A Synopsis of George Ade

A Synopsis of George Ade’s 1902 Comic Opera

Supplement to Chapter 9: Center Stage

Library of Congress

As the United States entered the twentieth century, one of the most famous men in America was a Midwesterner, thirty-six-year-old George Ade, an author and playwright. Ade made Americans of all political persuasions laugh by wickedly poking fun at its citizens’ foibles and pretensions to greatness. The outbreak of the Philippine–American War dismayed and fascinated Ade. He had maintained a direct connection through regular letters with his long-time friend and colleague, John McCutcheon, who was covering the war from Manila. According to one prominent biographer, Ade thought “just the idea of Americans trying to transform the Filipinos into Asiatic carbon copies of American democrats was almost too absurd for words.”

In 1900, Ade decided to take break from the columns and, on a whim, took a steamer to Manila, where he stayed for a few months with his friend McCutcheon and a raucous group of other young journalists covering the war. Ade heard many tales, but the story that stuck in his memory was that of the Sultan of Sulu and the strangest and newest subjects of the Republic, the Moros. Ade saw an irresistible irony in the fact that, as he put it, “the Americans were trying to ‘assimilate’ him [the Sultan] without incurring his opposition and it was a real problem because Sulu was committed to polygamy and slavery and these two institutions were known in the United States as ‘twin relics of barbarism.’” Ade was struck by the fact that the American mission in Moroland had all the irony and necessary elements for a comic opera.

When he returned to the U.S., Ade had no specific plans for the idea and at first tried to interest others in it. By then McCutcheon was also back in the U.S., recuperating from a serious tropical ailment. During his convalescence, McCutcheon and Ade decided to try creating a comic opera, à la Gilbert & Sullivan, based on what they knew about Sulu. The result was The Sultan of Sulu, which Ade would subtitle An Original Satire in Two Acts. The note from the author included in the programs stated, “it was not an attempt to show what subsequently happened but merely what might have happened.”

Ade had never intended the musical to be anything more than a lark, a production for amateur theatricals, and at first this was the case, and went through many revisions by the author and the composer, Alfred G. Walthall. But then a prominent theatrical producer saw it and gained their permission to do a professional production, which debuted March 11, 1902, at the Studebaker Theatre in Chicago. It was an instant, smash hit with audiences. This was almost at the same time as Capt. John J. Pershing was returning from his first visit to Lake Lanao and Col. Frank Baldwin and the 27th Infantry had arrived in Mindanao prior to the Battle of Bayan.

After becoming the toast of the Chicago theater circuit, The Sultan of Sulu opened in Boston December 1, 1902, and then on New York’s Broadway, at Wallack’s Theatre, December 20, 1902, after both the Battle of Bayan and the first of Pershing’s lake campaigns had been in the news. It made 192 standing-room-only performances on Broadway alone, and for more than three years was performed by traveling shows on the stages of the largest American cities throughout the country. An unprecedented success at a time when the theater enjoyed massive popularity as a form of entertainment and information, it made stars of its principal actors, and its author became even more rich and famous. Every major political figure and celebrity of the time saw it and, regardless of political persuasion, laughed aloud at its humor, including William H. Taft and the entire large Roosevelt family.

The Sultan of Sulu opens with the Sultan’s Secretary, “Hadji” and six of his eight wives (Mauricia, Selina, Natividad, Natalia, Chiquita, and Ramona – rather Hispanic names, but Ade never promised accuracy), and a seventh wife, the wisecracking “Pepita”, “the Gibson girl of the Philippine Islands.” The Sultan had just completed one of his frequent wholesale change-outs of wives and the six had been recently captured from their uncle, “Datu Mandi of Parang”. Furious, Mandi had encamped his army outside the city walls intending to recapture his nieces.

Suddenly, to everyone’s complete surprise, a large white ship enters the harbor, crowded with soldiers and flying a strange flag, “one of red, white, blue, spangled with stars”. Amidst the strains of “There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Time Tonight” (which among the soldiers was the unofficial theme of both the Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars), came rifle shots and wild yells. With sword drawn “Lt. William Hardy” and a squad of U.S. Army Volunteers, dressed in khaki, storm onto center stage, and immediately break into song. Then Hardy demands to see the Sultan, announcing they are from the mighty United States of America. “Perhaps you don’t know it, but we are the owners of this island. We paid twenty million dollars for you (all whistle appreciatively).” When he notices that Chiquita has lit a cigarette and is nonchalantly puffing away, the dialogue goes:

Hardy: You don’t mean to say you smoke?

Chiquita: Don’t the ladies of your country smoke?

Hardy: The ladies do – the women don’t.

Then a party of Americans appear as the soldiers form a line, draw to attention, and present arms. The party consists of “Colonel of Volunteers Jefferson Budd”, his daughter Henrietta Budd, “Pamela Francis Jackson”, Budd’s fiancée and a lawyer who is to be the “Adjutant General” for Sulu, a slick-looking young dandy named “Wakeful M. Jones” (who has tagged along to sell insurance to the unsuspecting natives) and four young, demure women. Amid more songs and many topical one-liners, Wakeful Jones, slips past the guards to the Sultan’s quarters and emerges a little later announcing he has just sold his highness a 50,000 peso life insurance policy after convincing him the Americans are here in all likelihood to kill him.

This is followed by the appearance of the Sultan, one “Ki-Ram” to great ceremony and more songs. (Ki-Ram’s make-up and costuming looks more out of the set of the light opera The Mikado than that of a Moro potentate) To forestall the problem just created by Wakeful Jones, Col. Budd effusively makes fervent assurances that he is not here to make Ki-Ram die.

Budd: We are your friends. We have come to take possession of the island and teach your benighted people the advantages of free government. We hold that all government derives its just powers from the consent of the governed.

All: Hear! Hear!

Budd: Now the question is do you consent to this benevolent plan? (at that point the soldiers come to a menacing stance with their rifles and bayonets)

Ki-Ram: Are all the guns loaded?

Budd: They are.

Ki-Ram: (Pause) I consent.

Throughout this dialogue, Ki-Ram has been mugging and wisecracking like Groucho Marx, but without the cigar and mustache. Budd points in the direction of the four young ladies and states, “Good! The education of your neglected race will begin at once under the direction of these young ladies.” The four turn out to be “school-ma’ams” fresh from New England (a parody of the “Thomasites” whom were then being recruited in large numbers to open schools in the Christian provinces of the Philippines). Of course the audience, unlike the clueless Budd, becomes immediately aware from the Ki-Ram's obvious leering that he is appraising them as additions to his harem. In fact, noticing that Budd is much taken with Chiquita and she is flirting back, he implies a “trade” might be arranged. The flustered Budd responds that he has already proposed to Miss Jackson (who is quick to correct that she only “has it under advisement”). Ki-Ram’s retort is along the lines of “why not take two”. Budd hastily changes the subject by announcing he plans to appoint Ki-Ram as Sulu’s first official “Governor”.

After more numbers and a dance, a scene ensues in which it is revealed that Lt. Hardy has been relentlessly pursuing Henrietta Budd, but that her father “objects” to him. Henrietta confides her father’s objections to the audience and his strong admonishment, “My child, never marry a Regular. There are no heroes except in the Volunteer service. The Volunteer goes home and is elected to Congress. The Regular keeps right ahead, a plain fighting man.” After all, she explains, the reason her father is here in the first place is not necessarily to serve his country so much as to become a “hero” and parlay that into election to Congress (a not too subtle thrust at Teddy Roosevelt). Despite this parental obstacle, the couple dreamily peer into each other’s eyes and croon a love song, before slowly waltzing off the stage arm in arm.

Watching them waltz, Ki-Ram asks Pamela Jackson, to teach him this strange dance. In the production notes Miss Pamela Jackson is described as a “modern woman”, and appears to be modeled after a few prominent “Suffragettes” and leading figures of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (a favorite target for Ade’s satire). As Pamela leads him through the steps, Ki-Ram impulsively makes romantic overtures. Somewhat of a stern spinster type and not used to such attentions, she nevertheless becomes flattered, flustered, and visibly interested. But during the course of the waltz and through the nearness of his face, to her shock Pamela realizes that, despite being a Moslem, Ki-Ram is somewhat drunk. When she demands an explanation, Ki-Ram informs herms her that “...the Colonel...said he was going to make me acquainted with one of the first blessings of civilization. He told me that the constitution and the cocktail follow the flag.” (A satirical reference to a major legal debate in the U.S. as to whether the guarantees of the Constitution applied in the Philippines as well as the U.S. – the Supreme Court ruled it did not and that “the Constitution did not follow the flag”-- an oft-repeated and quoted line in the play that always garnered a laugh.)

Ki-Ram’s notably old and unattractive first wife, Galula, enters the room and tugs at Ki-Ram’s robe. Ki-Ram introduces her to Pamela, but then admonishes Galula that “it is not good form for a wife to hang around when her husband is proposing marriage to another lady.” Pamela goes ballistic when Ki-Ram casually mentions that he not only is married but has eight wives in total. Pamela screams for the Colonel to come, points at Kiram and shouts, “the law shall deal with this miscreant.”

The next day, a vengeful Pamela convenes the eight wives and informs them that under American law a man is allowed but one wife, which is Galula, and therefore legally Ki-Ram can no longer remain the husband of the other seven. She claims he is guilty of “octagamy” and will have to consent to divorces for the seven or go to prison. At first the seven are greatly upset, but this mood quickly changes when Pamela explains the concept of alimony. She informs them that, after the divorce, each of the seven, individually, will be entitled to receive one-half of Ki-Ram’s property and income. She then promptly turns around and announces to his two slaves that, since slavery is against the U.S. Constitution, they are now free men, and Ki-Ram is no longer their “master”, but their “employer.” So they should now demand Ki-Ram pay them “union wages”.

Meanwhile in another part of the palace, Ki-Ram is attempting to court and embrace all four of the reluctant school-ma’ams at the same time, imploring them that, “Young ladies, I have only eight [wives]. I need some blondes to help out the color scheme.” As the first act draws to a close, a spurned and frustrated Ki-Ram begins sipping one cocktail after another, awaiting his inauguration as Governor and blissfully unaware of the damage wrought by Pamela with his harem.

The next morning, nursing a Sultan-sized hangover, Ki-Ram tells Wakeful Jones, “civilization may be all right, but I took too large a dose right at the start.” To Ki-Ram’s amazement Jones, an all-purpose businessman as well as insurance salesman, presents him with a stack of invoices for new elaborate uniforms for the Volunteers, whom Budd had appointed as the Governor’s “Imperial Guards”, and for purchases run up by all of his wives for everything from evening gowns to automobiles to diamonds. Then Col Budd, Lt. Hardy, and the Volunteers, resplendent in their new white uniforms, appear for their first review and break into song. Pamela Jackson, dressed in her judges robes, appears and smugly announces to Kiram that she has just granted divorces to seven of his wives.

Kiram: (After a long, stunned pause) Oh, very well!

Pamela: The court holds that you may keep one.

Kiram: One! Oh, say, Judge, let me keep two; now don’t be stingy. Let me keep two little ones instead of one big one.

Ki-Ram then notices that his former wives are flirting with the soldiers, and exclaims petulantly to them, “Leave your keys at the office as you pass out.” But, taking notice of the pretty young Henrietta, he saunters over, lays on the charm, and breaks into a love song. However, Hardy quickly appears to claim Henrietta, who swiftly abandons the amorous Ki-Ram. The pair slowly walk off the stage, all the while gazing longingly into one another’s eyes. Adding to this string of dejection and humiliation, Pamela parades in Galula, announces she is Ki-Rams lawful, and only wife, and that he now must pay alimony to the other seven by 5 o’clock or go to the jail. Ki-Ram sobbingly tells Hadji that he now completely regrets ever having taken any of the seven nieces of Datu Mandi in the first place. But at this remark the clever Hadji whispers, “Your Excellency, that is the solution of the whole problem”, let Mandi recapture all of them and take them away.

Ki-Ram tricks Colonel Budd into leading his Volunteers, the “Palace Guard”, out to one side of the city while Hadji persuades Datu Mandi to enter the other side to recapture his nieces. Of course, after a long and convoluted episode, the entire scheme falls apart, and Hadji and Ki-Ram are thrown into jail by Budd. Locked up, Ki-Ram laments, “I loved not wisely, but too often.... I‘m a little discouraged about my future, more or less ashamed of my past, and not exactly delighted with my present.” But, in the prison library they discover an Arkansas law book, and read that, in Arkansas, “when a divorced woman becomes desperate and remarries, then the first victim doesn’t have to pay any more alimony.” Still in prison garb, the pair are allowed out on limited parole, but with their legs attached to ball and chains.

Meanwhile, Chiquita has been pursuing her own designs on the Colonel. She becomes puzzled and a little suspicious when Ki-Ram, her former husband, drops encouraging hints to the effect that, “An American husband is a very convenient thing to have around the house. He is a permanent meal ticket and can be taught to eat from the hand.” He and Hadji set themselves up as “matrimonial agents” and offer to arrange matches for all the ladies with the soldiers. As this latest scheme begins to succeed, Colonel Budd proudly announces to all that he has proposed to Chiquita. A sympathetic Chiquita persuades her new fiancee' to give his blessing to Henrietta to marry Hardy. The young lieutenant reciprocates, voicing strong approval of his mother-in-law to be, “Only to think–yesterday morning an untamed creature of the jungle, and now, thanks to our new policy, a genuine American girl.”

But, once more defeat is snatched from the jaws of victory! It turns out that, under the new American regime, Attorney General Pamela Jackson is the only person who can legally officiate over a marriage. When summoned and informed who the nuptials are for, she goes into a rage over being jilted by Colonel Budd. A woman in power scorned, Pamela directs her venom at the scheming Ki-Ram, who she sees as the author of her personal misfortune and mortification. She immediately issues a court order that divorced wives cannot marry within one year.

Suddenly, in the midst of this latest dust-up, Hardy arrives, having just captured the fearsome warrior Datu Mandi (strangely, still armed with a long sword). Furious at Ki-Ram, Datu Mandi menaces him with his sword, but an alert Wakeful Jones, who doesn’t want to be forced to pay out his 50,000 peso insurance policy, knocks Mandi’s weapon from his hand. Adding further to the general bedlam, Ki-Ram's two former slaves arrive at the palace with “The Sulu Democratic Marching Club” and the “The Sulu Republican Marching Club” whom they have convinced to unite and urge Budd to find a replacement for Ki-Ram as Governor.

As this confused scene reaches a climax, a boat suddenly arrives with a dispatch for Colonel Budd. The message congratulates the Colonel for the capture of the “desperate and bloodthirsty Mandi” and promotes him to Brigadier General of Volunteers–a sure ticket to Congress. Budd triumphantly exclaims, “A hero at last!”, to which Ki-Ram confides to the audience, “A hero! Now he’ll have to be investigated.” (a less-than subtle reference to the recent woes of more than one Volunteer General .) But the really important news is that the Supreme Court had finally decided that “the constitution follows the flag on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays only.” Since apparently the invasion of Sulu did not take place on any of these three days, “you are instructed to preserve order in Sulu, but not to interfere with any of the local laws or customs” (a dig at the Bates Agreement.) Rather than ending up a somewhat impotent and hamstrung American Governor, a triumphant and gleeful Ki-Ram is restored as the “mighty” Sultan of Sulu, revoking by fiat the alimonies and ordering his nemesis, Judge Pamela Jackson, out of Sulu and back to Boston. In a Finale, Ki-Ram sings:

Ki-Ram to Chorus

“And this is why, you’ll understand,

I love my own, my native land,

My little isle of Sulu!

Smiling isle of Sulu!

I wasn’t ready to say good-bye,

And I’m glad that I didn’t have to die.”

Chorus to Audience

Since we first met you,

The open sky above us seems a deeper blue;

Golden, rippling sunshine warms us through and through

Each flower has a new perfume,

Since we met you!

CURTAIN

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