The reflection is positively painful, of the amount of labour, skill and enthusiasm thrown away. The evidence of genius in many of them is apparent.
Still, they failed to weald around the characters the sympathy that attaches to those that have attained to world-wide affection. Why? with all the resources of their art at their hands?
It cannot be said, in view of recent experience, that indifference to native art was the cause. Try as one may, to evade a decision on the point, it seems inevitable to admit, that the feeling and sense of soil-origin that appears to accompany complete success, was lacking.
It is not necessary to deal with more than one of these works, to give the reader an illustration of the idea intended to be conveyed, and I will choose the one that was, indisputably, the most successful of them all.
"Esmeralda," by Arthur Goring Thomas, whose premature death was so deplored by a large circle of friends and still greater number of sincere admirers of his genius, was produced by Carl Rosa in 1883.
It achieved not only a "first night" success, which so often proves to be but a prelude to an "every other night" failure, but, by its charm, it so fascinated opera-goers, that for a few years it became a regular feature of the repertory of the company's performances, both in London and the provinces.
To what, then, must we look for its failure to retain so honourable a position?
I am afraid, and I say it with regret, to unconscious imitation. It was, in his case, not only natural, but, as it seems to me, inevitable. He had lived for long in France and had become so saturated with her school of music, that every bar he wrote proclaimed the fact; but while master of the exterior mode of style, his compositions failed to show the working of the French mind, that underlies the extraordinary expressions of that wonderful people's genius.
They were earnest in intention, skilful in invention, and quite delightful at the first hearing, but of national virility they were, unhappily, not possessed.
Carl Rosa deserves the grateful memory of the English people.
Of the many attempts to establish English opera in London on a permanent basis, the most extraordinary as well as the most disastrous, was that of the late Mr. D'Oyly Carte in 1891, and which was dignified by the title of "Royal English Opera."
The original intention of the founder, as generally understood, was not only to build a sumptuous home for it, but to encourage its cultivation and development and, by commissioning distinguished British composers to write works, make it, in fact, a nursery for native genius.
The idea was, doubtless, a splendid one, but, unfortunately, the attempt to carry it out was characterised by features that were more surprising than convincing. If the design had been to discard, obtrusively, all precedent, it was entirely fulfilled. Certainly, no lack of courage was in evidence, although prudence seemed to be wanting.
Every one engaged to carry out the great scheme was new to such work. Sir Arthur Sullivan, whose "Ivanhoe" was to inaugurate the attempt, was writing his first grand opera; the artistes chosen for its performance were all with one or two exceptions, without any previous experience of it; the musician selected as musical director had never previously conducted a grand opera, and the stage manager had never produced one.
But perhaps the most extraordinary thing of all, and the idea was most assuredly new, was to start such a scheme with only one opera, and no definite decision as regards a second.
If this were not tempting the Fates, it is difficult to know what would be. At any rate, the Fates did not leave the issue long in doubt.
The immense popularity Sir Arthur Sullivan enjoyed, not only on account of his delightful comic operas, but of his splendid work in other and more serious directions, stimulated public interest, and the production of "Ivanhoe" was awaited with feverish expectation.
Never, it can be truly said, did the Press greet a new venture with greater warmth and enthusiasm. Columns of anticipatory notices were devoted to it, many bearing additional weight by being signed by the writers, and even leading articles in the foremost journals of the country, lending encouragement to the enterprise, went to mark the serious mind in which it was regarded. At last, the eventful night arrived, and the opera was produced under conditions that could hardly have been rendered more favourable.
The reception of the work by the Press and the public was scarcely identical. By the former it was generous, although naturally, critical, the evident uneven merit it exhibited being insisted on; but, on the whole, it was decidedly encouraging, although not so enthusiastic as its admirers would have wished. Time, however, has justified the critics. By the people it was accepted whole-heartedly, as may be judged by the fact that its run extended to 168 consecutive performances. It is true that during the last two months, financial loss was experienced, but at the end of the first hundred nights, notwithstanding the expense of the production, which was exceptionally heavy, there was a balance to the good. It may be mentioned that this constitutes a record in the history of grand opera.
The public were quick to recognise the beauty of much of the music, and its dramatic power, while they were delighted, and perhaps surprised, by the fine acting that accompanied the superb singing of several of the principals.
The universal acclamation of the splendour of the production was a tribute, well deserved, to the genius of Mr. Hugh Moss.
Of the artists who achieved distinction in this memorable production, the name of the late Eugène Oudin, stands out pre-eminently. His rendering of the part of the Templar, being not only masterly, but instinct with genius.
Other noteworthy performances were those of Miss Margaret Macintyre, Miss Esther Palliser, Miss Lucille Hill, Mr. Ben Davies, Mr. Norman Salmond and Mr. Franklin Clive.
Alas! that it all should have been so piteously wasted. There never was a more complete failure to realise hopes that had been, perhaps unduly, raised, and which were responded to with greater generosity by both Press and public alike. When the "Royal English Opera" was actually inaugurated, not only was a second opera by an English composer in anything more than nebulous contemplation, but not even a single relief to the constant succession of performances of "Ivanhoe" was in course of preparation. This state of things continued until the end was reached and the opera house closed. It was re-opened some months later, for the production of the "Basoche," an opera by the distinguished French composer, André Messager. This work, delightful as it is, failed to attract people in sufficient numbers to make the continuance of the scheme possible, and it came to an end, finally, after an existence of one year's duration. The failure was inglorious and inevitable. The break-up of the company, many of whose members had shown evidence of such high capacity, was a matter of deep regret; a regret the more poignant, since many connected with the enterprise were destined to suffer severely by its early collapse.
I think it will be generally admitted that the idea of establishing a school of English opera, with any chance of permanence pertaining to it, seems hopeless of accomplishment without State aid; and of this, viewing the trend of recent legislation, there would appear to be little prospect.
To have the most remote chance of gaining it, it would be incumbent on those prepared to make the proposal, to convince legislators that there was any national demand for it. Of any evidence of this, I am afraid they would find themselves absolutely lacking. The tendency, at the present day, is in the direction of raising the status of the labourer, socially and in the matter of education, rather than in the cause of art, which, after all, mainly appeals to people who are in the position, more or less, to pay for the thing they feel any serious need of. Such I think, would be the nature of the reply from any government official to those courageous enough to urge so forlorn, yet so good a cause.
He would, of course, be able to state a much stronger case if he thought it desirable.
Look at the frequent productions in London of "musical comedies" or "comic operas," or whatever designation it is wished they should be known by.
They are usually on a scale both elaborate and costly, and sometimes of magnificence, but they attract people by the thousand, where a serious opera will fail to draw them by the hundred.
Here, there is no need of State aid. Why? Simply because they provide what the public want and are willing to pay for. In form, taste and atmosphere, they are the very antithesis of grand opera.
Should any of them show the least signs of demanding intellectual effort for immediate appreciation, the modern manager cuts out the offending matter, without a moment's hesitation, or the least compunction. The immense popularity these entertainments command is, unquestionably, a tribute to the sound judgment of those who control them. It is an interesting fact that within quite recent years, there has been a marked tendency to bring continental successes to London, and the music they have contained has often called forth eulogistic notices from the critics, on the occasions of their first performances. A visit to the theatre a month or so later, would, I fear, generally reveal the fact that most of it, which had earned such high praise, had been eliminated.
So accurate a judge of public taste as Mr. George Edwardes, is able to run three or four of such, or similar, pieces, simultaneously, in the West End of London, each of which must fill the house night after night for months together, before they show a profit, on so sumptuous a scale are they presented.
Viewing such facts as these, it is difficult to see on what grounds, really logical, any demand for help from the State can be made on behalf of grand opera, which it would be difficult to prove that the general public, apart from the comparatively few enthusiasts, have any desire for, when it is so abundantly evident that they are ever eager to support any kind of recreation or relaxation that they do want.
The basis of the plea is, no doubt, musical education for the masses; and, while such a desire must attract the sympathy of every music lover, it must be granted that the ability to appreciate Wagner, Elgar or Strauss, is not a necessary part of a working man's attainments. It might be a very desirable thing, but we are very evidently at a more utilitarian stage, the present day being regarded in its true light. The illustration may appear, at first sight, to be somewhat strained, but I venture to think it is not, judging by notices one reads in the papers, in which Mendelssohn's violin concerto is written of as, "a hackneyed medium of expression"; Gounod's "Faust" as full of "sickly sentimentality," or Bizet's "Carmen" as a work of "essential vulgarity." There may be an element of truth in either of these criticisms, and judged in the light of the writers' probable high standard of æsthetic tastes, they are justified, but they only emphasise the fact of the veritable abyss that separates the modern cultured musical critic from the musical "man in the street," in whose interest the proposition is put forward.
Supposing the government at any time, contemplated taking action in this direction, the first thing they would probably do, would be to appoint a Commission to enquire into the question.
It is only natural to suppose that among the first of those whose opinions would be sought, the eminent writers on music in the principal journals of the country, would be conspicuous. In this case, it may be taken for granted that unanimity will not be the chief characteristic of their utterances. For instance, I cannot bring myself to think of Mr. Joseph Bennett, whose services to music in the columns of the "Daily Telegraph," for many years were so generally recognised, writing in such terms of Mendelssohn's violin concerto.
The question teems with difficulties.
One school of thought asks for opera given exclusively in the English language and performed, as far as possible by British artists. Another, for opera given in the language in which it was composed, and rendered by singers of the country it represents, or those competent to sing adequately in it. Again, some urge that there should be occasional performances of such simple works as Balfe's "Bohemian Girl," which the least musically educated would be able to appreciate; while others would ban such operas altogether, on the grounds that they are out of the spirit of the age, and that their representation would be sheer waste of time and opportunity.
As an illustration of the absolutely divergent views on the subject held by authoritative opinion, I will make a quotation from the "Morning Post."29
It was written with regard to the interesting experiment that Mr. Hammerstein is now making in his effort to popularise opera in England.
"A cry has been raised that the performances should be in English. It shows a lamentable ignorance (the italics are mine) of operatic conditions prevailing at the present time. It would be well-nigh impossible for Mr. Hammerstein to give his performances in English at an earlier date than six months from now. There is no lack of English singers, but those with sufficient experience of the stage at present available to carry on a regular series of performances, can be numbered on the fingers of one hand."
If this opinion be justified, and I hope it is not, it suggests a sad commentary on the result of efforts made on behalf of operatic education in England from the time of Carl Rosa to that of Dr. Richter.
It seems to me that if opera is to become a living force in English musical life, as oratorio has been, there are certain essentials that must obtain.
In the first place the operas should be given in the English language, and the performers should be, as far as possible, of British race; the choice of works sufficiently eclectic to appeal to all classes, and the prices of admission to the performances, arranged on such a scale as not to be prohibitive to the average individual of more or less limited means.
The headquarters of such a company would, naturally, be in London, but an "operatic season" should be arranged for in the principal cities of the provinces.
The financial question naturally obtrudes itself, but I believe that a solution of the question is not beyond the wit of man to devise.
One thing is very certain, and that is the impossibility, under such a scheme, to pay the principal artists inflated salaries such as are in constant evidence to-day. In this respect it could not compete either with such an institution as the Royal Opera, with its exclusive and wealthy patrons, or the theatres producing light operas that enjoy runs of two years' or more duration.
On the other hand, the performances would have to be, if ultimate success were the sole end in view, on a higher level of all-round excellence than any that have been seen in recent years.30 Under some such conditions as these, there would seem to be nothing irrational in asking for government aid.
To have any national significance, the people, generally, must be attracted, and that object would, naturally, be the main thought of the officials, should such a desirable state of things ever come to pass.
The building of a beautiful theatre in London, and the establishing therein of an excellent company of foreign artists, with the view of producing foreign works in various languages, is, however interesting to the musical enthusiast, and courageous of the impresario in making such a venture with reduced prices of admission to the performances, of no national significance whatever. The experiment will, doubtless, prove whether a sufficiently numerous body of opera lovers, native and foreign, can be found in the metropolis to permit of its success. That is all. Thanks, nevertheless, the most cordial and ungrudging, are due to Mr. Hammerstein for the boon he has offered to the dwellers in London.
The thoughts, however, of all Englishmen who are interested in the music of their country, must necessarily turn to native product.
So far as opera is concerned, it is clear that there is much spade work to be done.
There is, however, in reality, no evidence to show that, granted circumstances were favourable, the old-time love of it, or such forms of it as were in existence centuries ago, is incapable of resurgence.
All that seems wanting, is the hour and the man.
At present, it cannot be said that the outlook, from the national point of view, is very hopeful.
Unless the native composer can see some definite reward for his labour, it is scarcely to be expected that he should devote his genius and energies to the composition of a work that may, perhaps, take the greatest part of his time for a year or more.
And yet no return, in the least degree equivalent to the labour expended, could be looked for as things are now.
If a committee of influential personages could be formed, and a scheme for the furtherance of English opera be inaugurated, with a work from the pen of Sir Edward Elgar, there is every reason to believe that an interest would be aroused in the country sufficient to guarantee immediate success, and settle, once and for all, the question whether, given fair conditions, the English people were in the disposition to welcome, not only opera in England, but English opera in England. I think the response would be of a character that every one interested in English music would ardently wish for.
CHAPTER IX
DISTINGUISHED MUSICIANS IN ENGLAND DURING THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
WILLIAM STERNDALE BENNETT
Birth – Family connected with English Church music – Enters Royal Academy of Music – Importance of the step – His work there – Proceeds to Leipzig – Schumann's appreciation of his genius – The German impress – His return to England – Life-long association with Royal Academy of Music – Bennett as pianist – Institutes chamber concerts – His conservative views – Rivalry of foreign musicians – His most important compositions – Founds The Bach Society – His place in musical history.
William Sterndale Bennett was born at Sheffield in 1816. Like the majority of celebrated English musicians, he came of a family long associated with the music of the Church; several of his relatives, including his grandfather, having been members of cathedral choirs.
When he was only eight years of age he entered the choir of King's College Chapel, Cambridge, and there became acquainted with, and as later events proved, influenced by, the ancient school of English ecclesiastical music, which, notwithstanding his subsequent foreign education, never entirely lost its effect on his mind.
He was not, however, perhaps unfortunately, allowed to remain there long, for after two years he was sent to the Royal Academy of Music in London, which was then a young institution in which the pupils were not only taught music and given an elementary general education, but were, at that period of its history, boarded as well.
It is certainly open to question whether it was a wise step on the part of his relatives to take, seeing that it removed him from a centre where all the surroundings were English – English thought, influence, music and all that goes to mark national characteristics – to one which was, however admirable from many points of view, to say the least, cosmopolitan in character.
A genius so precocious as Bennett would be perfectly capable to assimilate, even at so early an age, the spirit of the ancient school, and this he certainly accomplished to some extent at Cambridge: the fact that it subsequently became subservient to another was, simply, the result of the force of circumstances.
In the end, it cannot be denied that the spirit of German music practically obliterated it, and, while acknowledging the independence of thought that Bennett's music often displays, and which one likes to think may be owing to his Cambridge days, it must be admitted that its similarity in style to that of, above all, Mendelssohn's, detracts from the value that it would otherwise possess.
He remained at the Academy for several years, during which he wrote, among other things of note, two or three pianoforte concertos, the most popular, although not the best, being the one in F. It is related that one of its movements, which attained great popularity, was composed one afternoon when the other students were absent on a holiday excursion. Their delight when, on their return they heard The Barcarole, as it was called, was so great that, as the late Dr. Steggall, for many years Organist of Lincoln's Inn Chapel told me, they carried him in triumph round the concert-room on their shoulders. In 1836 he went to Leipzig to continue his studies, and there came under the immediate influence of Schumann and Mendelssohn.
That his abilities met with sincere appreciation is shown by the eulogistic way in which the former wrote of him in a musical journal he edited.
That Bennett's stay in Leipzig was a successful and even delightful experience, there is no room to doubt; it is, though, open to question whether it did not, to some extent, denationalize him as a musician. Men of his temperament and genius, are peculiarly open to exterior impressions, and going at an age of mental expansion and enthusiasm, everything that happened seems only natural. Blind ourselves, as one willingly would, the fact must be admitted that the German impress remained indelibly stamped on him during his whole life-time. It must in justice be remembered that when he was removed from Cambridge, at the age of ten, all essentially English thought, so far as music is concerned, became as a thing of the past.
He returned to England to remain permanently, after a second visit to Leipzig, in 1842. He was appointed a Professor of Music at the Royal Academy of Music about this time, and was associated with that institution, where his memory is held in just veneration, until he died in 1875.
His work there, in conjunction with composition, became the main occupation of his life. His energies were not, however, wholly confined to it.
He was a pianist of the first order. Indeed, I was told, many years ago by a celebrated pianoforte teacher, that his technique, in exactitude, compared favourably even with that of Mendelssohn himself.
Soon after his final settling in London, he commenced a series of chamber concerts, and continued to present the classical masterpieces of this form of music for about twelve years. It was his enthusiasm alone that accounts for this fact, not public support, for that, he may be said never to have received, to any appreciable extent.
His style was, perhaps, too refined and his tastes too rigidly classical.
In this respect he was, if one may be permitted to say so, somewhat narrow in his outlook. For instance, he could not tolerate Chopin's music, and, as one of them told me, would not permit his pupils to play it in his presence.
He was of a retiring disposition, and the arts of public advertising were as objectionable to him, as they appear to be acceptable to many performers to-day. Again, the rivalry of eminent foreign musicians and the conspicuous patronage they received in high quarters, which naturally aroused public interest in them, militated against his success, and so, feeling that the conditions were unequal, he withdrew from the arena. He was especially great as a player of Bach's music, to which he was intensely attached, and it may be at once admitted that he was entirely lacking in that emotional temperament, which seems to appeal so strongly to the feminine atmosphere that so frequently pervades the public concert-room.
He was essentially a player who most appealed to musicians. His personality must have been a fascinating one, for he aroused even passionate attachment in many of his pupils, and it has often been a source of interest to hear grey-headed men talk of his memory in the language of a lover.
His pianoforte music contains much that is both beautiful and original in style, the lovely sketches, "Lake," "Millstream" and "Fountain," being the best known and most popular.
The more important chamber compositions include a sestet for piano and strings, a trio, and a sonata for violincello and piano. In 1855, he produced his cantata, "May Queen," at the Leeds Festival, with great success. It contains much delightful music, and, like other of his works, the comparative neglect into which it has fallen, seems perfectly extraordinary. Nine years were to elapse before his great work, "The Woman of Samaria," was to appear at the Birmingham Festival.
If it created no great sensation at the time, that may be accounted for by the fact that he studiously avoided sensational effects. It is, however, characterised by nobility of thought, religious feeling, and perfect grace of expression. Although seldom performed as a whole, the touching quartet, "God is a Spirit," is in general use, and remains a model of beauty and simplicity.
This work, together with his overtures – especially the "Naiades" and "Paradise and the Peri" – and his pianoforte concertos in F and D minor, are the chief compositions on which his fame will principally rest.
Sterndale Bennett founded the Bach Society in 1849. His extraordinary enthusiasm for the works of the great master was a leading characteristic of his life, and was doubtless stimulated by Mendelssohn during his Leipzig days.
He was appointed conductor of the Philharmonic Society in 1856, and Principal of the Royal Academy of Music in 1866.
He was elected to the chair of music of Cambridge University in 1856, and was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1871.
It is difficult as yet to assign Sterndale Bennett's definite place in the history of music.
His genius, if not of the order that sways multitudes, was undoubted, and he seems to form, together with Samuel Sebastian Wesley, the connecting link between Henry Purcell and Sir Edward Elgar.
SIMS REEVES
Birth – His precocity – His musicianly attributes – His protest against the "high pitch" – Sims Reeves in opera – Association with Macready – Reeves in Italy – Triumphs in that country – First appearance in oratorio – Doubts expressed as to his probable success – Scene of enthusiasm after "Sound an alarm" – The greatest interpreter of Handel – His idiosyncrasies – His high standard of art.
John Sims Reeves, one of the greatest tenor singers of whom the world has any record, was born in Kent on October 21st, 1822. His genius as a child was early evident. At an age when the average boy is found playing cricket on the village green, as should be, this one was playing the organ at a village church near by.
It is an interesting reflection that, whereas the majority of singers confine their energies to the development of the voice alone, Sims Reeves, from his earliest years, was bent on mastering the mysteries of music – such as harmony and counterpoint.
He succeeded to this extent, that he became a thoroughly sound musician.
In the consideration of his career, this point must ever be borne in mind.
Sims Reeves was not only a singer, but he was a fine and well-instructed musician, and any opinion that he might put forward was entitled to respect, not only from the singer's point of view, but that of a musician whose erudition was unquestionable.
So, when he raised his voice against the abominable pitch that had been introduced into the country through the instrumentality of a foreign, cosmopolitan musician, he had the weight behind him, not only of a distinguished singer, but of a musician perfectly able to maintain the position he had taken up, on grounds both reasonable and logical.
The fact that his opinion, however strongly put forward, had no influence, is not a matter for surprise. In that Victorian period, the English musician was practically an alien in his own country.
Although Sims Reeves was destined to become, perhaps, the greatest of oratorio singers, his earliest successes were made in opera. His "first appearance on any stage"31 was at Newcastle, when he appeared as the "Gipsy Boy" in "Guy Mannering."
He was soon found, as would naturally arise, in London; Macready, the theatrical monarch of those days, and whose scene of operations was Drury Lane Theatre, attracting him.
Here, on the first occasion that presented itself, he made a success, that those gifted with any sense of perception, could easily see, indicated a great career, and the rising of a great sun in the firmament of music.
It was in Purcell's "King Arthur," and the particular number that was to make him famous was "Come, if you dare." In this connection, it is amusing to note the clashing of the artistic and managerial temperament; both, probably, at their highest expression. Macready insisted that the singer should address his adjuration to the warriors whom he was facing, with his back to the audience. The singer held an entirely opposite view, and wished to sing to the public. The fight was keen, and Sims Reeves apparently gave way.
On the night, however, he adopted an attitude that was not foreseen; pacing the stage sideways, he sang with his voice thrown at the audience, and threatening looks at the "supers," who were amazed at such an exhibition of liberty, and made a success that was not only great, but assured the management of a satisfactory issue to the adventure.
Macready, nevertheless, fined him £5 for disobedience!
He was from this moment recognised as a great singer.
Strong, however, in the consciousness of unusual gifts, he determined to test his powers on the Continent, and went to Paris. After a short stay there, he proceeded to Italy, where, after a few lessons from Mazzucato, he made his appearance as "Edgardo" in "Lucia di Lammermoor."