(_Temp., 16th and 17th centuries._)
Morley, "Plain and Easy Introduction to Practical Music," 1597, pp. 1
and 2. Here we read of a dinner-party, or "banket," at which the
conversation was entirely about music. Also--after supper--_according
to custom_--"parts" were handed round by the hostess. Philomathes has
to make many excuses as to his vocal inability, and finally is obliged
to confess that he cannot sing at all. At this the rest of the company
"wonder"--and some whisper to their neighbours, "How was he brought
up?" Phil. is ashamed--and goes to seek Gnorimus the music-master. The
master is surprised to see him--as Phil. has heretofore distinguished
himself by inveighing against music as a "corrupter of good manners,
and an allurement to vices." Phil.'s experience of the supper-party
has so far changed his views that he wishes as soon as may be to
change his character of Stoic for that of Pythagorean. Thereupon the
master begins to teach him from the very beginning, "as though he were
a child."
Then follows a long lesson--which is brought to an end by Philomathes
giving farewell to the master as thus--"Sir, I thanke you, and meane
so diligently to practise till our next meeting, that then I thinke I
shall be able to render you a full account of all which you have told
me, till the which time I wish you such contentment of mind and ease
of body as you desire to yourselfe (Master's health had been very bad
for long enough) or mothers use to wish to their children." The Master
replies--"I thanke you: and assure your selfe it will not be the
smallest part of my contentment to see my schollers go towardly
forward in their studies, which I doubt not but you will doe, if you
take but reasonable pains in practise."
Later on in the Third Part (p. 136) Phil.'s brother Polymathes comes
with him to Gnorimus for a lesson in Descant--_i.e._, the art of
extemporaneously adding a part to the written plainsong.[1] This
brother had had lessons formerly from a master who carried a plainsong
book in his pocket, and caused him to do the like; "and so walking in
the fields, hee would sing the plaine song, and cause me to sing the
descant, etc." Polymathes tells us also that his master had a friend,
a descanter himself, who used often to drop in--but "never came in my
maister's companie ... but they fell to contention.... What? (saith
the one), you keepe not time in your proportions: you sing them false
(saith the other), what proportion is this? (saith hee),
sesqui-_paltery_ (saith the other): nay (would the other say), you
sing you know not what, it shoulde seeme you came latelie from a
Barber's shop, where you had _Gregory Walker_ (derisive name for
'quadrant pavan,' 'which was most common 'mongst the Barbars and
Fidlers') or a _curranta_ plaide in the new proportions by them lately
found out, called sesqui-_blinda_, and sesqui-_harken-after_."
[Footnote 1: See Appendix.]
[These mocking terms, sesqui-_paltery_, sesqui-_blinda_, and
sesqui-_harken-after_, are perversions of names of "proportions" used
in the 16th century--as, sesqui-_altera_ (3 equal notes against 2).]
We find, on p. 208, that both Philomathes and Polymathes are young
University gentlemen--looking forward hereafter to be "admitted to the
handling of the weightie affaires of the common wealth."
The lessons end with their request to the master to give them "some
songes which may serve both to direct us in our compositions, and by
singing them recreate us after our more serious studies."
Thus we find that in Elizabeth's reign it was the "custom" for a
lady's guests to sing unaccompanied music from "parts," after supper;
and that inability to take "a part" was liable to remark from the rest
of the company, and indeed that such inability cast doubt on the
person having any title to education at all.
We find that one music master was accustomed to have his gentleman
pupils so constantly "in his company" that they would practise their
singing while "walking in the fields."
Finally--that part-singing from written notes, and also the extempore
singing of a second part (descant) to a written plainsong, was a
diversion of such young University gentlemen, and was looked on as a
proper form of recreation after hard reading.
In the 16th century music was considered an _essential_ part of a
clergyman's education. A letter from Sir John Harrington to Prince
Henry (brother of Charles I.) about Dr John Still, Bishop of Bath and
Wells in 1592, says that no one "could be admitted to _primam
tonsuram_, except he could first _bene le bene con bene can_, as they
called it, which is to read well, to conster [construe] well, and to
_sing well_, in which last he hath good judgment." [The three _bene's_
are of course _le-gere, con-struere, can-tare_.]
Also, according to Hawkins (History of Music, p. 367), the statutes of
Trinity College, Cambridge, founded by Henry VIII., make part of the
Examination of Candidates for Fellowships to be in "Quid in Cantando
possint"; indeed, _all members were supposed capable of singing a part
in choir service_.[2]
[Footnote 2: This statement of Hawkins' seems a little exaggerated. Mr
Aldis Wright tells me that the statutes provided for an examination in
singing for Candidates for Fellowships, and that ability gave a
candidate an advantage, in case of equality. Singing was not required
of all candidates, but the subject was considered on the fourth day of
the examination, along with the essay and verse composition.]
(Long before this, in 1463, Thomas Saintwix, _doctor in music_, was
elected Master of King's College, Cambridge.)
Accordingly, we find Henry VIII., who, as a younger brother, was
intended for the Church, and eventually for the See of Canterbury, was
a good practical musician. Erasmus says he composed offices for the
church. An anthem, "O Lord, the maker of all things," is ascribed to
him; and Hawkins gives a motet in three parts by the king, "Quam
pulchra es."
Chappell's Old English Popular Music gives a passage from a letter of
Pasqualigo the Ambassador-extraordinary, dated about 1515, which says
that Henry VIII. "plays well on the lute and virginals, sings from
book at sight," etc. Also in Vol. I. are given two part-songs by the
king, 'Pastyme with good companye' and 'Wherto shuld I expresse.'
A somewhat unclerical amusement of Henry VIII.'s is related by Sir
John Harrington (temp. James I.). An old monkish rhyme, "The Blacke
Saunctus, or Monkes Hymn to Saunte Satane," was set to music in a
canon of three parts by Harrington's father (who had married a natural
daughter of Henry VIII.); and King Henry was used "in pleasaunt moode
to sing it." For the music and words, see Hawkins, pp. 921 and 922.
Anne Boleyn was an enthusiastic musician, and, according to Hawkins,
"doted on the compositions of Jusquin and Mouton, and had collections
of them made for the private practice of herself and her maiden
companions."
It appears from the Diary of King Edward VI. that he was a musician,
as he mentions playing on the lute before the French Ambassador as one
of the several accomplishments which he displayed before that
gentleman, July 19th, 1551.
There is also a letter from Queen Catherine (of Arragon), the mother
of Queen Mary, in which she exhorts her "to use her virginals and
lute, if she has any."
As for Elizabeth, there is abundant evidence that she was a good
virginal player.
The best known MS. collection of virginal music (that in the
Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge) has at least always been known as
Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book, and the following quaint story is
quoted by Hawkins from Melvil's Memoirs (Lond. 1752).
"The same day, after dinner, my Lord of Hunsdean drew me up to a quiet
gallery that I might hear some music (but he said he durst not avow
it), where I might hear the queen play upon the virginals. After I had
hearkened a while I took by [aside] the tapestry that hung before the
door of the chamber, and stood a pretty space, hearing her play
excellently well; but she left off immediately so soon as she turned
her about and saw me. She appeared to be surprised to see me, and came
forward, seeming to strike me with her hand, alledging she was not
used to play before men, but when she was solitary to shun
melancholy." [Queen Elizabeth's Virginal is in South Kensington
Museum.]
To go on with the Royal musicians (who are interesting as such,
because their habit _must have set the fashion of the day_), in James
I.'s reign we find that Prince Charles learnt the Viol da Gamba from
Coperario (_i.e._, John Cooper). Also Playford (temp. Charles II.)
says of Charles I. that the king "often appointed the service and
anthems himself" in the Royal Chapel; "and would play his part exactly
well on the bass-violl,"--_i.e._, the viol da gamba.
George Herbert, who was by birth a courtier, found in music "his
chiefest recreation," "and did himself compose many divine hymns and
anthems, which he set and sung to his lute or viol.... His love to
music was such, that he went usually twice every week ... to the
cathedral church in Salisbury; and at his return would say that his
time spent in prayer and cathedral music elevated his soul, and was
his heaven upon earth." But not only was the poet-priest a lover of
church music, for (Walton's Life goes on) "before his return thence to
Bemerton, he would usually _sing and play his part at an appointed
private music meeting_." This was fourteen years after Shakespeare's
death.
Anthony Wood, who was at Oxford University in 1651, gives a most
interesting account of the practice of chamber music for viols (and
even violins, which, by Charles II.'s time, had superseded the feebler
viols) in Oxford. In his Life, he mentions that "the gentlemen in
privat meetings, which A.W. frequented, play'd three, four, and five
Parts with Viols, as, Treble-Viol, Tenor, Counter-Tenor, and Bass,
with an Organ, Virginal, or Harpsicon joyn'd with them: and they
esteemed a Violin to be an Instrument only belonging to a common
Fidler, and could not endure that it should come among them, for feare
of making their Meetings to be vaine and fidling." Wood went to a
_weekly meeting_ of musicians in Oxford. Amongst those whom he names
as "performing their parts" are four Fellows of New College, a Fellow
of All Souls, who was "an admirable Lutenist," "Ralph Sheldon, Gent.,
a Rom. Catholick ... living in Halywell neare Oxon., admired for his
smooth and admirable way in playing on the Viol," and a Master of Arts
of Magdalen, who had a weekly meeting at his own college. Besides the
amateurs, there were eight or nine professional musicians who
frequented these meetings. This was in 1656, and in 1658 Wood gives
the names of over sixteen other persons, with whom he used to play and
sing, all of whom were Fellows of Colleges, Masters of Arts, or at
least members of the University. Amongst them was "Thom. Ken of New
Coll., a Junior" (afterwards Bishop Ken, one of the seven bishops who
were deprived at the Revolution), who could "sing his part." All the
rest played either viol, violin, organ, virginals, or harpsichord, or
were "songsters."
"These did frequent the Weekly Meetings, and _by the help of public
Masters of Musick_, who were mixed with them, they were much
improved."
There seems to have been little that was not pure enjoyment in these
meetings. Only two persons out of the thirty-two mentioned seem to
have had any undesirable quality--viz., Mr Low, organist of Christ
Church, who was "a _proud_ man," and "could not endure any common
Musitian to come to the meeting;" and "Nathan. Crew, M.A., Fellow of
Linc. Coll., a Violinist and Violist, _but alwaies played out of
Tune_." This last gentleman was afterwards Bishop of Durham.
Thus we find that in the 16th and 17th centuries a practical
acquaintance with music was a regular part of the education of both
sovereign, gentlemen of rank, and the higher middle class.
We find Henry VIII. composing church music, and at the same time
enjoying himself singing in the three-part canon composed by his
friend, a gentleman of rank.
We find that a Fellow of Trinity at the same time was expected to
sing "his part" in chapel as a matter of course. We find Edward VI.,
Mary, and Elizabeth to have all been capable players on lute or
virginals. We find that it was the merest qualification that an
Elizabethan bishop should be able to sing well; and that young
University gentlemen of birth thought it nothing out of the way to
learn all the mysteries of both prick-song (a _written_ part) and
descant (an _extempore_ counterpoint), and to solace their weary hours
by singing "in parts."
Immediately after Shakespeare's time, we find a courtier of James I.,
and the ill-fated Prince Charles himself, both enthusiasts in both
church and chamber music; and lastly, two years after the Regicide, we
find the University of Oxford to have been a perfect hotbed of musical
cultivation. Men who afterwards became Bishops, Archdeacons,
Prebendaries, besides sixteen Fellows of Colleges, and sundry
gentlemen of family, were not ashamed to practise chamber music and
singing to an extent which really has no parallel whatever nowadays.
There is plenty of evidence, though more indirect in kind, that the
lower classes were as enthusiastic about music as the higher. A large
number of passages in contemporary authors shows clearly that singing
in parts (especially of "catches") was a common amusement with
blacksmiths, colliers, cloth-workers, cobblers, tinkers, watchmen,
country parsons, and soldiers.
In _Damon and Pithias_, 1565, Grimme, the _collier_, sings "a bussing
[buzzing] base," and two of his friends, Jack and Will, "quiddel upon
it," _i.e._, they sing the tune and words, while he buzzes the burden.
Peele's _Old Wives Tale_, 1595, says, "This _smith_ leads a life as
merry as a king; Sirrah Frolic, I am sure you are not without some
_round_ or other; no doubt but Clunch [the smith] can _bear his
part_."