Patience

Gilbert and Sullivan wrote the libretto and score, respectively, for fourteen comic operas between 1871 and 1896 (fifteen, if one includes the oratorio The Martyr of Antioch).  The Seattle Gilbert & Sullivan Society produces one of them each summer.  My law school friend, Pat M., and I have made it a tradition to be in the audience for each year's production.

Over the years, we have seen virtually every one of the fourteen operettas.  I say "virtually" because I believe there are one or two so obscure or unpopular that they have been attacked only once or twice in the 64 years of the Society's existence, ones that we somehow have missed.  Pat is our obsessive-compulsive list-maker, and he somewhere has the exact history of our attendance.  But we couldn't recall offhand last night which operettas we were still missing.

Once I see the entire Gilbert & Sullivan canon, I suppose I can die happy.

There are those who would argue that if you've seen one G&S comic opera, you've seen them all.  I admit to the substantial truth in this claim, but it is the small differences in plot and characterization that make watching each one fun.  As for the more significant factors -- musical style, stock characters, comic patter, happy endings with all romantic difficulties resolved -- well, I suppose that for some of us, the best surprise is no surprise.

Last night, we saw the 2018 offering -- Patience.   Opening in 1881, Patience was the second most successful G&S production in its initial London staging, following only The Mikado.  It was the sixth of Gilbert and Sullivan's collaborations, but the first staged in the new Savoy Theatre in London.  It was also the first staged using exclusively electric lights for illumination. 

Patience is perhaps less popular today, because of the topicality of its subject matter.  The opera satirizes England's contemporary "aesthetic movement" -- a form of somewhat precious late nineteenth century poetry, literature, and art.  The aesthetic movement was also known for the rarified style of the artists themselves, best remembered today by the work and person of Oscar Wilde (although Mr. Wilde hadn't really come into his own until after the operetta's production.). 

The aesthetic movement is represented in Patience by two competing poets, representing two competing styles within the movement.  Reginald Bunthorne is the worldly and self-regarding aesthete, languishing about in exotic clothing, clenching a lily in one fist or a tulip between his teeth, claiming to be admired by every woman.  Archibald Grosvenor is the spiritual aesthete, seeking goodness in himself and in others, but in Grosvenor's case forced to endure (and display) his ravishing personal beauty out of duty to mankind.

  Gifted as I am with a beauty which probably has not its rival on earth, I am, nevertheless, utterly and completely miserable. … These gifts — irksome as they are — were given to me for the enjoyment and delectation of my fellow-creatures. I am a trustee for Beauty, and it is my duty to see that the conditions of my trust are faithfully discharged.

Bunthorne conceives a devotion to Patience, a young milkmaid.  But Patience discovers that Bunthorne's rival, Grosvenor, is (surprise!) her childhood close friend, and would happily marry him. Or would until both she and Grosvenor remember that love must be selfless, and that for her to monopolize his incredible beauty and perfection for herself would be the ultimate in selfishness.

Meanwhile, a typically G&S troop of red-coated, and red-faced, dragoons are courting an equal number of interchangeable fair maidens who have eyes only for aesthete poets.

Hilarity ensues, as they say.  Without ruining the manifold surprises of this convoluted plot, I can tell you that everyone ends up perfectly matched with his perfect mate, and ready for matrimony.  All except the languishing Bunthorne, who sadly realizes that he will have only his ever-present flowers with whom to share his lonely life:

Single I must live and die —
I shall have to be contented
With a tulip or lily!

Does this sound a bit like the finale of Mikado or Pinafore?  Perhaps.  But the audience's joy comes from marking the small distinctions.