Gilbert and Sullivan's collaborative ‘commitment to the foundation of a school of native English opera’ involved a complex programme of reform: of current theatrical genres and practices, of several relatively distinct musical traditions, and of the theatre-going audience and its expectations. In 1888, with a tone of boastful gusto, Gilbert wrote to Sullivan: ‘We have the best theatre, the best composer, and (though I say it) the best librettist in England working together – we are world-known, and as much an institution as Westminster Abbey.’ The far-flung diffusion of their reputation that Gilbert imagines in this comment is quickly anchored and focused by the nostalgic monumentality of the Abbey; like the empire itself, their reputation is both worldwide and particularly English. And indeed, the comic appeal of the operas of W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan has always been linked strongly to their affectionate depiction of the peculiar styles of being – that is to say, of ‘acting’ – English. The establishment, rise, and fall of Gilbert and Sullivan opera as a national tradition has recently been treated in a provocative essay by David Cannadine.

When turned upon the cultural politics of his own culture, however, Gilbert's reforming instincts were not always entirely affectionate.