MUSICAL EDUCATION IN ENGLAND
The early Church, origin of present development of modern
music--Antiphon, precursor of harmony and counterpoint--The
invention of the organ and its importance--Tallis, the link between
pre and post Reformation music--Purcell and the Augustan age of
English music--Acts of Reformation period--Present system of musical
education--Principal schools of music--Lack of national character in
English music--Suggested explanation--Influence of foreign resident
composers--Rival Italian opera companies--Return of Handel and
effect of his oratorios--English music festivals and foreign
conductors--Sterndale Bennett's "Woman of Samaria"--Sir Edward
Elgar's violin concerto--Foreign teachers and their influence--Costa
and the high pitch--Recognition of great foreign musicians--The new
school of British composers--Mendelssohn on Italian methods of
singing for northern races.
PAST
It is to the Catholic Church that modern art must look for the origin of
its present development. To the monks of medi[ae]val times must be
ascribed the glory of the greatest achievements in Gothic architecture,
the art of fresco-painting, and the foundations of modern music.
Not only were the monasteries the repository of every kind of learning,
but it is interesting to think that the impress of religion, which music
received in those long-ago days, and in those gone and forgotten
buildings, is as alive to-day as it ever was.
Notwithstanding the degrading uses to which a beautiful art has been so
constantly put, a degradation greater, perhaps, than that to which any
sister art has had to submit, it is still triumphantly evident, in works
so otherwise dissimilar as Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius" and Wagner's
"Parsifal."
In fact, it is safe to say that the greatest creations in music have
either been dedicated to the services of Christianity or have largely
received inspiration from its illimitable resources.
Though many an aching heart may have throbbed out its existence in the
seclusion of those cloistered cells, still, many must have been the
joyful emotions evoked in the minds of other of their occupants, by the
achievement of some long worked-for discovery that has had untold
influence on ages then unborn.
What, for instance, must have been their feeling of ecstacy when the
first harmonious _triad_ fell upon the ears of the amazed monks?
To them, long accustomed as they were to the barbaric sound of sequences
of bare fourths and fifths, it must have seemed like a revelation of
Heaven itself, and we may fain hope that many a _Nunc dimittis_, all the
happier in consequence, came from their grateful hearts as the passing
hour arrived.
It is to the antiphon that we may look as the precursor of harmony and
counterpoint, and thus the origin of modern music.
Antiphony was the ancient mode of rendering music, in which two sets of
voices sang alternately. They were placed on opposite sides of the
choir, as may be seen in Catholic and Anglican churches to-day, and
were respectively entitled "Decani" and "Cantoris."
For long they recited on the same note, then came a change in which one
side varied it, probably by a perfect fourth or fifth above or below.
Afterwards, the chanting of them together indicated the first advance
towards _harmony_--that is to say, a combination of notes sounded
simultaneously. The undulations of the voices of priest and choir
signalled the advance towards melody.
The next and most decisive step was the advent of _counterpoint_; that
is the pointing of one note or series of notes against another. Thus
while one side would be chanting a series of long notes, the other would
be singing quicker ones, which were either momentarily discordant or
subsequently in harmony with them.
With the birth of this new development may be associated the origin of
music, as we know it to-day.
The process of each was, however, gradual, and it is difficult to
suggest, with any conviction, their respective periods of evolution.
To come to later times, with the invention of the organ and its entry
into the service of the church, we are well within sight of historical
accuracy. It is easy to realise what a stimulus to musical invention
this must have proved, and from that time, about the middle of the
eighth century, the progress has been continuous if not rapid.
The monks, being the first musicians, were the first teachers, and thus
we arrive at the beginning of musical education in England. During the
long centuries in which the people, mostly serfs as they were, looked to
the monasteries for such amenities of life as were possible in those
days, the progress in music was confined to those employed in the
service of the ritual of their chapels, but with the increase of
population and the building of churches outside, the conditions became
materially changed.
The monks, who had hitherto jealously guarded the secret of the
manipulation of the keys, began to teach others, and thus came into
existence that body of organists and composers who for many centuries
upheld the standard of English music, and who, until the days of the
Reformation, kept England in the forefront of musical art.
Let it be well borne in mind that up to this time England owed its music
to England alone.
Till then Thomas Tallis was the greatest exponent of the art who had
lived in this country, and, if anything were wanting to prove the
extraordinary genius the monks had exhibited in teaching the profoundest
mysteries of music, the mastery displayed by Tallis in his _Song of
Forty Parts_ would be sufficient to supply it.
He was the link that united English pre-Reformation and post-Reformation
music.
In the reigns of Henry VIII. and Queen Mary, he was a gentleman of the
Chapel-Royal, subsequently becoming organist in Queen Elizabeth's time.
It was during this period that he set to music that part of the English
liturgy that is now sung. As regards Henry and Elizabeth, the feelings
of both these monarchs towards the Reformation were, doubtless, more
political than religious, and to this cause may be attributed the
retention of his post by Tallis, since there is no proof that he ever
embraced the reformed faith.
Then came an epoch that may well be called the Augustan age of English
music, seeing that to the genius of Tallis was added that of Byrd and
Orlando Gibbons, culminating in the arrival of Purcell, when it attained
its zenith.
With the death of Purcell began the long decline that resulted in the
practical decay of English music.
Everything tended to that end.
The suppression of the monasteries, the home of art and literature; the
degradation of public worship, including the prohibition of music in
such perfunctory ceremonies as were permitted, and the abolition of
everything pertaining to art or beauty in its performance; the ruthless
destruction of all that could appeal to the sense of the beautiful in
the minds of the people, of the altars with their gorgeous adornments,
or the stained windows with their picturesque representations of moving
incidents in the life of Christ; the covering with stucco or the
whitewashing of the marble pillars that supported the decorated roofs:
all these monstrosities were calculated to deaden any artistic sense the
common people might have had within them, and such was, unhappily, the
effect.
Music came to be looked upon as a frivolous or contemptible thing, and
the practice of it as only fit for people who had no aptitude for
anything better, and who were treated by the average person of any
consequence, accordingly. The teaching of it naturally became a matter
of small importance, and thus, outside the cathedral cities which
sheltered the few remaining educated English musicians, such teaching as
could be procured was supplied by persons supplementing their earnings
in other directions, or foreigners who had come to the country at the
call of the few influential individuals in whom the love for music was
not actually dead. This was the state of affairs at the beginning of the
nineteenth century.
PRESENT
The present system of musical education in this country may be said to
commence with the establishment of the Royal Academy of Music in the
year 1822. The advantages offered by an institution of this kind are so
obvious that one need only specify a choice of subjects with an expert
to teach each, a permanent orchestra for the practice and interpretation
of the classics, and the atmosphere engendered by an association of
individuals guided by the aspiration to acquire knowledge and stimulated
by the generous rivalry of their comrades.
The Academy, Royal and National, as it is entitled, is the oldest of the
three principal music schools in England. The prefix "Royal" used in
common with many and various kinds of societies, has no very precise
significance, while the term "national" is somewhat difficult of
application to an institution whose principal teachers and managers are
foreigners.
Although flourishing to-day, the school experienced many years of
fluctuating fortune, and it was not until the principalship of Sir
Sterndale Bennett that it was at last placed on a firm and sure
foundation.
To that distinguished man the Academy for many years owed its sole
prestige.
He was succeeded by Sir George Macfarren, an able and learned musician,
who would doubtless have proved a successful administrator had he not
suffered from the terrible affliction of blindness.
As it was, however, the school came practically under a direction that
had little educational force at its disposal, and the results were, as
might be expected--otherwise than satisfactory. This era has, happily,
long passed away, and since Sir A. C. Mackenzie became principal, the
school has prospered continuously.
The Royal College of Music, that happiest of English musical
institutions, was established on the foundations of the National
Training School of Music, which had come into existence largely through
the exertions of the Duke of Edinburgh in 1876, and may be said to have
been the outcome of a protest against the then existing state of things
at the Academy.
Later, the Duke leaving for Coburg, and the resignation of Sir Arthur
Sullivan of the post of principal, furnished the occasion to found the
larger and more important college, and this being eventually done, it
was opened by the Prince of Wales in 1883.
The new scheme was large and comprehensive, including as it did the
creation of scholarships in the leading towns of the United Kingdom and
the Dominions beyond the seas. The realisation of such a project would
have been impossible, had it not been for the extraordinary influence
exercised by the late King Edward, and the enthusiasm he extended
towards its accomplishment.
The possession of these scholarships, attracting as it does the flower
of musical talent throughout the Empire, puts an enormous power for good
in the hands of the authorities, and although it is premature to speak
with any assurance on the point yet, it may well be hoped that the
results in the furthering of the formation of a truly British school of
music will be commensurate with the great possibilities. If a happy
choice in the appointment of Directors is a good omen, the names of (the
late) Sir George Grove and Sir Hubert Parry should supply it.
Like the Royal Academy, the teaching staff is largely composed of
foreign musicians.
The Guildhall School of Music was established in 1888 through the
generosity of the Corporation of the City of London. It is managed by a
committee of expert business men belonging to that body, who give their
services gratuitously, and prizes of money are offered by the Lord
Mayor, the Lady Mayoress, the Sheriffs and other dignitaries, for the
encouragement of the students.
When first instituted, the main object was to place the best instruction
within the reach of those unable to meet the requirements of the older
schools either in time or expense.
The entrance fee was made nominal, the choice of subjects for study left
to the student, and no conditions insisted upon, other than those
necessary for the well-being of any public institution.
The popularity the school instantaneously attained must have been
gratifying, even to that eminent body with whom so many philanthropic
efforts have been identified.
Recently, however, an important change has been made since Mr. Landon
Ronald became principal, in that a curriculum has been designed for
students studying professionally, but although under this the learning
of certain subjects is made compulsory, and a skilfully-planned course
of study laid down, it does not in the least modify the original
intentions of the Corporation, since the adoption of it is purely
voluntary on the part of the scholar. This development may prove of
far-reaching importance, and under the guiding influence of so skilful
and versatile a musician as Mr. Ronald, may have unlooked-for results.
As with the other two schools, the teaching staff is a large one, with a
strong foreign element in it.
With regard to the other schools of music throughout the kingdom, it may
be said that they fairly conform to the types already described, the
only difference being the varying proportions of native to foreign
teachers.
Now, with all these facilities for acquiring musical education, how can
it be explained that these schools have so utterly failed in the
direction of fostering a national tone, a mode of expression which,
while capable of infinite variety, is as redolent of the country it
emanates from as that of France or Russia? Why is it that until the
recent uprising of the new English school of composers headed by Sir
Edward Elgar, owing nothing to foreign teaching either at home or
abroad, in spite of the enormous amount of music written by British
composers during the preceding fifty years, nothing appeared that was in
any sense characteristically English or imbued with sufficient vitality
to live?
It may be safely said that with the exception of Sir Hubert Parry's
"Blest Pair of Sirens," it is doubtful whether there is a single work in
all the vast output that will not be absolutely forgotten by the end of
the first half of this century. In fact, most of the oratorios,
cantatas, and symphonies produced during that period have never been
heard again since their first and two or three subsequent performances.
They may, with truth, be said to have died of their own drear
lifelessness. The explanation seems to be perfectly simple. Underlying
it all would appear to be the belief that imitation, however skilful,
cannot equal the thing imitated or possess any lasting qualities. The
music of the German speaking race has, until the new epoch that has just
dawned, absolutely possessed the minds of our composers and public
alike.
Not only have all or nearly all the most influential British musicians
been educated in Germany, spending the most impressionable years of
their lives there, but they have come back imbued with the spirit and
technique of its music and, with the zeal of converts, anxious to impart
the same ideals to their pupils. The result has been just what would
naturally be anticipated.
Music produced on such a basis could only lack the vital characteristics
necessary to take any hold on the people, who, having heard the
originals, shewed themselves perfectly indifferent to the imitations,
however well disguised they proved to be. They came to the conclusion
that their country was not sufficiently endowed with music to produce
composers of original gifts and, as a natural consequence, turned to the
foreigner to look for all serious musical effort.
This belief has become so deeply seated in the mind of the average
Englishman, that he not only long ago ceased to expect any original
effort from the native composer, but went a step further, a natural one
perhaps, and argued that if he were inferior to the foreigner as a
writer of music, he must necessarily be equally so as a teacher.
Hence the extraordinary condition of things that has prevailed so long.
Foreign teachers are numbered by thousands, many of them holding
foremost positions in the leading institutions. They bring with them
their own national instincts and characteristics, and, obviously, the
greater their gifts the more powerfully must their influence operate
against the ideal of a national school of British music.
Sir Edward Elgar, speaking at Birmingham, urged the young English
composers "to draw their inspiration from their own country, their own
literature, and their own climate. Only by doing so could they arrive at
an English art."
If this be true, and I doubt not that most thinking people will agree,
the present state of things is unceasingly working towards making the
idea impossible of realisation. It must be borne in mind that there are
hundreds, even thousands, of students taught by perhaps three masters of
different nationalities, leaving our schools yearly, and who
consequently spread broad-cast the mixed impressions they have received.
Not only is the influence undesirable, but this constant augmentation of
the already congested state of the profession makes it more and more
difficult for the young native to earn a living wage, and compels him to
direct his thoughts and energies rather to this end than the development
of his artistic capabilities. The more one thinks on this practical
point, the more serious it seems.
That it has not escaped the attention of the resident foreign musicians
is shewn by an illuminating story told in a pamphlet published a little
while since, in which one of them advises young Englishmen to
_['e]migr[^a]te_ (emigrate)!
To properly explain the attitude in the past, of the people generally,
towards music and musicians, it is necessary to go back some centuries
and examine the causes which led up to it.
One of the first effects of the wave of Puritanism which swept over the
country after the Reformation, was a contempt for everything that
savoured of frivolity, and to the minds of the Puritans, the practice of
music was regarded more as a prostitution of mental effort than a
calling which could be treated as serious or even moral. Its use was
banished from the churches, and it is recorded of Cromwell that on one
occasion he entered a cathedral with a squad of soldiers while a service
was being held, and ordered the clergy to "stop this fooling." Although
this extreme state of affairs was not of long duration, it lasted long
enough to instil into the very marrow and bones of the population a
prejudice that centuries have not been able to altogether eradicate.
A reaction was, however, inevitable, and with the Restoration it came,
accompanied, unhappily, by excesses that rendered the results almost
nugatory.
After a period, during which the genius of Purcell shed an undying glory
on English music, the people, having finally rid the country of the
Stuart dynasty, settled down to a period if of less fanaticism, a not
less fatal indifference to and contempt for musical art. It was left to
the scornful genius of Dean Swift to express this feeling in words at
once typical of him, and unforgettable.
At the time he wrote them, a foreign Court had attracted a large number
of musicians from the Continent, amongst whom was Handel.
For the distractions of a dissipated nobility and a large cosmopolitan
element, the Metropolis needed the means of gratification. It is evident
that the native musician, whose training had been mainly directed to
essentially different objects, was unable to supply them. The foreigner,
however, then as now, was quick to meet the deficiency.
Two companies were formed for the exploitation of Italian opera, which
had long been the vogue in France and Germany, their headquarters being
respectively the Haymarket and Covent Garden Theatres, the one headed by
Handel, the other by Buononcini.
Strange as it may appear to us at this day, their rivalry soon became a
source of serious trouble to the authorities. Their adherents formed
themselves into factions headed by young nobles, and occasional
collisions between them led to scenes of rioting and even bloodshed,
reminiscent of the ancient feuds between the houses of Montague and
Capulet. It was then that Swift wrote the words in which he not only
voiced his own savage disdain, but the sentiments of the average
Englishman:
"Strange such difference there should be
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee."
After some years of success, during which Handel amassed a fortune, the
tide of affairs turned against him, and in broken health and with
impoverished means he retired to a Continental health resort. This,
however, was but the prelude to events not only of vital consequence to
him, but of momentous significance to the art of music.
On returning to England with restored vigour, he cast about him to find
the means of regaining his former ascendency, and, happily for the world
at large, he decided to devote his energies to the writing of sacred
music.
With the production of the oratorio "Saul" in 1739, Handel initiated
that series of works which not only had an untold influence on the
musical instinct of the English people, but was destined to write his
name in the book of the Immortals. Everything tended to his success.
His genius, colossal as it was, might have proved in vain, but for an
unseen element that was to come to his aid and enable him to crown his
career in a blaze of glory. This proved to be a resurgence of the
old-time love of music amongst the masses, that their Puritan upbringing
had long tended to suppress, but which, under a religious guise, was
ready to spring to life again.
Thus, crowds of people who would not go to hear music under ordinary
conditions, would eagerly seize an opportunity to do so when presented
to them under the aegis of Religion.
The spirit of the "Messiah" penetrated their hearts, and helped to
exorcise the sullen disposition towards anything approaching art that
had become so characteristic of them.
Splendid as was the result of Handel's work not only in England but the
world over, it must be admitted that the immediate effect on the English
musician was disastrous.
He had long found it difficult to hold his own against foreign
competition, with the influence of the Court continuously exercised in
its favour, but this overwhelming display of genius in a field in which
he had hitherto regarded himself as unassailable in his own country,
seemed to be the one thing wanting to complete his discomforture and
bring about his abdication.
This accomplished, it is unnecessary to insist upon the humiliations
that were in store for him during the next hundred years. Suffice it to
say that the ascendency of the foreigner was complete, and was exercised
with an intolerance of native effort that seems inconceivable to us
to-day. Not only did he occupy the principal official posts, but nearly
every other of importance outside the Church, and even the festivals,
which were, in most cases, originally organised in connection with one
or other of the cathedrals, before long came under his sway.
To cite two examples, those of Birmingham and Norwich. The former has
been conducted for over forty years, since the period of its inception,
by Costa and Dr. Richter; whilst the latter has been directed for over
half a century by musicians who were not only not Englishmen, but not
even Christians. This grotesque situation was put an end to as recently
as 1908, when Sir Henry Wood was appointed. This ascendency, encouraged
by the wealthy classes and contemptuously ignored by the general public,
could but have a withering effect on native talent, and its parasitical
influence undoubtedly hastened the decay of the once flourishing tree of
English music. Handel had many successors here, but no equals. However,
so numbed had English musicians become, that nearly any foreigner with
sufficient advertising ingenuity, could inspire them with a sense not
far removed from awe.
For instance, without wishing to be unjust to such claims on posterity
as Spohr may have, we may well express astonishment at the great
influence he undoubtedly wielded whilst living in London. His great
ability as a performer on the violin, together with his skill as a
writer for the instrument, first brought him prominently into publicity,
but it was the production of his oratorio, "The Last Judgment," that
made him a power in the land.
What chiefly contributed to the fascination his music exercised was a
new feature in it that appealed to natures the stern sublimity of
Handel's could not touch. This consisted of a dexterous use of chromatic
harmony, combined with melody of ballad-like simplicity, which was well
calculated to please the untutored ear. Even so robust a personality as
Samuel Sebastian Wesley temporarily fell under the spell, though not for
long, and afterwards, as if it were an act of expiation, wrote a Church
service in which he reverted to the style of Orlando Gibbons. Spohr,
however, was a genius, if not of an exalted order, but what are we to
say when we take into consideration the position attained to by Costa in
this country?
Surely English musical intelligence must have reached its nadir.
He was allowed for thirty years to exercise absolute sway over the
festivals at Birmingham, and there produced, with every accessory of
pomp and circumstance, his oratorios, "Eli" and "Naaman," works in which
you may seek for and fail to find a redeeming feature. Commonplace in
idea, blatant in orchestration, theatrical in melody and primitive in
contrapuntal effort, these things were, nevertheless, by the artifice of
unscrupulous puffing, foisted upon the public as works of genius.
Yet at this very time there was living an English writer of great
endowment, lofty character and true genius, whose music was
comparatively neglected. Without making extravagant claims for Sterndale
Bennett, it may be said, without hesitation, that his cantata, "The
Woman of Samaria," contains music with which nothing that Costa and many
others similarly exploited, wrote, could for a moment compare. To what
extent indifference to English music and musicians was carried may be
illustrated by the fact that he was suffered to submit on an occasion to
the insult of Costa's refusal to conduct one of his compositions, and
this, without redress!
The day is coming when English composers will have to endure as much
adulation as their predecessors did neglect. When that day arrives I
hope they will show some consideration for the memory of William
Sterndale Bennett. It was with sincere pleasure that many observed the
inclusion of one of his overtures on the historic occasion of the
production at the Queen's Hall in London of Sir Edward Elgar's first
violin concerto.
This was a tribute payed to him by his greatest successor, and was
worthy of the man who did it and the occasion which prompted it. Enough
has been said to shew how complete foreign supremacy had become. Its
days are now numbered, it is true, but the effect remains.
It is idle to suppose that the work of a few men, however gifted they
may be, can undo in a decade what has taken two hundred years to
accomplish. Only by patience and sustained effort in the direction of
making students endeavour to _think_ English music rather than German,
can any national character be developed.
This can be done by English masters only. It is evident that there is a
spirit of revolt abroad against the position as it stands to-day. That a
nation with four or five hundred years' musical history behind it should
yet be in foreign leading-strings is as absurd as it is uncalled for,
and national respect alone should insist on its suppression.
English musicians have recently shewn in manner absolutely convincing,
that they can hold their own in any department of music, either as
creators or exponents.
The north of England and the Midlands teem with men erudite and
enthusiastic.
In Manchester, Sheffield, Birmingham and other towns they are ever in
evidence, and it is mainly from these parts of England that the most
striking of recent developments have come, and which give the greatest
hope for the future. The fascination of a capital city and the
apparently limitless opportunities for advancement naturally attract the
consciously gifted young musician. He expects to be greeted on arrival
with sympathy and encouragement, at least by people of his own race. He
probably knows something of the history of music in London, but even
that does not stay him.
His first experience is one of disillusion. He finds himself in an
atmosphere of cosmopolitanism where the dominating influences are
largely foreign, and if he enters one of the principal schools, he finds
himself in a centre whence those influences largely radiate. If he
elects to stay there, he will eventually emerge from it as an added unit
to that vast army of foreign-taught Englishmen whose work has hitherto
proved so abortive.
I would like to say here that there is not the least intention to cast
reflections on the capabilities of these foreign teachers. Indeed, it
would be a work of supererogation to insist upon the individual
excellencies of many of them.
What words, for instance, could adequately portray the work of such men
as Oscar Beringer or Johannes Wolff? to mention only two of them.
But that is beside the point.
What we have to consider is the wisdom or unwisdom of continuing a
system that has obtained for a hundred years or so, and is still
encouraged by the leading authorities. We may assume, or we ought to be
able to assume, that what gave rise to it was a dearth of sufficiently
competent Englishmen, and that the mission entrusted to the foreigner
was to train the students up to his own high standard. Well, has he
succeeded after his hundred years' trial? It is evident that in the
opinion of these authorities he has not, else, why should Herr this be
made to succeed Herr that, and Signor this, Signor that, with such
monotonous regularity?
How much longer then is it intended to continue on these lines? If there
are still no native musicians fit to hold these important posts (and
this in the days of Elgar!), what a commentary on the system!
Such an idea, however, is altogether untenable. There is not the
slightest doubt that there are numbers of them fully capable of
sustaining the prestige of any institution, were once the chance
accorded them. One can only suppose that internal jealousies and
foreign-acquired predilections are responsible for what seems such an
insensate policy.
There is another point of view that deserves consideration.
Let it be remembered that by all the resources of the latest
developments of advertising, these schools attract thousands of pupils
from all parts of the kingdom, thus feeding the already congested state
of the musical profession, and yet at the same time, bolting and barring
the door against their eventually succeeding to these foreign-held
posts, however great their claims to them or their fitness to fulfil the
duties attached to them may be.
It is like addressing the English student thus: "Yes. It is true you
have paid your fees for five years, during two of which we have availed
ourselves of your services as an unpaid teacher, thus acknowledging your
capabilities, but we are sorry to be unable to give you the post you
seek as it is reserved for that inestimable artist Signor ----, who is
so unaccountably neglected in his own country."
Thus the game goes on and, I suppose, will go on until the pressure of
public opinion or the determination of the native students forces a
change. The specious argument that the demand justifies the means may be
and probably is adduced. To this, I say that what is applicable to one
who has lived long in the country and justified his position, is totally
inapplicable to another who is brought here although absolutely unknown.
Now, there cannot possibly be a demand for an unknown quantity. What I
would urge is that upon the honourable retirement of the foreign master,
an Englishman should be appointed in his place, and be given a chance
equal to that of his predecessor in the quality of the students placed
under him.
Of the average foreign musician scattered broadcast over the country,
it may be said that if he has done no particular good, he has done no
particular harm, except in a collectivist sense. This, however, cannot
be said of at least one of the most successful of them.
To Sir Michael Costa is due the official adoption of the high pitch, and
what that conveys can only be properly appreciated by the trained
musician. The British Government, finding themselves under the necessity
of supplying instruments for the Army bands, and being informed that
these must be tuned alike to a definite pitch--a question to them,
probably, of the "tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee" order--characteristically
called in a foreigner to advise them on the subject, doubtless thinking
he would be the most competent to whom they could appeal.
It may be casually mentioned that among the prominent British musicians
at this period, were such men as Sir Sterndale Bennett, Sir George
Macfarren, and Sir John Goss.
Now, it is universally recognised that an accurate sense of pitch is of
the highest importance to the musician, and seeing that many of the most
prominent singers--among them Sims Reeves--refused to sing to it, and
some of the leading conductors declined to use it, the confusion that
has resulted may be easily realised. Its adoption, however, by the
Italian Opera and Philharmonic Society in London, the Birmingham
Festival, and all the other institutions where Costa's influence was
paramount, brought it into general use, and until quite recently, it
has so remained.
Yet the protests against it were never silenced, and, constantly
increasing in volume, resulted in its abandonment by one after the other
of the leading orchestras in the country,[21] thus isolating the
numerous choral societies in the provinces, who are necessitated to seek
the aid of military band players to supplement the local ones in forming
a band for their performances, and are forced accordingly to continue
its use.
The effects of this discordance have been, and continue to be positively
incalculable.
Happily for England there are few men who have had similar opportunities
for doing mischief; he has had imitators, it is true, but none possessed
of his talent or force of character.
Indeed, it may be said that he has had few equals among foreign resident
musicians, the majority of whom are men of just average ability, who
have made such reputations as they possess in this country, and are, in
most cases, quite unknown in their own, except perhaps in the immediate
neighbourhood of their birthplaces.[22]
In order to explain their presence in thousands, it will be necessary to
touch on a subject that cannot be altogether avoided. I do not think,
for a moment, that English opinion on the relative merits of the native
and foreign musician as teacher is so decidedly in favour of the latter
as figures would suggest. I look, rather, in other directions for a
solution of the problem.
In the first place, I cannot but think that internal differences,
rivalries and jealousies among prominent British musicians have afforded
opportunities that he has not been slow to take advantage of. It would
not be difficult to refer to many remarkable appointments of foreign
masters that one could only explain on these grounds, so utterly
unjustifiable do they seem.
Again, in the art of advertisement which appears so essential to-day,
there can be no question that Englishmen are not a match for the
foreigner, who uses it with surprising effect on the unsuspecting
public. It is certainly one of the secrets of the astounding position
they have gained in musical education in this country.
If one may compare teaching with public performance, the point becomes
clearer.
Whilst recognising with frankness and spontaneity the genius of such
giants as Hall['e], Joachim, Piatti, Norman Neruda, Pachmann, Kreisler,
and Paderewski, I absolutely fail to see equal merit in the many foreign
artists who are so extravagantly advertised at the present time. It
seems to me that in many cases the agent displays more skill in his art
than the artist advertised.
One may surely be permitted, without being invidious, to contrast the
performances of an Englishman like Mr. W. H. Squire with those of such
exponents of their respective schools as Se[~n]or Casals and M. Gerardy,
and express a preference for the northern virility and dignity of the
Englishman.
Granted that many foreign artists who appear here display great ability,
there are many more who do nothing of the kind, and the day should be
past when every alien musician endowed with long hair and a pallid
complexion is to be accepted by the British public as the highest type
of musical genius. This delusion has lasted long enough.
Had England shown herself barren in producing sons possessing great
musical gifts, the position to-day would at least be explicable, but
this is not the case. There has been no time in the centuries since
Purcell's death destitute of some living representative of the old
English genius, although, perhaps, living in the comparative obscurity
of a cathedral town, and far removed from the garish lights of the
Metropolis.
Certain it is that of native composers who have shown any English
characteristics in their music, the majority of them have been reared in
our cathedral cities, and have imbibed their earliest impressions in
cathedral choirs.
To go no further back than the Wesleys, Samuel and his son, Samuel
Sebastian, we need only cite a few of them: Atwood, Pierson, Goss,
Sterndale Bennett, Arthur Sullivan, Sir Frederick Bridge, Sir Walter
Parratt--and crowds of others, both living and dead.
Removed from the centralised cosmopolitanism of London, many of them had
a chance of giving expression to their thoughts in music not
characterised by foreign idiom.
If the fine work of such men as Hubert Parry, Edward Elgar, Granville
Bantock, Walford Davies, William Wallace, Joseph Holbrook, and others of
the new British school does not convince the country of the fatuity of
perpetuating the state of things existing at present, nothing will, and
we must accept the fact that the idea of foreign supremacy in every
branch of musical work, is so engrained in the blood of the "man in the
street" as to be absolutely ineradicable.
But I do not believe it.
One hardly dares to question the sanity of a nation, even on so elusive
a subject as music.
To-day, even, we can see the Dawn: the Penumbra is vanishing.
Not long ago it was considered essential that a singer of any
exceptional merit should go to Italy to "_finish_"--or _be_ finished, as
the case might be. Not only so, but it was often thought necessary to
Italianise the Anglo-Saxon name, and this was occasionally done with
grotesque result!
In some cases the possessor of so characteristic a name, say, as Smith
(Miss Smith might be a "discovery" by some knowing person and promptly
packed off to the "land of song")--after a stay of a year or two in
Italy, emerges from that country, having adopted, with a profound sense
of the genius of Latin languages, the name of Smith-_ona_.
The fact that such great singers as Sims Reeves and Charles Santley went
to Italy and achieved great success there, has, no doubt, been a
fruitful source of attraction to the country; but of the many thousands
who have followed their example, how many have returned with the least
promise of emulating in ever so faint a degree their illustrious
careers?
No Englishmen, assuredly.
A few years ago I had the pleasure to spend a day in the company of that
great singer, the late Signor Tamagno.
In the course of conversation he expressed the opinion that the old
school of Italian singing which had produced so many artists of such
extraordinary merit, was practically dead, and that he was the only
living exponent to carry on its traditions. As he was speaking in
French, I give his actual words in a foot-note.[23]
Without venturing to subscribe to such a pronouncement, I think it is
worth while recording. Whilst admitting that Italy occasionally produces
singers that electrify the world, such as Madame Tettrazzini and Signor
Caruso, I think that a little consideration will convince anyone that
the majority of great singers in modern times has emanated from the
northern races.[24]
In a memorable address given recently by Madame Melba to the students of
the Guildhall School of Music, on which occasion I was fortunate enough
to be present, that great singer insisted on the importance of
_diction_, and expressed the opinion that in this respect young English
singers had much to learn. One is obliged to recognise the justice of
the rebuke, but I think that, at least, a partial explanation may be
ventured.
In illustration Madame Melba instanced many words that were constantly
maltreated, and among them was that of _love_.
This irresistibly brought to my mind an incident that occurred many
years ago. When I was, as a boy, acting as accompanist in the studio of
a celebrated foreign singing master, an English lady was having a lesson
and was singing an English song in which she had to articulate this very
word. Suddenly there came a clapping of hands and a voice called out,
"No, no, dat will not do. Ze word is--" and I give the pronunciation as
nearly as letters will permit--"'loaf.'"
As soon as the lady had gone and we were left alone, I said, "But,
maestro, that lady sang the word as it is pronounced in English." The
retort came instantly: "Dat is so? Den it _ought_ to be as I say it."
This aspersion on the intellectual intelligence of the Anglo-Saxon race
struck me as decidedly amusing.
On a quite different occasion I was present at a function in the course
of which another foreign singing master was called upon to make a
speech. I was, it is true, seated at a considerable distance from him,
could not see him, and had not the slightest idea who he was. After
listening carefully for some time, I turned to my table companion and
said, "Could you tell me who is speaking, and what the language is?" He
shrugged his shoulders and replied: "Upon my word I can't." We
afterwards learnt that the language spoken was--English!
I think that the most unsophisticated of my readers, if I have any, will
be able to draw his own deductions.
It is at least reasonable to ask why the more virile northerner should
subjugate his personality and national characteristics to those of a
southern race of different climate, different morals, and different
physique. Let us consider for a moment the sister art of painting.
It is quite unnecessary to extol the glories of the British school.
Can you possibly imagine Turner, Hogarth, Gainsborough and Reynolds
sitting down and quietly acquiescing, when a set of foreign painters
came over to England and addressed them in such terms as these: "You
English have lost, if you ever possessed it, the art of painting. We are
going to stay over here and shew that we are your superiors, and you
will have to submit quietly while we are taking time to do it?"
I, at least, would not like to have been a member of _that_ deputation
in case Turner and Hogarth were present. Yet this is not an unfair
illustration of what English musicians have submitted to.
Let us see what Mendelssohn thought on the subject.
In a letter to Edward Devrient, dated Milan, July 13, 1831, he writes:
"You can have no conception of an Italian chorus. As I was supposed to
be in the land of music, I thought I would try and recognise one good
voice among it, but they are all vile and roar like quacks at a fair....
No German can have an idea of what it is here--that is to say, no real
German; for such a one as I met here is as much a real German as cheese
and beer.
"Fancy, Devrient, the fellow's expenses are paid for two years by the
Ministry, in order that he may study Italian music, and on his return
teach the Italian method of singing....
"Alas, you have no conception of these horrors.... The great fault is
seeking to Italianise themselves, whilst what our northern nature has
given them is the best and only good they have."
Enough of the subject.
Let us simply recall again the words of Sir Edward Elgar, spoken at
Birmingham: "To draw their inspiration from their own country, their own
literature and their own climate. Only by doing so could they arrive at
an English art."
CONCLUSION
Everything points to the fact that in all branches of musical art, the
time has come when England should work out her own salvation.
The result of a hundred and fifty years of foreign tutelage is not one
of which any nation need be proud.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] The lead taken by Sir Henry Wood in this matter is one of his many
claims to the gratitude of the country. His adoption of the French
pitch, known as the "diapason normale," was an act of supreme
importance, as tending to bring England in line with the rest of Europe.
[22] "Music in London: Impressions of a Stranger" (p. 11).
[23] L'an[c,]ienne ['e]cole de chant Italienne est une chose du
pass['e], dont je suis le seul et dernier repr['e]sentant.
[24] To cite a few names that come most readily to the mind--Jenny Lind,
Christine Nilsson, Madame Patey, Sims Reeves, Jean de Reszke, Charles
Santley and Edouard de Reszke. Added to these, the great German singers,
inseparably associated with the works of Wagner--all give colour to the
idea.