Mr. Gilbert: Oh! there you are. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. We'll go on with your scene. Do you want to try your song?
Mr. Grossmith: Not unless you want to hear it!
Mr. Gilbert: No; I don't want to hear it. (Roars of laughter from the company.) Do you?
Mr. Grossmith: No!
Good humour prevails, and the rehearsal proceeds. At its termination Mr. Gilbert approaches Mr. Snooks, who is absolutely wretched in the corner.
Mr. Gilbert (privately to Mr. Snooks): Don't worry yourself about that. Go home, and think it over. It will be all right to-morrow.
On the morrow, perhaps, it is not all right; but Mr. Gilbert will pass it over, and by dint of perseverance (which is, of course, appreciated), and the chaffing he gets from his fellow-choristers at the theatre, and the bullying from his wife at home, Mr. Snooks, in the course of a week, gets it actually right; but the word is always pronounced to the end with a certain amount of doubt.
The performer frequently gets the credit which is due to Mr. Gilbert, and to him absolutely. As a rule, the little midshipmite in H.M.S. Pinafore is supposed to be a perfect genius. There have been scores of midshipmites in town and "on tour," but they are all geniuses.
Some, of course, are naturally clever, and I should be grieved to disparage any child; but if admiration, cheers, and applause on the stage are at all times dangerous to the mind of man, what must be the effect on children!
A little boy, with a pretty voice, who played in the performance of the Pirates of Penzance by children, came to me some time back in despair. His vanity had been touched by the approbation of the public, and his eyes fascinated by the glare of the footlights and limelights. They were all he thought of. His voice had gone, or, to be more accurate, had cracked. He was too old to act as a child, and too young to act as a man; and he "pooh-poohed" any idea of an ordinary situation. All the credit of his success his friends attributed to his own talent, and not to his stage manager.