A Composer in the Wild, Wild West

When I think about the composer Sir Arthur Sullivan, I see the courtier who entertained the crowned heads of Europe, playing the piano as an accompanist to Prince Albert’s violin, joking with the future Kaiser Wilhelm, or rubbing elbows with Emperor Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie in France.

But Sir Arthur Sullivan also traveled across the American continent in 1885, heading for California to visit his brother’s children. This was during the wild, wild days of the Old West, and as he told his biographer Arthur Lawrence, along the way he had a little adventure at one particular stagecoach stop:

Well, … some of my experiences have been very curious. Amongst them was one I will relate to you if you will permit me, in which arose a most curious case of mistaken identity, more or less gratifying to me as a musician.

I was traveling on a stage in rather a wild part of California and arrived at a mining camp, where we had to get down for refreshments.

As we drove up, the driver said, “They are expecting you here, Mr. Sullivan.”

I was much pleased, and when I reached the place I came across a knot of prominent citizens at the whiskey store.

The foremost of them came up to a big burly man by my side and said, “Are you Mr. Sullivan?”

The man said, “No!” And pointed to me.

The citizen looked at me rather contemptuously, and after a while said, “Why, how much do you weigh?”

I thought this was a curious method of testing the power of the composer, but I at once answered, “About one hundred and sixty-two pounds.”

“Well,” said the man, “That’s odd to me, anyhow. Do you mean to say that you gave fits to John S. Blackmore down in Kansas City?”

I said, “No, I did not give him fits.”

He then said, “Well, who are you?”

I replied, “My name is Sullivan.”

“Ain’t you John L. Sullivan, the slugger?”

I disclaimed all title to that and told him I was Arthur Sullivan.

“Oh, Arthur Sullivan!” he said. “Are you the man as put Pinafore together?” – rather a gratifying way of describing my composition.

I said “Yes.”

“Well,” returned the citizen, “I am sorry you ain’t John Sullivan, but still I am glad to see you anyway – let’s have a drink.”

What a great story! If I were to give a dinner party, Arthur Sullivan would be right at the top of my guest list! He had some remarkable experiences, and such an entertaining story-telling manner.

What about you? Are there any Victorian notables that you’d like to invite to a sparkling dinner party? Let me know.