THE FLOWERS OF PROGRESS

                     Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan
                    Libretto by William S. Gilbert

                        DRAMATIS PERSONAE

King Paramount, the First (King of Utopia)
Scaphio and Phantis (Judges of the Utopian Supreme Court)
Tarara (The Public Exploder)
Calynx (The Utopian Vice-Chamberlain)

Imported Flowers of Progress:

Lord Dramaleigh (a British Lord Chamberlain)
Captain Fitzbattleaxe (First Life Guards)
Captain Sir Edward Corcoran, K.C.B. (of the Royal Navy)
Mr. Goldbury (a company promoter; afterwards Comptroller of the Utopian
Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P.
Mr. Blushington (of the County Council)

The Princess Zara (eldest daughter of King Paramount)
The Princesses Nekaya and Kalyba (her Younger Sisters)
The Lady Sophy (their English Gouvernante)

Utopian Maidens:


A Utopian Palm Grove


Throne Room in King Paramount's Palace

First produced at the Savoy Theatre on October 7, 1893.

                                ACT I.

                            OPENING CHORUS.

                    In lazy languor--motionless,
                    We lie and dream of nothingness;
                         For visions come
                         From Poppydom
                              Direct at our command:
                    Or, delicate alternative,
                    In open idleness we live,
                         With lyre and lute
                         And silver flute,
                              The life of Lazyland.

                            SOLO - Phylla.

                    The song of birds
                         In ivied towers;
                              The rippling play
                              Of waterway;
                    The lowing herds;
                         The breath of flowers;
                              The languid loves
                              Of turtle doves--
                    These simply joys are all at hand
                    Upon thy shores, O Lazyland!

                         (Enter Calynx)

Calynx:   Good news!  Great news!  His Majesty's eldest daughter,
          Princess Zara, who left our shores five years since to go to
          England--the greatest, the most powerful, the wisest country
          in the world--has taken a high degree at Girton, and is on
          her way home again, having achieved a complete mastery over
          all the elements that have tended to raise that glorious
          country to her present pre-eminent position among civilized

Salata:   Then in a few months Utopia may hope to be completely Angli-

Calynx:   Absolutely and without a doubt.

Melene:   (lazily)  We are very well as we are.  Life without a
          care--every want supplied by a kind and fatherly monarch,
          who, despot though he be, has no other thought than to make
          his people happy--what have we to gain by the great change
          that is in store for us?

Salata:   What have we to gain?  English institutions, English tastes,
          and oh, English fashions!

Calynx:   England has made herself what she is because, in that fa-
          vored land, every one has to think for himself.  Here we
          have no need to think, because our monarch anticipates all
          our wants, and our political opinions are formed for us by
          the journals to which we subscribe.  Oh, think how much more
          brilliant this dialogue would have been, if we had been
          accustomed to exercise our reflective powers!  They say that
          in England the conversation of the very meanest is a corus-
          cation of impromptu epigram!

                 (Enter Tarara in a great rage)

Tarara:   Lalabalele talala!  Callabale lalabalica falahle!

Calynx:   (horrified)  Stop--stop, I beg!  (All the ladies close their

Tarara:   Callamalala galalate!  Caritalla lalabalee kallalale poo!

Ladies:   Oh, stop him!  stop him!

Calynx:   My lord, I'm surprised at you.  Are you not aware that His
          Majesty, in his despotic acquiescence with the emphatic wish
          of his people, has ordered that the Utopian language shall
          be banished from his court, and that all communications
          shall henceforward be made in the English tongue?

Tarara:   Yes, I'm perfectly aware of it, although--(suddenly present-
          ing an explosive "cracker").  Stop--allow me.

Calynx:   (pulls it).  Now, what's that for?

Tarara:   Why, I've recently been appointed Public Exploder to His
          Majesty, and as I'm constitutionally nervous, I must accus-
          tom myself by degrees to the startling nature of my duties. 
          Thank you.  I was about to say that although, as Public
          Exploder, I am next in succession to the throne, I neverthe-
          less do my best to fall in with the royal decree.  But when
          I am overmastered by an indignant sense of overwhelming
          wrong, as I am now, I slip into my native tongue without
          knowing it.  I am told that in the language of that great
          and pure nation, strong expressions do not exist, conse-
          quently when I want to let off steam I have no alternative
          but to say, "Lalabalele molola lililah kallalale poo!"

Calynx:   But what is your grievance?

Tarara:   This--by our Constitution we are governed by a Despot who,
          although in theory absolute--is, in practice, nothing of the
          kind--being watched day and night by two Wise Men whose duty
          it is, on his very first lapse from political or social
          propriety, to denounce him to me, the Public Exploder, and
          it then becomes my duty to blow up His Majesty with
          dynamite--allow me.  (Presenting a cracker which Calynx
          pulls.)  Thank you--and, as some compensation to my wounded
          feelings, I reign in his stead.

Calynx:   Yes.  After many unhappy experiments in the direction of an
          ideal Republic, it was found that what may be described as a
          Despotism tempered by Dynamite provides, on the whole, the
          most satisfactory description of ruler--an autocrat who
          dares not abuse his autocratic power.

Tarara:   That's the theory--but in practice, how does it act?  Now,
          do you ever happen to see the Palace Peeper?  (producing a
          "Society" paper).

Calynx:   Never even heard of the journal.

Tarara:   I'm not surprised, because His Majesty's agents always buy
          up the whole edition; but I have an aunt in the publishing
          department, and she has supplied me with a copy.  Well, it
          actually teems with circumstantially convincing details of
          the King's abominable immoralities!  If this high-class
          journal may be believed, His Majesty is one of the most
          Heliogabalian profligates that ever disgraced an autocratic
          throne!  And do these Wise Men denounce him to me?  Not a
          bit of it!  They wink at his immoralities!  Under the cir-
          cumstances I really think I am justified in exclaiming
          "Lalabelele molola lililah kalabalale poo!"  (All horri-
          fied.)  I don't care--the occasion demands it.  (Exit Tarara)

(March.  Enter Guard, escorting Scaphio and Phantis.)


          O make way for the Wise Men!
                    They are the prizemen--
               Double-first in the world's university!
          For though lovely this island
                    (Which is my land),
               She has no one to match them in her city.
          They're the pride of Utopia--
               Is each his mental fertility.
          O they make no blunder,
                    And no wonder,
               For they're triumphs of infallibility.

                     DUET -- Scaphio and Phantis.

          In every mental lore
               (The statement smacks of vanity)
          We claim to rank before
               The wisest of humanity.
          As gifts of head and heart
               We wasted on "utility,"
          We're "cast" to play a part
               Of great responsibility.

          Our duty is to spy
               Upon our King's illicites,
          And keep a watchful eye
               On all his eccentricities.
          If ever a trick he tries
               That savours of rascality,
          At our decree he dies
               Without the least formality.

          We fear no rude rebuff,
               Or newspaper publicity;
          Our word is quite enough,
               The rest is electricity.
          A pound of dynamite
               Explodes in his auriculars;
          It's not a pleasant sight--
               We'll spare you the particulars.

          Its force all men confess,
               The King needs no admonishing--
          We may say its success
               Is something quite astonishing.
          Our despot it imbues
               With virtues quite delectable,
          He minds his P's and Q's,--
               And keeps himself respectable.

          Of a tyrant polite
          He's paragon quite.
          He's as modest and mild
          In his ways as a child;
          And no one ever met
          With an autocrat yet,
          So delightfully bland
          To the least in the land!

               So make way for the wise men, etc.

   (Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis.  Phantis is pensive.)