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Its success was instantaneous and extraordinary. In fact, it must be admitted, on looking at it to-day, that the enthusiasm it aroused seems not a little in excess of its merits--considerable as they were. He became, at one stroke, famous, and no one was more astonished at the sudden notoriety he had acquired, than himself.

He, if ever one did, had "greatness thrust upon him." Fortunately it did not spoil him, for his nature was eminently a sane one.

Even as a young man he had made decisive plans as to his future. He had come to the definite conclusion that teaching was incompatible with composition, and therefore, resolved upon trying to compose in a manner calculated to catch the public ear, and thus, while making an income sufficient for his needs, still have time to devote himself to more serious efforts. That he successfully carried out his resolution is a matter of history, for such teaching as he did, was confined to a few only, of pupils who appeared to be of exceptional promise. Even this did not last long.

The medium through which he made his appeal to the general public was song-writing, and, one must allow--such is the advance in musical education--that compared with songs that achieve great popularity to-day, like those of Landon Ronald, Arthur Somervil, Sir Charles Stanford and others, many of them possess little distinction.

Others, such as "Orpheus with his lute," are on the contrary, worthy of place in the highest rank. His greatest achievement in this form of art, written at a later period, was "The Lost Chord," which not only attained world-wide celebrity and an enormous circulation, but is full of poetic interest and instinct with genuine inspiration.

It was written one night, while sitting at the bedside of his dying brother.

It may be mentioned that, perhaps, the earliest that promised to bring any really substantial result was one called "Meet me once again."

Its sale, already large, was greatly increasing, when it suddenly stopped, owing to "Punch" producing a parody of it in a picture representing the excitement of a number of cats, on hearing a man singing "_meat_ me once again," as it was rendered. The caricature was neither clever nor in good taste, but it was a serious thing for the composer, as it meant the loss of a considerable income, while still a young man, and not earning as many hundreds as he did thousands of pounds in after years.

At that time the paper was far different from the brilliant and refined "Punch" of to-day.

In those days the puns of F. C. Burnand were preferred to the wit and humour of W. S. Gilbert. But then, "Punch" rejected the "Bab Ballads"!

Arthur Sullivan was born in 1842.

His first popular success in the sphere, in which he was, afterwards, to win universal fame, was made in 1875, when he produced, in conjunction with W. S. Gilbert, the extravaganza, "Trial by Jury." He had made tentative efforts, on two or three occasion, of a similar kind, but this one proved, with the utmost clearness, his exceptional ability in this direction, and obviously indicated a future path for him.

In those days there were two people in London of noted hospitality, Mr.

and Mrs. Arthur Lewis (the latter was an elder sister of Miss Ellen Terry, and herself a distinguished actress; she was known to a former generation as Miss Kate Terry), and it was at their house that these pieces were first presented. On the occasion of this particular performance, the late Mr D'Oyly Carte was present, and to his happy idea to get the author and composer to collaborate on a work of larger scope, and his undertaking to produce it, that the combination of the three remarkable men, who were destined to make so much history, is due.

"The Sorcerer" was produced at the Opera-Comique Theatre, London, on November 17th, 1877. It was altogether too new in style, bewildering in its humorous absurdities, and unlike anything previously seen, to achieve p.r.o.nounced popularity, but it convinced the public that a new force had arisen in the theatre-world and, gradually, it attracted a sufficient following to permit of 175 consecutive performances.

Incidentally, it may be mentioned that it was in this piece that the late Mr. George Grossmith laid the foundations of his great fame as an actor, and that Mr. Rutland Barrington established his lasting popularity, in the part of the "pale young curate."

If "The Sorcerer" left the question of permanent success to this new school of theatrical art to some extent in doubt, the next production, "H.M.S. Pinafore," absolutely dispelled it, the success being immediate and triumphant. It quickly spread to the great colonies and America, where the excitement it produced exceeded anything previously known in the history of the stage. At one time it was being played at upwards of a dozen theatres, simultaneously, in New York alone. Performances on board a real ship were given; performances solely by negroes, and in fact, of every kind that ingenuity or excitement could suggest, were common features in the extraordinary craze it aroused. "H.M.S. Pinafore"

was succeeded by "The Pirates of Penzance," "Patience" (during the run of which it was transferred to the Savoy Theatre, meanwhile built by Mr.

D'Oyly Carte), and the many others with names that are too familiar to need recounting. It may, perhaps be permissible to say that of them all, the two of most outstanding merit were "The Mikado" and "The Yeoman of the Guard." If Sir Arthur Sullivan's often avowed wish to establish an English school of Light Opera has not been realised to the extent he would have desired, its temporary eclipse having to be acknowledged, yet it is to be greatly hoped that there will be found, and that, too, before long, men both willing and able, not only to follow, but improve on the lines of healthy artistic traditions he and Sir William Gilbert so happily laid down.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

With the composition of "Ivanhoe," Sir Arthur Sullivan entered the lists as a writer of Grand Opera. If his success was not complete, I think that the circ.u.mstances with which its career was indissolubly connected, go a long way to account for the fact. In the first place, it was subjected to the intolerable strain of 168 consecutive performances.

No possible chance of making alterations that only public performance can point out, with certainty, as desirable or necessary, was accorded to the composer, since its even temporary withdrawal would have involved the closing of the newly-built opera house and, under the circ.u.mstances alluded to in another chapter, made the continuance of the scheme a matter of doubt.

Had the conditions been different, I do not doubt that Sir Arthur Sullivan would have made a great and possibly vital change in the work.

One of the most persistent and justifiable criticisms brought against it was its demonstrably unevenness in merit. Any musician with the least critical faculty would recognise its truth. For instance, the second scene of the second act should have been entirely eliminated. It was unworthy of the work and the composer. It was forced, theatrical, and dest.i.tute of spontaneity or inspiration.

That a man of such ac.u.men could fail to recognise it is impossible; as a matter of fact, he once told me that the scene spoilt the act which, it may be said, with this exception, contained the most splendid music in the opera.

It is inconceivable that, had he found the opportunity, he would not have composed an entirely new one. To give credence to this opinion, I may mention that he made an important alteration, in the short time at his disposal, before it went to Berlin for performance. So short, indeed, that he asked me to do the necessary scoring for the orchestra that the alteration involved.

Another criticism often levelled against "Ivanhoe," was that it was occasionally reminiscent "of the Savoy"--implying that the high standard imposed by Grand Opera was not consistently maintained. This was, doubtless, suggested by the popular "Ho! Jolly Jenkin." In this connection, I will at once say that Sir Arthur Sullivan, himself, antic.i.p.ated this objection, as the following words will show. It was typical of him, when he had an important work in view, to delay its commencement to the last moment. The result was that, once begun, he was obliged to work with incredible energy and persistence to effect its completion at the stipulated time. It was so on this occasion.

The night was as constant a watchman of his work as the day.

I had been engaged by the publishers, Messrs. Chappell and Co., to make the pianoforte arrangement from the full score, and, at Sir Arthur Sullivan's request, I used to drive down to his residence from the Savoy Theatre, where I was at the time conducting, after the evening performance, to take away any pages of the score that might be completed. I generally arrived about midnight. On one occasion, as I entered his study, he said to me, "I want you to hear something," and went to the piano and played this particular song. When he had finished I remarked, "Sir Arthur, why, it will be an immense success," and he replied, somewhat with a sigh, "Yes, I think it would; but it won't do.

I can hear them now saying, 'redolent of the Savoy.'"

He then continued that he was going to attempt another setting before finishing work for the night.

I, naturally enough, as those who know the song, will agree, urged, as far as I could, that it should be retained. I don't suggest that this, in any way, affected his decision; I merely state the facts. In the event, as is known, he kept it in.

"Ivanhoe" contained, as I believe, and as many highly competent critics have affirmed, some of the finest music that Sir Arthur Sullivan ever wrote.

The soliliquy of the Templar, and the great scene between Rebecca and the Templar in the castle of Torquilstone (with both these characters the composer was in intense sympathy) represent Sir Arthur Sullivan's powers at their highest expression.

The opera, however, proved to be the one important event in his career that did not result in the complete and absolute success to which he had, for so many years, been accustomed.

If Sir Arthur Sullivan gained his fortune in the theatre, as is quite certain, it is equally incontrovertible that he attained his great fame in the concert-room, and, moreover, through the medium of his sacred works, or, perhaps I should say, works dealing with sacred subjects.

His first important contribution to purely sacred music was the short oratorio, "The Prodigal Son." Although evidence of immaturity may be occasionally detected, the music shews the firm grasp he had on the technique of composition, and the influence of religious feeling is strongly apparent, as indeed, may be said of all his works of this description.[33]

Produced at the Worcester Festival in 1869, it achieved a success that augured well for his future efforts in this region, which he had evidently chosen as the one most appealing to his genius and temperament.

After an interval, during which he produced, among other interesting compositions, the overture "Di Ballo"--a work full of sparkling and original music, which he scored, it may be said, at a time of great physical suffering--his oratorio, "The Light of the World," a work on much larger lines than its predecessor, was given to the public as the princ.i.p.al attraction of the Birmingham Festival in 1873. Although its reception by the audience was flattering enough, it cannot be said that it aroused any enthusiasm among the critics.

In fact, it aroused considerable controversy, some maintaining that so far from being an advance on, it lacked the admitted promise of "The Prodigal Son"; while others were equally p.r.o.nounced in their views as to its superlative merits.

Although subscribing to neither opinion, I cannot but think that the former contained more truth than the latter. That "The Light of the World" contains much that is beautiful is not denied, but that it contains some that nearly verges on the common-place, cannot, I am afraid, but be admitted. It has fallen into desuetude for many years now.

In a short summary of Sir Arthur Sullivan's career, as this must, necessarily be, I have to leave unrecorded much that is both interesting and important.[34] I content myself, therefore, with some reference to those works upon which his fame, so far as serious music is concerned, will chiefly rest.

"The Martyr of Antioch" was produced at the Leeds Festival in 1880. It was an event of particular significance in his life.

The continued successes of his Savoy comic operas, and the popularity gained by his songs, had begun to make a decided effect on the public mind, which was rapidly losing count of the other side of the versatile composer--that of more serious import. It was, then, with no little interest and speculation that the production was awaited.

The result exceeded the most sanguine hopes of his friends and admirers.

Its reception was veritably triumphal, and at once re-affirmed his position as the leading English composer of his time.

Any doubts that might have been felt by the audience a.s.sembled on this memorable occasion, were soon dispelled. The splendid chain of choruses with which the work opens--once interrupted by the hauntingly beautiful, and purely original song, "The love-sick damsel"--immediately convinced them, not only that the composer was, in no sense, shorn of his powers as a writer of serious music, but that they had discovered him in a vein of virile strength, of which he had, previously, scarcely given warning.

From that moment, the work was not only a.s.sured of success, but, as it progressed, enthusiasm increased to such an extent, that at the conclusion of the finale, to the success of which the magnificent singing of that great artiste, Madame Albani, predominatingly contributed, a scene of excitement occurred that only those who witnessed it could adequately imagine. Of the many numbers that contributed to this result, those that most readily spring to the memory are the strenuous, and, again, highly original "Io Paean"; the charming "Come, Margarita, come"; and, above all, the one that will probably live, when the others are forgotten, the n.o.ble hymn, of the type which Arthur Sullivan may be said to have made his own, and which is so frequently sang on occasions of national mourning, "Brother, thou art gone before us"; of them all, this remains as the grandest monument.

The years immediately succeeding the production of "The Martyr of Antioch" must, I think, have been the happiest of the composer's life.

The illness from which he occasionally suffered from early manhood, had not taken sufficient hold on him to prevent his thorough enjoyment of life and all its various attractions, and so, with abundant means and ample time at his disposal, he was able to enjoy, with complete serenity, any recreation or amus.e.m.e.nt that appealed to him. His happy temperament prompted him to take the advantages that good fortune had thrown in his way, and to this I attribute the fact of his being able to reach even the moderate age to which he attained.

In this way the years pa.s.sed rapidly, continued successes at the Savoy ever augmenting both fame and fortune, until, when the calls for another work of serious importance from his pen began to a.s.sume an importunate form, he had scarcely realised how much time had elapsed since "The Martyr of Antioch" was composed.

In answer to the urgent request of the committee, Sir Arthur Sullivan undertook to write a work for the Leeds Festival of 1886, and accordingly, turning to the experienced skill of Mr. Joseph Bennett to supply him with the "book," he, at length settled himself to the composition of "The Golden Legend."