_The ceremony of opening a new organ, the gift of
Mrs Galloway, was performed by Mr W. Johnson
Galloway, M.P., in the City Road Mission Hall, Manchester,
on Friday evening, September 6, in the presence
of a crowded gathering. A Recital was given by Mr
David Clegg._
_Mr Galloway, M.P., who took the chair, in opening
the proceedings, said_:--On an occasion such as this, it
will not, I am sure, be deemed superfluous if I take a
brief bird's-eye view of the history of music, and in a--comparatively
speaking--few sentences trace its progress
towards the position it now holds among the arts of
modern life. Music, in one form at least, has been with
us since the creation of man, for we may reasonably
believe that in his most elementary stage, he discovered
some vocal phrases which gave him a certain rude
pleasure to repeat, or chant, in association with his
fellows. Travellers, who have penetrated the confines of
remote and savage countries, have told us of the curious
chanting of their inhabitants when engaged in what, to
them, were their religious and festal celebrations; and as
we cannot conceive man in a more primitive condition, we
may take it, that in prehistoric times there was a limited
melodic form, which afforded that peculiar delight to the
savage mind, that the glorious polyphonic combination of
to-day, give to the cultured races of Eastern and Western
civilisation.
Our slight knowledge of the art, in its early state we
owe to such records, as have been handed down to us
from that which may be termed the golden era of civilisation
in Egypt. Long before the sway of the Ptolemies--ages
before Cleopatra took captive her Roman Conqueror--music
formed not only an indispensable part in
religious and State functions, but entered largely into the
social life of the people, and of this there is indisputable
evidence in the hieroglyphics and carvings, to be found
on the seemingly imperishable monuments, which the researches
of archaeologists have revealed to the knowledge
of man.
Of ancient Hebrew music we do not know much, but
we may assume, that during the Captivity they learned not
a little from their Egyptian masters, although it does not
appear--judging from the harsher and more blatant
character of their instruments--that they attained the
degree of refinement achieved by the Egyptians. It
would seem, from the many allusions contained in the
Bible, that the Jews were more particularly attracted
towards the vocal, rather than the instrumental, side of
the art. Many a familiar biblical phrase will probably
crop up in our mind. The psalms that are sung during
Divine Service teem with such references. "O sing unto
the Lord a new song," "How shall we sing the Lord's
song in a strange land?" are sufficient to illustrate my
meaning, and among the daughters of Judea such names
as Miriam, Deborah, and Judith, are especially known to
us for their accomplishment in the vocal art, and as
examples of the manner, in which it was cultivated by
the women of Israel.
Among the ancients, however, the Greeks most assuredly
had the keenest perception and appreciation of the beauties
and value of music. In the Heroic age it played a
significant part in their sacred games, and for a man to
acknowledge an ignorance of the principles of musical
art, was to confess himself, an untutored boor. In the
great tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides it figured
largely both vocally and instrumentally, and, even as the
Welsh have their Eisteddfod, so the classic Greeks had
their competitions, in which choirs from various cities
strove for vocal supremacy and the honours of prize-winners.
That other great race of ancient times which fattened
on the spoils of Europe and Asia--I refer to the Romans--treated
the art with less concern, and employed it in
a cruder form at the celebration of their victories and
Bacchanalian revels. They did little or nothing to foster
or develop it, although it is said that one of their most
famous--or perhaps it would be better to say infamous--rulers
was so devoted to music, that he fiddled while
his capital was burning. But we may reasonably have
our doubts as to Nero's claim to rank as the Sarasate of
his time, for although he made public appearances as a
virtuoso in his chief cities, and challenged all comers to
trials of skill, the importance of his recorded victories is
somewhat diminished, by the fact, that his judges were
sufficiently wise in their generation, to invariably award
him the honour of pre-eminence. It is a prudent judge
who recognises a despotic Emperor's artistic--and other--powers.
With the dawn of Christianity came a new era in
the art, and in the 4th century, we find that a School
of Singing was established at Rome, for the express
purpose of practising and studying Church music. It
was not, however, until another couple of centuries had
elapsed, that the sound of music based on definite laws
was heard beneath an English sky. You have to travel
back in mind to that memorable procession of devoted
monks, which, under the leadership of the saintly
Augustine, wended its way into the little city of Canterbury,
singing its Litany of the Church, and startling
Pagan Britain with its joyful alleluia. Slowly, very
slowly, the art progressed, but four more centuries were
to pass before it was established on anything like a true
scientific basis, and it is such men as Hucbald, a Flemish
monk, Guido D'Arezzo and Franco of Cologne who
laid the foundation of our whole system of polyphonic
music.
Before, however, I touch on that broader expanse, the
era of the Flemish School, which began to attain noteworthy
prominence in the early years of the 15th century,
it would be as well, perhaps, to dwell for a few moments
on the history of the noble instrument which is the cause
of our foregathering here to-day. In a very early chapter
in the Book of Genesis we are told that Jubal was "the
father of all such as handle the harp and the organ," and
therefore he ranks in history as the first teacher of
music. It is commonly asserted, that the emoluments
of the modern organist do not come well within the
designation of "princely," and, judging from the limited
population in those Adamite days, we may well assume
that Jubal's living was almost as precarious as those worthy
Shetland Islanders who depended for their subsistence
on washing one another's clothes. With wise forethought,
however, Jubal's brother had devoted himself to engineering.
"He was the instructor of every artificer in brass and
iron," and therefore, we may conclude there was money
in the family, and that the man of commerce was generous
to the man of music, even as we of to-day are ever
ready to respond to the demands for assistance, on behalf
of our local choral societies, and musical organisations.
But it must not be supposed, that the organ presided over
by Jubal bore any resemblance whatever, to the stately
instrument, which will now voice its glorious tone within
these walls, for the first time in public. The primitive
organ of mankind has its present-day affinity in the
charming instrument, which, in the hands and mouth of a
precocious juvenile, has such a powerful and stimulating
effect on the cultivated ears and sensitive nerves of the
modern amateur.
It is not possible for me to go into any detail, with
regard to the slow and marvellous development of that
triumph of human skill, which is truly known as the king
of instruments. From those simple pieces of reed, cut
off just below the knot, which formed the pipes of the
syrinx, to the complicated, elaborate and perfect machinery
which is hidden beneath the organ case there, is the same
degree of difference, as there is between the rough-hewn
canoe of the savage, and the wonderful perfection of the
liners, which run their weekly race across the broad
Atlantic. It was not until the end of the 11th century,
that the first rude steps were taken towards the formation
of the modern keyboard; then it was that huge keys or
levers began to be used, and these keys were from 3
to 5 inches wide, 1-1/2 inches thick, and from a foot and
a half to a yard in length. Nevertheless, even the
organ of the 4th century had its impressive powers, if
we may place reliance on words attributed to the
Emperor Julian, the Apostate, who wrote: "I see a
strange sort of reeds; they must, methinks, have sprung
from no earthly, but a brazen soil. Wild are they, nor
does the breath of man stir them, but a blast leaping
forth from a cavern of ox-hide, passes within, beneath
the roots of the polished reeds; while a lordly man, the
fingers of whose hands are nimble, stands and touches
here and there, the concordant stops of the pipes; and
the stops, as they lightly rise and fall, force out the
melody."
And in its growth, as in the growth of young children,
the organ has had its share of infantile vicissitudes. Even
as late as the 13th century it lay under the ban of
the ecclesiastics, and was deemed too profane and scandalous
for Church use. Again, in 1644, Parliament issued an
ordinance which commanded "that all organs and the
frames and cases wherein they stand in all Churches and
Chappells aforesaid shall be taken away and utterly defaced,
and none other hereafter set up in their places." "At
Westminster Abbey," we are told, "the Soldiers broke
down the organs and pawned the pipes at several Ale
Houses for pots of Ale." It is difficult to understand this
opposition to the organ, more especially as David in the
last of his psalms enjoined the people "to praise God
with stringed instruments and organs." True, indeed, Job,
in one of his most pessimistic moods, placed it on record
that "the wicked rejoice at the sound of the organ," but
evidently Job had no soul for music--was so unmusical,
in fact, that he is worthy to be associated with a certain
eminent divine of the English Church, whose musical
instinct was so deficient that he only knew "God Save the
Queen" was being sung by the people rising and doffing
their hats.
Before touching upon that scientific development of
the art, which, broadly speaking, began with the advent
of the Flemish School and reached its culminating point
within the rounded walls of Bayreuth, we may well give
a moment's consideration to those melodies, which travelled
their unwritten way through the early Middle Ages, and
which we know, by the few examples that have come down
to us, to have been racy of the soil that gave them birth;
the folk song of the country is more characteristic of its
people, of their temperament and psychology, than any
other attribute of their national existence. We, in England,
have little enough to point to in this way; in a sense
there is nothing peculiarly individual in our music as a
whole. But with the old melodies of Ireland, that ever
seem to tremble between a tear and a smile, and in the
quaint pathos of Scotland's airs, and the well-defined
beauty of typical Welsh songs, we recognise the true
speech of the heart and the outpouring of the natural man.
Germany is still richer in its folk music, and the Pole
and the Russian, the Hungarian and the Gaul, can each
point to a mine of original melody which has provided
latter-day composers with the basis of their most beautiful
works. Nor must the importance of the Troubadours
and Minnesingers be overlooked in reference to this
interesting phase of musical art. They it was who kept
alive and spread abroad the traditional songs of the people,
and by their accomplishment actually worked as an
educational force on the people themselves. Readers of
Chaucer will bear in mind many an allusion to the minstrel's
art of his period, and well through the Norman and
Plantaganet epochs.
"With minstrelsy the rafters sung,
Of harps, that from reflected light
From the proud gallery glittered bright
To crown the banquet's solemn close,
Themes of British glory rose;
And to the strings of various chimes
Attemper'd the heroic rhymes."
To the Flemish, or Netherland School of music we owe an art system, that
exercised a potent influence on every form of composition, and
counterpoint was the especial study of its followers, until, as
invariably happens, technical skill was regarded with a greater degree
of favour than genuine inspiration. But the School unquestionably
produced a vast number of very fine masses, motets, and much fine
service music. Then from Belgium the musical spirit travelled to Italy,
and before the 16th century had fulfilled half its appointed course, the
powers of Palestrina had indelibly stamped Italian art, and his genius
had elevated the ecclesiastical music of the age, to the lofty standard
of its associations. Then such musicians came to mind as Monteverdi and
Carissimi, the latter of whom made clear the path, for those great
writers of oratorio, whose names we hold in such reverence, and whose
works we love with such unwavering devotion.
German art was late in the field, and correspondingly slow in the
earlier stages of its development; thus we owe it little as a pioneer
in the art. But when the Teuton burst upon the world in all his
greatness, he first came in the colossal personality of John Sebastian
Bach, and then followed Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, to be succeeded by
others, who were well qualified to take unto themselves the mantles of
their predecessors. Perhaps, however, I have done early German art some
injustice, for it must not be forgotten, that to the era of the great
Reformation, we owe those Lutheran chorales, such as the famous _Ein'
feste Burg_, which were as effective in stirring and encouraging the
rank and file of the reformers, as were the thrilling words of Luther,
and his earnest and enthusiastic fellow-workers. And it was due to the
custom of accompanying these chorales, that Germany owned, before the
end of the 17th century, the finest school of organists in Europe.
English music has always leaned more towards the sacred, than the
secular side of the art. The names of Marbecke, Thomas Tallis, Byrd,
Farrant, Gibbons, Lawes, Blow and Purcell are known to every choir-boy
and village chorister. Their anthems and chants are part and parcel of
the musical programme of every parish church, and the fine example, set
by these Elizabethan and Stuart writers has been well followed, by
Croft, Weldon, Boyce, and nearer, and belonging to our own times,
Wesley, Goss and Sullivan. And it is the sacred in music, which to-day
makes the strongest appeal to the heart of the English nation. In the
congregational singing in churches, in the overwhelming attention which
an English audience will bestow on such an oratorio as the _Messiah_, we
realise that a chord is struck, which vibrates through the whole of our
being, which lifts us into a state of semi-exultation, and moves us like
the words of some great statesman. I will not discuss the question, of
whether a drama or an opera has most power over its audience, but I will
fearlessly affirm, that apart from the drama there is no art that has
the same soul-stirring influence, as the art of music. The simple
harmonies of our Anglican hymns suffice for the untaught peasant, and
the broad sweep of a Handelian chorus holds captive musical amateurism.
But there is a music that reaches to higher heights, embraces within its
sphere a wider domain, and goes deep down into the mysteries of
nature--into the abysses of the soul; but such music is an open book
only for the musical student. It lives. It exists. It swells through the
length and breadth of the land; and year by year its influence
increases, its power becomes more dominant, and its glowing beauties
more vividly appreciated. People are beginning to comprehend the
wondrous message, sent to us by such composers as Ludwig Beethoven, and
Richard Wagner. They are beginning to understand the voice of that most
marvellous of all instruments--more marvellous than the organ itself,
for its keyboard is human brains, and its stops are human hands. I mean
the modern orchestra. The world's finest music has been written for that
instrument; the divinest melodies have been given it to interpret, and
the most significant factor in the English art life of the present is
the growing enthusiasm with which music, in its highest and most
abstract form and beauty, is listened to, by those who, in political
phraseology, are summed up in that terse and comprehensive expression
"The Masses."
I look with much greater confidence to music, than I do to Parliament,
for the means of preventing crime and intemperance--indeed, as one of
the most permanent cures of all vice and discontent. Much has been done
in later years by local authorities, towards enabling the public to have
within easy and reasonable reach such music as can be provided by bands
and local orchestra. But this is only the beginning. I trust the day may
not be far distant, when local authorities will see their way to
providing at cheap prices the best of operas, as is done so largely on
the Continent of Europe. We rightly and wisely provide libraries,
technical schools, and many other forms of instructive recreation, but
why are we in England to lag behind other countries in providing that
most instructive form of entertainment--namely, opera. I have never
known a true lover of music who was not a good citizen. And what a
preventive against idleness, the cause of so much crime. Once produce
opera at a price which all can afford to pay to hear, and can anyone
doubt, that many a man and woman will choose it, in preference to an
evening in a public-house or a music-hall. I never remember listening to
an opera, however poor or badly performed, that I have not gained some
strength with which to continue the desperate struggle of the battle of
life--which is very much more than I can say, for instance, for speeches
in the House of Commons. He who loves music has a servant at his command
which will ever render him willing and delightful service; he who loves
music brings himself into subjection, to one of the most elevating and
purifying influences of civilisation, and he who loves music and will
practise it, becomes a valuable and agreeable factor in the social life
of the community. There are no selfish restrictions in music. The
painter must keep himself to his canvas, and the actor to his stage, but
singers and instrumentalists have a standing in the humble parlours of
the poor, and in the luxuriously-upholstered drawing-rooms of the rich;
they have a coign of vantage in the choir stalls of churches and on the
platforms of concert halls. Music offers her favours alike to the modest
reader of the Tonic Sol-fa Notation, and to the pianist who can master
the difficulties of the Beethoven Sonatas. The chorus singer enjoys the
same measure of gratification as the leading soloist, and the student
with his score in his hand is just as great a king as the conductor.
In speaking briefly on such a vast and interesting subject, one must
necessarily leave volumes unsaid that ought to be said. I have but
casually touched on the beginnings of musical art, and the utmost I can
hope for is that I have succeeded in arousing some degree of curiosity
in the minds of those, who have shown but little regard for musical
literature, and which will have the effect of ultimately leading them to
devote more of their time and attention to good musical performances.
_Colston & Coy. Limited, Printers, Edinburgh._
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| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
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| Page 14 snnshine changed to sunshine |
| Page 31 threatre changed to theatre |
| Page 45 Othello ochanged to Otello |
| Page 75 genuis changed to genius |
| Page 75 Monteverde changed to Monteverdi |
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