Sunday Classics: In "Patience," "The pain that is all but a pleasure will change for the pleasure that's all but pain"

"The soldiers of our Queen are linked in friendly tether" -- at the Gilbert and Sullivan Very Light Opera Company, Minneapolis, 2002

The officers of the DRAGOON GUARDS enter, right, led by the MAJOR. They form their line across the front of the stage.

Chorus of Dragoons, "The soldiers of our Queen"
DRAGOONS: The soldiers of our Queen
are linked in friendly tether;
upon the battle scene
they fight the foe together.
There ev'ry mother's son
prepared to fight and fall is;
the enemy of one
the enemy of all is!
The enemy of one
the enemy of all is!
[On an order from the MAJOR, they fall back. Enter the COLONEL. All salute.]
Solo, Colonel Calverley, "If you want a receipt"
COLONEL: If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
[Center] known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
DRAGOONS [saluting]: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL: Take all the remarkable people in history,
rattle them off to a popular tune.
DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL: The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the Victory,
genius of Bismarck devising a plan,
the humor of Fielding (which sounds contradictory),
coolness of Paget about to trepan,
the science of Jullien, the eminent musico,
wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne,
the pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault,
style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man,
the dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery,
narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray,
Victor Emmanuel, peak-haunting Peveril,
Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell,
Tupper and Tennyson, Daniel Defoe,
Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot! Ah!
DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL with DRAGOONS: Take of these elements all that is fusible;
melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible,
set them to simmer and take off the scum,
and a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

COLONEL: If you want a receipt for this soldier-like paragon,
get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can),
the family pride of a Spaniard from Aragon,
force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban,
a smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky,
swagger of Roderick, heading his clan,
the keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky,
grace of an Odalisque on a divan,
the genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal,
skill of Sir Garnet in thrashing a cannibal,
flavor of Hamlet, the Stranger (a touch of him),
little of Manfred (but not very much of him),
beadle of Burlington, Richardson's show,
Mister Micawber and Madame Tussaud! Ah!
DRAGOONS: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
COLONEL with DRAGOONS: Take of these elements all that is fusible;
melt them all down in a pipkin or crucible,
set them to simmer and take off the scum,
and a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

Donald Adams (bs), Colonel Calverley; D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus, New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

John Shaw (b), Colonel Calverley; Glyndebourne Festival Chorus, Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961

by Ken

Friday night we encountered our three Dragoon Guards officers -- Colonel Calverley, Major Murgatroyd, and Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable -- in a state of the most extreme stress, attempting to be "Aesthetic" and "mediaeval" in order to regain the favors of the village ladies who once admired them unreservedly. We're going to spend some more time with that splendidly side-splitting trio, but in order to better understand what exactly is funny about it, I thought we should go back to the dragoons' first appearance in Patience, in Act I -- in full swaggering mode.


I DON'T KNOW THAT ANYONE CARES ABOUT
THE THOUGHT PROCESS AT WORK HERE, BUT . . .

. . . this diversion to the immortal Act II "Aesthetic" trio of Patience grew out of our recent incursion into the world of Nedda, the leading lady of the troupe of players we encountered in late-1860s Calabria in Leoncavallo's Pagliacci. We got as far as Nedda's solo moment, after the rest of the troupe (well, almost all the rest of it) has accepted an invitation from one of the peasants in the village they've just arrived in to join them for a drink at the crossorads. It's a remarkable monologue, which gives us all sorts of insight into a normally taciturn woman, and we're gonig to be taking a closer look at it before proceeding to the two fascinating scenes that follow, the very different encounters Nedda has with the opera's two baritones.

But while I was rummaging among my Pagliacci materials, I stumbled across a liner note whose colossal pretentiousness is exceeded only by its imbecility. Naturally you would assume that as soon as this note was published, the earth opened up and swallowed the doodyhead who wrote it, in which case the joke is on you, because he went on to become one of the U.K.'s most ubiquitous and influential writers on music. But it wasn't just the egregiousness of that liner note's stupidity that grabbed my attention; it was the nature of the stupidity, prattling pompously on while clearly hearing absolutely nothing that's actually going on in the opera.

The protagonist, Canio, Nedda's husband, who is unmistakably a man of enormous charm, even charisma -- when he's under control -- is described as "a great man felled by jealousy and remorse," though in fact he's nothing more than the leader of a troupe of players traveling around the sticks of southern Italy who for all his charm is subject to violent rages in which it seems pretty clear that he has been beating up on his wife. Nedda, meanwhile, is dismissed as "at best an unthinking creature who allows her basic desires to get the better of her," which is simply mind-boggling -- a judgment that would only be possible for someone who has never seen or heard the opera or glanced at either the libretto or the score.

And it hit me, hardly for the first time, that there's a category of arts consumers (and performers, for that matter) whose only concern, really, is striking poses and dabbling in aesthetic fashions. Which led me inexorably to the Patience trio, as often happens.


LET'S LISTEN AGAIN TO THE "AESTHETIC" TRIO

"I don't know why, but I've an idea that this is not quite right." -- Major Murgatroyd

The situation, as I mentioned, is that our dragoon officers have become desperate to regain the admiration of the village ladies, who have been swept up in the mania for the fake "Aesthetic" poet Reginald Bunthorne -- who confesses, when he finds himself "alone and unobserved," that he's "an aesthetic sham," whose "mediaevalsm" is "affectation, born of a morbid love of admiration." In their desperation, the officers adopt the philosophy that if you can't lick 'em, join 'em, and now try to reinvent themselves as Mediaeval Aesthetes. Unfortunately, they don't really get it. If we go back to Colonel Calverley's "receipt" (i.e., recipe) for a heavy dragoon, it turns out that that staggering list of qualities doesn't in fact include any aptitude for the impersonation of attitudes of which they have only the sketchiest inkling.

Let's listen again. We heard the two Sargent performances, separated by more than 30 years, Friday night, and now we're going to add a third that re-presents the Major and Colonel of fhe 1930 performance more than 20 years later.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act II, Trio, the Duke, Major, and Colonel, "It's clear that mediaeval art alone retains its zest"

Enter LIEUT. THE DUKE OF DUNSTABLE, COLONEL CALVERLEY, and MAJOR MURGATROYD, right. They have abandoned their uniforms, and are dressed and made up in imitation of Aesthetics. They have long hair, and other signs of attachment to the brotherhood. They walk to center. As they sing they walk in stiff, constrained, and angular attitudes -- a grotesque exaggeration of the attitudes adopted by BUNTHORNE and the young LADIES in Act I.

TRIO -- the DUKE, MAJOR, and COLONEL:
It's clear that mediaeval art alone retains its zest;
to charm and please
its devotees
we've done our little best.
We're not quite sure if all we do has the Early English ring,
but, as far as we can judge, it's something like this sort of thing:
You hold yourself like this [attitude];
you hold yourself like that [attitude];
by hook and crook
you try to look
both angular and flat [attitude].
We venture to expect
that what we recollect,
though but a part
of true High Art,
will have its due effect.

If this is not exactly right, we hope you won't upbraid;
you can't get high Aesthetic tastes, like trousers, ready-made.
True views on Mediaevalism Time alone will bring,
but, as far as we can judge, it's something like this sort of thing:
You hold yourself like this [attitude];
you hold yourself like that [attitude];
by hook and crook
you try to look
both angular and flat [attitude].
To cultivate the trim
rigidity of limb,
you ought to get
a marionette,
and form your style on him [attitude].
[Attitudes change in time to the music.]

Derek Oldham (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable: Martyn Green (b), Major Murgatroyd; Darrell Fancourt (bs), Colonel Calverley; D'Oyly Carte Opera Orchestra, Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Sept.-Nov. 1930

Neville Griffiths (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable: Martyn Green (b), Major Murgatroyd; Darrell Fancourt (bs), Colonel Calverley; New Promenade Orchestra, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded 1951

Alexander Young (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable; John Shaw (b), Colonel Calverley; Trevor Anthony (bs), Major Murgatroyd; Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961


NOW I'M GOING TO OFFER A CONTENTION

The contention is built on a premise, said premise being that it's a cinch to get a cheap laugh with this trio by choreographing the performers to simply strut preposterously, sort of like this 2006 effort from the University of York Gilbert and Sullivan Society (with Chris Charlton as the Duke, Michael Slater as the Major, and J. Mark Pim as the Colonel).



The audience, you'll note, eats it up, and I guess that can constitute justification enough. It makes ne nuts, though. For me this number only becomes really funny when the guys are really trying, trying their utmost in their hopelessly muddled way, to sell themselves as Aesthetes.

It seems clear to me that Sir Malcolm Sargent understood this perfectly well in 1930. The recordings he made in his youthful stint as musical director of the D'Oyly Carte company seem to me to contain all sorts of glimmerings of the musical revelations that fflowered in his widely scorned 1956-62 EMI stereo series. Not surprisingly, Isidore Godfrey grasps the musical point too -- though I should stress here that I'm speaking only of the musical component, constituting no endorsement of whatever may have happened onstage in D'Oyly Carte Patience performances.

But if you aren't really savoring the particulars of the musical effort, you're not going to really sell the joke -- the real joke. Here's a performance that has the outward trappings of musical good behavior but seems to me to glide across the surface.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act II, Trio, the Duke, Major, and Colonel, "It's clear that mediaeval art alone retains its zest"


David Fieldsend (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable; Gareth Jones (b), Major Murgatroyd; Donald Maxwell (b), Colonel Calverley; New D'Oyly Carte Opera Orchestra, John Owen Edwards, cond. TER-Sony, recorded December 1993

As a corrective, let's listen to the performance from the Godfrey-D'Oyly Carte stereo Patience, letting the boys continue on into the ensuing spoken dialogue.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act II, Trio, the Duke, Major, and Colonel, "It's clear that mediaeval art alone retains its zest" . . . Dialogue, Colonel, "Yes, it's quite clear"

Spoken dialogue
COLONEL [attitude]: Yes, it's quite clear that our only chance of making a lasting impression on these young ladies is to become as aesthetic as they are.
MAJOR [attitude]: No doubt. The only question is how far we've succeeded in doing so. I don't know why, but I've an idea that this is not quite right.
DUKE [attitude]: I don't like it. I never did. I don't see what it means. I do it, but I don't like it.
COLONEL: My good friend, the question is not whether we like it, but whether they do. They understand these things -- we don't. Now I shouldn't be surprised if this is effective enough -- at a distance.
MAJOR: I can't help thinking we're a little stiff at it. It would be extremely awkward if we were to be "struck" so!
COLONEL: I don't think we shall be struck so. Perhaps we're a little awkward at first -- but everything must have a beginning. Oh, here they come! 'Tention!
[They strike fresh attitudes, as ANGELA and SAPHIR enter, left.]

Philip Potter (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable; John Cartier (b), Major Murgatroyd; Donald Adams (bs), Colonel Calverley; New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961


LET'S BACK UP TO THE OVERTURE

Because we always like to hear beginnings here at Sunday Classics.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Overture


New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded 1959

The Patience Overture isn't one of the really notable G-and-S overtures, but it's a wonderful little piece. One note: The "slow" tune, given here as a memorable trumpet solo-and-duet (at 0:33 in the Godfrey performance, 0:36 in the Sargent), is in fact the Act II ladies' chorus "Turn, oh turn in this direction," where it sounds quite different.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act II, Chorus of Ladies, "Turn, oh turn in this direction"


D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus, New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

Glyndebourne Festival Chorus, Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961

NOW LET'S REJOIN THE OFFICERS AND THE LADIES

I know that legions of Savoyards will complain that I'm taking these pieces too "seriously," that they're frothy light entertainments. Well, that's fine if all they're interested in is the surface 10 percent -- and all indications are that that's all they're interested in. However, as far as I'm concerned, this isn't even a matter of taste or preference; they're wrong. As I argued recently, "Poor Arthur Sullivan never knew how well he had succeeded as a 'serious' composer." Poor Sullivan, who had his fancy snooty British-music-establishment chums whispering poison in his ears, spent much of his career wanting to rise above his collaborations with Gilbert, to write the "serious" music that one and all agreed was his destiny. And even in the continuing collaborations with Gilbert, he kept begging and demanding more real, human situations to work with.

Well, the "serious" music he wrote is junk. The whining and wheedling with Gilbert paid off, however, because however outlandish the settings of his stories, and even the labels stuck on his characters, his situations and especially his words gave Sullivan the scope for music dramas that -- just like the Pagliacci Prologue exhorts -- consider the characters' souls.

We're not going to do anything like justice to Patience here, and I don't wish to underplay that it's a screamingly funny piece. But that's so far from all it is as to be grotesque, and I thought we could listen to one haunting example, since we've already looked at the relationship between the dragoon officers and the village ladies.

Before the officers' resort to their desperate descent into Aestheticism in Act II, the had a brief moment of hope near the end of Act I. At the last moment, the poet Bunthorne's planned raffle -- "in aid of a deserving charity" -- to select a wife from among the village females was called off when the luscious milk maid Patience (about whom we'll talk and hear more in a moment) declared herself ready and willing to undertake the unpleasant task herself, the happiest outcome Bunthorne could hope for. Let's listen to what happened then.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: from the Act I finale, Lady Saphir, "Are you resolved to wed this shameless one? . . . Sextet with Chorus, "I hear the soft note"

Recitative
LADY SAPHIR [coming left of BUNTHORNE]:
Are you resolved to wed this shameless one?
LADY ANGELA [coming right of BUNTHORNE]:
Is there no chance for any other?
BUNTHORNE [decisively]: None!
[Embraces PATIENCE. Exit PATIENCE and BUNTHORNE.]

Sextet -- the Ladies Ella, Saphir, and Angela;
the Duke, Major, and Colonel
[ANGELA, SAPHIR, and ELLA take the COLONEL, DUKE, and MAJOR down, while GIRLS gaze fondly at other OFFICERS.]
I hear the soft note of the echoing voice
of an old, old love, long dead.
It whispers my sorrowing heart "Rejoice!"
for the last sad tear is shed.
The pain that is all but a pleasure will change
for the pleasure that's all but pain,
and never, oh never, this heart will range
from that old, old love again!
[GIRLS embrace OFFICERS.]
CHORUS: Yes, the pain that is all but a pleasure will change
for the pleasure that's all but pain,
and never, oh never, our hearts will range
from that old, old love again!
DUKE with CHORUS: Oh, never, oh never, our hearts will range
from that old, old love again!
SEXTET with CHORUS: Oh, never, oh never, our hearts will range
from that old, old love again!
[The GIRLS embrace the OFFICERS.]

Marorie Eyre (s), Lady Saphir; Nellie Briercliffe (ms), Lady Angela; George Baker (b), Reginald Bunthorne; Rita Mackay (s), Lady Ella; Derek Oldham (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable: Martyn Green (b), Major Murgatroyd; Darrell Fancourt (bs), Colonel Calverley; D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Sept.-Nov. 1930

Beti Lloyd-Jones (s), Lady Saphir; Yvonne Newman (ms), Lady Angela; John Reed (b), Reginald Bunthorne; Jennifer Toye (s), Lady Ella; Philip Potter (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable; John Cartier (b), Major Murgatroyd; Donald Adams (bs), Colonel Calverley; D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus, New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

Elizabeth Harwood (s), Lady Saphir; Marjorie Thomas (ms), Lady Angela; George Baker (b), Reginald Bunthorne; Heather Harper (s), Lady Ella; Alexander Young (t), Lieut. the Duke of Dunstable; John Shaw (b), Colonel Calverley; Trevor Anthony (bs), Major Murgatroyd; Glyndebourne Festival Chorus, Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961

(If you're wondering how we got from this moment near the end of Act I to the "It's clear that mediaeval art alone retains its zest" trio, the explanation is the emergence of a second Aesthetic poet, Archibald Grosvenor, who has only to appear an announce that he's "a broken-hearted troubador, whose mind's aesthetic, and whose soul is pure," and all the Bunthorne-deprived ladies immediately gravitate to him.)

Note: The point I made earlier -- that the Gilbert and Sullivan recordings made by Sir Malcolm Sargent in the '20s and '30s prefigure the added dimension he heard in the operas, as reflected in his EMI stereo recordings -- seems to me even more evident here. And here I would have to say that Isidore Godfrey lets us down a little. The setup for the sextet just isn't done with the care it calls for; note how little his oboist makes of that extraordinary little figure that heralds the return of that "soft note of the echoing voice of an old, old love, long dead." And Godfrey's female soloists, well, just aren't good enough. The detractors of the Sargent stereo recordings always prattle on about how dull they are, and how devoid of "characterization." Is there any question as to which among these performances is the most fully characterized? If you can't sing the music, how can you create a character with it?


SPEAKING OF WHICH, WHAT OF PATIENCE HERSELF?

A moment ago I left unexplained Patience's sudden announcement of her readiness to marry the horrible fraud Bunthorne. It's entirely a result of one of the wonderfully wacky plot lines Gilbert could do so brilliantly taking an only slightly cracked cliché and working it out literally. In this case it's a definition of "love" that Patience is taught.

When we first meet her, unlike all the other women in the village, she's not only not swooning with love, she can't even say what this love may be.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act I. Song, Patience, "I cannot tell what this love may be"

PATIENCE: I cannot tell what this love may be
that cometh to all but not to me.
It cannot be kind as they'd imply,
or why do these ladies sigh?
It cannot be joy and rapture deep,
or why do these gentle ladies weep?
It cannot be blissful as `tis said,
or why are their eyes so wondrous red?
Though ev'rywhere true love I see
a-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
while they sit sighing night and day.
PATIENCE with CHORUS: For I am blithe and I am gay,
Yes, she is blithe and she is gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt them and me,
think of the gulf `twixt them and me.
Fal la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie!
[She dances across right and back to right center.]

PATIENCE: If love is a thorn, they show no wit
who foolishly hug and foster it.
If love is a weed, how simple they
who gather it, day by day!
If love is a nettle that makes you smart,
then why do you wear it next your heart?
And if it be none of these, say I,
ah, why do you sit and sob and sigh?
Though ev'rywhere true love I see
a-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
while they sit sighing night and day.
PATIENCE with CHORUS: For I am blithe and I am gay.
Think of the gulf `twixt them and me,
think of the gulf `twixt them and me.
Fal la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie!

Margaret Mitchell (s), Patience; D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus, New Promenade Orchestra, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded 1951

Mary Sansom (s), Patience; D'Oyly Carte Opera Chorus, New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

Elsie Morison (s), Patience; Glyndebourne Festival Chorus, Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961

The wisdom that's imparted to her is that true love must be unselfish. And therefore he only logical course is to marry the loathsome Bunthorne, the most unselfish choice of a mate she could possibly make. She explains this in a wonderful ensemble in the Act I finale which I thought about excerpting for you but didn't. We're struggling to the finish line here.

Not surprisingly, life catches up with silly attitudes, and in Act II Patience literally sings a different tune.

GILBERT and SULLIVAN: Patience: Act II. Ballad, Patience, "Love is a plaintive song"

PATIENCE: Love is a plaintive song,
sung by a suff'ring maid,
telling a tale of wrong,
telling of hope betrayed;
tuned to each changing note,
sorry when he is sad,
blind to his ev'ry mote,
merry when he is glad!
Merry when he is glad!
Love that no wrong can cure,
love that is always new,
lhat is the love that's pure,
lhat is the love that's true!
Love that no wrong can cure,
love that is always new,
lhat is the love that's pure,
lhat is the love, the love that's true!
Rendering good for ill,
smiling at ev'ry frown,
yielding your own self-will,
laughing your teardrops down;
never a selfish whim,
trouble, or pain to stir;
everything for him,
nothing at all for her!
Nothing at all for her!
Love that will aye endure,
though the rewards be few,
that is the love that's pure.
That is the love that's true!
Love that will aye endure,
though the rewards be few,
that is the love that's pure.
That is the love, the love that's true!
[At the end of ballad exit PATIENCE, left, weeping.]

Margaret Mitchell (s), Patience; New Promenade Orchestra, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded 1951

Mary Sansom (s), Patience; New Symphony Orchestra of London, Isidore Godfrey, cond. Decca, recorded September 1961

Elsie Morison (s), Patience; Pro Arte Orchestra, Sir Malcolm Sargent, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1961

I hope you don't need me to tell you that for each of Patience's songs we've heard two wonderful performances and one dog. Not surprisingly, Sargent's Elsie Morison allows us to hear them in beautiful three-dimensional form. The surprise, for people who for good reason expect slim pickings when it comes to D'Oyly Carte sopranos, is the treasurable Margaret Mitchell, maybe the best pure vocalist among the company sopranos of whom we have records (and yes, I'm even including Valerie Masterson here), and a spitfire of a characterizer whose time with the company included recordings of Phyllis in Iolanthe, Yum-Yum in The Mikado, Rose Maybud in Ruddigore, and the second soprano role, Casilda, in The Gondoliers in addition to Patience, and they're all as indispensable as the recordings of the comedy baritone roles made by Peter Pratt and the recordings of both mezzo and contralto roles by Ann Drummond-Grant; they go a long way toward showing us the possibilities of their music.

And then, I'm afraid, there's Mary Sansom. I don't wish to beat up on her. It's hardly her fault that her brief time as the company's principal soprano represents something of a low point in that department (though some of the sopranos heard in the D'Oyly Carte's 78 recordings are pretty precarious). That said, her recordings of Phyllis, Gianetta in The Gondoliers, and most distressingly Patience are kind of, well, disastrous. And yet you can read online that "there is nothing particularly compelling" about the 1951 recording of Patience with Margaret Mitchell, and that "D'Oyly Carte's 1961 recording with complete dialogue is preferable in nearly all respects." I note the qualification "nearly all respects," but I don't find any allowance or awareness of the singularity of Mitchell's Patience, the simple inadequacy of Sansom's, or the general excellence and dimension-expandingness of Sargent's EMI stereo Patience.

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