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* * * * *
THE ART OF MUSIC
The Art of Music
A Comprehensive Library of Information
for Music Lovers and Musicians
Editor-in-Chief
DANIEL GREGORY MASON
Columbia University
Associate Editors
EDWARD B. HILL LELAND HALL
Harvard University Past Professor, Univ. of Wisconsin
Managing Editor
CÉSAR SAERCHINGER
Modern Music Society of New York
In Fourteen Volumes
Profusely Illustrated
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC
[Illustration: The Singing Angels]
_Altar piece by Hubert and Jan van Eyck_
THE ART OF MUSIC: VOLUME SIX
Choral and Church Music
ROSSETTER GLEASON COLE, M.A.
Introduction by
FRANK DAMROSCH, Mus. Doc.
Director Institute of Musical Art in the City of New York
Conductor, Musical Art Society of New York, etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC
Copyright, 1915, by
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC, Inc.
[All Rights Reserved]
PREFATORY NOTE
The field of choral and church music is so vast and the subject so
inclusive that the author has felt the constant pressure of the
necessity for sifting and abbreviating and condensing the voluminous
material at hand in order not to go far beyond the prescribed limits
of this volume. He has resolutely shut his eyes to the allurements of
the many by-paths that constantly beckoned away from the historical
highway he was appointed to tread; and he has endeavored to keep this
object constantly in mind--to trace the development of the forces and
tendencies from which have sprung the various musical forms that have
gone to make up the literature of choral and church music as century
followed century. In this volume, therefore, the great personalities
of musical history will receive far less attention than the particular
musical forms and art-tendencies that flowed from their, oft-times,
combined creative activities.
While a large number of choral and organ works of every class have been
analyzed with much detail and a still larger number given definite
classification, it is hoped that the historical summaries and the
discussions of styles and periods, scattered throughout this volume,
will be even more helpful to the reader in enabling him to place
any given musical work in its true musical, as well as historical,
perspective. It is a matter of some regret that from sheer lack
of space several interesting and wholly relevant topics--such as
hymnology, contemporaneous church music, the whole relation of music to
the present-day church, etc.--must be left untouched. In the chapters
on contemporaneous choral music, it was necessary for the same reason
to shut out of consideration the whole field of short cantata (for
church choirs, and for female and male chorus), though the number of
really fine works here is quite amazing. Contemporaneous choral music
is fully discussed in three chapters and a large number of works are
adequately described, though for obvious reasons critical estimates are
in the main impossible from the very propinquity of these works.
Grateful acknowledgment is here made to Mr. Frederick H. Martens and to
Mr. Reginald L. McAll for the contribution of the comprehensive chapter
on the history of the organ (Chapter XIV), at the end of which their
initials will be found; also to Mr. Wilhelm Middelschulte, organist
of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, for many critical suggestions,
especially on the organ-works of Bach, Widor and Reger. In this
connection the author wishes to give full and grateful recognition to
the valuable assistance of his wife in gathering and verifying much
historical material.
ROSSETTER G. COLE.
Chicago, August, 1915.
CHORAL AND CHURCH MUSIC
INTRODUCTION
“And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heavenly
host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest and on earth
peace, good will toward men.”
This choir of angels (for can we conceive of a multitude of angels
announcing this message otherwise than in well-ordered song?) typifies
the mission of choral singing.
Whenever human beings unite in expressing noble thoughts in noble
music, their message also is one of good will. Their speech is rendered
in rhythmic cadence, intoned in harmonious concord and made expressive
by melody; they are bound together in amicable union for a common
purpose; they willingly submit to the discipline of a controlling mind;
their object is to put beauty into the world and the peace and harmony
which are required to make their work effective are communicated to
those who hear them and whose souls they cause to vibrate in unison
with their music.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the practice of choral
singing dates back to very early times. Not, of course, in the way in
which we understand the term to-day, as an art-form, but in cruder
forms of singing or chanting in unison such as may still be heard among
uncivilized or half-civilized tribes.
The desire to unite in the performance of religious rites, in prayers
for rain or in praise of the deity; in the mutual encouragement to do
battle against a common foe; in the celebration of seasonal changes,
in rejoicing over the gifts of nature or the fruits of their toil at
harvest time--all these common feelings induce a common expression and
stimulate choral singing.
The development from these crude forms to the art-forms of the present
has not only extended over a long period, but has been affected and
influenced by many and various factors. For purposes of discussion we
may divide these into two main classes: the Church and the Folk-song.
These two factors have brought to the evolution of choral singing
certain elements which, though diametrically opposed, yet most happily
complement each other, namely, obedience to law and freedom of
expression.
In the nature of things music in the Church--the Roman Catholic and
the Greek Orthodox--had to adapt itself to the strict canons of the
Liturgy. As the service became more and more elaborate and it was
realized that music exerted a strong spiritualizing influence, its use
was extended until it became one of the principal features in the Mass
and required the participation of not only the regular clergy, but of
numerous trained auxiliaries. Thus it came to pass that the Church, to
satisfy its need for canonic music--that is, for music which met the
liturgic requirements, preserved the dignity of the text and enhanced
the devotional attitude--stimulated the efforts toward greater beauty,
variety, and dignity of expression. Every monastery, every cathedral
contributed something to this evolutionary process until this primary
stage of choral development culminated in the work of Palestrina. This
was accomplished by slow stages. The art of counterpoint, which forms
the basis of this art-form, grew very gradually from the combination
of two voices to that of three, four, or more and incidentally caused
to be discovered certain art-forms, such as the canon and the fugue,
based upon the principle of imitation, which have been employed by all
the great masters of musical composition to the present day.
Let us now, for a moment, leave this field of choral development and
go into a small village in Russia. It is evening. The villagers are
assembled under the spreading branches of an old linden tree whose
blossoms perfume the still air as the moon rises above the forest.
Presently one of the villagers intones a song. It is known to all, has
been handed down from generation to generation. No one knows whence
it came--it seems always to have been there and it is interwoven with
the memories and emotions of all the people of the village and of the
whole countryside. In a word--it is a folk-song. One after another
the villagers join in, some in unison with the tune, but others,
finding the range too high, endeavor to find tones which sound in
pleasing consonance, and so, gradually, there is evolved a full harmony
accompanying the melody of the song. Has anyone taught the villagers
the science of harmony? Of course not, but, just as the beautiful
melody grew out of the people’s hearts and in the course of generations
molded itself into a perfect tune, so gradually the sense for good
harmony grew and caused the elimination of unpleasing progressions.
Sometimes such a song tells a story which is developed in many stanzas.
Then a ‘foresinger’ will chant the stanzas and the villagers will sing
a choral refrain, thus taking active part in the recital.
This, then, is the other source of choral singing which, meeting the
stream coming from the church, soon united with it and helped to create
and to develop this form of musical art.
In order to obtain a survey of the whole field of choral music as it
has grown from these two principal sources, let us enumerate it under
three divisions:
1. As an expression of popular emotions and
thoughts.
a. Folk-songs and refrains.
b. Dance songs.
c. Marching and war songs.
d. Work songs.
e. National songs.
2. For religious purposes.
a. Masses, motets, chorales, and other church-music.
b. Cantatas and oratorios.
3. Miscellaneous forms for choral art.
a. Part-songs, glees, madrigals, etc.
b. Secular cantatas.
c. As adjuncts to symphonic music.
d. As component parts of the opera.
This shows the wide scope of choral singing and its possibilities for
coming into close relationship to every phase of human life.
Whenever men come together for a common purpose involving the
expression of deep feelings or of their ideals, ordinary speech seems
inadequate and recourse to united musical expression, that is, choral
singing, seems most appropriate. Hence, the choral folk-songs and
dance-songs found in Russia, Scandinavia, Germany, and many other
nations and races; the marching and war-songs which cause the heart to
beat faster and to enliven the spirits, which would otherwise droop
from physical fatigue and hardships. Even where no spiritual element
seems in evidence on the surface, as in the work in the fields, in the
hauling of barges against the current of a great river, such as the
Volga in Russia, in the cigar factories in Florida and in Cuba, or
in heaving on a rope aboard ship, the mere working together of many
in a common task causes them to lighten their labor by utterance of
united song. There is little doubt that labor is better done with
the accompaniment of singing by happy and contented workers. No
discontented workman is inclined to sing. And when a great assemblage
of people unites in the national hymn of its country, it must be a
callous soul and cold heart that does not try to join with ardor and
enthusiasm.
All these manifestations of musical expression by popular singing
may be executed by comparatively untrained individuals. Even some
quite unusual and interesting harmonic progressions, the result of
generations of experiment and selection, as for instance in Finland,
Scandinavia, and among our Southern negroes, are not the result of
individual training, but part of the general racial instinct for
musical expression. The other classes of choral singing which we
have enumerated above require considerable training of individuals
in order to produce satisfactory results. In other words, whereas
the folk-songs, dance, marching, and national songs were either the
spontaneous expression of the people themselves or composed in the
style of the people’s or folk-song whose chief centre of interest
is the tune or melody while its harmonization is of secondary
importance, the choral art-songs, to which belong part-songs, glees,
madrigals, motets, cantatas, and all larger forms of choral music,
employ a much more elaborate style of composition. The different
voice-parts--soprano, alto, tenor, and bass--and their subdivisions
often progress in rhythmic independence of each other. The voice-parts
may enter the song at different times, in different sequence, in
different metrical and rhythmical figures; they may sing different
words simultaneously and therefore give different expression; sometimes
one voice-part requires dynamic prominence, sometimes another, while
the other voices subordinate themselves. All this requires that the
individual singer must have a musical voice and true ear and a good
sense of rhythm; that he should understand the rudimentary science of
music and of notation; and that his eye should be able to recognize
the symbols which indicate the pitch and time value of sounds and
translate them instantly into the sounds themselves. Also, it requires
that the individuals submit to the strictest discipline in obeying
the directions of the leader. Only complete, intelligent, and instant
obedience to the director on the part of every member of the chorus
will produce good results. In other words, only team-work of the
highest type secures mastery.
Efficiency in the performance of choral works of art, therefore,
demands the following conditions: First, a leader who is a thorough,
trained musician; cultured and well-educated; of good character and
with high ideals and noble aims; of good personality, courteous but
strict in discipline; critical but not discouraging; energetic and
enthusiastic, but always within the limits of dignity. Second, a
chorus composed of singers who sing because they love to sing (paid or
unpaid), who are gladly willing to obey the leader’s direction, and
who will concentrate themselves upon their work throughout the period
of rehearsal or performance. Their degree of vocal excellence, musical
qualities, individual musical knowledge and training will determine the
magnitude of the task upon which the leader may direct their efforts
and also the degree of excellence which their performance can attain.
In the United States there exist innumerable organizations devoted
to the study of choral music in its various forms, and it may be of
interest to enumerate some of the principal kinds.
1. The church congregation which sings hymns either in unison
or in four-part harmony in a more or less happy-go-lucky
fashion.
2. The church choir composed of male and female voices or
of boys’ and men’s voices.
3. The societies devoted to the study of oratorios and cantatas.
4. The societies devoted to the study of unaccompanied choral
singing (_a cappella_, as it is called), such as madrigals,
glees, motets, etc.
5. Male choruses, such as the German singing societies and the
glee clubs.
6. Choruses of women’s voices.
7. Opera choruses.
8. Choruses of school-children.
The great majority of these organizations consists of amateurs,
that is, of people who love music and who find in choral singing an
opportunity to gratify their desire to take an active part in its
performance.
Even those whose voices are of mediocre quality and have had little or
no training can learn to do excellent work in large choruses in which
the individual voice is merged in the mass. An example of this may be
found in the People’s Singing Classes and in the People’s Choral Union
of New York. Applicants to the former are admitted without vocal or
musical examination. They are taught to sing from notes, to follow the
bâton of the leader, to phrase and enunciate correctly, and to produce
a musical quality of tone. After two seasons they are promoted into the
Choral Union and are capable of singing the choruses of the oratorios
by Handel, Mendelssohn, and the modern masters. Their work has been
highly praised by the principal music critics and they have given and
are still giving pleasure to thousands of people at their concerts.
Societies like the Oratorio Society of New York, the Handel and Haydn
of Boston, the Apollo Club of Chicago, and numerous similar ones in
nearly every city are also composed of amateurs, but admission is
obtained only after proof of good vocal material and ability to sing at
sight has been given. This enables such organizations to perform with a
high degree of artistic finish and to produce a number of large works
every season.
The male societies, such as glee clubs and _Deutsche Gesangvereine_,
cultivate a lighter class of music, but they sometimes reach a high
degree of vocal excellence and finish in diction and phrasing. They
afford a welcome relief from work, business cares, and mental strain to
many men who like to sing and who enjoy the weekly rehearsals and the
social intercourse with congenial men which usually follows the drill.
The women’s choruses are not as numerous nor as popular as the
men’s, but seem to be growing more so every year. It is difficult to
understand why male choral singing should have developed more quickly
and more widely, as women are usually more interested in music than the
average man. Perhaps there is a psychological reason for it!
Choruses of children’s voices are among the most delightful
manifestations in the realm of music when they are well trained. Our
public schools throughout the country have the best possible machinery
for their development, and wherever this is guided by a good musician
and competent organizer the results are very beautiful. It is a great
pity, therefore, that the start in the direction of choral singing
given in the schools to hundreds of thousands of children every year
should not be systematically followed up by providing municipal evening
singing classes, either in the school buildings or in other suitable
halls provided by the city. Such classes would tend enormously to
uplift the young people who are just beginning life by giving them
opportunity to meet their friends under clean and pleasant conditions,
to enjoy the study of beautiful music and thereby to put into their
lives something which will help to lift them above the purely material
thoughts and commonplace existence which are so often the lot of the
wage-earner.
There remains only the consideration of the various kinds of
professional choruses. Of these, the church choir is the most
frequently met with. As a rule, it is little better than the average
amateur chorus, the members receiving a nominal fee, chiefly in order
to insure their regular attendance at rehearsals and services. But
there are some notable exceptions in the case of wealthy congregations
who spend whatever may be necessary to secure a highly gifted
and thoroughly competent choir-master, good voices, and frequent
rehearsals. In some cases there have been established richly endowed
choir schools in which boys gifted with good voices receive not only
musical training, but an excellent general education sufficient to
prepare them for college.
The grand opera choruses have, until recently, been largely recruited
from Italy and Germany, but now they include many young American men
and women whose fresh voices and intelligent application are looked
upon as welcome additions both by the conductors and the public. As
interest in opera grows and as operatic institutions are established in
a larger number of cities, this career will attract many young people
whose voices are not of such quality as to promise success as soloists,
but who are musical and prefer work along artistic lines to the more
mechanical business or trade occupations.
Finally, mention must be made of a kind of choral singing which, at its
best, is to vocal music what chamber music is to instrumental, namely,
_a cappella_ singing.
Dating from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when the old
Italian and Flemish masters of church music laid the foundations of
their wonderful contrapuntal style which culminated in the work of
Palestrina, this form of unaccompanied choral singing has flourished
to the present day, producing exquisite blossoms in every succeeding
age and in nearly every country which has cultivated a love of music.
Much of this class of music requires highly skilled singers, thorough
musical training and expert leadership, and it is therefore desirable
to secure professional singers when this is possible. The Musical
Art Society of New York and other societies with similar aims devote
themselves to this type of choral singing. Their choirs usually consist
of professional singers and their programs embrace works by Palestrina,
Orlando di Lasso, and their contemporaries and successors--Bach,
Gibbons, Morley, Wilbye, and other English madrigalists; the masters
of the German romantic school; Russian, Scandinavian, and Celtic
part-songs; Cornelius, Brahms, and the modern composers of all nations.
From the foregoing recital of the wide scope of this important branch
of musical art and its general practice by all classes of people, it
would appear that choral singing is that form of music which is best
adapted to popular use and that it is one of the easiest and best means
to promote the love and culture of good music in the community.
Through the musical experience gained in the study of choral works
and because of the pleasure it gives to the participants, interest is
aroused in other forms of musical art. Those who are engaged in trying
to awaken the American people to the appreciation of music by means
of recitals by singers, pianists, and violinists; by chamber music,
symphony concerts, and opera, will find more ready response from people
who have entered the field of music apprehension through choral singing
than through any other medium except the thorough training of a good
music school, and this contingent is, as yet, comparatively small. It
is to be hoped that, as the value of choral singing as a community
asset becomes more generally recognized, public education boards and
civic societies will give the fullest encouragement to its practice by
the people at large. It is not too much to say that twenty per cent.
of the adults of every city could become qualified to take part in
choral singing, and this opens up marvellous possibilities.
Such civic choruses could assist in the celebration of the national
holidays, of festivities in memory of great events, in exercises
designed to honor a famous man; in short, they would be a true people’s
voice expressing a people’s emotions, aspirations, and ideals. What
more fitting then than that the great republic of America should foster
the art and cultivate the practice of choral singing in order the more
effectively to proclaim to all the world its message of well ordered
liberty, of enlightenment and progress, and of peace to men of good
will?
FRANK DAMROSCH
New York, May, 1915.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME SIX
PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE vii
INTRODUCTION BY DR. FRANK DAMROSCH ix
PART I. CHORAL MUSIC OF THE MIDDLE AGES
CHAPTER
I. MUSIC OF THE EARLY AND MEDIÆVAL CHURCH AND EARLY
SECULAR MUSIC 1
The music of the earliest Christian church as evolved
from contemporary practices and systems; the alliance of
the Roman liturgy with music; the _Schola Cantorum_--St.
Ambrose and liturgical music; his hymns; Gregory the
Great and his reforms; the Gregorian antiphonary;
sequences and tropes--Progress in musical methods in
the northern countries; Hucbald and _organum_; Guido of
Arezzo; Franco of Cologne and measured music; growth of
part-singing--Early secular music; the Troubadours and
Trouvères; Adam de la Hâle; the Minnesingers and the
Mastersingers; mediæval secular forms; The early
madrigal and its precursors, the _chanson_ and
_frottola_; ‘Sumer is icumen in’; relation of folk-music
to art-music.
II. THE POLYPHONIC PERIOD 36
The Gallo-Belgic School; the Netherlanders; the mass
and its liturgical significance; the use of secular
subjects--Conditions that fostered continuity of
development: the ‘Mass of Tournay’; Dufay and Okeghem;
Hobrecht’s _Parce Domine_; Josquin des Près’ masses
and motets; his expressive style--The motet as an
extra-liturgical form; its development; its later
characteristic style; distinction between sacred and
secular music--Orlando di Lasso’s ‘Penitential Psalms’;
his tendency toward a simpler style; his _Gustate et
Videte_ and other compositions--Palestrina’s reforms,
methods, and style; his masses, _Papæ Marcelli_,
_Brevis_, and _Assumpta est Maria_; his motets and other
compositions: Vittoria and others--Madrigal writers of
the sixteenth century: Festa, Arcadelt, Willaert, Byrd,
Morley, etc.
III. THE FIRST CENTURY OF PROTESTANT CHURCH MUSIC 76
Martin Luther; the chorale as the nucleus of German
Protestant church music--Early Reformation composers:
Walther, Eccard, Prætorius; influence of church choir
schools in Germany during the Reformation
period--English Protestant music, music of the Anglican
liturgy: the anthem, its early history and style--The
spread of congregational song; psalms and hymns.
PART II. THE CANTATA AND OTHER SHORT FORMS
IV. THE EARLY ITALIAN SECULAR CANTATA, THE GERMAN CLASSICAL
CANTATA, THE ENGLISH ANTHEM, AND OTHER SHORT
CHORAL FORMS 99
The entrance of dramatic tendencies into music--Carissimi
and the early cantata; Rossi, Cesti, and Legrenzi--A.
Scarlatti, the culminating point in cantata-writing in
Italy; later developments of the Italian cantata--The
German church cantata and its relation to the Lutheran
service; cantata-texts of Neumeister and others--Bach
in the service of the church; his church cantatas--G.
F. Handel; Joseph Haydn; W. A. Mozart--English church
music in the eighteenth century; the anthem: Croft,
Greene, Boyce, and others--Later history of this motet in
England, Italy, and Germany; decadence of the madrigal;
the glee, the part-song, the masque and the ode.
V. THE CANTATA IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 142
Conflict of tradition and progress--Ludwig van Beethoven:
‘Ruins of Athens,’ ‘Glorious moment’; Andreas Romberg--C.
M. von Weber; Franz Schubert; Ludwig Spohr--Mendelssohn:
‘First Walpurgis Night,’ etc.; 95th Psalm; _Lauda Sion_,
etc.--Hector Berlioz: ‘Damnation of Faust’--Robert
Schumann: ‘Paradise and the Peri’; ‘Pilgrimage of the
Rose’; Miscellany--Ferdinand Hiller; Niels W. Gade:
‘Crusaders,’ ‘Erl-King’s Daughter,’ ‘Christmas Eve,’
‘Comala,’ etc.--Félicien David: ‘The Desert’; Minor
cantata writers in Germany and England: Benedict, Costa,
Macfarren, Smart, Bennett--Anglican ritual-music and the
German evangelical motet in the nineteenth century; the
part-song.
VI. THE MODERN CANTATA 189
Wagner: ‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’; Liszt: ‘The
Bells of Strassburg,’ ‘Prometheus’--Brahms: ‘Song of
Triumph,’ ‘Song of Destiny’--Max Bruch: ‘Frithjof,’
‘Fair Ellen,’ ‘The Cross of Fire,’ ‘The Lay of the
Bell,’ etc.--Rheinberger; Dvořák; Hofmann; Goetz--Grieg;
Gounod; Sullivan: ‘The Golden Legend’; Barnby’s Gaul;
Stainer; Cowen--Parry; Mackenzie; Stanford--Elgar:
‘King Olaf’; ‘Caractacus’; ‘The Black Knight’--
Coleridge-Taylor: ‘Hiawatha’ cycle--Dudley Buck:
‘The Golden Legend’; ‘The Light of Asia’; Horatio
Parker and other cantata writers in the United States.
PART III. THE ORATORIO AND THE MASS
VII. Early and Classical Oratorios 223
Origin of oratorio in the sacred drama of
Italy--Cavalieri: ‘The Representation of Soul and
Body’--Carissimi: ‘Jephthah’--Scarlatti; Stradella;
other early oratorio writers--Development of oratorio
in Germany; Passion-music and its development; Schütz:
‘The Seven Last Words of Christ’; ‘The Passion
Oratorio’; ‘The Resurrection’--J. S. Bach: ‘Christmas
Oratorio’; ‘Passion according to St. Matthew’; Graun:
‘The Death of Jesus’; other writers of Passion-music--
Handel and the oratorio; ‘The Messiah’--‘Israel in
Egypt’; ‘Judas Maccabæus’; ‘Samson,’ etc.--Haydn: ‘The
Creation’; ‘The Seasons.‘
VIII. THE ORATORIO FROM BEETHOVEN TO BRAHMS 264
Beethoven: ‘The Mount of Olives’; Spohr: ‘The Last
Judgment’ and ‘Calvary’--Mendelssohn: ‘St. Paul’--‘Elijah’
and ‘Hymn of Praise’--Liszt: ‘St. Elizabeth’ and
‘Christus’--Oratorio in England; Sterndale Bennett:
‘The Woman of Samaria’; Costa’s ‘Eli’--Oratorio in
France; Lesueur; Berlioz’s _L’enfance du Christ_--Gounod:
‘The Redemption’; _Mors et Vita_.
IX. THE MODERN ORATORIO 292
Brahms: ‘German Requiem’; Dvořák: ‘St. Ludmila’--César
Franck: ‘The Beatitudes’;--Tinel: ‘Franciscus’; Benoît:
‘Lucifer’--Saint-Saëns: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘The
Deluge’; Massenet: _Ève_; _Marie Madeleine_; Dubois:
‘Paradise Lost’--Oratorio in England; Mackenzie: ‘The
Rose of Sharon’; ‘Bethlehem’; Parry: ‘Judith’; ‘Job’;
‘King Saul’--Stanford: ‘The Three Holy Children’; ‘Eden’;
Sullivan: ‘The Prodigal Son’; ‘The Light of the World’;
Cowen--Oratorio in America; Paine: ‘St. Peter’; Horatio
Parker: _Hora Novissima_; ‘The Legend of St. Christopher.’
X. THE MODERN MASS 318
The adaptation of liturgical forms to extra-liturgical
purposes; Mass; Requiem Mass--Stabat Mater; Magnificat;
Te Deum--Musical masses and the Roman service--Bach:
‘B minor Mass’--Bach‘s ‘Magnificat in D’; Pergolesi‘s
_Stabat Mater_; Handel‘s Te Deums; Graun‘s ‘Prague _Te
Deum_’; Haydn’s church music--Mozart: the _Requiem_ and
other masses--Cherubini: _Requiem_ and other masses;
Schubert’s masses--Beethoven: _Missa Solemnis_; Weber’s
masses--Berlioz: _Requiem_; _Te Deum_; Rossini’s _Stabat
Mater_; Liszt: ‘Graner Mass’ and ‘Hungarian Coronation
Mass’--Gounod: ‘St. Cecilia Mass’ and other masses;
Dvořák: _Requiem_ and _Stabat Mater_; Verdi: ‘The Manzoni
_Requiem_’--The masses of Rheinberger, Henschel and
others.
PART IV. MODERN CHORAL MUSIC
XI. CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC IN GERMANY 347
Contemporaneous Choral Music in Germany--Richard Strauss:
_Wanderers Sturmlied_; _Taillefer_; Motets--Taubmann:
_Eine Deutsche Messe_; _Sängerweihe_; Georg Schumann:
_Ruth_; _Totenklage_ and other works--Max Reger’s
choral compositions; Schönberg: _Gurrelieder_;
‘Transfigured Night’; _Pierrot lunaire_--Other choral
writers of the present; Felix Draeseke’s _Christus_;
Wolfrum’s _Weihnachtsmysterium_; Albert Fuchs; Wilhelm
Platz; August Bungert’s _Warum? Woher? Wohin?_ Felix
Woyrsch: _Totentanz_ and other works; Wilhelm Berger’s
_Totentanz_; Karl Ad. Lorenz: _Das Licht_; other
contributors to modern German choral literature.
XII. CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA 359
Elgar: ‘The Light of Life’; ‘The Dream of Gerontius’;
‘The Apostles’; ‘The Kingdom’; ‘The Music
Makers’;--Parry: ‘War and Peace’; ‘The Vision of
Life’; ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’; Mackenzie; Cowen;
Coleridge-Taylor--Bantock: ‘The Fire Worshippers’; ‘Omar
Khayyam’ and other choral works--Holbrooke: ‘The Bells,’
‘Byron’ and other works; Grainger and others; Walford
Davies: ‘Everyman’; ‘The Temple’ and other works; minor
English choral writers--Horatio Parker: ‘Morven and
the Grail’ and smaller works; Chadwick: ‘Judith’ and
‘Noël’--Henry Hadley: ‘Merlin and Vivian’ and short
works; F. S. Converse: ‘Job’; other American choral
writers.
XIII. CONTEMPORARY CHORAL MUSIC IN FRANCE, ITALY, RUSSIA AND
ELSEWHERE 386
Debussy: _L’enfant prodigue_, _La demoiselle élue_
and _Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien_; Reynaldo Hahn:
_La pastorale de Noël_; Gabriel Pierné: _La croisade
des enfants_; _Les enfants de Bethlehem_; _Les
fioretti de Saint-François d’Assisi_--Florent Schmitt:
Psalm XLVII; Vincent d’Indy: _Chant de la cloche_,
etc.--Renaissance of oratorio in Italy; Perosi and
his oratorios; Bossi: _Canticum canticorum_; _Il
Paradiso perduto_; Wolf-Ferrari: _La Vita Nuova_ and
other works--Scandinavia; choral music in Russia;
Moussorgsky; Rimsky-Korsakoff; Glazounoff; Glière;
Arensky and others; choral composition in Poland,
Bohemia, Hungary, Spain.
PART V. THE ORGAN AND ITS MUSIC
XIV. THE ORGAN FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT 397
The ancestor of the modern organ; pneumatic and
hydraulic organs of classical antiquity--The organ
in early mediæval times--The tenth and eleventh
centuries: cloister and minster organs; the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries: introduction of the ‘portative’
organ and balanced keys; the fourteenth century:
chromatic keyboard; pedals; organ blowing--Fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries; cathedral and church organs;
the _Rückpositiv_; the Spanish _partida_; builders--The
seventeenth century: mechanical development; tuning;
union of manuals; the eighteenth century; the ‘Swell’;
English builders; the Silbermanns--_Rococo_ adornment
of cases; the nineteenth century and the birth of the
modern instrument--Pneumatic action; electric action;
the Universal Air Chest; duplex stop control; tonal
improvements--the chamber organ; the concert organ.
XV. EARLY ORGAN MUSIC 415
The old Italian masters: Landino to Frescobaldi--Early
German masters; the forerunners of Bach; Hassler,
Pachelbel, Buxtehude--J. S. Bach: the toccatas, the
preludes and fugues, the sonatas and other works--The
early French composers: Couperin and Rameau; Spain and
Portugal; the Netherlands--The early English masters;
Tye, Tallis, Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, etc.--Purcell;
Handel.
XVI. ORGAN MUSIC AFTER BACH AND HANDEL 456
The eclipse of organ music after Bach; Bach’s pupils
and other organ masters of the classic period--Organ
composers of the romantic period: Mendelssohn, Liszt,
Rheinberger and others--Great French organists of the
nineteenth century--English organists since Handel.
XVII. MODERN ORGAN MUSIC 479
Supremacy of modern French organ music; Saint-Saëns;
Guilmant: sonatas and smaller works--Widor: organ
symphonies; Dubois; Gigout and other French
organ-writers--German organ composers; Piutti;
Klose; Reger; chorale-fantasias; Karg-Elert and
others--Organ music in Italy; Capocci; Bossi; Busoni
and others--English organ composers since 1850--Organ
music in the United States; early history; Dudley
Buck; Frederick Archer and Clarence Eddy; contemporary
American organ composers.
LITERATURE 503
INDEX 507
CHORAL AND CHURCH MUSIC
CHAPTER I
MUSIC OF THE EARLY AND MEDIÆVAL CHURCH AND EARLY SECULAR MUSIC
The music of the earliest Christian church as evolved
from contemporary practices and systems; the alliance of
the Roman liturgy with music; the _Schola Cantorum_--St.
Ambrose and liturgical music; his hymns; Gregory the Great
and his reforms; the Gregorian antiphonary; sequences
and tropes--Progress in musical methods in the northern
countries; Hucbald and _organum_; Guido of Arezzo; Franco of
Cologne and measured music; growth of part-singing--Early
secular music; the Troubadours and Trouvères; Adam de la
Hâle; the Minnesingers and the Mastersingers; mediæval
secular forms; The early madrigal and its precursors, the
_chanson_ and _frottola_; ‘Sumer is icumen in’; relation of
folk-music to art-music.
I
Accustomed as we are in the present age to rapid progress and swift
development, it seems difficult to understand why it should have
required so many centuries to develop among human beings a feeling
for the necessity of more than a single melody or voice-part in music
expression. The earliest music of which we have any knowledge is
monophonic, a single melody sung by a single voice, or by a number
of voices in unison or in octaves. This characteristic prevails not
only in the music of primitive races, ancient or modern, but also in
the music of those ancient nations that attained a high degree of
civilization--Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Assyrians, Hebrews. The Greeks
and Egyptians understood thoroughly the theory of intervals and they
possessed an adequate comprehension of intervals in the melodic sense,
where tone follows tone. But it seems never to have occurred to them to
apply this knowledge of intervals to sounds of different pitch heard
simultaneously, certainly never seriously enough to lead them to make
experiments in the use of these intervals for the purpose of evolving
two or more independent melodies or voice-parts sounding at the same
time. Even the crude device of having two melodies move in parallel
fifths or fourths, as in the _organum_ of Hucbald, was not employed
until the tenth century of the Christian era. And, the principle of
discant or added parts to a given melody having been once established,
it required nearly six centuries more of constant experimentation
with vocal part-writing before there emerged any clear or conscious
feeling for what we call harmony or a progression of chord-units. Since
the sixteenth century, however, musical progress has unfolded with
constantly accelerated pace.
Until about the beginning of the seventeenth century, when secularity
entered the domain of music and received such important consideration
in the development of dramatic and instrumental music, practically the
whole creative energy of art-music had been expended in the interest
of religion. From the earliest times the most important music of
the Greeks, Egyptians, Assyrians, and Hebrews was associated with
their respective religious rites and ceremonies. Roman civilization
contributed nothing of importance to the musical knowledge or practices
of its time, for militant Rome was far more interested in assimilating
from the culture of conquered countries than in originating and
developing practices of her own. Even the dawn of the Christian era,
with the tremendous dynamics of its new moral and ethical ideals and
its prophecy of intellectual freedom, did not usher in any essential
departure from the old musical usages. The early Christians merely
selected from current musical systems and contemporaneous melodies
those elements that were best suited to the services of the new
religion and to the religious home life of its adherents. Until the
period of open persecution set in, the converts to the new religion
did not in general follow a social or economic life that differed in
any essential respects from that of their neighbors who still paid
homage to the old forms and trod the old paths of religious worship.
The believers in the new and the old forms of religion mingled freely
in the daily rounds of their various duties and pleasures. Just as the
early Christian art did not differ in principle from the best Pagan
models, so the music of the early Christian congregations was absorbed
into their services from the musical practices of the communities from
which the converts came. Those in the East naturally turned for their
musical material to the noble melodies of the Hebrew synagogue and to
the more chaste Greek melodies whose association was farther removed
from sensual Pagan rites. Those in the West borrowed freely from
current Græco-Roman music, employing, of course, only those melodies
that were purest and most refined in character and association.
From this point of contact with the old civilization, the music of
the early Christian worship gradually developed along the line of its
own inherent and individual needs and kept pace with the internal
unfoldment of the liturgic idea that at an early date imbedded itself
firmly in all branches of the church services. The line of continuity
in passing from the old to the new, however, was unbroken. Public
ceremonials and priestly sacrifices have always produced conditions
exceedingly favorable to the development of rituals and liturgies.
This was conspicuously true of the Hebrew religion, as well as the
Pagan religions which were practised in the opening centuries of the
Christian era. It is not altogether surprising, then, that many Pagan
ideas, forms, and ceremonials were incorporated into the ritual and
liturgy of the early church, especially after the third century, when
Christianity was received into the favor of the State.
While the organization of the early Christian church was still
simple and its government more or less democratic in character,
the congregation took an active part in the musical portion of the
service. But the gradual development of elaborate liturgies and
ceremonies, the transformation of the clergy from representatives of
the people to mediatorial functionaries, and the general hierarchical
tendencies of the times--all contributed in bringing about a condition
distinctly unfavorable to free congregational singing. Indeed, this was
specifically forbidden in all liturgical services by the Council of
Laodicea (343-381), and while the transfer of the office of song from
the people to the clergy was not immediately effective, congregational
singing in the apostolic sense passed out of existence in the fourth
century. It is true that in private worship and in non-liturgical
services the singing of hymns and psalms by the general body of
worshippers was permitted, but the rapid growth of sacerdotalism
irresistibly led to the corresponding withdrawal of initiative from the
individual worshippers, until the clergy in all liturgical services
finally assumed all the offices of public worship, inclusive of song,
which was regarded as an integral part of the office of prayer.
The establishment of the priestly liturgic chant marks the real
beginning of the history of music in the Christian church, for music
after that event became a matter of special qualifications and
preparation on the part of the performers, and of rigid adherence to
prescribed formulas and regulations in all details of performance. It
followed with utmost logic from the doctrine of the universality and
immutability of the church that its liturgy, rites, and ceremonies
should not only remain unchanged from age to age, but should be uniform
in all countries and localities where her authority was recognized.
In the study of the Roman Catholic liturgy its alliance with music
must be kept constantly in mind, for in inception and in development it
was and always has been a musical liturgy. In working out the problems
of securing the desired uniformity in respect to musical settings for
different localities and of handing down to succeeding generations
the musical forms that had gained the sanction of church authority,
the church fathers were confronted with difficulties the magnitude
of which it is not easy for us to comprehend. It was not until the
eleventh century that a system of staff notation was devised whereby
the exact pitch of notes could be accurately represented, and a full
century elapsed after this vital invention before an adequate system of
measured music was evolved whereby the exact relative duration of notes
could be represented. A detailed account of the slow and laborious
development of the elementary material out of which the fair edifice of
modern music was finally to be reared will be found in Vol. I of this
series. It will suffice here to say that the authorized versions of the
various chants, as the liturgy was gradually taking definite and final
shape during the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries, had to be taught
and preserved by ‘word of mouth,’ this process being somewhat aided,
through visual association, by means of a kind of musical shorthand
called ‘neumes,’ consisting of dots, short lines and combinations
of lines written over the syllables to be sung, which indicated the
general direction of the melody but not the exact intervals between
its tones as it fluctuated up and down in pitch. Even this crude
system of representing pitch relations by visual symbols was of great
assistance to the singers, for in principle it sought to serve the same
purpose that our modern notation accomplishes in suggesting to the
eve the outline of the melody. Indefinite as it was in not indicating
exact intervallic relations, it greatly aided in recalling to mind the
melodies already memorized, assistance which was greatly appreciated
by the singers, for as many as a thousand different melodies were used
during the church year, many of them for a single occasion only.
To eliminate conflicting traditions and to bring about uniformity in
all branches of the service, singing schools were established by order
and under the direction of ecclesiastical authorities (the first one in
314 at Rome by Pope Sylvester), in which the clerical singers received
thorough instruction and training not only in the exact forms of all
the chants to be used, but also in all matters of intonation, qualities
of tone suited to different chants, enunciation, etc. These schools
(_scholæ cantorum_) brought about as much uniformity and permanency
as were possible in the absence of more exact notational means. But
even with these great handicaps, a wealth of musical material was
accumulated even before the twelfth century, whose plenitude and
affluent beauty it would seem have never been rightly appreciated
or exploited by the Catholic Church itself. The difficulties in
deciphering the vague neumes in the mediæval manuscripts have
undoubtedly operated to keep these treasures hidden away in their
original depositories; yet the results of the labors of occasional
enthusiasts in translating some of them into modern notation would
indicate that here are unexplored channels for the permanent enrichment
of the literature of Catholic music. In his _motu propria_ of November
22, 1903, Pope Pius X turned the attention of the Catholic world back
to the glories of the mediæval Gregorian music and, indirectly, to the
old manuscripts, treasure-stores of long forgotten melodies of the
old church singers that are still hidden away in the monasteries and
abbeys of Europe and northern Africa, as well as in the more accessible
museums and libraries of Europe.
The earliest known manuscripts date from the eighth, possibly the
sixth, century. But aside from the traditional music of the liturgy,
handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth and
preserved intact, in Rome at least, by the severe discipline of the
singing schools, we possess very few examples of music whose origin can
with certainty be placed before the eleventh century, when our present
staff notation came into being. Yet even with so little actual music
of the period at hand we know with great definiteness the character of
ecclesiastical music from contemporary writings, edicts, and decrees.
II
When early Christian music finally freed itself from the influence
of Pagan models in the interest of its own internal necessities, it
opened the way for the first time in history for the development of a
purely vocal art, dispensing with the assistance of the instruments
that formed such an essential part of the musical practices allied with
Pagan religious rites and ceremonies. For the first fifteen centuries
of the Christian era almost the only art-music was that which was
cultivated by and for the church, and since the church during this
period persistently frowned upon the use of instruments, the history of
the music of the period is the history of choral music.
But while in Italy the use of instruments was rigidly forbidden and
any deviation from prescribed practices was a punishable offense,
greater difficulty was experienced in enforcing this church law in
those countries of Europe, now known as France, Germany, and England,
which had more recently been won to the standard of Christianity by
the militant missionaries of Rome, but which still retained a rugged
independence that clung tenaciously to many local customs. In some of
these localities instruments were freely used and in the monastery
of St. Gall in Switzerland festival occasions were graced by a band
of harps, flutes, cymbals, a seven-stringed psaltery, and an organ.
Notwithstanding a few noteworthy exceptions, the music of the Roman
Church can be characterized as pure vocal music until near the end of
the sixteenth century at least. And when instruments were occasionally
used--the organ more and more toward the end of the sixteenth
century--it was for the purpose of doubling the voice-parts in order to
gain greater sonority.
After the office of song was restricted to specially trained
clericals, thus bringing music within the domain of culture and
laying the foundation for its development as an art, the first name
of importance among those who strove to bring order and increased
effectiveness into the chaotic conditions of liturgical music was St.
Ambrose, Bishop of Milan (340?-397). Much that was attributed to him
until a few decades ago has been proved to be apocryphal and legendary.
We may with much certainty, however, affirm that his enthusiastic
interest in the music of the liturgy resulted (1) in carefully sifting
the material that had been gradually accumulating, and (2) in bringing
into the ritual of the Western church from the Eastern three elements
of great value to its further development--antiphonal singing of psalms
by two alternating choirs, responsorial singing, and Greek hymnody. His
great interest in the last-named field led him not only to translate
many of the finest Greek hymns into Latin, but inspired him to write
new Latin hymns to be sung, probably to simple melodies, after the
Greek fashion. Among the hymns (about ten in number) from his own pen
may be named _Veni Redemptor Gentium_ and _Eterna Christi Munera_
(‘Hymnal Noted,’ Nos. 12 and 36).
St. Ambrose’s innovations soon found favor elsewhere. Antiphonal
psalmody was introduced into the service at Rome by Pope Celestine
(pope from 422 to 432), and in a short time was quite generally adopted
throughout the domains of the church. St. Augustine (354-430), who
was a friend of St. Ambrose and a collaborator with him, and who is
said to have made a collection of Ambrosian melodies for the use of
the church, bears touching testimony to their emotional effect: ‘How
I wept at thy hymns and canticles, pierced to the quick by the voices
of thy melodious church! Those voices flowed into my ears, and the
truth distilled into my heart, and thence there streamed forth a
devout emotion, and my tears ran down, and happy was I therein.’ (St.
Augustine, ‘Confessions,’ Book 9, chap. 6.)
The so-called Ambrosian collection vied in importance with the
Gregorian for several centuries and many of its finest features
were undoubtedly incorporated into the later and more comprehensive
collection. So important a place does St. Ambrose fill in the history
of ecclesiastical music that the term Ambrosian is still applied to
usages, both liturgical and musical, of the Church of Milan, which
distinguish its service in certain respects from the Roman service, and
which are supposed to have been originated by the great Milanese bishop.
After St. Ambrose the next prelate to impress himself profoundly on
the course of development of church-music was Pope Gregory the Great
(pope from 590 to 604). While recent research[1] has proved beyond
doubt that a multitude of reforms and innovations attributed to him
by mediæval legends and repeated by later history belong in reality
to a much later period, it is well established that he manifested an
enthusiastic and well-directed interest in the music of the service,
that he introduced many corrective measures to curb the growing
danger of secularizing church-music through the use of unauthorized
embellishments and licenses in singing the chants, and that he brought
about a thorough and far-reaching reorganization of the singing
schools. When he became pope in 590, the liturgy was practically
completed as far as its actual material was concerned. Since the
earliest practices of the church had encouraged a musical liturgy,
he found in actual use a vast number of chants and musical settings
for various parts of the services. These musical settings differed
in different localities. In conformity with his definitely conceived
policy of establishing in reality one universal church for all peoples
and races, with centralized power and highly-organized form of
government, he set about to accomplish a definite systematization and
an authoritative organization of all liturgic functions, together with
the necessarily similar regulation of the music associated with the
liturgy. This reform was in the nature of a codification of existing
material, and while he did not finish the great work, he brought it
within the bounds of uniformity as regards both liturgy and musical
settings, and gave to these results of his labors all the permanency
that the solemn law of the church could command. The liturgical portion
was called _Sacramentarium Gregorianum_ and the musical portion
_Antiphonarium Gregorianum_, and from the seventh century these two
books are always met with side by side.
The interesting and fanciful stories of Pope Gregory’s labors as
composer of chants and as teacher in the _Schola Cantorum_ must be
discarded as wholly unproven legends, and to the same category belongs
the tradition that after compiling the Antiphonary he caused a copy
of it to be chained to the altar of St. Peter’s, as containing the
only music authorized by the church. One of the direct results of his
reorganization of the singing school, however, was the establishment
on a permanent basis of the Sistine Chapel,[2] or papal choir, at
Rome. This organization, the oldest choral body in the world, was
for centuries the court of final resort in all matters pertaining to
the traditions of Gregorian chant and it maintained a practically
continuous existence from that far-off age until the temporal power of
the pope came to an end in 1870, when it was practically disbanded.
Since that date, however, its members have from time to time been
called together to sing in the Sistine Chapel on occasions of special
significance.
The Gregorian collection or antiphonary, which was the musical law
of the Roman Church until the Renaissance period, was probably not
settled in final form until the time of Gregory II (pope 715-731) or
Gregory III (pope 731-741). However much Gregory the Great may have
accomplished in establishing methods of permanency and universality
in the ritual-music, the processes of selection, accretion, and
assimilation went on for more than a century after his death. This
collection, which was written in the vague neumes of the period, became
the most important factor in the music of the Western church and by
the end of, the eleventh century had practically superseded all other
bodies of ritual-music--such as the African, Celtic, Gallican, and
Spanish[3] (Mozarabic)--which had previously gained ascendency in the
various countries which acknowledged spiritual allegiance to Rome.
The historic collection of Gregorian music divides itself into two
large groups--(1) the music of the Mass, together with that of the
baptismal, burial, and other occasional services, corresponding with
the modern Missal, and (2) the music of the daily Hours of Divine
Service, corresponding with the modern Breviary. There are about
630 compositions in the first large group, in which only scriptural
words appear, classified as follows: about 150 Introits (_Antiphonæ
ad introitum_), about 150 Communions (_Antiphonæ ad communionem_),
110 Graduals, 100 Alleluias, 23 Tracts, and 102 Offertories. In the
music of the second large division (the Hours of Divine Service) there
is much less variety than in the music of the Mass. As this group of
services did not have the same official position as the Mass, less
restraint was exercised in regard to modifications. In this collection
are to be found some 2,000 antiphons and about 800 Greater Responds,
besides many Lesser Responds, Invitatories, and Versicles.
It is now quite generally believed that there were no essential
differences between Ambrosian and Gregorian music. If any differences
existed, they were in such compositions as the Ambrosian hymn, which
was written for the use of the congregation and was more measured and
stately in its swing than its Gregorian counterpart, which was sung by
the trained choirs and therefore capable of much more rhythmic freedom
and melodic embellishment.
The Roman singing school (_Schola Cantorum_) played a large and
important part both in the labor of codifying the great collection
since known as Gregorian music, and in spreading the Gregorian chant
among the faithful in other lands. This latter task was greatly
facilitated by the establishment of numerous singing schools, modelled
after the Roman school, in England, France, and Germany, under the
auspices of monastic orders or powerful prelates. Among the most famous
of these schools were the one at Metz, founded by Bishop Chrodegang,
which maintained great prestige up to the twelfth century; the one at
Oxford, founded by Alfred the Great; the monastic school of Fulda,
which held the foremost place in Germany; and the one at St. Gall,
Switzerland, whose fame and achievements eclipsed all the others and
which was celebrated far and near for the elaborateness and excellence
of its musical service and for the devotion and enthusiasm of its
monks in the advancement of ecclesiastical music during the eighth,
the ninth, and especially the tenth century. England became acquainted
with Gregorian chant during the lifetime of Gregory the Great, when St.
Augustine (not to be confused with the Latin father) was commissioned
in 597 as an apostle to carry Christianity to the island across the
channel. In France and Germany (Franconia and Allemania) Pepin,[4]
and especially Charlemagne, gave energetic and active support to the
movement to bring about uniformity with Rome, and by the beginning of
the ninth century the Gregorian chant had supplanted the old Gallican
chant in all the domains of the great emperor. Spain, however, did not
accept the Gregorian chant until the eleventh century, during the reign
of Pope Gregory VII.
The inexact system of notation (neumes) in which the Gregorian
antiphonary was written necessarily laid great emphasis on the oral
transmission of the melodies, hence it was hardly possible to attain
perfect uniformity in different countries and in different periods. Yet
it is believed that the singers of the Roman school, who were subject
to severe penalties for even slight infractions of the traditions of
the Gregorian procedure, succeeded in preserving through the Middle
Ages not only the great body of Gregorian chant but their traditional
performance with a wonderful degree of purity and inviolability.
But away from Rome, while the general principles of procedure were
preserved intact, modifications in details undoubtedly crept in, some
unconsciously and some in deference to the various national or local
predilections. Thus in Gaul and the northern countries generally, the
oriental style of ornamentation, retained from earlier periods in many
of the Roman melodies, met with scant favor. To satisfy these sturdy
and independent singers the ornate qualities were frequently softened
or eliminated altogether.
Additions to the original ritual music of the Gregorian service
appeared about the beginning of the tenth century under the names
of sequences and tropes. The sequence was a melody of hymn-like
structure which derived its name from its position in the Mass, being a
continuation or sequence of the Gradual and Alleluia. It had long been
a custom, introduced from the East, to prolong the final vowel of the
Alleluia-chant, sung between the Epistle and the Gospel, into a free
melody or vocal flourish without words, called jubilation, originally a
kind of ecstatic improvisation. French musicians in the ninth century
added words to these melodies. They thus became separate compositions
to which at first the name ‘prose’ was given, since the words adapted
to the music were without meter. Later, when these compositions became
thoroughly independent, texts in metrical form were written for them,
the name ‘prose’ was dropped as no longer appropriate, and the new
name ‘sequence’ assumed. This change in name and character is credited
to the St. Gall monk, Notker Balbulus (died 912). Sequences became
very popular from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries and mediæval
office-books abound in fine specimens, many of them of extreme beauty
and originality. During the tenth and eleventh centuries the monastery
of St. Gall remained the chief centre of activity in the composition
of sequences and Notker found a multitude of followers, mainly in
Germany. Quite independent of the St. Gall influence, a second centre
of activity appeared at the monastery of St. Martial in Limoges,
culminating in the twelfth century in Adam of St. Victor in Paris.
These sequences, patterned after the Greek model, approached more and
more the form of the hymn, in which they finally disappeared.
In the sequences the vernacular, as well as Latin, was employed
and they were freely used in the Mass, becoming ‘a sort of people’s
song.’ But since they were in reality extra-liturgical, they were
all suppressed, except five, when the Council of Trent revised the
Roman liturgy in the sixteenth century. The five at present in use
are: _Victimæ Paschali_, appointed for Easter Sunday, written by Wipo
early in the eleventh century, the oldest of the five and the only one
similar in structure to Notker’s sequences; _Veni Sancte Spiritus_
for Whitsunday, written probably by Innocent III at the end of the
twelfth century, called ‘the Golden Sequence’ by mediæval writers;
_Lauda Sion_ for the festival Corpus Christi, written by St. Thomas
Aquinas supposedly about the year 1261; _Stabat Mater_, sung since
1727 on the Friday in Passion Week, of uncertain authorship; and _Dies
Irae_, sung on All Souls’ Day and in the Requiem or Mass for the Dead,
written by Thomas of Celano late in the twelfth century or early in
the thirteenth century. In the thirteenth century the poetry of the
Latin Church attained its period of greatest brilliance and amid the
rich efflorescence of this wonderful epoch the _Dies Irae_ stands
incomparable, the finest example of rhymed Latin poetry of the Middle
Ages. Second to it in poetic beauty is the _Stabat Mater_. It should be
added that the authors of the above sequences were combined poets and
composers, as poetry and music were twin-born arts during the Middle
Ages.
Another of the many illustrations of the readiness with which the
churches of the West accepted the musical practices of the East was
the ‘trope,’ which was adopted among the Franks in the ninth and
tenth centuries from the many Byzantine musicians who came into the
West during this period. The trope was not unlike the sequence in its
development. The name was originally given to any succession of tones
without text that occurred in the florid chants. Tuotilo of St. Gall
(died 915) developed the tropes into quasi-independent compositions
by setting words to them and interpolating them among the chants
of the Mass, thus thrusting them into the Gregorian liturgy. These
interpolations, some very extensive and ornate, found their way into
all the Mass-chants except the Credo, which was considered too sacred
to violate. But since the tropes were regarded by the Council of Trent
as weakening accretions to the venerable structure of church-music,
they, as well as the sequences, were banished from the liturgy in its
final revision.
III
The tendency of ecclesiasticism has always been to curb and discourage
individual effort toward progress in all matters pertaining to the
development of ritual-music. This was not altogether strange, for
until modern times music existed in the church solely for liturgical
purposes. It was not desired that its effectiveness should be
considered apart from the religious idea with which it was so
intimately associated in the liturgy. So completely were text and music
merged into one artistic unity that the church authorities consistently
and persistently resented any effort to glorify music for its own
sake or at the expense of the liturgic idea. The state of immobility
in which ritual music existed was the natural sequence to the church
doctrine of immutability. Notwithstanding constant temptation to
experiment and introduce innovations, the efforts of the Roman singers
were rigidly restricted to the problems of perfecting the performance
of the ritual music as prescribed by church law and tradition. From
the standpoint of the liturgy (from which standpoint alone this music
should be judged) the Roman singers must have attained a standard of
ideal perfection in beauty and expressiveness of tonal utterance, and
in preserving the original liturgical significance of the music in the
service.
So conservative was Rome and so fettered was Italy by the venerated
traditions of the Papal Chapel that no change in musical methods was
possible in this field. Outside of Italy, however, conditions were
more favorable to progress. In the triumphant march of Christianity
over Western Europe under the leadership of Rome many concessions were
made to local customs and usages. The independent northerners steadily
refused to accept with unquestioning allegiance the traditions of
Rome in all matters pertaining to ritual-music, and thus stagnation
was prevented and the hope of further progress for music in time
became a reality. Out of the experiments and occasional innovations of
the venturesome singers of the northern countries there were slowly
and laboriously laid the foundations on which it became possible to
construct the succeeding system of ecclesiastical polyphonic music.
But when, in the fullness of time and with infinite patience and toil,
this stately edifice was reared, how appropriate and fitting it was
that the Roman Palestrina, himself associated for many years with
the Sistine Chapel, should have been the one to lay on its altar the
richest treasures of religious music that the Roman Church possesses,
the purest, most complete and perfect expression of the spirit of the
Roman liturgy!
Before the Carlovingian era the practice of music was restricted to
the singing schools founded for the preservation and propagation of
Gregorian chant. But with the great impetus given to learning under
Charlemagne the consideration of liturgic music passed to the monastery
study. Music became a compulsory subject in the curriculum of the
cathedral and monastery schools, and its theory as well as its practice
received the attention of the learned monks and scholars. It was from
this direction that the next recorded advances in musical art appeared.
In the writings of these ecclesiastical musicians and scholars we
find accounts of the clumsy, yet persistent efforts of the singers
and theorists to break away from the prevailing monophony or unison
chanting of Gregorian music and to improve upon current systems of
notation. The Flemish monk Hucbald (who died about 930), in his _Musica
enchiriadis_, described the earliest known efforts at polyphony,
which he called Organum or Diaphony (See Vol. I, pp. 161 ff). Guido
d’Arezzo (died about 1050), sometimes called ‘the father of music’
and undoubtedly the most impressive musical personality in the early
part of the Middle Ages, probably originated the four-lined staff for
indicating pitch relationships and invented solmization, a system of
reading music through the association of tones with syllables that is
the direct ancestor of our present-day systems of reading music by
syllables (‘Tonic Sol-fa,’ ‘Movable Do,’ ‘Fixed Do’). He is credited
by later writers with many innovations and discoveries which possibly
belonged rightfully to talented and ingenious contemporaries who,
however, did not succeed in stamping themselves on their own age
as vividly as did this great singer and teacher. Franco of Cologne
(died about 1200), in his famous treatise on Measured Music, gives a
voluminous account of his own and contemporary thought about intervals,
consonances and dissonances, time-values of notes, etc.
By the beginning of the thirteenth century the science of music had
reached the point where music could be accurately notated as regards
both pitch and time relationships and its further development became
correspondingly accelerated. The organization of music on the twofold
basis of regularity of stress or accent and of fixed proportions in the
division of time-units was hastened by the growing desire of singers
to add a new voice-part to the old Gregorian chant. This practice of
part-singing, at first called ‘organum,’ later ‘discant,’ undoubtedly
had its origin in the study-rooms of the choirs and singing schools.
The choristers were naturally chosen because of their unusual aptitude
for music. The larger part of their time was given up not only to the
perfecting of means for the most effective performance of the church
music, but also to the study of the theory and practice of music
in all its then known phases. The creative instinct more and more
seized upon them. Notwithstanding ecclesiastical restrictions the
singers were too much under the seductive spell of the inner spirit
of their art not to yield to the ready temptation of delving into the
infinite possibilities of new tonal combinations and devices that lay
so close at hand. When the idea of singing two melodies at the same
time was once grasped (we have no definite knowledge how it was first
suggested), the singers took it up with avidity.
At first experiments were restricted to two voices or parts. While
one chorister was singing a familiar chant-melody another would sing
a second melody an octave or a fourth or a fifth below it, usually
joining it at the end in unison. The progression of two voices or parts
moving in parallel octaves was known to the Greeks and was called by
them ‘magadizing’--from the magadis, a stringed instrument. The singing
of two concurrent parts in parallel fourths or fifths did not offend
mediæval ears as it does modern ears, probably because of the exact
parallelism of such melodic movement, which is merely a different kind
of unison.[5] The earliest parallel movement was evidently in fourths,
not in fifths, as usually stated in musical histories. (See Weinmann,
‘History of Church Music,’ page 74.)
Various kinds of organum soon came into vogue. Three-part organum
resulted from doubling the lower of the two parts an octave higher, and
four-part organum from adding to these three parts the original upper
part an octave lower, thus producing simultaneously moving octaves,
fourths, and fifths. Such a progression of parts, quite obnoxious
to ears accustomed to harmony, impressed Hucbald as ‘a delightful
concord.’[6] As the experiments increased, the accompanying voice
(the discant) was added above as well as below the chant (the _cantus
firmus_, or fixed voice). The monotony of exclusive parallelism was
broken by sometimes sustaining the same tone in one part while the
other part moved up or down (oblique motion) or by letting the two
parts move in contrary direction, and lastly, by mixing these three
kinds of tone movement, thus producing greater variety in the intervals
used. When this freer movement of parts was recognized as essential to
more pleasing vocal effects, the word discant came to be applied to it
to distinguish it from the more primitive form of movement--organum--in
parallel fourths, fifths, and octaves. Until the thirteenth century the
intervals most used in all styles of part-writing were fourths, fifths,
octaves, and unisons. Thirds and sixths, though occasionally permitted,
were regarded as dissonances until the period when harmony came to be a
conscious element of musical thought.
[Illustration: The Playing Angels]
_Altar piece by Hubert and Jan van Eyck_
Until a definite system of notation was devised, the discanting parts
to the chants were extemporized by the singers. But when the staff was
invented and notes or points were employed to indicate the exact pitch
of the tones of the melodies, the name counterpoint (_punctus contra
punctum_, note against note) was given to the part or parts added to
the chant (_cantus firmus_). The term counterpoint[7] displaced discant
in the thirteenth century, and from this time the art of counterpoint
developed as the number of added parts increased and the various kinds
of intervallic relationships among the interdependent parts were
recognized and systematized.
The foundation of all the art-music of the Middle Ages was the chant;
and the science of music concerned itself wholly with the addition of
more or less free and independent parts to the chant-melodies. Musical
invention, however, was limited entirely to these accompanying parts.
Until probably the fourteenth century or even later, composers as such
were unknown. Since music in the church was never considered apart
from the liturgy to which it was wedded, not only did the melodic
form of the chants themselves (that is, their rising and falling
inflections of pitch) follow quite closely the natural rhetorical
utterance of the words of the liturgy, being an intensification of the
natural values of forceful speech, but for several centuries after
the principle of polyphony was thoroughly recognized the intricate
church compositions, such as the masses and motets, were constructed
by using the liturgic chants as subjects and adding free parts to
these. At first the principal melody (subject) was taken from the
chant books; but in course of time secular songs of the day found
their way into the choral parts, either as the principal melody to
which other parts were supplied or as an accompanying part to a given
plain-song melody. The secular words, frequently of questionable moral
quality, were often carried along with the melodies into the sacred
company of actual ritual-music and the singers found such a combination
neither irreverent nor incongruous. It was quite analogous to the
custom, common among the early painters, of painting the portraits of
such ordinary mortals as wealthy purchasers or patrons on the same
canvas with saints or apostles, or even with the Madonna. The church
authorities frowned upon mingling secular and sacred elements in
ecclesiastical music in this manner, and the practice, so common in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, led to such gross abuses that it
was finally suppressed.
The important rôle which the church singers themselves played in the
development of music in this formative period is worthy of passing
notice. Foremost in importance is to be noted that the choirs were
in fact training-schools for composers. Almost without exception the
church composers were graduated, so to speak, from the choirs into
the more exalted and distinguished sphere of creative work, having
first gained their practical training and experience as choristers.
But the humbler singers themselves were not without a good measure
of influence. In their experiments in the study-rooms, as well as in
the actual singing of written compositions, they served to counteract
the pedantic rules of theorists by following the dictates of the
ear as against mere rule. Thus chromatic tones not indicated in the
score were frequently sung by the experienced choristers who followed
their natural musical feeling, and later theory sanctioned what they
intuitively felt. In this way natural musical impulse (which Wagner
has so beautifully symbolized in Walther in _Die Meistersinger von
Nürnberg_) many times softened the austerity and harshness of musical
practices dictated by mediæval theory.
IV
While, under the guidance of scholasticism, the stream of church song
was thus gradually gaining artistic momentum and expressive beauty
and power through the upbuilding of a complicated science of melodic
interweaving, a second stream of song, unfettered by rule or tradition,
was modestly and quietly flowing along, gushing from the hearts of
the people and fed from secular emotions and experiences. Until
the humanistic movement in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
discovered points of contact and mutual interdependence, these two
streams of religious and secular song seldom touched in their onward
flow, for they sprang from widely divergent sources and were guided
by widely differing principles of artistic utterance. In the history
of Western Europe ecclesiastical music has exercised a remarkably
small and disproportionate influence on the nature and development of
secular music; on the contrary, it has frequently weakened and changed
its own standards under the impact of secular ideals and styles. Many
folk-songs doubtless imitated melodic and modal characteristics of
the chant-melodies, but there has always existed a certain antipathy
between these two forms. The early indifference of the popular mind
to church music is easily traceable to the facts that this music was
cultivated exclusively by ecclesiastics, that it was sung in Latin, a
language which the people neither understood nor cared for, and that
the people had no part in church song outside the few non-liturgical
hymns.
The discussion of secular music in the Middle Ages is necessarily
beset with difficulties of large proportions, since very few authentic
examples of folk-melodies of this period have been preserved. Musical
learning was confined almost exclusively to monks and ecclesiastics who
had no real interest in the preservation of these wild-flower products.
Those that were pressed into service as parts of polyphonic church
music undoubtedly underwent melodic and rhythmic alterations to suit
their new environment. In all of them words and music were twin-born;
but, while many of the beautiful mediæval and earlier poems are extant,
their melodies seem to be irretrievably lost.[8]
The secular music of the Middle Ages had no direct or immediate
bearing on the development of musical art, but the courtly troubadours
and minnesingers and, later, the mastersingers of humbler origin,
served to keep alive the practice of solo singing with instrumental
accompaniment and thus maintained the idea of individual expression
which had been banished from the church in the early centuries. The
first outburst of popular song that attained the significance of a
distinct movement occurred in southeastern France among the nobles
of sunny, contented, and cheerful Provence. These troubadours, who
flourished throughout southern France, Italy, and Spain from about 1100
to 1300, were concerned largely with the deeds of chivalry, especially
that phase of the idea of knightliness that glorified the love of some
beautiful or good woman as the inspiration of, or the reward for,
deeds of adventure or valor. In the intense feeling and strong lyric
impulse of these courtly poet-singers is to be found the beginning of
the modern art of lyric poetry. They showed great ingenuity in the
invention and elaboration of verse-forms[9] and coupled with this gift
was a musical inventiveness of marked power which in time developed a
style quite divorced from the influence of plain-song. The melodies,
following the rhythmical swing of the verse, frequently approximated
the structure and feeling of the modern phrase and phrase-group. The
development of this feeling for the organization of melodic units later
led to most important results when the secular impulse seized upon the
perfected methods of scholastic music.
In the north of France and in England the trouvères (both ‘trouvère’
and ‘troubadour’ mean ‘an inventor or finder’) followed close upon
the troubadours, whom they freely imitated both in style and poetic
themes. In their artistic activities, however, they were more closely
associated with ecclesiastical poets and musicians than were the
troubadours, there was less divergence from the church style in their
melodies, and hence their efforts entered more directly as a shaping
force in the succeeding epoch of musical development in Flanders and
England. They were also more frequently of humble origin than were
the troubadours. Adam de la Hále (about 1230 to 1287), probably the
most conspicuously gifted in the long line of worthy trouvères, was of
humble birth, the son of a well-to-do burgher of Arras, in Picardy. He
was a master of the _chanson_, sixteen of which are preserved written
in three parts and in rondeau form. These are among the oldest known
examples of secular compositions in more than two parts. In the same
manuscript with these _chansons_ are preserved six Latin motets in
florid counterpoint. His name looms large in musical history, however,
from the fact that his dramatic pastoral play called _Le jeu de Robin
et Marion_ (written for the French court at Naples, where the first
performance was given in 1285) is the earliest example of what we now
call comic opera. It is written in dialogue and grouped into scenes;
airs, couplets, and pieces for two voices singing in alternation but
never together are scattered through the play, during the performance
of which eleven personages appear. This quaint song-play, which is a
development or expansion of the earlier _pastourelle_, was given in
Arras in 1896 during the festival in commemoration of the composer.
Adam’s task seems, however, to have been little more than that of a
compiler, since the most of the songs were not of his own composition.
Nevertheless he is altogether one of the most interesting personalities
in the pre-Netherland period.
Parallel with the impulse given to secular song and poetry by the
troubadours and trouvères, but beginning a little later, was the growth
of the minnesingers, or love-singers, of Germany. This movement,
extending through the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, was limited
almost exclusively to men of noble birth and aristocratic rank and was
associated with the pomp of courtly life. Its influence on the general
trend of musical development was, therefore, less marked than that of
the corresponding movement in France, particularly in northern France.
Relatively fewer of the minnesongs reached or impressed the popular
ear, because of the greater exclusiveness of the minnesingers and
the less pleasing outlines of their melodies, especially the earlier
ones. The range of their themes was wider than that of their French
contemporaries, including nature, qualities of character, patriotism,
and piety, as well as love and chivalrous deeds. The minnesongs on the
whole display more seriousness than is found in the songs of France,
primary emphasis always being given to the words. At first modelled
after the declamatory style of Gregorian chant, their melodies lacked
the easy flow of the troubadour songs, but the later ones are marked
by strongly modern feeling for rhythm, phrase structure, and definite
key, and display the delightful naïveté of the German folk-song. Many
of them undoubtedly passed into folk-melodies and from thence into the
chorale literature of the German Reformation period.
The mastersingers followed in the wake of the declining minnesingers.
Drawn entirely from the burgher or artisan classes and organizing
themselves into guilds after the manner of the contemporary
trades-union, they strove to imitate the methods of their aristocratic
forerunners, without, however, sharing their artistic and lyric
endowments. At a time when their social and economic superiors were
entirely engrossed in the political and religious turmoils of the
times, they succeeded in keeping alive a real love for music in the
hearts of the common people and in preserving a wholesome reverence
for the dignity and worth of the art. Aside from this important
function, they did nothing directly to advance the art of music. In
_Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg_ Wagner gives an historically accurate
picture of their hopelessly pedantic methods and reactionary spirit,
which were indeed far removed from the nature of real folk-music. The
vast bulk of their melodies were weak imitations of church chants or
popular folk-songs. At long intervals a mastersinger such as Hans
Sachs, the quaint and lovable cobbler of Nuremberg (1494-1576), would
manifest a spark of real lyric genius. The first guild is supposed to
have been established at Mayence on the Rhine in 1311 by Heinrich von
Meissen, called Frauenlob, himself a distinguished minnesinger, the
last of that order. The guilds multiplied and were especially active
from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century. After 1600 the movement
lost its significance and the guilds dropped by the wayside one by one,
though a few lingered on until the nineteenth century, the last one
having been disbanded at Ulm in 1839.
The special historical significance of the troubadours, trouvères,
and minnesingers is to be found in the fact that these secular
poet-musicians of both high and low degree composed their melodies
under the impulsion of natural, spontaneous musical feeling rather
than prescribed theoretical law. If they followed the feeling for
church modes at all, this feeling instinctively led them to construct
their melodies more and more in those modes corresponding to our
modern major and minor scales. Naumann, in his ‘History of Music,’[10]
gives a number of these melodies in full. One of them, _L’autrier par
la matinée_, by Thibaut, King of Navarre (1201-1253), a celebrated
troubadour, moves entirely in the key of G major. Another is ‘The
Loveliness of Woman’ (_Tritt ein reines Weib daher_), a proverb[11]
by the minnesinger Spervogel, dating from the middle of the twelfth
century, a refined melody clearly in the key of D major, employing
every tone of the scale. A third, ‘Broken Faith,’ a beautiful and
touching minnesong by Prince Witzlav, is modern enough in key feeling
and melodic structure to have flowed from the pen of Schubert. In all
of those quoted the phrases are clearly outlined, a sense of design and
melodic cohesion is manifested in the frequent repetition of phrases,
and through them all there breathes the spirit of free lyric invention
that differentiates them sharply from all existing church models and
makes them close kin to the developed songs of the eighteenth century
and later. The gradual development of such an untrammelled feeling
for free melody among the people explains the comparative rapidity
with which art-music, after its secession from the church modes and
ecclesiastical methods early in the seventeenth century, developed new
forms and expanded into new paths that led to a popular appreciation
never before accorded to music.
V
The secular impulse from whence sprang the simple melodies of
the minnesingers and troubadours soon found a channel for fuller
expression in the art-music of the period immediately following the
decay of chivalrous song. It was inevitable that the tendency toward
secularization, already strongly developing in the other arts--notably
painting and architecture--should extend to music also. The beneficent
alliance of music and poetry both in the service of the church and
in the less pretentious effusions of the secular poet-musicians of
courtly estate naturally led thought to a desire that music should be
the helpful companion of poetry in all her wanderings, in the domain
of secular experiences as well as religious. As soon as the spirit
of polyphony had been firmly established in ecclesiastical music,
the church composers began to turn their attention to the rapidly
widening field of secular poetry for material on which to exploit
their newly-found contrapuntal skill. The first application of the
principles of polyphony to secular art-music manifested itself in
the French _chanson_ and the Italian _frottola_. Both of these were
merely popular melodies brought within the domain of the contrapuntal
principle. The _frottola_ seems to have been always set for four voices
in very simple movement, the _chanson_ for either three or four voices.
These two forms soon merged into the madrigal, which expanded its scope
so as to include almost any lyric composition of delicate texture
dealing with thoughts of rustic humor, sentiment, or passion, couched
in the language of everyday life. The madrigal in time developed into
a special department of composition, having a brilliant history of
its own and engaging the interested attention of nearly every noted
composer from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century. The word, whose
derivation is hopelessly entangled in a maze of disputed sources,
appears as early at least as the fourteenth century in connection with
pastoral or rustic poems of amorous character, and very naturally the
name was soon transferred to the music to which the words were set.
Few madrigals whose composition antedate the invention of printing
have been preserved. But all authorities agree that even in its earlier
stages it was composed for three or more voices in the prevailing
church modes. Throughout its best period, which closed practically
with the sixteenth century, it maintained the characteristic of
being sung without instrumental accompaniment of any kind.[12] The
association of concurrent parts with plain-song undoubtedly suggested
similar treatment for secular melodies, and the troubadours and
trouvères were probably the first to put this suggestion into practice.
But they passed out of existence before the art of discant had
progressed beyond its first stage of infancy and further development
of polyphonic secular music was left in the more skilled hands of
the scientifically trained musicians of the church. The madrigal, or
more strictly speaking its predecessors, was forthwith adopted by the
church composers, who treated it with much tenderness and lavished
on it all the learning and technical skill they could command. Since
these composers, however, were so thoroughly imbued by training and
experience with the characteristics and idioms of church music, we find
no essential differences, as far as the music is concerned, between the
madrigal and its ecclesiastical counterpart, the motet (see Chapter
II). These two forms have maintained an almost exact correspondence
with each other in each successive stage of their musical development.
The only real difference lay in the nature of the words employed, those
of the madrigal being always secular, those of the motet, sacred. While
the madrigal was just as polyphonic as the motet and followed the same
general laws of musical construction, it was in lighter vein and in
simpler style to suit the secular spirit of the words. The ponderous
and solemn character of the motet was avoided, the contrapuntal parts
became more plastic and expressive in conformity with the sentiment of
the words. These freer and more expressive qualities in the madrigal
were eagerly seized upon by the dramatic composers of the seventeenth
century, during which period the madrigal was a regular feature of the
opera. Dr. Stainer enumerates the following essential qualities of the
true madrigal: themes suitable in character to the words, variety of
rhythm, short melodic phrases, imitation and counterpoint.
The original home of the true madrigal is undoubtedly Flanders. It is
mentioned here as early as the first part of the fifteenth century,
when it was already a well established form of polyphonic writing
popular with both Flemish and Netherland composers. It was regarded by
them as second only in importance to the mass and motet. In a period
when the musical leadership of Europe was located in the Low Countries,
its cultivation by these learned masters insured its transmission to
other countries and, more important still to the development of musical
art, marked the first practical alliance of popular song and science.
The offspring of this union was destined to achieve important results
in the art-revolution of the seventeenth century.
Any narrative of early secular music would be peculiarly incomplete
without extended mention of the oldest example of secular polyphonic
music known to exist, the famous English canon or round, ‘Sumer is
icumen in,’ an ancient manuscript copy of which is among the richest
treasures of the British Museum. The first mention of this celebrated
piece, hidden away in the Harleian collection of manuscripts, was
made in the first decade of the eighteenth century. Until the middle
of the nineteenth century the date of the manuscript was assigned to
the fifteenth century. But after most minute and laborious research,
the English historian, William Chappell, discovered internal evidence
(which succeeding investigators have accepted) to prove that this
venerable manuscript was written between 1226 and 1240 at the abbey of
Reading in Berkshire by a monk named John of Fornsete. The manuscript
is, of course, the work of a copyist; no clew has been found to the
composer’s name.
The rustic character of the words would seem to ally it to the
madrigal, but its musical form is that of the rota or round, very
different from the free structure of the madrigal. In the manuscript
are also Latin words addressed to the Virgin, indicating its occasional
use for worship purposes. The old English words are as follows:
‘Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu;
Groweth sed and bloweth med, And springth the wode nu;
Awe bleteth after lomb, Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, Murie sing cuccu.
Wel singes thu cuccu; Ne swik thu naver nu.’
The Latin directions on the manuscript for singing the round indicate
that the theme is to be sung in exact imitation by four voices of
equal compass which enter, each four measures after the preceding one.
Accompanying this strict four-part canon throughout are two additional
parts, called a ‘pes’ or ground-bass. This two-voiced burden consists
of a four-measure group which monotonously repeats itself over and over
again, the two parts exchanging places in regular alternation.
The extreme antiquity of the piece would alone make it an object of
reverent interest, for it is the earliest example of a canon, it is the
first recorded use of the ground-bass or _basso ostinato_, and it is
the only known piece in six real parts before the fifteenth century.
But the wonder grows when we consider the musical quality of this
remarkable melody of unknown parentage, ‘born out of due season.’ It is
sweet and joyous in character, fitting the pastoral mood of the words;
it flows along in graceful outline with a wonderful amount of melodic
variety; it maintains an easy rhythmic swing in definite three-pulse
measure; it has an unmistakably modern feeling for key--the key of F
major--made all the more definite by clearly defined tonic and dominant
harmonies which pulsate back and forth in alternate measures. In
musical feeling and expression it is ‘immeasurably in advance of any
polyphonic music of earlier date than the Fa-las peculiar to the later
decades of the sixteenth century’ (Rockstro). Its formal structure
displays full knowledge of the contrapuntal devices of the times and
also remarkable freedom in handling them.
The apparition of this warm-blooded melody amid the arid scholasticism
of the thirteenth century seems utterly incongruous. Yet Rockstro’s
explanation[13] seems plausible enough. He points out that some
folk-songs of greatest antiquity possess the same qualities of
ingenious grace that shine so resplendently in this melody. The words
are evidently Northumbrian; what could be more natural than that some
trained monkish ear caught the melody and words as they fell from the
untutored but inspired lips of some north-countryman, rubbed off a
rough place here and there, detected its adaptability for use as a
‘round’ theme (a quality quite common in folk-songs), and worked it out
with his clerical companions in extempore fashion after the custom of
the times?
The inference is irresistible that such a fragrant folk-song, if this
be a folk-song, could not have existed as an isolated specimen. The few
melodies of undoubted antiquity we possess demonstrate the presence of
unrecognized Schuberts and Mozarts, geniuses ‘born to blush unseen,’
among the humble but inspired singers even of those far-off centuries.
The devout and sincere monks who laid the formal foundations of the
art of music were too much under the thraldom of authority and theory
to perceive the spirit, or recognize the invaluable aid, of such free,
spontaneous song in working out the problems they set themselves to
solve. In many respects it was a real misfortune and a hindrance in
the development of art-music that more of its early steps of progress
could not have been taken under the stimulating influence of the
folk-song, instead of exclusively under the influence and guidance of
ecclesiasticism and the strict and deadening formalism of the early
church. The oft-repeated argument that it was necessary to evolve
complex musical forms before expressive musical utterance could exist,
falls to the ground, shattered by a single phrase of this inspired
Northumbrian lay. It would scarcely be maintained that the manufacture
of carriages preceded the creation of man or that man acquired an
extensive vocabulary before he became conscious of ideas surging within
him for utterance.
The religious thought of the monk-musicians of the early centuries was
centred on forms and externals, and the character of their religious
thought dominated all their mental activities. They were not ready to
be led by ‘a little child’; they had no ears attuned to the ‘still,
small voice’ of free-born, inspired song. The free spirit of the song,
which even in remotest periods insisted on choosing its own appropriate
form, did not find real lodgment in art-music until the Romanticism
of the nineteenth century conclusively demonstrated the inalienable
right of every musical thought to determine the nature of the musical
form through which it should be expressed, unfettered by tradition
or theoretical law. The growth of this principle of emancipation in
music has kept pace through all the centuries with the growth of the
same spirit of freedom in the individual consciousness of man. At the
beginning of the twentieth century we are for the first time in the
history of musical art beginning to breathe in an atmosphere of full
freedom in respect to the relation of musical thought to musical form.
If wild extravagances have occasionally resulted from the realization
of this full freedom, they are possibly the inevitable consequences
of a youthful overjoy at kicking loose from the old harness of
stereotyped forms--an exuberance of feeling that the present period of
necessary readjustment and orientation will temper and direct into real
constructive channels.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Especially Gevaert, _La Mélopée antique dans le Chant de l’Église
latine_.
[2] The name ‘Sistine Chapel’ was not given to this organization until
the Pontificate of Sixtus IV (1471-1484); it was derived from the
_Cappella Sistina_ built by this pope.
[3] Practically all the music of these ancient collections has been
lost, excepting the Spanish or Mozarabic or Visigothic. Recent
discoveries have disclosed a considerable portion of the music of
this branch of the Church, so that we have some definite information
concerning at least three ancient ecclesiastical dialects of
ritual-music--the Gregorian, the Ambrosian, and the Visigothic or
Mozarabic. In a few Spanish churches the Mozarabic rites and music
still survive.
[4] Pope Paul in 760 sent copies of the _Antiphonarium_ and
_Responsoriale_ to King Pepin.
[5] Alert teachers of ear-training have frequently observed that
certain students will sing tones given them by dictation a fifth above
or below the given tone under the impression that they are singing in
unison with it. (See also Parry, ‘The Evolution of the Art of Music,’
Chap. 4.)
[6] Such an expression of pleasure can be explained only when it is
remembered that the monastic mind was thoroughly accustomed to being
absolutely submissive to authority. Mediæval ecclesiastical authority
dictated what was good or bad in musical theory and procedure, just as
it did in the realms of morals, ethics, and religion; and authority
decreed that only perfect intervals--fourths, fifths, and octaves--were
usable, therefore they were pleasing. It took several centuries of the
actual ‘practice’ of music to overcome the ban placed by ‘theory’ on
the interval of the third in certain cadences.
[7] The development of the technical material of composition,
imitation, canon, fugue, etc., is fully described in Vol. I.
[8] The melody of the celebrated ‘Lament’ over the death of
Charlemagne, composed in 814 and sung by both Franks and Germans, is
fortunately preserved to us. This remarkable melody (quoted by Naumann
in his ‘History of Music,’ Vol. I, p. 199) has a compass of practically
only three tones, yet in its simple outlines there is eloquent and
dignified expression of the popular love for the great emperor. The
melody of the more famous ‘Roland’s Song,’ also of Charlemagne’s
time, has not survived, although it was sung as late as the battle of
Poictiers in 1356.
[9] Among the favorite forms were the _canzonet_ or _chanson_, a
love-song addressed to some courtly dame, the _serenade_ or evening
song, the _aubade_ or day song, the _servante_, extolling the virtues
of some prince, the _tenzone_ or dialogue song, the _roundelay_, with
the same refrain repeated again and again, and the _pastourelle_,
descriptive of ‘Arcadian love in idyllic nature.’
[10] Chap. 8 of Vol. I is devoted to an unusually full and illuminating
discussion of the whole secular song movement of this period.
[11] As noted above, the melodies of the minnesongs were from the
beginning dependent on the metrical and poetical structure of the
strophe. The three principal kinds are the song (_Lied_), the lay
(_Lerch_), and the proverb (_Spruch_).
[12] The word madrigal was used at various periods to apply to two
other forms in addition to the one here described: (1) the solo
madrigal or _madrigale concertate con il basso continuo_, and (2) the
madrigal with accompaniment for several instruments, ‘apt for viols and
voyces,’ as the old English song books have it.
[13] Grove’s ‘Dictionary of Music and Musicians,’ Vol. IV, Art. ‘Sumer
is icumen in.’
CHAPTER II
THE POLYPHONIC PERIOD
The Gallo-Belgic School; the Netherlanders; the Mass
and its liturgical significance; the use of secular
subjects--Conditions that fostered continuity of development:
the ‘Mass of Tournay’; Dufay and Okeghem; Hobrecht’s
_Parce Domine_; Josquin des Prés’ masses and motets; his
expressive style--The motet as an extra-liturgical form; its
development; its later characteristic style; distinction
between sacred and secular music--Orlandus Lassus: his
‘Penitential Psalms’; his tendency toward a simpler style;
his _Gustate et Videte_ and other compositions--Palestrina’s
reforms, methods, and style; his masses, _Papæ Marcelli_,
_Brevis_, and _Assumpta est Maria_; his motets and other
compositions: Vittoria and others--Madrigal writers of the
sixteenth century: Festa, Arcadelt, Willaert, Byrd, Morley,
etc.
I
Until about 1550 practically all art-music in western Europe was
choral. Though the first important steps in the development of music
were taken in Italy, devotion to the principles of unison Gregorian
chant kept the polyphonic idea from gaining a foothold there until
the fourteenth century. As we have seen, vocal counterpoint was the
offspring of northern musicians, and under their care and guidance it
developed into its most complex and perfected form. The first centre of
activity was Paris, during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. From
this point the art was gradually disseminated to the northward and its
development was continued through the experimentation and theorizing
of the musicians of northern France and Flanders (the Gallo-Belgic
School, 1360-1460). After these zealous apprentices had made ready
the crude tools of composition, there appeared real masters who
strove earnestly to convert the elaborate technical forms and devices
of vocal counterpoint into vehicles for the expression of musical
feeling and religious devotion. These masters were the Netherlanders
(from 1400 to 1550), whose mission it was to perfect the forms and
material of musical composition, and, working from the standpoint
of musical science, to compel these forms to serve the expressional
purposes of the art. So well did they accomplish these two ends that
for nearly two centuries all of western Europe gave musical allegiance
to the Netherlanders and looked to them for teachers, composers, and
choir leaders. During this period the Low Countries were the musical
headquarters of Europe.
In the first period of polyphony the singers had followed the
inspiration of the moment and certain general rules of intervallic
movement in improvising their discant to the Gregorian chant. In the
fourteenth century these unsystematic efforts gradually gave way to the
definite writing of all the parts to be sung. In the fifteenth century
the Netherlanders began systematically to develop and perfect the forms
crudely outlined by their predecessors in the fields of both church and
secular music. The forms of church choral music that held their chief
attention were masses, motets, psalms, and hymns. Among the secular
forms we find _chansons_ and madrigals. Of all these the mass, with its
separate parts, was destined to become the form on which the composer
expended his greatest care and skill and through which he sought to
express his noblest thoughts. It was to the Netherland period and to
the Roman Church composers thereafter what the sonata and the symphony
were to the composers of the nineteenth century and the decades just
preceding. In such reverence and respect was this form held that in the
preface of a mass published in 1539 by Grapheus in Nuremberg it could
be confidently asserted, ‘he who is not acquainted with the masses
of the old masters is ignorant of true music.’ The great importance
attached to the mass by composers was inevitable from its commanding
position in the church service. At this point it may be opportune to
discuss some of the essential features of the mass from the standpoint
of the liturgy.
Among the several offices of the Roman Catholic Church the mass is
the most fundamental and solemn--the chief doctrinal cornerstone on
which is reared the whole superstructure of Catholic faith and worship.
It was evolved from the dogma of the eucharist, to which was added at
an early period the Jewish idea of sacrifice, which formed so vital a
part of the old dispensation. Little by little it grew into the fair
proportions of a great religious poem, magnificent in outline and
texture, and breathing the religious ecstasies of the devout and holy
teachers and leaders and saints of the church. Scriptural lessons,
prayers, hymns, and responses are woven into the liturgic texture, all
being brought into harmonious unity under the sway of the controlling
idea of consecration and oblation. To the Roman Catholic the mass is
‘the permanent channel of grace ever kept open between God and his
church.’ As often as the eucharistic elements of bread and wine are
presented at the altar with certain prescribed prayers and formulas,
the atoning sacrifice of Christ is repeated through the miracle of
transubstantiation, ‘by which the bread and wine are transmuted into
the very body and blood of Christ.’[14] The following sentences from
Cardinal Gibbons’ ‘The Faith of Our Fathers’ make this central dogma
of the Catholic faith still more clear: ‘The sacrifice of the mass is
identical with that of the cross, both having the same victim and high
priest--Jesus Christ. The only difference consists in the manner of the
oblation. Christ was offered upon the cross in a bloody manner; in the
mass he is offered up in an unbloody manner. On the cross he purchased
our ransom, and in the eucharistic sacrifice the price of that ransom
is applied to our souls.’
The mass is not the product of any one individual or council or
hierarchical body, but, rather, is a gradual evolution,[15] a growth
from the richest and holiest experiences of generations of pious and
devout priests and monks, whose whole lives were dedicated to the
service of the Most High and to the upbuilding of his visible kingdom
on earth. Furthermore, in the mass the words of the liturgic text are
not to be dissociated from the musical tones in which they are uttered
by priest or choir. The spirit and meaning of the words so completely
saturate the musical forms chosen for their expression that word and
tone constitute an indissoluble artistic unit. And, while the aim of
the church has always been to restrict the function of music in the
service to a purely secondary place--to keep it in bondage to the
ritual--the enormous value of music as an effective reinforcement of
the poetic text was recognized from the very inception of liturgic
forms.
In explaining the potent influence which the ceremonies and rites of
the Roman Catholic Church have always exerted over the minds of men,
whether believers in that faith or not, one must take into account the
composite character of the appeal that is made. Exalted poetic text and
alluring tone are by no means the only agencies employed. Through every
avenue of approach and by means of a multitude of artistic agencies,
the mind and heart of the worshipper are assailed with the one object
in view to compel undivided attention to, and contemplation of, the
supreme mysteries of religious faith which the Roman liturgy sets
forth. The solemn magnificence of the ceremonial rites, with gorgeous
vestments and dignified gesture and the grace of swinging censers, is
enhanced by the grandeur of architectural proportions and decorations.
Every resource of artistic genius that painter can throw upon glowing
canvas or sculptor can chisel into marble forms is found on wall or
niche or altar. Long before the Florentine reformers stumbled upon
the principle of the union of all the arts in dramatic representation
and centuries before Wagner gave such insistent reiteration to this
principle, the Roman Church had given practical proof of the efficacy
of the perfect union of all the arts as an aid in the expression of
the religious idea. No one art existed for its own sake, nor did
it measure its effectiveness by the merits and value of its own
individual impressiveness; but each art borrowed something from its
association with the other arts and with the time-honored forms and
the hallowed memories which their universality and supposed divine
nature always evoked. Thus, as has been frequently pointed out, there
is much ecclesiastical art to which a largely fictitious value has been
attached because of its sacred and revered association.
But whatever may be said about the intrinsic artistic ineffectiveness
of much ecclesiastical plastic and pictorial art, no one can deny the
inherent beauty, power, and appropriateness of the music to which the
Roman Catholic liturgy is wedded. Of all the arts that were called into
the service of the church, music was best suited by its very nature to
respond to the new ideals of Christianity. The pictorial and plastic
arts were used to appeal to eye and imagination as reinforcements to
the inherent symbolism of ceremonial and ritual. But music, which has
no recourse to symbols or imagery and which has in its vocabulary
no suggestion of the material world outside of man, was far better
equipped, even in the infancy of the art, to lay hold of the essential
spirit of the liturgy and express it in terms that not only acted
directly and powerfully on the hearts and minds of the worshippers,
but threw a glamour and fascination over all its allied agencies of
expression. The spiritual and emotional appeals of the sublime ideals
of the Gospel struck a note in human consciousness which responded
in an outburst of artistic rapture that was unknown to pre-Christian
periods, and music, as the freest and least material of the arts, was
the first to develop a form of expression that was a fitting embodiment
of the indwelling religious motive and idea. So wonderfully did the
ancient creators of the religious melodies known as plain-song do their
work, and so perfectly did they blend word and tone in priestly chant
or choral response, that these melodies have not only been held in
reverence by the church ever since that far-off time, but they are now
the only musical forms permitted for certain important portions of the
liturgy.
Although the word ‘mass’[16] is, strictly speaking, applicable only
to the eucharistic service in its entirety, it has been used from
the early centuries of Roman Church history to designate certain
portions of the liturgy to which unusually solemn and impressive music
has been set. With the growth of counterpoint the opportunities for
increasing the impressiveness and elaborateness of these settings were
obviously multiplied. The parts of the service which were thus subject
to special musical elaboration were the _Kyrie_, the _Gloria_, the
_Credo_, the _Sanctus_, the _Benedictus_, and the _Agnus Dei_. These
six movements together comprise what was known as the ‘mass,’ and they
still constitute, with slight variations, the essential portions in
all musical masses, whether written for church or concert performance.
During the period under consideration it was an almost universal custom
to have one subject (_cantus firmus_) do service for all the movements
of a mass, which accordingly took its name from this subject. These
subjects, particularly in the earlier periods of polyphonic music,
were plain-song melodies, whence we have such names for masses as
_Missa Iste confessor_, _Missa Tu es Petrus_, and _Missa Veni sponsa
Christi_. But, as has already been mentioned, sacred melodies were
not the only ones chosen. Composers frequently invaded the domain of
popular song for subjects for their masses. Such ardent love-songs
as _Adieu, mes amours_ (‘Farewell, my love’) and _Baisez-moi_ (‘Kiss
me’) seem strangely out of place in such surroundings, but these and
similar names appear in the titles of many a mass of this period. The
most famous of all the popular songs thus used was the old French
love-song, _L’homme armé_ (‘The Armed Man’), which nearly every
Netherland master from Dufay[17] to Palestrina wove with infinite skill
into the texture of at least one mass, Josquin des Prés, indeed, into
two. If the composer wished to conceal the source of his subject, for
the ecclesiastical authorities naturally frowned upon the practice
of using secular melodies, or if he invented an original subject, as
he occasionally ventured to do, he affixed the title _sine nomine_
to his mass. If it had some uniform peculiarity of construction it
was called _Missa ad fugam_ or _Missa ad canones_. Sometimes it would
take its name from the number of voices for which it was written, as
_Missa quatuor vocum_, or from the mode in which it was composed, as
_Missa secundi toni_, or _Missa octavi toni_. Occasionally the subject
would be constructed upon the six tones of the hexachord and the work
entitled _Missa ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la_; or upon some practice-phrase
from the choir-room, as Josquin’s _Missa la, sol, fa, re, mi_.
[Illustration: Music score]
_L’homme armé_
The Netherlanders have been severely reproached for their frequent use
of non-ecclesiastical subjects for their church compositions, and at
first thought such a practice would seem to be entirely indefensible
and reprehensible. The censure was undoubtedly merited when the secular
words accompanied the folk-melodies in their forced journeys into
such sacred regions. It was equally merited in the early periods when
the meagre art of the discanters possessed so few resources either to
conceal the identity of the secular tune or to expunge its secularity
by rhythmic alterations. The case was quite different, however, with
the complicated polyphonic structures into which the later masters of
the ‘new art’ (_ars nova_) injected the secular melodies. With the
early discanters ‘the _tenor_ (the voice that carried the subject)
formed the foundation of the arches, now it became one of the arches
which, united in harmonious structure, formed the bridge.’[18] With the
contrapuntists the subject itself became more plastic and submitted
to whatever rhythmic changes were desirable in the working out of
their contrapuntal purposes; each part became entirely independent
in its melodic and rhythmic movement. In the complex interweavings
of voice-parts the identity of the subject itself became practically
lost. The ear could no longer identify it in performance as a complete
melody, though the eye could recognize it on the printed page. In
such a case the secularity of its origin became a largely negligible
element, swallowed up by the purely ecclesiastical manner in which
the subject was handled. In an era when it was not the custom for
composers to invent their own subjects, this practice of using merely
the melodies of secular songs for church compositions was no more
censurable than the later employment of folk-songs as the basis of many
of the splendid chorales of the German Protestant movement. Moreover,
it must be borne in mind, in justice to the Netherlanders, that during
this whole period there were no essential differences of style or
treatment to distinguish secular from sacred compositions.
But it should be further noticed that in the relation of text to music
there is revealed the most glaring weakness of the Netherlanders.
Until the brilliant close of this period was nearly reached, the text
was of quite secondary importance. Starting from a basis of theory
and science, counterpoint, in all its evolutionary processes, became
largely a matter of mathematical calculation in which the sound, not
the word, governed. So deeply were composers absorbed in working out
the problems of pure sound-combinations and so little importance
did they attach to the text that they did not deem it necessary to
write down more than the opening word of each movement of the mass,
as _Sanctus_ or _Benedictus_, leaving it to the intelligence of the
trained singers to fill in the remainder of the familiar texts as they
saw fit. This laxness in respect to the text invited many abuses,
such as the mixing of secular and sacred words, the interpolation of
unauthorized words, the blending of texts from various parts of the
liturgy, to the danger of errors in dogma, which eventually placed the
whole structure of polyphonic music under the reproach of the church
authorities.
II
Notwithstanding faults due to the immaturity of the art and a certain
false perspective, the church composers of this period displayed,
up to their light, a rare devotion to the one supreme purpose of
enhancing the impressiveness of the religious rites and their liturgic
significance, thus making possible a line of unbroken continuity in
the development of the art of unaccompanied vocal polyphony, which was
destined to become the peculiar glory of the Netherland era. Trained
in cloisters and choirs, acknowledging the church as their only patron
and master to whose service they dedicated all their powers, these men
were far removed from worldly affairs and especially protected from
the distracting and corrupting influences of the savage strife and
turmoil of the times. Every important ecclesiastical establishment
maintained its own staff of composers, for, until the founding of
musical publishing houses soon after 1500 made the multiplication
and circulation of musical scores easy, the labor and expense of
copying the manuscripts prevented any extensive exchange of musical
compositions among the thousands of ecclesiastical establishments that
dotted western Europe and each establishment was compelled to depend
largely on its own resources for its more elaborate ritual-music.
For the most part the ecclesiastical musicians passed their lives in
the absorbing routine of their official duties, close to the heart
of their religion and living constantly in an atmosphere permeated
with austere ecclesiastical traditions. Thus the best Catholic music
of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, unaffected by the external
conditions and influences that brought weakness and decline to some of
the other arts, preserved its serene course of development toward its
culminating point in the sublime creations of Palestrina. But before
this zenith of the second great period of musical art was reached,
there were two centuries of artistic yearning and searching, a period
that Parry calls ‘the youth of modern music--a period most pure,
serene, and innocent--when mankind was yet too immature in things
musical to express itself in terms of passion or of force, but used
forms and moods of art which are like tranquil dreams and communings of
man with his inner self, before the sterner experiences of life have
quite awakened him to its multiform realities and vicissitudes.’[19]
The Netherland period was one of quite astonishing musical activity.
The number of musicians actually engaged in the composition of
ritual-music constitutes an imposing array (the names of nearly 400 are
recorded) and their actual output both in bulk and quality measures
not at all unworthily with that of the other arts of this period, the
names of whose masterpieces are household words. That the equally great
masterpieces of polyphonic vocal art are not familiar, indeed, are
almost wholly unknown even to musicians, is inevitable from the very
limitations imposed upon music by the matter of performance, and from
the inavailability of this music outside its special home--the church.
Its speech was always idiomatic, a kind of developed specialty, and,
for about two centuries after its culminating point was reached, it
became archaic even in the church from whose bosom it sprang, so that
the avenues to a wide public acquaintance with its peculiar beauties
were largely closed soon after its greatest masterpieces were written.
The masses and motets of the period reflect all the changing phases
of the gradually advancing musical art. They express the deep and
serious things of the art; the madrigals and _chansons_ are the
emanations of the composers’ lighter moments of relaxation, incidental
deviations from the main course of artistic endeavor, written mostly
for the entertainment of noble and wealthy patrons. The oldest known
mass is the celebrated ‘Mass of Tournay,’[20] which Coussemaker
ascribes to the thirteenth century. It is written in three parts
with the subject (_cantus_) in the middle; one of the added parts
moves almost constantly in parallel fourths or fifths with either
the subject or the third part, while this third part generally has a
contrary movement to one of the other parts. Historically it forms an
interesting transitional link between the primitive organum and the
crude counterpoint of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
It is customary for musical historians to distinguish two Netherland
schools. The first was occupied with pioneer work; its music was severe
and unmelodious, simple and unpretentious when compared with that of
the succeeding school, with only faint attempts to attain euphonic
beauty; yet earnestness of purpose coupled with much contrapuntal
science and ingenuity are everywhere in evidence. William Dufay
(1400-1474) was the principal master of this school, although the
mass _Ecce Ancilla_, by Antoine Busnois (1440-1492), is regarded by
Naumann as ‘the most important musical historical monument up to the
year 1475.’[21] In this period the several movements of the mass
began to take on a certain definiteness and individuality of form
corresponding to the natural subdivisions of the texts, making several
movements within each movement. Likewise certain modes of treatment
came to be associated with certain movements. Thus, in the _Agnus Dei_,
which was divided into two parts, the composer was expected to employ
the utmost resources of his contrapuntal skill; the second part was
usually written in canon or in intricate fugue and frequently with a
larger number of voices than in the other movements of the mass. The
_Benedictus_ came to be regarded as a composition for two, three, or
four solo voices, usually followed by a choral _Osanna_. And so the
various movements gradually assumed quite definite outlines as to form
and character, which remained in force for a century and a half.
With Joannes Okeghem (about 1430-1495 or 6) the second Netherland
school was ushered in. This master, to whom the laudatory title of
‘Prince of Music’ was given, appears to have carried the possibilities
of contrapuntal ingenuity and contrivance to extremest limits.
Comparatively few of his works are extant, and most of these display
wonderful technical skill in handling musical problems rather than
attempts at expression. Among those preserved is the famous _Missa
cujusvis toni_ (mass in any tone or mode), which seems to have been
composed as an intellectual exercise for the highly trained choristers
of his time, demanding in its rendition perfect mastery of all the
church modes and ability to transpose from one mode to another. He was
rather a great teacher and theorist than a great church composer. His
pupils carried the art of polyphony into all countries and Kiesewetter
maintains that through these students he became ‘the founder of all
schools from his own to the present age.’[22] One of the most prominent
of Okeghem’s contemporaries was Jacob Hobrecht or Obrecht (1430-1505 or
6), who was a most devoted disciple and admirer, though not a pupil,
of the learned master. He left many masses, motets, and _chansons_, in
some of which, notably in the motet _Parce Domine_ for three voices, he
attains a high degree of real expressive power. This fine work exerted
a powerful influence on Josquin des Prés and reveals its creator as
possibly the first composer to make polyphony bend to the necessity of
musical expression as we understand it.
Okeghem’s most celebrated pupil was Josquin des Prés (about 1450-1521),
who eclipsed his master’s fame in musical learning and wealth of
ingenuity and became the most brilliant exponent of the musical art
of the Netherlanders. He was the most popular composer and celebrated
musician of his time, the spread of his music as well as his fame being
greatly aided, no doubt, by the newly-invented process of printing
music from movable type, which appeared at the very moment when he
was at the height of his power. In his best works (he was a most
prolific writer) we can detect a more flowing and emotional style and
catch glimpses of a quality of sublime seriousness joined with fervid
beauty that still makes a strong appeal to modern taste. Ambros well
characterizes him as ‘the first musician who impresses us as having
genius.’ His printed works consist of 19 masses (32 are extant), more
than 150 motets, and about 50 secular works. Of his masses the most
beautiful and the most advanced in style are the _Ad fugam_, the
_De Beata Virgine_, the _Da pacem_, and the _La, sol, fa, re, mi_.
In Naumann’s judgment, no master of modern times has surpassed the
grandeur of the _Incarnatus_ from the _Missa Da pacem_. When not in
a trifling or humorous mood, he rises above form and technique into
the realm of expression where, among vocal contrapuntists, he is
excelled only by Lassus and Palestrina. The music of Dufay and his
contemporaries was frequently beautiful, but it was helpless to reflect
the character of the words. Whether the words were gay or mournful, the
music conveyed the same impression to the listener. But Josquin knew
how to unlock the expressive power of music and henceforward music more
and more assumed the function of definite delineation of mood and word.
But Josquin evidently possessed a light-heartedness and vivacity that
would not always brook restraint and that led him to introduce bits of
quaint humor into his church music that, to say the least, displayed
a lack of reverence and marred an otherwise admirable style. It is
related that he much desired to receive a church benefice from Louis
XII of France, at whose court he held an appointment, but as often as
he applied to the proper official he received only the answer, _Lascia
fare mi_. At length Josquin wearied of the delay and, seizing upon the
musical sound of the courtier’s words, composed a mass on the subject
_La, sol, fa, re, mi_, which appeared again and again, mimicking the
official’s curt and oft-repeated answer. The musician’s wit pleased the
king and won his promise of a benefice, which promise, however, was
straightway forgotten. But the composer was in nowise discouraged. He
dedicated to the king a motet for which he took the text from the 119th
Psalm (118th in the Vulgate), _Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo, in quo
mihi spem dedisti_ (‘Remember the word unto thy servant, upon which
thou hast caused me to hope’), thinking thereby to quicken the memory
of his royal master. Louis was evidently dull of understanding, for
yet a second time the musical joker dedicated to him a motet, _Portio
mea non est in terra viventium_ (‘My portion is not in the land of
the living’), which evidently won the object of his desire, for still
another motet, _Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo_, is generally regarded
as a polite thank-offering for the appointment. It is further related
that the king, who was wholly unmusical and who possessed a very feeble
voice, requested the great musician to compose a piece in which his
Majesty could join. The sagacious Josquin forthwith wrote a canon for
two boys’ voices, supplemented by a part for the king consisting of
one note sustained throughout.[23] In his celebrated _Missa Hercules
Dux Ferrariae_, a quaint conceit prompted him to build his subject,
_Re ut re ut re fa mi re_, on the succession of syllables whose vowels
correspond to the vowels in the words _Hercules Dux Ferrariae_.
These were innocent pranks, but he carried his musical trifling to
unpardonable extremes in his _Missa didadi_ (‘Dice’ Mass), in which
he set himself the profane task of solving a dice-problem in terms of
musical technique. But the faults of Josquin were in large measure
the faults of his period. In common with Okeghem and others, he was
exceedingly fond of inventing riddle-canons and other musical puzzles.
So much did this practice, especially in connection with ecclesiastical
music, arouse the indignation of Martin Agricola that this worthy
scholar even threatened the composers with the terrors of the last day
‘when all will certainly not go well with the outrageous riddle-makers.’
The modernity of Josquin’s art, his ability to interest us by intensity
of expression in depicting the meaning of the words, is finely
illustrated in his two motets _Planxit autem David_ and _Absolon fili
mi_. In the latter especially he attains an expression of pathos, an
effect of extreme sadness, which at times becomes poignant. In the
closing measures there occurs a remarkably daring use of the augmented
fifth, a dissonance whose introduction is ‘terribly effective.’ His
psalm _Laudate pueri_, in contrasting mood, is pervaded by a persistent
feeling of joy. The music, which moves happily along through a chain of
pure concords without a disturbing dissonance, exhibits tranquillity
and joyful confidence throughout.
By a strange perversion the mass, although the most solemn and sacred
portion of the Roman service, was treated by church composers in their
musical settings of it up to the middle of the sixteenth century as
the proper parade-ground for all conceivable forms of musical riddles
and extravagances that would display their technical learning and
ingenuity. But these aberrations are found much less frequently in
the motets and madrigals. Here the composer was governed by no such
fancied necessity; he felt a much greater sense of freedom to follow
musical impulses. Hence these forms were the first to profit from the
remarkable awakening of the musical understanding that took place
at the close of the fifteenth century and to be enriched with the
accompanying first flashes of the dawning sense of harmonic propriety
and characterization.
III
The motet[24] occupies a place in ecclesiastical music next in
importance to the mass. It has always been extra-liturgical; the
words, though not prescribed, are generally selected from the Bible
(the Psalms, antiphons, etc.) or the office-books. In the Roman Church
service it is intended to be sung at high mass, usually after or in
place of the plain-song offertorium for the day to fill out the time
while the priest is preparing the oblations and presenting them at the
altar. The great antiquity of the motet is attested by the fact that
Franco of Cologne in his epochal work on Measured Music gives it place
in one of the three classes[25] of choral compositions in use in his
time. The characteristic features of the early motet were separate
texts for each voice and a subject (_tenor_) made up of some short
phrase or group of motives repeated several or many times, according to
the length of the composition.
These phrases were borrowed from either plain-song or secular
melodies. Like the mass, the early motet was not an original
composition, but the combination of existing chants or secular songs.
Frequently it was frankly secular; more frequently all the texts were
sacred, but sometimes, as in the mass, secular texts and melodies were
mingled with the sacred. When the texts in the motet were various,
they always bore some kind of mental relation to each other,[26]
a condition which was by no means always present in the mass when
different texts were used. The practice of providing each voice-part
with a separate text, while it tended to confuse the listener, served,
on the other hand, to emphasize the musical independence of the parts
and so threw stress on a quality of utmost benefit to the advancement
of contrapuntal methods.
A few motets by Philip of Vitry,[27] written about 1300, are the most
ancient purely church motets of which we have authentic record. We are
informed by Morley that this composer’s motets ‘were for some time
of all others best esteemed and most used in the church.’ Beginning
probably in France and cultivated with marked success by the great
Netherlanders, the motet reached its highest point of perfection under
Palestrina in Rome. It was adopted, with important modifications, into
the services of the two great branches of the Protestant Church from
their very beginning. In England, until the ‘full’ anthem finally
superseded it, and in Germany from Luther until after Bach’s time, it
held a high place in ecclesiastical music, but the words were almost
invariably in the vernacular, while in the Roman service they were
always in Latin.
In the period represented by Okeghem there may be noticed the
beginning of a distinctive style for motet-music differing quite
materially from that of the mass. It has been already stated that the
disfiguring extravagances and learned complexities which composers
felt in duty bound to lavish on the music of the mass, were more and
more avoided in the motet. A solemnity, dignity, and breadth of style,
of which one finds but few examples in the masses of the period, were
encouraged in the motet. This different viewpoint led composers to
focus their interest and attention on the portrayal of the meaning of
the words rather than on the working of contrapuntal miracles and the
church composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries left a rich
legacy of compositions in this form appropriate to their appointed
use and permeated with the spirit of devotion and reverence. After
the compelling genius of Des Prés had once revealed the expressive
capabilities of music, this new power was evoked with so much
enthusiasm by all his great contemporaries and successors among the
Netherlanders that the richest period of motet writing is to be found
between the years 1500 and 1600.
As soon as the text became a matter of solicitous care on the part
of composers, there can be discovered a number of distinct groups of
motets, distinguished from each other by the character of the texts
employed, each group possessing certain individual peculiarities. There
was a numerous class based on selections from the Gospels dealing with
the various parables, as the Pharisee and Publican. The Passion of our
Lord as given in the different Gospels formed the basis of another
large group. One of the earliest of these Passion motets is Hobrecht’s,
a work filled with deep pathos and tender sadness. The Passion motets
of Loyset Compère (about 1450-1518) are spoken of as possessing
extraordinary beauty. The Magnificat was frequently treated in motet
form, the oldest known example of which is Dufay’s. A vast number of
texts were drawn from the Book of Canticles, while the Lamentations
of Jeremiah inspired the writing of numberless compositions in motet
style. Carpentrasso’s Lamentations were sung in the Sistine Chapel
once each year until 1587, when they were superseded by Palestrina’s
superb compositions. Several of the sequences were also set as motets,
among which must be especially noted two by Josquin des Prés--a
_Victimæ Paschali_, in which he used parts of the old plain-song
melody intermingled with two popular airs, and a _Stabat Mater_, the
subject for which he borrowed from a secular air of the time, _Comme
femme_. Less interesting were the laudatory motets inscribed to princes
and nobles by the composers attached to their individual courts, and
the countless motets written for the greater festivals and special
occasions in the church calendar.
Reverence for the Virgin-mother inspired some of the most beautiful
of all motets and a multitude of these fine compositions, delicate in
texture and of impressive beauty, might be cited; such are Dufay’s
_Ave Regina, Salve Virgo_, and _Flos florum, fons amorum_; Brassart’s
_Ave Maria_; Bianchoys’ _Beata Dei genetrix_; Arcadelt’s _Ave Maria_,
which is now probably one of the best known of sixteenth-century motets
and which sounds wonderfully modern with its compact chords, sweet
tunefulness, and simple pathos; Gombert’s _Vita dulcedo_; Josquin’s
_Ave vera virginitas_. There remains to be mentioned the large group
of funeral motets or _Næniæ_, comprising some of the finest examples
of the pure motet style. One of the most celebrated of these is the
dirge written by Josquin in memory of his friend and teacher Okeghem,
which is scarcely exceeded in beauty by anything which this master has
produced.
About 1500 the triad was recognized as a musical factor of importance
and close upon this recognition came the discovery of modal harmony.
Chord progressions, groups of closely-knit harmonies, appropriate to
the church mode employed, now became common and in the relation of
this new factor to musical expression is to be found the basis of
distinction between secular and sacred music, a distinction which
rapidly grew more marked as the harmonic sense unfolded and developed.
From Josquin’s time secular music strove after the representation
of specific moods of feeling suggested by the words, in which
representation the new element of harmony was summoned to give warmth
and color and dramatic significance, while sacred music sought to
express only the general mood of the text, representing an unvariable
and fixed aspiration, with little or no attempt at detailed delineation.
IV
The last great Netherlander, and indeed the greatest of them all, was
Orlandus Lassus or Orlando di Lasso (1532-1594), who spent nearly the
whole of the best creative period of his life outside the boundaries
of his native land in Munich in the service of the art-loving Duke
Albert V and his son Duke William of Bavaria. Next to Palestrina the
greatest genius of the sixteenth century, he left a deep impress on the
development of Germanic art. Though not so ideal in purely ritual-music
as his great contemporary, he displayed a greater fertility, a wider
sympathy, and a warmer human feeling. Proske’s estimate of him is
noteworthy: ‘Lassus is a universal genius.... No one resembles so
closely the great Handel, and, as in the latter, the German, Italian,
and English genius of the eighteenth century were found blended, so
in Lassus the entire glory of contemporary Germanic and Latin art was
commingled in a single mighty personality.’ (_Musica Divina_, Vol. I,
p. 52.)
Lassus was probably the most prolific composer of all time, having
left the enormous number of nearly 2,500 separate compositions. As
his master, Duke Albert, was a staunch and devout Catholic, by far
the larger part of his creative energy was expended in the field
of pure church-music, of which he wrote no less than 1,200 motets
and _sacræ cantiones_, 51 masses, about 180 Magnificats, and over
150 lamentations, psalms, hymns, Requiems, Ave Marias, antiphons,
etc. The most celebrated of his works and, according to Ambros,[28]
the only other work of the sixteenth century worthy to stand beside
Palestrina’s _Missa Papæ Marcelli_, are the ‘Penitential Psalms,’
which were composed at the duke’s suggestion prior to 1565, though
not published until 1584. The establishment of the date of their
composition definitely upsets the familiar legend that they were
written for Charles IX of France to solace his troubled conscience
after the horrors of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. It may well
be, however, that they were sung before this unhappy monarch, for
Lassus spent some time at the court of France at Charles’ invitation.
Lassus’ masterpiece, though written comparatively early in his career,
possesses in a marked degree all the qualities of strength, grandeur,
dignity, repose, and especially impersonality and absence of what
would now be called dramatic effects, that are the distinguishing
characteristics of the maturest period of ritual-music of the great
Netherlander and his Italian compeer, Palestrina. The ‘Penitential
Psalms’ (the 6th, 32d, 38th, 51st, 102d, 130th, and 143d) were set
for from two to six voices, according to the suggestion of the text,
and the style of expression varies from the extreme simplicity of the
opening chords to the massive and intricate tone-structures by means
of which he depicts the remorse and fear of the penitent sinner. But,
while a note of sorrow and wailing runs throughout, the master has with
equal genius portrayed the strong consolation of sincere repentance and
the sure hope of pardon from a loving God.
In all of Lassus’ works there is a noticeable breaking away from
the intricacies and complicated forms of Josquin and the older
Netherlanders in favor of a more direct and simple style. Secular music
may well have exerted an indirect influence to produce such a result,
but a more direct cause must be sought in the religious movements of
his period. Lassus, like Palestrina, was a man of strong and sincere
religious convictions. Zealous Catholics in Rome were seeking to reform
the abuses in ecclesiastical government and procedure that had started
the Reformation and given such astonishing strength to its progress.
The court at Munich, in which Lassus was such a prominent figure, was
the first in Europe to espouse the cause of this counter-reformation.
Simplicity of style and directness of expression were the natural
and logical consequences of the earnestness of purpose and religious
conviction that breathes in the music of both Lassus and Palestrina and
that sought to grasp the essential spirit of the Roman liturgy and body
it forth in vitalizing tones. Indeed, the tendency toward a simpler
and less ornate style was well under way before the Council of Trent
undertook to discuss the defects in the prevalent church style.
Of Lassus’ 1,200 compositions of the motet type 429 were called
_sacræ cantiones_, a term that is rather vague as to its inclusion
and exact application. The most famous of the motets is the masterly
_Gustate et Videte_, to which additional interest is attached from a
pretty story related by Heinrich Delmotte, one of the most reliable of
Lassus’ biographers, to the effect that, during the festival of Corpus
Christi in 1584, the singing of this motet, as the solemn procession
headed by the choir emerged from the church, caused the sun to shine
forth brightly in the midst of a terrific thunder-storm, permitting the
procession to traverse its accustomed course through the city. But when
the procession returned to the church and the singing ceased, the storm
burst forth again in all its fury. The multitude cried ‘A miracle,’ and
for many years thereafter the singing of this motet always accompanied
the offering up of prayers for fine weather. Though one might select
a score of his fine motets for special mention, three may be spoken
of here in addition to the _Gustate_, namely, _Dixit autem Maria_,
_Improperium expectabit cor meum_, and _Timor et Tremor_ in six parts,
replete with wonderful vocal effects. His simple, direct, and earnest
style is well set forth in the _Adoramus te Christe_, a short chorale
for four male voices, utterly devoid of contrapuntal artifice, yet
breathing a spirit of humble adoration that maintains throughout an
atmosphere of solemn tenderness. His motets were written for from two
to twelve voices and the masses for four and five voices.
But Lassus had an open heart also for secular inspiration. The genius
that could thrill us with the solemnity and pathos of religious
aspirations and sentiments was also moved to expression by the
pleasantries of human experience; no other composer of his century was
so prolific in humorous works. One is a setting of the Psalm _Super
flumina Babylonis_, in which the separate letters and syllables are
sung in the fashion of a spelling-lesson, ‘S-U--Su--P-E-R--per--Super,’
evidently parodying the ridiculous handling of words by the older
masters. It takes two movements of this comic procedure to get through
the first verse. In some of his German songs his humor rises to the
height of hilarious joy, though most of them are the expression of a
simple naïveté. In one of his Italian villanellas he makes a German
infantry captain sing a grotesque serenade to his lady-love. But he was
especially famous for his drinking songs, one of the most celebrated of
which was a setting of Walter Mapes’ convivial song _Si bene perpendi,
causæ sunt quinque bibendi_, to which Dean Aldrich has given the
following well-known translation:
‘If all be true that I do think,
There are five reasons we should drink:
Good wine, a friend, or being dry,
Or lest you should be by and by,
Or any other reason why.’
The remainder of his secular compositions comprise 233 madrigals,
34 Latin songs,[29] 370 French songs, and 59 canzonets, which
formidable list reveals him as a lyric writer of great versatility.
Notwithstanding his great fame during his lifetime and the succeeding
generation, the last half of the seventeenth century witnessed a great
decline in his popularity and his music fell into almost complete
oblivion, from which it has been happily rescued by the recent revival
of interest in the old masters and especially by the publication by
Breitkopf & Haertel of a complete edition of his works which will
comprise about sixty volumes.
V
We are now face to face with one of the greatest geniuses of all
time, Palestrina,[30] or to give his real name, Giovanni Pierluigi
(1526-1594). Into his hands it was given not only to restore to Italy,
for a time at least, its leadership in the domain of musical art, but
also to carry to completion the magnificent structure of polyphonic
ecclesiastical music founded and fashioned into stately proportions
by the Netherlanders, and to utter the final words in the art of
unaccompanied vocal counterpoint. Thus the cycle of development in
Roman ritual-music was consummated on the very spot where just ten
centuries before it had found its first definite formulation under
the guiding hand of Gregory the Great and in perfect consonance with
the spirit and best traditions of the great liturgy around which
Christian worship had centred through all the intervening centuries,
until Luther’s momentous break with Rome had caused a deflection
in the current of religious thought. He summed up all the best
qualities in the art of his predecessors. He added nothing new to
its technique, but, child as he was of the land whose peculiar gift
is melody, he crowned this art with a radiant richness of melodious
charm and graceful movement which none of his masters could achieve.
Palestrina’s peculiar greatness seems to lie in the supreme fact that,
through a perfect sympathy with and understanding of the mysteries of
the Roman system of worship and through an unequalled mastery of the
Netherlanders’ art of contrapuntal expression, he was able to restore
music to its proper relation to the service as established by the Early
Church, a relation that had been lost by the incongruous and disturbing
intricacies of the musical forms which by their very elaborateness had
so overlaid the text as to render it unintelligible and thus obliterate
the religious significance of the words and warp the whole function
of music in the larger organism of the mass. This reform was brought
about by a return to the simpler methods of the ancient church. While
the musical world around him was teeming with signs of the new spirit
of impending change and progress, his genius, the richest of them
all, was satisfied to dwell within the sanctuary of tradition. While
all his contemporaries were facing forward, filled with the rapture
of discovery and innovation, ‘the Palestrina style belonged rather
to the mediæval world, with its emphasis upon monastic reveries and
contemplation.’[31] What has been termed ‘the Palestrina style’ had
existed before his time in isolated church compositions, but, since
his whole life was dedicated with singular fidelity and purity of
purpose to the development of an exalted and chaste style that would
perfectly reflect the inner spirit of the church ceremonies, his name
has become attached to a type which is peculiarly his. Its external
characteristics are the repudiation of mere intellectual cleverness,
the avoidance of secularity either in form or in spirit, and the
employment of an unaffected, indescribable simplicity of expression as
the best means of preserving the liturgic significance of the text and
enforcing the impressiveness of the music on the worshipper’s mind.
For its greatest effect this music must be heard in the particular
religious environment for which it was created. ‘No sensuous melodies,
no dissonant, tension-creating harmonies, no abrupt rhythms distract
the thoughts and excite the sensibilities. Chains of consonant chords
growing out of the combination of smoothly-flowing, closely-interwoven
parts, the contours of which are all but lost in the maze of tones,
lull the mind into that state of submission to indefinite impressions
which makes it susceptible to the mystic influence of the ceremonial
and turns it away from worldly things.’[32]
In analyzing music of this type it will be found that each
voice-part is equal in independence and importance with every other
voice-part; that the voices enter, intertwine, and drop out with
absolute freedom of movement; that one key is maintained throughout
the whole composition, with no modulations in the modern sense; that
the beginnings and endings of the melodic phrases usually occur at
different points in different voices, producing a constant shifting in
the rhythmical flux that baffles aural analysis and creates a feeling
of vagueness and indefiniteness of design. The changes in dynamics or
in speed are never startling or abrupt, but are accomplished through
almost imperceptible gradations. Furthermore, certain values entered
into the construction of these wonderfully plastic creations that were
almost wholly dependent upon a perfect understanding of purely vocal
effects. ‘The distribution of the components of a chord in order to
produce the greatest sonority; the alternation of the lower voices
with the higher; the elimination of voices as a section approached its
close, until the harmony was reduced at the last syllable to two higher
voices in _pianissimo_, as though the strain were vanishing into the
upper air; the resolution of tangled polyphony into a sunburst of open
golden chords; the subtle intrusion of veiled dissonances into the
fluent gleaming concord; the skillful blending of the vocal registers
for the production of exquisite contrasts of light and shade--these
and many other devices were employed for the attainment of delicate
and lustrous sound tints, with results to which modern chorus writing
affords no parallel.’[33]
It is quite characteristic of the inherent and unostentatious
greatness of Palestrina that the _Missa Papæ Marcelli_, the singing
of which before the Commission of Cardinals in the Sistine Chapel
on the nineteenth of June, 1565, caused this mass to be chosen as a
model in style and in structure of what all future music of the Roman
liturgy should be, was written several years before that event as an
ordinary item of routine loyalty in the service of the church which
he so devoutly loved.[34] It did not come into being, as has been
persistently proclaimed by legend and history,[35] at the request of
the Commission nor as a specific answer to the warning of the Council
of Trent that all figured or polyphonic music would be excluded from
the Roman service because of the current abuses. The name by which this
famous mass has been known was not given to it until 1567. The Pope
to whom it was dedicated, Marcellus II, had died in 1555, ten years
before fame and immortality had been accorded to this composition by
the award of the Cardinal Commission, but, though he had reigned only
twenty-three days, Palestrina did not forget his earnest efforts in
behalf of church-music while he was a Cardinal. This mass stands by
universal consent as an unrivalled monument to the piety, depth of
feeling, and intensity of expression, as well as the technical skill,
of its creator. All technical contrivances, the devices of fugue and
canon, are in complete subjection to the demands of expression, and
the listener is never for a moment conscious of the consummate art
with which the parts are fashioned. Its subjects are all original and
all are of great simplicity, but treated with infinite variety. It is
written for six voices--soprano, alto, two tenors of equal compass,
and two equal basses--which are so grouped as constantly to suggest
the effects of antiphonal choirs. Though an atmosphere of solemnity
pervades the whole, each movement has individual characterization.
Baini, Palestrina’s biographer, calls the Kyrie devout, the Gloria
animated, the Credo majestic, the Sanctus angelic, and the Agnus Dei
prayerful.
Palestrina wrote in all ninety-three masses for four, five, six,
and eight voices, many of them of surpassing beauty, but only a
comparatively few are sung outside the Sistine Chapel. The six-part
_Assumpta est Maria_, composed in 1585 for the Papal Choir, is
accounted by many critics to be even more beautiful than the celebrated
_Missa Papæ Marcelli_. It possesses all the fine qualities of the
latter and is certainly its equal. The _Missa Brevis_[36] was composed
upon subjects taken from the plain-song melody _Audi filia_, upon which
Goudimel had written a fine mass of earlier date. The mass _L’homme
armé_ is one of the very few of his church compositions into which he
introduced secular melodies. It is quite possible that he took this
means of demonstrating that he could excel the Netherlanders on their
own ground, for it is apparently conceived throughout in the Netherland
style and is tremendously difficult and elaborate.
Among the most superb of his church compositions must be named the
motets, of which 179 for from four to twelve voices appear in the
complete critical edition published by Breitkopf & Haertel in 33
volumes. Some of these are as unapproachable in their beauty as are
the masses which gave Palestrina his title of _Musicæ Princeps_. Among
the finest may be mentioned _Peccantem me quotidie_, filled with an
indescribable sweetness and tenderness of feeling, and _Super flumina
Babylonis_, written soon after the death of his wife Lucrezia, in
which can be detected the expression of the pathetic grief of ‘the
heart-broken composer mourning by the banks of the Tiber’ for his lost
wife. His other church compositions include 45 Hymns for the whole
year, 68 Offertories, and a large number of Lamentations, Magnificats,
Vesper-psalms, and Litanies. His setting of the _Stabat Mater_, for
which Dr. Burney had a boundless admiration, is one of the most
effective in existence and one of his most celebrated works. The fine
_Improperia_, which are still among the greatest treasures of the Papal
Choir, probably reflect the experiences of his inner life during the
anxious period following his dismissal from the Papal Choir by Paul
IV in 1555, when physical and mental ills attacked the over-sensitive
master.
The second half of the sixteenth century has been aptly called ‘The
Golden Age of Ecclesiastical Music.’ Further progress was impossible
along the line of vocal counterpoint brought to such astounding
perfection by Palestrina, yet the Palestrina style found zealous
imitators for a half-century at least after the passing of the great
Roman master. But the spirit of the Renaissance, now rampant in every
field of human thought, refused to be held in check by church doors,
and the glories of the ‘Golden Age,’ the products of an art rejoicing
in the full maturity of its power, were almost immediately followed
by a period of decadence, in which secular sentimentality was mingled
in strange fellowship with what remained of the majestic devotional
style of the old masters. The triumphant progress of secular music,
instrumental as well as operatic, soon broke down the opposition of
the ecclesiastical purists, and after Allegri the Palestrina style
practically disappeared. Gregorio Allegri (about 1580-1652) is
remembered now almost wholly by his celebrated _Miserere_ for nine
voices in two choirs, which is considered to be one of the finest
compositions ever conceived for the Roman service. Until recently
at least, it has been sung annually during Holy Week at the Sistine
Chapel, where it was prized as so rare a treasure that to copy it was
punishable with excommunication.[37] Up to the year 1770 only three
copies are known to have been legally made. In that year, it will be
recalled, the fourteen-year-old Mozart wrote it down with marvellous
accuracy from the memory of a single performance. Much of the ineffable
sadness of this piece, which, as it is performed in the Sistine Chapel,
has always aroused the unbounded enthusiasm of musicians, is said to
be due to certain traditional embellishments or florid passages which
were introduced in the form of elaborate four-part cadenzas to take the
place of the simple endings of some of the verses. Mendelssohn, in a
letter to Zelter during his Italian journey in 1831, described in great
detail the music of these beautiful _abbellimenti_. Of one of these he
says: ‘It is often repeated, and makes so deep an impression that when
it begins an evident excitement pervades all present.... The soprano
intones the high C in a pure, soft voice, allowing it to vibrate for a
time, and slowly gliding down, while the alto holds its C steadily, so
that at first I was under the delusion that the high C was still held
by the soprano. The skill, too, with which the harmony is gradually
developed is truly marvellous.’
It must not be supposed that Palestrina was the only great church
composer of his period. There were others during his lifetime and
immediately following, whose genius would have been proclaimed of
the first magnitude had it not been for the greater effulgence of
Palestrina’s. Giovanni Maria Nanino (about 1545-1607) ranks as second
only to Palestrina among the Italian church composers, as witness his
motet for six voices, _Hodie nobis cœlorum rex_, annually sung in the
Sistine Chapel on Christmas morning; his mass, _Vestiva i colli_, for
five voices; and particularly his Lamentations set in simple melodious
style for four male voices. His brother, Giovanni Bernardino Nanino
(about 1560-about 1618), wrote a remarkable _Salve Regina_ for twelve
voices in which the new spirit of striving for unusual effects is
noticeable. Viadana (about 1564-1645) introduced into church music
the _concerti ecclesiastici_, which were a kind of monodic chant or
song for from one to four voices with organ accompaniment indicated
by a _basso continuo_, or figured bass. Most of his church music,
however, was written in the old contrapuntal style. Following the
trend of the times, Francesco Soriano or Suriano (1549-about 1621)
permitted the dramatic style of the monodists to enter very perceptibly
into his ‘Passions for Holy Week,’ probably his best work. Among
the greatest of Palestrina’s contemporaries was Tomasso da Vittoria
(about 1540-about 1613), sometimes called ‘the Spanish Palestrina.’
His greatest masterpiece is the elaborate six-part Requiem Mass,
composed for the obsequies of the Empress Maria, widow of Maximilian
II. Next to Palestrina’s Mass for the Dead, this is the most important
and profoundly moving among the many settings of this office as pure
ritual-music. Its subjects are all taken from plain-song melodies, yet
it has an astonishingly modern quality, due to Vittoria’s employment of
powerful, sonorous chords and especially to a warmer and more direct
and personal mode of expressing his religious emotions than composers
of the polyphonic school were wont to assume. Palestrina’s religious
music is the music of a soul of immaculate purity, as though, to use
Ambros’ figure, his strains were messengers from a higher world;
Vittoria’s music was the responsive utterance of a saintly soul on
earth, struggling amid poignantly human emotions for a heavenly estate.
Among his other works, the _Improperia_ gained great renown for their
purity of church style and warmth and tenderness of expression.
Before leaving the field of church music of this period, something
must be said of the worthy rival to the Roman school that had sprung up
and flourished mightily in Venice. Here in the midst of the prosperity,
luxury, and splendor of this cultured ‘Queen of the Seas’ was a group
of earnest musicians who did not fear to loosen the bands of tradition
or to accept new ideals and venture on untrodden paths that led in new
directions; so that the products of the Venetian school, rather than
the Roman, formed the natural bridge between the mediæval and modern
conceptions of religious music. The masters of Venetian music, Willaert
and the two Gabrielis, seemed to borrow for their music something of
the brilliant coloring of the Venetian painters. Luxuriant harmonies,
massive and bold chord-effects, the employment of numerous chromatic
tones which assisted powerfully in changing the old modal system into
the modern key system, a desire for greater sonority and contrast in
color and expression--all these qualities, with their emphasis upon
individual characterization, opposed themselves strikingly to the
calmness, the delicacy, and the impersonality of the Palestrina style.
All the great Venetian masters occupied the post of chapel-master at
St. Mark’s, then one of the most important musical appointments in
Europe. The use of several choirs, which was introduced by Adrian
Willaert (about 1480-1562) and became a characteristic feature of
Venetian church music, owed its origin to the architectural structure
of this church, which contains two opposing choir lofts, each with
its own organ. Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli added a third choir and
with this elaborate mechanism produced unprecedented choral effects by
ingenious groupings of voices, heard now as separate choirs, now in
answering alternation, now as selected voices from each choir, and now
in magnificent masses of tone. A twelve-part psalm, _Deus misereatur
nostri_, written by G. Gabrieli (1557-1612) for three choirs--one
consisting of deep voices, one of higher, and the third of the usual
four parts--is one of the most imposing examples of this type of
grandiose many-choired music. He is one of the few church composers
who have left no masses. His most famous work, two volumes of _Sacræ
Symphoniæ_, consisted of motets for from six to sixteen voices, to
which he added free accompaniments written for various combinations
of orchestral instruments with organ. In thus broadening the scope
of church music to include instrumental groupings and effects in
combination with voices, he stands as the pioneer of a dawning movement
fraught with greatest possibilities for the future development of both
ecclesiastical music and independent instrumental music. The chief work
of Andrea Gabrieli (1510-1586), uncle of Giovanni, was, according to
his own testimony, the six-part ‘Penitential Psalms,’ though this was
outdone in magnificence and tonal beauty by his many compositions for
several choirs. One of the most notable and popular of the Venetian
composers was Giovanni Croce (about 1560-1609), whose masses, written
in a style of noble simplicity, are still favorites with Catholic
church choirs.
VI
The century which culminated in the ‘Golden Age of Ecclesiastical
Music’ was also the period of greatest glory for the madrigal. In the
first half of the century its leading exponents were Jacques Arcadelt
(about 1514-about 1555), Philippe Verdelot (dates of birth and death
unknown), Huberto Waelrant (about 1518-1595), and especially Adrian
Willaert (about 1480-1562), in the madrigals of all of whom there are
revealed a lucidity of style, a graceful melodic flow, and, when the
character of the words demanded, a simplicity of treatment, which
together constituted the true sixteenth-century madrigalian style.
Arcadelt, a Netherlander by birth and education, lived for many years
in Italy, where his madrigals became so popular that his First Book,
published in Venice in 1538, passed through sixteen editions in eighty
years, the first to win marked success. Though he wrote much church
music, his fame rests on his charming madrigals, only a few of which,
unfortunately, are accessible in modern form. Waelrant’s _Vorrei
morire_ (published with English words ‘Hard by a fountain,’ which,
however, have no relation to the Italian text) is a beautiful example
of this type. Orlandus Lassus was the last of the great Netherland
madrigalists and he left many books of splendid compositions in this
style.
In art-loving Venice an especially brilliant group of madrigalists
appeared who brought added renown and honor to this centre of culture
and learning. Adrian Willaert, one of the many gifted migratory
Netherlanders, was the first to make the Venetians acquainted with
this form, of distinctly northern origin, and its popularity quickly
spread all over Italy. Under Italian influences the severity of its
melodic outlines softened and it readily responded to the national
love of color and warmth. While Willaert can no longer be called the
‘Father of the Madrigal,’ he was one of the first strong writers in
the madrigal-form, and his transplantation of it from Flanders to
sunny Italy gave to it just the genial quality needed to bring it to
full maturity. He was especially influential in developing a freer
style and a taste for chromaticism. This tendency found strongest
accentuation in the ‘Chromatic Madrigals’[38] of Ciprian de Rore
(1516-1565). He published five books of these and, while many were
in the nature of experiments, they served to prepare the way for the
mastery of chromatic elements so conspicuous in later composers. His
madrigals, written in an original and genial style of great richness,
enjoyed enormous popularity. Giovanni Croce paid homage to the spirit
of the times in a notable collection of humorous part-songs (_Triaca
musicale_, _Capricci_) for from four to seven voices. The Gabrielis
were also generous contributors to the development of the madrigal,
which, in its adopted home in Italy, attained its fairest and most
luxuriant flowering.
The earliest of the Italians to achieve notable success in
madrigal-writing was the Roman, Constanzo Festa (died 1545). One
of his madrigals, ‘Down in a flowery vale’ (_Quando ritrovo la mia
pastorella_), attained the distinction of being for a long time
the most widely-known piece of its class in England. Palestrina
showed his supreme command over all styles by freeing the madrigal
from Flemish influences and contributing in goodly measure to the
literature of this fascinating form. Among them are many _madrigali
spirituali_--compositions midway in seriousness between the motet and
the light _chanson_, which aimed to bring into church music more of
the warmth and grace of the best secular music. In the new style of
madrigal-writing Palestrina was followed with splendid results by his
successor in office as ‘composer to the Papal Choir,’ Felice Anerio,
by Francesco Anerio, brother of the preceding, by the Naninis, and, in
particular, by Luca Marenzio (about 1560-1599), who devoted himself
especially to the advancement of secular art and whose madrigals were
of such captivating beauty and expressive power that he earned for
himself the title of ‘the sweetest swan of Italy.’ His reputation was
far-extended and his popularity[39] in England was so great that Dr.
Burney not only places him among the greatest of all madrigal writers,
but traces the passion for this form of secular music that spread over
England beginning about 1590, directly to the wide appreciation of his
highly-perfected madrigal style.
The madrigal was carried to Germany by Netherlanders and German
students of the Venetians, but it never succeeded in making much
headway against the national fondness for the folk-song (_Volkslied_),
from which it radically differed. Neither was it seriously valued in
France, although here the _chanson_ had long enjoyed great popularity
and had furnished the type from which the early Flemish madrigals
were evolved. English soil, however, was especially favorable to its
development, and it was no sooner transplanted thither from Italy
and Flanders than it took deep root and flourished with a luxuriance
that did not lose its splendor beside the best works of Rome or
Venice. Richard Edwards (1523-1566) and William Byrd (1543-1623),
the latter the greatest English composer of the sixteenth century,
had both written polyphonic secular songs of the madrigal type that
had achieved wide fame, but the national love of part-songs received
an extraordinary stimulus from the publication in 1588 of _Musica
Transalpina_,[40] a collection of over fifty madrigals selected from
the best Flemish and Italian composers of the time and adapted to
English words. These were received with such astonishing favor that
the madrigal at once leaped into the importance almost of a national
institution, fostered by a numerous school of composers who devoted
themselves almost wholly to perfecting it. All the best English
composers delighted in producing madrigals in countless profusion.
Between the years of 1590 and 1630 no less than 2,000 pieces in this
form were published, so that at the beginning of the seventeenth
century the madrigal stands out as the clearest expression of the
contemporary English national taste, the favorite of composers and
public alike. The flowering period of the English madrigal was the
first two decades of the seventeenth century, when a truly brilliant
galaxy of native composers developed characteristics that distinguish
it quite clearly from its continental relatives and place it on a
secure vantage-ground where it need fear no rival. In delicacy,
simplicity, and a delicious naïveté, some of the English madrigals of
this period are unapproachable. During the Elizabethan era English
church-music reached a high standard, but it sounds restrained and
almost perfunctory beside the joyous, fresh, spontaneous flow of these
madrigals.
Chief in importance among the English madrigalists was Thomas Morley
(1557-about 1602), whose music revels in irrepressible cheerfulness
and sweet tunefulness. He showed an especial fondness for the light
canzonets and ballets, or fa-las, in which latter form, introduced by
him into England, he is unrivalled. His contemporary, John Dowland
(1563-1626), was equally successful in his canzonets and ‘Songes or
Ayres of foure parts.’ But the inspired pieces of John Wilbye (dates
of birth and death unknown) are universally considered to be the
best representatives of the English madrigal in its purest and most
characteristic and comprehensive form. Other great masters of this
form were George Kirbye (died 1634), Thomas Weelkes (about 1575-1623),
John Bennet (dates unknown), Michael Este (dates unknown), Thomas
Ravenscroft (about 1582-about 1635), and Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625).
There can be no doubt that the splendor of this era of madrigal-writing
was made more lustrous by the sympathetic interest taken in this
popular form by many of the best poets of the brilliant Elizabethan
period. The works of many of the inspired makers of these sweet old
melodies are still sung with delight and dearly prized by the numerous
choral societies and clubs that zealously cultivate unaccompanied
vocal part-music. Since madrigal-writing has experienced somewhat of
a revival in recent years, it will be of interest to enumerate some
of the most beautiful and most famous of these old compositions which
still retain an imperishable charm and undying appeal. Among such will
be found the following: Dowland’s ‘Awake, sweet Love,’ ‘Come again,’
and ‘Now, oh! now, I needs must part’; Weelkes’ ‘In pride of May,’
‘The Nightingale,’ and the bold ‘Like two proud armies’; Wilbye’s ‘The
Lady Oriana’ (in praise of Queen Elizabeth), ‘Flora gave me fairest
flowers,’ ‘Lady, when I behold,’ ‘Down in a valley,’ ‘Draw on, sweet
Night,’ and ‘But Sweet take heed’; and Bateson’s ‘In Heaven lives
Oriana.’
Some of the English madrigalists of this period, as Edwards and
Gibbons, were close kin to the Netherlanders in style and feeling. Many
of the madrigals of Byrd, Weelkes, Wilbye, and Kirbye are elaborate in
design and display ingenious and delightful imitation, but in general
there is discoverable a clear tendency to discard the burdensome rules
of ecclesiastical writing. With the development of this tendency the
passing of the madrigal proper began, for the prime essentials of
a true madrigal, no matter what it may be called, are that it must
conform to the general feeling of some ecclesiastical mode and must
be written in accordance with contrapuntal procedure. Without these
qualities the madrigal flavor is lost. After 1620 it began to merge
into the simpler and lighter glee and part-song, which forms will be
considered in Chapter IV.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p. 83.
[15] The largest contributions to the mass were made by the Eastern
Church during the first four centuries and were translated into Latin
by the Church of Rome.
[16] From the Latin _missa_ in the sentence, _Ite, missa est_ (‘Depart,
the assembly is dismissed’), sung by the deacon immediately before the
close of the service.
[17] The practice of thus displacing the authorized Gregorian chants
with folk-songs was inaugurated by Dufay. In three of his four-part
masses, preserved in the archives of the Papal Choir, the subjects are
all borrowed from popular songs, with the secular words accompanying
them--among them being _L’homme armé_.
[18] Weinmann, ‘History of Church Music,’ p. 85.
[19] Parry, ‘The Evolution of the Art of Music,’ p. 103.
[20] Tournay was one of the chief musical centres of the Gallo-Belgic
period and its cathedral possessed a body of choristers trained to the
highest point of efficiency then known to the vocal art.
[21] Naumann, ‘The History of Music’ (Eng. trans.), Vol. I, p. 325.
[22] Kiesewetter, ‘The History of Music,’ p. 131.
[23] Mendelssohn wrote a similar part for Hensel in his ‘Son and
Stranger.’
[24] The origin of the word is veiled in much obscurity, which has been
increased in large measure by the varied spellings adopted by early
writers (_motetum_, _motectum_, _motellus_, _motulus_, _mutetus_).
[25] These three classes comprised (1) those forms in which all
voice-parts had the same words, as the _Cantilena_, the _Rondel_ or
_Rota_, the _Organum communiter sumptum_; (2) those in which each part
had its own special words, as the _Motet_; and (3) those in which some
parts had words and others merely vocalized, as _Hoquet_ or _Ochetus_,
the _Conductus_, and _Organum purum vel proprie sumptum_. _Organum
purum_ was the oldest form and was held in great reverence by the
earliest writers.
[26] Thus in _Salvatoris mater_, an old three-part Latin motet,
probably of the first half of the fifteenth century, by the Englishman,
Thomas Damett, quoted in the ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. II, p.
149, the texts of the two upper parts are prayers to the Virgin and to
St. George in behalf of King Henry VI, while the lowest part sings the
_Benedictus_.
[27] His _Ars compositionis de Motetis_, preserved in the Paris
library, is supposed to have been written between 1290 and 1310.
[28] _Geschichte der Musik_, Vol. III, p. 353.
[29] All of these were part-songs of the _chanson_ and madrigal type.
[30] So called from the name of his birthplace, a small town southeast
of Rome, the ancient Præneste.
[31] Waldo S. Pratt, ‘History of Music,’ p. 124.
[32] Arthur Mees, ‘Choirs and Choral Music,’ p. 62.
[33] Edward Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p.
167.
[34] He was then _Maestro di Cappella_ of Santa Maria Maggiore.
[35] A full and authoritative discussion of the facts and fables
associated with this mass, based on researches in the archives, will
be found in F. X. Haberl’s _Die Kardinal-Kommission von 1564 und
Palestrina’s Missa Papæ Marcelli_.
[36] _Missa Brevis_ was a name given to a mass of moderate length and
not intended for festival occasions of great solemnity.
[37] It was published for the first time with the Pope’s permission by
Dr. Burney. It is given in almost complete form in Grove’s ‘Dictionary
of Music and Musicians,’ Art. ‘Miserere.’
[38] The most famous of these, set to Petrarch’s _Vergini_, have in
recent years been published by Breitkopf and Haertel.
[39] Of the 57 madrigals in _Musica Transalpina_, published in London
in 1588, ten were by him, and of the twenty-eight numbers in Watson’s
‘Italian Madrigals Englished,’ published in 1590, twenty-three were
from his pen.
[40] Rockstro avers that the word ‘madrigal’ appears for the first
time in England in the preface to this volume.
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST CENTURY OF PROTESTANT CHURCH MUSIC
Martin Luther; the chorale as the nucleus of German
Protestant church music--Early Reformation composers:
Walther, Eccard, Prætorius; influence of church choir schools
in Germany during the Reformation period--English Protestant
music, music of the Anglican liturgy: the anthem, its early
history and style--The spread of congregational song; psalms
and hymns.
I
Christian art in its general outlines has followed upon the heels of
Christian thought and doctrine with the fidelity and persistence of
a shadow. Ever since it first learned definite articulation, it has
responded with childlike obedience to the varying conditions which
the church has experienced in its endeavors to win and to hold the
allegiance of humanity to its spiritual leadership. Music, the youngest
of the arts, strikingly illustrates this attitude of dependence.
Consequent on the doctrine of the universality of the church, a marked
sameness and uniformity existed in the ritual-music of French, Italian,
Spanish, German, and English church composers, as long as the supremacy
of the church was undisputed. This absence of variation in style,
form, and expression, this suppression of national and individual
characteristics, was the natural manifestation of the doctrine of the
complete surrender of the individual, which governed all his relations
to the church. The workings of the forces of humanistic thought in the
sixteenth century brought about some deviations, even in sacred music,
from this uniform mode of expression, and in Italy we can easily find
points of differentiation between the music of Venetian, Roman, and
Neapolitan composers, though all were loyal adherents of the same faith.
But when Luther struck the mighty blow at the spiritual and political
power of Rome which loosened a large part of northern Europe from
its grasp and changed the whole current of the world’s religious
thought, it was quite natural that there was a resounding echo in the
musical methods and forms of expression that accompanied the manifold
developments of this new religious movement. In the discussion of this
movement as it relates to the subject in hand, two facts need constant
reaffirmation--(1) that even before Luther’s time there had been many
evidences of the impending change in religious thought, evidences that
run back with more or less frequency even to the Middle Ages,[41] and
(2) that Luther was first of all a reformer, not a destroyer, of the
ancient church and her modes of worship. For a full understanding of
the music of the Reformation it must be kept in mind that the doctrinal
points back of Luther’s revolt included the denial of the mediatorial
function of the priest, the declaration of the universal priesthood of
believers, and the stout insistence on the inalienable right of the
individual believer not only to freedom of reason and conscience, but
to direct access in prayer to Deity at all times. The whole character
and color of Protestant music is derived from this recognition of the
individual, and his duties and privileges in the direct worship of
God. This freer, more spontaneous and democratic conception of worship
threw the emphasis upon the congregation, and Luther’s form of public
worship was built up around this central fact. The two changes most
responsive to this new conception were the substitution of the people’s
vernacular for Latin as the official language of the service[42]
and the restoration to the people of the office of song, which had
been withdrawn from them at the very beginning of the development
of elaborate liturgic forms. This newly-found liturgic use for the
people’s song caused a prompt development of the singularly rich and
impressive hymnody of the early German Protestant Church and Luther, in
the order of services which he prepared for the Wittenberg churches in
1526 (the _Deutsche Messe_), gave especial prominence to this element.
Luther’s fervent desire was to bring all elements of the church
service within the comprehension of the whole congregation; it was to
be a people’s service. The congregational hymns, so conspicuous in his
scheme of public worship, were not only sung in the mother-tongue,
but many of them were sung to melodies whose origin was equally close
and dear to the people’s heart. Luther was the founder of German
Protestant hymnody (though not of German hymnody, as we shall see), and
in furnishing tunes to the multitude of hymns which he and his helpers
wrote, translated, or adapted, to give voice to the new religious
aspirations and ideals of the Protestant faith, recourse was had to two
popular sources, the rich treasury of religious folk-song that had been
in existence for centuries[43] and contemporary secular folk-song of
the more noble and sedate type. In thus transferring the familiar and
beloved melodies of home and social life to the use of the sanctuary,
an intimate and personal relation of the congregation to the church
service was established that was wholly lacking in the old church
associations. A third source of Luther’s melodies was Gregorian chant
and the stately Catholic hymns. Many of the melodies were original, and
this was more and more the case as time went on, but the musician of
this period, as has been pointed out in the discussion of Netherland
music, was thoroughly accustomed to borrowing his melodies (subjects)
either from popular song or plain-song. The name ‘chorale’ was soon
given to these hymn-melodies, from whatever source they were derived,
and the chorale, from its importance in the Lutheran liturgy, promptly
became the nucleus of the whole Lutheran musical system, in exactly
the same sense that plain-song was of the Roman musical system. Its
close relation to the sturdy folk-song gave to the chorale and to the
entire literature of religious music evolved from it a virility and
vitality that made it, of all the artistic products of the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, alone comparable with the superb creations
of Palestrina and his school. The origin of probably more than half of
the melodies of the Lutheran chorale-books may be traced to folk-songs
of some kind or period. Moreover, in wedding his hymns to music Luther
was careful to provide strongly rhythmical melodies, which naturally
made a more lively appeal to the people than did the unrhythmical Latin
music of the Roman service, a fact whose significance has been largely
overlooked by historians. The militant and assertive ring of many of
the early chorales, contrasting strongly with the calm, contemplative
mood of so many of the Catholic hymns, finds at least partial
explanation in this fact.
The place of Luther in German religious music is quite easy
to estimate now, though it has required over three centuries to
disentangle the great reformer’s actual achievement in this field
from the gross exaggerations and inaccuracies of partisan bias in
both attack and defence. But if it now seems to be well established
that Luther actually composed only a few[44] of the 137 melodies once
attributed to him, and that only five of the thirty-six hymns which he
wrote are entirely original, this does not detract one whit from his
greatness or his wisdom as a leader in pointing musical aspirations in
a new direction, for his real significance in German music, whether he
composed melodies or not, lies, not in new forms, but in the new spirit
that he gave to his followers and infused into sacred music. He had no
thought of breaking with the past. In preserving intact the line of
continuity, he was wise enough to retain many forms and practices in
the old Church that he regarded as vital and permanent and to build
them firmly into the structure of his new liturgy. Realizing the
importance of having an abundance of hymns for his followers, Luther
once said to Spalatin, ‘We are looking everywhere for poets,’ and in a
short time his wish was more than realized in the thousands of original
hymns that were poured forth. But in addition to these he and his
collaborators did not hesitate to look in other directions. As he had
freely utilized existing material for his hymn-melodies, so he borrowed
liberally from the magnificent store of religious poetry that had
gradually accumulated during the centuries. The principal sources thus
drawn upon were (1) old Latin hymns which were translated and modified
(as _Verleih uns Frieden gnädiglich_ from _Da pacem Domine_, a sixth-or
seventh-century antiphon; _Der du bist drei_ from _O Lux beata_, a
fifth-century Epiphany hymn; and _Herr Gott, dich loben wir_ from the
_Te Deum_); (2) early German translations of Latin hymns which were
amplified; (3) early German hymns which were corrected or arranged; and
(4) Latin Psalms and other Biblical passages which were translated and
paraphrased in metrical German verse. A fifth and prolific source must
not be overlooked--secular songs, favorite songs of love and praise of
Nature, which were recast into religious hymns by the simple device of
altering a few words or lines.
[Illustration: Luther in the Circle of His Family]
_After the painting by E. Spangenberg_
The importance of music in the Lutheran service was greatly enhanced
by Luther’s relentless war on the worship of images and pictures. The
arts of painting and sculpture practically disappeared from the church
edifices or were put under almost prohibitive restrictions. Music thus
became almost the sole artistic accessory to religion in the service
of the Reformed Church. But in music Luther recognized that there was
no real conflict between Protestant and Catholic ideals; hence he
retained the principal features of the musical system of the ancient
Church, and readjusted them in accordance with his altered conception
of worship. We have observed how he exalted the German hymn, which
had existed in pre-Reformation times only as an occasional religious
utterance and then always in extra-liturgical services, to a place
of chief importance in congregational worship. In his enthusiasm for
congregational song, however, there was no antagonism to the choir;
on the contrary, he made ample provision for it and urged every
encouragement of the use of contrapuntal music. Luther introduced
only one real innovation into his musical system--the congregational
chorale; for the rest it was based squarely on existing methods,
adopting with no essential changes the three chief features of the
Roman system: (1) the principles of the old polyphony as developed
by the Netherlanders and Italians; (2) the use of borrowed subjects
(_canti firmi_) as the basis of the church polyphony, the subjects
being taken from chorales, however, instead of from plain-song as in
the Roman system; and (3) a few Gregorian melodies and priestly chants
for certain parts of the service. Until the church-cantata developed as
a distinguishing feature under Bach’s guiding hands, the motet, with
Latin or German words and identical in form and style with the motet
of the old Church, was the chief representative of contrapuntal vocal
music in the Reformed Church. The important place which contrapuntal
organ music occupied in the service will be treated in the chapter in
which the early organ masters are discussed.
The first result of Luther’s efforts to bring about a reform in the
liturgy was the _Formula Missæ_ of 1523. In reality this was simply an
abridged form of the Roman Mass and was intended only as a temporary
expedient; everything repugnant to the fundamental principles of
the new faith was omitted, but Latin was retained as the language
of worship. In the _Deutsche Messe_ of 1526 he completed his long
contemplated and carefully thought out revision of the liturgy, in
which the process of simplification was carried still further and the
mother-tongue substituted for Latin in nearly all the offices.
Two years before this (1524) he had published the first Protestant
hymn-book (_Geystliche Gesangk Buchleyn_, for four voices), with the
assistance of his friend and musical adviser, Johann Walther. In 1525
Walther published another and larger one, with a preface by Luther.
Chorale-books now multiplied with such astonishing rapidity that at
the time of Luther’s death in 1546 there were no less than sixty
collections in use, including the various editions. The very first
hymn-melodies sung by the congregation were not harmonized at all. Soon
simple contrapuntal settings were given to these melodies, and in all
the early chorale-books the melody, following the contemporary usage
in contrapuntal writing, was placed in the tenor, the congregation
singing it in unison while the choir supplied the contrapuntal
parts. But by the end of the sixteenth century harmonic feeling had
progressed far enough to permit the melody to pass to the treble,[45]
where it naturally belonged in the people’s song. Henceforth it is
generally found there, supported by solid chord-movement, and its early
contrapuntal character becomes transformed into a simpler harmonic
style. The development of the organ in Germany during the closing
decades of the sixteenth century made it possible for this instrument
to take the place of the choir as an accompaniment to the unison
congregational song, the choir after 1600 finding ample scope for its
powers in the elaborate motet.
The brutal devastation of the Thirty Years’ War was followed by a
weakening of religious faith and vigor, and after the middle of the
seventeenth century interest in the chorale waned and the steady stream
of chorales slackened and soon came to a full stop. The sturdy militant
enthusiasm of the early years of the Reformation was superseded by
religious apathy which had a corresponding influence on church music.
The rhythmical freedom and variety of the early chorales gradually
disappeared and their vigorous character became tamed down to the type
as now sung, in which the tones of the melody assumed a uniform length.
While this style is undoubtedly dignified and imposing, it represents a
distinct loss of energy and vigor, as compared with the original free
form. But the chorale had already passed into the larger arteries of
German secular art-music, and here its tremendous powers of stimulation
were no longer dependent on the spiritual pulse of the church.
The historical importance of the chorale can scarcely be
overestimated. Musically speaking, it forms the basis of a large and
significant portion of the literature of German music, both vocal and
instrumental; religiously speaking, it was the effective instrument
through which the intensely devout faith of the German people found
its readiest and most expressive voice for their emotions of joy and
thanksgiving in the newly-found office of direct communion with God;
politically speaking, it was recognized by friend and foe alike as
the most powerful agency for the spread of the new doctrines. Whole
towns were said to have been won over to Protestantism by Luther’s
hymns. An irate priest exclaimed: ‘Luther’s songs have damned more
souls than all his books and speeches.’ Furthermore, the Protestant
hymn exercised an immediate and wholesome influence on the Roman
Catholic hymn. Realizing the popularity and devotional value of
the Lutheran hymn-singing, the Catholic authorities reversed their
traditional attitude toward the congregational hymn and strove to stem
the inroads made by this alluring propaganda on their congregations by
providing hymn-books of their own in the language of the people. The
first German Catholic collection (_Ein New Gesangbüchlin Geystlicher
Lieder_) appeared in 1537 in Leipzig, the work of the Dominican monk,
Michael Vehe, of Halle. It contained fifty-two hymns and forty-seven
melodies, many of which, in altered form, were borrowed from the
Protestant hymn-books, as Luther had borrowed from the best Catholic
hymns. Thus these religious opponents sought to square musical accounts
by freely appropriating each other’s treasures of sacred song. The
second Catholic hymn-book (_Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen_) did not
appear until 1567. It was edited by Johann Leisentrit of Bautzen and
comprised 147 melodies and 250 texts, among which were no less than
sixty-six hymns by Protestant poets, four, indeed, by Luther himself!
Thereafter similar hymn-books multiplied rapidly, and the history
of the development and subsequent decline of the Catholic German
hymn coincides quite largely with that of the Lutheran hymn and with
nearly the same contributing causes, political and religious. It is
of interest to note that about 1600 the hymn found its way for a time
even into the office of the Holy Mass. In the eighteenth century the
Catholic hymn sank back into its pre-Reformation status of unimportance
in public worship, but retained its position in the parochial schools,
where it was permanently placed early in the seventeenth century.
II
Just as a veritable swarm of religious poets had responded to
Luther’s Macedonian call for hymn-writers, so there soon appeared
among his followers a numerous array of musicians, eager and competent
to furnish the music for the new service. Johann Walther (1496-1570)
was one of the first composers in the Reformed Church--first in
importance as well as chronologically. Luther had summoned him to
Wittenberg in 1524 to assist him in arranging the musical part
of the German Mass, and, as already mentioned, he played a most
important part in arranging and editing the first chorale-books. He
was the first[46] to harmonize the hymn-melodies after the manner
of secular part-songs, that is, in simple four-part harmony, note
against note, which form has characterized the congregational hymn
since his time. He was the composer of many well-known chorales and
motets, and there are a few historians who even attribute to him the
authorship of the melody of the famous _Ein’ feste Burg_. Johann
Eccard (1553-1611), a prominent pupil of Orlandus Lassus, appeared
soon enough after Luther’s passing to be under the direct influence
of the great reformer. He enjoyed great popularity on account of his
simple and graceful part-songs, chorales, and motets. His chief work
was _Geistliche Lieder_ (‘A Collection of Fifty-five Sacred Melodies
for Feast-days and Holy-days’). Another important work was _Preussische
Fest-lieder_ (‘Prussian Festival Songs for the Whole Year’) for five
to eight voices. These were somewhat in the nature of a new form,
occupying a place midway in simplicity between the chorale and the
motet--akin to the chorale in having the melody in the highest part
and possessing a certain folk-song flavor, and approaching the motet
in having the melody contrapuntally dependent on the other parts and
therefore not to be sung alone. Michael Prætorius (1571-1621) was a
prolific writer of motets, psalms, chorales, and choir-pieces, some of
the last-named being compositions for several choirs in the Venetian
style for as many as thirty voices. From 1605 to 1610 he issued his
_Musæ Sioniæ_, a huge collection of sacred part-songs, including many
of his own, in sixteen volumes, five with Latin words, the remainder
with German. The name of Johann Crüger (1598-1662) is inseparably
connected with Lutheran church-song. He was one of the last great
composers of chorales--and one of the most prolific--and is remembered
now chiefly for the large number of these chorales that have remained
favorites during all the intervening years. Among the best-known are
_Nun danket alle Gott_; _Jesu meine Zuversicht_; _Schmücke dich, O
liebe Seele_; and _Jesu meine Freude_. Most of his chorales were
written in the rhythmically regular and subdued form which later was
accepted as the modern idea of the chorale. Other Protestant composers
who gained distinction as writers of Lutheran church-music before
Bach were Joachim von Burck or Moller (1541-1610), celebrated for his
_Odæ sacræ_ or part-songs; Bartholomäus Gesius (about 1555-1613);
Melchior Franck (about 1573-1639); Hermann Schein (1586-1630), known
chiefly by his _Cantional_, published in 1627, consisting of over
200 chorale-melodies, inclusive of about 80 original ones, which he
harmonized, mostly note against note, retaining the old irregular
rhythm of the earliest chorale melodies; and Andreas Hammerschmidt
(1612-1675), who, in his _Musikalische Andachten_ (‘Musical Devotions’)
in five volumes and ‘Dialogues between God and a Faithful Soul’ in two
volumes, pointed to a new and freer style in sacred composition and
made a deep impression on contemporary music of the Lutheran service.
With Heinrich Schütz, who will be discussed in a succeeding chapter,
Hammerschmidt constitutes the important connecting link between the
sixteenth-century ecclesiastical style and the perfected forms of
Sebastian Bach.
In retaining the trained choir for the performance of the more
elaborate choral music of the service, Luther was forced to make
special provision for the education of the choristers, for with
the Reformation came the suppression of the abbeys and monasteries
that formerly had been the chief supporters of the choir-schools,
and the complete transformation of the choristers from their former
semi-clerical to a laic status. As early as 1524 he had aroused
Protestant Germany to the imperative need of public education as the
only means of securing the success and permanence of Protestant ideals,
by addressing a stirring appeal to the councilors of German cities. In
all Protestant centres schools were founded and actively maintained
by municipal, private, and parochial endowment. Music was an integral
part of Luther’s scheme of public education, and in connection with
the larger institutions he urged the appointment of precentors or
cantors[47] who should have charge of the training of the choristers
and the selection and singing of the church music. These precentorships
became a powerful element in the development of Protestant sacred music
and in the diffusion of choral culture. The most famous one was that
of the _Thomasschule_ or School of St. Thomas in Leipzig, where a long
line of illustrious musicians from Schein, Kuhnau, and Sebastian Bach
down to Moritz Hauptmann, E. F. Richter, and Wilhelm Rust (died 1892)
enjoyed brilliant careers as cantors. Here a choir of about sixty boys
served four churches--St. Thomas, St. Nicholas, St. Peter, and the
New-Church. The lay character of the choirs and the close relation
between the religious life of the church and the home aided greatly in
the general movement of popular musical education.
Another influential factor in the spread of choral culture was the
wandering choirs, or _currendi_. The ancient custom of pupils from the
monastic schools going about town on certain festival days and singing
for alms was utilized in the Reformation period for the twofold purpose
of spreading the new doctrines and strengthening the popular love of
sacred song. The members of these _currendi_ belonged to the lower
grades of the parochial and cathedral schools, and to them was assigned
the duty of singing choral responses and chorales in the service.
On week-days they passed from house to house singing canticles, and
soon became so much of a public institution that their services were
in demand, at a small fee, for all sorts of home and semi-religious
occasions, such as birthdays, weddings, and baptisms. The older members
of the choirs were recruited in the higher or Latin schools from the
_alumni_ or boys who were given a home in the school buildings and who
in return obligated themselves to serve in the church choir and church
orchestra. They received the best vocal and instrumental instruction
and were therefore well equipped to perform the florid and difficult
music of the polyphonic masters. The interest of these choristers
in choral music continued after their connection with the choirs as
_alumni_ and _currendani_ (members of the _currendi_) had ceased,
and, as students in seminaries and universities or as plain citizens,
they exerted a wide influence on choral music either by individually
supplementing the local choirs or by establishing choruses which were
independent of the churches but which were used to augment the choirs
on important church festivals.
III
While the remarkable fermentation caused by Luther’s doctrines was
working such significant readjustments in the religious, intellectual,
and artistic life of Germany, with echoing responses in adjacent
continental countries, a similar movement of revolt and reconstruction
gathered headway in England, generated by the same fundamental causes
but starting some years later, and resulting in a complete separation
from Rome and in the establishment of the Church of England. But the
Anglican Church, like the Lutheran Church, did not stand upon a wholly
independent basis of its own. Both proclaimed themselves purifiers and
reformers, not destroyers, of the ancient church, hence both retained
a large portion of the liturgy of the parent church from which they
revolted. The Reformation in England, however, developed along quite
different lines from Luther’s energetic movement in Germany. On the
continent the revolt from Rome was from first to last a religious
movement; in England its first outward manifestation was political.
The incentive which led Henry VIII to break with Pope Clement VII was
not an unalterable religious conviction such as buttressed Luther at
the Diet of Worms, but was personal pique at the refusal of the Pope
to recognize the validity of his marriage with Anne Boleyn. In the
Act of Supremacy of 1534 the King and his successors were declared to
be ‘protector and supreme head on earth of the church and clergy of
England,’ but no doctrinal changes were involved and the immediate
result was merely a change in the name of the church. Yet Henry’s
secession soon had the result of forming a distinct line of cleavage
for those who had been secretly sympathizing with the religious ideals
of Luther and Zwingli on the continent and in whose Anglo-Saxon hearts
the right to independent thought and a liberated reason was deeply
cherished.
The real reconstruction of the liturgy for the new national Church in
conformity to fundamental Protestant doctrine began under Edward VI,
who authorized two forms of the Book of Common Prayer in succession
(1549 and 1552). In 1559 Elizabeth authorized a third form, which
remained in use for over a century. The revision of the Book of Common
Prayer in 1662 under Charles II practically completed the restatement
of doctrine begun by Edward VI.
The entire ritual of the Church of England is contained in this Book of
Common Prayer, and, as far as the ordinary congregational worship is
concerned, is divided into Matins and Evensong (or Morning Prayer and
Evening Prayer) and the office of Holy Communion. The ritual-music in
all three consists of chants, hymns, anthems, and certain free musical
settings of the canticles and other constant portions of the liturgy
technically called ‘services.’ In all matters of style and construction
the ‘service’ has closely followed the development of the anthem, the
early stages of which we shall now trace.
The anthem was recognized as a regular part of divine service early
in Elizabeth’s reign, but the word was not actually used in the Prayer
Book until the revision of 1662, which simply states after the third
collect, ‘In quires and places where they sing here followeth the
anthem.’ A few years after Elizabeth issued the ‘Injunctions’ granting
permission to use ‘a hymn or such like song in churches,’ the word
anthem appears in the second edition of Day’s choral collection,
entitled ‘Certain Notes set forth in four and five Parts to be sung
at the Morning and Evening Prayer and Communion.’ The high place
that church music has occupied in the thought of English musicians
is amply evidenced by the fact that practically every composer that
England has produced has given his most serious efforts to this form.
The actual output of anthems has been enormous; and, while it may be
said with much truth that the qualities of pedantry and dryness are
too much in evidence to permit the use of the terms ‘inspiring’ or
‘inspired’ for the bulk of them, it may be maintained with equal truth
that in no other class of church music, except the mighty individual
contributions of Palestrina and Bach, has the element of secularity
been so rigorously excluded as in the English anthem and its allied
forms. While the religious music of Protestant Germany and Catholic
Italy and France suffered a lamentable relapse in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries under the insinuating influence of the operatic
style, the music of the English cathedral service maintained on the
whole a serenity and certain austerity of style entirely consistent
with ecclesiastical ideals and dignity. The best examples of this
style--and they are numerous--give to the music of the Anglican Church
an honorable place in the literature of the worship music of the four
great historic branches of the church universal, notwithstanding its
average mediocrity and the absence of really great names among English
church composers.
The anthem is the culminating point of the ritual-music of the
Anglican Church, as the cantata was of the early Lutheran Church. In
its more extended form it has much the same general musical structure
as the cantata, comprising choruses, solos, duets, etc., but it has
never attained the large dimensions of its German analogue. Like the
church cantata, it made use of the vernacular from the beginning,
and, thus established on the basis of a direct verbal appeal to the
congregation, it in time evolved a musical type of its own, clearly
differentiated from other distinctive types of church-music and
embodying the essential qualities of the church from whose innermost
being it blossomed.
The word ‘anthem’ (from the Greek _Antiphona_, through the changing
forms, _antefne_, _antem_, _anthem_) naturally suggests the idea of
antiphonal or responsive music, and it originally had this application,
but not since the restriction of its use to a specific and distinctive
form of church music. Its text is usually taken from the Psalms or
other portions of the Bible, or from the liturgy. The anthem has never
been a real part of the liturgy in the same sense as musical portions
of the ‘service,’ for its words have never been authoritatively
prescribed for the various days of the church calendar, a wide latitude
being allowed in this respect.
Four kinds of anthems are recognized and named according to the vocal
forces employed in performance. They are called ‘full’ when written
for chorus throughout; ‘verse’ when written for chorus and various
groupings of solo voices, the chorus being of secondary importance;
‘solo’ when written for chorus and one solo voice; and ‘double’ when
written for a double choir singing antiphonally. The ‘full’ anthem
is the natural successor to the earlier Latin motet; the ‘verse’ and
‘solo’ anthems clearly show the influence of Italian solo-forms applied
to the problems of church-music. The utmost freedom of form is now
permitted in the anthem and its dimensions vary from those of a simple
hymn-tune to extended compositions in several movements constructed
with elaborate contrapuntal skill and employing independent organ, and
sometimes orchestral, accompaniment. In this larger form it approaches
closely the character of the cantata, although not so individualized in
its parts.
The earliest anthems date from the beginning of Elizabeth’s long reign
(1558-1603) and the cultivation of this form has gone on from this
period in unbroken continuity, save for the brief ascendency of Puritan
ideals during the Commonwealth. The literature of Anglican Church music
divides itself into four periods of quite distinctive characteristics:
I. (1550-1660) in the contrapuntal style of the unaccompanied
motet;
II. (1660-1720) the beginning of the modern free style;
III. (1720-1850) middle modern; and
IV. 1850 to the present.
The peculiar character of the English Reformation in its early stages
was reflected in the ritual-music of the newly-founded national
church. The leaders of the Protestant movement on the continent were
mostly men who sprang from the ranks of the common people. It was in
large measure a democratic and popular movement. It was only natural
that the music of the people should find an echoing response in the
music of the church which sprang from such a foundation, and thus the
chorale, adapted from or closely related to folk-music, forced its way
into the Lutheran ritual-music and exercised a profound influence on
all aspects of the worship-music of German Protestantism. The English
Reformation had no such popular basis. The various stages of its
progress were in the main determined by royal edicts or by acts of
parliaments subservient to the royal will. No channel was open through
which the music of the people could exert any appreciable influence on
the figured music of the Anglican Church. The fragrance of the English
folk-song may be detected in many an example of English hymnology, but
no such aroma ever penetrated into the atmosphere of the anthem or the
‘service.’
When the break with Rome came and the reorganized Church became an
established fact, an astonishingly small number of changes were made,
considering the momentous nature of the revolt, either in the general
body of ecclesiastical officers of the Church or among the church
musicians. For the first century of its existence the figured music
of the Anglican service was almost identical in character with the
corresponding portions of the Roman Catholic service. The style and
structure of the anthem with English words differed in no respect from
the Latin motet. The traditions of English church-music, traditions
whose effects are still to be felt in the choral portions, were firmly
laid by men deeply skilled in polyphonic writing, men whose learning
and musicianship made them worthy compeers of the great continental
contrapuntists, Lassus and Palestrina.
Among the greatest of the church composers of this early period were
such men as Thomas Tallis (1529?-1585), whose anthems ‘I Call and
Cry’ and ‘All People that on Earth do Dwell’ are fine examples of the
old contrapuntal style; William Byrd (1538?-1623), with his masterful
‘Bow Thine Ear’ and ‘Sing Joyfully’; and Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625),
the ‘English Palestrina,’ whose ‘Hosanna,’ ‘Lift up your Heads,’ ‘O
Clap your Hands together,’ and ‘Almighty and Everlasting God’ have
not yet ceased to excite admiration and reverence for their solemnity
and dignity. Most of the anthems of this period are ‘full,’ though
occasional ‘verse’ anthems are also to be found. All were essentially
_a cappella_ and relied wholly upon purely vocal effects. Small
portable organs were in common use in many churches, but when they
were employed as accompaniment they, as well as occasional orchestral
instruments, merely reinforced the voice-parts or filled out the vocal
‘rests.’
IV
Since the Reformation in all countries was fundamentally democratic,
though in varying degrees of expression, it was inevitable that the
people’s song should be given substantial recognition in all forms
of the Protestant service. In Germany the chorale was at once the
utterance of profoundest religious conviction in the sanctuary, in
the home, and on the battlefield; and the incitement to creative
energy in more elaborate musical forms. But in respect to its alliance
with higher forms of art-music, the chorale has no analogue in the
ritual-music of other Protestant services. In France, Switzerland,
and the Netherlands, the only form of religious song tolerated by the
Reformed Church was Calvin’s austere psalmody, which was the beginning
and end of worship-music in all churches under his leadership. His
intolerant antipathy to everything that even suggested the elaborate
and beautiful forms of the Roman ritual rigidly excluded all polyphonic
or figured music as well as all forms of instrumental accompaniment.
The Genevan Psalter, published in various editions from 1542 to 1562
when it appeared in its complete form, consisted of the metrical
translations of the Psalms by Clement Marot and Theodore Beza set, for
the most part, to adaptations of popular secular French songs, though
many of the finest tunes have been variously attributed, but without
conclusive proof, to Louis Bourgeois, Guillaume Franc, and Claude
Goudimel. Many of the fine melodies of the Genevan Psalter, such as
‘Old Hundredth’ or the long-metre doxology and ‘Toulon,’ have persisted
in popularity during the centuries and have been permanently enshrined
in Protestant hymnology. Although many editions of the most popular of
the psalm-tunes appeared for four voices (the melody at first in the
tenor), finely harmonized by Bourgeois, Goudimel and others, no other
than plain unisonal singing of the tunes was permitted in the church
service for over two centuries.
The movement in favor of congregational song quickly passed to
England, where, however, complex conditions prevented the development
of any such uniform type as the chorale. The establishment of the
Church of England, with its revised liturgy and musical service, had
scarcely been effected when it came into collision with opposition
within the Protestant fold far more intense and bitter than any
encountered from its Roman Catholic foes. The Puritan party, in its
excessive repugnance to all forms of ritualism or ceremonial and in its
invincible conviction that everything artistic in worship was sinful,
fiercely attacked the Anglican Church as an insincere compromise with
popery. Following Calvin’s leadership, Puritanism threw overboard the
whole structure of formal worship in the historic church and permitted
in the service no music at all except the congregational singing of the
metrical psalms. In this wholly democratic conception of worship-music
there was obviously no incentive to any higher form of musical
expression. The only contribution of the Dissenters, therefore, to the
literature of church-music was their hymnody, or rather psalmody, for
the words, even though many times rewritten and reparaphrased, were
rigidly limited to the Psalms. The first complete English metrical
Psalter[48] was the famous one by Sternhold and Hopkins in 1562, which
held sway among Puritan congregations for nearly two centuries and a
half and was likewise supreme in the Anglican Church for at least a
century and a half. The new version of the Psalter by Tate and Brady,
published in 1696, remained in favor till a still later date or till
about the middle of the nineteenth century, but the popularity of
both was seriously challenged by the splendid version of Isaac Watts
in 1719. The origin of the sixty-five different psalm-tunes in the
Sternhold and Hopkins collection has been open to much controversy. It
seems highly probable that most of them were of English composition,
though many were doubtless written in imitation of hymn-tunes that were
favorites among the French, Swiss, and German Protestants.
The congregational song of the Anglican Church in the first century
and a half of its existence likewise kept close to the Psalter. Hymns,
in the German sense of spontaneous expression of individual religious
sentiment, were practically unknown in English religious song until
just before the period of Watts and the Wesleys. The idea that nothing
should be used in public worship that was not strictly Scriptural
dominated the services of Conformists and Non-conformists alike. To be
sure, a few ancient hymns, such as the _Te Deum_ and _Veni Creator_,
together with some canticles and ‘spiritual songs,’ were admitted into
the Appendix to the Psalter, to be sung in private devotions, but
it was not until the closing years of the seventeenth century that
the hymn emerged from the protecting care of the Psalms and asserted
itself as an independent form in the service. The first successful
collection in which it assumed a place of its own was ‘Select Psalms
and Hymns’ for St. James’s, Westminster, 1697. A new and glorious era
for English hymnody was at hand, in which the hard, prosaic lines of
the old psalmody were to be laid aside for more spontaneous, inspired
religious utterance. But if the verses of the old poets of an austere,
unloving religion were to be discarded and gradually forgotten, many of
the melodies to which they were sung have lived to be joined to words
of sweeter comfort and more joyous hope than the English religionists
of those olden days permitted themselves. Most of the early tunes were
written in the then prevalent church modes, many were undoubtedly
adapted from English folk-songs and continental melodies, but the names
of many of the greatest English composers of this period--Tye, Tallis,
Gibbons, Byrd--lived on in their inspired church tunes and are still
to be found in nearly every modern hymnal in use, whether prepared for
liturgical or non-liturgical services.
FOOTNOTES:
[41] In the ‘Thuringian Mystery, or the Parable of the Ten Virgins,’
written evidently by monks and performed for the first time at
Eisenach, Thuringia, on April 24, 1322, the futility of intercessory
prayers to saints or even to the Virgin is asserted.
[42] This substitution was not entirely accomplished during Luther’s
lifetime, however, as a few Latin motets were retained for a long time.
[43] Philip Wackernagel in his collection of old German hymns (_Das
deutsche Kirchenlied_) gives 1,448 examples of these, dating from 868
to 1518.
[44] Only two can with certainty be ascribed to him--_Jesaia dem
Propheten das geschah_ and _Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott_--while five
more are probably by him.
[45] The first chorale-book to adopt this as a fixed principle was the
one published in 1586 at Nuremberg by Lucas Osiander, ‘Fifty Sacred
Songs and Psalms, arranged contrapuntally for four voices, so that a
whole Christian congregation may unite in the singing of them.’
[46] _Cf._ Naumann, ‘The History of Music’ (Eng. trans.), Vol. I, p.
473.
[47] Cantors, however, had existed from early times in the
ecclesiastical establishments and singing schools (_scholæ cantorum_).
[48] Sternhold’s first incomplete collection of nineteen psalms was
published in 1549, the year of his death.
CHAPTER IV
THE EARLY ITALIAN SECULAR CANTATA, THE GERMAN CLASSICAL CANTATA, THE
ENGLISH ANTHEM, AND OTHER SHORT CHORAL FORMS
The entrance of dramatic tendencies into music--Carissimi
and the early cantata; Rossi, Cesti, and Legrenzi--A.
Scarlatti, the culminating point in cantata-writing in
Italy; later developments of the Italian cantata--The German
church cantata and its relation to the Lutheran service;
cantata-texts of Neumeister and others--Bach in the service
of the church; his church cantatas--G. F. Handel; Joseph
Haydn; W. A. Mozart--English church music in the eighteenth
century; the anthem; Croft, Greene, Boyce, and others--Later
history of the motet in England, Italy, and Germany;
decadence of the madrigal; the glee, the part-song, the
masque and the ode.
The year 1600 is probably the most significant milestone in all the
long history of the development of the art of music. By a strange
coincidence this year witnessed the performance of the first oratorio,
Cavalieri’s ‘The Representation of Body and Soul,’ in Rome and the
first public performance[49] of opera, Peri’s _Euridice_, in Florence.
These events were of tremendous import in that they not only emphasized
and gave direction to the newly-developed dramatic tendencies, but
made necessary the further and more complete development of two
closely-related but subordinate activities--independent instrumental
music and pure vocal art. The entrance of a consciously dramatic
element into musical composition meant a comprehensive widening of
the area of musical expression. Heretofore music had served its
chief purpose and had found its justification in the service of the
church. Though there are portions of the Roman Catholic liturgy
that are essentially dramatic in their spiritual significance, the
avowedly impersonal character of the whole liturgy had excluded the
possibility of utilizing these situations for dramatic treatment, even
in those parts specifically given over to elaborate musical settings.
Had such a dramatic treatment been in consonance with the spirit of
this liturgy, some of the many opportunities would certainly have
been seized upon by such a genius as Palestrina, for there are many
striking examples in his masses and motets of his wonderful ability to
delineate the sentiment and mood of the text and reinforce the meaning
and significance of a word by some expressive chord or dissonance.
These instances serve to suggest how deeply he sensed the genius of the
Roman liturgy and under what admirable artistic restraint he must have
labored in not exploiting the dramatic possibilities which lay even in
the limited musical vocabulary of his period. But this restraint was no
longer necessary in the new secular fields of composition opened up by
the disciples of ‘the new music’ (_nuove musiche_).
The first results of the infusion of this consciously new factor into
musical speech was an intense activity in all fields of composition
that offered opportunity for the employment of the _musica parlante_
or _stilo rappresentativo_, as the new form of musical declamation or
recitative was called that formed the distinguishing characteristic
of the works of Peri, Cavalieri and other early composers of the new
movement. This new form of musical speech was not intended by the
Florentine reformers as an invention, but merely as a revival of the
ancient manner of declaiming tragedy, using varying degrees of vocal
inflection in accordance with the demands of the rhetorical utterance
of the text, with no reference whatever to melodic structure or design.
While the use of the recitative was at first confined to the
opera,[50] it was only natural that experiments should be made in other
forms, less pretentious, in which it was desired to clothe a poetic
text with the expressive strength and beauty of musical tones.
The term ‘cantata’ came to be used by composers in the early part of
the seventeenth century (first probably not far from 1650) to designate
some of these short secular compositions for the chamber, usually
dramatic in character, which were written for a single voice with
a simple accompaniment for one instrument, generally a lute. These
secular compositions were called _cantate da camera_. They were given
without action and at first were sung in unbroken recitative, imitating
the style employed with such success in the operas of Caccini, Peri,
and Monteverdi. But the monotony of this style soon led to the
introduction of the air or sustained melody, which recurred several
times during the progress of the recitative, but with a different text
each time.
I
The cantata as a distinct musical form was assiduously cultivated by
nearly all of the important Italian composers during the seventeenth
century and its form soon began to crystallize along the lines which,
for the following century, characterized it. In this work of definition
and crystallization, Giacomo Carissimi (born probably 1604, died 1674)
had a most distinguished part. He also transferred the cantata from the
chamber to the church and wrote prolifically in both secular and sacred
forms. A more detailed analysis of Carissimi’s influence on choral
writing will be reserved for the discussion of early oratorio, but it
may be said here that, though he cannot be credited with the invention
of the sacred cantata, he was the first musician of large calibre to
adopt this form and to lavish on it his best thought and most profound
skill. He is generally admitted to have exerted more influence on
the perfecting of the recitative than any of his contemporaries and
he firmly established in sacred music those elements of pathos and
dramatic fervor which had proved to be so effective in the opera
and for which the public had acquired so keen an appetite. This
enrichment of the purely musical means of expression in church music
in the interest of greater dramatic realism was by no means a healthy
accretion from the standpoint of pure ecclesiastical music, for, with
the introduction of the dramatic element and the employment of the solo
voice with all the possibilities for virtuosity and the temptations for
display, the period of decadence in the music of the Roman Church began.
All of Carissimi’s cantatas were for one voice or at most for two and
all were written with accompaniment for a single instrument--lute,
harpsichord, ‘cello, etc. His accompaniments were simple, but displayed
unusual lightness and variety for his period. He left a vast amount
of completed work behind him, but little of it is now available.
Dr. Charles Burney,[51] writing near the close of the eighteenth
century, when actual performances of Carissimi’s works were not such
a matter of ancient history as now, gives warm praise to the beauty
and musical effectiveness of his cantatas and liberally reproduces
musical extracts. In speaking of a collection of twenty-two of his
cantatas, preserved in Christ Church, Oxford, Burney says: ‘There is
not one which does not offer something that is still new, curious, and
pleasing; but most particularly in the recitatives, many of which seem
the most expressive, affecting, and perfect that I have seen. In the
airs there are frequently sweet and graceful passages, which more than
a hundred years have not impaired.’ His secular cantatas were both
lyric and dramatic. Only one was suggested by a special event, the
death of Mary Queen of Scots.
The cantata of the seventeenth century was evidently as diverse in
style and character as were its descendants in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries. It dealt with subjects that were sacred, profane,
heroic, comic, and sometimes ludicrous. The wider range of subjects
available for the secular or chamber cantata made this form especially
appealing to composers. Then, too, the voice was the most perfectly
developed medium of musical expression that the age provided--the
heritage of centuries of training in the service of the church. While
the violins of the last half of the century approached the most
perfect specimens that the great Cremona violin-makers produced, this
instrument was at a disadvantage as compared with the voice, because
instrumental forms were still very crude and in the making, and the
instruments on which the violin depends for accompanying harmonic
background (the harpsichord and the clavichord) were inadequate,
unsatisfactory, and very limited in their range of musical expression.
Avoidance of a set or arbitrary form was one of the characteristics of
the seventeenth-century chamber cantata as a whole. This freedom in
form (that is, in the order and kind of arias, etc.) offered greatest
scope for the imagination and intellectual capacities of the composer.
The period of vocal virtuosity and degeneracy had not yet set in and
the singers themselves were not only the best trained in everything
pertaining to musical science, but were the most intellectual of
musicians and represented the best phases of musical art and culture.
The intimacy of the chamber and the absence of scenery and action in
performance gave the highest incentive and best opportunity to both
composer and singer to subordinate everything to the higher demands
of artistic expression. Hence the composers of the seventeenth and
first half of the eighteenth centuries regarded the chamber cantata
much in the same light that Beethoven and Brahms in the nineteenth
century regarded the pianoforte sonata and the violin sonata--the most
intimate and intellectual form of music that the age could produce. All
the great composers up to and including Handel practised in this form
as Bach did in fugue, and in its exploitation they worked out many a
problem of thematic development, of contrast in melodic forms, and of
interesting harmonic structure and key-relationships, thereby enriching
the vocabulary of the art for succeeding generations. Mention will
here be made of the more important of Carissimi’s contemporaries and
immediate successors who gained distinction as writers of cantata and
who aided in its further development.
The elaborate cantatas of Luigi Rossi (born near the end of the
sixteenth century, died about 1650) for a single voice--_a voce
sola_--are among the very earliest examples of this form and are
noteworthy illustrations of how quickly the vague and indefinite
recitative of the Florentine monodies began to show tendencies to
formal organization and a pleasing, fluent style for the solo voices.
A fine example of the newly-awakened tendency toward definite form in
secular music is found in his cantata _Gelosia_, which Burney quotes in
full in his History and in which Parry[52] finds the following definite
formal scheme, which had evidently been carefully thought out by the
composer:
A^1. 4/4, declamatory recitative of 23 measures and close.
B^1. 3/4, tuneful--nine measures.
C^1. 4/4, declamatory recitative of 19 measures.
A^2. Same bass as A^1, but different words and varied
voice-part.
B^2. 3/4, same bass as B^1, but different words and different
voice-part.
C^2. 4/4, recitative. Same bass as C^1, but different words
and different voice-part.
A^3. Same music as A^1, but different words.
B^3. 3/4, same as B^1, with different words.
C^3. Same bass and almost the same voice-part as C^1 till
last three measures, which are varied to give effect to the
conclusion.
Marc’ Antonio Cesti (about 1620-1669) was a pupil of Carissimi and
went far beyond the efforts of his teacher in the formal construction
of his melodies. His great popularity attests the increasing fondness
of Italian taste for tuneful formality. One of his cantatas, _O cara
libertà_, is said to have been one of the most famous of the century.
Many of his melodies approximate the characteristic forms in which
later vocal arias were cast, including the forms consisting of two
contrasted parts (A B) and of three parts with the contrasted section
in the middle (A B A). In the latter form the third part is a varied or
free repetition of the first part.
Giovanni Legrenzi (about 1625-1690), though only five years younger
than Cesti, made a much larger contribution to the development of his
art, especially on the instrumental side of vocal music. He is credited
with being one of the first composers to display a real instinct for
instrumental music, and he is said to have reorganized the orchestra
used to supplement the organ at St. Mark’s, Venice, increasing it to 34
performers--8 violins, 11 violette (small viola), 2 viole da braccia,
2 viole da gamba, 1 violone (bass viol), 4 theorbos, 2 cornets, 1
bassoon, and 3 trombones. His accompaniments show great vivacity and in
general a variety of style in strong contrast to those of most of his
co-workers. He published many cantatas in which the music runs along
uninterruptedly from beginning to end. The succession of recitatives,
melodious passages, and what might be called arias varies in each
cantata according to the demands of the texts. A great variety is also
noticeable in the form of the arias, which are remarkably free in
rhythm and declamatory flow. His cantatas are among the best types of
this seventeenth-century form.
II
Alessandro Scarlatti (1659-1725) undoubtedly looms largest among the
figures in Italian music of the seventeenth century and the first half
of the eighteenth century, with especially marked influence in the
fields of opera and cantata. One of the most prolific composers of all
ages, he completed 115 operas, many masses (at least 10 survive), 8
oratorios, and a vast number of cantatas[53] (500 have come down to
us), besides quantities of music in other forms. The extraordinary
number of his chamber cantatas that survive him is strong evidence
of his estimate of and affection for this form, examples of which
cover every period of his life and reflect as faithfully as do
Beethoven’s sonatas the various phases and stages of the composer’s
artistic unfolding. Scarlatti was the greatest of the writers of
chamber-cantatas and only a few of his successors approached him in
excellence in this field. Indeed, the popularity of this form seems to
have spent its force in Italy soon after the middle of the eighteenth
century. Many of his cantatas bear internal evidence that he regarded
them as ‘carefully designed studies in composition,’[54] in the
working out of which he brought to bear his best musicianship. One of
the finest examples of this careful and beautiful workmanship is the
cantata _Andata a miei sospiri_, two settings of which he wrote for and
sent to his composer-friend, Gasparini, in 1712.
But the very fertility of his invention and the ease and rapidity with
which his musical thoughts flowed from his pen generated a tendency
toward the adoption of a stereotyped style, influenced as he was by
the growing inclination of his pleasure-loving Neapolitan audiences
to demand triviality more than dramatic seriousness, tuneful melody
and vocal display more than sincerity of expression. He did not
possess the rugged tenacity of artistic purpose that drove Gluck, a
half-century later, to insist on the primacy of the dramatic intent and
the complete subordination of the musical element to the dramatic. So
we find that under his hand the cantata, as well as the opera, became
conventionalized in form. The vocal element, on which he lavished
greatest care, became predominant and the aria, as the chief means
of vocal utterance, fell under the same spell of conventionality.
But in the cantatas, especially in the essentially musical parts,
there are comparatively few evidences of the spirit of triviality
that he so freely admitted into his operas. It is not true, as is
frequently asserted, that Scarlatti invented the stereotyped forms
of the aria that were the chief stock in trade of his successors in
Italian opera until the middle of the nineteenth century. Nearly all
of these aria-forms, including the commonest and most banal operatic
form, the one with the indispensable _da capo_, may be found in the
cantatas and operas of the composers already mentioned, among whom the
inclination toward definite organization in melodic form was already
well developed before Scarlatti had more than begun his career as
composer. The incredible number of arias that he wrote and their easy
classification as to form certainly made this common error of statement
a very pardonable one. From his position as the greatest composer of
his period, however, he gave to their use an authority and an impetus
whose force was not fully spent for a century and a quarter after his
death.
But if Scarlatti’s contributions to the cantata and opera were
mainly along the line of the glorification of the purely musical and
vocal elements, in one direction certainly he contributed richly to
the permanent progress of musical art. In Carissimi’s cantatas the
accompaniments were very simple, written usually with figured bass
only, which was left to the performers to fill in at their discretion.
After Carissimi the accompaniment began to assume a more elaborate
character, but many of Scarlatti’s show utmost care in working out.
Most of these were for violin or ‘cello. Some of those for ‘cello
required such large technical equipment that ability to play them was
looked upon as a mark of distinguished musicianship. Indeed, it was not
uncommon in that age, which was far more superstitious than our own,
for audiences, deeply impressed with the beauty of tone and marvellous
skill of the performers, to believe and declare that angels had assumed
the form of men.
Cantata-writing in Italy reached its highest point in A. Scarlatti
and seems to have been, for a period extending, roughly speaking,
from 1650 to 1750, almost the only form of vocal music used for
private or chamber purposes. As Parry points out, ‘it is certainly
creditable to the taste of the prosperous classes that a branch of art
which had such distinguished qualities should have been so much in
demand; for the standard of style, notwithstanding obvious defects,
is always high.’[55] But the decline in the standards of opera had an
inevitable effect on the character of its closely allied form, the
chamber-cantata. Though composers continued industriously to employ
it, the finest examples are to be found among the composers already
mentioned. In addition to the above, Giovanni Battista Bassani (about
1657-1716) published numerous cantatas on love themes for one, two,
or three voices with instruments and maintained a noble style in both
vocal and instrumental parts, his handling of the instrumental parts
being distinctly an advance over previous composers.
It is to be noted that few, if any, distinguishing or personal marks
can be discovered in the works of the various Italian composers of
this period, particularly those whose names follow. All say the same
elegant, suave things in much the same elegant, suave manner. Francesco
Gasparini (1668-1727) had such a high reputation in his time that
Alessandro Scarlatti sent his son, Domenico, to study with him. Later
a curious rivalry sprang up between Gasparini and the elder Scarlatti,
which took the strange guise of a cantata-correspondence in which
each sought to puzzle and outdo the other. Gasparini’s fame, however,
rested on a treatise upon accompaniment, published in 1708, which
remained a standard work in Italy until well along in the nineteenth
century. Benedetto Marcello (1686-1739), celebrated for his settings
of 50 psalms for one, two, three, and four voices with accompaniment,
published 26 cantatas for different voices with accompaniment for
various instruments. The Royal Library at Dresden contains copies of
two of his cantatas--_Timotheus_, to his own Italian translation of
Dryden’s poem, and _Cassandra_--both of which were famous in their
time. Emanuele Astorga (1681-1736) is remembered now almost entirely by
his beautiful cantatas for solo voices (soprano or contralto), of which
about 100 are extant, and for two voices, all with accompaniment in
figured bass for the harpsichord. Ten of these duets (for soprano and
contralto) are published in Peters’ Edition and also by Leuckhart with
accompaniment arranged for pianoforte.
Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757), son of Alessandro Scarlatti and
especially famous as a harpsichord player and composer for this
instrument, wrote many cantatas in which the form became more
extended, comprising various movements. In this extension of form
Scarlatti was followed by Pergolesi (1710-1736), whose cantata _Orfeo
ed Euridice_, written in the composer’s last illness, was the most
famous of the period. Giovanni Battista Bononcini (about 1660-about
1750), remembered now as the defeated rival of the great Handel in the
famous London opera-writing duel, was one of the most prolific of all
cantata writers, though the music was quite mediocre. Other well-known
Italian composers of the eighteenth century who employed the extended
cantata-form were Antonio Caldara (1678-1763) and Niccola Porpora
(1686-1766 or 1767). The great Handel himself wrote many cantatas for
single voice in the prevalent fashion and in many of them used for
his accompaniment such combinations of instruments as strings and
oboes. After Handel’s time the cantata of the Italian type described
above lost favor and was gradually superseded by the concert aria,
a form which Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn have used with fine
results.[56] Mozart gave the name cantata to a composition for three
solo voices, chorus, and orchestra in three movements, written about
1783 (Koëchel No. 429). The distinction of having used the chorus in
the cantata for the first time, however, probably rests with Giovanni
Paësiello (1741-1816), who, in an attempt to revive the waning interest
in this form, sought to give greater vocal effectiveness by contrasting
choral with solo effects. In this formal respect at least, several
of his cantatas (as _Dafne ed Alceo_ and _Retour de Persée_) are
prototypes of the present-day form.
Thus far in the consideration of the cantata we have been concerned
mainly with its secular form and with its development in Italy. The
secular cantata in Italian style does not seem to have gained any
permanent popularity outside the land of its birth, certainly not
enough to attract the attention of the best composers either in France,
which had developed a dramatic style of its own along different
principles from those of the Italians, or in Germany and England, in
both of which countries the influence of Italian opera predominated. In
France only unimportant composers cared to employ it. In England native
composers of the seventeenth century found two worthy substitutes for
the cantata in the masque and the ode.
In the very beginning of its career the cantata was successfully placed
within the domain of church music by Carissimi, and during his lifetime
and later the church-cantata in Italy had much the same form as that of
the oratorio, to which it was so closely allied in spirit and function.
But in Germany, under the influence of the intense religious feeling
engendered by the stormy days of the Reformation, it took on the
character almost of a national religious institution. Here it developed
into a form of such magnificent proportions and significant influence
that an extended exposition of some of the contributing causes and
accompanying conditions may be pertinent.
III
German choral music, which in its early history means German
church music, cannot be considered apart from certain fundamental
national traits which are present in some degree even in the earliest
folk-music of this nation and in the effusions of the mediæval
minnesingers--traits which instinctively turned their artistic
attention toward sincerity of poetic thought and utterance rather
than sensuous beauty of melodic expression. An instinct for grasping
fundamentals, a fervid devotion, and a rugged tenacity in following
accepted ideals--these were qualities that made Germany a fit cradle
for the Reformation and the German people the foremost defenders and
stoutest preachers of the religious emancipation of the individual
which Luther proclaimed with such far-sounding tones. The contrapuntal
skill that German musicians had learned, along with the rest of
Europe, from the Netherland masters, they did not use so much for
the glorification of music or for æsthetic and formal considerations
as for the enrichment and elucidation of the ideas and sentiments of
the words. When the rest of Europe had capitulated to the ravishing
sweetness and allurements of Italian melody, Germany listened somewhat
incredulously, and even when this charmer was finally admitted into the
inner courts of its musical household, it was compelled to assume a
purified and chastened form.
The essential characteristics of German musical art are well
illustrated by the condition of music in Germany in the seventeenth
century as compared with that of Italy. The secular impulse that had
wrought such a revolution in Italian music and musical methods had
made itself felt in Germany at an even earlier period, but in a very
different manner. In the southern country it brought about an intense
development of the dramatic element. This almost immediately reacted
upon church music and left upon it an indelible impression, sadly
weakening the Palestrina ideal of impersonality with the impingement of
the strong personal, human element which the introduction of the solo
inevitably emphasized, and which led, as has been pointed out, to a
period of deterioration in Catholic church music.
The change in German music can also be traced to a secular source,
but not only were the immediate results of this change, in terms of
actual music, vastly different from those in Italy, but the controlling
motive which molded its varied manifestations was alike different.
The German Protestants were at once summoned to test the strength
and sincerity of their new-found faith in the crucible of physical
combat, and they were stirred as was possibly no other nation engaged
in the complicated succession of religious wars of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. As it was religious fervor that led them to take
up the sword in defence, so it was religious sentiment and devotion
that furnished the motive that lies back of the entire scheme of German
musical art of the seventeenth century. To the rather austere German
composers of this period music seemed to be too lovely and pure a thing
to be used for histrionic tricks and trappings. So the most sincere
and important utterances of German musical art of the seventeenth
century are to be found in the field of religious music. It has been
pointed out (page 79) that the chorale was the basis of the music which
sprang into being as the natural expression of the Protestant movement
in Germany. Since the rich mass of folk-song supplied such abundant
material for the chorales used in the Lutheran service, the secular
element through this channel entered into the very warp and woof of
German music, and carried into it the quality of simple and fervid
sincerity that in a marked degree has always characterized the German
folk-song and the art-music that sprang from it.
The secular element had wrought a complete change in Italian music
within the short space of a half century and the impetuous Italians
had given themselves over to the new tendency so whole-heartedly
that the boundaries of the old ecclesiastical art were almost wholly
obliterated. An unexpected caution and conservatism, however,
manifested itself among the Germans and an entire century elapsed
before a definite and distinctive art-fabric was evolved from the
material at hand. Composers, now almost wholly forgotten, but who
might have won more frequent historic mention had they chosen to tread
the more brilliant path of histrionic art, worked contentedly and
with pious enthusiasm to make chorales for the church service or to
construct motets by using the chorale tunes as subjects and weaving
voice-parts around them in expressive counterpoint or in imitative
figures, with all the polyphonic skill they possessed.
Out of this religious zeal finally emerged the German church cantata,
which found its culminating point, as did so many other musical forms
associated with German church music, in Johann Sebastian Bach. In
Italy and elsewhere in connection with Roman Catholic music, the
church cantata never possessed any liturgical significance, though
it was freely employed for purposes of religious entertainment and
instruction. But almost immediately after its introduction into
Germany through the gifted German students who had studied in Italian
art-centres, notably in Venice, the church cantata became a part of the
regular order of the German Protestant church worship and thus became
the object of solicitous attention on the part of Protestant German
composers. Encouraged by the church and firmly imbedded in its liturgy,
it needed only the touch of Bach’s genius to cause it to grow into
full artistic stature and stand as the most precious musical gift of
German Protestantism to the world. In the seventeenth century it was
frequently called ‘spiritual concerto’ or ‘spiritual dialogue,’[57]
and consisted of Biblical passages and church or devotional hymns.
During this period its rather crude musical form usually followed this
order--an instrumental introduction, a ‘spiritual aria’ (a simple
strophic song for one or more voices), one or two vocal solos, and a
chorale or two.
While German religious music was cautiously feeling its way toward
individual self-expression, there were not wanting among German
musicians those who felt that the forms of Italian dramatic music,
such as the recitative and aria with their obvious possibilities for
the expression of impassioned human feeling, should be fully utilized
in the structure of their new religious art, and who argued that the
qualities of brilliance, variety, and personal utterance should be
present in ecclesiastical art as well as in secular. On the other hand
were those who were in favor of banishing from the church service
all vocal music except that based on the austere chorale and motet
(analogous to the Latin motet of the sixteenth century), and who would
restrict all church music to the more abstract, objective, and liturgic
conception derived from ecclesiastical traditions. Standing on middle
ground between these two extreme ideals, Bach, with the insight born of
genius, retained all that was best and most serviceable in each--the
simple strength and sturdy devotion of the chorale, together with the
contrapuntal chorus, as the collective expression of exalted religious
sentiment, and the recitative and Italian aria, chastened and stripped
of its histrionic shallowness and insincerity, as the individual
personal utterance of the more subjective moods of meditation and
introspection.
The Lutheran Church retained in its liturgy many of the prominent
features of the Roman liturgy. Among them were portions of the mass,
the custom of chanting certain parts of the service, the singing of
ancient hymns and traditional tunes, and the observance of special
church days and festivals. The calendar of the church year was largely
the same in the two faiths, and in the Lutheran Church, as in the
Roman, the order and character of the different portions of the service
were carefully prescribed by church law. Each Sunday and special day
had its own appropriate Bible lesson, versicles and prayers, and its
own chorales, the words of which would illustrate the Bible texts
of the day, commenting upon them and applying their lessons to the
common experience of the devout worshippers. This intimate relation of
chorales to a definite church-day was of obvious advantage to composers
in that it enabled them to construct, around the chorales as central
points, compositions which would amplify the sentiment of the stanzas
of the chorales and serve as musical commentaries on the religious
significance of the various days of the church calendar. The cantata
thus became the chief musical feature of the Lutheran liturgy, and the
words brought to the attention of the congregation some particular
feature of the religious thought that received special emphasis in the
order of the day.
The great popularity of the cantata with both church authorities
and congregation in Germany was undoubtedly due in part to the many
opportunities it offered for satisfying the universal craving for
greater individualization, for freer utterance of individual emotion
and sentiment. The opera of the period, which consisted largely of
solo-singing, gave free rein to the expression of personal feeling, as
the spirit of the times demanded. Yet nothing that was really permanent
or artistic could arise from this foundation, since the subjects of
opera were drawn almost exclusively from far-removed classical and
mythological sources. These subjects held little or no real interest
for the masses, and the singers who impersonated the legendary
characters were actuated almost solely by professional vanity. The
opera was thus inevitably surrounded with an atmosphere of insincerity
and moral indifference. While the people applauded, they remained
untouched except on the surface, and only partly satisfied. When the
element of personal expression was transferred to church performances,
the situation was radically changed. Their religious experiences were
real and vital and tangible. The important part that the congregation
was encouraged to take in the singing of hymns and chorales gave to
the zealous worshippers a feeling of individual responsibility in the
services. Even in those more elaborate musical portions assigned to
the choir, they could follow, in fancied participation, the religious
emotions set forth in a language that they could readily understand and
that was intensified by the expressive power of appropriate music. The
intensely subjective, sometimes even sentimental, nature of the texts
made a deep appeal to the warm Protestant piety of the German people.
Poetical texts of a semi-dramatic character, suited in more or less
definite way to the different church days, soon came to be in great
demand. The first to supply such cantata texts of real literary merit
was Erdmann Neumeister (1671-1756), a preacher-poet of Sorau and
Hamburg, who wrote no less than five complete cycles of texts for the
church calendar. Though a host of other poets followed him in writing
similar cantata texts, Neumeister seems to have been unexcelled and
to have had a large influence by the sheer literary excellence of his
poetry and the moving power of his pious eloquence. Both Telemann and
Mattheson were appreciative collaborators with him, and among the
cantatas which Bach wrote with such incredible industry for his choir
at St. Thomas’ Church are several with Neumeister’s fine texts.
Neumeister’s cycles of cantatas were published between the years 1704
and 1716. In the preface to the first of these cycles he frankly stated
that ‘a cantata has the appearance of a piece taken out of an opera.’
The publication of these cycles of cantata texts brought on a fierce
controversy between his adherents among churchmen and musicians on the
one side and the Pietists and those who were swayed by an instinctive
antipathy to theatrical music of any kind on the other. Even the older
and more severe cantatas had been accused of worldliness, but the very
idea of using in the worship of God the recitative and aria, which
were the chief vehicles of musical expression in the profane opera,
was repugnant to the pietistic mind. The innovators were charged with
bringing into the church all sorts of ‘singable stuff’ and gay and
dance-like tunes. To this Mattheson, who was chief among the musicians
of his period who could wield a pen in defence of their art-theories,
replied that of course a distinction must be made between a sacred and
an operatic recitative, and that intelligent musicians knew well enough
how to treat it in the spirit of the church service and thus preserve
a true church style which would be at the same time an independent
style.[58] And so the question as to what constitutes the true church
style, as to what is pure church music, has been hotly discussed, with
greater or less absence of brotherly love, in every generation for
the last two centuries, and, it is to be observed, with much the same
arguments as weapons in each succeeding generation.
IV
In simplest definition church music, as Spitta has concisely said, is
music ‘that has grown up within the bosom of the church’[59] and, he
might have added, that best expresses the essence and spirit of its
distinctive creedal beliefs. It took centuries for Roman Catholicism
to produce a Palestrina. But, when he did appear, he acted as genius
has always acted; while the learned theologians of the Council of
Trent were speculating on the true character of church music and
fulminating against abuses, he was quietly creating those wonderful
masses and motets that have ever since been regarded as the loftiest
musical embodiment of the spirit of the Roman Catholic liturgy and
which, therefore, needed no edict of council or pontiff to establish
their supremacy. And so, while lesser musicians were busily engaged
in defending the new ideas, Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), with
all the quiet confidence of genius, was steadily producing works for
the church service that stand in the same relation to the Lutheran
liturgy and to the spirit of the Lutheran Church of his period that
Palestrina’s music stands to the Roman liturgy.
The whole creative energy of Bach’s genius seemed to centre around
his deeply religious nature. The great majority of his works were
written either expressly for the Lutheran Church service or in forms
appropriate to the spirit of this service. He consciously set himself
the task not only to regenerate church music, which even in his time
had fallen into melancholy ways, but especially to take the forms
which he found already technically developed and to apply them to the
utterance of the exalted ideas of religious life and experience as
interpreted through the German Protestant faith. Bach was the only
one of the eighteenth-century German composers who was completely
equipped for so worthy a task. Springing from sturdy peasant stock,
bred and educated entirely in his own beloved Thuringia and wholly in
accordance with German traditions and Protestant ideals, and never
deeming it necessary to go abroad for those superficial refinements
which his nation lacked, Bach was essentially and peculiarly the
product of a culture that was purely German Protestant. He was endowed
with an intellectual force of truly gigantic proportions and with a
catholicity wide and wise enough to assimilate whatever was vital and
vigorous in the various musical forms and styles with which the air was
filled. He was absolute master of organ music, which throughout the
seventeenth century was the only branch of art to develop real splendor
as an indigenous product of the Lutheran Church. Although in thought
and feeling a thoroughgoing churchman, he had the wit to discern that
even the opera, the worldly antipode of the churchly ideal, contained
elements that could be rendered valuable in reverent service to purely
religious purposes. In Bach’s hands these operatic elements lost their
emotional sensuality, washed clean in the pure impersonal flow of his
organ music. Thus he reconciled the two seemingly dissimilar styles and
fused them into one, which so perfectly expressed the essential being
of the Church he so deeply loved and so loyally served that, as Spitta
asserts, he ‘has remained to this day the last church composer.’[60]
During all his years of musical activity Bach was a church organist and
choir director. In these positions it was a part of his official duties
to compose music for the various services of the church calendar. The
zeal and fidelity with which he performed this part of his task is
clearly evidenced by the following list of his more important church
works, vocal and instrumental: about 20 large fantasias, preludes
and fugues, a passacaglia, several toccatas, and a large number of
chorale-preludes and elaborations, about 300 cantatas, 5 Passions, 3
oratorios for Christmas, Easter, and Ascension, 5 large masses and
several shorter ones, many motets, 2 Magnificats, 5 Sanctuses, etc.
By far the largest single group of his compositions consists of
church cantatas. Of these he wrote five series for the Sundays and
festivals of the church year, 295 cantatas in all, of which 266 were
written while he was director of music at the Thomas and Nicolai
Churches in Leipzig, which post he held from 1723 until his death
in 1750. They easily take rank among the master’s best works, and,
notwithstanding the rather astounding fact that for over four years
he wrote a cantata each week for the following Sunday’s service in
addition to other compositions, they contain many of the finest and
loftiest examples of accompanied church music of his own or any other
period, and give unmistakable evidence of the scholarly care and loving
thought he bestowed upon them. As a group they are excelled only by
the Passions and the great B minor Mass, and some of their choruses
are not surpassed even by these wonderful creations. Not one of them
was published during his life and many have been lost. The manuscripts
remained almost forgotten for nearly a century after his death, but
the Bach-Gesellschaft has published about two hundred of them in its
authoritative edition of the master’s works (1851-1899), comprising
over fifty volumes and forming an enduring monument to the master’s
genius.
An interesting and illuminating light is thrown upon Bach’s attitude
toward the composition of his church music, especially the cantatas,
when we remember that they were all written, not for universal fame
or popular acclaim, but for the use of his own choir and for the
edification of that particular congregation for whom it was his
business to write music. He wrote them, exactly as the minister
wrote his sermons, as personal contributions to the effectiveness
and completeness of individual church services and occasions. There
is little evidence to show that the congregation looked upon these
masterly compositions in any other light than as regular and necessary
parts of the ordinary routine of service, little dreaming that a future
century would give them such lofty valuation.
The church cantatas[61] reveal an astonishing versatility and range
of expression which show how completely he surrendered his merely
technical musicianship to the guidance of the sentiment and mood of
the texts, and the needs of their liturgic environment. In these
cantatas he has bequeathed to his church and nation ‘a treasury
of religious song compared with which, for magnitude, diversity,
and power, the creative work of any other church composer that may
be named--Palestrina, Gabrieli, or whoever he may be--sinks into
insignificance.’[62]
In length they vary from four to seven movements, frequently with an
instrumental prelude or overture. The shortest consume about twenty
minutes in performance and the longest an hour or so. They are all
written with accompaniment for organ and, usually, some solo instrument
or group of instruments. The vocal numbers consist of recitatives,
arias, duets, and choruses. In no other eighteenth-century composer
does the recitative assume such qualities of expressive and fluent
melody as in Bach. The arias vary greatly in form, ranging from the use
of the _da capo_, which in his hands loses its Italian superficiality
and conventionality, to the utmost freedom of melodic design. In the
choruses he found full opportunity for indulging his characteristic
fondness for elaborate and complex polyphonic structures. His
conception of the relation of the voice-parts to the whole tonal scheme
differed radically from contemporary usage. To him the solo part was
not a thing complete in and of itself, but rather a contrapuntal
detail of a larger tonal unit. Hence the accompaniment usually rises
to melodic importance coordinate with the voice-part. Sometimes,
indeed, the voice-part sinks to secondary consideration, and merely
concertizes with a more significant theme assigned to the organ or
some solo instrument. Bach’s whole mode of thought was so essentially
instrumental in its coloring and expressional devices that he
frequently produces results that are hardly consonant with what might
be called vocal idiom. Such a mode of treatment easily lapses into
monotony and over-austerity, of which there are occasional instances in
all of his vocal works. But there are more than enough counterbalancing
examples of arias in his cantatas to show how plastic this form could
become in his hands for the expression of the deepest and tenderest
sentiments and for the musical delineation of the subtlest details in
the changing thought of the texts.
The chorale, as already mentioned, played a most important rôle in
the constructional plan of Bach’s cantatas. Since each church day had
its especially appointed chorale (_Hauptlied_), he made it an almost
universal practice to introduce this, either in whole or in modified
form, as material for contrapuntal treatment in the voice-parts or in
the accompaniments of at least several of the movements. In some of
the cantatas, such as _Wer nur den lieben Gott_ and especially the
famous _Ein’ feste Burg_, chorales appear in some guise or other in
every movement, whether recitative, aria, or chorus. There are but
very few of the cantatas, among them the well-known _Ich hatte viel
Bekümmerniss_, in which no chorale-melody appears. The Bach cantata
regularly closed with a chorale in a plain and unornamented four-part
form, but richly harmonized.
It is a real misfortune that the profound beauties of these rare
examples of ecclesiastical art are now practically unknown to any
except the occasional student. But there are at least three things
that have conspired to keep them away from the general knowledge and
appreciation of the present-day public--(1) the Lutheran service, which
in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries usually lasted for four
hours at least, has been much shortened and the cantata is no longer a
necessary component, hence at present it is rarely heard even in its
original home, the Lutheran service; (2) the organ was such a central
and dominating part of Bach’s whole scheme of musical utterance that
the cantata cannot be performed with any other accompaniment without
a large shrinkage in artistic effectiveness; (3) these works are so
completely saturated with the spirit and meaning of the particular
type of church worship for which they were created that when performed
in the concert room, even with the organ, they lose in large measure,
merely from the changed perspective and environment. Many of the
cantatas are available for study in Peters’ Edition and, in English
translation, in the Novello Edition.
Bach’s vocal polyphony, as illustrated by the intricate choruses of
his cantatas, was built squarely on his conception of instrumental
polyphony as applied to the church service. All the finest qualities of
his organ style--the inexhaustible wealth of invention, the masterful
use of every contrapuntal device for exploiting the thematic material,
the majestic sweep of massive bodies of closely knit melodies--all
are found in these choruses in a profusion and affluence that show
at once the marvellous fecundity of his genius and the reverent love
and patient care with which his task was wrought. Of the nearly fifty
cantatas that are published with German and English texts, many might
justly be chosen for analysis that would closely approach in excellence
the few here presented. These few, however, are recognized as among the
greatest and are thoroughly representative of Bach’s cantata style.
In addition to these there may also be enumerated _Wer nur den lieben
Gott_ (‘If Thou but Sufferest God to Guide Thee’), _Jesu, meine Freude_
(‘Jesu, Priceless Treasure’), _Aus tiefer Noth schrei’ ich zu Dir_
(‘From Depths of Woe I Call on Thee’), and the Ascension cantata _Wer
da glaubet und getauft wird_ (‘Whoso Believeth and Is Baptized’).
_Ich hatte viel Bekümmerniss_ (‘My Heart was Full of Heaviness’).--This
work was Bach’s first sacred cantata. He composed it in 1714 at Weimar
while still depressed over his difficulties with the elders of the
_Liebfrauenkirche_ at Halle about an organ position; the music is
strongly colored by this mental condition. It was written for the third
Sunday after Trinity and contains eleven numbers. The first part,
which is mournful in character, consists of a quiet opening chorus, a
beautiful aria for soprano accompanied by oboe and strings, a tender
recitative and aria full of intense sorrow, and a closing chorus
tinged with deep pathos, ‘Why, my Soul, art thou vexed?’ Part II is
more cheerful. A duet for soprano and bass, who represent the soul and
Christ, is followed by a richly harmonized chorus introducing a chorale
melody. Then comes a pleasing tenor aria with graceful accompaniment,
‘Rejoice, O my Soul, change weeping to smiling,’ leading to a final
chorus. The words ‘The Lamb that for us is slain, to Him will we
render power and glory,’ are uttered majestically by the full choir;
the solo bass gives out the words ‘Power and glory and praise be unto
Him forevermore,’ leading to the final ‘Hallelujah,’ poured forth with
tremendous effect by the combined choir and orchestra.
_Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit_ (‘God’s time is the best of
all’) is usually called the _Actus Tragicus_, and occasionally the
‘Mourning Cantata,’ as it was evidently written to commemorate the
death of some aged man. This work, too, was composed at Weimar in
Bach’s younger days. The introduction is quiet and tender, introducing
some themes used later in the body of the cantata. The opening chorus
(‘God’s own time is the best of all. In Him we live, move, and have
our being, as long as He wills. And in Him we die at His good time’)
is at first slow and solemn, but changes to a quick fugue and ends in
a strain of mournful beauty, befitting the last part of the text. Next
comes a tenor solo, ‘O Lord, incline us to consider that our days are
numbered,’ the text being continued in a mournful aria for bass, ‘Set
in order thine house, for thou shalt die and not live.’ The choir then
sings ‘It is the old decree, Man, thou art mortal,’ the lower voices
forming a double fugue, while the soprano repeats the words ‘Yea, come,
Lord Jesus,’ and the orchestra intones the melody of an old hymn, ‘I
have cast all my care on God.’ The words spoken on the cross, ‘Into
Thy hands my spirit I commend,’ are rendered by the alto, the bass
answering ‘Thou shalt be with Me to-day in Paradise.’ A chorale sung by
the alto mingles with the last of the bass arioso. The work closes with
a chorus, using the so-called Fifth Gloria,
‘All glory, praise, and majesty
To Father, Son, and Spirit be,
The holy, blessed Trinity,’ etc.
_Ein’ feste Burg._--This cantata, one of the strongest of the
remarkable series of church works composed by Bach, is constructed on
Luther’s immortal hymn, the battle-hymn of the Reformation. Historians
differ as to the exact time of its composition, but all agree that it
was when Bach was at the height of his creative power, the occasion
probably being either the Reformation Festival of 1730 or the
bicentenary of Protestantism in Saxony, May 17, 1739. It is laid out in
truly grand proportions and is permeated from first to last with the
bold spirit of triumphant confidence that made the old Reformation days
such a stirring memory in every German heart. The cantata opens with a
stupendous fugue based on Luther’s melody and using the first stanza
of the hymn, than which Bach never wrote anything grander. Following
this comes a duet for soprano and bass, the text including the second
stanza. A bass recitative and a soprano aria lead to the second great
chorus, in which the chorale is sung in unison and with mighty effect,
amid a whirl of wildly leaping figures in the orchestra, to the third
stanza of the hymn, ‘And were the world all devils o’er And watching
to devour us.’ The sixth number, a tenor recitative, leads to a duet
for alto and tenor, ‘How blessed then are they who still on God are
calling.’ The chorale is heard again in the final chorus, this time
sung without accompaniment to the last stanza of the hymn--a thrilling
ending to a colossal work.
V
Handel (1685-1759), one of the few great masters of choral writing, was
a man in whose life strange contrasts jostled each other. He was born a
German, but died a naturalized Englishman and was buried in Westminster
Abbey among England’s most illustrious sons; he was intended by his
parents to be a lawyer, but by nature to be a musician; the greater
part of his life was spent in writing operas, popular in his day but
now forgotten, while his fame now rests almost entirely on the great
oratorios that he wrote after he was fifty years old and had been
practically driven from the operatic stage by intrigues and cabals. He
towers above all his contemporaries except Bach; while his greatest
masterpieces are his oratorios, his smaller choral works in secular
cantata-form display his fine instinct for gracious melody, dramatic
coloring, and characteristic choral effects.
‘Acis and Galatea.’--This cantata or pastoral (the composer calls it
a serenata, under which title it had its first London performance in
1732) was composed by Handel in 1720, while he was chapel-master to
the Duke of Chandos, and was performed at Cannons the following year.
In writing it, following a custom very much in vogue among composers
of his time, he drew upon an earlier work composed in 1708 during his
sojourn in Italy. Most of the text was written by the poet John Gay,
though certain fragments were borrowed from Dryden, Hughes, and Pope.
The nymph Galatea deeply loved the shepherd Acis, but in turn was
adored by Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops of Ætna. One day, while she
was reclining in Acis’ embrace, the giant, believing himself alone,
poured out his story of hopeless love, ending in a burst of jealousy
against his rival, when, spying the lovers, he hurled an immense rock
at Acis and crushed him. His blood, gushing forth, became a purling
stream.
A graceful overture, pastoral in style, leads to a chorus depicting
the pleasures of rustic life. Galatea enters, seeking her lover, and
sings a recitative, ‘Ye verdant plains and woody mountains,’ followed
by a sweet melody, ‘Hush, ye pretty warbling choir!’ Acis responds with
an aria of exquisite grace and beauty, one of Handel’s finest, ‘Love in
her eyes sits playing and sheds delicious death.’ Galatea replies with
the famous ‘As when the dove laments her love,’ after which the first
part closes with a sparkling duet and chorus, ‘Happy we.’ Part II opens
with a chorus of alarm, expressing fear of the love-sick giant and
describing the phenomena of Nature at his angry approach. Then follows
a recitative by the Cyclops, ‘I melt, I rage, I burn,’ and after it the
well-known aria, ‘O ruddier than the cherry!’ Acis’ plaintive song,
‘Love sounds the alarm,’ follows in marked contrast. Galatea begs him
to trust the gods and is joined by the other two in the trio, ‘The
flocks shall leave the mountain.’ The Cyclops in a rage then seizes
a fragment of Mt. Ætna and crushes the unhappy lover. Galatea’s sad
lament follows, ‘Must I my Acis still bemoan?’ and the work closes with
a consolatory chorus of the shepherds and shepherdesses, ‘Galatea, dry
thy tears.’
‘Alexander’s Feast.’--The text for this work is Dryden’s famous poem,
the full title of which is ‘Alexander’s Feast or the Power of Music, a
Song in Honour of St. Cecilia’s Day, 1697.’ Handel composed the music
in 1736, completing the first part January 5th, the second January
17th. The work came to its first performance at Covent Garden Theatre,
February 19th, 1736, and met with remarkable success, winning a lasting
popularity which even at the present time makes it one of the five
best-known of Handel’s choral works. The chief solos are the stormy
aria ‘"Revenge, Revenge!" Timotheus cries,’ and the great descriptive
recitative, ‘Give the vengeance due to the valiant crew.’ Some of the
choruses are among Handel’s finest, equalling those of the ‘Messiah’ or
‘Israel in Egypt.’ They are ‘Behold Darius great and good,’ ‘Break his
bands of sleep asunder,’ ‘Let old Timotheus yield the prize,’ and ‘The
many rend the skies with loud applause.’
_L’Allegro._--The full title of this work is _L’Allegro, il Penseroso
ed il Moderato_, Milton’s two descriptive poems, _L’Allegro_ and _Il
Penseroso_, supplying the text for the first two movements; but instead
of being preserved as separate poems in the musical work, they are
made to alternate in sixteen contrasting strophes and anti-strophes.
Allegro, represented by the tenor, sings the praises of pleasure and
light-heartedness; Penseroso, a soprano, following each time with
the regularity of a shadow, advocates meditation and seriousness and
melancholy. The Moderato was an addition supplied by Handel and his
librettist, Charles Jennens, and represented chiefly by a chorus, whose
purpose it was to counsel both Allegro and Penseroso to adhere to a
middle course as the safest; but this third part is rarely given. The
work is in Handel’s best style--the Allegro is spirited, the Penseroso
serious and tender, and the Moderato calm and sedate. The music was
composed in the seventeen days between January 19th and February 6th,
1740, and was first performed on February 27th of the same year at the
Royal Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London.
Haydn’s (1732-1809) life-work was indissolubly associated with
instrumental forms. The parentage and early development of the sonata
and the modern orchestra can be traced directly to him. He wrote
comparatively little in choral forms and the best of this was in the
field of oratorio and church music.
In 1785 Haydn was commissioned to write ‘The Seven Words of Jesus on
the Cross,’ sometimes called ‘The Passion,’ as music for the Good
Friday service for the cathedral of Cadiz. As first written it was an
instrumental work of seven slow movements, which the composer later
produced in London under the name _Passione Instrumentale_. Later still
he introduced numbers for solo voices and chorus and, by inserting in
the middle a _largo_ movement for wind instruments, divided it into two
parts. In this form it was first presented at Vienna in 1796 and was
published in 1801. The work is simple in structure and a similarity of
mood and character pervades the various movements. It opens with an
impressive orchestral number, after which each of the Seven Words is
successively stated in the form of a chorale followed by a chorus. In
conclusion comes a descriptive chorus in rapid movement, ‘The Veil of
the Temple was rent in twain,’ which pictures vividly the darkness, the
earthquake, the rending tombs, and the raising of the saints. Haydn
frequently expressed a great fondness for this work, and by many of his
contemporaries it was regarded as one of his most sublime creations.
_Ariadne auf Naxos._--This cantata, written for a solo voice (soprano)
and orchestra, is dated 1782. It is one of the most perfect examples
of the original cantata form, the Italian _cantata da camera_ already
described. The story is that of Ariadne, daughter of Minos, king of
Crete, who, desperately in love with Theseus, son of Ægeus, king of
Athens, aids him with a thread to escape from the labyrinth after
slaying the Minotaur, and accompanies him on his return to Athens. She
awakens on the island of Naxos to find herself abandoned by her lover,
and here the cantata opens. The music pictures her awakening, her
gradual realization of Theseus’ perfidy, her anxiety, her anger, and
her despair. The vocal score is intricate, demanding not only facility
in execution, but also a noble style of musical declamation, great
musical intelligence, and refinement of sentiment.
* * * * *
Outside of the instrumental forms in which his universal genius made
him so preëminent, Mozart’s natural artistic instinct led him most
strongly to dramatic music. He sought the opera as an opportunity for
highest artistic endeavor; but other vocal forms he employed, not so
much from choice as from the demands of special occasions. Like Haydn,
he paid but passing attention to the cantata.
‘King Thamos.’--The foundation of this work by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
(1756-91) was an historical drama, ‘Thamos, King of Egypt,’ written
by Freiherr von Gebler. To this Mozart composed the incidental music,
consisting of five entr’actes and three majestic choruses. The music
was written in 1779 and 1780 at Salzburg; the work was presented a few
times there under the direction of Boehm and Schikaneder and then was
shelved. However, Mozart utilized some of the music by setting the
choruses to Latin and German words, in which form they were used in the
church service as hymns and motets. They are known to musicians now
by the names _Splendente te Deus_, _Deus tibi laus et honor_, and _Ne
pulvis et cinis_. Though a feeling of great solemnity pervades them,
their original theatrical purpose cannot be entirely concealed behind
their adopted sacred words.
_Davidde Penitente._--This cantata originated in Mozart’s vow, made
before his marriage with Constance Weber, to write a mass to celebrate
her arrival at Salzburg as his wife. The ‘half-mass’ which he actually
wrote for this occasion comprised only the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, and
Benedictus, the rest being supplied from an earlier mass. The work
was given in this form at St. Peter’s Church, August 25, 1783, his
wife taking the solo part. Early in 1785 Mozart received a commission
to write a cantata for a Viennese festival; being short of time, he
took the Kyrie and Gloria from the above mass, expanded them into five
movements, added four new ones, and fitted them all out with Italian
texts selected from the Psalms of David. In this form the work was
presented at the Burg Theater, March 13th, under the title _Davidde
Penitente_. It contains ten numbers, consisting of choruses, soprano
and tenor arias and a terzetto, the tenth number, a final chorus and
fugue, being called the ‘queen of vocal fugues’ by the critics of
the time. This cantata is regarded as one of the finest examples of
Mozart’s church style, notwithstanding the brilliant character of the
solo parts, especially the bravura aria for soprano (_Fra le oscure
ombre_).
The Masonic Cantatas.--Mozart became a Mason soon after he arrived in
Vienna in 1784 and he entered into the activities of the fraternity
with great ardor. The following year he composed a small cantata, _Die
Maurerfreude_ (‘The Mason’s Joy’), for tenor and chorus, in honor of
the master of his lodge, Herr Born. The second Masonic cantata,[63]
_Lob der Freundschaft_ (‘Praise of Friendship’), was finished November
15th, 1791, only three weeks before his death. This work, which is on
a larger scale than its predecessor, but less earnest in spirit, is
pleasing and popular and consists of six numbers--two choruses, two
recitatives, a tenor aria, and a duet. It was Mozart’s last completed
composition. Two days after its performance at his lodge his last
illness attacked him.
VI
In the second period of Anglican Church music, beginning after the
restoration of the Stuarts in 1660, a distinct change in the character
of anthem-writing is discernible. This was inaugurated by Pelham
Humfrey (1647-1674), whose foreign study under Lulli and later in Italy
brought him in touch with the greater freedom of the operatic style.
In his church music and that of his immediate successors there is
noticeable greater variety of plan and detail, more daring harmonies,
more easy grace in the flow of voice-parts, and in general a faint
echo at least of the brilliance reflected from the stage. The Italian
art of solo-singing began to force its way into the domain of church
music, adding relief and contrast to the severity of the old motet type
of ‘full’ anthem. This style culminated in Henry Purcell (1658-1695),
probably the most gifted and certainly the most versatile genius that
English music has produced. In his hands the modern form of the anthem,
as differentiated from the old motet, became clearly defined. Purcell,
trained in the Chapel Royal and himself a ‘most distinguished singer,’
gave large emphasis to the ‘verse’ and ‘solo’ anthems, and these grew
rapidly in favor. Although an operatic composer of profound ability,
in many respects far in advance of his time, his religious music shows
no trace of undue influence from this secular source, and many of his
anthems[64] and ‘services’ are still cherished as among the finest
examples of English church music of any period.
During the latter part of the seventeenth century instrumental music
in England took on new importance, and its influence was felt in all
branches of the art. Orchestral instruments were frequently employed in
the ritual-music in addition to the organ, which instrument, it should
be added, was far behind the German organ of this period in mechanical
development and technical possibilities. Purcell wrote trumpet parts
to his celebrated Te Deum and composed as many as twenty anthems
with orchestra (besides over thirty with organ). His instrumental
accompaniments began to assume quite independent outlines and his
choruses were of such fine workmanship that Handel, who was thoroughly
acquainted with his church music, gladly acknowledged his indebtedness
to him. Other noted composers of anthems of this period were Dr. John
Blow (1648-1708), William Croft (1678-1727), and Jeremiah Clarke
(1670-1707), all of whom were choristers in the Chapel Royal and were
brought up and trained in the atmosphere of the cathedral service.
No accession to the form of the anthem has been made since the
beginning of the eighteenth century. All the forms now in use--the
full, the verse, the solo--were well established in the public esteem
and the old unaccompanied style had been permanently abandoned in favor
of instrumental accompaniment. The eighteenth century was a period
of general religious and intellectual apathy and this condition of
thought brooded over English church-music. After the spontaneous and
melodious Purcell, the compositions of the best church musicians of the
eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries (constituting
the third period of English church-music) sound dry and perfunctory,
although admirable in construction and solid and worthy in content.
If we except the Te Deums and anthems of Handel, this period presents
nothing of striking worth. The composers of this period, the best of
whose anthems are still to be found in the repertory of present-day
choirs, include Maurice Greene (1696?-1755), William Hayes (1706-1777),
William Boyce (1710-1779), and Jonathan Battishill (1738-1801), whose
‘Call to Remembrance’ is a work of eminent beauty, modern in conception
beyond its time.
English psalmody of the eighteenth century, both among the
Non-conformists and in the Established Church, had likewise fallen
into melancholy ways. Although the good old solid psalm-tunes were
still in the Psalters, the interest in them declined, the number in
actual use gradually dwindled, the singing became dry and perfunctory,
and the curious custom of ‘lining out’ the psalms became general.
Especially in the Non-conformist services frivolous tunes were employed
which smacked of the Italian opera style; and vocal flourishes were
introduced in which several tones would be sung to a single syllable.
But in the Church of England the gradual rise of the hymn to an
independent place in the Psalter at the very beginning of the century
served to keep alive the pure flame of sacred song and to inaugurate
the long-delayed period of real English hymnody, a full century and a
half after the corresponding outburst of sacred song among the Germans.
Gawthorn’s _Harmonica Perfecta_ of 1730 included a large portion of
the fine psalm-tunes of the Ravenscroft Psalter, together with some
older ones and many new ones. These new hymn-tunes were in the main
as solid and satisfying as the best of the old psalm-tunes, yet with
more rhythmic freedom. The Church of England, however, was slow to
give full recognition to the hymn, the first church hymn-book for
general use (Madan’s ‘Collection of Psalms and Hymns,’ better known
as the Lock Hospital Collection) not being published until 1769. The
devotional hymns of Watts and Doddridge were just beginning to reach
the public heart, when they received a magnificent accession from
the Wesleyan movement, which, starting in the middle of the century,
took full advantage of the liberty of worship newly conferred upon
non-conformists and brought into English religious life something
of the enthusiasm of the old German Reformation days. A revival of
spiritual life took place in sections of England that let loose a great
creative force of sacred verse and song, which operated not only to
swell the ranks of Methodism with converts whose hearts were filled
with exuberant song, but to bring into England real congregational
singing and into English hymnody some of its richest gems of sacred
lyrics. Thus the century closed with a distinct uplift in the religious
song of the people, which did not bear full fruit in the Church of
England, however, till the dawning years of the next century.
VII
After the glories of the Palestrina epoch, in which all forms of
ecclesiastical music attained their highest point of perfection, the
motet led a rather checkered existence. The English contemporaries of
the great Roman had cultivated it with such success that the _cantiones
sacræ_ (collections of Latin motets) of Tallis and Byrd are held to be
second only to those of Palestrina himself. We have seen that the full
anthem with English words superseded the Latin motet in the service of
the Anglican Church, but, though the name was changed, the true motet
style persisted until the Restoration; indeed, many of the anthems
were actually written as Latin motets and afterward adapted to English
words, as, for example, Byrd’s _Civitas sancti tui_, which is always
sung to the words ‘Bow thine ear, O Lord.’ The last of the great motet
writers in the Roman school were Vittoria, Morales, the two Anerios,
the two Naninis, Luca Marenzio, and Suriano, all of whom closely
approached the excellence of Palestrina’s superb motets; Orlandus
Lassus sustained the reputation of the Netherlanders throughout his
long career; while in Venice Willaert, de Rore, the two Gabrielis, and
Giovanni Croce, the greatest of this school, produced compositions
of wonderful delicacy and beauty. But after the first quarter of the
seventeenth century the splendor of motet-writing disappeared. The
solidity and grandeur of the old style of mass, motet, and madrigal
were thoroughly undermined by the secularity of the monodic style,
which now became all-pervasive. The same influences, in slightly
varying degrees, crept into Catholic and Protestant church music
alike. The rapid development of instrumental music toward the latter
part of this century brought about the abandonment of unaccompanied
motets in favor of those with instrumental accompaniment, and at the
same time the modern major and minor keys gradually supplanted the
old ecclesiastical modes. In Italy the best composers--Alessandro
Scarlatti, Pergolesi, Durante, Leo, and others--strove earnestly to
reconcile the new style with church ideals and succeeded in producing
effective works, though by no means always churchly.
The strongest motet writing of the eighteenth century, however,
flourished in Germany. Many of the motets of the early German
Protestant composers were simple polyphonic adaptations of chorales,
and in the seventeenth century a simple, often trivial, style
prevailed, but in the opening years of the eighteenth century a group
of composers appeared who strove to revive the solid, elaborate style
of the earlier masters. Beginning with Reinhard Keiser (1674-1739) and
continued by Karl Heinrich Graun (1701-1759) and Johann Adolph Hasse
(1699-1783), a Catholic composer of attractive style, this movement
culminated in Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), who clothed the motet in all
the dignity and elaborateness of the old sixteenth century period.
His motets represent the most perfect type of unaccompanied music in
the Protestant church-service, as Palestrina’s do in the Roman, and
in their way are quite as incomparable. Bach wrote about 200 motets,
among the best-known of which are _Komm, Jesu, komm_ (‘Come, Jesu,
come’), _Jesu, meine Freude_ (‘Jesu, priceless treasure’), _Nun ist
das Heil_ (‘Now shall the grace’), and _Singet dem Herrn_ (‘Sing ye to
the Lord’). A score of others equally fine might easily be mentioned.
The motets of Handel, which have only in recent years been snatched
from obscurity by the German Handel Society, are works of transcendent
beauty, full of youthful vigor and strength, and worthy of his best
period.
The madrigal also participated in the common ruin that befell the
old polyphonic style, and after 1620 the true madrigal practically
disappeared. In Italy it was displaced by the interest in the new
chamber-cantata; it was wholly forgotten in Flanders and France;
in England it merged into the glee; and in Germany the rise of the
part-song compensated somewhat for its disappearance.
[Illustration: St. Thomas’ Church, Leipzig, in Bach’s Time]
_From on old print_
The glee[65] is a form peculiar to England, having a certain
native folk-song flavor and quite impossible of transplantation; no
other country except, to a degree, America, has bestowed on it any
attention at all. A whole century separates its appearance from the
decline of the madrigal. The intervening transitional style is well
illustrated by the lovely canzonets of Thomas Ford (about 1580-1648),
such as ‘Since first I saw your face’ and ‘There is a Ladie sweete and
kind,’ which breathe something of the spirit of both madrigal and glee.
Unlike the madrigal, the glee is always sung by solo voices, usually
male, of which there are at least three, but, like the madrigal, it is
always unaccompanied. The first glees were produced in the early years
of the eighteenth century, and the period of its finest achievement
includes the years between 1750 and 1825, a period which is almost
exactly contemporaneous with the long life of the greatest master
of this form, Samuel Webbe (1740-1816). The more obvious traits of
the glee that distinguish it from the madrigal are (1) the modern
major and minor system of keys instead of ecclesiastical modes, (2)
absence of conscious contrapuntal development in the treatment of the
voice-parts and the consequent frequent employment of chord-masses,
(3) short phrases with frequent full cadences, and (4) greater freedom
in changes of rhythm and rate of speed. Notwithstanding these general
characteristics, there are many real glees, such as Stevens’ ‘Ye
spotted snakes,’ that exhibit a high quality of melodic development,
sustained power, and constructional design. While not intended to be
contrapuntal, the glee maintains a high degree of melodic independence
among the parts, so that the impression given is that of several
interweaving melodies. Among the finest specimens of glees are ‘When
winds breathe soft,’ ‘The mighty conqueror,’ ‘Come live with me,’ and
‘Hence, all ye vain delights’ by Samuel Webbe; ‘Ye spotted snakes,’
‘Blow, blow, thou winter wind,’ and ‘Sigh no more, ladies’ by Richard
Stevens (1757-1837); ‘By Celia’s arbour,’ ‘Mine be a cot,’ and ‘Cold is
Cadwallo’s tongue’ by William Horsley (1774-1858). In addition to the
above the principal glee composers are: John Wall Calcott (1766-1821),
Thomas Attwood (1765-1838), Jonathan Bittishill (1738-1801), Benjamin
Cooke (1734-1793), John Danby (1757-1798), Reginald Spoffarth
(1770-1827), and Sir Henry Bishop (1786-1855).
While in a strict sense all the vocal forms thus far mentioned are
part-songs, in choral literature this term is restricted to apply only
to those unaccompanied vocal compositions in which one melody stands
out conspicuously, all the others being more in the nature of harmonic
background. In this respect it differs sharply from the glee, though in
general musical mood the two forms may be very similar. The part-song
has its origin in Germany, where from early times the custom prevailed
of giving simple harmonic setting to the folk-songs,[66] usually note
against note. Modelled largely after the harmonized folk-songs, secular
part-songs in profusion were written by German composers, particularly
after the decline of the madrigal. As an importation from Germany the
part-song was heartily welcomed in England, where it was cultivated
side by side with the madrigal, the two forms often presenting many
points of similarity and constantly reacting on each other. The great
madrigalists wrote many such compositions (which they frequently called
canzonets) on the borderland between the two forms. Such are Morley’s
‘My bonny lass she smileth’ and ‘Now is the month of Maying,’ and
the canzonets of Thomas Ford mentioned above. The eighteenth-century
part-song in England is, on the whole, unimportant; in Germany its
chief value after 1800 lay in the incentive and impetus it gave to the
formation of numerous choral societies and in the resultant diffusion
of choral culture. The real glories of the part-song belong to the
nineteenth century. Before that period the three principal secular _a
cappella_ vocal forms may be thus briefly characterized: the madrigal,
as the secular counterpart of the motet, is modal and contrapuntal; the
glee is harmonic, devoid of strict counterpoint, but all the voices are
melodically interesting; the part-song is harmonic, but concentrates
the melodic interest in one part, usually the highest.
Before passing to the consideration of nineteenth-century choral
music, it remains to give brief mention to two other forms, the masque
and the ode, both of which are characteristically English and belong
essentially to the seventeenth century. The masque occupied a place
midway between the cantata and the opera, and enjoyed great popularity
at court and among the aristocratic classes as a kind of private
entertainment from the time of the early Tudors to the Civil War.
Originally an importation from Italy, it received special development
at the hands of the best English poets--Ben Jonson, Fletcher, Chapman,
Campion, Milton, and others. It was an elaborate dramatic entertainment
based on some mythological or allegorical subject, calling for
dialogue, declamation, airs, madrigals, much dancing, and gorgeous
scenery and costume, and performed for the most part by personages of
high rank in disguise, whence the name. The best English composers of
the seventeenth century gave their talents to the writing of masque
music--Nicholas Lanier, Matthew Locke, Pelham Humfrey, Henry Purcell,
John Eccles, and, in the next century, Dr. Thomas Arne. The ode also
found much favor with the English seventeenth and eighteenth-century
poets, such as Milton, Dryden, Gray, and Collins, but the composer
whose name is most closely allied with it is Henry Purcell (about
1658-1695), who alone wrote twenty-nine odes and welcome songs for
various public and royal occasions, among them four for St. Cecilia’s
Day festivals and four in consecutive years (1690-1693) for Queen
Mary’s birthday. Handel wrote four--‘Alexander’s Feast,’ ‘Ode for St.
Cecilia’s Day,’ ‘Birthday Ode,’ and _L’Allegro ed il Penseroso_,[67]
two of which have been already analyzed.
FOOTNOTES:
[49] Peri’s first opera, _Dafne_, composed in collaboration with
Caccini, had been privately performed in Florence in 1597 (1594?).
[50] The success of Cavalieri’s _La Rappresentazione_ was apparently
swallowed up by the greater interest in the success of opera, so that
twenty years elapsed before a second oratorio was written.
[51] ‘History of Music,’ Vol. IV, p. 144.
[52] ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. III, p. 153.
[53] The library of the Paris Conservatoire alone possesses eight
volumes of his cantatas in MS.
[54] Grove’s ‘Dictionary of Music and Musicians,’ Art. ‘Scarlatti,’ by
E. J. Dent.
[55] ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. III, p. 393.
[56] For example, Beethoven’s _Ah, perfido!_ and Mendelssohn’s
_Infelice_.
[57] Andreas Hammerschmidt published ‘Dialogues between God and the
Believing Soul’ (Dresden, 1647) for various groups of voices from two
up to six.
[58] Mattheson, _Das beschütze Orchestre_, p. 142.
[59] Philipp Spitta, ‘The Life of Johann Sebastian Bach,’ Vol. I, p.
484.
[60] _Op. cit._, Vol. I, p. 486.
[61] Bach seldom used the word ‘cantata,’ preferring the terms
‘concerto’ and ‘dialogue.’
[62] Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p. 301.
[63] Catalogued in Köchel, _Eine kleine Freimauer Cantate_.
[64] Among them are ‘O give thanks,’ ‘O God Thou hast cast us out,’ and
‘O Lord God of Hosts.’
[65] This word is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _gligg_--‘music,’ and
has no direct relation to the specific mood of mirth or gaiety. The
glee, therefore, may be either cheerful or serious.
[66] Similarly in Italy the _villanella_ was a harmonized popular
melody, but it failed to exert any further influence on choral forms.
[67] This is called an oratorio in the list of the German Handel
Society.
CHAPTER V
THE CANTATA IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
Conflict of tradition and progress--Ludwig van Beethoven:
‘Ruins of Athens,’ ‘Glorious Moment’; Andreas Romberg--C.
M. von Weber; Franz Schubert; Ludwig Spohr--Mendelssohn:
‘First Walpurgis Night,’ etc.; 95th Psalm; _Lauda Sion_,
etc.--Hector Berlioz: ‘Damnation of Faust’--Robert Schumann:
‘Paradise and the Peri’; ‘Pilgrimage of the Rose’;
Miscellany--Ferdinand Hiller; Niels W. Gade: ‘Crusaders,’
‘Erl-King’s Daughter,’ ‘Christmas Eve,’ ‘Comala,’
etc.--Félicien David: ‘The Desert’; Minor cantata writers
in Germany and England: Benedict, Costa, Macfarren, Smart,
Bennett--Anglican ritual-music and the German evangelical
motet in the nineteenth century; the part-song.
The student of history will observe that one of the most noticeable
effects of the constantly accelerated pace that musical progress
assumed after the art had once learned definite articulation, is that
the successive periods in which characteristic styles and forms have
been developed and perfected have been growing steadily shorter and
shorter in duration. The Netherland period of vocal polyphony spanned
two full centuries; the next century and a half was concerned with the
first stage in the development of dramatic music and oratorio, and
with the application of polyphonic principles to instrumental forms;
the period of seventy-five years between 1750 and 1825 was memorable
chiefly by the appearance and swift development of the sonata and
symphony from Haydn to Beethoven, with occasional premonitions of
impending revolutionary changes; the half-century from 1825 to 1875
witnessed the rise and full flowering of the remarkable movement of
nineteenth-century romanticism; in the years since 1875 new ideas and
tendencies, unfolded from the preceding period, have crowded upon the
musical arena in such profusion and with such swiftness and persistence
that intelligent orientation is beset with perplexing difficulties. The
‘youngest of the arts,’ so backward and slow of speech in its infancy,
certainly displays unmistakable symptoms of precocity with advancing
years.
From the above statement of the approximate duration of the general
periods of musical progress it will be noted that the nineteenth
century is divisible into three periods, the first of which merely
carried to completion the classical methods of the preceding century.
But, while instrumental music responded promptly and vigorously and
with far-reaching results to the novel ideals of romanticism, choral
music was far more conservative. It exhibited the utmost reserve toward
the new influences, and for several decades after these had brought
enrichment and expansion to instrumental forms, it admitted them only
with a certain timidity, so that on the whole the effective invasion
of choral music by romanticism was delayed a full half-century after
it had taken possession of instrumental fields. This retardation of
choral progress is due largely to the natural limitations of the human
voice, which is confronted with obvious difficulties when attempting
to adopt for its own peculiar purposes the instrumental standpoint
of unrestrained liberty in the use of melodic intervals and harmonic
progressions. Choral forms have generally proved to be far less
elastic than instrumental forms, and have had to contend with the
tendency toward inertia inherited from their early association with
ecclesiastical traditions--traditions from which the development
of instrumental music has been notably free. Hence, a much longer
period was required in choral music than in instrumental music for
readjustment to the new viewpoint which nineteenth-century romanticism
injected into the whole fabric of art-methods, and the choral
literature of the century falls into only two periods. The great
majority of the choral works--particularly the smaller choral works--of
the first two thirds of the century at least are characterized by
general conformity with the classical methods of Handel, Haydn,
and Mozart; where romantic influences are admitted they express
themselves in terms of greater harmonic warmth and richness, freer
melodic outlines, and a more marked avoidance of the older special
contrapuntal devices in favor of more direct mood-painting and detailed
characterization of the text, but the classical forms and methods are
quite uniformly retained.
I
Beethoven’s (1770-1827) contribution to the literature of choral music
was relatively small and the most significant part of it was made in
the larger forms, as might be expected of a composer possessed of
such mighty intellectual endowments. Of the smaller works, two only
are selected for detailed comment. The others include ‘Calm Sea and
Prosperous Voyage’ (to Goethe’s poem) for mixed chorus and orchestra,
written in 1815, and ‘King Stephen, Hungary’s First Benefactor,’ a
prologue in one act with overture and choruses, the music for which was
composed in 1811 to the text by Kotzebue for the same occasion as ‘The
Ruins of Athens.’
‘The Ruins of Athens.’--The music to an allegorical poem with this
title by Kotzebue was written in 1811 for the opening of a new theatre
at Pesth, Hungary, which took place February 9, 1812. The story of the
poem is as follows: Minerva, having incurred the wrath of Jove, has
been fettered by him with chains ever since the Golden Age within a
rock through which neither the inquiry of man nor the wisdom of the
goddess could penetrate. Finally Jove relents and releases the goddess.
Minerva then hastens to her beloved Athens, only to find it in ruins
and her art debased. She turns sadly away and proceeds to Pesth, where
she establishes her temple in the new theatre and presides over a
triumphal procession in honor of the emperor, its patron, who is to
restore again the Golden Age. The work was presented a second time in
Beethoven’s lifetime at the opening of a new theatre in Vienna in 1822.
This time it was with a new text by Carl Meisl entitled _Die Weihe des
Hauses_ (‘Dedication of the House’), and it was for this occasion that
Beethoven composed the overture, which is still frequently performed.
The music consists of eight numbers. The overture is very light and
deemed even by his friends to be unworthy of the master. The weird,
fervid chorus of the Dervishes for male voices in unison and the
stirring Turkish March are strongly Oriental in color and treatment.
They are strong and effective numbers, as is also the triumphal march
and chorus ‘Twine ye a garland.’
‘The Glorious Moment.’--September, 1814, brought to Vienna many
potentates and distinguished statesmen for the Vienna Congress, which
met to adjust the claims of the European states after the allies had
entered Paris. The occasion was a momentous one and was celebrated
with great pomp by the Viennese authorities. Beethoven was requested
to write for the greeting of the royal guests a cantata, the words of
which had been written by Dr. Aloys Weissenbach of Salzburg. It was
called _Der glorreiche Augenblick_ or _Der heilige Augenblick_ (‘The
Glorious Moment’). The time for writing this work was short in itself
and this was much curtailed by disputes between composer and poet,
as Beethoven made every effort to have the atrocious text altered so
as to lend itself better to a musical setting. The work was begun in
September and performed at a concert given for Beethoven’s benefit on
November 29th, before a remarkable audience of 6,000 persons. This
concert, at which was performed also the recently-composed Seventh
Symphony, was a most brilliant affair, and the audience was wildly
enthusiastic, especially for ‘The Glorious Moment,’ which was hailed as
symbolical of the moment when Europe was to be freed from Napoleonic
domination. Incidentally, it may be recorded that the composer reaped
much substantial advantage from this great occasion, in that, as a
result, he was able to invest 20,000 marks in shares of the Bank of
Austria. The cantata, which for obvious reasons is not one of his
strongest, is in six numbers. In 1836 it appeared with a new title,
_Preis der Tonkunst_ (‘The Praise of Music’), with a new poetical text
by Friedrich Rochlitz.
* * * * *
Among the composers of the first quarter of the nineteenth century
Andreas Romberg (1767-1821) occupies a worthy place, though not one of
large importance. He is the composer of five operas, ten symphonies,
twenty violin concertos, etc., now forgotten, much church music, and
several cantatas. The ‘Lay of the Bell’ (_Das Lied von der Glocke_) was
the most widely known of all his works, and at present is nearly the
only one of them to retain any public notice.
‘The Lay of the Bell.’--Schiller’s famous poem with this title forms
the text to which Romberg composed the music of this cantata in 1808.
During the last half of the nineteenth century it enjoyed great
popularity with the smaller choruses in England, Germany, and America,
and is still frequently heard. The work rehearses the various steps in
the making of the bell, from lighting the furnace-fire and mixing the
metals to the casting of the bell and the breaking of the mold by the
master. Each step is used as the basis for the description of scenes
which the bell will witness in its life among the people--scenes of
youth, young manhood, and old age, of joy and love and sorrow--all the
intimate experiences that make up human life. The music is written for
mixed chorus, with soprano, tenor, and bass solos, and, while it lacks
the harmonic warmth and variety of the cantatas written later under
the glow of the romantic spirit, it is full of interest and animation,
though light in style throughout.
II
As the founder of the German romantic movement, Weber (1786-1826) was
an intense nationalist, and his stirring music, folk-song in character
and wholly German in feeling, had a profound political influence in
fanning the flame of national and patriotic sentiment that sprang into
existence during the period of Napoleonic oppression. His inspiring
settings of the patriotic poems in Körner’s _Leyer und Schwert_, for
male voices, made him the idol of the students and young nationalists,
and _Der Freischütz_, the first German opera, created a perfect furor
of patriotic feeling. His first cantata was _Der erste Ton_, written in
1808 for declamation, chorus, and orchestra. Other choral works were
the cantata _Natur und Liebe_ (‘Nature and Love’) for two sopranos, two
tenors, and two basses with pianoforte accompaniment, composed in 1818,
and the hymn _In seiner Ordung schafft der Herr_ (‘In constant order
works the Lord’) for solos, chorus, and orchestra, written in 1812.
‘Jubilee Cantata.’--Weber was commissioned by Count Vitzthum in 1818
to write a grand jubilee cantata for a court concert commemorating
the fiftieth anniversary of the reign of Friedrich August, king of
Saxony, on the 20th of September. The text was written by the poet
Friedrich Kind. Before it was completed, however, he was informed
that the work would not be required and that other plans had been
made. It has been intimated that this change came about through the
intrigues of his Italian rivals (he was then Court Musical Director at
Dresden). The cantata, however, was given in the Neustadt church for
the benefit of the needy peasants in the Hartz Mountains, with Weber
himself as conductor. While it is said that a _Jubel_ overture by
Weber was performed at the court concert, it is believed by the best
authorities that the famous _Jubel_ overture, now known the world over,
was entirely independent of the cantata and of later composition. As
the original text dealt with events in the life of the king, the work
was unsuited for general performance, hence a second text was later
supplied by Amadeus Wendt and the title changed to _Ernte-Cantate_
(‘Harvest Cantata’). This is the version in common use at the present
time. Still another text was made by Hampdon Napier, and this was given
in London under the title of ‘The Festival of Peace’ shortly before
Weber’s death, the composer himself conducting. The cantata is written
for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. Joy at the fullness of the
harvest alternates with solemn thanksgiving and praise to the Giver
of all good for His bounty. A devotional spirit prevails throughout,
except in the ‘storm’ chorus, where a dramatic style appears. The
beautiful number for quartet and chorus, ‘Wreathe into garlands the
gold of the harvest,’ is frequently detached from the cantata and
performed separately.
_Kampf und Sieg_ (‘Battle and Victory’).--While Weber was in Munich
in June, 1815, the victory of the allies at Waterloo was announced.
The city was at once filled with rejoicing and a large crowd gathered
at St. Michael’s Church to hear a _Te Deum_. Weber, who was present,
conceived the idea of a grand cantata to commemorate the victory and
he laid the matter before the poet Wohlbrück, whom he had met the same
day. Wohlbrück at once shared the composer’s enthusiasm and by the
first of August the text was ready. The cantata was brought to a first
performance in Prague on December 22d and made a deep impression, not
so much by its musical worth as by its appeal to patriotic ardor and by
the stirring military character of its vivid battle-descriptions. Weber
resorted to the same elements of rather vulgar realism which Beethoven
invoked in his ‘Wellington’s Victory’--the noises and crash of battle
and national melodies to designate the fighting hosts. Amid the roar of
cannon, the cries of the wounded, and the shouts of the soldiers can
be heard the revolutionary melody _Ça ira_ from the advancing French,
‘God save the King’ from the English, while the stirring strains of
the Austrian and Prussian grenadier marches and the refrain from
Weber’s own patriotic song, _Lützow’s wilde Jagd_, swell the volume of
tumultuous sound from the victorious allies. The cantata is written for
four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. Faith (bass), Love (soprano),
and Hope (tenor) appear in the lyrical portions of the work; the middle
section is given over entirely to the battle scene and the whole closes
with a stately chorus, _Herr Gott, Dich loben wir_.
* * * * *
While Franz Schubert (1797-1828) essayed nearly every musical form,
it is as the creator and perfecter of the German art-song that he
takes his place among the great and mighty ones of music. His supreme
gift as a melodist and song-writer is at once apparent in all of his
works. In choral fields he wrote considerable church music and several
smaller works, of which the only one of large importance is _Miriam’s
Siegesgesang_ (‘The Song of Miriam’). Among the others are the
Ninety-second Psalm for baritone solo and mixed chorus (written in 1828
for the synagogue at Vienna); the Twenty-third Psalm for four voices
(quartet, or male or female chorus) with pianoforte accompaniment,
easy, grateful and song-like in character; two hymns, _Herr unser Gott_
and _An dem Heiligen Geist_, the latter for eight-part male chorus
and orchestra; and _Glaube, Hoffnung und Liebe_ (‘Faith, Hope, and
Charity’) for mixed chorus and wood-wind instruments, written in 1816.
_Miriam’s Siegesgesang._--This noble cantata, known in English as
‘The Song of Miriam’ or ‘Miriam’s War Song,’ was composed by Schubert
in March, 1828, the last year of his short life. It was written for
soprano solo and chorus to Grillparzer’s lines paraphrasing the part of
the sixteenth chapter of Exodus that sets forth Miriam’s thanksgiving
for the escape of the Israelites and the people’s song of triumph
as they rejoice over their own deliverance and the destruction of
the pursuing Egyptians. Schubert left it with only a pianoforte
accompaniment, though intending to score it for orchestra. What death
prevented him from doing was supplied a year or two later by his friend
Franz Lachner, who at the time was kapellmeister at the Kärnthnerthor
Theatre in Vienna. The date of its first performance is in doubt.
Nottebohm gives it as January 30, 1829, the occasion being a benefit
concert to raise funds for a monument in memory of the composer. A
spirited solo and chorus (‘Strike the cymbals’) opens the work. This
is followed by a graceful song in which the Lord is described as a
shepherd leading his people out of Egypt. In the next number the awe of
the Israelites is depicted as they pass unharmed through the divided
waters, while Pharaoh’s hosts are engulfed behind them. The sea becomes
calm again and the first chorus is repeated, closing with a majestic
fugue (‘Mighty is the Lord at all times’). Though the cantata is short,
it is replete with passages of enduring charm.
* * * * *
Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859), the celebrated violinist and composer of
instrumental music and operas in a style intermediate between the old
classical and the new romantic schools, left much choral music which,
however, has quite largely lost its early vogue. In the shorter forms
are three psalms for solos and double chorus; the Twenty-fourth Psalm
for solos and chorus with pianoforte; the One Hundred and Twenty-eighth
Psalm for solos and chorus with organ or pianoforte; the Eighty-fourth
Psalm (Milton) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; two hymns--‘St.
Cecilia’ for soprano solo and chorus, and ‘God, thou art great’ (_Gott,
du bist gross_) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; and a patriotic
cantata, _Das befreite Deutschland_ (‘Free Germany’).
III
Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809-1847) was the first composer since
Handel to rival him in the mastery of choral forms. Gifted and genial
as he is in other fields, it is here that he has left the most enduring
evidence of his genius. His fine contrapuntal training and his splendid
mastery over all the technical resources of polyphonic writing made
choral forms especially agreeable to his natural and developed gifts.
In general form his choral works follow Handelian models, but his
melodies are far more glowing and his harmonies far richer and of
warmer texture. Most of his smaller choral works fall under the head
of church music. These comprise several anthems and other ritual-music
for the Anglican service, the fruit of his long and intimate relations
with English musical life, some fine motets (especially the three
for female voices written in 1830 for the convent of _Trinità de’
Monti_ in Rome, namely, _Veni Domine_, _Laudate Pueri_, and _Surrexit
Pastor_, and the great eight-part motet, ‘Judge me, O God’), several
compositions for the Berlin Cathedral, hymns, and nine psalms. He is
the first composer in the nineteenth century to give to the psalm the
same breadth and seriousness of treatment accorded to the larger choral
forms. They rise to the dignity of important works, though all are not
equally beautiful. They are: Psalms 115 (‘Not unto us, O Lord’) and 95
(‘O come let us worship’) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; Psalm 114
(‘When Israel out of Egypt came’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra;
Psalm 98 (‘Sing to the Lord’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra,
written for the festival service in the Berlin Cathedral on New Year’s
Day, 1844; Psalm 42 (‘As the hart pants’) for soprano solo, chorus,
and organ; Psalms 2, 22, and 47 for eight-part _a cappella_ chorus,
written for the Berlin Cathedral; and Psalm 13 (‘Lord, how long wilt
Thou forget me’) for alto solo and chorus. The 42d and 95th are the
finest of the psalms; the others are seldom performed now. The hymn,
‘Hear my prayer,’ for soprano solo, chorus, and organ, closing with
the familiar ‘O for the wings of a dove,’ is one of the most beautiful
of Mendelssohn’s devotional inspirations, and has enjoyed, and still
enjoys, great popularity with both choirs and choral societies.
‘The First Walpurgis Night.’--While Mendelssohn was travelling in
Italy in 1831 he composed music to Goethe’s poem ‘The First Walpurgis
Night,’ the dramatic intensity of which made a deep impression on the
young composer; but it was not until February 2, 1843, that it was
publicly performed at Leipzig, and then much altered from the original
draft. St. Walpurgis, to whom May-day eve was dedicated, was an early
missionary who had brought Christianity to the Druids of Saxony.
The scene of the cantata is the summit of the Brocken and the time
May-day eve, when the Druids, taking advantage of the old Northern
myth that on this eve the witches hold high revels here, gather to
celebrate their rites, while their sentinels, disguised as demons,
scare away the Christians with wild gesticulations, clashes of arms,
and hideous noises. The music belongs to Mendelssohn’s most important
and significant work. The overture, graphically depicting the passage
from winter to spring, is followed by a tenor solo and a chorus of
Druids, breathing the atmosphere of spring. Next comes a dramatic
alto solo, uttering a warning, and after it a stately exhortation by
the Druid priest. There ensues a whispering chorus, portraying the
sentinels as they quietly take their places. A guard then discloses
the plan for frightening away intruders. This leads to a chorus in
which the composer uses most grotesque musical effects, both vocal and
instrumental, to picture the infernal scene. This weird chaos gives way
to an impressive hymn for bass solo and chorus. Following this comes
the terrified cry of the Christians, who are driven away, while the
Druids and their priest chant a closing hymn of praise.
‘As the Hart Pants.’--Mendelssohn’s setting of the Forty-second Psalm
was first presented at a Gewandhaus concert in Leipzig in 1838. It is
smaller in form than the ‘Walpurgis Night,’ but is symmetrical and
artistic. A sustained introduction leads to a chorus, tender and full
of passionate longing, ‘As the hart pants after the water brooks, so
panteth my soul for Thee, O God,’ in which the highest point among
the choral portions of the work is reached. A beautiful adagio melody
is given out by the oboe and repeated as a soprano solo, ‘For my soul
thirsteth for God.’ The third number, ‘My tears have been my meat,’
given as a soprano recitative, leads to a march-like chorus for women’s
voices, ‘For I had gone with the multitude.’ The male voices then sing
in unison ‘Why, my soul, art thou cast down?’ and the female voices
answer, ‘Trust thou in God.’ A pathetic soprano recitative follows,
beginning ‘O my God! My soul is cast down within me.’ The eighth number
is sung by a male quartet with string accompaniment, ‘The Lord will
command His loving-kindness in the daytime,’ a beautiful response full
of hope and consolation; while through it is heard the saddening strain
of the soprano. The closing full chorus repeats the fourth number,
‘Trust thou in God,’ more elaborately developed, and ending in a pæan
of praise to God. This Psalm-cantata is one of the finest as well as
most frequently performed of Mendelssohn’s shorter choral works and
breathes throughout a deeply religious feeling couched in terms of
refined romantic sentiment.
‘Come Let Us Sing’ (95th Psalm).--The first performance of this psalm,
which is written for tenor solo, chorus, and orchestra, took place at
Leipzig on February 21, 1839. It opens with a solo, ‘O come, let us
worship,’ the theme of which is immediately taken up and developed by
the chorus in jubilant tone, but which sinks at the end to a quiet
mood. A solo soprano voice then enunciates the words, ‘Come, let us
sing to the Lord,’ and this theme is treated fugally by the chorus
in a joyous allegro movement, closing with a strong two-part canon
in the octave for the male and female voices. The third number is a
graceful duet, ‘In His hands,’ for two sopranos, which is followed by
a stately fugal chorus, ‘For His is the sea,’ at the end of which the
opening section of the first chorus appears with antiphonal phrases
for the tenor solo. The original setting closes with the fifth number,
‘Henceforth, when ye hear His voice,’ for solo and chorus, a movement
of fine contrapuntal workmanship, closing with softest tones to the
pleading words, ‘Turn not deaf ears and hard hearts.’ An additional
number was left by Mendelssohn, written a few weeks after the first
performance, with the evident purpose of bringing the psalm to a more
complete finish. It consists of another choral setting of the words,
‘For His is the sea,’ in which the theme from the first number again
plays an important part and an atmosphere of joy and majestic power is
maintained throughout.
_Lauda Sion_ (‘Praise Jehovah’), one of Mendelssohn’s most beautiful
cantatas, for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra, was written for
the celebration of the Festival of Corpus Christi by the Church of St.
Martin at Liège, where it was performed June 11, 1846, the composer
himself being present. The _Lauda Sion_ is a sequence (see page 15)
written by Thomas Aquinas about 1264 and is regularly sung at High Mass
on this Feast. There is a short introduction and the announcement of
the theme _Lauda Sion_ leads to a chorus _Laudis thema_, of devotional
character. In the _Sit laus plena_, phrases sung by the soprano are
repeated by the chorus. Then follows a beautiful quartet, _In hac
mensa_. A solemn chorale in unison leads to a charming soprano arioso,
_Caro cibus_. The seventh and last number is an intensely dramatic solo
and chorus, set to the closing lines of the well-known hymn. This is
Mendelssohn’s only excursion into the Catholic liturgy.
‘The Gutenberg Festival Cantata.’--Mendelssohn wrote this short
festival cantata for the fourth centennial celebration of the invention
of printing, observed at Leipzig, June 24, 1840, by the unveiling
of Gutenberg’s statue in the public square. The text was written by
Adolphus Prölsz, a teacher in the Gymnasium at Freiberg. A stately
chorale leads to ‘Fatherland! within thy confines,’ a song[68] written
in memory of Gutenberg. Next comes a spirited melody for tenors, ‘And
God said, "Let there be Light,"’ followed by a closing chorale, ‘Now,
thank God all.’
‘Antigone.’--The incidental music to Sophocles’ _Antigone_ was
composed in 1841 in the short space of eleven days, and was privately
presented at Potsdam before William IV of Prussia and his court,
October 28. Its first public performance was at Leipzig, March 5, 1842.
It was written for male chorus and orchestra and consists of seven
numbers. Although built along modern lines, Mendelssohn’s felicitous
music faithfully represents the spirit of the ancient Greek tragedy.
‘Œdipus at Colonos.’--At the command of the king of Prussia, from whom
Mendelssohn had received the commission of chapel-master in 1841, the
music to this tragedy by Sophocles was composed in 1843 and its first
presentation took place at Potsdam November 1, 1845. The music, sung by
two male choruses antiphonally, embraces nine choral numbers, preceded
by a short introduction. The third number, closing with an invocation
to Neptune by the united choruses, is the gem of the work and has few
equals in effective choral writing. It is frequently heard in detached
form on the concert stage.
IV
The early romantic movement attracted to itself no more enthusiastic
disciple and energetic exponent than Hector Berlioz (1803-1869).
Indeed, he was one of the earliest and at the same time one of the most
extreme of the romanticists. Eccentric, impatient of formalism of any
kind, but gifted with an intensely vivid imagination and a prodigious
sense of color, he possessed a creative force of great originality
and spontaneity, whose effectiveness, however, was frequently marred
by its extravagance of expression. Endowed with an insatiable desire
to interline all music with some kind of a descriptive or narrative
purpose, he gave a tremendous impetus to ‘program music.’ In attempting
to find an effective medium for descriptive effort in striving after
the fantastic, he mightily developed the resources of the orchestra
and became the real founder of the modern science of orchestration;
moreover, he used his orchestra as eloquently in his choral
masterpiece, ‘The Damnation of Faust,’ as in his symphonic works.
His choral-writing came under the same romantic spell of liberation
from formalism as did his instrumental inspirations. His ‘Faust’ is
not only the first choral work, but almost the only one until near
the end of the nineteenth century, in which the romantic ideal wholly
dominates both choral and instrumental forces. If some of the choral
numbers suffer in comparison with present-day choral treatment, this
is not because of any difference of viewpoint, but because of the
inadequacy, which one sometimes feels, of the purely musical vocabulary
at his command to express fully what he felt. He frequently used the
chorus, as did Beethoven in the ‘Ninth Symphony,’ as an adjunct to his
symphonic works, but in distinctly choral forms, he left, in addition
to the ‘Faust’ and the works mentioned in Chapter VIII, the cantata
_La mort de Sardanapale_, which was completed amid the uproar of the
July Revolution, 1830, and with which he won the Grand Prix de Rome
the same year; the cantata _Le cinq mai_ for bass solo, chorus, and
orchestra, written in 1834 for the anniversary of Napoleon’s death; the
cantata _L’Impériale_, written in 1855 for the Paris Exhibition; _Sara
la Baigneuse_, a choral ballad; three youthful cantatas, _La révolution
grecque_ (1826), _Herminie_ (1828), and _La mort de Cléopatre_ (1829);
and a few occasional choruses and choral ballads.
‘The Damnation of Faust.’--This ‘dramatic legend,’ as the composer
calls it, is the aftermath of an early and immature work, ‘Eight Scenes
from Faust’ (published in 1829 as opus 1), and was composed in 1845
and ‘46, part of it here and there while on a concert tour in Austria
and Hungary, the rest in Paris. Its first performance took place at
the Opéra-Comique, Paris, December 6, 1846, under the direction of
the composer, before a wretchedly small audience and without success.
In Germany it was produced at the Royal Opera House, Berlin, June
19, 1847, Berlioz conducting. Though parts of it were frequently
given in England, the first complete performance did not take place
until February 5, 1880, at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester, when
Charles Hallé conducted it. In New York a few days later, on February
12th, it had its first American hearing under the direction of Dr.
Leopold Damrosch with the combined Oratorio and Arion Societies. ‘The
Damnation of Faust’ is undoubtedly Berlioz’s masterpiece and sums
up the best qualities of his exuberant and fantastic style. Both
instrumental and choral parts are overlaid with a wealth of romantic
and poetic coloring, the orchestration is dazzling, and the chorus is
brilliantly handled. Many of its most beautiful and effective numbers
were retained almost without alteration from his earlier ‘Eight Scenes
from Faust’--the work of a youth of twenty-five years. These include
the scene where Faust is lulled to sleep by the sylphs, the peasants’
song, the songs of the rat and the flea, the King of Thule ballad, and
Mephistopheles’ serenade.
The work, which has the dimensions of an oratorio, is divided into
four parts, the first of which contains three scenes, the second
five, the third six, and the fourth six, concluding with a short
epilogue and the apotheosis of Marguerite. The persons represented are
Marguerite (mezzo-soprano), Faust (tenor), Mephistopheles (bass), and
Brander (bass). The story does not closely follow Goethe’s version,
as the opening scene discloses Faust alone at sunrise on a plain in
Hungary, where Berlioz places him in order to have the opportunity of
introducing the Hungarian national march. He sings in tender strain
of the joys of spring and the delights of nature, but his reverie is
disturbed by a rollicking chorus and dance of peasants. From another
part of the plain come warlike sounds of an advancing army to the
stirring and brilliant music of the Rákóczy March. The troops pass and
Faust retires, unmoved by the scene. The second part opens with Faust
in North Germany, alone in his study. He voices his discontent with
the world; as he is on the point of drowning his sorrow with poison,
the tones of the Easter Hymn (‘Christ is risen from the dead’) strike
his ear. He listens in wonderment to the joyful strains and at the
end joins in the stately chorus. Repentant and exalted, he resolves
to begin anew, when Mephistopheles suddenly appears and mockingly
exclaims, ‘Sweet sentiments indeed and fit for any saint!’ Faust is
entrapped by his promises and they disappear. The next scene finds
them in Auerbach’s cellar in Leipzig amid a band of carousing students
who sing a lusty drinking song (‘Oh, it is rare when winter’s storms
are loudly roaring’). There follows the drunken Brander’s song of the
rat, at the end of which the irreverent students improvise an ironical
fugue on the word ‘Amen’ to a motive from the theme of Brander’s song.
Mephistopheles adds to the reckless merriment with the song of the flea
(‘Once on a time a king, sirs, loved a flea passing well’). Amid the
heavy bravos of the drunken students, Faust and Mephistopheles vanish,
to appear again in the next scene, the seventh, on the wooded meadows
on the banks of the Elbe. Mephistopheles sings a delightful melody
(‘Within these bowers’) and summons the spirits of earth and of air to
lull his companion to sleep. Faust slumbers while the gnomes and sylphs
sing a chorus of ravishing beauty (‘Dream, happy Faust’), closing with
an exquisitely delicate orchestral number in waltz-measure, the dance
of the sylphs. As they disappear, Faust wakes and relates his vision
of Marguerite. Mephistopheles agrees to lead him to her chamber and
on the way thither they join a band of jovial soldiers and students
marching along the street. The last scene of this part consists of
a lively soldiers’ chorus (‘Tower and wall may bar our way’) and a
characteristic Latin student-song (_Jam nox stellata_), the two being
cleverly combined at the end.
The action of the third part takes place in Marguerite’s chamber.
Faust enters and sings passionately of his love for her (‘Oh, come,
calm breathing twilight’). Mephistopheles warns him of her approach
and hides him behind a curtain. She enters and in detached phrases
tells of her vision of Faust and her love for him. While preparing
for slumber, she sings the pathetic ballad, ‘Once in far Thule.’ As
its sad strains die away, Mephistopheles summons the evil spirits
and the will-o’-the-wisps to encircle her dwelling and lure her to
her doom. Then follows the lovely dance of the will-o’-the-wisps, an
orchestral minuet which Berlioz has enriched with many a masterly touch
of tonal realism. Mephistopheles sings his sardonic serenade (‘Why,
fair maid, wilt thou linger’), with frequent choral accompaniment
by the will-o’-the-wisps, each stanza closing with a derisive ‘Ha!’
A trio (‘O purest maid’) of great dramatic power and passion brings
this part to a close. Faust and Marguerite avow their mutual love,
Mephistopheles warns them of approaching danger, while a chorus of
neighbors in the street taunts the hapless maiden. As the fourth part
opens, Marguerite, alone in her chamber, sings a sad, sweet romance,
‘Alone and heavy-hearted’ (Goethe’s familiar _Meine Ruh’ ist hin_),
at the end of which distant strains of the songs of the soldiers and
students are heard. The next scene is Faust’s solemn and powerful
invocation to Nature (‘Mysterious Nature! vast and relentless power!’).
Mephistopheles appears on the rocky scene, relates Marguerite’s crime
and imprisonment, and, playing upon Faust’s desire to rescue her,
makes him sign the contract that binds his soul to the Evil One. The
‘Ride to the Abyss’ now begins and Berlioz’s furious music, which
only for one short moment relaxes its impetuous galloping rhythm,
pictures with relentless realism the terrible scenes as the riders
pass horror-stricken peasants praying at the roadside, as they
draw into their train monstrous birds, hideous beasts, and leering
skeleton-phantoms. With a shout of triumph from Mephistopheles and a
cry of horror from Faust, they fall into the abyss, where they are
greeted by a chorus of devils (male voices), who sing in a language
invented for them by the imaginative Berlioz (_Has! Irimiru Karabrao_,
etc.). The glee and triumph of this fiendish host are uttered in
snarling tones of harshest discord, ‘the hellish laugh of fiends
exulting in their torture.’ These sounds of pandemonium are followed
by a short epilogue ‘On Earth,’ leading into an equally short one ‘In
Heaven,’ in which the seraphim plead for Marguerite. The whole work
closes with the ‘Apotheosis of Marguerite,’ in which the celestial
chorus (‘Thou ransomed soul, rest from thy sorrow!’) with joyful tones
welcomes the pardoned maiden to the realms of everlasting light.
V
The achievements of Robert Schumann (1810-1856) in other fields
far outshone his choral works, yet the latter are by no means
inconsiderable in number or unimportant in quality and influence. But
he never mastered the technical details of effective choral-writing as
did Mendelssohn. Sonorous and glowing as many of his choruses are, his
choral works, even the finest one, ‘Paradise and the Peri,’ make their
strongest appeal through the beauty and melodic charm of the solos and
their orchestral accompaniments. He wrote nothing that could strictly
be called church-music though his compositions include a Mass and a
Requiem. Several of his works besides these, however, can be classed
as sacred music. They are the ‘Advent Hymn,’ ‘New Year’s Song,’ and a
motet (_Verzweifle nicht_) for double male chorus and organ (1849).
His secular choral works are numerous, the most important of which are
given detailed mention below. In addition there are the two ballads by
Uhland for solos, chorus, and orchestra, ‘The King’s Son’ and ‘The Luck
of Edenhall’ (for male voices); ‘The Page and the King’s Daughter,’ a
ballad by Geibel written for solos, chorus, and orchestra; a beautiful
setting of Hebbel’s ‘Song of Night’ for chorus and orchestra; and a
number of romances and ballads, among the best-known of which is ‘Gypsy
Life.’ He also wrote incidental music to Byron’s ‘Manfred’ and a set
of scenes (grouped into three parts) from Goethe’s ‘Faust,’ the latter
intended, not for stage performance, but for concert. Some portions of
his ‘Faust’ music are quite equal to ‘Paradise and the Peri’ in melodic
beauty and in freshness and sustained power of invention, but the work
is uneven, the third part being by far the best.
‘Paradise and the Peri’ was Schumann’s first venture in the field of
choral forms with orchestra, yet it is not only his finest choral
work, but it marks the real beginning of the secular or ‘romantic’
oratorio as a form of equal worth and importance with the sacred
oratorio. He published it, however, without giving any classifying
name to its form. The constant use of a narrator seems to ally it to
passion-music, as far as its form is concerned, but in other respects,
notwithstanding its length, it resembles the dramatic secular cantata.
In treating the narrative parts, however, Schumann abandons the older
form of recitative and gives to these connecting links almost the same
melodic importance as to the main events of the story themselves, thus
sacrificing an opportunity for much needed contrast among the vocal
elements.
‘Paradise and the Peri’ was written in 1843 and was given its first
performance at the Gewandhaus, Leipzig, on December 4th of the same
year with the composer conducting. England heard the work for the
first time June 23d, 1856, with Mme. Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt singing
the part of the Peri and Sterndale Bennett conducting. Schumann found
his text in the second poem of Thomas Moore’s ‘Lalla Rookh,’ which he
followed very closely. This deals with the beautiful Hindoo legend of
the fallen Peri, banished from paradise, who is promised readmission
if she succeeds in finding the gift ‘most dear to Heaven.’ She brings
in succession the last drop of blood shed by a hero fighting for his
country’s liberty, the last sigh of a devoted maiden who sacrificed
herself to die by the side of her plague-stricken lover, and the tear
of a repentant sinner--which last precious gift alone can move the
crystal bar that closes the gate of light. These three quests for
the coveted gift constitute the three parts into which the work is
divided. The music has many touches of oriental color, but it breathes
throughout the warm romantic sentiment, in melody and harmony, which
was an inseparable part of Schumann’s individual style. The work
discloses some fine choral-writing, but the composer of _Frauenliebe
und-Leben_ and _Dichterliebe_ is conspicuously apparent in many an
exquisite song, the peers of anything Schumann has written. The persons
represented are the Peri (soprano), the angel (alto), the King of Gazna
(bass), the youth (tenor), the maiden (soprano), and the horseman
(baritone); the part of the narrator is distributed among various
voices. There are choruses of Hindoos, angels, houris, and genii of the
Nile.
An expressive orchestral introduction is followed by the narrator
(alto), who describes the forlorn Peri at the gate of heaven. The
Peri sings a beautiful melody (‘How blest seem to me, banished child
of air!’), full of tender longing; the angel tells her how she may
again be admitted (‘One hope is thine’) and the Peri departs on her
quest, singing ‘I know the wealth hidden in every urn.’ The narrator
here introduces a quartet (‘Oh, beauteous land’), which is immediately
followed by a full chorus (‘But crimson now her rivers ran’). A
stirring march-like movement foretells the approach of the tyrant of
Gazna; choruses of Hindoos and the conquerors shout defiance at each
other; the narrator (tenor) tells of the solitary youth left fighting
for his native land; the tyrant and the youth face each other and utter
short defiant phrases; the youth shoots his last arrow, it misses its
mark and he is slain; and an eight-part chorus cries out in agonized
tones, ‘Woe! for false flew the shaft.’ The Peri saw the deed and flew
to catch the last drop of blood shed for liberty by the youthful hero.
The part closes with a chorus (‘For blood must be holy’), vigorous,
broad, exultant, in which the Peri finally joins.
The second part opens with a tenderly expressive strain which
accompanies the narrator (tenor) as he tells of the return of the
Peri to heaven’s gate with her gift. A short solo for the angel
follows (‘Sweet is our welcome’), and the narrator describes the
disappointment of the Peri. Without any break in the music the scene
suddenly shifts to the banks of the Nile; the spirits of the river
in a pianissimo chorus weave their dainty strains around the lament
of the Peri (‘O Eden, how longeth for thee my heart’) which rises
ever higher and higher. The narrator (tenor) describes at length the
pestilence that afflicts Egypt’s land. The Peri weeps at the scene and
a solo quartet in beautiful phrases sings the magic power of tears.
From this point to the end of the second part there is an unbroken
stream of exquisite melody, as the pathetic scene is unfolded of the
faithful love of the maiden who gladly dies beside her plague-stricken
lover. It contains two of Schumann’s finest lyric inspirations--the
solo of the mezzo-soprano narrator (‘Poor youth, thus deserted’) and
the deeply-moving love-song of the dying maiden (‘Oh, let me only
breathe the air, love!’). The Peri sings a calm, sweet lament over
the bodies of the lovers (‘Sleep on’), in which the chorus joins, and
this beautiful part is brought to a reposeful close. A graceful chorus
of houris (‘Wreathe ye the steps to great Allah’s throne’) opens the
third part, in which chorus a pleasing canon for the first and second
sopranos is given an important place. The narration is taken up by the
tenor (‘Now morn is blushing in the sky’) in very melodious strain. The
angel in a short solo again announces that the gift must be far holier.
The Peri, full of anguish and disappointment but still not despairing,
in a long aria (‘Rejected and sent from Eden’s door’) voices her
determination to find the acceptable gift. The narrator, this time a
baritone, sings a lengthy but graceful melody (‘And now o’er Syria’s
rosy plain’), followed by a beautiful quartet of Peris (‘Say, is it
so?’). The baritone resumes the narrative, and, after a short solo by
the Peri, this is continued by a tenor who in a long and stirring song
describes a scene in Baalbec’s valley--an innocent child playing amid
the flowers, a weary, sin-stained horseman who pauses to drink from the
near-by fountain. The alto narrator pictures the vesper call to prayer
and the child’s instant response. The tenor dwells on the childhood
memories aroused in ‘the man of sin’ at the sight. The horseman in a
short but heartfelt strain (‘There was a time, thou blessed child’)
is touched to repentance. A quartet and chorus (‘Oh, blessed tears of
true repentance’) take up the theme in simple, full harmony. The Peri
and the tenor narrator describe the scene as the man and the child
kneel side by side in prayer. In the final number the Peri in exultant
tones (‘Joy, joy forever! My work is done’) sings her happiness at
having found the acceptable gift, and from a chorus of the blest there
resounds a glad welcome to the redeemed Peri (‘Oh, welcome mid the
blest!’).
‘The Pilgrimage of the Rose’ was written for solos, chorus, and
orchestra in the spring of 1851 and first performed at Düsseldorf, May
6, 1852. It is founded on a fairy tale by Moritz Horn, the uninspiring
and weak text of which is probably responsible for the infrequent
performance of this cantata, though individual numbers are occasionally
given. The narrative calls for eight personages distributed among
the various voices and there are twenty-four numbers. The rather
commonplace story relates the wanderings of a rose, who, transformed
into a lovely maiden, tastes the joys of pure happiness among mortals.
The rose, which she must always carry with her, she finally gives to
her infant babe, and, as she dies, she is carried away by angels. Among
the most interesting numbers are the opening song in canon-form for
two sopranos (‘Of loving will the token’), the chorus of fairies (‘In
dancing’), a spirited male chorus (‘In the thick wood hast wandered’),
the duet (‘In the smiling valley’), and the two bridal choruses (‘Why
sound the horns so gaily?’ and ‘And now at the miller’s’).
‘The Minstrel’s Curse,’ a work for solo voices, chorus, and orchestra,
was written and first performed in 1852. It presents the familiar
Uhland ballad of the same name, adapted for the composer by Richard
Pohl. The original text is not closely followed and several other poems
by Uhland are introduced, such as _Die drei Lieder_, _Entsagung_, and
_Hohe Liebe_, the singing of which last-named song is made the occasion
that leads to the tragedy. The cantata opens with a description of
the castle and the proud king by the narrator, after which an alto
solo announces the advent of the minstrels. The youth sings a graceful
Provençal song and a chorus follows. The stern king angrily objects
to the tender themes chosen by the youth and the harper sings in
sterner mood. The queen plaintively requests more songs and the youth
and the harper again sing of spring and pleasure. The youth then
sings passionately of love and the harper and the queen join him in a
powerful trio that precedes the tragedy, after which the chorus carries
the narration to the end.
‘Advent Hymn.’--This setting of a devotional hymn by Friedrich Rückert
for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, was made in 1848. It is a
short work with only seven numbers, but is broad and impressive in
style and is finely illustrative of Schumann’s best choral-writing. The
first number is a melodious solo (‘In lowly guise thy King appeareth’)
for soprano with answering passages for female chorus, which leads
into a strong five-part chorus (‘O King indeed, though no man hail
Thee’). This is followed by a soprano solo (‘When Thou the stormy sea
art crossing’), concluding with a quiet chorus for female voices.
The fourth number is introduced by a short section for male voices
(‘Thou Lord of grace and truth unfailing’), which is taken up at once
by full chorus in delicate pianissimo and interspersed with frequent
five-pulse measures. The fifth number is given to a quartet (‘Need is
there for Thyself, returning’), written in free imitative style. The
last two numbers are elaborate choruses to which a solo quartet is very
effectively joined. The close is massive and stately--a prayer that
Christ will quench all strife and bring peace and unity to the peoples
of the earth.
Friedrich Rückert’s ‘New Year’s Hymn’ was set to music by Schumann
in 1849 for chorus and orchestra, with incidental solos for soprano,
alto, and bass. The theme is the familiar one of solemn retrospection
over the Old Year and hopeful anticipation for the New. The solo work
is slight, the weightier utterances being confided to the chorus. The
final chorus (‘O prince, waking throned for a year as of right’) is
particularly effective. Beginning in full, pianissimo harmony, it rises
to a jubilant close, in which appears the chorale ‘Now thank we all our
God,’ at first in the bass contrapuntally treated and then with all the
voices in unison.
‘Mignon’s Requiem’ is a cantata of slight and delicate texture, but of
rich and varied musical beauty. Very different from many of the texts
which Schumann chose for choral settings, this one was especially
written for music. It is taken from Goethe’s ‘Wilhelm Meister,’ from
the scene in which the obsequies of Mignon occur. The score is full of
poetic and mystical touches from the first quiet chorus (‘Who comes to
join our silent assembly?’) to the last triumphant chorus (‘Children,
haste into life to return’). The work was composed in 1849 for solos,
chorus, and orchestra, but the duties of the soloists are light.
VI
The list of choral works of Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885) is an
extensive one. The style in which many of them were written is now
obsolete, however, and only one, ‘A Song of Victory,’ has retained its
earlier popularity. Next in importance to this is the dramatic cantata,
‘Nala and Damayanti,’ founded on an ancient Hindoo poem and written in
1871. Other choral works are the two oratorios, ‘The Destruction of
Jerusalem’ (1839) and ‘Saul’ (1858), and the cantatas _O weint um sie_
(1839), ‘Israel’s Song of Victory’ (1841), ‘Song of the Spirits over
the Water’ (1842), ‘Prometheus’ (1843), ‘Rebecca’ (1843), ‘Heloise’
(1844), ‘Loreley’ (1845), and ‘Prince Papagei’ (1872).
‘A Song of Victory.’--The triumph of the German arms in the
Franco-Prussian war of 1870 was the occasion that prompted the
composition of this cantata, and joy and gratitude for victory are
its dominant moods. It was written for soprano solo, chorus, and
orchestra, and the Cologne Festival of 1871 was the scene of its first
performance. The work opens with a powerful chorus (‘The Lord great
wonders for us hath wrought’) beginning with sustained chords, then
changing to a movement of great animation. The soprano voice takes up
the second number (‘Praise, O Jerusalem, praise the Lord’) and, as the
opening phrases are repeated, the chorus adds a soft accompaniment.
This is followed by a vigorous and dramatic chorus (‘The heathen are
fallen in the pit’), describing the terrors of war and, in contrast,
the strong confidence of true believers in the protection of the
Lord. A short soprano solo (‘See, it is written in the book of the
righteous’), lamenting for the slain, leads into a beautiful three-part
chorus for female voices (‘He in tears that soweth’), to which the
soprano obbligato is most effectively added. The sixth number (‘Mighty
is our God’) is a sustained chorus with massive chords. The last two
numbers are for solo and chorus and return to the exultant mood with
which the work begins, the last chorus (‘Praise the Lord for His great
wonders’) closing with an outburst of joy and hallelujah.
* * * * *
The first important contribution which Denmark made to the literature
of music in the larger forms came from the pen of Niels Wilhelm Gade
(1817-1890). Although his music shows strong traces of the influence
of Schumann and Mendelssohn, especially the latter, his best works
are virile, individual, and plainly affected by the harmonies and
cadences of the Scandinavian folk-song. Some of his most forceful and
characteristic utterances are to be found in choral forms and here
he followed Schumann’s example in choosing romantic subjects drawn
largely from imaginative and fanciful legends and folklore. Several of
the cantatas are chosen for analysis; the remaining ones are ‘Spring
Fantasy’ (1850), ‘Kalamus’ (1853), ‘Spring’s Message’ (1853) for chorus
and orchestra, and ‘Psyche’ (1856) for solos, chorus, and orchestra.
‘The Crusaders’ is the first[69] secular choral work after ‘Paradise
and the Peri’ to compare in importance and in richness of content and
treatment with Schumann’s fine composition. It easily takes rank among
the strongest and most beautiful of nineteenth-century cantatas. It was
written in 1866 and performed in Copenhagen the same year. In 1876 Gade
conducted this work as well as his ‘Zion’ at the Birmingham Festival,
England. The central motive of the poem by Carl Andersen (much of whose
material is drawn from Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem Delivered’) is the temptation
of the brave crusader Rinaldo d’Este by the sorceress Armida and her
sirens and his triumph over the powers of evil. The personages are
three in number, Rinaldo (tenor), Armida (mezzo-soprano), and Peter
the Hermit (bass); and the work is divided into three parts--(1) In
the desert, (2) Armida, and (3) Towards Jerusalem. The first part
opens with a chorus of pilgrims and women from the crusaders’ host,
depicting the long, weary march and the sufferings in the struggle
to gain the distant goal. The encouraging voice of Peter the Hermit
is heard (‘Soon our God success will send us’) and Rinaldo sings the
stirring Crusaders’ Song (‘Shine, holy sun, shine on my trusty sword’),
to each stanza of which the chorus adds a vigorous, war-like refrain.
The Hermit leads the crusaders in an evening prayer of impressive
strength, beauty, and exalted devotion, and thus the first part
closes. The second part begins with a long orchestral introduction,
descriptive of the direful influence of Armida’s magic charms. The
spirits of darkness appear and, as they dance, sing a weird pianissimo
chorus (‘Silent, creeping so light’). In a fine dramatic solo Armida
outlines her plans for the ensnarement of Rinaldo. The sirens, in a
three-part chorus, sing a melody of truly wonderful sensuous beauty
(‘The wave sweeps my breast’) and their enticing voices are frequently
heard in the tumultuous music of the temptation scene that follows.
Armida sings in seductive tones ‘O Rinaldo, come to endless joy and
rest.’ The brave knight’s senses are enthralled and he is on the point
of yielding when he hears a strain of the Crusaders’ Song as from the
distance. A powerful concerted number is built up from this point.
Rinaldo wavers, the sturdy Crusaders’ Song and the voluptuous music of
the sirens and Armida struggle for the mastery. The former becomes more
insistent, the magic spell of the sorceress is broken, and Rinaldo,
now thoroughly roused, joins fervently in the crusaders’ refrain, ‘Of
heaven the faithful soldier am I ever.’ Like Wagner’s ‘Parsifal,’ with
which this cantata has many points in common, the first and third parts
of ‘The Crusaders’ build a religious frame for the vividly contrasting
temptation scene of the middle part. The third part is introduced by a
calm and devotional morning hymn of the crusaders, their faces fixed
toward Jerusalem. The penitent Rinaldo again vows allegiance to the
cross (‘With holy thoughts seek holy things’). His solo leads into
the choral March of Pilgrims (‘Forward! O weary feet’), stirring,
confident, and exalted. Jerusalem appears in the distance; the Hermit
calls the hosts to final combat, the Crusaders’ Song again resounds
triumphantly and the work closes with a brilliant choral climax (‘To
war! God wills it, up, arouse thee!’).
‘The Erl-King’s Daughter.’--Gade composed the music for this cantata
in 1852, the text being founded on Danish legends quite different from
the one made famous by Goethe’s familiar poem. The knight, Sir Oluf,
has been bewitched by the Erl-King’s daughters as he slept in the
twilight on a mound in the forest. Notwithstanding the warning of his
mother, he fares forth on the eve of his wedding-day to seek again the
alluring maidens. They invite him with enticing songs to join their
moonlight revels and offer him a silken robe for his bride and a silver
cuirass for himself. He refuses to dance with the fairest of them,
she lays her hand upon his brow and predicts his death. He jumps on
his steed and madly rushes home, where his mother tremblingly awaits
him. In the morning light she sees him riding desperately through the
fields without plume or shield; he draws rein at the castle door,
briefly greets his terrified mother, and falls dead from his steed. A
short epilogue draws a moral that youths who ride through the woods at
night should turn aside from the Erl-King’s mound, for ‘danger will
ever him betide who heeds the Erl-maidens’ singing!’ There are three
solo voices--the Erl-King’s daughter (soprano), Sir Oluf (baritone),
and Oluf’s mother (alto). The music throughout is very melodious,
graceful, and pleasing. The most interesting numbers are the chorus of
Erl-maidens, the enticing song of the Erl-King’s daughter, the morning
hymn (‘The sun now mounts the eastern sky’) which opens the third part,
and the dramatic finale, a concerted number of much vigor and animation.
‘Christmas Eve’ is a short meditation on the Nativity (poem by
August von Platen), set in cantata-form for alto solo, eight-part
chorus, and orchestra in 1851. A strongly devotional style is
maintained throughout. In the opening number a seraph (alto) bids
the hosts of angels to carry earthward the glad tidings of Christ’s
coming. The second number is a double chorus of seraphim (‘Behold,
a star appeareth’) and shepherds (‘Angelic hosts surround us’),
the two uniting in rich and varied combinations. The seraph, in a
solo of rare beauty (‘O! with pure devotion’), summons the world to
worship the Child, and the chorus softly sings its ‘praise to the
newly-born.’ The double chorus is handled antiphonally with great
skill and effectiveness. The final number (‘But now a cheerful morning
o’er-spreads the weary earth’) is a flowing, hymn-like melody for alto
solo, repeated in elaborated form for full eight-part chorus, but
sinking quietly to a reposeful close.
‘Comala,’ the earliest of Gade’s choral works, was first performed at
Leipzig through Mendelssohn’s influence on March 3, 1843. The dramatic
poem to which the music is written follows Ossian and relates the story
of the Scottish princess Comala, daughter of Sarno, king of Innistore,
whose ardent passion for Fingal, king of Morven, was as ardently
returned. Disguised as a youth (in the manner of old Italian opera)
she follows him on an expedition against Caracul, king of Lochlin.
The royal lovers part before the battle, Fingal promising to return
victorious in the evening. Filled with sad forebodings, the princess
with her maidens awaits him on a height from which she can witness the
battle. A furious storm arises and amid its roaring blasts the spirits
of the warriors’ ancestors sweep by to guide home the souls of the
slain. Comala imagines that the battle is lost and her lover killed.
Overmastered by her grief, she dies, and Fingal, returning with his
victorious warriors, hears from the weeping maidens the news of the
tragedy. He sorrowfully calls upon the bards to sing her praises, and,
with the maidens, they chant a farewell hymn to her as her departing
soul is borne to the mansions of her fathers. Music and poetry alike
are tinged with the darksome northern colors.
The solo work is distributed among four personages--Comala (soprano),
her two maidens Dersagrena and Malicoma (mezzo-sopranos), and Fingal
(bass). The graceful and, in the main, obvious character of the music
has made this cantata a great favorite for more than a half-century.
Many characteristic touches of northern harmony and melody are brought
to view, as in the orchestral introduction and in the songs of Comala
and the ballads sung by her maids to cheer her (‘There, lonely, sits
Comala’ and ‘One day there came from Lochlin’). The parting duet
between Fingal and Comala is melodious and sincere; but the main charm
of the work springs from the choruses, which are about equally divided
between Fingal’s warriors and Comala’s maidens. Of the male choruses
the one accompanying Fingal’s victorious return (‘Far fled is the foe’)
is particularly stately and forceful. The female chorus is used with
fine effect in the agitated scene of Comala’s fatal forebodings and
subsequent death. The chorus of spirits (‘Our pathway is the storm’) is
weird and sepulchral, but becomes dramatic as the frightened princess
raises her voice in supplication to spare her lover. The cantata closes
with a full chorus of bards and maidens (‘In the darkness of clouds’),
who, in imposing and majestic unison strains, rich in the sombre hues
of the northern splendor, commend the soul of ‘the sweet loving maiden’
to the spirits of the fathers.
‘Zion’ is a sacred cantata for baritone solo, chorus, and orchestra,
written in 1860 when Gade was at the height of his creative powers.
It consists of an introduction (‘Hear, O my flock Israel’) in which
the chorus relates how the Lord God heard the groanings and cries of
the children of Israel and wrought great wonders in their behalf. This
is followed by two choruses--the first describing the departure from
Egypt and closing with a tranquil fugal section (‘Like as a flock He
hath gently led His people’), and the second portraying the captivity
in Babylon. The final number, entitled ‘The Return,’ relates the
prophecy of the New Jerusalem. The baritone solo takes up the theme
in a dignified aria, followed by a female chorus and closing with an
animated full chorus (‘Never shall thy sun be setting’) in impressive,
sonorous phrases. The whole work is conceived in a broad oratorio style
in which the influence of both Handel and Mendelssohn may be detected.
‘Spring’s Message,’ for chorus and orchestra, is based on a poem by
Geibel which depicts Spring as the season of hope, particularly of the
Christian’s hope. This mood is maintained throughout and the composer’s
gift of tuneful melody has thrown over voice-parts and accompaniment
alike a charm that well befits this joyous season. This short work was
written in 1853.
VII
Félicien David (1810-1876) was a prominent French composer of the
nineteenth century who attained his maximum popularity in the fifties.
Though he wrote numerous operas and compositions in various other
fields, he is one of those composers whom posterity has remembered
almost entirely by a single work, in this case, ‘The Desert,’ a
composition of singular beauty and charm. While a comparatively
young man David had sojourned for several years in the East, in
Constantinople, Egypt, and the Holy Land, and his experiences there
made an indelible impression upon his talents. The form of ‘The Desert’
is rather hard to classify. The composer calls it a ‘symphonic ode.’
It consists of orchestral numbers, male choruses, and tenor solos,
grouped into three parts and interspersed with short descriptive
recitations. The poem by Auguste Colin, which forms the text of the
work, made an instant appeal to David and the very spontaneous music
for it was composed in three months. When it was first performed in
the hall of the Conservatoire, December 8, 1844, it was received with
enormous applause and was repeated to crowded houses for a month. The
popular estimate then placed upon it has been largely confirmed by its
long-continued popularity. David wrote three other choral works--the
oratorio ‘Moses on Sinai’ (1846), a second symphonic ode, ‘Christopher
Columbus’ (1847), and ‘Eden,’ a ‘mystery’ in two parts, performed at
the Grand Opéra in 1848--but none of these received popular approval.
‘The Desert.’--The theme of the work on which David’s fame
chiefly rests is the desert with its silent vastness, its gloom, and
its grandeur. The human interest is centred on a caravan in various
situations, in the description of which the composer, with remarkable
success, invokes genuine local color; his Arabs are no mere disguised
Frenchmen. Throughout the orchestral introduction a sustained C
symbolizes the dreary monotony of the boundless stretches of sand; a
fantastic hymn of homage to Allah is sung; the march of the caravan is
brilliantly depicted, first by the orchestra and then by the chorus;
the caravan battles with a fierce simoon; calm is restored and the
march is resumed until evening halts it. The second part, entitled
‘Night,’ opens with a charming tenor solo (‘O night, O lovely night’),
after which the orchestra plays an ‘Arab Fantasia’ and a ‘Dance of the
Dancing Girls.’ The chorus sings of freedom in the desert and the tenor
indulges in an evening meditation, to an accompaniment in Oriental
rhythm. The third part (‘Sunrise’) begins with a chant of the muezzin,
founded on a real Arabian melody, calling the faithful to prayer, and
then the caravan departs on its journey, to the choral music heard in
the first part. The opening hymn to Allah, with some modifications,
brings the work to a close. The Oriental atmosphere is preserved
throughout to an astonishing degree.
[Illustration: Cantata Writers of the Nineteenth Century:
Top: Ferdinand Hiller and Félicien David
Bottom: Niels W. Gade and W. Sterndale Bennett]
It will be observed that the Germans have been given by far the most
numerous representation among the choral works thus far mentioned,
there being among them compositions by only three composers of other
nationalities--Gade, a Dane, and Berlioz and David, both Frenchmen.
This numerical difference represents a fair statement of the relative
importance of choral music in continental countries in the period
under present discussion (that is, from 1800 to about 1870). In France
choral music was entirely overshadowed in artistic significance by the
opera, as, indeed, were all other forms of music. The list of German
composers of cantatas and shorter choral works might be even still
further extended by the inclusion of Robert Franz (1815-1892), the
writer of exquisitely refined songs, who also composed the 117th Psalm
for double chorus _a cappella_, a Kyrie for four-part chorus and solos
_a cappella_, and a Liturgy for the Evangelical service; and Franz Abt
(1819-1885), chiefly known by ballads of a folk-song character and a
large number of cantatas for female voices and male voices, all written
in an easy, flowing, popular style.
In England, cantatas, especially those based on some story or legend,
have long been exceedingly popular. The love of choral music has been a
national characteristic of the English people for over two centuries.
As early as the seventeenth century choral festivals were organized
by various cathedral choirs acting conjointly. The celebration of St.
Cecilia’s day was made the occasion of some of the earliest of these
festivals and ‘The Musical Society’ was organized in London in 1683 in
order to conduct them on a more artistic basis. Musical festivals and
associations were later formed in the provinces and grew into great
favor. As time went on these assumed large dimensions and exerted
an artistic influence as in no other country. Some of those now in
existence are extremely old, as the ‘Festivals of the Three Choirs’
of Gloucester, Worcester, and Hereford, organized in 1724, and the
Birmingham Festival, begun in 1768 by a series of concerts made up
almost exclusively of Handel’s works. The tremendous popularity of
Handel’s choral works in England not only resulted in the extension of
the Handel worship which continued unabated until the frequent visits
of Mendelssohn attracted much of its enthusiasm to his own superb
oratorios, but caused a substantial increase in the number of choral
societies throughout the kingdom. These societies have been unusually
generous in giving native works abundant hearing and English composers
were not slow to take advantage of the opportunities thus offered.
English choral works, therefore, constitute a formidable array. From
the time of Purcell until the present generation of composers, however,
very few works have been produced that rise much above the general
level of mere respectability or amiable reflection of Handelian and
Mendelssohnian models that seems to be the chief characteristic of
English choral music of the period thus bounded. Indeed, English choral
works produced in this period before 1850 are practically a negligible
quantity in the literature of this branch of musical art. But among
English composers who were active in this field in the third quarter of
the nineteenth century there are several who deserve special mention;
these are Sir Julius Benedict, Sir Michael Costa, Sir George A.
Macfarren, Sir William Sterndale Bennett, and Henry Smart.
Julius Benedict (1804-1885), an eminent German who made England his
home during the last fifty years of his life, contributed frequently
and successfully to the Norwich Festivals, of which he was the
conductor from 1845 to 1878, inclusive. Here in 1860 his beautiful
cantata ‘Undine’ was performed, in which the famous singer Clara
Novello made her last public appearance. In 1863 at the same festival
his cantata ‘Richard Cœur de Lion’ was produced and in 1866 ‘The
Legend of St. Cecilia.’ The cantata ‘Graziella,’ intended for the
Norwich Festival of 1881 but not completed in time, was produced at
the Birmingham Festival of 1882. Of these cantatas, ‘The Legend of
St. Cecilia’ is the most important. The poem, written by the English
critic and author Henry F. Chorley, presents four characters--Cecilia
(soprano), her husband, Valerianus (tenor), the Prefect of Rome (bass),
and a Christian Woman (contralto)--and choruses of Roman citizens,
Christians, and angels. It sets forth the wedding festivities, the
conversion of Valerianus to Christianity by the angelic vision through
Cecilia’s prayers, the discovery of his defection by the angry prefect
of Rome who had just joined them in wedlock, his trial, the parting and
finally the death of the pair--Valerianus by being beheaded and Cecilia
by the slow martyrdom of the stake.
Michael Costa (1808-1884), an Italian composer and conductor who lived
in England after 1830, was closely identified with English choral
music as conductor of the Birmingham Festivals from 1849 to 1882, as
conductor of the Sacred Harmonic Society and the Handel Festivals
from 1857 to 1880, in which latter capacity he wrote additional
accompaniments to most of Handel’s oratorios, and as composer of two
important oratorios which will be mentioned in a later chapter, and
of several shorter choral works. His serenata, ‘The Dream,’ which was
written to a poem by William Bartholomew for the marriage festivities
of the Princess Royal of England to Prince Frederick William of
Prussia, afterward Emperor Frederick, is a short and delightfully
melodious composition for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra.
Oberon (bass) commands the fairies to prepare a car for Queen Mab
(alto), who charms the eyes and ears of The Lady (soprano) so that
she may in her dreams see the form and hear the tones of adoration of
‘her beloved lover’ (tenor). The principal numbers are a dainty and
bright chorus of fairies (‘Make the car of a golden king-cup’), an
impassioned serenade by the lover (‘O the joy of truly loving’), and a
closing choral serenade (‘Lady, arise! look forth and see’), tuneful
and sparkling.
George Alexander Macfarren (1813-1887) was one of the most
distinguished and scholarly English musicians of the nineteenth
century. He was a prolific composer in many fields and in none was he
more successful than in choral-writing. His operas, oratorios, and
cantatas are numerous, and in the last-named group his important works
are ‘Leonora,’ composed in 1851; ‘May-Day,’ written for the Bradford
Festival, 1856; ‘Christmas,’ written in 1859 and first performed at a
concert of the Musical Society of London on May 9, 1860; ‘The Lady of
the Lake,’ founded on Scott’s poem and produced at the Glasgow Musical
Festival, November 15, 1876; ‘Songs in a Cornfield,’ written in 1868
for female voices to words by Christina Rossetti; and ‘Outward Bound’
(1877). John Oxenford, a popular librettist of the period, furnished
the texts for ‘Christmas,’ ‘May-Day,’ and ‘Outward Bound.’
‘May-Day,’ for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, is a brief cantata
full of the jollity of this old-time festival, with its ancient
ceremony of choosing the May-Queen and the accompanying rustic revels.
It contains many examples of the quaint style of part-writing prevalent
in the preceding century, among them the delightful part-song ‘The
Hunt’s up.’[70] ‘The Lady of the Lake’ is a work of large dimensions
demanding five solo voices--Ellen, the Lady of the Lake (soprano),
Blanche of Devan (contralto), James FitzJames, the Knight of Snowdoun
(tenor), Roderick Dhu (baritone), and James, Earl of Douglas (bass).
The most interesting music in this cantata is assigned to the chorus,
and here the composer demonstrates his fine ability in effective
part-writing, at the same time introducing many touches borrowed from
the idiom of Scottish folk-melodies.
Henry Smart (1813-1879) was one of the earliest of the modern English
composers to come under the influence of the romantic movement. He
is most widely known for his part-songs, organ music, and anthems
and other Anglican ritual-music, but his best work is the cantata
‘The Bride of Dunkerron.’ He produced several other cantatas of less
merit--‘King René’s Daughter’ (1871) and ‘The Fishermaidens,’ both for
female voices, and the sacred cantata ‘Jacob,’ written for the Glasgow
Festival and performed there November 10th, 1873.
‘The Bride of Dunkerron’ was written for the Birmingham Festival of
1864. The poem by Frederick Enoch is founded on a legend concerning a
Lord of Dunkerron, whose castle was on the coast of Kerry, who fell in
love with a sea-maiden and followed her to her watery home. She seeks
the Sea-King’s consent to their union, which he not only refuses to
give but condemns her to death for loving a mortal and drives her lover
from his realm by a tempest which casts his body upon the shores. There
are solo parts for the Sea-Maiden (soprano), Dunkerron (tenor), and
the Sea-King (bass). The solos are numerous and uniformly grateful,
the most conspicuous ones being Dunkerron’s simple but charming song
as he waits on the seashore for the maiden’s appearing (‘The full moon
is beaming’), the Sea-King’s aria (‘Oh, the earth is fair in plain
and glade’), and the maiden’s graceful song (‘Our home shall be on
this bright isle’) which she sings as she departs to win the consent
of the Sea-King. The chorus has important work to do and Smart shows
conspicuous skill in handling this factor. The opening number is in
reality a double chorus of peasants who tell of Dunkerron’s nightly
watch by the sea, and sea-maidens who sing the enticing songs that
prove to be his undoing. After the long love-duet between Dunkerron
and the maiden, there ensues a brisk and stirring chorus which
depicts the journey of the lovers through the waters to the maiden’s
dwelling-place. The sea-maidens sing several attractive choruses and a
chorus of storm-spirits (‘Roar, wind of the tempest, roar’) foretells
the impending tragedy and leads to a dramatic trio for the three
characters. The king’s angry edict dooms the lovers and the double
chorus of peasants and sea-maidens closes the work as it began it, but
the mood is now one of sad lament over the tragic dénouement.
‘King René’s Daughter’ is a cantata for female voices, written in
1871. The poem by Frederick Enoch is based on a lyric drama by Henrik
Hertz. King René, of Provence, had betrothed his infant daughter
Iolanthe to the son of the Count of Vaudemont. She became suddenly
blind before she had emerged from babyhood, and, in order to keep from
her the realization of her loss, her father brought her up without
any knowledge of what sight means. A magician offered to restore her
sight, making only the one condition that she first be told of the
lost faculty, but this her father refused to do. One day her betrothed
passed through the valley where she dwelt, singing his troubadour
songs. He beheld Iolanthe for the first time and was fascinated by
her beauty. Through the song which he sang to her of the lovely rose
she realized the existence of the lost sense, and, this having been
disclosed to her and the magician’s condition thus fulfilled, she
was healed. There are thirteen numbers in the cantata and the solo
parts are Iolanthe (soprano), Martha (mezzo-soprano), and Beatrice
(contralto), though other solo voices are added in a trio and later
in a quartet which, as narrator, tells of the troubadour’s song to
Iolanthe. The entire work is written in a melodious, graceful style and
closes with a chorus of exuberant joy at the restoration of sight to
‘King René’s daughter the fair.’
Sterndale Bennett (1816-1875) has not infrequently been called ‘the
English Mendelssohn,’ not because he was a conscious imitator of his
great German contemporary and intimate friend, but because his music
exemplifies the same qualities of polished refinement and exquisite
workmanship, although of far less inspirational value and emotional
content. Bennett was a ‘shy and reticent’ composer in point of the
number of his works, and of these (there are only 46 opera in all) only
three were in extended choral forms, namely, an ‘Ode for the Opening
of the International Exhibition,’ 1862, to words by Tennyson, ‘The
May Queen,’ a pastoral cantata, and ‘The Woman of Samaria,’ a sacred
cantata usually classed as an oratorio.
‘The May Queen’ was written for the Leeds Festival of 1858 and,
notwithstanding the poorly-written libretto by Henry F. Chorley, is
replete with musical beauties of striking power. The solo parts are
assigned to the May Queen (soprano), the Queen (alto), the Lover
(tenor), and the Captain of the Foresters, as Robin Hood (bass). The
story relates the celebration of May-Day in ancient times on the banks
of the Thames, which is interrupted by a quarrel between the jealous
and despondent lover of the May Queen and Robin Hood, who enters at the
head of a band of rollicking foresters and openly makes love to the May
Queen. The Queen enters, the lover is arrested for having struck the
forester, the May Queen intercedes for his release and thereby reveals
her affection for him, the forester is banished for having stooped
to woo a peasant girl, the Queen orders the wedding of the May Queen
and her lover on the following morning, and everything ends happily.
The music (there are ten numbers in the cantata) is characterized
throughout by utmost refinement and grace of expression and is
distinctly individualized in respect to the different personages. The
finest solos are the lament of the disconsolate lover (‘O meadow, clad
in early green’) and the forester’s robust song (‘Tis jolly to hunt
in the bright moonlight’). The chorus-writing is scholarly, always
effective without over-taxing the singers, bright, spirited, and
spontaneous. This cantata is to be numbered among the most beautiful
compositions of this class.
VIII
Anglican ritual-music of the nineteenth century falls into two natural
groups. The first group comprises the compositions up to about 1850
which complete the third period of English church-music (see page
93) overlapping from the preceding century; the second group begins
with the evidences of new life that crept into English church-music
about the middle of the century and brought to it refreshing vigor and
regeneration. Most of the anthems and ‘services’ of the first half of
the century repeat the colorless and listless style of the preceding
century, yet several composers produced music of real worth, dignity,
and solidity. Such were William Crotch (1775-1847); Thomas Attwood
(1765-1838), a pupil of Mozart and a close friend of Mendelssohn (to
whom the latter dedicated his three preludes and fugues for organ),
whose ‘I was glad,’ written for the coronation of George IV with
full orchestral accompaniment, is a remarkably fine work of imposing
breadth; and Thomas Attwood Walmisley (1814-1856). Among the most
representative examples of the work of this group of composers will be
found the following anthems: Attwood’s ‘Withdraw not Thou’ and ‘Grant
we beseech Thee,’ Walmisley’s ‘Remember, O Lord’ and ‘O give thanks.’
With the melodious music of Sir John Goss (1800-1880) and the notable
series of anthems and ‘services’ by Rev. S. S. Wesley (1810-1876) and
Sir George A. Macfarren (1813-1887), what might be called the middle
modern school of English anthem-music comes to an end. On the whole
academic and respectable rather than inspired, the religious music of
this period is only the outward expression of the drowsy and apathetic
inner life of the Church.
The motets of the nineteenth century and the decades just preceding
have, in the main, far closer kinship to the sacred cantata than to
the typical form whose name they assume. Beautiful as the motets of
Haydn, Mozart, and Cherubini are as music, they are far removed from
the old motet in spirit, even though they were written to be sung
at High Mass. The best motets written for the German Evangelical
service were attempts to revive the glories of Bach’s motet style.
In this field Mendelssohn achieved noteworthy success (see page 151)
and the well-known motets of Moritz Hauptmann (1792-1868), cantor of
the Thomasschule at Leipzig for over twenty years, attest how deeply
he imbibed the spirit of his great predecessor. The motets of these
two composers represent the best examples of this form in the period
covered by this chapter. But as the years move on, the old motet is
becoming more and more archaic.
The nineteenth-century part-song had a brilliant history. The
enthusiasm with which it was cultivated in Germany under certain
patriotic stimuli, later spread to England and France with happy
results. The first German choral society made up wholly of amateur
singers was the Berlin _Singakademie_, founded on May 27th, 1791,
by Karl Christian Fasch (1736-1800). Male choruses, as much social
as musical in nature, had existed in Germany since the seventeenth
century, but they did not attain much popularity or influence until
Carl Friedrich Zelter (1758-1832) established the first _Liedertafel_
in Berlin in 1808, composed of twenty-four men from the _Singakademie_.
The political effect of Weber’s stirring part-songs, especially his
setting of the patriotic songs in Körner’s _Leyer und Schwert_, as,
for example, ‘Bright sword of liberty’ and ‘Lützow’s wild hunt,’ has
been already mentioned. The love of choral singing became contagious,
and, stimulated by the new feeling of nationalism, both male choruses
(_Liedertafeln_) and choral societies (_Gesangvereine_) began to
multiply rapidly, especially after 1818. Though much of the part-music
written for their consumption was weak and tasteless, many of the
great composers bountifully contributed of their best ideas. Schubert
wrote some fifty pieces of this class, twenty-two of which are for
unaccompanied male voices. Among these seldom-sung pieces are many
of astonishing beauty, as his setting of _Nur wer die Sehnsucht
kennt_. Schumann wrote about a dozen part-songs for male voices and
some twenty for mixed voices, many of them as poetic and charmingly
melodic as his songs. Mendelssohn’s part-songs, however, exerted an
overpowering influence not only in his own country but especially in
England, where he was imitated _ad nauseam_ for nearly fifty years by
native composers. Here, however, they were instrumental in creating
such a revival of choral singing among the people, well-nigh dead
since the old madrigal days, that singing societies were established
far and wide throughout the land, even in remote communities. So many
of these part-songs of Mendelssohn are familiar household songs in
Germany, England, and America that it will be unnecessary to name
any here. Among the German part-song writers of less importance are
Ignaz Seyfried (1776-1841), Julius Otto (1804-1877), Friedrich Kücken
(1810-1882), Friedrich Truhn (1811-1886), Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885),
Robert Franz (1815-1892), Carl Wilhelm (1815-1873), composer of _Die
Wacht am Rhein_, Franz Abt (1819-1885), and Joachim Raff (1822-1882).
Though Mendelssohn’s part-songs set the prevailing style in England for
many years, many native compositions of sterling worth were produced.
Sterndale Bennett wrote only three, but they are fine examples of this
class, especially ‘Come, live with me.’ John L. Hatton (1809-1886),
Henry Smart (1813-1879), Sir George A. Macfarren (1813-1887), Henry
Leslie (1822-1896), Ciro Pinsuti (1829-1888), and other composers in
England have written fine part-songs that have been deservedly popular.
But Robert L. de Pearsall (1795-1856), who wrote almost exclusively in
this form, succeeded in a remarkable degree in combining the quaintness
of the old madrigal with the freedom and grace of the more modern
style. He published about sixty madrigals and part-songs, a large
proportion of which will remain a permanent part of the literature of
this field. Among the finest of these may be mentioned the ten-part
song ‘Sir Patrick Spens,’ probably the most elaborate and successful
part-song in existence, the genuinely humorous ‘Who shall win my lady
fair,’ the melodious ‘When last I strayed,’ ‘Purple glow,’ and ‘O who
will o’er the downs so free,’ and others equally masterly.
About 1835 a general movement was started in France for the
establishment of singing societies called _Orphéon_. These were
organized in the communal schools, among working people, and at the
universities, but were for male singers only. They became very popular
and spread with great rapidity. The corporation of Paris recognized
their importance and made choral singing one of its municipal
departments, in 1852 placing Gounod at the head of the _Orphéon_.
Annual contests and festivals were instituted which attracted choral
societies from every part of France. In 1867 these choral societies
numbered 3,243 with a membership of 147,500. The rapid increase
in interest in choral singing naturally led to the composition of
numberless unaccompanied part-songs, which were on the whole more
elaborate than the English part-songs and which admitted the dramatic
element very frequently. Among French composers who wrote expressly for
these societies were Halévy, Adolphe Adam, Félicien David, Ambroise
Thomas, Gounod, Delibes, Massenet, Dubois, Bazin, and particularly
Laurent de Rillé, whose compositions in this form number over a hundred.
FOOTNOTES:
[68] An adaptation of this melody is associated in England and America
with Charles Wesley’s Christmas hymn, ‘Hark! the herald angels sing.’
[69] Though most of Berlioz’s ‘Damnation of Faust’ was written in
1845-6, it really antedated Schumann’s work both in inception and in
the actual composition of many of its finest numbers (see page 158).
[70] Any morning song of a lively, spirited nature, even a love-song,
was called a ‘Hunt’s-up’ in olden English times.
CHAPTER VI
THE MODERN CANTATA
Wagner: ‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’; Liszt: ‘The Bells
of Strassburg,’ ‘Prometheus’--Brahms: ‘Song of Triumph,’
‘Song of Destiny’--Max Bruch; ‘Frithjof,’ ‘Fair Ellen,’ ‘The
Cross of Fire,’ ‘The Lay of the Bell,’ etc.--Rheinberger;
Dvořák; Hofmann; Goetz--Grieg; Gounod; Sullivan: ‘The Golden
Legend’; Barnby; Gaul; Stainer; Cowen--Parry; Mackenzie;
Stanford--Elgar: ‘King Olaf’; ‘Caractacus’; ‘The Black
Knight’--Coleridge-Taylor: ‘Hiawatha’ cycle--Dudley Buck:
‘The Golden Legend’; ‘The Light of Asia’; Horatio Parker and
other cantata writers in the United States.
Teutonic genius was supreme in the field of cantata-writing until the
last quarter of the nineteenth century, when there appeared numerous
and worthy rivals. While the Germans have consistently retained their
love for this form and have maintained a numerical lead in actual
production, England, France, Scandinavia, and America have produced
choral works that challenge comparison with the best German standards,
and in some instances have struck out original lines of development
that mark points of notable departure from the older models. The
period covered by this chapter includes the works produced in the last
quarter, or at most the last third, of the nineteenth century, with
some flexibility at either boundary.
I
The most notable exception to the above chronological grouping is
Richard Wagner (1813-1883), who belongs to the preceding chapter as far
as dates are concerned. But so many of the prominent composers here
considered were so strongly influenced, consciously or unconsciously,
by the Bayreuth master’s art-methods and followed them in such a direct
line of succession, that this seems the more fitting place to mention
his brief connection with this field of musical literature.
‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’ (_Das Liebesmahl der Apostel_) was
Wagner’s one and only cantata. It was written in 1843, the same year
as Schumann’s ‘Paradise and Peri’ and three years before Berlioz
completed his ‘Damnation of Faust.’ Wagner had already written ‘The
Flying Dutchman’ and ‘Rienzi’ had been performed in Dresden the summer
preceding the composition of this cantata. The thirty-year-old composer
put into this work much of the dramatic power already hinted at in
‘The Flying Dutchman’ and displayed with such overwhelming power in
his later works. It was written for a great _Männersängerfest_ held in
Dresden in July, 1843, and was first performed under his own direction
on the 6th of the month in the _Frauenkirche_, the orchestra and chorus
numbering one thousand performers. The subject of this Scriptural Scene
was suggested by the fourth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles and
Wagner wrote his own words, as he did in all of his dramatic works.
The opening chorus represents the disciples, drawn together by
persecution, offering consolation to one another. After a few quiet
measures of greeting the voices divide into three choruses, when the
movement accelerates and leads to a powerful climax, ending pianissimo.
The apostles (twelve bass voices) then enter with a hearty greeting,
while the disciples sing softly _Wir sind versammelt im Namen Jesu
Christi_ (‘We are assembled in the name of Jesus Christ’), after which
the united chorus swells forth in a majestic passage, invoking the
blessing of the Holy Spirit, beginning with the words _Allmächt’ger
Vater, der du hast gemacht Himmel und Erd’ und Alles was darin_
(‘Almighty Father, Thou that did’st create Heaven and the Earth and all
that in them is’). Voices from above (as in the last act of ‘Parsifal’)
are then heard singing _Seid getrost, ich bin euch nah_ (‘Peace be
yours, I am at hand’). To this the disciples respond with renewed
vigor, while the apostles counsel unswerving consecration to God. The
work closes with a mighty chorale, _Denn ihm ist alle Herrlichkeit von
Ewigkeit zu Ewigkeit_ (‘To Him all praise and glory be forever and
forever’), its dramatic effect being greatly heightened by the rich
orchestral accompaniment. The orchestra has remained silent until the
final number.
Franz Liszt (1811-1886) was an artist of amazing versatility and
tremendous creative energy. Greatest as a virtuoso and a composer of
instrumental music of striking originality and picturesque romanticism,
he yet wrote liberally in various choral forms. In addition to notable
church works, large and small, and three oratorios, Liszt wrote
several cantatas and shorter choral works--‘The Bells of Strassburg,’
‘St. Cecilia’ (for mezzo-soprano, chorus, and orchestra), _An die
Künstler_ (for solos, male chorus, and orchestra), _Zur Säcular-Feier
Beethoven’s_ (for solos, chorus, and orchestra), _Festalbum_ for
Goethe’s centenary (1849), ‘Prometheus,’ Psalm 13 (for tenor solo,
chorus, and orchestra), Psalm 18 (for male chorus, orchestra, and
organ), Psalm 23 (for tenor or soprano solo with harp and organ), Psalm
137 (for solo and female chorus with violin, harp, piano, and organ),
and a large number of male choruses.
‘The Bells of Strassburg.’--Liszt composed this work (_Die Glocken
des Strassburger Münsters_) in 1874 and dedicated it to Longfellow.
The text is a mere fragment from this poet’s ‘Christus’--the prologue
to ‘The Golden Legend’--and deals with the futile effort of the prince
of darkness and his legions, during a furious night tern nest, to cast
down the cross surmounting the cathedral tower. The work is written
for baritone solo (Lucifer), mixed chorus, and orchestra. It opens
with a short prelude entitled ‘Excelsior,’ consisting of this word
sung several times by the chorus with ever-increasing power, ending
fortissimo. The main movement, called ‘The Bells,’ begins with a
ponderous introduction by the bells, trumpets, and horns, after which
Lucifer hurls forth his first command, exhorting his band of spirits
to tear down the cross. The chorus of spirits (sopranos, altos, and
tenors) replies to this (‘Oh, we cannot, for around it’) and then the
tenors and basses, representing the bells, sing a Latin chant. These
voices continue in the same order, Lucifer’s exhortation and the cry
of helplessness from the evil spirits becoming more and more vehement
as the chant of the bells ever replies in tones of calm trust in the
protecting power. Lucifer’s fourth and last appeal is given with the
full strength of voice and orchestra. In the reply of the chorus the
female voices unite, producing a fine effect with the first and second
tenors. At length Satan, defeated, gives the order to retreat, and the
work closes with the Gregorian chant,
_Nocte surgentes
Vigilemus omnes!
Laudemus Deum verum_,
given by the combined chorus, organ, and orchestra.
_Prometheus._--This cantata, founded on Herder’s poem of the same
name, was composed by Liszt in 1850. He utilizes several of Herder’s
prologues, which describe the situations in words and serve to
introduce the various choral numbers. The first prologue depicts
Prometheus, the Titan, bound to a stake and about to suffer torture for
having stolen fire from heaven. This leads to a chorus of sea-nymphs
(female voices), expressing sorrow and fear. The second prologue
describes the anger of Oceanus at the children of earth for disturbing
his waters and gives Prometheus’ reply. This is followed by a spirited
mixed chorus of Tritons and a lovely melodious chorus of Oceanides
for female voices, closing with a full double chorus, ‘Holy and grand
and free is the gift of Heaven.’ The third prologue introduces the
goddess Gæa with her train of wood-nymphs, loudly weeping. The chorus
of Dryads follows, in the midst of which occurs a very dramatic alto
solo, ‘Deserted stand the Gods’ sacred altars in the old forest.’ In
the dialogue following Gæa upbraids Prometheus, who stoutly defends
himself. The number closes with a mixed chorus of gleaners, which is
full of graceful melody. In the next prologue Bacchus builds an arbor
to soften the Titan’s suffering and a male chorus of vine-dressers
follows. At length an _Allegro moderato_ for orchestra introduces
Hercules, who with an arrow kills the vulture which is about to devour
Prometheus and frees him, bidding him ‘Go hence unto thy mother’s
throne.’ This leads to a stately male chorus, ‘All human foresight
wanders in deepest night.’ The last prologue pictures the pardon of
Prometheus at the throne of Themis, and the work closes with a chorus
of the Muses.
II
The genius of Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) touched many fields and
he was great in every field that he entered--orchestral, pianoforte,
chamber, song and choral. Several of his choral works, notably the
_Deutsches Requiem_, the _Schicksalslied_ and the _Triumphlied_, are
among the great things of choral literature and enjoy undisputed
popularity. Even those that are modest in dimensions are equally
serious with the larger ones in conception and in treatment and spring
from the deep places of the composer’s soul. In all of them, as in
his symphonies, he reached a point of sublimity that had seldom been
touched, if at all, since Beethoven. All of his published compositions
between his opus 40 and opus 60, with two exceptions, were vocal works,
songs or choral. The ‘Requiem’ was opus 45 and his period of greatest
activity as a writer of choral works followed soon after. Of these
only ‘Rinaldo,’ the first one written after the ‘Requiem,’ can really
be called a cantata; the others partake more of the character of the
ode or the choral ballad. They are _Rhapsodie_, founded on fragments
from Goethe’s _Harzreise_ for alto solo, male chorus and orchestra;
_Schicksalslied_ (‘Song of Destiny’) for chorus and orchestra;
_Triumphlied_ (‘Song of Triumph’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra;
_Naenie_ for chorus and orchestra and _Gesang der Parzen_ (‘Song of
the Fates’) for six-part chorus and orchestra, the last two of which
were later compositions in the form of short choral ballads like
the _Schicksalslied_. He wrote liberally in forms approximating the
part-song. In many of the early _Marienlieder_, male choruses and mixed
choruses, he adopts the form of the simple harmonized melody, while
in others, as the two motets, opus 29, he is the direct descendant
of Bach, the contrapuntist. In some of his little known _a cappella_
choruses, as the lovely _Vineta_ from his opus 42 and two from his
opus 104, he produces strange and wonderful effects through a masterly
handling of harmonic changes and melodic interweavings.
‘Song of Triumph.’--Brahms wrote his _Triumphlied_ in 1871 to
commemorate the German victories and the consequent establishment
of the German empire, and he dedicated it to Wilhelm I. Its first
performance was at Vienna in 1872; a repetition occurred at Cologne
in 1873 at the fifty-first Festival of the Lower Rhine. The text was
adapted by the composer from the nineteenth chapter of Revelation. The
work, consisting of three movements, was written for double chorus,
orchestra and organ, together with two short baritone solos. A lively
yet solemn prelude introduces the first number, at the close of which
both choirs enter with the words ‘Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!’
The principal theme of this movement is founded on an old German
song, _Heil dir im Siegerkranz_. This part closes with a tremendous
contrapuntal climax of Handelian proportions. The second part, like
the first, has its prelude, followed by a short fugue, after which a
new melody is introduced and sung antiphonally by the two choirs. The
strongest climax occurs in the third movement. After a brief orchestral
introduction a baritone solo is heard, ‘And behold then the heavens
opened wide,’ to which the choruses reply, ‘And yonder a snow-white
horse.’ Then the baritone sings, ‘And lo! a great name hath He
written,’ following which the choruses utter the stately phrase, ‘King
of Kings and Lord of Lords,’ sung antiphonally with ever-increasing
fervor and ending with the full power of voices, organ and orchestra,
the stately effect of which is beyond description.
The _Schicksalslied_ (‘Song of Destiny’) for chorus and orchestra,
with text by Hölderlin, is a noble and expressive work, which received
its first performance Oct. 18, 1871, at a concert given by the
Carlsruhe Philharmonic Society, the composer conducting. The two ideas
of death and eternal life are placed in juxtaposition and although
these dominant ideas are dramatically balanced against each other,
the close dispels the clouds and lets in a flood of light. Indeed the
composer seems to open heaven itself to his hearers and to usher them
in. While the poet morbidly depicts the existence of immortals on the
one hand and suffering humanity on the other, Brahms, by introducing an
orchestral prelude of great beauty, injects a new idea, namely, that
there is hope for man and that he is not to be ruthlessly chained to
uncertainty or lured by the Unknown. After dramatically setting forth
the two conflicting ideas, in the development of which Brahms closely
follows the poet in the music, he returns once more to the beautiful
music of the introduction, which brings the hearers safely back again
into an atmosphere of peace and hope and solace. It is a striking
example of the power of instrumental music to change the effect
produced by the poetic text.
_Rinaldo._--This cantata is written for tenor solo and male chorus
to a text by Goethe and its value lies in the beauty of the choruses
and in the intimate solos, expressive of the love which has filled
the heart of the hero Rinaldo for the enchantress Armida. The poetic
text, however, is rather vague and leaves too much to the imagination
of the hearer. Armida, the heroine, does not appear at all nor does
the ‘diamond shield,’ to which is assigned such an important function
in rousing the enamored Rinaldo from his shame, and the music is not
sufficiently definite to supply the hearer with the missing links.
Especially effective is the closing chorus, which depicts Rinaldo,
freed from the wiles of the enchantress and safe with the crusaders on
their homeward journey.
III
The mastery of Max Bruch (b. 1838) over concert choral forms has won
him a foremost place among German choral writers of the nineteenth
century and his works are known and valued wherever choral music is
cultivated. He combines fluent, pleasing melody with rare skill in
handling and grouping his orchestral and vocal forces. His choral
writing is always broad, dignified, impressive and vocally grateful.
The list of his choral works is quite imposing. His larger works
comprise the two oratorios _Moses_, opus 67, and _Gustav Adolf_, opus
73, both late compositions, and three epic cantatas, a form to which he
gave especial attention. These three, which are frequently classed as
secular oratorios, are _Odysseus_, opus 41, _Arminius_, opus 43, and
_Achilleus_, opus 50. In addition he has produced a number of shorter
compositions in cantata and choral ballad form. They are, in the order
of their composition, ‘Frithjof Scenes’ for solos, male chorus and
orchestra; ‘Fair Ellen’ for solos, chorus and orchestra; ‘Salamis, a
Triumph-song of the Greeks,’ poem by H. Lingg, for solos, male chorus
and orchestra; ‘Frithjof at His Father’s Grave’ for baritone solo,
female chorus and orchestra; _Normannenzug_ for baritone, male chorus
and orchestra; _Römische Leichenfeier_, text by Lingg, for chorus and
orchestra; ‘The Lay of the Bell’ (_Das Lied der Glocke_) for solos,
chorus and orchestra; ‘The Cross of Fire’ (_Das Feuerkreuz_) for solos,
chorus and orchestra; and ‘Leonidas’ for male chorus and orchestra. He
has also written several very attractive short sacred choruses, among
them the _Jubilate, Amen_, opus 3, for soprano, chorus and orchestra,
and ‘The Flight of the Holy Family’ for chorus and orchestra.
_Frithjof_, for baritone and mezzo-soprano solo voices, male chorus and
orchestra, is one of his finest productions and was his first work to
achieve a signal success. It was written at Mannheim in 1863, when he
was only twenty-five years old, and the extraordinary favor with which
it was received caused this masterwork of the youthful composer to
become the prototype of a numerous group of dramatic cantatas for male
voices that followed in its wake. The text comprises six scenes taken
from Bishop Tegner’s far-famed _Frithjofsaga_.
A lively orchestral introduction, entitled ‘Frithjof’s Return,’ leads
to a beautiful baritone aria, ‘How bravely o’er the floods so bright,’
accompanied by an attractive chorus, ‘O ‘tis delight when the land afar
appeareth.’ The second scene depicts Princess Ingeborg, whom Frithjof
has come home to wed, being led to the altar by King Ring, the result
of a plot by Ingeborg’s brothers against Frithjof. A brief wedding
march is followed by the bridal chorus, ‘Sadly the skald walks before
the train,’ and Ingeborg’s lament, ‘My heart with sorrow overflowing.’
The next scene, ‘Frithjof’s Revenge,’ intensely dramatic both in the
vocal score and the rich instrumentation, opens with a chorus of
priests, ‘Midnight sun on the mountain burns,’ in the midst of which
is heard Frithjof’s cry, ‘Go to Hela’s dark abode,’ and after it his
rugged aria, ‘Where my father rests.’ As he sings this, he fires the
temple and flees to his ship, amid the dramatic and descriptive cries
of the people and Frithjof’s followers, and the curses of the priests.
This chorus is a work of great tonal beauty, portraying vividly the
dramatic action of the text. The fourth number, entitled ‘Frithjof’s
Departure from the Northland,’ opens with a male quartet of exceptional
charm, followed by Frithjof’s powerful solo, ‘World’s grandest region,
thou mighty North!’ In the fifth scene occurs ‘Ingeborg’s Lament,’ a
sorrowful and pathetic heart-cry to her lost lover, ‘Storms wildly
roar,’ after which comes the finale, a spirited chorus sung by Frithjof
and his men as they sail away in the good ship ‘Ellida’ in quest of
further adventures.
The story of Bruch’s ‘Fair Ellen’ is laid at Lucknow, British India,
and the story is founded on an incident said to have occurred during
the famous siege of this city in 1857, when a Scotch girl, fair Ellen,
heard, above the din of battle, the shrill bagpipes of the Macgregors
in the far distance, as the relief party approached, playing ‘The
Campbells are Coming.’ Her inspired words of hope and encouragement
stirred the despairing defenders to renewed resistance, beating off
the besiegers until rescue was at hand. The cantata, the text of which
is Emanuel Geibel’s ballad of the same name, was written in 1869. It
is of modest dimensions, embracing solos for soprano and baritone,
and five chorus numbers. The music, following Bruch’s style, is rich
in instrumentation, while the choruses are full of fine melody. The
Scotch tune, ‘The Campbells are Coming,’ is introduced many times
in the orchestral score, and at the close the composer makes a fine
climax by broadening out the joyous march-melody into a devout hymn of
thanksgiving.
‘The Cross of Fire,’ a dramatic cantata founded on incidents in Sir
Walter Scott’s ‘Lady of the Lake,’ was composed in 1888 and is one of
the finest of Bruch’s later choral works. It was an ancient custom
in the Highlands of Scotland, when one clan declared war on another,
to call the clansmen to arms by means of a ‘cross of fire.’ After
solemn consecration at the altar, this war-signal was carried with all
possible speed from post to post by noble messengers and in its wake
the men-at-arms assembled. Bruch’s librettist, Heinrich Bulthaupt,
opens the cantata at the point in Scott’s familiar poem where Norman,
a noble Highlander, is proudly leading his bride Mary, a noble maiden,
to a near-by mountain chapel to celebrate the wedding ceremony. The
wedding train approaches the church to the festal sounds of organ and a
wedding anthem. As the ceremony is about to begin, Angus, a messenger,
rushes in with the cross of fire and hurriedly hands it to Norman with
the chieftain’s command to bear it to the nearest post. Norman bids
a heart-broken farewell to his bride and hurries off followed by his
warriors. Poet and composer now describe the feelings of Norman on his
rapid journey, battling between duty and love. The rising of the clan
in response to the war-signal is given vivid portrayal. Then follows
the best-known number of the cantata, the beautiful _Ave Maria_, in
which the despairing Mary expresses her emotions at being left alone.
The stirring war-song, ‘Clan Alpin! Clan Alpin!’ in which Norman rouses
his warriors to a high pitch of bravery, is an impressive number, and
Bruch with fine effect uses an old Scotch battle-song. The final number
is a masterly concerted piece. Mary and her maidens anxiously watch
the ebb and flow of battle from a neighboring hill-top. The cry goes
up that Norman has fallen, but shouts of victory are soon heard, the
valiant Norman appears and rapturously throws himself in Mary’s arms,
and joy and happiness reign. This number is massive, full of life,
vigor, and effective contrast, and furnishes a brilliant climax to the
whole work.
Schiller’s ‘Lay of the Bell’ has furnished inspiration to numerous
composers. Romberg’s cantata has already been described and this
called forth several rivals. Bruch’s is the most pretentious of them
and approaches closely to the oratorio form. The poem loses in musical
setting through its over-abundance of rapidly-passing scenes--there
are twenty-seven numbers grouped into two parts--but the music abounds
in moments of great beauty, especially in such choral numbers as the
final one in the first part, ‘One blest assurance yet is granted,’
the funeral chorus in the second part (‘From the steeple, sad and
slow’), the chorus, ‘Hallowed Order, child of Heaven,’ which is one
of the most elaborate of the work, and the finale with preceding bass
solo, ‘Heave it, brothers, heave it high!’ Near the close a charming
trio for soprano, alto and tenor voices appears (‘Peace benignant,
gentle Concord’) into the accompaniment of which Bruch has skilfully
and effectively interwoven the melody of the familiar Christmas song,
‘Silent night, hallowed night!’
For each of his great epic cantatas Bruch chose a warrior
hero--Frithjof the Viking, Arminius the German liberator, Odysseus
and Achilles, the Greek chieftains. _Odysseus_ was first performed
in Bremen in 1873. It was written to the poem of Wilhelm Paul Graff,
which, like the ‘Frithjof,’ consists of a series of scenes or episodes.
These are grouped into two parts, the first containing four scenes and
the second six, drawn from the adventurous and picturesque life of the
King of Ithaca. Arminius, equally epic in feeling and treatment, was
written in 1875 to a poem by F. Cueppers. The scene is laid in Germany,
the time being from 9 to 13 A. D. when Arminius (Latin for Hermann)
laid the foundations of the political league of the Germanic tribes
by uniting them for the time being against the common Roman foe and
throwing off the Roman yoke. The work is in four parts--‘Introduction,’
‘In the Sacred Forest,’ ‘The Insurrection,’ and ‘The Battle’--and
closes with an inspiring patriotic hymn of stately proportions,
‘Germany’s sons shall be renowned.’ The part of Arminius (baritone)
is particularly fine throughout. Both of these cantatas are equally
popular and they were followed in 1885 by another on the same general
lines, _Achilleus_, to the poem by H. Bulthaupt, the motives of which
are drawn from Homer’s _Iliad_. This is in many respects a greater work
than its predecessors; it is laid out on broader lines, the orchestral
part seeks greater recognition and the composer frequently and with
tremendous effect employs the double chorus in building up massive
polyphonic climaxes.
IV
Joseph Rheinberger (1839-1901) is a prolific composer who has
contributed most liberally to choral literature. In this field and
that of organ he is at his best. _Christophorus_, sometimes called an
oratorio, was written in 1880 and is based on the mediæval legend of
the giant who, notwithstanding his mighty strength, sought a master
to serve who was most powerful on earth and who knew no fear. But he
found that the mightiest earthly monarch feared Satan and that Satan
shrank in terror before the Cross, so he gladly became the servant of
the Lord of the Cross. The composer mingles sacred and secular elements
in a masterly manner; portions of the work, particularly the closing
numbers of the first part, belong to the richest and most beautiful
choral writing of the last half of the nineteenth century. ‘The Star
of Bethlehem,’ a Christmas cantata, possesses sustained beauty and is
conceived in a lofty vein. _Das Thal des Espingo_, a choral ballad for
male voices and orchestra (poem by Paul Heyse), is one of the finest
examples of its kind. ‘Clarice of Eberstein,’ ‘Toggenburg,’ ‘Montfort,’
_Die Rosen von Hildesheim_ for male chorus and wind instruments, and
_Wittekind_ are among the finest of his secular compositions.
Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904) is the one representative Bohemian
composer who has given serious attention to the larger choral forms.
His greatest compositions in this field, however, were written,
not for performance in his native land, but for the great English
festivals--the _Stabat Mater_, composed in 1876 and performed March
10th, 1883, by the London Musical Society, the ‘Spectre’s Bride,’
written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, ‘St. Ludmila’ (oratorio)
for the Leeds Festival of 1886, and the Requiem Mass for the Birmingham
Festival of 1891. England did valiant service in calling the world’s
attention to Dvořák’s unique genius.
‘The Spectre’s Bride.’--This well-known cantata is founded upon an old
legend, current among all Slavic nations, about a maiden, who, deserted
by her lover and awaiting his return, was enticed away at midnight by
a spectre, only to be led over hill and dale, amid grewsome horrors,
to the graveyard. There she took refuge in a tiny house where she was
beset by spectres, and the moonlight revealed, lying on a plank, a
revivified corpse, which rose up and glared at her. Her fervent prayers
to the Virgin finally ended the hideous spell. A cock crew, dawn came,
and the girl wended her way home in the peaceful morning. When the work
was performed at Birmingham it was received with great enthusiasm and,
despite its horrible story, it is a masterpiece of dramatic narrative
and descriptive realism.
The cantata consists of eighteen numbers. Eleven of these are allotted
to the narrator (baritone), who, with the choral responses and
supported by vividly descriptive instrumentation, gives a realistic
portrayal of the frightful scenes. The weirdness of the music increases
in intensity up to the entrance of the maiden in the house of the
dead. In the seven remaining numbers other solo voices are heard. The
lament of the maiden (soprano) for her lost lover and, at the close,
her fervent appeal to the Virgin are fascinating in their beauty.
There are also four duets sung by the bride and the spectre (tenor),
together with one in which the chorus participates. As Hadow says in
his ‘Studies in Modern Music’ (Vol. II, p. 206): ‘There is too much
monotony of suffering; there is too much gloom and terror and pain;
a tragedy so unrelieved comes near to overstraining the sympathy
of the spectator.’ Yet the musical appeal, through the composer’s
inexhaustible resources of rhythmic, harmonic and melodic effects,
garbed in gorgeous orchestral colors, softens the horrors and lightens
the prevailing darkness of the poem.
Heinrich Karl Johann Hofmann (1842-1902) had the good fortune to win
public recognition in different fields in rapid succession. In three
successive years his ‘Hungarian Suite’ for orchestra (1873), his
‘Frithjof’ symphony (1874), and his cantata ‘Melusina’ (1875) achieved
such instant favor that he soon became one of the best-known of the
contemporary German composers. While these successes were somewhat
ephemeral and while he manifested a tendency to sacrifice individuality
of expression to sensuous charm and formal beauty, the ‘Melusina’
deserves long life. He followed the lead of Schumann in choosing
legends and fairy tales as subjects for his most successful cantatas.
These are, in addition to the one just mentioned, _Aschenbrödel_
(‘Cinderella’), _Nornengesang_ (‘Song of the Norns’) for female chorus,
and _Waldfräulein_.
The ‘Legend of the Fair Melusina’ was composed in 1875. Melusina, a
fountain nymph, becomes betrothed to Count Raymond and marries him
under the agreement that she may go her own way one day in every seven,
without question or hindrance on his part. In these intervals she again
becomes a mermaid and bathes with her nymphs in her native fountain.
Later, urged by his mother Clotilda and his uncle Sintram, who are
consumed with jealousy and curiosity, Raymond invades her privacy.
Doomed by this violation of his compact to eternal separation, he
embraces Melusina for the last time and dies in her arms. The weeping
nymph returns to her former element. The music is not difficult and
is replete with melody of captivating charm. The melodious prologue,
the rollicking hunting song, the rapturous love-duet, the chorus of
nymphs at the fountain with Melusina, the dramatic choral accusation of
the people against Melusina, the final duet with choral accompaniment
leading to the tragic dénouement--all these have contributed to make
this one of the most musically effective of the more unpretentious
cantatas.
Hermann Goetz (1840-1876) was cut off too early in his career to have
given full expression to his undeniably great talent, yet he has left
at least one choral work that demonstrated love for, and ability in,
this form. In his setting of Schiller’s _Nänia_ (_Auch das Schöne muss
sterben_) for chorus and orchestra, as well as the 137th Psalm (‘By the
Waters of Babylon’) for soprano, chorus and orchestra, he reveals a
close kinship to both Schumann and Brahms in his effective handling of
voices and instruments.
V
Edvard Hagerup Grieg (1843-1907), the greatest of the Scandinavian
composers, chose musical forms of modest mold and outline--such as
his altogether charming songs and piano pieces--for many of his most
fragrant and characteristic thoughts. He wrote only three choral
pieces--all in the smaller forms, but all individual, brilliant and
full of his peculiarly charming idiom. They are _Vor der Klosterpforte_
(‘At the Convent Door’) for solo, female voices and orchestra, the
well-known and vigorous _Landerkennung_ (‘Land Discovery’) for male
chorus and orchestra and the Scenes from Björnson’s unfinished drama,
_Olaf Trygvasson_, for solos, chorus and orchestra. The last is the
largest and most elaborate of the three and has for its subject-matter
the efforts of Olaf, a descendant of Harold Haarfagar (the first king
of Norway) but brought up in banishment, to conquer Norway and convert
its people from Paganism to Christianity.
For fully thirty years after the middle of the nineteenth century had
been passed, French composers were still too firmly wedded to the
operatic stage to give more than fleeting attention to choral forms of
the cantata type, and few French names of this period, therefore, will
find place here.
Charles Gounod (1818-1893), who turned his thoughts almost exclusively
to religious music in the later years of his life, wrote several
oratorios which will be mentioned in detail in Chapter VIII. His
smaller works--the 137th Psalm (‘By Babylon’s Wave’), the 129th
Psalm (‘Out of Darkness’), and especially the motet, ‘Gallia,’ with
soprano solo--evidence a fund of pleasing melody that, while not
ecclesiastical in feeling, lies close enough to the apprehension of the
average listener to make his music deeply prized by lovers of sweet
melody. The ‘Gallia’ (to words from the Lamentations of Jeremiah) is
a lamentation over the disaster that befell his country in the war of
1870; it was written for soprano, chorus and orchestra and was first
produced at the Albert Hall, London, May 1, 1871, at the opening of
the International Exhibition. Théodore Dubois (born 1837), who was
one of the many winners of the coveted _Prix de Rome_, on his return
from Italy produced an important choral work, ‘The Seven Last Words of
Christ’ (_Les sept Paroles du Christ_), on Good Friday, 1867, at St.
Clotilde’s, of which he was then choir-master. The writer of melodious
opera-music, Jules Massenet (1842-1912), has written one charming
cantata, _Narcisse_ (‘Narcissus’), for chorus and orchestra, that was
produced in 1877. After 1880, however, choral works in the smaller
forms became more numerous in France.
At the beginning of the last quarter of the nineteenth century elements
of distinctive individuality began to creep into English cantata-music
and assert themselves more and more. Out of the mass of cantatas that
came into being to feed the choral appetites of the vast number of
English singing societies and festivals, works of impressive beauty
and fine workmanship appeared that would reflect credit on the choral
literature of any nation. English composers have seized upon the
ballad, the legend and the fairy-tale, upon scenes from secular and
sacred history, and have exercised especial industry in using them as
material for choral works. Their number is so great that but a few can
be named.
Arthur Seymour Sullivan (1842-1900) is best known in the field of
cantata by the ‘Golden Legend,’ though it was preceded by two others,
‘Kenilworth,’ written in 1864 for the Birmingham Festival, and ‘The
Martyr of Antioch,’ in 1875, for the Leeds Festival.
‘The Golden Legend’ received its first presentation at the Leeds
Musical Festival in 1886. The text consists of those portions of
Longfellow’s poem which concern Elsie and Prince Henry. Joseph Bennett,
who acted as librettist, has arranged these into six scenes with a
prologue and epilogue. The prologue describes the attempts of Lucifer
and his spirits to tear down the cross from the spire of Strassburg
Cathedral, Lucifer being a baritone, his spirits sopranos and altos,
and the bells tenors and basses. In the opening scene of the legend
Prince Henry in his chamber sings ‘I cannot sleep.’ This is followed by
the temptation duet with Lucifer, which ends with an angels’ chorus. In
Scene II Ursula, Elsie’s mother, sits before her cottage and sings an
evening song and the villagers are heard in a beautiful choral hymn, ‘O
gladsome light.’ In the following dialogue Elsie discloses her decision
to offer her life for the prince and then sings the beautiful prayer,
‘My Redeemer and my Lord.’
Scene III is on the road to Salerno; Henry and Elsie sing a graceful
duet, ‘Sweet is the air with budding haws’; pilgrims pass, intoning a
Latin hymn, and Lucifer, among them, utters his mocking lines, ‘Here
am I, too, in the pious band’; the prince’s song of greeting to the
sea is heard, and also a sweet song by Elsie, ‘The night is calm and
cloudless,’ effectively repeated with full chorus. Scene IV is at the
Medical School at Salerno. Lucifer, disguised as Friar Angelo, leads
Elsie away to her sacrifice, but she is rescued by the repentant
prince. The music to this dramatic scene is most stirring. In Scene V,
before Ursula’s cottage, a messenger recites the prince’s miraculous
cure and Elsie’s safety; after which Ursula’s prayer of thanksgiving
is heard, ‘Virgin, who lovest the poor and lowly.’ The last scene is
at the Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine, on the evening of the wedding
day. After a joyous duet by Prince Henry and his bride (now the Lady
Alicia), there follows a choral epilogue, rising at the end to a great
fugal climax.
Joseph Barnby’s (1838-1896) part-songs and church-music and his long
experience as conductor of important choral societies gave him a large
influence with an important section of English lovers of choral music.
His choral pieces include the melodious psalm, ‘The Lord is King,’
written for the Leeds Festival of 1883, and the cantata ‘Rebekah,’
which he characterizes as a ‘sacred idyll.’
‘Rebekah’ was written in 1870 and is undoubtedly his finest work. It
deals with the wooing of Rebekah by Isaac as related in the Scriptures
and done into verse by Arthur Matthison. The first and last choruses
disclose some effective modern fugue-writing that is melodious and
expressive as well as contrapuntally interesting. The last chorus,
especially, builds up to a massive and vocally brilliant climax.
Probably the best-known number is Isaac’s solo, the favorite tenor
aria, ‘The soft southern breeze plays around me.’
Alfred Robert Gaul (1837-1913) is the composer of many pleasing and
popular cantatas, mostly on sacred subjects, the most widely known of
which are ‘The Holy City,’ ‘Ruth,’ ‘The Ten Virgins’ and ‘Joan of Arc.’
Sir John Stainer (1840-1901) writes in a more serious style, but yet
more suited to church choirs than to large choral bodies. ‘The Daughter
of Jairus,’ ‘The Crucifixion’ (A Meditation for Passion Week), and ‘St.
Mary Magdalen’ are his more familiar cantatas.
Frederic Hymen Cowen (born 1852) has been a prolific writer of
cantatas, no fewer than seven having come from his pen. They are ‘The
Rose Maiden’ (1870), ‘The Corsair’ (1876), ‘St. Ursula’ (1881), ‘The
Sleeping Beauty’ (1885), ‘St. John’s Eve’ (1889), ‘The Water Lily’
(1893), and ‘The Transfiguration’ (1895). Some of these, particularly
‘The Rose Maiden,’ have attained wide popularity because of their easy,
fluent melody and pleasing part-writing.
VI
It remained for three Englishmen, all born within five years of each
other--Mackenzie (1847), Parry (1848) and Stanford (1852)--to break
away from the traditions of English choral music and to venture to say
their musical thoughts in their own way. The point of departure from
the old to the new paths bases itself squarely on the work of this
trio. Cowen and Cordor (both born in 1852) added nothing of importance
to the musical means of expression employed by this trio, but Elgar
(born in 1857) has carried forward English choral music to heights
never before attained. The decade between 1847 and 1857, therefore,
is memorable in English musical history in having witnessed the birth
of the men who are most responsible for the remarkable revolution in
the character of English choral music witnessed in the last quarter of
the nineteenth century. It is a curious coincidence that the ode, a
form cultivated with such industrious zeal by early English composers,
should have appealed with great force to all of the trio mentioned
above, as a musical form worthy of revival. No less than fourteen odes
came from their pens.
When the first important choral work of Charles Hubert H. Parry (b.
1848), scenes from Shelley’s ‘Prometheus Unbound,’ was produced at
the Gloucester Festival of 1880, its new tone of confident assertion
was recognized as the beginning of a new era in English music, though
its success with the public was very small. Works of impressive
significance followed in quick succession and he became a figure of
dominant importance in English musical life. In addition to three
oratorios and several works combining symphonic and choral forms, he
has written an imposing list of shorter choral works. The ordinary form
of the cantata has little appeal for him, and none of his choral works
is so named. ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin,’ however, is really a cantata
in feeling, even though it requires very slight solo work. He reaches
superb heights of sustained expression in some of his odes--he wrote
ten in all--that stamp his choral writing with qualities of superlative
excellence, among which are perfect accentuation, mastery of expressive
counterpoint and remarkable handling of large tonal masses so as to
produce the greatest effects of sonority and breadth. These qualities
appear with conspicuous force in his famous ‘Blest Pair of Sirens,’
an ode by John Milton, set for eight-part chorus and orchestra, and
first sung in 1887 by the Bach Choir. Other choral works before 1900
that added greatly to his reputation are ‘The Glories of Our Blood and
State,’ a funeral ode by James Shirley, produced at the Gloucester
Festival of 1883, ‘Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day’ (poem by Pope) at Leeds,
1889, _L’Allegro ed il Penseroso_ (poem by Milton) at Norwich, 1890,
‘Invocation to Music’ (ode in memory of Purcell by Robert Bridges) at
Leeds, 1895, and ‘The Lotus-Eaters,’ a choral song, 1892.
With the exception of ‘The Witch’s Daughter,’ performed at the
Leeds Festival of 1904, all of the cantatas and shorter choral works
of Alexander Campbell Mackenzie (born 1847) fall within the period
covered by the present chapter. Attention was first attracted to his
fine command of choral technique by ‘The Bride,’ a cantata founded on
a poem by the German poet, Hamerling, and performed at the Gloucester
Festival of 1881. Possibly his highest point of artistic effectiveness
is reached in his fine _Veni, Creator Spiritus_, set to Dryden’s
paraphrase and produced at the Birmingham Festival, 1891. Burns’ ‘The
Cotter’s Saturday Night’ furnished inspiration for one of his most
characteristic works (for chorus only) and naturally appealed strongly
to his national feeling and idiom. His other cantatas include ‘Jason’
(Bristol Festival, 1882), ‘The Story of Sayid’ (Leeds, 1886), founded
on Edwin Arnold’s ‘Pearls of the Faith,’ and the ‘Dream of Jubal’
(Liverpool Philharmonic, 1889). In the last-named cantata he employs a
reciter in addition to soloists and chorus.
The cumulative effect of the artistic activity of the notable trio
named above may find partial explanation in the fact that together
they represent the three dominant national branches of the United
Kingdom--Parry the Englishman, Mackenzie the Scotchman and Stanford
the Irishman. The works of these three brilliant exponents of British
music reveal many idioms traceable to their respective racial
characteristics. In the two choral ballads of Charles Villiers Stanford
(born 1852)--‘The Voyage of Maeldune’ (Leeds Festival, 1889), poem by
Tennyson, and ‘Phaudrig Crohoore’ (Norwich Festival, 1896), poem by J.
S. Le Fanu--traits of Irish folk-song appear on many a page and lend to
the music individuality and a fragrant beauty. Indeed, he has achieved
some of his greatest successes in his choral ballads. His splendid
setting of Tennyson’s ‘The Revenge’ (Leeds Festival, 1896), with its
snappy, breezy and, withal, brilliant style, tempted him to set another
nautical ballad, Campbell’s ‘The Battle of the Baltic,’ which, however,
is hardly as effective. His style is more eclectic than that of his two
great contemporaries, combining some of the best German and English
qualities with his own individual mode of utterance. His oratorios will
be mentioned in another place. He has made very notable contributions
to sacred and church music, especially liturgical music.
VII
Sir Edward Elgar’s[71] position as not only the leader among English
composers of the present, but as one of the greatest of contemporary
creative musicians, is amply buttressed by a series of works in
orchestral and choral fields, which, though not conspicuous by its
length, is remarkable for the strength and originality of their
musical ideas, the vigor of treatment and the supreme command which
the composer displays over the technical means of expression. Most of
his greatest works are discussed in other sections of this series, yet
it was in the field of cantata that his name first rose to prominence
and the English festivals furnished the occasion, as in the case
of so many other English composers. ‘The Black Knight’ had found a
respectful hearing at the Worcester Festival of 1893 and the ‘Scenes
from the Bavarian Highlands’ at the same Festival in 1896, but the
production of the ‘Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf’ at the North
Staffordshire Festival at Hanley in 1896 created a profound impression
and its remarkable success raised his name at once to a place among the
great ones of music. ‘The Banner of St. George’ followed in 1897 and
‘Caractacus,’ the finest of his cantatas, in 1898.
‘The Black Knight,’ for chorus and orchestra, is a setting of
Longfellow’s translation of Uhland’s poem, _Der schwarze Ritter_, and
the music with virile urgency sets forth the dramatic incidents of
this ballad of the mysterious ‘sable knight,’ whose visit at the court
festivities of an ancient king caused the sudden death of the king’s
two children. Elgar’s maturer style is clearly foreshadowed in this
early work.
‘The Banner of St. George,’ a ballad for chorus and orchestra, with
text by Shapcott Wensley, was inspired by the occasion of the Diamond
Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897 and was performed the same year.
The poem is divided into two scenes, dealing with the deliverance of
a princess from the dragon by the valiant Saint George of Sabra, and
an epilogue in which Elgar makes characteristic use of a stirring
‘marching’ melody, to words of patriotic sentiment, in building up a
rousing choral climax.
‘Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf’ is a setting of Longfellow’s words
with additions and connecting passages by H. A. Acworth. The vigorous
and individual style of the preceding works here finds full fruition
and Elgar stands forth as a matured creator, full armed and conscious
of his strength. The poetical selections are grouped into eight scenes
with introduction and epilogue. These include the remarkably strong and
dramatic ‘Challenge of Thor,’ as the Norse god hurls defiance at the
Christian religion; King Olaf’s return to Norway and his acceptance of
the challenge; the breaking of the image of Thor and the conversion
of Olaf’s subjects; ‘The Wraith of Odin,’ a stirring choral ballad
relating the mysterious visit of the spirit of Odin to the banquet
hall; the wooing of Sigrid, queen of Svithiod, by King Olaf, which is
preceded by a charming chorus of the minstrel maids of the queen; the
choral ballad of Thyri, sister of Svend, the Danish king, who flees
from her betrothed to King Olaf’s court for protection--one of the
finest parts of the cantata--followed by the lovely duet of Thyri and
Olaf; and the death of Olaf in the fierce sea-battle with the Danes,
thrillingly related by the chorus. In the epilogue the efficacy of
Christian love in converting the world is contrasted with that of the
sword and gives occasion to Elgar for constructing a choral climax,
beginning _a cappella_ with the words, ‘As torrents in summer, half
dried in their channels,’ that for simple beauty and sustained power of
expression has few equals in choral literature. Three solo voices are
added to the choral forces at the end.
‘Caractacus,’ written to the poem by H. A. Acworth for the Leeds
Musical Festival of 1898, stands in the natural progressive order
of his secular cantatas as the strongest of the series and, in many
respects, the most remarkable of its class in any country or period.
Elgar, in this and later choral works, appears in the double rôle
of symphonist and choral writer, for the orchestra frequently rises
into momentary preëminence and overshadows the choral machinery as a
medium of expression. ‘Caractacus’ must be thought of in its orchestral
coloring in order to grasp its full strength and beauty, for Elgar is a
master of all modern orchestral resources.
This cantata was written at the composer’s home at Malvern in the
immediate environment of the stirring scenes related in its score and
enacted in ancient times by the heroic defenders of British freedom,
for it was at Malvern Hills on the Welsh frontier that Caractacus
made his final stand against the legions of Rome. The work is in six
scenes, the first depicting Caractacus and his warriors in his British
camp at Malvern Hills at night. It opens after a short orchestral
introduction with the stirring chorus, ‘Watchmen, alert!’ The king’s
daughter Eigen and her betrothed Orbin break in upon the sad reveries
of the disheartened monarch and their recital of the warning of the
Druid maiden ushers in the beautiful trio sung by Eigen, Orbin and
Caractacus, ‘At eve to the greenwood we wandered away.’ As they
depart, the Spirits of the Hills sing a calm benediction, ‘Rest,
weary monarch,’ one of the loveliest choral portions of the work,
scored with consummate skill for both chorus and orchestra. The second
scene shifts the action to the sacred oak grove and deals with the
rites of the Druids as they cast the omens. There is a mystic dance
of the Druid-maidens, ‘Tread the measure left and right,’ which is
an inspiration of enthralling beauty and rhythmic grace but which
never loses a certain solemn dignity. As the dance ceases, there
follows the impassioned invocation to Taranis. The king enters, the
Arch-Druid deceives him as to the omens, Orbin protests, but is cursed
and driven forth by the Druids. The close of the scene is built up
around the vigorous soldiers’ chorus, ‘Leap to the light, my brand
of fight,’ and the contrasting chorus of Druids as they call down
curses on Orbin. The third scene pictures the parting of the lovers as
Orbin joins the force of Caractacus. It opens with a graceful rustic
chorus of youths and maidens who are with Eigen, twining wreaths of
flowers, ‘Come beneath our woodland bow’rs.’ The scene closes with
the beautiful duet of the parting lovers. The fourth scene is again
on Malvern Hills and Eigen and her maidens anxiously discuss the
rumors of distant battle. The return of Caractacus and the remnants
of his defeated army brings this part to a close with the impressive
lament of Caractacus (in 7-pulse measure) accompanied by the chorus of
warriors. Soon afterwards Caractacus and his family are betrayed to
the enemy and scene five, which is short, relates the embarking of the
British captives in Roman galleys. The final scene is the triumphal
procession in Rome, beginning with a pompous orchestral march followed
by full chorus and dramatic solos by the captives--Caractacus, Eigen
and Orbin. Their bold independence and intrepid defense before the
tribunal of the emperor, Claudius, win pardon and an honored home in
Rome. The subject is one that might well appeal to a British composer,
and Elgar, with magnificent effect, seizes the opportunity to add a
stirring epilogue--‘The clang of arms is over’--which unfolds, as it
develops, some pages of patriotic sentiment (‘Britons, alert!’) that
are thrilling in their majestic power.
VIII
Musical history has often been called upon to record the fact that a
gifted composer’s firstling has been his best. In the case of Samuel
Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912) his creative imagination never again
reached such fine heights of inspired effort as those attained in its
first flight. His greatest work is undoubtedly the cantata, ‘Hiawatha’s
Wedding Feast’--the first of the ‘Hiawatha’ trilogy--performed
November 11, 1898, at the Royal College of Music, London, while the
composer was still a student at this institution. The second part of
the trilogy, ‘The Death of Minnehaha,’ was brought out in 1899 at the
North Staffordshire Festival, and the third, ‘Hiawatha’s Departure,’
made its first public appearance at a concert of the Royal Choral
Society, at Albert Hall, March 22, 1900. Two months later the overture
to the entire work received its initial performance. The text for
the whole trilogy is selected from Longfellow’s familiar ‘The Song
of Hiawatha.’ This poem, which handles with childlike simplicity and
directness the emotions and experiences of a primitive race, seems to
have struck deep into the soul of this Anglo-African composer and he
has imbued the score, especially of the first part, with an atmosphere
of individuality possessed by none of its successors. He touched a new
vein here which he was not able to inject with equal success into his
other works. The score abounds in concise, characteristic and striking
themes, many of which are treated in the manner of ‘leading-motives.’
‘Scenes from the Song of Hiawatha.’--The first part of the trilogy
is ‘Hiawatha’s Wedding-Feast,’ for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra.
‘Sumptuous was the feast Nakomis made at Hiawatha’s wedding’ and the
detailed description includes not only the banquet itself but the
entertainment which followed, how Pau-Puk-Keewis danced,
‘How the gentle Chibiabos,
He the sweetest of musicians,
Sang his songs of love and longing;
How Iagoo, the great boaster,
Told his tales of strange adventure.’
Chibiabos’ song, the beautiful tenor solo, ‘Onaway, awake, beloved!’ is
one of the gems of the whole trilogy.
The second part--‘The Death of Minnehaha,’ for soprano and baritone
solos, chorus and orchestra--begins with the description of the ‘long
and dreary winter! the cold and cruel winter!’ and continues with the
pathetic story of the wasting famine and the fever, how Minnehaha
shuddered at the words of the two uninvited guests, ‘lay down on her
bed in silence,’ how Hiawatha plunged into the forest in search of
food only to return ‘empty-handed, heavy-hearted.’ Then follows the
death and burial of Minnehaha and the lament of Hiawatha. The pathos of
the words is given striking setting in the music, particularly in the
opening chorus, ‘O the long and dreary winter!’ and in Hiawatha’s noble
lament, ‘Farewell, O Minnehaha!’ which the chorus gently echoes after
him. The chief share of the work is allotted to the chorus.
The third part--‘Hiawatha’s Departure,’ for soprano, tenor and
baritone solos, chorus and orchestra--is the longest of the three
and has more opportunity for varied effects. Reminiscences of themes
from the preceding parts give pleasing thematic unity to the whole
work. It begins with the return of spring and with it Iagoo, the great
traveller, ‘full of new and strange adventures.’ He relates to an
incredulous audience how he saw a water ‘bigger than the Big-Sea-Water’
and on it a tall canoe with great wings, ‘bigger than a grove of
pine-trees,’ in which were warriors ‘painted white.’ Hiawatha, of
all the listeners, laughed not, for he had seen the same things in a
vision. He tells them of the coming of the white men and prophesies
their achievements and the downfall of the Indian race. Then follows,
in simple narrative, Hiawatha’s welcome to the white men and the
missionary priest who came with them to tell the message of the
Saviour; Hiawatha’s touching farewell to Nakomis and his people (‘I am
going, O my people, on a long and distant journey. To the portals of
the Sunset, to the regions of the home-wind’); and his departure in the
birch canoe as he ‘sailed into the fiery sunset, To the Islands of the
Blessed, to the land of the Hereafter!’ Musically the third part is
unequal to the others in the strength of its appeal, yet at the close,
Hiawatha’s tender words of parting and the answering farewell of the
people are written in the virile and characteristic mood of the first
part. The solo voices assume a larger share of work than in the other
parts.
Coleridge-Taylor’s other choral works were of course in demand after
the success of his first one, but, though received with favor, they do
not measure up to the first, nor did they make the deep impression of
the ‘Hiawatha’ music.
IX
The United States did not enter the list of cantata and oratorio
producing nations until the last quarter of the nineteenth century.
Before that time W. B. Bradbury, J. A. Butterfield, A. Hamerik, George
F. Root and others had prepared the way for their successors by choral
works of a simple, popular character suited to the musical conditions
of their time. On account of the number, musical quality, size and
extensive influence of his choral works, Dudley Buck may justly be
accorded the honor of being the first important choral writer in
America.
The influence of Dudley Buck (1839-1909) in the field of church-music
was probably stronger and more fundamental and lasting than in that
of concert choral music, for the needs of American church-music could
not be met, as could those of choral societies, by mere importation of
foreign-made music. Yet his concert choral works are quite numerous.
They include the 46th Psalm, written for the Boston Handel and Haydn
Society, 1872; ‘Don Munio,’ a dramatic cantata written in 1874, whose
story is taken from Washington Irving’s Spanish papers and deals with
the wars and loves of the Moorish period; four cantatas for male
voices--‘King Olaf’s Christmas,’ ‘The Nun of Nidaros’ (1878), ‘The
Voyage of Columbus’ (1885) and ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’; ‘The Centennial
Meditation of Columbia,’ written for the Centennial Exposition and
performed at Philadelphia, May 10, 1876; ‘The Golden Legend,’ to
which was awarded the prize offered by the Cincinnati May Festival
Association for the best work by an American and which received its
initial performance at the Festival in 1880; and his largest and most
pretentious choral work, ‘The Light of Asia.’
‘The Golden Legend’ is, like Sullivan’s cantata of the same name, a
setting of a portion of Longfellow’s ‘Christus.’ The text is divided
into a prologue, twelve scenes and an epilogue. The story is identical
with that of Sullivan’s cantata already mentioned and the music on
the whole rises to a higher plane of excellence. Especially effective
and deservedly well-known is Elsie’s prayer in the fifth scene (‘My
Redeemer and my Lord’), an aria breathing a deep religious feeling
and filled with calm beauty. Buck is at his best in such numbers as
the simple hymn for unaccompanied quartet (‘O gladsome light of the
Father’), Elsie’s charming aria in the ninth scene (‘The night is calm
and cloudless’ with a choral refrain of _Kyrie eleison_), and the
love-duet between Elsie and Prince Henry in the twelfth scene.
‘The Light of Asia’ was written in 1886, published in London and
performed there for the first time in St. James’s Hall, March 19,
1889. The well-known poem by Sir Edwin Arnold naturally lends itself
to elaborate treatment and the composer has done it full justice,
constructing on its strong lines a work that approaches the dimensions
and character of an oratorio. The initial fugal chorus (‘Below the
highest sphere four regents sit’), foretelling the birth of the child
Buddha who ‘shall deliver men from ignorance,’ establishes at once the
broad massive outlines of the work. After the King has conferred with
his ministers as to a remedy for the seriousness of Prince Siddârtha
and, on their advice, has summoned a court of pleasure at which the
most beautiful maidens are to teach him love, there follows a lovely
duet describing the meeting and recognition of the Prince and the fair
Yasôdhara, and the part closes with a jubilant wedding chorus, ‘Enter,
thrice happy!’ The second part--‘The Renunciation’--describes the
sensuous life of the Orient, the awakening of Siddârtha from this life
of love and joy to his mission, his six long years of wandering, his
victorious struggles with the varied temptations of ‘the fiends who
war with Wisdom and the Light.’ The third part--‘The Return’--relates
the sorrows of the lonely Yasôdhara and the return of the wandering
Siddârtha as a Buddha, dressed in the yellow garb of a hermit, begging
alms, yet greeted by his people with glad acclaim. The epilogue and
final chorus (‘Before beginning and without an end’) is the choral
climax of the whole work, constructed with fine musicianship and
majestic in its effect. Important solo duties are assigned to the
Prince, his wife Yasôdhara and his father, the King.
Dr. Leopold Damrosch (1832-1885), who occupied a position of great
influence in the musical life of New York City, wrote two important
choral works that were published in this country--‘Ruth and Naomi’
(1870), a Scriptural idyl, and ‘Sulamith’ (The Song of Songs), which
was performed for the first time by the Oratorio Society, New York,
in April, 1882. Other short choral works written by Americans in
the period now under consideration were ‘Prayer and Praise,’ the
Forty-sixth Psalm (Cincinnati Festival prize, 1882), and ‘The Rose,’
by William Wallace Gilchrist (born 1846); ‘The Culprit Fay’ (1879) and
‘Praise of Harmony’ (1886) by Frederick Grant Gleason (1848-1903);
‘Phœbus Arise’ (1882), ‘The Nativity’ (1883) and ‘The Realm of Fancy’
(1884) by John Knowles Paine (1839-1906); ‘The Tale of the Viking’
(1879) and ‘Henry of Navarre’ (1885) by George Elbridge Whiting (born
1842).
The choral works from the pen of Arthur Foote (b. 1853) are not
numerous, but they are fine in musical quality and workmanship.
There are only three of them and all are settings of poems by
Longfellow--‘The Farewell of Hiawatha’ (1879), a ballad for baritone
solo, male chorus and orchestra, ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’ for mixed
voices and ‘The Skeleton in Armor.’
George Whitfield Chadwick (b. 1854) has written more voluminously in
the smaller choral forms, all of his writing being distinguished by
a keen feeling for vocal values and a rich harmonic sense. His chief
works in cantata form are ‘The Viking’s Last Voyage’ for baritone
solo, male chorus and orchestra, 1880 (Boston Apollo Club, 1881);
‘Lovely Rosabelle’ for solos, mixed chorus and orchestra, 1889
(Boston Orchestral Club, 1890); _Phœnix Expirans_, 1891 (Springfield
Festival, 1892); ‘Columbian Ode,’ 1892, written for the dedication
of the buildings of the World’s Fair, Chicago, May, 1893; ‘The Lily
Nymph,’ 1895 (Springfield Festival, 1896); and _Ecce jam noctis_, 1897,
written for the commencement exercises of Yale University, 1897, on the
occasion of his receiving from Yale the honorary degree of Master of
Arts.
Horatio William Parker (b. 1863) has been a prolific writer of choral
works, both before 1900 and since that date, and, through his skilful
handling of vocal masses and a superb contrapuntal technique, has won
for himself a foremost place among living masters of choral writing.
While a student under Rheinberger at Munich, two of his choral works,
‘The Ballad of a Knight and his Daughter’ (1884) and ‘King Trojan’
(1885), were given public performance there and were later published.
‘The Ballad of the Normans’ (_Normannenzug_) for male chorus and
orchestra appeared in 1889; ‘The Kobolds’ (poem by Arlo Bates) for
chorus and orchestra was performed at the Springfield (Mass.) Festival
in May, 1891; ‘Harold Harfagar’ for chorus and orchestra was performed
in 1891 in New York; ‘The Dream-King and his Love’ (poem by Geibel)
for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra won a prize in 1893 offered by
the National Conservatory of Music in New York City, of which Dvořák
was then director and in which the composer was a teacher; ‘The Holy
Child,’ a Christmas cantata, was published in 1893; and ‘A Wanderer’s
Psalm’ was written for and performed at the Hereford Festival, England,
in 1900. A composition which finely illustrates his great ability in
handling problems of vocal counterpoint is his motet for double chorus
_a cappella_, _Adstant angelorum chori_ (poem by Thomas à Kempis),
which won the prize given by the Musical Art Society of New York City
in 1898.
Mrs. H. H. A. Beach (b. 1867) has written several small choral works
that have found well-merited favor, among them ‘The Minstrel and the
King’ for tenor and baritone solos, male chorus and orchestra, ‘The
Rose of Avontown,’ a ballad for soprano solo and female chorus, ‘The
Chambered Nautilus’ for female chorus, and ‘Sylvania’ for mixed chorus.
Among other small choral works of serious content and fine workmanship
belonging to this period must be mentioned a fine motet by Arthur
Whiting (b. 1861) for double chorus _a cappella_, ‘O God, my heart is
ready’ (words selected from the Psalms).
FOOTNOTES:
[71] Born 1857.
CHAPTER VII
EARLY AND CLASSICAL ORATORIOS
Origin of oratorio in the sacred drama of Italy--Cavalieri:
‘The Representation of Soul and Body’--Carissimi:
‘Jephthah’--Scarlatti; Stradella; other early oratorio
writers--Development of oratorio in Germany; Passion-music
and its development; Schütz: ‘The Seven Last Words of
Christ’; ‘The Passion Oratorio’; ‘The Resurrection’--J.
S. Bach: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘Passion according
to St. Matthew’; Graun: ‘The Death of Jesus’; other
writers of Passion-music--Handel and the oratorio; ‘The
Messiah’--‘Israel in Egypt’; ‘Judas Maccabæus’; ‘Samson,’
etc.--Haydn: ‘The Creation’; ‘The Seasons.’
The early oratorio had many of the essential characteristics
possessed by its modern derivative. It always dealt with sacred
subjects (the modern oratorio, however, frequently concerns itself
with secular themes), it was almost always dramatic and its musical
apparatus consisted of the usual four solo voices and the chorus with
instrumental accompaniment.
In the liturgic drama of the Roman Church must be sought the origin
of the oratorio, which, in a musically coherent form, appeared at
about the same time with the opera, as the spiritual counterpart of
its secular companion, making a devotional and intellectual appeal in
place of the sensual. In the mediæval church two forms of the mass were
in use side by side: the Roman office, which was mainly celebrated by
the priest, and the Gallican Mass, a freer form, in which the people
largely participated. Quite naturally the divergence between the two
became marked and during the twelfth century the Gallican Mass was
reformed with regard to lay participation. In order, however, that the
people, who were attached to a form in which they took so direct a
part, might be compensated for this exclusion, dramatic representations
were devised, based on the Scriptures, all with reference to the great
church festivals, especially that of Holy Week. In these the germ of
the idea of the oratorio is to be found. These dramatic representations
took the form of mysteries and miracle plays--dramatic versions of
Scriptural episodes, with music, both sacred and secular, introduced
to heighten their effect--as well as moralities, in which Christian
virtues and mental qualities were treated allegorically. They included
processionals of the type of the ancient _Festum Asinorum_ (‘The Ass’s
Festival’), commemorating the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt,
which was annually celebrated at Beauvais and Sens as early as the
twelfth century, and in which the celebrated carol, _Prose de l’Ane_
(‘Hymn of the Ass’), still preserved, was the central feature.
With the monodic revolution which was inaugurated at the close of the
sixteenth century and which marked the beginning of opera, the history
of oratorio as a distinctly musical rather than a liturgic art-form may
be said to begin. The sacred musical drama was generally staged in the
vestry or vestibule of church or convent--its ‘oratory’--and in course
of time the term oratorio was applied to this music. In the oratory
of St. Filippo Neri’s church in Rome (_S. Girolamo della Charità_)
Animuccia’s settings of _laudi spirituali_ (sacred songs of praise) had
already been sung in the sixteenth century; and the fact that these
hymns were often used in connection with Biblical recitations is not
without direct influence on the development of the form.
I
Yet it was not until the performance of Emilio del Cavalieri’s
_Rappresentazione di anima e di corpo_ (Rome, in February, 1600), in
which Time, Life, The World, Pleasure, Intellect, The Soul and The Body
appeared, that the first actual oratorio was heard in germinal shape,
during the same year that witnessed the world _première_ of all opera
with Peri’s _Euridice_, which took place in Florence in December.
There was practically no difference in form between the first operas
and the earliest oratorios, a statement borne out by the fact that
Domenico Mazzocchi’s _Querimonia di S. Maria Maddelena_ rivalled
Monteverdi’s _Lamento d’Arianna_ in popularity. Both opera and
oratorio were constructed, musically, in the self-same way. Both were
made up of recitative and arias, of choral and instrumental numbers,
and both began with an overture. The angelic choruses of the first
oratorios were musically synonymous with the bacchic choruses of the
early operas. The difference between them lay only in the choice of
subject-matter. And throughout the seventeenth century this continued
to be the case, speaking generally, despite a certain divergence
of viewpoint which had already made itself felt. How ‘operatic’ in
character Cavalieri’s sacred score was, is proven by its composer’s
employment of children as _dramatis personæ_, by the division of his
work into acts, and by the use of worldly intermezzos, pantomimes
and ballets. Interesting is the composer’s anticipation of Wagner at
Bayreuth in his stage directions relegating his orchestra to a place
‘behind the scenes’ and out of sight. This orchestra, primitive in
character, consisted of a double lyre, a harpsichord, a large guitar
and two flutes. The use of the violin was recommended, though it was
not insisted upon.
Cavalieri’s stage directions for the performance of his sacred drama
are so interesting and throw so much light on the dramatic character of
the early oratorio that they are quoted here, nearly in full, from Dr.
Burney’s ‘History of Music’:
(1) ‘The words should be printed, with verses correctly arranged, the
scenes numbered, and the characters of interlocutors specified.
(2) ‘Instead of the Overture or Symphony to modern musical drama, a
madrigal is recommended, as a full piece, with all the parts doubled,
and a greater number of instruments.
(3) ‘When the curtain rises, two youths, who recite the Prologue,
appear on the stage; and when they have done, Time, one of the
Characters in the Morality, comes on, and has the note with which he is
to begin given him by the instrumental performers behind the scenes.
(4) ‘The Chorus are to have a place allotted to them on the stage, part
sitting and part standing, in sight of the principal characters; and,
when they sing, they are to rise and be in motion, with proper gestures.
(5) ‘Pleasure, another imaginary character, and two companions, are to
have instruments in their hands, on which they are to play while they
sing and perform ritornelles.
(6) ‘_Il Corpo_, the Body, when these words are uttered, _Si che hormia
alma mia_, etc., may throw away some of his ornaments, as his gold
collar, feather from his hat, etc.
(7) ‘The World and Human Life in particular, are to be gaily and richly
dressed; and when they are divested of their trappings, to appear very
poor and wretched, and at length dead carcasses.
(8) ‘The Symphonies and Ritornelles may be played by a great number of
instruments; and, if a violin should play the principal part, it would
have a good effect.
(9) ‘The performance may be finished with or without a dance. If
without, the last chorus is to be doubled in all its parts, vocal and
instrumental; but, if a dance is preferred, a verse beginning thus:
_Chiostri altissimi e stellati_, is to be sung, accompanied sedately
and reverently by the dance. These shall succeed other grave steps and
figures of the solemn kind. During the ritornelles, the four principal
dancers are to form a ballet, _saltato con capriole_, enlivened with
capers or _entrechats_, without singing, and thus, after each stanza,
always varying the steps of the dance; and the four principal dancers
may sometimes use the _galiard_, sometimes the _canary_, and sometimes
the _courant_ step, which will do very well in the ritornelles.
(10) ‘The stanzas of the ballet are to be sung and played by all
performers within and without.’
As a matter of fact Cavalieri’s work was in reality a sacred opera,
not an oratorio. Contemporaries of Cavalieri, Agostino Manni
(_Rappresentazione del Figliuol Prodigo_), Anerio (_Teatro armonico
spirituale_), Pietro della Valle (_Esther_, _La Purificazione_) and,
somewhat later, Domenico Mazzocchi, Luigi Rossi, Ludovico Bellanda,
Vittorio Loreto (_La Pellegrina Constante_, _Sacre d’Abramo_),
Francesco Balducci (_La Fede_) and others, represent tentative gropings
toward a more artistically satisfying formal and musical development of
the oratorio.
II
The slow revival of choral art quite naturally found in sacred
subjects the material best suited to treatment, not alone because of
earlier sixteenth century associations, but also because such subjects
did not over-encourage dramatic realism. Yet even Carissimi (1604-1674)
had but little success in his efforts to establish a loftier spiritual
standard in oratorio. He did much to perfect the recitative, and
to add charm and variety to the instrumental accompaniment; he set
aside the theatrical presentation, often gave dramatic details to a
‘narrator’ and laid more weight on the choral element. His music has
real quality and beauty; yet the secular idea persists in his works and
defeats his attempts to turn Scriptural dramatic representations into
genuine church-music. Despite this, his work is valuable as a stepping
stone--he was the first to write music which held out hopes of a future
for the oratorio as a distinct art-form.
Giacomo Carissimi, from 1628 to the time of his death choir-master of
the _Appolinare_ Church in Rome, was already renowned as a teacher and
composer in 1650. It was in this year that Athanasius Kirchner, in
his celebrated _Musurgia universalis_, a quaint mixture of scientific
knowledge and childish hearsay, introduced Carissimi, with an analysis
of his _Jephta_, to a wider circle as the perfect oratorio-composer.
Nor is it without reason that Carissimi has been termed the Handel
of the seventeenth century. His oratorios _Jonas_, _Jephta_, _Job_,
_Diluvium universalis_, etc., he called _historie_, and the Biblical
text on which they were founded was liberally interspersed with poetic
supplementary matter to allow for the introduction of little arias and
martial, elegiac or popular incidental choruses. The text was still
Latin, though after Carissimi’s time the _oratorio volgare_, so called
because it was sung in Italian and was thus distinguished from the
Latin oratorio, supplanted the latter in popular favor.
_Jephta_ is, perhaps, Carissimi’s most characteristic work. It employs
a Biblical subject, like all his other works of the kind, for Carissimi
adhered strictly to this conception of oratorio, though many of his
contemporaries shaped their cantatas and oratorios around the life
of some saint. In _Jephta_, too, as in all the composer’s oratorios,
the musical stress is laid on the choruses. These are not written in
the style of the polyphonic madrigal, but in a simple chordal setting
whose rhythm is conditioned by the word-accents. The fugue is absent,
imitation and canon are suggested only in the duets. In nearly all
cases the chorus serves to develop the dramatic idea. In the oratorio
of the time, chorus is, in general, opposed to chorus, with the
occasional relief of solo voices. Yet Carissimi secures considerable
movement and variety by dividing more extended portions of his text
into short sections, first sung by one or more solo voices and then
taken up by the choruses _en masse_. Excellent examples of this
procedure are to be found in his _Diluvium universalis_ and _Dives
malus_.
Naturally, the harmonic structure of _Jephta_ and the companion
oratorios of Carissimi seems almost pathetically simple to the
modern ear, accustomed to the richness of chromatic harmonization.
His modulations, save in a few instances, such as the chorus _Abit
in montes_ of _Jephta_, are restricted to the keys of the upper and
lower dominant. This lack, however, was not perceptible to listeners
of the composer’s own generation. They enjoyed the rhythmic vitality
and dramatic truth of his works, the vivid descriptive quality of
the shipwreck music in _Jonas_, the idyllic charm of the two-voice
movements to which the playmates of Jephthah’s daughter dance their
rounds. And in _Jephta_ the composer often gained a depth of pathos
worthy of a really great singer’s rendering. Such a number is the
_Plorate colles_, a model of expressive writing. It was from this
_Plorate_ that Handel borrowed twelve measures to use in ‘Hear, Jacob’s
God,’ in his ‘Samson.’
All in all, Carissimi may be held to have laid down the lines along
which the Handelian oratorio was later to develop. As a contrapuntal
writer his great merit lay in the adaptation of the polyphonic idea
to the new conceptions of tonality. He stands for the introduction of
a more serious musicianship in oratorio work, and his influence was
noticeably great and made itself felt in the works of his successors
up to Handel’s time. Among these men who carried on his work (though
often they were mainly active in the operatic or instrumental fields),
two in particular stand forth, Alessandro Stradella (d. 1681) and
Alessandro Scarlatti (d. 1725). These two men, in a manner, sum up
the activity of many others, of Provencale, Vitali, Colonna, Leonardo
Leo, G. B. Bononcini, Bassani, Ristocchi and Polaroli in Italy; of the
Italian musicians in Vienna--Bertali, Draghi, Ariosto, Badia and M. A.
Bononcini; and in Munich, Pietro Tosi. All of these composers wrote
oratorios between the years 1650 and 1750 and developed in them the
principles of Carissimi with more or less originality and success.
III
Alessandro Scarlatti, born in 1659 in Trapani, Sicily, the greatest
representative of the Neapolitan school, was, it is asserted, a pupil
of Carissimi. He wrote operas, cantatas, vocal and instrumental pieces
by the hundred, and his oratorios alone number fourteen. Their titles
show that he departed from his master’s strict adherence to Biblical
subjects for his textual material. We have a _Maddalena penitente_,
a _Sacrificio d’Abramo_, _Agar et Ismaele esiliati_, it is true,
but also a _San Casimiro, rè di Polonia_, and a _S. Filippo Neri_.
Like Carissimi he subordinated strict thematic counterpoint to the
exigencies of a free and unconstrained leading of the voices, and with
an added richness and elaboration of effect. He gave the aria a more
definite structure, and made large use of rhythmic melody, in the
manner of Gluck, to bring out the dramatic value of highly impassioned
scenes, which in spoken drama would have appeared as monologue. Where
lesser depths of feeling were to be plumbed, he used accompanied
recitative and the _recitativo secco_ mainly for the development of the
narrative itself. This general scheme of arrangement has been followed
by later composers down to our own day.
Perhaps his oratorio _Il trionfo della grazia_, composed in 1685, which
was a favorite as late as the early years of the eighteenth century,
gives us as good a general idea of his sacred music as any other. It
was also known under the title of _La Conversione di Maddalena_, as in
it the Magdalen makes her appearance as a species of apple of discord
between ‘Youth’ and ‘Penitence.’ In clever contrast such opposites
as Gravity and Heedlessness, The World’s Curse and The Joy of Life,
are used to enhance the moral and musical effect of the work. The
second section of the oratorio takes up the conversion of the penitent
sinner, and the music which the Magdalen now sings, full of pathos and
gravity, offers a piquant contrast to the jolly melodies, embroidered
with coloratura and shakes, which were her part before. Particularly
beautiful is an instrumental symphony (in the older sense of the word)
which, after the heroine has said the words, ‘A penitent and faithful
heart shall see the heavens open,’ is wonderfully suggestive of the
kneeling of the penitent woman. Schering calls it a musical pendant to
Ribera’s celebrated picture of St. Agnes, in the Dresden galleries.
In another of Scarlatti’s oratorios, _Sedecia, rè di Gerusalemme_[72]
(1706), we meet with a splendidly effective use of orchestral
means--always remembering that the orchestra of that day was not our
present one. The introductory _sinffonie_ is here nothing more or less
than a violin concerto[73] in disguise, and the orchestra--consisting
of obbligato and second violins, trumpets, tympani (especially
prominent in the military music in Part I of the work) and oboes--takes
an important part in the musical development from beginning to end.
Among the vocal numbers might be instanced a particularly expressive
duo between Anna and her son Ishmael (accompanied by an obbligato
oboe); an aria of Ishmael’s, accompanied by two solo violins, and
Sedecia’s two arias in Part II.
In this oratorio in particular, Scarlatti speaks with the accents of
a master who is consciously striving toward the realization of a new
ideal. It offers striking proof of the fact of how great Scarlatti
might have become as a composer of oratorio had not opera so largely
preëmpted his best efforts. The closing movement of _Sedecia_, a
five-part chorus on broad lines, with incidental solo-quartet sections,
recalls in its style the magnificent triumphal choruses of Handel’s
oratorios. _S. Casimiro, rè di Polonia_ (1713) also contains arias of
great beauty; and written during the master’s last period of creative
activity, _La Vergine addolorata_ (1717) must be considered one of
his finest works. A ‘Lament of Mary’ printed by Raf. Carreras in his
_El Oratorio Musical_ (1906), p. 188, approaches Bach in power and
expressiveness.
The austere and serious power which Scarlatti infused into his sacred
music was not attained by his immediate successors and contemporaries.
But the master’s predilection for brilliancy and effect, when we
compare his music with that of Purcell, though its greater dramatic
interest and movement is incontestable, brought about, perhaps, a
less degree of emotional expression and a less intimate touch in the
portrayal of mood pictures.
Alessandro Stradella, born in Naples about 1645, was not as prolific a
writer as Scarlatti, yet he left over 150 works (among them ten operas
and eight oratorios) at the time of his early death--he is supposed
to have been murdered in Genoa in 1681. He has much in common with
Scarlatti. In Stradella’s works we find the same recurring suggestion
of Handelian breadth and strength, and in general that freedom and
grandeur of conceptive outlook which stamps the great composer.
Stradella’s best known oratorio is his _S. Giovanni Battista_ (about
1676). Its great artistic merit lies in its plastic musical portrayals
of the characters of Herod and his daughter, and in the happy use
of fiery, dramatic melody to limn them in tone; for as a musical
character-painter Stradella may be said to have been Scarlatti’s
superior, although his influence on the development of the form was
not so great as was that of his contemporary. The romantic details
regarding his personal life, many of them undoubtedly apocryphal, which
recur in every biography, do not seem to call for consideration here.
It is his contribution to the music of the oratorio only with which we
are concerned, and in this respect he deserves a place beside Scarlatti.
The numerous composers of oratorio who lead from Carissimi, through
Scarlatti and Stradella, to Handel and his more immediate German
predecessors, have nothing especially new to offer. Scarlatti and
Stradella accomplished much in the direction of both musical and purely
formal development, but they were unable to establish a distinct
line of demarcation between oratorio and opera. Italian oratorio was
practically not distinguishable from the Italian _opera seria_ until as
late as Mozart’s boyhood.
IV
Italian oratorio, by reason of its descent from the sacred church
dramas and its close association with opera, has never been wholly able
to break away from the element of recreation that was so conspicuous
in its early use as a means of attracting people to attend church. And
the complete separation between the recreational and religious elements
did not take place until the oratorio passed out of the land of its
birth into Germany, when it fused with the spirit of Passion-music and
emerged a distinctly religious art-form. The connecting link between
Italian oratorio and Germany was Giovanni Gabrieli, who, as the teacher
of Heinrich Schütz, the greatest German musician of the seventeenth
century, transmitted to his great pupil not only his technical mastery
of the best of Netherland and Italian art-methods, but his own
remarkable artistic sincerity and religious earnestness. It was Schütz
who, from the different standpoint of Protestant faith as nurtured by
the Lutheran Reformation, laid the foundations of modern oratorio.
Before tracing the influence of Schütz in shaping the future course
of oratorio, it will be in place to sketch the origin and development
of the Passion-music. The quasi-dramatic musical presentation of the
Passion[74] is even more deeply rooted in the liturgy of the Roman
Church than is the oratorio. It represents the artistic amplification
of the reading of the Passion of our Lord, according to the evangels
as prescribed by the church during Holy Week: on Palm Sunday the
Passion according to St. Matthew, on Tuesday, St. Mark, on Wednesday,
St. Luke, and on Good Friday, St. John. At an early period it had
become customary to assign the narrative text and the words of Christ,
of the Apostles, the High Priest and other individual characters to
various singers, instead of having them read. During the period of the
supremacy of Gregorian plain-song this mode of rendering this part of
the liturgy resulted in the Passion chant (_cantus passionis_). This
continued to be the only form used until the principles of polyphony
were sufficiently developed to substitute a more elaborate form.
Since the year 1200 and probably much earlier, the texts to be sung
were divided among three priests, called ‘Deacons of the Passion,’ as
follows: one chanted the words of Christ, another the narration of
the Evangelist and a third the words of the apostles, the crowd, or
others whose words are recorded. Passion-music, it will be observed, is
much older than the oratorio and at the time that the latter began to
assume shape and coherence, it already could boast of a considerable
literature. When the monodic revolution brought about the development
of the oratorio along lines similar to those of opera and encouraged
the use of legends of the saints and Christian allegory as text matter,
the Passion remained strictly bound to its original Biblical text,
although the musical treatment of certain text portions in motet form
(Passion Motets) was permitted. Not until the second half of the
seventeenth century did Passion and oratorio in Italy draw near to each
other, and only in the last quarter of the century was the story of
the Passion utilized for the first time as subject-matter for a great
oratorio.
Attilio Ariosti’s _Passione_ (1693) is probably the first work of
its kind in Italy to present this subject with due dramatic emphasis
and the use of musically adequate popular choruses. G. A. Perti’s
_Passione_ (1685), on the other hand, is one of the type known
as _sepolcros_, intended for devotional performance at a richly
decorated Holy Sepulchre and serving principally as an excuse for
tearfully exaggerated scenes of sorrow between Mary Magdalene and the
disciples. After Ariosti’s _Passione_ Italian Passion music in its best
manifestations may be said to have been taken over into the oratorio
proper, with little but its text to distinguish it from the latter.
When Luther constructed the liturgy of the Church which followed his
religious leadership, he borrowed from the Roman ritual, among other
things, the custom of singing to musical accompaniment the story of the
trial and death of the Saviour. About the middle of the seventeenth
century German composers[75] injected into the existing Italian form
a new spiritual and musical fervor, and an emotional expressiveness
which was eventually to culminate in the great Passions of Johann
Sebastian Bach. By the end of the seventeenth century the Passion
existed in three distinct forms--the chant, the motet and the oratorio.
Schütz cultivated particularly the last two forms with wonderful
results considering the musical vocabulary of his period, but the
Passion-oratorio, with its greater musical and dramatic possibilities,
was best adapted to serve the deep religious fervor of Bach’s
inspiration and to attain its final development at his hands.
Heinrich Schütz (1585-1672), of Dresden, was the greatest of Bach’s
predecessors as a composer of church-music. Familiar with the best
music of Italy and a master of religious writing, he laid the
foundation of the modern German oratorio. His ‘Resurrection,’ ‘Seven
Last Words,’ and four ‘Passions’ represent the culmination of the
form before Bach. Schütz, who has been called ‘the father of German
music,’ was one of the greatest Psalm-writers of all times, though
few of these compositions are so named but appear under such titles
as ‘spiritual concertos,’ ‘sacred symphonies,’ motets, and ‘sacred
choral music.’ Though his work was based on the Italian style, he was
greatly influenced by Scandellus, one of his predecessors in Dresden as
chapel-master of the Elector Johann Georg of Saxony. His finest choral
works are the six mentioned above, all of which come under the general
classification of oratorios. One of his greatest works, _Historia der
fröhlichen und siegreichen Auferstehung unseres einigen Erlösers und
Seligmachers Jesu Christi_, or ‘Resurrection,’ was written in 1623,
for Easter service, it being the custom then, as now, in some of the
important churches of Saxony, to sing the Resurrection on Easter day
before the sermon, just as the Passion was sung on Good Friday. The
vocal parts are accompanied by the organ and four _viole da gamba_, and
the chorus is frequently in six and eight parts. The works of Schütz
are characterized by simplicity of themes, which are always expressive
and full of color. At times he becomes dramatic, but he is always
devotional and reverential, and though he abandons the liturgical
forms of Scandellus, many of his themes, though original, are based
on liturgical melody or Gregorian chant. All trace of the Italian
recreational element disappears; there is no suggestion of the stage
or of ‘attractive’ effects and the only object before the composer’s
mind is evidently to faithfully portray in music the solemnity and
pious grandeur of the texts. This was the point of departure for German
Protestant oratorio.
Another important work of Schütz was his setting of the ‘Seven Words
of Jesus,’ written and performed in 1645. This departs even more from
the liturgical chant, and the part of the Evangelist, instead of being
chanted, is treated as a recitative, first for alto, then for tenor,
then for soprano and tenor accompanied by the other two voices, thus
bringing it into quartet form. The first and last choruses are in five
parts and each is called ‘Chorus of the Congregation.’ After the first
chorus and before the last (therefore separating the actual scenes from
the chorus of the people), an instrumental number called _symphonia_ is
inserted, thereby giving more dramatic force to the narration. These
two symphonias are in five parts and while the instruments are not
indicated, they were probably played by the strings. Parts of the work
are very touching and beautifully expressive. For some unknown reason
this work was not published until 1873 (228 years after its first
production), edited by Carl Riedel.
Possibly his greatest work is his setting of the four Passions entitled
_Historia des Leidens und Sterbens unseres Herrn und Heylandes Jesu
Christi_ and following the text of the four Evangelists. This was
written in 1665-66 but was not published during his lifetime and only
the ‘St. John Passion’ exists in manuscript, but a complete copy of
the four Passions was made by Grundig in 1690, comparatively soon
after the death of Schütz. These Passions are built up largely with
short choruses which, though conceived in deep devotion, are at times
very dramatic. The parts not given to the chorus are recitatives in
liturgical form, sometimes accompanied[76] and sometimes for the voice
alone. The texts of some of the choruses were taken from well-known
church hymns. The ‘St. Matthew Passion’ is the most fluent melodically.
These settings of the Passion comprised the composer’s last works and
in them lay the kernel of what was later perfected by Bach and Handel,
both of whom completed in their respective lines what Schütz had begun.
It has been regarded significant that the year of his birth was exactly
one hundred years before that of Bach and Handel.
Schütz was still much under the influence of the Gregorian modes
and did not attempt to break away from them in passages of simple
recitative, but he also employed for simple harmonized passages many
of the chorale melodies that were so popular all over Protestant
Germany. But after Schütz plain-song practically disappears from German
Passion and oratorio music and the influence of the chorale becomes
more distinct and insistent. During the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries Passion music was extensively cultivated in Germany and
all her best composers gave it marked attention. Johann Sebastiani
in 1672 produced a Passion at Königsberg, in which the narration is
set entirely to original music and in which chorales, simply and
effectively harmonized, are given more prominence. Thenceforward German
church-music, freed from its allegiance to the old modal system, struck
out paths of its own, and rapid progress was made. In 1673 Theile’s
_Deutsche Passion_ was performed at Lübeck with extraordinary success
and Reinhard Keiser, the Hamburg opera-composer, created renewed
interest in this form by his setting of the Passion in 1704, which
contained an innovation followed by all subsequent German writers of
Passion-music. This consisted in what he called _soliloquia_, which
voiced devout reflections on the solemn events of the Gospel narrative.
V
Bach’s extraordinary and single-hearted devotion to the cause of
church-music led him very naturally to the door of Passion-music and
oratorio, and he brought to the composition of these elaborate forms
an unequalled mastery over all the technical devices of contrapuntal
writing and a marvellous fertility of invention. A deeply religious
and devout nature enriched the natural nobility of his musical speech,
and scattered through the four oratorios from his pen that are
preserved to us are some of his sublimest thoughts. These four are a
Christmas-oratorio and three Passion-oratories--St. Matthew, St. John,
and St. Luke (now regarded as genuine, though for many years considered
spurious). Through the carelessness of his son Friedemann a St. Mark
Passion and probably still another have been lost, for he is known to
have written five Passions.
‘Christmas Oratorio.’--This work, written in 1723 and performed a
year later, consists of six parts (in reality six separate cantatas)
intended for the first, second and third days of the Christmas service,
for New Year’s Day, New Year’s Sunday and Epiphany. While these belong
together liturgically and are connected by chorales, there have been
very few single performances of the entire work because of its very
great length. The parts given most frequently are the first two, which
are the strongest. The text, the story of the Nativity, is taken from
Matthew and Luke, but is elaborated by passages taken from two of his
secular works. This was a common procedure in the eighteenth century
and as Bach had just written festival music for the birthday of the
Queen of Poland and for other court festivities, parts of these joyful
compositions easily adapted themselves to the joy of the Christmas
season.
The first part opens with a sort of fanfare of trumpets accompanied
by drums, which gives a distinct festival atmosphere as the people
assemble for the first service; it is followed at once by the chorus
_Jauchzet, frohlocket, auf, preisset die Tage_. The solo tenor narrates
the part of the Evangelist and brings the attention of the worshippers
to the joy of this specific festival. But Bach sees beyond the Nativity
and anticipates the sacrifice and suffering of the Saviour, therefore
the words of the Advent hymn, _Wie soll ich dich empfangen_, are set to
the Passion chorale, _O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden_. This first part
contains beautiful, simple melodies interspersed with chorales. An
atmosphere, almost of Advent sorrow, pervades the part as a whole and
is strongly contrasted with the second part which brings in the real,
generally-accepted Christmas atmosphere. The second part opens with the
well-known ‘Pastoral Symphony,’ so often played on orchestral programs
and so charmingly idyllic, simple and naïve. It is built on two themes,
one typical of the shepherds, the other of the angels. At the close
of this the Evangelist continues his narrative, which is frequently
interrupted by lyric passages and by chorales, such as _Brich an, du
schönes Morgenlicht_. The beautiful tenor solo, _Frohe Hirten eilt_,
following a bass recitative, is one of the most compelling numbers, but
probably the finest from both a vocal and an orchestral standpoint is
the lovely alto solo, _Schlafe, mein Liebster_. The part closes with
a massive chorus of praise to God in the highest, sung by the angels,
shepherds and the congregation.
As the other four parts are rarely performed, no detailed analysis is
given here; however, these parts have been given together and are about
as long as the combined first two parts. One of the most effective
choruses in the last four parts is one in the fifth, _Ehre sei dir Gott
gesungen_.
‘Passion According to St. Matthew.’--This stupendous work, now
universally considered the finest work of its kind, was written in 1729
and performed on April 15th of the same year at the afternoon service
of Good Friday in the St. Thomas Church, Leipzig, but was later altered
and extended so that it was not completed in its present form until
1740. While it was frequently performed in Leipzig until the end of
the eighteenth century, it was practically forgotten by the outside
world until 1829, just one hundred years after its first production,
when it was given on March 11th, in the _Singakademie_, Berlin, under
the direction of Mendelssohn. This generous artist is deserving of
the deepest gratitude for his untiring enthusiasm in compelling the
world to recognize the grandeur of this work and the greatness of
its half-forgotten creator. He was evidently deeply struck with the
strangeness of his own relation to the rescuing of the great work from
oblivion, for, in commenting on the performance, he made the following
reference to his own nationality--the only recorded instance of this
kind: ‘It was an actor[77] and a Jew who restored this great Christian
work to the people.’ It was not performed in London until April 6th,
1854. The first American performance was by the Handel and Haydn
Society in Boston in 1874.
The story of the ‘Passion according to St. Matthew’ was already
embodied in the service at Leipzig and it was sung on Palm Sunday each
year in choral form. The fact that the Passions were regularly given
at church services, added to his own interest in the subject itself,
probably inspired Bach to give artistic musical expression to the
different versions of the Gospel narratives. While Bach wrote five
Passions, four on the four Gospels and one by Picander, the greatest
and last was the ‘Matthew Passion.’ The ‘Passion according to St. Luke’
is by many authorities not attributed entirely to Bach, for even though
it were a youthful work, there are parts that cannot be reconciled with
his general style of that period, though others bear his unmistakable
stamp. Of the ‘Passion according to St. Mark’ only five lyric pieces
are preserved in the Funeral Ode on the death of Queen Christiane
Eberhardine. The Picander Passion is lost. The ‘Passion according
to St. John’ was first performed at St. Thomas’ Church on April
7th, 1724, and is musically not much inferior to the great ‘Matthew
Passion,’ but in the latter work Bach developed to a larger extent
the element characteristic of the oratorio and united more closely
the ecclesiastical and the folk-song quality. The fact that he was
accustomed to the simple choral setting probably prevented him from
giving anything like conscious dramatic effect, yet the complexity
of his natural musical expression often led him to a dramatic climax
of which he was not conscious, for his Passions were written for the
church service only. As Bach was above all a devout Lutheran, he
doubtless was imbued with the spirit of offsetting the grandeur of
the Roman Mass with the combination of simple and complex forms in
which the congregation could take part in the well-known chorales
interspersed so artistically. Arthur Mees[78] speaks of Bach’s Passions
as ‘the expression of the religious devotion of his own individual self
as representative of his fellow-believers. Even the dramatic portions
are not the utterances of actors in a drama, but those of the Christian
congregation which is carried away in its contemplation of the events
to the point of identifying itself with the actual participants in the
scene.’
Between the two parts of the Passion it was customary in Bach’s time
to have the sermon, as in the days of St. Philip Neri at Rome. As the
performance of the Passion consumed more than two hours and the sermon
lasted at least two hours, the Good Friday service was a most serious
and weighty church event.
The first part of the ‘Matthew Passion’ is divided into three
principal sections--Jesus with his disciples and the institution of
the Last Supper, Jesus at Gethsemane, and the seizure of Jesus. The
second part is divided into four sections--Jesus before the High
Priest, Jesus before Pilate, the Crucifixion, and the last, consisting
of madrigal-like elaborations of Bible texts. This part contains the
famous bass aria, _Am Abend als es kühle ward_, which with its refined
instrumentation is one of the most beautiful in the entire work, almost
romantic in atmosphere and remarkably lyric. Among the many notable
characteristics of this work is the accompanying of the words of Jesus
by the orchestra in place of the usual _continuo_. The Daughter of
Zion, whose words were given by other composers to a definite voice,
no longer appears as an individual, but her words are sung in turn by
alto, soprano, tenor and bass solos, in duets and in choral form.
While a large part of the text (from chapters XXVI and XXVII of
Matthew’s Gospel) was doubtless compiled by Bach himself, he had able
assistance from the poet Picander (whose real name was Friedrich
Henrici), who wrote many of the hymns and who has already been referred
to as the poet of the lost Passion, considered of little value because
of the inadequacy of the text.
With Bach’s ‘Matthew Passion’ the development of the Protestant Church
music in this form came to an abrupt close for the simple reason that
no one since Bach’s time has possessed the necessary technical and
musical equipment for further progress. In this glorious work, which
next to his own ‘B minor Mass’ is probably his most sublime utterance,
he seems to have completely grasped the touching pathos and the
poignant sorrow of the scenes unfolded in the Gospel narratives of the
Passion and, in interpreting them through the religious experience of a
devout believer, to have exhausted the vocabulary of music appropriate
to the liturgy of which this Scriptural narrative forms an impressive
part. However, other Passions were written after Bach’s settings were
made and the most famous of them is Graun’s _Der Tod Jesu_, which
is spoken of in some detail below. Handel made two settings of the
Passion, one of which (‘The Passion of Christ’ to a poem by B. H.
Brockes of Hamburg) is in existence. It was written probably about 1716
and the composer introduced no fewer than twenty of its numbers into
later works, some altered, some transferred bodily. Haydn’s Passion
(‘The Seven Words of Our Saviour’) has already been spoken of under
cantatas (Chapter IV). An interesting example of later Passion music
is Gounod’s unaccompanied Passion-motet, ‘The Seven Last Words of Our
Saviour’ (_Filiæ Jerusalem_), written from the standpoint of the Roman
Church service in the style of Palestrina.
Karl Heinrich Graun (1701-1759), a contemporary of Bach, was the
last great writer of Passion music. Indeed, the greatest of his works
was the Passion-cantata ‘The Death of Jesus,’ text by Ramler, which
met with the most monumental success and has been a favorite up to
the present day. Performed for the first time on March 26th, 1763, in
the Cathedral of Berlin (four years after the death of the composer),
it was published immediately and both orchestral and piano scores
passed through edition after edition, and the work obtained a very
wide hearing. In many places an annual performance of it was given
and it was as well known as the ‘Messiah,’ ‘The Creation’ and the
Mozart _Requiem_. Although Graun was first of all a contrapuntist,
his harmony was rich and expressive and his style often dramatic. As
he was himself an opera singer of splendid attainments, he understood
how to produce the best vocal effects. His melodies, if judged from
the standpoint of the time in which they were written, are very
expressive, though present-day standards would not pronounce them
always forceful. This may be partly due to the text, which, though
suited to the demands of the time, is not always pliable. Graun, like
all German Passion composers of this period, made frequent use of the
chorale, sometimes for purposes of narration and sometimes to express
the thought of the people. The _dramatis personæ_ are not well defined
in the text, hence it is difficult to discern who is speaking, since
chorus, solos and chorales serve for different functions. Frederick
the Great somewhat humorously spoke of this work as ‘Graun’s best
opera’ and there is considerable justification for the statement,
especially when considered in connection with the two principal bass
arias--one, which comes near the close, ‘Now suddenly by anguish long
restrained,’ and the other, which is by far the highest dramatic point
in the work, ‘Jerusalem, for slaughter thirsting.’ The latter is most
effective, even judged by present-day standards, and has an elaborate
accompaniment. This is followed by the chorus, ‘Christ unto us hath
left an example,’ in double fugue, the vocal effects of which have made
it successful in spite of the commonplace themes employed. This is so
well-known that it is often sung by choirs as a separate composition.
VI
The law of compensation has seldom operated so magnificently to the
advantage of a great artist defeated in a cherished life enterprise,
as in the case of Handel. Rejoicing in the reputation of being one of
the greatest opera composers of his time, he might easily have spent
the whole productive period of his life in winning the applause of the
pleasure-loving opera audiences who regarded the glitter and tinsel of
Italian opera as the _summum bonum_ of artistic expression. Fortunately
for Handel himself and for the art of music, he was compelled to
give up his career as an opera composer and manager because of the
jealousy of rivals, the cabals and intrigues of court-cliques and the
financial embarrassments brought about by combinations of unpleasant
circumstances. It was only after he was fifty years old that he
began to write the works that have immortalized him. Several of his
early oratorios--‘Esther’ (1718 and 1732), ‘Deborah’ (1733) and
‘Athaliah’ (1733)--had met with great success and popular approval,
part of which was no doubt attributable to the unbounded admiration
aroused by his performances on the organ between the parts of his
oratorios. Practically driven from the operatic stage by adverse
circumstances--and all of his operas are forgotten now--he eagerly
turned to the more appreciative English oratorio audiences. It was
this English love for the sacred drama that encouraged Handel to
abandon stage composition (1741) and to give full expression to the
deeper things of his rugged, independent, sincere nature through the
highest forms of religious music. The result was the production of the
stupendous series of oratorios on which his fame now almost wholly
rests. ‘Saul’ and ‘Israel in Egypt’ were both performed in 1739, and
in 1742 the immortal ‘Messiah’ was given to the world. The enthusiasm
with which this great work was received stimulated him to renewed
activity along the same line and after the ‘Messiah’ came ‘Samson’ and
the ‘Dettingen Te Deum,’ performed in 1743; ‘Semele’ and ‘Joseph,’
performed in 1744; ‘Belshazzar’ and ‘Heracles’ in 1745; the ‘Occasional
Oratorio’ and ‘Judas Maccabæus’ in 1747; ‘Joshua’ in 1748, ‘Solomon’
and ‘Susannah’ in 1749, ‘Theodora’ in 1750, ‘The Choice of Hercules’
in 1750, and ‘Jephthah,’ his last oratorio, in 1752. During the
composition of ‘Jephthah,’ his failing eyesight became so troublesome
that he submitted to several operations for cataract, which, however,
were unsuccessful and total blindness ensued.
During the period of about twenty years in which Handel’s oratorios
were written, the oratorio itself passed through practically all
the phases of development from the simple form in which Carissimi
left it to the massive structure of his (Handel’s) later oratorios.
During this period he had practically no competition; indeed, in
the field of concert oratorio there is no one between Carissimi and
Haydn who approaches him in greatness. The early Italian oratorio
(including Handel’s earliest ones) consisted largely of vocal solos
in the prevalent Italian operatic style. Scant attention was given
to the chorus. As Handel delivered himself more and more in this
form, he drew the line of demarcation more clearly between oratorio
and opera. He elevated the chorus to an exalted position as the most
effective and characteristic medium for the utterance of the sublime
and epic thoughts so appropriate to the oratorio, and this feature
has been largely maintained in oratorio since Handel’s time. To be
sure, he frequently employed a distinctly operatic style (as in the
familiar aria ‘Rejoice greatly’ from the ‘Messiah’), but in general
he differentiated between the two forms and firmly established the
permanent lines on which modern oratorio has developed. It should be
borne in mind that oratorio is not, and never has been, church-music,
but concert-music. Its first use, though frequently associated with
church services, was distinctly extra-liturgical. It is not even
necessarily religious music and it is worthy of note in this connection
that the majority of Handel’s choral works are secular. Several of
his early oratorios--‘Esther’ and ‘Deborah,’ as well as the serenata,
‘Acis and Galatea’--were performed, as was the early custom in Italy,
with costume and stage scenery and action. English church authorities
frowned on this practice, however, and Handel discontinued it, but
he retained the dramatic element throughout all of his career as an
oratorio writer; in fact ‘Samson’ possesses so much real dramatic
action that it might well be staged for full operatic performance.
Handel’s oratorio style differed sharply from Bach’s in that it
was less severe and more distinctly vocal. His long experience in
writing for the stage led him instinctively to assume a more direct
and intimate form of musical speech than that adopted by the great
Cantor in his church-music. Next to Bach he was the greatest master
of counterpoint of his time and many of his choruses are perfect
examples of vocal fugue, but he depended far more than did Bach upon
solid chord-movement for some of his most massive and grandiose
effects. His general choral style represents a happy combination of the
homophonic and contrapuntal principles, both operating in the immediate
interests of expressive dramatic utterance, as witness the magnificent
‘Hallelujah’ chorus in the ‘Messiah.’ Deeply expressive arias, often
with folk-song simplicity of melody, and massive, highly organized and
often elaborately constructed contrapuntal choruses are the two salient
musical features of his best oratorio style.
‘Messiah.’--Probably no other musical composition is held in such
universal affection as is Handel’s ‘Messiah’ and its popularity (in the
best sense of the word) seems to increase with the years. Performances
of it have steadily become more and more frequent during the last fifty
years and with many choral societies in America, England and Germany,
it has become an annual musical event at the Christmas season, though
just why this particular season should have been chosen, it would
be hard to say. Not only was Handel in many respects the greatest
of oratorio writers, but this oratorio was his greatest work, free
from traditions or limitations. It was written to a text which he
himself selected from the Bible, though it was arranged by Charles
Jennens, who had previously collaborated with him on _L’Allegro_.
The very conception of the work itself is one of the sublimest that
could engage the attention of the human mind--the great events in the
life of the Saviour--and it struck down into the depths of his deeply
religious nature. Volumes of sermons and criticisms have been preached
and written upon the ‘Messiah’ from every conceivable religious and
artistic angle. In England it has taken a place of devout veneration
that is almost a fetich. Yet Ernest Walker, the English critic,
declares that ‘if it was necessary for us blindly to bow the knee for
all time to one single work, no doubt the "Messiah" was our wisest
choice.’
This monumental work was begun on the 22nd of August, 1741, and
finished on September 14th, therefore in the short space of
twenty-three days. It was performed first in Dublin on April 13th,
1742, and it won immediate success. In London it was given for the
first time on March 23rd, 1743, and at this performance King George
the Second was so stirred during the singing of the words, ‘For the
Lord God Omnipotent reigneth,’ that he rose to his feet and the whole
audience followed his reverent example. From this incident sprang the
familiar custom of rising during the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus.
The work was given thirty-four times during Handel’s lifetime and he
himself directed it for the last time on April 6th, 1759, only a week
before his death. The first really adequate performance of it was given
in Westminster Abbey in 1784, when it was given by the largest mass of
performers ever assembled up to that time, the orchestra numbering 242
and the chorus 267. This was, however, eclipsed by the performance in
the Crystal Palace at the centenary of the composer’s death, when an
orchestra of 460 and a choir of 2,700 performed the work.
It is in three parts, the first containing the prophecy of the coming
of the Messiah and the narrative of the nativity. It opens after
a noble orchestral introduction with a tenor recitative and aria,
‘Comfort ye my people’ and ‘Every valley shall be exalted.’ This, like
many of the Handel arias, is very ornate and requires a flexible vocal
technique, single syllables being used for long florid passages. A
similar illustration of this is found in the bass recitative, ‘Thus
saith the Lord,’ and in the middle part of the following pastoral aria,
‘But who may abide,’ where the demands upon a fluent vocal delivery are
exceedingly great, especially for the naturally slow-moving bass voice.
These vocal demands, however, are not confined to the solos, but appear
with equal force in some of the choruses as well, a good illustration
of which is the brilliant fugal chorus, ‘And he shall purify.’ This
is followed by the favorite contralto solo, ‘O Thou that tellest good
tidings to Zion,’ which is taken up at its close and developed by the
chorus. One of the most magnificent choruses in the first part is ‘For
unto us a child is born’ and this is followed by the exquisite pastoral
symphony which precedes the narration of the shepherds. The contralto
and soprano arias, ‘He shall feed his flock’ and ‘Come unto Him all ye
that labor,’ are among the most beautiful lyric melodies of oratorio
literature and these are followed by the fugal chorus which closes the
first part, ‘His yoke is easy.’
The second part, depicting the Saviour’s suffering, death and triumph,
begins with a noble chorus, ‘Behold the Lamb of God,’ after which
the alto sings one of the most expressively beautiful arias ever
written, ‘He was despised.’ When Mrs. Cibber sang this aria at the
first performance in Dublin, the Reverend Mr. Delany, friend of Dean
Swift, who cherished a prejudice against all public singers, was so
transported by the pathos of the music that he rapturously exclaimed:
‘Woman, for this be all thy sins forgiven.’ It is followed by the
dramatically expressive choruses, ‘Surely He hath borne our griefs,’
‘And with His stripes’ and ‘All we, like sheep, have gone astray,’ the
last closing with a stately chorale, ‘And the Lord hath laid on Him the
iniquity of us all.’ One of the most effective choruses in this part is
the joyous ‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates,’ but the real climax of the
part, and indeed of the whole work, is the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus, of such
wondrous power and sustained beauty that everything after it must of
necessity take on something of the nature of an anticlimax.
The short third part forms, as it were, a Credo, as expressed by the
great soprano aria, ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth.’ The work closes
with two of Handel’s finest choruses--‘Worthy is the Lamb,’ of great
dignity and nobility, and the triumphant ‘Amen’ fugue, overpowering in
its majestic sweep of contrapuntal movement. Speaking of the impression
that this deeply religious epic has always produced on audiences in
every country, Mr. F. J. Crowest, in ‘The Great Tone Poets,’ exclaims:
‘Where is the prelate who can move our souls as they are moved by
Handel’s "Messiah"?’ And what can be added to such praise?
VII
‘Israel in Egypt.’--This work, the most perfect example of the
choral oratorio, containing some of the most colossal choruses ever
written (twenty-eight double choruses), was composed in October, 1738,
in the short interval of twenty-seven days. In addition to the choruses
there are only five arias, three duets and some short recitatives,
which serve as connecting links in the massive choral chain. The second
part (the Exodus) was written first and had evidently been planned
as a cantata; however, Handel doubtless realized the possibilities
of the vast material at hand and added the first part, which thus
became an historical introduction to the work already written. Its
first performance took place on April 4th, 1739, at the King’s
Theatre, London, and on the 11th it was given again but with some
alterations, caused by insertion of songs, and at the third performance
on April 17th, the ‘Funeral Anthem’ in memory of Queen Caroline was
interpolated. For some reason this excellent work was not successful
and was given only nine times during Handel’s lifetime. It was again
brought to light in 1849 by the Sacred Harmonic Society of London,
when it was peformed as originally written, and in this form it is now
given. The text, credited to Handel, was really taken literally from
the Bible and arranged by him so as to form a very dramatic narrative.
[Illustration: Facsimile of Handel’s Manuscript:
the Last Page of ‘The Messiah’]
It opens, without an overture, with a few measures of tenor recitative
(‘Now there arose a King in Egypt who knew not Joseph’), leading at
once to the lament of the Israelites over the cruelties of the Egyptian
bondage (‘And the children of Israel sighed’), a double chorus of
great dramatic power leading up to the words, ‘And their cry came up
unto God.’ After another short recitative for tenor, there follows the
series of choruses descriptive of the plagues, in which the composer
uses almost modern descriptive means. Thus, the first of the choruses
describing the plague of the water turning to blood (‘They loathed
to drink of the river’), is fugal and depicts the nauseating effects
of the water upon the Egyptians; the hopping of the frogs is naïvely
imitated in the accompaniment of the following aria for mezzo-soprano
(‘Their land brought forth frogs’); and the plague of insects, a double
chorus with a buzzing, restless orchestral accompaniment, is remarkably
descriptive of insect motion. Before the dramatic double chorus,
‘He gave them hailstones for rain,’ the orchestra introduces the
approaching storm, which, beginning gradually, develops into tremendous
force as if the elements had been let loose. After the storm, comes
the gloom of the darkness that fell over the land and vague, uncertain
tones grope about as the chorus sings, ‘He sent a thick darkness over
all the land.’ Then, in the savage fury of righteous retribution, a
chorus of unexampled energy (‘He smote all the first-born of Egypt’)
describes the swift vengeance of the Most High. The English critic
Chorley calls it ‘a fiercely Jewish’ chorus, with ‘a touch of Judith,
of Jael, of Deborah in it--no quarter, no delay, no mercy for the
enemies of the Most High.’ The passage of the Red Sea follows these
stormy descriptive choruses, and another dramatic but jubilant chorus
(‘But the waters overwhelmed their enemies’) is succeeded by two short
choruses of a devotional character which bring the first part to a
close.
The second part, ‘The Song of Moses,’ after a short orchestral
introduction, is ushered in by a chorus (‘Moses and the children of
Israel sang this song’), after which comes the sublime fugal chorus, a
mighty song of praise to the Lord (‘For He hath triumphed gloriously’).
In this part is also the famous declamatory duet for two basses, ‘The
Lord is a Man of War,’ and the great tenor aria, ‘The enemy said "I
will pursue."’ After the exultant song of Miriam, the prophetess, there
comes a magnificent triumphal double chorus, splendidly supported
by the orchestra--a piling up of voice upon voice, instrument upon
instrument, in a pæan of exultation and triumph, which brings the work
to a climactic close of tremendous dramatic effectiveness.
‘Judas Maccabæus.’--This oratorio was written at the request of the
Prince of Wales for the celebration of the victory of Culloden (April
16th, 1746) and the work, written in thirty-two days (July 9th to
August 11th, 1746), was performed on April first, 1747, the festal
day celebrating the return of the victorious Duke of Cumberland. The
text was prepared by the Reverend Thomas Morell, D.D., who selected
the material concerning the events surrounding the Hebrew warrior from
the First Book of Maccabees and from Josephus. The first performance
at Covent Garden was so successful that the work was repeated six
times that year. Handel himself conducted it thirty-eight times, and
it gained steadily in popularity, which was further augmented by the
enthusiasm of the Jews, who delighted in it because it extolled a proud
event in their national history.
The first part (the time is the second century B. C.) opens with the
lament of the Israelitish men and women over the death of their leader
Mattathias (father of Judas Maccabæus and his brother Simon), who had
inspired the Jews to withstand the tyranny of Antiochus Epiphanes, king
of Syria, in his effort to deprive them of their freedom and their
religious worship. The first chorus, ‘Mourn, ye afflicted children,’
and, after a duet, the chorus ‘For Zion lamentation make,’ establish at
once the sombre mood of the whole work. Simon’s militant, ringing aria,
‘Arm, arm, ye brave,’ which is still an effective solo greatly beloved
of bass singers, is followed by a short but rousing chorus, ‘We come in
bright array.’ The first part closes with one of the most massive and
imposing choruses from Handel’s pen, ‘Hear us, O Lord.’
The second part opens with an instrumental prelude descriptive of the
battle scenes and the celebration of the initial victories, and leads
into the finest chorus in the work, a powerful song of triumph, ‘Fallen
is the foe.’ The war of liberation is renewed, Judas rouses the courage
of his depressed people and his army departs to meet the enemy, while
those who remain behind voice their denunciation of the idolatries
of the heathen. The second part closes dramatically with the chorus,
‘We never will bow down to the rude stock or sculptured stone,’ which
develops into a vigorous chorale in which is heard the repeated phrase,
‘We worship God alone.’
The third part begins with a prayer, ‘Father of heaven, from Thy
eternal throne,’ which is sung by the priest in the recovered and
restored temple of Jerusalem. A messenger announces the victory of
Judas and, as the youths and maidens go out to meet the returning
victor, they sing the world-famous jubilant chorus, ‘See the conquering
hero comes,’ which, by the way, was originally composed for ‘Joshua’
as a tribute to Othniel on his return from the capture of Debir, and
was later transferred to ‘Judas Maccabæus.’ The oratorio appropriately
closes with a Hallelujah chorus which at once celebrates the return of
peace and serves as the joyous expression of national thanksgiving.
‘Samson.’--Although this work was written almost at the same time as
the ‘Messiah’ (1741), it was not performed until February 18th, 1743,
when it was given in London at Covent Garden. Its success was instant.
Eight consecutive performances were given--a far more eloquent tribute
in Handel’s time than in our own to the popular appreciation with which
it was received. Handel himself regarded the work with deep affection,
and, when urged to express a preference for either the ‘Messiah’ or
‘Samson,’ declared he was unable to choose between them. During his
lifetime ‘Samson’ shared almost equal popularity with the ‘Messiah’
and ‘Judas Maccabæus’--the three most frequently performed. The text,
arranged by Newburg Hamilton from Milton’s poem, ‘Samson Agonistes,’
although based upon the Bible narrative of the powerful Samson, does
not follow it absolutely. The principal characters are Samson; Micah,
his friend; Manoah, his father; Delilah, his wife; and Harapha, a giant
of Gath. The scene is laid before the prison of Gaza.
A brilliant overture, stately at first and gradually developing into
minuet rhythm, opens the work, which at once reveals the blind captive,
Samson, temporarily released from his menial toil because of the
feast of Dagon, and lamenting his deplorable plight as he hears the
fiery chorus of the priests, ‘Awake the trumpet’s lofty sound.’ His
father and his friend come to lament with him just after his touching
tenor song (‘Torments, alas!’), and as they ask which of his sorrows
is greater, blindness or captivity, Samson sings one of the noblest
laments ever written, ‘Total eclipse: no sun, no moon, all dark amidst
the blaze of noon,’ a song which touched Handel so deeply in his latter
days of blindness that he wept at the performance, as did the audience
with him. Samson nobly tells his friends that his punishment is
deserved and that there is no hope for him; but at times he furiously
denounces his foes, especially in the dramatic outburst, ‘Why does the
God of Israel sleep?’ which is followed by an elaborate choral fugue
(‘Then shall they know’) on two subjects, one given by the altos, the
other by the tenors. The first part closes with a beautiful chorus in
which his friends point his thought to the joys of a future life for
compensation for all his earthly sorrows.
The second part discloses Delilah trying again to entice her husband,
but he now understands her treachery and answers her sensuous song
with the emphatic ‘Your charms to ruin led the way.’ He then has
a visitation from the giant Harapha who taunts him on his present
condition. The colloquy between the giants produces two of the finest
arias of the oratorio--Harapha’s dashing and boastful bass aria, ‘Honor
and arms scorn such a foe,’ and Samson’s proud answer, ‘My strength is
from the living God.’ Micah finally bids Harapha to call on Dagon to
‘dissolve the magic spells that gave our hero strength,’ after which
is heard the broad, devout six-part chorus of the Israelites, ‘Hear,
Jacob’s God.’ The part closes with a massive double chorus--in which
Israelites and Philistines, in choral strife, extol their respective
deities.
In the third part, Harapha notifies Samson that he must appear at the
feast of Dagon to exhibit his strength and, though he refuses at first,
he finally yields because he believes it to be God’s will. Samson calls
upon the Spirit which led him formerly and goes to the temple. He
takes in each hand one of the pillars which support the roof and with
a mighty effort pulls down the temple, crushing the Philistines and
burying himself with them. A tender, expressive funeral march is played
as Samson is borne away by his people. For this march Handel afterwards
substituted the Dead March from ‘Saul’ and both marches now appear in
the score. Manoah exhorts the people to lay aside their sorrow and
praise God, and this brings the famous trumpet aria, ‘Let the bright
Seraphim,’ which is so grateful for both voice and instrument. The
brilliant chorus, ‘Let their celestial concerts,’ brings this imposing
oratorio to a triumphant close.
VIII
Most of the great composers have frankly built on the achievements of
their predecessors, carrying to completion or at least to higher stages
of development the forms handed down to them, without much conscious
influence from contemporary composers. Some, like Wagner and Schubert,
have struck out new lines whose discovery and development cannot be
explained wholly as resulting from the operation of preceding artistic
forces and principles. Comparatively few of the really great composers
have acknowledged their indebtedness to contemporary genius. Such a
one, however, was ‘Papa’ Haydn. The youthful Mozart had opened up new
visions in symphonic and orchestral music and compelled the veteran
Haydn[79] to new effort. And when Haydn heard the ‘Messiah’ for the
first time in Westminster Abbey during his first visit to England
in 1791, he was so moved by the majesty of the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus
that it inspired him to the composition of what is undoubtedly his
greatest work, the ‘Creation.’ This work joins with its great artistic
inspirer, Handel’s ‘Messiah,’ and with Mendelssohn’s ‘Elijah’ in
forming a trio of the world’s most popular oratorios. Of his other two
oratorios--the ‘Seasons’ and ‘The Return of Tobias’--only the former
claims present-day performance and that far less frequently than its
predecessor, the ‘Creation.’ One misses in Haydn’s choral works the
massive grandeur of effect and complexity of structure of the Handel
oratorios. Haydn was a deeply religious man, but it was not in accord
with his happy, sunny, optimistic nature to sound the depths of human
emotion. The great charm of the ‘Creation’ lies in the freshness, the
artless simplicity, and the evident spontaneity of its melody, and the
naturalness and direct expressive power of its choruses.
The ‘Creation’ was begun in 1795, to a libretto given the composer
by the London manager, Salomon, and compiled by Lidley from Milton’s
‘Paradise Lost’ and from Genesis. It was completed in 1798, when Haydn
was sixty-six years old, and the first performance took place at the
Schwarzenberg Palace on the 29th and 30th of April, 1798, with the
text translated and much altered by Baron von Swieten. It was first
publicly produced at the National Theatre, Vienna, March 19, 1799, and
was received with greatest enthusiasm. It soon made its way to the
music-centres of Europe, having its first London performance on March
28th, 1800, and its first Paris performance on Dec. 24th, of the same
year. Napoleon I was on his way to attend the latter performance when
he narrowly escaped death by an infernal machine in the Rue Nicaise.
Structurally one is impressed with the large number of arias and the
correspondingly small number of choruses, as compared with Handel’s
later oratorios. In this respect Haydn was undoubtedly influenced by
the form of the Italian concert oratorio, then very popular in Vienna.
It is constructed in the usual three parts, the first two of which
are the strongest. The overture is a quaint bit of tone painting; at
first monotonous and barren of melody, it attempts to depict chaos;
but gradually form begins to appear in the music and the various
instruments speak out more clearly, until harmony is established. The
first voice is that of Raphael (bass) in a short recitative, ‘In the
beginning,’ followed by a chorus which gently whispers the words, ‘And
the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,’ closing with a
joyous outburst on the words, ‘And there was light.’ The separation
of light from darkness follows, Satan and his legions ‘sink into the
deep abyss’ and the quiet chorus appears, ‘A new created world springs
up.’ The first four days of creation are described in a series of
recitatives, arias and choruses, many of which are familiar the world
over--the inspiring chorus with soprano obbligato, ‘The marvellous
work’; the fine bass aria, ‘Rolling in foaming billows,’ with its
lovely limpid refrain, ‘Softly purling’; and the well-known ‘With
verdure clad,’ a soprano aria on which Haydn lavished the utmost care,
having altered it three times before it entirely satisfied him--all
leading up to the magnificent final chorus of the first part, ‘The
heavens are telling,’ in which a trio of voices (Gabriel, Uriel and
Raphael) is finely contrasted with the majestic choral passages.
The second part describes the creation of animate life on the earth.
Beginning with birds, it enumerates the various classes, rising in
the scale until the crowning glory of creation is reached in man. The
opening aria, ‘On mighty pens’ (Gabriel), pictures the eagle, the
lark, the dove and the nightingale, each bird being depicted in a
characteristic musical phrase in the accompaniment. One of the most
interesting numbers is the description of the roaring lions, with
deep growls of the double bassoons, the ‘flexible tiger’ with rapid
string passages, the alertness of the stag with a _presto_ movement,
the neighing and prancing of the horse, the fluttering and buzzing
of swarming insects in the air--in all of which the humor of Haydn
is naïvely expressed in comical musical mimicry. The creation of man
brings the beautiful tenor aria, ‘In native worth’ (Uriel). The final
chorus is the superb fugue, ‘Achieved is the glorious work,’ in the
midst of which is set a trio, ‘On Thee each living soul awaits,’ and,
after a return to the fugue, closing with a Gloria and Hallelujah
of singularly beautiful and majestic outlines. The third part opens
with an orchestral introduction picturing the first morning of the
completed creation, in which the flutes and horns contribute some
beautiful effects. A tender dialogue between Adam and Eve is followed
by a charming duet, ‘Graceful consort.’ The closing chorus, ‘Sing the
Lord, ye voices all,’ opens in a strain of solemn majesty and gradually
unfolds until it leads into a massive fugue, ‘Jehovah’s praise forever
shall endure.’ It closes with a mighty pæan of praise, given by the
combined chorus, solo voices and orchestra with telling effect.
‘The Seasons.’--Haydn’s last oratorio, ‘The Seasons,’ the words for
which were based on Thomson’s poem of the same name and arranged by
Baron von Swieten, was written between April, 1798, and April, 1801,
and first presented at the Schwarzenberg Palace, Vienna, on April 24th,
1801. Three performances were given in close succession. This work can
scarcely be called a real oratorio; it partakes more of the character
and form of the sacred cantata, but is more frequently given the first
named classification. The ‘Seasons’ represents a distinct decline in
the composer’s powers, but it is not to be wondered at, for he was
sixty-nine years old when it was completed, and during its composition
was greatly harassed and irritated by the nonsensical demands and
caprices of the librettist. The characters are Simon, a farmer; Jane,
his daughter; and Lucas, a young countryman. These personages do not
have any dramatic significance, though the work contains a love scene
between Lucas and Jane. That the scene is laid in the country is easily
imagined from the subject, and the chorus represents the country-folk.
The first scene depicts early spring and opens with a lively overture
and with recitatives from the three principals, expressing joy at the
approach of the balmy season, at once followed by the first chorus,
‘Come, gentle spring.’ After the farmer’s aria comes a trio and a fugal
chorus, ‘Be propitious, bounteous heaven.’ The chorus, ‘Spring, her
lovely charms unfolding,’ is almost redolent with the odor of waxen
buds and early blossoms. Following this is the closing fugal chorus,
‘God of light.’
‘Summer’ is introduced with a short prelude leading to a beautiful
aria by Simon, ‘From out the fold the shepherd drives,’ and at the
appearance of the early sunrise the trio and chorus chant a song of
welcome, ‘Hail, O glorious sun!’ The various numbers picture the
progress of the day, and after the overwhelming heat of noon, an
ominous silence tells of the coming storm. The drums give forth a peal
of thunder, followed by a storm-chorus, ‘Hark the deep, tremendous
voice.’ The driving rain, the thunder and the lightning-flashes are
vividly pictured in the music. With the trio and chorus, ‘Now cease the
conflicts,’ the music becomes tranquil again as the night approaches,
with the droning of insects, the croaking of the frogs, the song of the
quail and the peals from a distant bell-tower--and darkness and slumber
drop over the land.
The third part, ‘Autumn,’ depicting the ‘kind rewards’ of Nature,
contains the song of Simon, ‘Behold, along the dewy grass,’ which is
followed by the famous hunting chorus, ‘Hark! the mountains resound,’
a vivid tonal picture of the chase. A recitative, praising the rich
vintage, leads to a scene of revelry, closing with the lively rustic
chorus, ‘Joyful the liquor flows,’ in which a rollicking drinking-song,
a well-known Austrian dance-melody with suggestions of bagpipe and
fiddle, is happily introduced.
‘Winter’ is prefaced by a slow prelude indicative of the fogs creeping
in. After the recitative of Simon and Jane’s cavatina, both picturing
the approach of the icy season, there is a realistic musical picture of
the wayfarer lost in the snow-storm. Simon moralizes on the changing
seasons and offers as his conclusion that ‘nought but truth remains.’
A prayer to Heaven for divine guidance brings the pastoral scene to a
close.
The eighteenth century came to an end with Handel as the great
outstanding figure in oratorio and Haydn just appearing on the scene.
England led Europe in its devotion to this form of choral art, though
Germany was soon to awaken to its importance. Bach’s magnificent choral
works were slumbering on dusty shelves and Italian oratorio was still
fatuously allied with operatic ideals, while France gave little heed to
the form at all. But another half-century was to witness a more even
distribution of interest in large choral forms.
FOOTNOTES:
[72] Score in the Royal Library, Dresden.
[73] Fétis proves in his _Biographie universelle_ how materially
Scarlatti influenced a more extended branching out of violin technique.
[74] The first ecclesiastic who is known to have used a dramatic
presentation of the Passion is St. Gregory Nazianzen (330-390).
[75] Winterfeld, in _Der Evangelische Kirchengesang_, states that the
earliest known Passion-music composed by a Protestant was published in
Keuchenthal’s book (Wittenberg, 1573), which contained a German version
of the Passion with four-part music for the recitation and choruses.
[76] Though no accompaniment at all is indicated in the score of any
of these Passion-oratorios, it is very probable that organ was used to
accompany some parts.
[77] Édouard Devrient, Mendelssohn’s friend and helper in the Bach
revival.
[78] Arthur Mees, ‘Choirs and Choral Music,’ p. 103.
[79] Haydn (1732-1809) was Mozart’s senior by 24 years and was,
therefore, fifty-six years old when the thirty-two-year-old Mozart
wrote his greatest symphonies--the ‘Jupiter,’ the ‘Apollo’ and the one
in E-flat major.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ORATORIO FROM BEETHOVEN TO BRAHMS
Beethoven: ‘The Mount of Olives’; Spohr: ‘The Last Judgment’
and ‘Calvary’--Mendelssohn: ‘St. Paul’--‘Elijah’ and ‘Hymn of
Praise’--Liszt: ‘St. Elizabeth’ and ‘Christus’--Oratorio in
England; Sterndale Bennett: ‘The Woman of Samaria’; Costa’s
‘Eli’--Oratorio in France; Lesueur; Berlioz’s _L’enfance du
Christ_--Gounod: ‘The Redemption’; _Mors et Vita_.
I
With the early years of the nineteenth century came many forces which
fed the awakening desire for choral song. The dawning consciousness of
national life in the Teutonic nations and the grateful sense of relief
from Napoleonic oppression, with the accompanying train of intellectual
activities which the new sense of freedom let loose--all contributed
to develop, in Germany particularly, a new attitude toward choral song
as an outlet for the expression of the newly-awakened sense of new
relationships. Hence in Germany we will find the most important centre
of choral activities in the first half of this century. Here many
of that remarkable group of German composers who assumed undisputed
leadership of the musical world during this period, gave to the
oratorio their richest thoughts and maturest attention--among them
Beethoven, Spohr, Mendelssohn and Liszt.
‘Christ on the Mount of Olives’ (_Christus am Oelberge_) was
Beethoven’s only oratorio. It was begun in 1800 at a period when he was
still under the influence of Haydn and Mozart. It was finished in 1801
and first performed at Vienna, April 5th, 1803. Its first production in
England was in 1814 under Sir George Smart during the Lenten oratorios
at Drury Lane. Huber’s text, which was written in fourteen days,
has been universally condemned as lacking in solemnity and failing
in the essential dramatic requirements. Several attempts have been
made to substitute texts for the original one that would remove its
incongruities, but without satisfactory results.
The work calls for three solo voices, Jesus, Peter, and the Seraph.
The introduction is an orchestral _adagio_ movement, very dramatic
in character, depicting the agony in the Garden. This is followed
by a recitative and aria for Jesus (tenor), ‘All my soul within me
shudders,’ a sweet, pathetic number, in spite of its incongruity.
There ensues a scene and aria by the Seraph, ‘Praise the Redeemer’s
goodness,’ and joined to it a buoyant, joyous _obbligato_ with chorus,
‘O triumph, all ye ransomed!’ This is followed by a duet between Jesus
and the Seraph, ‘On Me then fall thy heavy judgment,’ which, like
Jesus’ first aria, offends through verging on the dramatic. After a
short recitative in which Jesus welcomes death, there follows a strong
and properly dramatic number, a chorus of soldiers in march-time, ‘We
surely here shall find Him,’ in which are heard the shouts of the
rabble and the grief of the apostles. Next comes a dialogue between
Jesus and Peter, ‘Not unchastised shall this audacious band,’ and
following this, a passage which again strains one’s sense of propriety,
comes a trio between Jesus, Peter and the Seraph, with chorus, ‘O
sons of men, with gladness.’ The last number, a chorus of angels,
‘Hallelujah, God’s Almighty Son,’ begins with a short but powerful
orchestral introduction which is followed by a joyous outburst; and
this in turn merges into a massive fugue, enriched and strengthened
by a splendid orchestral accompaniment such as only Beethoven could
conceive.
Had Beethoven written another oratorio, as he evidently contemplated,
he doubtless would have enriched this form out of the tragic
experiences of his later life, as he so bountifully did the more
congenial forms of instrumental speech.
Spohr (1784-1859) was a prolific composer in instrumental and vocal
forms. His ‘Jessonda’ was regarded as one of the strongest early
romantic operas and two of his three oratorios enjoyed a large measure
of popularity during his lifetime and in subsequent years, particularly
in England. His style was melodious, exceedingly chromatic and
modulatory, but his musical powers lacked the ability for sustained
flights. While his musicianship charms, one feels a certain discrepancy
between the grandeur of some of his oratorio themes and his musical
mode of handling them. The Handelian breadth and massiveness is absent.
His three oratorios are ‘The Last Judgment,’ ‘Calvary’ and ‘The Fall of
Babylon,’ the last named written for the Norwich (England) Festival of
1842.
‘The Last Judgment’ (_Die letzten Dinge_)--not to be confounded
with an earlier, crude oratorio, _Das jüngste Gericht_, written in
1812--was composed in 1825 and first performed on Good Friday, 1826,
at the Lutheran Church at Cassel. The first large performance was
at the Rhenish Festival at Düsseldorf of the same year. Its first
hearing in England was at the Norwich Festival, September 30th, 1830,
and in America, at Boston, March 20th, 1843, when it was presented by
the Handel and Haydn Society. The English title of the oratorio is
misleading and was a mistranslation, confused with Spohr’s earlier
work, of similar name but different meaning. There is no suggestion
of the terrors of the last judgment in this oratorio. The text of the
first part is given over wholly to the general thought of praise ‘unto
Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever.’ The second
part is concerned with those portions of Revelation that describe the
signs of the last day, closing with St. John’s vision of a new heaven
and a new earth.
The first part contains among other numbers the well-known chorus, ‘All
glory to the Lamb that died’; the admirable tenor solo and chorus,
‘Blessing, honor, glory and power,’ with a tranquil beginning and
ending, but expanding into a well-written fugue in the middle; and the
closing number, a beautiful quartet and chorus, ‘Lord God of Heaven
and Earth.’ The second part begins with an orchestral introduction
which graphically portends the signs and wonders of the last day. These
are dramatically related in the following long bass recitative with
vigorous, agitated accompaniment. After the powerful chorus, ‘Destroyed
is Babylon,’ the vision of a new heaven and earth is proclaimed by the
soprano, and three transitional numbers lead to the last movement,
a majestic chorus, ‘Great and wonderful are all Thy works,’ which
consists of a smooth introduction, a lively fugue, still another fugue
(‘Thine is the kingdom’), followed by an exultant outburst of praise
and the final Amen.
‘Calvary’ was first performed at Cassel on Good Friday, 1835. Four
years later it was given in England at the Norwich Festival, the
composer himself conducting. While it met with considerable criticism
because of ecclesiastical prejudice against the introduction of the
personality of Jesus among the singing characters (Beethoven’s ‘Mount
of Olives’ occasioned the same offense), the work was a signal success.
The text was by Rochlitz.
The work deals with scenes connected with the crucifixion and abounds
in beautiful, expressive melody, both in the choruses (sung by the
friends of Jesus) and in the ariosos of Mary and the recitatives of
John. The beautiful chorus, ‘Gentle night, O descend,’ following a
very grave and somewhat protracted overture, is an example of this
expressive melody. The work becomes more impressive toward the close;
especially so is the cry of Jesus, ‘My God, my God, O why hast Thou
forsaken me?’ followed by the fervent prayer of the disciples, ‘In
this dread hour of death,’ and another beautiful number sung by the
disciples, ‘His earthly race is run,’ set for a quartet of solo voices
accompanied by the chorus. A highly dramatic number is the chorus of
priests and people, as they express their consuming fear aroused by the
convulsions of nature attendant upon the crucifixion. The final number
is a beautiful, sustained chorus of the disciples, ‘Beloved Lord, Thine
eyes we close.’
II
The world waited fifty-six years after the first performance of
Handel’s ‘Messiah’ (1742) before Haydn presented his ‘Creation,’ the
first oratorio after Handel’s death that is comparable with his great
masterpiece. After a lapse of thirty-eight years another oratorio
appeared--Mendelssohn’s ‘St. Paul’--which rose above the ‘Creation’
and revealed its composer as one on whose shoulders the mantle of both
Handel and Bach had descended with power. Versatile as Mendelssohn
was in many forms, vocal polyphony seemed most congenial of all, and
he will undoubtedly live longest in his great choral masterpieces,
‘St. Paul’ and ‘Elijah,’ the latter of which reaches a point of
grandeur of conception and effective dramatic expression that remains
as yet unsurpassed by any subsequent choral work. One of the most
skillful contrapuntists since Bach, a perfect master of orchestration
and possessed of exquisite sense of formal values, Mendelssohn was
splendidly equipped to take advantage of the tremendous strides that
had been made in the musical means of expression since the time of
Handel and Haydn. He absorbed the devotional intensity of Bach’s choral
music and reinstated the chorale as an integral element of German
oratorio; from Handel he borrowed massiveness of choral structure and
brilliance of vocal writing. Like Handel, his mode of musical speech
was direct and intimate and its appeal was couched in terms of even
more suave beauty. The immediate success of Mendelssohn’s oratorios was
without doubt greatly aided by the favorable condition of the popular
religious thought, as well as by the great acceleration in the interest
in choral singing that had resulted from the immense popularity of
Haydn’s ‘Creation’ in Germany. The appeal of this oratorio (‘Creation’)
was doubly strong on account of its simplicity of conception and
musical expression, so that in all directions choral societies were
formed for the express purpose of producing it. A wide demand for
choral works was created, but nothing of permanent value came in
response until Mendelssohn’s ‘St. Paul.’ On the whole Mendelssohn’s
oratorio-arias suffer from a lack of forcefulness due to the remarkable
ease with which he invented sensuously charming melodies, so that
many of them lack depth; but in choral writing his extraordinary
architectonic skill led him firmly to a style which carries him close
to the height where Handel dwelt.
‘St. Paul’ was the first of Mendelssohn’s great oratorios.
It was written at the request of the Cecilia Society of
Frankfort-on-the-Main--begun in Düsseldorf and completed at Leipzig,
when the composer was in his twenty-sixth year. The text was written by
the composer with the assistance of his friends Fürst and Schubring,
after A. B. Marx had declined to write it on the ground that the
introduction of chorales would be unsuited to the period of the
narrative. The work is developed from three main themes--the martyrdom
of St. Stephen, the conversion of St. Paul and the latter’s career
after this event. Lampadius calls the work ‘the glorification of
Christianity with its humility, its joy in living and dying for the
Lord, in contrast to the blind self-righteousness of Judaism and the
more sensuous morality of the heathen schools. It is the contrast, or
rather the struggle, of the last two with the first, and the victory
of the light and love of the Gospel. This thought is made incarnate in
the persons of Stephen, Paul and Barnabas; and is concentrated in the
really central point of interest of the whole oratorio--the conversion
of St. Paul.’
The first performance of this work took place on May 22, 1836, on the
occasion of the Lower Rhine Festival at Düsseldorf, the Cecilia Society
of Frankfort having been compelled to forego its production because
of the illness of its conductor. On Oct. 3rd, 1836, the first English
performance was given at Liverpool. In the meantime, notwithstanding
its success, Mendelssohn had revised the work and shortened it by
omitting ten numbers. The enthusiasm with which ‘St. Paul’ was received
was unprecedented, in Germany alone one hundred and fifty performances
being given within eighteen months of its first production at
Düsseldorf.
The rather long and expressive overture is followed directly by the
first chorus, ‘Lord! Thou alone art God!’ which is very massively
scored and expresses great exultation. The mood of this chorus changes,
as it approaches its middle section, to the more excited and restless
theme, ‘The heathen furiously rage’; but soon returns to the mood
with which it opens and passes on directly to the chorale, ‘To God on
High.’ This nobly beautiful melody is the beloved old German chorale,
‘_Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr_.’ The next part marks the martyrdom
of Stephen. A powerful choral recitative for the basses accuses him of
blasphemy and the multitude takes up the cry, ‘Now this man ceaseth
not to utter blasphemous words.’ Stephen replies to this in a very
expressive solo, ‘Men, Brethren and Fathers!’ but the people again give
way to their anger in the strong chorus, ‘Take him away!’ The soprano
solo, ‘Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets,’ is a most eloquent
admonition, but uttered in vain. The people in a tumult of frenzy
demand his death (‘Stone him to death’). The pathetic tenor recitative
tells of the tragic deed. Then follows a beautiful chorale of complete
resignation, ‘To Thee, O Lord, I yield my spirit.’ Following this
chorale, comes the calm and comforting chorus, ‘Happy and blest are
they,’ with its fluent, expressive melodies. The fiery, threatening
aria for bass, ‘Consume them all,’ brings Saul upon the scene. ‘But
the Lord is mindful of His own’ follows and offers a complete contrast
in its quiet and lovely melody for alto. Now occurs the most vital
point of interest in the oratorio, the conversion. A voice from heaven
(effectively represented by a soprano choir) is heard in the words,
‘Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?’ An orchestral interlude leads
with gradually growing crescendo to the powerful chorus, ‘Rise up!
arise!’ This is succeeded by the chorale, ‘Sleepers, wake! a voice
is calling,’ in which the effect is greatly enhanced by the trumpet
figure following each choral line. The general mood grows more profound
and serious as Saul offers up a prayer, ‘O God, have mercy upon me.’
Forgiveness and mercy are offered by Ananias and Saul’s sight is
restored to him and he is baptized as Paul the apostle. The first part
comes to a conclusion with the strong, exultant chorus, ‘O great is the
depth of the riches of wisdom.’
A noble and dignified fugue, ‘The nations are now the Lord’s,’ opens
the second part of the oratorio. There soon follows the chorus, ‘How
lovely are the messengers that preach us the gospel of peace,’ one
of the most beautifully melodious numbers in the whole work. It is
succeeded by the soprano aria, ‘I will sing of Thy great mercies.’
But the scorn and rage of the Jews are aroused by the cures which
Paul works in the name of the very prophet whose disciples he once so
cruelly persecuted. The angry chorus, ‘Is this he who in Jerusalem,’
is followed by another chorale, ‘O Thou the true and only light,’ a
fervent prayer of the Church for divine guidance. Paul and Barnabas
depart for Lystra. Paul heals the cripple at Lystra and the multitude
is deeply stirred. At this point Mendelssohn brings the three types of
religion--Greek, Christian and Jewish--in fine contrast in the three
choruses--‘O be gracious, ye immortals,’ full of Pagan sensuousness,
‘But our God abideth in heaven,’ with its calm assurance of Christian
faith, and ‘This is Jehovah’s temple,’ in which the uncompromising
intolerance of the Jews is angrily voiced. Paul bids a sorrowful
farewell to his brethren (‘Be thou faithful unto death’) and the
congregation tenderly responds, ‘Far be it from thy path.’ Two of
the finest choruses of the work are the final numbers, ‘See what
love hath the Father’ and ‘Now only unto Him.’ Two of the ‘St. Paul’
choruses--the beautiful chorale ‘To Thee, O Lord, I yield my spirit’
and the melodious ‘Happy and blest are they’--were chosen to be sung at
Mendelssohn’s obsequies.
III
‘Elijah.’--Mendelssohn waited a full ten years after the performance
of ‘St. Paul’ before he produced another oratorio on such broad lines
and when ‘Elijah’ appeared in 1846, the world recognized that it
was an event that transcended in importance any similar event since
Handel’s ‘Messiah.’ ‘Elijah’ is certainly Mendelssohn’s finest and most
sustained flight and there are not wanting those critics who stoutly
maintain that it is unsurpassed in the whole literature of oratorio. In
it the composer enters new paths. He gives full rein to the intensely
dramatic side of the text and freely departs from the conventional form
of oratorio--so much so that the work might safely be called a sacred
opera. ‘Elijah’ was long in the composer’s mind and he worked on it
carefully and with profoundest affection and sympathy, for although
he had embraced Christianity, there was something about the heroic
character of the old Hebrew militant prophet that struck deep into
the fibres of his being. Work on it was begun as early as 1840, but
he did not earnestly begin the composition of the music (the text he
compiled largely himself) until 1845. It was first performed at the
Birmingham Festival on August 26th, 1846, when Mendelssohn conducted it
before an enormous audience which extended to the composer one of the
most thrilling ovations ever enjoyed by a musician. Though its success
was most extraordinary, Mendelssohn was not deterred from carefully
revising it. It is interesting to note that the universally popular
‘angels’ trio’ (‘Lift thine eyes’) was originally written for only two
voices.
The most startling innovation of the whole oratorio is the short,
impressive bass recitative which precedes the overture--Elijah’s
dramatic prophecy of the drought. Then follows the sombre, gloomy
overture portraying the results of the curse as the drought settles
over the land and dries up the waters. It leads without pause into the
opening chorus, ‘Help, Lord,’ which voices the anguished appeal of the
drought--and famine-stricken people. This dramatic supplication leads
into a second chorus, ‘Lord, bow Thine ear to our prayer,’ with a duet
for two sopranos, supported by a unison chorus, the theme of which is
based on an old Hebrew chant and is intoned first by the male and then
by the female voices. The succeeding tenor aria (Obadiah), ‘If with all
your hearts,’ is of great beauty. The people are not consoled and again
burst forth into vehement complaint, ‘Yet doth the Lord see it not,’
which changes toward the end into a lovely chorale, ‘For He the Lord
our God.’ An angel’s voice then calls Elijah to the waters of Cherith.
A beautiful double quartet follows, whose simple melody is worked up
with fine effect, ‘For He shall give His angels charge over thee,’
Elijah is now bidden by the angel to the widow’s house at Zarephath.
The raising of her son follows in a dramatic scene consisting of
the mother’s passionate cry, ‘What have I to do with thee,’ and the
prophet’s ‘Give me thy son.’ The scene then closes with the chorus,
‘Blessed are the men who fear Him,’ The next scene is one of the most
dramatic portions of the work--the appearance of the prophet before
Ahab, his defiant challenge to the priests of Baal to the sacrifice
on Mount Carmel, and the thrilling trial by fire. This part includes
the truly Pagan choruses, ‘Baal, we cry to thee’ and ‘Hear our cry,
O Baal’; Elijah’s taunt, ‘Call him louder’; the prophet’s dignified
appeal, ‘Lord God of Abraham,’ followed by the simple chorale, ‘Cast
thy burden on the Lord’; the summoning of fire from heaven upon the
altars, and the picturesque and descriptive chorus, ‘The fire descends
from heaven.’ The priests are doomed to destruction by Elijah in an
excited recitative. Following a choral response, Elijah sings the
highly dramatic and difficult aria, ‘Is not His word like a fire?’
Another aria, ‘Woe unto them,’ for alto voice, succeeds Elijah’s and
the rain scene begins. In answer to Obadiah’s appeal to help the
people, Elijah sings his expressive invocation for rain, ‘Look down
from heaven,’ and after several choral responses, together with the
exclamations of Elijah and the youth who is sent ‘to look toward the
sea,’ the signs of rain appear. Then follows the most thrilling climax
of the whole work. As the clouds grow black with rain and the storm
gathers force, the people begin to voice their thanks, the orchestra
describes the rushing waters, and finally the whole chorus joins in a
tumultuous outburst of thanksgiving (‘Thanks be to God’) which brings
the first part to a magnificent close.
An effective soprano solo, ‘Hear ye, Israel,’ opens the second part.
This leads into the strong, majestic chorus, ‘Be not afraid,’ one of
Mendelssohn’s finest choral efforts, in which the regular musical
forces are augmented by the organ. Elijah needs the encouragement of
this admonition, for he again confronts Ahab and condemns the worship
of Baal. The queen, Jezebel, accuses him of working to destroy Israel
and the people in wrath shout, ‘Let the guilty prophet perish.’ Obadiah
bids him fly to the wilderness. The next scene reveals the persecuted
prophet alone and discouraged. In a pathetic plaint, ‘It is enough,’
he resigns himself to death and, wearied with flight, he falls asleep
under the juniper tree ‘and the angels encamp round about him.’ This
leads directly to what is undoubtedly the most exquisitely beautiful
vocal trio in existence--the pure and serene ‘Lift thine eyes,’ sung
_a cappella_ by the watching angels. Without pause there follows the
beautiful chorus, ‘He watching over Israel.’ The angel then awakens
Elijah, who complains pathetically, ‘O Lord, I have labored in vain.’
‘O rest in the Lord,’ sung by the angel, offers Elijah consolation.
The encouraging chorus, ‘He shall endure to the end,’ brings the scene
to a majestic close. The following scene reveals a changed Elijah. He
yearns now for the divine presence instead of for death. In a sudden
outburst the chorus exclaims, ‘Behold, God the Lord passed by.’ A
sudden _pianissimo_ works up into an impressive _crescendo_, and once
more appears a _pianissimo_ as the chorus impressively exclaims, ‘The
Lord was not in the tempest.’ The earthquake and the tempest and the
fire follow. ‘And there came a still, small voice ... and in that
still, small voice onward came the Lord.’ Elijah was transformed by
the experience and went on his way ‘in the strength of the Lord.’ His
strong, confident aria follows, ‘For the mountains shall depart.’ A
powerful chorus states that ‘Then did Elijah the prophet break forth
like a fire’ and there follows the dramatic choral narrative of the
prophet’s ascent into heaven in a fiery chariot. The fine tenor aria,
‘Then, then shall the righteous shine,’ and the melodious quartet,
‘Oh! come, every one that thirsteth,’ lead over into the final choral
number--a magnificent fugue (‘Lord, our Creator’), introduced by the
majestic phrase, ‘And then shall your light break forth.’
‘Hymn of Praise.’--This symphony-cantata was composed to commemorate
the fourth centennial of the invention of the art of printing, held at
Leipzig, in June, 1840. A second performance followed at Birmingham,
Mendelssohn conducting, a few months later, Sept. 23rd. Dramatically
it has no very great significance, being designed purely as a ‘tribute
of praise’ for the manifold gifts of the Lord, among them being the
art of printing--which the text, based upon the Scriptures, carefully
elucidates.
The symphony, or instrumental prelude, is divided into three parts,
opening with a majestic trombone passage which clearly anticipates
the mood of the ensuing cantata. The real ‘Hymn of Praise’ is given
out in the opening chorus, ‘All that has life and breath,’ based upon
the motive heard in the opening measure of the prelude. The work then
moves on in a majestic manner, reaching its climax with the entrance
of the impressive chorus, ‘The night is departing.’ A final chorus,
‘Ye nations, offer to the Lord,’ is in fugal form and is inspiring in
its massiveness. The choral motive, ‘All that has life and breath,’
is again given out _fortissimo_ and brings the work to an impressive
close. The duet for two sopranos, ‘I waited for the Lord,’ is one of
the most beautiful numbers in this work.
IV
The dazzling achievements of Liszt (1811-86) as a pianoforte virtuoso
and the popularity and originality of his instrumental compositions
have put his choral work in an unfortunate perspective; and they have
by no means received the attention they richly merit. Two of the finest
examples of oratorio of this period are from the brilliant Abbé’s pen,
both written in the full maturity of his powers and with the employment
of all his immense resources of dramatic and emotional expression.
They are ‘Christus’ and ‘The Legend of the Holy Elizabeth.’ The latter
legend, familiar to English readers through Canon Kingsley’s dramatic
poem, ‘The Saint’s Tragedy,’ deals with the life of the daughter of
King Andreas II of Hungary, born in 1207, who at the age of four was
sent to the Wartburg to be brought up as the affianced bride of Ludwig,
son of the Landgrave Hermann of Thuringia. After their marriage in 1220
wonderful tales were told of her devotion to the poor, of her pious
Christian life, and, after Ludwig’s death, of the cruel hardships which
the hatred of her mother-in-law brought upon her. She died in 1231 and
was canonized at Marburg in 1235 by command of Pope Gregory IX.
‘The Legend of Saint Elizabeth’ was composed in 1864 and received its
first performance in Budapest on August 15, 1865, which event marked
the twenty-fifth anniversary of the establishment of the Budapest
Conservatory. The composition, however, was really undertaken at the
request of the Duke of Weimar for a festival held at the Wartburg on
Aug. 28, 1867, commemorating both the eighth centenary of its founding
and also the restoration of the romantic old castle which was so
intimately associated with the legend of St. Elizabeth. The text by
Otto Roquette was inspired by the six magnificent frescoes by Moritz
von Schwind which adorn the walls of the Wartburg, and it is divided
into six scenes corresponding to the six frescoes.
The first scene opens with an orchestral introduction which sets forth
the Elizabeth motive, taken from an old ecclesiastical melody. The
music grows animated as it leads into the first chorus, which joyfully
welcomes the child Elizabeth, who as the affianced bride of Ludwig,
son of the Landgrave of Thuringia, comes to the Wartburg, where she
is brought up side by side with her future husband. The second scene
reveals the happy matron Elizabeth, now for some years the wife of
Ludwig. One of the most beautiful parts of the whole work is the duet
between Elizabeth and Ludwig as he surprises her in her alms-deeds
which she tries to conceal from him because of her mother-in-law’s
fierce disapproval of them. Especially dramatic and beautiful is the
portion dealing with the ‘Rose Miracle.’ The quaint story of this
episode is as follows: Elizabeth, having dismissed her ladies in order
that she may secretly bring bread and wine to some of her poor, sick
subjects, suddenly meets her husband in the deep forest far from the
Wartburg. Ludwig’s suspicions are aroused and when he asks what her
basket contains, she tells him that she has been gathering roses.
Ludwig, who does not believe her, seizes the basket, when she hastily
confesses that it is bread and wine, and behold! the contents of the
basket have been turned into roses! Liszt was very desirous of having
this very mysterious and ethereal and indicated in the score that the
orchestra should in this part ‘sound fairly transfigured’ and that the
conductor should ‘scarcely mark the rhythm’ in order not to imperil the
effect. The penitent Ludwig begs her forgiveness and as she asks, ‘Is
it a dream?’ the chorus responds, ‘A wonder hath the Lord performed.’
Scene three opens with the stately chorus of crusaders (‘In Palestine,
the Holy Land’) with dignified march accompaniment, which leads to
Ludwig’s farewell to his wife on his departure for the Holy Wars.
Then ensues Elizabeth’s passionate entreaty, ‘Oh tarry! O shorten not
the hour,’ followed by the pathetic ‘With grief my spirit wrestles,’
after which the stirring chorus and march of the crusaders closes the
scene. Scene four, with its short, sombre orchestral prelude, announces
the death of Ludwig, the bitter antagonism of Landgravine Sophie,
Elizabeth’s mother-in-law, who drives the sorrowing, broken-hearted
young widow from her home. Especially dramatic are the dialogues,
in the midst of which is Elizabeth’s aria, ‘O day of mourning, day
of sorrow,’ in which she pours out her grief as she fares forth in
the storm. Scene five discloses Elizabeth on her death-bed in a
hospital founded by herself, where she has forgotten her own sorrow in
ministering unto others. Her last words (‘Unto mine end Thy love has
led me’), after a gradual _decrescendo_ in the orchestra, are followed
by a chorus of angels, ‘All grief is o’er,’ closing with the celestial
strains of harps. An orchestral interlude, in which are developed the
main themes of the work, leads to the last scene, which depicts the
canonization of Elizabeth at Marburg in the presence of the Emperor.
This ceremony closes the work with a chorus of the people mourning her
death, choruses of the crusaders, of the church choristers and bishops,
and finally an imposing six-part chorus, the Latin hymn, _Tu pro nobis,
mater pia_.
_Christus_ was composed in 1866 during Liszt’s residence in Rome, just
after he had been appointed Abbé by his friend, Archbishop Hohenlohe,
and at a time when, it is said, he entertained high hopes of being
appointed chapel-master of the Papal Choir. But, though he was in high
favor with the Catholic hierarchy, nothing came of it. The _Christus_
was written soon after the ‘Legend of St. Elizabeth,’ but, while both
are deeply imbued with the spirit of Roman Catholicism, the former
reflects the deep interest which he took in religious matters at the
time far more than does the latter. Liszt compiled the text, which is
in Latin, entirely from the Bible and from the Roman liturgy. There are
three divisions to the work--(1) ‘The Nativity,’ (2) ‘After Epiphany,’
dealing with the Lord’s life and ministry, and (3) ‘The Passion and
the Resurrection.’ The first fragmentary performance of ‘Christus’
took place July 6, 1867, at the Sala Dantesca, in Rome, and another in
Vienna in 1871. The first complete production was at Weimar in 1873
under the direction of the composer.
The first part, containing five numbers, opens with an orchestral
prelude built on an ancient plain-song melody, _Rorate cœli_, in
Isaiah’s prophecy. This leads into a quaint Pastoral, after which
comes the angels’ announcement of Jesus’ birth and a _Gloria in
excelsis_. A devotional setting of the old Latin hymn, _Stabat mater
speciosa_, leads into two orchestral movements of great beauty--‘The
Song of the Shepherds at the Manger,’ a lovely pastoral, and ‘The
March of the Three Kings,’ an elaborate number in which the high tones
of the violins and flutes typify the Star of Bethlehem. The second
part contains ‘The Beatitudes’ for baritone and six-part chorus, the
Lord’s Prayer, a part entitled ‘The Founding of the Church’ (_Tu es
Petrus_), ‘The Miracle’ (Jesus calming the storm), again treated
orchestrally, and ‘The Entry into Jerusalem,’ a brilliantly scored
tone-picture, mainly instrumental, save for two vocal passages--a
Hosanna for chorus and a Benedictus for mezzo-soprano and chorus. The
third part opens with the pathetic solo _Tristis est anima mea_ (‘My
soul is sorrowful’), in which the Christ pours out his soul to Peter
and his companions on the way to Gethsemane. The orchestra plays a most
important part in the expression of this tragic struggle, after which
the ancient Latin hymn, _Stabat mater dolorosa_, is given with combined
orchestral and choral forces. Of all the settings of this celebrated
liturgic text, Liszt’s is the most powerful and impressive, though it
is too overwhelming in its effect for use in the church-service. This
lengthy and elaborate number is contrasted strongly with the following
simple and quaint Easter hymn, _O filii et filiæ_, which prepares the
listener for the majestic _Resurrexit_ (‘Resurrection’) which follows
and builds up a final climax, with the combined resources of chorus and
orchestra, that is really commensurate with the grandeur of the theme.
Liszt himself regarded the _Christus_ as his best work--‘my musical
will and testament’--and in works of its class it certainly stands
unique in the intensity of its expression and in the unusual
combination of mediæval church atmosphere and modern musical
resources--a powerful fusing of the old and the new. It is scarcely
an oratorio in the usual understanding of the term, but rather a kind
of liturgic mystery, such as Lesueur strove to build up but did not
complete. It cannot be considered apart from the religious faith of
its composer and from this point of view it stands as the highest
representative of Roman Catholic oratorio.
V
The influence of England on oratorio is by no means to be measured
by the number of original works of this class produced by Englishmen.
No other country in the world has such a record of long and unbroken
loyalty to this musical form and no other country has so freely opened
its doors to composers of other nationalities. When one recalls that
Handel’s series of magnificent oratorios was written for English
appreciation, that Haydn’s ‘Creation’ drew its inspiration from London,
that Mendelssohn’s ‘Elijah,’ Gounod’s ‘Redemption’ and _Mors et Vita_,
and many other oratorios of less worth were written for, and received
their initial performances before, English festival audiences, one can
form some estimate of what English love of choral art has done for its
development.
English composers of this period were still using the musical
phraseology of Handel and Mendelssohn, so that not much can be said
of the individual works produced, though several were worthy and held
a certain popularity for a long time. Among the more notable English
oratorios of the period were Sir Julius Benedict’s ‘St. Peter’ (1870),
George Alexander Macfarren’s ‘St. John the Baptist,’ which was received
enthusiastically at the Bristol Festival of 1873, William Sterndale
Bennett’s ‘The Woman of Samaria,’ and Sir Michael Costa’s ‘Eli’ and
‘Naaman’ (Birmingham Festival, 1864).
‘The Woman of Samaria,’ a ‘sacred cantata’ by W. Sterndale Bennett
(1816-75), was first performed at Birmingham August 27, 1867. The
story, taken from the fourth chapter of St. John’s Gospel, follows
literally the Bible narrative--Jesus’ journey to Samaria, his rest at
the well, and the entrance of the Samaritan woman. This is interspersed
with choral and solo passages, the former enacting the part of
moralist, commenting upon the situations as they occur by means of
appropriate scriptural selections. The part of the Woman of Samaria is
sung by the soprano, while the declamatory parts are assigned to the
contralto. The tenor has but one aria and the bass acts almost entirely
as narrator, the Saviour’s words being always related in the third
person. In a single instance the chorus assumes the rôle of narrator,
‘Now we believe,’ where the words are part of the story.
A short instrumental prelude leads to the chorale, ‘Ye Christian
people now rejoice,’ for sopranos only. The melody used is an old one,
having appeared in the _Geistliche Lieder_ (Wittenberg) in 1535. The
chorale is interestingly treated by means of opposing rhythm in the
orchestral part. The recitative for contralto, ‘Then cometh Jesus to a
city of Samaria,’ opens the oratorio proper. After a chorus, ‘Blessed
be the Lord God of Israel,’ and short recitatives for bass, contralto
and soprano, which are again followed by a chorus, there ensues the
conversation between the Saviour and the woman, during which Jesus
tells her of her past life. She replies in the beautiful contralto
solo, ‘O Lord, Thou hast searched me out,’ which is full of tender
expression. During the dialogue, the divine nature of Jesus is revealed
to the woman and there follows the six-part chorus, ‘Therefore they
shall come and sing,’ and this in turn is succeeded by the deeply
devotional and well-known quartet, ‘God is a Spirit,’ sung by the
solo voices _a cappella_. A soprano solo, ‘I will love Thee, O Lord,’
was introduced into the oratorio after the death of the composer,
among whose manuscripts it was found. This was done for two reasons,
to indicate the conversion of the woman and also to interrupt the
series of choruses. Among the remaining numbers are a lovely chorale,
‘Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,’ and the fine chorus, ‘Now
we believe.’ The work is brought to a close with a majestic fugue,
‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel.’ An atmosphere of devotion pervades
the work and, while the composer recognizes the worldly character of
the woman, he sees also the possibilities of her intuitive religious
feeling, which the Master needed only to awaken.
Costa’s ‘Eli’ was first produced at the Birmingham Festival, August
29, 1855, under the direction of the composer. The text follows the
scriptural narrative in the first book of Samuel and was arranged by
William Bartholomew. In a rather disconnected manner, and with the
story of young Samuel as a central point, it deals with the service of
Eli the priest, the carousals of his dissolute sons, the sorrows of
Elkanah and Hannah, and the exploits of the warlike Philistines. Some
of the finer numbers of the oratorio are Eli’s sombre invocation, ‘Hear
my prayer, O Lord’; Hannah’s joyful song, ‘I will extol Thee, O Lord’;
the elaborate fugal chorus, ‘Hosanna in the highest,’ which closes the
first part; the familiar orchestral march of the Israelites; Samuel’s
devout evening prayer, ‘This night I lift my heart to Thee,’ followed
by the beautiful female chorus of angels with harp accompaniment, ‘No
evil shall befall thee’; and the vigorous chorus, ‘Woe unto us, we are
spoiled,’ sung by the Israelites when their crushing defeat by the
Philistines is announced.
VI
The oratorio in France had a slow beginning and has throughout its
development displayed traits distinctly traceable to two sources, the
first of which is the national fondness for theatrical settings for
all dramatic works. Even _La nativité_ by Gossec (1734-1829) probably
gained wide attention when given at the Tuileries Cathedral, because
the composer had a chorus of angels concealed in the dome, thereby
giving a more picturesquely dramatic effect. Concert-oratorio, in
which the sources of enjoyment are largely limited to pure choral
effects, divorced from dramatic content, has never made a wide appeal
in France. The second source of the characteristics of French oratorio
is to be found in the influence which the liturgy of the Roman Church
has exercised over this art-form. French oratorio has preserved a
close connection with the old Gallican liturgic drama of the Middle
Ages--so much so that the word ‘mystery’ has almost entirely superseded
‘oratorio’ as a title or sub-title for this form of composition. Its
line of descent from the mediæval mysteries is still further identified
in the subject-matter itself, which usually concerns itself with the
mysteries of Christian faith and church doctrine. The titles most
frequently subjoined by the composers are ‘sacred drama,’ ‘biblical
scene,’ etc., rather than ‘oratorio.’ Here lies the distinct line of
demarcation between oratorio from the Protestant and Roman Catholic
points of view.
The first of the French composers to write a series of oratorios[80]
was François Lesueur (1760-1837) and the strongest of these is his
‘Christmas Oratorio’ written in 1826, which is a combination of drama
and churchly office. Lesueur was of the opinion that ecclesiastical
music must of necessity be liturgical and therefore based on the
Gregorian chant and accent. This work is really an adaptation of the
Christmas Mass treated as an oratorio-text, the parts of which are
distributed as solos, choruses and ensemble passages among the persons
assembled around the manger. Most of these lightly scored passages are
built upon old liturgical melodies or upon old French Christmas songs,
and the harp is very lavishly used in the instrumentation. The text is
in Latin, taken from the Vulgate. After the _Kyrie_, accompanied by
string quartet, there follows the appearance of the angels, closing
with a short instrumental coda. After this comes a _Gloria in excelsis_
and a pastoral instrumental passage (Shepherds on the Fields of
Bethlehem) scored for violas and horns. Two holy women sing as a duet
the _Gratias agimus tibi_ and the closing number consists of a pastoral
hymn to the words, _Jam desinant suspiria_.
One of the most important of the French romantic oratorios is Hector
Berlioz’s sacred trilogy, _L’enfance du Christ_ (‘The Childhood of
Christ’), which was written in 1854 and performed in Paris and Brussels
the same year. This oratorio, dealing with the flight of the Holy
Family, is really an enlargement of an earlier cantata, _Fuite en
Egypt_ (‘The Flight into Egypt’), and shows traces of the influence
of Lesueur, whose pupil, Berlioz, caught the operatic spirit that was
associated with his master’s work. The oratorio, the text of which
is by the composer, consists of three rather short parts--The Dream
of Herod, The Flight into Egypt and The Arrival in Sais. The first
part depicts Herod, tormented by awful dreams and influenced by the
soothsayers to kill the first-born men-children. The music is sombre,
but in the Herod passages takes on the operatic style referred to
above. In strong contrast to this is the second part, which deals
entirely with the Holy Family and reveals qualities of loveliness and
naïveté as it depicts the babe Jesus greeted by the chorus of angels.
The most elaborate part is the third, especially the portion which
reveals Joseph demanding shelter where he has been refused. Here the
music assumes a dramatic and brilliant development.
Although Charles Gounod (1818-93) after the extraordinary success
of his masterpiece, ‘Faust,’ was firmly established as one of the
foremost opera-composers of Europe, he never lost touch with religious
music and finally abandoned the stage entirely for the style that lay
closest to his real ambition, becoming the greatest, if not indeed the
only great, composer of oratorio in France during this period. As a
winner of the _Grand Prix de Rome_ he had studied ecclesiastical music,
especially the works of Palestrina; during a visit to Vienna in 1842
he had produced a Requiem in the church of St. Charles, which created
a profound impression, and soon after returning to Paris he had even
seriously thought of taking holy orders. Wide attention was first
attracted to him by the London performance of portions of his _Messe
solennelle_, and even during the period of his greatest fame from his
stage-works, he constantly reverted to the composition of sacred music.
His two great oratorios--‘The Redemption’ and _Mors et Vita_--strike
out a somewhat new path for this art-form. Here he abandons entirely
the contrapuntal and fugal character of the chorus as being artificial
and unessential, thus departing completely from Handelian and
Mendelssohnian models, and adopts from the Wagnerian music-drama the
system of ‘leading motives,’ of which he makes limited use to designate
important and representative religious or dramatic themes. Both of
these oratorios were composed for English audiences, and Gounod’s
residence in London after the Franco-Prussian War and his acquaintance
with the English festival oratorio undoubtedly colored the compositions
to such an extent that they might almost be called English oratorios.
‘The Redemption.’--This work was originally intended as the first
part of a ‘Sacred Trilogy,’ as he styled it, only the second of which
(_Mors et Vita_) was ever completed; the composition of the third was
prevented by his death. The seriousness with which Gounod approached
this work is evidenced by the inscription--‘the work of my life’--which
he wrote on the opening page of the first of the great works, ‘The
Redemption.’ This had been begun in 1867 in Rome, where the composer
wrote his text and set a few numbers of the music, but it was not
completed until twelve years later and the first performance took place
on August 30, 1882, at the Birmingham Festival. It was heard in Paris,
May 22nd, 1886, and for the first time in America in the winter of
1883-1884 under the direction of Theodore Thomas. It is dedicated to
Queen Victoria.
In the preface of his work Gounod states: ‘This work is a lyrical
setting forth of the three great facts on which depends the existence
of the Christian Church. These facts are: 1. The Passion and the Death
of the Saviour. 2. His glorious life on earth from His Resurrection
to His Ascension. 3. The spread of Christianity in the world through
the mission of the Apostles.’ This trilogy is preceded by a ‘Prologue
on the creation, the fall of our first parents and the promise of the
Redeemer.’ The work is divided in accordance with the above as follows:
Prologue--The Creation.
Part I.--Calvary.