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 Hallé, 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.
CHAPTER VIII
OPERA IN ENGLAND
Italy, the birth-place of opera – Purcell and opera – English people and opera – Charles II. and his court – Italian opera – Its popularity – Managers and great singers – Royal Opera – Dr. Richter – Opera in English – Dr. Richter and English singers – Mr. Thomas Beecham and opera in English – Alfred Bunn and his efforts – "Bohemian Girl" – Louisa Pyne and William Harrison – The Pyne family – G. A. Macfarren – Carl Rosa Company – His distinguished artists – Madame Valleria and Mr. Ludwig – British composers and opera – Goring Thomas' "Esmeralda" – Lack of national feeling – Mr. D'Oyly Carte – Royal English opera – "Ivanhoe" – Eugène Oudin – Remarkable cast of singers – Difficulties attached to opera in English – State aid – Is it to be expected? – Musical comedy – Its popularity – A successful manager – Basis of the plea for State aid – A suggestion.
Opera, as we know it to-day, is a creation subsequent to the Reformation. Like oratorio, the country of its birth was Italy, and similarly, its origin was connected with the miracle plays of the ancient Church. On its introduction to England, Purcell, with his restless genius, was quick to perceive the possibilities it opened out to the imaginative musician, and it was not long before he was testing his powers in the new field of labour. Unhappily, however, his life was too short to permit him to make any effective appeal on its behalf to the English people, and it soon became looked upon by them, simply, as a diversion of a foreign court or the amusement of an aristocracy, with either of whom they were in little sympathy. So far as the masses of people are concerned, nothing has happened since those days, to materially alter the situation.
Opera remains a source of entertainment to the wealthy, or a luxury to the middle-classes. In early Puritan times it was regarded with particular horror, but as time passed, it became rather to be looked upon with indifference, since it so evidently made little impression on the common people. It is not difficult to suggest a cause for the hostility with which it was early regarded. Opera came, first, prominently into notice in the reign of Charles II., and as he was a great patron of all foreign inventions, he naturally bestowed his patronage, and probably ostentatiously, on this one. Thus it would be associated in the minds of the people with the hideous immorality of that wretched monarch and his court.
At any rate, to them it was a foreign institution, and, to all intents and purposes, it has so remained to this day. There is little to wonder at in this. If the reign of Charles II. was sufficient to determine the people to get rid of the Stuart dynasty at any price, there is nothing surprising in the comparatively unimportant fact, that they became prejudiced against any new form of foreign amusement to which he and his court accorded princely support. He was alien in blood, in tastes and sympathies, and was utterly cynical in his ways of showing it.
The performances were mainly given in Italian, a language understood by but few, even of the wealthy classes, but, as ever, so soon as it became the fashion and the "right thing" to support it, success was assured. It is not an excess of language to say the conditions that obtain to-day are not far removed from those of the times described. Italian opera has been for centuries the most fashionable and exclusive source of amusement in the metropolis, and far beyond the reach of the masses.
By the time Handel arrived in London, it had secured a position that promised a permanent hold on fashionable society. It was not long before Handel challenged Italian supremacy, by taking a theatre, and establishing a rival enterprise; "Italian" opera of his own composition being the great source of attraction. He was, for some years entirely successful, but eventually he abandoned the field to his Italian competitors.
The nineteenth century saw Italian opera in England at the height of its glory. In the early part, the world was thrilled by such singers as Sontag and Malibran, but perhaps the most brilliant period of its ascendancy began with the managements of Smith, Gye and Mapleson. The wealth of great singers these three had at their command, is a matter for pure amazement. To think of being able to "cast" Mozart's "Don Giovanni" with the soprano parts alone, filled by Therese Tietjens, Adelina Patti and Christine Nilsson!
It is out of the question to attempt to give anything approaching a list of the singers they had at their call. A few of the names will be sufficient to give a fairly adequate idea; Guiligni, Mario, Sims Reeves, Niccolini, Santley and Lablache being among them.
The "Royal Italian Opera" as it was, for long called, culminated in splendour and success under the management of the late Sir Augustus Harris. His achievements, being so recent, will be well within public recollection, but it is worthy to recall the triumphs of those supreme artists, Madame Melba and the brothers De Reszke, made during his memorable reign at Covent Garden.
Operas by Italian composers had long ceased to be the sole or even principal, attraction presented; the French school having become more prominent, and above all, the mighty influence exercised by Wagner, making the frequent presentations of his works a matter of inevitability.
The dropping of the word "Italian," in the title of the institution, was simply a matter of expedience, "Royal Opera" being more in accord with the work achieved, and the spirit of the times. Since the accession to power of the Directorate which now rules the fortunes of the historic house, perhaps the most memorable of its many claims to gratitude has been the manner in which Wagner's immortal work, "Der Ring des Nibelungen," has been given, under the direction of Dr. Richter. Every possible accessory of splendour, efficient mounting, the finest cast of Wagnerian singers obtainable, an orchestra that could not be excelled, has been placed at the disposition of the great conductor.
The result of such enterprise has not only been to increase its already great prestige, but to bring within the cultured circles of the true lovers of Wagner, many thousands who had, otherwise, remained outside. Taking any single season as a characteristic one, it may be truly said that it offers a fair and varied representation of the tastes and predilections of its wealthy and cosmopolitan patrons.
That the "Royal Opera" is, in any sense, national in character, is not claimed for it, but what it does set out to do, is done in a manner that leaves criticism in abeyance.
A feature in the performances of late years, that has been a matter of gratification, is the frequent appearance of English-speaking singers and their pronounced success; that of Madame Kirkby-Lunn being, perhaps, the most notable.
When we come to the consideration of opera in English, or "English Opera," there is, unfortunately, a very different tale to tell. Before commencing to narrate, as briefly as possible, the salient features of its history, I should like to refer to two events which demand recognition, but which, however interesting, as they undoubtedly were, were ephemeral, if not in effect, at least in existence as living forces.
When Hans Richter undertook to conduct a series of performances of Wagner's greatest works with English singers as exponents,28 he not only gave effect to the belief that was in him, of their capabilities, but he gave one more proof, and it was a supreme one, of his love for, and gratitude to the country that had so deeply appreciated him.
It was, looking at it from any point of view, splendid, but when viewed in the light of the expenditure of nervous energy it must have entailed, it was simply heroic. At an age when he was entitled to rest, more even, than most great workers, he entered upon the task with no view to gain for himself or his prestige – that was impossible – but, apparently, with an idea of paying what he may have thought a debt, to the country with which he had been so long associated. At any rate, whatever the motive, it was a noble act, and his name will live long in the memory of those who are interested in English music, and can appreciate a noble and unselfish career.
The courageous attempt of Mr. Thomas Beecham to give prolonged seasons of opera in English, and his astonishingly fine performances of the extremely intricate works of Richard Strauss, deserve grateful recognition, and it is a matter of regret that the public support he received was not sufficient to allow of the continuance of his efforts.
His representations were on a scale of efficiency that London had not seen for a great many years, and this fact, although satisfactory in itself, only gives food to the thought that there are not, as yet, unfortunately, sufficient lovers of opera among the masses, to make such seasons possible, without considerable financial loss to those who venture on them.
From earliest times there have ever been enthusiasts who ardently desired to found a school of English opera, or, at least, give the English people a chance to acquire an intelligent appreciation of that form of art, through the medium of their own language and their own people.
Perhaps the first man to grapple with the subject, and attain, to an appreciable extent, any abiding success, was Alfred Bunn, who was born towards the close of the eighteenth century, and became lessee of Drury Lane theatre in 1834.
That there was any enthusiasm shown, when he ventured on a season of English opera, there is little evidence to prove. However, he was an enthusiast and, if not a poet judged by the standard of Percy Bysshe Shelley, he had sufficient literary ability to write the libretto for Balfe's "Bohemian Girl," and thus furnish that composer with the means of producing a work, which, whatever may be thought of it to-day by the cultivated amateur, obtained a hold on the English people, and still retains it, such as no similar one has ever succeeded in effecting.
One would think that he would have been justified in expecting sympathetic encouragement in his endeavour on behalf of native art.
There is no trace of it.
On the contrary, he seems to have been gifted with a veritable genius for evoking, somehow or other, perfect cyclones of abuse and opposition. In fact, his whole managerial career appears to have been spent in an atmosphere of turmoil. He was sarcastically dubbed "the poet Bunn," and, although a man of resource, as twenty-five years of theatrical management is, alone, sufficient to prove, his end was sad, and not without significance as regards English opera. He eventually became a bankrupt, and died in exile in 1860.
There is this, however, to his credit, and the honour of his memory, that he was instrumental in bringing into existence the two most popular operas ever written by British composers, Balfe's "Bohemian Girl" and Wallace's "Maritana."
The next most important event in its history, was the formation of a company under the joint management of Miss Louisa Pyne and Mr. William Harrison, in 1856. Here again, the object was not only to present opera in English, but to invite the co-operation of British composers to further the cause – that is to say, the founding of an original school of English opera. Everything seemed to augur well for the enterprise. Both were distinguished singers, with large operatic experience. Miss Pyne had achieved great success, not only in Europe, but in America, where she had aroused the greatest enthusiasm, and her name was, naturally, looked upon as the particular source of attraction to the public, and, indeed, the mainstay of the undertaking.
She came of a rare family of English musicians. Her father George, and her uncle, James Kendrick Pyne, were both well-known singers. The son of the latter, Mr. Kendrick Pyne, a splendid musician himself, and lifelong friend of Samuel Sebastian Wesley, for many years organist of Bath Abbey, was the father of two musicians; the elder, Dr. Kendrick Pyne, the distinguished organist of Manchester Cathedral, and Minton Pyne who, unhappily, died at an early age in Philadelphia, U.S.A., before he had been given time to develop the musical genius he undoubtedly possessed.
The Pyne-Harrison company, as it was called, was started most successfully, and soon established a reputation that bade fair to presage permanent results.
Among the most successful of the many operas produced, were Balfe's "Rose of Castille"; Vincent Wallace's "Lurline" and Benedict's "Lily of Killarney."
Such facts as these, unquestionably, shed a lustre over the attempt, so well conceived and so bravely carried out, but unfortunately, the financial position became increasingly difficult as the enterprise progressed, until, finally, the partnership was dissolved, and Miss Pyne retired into private life, in 1862.
After her retirement from the stage, she devoted herself to teaching, and, as Madame Bodda-Pyne, by which name she became known through her marriage, achieved great distinction in her new field of labour.
At the time of her death, in 1904, she was in receipt of a Civil List pension, as a recognition of her distinguished services to the art of music.
Of the British composers who were attracted to the stage in the mid-nineteenth century, one of the most prolific was (Sir) George Alexander Macfarren. He produced, under different managements, upwards of a dozen operas, besides writing many more that never saw the light. The most popular of them was "Robin Hood," which appeared in 1860. It was one of the best examples of ballad-opera ever written. At this period, our national composers would seem to have directed all their thought and energies to this particular form. That their judgment was wrong in this respect, is shown by the absolute oblivion into which, with two or three exceptions, their productions have fallen. The period is, in any case, not one which Englishmen may wish to dwell on.
Another era was initiated, happily, not many years after, by the works of Sir Alexander Mackenzie and Sir Villiers Stanford.
Since the Pyne-Harrison epoch, there have been many attempts, with varying success, to continue the cult of English opera. It would be impossible in a book of the dimensions such as this, to describe them all. One need only say that the sincerity attached to many of them, has deserved a better fate than that experienced. I must content myself with giving an indication of the most important efforts subsequently made, – always with the same object in view.
At the present time, the Carl Rosa company, the Moody-Manners company, so intimately associated with the triumphs of Madame Moody, and the "J. W. Turner" company, are all carrying on the good work, so it would be premature to write fully as to their undertakings.
It is sufficient to say that each one carries on the work of education after its own methods, and doubtless with equal effect.
I will now continue the consideration of fundamentally vital influences that have affected the position as it remains to-day.
The man who, in modern times, most nearly reached the point of founding an English school of opera was, without question, the late Carl Rosa.
This distinguished musician was a German by birth, who, after a prolonged visit to America, where he married the great singer Madame Parepa, came to London in 1874.
He immediately commenced preparations for the formation of a company of English singers, with a view to give performances of opera in the English language.
The lamentable death of his wife soon after their settling in England, on whose aid he had so greatly counted, and whose enthusiasm for the project was very pronounced, naturally delayed its execution.
However, in the following year he opened at the Princess Theatre with Mr. (now Sir) Charles Santley and Miss Rose Hersee as his leading performers. The fact of the season lasting two months, was evidently sufficient to convince him that he had good reason to believe in the ultimate success of his idea, for he at once arranged for a session of longer duration in the following year.
His ambition was not confined, however, to simply give operatic performances in English: he had the greater one, should his venture prove successful, to invite British composers to write works for him, and thus make his enterprise a thing of permanent national importance. That he failed in his splendid effort was no fault of his own, or those surrounding him.
As time went on, he gathered together a band of devoted and enthusiastic artists, many of whose names spring vividly to the memory.
Alwina Valleria, Julia Gaylord, Georgina Burns, Josephine York, Joseph Maas, J. W. Turner, Barton McGuckin, Ben Davies, Leslie Crotty and William Ludwig, in addition to the two distinguished singers already mentioned, were among them, and supply more than sufficient evidence of the powerful combinations he had at his disposal for the interpretation of any work he might decide to produce.
Few, for example, who had the good fortune to hear Madame Valleria and Mr. Ludwig as "Senta" and "Philip Vanderdecken" in Wagner's "Flying Dutchman," could ever forget the experience. Carl Rosa, then, gave British composers their chance, under circumstances that could hardly be more favourable. And yet, of the many of such operas as he produced, there is not a single one that is now anything more than a memory.