Review

The Observer, 31 Dec. 1871

In “Thespis; or, the Gods Grown Old,” Mr. W.S. Gilbert and Mr. Arthur Sullivan have attempted, with not a little success, to imitate French comic opera, concerning which we have heard so much for the last half-dozen years. In these days when, apropos [sic] of Mr. Alfred Thompson’s operas of “Favolti” and “Le Nouvel Aladin” (both original and both well-received in Paris, and in France, during the past fortnight) the French critics are savagely turning round on us, and calling us pickpockets, it is not disagreeable to find we have authors and musicians quite as talented as our neighbours. It is tempting, no doubt, to borrow, when the borrowed articles are pretty and becoming; but by all means let us be original if we can. Mr. Gilbert has extended his imitation on the libretto so far as to plunge himself into heathen mythology, which was somewhat daring, after the wear which the “Orphée” and other similar operas have encountered. The subject of Thespis is unquestionably funny. Whether the best artists we can get together for comic opera are quite able to appreciate the fun is another matter. We must remember that admirable as is the Gaiety company it is not quite trained to the necessary dash which opera bouffe requires, and Mr. Gilbert has tested their strength rather severely in his first experiment. The opera is divided into two acts, and the story is roughly as follows:–The gods having grown old and past their work adopt the suggestion of Thespis, the travelling showman, and permit the mountebank to reign in Olympus whilst the Olympians are mixing with the mortals and watching the signs of the times. During the change Mercury alone remains in heaven, wailing, like a Greek chorus, over the reckoning day, which is at hand, for Thespis, who commences his campaign with the rash instructions to his bad provincial company to take everything very easily, and to try every possible experiment in the art of rule–or misrule, as it turns out to be. When a year has passed Thespis, in his innocence, gives out as his opinion that the work of gods and goddesses is mere child’s play: but at hand is the warning Mercury, warning him of the hideous period when the petitions from earth revealing the follies of a year will be unveiled, and the worst known. There is a grim satire in this notion which cannot fail to be recognised. The fatal day arrives, and Thespis is horror-stricken to see Mercury tottering under a very burden of complaints. First of all, the terrible truth is known that “it has been a foggy Friday in November for the last six months, and the Athenians are tired of it.’” Thespis attempts to brazen it out, and ascribes the grumbling to a craving for perpetual change. However he calls up Time, and puts him in the witness-box. Time, true to the bidding of Thespis, has been trying experiments. He considered seven days a week was an awkward and unusual number. “Two’s into seven won’t go,” so the experimenter, Time, coolly abolished Saturday’s [sic] altogether. This would have been all very well, but Sunday had very strict principles, and refused to go on duty after Friday. But why November? The complication is most injurious. December can’t begin till November has finished. November can’t finish because Time has abolished Saturday. But why wet? come, why wet? Oh! this was the fault of Thespis himself, who turned on the rain six months ago, and forgot to turn it off again. Thespis, as a daring expedient, promised twelve months of blazing July Tuesdays, but the matter looked ugly for Thespis. Complaint number two urged that the Peace Society made it a grievance that there were no battles, because since battles have been abolished, war was universal. Now that nations can’t fight no two of them are on speaking terms. The dread of fighting was the only thing that made them civil to each other. Thespis himself admits the force of the argument, and commands that battles be restored and peace reign supreme. The third petition is from the associated wine merchants of Mitylene. [sic] They complain that all the grapes are filled with ginger-beer, an experiment made by Deputy Bacchus, who has taken the pledge and “sworn off” intoxicating drinks. The complaints are, in fact, so numerous that the Thespians are by common consent turned out, and the Olympians, though old, continue in their old posts.

Mr. Arthur Sullivan has entered with heart into the spirit of Mr. Gilbert’s fun, he has brightened it up with the most fanciful and delightful music, and, undismayed by any metre, has answered to Mr. Gilbert’s call. Triple rhymes, double rhymes, Bab ballads, and patter songs, Mr. Sullivan has shirked nothing, and we have little doubt it will be granted that the songs are not the least meritorious portion of the work. But the ballad which will cause most delight on account of the quaint simplicity and tenderness of the words, the charming singing of Mddle. Clary, and the really exquisite setting by Mr. Sullivan, is the “Little maid of Arcadee.” This is a musical gem, and is encored with as much heart by the Aesthetic School, as Mr. Toole’s ballad is by those of less refined taste. But all through the opera Mr. Sullivan’s rare taste and cleverness bubbles up to the surface. What can be prettier than the music to the opening chorus in the second act, or the dreamy song, “What is the good, my love, of being gods if we must work like common mortals,” which followed it, and what more plucky than the musical setting to such a difficult lyric as “Oh! I’m the celestial drudge,” acted rather than sung by Miss Farren? Mr. Sullivan has certainly persuaded us of one thing, that a musician can write music to any metre. In this instance Mr. Sullivan’s metal [sic] has been tried. Those who cannot enjoy the music to “Thespis” from one act to the other must be difficult indeed to please.

Mr. Toole brings all his fun to bear on the leading character, and every line he utters causes a roar. Mdlle. Clary is of the greatest possible assistance, and Miss Constance Loseby, as well as Miss Annie Tremaine, are as indefatigable and tuneful as ever. Miss Farren speaks her words with admirable point, and when we say that Miss Farren acts Mercury it will be granted how fitted she is for such a character. But the acting as well as the business, will want working up before it can be fairly criticised. When the opera was produced it was not ready, and that will have to be done coram populo which should have been done in private. The dresses are rich, if not quite so original and striking as usual, and there can hardly be a doubt that “Thespis” will delight, not possibly the ordinary Boxing week audience, but the classes by whom the Gaiety is most extensively patronised.

Transcribed by Arthur Robinson