The reuse of "Climbing Over Rocky Mountain"
in The Pirates of Penzance.

The following letter from Percy Strzelecki appeared in The Clarion of 13 June 1902:

"THESPIS ; OR, THE GODS GROWN OLD."

Dear Sir,—l have just been reading Nunquam's "In the Library" of May 16th, wherein he alludes to his having seen the first comic opera written by the two famous collaborators, Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan. I wonder how many there are at present living who saw it? It ran, I believe, for only a fortnight. The music, I was informed by Messrs. Chapell & Co., some 12 years ago, was never published. "Nor is it ever likely to be printed," they added—which is a pity. As Nunquam says, I wonder why the Savoy management do not look that Thespis up?

Our Mr. Dangle knows his Gilbert well—as do, in fact, most of the noble army of Clarionettes—but I should bo very much astonished if even that great critic, that mine of information relating to all things theatrical, ever saw or perused the book of Thespis.

"Thespis; or, The Gods Grown Old: An Entirely Original Grotesques Opera, in two Acts, with Original Music by Arthur Sullivan," to give it its full title, was produced, under the management of Mr. J. Hollingshead, on December 23rd, 1871—so Nunquam is pretty correct in his dates; but there is no mention of its being called a burlesque so far as the book goes.

The scene of the opera is laid on the top of Mount Olympus, and the raising of the curtain is followed by the usual chorus, this particular one being designated a "Chorus of Stars," who inform the audience that

There is great dissatisfaction amongst the Deities: they complain of the cold and night air; the votive offerings have fallen off, and become less and less; Apollo is tired, and won't go on duty; now that they are turning too old for their duties, they have made the ubiquitous Mercury their maid-of-all-work, who, on the other hand, doesn't like it. As he says, "I'm treated abominably. I make everybody, and I'm nobody; I go everywhere, and I'm nowhere; I do everything, and I'm nothing; I've made thunder for Jupiter, odes for Apollo, battles for Mars, and love for Venus; I've married couples for Hymen, and six weeks afterwards I've divorced them for Cupid—and, in return, I get the kicks, while they pocket the halfpence." He then breaks out into song ("Oh, I'm the Celestial Drudge"), which has a typical Gilbert "sarcastic" chorus:

The Gods, in their dwelling on Mount Olympus, are invaded by the advance guard of a band of Thespians what time Jupiter, Apollo, Diana, and Mercury "exeunt into ruined temple R. and L". The other players follow, singing a chorus, "Climbing over Rocky Mountains," which Gilbert evidently thought too good to be lost, as he afterwards lifted it into The Pirates of Penzance, with one or two slight amendments. The dialogue amongst the Thespians which here ensues is very funny. They are just as tired of their profession as the Gods are of theirs. Thespis (Mr. J. L Toole) sings the song alluded to by Nunquam about the affable railway director who undermines his influence by associating with his inferiors.

The unhappy consequences of this genial affability or affable geniality was that:

Jupiter, Mara, and Apollo; in full Olympian costume, here appear on three broken columns, and demand of the Thespians how they dare invade their celestial domain. They enter into conversation, with the result that they find each other is dissatisfied with his present position, and finally they agree upon a change: the Thespians to take possession of the Mount and run the show, for, as Thespis explains to Jupiter, he (Thespis) has a very clever company, used to take long parts on the shortest notice, while Apollo and his band are to go down to Earth incog., mingle with the world, hear and see what people think of them, thus judge for themselves as to the best means of restoring their waning influence. Mercury is left behind with the Thespians, so that whenever they find themselves in difficulties they may have his assistance. The Thespians are highly elated with their new "roles," and celebrate their respective parts in song, while the Gods, very much astonished at all they see, go down below, earthwards. And so ends Act I.

Act II opens upon the same scene, with the exception that in place of the ruins that filled the foreground of the stage the interior of a magnificent temple is seen. The new Gods (Thespians) are discovered grouped in picturesque attitudes about the stage, eating, drinking, smoking, and singing. Then follows "Little Maid of Arcadee," sung by Sparkeion—a song that will be familiar to some of your readers no doubt. With the exception of "Climbing over Rocky Mountains," it appears to be the only song out of the opera that has survived—at least, so far as I am aware. I have heard "Little Maid of Arcadee" sung a few times during the last 10 or 12 years.

After a year's experience of running affairs on Mount Olympus, during which time the whole of the management has been in the hands of Mercury, who hits off in a clever manner their faults and deficiencies, the yearly bunch of complaints received from the mortals, addressed in the first instance to Jupiter, and passed on to Mercury, come to hand. Jupiter, Apollo, and Mars also return to the Mount to listen to the petitions and complaints. The Athenians are incensed owing there having been a rainy Friday for six months; the Peace Society complain that there have been no battles, as, since the nations are not permitted to fight, owing to Timidon having banished all wars, no two of them are on speaking terms. The dread of fighting was the only thing that kept them civil to each other. After listening to these and other complaints, Jupiter dismisses the Thespians:

The Thespians are driven away by the Gods, who group themselves m attitudes of triumph; after which

CURTAIN.

Altogether, the opera, though short, is an amusing one, and if the music be at all up to Sullivan's average it should go well were it to be revived. As the first Gilbert and Sullivan series of operas, it possesses an interest that is more than common. What has Gilbert to say upon the matter? Repeating Nunquam's query, "Why don't the Savoy mamangement look that Thespis up? — Yours, &c.,

PERCY STRZELECKI

On 9 January 1903, the following appeared in "The Clarion"

Our friend of the unpronounceable name, Percy Strzelecki, lately sent us a very interesting letter recalling Mr. W. S. Gilbert's first opera, "Thespis, or The Gods Grown Old," and when the letter appeared in the CLARION, our friend sent the paper to Mr. Gilbert. The great comic poet acknowledged receipt in a letter which supplies an exceedingly curious piece of theatrical history.

"I may state," he says, " that Thespis' was in no sense a failure, although it achieved no considerable success. I believe it ran about seventy nights—a fair run in those days. The piece was produced under stress of tremendous hurry. It was invented, written, composed, rehearsed, and produced within five weeks!

"The chorus, 'Climbing Over Rocky Mountains,' was not transferred from 'Thespis' to 'The Pirates of Penzance' for the reason you suggest, viz., that I thought it too good to be lost. The history of the transfer is as follows: The 'Pirates' was produced originally in New York, and when we—that is, Sir Arthur Sullivan and I—arrived in that city for the purpose of rehearsing the piece, he found, to his consternation, that he had left nearly all the score of Act I in his London chambers. It became necessary to rewrite so much of the act as was missing; and his marvellous memory enabled him to reproduce a considerable part of it—almost note for note as he subsequently discovered on comparing the new with the old score. Almost the only number that he could not recall was the chorus that accompanies the entrance of the Major-General's daughters in Act 1, and as the situation was practically identical with the entrance of the troupe of Greek comedians in 'Thespis,' I suggested that he should transfer music and words, as they stood from one piece to the other. This he did very successfully.

"As far as I know, the fact that the same chorus occurs in both pieces had never been remarked upon until your letter appeared in the CLARION. Indeed, I had forgotten the circumstance myself."