In the long history of satirical tomfoolery and nonsensicality on the stage, two bodies of work constitute equal peaks: the eleven extant comedies of Aristophanes and the fourteen collaborative operettas of Gilbert and Sullivan.

The two groups share numerous features; and, in fact, the celebrated G. & S. "patter songs" have their origin in the non-stop pnigos passages in Aristophanes' plays.

All but the first of the G. & S. operettas were commissioned and produced by Richard D'Oyly Carte, who in 1881 erected a structure expressly for them, the Savoy Theater, which was the first public building in England to be lighted by electricity. From that time until today, the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company has been the continuous custodian of the G. & S. repertory and traditions.

The Company is now winding up a cross continental tour by bringing four productions to Boston's Colonial Theater, where it played three of them with great success year before last.

The novelty of this trip is the new production of Iolanthe mounted last year to honor Queen Elizabeth's Silver Jubilee; and it is a suitably shining achievement. Iolanthe was the first of the G. & S. series to have its premiere at the Savoy Theater (the tour press release errs in saying it was Patience, which was transferred to the Savoy after six months at another theater).

Gilbert wrote 71 works for the stage, and his libretto for Iolanthe is one of the best he furnished Sullivan. In addition to his usual plot about young lovers kept apart until the end by some silly rule, he filled the stage with fairies, half-fairies and mortals, aimed his barbed burlesque at the House of Lords and, through the character of the Lord Chancellor, at the legal profession (of which Gilbert himself was a member). Although his libretti were largely drawn from ideas in his earlier Bab Ballads, they show a greater infusion of dazzling wit and a range of metrical experimentation that was positively Aristophanic.

For his part, Sullivan never surpassed -- and possibly never equalled -- his score for Iolanthe. The overture is one of only two that are fully developed pieces of music (Yeomen of the Guard has the other), in contrast to the usual potpourri of tunes, often stitched together by another hand. Sullivan's orchestration is delectable, especially all the elfin woodwind writing appropriate for a fairy world. And nobody has ever demonstrated more variety and skill in setting the English language to music, whether for solo or ensemble singers. The first-act finale of Iolanthe is one of the largest, richest and most ambitious he ever penned.

For the Silver Jubilee production Bruno Santini designed fresh costumes and settings for the fairy world that are all silver and black. And, taking a cue from the Fairy Queen's remark about being able to "swing upon a cobweb," he opened the show by dropping in a huge cobweb. This denial of a broad spectrum only serves to heighten the impact of the ensuing magnificent procession of Peers, fifteen strong, resplendently garbed and sporting rich velvet capes of different colors. The music itself not only parodies marches by Bellini, Meyerbeer, Wagner and Verdi but is also better than the pieces it satirizes. And the chorus of lords makes a full, lusty sound -- without the awful electronic amplification that mars most musical theater these days. These are Peers without peers.

We soon meet the Lord Chancellor, who is defendant, prosecutor, judge and jury rolled into one. (Sullivan effects a pun on the legal and musical meanings of canon by repeatedly associating the Lord Chancellor's appearances with fugal imitations in the orchestra.) This part, and others that used to be done by the late Martyn Green, have been for a quarter century the province of John Reed, who remains a lively and comical performer, despite the excessive doffing and donning of pince-nez. The nightmare number is the greatest of all the G. &. S. patter songs; and Reed, in the encore, increases the headlong tempo beyond what one would think the limit of possibility. At the end of the evening, however, I see no excuse for Reed's electing to change the single word that resolves the plot from Gilbert's doesn't to the ungrammatical don't.

Geoffrey Shovelton, a relative newcomer to the Company, and John Ayldon, who joined more than a decade ago, could hardly be better as the two earls engaged to the same girl. Shovelton has a lovely unforced tenor voice, and Ayldon's baritone beautifully belts out "When Britain Really Ruled," a parody of patriotic songs like "Rule Britannia." In their spoken Act II discussion they capture to perfection Gilbert's portrait of Victorian dim-witted stuffiness. They are fine, too, in the sure-fire trio "He Who Shies," as they try to catch the lithe-limbed Lord Chancellor indulging in undignified capers (including even a touch of the Charleston).

Gareth Jones brings a pleasant tenor to the straight role of the half-mortal Strephon, and Kenneth Sandford, who has been with the troupe for more than two decades, is a sturdy Private Willis (he will be giving something close to his 2100th performance as Pooh-Bah in The Mikado here).

The female soloists are not up to the men. Still, contralto Patricia Leonard is an admirable Fairy Queen, stern on the outside but soft within. When speaking she sometimes amusingly summons up the inflections of the late Dame Edith Evans. Barbara Lilley's Iolanthe and Jane Metcalfe's Phyllis are acceptable but not outstanding. Metcalfe needs to work still on her diction when singing. And why doesn't Lilley use the prescribed veil in her encounter with the Lord Chancellor, who is supposed not to recognize her?

Conductor Royston Nash keeps things moving along smoothly. At the opening performance there were a few ragged moments in the orchestra, but this was inevitable since apparently only the concertmaster and one trumpeter came with the company, the rest being recruited locally.

Iolanthe will be back for the last three performances of the current engagement. In between the D'Oylycarte du jour is offering Pinafore, The Mikado, and The Pirates of Penzance. I saw these ee when the troupe was here two years ago, and all were in good shape--Pinafore, in fact, was well-nigh flawless. We are fortunate to have four feasts served with a fresh and clean D'Oyly.

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A feast of a different kind is on view at Brandeis University's Spingold Theater, where the most famous of all vampires, Count Dracula, is busy sucking blood from victims willing and unwilling.