A Short History of English Music

It seems to me to be simply one more proof of the extraordinary tenacity with which Queen Elizabeth held to her policy of trusting to the influence of time to gradually moderate opposing views, and ultimately cement them in one creed which should embody the essential beliefs of both.

In any case, two things are known, that his services were retained, and that he adhered to the use of Latin for his sacred music. This, of course, means that either none of his music was sung in the Church, or that the occasional use of Latin for singing was permitted. The latter, I think, extremely probable, at least in the early years of the Reformation. He was appointed organist of Lincoln Cathedral in 1563, and in 1569 became a member of the Chapel Royal. In 1575 he published, in conjunction with Tallis, a collection of motets, which was dedicated to the Queen. It may be noted that it was printed by one Vautrollier, although the two composers had recently acquired the right of exclusively printing music for twenty-one years. It may be assumed that they sub-let the privilege, for it is known that after the death of Tallis, Byrd became sole possessor of the monopoly. This collection was entitled "Cantiones, quæ ab argumento sacræ vocantar, quinque et sex partum." Unlike Tallis, he did not confine his energies to sacred music, but wrote much for the virginals, as well as some beautiful madrigals.

In 1591 was issued his "Liber secundus Sacrarum Cantionum."

By this time Byrd was universally recognised as the greatest English musician of his time, and his fame had spread to the Continent. The death of Tallis had left him absolutely without a rival. There is plenty of evidence proving Queen Elizabeth's regard for him. In fact, it was from a pecuniary point of view, somewhat embarrassing to him, as it must be admitted that the great Queen was exacting of service, and somewhat parsimonious in the paying for it. The many references to him made by contemporary writers, such as "homo memorabilis," "the most celebrated musician of the English nation," and "one of the most famous musicians that ever were in this land," all go to shew that his name was held in the highest esteem.

The year 1607 witnessed the production of the "Gradualia"; this contained music for the complete ecclesiastical year of the Catholic Church. A striking example of his fearlessness!

The work by which he is best known to the general public to-day is the ever popular "Non nobis Domine," which, although written in the severe style of canon form, is at once beautiful and touching in its extraordinary expression of reverence. The highest achievements of William Byrd were the Masses in three, four and five parts.

In these works his genius is displayed to its fullest extent and in its most splendid guise.

The period is declared by so great an authority as W. S. Rockstro (Grove's Dictionary) to be the greatest in the history of Mass music, and Byrd's Mass in five parts is one of the most splendid that were written during that memorable time.

In personal character William Byrd was a decidedly interesting man. At a time when what may be termed opportunism was the evident thing that made for success, he refused to be influenced by it, and steadfastly declined to abate by jot or tittle his allegiance to the Catholic Church in its integrity, and it is an extraordinary proof of the attraction of his forceful character that, notwithstanding this fact, so menacing to his personal safety, he not only retained the Queen's favour during her lifetime, but seems to have held a firm grip on all the benefactions she bestowed on him up to the day of his death.

That this was not easy to accomplish is shown by the legal actions in which he became involved, the principal one being Shelley v. Byrd, upon whose issue depended his retention of Stondon Place, a property granted to him by Elizabeth. It continued for some years, and would seem to have ended in a form of compromise. It is not without interest that the plaintiff in the case was an ancestress of no less a personage than the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. However, Byrd remained in possession, and there is reason to believe that he died there and was buried in the Parish Church, although there are no records to bear out the supposition. His death took place in 1623, when he must have been at an advanced age.

ORLANDO GIBBONS

Orlando Gibbons, one of a large family of musicians – Born in a time of transition from rigidity of ancient ecclesiastical music – Instrumentation coming into existence – Protest by Byrd – Contrast of the two composers – The age one in which freedom of thought springing up in all directions – Gibbons eager to take advantage of it – The result of the substitution of English for Latin in the Church – His eminence as writer of secular music – His death.

The youngest son in a family of musicians, Orlando Gibbons is a particularly interesting subject for study, not only on account of his genius, but for the fact that he became the most distinguished living composer at a time that was, essentially, one of transition. The old order was giving place to the new.

The rigid severity of the ancient Catholic Church music was gradually yielding to the attractions of greater warmth of feeling, added grace of melody and more freedom in expression. Instrumental music was lifting its head, and instruments other than the organ, the ever accepted aid to the rites of the Church, were invading the sacred precincts. Now, there are always men who are constitutionally averse to change, and of these was the great, but not too amiable, Mr. William Byrd. We can, therefore, quite appreciate his feelings on this particular innovation and understand the frame of mind in which he writes, in a preface to his "Songs of Sadness," thus: "There is no music of instruments whatever to be compared to the voyces of men, when they are good, well-sorted and ordered."

Orlando Gibbons was the impersonator of the new spirit; William Byrd was the jealous guardian of the old. One can, then, easily imagine the indignation with which such innovations would be met, and the accumulated wrath that must have burnt at his heart as he saw the repeated and successful attacks on all that he regarded as sacred. Up to this time all musical instruments, with the exception of the organ, had been associated with dancing and the outdoor amusements of the common people, and since many of these were of a kind far removed from religious exercise, it is only rational to suppose that such a man as Byrd would view with repugnance their introduction into the Church's service. The fact, too, must be taken into consideration that at the time of this particular innovation he was fairly advanced in years, and, therefore, with a disposition less adaptable than that of the young and ardent musician who was destined to leave behind him an imperishable name in the hierarchy of the world's greatest musicians.

Born about forty years after the birth of Byrd, Orlando Gibbons yet but survived him by two, being one of that long list of composers who have died young and whose premature death has robbed the world of who can tell how many masterpieces! His music was as distinct an advance on that of Byrd, as Byrd's was on that of Tallis.

The age was one in which the bonds, by which intellectual effort had been tethered, were being rapidly loosed or broken, and it is only natural that a young and greatly gifted man like Orlando Gibbons would revel in the sense of freedom from which the older one would shrink with something akin to horror.

He was thus fortunate to be born in such an era – an era made for ever memorable by the works of two of the greatest geniuses the world has possessed, William Shakespeare and Francis Bacon – and endowed with faculties that enabled him to grasp the opportunities it held out to him.

The substitution of English for Latin in the Church was, in itself, an event of striking importance to the composer, but, above all, the translation of the Bible into the vulgar tongue placed at his disposition the sources of limitless inspiration.

That Orlando Gibbons was quick to take advantage of the golden opportunity is proved by the list of superb anthems he bequeathed to the English Church. It includes such glorious examples as those entitled "Hosanna," "O clap your hands" and "This is the record of John." Of other forms of sacred music, the service in the key of F is perhaps his most notable achievement.

He was also eminent as a composer of secular music, and was equalled by few and excelled by none as a writer of madrigals. His music for the viols and virginals not only emphasises the scope of his genius, but marks a veritable epoch in the history of instrumental music. So far did his originality carry him, that some of it might even be attributed to Bach or Handel, without violence to our sense of proportion. He died at Canterbury in 1625, the forty-second year of his age.

HENRY PURCELL

Purcell, the last of the great early English musicians – His genius – Supremacy of the foreign musicians in England – His short life – His originality – His power of invention – A pioneer – His harmony – His precocity – Handel – An irrepressible conjecture – A comparison – Purcell enters the Chapel Royal – Becomes Organist of Westminster Abbey – Dr. John Blow – Purcell as composer of dramatic music – Te Deum and Jubilate for St. Cecilia's Day – His death and epitaph.

With Henry Purcell we come to the last and greatest of the early English composers.

Born before the traditions and influence of the ancient school of ecclesiastical music had actually died out, and yet after other and conflicting influences had become supreme, he had the extraordinary power that enabled him to seize on what was best in either and blend them in a style that, had there been successors of sufficient genius and independence of thought, might have proved the foundation of a school of English music sufficiently elastic to encourage every possible development and yet remaining absolutely national in character.

Unfortunately, he had no such successors, and foreign musicians soon asserted that supremacy in the country they have held ever since, until the memorable events of the last decade sounded its death knell.

The Writing on the Wall has appeared. Many think they have read it.

Purcell was one more of that large number of men of genius who have died in early manhood. This fate seems to have been peculiarly conspicuous among musicians and poets. To cite only a few: Purcell, Mozart and Mendelssohn; Shelley, Keats and Chatterton. The list could, alas, be largely extended.

It may be truly said that, seeing how short his life was, his achievements were amazing, both in extent and significance. He advanced the art of music in every direction, to such a degree indeed, that one can only regard his latest works with astonishment at their modernity.

Such combinations of voices and instruments as had hitherto been tried were quite primitive in character, and were simply confined to the support of the voice parts. The illuminating genius of Purcell, however, enabled him to see, even if dimly, the infinite possibilities the combination held out to the composer, and he set himself to give effect to it. The crude efforts of his predecessors became in his hands a tremendous artistic force, and when he died the way had been paved for Handel and other of his illustrious successors. The same originality is displayed in his harmonies. He cast off all the shackles of convention and indulged in progressions and discords that would, doubtless, have shocked the earlier writers. Many of his cadences16 are altogether too discordant for modern ears. In fact, the extreme harshness of some of them is rather calculated to make one doubt their authenticity. But it is, nevertheless, perhaps in his harmony and its extraordinary beauty that his genius is most conspicuously displayed.17

His melodies were bold and unconventional to the point, as regards rhythm, of seeming wilfulness on occasion. Yet many were lovely and full of intense feeling, and all characterised by a genius at once independent and conscious of its power.

His precocity was amazing, even in the history of an art that has produced so many extraordinary specimens of this particular gift.

Some of his anthems were written while still a chorister boy, and his earliest essays in dramatic music at the age of fourteen.

That in some of his later works in which voices were combined with organ and orchestra, he anticipated Handelian effects is undoubted, and that the great German master was influenced by them, I think, equally so.

If an account of the orchestra with which he had to deal would read strangely at the present time, it is at least not without interest to think that, even so tremendous a genius as Handel made little advance on it. It has been shewn elsewhere that the genesis of the modern orchestra is of a later date.

Handel was only ten years of age when Purcell died.

It is an irrepressible conjecture of what might have been, if the latter had lived thirty years longer. He then would have failed to reach the age at which the former died. The acting and re-acting of the genius of each one on the other might have produced results of profound importance to English music – might, indeed, have saved it.

Fate, however, on this occasion, probably displayed more kindness than is usually attributed to her. The contest would have proved unequal.

The great German genius, giant in body, overwhelming in energy and ever thirsting for new worlds to conquer (and succeeding), would have been no fitting opponent to the other, frail in physique and already a prey to the terrible disease that has cut off, prematurely, the lives of such countless thousands of men whose possibilities of attainment were barely given time to indicate.18

Purcell entered the choir of the Chapel Royal at the age of six, and while there became acquainted, in the best of all possible ways, with such of the masterpieces of the ancient English school as had escaped destruction, by taking part in their performance. At the age of eighteen19 he became organist of Westminster Abbey, by the voluntary act of Dr. John Blow, who relinquished the post in favour of his illustrious pupil. This fact is immensely suggestive. It shews that not only was his genius universally recognised, but that his personality was already sufficiently developed to justify his appointment to the most important position to which any musician could attain.

Many theories have been ventilated as to Dr. Blow's action on this occasion, some suggesting that, so far from being a voluntary act, he was dismissed. This seems to me to be without the least justification, seeing that he was re-appointed after Purcell's death. At this early age, too, Purcell seems to have been attracted by the influence of the theatre, as records shew that he was constantly writing music for the stage.

That his genius for this class of composition was, in every respect, equal to that he displayed in any other field open to him, is shewn by his music to "Dido and Æneas," which was not only masterly, but as much in advance of anything that had preceded it, as most of his other work proved to be. The same can be said of his music to "King Arthur," in which he collaborated with Dryden.

If the word "opera," in its modern significance, can scarcely be applied to it, there is not the slightest doubt that the genius was there to give inspiration and guidance to those who were to come after him.

He wrote upwards of twenty works of this kind. For some years he was a "composer to their Majesties," and in fulfilment of his duties in this connection wrote many odes for use on official occasions. These do not count among his best works. He was a voluminous writer of instrumental music, and his sonatas are in advance of any previously written. He wrote, practically for all instruments then extant, but that by which he is principally known as an instrumental composer is his harpsichord music, this instrument having by this time superseded the virginals.

One of his last, and perhaps the greatest of his works, was the magnificent "Te Deum and Jubilate" for St. Cecilia's Day.

This was for many years sung at the annual Festival of the Sons of the Clergy, but was for some reason or other relinquished in favour of Handel's Dettingen Te Deum. Purcell died when his genius was at the highest point of power and splendour, leaving behind him a name of imperishable memory and a fame that has seldom been eclipsed.

His death took place in 1695, the 37th year of his age. He was buried in Westminster Abbey. Over his grave was inscribed the following epitaph:

Plaudite, felices, superi, tanto hospite, nostrisPræfuerat, vestris addite illa choris:Invida nec vobis Purcellum terra reproscat.Questa decus secli, deliciasque breves.Tam cito decessisse, modo cui singula debetMusa, prophana suos religiosa suos.Vivat so vivat, dum vicina organa spirant,Dumque colet numeris turba canora Deum.

CHAPTER IV

THE DECLINE OF ENGLISH MUSIC

Three principal causes leading to decline – Reformation the principal one – The plain-song and the people – Gradual transition in mode of living – Effect of Calvinistic teaching – Excesses of the Commonwealth soldiery – Facts as to life of Calvin – Effects of change of dynasty – The Stuarts and music – The Restoration and resulting excitement – England rid of the Stuarts – Jonathan Swift a Church dignitary – First appearance of opera in England – Handel and Italian opera – He leaves England – Returns and devotes himself to oratorio – Effect on the people – Its influence on native composers – Ill-effects of imitation – Necessity of relying on native inspiration – Vincent Novello – Novello and Company – Services to English music – Revival – The Wesleys, Samuel and Samuel Sebastian – Conclusion.

The three principal causes that led to the decline and practical extinction of English music were the Reformation, the indifference of a foreign Court, and the settlement in England of large numbers of foreign musicians, among whom was one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time, the German, George Frederick Handel. The two latter causes may be said to be the complement one of the other.

Of these three hostile influences, the Reformation and all that it involved was, overwhelmingly, the most fatal in its effect, for it struck at the root foundation; it killed the very soil that gave birth to the plant. The first blow it inflicted on music – and in those days that meant English music, not as now – and it was a deadly one, was its suppression in the services of the Church. To grasp to the full the significance of this act, one must recall some of the salient features of national life that had existed for centuries.

We have seen how intimately bound together were the lives of the Church and the people; how the very existence of either seemed dependent on the solidity of their union; or, at least, how inseparable a part the services of the Church were from the daily life and occupations of the common tillers of the soil, who formed the majority of the population.

Music, in the early days to which we now refer, was a living force and a vital attraction to the peasantry, who, although perhaps unable to understand the significance of the elaborate ceremonial that characterised mediæval forms of worship, were able to join in the singing of the plain-song that was ever, as far as research can guide us, an essential element in the rites of the ancient Church.

Here let me say, we must utterly discard from our minds any thought of the noble and ornate music of the Mass, the product of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. These works were written for performance by highly trained singers in the employ of bishops or abbots governing the cathedrals or monasteries, possessing sufficient wealth to command their services, and were listened to by a class of people far removed from those under our present consideration. Such music would, indeed, be far more remote from their understanding than that sung at St. Paul's Cathedral to the ordinary agricultural labourer to-day.

No, it was the simple strains of the plain-song that they knew, understood and loved.

To them, religion and music were as one, and happy were those who drew their last breath before the new and fantastic doctrines that were destined to change the whole life and spirit of the people came into actual effect.

The transition from the old life to the new was a slow one, notwithstanding the authorities, but once brought about and accepted by the people, with that tenacity so characteristic of the English race, they not only absorbed but put into practice tenets that, a century before, would have been abhorrent to them. That this is, unhappily, true, the horrible excesses tolerated during the Commonwealth period are more than sufficient proof.

The hideous teaching that music and every other form of art was devil-worship became accepted by those who, but not long before, were the very incarnation of joyous, righteous life, as a revelation that had only come in the nick of time for their salvation. To suppress every longing for it, any memory of it, even, was considered a duty and the indulgence in it a sin, though clothed in ecclesiastical garb. The strength to resist the yearning for that which for so many ages had been, to say the least, one of the greatest sources of consolation and happiness to them, they counted a righteousness, and the more these poor people suffered, the greater was their assurance of ultimate safety. The loss of music to the English in those early Calvinistic times must have been one of the most bitter of the many miseries they had to endure.

It is impossible to think without pity of the transition from the gay, exuberant and, possibly, irresponsible life that had been theirs for centuries, to the fearful search after the salvation that their days and nights were mostly spent in dread of losing.

Should this appear exaggerated, let us turn to the writings of the poet, William Cowper: we shall find ample confirmation.

It may be said, "Why cite a man who is known to have had fits of temporary insanity?" The answer is simple. The melancholia from which he suffered and which led him, on more than one occasion, to attempt to commit suicide, was the outcome of his belief in the terrible doctrine of Pre-destination, and the ever-present fear that he was among those destined to eternal doom.

This is how he writes:

"Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,Scarce can endure delay of execution —Wait with impatient readiness to seize mySoul in a moment.Damn'd below Judas; more abhorr'd than he was,Who for a few pence sold his holy Master!Twice betray'd, Jesus me, the last delinquentDeems the profanest.Man disavows, and Deity disowns me,Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;Therefore, Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths allBolted against one.Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers,Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,I'm call'd, if vanquish'd! to receive a sentenceWorse than Abiram's.Him, the vindictive rod of angry Justice,Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;I, fed with judgment, in a fleshy tomb, amBuried above ground."

Cowper was born a little more than a hundred years after the death of Shakespeare, and about seventy after that of Cromwell. In Shakespeare's time it is certain that Puritanism had made little way in England, or there would have been far more reference to it than is suggested in his works. He mirrored the spirit of his age and country, and it mattered little whether he placed the scenes of his plays in an Italian city or "on the coast of Bohemia," the life depicted in them is that of England and the spirit embodied that of the robust Elizabethan age. Such reform as had taken place in the Church was little calculated to affect the character or temperament of the people, and although it is quite within ordinary knowledge that there were a considerable number of people already who had accepted the extreme doctrines that were later to so terribly transform the national character, they had then no more influence in the country than the Spiritualists have to-day, in the twentieth century. Once, however, they had taken root they spread with appalling rapidity, until by Cowper's time they had gained an ascendency over the minds of the people that the verses just quoted do but fairly indicate.

It was in the reign of James I. that Puritanism began to assert itself in a manner that at all foreshadowed what was to come, and it is a gratifying thought that Shakespeare did not live to see the England, that he had loved and so glorified by his genius, bend under the burden of the foreign intrusion that was to completely alter the aspects of her life as he had known them. A vital aid doubtless accrued to the movement through the constant influx of Calvinist refugees from the North of Europe, mainly Scandinavians, who were warmly welcomed and aided by Anne of Denmark, wife of the King.