CHAPTER VI

PROGRESS OF ORCHESTRAL MUSIC

Until the Philharmonic Society was founded by a few enthusiasts in 1813, there was no permanent orchestra devoted to the performances of abstract music in the country. Such bands as there were, consisted of small bodies of performers whose duties were principally confined to the playing of accompaniments, and were generally found in the theatre.

For especial occasions, such as the appearance of a celebrated foreign composer, singer or player, an orchestra would be temporarily formed, and many of the best musicians of the day would gladly volunteer their services to do honour to the distinguished visitor.

I forbear to speak of Handel in this connection, since the band he required bore little or no approximation to the modern orchestra, and was used, generally, in conjunction with the organ, in the production of his operas or oratorios. The orchestra, as we know it to-day, is of altogether a later date. However, the popularity and frequent performances of his oratorios doubtless proved a great factor in arousing interest in the instrumental playing connected with them, and thus laid the seed that was to bear such golden fruit in the near future.

Handel died in 1759, and there is little to record of special interest, until the arrival of Haydn in 1791. With this event may be associated the birth of the modern orchestra, in this country. That which Handel had employed seems amazing to modern ideas. To think of a band that contains as many oboes as violins is enough to take one's breath away, without insisting on other quaint details; yet up to Haydn's visit this was what musical people were accustomed to.

The revolution he brought about, the great increase in the number of stringed instruments, the limitation of the number of oboes to two, and the many other changes of a like nature, may seem at first rather startling; a little consideration, however, may perhaps suggest a quite simple explanation. In those days it was customary for the great nobles of central Europe to keep a resident band in their palaces, and it is only reasonable to think that instruments of less piercing tone than that of the oboe, would be preferred for salon performances. Haydn had been in the service of Prince Esterhazy for thirty years, had written most of his music for performance in the palace, and thus when he came to London at the instigation of Saloman, a Jewish concert agent, he naturally introduced this new type of orchestra which, with the occasional addition of novel instruments, has remained to the present day.

Haydn's visit constituted an epoch in the history of music in England, for it served to stimulate and give impetus to the interest in abstract orchestral music, which was hitherto either absolutely wanting or quite latent. This interest was, happily, either created or aroused, and soon culminated in the founding of the Philharmonic Society.

To this Society England owes a debt she can never repay, for it is only through the unselfish devotion of its members, that the regular presentation of classical orchestral music was, for very many years rendered possible. In the first place the reasonable supposition must be borne in mind that only a limited number of people would be found sufficiently interested in the subject to give it financial support, and thus the inevitable question of ways and means would be ever present and, indeed, even to this day it still confronts the directors who are, and have been from the first, entirely unpaid. In fact, if the truth were told it would reveal many sacrifices, sometimes no mean ones either, made by musicians in order to keep the lamp of orchestral music burning in this country. A high ideal was aimed at, and nothing meretricious or unworthy was suffered to detract from the dignity of the performances.

At the beginning it must be admitted, the directors found it necessary to "temper the wind to the shorn lamb" by offering to their patrons other attractions beside the purely orchestral, so they engaged instrumentalists to play chamber music, while one or two singers also helped to vary the programmes. It was not long, however, before chamber music was discarded. From that day to this, the concerts have never changed in character. Under all circumstances, whether of success or depression, nothing but the cult of the great classics was regarded as the essential feature of the aims of the Society. Its history is, assuredly, a fascinating one, not only on account of the intimate association with the greatest composers of the nineteenth century and the wonderful galaxy of genius which has made offerings at its shrine, but of the record of courage and determination which illumines it.

In order to appreciate at its true significance the present popularity of orchestral music, it must be remembered that only a comparatively short time ago, there were but few performances given, and that even these did not attract sufficient people to pay the expenses, unless under special and occasional circumstances.

It was then, under such disheartening conditions, that the Philharmonic continued to live and carry on its work in the highest interests of art, and although its light may have been at times somewhat obscured by contemporary brilliancy, its story is one of which not only the Society, but the nation at large may be justifiably proud.

As an interesting commentary on the change that has come over musical taste in England, it may be mentioned that Mendelssohn conducted one season and Wagner another: the former was the most successful in the history of the Society, and the latter the most disastrous.

Cherubini, Spohr, Weber, Mendelssohn and Gounod, amongst many others, wrote works especially for it, and, above all, Beethoven's colossal and immortal Ninth Symphony is denoted by an asterisk in Grove's dictionary, as having been similarly composed.

In recent years one of the greatest events not only in its own history, but in the history of British music, was the first performance at the Queen's Hall in London, of Sir Edward Elgar's first Violin Concerto on the 10th of November, in the year 1910.

Played by Herr Kreisler and conducted by the composer, it achieved an instantaneous success with which nothing can compare since the first performance of the similar work of Mendelssohn's in 1844.

Its appearance was, indeed, epoch-making. It is gratifying to think that it aroused, among the general public, an interest in the Society and its history that had long been wanting, and with the arrival of its centenary year, 1912, together with the many new works promised, it may be confidently hoped that new life and vigour will be instilled into this admirable institution.

For Mendelssohn, the Society cherishes a special regard, and no wonder, since his interest in it and affection for it were so constantly in evidence, and were of such practical value in raising its artistic and financial status. In each visit that he payed to this country, in 1829, 1842, 1844, and the last in 1847, he either conducted or played for the Society and, indeed, retained to the end of his life the keenest and most unselfish wishes for its welfare.

Of the distinguished British musicians whose names are indelibly associated with the history of the Society must be mentioned, among others, Sir Sterndale Bennett (conductor), Sir Arthur Sullivan (conductor), Sir Hubert Parry, Sir Alexander Mackenzie (conductor), Sir Charles Stanford, and Sir Frederick Cowen (conductor).

During the past two decades or longer, the Society has been fortunate enough to have as its leading officials Mr. Francesco Berger,[25] a distinguished musician whose whole life has been devoted to high ideals, and Dr. W. H. Cummings, without whose valuable assistance it is doubtful whether the Society could have successfully resisted certain years of trial and stress.

It is unnecessary to further insist on the great services rendered to the country by the Philharmonic Society.

If we wish to find the cause or causes which brought about the change amongst the masses, from absolute indifference to orchestral music to the present enthusiasm for it, I think we may begin by noting the gradual growth of an appreciation of the music of Wagner, especially among those whose means had enabled them to attend presentations of his works in Germany. It was, I think, to a number of these fortunate individuals, aided by the enthusiastic Schultz-Curtius, that we owe the appearance of Wagner and the memorable Wagner Festival at the Royal Albert Hall, which he, in conjunction with Herr Richter, conducted in the year 1877. The enthusiasm aroused by the marvellous music and the revelation of the wonderful powers of Richter as a conductor, soon led to the establishment of the Richter Concerts, and we may, I believe, regard this as an epoch, as the birth of the new spirit that was so speedily to alter the whole aspect of things musical in this country.

Not only the enthralling fascination of the music, but the striking personality of the conductor, who seemed to inspire the orchestra with his own genius, cast such a spell over the audiences and aroused such frantic enthusiasm, that no one who attended the early concerts can ever forget the sensations they inspired.

The success achieved in London naturally resulted in a call to the great provincial cities, and thus Richter had the gratification not only of doing great service to his idolised master, but also to England, that had so quickly learnt to appreciate him.

If anyone could doubt the extraordinary fascination that Wagner's music wields over the masses, a single visit to a Promenade Concert on a Wagner night should easily dispel it.

For over forty years the Philharmonic Society stood practically alone in any serious efforts on behalf of orchestral music. Eventually, however, another champion entered the lists, and valiantly did he bear himself. This was no other than the late Herr August (afterwards Sir August) Manns, who in 1855 was appointed director of the music at the Crystal Palace.

To appreciate the difficulties he had to encounter, one must know that when he appeared on the scene, he found a wretched brass band installed there; no concert room, no proper platform for the performers, and the music, such as it was, had to be played to the accompaniment of popping corks, shrieking engines, and all the multitudinous noises one can imagine in such a vast place of entertainment. However, he was no ordinary man.[26] He was energetic, determined, and courageous, and whilst being generally genial and even persuasive in manner, he was also undoubtedly of a somewhat combative nature. This was shown some years later when he took exception to a criticism of Mr. Bernard Shaw, and drew from him a characteristic letter in which musical critics are described as divided into "two sorts, musicians who are no writers, and writers who are no musicians," and classes himself among the latter.

The first thing that Manns set himself to do was to replace the brass band by an ordinary orchestra. In this he was ultimately successful, although only after a severe struggle with the Palace authorities, who, even including the late Sir George Grove, inclined to the opinion that a string orchestra was unsuitable to the building. Events justified his judgment, and he ultimately succeeded in evolving, out of an absolute chaos, the famous band and the celebrated Saturday Concerts.

That he did an enormous amount of good during his many years of strenuous work is unquestionable, but it must be acknowledged that the position of the Palace, being so far from London, made the concerts as an institution more or less parochial. The majority of those attending them was mainly composed of local subscribers and their families, while the London element largely consisted of professional musicians or others having business connection with music in various ways. The free list would be, therefore, largely in evidence, and not calculated to ensure the stability of such an expensive enterprise.

As communication between London and Sydenham became more easy, it began to be observed that the local residents were taking advantage of it in ever increasing numbers, to seek the more varied attractions of the Metropolis, with the inevitable result of decreasing subscriptions and gradually diminishing audiences.

When the collapse came at last it caused widespread regret, and there was a unanimous feeling that Manns had well earned the highest mark of recognition that could be bestowed on him. Let us hope that he looked upon his knighthood as an adequate reward for his services.

Splendid, however, as was the work done, it cannot be said that the concerts ever touched the imagination of the English people as those of Richter did, nor can it be claimed for them that, as regards the people generally, they were in any sense epoch-making. They were too remote from the masses, and the necessary expenditure of time and money made the attendance of the middle-class Londoner a matter of superfluous luxury. Hence the number who were able to benefit by them was limited.

Of these, it will be willingly admitted, English composers were by far the most prominent.

If there were but few of their works that have been able to stand the test of time, the fault was not that of Manns, but simply, they died through lacking the essence of vitality. It will, nevertheless, ever redound to his honour and to his happy memory, that if only a few of the English works he produced had sufficient vitality to live in these more strenuous days, he, at least, gave the prominent native composers a chance, and to his efforts many of them owe the position to which they have since attained, and English art has been enriched by works that otherwise would probably, have never seen the light.

The first object of Manns, however, when he had at length come into possession of the orchestra he had so sturdily striven for, was to perform and popularise classics that were then unknown, and to bring into existence a body of supporters of sufficient importance to justify the large expenditure involved. He would thus not only satisfy his directors, but carry out a work worthy of the earliest traditions of the Palace.

When he arrived in England the music of Schubert and Schumann was practically unknown. Here was a great opportunity, and with the aid of his friend, Sir George Grove, he took advantage of it, and literally played and preached them into such popularity, that their names soon became as familiar on concert programmes as that of Mendelssohn himself.

From whatever point of view one may look, it is certain that the name of August Manns will go down in the history of English music as one of its foremost champions.

German to the core himself (he only naturalised himself when he had lived here over forty years), he had a natural broad-mindedness that gradually enabled him to see things somewhat from the point of view of the country that had sheltered him, and he did his best—and it was noble—for its interests as he comprehended them.

The next great pioneer of orchestral music that we shall deal with is the late Sir Charles Hallé.

What Manns was doing in the South, Hallé was doing not less effectively, and on a larger scale, in the North.

Less eclectic in his tastes than Manns, his efforts were severely limited to the propagation of strictly classical music. In English music, or, perhaps we should say, music written by Englishmen, he never had or pretended to have, the slightest interest, and for many years no British composer's name could be seen on his programmes. From this rigid classicalism he never swerved, unless his successful efforts to popularise Berlioz may be so considered.

He arrived in England in 1848, and soon settled in Manchester, where his strong personality immediately made itself felt, the first result being his appointment as conductor of the "Gentlemen's Concerts" in 1849.

The next and most important feature in his career, from our immediate point of view, was his establishing the "Manchester Concerts," which later became known as the "Hallé Concerts," in 1857.

From that time until he died, about forty years later, he practically devoted his life to his famous orchestra and no less famous choir, and it is certain that Hallé did, in those years, more than any dozen others for the cause of music in the North and Midlands.

The repertoire of his band may be justly said to embrace the whole gamut of the classic and classic-romantic schools. He could scarcely be called a whole-hearted Wagnerian, but his mind was so receptive even to the last, that however antagonistic to his own feelings some of the latest developments in orchestral music proved to be, he submitted willingly to what he saw to be the inevitable tendency of the times, and formed his programmes in accordance with them, provided always that his ideal standard was maintained.

In 1848 there were but few orchestras in the provinces, and these, judged from Hallé's standpoint, were very bad, that of the "Gentlemen's Concerts" being one of them. He accepted the conductorship with the greatest reluctance, and only on the understanding that his power should be unlimited to do what he thought necessary to remodel it.

In fact, his early experience with it was so painful to him, and his dread of conducting the concerts so great, that he nearly abandoned the idea of settling in Manchester. However, the directors were far-seeing men, and, happily, largely through their efforts, Hallé was saved for the North.

It must, however, be said that had it not been for the support he received from the German community, it would not have been possible for him to remain, but through their efforts he not only quickly acquired a large teaching connection, but was able to establish his classical Chamber Concerts on a satisfactory financial basis. It is interesting to note that four-fifths of the subscribers were fellow-countrymen.

The important question of an adequate income for the support of his family having been thus settled, he was left with a mind delivered from that source of anxiety, and able to devote itself to the cause he had at heart. The field open to him was, Heaven knows, extensive enough.

At that time the English people, even of the more educated classes, had little or no appreciation of purely abstract music, their sympathies being confined more or less to oratorios and ballads. However, Hallé set himself to educate them, and history tells how he succeeded.

He was no believer in violent methods, as the programme of his first orchestral concert shows, but, while dearly indicating the direction in which he intended to go, was wise enough not to frighten away those who were willing to test their power of appreciation of this, to them, new experience. Hence, although the programme was mainly classical, he included a selection from Verdi's "Il Trovatore," doubtless with the familiar melodies played, in the manner of Jullien, on instruments such as the euphonium and cornet. In this way he pursued the wise course of gradually attracting the people towards a higher form of art.

On this historic occasion the Beethoven Symphony, No. 1, Weber's overture, "Der Freyschutz," and his concert-stück for piano and orchestra, were the principal works given, Hallé being the pianist in the last-named. Primitive as this reads to-day, it caused tremors in the minds of the cognoscenti, and many were the doubts expressed as to the possibility of success for the undertaking.

Nevertheless, Hallé proved that his faith was justified, and thus began the concerts that were later to attract the attention of musical Europe, and culminate in their being recognised as one of the most important musical organisations in the world.

It will ever redound to the glory of Manchester that it was the birthplace of the awakening of the North of England to its own tremendous potentialities as a crusading force in the cause of music.

If we think for one moment of the great, new and original, national school of composers that the North and the Midlands have been mainly instrumental in bringing into existence, we shall be better able to judge and more properly appreciate the work that Sir Charles Hallé accomplished.

What may be called, I think, the last phase in the struggle of the orchestra to gain its present ascendancy in England was the momentous appearance of Mr. Henry J. Wood[27] on the scene, and the establishing first of his Promenade Concerts in 1895, and then his Symphony Concerts in 1897, at the Queen's Hall in London.

Until Sir Henry Wood proved the contrary, the idea of presenting symphonies and other high-class music at a Promenade Concert with a view to attract paying audiences, appeared not only absolutely hopeless, but positively fanatical.

Up to that time promenade concerts were associated in the minds of musical people, with the methods of Jullien, Rivière and their imitators. They took place in the huge theatres of Covent Garden or Drury Lane. The stage was removed, and the ground floor converted into an immense promenade, in the centre of which was built a platform, and upon it was imposed tier upon tier in the style of a Roman amphitheatre, to receive, in addition to the ordinary orchestra, the military bands that were occasionally called upon to carry out the weird ideas the management had conceived. Of these, the most famous and popular was known as the "Army Quadrilles." In order to give effect to it, several of these bands were put in different places on the highest story of the building, and had to march down in succession from their lofty position and gradually converge on the platform and, in combination, produce the amount of sound and provide the spectacular effect that was considered essential to success. All the time this long process was in execution, the conductor, with jewelled bâton in hand and the limelight focused on him, was strongly in evidence, and little wonder that he sank into his capacious, brilliantly upholstered chair at the end of it, so exhausted as hardly to be able to acknowledge the plaudits that were showered on him! At every possible place on each floor of the theatre, a bar was placed for the supply of alcoholic drinks, and what with the combined fumes of alcohol and tobacco, the atmosphere was of a description more allied to that of a Bacchanalian orgie than to any possible function relating to art.

In later years, it is true, the conditions were improved, even to the point that such a musician as Sir Arthur Sullivan was induced to lend the weight of his influence to bring about a state of things more consonant with the dignity of music, but he soon withdrew and thus tacitly admitted failure. What, then, had happened to hold out a promise of better results?

Why, evidently, the seed sown by the Philharmonic Society, Richter, Manns and Hallé, although much may have fallen on barren soil, other had fallen on good ground and was bringing forth good fruit.

So, at least, must have thought Sir Henry Wood, or he had scarcely ventured on his daring mission of appeal to the general public with such a programme. He courageously staked his all and worthily won.

It is now sixteen years ago that he made his memorable venture. It is only those who know the difficulties, financial and other, in carrying out such a scheme, can adequately estimate what courage, energy and foresight were needed, to say nothing of great musical gifts, to bring about a result so astonishing as that to which the world is witness to-day.

In place of the many brass bands and "Army Quadrilles," we see a programme consisting of the works of Beethoven, and instead of the jewelled bâton, the alcoholic atmosphere and the focused limelight, a programme is presented that not many years ago would have been regarded, even by music lovers, as classical to the point of severity. The days of Aladdin are evidently capable of duplication!

Nothing more is needed to prove what a vast change has been brought about in the taste of the masses in regard to music, and it is a matter of thankfulness that its consummation has been so greatly accelerated by an Englishman, owing nothing to foreign education.

The establishment by Sir Henry Wood of the Queen's Hall Symphony Concerts, and the great and permanent success attained by them, naturally led to the striving of others to emulate him. The first result was the formation of the London Symphony Orchestra, the majority of whose members, it may be remarked, were originally in Sir Henry Wood's band. Difficulties arose as to the employment of deputies by the older and better known players, who were, naturally enough, reluctant to give up such engagements as the great provincial festivals, and others of serious importance, afforded. The inability to arrive at an agreement caused about fifty members to recede from the orchestra and form one of their own, which they did with the active sympathy and help of Dr. Richter, who conducted their first public performance on June 4th, 1904.

An interesting feature of the scheme inaugurated by the management was the invitation to different celebrated conductors to conduct one or more of the series of concerts decided on. This idea was, undoubtedly, a happy one, and proved a complete success. The curiosity of the public was evidently stimulated by a galaxy of men that included Richter, Elgar, Nikisch, Henschel, Safanof, and Colonne. And well it might be!

In his interesting "History of the London Symphony Orchestra, Ltd.," Mr. F. Gilbert Webb, the well-known critic, writes: "Such a procession of famous conductors is unique in the history of English orchestras."

I am inclined to think, however, that it would be extremely difficult to carry on so complicated a policy, for it would be often impossible to make the arrangements of such men fit in with dates that are, and obviously must be, more or less arbitrarily fixed by the proprietors of the halls in which the concerts are given.

At any rate, the experience of the players has been one of keen enjoyment, and one of the most prominent among them, Mr. T. E. Wotton, in writing to me, alludes to some of the performances as "veritable revelations."

The next organisation to enter the field of competition was "The New Symphony Orchestra."

Here again a decisive and direct policy was determined upon, a leading idea being that the orchestra, from first to last, should consist, solely, of Englishmen.

The happy idea of inviting Mr. Landon Ronald to assume the conductorship has been fraught with consequences of the highest importance, and the success of the movement has long been placed beyond the region of doubt.

Perhaps the most important engagement, up to the present time, that has accrued to it, is that of the Sunday concerts at the Royal Albert Hall. These concerts have, undoubtedly, been a great success, and have not only been a source of financial gain to the orchestra, but a much-needed attraction to that building, the vast size of which renders it suitable for none other than occasions of special interest.

These concerts do not, however, by any means absorb their energies, as the advertising columns of the daily papers shew. Their services are in constant request, and everything tends to their permanency as a living body.

As of the preceding ones, it may be said that this band practically consists of solo players of high excellence.

Before concluding this chapter it may be desirable to call attention to the many amateur bands that have sprung into existence in recent years, as this is, undoubtedly, a feature of peculiar significance, and one that has had no little influence in spreading a knowledge of orchestral music in circles that would otherwise probably have not been reached. Their principal members are generally veterans who, in early life, gave up much of their spare time in gaining sufficient skill on their respective instruments to become fairly competent performers, and it is to such as these, and their enthusiasm, that the existence of these bodies and the good done by them, is due.

It is about forty years since the movement may be said to have begun, when the cult of the orchestra was either non-existent or in the embryo. The requirements for membership were not exacting, it is true, but it must be remembered that the facilities for the acquisition of even these, were far different in those days to the existing ones of to-day. It is easy, then, to imagine the amount of time, money and energy that must have been necessarily devoted to preserve their vitality.

This is eminently true of one of the most prominent of them, the Royal Amateur Orchestral Society. But for the exertions of H.R.H. the late Duke of Edinburgh (afterwards Duke of Coburg), the late Mr. Jas. Ramsay Dow, the late Mr. George Mount, Mr. Herbert W. Symes, Mr. Leonard Beddome and others, it is safe to say that the organisation would have collapsed long ago in the early years of its career. Fortunately, however, the skill and determination they brought to bear upon it, not only averted the catastrophe that seemed often impending, but made its continued prosperity little more than a matter of adequate and prescient direction.

For many years Mr. Jas. Ramsay Dow was not only the honorary secretary, but the principal flute player in the band, during which time Mr. George Mount was conductor. Upon the death of the former, Mr. Henry M. Morris succeeded him, and upon his retirement Mr. Hermann Schmettau accepted and still, happily, retains the position. Mr. Arthur W. Payne is the able conductor.

The initial difficulties of these older societies were mainly twofold, the finding of a sufficient number of more or less adequate players, and the money necessary to finance them. The latter, of course, involved the constant search after subscribers and the paying audiences that so persistently eluded their efforts. The music performed at the concerts was restricted both by the limitations of the technical resources of the players, and the taste of such people as could be drawn to listen to it. In process of time, and by dint of perseverance, these limitations were, more or less, overcome, and as the performances improved, so increasing audiences were attracted to more pretentious efforts.

Even after twenty-five years' patient work the general public remained indifferent, in the most part, to their claims to recognition, and it is only within the last few years that it has dawned on the average music lover that there could be any real merit in the playing of amateur orchestras. At the time of my early association with one of them, not only were the audiences confined mainly to friends of the players, but the performances were looked at askance by critic and professional musician alike. No prominent virtuoso would dream of playing a concerto or similar piece in conjunction with it, and on the appearance of such a one at a concert, the accompaniments were invariably played on the piano.

Eventually patience and combined effort on the part of all, were effective in so far bringing about a change that the appearance of eminent artists, and their playing of concerted works, became a regular feature of the concerts, and numerous letters I have at various times received, testify to their appreciation of the efficiency of the work done by the band. Similar results have doubtless, been experienced by most of the more prominent of these orchestras throughout the country.

But while cordially admitting the progress made by them, it must be recognised that the difference between the performance of an amateur band, however worthy, and that of a modern professional orchestra must ever remain abysmal.

This will be easily understood when it is remembered that while most members of the latter are not only expert players, but educated musicians, the amateur, on the other hand, is more often than not, a player of humble attainment, whose knowledge of music, limited by the small amount of time that can be devoted to the subject, is necessarily superficial.

It is not to be questioned that there are many exceptions, many indeed whose knowledge of music is deep and whose performing ability is exceptional, judged by any standard, but of such, the number is, and must naturally be, extremely limited. This lack of musical education leads at times to incidents that, though sometimes distressful, are occasionally diverting.

It is distressing when an amateur band, while fully capable of playing music that demands nothing more than ordinary technical ability, is swayed by a wild enthusiasm for performing works that even Sir Henry Wood will give many rehearsals to prepare.

The diverting incident is provided, for instance, when, say, a double-bass player, who is not blessed with a superabundant sense of humour or much education, brings you the bass parts of two symphonies, and lays down the law as to the relative artistic merit of the works on such evidence as the parts provide—at the same time, with no excess of delicacy, intimating his complete indifference to any opinion you may have on the subject, even though you may happen to have a fairly adequate knowledge of the full score.

Notwithstanding this, let us hasten to say that there is a great and useful work always lying at hand for the amateur to accomplish, and we venture to indicate it. It would seem, judging by the programmes of our most celebrated orchestras, that the existence of a great amount of the most splendid music ever written, is in danger of being either forgotten or ignored, and it is to this their attention might well be turned. Beyond the fact of its being seldom or never heard, a great deal of it makes so much less demand on the technique of the individual player than that of Tschaikovsky, Brahms, Elgar, Strauss, and others, whose works absorb attention to-day, that it offers the double advantage of novelty and less difficulty in presentation.

Surely there must be a public left to appreciate the symphonies of Schumann, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Gade, Raff and Goldmark among the moderns, to say nothing of Haydn and Mozart, and these are only a few of the many that might be named.

Of works of less size but equally worthy of attention there is practically no limit.

Nevertheless, a generous recognition of the good work done by amateur players all over the country should be accorded. By their efforts they have given many thousands of people a chance of hearing music that otherwise might never have been brought home to them, and in doing this they have done worthily for the cause of the progress of orchestral music in England.

CHAPTER VII

ORATORIO IN ENGLAND

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.