Topsy-Turvy Page #4

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How shall I put this?

My tunes, my orchestrations, | are becoming repetitious.

I've rung all the changes possible | in the way of variety of rhythm.

I have such respect for your words...

...that I have continually kept down | my music in order that they can be heard.

It's no more than word-setting.

Sullivan, I have always | subordinated my words to your music.

Oh, I think not.

You've often expatiated | on the thorough good feeling...

...with which we've worked together. | - Unquestionably.

But I want a chance for my music | to act in its own proper sphere.

It does. It always has and it always will.

It must be allowed to intensify the | emotional depth not only of your words...

...but of the situation, which can | be humorous, dramatic... What you will.

Of course. It goes without saying.

You teach me the ABC of my profession.

Now. Would you care for me | to read this to you or not?

- Where is it set? | - In the Sicilian mountains.

Plenty of scope there for Gypsy music, | one might suggest.

Now, the local alchemist | is killed in an explosion...

...and there, amongst his effects, | a chorus of villagers discover a potion.

- Magic, no doubt. | - Indeed.

I thought as much.

The effect of this magic potion is | to transform the character who takes it...

...into whatever he or she | is pretending to be.

- You and your world of Topsy-Turvydom!

In 1881, it was a magic coin.

And before that, it was a magic lozenge.

And in 1877, it was an elixir.

In this instance, it is a magic potion.

"Act One. Scene:

...a mountain inn | on a picturesque Sicilian pass."

"A range of mountains | with Etna in the distance."

- I've made you some beef tea, Mr Gilbert. | - Take it away.

You've not had anything | since yesterday afternoon, sir.

- Take it away. | - You can't work on an empty stomach.

Can't work at all, Mrs Judd, | if I'm being constantly pestered...

...by interfering women with hot beef tea, | cold compresses, mustard poultices...

...and excessive attacks | of philanthropic zeal.

- How's my wounded soldier? | - He's not doing as he's told, madam.

Oh, isn't he now?

Willie, are you intending | to visit the dentist tomorrow?

- You really... | - Oh, for God's sake! You pair of harpies!

Get out! I'm working!

- Willie. | - Madam...

I had rather spend an afternoon | in a Turkish bath with my mother...

...than visit the dratted dentist.

Very well.

Good night!

- She's being just a little bit tricky.

She's coming.

Well done, Mr Gilbert!

Rinse.

She's a beauty.

- Open wide. | - Wh... What?

- Bite... really hard.

I must say, my wife and I | did find "Princess Ida"...

...rather too long, don't you know.

Try not to speak, old chap.

I do hope you've enjoyed your evening...

...but before we say farewell, | may I suggest an impromptu?

Mr Walter Simmonds | has generously offered...

...to accompany me on the harmonium!

Now, we have another very young | hopeful with us this evening...

...who has kindly agreed to accompany us | with a new composition of his own.

The Lost Chord!

Sir Arthur informed me | a few moments ago...

...that he cannot entirely | recall his new piece.

- Merci, madame.

# Seated one day at the organ

# I was weary and ill at ease

# And my fingers wandered idly

# Over the noisy keys

# I know not what I was playing

# Or what I was dreaming then

# But I struck one chord of music

# Like the sound of a great amen

# Like the sound

# Of a great amen

It's ridiculous.

It is. I sent him the thing | on Monday of last week.

He could have read it on the same day. | At the very least on Tuesday.

Now ten days have passed | and not a word.

- This concerns me greatly. | - It concerns "me" greatly.

- You'll have to go and see him. | - I'll be buggered if I do any such thing!

I present the man with my idea, | he rejects it...

...I respond in detail to his misgivings | but answer came there none.

Either he hasn't read it, | or he has read it and he doesn't like it.

If he doesn't, he should say so. | At least we shall know where we stand.

- Go and see him. | - No, Carte! You go and see him.

I've no more shots in my locker.

Sullivan & Gilbert! Who are they?

At least we're going to | revive "The Sorcerer".

Only as a stopgap.

- It's breathing space. | - It won't run more than three months.

Your unbounded optimism | is inspiring, Carte.

I have great confidence in "The Sorcerer", | but I'm not in the business of revivals.

You are now. Since you've decided | to withdraw the ailing "Princess Ida"...

...in spite of the cooler weather.

# Sprites of earth and air

# Fiends of flame and fire

# Demon souls come here in shoals

# This fearful deed inspire

# Appear! Appear!

# Appear!

# Good master, we are here!

# Noisome hags of night

# Imps of deadly shade

# Pallid ghosts

# Arise in hosts

# And lend me all your aid

# Appear!

# Appear!

# Appear!

# Good master, we are here!

# Hark, hark, they assemble

# These fiends of the night

# Oh, Alexis, I tremble

# Seek safety in flight!

# Let us fly to a far-off land

# Where peace and plenty dwell

# Where the sigh of the silver strand

# Is echoed in every shell

# To the joys that land will give

# On the wings of Love we'll fly

# In innocence there to live

# In innocence there to die

# In innocence there to live

# There to die

# To live and die

# Too late, too late

# Too late, too late

# That may not be!

# It may not be

# That happy fate

# Is not for thee

# That happy fate

# Is not for thee

# Now, shrivelled hags with poison bags

# Discharge your loathsome loads

# Spit flame and fire, unholy choir

# Belch forth your venom, toads

# Ye demons fell with yelp and yell

# Shed curses far afield

# Ye fiends of night, your filthy blight

# In noisome plenty yield

Number one!

# It is done!

Number two.

# One too few!

Number three!

# Set us free! Set us free! | Our work is done

# Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!

# Ha ha ha haa!

# Let us fly to a far-off land

# Where peace and plenty dwell

# Too late, too late

# Let us fly where the silver strand | is echoed in every shell

# Too late, too late

# Let us fly! Let us fly!

# That happy fate

# Let us fly! Let us fly!

- How many today, Jessie? | - Only nine, alas!

"Oh, alas!"

I have received none today.

I'm utterly neglected.

Have these, you poor soul!

I don't want your scraps, Jessie Bond.

Too vigorous, Emily. Apply the bandage.

Beg your pardon, Miss Bond.

- Shall I ever find anybody again? | - Don't be so gloomy, Leonora.

Sadly, I seem to appeal | only to elderly gentlemen.

Quel dommage!

I've told you what you must do.

The last thing a girl wants | after an evening's performance...

...is to have to go and sing | all night for London society.

Idle ladies and their odious husbands.

One has to sing for one's supper.

It's damned exhausting. I detest it.

Anyway, they're not all married.

And some of them | are rather cute and courteous.

You have them dangling | on a leash, Jessie.

One must keep oneself amused, | don't you know?

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