Of the many great singers who were associated with the composer in these productions, I might mention the names of Titiens, Trebelli, Albani,
(Madame) Patey, Sims Reeves, Edward Lloyd and Charles Santley.
In character, Sir Arthur Sullivan was broad-minded, tolerant, sympathetic and generous. In tastes, he was decidedly eclectic, for they ranged from the æsthetic ones of literature and painting, to the more prosaic of racing and cards. Whatever happened to be the subject of interest at the moment, was sure to command the enthusiastic attention of his ever active brain.
Once, however, started on some important composition, nothing was allowed to interfere with his complete absorption in it.
Doubtless, this was a leading factor in his success, or, at least, one of very great importance that directly tended towards it. The process was, undoubtedly, an exhausting one, for it constantly happened that after the completion and production of such a one, a more or less prolonged period of rest and diversion of thought was necessary to bring him back to his normal state of healthy activity.
One great attribute he was unquestionably blessed with, and that was the power of throwing off his mind, completely, any thought of music, once he had accomplished any given task. In fact, when he was not actively engaged with it, music was seldom a subject of conversation with him. Of this I have had convincing proof. Some years ago, I was spending a part of one winter with him, at his villa on the Mediterranean. During the whole time, I can only remember two occasions on which he spoke of it;
the first initiated by him, the second by me. We were reading in the drawing-room one evening, after dinner, when he suddenly turned round to me, and said, "What do you say, Ernest, to playing a Schumann symphony? I have an arrangement for four hands here." I naturally acquiesced, and his dwelling affectionately over many of the passages, the profound knowledge he displayed as he talked of Schumann's genius, and his intensely interesting comparison of it with that of Schubert, remain with me as a memorable experience.
The other occasion was of a very different character.
I was walking with him one day, on the road to Cap S. Martin—walking, it may be said, was not a form of recreation to which he was much addicted. The weather was glorious, and Sir Arthur in high spirits, thoroughly enjoying his unwonted exercise.
Seeing him in this mood, I said, "Sir Arthur, I should like to make a bet with you."