THE "CREATION."

By this time oratorio had become, not only firmly established, but even the princ.i.p.al factor in the musical life of the nation.

The next to whom it was given to successfully carry on its traditions, was Joseph Haydn. This composer, who is justly called the father of the symphony, had never tried his powers in this direction, previous to his first visit to England. Among his many experiences, perhaps the most interesting and certainly the most important, was making the acquaintance of Handel's English oratorios. Their popularity was not lost on him, nor did he fail to discern the strong influence which religious music exercised, and which so clearly indicated the trend of the national mind.

Conscious as he was of his own powers, it was only natural that he should desire to emulate the achievements of his great predecessor, and gain the fame and fortune in this country which such music as he had brought would never realise. So, on his return to Vienna he determined to make a trial, and, encouraged by the enthusiastic friends he happily possessed, he started upon the composition of this oratorio. To say that it was a great success is to say little. Its popularity was immediate and universal, and to think that he was upwards of seventy years of age when he commenced it, only adds to one's admiration of the great composer. With what energy, sincerity and enthusiasm he threw himself into the work is shewn by the way he wrote to his friends at the time: "I pray G.o.d to help me every day," he writes in one of his letters. So far as England is concerned, the fact that Haydn advanced the art of music in every other direction, counts as little in comparison with his being the composer of the "Creation." Those who could appreciate abstract music were few, but the numbers who could understand and enjoy such music as this were many.

It is not in the least difficult to understand either its instant popularity or even the enthusiasm the "Creation" aroused when it was first heard. It struck an entirely new note. To ears accustomed to the stern majesty of Handel's music, this came to them not only in the shape of novelty, but even, if one may use the term, as a relief. The melodies with which it abounds, are bright, sparkling and spontaneous. They issued from a fount that was apparently inexhaustible. To the English people all this was quite new. The freshness, youthfulness and akinness to Nature, with its suggestive imitations of the warbling of birds and the cooing of doves; or, again the dramatic outburst when recording the creation of light, the mysterious music accompanying the narrative relating to the "darkness that moved on the face of the waters," and the atmosphere surrounding the "roaming in foaming billows"--all this was positively alluring in its potentiality of surprise and delight. So daring and original were many of the effects that they would seem to have emanated from the brain of some youthful genius who was pouring forth the unrestrainable creations of his mind, rather than the matured work of a man verging on seventy years of age.

For many years the "Creation" vied with the "Messiah" for popularity, and although not approaching the latter in grandeur, it was successful in attracting thousands who were unable to appreciate the extreme cla.s.sicalism of Handel.

To this day it holds a distinguished place in the repertory of all our choral societies, after nearly a hundred and twenty years of existence.

From whatever point of view it may be regarded, the "Creation" is wonderful. The work of an old man breaking new ground (although he had, many years previously, composed some sacred music, generally unknown and of no significance in his history), it is perhaps unequalled in musical records.

"ELIJAH."

More than forty years were to elapse before another oratorio appeared that could compare with the "Messiah" or "Creation" either in the eminence of its composer, or power of affecting the imagination of the English people.

The magnificent sacred music of John Sebastian Bach was scarcely known to any but a select few, and although of late years performances of some of his finest works have been frequently given and justly appreciated, it cannot be said that they are sufficiently known to have had any effect on the musical instincts of the country.

There have been many Bach enthusiasts among English musicians, from Samuel Wesley onwards, who have used their best endeavours to render his music popular in England, and so far as his organ music is concerned, with unquestionable success.

His oratorios, however, are so vast in design, difficult of performance, and exacting in their demands on the mental capacity of the listener, that it is doubtful whether they will ever become popular in the sense that the "Messiah" is, and thus their influence must be necessarily limited. The stupendous Ma.s.s in B minor and the S. Matthew and S. John Pa.s.sions are the works by which he is best known in England.

It was in 1846 that Mendelssohn, the greatest of Bach's disciples, finished the composition of that oratorio which was destined not only to set a seal on his great fame, but to arouse once again, to its highest possibilities, the enthusiasm of the English people, by the production of the "Elijah" at Birmingham on August 26 of that year. It was a memorable day. Rumours of the wonderful Baal choruses had been spreading from the places of rehearsal, and expectation ran high.

His previous oratorio, "S. Paul," had, when first heard, made a deep impression, and, although in some mysterious way lacking in that vital essence that is so necessary to reach the hearts of the people and stay there, it proved that the composer was endowed, to an extraordinary degree, with the gift of graphic description and dramatic effect, while his melodic resources were unfailing.

The "Elijah" showed Mendelssohn at the very height of his powers. No musician had ever received a more complete education, or been given greater chances to mature it under exceptional conditions. Hence, with whatsoever genius Nature had endowed him, education, the most skilful and scientifically applied, had been brought to bear on it, so as to enable him to display it under circ.u.mstances the most brilliant and convincing.

The "Elijah," then, realized, nay more, it exceeded the highest expectations. Teeming with melody which fascinated them, while never exceeding their powers of instant comprehension, full of moving incidents that their reading of the Bible had made familiar, and containing moments of intense dramatic force, this n.o.ble work seemed to the English people for whom it was written, a veritable inspiration and a gift from the Highest Sources, to be received with humility and grat.i.tude.

At any rate, the outburst of emotion that it evoked was extraordinary, and, probably, unprecedented. Mendelssohn himself was so moved that he hastened from the city so soon as it was possible for him to do so, in order to escape from the atmosphere of excitement. The success proved a lasting one, and the "Elijah" joined the "Messiah" and "Creation" to form a triumvirate that time has not yet succeeded in dethroning.

Judged by modern standards of criticism, it would be idle to deny that the "Elijah" is not so great a work as it was believed to be when first produced, but notwithstanding this, its great outstanding merit of fascinating the English public and attracting them towards music that, if not monumental like that of Bach, was, at least, artistic and undeniably sincere, should be recognized with grat.i.tude by all who are interested in the subject of "music in England."

"THE LAST JUDGMENT."

When considering the composers of oratorio who influenced musical thought in England in the nineteenth century, a conspicuous place must be a.s.signed to Louis Spohr.

He only commenced writing sacred works when close upon thirty years of age, although by that time he had proved to be a prolific composer of instrumental and operatic music. That the natural bent of his genius was not in this direction is shewn by the fact that his earliest essays were marred by his lack of contrapuntal skill--absolutely the first essential. Although he tried to remedy the defect, it is noteworthy that he never acquired a mastery of this necessary aid to Church music, and its failure to make any lasting impression is largely due to this fact.

The first oratorio to become famous was "The Last Judgment," which was not composed until he was over forty years of age.

There is no doubt whatever, strange as it may appear now, that his oratorios, at one time, were immensely popular in this country. This is shewn by the fact that in 1847 the Sacred Harmonic Society (of London) gave a special series of concerts, with the sole idea of presenting the whole of Spohr's sacred compositions! These included three oratorios, "The Fall of Babylon," "Calvary," and "The Last Judgment."

One reads that they were received with the greatest enthusiasm, and Spohr certainly looked upon their success in this country, as one of the most notable features in his career. Indeed, he wrote, on one occasion, that the reception of "The Fall of Babylon" when produced at the Norwich Festival, was the greatest triumph of his life.

It is difficult, at the present day, to account for the unquestionable vogue his sacred music enjoyed. Compared with the works we have had under consideration, they are of no great value. One can only imagine that any change from the limited repertory our forefathers possessed, came as a welcome relief from the continued repet.i.tion of the few standard oratorios they had at their disposition. Melody, his music certainly contained, but of a kind difficult to a.s.sociate 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 s.p.a.ce 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.blest 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 cla.s.s 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 Halle, 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 ill.u.s.trating 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.