ORATORIO IN ENGLAND
Influence of oratorio in England--Commonwealth period and effect on
music--Italy original home of oratorio--Origin of the
word--Similarity to opera in early stage--Handel--Absurdity of
claiming him as an Englishman--Italy has greater claims--Handel's
versatility--Early oratorios--"Messiah"--King George III. and the
"Hallelujah" chorus--Greatness of the oratorio--Its hold on the
people--Effect on the religious feelings of the country--Joseph
Haydn--"The Creation"--Its immediate popularity--Reasons for it--Its
claims to greatness--Bach--Mendelssohn his greatest
disciple--"Elijah"--Its amazing reception at Birmingham--Its
continued popularity in England--Spohr--"Last Judgment"--Ephemeral
popularity--Reasons--Samuel Sebastian Wesley--"Redemption" and
"Golden Legend"--Many years of great popularity--Hall['e] and
English music--Wrong method of teaching--"Dream of Gerontius," and
conclusion.
Of all forms of music, that which has long appealed most deeply to the
English people is, without question, the oratorio.
For it they entertain not only affection but, and with good reason,
gratitude.
The oratorio became, as it were, a city of refuge to them. Within its
walls they sought shelter from the grim and forbidding austerity to
which Puritanism had doomed them.
To what an extent music had been banned by the intolerant and fanatic
spirit of the times, is shown by one fact which is almost picturesque in
its weirdness. When, on the Restoration, boys who could sing were wanted
for the choirs of the Chapels Royal, none could be found! The treble
parts of the music had to be played on cornets or similar instruments.
Music had been banished from the home as well as the Church, and this
astonishing fact proves with what profound results.
What years of silence those, during the Commonwealth, must have been. It
makes one shudder to think of it. What an infancy for those born during
those dark days. So completely had all ear for music been, apparently,
lost, that it took some years of training before any children could be
fitted to take their places in these choirs. The effect of those
terrible years was destined to remain, as may be seen by the number of
people who may be found in England to-day, possessed of no ear for music
whatever.
Oratorio was to prove, in after years, the means of reconciliation
between the art of music and the English people. Divested of the taint
of frivolity with which, with good reason, they had for so long
associated it, music was once more presented to them as the ally of
religion. How eagerly they grasped the olive branch held out to them,
will be seen later on.
Oratorio doubtless sprang from the mystery plays of the Middle Ages, and
its inception arose in Italy at the beginning of the seventeenth
century. The earliest specimens would, naturally, have little
resemblance to the great creations of two centuries later, but to the
genius of the early Italians we owe its birth. It is seen in embryo as
early as the fifteenth century or even before, but perhaps the first
work known to us, that definitely shows affinity to oratorio is Emilio's
"Rappresentazione," which was first performed in the church of the
Oratorians, S. Maria, in Vallicella, in the year 1600. A great advance
on it is shown in the works of Carissimi, and still more in those of his
illustrious pupil, Scarlatti. The development was carried on by
Pergolesi, Jomelli, and Stradella, whose "S. John the Baptist" was for
long probably the most celebrated of the oratorios in primitive form.
The origin of the word "oratorio" is derived from S. Filippo Neri, who
founded the Order of the Oratory in 1577. As its name implies, the first
duty of the members was prayer, but what probably brought about the
institution, was the humane desire to give shelter to the many thousands
of pilgrims who flocked to Rome in various stages of destitution. Each
shelter he established, became a religious home--called oratorium--in
which services were held, with the sanction of the Pope, the one
condition being that the celebration of the Eucharist was forbidden.
In these services music had a prominent place, and there is abundant
evidence to prove that scenes from the sacred writings were illustrated
both by singing and acting.
For instance, at the production of Emilio's "Rappresentazione," in the
oratory of Santa Maria, not only were the arts of music and acting
requisitioned, but the additional aid of costumes, scenery and dancing.
Such a work, with chorus, solo and recitative alternating, became known
as oratorio. There is little doubt that this is the true origin of the
word.
As oratorio developed, however, all extraneous aid was dispensed with,
and music allied to sacred words were the sole constituents. As we have
seen, oratorio in its early stages was essentially the same as opera,
except that it was confined to religious subjects. It is interesting to
compare their respective developments. The one was religious, the other
not; one gradually restricting, the other appropriating the aid of other
arts; the one steadfast in its appeal to religious fervour, the other
restless in effort, by all means within reach, to augment its power of
sensuous attraction.
In the case of oratorio, the process has culminated in the production of
Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius," in that of opera, Wagner's "Tristan and
Isolde."
It is to the genius of Handel that England is ever indebted for the
immense service of once more bringing music into the lives of her
people.
On his first visit he had used this tremendous power to amuse a
dissolute aristocracy and the cosmopolitan hordes that the Restoration
attracted to London, by producing "Italian" opera of his own composing,
and introducing the most celebrated Italian singers of the day.
For a time this policy was a complete success, and he amassed a
considerable fortune, but eventually he lost the greater part of it and,
broken in health and spirit, he retired to a Continental health resort,
to re-invigorate his tired constitution.
It was on his last, and what proved to be practically permanent, visit
to England that he commenced the memorable series of works that proved
of such vital consequence to this country. There can be little doubt
that it is the sense of the immense indebtedness of England to this
wonderful man, that has led many people to claim him as an Englishman.
With every respect for the feeling that prompts it, nothing could be
further removed from fact. A long residence in the country no more makes
him an Englishman, proud as we should be if he were, than it does the
criminal alien who has been so much in evidence of late years.
Indeed, if any country other than his own, had any basis for claiming
him, it seems to me it would be Italy.
He lived there in his early years; thoroughly mastered her schools of
both sacred and operatic music, the knowledge of which, in after years,
was of such incalculable value to him, and acquired such a command of
the language, that he was able to speak and compose music to it as if he
were, veritably, a native of the country.
Now, when he came to England he was a musician perfectly equipped. There
was, certainly, no one who could teach him anything, and all that one
can say is, that having a mind extraordinarily receptive, he would be
quick to grasp and turn to advantage any new influence with which he
might be brought into contact.
[Illustration: _By Hudson._
G. F. HANDEL.
_Face 154._]
Thus, he was certainly affected by Purcell's music, which he probably
became acquainted with for the first time. The evidence of this is
perfectly clear and convincing.
On the other hand, he never mastered the English language,
notwithstanding the many years he lived here. His pronunciation was
terrible, and that he often failed to comprehend the relative force of
the words of a sentence when setting them to music, the early editions
of his oratorios prove conclusively. Yet so impatient of criticism was
he, that, did his librettist suggest an alteration, the unhappy man
usually provoked a storm from which he was only too happy to escape.
This little weakness, however, counts for nothing in comparison with his
splendid integrity and noble independence of character. The latter is
especially notable, seeing how eager most musicians were at that period,
to secure the patronage of great personages.
He was imperious in temper and, perhaps, aggressively conscious of his
powers; but he was generous to a degree, when his means allowed it, and
many are the existing institutions which have good reason to call him
blessed.
Handel has often been accused, and with some justice, of laying violent
hands on anything he came across in the way of musical ideas that he
could convert to his own use. Whether large conceptions leading to
unknown possibilities, or a simple tune to be converted to immediate
use, he seemed to avail himself of them with the freedom of an
autocrat.
The minds of the just may be saddened by the reflection, but there is
little doubt that the world at large has every reason to be thankful.
When he made the momentous resolution to devote himself to the
composition of oratorio, his early experience in Italy and the knowledge
he gained there, can but have been of enormous service to him. How
thoroughly he had absorbed the Italian spirit and technique is, in his
earlier works more particularly, evident, and that he appreciated
Italian melody is equally shown by the frequency with which he annexed
it.
It has often been pointed out how dissimilar his earliest sacred music
is from his so-called English oratorios. Naturally. The former was
written when a boy and before he had gained his Italian experience. His
oratorios were not begun until he was, at least, fifty years of age. He
had then been in the position to become acquainted with the great
English school of ecclesiastical music, and the combination of his early
German training, his absorption of the Italian school and his connection
with this, seems to be quite sufficient to explain the fact. Indeed, it
does not require much critical acumen to detect each influence at work
in his oratorios.
That he distanced everything that preceded him is, of course, needless
to say, but that his work often shows signs of this spirit of
opportunism, the most enthusiastic of his admirers, and these are
countless, will admit.
What led Handel to devote himself to the composition of sacred music?
Had he, at last, gauged the true inwardness of the spirit of the people
among whom he had elected to live the rest of his days?
Had he come to realise that, so far as they were concerned, he might go
on writing operas until the crack of doom, without affecting them in the
least? His genius was eclectic. He could write Italian music to delight
the Italians, German music to satisfy the Germans, and now, was he
determined to reach the soul of the _people_, rather than continue to
cater for the amusement of a comparatively few wealthy dwellers in the
metropolis? Who can tell?
That he was a man of any deep religious feeling, there had been up to
this time, little to indicate. In character he was pugnacious,
assertive, and intolerant of the least opposition. For years his life
had been spent in continual strife, and the result had been far from
commensurate with the wealth of genius and energy he had expended.
Now he was embarking on an enterprise in which he would have no rivals,
and which offered as great a scope for his powers as that which he had
relinquished. Well, whatever it was that decided him, the world has
reason to be thankful for the momentous decision.
In any case, to attempt to explain the ways of genius is, generally,
time hopelessly lost.
His first oratorios were devoted to subjects from the Old Testament. In
manner and expression, they are quite like his operas. The arias might,
indeed, be exchanged without any perceptible difference; the choruses,
however, are on a grander scale.
So far as the English people were concerned, their attraction lay in the
fact of being associated with Biblical incidents, and thus making it
possible to go and hear them, without any suspicion of irreligious
motive. This first and great result was of immense import, for it laid
the seeds that were, later, to bring forth such good fruit.
As regards their religious message, they might just as well have been
written, great as they are, and stupendous in the case of "Israel in
Egypt," for a pagan festival. Nevertheless, the great work was in
progress, the great mission in course of fulfilment. It may be said that
they were like S. John the Baptist, in that they were the forerunners of
that which was to be, for the English people at least, the greatest
glory in Christendom, in the sense of religious music.
THE "MESSIAH."
It was on April 13th, 1742, that the immortal and epoch-making work, the
"Messiah," was produced in Dublin. Its success was immediate, and the
effect produced by it extraordinary. Repetitions of the performance were
demanded, and its fame spread with such rapidity that the excitement was
intense on the occasion of its first representation in London on March
23, 1743.
The audience embraced the highest personages in the realm, from the King
downwards, and as the performance progressed, so did the excitement,
which culminated during the singing of the "Hallelujah" chorus, by the
people, headed by the King, springing to their feet and remaining
standing until the end.
The "Messiah" may be said to have crowned the work that the earlier
oratorios had begun. Henceforth the English people were to see, as their
ancestors had before them, that music was not only great as an art, but
that it could be both an aid and inspiration to religion.
It is little to be wondered at, that a people who must have been
thirsting for music so long, should give vent to outbursts of emotion
and enthusiasm, when it was restored to them in the form of so sublime a
conception.
What an experience! to have been among those on whose ears fell for the
first time those wonderfully touching and simple recitatives, in which
the vision of the shepherds is described and the announcement of the
birth of the Saviour made, or the more poignant one in which, to music
of intense emotional power, the terrible story of the Last Agonies is
related.
No other work has ever approached the "Messiah" in the strength of its
hold on the mind and imagination of the English people, and this is as
true to-day as it was a hundred and fifty years ago. They know it
incomparably better than any other music ever written, and the many
beautiful numbers it contains, may be said to be as familiar in their
mouths as household words. The "Hallelujah" chorus, although not by any
means Handel's best, still retains its old popularity, and, indeed,
nearly the whole work would seem to be endowed with endless life.
There are certain numbers, it is true, of which this cannot be said, and
which are usually omitted, but, seeing the extraordinary rapidity with
which it was written, the amazing thing is that they are so few. It
seems absolutely incredible that this, his greatest oratorio, should
have been written within the short space of three weeks, yet it was so.
I have written at some length on Handel and the "Messiah," as it is his
unique distinction, through the medium of this immortal work, to have
revolutionised the spirit of the English people, and helped to rid it of
the Calvinistic thraldom that had enveloped it.
I must now content myself with a brief commentary on the successive
oratorios, since Handel's day, that have had any distinct and abiding
influence on music in England.
THE "CREATION."
By this time oratorio had become, not only firmly established, but even
the principal factor in the musical life of the nation.
The next to whom it was given to successfully carry on its traditions,
was Joseph Haydn. This composer, who is justly called the father of the
symphony, had never tried his powers in this direction, previous to his
first visit to England. Among his many experiences, perhaps the most
interesting and certainly the most important, was making the
acquaintance of Handel's English oratorios. Their popularity was not
lost on him, nor did he fail to discern the strong influence which
religious music exercised, and which so clearly indicated the trend of
the national mind.
Conscious as he was of his own powers, it was only natural that he
should desire to emulate the achievements of his great predecessor, and
gain the fame and fortune in this country which such music as he had
brought would never realise. So, on his return to Vienna he determined
to make a trial, and, encouraged by the enthusiastic friends he happily
possessed, he started upon the composition of this oratorio. To say that
it was a great success is to say little. Its popularity was immediate
and universal, and to think that he was upwards of seventy years of age
when he commenced it, only adds to one's admiration of the great
composer. With what energy, sincerity and enthusiasm he threw himself
into the work is shewn by the way he wrote to his friends at the time:
"I pray God to help me every day," he writes in one of his letters. So
far as England is concerned, the fact that Haydn advanced the art of
music in every other direction, counts as little in comparison with his
being the composer of the "Creation." Those who could appreciate
abstract music were few, but the numbers who could understand and enjoy
such music as this were many.
It is not in the least difficult to understand either its instant
popularity or even the enthusiasm the "Creation" aroused when it was
first heard. It struck an entirely new note. To ears accustomed to the
stern majesty of Handel's music, this came to them not only in the shape
of novelty, but even, if one may use the term, as a relief. The melodies
with which it abounds, are bright, sparkling and spontaneous. They
issued from a fount that was apparently inexhaustible. To the English
people all this was quite new. The freshness, youthfulness and akinness
to Nature, with its suggestive imitations of the warbling of birds and
the cooing of doves; or, again the dramatic outburst when recording the
creation of light, the mysterious music accompanying the narrative
relating to the "darkness that moved on the face of the waters," and the
atmosphere surrounding the "roaming in foaming billows"--all this was
positively alluring in its potentiality of surprise and delight. So
daring and original were many of the effects that they would seem to
have emanated from the brain of some youthful genius who was pouring
forth the unrestrainable creations of his mind, rather than the matured
work of a man verging on seventy years of age.
For many years the "Creation" vied with the "Messiah" for popularity,
and although not approaching the latter in grandeur, it was successful
in attracting thousands who were unable to appreciate the extreme
classicalism of Handel.
To this day it holds a distinguished place in the repertory of all our
choral societies, after nearly a hundred and twenty years of existence.
From whatever point of view it may be regarded, the "Creation" is
wonderful. The work of an old man breaking new ground (although he had,
many years previously, composed some sacred music, generally unknown and
of no significance in his history), it is perhaps unequalled in musical
records.
"ELIJAH."
More than forty years were to elapse before another oratorio appeared
that could compare with the "Messiah" or "Creation" either in the
eminence of its composer, or power of affecting the imagination of the
English people.
The magnificent sacred music of John Sebastian Bach was scarcely known
to any but a select few, and although of late years performances of some
of his finest works have been frequently given and justly appreciated,
it cannot be said that they are sufficiently known to have had any
effect on the musical instincts of the country.
There have been many Bach enthusiasts among English musicians, from
Samuel Wesley onwards, who have used their best endeavours to render his
music popular in England, and so far as his organ music is concerned,
with unquestionable success.
His oratorios, however, are so vast in design, difficult of performance,
and exacting in their demands on the mental capacity of the listener,
that it is doubtful whether they will ever become popular in the sense
that the "Messiah" is, and thus their influence must be necessarily
limited. The stupendous Mass in B minor and the S. Matthew and S. John
Passions are the works by which he is best known in England.
It was in 1846 that Mendelssohn, the greatest of Bach's disciples,
finished the composition of that oratorio which was destined not only to
set a seal on his great fame, but to arouse once again, to its highest
possibilities, the enthusiasm of the English people, by the production
of the "Elijah" at Birmingham on August 26 of that year. It was a
memorable day. Rumours of the wonderful Baal choruses had been spreading
from the places of rehearsal, and expectation ran high.
His previous oratorio, "S. Paul," had, when first heard, made a deep
impression, and, although in some mysterious way lacking in that vital
essence that is so necessary to reach the hearts of the people and stay
there, it proved that the composer was endowed, to an extraordinary
degree, with the gift of graphic description and dramatic effect, while
his melodic resources were unfailing.
The "Elijah" showed Mendelssohn at the very height of his powers. No
musician had ever received a more complete education, or been given
greater chances to mature it under exceptional conditions. Hence, with
whatsoever genius Nature had endowed him, education, the most skilful
and scientifically applied, had been brought to bear on it, so as to
enable him to display it under circumstances the most brilliant and
convincing.
The "Elijah," then, realized, nay more, it exceeded the highest
expectations. Teeming with melody which fascinated them, while never
exceeding their powers of instant comprehension, full of moving
incidents that their reading of the Bible had made familiar, and
containing moments of intense dramatic force, this noble work seemed to
the English people for whom it was written, a veritable inspiration and
a gift from the Highest Sources, to be received with humility and
gratitude.
At any rate, the outburst of emotion that it evoked was extraordinary,
and, probably, unprecedented. Mendelssohn himself was so moved that he
hastened from the city so soon as it was possible for him to do so, in
order to escape from the atmosphere of excitement. The success proved a
lasting one, and the "Elijah" joined the "Messiah" and "Creation" to
form a triumvirate that time has not yet succeeded in dethroning.
Judged by modern standards of criticism, it would be idle to deny that
the "Elijah" is not so great a work as it was believed to be when first
produced, but notwithstanding this, its great outstanding merit of
fascinating the English public and attracting them towards music that,
if not monumental like that of Bach, was, at least, artistic and
undeniably sincere, should be recognized with gratitude by all who are
interested in the subject of "music in England."
"THE LAST JUDGMENT."
When considering the composers of oratorio who influenced musical
thought in England in the nineteenth century, a conspicuous place must
be assigned to Louis Spohr.
He only commenced writing sacred works when close upon thirty years of
age, although by that time he had proved to be a prolific composer of
instrumental and operatic music. That the natural bent of his genius was
not in this direction is shewn by the fact that his earliest essays were
marred by his lack of contrapuntal skill--absolutely the first
essential. Although he tried to remedy the defect, it is noteworthy that
he never acquired a mastery of this necessary aid to Church music, and
its failure to make any lasting impression is largely due to this fact.
The first oratorio to become famous was "The Last Judgment," which was
not composed until he was over forty years of age.
There is no doubt whatever, strange as it may appear now, that his
oratorios, at one time, were immensely popular in this country. This is
shewn by the fact that in 1847 the Sacred Harmonic Society (of London)
gave a special series of concerts, with the sole idea of presenting the
whole of Spohr's sacred compositions! These included three oratorios,
"The Fall of Babylon," "Calvary," and "The Last Judgment."
One reads that they were received with the greatest enthusiasm, and
Spohr certainly looked upon their success in this country, as one of
the most notable features in his career. Indeed, he wrote, on one
occasion, that the reception of "The Fall of Babylon" when produced at
the Norwich Festival, was the greatest triumph of his life.
It is difficult, at the present day, to account for the unquestionable
vogue his sacred music enjoyed. Compared with the works we have had
under consideration, they are of no great value. One can only imagine
that any change from the limited repertory our forefathers possessed,
came as a welcome relief from the continued repetition of the few
standard oratorios they had at their disposition. Melody, his music
certainly contained, but of a kind difficult to associate with the great
thoughts they were supposed to typify; while the harmony, with which it
is generally accompanied, is of a cloying sweetness positively
antagonistic to any deep religious sense. However, not only did it
attract average people, but even the great Samuel Sebastian Wesley for a
short space came under its spell.
It is true that there are occasional moments when sympathetic and even
moving music occurs, but it cannot be said they contained anything of
lasting worth.
The oratorios have long passed into desuetude. Perhaps the best of them
is "The Last Judgment," which contains certain numbers that are still
sung, and which shew Spohr in his happiest vein.
"THE REDEMPTION" AND "THE GOLDEN LEGEND."
Again, many years were to pass before the advent of another oratorio
destined to arouse more than temporary interest or achieve any lasting
fame. Many sacred works of the greatest importance and significance were
produced, it is true, from time to time, but, so far as the common
people are concerned, without the least visible effect.
Perhaps the most splendid of them was Dvorak's "Stabat Mater."
This work aroused the enthusiasm of musician and critic alike. Intense
in feeling, original in thought and worthy of the noble Latin hymn it
illuminated, it created, among those who were in the happy position of
being able to fathom its splendid depths, an impression that time cannot
efface.
It is rarely given in England, for the public who will hasten to hear
the "Messiah" are not, as yet, sufficiently advanced in musical
education to understand a work of such cultured severity, and on so high
a plane of musical expression.
To the people, as a body, music must be written on lines more obvious,
and although of late there is every sign that sacred music of a more
complex character is becoming increasingly appreciated and understood,
that time had not arrived when the "Stabat Mater" was produced in 1884.
The oratorio which, subsequent to the "Elijah," was destined to appeal
most strongly to the people and make the most lasting effect, was
Gounod's "Redemption." It was first given at the Birmingham festival in
1882, and the impression it produced was unmistakable. It was quite
original in style, being built on lines differing essentially from any
of its predecessors. Its atmosphere of mysticism, its religious
transport, and strongly suggestive of Latin Catholicism, "The
Redemption" seemed the last work to appeal to the English people. Yet,
so eclectic are their tastes and broad-minded their sympathies, that,
recognizing its deep sincerity and appreciating its many beautiful
melodies, they accepted it heartily, and for many years it was one of
the most frequently performed oratorios.
It must be admitted, however, that it was not received in the same
spirit by many critics, for it aroused a great deal of controversy and
even bitterness. While many were willing to do justice to the obvious
sincerity underlying the whole score and recognize the sterling value of
much of the music, others refused with angry insistence to admit any
merit in it whatever, calling it tawdry, vapid and unworthy of serious
consideration. Some went still farther, and said that its influence was
distinctly baneful.
Well, when the high priests of a cult differ, who is to decide?
Human thought is not cast in one mould. Brahms, in his German "Requiem,"
gave expression in the noblest manner, to the feelings and aspirations
of German Protestantism.
Gounod, on the other hand, although less fully equipped from the point
of view of musical science, voiced to the best of his powers, the devout
enthusiasm of Catholic Christianity.
So far as England is concerned, there is no doubt that, of the two
works, "The Redemption" was by far the more popular.
"The Golden Legend," although not strictly speaking, an oratorio, is
written on lines so similar that it can be considered here with perfect
propriety. The subject is a religious one, and is treated in that spirit
of reverence that is a distinguishing feature of oratorio, and which
differentiates it from every other class of work.
It was produced at the Leeds Festival of 1886, and achieved an
extraordinary success, the scenes which took place on the occasion being
quite reminiscent of those at Birmingham forty years before, when the
"Elijah" was first given. The work shews the composer, Arthur Sullivan,
at his best. The story enabled him to give play to his strong dramatic
sympathies, and he availed himself of the opportunity with splendid
results.
The opening scene is not only powerful but picturesque as well, while
the scene in which Satan is represented ridiculing the sacred hymn of
the monks is really masterly.
The work, however, is too well-known to call for any lengthened
description. Suffice it to say that it is more consistent than the
majority of his larger compositions can be said to be, since it keeps on
a high level plane throughout. In this respect his earlier dramatic
cantata, "The Martyr of Antioch," while possessing some splendid
numbers--among the finest he ever wrote--is strangely lacking.
He wrote only two avowed oratorios, "The Prodigal Son" and "The Light of
the World," but it cannot be said that they had anything more than a
temporary success, and they certainly cannot compare with either "The
Golden Legend" or "The Martyr of Antioch" in originality or effect. They
contain music, no doubt, that many would like to have composed, but they
are altogether lacking in that power which compels, and which these
works undeniably possess.
The production of "The Golden Legend" not only enhanced Sullivan's
already great prestige, but marked him, without question, as the
foremost British composer of the day. For years its popularity seemed to
be quite inexhaustible, and if to-day there are found British composers
working on a higher plane, and this cannot be questioned, there is,
equally, no doubt that it not only marked an important stage in his own
career, but in the reputation of England as a musical nation.
As an instance of the interest it aroused in the country, it may be
mentioned that Sir Charles Hall['e], at whose Manchester concerts the
appearance of works by British composers was, to say the least,
infrequent, found it necessary, in order to meet the demands of his
subscribers, to issue an announcement of its early production. He,
further, invited Sir Arthur Sullivan to conduct it, and so great was
the demand for seats that a second performance was found necessary to
meet the call.
For many years oratorio has been the favourite medium of expression by
British composers. To George Frederick Handel we must look for the
origin of this evident fact. From the time of William Boyce, his
contemporary, through the line of Samuel Wesley, Dr. Crotch and other
distinguished British musicians, down to the mid-nineteenth century, we
trace the progress, and over it all, is the fatal influence of
imitation. Indeed, this feature became an obsession over their minds, to
such a degree, that until quite recent years, students were taught in
all the English schools of music to regard the technique of composition
rather as the end in view, than as the medium by which they could
express any original thought that might be in them. It is certain that
even thirty years ago this was a definite and soul-destroying fact. Such
prizes as were at the disposition of the schools of music, were
invariably awarded to the student who displayed the greatest facility in
illustrating the rules of the pundit, rather than to the one who evinced
any trace of original thinking.
Such a system of training could have but one effect, that of stultifying
the efforts of the best talent the country could produce. It was left to
the man of genius, who, conscious of his power, could kick over the
traces of convention, and lead his followers on a path that opened up an
avenue of original achievement, to put an end to this evil once and for
ever.
Happily for England such a man was, before long, destined to appear.
The nineteenth century had witnessed a monotonous succession of
oratorios by English composers, written on such lines as this system
would naturally indicate.
They were characterised by earnestness and scholastic efficiency, but of
the essence of vitality they were absolutely bereft.
"THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS."
For some years previous to 1900, it had become evident that a star of
great magnitude was rising in the firmament of English music.
Succeeding years had witnessed productions from the pen of Sir Edward
Elgar that commanded, perhaps, more admiration than any other feeling.
They were virile in their mode of expression, original and daring in
method. They produced rather the sensation of expectancy than the sense
of complete fulfilment.
The day, however, was fast nearing when his genius was to burst forth in
all its splendour, and, with one great and epoch-making work, restore
England to its ancient place in the world of music.
If Sir Edward Elgar had no other title to fame, the fact that he brought
Cardinal Newman's inspired poem into universal knowledge would have been
sufficient to make his name memorable. It is an extraordinary fact that
until the production of this oratorio, the poem, magnificent as it was
known to be to the few, was scarcely familiar to one educated
Englishman in ten. The explanation is not difficult to find.
The tremendous sensation that John Henry Newman evoked by severing
himself from the English Church, is a matter of history, and the bitter
feelings it engendered were little likely to be assuaged by the
publication of a work of such exalted genius, in which Catholic
doctrines are portrayed in majestic and fascinating splendour.
As a matter of fact, Cardinal Newman's writings were practically ignored
by the reading public until his famous "Apologia" brought them into
universal demand.
To deal with such a theme as "The Dream of Gerontius" on equal terms
with the author, required on the part of the composer, immense resources
of skill, and an imagination capable of responding to calls of the most
exacting nature.
To say that Sir Edward Elgar succeeded in his great endeavour is to say
less than the truth. He did more. By intense devotional music he aided
the author in the inspired effort to lift the veil, and reveal, if ever
so obscurely, those glories of which holy men have dreamed unceasingly
since the dread day of the Crucifixion.
It is permissable to doubt if in the whole realm of sacred music,
anything more approaching sublimity has been penned by the musician,
than the setting of the noble hymn, "Praise to the Holiest in the
Heights."
The whole work dwells in an atmosphere of ecstatic emotion, and words
seem strangely inadequate to convey a true impression of its nobility.
The world at large has recognized its supreme merit, and nowhere has
this been more eloquently acknowledged than by the great German
composer, Herr Richard Strauss, on the occasion of its performance at
the Rhine Festival in 1902.
It was hardly to be expected that a work so complex in character and so
different from anything hitherto presented in England, should be at once
understood and its great qualities immediately grasped.
Hence, on the occasion of the first performance at Birmingham, it
scarcely realized the success that those who knew its unique value had
expected. Little time, however, was to elapse before English music
lovers came to a just appreciation, and its popularity to-day is not
only a sign of enduring qualities, but of the immense advance in musical
perception that has characterised recent years in the country. There had
been signs, many and ominous, of a waning interest in oratorio. The
number of works that had any real hold of, or power of attraction for
the people in general, were few. The failure of so many new ones to
realize the expectations that had been aroused in the public mind before
their production, was making an effect that was, in every sense,
deplorable; but, happily, "The Dream of Gerontius" came in time to stem
the current of popular feeling, and to add an additional lustre to the
history of oratorio in England.