way to account for the fact. In the first place, it was subjected to the intolerable strain of 168 consecutive performances.
No possible chance of making alterations that only public performance can point out, with certainty, as desirable or necessary, was accorded to the composer, since its even temporary withdrawal would have involved the closing of the newly-built opera house and, under the circumstances alluded to in another chapter, made the continuance of the scheme a matter of doubt.
Had the conditions been different, I do not doubt that Sir Arthur Sullivan would have made a great and possibly vital change in the work. One of the most persistent and justifiable criticisms brought against it was its demonstrably unevenness in merit. Any musician with the least critical faculty would recognise its truth. For instance, the second scene of the second act should have been entirely eliminated. It was unworthy of the work and the composer. It was forced, theatrical, and destitute of spontaneity or inspiration.
That a man of such acumen could fail to recognise it is impossible; as a matter of fact, he once told me that the scene spoilt the act which, it may be said, with this exception, contained the most splendid music in the opera.
It is inconceivable that, had he found the opportunity, he would not have composed an entirely new one. To give credence to this opinion, I may mention that he made an important alteration, in the short time at his
disposal, before it went to Berlin for performance. So short, indeed, that he asked me to do the necessary scoring for the orchestra that the alteration involved.
Another criticism often levelled against "Ivanhoe," was that it was occasionally reminiscent "of the Savoy"—implying that the high standard imposed by Grand Opera was not consistently maintained. This was, doubtless, suggested by the popular "Ho! Jolly Jenkin." In this connection, I will at once say that Sir Arthur Sullivan, himself, anticipated this objection, as the following words will show. It was typical of him, when he had an important work in view, to delay its commencement to the last moment. The result was that, once begun, he was obliged to work with incredible energy and persistence to effect its completion at the stipulated time. It was so on this occasion.
The night was as constant a watchman of his work as the day.
I had been engaged by the publishers, Messrs. Chappell and Co., to make the pianoforte arrangement from the full score, and, at Sir Arthur Sullivan's request, I used to drive down to his residence from the Savoy Theatre, where I was at the time conducting, after the evening performance, to take away any pages of the score that might be completed. I generally arrived about midnight. On one occasion, as I entered his study, he said to me, "I want you to hear something," and went to the piano and played this particular song. When he had
finished I remarked, "Sir Arthur, why, it will be an immense success," and he replied, somewhat with a sigh, "Yes, I think it would; but it won't do. I can hear them now saying, 'redolent of the Savoy.'"