he marched boldly through the gates to the dutiful salutes of the sentries. The situation was saved. For my own part I felt that I had done something to save a career, and as it happens, the romantic young friend of those days is now a real Admiral, and a very well-known and popular one, in his Majesty's Navy.
Numerous are the stories told about my friend and colleague for so many years—Fred Billington. In temperament and character we were entirely opposites, but there was scarcely one disagreement throughout our long companionship, during which we played together almost continuously. He was a Yorkshireman, and before he joined the company, with which he [105] remained for thirty-seven years, he was in the office of the Water Board at Huddersfield. The whole of his stage career was spent with these operas.
It was not everybody who understood Billington. Sometimes he could be uncommonly moody and gruff, and if he did not feel in the mood to talk, he would make it clear that he wanted no introductions to one's own acquaintances. But under the rugged surface he was a fine-hearted fellow, who lived life heartily and lived it well, and nothing pleased him better, apart from a game of golf, than to sit and gossip with those whose society he liked.
One day he invited three of us to a round of golf, and it being a cold morning, he told us that he was ordering "a good beef-steak and kidney pudding." Well, when we had finished the game and returned to the club-house, in came that steaming pudding. Billington looked at it long and earnestly. "It won't do for four," he reflected. Then a pause. "It would make a poor meal for three. There's scarcely enough for two. I'll tell you what. I'll have it—and you three can have chops." And that is just what we did.
Billington had a gift of robust eloquence, and unless one was accustomed to it, the freedom with which it flowed from his tongue was most embarrassing. He was playing a clergyman one day at golf. The cleric, whenever he made a bad shot, invariably relieved his feelings by exclaiming, "Oh, Pickles! Pickles!" Language of this kind in Billington's ears was exceedingly trying, and as if determined to give the parson a lesson, he came out with a string of oaths of the richest and most vivid description. "Thank you very much, [106] Mr. Billington," said the clergyman, smilingly, "thank you very much!" Evidently those were the sort of words which, but for respect for his cloth, he wanted to say!
One day he went out for a match with a bishop. The club officials, knowing how exuberant his language could be, were on tenter-hooks of anxiety all the time they were out, and on their return the secretary hastened to take the episcopal visitor apart. "Mr. Billington, the actor, you know, my lord," he explained. "I hope his language didn't shock you." "Oh, no!" responded the bishop, diplomatically, "he did once call on the Almighty, but otherwise his language was beyond reproach."
Dear old Billington! Earlier in life he had been with the company on a South African tour, and the wide spaces, the ample life and the boundless opportunities of that vast country appealed to him irresistibly. South Africa had a "call" for him, and he had ambitions, when the time came for him to retire, to settle there. That ambition was never realised. Only the night before he died, while we were in our dressing-room, he surprised me with the question, "How would you like to die, Harry?"
From a man so little inclined to brood on the morbid the question was strange. I told him I didn't know. I had never, I told him, thought it out, and didn't intend to, either.
"But if you had to die," he insisted, "how would you prefer to go?"
"Oh! I don't know," I retorted. "Anyhow, we're not going to die just yet."
"Well," was his answer, "if I had my way, it would [107] be a good dinner, a bottle of wine, a good cigar, a good joke, and—pop-off!"
It must have been a premonition. The very next day, while still apparently in perfect health, he left Cambridge to keep a luncheon engagement with Mr. Rupert D'Oyly Carte at the Great Eastern Hotel, London. The intention was that he should be back for the night performance. With the lunch they had a bottle of wine, and afterwards, over cigars, they talked with many a hearty joke in between. Then he went out into the foyer—and collapsed. It was at least good to think that the passing of my dear old friend was free from pain or suffering.
Fred Billington's end must have been hastened by a sequence of events during the war. Strangely enough, when we were at Sheffield, the town was visited by a Zeppelin raid, and there was another raid when we were at Hull, a third when we were at Kennington, and a fourth when we were at Wimbledon. Billington's nerves, naturally enough, were very upset. Wherever we went the Zepps seemed to be after us. "Do you know, Harry," he said, at last, "I believe that bally Kaiser has got our tour." What he meant, of course, was that our list of bookings had got into the hands of the All-Highest, and that he thought, apparently, that if he could wipe out the Gilbert and Sullivan operas he would be able to break the spirit of England. Looked at in that way, the attention paid to us, whether intentional or not, was certainly flattering.
Worse than those raids, however, was the Dublin rebellion, into which we ran at Easter 1916. We should have opened there on the Bank Holiday. In point of [108] fact we did not play one single night. Fred and I were at the Gresham Hotel. The very first day we were not allowed out at all, for we were in the very centre of hostilities, and no one could go into the street except at his peril. Chafing under the restraint, I did at last attempt to venture out, though feeling that there were too many bullets about for things to be healthy. Opposite the Gresham, at the door of the Irish Club, I saw the well-known figure of the Dublin Coroner, Mr. Friery. I rushed across to him, and it was because I spoke to him, I believe, that I was ever able to get back alive. Mr. Friery, with his top hat and frock-coat, was an easily distinguished citizen, and neither the military nor the rebels would have been likely to fire at him deliberately. "You ought never to have come across," he told me, and as it happened, the very same thought had occurred to me.
Conditions in the hotel itself were the reverse of pleasant, what with the noise of the firing outside and bullets shooting through our own windows, though these were shuttered and protected as far as possible. Our food stocks commenced to run low—by the end of the week's siege we had only biscuits and ham—and the strain on the larder was added to by the arrival of scores of visitors who had been turned out of the Metropole Hotel. They had been told to take their valuables with them, and it was remarkable how, in the fright of such an emergency, men would grasp the first thing that came into their hands and leave their real treasures behind. One man rushed over clutching two dirty collars, while another had a bath-towel which he had picked up, it seemed, instead of a dressing-gown. [109] English jockeys who were there for the race week hurried over holding a saddle case.
Our anxieties were increased in the meanwhile by the systematic operations of the military around Eden Quay. One by one the houses were being demolished by shellfire, and in one of the threatened houses, as we knew, were many of the ladies of the company. To get to them was impossible. Luckily for them a sergeant on signalling duty heard their cries, and at once rushed to their help. "Who are you?" he shouted. "What are you doing here?" "We're the D'Oyly Carte," they answered. The D'Oyly Carte name worked like magic. Signalling to the gunners to cease fire, the sergeant hurried them out and through the streets, where sniping was going on at every corner, and took them to a police-station for safety.
All the other members of the company had more or less miraculous escapes. Leicester Tunks, Frederick Hobbs, Leo Sheffield, and several others lost all their luggage, but fortunately none sustained any more serious mishap. From the good people of Dublin we received every possible kindness, but as you will imagine, we were thankful when we heard that there were berths on a boat to take us back to Holyhead.
I have not, of course, told all my experiences of that awful week, though in memory these still linger vividly. But one of the things I remember best of all was a quaint remark of Billington's. Outside there was still the noise of the fighting, and most persistent of all was the crack! crack! crack! of a sniper somewhere near our own building. "Oh! Harry," said poor Fred, in utter weariness, "I do wish that bally wood-pecker would chuck it!"
VIII.
Hobbies of a Savoyard.
Luckless ventures in Theatrical Management—Farces that failed—New outlets for Enthusiasm—Baldness in the poultry run—Captain Corcoran and the crooks—Floricultural topsy-turvydom—The flowers that did not bloom in the Spring—Recreations that remain—Prize Costumes at fancy-dress balls—The big-game shot and the tiger.
Like "Mr. Punch" in another connection, I have a sound piece of advice for those who may ever think of embarking on theatrical management. "Don't!" I say this after bitter experience. It was not only that my gallanty show as a boy ended disastrously. This, of course, was itself a bad omen, and it ought to have taught me that public taste is fickle and that the gamble of theatrical management is surrounded by all kinds of perils. A West-end audience may be just as capricious and as hard to please as my audience of village lads in the garden.
My first real venture, a London one, was at the Criterion Theatre, which with a few others I took on lease from Sir Charles Wyndham, in order to produce "The Wild Rabbit." It was by Mr. George Arliss, who has since given up writing plays in order to act them, and he is now a "star" in America. It was one of those rollicking farces which, one would have thought, would have filled the house every night. I was playing elsewhere at the time, but we got together a really excellent company, amongst whom were the Broughs. [111] But fate was against us from the very beginning. The production coincided with a heat wave, which is bound to be disastrous to all but the best of shows, and one of the facetious complaints of the newspaper critics was that they had to come to the theatre when the temperature was eighty in the shade.
"The Wild Rabbit" survived three weeks only. It drew �34 the first night—and that was the high-water mark in the matter of receipts. One night the box-office took a mere �8. Seeing that the expenses were about �600 a week, it will be understood that the failure was severe and complete, and in most circumstances one lesson of the kind would have been enough. However, a number of friends of mine had secured the rights of "Melnotte," an operatic version of that good old comedy, "The Lady of Lyons." They did not ask me to invest any capital, but they invited me to let them have the use of my name in booking a tour for the provinces, as they themselves were unknown to theatrical managers. Upon that basis an eight weeks' tour was arranged. Gathering together about sixty artistes all told, they rehearsed them and bought all the scenery, and were almost on the eve of the first production of "Melnotte." Then one fine morning there came the thunderbolt. They told me that all the money they had put into the venture had gone! It had gone before the company had even left London. What was to be done? Seemingly their idea was centred in how speedily they could cut their losses and abandon the venture. Such a thing to me was impossible. With my name attached to the tour, a breach of faith with so many provincial managers [112] would have been a serious blow to my reputation, and apart from that, the fact that sixty of my fellow artistes were in danger of being thrown out of work compelled me to take both a moral and a financial obligation on my shoulders and run the show myself. I could only hope for the best and wait patiently for the report of my manager that the tour was flourishing.
That report never came. Every week I had to post a big cheque to cover the deficit on the takings, and every week made it clearer that, although the play itself was a good one, it was a thoroughly bad speculation. Something certainly was amiss. I could not leave London myself, and the only alternative was to offer a friend his railway fare and expenses and ask him to run into the country, see the play and tell me frankly what was amiss. "Harry," said my friend very meaningly, "I've never done you a bad turn. I've seen it—once." Once was enough!
Eight weeks saw the end of "Melnotte." From the first it was a forlorn hope, and in any case it was impossible to run a company successfully unless one could be on the spot to superintend the production. The only satisfaction I had out of it—and I admit it with some feelings of pride—was that of standing by my fellow professionals, and, at whatever cost to myself, "playing the game." I have never made—and never shall be lured to make—another plunge into management. The risks are too great.
Sometimes I am inclined to contrast my bad luck in these business ventures with the good fortune of a friend who once asked me for a loan of �90. He was in humble circumstances then, but he had a little money of his own and his ambition was to buy the licence of a public-house in Holloway. I lent him the cash, and later on he came to repay me, with many thanks for thus giving him his opportunity. Years afterwards we met again. Upon the basis of that little public-house he had built a comfortable fortune, for he was a director of a brewery concern, had a big interest in various industrial undertakings, and eventually became a well-known member of Parliament. "You have been my mascot," he said—and there have been others who for various reasons have said the very same thing!
A. LYTTON
AS
"THE LORD CHANCELLOR" IN "IOLANTHE."
Once [113] I met a "dear friend"—you may know the kind yourself—who was terribly anxious that I should be "in" with him in a rich gold mine in Alaska. He brought some nuggets to show me, and they were so plentiful, he told me, that he had picked these from the top of the ground. Evidently I must have been a particularly credulous person, because he got a good deal of my money, whereas all I got was experience!
Where hobbies are concerned my luck always seems to be appalling. I have had a mania for turning my hands to all sorts of things. It began, I remember, with my determination to commence breeding poultry, and having made up my mind to this, it had to be done very thoroughly. I bought quite a number of chickens and wired them within a very small space. The poor things had nothing like enough room, and they began to get bad tempered, to fight one another, and to pull out their feathers. Further, having pulled out their rivals' feathers and found the oil at the roots very tasty, they set to in earnest, and before long there was not one bird with a feather left in the place. They were [114] all bald! A more miserable collection of freaks you could never imagine. With characteristic humour Dan Leno sent me a bottle of Tatcho for them!
From hens to ducks was not a far cry. So I bought a number of ducks' eggs, hatched them in an incubator, and at last decided that it was time the little wretches had their first swim. I accordingly carried them down to a pond to put them in. Alas! once more for my amateur enthusiasm! The ducklings were too young for that, and they got cramp and died.
Nothing daunted, I turned now to bulldogs, and in order to do things well I bought seven big kennels, complete with iron gates. They would have done credit to a big estate, where breeding is done on up-to-date lines, and were quite out-of-place in my suburban garden at Chiswick. To begin with we could not get the kennels into the garden. For hours they were on the street pavement while we cogitated just how we were going to get them round to the back of the house, and it was only after a police-officer had intervened with an order to remove them forthwith, because they were a nuisance, that we found that if there is a will, there must be a way.
"Captain Corcoran" was the name I gave to my best bulldog, and as he brought me luck, I was glad I had chosen that name from "Pinafore." He was a sturdy fellow, the winner of very many championships, and his progeny have since also carried off valuable prizes. But even my one successful hobby was doomed to be blighted. One day two crafty-looking individuals came to my house and said they wanted to see me about a dog. They were Americans, and they wanted, they told me, to buy "Captain Corcoran." I told them [115] I would not sell him—not at any price. They found it a waste of time to try to fix up a deal. "Well," they said as their parting shot, "we're going to have him, anyhow." Within a day or two police officers called to warn me that two expert dog thieves had taken rooms in the neighbourhood, and I was forced to the conclusion, much as I disliked it, that I must dispose of "Captain Corcoran." Later on I commenced to breed dachshunds and Borzois, but somehow I did not care for the "doggy" people with whom I had to mix, and the end was that I gave up dogs altogether.
Then I determined I would venture into the more tranquil arts of floriculture. I would have my own flower garden, and what was more, everything in it should be done by myself. My wife, shrewd woman, said nothing. It was a case of "leave him alone, and he'll play for hours." From Holland I ordered an immense number of bulbs and put them into the ground. Months went by, but not a sign was there of my hyacinths. I pondered deeply over my manual of useful hints for gardening. Watered them? Yes. Raked the soil? Yes. What was wrong? Certain it was that these flowers never bloomed in the spring!
Eventually, I saw a tiny yellow spike creeping out of the earth, but the colour and nature of it were not "according to plan." At last I called in a gardener. "Oh," he declared, doing his best to soften the blow, "you've planted the bulbs upside down." And so I had! The poor little shoots had to dig down into the soil before they could curve round and creep into the light. Nearly everything in that unfortunate garden had been planted upside down. [116]
Friends of mine chaffed me unmercifully over that topsy-turvy exploit. When they came to my house they would turn all the ornaments upside down. Before I entered the room they would reverse the chairs, the settee and anything they could lay their hands upon, and then they would explain themselves by saying, "We thought you liked things like that, old man. The bulbs you know. We've just heard about the bulbs."
Well, after the failure with the hens, the ducks, and the flowers, there seemed only one other diversion to try, and that was photography. Even that did not survive very long, nor yet did my attempt to cultivate mushrooms in my cellar, a craze that threatened very literally to get the place into bad odour. But there are two recreations to which I still remain faithful, and they, after all, are worth all the rest put together. One is golf and the other painting. Golf is a great game for keeping the actor fit, and his mind clear for his work, and it is very popular in our profession. Now and then, too, a day with the palette and easel is a wonderful pleasure to me, and seldom do I take up the brush without a thought of poor old Trood and his studio at Chelsea.
One diversion at least in which I have had my share of success has been in the fancy dress balls at Covent Garden. Once I took the first prize with a representation of Nelson, the costume of which was copied in every detail from the uniform of the great seaman preserved in Greenwich Museum, and I remember that my entry was signalised by Dan Godfrey's orchestra striking up "'Twas in Trafalgar Bay." Then I took the chief honours with a wonderful bust of Nero, in connection [117] with which I received enormous help from my old friend, the celebrated sculptor, Albert Toft. From my waist downward I was encased in what appeared to be a blood-marble pedestal. My face was whitened, my eyes were closed, and my brow was adorned with the laurel leaf, and when the lights were focussed on my rigid figure and the plaster frame it was acclaimed as a marvellously clever imitation of the statue of the great Roman Emperor. Once again I took the first prize at Covent Garden with the subject of the Knave of Clubs. The costume was a silk one, half black and half white, and on it were fastened the names of all the well-known clubs in London. Even the members of the Beef Steak Club found that their institution had not been overlooked—and that this title appeared on the costume in an appropriate place!
Nowadays, when we are on tour, it is very pleasant to be able to travel by motor-car instead of by train. With my Austin-20 car I have now covered well over 42,000 miles, and probably the only occasion when I deliberately exceeded the speed limit was once outside Plymouth. A doctor with a troublesome car was held up in the roadway. When I drew up and asked whether I could help him, he told me he had been a quarter-of-an-hour trying to get the engine to go, though he was due at a very critical operation some miles away. It was, indeed, a matter of life and death, and in my own car he was very speedily taken to the hospital. It was in the same district, I think, that I gave a "lift" to a man who was footsore and weary, and who said at the end of the journey, "I suppose you won't tell the gov'nor about this, will you?" [118] Evidently he had mistaken me for somebody's chauffeur!
Some years ago, when I was setting out from my home at Chiswick, I was held up by a 'bus bound for Twickenham. It was crowded already, and the conductor had to refuse a poor old woman who wanted to board it, and who was very distressed, because she had a job at Twickenham, "and if I don't get there," she told me, "they'll think I'm too old for work and they won't want me again." The problem was easily solved. I offered to take her where she was going. She had never been in a motor-car before, and in trying to stammer her thanks, she asked me to tell her my name "so that I shall never forget you." So I handed her my card—she certainly did not know anything about me or what was my profession—and went on my way. Judge of my surprise when, soon after the end of the war, I found that that old lady had bequeathed to me the two little rooms and all the furniture that had been her poor, but neat and cosy, home at Hammersmith. Luckily, I heard of a demobilised soldier who, with his wife and child, was urgently in need of a shelter, and it was a great pleasure to me to be able to turn this touching legacy to such good account.
Speaking of hobbies, I don't think I knew a more curious taste than that of an old friend of mine who was a big-game shot and traveller, and who had a miniature zoo of his own at his home at Derby. Once, when the company was playing in that town, he invited me to go and stay the night with him after the performance, and in his library we sat chatting until the early hours of the morning. He told me many graphic stories [119] about his expeditions into strange lands, about the tigers and elephants he had shot, and about his marvellous escapes. One story was about a faithful servant of his, a powerfully-built black, who stood right in front of an infuriated wounded elephant, which trampled on him and killed him, as the poor fellow doubtless knew would be the case, though he was ready to chance all so that his master might be protected. I remember that my friend, having told me this incident, added, "They are the greatest men on God's earth, are these blacks."
"Just half-a-minute," then said the explorer. Listening to those strange adventures in the jungle had already set my nerves on edge, and to be left alone in that dimly-lit room, with everything outside and inside it silent and still, was really uncanny. I heard my host walk along the corridor, open one or two doors, and apparently enter the garden. He had left me alone in that house! In a few moments I heard an unnatural tread in the corridor. Pit-pat, pit-pat! My eyes almost sprang out of my head. Pit-pat, pit-pat. Nearer and nearer it came until at last into the room there sauntered a—tiger! My friend walked in behind it.
"For God's sake take it away," I screamed, drawing my feet up into the chair and expecting every second the beast would pounce, "Take it away!" The tiger was really only a cub, but coming like an apparition into that room, it seemed to be the biggest and most ferocious and most ghastly sight on earth. Large beads of perspiration were on my forehead, my heart was beating itself out of my body, and through my mind flashed the countless sins of my youth. My last hours had [120] come. "Take it away," I yelled, again and again, "it will tear us to pieces."
Now I think of it, the tiger did not really look as if it had much of an appetite, or if it had, the idea of making a tough meal of an actor did not appeal to its palate. The hunter tried to assure me that the beast was "quite all right." It flopped down by his side, and as he stroked it, the cub purred in a manner which, to me at all events, was not at all pleasant. "I know just how long you can keep them," my host explained. "This one will be harmless for another month. Then it will be dangerous. It is quite all right to-night. Come and stroke it!"
Not I! So long as the tiger remained there I kept cringed up in my seat on the other side of the room, and mighty thankful I was when he had taken his strange pet away. I've an old-fashioned notion that a library is not the happiest place for a menagerie. I heard that just a month afterwards the beast did, in fact, turn on the big-game shot, and his arm was terribly ripped. He must have trusted it just a day too long.
A. LYTTON
IX.
GILBERT AND SULLIVAN.
World-wide Fame of the Operas—The Secrets of Their Charm—Sullivan's Music and the Popular Taste—Gilbert and the Englishman—Stage Figures That Are True to National Type—The Germans and "H.M.S. Pinafore"—Characters That Mirror Ourselves—Gilbert's Versatility—Pedigree of the Operas—Practical Hints for Amateurs—The Importance of the First Entrance—Studying the Art of Make-up—A Splendid Heritage of Humour and Song.
The Gilbert and Sullivan public are said to number three millions. Exactly how this figure is arrived at I cannot say, but it is presumed to represent those who make it a point of honour to see the operas whenever they possibly can, who are familiar with all the music and the songs, and who lose no chance of making others as enthusiastic as they are. Literally they are to be found the whole world over—from China to Peru—and the operas are as successful in Australia and America as they are in the United Kingdom. I was told once of an Englishman, exiled in the wilds of China, who had an audience of Celestials listening at his garden gate while he was warbling to himself "Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes!"
What a wonderful thing it is that plays which are all well over thirty years old should have such a faithful following! Clearly there must be something exceptional about them, some magnetic force that draws the multitudes to them, some elixir that gives to them the freshness of eternal youth. Imitators have tried hard to capture the secret of their sweet simplicity. That [122] they have failed so far to do so is a misfortune. The Savoy operas still stand alone, unchallenged either by any changing in popular taste or by the passage of time, though if there were more of them it would be good for the public that loves such honest, wholesome enjoyment. It would also be good for the stage. What is the secret?
Sullivan's music often reminds me of a beautiful garden. No attempt is there here to picture in bold orchestral strokes the frowning peaks, the expansive landscapes or the scenes of pomp and splendour. The canvas is ever a miniature one. Each melody is comparable to a lily or a daffodil—just as unpretentious and just as charming—while the whole has the fragrance of the flowers that bloom in the spring. We love this music because it soothes and delights. It is not too "intellectual." We appreciate it as a free and easy distraction, just as we appreciate a popular novel, though we may have high-brow moments when we peer into our Darwin and Spencer. Sullivan's greatest virtue was that he wrote music that was "understanded of the people."
British folk, as we know, are easy going. We are a little too inclined to doff the thinking-cap at the first opportunity. Speaking generally, we are not a studious race, and we don't want to be bothered with "problems." Sullivan's music is never in the problem style—the problem of intricate chords and modern progressions—and just as certainly does it avoid the strident atrocities of the modern ragtime type. It is transparent and simple. It sparkles like the stream in the sunshine, and it is always joyous, buoyant and [123] happy. We want more of such music. Give the people more of these delicate melodies—frankly popular as they are, and yet supremely good music—and into their own lives will enter much of the same romantic warmth and content.
All this shows how Sullivan in his music was perfectly and typically British. What about Gilbert? In his way I think he was the same. British audiences, he knew, did not want either abstruse plots or out-and-out farces, but they did like to be indulged with gentle ripples of laughter. They did not care over-much for the incongruous, but they did love rollicking, good-natured burlesque. And Gilbert was a master of burlesque. Endless arrows are released from his bow, but they hit the mark without disfiguring it, for the tips are not dipped in poison. The Briton can laugh with the best when his own weaknesses and foibles are held up to satire. Certain people would go at once into a tantrum. The Germans, as we know, could never understand "H.M.S. Pinafore." They said it was impossible! No doubt to them it was impossible. Gilbert was making play with Britain's proudest possession—her Navy. Well, the Germans could never have produced a Gilbert of their own in any case, but imagine the enormity of the crime if such a one had written a play caricaturing the omnipotent German War Lords and the old German Army!
Whatever the national costume in which the Gilbert characters are dressed, and however remote the age to which these costumes belong, we know at once that the garb is the purest "camouflage." We have met their like in present-day London or Glasgow or Liverpool. [124] What a lot of folk in real life we know with the same little oddities! The Duke of Plaza-Toro, though described as a Spanish grandee, is really very much an Englishman. He sings, too, about the human weakness for small titles and orders, and we know that that is not an exclusive weakness of the Venetians or the Baratarians in "The Gondoliers." The cap can find a head to fit it much nearer home. Then there is the character of Sir Joseph Porter in "Pinafore." No doubt he is an exaggerated political type, but he is not exaggerated, after all, beyond recognition.
"The Yeomen of the Guard" is, of all operas ever written, the one most essentially English. The Elizabethan setting is there, and so is the happy spirit of old Merrie England. Slightly, perhaps, it may be a drama, but it brings to the surface the tears of gentle melancholy only. That also stamps it as typically British. Colonel Fairfax, under the shadow of the executioner's axe, does not strike a dramatic pose and tell us that it is a far, far better thing he is going to do than he has ever done. Not a bit! In effect, he says its rather hard luck, but there it is anyhow, and after all things might be very much worse. A British officer always was ready to face death with a smile. Nor does Jack Point himself, the most lovable of characters, make a parade of his grief. The burning, aching pain is smothered almost to the end beneath the outward jesting, and when his honest heart breaks there is no murmur against the cruelty of fate, nor any cry of vengeance upon the rival who has won Elsie Maynard.
Yes, we British people can often see ourselves in [125] these characters as if in a mirror, and it is probably due to this, together with the exquisite blend of inimitable music and wit, that the popularity of these operas is so strong and enduring. Stage "puppets" as they may be, they do show us a lot about both our virtues and follies, but rather more about our follies, because as a race we are notoriously shy of our praises being sung! They are always ready to own up to their weaknesses in some capital song. So like the self-depreciating British! Like the rest of us, too, they are for ever getting into some dilemma or other, and they disentangle themselves without excitement or flurry. Each point is made without the banging of drums or the sounding of trumpets. Contrast this with Wagner, who makes a terrible fuss about the merest trifle, and works up his orchestration in a manner that might suggest that the heavens were falling. Whether we like our music like this must be a matter of taste and individual discretion. Here in Gilbert and Sullivan at all events we have common sense—for there can be common sense even in the ridiculous—and a tranquilising atmosphere. In a busy, workaday world, with its ceaseless nervous and physical strain, it is surely a grateful attribute, a pleasant diversion between the burdens of one day and those of the next!
Sir William Gilbert, as I have said before, had a master mind as a playwright. Every opera he wrote had a definite and an interesting plot, and a plot which had, moreover, a purpose. "H.M.S. Pinafore," as we know, was a shrewd shaft aimed at some of the absurdities of our political life, though I say this without being in any way a politician myself! In "Patience" he held up to ridicule [126] the �sthetic craze of the 'eighties. With "Iolanthe" we enter the fantastic field, and to me there is always something uncommonly whimsical in the idea that Parliament is ruled by the fairies, who thus must be the real rulers of England. "Princess Ida" was a clever anticipation of the women's movement, though it is well-known that Gilbert took the outlines of the story from Tennyson. Then "The Mikado" transports to the romantic and picturesque land of Japan. "Ruddigore" was intended to be a travesty on the melodramatic stage. Following this came an historical play, designed to show his gifts in a new, more serious and no less successful light. I refer, of course, to "The Yeomen of the Guard." Then "The Gondoliers" carried us to beautiful Venice, whilst last of all were "Utopia Limited," which I trust will soon be revived, and "The Grand Duke." It is remarkable that so wide a range could be covered in one series of plays.
Gilbert, at an O.P. Club dinner in 1906, admitted his "indebtedness to the author of the 'Bab Ballads,' from whom I have so unblushingly cribbed." The diligent student of the ballads and the operas will find many evidences of the development of ideas from the chrysalis to the butterfly stage. I have to thank Mr. Robert Bell for the following notes—confirmed and amplified by Gilbert during his lifetime—on the pedigree of a few of the more popular operas:—
"H.M.S. Pinafore"
"The Fairy Curate," "The Periwinkle Girl."
"Patience"
"The Rival Curates."
"H.M.S. Pinafore," it will be seen, owed more to the ballads than did any of the later operas, and it will be noticed that Captain Corcoran, with his solicitude for his crew and his carefully moderate language, was clearly of the stock of Captain Reece, of "The Mantelpiece," who
"Did all that lay within him to
Promote the comfort of his crew;
A feather bed had every man
Warm slippers and hot-water can,
Brown Windsor from the captain's store,
A valet, too, to every four."
—an example of unselfishness to be compared in the other branch of the Service only with the altruism of "Lieutenant-Colonel Flare." The main theme of the opera—the babies changed in their cradles—was a great favourite with Gilbert. In the ballads it appears in "General John" and "The Baby's Vengeance," which latter poem may have suggested, moreover, certain details in "Ruddigore." The origin of Robin Oakapple's bashfulness may possibly be traced back to "The Married Couple," in which the pair were betrothed in infancy, as also happens in "Princess Ida."
"Iolanthe" has an obvious resemblance to "The Fairy Curate." In both a fairy marries a mortal, with the result in one case of the curate, Georgie, and in the other the Arcadian shepherd, Strephon. Then we are [128] bound to notice how the feud of the two poets in "Patience" is modelled on the emulation of the Rev. Clayton Hooper and the Rev. Hopley Porter in "The Rival Curates." Indeed, the parallel between the ballad and the opera was originally so complete that in the opera the dragoons were curates, and Bunthorne and Grosvenor clergymen! Sir William, however, began to doubt whether it was good taste to hold up the clergy to a certain amount of ridicule, and so he changed the principals into �sthetes, and the curates into dragoons.
Coming to "The Yeomen of the Guard" we find that Wilfred Shadbolt, with his anecdotes of the prison cells and the torture chamber, had a prototype in the jailor in "Annie Protheroe." In both a condemned man is reprieved and enabled to outwit his rival for the love of a lady. "Were I thy Bride" is also a song with an obvious affinity to the ballad, "To Phœbe." So we might continue to trace in the ballads ideas which the playwright turned to the happiest account in the operas. Strangely enough, "The Mikado" is the opera which best keeps its secrets, and one searches the poems in vain for anything in the nature of a "pedigree."
Lucky is the actor or actress who secures an engagement in these operas at the outset of his or her career on the stage. The Savoy tradition which Gilbert and Sullivan founded was, of course, entirely different to anything which had preceded it, and the great feature of this new school was the insistence that was and still is placed on clear enunciation, distinct vocal phrasing, and refinement of manner and gesture. The beginner who is trained on these lines is thus taught the essentials [129] of genuine artistry, and it is also a great advantage to a new-comer that, early in his professional life, he has played in pieces which have such an infectious spirit about them and before audiences that are always so ready with encouragement. By the management itself good work is invariably recognised, and it is always possible, as has happened in my own case, for one to rise from the chorus itself to the principal parts.
Gilbert and Sullivan's works are now given by hundreds of amateur societies all the year round, and often we hear that parties of those who are going to play in them have travelled some distance to see us, and so to gather notes for their own performances. Scattered about these pages are many practical hints for these amateur players. From an "old hand" they may be of some service, not merely because they are drawn from my own long experience, but because many of these points were given me by Gilbert himself and by great actors like Irving. It will be useful, I think, if I now summarise and amplify these suggestions, which are applicable chiefly to those who are to play in these operas, but which in a general way may be helpful to all amateur and young professional performers. Here they are:—
1. Study your part very thoroughly beforehand, and when on the stage forget all about yourself, and live that part entirely. Concentrate all your thoughts upon it, and if it is a whimsical part, see that you get the right atmosphere before you begin.
2. Speak clearly and deliberately. Never forget the man at the back of the gallery, and so long as your enunciation is distinct, your words will reach him [130] without any need for shouting. Special care should be taken to phrase clearly when singing.
3. Be perfectly natural in your actions and gestures. The secret of this is, whether you are actually speaking or not, to wrap yourself up in your part and in the play, and so save yourself from being troubled with self-consciousness.
4. Give your audience credit for humorous perception. Gilbert's wit, in other words, is such that the actor must not force his lines through fear, as it were, that the people in front will otherwise not be intelligent enough to "see the joke." Indeed, the more serious and intense he is in many cases, the more oblivious he pretends to be to the absurdity of what he is saying, the quainter and more delightful is the effect on the other side of the footlights.
5. Exceptional instances apart, the actor who is speaking or being spoken to, or who is singing a song, should stand well to the front of the stage. Not only does this let you make the best use of your voice, but it helps you, what is more important, to rivet the attention of the audience.
6. Keep up a keen personal interest in the play. If you are in the chorus, your job is not solely to help in the singing and to show off a picturesque costume, but to assist in focussing the interest on the central incident. If, on the other hand, you are listless and stare about the theatre, it is bound to rob the whole performance of freshness and spontaneity.
7. The Gilbert and Sullivan atmosphere, as I have said several times elsewhere, is "repose." This is impossible if every member of the company—and even [131] the leading principal himself—indulges in little mannerisms liable to take the audience's eye from the central point.
8. Never forget that a company, so far from being divided into principals and chorus, is really one big family, and success depends on one and all "pulling together." Still less should the principals forget what they owe to the chorus for loyally backing them up, and a little kindly appreciation, a word of encouragement from themselves, as the more experienced players, to those who are anxious to learn, goes a mighty long way.
Now that the old stock companies have become almost things of the past, our amateur operatic societies should be recognised as one of the best recruiting fields for theatrical talent, and it is a fact that from their ranks many great artistes have sprung. I myself have seen numbers of these amateur shows, and in most of them there have been two or three performers who, with work and experience, could take a creditable place on the professional stage. For this reason I am anxious to give them all the advice it is in my power to give. First and foremost, therefore, I should insist that before any words are memorised the part itself must be thoroughly studied, so that one knows exactly what the author intends and just what sort of figure one has to depict. Especially have I made it my aim, on my first entrance in any part, to let the audience see just what the character is, whether a comedian, a tragedian, a lover, a fool, or a "fop." Feel that you are actually one of these, and especially when you make your first entry, and the battle is half won already. You will then have something of what people variously call [132] "magnetism" or "personality" or "atmosphere." This feeling of your part at the first entrance is of vital importance, and as far as you can, you must try to keep it up right through the play.
Take the case of Jack Point. From the moment he enters the audience should know the manner of man that he is and he must win their sympathy immediately. He is a poor strolling player who has been dragged from pillar to post. Footsore and weary though he is, Jack Point is anxious to please the crowd who have roughly chased him and Elsie Maynard in, for if he fails them have they not threatened to duck him in the nearest pond? Jack and Elsie are no ordinary players. In Elizabethan times the street dancer was a familiar character. The Merry-man and his maid, however, tell us that they can sing and dance too, a wonderful accomplishment. All this and more is made clear on their first entry. It should be the same in the interpretation of all the other parts.
When the Duke of Plaza-Toro arrives, he must at once impress the audience that, although impecunious, he still expects the deference due to birth and breeding. Ko-Ko, on the other hand, is a cheap tailor suddenly exalted to the rank of Lord High Executioner, and from his first entrance it is obvious that he was never brought up in the dignified ways of a Court. He tells the gentlemen of Japan that he is "much touched by this reception." Somehow one feels that that speech was written out for him when he received his appointment, that he has since recited it forty times a day, and that now the upstart is trying to make believe it is entirely extempore! Then there is Sir Joseph Porter. [133] Whenever I play this r�le I do my best to cultivate a sense of immense self-importance. I do this, of course, whilst waiting my cue, but the effect of it should be seen on the stage. Bunthorne's first appearance should be done in such a way as to stamp him definitely for what he is—an affected "poseur." The exaggeration may be relaxed a little afterwards—but it must be there at the beginning.
So long as one has studied one's part beforehand, particularly in regard to the nature of the first entry, the memorisation of the words becomes more or less easy. And amateurs ought to realise what a tremendous help to them it would be to practice their own facial "make-up." Generally they leave that to an expert, but if they practised it themselves, they would find it a very fascinating, and certainly an important, branch of the actor's profession. Many and many a time have I taken my pencils and colours, retired to some quiet room at home, and spent an afternoon experimenting in make-up. Notwithstanding that I have never played any Shakespearian characters, I have made up privately for dozens of them, and the practice has helped me in innumerable ways.
For instance, I used to be fond of making up as the hunchback Richard the Third, and I turned these experiments to account when I had to play the r�le of King Gama. Shakespeare's Touchstone also appealed to me, and having made up as this clown so often, I had many useful ideas when I came to do Jack Point. The deathly pallor of the poor jester at the end was contrived from many similar experiments. Setting photographs before me, I would make myself resemble the late Lord [134] Roberts and the late Sir Evelyn Wood, and these were used as a model when I had to be Major-General Stanley. Several visits to the Law Courts gave me valuable hints for the Lord Chancellor. The Duke of Plaza-Toro was studied from an old print of a grandee. Ko-Ko's make up, which was bound to be a difficult one, was the outcome of a good deal of sketching on paper, particularly in regard to the treatment of the lines round the eyes. When Mrs. D'Oyly Carte first saw me as Bunthorne, she exclaimed "How you do remind me of Whistler!" That was a compliment. It was from Whistler, of course, that this r�le was understood to be drawn, and so I was not loath to copy the poet's photograph, even to the white lock in his ample jet-black hair!
Yes, make-up well rewards one for all the time one spends in practising it, and many brother professionals agree with me that the great past-masters of the art were the late Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree and the late Wilson Barrett. With them, of course, make-up concerned not merely the face but the figure, and it was wonderful how Tree, to instance only two of his great parts, could adapt himself either to the portly and blustering Falstaff or to the lean and haggard Svengali. And Barrett, though ordinarily stocky of build, could appear at times as a towering, dominating personality. Seeing that these men were big theatrical figures, they were not compelled to sink their identities in the parts they were playing, and yet they were such great artistes that they always did so completely.
I close this book with a simple story of the different operas. This will, I am sure, be read with interest both [135] by those who know them already and by those, the younger generation, who are growing up to know and love them too for what they are—a heritage of pure humour and song of which the nation may well be proud, and to which it will remain faithful as long as the spirit of laughter abides in its heart.
Dear are their melodies to England's heart,
Pure English is the fount from which they flow,
As frank and tender as was English art
In the rich times of Purcell, Arne and Blow;
As English the libretto every whit,
Jests how well polished, whimsies how well said;
True English humour, and true English wit,
Sword-sharp yet kindly, hearty yet well-bred.
Thus have they lasted, and out-last the years.
Being in their fantasy to life so true,
So intermix't with laughter and with tears.
So gay, so wise, so old, and yet so new.
Long may they, living for our children's joy,
Renew the triumphs of the old Savoy!
THE STORIES OF THE OPERAS.
"TRIAL BY JURY."
Produced March 25th, 1875.
Gilbert and Sullivan's fame was really based on a little comic opera called "Thespis." It was produced by John Hollingshead at the Gaiety, and its success was so great that Mr. Richard D'Oyly Carte was induced to invite them to collaborate again in the first of what we now know as the D'Oyly Carte operas, the dramatic cantata, "Trial by Jury." Short and slender as it is, this opera has always been immensely popular, and it still appears regularly in the company's programmes. Gilbert, who had himself followed the law before he transferred his talents to the stage, took as his subject an imaginary breach of promise case between Edwin and Angelina. That it is a faithful picture of a court of law and of those who minister there one would never dare to suggest! But as a very free and clever burlesque even those who follow the vocation of the wig and gown will admit its claims immediately.
When the curtain rises we see the interior of a court of justice, and the barristers, solicitors and jury are already in their places. The Usher, a functionary of the old school, at once proceeds to give some homely and informal advice to the jurymen, telling them to listen to the case with minds free from vulgar prejudice. With that he goes on to try to soften their masculine hearts over the plight of poor Angelina. When the defendant enters the twelve good men and true shake their fists [137] in his face, hail him as a "monster," and bid him "dread our damages." Edwin ventures to suggest that, as they are in the dark as to the merits of his case, these proceedings are strange. He tells how he once rapturously adored the lady, how she then began to bore him intensely, and how at last he became "another's love-sick boy." The jury reflect that they, too, were rather inconstant in their own youthful days, but now that they are older and "shine with a virtue resplendent" they "haven't a scrap of sympathy with the defendant."
The Judge now takes his seat on the bench. The genial soul, as a prelude to the duties of the day, confides how he rose to judicial eminence. For years he searched in vain for briefs, and then he found an easy escape from poverty by marrying a rich attorney's elderly, ugly daughter. He would, his father-in-law said, soon get used to her looks, and in the meanwhile he promised to deluge him with briefs for the "Sessions and Ancient Bailey." By these means he prospered, and then he "threw over that rich attorney's elderly, ugly daughter." And now he is ready to try this present breach of promise of marriage.
Counsel for the plaintiff having taken his place, the jury are sworn well and truly to try the case, which they do by kneeling low down in the box and, with the exception of their upraised hands, quite out of sight. The plaintiff's arrival is heralded by that of a beautiful bevy of bridesmaids. The Judge, having taken a fancy to one of them, pens her a little note, which she kisses rapturously. Yet when he sees the plaintiff, a still brighter vision of loveliness, he orders that the note shall be taken from the bridesmaid and given to her. Judge and jury alike are entranced. Counsel proceeds to open the case, and with bitter reproaches he assails the traitor whose heartless wile victimised his "interesting client," to whom "Camberwell (had) become a bower, Peckham an Arcadian vale." The plaintiff weeps. When she is lead to the witness-box she falls in a faint on to the foreman's shoulders, but upon the Judge inquiring whether she would not rather recline on him, the fair lady jumps on to the bench and sits down fondly by the side of the Judge [138] .
Edwin, regarded by all as an object of villainy, now proceeds to state his case, and can only offer to marry the lady to-day and then marry his new love to-morrow. The Judge suggests that this may be a fair proposition, but counsel holds that, on the other hand, "to marry two at once is burglaree." Angelina, with a view to increasing the damages, now embraces her inconstant lover and calls upon the jury to witness what a loss she has to deplore. Edwin, in the hope in turn of reducing them, declares that at heart he is a ruffian and a bully, and that she could never endure him a day. The Judge suggests that, as the man declares that when tipsy he would thrash her and kick her, the best plan would be for them to make him tipsy and see! Objection is raised to this on every side, and then the man of law, losing his temper and scattering the books hither and thither, declares that as nothing will please them he will marry the lady himself. This solution seems to carry general agreement. The Judge, having claimed her hand, sings:—
"Though homeward as you trudge
You declare my law is fudge,
Yet of beauty I'm a judge."
To which all in court reply, "And a good judge too!"
"THE SORCERER."
Produced November 17th, 1887.
"The Sorcerer" is a merry story of sentimental topsy-turvydom. Cupid could never have performed such mischievous pranks as he did, aided by a magician's love potion, in the pleasant village of Ploverleigh. Sir Marmaduke Pointdextre, a baronet of ancient lineage, has invited the tenantry to his Elizabethan mansion to celebrate the betrothal of his son Alexis, a Grenadier Guardsman, to the lovely Aline. So happy and romantic [139] a union between two old families deserved to be worthily honoured, and a large and lavishly stocked marquee, we notice, has been erected at one side of the garden. Aline herself is rich, the only daughter of the Lady Sangazure, and the seven thousand and thirty-seventh in direct descent, it seems, from Helen of Troy. Nor are there heart-stirrings only in the homes of the great. Early in the opera it transpires that Constance Partlet, the daughter of a humble pew-opener at the Parish Church, has a doting love for the vicar, Dr. Daly. It is a hopeless passion. Not that the vicar, now a bachelor of venerable years, had never felt the throb of romance in his soul, and never recalled the "aching memory of the old, old days." Fondly does he muse over the time when—
"Maidens of the noblest station,
Forsaking even military men,
Would gaze upon me, rapt in admiration—
Ah, me! I was a pale young curate then."
This, indeed, was the time when love and he were well acquainted, as he tells us in a delightful ballad, and when none was better loved that he in all the land! Yet even these dreams of yesteryear fail to awaken in him the desires for a joyous to-morrow. Constance's mother finds him quite unresponsive to her ingenious suggestions, for though he sees the advantage of having a lady installed in the vicarage, he is too old now for his estate to be changed.
Sir Marmaduke and Alexis enter. The honest heart of the father glows at the thought of the marriage, though he confesses that he has little liking for the new kind of love-making, in which couples rush into each other's arms rapturously singing:—
"Oh, my adored one!"
"Ecstatic rapture!"
"Unmingled joy!"
So different, he reflects, to the older and more courtly "Madame, I trust you are in the enjoyment of good health"; "Sir, you are vastly polite, I protest I am mighty well." Even thus did he once pay his addresses to the Lady Sangazure. For once they, too, were lovers! But these reveries are ended by the arrival of Aline, and soon afterwards, to the tuneful salutation of the villagers, [140] the marriage contract is signed and sealed in the presence of Counsel.
Left alone at last with his betrothed, Alexis tells her of his maxim that true love, the source of every earthly joy, should break down all such artificial barriers as rank, wealth, beauty and age. Upon this subject he has lectured in the workhouses, beershops and asylums, and been received with enthusiasm everywhere, though he cannot deny the aloofness as yet of the aristocracy. He is going to take a desperate step to put those noble principles to proof. From London he has summoned the great John Wellington Wells. He belongs to an old-established firm of family sorcerers, who practise all sorts of magics and spells, with their wonderful penny curse as their quick-selling speciality. From the moment he enters it is obvious that this glib-tongued charlatan is a hustling dynamo. Alexis, much to Aline's alarm, commissions him to supply liberal quantities of his patent love philtre in order that, from purely philanthropical motives, as he explains, he may distribute it secretly amongst the villagers. Wells, like the pushful tradesman he is, has the very thing in his pocket. He guarantees that whoever drinks it will fall in love, as a matter of course, with the first lady he meets who has also tasted it, and his affection will be returned immediately. Then follows a melodramatic incantation as the sorcerer deposits the philtre into a gigantic teapot. "Spirits of earth and air, fiends of flame and fire" are summoned "in shoals" to "this dreadful deed inspire." This done Mr. Wells beckons the villagers, and all the party, except the two lovers, join merrily in drinking a toast drawn from the teapot. Quickly it becomes evident from their strange conduct that the charm is working. All rub their eyes, and the curtain falls on the picture of many amorous couples, rich and poor alike, under the spell of the romantic illusion.
The same scene greets us when the second act opens. The couples are strangely assorted—an old man with a girl, an elderly woman with a youth—but all sing and dance to a love that is "the source of all joy to humanity." Constance confesses her rapture for a deaf old Notary. Sir Marmaduke himself walks arm-in-arm with Mrs. [141] Partlet. Dr. Daly is sadly perplexed. The villagers, who had not been addicted to marrying and giving in marriage, have now been coming to him in a body and imploring him to join them in matrimony with little delay. The sentimental old bachelor reflects, moreover, how comely all the maidens are, and sighs that alas! all now are engaged! Meanwhile, Alexis has tried to persuade Aline that they should drink the philtre too, for only thus can they ensure their own undying devotion. She refuses and there is a tiff, but later, to prove that her love for him is true, she does drink the potion, only to be seized by a passionate affection for—Dr. Daly. Nor can the good vicar resist the yearning to reciprocate. Coming to the scene, Alexis is outraged with his lover's perfidy, and at last has very serious doubts about the excellence of his theories and the wisdom of the sorcerer's spell. Dr. Daly, determined to be no man's rival, is ready to quit the country at once and bury his sorrow "in the congenial gloom of a colonial bishopric."
But one of the drollest effects of the enchantment has still to be told. The first man on whom the Lady Sangazure casts her eye after she has succumbed is none other than the notorious John Wellington Wells. In vain does he lie to her that he is already engaged. In vain does he describe a beauteous maiden with bright brown hair who waits for him in the Southern Pacific. She threatens at last to end her sorrows in the family vault, and only then does the sorcerer, as a small reparation for all the emotional disturbance he has created, decide that the acceptance of her hand might not be at all a bad bargain.
In the end the magic scheme becomes so involved that it must be at all costs disentangled. It can be done in only one way. Someone must yield his life to Ahrimanes. Wells agrees to commit this act of self-immolation, and amidst a wreath of fire and brimstone he disappears, melodramatic to the last, through a trap-door in the stage. With his departure the couples re-assort themselves, selecting mates in keeping with their various social stations and ages, and the betrothal festivities resume their merry sway.
"H.M.S. PINAFORE."
[142]
Produced May 25th, 1878.
Certainly "H.M.S. Pinafore" was not a model ship as regards the sense of discipline that exists in the real British Navy. But in every other respect it was a model ship. Captain Corcoran was the commander of its jovial crew, and a very fine commander he was, always indulgent to his men and always ready to address them politely. Swearing on board was a thing almost unknown. Corcoran did say "bother it" now and again, but he tells us that he never used "a big, big d——" at least, "hardly ever." Lustily do the crew "give three cheers and one cheer more for the well-bred captain of the Pinafore."
The opera has the quarter-deck for its setting, and it is related that Gilbert took as his model for this scene the old Victory, which he went to see at Portsmouth. Our first introduction is to the crew, who busily polish the brasswork and splice the rope while they sing in tuneful nautical strains that their "saucy ship's a beauty" and manned by "sober men and true, attentive to their duty." Only one gruff old salt is there amongst them, and we discover him in the ugly, distorted form of Dick Deadeye. He is thoroughly unpopular. Soon the sailors welcome on board Little Buttercup, a Portsmouth bumboat woman who has come to sell her wares, and who is hailed as "the rosiest, the roundest and the reddest beauty in all Spithead." She has certainly some delightful ditties to sing.
One member of the crew is handsome Ralph Rackstraw, who confesses to a passion for Corcoran's pretty daughter, Josephine. The poor fellow is downcast that his ambitions should have soared to such impossible heights. Yet Josephine herself is also sad because of a heart that "hopes but vainly." Corcoran chides her, and tells her how happy she should be when her hand is to be claimed, that very day, by the great Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., the First Lord of the Admiralty. She confesses [143] that, although she is a proud captain's daughter, she loves a humble sailor on board her father's own ship.
Sir Joseph's stately barge is approaching. He comes attended by a host of his sisters and his cousins and his aunts, a very large and charming family group whom the sailors, instead of standing rigidly at attention, salute with effusive politeness. Sir Joseph, attired in the Court dress of his office, proceeds at once to describe his meteoric rise from an office boy in an attorney's firm to become the "ruler of the Queen's Navee." The story is that of an industrious clerk who, having "served the writs with a smile so bland and copied all the letters in a big round hand" is taken at last into partnership, and eventually becomes an obedient party man in Parliament and a member of the Ministry. For landsmen the moral of it all is summed up in this golden rule:—
"Stick close to your desk and never go to sea
And you all may be rulers of the Queen's Navee."
The First Lord has ideas of his own that the sense of independence in the lower deck must be fully encouraged. The British sailor he holds to be any man's equal, and he insists that Captain Corcoran shall accompany every order of his crew, over whom he has been placed merely by accident of birth, with a courteous "if you please." Then he takes Corcoran into the cabin to teach him another accomplishment—dancing the hornpipe. Josephine meanwhile steals out on to the deck. She meets Ralph Rackstraw, who boldly gambles his all on an immediate protestation of love, only to be refused for his presumption and impetuosity. The poor fellow, before the whole ship's company and without their lifting a hand to restrain him, prepares to blow out his brains, when the girl rushes into his arms. Notwithstanding the evil Dick Deadeye's warning, they arrange to steal ashore at night to be married, and the curtain falls on the crew giving three cheers for the sailor's bride.
When the second act opens the deck is bathed in moonlight. Captain Corcoran is strumming his mandoline and singing a plaintive song—he laments that everything is at sixes and sevens—while gazing at him [144] sentimentally is Little Buttercup. Following a duet between them, Sir Joseph Porter enters to complain that he is disappointed in Josephine, and Corcoran can attribute her reticence only to the exalted rank of so distinguished a suitor as the First Lord of the Admiralty. Corcoran afterwards takes his daughter aside and explains to her that love is a platform on which all ranks meet, little mindful how eloquently he is thus pleading the cause of humble Ralph. When the girl has left Dick Deadeye comes to warn the father of the plan for a midnight elopement. Enveloping himself in a cloak, with a cat-o'-nine-tails in his hand, he awaits developments. Soon the crew steal in on tiptoe, and afterwards the two lovers, ready to escape ashore in the dingy. Captain Corcoran surprises them, but, to his amazement, Ralph Rickshaw openly and defiantly avows his love, while the crew chant his praises as an Englishman:—
"For he might have been a Roosian,
A French, or Turk, or Proosian,
Or perhaps Itali-an.
But in spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations
He remains an Englishman!"
Even for the well-bred skipper this is too much. He explodes with a "big, big d——." Sir Joseph hears the bad language and is horrified. He will hear of no explanations. Captain Corcoran is banished to his cabin in disgrace.
The First Lord is destined to receive still another shock. He hears of the attachment between Josephine and Ralph. The "presumptuous mariner" is ordered to be handcuffed and marched off to the dungeon. But it is after this that we hear the biggest surprise of all—and from the lips of Little Buttercup. She recalls that in the years long ago she practised baby farming, and to her care were committed two infants, "one of low condition, the other a patrician." Unhappily, in a luckless moment she mixed those children up, and the poor baby really was Corcoran and the rich one Ralph Rackstraw. Ralph thereupon enters in a captain's uniform. Corcoran follows him in the dress of a mere able-seaman. Sir Joseph decides that, although love levels rank in many cases, his own marriage with a common sailor's daughter is out of the question, and he resigns himself then and there to his venerable cousin, Hebe. Ralph claims his Josephine, while the fallen Corcoran links his future with that of the bumboat woman, Little Buttercup.
A. LYTTON
"SIR JOSEPH PORTER" IN "H.M.S. PINAFORE."
"THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE."
[145]
Produced April 30th, 1880.
Sheltered in the Cornish coast was the hiding place of a band of tender-hearted pirates. Never was the trade of the skull-and-cross-bones followed by men of such sensitive and compassionate feelings. They made it a point of honour never to attack a weaker party, and whenever they attempted to fight a stronger one they invariably got thrashed. Orphans themselves, they shrank from ever laying a molesting hand on an orphan, and many of the ships they captured had to be released because they were found to be manned entirely by orphans. Little wonder was it that these Pirates of Penzance could not make the grim trade of piracy pay.
The curtain rises on a scene of revelry. Frederic has just completed his pirate apprenticeship and is being hailed as a fully-fledged member of the gang. That he had been indentured with them at all was a mistake. When he was a lad his nurse was told to take and apprentice him to a pilot, and when she discovered her stupid blunder she let him stay with the pirates, and remained with them herself as a maid-of-all-work rather than return to brave the parental fury. Frederic, at all times the slave of duty, has loyally served out his time, but now he announces that not only will he not continue at a trade he detests, but he is going to devote himself heart and soul to his old comrades' extermination. The declaration turns the camp from joy into mourning, but these very scrupulous pirates have to admit that a man must act as his conscience dictates, and they can [146] only crave that the manner of their deaths may be painless and speedy.
Frederic has never seen a woman's face—no other woman's face, at least, but Ruth's, his old nurse, who adores him—and thus there come as a vision of loveliness to him the figures of the many daughters of Major-General Stanley. They have penetrated into the rocky cove during a picnic. Frederic, sensitive about his detested dress, hides from them for a while, but soon he reveals himself and entreats them all to stoop in pity so low is to accept the hand and heart of a pirate. Only one of them, Mabel, is ready to take him for what he is, and the love-making between the two is swift and passionate. It is interrupted by the return of the gang, each member of which seizes a girl and claims her as his bride, and during this lively interlude there arrives old General Stanley. He has lagged behind the rest of the party.
The General, a resplendent figure in his uniform, knows a good deal about the most abstruse and complicated sciences, though he proclaims that he knows no more of tactics than a novice in a nunnery. In this he holds himself to be "the very model of a modern major-general." Completing the candid recital of his attainments and want of them, he inquires what strange deeds are afoot, and he has no liking either for pirates as sons-in-law or for the prospect of being robbed wholesale of his daughters. But where is the way of escape? Luckily the General has heard of these Penzance pirates before, and he wrings their sympathy with the sad news that he, too, is "an orphan boy." For such tender-hearted robbers that is enough. They surrender the girls, and with them all thoughts of matrimonial felicity, and restore the entire party to liberty.
The second act is laid in a ruined chapel at night. General Stanley, surrounded by his daughters, has come to do penance for his lie before the tombs of his ancestors, who are his solely by purchase, for he has owned the estate only a year. Frederic is now to lead an expedition against the pirates. For this perilous mission he has gathered together a squad of police, who march in under their sergeant, all of them very nervous and [147] under misgivings that possibly they may be going to "die in combat gory." Soon after they have left there is a whimsical development. Frederic, alone in the chapel, is visited by the Pirate King and Ruth. Covering him first of all with their pistols, they tell him that they have remembered that he was born on the 29th of February, and that as he thus has a birthday only every four years he is still but five years of age!
Frederic, as we have observed before, has a keen sense of duty. In blank despair he agrees to return to the gang to finish his apprenticeship. Once more a member of the band, he is bound also to disclose the horrible fact that the old soldier has practised on the pirates' credulous simplicity, and that in truth he is no orphan boy. The Pirate King decrees that there shall be a swift and terrible revenge that very night.
When all have left but Mabel, who declares that she will remain faithful to her lover until he has lived his twenty-one leap-years, there re-enter the police. The sergeant laments that the policeman's lot is not a happy one. It is distressing to them to have to be the agents whereby their erring fellow-creatures are deprived of the liberty that everyone prizes.
"When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime,
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun.
Ah! Take one consideration with another
The policeman's lot is not a happy one."
Sounds are heard that indicate the pirates' approach. The police conceal themselves, and soon the intruders enter, armed with all kinds of burglarious tools, and with a cat-like tread (they say so, at least, though they are singing their loudest). They are interrupted, not by the police, but by the appearance of General Stanley. He has had a sleepless night, the effect of a tortured conscience, and he comes in in a dressing-gown and carrying a light. Soon his daughters also appear in their night-caps. The General is seized and ordered to prepare for death. Frederic, even on Mabel's entreaties, cannot save him, for is he not himself a pirate again? [148]
Eventually the police, having passively watched the situation so long, summon up courage and tackle the pirates, but they are soon overcome. The sergeant, who with the rest of his men is held prostrate under drawn swords, then calls upon the ruffians to surrender in the name of the Queen. The command acts like magic. Loyally the pirates kneel to their captives, for it transpires from Ruth's lips that they are really "no members of the common throng; they are all noblemen who have gone wrong." All ends happily. The Pirates of Penzance promise to return forthwith to their legislative duties in the House of Lords and, in doing so, they are to share their coronets with the beautiful daughters of old General Stanley.
"PATIENCE."
Produced April 23rd, 1881.
There is satire in the very name of this opera. The craze for �stheticism against which it was directed must have placed a strain on the patience of so brilliant an exponent of British commonsense as Sir William Gilbert.
Shortly before the play opens, twenty of the maidens of the village adjoining Castle Bunthorne had fallen in love with the officers of the 35th Heavy Dragoons. But when Reginald Bunthorne, a fleshly poet and a devotee of the �sthetic cult, arrived at the castle, they had fallen out of love with their Dragoons and united with Lady Jane (of uncertain age) in worshipping him. When the curtain rises the "twenty love-sick maidens" are lamenting that Bunthorne is "ice-insensible." Lady Jane tells them that he loves Patience, the village milkmaid, who is seen regarding them with pity. Lady Angela tells Patience that if she has never loved she can never have known true happiness. Patience replies that "the truly happy always seem to have so much on their minds," and "never seem quite well." Lady Jane explains that it is "Not indigestion, but �sthetic transfiguration." Patience informs the ladies that the [149] 35th Dragoon Guards have arrived. Lady Ella declares, "We care nothing for Dragoon Guards." "But," exclaims Patience, "You were all engaged to them." "Our minds have been etherealised, our perceptions exalted," answers Lady Angela, who calls on the others to lift up their voices in morning carol to "Our Reginald."
The 35th Dragoons arrive and the Colonel gives us in song:—
"A receipt for that popular mystery
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon."
One of them who arrives later looks miserable, but declares "I'm as cheerful as a poor devil can be, who has the misfortune to be a Duke with a thousand a day." His wretchedness is not relieved by the entrance of Bunthorne, followed by the maidens, who ignore the Dragoons. The Poet pretends to be absorbed in the composition of a poem, but he slyly observes, "I hear plainly all they say, twenty love-sick maidens they." Lady Jane explains to the soldiers that Bunthorne has idealised them. Bunthorne meanwhile is to be seen writhing in the throes of composition. "Finished!" he exclaims and faints in the arms of the Colonel. When he recovers, the love-sick maidens entreat him to read the poem. "Shall I?" he asks. Fiercely the Dragoons shout "No!" but bidding the ladies to "Cling passionately to one another," he recites "Oh, Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!" When the Colonel reminds the ladies that they are engaged to the Dragoons, Lady Saphir says, "It can never be. You are not Empyrean," while Lady Jane sneers at the crudity of their red and yellow uniforms. The Dragoons resent this "insult" to a uniform which has been "as successful in the courts of Venus as in the field of Mars," and lament that "the peripatetics of long-haired �sthetics" should have captured the ladies' fancy. Angrily they return to their camp.
Bunthorne, left "alone and unobserved," confesses to being an "�sthetic sham." "In short," he says, "my medi�valism's affectation, born of a morbid love of admiration." Then Patience enters, and he makes love to her. She repulses him, and tragically he bids her [150] farewell. Lady Angela implores her to "Try, try, try to love." She dilates upon the "Ennobling and unselfish passion" until Patience declares, "I won't go to bed until I'm head over ears in love with somebody." Patience soliloquises, "I had no idea love was a duty. No wonder they all look so unhappy. I'll go at once and fall in love with—" but stops, startled by a figure almost as grotesque as Bunthorne, and exclaims, "A stranger!" The stranger is Archibald Grosvenor, an idyllic poet, who plunges boldly into a declaration of love with his "Prithee pretty maiden, will you marry me." Patience replies, "I do not know you and therefore must decline." He reveals that he was her sweetheart in childhood's days. Grosvenor begs Patience imagine "The horror of his situation, gifted with unrivalled beauty, and madly loved at first sight by every woman he meets." When Patience enquires why he does not disfigure himself to escape such persecution, he replies, "These gifts were given to me for the enjoyment and delectation of my fellow creatures. I am a trustee for beauty." Grosvenor and Patience plight their troth, but as she remembers that love must be unselfish, and that Grosvenor is so beautiful that there can be no unselfishness in loving him, they bid each other "Farewell." Just as they are parting it occurs to Patience that it cannot be selfish for Grosvenor to love her, and he promises, "I'll go on adoring."
Bunthorne, crowned and garlanded with roses, returns accompanied by his solicitor and the ladies. The Dragoons arrive also, and ask Bunthorne why he should be so arrayed. He explains that, heart-broken by Patience's rejection, and on the advice of his solicitor, he has put himself up to be raffled for by his admirers. The Dragoons make a fruitless appeal to the ladies in a song by the Duke. The drawing is about to take place when Patience enters, craves Bunthorne's pardon, and offers to be his bride. When Bunthorne rejoices that this is due to the fact that she loves him fondly, Patience tells him that it is because "A maiden who devotes herself to loving you, is prompted by no selfish view."
This scene leads to a temporary reconciliation between [151] the Dragoons and the ladies, who embrace each other and declare that "Never, oh never, this heart will range from that old, old love again." Then Grosvenor enters. He walks slowly, engrossed in reading. The ladies are strangely fascinated by him and gradually withdraw from the arms of their martial admirers. Lady Angela asks:—
"But who is this, whose god-like grace
Proclaims he comes of noble race."
Grosvenor replies: "I'm a broken-hearted troubadour.... I am �sthetic and poetic." With one voice the ladies cry "Then we love you," and leaving their Dragoons they kneel round Grosvenor, arousing the fury of Bunthorne and the horror not only of the Dragoons, but of Grosvenor himself, who declares that "Again my cursed comeliness spreads hopeless anguish and distress."
The curtain falls on this scene, and when it rises again Lady Jane is discovered soliloquising upon the fickle crew who have deserted Bunthorne and sworn allegiance to Grosvenor. She alone is faithful to Bunthorne. Grosvenor enters, followed by the twenty love-sick maidens, pleading for "A gentle smile." He reads them two decalets, and wearying of their worship, he tells them that his heart is fixed elsewhere, and bids them remember the fable of the magnet and the churn.
Bunthorne and Lady Jane return. The poet is indignant that Grosvenor has cut him out. Lady Jane assures him that she is still faithful, but promises to help him to vanquish his rival, and to achieve this purpose they concert a plan.
Then the Duke, the Colonel and the Major appear. They have discarded their uniforms and adopted an �sthetic dress and make-up, and they practise the attitudes which they imagine will appeal to the ladies. When two of these appear, it is evident that the plan is succeeding, for Lady Angela exclaims, "See! The immortal fire has descended upon them." The officers explain they are doing this at some personal inconvenience to show their devotion, and hope that it is not without effect. They are assured that their conversion to the �sthetic art in its highest development has touched the ladies deeply. [152]
In due course the officers and ladies disappear and give place to Grosvenor. Looking at his reflection in a hand mirror, he declares, "Ah! I am a veritable Narcissus." Bunthorne now wanders on, talking to himself, and declaring that he cannot live without admiration. He accuses Grosvenor of monopolising the attentions of the young ladies. Grosvenor assures him that they are the plague of his life, and asks how he can escape from his predicament. Bunthorne orders him completely to change his appearance, so as to appear absolutely commonplace. At first Grosvenor declines, but when Bunthorne threatens to curse him, he yields cheerfully, and Bunthorne rejoices in the prospect that:—
"When I go out of door
Of damozels a score,
And clinging and yearning
Will follow me as before."
Patience enters to find him dancing, and he tells her that, in future, he will be a changed man, having modelled himself upon Grosvenor. She expresses joy, but then recoils from him as she remembers that, as he is now to be utterly free from defect of any kind, her love for him cannot be absolutely unselfish.
Just as Bunthorne is offering to relapse, Grosvenor enters, followed by the ladies and the Dragoons. Grosvenor has assumed an absolutely commonplace appearance. They all dance cheerfully round the stage, and when Bunthorne asks the ladies "What it all means," they tell him that as Grosvenor or "Archibald the All-right cannot be all wrong," and as he has discarded �stheticism, "It proves that �stheticism ought to be discarded." Patience now discovers that she is free to love Grosvenor. Bunthorne is disappointed, but Lady Jane, who is still �sthetic tells him to cheer up, as she will never forsake him. They have scarcely time to embrace before the Colonel announces that the Duke has determined to choose a bride. He selects Lady Jane, greatly to the disgust of Bunthorne, who, finding himself the odd man out, declares, "I shall have to be contented with a tulip or lily."
A. LYTTON
[153]
Produced November 25th, 1882.
Iolanthe was a Fairy—the life and soul of Fairyland. She wrote all the fairy songs and arranged the fairy dances. For twenty-five years Iolanthe has been in banishment. She had transgressed the fairy law by marrying a mortal, and it was only the Queen's love which saved her from death.
When the curtain rises we witness a gathering of fairies, hear them sing one of Iolanthe's songs, and see them trip her measures. They lament her absence and plead for her pardon. Compassion allied to curiosity impels the Queen to recall Iolanthe. For Iolanthe had chosen to dwell at the bottom of a stream, on whose banks we see the fairies disporting themselves. Rising from the pool, clad in water-weeds, Iolanthe receives the Royal pardon. Compassion having been exercised, curiosity demands satisfaction. The Queen enquires why Iolanthe should have chosen to live at the bottom of a stream. Iolanthe then reveals her secret. She has a son who was born shortly after her banishment, and she wished to be near him. The Queen and the other fairies are deeply interested, and just as the Queen is expressing her desire to see the "half-fairy, half-mortal" Arcadian shepherd, Strephon, he dances up to Iolanthe, and with song and pipe urges her to rejoice because "I'm to be married to-day." Iolanthe tells Strephon that she has been pardoned, and presents Strephon to the Queen and to her fairy sisters. "My aunts!" exclaimed Strephon with obvious delight.
Strephon explains the peculiar difficulties consequent on being only half a fairy, and the Queen promises that henceforward the fairies will always be ready to come to his aid should be he in "doubt or danger, peril or perplexitee." Strephon is now joined by Phyllis—a beautiful ward of Chancery and his bride-elect. In the prelude to one of the most delightful love-songs ever written, Phyllis reveals her fear of the consequences which may fall upon Strephon for marrying her without [154] the consent of the Lord Chancellor, and Strephon demonstrates that his fairy ancestry has not freed him from the pangs of jealousy.
We now witness the entrance and march of the peers in their gorgeous robes, to the strains of magnificent music, ending with a chorus which is assumed to embody the traditional attitude of the peers to the people:—
"Bow, bow ye lower middle classes,
Bow, bow ye tradesmen, bow ye masses."
The Lord Chancellor enters at the conclusion of this chorus, and after a song upon his responsibilities as "The constitutional guardian I, of pretty young wards in Chancery," he announces that the business before the House concerns the disposal of the hand of Phyllis, a Ward of Court. All the peers have fallen in love with her and wish the Lord Chancellor to bestow her upon the one whom she may select. The Lord Chancellor confesses to being "singularly attracted by this young person" and laments that his judicial position prevents him from awarding her to himself. Phyllis arrives, and after being proposed to by Lord Tolloller and Lord Mount-Ararat, the whole of the peers invite her acceptance of their coronets and hearts. Phyllis tells them that already "her heart is given." The Lord Chancellor indignantly demands the name of her lover. Before Phyllis can reply, Strephon opportunely enters the "House" and claims "his darling's hand." The peers depart, dignified and stately, with haughty and disdainful glances upon the lovers.
The glee with which Strephon and Phyllis have regarded their departure is suddenly ended by the wrathful "Now, sir!" of the Lord Chancellor, who separates the lovers and bids Phyllis depart. His severe and sarcastic admonitions leave Strephon lamenting. Iolanthe returns to find her son in tears. As she tenderly consoles him, Phyllis stealthily re-enters escorted by the peers. Knowing nothing of her lover's fairy origin, and seeing him embracing one who appears equally young and beautiful as herself, she breaks from the hands of the peers just as Iolanthe and Strephon are parting, and accuses the latter of shameless deceit. Strephon's [155] explanation that "this lady's my mother" is disbelieved by Phyllis and greeted with derision by the peers, who decline to admit that "a maid of seventeen" can be the mother of "a man of four or five-and-twenty."
Believing herself to have been deceived by Strephon, Phyllis now ruefully offers to accept either Tolloller or Mount-Ararat, but doesn't care which. Just as she has placed the noble lords in this quandary, Strephon reappears, and invokes the aid of the Fairy Queen. Instantaneously the fairy band are seen "tripping hither, tripping thither" among the amazed peers, while the slender Lord Chancellor encounters a rude shock when he collides with the massive form of the Queen. Strephon tells his tale of woe, and there follows an amazing and amusing exchange of reproach and ridicule. The infuriated Queen determines to punish the peers. Strephon shall go into Parliament to wreak vengeance on them. The recital of the measures which he is to carry through Parliament alarms the peers, and the first Act ends, after a pretence at defiance, in their vainly suing for mercy.
The second Act of "Iolanthe" is staged in the Palace Yard at Westminster. A solitary sentry is discovered moralising upon the proceedings in "that House." He has observed that if the members have—
"A brain and cerebellum, too,
They've got to leave that brain outside
And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to."
Presently the fairies reappear and rejoice over Strephon's success as a member of Parliament. Then the peers enter and reveal their annoyance with Strephon, whom they describe as "a Parliamentary Pickford—he carries everything." A heated argument ensues between the fairies and the peers. It is ended by a song from Mount-Ararat in praise of the House of Peers, which sparkles with satire on the members of that ancient institution, who make "no pretence to intellectual eminence or scholarship sublime."
Having pleaded in vain that the fairies should prevent Strephon from doing further mischief, they depart in anger, and the Queen enters to find her band gazing wistfully after them. Scenting danger, the Queen calls [156] upon them to subdue this "weakness," Celia retorts that "the weakness is so strong." The Queen replies by protesting that, although she herself is not "insensible to the effect of manly beauty" in the person of the stalwart Guardsman still on sentry-go, she is able to subdue her feelings, though in the famous "Captain Shaw" song which follows she asks:—
"Could thy Brigade
With cold cascade
Quench my great love, I wonder?"
Phyllis now re-appears, seeming very unhappy, and is presently joined by Tolloller and Mount-Ararat, who wrangle as to which shall yield her to the other. Phyllis implores them not to fight for her. "It is not worth while," she declares, and after a moment's reflection they agree that "the sacred ties of friendship are paramount." Following the departure of the trio there enters the Lord Chancellor looking dejected and very miserable. He, too, it will be remembered, had fallen in love with Phyllis, and he now mourns aloud that "love unrequited robs him of his rest." Mount-Ararat and Tolloller join him and express their concern at his woebegone appearance. He explains, and they persuade him to make another application to himself for permission to marry Phyllis. Then Phyllis and Strephon encounter each other in the Palace Square. Taunted by a reference to his "young" mother, Strephon discloses that she is a fairy. This leads to a reconciliation. Iolanthe joins them, and when they ask her to appeal to the Lord Chancellor for his consent to their marriage, she reveals the secret of her life. The Lord Chancellor is her husband! He thinks her dead, and she is bound under penalty of death not to undeceive him. The Lord Chancellor enters exclaiming "Victory! victory!" In the highest spirits he relates how he had wrested from himself permission to marry Phyllis. Then Iolanthe, still hiding her identity, pleads Strephon's cause. When he refuses her plea, she determines to gain happiness for her son even at the cost of her own life. Despite the warning song of her fairy sisters, Iolanthe shocks the Chancellor with the words, "It may not be—I am thy wife."
The [157] Fairy Queen breaks in upon this tragic episode with the threat of Iolanthe's doom, but ere it can be pronounced the Fairy Leila tells the Queen that if Iolanthe must die so must they all, for all have married peers. Bewildered by this dilemma the Fairy Queen is greatly relieved when the Lord Chancellor suggests that instead of the fairy law reading "Every fairy must die who marries a mortal" it should be "Every fairy must die who don't marry a mortal." Accepting the suggestion the Queen finds her own life in peril. She proposes to the stalwart Grenadier still on duty, who gallantly accepts. The peers also agree to exchange the "House of Peers for House of Peris." Wings spring from their shoulders and away they all fly, "Up in the sky, ever so high," where "pleasures come in endless series."
"PRINCESS IDA."
Produced January 5th, 1884.
Princess Ida was the daughter of King Gama, and when but twelve-months' old, she had been betrothed to Prince Hilarion, the two-year-old son of King Hildebrand. The opening scene presents King Hildebrand and his courtiers awaiting the arrival of King Gama and Princess Ida for the celebration of the nuptials in accordance with the marriage contract. Some doubt exists as to whether this will be honoured, for Prince Hilarion has heard that his bride has "forsworn the world." It is presently announced that Gama and his train are approaching. His appearance is preceded by that of three bearded warriors clad in armour, who declare that they are "Sons of Gama Rex," and na�vely add, "Like most sons are we, masculine in sex." They are followed by Gama, who fits in appearance Hildebrand's description of him as "a twisted monster [158] —all awry." In a three-verse song Gama describes his own character in detail, each verse ending:—
"Yet everybody thinks I'm such a disagreeable man
And I can't think why."
Gama proceeds to justify the universal opinion by his venomous remarks to Hildebrand's courtiers, and when Hildebrand demands the reason for Ida's absence, he becomes insulting. Later, he relates that Ida has established and rules a Woman's University in Castle Adamant, from which all males are excluded. Gama tells Hilarion that if he addresses the lady most politely she may deign to look on him. Hildebrand bids Hilarion to go to Castle Adamant and claim Ida as his wife, but adds that if she refuses, his soldiers will "storm the lady." King Gama is detained as hostage, with the warning that "should Hilarion disappear, we will hang you, never fear, most politely, most politely." Gama and his three sons are then marched off to their prison cell.
In the second act, we are transported to Castle Adamant, and behold, in the gardens, Lady Psyche surrounded by girl graduates. Lady Blanche arrives, and reads to them the Princess Ida's list of punishments. One student is expelled for bringing in a set of chessmen, while another is punished for having sketched a perambulator. Then Princess Ida herself enters, and is hailed by the students as a "mighty maiden with a mission." Her address to the students is intended to demonstrate woman's superiority over man. Then Lady Blanche, in announcing a lecture by herself on abstract philosophy, reveals that the exclusion of the male sex from the university has not banished jealousy. Ida and the students enter the castle. Hardly have they gone, when Hilarion, accompanied by Cyril and Florian, are seen climbing the garden wall. They don some collegiate robes which they discover, and are appropriately jocular regarding their transformation into "three lovely undergraduates." Surprised by the entry of Princess Ida, they determine to present themselves as would-be students, and she promises them that "if all you say is true, you'll spend with us a happy, [159] happy time." The Princess leaves them alone, but as she goes Lady Psyche enters unobserved. She overhears their conversation, and is amazed by it, but not more so than Florian when he finds that Lady Psyche is his sister. The men entrust her with their secret. She warns them that discovery may mean death, and sings them a song which sums up the Princess Ida's teaching to the effect that man "at best is only a monkey shaved." Melissa now enters. She learns that the visitors are men and loyally promises secrecy. Whilst they are heartily enjoying themselves Lady Blanche, who is the mother of Melissa, has observed them, and as all five are leaving the gardens, she calls Melissa and taxes her with the facts. Melissa explains the situation, and persuades her mother to assist Hilarion's plan.
In the next scene the Princess Ida and the students are seen at an alfresco luncheon. Cyril becomes tipsy, discloses the secret of the intruders, and scandalises the Princess by singing an "old kissing song":—
"Would you know the kind of maid
Sets my heart aflame—a?"
In her excitement at this revelation the Princess falls into the stream which flows through the gardens. Hilarion rescues her, but this gallant feat does not shake the lady's resolution, and she orders their arrest. As they are marched away Melissa brings news of an armed band without the castle. Speedily Hildebrand, at the head of his soldiers, confronts Ida. The three sons of Gama, still clad in armour, warn her that refusal to yield means death. Hildebrand gives Ida until the next day to "decide to pocket your pride and let Hilarion claim his bride." The curtain falls upon the Princess hurling defiance at Hildebrand.
When the curtain rises for the third time, we discover that the outer walls and courtyard of Castle Adamant are held by Princess Ida's students, who are armed with battle-axes, and who sing of "Death to the invader." The Princess comes attended by Blanche and Psyche, and warns them that "we have to meet stern bearded warriors in fight to-day." She bids them remember that they have to show that they "can meet [160] Man face to face on his own ground, and beat him there." But as she reviews her forces, she meets with disappointment. The lady surgeon declares that, although she has often cut off legs and arms in theory, she won't cut off "real live legs and arms." The armourer explains that the rifles have been left in the armoury "for fear ... they might go off." The band-mistress excuses the absence of the band who "can't come out to-day." Contemptuously, Ida bids them depart. Lamenting the failure of her plan, she is surprised by the arrival of her father, who announces that he is to give a message from Hildebrand, and then return to "black captivity." The message is that, being loth to war with women, Hildebrand wishes Ida to consent to the disposal of her hand being settled by combat between her three brothers and three of Hildebrand's knights. Ida demands of her father what possesses him that he should convey such an offer. Gama replies: "He tortures me with torments worse than death," and in pity she yields to the proposal.
While the girls mount the battlements, Hildebrand and his soldiers enter, and there is a fight between Gama's sons and Hilarion, Cyril and Florian. The latter are victorious. Seeing her brothers lying wounded, Ida cries "Hold—we yield ourselves to you," and resigns the headship of the University to Lady Blanche. Sadly Ida admits the failure of her scheme. She had hoped to band all women together to adjure tyrannic man. To Hildebrand she says that if her scheme had been successful "at my exalted name posterity would bow." Hildebrand retorts, "If you enlist all women in your cause—how is this posterity to be provided?" Ida turns to Hilarion, admitting her error to him, and the opera ends with the company declaring:—
"It were profanity for poor humanity
To treat as vanity the sway of love.
In no locality or principality
Is our mortality its sway above."
A. LYTTON
"KING GAMA" IN "PRINCESS IDA."
"THE MIKADO."
[161]
Produced March 14th, 1885.
Although this opera is entitled "The Mikado" very little is seen of that great potentate, which is quite in accordance with Japanese custom, so vastly different to ours in matters of Royalty. The opera concerns much more closely the adventures of Nanki-Poo, the Mikado's son and heir, who has fled in disguise from the Court to escape from Katisha, an elderly lady whom the Mikado had ordered him to marry within a week or perish.
Immediately after the opening chorus by the gentlemen of Japan the disguised Crown Prince enters. He is labouring under great excitement, and begs for information as to the dwelling of "a gentle maiden, Yum-Yum." One of the Japanese nobles asks, "Who are you?" and he replies in a delightful song—
"A wandering minstrel I,
A thing of shreds and patches,
Of ballads, songs and snatches,
And dreamy lullaby."
In reply to a further question as to his business with the maiden, Nanki-Poo takes the gentlemen of Japan partly into his confidence. He explains that a year before he had fallen in love with Yum-Yum, who returned his affection. As, however, she was betrothed to her guardian Ko-Ko, a cheap tailor, he had left Titipu in despair. Learning that Ko-Ko has been condemned to death for flirting, he now hoped to find Yum-Yum free. Alas! for Nanki-Poo's hopes, they inform him that not only has Ko-Ko been reprieved, but that he has been elevated to the highest rank a citizen can attain, and is now Lord High Executioner. Pish Tush explains that, in order to circumvent the Mikado's decree making flirtation a capital offence, they have appointed Ko-Ko as Lord High Executioner, because, being under sentence of death himself, he cannot cut off anybody else's head until he has cut off his own. [162]
Expressing his sense of the condescension shown to him by Pooh-Bah, that portly personage explains that although "a particularly haughty and exclusive person" who can trace his ancestry back to "a protoplasmic, primordial, atomic globule," he mortifies his family pride. In proof of this he points out that, when all the other high officers of State had resigned because they were too proud to serve under an ex-tailor, he had accepted all their posts (and the salaries attached) at once, so that he is now First Lord of the Treasury, Lord Chief Justice, Commander-in-Chief, Lord High Admiral, Master of the Buckhounds, Groom of the Back Stairs, Archbishop, and Lord Mayor.
Pooh-Bah informs Nanki-Poo that Yum-Yum is arriving from school that very day to be married to Ko-Ko. Ko-Ko enters, preceded by a chorus of nobles, and Pooh-Bah refers Nanki-Poo to him for any further information concerning Yum-Yum. This is Ko-Ko's first public appearance as Lord High Executioner, and after thanking the nobles for their welcome, he promises strict attention to his duties. Happily, he remarks, "there will be no difficulty in finding plenty of people whose loss will be a distinct gain to society at large." He proceeds to mention in a song that he's got "a little list" of possible victims and "they'll none of 'em be missed."
So far the opera has been an exclusively masculine affair, but Yum-Yum now arrives escorted by a bevy of dainty schoolfellows, who sing of their "Wondering what the world can be." This little chorus contains two exquisite verses—
"Is it but a world of trouble
Sadness set to song?
Is its beauty but a bubble,
Bound to break ere long?"
"Are its palaces and pleasures
Fantasies that fade?
And the glory of its treasures
Shadows of a shade?"
Yum-Yum and her bridesmaids, Peep-bo and Pitti Sing, introduce themselves by the delicious trio, "Three Little Maids." Ko-Ko and Pooh-Bah enter, and Yum-Yum reluctantly permits Ko-Ko to kiss her. At this moment, Nanki-Poo arrives and the "three little maids" rush over to him and welcome him with great effusion. Ko-Ko's jealousy is aroused, and he asks to be [163] presented. Right boyishly Nanki-Poo blurts out to Ko-Ko that he loves Yum-Yum. He expects Ko-Ko to be angry, but instead Ko-Ko thanks him for agreeing with him as to the lady's charms. Presently Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum manage to get the Courtyard to themselves. During their t�te-a-t�te Nanki-Poo reveals his secret to Yum-Yum. They are interrupted by the appearance of Ko-Ko and escape in different directions. As Ko-Ko soliloquises upon his beloved, he is interrupted by Pooh-Bah with a letter from the Mikado. This is an intimation that, as no executions have taken place in Titipu for a year, the office of Lord High Executioner will be abolished and the city reduced to the rank of a village unless somebody is beheaded within one month. As this would involve the city in ruin, Ko-Ko declares that he will have to execute someone. Pooh-Bah, pointing out that Ko-Ko himself is under sentence of death, suggests that he should execute himself. This leads to an acrimonious discussion, which is ended by Ko-Ko appointing Pooh-Bah, who is already holding all the other high offices of State, to be Lord High Substitute (for himself as a victim of the headsman). But Pooh-Bah declares "I must set bounds to my insatiable ambition." He draws the line at his own death.
Whilst Ko-Ko is lamenting the position as "simply appalling" he is disturbed by the entrance of Nanki-Poo with a rope in his hands. He has made up his mind to commit suicide because Ko-Ko is going to marry Yum-Yum. Finding "threats, entreaties, prayers all useless" Ko-Ko is struck with a brilliant idea. He suggests that Nanki-Poo should at the end of a month's time "be beheaded handsomely at the hands of the Public Executioner." To this Nanki-Poo agrees on condition that Ko-Ko permits him to marry Yum-Yum. Reluctantly Ko-Ko accepts the condition, and when Pooh-Bah returns to enquire what Ko-Ko has decided to do in regard to an execution, he replies, "Congratulate me! I've found a volunteer." Whilst the townsfolk of Titipu are bantering Nanki-Poo on the prospect of marriage and death, their revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the lady who was the cause of Nanki-Poo's wandering. Katisha discovers Nanki-Poo [164] and calls upon him to "give me my place." When he refuses she would have revealed his identity, but every time she tries to say "He is the son of your Mikado" her voice is drowned by the singing of Nanki-Poo, Yum-Yum and the chorus. Eventually Katisha rushes away threatening furious vengeance.
When the curtain rises again the scene is the garden of Ko-Ko's palace. We see Yum-Yum decked by her bridesmaids for the wedding, while they sing of her loveliness, and Pitti-Sing bids her "Sit with downcast eye; let it brim with dew." Pitti-Sing tells her also that "modesty at marriage tide well becomes a pretty bride," but this admonition seems lost upon a bride who, when her adornment is complete, frankly revels in her beauty. In "The Sun whose rays," a song of entrancing melody, she declares, "I mean to rule the earth as he the sky."
But her rapture is marred by the reminder from Peep-Bo that her bridegroom has only a month to live. Nanki-Poo finds her in tears, and has much difficulty in comforting her, their feelings being aptly expressed in that wonderful madrigal, which although it begins so joyfully with "Brightly dawns our wedding day," yet ends in tears. Ko-Ko now joins the wedding party, and although the sight of Yum-Yum in Nanki-Poo's arms is "simple torture," he insists on remaining so that he may get used to it. When Yum-Yum says it is only for a month, he tells of his discovery that when a married man is beheaded his wife must be buried alive. Naturally, Yum-Yum demurs to a wedding with such a hideous ending to the honeymoon, and Nanki-Poo declares that, as he cannot live without Yum-Yum, he intends to perform the "happy dispatch." Ko-Ko's protest is followed by the entry of Pooh-Bah to announce the approach of the Mikado and his suite. They will arrive in ten minutes. Ko-Ko, believing that the Mikado is coming to see whether his orders regarding an execution have been obeyed, is in great alarm. Nanki-Poo invites Ko-Ko to behead him at once, and Pooh-Bah agitatedly urges Ko-Ko to "chop it off," but he declares that he can't do it. He has "never even killed a blue-bottle." Ko-Ko decides that the making of an affidavit that Nanki-Poo [165] has been executed, witnessed by Pooh-Bah in each of his capacities as Lord Chief Justice, etc., etc., will satisfy the Mikado. Pooh-Bah agrees on condition that he shall be "grossly insulted" with "cash down."
Then as Commissionaire Pooh-Bah is ordered to find Yum-Yum, Ko-Ko orders her to go along with the Archbishop (Pooh-Bah), who will marry her to Nanki-Poo at once. Waving aside all questions, Ko-Ko urges them off just as the procession heralding the Mikado and Katisha enters the garden to the strains of "Miya sama, miya sama." The Mikado extols himself as "a true philanthropist" and declares "my object all sublime, I shall achieve in time; to let the punishment fit the crime." His list of social crimes and the penalties prescribed for each class of offender are equally amusing. Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah and Pitti-Sing now kneel in the presence, and Ko-Ko informs the Mikado that "the execution has taken place" and hands in the coroner's certificate signed by Pooh-Bah. Then the three proceed to describe an event which had happened only in their imaginations.
The Mikado seems bored, and explains that though all this is very interesting, he has come about a totally different matter. He asks for his son, who is masquerading in Titipu under the name of Nanki-Poo. Ko-Ko and his associates are visibly disturbed, but he stammers out that Nanki-Poo has gone abroad. The Mikado demands his address. "Knightsbridge" is the reply. (At the time this opera was originally produced there was a Japanese colony in Knightsbridge.) Just then Katisha, reading the coroner's certificate, discovers that it contains the name of Nanki-Poo and shrieks her dismay. Pooh-Bah, Ko-Ko, and Pitti-Sing grovel at the Mikado's feet, and apologise abjectly. The Mikado urges them not to distress themselves, and just as they are feeling that it doesn't really matter, the Mikado turns to Katisha with "I forget the punishment for compassing the death of the heir-apparent." The three culprits learn with horror that it is "something humorous, but lingering, with either boiling oil or molten lead in it." The Mikado appoints "after luncheon" for the punishment which "fits their crime." [166]
When the Mikado has departed Ko-Ko and Pooh-Bah decide that Nanki-Poo must "come to life at once." At this moment he and his bride cross the garden—leaving for their honeymoon. Ko-Ko explains that the Mikado wants Nanki-Poo, and Pooh-Bah ironically adds, "So does Katisha." But Nanki Poo fears that, in her anger at his marriage, Katisha will persuade the Mikado to order his execution, thus involving Yum-Yum in a worse fate. He therefore refuses to re-appear until Ko-Ko has persuaded Katisha to marry him. Then "existence will be as welcome as the flowers in spring." As this seems to be the only way of escape, Ko-Ko seeks Katisha. At first she repulses him, but after he has told her in song the story of the little tom-tit that committed suicide because of blighted affection, she relents.
Now the Mikado returns from luncheon, and asks if "the painful preparations have been made." Being assured that they have, he orders the three culprits to be produced. As they again grovel at his feet, Katisha intercedes for mercy. She tells the Mikado that she has just married "this miserable object," indicating Ko-Ko. The Mikado is remarking "But as you have slain the heir-apparent" when Nanki-Poo enters saying "the heir-apparent is not slain." He is heartily welcomed by the Mikado, while Katisha denounces Ko-Ko as a traitor. Ko-Ko then explains everything to the Mikado's satisfaction, and the opera ends with the joyous strains of Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum uniting in "the threatened cloud has passed away and fairly shines the dawning day," whilst the entire company help them—
"With joyous shout and ringing cheer,
Inaugurate our new career."
"RUDDIGORE."
Produced January 22nd, 1887.
In the days of long, long ago there live the wicked Sir Rupert Murgatroyd, baronet of Ruddigore. He spent all his leisure and his wealth in the persecution of [167] witches, and the more fiendish his cruelties, the more he enjoyed the ruthless sport. But there came a day when he was roasting alive an old witch on the village green. The hag uttered a terrible curse both on the baronet and on all his descendants. Every lord of Ruddigore was doomed to commit one crime a day, and if he attempted to avoid it or became satiated with guilt, that very day he should die in awful agony. The prophecy came true. Each heir to the title inherited the curse and came in the end to a fearful death.
Upon this plot Gilbert wrote his clever burlesque on the transpontine drama—the drama of the virtuous peasant girl in the clutches of the bold and bad baronet—and amongst his characters is a tragic figure not unlike Shakespeare's Ophelia. The first scene is laid in the pretty Cornish fishing village of Rederring. This village, by the way, has a quaint institution in the form of a troop of professional bridesmaids, who are bound to be on duty from ten to four o'clock every day, but whose services have of late been in little request. The girls can only hope that they may soon be able to celebrate the betrothal of Rose Maybud, the belle of Rederring, a precise little maid whose every action is regulated by a book of etiquette, written by no less an authority than the wife of a Lord Mayor. Should an utter stranger be allowed to pay her pretty compliments? "Always speak the truth," answers the book. It tells her that "in accepting an offer of marriage, do so with apparent hesitation," and this same guide and monitor declares that, in similar circumstances, "a little show of emotion will not be misplaced." Rose, indeed, has had very many suitors, but as yet her heart is free.
Early in the opera Dame Hannah, who was herself once wooed by the last baronet in disguise, relates the story of the terrible curse on the house of Murgatroyd. She is Rose's aunt, and she talks to the girl about Robin Oakapple, a young man who "combines the manners of a Marquis with the morals of a Methodist." Now, this same Robin Oakapple, we afterwards learn, is himself the real owner of Ruddigore, but ten years ago he so dreaded the thought of becoming the victim of the witch's malediction that he fled from his ancestral home, [168] assumed the style and name of a simple farmer, and lived unsuspected in Rederring. In the belief that he was dead his younger brother succeeded to the baronetcy and all its obligations to a life of infamy. Only two know the secret—Robin's faithful servant, Old Adam, and his sailor foster-brother, Richard Dauntless.
Robin is such a shy fellow that he cannot summon up the pluck to propose to Rose Maybud. She, it seems, would not be unwilling to return his affections if he declared them, and she gives more than a broad hint to her bashful lover in a delightful duet, "Poor Little Man." But Robin has to do his love-making by proxy. Luckily or otherwise, Richard has just returned from the sea, and this hearty British tar sings a rollicking song in the Dibdin manner about how his man-o'-war, the "Tom-Tit," met a little French frigate, and how they had "pity on a poor Parley-voo." When "Ruddigore" was produced, this number gave grave offence to the French people, and there were critics at home who held that it reflected also on the British Navy. The storm, however, never led then and never would lead now to international complications, and what questions of taste there may be in the lyric are soon forgotten in the engaging hornpipe which follows the song.
Richard, who talks in nautical phrases and declares that he always acts strictly as his heart dictates, promises to help Robin in securing the hand of Rose Maybud. He at least is not afflicted with too much diffidence, and Robin himself sings the lines, which have now passed into a proverb, that if in the world you wish to advance "you must stir it and stump it and blow your own trumpet." But Richard, when he sees the girl, acts as his heart dictates and falls in love with her himself, the courtship scene being delightfully quaint. Robin returns to claim his bride, but when he finds that his foster-brother has played him false, he is not loath to praise his good qualities. Yet, in a trio, the fickle Rose, having the choice between a man who owns many acres and a humble sailor, gives herself to Robin Oakapple.
A. LYTTON
AS
"ROBIN OAKAPPLE" IN "RUDDIGORE."
This [169] incident is followed by the appearance of Mad Margaret, a crazy figure in white who lost her reason when she was jilted by the reigning baronet, Sir Despard Murgatroyd. The poor, distracted girl is still seeking for her faithless lover, and as she toys with her flowers she sings a plaintive and haunting ballad "To a garden full of posies." Following this strange scene, there arrive the Bucks and Blades—all wearing the regimental uniforms of Wellington's time, the period to which the opera is supposed to belong—and after them the gloomy Sir Despard. The crowd shrink from him in horror, while he, poor man, tells how he has really the heart of a child, but how a whole picture gallery of ancestors threaten him with death if he hesitates to commit his daily crime. Then Richard re-enters. Either because of his anger that Robin has claimed Rose's hand or because, at whatever cost, he must do as his heart dictates, he makes known to the baronet that his missing brother is none other than Robin Oakapple. When, a little later, the nuptial ceremony of the happy couple is about to begin, the festivities are interrupted by Sir Despard dramatically declaring Robin's real identity, and poor Robin has to forfeit Rose, who once more turns to Richard, and face a fateful existence as Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd.
For the second act the scene moves to the haunted Picture Gallery of Ruddigore Castle. Sir Ruthven, otherwise Robin, now wears the haggard aspect of a guilty rou�, while the once-benevolent Old Adam acts the part of the wicked "confidential adviser of the greatest villain unhung." They discuss a likely crime for the day. It concerns Richard and Rose, who have arrived to ask for the baronet's consent to their marriage, and he retorts by threatening to commit them to a dungeon. This the sailor thwarts by waving a Union Jack. Then Rose prevails upon the wicked relative to relent. Left alone, the unhappy man addresses the portraits of his ancestors, bidding them to remember the time when they themselves welcomed death at last as a means of freedom from a guilty existence, and urging them to let the thought of that repentance "tune your souls to mercy on your poor posterity." The stage darkens for a moment, and then it is seen that the pictures have become animated and that the figures, representing the [170] long line of the accursed race, and garbed magnificently according to the times in which each of the ancestors lived, have stepped from their frames. Sir Roderic, the last of the baronets to die, sings a spectral song about the ghostly revelries by night.
Now the ancestors remind their degenerate successor that it is their duty to see that he commits his daily crimes in conscientious and workmanlike style. They are not impressed with his record of the crimes he has so far committed. "Everybody does that," they tell him, when he declares that he has falsified his income-tax return, and they are also unmoved when he says that, on other days, he forged his own will and disinherited his unborn son. They demand that he must at least carry off a lady, and when he refuses they torture him until, in agony, he has to accept their command. When the ghosts have returned to their frames Old Adam is accordingly ordered to bring a maiden—any maiden will do—from the village.
Once more we meet Sir Despard and Mad Margaret. They are prim of manner, they wear black of formal cut, and in every way their appearances have changed. They are married and conduct a National School. The ex-baronet has become expert at penny readings. Margaret, now a district visitor, has recovered her sanity, though she has occasional lapses. The quaint duet between them is followed by a meeting with Robin, who hears that his record of infamy includes not only the crimes he has committed during the week, but all those perpetrated by Despard during the ten years he reigned at Ruddigore. He decides, even at the cost of his life, to bid his ancestors defiance. But now Old Adam returns, not with a beautiful maiden, but with old Dame Hannah. She is a tiger cat indeed, and despite the baronet's declaration that he is reforming and that his intentions towards her are honourable, she seizes a formidable dagger from one of the armed figures and declares for a fight to the finish. The episode is interrupted by the re-appearance of the ghostly Sir Roderic. What is more, he and Dame Hannah recognise themselves as old lovers, and a whimsical love-scene leads up to a tender little ballad about the "flower and the oak tree." [171]
The end comes swiftly. Robin, accompanied by all the other characters, rushes in to declare his happy discovery. He argues that a baronet can die only by refusing to commit his daily crime, and thus it follows that a refusal to commit a crime is tantamount to suicide, which is in itself a crime. The curse will thus not stand logical analysis! Sir Roderic concurs, and as the natural deduction is that he himself ought never to have died at all, he and Dame Hannah are able at last to bring joy and laughter within the grim walls of Ruddigore. Robin, having found a week as holder of a title ample enough, determines to earn a modest livelihood in agricultural employment, and this time he both claims and keeps the hand of Rose Maybud. Richard, robbed of his intended bride, soon replaces her from amongst the troup of professional bridesmaids, while Despard and Margaret leave to pass a secluded existence in the town of Basingstoke.
"THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD."
Produced October 3rd, 1888.
Jack Point was a poor strolling player in the days of old Merrie England. With pretty Elsie Maynard he tramped through the towns and villages, and everywhere the two entertained the good folk with their songs and their dances, their quips and their cranks. Jack Point could have been no ordinary jester. Some years before he had been in the service of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he mortally offended his Grace by his conundrum that the only difference between the two of them was that "whereas his Grace was paid �10,000 a year for being good, poor Jack Point was good—for nothing." "Twas but a harmless jest," the Merry-man sadly reflected, but the Archbishop had him whipped and put in the stocks as a rogue, and Jack Point was in no humour to "take a post again with the dignified clergy." [172]
Then began the vagabondage of the strolling player. Jack and Elsie made but a poor living, though they looked forward to the time when the smiles of fortune, the rewards of honest mirth, would allow them to marry. Certainly Jack Point had a pretty wit, and beneath the motley there beat a true heart of gold, too soon to be broken by tragedy. It was the old, old story of the jester who to the world's eye was a merry and boisterous fellow, though in his inner being he was suffering all the while the tortures of anguish. But list ye now to the story's unfolding!
The curtain rises on a faithful picture of the Tower of London, that picturesque and historic old fortress indissolubly connected with some of the brightest, and the darkest, annals of England. Soon we see the Yeomen of the Guard, clad in their traditional garb and carrying their halberds, and amongst them is old Sergeant Meryll. He has a daughter named Phœbe, whose heart and hand is being sought in vain by the grim and repulsive-looking Wilfred Shadbolt, who links the office of head jailor with the "assistant tormentorship." It is part of this uncouth fellow's duty to twist the thumbscrew and turn the rack to wring confessions from the prisoners. So far from Phœbe being attracted to Shadbolt, her thoughts are turned towards a young and handsome officer, Colonel Fairfax, who lies under sentence of death in the Tower by the evil designs of his kinsman, Sir Charles Poltwhistle, a Secretary of State. Fairfax has been condemned on a charge of sorcery, though his cousin's craft is really to secure the succession to his rich estate, which falls to him if he dies unmarried.
Some hopes linger that the soldier may yet be reprieved. Leonard Meryll, the old sergeant's son, is coming from Windsor that day after the Court has honoured him for his valour in many martial adventures, and it is possible that he may bring with him the order that will save Colonel Fairfax. He does not bring the reprieve. Sergeant Meryll, whose life the condemned man has twice saved, and who would now readily give his own life for him, thereupon schemes a deception. Leonard's future career is to be with the Yeomen of the [173] Guard, but as his arrival is unknown, it is arranged that he shall hide himself for a while and his place be filled by the imprisoned Fairfax. Just after this the Colonel himself comes into view, under an escort commanded by the Lieutenant, and on his way to the Cold Harbour Tower "to await his end in solitude." He treats death lightly—has he not a dozen times faced it in battle?—but he has one strange last request. Could he, as a means of thwarting his relative, be allowed to marry? The lady would be a bride but for an hour, and her legacy would be his dishonoured name and a hundred crowns, and "never was a marriage contracted with so little of evil to the contracting parties." The Lieutenant, who admires the brave fellow, believes that the task of finding him a wife should be easy.
Now we meet Jack Point and Elsie Maynard. Not a little terrified, they are chased in by the crowd, who bid them "banish your timidity and with all rapidity give us quip and quiddity." The choice of the wandering minstrels is their duet, "I have a song to sing, O!" Never was there a more enchanting ditty, and very significantly it tells of a merry-man's love of a maid, and of the humble maid—
"Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud,
At the moan of the merry-man, moping mum
Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!"
Scarcely have the crowd finished applauding this offering than the Lieutenant enters, clears the rabble from the green, and inquires the history of Jack and Elsie. Jack tells him of their humble means of livelihood. Elsie is still unmarried, "for though I'm a fool," quoths the jester, "there is a limit to my folly." The Lieutenant then outlines his plan to make her a bride for an hour, and as the bargain seems a sound one and money is scarce, the two agree to the subterfuge, and Elsie is led into the Tower cell, blindfolded, to be wedded to Fairfax. Jack Point meanwhile tries on the officer some of his best conundrums and his incorrigible talent for repartee.
Shortly after this Phœbe wheedles the keys of the [174] prison from Shadbolt, her "sour-faced admirer," and Fairfax is thus restored to liberty in the guise of a Yeoman of the Guard. Fairfax, of course, is taken for Leonard and complimented on his successful campaigns. And then there tolls the bell of St. Peter's. The crowd enter, the executioner's block is brought on, and the masked headsman takes his place. But when the Yeomen go to fetch the prisoner they find that the cell is empty, and that he has escaped. Shadbolt the jailer is arrested, and the people rush off in confusion, leaving Elsie insensible in the arms of her unknown husband, Fairfax. With this the curtain falls.
When it ascends once more on the same scene, the old housekeeper of the Tower, Dame Carruthers, chides the Yeomen on their failure both to keep and to re-capture Fairfax. Then Point and Shadbolt appear in very low spirits. For the Merry-man's dolefulness there is ample cause, and he himself laments how ridiculous it is that "a poor heart-broken man must needs be merry or he will be whipped." Shadbolt, envious of his companion's gifts, confesses to a secret yearning of his own to follow the jester's vocation, and the lugubrious fellow tells how deft and successful are his own delicate shafts of wit in the torture chamber and cells! Jack Point agrees, for a consideration, to teach Shadbolt "the rules that all family fools must observe if they love their profession." The consideration is that the jailor must declare that he shot Fairfax with an arquebus at night as he was attempting to swim over the Thames. The bargain is struck, and in a short time a shot is heard, and the jailor re-enters to declare that the escaped prisoner has been shot and drowned in the river. Fairfax himself has been lamenting that, although free from his fetters grim, he is still bound for good and ill to an unknown bride, a situation that leads up to the first of those delightful quartettes, "Strange Adventure." He meets Elsie, is attracted at once by her beauty, and learns the secret of her perplexity, though how can he proclaim his real self while he is still Leonard Meryll?
It is told us in a tuneful trio that "a man who would woo a fair maid should 'prentice himself to the trade [175] and study all day in methodical way how to flatter, cajole and persuade." Certainly Fairfax knows these arts much better than Point. Before the jester's eyes he begins to fascinate the girl with sweet words and tender caresses, and the utter disillusionment of poor Jack Point, a victim of the fickleness of womankind and outwitted in love, is reflected in that haunting number, "When a wooer goes a wooing." Events now race towards their end—an end that to two at least has all the joyous warmth of romance, but to the one pathetic figure in his motley the blackness of despair. Leonard hastens in with the belated reprieve, and Elsie soon learns with happiness that the gallant Yeoman who has captured her heart is, in truth, her own strangely-wed husband, Fairfax. For her the hardship of the stroller's life has passed. So also has it for the broken Merry-man. Sadly he kneels by the girl who has forsaken his arms for another's, gently fondles and kisses the hem of her dress, bestows on her the sign of his blessing, and in the last tremor of grief falls at her feet—dead!
"THE GONDOLIERS."
Produced December 7th, 1889.
"The Gondoliers" tells of the strange and romantic fortunes of two sturdy Republicans who are called upon jointly to assume the responsibilities of Monarchy. They are Marco and Guiseppe Palmieri, who ordinarily follow the calling of Venetian gondoliers, and who hold staunchly to the doctrine that "all men are equal." Kingship does, indeed, seem rather less abhorrent to their ideas when they are summoned to fill that exalted office themselves, but at the same time they do concede that neither their courtiers nor their menials are their inferiors in any degree. Indeed, when they rise in the scale of social importance they see that their subjects rise too, and perhaps it is not surprising that in this quaint court of Barataria are functionaries basking in the splendour of such titles as the Lord High Coachman and the Lord High Cook. Even in the heart [176] of the most democratic of mankind does the weakness for titles eternally linger!
It is in Venice, with a picturesque canal in the background, that the opera begins. The girls, their arms laden with roses white and roses red, are waiting for the most handsome and popular of all the gondolieri, who are coming to choose their brides from amongst this comely throng. So that, amidst such a bevy of loveliness, fate itself may select whom their partners shall be, the brothers decide to be blindfolded and to undertake to marry whichever two girls they catch. In this way Gianetta is claimed by Marco and Tessa by Guiseppe. And both were the very girls they wanted! Singing and dancing like the lightsome, joyous people they are, the couples hasten to the altar without more ado.
A Spanish grandee, the Duke of Plaza-Toro, now arrives by gondola with his Duchess and his daughter, Casilda. With them are their suite—the drummer-lad Luiz. The Duke is a celebrated, cultivated, underrated nobleman of impecunious estate, shabby in attire but unquestionably gentle in breeding. He laments that his entry into the town has not been as imposing as his station requires, but the halberdiers and the band are mercenary people, and their services were not available without pre-payment in cash. Luiz is sent to announce the arrival of the ducal party to the Grand Inquisitor. While he is absent the Duke and Duchess tell their daughter the reason of their visit to Venice. She was married when only six months old to the infant heir to the Baratarian Throne. For State reasons the secret could not be told her before, and it seems that when her husband's father, then the reigning King, became a Wesleyan Methodist and was killed in an insurrection, the baby bridegroom was stolen by the Inquisition.
Casilda takes no pleasure in this sudden accession to Queenship. She has nothing to wear, and besides that, the family is penniless. That fact does not disturb the Duke. He has anticipated the problem already. Seeing that his social prestige is enormous, he is having himself floated as a company, the Duke of Plaza-Toro, Limited. He does not regard the proceeding as undignified. This Duke never did follow the fashions. He has made it his business to lead them, and he recalls how "in enterprise of martial kind" when there was any fighting, he "led" his regiment from behind, because "he found it less exciting," Such was this unaffected, undetected, well-connected warrior, the Duke of Plaza-Toro.
A. LYTTON
AS
"THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO" IN "THE GONDOLIERS."
Left [177] alone, Luiz and Casilda show themselves to be secretly in love with each other, and they bemoan the miserable discovery that has ruined the sweet dreams of the future. The Duke and Duchess in the meanwhile have gone to pay their respects to the Grand Inquisitor. They return with this lugubrious personage, garbed all in black, and present to him the little lady who, as he says, is so unexpectedly called upon to assume the functions of Royalty. Unfortunately he cannot introduce her to her husband immediately. The King's identity is a little uncertain, though there is no probable, possible shadow of doubt that he is one of two men actually in the town and plying the modest but picturesque calling of the gondolier. It seems that, after the little prince was stolen, he was placed in the charge of a highly-respectable gondolier who had, nevertheless, an incurable weakness for drink, and who could never say which of the two children in his home was his own son and which was the prince. That matter can be solved by their nurse, Luiz's mother, who is being brought from the mountains and whose memory will be stimulated, if need be, by the persuasive methods of the Inquisition.
The gondoliers now return with their brides. Tessa tells in a beautiful number how, when a merry maiden marries, "every sound becomes a song, all is right and nothing's wrong." It was too sanguine a thought! The Grand Inquisitor, a gloomy figure amidst these festivities, finds the fact that Marco and Guiseppe have been married an extremely awkward one, and no less awkward their declaration that they are heart and soul Republicans. He does not tell them that one is married already—married to Casilda in infancy—but he does startle them by the news that one of them is a King. Sturdy Republicans as they are, they are loath to accept the idea of immediate abdication, and it is agreed that they shall leave for their country straightaway and, until the rightful heir is established, jointly hold the [178] reins of government. The Grand Inquisitor for good reasons will not let their wives accompany them, but the separation may not be a long one, and the four speculate on the thrills of being a "right-down regular Royal Queen." With a fond farewell the gondoliers then set sail for their distant dominion.
When in the second act we see the Pavilion of the Court of Barataria—there in one corner is the double-seated throne—we see also the happy workings of a "monarchy that's tempered with Republican equality." Courtiers and private soldiers, officers of high rank and menials of every degree are enjoying themselves without any regard to social distinctions, and all are splendidly garbed. The Kings neither expect nor receive the deference due to their office, but they try to make themselves useful about the palace, whether by polishing their own crowns, running little errands for their Ministers, cleaning up in the kitchens, or deputising for sentries who go "in search of beer and beauty." It gives them, as Guiseppe sings, the gratifying feeling that their duty has been done, and in some measure it compensates for their two solitary grievances. One of these is that their subjects, while maintaining the legal fiction that they are one person, will not recognise that they have independent appetites. The other is—the absence of their wives. Marco is moved to describe the great specific for man's human happiness:—
"Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden ever and anon,
Do not heed their mild surprise,
Having passed the Rubicon.
Take a pair of rosy lips,
Take a figure trimly planned—
Such as admiration whets
Take a tender little hand,
Fringed with dainty fingerettes.
Take all these, you lucky man—
Take and keep them if you can!"
No sooner has he finished than the contadine enter, having braved the seas at the risks of their lives, for existence without their menfolk was dull and their [179] womanly sense of curiosity strong. The re-union is celebrated by a boisterous dance (the cachucha). It is interrupted by the arrival of another unexpected visitor—the Grand Inquisitor.
The Grand Inquisitor, left alone with his prot�g�s, first of all expresses his doubts whether the abolition of social distinctions is a workable theory. It had been tried before, and particularly by a jovial old King who, in moments of tipsy benevolence, promoted so many favourites to the top of the tree that "Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats, and Bishops in their shovel hats were plentiful as tabby cats—in point of fact, too many." The plain conclusion was that "when everyone is somebodee, then no one's anybody." Then he tells them of the marriage of one of them in infancy. It is certainly an awkward predicament. Two men are the husbands of three wives! Marco, Guiseppe, Tessa and Gianetta try to solve the complicated plot.
Soon afterwards the ducal party arrive attired in the utmost magnificence. The Plaza-Toro issue has been most successful, and the Duke proceeds to describe how his money-making devices include those of securing small titles and orders for Mayors and Recorders, and the Duchess's those of chaperoning dubious ladies into high-class society. The Duke ceremoniously receives the two gondoliers, but he has to take exception to the fact that his arrival has been marked by no royal salutes, no guard of honour, and no triumphal arches. They explain that their off-handed people would not tolerate the expense. His Grace thereupon advises them to impress their court with their importance, and to the strains of a delightful gavotte he gives the awkward fellows a lesson in the arts of deportment.
Luckily, the tangled plot is swiftly and very happily solved on the appearance of the old foster mother, who declares that the missing Prince is none other than Luiz. He promptly ascends the throne and claims the hand of Casilda, while Marco and Guiseppe, their days of regal splendour completed, are glad enough to return with their wives to beautiful Venice, there to become "once more gondolieri, both skilful and wary."
"UTOPIA, LIMITED."
[180]
Produced October 7th, 1893.
"Utopia Limited" is the story—and a very diverting story it is—of a remote country that is desperately anxious to bring itself "up-to-date." Utopia is somewhere in the Southern Pacific, and its inhabitants used to idle in easy, tropical langour amidst their picturesque palm groves. Idlers they were, that is to say, until they first heard of the wonders of England, for then it was that they determined that their land must be swiftly and completely Anglicised. The reformation was undertaken with the utmost zest. King Paramount's eldest daughter, the beautiful Princess Zara, has spent five years in England and taken a high degree as a "Girton Girl." She is due home once more at the time that the story of the opera begins, but already her people have heard of the wise and powerful country overseas, and already they have done much to re-model upon it their own manners, customs and forms of government.
Existence could never have been altogether dull in Utopia. It is ruled by a monarch, a despot only in theory, for the constitution is really that of a dynasty tempered by dynamite. This may seem a hard saying. The explanation of it is that the King, so far from being an autocrat, is watched over day and night by two Wise Men, and on his first lapse from political or social propriety he is to be denounced to the Public Exploder. It would then be this Court official's duty to blow him up—he always has about him a few squibs and crackers—and doubtless he would discharge this function with greater alacrity because he is himself Heir-apparent. Clearly the King's lot is not a happy one, and no less so because the Wise Men insist that all sorts of Royal scandals and indiscretions shall be written by himself, anonymously, for the spicy columns of the "Palace Peeper." Generally his Majesty's agents contrive to buy each edition up, but isolated copies do occasionally [181] get into unfriendly hands, and one of these contained his stinging little paragraph about his "goings-on" with the Royal Second Housemaid.
The King has two younger daughters, the Princesses Nekaya and Kalyba, who are being "finished" by a grave English governess, the Lady Sophy. Exceedingly modest and demure, with their hands folded and their eyes cast down, they are to be exhibited in the market place as patterns of what "from the English standpoint is looked upon as maidenly perfection." In particular they are to reveal the arts of courtship, showing how it is proper for the young lady to be coy and interestedly agitated in turn, and how she must always rehearse her emotions at home before the looking-glass. In the meanwhile the King, very deferential in manner, has an interview with his two Wise Men, Scaphio and Phantis. Notwithstanding that he seems a little hurt about the outrageous attacks on his morality which he has to write and publish at their command, he at least sees the irresistible humour of the strange situation, and he proceeds to sing a capital song about what a farce life is, alike when one's born, when one becomes married, and when one reaches the disillusioned years.
Zara now arrives from her long journey. She is escorted by Captain Fitzbattleaxe, together with four troopers of the 1st Life Guards, whose resplendent bearing immediately impress the maids of Utopia. She brings with her, moreover, six representatives of the principal causes which, she says, have tended to make England the powerful, happy and blameless country it is, and their gifts of reorganisation are to work a miracle in her father's realm. The King and his subjects are then and there introduced to these six "Flowers of Progress." One of them, Captain Fitzbattleaxe himself, is to re-model the Utopian Army. Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P., is a logician who, according to his brief, can demonstrate that black is white or that two and two make five, just as do the clever people of England. Then there is Lord Dramaleigh, a Lord High Chamberlain, who the Princess says is to "cleanse our court from moral stain and purify our stage." A County Councillor, Mr. Blushington, has come with a [182] mind packed with civic improvement schemes, and the wicked music-halls he also intends to purify. Mr. Goldbury is a company promoter. He floats anything from stupendous loans to foreign thrones to schemes for making peppermint-drops. Last of all comes Captain Sir Edward Corcoran, R.N., to show King Paramount how to run an invincible Navy.
Joyously do the inhabitants hail these "types of England's power, ye heaven-enlightened band." The King is impressed most of all with the idea of a "company limited." Goldbury explains just what this means, and how one can start the biggest and rashest venture on a capital, say, of eighteen-pence, and yet be safe from liability. "If you succeed," he declares, "your profits are stupendous," whereas "if you fail pop goes your eighteen-pence." It strikes the King as rather dishonest, but if it is good enough for England, the first commercial country in the world, it is good enough for Utopia. What is more, he decides to go down to posterity as the first Sovereign in Christendom who registered his Crown and State under the Joint Stock Company's Act, 1862. It is with this brilliant scheme that the first act comes to a close.
The second act is set in the Throne Room of the Palace. Fitzbattleaxe is with the Princess Zara, and he is lamenting how a tenor in love, as he is with her, cannot in his singing do himself justice. The two then discuss the remarkable changes that have come about since the country determined to be Anglicised. The King, when he enters soon afterwards, wears the dress of a British Field Marshal. He is to preside, according to the articles of association, over the first statutory Cabinet Council of Utopia (Limited). For this gathering the "Flowers of Progress" also arrive, and after they have ranged their chairs round in Christy Minstrel fashion, the proceedings open with a rollicking song by the King. This is the chorus:—
"It really is surprising
We have brought about—Utopia's quite another land
In her enterprising movements
She is England—with improvements
Which we dutifully offer to our motherland!"
Following [183] the meeting comes the courtly ceremonial of the Drawing Room. All the ladies are presented in due form to his Majesty. Then, after a beautiful unaccompanied chorus, the stage empties.
Scaphio and Phantis, dressed as judges in red and ermine robes, now enter to storm and rage over the new order of things. All their influence has gone. The sundry schemes they had for making provision for their old age are broken and bankrupt. Even the "Palace Peeper" is in a bad way, and as to the clothes they have imported to satisfy the cravings for the English fashions, their customers plead liability limited to a declared capital of eighteen-pence. The King, whom they used to bully to their hearts' content, is no longer a human being, but a corporation. Once he doffed his Crown respectfully before speaking to them, but now he dances about in lighthearted capers, telling them that all they can do is to put their grievances in writing before the Board of Utopia (Limited). The two call into their counsels the Public Exploder. Between them they work out a plot. By a revolution the Act of 1862 must be at all costs repealed.
Shortly after the trio have departed to scheme out the details, there is a delightful scene between Lord Dramaleigh and Mr. Goldbury, and the two coy Princesses, Nekaya and Kalyba. The "shrinking sensitiveness" of these young ladies is held by themselves to be most thoroughly English. So far from that, the men have to tell them, the girls in the country they come from are blithe, frank and healthy creatures who love the freshness of the open air and the strenuous exertions of sport, and who are "in every pure enjoyment wealthy." (Gilbert, by the way, wrote this opera in the early 'nineties.) Loyally does Goldbury chant their eulogy:—
"Go search the world and search the sea.
Then come you home and sing with me,
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl."
Nekaya and Kalyba are quickly converted to the idea that to be her natural self is woman's most winsome quality. Then follows an interlude between the Lady Sophy, whose primness is merely a cloak for ambition, [184] and the King. Compromising paragraphs in the society paper having been explained away, the two declare their mutual love, and soon they are caught by other couples in the act of dancing and kissing. No excuses are attempted and all engage in a wild festive dance.
Enter, now, the revolutionary band under the command of Scaphio, Phantis and the Public Exploder. They relate how the prosperity of Utopia has been brought to naught by the "Flowers of Progress." Suddenly the Princess Zara remembers that, in her great scheme of reform, the most essential element of all has been forgotten, and that was—party government! Introduce that bulwark and foundation of Britain's greatness and all will be well! Legislation will thus be brought to a standstill, and then there will be "sickness in plenty, endless lawsuits, crowded jails, interminable confusion in the Army and Navy, and, in short, general and unexampled prosperity." The King decrees that party government and all its blessings shall be adopted, and the opera ends with a song of homage to a brave distant isle which Utopia is henceforward to imitate in her virtues, her charities and "her Parliamentary peculiarities."
"Great Britain is that monarchy sublime
To which some add (but others do not) Ireland."
[185]
A SAVOYARD BIBLIOGRAPHY.
The literature about Savoy Opera forms a regular library. A great deal of it has been contributed to newspapers and magazines. For the latter the reader should consult Poole's "Index to Periodical Literature" and its successor, "The Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature." The following list contains the chief books about the Savoyards.
GILBERT.
W. S. Gilbert: By Edith A. Browne. Stars of the Stage Series. London: John Lane. 1907.
8vo: pp. xii+96+15 plates, one of them showing Gilbert in a kilt as a (3rd) Gordon Highlander (1868-78): gives a list of Gilbert's plays. The operas are dealt with by themselves (pp. 55-84). There is a photograph of H. A. Lytton in "Patience" (facing p. 58).
Sir William S. Gilbert: A study in modern satire: a handbook on Gilbert and the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. By Isaac Goldberg, M.A., Ph.D. (Harvard.) Boston: Stratford Publishing Co., 1913.
8vo. pp. 156. The operas are discussed pp. 83-146. "The character of Pooh-Bah is perhaps the greatest single creation of Gilbert's."
Recollections of Gilbert. By G. W. Smalley. McClure's Magazine (January 1903), xx, 302-304.
Real Conversation with Gilbert. By William Archer. Critic, New York (September 1901), xxxix, 240-240.
Mr. Archer's article on Gilbert as a dramatist in the St. James's Magazine, London, in 1881 (xlix, 287), was one of the first critical appreciations of Gilbert on a big scale.
[186] Gilbert's Humour. By Max Beerbohm. Saturday Review, xcvii, 619; xcix, 696.
The Genius of Gilbert. Blackwood's Magazine (July 1911), cxcix, 121-128.
The English Aristophanes. By Walter Sichel. Fortnightly Review (October 1911), xciv, 681-704.
The Librettos of W. S. Gilbert. By G. H. Powell. Temple Bar, cxxv, 36.
Mr. Gilbert as a Librettist. By J. M. Bulloch. Evening Gazette, Aberdeen (June 16, 17, 1890).
This was originally an address delivered to the Aberdeen University Literary Society, November 16, 1888. J. M. Bulloch also dealt with "The Pretty Wit of Mr. Gilbert" in the Sketch, June 12, 1898; "Mr. Gilbert's Majority as a Savoyard," in the Sketch, Sept. 9, 1898; and "The work of W. S. Gilbert," illustrated in the Bookbuyer, New York, January, 1899.
Gilbert's Profits from Libretto. By G. Middleton. Bookman, New York (October, 1908), xxviii, 116-123.
Sir W. S. Gilbert. Leading article and biography in The Times, May 30, 1911, pp. 11-12.
Portraits. Ten reproductions are inventoried in the A.L.A. Portrait Index (Washington, 1908: p. 378) including those by Rudolf Lehman and "Spy" in Vanity Fair (1881: xiii, plate 13.).
SULLIVAN.
Sir Arthur Sullivan, His Life and Music. By B. W. Findon, London: James Nisbet and Company, 1904.
8vo. pp. viii+214+[2]: portrait of Sullivan. Dedicated to Mr. Findon's aunt, Mary Clementina Sullivan, 1811-82, mother of Sir Arthur. List of Sullivan's works (pp. 204-214): section specially devoted to the Savoy Opera (pp. 94-126). This book was reprinted by Sisley's, Ltd. [1908] as "Sir Arthur Sullivan and his Operas."
Sullivan. [187] By Sir George Grove. Dictionary of Music (1908), iv, 743-747.
Sir Arthur Sullivan: Life story, letters, and reminiscences. By Arthur Lawrence; with critique by B. W. Findon; and bibliography by W. Bendall London: James Bowden, 1899.
8vo. pp. xvi.+360+11 plates+[8]. There are 19 illustrations, showing Sullivan at the ages of 12, 15, 25, 44, 52 and 57, with eight facsimiles of letters or scores. M. Findon's critique occupies pp. 288-326 and the bibliography, pp. 327-360.
Souvenir of Sir Arthur Sullivan, Mus. Doc, M.V.O.; a brief sketch of his life. By Walter J. Wells. London: George Newnes, Ltd., 1901.
8vo. pp. viii. + 106 with 49 illustrations. Contains "Sullivan and Gilbert" (pp. 15-31): "D'Oyly Carte" (pp. 32-46): "American Success" (pp. 47-54.) List of his works (pp. 98-104).
Arthur Sullivan. By H. Saxe Wyndham. London: George Bell and Sons, 1903.
8vo. pp. x+80, with eight illustrations. Dedicated "to my wife through whose skill as a musician the never ending delights of Sullivan's music were first unfolded to me." One of Bell's Miniature Series of Musicians.
Portraits. Twenty-one reproductions are inventoried in the A.L.A. Portrait Index (Washington, 1908: p. 1405) including those by Millais and by "Ape" in Vanity Fair (1874: vi, plate 81).
CARTE.
The starting of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas: a letter written by R. D'Oyly Carte in 1877 to "My Lord" (unnamed), apropos of a proposal to form a small company to produce the operas. Printed in the Pall Mall Gazette, May 1, 1907.
The petition by the Savoy Theatre and Operas, Ltd., and Reduced, for the approval of the Court to the reduction of the capital from �75,000 to �41,250 was heard [188] before Mr. Justice Walton, August 26, 1903 (Times, August 27). This led to a very interesting letter from Gilbert in the Times (Aug. 28) and one in the Telegraph by Mrs. Carte (Aug. 29).
Portraits. Four reproductions are inventoried in the A.L.A. Portrait Index (Washington, 1908: p. 259), including that by "Spy" in Vanity Fair (1891: xxiii, plate 498).
THE SAVOY OPERAS.
Gilbert, Sullivan, and D'Oyly Carte: Reminiscences of the Savoy and the Savoyards. By Francois Cellier and Cunningham Bridgeman. London: Isaac Pitman and Sons, 1914.
8vo. pp. xxiv+443: with 63 portraits and other illustrations and six facsimile letters; and a complete set of casts at the Savoy (pp. 425-435). The collaboration between Mr. Cellier and Mr. Bridgeman (pp. 3-163) was ended by the former's death, January 5, 1914. The rest of the book (pp. 164-422) was done by Mr. Bridgeman.
The Savoy Opera and the Savoyards. By Percy Fitzgerald, M.A., F.S.A.; with six illustrations. London: Chatto and Windus, 1894.
8vo. pp. xvi, 248. Most of the illustrations are pen and ink drawings.
Gilbert and Sullivan Opera: a history and a comment. By H. M. Walbrook: with a foreword by Sir Henry Wood. London: F. V. White and Co., Ltd., 1920.
8vo. pp. 155+[3]+4 plates, including two drawings by H. M. Bateman and a reproduction of the Sullivan Memorial in the Victoria Embankment Gardens; with 42 pen and ink sketches in the text: Short bibliography (p. 155).
Gilbert and Sullivan Jottings. By Shelford Walsh [Harrogate?] coach to the principal operatic societies in the United Kingdom [1903]. [189]
16 mo.: pp. 24+cover. Contains little stories about the operas. Price 4d.
Savoyards on Tour: a description of the various companies on the road. Sketch, June 13, 1894.
Savoyard Dinner, given by the O.P. Club in the Hotel Cecil, December 30, 1906.
Gilbert's historical speech on this occasion was printed verbatim in the Daily Telegraph, December 31, 1906.
BARRINGTON.
Rutland Barrington: a record of thirty-five years' experience on the English stage. By Himself; with a preface by Sir William S. Gilbert, London: Grant Richards, 1908.
8vo. pp. 270+31 illustrations and coloured portrait on the cover. Printed at Plymouth. Dedicated to "My good friend, Mrs. D'Oyly Carte." The Savoy is dealt with pp. 25-86.
More Rutland Barrington. By Himself. London: Grant Richards, 1911.
8vo. pp. 233+[1]+15 illustrations, including one of H. A. Lytton as the Pirate King. Printed in Edinburgh.
GROSSMITH.
A Society Clown: reminiscences. By George Grossmith. Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith, 1888.
8vo. pp. iv+182. Forming vol. 31 of Arrowsmith's Bristol Library. Chapter on Gilbert and Sullivan pp. 91-125. In "Piano and I" (1910), he describes (pp. 11-18) why he left the Savoy. See also "The Diary of Nobody" (1892).
LYTTON.
Memories of a Merryman. By H. A. Lytton. Graphic, Nov. 19, 26; Dec. 3, 10, 17, 1921.
This consists of some extracts from the present volume. [190]
LONDON PRODUCTIONS OF THE SAVOY OPERAS.
Opera.
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Click on the images to see high-resolution images.
Hyphen removed: "bull[-]dog(s)" (p. 35), "high-water[-]mark" (p. 111), "school[-]boy" (p. 63), "yester[-]year" (p. 139).
Hyphen added: "Mount[-]Ararat" (p. 156).
The following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not been changed: "light[-]hearted", "Merry[-]man", "Mount-Ararat" / "Mountararat", "re[-]appear(s)".
P. 15: "waistcoast" changed to "waistcoat" (my striped waistcoat and green apron).
P. 45: "caste" changed to "cast" (When George Grossmith returned to the cast).
P. 53: "minature" changed to "miniature" (experiments on a miniature stage).
P. 73: "once" changed to "one" (and in one case actually before).
P. 73, 108: "occured" changed to "occurred" (there occurred an incident, thought had occurred to me).
P. 82: "Guiseppi" changed to "Guiseppe".
P. 97 "arn't" changed to "aren't" (I'm an ugly blighter, aren't I?).
P. 110: "CHAPTER" removed from title for consistency.
P. 123: "disfigurnig" changed to "disfiguring" (hit the mark without disfiguring it).
P. 125: "playright" changed to "playwright" (master mind as a playwright).
P. 142: "confesess" changed to "confesses" (She confesses that).
P. 149: "affection" changed to "affectation" (my medi�valism's affectation).
P. 151: "Janes" changed to "Jane" (Lady Jane assures him).
P. 170: "hers" changed to "her" (his intentions towards her are honourable).
P. 174: "to to" changed to "to" (go to fetch the prisoner).
P. 179: "Plazo-Toro" changed to "Plaza-Toro".
P. 180: "propropriety" changed to "propriety" (political or social propriety).
P. 189: "Sullvian" changed to "Sullivan".
P. 190: "Nov. 17, 1877" restored from the context.
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| i don't know |
What is it traditional for women to do on 29th February? | Leap Day Customs & Traditions
Home Calendar Leap Day Customs
Leap Day Customs & Traditions
Leap Day, on February 29, has been a day of traditions, folklore and superstitions ever since Leap Years were first introduced by Julius Caesar over 2000 years ago.
Gloves can hide a naked ring finger.
Tradition dictates that a man who refuses a woman's proposal on leap day has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves so she may hide the embarrassment of not having an engagement ring.
©iStockphoto.com/photllurg
Last leap day was February 29, 2016 .
Women Propose to Their Men
According to an old Irish legend, or possibly history, St Brigid struck a deal with St Patrick to allow women to propose to men – and not just the other way around – every four years.
This is believed to have been introduced to balance the traditional roles of men and women in a similar way to how leap day balances the calendar.
Gloves Hide Naked Ring Finger
In some places, leap day has been known as “Bachelors’ Day” for the same reason. A man was expected to pay a penalty, such as a gown or money, if he refused a marriage proposal from a woman on Leap Day.
In many European countries, especially in the upper classes of society, tradition dictates that any man who refuses a woman's proposal on February 29 has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves. The intention is that the woman can wear the gloves to hide the embarrassment of not having an engagement ring. During the middle ages there were laws governing this tradition.
Leap Day Babies World Record
People born on February 29 are all invited to join The Honor Society of Leap Year Day Babies.
According to the Guinness Book of Records, there are Leap Day World Record Holders both of a family producing three consecutive generations born on February 29 and of the number of children born on February 29 in the same family.
Unlucky in Love
In Scotland, it used to be considered unlucky for someone to be born on leap day, just as Friday 13th is considered an unlucky day by many. Greeks consider it unlucky for couples to marry during a leap year, and especially on Leap Day.
St Oswald’s Day
Leap day is also St Oswald’s Day, named after the archbishop of York who died on February 29, 992. His memorial is celebrated on February 29 during leap years and on February 28 during common years .
| propose to men |
People born on 29th February have which Zodiac sign? | The history behind why women propose to men on February 29th
The history behind why women propose to men on February 29th
February 29, 2016 1:12 pm
YouTube/ Comedy Central UK
February 29th isn’t only Leap Day — it’s also known as Bachelor’s Day, the traditional day of the year when women get down on one knee and propose to their partners. Let’s real talk for a second: That’s kind of messed up. Women do not need a specific day of the year to be told they’re allowed to propose, especially a day that only comes along once every four years. That said, we got kind of curious about this strange day and decided to peer into the rich (and debated) history of this problematic day.
The holiday is hundreds of years old, and though the exact origin is uncertain, there are several theories — including a law passed in Scotland by Queen Margaret back in 1288 that allowed women to propose and fine men who refused. Of course, the law is no longer in effect, but the February 29th tradition still stands.
Others believe Bachelor’s Day originated in fifth century Ireland, where Christian nun and saint of Ireland, Saint Brigid of Kildare, asked Saint Patrick to instate a day celebrating women dropping down on one knee. It’s important to note that some historians doubt whether Brigid ever really existed.
These days, Bachelor’s Day has a bad rap because sexism. “Instead of transforming it into an accepted practice, the popular culture mocked and belittled women’s proposals,” historian Katherine Parkin of Monmouth University wrote in a 2011 article on Leap Year marriage proposals . “Scorned and ridiculed for trespassing against male privilege, along with those who wore pants or participated in politics, female proposers learned that seeking rights threatened those who held power.”
As Parkin explained to the Washington Post , the idea of a woman proposing to a man is still shrouded in negative stigma. “In the end, the leap year custom helped ensure that men continued to hold the power in matters of matrimony,” she writes.
As The Guardian notes, there aren’t many instances of women proposing to men in popular culture and literature, but we can find instances of Bachelor’s Day from literature in the past couple centuries, such as Catherine Arrowpoint in George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda and Polly in Nancy Mitford’s Love In A Cold Climate. In 2010 the film Leap Year, starring Amy Adams, put the February 29th tradition into movie-form.
Although we applaud the air of female empowerment that surrounds the day, we have to agree with Parkin when she says it does more to belittle women’s power than to enhance it. It’s 2016, and women should be able to talk about their futures and desires with their partners openly, instead of being forced to treat it like yet another patriarchal tradition. We don’t need a designated day to tell us to propose. If you feel like popping the question, pull a Monica and get down on one knee. And guess what? You can do it on any damn day of the year.
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Which Saint was said to have set aside 29th February as the day that women were allowed to propose to men? | February 29 - Everything2.com
February 29
Tue Jun 03 2003 at 17:54:34
"Thirty days hath September ,
All the rest have thirty-one
Excepting February alone
Which has twenty-eight days, clear,
And twenty-nine in each leap year."
February 29 is a bissextile - the day added to the Gregorian calendar to account for the difference between a solar year , and the typical 365 day calendar year . Over your lifetime, you will see this leap day occur approximately once every 1461 days (once every 4 years). However, over the course of history , Feb 29 actually occurs less frequently - about once every 1506 days. This is because a year is only a leap year if it is:
divisible by 4 and not divisible by 100
or
it is divisible by 400
For this reason 1900 was not a leap year, but 2000 was. Over the course of 400 years, this means that there are 97 instead of 100 occurrences of February 29. For information on how all of this started, check out Gregorian Calendar .
Interesting Facts about the Day
In many countries, this is Sadie Hawkins day or Bachelor's Day
In the Bahá'í Faith , it is a day for service and gift giving
It is International Underlings' Day , a holiday for anyone not covered by Boss's Day or Secretary's Day .
This Day in History
1288
Scotland set aside this day as the one day when a woman could propose marriage to a man. If he refused, he was required to pay a fine. St. Patrick was said to have refused a marriage proposal on this day.
Dawn Fraser received her 36th world record . The Australian swimmer was timed at 58.9 seconds in the 100-meter freestyle in Sydney , Australia.
In other world record news, Frank Rugani drove a shuttlecock over 79 feet.
The first pulsar is discovered.
US performs nuclear test at Nevada Test Site.
1972
Hank Aaron becomes the first baseball player to sign for $200000.
Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau announces he is stepping down.
February 29 Birthdays
You may wonder when leap day babies celebrate their birthday . Some celebrate it on February 28 , and some celebrate it on March 1 . If it is not a leap year, for all legal purposes, it should be celebrated on March 1. Why? Try to get your drivers license when you are 15 going on 16, or try going out for a drink when you are 20 going on 21 when it is February 28 - they will tell you to come back tomorrow . However, it's actually much more tricky than this. While everyone is having pity on these people with leap year births, no one thinks that they too have the same problem.
We all celebrate our birthdays incorrectly
What most people actually celebrate is their birth date. If you consider your birthday to be the day you turn another year older, then on average , you actually celebrate your birthday incorrectly 1/4 to 3/4 of the time (the longer you live, the closer it gets to 3/4). Since a year is 365.2425 days (or as we typically estimate it to 365.25), your birthday actually fluctuates in both date and time .
As an example, look at the first four years of the life of a baby born at noon on January 1, 2000 (a leap year).
Assuming (Incorrectly) Assuming Age 365.2425 days/year 365.2500 days/year --------------------------------------------------- 00 2000-01-01 12:00:00 2000-01-01 12:00:00 01 2000-12-31 17:49:12 2000-12-31 18:00:00 02 2001-12-31 23:38:24 2002-01-01 00:00:00 03 2003-01-01 05:27:36 2003-01-01 06:00:00 04 2004-01-01 11:16:48 2004-01-01 12:00:00
You will notice in column 1, that not only does the date and time fluctuate, but the baby would celebrate two birthdays in one calendar year in 2000, and not have a birthday at all in 2002! A similar occurrence is seen in column 2. It is for this reason that we celebrate birth dates instead of birthdays. However, I digress: using the same logic as above, here is how someone born at noon on February 29, 2000 should celebrate their first 25 birthdays:
Assuming (Incorrectly) Assuming Age 365.2425 days/year 365.2500 days/year --------------------------------------------------- 00 2000-02-29 12:00:00 2000-02-29 12:00:00 01 2001-02-28 17:49:12 2001-02-28 18:00:00 02 2002-02-28 23:38:24 2002-03-01 00:00:00 03 2003-03-01 05:27:36 2003-03-01 06:00:00 04 2004-02-29 11:16:48 2004-02-29 12:00:00 05 2005-02-28 17:06:00 2005-02-28 18:00:00 06 2006-02-28 22:55:12 2006-03-01 00:00:00 07 2007-03-01 04:44:24 2007-03-01 06:00:00 08 2008-02-29 10:33:36 2008-02-29 12:00:00 09 2009-02-28 16:22:48 2009-02-28 18:00:00 10 2010-02-28 22:12:00 2010-03-01 00:00:00 11 2011-03-01 04:01:12 2011-03-01 06:00:00 12 2012-02-29 09:50:24 2012-02-29 12:00:00 13 2013-02-28 15:39:36 2013-02-28 18:00:00 14 2014-02-28 21:28:48 2014-03-01 00:00:00 15 2015-03-01 03:18:00 2015-03-01 06:00:00 16 2016-02-29 09:07:12 2016-02-29 12:00:00 17 2017-02-28 14:56:24 2017-02-28 18:00:00 18 2018-02-28 20:45:36 2018-03-01 00:00:00 19 2019-03-01 02:34:48 2019-03-01 06:00:00 20 2020-02-29 08:24:00 2020-02-29 12:00:00 21 2021-02-28 14:13:12 2021-02-28 18:00:00 22 2022-02-28 20:02:24 2022-03-01 00:00:00 23 2023-03-01 01:51:36 2023-03-01 06:00:00 24 2024-02-29 07:40:48 2024-02-29 12:00:00 25 2025-02-28 13:30:00 2025-02-28 18:00:00
If you couldn't tell, the date format above is YYYY-MM-DD hh:mm:ss (using 24 hour time )
Famous Births
Wed Feb 18 2004 at 15:28:00
A Myth
In the 5th Century AD, the world was a rapidly changing place. Groups of Angles and Saxons were leisurely picking through whatever goodies the Romans had left behind, and wondering if that damn wall had really been worth all the effort. A little further away, Attila the Hun was enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation over how he might like to redecorate the Coliseum , and a lot further away, people all over the Western Hemisphere were going happily about their business never having heard of any of this.
And one day, a very nice young woman in Ireland finally decided she'd had one too many unwanted marriage proposals.
"Yeah, well, what do you want me to do about it?" St. Patrick asked, in words to that effect.
"Well," St. Bridget responded, in the modern vernacular , "why not let us have a whack at it?"
"What, women? Proposing?"
"Absolutely."
St. Patrick thought this over.
"Alright," he said, after a moment. "Tell you what. You can have one day a year."
And St. Bridget smiled. So St. Patrick took another moment.
"Out of every four. Starting today."
As the legend goes, that day was February 29 th, and St. Bridget proposed on the spot.
A More Believable Myth
Naturally, the Catholic Encyclopedia 's entry on St. Bridget doesn't mention this gender-role reversing tidbit of apocrypha . But medieval Europe certainly had its rules regarding courtship , and tradition held that only men were allowed to propose.
Women all over the Continent and in Scotland particularly spent another seven hundred years or so complaining about this fact, when it is widely believed that legislation regarding socially acceptable, non-emasculating female marriage proposal was finally put to parchment. The earliest remembered if unrecovered record occurs in the Leap Year Act , allegedly passed by the Scottish Parliament in 1288 . It wasn't supposed to have given carte blanche to the ladies in terms of picking the Big Day, but set aside the whole of the Leap Year as fair ground.
Preliminary research offers the following wording for the Act's most salient feature:
Ordonit that during ye reign of her maist blisset Majestie Margaret, ilka maiden ladee of baith high and lowe estait shall hae liberte to bespoke ye man she likes - albeit he refuses to talk he shall be mulcted in ye sum ane pundis or less.
I can't cut through much of the spelling or brogue , and don't at all want to touch upon ane pundis, but Margaret, Maid of Norway happened to be enjoying the second of her four years on the Scottish throne at the time the act was passed, and for what it's worth, Scotland didn't have another queen until Mary in 1542.
In the elapsed time, those insecure Scotsmen--say nothing of skirts, you--managed to amend the accepted interpretation of the act back to its supposed 5th Century Irish origins, from all of Leap Year to just Leap Year Day--giving them 365 extra days to hedge and squirm without fear of a preemptive strike .
A Warning
For those men among you thinking this is a fantastic tradition to revive and enjoy in this modern age, I warn that scholarly research into the subject suggests the actual existence of any such act is unlikely at best--so your near-wife's legal precedent is probably a sham, and you're not off the hook to drop to one knee.
If it does hold up in court, though, mythological add-ons at least try to make it interesting. One version insists that any women premeditating a marriage had to wear a scarlet petticoat with a clearly visible hem, so that ambivalent or lifelong bachelors could see them coming a fair distance off and amscray . All versions--as the quotation suggests--mandate that if the gentleman isn't able to execute successfully an avoidance strategy and manages to get himself proposed to, failure to accept the proposal could result in a fine . The snubber was obliged to give the snubbed anything from 100 pounds to a silk dress , money to buy a silk dress, or a really decent pair of gloves.
Small price to pay for escaping an unwanted marriage, and much less than a woman commonly had to give up to enter one .
In modern Britain , it seems, the tradition persists to this day, something along the lines of the all-too-American Sadie Hawkins Day . And true to form, the American version comes from a comic strip dating all the way back to 1937 .
One might think that I came across this in the course of idle research about an imminent subject, but no. I was told by my lovely and charming English paramour, who just might be getting a jump--or rather, a leap--on a fine old British tradition.
Bouquets to:
| Saint Patrick |
The Leap Year Cocktail, which consists of gin, Grand Marnier, sweet vermouth and lemon juice, was invented at which London hotel on 29th February 1928? | February 29 - Everything2.com
February 29
Tue Jun 03 2003 at 17:54:34
"Thirty days hath September ,
All the rest have thirty-one
Excepting February alone
Which has twenty-eight days, clear,
And twenty-nine in each leap year."
February 29 is a bissextile - the day added to the Gregorian calendar to account for the difference between a solar year , and the typical 365 day calendar year . Over your lifetime, you will see this leap day occur approximately once every 1461 days (once every 4 years). However, over the course of history , Feb 29 actually occurs less frequently - about once every 1506 days. This is because a year is only a leap year if it is:
divisible by 4 and not divisible by 100
or
it is divisible by 400
For this reason 1900 was not a leap year, but 2000 was. Over the course of 400 years, this means that there are 97 instead of 100 occurrences of February 29. For information on how all of this started, check out Gregorian Calendar .
Interesting Facts about the Day
In many countries, this is Sadie Hawkins day or Bachelor's Day
In the Bahá'í Faith , it is a day for service and gift giving
It is International Underlings' Day , a holiday for anyone not covered by Boss's Day or Secretary's Day .
This Day in History
1288
Scotland set aside this day as the one day when a woman could propose marriage to a man. If he refused, he was required to pay a fine. St. Patrick was said to have refused a marriage proposal on this day.
Dawn Fraser received her 36th world record . The Australian swimmer was timed at 58.9 seconds in the 100-meter freestyle in Sydney , Australia.
In other world record news, Frank Rugani drove a shuttlecock over 79 feet.
The first pulsar is discovered.
US performs nuclear test at Nevada Test Site.
1972
Hank Aaron becomes the first baseball player to sign for $200000.
Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau announces he is stepping down.
February 29 Birthdays
You may wonder when leap day babies celebrate their birthday . Some celebrate it on February 28 , and some celebrate it on March 1 . If it is not a leap year, for all legal purposes, it should be celebrated on March 1. Why? Try to get your drivers license when you are 15 going on 16, or try going out for a drink when you are 20 going on 21 when it is February 28 - they will tell you to come back tomorrow . However, it's actually much more tricky than this. While everyone is having pity on these people with leap year births, no one thinks that they too have the same problem.
We all celebrate our birthdays incorrectly
What most people actually celebrate is their birth date. If you consider your birthday to be the day you turn another year older, then on average , you actually celebrate your birthday incorrectly 1/4 to 3/4 of the time (the longer you live, the closer it gets to 3/4). Since a year is 365.2425 days (or as we typically estimate it to 365.25), your birthday actually fluctuates in both date and time .
As an example, look at the first four years of the life of a baby born at noon on January 1, 2000 (a leap year).
Assuming (Incorrectly) Assuming Age 365.2425 days/year 365.2500 days/year --------------------------------------------------- 00 2000-01-01 12:00:00 2000-01-01 12:00:00 01 2000-12-31 17:49:12 2000-12-31 18:00:00 02 2001-12-31 23:38:24 2002-01-01 00:00:00 03 2003-01-01 05:27:36 2003-01-01 06:00:00 04 2004-01-01 11:16:48 2004-01-01 12:00:00
You will notice in column 1, that not only does the date and time fluctuate, but the baby would celebrate two birthdays in one calendar year in 2000, and not have a birthday at all in 2002! A similar occurrence is seen in column 2. It is for this reason that we celebrate birth dates instead of birthdays. However, I digress: using the same logic as above, here is how someone born at noon on February 29, 2000 should celebrate their first 25 birthdays:
Assuming (Incorrectly) Assuming Age 365.2425 days/year 365.2500 days/year --------------------------------------------------- 00 2000-02-29 12:00:00 2000-02-29 12:00:00 01 2001-02-28 17:49:12 2001-02-28 18:00:00 02 2002-02-28 23:38:24 2002-03-01 00:00:00 03 2003-03-01 05:27:36 2003-03-01 06:00:00 04 2004-02-29 11:16:48 2004-02-29 12:00:00 05 2005-02-28 17:06:00 2005-02-28 18:00:00 06 2006-02-28 22:55:12 2006-03-01 00:00:00 07 2007-03-01 04:44:24 2007-03-01 06:00:00 08 2008-02-29 10:33:36 2008-02-29 12:00:00 09 2009-02-28 16:22:48 2009-02-28 18:00:00 10 2010-02-28 22:12:00 2010-03-01 00:00:00 11 2011-03-01 04:01:12 2011-03-01 06:00:00 12 2012-02-29 09:50:24 2012-02-29 12:00:00 13 2013-02-28 15:39:36 2013-02-28 18:00:00 14 2014-02-28 21:28:48 2014-03-01 00:00:00 15 2015-03-01 03:18:00 2015-03-01 06:00:00 16 2016-02-29 09:07:12 2016-02-29 12:00:00 17 2017-02-28 14:56:24 2017-02-28 18:00:00 18 2018-02-28 20:45:36 2018-03-01 00:00:00 19 2019-03-01 02:34:48 2019-03-01 06:00:00 20 2020-02-29 08:24:00 2020-02-29 12:00:00 21 2021-02-28 14:13:12 2021-02-28 18:00:00 22 2022-02-28 20:02:24 2022-03-01 00:00:00 23 2023-03-01 01:51:36 2023-03-01 06:00:00 24 2024-02-29 07:40:48 2024-02-29 12:00:00 25 2025-02-28 13:30:00 2025-02-28 18:00:00
If you couldn't tell, the date format above is YYYY-MM-DD hh:mm:ss (using 24 hour time )
Famous Births
Wed Feb 18 2004 at 15:28:00
A Myth
In the 5th Century AD, the world was a rapidly changing place. Groups of Angles and Saxons were leisurely picking through whatever goodies the Romans had left behind, and wondering if that damn wall had really been worth all the effort. A little further away, Attila the Hun was enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation over how he might like to redecorate the Coliseum , and a lot further away, people all over the Western Hemisphere were going happily about their business never having heard of any of this.
And one day, a very nice young woman in Ireland finally decided she'd had one too many unwanted marriage proposals.
"Yeah, well, what do you want me to do about it?" St. Patrick asked, in words to that effect.
"Well," St. Bridget responded, in the modern vernacular , "why not let us have a whack at it?"
"What, women? Proposing?"
"Absolutely."
St. Patrick thought this over.
"Alright," he said, after a moment. "Tell you what. You can have one day a year."
And St. Bridget smiled. So St. Patrick took another moment.
"Out of every four. Starting today."
As the legend goes, that day was February 29 th, and St. Bridget proposed on the spot.
A More Believable Myth
Naturally, the Catholic Encyclopedia 's entry on St. Bridget doesn't mention this gender-role reversing tidbit of apocrypha . But medieval Europe certainly had its rules regarding courtship , and tradition held that only men were allowed to propose.
Women all over the Continent and in Scotland particularly spent another seven hundred years or so complaining about this fact, when it is widely believed that legislation regarding socially acceptable, non-emasculating female marriage proposal was finally put to parchment. The earliest remembered if unrecovered record occurs in the Leap Year Act , allegedly passed by the Scottish Parliament in 1288 . It wasn't supposed to have given carte blanche to the ladies in terms of picking the Big Day, but set aside the whole of the Leap Year as fair ground.
Preliminary research offers the following wording for the Act's most salient feature:
Ordonit that during ye reign of her maist blisset Majestie Margaret, ilka maiden ladee of baith high and lowe estait shall hae liberte to bespoke ye man she likes - albeit he refuses to talk he shall be mulcted in ye sum ane pundis or less.
I can't cut through much of the spelling or brogue , and don't at all want to touch upon ane pundis, but Margaret, Maid of Norway happened to be enjoying the second of her four years on the Scottish throne at the time the act was passed, and for what it's worth, Scotland didn't have another queen until Mary in 1542.
In the elapsed time, those insecure Scotsmen--say nothing of skirts, you--managed to amend the accepted interpretation of the act back to its supposed 5th Century Irish origins, from all of Leap Year to just Leap Year Day--giving them 365 extra days to hedge and squirm without fear of a preemptive strike .
A Warning
For those men among you thinking this is a fantastic tradition to revive and enjoy in this modern age, I warn that scholarly research into the subject suggests the actual existence of any such act is unlikely at best--so your near-wife's legal precedent is probably a sham, and you're not off the hook to drop to one knee.
If it does hold up in court, though, mythological add-ons at least try to make it interesting. One version insists that any women premeditating a marriage had to wear a scarlet petticoat with a clearly visible hem, so that ambivalent or lifelong bachelors could see them coming a fair distance off and amscray . All versions--as the quotation suggests--mandate that if the gentleman isn't able to execute successfully an avoidance strategy and manages to get himself proposed to, failure to accept the proposal could result in a fine . The snubber was obliged to give the snubbed anything from 100 pounds to a silk dress , money to buy a silk dress, or a really decent pair of gloves.
Small price to pay for escaping an unwanted marriage, and much less than a woman commonly had to give up to enter one .
In modern Britain , it seems, the tradition persists to this day, something along the lines of the all-too-American Sadie Hawkins Day . And true to form, the American version comes from a comic strip dating all the way back to 1937 .
One might think that I came across this in the course of idle research about an imminent subject, but no. I was told by my lovely and charming English paramour, who just might be getting a jump--or rather, a leap--on a fine old British tradition.
Bouquets to:
| i don't know |
February 30th was a real date in which Scandinavian country? | Coach Tours of Scandinavia, Russia and Iceland
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Coach Tours of Scandinavia, Russia and Iceland
Take a coach tour of Scandinavia and enter a land of fjords, forest and famous folklore. Tales of Norse gods and trolls still abound, as well as many other mythical creatures living on land and in water. Scandinavia consists of Denmark, Norway, Sweden. We can also use the term ‘Nordic Countries’ which then includes Finland and Iceland. Whilst Finland uses the Euro currency, all the others have different currencies all called ‘krona’ and some variation of that spelling. You can use credit cards everywhere, but you will need local currency for small purchases. Visit Copenhangen in Denmark, the home of legendary story teller Hans Christian Anderson. Learn more about the Little Mermaid Statue. The city favours cyclists and pedestrians, so it’s easy to get around and view the harbour, Tivoli Gardens and Royal Palace.
Innovative Danish restaurants have emerged such as Noma - a two-Michelin-star restaurant run by chef René Redzepi. The top attraction in our view is the Nyhavn Canal quayside flanked by colourful wooden houses (not made of lego) and waterside cafés. Denmark is the smallest of the Nordic countries and prompts thoughts of Danish pastries, Danish bacon and the Carlsberg brewery. Besides these tasty indulgences, take a look in a toy shop and be reminded of the billions of multi coloured lego bricks that have come from this small country. Your Nordic coach holiday will usually begin in Denmark. From there you may head north to Frederikshavn for an overnight stay. Next day cross the Kattegat via a leisurely ferry crossing to Gothenburg, Sweden's second biggest city. After a view of the city, you head north through the west side of Sweden and cross another international border into Norway and the capital city of Oslo.
Head far north of Scandinavia to Iceland. Encounter a place of nature’s wonders - spouting waterfalls, volcanoes and dazzling scenes every step of the way. The staggering landscape of this nation will guarantee you will need to return over and over. Start your trip in the capital Reykjavík Places you visit on most tours include the hot-springs at Geysir and the stunning Gullfoss Waterfalls, a sort of Iceland Niagara. No tour to Iceland is complete without a visit to Reykjavik's Blue Lagoon.
Whilst we are in this general region of Europe, let’s mention Finland again, but this time add the Baltic states and a small portion of Russia, namely Moscow and St Petersburg.
Finland is covered with just an overnight stay on most tours. You arrive at the capital Helsinki, your Local Specialist shows you the city's sights including Finlandia Hall, Senate and Market Squares. St Petersburg is very impressive and demands a longer stay with it’s canals and colourful buildings. The city's sights include the Tsar's Winter Palace, Nevsky Prospekt, St. Isaac's Cathedral and the statue of Peter the Great. The Hermitage Museum contains one of the world's largest and most valuable art collections, so prepare to be wowed. On arrival in Moscow get ready to see the main sites of Red Square and St. Basil's Cathedral. Visit the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the Kremlin. The Baltic gems of Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia have compact and charming old town centres in their respective capitals of Vilnius, Tallinn and Riga. We are sure you will enjoy your tours of all these fascinating places.
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A 20 day first class tour of Norway and Finland, starting in Oslo and ending in Stockholm, Sweden. Visit the North Cape Visitor Centre where you may see the midnight sun. Meet Santa in Rovaniemi From £3175 read more»
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1
| Sweden |
The town of Anthony in which US state was known as ‘The Leap Year Capital of the World’? | Scandinavian Tours, Travel to Scandinavia, Iceland Tours, Baltic Tours and Visa free Cruises, Scandinavian Travel with Nordic Saga
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Enjoy the Northern Beauty – Opt for Scandinavian Tours
Scandinavian and Iceland tours are a very exciting and unforgettable way of spending vacations because of all the magnificent views, sparkling lakes, geysers, volcanoes and fascinating fjords these countries have to offer. The amazing nature of Scandinavia contributes to having the time of one’s life during a well-organized Scandinavian tour. This is especially true for Norway and Iceland Tours.
A very popular way to explore Norway's coast is by Hurtigruten cruise line. Though, it is not the nature only that is to be counted during the Scandinavian travel. If you travel to Arhus, Stockholm, Bergen, Gothenburg, Karlstad, Oslo or Lillehammer, you will be impressed by the views and attractions these places can provide you with during your Scandinavia travel. You will be able to see such world-famous places as Tivoli Gardens (which receive their visitors from April to September), or to get acquainted with Hans Christian Andersen’s home with its cozy and a little bit magic atmosphere. During your Scandinavian travel, you may also visit Den Gamle By located in Denmark, the magnificent City Hall in Stockholm, or the mysterious Gripsholm Castle in Sweden. You will be also guided to Lillehammer’s Maihaugen Museum in the open air (available for visiting from the end of May), and the famous Frogner Park in Oslo, as well as to many more places of interest you may opt for during your travel to Scandinavia.
You will also have a chance to taste a local Swedish treat called Polkagris candy, or help yourself to an apple cider on some Norwegian farm.
Scandinavian tours also offer a great choice of transportation. You may even cruise from Denmark to Sweden on a comfortable liner, or opt for sailing in the yacht to the Sognefjord to enjoy the beauty of the gorgeous northern landscapes.
Your Scandinavia tour may end in a farewell dinner in Oslo that will bring you a lot of new friends and experiences to celebrate your successful Scandinavia travel which will stay in your memory for the rest of your life. Beautiful souvenirs and photos taken during Scandinavia tours will also be a good way to recollect the breathtaking adventures you have experienced in your travel Scandinavia offered you within your family circle.
Another interesting tourism opportunity in this part of the world is travel to the Baltic States. What are exactly the Baltic States on the map? The Baltic States are independent countries of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia that gained their independence from the Soviet Union over 25 years ago.
Last but not least is St. Petersburg, the Venice of the North, which can be easily acessed by ferry from Helsinki and Tallinn on a visa free cruise run by St. Petersline cruise company. Nordic Saga Tours is the official representative of St. Peterline cruises and tours.
Our company is a large-scale and credited tour operator and seller of Scandinavia tours, Iceland tours, Baltic tours, Hurtigruten Coastal voyages and visa free cruises to St. Petersburg. We are ready to offer you a good variety of options and services for your Scandinavia tour. There are discounted tours for your choice, which you may find irresistible. You may book your travel in advance, and you are sure to receive some sort of bonus or discount. An individual tour Scandinavia can provide in a great variety is also available. You are welcome to have a good time with us.
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Dear Bobby, Wanted to give you a shout and say my vacation in Iceland was successful and very pleasant back in February. Loved the hotels, the food, the people, and definitely enjoyed the scenery. I was able to get a few great photos of the Aurora Borealis one night and am pleased with that whole experience. Never thought I'd get to see such beauty in person. I definitely had to try the fermented shark and must admit it was worth trying, but I don't know if I'd eat it again. I'd love to see the other side of the country in the future, so when I'm able to plan another trip to Iceland, I'll be in touch. Rick Jenkins
Rick Jenkins
| i don't know |
In which country in the UK did it used to be considered unlucky to be born on a Leap Day? | Leap year: 10 things about 29 February - BBC News
BBC News
Leap year: 10 things about 29 February
1 March 2012
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The "leap day" of 29 February exists for purely astronomical reasons, but has always prompted less scientific curiosities.
Here are 10 things to consider - for one day only. Until 2016, that is.
1. The leapyear's extra day is necessary because of the "messiness" of our Solar System. One Earth year (a complete orbit around the Sun) does not take an exact number of whole days (one complete spin of the Earth on its axis). In fact, it takes 365.2422 days, give or take.
2. Until JuliusCaesar came to power, people observed a 355-day calendar - with an extra 22-day month every two years. But it was a convoluted solution to the problem and feast days began sliding into different seasons. So Caesar ordered his astronomer, Sosigenes, to simplify things. Sosigenes opted for the 365-day year with an extra day every four years to scoop up the extra hours. This is how the 29 February was born. It was then fine-tuned by Pope Gregory XIII (see below).
3. Every fourthyear is a leap year, as a rule of thumb. But that's not the end of the story. A year that is divisible by 100, but not by 400, is not. So 2000 was a leap year under the Gregorian calendar, as was 1600. But 1700, 1800 and 1900 are not leap years. "It seems a bit arbitrary," says Ian Stewart, emeritus professor of mathematics at Warwick University. But there's a good reason behind it.
"The year is 365 days and a quarter long - but not exactly. If it was exactly, then you could say it was every four years. But it is very slightly less." The answer arrived at by Pope Gregory XIII and his astronomers when they introduced the Gregorian calendar in 1582, was to lose three leap days every 400 years. The maths has hung together ever since. It will need to be rethought in about 10,000 years' time, Stewart warns. But by then mankind might have come up with a new system.
PM's Leap Day
By Eddie MairPresenter, PM
All this month on PM, listeners have been asked whether they'd be prepared to take advantage of this extra day to do something different.
It transpires there are a lot of people who're ready to use today to take a leap .
There's the apparently mundane... "I resolve to speak Mandarin all day long"… "my partner and I are going to visit some elderly people"... "often meant to take a roof tour of Lincoln Cathedral but never got round to it".
After six years one woman will finally decide the wording for her husband's headstone. Some people are at last scattering the ashes of loved ones having put it off for years.
There's a woman taking up the hula-hoop after more than 50 years.
One woman intends to have some chocolate today - her anorexia has been a problem for years. A man who suffers panic attacks will try to make a bus journey. And a woman in her 60s will get a tattoo.
PM is on BBC Radio Four, Monday to Saturday at 17:00 GMT
PM blog
4. Why isFebruary 29, not February 31, a leap year day? All the other months have 30 or 31 days, but February suffered from the ego of Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus, says Stewart. Under Julius Caesar, February had 30 days, but when Caesar Augustus was emperor he was peeved that his month - August - had only 29 days, whereas the month named after his predecessor Julius - July - had 31. "He pinched a couple of days for August to make it the same as July. And it was poor old February that lost out," says Prof Stewart.
5. The traditionof a woman proposing on a leap year has been attributed to various historical figures. One, although much disputed, was St Bridget in the 5th Century. She is said to have complained to St Patrick that women had to wait too long for their suitors to propose. St Patrick then supposedly gave women a single day in a leap year to pop the question - the last day of the shortest month. Another popular story is that Queen Margaret of Scotland brought in a law setting fines for men who turned down marriage proposals put by women on a leap year. Sceptics have pointed out that Margaret was five years old at the time and living far away in Norway. The tradition is not thought to have become commonplace until the 19th Century.
It is believed that the tradition of women proposing on this day goes back to the times when the leap year day was not recognised by English law. Under this theory, if the day had no legal status, it was acceptable to break with the convention of a man proposing.
6. A prayerhas been written by a female cleric for people planning a leap year day marriage proposal. The prayer, for 29 February, asks for blessings on the engaged couple. It reminds them that wedding plans should not overtake preparations for a lifetime together. The prayer has been taken from Pocket Prayers of Blessing by the Venerable Jan McFarlane, Archdeacon of Norwich:
"God of love, please bless N and N as they prepare for the commitment of marriage. May the plans for the wedding not overtake the more important preparation for their lifetime together. Please bless their family and friends as they prepare for this special day and may your blessing be upon them now and always. Amen."
7. The practiceof women proposing in a leap year is different around the world. In Denmark, it is not supposed to be 29 but 24 February, which hails back to the time of Julius Caesar. A refusal to marry by Danish men means they must give the woman 12 pairs of gloves. In Finland, it is not gloves but fabric for a skirt and in Greece, marriage in a leap year is considered unlucky, leading many couples to avoid it.
8. The chanceof being born on a leap day is often said to be one in 1,461. Four years is 1,460 days and adding one for the leap year you have 1,461. So, odds of 1/1,461.
But Stewart points out that is very slightly out, owing to the loss of the three leap years every 400 years. In any case, babies are more likely to be born at certain times of the year rather than others, due to a range of other factors, he says. Babies born on 29 February are known as "leapers" or "leaplings".
9.Other calendarsapart from the Gregorian require leap years. The modern Iranian calendar is a solar calendar with eight leap days inserted into a 33-year cycle. The Indian National Calendar and the Revised Bangla Calendar of Bangladesh arrange their leap years so that the leap day is always close to 29 February in the Gregorian calendar.
10.Explorer ChristopherColumbus used the lunar eclipse of 29 February 1504 to his advantage during his final trip to the West Indies. After several months of being stranded with his crew on the island of Jamaica, relations with the indigenous population broke down and they refused to continue helping with food and provisions. Columbus, knowing a lunar eclipse was due, consulted his almanac and then gathered the native chiefs on 29 February. He told that God was to punish them by painting the Moon red. During the eclipse, he said that God would withdraw the punishment if they starting co-operating again. The panicked chiefs agreed and the Moon began emerging from its shadow.
Also of a supernatural nature, on 29 February 1692 the first warrants were issued in the Salem witchcraft trials in Massachusetts.
| Scotland |
Babies born on 29th February are known as what? | Superstitions - Myths - Legends - Folklore - Omens - Lucks - Sayings
Superstitions – Myths – Legends – Folklore – Omens – Lucks – Sayings
Sunday, May 27th, 2012 at 2:45 am
There are superstitions for almost all aspects of our daily lives and most have unknown origins. Sometimes they are logical (for example, don’t walk under a ladder) but most of the time they are just silly. Some people can become controlled by their superstitions, which can become unhealthy.
Over the years people have intertwined and interchanged the following: myths, legends, folklore, omens, old wives tales, luck, sayings and superstitions so it is hard to separate them. I have placed the “definition” of those below and tried to categorize things in their right topic, however I will admit is a difficult thing to do with so many crossovers.
Superstition [soo-per-stish-uhn]
A belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge, in or of the ominous significance of a particular thing, circumstance, occurrence, proceeding, or the like
Luck [luhk]
The force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person’s life, as in shaping circumstances, events, or opportunities
Sayings [sey-ing]
Something said, especially a proverb or apothegm
Folklore [fohk-lawr, -lohr]
The traditional beliefs, legends, customs, etc., of a people; lore of a people
Legend [lej-uhnd]
A non-historical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical
Old wives’ tale
A belief, usually superstitious or erroneous, passed on by word of mouth as a piece of traditional wisdom
Myth
A popular belief or story that has become associated with a person, institution, or occurrence, especially one considered to illustrate a cultural ideal
Omen [oh-muhn]
Anything perceived or happening that is believed to portend a good or evil event or circumstance in the future; portent
An article published in Psychological Science shows that people who believe in “good luck charms” have more confidence than those that do not. So whether what they believe in can be proven true or false it really doesn’t matter.
The other side of the coin shows that believing in superstitions can be unlucky and unhealthy. Certain beliefs can cause people to act without thinking about the consequences and beliefs can cause housing prices to lower and abortions to increase.
For instance, look at the power of a superstition; the unlucky number 13. This particular superstition has been around for a long time. In Rome they believed the number 13 was a symbol of death and destruction. There are many buildings that do not have a 13th floor, houses and apartments will not be numbered 13, many people will not fly or buy things on the13th and restaurants and homes across the world will not allow 13 guests to come or sit at a table.
As you can see believing in such things can cause all kinds of trouble and even danger, so why do people believe?
What it does in people’s lives is give them more security in a very unpredictable world. It puts them in control and most people strive to be there.
Superstitions and the like are usually handed down by the generation before us and thus it is familiar and comfortable for us. It is like a security blanket that we know exactly what we will do or chose when it is time. All you have to do is win the lottery with a certain number and that number will be yours for life.
It is during times of stress, turmoil and strife that you will find superstitions and the like, being used more and more, again it is because of our need to have some sort of control and yet really in the end not be held responsible for the consequences. I lost the game because I didn’t have my lucky shirt on, etc.
One of the worst consequences that can happen in relation to believing fully in superstitions is OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. People make up their own behaviors that they must accomplish or dire results will happen. For instance if I step on a crack, someone will die. They do this because if they do what they think they need to, it gives them safety, security and a great predictability of outcome.
SUPERSTITIONS
GOOD LUCK
To see the thin crescent over ones left shoulder is lucky
Charms and Amulets, in the shape of a crescent moon, are used to protect you from the evil eye, witchcraft and encourage personal wealth.
The Crescent must always point to the left, this represents the first quarter of the moon, when things prosper and grow.
In Roman times, women used to wear silver moon crescents on their shoes to ensure having healthy babies.
People once believed the moon was made of silver, so they would ask the moon for help and jingle the change in their pockets, as they gazed at its glory.
Legend says that to cure warts, catch some moonbeams in a metal basin and wash your hands in it, saying “I wash my hands in thy dish, ‘O man in the moon, do grant my wish, and come and take this away”
The new moon is an auspicious time for planting, courtship, the starting of new business ventures, or trips
It is also the best time to cut the hair and fingernails for better growth later on
If you carry an acorn, you will have continued good luck and a long life
Hanging a horseshoe above the door to any home will bring good luck to all who live there
An old English tradition holds that a new wife seeing the new moon for the first time, should run quickly to her bedroom and turn down her bed to ensure a happy marriage.
At first sight of the new moon, one should turn a silver coin in his purse or pocket and make a wish.
Seeing a new moon for the first time on a Monday will bring you good luck
If the first time you see a new moon, is over your right shoulder, it is a sign of fun times ahead
If you happen to be holding something, in both of your hands, when you see the new moon for the first time, you will never want for anything
A wish made while looking at new moon will come true within a year
To see the thin crescent over ones left shoulder is lucky
Charms and Amulets, in the shape of a crescent moon, are used to protect you from the evil eye, witchcraft and encourage personal wealth.
The Crescent must always point to the left, this represents the first quarter of the moon, when things prosper and grow.
In Roman times, women used to wear silver moon crescents on their shoes to ensure having healthy babies.
Garlic protects from evil spirits and vampires
If you blow out all of the candles on your birthday cake with the first breath you will get whatever you wish for
To have a wish come true using a wishbone, two people make a wish, then take hold of each end of the bone and pull it until it separates. The person with the longer end gets his or her wish
At the end of a rainbow is a pot of gold
BAD LUCK
It was thought that to sleep in direct moonlight caused madness or blindness.
In time, the word, lunatic, from “luna”, meaning moon, and “tic”, meaning struck, evolved from this belief.
It is unlucky to view the first new moon through glass or through a tree
It is also unlucky to point at the moon
It is unlucky to rock an empty rocking chair
It is bad luck to step on a grave
It is bad luck for a different person to close a knife than the person who opened it
It’s bad luck to kill a cricket
It’s bad luck to completely finish a new house
Wearing an opal when it is not your birthstone is bad luck
When boiling milk, it’s bad luck to let it run over the side of the pot
When you leave the house and forgot something and must return indoors, then you should count to 10 before leaving again or you will have bad luck.
It is bad luck to dig a grave or bury a body during a new moon.
A bat flying into your home
An owl hooting three times in a row
If you see three butterflies flying together
Spilling salt – this one can be redeemed by grabbing some of the salt and throwing it over your left shoulder. This is believed to be the way in which to throw the salt into the eyes of the evil spirits that are lying in wait.
A five leaf clover
Putting your shirt on wrong side out
Staring at the new moon over your left shoulder
If giving toast and your break the glass you will be bringing bad luck to yourself
A rooster crowing at night
Placing a hat on your bed
Never get out of bed with your left foot first or you will have bad luck all day
Breaking a mirror will bring on 7 years of bad luck
You can break a bad luck spell by turning seven times in a clockwise circle
Singing before breakfast
Opening an umbrella inside the house is sure to bring bad luck to the entire household.
Be sure when you receive a wedding present to never give it away or it will bring bad luck to the marriage.
If you see an owl during the daytime, beware of misfortune
Giving a knife to someone as a present bring bad luck to the friendship
If the groom happens to drop the wedding ring during the ceremony, the marriage will not last
Take off any clothing prior to mending or bad luck will befall you
If a grave digger walks toward you it means you will become very seriously ill
If a black cat crosses your path, turn around, go all the way back and start your destination over
If a black cat crosses your path to put an x on your window
Don’t step on a crack; you’ll break your mother’s back
Don’t step in a hole; you’ll break your mother’s sugar bowl
If you spill salt you have to take some and throw it over your left shoulder to ward off bad luck
Never buy pearls for yourself, it’ll bring bad luck.
It’s bad luck to wash on New Year’s Day
It’s bad luck to wash your hair on your birthday
If you break a mirror, throw salt over your left shoulder to avoid 7 years bad luck
Never put shoes on a bed for ANY reason. It’s very bad luck
Never walk under a ladder
Don’t open an umbrella in the house
To milk a cow being sent to market
To see an owl in the sunlight
Changing a horse’s name
OLD WIVES TALES, MYTHS, OMENS, LEGENDS, FOLKLORE AND SUPERSTITIONS
Don’t cross your eyes – they’ll get stuck that way!
You can catch poison ivy from someone who has it
Reading in dim light or sitting too close to the TV damages your eyes
Hair and fingernails continue to grow after death
If you dream of a wedding there will soon be a funeral
If you dream of a funeral there will soon be a wedding
If a tree or post comes between two people walking, these people will soon quarrel
If a pregnant woman sees the blood of a dead animal, wherever she touches herself, she will mark the baby in that spot.
If your left hand itches, you will soon come into money
If your right hand itches, you will soon shake a stranger’s hand
If your nose itches, company is coming
If your ear itches someone is talking about you
If you’re driving and a black cat crosses your path, put an X on the windshield with your finger. If you’re walking and a black cat crosses your path, roll a pant leg up and let it back down. This will prevent bad luck.
Before the Civil War, among the slaves, if a mother died from childbirth and the baby lived, the baby was passed to each family member. This was to prevent the mother’s soul from returning and taking the baby with her.
Shaving your hair causes it to grow back darker, coarser and faster
Knuckle-cracking causes arthritis
You can get the flu from the flu shot
We use only 10 percent of our brains
It’s easier for a couple to conceive if the man wears boxer shorts instead of briefs
Sleeping on your back encourages snoring
Copper bracelets help soothe arthritis
Eating boiled eggs can make you constipated
Pull a grey hair out and you can expect two in its place
Sitting too close to the TV can damage your eyesight
Cloves help relieve toothache
Toothpaste gets rid of skin spots and darkness
Chewing parsley gets rid of garlic breath
Sitting on a hot radiator or cold wall gives you piles
Counting sheep makes you go to sleep
Cleaning your ears with cotton buds can make you go deaf
Chewing on bread can stop you crying when peeling onions
Sharing toothbrushes spreads disease
Swallowed chewing gum takes seven years to digest
Hot Tubs Lower Sperm Count
Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever
Long Labor Means a Boy
Swimming Within an Hour of Eating Will Give You Cramps
Shaving Your Legs Makes the Hair Grow in Thicker and Coarser
Seizures are brought on by a full moon
Gain a child lose a tooth
A bar of soap in the bed prevents nighttime leg cramps
Don’t let a person with a head injury sleep
Heartburn during pregnancy means a hairy baby
Teething causes fever, runny nose and diarrhea
Before modern pregnancy tests, if a rabbit injected with a woman’s urine died, the woman was pregnant
If your nose is itching, someone is talking about you
If your hand is itching, that means you are about to get money
A cat will steal your baby’s breath if you let them near a newborn
If you hold a aspirin between your legs you won’t get pregnant
If you keep making an ugly face it’s going to stay that way
Touching a toad will give you warts
If a woman’s carrying low, it’s a boy; if she’s carrying high, it’s a girl
A bat in the house is a sign of a death
When you see a funeral procession go by, you have to make the sign of the cross or someone in your family will be next
A dog howling at night when someone in the house is sick is a bad sign
Step on a crack will break your mothers back
Knock on wood so you don’t jinx yourself
If it rains on your wedding day, you’ll cry plenty of tears throughout your marriage
Holding a Knife or Axe during an Eclipse Will Result in Injury
Drano can help determine the gender of your unborn child drain – Mix a cup of morning urine with a cup of Drano, if it stays blue it is a girl, if it turns a tea color you are having a boy
CARD PLAYING SUPERSTITIONS
If you have had a run of bad cards it is said to change your luck if you lay your handkerchief flat upon your chair and sit on it.
To alter the run of the cards if you turn your chair round three times or walk round it three times.
It is good luck is to blow through the cards when they are being shuffled.
The luckiest seat is the one which faces the door; the most unlucky is that which has its back to the fire-place.
When cutting for deal, if you turn up the deuce of any suit, it is good luck.
If two packs of cards are used and you are asked with which you wish to deal, always choose the one farthest away from you.
The most unlucky card to hold in one’s hand is the four of clubs.
When changing seats at the table you should always move in a clockwise direction; that is, from right to left.
Never pick up your cards with the left hand, or one card at a time.
It is very unlucky to sit cross-legged when playing cards.
If your partner should lose a game or a trick, never say Bad luck or your luck will not change.
Having a dog in the room while playing cards is said to cause disputes.
Friday is a bad day for card playing
Any thirteenth day of the month is considered unluck
Swallowed gum is harmful to the digestive system
Drinking warm milk makes you sleepy
Eating turkey causes drowsiness
Eating spicy foods can give you an ulcer
Cranberry Juice Prevents Urinary Tract Infections
Fish is Good for Your Brain
An apple a day keeps the doctor away
Eat your crust – it’s good for you
Chicken soup is good for the soul (and the odd cold too!)
Honey last forever
Salt last forever and never spoils
If an egg floats is bad
When cooking beans never “clean the spoon” by banging/bumping it on the top of the pot or it would make your beans stick
NEVER Drink Milk with Fish or You will be Sick by Morning!
Eating apples at night will constipate you
Eat Mac & Cheese with fish or you’d get worms
Never turn a whole fish over when you serve it at a meal, or the fisherman’s boat will sink
Eating carrots makes your eyesight better
The Heimlich maneuver will not work for someone choking on Peanut butter
Eat burnt toast for a sour stomach
Whiskey, lemon, and honey mixed together are supposed to be good for a cough
Gargle with warm, salty water for a sore throat
Drink buttermilk for irritable bowels
Hot coffee will head off a migraine if you drink it at the very beginning of the headache
You should wait one hour after eating before swimming
Drinking coffee will stunt your growth
For African-Americans, drinking black coffee will make you darker
Eating bread crust would make your hair curly
Don’t drink the water that comes out of the tap
Put leeches on your forehead
Rub cow dung and molasses on your temples
Tie a buzzard’s head around your neck
Use powdered moss as snuff
Have someone else rub your head
Have a relative read chapters of the Bible to you
Stand on your head or spin around until you are dizzy
Soak your feet in hot water to draw blood from your head
Run around the house three times
Ask a seventh child to blow in your ear
Put a buckwheat cake on your head
Rub your head with a piece of stone containing iron ore
Wrap damp cloths around your head and burn scented wood
Plait a handful of hair very tightly on top of your head
Lean your head against a tree and have someone else drive a nail into the opposite side of the tree
Tie a leather thong tightly around your head
Wednesday is considered the “best day” to marry
Marry on Monday is for wealth
Marry on Tuesday is for health
The groom carries the bride across the threshold to bravely protect her from evil spirits lurking below
Saturday is the unluckiest wedding day, according to English folklore
Ancient Romans studied pig entrails to determine the luckiest time to marry
Rain on your wedding day is actually considered good luck, according to Hindu tradition!
Middle Eastern brides paint henna on their hands and feet to protect themselves from the evil eye
Peas are thrown at Czech newlyweds instead of rice
A Swedish bride puts a silver coin from her father and a gold coin from her mother in each shoe to ensure that she’ll never do without
A Finnish bride traditionally went door-to-door collecting gifts in a pillowcase, accompanied by an older married man who represented long marriage
Moroccan women take a milk bath to purify themselves before their wedding ceremony
In Holland, a pine tree is planted outside the newlyweds’ home as a symbol of fertility and luck
In many cultures around the world — including Celtic, Hindu and Egyptian weddings — the hands of a bride and groom are literally tied together to demonstrate the couple’s commitment to each other and their new bond as a married couple (giving us the popular phrase “tying the knot”)
Queen Victoria started the Western world’s white wedding dress trend in 1840 — before then, brides simply wore their best dress
In Asia, wearing robes with embroidered cranes symbolizes fidelity for the length of a marriage
Ancient Greeks and Romans thought the veil protected the bride from evil spirits
Brides carry or wear “something old” on their wedding day to symbolize continuity with the past
In Denmark, brides and grooms traditionally cross-dressed to confuse evil spirits!
The “something blue” in a bridal ensemble symbolizes purity, fidelity, and love
If the younger of two sisters marries first, the older sister must dance barefoot at the wedding or risk never landing a husband
The Roman goddess Juno rules over marriage, the hearth, and childbirth, hence the popularity of June weddings
The bride stands to the groom’s left during a Christian ceremony, because in bygone days the groom needed his right hand free to fight off other suitors
If candles lit on the wedding day splutter and go out it, means those evil spirits are nearby, waiting to cause mischief
Superstition has it that it is tempting fate for the bride to write out or sign her married name before her wedding day. The nuptials are said to be doomed and the wedding will not take place.
Tradition says that the first member of the newlywed couple to purchase a new item following the wedding will be the dominant force in the relationship
A bride should exit her house from the front door and step out right foot first
Newlyweds are doomed to barrenness and will be dependent on charity if they run across a nun or a monk on their way to the church
GOWNS
When a bride makes her own wedding dress, for every stitch she sews she will cry a tear
Colors of a wedding gown
Married in White, you have chosen right
Married in Grey, you will go far away,
Married in Black, you will wish yourself back,
Married in Red, you will wish yourself dead,
Married in Green, ashamed to be seen,
Married in Blue, you will always be true,
Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl,
Married in Yellow, ashamed of your fellow,
Married in Brown, you will live in the town,
Married in Pink, you spirit will sink.
In Japan, white was always the color of choice for bridal ensembles
In Korea, brides wear bright hues of red and yellow to take their vows
The preferred material for bridal gowns is silk
Satin traditionally brings bad luck, and a velvet dress will threaten poverty in the future
The dress must never be stained with blood
The dress must not be patterned
Pictures of birds or vines must in particular be avoided
Another measure for luck is that the last stitch in the dress be left undone until the very last moment before the bride starts off for the ceremony
Another lucky tradition is for the bride to sew several hairs into her dress
Slipping a coin into her stocking or shoe is believed to ensure future prosperity
RINGS
Engagement and wedding rings are worn on the fourth finger of the left hand because it was once thought that a vein in that finger led directly to the heart
About 70% of all brides sport the traditional diamond on the fourth finger of their left hand
A sapphire in a wedding ring means marital happiness
A pearl engagement ring is said to be bad luck because its shape echoes that of a tear
Aquamarine represents marital harmony and is said to ensure a long, happy marriage
It is unlucky to go shopping for wedding rings on a Friday, due to the bad luck associated with that day (Friday the 13th)
It is unlucky for the brides or grooms to wear their rings before the wedding ceremony
Once the wedding ring has been placed on the finger, it is considered bad luck to remove it
If the ring accidentally comes off, your spouse must replace it on your finger
Dropping the ring during the ceremony is an evil omen. Whoever dropped the ring would die first. If the ring rolls away from the alter and rested on a gravestone in the floor of the chapel, it would mean the bride would die first if the person buried there was a woman; the groom would die first if it was a man
A tight ring might point to painful jealousy or the stifling of one party by the other
Having the wedding rings blessed by a clergyman is believed to give the ring the power to rid disease and guard the wearer from devils
FLOWERS
Orange blossoms, which represent purity, chastity, and fertility, have always been associated with happy weddings
Roses are used because they signify love
Flowers to be avoided are peonies, as they symbolize shame
Any combination of red and white flowers should be avoided as well because they represent blood and bandages
The Romans extended the tradition of bouquets to the wearing of garlands and wreaths
Evil spirits could not harm someone inside a circle, so brides wearing wreaths upon their heads were safe
FOOD AND FAMILY
In Egypt, the bride’s family traditionally does all the cooking for a week after the wedding, so the couple can…relax
In South Africa, the parents of both bride and groom traditionally carried fire from their hearths to light a new fire in the newlyweds’ hearth
The tradition of a wedding cake comes from ancient Rome, where revelers broke a loaf of bread over a bride’s head for fertility’s sake
The custom of tiered cakes emerged from a game where the bride and groom attempted to kiss over an ever-higher cake without knocking it over
Legend says single women will dream of their future husbands if they sleep with a slice of groom’s cake under their pillows
All the guests should eat some wedding cake to ensure good luck
It is believed that an unmarried male guest who keeps a piece of wedding cake under his pillow as he sleeps will increase his chances of finding a mate. An unmarried bridesmaid who does the same will dream of her future husband
GOOD LUCK AND LUCKY OMENS
Seeing a chimney sweep on your wedding day (in England, it is popular to hire one to ensure good luck)
Seeing lambs
Seeing toads
Seeing rainbows
Tuck a sugar cube into your glove, according to Greek culture, the sugar will sweeten your union
The English believe a spider found in a wedding dress means good luck
It is held that a final look in the mirror right before the bride leaves her home for the ceremony will bring good luck.
It’s considered good luck for the bride to cry on her wedding day, as this symbolizes that she has shed all her tears and will not have any to shed during her marriage
If you can persuade a cat to eat out of your left shoe one week before the wedding good luck will bless your married life
For good luck, Egyptian women pinch the bride on her wedding day
BAD LUCK AND UNLUCKY OMENS
A new wife tripping as she enters her home (this is why the groom carries her over the threshold)
Seeing a nun or a monk on the wedding day (because they represent chastity and poverty)
In Victorian times, it was deemed unlucky if a woman married a man whose last name began with the same letter as hers. As was typical of the times, a little rhyme was created to help remember the rule:
“To change the name and not the letter
Is to change for the worse and not the better”
Seeing open graves
If a woman looks in a mirror twice before the ceremony, her luck will tarnish to bad!
Marrying when the hands on the clock are on their way down is bad luck. It`s considered far better to marry between the half hour and the hour, when the hands are moving back up, otherwise, your marriage will always be going downhill
Seeing pigs
Hearing a rooster crow after dawn
HALLOWEEN SUPERSTITIONS
If you hear foot steps behind you on this night, don’t look back. It may be the dead following you. Turning back could mean that you will soon join the dead.
Girls who carry a lamp to a spring of water on this night can see their future husband in the reflection.
Girls who carry a broken egg in a glass to a spring of water (during the day) can not only see their future husband by mixing some of the spring water into the glass, but she can also see a glimpse of her future children.
An old tradition was that girls should go into a field and there scatter the seed of hemp. While they did so they chanted “Hempseed I sow thee Come after me and show me”. Upon suddenly turning round, it was declared that each girl would see a vision of the man who would be her husband.
Bobbing for Apples – Each member of the party is given an apple, from which a small piece has been cut, and into which a fortune written on a slip of paper has been inserted. The apples are thrown into a large tub of water and the company invited to duck their heads and retrieve an apple with their mouths. Upon doing so they draw out the slip of paper and read their fortune.
To find out of your lover is true. select one of the letters which you have received from your sweetheart, especially one which contains a particularly passionate and important declaration; lay it wide open upon a table and then fold it nine times. Pin the folds together, place the letter in your left-hand glove, and slip it under your pillow. If on that night you dream of silver, gems, glass, castles or clear water, your lover is true and his declarations are genuine; if you dream of linen, storms, fire, wood, flowers, or he is saluting you, he is false and has been deceiving you.
Mashed potatoes offer a method of divining who will be the first to wed. Into the heap of mashed potatoes a ring, a three penny-bit, a button, a heart-shaped charm, a shell and a key are inserted. Then all the lights in the room are turned out, and each guest, armed with a spoon or fork, endeavors to find the hidden charms. The one who finds the ring win marry first; the three penny-bit signifies wealth; the button, bachelorhood or spinsterhood; the heart, passionate love; the shell, long journeys; the key, great success and power.
The old Celtic custom was to light great bonfires on Halloween, and after these had burned out to make a circle of the ashes of each fire. Within this circle, and near the circumference, each member of the various families that had helped to make a fire would place a pebble. If, on the next day, any stone was out of its place, or had been damaged, it was held to be an indication that the one to whom the stone belonged would die within twelve months.
Halloween derives its name from the fact that in the Christian calendar it occurs the day before ‘All Saints’ or All Hallows’ Day. It was the last night of the old year according to the ancient calendar of the Celts. On that night it was said that the witches, hobgoblins, warlocks, and other evil spirits walked abroad and devoted themselves to wicked revels. But the good fairies, too, according to some folklore, made their appearance at this time, but only from the hour of dusk until midnight.
If a bat flies into a house it is a sign that ghosts are about and maybe the ghost let the bat in
If bats come out early and fly around playfully, then it is a sign of good weather to come.
If a bat flies around a house 3 times, it is a death omen.
Peel an apple from top to bottom. The person with the longest unbroken peel would be assured the longest life. If you threw the apple peel over your shoulder, the initial it forms upon landing is the initial of your future mate.
When bobbing for apples, it is believed that the first person to bite an apple would be the first to marry.
If you go to a crossroads at Halloween and listen to the wind, you will learn all the most important things that will befall you during the next twelve months.
A person born on Halloween can see and talk to spirits
To prevent ghosts coming into the house at Halloween, bury animal bones or a picture of an animal near the doorway.
If a girl puts a sprig of rosemary herb and a silver sixpence under her pillow on Halloween night, she will see her future husband in a dream.
In Britain, people believed that the Devil was a nut-gatherer. At Halloween, nuts were used as magic charms.
Many people used to believe that owls swooped down to to eat the souls of the dying. If they heard an owl hooting, they would become frightened. A common remedy was thought to be, turning your pockets inside out and you would be safe
Some believe if you catch a snail on Halloween night and lock it into a flat dish, in the morning you will see the first letter of your sweetheart written in the snail’s slime
You should walk around your home three times backwards and counterclockwise before sunset on Halloween to ward off evil spirits
Knocking on wood keeps bad luck away
If you see a spider on Halloween, it could be the spirit of a dead loved one who is watching you
If you ring a bell on Halloween, it will scare evil spirits away
In North America, it’s bad luck if a black cat crosses your path and good luck if a white cat crosses your path. In Britain and Ireland, it’s the opposite.
If a candle flame suddenly turns blue, there’s a ghost nearby
NEW YEARS SUPERSTITIONS
Empty pockets or empty cupboards on New Years Eve portend a year of poverty
If the first person to cross the threshold of a house after midnight on New Years is a dark-haired man and he carries a shovel full of coal, then a year of good luck will follow.
Its bad luck to let a fire go out on New Year’s Eve
You could ensure yourself good fortune by draining the last dregs from a bottle of drink on New Years!
The Weather – If the wind blows from the south, there will be fine weather and prosperous times in the year ahead. If it comes from the north, it will be a year of bad weather. The wind blowing from the east brings famine and calamities. If the wind blows from the west, the year will witness plentiful supplies of milk and fish but will also see the death of a very important person. If there’s no wind at all, a joyful and prosperous year may be expected by all.
Loud Noise – Make as much noise as possible at midnight to scare away evil spirits.
Letting the Old Year Out: At midnight, all the doors of a house must be opened to let the old year escape unimpeded. He must leave before the New Year can come in, says popular wisdom, so doors are flung open to assist him in finding his way out.
To dance in the open air, especially round a tree, on New Year’s Day is declared to ensure luck in love and prosperity and freedom from ill health during the coming twelve months.
Children born on New Year’s Day bring great fortune and prosperity to all the household.
On New Year’s Day if, on rising, a girl should look out of her bedroom window and see a man passing by, she may reckon to be married before the year is finished.
Clocks should be wound up immediately the New Year begins in order to endow the house with good fortune, while all daily cleaning and dusting should be completed early in the day of December 31 in order to avoid the danger of sweeping good luck from the house.
Breakage – Avoid breaking things on that first day lest wreckage be part of your year. Also, avoid crying on the first day of the year lest that activity set the tone for the next twelve months
Money – Do not pay back loans or lend money or other precious items on New Year’s Day. To do so is to guarantee you’ll be paying out all year.
New Clothes – Wear something new on January 1 to increase the likelihood of your receiving more new garments during the year to follow.
Work – Make sure to do — and be successful at — something related to your work on the first day of the year, even if you don’t go near your place of employment that day. Limit your activity to a token amount, though, because to engage in a serious work project on that day is very unlucky.
Black-Eyed Peas – A tradition common to the Southern part of the United States says that the eating of black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day will attract both general good luck and money in particular to the one doing the dining
A person who lives alone might place a lucky item or two in a basket that has a string tied to it, and then place the basket just outside the front door before midnight. After midnight, the lone celebrant hauls in his catch, being careful to bring the item across the doorjamb by pulling the string rather than by reaching out to retrieve it and thus breaking the plane of the threshold.
Nothing Goes Out – Nothing, absolutely nothing, not even garbage — is to leave the house on the first day of the year. If you have presents to deliver on New Year’s Day, leave them in the car overnight. Don’t so much as shake out a rug or take the empties to the recycle bin. Some people soften this rule by saying it’s okay to remove things from the home on New Year’s Day, provided that something else has been brought in first.
Just as the clock strikes twelve the head of the house should open the door in order to allow the Old Year to pass out and the New Year to come in.
Kissing at midnight – To ensure that those affections and ties will continue throughout the next twelve months. To not do this would be to set the stage for a year of coldness.
Stocking Up – The New Year must not be seen in with bare cupboards, lest that be the way of things for the year. Larders must be topped up and plenty of money must be placed in every wallet in the place to guarantee a prosperous year.
Paying Off Bills – The new year should not be begun with the household in debt, so checks should be written and mailed off prior to January 1st. Likewise, personal debts should be settled before the New Year arrives.
First Footing – The first person to enter your home after the stroke of midnight will influence the year you’re about to have. Ideally, he should be dark-haired, tall, and good-looking, and it would be even better if he came bearing certain small gifts such as a lump of coal, a silver coin, a bit of bread, a sprig of evergreen, and some salt. Blonde and redhead first footers bring bad luck, and female first footers should be shooed away before they bring disaster down on the household.
First Footing – The first footer should knock and be let in rather than just using a key. After greeting those in the house and dropping off whatever small tokens of luck he has brought with him, he should make his way through the house and leave by a different door than the one through which he entered. No one should leave the premises before the first footer arrives — the first traffic across the threshold must be headed in rather than striking out.
First footers must not be cross-eyed or have flat feet or eyebrows that meet in the middle
Squint-eyed, flat-footed, or red-haired men bring bad luck If they are first-footers, and so does a woman. But a man with a high instep, or one who comes on a horse, is considered particularly lucky.
Don’t breathe in when driving past a cemetery
There are a lot of old wives tales about cemetery’s and the dead, but one of the most persistent is the old wives tale that says you must hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery or you’ll breathe in the spirit of someone who died and was buried there recently
There is a similar old wives tale that says you shouldn’t step on a grave, but if you should have to you should walk quickly and hold your breath so that you do not inhale the spirit of the person in the grave
A drowned woman floats face up, a drowned man floats face down
A person cannot drown before going under three times
Smell dandelions, wet the bed
Good Friday – The Friday before Easter is Good Friday. If someone dies on Good Friday, they will go directly to Heaven
Jogging – You shouldn’t jog. It jumbles up your insides
Knitting – Placing the needles in the balls of yarn will bring bad luck to anyone who used the item that yarn is used to make
Leaves – If you catch a falling leaf on the first day of fall, you will not get sick that whole winter
Onions – If you make a wish over burning onions, it will come true
Pencil – Use the same pencil for taking a test as was used for studying for the same test. The pencil will remember the answers
Scissors – Dropping a pair of scissors means that your lover is seeing someone behind your back
Thirteen – Thirteen is just an unlucky number in general
Veil – Bride’s wear veils due to the ancient belief that this will protect them from jealous evil spirits
Wood – If speaking of good luck, knock on wood three times so evil spirits won’t take it away
X – The lines on the palm of your right hand that show an “X” represent the number of children you will have
See a penny, pick it up. All day long you will have good luck
Don’t pick up a penny that is face down ( tails up )It will only bring bad luck
People thought kids would get polio if they played in the mud puddles after a rain
If you accidentally swallow a cat or dog hair it will become a worm in your tummy
Kissing toads give you warts
If you plant a cedar tree then when the shade from the tree is big enough to completely cover a grave you will die.
Don’t to whistle in the house (or barn) because it would call the devil
If you eat in the bathroom you invite the devil to dine on your soul
When you put the pillowcases on your pillows, the opening should never face a door – otherwise evil spirits will be able to slip into the pillowcase
Speak of the Devil, and he will come
If you give someone a wallet or purse, you have to put money in it (even one coin is Okay)
Don’t wake up a sleepwalker or they will go mad
Every time you say something that could curse someone but you didn’t mean it, you have to spit the badness away
Never give a friend or loved one a knife as a present or it will “cut” your friendship
Don’t put your new shoes on the table or they will forever hurt your feet.
Always wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident.
Don’t joke about something going wrong, because it will
Don’t talk about something going right… You’ll jinx it
Never, ever mention having extra money while in the car. You’re sure to need a repair within the week.
I Can Feel It in My Bones
A big wife and a big barn will never do a man any harm
A clean conscience makes a soft pillow
A merry companion is music on a journey
A poor excuse is better than none at all
A stitch and time saves 9
A wife that does not know how to keep house throws out more with a teaspoon than a man can bring in with a shovel
A little too late is much too late
A good deed is never lost
A smile is worth a thousand words
A person who gets all wrapped up in himself makes a mighty small package
A false friend and a shadow stay only while the sun shines
All is fair in love and war, but friendship there is truth
A word of praise is equal to ointment on a sore
A chain is as strong as its weakest link
A clock will run without watching it
A man is judged by the company he keeps
A good neighbor, a found treasure
A friend to everyone is a friend to nobody
A man is the only animal that can be skinned more than once
A small leak will sink a great ship
A living dog is better than a dead lion
A woman is as old as she admits.
A man without guts lives on his knees
A man who marries twice is a two-time loser
A woman thinks it takes two to keep a secret
A good lie finds more believers than a bad truth
A man is not better than his conversation
A good name is a second inheritance
A man warned is half saved
A good wife is the best household furniture
A frightened atheist half believes in God
A pebble and a diamond are alike to a blind man
A good cause finds weapons to defend it
A tree is known by its fruit, not by its leaves
A guilty conscience needs no accuser
A false friend is worse than an open enemy
A good word costs n more than a bad one
At the center of climb is “I”
An arrogant bug is a cocky roach
Anger without power is folly
Anytime means no time
A handsome husband is common property
A small body may harbor a great soul.
Arrogance is a roadblock on the highway of wisdom
Adversity makes men; prosperity makes monsters
Believe nothing you hear, half of what you see and only one fourth of what you know to be true
Bad neighbors count a man’s income but not his expenses
Better an hour early and stand and wait than a moment behind time
Better weak beer than lemonade
Better a dollar earned than ten inherited
Beware of a door that has too many keys
Borrowing does well only once
By candlelight every country wench is handsome
Be what you appear to be
Better to ask twice than lose your way once
Better bowlegs than no legs at all
Better to heaven in rags than to hell in embroidery
Be silent and pass for a philosopher
Warm hands, cold heart
Curses, like chickens, come home to roost
Content makes poor men rich; discontent makes rich men poor
Corruption finds a dozen alibis for its evil deeds
Cowards die daily, the brave but once
Concealed knowledge is buried treasure
Don’t live it up so high that you can’t lie it down
Don’t dare kiss an ugly girl, she’ll tell the world about it
Don’t taste every man’s soup, you’ll burn your mouth
Doctor’s faults are covered with earth and rich mien’s with money
Even a fish wouldn’t get caught if he kept his mouth shut
Every donkey thinks itself worthy of standing with the king’s horses
Even the devil was an angel in the beginning
Even the devil will swear on a stack of bibles
Every slip is not a fall
Envy is the sincerest form of flattery
Every family has at least one black sheep
Every man judges others by himself
Every man knows best when his own shoe pinches
Every path has a puddle
Every mother’s child is handsome
Every age explodes old errors and creates new ones
Early ripe, early rotten
Every field looks green from a distance, even a cemetery
Everybody lays his load on the willing horse
Fate is the course when men fail to act
Fools use bets for arguments
Figures never lie, but liars can figure
First deserve it, and then desire it
Fortune and misfortune are next-door neighbors
Good actions speak for themselves; they need no tin horn
God gives food but does not cook it
Guilty men see guilt written on the faces of saints
Good health is above wealth
Gross negligence is equal to intentional wrong
Great possessions are great cares
He who laughs last, laughs longest
He who rides slowly gets just as far, only it takes longer
He who never fails will never grow rich
He who hears forgets, he who sees remembers, he who does learns
Hearsay is half lies
He who holds the ladder is as bad as the thief
He who follows the crowd has many companions
He who has no enemy has no friend
Honest doubt is better than faith in a pious fraud
He doubles his gift who gives in time
He who excuses himself, accuses himself
He that falls in love with himself will find no rival
If you come to the end of your rope — tie a knot in it and hang on
It takes pennies to make dollars
It is easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all those that follow
If you are always dwelling in trouble, change your address
If the stone hits you, I threw it
In trying times, don’t quit trying
If a race could be won after the first gallop, thousands would wear blue ribbons
It is a waste of gunpowder to fire at the man-in-the-moon
It is nice to be important, but it is more important to be nice
It is better to bend than break
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride
It is better to be a has-been than a never-was
“IF’s” and “But’s” butter no bread
If you can’t take advice, you can’t be helped
If there were no fools in the world, all people would agree on everything
If you hate storm and strife lead a bachelor’s life
It takes a good many shovelfuls to bury the truth
It’s easy to be generous with another man’s money
It’s easier to go down than up
It’s easier to lose faith than to find it again
It’s better to be happy than wise
If you want a neat wife, choose her on a Saturday
If you wish another to keep your secret, keep it first yourself
It is better to have a hen tomorrow than an egg today
Joy is not in things, it is in us
Judges should have two ears, both alike
Lost time is never found
Little minds still are little, even when they are made professors
Life is not a problem to be solved, but a gift to be enjoyed
Life goes on, no matter what we try to do to it
Life is like a grindstone, whether it grinds him down or polishes him depends on the stuff he is made of
Living is like licking honey off a thorn
Listen at the keyhole and you’ll hear news of yourself
Life is a game played with marked cards
Lawyers, like painters, can easily change white to black
Laughter is worth a hundred groans in any market
Lend your money and lose your friend
Liberty, like charity, must begin at home
Liars and gossips are Siamese twins
Living in worry invites death in a hurry
Let thy maid-servant be faithful, strong and homely
Make the house clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy
Men who talk like big wheels usually are merely spokes men
Many love triangles are really wreck tangles
Man is the only animal that can be skinned more than once
Marry a handsome man and you marry trouble
Must is a hard nut to crack
Modesty is like the snow; when it melts it is gone forever
Many a pearl is still hidden in the oyster
Many persons think they are wise, when they are only windy
No matter how high a bird flies, it has to come down for water
Nothing dries faster than a tear
Nothing is gained by having one donkey call another “Long Ears!”
Never stop the plough to catch a mouse
No piper ever suited all ears
New churches and new bars are well patronized
Necessity sharpens industry
Naked men never lose anything
No man tells the truth about himself, only his neighbors do
Nonsense charms the multitude; plain sense is despised
One who thinks he can live without others is mistaken but he who thinks others cannot live without him are more mistaken
Of all the sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest ones, “It might have been”
One eyewitness is better than ten hearsay
One murder makes a villain, millions make a hero
One does not put beauty in a kettle
One can learn even from an enemy
One has only to die to be praised
Obstinacy is the strength of the weak
Overdone is worse than underdone
Poverty is no disgrace but decidedly inconvenient
Punctuality is the key to success
Peace without truth is poison
Put the light out and all women are alike
Promises won’t butter any bread
Pleasant hours fly fast
Put your trust not in money but your money in trust
Poets and pigs are appreciated only after their death
Rest is sweet when one has earned it
Rich get richer and poor get children
Religion is the best armor but the worst cloak
Relatives are friends from bitter necessity
Reparations is what you are in the light; character is what you are in the dark
Revolutions are vices when they fail; they are virtues when successful
Self praise is half slander
Silence is consent
Spend your money as you go with shoes worn down at heel and toe
Search others for their virtues, and yourself for your vices
Self-defense is nature’s oldest law
Sickness comes in haste and goes at leisure
Swallows and sparrows cannot understand the ambitions of swans
Some people have tact, others tell the truth
Speak the truth and embarrass the devil
She that is born a beauty is half married
Small talk is sufficient for little men
Small men imitate; great men originate
Together we stick; divided we are stuck
Things turn up for the man who digs
The smart man knows how little he really knows
The person who thinks too little usually talks too much
The sun doesn’t shine on the same dog’s back every day
They that have no other meat, bread and butter, they are glad to eat
To act is easy to think is hard
Trouble comes when the New Year’s resolutions collide with the old year’s habits
The second million is always easier than the first
Today is that tomorrow you thought about yesterday
Truth is the best advocate
Tell me whom you associate with and I will tell you who you are
The remedy is often worse than the disease
The ugliest girl makes the best housewife
Truth is the opinion that survives
The best patch is of the same cloth
There is no rule without it’s exception
The belly hates a long sermon
There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies and statistics
The old forget the young don’t know
The drunken mouth reveals the heart’s secrets
There is no head so holy that the devil does not make a nest in it
There is no one so rich that he does not still want more
The wise man has long ears, big eyes and a short tongue
The stable wears out a horse more than a road
The worst use that can be made of success is to boast of it
Until tomorrow, equality is elusive
Vanity is a sixth sense
Victory belongs to the most persevering
Vows made in storms are forgotten in calms
Visits should be short, like a winter’s day
We shall be judged not by what we might have done, but by what we have been
When the well is dry, you know the worth of water
What do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult for others?
When one has seen the bear in the woods, he hears his growl in every bush
Wedlock is a padlock
Weeds need no sowing
Woman is a mystery to men but are wise to each other
You can’t anymore give away something you ain’t got than you can come back from someplace you haven’t been
You never know the length of a snake until it is dead
You can’t tell the depth of the well by the length of the handle on the pump
You can’t put out old heads on young shoulders
Zeal is blind when it encroaches upon the rights of others
Morning is welcome to the industrious
Do a little well and you do much
Gold is the dust that blinds all eyes
If you are in debt, somebody owns a part of you
A bad broom leaves a dirty room
Plain words make the most ornamental sentences
When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry a hundred
They must hunger in frost who will not work in heat
A cracked plate will last as long as a sound one
Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap
Envy shoots at others but hits itself
Water run by will does not turn a mill
There is a difference between profanity and dramatic fervor
Merit is superior to birth and virtue is not hereditary
Every pea helps to fill the pod
One watch set right will do to set many by
Children and fools tell the truth
Little children step on one’s lap; tall ones tread on one’s heart
He who rides slowly gets just as far, only it takes a little longer
Bad breath is better than no breath at all
Don’t worry when you stumble Remember, a worm is the only thing that can’t fall down
Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but rising every time we fail
Quarreling is the weapon of the weak
People give nothing so willingly as advice
The smaller the waistline the longer the life
Too many square meals make too many round people
There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it should remind all of us, not to criticize the rest of us
The beard does not make the philosopher
When you feel all steamed up, remember the tea kettle — it is always up to its neck in hot water and it still sings
You can’t make cookies when you haven’t got the dough
One had better have no dealings with girls with fat legs
DEATH OMENS
A bird in the house is a sign of a death If a robin flies into a room through a window, death will shortly follow
Light candles on the night after November 1, one for each deceased relative should be placed in the window in the room where death occurred
If a picture falls and lands face down, someone will die
Never leave a rocking chair rocking or someone will die
If a clock which has not been working suddenly chimes, there will be a death in the family
You will have bad luck if you do not stop the clock in the room where someone dies
If a woman is buried in black, she will return to haunt the family
If a dead person’s eyes are left open, he’ll find someone to take with him
Mirrors in a house with a corpse should be covered or the person who sees himself will die next
Dogs howling in the dark of night, Howl for death before daylight
If you dream of death it’s a sign of a birth, if you dream of birth, it’s a sign of death. If you touch a loved one who has died, you won’t have dreams about them
A person who dies on Good Friday will go right to heaven
A person who dies at midnight on Christmas Eve will go straight to heaven because the gates of heaven are open at that time
All windows should be opened at the moment of death so that the soul can leave. The soul of a dying person can’t escape the body and go to heaven if any locks are locked in the house
If the left eye twitches there will soon be a death in the family. If a dead person’s eyes are left open, he’ll find someone to take with him
Funerals on Friday portend another death in the family during the year
It’s bad luck to count the cars in a funeral cortege
It’s bad luck to meet a funeral procession head on
Thunder following a funeral means that the dead person’s soul has reached heaven
Nothing new should be worn to a funeral, especially new shoes
Pointing at a funeral procession will cause you to die within the month
Pregnant women should not attend funerals
Don’t talk about a dream of death on Sunday morning or the dream will come true
If the person buried lived a good life, flowers will grow on the grave. If the person was evil, weeds will grow
If a mirror in the house falls and breaks by itself, someone in the house will die soon
A white moth inside the house or trying to enter the house means death
If 3 people are photographed together, the one in the middle will die first
If 13 people sit down at a table to eat, one of them will die before the year is over
Dropping an umbrella on the floor means that there will be a murder in the house
If you dream of falling and hit the ground before you wake up, you will die
Are the ‘windows to the soul’ and the color leads to differing beliefs
Dark blue eyes = delicate and refined souls;
Light blue or grey eyes = strong and healthy ones;
Green eyes = hardy souls; Hazel eyes = vigorous, deep-thinking folk
Itching eyes: if the right eye tickles, it’s lucky, and vice versa. Theocritus has it, ‘My right eye itches now and I shall see my love’
‘Trust not the man whose eyebrows meet, For in his heart you’ll find deceit’
If you look at someone cross-eyed and a wind blows, you’ll stay like that
Don’t cross your eyes or they’ll stick that way
THE EARS
My ears are burning, someone is talking about me
Small ears denote a delicate character
Thick ears a person of a sensual/coarse nature
Thin, angular ears = a bad temper;
Long or prominent ears = a person with musical inclinations
The larger the ear lobes, the greater the intellect
Ears ringing mean someone is talking (thinking) about you
If your right ear itches, someone is saying something nice about you. If it’s the left, someone’s saying something bad about you
THE NOSE – This is how you tell the character of a man
Prominent noses = intelligence and determination;
Thin noses = jealousy and uncertainty;
Receding noses = bad temper and obstinacy;
Tip-tilted noses = bright and lively characters
There is said to be a connection between the size of a person’s nose and their sexual organs
THE NOSE – For Everyone
A tickling nose (Britain) = a fight or an important communication or (America) a kiss
Itchy Nose – It’s still said that if your nose itches, a fool is about to kiss you or you will have a fight
If your nose itches, you will soon get a visitor. Right nostril indicates a female visitor, left nostril indicates male visitor
THE LIPS
Itch or tingle when someone is about to kiss you
If you bite your tongue while you are eating then you have recently told a lie
A large gap between the teeth = lucky in life;
Large teeth = physical strength;
Small, regular teeth = careful and methodical in your habits
It is not good for a child to be born with any teeth showing
Never eat anything when a funeral bell is tolling or toothache will follow
Crush up strawberries into a paste and rub it on your teeth to whiten them.
HAIR
A sudden loss of hair is unlucky, forecasting a decline in health, loss of property or failure in business, or the death of a closely related child
Red hair is associated with fiery-tempered people (e.g. Cleopatra and Queen Elizabeth I)
Black and dark brown hair indicates strength; fair hair implies timidity
Your hair grows faster in the summer than in the winter
If you pull out a gray hair 10 more will grow back in its place
On a man, if the hair grows low on the forehead and back above the temples he will have a long life;
If a woman’s hair grows in a low point on her forehead (‘widow’s peak’) she will outlive her husband
If a woman suddenly develops curls on her forehead her man has not long to live
Lank hair = a cunning nature;
Curly hair = good nature, full of fun;
Long hair = strength (e.g. Samson) and luck
It is said to be unlucky to have your hair cut when the moon is in the wane as this will cause it to fall out and lose its luster
Cutting your own hair will tempt fate
To determine your future: set fire to some strands of your hair – cut them off first! If they burn brightly, you are in for a long life. If they splutter and smolder, it is said to be a death omen
Never pull out grey hairs, for one will be replaced by ten. It has often been believed that a sudden fright can turn hair white
THE HAND
The right hand is lucky and the
Left unlucky because the Devil is supposed to have sat on the left-hand side of God before being cast out of heaven
Kings of England are said to have had the power to ‘heal by touch’
Fingernails – Cutting your nails on Friday or Sunday is bad luck. Fingernail clippings should be saved, burned, or buried to prevent bad luck
When your left palm itches, it means money coming into your pocket; when your right palm itches, it means money going out of your pocket
The hand of an executed criminal, cut from his body while still on the gallows, was said to have healing powers as well as providing its owners with the ability to commit crime and robbery without fear of detection by stupefying all those who saw it
Large, thick hands = strength of character
Small, slender hands = weak and timid character
Long hands = ingenious nature
Short ones = careless and foolish nature
Hard hands = rudeness; Soft hands = wit
Hairy hands = a person who likes luxury
A damp hand = an amorous disposition; while ‘a cold hand means a warm heart’.
If the palm of your right hand itches you will receive money;
If the left palm, you will lose some (‘left, lose; right, receive’).
Two people should never wash their hands together in the same water – this will lead to a quarrel between them
Crossed fingers (imitating the sign of the cross) wards off bad luck
Long fingers = artistic
Short, thick fingers = intemperate and silly
A crooked little finger = omen of wealth
The first finger (the ‘poison finger’) should never be used to administer medicines
The third finger (the ‘wedding’ finger) is said to be linked directly to the heart
It is unlucky to cut fingernails on a Friday or Sunday
Specks on the nails:
Black = ill-luck
White = good fortune to come
If a woman cuts the nails of her right hand with her left hand she will have the upper hand in marriage
THE FEET
An itching foot = a journey to somewhere new;
Flat feet = bad temper;
Do not enter a building left foot first, to avoid bad luck
Girls hold our feet up when you go over the railroad tracks or you will never get married.
MOLES AND DIMPLES
Left hand side of the body = unlucky
Those on the right = lucky’
On the face (especially chin or neck) = wealth
On the chest and stomach = strength
A mole on the nose = great lechery
A mole on a woman’s thigh = unfaithful, and a great spendthrift
A girl with a mole on her breast will be irresistible
A hairy chest = masculinity
‘Dimple on the chin – Devil within’
A wart is said to be the mark of the Devil and is unlucky
SNEEZING
It is believed when you sneeze your soul will momentarily leave your body
Sneeze ‘once for a wish, twice for a kiss, three for a letter, four for something better’
In Scotland, a newborn child is said to remain under ‘the fairy spells’ until it has sneezed for the first time
It was also believed that an idiot could not sneeze, so that a child’s first sneeze was important
If you sneeze when talking you are telling the truth (America);
Three sneezes before breakfast means you will receive a present during the day (Germany);
Any sneeze is an indication that someone, somewhere, is saying nice things about you (Japan)
It is very lucky to sneeze at exactly the same time as someone else you are with
COUGHING
Meant the unexpected entry of a devil into a person who had been telling lies or carrying out misdemeanors of some kind
HICCUPS
Are caused by someone who dislikes you complaining to someone else
The only way to stop them is to guess the name of the person maligning you
YAWNING
Can lead to evil spirits entering the body unless you cover your mouth with your hand
It is a sign that Death is calling to you, and you must snap your second finger and thumb (American Indian)
A SHIVER
Means that someone is walking over your (eventual) grave
LAUGH
Before breakfast and it will end in tears before supper;
To laugh excessively shows that the person is possessed and that his days are numbered
Prevents evil spirits from entering the body by one of the five orifices
Wearing earrings and painting the lips were talismans to keep devils away
Emeralds = unlucky because they were used in the East for the eyes of religious figures and consequently became the target of robbers
Opals = unlucky; although 13th century alchemist Albertus Magnus maintained that an opal wrapped in bay leaves made its wearer invisible
Pearls = once believed to be unlucky; in medieval times they were thought to be ‘solidified tears’
Diamonds = the best of all good luck bringers, possessing the power to drive off witches and prevent the wearer from ever going insane
GLOVES
It is unlucky to drop your glove and pick it up yourself;
If someone else does it, good fortune will follow for both of you
CLOTHING PUT ON INSIDE OUT:
It is lucky to put on an item of clothing inside out, although you must not change it until the time you would normally take it off, for the luck to hold
BUTTON UP
It has always been unlucky to hook or button up any item of clothing wrongly (start all over again if you do);
Just as you should never put your left arm, leg or foot into anything first
UNDERWEAR
If a girl’s bra or pants should suddenly slip down this is a sign that someone who loves her is thinking of her;
If two or more holes should appear in any of these items then tradition says the owner can expect a gift very shortly
Any girl wearing suspenders who finds that her stocking slips from the clasp three times can take it she is in for an unlucky day,
But if stockings on the washing line curl round each other it is an omen that the owner may expect great happiness before long
Garters have always been regarded as lucky, and many a girl has slept with one under her pillow on Midsummer Eve in the hope of dreaming of her future husband
Any young girl anxious for a husband should get a garter worn recently by a married woman and put it on her own leg;
A girl who puts Valerian in her underwear will prove irresistible to men (Wales)
It used to be very lucky for brides to be married wearing no underwear under her wedding gown
Well into the nineteenth century a new husband became liable for any debts previously incurred by his bride but, if the girl went to the altar wearing no more than her dress, any creditor would forgive the loan. Such ceremonies were known as ‘smock’ weddings’
HANDKERCHIEF
Tying a knot in a handkerchief to remember something signifies a very ancient belief that that the knot was a charm against evil. Any demon nearby will be so intrigued by the shape that all thoughts of interfering with you will go from his head
HAT
Putting your hat on back to front will result in a bad day;
A woman who puts on a man’s hat is giving a sign that she wants to be kissed (America)
SHOE
Lucky, hence the custom of tying an old boot to the back of the car of a couple who have just got married
Shoes on the table is symbolic of hanging
Shoes left crossed on the floor or put on the wrong feet brings bad luck
Walking anywhere with one shoe on could lead to the death of one of your parents
A shoelace which comes undone as you set off on a venture is unlucky
If you tie someone else’s shoe laces up you should make a wish as it is lucky
NEW CLOTHES
Always slip a small coin into the right-hand pocket of a new suit or dress, to avoid being hard up when you wear that item of clothing.
It is lucky to wear a new item of clothing on Easter Day, as everything old and dirty should be renewed
UMBRELLA
If an umbrella is dropped on the floor of a house, someone in that house is going to die shortly
HOME
Houses have either a warm and friendly atmosphere or one that is cold and depressing. It has nothing to do with how long the house has stood (new or old); nor whether it’s well-heated or not. The atmosphere stems from the ‘spirit of the house’ whose personality governs whether the house is lucky or unlucky
Bread and salt (German)
BELL
It’s been said that the bells provide protection from demons as they are scared of the loud noise
DOOR
Horseshoe, with points upwards to stop the luck from running out
It’s believed that leaving a house through any door other than the one that is used to enter the house is bad luck
It is unlucky to enter the house for the first time by the back door, as this entrance is not protected against evil spirits
Encourage visitors to leave by the same door they came in to avoid taking the owner’s luck with them
The opening of a door of its own accord indicates that a visitor is on the way,
Whilst a slamming door may damage the ‘spirit of the house’ and should be avoided
Leave a door open when a child is being born or someone is dying, so that the entry or exit may take place without hindrance
COOKING
When any food is mixed it should be stirred clockwise,
As all functions of importance should be performed in an east to west direction (old belief in sun-worship)
Leave a tray or a cooking utensil in the oven when not in use (old Jewish), for the time may come when the owner has nothing to place in it
Never waste leftover morsels of pastry or dough from making bread or cakes, or the whole baking will be ruined
Loaves marked with a cross protects them from evil
When baking bread, remember
‘She that pricks bread with fork or knife;
Will never be a happy maid or wife’
A loaf that splits open while it is in the oven warns of a death to come in the family;
A loaf with a hollow center presages a death;
It is unlucky to turn a loaf upside down after cutting the first slice for this will cause the head of the household to fall ill;
If a loaf crumbles in your hand as you are cutting it there is going to be a quarrel before very long;
Drop a slice of buttered bread butter side up and a visitor will arrive
EGGS
When you have finished your boiled egg, crush the shell or push the spoon through the bottom to avoid bad luck
Do not bring eggs into the house after dark as it is bad luck
Painting eggs red at Easter is seen as good luck, as it is the color of blood and life
SALT
Later beliefs had it that evil spirits dwelt on the left-hand side of the body and so began the custom of throwing spilt salt over your left shoulder (and into their eyes)
Salt is often given to newborn babies for luck
Country folk often carry a little bag of salt on their person to bring them luck in their dealings (Britain, Europe)
If spilled salt is carefully picked and thrown into the fire, this will dry up the tears otherwise shed (America)
TEA
To stir the teapot anti-clockwise will stir up a quarrel
If two women pour from the same pot one of them will have a baby within a year
UTENSILS
Crossing two knives is bad luck
If you are given a present of a knife, give a coin in return to avoid ‘cutting’ the friendship
Drop a butter knife and company’s coming
‘Let the superstitious wife
Near the child’s heart lay a knife
Point be up, and haft be down,
While she gossips in the town
This amongst other mystic charms
Keeps the sleeping child from harms(Robert Herrick)
To drop a fork means a woman will visit
To drop a knife means a man will visit
To drop a spoon means a child will visit
If you drop a fork on the floor it means you’ll get money
APRON
Accidentally put one on inside out = lucky
If it falls off suddenly for no apparent reason = unlucky (Europe)
If a man’s wipes his hands on a woman’s apron he will soon fall in love with her
By contrast, members of the opposite sex should never dry themselves on the same towel as this will invariably lead to a quarrel between them
WASHING UP
If you break a plate or cup you can expect another breakage before the end of the day unless you deliberately smash some other small item to avoid the bad luck
An English country superstition says that it is bad luck to throw any water out of the house after nightfall
‘They that wash on Monday, have the whole week to dry
They that wash on Tuesday are not so much awry
They that wash on Wednesday will get their clothes so clean
They that wash on Thursday are not so much to mean
They that wash on Friday, wash for their need
But they that wash on Saturdays are dirty folks indeed’
To drop a dishcloth means bad luck is coming
DINING TABLE
When rising from the table take care not to upset your chair, for this is a sign that you have lied at some time during your conversation
Anyone who lies down on a table will die within a year;
Any engaged girl who sits on a table while talking to her fiancé risks losing him;
It is unlucky to change your position at the table after a place has been allocated to you;
To place your chair back against the wall or fold your napkin after a meal at a friend’s home will prevent you ever visiting there again (America)
FIREPLACE
A fire that roars up the chimney = an omen of an argument or a storm;
Sparks clinging to the back of the chimney are a sign of important news in the offing;
A sudden fall of soot presages bad weather or a disaster of some kind
Coal (a symbol of fire) is lucky and small pieces were often carried in the pocket
MIRRORS AND LOOKING-GLASSES
To break one will result in seven years bad luck
STAIRCASE
It is unlucky to pass anyone on the stairs (cross your fingers if you do so)
Stumbling on the staircase is said to be a good omen and may indicate a wedding in the household before long
UPSTAIRS
Do not sing in bath as this will lead to sorrow before evening;
Any young girl who persistently splashes herself or her clothes when washing will end up with a husband who is a drunk
Get out of bed the right side
The left-hand side is associated with the Devil
But, if you can’t avoid it, put your right sock and shoe on first
You will always get the best night’s sleep if your bed is positioned in a north-south direction with your head to the south – this will ensure a long life
To be rich, point your head to the east; to travel widely, the west. It is unlucky to put a hat on the bed (America)
HOUSEWORK
China ornaments of animals should never be placed so that they face a door for they will allow the luck to run out of the house
It is unlucky to sweep any dust or waste material directly out of the house, as this will carry the good luck with it
Sweep such waste into the center of the room, collect it up in a pan and then carry the lot out of doors to avoid any repercussions
A new broom should always be used the first time to sweep something into the house, to symbolize luck
Never buy any new brush in May; as the Romans decreed May to be the month of death:
‘If you buy a broom or brush in May
You’ll sweep the head of the household away’
ANIMAL SUPERSTITIONS
ALBATROSS
In the days of sail, an albatross flying round a ship in mid-ocean was an omen of wind and bad weather to come
It was very unlucky to kill it because it was thought to embody the restless soul of some dead mariner
ANT
Stepping on ants brings rain
Ants signify bad weather when they are very agitated
An ant building a nest near the door to your house is a clear sign of financial security in the future
BAT
A bat means long life and happiness, a good omen (China and Poland)
If a bat lands on your head, you should hope the Cricket sees rain coming because the bat won’t get off until it hears thunder
When you see a bat, you might actually be seeing the Devil, a witch, a ghost, or Dracula
It is considered bad luck to kill one. If one flies past you then watch out for someone is trying to deceive you
If a bat flies three times around a house, it is a death omen
Conversely, when bats come out early and fly about playfully, it is a sign of good weather to come
BEAR
Bears only mate once every seven years and when they do they cause such a disturbance in the atmosphere that any pregnant cattle in the district will give birth to still-born calves (American backwoodsmen)
BEE
It is an ill omen to give away a hive:
Bees must be sold for a fair price commensurate with their worth; and
They should never be moved from one place to another without being told beforehand
If they become lazy it is said that there will be a disaster shortly, and
Should they suddenly swarm on a bush or tree there will be a death nearby
Bees can tell whether a girl is pure or not, and that any girl whose family has a hive and who is about to be married should inform the bees before doing so if she wants a long and happy marriage
If she wants to make doubly sure of their blessing, she will leave a piece of wedding cake outside the hive for their enjoyment
If a bee enters your home, it’s a sign that you will soon have a visitor
Considered unlucky in some places to kill a bee
A bee landing on someone’s hand is believed to foretell money to come,
While if the bee settles on someone’s head it means that person will rise to greatness
They were once considered to deliberately sting those who swore in front of them,
And also to attack an adulterer or unchaste person;
It was once held to be a sure sign that a girl was a virgin if she could walk through a swarm of bees without being stung
Bees cannot prosper in an atmosphere of anger or hatred, and will either pine away and die, or fly away
There is still a common belief that bees should be told about deaths that occur in the beekeepers
A borrowed swarm or one given freely is more likely to do well;
A stock of bees was often started from a borrowed swarm on the understanding that it would be returned if the giver was ever in need of it
Bee-stings were once thought to prevent rheumatism, and in some places a bee-sting was also thought to cure it
BIRDS
A bird that flies into a house, foretells an important message
The white bird foretells death
A bird call from the north means tragedy
A bird call from the south is good for crops
A bird call from the west is good luck
A bird call from the east, good love
If a bird poops on your car, it is good luck
Blackbirds
Should a blackbird nest anywhere in your house then you can look forward to a year of good fortune
If two male blackbirds are seen sitting together this is a very good omen
Ducks and geese
Ducks and geese indicate wind and rain on the way when they hiss and quack more than usual
A duck that lays dun-colored eggs is very ill-omened and should be destroyed, according to an old English belief
If one goose flies around the house it is said to know that death is on the way
Kingfisher
Carry some of Kingfisher’s feathers on your person is both a protection and a charm for good fortune
Magpie
The best way to avoid bad luck when you pass a magpie is to doff your hat (England)
It was the only bird not to enter the Ark, preferring to remain on its own outside
It is also held in awe because it is one of the very few wild creatures that is colored black and white – a combination of the Devil’s color and the sacred or holy color of white
In England, magpies are also counted, ‘One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy; five for sorrow, six for gold, seven is a secret never to be told, eight is a wish, nine is a kiss and ten is the bird you must not miss
Owls
Hearing the hoot of an owl is now associated with bad luck
To counter evil owl power put irons in your fire. Or throw salt, hot peppers or vinegar into the fire, the owl will get a sore tongue, hoot no more, and no one close to you will be in trouble
When you hear an owl, take off your clothes, turn them inside out and put them back on
Any man who eats roasted owl will be obedient and a slave to his wife
Peacocks
Never bring a peacock feather indoors for decoration as they are unlucky
The peacock is another indicator of rain, signaling its approach with a harsh crying call
Pigeons
A lone white pigeon perching on a chimney is said to be a death omen
It was claimed that pigeon feathers in such a bed only prolonged the agonies of someone dying
Raven
An ill-omened bird, able to predict the future, particularly death
If the Ravens in the Tower of London should be lost or fly away then the Royal Family will die and Britain will fall to an enemy
The raven is ‘the messenger of death’ (American Indian)
To kill a raven is to harm the spirit of King Arthur who visits the world in the form of a raven
Robin
Make a wish on the first robin you see in spring and it will come true – if you can finish making the wish before the robin flies away
The robin is perhaps the most loved of all wild birds and dire are the omens if you should kill one
Legend has it that it got its distinctive red breast when it tried to pull the bloody thorns from Christ’s head as he hung on the cross
Seagulls
Three seagulls flying together, directly overhead, are a warning of death soon to come
Sparrow
Sparrows carry the souls of the dead; it’s unlucky to kill one
Storks
Storks deliver babies
Storks were sacred to Venus in Roman mythology
If a stork builds a nest on your roof, you have received a blessing and a promise of never ending love from Venus
Swallow
The swallow heralds the arrival of summer
Any house on which it builds its nest is due for good luck, and in particular protection from fire and storm
When they fly low it is a signal for rainy weather
Swan
A swan’s feather, sewed into the husband’s pillow, will ensure fidelity
When one of the birds is dying it sings, thus giving rise to the expression ‘swansong’
When one of them lays its head and neck back over its body during the daytime then a storm is on the way
White Dove
White-winged dove tradition claims it is the one bird into which the Devil cannot transform himself
Among miners it is considered ill-omened and no superstitious miner would go underground after seeing a white dove flying near the pit shaft
BUTTERFLY
If the first butterfly you see in the year is white, you will have good luck all year
CALF
British White calf the first calf born during the winter is white; the winter will be a bad one
CAT
They believed if a black cat crossed your path, Satan was taking notice of you
A black cat is lucky or unlucky, depending on where you live
Cats were sacred to the goddess, Isis in Egyptian mythology
Bast or Pasht, the daughter of Isis, was represented with the face of a cat. Anyone who killed a cat was put to death
In Egypt it was believed that a black cat crossing one’s path brought good luck
In East Anglia, England, they used to mummify cats and place them in the walls of their homes to ward off evil spirits
If a black cat walks towards you, it brings good fortune, but if it walks away, it takes the good luck with it
Keep cats away from babies because they “suck the breath” of the child
A cat on board a ship is considered to bring luck
If one sneezes then rain is on the way;
A cat sitting with its back to the fire indicates a storm;
While one sharpening its claws on a table leg are a sign of a change in the weather, usually for the better
CATTLE
In some areas it is thought that cattle should be informed of any deaths in their owners’ household, or the cows, sensing that something was wrong, would sicken and probably die
During medieval times the superstition arose that cattle would kneel at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve;
In some parts of Europe they were also believed to gain the ability to speak on this night, although it was considered dangerous for any human to hear their speech as misfortune would befall anyone who overheard them
It was once considered unlucky if an offer were made to purchase cattle which were not for sale, leading to their illness and perhaps death
In some districts it was also considered unlucky to strike cattle with human hands;
A stick should be used to drive them from place to place, and should be thrown away once the destination was reached
Cattle that stand close together in low ground, and feed hard together, are said to be foretelling rain, but if they stand on high ground the weather will be fair
It was traditional to drive cattle over the embers of the Beltane and Midsummer fires, as a magical protection against cattle plague and other diseases
As recently as the nineteenth century, some farmers would sacrifice one healthy calf or cow (sometimes burying it under the threshold of the byre with feet pointing upwards) as a symbolic sacrifice that the herd might be spared from cattle plague
In India and parts of the East the cow is still regarded as a sacred animal
It is lucky to meet a herd of cows on the road; stems from earlier times when to meet such on the road meant the arrival of a drover with cattle to provide milk or to be sold for meat
In the past, cattle were believed to be one of the prime targets of witches and, apart from the numerous charms developed to protect them, it was the custom if a herd was struck by illness to burn a calf alive because of the maxim ‘burn one to save the herd’
When cows lie on high ground it is said to be a sign of good weather to come, while if they feed too close together or low excessively then rain is imminent. If a cow breaks into your garden then there will be a death in the family
If a plow kills a daddy long legs the cows will go dry
If you see nine cows in a shed with a gray bull next to the door, and all of them lie on the same side, you are in luck, because you will be granted one wish
CRICKET
A cricket is a lucky house spirit that takes its luck away when it leaves
A cricket can tell of oncoming rain, death, and x-lovers
CROW
If a plow kills a daddy long legs the cows will go dry
DOGS
Greeks thought dogs could foresee evil
If you have your new-born baby licked by a dog, your baby will be a quick healer
Howling dogs mean the wind god has summoned death, and the spirits of the dead will be taken
A howling dog at night means bad luck or somebody close to you will be very sick or worse
A howling dog outside the house of a sick person was once thought to be an omen that they would die, especially if the dog was driven away and returned to howl again
A dog which gives a single howl, or three howls, and then falls silent is said to be marking a death that has just occurred nearby
In Scotland, a strange dog coming to the house means a new friendship
In England, to meet a spotted or black and white dog on your way to a business appointment is lucky
Three white dogs seen together are considered lucky in some areas
Black dogs are generally considered unlucky, especially if they cross a traveler’s path or follow someone and refuse to be driven away
Fishermen traditionally regard dogs as unlucky and will not take one out in a boat, or mention the word ‘dog’ whilst at sea
The sight of a dog eating grass, rolling on the floor or scratching itself excessively are all said to be omens that rain is imminent
DONKEY
There is also a tradition that to see a dead donkey means great good fortune,
It is considered a good-luck charm to leap over the carcass of a dead donkey three times
When a donkey brays and twitches its ears, it is said to be an omen that there will be wet weather
ELEPHANTS
In Siam, white elephants were rare and not made to work for their upkeep,
FISH
Throw back the first fish you catch then you’ll be lucky the whole day fishing
It’s bad luck to get married when the fish aren’t biting, according to the custom of some fisher folk
A fish should always be eaten from the head toward the tail
Dream of fish: someone you know is pregnant
If you count the number of fish you caught, you will catch no more that day
It’s bad luck to say the word “pig” while fishing at sea
FOX
Fox passing your home is a forerunner of misfortune
FROG
Frogs, like toads, were once thought to have peculiar properties, and were frequently used in healing charms, and in others of a slightly less innocent nature
A well known country cure for thrush was to hold a live frog with its head in the patient’s mouth. As it breathed, so it drew the disease away and into itself. Warts could also be cured by rubbing a frog across them
The dried body of a frog worn in a silk bag around the neck averted epilepsy and other fits
A frog brings good luck to the house it enters
Frogs are said to be the souls of children who have died and thus it is very unlucky to kill one
GOAT
A goat’s foot or some hairs from his beard are believed to be talismans for driving off evil spirits
HENS and COCKS
A hen with tail-feathers like those of a rooster is considered to be unlucky; previously these birds would be killed on most farms
Hens which roost in the morning are said to be foretelling a death, usually that of the farmer or someone in his household
A hen which enters the house is an omen that a visitor will arrive, and this is also the case if a rooster crows near the door or comes inside
A hen that crows near a house is supposed to be forecasting a death,
And any hen that persistently crows is said by country folk to have ‘got the Devil in her’ and should be killed before she takes to destroying her eggs and teaches the other hens to do the same
It is said to be unlucky for a hen to lay an even number of eggs and you would be well advised to remove one from a sitting bird
It was believed that when he crowed to welcome the dawn all ghosts and evil spirits had to return to the underworld
A cock crowing in the evening is an omen of bad weather the following day,
And if it calls during the night hours there is going to be a death in the family
That the bird crows all through Christmas Eve to Christmas morning so that no evil spirits can spoil this holy time
HORSE
A white horse could warn of danger, and lived longer than a dark horse, so was considered a living amulet against early death
Spotted horses are magical
Grey horses and horses with four white socks are unlucky
In some places it is lucky to meet a white horse;
Tradition states that upon meeting a white horse one should spit and make a wish, or cross one’s fingers until a dog is seen
In many places it is lucky to lead a horse through the house
It was once thought that whooping-cough could be cured by going to the stables and inhaling the breath of a horse
Being breathed upon by a piebald horse, or riding upon its back, was another supposed cure
Horse-hairs, chopped very finely and fed to a child in bread and butter, were thought to be a certain cure for worms,
And the horse-spurs (calluses which appear on the sides of a horse’s leg) were believed in the eighteenth century to be a cure for cancer if dried, ground and drunk frequently with new milk
LADYBUG
The bright scarlet ladybug is a luck-bringer, probably because it is traditionally associated by its color with fire
It is a sign of good fortune if one lands on a person’s hand or dress. It must, however, be allowed to fly away of its own accord, and must not be brushed off. It is permissible to speed it onwards by a gentle puff, and by the recitation of the rhyme which runs
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home
Your house is on fire and your children are gone
The deeper the ladybug’s color, the better luck it brings.
The number of spots on its back is also important. The more spots…the better the luck!
If a young girl catches a ladybug and then releases it, the direction in which it flies away will be the direction from which her future husband will come
MOTH
A big black moth in the house means a deceased one is just visiting reincarnated through that moth
MOUSE
Somebody throws away a dead mouse; the wind will soon start to blow from that direction
To hear a mouse squeaking anywhere near someone who is ill is a sign that the person will die
They are the souls of people who have been murdered
If they nibble anyone’s clothing during the night, that person will suffer some misfortune
While no journey undertaken after seeing one is likely to be successful
PIG
One superstition to get rid of warts involves rubbing a peeled apple and giving it to a pig
There is a superstition that pigs can see the wind (Ireland)
When they are seen hurrying about their sty or carrying a bunch of straw in their mouth then there is a storm on the way
It is unlucky to have a pig cross your path – turn your back till it is gone – and if it begins to make a rather strange whining noise then there is to be a death in the family
RABBITS AND HARES
In the British Isles, the hare, like the cat, was thought to be a witch in disguise
This witch could only be killed with a silver bullet
Since rabbits and hares are born with eyes open, which is an erroneous notion, they supposedly had special powers over the evil eye
It is believed to be unlucky to meet either a hare or a rabbit
In some English counties it is considered unwise to shoot a black rabbit
Rabbits and hares were never mentioned at sea, as they were considered ill-omened words, and to meet one on the way to see was a very bad omen
An old custom is to say ‘Rabbits’ or ‘White Rabbits’ either once or three times on the first day of the month, as a good luck charm; it must be the first word said that morning, otherwise the charm is not potent
The rabbit’s foot also became a symbol of fertility
Rabbit’s feet are also symbols of new life
By owning a rabbit’s foot as a talisman, you would have vital connections with many powerful forces
A left rabbit hind foot, carried in the left pocket after having been removed from a rabbit that was killed during a full moon by a cross-eyed person is truly lucky
Actors may keep a rabbit’s foot in their make-up cases for good luck, and will meet with misfortune if the foot is lost
In Wales an old belief is that a new-born child rubbed all over with a rabbit’s foot will be lucky for life
SHEEP
To meet a flock of sheep on a journey is an omen of good luck
An old Manx belief states that sheep cannot be counted accurately unless the person counting them has washed his or her eyes under running water first
Peaceful sheep, lying in the field, are said to herald fine weather,
But rain is foretold if they are restless and baa for no apparent reason
The knuckle-bone from a piece of mutton was once thought to be a preventative charm against rheumatism if carried about in the pocket; similarly,
A certain T-shaped bone from a sheep’s head was believed to protect its carrier from bad luck and evil
A strip of sheepskin on a horse’s collar was once used as prevention against the evil eye
A sheep’s lung was once applied to the feet of a pneumonia sufferer, and was thought to draw the disease downward into itself
People could be wrapped in the skin of a freshly-killed sheep in an attempt to cure an adder bite;
Children with whooping-cough were thought to be cured by letting a sheep breathe on them
Sufferers from consumption were once advised to walk around a sheepfold many times a day, beginning early in the morning
If sheep gnash their teeth during round-up in the autumn, the winter will be hard
If sheep gnash their teeth somewhere else, it presages very bad weather
SPIDER
Superstitious people probably don’t kill spiders because it has been unlucky since a spider spun a web over baby Jesus to hide him from Herod
‘If you wish to live and thrive
Let the spider run alive’
There are numerous superstitions concerning the humble spider:
If you see a spider spinning a new web, you will shortly get some new clothes
If one drops onto you face or clothes – particularly a tiny ‘money spider’- then your finances will improve
A spider with syrup cures fever
Seeing a spider run down a web in the afternoon means you’ll take a trip
You’ll meet a new friend if you run into a web
A spider is a repellent against plague when worn around the neck in a walnut shell
SOW BUGS
A bag filled with 13 sow bugs tied around a child’s neck will cure the child from the thrash, or sores in the mouth
WEASELS
It is impossible to catch a weasel asleep
T is bad luck if one crosses your path and appears near your home making its distinctive squeaking sound
WOLF
Powered wolf liver was used to ease birth pains
A wolf’s right paw, tied around ones throat, was believed to ease the swelling caused by throat infections
It was widely believed that a horse that stepped in a wolf print would be crippled
The gaze of a wolf was once thought to cause blindness
Others believed that the breath of the wolf could cook meat
Naturalists of the day believed wolves sharpened their teeth before hunting
Dead wolves were buried at a village entrance to keep out other wolves
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Sadie Hawkins Day, usually celebrated in the US on 29th February, is named after a character in which Al Capp comic strip? | What is Sadie Hawkins Day?
Updated February 16, 2016.
Question: What is Sadie Hawkins Day? Is It the Same Day as Leap Day?
Sadie Hawkins Day is a holiday that turns the tables on male/female relationships as women take the lead in pursuing men.
Answer: Named after a fictional character, Sadie Hawkins Day celebrates role reversal by sanctioning women to ask men out on a date or even propose marriage.
There's a common misconception that February 29th (better known as Leap Day) is Sadie Hawkins Day. Although that isn't the case, February 29th does hold significance for women thanks to an old Irish tradition called St. Bridget's Complaint , which granted women permission to propose marriage on that day.
Sadie Hawkins Day is rooted in the story of Sadie Hawkins, a character created by Al Capp in the comic strip Li'l Abner. Sadie Described as "the homeliest gal in the hills," Sadie was unable get a date; so her father, a prominent citizen in the town of Dogpatch, named a day after her to help Sadie get a man.
On Sadie Hawkins Day, a footrace was held in Dogpatch so the women could pursue the town's eligible bachelors.
According to the Li'l Abner website, Sadie Hawkins Day is an unspecified date in November which Al Capp observed in his comic strip for four decades.
| Li'l Abner |
In which European country is it considered unlucky to marry on a Leap Day? | 1000+ images about Comic Strip Characters on Pinterest | Search, Calvin and hobbes and The family
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Li'l Abner is a satirical American comic strip that appeared in many newspapers in the United States, Canada and Europe, featuring a fictional clan of hillbillies in the impoverished mountain village of Dogpatch, Kentucky. Written and drawn by Al Capp (1909–1979), the strip ran for 43 years, from August 13, 1934 through November 13, 1977.
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Which Roman Emperor was said to be behind the origin of the Leap Year? | The History | Origin of New Years Day / December 31rst / Ball Dropping In Times Square
EVENTS
A History of New Years
In 46 B.C.E. the Roman emperor Julius Caesar first established January 1 as New Year’s day. Janus was the Roman god of doors and gates, and had two faces, one looking forward and one back. Caesar felt that the month named after this god (“January”) would be the appropriate “door” to the year. Caesar celebrated the first January 1 New Year by ordering the violent routing of revolutionary Jewish forces in the Galilee. Eyewitnesses say blood flowed in the streets. In later years, Roman pagans observed the New Year by engaging in drunken orgies—a ritual they believed constituted a personal re-enacting of the chaotic world that existed before the cosmos was ordered by the gods.
As Christianity spread, pagan holidays were either incorporated into the Christian calendar or abandoned altogether. By the early medieval period most of Christian Europe regarded Annunciation Day (March 25) as the beginning of the year. (According to Catholic tradition, Annunciation Day commemorates the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she would be impregnated by G-d and conceive a son to be called Jesus.)
After William the Conqueror (AKA “William the Bastard” and “William of Normandy”) became King of England on December 25, 1066, he decreed that the English return to the date established by the Roman pagans, January 1. This move ensured that the commemoration of Jesus’ birthday (December 25) would align with William’s coronation, and the commemoration of Jesus’ circumcision (January 1) would start the new year - thus rooting the English and Christian calendars and his own Coronation). William’s innovation was eventually rejected, and England rejoined the rest of the Christian world and returned to celebrating New Years Day on March 25.
About five hundred years later, in 1582, Pope Gregory XIII (AKA “Ugo Boncompagni”, 1502-1585) abandoned the traditional Julian calendar. By the Julian reckoning, the solar year comprised 365.25 days, and the intercalation of a “leap day” every four years was intended to maintain correspondence between the calendar and the seasons. Really, however there was a slight inaccuracy in the Julian measurement (the solar year is actually 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds = 365.2422 days). This slight inaccuracy caused the Julian calendar to slip behind the seasons about one day per century. Although this regression had amounted to 14 days by Pope Gregory’s time, he based his reform on restoration of the vernal equinox, then falling on March 11, to the date had 1,257 years earlier when Council of Nicaea was convened (March 21, 325 C.E.). Pope Gregory made the correction by advancing the calendar 10 days. The change was made the day after October 4, 1582, and that following day was established as October 15, 1582. The Gregorian calendar differs from the Julian in three ways: (1) No century year is a leap year unless it is exactly divisible by 400 (e.g., 1600, 2000, etc.); (2) Years divisible by 4000 are common (not leap) years; and (3) once again the New Year would begin with the date set by the early pagans, the first day of the month of Janus - January 1.
On New Years Day 1577 Pope Gregory XIII decreed that all Roman Jews, under pain of death, must listen attentively to the compulsory Catholic conversion sermon given in Roman synagogues after Friday night services. On New Years Day 1578 Gregory signed into law a tax forcing Jews to pay for the support of a “House of Conversion” to convert Jews to Christianity. On New Years 1581 Gregory ordered his troops to confiscate all sacred literature from the Roman Jewish community. Thousands of Jews were murdered in the campaign.
Throughout the medieval and post-medieval periods, January 1 - supposedly the day on which Jesus’ circumcision initiated the reign of Christianity and the death of Judaism - was reserved for anti-Jewish activities: synagogue and book burnings, public tortures, and simple murder.
The Israeli term for New Year’s night celebrations, “Sylvester,” was the name of the “Saint” and Roman Pope who reigned during the Council of Nicaea (325 C.E.). The year before the Council of Nicaea convened, Sylvester convinced Constantine to prohibit Jews from living in Jerusalem. At the Council of Nicaea, Sylvester arranged for the passage of a host of viciously anti-Semitic legislation. All Catholic “Saints” are awarded a day on which Christians celebrate and pay tribute to that Saint’s memory. December 31 is Saint Sylvester Day - hence celebrations on the night of December 31 are dedicated to Sylvester’s memory.
U.S. News and World Report December 23, 1996
| Julius Caesar |
In Scotland, what colour petticoat should women wear, and make sure it is partly visible, to ensure success when they propose to a man? | Constantine The Great: Roman Emperor, Christian Saint, History's Turning Point | Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese
Constantine The Great: Roman Emperor, Christian Saint, History's Turning Point
by Robert Arakaki
"Tell me the history of Christianity and I can tell you your theology." This is especially true with a controversial figure like Constantine. Where Roman Catholics present him as laying the foundation for the Papacy, Protestants see him as the one responsible for leading the early Church away from the simplicity of the pure gospel and turning it into an institutional Church. However, blaming Constantine for the fall of the Church is a double-edged sword that cuts in both directions. If Protestants accuse Constantine of tampering with the Church, how do they know that Constantine did not tamper with the Bible? The problem with the "fall of the Church" argument is that it opens the possibility of a radical discontinuity between present-day Christianity and the early Church.
This danger can be seen in one of today's most popular bestsellers, The DaVinci Code. In the middle of the book (Chapter 55) Sir Leigh Teabing gives Sophie Neveu a brief synopsis of the "history" of Christianity. In it he makes the following points about Constantine:
Constantine was a lifelong pagan who was baptized against his will on his deathbed.
Constantine made Christianity the official Roman religion solely for political gain.
Christianity is a hybrid religion, the result of Constantine's fusing the pagan cult of Sol Invictus with Christianity.
This blending can be seen in Constantine's changing the Christian day of worship from Saturday to Sunday.
Under Constantine's influence, the Council of Nicea, by a small majority, turned a mortal prophet into the divine Son of God.
Constantine ordered the making of the Bible that would reinforce the Council's decision to make Jesus the divine Son of God, and at the same time ordered the destruction of opposing documents.
Personally, I thought the book was a lot of fun to read, but as church history it was laughable. This is not a criticism of the author, as his bestseller is a work of fiction. The problem comes when people confuse fiction and nonfiction.
It is imperative that Christians, especially Orthodox Christians, have a firm grasp of their faith and of church history. Faith and history go together. We cannot separate church history from what we believe. The Orthodox understanding of truth is grounded in the Incarnation, the Son of God taking on human nature. Because the Son of God entered into human history, truth consists of more than a set of logically consistent concepts. Our faith is grounded in the historical figure Jesus of Nazareth, who asserted: I am the Truth. When Orthodoxy claims that the Christian Faith is the true faith, it is asserting that it is a real faith, based on historical events that actually happened. Because Christianity is grounded in reality, our salvation in Christ is a real salvation that has an impact on both the spiritual and physical realities.
Constantine the Great
Constantine was born at Naissus on February 27, 272 or 273, to Flavius Constantius and his wife Helena. Flavius Constantius was an army officer, and in 289 he divorced Constantine's mother to marry Theodora, the daughter of his commanding officer. Constantine embarked on his own military career, which took him all over the Roman Empire, from Palestine and Asia Minor to Britain, Spain, and Gaul. While crossing the Alps with his army, Constantine had a vision (or dream) of a cross of light shining in front of the sun and the words: In this sign conquer. Shortly after that vision, Constantine defeated his rival, Maxentius, captured Rome, and was acclaimed the next emperor.
History often turns upon certain pivotal events or individuals. Early Christianity faced two significant perils: one external—violent persecution by the Roman government, and one internal—the Arian heresy, which denied Christ's divinity. In a providential twist of events, God raised up an emperor who would play a key role in confronting each of these perils, becoming one of Christianity's greatest defenders. Constantine's rule precipitated an avalanche of events that radically altered the course of the history of Christianity.
External Danger—Persecution
Prior to Constantine's becoming emperor, the early Church was going through one of the fiercest and bloodiest of the persecutions by the Roman government, the Diocletian persecution. During this wave of persecution thousands of Christians lost their lives, churches were destroyed, and scriptures were burned. Then in 313, the situation reversed itself. Constantine (with his co-emperor Licinus) issued the famous Edict of Milan, declaring Christianity to be a legal religion. Christianity was not yet the official religion of the Empire—this would not happen until 380 under Emperor Theodosius. And Constantine's edict of toleration was not the first—Galerius had issued a similar edict in 311. But it marked a major turning point for the Roman government. With the Edict of Milan, the three-centuries-long era of persecution came to an end.
Contrary to popular belief, Constantine did not rescue Christianity from extinction. Even if he had not adopted the Christian cause, the majority of the Roman population was well on its way to becoming Christian. What Constantine did do was hasten the process of evangelizing the Roman Empire. Constantine's conversion marked the climax of a centuries-long process of evangelization that began in an obscure corner of the Roman Empire. For the first time, the entire structure of Roman civilization, from the emperor down to the lowliest slave, shared the Christian faith.
Internal Danger—Heresy
In the early fourth century, a theological controversy broke out that threatened to derail the Christian faith. Arius taught that the Son of God had a beginning and was a created being. The controversy threatened deeply to divide the Christian Church, and in so doing to imperil the unity of the Roman Empire. Concerned for the unity of the empire, Constantine wrote letters to Bishop Alexander and to Arius, urging them to make up their differences and forgive each other. When that failed, he convened an ecumenical council of the entire Church. Previously there had been regional and local synods, but this was the first worldwide gathering of bishops. Constantine aided this historic gathering by covering the travel expenses of bishops coming from the far-flung corners of the empire.
In order to repudiate the Arian heresy, the bishops inserted the word homoousios ("of the same essence") into the baptismal creed. By asserting that Christ was of the same essence as God the Father, the Council decisively affirmed the divinity of Christ. This was approved by an overwhelming majority of the Council (only three persons—including Arius—out of three hundred disagreed). Although Constantine may have suggested that homoousios be inserted into the creed, the word was not invented by him. Even Arius made use of it, albeit in his arguments against the divinity of Christ.
Although he presided over the council, it is an exaggeration to claim that Constantine controlled the direction of the Council of Nicea, as many Protestants argue. Many of the bishops present at the council were survivors of the Diocletian persecution and would have been more than willing to put their lives on the line for the gospel of Christ once more. Another weakness of the Protestant stereotype of Constantine is that it gives short shrift to the theological genius of Athanasius. Anyone who reads Athanasius' theological classic Against the Arians will see that it was Athanasius, not Constantine, who turned the tide against the Arian heresy. Also, the limitations of Constantine's ability to coerce the Church into doing his will can be seen in his earlier failure to resolve the Donatist controversy in 320. As W. H. C. Frend notes in The Rise of Christianity, "The lesson, however, had been learned. Never again did he seek to beat into submission a movement within the church."
Equal-to-the-Apostles
Constantine's legacy can be seen in Christianity's transformation from a private sect into a public church that encompassed the whole of society. He put it on an institutional footing, which enabled the Church to be the leading cultural force in the ancient world. The Christianization of Roman society can be seen as a partial fulfillment of Revelation 21:24: "The nations . . . shall walk in its [New Jerusalem] light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honor into it." The Church is the New Jerusalem—replacing the Jerusalem of the Old Testament—which brings spiritual enlightenment to the pagan nations throughout the Roman Empire. However, a balanced assessment of the historical evidence shows that, as much as Constantine may have contributed to the Christianization of the Roman Empire, he did not originate Holy Tradition as many Protestants believe.
Sunday as the day of worship. Although Sunday was made a public holiday, there is no evidence that it was Constantine who changed the Christians' day of worship from Saturday to Sunday. Two first-century documents—Didache 14.1 and Ignatius' Letter to the Magnesians 9.1—document the fact that Christians worshiped on a different day from the Jewish Sabbath. As emperor, Constantine transformed what was once the private practice of an illegal sect into a public holiday for all Romans.
Constantinople—the New Rome. With his decision to turn the sleepy village of Byzantinum into the Roman Empire's new capital city, Constantine laid the groundwork of what would become a major spiritual center, the Patriarchate of Constantinople. As the New Rome, Constantinople was intended to signal the Roman Empire's break with its pagan past and its embracing of Christianity. Under Constantine's orders, no pagan ceremonies were allowed in this city. While the original Rome and the Latin West entered into the Dark Ages, Constantinople thrived as a spiritual and political capital through the time of Columbus' voyage to America. Constantinople was also the springboard from which the missionary outreach to Russia would take place.
The Council of Nicea and the biblical canon. While Constantine played an important role at the First Ecumenical Council, there is no evidence that he had anything to do with deciding which books would go into the Bible. The Muratorian Canon (from the year 200) provides a list of New Testament documents that closely resembles the list found in today's Bible. Similar lists can be found in the writings of Origen (250) and Eusebius of Caesarea (300). It is true that Constantine ordered the burning of books by Arius, the anti-Christian philosopher Porphyry, the Novatians, the Marcionites, and others. But the fact remains that by the time Constantine became emperor, much of today's biblical canon was already in place.
Constantine a Saint?
Constantine died in 337. Shortly before his death, he was baptized by Eusebius of Nicomedia. Following his baptism, Constantine refused to wear the imperial purple and died wearing the white baptismal robe. He was buried in the Church of the Holy Apostles just days after he had dedicated it. The day of his death—May 21—is commemorated in the Orthodox Church as a major feast day.
Skepticism about the sincerity of Constantine's Christianity stems from a number of factors. Constantine did not openly repudiate the pagan gods, but tolerated pagan belief even as he began favoring the Christians. Another source lies in his execution of his son, Crispus, and his wife, Fausta, in 326, a year after the Council of Nicea. A third factor was Constantine's delaying of his baptism until just a few days before his death.
On closer examination, however, the basis for this skeptical attitude becomes problematic. Constantine's participation in the pagan rites most likely stemmed from his obligations as military and political leader. Regarding his execution of his son and wife, it is not clear what the reasons were. Unless the reasons for this drastic action are known, it is not fair to condemn Constantine. Also, modern evangelicalism may frown on deathbed conversions, but in the early Church such delaying of one’s baptism was not uncommon.
Constantine's conversion follows more closely the Orthodox understanding of salvation than the Protestant understanding. Where Protestants, especially evangelicals, tend to see salvation in terms of a one-time conversion experience, Orthodoxy sees salvation as a mystery and as a process that unfolds over time. While Constantine's personal faith may be a matter of debate, his historical contributions to the Church under his reign are undeniable. Frend writes, "The 'Age of the Fathers' would have been impossible without Constantine's conversion. The church's councils under the emperor's guidance became assemblies where the new, binding relationship with the Christian God, on which the safety of the empire depended, was established."
The Orthodox Church sees Constantine as the emperor who assisted the early Church in evangelizing the Roman Empire. For this reason it honors him as Saint Constantine Equal-to-the-Apostles.
Constantine and the Church
For Orthodoxy, Constantine represents an important link to the past. The persecuted underground Church and the official state Church are the same Church. Constantine played a key role in the historic transition from the former to the latter. For Orthodox Christianity, there is no "fall of the Church." The Orthodox Church believes that it stands in unbroken continuity with the Church of the first century.
There is a popular belief among evangelicals that the true Church was the underground Church, which refused to compromise with the worldly state Church, and that this true Church remained in hiding over the following centuries, leaving few records of its existence until it was rediscovered by the Protestants in the sixteenth century. The main problem with this belief is not only the absence of supporting evidence, but the presence of contrary evidence. Eusebius, in Books IV and V of his History of the Church, provides a chronological listing of bishops that goes back to the original apostles. Present-day Orthodox bishops and patriarchs are able to trace their spiritual and historical lineage back to the original apostles, something that Protestants cannot do.
Symphonia—The Harmony of Faith and Politics
Constantine's support for the early Church laid the foundation for the doctrine of symphonia—the ideal of political and religious leaders working in harmony to realize God's will here on earth. This ideal is rooted in the Lord's Prayer: "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Symphonia avoids two extremes: the separation of Church from State on the one hand, and the fusion of Church and State on the other. Despite his active participation in the Ecumenical Council, Constantine did not view himself as one of the bishops, but rather as "bishop of those outside." This ideal found concrete expression in the Byzantine Empire, which lasted for a thousand years. Under Constantine's rule began the transformation of Roman culture. Execution by crucifixion ceased, gladiatorial battles as punishment ended.
Symphonia has a number of important implications for Orthodox Christians. One is that the Church is called to pray for those in power, even if they are not Christians. For Orthodoxy, symphonia is the ideal situation, but not the only one. Christianity is not tied to any one particular political structure. Another implication is that there is no separation between the physical and the spiritual (belief in dualism is an early heresy). Orthodoxy is both a personal and a public faith. The Orthodox Church encourages good citizenship, public service along with philanthropy. Its preference for lay involvement in politics helps avoid the dangers of theocratic rule. It is expected that Orthodox Christians will bring the values of the Church into the political and social realms.
Venerating a Great Saint Today
The Orthodox Church today honors the memory of Constantine in several ways. Many Orthodox parishes are named after him. I attend Saints Constantine and Helen Greek Orthodox Cathedral of the Pacific. On Sunday mornings, soon after I enter the church, I see the icon of Christ sitting on the throne. I also see the icon of Constantine and his mother, Helen. Inside the church up in front I see Constantine and Helen on the icon screen. They are now part of the great cloud of witnesses cheering us on to finish the spiritual race (Hebrews 12). During the Sunday Liturgy, just before the scripture readings, the following troparion (hymn) is sung:
Your servant Constantine, O Lord and only Lover of Man,
Beheld the figure of the Cross in the heavens,
And like Paul, not having received his call from men,
But as an apostle among rulers set by Your hand over the royal city,
He preserved lasting peace through the prayers of the Theotokos.
The troparion celebrates God's sovereignty in human history: how God selected a pagan Roman soldier, converted him through a miraculous vision of the Cross, and made him emperor and one of the greatest evangelists in the history of Christianity.
Robert Arakaki has an M.A. in Church History from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. He recently earned a Ph.D. in political science from the University of Hawaii at Manoa.
Originally published by AGAIN Magazine, 2005
Conciliar Press Ministries Inc.
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A Leap Year occurs every how many years? | Leap Year Explained
Leap Year Explained
Leap years synchronize the calendar year with the solar year
by Ann Marie Imbornoni & Mark Hughes
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Why do we need leap year?
The Gregorian calendar, which now serves as the standard calendar for civil use throughout the world, has both common years and leap years. A common year has 365 days and a leap year 366 days, with the extra, or intercalary , day designated as February 29. A leap year occurs every four years to help synchronize the calendar year with the solar year, or the length of time it takes the earth to complete its orbit about the sun, which is about 365¼ days.
The length of the solar year, however, is slightly less than 365¼ days—by about 11 minutes. To compensate for this discrepancy, the leap year is omitted three times every four hundred years.
In other words, a century year cannot be a leap year unless it is divisible by 400. Thus 1700, 1800, and 1900 were not leap years, but 1600, 2000, and 2400 are leap years.
What are your chances of being born on leap day?
About 1 in 1,500.
When is the birthday party?
If you are born on a Leap Year, do you get your driver's license on February 28th or March 1st? It is an ambiguous question that is decided by each state. Most states, however, consider March 1st the official day. For instance, the Michigan Vehicle Code states that people born on February 29th "are deemed to have been born on March 1st."
How many people were born on leap day?
There are about 187,000 people in the US and 4 million people in the world who were born on Leap Day.
The rules for determining a leap year
Most years that can be divided evenly by 4 are leap years.
Exception: Century years are NOT leap years UNLESS they can be evenly divided by 400.
When did leap year originate?
The Gregorian calendar is closely based on the Julian calendar, which was introduced by Julius Caesar in 45 BC. The Julian calendar featured a 12-month, 365-day year, with an intercalary day inserted every fourth year at the end of February to make an average year of 365.25 days. But because the length of the solar year is actually 365.242216 days, the Julian year was too long by .0078 days (11 minutes 14 seconds).
This may not seem like a lot, but over the course of centuries it added up, until in the 16th century, the vernal equinox was falling around March 11 instead of March 21. In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII adjusted the calendar by moving the date ahead by 11 days and by instituting the exception to the rule for leap years. This new rule, whereby a century year is a leap year only if divisible by 400, is the sole feature that distinguishes the Gregorian calendar from the Julian calendar.
Following the Gregorian reform, the average length of the year was 365.2425 days, an even closer approximation to the solar year. At this rate, it will take more than 3,000 years for the Gregorian calendar to gain one extra day in error.
For even more information, read: Leap Year 101
Did you know?
| four |
Who played the role of dance instructor, Mrs Wilkinson, in the 2000 film Billy Elliot? | Leap Year - Geography For Kids - By KidsGeo.com
Written for the KidsKnowit Network by:
Meredith Tennant
This year, 2012, is a leap year. What does that mean?
Every four years an extra day is added to the calendar, making
the length of the year 366 days, instead of the normal 365.
Why on earth does that need to happen?
The calendar is supposed to match the solar year, in other words, the length of time it takes for Earth to orbit the Sun once. But things aren’t quite that simple. It actually takes Earth 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds to complete its orbit (about 365 1/4 days). Those extra hours gradually add up so that after four years the calendar is out of step by about one day. Adding a day every four years allows the calendar to match up to the solar year again.
However, because the solar year isn’t exactly 365 days, even adding a leap day every four years means that the calendar is still out of step by 11 minutes and 14 seconds each year. Over the course of 400 years this would add up to three extra days. In order to solve this problem it was decided to leave out the leap year three times every 400 years. So, the new rule was, a century year (1600, 1700, 1800, etc.) would only be a leap year if it was evenly divisible by 400. This means that the year 2000 was a leap year, but 2100 will not be.
Phew! So, who figured all this out?
The Egyptians were the first people to think of adding a leap day to the calendar every four years. Later, the Romans copied the idea. In 1582 Pope Gregory XIII reformed the Julian calendar (introduced by Julius Caesar in 45 BCE). By Pope Gregory’s time the calendar had drifted 14 days off track. He neatly solved this by lopping ten days off the calendar, telling everyone that the day after October 4th was going to be October 15th. Bad luck for people with birthdays during that time!
The early Roman calendar, way before Julius Caesar’s time, began the year with March. It consisted of ten months, each lasting about 30 days, ending with December. They didn’t seem to have counted the winter months. It is thought that two extra months, January and February, were added sometime around 715-673 BCE. This would have made February the end of the year, which might explain why a leap day was added to that month. Later it was decided to start the year with January, as that month contained a festival dedicated to Janus, the god of gates (and, later, all beginnings).
Did You Know?
With the current system of adding leap days, it will be 3,300 years before the calendar is again off by a day.
Other nations have different calendars and different methods of keeping the calendar in line with the solar year. A day, or in some cases a month, gets added every few years, according to the organization of the particular calendar. The Chinese, for example, add a month about every three years, whereas in Islamic Hijri calendar a day is added 11 times during a 30-year cycle.
It’s pretty confusing, but just remember that for our calendar:
Thirty days hath September,
All the rest have thirty-one
Save February, she alone
Hath eight days and a score
Til leap year gives her one day more.
An example of the Gregorian calendar when ten days were removed in 1582.
Did You Know?
There is a tradition that women are allowed to propose marriage to men on leap days. One day in the 5th century, St. Bridget complained to St. Patrick about the unfairness of the system which only allowed men to propose, so he decided to let women do the asking once every four years!
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Which famous London building was destroyed by fire in 1834? | The Great Fire of 1834 - UK Parliament
The Great Fire of 1834
Churchill and the Commons Chamber
The Great Fire of 1834
In 1834, the Exchequer was faced with the problem of disposing two cart-loads of wooden tally sticks. These were remnants of an obsolete accounting system that had not been used since 1826. When asked to burn them, the Clerk of Works thought that the two underfloor stoves in the basement of the House of Lords would be a safe and proper place to do so.
Parliament on fire in 1834
On 16 October, a couple of workmen arrived in the morning to carry out his instructions. During the afternoon, a party of visitors to the House of Lords, conducted by the deputy housekeeper Mrs Wright, became puzzled by the heat of the floor, and by the smoke seeping through it. But the workmen insisted on finishing their job. The furnaces were put out by 5pm, and Mrs Wright, no longer worried, locked up the premises.
Fire!
At 6pm, Mrs Wright heard the terrified wife of a doorkeeper screaming that the House of Lords was on fire. In no time, the flames had spread to the rest of the Palace. It was a great sight for the crowds on the streets (who were kept back by soldiers) and a great opportunity for artists such as J.M.W. Turner who painted several canvases depicting it.
Both Houses of Parliament were destroyed along with most of the other buildings on the site. Westminster Hall was saved largely due to heroic fire fighting efforts, and a change in the direction of the wind during the night. The only other parts of the Palace to survive were the Jewel Tower, the Undercroft Chapel, the Cloisters and Chapter House of St Stephen's and Westminster Hall.
With Restoration and Renewal of the Houses of Parliament in the news, Dr Caroline Shenton looks back at the petitions which occurred when the building was originally constructed in the nineteenth century.
| Palace of Westminster |
Which English snooker player is nicknamed ‘The Rocket’? | BBC - History - A History of British Architecture
A History of British Architecture
By Adrian Tinniswood
Last updated 2011-03-29
From the Middle Ages to the 20th century, what are the influences and movements that have shaped the changing face of British architecture?
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The Middle Ages - 1066 and all that
Architecture is about evolution, not revolution. It used to be thought that once the Romans pulled out of Britain in the fifth century, their elegant villas, carefully-planned towns and engineering marvels like Hadrian's Wall simply fell into decay as British culture was plunged into the Dark Ages. It took the Norman Conquest of 1066 to bring back the light, and the Gothic cathedral-builders of the Middle Ages played an important part in the revival of British culture.
The great cathedrals and parish churches that lifted up their towers to heaven were acts of devotion in stone...
However, the truth is not as simple as that. Romano-British culture - and that included architecture along with language, religion, political organisation and the arts - survived long after the Roman withdrawal. And although the Anglo-Saxons had a sophisticated building style of their own, little survives to bear witness to their achievements as the vast majority of Anglo-Saxon buildings were made of wood.
Even so, the period between the Norman landing at Pevensey in 1066 and the day in 1485 when Richard III lost his horse and his head at Bosworth, ushering in the Tudors and the Early Modern period, marks a rare flowering of British building. And it is all the more remarkable because the underlying ethos of medieval architecture was 'fitness for purpose'. The great cathedrals and parish churches that lifted up their towers to heaven were not only acts of devotion in stone; they were also fiercely functional buildings. Castles served their particular purpose and their battlements and turrets were for use rather than ornament. The rambling manor houses of the later Middle Ages, however, were primarily homes, their owners achieving respect and maintaining status by their hospitality and good lordship rather than the grandeur of their buildings.
Fitness for purpose also characterised the homes of the poorer classes. Such people didn't matter very much to the ruling elite and so neither did their houses. These were dark, primitive structures of one or two rooms, usually with crude timber frames, low walls and thatched roofs. They weren't built to last. And they didn't.
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Buildings of the Middle Ages
White Tower, at the heart of the Tower of London, was begun by Bishop Gundulf in 1078 on the orders of William the Conqueror. The structure was completed in 1097, providing a colonial stronghold and a powerful symbol of Norman domination.
Durham Cathedral was begun by Bishop William de St Carilef in 1093 and completed about 1175. The choir was extended in the Gothic style between 1242 and 1280. Muscular pillars and round-headed arches make Durham one of the most imposing Norman buildings in England.
Haddon Hall, Derbyshire, was probably begun in the 12th century, but was remodelled and adapted at various times right through to the 16th century. It was then carefully restored in the early 20th century. Haddon shows the quality which characterises the great medieval house, in which function dictates form.
King's College Chapel, Cambridge, spans the period of transition between the Middle Ages and the Tudors. Its foundation stone was laid in 1446 by Henry VI and the structure, with its lacy perpendicular fan-vaulting, was completed by 1515 during the reign of Henry VIII. The windows were installed in 1546-7.
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The Tudors - stately and curious workmanship
In a sense, the buildings of the 16th century were also governed by fitness for purpose - only now, the purpose was very different. In domestic architecture, in particular, buildings were used to display status and wealth, as William Harrison noted in his Description of England (1577):
Each one desireth to set his house aloft on the hill, to be seen afar off, and cast forth his beams of stately and curious workmanship into every quarter of the country.
This stately and curious workmanship showed itself in various ways. A greater sense of security led to more outward-looking buildings, as opposed to the medieval arrangement where the need for defence created houses that faced inward onto a courtyard or series of courtyards. This allowed for much more in the way of exterior ornament. The rooms themselves tended to be bigger and lighter - as an expensive commodity, the use of great expanses of glass was in itself a statement of wealth. There was also a general move towards balanced and symmetrical exteriors with central entrances.
In spite of this building boom the Renaissance was generally slow to arrive in England...
In addition there was progress towards more stable and sophisticated houses for those lower down the social scale. Stone, and later brick, began to replace timber as the standard building material for the homes of farmers, tradespeople and artisans. To quote Harrison again:
Every man almost is a builder, and he that hath bought any small parcel of ground, be it never so little, will not be quiet till he have pulled down the old house (if any were there standing) and set up a new after his own device.
In spite of this building boom the Renaissance was generally slow to arrive in England, largely because Elizabeth's troublesome relations with Catholic Europe made the free exchange of ideas difficult. Craftsmen and pattern-books did come over from the Protestant Low Countries, but by and large our relative isolation from the European cultural mainstream led to a national style which was a bizarre though attractive mixture of Gothic and classical styles.
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Tudor Palaces and Houses
Hampton Court Palace (1515 onwards). The great house that Cardinal Wolsey began and then gave to Henry VIII in 1525, in a desperate attempt to stay in the King's favour, has undergone many changes since the 16th century. Christopher Wren rebuilt the south and east ranges for William and Mary between 1689 and 1694, and the Palace contains some remarkable Tudor work, notably Henry VIII's hammer-beamed Great Hall.
Longleat House, Wiltshire, which was completed in 1580, exemplifies the confidence of Tudor craftsmen in a society that was more stable than that of their medieval ancestors. It looks outwards rather than in on itself, whilst classical detailing such as the pilasters that flank the expanses of glass, and the roundels carved with busts of Roman emperors, show that Renaissance ideas were creeping slowly into Britain during the mid 16th century.
Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire (1591-97). This is the archetypal late-Elizabethan house: tall, compact and beautiful. It was designed, probably by Robert Smythson, for Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury who was better known as Bess of Hardwick. Her descendants, the Dukes of Devonshire, made Chatsworth their principal seat, and left Hardwick more or less unscathed. A remarkable survival.
Whilst Elizabethan houses in England concentrated on the conspicuous display of wealth, Scotland saw the building of castles and fortified houses continue well into the seventeenth century. In fact, fortification became a style in its own right, and the turrets and strongly vertical emphases of Scottish Baronial houses mark one of Scotland's most distinctive contributions to British architecture.
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Styles of the 17th century - a world turned upside down
With the exception of Inigo Jones (1573-1652), whose confident handling of classical detail and proportion set him apart from all other architects of the period, most early 17th century buildings tended to take the innocent exuberance of late Tudor work one step further. Traditional planning was cloaked in the splendidly overblown ornament - the sort of details described at the time as 'a heap of craziness of decorations... very disgusting to see'.
But during the 1640s and 50s the Civil War and its aftermath sent many gentlemen and nobles to the Continent either to escape the fighting or, when the war was lost, to follow Charles II into exile. There they came into contact with French, Dutch and Italian architecture and, with Charles's restoration in 1660, there was a flurry of building activity as royalists reclaimed their property and built themselves houses reflecting the latest European trends.
The style is heavy and rich, sometimes overblown and melodramatic.
As the century wore on, this resolved itself into a passion for the Baroque grandeur which Louis XIV had turned into an instrument of statecraft at Versailles. Formal, geometrical and symmetrical planning meant that a great lord could sit in his dining chamber, at the physical as well as the metaphorical centre of his world, with suites of rooms radiating out in straight lines to either side. His gardens would reflect those lines in long, straight walks and avenues.
The British Baroque was a reassertion of authority, an expression of absolutist ideology by men who remembered a world turned upside down during the Civil War. The style is heavy and rich, sometimes overblown and melodramatic. The politics which underpin it are questionable, but its products are breathtaking.
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Buildings of the 17th century
The Queens House, Greenwich, was begun for Queen Anne between 1616 and 1619 and completed for Henrietta Maria between 1630 and 1635. Greenwich Hospital was built from 1696 onwards. The Queens House is by Inigo Jones and the Hospital is largely Christopher Wren's.
St Paul's Cathedral, London, (1675-1710) is not only one of the most perfect expressions of the English Baroque, but also one of the greatest buildings anywhere in England. It was designed by Wren to replace the old cathedral which had been devastated during the Fire of London in 1666.
Although built in the 18th century, the ideology behind Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire lies firmly in the 17th century. Conceived as a monumental homage to the Duke of Marlborough, whose victory over Louis XIV's army at Blenheim in Bavaria gives the palace its name, it was designed by John Vanbrugh and is the nearest thing Britain has to a Versailles
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Styles of the 18th century - rules cramp the genius
To the Whigs who came to power on the accession of George I in 1714, the Baroque was inextricably linked with the authoritarian rule of the Stuarts. A new style was needed for a new age, and the new ruling class, which aspired to build a civilisation that would rival that of ancient Rome, looked for a solution in antiquity.
Or so it thought. Actually, the solution was found in an antiquity which had been heavily re-interpreted by the 16th century Italian architect Andrea Palladio (1508-80). Palladio's Four Books of Architecture methodically explored and reconstructed the buildings of ancient Rome. They also provided illustrations, in the form of its author's own designs for villas, palaces and churches, of a way in which the early Georgians might adapt those rules to create an architecture of the classical tradition - the yardstick by which all civilised activity was measured.
By the end of the 18th century, the idea of a single national style of architecture had had its day.
But architects soon found the Palladian search for an ideal architecture pointlessly limiting. Whilst the buildings of the ancients should 'serve as models which we should imitate, and as standards by which we ought to judge', a more eclectic approach was called for. In the words of the later 18th century's greatest architect, Robert Adam, 'Rules often cramp the genius and circumscribe the idea of the master'.
By the end of the 18th century, the idea of a single national style of architecture had had its day. Austere neo-classical masterpieces were still being produced; but so too were huge mock-abbeys, battlemented castles, picturesque sixteen-bedroomed cottages and even, as the 19th century dawned, oriental palaces such as John Nash's Royal Pavilion at Brighton. The Cult of Styles had arrived.
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Buildings of the 18th century
Loosely modelled on Palladio's Villa Capra, Lord Burlington's Chiswick House was one of the first shots fired in the war waged by the Georgians against the Baroque. In case anyone was slow to appreciate where Burlington's architectural allegiances lay, he had Michael Rysbrack design two statues to flank the entrance stair with Palladio on the left, and his earliest English disciple Inigo Jones on the right.
Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire (1758-77), is a high point of British neo-classicism. The Palladian layout had already been established when the up-and-coming Scottish architect Robert Adam was asked to take over the project in 1760 by the owner, Sir Nathaniel Curzon. The austere, delicate interiors, with their remarkably unified decoration, show Adam at the height of his powers. Kedleston, the Glory of Derbyshire, was one of the most consistently praised of all Georgian houses.
'I am going to build a little Gothic castle at Strawberry Hill', announced Horace Walpole in 1750. Over the next three decades Walpole transformed the uninteresting villa he had bought by the Thames at Twickenham into one of the landmarks of the Gothic Revival in Britain. Strawberry Hill aroused enormous interest - Walpole had to issue tickets to restrict the number of visitors coming to see it - and demonstrated that native medieval architecture could be every bit as valid as classicism.
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Victorian times - Merry England
In the early 19th century, the French Revolution was recent enough to provide an awful example of what might happen if the upper classes lost control, whilst Peterloo and demonstrations against the Six Acts in 1819 were a reminder that it could happen here. The building classes took refuge in a fictitious past, such as the Middle Ages of Walter Scott's Ivanhoe (1819) or the romantic Elizabethan style of Kenilworth (1821). The myth of Merry England, with its strictly ordered society and its chivalric code of values, had a strong appeal for a ruling elite which felt under threat from social and political unrest at home and abroad.
...reformers like John Ruskin and William Morris made a concerted effort to return to hand-crafted, pre-industrial manufacturing techniques.
The huge glass-and-iron Crystal Palace, designed by Joseph Paxton to house the Great Exhibition of 1851, shows another strand to 19th century architecture - one which embraced new industrial processes. But it wasn't long before even this confidence in progress came to be regarded with suspicion. Mass production resulted in buildings and furnishings that were too perfect, as the individual craftsman no longer had a major role in their creation.
Railing against the dehumanising effects of industrialisation, reformers like John Ruskin and William Morris made a concerted effort to return to hand-crafted, pre-industrial manufacturing techniques. Morris's influence grew from the production of furniture and textiles, until by the 1880s a generation of principled young architects was following his call for good, honest construction.
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Victorian buildings
The Houses of Parliament (Charles Barry and A.W.N. Pugin, 1840-60) replaced the building destroyed by fire in 1834. A good example of the period's confused love affair with the past, it was summed up earlier this century as classic in inspiration, Gothic in detailing, and carried out with scrupulous adherence to the architectural detail of the Tudor period.
With its quiet, unassuming love for the vernacular of Kent and Sussex, and its rejection of Victorian pomposity, Philip Webb's Red House at Bexleyheath (1859-60) is the building which started the Arts and Crafts movement. It was originally designed for newly-weds William and Janey Morris.
Castell Coch, near Cardiff (1872-79), is a piece of inspired lunacy by William Burges, best known for his restoration of Cardiff Castle, an opium habit and the fact that he used to relax at home with a pet parrot perched on the shoulder of his hooded medieval robe. This reconstruction of a 13th century chieftain's stronghold - right down to the working portcullis - is scholarly, at least as far as the exterior is concerned. The interior is downright weird, combining High Victorian romanticism with Burges' own eclectic drawings from ancient British history, Moorish design and classical mythology.
Charles Rennie Mackintosh's Glasgow School of Art (1896-99, 1907-9) proves that there were a few dissenting voices raised against the Victorian trend to return to the past. Mackintosh was uncompromising in his rejection of historicism, and his buildings have more in common with the vertical geometry and sinuous curves of Art Nouveau work in France, Belgium and Austria. But his decadent approach to design met with hostility in Britain and, a few years after the School of Art was completed in 1909, he gave up architecture.
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Styles of the 20th century - conservatism and change
The most important trends in early 20th century architecture simply passed Britain by. Whilst Gropius was working on cold, hard expanses of glass, and Le Corbusier was experimenting with the use of reinforced concrete frames, we had staid establishment architects like Edwin Lutyens producing Neo-Georgian and Renaissance country houses for an outmoded landed class. In addition there were slightly batty architect-craftsmen, the heirs of William Morris, still trying to turn the clock back to before the Industrial Revolution by making chairs and spurning new technology. Only a handful of Modern Movement buildings of any real merit were produced here during the 1920s and 1930s, and most of these were the work of foreign architects such as Serge Chermayeff, Berthold Lubetkin and Erno Goldfinger who had settled in this country.
Local authorities, charged with the task of rebuilding city centres, became important patrons of architecture.
After the Second World War the situation began to change. The Modern Movement's belief in progress and the future struck a chord with the mood of post-war Britain and, as reconstruction began under Attlee's Labour government in 1945, there was a desperate need for cheap housing which could be produced quickly. The use of prefabricated elements, metal frames, concrete cladding and the absence of decoration - all of which had been embraced by Modernists abroad and viewed with suspicion by the British - were adopted to varying degrees for housing developments and schools. Local authorities, charged with the task of rebuilding city centres, became important patrons of architecture. This represented a shift away from the private individuals who had dominated the architectural scene for centuries.
Since the War it has been corporate bodies like these local authorities, together with national and multinational companies, and large educational institutions, which have dominated British architecture. By the late 1980s the Modern Movement, unfairly blamed for the social experiments implicit in high-rise housing, had lost out to irony and spectacle in the shape of post-modernism, with its cheerful borrowings from anywhere and any period. But now, in the new Millennium, even post-modernism is showing signs of age. What comes next? Post-post-modernism?
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Buildings of the 20th century
Cardiff's imposing Civic Centre is a vast complex including a City Hall and Law Courts by Lanchester & Richards, and the University College by W D Caroë. It was hailed as one of the most magnificent examples of civic planning in Britain but, in retrospect, its deeply conservative architecture also seems both arrogant and strangely out of touch with contemporary building in the rest of Europe.
The De le Warr Pavilion at Bexhill-on-Sea, Sussex, is a superb expression of all that is best about the Modern Movement. Commissioned by Lord De La Warr, mayor of Bexhill, and built by Eric Mendelsohn and Serge Chermayeff between 1933 and 1936, it was an attempt to make Bexhill as attractive as exotic French and Italian resorts. It goes without saying that it failed, but the recent restoration of the Pavilion's clean, sweeping lines is a cause for national celebration.
The Royal Festival Hall (Sir Leslie Martin and the Architecture Department of the London County Council, 1951) is all that survives of the complex laid out on London's South Bank for the 1951 Festival of Britain. The festival buildings were important for the opportunity they afforded of presenting a showcase for good modern architecture and Martin's concert hall, while not exactly earth-shattering, is a timely reminder of what good festival architecture looks like.
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Which word represents the letter ‘E’ in the NATO Phonetic Alphabet? | What does NATO phonetic alphabet mean?
Definitions for NATO phonetic alphabet
This page provides all possible meanings and translations of the word NATO phonetic alphabet
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NATO phonetic alphabet(ProperNoun)
Informal name for a spelling alphabet officially known as the ICAO radiotelephony spelling alphabet.
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NATO phonetic alphabet
The NATO phonetic alphabet, more accurately known as the International Radiotelephony Spelling Alphabet and also called the ICAO phonetic or ICAO spelling alphabet, as well as the ITU phonetic alphabet, is the most widely used spelling alphabet. Although often called "phonetic alphabets", spelling alphabets do not have any association with phonetic transcription systems, such as the International Phonetic Alphabet. Instead, the International Civil Aviation Organization alphabet assigned code words acrophonically to the letters of the English alphabet so that critical combinations of letters and numbers can be pronounced and understood by those who transmit and receive voice messages by radio or telephone regardless of their native language or the presence of transmission static. The 26 code words in the NATO phonetic alphabet are assigned to the 26 letters of the English alphabet in alphabetical order as follows: Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliett, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu. Some of the 26 words have altered pronunciations: Charlie can be either "char-lee" or "shar-lee", and Uniform is either "you-nee-form" or "oo-nee-form", neither of which is the English pronunciation of the word. Oscar is pronounced "oss-cah" and Victor as "vik-tah" without the 'r', even by people who would normally pronounce it. Papa is pronounced "Pa-PAH" with the accent on the second syllable instead of the first. The code word Quebec is pronounced as French "keh-beck". The ICAO and FAA use the standard number words of English with four altered pronunciations, whereas the ITU and IMO use ten code words for numbers.
Numerology
The numerical value of NATO phonetic alphabet in Chaldean Numerology is: 3
Pythagorean Numerology
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