“Sir Arthur Sullivan. His Work and Career. A Chat with the Famous Composer.”
(By an “Independent” Special.)

"The Irish Daily Independent", 9 April 1894, p. 5.

Dublin is at present honoured by having as a visitor a man who has contributed more than most of his contemporaries to the enjoyment of the people of these countries. Sir Arthur Sullivan’s oratorios and operas have been a source of pleasure of the highest order to vast masses of his countrymen and countrywomen—his name is known amongst all classes of the people, and if he never wrote anything except “The Lost Chord” he would have done sufficient to ensure that his fame would long endure amongst us. Sir Arthur Sullivan is not a native of Ireland, though his name suggests immediately his Irish origin. He was born in London in 1842. His father was a bandmaster, and professor of the clarionet. Sir Arthur himself early displayed an aptitude for music, and he entered the Chapel Royal in his twelfth year, receiving his first training from the Rev Thomas Helmore. In 1856 he won the Mendelssohn Scholarship, and on entering the Royal Academy of Music he was placed under the tuition of Sterndale Bennett, and Goss.

He became in 1858 a student at the Leipzic Conservatoire, where he had as a fellow-pupil the late Carl Rosa. In 1861 he returned to London, and the following year produced at the Crystal Palace his incidental music to the “Tempest.” At the Birmingham Festival in 1864, he contributed a cantata entitled “Kenilworth,” and at quick intervals, his fame increasing at every step, he produced “In Memoriam,” “The Prodigal Son,” an oratorio, the “Di Ballo” overture, the “Te Deum” performed on the recovery of the Prince of Wales, “The Light of the World” and “The Martyr of Antioch.” “The Golden Legend” was publicly performed in 1886 at the Leeds festival, in the conductorship of which he succeeded Sir Michael Costa.

As a composer of comic opera he stands head and shoulders above his contemporaries—in this department he produced that long run of “Savoy Operas” which have inseparably associated his name with that of Mr W S Gilbert. “Box and Cox” [sic] was his first comedy opera; it was performed for the first time at the Adelphi, London, in 1867. “Contrabandista,” “Thespis, or the Gods Grown Old,” “The Zoo” and “Trial by Jury were all successes, but his first marked success was “The Sorcerer,” which ran 175 nights. “Pinafore” in 1878 reached its seven hundredth night, and “The Pirates of Penzance” held out for 350 successive performances. “Patience” slightly exceeded this, and since that “The Princess Ida,” “The Mikado,” inimitable in its “book” and music; “The Yeomen of the Guard,” “The Gondoliers,” “Haddon Hall,” and “Utopia Limited” have in succession and with almost yearly regularity kept the theatre-going folk of these countries in a state of continuous good humour.

Sir Arthur has written incidental music to “The Merchant of Venice,” “The Merry Wives of Windsor,” and “Henry the Eighth,” and his songs are so numerous and so popular that it would be out of the question to attempt a list of them. In 1876 the University of Cambridge conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Music, and Oxford paid him a similar compliment in 1879. Sir Arthur will make his first professional appearance in Ireland tonight when, at the Dublin Musical Society’s concert, he will conduct a performance of selections from his own works. The event is looked forward to with much interest by the music-loving people of Dublin, and we are quite sure it will be an auspicious event in the musical history of our city.

Sir Arthur Sullivan has an utter horror of the interviewer. The interview he looks upon as a journalistic institution which ought to be left in the complete and undivided possession of our American brethren. A representative of the “Independent” had, however, the quite unexpected privilege of having a chat with him. We must not call it an interview, for Sir Arthur, while expressing himself thoroughly pleased with his visit to Dublin, would not be interviewed. So Sir Arthur had to have his way, and a very pleasant, interesting, and, indeed, delightful chat was substituted for the nasty interview. It is a pity the great musician has such a horror of interviews, for a better subject for the ordeal could scarcely be found. Completely at his ease, chatty in the most superlative degree, the pink of courtesy, he talks from heart and head at once, a sweet and in the highest sense confiding smile brightening up features agreeable and pleasing, he spoke on and on, and, indeed, never gave our representative a chance of interviewing him. Anyone who speaks for five minutes with, may one not say “our own musician,” cannot fail to see that the wedding of his inimitable music to Mr Gilbert’s inimitable “books,” has been to him a labour of a very congenial nature. The sparkle of his eyes discovers the keen humorous faculty to which we have all been for so many years indebted for no small amount of fun and pleasure, at once pure, and intensely intellectual.

“How is it,” our representative ventured to ask, “you have been such a stranger to us at this side of the water?”

“Isn’t it funny to think I have been away for thirty years. I must not think of it though. It makes one begin to feel so very old. Thirty years ago, and then only for a few days. I met Mr Joseph Robinson on that occasion; he is with you still, is he not?”

“He is, Sir Arthur. We are all glad of it too, though we have lost many good men, one way or another, in that time. Our latest loss is Sir Robert Stewart.”

“Yes, I was very sorry to hear it, he was so pleasant to meet. I have just been with the Dublin Musical Society. I have had two rehearsals with them.”

“And were you pleased with them. May we not feel a little justifiable pride in our Society?”

“You may indeed. It is a most creditable combination for Dublin. I was very much pleased.”

“Do you think we shall have a good concert?”

“I believe we shall have a very good concert. Do you know I think they were a little timid.”

“Well, you see, they were handling a composer’s work in his own presence, and he is, perhaps, the hardest critic they could have.”

“Very likely; but I was very well pleased with them. The band is very good. I should like to see it somewhat stronger in the strings, but the chorus is really excellent. I believe I will be very much satisfied with the performance. I do hope we shall have a good one. It’s a fine organ and a fine room. I hope to see it full, for I do dislike a number of vacant seats.”

“Well, I think I can promise you a very enthusiastic, in fact, a real warm Irish welcome and few vacant chairs.”

“I only hope to have a good concert, and I am sure I won’t be disappointed. As I saw the society is a capital one. There are some fine players in the band. Dr Brough, for instance, he is a capital player.”

“Yes, he made his debut at a concert given by our Journalists’ Institute in Dublin, and he delighted us all.”

“Ah, but what is very much more to the present purpose, he is capital in the orchestra; but there are others very very good too.”

“Do you think we are getting on well at Dublin?”

“Well, unfortunately I don’t know very much about musical matters over here. I don’t know whether you are going forward, or how fast, but I find—I am glad to find—what seems to be an extraordinary amount of activity, from a musical point of view, in Dublin. A great interest seems to be taken in music. Musical clubs seem to be well cultivated. All that shows a good deal of activity which is pleasant to find.”

“And so far there are encouraging signs?”

“Yes. You want a good permanent orchestra, practising frequently under the same conductor. Now that is the great point. It means everything to have your band practising together under the same conductor. Under the circumstances the Dublin Musical Society is a capital one. At the rehearsals, as I said, they seemed timid.”

I again reminded him of my possible explanation, but he smiled and went on:

“I never try to take too much out of a band or chorus. I try to see what they are able to do, and then keep them at that. I don’t try to put them past their abilities. As I was saying, you want over here a permanent orchestra. Sir Charles Halle organized one in Manchester.”

“But that orchestra did not cater alone for Manchester?”

“Oh, no; he brought them to Bradford, Huddersfield, and other places.”

“That is our weak point; our permanent orchestra would have to rely almost entirely on Dublin.”

“Quite so. I saw that. That is your weak point. You might bring them up to Belfast or down to Cork, but to keep a permanent orchestra together you must show those who join it that it is worth their while to do so. There is no use bringing together over here a number of professional musicians, give them employment for a few months, and then have them starving for the remainder of the year. You must be able to guarantee them a good living.”

“Is there no way out of our difficulty?”

“You must, of course, as far as I can see, depend mainly on your amateur talent. With the means you have you might be able to do something in that direction. To have one like Sir Charles Halle’s you should give say, at all events, ten to fifteen concerts in a year. It is very difficult I know and expensive.”

“Do you like the selections of your works that have been made for the concert?”

“I made the selections myself for the most part. With one exception, I think, I am quite satisfied with it.”

“We have been enjoying your ‘Utopia’ very much during the past fortnight—“

“I was down at the Gaiety,” he interrupted eagerly, “at the afternoon performance. It’s a capital company, isn’t it?”

“It was liked immensely in Dublin. Of course many of the principals are old favourites here.”

“Indeed, I was greatly pleased with the performance. You could not have a better chorus. I saw this company a few times in London when they were getting ready. You say some of them are old favourites here.”

“Yes. In 'Haddon Hall,' for instance, we had more than one of them.”

“Very likely. Mr. D’Oyly Carte has a number of companies, and they get mixed by times.”

“Are we likely to have a successor to ‘Utopia’ soon?”

“Well, I think so. I had a letter from Mr. Gilbert this morning.”

“Will he supply you with the libretto for your next Savoy song?”

“I think so. The newspapers sometimes have idiotic things in them about Mr Gilbert and myself. There is nothing between us now any more than there has been at any time.”

“So we may promise ourselves another Savoy Opera, bearing your own and Mr Gilbert’s credentials?”

“There is no reason why you shouldn’t. At present I don’t see any reason why Mr Gilbert should not give me the next ‘book.’”

“Of course, Sir Arthur, you have a favourite amongst the Savoy Operas?”

“A man always thinks the one he has just completed is the best he has ever done, but it is not, you know; he always likes it the best. But now, looking back, taking it as a whole, the ‘Yeomen of the Guard’ is the best of those I have done.”

“Shall we ever have the pleasure of seeing your ‘Ivanhoe’ at this side of the water?”

“I don’t know—I am negotiating with the Carl Rosa Opera Company on the subject. You see, it is a very difficult opera to mount adequately. There are a great many characters in it.”

“Is it on the Continent yet?”

“Not yet. It was to have been performed last February in Vienna, but through the illness of one of the singers its production was postponed, and more than one postponement has taken place. It was to have been played in April—at the end of the season—so I thought it might be better to postpone it further. After all, why not give it as good a chance as possible? So it will be produced in October next.”

“You will assist at its production, of course?”

“Yes I shall go over there to get it into working order.”

“The Mendelssohn Scholarship has not been won for five years, Sir Arthur, how do you account for that?”

“Oh, you are mistaken about the time.”

“I was going to ask you whether the test is not too severe.”

“Oh, no. I am one of the trustees of the fund. This is the way it stands. We like to make it a good test. Composition gets the preference—if we don’t get good composition, then, of course, we give it to a good pianoforte player, for instance, and we like to make the prize up to £120 a year, in order not to have the winner, while travelling, pressed too hard. It is all a question of funds. The standard of examination is not too high and the standard of musical culture is not too low. I, speaking for myself, should like to get the competition something on the same basis as the Prix de Rorne.”

“What do you say,” our representative ventured to ask, “about the present condition of musical taste in these countries?”

“Too big a question altogether; I leave that kind of thing to theorists,” Sir Arthur laughed out.

“How did you get the Schubert manuscripts long ago, Sir Arthur?”

“Oh, that was in ’67or ’68. Yes. I went to Vienna with Sir George Grove. Sir George was a man of great research, you know—took a great deal of interest that way, and he knew there were some things belonging to Schubert in existence. But we went across and saw some of Schubert’s relations, his executor, Dr Schneider, who was a relation of Schubert’s, I think, and we asked him were there any of Schubert’s manuscripts to be had. He told us there were a lot of things, but he did not know what; he had taken no interest in them. He brought us to where they were, and we went down on our hands and knees and rummaged, and we found some very valuable things; his “Rosamonde” amongst the rest. That was how we found them. They have been, you know, of course, published and performed.”

“Do you know,” Sir Arthur went on, “a curious thing. Thirty years ago I composed that Shakesperian work which will be performed at the concert. I just mentioned it to Mr. Lloyd today. I wrote it for the Birmingham Festival in 1864. I came across immediately afterwards to Dublin—my thirty years ago visit—and now after thirty years when I am here again, the work is to be performed. Now, it was not arranged; it is merely a coincidence.”

“Have you any little word of advice or encouragement to give our young musicians in Dublin, Sir Arthur?”

“Well, as I said, there seems to be a good deal of musical activity amongst you. Your Dublin Musical Society, I have told you, is, I believe, very creditable to Dublin. With the means and materials you must do as well as you can. You want the permanent orchestral society.”

Sir Arthur had a number of important engagements to fulfil, and our interesting chat had to be brought to an end, though one would like to keep talking to such a pleasant conversationalist for a long time. I expressed the hope that Sir Arthur would not keep so religiously away from us in the future.

“Aye, from my own country,” he instantly rejoined. “It’s like living next door to a person. You never know your neighbor just because he lives next door to you, and you will go to see people who live at a distance. Dublin is so near, you see, one says, ‘Well, I can run over any time,’ and yet, one never does. However, as the ice has been broken, perhaps, for the future we may be better acquainted.”

Our representative expressed his delight at seeing Sir Arthur quite restored to health, and his hope that his visit to Dublin would be a pleasant and auspicious one, and our chat ended.

Sullivan was interviewed after the concert by Freeman's Journal

Transcribed by Arthur Robinson

Page modified 29 November 2020