The Gilberts were tremendous travellers; for many years they wintered in Egypt, India, the West Indies, Burma, or some other far-away land, and it was on these wanderings that he conceived ideas for the “Mikado.” When in Egypt for the third time, they nearly lost their lives in the railway accident between Cairo and Halouan. Fortunately they were only bruised from the concussion, but several of the passengers were killed and many wounded. The expert photographer was of course on the spot, and while waiting for a relief train W. S. Gilbert was busy with his camera. Being physically incapacitated by a long illness from being of any service to the sufferers, he contented himself with sitting on a rock in the desert and taking snapshots at the scene of the calamity.
Apropos of an interview I was writing on himself for one of a set that appeared in the front page of the Pall Mall Gazette, he wrote the following amusing reply to my chaff suggesting all sorts of dreadful things that I would put in if he did not help me.
“Grim’s Dyke, Harrow Weald,
“3rd December, 1901.
“My dear Mrs. Alec,
“I have filled the gap to the best of my ability—but really I have very little to tell, on the subject of Iolanthe.
“I haven’t the least objection to be described as a ‘whipped cur’ (indeed, I rather like it), but unfortunately the epithet doesn’t in the least describe my attitude on a first night. The ‘embankment’ is purely mythical. I usually spend the evening in the greenroom or in the wings of the theatre, and I fancy that few authors accept failure or success more philosophically than I do. When ‘Princess Ida’ was produced I was sitting in the greenroom as usual, and, likewise sitting there, was an excitable Frenchman who had supplied all the armour used in the piece. The piece was going capitally, and he said to me, ‘Mais savez vous que vous avez là un succès solide?’ I replied that the piece seemed to be all right, and he exclaimed, with a gesture of amazement, ‘Mais vous êtes si calme!’ And this, I fancy, would describe the frame of my mind on every first night.
“It is also a mistake to suppose that I have fruitlessly longed to write more important plays. As a matter of fact, I have written and produced four ambitious blank-verse plays, ‘The Palace of Truth,’ ‘Pygmalion and Galatea,’ ‘The Wicked World,’ and ‘Broken Hearts,’ all with conspicuous success—besides many serious and humorous dramas and comedies—such as ‘Daniel Druce,’ ‘Engaged,’ ‘Sweethearts,’ ‘Comedy and Tragedy,’ and many others. It was when I was tired of these that I tried my hand on a libretto, and I was so successful that I had to go on writing them. If d——d nonsense is wanted, I can write it as well as anybody.
“I know I can be dismally dull—but I am sure that dinner-party at which I never opened my mouth (except to eat) is apocryphal. If you put that in, I shall never be invited to dinner again!
“By the way, would you like to go to a rehearsal? There will be one on Thursday at about 11.30, and the Dress Rehearsal on Friday at 2.30. The enclosed will pass you. If you don’t use it, tear it up.