Gilbert and Sullivan hit their stride in the 1880s, with Carte provid- ing almost as much innovation offstage as his authors did before the footlights. During the year-plus run of Patience (1881, 578 perfor- mances), which poked fun at the more self-indulgent aspects of the aesthetic movement, Carte moved his troupe into the newly built Savoy Theatre, the fi rst auditorium in Great Britain to feature elec- tric lighting. As a precaution, gaslight was also installed. At the fi rst public performance, the auditorium’s gas jets were lowered as the new fi lament bulbs came on, giving a warm, noiseless, odorless glow that delighted the audience. However, since electrical stage lighting was still being developed, the cast of Patience continued to perform under gaslight. In another revolution, Carte placed specifi c seat numbers on all tickets, ending the age-old problem of customers scrimmaging for unreserved seats.
Gilbert got his fi rst chance to experiment with electrical stage lighting in Iolanthe (1882, 398 performances in London), prob-
ably the most “English” of all the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. In it, an Arcadian shepherd defi es the Lord Chancellor of England to claim the hand of the chancellor’s lovely young ward. This defi - ant act puts the chancellor and Britain’s House of Peers at odds with the shepherd’s relatives, a platoon of female fairies. If this sounds like
The Black Crook , that’s because Gilbert was deliberately spoofi ng the
use of fairies and other magical characters in pantomimes and extrav- aganzas. He took this gag all the way, having the fairy chorus wear crowns of stars powered by hidden battery packs. There is a bit of genuine sentiment when Iolanthe, the shepherd’s fairy mother, risks death by revealing that as she is the chancellor’s long-lost wife, the shepherd is consequently his son. The entire fairy chorus then con- fesses that they have broken their magical law by marrying Peers. In a fi nal topsy-turvy touch, the fairy queen and chancellor join forces to resolve the crisis, giving Gilbert a fresh chance to skewer his former profession:
Queen : You have all incurred death; but I can’t slaughter the whole company! And yet (unfolding a scroll) the law is clear—every fairy must die who marries a mortal.
GILBERT AND SULLIVAN (1880 –1900) 87 Chancellor : Allow me, as an old Equity draftsman, to make a sug- gestion. The subtleties of the legal mind are equal to the emergency. The thing is really quite simple—the insertion of a single word will do it. Let it stand that every fairy will die who doesn’t marry a mortal, and there you are, out of your diffi culty at once.
Queen : We like your humor. Very well!
The fairy queen immediately marries a strapping guardsman and turns the Peers into fairies; then the entire cast fl ies off to Fairyland.
When Sullivan began complaining about Gilbert’s “topsy-turvy” plots, the playwright took a very different approach with Princess Ida (1885, 246 performances in London), which was based on his already successful stage parody of a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson. The dia- logue was in verse form, and the plot involved a medieval princess eschewing the company of men in order to run a college for women. Hilarion, the foreign prince betrothed to Ida at birth, demands her hand, and a bloodless battle ends with the royal couple in love. The lush score was one of Sullivan’s best, but critical carping and a pun- ishing heat wave combined to make this show a disappointment at the Savoy box offi ce. Princess Ida remains the caviar of Gilbert and Sul- livan operettas, unknown to most but dearly admired by a dedicated and enlightened few.
Gilbert then offered yet another plot involving a Sorcerer -style magical lozenge, and a disgruntled Sullivan announced that he was no longer willing to write for the Savoy. Sullivan had received a knighthood in 1883 and was under greater pressure than ever to con- centrate on so-called serious compositions. This high-handed attitude did not go over well with Gilbert, who refused to write librettos “on approval.” The equal importance of words and music in operetta had led each collaborator to accommodate the other, and little resentments had accumulated over time. Carte was unable to effect a reconcilia- tion, and for a few weeks it appeared that the partnership of Gilbert and Sullivan was over.
Legend suggests that Gilbert found inspiration when a Japanese ceremonial sword fell from the wall of his study. Taking advantage of the then-current craze for the culture and fashions of Japan, he came up with an extraordinary libretto. In The Mikado (1885, 672 per- formances in London), an imperial law that punishes fl irting with a
88 MUSICAL THEATRE: A HISTORY
sentence of death inspires the residents of the Japanese town of Titipu to elevate Ko-Ko (a lowly tailor convicted for fl irting) to be their Lord High Executioner—on the theory that he “cannot cut off another’s head until he’s cut his own off.” When the Mikado demands an execu- tion, Ko-Ko plans to behead Nanki-Poo, a wandering musician who has fallen in love with Ko-Ko’s young ward, Yum-Yum. (Stick with me; this summary will make sense in the end.) Ko-Ko was planning to marry the girl himself, but he puts self-preservation fi rst and lets the young lovers wed for a month, after which Nanki-Poo will be exe- cuted. Then it turns out that Nanki-Poo is actually the Mikado’s son and has been masquerading to avoid marriage with Katisha, an unscru- pulous and repellently ugly woman of the royal court who has falsely accused him of fl irting. When Ko-Ko reluctantly wins Katisha’s affec- tions, Nanki-Poo is free to marry Yum-Yum, and everyone makes it to the fi nal curtain in one piece.
Why did this giddy nonsense prove to be Gilbert and Sullivan’s most popular work, and why has it retained that distinction for so many years? Gilbert’s characters are improbable and yet entirely believable, providing a faux Japanese mirror that refl ects Victorian Britain’s social and political hypocrisies—many of which are familiar to every era and nation. For example, when all the other town offi - cials of Titipu resigned to protest Ko-Ko’s appointment, Pooh-Bah (“a nobleman of the highest rank”) took on all their titles—and by this seemingly selfl ess act managed to collect all their salaries, as well as all the illegal payoffs that those positions attract. At one point, Ko-Ko asks for advice on how to pay for his upcoming wedding to Yum-Yum, and Pooh-Bah responds:
Certainly. In which of my capacities? . . . Speaking as your Private Secretary, I should say that, as the city will have to pay for it, don’t stint yourself, do it well. . . . Of course you will understand that, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, I am bound to see that due economy is observed. . . . Oh, as your Solicitor, I should have no hesitation in saying “Chance it,” if it were not that, as Lord Chief Justice, I am bound to see that the law isn’t violated. . . . Of course, as First Lord of the Treasury, I could propose a special vote that would cover all expenses, if it were not that, as Leader of the Opposition, it would be my duty to resist it, tooth and nail. Or, as Paymaster General, I could so cook the accounts that, as Lord High Auditor, I should never discover the fraud. But then,
GILBERT AND SULLIVAN (1880 –1900) 89 as Archbishop of Titipu, it would be my duty to denounce my dis- honesty and give myself into my own custody as fi rst Commissioner of Police. . . . I don’t say that all these distinguished people couldn’t be squared; but it is right to tell you that they wouldn’t be suffi ciently degraded in their own estimation unless they were insulted with a very considerable bribe.
Ko-Ko apologizes for Pooh-Bah’s pompous behavior by saying, “Don’t laugh at him, he can’t help it—he’s under treatment for it”—a line as timely in the twenty-fi rst century as it was in the late nine- teenth. Gilbert’s lyrics are equally ageless, such as Ko-Ko’s list of likely victims for beheading:
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, I’ve got a little list—I’ve got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed who never would be missed! There’s the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs— All people who have fl abby hands and irritating laughs— All children who are up in dates, and fl oor you with ’em fl at— All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like that— And all third persons who on spoiling tête-à-têtes insist—
They’d none of ’em be missed—they’d none of ’em be missed!
Aside from strong characterization and lyrical wit, The Mikado boasts one of Sullivan’s richest outpourings of melody, from the breezy opening men’s chorus “If You Want to Know Who We Are,” through the egotistical introspection of Yum-Yum’s solo “The Sun Whose Rays Are All Ablaze,” right through the triumphant grand fi nale “For He’s Gone and Married Yum-Yum.” Every melody is a specifi c tonal expression of the sentiments expressed in the lyrics. A particu- lar highlight is the title character’s sadistic comedy aria, explaining that his “object all sublime” is “to let the punishment fi t the crime” for all evil-doers—including society gossips, quack physicians, amateur singers, and even those who endlessly play billiards. Gilbert thought so little of the song that he cut it after the fi nal rehearsal, but an appeal by the ensemble led him to restore it in time to stop the show on open- ing night at the Savoy. The Mikado became a permanent fi xture of the musical stage in Great Britain and the United States, and by 1900
90 MUSICAL THEATRE: A HISTORY
translations had been produced in German, Danish, French, Russian, Hungarian, Czech, and Italian.
Whatever Gilbert and Sullivan offered immediately after such a tremendous success was doomed to suffer by comparison. Although
Ruddigore (1887, 288 performances in London), a mock-melodrama
featuring family curses and vampirism, was not their most brilliant work, it did not deserve the opening night cries from the upper bal- cony of “Bring back The Mikado !” Happily, no such complaints plagued The Yeoman of the Guard (1888, 423 performances in Lon- don), the most serious of the Savoy operettas. It is set in the Tower of London during the bloody reign of Henry VIII. Strolling player Jack Point loves fellow performer Elsie Maynard, but she falls for Colo- nel Fairfax, a condemned prisoner in the Tower. Plots and mistaken identities abound until a pardoned Fairfax marries Elsie, and Point collapses from heartbreak. Grossmith originally played the ending for laughs, giving a twitch to assure audiences that his character was quite alive, but when later actors chose to depict Point as dead, Gil- bert approved, saying “the end of the opera should be a tragedy.” Both Gilbert and Sullivan described this work as a personal favorite.
In 1889, Richard D’Oyly Carte introduced another innovation. Over the years, customers had complained that it was diffi cult to fi nd a decent meal anywhere near the Savoy Theatre. Since the best dining establishments of that era were found in hotels, D’Oyly Carte built a hotel right next to the theatre. His plans called for so many bath- rooms that the architect asked if amphibious guests were expected. The Savoy Hotel set new standards for luxurious accommodation, and its restaurant became home to the fi rst after-theatre dinners. As of this writing, both the hotel and its restaurant remain world class institutions.
Just months after the hotel opened, the Savoy Theatre premiered
The Gondoliers (1889, 554 performances). The plot involves two
newlywed Venetian gondoliers being dragged away from their wives to rule an island kingdom. It seems one of them was born to be king of this revolution-torn country, and until a rather grand Spanish Inquisitor verifi es who is who, both gondoliers must act as coregents. The true king (whichever one he is) was betrothed in infancy to marry the daughter of the Duke of Plaza Toro, an impoverished Spanish nobleman who fi nds extraordinary wealth by incorporating himself.
GILBERT AND SULLIVAN (1880 –1900) 91
Thanks to a “switched at birth” gimmick reminiscent of H.M.S.
Pinafore , the Duke’s lowly drummer (who coincidentally loves the
Duke’s daughter) turns out to be the true king, and the relieved gon- doliers are restored to their wives. The Gondoliers played a private command performance at Windsor Castle for Queen Victoria, who must have enjoyed the merry fi rst act paean to the joys of being “a grand and glorious queen.”
The Savoy operettas had the benefi t of being tailored for Carte’s repertory troupe, all handpicked by Gilbert. He mixed trained sing- ers with actors who had little if any musical experience—claiming such people had “less to unlearn.” Patter comedy roles were all fash- ioned for George Grossmith (Ko-Ko, Jack Point). Comic parts that required stronger singing went to character baritone Richard Temple (Dick Deadeye, the Pirate King, the Mikado) or the more physically imposing Rutland Barrington (Captain Corcoran, Pooh-Bah). Churl- ish matrons like Katisha or the Duchess of Plaza Toro were originally played by soprano Rosina Brandram, who got a rare chance to show off her natural beauty when she played Iolanthe. The younger female leads went to Jessie Bond, Leonora Braham, and an ongoing succes- sion of new talents. Scotsman Durward Lely created many of the major tenor roles, including Nanki-Poo.