The art of music, Vol. 06 (of 14)
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Title: The art of music, Vol. 06 (of 14)

Choral and church music

Editor: Daniel Gregory Mason

Author: Rossetter G. Cole

Author of introduction, etc.: Frank Damrosch

Editor: Leland Hall

Edward Burlingame Hill

César Saerchinger

Release date: July 30, 2025 [eBook #76594]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: National Society of Music, 1915

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THE ART OF MUSIC

The Art of Music

A Comprehensive Library of Information
for Music Lovers and Musicians

Editor-in-Chief

DANIEL GREGORY MASON
Columbia University

Associate Editors

EDWARD B. HILL LELAND HALL
Harvard University Past Professor, Univ. of Wisconsin

Managing Editor

CÉSAR SAERCHINGER
Modern Music Society of New York

In Fourteen Volumes
Profusely Illustrated

NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC

The Singing Angels

Altar piece by Hubert and Jan van Eyck

THE ART OF MUSIC: VOLUME SIX

Choral and Church Music

ROSSETTER GLEASON COLE, M.A.

Introduction by
FRANK DAMROSCH, Mus. Doc.

Director Institute of Musical Art in the City of New York
Conductor, Musical Art Society of New York, etc.

NEW YORK
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC

Copyright, 1915, by
THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF MUSIC, Inc.
[All Rights Reserved]

PREFATORY NOTE

The field of choral and church music is so vast and the subject so inclusive that the author has felt the constant pressure of the necessity for sifting and abbreviating and condensing the voluminous material at hand in order not to go far beyond the prescribed limits of this volume. He has resolutely shut his eyes to the allurements of the many by-paths that constantly beckoned away from the historical highway he was appointed to tread; and he has endeavored to keep this object constantly in mind—to trace the development of the forces and tendencies from which have sprung the various musical forms that have gone to make up the literature of choral and church music as century followed century. In this volume, therefore, the great personalities of musical history will receive far less attention than the particular musical forms and art-tendencies that flowed from their, oft-times, combined creative activities.

While a large number of choral and organ works of every class have been analyzed with much detail and a still larger number given definite classification, it is hoped that the historical summaries and the discussions of styles and periods, scattered throughout this volume, will be even more helpful to the reader in enabling him to place any given musical work in its true musical, as well as historical, perspective. It is a matter of some regret that from sheer lack of space several interesting and wholly relevant topics—such as hymnology, contemporaneous church music, the whole relation of music to the present-day church, etc.—must be left untouched. In the chapters on contemporaneous choral music, it was necessary for the same reason to shut out of consideration the whole field of short cantata (for church choirs, and for female and male chorus), though the number of really fine works here is quite amazing. Contemporaneous choral music is fully discussed in three chapters and a large number of works are adequately described, though for obvious reasons critical estimates are in the main impossible from the very propinquity of these works.

Grateful acknowledgment is here made to Mr. Frederick H. Martens and to Mr. Reginald L. McAll for the contribution of the comprehensive chapter on the history of the organ (Chapter XIV), at the end of which their initials will be found; also to Mr. Wilhelm Middelschulte, organist of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, for many critical suggestions, especially on the organ-works of Bach, Widor and Reger. In this connection the author wishes to give full and grateful recognition to the valuable assistance of his wife in gathering and verifying much historical material.

Rossetter G. Cole.

Chicago, August, 1915.

CHORAL AND CHURCH MUSIC

INTRODUCTION

“And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

This choir of angels (for can we conceive of a multitude of angels announcing this message otherwise than in well-ordered song?) typifies the mission of choral singing.

Whenever human beings unite in expressing noble thoughts in noble music, their message also is one of good will. Their speech is rendered in rhythmic cadence, intoned in harmonious concord and made expressive by melody; they are bound together in amicable union for a common purpose; they willingly submit to the discipline of a controlling mind; their object is to put beauty into the world and the peace and harmony which are required to make their work effective are communicated to those who hear them and whose souls they cause to vibrate in unison with their music.

It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the practice of choral singing dates back to very early times. Not, of course, in the way in which we understand the term to-day, as an art-form, but in cruder forms of singing or chanting in unison such as may still be heard among uncivilized or half-civilized tribes.

The desire to unite in the performance of religious rites, in prayers for rain or in praise of the deity; in the mutual encouragement to do battle against a common foe; in the celebration of seasonal changes, in rejoicing over the gifts of nature or the fruits of their toil at harvest time—all these common feelings induce a common expression and stimulate choral singing.

The development from these crude forms to the art-forms of the present has not only extended over a long period, but has been affected and influenced by many and various factors. For purposes of discussion we may divide these into two main classes: the Church and the Folk-song. These two factors have brought to the evolution of choral singing certain elements which, though diametrically opposed, yet most happily complement each other, namely, obedience to law and freedom of expression.

In the nature of things music in the Church—the Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox—had to adapt itself to the strict canons of the Liturgy. As the service became more and more elaborate and it was realized that music exerted a strong spiritualizing influence, its use was extended until it became one of the principal features in the Mass and required the participation of not only the regular clergy, but of numerous trained auxiliaries. Thus it came to pass that the Church, to satisfy its need for canonic music—that is, for music which met the liturgic requirements, preserved the dignity of the text and enhanced the devotional attitude—stimulated the efforts toward greater beauty, variety, and dignity of expression. Every monastery, every cathedral contributed something to this evolutionary process until this primary stage of choral development culminated in the work of Palestrina. This was accomplished by slow stages. The art of counterpoint, which forms the basis of this art-form, grew very gradually from the combination of two voices to that of three, four, or more and incidentally caused to be discovered certain art-forms, such as the canon and the fugue, based upon the principle of imitation, which have been employed by all the great masters of musical composition to the present day.

Let us now, for a moment, leave this field of choral development and go into a small village in Russia. It is evening. The villagers are assembled under the spreading branches of an old linden tree whose blossoms perfume the still air as the moon rises above the forest. Presently one of the villagers intones a song. It is known to all, has been handed down from generation to generation. No one knows whence it came—it seems always to have been there and it is interwoven with the memories and emotions of all the people of the village and of the whole countryside. In a word—it is a folk-song. One after another the villagers join in, some in unison with the tune, but others, finding the range too high, endeavor to find tones which sound in pleasing consonance, and so, gradually, there is evolved a full harmony accompanying the melody of the song. Has anyone taught the villagers the science of harmony? Of course not, but, just as the beautiful melody grew out of the people’s hearts and in the course of generations molded itself into a perfect tune, so gradually the sense for good harmony grew and caused the elimination of unpleasing progressions. Sometimes such a song tells a story which is developed in many stanzas. Then a ‘foresinger’ will chant the stanzas and the villagers will sing a choral refrain, thus taking active part in the recital.

This, then, is the other source of choral singing which, meeting the stream coming from the church, soon united with it and helped to create and to develop this form of musical art.

In order to obtain a survey of the whole field of choral music as it has grown from these two principal sources, let us enumerate it under three divisions:

1. As an expression of popular emotions and thoughts.

a. Folk-songs and refrains.
b. Dance songs.
c. Marching and war songs.
d. Work songs.
e. National songs.

2. For religious purposes.

a. Masses, motets, chorales, and other church-music.
b. Cantatas and oratorios.

3. Miscellaneous forms for choral art.

a. Part-songs, glees, madrigals, etc.
b. Secular cantatas.
c. As adjuncts to symphonic music.
d. As component parts of the opera.

This shows the wide scope of choral singing and its possibilities for coming into close relationship to every phase of human life.

Whenever men come together for a common purpose involving the expression of deep feelings or of their ideals, ordinary speech seems inadequate and recourse to united musical expression, that is, choral singing, seems most appropriate. Hence, the choral folk-songs and dance-songs found in Russia, Scandinavia, Germany, and many other nations and races; the marching and war-songs which cause the heart to beat faster and to enliven the spirits, which would otherwise droop from physical fatigue and hardships. Even where no spiritual element seems in evidence on the surface, as in the work in the fields, in the hauling of barges against the current of a great river, such as the Volga in Russia, in the cigar factories in Florida and in Cuba, or in heaving on a rope aboard ship, the mere working together of many in a common task causes them to lighten their labor by utterance of united song. There is little doubt that labor is better done with the accompaniment of singing by happy and contented workers. No discontented workman is inclined to sing. And when a great assemblage of people unites in the national hymn of its country, it must be a callous soul and cold heart that does not try to join with ardor and enthusiasm.

All these manifestations of musical expression by popular singing may be executed by comparatively untrained individuals. Even some quite unusual and interesting harmonic progressions, the result of generations of experiment and selection, as for instance in Finland, Scandinavia, and among our Southern negroes, are not the result of individual training, but part of the general racial instinct for musical expression. The other classes of choral singing which we have enumerated above require considerable training of individuals in order to produce satisfactory results. In other words, whereas the folk-songs, dance, marching, and national songs were either the spontaneous expression of the people themselves or composed in the style of the people’s or folk-song whose chief centre of interest is the tune or melody while its harmonization is of secondary importance, the choral art-songs, to which belong part-songs, glees, madrigals, motets, cantatas, and all larger forms of choral music, employ a much more elaborate style of composition. The different voice-parts—soprano, alto, tenor, and bass—and their subdivisions often progress in rhythmic independence of each other. The voice-parts may enter the song at different times, in different sequence, in different metrical and rhythmical figures; they may sing different words simultaneously and therefore give different expression; sometimes one voice-part requires dynamic prominence, sometimes another, while the other voices subordinate themselves. All this requires that the individual singer must have a musical voice and true ear and a good sense of rhythm; that he should understand the rudimentary science of music and of notation; and that his eye should be able to recognize the symbols which indicate the pitch and time value of sounds and translate them instantly into the sounds themselves. Also, it requires that the individuals submit to the strictest discipline in obeying the directions of the leader. Only complete, intelligent, and instant obedience to the director on the part of every member of the chorus will produce good results. In other words, only team-work of the highest type secures mastery.

Efficiency in the performance of choral works of art, therefore, demands the following conditions: First, a leader who is a thorough, trained musician; cultured and well-educated; of good character and with high ideals and noble aims; of good personality, courteous but strict in discipline; critical but not discouraging; energetic and enthusiastic, but always within the limits of dignity. Second, a chorus composed of singers who sing because they love to sing (paid or unpaid), who are gladly willing to obey the leader’s direction, and who will concentrate themselves upon their work throughout the period of rehearsal or performance. Their degree of vocal excellence, musical qualities, individual musical knowledge and training will determine the magnitude of the task upon which the leader may direct their efforts and also the degree of excellence which their performance can attain.

In the United States there exist innumerable organizations devoted to the study of choral music in its various forms, and it may be of interest to enumerate some of the principal kinds.

1. The church congregation which sings hymns either in unison or in four-part harmony in a more or less happy-go-lucky fashion.

2. The church choir composed of male and female voices or of boys’ and men’s voices.

3. The societies devoted to the study of oratorios and cantatas.

4. The societies devoted to the study of unaccompanied choral singing (a cappella, as it is called), such as madrigals, glees, motets, etc.

5. Male choruses, such as the German singing societies and the glee clubs.

6. Choruses of women’s voices.

7. Opera choruses.

8. Choruses of school-children.

The great majority of these organizations consists of amateurs, that is, of people who love music and who find in choral singing an opportunity to gratify their desire to take an active part in its performance.

Even those whose voices are of mediocre quality and have had little or no training can learn to do excellent work in large choruses in which the individual voice is merged in the mass. An example of this may be found in the People’s Singing Classes and in the People’s Choral Union of New York. Applicants to the former are admitted without vocal or musical examination. They are taught to sing from notes, to follow the bâton of the leader, to phrase and enunciate correctly, and to produce a musical quality of tone. After two seasons they are promoted into the Choral Union and are capable of singing the choruses of the oratorios by Handel, Mendelssohn, and the modern masters. Their work has been highly praised by the principal music critics and they have given and are still giving pleasure to thousands of people at their concerts.

Societies like the Oratorio Society of New York, the Handel and Haydn of Boston, the Apollo Club of Chicago, and numerous similar ones in nearly every city are also composed of amateurs, but admission is obtained only after proof of good vocal material and ability to sing at sight has been given. This enables such organizations to perform with a high degree of artistic finish and to produce a number of large works every season.

The male societies, such as glee clubs and Deutsche Gesangvereine, cultivate a lighter class of music, but they sometimes reach a high degree of vocal excellence and finish in diction and phrasing. They afford a welcome relief from work, business cares, and mental strain to many men who like to sing and who enjoy the weekly rehearsals and the social intercourse with congenial men which usually follows the drill.

The women’s choruses are not as numerous nor as popular as the men’s, but seem to be growing more so every year. It is difficult to understand why male choral singing should have developed more quickly and more widely, as women are usually more interested in music than the average man. Perhaps there is a psychological reason for it!

Choruses of children’s voices are among the most delightful manifestations in the realm of music when they are well trained. Our public schools throughout the country have the best possible machinery for their development, and wherever this is guided by a good musician and competent organizer the results are very beautiful. It is a great pity, therefore, that the start in the direction of choral singing given in the schools to hundreds of thousands of children every year should not be systematically followed up by providing municipal evening singing classes, either in the school buildings or in other suitable halls provided by the city. Such classes would tend enormously to uplift the young people who are just beginning life by giving them opportunity to meet their friends under clean and pleasant conditions, to enjoy the study of beautiful music and thereby to put into their lives something which will help to lift them above the purely material thoughts and commonplace existence which are so often the lot of the wage-earner.

There remains only the consideration of the various kinds of professional choruses. Of these, the church choir is the most frequently met with. As a rule, it is little better than the average amateur chorus, the members receiving a nominal fee, chiefly in order to insure their regular attendance at rehearsals and services. But there are some notable exceptions in the case of wealthy congregations who spend whatever may be necessary to secure a highly gifted and thoroughly competent choir-master, good voices, and frequent rehearsals. In some cases there have been established richly endowed choir schools in which boys gifted with good voices receive not only musical training, but an excellent general education sufficient to prepare them for college.

The grand opera choruses have, until recently, been largely recruited from Italy and Germany, but now they include many young American men and women whose fresh voices and intelligent application are looked upon as welcome additions both by the conductors and the public. As interest in opera grows and as operatic institutions are established in a larger number of cities, this career will attract many young people whose voices are not of such quality as to promise success as soloists, but who are musical and prefer work along artistic lines to the more mechanical business or trade occupations.

Finally, mention must be made of a kind of choral singing which, at its best, is to vocal music what chamber music is to instrumental, namely, a cappella singing.

Dating from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when the old Italian and Flemish masters of church music laid the foundations of their wonderful contrapuntal style which culminated in the work of Palestrina, this form of unaccompanied choral singing has flourished to the present day, producing exquisite blossoms in every succeeding age and in nearly every country which has cultivated a love of music. Much of this class of music requires highly skilled singers, thorough musical training and expert leadership, and it is therefore desirable to secure professional singers when this is possible. The Musical Art Society of New York and other societies with similar aims devote themselves to this type of choral singing. Their choirs usually consist of professional singers and their programs embrace works by Palestrina, Orlando di Lasso, and their contemporaries and successors—Bach, Gibbons, Morley, Wilbye, and other English madrigalists; the masters of the German romantic school; Russian, Scandinavian, and Celtic part-songs; Cornelius, Brahms, and the modern composers of all nations.

From the foregoing recital of the wide scope of this important branch of musical art and its general practice by all classes of people, it would appear that choral singing is that form of music which is best adapted to popular use and that it is one of the easiest and best means to promote the love and culture of good music in the community.

Through the musical experience gained in the study of choral works and because of the pleasure it gives to the participants, interest is aroused in other forms of musical art. Those who are engaged in trying to awaken the American people to the appreciation of music by means of recitals by singers, pianists, and violinists; by chamber music, symphony concerts, and opera, will find more ready response from people who have entered the field of music apprehension through choral singing than through any other medium except the thorough training of a good music school, and this contingent is, as yet, comparatively small. It is to be hoped that, as the value of choral singing as a community asset becomes more generally recognized, public education boards and civic societies will give the fullest encouragement to its practice by the people at large. It is not too much to say that twenty per cent. of the adults of every city could become qualified to take part in choral singing, and this opens up marvellous possibilities.

Such civic choruses could assist in the celebration of the national holidays, of festivities in memory of great events, in exercises designed to honor a famous man; in short, they would be a true people’s voice expressing a people’s emotions, aspirations, and ideals. What more fitting then than that the great republic of America should foster the art and cultivate the practice of choral singing in order the more effectively to proclaim to all the world its message of well ordered liberty, of enlightenment and progress, and of peace to men of good will?

Frank Damrosch

New York, May, 1915.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME SIX

| | PAGE
| Prefatory Note | vii
| Introduction by Dr. Frank Damrosch | ix
| Part I. Choral Music of the Middle Ages |
CHAPTER | |

I.

Music of the Early and Mediæval Church and
Early Secular Music

1

The music of the earliest Christian church as evolved
from contemporary practices and systems; the alliance of
the Roman liturgy with music; the Schola Cantorum—St.
Ambrose and liturgical music; his hymns; Gregory the
Great and his reforms; the Gregorian antiphonary; sequences
and tropes—Progress in musical methods in the
northern countries; Hucbald and organum; Guido of Arezzo;
Franco of Cologne and measured music; growth of part-singing—Early
secular music; the Troubadours and Trouvères;
Adam de la Hâle; the Minnesingers and the Mastersingers;
mediæval secular forms; The early madrigal and
its precursors, the chanson and frottola; ‘Sumer is icumen
in’; relation of folk-music to art-music.

II. | The Polyphonic Period | 36

The Gallo-Belgic School; the Netherlanders; the mass
and its liturgical significance; the use of secular subjects--Conditions
that fostered continuity of development: the
‘Mass of Tournay’; Dufay and Okeghem; Hobrecht’s Parce
Domine; Josquin des Près’ masses and motets; his expressive
style—The motet as an extra-liturgical form; its development;
its later characteristic style; distinction between
sacred and secular music—Orlando di Lasso’s ‘Penitential
Psalms’; his tendency toward a simpler style; his Gustate
et Videte and other compositions—Palestrina’s reforms,
methods, and style; his masses, Papæ Marcelli, Brevis, and
Assumpta est Maria; his motets and other compositions:
Vittoria and others—Madrigal writers of the sixteenth century:
Festa, Arcadelt, Willaert, Byrd, Morley, etc.

III. | The First Century of Protestant Church Music | 76

Martin Luther; the chorale as the nucleus of German
Protestant church music—Early Reformation composers:
Walther, Eccard, Prætorius; influence of church choir
schools in Germany during the Reformation period—English
Protestant music, music of the Anglican liturgy: the anthem,
its early history and style—The spread of congregational
song; psalms and hymns.

| Part II. The Cantata and Other Short Forms |

IV.

The Early Italian Secular Cantata, the German
Classical Cantata, the English Anthem, and Other Short Choral Forms

99

The entrance of dramatic tendencies into music—Carissimi
and the early cantata; Rossi, Cesti, and Legrenzi—A.
Scarlatti, the culminating point in cantata-writing in Italy;
later developments of the Italian cantata—The German
church cantata and its relation to the Lutheran service;
cantata-texts of Neumeister and others—Bach in the service
of the church; his church cantatas—G. F. Handel; Joseph
Haydn; W. A. Mozart—English church music in the eighteenth
century; the anthem: Croft, Greene, Boyce, and
others—Later history of this motet in England, Italy, and
Germany; decadence of the madrigal; the glee, the part-song,
the masque and the ode.

V. | The Cantata in the Nineteenth Century | 142

Conflict of tradition and progress—Ludwig van Beethoven:
‘Ruins of Athens,’ ‘Glorious moment’; Andreas
Romberg—C. M. von Weber; Franz Schubert; Ludwig Spohr—Mendelssohn:
‘First Walpurgis Night,’ etc.; 95th Psalm;
Lauda Sion, etc.—Hector Berlioz: ‘Damnation of Faust’—Robert
Schumann: ‘Paradise and the Peri’; ‘Pilgrimage of
the Rose’; Miscellany—Ferdinand Hiller; Niels W. Gade:
‘Crusaders,’ ‘Erl-King’s Daughter,’ ‘Christmas Eve,’ ‘Comala,’
etc.—Félicien David: ‘The Desert’; Minor cantata
writers in Germany and England: Benedict, Costa, Macfarren,
Smart, Bennett—Anglican ritual-music and the German
evangelical motet in the nineteenth century; the part-song.

VI. | The Modern Cantata | 189

Wagner: ‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’; Liszt: ‘The
Bells of Strassburg,’ ‘Prometheus’—Brahms: ‘Song of
Triumph,’ ‘Song of Destiny’—Max Bruch: ‘Frithjof,’ ‘Fair
Ellen,’ ‘The Cross of Fire,’ ‘The Lay of the Bell,’ etc.—Rheinberger;
Dvořák; Hofmann; Goetz—Grieg; Gounod;
Sullivan: ‘The Golden Legend’; Barnby’s Gaul; Stainer;
Cowen—Parry; Mackenzie; Stanford—Elgar: ‘King Olaf’;
‘Caractacus’; ‘The Black Knight’—Coleridge-Taylor: ‘Hiawatha’
cycle—Dudley Buck: ‘The Golden Legend’; ‘The
Light of Asia’; Horatio Parker and other cantata writers in
the United States.

| Part III. The Oratorio and the Mass |
VII. | Early and Classical Oratorios | 223

Origin of oratorio in the sacred drama of Italy—Cavalieri:
‘The Representation of Soul and Body’—Carissimi:
‘Jephthah’—Scarlatti; Stradella; other early oratorio writers—Development
of oratorio in Germany; Passion-music
and its development; Schütz: ‘The Seven Last Words of
Christ’; ‘The Passion Oratorio’; ‘The Resurrection’—J. S.
Bach: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘Passion according to St. Matthew’;
Graun: ‘The Death of Jesus’; other writers of Passion-music—Handel
and the oratorio; ‘The Messiah’—‘Israel
in Egypt’; ‘Judas Maccabæus’; ‘Samson,’ etc.—Haydn:
‘The Creation’; ‘The Seasons.‘

VIII. | The Oratorio from Beethoven to Brahms | 264

Beethoven: ‘The Mount of Olives’; Spohr: ‘The Last
Judgment’ and ‘Calvary’—Mendelssohn: ‘St. Paul’—‘Elijah’
and ‘Hymn of Praise’—Liszt: ‘St. Elizabeth’ and ‘Christus’—Oratorio
in England; Sterndale Bennett: ‘The Woman of
Samaria’; Costa’s ‘Eli’—Oratorio in France; Lesueur; Berlioz’s
L’enfance du Christ—Gounod: ‘The Redemption’;
Mors et Vita.

IX. | The Modern Oratorio | 292

Brahms: ‘German Requiem’; Dvořák: ‘St. Ludmila’—César
Franck: ‘The Beatitudes’;—Tinel: ‘Franciscus’; Benoît:
‘Lucifer’—Saint-Saëns: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘The
Deluge’; Massenet: Ève; Marie Madeleine; Dubois: ‘Paradise
Lost’—Oratorio in England; Mackenzie: ‘The Rose of
Sharon’; ‘Bethlehem’; Parry: ‘Judith’; ‘Job’; ‘King Saul’—Stanford:
‘The Three Holy Children’; ‘Eden’; Sullivan:
‘The Prodigal Son’; ‘The Light of the World’; Cowen—Oratorio
in America; Paine: ‘St. Peter’; Horatio Parker:
Hora Novissima; ‘The Legend of St. Christopher.’

X. | The Modern Mass | 318

The adaptation of liturgical forms to extra-liturgical
purposes; Mass; Requiem Mass—Stabat Mater; Magnificat;
Te Deum—Musical masses and the Roman service—Bach:
‘B minor Mass’—Bach‘s ‘Magnificat in D’; Pergolesi‘s
Stabat Mater; Handel‘s Te Deums; Graun‘s ‘Prague Te
Deum’; Haydn’s church music—Mozart: the Requiem and
other masses—Cherubini: Requiem and other masses; Schubert’s
masses—Beethoven: Missa Solemnis; Weber’s masses—Berlioz:
Requiem; Te Deum; Rossini’s Stabat Mater;
Liszt: ‘Graner Mass’ and ‘Hungarian Coronation Mass’—Gounod:
‘St. Cecilia Mass’ and other masses; Dvořák:
Requiem and Stabat Mater; Verdi: ‘The Manzoni Requiem’—The
masses of Rheinberger, Henschel and others.

| Part IV. Modern Choral Music |
XI. | Contemporaneous Choral Music in Germany | 347

Contemporaneous Choral Music in Germany—Richard
Strauss: Wanderers Sturmlied; Taillefer; Motets—Taubmann:
Eine Deutsche Messe; Sängerweihe; Georg Schumann:
Ruth; Totenklage and other works—Max Reger’s
choral compositions; Schönberg: Gurrelieder; ‘Transfigured
Night’; Pierrot lunaire—Other choral writers of the present;
Felix Draeseke’s Christus; Wolfrum’s Weihnachtsmysterium;
Albert Fuchs; Wilhelm Platz; August Bungert’s
Warum? Woher? Wohin? Felix Woyrsch: Totentanz and
other works; Wilhelm Berger’s Totentanz; Karl Ad. Lorenz:
Das Licht; other contributors to modern German choral
literature.

XII. | Contemporaneous Choral Music in England and America | 359

Elgar: ‘The Light of Life’; ‘The Dream of Gerontius’;
‘The Apostles’; ‘The Kingdom’; ‘The Music Makers’;—Parry:
‘War and Peace’; ‘The Vision of Life’; ‘The Pied
Piper of Hamelin’; Mackenzie; Cowen; Coleridge-Taylor—Bantock:
‘The Fire Worshippers’; ‘Omar Khayyam’ and
other choral works—Holbrooke: ‘The Bells,’ ‘Byron’ and
other works; Grainger and others; Walford Davies:
‘Everyman’; ‘The Temple’ and other works; minor English
choral writers—Horatio Parker: ‘Morven and the Grail’ and
smaller works; Chadwick: ‘Judith’ and ‘Noël’—Henry
Hadley: ‘Merlin and Vivian’ and short works; F. S. Converse:
‘Job’; other American choral writers.

XIII.

Contemporary Choral Music in France, Italy,
Russia and Elsewhere

386

Debussy: L’enfant prodigue, La demoiselle élue and
Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien; Reynaldo Hahn: La pastorale
de Noël; Gabriel Pierné: La croisade des enfants; Les
enfants de Bethlehem; Les fioretti de Saint-François
d’Assisi—Florent Schmitt: Psalm XLVII; Vincent d’Indy:
Chant de la cloche, etc.—Renaissance of oratorio in Italy;
Perosi and his oratorios; Bossi: Canticum canticorum; Il
Paradiso perduto; Wolf-Ferrari: La Vita Nuova and other
works—Scandinavia; choral music in Russia; Moussorgsky;
Rimsky-Korsakoff; Glazounoff; Glière; Arensky and
others; choral composition in Poland, Bohemia, Hungary,
Spain.

| Part V. The Organ and Its Music |
XIV. | The Organ from the Earliest Times to the Present | 397

The ancestor of the modern organ; pneumatic and hydraulic
organs of classical antiquity—The organ in early
mediæval times—The tenth and eleventh centuries: cloister
and minster organs; the twelfth and thirteenth centuries:
introduction of the ‘portative’ organ and balanced keys;
the fourteenth century: chromatic keyboard; pedals; organ
blowing—Fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; cathedral and
church organs; the Rückpositiv; the Spanish partida;
builders—The seventeenth century: mechanical development;
tuning; union of manuals; the eighteenth century;
the ‘Swell’; English builders; the Silbermanns—Rococo
adornment of cases; the nineteenth century and the birth
of the modern instrument—Pneumatic action; electric action;
the Universal Air Chest; duplex stop control; tonal
improvements—the chamber organ; the concert organ.

XV. | Early Organ Music | 415

The old Italian masters: Landino to Frescobaldi—Early
German masters; the forerunners of Bach; Hassler, Pachelbel,
Buxtehude—J. S. Bach: the toccatas, the preludes and
fugues, the sonatas and other works—The early French
composers: Couperin and Rameau; Spain and Portugal;
the Netherlands—The early English masters; Tye, Tallis,
Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, etc.—Purcell; Handel.

XVI. | Organ Music after Bach and Handel | 456

The eclipse of organ music after Bach; Bach’s pupils
and other organ masters of the classic period—Organ composers
of the romantic period: Mendelssohn, Liszt, Rheinberger
and others—Great French organists of the nineteenth
century—English organists since Handel.

XVII. | Modern Organ Music | 479

Supremacy of modern French organ music; Saint-Saëns;
Guilmant: sonatas and smaller works—Widor: organ
symphonies; Dubois; Gigout and other French organ-writers—German
organ composers; Piutti; Klose; Reger;
chorale-fantasias; Karg-Elert and others—Organ music in
Italy; Capocci; Bossi; Busoni and others—English organ
composers since 1850—Organ music in the United States;
early history; Dudley Buck; Frederick Archer and Clarence
Eddy; contemporary American organ composers.

| Literature | 503
| Index | 507

CHORAL AND CHURCH MUSIC

CHAPTER I
MUSIC OF THE EARLY AND MEDIÆVAL CHURCH AND EARLY SECULAR MUSIC

The music of the earliest Christian church as evolved from contemporary practices and systems; the alliance of the Roman liturgy with music; the Schola Cantorum—St. Ambrose and liturgical music; his hymns; Gregory the Great and his reforms; the Gregorian antiphonary; sequences and tropes—Progress in musical methods in the northern countries; Hucbald and organum; Guido of Arezzo; Franco of Cologne and measured music; growth of part-singing—Early secular music; the Troubadours and Trouvères; Adam de la Hâle; the Minnesingers and the Mastersingers; mediæval secular forms; The early madrigal and its precursors, the chanson and frottola; ‘Sumer is icumen in’; relation of folk-music to art-music.

I

Accustomed as we are in the present age to rapid progress and swift development, it seems difficult to understand why it should have required so many centuries to develop among human beings a feeling for the necessity of more than a single melody or voice-part in music expression. The earliest music of which we have any knowledge is monophonic, a single melody sung by a single voice, or by a number of voices in unison or in octaves. This characteristic prevails not only in the music of primitive races, ancient or modern, but also in the music of those ancient nations that attained a high degree of civilization—Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Assyrians, Hebrews. The Greeks and Egyptians understood thoroughly the theory of intervals and they possessed an adequate comprehension of intervals in the melodic sense, where tone follows tone. But it seems never to have occurred to them to apply this knowledge of intervals to sounds of different pitch heard simultaneously, certainly never seriously enough to lead them to make experiments in the use of these intervals for the purpose of evolving two or more independent melodies or voice-parts sounding at the same time. Even the crude device of having two melodies move in parallel fifths or fourths, as in the organum of Hucbald, was not employed until the tenth century of the Christian era. And, the principle of discant or added parts to a given melody having been once established, it required nearly six centuries more of constant experimentation with vocal part-writing before there emerged any clear or conscious feeling for what we call harmony or a progression of chord-units. Since the sixteenth century, however, musical progress has unfolded with constantly accelerated pace.

Until about the beginning of the seventeenth century, when secularity entered the domain of music and received such important consideration in the development of dramatic and instrumental music, practically the whole creative energy of art-music had been expended in the interest of religion. From the earliest times the most important music of the Greeks, Egyptians, Assyrians, and Hebrews was associated with their respective religious rites and ceremonies. Roman civilization contributed nothing of importance to the musical knowledge or practices of its time, for militant Rome was far more interested in assimilating from the culture of conquered countries than in originating and developing practices of her own. Even the dawn of the Christian era, with the tremendous dynamics of its new moral and ethical ideals and its prophecy of intellectual freedom, did not usher in any essential departure from the old musical usages. The early Christians merely selected from current musical systems and contemporaneous melodies those elements that were best suited to the services of the new religion and to the religious home life of its adherents. Until the period of open persecution set in, the converts to the new religion did not in general follow a social or economic life that differed in any essential respects from that of their neighbors who still paid homage to the old forms and trod the old paths of religious worship. The believers in the new and the old forms of religion mingled freely in the daily rounds of their various duties and pleasures. Just as the early Christian art did not differ in principle from the best Pagan models, so the music of the early Christian congregations was absorbed into their services from the musical practices of the communities from which the converts came. Those in the East naturally turned for their musical material to the noble melodies of the Hebrew synagogue and to the more chaste Greek melodies whose association was farther removed from sensual Pagan rites. Those in the West borrowed freely from current Græco-Roman music, employing, of course, only those melodies that were purest and most refined in character and association.

From this point of contact with the old civilization, the music of the early Christian worship gradually developed along the line of its own inherent and individual needs and kept pace with the internal unfoldment of the liturgic idea that at an early date imbedded itself firmly in all branches of the church services. The line of continuity in passing from the old to the new, however, was unbroken. Public ceremonials and priestly sacrifices have always produced conditions exceedingly favorable to the development of rituals and liturgies. This was conspicuously true of the Hebrew religion, as well as the Pagan religions which were practised in the opening centuries of the Christian era. It is not altogether surprising, then, that many Pagan ideas, forms, and ceremonials were incorporated into the ritual and liturgy of the early church, especially after the third century, when Christianity was received into the favor of the State.

While the organization of the early Christian church was still simple and its government more or less democratic in character, the congregation took an active part in the musical portion of the service. But the gradual development of elaborate liturgies and ceremonies, the transformation of the clergy from representatives of the people to mediatorial functionaries, and the general hierarchical tendencies of the times—all contributed in bringing about a condition distinctly unfavorable to free congregational singing. Indeed, this was specifically forbidden in all liturgical services by the Council of Laodicea (343-381), and while the transfer of the office of song from the people to the clergy was not immediately effective, congregational singing in the apostolic sense passed out of existence in the fourth century. It is true that in private worship and in non-liturgical services the singing of hymns and psalms by the general body of worshippers was permitted, but the rapid growth of sacerdotalism irresistibly led to the corresponding withdrawal of initiative from the individual worshippers, until the clergy in all liturgical services finally assumed all the offices of public worship, inclusive of song, which was regarded as an integral part of the office of prayer.

The establishment of the priestly liturgic chant marks the real beginning of the history of music in the Christian church, for music after that event became a matter of special qualifications and preparation on the part of the performers, and of rigid adherence to prescribed formulas and regulations in all details of performance. It followed with utmost logic from the doctrine of the universality and immutability of the church that its liturgy, rites, and ceremonies should not only remain unchanged from age to age, but should be uniform in all countries and localities where her authority was recognized.

In the study of the Roman Catholic liturgy its alliance with music must be kept constantly in mind, for in inception and in development it was and always has been a musical liturgy. In working out the problems of securing the desired uniformity in respect to musical settings for different localities and of handing down to succeeding generations the musical forms that had gained the sanction of church authority, the church fathers were confronted with difficulties the magnitude of which it is not easy for us to comprehend. It was not until the eleventh century that a system of staff notation was devised whereby the exact pitch of notes could be accurately represented, and a full century elapsed after this vital invention before an adequate system of measured music was evolved whereby the exact relative duration of notes could be represented. A detailed account of the slow and laborious development of the elementary material out of which the fair edifice of modern music was finally to be reared will be found in Vol. I of this series. It will suffice here to say that the authorized versions of the various chants, as the liturgy was gradually taking definite and final shape during the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries, had to be taught and preserved by ‘word of mouth,’ this process being somewhat aided, through visual association, by means of a kind of musical shorthand called ‘neumes,’ consisting of dots, short lines and combinations of lines written over the syllables to be sung, which indicated the general direction of the melody but not the exact intervals between its tones as it fluctuated up and down in pitch. Even this crude system of representing pitch relations by visual symbols was of great assistance to the singers, for in principle it sought to serve the same purpose that our modern notation accomplishes in suggesting to the eve the outline of the melody. Indefinite as it was in not indicating exact intervallic relations, it greatly aided in recalling to mind the melodies already memorized, assistance which was greatly appreciated by the singers, for as many as a thousand different melodies were used during the church year, many of them for a single occasion only.

To eliminate conflicting traditions and to bring about uniformity in all branches of the service, singing schools were established by order and under the direction of ecclesiastical authorities (the first one in 314 at Rome by Pope Sylvester), in which the clerical singers received thorough instruction and training not only in the exact forms of all the chants to be used, but also in all matters of intonation, qualities of tone suited to different chants, enunciation, etc. These schools (scholæ cantorum) brought about as much uniformity and permanency as were possible in the absence of more exact notational means. But even with these great handicaps, a wealth of musical material was accumulated even before the twelfth century, whose plenitude and affluent beauty it would seem have never been rightly appreciated or exploited by the Catholic Church itself. The difficulties in deciphering the vague neumes in the mediæval manuscripts have undoubtedly operated to keep these treasures hidden away in their original depositories; yet the results of the labors of occasional enthusiasts in translating some of them into modern notation would indicate that here are unexplored channels for the permanent enrichment of the literature of Catholic music. In his motu propria of November 22, 1903, Pope Pius X turned the attention of the Catholic world back to the glories of the mediæval Gregorian music and, indirectly, to the old manuscripts, treasure-stores of long forgotten melodies of the old church singers that are still hidden away in the monasteries and abbeys of Europe and northern Africa, as well as in the more accessible museums and libraries of Europe.

The earliest known manuscripts date from the eighth, possibly the sixth, century. But aside from the traditional music of the liturgy, handed down from generation to generation by word of mouth and preserved intact, in Rome at least, by the severe discipline of the singing schools, we possess very few examples of music whose origin can with certainty be placed before the eleventh century, when our present staff notation came into being. Yet even with so little actual music of the period at hand we know with great definiteness the character of ecclesiastical music from contemporary writings, edicts, and decrees.

II

When early Christian music finally freed itself from the influence of Pagan models in the interest of its own internal necessities, it opened the way for the first time in history for the development of a purely vocal art, dispensing with the assistance of the instruments that formed such an essential part of the musical practices allied with Pagan religious rites and ceremonies. For the first fifteen centuries of the Christian era almost the only art-music was that which was cultivated by and for the church, and since the church during this period persistently frowned upon the use of instruments, the history of the music of the period is the history of choral music.

But while in Italy the use of instruments was rigidly forbidden and any deviation from prescribed practices was a punishable offense, greater difficulty was experienced in enforcing this church law in those countries of Europe, now known as France, Germany, and England, which had more recently been won to the standard of Christianity by the militant missionaries of Rome, but which still retained a rugged independence that clung tenaciously to many local customs. In some of these localities instruments were freely used and in the monastery of St. Gall in Switzerland festival occasions were graced by a band of harps, flutes, cymbals, a seven-stringed psaltery, and an organ. Notwithstanding a few noteworthy exceptions, the music of the Roman Church can be characterized as pure vocal music until near the end of the sixteenth century at least. And when instruments were occasionally used—the organ more and more toward the end of the sixteenth century—it was for the purpose of doubling the voice-parts in order to gain greater sonority.

After the office of song was restricted to specially trained clericals, thus bringing music within the domain of culture and laying the foundation for its development as an art, the first name of importance among those who strove to bring order and increased effectiveness into the chaotic conditions of liturgical music was St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan (340?-397). Much that was attributed to him until a few decades ago has been proved to be apocryphal and legendary. We may with much certainty, however, affirm that his enthusiastic interest in the music of the liturgy resulted (1) in carefully sifting the material that had been gradually accumulating, and (2) in bringing into the ritual of the Western church from the Eastern three elements of great value to its further development—antiphonal singing of psalms by two alternating choirs, responsorial singing, and Greek hymnody. His great interest in the last-named field led him not only to translate many of the finest Greek hymns into Latin, but inspired him to write new Latin hymns to be sung, probably to simple melodies, after the Greek fashion. Among the hymns (about ten in number) from his own pen may be named Veni Redemptor Gentium and Eterna Christi Munera (‘Hymnal Noted,’ Nos. 12 and 36).

St. Ambrose’s innovations soon found favor elsewhere. Antiphonal psalmody was introduced into the service at Rome by Pope Celestine (pope from 422 to 432), and in a short time was quite generally adopted throughout the domains of the church. St. Augustine (354-430), who was a friend of St. Ambrose and a collaborator with him, and who is said to have made a collection of Ambrosian melodies for the use of the church, bears touching testimony to their emotional effect: ‘How I wept at thy hymns and canticles, pierced to the quick by the voices of thy melodious church! Those voices flowed into my ears, and the truth distilled into my heart, and thence there streamed forth a devout emotion, and my tears ran down, and happy was I therein.’ (St. Augustine, ‘Confessions,’ Book 9, chap. 6.)

The so-called Ambrosian collection vied in importance with the Gregorian for several centuries and many of its finest features were undoubtedly incorporated into the later and more comprehensive collection. So important a place does St. Ambrose fill in the history of ecclesiastical music that the term Ambrosian is still applied to usages, both liturgical and musical, of the Church of Milan, which distinguish its service in certain respects from the Roman service, and which are supposed to have been originated by the great Milanese bishop.

After St. Ambrose the next prelate to impress himself profoundly on the course of development of church-music was Pope Gregory the Great (pope from 590 to 604). While recent research[1] has proved beyond doubt that a multitude of reforms and innovations attributed to him by mediæval legends and repeated by later history belong in reality to a much later period, it is well established that he manifested an enthusiastic and well-directed interest in the music of the service, that he introduced many corrective measures to curb the growing danger of secularizing church-music through the use of unauthorized embellishments and licenses in singing the chants, and that he brought about a thorough and far-reaching reorganization of the singing schools. When he became pope in 590, the liturgy was practically completed as far as its actual material was concerned. Since the earliest practices of the church had encouraged a musical liturgy, he found in actual use a vast number of chants and musical settings for various parts of the services. These musical settings differed in different localities. In conformity with his definitely conceived policy of establishing in reality one universal church for all peoples and races, with centralized power and highly-organized form of government, he set about to accomplish a definite systematization and an authoritative organization of all liturgic functions, together with the necessarily similar regulation of the music associated with the liturgy. This reform was in the nature of a codification of existing material, and while he did not finish the great work, he brought it within the bounds of uniformity as regards both liturgy and musical settings, and gave to these results of his labors all the permanency that the solemn law of the church could command. The liturgical portion was called Sacramentarium Gregorianum and the musical portion Antiphonarium Gregorianum, and from the seventh century these two books are always met with side by side.

The interesting and fanciful stories of Pope Gregory’s labors as composer of chants and as teacher in the Schola Cantorum must be discarded as wholly unproven legends, and to the same category belongs the tradition that after compiling the Antiphonary he caused a copy of it to be chained to the altar of St. Peter’s, as containing the only music authorized by the church. One of the direct results of his reorganization of the singing school, however, was the establishment on a permanent basis of the Sistine Chapel,[2] or papal choir, at Rome. This organization, the oldest choral body in the world, was for centuries the court of final resort in all matters pertaining to the traditions of Gregorian chant and it maintained a practically continuous existence from that far-off age until the temporal power of the pope came to an end in 1870, when it was practically disbanded. Since that date, however, its members have from time to time been called together to sing in the Sistine Chapel on occasions of special significance.

The Gregorian collection or antiphonary, which was the musical law of the Roman Church until the Renaissance period, was probably not settled in final form until the time of Gregory II (pope 715-731) or Gregory III (pope 731-741). However much Gregory the Great may have accomplished in establishing methods of permanency and universality in the ritual-music, the processes of selection, accretion, and assimilation went on for more than a century after his death. This collection, which was written in the vague neumes of the period, became the most important factor in the music of the Western church and by the end of, the eleventh century had practically superseded all other bodies of ritual-music—such as the African, Celtic, Gallican, and Spanish[3] (Mozarabic)—which had previously gained ascendency in the various countries which acknowledged spiritual allegiance to Rome.

The historic collection of Gregorian music divides itself into two large groups—(1) the music of the Mass, together with that of the baptismal, burial, and other occasional services, corresponding with the modern Missal, and (2) the music of the daily Hours of Divine Service, corresponding with the modern Breviary. There are about 630 compositions in the first large group, in which only scriptural words appear, classified as follows: about 150 Introits (Antiphonæ ad introitum), about 150 Communions (Antiphonæ ad communionem), 110 Graduals, 100 Alleluias, 23 Tracts, and 102 Offertories. In the music of the second large division (the Hours of Divine Service) there is much less variety than in the music of the Mass. As this group of services did not have the same official position as the Mass, less restraint was exercised in regard to modifications. In this collection are to be found some 2,000 antiphons and about 800 Greater Responds, besides many Lesser Responds, Invitatories, and Versicles.

It is now quite generally believed that there were no essential differences between Ambrosian and Gregorian music. If any differences existed, they were in such compositions as the Ambrosian hymn, which was written for the use of the congregation and was more measured and stately in its swing than its Gregorian counterpart, which was sung by the trained choirs and therefore capable of much more rhythmic freedom and melodic embellishment.

The Roman singing school (Schola Cantorum) played a large and important part both in the labor of codifying the great collection since known as Gregorian music, and in spreading the Gregorian chant among the faithful in other lands. This latter task was greatly facilitated by the establishment of numerous singing schools, modelled after the Roman school, in England, France, and Germany, under the auspices of monastic orders or powerful prelates. Among the most famous of these schools were the one at Metz, founded by Bishop Chrodegang, which maintained great prestige up to the twelfth century; the one at Oxford, founded by Alfred the Great; the monastic school of Fulda, which held the foremost place in Germany; and the one at St. Gall, Switzerland, whose fame and achievements eclipsed all the others and which was celebrated far and near for the elaborateness and excellence of its musical service and for the devotion and enthusiasm of its monks in the advancement of ecclesiastical music during the eighth, the ninth, and especially the tenth century. England became acquainted with Gregorian chant during the lifetime of Gregory the Great, when St. Augustine (not to be confused with the Latin father) was commissioned in 597 as an apostle to carry Christianity to the island across the channel. In France and Germany (Franconia and Allemania) Pepin,[4] and especially Charlemagne, gave energetic and active support to the movement to bring about uniformity with Rome, and by the beginning of the ninth century the Gregorian chant had supplanted the old Gallican chant in all the domains of the great emperor. Spain, however, did not accept the Gregorian chant until the eleventh century, during the reign of Pope Gregory VII.

The inexact system of notation (neumes) in which the Gregorian antiphonary was written necessarily laid great emphasis on the oral transmission of the melodies, hence it was hardly possible to attain perfect uniformity in different countries and in different periods. Yet it is believed that the singers of the Roman school, who were subject to severe penalties for even slight infractions of the traditions of the Gregorian procedure, succeeded in preserving through the Middle Ages not only the great body of Gregorian chant but their traditional performance with a wonderful degree of purity and inviolability. But away from Rome, while the general principles of procedure were preserved intact, modifications in details undoubtedly crept in, some unconsciously and some in deference to the various national or local predilections. Thus in Gaul and the northern countries generally, the oriental style of ornamentation, retained from earlier periods in many of the Roman melodies, met with scant favor. To satisfy these sturdy and independent singers the ornate qualities were frequently softened or eliminated altogether.

Additions to the original ritual music of the Gregorian service appeared about the beginning of the tenth century under the names of sequences and tropes. The sequence was a melody of hymn-like structure which derived its name from its position in the Mass, being a continuation or sequence of the Gradual and Alleluia. It had long been a custom, introduced from the East, to prolong the final vowel of the Alleluia-chant, sung between the Epistle and the Gospel, into a free melody or vocal flourish without words, called jubilation, originally a kind of ecstatic improvisation. French musicians in the ninth century added words to these melodies. They thus became separate compositions to which at first the name ‘prose’ was given, since the words adapted to the music were without meter. Later, when these compositions became thoroughly independent, texts in metrical form were written for them, the name ‘prose’ was dropped as no longer appropriate, and the new name ‘sequence’ assumed. This change in name and character is credited to the St. Gall monk, Notker Balbulus (died 912). Sequences became very popular from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries and mediæval office-books abound in fine specimens, many of them of extreme beauty and originality. During the tenth and eleventh centuries the monastery of St. Gall remained the chief centre of activity in the composition of sequences and Notker found a multitude of followers, mainly in Germany. Quite independent of the St. Gall influence, a second centre of activity appeared at the monastery of St. Martial in Limoges, culminating in the twelfth century in Adam of St. Victor in Paris. These sequences, patterned after the Greek model, approached more and more the form of the hymn, in which they finally disappeared.

In the sequences the vernacular, as well as Latin, was employed and they were freely used in the Mass, becoming ‘a sort of people’s song.’ But since they were in reality extra-liturgical, they were all suppressed, except five, when the Council of Trent revised the Roman liturgy in the sixteenth century. The five at present in use are: Victimæ Paschali, appointed for Easter Sunday, written by Wipo early in the eleventh century, the oldest of the five and the only one similar in structure to Notker’s sequences; Veni Sancte Spiritus for Whitsunday, written probably by Innocent III at the end of the twelfth century, called ‘the Golden Sequence’ by mediæval writers; Lauda Sion for the festival Corpus Christi, written by St. Thomas Aquinas supposedly about the year 1261; Stabat Mater, sung since 1727 on the Friday in Passion Week, of uncertain authorship; and Dies Irae, sung on All Souls’ Day and in the Requiem or Mass for the Dead, written by Thomas of Celano late in the twelfth century or early in the thirteenth century. In the thirteenth century the poetry of the Latin Church attained its period of greatest brilliance and amid the rich efflorescence of this wonderful epoch the Dies Irae stands incomparable, the finest example of rhymed Latin poetry of the Middle Ages. Second to it in poetic beauty is the Stabat Mater. It should be added that the authors of the above sequences were combined poets and composers, as poetry and music were twin-born arts during the Middle Ages.

Another of the many illustrations of the readiness with which the churches of the West accepted the musical practices of the East was the ‘trope,’ which was adopted among the Franks in the ninth and tenth centuries from the many Byzantine musicians who came into the West during this period. The trope was not unlike the sequence in its development. The name was originally given to any succession of tones without text that occurred in the florid chants. Tuotilo of St. Gall (died 915) developed the tropes into quasi-independent compositions by setting words to them and interpolating them among the chants of the Mass, thus thrusting them into the Gregorian liturgy. These interpolations, some very extensive and ornate, found their way into all the Mass-chants except the Credo, which was considered too sacred to violate. But since the tropes were regarded by the Council of Trent as weakening accretions to the venerable structure of church-music, they, as well as the sequences, were banished from the liturgy in its final revision.

III

The tendency of ecclesiasticism has always been to curb and discourage individual effort toward progress in all matters pertaining to the development of ritual-music. This was not altogether strange, for until modern times music existed in the church solely for liturgical purposes. It was not desired that its effectiveness should be considered apart from the religious idea with which it was so intimately associated in the liturgy. So completely were text and music merged into one artistic unity that the church authorities consistently and persistently resented any effort to glorify music for its own sake or at the expense of the liturgic idea. The state of immobility in which ritual music existed was the natural sequence to the church doctrine of immutability. Notwithstanding constant temptation to experiment and introduce innovations, the efforts of the Roman singers were rigidly restricted to the problems of perfecting the performance of the ritual music as prescribed by church law and tradition. From the standpoint of the liturgy (from which standpoint alone this music should be judged) the Roman singers must have attained a standard of ideal perfection in beauty and expressiveness of tonal utterance, and in preserving the original liturgical significance of the music in the service.

So conservative was Rome and so fettered was Italy by the venerated traditions of the Papal Chapel that no change in musical methods was possible in this field. Outside of Italy, however, conditions were more favorable to progress. In the triumphant march of Christianity over Western Europe under the leadership of Rome many concessions were made to local customs and usages. The independent northerners steadily refused to accept with unquestioning allegiance the traditions of Rome in all matters pertaining to ritual-music, and thus stagnation was prevented and the hope of further progress for music in time became a reality. Out of the experiments and occasional innovations of the venturesome singers of the northern countries there were slowly and laboriously laid the foundations on which it became possible to construct the succeeding system of ecclesiastical polyphonic music. But when, in the fullness of time and with infinite patience and toil, this stately edifice was reared, how appropriate and fitting it was that the Roman Palestrina, himself associated for many years with the Sistine Chapel, should have been the one to lay on its altar the richest treasures of religious music that the Roman Church possesses, the purest, most complete and perfect expression of the spirit of the Roman liturgy!

Before the Carlovingian era the practice of music was restricted to the singing schools founded for the preservation and propagation of Gregorian chant. But with the great impetus given to learning under Charlemagne the consideration of liturgic music passed to the monastery study. Music became a compulsory subject in the curriculum of the cathedral and monastery schools, and its theory as well as its practice received the attention of the learned monks and scholars. It was from this direction that the next recorded advances in musical art appeared.

In the writings of these ecclesiastical musicians and scholars we find accounts of the clumsy, yet persistent efforts of the singers and theorists to break away from the prevailing monophony or unison chanting of Gregorian music and to improve upon current systems of notation. The Flemish monk Hucbald (who died about 930), in his Musica enchiriadis, described the earliest known efforts at polyphony, which he called Organum or Diaphony (See Vol. I, pp. 161 ff). Guido d’Arezzo (died about 1050), sometimes called ‘the father of music’ and undoubtedly the most impressive musical personality in the early part of the Middle Ages, probably originated the four-lined staff for indicating pitch relationships and invented solmization, a system of reading music through the association of tones with syllables that is the direct ancestor of our present-day systems of reading music by syllables (‘Tonic Sol-fa,’ ‘Movable Do,’ ‘Fixed Do’). He is credited by later writers with many innovations and discoveries which possibly belonged rightfully to talented and ingenious contemporaries who, however, did not succeed in stamping themselves on their own age as vividly as did this great singer and teacher. Franco of Cologne (died about 1200), in his famous treatise on Measured Music, gives a voluminous account of his own and contemporary thought about intervals, consonances and dissonances, time-values of notes, etc.

By the beginning of the thirteenth century the science of music had reached the point where music could be accurately notated as regards both pitch and time relationships and its further development became correspondingly accelerated. The organization of music on the twofold basis of regularity of stress or accent and of fixed proportions in the division of time-units was hastened by the growing desire of singers to add a new voice-part to the old Gregorian chant. This practice of part-singing, at first called ‘organum,’ later ‘discant,’ undoubtedly had its origin in the study-rooms of the choirs and singing schools. The choristers were naturally chosen because of their unusual aptitude for music. The larger part of their time was given up not only to the perfecting of means for the most effective performance of the church music, but also to the study of the theory and practice of music in all its then known phases. The creative instinct more and more seized upon them. Notwithstanding ecclesiastical restrictions the singers were too much under the seductive spell of the inner spirit of their art not to yield to the ready temptation of delving into the infinite possibilities of new tonal combinations and devices that lay so close at hand. When the idea of singing two melodies at the same time was once grasped (we have no definite knowledge how it was first suggested), the singers took it up with avidity.

At first experiments were restricted to two voices or parts. While one chorister was singing a familiar chant-melody another would sing a second melody an octave or a fourth or a fifth below it, usually joining it at the end in unison. The progression of two voices or parts moving in parallel octaves was known to the Greeks and was called by them ‘magadizing’—from the magadis, a stringed instrument. The singing of two concurrent parts in parallel fourths or fifths did not offend mediæval ears as it does modern ears, probably because of the exact parallelism of such melodic movement, which is merely a different kind of unison.[5] The earliest parallel movement was evidently in fourths, not in fifths, as usually stated in musical histories. (See Weinmann, ‘History of Church Music,’ page 74.)

Various kinds of organum soon came into vogue. Three-part organum resulted from doubling the lower of the two parts an octave higher, and four-part organum from adding to these three parts the original upper part an octave lower, thus producing simultaneously moving octaves, fourths, and fifths. Such a progression of parts, quite obnoxious to ears accustomed to harmony, impressed Hucbald as ‘a delightful concord.’[6] As the experiments increased, the accompanying voice (the discant) was added above as well as below the chant (the cantus firmus, or fixed voice). The monotony of exclusive parallelism was broken by sometimes sustaining the same tone in one part while the other part moved up or down (oblique motion) or by letting the two parts move in contrary direction, and lastly, by mixing these three kinds of tone movement, thus producing greater variety in the intervals used. When this freer movement of parts was recognized as essential to more pleasing vocal effects, the word discant came to be applied to it to distinguish it from the more primitive form of movement—organum—in parallel fourths, fifths, and octaves. Until the thirteenth century the intervals most used in all styles of part-writing were fourths, fifths, octaves, and unisons. Thirds and sixths, though occasionally permitted, were regarded as dissonances until the period when harmony came to be a conscious element of musical thought.

The Playing Angels

Altar piece by Hubert and Jan van Eyck

Until a definite system of notation was devised, the discanting parts to the chants were extemporized by the singers. But when the staff was invented and notes or points were employed to indicate the exact pitch of the tones of the melodies, the name counterpoint (punctus contra punctum, note against note) was given to the part or parts added to the chant (cantus firmus). The term counterpoint[7] displaced discant in the thirteenth century, and from this time the art of counterpoint developed as the number of added parts increased and the various kinds of intervallic relationships among the interdependent parts were recognized and systematized.

The foundation of all the art-music of the Middle Ages was the chant; and the science of music concerned itself wholly with the addition of more or less free and independent parts to the chant-melodies. Musical invention, however, was limited entirely to these accompanying parts. Until probably the fourteenth century or even later, composers as such were unknown. Since music in the church was never considered apart from the liturgy to which it was wedded, not only did the melodic form of the chants themselves (that is, their rising and falling inflections of pitch) follow quite closely the natural rhetorical utterance of the words of the liturgy, being an intensification of the natural values of forceful speech, but for several centuries after the principle of polyphony was thoroughly recognized the intricate church compositions, such as the masses and motets, were constructed by using the liturgic chants as subjects and adding free parts to these. At first the principal melody (subject) was taken from the chant books; but in course of time secular songs of the day found their way into the choral parts, either as the principal melody to which other parts were supplied or as an accompanying part to a given plain-song melody. The secular words, frequently of questionable moral quality, were often carried along with the melodies into the sacred company of actual ritual-music and the singers found such a combination neither irreverent nor incongruous. It was quite analogous to the custom, common among the early painters, of painting the portraits of such ordinary mortals as wealthy purchasers or patrons on the same canvas with saints or apostles, or even with the Madonna. The church authorities frowned upon mingling secular and sacred elements in ecclesiastical music in this manner, and the practice, so common in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, led to such gross abuses that it was finally suppressed.

The important rôle which the church singers themselves played in the development of music in this formative period is worthy of passing notice. Foremost in importance is to be noted that the choirs were in fact training-schools for composers. Almost without exception the church composers were graduated, so to speak, from the choirs into the more exalted and distinguished sphere of creative work, having first gained their practical training and experience as choristers. But the humbler singers themselves were not without a good measure of influence. In their experiments in the study-rooms, as well as in the actual singing of written compositions, they served to counteract the pedantic rules of theorists by following the dictates of the ear as against mere rule. Thus chromatic tones not indicated in the score were frequently sung by the experienced choristers who followed their natural musical feeling, and later theory sanctioned what they intuitively felt. In this way natural musical impulse (which Wagner has so beautifully symbolized in Walther in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg) many times softened the austerity and harshness of musical practices dictated by mediæval theory.

IV

While, under the guidance of scholasticism, the stream of church song was thus gradually gaining artistic momentum and expressive beauty and power through the upbuilding of a complicated science of melodic interweaving, a second stream of song, unfettered by rule or tradition, was modestly and quietly flowing along, gushing from the hearts of the people and fed from secular emotions and experiences. Until the humanistic movement in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries discovered points of contact and mutual interdependence, these two streams of religious and secular song seldom touched in their onward flow, for they sprang from widely divergent sources and were guided by widely differing principles of artistic utterance. In the history of Western Europe ecclesiastical music has exercised a remarkably small and disproportionate influence on the nature and development of secular music; on the contrary, it has frequently weakened and changed its own standards under the impact of secular ideals and styles. Many folk-songs doubtless imitated melodic and modal characteristics of the chant-melodies, but there has always existed a certain antipathy between these two forms. The early indifference of the popular mind to church music is easily traceable to the facts that this music was cultivated exclusively by ecclesiastics, that it was sung in Latin, a language which the people neither understood nor cared for, and that the people had no part in church song outside the few non-liturgical hymns.

The discussion of secular music in the Middle Ages is necessarily beset with difficulties of large proportions, since very few authentic examples of folk-melodies of this period have been preserved. Musical learning was confined almost exclusively to monks and ecclesiastics who had no real interest in the preservation of these wild-flower products. Those that were pressed into service as parts of polyphonic church music undoubtedly underwent melodic and rhythmic alterations to suit their new environment. In all of them words and music were twin-born; but, while many of the beautiful mediæval and earlier poems are extant, their melodies seem to be irretrievably lost.[8]

The secular music of the Middle Ages had no direct or immediate bearing on the development of musical art, but the courtly troubadours and minnesingers and, later, the mastersingers of humbler origin, served to keep alive the practice of solo singing with instrumental accompaniment and thus maintained the idea of individual expression which had been banished from the church in the early centuries. The first outburst of popular song that attained the significance of a distinct movement occurred in southeastern France among the nobles of sunny, contented, and cheerful Provence. These troubadours, who flourished throughout southern France, Italy, and Spain from about 1100 to 1300, were concerned largely with the deeds of chivalry, especially that phase of the idea of knightliness that glorified the love of some beautiful or good woman as the inspiration of, or the reward for, deeds of adventure or valor. In the intense feeling and strong lyric impulse of these courtly poet-singers is to be found the beginning of the modern art of lyric poetry. They showed great ingenuity in the invention and elaboration of verse-forms[9] and coupled with this gift was a musical inventiveness of marked power which in time developed a style quite divorced from the influence of plain-song. The melodies, following the rhythmical swing of the verse, frequently approximated the structure and feeling of the modern phrase and phrase-group. The development of this feeling for the organization of melodic units later led to most important results when the secular impulse seized upon the perfected methods of scholastic music.

In the north of France and in England the trouvères (both ‘trouvère’ and ‘troubadour’ mean ‘an inventor or finder’) followed close upon the troubadours, whom they freely imitated both in style and poetic themes. In their artistic activities, however, they were more closely associated with ecclesiastical poets and musicians than were the troubadours, there was less divergence from the church style in their melodies, and hence their efforts entered more directly as a shaping force in the succeeding epoch of musical development in Flanders and England. They were also more frequently of humble origin than were the troubadours. Adam de la Hále (about 1230 to 1287), probably the most conspicuously gifted in the long line of worthy trouvères, was of humble birth, the son of a well-to-do burgher of Arras, in Picardy. He was a master of the chanson, sixteen of which are preserved written in three parts and in rondeau form. These are among the oldest known examples of secular compositions in more than two parts. In the same manuscript with these chansons are preserved six Latin motets in florid counterpoint. His name looms large in musical history, however, from the fact that his dramatic pastoral play called Le jeu de Robin et Marion (written for the French court at Naples, where the first performance was given in 1285) is the earliest example of what we now call comic opera. It is written in dialogue and grouped into scenes; airs, couplets, and pieces for two voices singing in alternation but never together are scattered through the play, during the performance of which eleven personages appear. This quaint song-play, which is a development or expansion of the earlier pastourelle, was given in Arras in 1896 during the festival in commemoration of the composer. Adam’s task seems, however, to have been little more than that of a compiler, since the most of the songs were not of his own composition. Nevertheless he is altogether one of the most interesting personalities in the pre-Netherland period.

Parallel with the impulse given to secular song and poetry by the troubadours and trouvères, but beginning a little later, was the growth of the minnesingers, or love-singers, of Germany. This movement, extending through the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, was limited almost exclusively to men of noble birth and aristocratic rank and was associated with the pomp of courtly life. Its influence on the general trend of musical development was, therefore, less marked than that of the corresponding movement in France, particularly in northern France. Relatively fewer of the minnesongs reached or impressed the popular ear, because of the greater exclusiveness of the minnesingers and the less pleasing outlines of their melodies, especially the earlier ones. The range of their themes was wider than that of their French contemporaries, including nature, qualities of character, patriotism, and piety, as well as love and chivalrous deeds. The minnesongs on the whole display more seriousness than is found in the songs of France, primary emphasis always being given to the words. At first modelled after the declamatory style of Gregorian chant, their melodies lacked the easy flow of the troubadour songs, but the later ones are marked by strongly modern feeling for rhythm, phrase structure, and definite key, and display the delightful naïveté of the German folk-song. Many of them undoubtedly passed into folk-melodies and from thence into the chorale literature of the German Reformation period.

The mastersingers followed in the wake of the declining minnesingers. Drawn entirely from the burgher or artisan classes and organizing themselves into guilds after the manner of the contemporary trades-union, they strove to imitate the methods of their aristocratic forerunners, without, however, sharing their artistic and lyric endowments. At a time when their social and economic superiors were entirely engrossed in the political and religious turmoils of the times, they succeeded in keeping alive a real love for music in the hearts of the common people and in preserving a wholesome reverence for the dignity and worth of the art. Aside from this important function, they did nothing directly to advance the art of music. In Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg Wagner gives an historically accurate picture of their hopelessly pedantic methods and reactionary spirit, which were indeed far removed from the nature of real folk-music. The vast bulk of their melodies were weak imitations of church chants or popular folk-songs. At long intervals a mastersinger such as Hans Sachs, the quaint and lovable cobbler of Nuremberg (1494-1576), would manifest a spark of real lyric genius. The first guild is supposed to have been established at Mayence on the Rhine in 1311 by Heinrich von Meissen, called Frauenlob, himself a distinguished minnesinger, the last of that order. The guilds multiplied and were especially active from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century. After 1600 the movement lost its significance and the guilds dropped by the wayside one by one, though a few lingered on until the nineteenth century, the last one having been disbanded at Ulm in 1839.

The special historical significance of the troubadours, trouvères, and minnesingers is to be found in the fact that these secular poet-musicians of both high and low degree composed their melodies under the impulsion of natural, spontaneous musical feeling rather than prescribed theoretical law. If they followed the feeling for church modes at all, this feeling instinctively led them to construct their melodies more and more in those modes corresponding to our modern major and minor scales. Naumann, in his ‘History of Music,’[10] gives a number of these melodies in full. One of them, L’autrier par la matinée, by Thibaut, King of Navarre (1201-1253), a celebrated troubadour, moves entirely in the key of G major. Another is ‘The Loveliness of Woman’ (Tritt ein reines Weib daher), a proverb[11] by the minnesinger Spervogel, dating from the middle of the twelfth century, a refined melody clearly in the key of D major, employing every tone of the scale. A third, ‘Broken Faith,’ a beautiful and touching minnesong by Prince Witzlav, is modern enough in key feeling and melodic structure to have flowed from the pen of Schubert. In all of those quoted the phrases are clearly outlined, a sense of design and melodic cohesion is manifested in the frequent repetition of phrases, and through them all there breathes the spirit of free lyric invention that differentiates them sharply from all existing church models and makes them close kin to the developed songs of the eighteenth century and later. The gradual development of such an untrammelled feeling for free melody among the people explains the comparative rapidity with which art-music, after its secession from the church modes and ecclesiastical methods early in the seventeenth century, developed new forms and expanded into new paths that led to a popular appreciation never before accorded to music.

V

The secular impulse from whence sprang the simple melodies of the minnesingers and troubadours soon found a channel for fuller expression in the art-music of the period immediately following the decay of chivalrous song. It was inevitable that the tendency toward secularization, already strongly developing in the other arts—notably painting and architecture—should extend to music also. The beneficent alliance of music and poetry both in the service of the church and in the less pretentious effusions of the secular poet-musicians of courtly estate naturally led thought to a desire that music should be the helpful companion of poetry in all her wanderings, in the domain of secular experiences as well as religious. As soon as the spirit of polyphony had been firmly established in ecclesiastical music, the church composers began to turn their attention to the rapidly widening field of secular poetry for material on which to exploit their newly-found contrapuntal skill. The first application of the principles of polyphony to secular art-music manifested itself in the French chanson and the Italian frottola. Both of these were merely popular melodies brought within the domain of the contrapuntal principle. The frottola seems to have been always set for four voices in very simple movement, the chanson for either three or four voices. These two forms soon merged into the madrigal, which expanded its scope so as to include almost any lyric composition of delicate texture dealing with thoughts of rustic humor, sentiment, or passion, couched in the language of everyday life. The madrigal in time developed into a special department of composition, having a brilliant history of its own and engaging the interested attention of nearly every noted composer from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century. The word, whose derivation is hopelessly entangled in a maze of disputed sources, appears as early at least as the fourteenth century in connection with pastoral or rustic poems of amorous character, and very naturally the name was soon transferred to the music to which the words were set.

Few madrigals whose composition antedate the invention of printing have been preserved. But all authorities agree that even in its earlier stages it was composed for three or more voices in the prevailing church modes. Throughout its best period, which closed practically with the sixteenth century, it maintained the characteristic of being sung without instrumental accompaniment of any kind.[12] The association of concurrent parts with plain-song undoubtedly suggested similar treatment for secular melodies, and the troubadours and trouvères were probably the first to put this suggestion into practice. But they passed out of existence before the art of discant had progressed beyond its first stage of infancy and further development of polyphonic secular music was left in the more skilled hands of the scientifically trained musicians of the church. The madrigal, or more strictly speaking its predecessors, was forthwith adopted by the church composers, who treated it with much tenderness and lavished on it all the learning and technical skill they could command. Since these composers, however, were so thoroughly imbued by training and experience with the characteristics and idioms of church music, we find no essential differences, as far as the music is concerned, between the madrigal and its ecclesiastical counterpart, the motet (see Chapter II). These two forms have maintained an almost exact correspondence with each other in each successive stage of their musical development. The only real difference lay in the nature of the words employed, those of the madrigal being always secular, those of the motet, sacred. While the madrigal was just as polyphonic as the motet and followed the same general laws of musical construction, it was in lighter vein and in simpler style to suit the secular spirit of the words. The ponderous and solemn character of the motet was avoided, the contrapuntal parts became more plastic and expressive in conformity with the sentiment of the words. These freer and more expressive qualities in the madrigal were eagerly seized upon by the dramatic composers of the seventeenth century, during which period the madrigal was a regular feature of the opera. Dr. Stainer enumerates the following essential qualities of the true madrigal: themes suitable in character to the words, variety of rhythm, short melodic phrases, imitation and counterpoint.

The original home of the true madrigal is undoubtedly Flanders. It is mentioned here as early as the first part of the fifteenth century, when it was already a well established form of polyphonic writing popular with both Flemish and Netherland composers. It was regarded by them as second only in importance to the mass and motet. In a period when the musical leadership of Europe was located in the Low Countries, its cultivation by these learned masters insured its transmission to other countries and, more important still to the development of musical art, marked the first practical alliance of popular song and science. The offspring of this union was destined to achieve important results in the art-revolution of the seventeenth century.

Any narrative of early secular music would be peculiarly incomplete without extended mention of the oldest example of secular polyphonic music known to exist, the famous English canon or round, ‘Sumer is icumen in,’ an ancient manuscript copy of which is among the richest treasures of the British Museum. The first mention of this celebrated piece, hidden away in the Harleian collection of manuscripts, was made in the first decade of the eighteenth century. Until the middle of the nineteenth century the date of the manuscript was assigned to the fifteenth century. But after most minute and laborious research, the English historian, William Chappell, discovered internal evidence (which succeeding investigators have accepted) to prove that this venerable manuscript was written between 1226 and 1240 at the abbey of Reading in Berkshire by a monk named John of Fornsete. The manuscript is, of course, the work of a copyist; no clew has been found to the composer’s name.

The rustic character of the words would seem to ally it to the madrigal, but its musical form is that of the rota or round, very different from the free structure of the madrigal. In the manuscript are also Latin words addressed to the Virgin, indicating its occasional use for worship purposes. The old English words are as follows:

‘Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu;
Groweth sed and bloweth med, And springth the wode nu;
Awe bleteth after lomb, Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, Murie sing cuccu.
Wel singes thu cuccu; Ne swik thu naver nu.’

The Latin directions on the manuscript for singing the round indicate that the theme is to be sung in exact imitation by four voices of equal compass which enter, each four measures after the preceding one. Accompanying this strict four-part canon throughout are two additional parts, called a ‘pes’ or ground-bass. This two-voiced burden consists of a four-measure group which monotonously repeats itself over and over again, the two parts exchanging places in regular alternation.

The extreme antiquity of the piece would alone make it an object of reverent interest, for it is the earliest example of a canon, it is the first recorded use of the ground-bass or basso ostinato, and it is the only known piece in six real parts before the fifteenth century. But the wonder grows when we consider the musical quality of this remarkable melody of unknown parentage, ‘born out of due season.’ It is sweet and joyous in character, fitting the pastoral mood of the words; it flows along in graceful outline with a wonderful amount of melodic variety; it maintains an easy rhythmic swing in definite three-pulse measure; it has an unmistakably modern feeling for key—the key of F major—made all the more definite by clearly defined tonic and dominant harmonies which pulsate back and forth in alternate measures. In musical feeling and expression it is ‘immeasurably in advance of any polyphonic music of earlier date than the Fa-las peculiar to the later decades of the sixteenth century’ (Rockstro). Its formal structure displays full knowledge of the contrapuntal devices of the times and also remarkable freedom in handling them.

The apparition of this warm-blooded melody amid the arid scholasticism of the thirteenth century seems utterly incongruous. Yet Rockstro’s explanation[13] seems plausible enough. He points out that some folk-songs of greatest antiquity possess the same qualities of ingenious grace that shine so resplendently in this melody. The words are evidently Northumbrian; what could be more natural than that some trained monkish ear caught the melody and words as they fell from the untutored but inspired lips of some north-countryman, rubbed off a rough place here and there, detected its adaptability for use as a ‘round’ theme (a quality quite common in folk-songs), and worked it out with his clerical companions in extempore fashion after the custom of the times?

The inference is irresistible that such a fragrant folk-song, if this be a folk-song, could not have existed as an isolated specimen. The few melodies of undoubted antiquity we possess demonstrate the presence of unrecognized Schuberts and Mozarts, geniuses ‘born to blush unseen,’ among the humble but inspired singers even of those far-off centuries. The devout and sincere monks who laid the formal foundations of the art of music were too much under the thraldom of authority and theory to perceive the spirit, or recognize the invaluable aid, of such free, spontaneous song in working out the problems they set themselves to solve. In many respects it was a real misfortune and a hindrance in the development of art-music that more of its early steps of progress could not have been taken under the stimulating influence of the folk-song, instead of exclusively under the influence and guidance of ecclesiasticism and the strict and deadening formalism of the early church. The oft-repeated argument that it was necessary to evolve complex musical forms before expressive musical utterance could exist, falls to the ground, shattered by a single phrase of this inspired Northumbrian lay. It would scarcely be maintained that the manufacture of carriages preceded the creation of man or that man acquired an extensive vocabulary before he became conscious of ideas surging within him for utterance.

The religious thought of the monk-musicians of the early centuries was centred on forms and externals, and the character of their religious thought dominated all their mental activities. They were not ready to be led by ‘a little child’; they had no ears attuned to the ‘still, small voice’ of free-born, inspired song. The free spirit of the song, which even in remotest periods insisted on choosing its own appropriate form, did not find real lodgment in art-music until the Romanticism of the nineteenth century conclusively demonstrated the inalienable right of every musical thought to determine the nature of the musical form through which it should be expressed, unfettered by tradition or theoretical law. The growth of this principle of emancipation in music has kept pace through all the centuries with the growth of the same spirit of freedom in the individual consciousness of man. At the beginning of the twentieth century we are for the first time in the history of musical art beginning to breathe in an atmosphere of full freedom in respect to the relation of musical thought to musical form. If wild extravagances have occasionally resulted from the realization of this full freedom, they are possibly the inevitable consequences of a youthful overjoy at kicking loose from the old harness of stereotyped forms—an exuberance of feeling that the present period of necessary readjustment and orientation will temper and direct into real constructive channels.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Especially Gevaert, La Mélopée antique dans le Chant de l’Église latine.

[2] The name ‘Sistine Chapel’ was not given to this organization until the Pontificate of Sixtus IV (1471-1484); it was derived from the Cappella Sistina built by this pope.

[3] Practically all the music of these ancient collections has been lost, excepting the Spanish or Mozarabic or Visigothic. Recent discoveries have disclosed a considerable portion of the music of this branch of the Church, so that we have some definite information concerning at least three ancient ecclesiastical dialects of ritual-music—the Gregorian, the Ambrosian, and the Visigothic or Mozarabic. In a few Spanish churches the Mozarabic rites and music still survive.

[4] Pope Paul in 760 sent copies of the Antiphonarium and Responsoriale to King Pepin.

[5] Alert teachers of ear-training have frequently observed that certain students will sing tones given them by dictation a fifth above or below the given tone under the impression that they are singing in unison with it. (See also Parry, ‘The Evolution of the Art of Music,’ Chap. 4.)

[6] Such an expression of pleasure can be explained only when it is remembered that the monastic mind was thoroughly accustomed to being absolutely submissive to authority. Mediæval ecclesiastical authority dictated what was good or bad in musical theory and procedure, just as it did in the realms of morals, ethics, and religion; and authority decreed that only perfect intervals—fourths, fifths, and octaves—were usable, therefore they were pleasing. It took several centuries of the actual ‘practice’ of music to overcome the ban placed by ‘theory’ on the interval of the third in certain cadences.

[7] The development of the technical material of composition, imitation, canon, fugue, etc., is fully described in Vol. I.

[8] The melody of the celebrated ‘Lament’ over the death of Charlemagne, composed in 814 and sung by both Franks and Germans, is fortunately preserved to us. This remarkable melody (quoted by Naumann in his ‘History of Music,’ Vol. I, p. 199) has a compass of practically only three tones, yet in its simple outlines there is eloquent and dignified expression of the popular love for the great emperor. The melody of the more famous ‘Roland’s Song,’ also of Charlemagne’s time, has not survived, although it was sung as late as the battle of Poictiers in 1356.

[9] Among the favorite forms were the canzonet or chanson, a love-song addressed to some courtly dame, the serenade or evening song, the aubade or day song, the servante, extolling the virtues of some prince, the tenzone or dialogue song, the roundelay, with the same refrain repeated again and again, and the pastourelle, descriptive of ‘Arcadian love in idyllic nature.’

[10] Chap. 8 of Vol. I is devoted to an unusually full and illuminating discussion of the whole secular song movement of this period.

[11] As noted above, the melodies of the minnesongs were from the beginning dependent on the metrical and poetical structure of the strophe. The three principal kinds are the song (Lied), the lay (Lerch), and the proverb (Spruch).

[12] The word madrigal was used at various periods to apply to two other forms in addition to the one here described: (1) the solo madrigal or madrigale concertate con il basso continuo, and (2) the madrigal with accompaniment for several instruments, ‘apt for viols and voyces,’ as the old English song books have it.

[13] Grove’s ‘Dictionary of Music and Musicians,’ Vol. IV, Art. ‘Sumer is icumen in.’

CHAPTER II
THE POLYPHONIC PERIOD

The Gallo-Belgic School; the Netherlanders; the Mass and its liturgical significance; the use of secular subjects—Conditions that fostered continuity of development: the ‘Mass of Tournay’; Dufay and Okeghem; Hobrecht’s Parce Domine; Josquin des Prés’ masses and motets; his expressive style—The motet as an extra-liturgical form; its development; its later characteristic style; distinction between sacred and secular music—Orlandus Lassus: his ‘Penitential Psalms’; his tendency toward a simpler style; his Gustate et Videte and other compositions—Palestrina’s reforms, methods, and style; his masses, Papæ Marcelli, Brevis, and Assumpta est Maria; his motets and other compositions: Vittoria and others—Madrigal writers of the sixteenth century: Festa, Arcadelt, Willaert, Byrd, Morley, etc.

I

Until about 1550 practically all art-music in western Europe was choral. Though the first important steps in the development of music were taken in Italy, devotion to the principles of unison Gregorian chant kept the polyphonic idea from gaining a foothold there until the fourteenth century. As we have seen, vocal counterpoint was the offspring of northern musicians, and under their care and guidance it developed into its most complex and perfected form. The first centre of activity was Paris, during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. From this point the art was gradually disseminated to the northward and its development was continued through the experimentation and theorizing of the musicians of northern France and Flanders (the Gallo-Belgic School, 1360-1460). After these zealous apprentices had made ready the crude tools of composition, there appeared real masters who strove earnestly to convert the elaborate technical forms and devices of vocal counterpoint into vehicles for the expression of musical feeling and religious devotion. These masters were the Netherlanders (from 1400 to 1550), whose mission it was to perfect the forms and material of musical composition, and, working from the standpoint of musical science, to compel these forms to serve the expressional purposes of the art. So well did they accomplish these two ends that for nearly two centuries all of western Europe gave musical allegiance to the Netherlanders and looked to them for teachers, composers, and choir leaders. During this period the Low Countries were the musical headquarters of Europe.

In the first period of polyphony the singers had followed the inspiration of the moment and certain general rules of intervallic movement in improvising their discant to the Gregorian chant. In the fourteenth century these unsystematic efforts gradually gave way to the definite writing of all the parts to be sung. In the fifteenth century the Netherlanders began systematically to develop and perfect the forms crudely outlined by their predecessors in the fields of both church and secular music. The forms of church choral music that held their chief attention were masses, motets, psalms, and hymns. Among the secular forms we find chansons and madrigals. Of all these the mass, with its separate parts, was destined to become the form on which the composer expended his greatest care and skill and through which he sought to express his noblest thoughts. It was to the Netherland period and to the Roman Church composers thereafter what the sonata and the symphony were to the composers of the nineteenth century and the decades just preceding. In such reverence and respect was this form held that in the preface of a mass published in 1539 by Grapheus in Nuremberg it could be confidently asserted, ‘he who is not acquainted with the masses of the old masters is ignorant of true music.’ The great importance attached to the mass by composers was inevitable from its commanding position in the church service. At this point it may be opportune to discuss some of the essential features of the mass from the standpoint of the liturgy.

Among the several offices of the Roman Catholic Church the mass is the most fundamental and solemn—the chief doctrinal cornerstone on which is reared the whole superstructure of Catholic faith and worship. It was evolved from the dogma of the eucharist, to which was added at an early period the Jewish idea of sacrifice, which formed so vital a part of the old dispensation. Little by little it grew into the fair proportions of a great religious poem, magnificent in outline and texture, and breathing the religious ecstasies of the devout and holy teachers and leaders and saints of the church. Scriptural lessons, prayers, hymns, and responses are woven into the liturgic texture, all being brought into harmonious unity under the sway of the controlling idea of consecration and oblation. To the Roman Catholic the mass is ‘the permanent channel of grace ever kept open between God and his church.’ As often as the eucharistic elements of bread and wine are presented at the altar with certain prescribed prayers and formulas, the atoning sacrifice of Christ is repeated through the miracle of transubstantiation, ‘by which the bread and wine are transmuted into the very body and blood of Christ.’[14] The following sentences from Cardinal Gibbons’ ‘The Faith of Our Fathers’ make this central dogma of the Catholic faith still more clear: ‘The sacrifice of the mass is identical with that of the cross, both having the same victim and high priest—Jesus Christ. The only difference consists in the manner of the oblation. Christ was offered upon the cross in a bloody manner; in the mass he is offered up in an unbloody manner. On the cross he purchased our ransom, and in the eucharistic sacrifice the price of that ransom is applied to our souls.’

The mass is not the product of any one individual or council or hierarchical body, but, rather, is a gradual evolution,[15] a growth from the richest and holiest experiences of generations of pious and devout priests and monks, whose whole lives were dedicated to the service of the Most High and to the upbuilding of his visible kingdom on earth. Furthermore, in the mass the words of the liturgic text are not to be dissociated from the musical tones in which they are uttered by priest or choir. The spirit and meaning of the words so completely saturate the musical forms chosen for their expression that word and tone constitute an indissoluble artistic unit. And, while the aim of the church has always been to restrict the function of music in the service to a purely secondary place—to keep it in bondage to the ritual—the enormous value of music as an effective reinforcement of the poetic text was recognized from the very inception of liturgic forms.

In explaining the potent influence which the ceremonies and rites of the Roman Catholic Church have always exerted over the minds of men, whether believers in that faith or not, one must take into account the composite character of the appeal that is made. Exalted poetic text and alluring tone are by no means the only agencies employed. Through every avenue of approach and by means of a multitude of artistic agencies, the mind and heart of the worshipper are assailed with the one object in view to compel undivided attention to, and contemplation of, the supreme mysteries of religious faith which the Roman liturgy sets forth. The solemn magnificence of the ceremonial rites, with gorgeous vestments and dignified gesture and the grace of swinging censers, is enhanced by the grandeur of architectural proportions and decorations. Every resource of artistic genius that painter can throw upon glowing canvas or sculptor can chisel into marble forms is found on wall or niche or altar. Long before the Florentine reformers stumbled upon the principle of the union of all the arts in dramatic representation and centuries before Wagner gave such insistent reiteration to this principle, the Roman Church had given practical proof of the efficacy of the perfect union of all the arts as an aid in the expression of the religious idea. No one art existed for its own sake, nor did it measure its effectiveness by the merits and value of its own individual impressiveness; but each art borrowed something from its association with the other arts and with the time-honored forms and the hallowed memories which their universality and supposed divine nature always evoked. Thus, as has been frequently pointed out, there is much ecclesiastical art to which a largely fictitious value has been attached because of its sacred and revered association.

But whatever may be said about the intrinsic artistic ineffectiveness of much ecclesiastical plastic and pictorial art, no one can deny the inherent beauty, power, and appropriateness of the music to which the Roman Catholic liturgy is wedded. Of all the arts that were called into the service of the church, music was best suited by its very nature to respond to the new ideals of Christianity. The pictorial and plastic arts were used to appeal to eye and imagination as reinforcements to the inherent symbolism of ceremonial and ritual. But music, which has no recourse to symbols or imagery and which has in its vocabulary no suggestion of the material world outside of man, was far better equipped, even in the infancy of the art, to lay hold of the essential spirit of the liturgy and express it in terms that not only acted directly and powerfully on the hearts and minds of the worshippers, but threw a glamour and fascination over all its allied agencies of expression. The spiritual and emotional appeals of the sublime ideals of the Gospel struck a note in human consciousness which responded in an outburst of artistic rapture that was unknown to pre-Christian periods, and music, as the freest and least material of the arts, was the first to develop a form of expression that was a fitting embodiment of the indwelling religious motive and idea. So wonderfully did the ancient creators of the religious melodies known as plain-song do their work, and so perfectly did they blend word and tone in priestly chant or choral response, that these melodies have not only been held in reverence by the church ever since that far-off time, but they are now the only musical forms permitted for certain important portions of the liturgy.

Although the word ‘mass’[16] is, strictly speaking, applicable only to the eucharistic service in its entirety, it has been used from the early centuries of Roman Church history to designate certain portions of the liturgy to which unusually solemn and impressive music has been set. With the growth of counterpoint the opportunities for increasing the impressiveness and elaborateness of these settings were obviously multiplied. The parts of the service which were thus subject to special musical elaboration were the Kyrie, the Gloria, the Credo, the Sanctus, the Benedictus, and the Agnus Dei. These six movements together comprise what was known as the ‘mass,’ and they still constitute, with slight variations, the essential portions in all musical masses, whether written for church or concert performance. During the period under consideration it was an almost universal custom to have one subject (cantus firmus) do service for all the movements of a mass, which accordingly took its name from this subject. These subjects, particularly in the earlier periods of polyphonic music, were plain-song melodies, whence we have such names for masses as Missa Iste confessor, Missa Tu es Petrus, and Missa Veni sponsa Christi. But, as has already been mentioned, sacred melodies were not the only ones chosen. Composers frequently invaded the domain of popular song for subjects for their masses. Such ardent love-songs as Adieu, mes amours (‘Farewell, my love’) and Baisez-moi (‘Kiss me’) seem strangely out of place in such surroundings, but these and similar names appear in the titles of many a mass of this period. The most famous of all the popular songs thus used was the old French love-song, L’homme armé (‘The Armed Man’), which nearly every Netherland master from Dufay[17] to Palestrina wove with infinite skill into the texture of at least one mass, Josquin des Prés, indeed, into two. If the composer wished to conceal the source of his subject, for the ecclesiastical authorities naturally frowned upon the practice of using secular melodies, or if he invented an original subject, as he occasionally ventured to do, he affixed the title sine nomine to his mass. If it had some uniform peculiarity of construction it was called Missa ad fugam or Missa ad canones. Sometimes it would take its name from the number of voices for which it was written, as Missa quatuor vocum, or from the mode in which it was composed, as Missa secundi toni, or Missa octavi toni. Occasionally the subject would be constructed upon the six tones of the hexachord and the work entitled Missa ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la; or upon some practice-phrase from the choir-room, as Josquin’s Missa la, sol, fa, re, mi.

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L’homme armé

The Netherlanders have been severely reproached for their frequent use of non-ecclesiastical subjects for their church compositions, and at first thought such a practice would seem to be entirely indefensible and reprehensible. The censure was undoubtedly merited when the secular words accompanied the folk-melodies in their forced journeys into such sacred regions. It was equally merited in the early periods when the meagre art of the discanters possessed so few resources either to conceal the identity of the secular tune or to expunge its secularity by rhythmic alterations. The case was quite different, however, with the complicated polyphonic structures into which the later masters of the ‘new art’ (ars nova) injected the secular melodies. With the early discanters ‘the tenor (the voice that carried the subject) formed the foundation of the arches, now it became one of the arches which, united in harmonious structure, formed the bridge.’[18] With the contrapuntists the subject itself became more plastic and submitted to whatever rhythmic changes were desirable in the working out of their contrapuntal purposes; each part became entirely independent in its melodic and rhythmic movement. In the complex interweavings of voice-parts the identity of the subject itself became practically lost. The ear could no longer identify it in performance as a complete melody, though the eye could recognize it on the printed page. In such a case the secularity of its origin became a largely negligible element, swallowed up by the purely ecclesiastical manner in which the subject was handled. In an era when it was not the custom for composers to invent their own subjects, this practice of using merely the melodies of secular songs for church compositions was no more censurable than the later employment of folk-songs as the basis of many of the splendid chorales of the German Protestant movement. Moreover, it must be borne in mind, in justice to the Netherlanders, that during this whole period there were no essential differences of style or treatment to distinguish secular from sacred compositions.

But it should be further noticed that in the relation of text to music there is revealed the most glaring weakness of the Netherlanders. Until the brilliant close of this period was nearly reached, the text was of quite secondary importance. Starting from a basis of theory and science, counterpoint, in all its evolutionary processes, became largely a matter of mathematical calculation in which the sound, not the word, governed. So deeply were composers absorbed in working out the problems of pure sound-combinations and so little importance did they attach to the text that they did not deem it necessary to write down more than the opening word of each movement of the mass, as Sanctus or Benedictus, leaving it to the intelligence of the trained singers to fill in the remainder of the familiar texts as they saw fit. This laxness in respect to the text invited many abuses, such as the mixing of secular and sacred words, the interpolation of unauthorized words, the blending of texts from various parts of the liturgy, to the danger of errors in dogma, which eventually placed the whole structure of polyphonic music under the reproach of the church authorities.

II

Notwithstanding faults due to the immaturity of the art and a certain false perspective, the church composers of this period displayed, up to their light, a rare devotion to the one supreme purpose of enhancing the impressiveness of the religious rites and their liturgic significance, thus making possible a line of unbroken continuity in the development of the art of unaccompanied vocal polyphony, which was destined to become the peculiar glory of the Netherland era. Trained in cloisters and choirs, acknowledging the church as their only patron and master to whose service they dedicated all their powers, these men were far removed from worldly affairs and especially protected from the distracting and corrupting influences of the savage strife and turmoil of the times. Every important ecclesiastical establishment maintained its own staff of composers, for, until the founding of musical publishing houses soon after 1500 made the multiplication and circulation of musical scores easy, the labor and expense of copying the manuscripts prevented any extensive exchange of musical compositions among the thousands of ecclesiastical establishments that dotted western Europe and each establishment was compelled to depend largely on its own resources for its more elaborate ritual-music. For the most part the ecclesiastical musicians passed their lives in the absorbing routine of their official duties, close to the heart of their religion and living constantly in an atmosphere permeated with austere ecclesiastical traditions. Thus the best Catholic music of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, unaffected by the external conditions and influences that brought weakness and decline to some of the other arts, preserved its serene course of development toward its culminating point in the sublime creations of Palestrina. But before this zenith of the second great period of musical art was reached, there were two centuries of artistic yearning and searching, a period that Parry calls ‘the youth of modern music—a period most pure, serene, and innocent—when mankind was yet too immature in things musical to express itself in terms of passion or of force, but used forms and moods of art which are like tranquil dreams and communings of man with his inner self, before the sterner experiences of life have quite awakened him to its multiform realities and vicissitudes.’[19]

The Netherland period was one of quite astonishing musical activity. The number of musicians actually engaged in the composition of ritual-music constitutes an imposing array (the names of nearly 400 are recorded) and their actual output both in bulk and quality measures not at all unworthily with that of the other arts of this period, the names of whose masterpieces are household words. That the equally great masterpieces of polyphonic vocal art are not familiar, indeed, are almost wholly unknown even to musicians, is inevitable from the very limitations imposed upon music by the matter of performance, and from the inavailability of this music outside its special home—the church. Its speech was always idiomatic, a kind of developed specialty, and, for about two centuries after its culminating point was reached, it became archaic even in the church from whose bosom it sprang, so that the avenues to a wide public acquaintance with its peculiar beauties were largely closed soon after its greatest masterpieces were written.

The masses and motets of the period reflect all the changing phases of the gradually advancing musical art. They express the deep and serious things of the art; the madrigals and chansons are the emanations of the composers’ lighter moments of relaxation, incidental deviations from the main course of artistic endeavor, written mostly for the entertainment of noble and wealthy patrons. The oldest known mass is the celebrated ‘Mass of Tournay,’[20] which Coussemaker ascribes to the thirteenth century. It is written in three parts with the subject (cantus) in the middle; one of the added parts moves almost constantly in parallel fourths or fifths with either the subject or the third part, while this third part generally has a contrary movement to one of the other parts. Historically it forms an interesting transitional link between the primitive organum and the crude counterpoint of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

It is customary for musical historians to distinguish two Netherland schools. The first was occupied with pioneer work; its music was severe and unmelodious, simple and unpretentious when compared with that of the succeeding school, with only faint attempts to attain euphonic beauty; yet earnestness of purpose coupled with much contrapuntal science and ingenuity are everywhere in evidence. William Dufay (1400-1474) was the principal master of this school, although the mass Ecce Ancilla, by Antoine Busnois (1440-1492), is regarded by Naumann as ‘the most important musical historical monument up to the year 1475.’[21] In this period the several movements of the mass began to take on a certain definiteness and individuality of form corresponding to the natural subdivisions of the texts, making several movements within each movement. Likewise certain modes of treatment came to be associated with certain movements. Thus, in the Agnus Dei, which was divided into two parts, the composer was expected to employ the utmost resources of his contrapuntal skill; the second part was usually written in canon or in intricate fugue and frequently with a larger number of voices than in the other movements of the mass. The Benedictus came to be regarded as a composition for two, three, or four solo voices, usually followed by a choral Osanna. And so the various movements gradually assumed quite definite outlines as to form and character, which remained in force for a century and a half.

With Joannes Okeghem (about 1430-1495 or 6) the second Netherland school was ushered in. This master, to whom the laudatory title of ‘Prince of Music’ was given, appears to have carried the possibilities of contrapuntal ingenuity and contrivance to extremest limits. Comparatively few of his works are extant, and most of these display wonderful technical skill in handling musical problems rather than attempts at expression. Among those preserved is the famous Missa cujusvis toni (mass in any tone or mode), which seems to have been composed as an intellectual exercise for the highly trained choristers of his time, demanding in its rendition perfect mastery of all the church modes and ability to transpose from one mode to another. He was rather a great teacher and theorist than a great church composer. His pupils carried the art of polyphony into all countries and Kiesewetter maintains that through these students he became ‘the founder of all schools from his own to the present age.’[22] One of the most prominent of Okeghem’s contemporaries was Jacob Hobrecht or Obrecht (1430-1505 or 6), who was a most devoted disciple and admirer, though not a pupil, of the learned master. He left many masses, motets, and chansons, in some of which, notably in the motet Parce Domine for three voices, he attains a high degree of real expressive power. This fine work exerted a powerful influence on Josquin des Prés and reveals its creator as possibly the first composer to make polyphony bend to the necessity of musical expression as we understand it.

Okeghem’s most celebrated pupil was Josquin des Prés (about 1450-1521), who eclipsed his master’s fame in musical learning and wealth of ingenuity and became the most brilliant exponent of the musical art of the Netherlanders. He was the most popular composer and celebrated musician of his time, the spread of his music as well as his fame being greatly aided, no doubt, by the newly-invented process of printing music from movable type, which appeared at the very moment when he was at the height of his power. In his best works (he was a most prolific writer) we can detect a more flowing and emotional style and catch glimpses of a quality of sublime seriousness joined with fervid beauty that still makes a strong appeal to modern taste. Ambros well characterizes him as ‘the first musician who impresses us as having genius.’ His printed works consist of 19 masses (32 are extant), more than 150 motets, and about 50 secular works. Of his masses the most beautiful and the most advanced in style are the Ad fugam, the De Beata Virgine, the Da pacem, and the La, sol, fa, re, mi. In Naumann’s judgment, no master of modern times has surpassed the grandeur of the Incarnatus from the Missa Da pacem. When not in a trifling or humorous mood, he rises above form and technique into the realm of expression where, among vocal contrapuntists, he is excelled only by Lassus and Palestrina. The music of Dufay and his contemporaries was frequently beautiful, but it was helpless to reflect the character of the words. Whether the words were gay or mournful, the music conveyed the same impression to the listener. But Josquin knew how to unlock the expressive power of music and henceforward music more and more assumed the function of definite delineation of mood and word.

But Josquin evidently possessed a light-heartedness and vivacity that would not always brook restraint and that led him to introduce bits of quaint humor into his church music that, to say the least, displayed a lack of reverence and marred an otherwise admirable style. It is related that he much desired to receive a church benefice from Louis XII of France, at whose court he held an appointment, but as often as he applied to the proper official he received only the answer, Lascia fare mi. At length Josquin wearied of the delay and, seizing upon the musical sound of the courtier’s words, composed a mass on the subject La, sol, fa, re, mi, which appeared again and again, mimicking the official’s curt and oft-repeated answer. The musician’s wit pleased the king and won his promise of a benefice, which promise, however, was straightway forgotten. But the composer was in nowise discouraged. He dedicated to the king a motet for which he took the text from the 119th Psalm (118th in the Vulgate), Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo, in quo mihi spem dedisti (‘Remember the word unto thy servant, upon which thou hast caused me to hope’), thinking thereby to quicken the memory of his royal master. Louis was evidently dull of understanding, for yet a second time the musical joker dedicated to him a motet, Portio mea non est in terra viventium (‘My portion is not in the land of the living’), which evidently won the object of his desire, for still another motet, Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, is generally regarded as a polite thank-offering for the appointment. It is further related that the king, who was wholly unmusical and who possessed a very feeble voice, requested the great musician to compose a piece in which his Majesty could join. The sagacious Josquin forthwith wrote a canon for two boys’ voices, supplemented by a part for the king consisting of one note sustained throughout.[23] In his celebrated Missa Hercules Dux Ferrariae, a quaint conceit prompted him to build his subject, Re ut re ut re fa mi re, on the succession of syllables whose vowels correspond to the vowels in the words Hercules Dux Ferrariae. These were innocent pranks, but he carried his musical trifling to unpardonable extremes in his Missa didadi (‘Dice’ Mass), in which he set himself the profane task of solving a dice-problem in terms of musical technique. But the faults of Josquin were in large measure the faults of his period. In common with Okeghem and others, he was exceedingly fond of inventing riddle-canons and other musical puzzles. So much did this practice, especially in connection with ecclesiastical music, arouse the indignation of Martin Agricola that this worthy scholar even threatened the composers with the terrors of the last day ‘when all will certainly not go well with the outrageous riddle-makers.’

The modernity of Josquin’s art, his ability to interest us by intensity of expression in depicting the meaning of the words, is finely illustrated in his two motets Planxit autem David and Absolon fili mi. In the latter especially he attains an expression of pathos, an effect of extreme sadness, which at times becomes poignant. In the closing measures there occurs a remarkably daring use of the augmented fifth, a dissonance whose introduction is ‘terribly effective.’ His psalm Laudate pueri, in contrasting mood, is pervaded by a persistent feeling of joy. The music, which moves happily along through a chain of pure concords without a disturbing dissonance, exhibits tranquillity and joyful confidence throughout.

By a strange perversion the mass, although the most solemn and sacred portion of the Roman service, was treated by church composers in their musical settings of it up to the middle of the sixteenth century as the proper parade-ground for all conceivable forms of musical riddles and extravagances that would display their technical learning and ingenuity. But these aberrations are found much less frequently in the motets and madrigals. Here the composer was governed by no such fancied necessity; he felt a much greater sense of freedom to follow musical impulses. Hence these forms were the first to profit from the remarkable awakening of the musical understanding that took place at the close of the fifteenth century and to be enriched with the accompanying first flashes of the dawning sense of harmonic propriety and characterization.

III

The motet[24] occupies a place in ecclesiastical music next in importance to the mass. It has always been extra-liturgical; the words, though not prescribed, are generally selected from the Bible (the Psalms, antiphons, etc.) or the office-books. In the Roman Church service it is intended to be sung at high mass, usually after or in place of the plain-song offertorium for the day to fill out the time while the priest is preparing the oblations and presenting them at the altar. The great antiquity of the motet is attested by the fact that Franco of Cologne in his epochal work on Measured Music gives it place in one of the three classes[25] of choral compositions in use in his time. The characteristic features of the early motet were separate texts for each voice and a subject (tenor) made up of some short phrase or group of motives repeated several or many times, according to the length of the composition.

These phrases were borrowed from either plain-song or secular melodies. Like the mass, the early motet was not an original composition, but the combination of existing chants or secular songs. Frequently it was frankly secular; more frequently all the texts were sacred, but sometimes, as in the mass, secular texts and melodies were mingled with the sacred. When the texts in the motet were various, they always bore some kind of mental relation to each other,[26] a condition which was by no means always present in the mass when different texts were used. The practice of providing each voice-part with a separate text, while it tended to confuse the listener, served, on the other hand, to emphasize the musical independence of the parts and so threw stress on a quality of utmost benefit to the advancement of contrapuntal methods.

A few motets by Philip of Vitry,[27] written about 1300, are the most ancient purely church motets of which we have authentic record. We are informed by Morley that this composer’s motets ‘were for some time of all others best esteemed and most used in the church.’ Beginning probably in France and cultivated with marked success by the great Netherlanders, the motet reached its highest point of perfection under Palestrina in Rome. It was adopted, with important modifications, into the services of the two great branches of the Protestant Church from their very beginning. In England, until the ‘full’ anthem finally superseded it, and in Germany from Luther until after Bach’s time, it held a high place in ecclesiastical music, but the words were almost invariably in the vernacular, while in the Roman service they were always in Latin.

In the period represented by Okeghem there may be noticed the beginning of a distinctive style for motet-music differing quite materially from that of the mass. It has been already stated that the disfiguring extravagances and learned complexities which composers felt in duty bound to lavish on the music of the mass, were more and more avoided in the motet. A solemnity, dignity, and breadth of style, of which one finds but few examples in the masses of the period, were encouraged in the motet. This different viewpoint led composers to focus their interest and attention on the portrayal of the meaning of the words rather than on the working of contrapuntal miracles and the church composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries left a rich legacy of compositions in this form appropriate to their appointed use and permeated with the spirit of devotion and reverence. After the compelling genius of Des Prés had once revealed the expressive capabilities of music, this new power was evoked with so much enthusiasm by all his great contemporaries and successors among the Netherlanders that the richest period of motet writing is to be found between the years 1500 and 1600.

As soon as the text became a matter of solicitous care on the part of composers, there can be discovered a number of distinct groups of motets, distinguished from each other by the character of the texts employed, each group possessing certain individual peculiarities. There was a numerous class based on selections from the Gospels dealing with the various parables, as the Pharisee and Publican. The Passion of our Lord as given in the different Gospels formed the basis of another large group. One of the earliest of these Passion motets is Hobrecht’s, a work filled with deep pathos and tender sadness. The Passion motets of Loyset Compère (about 1450-1518) are spoken of as possessing extraordinary beauty. The Magnificat was frequently treated in motet form, the oldest known example of which is Dufay’s. A vast number of texts were drawn from the Book of Canticles, while the Lamentations of Jeremiah inspired the writing of numberless compositions in motet style. Carpentrasso’s Lamentations were sung in the Sistine Chapel once each year until 1587, when they were superseded by Palestrina’s superb compositions. Several of the sequences were also set as motets, among which must be especially noted two by Josquin des Prés—a Victimæ Paschali, in which he used parts of the old plain-song melody intermingled with two popular airs, and a Stabat Mater, the subject for which he borrowed from a secular air of the time, Comme femme. Less interesting were the laudatory motets inscribed to princes and nobles by the composers attached to their individual courts, and the countless motets written for the greater festivals and special occasions in the church calendar.

Reverence for the Virgin-mother inspired some of the most beautiful of all motets and a multitude of these fine compositions, delicate in texture and of impressive beauty, might be cited; such are Dufay’s Ave Regina, Salve Virgo, and Flos florum, fons amorum; Brassart’s Ave Maria; Bianchoys’ Beata Dei genetrix; Arcadelt’s Ave Maria, which is now probably one of the best known of sixteenth-century motets and which sounds wonderfully modern with its compact chords, sweet tunefulness, and simple pathos; Gombert’s Vita dulcedo; Josquin’s Ave vera virginitas. There remains to be mentioned the large group of funeral motets or Næniæ, comprising some of the finest examples of the pure motet style. One of the most celebrated of these is the dirge written by Josquin in memory of his friend and teacher Okeghem, which is scarcely exceeded in beauty by anything which this master has produced.

About 1500 the triad was recognized as a musical factor of importance and close upon this recognition came the discovery of modal harmony. Chord progressions, groups of closely-knit harmonies, appropriate to the church mode employed, now became common and in the relation of this new factor to musical expression is to be found the basis of distinction between secular and sacred music, a distinction which rapidly grew more marked as the harmonic sense unfolded and developed. From Josquin’s time secular music strove after the representation of specific moods of feeling suggested by the words, in which representation the new element of harmony was summoned to give warmth and color and dramatic significance, while sacred music sought to express only the general mood of the text, representing an unvariable and fixed aspiration, with little or no attempt at detailed delineation.

IV

The last great Netherlander, and indeed the greatest of them all, was Orlandus Lassus or Orlando di Lasso (1532-1594), who spent nearly the whole of the best creative period of his life outside the boundaries of his native land in Munich in the service of the art-loving Duke Albert V and his son Duke William of Bavaria. Next to Palestrina the greatest genius of the sixteenth century, he left a deep impress on the development of Germanic art. Though not so ideal in purely ritual-music as his great contemporary, he displayed a greater fertility, a wider sympathy, and a warmer human feeling. Proske’s estimate of him is noteworthy: ‘Lassus is a universal genius.... No one resembles so closely the great Handel, and, as in the latter, the German, Italian, and English genius of the eighteenth century were found blended, so in Lassus the entire glory of contemporary Germanic and Latin art was commingled in a single mighty personality.’ (Musica Divina, Vol. I, p. 52.)

Lassus was probably the most prolific composer of all time, having left the enormous number of nearly 2,500 separate compositions. As his master, Duke Albert, was a staunch and devout Catholic, by far the larger part of his creative energy was expended in the field of pure church-music, of which he wrote no less than 1,200 motets and sacræ cantiones, 51 masses, about 180 Magnificats, and over 150 lamentations, psalms, hymns, Requiems, Ave Marias, antiphons, etc. The most celebrated of his works and, according to Ambros,[28] the only other work of the sixteenth century worthy to stand beside Palestrina’s Missa Papæ Marcelli, are the ‘Penitential Psalms,’ which were composed at the duke’s suggestion prior to 1565, though not published until 1584. The establishment of the date of their composition definitely upsets the familiar legend that they were written for Charles IX of France to solace his troubled conscience after the horrors of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. It may well be, however, that they were sung before this unhappy monarch, for Lassus spent some time at the court of France at Charles’ invitation. Lassus’ masterpiece, though written comparatively early in his career, possesses in a marked degree all the qualities of strength, grandeur, dignity, repose, and especially impersonality and absence of what would now be called dramatic effects, that are the distinguishing characteristics of the maturest period of ritual-music of the great Netherlander and his Italian compeer, Palestrina. The ‘Penitential Psalms’ (the 6th, 32d, 38th, 51st, 102d, 130th, and 143d) were set for from two to six voices, according to the suggestion of the text, and the style of expression varies from the extreme simplicity of the opening chords to the massive and intricate tone-structures by means of which he depicts the remorse and fear of the penitent sinner. But, while a note of sorrow and wailing runs throughout, the master has with equal genius portrayed the strong consolation of sincere repentance and the sure hope of pardon from a loving God.

In all of Lassus’ works there is a noticeable breaking away from the intricacies and complicated forms of Josquin and the older Netherlanders in favor of a more direct and simple style. Secular music may well have exerted an indirect influence to produce such a result, but a more direct cause must be sought in the religious movements of his period. Lassus, like Palestrina, was a man of strong and sincere religious convictions. Zealous Catholics in Rome were seeking to reform the abuses in ecclesiastical government and procedure that had started the Reformation and given such astonishing strength to its progress. The court at Munich, in which Lassus was such a prominent figure, was the first in Europe to espouse the cause of this counter-reformation. Simplicity of style and directness of expression were the natural and logical consequences of the earnestness of purpose and religious conviction that breathes in the music of both Lassus and Palestrina and that sought to grasp the essential spirit of the Roman liturgy and body it forth in vitalizing tones. Indeed, the tendency toward a simpler and less ornate style was well under way before the Council of Trent undertook to discuss the defects in the prevalent church style.

Of Lassus’ 1,200 compositions of the motet type 429 were called sacræ cantiones, a term that is rather vague as to its inclusion and exact application. The most famous of the motets is the masterly Gustate et Videte, to which additional interest is attached from a pretty story related by Heinrich Delmotte, one of the most reliable of Lassus’ biographers, to the effect that, during the festival of Corpus Christi in 1584, the singing of this motet, as the solemn procession headed by the choir emerged from the church, caused the sun to shine forth brightly in the midst of a terrific thunder-storm, permitting the procession to traverse its accustomed course through the city. But when the procession returned to the church and the singing ceased, the storm burst forth again in all its fury. The multitude cried ‘A miracle,’ and for many years thereafter the singing of this motet always accompanied the offering up of prayers for fine weather. Though one might select a score of his fine motets for special mention, three may be spoken of here in addition to the Gustate, namely, Dixit autem Maria, Improperium expectabit cor meum, and Timor et Tremor in six parts, replete with wonderful vocal effects. His simple, direct, and earnest style is well set forth in the Adoramus te Christe, a short chorale for four male voices, utterly devoid of contrapuntal artifice, yet breathing a spirit of humble adoration that maintains throughout an atmosphere of solemn tenderness. His motets were written for from two to twelve voices and the masses for four and five voices.

But Lassus had an open heart also for secular inspiration. The genius that could thrill us with the solemnity and pathos of religious aspirations and sentiments was also moved to expression by the pleasantries of human experience; no other composer of his century was so prolific in humorous works. One is a setting of the Psalm Super flumina Babylonis, in which the separate letters and syllables are sung in the fashion of a spelling-lesson, ‘S-U—Su—P-E-R—per—Super,’ evidently parodying the ridiculous handling of words by the older masters. It takes two movements of this comic procedure to get through the first verse. In some of his German songs his humor rises to the height of hilarious joy, though most of them are the expression of a simple naïveté. In one of his Italian villanellas he makes a German infantry captain sing a grotesque serenade to his lady-love. But he was especially famous for his drinking songs, one of the most celebrated of which was a setting of Walter Mapes’ convivial song Si bene perpendi, causæ sunt quinque bibendi, to which Dean Aldrich has given the following well-known translation:

‘If all be true that I do think,
There are five reasons we should drink:
Good wine, a friend, or being dry,
Or lest you should be by and by,
Or any other reason why.’

The remainder of his secular compositions comprise 233 madrigals, 34 Latin songs,[29] 370 French songs, and 59 canzonets, which formidable list reveals him as a lyric writer of great versatility. Notwithstanding his great fame during his lifetime and the succeeding generation, the last half of the seventeenth century witnessed a great decline in his popularity and his music fell into almost complete oblivion, from which it has been happily rescued by the recent revival of interest in the old masters and especially by the publication by Breitkopf & Haertel of a complete edition of his works which will comprise about sixty volumes.

V

We are now face to face with one of the greatest geniuses of all time, Palestrina,[30] or to give his real name, Giovanni Pierluigi (1526-1594). Into his hands it was given not only to restore to Italy, for a time at least, its leadership in the domain of musical art, but also to carry to completion the magnificent structure of polyphonic ecclesiastical music founded and fashioned into stately proportions by the Netherlanders, and to utter the final words in the art of unaccompanied vocal counterpoint. Thus the cycle of development in Roman ritual-music was consummated on the very spot where just ten centuries before it had found its first definite formulation under the guiding hand of Gregory the Great and in perfect consonance with the spirit and best traditions of the great liturgy around which Christian worship had centred through all the intervening centuries, until Luther’s momentous break with Rome had caused a deflection in the current of religious thought. He summed up all the best qualities in the art of his predecessors. He added nothing new to its technique, but, child as he was of the land whose peculiar gift is melody, he crowned this art with a radiant richness of melodious charm and graceful movement which none of his masters could achieve. Palestrina’s peculiar greatness seems to lie in the supreme fact that, through a perfect sympathy with and understanding of the mysteries of the Roman system of worship and through an unequalled mastery of the Netherlanders’ art of contrapuntal expression, he was able to restore music to its proper relation to the service as established by the Early Church, a relation that had been lost by the incongruous and disturbing intricacies of the musical forms which by their very elaborateness had so overlaid the text as to render it unintelligible and thus obliterate the religious significance of the words and warp the whole function of music in the larger organism of the mass. This reform was brought about by a return to the simpler methods of the ancient church. While the musical world around him was teeming with signs of the new spirit of impending change and progress, his genius, the richest of them all, was satisfied to dwell within the sanctuary of tradition. While all his contemporaries were facing forward, filled with the rapture of discovery and innovation, ‘the Palestrina style belonged rather to the mediæval world, with its emphasis upon monastic reveries and contemplation.’[31] What has been termed ‘the Palestrina style’ had existed before his time in isolated church compositions, but, since his whole life was dedicated with singular fidelity and purity of purpose to the development of an exalted and chaste style that would perfectly reflect the inner spirit of the church ceremonies, his name has become attached to a type which is peculiarly his. Its external characteristics are the repudiation of mere intellectual cleverness, the avoidance of secularity either in form or in spirit, and the employment of an unaffected, indescribable simplicity of expression as the best means of preserving the liturgic significance of the text and enforcing the impressiveness of the music on the worshipper’s mind. For its greatest effect this music must be heard in the particular religious environment for which it was created. ‘No sensuous melodies, no dissonant, tension-creating harmonies, no abrupt rhythms distract the thoughts and excite the sensibilities. Chains of consonant chords growing out of the combination of smoothly-flowing, closely-interwoven parts, the contours of which are all but lost in the maze of tones, lull the mind into that state of submission to indefinite impressions which makes it susceptible to the mystic influence of the ceremonial and turns it away from worldly things.’[32]

In analyzing music of this type it will be found that each voice-part is equal in independence and importance with every other voice-part; that the voices enter, intertwine, and drop out with absolute freedom of movement; that one key is maintained throughout the whole composition, with no modulations in the modern sense; that the beginnings and endings of the melodic phrases usually occur at different points in different voices, producing a constant shifting in the rhythmical flux that baffles aural analysis and creates a feeling of vagueness and indefiniteness of design. The changes in dynamics or in speed are never startling or abrupt, but are accomplished through almost imperceptible gradations. Furthermore, certain values entered into the construction of these wonderfully plastic creations that were almost wholly dependent upon a perfect understanding of purely vocal effects. ‘The distribution of the components of a chord in order to produce the greatest sonority; the alternation of the lower voices with the higher; the elimination of voices as a section approached its close, until the harmony was reduced at the last syllable to two higher voices in pianissimo, as though the strain were vanishing into the upper air; the resolution of tangled polyphony into a sunburst of open golden chords; the subtle intrusion of veiled dissonances into the fluent gleaming concord; the skillful blending of the vocal registers for the production of exquisite contrasts of light and shade—these and many other devices were employed for the attainment of delicate and lustrous sound tints, with results to which modern chorus writing affords no parallel.’[33]

It is quite characteristic of the inherent and unostentatious greatness of Palestrina that the Missa Papæ Marcelli, the singing of which before the Commission of Cardinals in the Sistine Chapel on the nineteenth of June, 1565, caused this mass to be chosen as a model in style and in structure of what all future music of the Roman liturgy should be, was written several years before that event as an ordinary item of routine loyalty in the service of the church which he so devoutly loved.[34] It did not come into being, as has been persistently proclaimed by legend and history,[35] at the request of the Commission nor as a specific answer to the warning of the Council of Trent that all figured or polyphonic music would be excluded from the Roman service because of the current abuses. The name by which this famous mass has been known was not given to it until 1567. The Pope to whom it was dedicated, Marcellus II, had died in 1555, ten years before fame and immortality had been accorded to this composition by the award of the Cardinal Commission, but, though he had reigned only twenty-three days, Palestrina did not forget his earnest efforts in behalf of church-music while he was a Cardinal. This mass stands by universal consent as an unrivalled monument to the piety, depth of feeling, and intensity of expression, as well as the technical skill, of its creator. All technical contrivances, the devices of fugue and canon, are in complete subjection to the demands of expression, and the listener is never for a moment conscious of the consummate art with which the parts are fashioned. Its subjects are all original and all are of great simplicity, but treated with infinite variety. It is written for six voices—soprano, alto, two tenors of equal compass, and two equal basses—which are so grouped as constantly to suggest the effects of antiphonal choirs. Though an atmosphere of solemnity pervades the whole, each movement has individual characterization. Baini, Palestrina’s biographer, calls the Kyrie devout, the Gloria animated, the Credo majestic, the Sanctus angelic, and the Agnus Dei prayerful.

Palestrina wrote in all ninety-three masses for four, five, six, and eight voices, many of them of surpassing beauty, but only a comparatively few are sung outside the Sistine Chapel. The six-part Assumpta est Maria, composed in 1585 for the Papal Choir, is accounted by many critics to be even more beautiful than the celebrated Missa Papæ Marcelli. It possesses all the fine qualities of the latter and is certainly its equal. The Missa Brevis[36] was composed upon subjects taken from the plain-song melody Audi filia, upon which Goudimel had written a fine mass of earlier date. The mass L’homme armé is one of the very few of his church compositions into which he introduced secular melodies. It is quite possible that he took this means of demonstrating that he could excel the Netherlanders on their own ground, for it is apparently conceived throughout in the Netherland style and is tremendously difficult and elaborate.

Among the most superb of his church compositions must be named the motets, of which 179 for from four to twelve voices appear in the complete critical edition published by Breitkopf & Haertel in 33 volumes. Some of these are as unapproachable in their beauty as are the masses which gave Palestrina his title of Musicæ Princeps. Among the finest may be mentioned Peccantem me quotidie, filled with an indescribable sweetness and tenderness of feeling, and Super flumina Babylonis, written soon after the death of his wife Lucrezia, in which can be detected the expression of the pathetic grief of ‘the heart-broken composer mourning by the banks of the Tiber’ for his lost wife. His other church compositions include 45 Hymns for the whole year, 68 Offertories, and a large number of Lamentations, Magnificats, Vesper-psalms, and Litanies. His setting of the Stabat Mater, for which Dr. Burney had a boundless admiration, is one of the most effective in existence and one of his most celebrated works. The fine Improperia, which are still among the greatest treasures of the Papal Choir, probably reflect the experiences of his inner life during the anxious period following his dismissal from the Papal Choir by Paul IV in 1555, when physical and mental ills attacked the over-sensitive master.

The second half of the sixteenth century has been aptly called ‘The Golden Age of Ecclesiastical Music.’ Further progress was impossible along the line of vocal counterpoint brought to such astounding perfection by Palestrina, yet the Palestrina style found zealous imitators for a half-century at least after the passing of the great Roman master. But the spirit of the Renaissance, now rampant in every field of human thought, refused to be held in check by church doors, and the glories of the ‘Golden Age,’ the products of an art rejoicing in the full maturity of its power, were almost immediately followed by a period of decadence, in which secular sentimentality was mingled in strange fellowship with what remained of the majestic devotional style of the old masters. The triumphant progress of secular music, instrumental as well as operatic, soon broke down the opposition of the ecclesiastical purists, and after Allegri the Palestrina style practically disappeared. Gregorio Allegri (about 1580-1652) is remembered now almost wholly by his celebrated Miserere for nine voices in two choirs, which is considered to be one of the finest compositions ever conceived for the Roman service. Until recently at least, it has been sung annually during Holy Week at the Sistine Chapel, where it was prized as so rare a treasure that to copy it was punishable with excommunication.[37] Up to the year 1770 only three copies are known to have been legally made. In that year, it will be recalled, the fourteen-year-old Mozart wrote it down with marvellous accuracy from the memory of a single performance. Much of the ineffable sadness of this piece, which, as it is performed in the Sistine Chapel, has always aroused the unbounded enthusiasm of musicians, is said to be due to certain traditional embellishments or florid passages which were introduced in the form of elaborate four-part cadenzas to take the place of the simple endings of some of the verses. Mendelssohn, in a letter to Zelter during his Italian journey in 1831, described in great detail the music of these beautiful abbellimenti. Of one of these he says: ‘It is often repeated, and makes so deep an impression that when it begins an evident excitement pervades all present.... The soprano intones the high C in a pure, soft voice, allowing it to vibrate for a time, and slowly gliding down, while the alto holds its C steadily, so that at first I was under the delusion that the high C was still held by the soprano. The skill, too, with which the harmony is gradually developed is truly marvellous.’

It must not be supposed that Palestrina was the only great church composer of his period. There were others during his lifetime and immediately following, whose genius would have been proclaimed of the first magnitude had it not been for the greater effulgence of Palestrina’s. Giovanni Maria Nanino (about 1545-1607) ranks as second only to Palestrina among the Italian church composers, as witness his motet for six voices, Hodie nobis cœlorum rex, annually sung in the Sistine Chapel on Christmas morning; his mass, Vestiva i colli, for five voices; and particularly his Lamentations set in simple melodious style for four male voices. His brother, Giovanni Bernardino Nanino (about 1560-about 1618), wrote a remarkable Salve Regina for twelve voices in which the new spirit of striving for unusual effects is noticeable. Viadana (about 1564-1645) introduced into church music the concerti ecclesiastici, which were a kind of monodic chant or song for from one to four voices with organ accompaniment indicated by a basso continuo, or figured bass. Most of his church music, however, was written in the old contrapuntal style. Following the trend of the times, Francesco Soriano or Suriano (1549-about 1621) permitted the dramatic style of the monodists to enter very perceptibly into his ‘Passions for Holy Week,’ probably his best work. Among the greatest of Palestrina’s contemporaries was Tomasso da Vittoria (about 1540-about 1613), sometimes called ‘the Spanish Palestrina.’ His greatest masterpiece is the elaborate six-part Requiem Mass, composed for the obsequies of the Empress Maria, widow of Maximilian II. Next to Palestrina’s Mass for the Dead, this is the most important and profoundly moving among the many settings of this office as pure ritual-music. Its subjects are all taken from plain-song melodies, yet it has an astonishingly modern quality, due to Vittoria’s employment of powerful, sonorous chords and especially to a warmer and more direct and personal mode of expressing his religious emotions than composers of the polyphonic school were wont to assume. Palestrina’s religious music is the music of a soul of immaculate purity, as though, to use Ambros’ figure, his strains were messengers from a higher world; Vittoria’s music was the responsive utterance of a saintly soul on earth, struggling amid poignantly human emotions for a heavenly estate. Among his other works, the Improperia gained great renown for their purity of church style and warmth and tenderness of expression.

Before leaving the field of church music of this period, something must be said of the worthy rival to the Roman school that had sprung up and flourished mightily in Venice. Here in the midst of the prosperity, luxury, and splendor of this cultured ‘Queen of the Seas’ was a group of earnest musicians who did not fear to loosen the bands of tradition or to accept new ideals and venture on untrodden paths that led in new directions; so that the products of the Venetian school, rather than the Roman, formed the natural bridge between the mediæval and modern conceptions of religious music. The masters of Venetian music, Willaert and the two Gabrielis, seemed to borrow for their music something of the brilliant coloring of the Venetian painters. Luxuriant harmonies, massive and bold chord-effects, the employment of numerous chromatic tones which assisted powerfully in changing the old modal system into the modern key system, a desire for greater sonority and contrast in color and expression—all these qualities, with their emphasis upon individual characterization, opposed themselves strikingly to the calmness, the delicacy, and the impersonality of the Palestrina style. All the great Venetian masters occupied the post of chapel-master at St. Mark’s, then one of the most important musical appointments in Europe. The use of several choirs, which was introduced by Adrian Willaert (about 1480-1562) and became a characteristic feature of Venetian church music, owed its origin to the architectural structure of this church, which contains two opposing choir lofts, each with its own organ. Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli added a third choir and with this elaborate mechanism produced unprecedented choral effects by ingenious groupings of voices, heard now as separate choirs, now in answering alternation, now as selected voices from each choir, and now in magnificent masses of tone. A twelve-part psalm, Deus misereatur nostri, written by G. Gabrieli (1557-1612) for three choirs—one consisting of deep voices, one of higher, and the third of the usual four parts—is one of the most imposing examples of this type of grandiose many-choired music. He is one of the few church composers who have left no masses. His most famous work, two volumes of Sacræ Symphoniæ, consisted of motets for from six to sixteen voices, to which he added free accompaniments written for various combinations of orchestral instruments with organ. In thus broadening the scope of church music to include instrumental groupings and effects in combination with voices, he stands as the pioneer of a dawning movement fraught with greatest possibilities for the future development of both ecclesiastical music and independent instrumental music. The chief work of Andrea Gabrieli (1510-1586), uncle of Giovanni, was, according to his own testimony, the six-part ‘Penitential Psalms,’ though this was outdone in magnificence and tonal beauty by his many compositions for several choirs. One of the most notable and popular of the Venetian composers was Giovanni Croce (about 1560-1609), whose masses, written in a style of noble simplicity, are still favorites with Catholic church choirs.

VI

The century which culminated in the ‘Golden Age of Ecclesiastical Music’ was also the period of greatest glory for the madrigal. In the first half of the century its leading exponents were Jacques Arcadelt (about 1514-about 1555), Philippe Verdelot (dates of birth and death unknown), Huberto Waelrant (about 1518-1595), and especially Adrian Willaert (about 1480-1562), in the madrigals of all of whom there are revealed a lucidity of style, a graceful melodic flow, and, when the character of the words demanded, a simplicity of treatment, which together constituted the true sixteenth-century madrigalian style. Arcadelt, a Netherlander by birth and education, lived for many years in Italy, where his madrigals became so popular that his First Book, published in Venice in 1538, passed through sixteen editions in eighty years, the first to win marked success. Though he wrote much church music, his fame rests on his charming madrigals, only a few of which, unfortunately, are accessible in modern form. Waelrant’s Vorrei morire (published with English words ‘Hard by a fountain,’ which, however, have no relation to the Italian text) is a beautiful example of this type. Orlandus Lassus was the last of the great Netherland madrigalists and he left many books of splendid compositions in this style.

In art-loving Venice an especially brilliant group of madrigalists appeared who brought added renown and honor to this centre of culture and learning. Adrian Willaert, one of the many gifted migratory Netherlanders, was the first to make the Venetians acquainted with this form, of distinctly northern origin, and its popularity quickly spread all over Italy. Under Italian influences the severity of its melodic outlines softened and it readily responded to the national love of color and warmth. While Willaert can no longer be called the ‘Father of the Madrigal,’ he was one of the first strong writers in the madrigal-form, and his transplantation of it from Flanders to sunny Italy gave to it just the genial quality needed to bring it to full maturity. He was especially influential in developing a freer style and a taste for chromaticism. This tendency found strongest accentuation in the ‘Chromatic Madrigals’[38] of Ciprian de Rore (1516-1565). He published five books of these and, while many were in the nature of experiments, they served to prepare the way for the mastery of chromatic elements so conspicuous in later composers. His madrigals, written in an original and genial style of great richness, enjoyed enormous popularity. Giovanni Croce paid homage to the spirit of the times in a notable collection of humorous part-songs (Triaca musicale, Capricci) for from four to seven voices. The Gabrielis were also generous contributors to the development of the madrigal, which, in its adopted home in Italy, attained its fairest and most luxuriant flowering.

The earliest of the Italians to achieve notable success in madrigal-writing was the Roman, Constanzo Festa (died 1545). One of his madrigals, ‘Down in a flowery vale’ (Quando ritrovo la mia pastorella), attained the distinction of being for a long time the most widely-known piece of its class in England. Palestrina showed his supreme command over all styles by freeing the madrigal from Flemish influences and contributing in goodly measure to the literature of this fascinating form. Among them are many madrigali spirituali—compositions midway in seriousness between the motet and the light chanson, which aimed to bring into church music more of the warmth and grace of the best secular music. In the new style of madrigal-writing Palestrina was followed with splendid results by his successor in office as ‘composer to the Papal Choir,’ Felice Anerio, by Francesco Anerio, brother of the preceding, by the Naninis, and, in particular, by Luca Marenzio (about 1560-1599), who devoted himself especially to the advancement of secular art and whose madrigals were of such captivating beauty and expressive power that he earned for himself the title of ‘the sweetest swan of Italy.’ His reputation was far-extended and his popularity[39] in England was so great that Dr. Burney not only places him among the greatest of all madrigal writers, but traces the passion for this form of secular music that spread over England beginning about 1590, directly to the wide appreciation of his highly-perfected madrigal style.

The madrigal was carried to Germany by Netherlanders and German students of the Venetians, but it never succeeded in making much headway against the national fondness for the folk-song (Volkslied), from which it radically differed. Neither was it seriously valued in France, although here the chanson had long enjoyed great popularity and had furnished the type from which the early Flemish madrigals were evolved. English soil, however, was especially favorable to its development, and it was no sooner transplanted thither from Italy and Flanders than it took deep root and flourished with a luxuriance that did not lose its splendor beside the best works of Rome or Venice. Richard Edwards (1523-1566) and William Byrd (1543-1623), the latter the greatest English composer of the sixteenth century, had both written polyphonic secular songs of the madrigal type that had achieved wide fame, but the national love of part-songs received an extraordinary stimulus from the publication in 1588 of Musica Transalpina,[40] a collection of over fifty madrigals selected from the best Flemish and Italian composers of the time and adapted to English words. These were received with such astonishing favor that the madrigal at once leaped into the importance almost of a national institution, fostered by a numerous school of composers who devoted themselves almost wholly to perfecting it. All the best English composers delighted in producing madrigals in countless profusion. Between the years of 1590 and 1630 no less than 2,000 pieces in this form were published, so that at the beginning of the seventeenth century the madrigal stands out as the clearest expression of the contemporary English national taste, the favorite of composers and public alike. The flowering period of the English madrigal was the first two decades of the seventeenth century, when a truly brilliant galaxy of native composers developed characteristics that distinguish it quite clearly from its continental relatives and place it on a secure vantage-ground where it need fear no rival. In delicacy, simplicity, and a delicious naïveté, some of the English madrigals of this period are unapproachable. During the Elizabethan era English church-music reached a high standard, but it sounds restrained and almost perfunctory beside the joyous, fresh, spontaneous flow of these madrigals.

Chief in importance among the English madrigalists was Thomas Morley (1557-about 1602), whose music revels in irrepressible cheerfulness and sweet tunefulness. He showed an especial fondness for the light canzonets and ballets, or fa-las, in which latter form, introduced by him into England, he is unrivalled. His contemporary, John Dowland (1563-1626), was equally successful in his canzonets and ‘Songes or Ayres of foure parts.’ But the inspired pieces of John Wilbye (dates of birth and death unknown) are universally considered to be the best representatives of the English madrigal in its purest and most characteristic and comprehensive form. Other great masters of this form were George Kirbye (died 1634), Thomas Weelkes (about 1575-1623), John Bennet (dates unknown), Michael Este (dates unknown), Thomas Ravenscroft (about 1582-about 1635), and Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625). There can be no doubt that the splendor of this era of madrigal-writing was made more lustrous by the sympathetic interest taken in this popular form by many of the best poets of the brilliant Elizabethan period. The works of many of the inspired makers of these sweet old melodies are still sung with delight and dearly prized by the numerous choral societies and clubs that zealously cultivate unaccompanied vocal part-music. Since madrigal-writing has experienced somewhat of a revival in recent years, it will be of interest to enumerate some of the most beautiful and most famous of these old compositions which still retain an imperishable charm and undying appeal. Among such will be found the following: Dowland’s ‘Awake, sweet Love,’ ‘Come again,’ and ‘Now, oh! now, I needs must part’; Weelkes’ ‘In pride of May,’ ‘The Nightingale,’ and the bold ‘Like two proud armies’; Wilbye’s ‘The Lady Oriana’ (in praise of Queen Elizabeth), ‘Flora gave me fairest flowers,’ ‘Lady, when I behold,’ ‘Down in a valley,’ ‘Draw on, sweet Night,’ and ‘But Sweet take heed’; and Bateson’s ‘In Heaven lives Oriana.’

Some of the English madrigalists of this period, as Edwards and Gibbons, were close kin to the Netherlanders in style and feeling. Many of the madrigals of Byrd, Weelkes, Wilbye, and Kirbye are elaborate in design and display ingenious and delightful imitation, but in general there is discoverable a clear tendency to discard the burdensome rules of ecclesiastical writing. With the development of this tendency the passing of the madrigal proper began, for the prime essentials of a true madrigal, no matter what it may be called, are that it must conform to the general feeling of some ecclesiastical mode and must be written in accordance with contrapuntal procedure. Without these qualities the madrigal flavor is lost. After 1620 it began to merge into the simpler and lighter glee and part-song, which forms will be considered in Chapter IV.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p. 83.

[15] The largest contributions to the mass were made by the Eastern Church during the first four centuries and were translated into Latin by the Church of Rome.

[16] From the Latin missa in the sentence, Ite, missa est (‘Depart, the assembly is dismissed’), sung by the deacon immediately before the close of the service.

[17] The practice of thus displacing the authorized Gregorian chants with folk-songs was inaugurated by Dufay. In three of his four-part masses, preserved in the archives of the Papal Choir, the subjects are all borrowed from popular songs, with the secular words accompanying them—among them being L’homme armé.

[18] Weinmann, ‘History of Church Music,’ p. 85.

[19] Parry, ‘The Evolution of the Art of Music,’ p. 103.

[20] Tournay was one of the chief musical centres of the Gallo-Belgic period and its cathedral possessed a body of choristers trained to the highest point of efficiency then known to the vocal art.

[21] Naumann, ‘The History of Music’ (Eng. trans.), Vol. I, p. 325.

[22] Kiesewetter, ‘The History of Music,’ p. 131.

[23] Mendelssohn wrote a similar part for Hensel in his ‘Son and Stranger.’

[24] The origin of the word is veiled in much obscurity, which has been increased in large measure by the varied spellings adopted by early writers (motetum, motectum, motellus, motulus, mutetus).

[25] These three classes comprised (1) those forms in which all voice-parts had the same words, as the Cantilena, the Rondel or Rota, the Organum communiter sumptum; (2) those in which each part had its own special words, as the Motet; and (3) those in which some parts had words and others merely vocalized, as Hoquet or Ochetus, the Conductus, and Organum purum vel proprie sumptum. Organum purum was the oldest form and was held in great reverence by the earliest writers.

[26] Thus in Salvatoris mater, an old three-part Latin motet, probably of the first half of the fifteenth century, by the Englishman, Thomas Damett, quoted in the ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. II, p. 149, the texts of the two upper parts are prayers to the Virgin and to St. George in behalf of King Henry VI, while the lowest part sings the Benedictus.

[27] His Ars compositionis de Motetis, preserved in the Paris library, is supposed to have been written between 1290 and 1310.

[28] Geschichte der Musik, Vol. III, p. 353.

[29] All of these were part-songs of the chanson and madrigal type.

[30] So called from the name of his birthplace, a small town southeast of Rome, the ancient Præneste.

[31] Waldo S. Pratt, ‘History of Music,’ p. 124.

[32] Arthur Mees, ‘Choirs and Choral Music,’ p. 62.

[33] Edward Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p. 167.

[34] He was then Maestro di Cappella of Santa Maria Maggiore.

[35] A full and authoritative discussion of the facts and fables associated with this mass, based on researches in the archives, will be found in F. X. Haberl’s Die Kardinal-Kommission von 1564 und Palestrina’s Missa Papæ Marcelli.

[36] Missa Brevis was a name given to a mass of moderate length and not intended for festival occasions of great solemnity.

[37] It was published for the first time with the Pope’s permission by Dr. Burney. It is given in almost complete form in Grove’s ‘Dictionary of Music and Musicians,’ Art. ‘Miserere.’

[38] The most famous of these, set to Petrarch’s Vergini, have in recent years been published by Breitkopf and Haertel.

[39] Of the 57 madrigals in Musica Transalpina, published in London in 1588, ten were by him, and of the twenty-eight numbers in Watson’s ‘Italian Madrigals Englished,’ published in 1590, twenty-three were from his pen.

[40] Rockstro avers that the word ‘madrigal’ appears for the first time in England in the preface to this volume.

CHAPTER III
THE FIRST CENTURY OF PROTESTANT CHURCH MUSIC

Martin Luther; the chorale as the nucleus of German Protestant church music—Early Reformation composers: Walther, Eccard, Prætorius; influence of church choir schools in Germany during the Reformation period—English Protestant music, music of the Anglican liturgy: the anthem, its early history and style—The spread of congregational song; psalms and hymns.

I

Christian art in its general outlines has followed upon the heels of Christian thought and doctrine with the fidelity and persistence of a shadow. Ever since it first learned definite articulation, it has responded with childlike obedience to the varying conditions which the church has experienced in its endeavors to win and to hold the allegiance of humanity to its spiritual leadership. Music, the youngest of the arts, strikingly illustrates this attitude of dependence. Consequent on the doctrine of the universality of the church, a marked sameness and uniformity existed in the ritual-music of French, Italian, Spanish, German, and English church composers, as long as the supremacy of the church was undisputed. This absence of variation in style, form, and expression, this suppression of national and individual characteristics, was the natural manifestation of the doctrine of the complete surrender of the individual, which governed all his relations to the church. The workings of the forces of humanistic thought in the sixteenth century brought about some deviations, even in sacred music, from this uniform mode of expression, and in Italy we can easily find points of differentiation between the music of Venetian, Roman, and Neapolitan composers, though all were loyal adherents of the same faith.

But when Luther struck the mighty blow at the spiritual and political power of Rome which loosened a large part of northern Europe from its grasp and changed the whole current of the world’s religious thought, it was quite natural that there was a resounding echo in the musical methods and forms of expression that accompanied the manifold developments of this new religious movement. In the discussion of this movement as it relates to the subject in hand, two facts need constant reaffirmation—(1) that even before Luther’s time there had been many evidences of the impending change in religious thought, evidences that run back with more or less frequency even to the Middle Ages,[41] and (2) that Luther was first of all a reformer, not a destroyer, of the ancient church and her modes of worship. For a full understanding of the music of the Reformation it must be kept in mind that the doctrinal points back of Luther’s revolt included the denial of the mediatorial function of the priest, the declaration of the universal priesthood of believers, and the stout insistence on the inalienable right of the individual believer not only to freedom of reason and conscience, but to direct access in prayer to Deity at all times. The whole character and color of Protestant music is derived from this recognition of the individual, and his duties and privileges in the direct worship of God. This freer, more spontaneous and democratic conception of worship threw the emphasis upon the congregation, and Luther’s form of public worship was built up around this central fact. The two changes most responsive to this new conception were the substitution of the people’s vernacular for Latin as the official language of the service[42] and the restoration to the people of the office of song, which had been withdrawn from them at the very beginning of the development of elaborate liturgic forms. This newly-found liturgic use for the people’s song caused a prompt development of the singularly rich and impressive hymnody of the early German Protestant Church and Luther, in the order of services which he prepared for the Wittenberg churches in 1526 (the Deutsche Messe), gave especial prominence to this element.

Luther’s fervent desire was to bring all elements of the church service within the comprehension of the whole congregation; it was to be a people’s service. The congregational hymns, so conspicuous in his scheme of public worship, were not only sung in the mother-tongue, but many of them were sung to melodies whose origin was equally close and dear to the people’s heart. Luther was the founder of German Protestant hymnody (though not of German hymnody, as we shall see), and in furnishing tunes to the multitude of hymns which he and his helpers wrote, translated, or adapted, to give voice to the new religious aspirations and ideals of the Protestant faith, recourse was had to two popular sources, the rich treasury of religious folk-song that had been in existence for centuries[43] and contemporary secular folk-song of the more noble and sedate type. In thus transferring the familiar and beloved melodies of home and social life to the use of the sanctuary, an intimate and personal relation of the congregation to the church service was established that was wholly lacking in the old church associations. A third source of Luther’s melodies was Gregorian chant and the stately Catholic hymns. Many of the melodies were original, and this was more and more the case as time went on, but the musician of this period, as has been pointed out in the discussion of Netherland music, was thoroughly accustomed to borrowing his melodies (subjects) either from popular song or plain-song. The name ‘chorale’ was soon given to these hymn-melodies, from whatever source they were derived, and the chorale, from its importance in the Lutheran liturgy, promptly became the nucleus of the whole Lutheran musical system, in exactly the same sense that plain-song was of the Roman musical system. Its close relation to the sturdy folk-song gave to the chorale and to the entire literature of religious music evolved from it a virility and vitality that made it, of all the artistic products of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, alone comparable with the superb creations of Palestrina and his school. The origin of probably more than half of the melodies of the Lutheran chorale-books may be traced to folk-songs of some kind or period. Moreover, in wedding his hymns to music Luther was careful to provide strongly rhythmical melodies, which naturally made a more lively appeal to the people than did the unrhythmical Latin music of the Roman service, a fact whose significance has been largely overlooked by historians. The militant and assertive ring of many of the early chorales, contrasting strongly with the calm, contemplative mood of so many of the Catholic hymns, finds at least partial explanation in this fact.

The place of Luther in German religious music is quite easy to estimate now, though it has required over three centuries to disentangle the great reformer’s actual achievement in this field from the gross exaggerations and inaccuracies of partisan bias in both attack and defence. But if it now seems to be well established that Luther actually composed only a few[44] of the 137 melodies once attributed to him, and that only five of the thirty-six hymns which he wrote are entirely original, this does not detract one whit from his greatness or his wisdom as a leader in pointing musical aspirations in a new direction, for his real significance in German music, whether he composed melodies or not, lies, not in new forms, but in the new spirit that he gave to his followers and infused into sacred music. He had no thought of breaking with the past. In preserving intact the line of continuity, he was wise enough to retain many forms and practices in the old Church that he regarded as vital and permanent and to build them firmly into the structure of his new liturgy. Realizing the importance of having an abundance of hymns for his followers, Luther once said to Spalatin, ‘We are looking everywhere for poets,’ and in a short time his wish was more than realized in the thousands of original hymns that were poured forth. But in addition to these he and his collaborators did not hesitate to look in other directions. As he had freely utilized existing material for his hymn-melodies, so he borrowed liberally from the magnificent store of religious poetry that had gradually accumulated during the centuries. The principal sources thus drawn upon were (1) old Latin hymns which were translated and modified (as Verleih uns Frieden gnädiglich from Da pacem Domine, a sixth-or seventh-century antiphon; Der du bist drei from O Lux beata, a fifth-century Epiphany hymn; and Herr Gott, dich loben wir from the Te Deum); (2) early German translations of Latin hymns which were amplified; (3) early German hymns which were corrected or arranged; and (4) Latin Psalms and other Biblical passages which were translated and paraphrased in metrical German verse. A fifth and prolific source must not be overlooked—secular songs, favorite songs of love and praise of Nature, which were recast into religious hymns by the simple device of altering a few words or lines.

Luther in the Circle of His Family

After the painting by E. Spangenberg

The importance of music in the Lutheran service was greatly enhanced by Luther’s relentless war on the worship of images and pictures. The arts of painting and sculpture practically disappeared from the church edifices or were put under almost prohibitive restrictions. Music thus became almost the sole artistic accessory to religion in the service of the Reformed Church. But in music Luther recognized that there was no real conflict between Protestant and Catholic ideals; hence he retained the principal features of the musical system of the ancient Church, and readjusted them in accordance with his altered conception of worship. We have observed how he exalted the German hymn, which had existed in pre-Reformation times only as an occasional religious utterance and then always in extra-liturgical services, to a place of chief importance in congregational worship. In his enthusiasm for congregational song, however, there was no antagonism to the choir; on the contrary, he made ample provision for it and urged every encouragement of the use of contrapuntal music. Luther introduced only one real innovation into his musical system—the congregational chorale; for the rest it was based squarely on existing methods, adopting with no essential changes the three chief features of the Roman system: (1) the principles of the old polyphony as developed by the Netherlanders and Italians; (2) the use of borrowed subjects (canti firmi) as the basis of the church polyphony, the subjects being taken from chorales, however, instead of from plain-song as in the Roman system; and (3) a few Gregorian melodies and priestly chants for certain parts of the service. Until the church-cantata developed as a distinguishing feature under Bach’s guiding hands, the motet, with Latin or German words and identical in form and style with the motet of the old Church, was the chief representative of contrapuntal vocal music in the Reformed Church. The important place which contrapuntal organ music occupied in the service will be treated in the chapter in which the early organ masters are discussed.

The first result of Luther’s efforts to bring about a reform in the liturgy was the Formula Missæ of 1523. In reality this was simply an abridged form of the Roman Mass and was intended only as a temporary expedient; everything repugnant to the fundamental principles of the new faith was omitted, but Latin was retained as the language of worship. In the Deutsche Messe of 1526 he completed his long contemplated and carefully thought out revision of the liturgy, in which the process of simplification was carried still further and the mother-tongue substituted for Latin in nearly all the offices.

Two years before this (1524) he had published the first Protestant hymn-book (Geystliche Gesangk Buchleyn, for four voices), with the assistance of his friend and musical adviser, Johann Walther. In 1525 Walther published another and larger one, with a preface by Luther. Chorale-books now multiplied with such astonishing rapidity that at the time of Luther’s death in 1546 there were no less than sixty collections in use, including the various editions. The very first hymn-melodies sung by the congregation were not harmonized at all. Soon simple contrapuntal settings were given to these melodies, and in all the early chorale-books the melody, following the contemporary usage in contrapuntal writing, was placed in the tenor, the congregation singing it in unison while the choir supplied the contrapuntal parts. But by the end of the sixteenth century harmonic feeling had progressed far enough to permit the melody to pass to the treble,[45] where it naturally belonged in the people’s song. Henceforth it is generally found there, supported by solid chord-movement, and its early contrapuntal character becomes transformed into a simpler harmonic style. The development of the organ in Germany during the closing decades of the sixteenth century made it possible for this instrument to take the place of the choir as an accompaniment to the unison congregational song, the choir after 1600 finding ample scope for its powers in the elaborate motet.

The brutal devastation of the Thirty Years’ War was followed by a weakening of religious faith and vigor, and after the middle of the seventeenth century interest in the chorale waned and the steady stream of chorales slackened and soon came to a full stop. The sturdy militant enthusiasm of the early years of the Reformation was superseded by religious apathy which had a corresponding influence on church music. The rhythmical freedom and variety of the early chorales gradually disappeared and their vigorous character became tamed down to the type as now sung, in which the tones of the melody assumed a uniform length. While this style is undoubtedly dignified and imposing, it represents a distinct loss of energy and vigor, as compared with the original free form. But the chorale had already passed into the larger arteries of German secular art-music, and here its tremendous powers of stimulation were no longer dependent on the spiritual pulse of the church.

The historical importance of the chorale can scarcely be overestimated. Musically speaking, it forms the basis of a large and significant portion of the literature of German music, both vocal and instrumental; religiously speaking, it was the effective instrument through which the intensely devout faith of the German people found its readiest and most expressive voice for their emotions of joy and thanksgiving in the newly-found office of direct communion with God; politically speaking, it was recognized by friend and foe alike as the most powerful agency for the spread of the new doctrines. Whole towns were said to have been won over to Protestantism by Luther’s hymns. An irate priest exclaimed: ‘Luther’s songs have damned more souls than all his books and speeches.’ Furthermore, the Protestant hymn exercised an immediate and wholesome influence on the Roman Catholic hymn. Realizing the popularity and devotional value of the Lutheran hymn-singing, the Catholic authorities reversed their traditional attitude toward the congregational hymn and strove to stem the inroads made by this alluring propaganda on their congregations by providing hymn-books of their own in the language of the people. The first German Catholic collection (Ein New Gesangbüchlin Geystlicher Lieder) appeared in 1537 in Leipzig, the work of the Dominican monk, Michael Vehe, of Halle. It contained fifty-two hymns and forty-seven melodies, many of which, in altered form, were borrowed from the Protestant hymn-books, as Luther had borrowed from the best Catholic hymns. Thus these religious opponents sought to square musical accounts by freely appropriating each other’s treasures of sacred song. The second Catholic hymn-book (Geistliche Lieder und Psalmen) did not appear until 1567. It was edited by Johann Leisentrit of Bautzen and comprised 147 melodies and 250 texts, among which were no less than sixty-six hymns by Protestant poets, four, indeed, by Luther himself! Thereafter similar hymn-books multiplied rapidly, and the history of the development and subsequent decline of the Catholic German hymn coincides quite largely with that of the Lutheran hymn and with nearly the same contributing causes, political and religious. It is of interest to note that about 1600 the hymn found its way for a time even into the office of the Holy Mass. In the eighteenth century the Catholic hymn sank back into its pre-Reformation status of unimportance in public worship, but retained its position in the parochial schools, where it was permanently placed early in the seventeenth century.

II

Just as a veritable swarm of religious poets had responded to Luther’s Macedonian call for hymn-writers, so there soon appeared among his followers a numerous array of musicians, eager and competent to furnish the music for the new service. Johann Walther (1496-1570) was one of the first composers in the Reformed Church—first in importance as well as chronologically. Luther had summoned him to Wittenberg in 1524 to assist him in arranging the musical part of the German Mass, and, as already mentioned, he played a most important part in arranging and editing the first chorale-books. He was the first[46] to harmonize the hymn-melodies after the manner of secular part-songs, that is, in simple four-part harmony, note against note, which form has characterized the congregational hymn since his time. He was the composer of many well-known chorales and motets, and there are a few historians who even attribute to him the authorship of the melody of the famous Ein’ feste Burg. Johann Eccard (1553-1611), a prominent pupil of Orlandus Lassus, appeared soon enough after Luther’s passing to be under the direct influence of the great reformer. He enjoyed great popularity on account of his simple and graceful part-songs, chorales, and motets. His chief work was Geistliche Lieder (‘A Collection of Fifty-five Sacred Melodies for Feast-days and Holy-days’). Another important work was Preussische Fest-lieder (‘Prussian Festival Songs for the Whole Year’) for five to eight voices. These were somewhat in the nature of a new form, occupying a place midway in simplicity between the chorale and the motet—akin to the chorale in having the melody in the highest part and possessing a certain folk-song flavor, and approaching the motet in having the melody contrapuntally dependent on the other parts and therefore not to be sung alone. Michael Prætorius (1571-1621) was a prolific writer of motets, psalms, chorales, and choir-pieces, some of the last-named being compositions for several choirs in the Venetian style for as many as thirty voices. From 1605 to 1610 he issued his Musæ Sioniæ, a huge collection of sacred part-songs, including many of his own, in sixteen volumes, five with Latin words, the remainder with German. The name of Johann Crüger (1598-1662) is inseparably connected with Lutheran church-song. He was one of the last great composers of chorales—and one of the most prolific—and is remembered now chiefly for the large number of these chorales that have remained favorites during all the intervening years. Among the best-known are Nun danket alle Gott; Jesu meine Zuversicht; Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele; and Jesu meine Freude. Most of his chorales were written in the rhythmically regular and subdued form which later was accepted as the modern idea of the chorale. Other Protestant composers who gained distinction as writers of Lutheran church-music before Bach were Joachim von Burck or Moller (1541-1610), celebrated for his Odæ sacræ or part-songs; Bartholomäus Gesius (about 1555-1613); Melchior Franck (about 1573-1639); Hermann Schein (1586-1630), known chiefly by his Cantional, published in 1627, consisting of over 200 chorale-melodies, inclusive of about 80 original ones, which he harmonized, mostly note against note, retaining the old irregular rhythm of the earliest chorale melodies; and Andreas Hammerschmidt (1612-1675), who, in his Musikalische Andachten (‘Musical Devotions’) in five volumes and ‘Dialogues between God and a Faithful Soul’ in two volumes, pointed to a new and freer style in sacred composition and made a deep impression on contemporary music of the Lutheran service. With Heinrich Schütz, who will be discussed in a succeeding chapter, Hammerschmidt constitutes the important connecting link between the sixteenth-century ecclesiastical style and the perfected forms of Sebastian Bach.

In retaining the trained choir for the performance of the more elaborate choral music of the service, Luther was forced to make special provision for the education of the choristers, for with the Reformation came the suppression of the abbeys and monasteries that formerly had been the chief supporters of the choir-schools, and the complete transformation of the choristers from their former semi-clerical to a laic status. As early as 1524 he had aroused Protestant Germany to the imperative need of public education as the only means of securing the success and permanence of Protestant ideals, by addressing a stirring appeal to the councilors of German cities. In all Protestant centres schools were founded and actively maintained by municipal, private, and parochial endowment. Music was an integral part of Luther’s scheme of public education, and in connection with the larger institutions he urged the appointment of precentors or cantors[47] who should have charge of the training of the choristers and the selection and singing of the church music. These precentorships became a powerful element in the development of Protestant sacred music and in the diffusion of choral culture. The most famous one was that of the Thomasschule or School of St. Thomas in Leipzig, where a long line of illustrious musicians from Schein, Kuhnau, and Sebastian Bach down to Moritz Hauptmann, E. F. Richter, and Wilhelm Rust (died 1892) enjoyed brilliant careers as cantors. Here a choir of about sixty boys served four churches—St. Thomas, St. Nicholas, St. Peter, and the New-Church. The lay character of the choirs and the close relation between the religious life of the church and the home aided greatly in the general movement of popular musical education.

Another influential factor in the spread of choral culture was the wandering choirs, or currendi. The ancient custom of pupils from the monastic schools going about town on certain festival days and singing for alms was utilized in the Reformation period for the twofold purpose of spreading the new doctrines and strengthening the popular love of sacred song. The members of these currendi belonged to the lower grades of the parochial and cathedral schools, and to them was assigned the duty of singing choral responses and chorales in the service. On week-days they passed from house to house singing canticles, and soon became so much of a public institution that their services were in demand, at a small fee, for all sorts of home and semi-religious occasions, such as birthdays, weddings, and baptisms. The older members of the choirs were recruited in the higher or Latin schools from the alumni or boys who were given a home in the school buildings and who in return obligated themselves to serve in the church choir and church orchestra. They received the best vocal and instrumental instruction and were therefore well equipped to perform the florid and difficult music of the polyphonic masters. The interest of these choristers in choral music continued after their connection with the choirs as alumni and currendani (members of the currendi) had ceased, and, as students in seminaries and universities or as plain citizens, they exerted a wide influence on choral music either by individually supplementing the local choirs or by establishing choruses which were independent of the churches but which were used to augment the choirs on important church festivals.

III

While the remarkable fermentation caused by Luther’s doctrines was working such significant readjustments in the religious, intellectual, and artistic life of Germany, with echoing responses in adjacent continental countries, a similar movement of revolt and reconstruction gathered headway in England, generated by the same fundamental causes but starting some years later, and resulting in a complete separation from Rome and in the establishment of the Church of England. But the Anglican Church, like the Lutheran Church, did not stand upon a wholly independent basis of its own. Both proclaimed themselves purifiers and reformers, not destroyers, of the ancient church, hence both retained a large portion of the liturgy of the parent church from which they revolted. The Reformation in England, however, developed along quite different lines from Luther’s energetic movement in Germany. On the continent the revolt from Rome was from first to last a religious movement; in England its first outward manifestation was political. The incentive which led Henry VIII to break with Pope Clement VII was not an unalterable religious conviction such as buttressed Luther at the Diet of Worms, but was personal pique at the refusal of the Pope to recognize the validity of his marriage with Anne Boleyn. In the Act of Supremacy of 1534 the King and his successors were declared to be ‘protector and supreme head on earth of the church and clergy of England,’ but no doctrinal changes were involved and the immediate result was merely a change in the name of the church. Yet Henry’s secession soon had the result of forming a distinct line of cleavage for those who had been secretly sympathizing with the religious ideals of Luther and Zwingli on the continent and in whose Anglo-Saxon hearts the right to independent thought and a liberated reason was deeply cherished.

The real reconstruction of the liturgy for the new national Church in conformity to fundamental Protestant doctrine began under Edward VI, who authorized two forms of the Book of Common Prayer in succession (1549 and 1552). In 1559 Elizabeth authorized a third form, which remained in use for over a century. The revision of the Book of Common Prayer in 1662 under Charles II practically completed the restatement of doctrine begun by Edward VI.

The entire ritual of the Church of England is contained in this Book of Common Prayer, and, as far as the ordinary congregational worship is concerned, is divided into Matins and Evensong (or Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer) and the office of Holy Communion. The ritual-music in all three consists of chants, hymns, anthems, and certain free musical settings of the canticles and other constant portions of the liturgy technically called ‘services.’ In all matters of style and construction the ‘service’ has closely followed the development of the anthem, the early stages of which we shall now trace.

The anthem was recognized as a regular part of divine service early in Elizabeth’s reign, but the word was not actually used in the Prayer Book until the revision of 1662, which simply states after the third collect, ‘In quires and places where they sing here followeth the anthem.’ A few years after Elizabeth issued the ‘Injunctions’ granting permission to use ‘a hymn or such like song in churches,’ the word anthem appears in the second edition of Day’s choral collection, entitled ‘Certain Notes set forth in four and five Parts to be sung at the Morning and Evening Prayer and Communion.’ The high place that church music has occupied in the thought of English musicians is amply evidenced by the fact that practically every composer that England has produced has given his most serious efforts to this form. The actual output of anthems has been enormous; and, while it may be said with much truth that the qualities of pedantry and dryness are too much in evidence to permit the use of the terms ‘inspiring’ or ‘inspired’ for the bulk of them, it may be maintained with equal truth that in no other class of church music, except the mighty individual contributions of Palestrina and Bach, has the element of secularity been so rigorously excluded as in the English anthem and its allied forms. While the religious music of Protestant Germany and Catholic Italy and France suffered a lamentable relapse in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries under the insinuating influence of the operatic style, the music of the English cathedral service maintained on the whole a serenity and certain austerity of style entirely consistent with ecclesiastical ideals and dignity. The best examples of this style—and they are numerous—give to the music of the Anglican Church an honorable place in the literature of the worship music of the four great historic branches of the church universal, notwithstanding its average mediocrity and the absence of really great names among English church composers.

The anthem is the culminating point of the ritual-music of the Anglican Church, as the cantata was of the early Lutheran Church. In its more extended form it has much the same general musical structure as the cantata, comprising choruses, solos, duets, etc., but it has never attained the large dimensions of its German analogue. Like the church cantata, it made use of the vernacular from the beginning, and, thus established on the basis of a direct verbal appeal to the congregation, it in time evolved a musical type of its own, clearly differentiated from other distinctive types of church-music and embodying the essential qualities of the church from whose innermost being it blossomed.

The word ‘anthem’ (from the Greek Antiphona, through the changing forms, antefne, antem, anthem) naturally suggests the idea of antiphonal or responsive music, and it originally had this application, but not since the restriction of its use to a specific and distinctive form of church music. Its text is usually taken from the Psalms or other portions of the Bible, or from the liturgy. The anthem has never been a real part of the liturgy in the same sense as musical portions of the ‘service,’ for its words have never been authoritatively prescribed for the various days of the church calendar, a wide latitude being allowed in this respect.

Four kinds of anthems are recognized and named according to the vocal forces employed in performance. They are called ‘full’ when written for chorus throughout; ‘verse’ when written for chorus and various groupings of solo voices, the chorus being of secondary importance; ‘solo’ when written for chorus and one solo voice; and ‘double’ when written for a double choir singing antiphonally. The ‘full’ anthem is the natural successor to the earlier Latin motet; the ‘verse’ and ‘solo’ anthems clearly show the influence of Italian solo-forms applied to the problems of church-music. The utmost freedom of form is now permitted in the anthem and its dimensions vary from those of a simple hymn-tune to extended compositions in several movements constructed with elaborate contrapuntal skill and employing independent organ, and sometimes orchestral, accompaniment. In this larger form it approaches closely the character of the cantata, although not so individualized in its parts.

The earliest anthems date from the beginning of Elizabeth’s long reign (1558-1603) and the cultivation of this form has gone on from this period in unbroken continuity, save for the brief ascendency of Puritan ideals during the Commonwealth. The literature of Anglican Church music divides itself into four periods of quite distinctive characteristics:

I. (1550-1660) in the contrapuntal style of the unaccompanied motet;

II. (1660-1720) the beginning of the modern free style;

III. (1720-1850) middle modern; and

IV. 1850 to the present.

The peculiar character of the English Reformation in its early stages was reflected in the ritual-music of the newly-founded national church. The leaders of the Protestant movement on the continent were mostly men who sprang from the ranks of the common people. It was in large measure a democratic and popular movement. It was only natural that the music of the people should find an echoing response in the music of the church which sprang from such a foundation, and thus the chorale, adapted from or closely related to folk-music, forced its way into the Lutheran ritual-music and exercised a profound influence on all aspects of the worship-music of German Protestantism. The English Reformation had no such popular basis. The various stages of its progress were in the main determined by royal edicts or by acts of parliaments subservient to the royal will. No channel was open through which the music of the people could exert any appreciable influence on the figured music of the Anglican Church. The fragrance of the English folk-song may be detected in many an example of English hymnology, but no such aroma ever penetrated into the atmosphere of the anthem or the ‘service.’

When the break with Rome came and the reorganized Church became an established fact, an astonishingly small number of changes were made, considering the momentous nature of the revolt, either in the general body of ecclesiastical officers of the Church or among the church musicians. For the first century of its existence the figured music of the Anglican service was almost identical in character with the corresponding portions of the Roman Catholic service. The style and structure of the anthem with English words differed in no respect from the Latin motet. The traditions of English church-music, traditions whose effects are still to be felt in the choral portions, were firmly laid by men deeply skilled in polyphonic writing, men whose learning and musicianship made them worthy compeers of the great continental contrapuntists, Lassus and Palestrina.

Among the greatest of the church composers of this early period were such men as Thomas Tallis (1529?-1585), whose anthems ‘I Call and Cry’ and ‘All People that on Earth do Dwell’ are fine examples of the old contrapuntal style; William Byrd (1538?-1623), with his masterful ‘Bow Thine Ear’ and ‘Sing Joyfully’; and Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625), the ‘English Palestrina,’ whose ‘Hosanna,’ ‘Lift up your Heads,’ ‘O Clap your Hands together,’ and ‘Almighty and Everlasting God’ have not yet ceased to excite admiration and reverence for their solemnity and dignity. Most of the anthems of this period are ‘full,’ though occasional ‘verse’ anthems are also to be found. All were essentially a cappella and relied wholly upon purely vocal effects. Small portable organs were in common use in many churches, but when they were employed as accompaniment they, as well as occasional orchestral instruments, merely reinforced the voice-parts or filled out the vocal ‘rests.’

IV

Since the Reformation in all countries was fundamentally democratic, though in varying degrees of expression, it was inevitable that the people’s song should be given substantial recognition in all forms of the Protestant service. In Germany the chorale was at once the utterance of profoundest religious conviction in the sanctuary, in the home, and on the battlefield; and the incitement to creative energy in more elaborate musical forms. But in respect to its alliance with higher forms of art-music, the chorale has no analogue in the ritual-music of other Protestant services. In France, Switzerland, and the Netherlands, the only form of religious song tolerated by the Reformed Church was Calvin’s austere psalmody, which was the beginning and end of worship-music in all churches under his leadership. His intolerant antipathy to everything that even suggested the elaborate and beautiful forms of the Roman ritual rigidly excluded all polyphonic or figured music as well as all forms of instrumental accompaniment. The Genevan Psalter, published in various editions from 1542 to 1562 when it appeared in its complete form, consisted of the metrical translations of the Psalms by Clement Marot and Theodore Beza set, for the most part, to adaptations of popular secular French songs, though many of the finest tunes have been variously attributed, but without conclusive proof, to Louis Bourgeois, Guillaume Franc, and Claude Goudimel. Many of the fine melodies of the Genevan Psalter, such as ‘Old Hundredth’ or the long-metre doxology and ‘Toulon,’ have persisted in popularity during the centuries and have been permanently enshrined in Protestant hymnology. Although many editions of the most popular of the psalm-tunes appeared for four voices (the melody at first in the tenor), finely harmonized by Bourgeois, Goudimel and others, no other than plain unisonal singing of the tunes was permitted in the church service for over two centuries.

The movement in favor of congregational song quickly passed to England, where, however, complex conditions prevented the development of any such uniform type as the chorale. The establishment of the Church of England, with its revised liturgy and musical service, had scarcely been effected when it came into collision with opposition within the Protestant fold far more intense and bitter than any encountered from its Roman Catholic foes. The Puritan party, in its excessive repugnance to all forms of ritualism or ceremonial and in its invincible conviction that everything artistic in worship was sinful, fiercely attacked the Anglican Church as an insincere compromise with popery. Following Calvin’s leadership, Puritanism threw overboard the whole structure of formal worship in the historic church and permitted in the service no music at all except the congregational singing of the metrical psalms. In this wholly democratic conception of worship-music there was obviously no incentive to any higher form of musical expression. The only contribution of the Dissenters, therefore, to the literature of church-music was their hymnody, or rather psalmody, for the words, even though many times rewritten and reparaphrased, were rigidly limited to the Psalms. The first complete English metrical Psalter[48] was the famous one by Sternhold and Hopkins in 1562, which held sway among Puritan congregations for nearly two centuries and a half and was likewise supreme in the Anglican Church for at least a century and a half. The new version of the Psalter by Tate and Brady, published in 1696, remained in favor till a still later date or till about the middle of the nineteenth century, but the popularity of both was seriously challenged by the splendid version of Isaac Watts in 1719. The origin of the sixty-five different psalm-tunes in the Sternhold and Hopkins collection has been open to much controversy. It seems highly probable that most of them were of English composition, though many were doubtless written in imitation of hymn-tunes that were favorites among the French, Swiss, and German Protestants.

The congregational song of the Anglican Church in the first century and a half of its existence likewise kept close to the Psalter. Hymns, in the German sense of spontaneous expression of individual religious sentiment, were practically unknown in English religious song until just before the period of Watts and the Wesleys. The idea that nothing should be used in public worship that was not strictly Scriptural dominated the services of Conformists and Non-conformists alike. To be sure, a few ancient hymns, such as the Te Deum and Veni Creator, together with some canticles and ‘spiritual songs,’ were admitted into the Appendix to the Psalter, to be sung in private devotions, but it was not until the closing years of the seventeenth century that the hymn emerged from the protecting care of the Psalms and asserted itself as an independent form in the service. The first successful collection in which it assumed a place of its own was ‘Select Psalms and Hymns’ for St. James’s, Westminster, 1697. A new and glorious era for English hymnody was at hand, in which the hard, prosaic lines of the old psalmody were to be laid aside for more spontaneous, inspired religious utterance. But if the verses of the old poets of an austere, unloving religion were to be discarded and gradually forgotten, many of the melodies to which they were sung have lived to be joined to words of sweeter comfort and more joyous hope than the English religionists of those olden days permitted themselves. Most of the early tunes were written in the then prevalent church modes, many were undoubtedly adapted from English folk-songs and continental melodies, but the names of many of the greatest English composers of this period—Tye, Tallis, Gibbons, Byrd—lived on in their inspired church tunes and are still to be found in nearly every modern hymnal in use, whether prepared for liturgical or non-liturgical services.

FOOTNOTES:

[41] In the ‘Thuringian Mystery, or the Parable of the Ten Virgins,’ written evidently by monks and performed for the first time at Eisenach, Thuringia, on April 24, 1322, the futility of intercessory prayers to saints or even to the Virgin is asserted.

[42] This substitution was not entirely accomplished during Luther’s lifetime, however, as a few Latin motets were retained for a long time.

[43] Philip Wackernagel in his collection of old German hymns (Das deutsche Kirchenlied) gives 1,448 examples of these, dating from 868 to 1518.

[44] Only two can with certainty be ascribed to him—Jesaia dem Propheten das geschah and Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott—while five more are probably by him.

[45] The first chorale-book to adopt this as a fixed principle was the one published in 1586 at Nuremberg by Lucas Osiander, ‘Fifty Sacred Songs and Psalms, arranged contrapuntally for four voices, so that a whole Christian congregation may unite in the singing of them.’

[46] Cf. Naumann, ‘The History of Music’ (Eng. trans.), Vol. I, p. 473.

[47] Cantors, however, had existed from early times in the ecclesiastical establishments and singing schools (scholæ cantorum).

[48] Sternhold’s first incomplete collection of nineteen psalms was published in 1549, the year of his death.

CHAPTER IV
THE EARLY ITALIAN SECULAR CANTATA,
THE GERMAN CLASSICAL CANTATA, THE ENGLISH ANTHEM,
AND OTHER SHORT CHORAL FORMS

The entrance of dramatic tendencies into music—Carissimi and the early cantata; Rossi, Cesti, and Legrenzi—A. Scarlatti, the culminating point in cantata-writing in Italy; later developments of the Italian cantata—The German church cantata and its relation to the Lutheran service; cantata-texts of Neumeister and others—Bach in the service of the church; his church cantatas—G. F. Handel; Joseph Haydn; W. A. Mozart—English church music in the eighteenth century; the anthem; Croft, Greene, Boyce, and others—Later history of the motet in England, Italy, and Germany; decadence of the madrigal; the glee, the part-song, the masque and the ode.

The year 1600 is probably the most significant milestone in all the long history of the development of the art of music. By a strange coincidence this year witnessed the performance of the first oratorio, Cavalieri’s ‘The Representation of Body and Soul,’ in Rome and the first public performance[49] of opera, Peri’s Euridice, in Florence. These events were of tremendous import in that they not only emphasized and gave direction to the newly-developed dramatic tendencies, but made necessary the further and more complete development of two closely-related but subordinate activities—independent instrumental music and pure vocal art. The entrance of a consciously dramatic element into musical composition meant a comprehensive widening of the area of musical expression. Heretofore music had served its chief purpose and had found its justification in the service of the church. Though there are portions of the Roman Catholic liturgy that are essentially dramatic in their spiritual significance, the avowedly impersonal character of the whole liturgy had excluded the possibility of utilizing these situations for dramatic treatment, even in those parts specifically given over to elaborate musical settings. Had such a dramatic treatment been in consonance with the spirit of this liturgy, some of the many opportunities would certainly have been seized upon by such a genius as Palestrina, for there are many striking examples in his masses and motets of his wonderful ability to delineate the sentiment and mood of the text and reinforce the meaning and significance of a word by some expressive chord or dissonance. These instances serve to suggest how deeply he sensed the genius of the Roman liturgy and under what admirable artistic restraint he must have labored in not exploiting the dramatic possibilities which lay even in the limited musical vocabulary of his period. But this restraint was no longer necessary in the new secular fields of composition opened up by the disciples of ‘the new music’ (nuove musiche).

The first results of the infusion of this consciously new factor into musical speech was an intense activity in all fields of composition that offered opportunity for the employment of the musica parlante or stilo rappresentativo, as the new form of musical declamation or recitative was called that formed the distinguishing characteristic of the works of Peri, Cavalieri and other early composers of the new movement. This new form of musical speech was not intended by the Florentine reformers as an invention, but merely as a revival of the ancient manner of declaiming tragedy, using varying degrees of vocal inflection in accordance with the demands of the rhetorical utterance of the text, with no reference whatever to melodic structure or design.

While the use of the recitative was at first confined to the opera,[50] it was only natural that experiments should be made in other forms, less pretentious, in which it was desired to clothe a poetic text with the expressive strength and beauty of musical tones.

The term ‘cantata’ came to be used by composers in the early part of the seventeenth century (first probably not far from 1650) to designate some of these short secular compositions for the chamber, usually dramatic in character, which were written for a single voice with a simple accompaniment for one instrument, generally a lute. These secular compositions were called cantate da camera. They were given without action and at first were sung in unbroken recitative, imitating the style employed with such success in the operas of Caccini, Peri, and Monteverdi. But the monotony of this style soon led to the introduction of the air or sustained melody, which recurred several times during the progress of the recitative, but with a different text each time.

I

The cantata as a distinct musical form was assiduously cultivated by nearly all of the important Italian composers during the seventeenth century and its form soon began to crystallize along the lines which, for the following century, characterized it. In this work of definition and crystallization, Giacomo Carissimi (born probably 1604, died 1674) had a most distinguished part. He also transferred the cantata from the chamber to the church and wrote prolifically in both secular and sacred forms. A more detailed analysis of Carissimi’s influence on choral writing will be reserved for the discussion of early oratorio, but it may be said here that, though he cannot be credited with the invention of the sacred cantata, he was the first musician of large calibre to adopt this form and to lavish on it his best thought and most profound skill. He is generally admitted to have exerted more influence on the perfecting of the recitative than any of his contemporaries and he firmly established in sacred music those elements of pathos and dramatic fervor which had proved to be so effective in the opera and for which the public had acquired so keen an appetite. This enrichment of the purely musical means of expression in church music in the interest of greater dramatic realism was by no means a healthy accretion from the standpoint of pure ecclesiastical music, for, with the introduction of the dramatic element and the employment of the solo voice with all the possibilities for virtuosity and the temptations for display, the period of decadence in the music of the Roman Church began.

All of Carissimi’s cantatas were for one voice or at most for two and all were written with accompaniment for a single instrument—lute, harpsichord, ‘cello, etc. His accompaniments were simple, but displayed unusual lightness and variety for his period. He left a vast amount of completed work behind him, but little of it is now available. Dr. Charles Burney,[51] writing near the close of the eighteenth century, when actual performances of Carissimi’s works were not such a matter of ancient history as now, gives warm praise to the beauty and musical effectiveness of his cantatas and liberally reproduces musical extracts. In speaking of a collection of twenty-two of his cantatas, preserved in Christ Church, Oxford, Burney says: ‘There is not one which does not offer something that is still new, curious, and pleasing; but most particularly in the recitatives, many of which seem the most expressive, affecting, and perfect that I have seen. In the airs there are frequently sweet and graceful passages, which more than a hundred years have not impaired.’ His secular cantatas were both lyric and dramatic. Only one was suggested by a special event, the death of Mary Queen of Scots.

The cantata of the seventeenth century was evidently as diverse in style and character as were its descendants in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It dealt with subjects that were sacred, profane, heroic, comic, and sometimes ludicrous. The wider range of subjects available for the secular or chamber cantata made this form especially appealing to composers. Then, too, the voice was the most perfectly developed medium of musical expression that the age provided—the heritage of centuries of training in the service of the church. While the violins of the last half of the century approached the most perfect specimens that the great Cremona violin-makers produced, this instrument was at a disadvantage as compared with the voice, because instrumental forms were still very crude and in the making, and the instruments on which the violin depends for accompanying harmonic background (the harpsichord and the clavichord) were inadequate, unsatisfactory, and very limited in their range of musical expression. Avoidance of a set or arbitrary form was one of the characteristics of the seventeenth-century chamber cantata as a whole. This freedom in form (that is, in the order and kind of arias, etc.) offered greatest scope for the imagination and intellectual capacities of the composer. The period of vocal virtuosity and degeneracy had not yet set in and the singers themselves were not only the best trained in everything pertaining to musical science, but were the most intellectual of musicians and represented the best phases of musical art and culture. The intimacy of the chamber and the absence of scenery and action in performance gave the highest incentive and best opportunity to both composer and singer to subordinate everything to the higher demands of artistic expression. Hence the composers of the seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth centuries regarded the chamber cantata much in the same light that Beethoven and Brahms in the nineteenth century regarded the pianoforte sonata and the violin sonata—the most intimate and intellectual form of music that the age could produce. All the great composers up to and including Handel practised in this form as Bach did in fugue, and in its exploitation they worked out many a problem of thematic development, of contrast in melodic forms, and of interesting harmonic structure and key-relationships, thereby enriching the vocabulary of the art for succeeding generations. Mention will here be made of the more important of Carissimi’s contemporaries and immediate successors who gained distinction as writers of cantata and who aided in its further development.

The elaborate cantatas of Luigi Rossi (born near the end of the sixteenth century, died about 1650) for a single voice—a voce sola—are among the very earliest examples of this form and are noteworthy illustrations of how quickly the vague and indefinite recitative of the Florentine monodies began to show tendencies to formal organization and a pleasing, fluent style for the solo voices. A fine example of the newly-awakened tendency toward definite form in secular music is found in his cantata Gelosia, which Burney quotes in full in his History and in which Parry[52] finds the following definite formal scheme, which had evidently been carefully thought out by the composer:

A^1. 4/4, declamatory recitative of 23 measures and close.

B^1. 3/4, tuneful—nine measures.

C^1. 4/4, declamatory recitative of 19 measures.

A^2. Same bass as A^1, but different words and varied voice-part.

B^2. 3/4, same bass as B^1, but different words and different voice-part.

C^2. 4/4, recitative. Same bass as C^1, but different words and different voice-part.

A^3. Same music as A^1, but different words.

B^3. 3/4, same as B^1, with different words.

C^3. Same bass and almost the same voice-part as C^1 till last three measures, which are varied to give effect to the conclusion.

Marc’ Antonio Cesti (about 1620-1669) was a pupil of Carissimi and went far beyond the efforts of his teacher in the formal construction of his melodies. His great popularity attests the increasing fondness of Italian taste for tuneful formality. One of his cantatas, O cara libertà, is said to have been one of the most famous of the century. Many of his melodies approximate the characteristic forms in which later vocal arias were cast, including the forms consisting of two contrasted parts (A B) and of three parts with the contrasted section in the middle (A B A). In the latter form the third part is a varied or free repetition of the first part.

Giovanni Legrenzi (about 1625-1690), though only five years younger than Cesti, made a much larger contribution to the development of his art, especially on the instrumental side of vocal music. He is credited with being one of the first composers to display a real instinct for instrumental music, and he is said to have reorganized the orchestra used to supplement the organ at St. Mark’s, Venice, increasing it to 34 performers—8 violins, 11 violette (small viola), 2 viole da braccia, 2 viole da gamba, 1 violone (bass viol), 4 theorbos, 2 cornets, 1 bassoon, and 3 trombones. His accompaniments show great vivacity and in general a variety of style in strong contrast to those of most of his co-workers. He published many cantatas in which the music runs along uninterruptedly from beginning to end. The succession of recitatives, melodious passages, and what might be called arias varies in each cantata according to the demands of the texts. A great variety is also noticeable in the form of the arias, which are remarkably free in rhythm and declamatory flow. His cantatas are among the best types of this seventeenth-century form.

II

Alessandro Scarlatti (1659-1725) undoubtedly looms largest among the figures in Italian music of the seventeenth century and the first half of the eighteenth century, with especially marked influence in the fields of opera and cantata. One of the most prolific composers of all ages, he completed 115 operas, many masses (at least 10 survive), 8 oratorios, and a vast number of cantatas[53] (500 have come down to us), besides quantities of music in other forms. The extraordinary number of his chamber cantatas that survive him is strong evidence of his estimate of and affection for this form, examples of which cover every period of his life and reflect as faithfully as do Beethoven’s sonatas the various phases and stages of the composer’s artistic unfolding. Scarlatti was the greatest of the writers of chamber-cantatas and only a few of his successors approached him in excellence in this field. Indeed, the popularity of this form seems to have spent its force in Italy soon after the middle of the eighteenth century. Many of his cantatas bear internal evidence that he regarded them as ‘carefully designed studies in composition,’[54] in the working out of which he brought to bear his best musicianship. One of the finest examples of this careful and beautiful workmanship is the cantata Andata a miei sospiri, two settings of which he wrote for and sent to his composer-friend, Gasparini, in 1712.

But the very fertility of his invention and the ease and rapidity with which his musical thoughts flowed from his pen generated a tendency toward the adoption of a stereotyped style, influenced as he was by the growing inclination of his pleasure-loving Neapolitan audiences to demand triviality more than dramatic seriousness, tuneful melody and vocal display more than sincerity of expression. He did not possess the rugged tenacity of artistic purpose that drove Gluck, a half-century later, to insist on the primacy of the dramatic intent and the complete subordination of the musical element to the dramatic. So we find that under his hand the cantata, as well as the opera, became conventionalized in form. The vocal element, on which he lavished greatest care, became predominant and the aria, as the chief means of vocal utterance, fell under the same spell of conventionality. But in the cantatas, especially in the essentially musical parts, there are comparatively few evidences of the spirit of triviality that he so freely admitted into his operas. It is not true, as is frequently asserted, that Scarlatti invented the stereotyped forms of the aria that were the chief stock in trade of his successors in Italian opera until the middle of the nineteenth century. Nearly all of these aria-forms, including the commonest and most banal operatic form, the one with the indispensable da capo, may be found in the cantatas and operas of the composers already mentioned, among whom the inclination toward definite organization in melodic form was already well developed before Scarlatti had more than begun his career as composer. The incredible number of arias that he wrote and their easy classification as to form certainly made this common error of statement a very pardonable one. From his position as the greatest composer of his period, however, he gave to their use an authority and an impetus whose force was not fully spent for a century and a quarter after his death.

But if Scarlatti’s contributions to the cantata and opera were mainly along the line of the glorification of the purely musical and vocal elements, in one direction certainly he contributed richly to the permanent progress of musical art. In Carissimi’s cantatas the accompaniments were very simple, written usually with figured bass only, which was left to the performers to fill in at their discretion. After Carissimi the accompaniment began to assume a more elaborate character, but many of Scarlatti’s show utmost care in working out. Most of these were for violin or ‘cello. Some of those for ‘cello required such large technical equipment that ability to play them was looked upon as a mark of distinguished musicianship. Indeed, it was not uncommon in that age, which was far more superstitious than our own, for audiences, deeply impressed with the beauty of tone and marvellous skill of the performers, to believe and declare that angels had assumed the form of men.

Cantata-writing in Italy reached its highest point in A. Scarlatti and seems to have been, for a period extending, roughly speaking, from 1650 to 1750, almost the only form of vocal music used for private or chamber purposes. As Parry points out, ‘it is certainly creditable to the taste of the prosperous classes that a branch of art which had such distinguished qualities should have been so much in demand; for the standard of style, notwithstanding obvious defects, is always high.’[55] But the decline in the standards of opera had an inevitable effect on the character of its closely allied form, the chamber-cantata. Though composers continued industriously to employ it, the finest examples are to be found among the composers already mentioned. In addition to the above, Giovanni Battista Bassani (about 1657-1716) published numerous cantatas on love themes for one, two, or three voices with instruments and maintained a noble style in both vocal and instrumental parts, his handling of the instrumental parts being distinctly an advance over previous composers.

It is to be noted that few, if any, distinguishing or personal marks can be discovered in the works of the various Italian composers of this period, particularly those whose names follow. All say the same elegant, suave things in much the same elegant, suave manner. Francesco Gasparini (1668-1727) had such a high reputation in his time that Alessandro Scarlatti sent his son, Domenico, to study with him. Later a curious rivalry sprang up between Gasparini and the elder Scarlatti, which took the strange guise of a cantata-correspondence in which each sought to puzzle and outdo the other. Gasparini’s fame, however, rested on a treatise upon accompaniment, published in 1708, which remained a standard work in Italy until well along in the nineteenth century. Benedetto Marcello (1686-1739), celebrated for his settings of 50 psalms for one, two, three, and four voices with accompaniment, published 26 cantatas for different voices with accompaniment for various instruments. The Royal Library at Dresden contains copies of two of his cantatas—Timotheus, to his own Italian translation of Dryden’s poem, and Cassandra—both of which were famous in their time. Emanuele Astorga (1681-1736) is remembered now almost entirely by his beautiful cantatas for solo voices (soprano or contralto), of which about 100 are extant, and for two voices, all with accompaniment in figured bass for the harpsichord. Ten of these duets (for soprano and contralto) are published in Peters’ Edition and also by Leuckhart with accompaniment arranged for pianoforte.

Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757), son of Alessandro Scarlatti and especially famous as a harpsichord player and composer for this instrument, wrote many cantatas in which the form became more extended, comprising various movements. In this extension of form Scarlatti was followed by Pergolesi (1710-1736), whose cantata Orfeo ed Euridice, written in the composer’s last illness, was the most famous of the period. Giovanni Battista Bononcini (about 1660-about 1750), remembered now as the defeated rival of the great Handel in the famous London opera-writing duel, was one of the most prolific of all cantata writers, though the music was quite mediocre. Other well-known Italian composers of the eighteenth century who employed the extended cantata-form were Antonio Caldara (1678-1763) and Niccola Porpora (1686-1766 or 1767). The great Handel himself wrote many cantatas for single voice in the prevalent fashion and in many of them used for his accompaniment such combinations of instruments as strings and oboes. After Handel’s time the cantata of the Italian type described above lost favor and was gradually superseded by the concert aria, a form which Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn have used with fine results.[56] Mozart gave the name cantata to a composition for three solo voices, chorus, and orchestra in three movements, written about 1783 (Koëchel No. 429). The distinction of having used the chorus in the cantata for the first time, however, probably rests with Giovanni Paësiello (1741-1816), who, in an attempt to revive the waning interest in this form, sought to give greater vocal effectiveness by contrasting choral with solo effects. In this formal respect at least, several of his cantatas (as Dafne ed Alceo and Retour de Persée) are prototypes of the present-day form.

Thus far in the consideration of the cantata we have been concerned mainly with its secular form and with its development in Italy. The secular cantata in Italian style does not seem to have gained any permanent popularity outside the land of its birth, certainly not enough to attract the attention of the best composers either in France, which had developed a dramatic style of its own along different principles from those of the Italians, or in Germany and England, in both of which countries the influence of Italian opera predominated. In France only unimportant composers cared to employ it. In England native composers of the seventeenth century found two worthy substitutes for the cantata in the masque and the ode.

In the very beginning of its career the cantata was successfully placed within the domain of church music by Carissimi, and during his lifetime and later the church-cantata in Italy had much the same form as that of the oratorio, to which it was so closely allied in spirit and function. But in Germany, under the influence of the intense religious feeling engendered by the stormy days of the Reformation, it took on the character almost of a national religious institution. Here it developed into a form of such magnificent proportions and significant influence that an extended exposition of some of the contributing causes and accompanying conditions may be pertinent.

III

German choral music, which in its early history means German church music, cannot be considered apart from certain fundamental national traits which are present in some degree even in the earliest folk-music of this nation and in the effusions of the mediæval minnesingers—traits which instinctively turned their artistic attention toward sincerity of poetic thought and utterance rather than sensuous beauty of melodic expression. An instinct for grasping fundamentals, a fervid devotion, and a rugged tenacity in following accepted ideals—these were qualities that made Germany a fit cradle for the Reformation and the German people the foremost defenders and stoutest preachers of the religious emancipation of the individual which Luther proclaimed with such far-sounding tones. The contrapuntal skill that German musicians had learned, along with the rest of Europe, from the Netherland masters, they did not use so much for the glorification of music or for æsthetic and formal considerations as for the enrichment and elucidation of the ideas and sentiments of the words. When the rest of Europe had capitulated to the ravishing sweetness and allurements of Italian melody, Germany listened somewhat incredulously, and even when this charmer was finally admitted into the inner courts of its musical household, it was compelled to assume a purified and chastened form.

The essential characteristics of German musical art are well illustrated by the condition of music in Germany in the seventeenth century as compared with that of Italy. The secular impulse that had wrought such a revolution in Italian music and musical methods had made itself felt in Germany at an even earlier period, but in a very different manner. In the southern country it brought about an intense development of the dramatic element. This almost immediately reacted upon church music and left upon it an indelible impression, sadly weakening the Palestrina ideal of impersonality with the impingement of the strong personal, human element which the introduction of the solo inevitably emphasized, and which led, as has been pointed out, to a period of deterioration in Catholic church music.

The change in German music can also be traced to a secular source, but not only were the immediate results of this change, in terms of actual music, vastly different from those in Italy, but the controlling motive which molded its varied manifestations was alike different. The German Protestants were at once summoned to test the strength and sincerity of their new-found faith in the crucible of physical combat, and they were stirred as was possibly no other nation engaged in the complicated succession of religious wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As it was religious fervor that led them to take up the sword in defence, so it was religious sentiment and devotion that furnished the motive that lies back of the entire scheme of German musical art of the seventeenth century. To the rather austere German composers of this period music seemed to be too lovely and pure a thing to be used for histrionic tricks and trappings. So the most sincere and important utterances of German musical art of the seventeenth century are to be found in the field of religious music. It has been pointed out (page 79) that the chorale was the basis of the music which sprang into being as the natural expression of the Protestant movement in Germany. Since the rich mass of folk-song supplied such abundant material for the chorales used in the Lutheran service, the secular element through this channel entered into the very warp and woof of German music, and carried into it the quality of simple and fervid sincerity that in a marked degree has always characterized the German folk-song and the art-music that sprang from it.

The secular element had wrought a complete change in Italian music within the short space of a half century and the impetuous Italians had given themselves over to the new tendency so whole-heartedly that the boundaries of the old ecclesiastical art were almost wholly obliterated. An unexpected caution and conservatism, however, manifested itself among the Germans and an entire century elapsed before a definite and distinctive art-fabric was evolved from the material at hand. Composers, now almost wholly forgotten, but who might have won more frequent historic mention had they chosen to tread the more brilliant path of histrionic art, worked contentedly and with pious enthusiasm to make chorales for the church service or to construct motets by using the chorale tunes as subjects and weaving voice-parts around them in expressive counterpoint or in imitative figures, with all the polyphonic skill they possessed.

Out of this religious zeal finally emerged the German church cantata, which found its culminating point, as did so many other musical forms associated with German church music, in Johann Sebastian Bach. In Italy and elsewhere in connection with Roman Catholic music, the church cantata never possessed any liturgical significance, though it was freely employed for purposes of religious entertainment and instruction. But almost immediately after its introduction into Germany through the gifted German students who had studied in Italian art-centres, notably in Venice, the church cantata became a part of the regular order of the German Protestant church worship and thus became the object of solicitous attention on the part of Protestant German composers. Encouraged by the church and firmly imbedded in its liturgy, it needed only the touch of Bach’s genius to cause it to grow into full artistic stature and stand as the most precious musical gift of German Protestantism to the world. In the seventeenth century it was frequently called ‘spiritual concerto’ or ‘spiritual dialogue,’[57] and consisted of Biblical passages and church or devotional hymns. During this period its rather crude musical form usually followed this order—an instrumental introduction, a ‘spiritual aria’ (a simple strophic song for one or more voices), one or two vocal solos, and a chorale or two.

While German religious music was cautiously feeling its way toward individual self-expression, there were not wanting among German musicians those who felt that the forms of Italian dramatic music, such as the recitative and aria with their obvious possibilities for the expression of impassioned human feeling, should be fully utilized in the structure of their new religious art, and who argued that the qualities of brilliance, variety, and personal utterance should be present in ecclesiastical art as well as in secular. On the other hand were those who were in favor of banishing from the church service all vocal music except that based on the austere chorale and motet (analogous to the Latin motet of the sixteenth century), and who would restrict all church music to the more abstract, objective, and liturgic conception derived from ecclesiastical traditions. Standing on middle ground between these two extreme ideals, Bach, with the insight born of genius, retained all that was best and most serviceable in each—the simple strength and sturdy devotion of the chorale, together with the contrapuntal chorus, as the collective expression of exalted religious sentiment, and the recitative and Italian aria, chastened and stripped of its histrionic shallowness and insincerity, as the individual personal utterance of the more subjective moods of meditation and introspection.

The Lutheran Church retained in its liturgy many of the prominent features of the Roman liturgy. Among them were portions of the mass, the custom of chanting certain parts of the service, the singing of ancient hymns and traditional tunes, and the observance of special church days and festivals. The calendar of the church year was largely the same in the two faiths, and in the Lutheran Church, as in the Roman, the order and character of the different portions of the service were carefully prescribed by church law. Each Sunday and special day had its own appropriate Bible lesson, versicles and prayers, and its own chorales, the words of which would illustrate the Bible texts of the day, commenting upon them and applying their lessons to the common experience of the devout worshippers. This intimate relation of chorales to a definite church-day was of obvious advantage to composers in that it enabled them to construct, around the chorales as central points, compositions which would amplify the sentiment of the stanzas of the chorales and serve as musical commentaries on the religious significance of the various days of the church calendar. The cantata thus became the chief musical feature of the Lutheran liturgy, and the words brought to the attention of the congregation some particular feature of the religious thought that received special emphasis in the order of the day.

The great popularity of the cantata with both church authorities and congregation in Germany was undoubtedly due in part to the many opportunities it offered for satisfying the universal craving for greater individualization, for freer utterance of individual emotion and sentiment. The opera of the period, which consisted largely of solo-singing, gave free rein to the expression of personal feeling, as the spirit of the times demanded. Yet nothing that was really permanent or artistic could arise from this foundation, since the subjects of opera were drawn almost exclusively from far-removed classical and mythological sources. These subjects held little or no real interest for the masses, and the singers who impersonated the legendary characters were actuated almost solely by professional vanity. The opera was thus inevitably surrounded with an atmosphere of insincerity and moral indifference. While the people applauded, they remained untouched except on the surface, and only partly satisfied. When the element of personal expression was transferred to church performances, the situation was radically changed. Their religious experiences were real and vital and tangible. The important part that the congregation was encouraged to take in the singing of hymns and chorales gave to the zealous worshippers a feeling of individual responsibility in the services. Even in those more elaborate musical portions assigned to the choir, they could follow, in fancied participation, the religious emotions set forth in a language that they could readily understand and that was intensified by the expressive power of appropriate music. The intensely subjective, sometimes even sentimental, nature of the texts made a deep appeal to the warm Protestant piety of the German people.

Poetical texts of a semi-dramatic character, suited in more or less definite way to the different church days, soon came to be in great demand. The first to supply such cantata texts of real literary merit was Erdmann Neumeister (1671-1756), a preacher-poet of Sorau and Hamburg, who wrote no less than five complete cycles of texts for the church calendar. Though a host of other poets followed him in writing similar cantata texts, Neumeister seems to have been unexcelled and to have had a large influence by the sheer literary excellence of his poetry and the moving power of his pious eloquence. Both Telemann and Mattheson were appreciative collaborators with him, and among the cantatas which Bach wrote with such incredible industry for his choir at St. Thomas’ Church are several with Neumeister’s fine texts.

Neumeister’s cycles of cantatas were published between the years 1704 and 1716. In the preface to the first of these cycles he frankly stated that ‘a cantata has the appearance of a piece taken out of an opera.’ The publication of these cycles of cantata texts brought on a fierce controversy between his adherents among churchmen and musicians on the one side and the Pietists and those who were swayed by an instinctive antipathy to theatrical music of any kind on the other. Even the older and more severe cantatas had been accused of worldliness, but the very idea of using in the worship of God the recitative and aria, which were the chief vehicles of musical expression in the profane opera, was repugnant to the pietistic mind. The innovators were charged with bringing into the church all sorts of ‘singable stuff’ and gay and dance-like tunes. To this Mattheson, who was chief among the musicians of his period who could wield a pen in defence of their art-theories, replied that of course a distinction must be made between a sacred and an operatic recitative, and that intelligent musicians knew well enough how to treat it in the spirit of the church service and thus preserve a true church style which would be at the same time an independent style.[58] And so the question as to what constitutes the true church style, as to what is pure church music, has been hotly discussed, with greater or less absence of brotherly love, in every generation for the last two centuries, and, it is to be observed, with much the same arguments as weapons in each succeeding generation.

IV

In simplest definition church music, as Spitta has concisely said, is music ‘that has grown up within the bosom of the church’[59] and, he might have added, that best expresses the essence and spirit of its distinctive creedal beliefs. It took centuries for Roman Catholicism to produce a Palestrina. But, when he did appear, he acted as genius has always acted; while the learned theologians of the Council of Trent were speculating on the true character of church music and fulminating against abuses, he was quietly creating those wonderful masses and motets that have ever since been regarded as the loftiest musical embodiment of the spirit of the Roman Catholic liturgy and which, therefore, needed no edict of council or pontiff to establish their supremacy. And so, while lesser musicians were busily engaged in defending the new ideas, Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), with all the quiet confidence of genius, was steadily producing works for the church service that stand in the same relation to the Lutheran liturgy and to the spirit of the Lutheran Church of his period that Palestrina’s music stands to the Roman liturgy.

The whole creative energy of Bach’s genius seemed to centre around his deeply religious nature. The great majority of his works were written either expressly for the Lutheran Church service or in forms appropriate to the spirit of this service. He consciously set himself the task not only to regenerate church music, which even in his time had fallen into melancholy ways, but especially to take the forms which he found already technically developed and to apply them to the utterance of the exalted ideas of religious life and experience as interpreted through the German Protestant faith. Bach was the only one of the eighteenth-century German composers who was completely equipped for so worthy a task. Springing from sturdy peasant stock, bred and educated entirely in his own beloved Thuringia and wholly in accordance with German traditions and Protestant ideals, and never deeming it necessary to go abroad for those superficial refinements which his nation lacked, Bach was essentially and peculiarly the product of a culture that was purely German Protestant. He was endowed with an intellectual force of truly gigantic proportions and with a catholicity wide and wise enough to assimilate whatever was vital and vigorous in the various musical forms and styles with which the air was filled. He was absolute master of organ music, which throughout the seventeenth century was the only branch of art to develop real splendor as an indigenous product of the Lutheran Church. Although in thought and feeling a thoroughgoing churchman, he had the wit to discern that even the opera, the worldly antipode of the churchly ideal, contained elements that could be rendered valuable in reverent service to purely religious purposes. In Bach’s hands these operatic elements lost their emotional sensuality, washed clean in the pure impersonal flow of his organ music. Thus he reconciled the two seemingly dissimilar styles and fused them into one, which so perfectly expressed the essential being of the Church he so deeply loved and so loyally served that, as Spitta asserts, he ‘has remained to this day the last church composer.’[60]

During all his years of musical activity Bach was a church organist and choir director. In these positions it was a part of his official duties to compose music for the various services of the church calendar. The zeal and fidelity with which he performed this part of his task is clearly evidenced by the following list of his more important church works, vocal and instrumental: about 20 large fantasias, preludes and fugues, a passacaglia, several toccatas, and a large number of chorale-preludes and elaborations, about 300 cantatas, 5 Passions, 3 oratorios for Christmas, Easter, and Ascension, 5 large masses and several shorter ones, many motets, 2 Magnificats, 5 Sanctuses, etc.

By far the largest single group of his compositions consists of church cantatas. Of these he wrote five series for the Sundays and festivals of the church year, 295 cantatas in all, of which 266 were written while he was director of music at the Thomas and Nicolai Churches in Leipzig, which post he held from 1723 until his death in 1750. They easily take rank among the master’s best works, and, notwithstanding the rather astounding fact that for over four years he wrote a cantata each week for the following Sunday’s service in addition to other compositions, they contain many of the finest and loftiest examples of accompanied church music of his own or any other period, and give unmistakable evidence of the scholarly care and loving thought he bestowed upon them. As a group they are excelled only by the Passions and the great B minor Mass, and some of their choruses are not surpassed even by these wonderful creations. Not one of them was published during his life and many have been lost. The manuscripts remained almost forgotten for nearly a century after his death, but the Bach-Gesellschaft has published about two hundred of them in its authoritative edition of the master’s works (1851-1899), comprising over fifty volumes and forming an enduring monument to the master’s genius.

An interesting and illuminating light is thrown upon Bach’s attitude toward the composition of his church music, especially the cantatas, when we remember that they were all written, not for universal fame or popular acclaim, but for the use of his own choir and for the edification of that particular congregation for whom it was his business to write music. He wrote them, exactly as the minister wrote his sermons, as personal contributions to the effectiveness and completeness of individual church services and occasions. There is little evidence to show that the congregation looked upon these masterly compositions in any other light than as regular and necessary parts of the ordinary routine of service, little dreaming that a future century would give them such lofty valuation.

The church cantatas[61] reveal an astonishing versatility and range of expression which show how completely he surrendered his merely technical musicianship to the guidance of the sentiment and mood of the texts, and the needs of their liturgic environment. In these cantatas he has bequeathed to his church and nation ‘a treasury of religious song compared with which, for magnitude, diversity, and power, the creative work of any other church composer that may be named—Palestrina, Gabrieli, or whoever he may be—sinks into insignificance.’[62]

In length they vary from four to seven movements, frequently with an instrumental prelude or overture. The shortest consume about twenty minutes in performance and the longest an hour or so. They are all written with accompaniment for organ and, usually, some solo instrument or group of instruments. The vocal numbers consist of recitatives, arias, duets, and choruses. In no other eighteenth-century composer does the recitative assume such qualities of expressive and fluent melody as in Bach. The arias vary greatly in form, ranging from the use of the da capo, which in his hands loses its Italian superficiality and conventionality, to the utmost freedom of melodic design. In the choruses he found full opportunity for indulging his characteristic fondness for elaborate and complex polyphonic structures. His conception of the relation of the voice-parts to the whole tonal scheme differed radically from contemporary usage. To him the solo part was not a thing complete in and of itself, but rather a contrapuntal detail of a larger tonal unit. Hence the accompaniment usually rises to melodic importance coordinate with the voice-part. Sometimes, indeed, the voice-part sinks to secondary consideration, and merely concertizes with a more significant theme assigned to the organ or some solo instrument. Bach’s whole mode of thought was so essentially instrumental in its coloring and expressional devices that he frequently produces results that are hardly consonant with what might be called vocal idiom. Such a mode of treatment easily lapses into monotony and over-austerity, of which there are occasional instances in all of his vocal works. But there are more than enough counterbalancing examples of arias in his cantatas to show how plastic this form could become in his hands for the expression of the deepest and tenderest sentiments and for the musical delineation of the subtlest details in the changing thought of the texts.

The chorale, as already mentioned, played a most important rôle in the constructional plan of Bach’s cantatas. Since each church day had its especially appointed chorale (Hauptlied), he made it an almost universal practice to introduce this, either in whole or in modified form, as material for contrapuntal treatment in the voice-parts or in the accompaniments of at least several of the movements. In some of the cantatas, such as Wer nur den lieben Gott and especially the famous Ein’ feste Burg, chorales appear in some guise or other in every movement, whether recitative, aria, or chorus. There are but very few of the cantatas, among them the well-known Ich hatte viel Bekümmerniss, in which no chorale-melody appears. The Bach cantata regularly closed with a chorale in a plain and unornamented four-part form, but richly harmonized.

It is a real misfortune that the profound beauties of these rare examples of ecclesiastical art are now practically unknown to any except the occasional student. But there are at least three things that have conspired to keep them away from the general knowledge and appreciation of the present-day public—(1) the Lutheran service, which in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries usually lasted for four hours at least, has been much shortened and the cantata is no longer a necessary component, hence at present it is rarely heard even in its original home, the Lutheran service; (2) the organ was such a central and dominating part of Bach’s whole scheme of musical utterance that the cantata cannot be performed with any other accompaniment without a large shrinkage in artistic effectiveness; (3) these works are so completely saturated with the spirit and meaning of the particular type of church worship for which they were created that when performed in the concert room, even with the organ, they lose in large measure, merely from the changed perspective and environment. Many of the cantatas are available for study in Peters’ Edition and, in English translation, in the Novello Edition.

Bach’s vocal polyphony, as illustrated by the intricate choruses of his cantatas, was built squarely on his conception of instrumental polyphony as applied to the church service. All the finest qualities of his organ style—the inexhaustible wealth of invention, the masterful use of every contrapuntal device for exploiting the thematic material, the majestic sweep of massive bodies of closely knit melodies—all are found in these choruses in a profusion and affluence that show at once the marvellous fecundity of his genius and the reverent love and patient care with which his task was wrought. Of the nearly fifty cantatas that are published with German and English texts, many might justly be chosen for analysis that would closely approach in excellence the few here presented. These few, however, are recognized as among the greatest and are thoroughly representative of Bach’s cantata style. In addition to these there may also be enumerated Wer nur den lieben Gott (‘If Thou but Sufferest God to Guide Thee’), Jesu, meine Freude (‘Jesu, Priceless Treasure’), Aus tiefer Noth schrei’ ich zu Dir (‘From Depths of Woe I Call on Thee’), and the Ascension cantata Wer da glaubet und getauft wird (‘Whoso Believeth and Is Baptized’).

Ich hatte viel Bekümmerniss (‘My Heart was Full of Heaviness’).—This work was Bach’s first sacred cantata. He composed it in 1714 at Weimar while still depressed over his difficulties with the elders of the Liebfrauenkirche at Halle about an organ position; the music is strongly colored by this mental condition. It was written for the third Sunday after Trinity and contains eleven numbers. The first part, which is mournful in character, consists of a quiet opening chorus, a beautiful aria for soprano accompanied by oboe and strings, a tender recitative and aria full of intense sorrow, and a closing chorus tinged with deep pathos, ‘Why, my Soul, art thou vexed?’ Part II is more cheerful. A duet for soprano and bass, who represent the soul and Christ, is followed by a richly harmonized chorus introducing a chorale melody. Then comes a pleasing tenor aria with graceful accompaniment, ‘Rejoice, O my Soul, change weeping to smiling,’ leading to a final chorus. The words ‘The Lamb that for us is slain, to Him will we render power and glory,’ are uttered majestically by the full choir; the solo bass gives out the words ‘Power and glory and praise be unto Him forevermore,’ leading to the final ‘Hallelujah,’ poured forth with tremendous effect by the combined choir and orchestra.

Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit (‘God’s time is the best of all’) is usually called the Actus Tragicus, and occasionally the ‘Mourning Cantata,’ as it was evidently written to commemorate the death of some aged man. This work, too, was composed at Weimar in Bach’s younger days. The introduction is quiet and tender, introducing some themes used later in the body of the cantata. The opening chorus (‘God’s own time is the best of all. In Him we live, move, and have our being, as long as He wills. And in Him we die at His good time’) is at first slow and solemn, but changes to a quick fugue and ends in a strain of mournful beauty, befitting the last part of the text. Next comes a tenor solo, ‘O Lord, incline us to consider that our days are numbered,’ the text being continued in a mournful aria for bass, ‘Set in order thine house, for thou shalt die and not live.’ The choir then sings ‘It is the old decree, Man, thou art mortal,’ the lower voices forming a double fugue, while the soprano repeats the words ‘Yea, come, Lord Jesus,’ and the orchestra intones the melody of an old hymn, ‘I have cast all my care on God.’ The words spoken on the cross, ‘Into Thy hands my spirit I commend,’ are rendered by the alto, the bass answering ‘Thou shalt be with Me to-day in Paradise.’ A chorale sung by the alto mingles with the last of the bass arioso. The work closes with a chorus, using the so-called Fifth Gloria,

‘All glory, praise, and majesty
To Father, Son, and Spirit be,
The holy, blessed Trinity,’ etc.

Ein’ feste Burg.—This cantata, one of the strongest of the remarkable series of church works composed by Bach, is constructed on Luther’s immortal hymn, the battle-hymn of the Reformation. Historians differ as to the exact time of its composition, but all agree that it was when Bach was at the height of his creative power, the occasion probably being either the Reformation Festival of 1730 or the bicentenary of Protestantism in Saxony, May 17, 1739. It is laid out in truly grand proportions and is permeated from first to last with the bold spirit of triumphant confidence that made the old Reformation days such a stirring memory in every German heart. The cantata opens with a stupendous fugue based on Luther’s melody and using the first stanza of the hymn, than which Bach never wrote anything grander. Following this comes a duet for soprano and bass, the text including the second stanza. A bass recitative and a soprano aria lead to the second great chorus, in which the chorale is sung in unison and with mighty effect, amid a whirl of wildly leaping figures in the orchestra, to the third stanza of the hymn, ‘And were the world all devils o’er And watching to devour us.’ The sixth number, a tenor recitative, leads to a duet for alto and tenor, ‘How blessed then are they who still on God are calling.’ The chorale is heard again in the final chorus, this time sung without accompaniment to the last stanza of the hymn—a thrilling ending to a colossal work.

V

Handel (1685-1759), one of the few great masters of choral writing, was a man in whose life strange contrasts jostled each other. He was born a German, but died a naturalized Englishman and was buried in Westminster Abbey among England’s most illustrious sons; he was intended by his parents to be a lawyer, but by nature to be a musician; the greater part of his life was spent in writing operas, popular in his day but now forgotten, while his fame now rests almost entirely on the great oratorios that he wrote after he was fifty years old and had been practically driven from the operatic stage by intrigues and cabals. He towers above all his contemporaries except Bach; while his greatest masterpieces are his oratorios, his smaller choral works in secular cantata-form display his fine instinct for gracious melody, dramatic coloring, and characteristic choral effects.

‘Acis and Galatea.’—This cantata or pastoral (the composer calls it a serenata, under which title it had its first London performance in 1732) was composed by Handel in 1720, while he was chapel-master to the Duke of Chandos, and was performed at Cannons the following year. In writing it, following a custom very much in vogue among composers of his time, he drew upon an earlier work composed in 1708 during his sojourn in Italy. Most of the text was written by the poet John Gay, though certain fragments were borrowed from Dryden, Hughes, and Pope.

The nymph Galatea deeply loved the shepherd Acis, but in turn was adored by Polyphemus, the one-eyed Cyclops of Ætna. One day, while she was reclining in Acis’ embrace, the giant, believing himself alone, poured out his story of hopeless love, ending in a burst of jealousy against his rival, when, spying the lovers, he hurled an immense rock at Acis and crushed him. His blood, gushing forth, became a purling stream.

A graceful overture, pastoral in style, leads to a chorus depicting the pleasures of rustic life. Galatea enters, seeking her lover, and sings a recitative, ‘Ye verdant plains and woody mountains,’ followed by a sweet melody, ‘Hush, ye pretty warbling choir!’ Acis responds with an aria of exquisite grace and beauty, one of Handel’s finest, ‘Love in her eyes sits playing and sheds delicious death.’ Galatea replies with the famous ‘As when the dove laments her love,’ after which the first part closes with a sparkling duet and chorus, ‘Happy we.’ Part II opens with a chorus of alarm, expressing fear of the love-sick giant and describing the phenomena of Nature at his angry approach. Then follows a recitative by the Cyclops, ‘I melt, I rage, I burn,’ and after it the well-known aria, ‘O ruddier than the cherry!’ Acis’ plaintive song, ‘Love sounds the alarm,’ follows in marked contrast. Galatea begs him to trust the gods and is joined by the other two in the trio, ‘The flocks shall leave the mountain.’ The Cyclops in a rage then seizes a fragment of Mt. Ætna and crushes the unhappy lover. Galatea’s sad lament follows, ‘Must I my Acis still bemoan?’ and the work closes with a consolatory chorus of the shepherds and shepherdesses, ‘Galatea, dry thy tears.’

‘Alexander’s Feast.’—The text for this work is Dryden’s famous poem, the full title of which is ‘Alexander’s Feast or the Power of Music, a Song in Honour of St. Cecilia’s Day, 1697.’ Handel composed the music in 1736, completing the first part January 5th, the second January 17th. The work came to its first performance at Covent Garden Theatre, February 19th, 1736, and met with remarkable success, winning a lasting popularity which even at the present time makes it one of the five best-known of Handel’s choral works. The chief solos are the stormy aria ‘"Revenge, Revenge!" Timotheus cries,’ and the great descriptive recitative, ‘Give the vengeance due to the valiant crew.’ Some of the choruses are among Handel’s finest, equalling those of the ‘Messiah’ or ‘Israel in Egypt.’ They are ‘Behold Darius great and good,’ ‘Break his bands of sleep asunder,’ ‘Let old Timotheus yield the prize,’ and ‘The many rend the skies with loud applause.’

L’Allegro.—The full title of this work is L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato, Milton’s two descriptive poems, L’Allegro and Il Penseroso, supplying the text for the first two movements; but instead of being preserved as separate poems in the musical work, they are made to alternate in sixteen contrasting strophes and anti-strophes. Allegro, represented by the tenor, sings the praises of pleasure and light-heartedness; Penseroso, a soprano, following each time with the regularity of a shadow, advocates meditation and seriousness and melancholy. The Moderato was an addition supplied by Handel and his librettist, Charles Jennens, and represented chiefly by a chorus, whose purpose it was to counsel both Allegro and Penseroso to adhere to a middle course as the safest; but this third part is rarely given. The work is in Handel’s best style—the Allegro is spirited, the Penseroso serious and tender, and the Moderato calm and sedate. The music was composed in the seventeen days between January 19th and February 6th, 1740, and was first performed on February 27th of the same year at the Royal Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London.

Haydn’s (1732-1809) life-work was indissolubly associated with instrumental forms. The parentage and early development of the sonata and the modern orchestra can be traced directly to him. He wrote comparatively little in choral forms and the best of this was in the field of oratorio and church music.

In 1785 Haydn was commissioned to write ‘The Seven Words of Jesus on the Cross,’ sometimes called ‘The Passion,’ as music for the Good Friday service for the cathedral of Cadiz. As first written it was an instrumental work of seven slow movements, which the composer later produced in London under the name Passione Instrumentale. Later still he introduced numbers for solo voices and chorus and, by inserting in the middle a largo movement for wind instruments, divided it into two parts. In this form it was first presented at Vienna in 1796 and was published in 1801. The work is simple in structure and a similarity of mood and character pervades the various movements. It opens with an impressive orchestral number, after which each of the Seven Words is successively stated in the form of a chorale followed by a chorus. In conclusion comes a descriptive chorus in rapid movement, ‘The Veil of the Temple was rent in twain,’ which pictures vividly the darkness, the earthquake, the rending tombs, and the raising of the saints. Haydn frequently expressed a great fondness for this work, and by many of his contemporaries it was regarded as one of his most sublime creations.

Ariadne auf Naxos.—This cantata, written for a solo voice (soprano) and orchestra, is dated 1782. It is one of the most perfect examples of the original cantata form, the Italian cantata da camera already described. The story is that of Ariadne, daughter of Minos, king of Crete, who, desperately in love with Theseus, son of Ægeus, king of Athens, aids him with a thread to escape from the labyrinth after slaying the Minotaur, and accompanies him on his return to Athens. She awakens on the island of Naxos to find herself abandoned by her lover, and here the cantata opens. The music pictures her awakening, her gradual realization of Theseus’ perfidy, her anxiety, her anger, and her despair. The vocal score is intricate, demanding not only facility in execution, but also a noble style of musical declamation, great musical intelligence, and refinement of sentiment.

Outside of the instrumental forms in which his universal genius made him so preëminent, Mozart’s natural artistic instinct led him most strongly to dramatic music. He sought the opera as an opportunity for highest artistic endeavor; but other vocal forms he employed, not so much from choice as from the demands of special occasions. Like Haydn, he paid but passing attention to the cantata.

‘King Thamos.’—The foundation of this work by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91) was an historical drama, ‘Thamos, King of Egypt,’ written by Freiherr von Gebler. To this Mozart composed the incidental music, consisting of five entr’actes and three majestic choruses. The music was written in 1779 and 1780 at Salzburg; the work was presented a few times there under the direction of Boehm and Schikaneder and then was shelved. However, Mozart utilized some of the music by setting the choruses to Latin and German words, in which form they were used in the church service as hymns and motets. They are known to musicians now by the names Splendente te Deus, Deus tibi laus et honor, and Ne pulvis et cinis. Though a feeling of great solemnity pervades them, their original theatrical purpose cannot be entirely concealed behind their adopted sacred words.

Davidde Penitente.—This cantata originated in Mozart’s vow, made before his marriage with Constance Weber, to write a mass to celebrate her arrival at Salzburg as his wife. The ‘half-mass’ which he actually wrote for this occasion comprised only the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, and Benedictus, the rest being supplied from an earlier mass. The work was given in this form at St. Peter’s Church, August 25, 1783, his wife taking the solo part. Early in 1785 Mozart received a commission to write a cantata for a Viennese festival; being short of time, he took the Kyrie and Gloria from the above mass, expanded them into five movements, added four new ones, and fitted them all out with Italian texts selected from the Psalms of David. In this form the work was presented at the Burg Theater, March 13th, under the title Davidde Penitente. It contains ten numbers, consisting of choruses, soprano and tenor arias and a terzetto, the tenth number, a final chorus and fugue, being called the ‘queen of vocal fugues’ by the critics of the time. This cantata is regarded as one of the finest examples of Mozart’s church style, notwithstanding the brilliant character of the solo parts, especially the bravura aria for soprano (Fra le oscure ombre).

The Masonic Cantatas.—Mozart became a Mason soon after he arrived in Vienna in 1784 and he entered into the activities of the fraternity with great ardor. The following year he composed a small cantata, Die Maurerfreude (‘The Mason’s Joy’), for tenor and chorus, in honor of the master of his lodge, Herr Born. The second Masonic cantata,[63] Lob der Freundschaft (‘Praise of Friendship’), was finished November 15th, 1791, only three weeks before his death. This work, which is on a larger scale than its predecessor, but less earnest in spirit, is pleasing and popular and consists of six numbers—two choruses, two recitatives, a tenor aria, and a duet. It was Mozart’s last completed composition. Two days after its performance at his lodge his last illness attacked him.

VI

In the second period of Anglican Church music, beginning after the restoration of the Stuarts in 1660, a distinct change in the character of anthem-writing is discernible. This was inaugurated by Pelham Humfrey (1647-1674), whose foreign study under Lulli and later in Italy brought him in touch with the greater freedom of the operatic style. In his church music and that of his immediate successors there is noticeable greater variety of plan and detail, more daring harmonies, more easy grace in the flow of voice-parts, and in general a faint echo at least of the brilliance reflected from the stage. The Italian art of solo-singing began to force its way into the domain of church music, adding relief and contrast to the severity of the old motet type of ‘full’ anthem. This style culminated in Henry Purcell (1658-1695), probably the most gifted and certainly the most versatile genius that English music has produced. In his hands the modern form of the anthem, as differentiated from the old motet, became clearly defined. Purcell, trained in the Chapel Royal and himself a ‘most distinguished singer,’ gave large emphasis to the ‘verse’ and ‘solo’ anthems, and these grew rapidly in favor. Although an operatic composer of profound ability, in many respects far in advance of his time, his religious music shows no trace of undue influence from this secular source, and many of his anthems[64] and ‘services’ are still cherished as among the finest examples of English church music of any period.

During the latter part of the seventeenth century instrumental music in England took on new importance, and its influence was felt in all branches of the art. Orchestral instruments were frequently employed in the ritual-music in addition to the organ, which instrument, it should be added, was far behind the German organ of this period in mechanical development and technical possibilities. Purcell wrote trumpet parts to his celebrated Te Deum and composed as many as twenty anthems with orchestra (besides over thirty with organ). His instrumental accompaniments began to assume quite independent outlines and his choruses were of such fine workmanship that Handel, who was thoroughly acquainted with his church music, gladly acknowledged his indebtedness to him. Other noted composers of anthems of this period were Dr. John Blow (1648-1708), William Croft (1678-1727), and Jeremiah Clarke (1670-1707), all of whom were choristers in the Chapel Royal and were brought up and trained in the atmosphere of the cathedral service.

No accession to the form of the anthem has been made since the beginning of the eighteenth century. All the forms now in use—the full, the verse, the solo—were well established in the public esteem and the old unaccompanied style had been permanently abandoned in favor of instrumental accompaniment. The eighteenth century was a period of general religious and intellectual apathy and this condition of thought brooded over English church-music. After the spontaneous and melodious Purcell, the compositions of the best church musicians of the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries (constituting the third period of English church-music) sound dry and perfunctory, although admirable in construction and solid and worthy in content. If we except the Te Deums and anthems of Handel, this period presents nothing of striking worth. The composers of this period, the best of whose anthems are still to be found in the repertory of present-day choirs, include Maurice Greene (1696?-1755), William Hayes (1706-1777), William Boyce (1710-1779), and Jonathan Battishill (1738-1801), whose ‘Call to Remembrance’ is a work of eminent beauty, modern in conception beyond its time.

English psalmody of the eighteenth century, both among the Non-conformists and in the Established Church, had likewise fallen into melancholy ways. Although the good old solid psalm-tunes were still in the Psalters, the interest in them declined, the number in actual use gradually dwindled, the singing became dry and perfunctory, and the curious custom of ‘lining out’ the psalms became general. Especially in the Non-conformist services frivolous tunes were employed which smacked of the Italian opera style; and vocal flourishes were introduced in which several tones would be sung to a single syllable. But in the Church of England the gradual rise of the hymn to an independent place in the Psalter at the very beginning of the century served to keep alive the pure flame of sacred song and to inaugurate the long-delayed period of real English hymnody, a full century and a half after the corresponding outburst of sacred song among the Germans. Gawthorn’s Harmonica Perfecta of 1730 included a large portion of the fine psalm-tunes of the Ravenscroft Psalter, together with some older ones and many new ones. These new hymn-tunes were in the main as solid and satisfying as the best of the old psalm-tunes, yet with more rhythmic freedom. The Church of England, however, was slow to give full recognition to the hymn, the first church hymn-book for general use (Madan’s ‘Collection of Psalms and Hymns,’ better known as the Lock Hospital Collection) not being published until 1769. The devotional hymns of Watts and Doddridge were just beginning to reach the public heart, when they received a magnificent accession from the Wesleyan movement, which, starting in the middle of the century, took full advantage of the liberty of worship newly conferred upon non-conformists and brought into English religious life something of the enthusiasm of the old German Reformation days. A revival of spiritual life took place in sections of England that let loose a great creative force of sacred verse and song, which operated not only to swell the ranks of Methodism with converts whose hearts were filled with exuberant song, but to bring into England real congregational singing and into English hymnody some of its richest gems of sacred lyrics. Thus the century closed with a distinct uplift in the religious song of the people, which did not bear full fruit in the Church of England, however, till the dawning years of the next century.

VII

After the glories of the Palestrina epoch, in which all forms of ecclesiastical music attained their highest point of perfection, the motet led a rather checkered existence. The English contemporaries of the great Roman had cultivated it with such success that the cantiones sacræ (collections of Latin motets) of Tallis and Byrd are held to be second only to those of Palestrina himself. We have seen that the full anthem with English words superseded the Latin motet in the service of the Anglican Church, but, though the name was changed, the true motet style persisted until the Restoration; indeed, many of the anthems were actually written as Latin motets and afterward adapted to English words, as, for example, Byrd’s Civitas sancti tui, which is always sung to the words ‘Bow thine ear, O Lord.’ The last of the great motet writers in the Roman school were Vittoria, Morales, the two Anerios, the two Naninis, Luca Marenzio, and Suriano, all of whom closely approached the excellence of Palestrina’s superb motets; Orlandus Lassus sustained the reputation of the Netherlanders throughout his long career; while in Venice Willaert, de Rore, the two Gabrielis, and Giovanni Croce, the greatest of this school, produced compositions of wonderful delicacy and beauty. But after the first quarter of the seventeenth century the splendor of motet-writing disappeared. The solidity and grandeur of the old style of mass, motet, and madrigal were thoroughly undermined by the secularity of the monodic style, which now became all-pervasive. The same influences, in slightly varying degrees, crept into Catholic and Protestant church music alike. The rapid development of instrumental music toward the latter part of this century brought about the abandonment of unaccompanied motets in favor of those with instrumental accompaniment, and at the same time the modern major and minor keys gradually supplanted the old ecclesiastical modes. In Italy the best composers—Alessandro Scarlatti, Pergolesi, Durante, Leo, and others—strove earnestly to reconcile the new style with church ideals and succeeded in producing effective works, though by no means always churchly.

The strongest motet writing of the eighteenth century, however, flourished in Germany. Many of the motets of the early German Protestant composers were simple polyphonic adaptations of chorales, and in the seventeenth century a simple, often trivial, style prevailed, but in the opening years of the eighteenth century a group of composers appeared who strove to revive the solid, elaborate style of the earlier masters. Beginning with Reinhard Keiser (1674-1739) and continued by Karl Heinrich Graun (1701-1759) and Johann Adolph Hasse (1699-1783), a Catholic composer of attractive style, this movement culminated in Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), who clothed the motet in all the dignity and elaborateness of the old sixteenth century period. His motets represent the most perfect type of unaccompanied music in the Protestant church-service, as Palestrina’s do in the Roman, and in their way are quite as incomparable. Bach wrote about 200 motets, among the best-known of which are Komm, Jesu, komm (‘Come, Jesu, come’), Jesu, meine Freude (‘Jesu, priceless treasure’), Nun ist das Heil (‘Now shall the grace’), and Singet dem Herrn (‘Sing ye to the Lord’). A score of others equally fine might easily be mentioned. The motets of Handel, which have only in recent years been snatched from obscurity by the German Handel Society, are works of transcendent beauty, full of youthful vigor and strength, and worthy of his best period.

The madrigal also participated in the common ruin that befell the old polyphonic style, and after 1620 the true madrigal practically disappeared. In Italy it was displaced by the interest in the new chamber-cantata; it was wholly forgotten in Flanders and France; in England it merged into the glee; and in Germany the rise of the part-song compensated somewhat for its disappearance.

St. Thomas’ Church, Leipzig, in Bach’s Time

From on old print

The glee[65] is a form peculiar to England, having a certain native folk-song flavor and quite impossible of transplantation; no other country except, to a degree, America, has bestowed on it any attention at all. A whole century separates its appearance from the decline of the madrigal. The intervening transitional style is well illustrated by the lovely canzonets of Thomas Ford (about 1580-1648), such as ‘Since first I saw your face’ and ‘There is a Ladie sweete and kind,’ which breathe something of the spirit of both madrigal and glee. Unlike the madrigal, the glee is always sung by solo voices, usually male, of which there are at least three, but, like the madrigal, it is always unaccompanied. The first glees were produced in the early years of the eighteenth century, and the period of its finest achievement includes the years between 1750 and 1825, a period which is almost exactly contemporaneous with the long life of the greatest master of this form, Samuel Webbe (1740-1816). The more obvious traits of the glee that distinguish it from the madrigal are (1) the modern major and minor system of keys instead of ecclesiastical modes, (2) absence of conscious contrapuntal development in the treatment of the voice-parts and the consequent frequent employment of chord-masses, (3) short phrases with frequent full cadences, and (4) greater freedom in changes of rhythm and rate of speed. Notwithstanding these general characteristics, there are many real glees, such as Stevens’ ‘Ye spotted snakes,’ that exhibit a high quality of melodic development, sustained power, and constructional design. While not intended to be contrapuntal, the glee maintains a high degree of melodic independence among the parts, so that the impression given is that of several interweaving melodies. Among the finest specimens of glees are ‘When winds breathe soft,’ ‘The mighty conqueror,’ ‘Come live with me,’ and ‘Hence, all ye vain delights’ by Samuel Webbe; ‘Ye spotted snakes,’ ‘Blow, blow, thou winter wind,’ and ‘Sigh no more, ladies’ by Richard Stevens (1757-1837); ‘By Celia’s arbour,’ ‘Mine be a cot,’ and ‘Cold is Cadwallo’s tongue’ by William Horsley (1774-1858). In addition to the above the principal glee composers are: John Wall Calcott (1766-1821), Thomas Attwood (1765-1838), Jonathan Bittishill (1738-1801), Benjamin Cooke (1734-1793), John Danby (1757-1798), Reginald Spoffarth (1770-1827), and Sir Henry Bishop (1786-1855).

While in a strict sense all the vocal forms thus far mentioned are part-songs, in choral literature this term is restricted to apply only to those unaccompanied vocal compositions in which one melody stands out conspicuously, all the others being more in the nature of harmonic background. In this respect it differs sharply from the glee, though in general musical mood the two forms may be very similar. The part-song has its origin in Germany, where from early times the custom prevailed of giving simple harmonic setting to the folk-songs,[66] usually note against note. Modelled largely after the harmonized folk-songs, secular part-songs in profusion were written by German composers, particularly after the decline of the madrigal. As an importation from Germany the part-song was heartily welcomed in England, where it was cultivated side by side with the madrigal, the two forms often presenting many points of similarity and constantly reacting on each other. The great madrigalists wrote many such compositions (which they frequently called canzonets) on the borderland between the two forms. Such are Morley’s ‘My bonny lass she smileth’ and ‘Now is the month of Maying,’ and the canzonets of Thomas Ford mentioned above. The eighteenth-century part-song in England is, on the whole, unimportant; in Germany its chief value after 1800 lay in the incentive and impetus it gave to the formation of numerous choral societies and in the resultant diffusion of choral culture. The real glories of the part-song belong to the nineteenth century. Before that period the three principal secular a cappella vocal forms may be thus briefly characterized: the madrigal, as the secular counterpart of the motet, is modal and contrapuntal; the glee is harmonic, devoid of strict counterpoint, but all the voices are melodically interesting; the part-song is harmonic, but concentrates the melodic interest in one part, usually the highest.

Before passing to the consideration of nineteenth-century choral music, it remains to give brief mention to two other forms, the masque and the ode, both of which are characteristically English and belong essentially to the seventeenth century. The masque occupied a place midway between the cantata and the opera, and enjoyed great popularity at court and among the aristocratic classes as a kind of private entertainment from the time of the early Tudors to the Civil War. Originally an importation from Italy, it received special development at the hands of the best English poets—Ben Jonson, Fletcher, Chapman, Campion, Milton, and others. It was an elaborate dramatic entertainment based on some mythological or allegorical subject, calling for dialogue, declamation, airs, madrigals, much dancing, and gorgeous scenery and costume, and performed for the most part by personages of high rank in disguise, whence the name. The best English composers of the seventeenth century gave their talents to the writing of masque music—Nicholas Lanier, Matthew Locke, Pelham Humfrey, Henry Purcell, John Eccles, and, in the next century, Dr. Thomas Arne. The ode also found much favor with the English seventeenth and eighteenth-century poets, such as Milton, Dryden, Gray, and Collins, but the composer whose name is most closely allied with it is Henry Purcell (about 1658-1695), who alone wrote twenty-nine odes and welcome songs for various public and royal occasions, among them four for St. Cecilia’s Day festivals and four in consecutive years (1690-1693) for Queen Mary’s birthday. Handel wrote four—‘Alexander’s Feast,’ ‘Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day,’ ‘Birthday Ode,’ and L’Allegro ed il Penseroso,[67] two of which have been already analyzed.

FOOTNOTES:

[49] Peri’s first opera, Dafne, composed in collaboration with Caccini, had been privately performed in Florence in 1597 (1594?).

[50] The success of Cavalieri’s La Rappresentazione was apparently swallowed up by the greater interest in the success of opera, so that twenty years elapsed before a second oratorio was written.

[51] ‘History of Music,’ Vol. IV, p. 144.

[52] ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. III, p. 153.

[53] The library of the Paris Conservatoire alone possesses eight volumes of his cantatas in MS.

[54] Grove’s ‘Dictionary of Music and Musicians,’ Art. ‘Scarlatti,’ by E. J. Dent.

[55] ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. III, p. 393.

[56] For example, Beethoven’s Ah, perfido! and Mendelssohn’s Infelice.

[57] Andreas Hammerschmidt published ‘Dialogues between God and the Believing Soul’ (Dresden, 1647) for various groups of voices from two up to six.

[58] Mattheson, Das beschütze Orchestre, p. 142.

[59] Philipp Spitta, ‘The Life of Johann Sebastian Bach,’ Vol. I, p. 484.

[60] Op. cit., Vol. I, p. 486.

[61] Bach seldom used the word ‘cantata,’ preferring the terms ‘concerto’ and ‘dialogue.’

[62] Dickinson, ‘Music in the History of the Western Church,’ p. 301.

[63] Catalogued in Köchel, Eine kleine Freimauer Cantate.

[64] Among them are ‘O give thanks,’ ‘O God Thou hast cast us out,’ and ‘O Lord God of Hosts.’

[65] This word is derived from the Anglo-Saxon gligg—‘music,’ and has no direct relation to the specific mood of mirth or gaiety. The glee, therefore, may be either cheerful or serious.

[66] Similarly in Italy the villanella was a harmonized popular melody, but it failed to exert any further influence on choral forms.

[67] This is called an oratorio in the list of the German Handel Society.

CHAPTER V
THE CANTATA IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

Conflict of tradition and progress—Ludwig van Beethoven: ‘Ruins of Athens,’ ‘Glorious Moment’; Andreas Romberg—C. M. von Weber; Franz Schubert; Ludwig Spohr—Mendelssohn: ‘First Walpurgis Night,’ etc.; 95th Psalm; Lauda Sion, etc.—Hector Berlioz: ‘Damnation of Faust’—Robert Schumann: ‘Paradise and the Peri’; ‘Pilgrimage of the Rose’; Miscellany—Ferdinand Hiller; Niels W. Gade: ‘Crusaders,’ ‘Erl-King’s Daughter,’ ‘Christmas Eve,’ ‘Comala,’ etc.—Félicien David: ‘The Desert’; Minor cantata writers in Germany and England: Benedict, Costa, Macfarren, Smart, Bennett—Anglican ritual-music and the German evangelical motet in the nineteenth century; the part-song.

The student of history will observe that one of the most noticeable effects of the constantly accelerated pace that musical progress assumed after the art had once learned definite articulation, is that the successive periods in which characteristic styles and forms have been developed and perfected have been growing steadily shorter and shorter in duration. The Netherland period of vocal polyphony spanned two full centuries; the next century and a half was concerned with the first stage in the development of dramatic music and oratorio, and with the application of polyphonic principles to instrumental forms; the period of seventy-five years between 1750 and 1825 was memorable chiefly by the appearance and swift development of the sonata and symphony from Haydn to Beethoven, with occasional premonitions of impending revolutionary changes; the half-century from 1825 to 1875 witnessed the rise and full flowering of the remarkable movement of nineteenth-century romanticism; in the years since 1875 new ideas and tendencies, unfolded from the preceding period, have crowded upon the musical arena in such profusion and with such swiftness and persistence that intelligent orientation is beset with perplexing difficulties. The ‘youngest of the arts,’ so backward and slow of speech in its infancy, certainly displays unmistakable symptoms of precocity with advancing years.

From the above statement of the approximate duration of the general periods of musical progress it will be noted that the nineteenth century is divisible into three periods, the first of which merely carried to completion the classical methods of the preceding century. But, while instrumental music responded promptly and vigorously and with far-reaching results to the novel ideals of romanticism, choral music was far more conservative. It exhibited the utmost reserve toward the new influences, and for several decades after these had brought enrichment and expansion to instrumental forms, it admitted them only with a certain timidity, so that on the whole the effective invasion of choral music by romanticism was delayed a full half-century after it had taken possession of instrumental fields. This retardation of choral progress is due largely to the natural limitations of the human voice, which is confronted with obvious difficulties when attempting to adopt for its own peculiar purposes the instrumental standpoint of unrestrained liberty in the use of melodic intervals and harmonic progressions. Choral forms have generally proved to be far less elastic than instrumental forms, and have had to contend with the tendency toward inertia inherited from their early association with ecclesiastical traditions—traditions from which the development of instrumental music has been notably free. Hence, a much longer period was required in choral music than in instrumental music for readjustment to the new viewpoint which nineteenth-century romanticism injected into the whole fabric of art-methods, and the choral literature of the century falls into only two periods. The great majority of the choral works—particularly the smaller choral works—of the first two thirds of the century at least are characterized by general conformity with the classical methods of Handel, Haydn, and Mozart; where romantic influences are admitted they express themselves in terms of greater harmonic warmth and richness, freer melodic outlines, and a more marked avoidance of the older special contrapuntal devices in favor of more direct mood-painting and detailed characterization of the text, but the classical forms and methods are quite uniformly retained.

I

Beethoven’s (1770-1827) contribution to the literature of choral music was relatively small and the most significant part of it was made in the larger forms, as might be expected of a composer possessed of such mighty intellectual endowments. Of the smaller works, two only are selected for detailed comment. The others include ‘Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage’ (to Goethe’s poem) for mixed chorus and orchestra, written in 1815, and ‘King Stephen, Hungary’s First Benefactor,’ a prologue in one act with overture and choruses, the music for which was composed in 1811 to the text by Kotzebue for the same occasion as ‘The Ruins of Athens.’

‘The Ruins of Athens.’—The music to an allegorical poem with this title by Kotzebue was written in 1811 for the opening of a new theatre at Pesth, Hungary, which took place February 9, 1812. The story of the poem is as follows: Minerva, having incurred the wrath of Jove, has been fettered by him with chains ever since the Golden Age within a rock through which neither the inquiry of man nor the wisdom of the goddess could penetrate. Finally Jove relents and releases the goddess. Minerva then hastens to her beloved Athens, only to find it in ruins and her art debased. She turns sadly away and proceeds to Pesth, where she establishes her temple in the new theatre and presides over a triumphal procession in honor of the emperor, its patron, who is to restore again the Golden Age. The work was presented a second time in Beethoven’s lifetime at the opening of a new theatre in Vienna in 1822. This time it was with a new text by Carl Meisl entitled Die Weihe des Hauses (‘Dedication of the House’), and it was for this occasion that Beethoven composed the overture, which is still frequently performed. The music consists of eight numbers. The overture is very light and deemed even by his friends to be unworthy of the master. The weird, fervid chorus of the Dervishes for male voices in unison and the stirring Turkish March are strongly Oriental in color and treatment. They are strong and effective numbers, as is also the triumphal march and chorus ‘Twine ye a garland.’

‘The Glorious Moment.’—September, 1814, brought to Vienna many potentates and distinguished statesmen for the Vienna Congress, which met to adjust the claims of the European states after the allies had entered Paris. The occasion was a momentous one and was celebrated with great pomp by the Viennese authorities. Beethoven was requested to write for the greeting of the royal guests a cantata, the words of which had been written by Dr. Aloys Weissenbach of Salzburg. It was called Der glorreiche Augenblick or Der heilige Augenblick (‘The Glorious Moment’). The time for writing this work was short in itself and this was much curtailed by disputes between composer and poet, as Beethoven made every effort to have the atrocious text altered so as to lend itself better to a musical setting. The work was begun in September and performed at a concert given for Beethoven’s benefit on November 29th, before a remarkable audience of 6,000 persons. This concert, at which was performed also the recently-composed Seventh Symphony, was a most brilliant affair, and the audience was wildly enthusiastic, especially for ‘The Glorious Moment,’ which was hailed as symbolical of the moment when Europe was to be freed from Napoleonic domination. Incidentally, it may be recorded that the composer reaped much substantial advantage from this great occasion, in that, as a result, he was able to invest 20,000 marks in shares of the Bank of Austria. The cantata, which for obvious reasons is not one of his strongest, is in six numbers. In 1836 it appeared with a new title, Preis der Tonkunst (‘The Praise of Music’), with a new poetical text by Friedrich Rochlitz.

Among the composers of the first quarter of the nineteenth century Andreas Romberg (1767-1821) occupies a worthy place, though not one of large importance. He is the composer of five operas, ten symphonies, twenty violin concertos, etc., now forgotten, much church music, and several cantatas. The ‘Lay of the Bell’ (Das Lied von der Glocke) was the most widely known of all his works, and at present is nearly the only one of them to retain any public notice.

‘The Lay of the Bell.’—Schiller’s famous poem with this title forms the text to which Romberg composed the music of this cantata in 1808. During the last half of the nineteenth century it enjoyed great popularity with the smaller choruses in England, Germany, and America, and is still frequently heard. The work rehearses the various steps in the making of the bell, from lighting the furnace-fire and mixing the metals to the casting of the bell and the breaking of the mold by the master. Each step is used as the basis for the description of scenes which the bell will witness in its life among the people—scenes of youth, young manhood, and old age, of joy and love and sorrow—all the intimate experiences that make up human life. The music is written for mixed chorus, with soprano, tenor, and bass solos, and, while it lacks the harmonic warmth and variety of the cantatas written later under the glow of the romantic spirit, it is full of interest and animation, though light in style throughout.

II

As the founder of the German romantic movement, Weber (1786-1826) was an intense nationalist, and his stirring music, folk-song in character and wholly German in feeling, had a profound political influence in fanning the flame of national and patriotic sentiment that sprang into existence during the period of Napoleonic oppression. His inspiring settings of the patriotic poems in Körner’s Leyer und Schwert, for male voices, made him the idol of the students and young nationalists, and Der Freischütz, the first German opera, created a perfect furor of patriotic feeling. His first cantata was Der erste Ton, written in 1808 for declamation, chorus, and orchestra. Other choral works were the cantata Natur und Liebe (‘Nature and Love’) for two sopranos, two tenors, and two basses with pianoforte accompaniment, composed in 1818, and the hymn In seiner Ordung schafft der Herr (‘In constant order works the Lord’) for solos, chorus, and orchestra, written in 1812.

‘Jubilee Cantata.’—Weber was commissioned by Count Vitzthum in 1818 to write a grand jubilee cantata for a court concert commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the reign of Friedrich August, king of Saxony, on the 20th of September. The text was written by the poet Friedrich Kind. Before it was completed, however, he was informed that the work would not be required and that other plans had been made. It has been intimated that this change came about through the intrigues of his Italian rivals (he was then Court Musical Director at Dresden). The cantata, however, was given in the Neustadt church for the benefit of the needy peasants in the Hartz Mountains, with Weber himself as conductor. While it is said that a Jubel overture by Weber was performed at the court concert, it is believed by the best authorities that the famous Jubel overture, now known the world over, was entirely independent of the cantata and of later composition. As the original text dealt with events in the life of the king, the work was unsuited for general performance, hence a second text was later supplied by Amadeus Wendt and the title changed to Ernte-Cantate (‘Harvest Cantata’). This is the version in common use at the present time. Still another text was made by Hampdon Napier, and this was given in London under the title of ‘The Festival of Peace’ shortly before Weber’s death, the composer himself conducting. The cantata is written for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. Joy at the fullness of the harvest alternates with solemn thanksgiving and praise to the Giver of all good for His bounty. A devotional spirit prevails throughout, except in the ‘storm’ chorus, where a dramatic style appears. The beautiful number for quartet and chorus, ‘Wreathe into garlands the gold of the harvest,’ is frequently detached from the cantata and performed separately.

Kampf und Sieg (‘Battle and Victory’).—While Weber was in Munich in June, 1815, the victory of the allies at Waterloo was announced. The city was at once filled with rejoicing and a large crowd gathered at St. Michael’s Church to hear a Te Deum. Weber, who was present, conceived the idea of a grand cantata to commemorate the victory and he laid the matter before the poet Wohlbrück, whom he had met the same day. Wohlbrück at once shared the composer’s enthusiasm and by the first of August the text was ready. The cantata was brought to a first performance in Prague on December 22d and made a deep impression, not so much by its musical worth as by its appeal to patriotic ardor and by the stirring military character of its vivid battle-descriptions. Weber resorted to the same elements of rather vulgar realism which Beethoven invoked in his ‘Wellington’s Victory’—the noises and crash of battle and national melodies to designate the fighting hosts. Amid the roar of cannon, the cries of the wounded, and the shouts of the soldiers can be heard the revolutionary melody Ça ira from the advancing French, ‘God save the King’ from the English, while the stirring strains of the Austrian and Prussian grenadier marches and the refrain from Weber’s own patriotic song, Lützow’s wilde Jagd, swell the volume of tumultuous sound from the victorious allies. The cantata is written for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. Faith (bass), Love (soprano), and Hope (tenor) appear in the lyrical portions of the work; the middle section is given over entirely to the battle scene and the whole closes with a stately chorus, Herr Gott, Dich loben wir.

While Franz Schubert (1797-1828) essayed nearly every musical form, it is as the creator and perfecter of the German art-song that he takes his place among the great and mighty ones of music. His supreme gift as a melodist and song-writer is at once apparent in all of his works. In choral fields he wrote considerable church music and several smaller works, of which the only one of large importance is Miriam’s Siegesgesang (‘The Song of Miriam’). Among the others are the Ninety-second Psalm for baritone solo and mixed chorus (written in 1828 for the synagogue at Vienna); the Twenty-third Psalm for four voices (quartet, or male or female chorus) with pianoforte accompaniment, easy, grateful and song-like in character; two hymns, Herr unser Gott and An dem Heiligen Geist, the latter for eight-part male chorus and orchestra; and Glaube, Hoffnung und Liebe (‘Faith, Hope, and Charity’) for mixed chorus and wood-wind instruments, written in 1816.

Miriam’s Siegesgesang.—This noble cantata, known in English as ‘The Song of Miriam’ or ‘Miriam’s War Song,’ was composed by Schubert in March, 1828, the last year of his short life. It was written for soprano solo and chorus to Grillparzer’s lines paraphrasing the part of the sixteenth chapter of Exodus that sets forth Miriam’s thanksgiving for the escape of the Israelites and the people’s song of triumph as they rejoice over their own deliverance and the destruction of the pursuing Egyptians. Schubert left it with only a pianoforte accompaniment, though intending to score it for orchestra. What death prevented him from doing was supplied a year or two later by his friend Franz Lachner, who at the time was kapellmeister at the Kärnthnerthor Theatre in Vienna. The date of its first performance is in doubt. Nottebohm gives it as January 30, 1829, the occasion being a benefit concert to raise funds for a monument in memory of the composer. A spirited solo and chorus (‘Strike the cymbals’) opens the work. This is followed by a graceful song in which the Lord is described as a shepherd leading his people out of Egypt. In the next number the awe of the Israelites is depicted as they pass unharmed through the divided waters, while Pharaoh’s hosts are engulfed behind them. The sea becomes calm again and the first chorus is repeated, closing with a majestic fugue (‘Mighty is the Lord at all times’). Though the cantata is short, it is replete with passages of enduring charm.

Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859), the celebrated violinist and composer of instrumental music and operas in a style intermediate between the old classical and the new romantic schools, left much choral music which, however, has quite largely lost its early vogue. In the shorter forms are three psalms for solos and double chorus; the Twenty-fourth Psalm for solos and chorus with pianoforte; the One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Psalm for solos and chorus with organ or pianoforte; the Eighty-fourth Psalm (Milton) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; two hymns—‘St. Cecilia’ for soprano solo and chorus, and ‘God, thou art great’ (Gott, du bist gross) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; and a patriotic cantata, Das befreite Deutschland (‘Free Germany’).

III

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809-1847) was the first composer since Handel to rival him in the mastery of choral forms. Gifted and genial as he is in other fields, it is here that he has left the most enduring evidence of his genius. His fine contrapuntal training and his splendid mastery over all the technical resources of polyphonic writing made choral forms especially agreeable to his natural and developed gifts. In general form his choral works follow Handelian models, but his melodies are far more glowing and his harmonies far richer and of warmer texture. Most of his smaller choral works fall under the head of church music. These comprise several anthems and other ritual-music for the Anglican service, the fruit of his long and intimate relations with English musical life, some fine motets (especially the three for female voices written in 1830 for the convent of Trinità de’ Monti in Rome, namely, Veni Domine, Laudate Pueri, and Surrexit Pastor, and the great eight-part motet, ‘Judge me, O God’), several compositions for the Berlin Cathedral, hymns, and nine psalms. He is the first composer in the nineteenth century to give to the psalm the same breadth and seriousness of treatment accorded to the larger choral forms. They rise to the dignity of important works, though all are not equally beautiful. They are: Psalms 115 (‘Not unto us, O Lord’) and 95 (‘O come let us worship’) for solos, chorus, and orchestra; Psalm 114 (‘When Israel out of Egypt came’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra; Psalm 98 (‘Sing to the Lord’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra, written for the festival service in the Berlin Cathedral on New Year’s Day, 1844; Psalm 42 (‘As the hart pants’) for soprano solo, chorus, and organ; Psalms 2, 22, and 47 for eight-part a cappella chorus, written for the Berlin Cathedral; and Psalm 13 (‘Lord, how long wilt Thou forget me’) for alto solo and chorus. The 42d and 95th are the finest of the psalms; the others are seldom performed now. The hymn, ‘Hear my prayer,’ for soprano solo, chorus, and organ, closing with the familiar ‘O for the wings of a dove,’ is one of the most beautiful of Mendelssohn’s devotional inspirations, and has enjoyed, and still enjoys, great popularity with both choirs and choral societies.

‘The First Walpurgis Night.’—While Mendelssohn was travelling in Italy in 1831 he composed music to Goethe’s poem ‘The First Walpurgis Night,’ the dramatic intensity of which made a deep impression on the young composer; but it was not until February 2, 1843, that it was publicly performed at Leipzig, and then much altered from the original draft. St. Walpurgis, to whom May-day eve was dedicated, was an early missionary who had brought Christianity to the Druids of Saxony. The scene of the cantata is the summit of the Brocken and the time May-day eve, when the Druids, taking advantage of the old Northern myth that on this eve the witches hold high revels here, gather to celebrate their rites, while their sentinels, disguised as demons, scare away the Christians with wild gesticulations, clashes of arms, and hideous noises. The music belongs to Mendelssohn’s most important and significant work. The overture, graphically depicting the passage from winter to spring, is followed by a tenor solo and a chorus of Druids, breathing the atmosphere of spring. Next comes a dramatic alto solo, uttering a warning, and after it a stately exhortation by the Druid priest. There ensues a whispering chorus, portraying the sentinels as they quietly take their places. A guard then discloses the plan for frightening away intruders. This leads to a chorus in which the composer uses most grotesque musical effects, both vocal and instrumental, to picture the infernal scene. This weird chaos gives way to an impressive hymn for bass solo and chorus. Following this comes the terrified cry of the Christians, who are driven away, while the Druids and their priest chant a closing hymn of praise.

‘As the Hart Pants.’—Mendelssohn’s setting of the Forty-second Psalm was first presented at a Gewandhaus concert in Leipzig in 1838. It is smaller in form than the ‘Walpurgis Night,’ but is symmetrical and artistic. A sustained introduction leads to a chorus, tender and full of passionate longing, ‘As the hart pants after the water brooks, so panteth my soul for Thee, O God,’ in which the highest point among the choral portions of the work is reached. A beautiful adagio melody is given out by the oboe and repeated as a soprano solo, ‘For my soul thirsteth for God.’ The third number, ‘My tears have been my meat,’ given as a soprano recitative, leads to a march-like chorus for women’s voices, ‘For I had gone with the multitude.’ The male voices then sing in unison ‘Why, my soul, art thou cast down?’ and the female voices answer, ‘Trust thou in God.’ A pathetic soprano recitative follows, beginning ‘O my God! My soul is cast down within me.’ The eighth number is sung by a male quartet with string accompaniment, ‘The Lord will command His loving-kindness in the daytime,’ a beautiful response full of hope and consolation; while through it is heard the saddening strain of the soprano. The closing full chorus repeats the fourth number, ‘Trust thou in God,’ more elaborately developed, and ending in a pæan of praise to God. This Psalm-cantata is one of the finest as well as most frequently performed of Mendelssohn’s shorter choral works and breathes throughout a deeply religious feeling couched in terms of refined romantic sentiment.

‘Come Let Us Sing’ (95th Psalm).—The first performance of this psalm, which is written for tenor solo, chorus, and orchestra, took place at Leipzig on February 21, 1839. It opens with a solo, ‘O come, let us worship,’ the theme of which is immediately taken up and developed by the chorus in jubilant tone, but which sinks at the end to a quiet mood. A solo soprano voice then enunciates the words, ‘Come, let us sing to the Lord,’ and this theme is treated fugally by the chorus in a joyous allegro movement, closing with a strong two-part canon in the octave for the male and female voices. The third number is a graceful duet, ‘In His hands,’ for two sopranos, which is followed by a stately fugal chorus, ‘For His is the sea,’ at the end of which the opening section of the first chorus appears with antiphonal phrases for the tenor solo. The original setting closes with the fifth number, ‘Henceforth, when ye hear His voice,’ for solo and chorus, a movement of fine contrapuntal workmanship, closing with softest tones to the pleading words, ‘Turn not deaf ears and hard hearts.’ An additional number was left by Mendelssohn, written a few weeks after the first performance, with the evident purpose of bringing the psalm to a more complete finish. It consists of another choral setting of the words, ‘For His is the sea,’ in which the theme from the first number again plays an important part and an atmosphere of joy and majestic power is maintained throughout.

Lauda Sion (‘Praise Jehovah’), one of Mendelssohn’s most beautiful cantatas, for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra, was written for the celebration of the Festival of Corpus Christi by the Church of St. Martin at Liège, where it was performed June 11, 1846, the composer himself being present. The Lauda Sion is a sequence (see page 15) written by Thomas Aquinas about 1264 and is regularly sung at High Mass on this Feast. There is a short introduction and the announcement of the theme Lauda Sion leads to a chorus Laudis thema, of devotional character. In the Sit laus plena, phrases sung by the soprano are repeated by the chorus. Then follows a beautiful quartet, In hac mensa. A solemn chorale in unison leads to a charming soprano arioso, Caro cibus. The seventh and last number is an intensely dramatic solo and chorus, set to the closing lines of the well-known hymn. This is Mendelssohn’s only excursion into the Catholic liturgy.

‘The Gutenberg Festival Cantata.’—Mendelssohn wrote this short festival cantata for the fourth centennial celebration of the invention of printing, observed at Leipzig, June 24, 1840, by the unveiling of Gutenberg’s statue in the public square. The text was written by Adolphus Prölsz, a teacher in the Gymnasium at Freiberg. A stately chorale leads to ‘Fatherland! within thy confines,’ a song[68] written in memory of Gutenberg. Next comes a spirited melody for tenors, ‘And God said, "Let there be Light,"’ followed by a closing chorale, ‘Now, thank God all.’

‘Antigone.’—The incidental music to Sophocles’ Antigone was composed in 1841 in the short space of eleven days, and was privately presented at Potsdam before William IV of Prussia and his court, October 28. Its first public performance was at Leipzig, March 5, 1842. It was written for male chorus and orchestra and consists of seven numbers. Although built along modern lines, Mendelssohn’s felicitous music faithfully represents the spirit of the ancient Greek tragedy.

‘Œdipus at Colonos.’—At the command of the king of Prussia, from whom Mendelssohn had received the commission of chapel-master in 1841, the music to this tragedy by Sophocles was composed in 1843 and its first presentation took place at Potsdam November 1, 1845. The music, sung by two male choruses antiphonally, embraces nine choral numbers, preceded by a short introduction. The third number, closing with an invocation to Neptune by the united choruses, is the gem of the work and has few equals in effective choral writing. It is frequently heard in detached form on the concert stage.

IV

The early romantic movement attracted to itself no more enthusiastic disciple and energetic exponent than Hector Berlioz (1803-1869). Indeed, he was one of the earliest and at the same time one of the most extreme of the romanticists. Eccentric, impatient of formalism of any kind, but gifted with an intensely vivid imagination and a prodigious sense of color, he possessed a creative force of great originality and spontaneity, whose effectiveness, however, was frequently marred by its extravagance of expression. Endowed with an insatiable desire to interline all music with some kind of a descriptive or narrative purpose, he gave a tremendous impetus to ‘program music.’ In attempting to find an effective medium for descriptive effort in striving after the fantastic, he mightily developed the resources of the orchestra and became the real founder of the modern science of orchestration; moreover, he used his orchestra as eloquently in his choral masterpiece, ‘The Damnation of Faust,’ as in his symphonic works. His choral-writing came under the same romantic spell of liberation from formalism as did his instrumental inspirations. His ‘Faust’ is not only the first choral work, but almost the only one until near the end of the nineteenth century, in which the romantic ideal wholly dominates both choral and instrumental forces. If some of the choral numbers suffer in comparison with present-day choral treatment, this is not because of any difference of viewpoint, but because of the inadequacy, which one sometimes feels, of the purely musical vocabulary at his command to express fully what he felt. He frequently used the chorus, as did Beethoven in the ‘Ninth Symphony,’ as an adjunct to his symphonic works, but in distinctly choral forms, he left, in addition to the ‘Faust’ and the works mentioned in Chapter VIII, the cantata La mort de Sardanapale, which was completed amid the uproar of the July Revolution, 1830, and with which he won the Grand Prix de Rome the same year; the cantata Le cinq mai for bass solo, chorus, and orchestra, written in 1834 for the anniversary of Napoleon’s death; the cantata L’Impériale, written in 1855 for the Paris Exhibition; Sara la Baigneuse, a choral ballad; three youthful cantatas, La révolution grecque (1826), Herminie (1828), and La mort de Cléopatre (1829); and a few occasional choruses and choral ballads.

‘The Damnation of Faust.’—This ‘dramatic legend,’ as the composer calls it, is the aftermath of an early and immature work, ‘Eight Scenes from Faust’ (published in 1829 as opus 1), and was composed in 1845 and ‘46, part of it here and there while on a concert tour in Austria and Hungary, the rest in Paris. Its first performance took place at the Opéra-Comique, Paris, December 6, 1846, under the direction of the composer, before a wretchedly small audience and without success. In Germany it was produced at the Royal Opera House, Berlin, June 19, 1847, Berlioz conducting. Though parts of it were frequently given in England, the first complete performance did not take place until February 5, 1880, at the Free Trade Hall in Manchester, when Charles Hallé conducted it. In New York a few days later, on February 12th, it had its first American hearing under the direction of Dr. Leopold Damrosch with the combined Oratorio and Arion Societies. ‘The Damnation of Faust’ is undoubtedly Berlioz’s masterpiece and sums up the best qualities of his exuberant and fantastic style. Both instrumental and choral parts are overlaid with a wealth of romantic and poetic coloring, the orchestration is dazzling, and the chorus is brilliantly handled. Many of its most beautiful and effective numbers were retained almost without alteration from his earlier ‘Eight Scenes from Faust’—the work of a youth of twenty-five years. These include the scene where Faust is lulled to sleep by the sylphs, the peasants’ song, the songs of the rat and the flea, the King of Thule ballad, and Mephistopheles’ serenade.

The work, which has the dimensions of an oratorio, is divided into four parts, the first of which contains three scenes, the second five, the third six, and the fourth six, concluding with a short epilogue and the apotheosis of Marguerite. The persons represented are Marguerite (mezzo-soprano), Faust (tenor), Mephistopheles (bass), and Brander (bass). The story does not closely follow Goethe’s version, as the opening scene discloses Faust alone at sunrise on a plain in Hungary, where Berlioz places him in order to have the opportunity of introducing the Hungarian national march. He sings in tender strain of the joys of spring and the delights of nature, but his reverie is disturbed by a rollicking chorus and dance of peasants. From another part of the plain come warlike sounds of an advancing army to the stirring and brilliant music of the Rákóczy March. The troops pass and Faust retires, unmoved by the scene. The second part opens with Faust in North Germany, alone in his study. He voices his discontent with the world; as he is on the point of drowning his sorrow with poison, the tones of the Easter Hymn (‘Christ is risen from the dead’) strike his ear. He listens in wonderment to the joyful strains and at the end joins in the stately chorus. Repentant and exalted, he resolves to begin anew, when Mephistopheles suddenly appears and mockingly exclaims, ‘Sweet sentiments indeed and fit for any saint!’ Faust is entrapped by his promises and they disappear. The next scene finds them in Auerbach’s cellar in Leipzig amid a band of carousing students who sing a lusty drinking song (‘Oh, it is rare when winter’s storms are loudly roaring’). There follows the drunken Brander’s song of the rat, at the end of which the irreverent students improvise an ironical fugue on the word ‘Amen’ to a motive from the theme of Brander’s song. Mephistopheles adds to the reckless merriment with the song of the flea (‘Once on a time a king, sirs, loved a flea passing well’). Amid the heavy bravos of the drunken students, Faust and Mephistopheles vanish, to appear again in the next scene, the seventh, on the wooded meadows on the banks of the Elbe. Mephistopheles sings a delightful melody (‘Within these bowers’) and summons the spirits of earth and of air to lull his companion to sleep. Faust slumbers while the gnomes and sylphs sing a chorus of ravishing beauty (‘Dream, happy Faust’), closing with an exquisitely delicate orchestral number in waltz-measure, the dance of the sylphs. As they disappear, Faust wakes and relates his vision of Marguerite. Mephistopheles agrees to lead him to her chamber and on the way thither they join a band of jovial soldiers and students marching along the street. The last scene of this part consists of a lively soldiers’ chorus (‘Tower and wall may bar our way’) and a characteristic Latin student-song (Jam nox stellata), the two being cleverly combined at the end.

The action of the third part takes place in Marguerite’s chamber. Faust enters and sings passionately of his love for her (‘Oh, come, calm breathing twilight’). Mephistopheles warns him of her approach and hides him behind a curtain. She enters and in detached phrases tells of her vision of Faust and her love for him. While preparing for slumber, she sings the pathetic ballad, ‘Once in far Thule.’ As its sad strains die away, Mephistopheles summons the evil spirits and the will-o’-the-wisps to encircle her dwelling and lure her to her doom. Then follows the lovely dance of the will-o’-the-wisps, an orchestral minuet which Berlioz has enriched with many a masterly touch of tonal realism. Mephistopheles sings his sardonic serenade (‘Why, fair maid, wilt thou linger’), with frequent choral accompaniment by the will-o’-the-wisps, each stanza closing with a derisive ‘Ha!’ A trio (‘O purest maid’) of great dramatic power and passion brings this part to a close. Faust and Marguerite avow their mutual love, Mephistopheles warns them of approaching danger, while a chorus of neighbors in the street taunts the hapless maiden. As the fourth part opens, Marguerite, alone in her chamber, sings a sad, sweet romance, ‘Alone and heavy-hearted’ (Goethe’s familiar Meine Ruh’ ist hin), at the end of which distant strains of the songs of the soldiers and students are heard. The next scene is Faust’s solemn and powerful invocation to Nature (‘Mysterious Nature! vast and relentless power!’). Mephistopheles appears on the rocky scene, relates Marguerite’s crime and imprisonment, and, playing upon Faust’s desire to rescue her, makes him sign the contract that binds his soul to the Evil One. The ‘Ride to the Abyss’ now begins and Berlioz’s furious music, which only for one short moment relaxes its impetuous galloping rhythm, pictures with relentless realism the terrible scenes as the riders pass horror-stricken peasants praying at the roadside, as they draw into their train monstrous birds, hideous beasts, and leering skeleton-phantoms. With a shout of triumph from Mephistopheles and a cry of horror from Faust, they fall into the abyss, where they are greeted by a chorus of devils (male voices), who sing in a language invented for them by the imaginative Berlioz (Has! Irimiru Karabrao, etc.). The glee and triumph of this fiendish host are uttered in snarling tones of harshest discord, ‘the hellish laugh of fiends exulting in their torture.’ These sounds of pandemonium are followed by a short epilogue ‘On Earth,’ leading into an equally short one ‘In Heaven,’ in which the seraphim plead for Marguerite. The whole work closes with the ‘Apotheosis of Marguerite,’ in which the celestial chorus (‘Thou ransomed soul, rest from thy sorrow!’) with joyful tones welcomes the pardoned maiden to the realms of everlasting light.

V

The achievements of Robert Schumann (1810-1856) in other fields far outshone his choral works, yet the latter are by no means inconsiderable in number or unimportant in quality and influence. But he never mastered the technical details of effective choral-writing as did Mendelssohn. Sonorous and glowing as many of his choruses are, his choral works, even the finest one, ‘Paradise and the Peri,’ make their strongest appeal through the beauty and melodic charm of the solos and their orchestral accompaniments. He wrote nothing that could strictly be called church-music though his compositions include a Mass and a Requiem. Several of his works besides these, however, can be classed as sacred music. They are the ‘Advent Hymn,’ ‘New Year’s Song,’ and a motet (Verzweifle nicht) for double male chorus and organ (1849). His secular choral works are numerous, the most important of which are given detailed mention below. In addition there are the two ballads by Uhland for solos, chorus, and orchestra, ‘The King’s Son’ and ‘The Luck of Edenhall’ (for male voices); ‘The Page and the King’s Daughter,’ a ballad by Geibel written for solos, chorus, and orchestra; a beautiful setting of Hebbel’s ‘Song of Night’ for chorus and orchestra; and a number of romances and ballads, among the best-known of which is ‘Gypsy Life.’ He also wrote incidental music to Byron’s ‘Manfred’ and a set of scenes (grouped into three parts) from Goethe’s ‘Faust,’ the latter intended, not for stage performance, but for concert. Some portions of his ‘Faust’ music are quite equal to ‘Paradise and the Peri’ in melodic beauty and in freshness and sustained power of invention, but the work is uneven, the third part being by far the best.

‘Paradise and the Peri’ was Schumann’s first venture in the field of choral forms with orchestra, yet it is not only his finest choral work, but it marks the real beginning of the secular or ‘romantic’ oratorio as a form of equal worth and importance with the sacred oratorio. He published it, however, without giving any classifying name to its form. The constant use of a narrator seems to ally it to passion-music, as far as its form is concerned, but in other respects, notwithstanding its length, it resembles the dramatic secular cantata. In treating the narrative parts, however, Schumann abandons the older form of recitative and gives to these connecting links almost the same melodic importance as to the main events of the story themselves, thus sacrificing an opportunity for much needed contrast among the vocal elements.

‘Paradise and the Peri’ was written in 1843 and was given its first performance at the Gewandhaus, Leipzig, on December 4th of the same year with the composer conducting. England heard the work for the first time June 23d, 1856, with Mme. Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt singing the part of the Peri and Sterndale Bennett conducting. Schumann found his text in the second poem of Thomas Moore’s ‘Lalla Rookh,’ which he followed very closely. This deals with the beautiful Hindoo legend of the fallen Peri, banished from paradise, who is promised readmission if she succeeds in finding the gift ‘most dear to Heaven.’ She brings in succession the last drop of blood shed by a hero fighting for his country’s liberty, the last sigh of a devoted maiden who sacrificed herself to die by the side of her plague-stricken lover, and the tear of a repentant sinner—which last precious gift alone can move the crystal bar that closes the gate of light. These three quests for the coveted gift constitute the three parts into which the work is divided. The music has many touches of oriental color, but it breathes throughout the warm romantic sentiment, in melody and harmony, which was an inseparable part of Schumann’s individual style. The work discloses some fine choral-writing, but the composer of Frauenliebe und-Leben and Dichterliebe is conspicuously apparent in many an exquisite song, the peers of anything Schumann has written. The persons represented are the Peri (soprano), the angel (alto), the King of Gazna (bass), the youth (tenor), the maiden (soprano), and the horseman (baritone); the part of the narrator is distributed among various voices. There are choruses of Hindoos, angels, houris, and genii of the Nile.

An expressive orchestral introduction is followed by the narrator (alto), who describes the forlorn Peri at the gate of heaven. The Peri sings a beautiful melody (‘How blest seem to me, banished child of air!’), full of tender longing; the angel tells her how she may again be admitted (‘One hope is thine’) and the Peri departs on her quest, singing ‘I know the wealth hidden in every urn.’ The narrator here introduces a quartet (‘Oh, beauteous land’), which is immediately followed by a full chorus (‘But crimson now her rivers ran’). A stirring march-like movement foretells the approach of the tyrant of Gazna; choruses of Hindoos and the conquerors shout defiance at each other; the narrator (tenor) tells of the solitary youth left fighting for his native land; the tyrant and the youth face each other and utter short defiant phrases; the youth shoots his last arrow, it misses its mark and he is slain; and an eight-part chorus cries out in agonized tones, ‘Woe! for false flew the shaft.’ The Peri saw the deed and flew to catch the last drop of blood shed for liberty by the youthful hero. The part closes with a chorus (‘For blood must be holy’), vigorous, broad, exultant, in which the Peri finally joins.

The second part opens with a tenderly expressive strain which accompanies the narrator (tenor) as he tells of the return of the Peri to heaven’s gate with her gift. A short solo for the angel follows (‘Sweet is our welcome’), and the narrator describes the disappointment of the Peri. Without any break in the music the scene suddenly shifts to the banks of the Nile; the spirits of the river in a pianissimo chorus weave their dainty strains around the lament of the Peri (‘O Eden, how longeth for thee my heart’) which rises ever higher and higher. The narrator (tenor) describes at length the pestilence that afflicts Egypt’s land. The Peri weeps at the scene and a solo quartet in beautiful phrases sings the magic power of tears. From this point to the end of the second part there is an unbroken stream of exquisite melody, as the pathetic scene is unfolded of the faithful love of the maiden who gladly dies beside her plague-stricken lover. It contains two of Schumann’s finest lyric inspirations—the solo of the mezzo-soprano narrator (‘Poor youth, thus deserted’) and the deeply-moving love-song of the dying maiden (‘Oh, let me only breathe the air, love!’). The Peri sings a calm, sweet lament over the bodies of the lovers (‘Sleep on’), in which the chorus joins, and this beautiful part is brought to a reposeful close. A graceful chorus of houris (‘Wreathe ye the steps to great Allah’s throne’) opens the third part, in which chorus a pleasing canon for the first and second sopranos is given an important place. The narration is taken up by the tenor (‘Now morn is blushing in the sky’) in very melodious strain. The angel in a short solo again announces that the gift must be far holier. The Peri, full of anguish and disappointment but still not despairing, in a long aria (‘Rejected and sent from Eden’s door’) voices her determination to find the acceptable gift. The narrator, this time a baritone, sings a lengthy but graceful melody (‘And now o’er Syria’s rosy plain’), followed by a beautiful quartet of Peris (‘Say, is it so?’). The baritone resumes the narrative, and, after a short solo by the Peri, this is continued by a tenor who in a long and stirring song describes a scene in Baalbec’s valley—an innocent child playing amid the flowers, a weary, sin-stained horseman who pauses to drink from the near-by fountain. The alto narrator pictures the vesper call to prayer and the child’s instant response. The tenor dwells on the childhood memories aroused in ‘the man of sin’ at the sight. The horseman in a short but heartfelt strain (‘There was a time, thou blessed child’) is touched to repentance. A quartet and chorus (‘Oh, blessed tears of true repentance’) take up the theme in simple, full harmony. The Peri and the tenor narrator describe the scene as the man and the child kneel side by side in prayer. In the final number the Peri in exultant tones (‘Joy, joy forever! My work is done’) sings her happiness at having found the acceptable gift, and from a chorus of the blest there resounds a glad welcome to the redeemed Peri (‘Oh, welcome mid the blest!’).

‘The Pilgrimage of the Rose’ was written for solos, chorus, and orchestra in the spring of 1851 and first performed at Düsseldorf, May 6, 1852. It is founded on a fairy tale by Moritz Horn, the uninspiring and weak text of which is probably responsible for the infrequent performance of this cantata, though individual numbers are occasionally given. The narrative calls for eight personages distributed among the various voices and there are twenty-four numbers. The rather commonplace story relates the wanderings of a rose, who, transformed into a lovely maiden, tastes the joys of pure happiness among mortals. The rose, which she must always carry with her, she finally gives to her infant babe, and, as she dies, she is carried away by angels. Among the most interesting numbers are the opening song in canon-form for two sopranos (‘Of loving will the token’), the chorus of fairies (‘In dancing’), a spirited male chorus (‘In the thick wood hast wandered’), the duet (‘In the smiling valley’), and the two bridal choruses (‘Why sound the horns so gaily?’ and ‘And now at the miller’s’).

‘The Minstrel’s Curse,’ a work for solo voices, chorus, and orchestra, was written and first performed in 1852. It presents the familiar Uhland ballad of the same name, adapted for the composer by Richard Pohl. The original text is not closely followed and several other poems by Uhland are introduced, such as Die drei Lieder, Entsagung, and Hohe Liebe, the singing of which last-named song is made the occasion that leads to the tragedy. The cantata opens with a description of the castle and the proud king by the narrator, after which an alto solo announces the advent of the minstrels. The youth sings a graceful Provençal song and a chorus follows. The stern king angrily objects to the tender themes chosen by the youth and the harper sings in sterner mood. The queen plaintively requests more songs and the youth and the harper again sing of spring and pleasure. The youth then sings passionately of love and the harper and the queen join him in a powerful trio that precedes the tragedy, after which the chorus carries the narration to the end.

‘Advent Hymn.’—This setting of a devotional hymn by Friedrich Rückert for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, was made in 1848. It is a short work with only seven numbers, but is broad and impressive in style and is finely illustrative of Schumann’s best choral-writing. The first number is a melodious solo (‘In lowly guise thy King appeareth’) for soprano with answering passages for female chorus, which leads into a strong five-part chorus (‘O King indeed, though no man hail Thee’). This is followed by a soprano solo (‘When Thou the stormy sea art crossing’), concluding with a quiet chorus for female voices. The fourth number is introduced by a short section for male voices (‘Thou Lord of grace and truth unfailing’), which is taken up at once by full chorus in delicate pianissimo and interspersed with frequent five-pulse measures. The fifth number is given to a quartet (‘Need is there for Thyself, returning’), written in free imitative style. The last two numbers are elaborate choruses to which a solo quartet is very effectively joined. The close is massive and stately—a prayer that Christ will quench all strife and bring peace and unity to the peoples of the earth.

Friedrich Rückert’s ‘New Year’s Hymn’ was set to music by Schumann in 1849 for chorus and orchestra, with incidental solos for soprano, alto, and bass. The theme is the familiar one of solemn retrospection over the Old Year and hopeful anticipation for the New. The solo work is slight, the weightier utterances being confided to the chorus. The final chorus (‘O prince, waking throned for a year as of right’) is particularly effective. Beginning in full, pianissimo harmony, it rises to a jubilant close, in which appears the chorale ‘Now thank we all our God,’ at first in the bass contrapuntally treated and then with all the voices in unison.

‘Mignon’s Requiem’ is a cantata of slight and delicate texture, but of rich and varied musical beauty. Very different from many of the texts which Schumann chose for choral settings, this one was especially written for music. It is taken from Goethe’s ‘Wilhelm Meister,’ from the scene in which the obsequies of Mignon occur. The score is full of poetic and mystical touches from the first quiet chorus (‘Who comes to join our silent assembly?’) to the last triumphant chorus (‘Children, haste into life to return’). The work was composed in 1849 for solos, chorus, and orchestra, but the duties of the soloists are light.

VI

The list of choral works of Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885) is an extensive one. The style in which many of them were written is now obsolete, however, and only one, ‘A Song of Victory,’ has retained its earlier popularity. Next in importance to this is the dramatic cantata, ‘Nala and Damayanti,’ founded on an ancient Hindoo poem and written in 1871. Other choral works are the two oratorios, ‘The Destruction of Jerusalem’ (1839) and ‘Saul’ (1858), and the cantatas O weint um sie (1839), ‘Israel’s Song of Victory’ (1841), ‘Song of the Spirits over the Water’ (1842), ‘Prometheus’ (1843), ‘Rebecca’ (1843), ‘Heloise’ (1844), ‘Loreley’ (1845), and ‘Prince Papagei’ (1872).

‘A Song of Victory.’—The triumph of the German arms in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 was the occasion that prompted the composition of this cantata, and joy and gratitude for victory are its dominant moods. It was written for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, and the Cologne Festival of 1871 was the scene of its first performance. The work opens with a powerful chorus (‘The Lord great wonders for us hath wrought’) beginning with sustained chords, then changing to a movement of great animation. The soprano voice takes up the second number (‘Praise, O Jerusalem, praise the Lord’) and, as the opening phrases are repeated, the chorus adds a soft accompaniment. This is followed by a vigorous and dramatic chorus (‘The heathen are fallen in the pit’), describing the terrors of war and, in contrast, the strong confidence of true believers in the protection of the Lord. A short soprano solo (‘See, it is written in the book of the righteous’), lamenting for the slain, leads into a beautiful three-part chorus for female voices (‘He in tears that soweth’), to which the soprano obbligato is most effectively added. The sixth number (‘Mighty is our God’) is a sustained chorus with massive chords. The last two numbers are for solo and chorus and return to the exultant mood with which the work begins, the last chorus (‘Praise the Lord for His great wonders’) closing with an outburst of joy and hallelujah.

The first important contribution which Denmark made to the literature of music in the larger forms came from the pen of Niels Wilhelm Gade (1817-1890). Although his music shows strong traces of the influence of Schumann and Mendelssohn, especially the latter, his best works are virile, individual, and plainly affected by the harmonies and cadences of the Scandinavian folk-song. Some of his most forceful and characteristic utterances are to be found in choral forms and here he followed Schumann’s example in choosing romantic subjects drawn largely from imaginative and fanciful legends and folklore. Several of the cantatas are chosen for analysis; the remaining ones are ‘Spring Fantasy’ (1850), ‘Kalamus’ (1853), ‘Spring’s Message’ (1853) for chorus and orchestra, and ‘Psyche’ (1856) for solos, chorus, and orchestra.

‘The Crusaders’ is the first[69] secular choral work after ‘Paradise and the Peri’ to compare in importance and in richness of content and treatment with Schumann’s fine composition. It easily takes rank among the strongest and most beautiful of nineteenth-century cantatas. It was written in 1866 and performed in Copenhagen the same year. In 1876 Gade conducted this work as well as his ‘Zion’ at the Birmingham Festival, England. The central motive of the poem by Carl Andersen (much of whose material is drawn from Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem Delivered’) is the temptation of the brave crusader Rinaldo d’Este by the sorceress Armida and her sirens and his triumph over the powers of evil. The personages are three in number, Rinaldo (tenor), Armida (mezzo-soprano), and Peter the Hermit (bass); and the work is divided into three parts—(1) In the desert, (2) Armida, and (3) Towards Jerusalem. The first part opens with a chorus of pilgrims and women from the crusaders’ host, depicting the long, weary march and the sufferings in the struggle to gain the distant goal. The encouraging voice of Peter the Hermit is heard (‘Soon our God success will send us’) and Rinaldo sings the stirring Crusaders’ Song (‘Shine, holy sun, shine on my trusty sword’), to each stanza of which the chorus adds a vigorous, war-like refrain. The Hermit leads the crusaders in an evening prayer of impressive strength, beauty, and exalted devotion, and thus the first part closes. The second part begins with a long orchestral introduction, descriptive of the direful influence of Armida’s magic charms. The spirits of darkness appear and, as they dance, sing a weird pianissimo chorus (‘Silent, creeping so light’). In a fine dramatic solo Armida outlines her plans for the ensnarement of Rinaldo. The sirens, in a three-part chorus, sing a melody of truly wonderful sensuous beauty (‘The wave sweeps my breast’) and their enticing voices are frequently heard in the tumultuous music of the temptation scene that follows. Armida sings in seductive tones ‘O Rinaldo, come to endless joy and rest.’ The brave knight’s senses are enthralled and he is on the point of yielding when he hears a strain of the Crusaders’ Song as from the distance. A powerful concerted number is built up from this point. Rinaldo wavers, the sturdy Crusaders’ Song and the voluptuous music of the sirens and Armida struggle for the mastery. The former becomes more insistent, the magic spell of the sorceress is broken, and Rinaldo, now thoroughly roused, joins fervently in the crusaders’ refrain, ‘Of heaven the faithful soldier am I ever.’ Like Wagner’s ‘Parsifal,’ with which this cantata has many points in common, the first and third parts of ‘The Crusaders’ build a religious frame for the vividly contrasting temptation scene of the middle part. The third part is introduced by a calm and devotional morning hymn of the crusaders, their faces fixed toward Jerusalem. The penitent Rinaldo again vows allegiance to the cross (‘With holy thoughts seek holy things’). His solo leads into the choral March of Pilgrims (‘Forward! O weary feet’), stirring, confident, and exalted. Jerusalem appears in the distance; the Hermit calls the hosts to final combat, the Crusaders’ Song again resounds triumphantly and the work closes with a brilliant choral climax (‘To war! God wills it, up, arouse thee!’).

‘The Erl-King’s Daughter.’—Gade composed the music for this cantata in 1852, the text being founded on Danish legends quite different from the one made famous by Goethe’s familiar poem. The knight, Sir Oluf, has been bewitched by the Erl-King’s daughters as he slept in the twilight on a mound in the forest. Notwithstanding the warning of his mother, he fares forth on the eve of his wedding-day to seek again the alluring maidens. They invite him with enticing songs to join their moonlight revels and offer him a silken robe for his bride and a silver cuirass for himself. He refuses to dance with the fairest of them, she lays her hand upon his brow and predicts his death. He jumps on his steed and madly rushes home, where his mother tremblingly awaits him. In the morning light she sees him riding desperately through the fields without plume or shield; he draws rein at the castle door, briefly greets his terrified mother, and falls dead from his steed. A short epilogue draws a moral that youths who ride through the woods at night should turn aside from the Erl-King’s mound, for ‘danger will ever him betide who heeds the Erl-maidens’ singing!’ There are three solo voices—the Erl-King’s daughter (soprano), Sir Oluf (baritone), and Oluf’s mother (alto). The music throughout is very melodious, graceful, and pleasing. The most interesting numbers are the chorus of Erl-maidens, the enticing song of the Erl-King’s daughter, the morning hymn (‘The sun now mounts the eastern sky’) which opens the third part, and the dramatic finale, a concerted number of much vigor and animation.

‘Christmas Eve’ is a short meditation on the Nativity (poem by August von Platen), set in cantata-form for alto solo, eight-part chorus, and orchestra in 1851. A strongly devotional style is maintained throughout. In the opening number a seraph (alto) bids the hosts of angels to carry earthward the glad tidings of Christ’s coming. The second number is a double chorus of seraphim (‘Behold, a star appeareth’) and shepherds (‘Angelic hosts surround us’), the two uniting in rich and varied combinations. The seraph, in a solo of rare beauty (‘O! with pure devotion’), summons the world to worship the Child, and the chorus softly sings its ‘praise to the newly-born.’ The double chorus is handled antiphonally with great skill and effectiveness. The final number (‘But now a cheerful morning o’er-spreads the weary earth’) is a flowing, hymn-like melody for alto solo, repeated in elaborated form for full eight-part chorus, but sinking quietly to a reposeful close.

‘Comala,’ the earliest of Gade’s choral works, was first performed at Leipzig through Mendelssohn’s influence on March 3, 1843. The dramatic poem to which the music is written follows Ossian and relates the story of the Scottish princess Comala, daughter of Sarno, king of Innistore, whose ardent passion for Fingal, king of Morven, was as ardently returned. Disguised as a youth (in the manner of old Italian opera) she follows him on an expedition against Caracul, king of Lochlin. The royal lovers part before the battle, Fingal promising to return victorious in the evening. Filled with sad forebodings, the princess with her maidens awaits him on a height from which she can witness the battle. A furious storm arises and amid its roaring blasts the spirits of the warriors’ ancestors sweep by to guide home the souls of the slain. Comala imagines that the battle is lost and her lover killed. Overmastered by her grief, she dies, and Fingal, returning with his victorious warriors, hears from the weeping maidens the news of the tragedy. He sorrowfully calls upon the bards to sing her praises, and, with the maidens, they chant a farewell hymn to her as her departing soul is borne to the mansions of her fathers. Music and poetry alike are tinged with the darksome northern colors.

The solo work is distributed among four personages—Comala (soprano), her two maidens Dersagrena and Malicoma (mezzo-sopranos), and Fingal (bass). The graceful and, in the main, obvious character of the music has made this cantata a great favorite for more than a half-century. Many characteristic touches of northern harmony and melody are brought to view, as in the orchestral introduction and in the songs of Comala and the ballads sung by her maids to cheer her (‘There, lonely, sits Comala’ and ‘One day there came from Lochlin’). The parting duet between Fingal and Comala is melodious and sincere; but the main charm of the work springs from the choruses, which are about equally divided between Fingal’s warriors and Comala’s maidens. Of the male choruses the one accompanying Fingal’s victorious return (‘Far fled is the foe’) is particularly stately and forceful. The female chorus is used with fine effect in the agitated scene of Comala’s fatal forebodings and subsequent death. The chorus of spirits (‘Our pathway is the storm’) is weird and sepulchral, but becomes dramatic as the frightened princess raises her voice in supplication to spare her lover. The cantata closes with a full chorus of bards and maidens (‘In the darkness of clouds’), who, in imposing and majestic unison strains, rich in the sombre hues of the northern splendor, commend the soul of ‘the sweet loving maiden’ to the spirits of the fathers.

‘Zion’ is a sacred cantata for baritone solo, chorus, and orchestra, written in 1860 when Gade was at the height of his creative powers. It consists of an introduction (‘Hear, O my flock Israel’) in which the chorus relates how the Lord God heard the groanings and cries of the children of Israel and wrought great wonders in their behalf. This is followed by two choruses—the first describing the departure from Egypt and closing with a tranquil fugal section (‘Like as a flock He hath gently led His people’), and the second portraying the captivity in Babylon. The final number, entitled ‘The Return,’ relates the prophecy of the New Jerusalem. The baritone solo takes up the theme in a dignified aria, followed by a female chorus and closing with an animated full chorus (‘Never shall thy sun be setting’) in impressive, sonorous phrases. The whole work is conceived in a broad oratorio style in which the influence of both Handel and Mendelssohn may be detected.

‘Spring’s Message,’ for chorus and orchestra, is based on a poem by Geibel which depicts Spring as the season of hope, particularly of the Christian’s hope. This mood is maintained throughout and the composer’s gift of tuneful melody has thrown over voice-parts and accompaniment alike a charm that well befits this joyous season. This short work was written in 1853.

VII

Félicien David (1810-1876) was a prominent French composer of the nineteenth century who attained his maximum popularity in the fifties. Though he wrote numerous operas and compositions in various other fields, he is one of those composers whom posterity has remembered almost entirely by a single work, in this case, ‘The Desert,’ a composition of singular beauty and charm. While a comparatively young man David had sojourned for several years in the East, in Constantinople, Egypt, and the Holy Land, and his experiences there made an indelible impression upon his talents. The form of ‘The Desert’ is rather hard to classify. The composer calls it a ‘symphonic ode.’ It consists of orchestral numbers, male choruses, and tenor solos, grouped into three parts and interspersed with short descriptive recitations. The poem by Auguste Colin, which forms the text of the work, made an instant appeal to David and the very spontaneous music for it was composed in three months. When it was first performed in the hall of the Conservatoire, December 8, 1844, it was received with enormous applause and was repeated to crowded houses for a month. The popular estimate then placed upon it has been largely confirmed by its long-continued popularity. David wrote three other choral works—the oratorio ‘Moses on Sinai’ (1846), a second symphonic ode, ‘Christopher Columbus’ (1847), and ‘Eden,’ a ‘mystery’ in two parts, performed at the Grand Opéra in 1848—but none of these received popular approval.

‘The Desert.’—The theme of the work on which David’s fame chiefly rests is the desert with its silent vastness, its gloom, and its grandeur. The human interest is centred on a caravan in various situations, in the description of which the composer, with remarkable success, invokes genuine local color; his Arabs are no mere disguised Frenchmen. Throughout the orchestral introduction a sustained C symbolizes the dreary monotony of the boundless stretches of sand; a fantastic hymn of homage to Allah is sung; the march of the caravan is brilliantly depicted, first by the orchestra and then by the chorus; the caravan battles with a fierce simoon; calm is restored and the march is resumed until evening halts it. The second part, entitled ‘Night,’ opens with a charming tenor solo (‘O night, O lovely night’), after which the orchestra plays an ‘Arab Fantasia’ and a ‘Dance of the Dancing Girls.’ The chorus sings of freedom in the desert and the tenor indulges in an evening meditation, to an accompaniment in Oriental rhythm. The third part (‘Sunrise’) begins with a chant of the muezzin, founded on a real Arabian melody, calling the faithful to prayer, and then the caravan departs on its journey, to the choral music heard in the first part. The opening hymn to Allah, with some modifications, brings the work to a close. The Oriental atmosphere is preserved throughout to an astonishing degree.

Cantata Writers of the Nineteenth Century:

Top: Ferdinand Hiller and Félicien David
Bottom: Niels W. Gade and W. Sterndale Bennett

It will be observed that the Germans have been given by far the most numerous representation among the choral works thus far mentioned, there being among them compositions by only three composers of other nationalities—Gade, a Dane, and Berlioz and David, both Frenchmen. This numerical difference represents a fair statement of the relative importance of choral music in continental countries in the period under present discussion (that is, from 1800 to about 1870). In France choral music was entirely overshadowed in artistic significance by the opera, as, indeed, were all other forms of music. The list of German composers of cantatas and shorter choral works might be even still further extended by the inclusion of Robert Franz (1815-1892), the writer of exquisitely refined songs, who also composed the 117th Psalm for double chorus a cappella, a Kyrie for four-part chorus and solos a cappella, and a Liturgy for the Evangelical service; and Franz Abt (1819-1885), chiefly known by ballads of a folk-song character and a large number of cantatas for female voices and male voices, all written in an easy, flowing, popular style.

In England, cantatas, especially those based on some story or legend, have long been exceedingly popular. The love of choral music has been a national characteristic of the English people for over two centuries. As early as the seventeenth century choral festivals were organized by various cathedral choirs acting conjointly. The celebration of St. Cecilia’s day was made the occasion of some of the earliest of these festivals and ‘The Musical Society’ was organized in London in 1683 in order to conduct them on a more artistic basis. Musical festivals and associations were later formed in the provinces and grew into great favor. As time went on these assumed large dimensions and exerted an artistic influence as in no other country. Some of those now in existence are extremely old, as the ‘Festivals of the Three Choirs’ of Gloucester, Worcester, and Hereford, organized in 1724, and the Birmingham Festival, begun in 1768 by a series of concerts made up almost exclusively of Handel’s works. The tremendous popularity of Handel’s choral works in England not only resulted in the extension of the Handel worship which continued unabated until the frequent visits of Mendelssohn attracted much of its enthusiasm to his own superb oratorios, but caused a substantial increase in the number of choral societies throughout the kingdom. These societies have been unusually generous in giving native works abundant hearing and English composers were not slow to take advantage of the opportunities thus offered. English choral works, therefore, constitute a formidable array. From the time of Purcell until the present generation of composers, however, very few works have been produced that rise much above the general level of mere respectability or amiable reflection of Handelian and Mendelssohnian models that seems to be the chief characteristic of English choral music of the period thus bounded. Indeed, English choral works produced in this period before 1850 are practically a negligible quantity in the literature of this branch of musical art. But among English composers who were active in this field in the third quarter of the nineteenth century there are several who deserve special mention; these are Sir Julius Benedict, Sir Michael Costa, Sir George A. Macfarren, Sir William Sterndale Bennett, and Henry Smart.

Julius Benedict (1804-1885), an eminent German who made England his home during the last fifty years of his life, contributed frequently and successfully to the Norwich Festivals, of which he was the conductor from 1845 to 1878, inclusive. Here in 1860 his beautiful cantata ‘Undine’ was performed, in which the famous singer Clara Novello made her last public appearance. In 1863 at the same festival his cantata ‘Richard Cœur de Lion’ was produced and in 1866 ‘The Legend of St. Cecilia.’ The cantata ‘Graziella,’ intended for the Norwich Festival of 1881 but not completed in time, was produced at the Birmingham Festival of 1882. Of these cantatas, ‘The Legend of St. Cecilia’ is the most important. The poem, written by the English critic and author Henry F. Chorley, presents four characters—Cecilia (soprano), her husband, Valerianus (tenor), the Prefect of Rome (bass), and a Christian Woman (contralto)—and choruses of Roman citizens, Christians, and angels. It sets forth the wedding festivities, the conversion of Valerianus to Christianity by the angelic vision through Cecilia’s prayers, the discovery of his defection by the angry prefect of Rome who had just joined them in wedlock, his trial, the parting and finally the death of the pair—Valerianus by being beheaded and Cecilia by the slow martyrdom of the stake.

Michael Costa (1808-1884), an Italian composer and conductor who lived in England after 1830, was closely identified with English choral music as conductor of the Birmingham Festivals from 1849 to 1882, as conductor of the Sacred Harmonic Society and the Handel Festivals from 1857 to 1880, in which latter capacity he wrote additional accompaniments to most of Handel’s oratorios, and as composer of two important oratorios which will be mentioned in a later chapter, and of several shorter choral works. His serenata, ‘The Dream,’ which was written to a poem by William Bartholomew for the marriage festivities of the Princess Royal of England to Prince Frederick William of Prussia, afterward Emperor Frederick, is a short and delightfully melodious composition for four solo voices, chorus, and orchestra. Oberon (bass) commands the fairies to prepare a car for Queen Mab (alto), who charms the eyes and ears of The Lady (soprano) so that she may in her dreams see the form and hear the tones of adoration of ‘her beloved lover’ (tenor). The principal numbers are a dainty and bright chorus of fairies (‘Make the car of a golden king-cup’), an impassioned serenade by the lover (‘O the joy of truly loving’), and a closing choral serenade (‘Lady, arise! look forth and see’), tuneful and sparkling.

George Alexander Macfarren (1813-1887) was one of the most distinguished and scholarly English musicians of the nineteenth century. He was a prolific composer in many fields and in none was he more successful than in choral-writing. His operas, oratorios, and cantatas are numerous, and in the last-named group his important works are ‘Leonora,’ composed in 1851; ‘May-Day,’ written for the Bradford Festival, 1856; ‘Christmas,’ written in 1859 and first performed at a concert of the Musical Society of London on May 9, 1860; ‘The Lady of the Lake,’ founded on Scott’s poem and produced at the Glasgow Musical Festival, November 15, 1876; ‘Songs in a Cornfield,’ written in 1868 for female voices to words by Christina Rossetti; and ‘Outward Bound’ (1877). John Oxenford, a popular librettist of the period, furnished the texts for ‘Christmas,’ ‘May-Day,’ and ‘Outward Bound.’

‘May-Day,’ for soprano solo, chorus, and orchestra, is a brief cantata full of the jollity of this old-time festival, with its ancient ceremony of choosing the May-Queen and the accompanying rustic revels. It contains many examples of the quaint style of part-writing prevalent in the preceding century, among them the delightful part-song ‘The Hunt’s up.’[70] ‘The Lady of the Lake’ is a work of large dimensions demanding five solo voices—Ellen, the Lady of the Lake (soprano), Blanche of Devan (contralto), James FitzJames, the Knight of Snowdoun (tenor), Roderick Dhu (baritone), and James, Earl of Douglas (bass). The most interesting music in this cantata is assigned to the chorus, and here the composer demonstrates his fine ability in effective part-writing, at the same time introducing many touches borrowed from the idiom of Scottish folk-melodies.

Henry Smart (1813-1879) was one of the earliest of the modern English composers to come under the influence of the romantic movement. He is most widely known for his part-songs, organ music, and anthems and other Anglican ritual-music, but his best work is the cantata ‘The Bride of Dunkerron.’ He produced several other cantatas of less merit—‘King René’s Daughter’ (1871) and ‘The Fishermaidens,’ both for female voices, and the sacred cantata ‘Jacob,’ written for the Glasgow Festival and performed there November 10th, 1873.

‘The Bride of Dunkerron’ was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1864. The poem by Frederick Enoch is founded on a legend concerning a Lord of Dunkerron, whose castle was on the coast of Kerry, who fell in love with a sea-maiden and followed her to her watery home. She seeks the Sea-King’s consent to their union, which he not only refuses to give but condemns her to death for loving a mortal and drives her lover from his realm by a tempest which casts his body upon the shores. There are solo parts for the Sea-Maiden (soprano), Dunkerron (tenor), and the Sea-King (bass). The solos are numerous and uniformly grateful, the most conspicuous ones being Dunkerron’s simple but charming song as he waits on the seashore for the maiden’s appearing (‘The full moon is beaming’), the Sea-King’s aria (‘Oh, the earth is fair in plain and glade’), and the maiden’s graceful song (‘Our home shall be on this bright isle’) which she sings as she departs to win the consent of the Sea-King. The chorus has important work to do and Smart shows conspicuous skill in handling this factor. The opening number is in reality a double chorus of peasants who tell of Dunkerron’s nightly watch by the sea, and sea-maidens who sing the enticing songs that prove to be his undoing. After the long love-duet between Dunkerron and the maiden, there ensues a brisk and stirring chorus which depicts the journey of the lovers through the waters to the maiden’s dwelling-place. The sea-maidens sing several attractive choruses and a chorus of storm-spirits (‘Roar, wind of the tempest, roar’) foretells the impending tragedy and leads to a dramatic trio for the three characters. The king’s angry edict dooms the lovers and the double chorus of peasants and sea-maidens closes the work as it began it, but the mood is now one of sad lament over the tragic dénouement.

‘King René’s Daughter’ is a cantata for female voices, written in 1871. The poem by Frederick Enoch is based on a lyric drama by Henrik Hertz. King René, of Provence, had betrothed his infant daughter Iolanthe to the son of the Count of Vaudemont. She became suddenly blind before she had emerged from babyhood, and, in order to keep from her the realization of her loss, her father brought her up without any knowledge of what sight means. A magician offered to restore her sight, making only the one condition that she first be told of the lost faculty, but this her father refused to do. One day her betrothed passed through the valley where she dwelt, singing his troubadour songs. He beheld Iolanthe for the first time and was fascinated by her beauty. Through the song which he sang to her of the lovely rose she realized the existence of the lost sense, and, this having been disclosed to her and the magician’s condition thus fulfilled, she was healed. There are thirteen numbers in the cantata and the solo parts are Iolanthe (soprano), Martha (mezzo-soprano), and Beatrice (contralto), though other solo voices are added in a trio and later in a quartet which, as narrator, tells of the troubadour’s song to Iolanthe. The entire work is written in a melodious, graceful style and closes with a chorus of exuberant joy at the restoration of sight to ‘King René’s daughter the fair.’

Sterndale Bennett (1816-1875) has not infrequently been called ‘the English Mendelssohn,’ not because he was a conscious imitator of his great German contemporary and intimate friend, but because his music exemplifies the same qualities of polished refinement and exquisite workmanship, although of far less inspirational value and emotional content. Bennett was a ‘shy and reticent’ composer in point of the number of his works, and of these (there are only 46 opera in all) only three were in extended choral forms, namely, an ‘Ode for the Opening of the International Exhibition,’ 1862, to words by Tennyson, ‘The May Queen,’ a pastoral cantata, and ‘The Woman of Samaria,’ a sacred cantata usually classed as an oratorio.

‘The May Queen’ was written for the Leeds Festival of 1858 and, notwithstanding the poorly-written libretto by Henry F. Chorley, is replete with musical beauties of striking power. The solo parts are assigned to the May Queen (soprano), the Queen (alto), the Lover (tenor), and the Captain of the Foresters, as Robin Hood (bass). The story relates the celebration of May-Day in ancient times on the banks of the Thames, which is interrupted by a quarrel between the jealous and despondent lover of the May Queen and Robin Hood, who enters at the head of a band of rollicking foresters and openly makes love to the May Queen. The Queen enters, the lover is arrested for having struck the forester, the May Queen intercedes for his release and thereby reveals her affection for him, the forester is banished for having stooped to woo a peasant girl, the Queen orders the wedding of the May Queen and her lover on the following morning, and everything ends happily. The music (there are ten numbers in the cantata) is characterized throughout by utmost refinement and grace of expression and is distinctly individualized in respect to the different personages. The finest solos are the lament of the disconsolate lover (‘O meadow, clad in early green’) and the forester’s robust song (‘Tis jolly to hunt in the bright moonlight’). The chorus-writing is scholarly, always effective without over-taxing the singers, bright, spirited, and spontaneous. This cantata is to be numbered among the most beautiful compositions of this class.

VIII

Anglican ritual-music of the nineteenth century falls into two natural groups. The first group comprises the compositions up to about 1850 which complete the third period of English church-music (see page 93) overlapping from the preceding century; the second group begins with the evidences of new life that crept into English church-music about the middle of the century and brought to it refreshing vigor and regeneration. Most of the anthems and ‘services’ of the first half of the century repeat the colorless and listless style of the preceding century, yet several composers produced music of real worth, dignity, and solidity. Such were William Crotch (1775-1847); Thomas Attwood (1765-1838), a pupil of Mozart and a close friend of Mendelssohn (to whom the latter dedicated his three preludes and fugues for organ), whose ‘I was glad,’ written for the coronation of George IV with full orchestral accompaniment, is a remarkably fine work of imposing breadth; and Thomas Attwood Walmisley (1814-1856). Among the most representative examples of the work of this group of composers will be found the following anthems: Attwood’s ‘Withdraw not Thou’ and ‘Grant we beseech Thee,’ Walmisley’s ‘Remember, O Lord’ and ‘O give thanks.’ With the melodious music of Sir John Goss (1800-1880) and the notable series of anthems and ‘services’ by Rev. S. S. Wesley (1810-1876) and Sir George A. Macfarren (1813-1887), what might be called the middle modern school of English anthem-music comes to an end. On the whole academic and respectable rather than inspired, the religious music of this period is only the outward expression of the drowsy and apathetic inner life of the Church.

The motets of the nineteenth century and the decades just preceding have, in the main, far closer kinship to the sacred cantata than to the typical form whose name they assume. Beautiful as the motets of Haydn, Mozart, and Cherubini are as music, they are far removed from the old motet in spirit, even though they were written to be sung at High Mass. The best motets written for the German Evangelical service were attempts to revive the glories of Bach’s motet style. In this field Mendelssohn achieved noteworthy success (see page 151) and the well-known motets of Moritz Hauptmann (1792-1868), cantor of the Thomasschule at Leipzig for over twenty years, attest how deeply he imbibed the spirit of his great predecessor. The motets of these two composers represent the best examples of this form in the period covered by this chapter. But as the years move on, the old motet is becoming more and more archaic.

The nineteenth-century part-song had a brilliant history. The enthusiasm with which it was cultivated in Germany under certain patriotic stimuli, later spread to England and France with happy results. The first German choral society made up wholly of amateur singers was the Berlin Singakademie, founded on May 27th, 1791, by Karl Christian Fasch (1736-1800). Male choruses, as much social as musical in nature, had existed in Germany since the seventeenth century, but they did not attain much popularity or influence until Carl Friedrich Zelter (1758-1832) established the first Liedertafel in Berlin in 1808, composed of twenty-four men from the Singakademie. The political effect of Weber’s stirring part-songs, especially his setting of the patriotic songs in Körner’s Leyer und Schwert, as, for example, ‘Bright sword of liberty’ and ‘Lützow’s wild hunt,’ has been already mentioned. The love of choral singing became contagious, and, stimulated by the new feeling of nationalism, both male choruses (Liedertafeln) and choral societies (Gesangvereine) began to multiply rapidly, especially after 1818. Though much of the part-music written for their consumption was weak and tasteless, many of the great composers bountifully contributed of their best ideas. Schubert wrote some fifty pieces of this class, twenty-two of which are for unaccompanied male voices. Among these seldom-sung pieces are many of astonishing beauty, as his setting of Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt. Schumann wrote about a dozen part-songs for male voices and some twenty for mixed voices, many of them as poetic and charmingly melodic as his songs. Mendelssohn’s part-songs, however, exerted an overpowering influence not only in his own country but especially in England, where he was imitated ad nauseam for nearly fifty years by native composers. Here, however, they were instrumental in creating such a revival of choral singing among the people, well-nigh dead since the old madrigal days, that singing societies were established far and wide throughout the land, even in remote communities. So many of these part-songs of Mendelssohn are familiar household songs in Germany, England, and America that it will be unnecessary to name any here. Among the German part-song writers of less importance are Ignaz Seyfried (1776-1841), Julius Otto (1804-1877), Friedrich Kücken (1810-1882), Friedrich Truhn (1811-1886), Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885), Robert Franz (1815-1892), Carl Wilhelm (1815-1873), composer of Die Wacht am Rhein, Franz Abt (1819-1885), and Joachim Raff (1822-1882).

Though Mendelssohn’s part-songs set the prevailing style in England for many years, many native compositions of sterling worth were produced. Sterndale Bennett wrote only three, but they are fine examples of this class, especially ‘Come, live with me.’ John L. Hatton (1809-1886), Henry Smart (1813-1879), Sir George A. Macfarren (1813-1887), Henry Leslie (1822-1896), Ciro Pinsuti (1829-1888), and other composers in England have written fine part-songs that have been deservedly popular. But Robert L. de Pearsall (1795-1856), who wrote almost exclusively in this form, succeeded in a remarkable degree in combining the quaintness of the old madrigal with the freedom and grace of the more modern style. He published about sixty madrigals and part-songs, a large proportion of which will remain a permanent part of the literature of this field. Among the finest of these may be mentioned the ten-part song ‘Sir Patrick Spens,’ probably the most elaborate and successful part-song in existence, the genuinely humorous ‘Who shall win my lady fair,’ the melodious ‘When last I strayed,’ ‘Purple glow,’ and ‘O who will o’er the downs so free,’ and others equally masterly.

About 1835 a general movement was started in France for the establishment of singing societies called Orphéon. These were organized in the communal schools, among working people, and at the universities, but were for male singers only. They became very popular and spread with great rapidity. The corporation of Paris recognized their importance and made choral singing one of its municipal departments, in 1852 placing Gounod at the head of the Orphéon. Annual contests and festivals were instituted which attracted choral societies from every part of France. In 1867 these choral societies numbered 3,243 with a membership of 147,500. The rapid increase in interest in choral singing naturally led to the composition of numberless unaccompanied part-songs, which were on the whole more elaborate than the English part-songs and which admitted the dramatic element very frequently. Among French composers who wrote expressly for these societies were Halévy, Adolphe Adam, Félicien David, Ambroise Thomas, Gounod, Delibes, Massenet, Dubois, Bazin, and particularly Laurent de Rillé, whose compositions in this form number over a hundred.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] An adaptation of this melody is associated in England and America with Charles Wesley’s Christmas hymn, ‘Hark! the herald angels sing.’

[69] Though most of Berlioz’s ‘Damnation of Faust’ was written in 1845-6, it really antedated Schumann’s work both in inception and in the actual composition of many of its finest numbers (see page 158).

[70] Any morning song of a lively, spirited nature, even a love-song, was called a ‘Hunt’s-up’ in olden English times.

CHAPTER VI
THE MODERN CANTATA

Wagner: ‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’; Liszt: ‘The Bells of Strassburg,’ ‘Prometheus’—Brahms: ‘Song of Triumph,’ ‘Song of Destiny’—Max Bruch; ‘Frithjof,’ ‘Fair Ellen,’ ‘The Cross of Fire,’ ‘The Lay of the Bell,’ etc.—Rheinberger; Dvořák; Hofmann; Goetz—Grieg; Gounod; Sullivan: ‘The Golden Legend’; Barnby; Gaul; Stainer; Cowen—Parry; Mackenzie; Stanford—Elgar: ‘King Olaf’; ‘Caractacus’; ‘The Black Knight’—Coleridge-Taylor: ‘Hiawatha’ cycle—Dudley Buck: ‘The Golden Legend’; ‘The Light of Asia’; Horatio Parker and other cantata writers in the United States.

Teutonic genius was supreme in the field of cantata-writing until the last quarter of the nineteenth century, when there appeared numerous and worthy rivals. While the Germans have consistently retained their love for this form and have maintained a numerical lead in actual production, England, France, Scandinavia, and America have produced choral works that challenge comparison with the best German standards, and in some instances have struck out original lines of development that mark points of notable departure from the older models. The period covered by this chapter includes the works produced in the last quarter, or at most the last third, of the nineteenth century, with some flexibility at either boundary.

I

The most notable exception to the above chronological grouping is Richard Wagner (1813-1883), who belongs to the preceding chapter as far as dates are concerned. But so many of the prominent composers here considered were so strongly influenced, consciously or unconsciously, by the Bayreuth master’s art-methods and followed them in such a direct line of succession, that this seems the more fitting place to mention his brief connection with this field of musical literature.

‘The Love Feast of the Apostles’ (Das Liebesmahl der Apostel) was Wagner’s one and only cantata. It was written in 1843, the same year as Schumann’s ‘Paradise and Peri’ and three years before Berlioz completed his ‘Damnation of Faust.’ Wagner had already written ‘The Flying Dutchman’ and ‘Rienzi’ had been performed in Dresden the summer preceding the composition of this cantata. The thirty-year-old composer put into this work much of the dramatic power already hinted at in ‘The Flying Dutchman’ and displayed with such overwhelming power in his later works. It was written for a great Männersängerfest held in Dresden in July, 1843, and was first performed under his own direction on the 6th of the month in the Frauenkirche, the orchestra and chorus numbering one thousand performers. The subject of this Scriptural Scene was suggested by the fourth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles and Wagner wrote his own words, as he did in all of his dramatic works.

The opening chorus represents the disciples, drawn together by persecution, offering consolation to one another. After a few quiet measures of greeting the voices divide into three choruses, when the movement accelerates and leads to a powerful climax, ending pianissimo. The apostles (twelve bass voices) then enter with a hearty greeting, while the disciples sing softly Wir sind versammelt im Namen Jesu Christi (‘We are assembled in the name of Jesus Christ’), after which the united chorus swells forth in a majestic passage, invoking the blessing of the Holy Spirit, beginning with the words Allmächt’ger Vater, der du hast gemacht Himmel und Erd’ und Alles was darin (‘Almighty Father, Thou that did’st create Heaven and the Earth and all that in them is’). Voices from above (as in the last act of ‘Parsifal’) are then heard singing Seid getrost, ich bin euch nah (‘Peace be yours, I am at hand’). To this the disciples respond with renewed vigor, while the apostles counsel unswerving consecration to God. The work closes with a mighty chorale, Denn ihm ist alle Herrlichkeit von Ewigkeit zu Ewigkeit (‘To Him all praise and glory be forever and forever’), its dramatic effect being greatly heightened by the rich orchestral accompaniment. The orchestra has remained silent until the final number.

Franz Liszt (1811-1886) was an artist of amazing versatility and tremendous creative energy. Greatest as a virtuoso and a composer of instrumental music of striking originality and picturesque romanticism, he yet wrote liberally in various choral forms. In addition to notable church works, large and small, and three oratorios, Liszt wrote several cantatas and shorter choral works—‘The Bells of Strassburg,’ ‘St. Cecilia’ (for mezzo-soprano, chorus, and orchestra), An die Künstler (for solos, male chorus, and orchestra), Zur Säcular-Feier Beethoven’s (for solos, chorus, and orchestra), Festalbum for Goethe’s centenary (1849), ‘Prometheus,’ Psalm 13 (for tenor solo, chorus, and orchestra), Psalm 18 (for male chorus, orchestra, and organ), Psalm 23 (for tenor or soprano solo with harp and organ), Psalm 137 (for solo and female chorus with violin, harp, piano, and organ), and a large number of male choruses.

‘The Bells of Strassburg.’—Liszt composed this work (Die Glocken des Strassburger Münsters) in 1874 and dedicated it to Longfellow. The text is a mere fragment from this poet’s ‘Christus’—the prologue to ‘The Golden Legend’—and deals with the futile effort of the prince of darkness and his legions, during a furious night tern nest, to cast down the cross surmounting the cathedral tower. The work is written for baritone solo (Lucifer), mixed chorus, and orchestra. It opens with a short prelude entitled ‘Excelsior,’ consisting of this word sung several times by the chorus with ever-increasing power, ending fortissimo. The main movement, called ‘The Bells,’ begins with a ponderous introduction by the bells, trumpets, and horns, after which Lucifer hurls forth his first command, exhorting his band of spirits to tear down the cross. The chorus of spirits (sopranos, altos, and tenors) replies to this (‘Oh, we cannot, for around it’) and then the tenors and basses, representing the bells, sing a Latin chant. These voices continue in the same order, Lucifer’s exhortation and the cry of helplessness from the evil spirits becoming more and more vehement as the chant of the bells ever replies in tones of calm trust in the protecting power. Lucifer’s fourth and last appeal is given with the full strength of voice and orchestra. In the reply of the chorus the female voices unite, producing a fine effect with the first and second tenors. At length Satan, defeated, gives the order to retreat, and the work closes with the Gregorian chant,

Nocte surgentes
Vigilemus omnes!
Laudemus Deum verum,

given by the combined chorus, organ, and orchestra.

Prometheus.—This cantata, founded on Herder’s poem of the same name, was composed by Liszt in 1850. He utilizes several of Herder’s prologues, which describe the situations in words and serve to introduce the various choral numbers. The first prologue depicts Prometheus, the Titan, bound to a stake and about to suffer torture for having stolen fire from heaven. This leads to a chorus of sea-nymphs (female voices), expressing sorrow and fear. The second prologue describes the anger of Oceanus at the children of earth for disturbing his waters and gives Prometheus’ reply. This is followed by a spirited mixed chorus of Tritons and a lovely melodious chorus of Oceanides for female voices, closing with a full double chorus, ‘Holy and grand and free is the gift of Heaven.’ The third prologue introduces the goddess Gæa with her train of wood-nymphs, loudly weeping. The chorus of Dryads follows, in the midst of which occurs a very dramatic alto solo, ‘Deserted stand the Gods’ sacred altars in the old forest.’ In the dialogue following Gæa upbraids Prometheus, who stoutly defends himself. The number closes with a mixed chorus of gleaners, which is full of graceful melody. In the next prologue Bacchus builds an arbor to soften the Titan’s suffering and a male chorus of vine-dressers follows. At length an Allegro moderato for orchestra introduces Hercules, who with an arrow kills the vulture which is about to devour Prometheus and frees him, bidding him ‘Go hence unto thy mother’s throne.’ This leads to a stately male chorus, ‘All human foresight wanders in deepest night.’ The last prologue pictures the pardon of Prometheus at the throne of Themis, and the work closes with a chorus of the Muses.

II

The genius of Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) touched many fields and he was great in every field that he entered—orchestral, pianoforte, chamber, song and choral. Several of his choral works, notably the Deutsches Requiem, the Schicksalslied and the Triumphlied, are among the great things of choral literature and enjoy undisputed popularity. Even those that are modest in dimensions are equally serious with the larger ones in conception and in treatment and spring from the deep places of the composer’s soul. In all of them, as in his symphonies, he reached a point of sublimity that had seldom been touched, if at all, since Beethoven. All of his published compositions between his opus 40 and opus 60, with two exceptions, were vocal works, songs or choral. The ‘Requiem’ was opus 45 and his period of greatest activity as a writer of choral works followed soon after. Of these only ‘Rinaldo,’ the first one written after the ‘Requiem,’ can really be called a cantata; the others partake more of the character of the ode or the choral ballad. They are Rhapsodie, founded on fragments from Goethe’s Harzreise for alto solo, male chorus and orchestra; Schicksalslied (‘Song of Destiny’) for chorus and orchestra; Triumphlied (‘Song of Triumph’) for eight-part chorus and orchestra; Naenie for chorus and orchestra and Gesang der Parzen (‘Song of the Fates’) for six-part chorus and orchestra, the last two of which were later compositions in the form of short choral ballads like the Schicksalslied. He wrote liberally in forms approximating the part-song. In many of the early Marienlieder, male choruses and mixed choruses, he adopts the form of the simple harmonized melody, while in others, as the two motets, opus 29, he is the direct descendant of Bach, the contrapuntist. In some of his little known a cappella choruses, as the lovely Vineta from his opus 42 and two from his opus 104, he produces strange and wonderful effects through a masterly handling of harmonic changes and melodic interweavings.

‘Song of Triumph.’—Brahms wrote his Triumphlied in 1871 to commemorate the German victories and the consequent establishment of the German empire, and he dedicated it to Wilhelm I. Its first performance was at Vienna in 1872; a repetition occurred at Cologne in 1873 at the fifty-first Festival of the Lower Rhine. The text was adapted by the composer from the nineteenth chapter of Revelation. The work, consisting of three movements, was written for double chorus, orchestra and organ, together with two short baritone solos. A lively yet solemn prelude introduces the first number, at the close of which both choirs enter with the words ‘Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!’ The principal theme of this movement is founded on an old German song, Heil dir im Siegerkranz. This part closes with a tremendous contrapuntal climax of Handelian proportions. The second part, like the first, has its prelude, followed by a short fugue, after which a new melody is introduced and sung antiphonally by the two choirs. The strongest climax occurs in the third movement. After a brief orchestral introduction a baritone solo is heard, ‘And behold then the heavens opened wide,’ to which the choruses reply, ‘And yonder a snow-white horse.’ Then the baritone sings, ‘And lo! a great name hath He written,’ following which the choruses utter the stately phrase, ‘King of Kings and Lord of Lords,’ sung antiphonally with ever-increasing fervor and ending with the full power of voices, organ and orchestra, the stately effect of which is beyond description.

The Schicksalslied (‘Song of Destiny’) for chorus and orchestra, with text by Hölderlin, is a noble and expressive work, which received its first performance Oct. 18, 1871, at a concert given by the Carlsruhe Philharmonic Society, the composer conducting. The two ideas of death and eternal life are placed in juxtaposition and although these dominant ideas are dramatically balanced against each other, the close dispels the clouds and lets in a flood of light. Indeed the composer seems to open heaven itself to his hearers and to usher them in. While the poet morbidly depicts the existence of immortals on the one hand and suffering humanity on the other, Brahms, by introducing an orchestral prelude of great beauty, injects a new idea, namely, that there is hope for man and that he is not to be ruthlessly chained to uncertainty or lured by the Unknown. After dramatically setting forth the two conflicting ideas, in the development of which Brahms closely follows the poet in the music, he returns once more to the beautiful music of the introduction, which brings the hearers safely back again into an atmosphere of peace and hope and solace. It is a striking example of the power of instrumental music to change the effect produced by the poetic text.

Rinaldo.—This cantata is written for tenor solo and male chorus to a text by Goethe and its value lies in the beauty of the choruses and in the intimate solos, expressive of the love which has filled the heart of the hero Rinaldo for the enchantress Armida. The poetic text, however, is rather vague and leaves too much to the imagination of the hearer. Armida, the heroine, does not appear at all nor does the ‘diamond shield,’ to which is assigned such an important function in rousing the enamored Rinaldo from his shame, and the music is not sufficiently definite to supply the hearer with the missing links. Especially effective is the closing chorus, which depicts Rinaldo, freed from the wiles of the enchantress and safe with the crusaders on their homeward journey.

III

The mastery of Max Bruch (b. 1838) over concert choral forms has won him a foremost place among German choral writers of the nineteenth century and his works are known and valued wherever choral music is cultivated. He combines fluent, pleasing melody with rare skill in handling and grouping his orchestral and vocal forces. His choral writing is always broad, dignified, impressive and vocally grateful. The list of his choral works is quite imposing. His larger works comprise the two oratorios Moses, opus 67, and Gustav Adolf, opus 73, both late compositions, and three epic cantatas, a form to which he gave especial attention. These three, which are frequently classed as secular oratorios, are Odysseus, opus 41, Arminius, opus 43, and Achilleus, opus 50. In addition he has produced a number of shorter compositions in cantata and choral ballad form. They are, in the order of their composition, ‘Frithjof Scenes’ for solos, male chorus and orchestra; ‘Fair Ellen’ for solos, chorus and orchestra; ‘Salamis, a Triumph-song of the Greeks,’ poem by H. Lingg, for solos, male chorus and orchestra; ‘Frithjof at His Father’s Grave’ for baritone solo, female chorus and orchestra; Normannenzug for baritone, male chorus and orchestra; Römische Leichenfeier, text by Lingg, for chorus and orchestra; ‘The Lay of the Bell’ (Das Lied der Glocke) for solos, chorus and orchestra; ‘The Cross of Fire’ (Das Feuerkreuz) for solos, chorus and orchestra; and ‘Leonidas’ for male chorus and orchestra. He has also written several very attractive short sacred choruses, among them the Jubilate, Amen, opus 3, for soprano, chorus and orchestra, and ‘The Flight of the Holy Family’ for chorus and orchestra.

Frithjof, for baritone and mezzo-soprano solo voices, male chorus and orchestra, is one of his finest productions and was his first work to achieve a signal success. It was written at Mannheim in 1863, when he was only twenty-five years old, and the extraordinary favor with which it was received caused this masterwork of the youthful composer to become the prototype of a numerous group of dramatic cantatas for male voices that followed in its wake. The text comprises six scenes taken from Bishop Tegner’s far-famed Frithjofsaga.

A lively orchestral introduction, entitled ‘Frithjof’s Return,’ leads to a beautiful baritone aria, ‘How bravely o’er the floods so bright,’ accompanied by an attractive chorus, ‘O ‘tis delight when the land afar appeareth.’ The second scene depicts Princess Ingeborg, whom Frithjof has come home to wed, being led to the altar by King Ring, the result of a plot by Ingeborg’s brothers against Frithjof. A brief wedding march is followed by the bridal chorus, ‘Sadly the skald walks before the train,’ and Ingeborg’s lament, ‘My heart with sorrow overflowing.’ The next scene, ‘Frithjof’s Revenge,’ intensely dramatic both in the vocal score and the rich instrumentation, opens with a chorus of priests, ‘Midnight sun on the mountain burns,’ in the midst of which is heard Frithjof’s cry, ‘Go to Hela’s dark abode,’ and after it his rugged aria, ‘Where my father rests.’ As he sings this, he fires the temple and flees to his ship, amid the dramatic and descriptive cries of the people and Frithjof’s followers, and the curses of the priests. This chorus is a work of great tonal beauty, portraying vividly the dramatic action of the text. The fourth number, entitled ‘Frithjof’s Departure from the Northland,’ opens with a male quartet of exceptional charm, followed by Frithjof’s powerful solo, ‘World’s grandest region, thou mighty North!’ In the fifth scene occurs ‘Ingeborg’s Lament,’ a sorrowful and pathetic heart-cry to her lost lover, ‘Storms wildly roar,’ after which comes the finale, a spirited chorus sung by Frithjof and his men as they sail away in the good ship ‘Ellida’ in quest of further adventures.

The story of Bruch’s ‘Fair Ellen’ is laid at Lucknow, British India, and the story is founded on an incident said to have occurred during the famous siege of this city in 1857, when a Scotch girl, fair Ellen, heard, above the din of battle, the shrill bagpipes of the Macgregors in the far distance, as the relief party approached, playing ‘The Campbells are Coming.’ Her inspired words of hope and encouragement stirred the despairing defenders to renewed resistance, beating off the besiegers until rescue was at hand. The cantata, the text of which is Emanuel Geibel’s ballad of the same name, was written in 1869. It is of modest dimensions, embracing solos for soprano and baritone, and five chorus numbers. The music, following Bruch’s style, is rich in instrumentation, while the choruses are full of fine melody. The Scotch tune, ‘The Campbells are Coming,’ is introduced many times in the orchestral score, and at the close the composer makes a fine climax by broadening out the joyous march-melody into a devout hymn of thanksgiving.

‘The Cross of Fire,’ a dramatic cantata founded on incidents in Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Lady of the Lake,’ was composed in 1888 and is one of the finest of Bruch’s later choral works. It was an ancient custom in the Highlands of Scotland, when one clan declared war on another, to call the clansmen to arms by means of a ‘cross of fire.’ After solemn consecration at the altar, this war-signal was carried with all possible speed from post to post by noble messengers and in its wake the men-at-arms assembled. Bruch’s librettist, Heinrich Bulthaupt, opens the cantata at the point in Scott’s familiar poem where Norman, a noble Highlander, is proudly leading his bride Mary, a noble maiden, to a near-by mountain chapel to celebrate the wedding ceremony. The wedding train approaches the church to the festal sounds of organ and a wedding anthem. As the ceremony is about to begin, Angus, a messenger, rushes in with the cross of fire and hurriedly hands it to Norman with the chieftain’s command to bear it to the nearest post. Norman bids a heart-broken farewell to his bride and hurries off followed by his warriors. Poet and composer now describe the feelings of Norman on his rapid journey, battling between duty and love. The rising of the clan in response to the war-signal is given vivid portrayal. Then follows the best-known number of the cantata, the beautiful Ave Maria, in which the despairing Mary expresses her emotions at being left alone. The stirring war-song, ‘Clan Alpin! Clan Alpin!’ in which Norman rouses his warriors to a high pitch of bravery, is an impressive number, and Bruch with fine effect uses an old Scotch battle-song. The final number is a masterly concerted piece. Mary and her maidens anxiously watch the ebb and flow of battle from a neighboring hill-top. The cry goes up that Norman has fallen, but shouts of victory are soon heard, the valiant Norman appears and rapturously throws himself in Mary’s arms, and joy and happiness reign. This number is massive, full of life, vigor, and effective contrast, and furnishes a brilliant climax to the whole work.

Schiller’s ‘Lay of the Bell’ has furnished inspiration to numerous composers. Romberg’s cantata has already been described and this called forth several rivals. Bruch’s is the most pretentious of them and approaches closely to the oratorio form. The poem loses in musical setting through its over-abundance of rapidly-passing scenes—there are twenty-seven numbers grouped into two parts—but the music abounds in moments of great beauty, especially in such choral numbers as the final one in the first part, ‘One blest assurance yet is granted,’ the funeral chorus in the second part (‘From the steeple, sad and slow’), the chorus, ‘Hallowed Order, child of Heaven,’ which is one of the most elaborate of the work, and the finale with preceding bass solo, ‘Heave it, brothers, heave it high!’ Near the close a charming trio for soprano, alto and tenor voices appears (‘Peace benignant, gentle Concord’) into the accompaniment of which Bruch has skilfully and effectively interwoven the melody of the familiar Christmas song, ‘Silent night, hallowed night!’

For each of his great epic cantatas Bruch chose a warrior hero—Frithjof the Viking, Arminius the German liberator, Odysseus and Achilles, the Greek chieftains. Odysseus was first performed in Bremen in 1873. It was written to the poem of Wilhelm Paul Graff, which, like the ‘Frithjof,’ consists of a series of scenes or episodes. These are grouped into two parts, the first containing four scenes and the second six, drawn from the adventurous and picturesque life of the King of Ithaca. Arminius, equally epic in feeling and treatment, was written in 1875 to a poem by F. Cueppers. The scene is laid in Germany, the time being from 9 to 13 A. D. when Arminius (Latin for Hermann) laid the foundations of the political league of the Germanic tribes by uniting them for the time being against the common Roman foe and throwing off the Roman yoke. The work is in four parts—‘Introduction,’ ‘In the Sacred Forest,’ ‘The Insurrection,’ and ‘The Battle’—and closes with an inspiring patriotic hymn of stately proportions, ‘Germany’s sons shall be renowned.’ The part of Arminius (baritone) is particularly fine throughout. Both of these cantatas are equally popular and they were followed in 1885 by another on the same general lines, Achilleus, to the poem by H. Bulthaupt, the motives of which are drawn from Homer’s Iliad. This is in many respects a greater work than its predecessors; it is laid out on broader lines, the orchestral part seeks greater recognition and the composer frequently and with tremendous effect employs the double chorus in building up massive polyphonic climaxes.

IV

Joseph Rheinberger (1839-1901) is a prolific composer who has contributed most liberally to choral literature. In this field and that of organ he is at his best. Christophorus, sometimes called an oratorio, was written in 1880 and is based on the mediæval legend of the giant who, notwithstanding his mighty strength, sought a master to serve who was most powerful on earth and who knew no fear. But he found that the mightiest earthly monarch feared Satan and that Satan shrank in terror before the Cross, so he gladly became the servant of the Lord of the Cross. The composer mingles sacred and secular elements in a masterly manner; portions of the work, particularly the closing numbers of the first part, belong to the richest and most beautiful choral writing of the last half of the nineteenth century. ‘The Star of Bethlehem,’ a Christmas cantata, possesses sustained beauty and is conceived in a lofty vein. Das Thal des Espingo, a choral ballad for male voices and orchestra (poem by Paul Heyse), is one of the finest examples of its kind. ‘Clarice of Eberstein,’ ‘Toggenburg,’ ‘Montfort,’ Die Rosen von Hildesheim for male chorus and wind instruments, and Wittekind are among the finest of his secular compositions.

Antonin Dvořák (1841-1904) is the one representative Bohemian composer who has given serious attention to the larger choral forms. His greatest compositions in this field, however, were written, not for performance in his native land, but for the great English festivals—the Stabat Mater, composed in 1876 and performed March 10th, 1883, by the London Musical Society, the ‘Spectre’s Bride,’ written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885, ‘St. Ludmila’ (oratorio) for the Leeds Festival of 1886, and the Requiem Mass for the Birmingham Festival of 1891. England did valiant service in calling the world’s attention to Dvořák’s unique genius.

‘The Spectre’s Bride.’—This well-known cantata is founded upon an old legend, current among all Slavic nations, about a maiden, who, deserted by her lover and awaiting his return, was enticed away at midnight by a spectre, only to be led over hill and dale, amid grewsome horrors, to the graveyard. There she took refuge in a tiny house where she was beset by spectres, and the moonlight revealed, lying on a plank, a revivified corpse, which rose up and glared at her. Her fervent prayers to the Virgin finally ended the hideous spell. A cock crew, dawn came, and the girl wended her way home in the peaceful morning. When the work was performed at Birmingham it was received with great enthusiasm and, despite its horrible story, it is a masterpiece of dramatic narrative and descriptive realism.

The cantata consists of eighteen numbers. Eleven of these are allotted to the narrator (baritone), who, with the choral responses and supported by vividly descriptive instrumentation, gives a realistic portrayal of the frightful scenes. The weirdness of the music increases in intensity up to the entrance of the maiden in the house of the dead. In the seven remaining numbers other solo voices are heard. The lament of the maiden (soprano) for her lost lover and, at the close, her fervent appeal to the Virgin are fascinating in their beauty. There are also four duets sung by the bride and the spectre (tenor), together with one in which the chorus participates. As Hadow says in his ‘Studies in Modern Music’ (Vol. II, p. 206): ‘There is too much monotony of suffering; there is too much gloom and terror and pain; a tragedy so unrelieved comes near to overstraining the sympathy of the spectator.’ Yet the musical appeal, through the composer’s inexhaustible resources of rhythmic, harmonic and melodic effects, garbed in gorgeous orchestral colors, softens the horrors and lightens the prevailing darkness of the poem.

Heinrich Karl Johann Hofmann (1842-1902) had the good fortune to win public recognition in different fields in rapid succession. In three successive years his ‘Hungarian Suite’ for orchestra (1873), his ‘Frithjof’ symphony (1874), and his cantata ‘Melusina’ (1875) achieved such instant favor that he soon became one of the best-known of the contemporary German composers. While these successes were somewhat ephemeral and while he manifested a tendency to sacrifice individuality of expression to sensuous charm and formal beauty, the ‘Melusina’ deserves long life. He followed the lead of Schumann in choosing legends and fairy tales as subjects for his most successful cantatas. These are, in addition to the one just mentioned, Aschenbrödel (‘Cinderella’), Nornengesang (‘Song of the Norns’) for female chorus, and Waldfräulein.

The ‘Legend of the Fair Melusina’ was composed in 1875. Melusina, a fountain nymph, becomes betrothed to Count Raymond and marries him under the agreement that she may go her own way one day in every seven, without question or hindrance on his part. In these intervals she again becomes a mermaid and bathes with her nymphs in her native fountain. Later, urged by his mother Clotilda and his uncle Sintram, who are consumed with jealousy and curiosity, Raymond invades her privacy. Doomed by this violation of his compact to eternal separation, he embraces Melusina for the last time and dies in her arms. The weeping nymph returns to her former element. The music is not difficult and is replete with melody of captivating charm. The melodious prologue, the rollicking hunting song, the rapturous love-duet, the chorus of nymphs at the fountain with Melusina, the dramatic choral accusation of the people against Melusina, the final duet with choral accompaniment leading to the tragic dénouement—all these have contributed to make this one of the most musically effective of the more unpretentious cantatas.

Hermann Goetz (1840-1876) was cut off too early in his career to have given full expression to his undeniably great talent, yet he has left at least one choral work that demonstrated love for, and ability in, this form. In his setting of Schiller’s Nänia (Auch das Schöne muss sterben) for chorus and orchestra, as well as the 137th Psalm (‘By the Waters of Babylon’) for soprano, chorus and orchestra, he reveals a close kinship to both Schumann and Brahms in his effective handling of voices and instruments.

V

Edvard Hagerup Grieg (1843-1907), the greatest of the Scandinavian composers, chose musical forms of modest mold and outline—such as his altogether charming songs and piano pieces—for many of his most fragrant and characteristic thoughts. He wrote only three choral pieces—all in the smaller forms, but all individual, brilliant and full of his peculiarly charming idiom. They are Vor der Klosterpforte (‘At the Convent Door’) for solo, female voices and orchestra, the well-known and vigorous Landerkennung (‘Land Discovery’) for male chorus and orchestra and the Scenes from Björnson’s unfinished drama, Olaf Trygvasson, for solos, chorus and orchestra. The last is the largest and most elaborate of the three and has for its subject-matter the efforts of Olaf, a descendant of Harold Haarfagar (the first king of Norway) but brought up in banishment, to conquer Norway and convert its people from Paganism to Christianity.

For fully thirty years after the middle of the nineteenth century had been passed, French composers were still too firmly wedded to the operatic stage to give more than fleeting attention to choral forms of the cantata type, and few French names of this period, therefore, will find place here.

Charles Gounod (1818-1893), who turned his thoughts almost exclusively to religious music in the later years of his life, wrote several oratorios which will be mentioned in detail in Chapter VIII. His smaller works—the 137th Psalm (‘By Babylon’s Wave’), the 129th Psalm (‘Out of Darkness’), and especially the motet, ‘Gallia,’ with soprano solo—evidence a fund of pleasing melody that, while not ecclesiastical in feeling, lies close enough to the apprehension of the average listener to make his music deeply prized by lovers of sweet melody. The ‘Gallia’ (to words from the Lamentations of Jeremiah) is a lamentation over the disaster that befell his country in the war of 1870; it was written for soprano, chorus and orchestra and was first produced at the Albert Hall, London, May 1, 1871, at the opening of the International Exhibition. Théodore Dubois (born 1837), who was one of the many winners of the coveted Prix de Rome, on his return from Italy produced an important choral work, ‘The Seven Last Words of Christ’ (Les sept Paroles du Christ), on Good Friday, 1867, at St. Clotilde’s, of which he was then choir-master. The writer of melodious opera-music, Jules Massenet (1842-1912), has written one charming cantata, Narcisse (‘Narcissus’), for chorus and orchestra, that was produced in 1877. After 1880, however, choral works in the smaller forms became more numerous in France.

At the beginning of the last quarter of the nineteenth century elements of distinctive individuality began to creep into English cantata-music and assert themselves more and more. Out of the mass of cantatas that came into being to feed the choral appetites of the vast number of English singing societies and festivals, works of impressive beauty and fine workmanship appeared that would reflect credit on the choral literature of any nation. English composers have seized upon the ballad, the legend and the fairy-tale, upon scenes from secular and sacred history, and have exercised especial industry in using them as material for choral works. Their number is so great that but a few can be named.

Arthur Seymour Sullivan (1842-1900) is best known in the field of cantata by the ‘Golden Legend,’ though it was preceded by two others, ‘Kenilworth,’ written in 1864 for the Birmingham Festival, and ‘The Martyr of Antioch,’ in 1875, for the Leeds Festival.

‘The Golden Legend’ received its first presentation at the Leeds Musical Festival in 1886. The text consists of those portions of Longfellow’s poem which concern Elsie and Prince Henry. Joseph Bennett, who acted as librettist, has arranged these into six scenes with a prologue and epilogue. The prologue describes the attempts of Lucifer and his spirits to tear down the cross from the spire of Strassburg Cathedral, Lucifer being a baritone, his spirits sopranos and altos, and the bells tenors and basses. In the opening scene of the legend Prince Henry in his chamber sings ‘I cannot sleep.’ This is followed by the temptation duet with Lucifer, which ends with an angels’ chorus. In Scene II Ursula, Elsie’s mother, sits before her cottage and sings an evening song and the villagers are heard in a beautiful choral hymn, ‘O gladsome light.’ In the following dialogue Elsie discloses her decision to offer her life for the prince and then sings the beautiful prayer, ‘My Redeemer and my Lord.’

Scene III is on the road to Salerno; Henry and Elsie sing a graceful duet, ‘Sweet is the air with budding haws’; pilgrims pass, intoning a Latin hymn, and Lucifer, among them, utters his mocking lines, ‘Here am I, too, in the pious band’; the prince’s song of greeting to the sea is heard, and also a sweet song by Elsie, ‘The night is calm and cloudless,’ effectively repeated with full chorus. Scene IV is at the Medical School at Salerno. Lucifer, disguised as Friar Angelo, leads Elsie away to her sacrifice, but she is rescued by the repentant prince. The music to this dramatic scene is most stirring. In Scene V, before Ursula’s cottage, a messenger recites the prince’s miraculous cure and Elsie’s safety; after which Ursula’s prayer of thanksgiving is heard, ‘Virgin, who lovest the poor and lowly.’ The last scene is at the Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine, on the evening of the wedding day. After a joyous duet by Prince Henry and his bride (now the Lady Alicia), there follows a choral epilogue, rising at the end to a great fugal climax.

Joseph Barnby’s (1838-1896) part-songs and church-music and his long experience as conductor of important choral societies gave him a large influence with an important section of English lovers of choral music. His choral pieces include the melodious psalm, ‘The Lord is King,’ written for the Leeds Festival of 1883, and the cantata ‘Rebekah,’ which he characterizes as a ‘sacred idyll.’

‘Rebekah’ was written in 1870 and is undoubtedly his finest work. It deals with the wooing of Rebekah by Isaac as related in the Scriptures and done into verse by Arthur Matthison. The first and last choruses disclose some effective modern fugue-writing that is melodious and expressive as well as contrapuntally interesting. The last chorus, especially, builds up to a massive and vocally brilliant climax. Probably the best-known number is Isaac’s solo, the favorite tenor aria, ‘The soft southern breeze plays around me.’

Alfred Robert Gaul (1837-1913) is the composer of many pleasing and popular cantatas, mostly on sacred subjects, the most widely known of which are ‘The Holy City,’ ‘Ruth,’ ‘The Ten Virgins’ and ‘Joan of Arc.’

Sir John Stainer (1840-1901) writes in a more serious style, but yet more suited to church choirs than to large choral bodies. ‘The Daughter of Jairus,’ ‘The Crucifixion’ (A Meditation for Passion Week), and ‘St. Mary Magdalen’ are his more familiar cantatas.

Frederic Hymen Cowen (born 1852) has been a prolific writer of cantatas, no fewer than seven having come from his pen. They are ‘The Rose Maiden’ (1870), ‘The Corsair’ (1876), ‘St. Ursula’ (1881), ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ (1885), ‘St. John’s Eve’ (1889), ‘The Water Lily’ (1893), and ‘The Transfiguration’ (1895). Some of these, particularly ‘The Rose Maiden,’ have attained wide popularity because of their easy, fluent melody and pleasing part-writing.

VI

It remained for three Englishmen, all born within five years of each other—Mackenzie (1847), Parry (1848) and Stanford (1852)—to break away from the traditions of English choral music and to venture to say their musical thoughts in their own way. The point of departure from the old to the new paths bases itself squarely on the work of this trio. Cowen and Cordor (both born in 1852) added nothing of importance to the musical means of expression employed by this trio, but Elgar (born in 1857) has carried forward English choral music to heights never before attained. The decade between 1847 and 1857, therefore, is memorable in English musical history in having witnessed the birth of the men who are most responsible for the remarkable revolution in the character of English choral music witnessed in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. It is a curious coincidence that the ode, a form cultivated with such industrious zeal by early English composers, should have appealed with great force to all of the trio mentioned above, as a musical form worthy of revival. No less than fourteen odes came from their pens.

When the first important choral work of Charles Hubert H. Parry (b. 1848), scenes from Shelley’s ‘Prometheus Unbound,’ was produced at the Gloucester Festival of 1880, its new tone of confident assertion was recognized as the beginning of a new era in English music, though its success with the public was very small. Works of impressive significance followed in quick succession and he became a figure of dominant importance in English musical life. In addition to three oratorios and several works combining symphonic and choral forms, he has written an imposing list of shorter choral works. The ordinary form of the cantata has little appeal for him, and none of his choral works is so named. ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin,’ however, is really a cantata in feeling, even though it requires very slight solo work. He reaches superb heights of sustained expression in some of his odes—he wrote ten in all—that stamp his choral writing with qualities of superlative excellence, among which are perfect accentuation, mastery of expressive counterpoint and remarkable handling of large tonal masses so as to produce the greatest effects of sonority and breadth. These qualities appear with conspicuous force in his famous ‘Blest Pair of Sirens,’ an ode by John Milton, set for eight-part chorus and orchestra, and first sung in 1887 by the Bach Choir. Other choral works before 1900 that added greatly to his reputation are ‘The Glories of Our Blood and State,’ a funeral ode by James Shirley, produced at the Gloucester Festival of 1883, ‘Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day’ (poem by Pope) at Leeds, 1889, L’Allegro ed il Penseroso (poem by Milton) at Norwich, 1890, ‘Invocation to Music’ (ode in memory of Purcell by Robert Bridges) at Leeds, 1895, and ‘The Lotus-Eaters,’ a choral song, 1892.

With the exception of ‘The Witch’s Daughter,’ performed at the Leeds Festival of 1904, all of the cantatas and shorter choral works of Alexander Campbell Mackenzie (born 1847) fall within the period covered by the present chapter. Attention was first attracted to his fine command of choral technique by ‘The Bride,’ a cantata founded on a poem by the German poet, Hamerling, and performed at the Gloucester Festival of 1881. Possibly his highest point of artistic effectiveness is reached in his fine Veni, Creator Spiritus, set to Dryden’s paraphrase and produced at the Birmingham Festival, 1891. Burns’ ‘The Cotter’s Saturday Night’ furnished inspiration for one of his most characteristic works (for chorus only) and naturally appealed strongly to his national feeling and idiom. His other cantatas include ‘Jason’ (Bristol Festival, 1882), ‘The Story of Sayid’ (Leeds, 1886), founded on Edwin Arnold’s ‘Pearls of the Faith,’ and the ‘Dream of Jubal’ (Liverpool Philharmonic, 1889). In the last-named cantata he employs a reciter in addition to soloists and chorus.

The cumulative effect of the artistic activity of the notable trio named above may find partial explanation in the fact that together they represent the three dominant national branches of the United Kingdom—Parry the Englishman, Mackenzie the Scotchman and Stanford the Irishman. The works of these three brilliant exponents of British music reveal many idioms traceable to their respective racial characteristics. In the two choral ballads of Charles Villiers Stanford (born 1852)—‘The Voyage of Maeldune’ (Leeds Festival, 1889), poem by Tennyson, and ‘Phaudrig Crohoore’ (Norwich Festival, 1896), poem by J. S. Le Fanu—traits of Irish folk-song appear on many a page and lend to the music individuality and a fragrant beauty. Indeed, he has achieved some of his greatest successes in his choral ballads. His splendid setting of Tennyson’s ‘The Revenge’ (Leeds Festival, 1896), with its snappy, breezy and, withal, brilliant style, tempted him to set another nautical ballad, Campbell’s ‘The Battle of the Baltic,’ which, however, is hardly as effective. His style is more eclectic than that of his two great contemporaries, combining some of the best German and English qualities with his own individual mode of utterance. His oratorios will be mentioned in another place. He has made very notable contributions to sacred and church music, especially liturgical music.

VII

Sir Edward Elgar’s[71] position as not only the leader among English composers of the present, but as one of the greatest of contemporary creative musicians, is amply buttressed by a series of works in orchestral and choral fields, which, though not conspicuous by its length, is remarkable for the strength and originality of their musical ideas, the vigor of treatment and the supreme command which the composer displays over the technical means of expression. Most of his greatest works are discussed in other sections of this series, yet it was in the field of cantata that his name first rose to prominence and the English festivals furnished the occasion, as in the case of so many other English composers. ‘The Black Knight’ had found a respectful hearing at the Worcester Festival of 1893 and the ‘Scenes from the Bavarian Highlands’ at the same Festival in 1896, but the production of the ‘Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf’ at the North Staffordshire Festival at Hanley in 1896 created a profound impression and its remarkable success raised his name at once to a place among the great ones of music. ‘The Banner of St. George’ followed in 1897 and ‘Caractacus,’ the finest of his cantatas, in 1898.

‘The Black Knight,’ for chorus and orchestra, is a setting of Longfellow’s translation of Uhland’s poem, Der schwarze Ritter, and the music with virile urgency sets forth the dramatic incidents of this ballad of the mysterious ‘sable knight,’ whose visit at the court festivities of an ancient king caused the sudden death of the king’s two children. Elgar’s maturer style is clearly foreshadowed in this early work.

‘The Banner of St. George,’ a ballad for chorus and orchestra, with text by Shapcott Wensley, was inspired by the occasion of the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897 and was performed the same year. The poem is divided into two scenes, dealing with the deliverance of a princess from the dragon by the valiant Saint George of Sabra, and an epilogue in which Elgar makes characteristic use of a stirring ‘marching’ melody, to words of patriotic sentiment, in building up a rousing choral climax.

‘Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf’ is a setting of Longfellow’s words with additions and connecting passages by H. A. Acworth. The vigorous and individual style of the preceding works here finds full fruition and Elgar stands forth as a matured creator, full armed and conscious of his strength. The poetical selections are grouped into eight scenes with introduction and epilogue. These include the remarkably strong and dramatic ‘Challenge of Thor,’ as the Norse god hurls defiance at the Christian religion; King Olaf’s return to Norway and his acceptance of the challenge; the breaking of the image of Thor and the conversion of Olaf’s subjects; ‘The Wraith of Odin,’ a stirring choral ballad relating the mysterious visit of the spirit of Odin to the banquet hall; the wooing of Sigrid, queen of Svithiod, by King Olaf, which is preceded by a charming chorus of the minstrel maids of the queen; the choral ballad of Thyri, sister of Svend, the Danish king, who flees from her betrothed to King Olaf’s court for protection—one of the finest parts of the cantata—followed by the lovely duet of Thyri and Olaf; and the death of Olaf in the fierce sea-battle with the Danes, thrillingly related by the chorus. In the epilogue the efficacy of Christian love in converting the world is contrasted with that of the sword and gives occasion to Elgar for constructing a choral climax, beginning a cappella with the words, ‘As torrents in summer, half dried in their channels,’ that for simple beauty and sustained power of expression has few equals in choral literature. Three solo voices are added to the choral forces at the end.

‘Caractacus,’ written to the poem by H. A. Acworth for the Leeds Musical Festival of 1898, stands in the natural progressive order of his secular cantatas as the strongest of the series and, in many respects, the most remarkable of its class in any country or period. Elgar, in this and later choral works, appears in the double rôle of symphonist and choral writer, for the orchestra frequently rises into momentary preëminence and overshadows the choral machinery as a medium of expression. ‘Caractacus’ must be thought of in its orchestral coloring in order to grasp its full strength and beauty, for Elgar is a master of all modern orchestral resources.

This cantata was written at the composer’s home at Malvern in the immediate environment of the stirring scenes related in its score and enacted in ancient times by the heroic defenders of British freedom, for it was at Malvern Hills on the Welsh frontier that Caractacus made his final stand against the legions of Rome. The work is in six scenes, the first depicting Caractacus and his warriors in his British camp at Malvern Hills at night. It opens after a short orchestral introduction with the stirring chorus, ‘Watchmen, alert!’ The king’s daughter Eigen and her betrothed Orbin break in upon the sad reveries of the disheartened monarch and their recital of the warning of the Druid maiden ushers in the beautiful trio sung by Eigen, Orbin and Caractacus, ‘At eve to the greenwood we wandered away.’ As they depart, the Spirits of the Hills sing a calm benediction, ‘Rest, weary monarch,’ one of the loveliest choral portions of the work, scored with consummate skill for both chorus and orchestra. The second scene shifts the action to the sacred oak grove and deals with the rites of the Druids as they cast the omens. There is a mystic dance of the Druid-maidens, ‘Tread the measure left and right,’ which is an inspiration of enthralling beauty and rhythmic grace but which never loses a certain solemn dignity. As the dance ceases, there follows the impassioned invocation to Taranis. The king enters, the Arch-Druid deceives him as to the omens, Orbin protests, but is cursed and driven forth by the Druids. The close of the scene is built up around the vigorous soldiers’ chorus, ‘Leap to the light, my brand of fight,’ and the contrasting chorus of Druids as they call down curses on Orbin. The third scene pictures the parting of the lovers as Orbin joins the force of Caractacus. It opens with a graceful rustic chorus of youths and maidens who are with Eigen, twining wreaths of flowers, ‘Come beneath our woodland bow’rs.’ The scene closes with the beautiful duet of the parting lovers. The fourth scene is again on Malvern Hills and Eigen and her maidens anxiously discuss the rumors of distant battle. The return of Caractacus and the remnants of his defeated army brings this part to a close with the impressive lament of Caractacus (in 7-pulse measure) accompanied by the chorus of warriors. Soon afterwards Caractacus and his family are betrayed to the enemy and scene five, which is short, relates the embarking of the British captives in Roman galleys. The final scene is the triumphal procession in Rome, beginning with a pompous orchestral march followed by full chorus and dramatic solos by the captives—Caractacus, Eigen and Orbin. Their bold independence and intrepid defense before the tribunal of the emperor, Claudius, win pardon and an honored home in Rome. The subject is one that might well appeal to a British composer, and Elgar, with magnificent effect, seizes the opportunity to add a stirring epilogue—‘The clang of arms is over’—which unfolds, as it develops, some pages of patriotic sentiment (‘Britons, alert!’) that are thrilling in their majestic power.

VIII

Musical history has often been called upon to record the fact that a gifted composer’s firstling has been his best. In the case of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912) his creative imagination never again reached such fine heights of inspired effort as those attained in its first flight. His greatest work is undoubtedly the cantata, ‘Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast’—the first of the ‘Hiawatha’ trilogy—performed November 11, 1898, at the Royal College of Music, London, while the composer was still a student at this institution. The second part of the trilogy, ‘The Death of Minnehaha,’ was brought out in 1899 at the North Staffordshire Festival, and the third, ‘Hiawatha’s Departure,’ made its first public appearance at a concert of the Royal Choral Society, at Albert Hall, March 22, 1900. Two months later the overture to the entire work received its initial performance. The text for the whole trilogy is selected from Longfellow’s familiar ‘The Song of Hiawatha.’ This poem, which handles with childlike simplicity and directness the emotions and experiences of a primitive race, seems to have struck deep into the soul of this Anglo-African composer and he has imbued the score, especially of the first part, with an atmosphere of individuality possessed by none of its successors. He touched a new vein here which he was not able to inject with equal success into his other works. The score abounds in concise, characteristic and striking themes, many of which are treated in the manner of ‘leading-motives.’

‘Scenes from the Song of Hiawatha.’—The first part of the trilogy is ‘Hiawatha’s Wedding-Feast,’ for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra. ‘Sumptuous was the feast Nakomis made at Hiawatha’s wedding’ and the detailed description includes not only the banquet itself but the entertainment which followed, how Pau-Puk-Keewis danced,

‘How the gentle Chibiabos,
He the sweetest of musicians,
Sang his songs of love and longing;
How Iagoo, the great boaster,
Told his tales of strange adventure.’

Chibiabos’ song, the beautiful tenor solo, ‘Onaway, awake, beloved!’ is one of the gems of the whole trilogy.

The second part—‘The Death of Minnehaha,’ for soprano and baritone solos, chorus and orchestra—begins with the description of the ‘long and dreary winter! the cold and cruel winter!’ and continues with the pathetic story of the wasting famine and the fever, how Minnehaha shuddered at the words of the two uninvited guests, ‘lay down on her bed in silence,’ how Hiawatha plunged into the forest in search of food only to return ‘empty-handed, heavy-hearted.’ Then follows the death and burial of Minnehaha and the lament of Hiawatha. The pathos of the words is given striking setting in the music, particularly in the opening chorus, ‘O the long and dreary winter!’ and in Hiawatha’s noble lament, ‘Farewell, O Minnehaha!’ which the chorus gently echoes after him. The chief share of the work is allotted to the chorus.

The third part—‘Hiawatha’s Departure,’ for soprano, tenor and baritone solos, chorus and orchestra—is the longest of the three and has more opportunity for varied effects. Reminiscences of themes from the preceding parts give pleasing thematic unity to the whole work. It begins with the return of spring and with it Iagoo, the great traveller, ‘full of new and strange adventures.’ He relates to an incredulous audience how he saw a water ‘bigger than the Big-Sea-Water’ and on it a tall canoe with great wings, ‘bigger than a grove of pine-trees,’ in which were warriors ‘painted white.’ Hiawatha, of all the listeners, laughed not, for he had seen the same things in a vision. He tells them of the coming of the white men and prophesies their achievements and the downfall of the Indian race. Then follows, in simple narrative, Hiawatha’s welcome to the white men and the missionary priest who came with them to tell the message of the Saviour; Hiawatha’s touching farewell to Nakomis and his people (‘I am going, O my people, on a long and distant journey. To the portals of the Sunset, to the regions of the home-wind’); and his departure in the birch canoe as he ‘sailed into the fiery sunset, To the Islands of the Blessed, to the land of the Hereafter!’ Musically the third part is unequal to the others in the strength of its appeal, yet at the close, Hiawatha’s tender words of parting and the answering farewell of the people are written in the virile and characteristic mood of the first part. The solo voices assume a larger share of work than in the other parts.

Coleridge-Taylor’s other choral works were of course in demand after the success of his first one, but, though received with favor, they do not measure up to the first, nor did they make the deep impression of the ‘Hiawatha’ music.

IX

The United States did not enter the list of cantata and oratorio producing nations until the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Before that time W. B. Bradbury, J. A. Butterfield, A. Hamerik, George F. Root and others had prepared the way for their successors by choral works of a simple, popular character suited to the musical conditions of their time. On account of the number, musical quality, size and extensive influence of his choral works, Dudley Buck may justly be accorded the honor of being the first important choral writer in America.

The influence of Dudley Buck (1839-1909) in the field of church-music was probably stronger and more fundamental and lasting than in that of concert choral music, for the needs of American church-music could not be met, as could those of choral societies, by mere importation of foreign-made music. Yet his concert choral works are quite numerous. They include the 46th Psalm, written for the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, 1872; ‘Don Munio,’ a dramatic cantata written in 1874, whose story is taken from Washington Irving’s Spanish papers and deals with the wars and loves of the Moorish period; four cantatas for male voices—‘King Olaf’s Christmas,’ ‘The Nun of Nidaros’ (1878), ‘The Voyage of Columbus’ (1885) and ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’; ‘The Centennial Meditation of Columbia,’ written for the Centennial Exposition and performed at Philadelphia, May 10, 1876; ‘The Golden Legend,’ to which was awarded the prize offered by the Cincinnati May Festival Association for the best work by an American and which received its initial performance at the Festival in 1880; and his largest and most pretentious choral work, ‘The Light of Asia.’

‘The Golden Legend’ is, like Sullivan’s cantata of the same name, a setting of a portion of Longfellow’s ‘Christus.’ The text is divided into a prologue, twelve scenes and an epilogue. The story is identical with that of Sullivan’s cantata already mentioned and the music on the whole rises to a higher plane of excellence. Especially effective and deservedly well-known is Elsie’s prayer in the fifth scene (‘My Redeemer and my Lord’), an aria breathing a deep religious feeling and filled with calm beauty. Buck is at his best in such numbers as the simple hymn for unaccompanied quartet (‘O gladsome light of the Father’), Elsie’s charming aria in the ninth scene (‘The night is calm and cloudless’ with a choral refrain of Kyrie eleison), and the love-duet between Elsie and Prince Henry in the twelfth scene.

‘The Light of Asia’ was written in 1886, published in London and performed there for the first time in St. James’s Hall, March 19, 1889. The well-known poem by Sir Edwin Arnold naturally lends itself to elaborate treatment and the composer has done it full justice, constructing on its strong lines a work that approaches the dimensions and character of an oratorio. The initial fugal chorus (‘Below the highest sphere four regents sit’), foretelling the birth of the child Buddha who ‘shall deliver men from ignorance,’ establishes at once the broad massive outlines of the work. After the King has conferred with his ministers as to a remedy for the seriousness of Prince Siddârtha and, on their advice, has summoned a court of pleasure at which the most beautiful maidens are to teach him love, there follows a lovely duet describing the meeting and recognition of the Prince and the fair Yasôdhara, and the part closes with a jubilant wedding chorus, ‘Enter, thrice happy!’ The second part—‘The Renunciation’—describes the sensuous life of the Orient, the awakening of Siddârtha from this life of love and joy to his mission, his six long years of wandering, his victorious struggles with the varied temptations of ‘the fiends who war with Wisdom and the Light.’ The third part—‘The Return’—relates the sorrows of the lonely Yasôdhara and the return of the wandering Siddârtha as a Buddha, dressed in the yellow garb of a hermit, begging alms, yet greeted by his people with glad acclaim. The epilogue and final chorus (‘Before beginning and without an end’) is the choral climax of the whole work, constructed with fine musicianship and majestic in its effect. Important solo duties are assigned to the Prince, his wife Yasôdhara and his father, the King.

Dr. Leopold Damrosch (1832-1885), who occupied a position of great influence in the musical life of New York City, wrote two important choral works that were published in this country—‘Ruth and Naomi’ (1870), a Scriptural idyl, and ‘Sulamith’ (The Song of Songs), which was performed for the first time by the Oratorio Society, New York, in April, 1882. Other short choral works written by Americans in the period now under consideration were ‘Prayer and Praise,’ the Forty-sixth Psalm (Cincinnati Festival prize, 1882), and ‘The Rose,’ by William Wallace Gilchrist (born 1846); ‘The Culprit Fay’ (1879) and ‘Praise of Harmony’ (1886) by Frederick Grant Gleason (1848-1903); ‘Phœbus Arise’ (1882), ‘The Nativity’ (1883) and ‘The Realm of Fancy’ (1884) by John Knowles Paine (1839-1906); ‘The Tale of the Viking’ (1879) and ‘Henry of Navarre’ (1885) by George Elbridge Whiting (born 1842).

The choral works from the pen of Arthur Foote (b. 1853) are not numerous, but they are fine in musical quality and workmanship. There are only three of them and all are settings of poems by Longfellow—‘The Farewell of Hiawatha’ (1879), a ballad for baritone solo, male chorus and orchestra, ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’ for mixed voices and ‘The Skeleton in Armor.’

George Whitfield Chadwick (b. 1854) has written more voluminously in the smaller choral forms, all of his writing being distinguished by a keen feeling for vocal values and a rich harmonic sense. His chief works in cantata form are ‘The Viking’s Last Voyage’ for baritone solo, male chorus and orchestra, 1880 (Boston Apollo Club, 1881); ‘Lovely Rosabelle’ for solos, mixed chorus and orchestra, 1889 (Boston Orchestral Club, 1890); Phœnix Expirans, 1891 (Springfield Festival, 1892); ‘Columbian Ode,’ 1892, written for the dedication of the buildings of the World’s Fair, Chicago, May, 1893; ‘The Lily Nymph,’ 1895 (Springfield Festival, 1896); and Ecce jam noctis, 1897, written for the commencement exercises of Yale University, 1897, on the occasion of his receiving from Yale the honorary degree of Master of Arts.

Horatio William Parker (b. 1863) has been a prolific writer of choral works, both before 1900 and since that date, and, through his skilful handling of vocal masses and a superb contrapuntal technique, has won for himself a foremost place among living masters of choral writing. While a student under Rheinberger at Munich, two of his choral works, ‘The Ballad of a Knight and his Daughter’ (1884) and ‘King Trojan’ (1885), were given public performance there and were later published. ‘The Ballad of the Normans’ (Normannenzug) for male chorus and orchestra appeared in 1889; ‘The Kobolds’ (poem by Arlo Bates) for chorus and orchestra was performed at the Springfield (Mass.) Festival in May, 1891; ‘Harold Harfagar’ for chorus and orchestra was performed in 1891 in New York; ‘The Dream-King and his Love’ (poem by Geibel) for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra won a prize in 1893 offered by the National Conservatory of Music in New York City, of which Dvořák was then director and in which the composer was a teacher; ‘The Holy Child,’ a Christmas cantata, was published in 1893; and ‘A Wanderer’s Psalm’ was written for and performed at the Hereford Festival, England, in 1900. A composition which finely illustrates his great ability in handling problems of vocal counterpoint is his motet for double chorus a cappella, Adstant angelorum chori (poem by Thomas à Kempis), which won the prize given by the Musical Art Society of New York City in 1898.

Mrs. H. H. A. Beach (b. 1867) has written several small choral works that have found well-merited favor, among them ‘The Minstrel and the King’ for tenor and baritone solos, male chorus and orchestra, ‘The Rose of Avontown,’ a ballad for soprano solo and female chorus, ‘The Chambered Nautilus’ for female chorus, and ‘Sylvania’ for mixed chorus.

Among other small choral works of serious content and fine workmanship belonging to this period must be mentioned a fine motet by Arthur Whiting (b. 1861) for double chorus a cappella, ‘O God, my heart is ready’ (words selected from the Psalms).

FOOTNOTES:

[71] Born 1857.

CHAPTER VII
EARLY AND CLASSICAL ORATORIOS

Origin of oratorio in the sacred drama of Italy—Cavalieri: ‘The Representation of Soul and Body’—Carissimi: ‘Jephthah’—Scarlatti; Stradella; other early oratorio writers—Development of oratorio in Germany; Passion-music and its development; Schütz: ‘The Seven Last Words of Christ’; ‘The Passion Oratorio’; ‘The Resurrection’—J. S. Bach: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘Passion according to St. Matthew’; Graun: ‘The Death of Jesus’; other writers of Passion-music—Handel and the oratorio; ‘The Messiah’—‘Israel in Egypt’; ‘Judas Maccabæus’; ‘Samson,’ etc.—Haydn: ‘The Creation’; ‘The Seasons.’

The early oratorio had many of the essential characteristics possessed by its modern derivative. It always dealt with sacred subjects (the modern oratorio, however, frequently concerns itself with secular themes), it was almost always dramatic and its musical apparatus consisted of the usual four solo voices and the chorus with instrumental accompaniment.

In the liturgic drama of the Roman Church must be sought the origin of the oratorio, which, in a musically coherent form, appeared at about the same time with the opera, as the spiritual counterpart of its secular companion, making a devotional and intellectual appeal in place of the sensual. In the mediæval church two forms of the mass were in use side by side: the Roman office, which was mainly celebrated by the priest, and the Gallican Mass, a freer form, in which the people largely participated. Quite naturally the divergence between the two became marked and during the twelfth century the Gallican Mass was reformed with regard to lay participation. In order, however, that the people, who were attached to a form in which they took so direct a part, might be compensated for this exclusion, dramatic representations were devised, based on the Scriptures, all with reference to the great church festivals, especially that of Holy Week. In these the germ of the idea of the oratorio is to be found. These dramatic representations took the form of mysteries and miracle plays—dramatic versions of Scriptural episodes, with music, both sacred and secular, introduced to heighten their effect—as well as moralities, in which Christian virtues and mental qualities were treated allegorically. They included processionals of the type of the ancient Festum Asinorum (‘The Ass’s Festival’), commemorating the flight of the Holy Family into Egypt, which was annually celebrated at Beauvais and Sens as early as the twelfth century, and in which the celebrated carol, Prose de l’Ane (‘Hymn of the Ass’), still preserved, was the central feature.

With the monodic revolution which was inaugurated at the close of the sixteenth century and which marked the beginning of opera, the history of oratorio as a distinctly musical rather than a liturgic art-form may be said to begin. The sacred musical drama was generally staged in the vestry or vestibule of church or convent—its ‘oratory’—and in course of time the term oratorio was applied to this music. In the oratory of St. Filippo Neri’s church in Rome (S. Girolamo della Charità) Animuccia’s settings of laudi spirituali (sacred songs of praise) had already been sung in the sixteenth century; and the fact that these hymns were often used in connection with Biblical recitations is not without direct influence on the development of the form.

I

Yet it was not until the performance of Emilio del Cavalieri’s Rappresentazione di anima e di corpo (Rome, in February, 1600), in which Time, Life, The World, Pleasure, Intellect, The Soul and The Body appeared, that the first actual oratorio was heard in germinal shape, during the same year that witnessed the world première of all opera with Peri’s Euridice, which took place in Florence in December.

There was practically no difference in form between the first operas and the earliest oratorios, a statement borne out by the fact that Domenico Mazzocchi’s Querimonia di S. Maria Maddelena rivalled Monteverdi’s Lamento d’Arianna in popularity. Both opera and oratorio were constructed, musically, in the self-same way. Both were made up of recitative and arias, of choral and instrumental numbers, and both began with an overture. The angelic choruses of the first oratorios were musically synonymous with the bacchic choruses of the early operas. The difference between them lay only in the choice of subject-matter. And throughout the seventeenth century this continued to be the case, speaking generally, despite a certain divergence of viewpoint which had already made itself felt. How ‘operatic’ in character Cavalieri’s sacred score was, is proven by its composer’s employment of children as dramatis personæ, by the division of his work into acts, and by the use of worldly intermezzos, pantomimes and ballets. Interesting is the composer’s anticipation of Wagner at Bayreuth in his stage directions relegating his orchestra to a place ‘behind the scenes’ and out of sight. This orchestra, primitive in character, consisted of a double lyre, a harpsichord, a large guitar and two flutes. The use of the violin was recommended, though it was not insisted upon.

Cavalieri’s stage directions for the performance of his sacred drama are so interesting and throw so much light on the dramatic character of the early oratorio that they are quoted here, nearly in full, from Dr. Burney’s ‘History of Music’:

(1) ‘The words should be printed, with verses correctly arranged, the scenes numbered, and the characters of interlocutors specified.

(2) ‘Instead of the Overture or Symphony to modern musical drama, a madrigal is recommended, as a full piece, with all the parts doubled, and a greater number of instruments.

(3) ‘When the curtain rises, two youths, who recite the Prologue, appear on the stage; and when they have done, Time, one of the Characters in the Morality, comes on, and has the note with which he is to begin given him by the instrumental performers behind the scenes.

(4) ‘The Chorus are to have a place allotted to them on the stage, part sitting and part standing, in sight of the principal characters; and, when they sing, they are to rise and be in motion, with proper gestures.

(5) ‘Pleasure, another imaginary character, and two companions, are to have instruments in their hands, on which they are to play while they sing and perform ritornelles.

(6) ‘Il Corpo, the Body, when these words are uttered, Si che hormia alma mia, etc., may throw away some of his ornaments, as his gold collar, feather from his hat, etc.

(7) ‘The World and Human Life in particular, are to be gaily and richly dressed; and when they are divested of their trappings, to appear very poor and wretched, and at length dead carcasses.

(8) ‘The Symphonies and Ritornelles may be played by a great number of instruments; and, if a violin should play the principal part, it would have a good effect.

(9) ‘The performance may be finished with or without a dance. If without, the last chorus is to be doubled in all its parts, vocal and instrumental; but, if a dance is preferred, a verse beginning thus: Chiostri altissimi e stellati, is to be sung, accompanied sedately and reverently by the dance. These shall succeed other grave steps and figures of the solemn kind. During the ritornelles, the four principal dancers are to form a ballet, saltato con capriole, enlivened with capers or entrechats, without singing, and thus, after each stanza, always varying the steps of the dance; and the four principal dancers may sometimes use the galiard, sometimes the canary, and sometimes the courant step, which will do very well in the ritornelles.

(10) ‘The stanzas of the ballet are to be sung and played by all performers within and without.’

As a matter of fact Cavalieri’s work was in reality a sacred opera, not an oratorio. Contemporaries of Cavalieri, Agostino Manni (Rappresentazione del Figliuol Prodigo), Anerio (Teatro armonico spirituale), Pietro della Valle (Esther, La Purificazione) and, somewhat later, Domenico Mazzocchi, Luigi Rossi, Ludovico Bellanda, Vittorio Loreto (La Pellegrina Constante, Sacre d’Abramo), Francesco Balducci (La Fede) and others, represent tentative gropings toward a more artistically satisfying formal and musical development of the oratorio.

II

The slow revival of choral art quite naturally found in sacred subjects the material best suited to treatment, not alone because of earlier sixteenth century associations, but also because such subjects did not over-encourage dramatic realism. Yet even Carissimi (1604-1674) had but little success in his efforts to establish a loftier spiritual standard in oratorio. He did much to perfect the recitative, and to add charm and variety to the instrumental accompaniment; he set aside the theatrical presentation, often gave dramatic details to a ‘narrator’ and laid more weight on the choral element. His music has real quality and beauty; yet the secular idea persists in his works and defeats his attempts to turn Scriptural dramatic representations into genuine church-music. Despite this, his work is valuable as a stepping stone—he was the first to write music which held out hopes of a future for the oratorio as a distinct art-form.

Giacomo Carissimi, from 1628 to the time of his death choir-master of the Appolinare Church in Rome, was already renowned as a teacher and composer in 1650. It was in this year that Athanasius Kirchner, in his celebrated Musurgia universalis, a quaint mixture of scientific knowledge and childish hearsay, introduced Carissimi, with an analysis of his Jephta, to a wider circle as the perfect oratorio-composer. Nor is it without reason that Carissimi has been termed the Handel of the seventeenth century. His oratorios Jonas, Jephta, Job, Diluvium universalis, etc., he called historie, and the Biblical text on which they were founded was liberally interspersed with poetic supplementary matter to allow for the introduction of little arias and martial, elegiac or popular incidental choruses. The text was still Latin, though after Carissimi’s time the oratorio volgare, so called because it was sung in Italian and was thus distinguished from the Latin oratorio, supplanted the latter in popular favor.

Jephta is, perhaps, Carissimi’s most characteristic work. It employs a Biblical subject, like all his other works of the kind, for Carissimi adhered strictly to this conception of oratorio, though many of his contemporaries shaped their cantatas and oratorios around the life of some saint. In Jephta, too, as in all the composer’s oratorios, the musical stress is laid on the choruses. These are not written in the style of the polyphonic madrigal, but in a simple chordal setting whose rhythm is conditioned by the word-accents. The fugue is absent, imitation and canon are suggested only in the duets. In nearly all cases the chorus serves to develop the dramatic idea. In the oratorio of the time, chorus is, in general, opposed to chorus, with the occasional relief of solo voices. Yet Carissimi secures considerable movement and variety by dividing more extended portions of his text into short sections, first sung by one or more solo voices and then taken up by the choruses en masse. Excellent examples of this procedure are to be found in his Diluvium universalis and Dives malus.

Naturally, the harmonic structure of Jephta and the companion oratorios of Carissimi seems almost pathetically simple to the modern ear, accustomed to the richness of chromatic harmonization. His modulations, save in a few instances, such as the chorus Abit in montes of Jephta, are restricted to the keys of the upper and lower dominant. This lack, however, was not perceptible to listeners of the composer’s own generation. They enjoyed the rhythmic vitality and dramatic truth of his works, the vivid descriptive quality of the shipwreck music in Jonas, the idyllic charm of the two-voice movements to which the playmates of Jephthah’s daughter dance their rounds. And in Jephta the composer often gained a depth of pathos worthy of a really great singer’s rendering. Such a number is the Plorate colles, a model of expressive writing. It was from this Plorate that Handel borrowed twelve measures to use in ‘Hear, Jacob’s God,’ in his ‘Samson.’

All in all, Carissimi may be held to have laid down the lines along which the Handelian oratorio was later to develop. As a contrapuntal writer his great merit lay in the adaptation of the polyphonic idea to the new conceptions of tonality. He stands for the introduction of a more serious musicianship in oratorio work, and his influence was noticeably great and made itself felt in the works of his successors up to Handel’s time. Among these men who carried on his work (though often they were mainly active in the operatic or instrumental fields), two in particular stand forth, Alessandro Stradella (d. 1681) and Alessandro Scarlatti (d. 1725). These two men, in a manner, sum up the activity of many others, of Provencale, Vitali, Colonna, Leonardo Leo, G. B. Bononcini, Bassani, Ristocchi and Polaroli in Italy; of the Italian musicians in Vienna—Bertali, Draghi, Ariosto, Badia and M. A. Bononcini; and in Munich, Pietro Tosi. All of these composers wrote oratorios between the years 1650 and 1750 and developed in them the principles of Carissimi with more or less originality and success.

III

Alessandro Scarlatti, born in 1659 in Trapani, Sicily, the greatest representative of the Neapolitan school, was, it is asserted, a pupil of Carissimi. He wrote operas, cantatas, vocal and instrumental pieces by the hundred, and his oratorios alone number fourteen. Their titles show that he departed from his master’s strict adherence to Biblical subjects for his textual material. We have a Maddalena penitente, a Sacrificio d’Abramo, Agar et Ismaele esiliati, it is true, but also a San Casimiro, rè di Polonia, and a S. Filippo Neri. Like Carissimi he subordinated strict thematic counterpoint to the exigencies of a free and unconstrained leading of the voices, and with an added richness and elaboration of effect. He gave the aria a more definite structure, and made large use of rhythmic melody, in the manner of Gluck, to bring out the dramatic value of highly impassioned scenes, which in spoken drama would have appeared as monologue. Where lesser depths of feeling were to be plumbed, he used accompanied recitative and the recitativo secco mainly for the development of the narrative itself. This general scheme of arrangement has been followed by later composers down to our own day.

Perhaps his oratorio Il trionfo della grazia, composed in 1685, which was a favorite as late as the early years of the eighteenth century, gives us as good a general idea of his sacred music as any other. It was also known under the title of La Conversione di Maddalena, as in it the Magdalen makes her appearance as a species of apple of discord between ‘Youth’ and ‘Penitence.’ In clever contrast such opposites as Gravity and Heedlessness, The World’s Curse and The Joy of Life, are used to enhance the moral and musical effect of the work. The second section of the oratorio takes up the conversion of the penitent sinner, and the music which the Magdalen now sings, full of pathos and gravity, offers a piquant contrast to the jolly melodies, embroidered with coloratura and shakes, which were her part before. Particularly beautiful is an instrumental symphony (in the older sense of the word) which, after the heroine has said the words, ‘A penitent and faithful heart shall see the heavens open,’ is wonderfully suggestive of the kneeling of the penitent woman. Schering calls it a musical pendant to Ribera’s celebrated picture of St. Agnes, in the Dresden galleries.

In another of Scarlatti’s oratorios, Sedecia, rè di Gerusalemme[72] (1706), we meet with a splendidly effective use of orchestral means—always remembering that the orchestra of that day was not our present one. The introductory sinffonie is here nothing more or less than a violin concerto[73] in disguise, and the orchestra—consisting of obbligato and second violins, trumpets, tympani (especially prominent in the military music in Part I of the work) and oboes—takes an important part in the musical development from beginning to end. Among the vocal numbers might be instanced a particularly expressive duo between Anna and her son Ishmael (accompanied by an obbligato oboe); an aria of Ishmael’s, accompanied by two solo violins, and Sedecia’s two arias in Part II.

In this oratorio in particular, Scarlatti speaks with the accents of a master who is consciously striving toward the realization of a new ideal. It offers striking proof of the fact of how great Scarlatti might have become as a composer of oratorio had not opera so largely preëmpted his best efforts. The closing movement of Sedecia, a five-part chorus on broad lines, with incidental solo-quartet sections, recalls in its style the magnificent triumphal choruses of Handel’s oratorios. S. Casimiro, rè di Polonia (1713) also contains arias of great beauty; and written during the master’s last period of creative activity, La Vergine addolorata (1717) must be considered one of his finest works. A ‘Lament of Mary’ printed by Raf. Carreras in his El Oratorio Musical (1906), p. 188, approaches Bach in power and expressiveness.

The austere and serious power which Scarlatti infused into his sacred music was not attained by his immediate successors and contemporaries. But the master’s predilection for brilliancy and effect, when we compare his music with that of Purcell, though its greater dramatic interest and movement is incontestable, brought about, perhaps, a less degree of emotional expression and a less intimate touch in the portrayal of mood pictures.

Alessandro Stradella, born in Naples about 1645, was not as prolific a writer as Scarlatti, yet he left over 150 works (among them ten operas and eight oratorios) at the time of his early death—he is supposed to have been murdered in Genoa in 1681. He has much in common with Scarlatti. In Stradella’s works we find the same recurring suggestion of Handelian breadth and strength, and in general that freedom and grandeur of conceptive outlook which stamps the great composer.

Stradella’s best known oratorio is his S. Giovanni Battista (about 1676). Its great artistic merit lies in its plastic musical portrayals of the characters of Herod and his daughter, and in the happy use of fiery, dramatic melody to limn them in tone; for as a musical character-painter Stradella may be said to have been Scarlatti’s superior, although his influence on the development of the form was not so great as was that of his contemporary. The romantic details regarding his personal life, many of them undoubtedly apocryphal, which recur in every biography, do not seem to call for consideration here. It is his contribution to the music of the oratorio only with which we are concerned, and in this respect he deserves a place beside Scarlatti.

The numerous composers of oratorio who lead from Carissimi, through Scarlatti and Stradella, to Handel and his more immediate German predecessors, have nothing especially new to offer. Scarlatti and Stradella accomplished much in the direction of both musical and purely formal development, but they were unable to establish a distinct line of demarcation between oratorio and opera. Italian oratorio was practically not distinguishable from the Italian opera seria until as late as Mozart’s boyhood.

IV

Italian oratorio, by reason of its descent from the sacred church dramas and its close association with opera, has never been wholly able to break away from the element of recreation that was so conspicuous in its early use as a means of attracting people to attend church. And the complete separation between the recreational and religious elements did not take place until the oratorio passed out of the land of its birth into Germany, when it fused with the spirit of Passion-music and emerged a distinctly religious art-form. The connecting link between Italian oratorio and Germany was Giovanni Gabrieli, who, as the teacher of Heinrich Schütz, the greatest German musician of the seventeenth century, transmitted to his great pupil not only his technical mastery of the best of Netherland and Italian art-methods, but his own remarkable artistic sincerity and religious earnestness. It was Schütz who, from the different standpoint of Protestant faith as nurtured by the Lutheran Reformation, laid the foundations of modern oratorio.

Before tracing the influence of Schütz in shaping the future course of oratorio, it will be in place to sketch the origin and development of the Passion-music. The quasi-dramatic musical presentation of the Passion[74] is even more deeply rooted in the liturgy of the Roman Church than is the oratorio. It represents the artistic amplification of the reading of the Passion of our Lord, according to the evangels as prescribed by the church during Holy Week: on Palm Sunday the Passion according to St. Matthew, on Tuesday, St. Mark, on Wednesday, St. Luke, and on Good Friday, St. John. At an early period it had become customary to assign the narrative text and the words of Christ, of the Apostles, the High Priest and other individual characters to various singers, instead of having them read. During the period of the supremacy of Gregorian plain-song this mode of rendering this part of the liturgy resulted in the Passion chant (cantus passionis). This continued to be the only form used until the principles of polyphony were sufficiently developed to substitute a more elaborate form. Since the year 1200 and probably much earlier, the texts to be sung were divided among three priests, called ‘Deacons of the Passion,’ as follows: one chanted the words of Christ, another the narration of the Evangelist and a third the words of the apostles, the crowd, or others whose words are recorded. Passion-music, it will be observed, is much older than the oratorio and at the time that the latter began to assume shape and coherence, it already could boast of a considerable literature. When the monodic revolution brought about the development of the oratorio along lines similar to those of opera and encouraged the use of legends of the saints and Christian allegory as text matter, the Passion remained strictly bound to its original Biblical text, although the musical treatment of certain text portions in motet form (Passion Motets) was permitted. Not until the second half of the seventeenth century did Passion and oratorio in Italy draw near to each other, and only in the last quarter of the century was the story of the Passion utilized for the first time as subject-matter for a great oratorio.

Attilio Ariosti’s Passione (1693) is probably the first work of its kind in Italy to present this subject with due dramatic emphasis and the use of musically adequate popular choruses. G. A. Perti’s Passione (1685), on the other hand, is one of the type known as sepolcros, intended for devotional performance at a richly decorated Holy Sepulchre and serving principally as an excuse for tearfully exaggerated scenes of sorrow between Mary Magdalene and the disciples. After Ariosti’s Passione Italian Passion music in its best manifestations may be said to have been taken over into the oratorio proper, with little but its text to distinguish it from the latter.

When Luther constructed the liturgy of the Church which followed his religious leadership, he borrowed from the Roman ritual, among other things, the custom of singing to musical accompaniment the story of the trial and death of the Saviour. About the middle of the seventeenth century German composers[75] injected into the existing Italian form a new spiritual and musical fervor, and an emotional expressiveness which was eventually to culminate in the great Passions of Johann Sebastian Bach. By the end of the seventeenth century the Passion existed in three distinct forms—the chant, the motet and the oratorio. Schütz cultivated particularly the last two forms with wonderful results considering the musical vocabulary of his period, but the Passion-oratorio, with its greater musical and dramatic possibilities, was best adapted to serve the deep religious fervor of Bach’s inspiration and to attain its final development at his hands.

Heinrich Schütz (1585-1672), of Dresden, was the greatest of Bach’s predecessors as a composer of church-music. Familiar with the best music of Italy and a master of religious writing, he laid the foundation of the modern German oratorio. His ‘Resurrection,’ ‘Seven Last Words,’ and four ‘Passions’ represent the culmination of the form before Bach. Schütz, who has been called ‘the father of German music,’ was one of the greatest Psalm-writers of all times, though few of these compositions are so named but appear under such titles as ‘spiritual concertos,’ ‘sacred symphonies,’ motets, and ‘sacred choral music.’ Though his work was based on the Italian style, he was greatly influenced by Scandellus, one of his predecessors in Dresden as chapel-master of the Elector Johann Georg of Saxony. His finest choral works are the six mentioned above, all of which come under the general classification of oratorios. One of his greatest works, Historia der fröhlichen und siegreichen Auferstehung unseres einigen Erlösers und Seligmachers Jesu Christi, or ‘Resurrection,’ was written in 1623, for Easter service, it being the custom then, as now, in some of the important churches of Saxony, to sing the Resurrection on Easter day before the sermon, just as the Passion was sung on Good Friday. The vocal parts are accompanied by the organ and four viole da gamba, and the chorus is frequently in six and eight parts. The works of Schütz are characterized by simplicity of themes, which are always expressive and full of color. At times he becomes dramatic, but he is always devotional and reverential, and though he abandons the liturgical forms of Scandellus, many of his themes, though original, are based on liturgical melody or Gregorian chant. All trace of the Italian recreational element disappears; there is no suggestion of the stage or of ‘attractive’ effects and the only object before the composer’s mind is evidently to faithfully portray in music the solemnity and pious grandeur of the texts. This was the point of departure for German Protestant oratorio.

Another important work of Schütz was his setting of the ‘Seven Words of Jesus,’ written and performed in 1645. This departs even more from the liturgical chant, and the part of the Evangelist, instead of being chanted, is treated as a recitative, first for alto, then for tenor, then for soprano and tenor accompanied by the other two voices, thus bringing it into quartet form. The first and last choruses are in five parts and each is called ‘Chorus of the Congregation.’ After the first chorus and before the last (therefore separating the actual scenes from the chorus of the people), an instrumental number called symphonia is inserted, thereby giving more dramatic force to the narration. These two symphonias are in five parts and while the instruments are not indicated, they were probably played by the strings. Parts of the work are very touching and beautifully expressive. For some unknown reason this work was not published until 1873 (228 years after its first production), edited by Carl Riedel.

Possibly his greatest work is his setting of the four Passions entitled Historia des Leidens und Sterbens unseres Herrn und Heylandes Jesu Christi and following the text of the four Evangelists. This was written in 1665-66 but was not published during his lifetime and only the ‘St. John Passion’ exists in manuscript, but a complete copy of the four Passions was made by Grundig in 1690, comparatively soon after the death of Schütz. These Passions are built up largely with short choruses which, though conceived in deep devotion, are at times very dramatic. The parts not given to the chorus are recitatives in liturgical form, sometimes accompanied[76] and sometimes for the voice alone. The texts of some of the choruses were taken from well-known church hymns. The ‘St. Matthew Passion’ is the most fluent melodically. These settings of the Passion comprised the composer’s last works and in them lay the kernel of what was later perfected by Bach and Handel, both of whom completed in their respective lines what Schütz had begun. It has been regarded significant that the year of his birth was exactly one hundred years before that of Bach and Handel.

Schütz was still much under the influence of the Gregorian modes and did not attempt to break away from them in passages of simple recitative, but he also employed for simple harmonized passages many of the chorale melodies that were so popular all over Protestant Germany. But after Schütz plain-song practically disappears from German Passion and oratorio music and the influence of the chorale becomes more distinct and insistent. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Passion music was extensively cultivated in Germany and all her best composers gave it marked attention. Johann Sebastiani in 1672 produced a Passion at Königsberg, in which the narration is set entirely to original music and in which chorales, simply and effectively harmonized, are given more prominence. Thenceforward German church-music, freed from its allegiance to the old modal system, struck out paths of its own, and rapid progress was made. In 1673 Theile’s Deutsche Passion was performed at Lübeck with extraordinary success and Reinhard Keiser, the Hamburg opera-composer, created renewed interest in this form by his setting of the Passion in 1704, which contained an innovation followed by all subsequent German writers of Passion-music. This consisted in what he called soliloquia, which voiced devout reflections on the solemn events of the Gospel narrative.

V

Bach’s extraordinary and single-hearted devotion to the cause of church-music led him very naturally to the door of Passion-music and oratorio, and he brought to the composition of these elaborate forms an unequalled mastery over all the technical devices of contrapuntal writing and a marvellous fertility of invention. A deeply religious and devout nature enriched the natural nobility of his musical speech, and scattered through the four oratorios from his pen that are preserved to us are some of his sublimest thoughts. These four are a Christmas-oratorio and three Passion-oratories—St. Matthew, St. John, and St. Luke (now regarded as genuine, though for many years considered spurious). Through the carelessness of his son Friedemann a St. Mark Passion and probably still another have been lost, for he is known to have written five Passions.

‘Christmas Oratorio.’—This work, written in 1723 and performed a year later, consists of six parts (in reality six separate cantatas) intended for the first, second and third days of the Christmas service, for New Year’s Day, New Year’s Sunday and Epiphany. While these belong together liturgically and are connected by chorales, there have been very few single performances of the entire work because of its very great length. The parts given most frequently are the first two, which are the strongest. The text, the story of the Nativity, is taken from Matthew and Luke, but is elaborated by passages taken from two of his secular works. This was a common procedure in the eighteenth century and as Bach had just written festival music for the birthday of the Queen of Poland and for other court festivities, parts of these joyful compositions easily adapted themselves to the joy of the Christmas season.

The first part opens with a sort of fanfare of trumpets accompanied by drums, which gives a distinct festival atmosphere as the people assemble for the first service; it is followed at once by the chorus Jauchzet, frohlocket, auf, preisset die Tage. The solo tenor narrates the part of the Evangelist and brings the attention of the worshippers to the joy of this specific festival. But Bach sees beyond the Nativity and anticipates the sacrifice and suffering of the Saviour, therefore the words of the Advent hymn, Wie soll ich dich empfangen, are set to the Passion chorale, O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden. This first part contains beautiful, simple melodies interspersed with chorales. An atmosphere, almost of Advent sorrow, pervades the part as a whole and is strongly contrasted with the second part which brings in the real, generally-accepted Christmas atmosphere. The second part opens with the well-known ‘Pastoral Symphony,’ so often played on orchestral programs and so charmingly idyllic, simple and naïve. It is built on two themes, one typical of the shepherds, the other of the angels. At the close of this the Evangelist continues his narrative, which is frequently interrupted by lyric passages and by chorales, such as Brich an, du schönes Morgenlicht. The beautiful tenor solo, Frohe Hirten eilt, following a bass recitative, is one of the most compelling numbers, but probably the finest from both a vocal and an orchestral standpoint is the lovely alto solo, Schlafe, mein Liebster. The part closes with a massive chorus of praise to God in the highest, sung by the angels, shepherds and the congregation.

As the other four parts are rarely performed, no detailed analysis is given here; however, these parts have been given together and are about as long as the combined first two parts. One of the most effective choruses in the last four parts is one in the fifth, Ehre sei dir Gott gesungen.

‘Passion According to St. Matthew.’—This stupendous work, now universally considered the finest work of its kind, was written in 1729 and performed on April 15th of the same year at the afternoon service of Good Friday in the St. Thomas Church, Leipzig, but was later altered and extended so that it was not completed in its present form until 1740. While it was frequently performed in Leipzig until the end of the eighteenth century, it was practically forgotten by the outside world until 1829, just one hundred years after its first production, when it was given on March 11th, in the Singakademie, Berlin, under the direction of Mendelssohn. This generous artist is deserving of the deepest gratitude for his untiring enthusiasm in compelling the world to recognize the grandeur of this work and the greatness of its half-forgotten creator. He was evidently deeply struck with the strangeness of his own relation to the rescuing of the great work from oblivion, for, in commenting on the performance, he made the following reference to his own nationality—the only recorded instance of this kind: ‘It was an actor[77] and a Jew who restored this great Christian work to the people.’ It was not performed in London until April 6th, 1854. The first American performance was by the Handel and Haydn Society in Boston in 1874.

The story of the ‘Passion according to St. Matthew’ was already embodied in the service at Leipzig and it was sung on Palm Sunday each year in choral form. The fact that the Passions were regularly given at church services, added to his own interest in the subject itself, probably inspired Bach to give artistic musical expression to the different versions of the Gospel narratives. While Bach wrote five Passions, four on the four Gospels and one by Picander, the greatest and last was the ‘Matthew Passion.’ The ‘Passion according to St. Luke’ is by many authorities not attributed entirely to Bach, for even though it were a youthful work, there are parts that cannot be reconciled with his general style of that period, though others bear his unmistakable stamp. Of the ‘Passion according to St. Mark’ only five lyric pieces are preserved in the Funeral Ode on the death of Queen Christiane Eberhardine. The Picander Passion is lost. The ‘Passion according to St. John’ was first performed at St. Thomas’ Church on April 7th, 1724, and is musically not much inferior to the great ‘Matthew Passion,’ but in the latter work Bach developed to a larger extent the element characteristic of the oratorio and united more closely the ecclesiastical and the folk-song quality. The fact that he was accustomed to the simple choral setting probably prevented him from giving anything like conscious dramatic effect, yet the complexity of his natural musical expression often led him to a dramatic climax of which he was not conscious, for his Passions were written for the church service only. As Bach was above all a devout Lutheran, he doubtless was imbued with the spirit of offsetting the grandeur of the Roman Mass with the combination of simple and complex forms in which the congregation could take part in the well-known chorales interspersed so artistically. Arthur Mees[78] speaks of Bach’s Passions as ‘the expression of the religious devotion of his own individual self as representative of his fellow-believers. Even the dramatic portions are not the utterances of actors in a drama, but those of the Christian congregation which is carried away in its contemplation of the events to the point of identifying itself with the actual participants in the scene.’

Between the two parts of the Passion it was customary in Bach’s time to have the sermon, as in the days of St. Philip Neri at Rome. As the performance of the Passion consumed more than two hours and the sermon lasted at least two hours, the Good Friday service was a most serious and weighty church event.

The first part of the ‘Matthew Passion’ is divided into three principal sections—Jesus with his disciples and the institution of the Last Supper, Jesus at Gethsemane, and the seizure of Jesus. The second part is divided into four sections—Jesus before the High Priest, Jesus before Pilate, the Crucifixion, and the last, consisting of madrigal-like elaborations of Bible texts. This part contains the famous bass aria, Am Abend als es kühle ward, which with its refined instrumentation is one of the most beautiful in the entire work, almost romantic in atmosphere and remarkably lyric. Among the many notable characteristics of this work is the accompanying of the words of Jesus by the orchestra in place of the usual continuo. The Daughter of Zion, whose words were given by other composers to a definite voice, no longer appears as an individual, but her words are sung in turn by alto, soprano, tenor and bass solos, in duets and in choral form.

While a large part of the text (from chapters XXVI and XXVII of Matthew’s Gospel) was doubtless compiled by Bach himself, he had able assistance from the poet Picander (whose real name was Friedrich Henrici), who wrote many of the hymns and who has already been referred to as the poet of the lost Passion, considered of little value because of the inadequacy of the text.

With Bach’s ‘Matthew Passion’ the development of the Protestant Church music in this form came to an abrupt close for the simple reason that no one since Bach’s time has possessed the necessary technical and musical equipment for further progress. In this glorious work, which next to his own ‘B minor Mass’ is probably his most sublime utterance, he seems to have completely grasped the touching pathos and the poignant sorrow of the scenes unfolded in the Gospel narratives of the Passion and, in interpreting them through the religious experience of a devout believer, to have exhausted the vocabulary of music appropriate to the liturgy of which this Scriptural narrative forms an impressive part. However, other Passions were written after Bach’s settings were made and the most famous of them is Graun’s Der Tod Jesu, which is spoken of in some detail below. Handel made two settings of the Passion, one of which (‘The Passion of Christ’ to a poem by B. H. Brockes of Hamburg) is in existence. It was written probably about 1716 and the composer introduced no fewer than twenty of its numbers into later works, some altered, some transferred bodily. Haydn’s Passion (‘The Seven Words of Our Saviour’) has already been spoken of under cantatas (Chapter IV). An interesting example of later Passion music is Gounod’s unaccompanied Passion-motet, ‘The Seven Last Words of Our Saviour’ (Filiæ Jerusalem), written from the standpoint of the Roman Church service in the style of Palestrina.

Karl Heinrich Graun (1701-1759), a contemporary of Bach, was the last great writer of Passion music. Indeed, the greatest of his works was the Passion-cantata ‘The Death of Jesus,’ text by Ramler, which met with the most monumental success and has been a favorite up to the present day. Performed for the first time on March 26th, 1763, in the Cathedral of Berlin (four years after the death of the composer), it was published immediately and both orchestral and piano scores passed through edition after edition, and the work obtained a very wide hearing. In many places an annual performance of it was given and it was as well known as the ‘Messiah,’ ‘The Creation’ and the Mozart Requiem. Although Graun was first of all a contrapuntist, his harmony was rich and expressive and his style often dramatic. As he was himself an opera singer of splendid attainments, he understood how to produce the best vocal effects. His melodies, if judged from the standpoint of the time in which they were written, are very expressive, though present-day standards would not pronounce them always forceful. This may be partly due to the text, which, though suited to the demands of the time, is not always pliable. Graun, like all German Passion composers of this period, made frequent use of the chorale, sometimes for purposes of narration and sometimes to express the thought of the people. The dramatis personæ are not well defined in the text, hence it is difficult to discern who is speaking, since chorus, solos and chorales serve for different functions. Frederick the Great somewhat humorously spoke of this work as ‘Graun’s best opera’ and there is considerable justification for the statement, especially when considered in connection with the two principal bass arias—one, which comes near the close, ‘Now suddenly by anguish long restrained,’ and the other, which is by far the highest dramatic point in the work, ‘Jerusalem, for slaughter thirsting.’ The latter is most effective, even judged by present-day standards, and has an elaborate accompaniment. This is followed by the chorus, ‘Christ unto us hath left an example,’ in double fugue, the vocal effects of which have made it successful in spite of the commonplace themes employed. This is so well-known that it is often sung by choirs as a separate composition.

VI

The law of compensation has seldom operated so magnificently to the advantage of a great artist defeated in a cherished life enterprise, as in the case of Handel. Rejoicing in the reputation of being one of the greatest opera composers of his time, he might easily have spent the whole productive period of his life in winning the applause of the pleasure-loving opera audiences who regarded the glitter and tinsel of Italian opera as the summum bonum of artistic expression. Fortunately for Handel himself and for the art of music, he was compelled to give up his career as an opera composer and manager because of the jealousy of rivals, the cabals and intrigues of court-cliques and the financial embarrassments brought about by combinations of unpleasant circumstances. It was only after he was fifty years old that he began to write the works that have immortalized him. Several of his early oratorios—‘Esther’ (1718 and 1732), ‘Deborah’ (1733) and ‘Athaliah’ (1733)—had met with great success and popular approval, part of which was no doubt attributable to the unbounded admiration aroused by his performances on the organ between the parts of his oratorios. Practically driven from the operatic stage by adverse circumstances—and all of his operas are forgotten now—he eagerly turned to the more appreciative English oratorio audiences. It was this English love for the sacred drama that encouraged Handel to abandon stage composition (1741) and to give full expression to the deeper things of his rugged, independent, sincere nature through the highest forms of religious music. The result was the production of the stupendous series of oratorios on which his fame now almost wholly rests. ‘Saul’ and ‘Israel in Egypt’ were both performed in 1739, and in 1742 the immortal ‘Messiah’ was given to the world. The enthusiasm with which this great work was received stimulated him to renewed activity along the same line and after the ‘Messiah’ came ‘Samson’ and the ‘Dettingen Te Deum,’ performed in 1743; ‘Semele’ and ‘Joseph,’ performed in 1744; ‘Belshazzar’ and ‘Heracles’ in 1745; the ‘Occasional Oratorio’ and ‘Judas Maccabæus’ in 1747; ‘Joshua’ in 1748, ‘Solomon’ and ‘Susannah’ in 1749, ‘Theodora’ in 1750, ‘The Choice of Hercules’ in 1750, and ‘Jephthah,’ his last oratorio, in 1752. During the composition of ‘Jephthah,’ his failing eyesight became so troublesome that he submitted to several operations for cataract, which, however, were unsuccessful and total blindness ensued.

During the period of about twenty years in which Handel’s oratorios were written, the oratorio itself passed through practically all the phases of development from the simple form in which Carissimi left it to the massive structure of his (Handel’s) later oratorios. During this period he had practically no competition; indeed, in the field of concert oratorio there is no one between Carissimi and Haydn who approaches him in greatness. The early Italian oratorio (including Handel’s earliest ones) consisted largely of vocal solos in the prevalent Italian operatic style. Scant attention was given to the chorus. As Handel delivered himself more and more in this form, he drew the line of demarcation more clearly between oratorio and opera. He elevated the chorus to an exalted position as the most effective and characteristic medium for the utterance of the sublime and epic thoughts so appropriate to the oratorio, and this feature has been largely maintained in oratorio since Handel’s time. To be sure, he frequently employed a distinctly operatic style (as in the familiar aria ‘Rejoice greatly’ from the ‘Messiah’), but in general he differentiated between the two forms and firmly established the permanent lines on which modern oratorio has developed. It should be borne in mind that oratorio is not, and never has been, church-music, but concert-music. Its first use, though frequently associated with church services, was distinctly extra-liturgical. It is not even necessarily religious music and it is worthy of note in this connection that the majority of Handel’s choral works are secular. Several of his early oratorios—‘Esther’ and ‘Deborah,’ as well as the serenata, ‘Acis and Galatea’—were performed, as was the early custom in Italy, with costume and stage scenery and action. English church authorities frowned on this practice, however, and Handel discontinued it, but he retained the dramatic element throughout all of his career as an oratorio writer; in fact ‘Samson’ possesses so much real dramatic action that it might well be staged for full operatic performance.

Handel’s oratorio style differed sharply from Bach’s in that it was less severe and more distinctly vocal. His long experience in writing for the stage led him instinctively to assume a more direct and intimate form of musical speech than that adopted by the great Cantor in his church-music. Next to Bach he was the greatest master of counterpoint of his time and many of his choruses are perfect examples of vocal fugue, but he depended far more than did Bach upon solid chord-movement for some of his most massive and grandiose effects. His general choral style represents a happy combination of the homophonic and contrapuntal principles, both operating in the immediate interests of expressive dramatic utterance, as witness the magnificent ‘Hallelujah’ chorus in the ‘Messiah.’ Deeply expressive arias, often with folk-song simplicity of melody, and massive, highly organized and often elaborately constructed contrapuntal choruses are the two salient musical features of his best oratorio style.

‘Messiah.’—Probably no other musical composition is held in such universal affection as is Handel’s ‘Messiah’ and its popularity (in the best sense of the word) seems to increase with the years. Performances of it have steadily become more and more frequent during the last fifty years and with many choral societies in America, England and Germany, it has become an annual musical event at the Christmas season, though just why this particular season should have been chosen, it would be hard to say. Not only was Handel in many respects the greatest of oratorio writers, but this oratorio was his greatest work, free from traditions or limitations. It was written to a text which he himself selected from the Bible, though it was arranged by Charles Jennens, who had previously collaborated with him on L’Allegro. The very conception of the work itself is one of the sublimest that could engage the attention of the human mind—the great events in the life of the Saviour—and it struck down into the depths of his deeply religious nature. Volumes of sermons and criticisms have been preached and written upon the ‘Messiah’ from every conceivable religious and artistic angle. In England it has taken a place of devout veneration that is almost a fetich. Yet Ernest Walker, the English critic, declares that ‘if it was necessary for us blindly to bow the knee for all time to one single work, no doubt the "Messiah" was our wisest choice.’

This monumental work was begun on the 22nd of August, 1741, and finished on September 14th, therefore in the short space of twenty-three days. It was performed first in Dublin on April 13th, 1742, and it won immediate success. In London it was given for the first time on March 23rd, 1743, and at this performance King George the Second was so stirred during the singing of the words, ‘For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth,’ that he rose to his feet and the whole audience followed his reverent example. From this incident sprang the familiar custom of rising during the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus. The work was given thirty-four times during Handel’s lifetime and he himself directed it for the last time on April 6th, 1759, only a week before his death. The first really adequate performance of it was given in Westminster Abbey in 1784, when it was given by the largest mass of performers ever assembled up to that time, the orchestra numbering 242 and the chorus 267. This was, however, eclipsed by the performance in the Crystal Palace at the centenary of the composer’s death, when an orchestra of 460 and a choir of 2,700 performed the work.

It is in three parts, the first containing the prophecy of the coming of the Messiah and the narrative of the nativity. It opens after a noble orchestral introduction with a tenor recitative and aria, ‘Comfort ye my people’ and ‘Every valley shall be exalted.’ This, like many of the Handel arias, is very ornate and requires a flexible vocal technique, single syllables being used for long florid passages. A similar illustration of this is found in the bass recitative, ‘Thus saith the Lord,’ and in the middle part of the following pastoral aria, ‘But who may abide,’ where the demands upon a fluent vocal delivery are exceedingly great, especially for the naturally slow-moving bass voice. These vocal demands, however, are not confined to the solos, but appear with equal force in some of the choruses as well, a good illustration of which is the brilliant fugal chorus, ‘And he shall purify.’ This is followed by the favorite contralto solo, ‘O Thou that tellest good tidings to Zion,’ which is taken up at its close and developed by the chorus. One of the most magnificent choruses in the first part is ‘For unto us a child is born’ and this is followed by the exquisite pastoral symphony which precedes the narration of the shepherds. The contralto and soprano arias, ‘He shall feed his flock’ and ‘Come unto Him all ye that labor,’ are among the most beautiful lyric melodies of oratorio literature and these are followed by the fugal chorus which closes the first part, ‘His yoke is easy.’

The second part, depicting the Saviour’s suffering, death and triumph, begins with a noble chorus, ‘Behold the Lamb of God,’ after which the alto sings one of the most expressively beautiful arias ever written, ‘He was despised.’ When Mrs. Cibber sang this aria at the first performance in Dublin, the Reverend Mr. Delany, friend of Dean Swift, who cherished a prejudice against all public singers, was so transported by the pathos of the music that he rapturously exclaimed: ‘Woman, for this be all thy sins forgiven.’ It is followed by the dramatically expressive choruses, ‘Surely He hath borne our griefs,’ ‘And with His stripes’ and ‘All we, like sheep, have gone astray,’ the last closing with a stately chorale, ‘And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.’ One of the most effective choruses in this part is the joyous ‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates,’ but the real climax of the part, and indeed of the whole work, is the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus, of such wondrous power and sustained beauty that everything after it must of necessity take on something of the nature of an anticlimax.

The short third part forms, as it were, a Credo, as expressed by the great soprano aria, ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth.’ The work closes with two of Handel’s finest choruses—‘Worthy is the Lamb,’ of great dignity and nobility, and the triumphant ‘Amen’ fugue, overpowering in its majestic sweep of contrapuntal movement. Speaking of the impression that this deeply religious epic has always produced on audiences in every country, Mr. F. J. Crowest, in ‘The Great Tone Poets,’ exclaims: ‘Where is the prelate who can move our souls as they are moved by Handel’s "Messiah"?’ And what can be added to such praise?

VII

‘Israel in Egypt.’—This work, the most perfect example of the choral oratorio, containing some of the most colossal choruses ever written (twenty-eight double choruses), was composed in October, 1738, in the short interval of twenty-seven days. In addition to the choruses there are only five arias, three duets and some short recitatives, which serve as connecting links in the massive choral chain. The second part (the Exodus) was written first and had evidently been planned as a cantata; however, Handel doubtless realized the possibilities of the vast material at hand and added the first part, which thus became an historical introduction to the work already written. Its first performance took place on April 4th, 1739, at the King’s Theatre, London, and on the 11th it was given again but with some alterations, caused by insertion of songs, and at the third performance on April 17th, the ‘Funeral Anthem’ in memory of Queen Caroline was interpolated. For some reason this excellent work was not successful and was given only nine times during Handel’s lifetime. It was again brought to light in 1849 by the Sacred Harmonic Society of London, when it was peformed as originally written, and in this form it is now given. The text, credited to Handel, was really taken literally from the Bible and arranged by him so as to form a very dramatic narrative.

Facsimile of Handel’s Manuscript: the Last Page of ‘The Messiah’

It opens, without an overture, with a few measures of tenor recitative (‘Now there arose a King in Egypt who knew not Joseph’), leading at once to the lament of the Israelites over the cruelties of the Egyptian bondage (‘And the children of Israel sighed’), a double chorus of great dramatic power leading up to the words, ‘And their cry came up unto God.’ After another short recitative for tenor, there follows the series of choruses descriptive of the plagues, in which the composer uses almost modern descriptive means. Thus, the first of the choruses describing the plague of the water turning to blood (‘They loathed to drink of the river’), is fugal and depicts the nauseating effects of the water upon the Egyptians; the hopping of the frogs is naïvely imitated in the accompaniment of the following aria for mezzo-soprano (‘Their land brought forth frogs’); and the plague of insects, a double chorus with a buzzing, restless orchestral accompaniment, is remarkably descriptive of insect motion. Before the dramatic double chorus, ‘He gave them hailstones for rain,’ the orchestra introduces the approaching storm, which, beginning gradually, develops into tremendous force as if the elements had been let loose. After the storm, comes the gloom of the darkness that fell over the land and vague, uncertain tones grope about as the chorus sings, ‘He sent a thick darkness over all the land.’ Then, in the savage fury of righteous retribution, a chorus of unexampled energy (‘He smote all the first-born of Egypt’) describes the swift vengeance of the Most High. The English critic Chorley calls it ‘a fiercely Jewish’ chorus, with ‘a touch of Judith, of Jael, of Deborah in it—no quarter, no delay, no mercy for the enemies of the Most High.’ The passage of the Red Sea follows these stormy descriptive choruses, and another dramatic but jubilant chorus (‘But the waters overwhelmed their enemies’) is succeeded by two short choruses of a devotional character which bring the first part to a close.

The second part, ‘The Song of Moses,’ after a short orchestral introduction, is ushered in by a chorus (‘Moses and the children of Israel sang this song’), after which comes the sublime fugal chorus, a mighty song of praise to the Lord (‘For He hath triumphed gloriously’). In this part is also the famous declamatory duet for two basses, ‘The Lord is a Man of War,’ and the great tenor aria, ‘The enemy said "I will pursue."’ After the exultant song of Miriam, the prophetess, there comes a magnificent triumphal double chorus, splendidly supported by the orchestra—a piling up of voice upon voice, instrument upon instrument, in a pæan of exultation and triumph, which brings the work to a climactic close of tremendous dramatic effectiveness.

‘Judas Maccabæus.’—This oratorio was written at the request of the Prince of Wales for the celebration of the victory of Culloden (April 16th, 1746) and the work, written in thirty-two days (July 9th to August 11th, 1746), was performed on April first, 1747, the festal day celebrating the return of the victorious Duke of Cumberland. The text was prepared by the Reverend Thomas Morell, D.D., who selected the material concerning the events surrounding the Hebrew warrior from the First Book of Maccabees and from Josephus. The first performance at Covent Garden was so successful that the work was repeated six times that year. Handel himself conducted it thirty-eight times, and it gained steadily in popularity, which was further augmented by the enthusiasm of the Jews, who delighted in it because it extolled a proud event in their national history.

The first part (the time is the second century B. C.) opens with the lament of the Israelitish men and women over the death of their leader Mattathias (father of Judas Maccabæus and his brother Simon), who had inspired the Jews to withstand the tyranny of Antiochus Epiphanes, king of Syria, in his effort to deprive them of their freedom and their religious worship. The first chorus, ‘Mourn, ye afflicted children,’ and, after a duet, the chorus ‘For Zion lamentation make,’ establish at once the sombre mood of the whole work. Simon’s militant, ringing aria, ‘Arm, arm, ye brave,’ which is still an effective solo greatly beloved of bass singers, is followed by a short but rousing chorus, ‘We come in bright array.’ The first part closes with one of the most massive and imposing choruses from Handel’s pen, ‘Hear us, O Lord.’

The second part opens with an instrumental prelude descriptive of the battle scenes and the celebration of the initial victories, and leads into the finest chorus in the work, a powerful song of triumph, ‘Fallen is the foe.’ The war of liberation is renewed, Judas rouses the courage of his depressed people and his army departs to meet the enemy, while those who remain behind voice their denunciation of the idolatries of the heathen. The second part closes dramatically with the chorus, ‘We never will bow down to the rude stock or sculptured stone,’ which develops into a vigorous chorale in which is heard the repeated phrase, ‘We worship God alone.’

The third part begins with a prayer, ‘Father of heaven, from Thy eternal throne,’ which is sung by the priest in the recovered and restored temple of Jerusalem. A messenger announces the victory of Judas and, as the youths and maidens go out to meet the returning victor, they sing the world-famous jubilant chorus, ‘See the conquering hero comes,’ which, by the way, was originally composed for ‘Joshua’ as a tribute to Othniel on his return from the capture of Debir, and was later transferred to ‘Judas Maccabæus.’ The oratorio appropriately closes with a Hallelujah chorus which at once celebrates the return of peace and serves as the joyous expression of national thanksgiving.

‘Samson.’—Although this work was written almost at the same time as the ‘Messiah’ (1741), it was not performed until February 18th, 1743, when it was given in London at Covent Garden. Its success was instant. Eight consecutive performances were given—a far more eloquent tribute in Handel’s time than in our own to the popular appreciation with which it was received. Handel himself regarded the work with deep affection, and, when urged to express a preference for either the ‘Messiah’ or ‘Samson,’ declared he was unable to choose between them. During his lifetime ‘Samson’ shared almost equal popularity with the ‘Messiah’ and ‘Judas Maccabæus’—the three most frequently performed. The text, arranged by Newburg Hamilton from Milton’s poem, ‘Samson Agonistes,’ although based upon the Bible narrative of the powerful Samson, does not follow it absolutely. The principal characters are Samson; Micah, his friend; Manoah, his father; Delilah, his wife; and Harapha, a giant of Gath. The scene is laid before the prison of Gaza.

A brilliant overture, stately at first and gradually developing into minuet rhythm, opens the work, which at once reveals the blind captive, Samson, temporarily released from his menial toil because of the feast of Dagon, and lamenting his deplorable plight as he hears the fiery chorus of the priests, ‘Awake the trumpet’s lofty sound.’ His father and his friend come to lament with him just after his touching tenor song (‘Torments, alas!’), and as they ask which of his sorrows is greater, blindness or captivity, Samson sings one of the noblest laments ever written, ‘Total eclipse: no sun, no moon, all dark amidst the blaze of noon,’ a song which touched Handel so deeply in his latter days of blindness that he wept at the performance, as did the audience with him. Samson nobly tells his friends that his punishment is deserved and that there is no hope for him; but at times he furiously denounces his foes, especially in the dramatic outburst, ‘Why does the God of Israel sleep?’ which is followed by an elaborate choral fugue (‘Then shall they know’) on two subjects, one given by the altos, the other by the tenors. The first part closes with a beautiful chorus in which his friends point his thought to the joys of a future life for compensation for all his earthly sorrows.

The second part discloses Delilah trying again to entice her husband, but he now understands her treachery and answers her sensuous song with the emphatic ‘Your charms to ruin led the way.’ He then has a visitation from the giant Harapha who taunts him on his present condition. The colloquy between the giants produces two of the finest arias of the oratorio—Harapha’s dashing and boastful bass aria, ‘Honor and arms scorn such a foe,’ and Samson’s proud answer, ‘My strength is from the living God.’ Micah finally bids Harapha to call on Dagon to ‘dissolve the magic spells that gave our hero strength,’ after which is heard the broad, devout six-part chorus of the Israelites, ‘Hear, Jacob’s God.’ The part closes with a massive double chorus—in which Israelites and Philistines, in choral strife, extol their respective deities.

In the third part, Harapha notifies Samson that he must appear at the feast of Dagon to exhibit his strength and, though he refuses at first, he finally yields because he believes it to be God’s will. Samson calls upon the Spirit which led him formerly and goes to the temple. He takes in each hand one of the pillars which support the roof and with a mighty effort pulls down the temple, crushing the Philistines and burying himself with them. A tender, expressive funeral march is played as Samson is borne away by his people. For this march Handel afterwards substituted the Dead March from ‘Saul’ and both marches now appear in the score. Manoah exhorts the people to lay aside their sorrow and praise God, and this brings the famous trumpet aria, ‘Let the bright Seraphim,’ which is so grateful for both voice and instrument. The brilliant chorus, ‘Let their celestial concerts,’ brings this imposing oratorio to a triumphant close.

VIII

Most of the great composers have frankly built on the achievements of their predecessors, carrying to completion or at least to higher stages of development the forms handed down to them, without much conscious influence from contemporary composers. Some, like Wagner and Schubert, have struck out new lines whose discovery and development cannot be explained wholly as resulting from the operation of preceding artistic forces and principles. Comparatively few of the really great composers have acknowledged their indebtedness to contemporary genius. Such a one, however, was ‘Papa’ Haydn. The youthful Mozart had opened up new visions in symphonic and orchestral music and compelled the veteran Haydn[79] to new effort. And when Haydn heard the ‘Messiah’ for the first time in Westminster Abbey during his first visit to England in 1791, he was so moved by the majesty of the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus that it inspired him to the composition of what is undoubtedly his greatest work, the ‘Creation.’ This work joins with its great artistic inspirer, Handel’s ‘Messiah,’ and with Mendelssohn’s ‘Elijah’ in forming a trio of the world’s most popular oratorios. Of his other two oratorios—the ‘Seasons’ and ‘The Return of Tobias’—only the former claims present-day performance and that far less frequently than its predecessor, the ‘Creation.’ One misses in Haydn’s choral works the massive grandeur of effect and complexity of structure of the Handel oratorios. Haydn was a deeply religious man, but it was not in accord with his happy, sunny, optimistic nature to sound the depths of human emotion. The great charm of the ‘Creation’ lies in the freshness, the artless simplicity, and the evident spontaneity of its melody, and the naturalness and direct expressive power of its choruses.

The ‘Creation’ was begun in 1795, to a libretto given the composer by the London manager, Salomon, and compiled by Lidley from Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ and from Genesis. It was completed in 1798, when Haydn was sixty-six years old, and the first performance took place at the Schwarzenberg Palace on the 29th and 30th of April, 1798, with the text translated and much altered by Baron von Swieten. It was first publicly produced at the National Theatre, Vienna, March 19, 1799, and was received with greatest enthusiasm. It soon made its way to the music-centres of Europe, having its first London performance on March 28th, 1800, and its first Paris performance on Dec. 24th, of the same year. Napoleon I was on his way to attend the latter performance when he narrowly escaped death by an infernal machine in the Rue Nicaise. Structurally one is impressed with the large number of arias and the correspondingly small number of choruses, as compared with Handel’s later oratorios. In this respect Haydn was undoubtedly influenced by the form of the Italian concert oratorio, then very popular in Vienna.

It is constructed in the usual three parts, the first two of which are the strongest. The overture is a quaint bit of tone painting; at first monotonous and barren of melody, it attempts to depict chaos; but gradually form begins to appear in the music and the various instruments speak out more clearly, until harmony is established. The first voice is that of Raphael (bass) in a short recitative, ‘In the beginning,’ followed by a chorus which gently whispers the words, ‘And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,’ closing with a joyous outburst on the words, ‘And there was light.’ The separation of light from darkness follows, Satan and his legions ‘sink into the deep abyss’ and the quiet chorus appears, ‘A new created world springs up.’ The first four days of creation are described in a series of recitatives, arias and choruses, many of which are familiar the world over—the inspiring chorus with soprano obbligato, ‘The marvellous work’; the fine bass aria, ‘Rolling in foaming billows,’ with its lovely limpid refrain, ‘Softly purling’; and the well-known ‘With verdure clad,’ a soprano aria on which Haydn lavished the utmost care, having altered it three times before it entirely satisfied him—all leading up to the magnificent final chorus of the first part, ‘The heavens are telling,’ in which a trio of voices (Gabriel, Uriel and Raphael) is finely contrasted with the majestic choral passages.

The second part describes the creation of animate life on the earth. Beginning with birds, it enumerates the various classes, rising in the scale until the crowning glory of creation is reached in man. The opening aria, ‘On mighty pens’ (Gabriel), pictures the eagle, the lark, the dove and the nightingale, each bird being depicted in a characteristic musical phrase in the accompaniment. One of the most interesting numbers is the description of the roaring lions, with deep growls of the double bassoons, the ‘flexible tiger’ with rapid string passages, the alertness of the stag with a presto movement, the neighing and prancing of the horse, the fluttering and buzzing of swarming insects in the air—in all of which the humor of Haydn is naïvely expressed in comical musical mimicry. The creation of man brings the beautiful tenor aria, ‘In native worth’ (Uriel). The final chorus is the superb fugue, ‘Achieved is the glorious work,’ in the midst of which is set a trio, ‘On Thee each living soul awaits,’ and, after a return to the fugue, closing with a Gloria and Hallelujah of singularly beautiful and majestic outlines. The third part opens with an orchestral introduction picturing the first morning of the completed creation, in which the flutes and horns contribute some beautiful effects. A tender dialogue between Adam and Eve is followed by a charming duet, ‘Graceful consort.’ The closing chorus, ‘Sing the Lord, ye voices all,’ opens in a strain of solemn majesty and gradually unfolds until it leads into a massive fugue, ‘Jehovah’s praise forever shall endure.’ It closes with a mighty pæan of praise, given by the combined chorus, solo voices and orchestra with telling effect.

‘The Seasons.’—Haydn’s last oratorio, ‘The Seasons,’ the words for which were based on Thomson’s poem of the same name and arranged by Baron von Swieten, was written between April, 1798, and April, 1801, and first presented at the Schwarzenberg Palace, Vienna, on April 24th, 1801. Three performances were given in close succession. This work can scarcely be called a real oratorio; it partakes more of the character and form of the sacred cantata, but is more frequently given the first named classification. The ‘Seasons’ represents a distinct decline in the composer’s powers, but it is not to be wondered at, for he was sixty-nine years old when it was completed, and during its composition was greatly harassed and irritated by the nonsensical demands and caprices of the librettist. The characters are Simon, a farmer; Jane, his daughter; and Lucas, a young countryman. These personages do not have any dramatic significance, though the work contains a love scene between Lucas and Jane. That the scene is laid in the country is easily imagined from the subject, and the chorus represents the country-folk.

The first scene depicts early spring and opens with a lively overture and with recitatives from the three principals, expressing joy at the approach of the balmy season, at once followed by the first chorus, ‘Come, gentle spring.’ After the farmer’s aria comes a trio and a fugal chorus, ‘Be propitious, bounteous heaven.’ The chorus, ‘Spring, her lovely charms unfolding,’ is almost redolent with the odor of waxen buds and early blossoms. Following this is the closing fugal chorus, ‘God of light.’

‘Summer’ is introduced with a short prelude leading to a beautiful aria by Simon, ‘From out the fold the shepherd drives,’ and at the appearance of the early sunrise the trio and chorus chant a song of welcome, ‘Hail, O glorious sun!’ The various numbers picture the progress of the day, and after the overwhelming heat of noon, an ominous silence tells of the coming storm. The drums give forth a peal of thunder, followed by a storm-chorus, ‘Hark the deep, tremendous voice.’ The driving rain, the thunder and the lightning-flashes are vividly pictured in the music. With the trio and chorus, ‘Now cease the conflicts,’ the music becomes tranquil again as the night approaches, with the droning of insects, the croaking of the frogs, the song of the quail and the peals from a distant bell-tower—and darkness and slumber drop over the land.

The third part, ‘Autumn,’ depicting the ‘kind rewards’ of Nature, contains the song of Simon, ‘Behold, along the dewy grass,’ which is followed by the famous hunting chorus, ‘Hark! the mountains resound,’ a vivid tonal picture of the chase. A recitative, praising the rich vintage, leads to a scene of revelry, closing with the lively rustic chorus, ‘Joyful the liquor flows,’ in which a rollicking drinking-song, a well-known Austrian dance-melody with suggestions of bagpipe and fiddle, is happily introduced.

‘Winter’ is prefaced by a slow prelude indicative of the fogs creeping in. After the recitative of Simon and Jane’s cavatina, both picturing the approach of the icy season, there is a realistic musical picture of the wayfarer lost in the snow-storm. Simon moralizes on the changing seasons and offers as his conclusion that ‘nought but truth remains.’ A prayer to Heaven for divine guidance brings the pastoral scene to a close.

The eighteenth century came to an end with Handel as the great outstanding figure in oratorio and Haydn just appearing on the scene. England led Europe in its devotion to this form of choral art, though Germany was soon to awaken to its importance. Bach’s magnificent choral works were slumbering on dusty shelves and Italian oratorio was still fatuously allied with operatic ideals, while France gave little heed to the form at all. But another half-century was to witness a more even distribution of interest in large choral forms.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] Score in the Royal Library, Dresden.

[73] Fétis proves in his Biographie universelle how materially Scarlatti influenced a more extended branching out of violin technique.

[74] The first ecclesiastic who is known to have used a dramatic presentation of the Passion is St. Gregory Nazianzen (330-390).

[75] Winterfeld, in Der Evangelische Kirchengesang, states that the earliest known Passion-music composed by a Protestant was published in Keuchenthal’s book (Wittenberg, 1573), which contained a German version of the Passion with four-part music for the recitation and choruses.

[76] Though no accompaniment at all is indicated in the score of any of these Passion-oratorios, it is very probable that organ was used to accompany some parts.

[77] Édouard Devrient, Mendelssohn’s friend and helper in the Bach revival.

[78] Arthur Mees, ‘Choirs and Choral Music,’ p. 103.

[79] Haydn (1732-1809) was Mozart’s senior by 24 years and was, therefore, fifty-six years old when the thirty-two-year-old Mozart wrote his greatest symphonies—the ‘Jupiter,’ the ‘Apollo’ and the one in E-flat major.

CHAPTER VIII
THE ORATORIO FROM BEETHOVEN TO BRAHMS

Beethoven: ‘The Mount of Olives’; Spohr: ‘The Last Judgment’ and ‘Calvary’—Mendelssohn: ‘St. Paul’—‘Elijah’ and ‘Hymn of Praise’—Liszt: ‘St. Elizabeth’ and ‘Christus’—Oratorio in England; Sterndale Bennett: ‘The Woman of Samaria’; Costa’s ‘Eli’—Oratorio in France; Lesueur; Berlioz’s L’enfance du Christ—Gounod: ‘The Redemption’; Mors et Vita.

I

With the early years of the nineteenth century came many forces which fed the awakening desire for choral song. The dawning consciousness of national life in the Teutonic nations and the grateful sense of relief from Napoleonic oppression, with the accompanying train of intellectual activities which the new sense of freedom let loose—all contributed to develop, in Germany particularly, a new attitude toward choral song as an outlet for the expression of the newly-awakened sense of new relationships. Hence in Germany we will find the most important centre of choral activities in the first half of this century. Here many of that remarkable group of German composers who assumed undisputed leadership of the musical world during this period, gave to the oratorio their richest thoughts and maturest attention—among them Beethoven, Spohr, Mendelssohn and Liszt.

‘Christ on the Mount of Olives’ (Christus am Oelberge) was Beethoven’s only oratorio. It was begun in 1800 at a period when he was still under the influence of Haydn and Mozart. It was finished in 1801 and first performed at Vienna, April 5th, 1803. Its first production in England was in 1814 under Sir George Smart during the Lenten oratorios at Drury Lane. Huber’s text, which was written in fourteen days, has been universally condemned as lacking in solemnity and failing in the essential dramatic requirements. Several attempts have been made to substitute texts for the original one that would remove its incongruities, but without satisfactory results.

The work calls for three solo voices, Jesus, Peter, and the Seraph. The introduction is an orchestral adagio movement, very dramatic in character, depicting the agony in the Garden. This is followed by a recitative and aria for Jesus (tenor), ‘All my soul within me shudders,’ a sweet, pathetic number, in spite of its incongruity. There ensues a scene and aria by the Seraph, ‘Praise the Redeemer’s goodness,’ and joined to it a buoyant, joyous obbligato with chorus, ‘O triumph, all ye ransomed!’ This is followed by a duet between Jesus and the Seraph, ‘On Me then fall thy heavy judgment,’ which, like Jesus’ first aria, offends through verging on the dramatic. After a short recitative in which Jesus welcomes death, there follows a strong and properly dramatic number, a chorus of soldiers in march-time, ‘We surely here shall find Him,’ in which are heard the shouts of the rabble and the grief of the apostles. Next comes a dialogue between Jesus and Peter, ‘Not unchastised shall this audacious band,’ and following this, a passage which again strains one’s sense of propriety, comes a trio between Jesus, Peter and the Seraph, with chorus, ‘O sons of men, with gladness.’ The last number, a chorus of angels, ‘Hallelujah, God’s Almighty Son,’ begins with a short but powerful orchestral introduction which is followed by a joyous outburst; and this in turn merges into a massive fugue, enriched and strengthened by a splendid orchestral accompaniment such as only Beethoven could conceive.

Had Beethoven written another oratorio, as he evidently contemplated, he doubtless would have enriched this form out of the tragic experiences of his later life, as he so bountifully did the more congenial forms of instrumental speech.

Spohr (1784-1859) was a prolific composer in instrumental and vocal forms. His ‘Jessonda’ was regarded as one of the strongest early romantic operas and two of his three oratorios enjoyed a large measure of popularity during his lifetime and in subsequent years, particularly in England. His style was melodious, exceedingly chromatic and modulatory, but his musical powers lacked the ability for sustained flights. While his musicianship charms, one feels a certain discrepancy between the grandeur of some of his oratorio themes and his musical mode of handling them. The Handelian breadth and massiveness is absent. His three oratorios are ‘The Last Judgment,’ ‘Calvary’ and ‘The Fall of Babylon,’ the last named written for the Norwich (England) Festival of 1842.

‘The Last Judgment’ (Die letzten Dinge)—not to be confounded with an earlier, crude oratorio, Das jüngste Gericht, written in 1812—was composed in 1825 and first performed on Good Friday, 1826, at the Lutheran Church at Cassel. The first large performance was at the Rhenish Festival at Düsseldorf of the same year. Its first hearing in England was at the Norwich Festival, September 30th, 1830, and in America, at Boston, March 20th, 1843, when it was presented by the Handel and Haydn Society. The English title of the oratorio is misleading and was a mistranslation, confused with Spohr’s earlier work, of similar name but different meaning. There is no suggestion of the terrors of the last judgment in this oratorio. The text of the first part is given over wholly to the general thought of praise ‘unto Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb forever.’ The second part is concerned with those portions of Revelation that describe the signs of the last day, closing with St. John’s vision of a new heaven and a new earth.

The first part contains among other numbers the well-known chorus, ‘All glory to the Lamb that died’; the admirable tenor solo and chorus, ‘Blessing, honor, glory and power,’ with a tranquil beginning and ending, but expanding into a well-written fugue in the middle; and the closing number, a beautiful quartet and chorus, ‘Lord God of Heaven and Earth.’ The second part begins with an orchestral introduction which graphically portends the signs and wonders of the last day. These are dramatically related in the following long bass recitative with vigorous, agitated accompaniment. After the powerful chorus, ‘Destroyed is Babylon,’ the vision of a new heaven and earth is proclaimed by the soprano, and three transitional numbers lead to the last movement, a majestic chorus, ‘Great and wonderful are all Thy works,’ which consists of a smooth introduction, a lively fugue, still another fugue (‘Thine is the kingdom’), followed by an exultant outburst of praise and the final Amen.

‘Calvary’ was first performed at Cassel on Good Friday, 1835. Four years later it was given in England at the Norwich Festival, the composer himself conducting. While it met with considerable criticism because of ecclesiastical prejudice against the introduction of the personality of Jesus among the singing characters (Beethoven’s ‘Mount of Olives’ occasioned the same offense), the work was a signal success. The text was by Rochlitz.

The work deals with scenes connected with the crucifixion and abounds in beautiful, expressive melody, both in the choruses (sung by the friends of Jesus) and in the ariosos of Mary and the recitatives of John. The beautiful chorus, ‘Gentle night, O descend,’ following a very grave and somewhat protracted overture, is an example of this expressive melody. The work becomes more impressive toward the close; especially so is the cry of Jesus, ‘My God, my God, O why hast Thou forsaken me?’ followed by the fervent prayer of the disciples, ‘In this dread hour of death,’ and another beautiful number sung by the disciples, ‘His earthly race is run,’ set for a quartet of solo voices accompanied by the chorus. A highly dramatic number is the chorus of priests and people, as they express their consuming fear aroused by the convulsions of nature attendant upon the crucifixion. The final number is a beautiful, sustained chorus of the disciples, ‘Beloved Lord, Thine eyes we close.’

II

The world waited fifty-six years after the first performance of Handel’s ‘Messiah’ (1742) before Haydn presented his ‘Creation,’ the first oratorio after Handel’s death that is comparable with his great masterpiece. After a lapse of thirty-eight years another oratorio appeared—Mendelssohn’s ‘St. Paul’—which rose above the ‘Creation’ and revealed its composer as one on whose shoulders the mantle of both Handel and Bach had descended with power. Versatile as Mendelssohn was in many forms, vocal polyphony seemed most congenial of all, and he will undoubtedly live longest in his great choral masterpieces, ‘St. Paul’ and ‘Elijah,’ the latter of which reaches a point of grandeur of conception and effective dramatic expression that remains as yet unsurpassed by any subsequent choral work. One of the most skillful contrapuntists since Bach, a perfect master of orchestration and possessed of exquisite sense of formal values, Mendelssohn was splendidly equipped to take advantage of the tremendous strides that had been made in the musical means of expression since the time of Handel and Haydn. He absorbed the devotional intensity of Bach’s choral music and reinstated the chorale as an integral element of German oratorio; from Handel he borrowed massiveness of choral structure and brilliance of vocal writing. Like Handel, his mode of musical speech was direct and intimate and its appeal was couched in terms of even more suave beauty. The immediate success of Mendelssohn’s oratorios was without doubt greatly aided by the favorable condition of the popular religious thought, as well as by the great acceleration in the interest in choral singing that had resulted from the immense popularity of Haydn’s ‘Creation’ in Germany. The appeal of this oratorio (‘Creation’) was doubly strong on account of its simplicity of conception and musical expression, so that in all directions choral societies were formed for the express purpose of producing it. A wide demand for choral works was created, but nothing of permanent value came in response until Mendelssohn’s ‘St. Paul.’ On the whole Mendelssohn’s oratorio-arias suffer from a lack of forcefulness due to the remarkable ease with which he invented sensuously charming melodies, so that many of them lack depth; but in choral writing his extraordinary architectonic skill led him firmly to a style which carries him close to the height where Handel dwelt.

‘St. Paul’ was the first of Mendelssohn’s great oratorios. It was written at the request of the Cecilia Society of Frankfort-on-the-Main—begun in Düsseldorf and completed at Leipzig, when the composer was in his twenty-sixth year. The text was written by the composer with the assistance of his friends Fürst and Schubring, after A. B. Marx had declined to write it on the ground that the introduction of chorales would be unsuited to the period of the narrative. The work is developed from three main themes—the martyrdom of St. Stephen, the conversion of St. Paul and the latter’s career after this event. Lampadius calls the work ‘the glorification of Christianity with its humility, its joy in living and dying for the Lord, in contrast to the blind self-righteousness of Judaism and the more sensuous morality of the heathen schools. It is the contrast, or rather the struggle, of the last two with the first, and the victory of the light and love of the Gospel. This thought is made incarnate in the persons of Stephen, Paul and Barnabas; and is concentrated in the really central point of interest of the whole oratorio—the conversion of St. Paul.’

The first performance of this work took place on May 22, 1836, on the occasion of the Lower Rhine Festival at Düsseldorf, the Cecilia Society of Frankfort having been compelled to forego its production because of the illness of its conductor. On Oct. 3rd, 1836, the first English performance was given at Liverpool. In the meantime, notwithstanding its success, Mendelssohn had revised the work and shortened it by omitting ten numbers. The enthusiasm with which ‘St. Paul’ was received was unprecedented, in Germany alone one hundred and fifty performances being given within eighteen months of its first production at Düsseldorf.

The rather long and expressive overture is followed directly by the first chorus, ‘Lord! Thou alone art God!’ which is very massively scored and expresses great exultation. The mood of this chorus changes, as it approaches its middle section, to the more excited and restless theme, ‘The heathen furiously rage’; but soon returns to the mood with which it opens and passes on directly to the chorale, ‘To God on High.’ This nobly beautiful melody is the beloved old German chorale, ‘Allein Gott in der Höh’ sei Ehr.’ The next part marks the martyrdom of Stephen. A powerful choral recitative for the basses accuses him of blasphemy and the multitude takes up the cry, ‘Now this man ceaseth not to utter blasphemous words.’ Stephen replies to this in a very expressive solo, ‘Men, Brethren and Fathers!’ but the people again give way to their anger in the strong chorus, ‘Take him away!’ The soprano solo, ‘Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets,’ is a most eloquent admonition, but uttered in vain. The people in a tumult of frenzy demand his death (‘Stone him to death’). The pathetic tenor recitative tells of the tragic deed. Then follows a beautiful chorale of complete resignation, ‘To Thee, O Lord, I yield my spirit.’ Following this chorale, comes the calm and comforting chorus, ‘Happy and blest are they,’ with its fluent, expressive melodies. The fiery, threatening aria for bass, ‘Consume them all,’ brings Saul upon the scene. ‘But the Lord is mindful of His own’ follows and offers a complete contrast in its quiet and lovely melody for alto. Now occurs the most vital point of interest in the oratorio, the conversion. A voice from heaven (effectively represented by a soprano choir) is heard in the words, ‘Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?’ An orchestral interlude leads with gradually growing crescendo to the powerful chorus, ‘Rise up! arise!’ This is succeeded by the chorale, ‘Sleepers, wake! a voice is calling,’ in which the effect is greatly enhanced by the trumpet figure following each choral line. The general mood grows more profound and serious as Saul offers up a prayer, ‘O God, have mercy upon me.’ Forgiveness and mercy are offered by Ananias and Saul’s sight is restored to him and he is baptized as Paul the apostle. The first part comes to a conclusion with the strong, exultant chorus, ‘O great is the depth of the riches of wisdom.’

A noble and dignified fugue, ‘The nations are now the Lord’s,’ opens the second part of the oratorio. There soon follows the chorus, ‘How lovely are the messengers that preach us the gospel of peace,’ one of the most beautifully melodious numbers in the whole work. It is succeeded by the soprano aria, ‘I will sing of Thy great mercies.’ But the scorn and rage of the Jews are aroused by the cures which Paul works in the name of the very prophet whose disciples he once so cruelly persecuted. The angry chorus, ‘Is this he who in Jerusalem,’ is followed by another chorale, ‘O Thou the true and only light,’ a fervent prayer of the Church for divine guidance. Paul and Barnabas depart for Lystra. Paul heals the cripple at Lystra and the multitude is deeply stirred. At this point Mendelssohn brings the three types of religion—Greek, Christian and Jewish—in fine contrast in the three choruses—‘O be gracious, ye immortals,’ full of Pagan sensuousness, ‘But our God abideth in heaven,’ with its calm assurance of Christian faith, and ‘This is Jehovah’s temple,’ in which the uncompromising intolerance of the Jews is angrily voiced. Paul bids a sorrowful farewell to his brethren (‘Be thou faithful unto death’) and the congregation tenderly responds, ‘Far be it from thy path.’ Two of the finest choruses of the work are the final numbers, ‘See what love hath the Father’ and ‘Now only unto Him.’ Two of the ‘St. Paul’ choruses—the beautiful chorale ‘To Thee, O Lord, I yield my spirit’ and the melodious ‘Happy and blest are they’—were chosen to be sung at Mendelssohn’s obsequies.

III

‘Elijah.’—Mendelssohn waited a full ten years after the performance of ‘St. Paul’ before he produced another oratorio on such broad lines and when ‘Elijah’ appeared in 1846, the world recognized that it was an event that transcended in importance any similar event since Handel’s ‘Messiah.’ ‘Elijah’ is certainly Mendelssohn’s finest and most sustained flight and there are not wanting those critics who stoutly maintain that it is unsurpassed in the whole literature of oratorio. In it the composer enters new paths. He gives full rein to the intensely dramatic side of the text and freely departs from the conventional form of oratorio—so much so that the work might safely be called a sacred opera. ‘Elijah’ was long in the composer’s mind and he worked on it carefully and with profoundest affection and sympathy, for although he had embraced Christianity, there was something about the heroic character of the old Hebrew militant prophet that struck deep into the fibres of his being. Work on it was begun as early as 1840, but he did not earnestly begin the composition of the music (the text he compiled largely himself) until 1845. It was first performed at the Birmingham Festival on August 26th, 1846, when Mendelssohn conducted it before an enormous audience which extended to the composer one of the most thrilling ovations ever enjoyed by a musician. Though its success was most extraordinary, Mendelssohn was not deterred from carefully revising it. It is interesting to note that the universally popular ‘angels’ trio’ (‘Lift thine eyes’) was originally written for only two voices.

The most startling innovation of the whole oratorio is the short, impressive bass recitative which precedes the overture—Elijah’s dramatic prophecy of the drought. Then follows the sombre, gloomy overture portraying the results of the curse as the drought settles over the land and dries up the waters. It leads without pause into the opening chorus, ‘Help, Lord,’ which voices the anguished appeal of the drought—and famine-stricken people. This dramatic supplication leads into a second chorus, ‘Lord, bow Thine ear to our prayer,’ with a duet for two sopranos, supported by a unison chorus, the theme of which is based on an old Hebrew chant and is intoned first by the male and then by the female voices. The succeeding tenor aria (Obadiah), ‘If with all your hearts,’ is of great beauty. The people are not consoled and again burst forth into vehement complaint, ‘Yet doth the Lord see it not,’ which changes toward the end into a lovely chorale, ‘For He the Lord our God.’ An angel’s voice then calls Elijah to the waters of Cherith. A beautiful double quartet follows, whose simple melody is worked up with fine effect, ‘For He shall give His angels charge over thee,’ Elijah is now bidden by the angel to the widow’s house at Zarephath. The raising of her son follows in a dramatic scene consisting of the mother’s passionate cry, ‘What have I to do with thee,’ and the prophet’s ‘Give me thy son.’ The scene then closes with the chorus, ‘Blessed are the men who fear Him,’ The next scene is one of the most dramatic portions of the work—the appearance of the prophet before Ahab, his defiant challenge to the priests of Baal to the sacrifice on Mount Carmel, and the thrilling trial by fire. This part includes the truly Pagan choruses, ‘Baal, we cry to thee’ and ‘Hear our cry, O Baal’; Elijah’s taunt, ‘Call him louder’; the prophet’s dignified appeal, ‘Lord God of Abraham,’ followed by the simple chorale, ‘Cast thy burden on the Lord’; the summoning of fire from heaven upon the altars, and the picturesque and descriptive chorus, ‘The fire descends from heaven.’ The priests are doomed to destruction by Elijah in an excited recitative. Following a choral response, Elijah sings the highly dramatic and difficult aria, ‘Is not His word like a fire?’ Another aria, ‘Woe unto them,’ for alto voice, succeeds Elijah’s and the rain scene begins. In answer to Obadiah’s appeal to help the people, Elijah sings his expressive invocation for rain, ‘Look down from heaven,’ and after several choral responses, together with the exclamations of Elijah and the youth who is sent ‘to look toward the sea,’ the signs of rain appear. Then follows the most thrilling climax of the whole work. As the clouds grow black with rain and the storm gathers force, the people begin to voice their thanks, the orchestra describes the rushing waters, and finally the whole chorus joins in a tumultuous outburst of thanksgiving (‘Thanks be to God’) which brings the first part to a magnificent close.

An effective soprano solo, ‘Hear ye, Israel,’ opens the second part. This leads into the strong, majestic chorus, ‘Be not afraid,’ one of Mendelssohn’s finest choral efforts, in which the regular musical forces are augmented by the organ. Elijah needs the encouragement of this admonition, for he again confronts Ahab and condemns the worship of Baal. The queen, Jezebel, accuses him of working to destroy Israel and the people in wrath shout, ‘Let the guilty prophet perish.’ Obadiah bids him fly to the wilderness. The next scene reveals the persecuted prophet alone and discouraged. In a pathetic plaint, ‘It is enough,’ he resigns himself to death and, wearied with flight, he falls asleep under the juniper tree ‘and the angels encamp round about him.’ This leads directly to what is undoubtedly the most exquisitely beautiful vocal trio in existence—the pure and serene ‘Lift thine eyes,’ sung a cappella by the watching angels. Without pause there follows the beautiful chorus, ‘He watching over Israel.’ The angel then awakens Elijah, who complains pathetically, ‘O Lord, I have labored in vain.’ ‘O rest in the Lord,’ sung by the angel, offers Elijah consolation. The encouraging chorus, ‘He shall endure to the end,’ brings the scene to a majestic close. The following scene reveals a changed Elijah. He yearns now for the divine presence instead of for death. In a sudden outburst the chorus exclaims, ‘Behold, God the Lord passed by.’ A sudden pianissimo works up into an impressive crescendo, and once more appears a pianissimo as the chorus impressively exclaims, ‘The Lord was not in the tempest.’ The earthquake and the tempest and the fire follow. ‘And there came a still, small voice ... and in that still, small voice onward came the Lord.’ Elijah was transformed by the experience and went on his way ‘in the strength of the Lord.’ His strong, confident aria follows, ‘For the mountains shall depart.’ A powerful chorus states that ‘Then did Elijah the prophet break forth like a fire’ and there follows the dramatic choral narrative of the prophet’s ascent into heaven in a fiery chariot. The fine tenor aria, ‘Then, then shall the righteous shine,’ and the melodious quartet, ‘Oh! come, every one that thirsteth,’ lead over into the final choral number—a magnificent fugue (‘Lord, our Creator’), introduced by the majestic phrase, ‘And then shall your light break forth.’

‘Hymn of Praise.’—This symphony-cantata was composed to commemorate the fourth centennial of the invention of the art of printing, held at Leipzig, in June, 1840. A second performance followed at Birmingham, Mendelssohn conducting, a few months later, Sept. 23rd. Dramatically it has no very great significance, being designed purely as a ‘tribute of praise’ for the manifold gifts of the Lord, among them being the art of printing—which the text, based upon the Scriptures, carefully elucidates.

The symphony, or instrumental prelude, is divided into three parts, opening with a majestic trombone passage which clearly anticipates the mood of the ensuing cantata. The real ‘Hymn of Praise’ is given out in the opening chorus, ‘All that has life and breath,’ based upon the motive heard in the opening measure of the prelude. The work then moves on in a majestic manner, reaching its climax with the entrance of the impressive chorus, ‘The night is departing.’ A final chorus, ‘Ye nations, offer to the Lord,’ is in fugal form and is inspiring in its massiveness. The choral motive, ‘All that has life and breath,’ is again given out fortissimo and brings the work to an impressive close. The duet for two sopranos, ‘I waited for the Lord,’ is one of the most beautiful numbers in this work.

IV

The dazzling achievements of Liszt (1811-86) as a pianoforte virtuoso and the popularity and originality of his instrumental compositions have put his choral work in an unfortunate perspective; and they have by no means received the attention they richly merit. Two of the finest examples of oratorio of this period are from the brilliant Abbé’s pen, both written in the full maturity of his powers and with the employment of all his immense resources of dramatic and emotional expression. They are ‘Christus’ and ‘The Legend of the Holy Elizabeth.’ The latter legend, familiar to English readers through Canon Kingsley’s dramatic poem, ‘The Saint’s Tragedy,’ deals with the life of the daughter of King Andreas II of Hungary, born in 1207, who at the age of four was sent to the Wartburg to be brought up as the affianced bride of Ludwig, son of the Landgrave Hermann of Thuringia. After their marriage in 1220 wonderful tales were told of her devotion to the poor, of her pious Christian life, and, after Ludwig’s death, of the cruel hardships which the hatred of her mother-in-law brought upon her. She died in 1231 and was canonized at Marburg in 1235 by command of Pope Gregory IX.

‘The Legend of Saint Elizabeth’ was composed in 1864 and received its first performance in Budapest on August 15, 1865, which event marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of the establishment of the Budapest Conservatory. The composition, however, was really undertaken at the request of the Duke of Weimar for a festival held at the Wartburg on Aug. 28, 1867, commemorating both the eighth centenary of its founding and also the restoration of the romantic old castle which was so intimately associated with the legend of St. Elizabeth. The text by Otto Roquette was inspired by the six magnificent frescoes by Moritz von Schwind which adorn the walls of the Wartburg, and it is divided into six scenes corresponding to the six frescoes.

The first scene opens with an orchestral introduction which sets forth the Elizabeth motive, taken from an old ecclesiastical melody. The music grows animated as it leads into the first chorus, which joyfully welcomes the child Elizabeth, who as the affianced bride of Ludwig, son of the Landgrave of Thuringia, comes to the Wartburg, where she is brought up side by side with her future husband. The second scene reveals the happy matron Elizabeth, now for some years the wife of Ludwig. One of the most beautiful parts of the whole work is the duet between Elizabeth and Ludwig as he surprises her in her alms-deeds which she tries to conceal from him because of her mother-in-law’s fierce disapproval of them. Especially dramatic and beautiful is the portion dealing with the ‘Rose Miracle.’ The quaint story of this episode is as follows: Elizabeth, having dismissed her ladies in order that she may secretly bring bread and wine to some of her poor, sick subjects, suddenly meets her husband in the deep forest far from the Wartburg. Ludwig’s suspicions are aroused and when he asks what her basket contains, she tells him that she has been gathering roses. Ludwig, who does not believe her, seizes the basket, when she hastily confesses that it is bread and wine, and behold! the contents of the basket have been turned into roses! Liszt was very desirous of having this very mysterious and ethereal and indicated in the score that the orchestra should in this part ‘sound fairly transfigured’ and that the conductor should ‘scarcely mark the rhythm’ in order not to imperil the effect. The penitent Ludwig begs her forgiveness and as she asks, ‘Is it a dream?’ the chorus responds, ‘A wonder hath the Lord performed.’

Scene three opens with the stately chorus of crusaders (‘In Palestine, the Holy Land’) with dignified march accompaniment, which leads to Ludwig’s farewell to his wife on his departure for the Holy Wars. Then ensues Elizabeth’s passionate entreaty, ‘Oh tarry! O shorten not the hour,’ followed by the pathetic ‘With grief my spirit wrestles,’ after which the stirring chorus and march of the crusaders closes the scene. Scene four, with its short, sombre orchestral prelude, announces the death of Ludwig, the bitter antagonism of Landgravine Sophie, Elizabeth’s mother-in-law, who drives the sorrowing, broken-hearted young widow from her home. Especially dramatic are the dialogues, in the midst of which is Elizabeth’s aria, ‘O day of mourning, day of sorrow,’ in which she pours out her grief as she fares forth in the storm. Scene five discloses Elizabeth on her death-bed in a hospital founded by herself, where she has forgotten her own sorrow in ministering unto others. Her last words (‘Unto mine end Thy love has led me’), after a gradual decrescendo in the orchestra, are followed by a chorus of angels, ‘All grief is o’er,’ closing with the celestial strains of harps. An orchestral interlude, in which are developed the main themes of the work, leads to the last scene, which depicts the canonization of Elizabeth at Marburg in the presence of the Emperor. This ceremony closes the work with a chorus of the people mourning her death, choruses of the crusaders, of the church choristers and bishops, and finally an imposing six-part chorus, the Latin hymn, Tu pro nobis, mater pia.

Christus was composed in 1866 during Liszt’s residence in Rome, just after he had been appointed Abbé by his friend, Archbishop Hohenlohe, and at a time when, it is said, he entertained high hopes of being appointed chapel-master of the Papal Choir. But, though he was in high favor with the Catholic hierarchy, nothing came of it. The Christus was written soon after the ‘Legend of St. Elizabeth,’ but, while both are deeply imbued with the spirit of Roman Catholicism, the former reflects the deep interest which he took in religious matters at the time far more than does the latter. Liszt compiled the text, which is in Latin, entirely from the Bible and from the Roman liturgy. There are three divisions to the work—(1) ‘The Nativity,’ (2) ‘After Epiphany,’ dealing with the Lord’s life and ministry, and (3) ‘The Passion and the Resurrection.’ The first fragmentary performance of ‘Christus’ took place July 6, 1867, at the Sala Dantesca, in Rome, and another in Vienna in 1871. The first complete production was at Weimar in 1873 under the direction of the composer.

The first part, containing five numbers, opens with an orchestral prelude built on an ancient plain-song melody, Rorate cœli, in Isaiah’s prophecy. This leads into a quaint Pastoral, after which comes the angels’ announcement of Jesus’ birth and a Gloria in excelsis. A devotional setting of the old Latin hymn, Stabat mater speciosa, leads into two orchestral movements of great beauty—‘The Song of the Shepherds at the Manger,’ a lovely pastoral, and ‘The March of the Three Kings,’ an elaborate number in which the high tones of the violins and flutes typify the Star of Bethlehem. The second part contains ‘The Beatitudes’ for baritone and six-part chorus, the Lord’s Prayer, a part entitled ‘The Founding of the Church’ (Tu es Petrus), ‘The Miracle’ (Jesus calming the storm), again treated orchestrally, and ‘The Entry into Jerusalem,’ a brilliantly scored tone-picture, mainly instrumental, save for two vocal passages—a Hosanna for chorus and a Benedictus for mezzo-soprano and chorus. The third part opens with the pathetic solo Tristis est anima mea (‘My soul is sorrowful’), in which the Christ pours out his soul to Peter and his companions on the way to Gethsemane. The orchestra plays a most important part in the expression of this tragic struggle, after which the ancient Latin hymn, Stabat mater dolorosa, is given with combined orchestral and choral forces. Of all the settings of this celebrated liturgic text, Liszt’s is the most powerful and impressive, though it is too overwhelming in its effect for use in the church-service. This lengthy and elaborate number is contrasted strongly with the following simple and quaint Easter hymn, O filii et filiæ, which prepares the listener for the majestic Resurrexit (‘Resurrection’) which follows and builds up a final climax, with the combined resources of chorus and orchestra, that is really commensurate with the grandeur of the theme.

Liszt himself regarded the Christus as his best work—‘my musical will and testament’—and in works of its class it certainly stands unique in the intensity of its expression and in the unusual combination of mediæval church atmosphere and modern musical resources—a powerful fusing of the old and the new. It is scarcely an oratorio in the usual understanding of the term, but rather a kind of liturgic mystery, such as Lesueur strove to build up but did not complete. It cannot be considered apart from the religious faith of its composer and from this point of view it stands as the highest representative of Roman Catholic oratorio.

V

The influence of England on oratorio is by no means to be measured by the number of original works of this class produced by Englishmen. No other country in the world has such a record of long and unbroken loyalty to this musical form and no other country has so freely opened its doors to composers of other nationalities. When one recalls that Handel’s series of magnificent oratorios was written for English appreciation, that Haydn’s ‘Creation’ drew its inspiration from London, that Mendelssohn’s ‘Elijah,’ Gounod’s ‘Redemption’ and Mors et Vita, and many other oratorios of less worth were written for, and received their initial performances before, English festival audiences, one can form some estimate of what English love of choral art has done for its development.

English composers of this period were still using the musical phraseology of Handel and Mendelssohn, so that not much can be said of the individual works produced, though several were worthy and held a certain popularity for a long time. Among the more notable English oratorios of the period were Sir Julius Benedict’s ‘St. Peter’ (1870), George Alexander Macfarren’s ‘St. John the Baptist,’ which was received enthusiastically at the Bristol Festival of 1873, William Sterndale Bennett’s ‘The Woman of Samaria,’ and Sir Michael Costa’s ‘Eli’ and ‘Naaman’ (Birmingham Festival, 1864).

‘The Woman of Samaria,’ a ‘sacred cantata’ by W. Sterndale Bennett (1816-75), was first performed at Birmingham August 27, 1867. The story, taken from the fourth chapter of St. John’s Gospel, follows literally the Bible narrative—Jesus’ journey to Samaria, his rest at the well, and the entrance of the Samaritan woman. This is interspersed with choral and solo passages, the former enacting the part of moralist, commenting upon the situations as they occur by means of appropriate scriptural selections. The part of the Woman of Samaria is sung by the soprano, while the declamatory parts are assigned to the contralto. The tenor has but one aria and the bass acts almost entirely as narrator, the Saviour’s words being always related in the third person. In a single instance the chorus assumes the rôle of narrator, ‘Now we believe,’ where the words are part of the story.

A short instrumental prelude leads to the chorale, ‘Ye Christian people now rejoice,’ for sopranos only. The melody used is an old one, having appeared in the Geistliche Lieder (Wittenberg) in 1535. The chorale is interestingly treated by means of opposing rhythm in the orchestral part. The recitative for contralto, ‘Then cometh Jesus to a city of Samaria,’ opens the oratorio proper. After a chorus, ‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,’ and short recitatives for bass, contralto and soprano, which are again followed by a chorus, there ensues the conversation between the Saviour and the woman, during which Jesus tells her of her past life. She replies in the beautiful contralto solo, ‘O Lord, Thou hast searched me out,’ which is full of tender expression. During the dialogue, the divine nature of Jesus is revealed to the woman and there follows the six-part chorus, ‘Therefore they shall come and sing,’ and this in turn is succeeded by the deeply devotional and well-known quartet, ‘God is a Spirit,’ sung by the solo voices a cappella. A soprano solo, ‘I will love Thee, O Lord,’ was introduced into the oratorio after the death of the composer, among whose manuscripts it was found. This was done for two reasons, to indicate the conversion of the woman and also to interrupt the series of choruses. Among the remaining numbers are a lovely chorale, ‘Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,’ and the fine chorus, ‘Now we believe.’ The work is brought to a close with a majestic fugue, ‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel.’ An atmosphere of devotion pervades the work and, while the composer recognizes the worldly character of the woman, he sees also the possibilities of her intuitive religious feeling, which the Master needed only to awaken.

Costa’s ‘Eli’ was first produced at the Birmingham Festival, August 29, 1855, under the direction of the composer. The text follows the scriptural narrative in the first book of Samuel and was arranged by William Bartholomew. In a rather disconnected manner, and with the story of young Samuel as a central point, it deals with the service of Eli the priest, the carousals of his dissolute sons, the sorrows of Elkanah and Hannah, and the exploits of the warlike Philistines. Some of the finer numbers of the oratorio are Eli’s sombre invocation, ‘Hear my prayer, O Lord’; Hannah’s joyful song, ‘I will extol Thee, O Lord’; the elaborate fugal chorus, ‘Hosanna in the highest,’ which closes the first part; the familiar orchestral march of the Israelites; Samuel’s devout evening prayer, ‘This night I lift my heart to Thee,’ followed by the beautiful female chorus of angels with harp accompaniment, ‘No evil shall befall thee’; and the vigorous chorus, ‘Woe unto us, we are spoiled,’ sung by the Israelites when their crushing defeat by the Philistines is announced.

VI

The oratorio in France had a slow beginning and has throughout its development displayed traits distinctly traceable to two sources, the first of which is the national fondness for theatrical settings for all dramatic works. Even La nativité by Gossec (1734-1829) probably gained wide attention when given at the Tuileries Cathedral, because the composer had a chorus of angels concealed in the dome, thereby giving a more picturesquely dramatic effect. Concert-oratorio, in which the sources of enjoyment are largely limited to pure choral effects, divorced from dramatic content, has never made a wide appeal in France. The second source of the characteristics of French oratorio is to be found in the influence which the liturgy of the Roman Church has exercised over this art-form. French oratorio has preserved a close connection with the old Gallican liturgic drama of the Middle Ages—so much so that the word ‘mystery’ has almost entirely superseded ‘oratorio’ as a title or sub-title for this form of composition. Its line of descent from the mediæval mysteries is still further identified in the subject-matter itself, which usually concerns itself with the mysteries of Christian faith and church doctrine. The titles most frequently subjoined by the composers are ‘sacred drama,’ ‘biblical scene,’ etc., rather than ‘oratorio.’ Here lies the distinct line of demarcation between oratorio from the Protestant and Roman Catholic points of view.

The first of the French composers to write a series of oratorios[80] was François Lesueur (1760-1837) and the strongest of these is his ‘Christmas Oratorio’ written in 1826, which is a combination of drama and churchly office. Lesueur was of the opinion that ecclesiastical music must of necessity be liturgical and therefore based on the Gregorian chant and accent. This work is really an adaptation of the Christmas Mass treated as an oratorio-text, the parts of which are distributed as solos, choruses and ensemble passages among the persons assembled around the manger. Most of these lightly scored passages are built upon old liturgical melodies or upon old French Christmas songs, and the harp is very lavishly used in the instrumentation. The text is in Latin, taken from the Vulgate. After the Kyrie, accompanied by string quartet, there follows the appearance of the angels, closing with a short instrumental coda. After this comes a Gloria in excelsis and a pastoral instrumental passage (Shepherds on the Fields of Bethlehem) scored for violas and horns. Two holy women sing as a duet the Gratias agimus tibi and the closing number consists of a pastoral hymn to the words, Jam desinant suspiria.

One of the most important of the French romantic oratorios is Hector Berlioz’s sacred trilogy, L’enfance du Christ (‘The Childhood of Christ’), which was written in 1854 and performed in Paris and Brussels the same year. This oratorio, dealing with the flight of the Holy Family, is really an enlargement of an earlier cantata, Fuite en Egypt (‘The Flight into Egypt’), and shows traces of the influence of Lesueur, whose pupil, Berlioz, caught the operatic spirit that was associated with his master’s work. The oratorio, the text of which is by the composer, consists of three rather short parts—The Dream of Herod, The Flight into Egypt and The Arrival in Sais. The first part depicts Herod, tormented by awful dreams and influenced by the soothsayers to kill the first-born men-children. The music is sombre, but in the Herod passages takes on the operatic style referred to above. In strong contrast to this is the second part, which deals entirely with the Holy Family and reveals qualities of loveliness and naïveté as it depicts the babe Jesus greeted by the chorus of angels. The most elaborate part is the third, especially the portion which reveals Joseph demanding shelter where he has been refused. Here the music assumes a dramatic and brilliant development.

Although Charles Gounod (1818-93) after the extraordinary success of his masterpiece, ‘Faust,’ was firmly established as one of the foremost opera-composers of Europe, he never lost touch with religious music and finally abandoned the stage entirely for the style that lay closest to his real ambition, becoming the greatest, if not indeed the only great, composer of oratorio in France during this period. As a winner of the Grand Prix de Rome he had studied ecclesiastical music, especially the works of Palestrina; during a visit to Vienna in 1842 he had produced a Requiem in the church of St. Charles, which created a profound impression, and soon after returning to Paris he had even seriously thought of taking holy orders. Wide attention was first attracted to him by the London performance of portions of his Messe solennelle, and even during the period of his greatest fame from his stage-works, he constantly reverted to the composition of sacred music. His two great oratorios—‘The Redemption’ and Mors et Vita—strike out a somewhat new path for this art-form. Here he abandons entirely the contrapuntal and fugal character of the chorus as being artificial and unessential, thus departing completely from Handelian and Mendelssohnian models, and adopts from the Wagnerian music-drama the system of ‘leading motives,’ of which he makes limited use to designate important and representative religious or dramatic themes. Both of these oratorios were composed for English audiences, and Gounod’s residence in London after the Franco-Prussian War and his acquaintance with the English festival oratorio undoubtedly colored the compositions to such an extent that they might almost be called English oratorios.

‘The Redemption.’—This work was originally intended as the first part of a ‘Sacred Trilogy,’ as he styled it, only the second of which (Mors et Vita) was ever completed; the composition of the third was prevented by his death. The seriousness with which Gounod approached this work is evidenced by the inscription—‘the work of my life’—which he wrote on the opening page of the first of the great works, ‘The Redemption.’ This had been begun in 1867 in Rome, where the composer wrote his text and set a few numbers of the music, but it was not completed until twelve years later and the first performance took place on August 30, 1882, at the Birmingham Festival. It was heard in Paris, May 22nd, 1886, and for the first time in America in the winter of 1883-1884 under the direction of Theodore Thomas. It is dedicated to Queen Victoria.

In the preface of his work Gounod states: ‘This work is a lyrical setting forth of the three great facts on which depends the existence of the Christian Church. These facts are: 1. The Passion and the Death of the Saviour. 2. His glorious life on earth from His Resurrection to His Ascension. 3. The spread of Christianity in the world through the mission of the Apostles.’ This trilogy is preceded by a ‘Prologue on the creation, the fall of our first parents and the promise of the Redeemer.’ The work is divided in accordance with the above as follows:

Prologue—The Creation.

Part I.—Calvary.

Part II.—From the Resurrection to the Ascension.

Part III.—The Pentecost.

The personages are Jesus, Mary and two narrators. The composition, which by some is pronounced the finest of modern oratorios, is a curious mixture of old and new ways of musical treatment. While Gounod, evidently influenced by Wagner, made use of ‘leading motives,’ he also used the narrator in the same manner as did Bach and in like manner treats the chorale. After a short instrumental introduction, descriptive of chaos, and the narrator’s recitative concerning the fall of man, the Redemption theme is heard and it appears wherever the atonement is thought of. This beautiful leading motive is heard nine times during the course of the work and is most effectively introduced in the first chorus, ‘The earth is my possession.’ Its most touching use is where Jesus tells the dying malefactor, ‘To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise,’ and its most impressively triumphant appearance is in the orchestral part at the close of the splendid chorus, ‘Unfold, ye portals everlasting.’

The first part treats of the condemnation of Jesus, the crucifixion, Mary at the foot of the cross and Jesus’ conversation with the two thieves. It contains some finely written solos and choruses, and the two instrumental numbers—‘The March to Calvary’ and the number descriptive of the darkness that fell over the earth as Jesus uttered his last words. The second part includes the events in the period between the Resurrection and the Ascension. Among the beautiful numbers in this part are the trio of Holy Women (two sopranos and a contralto) ‘The Lord, He is risen again,’ and the lovely chorus with soprano obbligato, ‘From Thy love as a Father.’ Possibly the strongest chorus in the whole work is ‘Unfold, ye portals everlasting,’ which is so often sung as a separate chorus number. The third part with its beautiful orchestral introduction has for its first chorus the melodious ‘Lovely appear over the mountains,’ followed by one of the most exquisite portions of the whole work, the soprano solo, ‘Over the barren wastes.’ After a repetition of the preceding chorus, there follow the impressive events of the day of Pentecost, the Apostles at prayer (for orchestra alone), the descent of the Spirit and the singing of the Beatitudes. The close is a repetition of the majestic apostles’ hymn in unison, with the whole chorus, orchestra and organ massed in a magnificent structure with grandiose effect.

Mors et Vita is the second of his contemplated ‘sacred trilogy,’ of which ‘The Redemption’ was the first. The Latin text is compiled from the Catholic liturgy and from the Vulgate, and the work is dedicated to Pope Leo XIII. The first performance took place at the Birmingham Festival, August 26, 1885, under the direction of Richter, and the first performance in Paris, in May, 1886. Gounod writes in the preface: ‘It will perhaps be asked why, in the title, I have placed death before life. It is because in the order of eternal things death precedes life, although in the order of temporal things life precedes death.’ He also refers to his use of ‘leading motives,’ which are also employed in ‘The Redemption.’ There are four of these, the first of which, a theme made up of four tones (a sequence of three major seconds), is supposed to express ‘the terror inspired by the sense of the inflexibility of Justice and, in consequence, by that of the anguish of punishment. Its sternness gives expression both to the sentences of Divine Justice and the sufferings of the condemned, and is found in combination throughout the whole work with melodic forms which express sentiments altogether different, as in the Sanctus and the Pie Jesu of the Requiem which forms the first part.’ The second, the motive of sorrow and tears, is, by the alteration of one tone, changed into a motive of joy. Of the fourth, Gounod writes: ‘By means of a threefold superposition, it results in the interval of an augmented fifth and announces the awakening of the dead at the terrifying call of the angelic trumpets, of which St. Paul speaks in one of his epistles to the Corinthians.’

A short Prologue leads to the first part, Mors (Death), which is a Requiem expanded by interpolated texts of a reflective character. The second part, called Judicium (Last Judgment), contains six subdivisions, as follows: The Sleep of the Dead, The Trumpets at the Last Judgment, The Resurrection of the Dead, The Judge, The Judgment of the Elect, The Judgment of the Rejected. The third part, Vita (Life), using the text of St. John’s vision in the Apocalypse, describes the joys of the Holy City, New Jerusalem, closing with an exultant Hosanna in excelsis.

Among the finest choruses of the oratorio are the Quid sum miser (‘Ah! What shall we then be pleading’) and the Lacrymosa dies illa (‘Day of weeping, day of mourning’) from the Dies iræ. Probably the greatest aria of the work is the soprano solo, Beati qui lavant (‘The righteous shall enter into Glory Eternal’).

The theme which Gounod has chosen presents opportunities for orchestral effects which such a master of orchestration as he was would naturally seize upon, and several of the numbers are for orchestra alone—The Epilogue to the first part, in which the various leading motives are developed, The Judge, and The Heavenly Jerusalem.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] These oratorios were, in addition to the one named, ‘Deborah,’ ‘Rachel,’ ‘Ruth and Naomi,’ ‘Ruth and Boaz,’ and the three ‘Coronation Oratorios’ written for the three days’ coronation ceremonies of Napoleon in 1804 (in reality three masses expanded so as to include the special ceremonies).

CHAPTER IX
THE MODERN ORATORIO

Brahms: ‘German Requiem’; Dvořák: ‘St. Ludmila’—César Franck: ‘The Beatitudes’—Tinel: ‘Franciscus’; Benoît: ‘Lucifer’—Saint-Saëns: ‘Christmas Oratorio’; ‘The Deluge’; Massenet: Ève; Marie Madeleine; Dubois: ‘Paradise Lost’—Oratorio in England; Mackenzie: ‘The Rose of Sharon’; ‘Bethlehem’; Parry: ‘Judith’; ‘Job’; ‘King Saul’—Stanford: ‘The Three Holy Children’; ‘Eden’; Sullivan: ‘The Prodigal Son’; ‘The Light of the World’; Cowen—Oratorio in America; Paine: ‘St. Peter’; Horatio Parker: Hora Novissima; ‘The Legend of St. Christopher.’

I

‘The German Requiem’ is the largest of Brahms’ several choral works and was the first of his compositions to bring him fame and to verify Schumann’s enthusiastic prophecy concerning him. The work, consisting of seven numbers, is mainly choral, though there are baritone and soprano solos, and it was first heard in its entirety at Bremen on Good Friday, 1868. Its first English performance was in 1873 and it was heard for the first time in America at the Cincinnati May Festival in 1884 under Theodore Thomas’ direction.

The title ‘Requiem’ is in a measure misleading, as it has nothing in common with the setting of the Catholic Mass for the Dead. It is much broader in scope than the customary use of this term as a form of religious music would imply. While it points out the emptiness and vanity of material life, its dominant note is one of consolation, expanding into joy and leading to the ultimate triumph over death and the grave. The composition of the ‘German Requiem’ was suggested by the death of the composer’s mother in 1865 and the work itself is generally regarded as Brahms’ masterpiece, Maitland going so far as to call it ‘the greatest achievement of modern sacred music in Germany.’

The first chorus, ‘Blessed are they that go mourning,’ is a beautiful composition, its charm being greatly enhanced by its rich orchestral accompaniment. No. 2, the Funeral March, is written in triple time, which through Brahms’ magic is made to express vividly the measured tread of the mourners. No. 3, ‘Lord, make me to know the measure of my days on earth,’ consists of a baritone solo followed by two choral fugues which are very effective though of great difficulty. No. 4, a chorus (‘How lovely is Thy dwelling-place, O Lord of Hosts’), is slower than its predecessor and is charmingly melodious. No. 5, ‘Ye now are sorrowful, grieve not,’ for soprano solo and chorus, has rich passages of melody and discloses the composer’s great ability in song-writing. No. 6, for baritone solo and chorus (‘Here on earth we have no continuing place, we seek now a heavenly one’), pictures the resurrection of the dead in intricate fugal passages of wonderful power. No. 7, the finale (‘Blessed are the faithful who in the Lord are sleeping’), in contrast with the tumultuous strains which precede it, offers a calm and sweetly serious close to this remarkable work.

Dvořák’s ‘St. Ludmila’ is sometimes classed as a sacred cantata, but its breadth rather suggests its inclusion among oratorios. The poem, by Jaroslav Vrchlicky, is based on a Bohemian legend and sets forth the worship of the heathen goddess Bába, the destruction of her statue by the Christian teacher Ivan, the conversion of Princess Ludmila and her future husband, Prince Bořivoy, and their baptism, which ushered in the Christianization of Bohemia. The work was written for the Leeds Festival, where it had its first presentation in 1886. While there are many suggestions of national folk-song and national idiom in the score, Dvořák, in writing the music, doubtless had in mind English conditions, demands and tastes, in that he gave special prominence to the choral parts and strove to develop charming and original melodies with strongly rhythmic features.

The composition is in three parts. The first scene is laid in the courtyard of Melnik Castle, where the people are gathered about the statue of the goddess Bába in worship of Bohemian Pagan deities. An introductory orchestral number depicts the dawn, following which are several solos and choruses of women and priests, in which the dawning day and the laughing springtime are joyously proclaimed. Ludmila enters with an invocation to the goddess for blessings on the fatherland, closing with the charming passage, ‘I long with childlike longing,’ to which the chorus adds, ‘The gods are ever near.’ With the approach of Ivan, the serene music changes abruptly, as he implores them in a strong, declamatory aria, ‘Give ear, ye people, one is our God.’ After the destruction of the heathen statue by Ivan amid scenes of great confusion, Ludmila proclaims her faith in the doctrine which Ivan preaches, and the part closes with choruses of lament and alarm by the people. The second part, after an orchestral prelude, discloses Svatava aiding her mistress in finding Ivan, whom they finally discover emerging from a cave. After Ludmila and Svatava have both declared their faith in Christianity, the music suddenly changes. The religious mood gives way to the merry sound of the hunt and the hunters’ chorus. Prince Bořivoy enters and relates how Ivan miraculously healed the wounded hind. As he sees Ludmila, he declares his love for her. Ivan expounds his doctrine to the prince and the hunters, and Bořivoy is also converted. When he again pours out his love for Ludmila, she at first replies, ‘To thee the pleasure of the chase belongs,’ but Ivan urges her to bestow her hand upon the prince, and a quartet and a chorus close the part. The scene of the third part is laid in the cathedral of Velehrad. The royal lovers are baptized, and the noble chorus, ‘Mighty Lord, to us be gracious,’ creates an exalted religious atmosphere. At the conclusion of the ceremony the orchestra enters with trumpet fanfares, followed by solos by Svatava and Ivan with choral responses; and a powerful contrapuntal chorus, a final ‘Alleluia,’ impressively closes the work.

II

Though Franck’s list of works is small compared with those of some of his fellow-composers, he touched every field of serious music and left the impress of his powerful individuality. Les Béatitudes (‘The Beatitudes’) is probably his finest work, though, after hearing his noble D minor symphony or his striking piano quintet, one is reluctant to pass over either of these superb creations in naming Franck’s masterpiece. He wrote five large choral works, though, in common with other French composers, he seldom used the title ‘oratorio.’ The first one in oratorio-form was ‘Ruth and Boaz,’ written in 1845, which he designates Églogue biblique and in which he is evidently struggling for new harmonic effects, although he had not yet found the idiom which characterizes his later works. He follows the form of French oratorios of this period, which were usually short, possibly because this temperamental nation was not inclined to hear a long religious work which, without any dramatic action, would occupy a whole evening. The naïveté and simplicity of this youthful work won much admiration when it was first performed at the Conservatoire at Paris on January 4, 1846. The picturesque orchestral prelude, the chorus of Moabites, Ruth’s beautiful aria in the first part, the duet between Ruth and Boaz in the second part, the charming and original chorus of reapers with its suggestion of an old French folk-song—these are some of the beauties of this simple sacred idyl. La Rédemption, which the composer calls a poème symphonique, was finished Nov. 7, 1872, and was first performed at the Concert National on April 10, 1873, under the direction of Colonne. Franck’s mysticism becomes more apparent in this work. While it is by no means on a level with the ‘Beatitudes,’ such passages as the angels’ choruses, the arias of the archangel, the music expressing the joy of mankind at Christ’s advent, reveal the tender grace and purity of Franck’s inspirations. Rébecca, a Biblical idyl (scène biblique) on a poem by Paul Collin, dates from 1881, and is written in the simple style of his earlier ‘Ruth.’ An Oriental atmosphere pervades the work and gives color to its harmonies and modulations, as witness the opening chorus and the picturesque chorus of camel-drivers. In Psyché Franck reaches his mature style. Written in 1887-88 and first performed at the Concerts du Châtelet under Colonne, Feb. 23, 1890, this quite lengthy work possesses many passages of ravishing beauty and elusive charm—such as the Sommeil de Psyché, a prelude ‘full of mysterious language,’ and the music accompanying the scene where Psyché reposes among the flowers.

‘The Beatitudes’ is a work in which Franck’s best and most characteristic qualities of thought and workmanship are displayed in a wonderful degree. Of a deeply religious nature, profoundly earnest and sincere, working wholly for himself and his art-ideals, and wholly oblivious of the indifference with which an unappreciative generation received his great works, Franck translated into music his own inner self to a degree that has been vouchsafed to very few composers. The grandeur and religious significance of the underlying thoughts of this great theme struck deep into his gentle, tender nature and he was able to sustain a noble mode of musical speech from beginning to end without flagging. Three characteristics stand out prominently in his music—(1) a mysticism that throws a glamour of delicious vagueness of outline over all his modes of artistic expression, a mysticism that roots itself deep in the hidden things of the religious faith he so consistently held, (2) a complex and intricate polyphony that rivals Bach’s in its nobility and expressiveness, and (3) an astounding wealth of novel harmonies that elude analysis and enthrall the listener by their very elusiveness.

‘The Beatitudes’ was begun in 1870 and was published ten years later. Parts of it were performed in Paris from time to time, but the entire work did not come to public hearing until one year after the composer’s death—at Dijon in 1891 at the Commemoration Festival of St. Bernard. Its first Paris performance was March 19, 1893, under Colonne, and France at last awoke to the recognition of the greatness of her departed adopted son. The text is a poetic paraphrase of the Sermon on the Mount, made by Madame Colomb. It is not altogether adequate and is interspersed with philosophical episodes that at times suggest spiritualism and other irrelevant matter. Curiously enough it was frequently these extraneous parts that touched Franck most deeply and occasioned some of his finest outbursts of religious rapture. The strongest musical parts of the oratorio are the fine choral writing and the skillful handling of the orchestra in exploiting and illustrating the poetic and dramatic meaning of the text. In the orchestral numbers his most brilliant style is revealed. His treatment of the various characters—Satan, the Voice of Christ, Mater Dolorosa—is often very dramatic, almost theatrical: other characters are the Angel of Forgiveness and the Angel of Death. The central theme which runs through the whole work is the perpetual conflict between good and evil, and ‘terrestrial’ and ‘celestial’ choruses are frequently used to illustrate these opposing forces.

The musical numbers of the oratorio naturally group themselves into eight parts (preceded by a prologue) corresponding to the Gospel narrative. The Christ motive is introduced in the music of the prologue (for tenor and celestial chorus) which establishes at once the mood of the whole work. Of exquisite beauty and tenderness are the passages assigned to the voice of Christ (baritone) in the first part (‘Blessed he, who, from earth’s dreams awaking’) and in the third and fourth parts. The celestial choruses are notable throughout for their tender note of consolation and admonition, especially in the fifth part. Franck’s treatment of the whole of the third beatitude—‘Blessed are they that mourn’—is forceful and impressive, beginning with the chorus, ‘Grief over all creatures,’ the strongest in the whole oratorio. The most dramatic moments of the work are in the seventh part—‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’ His Satan, as the arch-inspirer of all strife and discord, appears as a figure of Miltonic grandeur. Opposed to his bitter denunciations and taunts are the gentle strains of the Christ voice (‘Blessed are they who, with voice beseeching’), which touch even Satan to a penitent mood (‘Ah! that voice’) and lead into one of the most beautiful portions of the entire work, the famous quintet of peacemakers (‘Evil cannot stay’). The eighth part—‘Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake’—rivals the seventh in dramatic intensity and force. Satan, ‘not yet defeated,’ again hurls defiance at Christ. He is rebuked by the chorus of the just and finally gives way before the voice of the Mater Dolorosa who sings a sublime song (‘Stricken with sorrow’). Satan recognizes his doom, the voice of Christ is heard for the last time, and the celestial chorus responds with a triumphant Hosanna which brings the work to a close.

III

Franciscus was the first work to bring Edgar Tinel (1854-1912) international fame. While preceding works had brought him success, the sound musicianship of this oratorio, its beauties of contrapuntal and orchestral structure, won for its composer a wide recognition beyond the boundaries of his native Belgium as one of the ablest contemporary choral writers. He has written much church-music and has evinced strong interest in the reform of Gregorian chant and ecclesiastical music which has stirred the Roman Church since the middle of the nineteenth century. It was while he was director of the Institute for Sacred Music at Malines that he composed ‘Franciscus,’ generally regarded as his masterpiece, and it was produced there, August 22, 1888. It was one of the works performed at the Lower Rhine Festival in 1894 and was heard for the first time in England in 1895 at the Cardiff Festival. Before either German or English performance, however, it had been brought out in New York City in 1893. The librettist, Lodemijk de Koninck, has woven into the lines of his poem all the salient features of the life of St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226), ‘the adorable mediæval mystic who invited all beings and all things to divine love,’ and who became the founder of the great mendicant order of Franciscan monks.

The oratorio is divided into three parts. The first—‘Francis’ Worldly Life and his Renunciation’—opens with a sonorous prelude developed from a theme of stately character and discloses a brilliant scene of court life at Assisi, where knights and ladies hold high feast amid the beauty of an Italian night. There is dancing and merriment and the gay Francis is called upon for a song. He astonishes the guests by singing the Ballad of Poverty, which, with its quaint unaccompanied choral refrains, forms one of the most delightful musical passages in the work. On his way home after the festivities he hears a voice speaking his name. Later in his chamber he hears the same heavenly voice and sees a vision of a magnificent hall, hung with cross-bedecked armor, wherein a noble maiden, Poverty, walks. The heavenly voice tells him that Poverty shall be his bride, his weapon the cross, and his mission to convert the world. The second part pictures ‘Francis’ Monastic Life’ and teems with the fantastic episodes with which mediæval legends allegorically associated the lives of the church fathers and saints. It introduces the angels of Hope, of Love, and of Peace, against whom the spirits of War and of Hate wage battle. Francis, worn with fasting, bare-foot and clad in a monk’s gray garb, comes from his cell. His former companions no longer know him, and jeer him as he tells them of his lovely bride, Poverty. He sings the beautiful, pathetic Song of Poverty, Erbarm’ Dich meiner Noth, O Herr! (‘Have mercy on my need, O Lord!’). Taught by him they learn the meaning of brotherly love and peace reigns on earth. Francis’ Hymn to the Sun with choral accompaniment, the deeply expressive Song of Love and the closing chorus of celestial voices, are among the rarest gems of the work. The third part deals with ‘Francis’ Death and Glorification,’ the finest numbers of which are the angelus chorus which he hears at evening as he lies on his death-bed; the double chorus in the church scene (Lux æterna), in which the solemn tones of the organ join with contrasting celestial and earthly choirs; the imposingly heroic funeral march; and the final scene, in which the composer masses chorus on chorus with tremendous cumulative effect, closing with the words, ‘Triumph! Glory be to God!’

Pierre Léopold Benoît (b. 1834), a consistent propagandist for Flemish music, has been foremost in the movement to establish a national school of music distinct from French and German schools. In aiding this movement he has himself been a prolific writer in many fields. His choral works include the six oratorios—Lucifer (1866), Die Schelde (1869), Prometheus (1868), Der Krieg (1880), Der Rhein (1889) and the ‘Children’s Oratorio’—a choral symphony (‘The Mowers’), and in addition many cantatas, among them one for children’s voices (‘Into the World’), of great beauty and practical value for school purposes. In style Benoît is influenced sometimes by Franck and sometimes by Schumann and the later Germans; there are few traces of a strongly individual style.

Lucifer, Benoît’s most important composition and one of the best of its period, was written in 1865 and first performed in Brussels in 1866. The text is by Emanuel Hiel. It shows distinctly the presence of a progressive spirit in Belgium and France, though the former country welcomed the oratorio more heartily than did the latter. The subject is the thrice-attempted effort of Satan to gain victory over a divinely protected humanity; but the text is so allegorical and so unskillfully put together that it no longer takes hold of the listener’s interest. Portions of the work, especially the agitated passages, are characterized by unrestrained emotional expression. The solos are generally pleasing and lyric, though not deep—the whole affording contrasts which hold the attention. The orchestration is brilliant for the period and the choral-writing skillful. The employment of leading motives, to which the composer himself called attention (though as a whole they are not very characteristic), stamped the work as being very modern in style at the time it was written. It no doubt had a large influence on Benoît’s contemporaries, especially on Franck, whose later oratorios, though constructed with vastly greater skill and genius, show many similar traits.

IV

The ‘Christmas Oratorio’ (Noël) of Charles Camille Saint-Saëns (born 1835), although constructed in the oratorio style, scarcely exceeds the dimensions of a cantata. It calls for five soloists, and is scored for strings, organ and, in one number, the harp. While the text is based on the story of the Nativity, only two numbers mention the birth of Jesus and these at the beginning of the work, the remainder being liturgical matter, such as the Magnificat, Benedictus and Gloria Patri, and the triumph of the Church—all appropriate to the Christmas season. A quaint and melodious pastoral introduction of some length leads into a recitative, ‘And there were shepherds,’ after which the announcement to the shepherds is apportioned among three solo voices, closing with the chorus, ‘Glory to God in the highest.’ The most dramatic chorus in the work is ‘Wherefore are the nations raging,’ to which the accompaniment in itself furnishes an atmosphere of wild unrest. A portion of the opening pastoral prelude is heard again in the next to the last number, before the quintet takes up the words, ‘Arise now, Daughter of Zion,’ which, especially in the ‘Alleluia’ portion, contains some beautiful writing for the solo voices. A final chorus, written in majestic hymn style and also closing with an oft-repeated ‘Alleluia,’ concludes the oratorio. The composition, though short, is exceedingly beautiful, not only in its graceful and melodious voice-parts, but in its delicate and striking accompaniments.

‘The Deluge,’ a biblical scene which Saint-Saëns wrote in 1875, has steadily maintained its place in the choral repertoire. It is an effective, artistic work, nobly conceived and true to the scriptural narrative. The orchestra takes a leading part in the vivid portrayal of the commotions of Nature—the approaching rain, gradually bursting into torrents, the rising of the flood, the buoyancy of the ark as it ‘floated upon the mournful ocean,’ the darkness, and finally the receding waters. The narration of the most important events is given to the chorus, while the minor incidents are delegated to the soloists, largely in recitative. Especially effective is the passage at the beginning of the second part in which it is related that ‘the sun disappeared’ and ‘the rains from heaven poured,’ where the choral parts have little melodic movement, dwelling much on one tone, as though awed at the magnitude of the calamity, while the storm-tossed accompaniment vividly depicts the fierce force of the elements. One of the finest numbers is the fugal chorus, ‘This race will I blot out forever.’ In striking contrast to this is the delicately scored scene of the departing and the returning dove and the rainbow-music. The work closes with a massive contrapuntal chorus, in which the solo quartet joins, ‘Now increase, grow and multiply.’

Jules Massenet (1842-1912) has made several excursions into the field of choral music, but has never been quite able to throw off his theatrical associations. His oratorios are Ève (1875), La Vierge (‘The Holy Virgin’), a sacred legend in four scenes (1880), and La terre promise (‘The Promised Land,’ 1900). In addition is a four-act sacred drama, Marie Madeleine (1873), which is utterly theatrical.

Ève, a mystery which Massenet wrote in 1875, though not deeply conceived, is full of beautiful color. It is in three parts, the first being ‘The Birth of Woman.’ At the beginning of the part the composer has written in the score: ‘Serene Nature round Man in his sleep. A pure light is spread over Creation, and from the new-born Earth light vapors illumined by the Sun rise on the horizon. A soft breeze undulates the flowers of the field and the waves of the sea.’ Part second, ‘Eve in Solitude’ (The Temptation), bears this superscription: ‘Starlit sky. A balmy night. In the forest solitude Eve walks in deep thought far from Adam. Trembling and enchanted she listens to the voices of the night which murmur around her.’ In these surroundings she sings an aria of narcotic sweetness, O nuit, douce nuit (‘O night! gentle night’), which discloses how receptive she is to the alluring voices of sweet temptation. The third part is ‘The Fall.’ It is impossible to think of Massenet’s character of Eve with any degree of sympathy, as she is depicted simply as an easily tempted Parisienne, with all the characteristics of a frail and sentimental woman. According to the text, she plucks from the tree, not the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, but of love, which is here styled ‘the forbidden fruit.’ The eating of the fruit brings on a rapturous love-duet (con passione) in true theatrical style, and the happy pair are banished from Eden—for loving!

Marie Madeleine, a work which Massenet calls a sacred drama, was written in 1873 and performed at the Odéon Théâtre, Paris, the same year. It consists of three acts, (1) Magdalen at the Fountain, (2) Jesus before Mary Magdalene, (3) Golgotha, including the scenes, ‘Magdalen at the Cross,’ ‘At the Tomb of Jesus,’ and the ‘Resurrection.’ The persons represented are Mary Magdalene, Martha, Jesus and Judas, together with choruses of disciples, Pharisees, scribes, publicans, soldiers, servants, holy women and people.

One who is in sympathy with the inspiring Bible narrative, so beautifully treated in dramatic literature, finds it difficult to become reconciled to the extraneous, irrelevant material brought into the text and elaborated in the music—for example, the introduction of Judas as a lover of the Magdalen and a chorus of women who taunt her. The music abounds in dramatic, Oriental coloring and rich melody. The two tableaux in the third act are very realistic, the first presenting the ‘Crucifixion,’ and the second, the ‘Ascension.’

Théodore Dubois (b. 1837) has worked much in the field of choral music. Besides many pieces of church-music and five cantatas, he has written three oratorios—‘The Seven Last Words of Christ’ (1867), a short and easy setting of the familiar Passion-scene; ‘Paradise Lost,’ which is given some space below; and Nôtre-Dame de la Mer (1897).

‘Paradise Lost’ (Le Paradis perdu), for the composition of which Dubois won the City of Paris prize in 1878, is a dramatic oratorio in four parts. The text, by Édouard Bau, is based on Milton’s great poem. It is a fresh, spontaneous work, and abounds in striking tone-pictures, the most unique of which is the fierce struggle in Part I between the forces of Heaven and of Hell (the faithful and the rebellious angels). The superscription of the orchestral introduction is a commentary on the sombre nature of the music: ‘Before the Creation of our Earth, while Chaos yet reigned ... the host of angels, called from the ends of Heaven, assembled before the throne of the Almighty.’ This prelude is at once followed by the chorus of seraphim and the recitative of the Archangel. The first two parts, ‘The Revolt’ and ‘Hell,’ portray the contest of Satan and his angels against the archangels and the faithful, and the condition of the lost angels in their new abode of torment. The third part, ‘Paradise,’ includes the temptation and the fall of man, and the fourth, ‘The Judgment,’ tells of the upheaval on the earth, the despair of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from Paradise. Among the best portions of the work might be named the opening of Part III, a beautiful picture of a morning in Paradise (ushered in by the orchestra and taken up chorally by the spirits who guard Eden); the simple, devout prayer of Adam and Eve (in duet form); and a grandiose concerted piece, ‘O God, avenging and righteous,’ which is sung by Adam, Eve, the Archangel and the chorus of seraphim. The characterization of Satan is particularly strong throughout the work. Interesting is the French viewpoint, which depicts the chivalrous Adam unwilling to allow the blame for the first sin to rest upon his spouse: ‘Pardon the woman.... I ‘twas who led her astray!’ he pleads before the Archangel who passes sentence upon the guilty pair. Many pages of the music approach closely to the boundaries of sentimentality.

V

In the field of English oratorio we find the same contributing composers as in the cantata-form of this period and the same progressive spirit and virile qualities that sought out and found individual forms of expression (see Chapter VI). The principal oratorio writers of the period in the United Kingdom are Mackenzie, Parry, Stanford, Sullivan and Cowen.

‘The Rose of Sharon,’ a dramatic oratorio by Alexander Campbell Mackenzie (born 1847), was first produced at the Norwich Festival, Oct. 16. 1884, the composer conducting. Mackenzie speaks of the production of this work as the ‘turning point’ of his career. The first performance met with enormous success and it was received in all parts of the United Kingdom with extraordinary marks of approval. The text by Joseph Bennett is based upon the Song of Solomon and the persons represented are the Sulamite (the Rose of Sharon), a woman (the narrator), the Beloved and Solomon, the chorus being variously made up of princes, nobles, officers of the court, elders, villagers and soldiers. It is in four parts in addition to a prologue which indicates the parabolic character of the drama and an epilogue which points its moral. The four parts are: (1) Separation, (2) Temptation, (3) Victory, and (4) Reunion. The principal motive of the work is revealed in the words which the Sulamite sings—‘Love is strong as death and unconquerable as the grave.’

The story relates how the Sulamite is seen by Solomon, who at once becomes enamored of her and tears her away from her Beloved, placing her in his own harem, where, although surrounded by every luxury which royal favor can devise, she still remains loyal to her Beloved. After every effort on the part of Solomon, the nobles and the women of the court, the Sulamite continues to sing ‘My Beloved pastures his flock among the lilies’ and she is finally restored to him, after which they return together to the vineyards. The score is heavily loaded with beautiful passages—lyric, pastoral and dramatic—for choral and solo parts alike. The composer uses with great skill and effectiveness four motives—the Love motive associated with the above quotation and a motive associated with each of the three principal characters. Some of the loveliest parts of the work are the long dialogue between the Sulamite and her Beloved in the first part; the simple ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ which the Sulamite, alone in Solomon’s palace, devoutly sings as she longingly remembers the scenes from which she has been parted; the stately chorus, ‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,’ accompanying the procession of the ark; the chorus of shepherds and vine-dressers; the jubilant chorus, ‘Sing, O Heavens! be joyful, O Earth!’ as the villagers greet the returning lovers, which chorus leads into a rapturous duet that prepares the way for a chorale-like finale in which all join.

‘Bethlehem’ is a mystery in two acts, Mackenzie here using this term in preference to ‘oratorio’ as better indicating the nature of the work, which preserves a quaintness of narrative style throughout. The text is by Joseph Bennett and the work made its appearance in 1894. The events of the first act or part take place in the fields of Bethlehem, where angels appear to the shepherds, comforting them with good news and singing an anthem of praise to God, returning to heaven and leaving the shepherds astounded at the vision. They talk together of the wondrous sight and, as dawn appears, the people of Bethlehem gather together and they all rejoice and sing a carol. The scene of the second act is Bethlehem. A host of ‘arméd cherubim’ guard the new-born King as the blessed mother sweetly sings to her babe. But the shepherds with some people of Bethlehem seek the Holy Babe through the city to worship Him; likewise certain kings from the East, whose salutations the blessed mother answers. As the kings marvel and offer gifts, all join in humble and devout adoration of the Holy Child. The quaintness of style is preserved in the music also, yet without sacrificing its dignity.

‘Judith’ (‘The Regeneration of Manasseh’) was the first oratorio of Parry (b. 1848), although he had already written several of the long series of choral works that mark him as one of England’s great composers. It was produced at the Birmingham Festival of 1888. The persons in the action are Manasseh, king of Israel; Meshullemeth, his wife; his children; Judith; a High Priest of Moloch; and a messenger of Holofernes. The text, by the composer, is in two acts. In the first, the priests of Moloch demand the children of Manasseh for sacrifice, but as they are about to be offered up, Judith appears and endeavors to save them. She is herself saved from the wrath of the people only by the coming of the Assyrians, who lay Jerusalem in ruins and carry off Manasseh a prisoner to Babylon. But the captive king repents of his sins against God and is permitted to return to Jerusalem. In the second act, while the Jews are lamenting over the desolation of their city, a messenger from the Assyrian general, Holofernes, arrives and demands new terms of submission and tribute. Here Judith comes to the rescue; she exhorts the Jews to have confidence in God’s help, makes her way to the Assyrian camp and to the tent of Holofernes and strikes him down with her own hand. The Israelites, fired by her heroism, fall upon their bewildered enemies and scatter them, returning to Jerusalem and praising the God of Israel. The Moloch choruses are very characteristic, some of them fierce and barbaric, while the march of the Assyrian host at the close of the first part is stately and majestic. One of the loveliest parts is the scene between Meshullemeth and her children as she sings, in answer to their questions, the simple, pathetic ballad of Israel’s ancient escape from Egypt and the Red Sea.

‘Job’ was written for the Gloucester Festival of 1892 and is much shorter than the preceding oratorio. Parry’s treatment of the familiar story of the patriarch’s misfortunes is at once individual and poetic. He groups the events into four scenes, opening the first one with a noble, serene theme in the orchestra, associated with the ‘perfect and upright man that feared God,’ and appropriately using it again to bring the whole work to a close. The narrator is given an important rôle, but the climax of the work is Job’s lengthy lament for his losses in the third scene. The music is noble and of sustained dignity and impressiveness.

‘King Saul,’ Parry’s third oratorio, was performed at the Birmingham Festival of 1894. It relates, in a series of ten scenes grouped into four acts, the main events in the picturesque life of this king of Israel. The prophet Samuel and the youthful shepherd David are prominent persons in the narrative, while the introduction of the Witch of Endor scene gives opportunity for music of vividly descriptive character. Among many fine lyric passages are the love-duet of David and Michal and David’s devotional psalm after the battle with the Philistines (‘Let us lift up our eyes unto the mountains, whence cometh our help’). The choral-writing throughout is marked by unerring skill and noteworthy effectiveness.

VI

‘The Three Holy Children,’ by Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (born 1852), was written for the Birmingham Festival of 1885. The words are taken in the main from those parts of the Old Testament and the Apocrypha that deal with the captivity of the Jews under Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. This king had erected a great image of Bel in the valley of Dura and commanded that all his subjects worship it under penalty of death by fire. A company of Jewish women, by the waters of Babylon, are mourning over their captivity, when they are taunted by some Assyrian soldiers on their way to worship Bel and they reply with songs of their beloved country and with imprecations on their enemies. Ananias, Azarias and Misael, three prominent Jews, denounce the worship of idols and refuse to bow down to Bel. They are dragged before the king and cast into the fiery furnace; but the flames do them no harm and the amazed king releases them and joins with the multitude in praising God ‘that hath sent His angel and delivered His servants that trusted in Him.’

‘Eden,’ a dramatic oratorio, is a strong setting of Robert Bridges’ poem and found first presentation, as have several others of Stanford’s choral works, at the Birmingham Festival, this one in 1891. The poem is an elaborate epic of large dimensions, involving in its action many characters (Adam, Eve, Satan, Michael, Angels of Earth, Sun, Music, Poetry, etc.) and for its choral elements, calling upon angels, devils, furies, all-seers, etc. With this complicated dramatic machinery Stanford has built an imposing musical structure—grand, terrible in places, of ravishing beauty in others—always skillfully fashioned and of compelling appeal, especially in the choral parts. The poem is divided into three acts: I, Heaven; II, Hell; III, Earth (Part 1, The Fall; Part 2, Adam’s Vision). In the first and third acts the composer drops into the old ecclesiastical modal style for pages at a time with beautiful effect. Indeed, he takes for some of his most important thematic material two phrases of the plain-song melody Sanctorum meritis (from the Sarum Missal) and weaves them into choral passages with the skill of a sixteenth-century church-contrapuntist. Especially beautiful, among such portions, are the opening six-part chorus of all angels (‘God of might! God of love!’) and a five-part a cappella chorus (‘Flames of pure love are we’)—the latter in the pure style of a Madrigale spirituale.

‘The Prodigal Son,’ which is the first of Sullivan’s oratorios, received its first performance at the Worcester Festival, Sept. 3, 1869, for which occasion it was written. The text, compiled by the composer, is based on the well-known parable, the shortness of which, however, has necessitated the introduction of other Scriptural material; so that only six of the eighteen numbers deal directly with the narrative, while the other twelve reflect on the lessons it teaches. In a preface to the work, Sullivan explains his conception of the Prodigal as ‘a buoyant, restless youth, tired of the monotony of home, and anxious to see what lay beyond the confines of his father’s farm, going away in the confidence of his own simplicity and ardor, and led gradually away into the follies and sins which at the outset would have been distasteful to him.’

The musical treatment is melodious, opening, after a short orchestral prelude, with the joyous, though reflective, chorus, ‘There is joy in the presence of the angels of God,’ preceded by a brief soprano solo. The parable then opens with tenor recitative and aria, ‘A certain man had two sons,’ and armed with the good counsel of his father, the prodigal son starts away. He is heard from in the chorus of revelry, ‘Let us eat and drink; to-morrow we die.’ The admonishing contralto solo, ‘Love not the world,’ is well known, having found its way to concert programs. After an orchestral prelude the soprano declaims in recitative the Prodigal’s experience as a swineherd and his struggle with famine, closing with the aria, ‘O that thou had’st harkened.’ The repentance of the Prodigal is beautifully expressed in the tenor aria, ‘How many hired servants of my father.’ A chorus, ‘The sacrifices of God,’ is followed by the Prodigal’s return—the joy of the father being expressed in the bass aria, ‘For this my son was dead.’ One of the finest choruses in the work, ‘O that men would praise the Lord,’ is soon followed by the unaccompanied quartet, ‘The Lord is nigh,’ and the final chorus, ‘Thou, O Lord, art our Father,’ closes with a joyous ‘Hallelujah.’

‘The Light of the World,’ the second of Sullivan’s oratorios and much longer than the first, was written for the Birmingham Festival and performed there on August 27, 1873. The composer’s plan is set forth in the preface as follows: ‘The work has been laid out in scenes dealing respectively, in the first part, with the nativity, preaching, healing and prophesying of our Lord, ending with the triumphal entry into Jerusalem; and in the second part with the utterances which, containing the avowal of himself as the Son of Man, excited to the utmost the wrath of his enemies, and led the rulers to conspire for his betrayal and death; the solemn recital by the chorus of his sufferings, and the belief in his final reward; the grief of Mary Magdalene at the sepulchre; and the consolation and triumph of the disciples at the resurrection of their Lord and Master.’

The first part is divided into four scenes—‘Bethlehem,’ ‘Nazareth,’ ‘Lazarus’ and ‘The Way to Jerusalem.’ The second part contains two—‘Jerusalem’ and ‘At the Sepulchre.’ The first scene, dealing with the narrative of the shepherds, the announcement by the angel and the Magnificat sung by Mary, is introduced by a pastoral prelude which establishes the atmosphere of the scene. In the second scene, ‘Nazareth,’ are two very dramatic choruses, ‘Whence hath this man his wisdom?’ and ‘Is not this Jesus?’ It contains also an effective quintet, ‘Doubtless thou art our Father,’ and a well-written chorus, ‘He maketh the sun to rise,’ which is one of the finest in the work. The ‘Lazarus’ scene is darksome throughout, while ‘The Way to Jerusalem,’ strongly contrasted with the preceding, is festive in character and contains a beautiful three-part chorus for children’s voices, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David.’ The first part closes with a massive ‘Hosanna’ chorus combined with a trio for female solo voices. The anger and dissension caused by the Lord’s sojourn in Jerusalem are dramatically depicted in an introduction which opens the second part and which is followed by an expressive baritone solo, ‘When the Son of Man shall come.’ This scene also contains a charming chorus for women’s voices, ‘The hour is come,’ and the expressive farewell of Jesus, ‘Daughters of Jerusalem.’ The crucifixion is not brought into the work except by indirect mention in a chorus and the work closes with the scene ‘At the Sepulchre,’ in which an angel tells the waiting Mary Magdalene that Christ has risen. This leads, after a tenor solo, to the final fugal chorus, ‘Him hath God exalted.’

Frederic Hymen Cowen (born 1852) wrote two oratorios that fall within this period—‘The Deluge’ (1878), and ‘Ruth,’ written for the Worcester Festival of 1887. The incidents of the familiar story of ‘Ruth’ (here called a dramatic oratorio) are grouped into two parts by the librettist, Joseph Bennett, and the composer has given throughout a pleasing, though not deep, musical setting to the text.

VII

Oratorio by native American composers is a very young product and practically dates from the composition of Paine’s ‘St. Peter,’ though several works with the title of oratorio had been written before this. Paine, however, was the first American to approach his task with an adequate equipment of ripe musicianship and knowledge of technical means of expression. As yet he has been followed in this field by comparatively few American composers, though many worthy works in cantata-form have been written.

‘St. Peter,’ by John K. Paine (1839-1906), received its first performance in Portland, Maine, in June, 1873, under the direction of the composer. Its second performance took place in Boston on May 9, 1874, by the Handel and Haydn Society. The main theme of the oratorio is the establishment of Christianity, as illustrated by the four main events in the life of St. Peter. It consists of two parts—(1) The Divine Call, followed by the denial of Peter and his repentance, and (2) The Ascension and Pentecost. The work abounds in strong, well-written choruses and beautiful arias, which, where the text demands it, become at times touching (as, for example, in the aria, ‘Let not your hearts be troubled’) and at times dramatic, as is the scene of the emphatic denials of Peter and the accusations of the people. A noble chorus, ‘Awake, thou that sleepest,’ closes the first part. Probably the most beautiful choral number, however, is in the second part, ‘The voice of the Lord,’ which follows the description of the Pentecostal miracle; though it is not massive, as is the majestic closing chorus, ‘Great and marvellous are Thy works.’

Horatio Parker’s Hora Novissima, the most ambitious and finely conceived choral work by an American, was written in 1892, while the composer was associated with Dvořák as teacher of counterpoint in the National Conservatory of Music in New York, and received its first hearing on May 3, 1893, when it was given by the Church Choral Society of New York under the direction of the composer. Soon after it was given in Boston and at the Festivals of Cincinnati and Worcester, Mass. In 1899 it was the chief novelty at the Three Choirs Festival in Worcester, England (also conducted by the composer), and bears the distinction of being the first work of an American to be performed under these historic auspices.

The subject of the oratorio deals with the New Jerusalem and the text, selected from a Latin poem of the twelfth century by the monk Bernard de Morlaix entitled ‘The Rhythm of the Celestial Country,’ has been most skillfully translated by the composer’s mother, Isabella G. Parker. The oratorio consists of eleven numbers grouped into two parts, and the larger portion of it is choral, there being only four numbers for solo voices. The opening chorus, following the instrumental prelude in which the principal motives are set forth, begins with the words, Hora novissima (‘Cometh earth’s latest hour’), which at once reveals the composer’s dignified style of choral writing. The most effective portion of the first part, however, is the fugal chorus. Pars mea, rex meus (‘Most Mighty, most Holy’), which is built up on massive lines. Another very broad and truly splendid number is the joyous double chorus, Stant Syon atria (‘There stand those walls on high’), which is in the second part. An a cappella chorus, Urbs Syon unica (‘City of high renown’), is finely developed in strict fugal form and leads over into the final number—broad and again fugally treated—for quartet and chorus, Urbs Syon inclyta (‘Thou city great and high’), which forms a majestic close to a noble work, conceived on broad lines and constructed with conspicuous skill and scholarship. Among the solo portions the lovely soprano aria, O bone patria (‘O country, bright and fair’), is especially distinguished by graceful, dignified and appealing melody.

‘The Legend of St. Christopher,’ a dramatic oratorio on a theme that has often been chosen by composers, was written soon after the Hora Novissima and was published in 1898. In September, 1902, Parker conducted the third part of this oratorio at the Worcester (England) Festival and in October of the same year the entire work was performed at the Bristol Festival. The text, as in the case of many of the composer’s choral works, is by his mother, Isabella G. Parker. It presents in attractive poetic form the main features of the familiar legend and requires the following characters: Offerus, the King, the Queen, the Hermit and Satan. The chorus frequently assumes the burden of narration. The legend relates how the giant Offerus sought the mightiest earthly monarch, that he might serve him with his great strength and stature. But he finds that the king to whom he attaches himself is not the mightiest on earth, for he fears Satan, whom the giant straightway seeks to serve. Satan in turn trembles as they pass a cross by the roadside before which women are singing a hymn to the Lord of Heaven. Offerus finally finds a hermit who serves this Lord of Heaven and who teaches him the meaning of service. During a furious storm at night a child with a quiet light upon its head piteously begs to be carried across the raging stream. Offerus heeds the cry and carries the child in his strong arms, only to find, when he reaches the further shore, that it was the Christ-child he bore; the hermit exclaims ‘Christopher be now thy name, thine henceforth by rightful claim.’

The musical handling of the theme shows the composer’s marked skill and preference for choral-writing. The choral portions of the work are the strongest, though there are not wanting lyric solo-passages of great beauty, as witness the melodies assigned to the Queen and the Hermit, and the fine trio in the last part (an Angel, the Hermit and Offerus). It would be difficult to find among modern works a more exquisite piece of effective unaccompanied part-writing than Parker has given in his setting of the Latin hymn, Jam sol recedit igneus, which follows immediately after the above trio.

CHAPTER X
THE MODERN MASS

The adaptation of liturgical forms to extra-liturgical purposes; Mass; Requiem Mass—Stabat Mater; Magnificat; Te Deum—Musical masses and the Roman service—Bach: ‘B minor Mass’—Bach’s ‘Magnificat in D’; Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater; Handel’s Te Deums; Graun’s ‘Prague Te Deum’; Haydn’s church music—Mozart: the Requiem and other masses—Cherubini: Requiem and other masses; Schubert’s masses—Beethoven: Missa Solemnis; Weber’s masses—Berlioz: Requiem; Te Deum; Rossini’s Stabat Mater; Liszt: ‘Graner Mass’ and ‘Hungarian Coronation Mass’—Gounod: ‘St. Cecilia Mass’ and other masses; Dvořák: Requiem and Stabat Mater; Verdi: ‘The Manzoni Requiem’—The masses of Rheinberger, Henschel and others.

As polyphonic music developed with the expanding possibilities of the contrapuntal art and the increasing splendor of the Roman liturgical service, the old church composers seized upon certain portions of the liturgy as being especially adapted for musical exploitation and elaboration. The masters of the fifteenth and sixteenth century ecclesiastical vocal counterpoint made the musical settings of these parts of the holy office the object of their deepest consideration and lavished on them their utmost artistic skill and profundity. The parts of the holy office thus selected were those that were constant, invariable from day to day; they were six in number and in the following order: Kyrie (in three parts, Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison! Kyrie eleison!), Gloria (Doxology), Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus and Agnus Dei. Since these were the principal musical portions of the eucharistic office sung by the choir, they came to be spoken of together as one composition, as Palestrina’s ‘Mass of Pope Marcellus,’ Gounod’s ‘St. Cecilia Mass,’ and so on. In all musical masses, ancient or modern, the same number and order of movements is preserved, since the holy office itself is universal and unchangeable. With the development of instrumental music in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, opportunities were offered for combining various instruments with the voices, and the mass with orchestral accompaniment arose. When sacred music finally broke loose from ecclesiastical control and came to be considered independent of the Church, composers took advantage of the great poetic suggestiveness of the missal text for constructing elaborate choral works with the combined resources of instruments and voices. While many of the modern masses here considered were written as liturgical music for actual church performance, many must be considered apart from any ecclesiastical use, as pure concert-music. The most prominent of these are probably Bach’s great ‘B minor Mass’ and Beethoven’s ‘Mass in D.’

Among the liturgical forms that have been most employed for extra-liturgical purposes as concert-music are the mass (Missa Solemnis, consisting of the six numbers given above), the Requiem (Missa pro Defunctis), Stabat Mater, Te Deum and Magnificat. These great religious poems of the Middle Ages and earlier, which were either adopted into or were associated with the liturgy of the Roman Church, have never ceased to stir the imagination of composers, some of whom have been of the Protestant faith. The Protestant Church did not adopt the Mass into its liturgy, though the early Lutheran Church borrowed a modified form from the Roman Church and the Anglican Church still retains many of the same musical texts (such as the Gloria, Te Deum, Benedictus, and others) that were used in various parts of the Roman service. The Kyrie and Gloria were formerly frequently used together in the Lutheran service as the so-called short mass (Missa brevis).

The Requiem Mass (Missa pro Defunctis) takes its name from the beginning of the Introit, Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, and consists of the holy office celebrated in memory of the departed. It may take place any day before burial, especially the third, or on the seventh or the thirtieth day after death, or on the first or any subsequent anniversary of the death. It is also celebrated on All Souls’ Day, November 2, in memory of all the faithful departed. As a form of musical composition, the Requiem consists of nine parts: (1) The Introit—Requiem æternam; (2) Kyrie; (3) the Gradual and Tract—Requiem æternam and Absolve, Domine; (4) The Sequence or Prose—Dies iræ; (5) The Offertorium—Domine Jesu Christi; (6) Sanctus; (7) Benedictus; (8) Agnus Dei; and (9) the Communio—Lux æterna. In addition to these the following are sometimes added: (10) Responsorium—Libera me; and (11) the Lectio—Tædet animam meam.

I

The Stabat Mater is a beautiful mediæval poem, whose authorship is generally ascribed to a Franciscan monk, Jacobus de Benedictis, though some believe it to have been written by Pope Innocent III and still others by St. Bonaventure. It was not a part of the liturgy and was not at first used with music. It did not come into any large use as a devotional poem until about the thirteenth century and gradually found its way into the liturgy as a ‘sequence,’ though it did not even appear in the Roman Missal until 1727, and was not sanctioned as a hymn until some time after that. It is one of the finest and most popular of the old Latin poems and has lent itself so well to musical setting that many composers from Des Prés to Rossini have been inspired to set it. It depicts the sorrowing mother, Mary, as she stood at the foot of the cross and the desire of humanity to share with her this sorrow. The initial words of the poem are

Stabat mater dolorosa
Juxta crucem lacrymosa,

a free translation of which is—‘The weeping, mournful mother stood close to the cross.’

The Magnificat is the Song of the Blessed Mary, Magnificat anima mea Dominum (‘My soul doth magnify the Lord’), and appears as the central point of musical interest in the Vesper service. During the period of the exclusively vocal service, it was sung antiphonally, sometimes as a plain-song melody, with choral response in several voices. In the second half of the sixteenth century, however, this was discontinued and only the first versicle was intoned by one voice, and the other eleven were sung by the choir. This was finally changed into the antiphonal singing of two choirs. With the development of the organ, this instrument began to take a place in alternating with the voices, giving a different antiphonal effect. Thus from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century we find many so-called ‘Organ Magnificats.’ Later a deterioration began by combining the plain-song with secular or irrelevant matter, and this custom gradually led to the substitution of a good secular melody as a cantus, in place of the plain-song chant. In this style Orlandus Lassus produced some of the most charming a cappella compositions extant. In the Anglican Church, the Magnificat also assumed free and elaborate proportions and it consists of combined solo and chorus passages with organ and, sometimes, orchestral accompaniment. Bach, Mendelssohn and other modern composers have treated the Magnificat in elaborate oratorio style with orchestral accompaniment and complex voice-writing.

The Te Deum Laudamus (‘We praise Thee, O God’) seems to owe its origin to Nicetas, Bishop of Remesiana in Dacia (about A. D. 400), and it was at once used as an important part of the Nocturns or Matins. Music was used with it from the beginning, in fact the words were used with chants already existent. It is in three parts or sections. The praise of the Trinity occupies all of the first section; ‘Thou art the King of Glory’ begins the second section, which ends with two verses of prayer, ‘We therefore pray Thee’ and ‘Make them to be numbered.’ The third section begins with ‘O Lord, save Thy people and bless Thine heritage.’ It was at first sung to a free chant but was later developed into complex settings for solos, chorus and elaborate accompaniment. While it is a part of the service of both the Roman and the Anglican Churches, the finest examples of this great canticle seem to come from England, that by Purcell, written for St. Cecilia’s Day, 1694, and published in 1697, being one of the earliest large ones, and indeed one of the greatest Te Deums. This was doubtless the model for Handel’s ‘Utrecht Te Deum,’ written in 1712, which is even a nobler work than that by Purcell. These, together with the ones of Macfarren and Sullivan, that of Dvořák in 1896, Stanford’s, performed at the Leeds Festival in 1898, and Parry’s, performed at the Hereford Festival of 1900, are the most famous Te Deums of modern times.

II

The decadence in church-music that began to set in early in the seventeenth century and that soon caused the glories of the ‘Palestrina style’ to disappear, may be traced, not so much to the monodic revolution and the consequent change in the style of writing it entailed, but primarily to the fact that the composers of church music in the main wrote at the same time for church and theatre. Blinded by the greater brilliance of the stage, they were not able to keep separate these two widely divergent styles and the operatic mode of speech soon found entrance into the church service, and later there was very little to distinguish the one style from the other. This condition continued uninterrupted until the movement for the restoration of Catholic Church music was started near the middle of the nineteenth century by Kaspar Ett (1788-1847) and Karl Proske (1794-1861), and further developed by Franz Witt (1834-1888) and the Cecilian Society.

Before this period of reform set in (and it is by no means carried to full fruition as yet) a few great composers wrote masses of solid musical worth for the Roman Church service, though seldom in the real spirit of the liturgy. Haydn wrote 13 masses and much other church music, but we miss the ecclesiastical note in his bright, sunny music. Mozart composed the great Requiem, 15 masses, 4 Kyries, 9 Offertories, a Te Deum, and other pieces. But of his church music, Dr. Heinrich Reimann, in a criticism of Jahn’s ‘Life of Mozart’ says: ‘His masses are unequal in value, but even the best are, in spite of manifold excellences in other respects, so narrowly conceived, so entirely adapted, not merely to certain local conditions, but also to the taste of individual clerical dignitaries and general convention, that the composer who otherwise knew so well how to fit the tone to the word, here often appears thoughtless, so little does he trouble to render the meaning of the text in his music.’ Franz Witt, certainly a competent authority from the standpoint of their adaptability to the Roman service, rather severely says: ‘Whoever desires to serve Art (where instrumental music is in use), let him perform Mozart’s 8th and 9th Masses (in F and D, Köchel Nos. 192 and 194) and let him disregard all the rest!’ From the same standpoint, Dr. Karl Weinmann, in his ‘History of Church Music’ (p. 192), judges Beethoven’s two Masses in C and D as too secular and extravagant in expression for the church service and adds (p. 193): ‘Whoever has penetrated deeper into the spirit of the Catholic liturgy, within whose framework the performance must after all take place, will see that between the seriousness of the liturgic act and the gaiety of these compositions (of Mozart, Haydn, and Beethoven), an abyss yawns which is not to be bridged!’ Cherubini’s masses, of which we possess eleven, likewise come under the condemnation of being un-ecclesiastical in character, notwithstanding all their inherent qualities of nobility and dignity as sacred music. And here again we encounter the distinction, to which attention has been called in an earlier chapter, between church-music and religious music.

Among the earlier composers whose music was well adapted to the Roman service, Dr. Weinmann mentions Michael Haydn (1737-1806), brother of Joseph, as the one who ‘approached perhaps most nearly to the requirements of church art, at least in his works written without an orchestra, of which the Tenebræ and the two Missæ Quadragesimales are the most famous.’ Under the influence of the Cecilian Society movement, Catholic composers, such as Moritz Brosig (1815-1887) and Joseph Rheinberger (1839-1901), have made noteworthy contributions to a regenerated church-art.

III

Possibly the finest illustration of the essential difference between church-music and religious music is to be found in Bach’s incomparable B minor Mass. It is church-music in no sense of the word, for it was written without any reference to the liturgic significance of the text or to the fitness of the music for church service, and it has never been used as real liturgic music. It is the expression of Bach’s individual conception of the tremendous religious meaning of the words, expressed in musical terms that are wholly emancipated from all ecclesiastical restraint or ritualistic consideration. Though he used the same words that are found in the Roman Mass, Bach, as a devout Lutheran, was wholly out of sympathy with the Roman service itself, of which these words form so vital a part. And yet as a piece of religious music, it probably has no equal among choral masterpieces, unless it be Beethoven’s ‘Mass in D.’ It touches the most exalted religious emotions and voices the common spiritual hopes and aspirations of humanity; it is religious music, but it is non-sectarian.

This colossal work was written between 1733 and 1738, the Kyrie and the Gloria having been completed in 1733 and the other parts by 1738. The work was conceived on stupendous lines which outclassed any previous effort either of his own or of any other composer of masses. Bach gave one or two parts of this mass now and then at some of the regular services at Leipzig and these occupied as much time as could be allotted to the musical portion of the service, for, indeed, in this work each portion had in itself the dimensions of a cantata. Unimportant texts were developed into large arias or complicated fugal choruses, and the variety and abundance of musical material used is incredible.

Entirely apart from its complexity, stands the fact that Bach’s musical structure is most expressive, and even if the hearer loses a word here and there, he cannot fail to catch the spirit, especially in such passages as the joyous Gloria and the calm Et in terra pax. It is true that Bach’s works, in his own time as now, required a somewhat trained listener, but his themes are so characteristic of the verbal ideas expressed in the text that they are in themselves an eloquent, yet simple, commentary on it. The Kyrie alone consists of three elaborate parts, the first of which ends in a five-part fugal chorus. The second part, Christe eleison, is a duet sung by two sopranos. It has a simple, childlike quality of entreaty and is followed by the third part, Kyrie eleison, again fugally treated in four parts. The following number, the Gloria, which, with the Credo, stands at the summit of choral-writing, consists of eight musically complete parts, the last of which, Cum sancto spiritu, written for five-part chorus, is one of the most powerful and exalted of the entire work. The Credo is set on the same vast lines as the Gloria. Beginning with a theme taken from a Gregorian chorale, the composer develops it fugally after it has been announced by tenors, basses and altos. The Credo also consists of eight parts, the choral first part being followed by a most elaborate soprano and alto duet (Et in unum Dominum), after which follows the five-part fugal chorus (Et incarnatus). The Crucifixus is one of the most remarkable portions of the entire work. The bass theme, appearing thirteen times in succession, gives a remarkable background, and with the other choral parts, which move freely over it, creates an atmosphere of mingled pain, sorrow and consecration. Et resurrexit is taken up by the five-part fugal chorus, which is full of joy. Et in spiritum sanctum is a bass aria introduced by the oboe d’amour and the Confiteor unum baptisma closes this group with an intricate five-part double fugue. The Sanctus is a massive six-part chorus, the Osanna is an eight-part chorus, the Benedictus is a tenor solo with violin obbligato, and the Agnus Dei an alto solo. The last chorus (Dona nobis pacem) is in four parts and this brings this monumental work to a close. Its great difficulty has militated against its being as frequently performed as it certainly merits. Complete performances of it have been given at intervals since its complete production at the Berlin Singakademie in 1835. Its first performance in America was the one given at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, in 1900, at the Bach Festival under direction of J. Frederick Wolle.

IV

Bach’s ‘Magnificat in D.’—The first performance of this great work (called the ‘Great Magnificat’) was given on Christmas, 1723, at the evening service in the Thomas Church at Leipzig. It is characterized by powerful choruses which are elaborated with all of Bach’s technical resources. It calls for a five-part chorus with accompaniment of organ and orchestra and, in its feeling of largeness, foreshadows the future work of this wonderful genius.

The Stabat Mater of Pergolesi (1710-1736) is supposed to have been written at Pozzuoli, where he went in 1736 because of ill health, and at the request of the Brotherhood of Saint Luigi de Palazzo to replace the work of A. Scarlatti which had been performed there regularly on Good Friday. Some writers, however, think it was written much earlier, in fact, soon after leaving the Conservatory at Naples in 1729. The date 1736, however, seems the more authentic and it is likely that he wrote it while living in the monastery at Pozzuoli, where, however, he did not devote himself by any means wholly to sacred writing, but to his favorite opera buffa as well. While the work is not rich in large ideas—rather is it made up of many short though melodious themes which, like all of Pergolesi’s, border on the sentimental—it has always held a high place in Italy.

Handel’s Te Deums.—The Utrecht Te Deum, written in 1712 to celebrate the signing of the peace of Utrecht, was avowedly composed in the same form as Purcell’s, though Handel’s work was characterized by greater brilliancy, especially in the orchestral coloring. The work antagonized his patron, the Grand Duke of Hanover, whose affairs were by no means furthered by the council of Utrecht, and it therefore recalls a rather dark hour in Handel’s history. The Dettingen Te Deum, on the contrary, brought outwardly more gratifying results. The unexpected victory of George II over the French at Dettingen brought great joy and gratitude to the English people and Handel, who then was at the Chapel Royal, was requested to write a Te Deum for the thanksgiving service to be held Nov. 27, 1743, in St. James’s Chapel. It was begun July 17th and completed some time before the 30th of that month. The work is rated as one of the greatest by this composer and the joy and thanksgiving of the whole nation is depicted in a style that is more grandioso, but less rich in contrapuntal resources, than the Utrecht Te Deum. He achieved his massive effects, not through any theatrical means, but by combining the note of triumph and exultant joy with a measured dignity, the effect of which is most compelling. The fanfare of trumpets and drums which ushers in the opening chorus has never been surpassed in its magnificence for the expression of thanksgiving.

Graun’s ‘Prague Te Deum.’—Though he had written some very acceptable music for church service while a mere boy, Graun (1701-1759) achieved his first fame as a composer of operas. This led to his appointment as chapel-master to Frederick the Great, and not long before his death he wrote two sacred works which have established his permanent fame, the ‘Passion’ and the so-called Prague Te Deum. The latter was written to commemorate his royal patron’s victory at Prague in 1756, but was not performed until 1762 at Charlottenburg, at the close of the Seven Years’ War. It was, therefore, really performed as a peace celebration. It is one of the finest Te Deums in existence and certainly the most celebrated of Continental settings.

The first important work that proclaimed Joseph Haydn a vocal writer was the Stabat Mater, written in 1771. It follows the prevalent Italian style and reminds somewhat of Pergolesi, with only a few suggestions of the Haydn that was revealed in the ‘Creation.’ The second of his two Te Deums (written in 1800) is a noble composition which is still much used in church service. Though Haydn’s masses (he wrote thirteen) are not conceived in the real spirit of the Roman liturgy and are lacking in dignity and austerity, they are still among the most frequently used by German Catholic choirs. The freshness and cheerfulness which pervade his church as well as his secular music cannot be attributed to lack of seriousness on Haydn’s part, but rather to fundamental traits of character which looked at God and His whole universe through eyes that saw only joy and hope. He is said to have confided to his friend Carpani that at the thought of God his heart leaped for joy, and he could not help his music doing the same. Among the most famous of his masses are No. 2 in C (the numbering follows the Novello edition); the Paukenmesse (in tempore belli); No. 3 in D, the ‘Imperial’; No. 4 in B-flat, ‘The Creation’; and the Theresien Messe in B-flat.

Hermann Kretzschmar[81] says that ‘between Mozart’s last mass and his "Requiem" there lies a whole lifetime,’ and indeed this noble work, the completion of which was cut off by the master’s death, is considered one of the great choral compositions of all time. Doubtless its wide appeal is due somewhat to the pathetic and romantic circumstances surrounding the period of its composition. One never thinks of it without recalling the mysterious, long black figure of the stranger who commissioned Mozart to write it, and the apprehension of the sick and discouraged composer and his pathetic desire to live to see its completion. The mysterious stranger was later revealed as Count Franz von Walsegg of Ruppach, who was possessed with the idea of posing as a composer and who desired to perform a Requiem in memory of his wife who had died a short time before. It was his plan, which he later carried out, to let this Requiem be known as his own. Mozart died on Dec. 5, 1791, before completing this work, which occupied his thoughts up to his last conscious moments. His widow, who was most anxious to have the ‘Requiem’ ready for delivery on the day that it was due, commissioned Süssmayer to complete the work. Süssmayer was a composer of some repute and, as a close friend and a pupil of Mozart, was intimately acquainted with the composer’s ideas regarding the ‘Requiem’; then, too, his handwriting was so much like Mozart’s that the widow was the more ready to entrust the completion of the task to him, since he could preserve the external resemblance to the fragments. So successful was Süssmayer in writing in his master’s style that for many years the Benedictus, which was entirely his own work, was considered the gem of the whole. The parts that were written in Mozart’s own hand were the Requiem and the Kyrie complete, the voice parts, organ and part of the accompaniment of Dies iræ (68 measures); Tuba mirum (62); Rex tremendæ (22); Recordare (130); Confutatis (40); Lacrymosa (8); Domine (78); and Hostias (54).

Mozart rehearsing his Requiem (shortly before his death)

Painting by Munkacsy

This work, when completed and delivered to Count von Walsegg, was copied by him and performed as his own on Dec. 14, 1793, but after many years the manuscript, as turned over by Süssmayer, was found and placed in the Hofbibliothek in Vienna. That Mozart strove to emphasize the churchly character in his ‘Requiem’ is particularly in evidence in the Introit (Requiem æternam), also in his use of the Gregorian chorale and in the simplicity of his themes. The picturing of the approach of the Day of Judgment (Dies iræ) is dramatic and reveals a heaviness which is further augmented by the restlessness of the orchestra; notwithstanding this, however, Mozart introduces a spirit of resignation and the whole passage becomes peaceful and expressive. The Kyrie is a beautiful, ornate double fugue developed from the two themes to which the words Kyrie eleison and Christe eleison are set. The Rex tremendæ is another example of elaborate as well as effective contrapuntal writing—here in four-voiced canon form. Its close is delicately contrasted with the body of the movement by the introduction of the prayer, Salva me, fons pietatis. The Recordare, sung by a quartet of solo voices with an independent fugal accompaniment, is one of the most exquisite portions of the work and by many is considered the finest. It is rich in beautiful melodies and is worked out in most delicate detail. The touching Confutatis, sung antiphonally by men’s and women’s voices, is another effective portion of this great work, which Jahn speaks of as ‘the true and legitimate expression of his (Mozart’s) artistic nature at its highest point of finish—his imperishable monument.’

Masses.—Mozart had mastered this form of composition, according to the standards of the time, while still a mere boy; but probably his best mass, the one ranking closest to the ‘Requiem,’ is the sixth, the Mass in F, which is very contrapuntal and contains some masterly writing. In the Credo of this mass he used material from the ‘Jupiter’ Symphony, as he did also in the Sanctus of the B-flat or ‘Credo’ Mass. The Mass in D is a close second to the one in F above mentioned and in these two he expressed himself freely, while in the following five, which are unfortunately his best known, he was obliged to write more artificially in order to satisfy his display-loving patron, the Archbishop of Salzburg.

Most of the sixteen masses in the Breitkopf and Härtel complete edition of Mozart’s works are supposed to have been youthful compositions, which, though suggestive of other works of the master, fall far short of his usual skill. According to Köchel, however, the masses published by Novello are not all genuine; such are those in E-flat (Novello, Nos. 13 and 16), and in C (No. 17). Jahn and Köchel both agree in believing that the one in B-flat (No. 7, Novello, but published originally by Peters) is not Mozart’s and base their contention not only on the use of the clarinets, which were not present in his Salzburg orchestra, but on the fact that Mozart’s widow credited Süssmayer with being the composer of the work. Other doubtful ones are two short masses in C and G (Novello, Nos. 8 and 9), one in G (Novello, No. 12) and a short Requiem in D minor which Köchel discards because of his certainty that Mozart never wrote but one Requiem, his last, unfinished work.

The fact that Mozart’s compositions were circulated mostly in manuscript form and that few of them were published during his lifetime, may be largely responsible for the error of attributing these masses to him and composers of small attainments may have used this means for getting a hearing for their works. A Mass in C, known as the ‘Coronation Mass’ (why this name, is not known) was evidently patched together from his opera Cosi fan tutte, though some authorities believe that he himself compiled the opera from the mass. The incomplete Mass in C minor is known to be genuine, though he afterwards used a large part of it in his Davidde penitente. This mass was begun in 1782 and was intended for performance as a sort of thank-offering upon his marriage to Constance Weber and it had one performance on Aug. 25, 1783, in St. Peter’s Church, Salzburg. He did not complete it for the ceremony, however, and the missing numbers were supplied by him with material from his other works. The work is uneven in quality, some of it being very immature and almost trivial, while other parts, such as the Kyrie and Gratias, do not fall far below the ‘Requiem.’ Aloys Schmitt endeavored to complete the work in order to make it available for church-service. As the Agnus Dei was missing, he repeated the music of the Kyrie and, to complete the unfinished Credo, he inserted unfamiliar sacred compositions of Mozart’s, thus using the composer’s own material and inserting his own harmonies, here and there, merely to connect the parts.

V

Cherubini’s Requiem Mass in C minor was composed in 1816 at the request of Louis XVIII for a memorial service for Louis XVI, but it did not gain much more than passing recognition until it was again performed at the funeral service of Méhul in 1818. It was by all means the best Requiem Mass produced in France in many years and one which deserved not merely local but general recognition. The work is soulful and expressive, though Cherubini was restrained in his utterance. He was given to using short, simple themes, which, however, are not only beautiful, but artistically expressive. The general tone of the work is gloomy and sadly resigned, dwelling on the thought of death as man’s inevitable destiny. The first ray of hope or light comes with the words—ad te omnis caro veniet, but on the whole the dark tints prevail throughout this masterful and artistic work and give it a peculiar force which few other ‘masses for the dead’ have attained.

Cherubini’s second Requiem in D minor, written in 1836, though not unlike the first both as to musical material and coloring, is a far less important work. The fact that it was written entirely for male voices makes it somewhat individual in character, but although numerous Requiems have appeared for male voices, they are no longer performed. This one has been arranged for the usual mixed voices.

Masses.—The ‘D minor Mass,’ composed in 1821, is the best of his masses and can easily be classed with his two famous Requiems. It is dignified, impressive, and at times tinged with deep sorrow. As in the Requiems, so also here, there is much impressive fugal writing, so characteristic of Cherubini. There are also more passages for solo voices, which at times employ a form of intonation which is almost recitative. The work is not given as frequently as it deserves. A fragment of another mass written in 1806 and known as the ‘Eight-voiced Credo’ (a cappella) is heard much more frequently of late, though it has by no means the power of the preceding. The close, Et vitam venturi sæculi, is a masterpiece of contrapuntal writing which more than compensates for the lack of content in the other numbers. The fact that the form of liturgy used at the French court was peculiar to that environment accounts for the fragments left by Cherubini, which were evidently used in place of an entire mass.

With his usual fluency Schubert (1797-1828) wrote the first three of his seven masses in one year (1814) and the finest of these is the one in G, which is still used in the Roman Church, and of which the Credo is particularly fine. These masses were heard, in Schubert’s time, only in suburban Vienna churches, as the composer’s prestige was not sufficient for a larger hearing. Two later masses by Schubert are given now in concert form—the one in A-flat written in 1822 and the one in E-flat written in 1828. These works were revived by Herbeck and Brahms in Vienna and belong without doubt to the very best examples of this style of writing—in fact, some authorities pronounce them the greatest works of this mighty genius, excepting only the D minor Quartet. Unfortunately the parts are not all equally great. The ‘Mass in E-flat’ has a larger instrumental development than the others, the orchestra often announcing, augmenting, completing, or commenting on the text of the choral parts, as is the case with Beethoven. Schubert’s tendency in all his masses was to use themes which approach closely to the form of the Lied as he conceived it. The Gloria of this mass, as also of the one in A-flat, is the most magnificent part of the work.

VI

Of the two masses which Beethoven wrote, the first in C major, opus 80, is overshadowed by the second in D major, opus 123. While the ‘C major Mass,’ which was Beethoven’s first large choral work in an ecclesiastical form, may be lacking in some respects, it is by no means an unimportant or unworthy composition. Owing to the fact that he departed from the style of Haydn and Mozart and approached the subject from an entirely different standpoint, it did not find immediate favor. Conflicting accounts are given as to the date of first performance which took place in the chapel of Count Esterhazy, the occasion being the birthday of the Countess. Kretzschmar gives the date as Sept. 15, 1807, while Grove names Sept. 8, 1807, both agreeing, however, that it was in honor of the Countess’ birthday.

The Missa Solemnis, already referred to as the ‘D major Mass,’ belongs to Beethoven’s third period and is, therefore, characterized by remarkable freedom of treatment and by depth and richness of musical content. Although it was begun in 1818 and planned for the installation of the Archduke Rudolph, his pupil (to whom he was very devoted), as Archbishop of Olmütz on March 20, 1820, it was not completed until 1823, three years after the event for which it was intended. It is a sort of spiritual relative of the ‘Ninth Symphony,’ sketches of which had been begun as early as 1815. The two works are in the same key and grew side by side in the composer’s thought. Three movements of the mass occupied a place on the program of the memorable concert (May 7, 1824, in Vienna) at which the ‘Ninth Symphony’ received its first performance, when the audience went into ecstasies of enthusiasm at the sublime grandeur of the music and the pathetic figure of the deaf creator of such moving sounds. The mass was not performed entire until 1824 in Petrograd. An illustration of his habit of making the form subservient to the thought-content is the introduction of warlike music into the Agnus Dei, in order to afford contrast to the thought of peace around which the other thoughts are centred. The Credo is exceedingly difficult for the singers, because of the excessively high range of the voice-parts and the complicated interweaving of the themes. The Benedictus is one of the most beautiful ever written and is made particularly effective by the use of the solo violin, descending from the highest register, in a melody of beautiful simplicity—a movement whose loveliness is still more enhanced by the subdued chorus and accompaniment. The difficulty of the work as a whole prevents its frequent performance. The least difficult parts are the Kyrie and the Sanctus, and the former is given a unique effect through the accompaniment, which is for organ and brass instruments only. This work, like Bach’s ‘B minor Mass,’ requires strong adjectives for a just valuation and when W. H. Hadow[82] speaks of it as ‘gigantic, elemental, Mount Athos hewn into a monument, scored at the base with fissure and landslip, rising through cloud and tempest beyond the reach of human gaze,’ he merely sums up graphically the general critical estimate of this great work, which, like the great Bach Mass to which alone it can be compared, must be regarded, not as church-music or liturgical music merely, but as religious music in a universal sense.

Weber’s masses, like many others of this early period, are now seldom given, though there is much good writing in them. The one in E-flat major, known as the Jubelmesse, was performed at Dresden in 1818, which was the fiftieth year of the reign of the king of Saxony, and, as it was an occasional work, it embodied the pomp and importance of this festal event. The one in G, written a year later for a family festival in the King’s household, was more intimate in character. Weber wrote to Rochlitz: ‘I mean to keep before me the idea of a happy family-party kneeling in prayer and rejoicing before the Lord as His children.’ Both works manifest a devotional spirit.

VII

Hector Berlioz’ ‘Requiem,’ written during 1836-37 at the request of the French government, was performed Dec. 5, 1837, in the Invalides in Paris at the memorial services for General Damrémont and the soldiers who had perished in the storming of Constantina in Algiers, the government paying the composer four thousand francs for the work. The original purpose of the commission, however, was to have been a memorial for those who had fallen in the July Revolution of 1830. Berlioz had completed his work and rehearsals had begun, when the Minister of the Interior who had commissioned Berlioz was succeeded by one who was of a different mind and the July festival took place without music. But the taking of Constantina offered Berlioz a second chance for his work. Berlioz arranged performances of it in several cities of Germany, but its wide hearing came only recently. The work is colossal, but so realistic, so almost savage in its coloring that the hearer is fairly awed. It is also so complicated and makes such tremendous demands upon both the orchestra and the singers, that only few organizations can give it adequate presentation and then only by a large addition of instruments to the full orchestra and by arranging them in groups in various parts of the auditorium. The directions call for four brass bands and sixteen drums in addition to the regular orchestra. Extraordinary and often well-nigh impossible demands are made upon the human voice, but, notwithstanding these drawbacks, it remains the composer’s most mature work, full of originality and coloring.

The most remarkable part of the work—the most original and theatrically impressive—is the Dies iræ, in which the composer has used every possible tonal resource to picture the terrors of the Day of Judgment. After the choral passage beginning with Quantus tremor est futurus has twice reached a forceful climax, the orchestra softens down for a few measures, when it suddenly bursts out with a crash like a thunder-bolt, coming not only from the main orchestra on the stage, but from the above mentioned bands in various parts of the auditorium. A more vivid and theatrical description of the awful day cannot be imagined, and at the climax the basses thunder out the Tuba mirum amidst a new outburst from the orchestra, strengthened by many kettle-drums. So overwhelming is this volume of sound that it became the butt of the ridicule of the critics, who declared that no such outburst of noise had been heard in Paris since the storming of the Bastile! A great sense of relief comes with the quiet Quid sum miser, which Berlioz directed in the score should be sung ‘with an expression of humility and awe.’ Rex tremendæ again brings in the voice-parts fortissimo, accompanied by crashing thunderbolts in the orchestra. This continues up to the last few measures, Salva me, which are sung almost in a whisper. One of the finest portions of the work is the Lacrymosa, which also abounds in striking contrasts, and contains broad, massive harmonies and flowing melodies.

A Te Deum was written by Berlioz in 1835 as a fragment of a larger work planned in honor of Napoleon. In writing it the composer pictured to himself the hero, returning from the victorious Italian campaign, at the moment when his entry at Nôtre Dame would open the service. This heroic picture and the possibilities of the great cathedral inspired Berlioz to use, besides orchestra and organ, three choirs, including a large male chorus and three hundred children. In the theatrical, not to say spectacular, plan of the whole, Berlioz lost the import of the words and thought only of tremendous effects; hence it became even more sensational than the Requiem. From the standpoint of musical color-effects, it is a remarkable work, which is given oftener now than during the first decades after its birth. Although written in 1835, it had to wait until 1853 for its first performance, which took place in London. Thirty years later (in 1883) it had its second performance, this time in Bordeaux—the first time in France.

Rossini’s Stabat Mater belongs to the large class of eighteenth and nineteenth century church-music that was dominated by operatic models and in which the devotional and serious spirit was almost wholly absent. The Stabat Mater was written in 1832 at the request of a Spanish friend and dedicated to the Abbé Valera with no thought of its being published. However, when some rather romantic circumstances brought it before the public in 1841, Rossini revised it and since then, unfortunately, it has been one of the most popular of sacred works—‘unfortunately,’ because it is almost wholly irreligious in feeling and theatrical in mode of expression. As music, divorced from its text, its melodies are gay, brilliant, sensuously beautiful operatic pieces, but wholly out of place with sacred texts. The most famous of these misplaced melodies are the Quis est homo for soprano, the Inflammatus for soprano obbligato and chorus, and the Cujus animam for tenor. The nearest approach to the religious spirit is the bass aria, Pro peccatis.

The Missa Solemnis (‘Graner Mass’) of Liszt, who seemed to love composition of sacred music above all else, brought to his conception of the mass a consecration which, even had he been less of a genius, would have assured devotional music. The so-called ‘Graner Mass’ was written for the dedication of the Cathedral of Gran, which took place on August 31, 1856. A noble atmosphere pervades the entire work and it is made especially interesting through the use of leading motives, the first instance of the kind in the history of the mass. It is not the ‘leading motive’ of the later Wagner type, but rather the employment of themes, transformed according to context and varied connection, as Liszt had developed it in Les Préludes and his piano concertos. Thus the trumpet-like phrase at the beginning of the Gloria, reappears in the Resurrexit, the Hosanna, and the Dona nobis. The orchestration is rich and the music always appropriate to the text. Liszt spoke of the music as having been ‘rather prayed than composed.’ While the work shows the influence of Beethoven, it is more akin to Wagner, in that the instrumental accompaniment has a larger share in the action; this and his unusual use of thematic material give to the work added historical importance. The performance of the mass caused a controversy as to its merits and tendencies that raged for several decades. Liszt, in all that he attempted, was a reformer. His object in the field of church music was to bring about ‘an ecclesiastical musical style that should bring the liturgy of the Roman Church nearer to an intellectual and emotional expression of the age, should be in closer sympathy with existing artistic ideals as they were actually manifested in music.’[83]

‘Hungarian Coronation Mass.’—This work, which Liszt wrote in 1867, though also beautiful and interesting, is by no means as fine as the ‘Graner Mass.’ Possibly it was written more hurriedly; certainly it is not as strong as the earlier work. Both masses contain unusual effects, through the frequent employment of unison vocal parts.

VIII

In addition to the religious music already mentioned and much liturgic music, Gounod wrote four masses, of which the first (Messe solennelle à Sainte Cecile) is the most important and the most popular. The second (Angeli custodes) was written in 1882; the third (Messe à Jeanne d’Arc) was performed at the Cathedral of Rheims in 1887 and the fourth appeared in 1888. The ‘St. Cecilia Mass’ was an early work and its unusually enthusiastic reception by the English public when several movements were performed at a concert in London on January 13, 1851, first called the attention of the musical world to the young composer’s great ability. It was not performed entire in Paris, however, until Nov. 22, 1855, at one of the annual St. Cecilia celebrations at the church of St. Eustache. The London success was repeated at the Paris performance and this mass, among Gounod’s religious music, shares the same popularity as does his ‘Faust’ among his operas. It is pervaded by an atmosphere of simplicity that offsets the dramatic painting of Berlioz. In addition it possesses grace, nobility and charm, though its melodies are frequently cloying with their sweetness. The finest numbers are the devotional Kyrie, the powerful Credo, the familiar Sanctus with its fine tenor melody which recurs at the close, delivered with full chorus in pompous, jubilant tone; and the Benedictus, which is treated in old ecclesiastical chant style for soprano solo and organ accompaniment, which is later softly repeated by a six-part chorus.

Dvořák’s Requiem was written for and performed at the Birmingham Festival in 1891. The most beautiful portion is the Agnus Dei, but, while the music throughout is sad and soulful and shows excellent workmanship, it is not as strong as the composer’s Stabat Mater, revealing much imitation of Berlioz. Throughout the score (in vocal and orchestral parts) he makes frequent use of a short, poignantly incisive motive compressed within the compass of a diminished third, sometimes with soul-shattering effect.

The Stabat Mater, written in 1876 and performed by the London Musical Society on March 10, 1883, on the other hand expresses much more the strongly individual style of the composer and in consequence has found a much stronger hold and bids fair to continue long in public favor. It begins with a breadth and force which distinguish it from all other settings of this poem. It is conceived from a modern romantic viewpoint and is full of effective tone-painting. The portrayal of the sorrowing Mary at the foot of the cross is touchingly but majestically drawn, and the opening quartet and chorus, Stabat mater dolorosa, has a certain dramatic force. The composer then turns away from the dark tones—the lament and sorrow—and lets the music fittingly express the loveliness of the mother of the Saviour. The Eia, mater suggests a funeral march, with the principal motive in the bass; and the Fac me vere tecum flere, for tenor solo and chorus preceded by a forceful orchestral introduction, is one of the most dramatic portions of the work. The last number, Quando corpus morietur, is quite similar to the opening number, and the Amen, artistically wrought in double counterpoint, brings the whole to an effective close.

Verdi’s ‘Manzoni Requiem.’—On May 22nd, 1874, the City of Milan held a memorial service at St. Mark’s Cathedral, commemorating the first anniversary of the death of the great poet Alessandro Manzoni, and commissioned Italy’s greatest composer, Verdi, to write a Requiem for the occasion. The work was written mostly during the summer of 1873 while the composer was in France, Verdi utilizing for its last number the Libera me which he had five years previously written for the projected Requiem for Rossini, in collaboration with twelve other Italian composers, a project which was finally abandoned. A gentle, devout and thoroughly ecclesiastical spirit pervades the work, which is, however, conceived in the Italian style, therefore in lighter vein than is the case with most of the great Requiems of history; yet its orchestration and use of musical material show clearly the modern trend instituted by Wagner. Although it had a number of hearings in Europe and in America, it is, unfortunately, seldom given now. It is conceived in the mood in which most of the great Italian composers in this form have viewed death. There is the simple, childlike faith peculiar to the Italian people, mingled with a combination of sadness and peace—yet it is strong, expressive, and at times intensely dramatic, and always constructed with the master’s unerring intuition for fine musical effects. While the unsympathetic German, Hans von Bülow, condemned it as ‘an opera in ecclesiastical costume,’ the world generally acknowledges that it is sincere, lovely, though dramatically strong and effective, music. The Italian wealth of melody is everywhere present. It opens with a quiet Introit in elegiac mood (Requiem æternam), which suddenly changes in the Te decet, where, with an unexpected shift of key, the basses give out a fugal theme which gradually leads over to the Kyrie, which is sung by quartet and chorus. One of the strongest numbers is the Dies iræ, which is a chorus of almost startling power, whose effects, however, are obtained through legitimate musical means. Notably strong is the Tuba mirum which enters dramatically and works up to a tremendous climax. In striking contrast is the beautiful trio, Quid sum miser; it begins softly with luscious melody and maintains its subdued tone throughout, until suddenly interrupted by the Rex tremendæ, which with quartet and chorus rises through sharply contrasting pianissimo and fortissimo passages to a most dramatic climax, continuing through the Salva me. In the Agnus Dei an original and unique effect is obtained by letting the soprano and mezzo-soprano solo voices sing the same melody an octave apart throughout. The solo voices enter unaccompanied and the chorus joins in here and there. The most powerful number in the entire work is the Libera me, which begins with a soprano solo in the free, unmeasured intonation of old ecclesiastical psalmody, repeated in like manner by the chorus in full harmony. The solo soon leads into the Dies iræ and the introductory Requiem æternam, which are followed by a magnificent fugue in strict form on the words Libera me. After this there is a repetition of the solo chant and the closing unison tones in the chorus are sung with softest possible tone (marked pppp), leaving an effect of absolute peace and repose.

IX

Joseph Rheinberger, whose work includes almost every form of musical composition, wrote twelve masses, one of which, the ‘Mass in E-flat’ for double choir dedicated to Pope Leo XIII, obtained for the composer the order of knighthood of Gregory the Great. He wrote also a Stabat Mater, a De Profundis and much other music for the church service. All of these, and especially the masses, are beautiful both as music and as examples of the best modern liturgical writing, and a deep religious fervor pervades them. His appointment in 1877 as director of the Court Church music at Munich inspired him to write prolifically for the service of the Roman Church, to which he has contributed some of its finest modern numbers, thoroughly liturgical in spirit and in mode of treatment. For this reason they are extensively used in the Roman Church and are not well known to the concert-goer.

Henschel’s Requiem, opus 59, had its initial performance in Boston in February, 1903, and has since been frequently heard both in Europe and America. It was written in memory of his wife, Lillian Bailey Henschel, who was one of his most distinguished pupils and who concertized with him with signal success, especially in duet-singing. It is a grateful work, adapted everywhere to the voices and at times strongly influenced by the song-form. It begins in deep sorrow, which is gradually lifted through the comfort of the church. Especially strong is the first part, which is an artistic masterpiece.

Henschel’s Stabat Mater was brought out at the Birmingham Festival in 1894, on which occasion the composer also sang the part of Saul in the oratorio of this name by Parry, thus appearing in two important capacities at the festival, that of composer and interpretative artist. Besides the Stabat Mater and the above mentioned Requiem, he wrote a number of sacred works in large form, among them a Te Deum, opus 52. All are grateful and effective compositions.

The number of masses written for liturgic and concert use is very large, and extended enumeration of them here would be futile for present purposes. Several notable ones, however, might well be added to our list. Among these will be found the easy and much-used ‘Mass in B-flat’ by Henry Farmer (1819-1891), a self-taught English musician; ‘Mass in C’ by the Dutch pianist and composer, Eduard Silas (born 1827), which won a prize of a gold medal and one thousand francs in an international competition of sacred music held in Belgium in 1866, in which there were seventy-six competitors of twelve nationalities; ‘Requiem Mass’ by Robert Schumann (1810-1856), melodious and non-liturgical in spirit; ‘Requiem Mass’ by Charles V. Stanford (born 1852), in memory of Lord Leighton, produced at the Birmingham Festival of 1897 and thoroughly ecclesiastical in style and feeling; and the ‘Mass in G,’ a Stabat Mater, and a Te Deum by the same composer.

FOOTNOTES:

[81] Kretzschmar, Führer durch den Konzertsaal, Kirchliche Werke, p. 266.

[82] ‘Oxford History of Music,’ Vol. V, p. 168.

[83] Richard Aldrich in the Preface to the Schirmer edition of the ‘Graner Mass.’

CHAPTER XI
CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC IN GERMANY

Contemporaneous Choral Music in Germany—Richard Strauss: Wanderers Sturmlied; Taillefer; Motets—Taubmann: Eine Deutsche Messe; Sängerweihe; Georg Schumann: Ruth; Totenklage and other works—Max Reger’s choral compositions; Schönberg: Gurrelieder; ‘Transfigured Night’; Pierrot lunaire—Other choral writers of the present; Felix Draeseke’s Christus; Wolfrum’s Weinachtsmysterium; Albert Fuchs; Wilhelm Platz; August Bungert’s Warum? Woher? Wohin?; Felix Woyrsch: Totentanz and other works; Wilhelm Berger’s Totentanz; Karl Ad. Lorenz: Das Licht; other contributors to modern German choral literature.

The historian or reviewer of contemporaneous events is naturally confronted with a problem of greater complexity and perplexity than when he is taking account of, and giving valuation to, the events and works of a past generation, even though it be in the immediate past. There are always present too many forces and tendencies in the making, to be able to see them as the next generation will see them—more nearly in their right perspective. And so some reader twenty-five years hence may chance to read these chapters on present-day music as seen through present-day eyes and may wonder that this or that composer is barely mentioned by name or by work. Yet this method of mere tabulation must of necessity be resorted to where works have only recently been published and have as yet found but small public recognition; for this volume is primarily a volume of record, not of prophecy. In each country, however, present musical conditions are nourished by the survival of tendencies and styles from the last generation and by new forces that at present appear in the guise of mere individualism.

Contemporaneous choral music in Germany largely represents the negation of older traditions, Handelian and Mendelssohnian, in thought and construction; the after-development and carrying over into the oratorio and cantata field of the principle of the Wagnerian leading-motive; and, especially, the florescence of the modern spirit of unconstrained freedom of individual expression within very broadly defined artistic limitations.

I

As Debussy in France, so Richard Strauss in Germany might be said to be the best-known of all creative musicians who are identified with the development of choral composition along its present individualistic lines. And like Debussy, Strauss has done his most important work in the dramatic and symphonic forms, rather than in the choral. Yet he made frequent invasions into the choral field, and always with notable success. His Wanderers Sturmlied, opus 14 (composed 1883-84 after a text by Goethe), a product of his first period of creative activity in Munich, is still a repertory number of the larger German choral associations. It is written for six-part mixed chorus and full orchestra, and though a work of the master’s youth, fascinates by reason of the strongly individual flavor of its inspiration and its power of emotional delineation. Strauss’ treatment of the poem, which was the outcome of Goethe’s sorrow at parting with Friederike Brion in the fall of 1771, is strongly subjective and akin to that of Brahms in the latter’s Nänie and ‘Song of Fate.’ It is a moot question whether what Romain Rolland[84] calls its ‘affected thought and style’ is not rather an intimate musical sympathy with the Wertherian ideals of its eighteenth century poem. Technically far more difficult and making demands with which only a few of the greater German choral bodies are able to comply, are two a cappella choruses, opus 34, for sixteen-part mixed chorus, composed in 1897. Not without a suggestion of Brahmsian influence is Der Abend (Schiller), rich in serious beauty, harmonious in formal and poetic working out. Rückert’s Hymne, its companion-piece, is conceived antiphonally, its counterpoint effortless and flowing and suggestive of Lassus at his best.

During the first years of Strauss’ activity in Berlin (1898-1905) he also wrote some shorter numbers, lyric and spontaneous, for male chorus: opus 42, Liebe and Altdeutscher Schlachtgesang (Old German Battlesong) and opus 49, Schlachtgesang (Battle Hymn), Lied der Freundschaft (Song of Friendship), and Der Brauttanz (The Bridal Dance). In 1903, however, came his splendid choral ballad Taillefer, a setting of Uhland’s poem for mixed chorus, solos and full orchestra, dedicated to the Philosophical Faculty of the University of Heidelberg, the dedication representing the composer’s acknowledgment of the doctorate which the University had bestowed upon him honoris causa. The solo parts are small—one, tenor, for Taillefer; another, bass, for William of Normandy.

There is a great deal of rhythmically direct unison passage-work throughout the score, which serves to throw the four-part sections into high relief, notably in the interlude music descriptive of the battle of Hastings, in which the masses of choral tone are handled with great power. When Strauss conducted the work at its première in Heidelberg (Oct. 26, 1903), the epic ‘Song of Roland’ in particular made a deep appeal by reason of its primitive force. As much as any of his works, Taillefer shows that Strauss is a poet as well as a composer. It might almost be considered a choral pendant, circumscribed by its more definite textual and historical program, of the composer’s symphonic Heldenleben.

What is practically Strauss’ only contributions to the literature of sacred choral music, the Deutsche Motette (German Motets), opus 62, after Friederich Rückert’s words, for sixteen-part mixed chorus and four solo voices, were completed June 22, 1913; while the composer was at the same time occupied by his ballet Légende de Joseph and his ‘Alpine Symphony.’

Strauss’ Deutsche Motette are his nearest approach to oratorio. But if this form has not appealed to him, it has to others among his contemporaries. In the same category as Brahms’ Deutsches Requiem belongs Taubmann’s Deutsche Messe, first performed at the Tonkünstlerversammlung in Dortmund, 1898, and given in New York in 1913 by the Oratorio Society. But where the music of Brahms’ Requiem represents the deep outpouring of genuine sorrow and, owing to its consequent lyric character and exploitation of a single mood, moves within a more limited circle of expression and employs an idiom comparatively simple, Taubmann’s ‘Mass’ rings the changes of a richly varied succession of impressions. Though the lyric element is by no means forgotten, the dramatic note predominates. Its beauty is cast in a massive mold, and notable are the masterly choral fugues, far beyond anything the ‘German Requiem’ can show. The easily flowing, plastically contrapuntal development of the work is wonderfully varied, and at the same time serves primarily as an underlying river-bed above which a powerful emotional current pulses, often moving with genuine emotional strength.

Taubmann has written other choral works: a setting of ‘Psalm XIII’ for solos, chorus and orchestra; Tauwetter (‘Thawing-Time’) for male chorus and orchestra; and a Sängerweihe (‘Bardal Dedication’), a choral drama, which provides for a chorus and organ in the body of the concert-hall to stimulate ‘ideal participation on the part of the audience’; yet Eine Deutsche Messe will probably continue to be considered his greatest work, as well as one of the greatest glories of modern German choral composition.

Another ranking work in the choral music of contemporaneous Germany is Georg Schumann’s biblical oratorio Ruth, for soprano, alto and baritone solos, chorus of mixed voices and orchestra. It is a far cry to this work from Mendelssohn’s Elijah. Schumann, like Bossi and Wolf-Ferrari, handles his sacred text (extended by much poetic material) from a secular point of view, yet with great mastery of means and undeniable effect. There is not much that is inherently sacred in the Old Testament idyl and hence it lends itself, like the ‘Song of Songs,’ to a freer and less narrowly religious musical interpretation. Old Hebrew melodies are gracefully introduced in connection with the composer’s own thematic material and, like César Franck in his Rébecca, Schumann employs every rhythmic and harmonic means, not forgetting a brilliant and individual orchestration, to give his work a quasi-oriental atmosphere. As regards polyphonic handling Schumann writes in the manner of Bach and Brahms, but identifies himself with the present-day South German composers with respect to a rich and glowing tonal color. His choral movement is at all times plastic and exceedingly varied.

Ruth is undoubtedly Schumann’s most important accomplishment in the choral field; yet he has composed other works which call for mention. His Totenklage (‘Elegiac Lament’), opus 33, and his Sehnsucht (‘Yearning’), opus 40, for chorus, in themselves are of such marked inspiration and artistry that they would serve to establish his reputation had Ruth never been written. His Drei Geistliche Gesänge (‘Three Sacred Songs’), opus 31, for chorus, also testify to a daring inspiration which makes itself felt within the limitations of the a cappella religious song.

II

In this field, too, Max Reger, a Bavarian and a brilliant member of that South German group of composers among which Richard Strauss is the most prominent figure, has done notable work, though his creative activity has been displayed mainly along instrumental lines. A grandiose setting of ‘Psalm 100’ for mixed chorus, orchestra and organ; ‘12 Religious Folk-Songs of Germany’ for mixed chorus; three six-part a cappella mixed choruses (opus 39) and a five-part a cappella ‘Palm-Sunday Morning,’ to say nothing of his forty easy four-part songs for service use, and his choral cantatas for the great festivals of the Evangelical church year—all testify to his interest in choral music. Reger is a lover of elaborate counterpoint and recondite harmonic device and he, like Schumann, has been influenced largely by J. S. Bach and Brahms. From the former he has taken over the cult of traditional forms, from the latter he has learned to make use of the abounding treasure of folk-song inspiration, how to pour the wine of new ideas into the old formal bottles, and how to venture even into metaphysics in his search for exact expression. This is very evident in his secular choral works, in An den Gesang (‘To the Genius of Song’), opus 21, for male chorus and orchestra; the Gesang der Verklärten (‘The Song of the Glorified’), opus 75, for five-part chorus and orchestra; Die Nonne (‘The Nun’), opus 112, for mixed chorus, orchestra and organ; and the imposing Weihe der Nacht (‘The Consecration of Night’), opus 119, for alto solo, male chorus and orchestra, and Römischer Triumphgesang ‘Roman Triumphal Song’, opus 126, for male chorus and orchestra.

Reger, even in his earlier works, shows a tendency toward extreme complexity in structure and an excess of technical elaboration which is not counterbalanced by that strong control of imagination which makes for ultimate clarity. On the contrary, he heaps Pelion upon Ossa in harmonic daring and arbitrary modulation. And still his is not to be considered the last word in this respect in choral composition, for he has been out-Heroded by the Viennese composer Arnold Schönberg.

Schönberg is the head of a school of younger Viennese musical impressionists and independents, including Karl Horwitz, Heinrich Jalowetz, Alban Berg, Anton von Webern, Egon Wellesz, who have abandoned the more romantic and classic tenets of Bruckner and Hugo Wolf to follow this ultra-modern leader. One of the very few modern composers the performance of whose works has, on occasion, aroused the active hostility of his audiences, he has written symphonic music (the suite Pelléas et Mélisande), chamber music, songs, piano pieces, and a highly original and interesting text-book on harmony. This composer, ‘whose every chord is the outcome of an emotion’ and who, to quote James Huneker, ‘has the courage of his chromatics,’ has made various contributions to choral music, first among which is Gurrelieder, for solos, chorus and orchestra, composed to a text by the Danish poet Jens Peter Jacobsen, translated into German by Robert Franz Arnold. This choral cycle, written somewhere between 1901 and 1908, belongs in the second stage of the composer’s development and not in the third period (from 1908 on), during which Schönberg ‘throws over almost everything hitherto accepted, i. e., consonance, tonality, thematic use, form, even program; and retains only rhythm and color, boldly calling this music a mere emanation of himself, which has no relation to the receptivities of his hearers.’[85]

The Gurrelieder were heard in part, with piano accompaniment, in London, in 1910. In 1913 a complete performance with the enormous orchestra called for by the score (including 8 flutes, 5 oboes, 7 clarinets, 10 horns, 5 trumpets, 7 trombones, 6 kettle-drums, a number of other instruments of percussion, 4 harps, celesta and strings with as many individual players as possible) took place in Vienna. Opinion is still largely divided as to the ultimate value of Schönberg’s work. It is worthy of note, however, that Ernest Newman, in ‘The Musical Times,’ January, 1914, speaks warmly of the Gurrelieder, which he calls ‘the finest musical love-poem since "Tristan and Isolde."’

In addition to the Gurrelieder we have from Schönberg’s pen the sextet, opus 4, ‘Transfigured Night’ (First Period), which, although not a choral work, is conceived chorally for the strings, and is a work of exceeding beauty and original tonal combination worked out along normal lines—an entire contrast to the Pierrot lunaire, a series of melodramas of the most cataclysmic futurity, consisting of ‘three times seven poems’ by Albert Giraud, with titles such as ‘The Red Mass,’ ‘The Sick Moon,’ ‘A Beheading,’ ‘Gallows Song,’ ‘The Dandy,’ set for a narrator, piano, flute (also piccolo), clarinet (also bass clarinet), violin (also viola), and ‘cello.

III

Though we have now considered those great figures which tower above the general creative level in present-day choral writing in Germany, there still remain a number of their contemporaries whose claims to recognition cannot well be ignored.

Among them we find a group of composers who, like Reynaldo Hahn and Gabriel Pierné in France, have chosen the Christmas legend for musical treatment. And like Hahn, some of them have essayed to develop text and music along lines of the mediæval mystery. Felix Draeseke’s oratorio-tetralogy, Christus (published 1905), a work of splendid scope, falls short, in spite of much incidental beauty, because of lack of dramatic movement and interest. More successful has been Philip Wolfrum’s Weinachtsmysterium (1898), an attempt to revive the old German Christmas miracle-play, and partially employing mediæval song and choral music as thematic material. The work shows true musicianship, contrapuntal skill, and tact and intelligence in welding together its ancient and modern component elements. Other less pretentious ‘mysteries’ are Albert Fuchs’ Selig sind, die in dem Herrn sterben ‘Blessed are they who die in the Lord’, published in 1907; and Das tausendjährige Reich ‘The Millennial Kingdom’, published in 1909. The first may be considered as belonging to the type of Traumdichtung[86] (dream-poem) we owe to Elgar. Its music is modern, imaginative and full of effect. Even more dramatic is ‘The Millennial Kingdom,’ a succession of richly colored choral mood-pictures portraying the believers of the year 999 looking forward to the last day. This work, though essentially German, still shows the influence of Pierné’s ‘Children’s Crusade,’ as does Wilhelm Platz’ Gottes Kinder (‘God’s Children’), an emotional and effective cantata (1907).

August Bungert, in a larger choral three-part ‘mystery’ published in 1908, Warum? Woher? Wohin? ‘Why? Whence? Whither?’, is not especially happy in a semi-religious text that smacks of theological disquisition. His scores contain some fine solos as well as choral movements, but are not especially well balanced, and, despite the composer’s confessed endeavor to make it another ‘German Requiem,’ it falls short of real greatness.

Felix Woyrsch, however, whose secular oratorio Tolentanz, opus 50 (‘Dance of Death’), attains such a high level of individual expression, shows but little originality in his early work, Geburt Christi (‘Birth of Christ’), opus 18. It is evident, consulting the list of his compositions, that it is the secular rather than the sacred that appeals to him. Aside from a Passion Oratorio (opus 45), ‘The Birth of Christ’ seems to be his only essay in church-music. We have on the other hand: ‘Sapphic Ode to Aphrodite’ (soprano, women’s voices and orchestra); a ‘German Hosting’ (solos, male chorus and orchestra); a number of individual secular choruses and, lastly, ‘The Dance of Death.’

‘The Dance of Death’ is written for solos, chorus, orchestra and organ, and is called a ‘mystery.’ Conceived as a great oratorio, it stands for a distinct breaking away from older oratorio tradition and is set to a text which strings together scenes from human life in effective contrast. Its music is essentially modern in spirit, full of tonal color and beauty, and logical despite excessive rhythmic elaboration. Yet it does not keep to the level of inspiration established by its best moments, and many sections voice a distinctly popular appeal through a thin veil of musical modernism. In the case of this work the titular use of the word Mysterium is ‘merely a beauty-plaster borrowed from the French mode,’[87] and the introduction of humorous and other elements, which are not in keeping with the serious and exalted style of the oratorio proper, tends to give it, in spite of greater length and elaboration, the character of a cantata. In this form, or rather in that of a programmatic choral ballad with orchestra, Wilhelm Berger’s Totentanz, after Goethe’s poem, is conceived. It is remarkably effective musically, and was one of the numbers performed at the Tonkünstlerfest at Frankfurt-on-the-Main in 1914.

Karl Adolf Lorenz’s oratorio Das Licht (1907), a fine example of restrained modernism and beautifully wrought choral writing, and Friedrich E. Koch’s Von den Jahreszeiten (‘Of the Seasons’), essentially music written for effect, though attractive in much of its detail, should also be instanced here. Some mention, too, should be made of various prominent composers who, while their attention has principally been held by other forms of composition, have nevertheless contributed incidentally to modern German choral literature.

Ludwig Thuille, the late gifted composer of Lobetanz, wrote a number of fine choruses for both male and female voices; Oscar Fried has composed an Erntelied (text by Metsche), opus 15, for male chorus and orchestra, a work of intense, elemental power. Engelbert Humperdinck, also, has written the choral ballads Das Glück von Edenhall (‘The Luck of Edenhall’) and ‘The Pilgrimage to Keevlar,’ the last a work of much simple beauty and charm. Gustav Mahler is represented by his extended choral work, Das klagende Lied ‘The Sorrowing Song’; and Arnold Mendelssohn has created distinctive works, both sacred and secular—the ‘Evening Cantata’ eight-part mixed chorus, solo and orchestra, ‘Our Lord’s Sufferings’ (1900) and, in the same year, ‘Resurrection.’ His secular choral works include a delightful Neckreigen (‘Teasing Round’) for mixed chorus and orchestra; ‘Spring’s Consecration,’ a hymn for solos, mixed chorus and orchestra; and ‘The Tailor in Hell,’ a drastically humorous ballad for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra.

Siegmund von Hausegger, too, has written various choruses with orchestra accompaniment: ‘Voices of Evening,’ ‘Sunrise,’ ‘Reaper’s Song’ (mixed), ‘New Wine Song,’ ‘Grief the Smith’ and ‘Dead March’ (male), and a ‘Nature Symphony’ (1911). Hugo Kaun is the author of a ‘Norseman’s Farewell’—a larger choral work for baritone solo, male chorus and orchestra—as well as of choruses for mixed and female voices. And finally Hans Huber (a Swiss composer, it is true, but educated in Leipzig, a representative of Teutonic ideals, and influenced by Brahms) has created beautiful music in his ‘Songs of Spring and Love,’ opus 72, for mixed chorus, solo quartet, and four-hand piano accompaniment, and in his four-part settings from Goethe’s Westöstlichem Divan, opus 69.

This study of contemporaneous choral composition in Germany might fittingly conclude with a reference to the Dutch composers who have been influenced, creatively, by the modern German spirit in choral composition. Prominent among them are: Samuel de Lange, with an oratorio in the grand style, ‘Moses’ (1889), original in idea but traditional in form; ‘The Tear of a King,’ a ballad for soprano, mixed chorus and orchestra (1913), as well as various shorter cantatas to his credit; and G. H. G. von Brucken-Fock, composer of the introspective choral oratorio, De Wederkomst van Christus of het naderende Godsryk (1900). It contains a notable Dies iræ, ending with a double chorus after the manner of those in Bach’s motets. The Belgian composers of choral music, whose artistic affiliations are in general French rather than German, will be considered elsewhere.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] Musiciens d’Aujourd’hui, Paris, 1908.

[85] Zeitschrift der Internationalen Musik-Gesellschaft, Feb., 1914, London Notes, C. M., Leipzig.

[86] Schering: Geschichte des Oratoriums, p. 486.

[87] Schering: Geschichte des Oratoriums, p. 510.

CHAPTER XII
CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC
IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA

Elgar: ‘The Light of Life’; ‘The Dream of Gerontius’; ‘The Apostles’; ‘The Kingdom’; ‘The Music Makers’—Parry: ‘War and Peace’; ‘The Vision of Life’; ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’; Mackenzie; Cowen; Coleridge-Taylor—Bantock: ‘The Fire Worshippers’; ‘Omar Khayyam’ and other choral works—Holbrooke: ‘The Bells’, ‘Byron’ and other works; Grainger and others; Walford Davies: ‘Everyman’; ‘The Temple’ and other works; minor English choral writers—Horatio Parker: ‘Morven and the Grail’ and smaller works; Chadwick: ‘Judith’ and ‘Noël’—Henry Hadley: ‘Merlin and Vivian’ and short works; F. S. Converse: ‘Job’; other American choral writers.

I

Among the large group of British composers of the immediate present the task of recording events of value and moment is rendered somewhat easier by virtue of the fact that its dominating figure, Sir Edward Elgar (born 1857), crossed the line into the twentieth century with a well-defined style of individual expression and a clear title to leadership, won through a noble series of both orchestral and choral works. This series has been augmented during the first decade of the century by works of such splendid proportions and such already recognized importance that at least some of them may be regarded as already occupying places of permanency for some time to come. As the result of this leadership, there is discernible a distinct tendency to regard Elgar as a kind of standard of measurement for British musical values. So much is this true that we already hear of Elgarians and post-Elgarians—for Elgar has by no means said the last word in British music and a school of young composers is developing that is surely destined to accomplish great things for musical England.

Elgar’s most important choral works since 1900 belong to the class of religious music and all are deeply permeated with the same spirit of mysticism that characterizes the religious music of Franck and other devout modern adherents of the Roman Church; indeed, the Roman point of view in interpreting the teachings of the Bible and the deep things of life, is especially discernible in ‘The Apostles’ and ‘The Kingdom,’ as well as in ‘The Dream of Gerontius.’

Elgar’s mode of musical speech is remarkable, even among present-day colorists, for its wealth of color and its richness of tonal effects. Yet he is no impressionist of the Debussy type; every detail of poetic and imaginative suggestion is worked out with careful reference to its own effectiveness as well as that of the larger units to which it may belong. In his treatment of voice-parts there is a remarkable fluency and independence that suggests the old ecclesiastical methods. There is perfect correspondence, in all matters of verbal accentuation, between melodic setting and rhetorical delivery. In his marked preference for long lines of indefinite melodic structure (absence of definite phrases), he closely allies himself not only with the ‘Palestrina style’ but with the Wagnerian method of continuous ‘melos.’ His kinship with Wagner is further emphasized by the elaborate employment of ‘leading motives’ in his largest works. In these motives, however, he is not as fortunate as was Wagner in casting them in distinct, individual, and easily-distinguishable forms. This defect may be inevitable, perhaps, in treating sacred themes subject to so many purely spiritual ramifications as Elgar indulges in. As in the Wagnerian scheme, so in the Elgarian, the orchestra assumes a rôle of utmost importance, frequently overtopping the choral forces and appropriating for its own purposes the composer’s choicest melodies. But Elgar’s mode of treating the orchestra on the whole differs radically from Wagner’s because of the different points from which they approached their tasks in their respective vocal works—Wagner from the standpoint of dramatic effect, Elgar from the standpoint of pure church-music. Hence in the three works above mentioned one finds, for long stretches at a time, a spirit of lofty impersonality, an absence of sensuous melodies, which tends to lull the mind of the listener into a passive condition for receiving the impressions of the text, which is by no means unlike the mental condition produced by listening to actual liturgic music.

‘The Light of Life’ is Elgar’s first work in oratorio style and is short—not as long as many sacred cantatas; yet its exceedingly serious style precludes its being called a cantata. It received its initial hearing at the Worcester Festival in September, 1896. The text by Rev. E. Capel-Cure relates the gospel story of the man, blind from his birth, whom Jesus healed. The persons represented are the mother of the blind man (soprano), the narrator (contralto), the blind man (tenor) and the Master (baritone).

After a meditative and melodious orchestral introduction the first chorus, ‘Seek Him,’ is sung, by the Levites (male voices) in the Temple courts. The blind man’s prayer for light is followed by a recitative by the narrator. The disciples ask ‘Who did sin?’ which is directly answered in an expressive aria sung by the mother, who asserts that he has not been made to suffer this affliction because of the sins of others. The Master then explains, ‘Neither hath this man sinned,’ after which a broad, forcible chorus, ‘Light out of darkness,’ follows. The eyes of the blind man are now anointed, he washes in the Pool of Siloam and comes forth healed; then he is asked by his incredulous neighbors and towns-people how this healing came. In the heated discussion which follows, the music becomes very dramatic. After the blind man has related his story, the Pharisees again enter into discussion, the strife between those approving and those condemning the man being described in a characteristic choral setting. Especially effective is the orchestration in the scene in which the Jews question the mother and the blind man. The strongest and most beautiful part of the work is a solo sung by the Master, ‘I am the good shepherd,’ which soon leads to the final chorus, ‘Light of the world,’ which, though short, is permeated by a strongly triumphant feeling.

‘The Dream of Gerontius’ was written by Edward Elgar upon commission of the Birmingham Festival Committee and performed on the morning of Oct. 3, 1900, at the Birmingham Triennial Festival. Although it was finished for this particular occasion, it had been in the composer’s mind for years and was, therefore, not thought out in haste, as has been the case with many other occasional works. The poem by Cardinal Newman relates the dream of Gerontius as he lies on his death-bed, the flight of his soul to the realm of the unseen, its awakening with ‘a strange refreshment’ as it is safely piloted before the Judge by the Angel, or Soul’s Guardian Spirit, amid the hubbub of demons and the reassuring voices of the angels—not, however, before it has been purified in the waters of purgatory. This poem had made a profound impression upon Elgar and the words and the music are so closely wedded that they seem like twin-expressions of the same thought, both poet and composer having approached their tasks from the standpoint of devout Catholics.

The work calls for only three soloists, mezzo-soprano, tenor and bass, besides chorus and unusually large orchestra, the latter being augmented by double bassoon, organ, gong and glockenspiel. The string section is often divided into many parts, sometimes fifteen and even twenty. Elgar employs many leading motives, characteristic of the verbal ideas with which they are associated, the orchestral prelude alone giving out ten important ones that foreshadow the scheme of the work. In the work itself, as in all of Elgar’s later choral works, all traces of the classical oratorio disappear and solo, choral and orchestral parts follow each other without pause and with utmost freedom of movement within clearly defined scenes or parts. His part-writing is beautifully contrapuntal, but it rarely even approaches fugal writing.

The first part reveals Gerontius (tenor) on his death-bed. As the prelude closes, he sings ‘Jesu Maria, I am near to death,’ after which a semi-chorus chants the Kyrie eleison. Gerontius is again heard in the words ‘Rouse thee, my fainting soul,’ when a second chorus responds in tender strains, ‘Be merciful.’ The holy man then sings with deep feeling a longer solo, Sanctus fortis, and after an effective orchestral interlude resumes with the words, ‘I can no more,’ in which he expresses fear and horror at his own hallucinations. This is followed by a short chorus, ‘Rescue him, O Lord,’ sung by the attendant priests. Gerontius then sings his dying song, Novissima hora est, and the following full chorus, ‘Go forth upon thy journey,’ brings the first part to a close. The prelude to the second part pictures the soul’s journey. Gerontius’ first utterance is in a dreamy solo, ‘I went to sleep and now I am refreshed,’ after which the Guardian Angel sings a lovely melody called the ‘Alleluia’—‘My work is done, my task is o’er.’ After a dialogue between the Angel and the Soul, their flight amid howling demons of darkness to the throne of God is pictured in a vividly dramatic scene. The two again engage in dialogue, followed by an impressive chorus of the Angelicals. The Angel then sings ‘We have now passed the gate,’ and after further dialogue the chorus is heard in ‘Glory to Him.’ Further passages between the Soul and the chorus ensue, when the Angelicals join in an exultant chorus, ‘Praise to the Holiest in the height.’ In the silence following, the Soul hears the distant voices of men on earth. The Angel’s explanation of this is interrupted by a virile bass solo sung by the Angel of Agony, ‘Jesu, by that shuddering dread.’ The Angel then repeats the ‘Alleluia’ given in Part I and continues, amid the choruses of Angelicals and souls in purgatory, in a beautiful melody, ‘Softly and gently, dearly ransomed soul,’ after which the work closes with the diminishing strains of the chorus of the Angelicals, ‘Praise to the Holiest in the height.’

II

‘The Apostles.’—This, the second of Elgar’s large oratorios and certainly one of his best, was heard for the first time at the Birmingham Festival, on Oct. 3, 1903. That Elgar had in mind the writing of a trilogy, of which ‘The Apostles’ is the first part, is evidenced by his statement in the preface of this work that he had long desired ‘to compose an oratorio which should embody the calling of the Apostles, their teaching (schooling) and their mission, culminating in the establishment of the Church among the Gentiles. The present work carries out the first portion of the scheme; the second portion remains for a future occasion.’ The text is an unusually good one, Elgar himself having spent years on its compilation from the Scriptures and the Apocrypha. The personages represented are the Virgin and the Angel, soprano; Mary Magdalene, alto; St. John, tenor; Jesus, St. Peter and Judas, basses. The tenor acts also as narrator. The leading motive is even more extensively used than in ‘The Dream of Gerontius,’ and the orchestra, which is large and augmented by the shofar (ancient Hebrew trumpet), presents the most important of the themes in the prelude, thus making it a sort of musical epitome of the whole work. The text is grouped into two large parts, with three scenes in the first part and four in the second.

In the first scene of Part I, ‘The Calling of the Apostles,’ after the statement that Jesus had spent the night in prayer on the mountain, there follows the dawn, proclaimed by the watchers on the roof of the Temple. The shofar, which announces the daybreak in Jewish synagogues, at this point is heard in the orchestra. From within the Temple comes the response, ‘It is a good thing to give thanks.’ The calling of the apostles now follows and closes the scene. The second scene, ‘By the Wayside,’ discloses Jesus teaching the people the Beatitudes. The third scene, ‘By the Sea of Galilee,’ depicts the repentance and regeneration of Mary Magdalene, which is one of the finest portions of the work. It also sets forth Jesus’ calming of the storm and his walking on the water. The second part begins with the fourth scene, ‘The Betrayal,’ which includes the scenes in Gethsemane, in the palace of the High Priest and without the Temple. No other composer has treated the betrayal at such length and it contains some of the most touching passages of the whole work, among them the short chorus, ‘And the Lord looked upon Peter and he went out and wept bitterly.’ In the fifth scene, ‘Golgotha,’ Jesus’ words, ‘Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?’ are not spoken, but their meaning is poignantly expressed in a few introductory measures by the orchestra, after which follows a short, impressive choral phrase of four measures, ‘Truly this was the Son of God.’ The sixth is a short scene ‘At the Sepulchre’ and the seventh and last, ‘The Ascension,’ is characterized by remarkable ensemble passages of great sonority, the voices being grouped as follows: ‘In Heaven’ (mystic chorus of female voices in two groups) and ‘On Earth’ (four solo voices and male chorus of the apostles). This section is quite long and elaborate and leads to a mighty ‘Alleluia,’ gradually diminishing to a pianissimo close.

‘The Kingdom,’ which Elgar wrote for and produced at the Birmingham Festival, Oct. 3, 1906, is the second portion of the trilogy anticipated in the composer’s preface to ‘The Apostles’—the third portion, though promised, has not yet appeared. In order to set forth the relation of the two works to each other, they were performed at this festival in the order in which they were conceived. Much of the ‘leading motive’ material of ‘The Apostles’ is also used in ‘The Kingdom,’ thereby establishing a close unity between the two works. The oratorio, the religious theme of which is the establishment of the Church at Jerusalem, consists of five divisions: (1) In the Upper Room; (2) At the Beautiful Gate (The Morn of Pentecost); (3) Pentecost (In the Upper Room. In Solomon’s Porch); (4) The Sign of Healing (At the Beautiful Gate. The Arrest); (5) The Upper Room (In Fellowship. The Breaking of Bread. The Prayers). The persons represented are The Virgin Mary, soprano; Mary Magdalene, alto; St. John, tenor; and St. Peter, bass; the chorus represents the disciples, the holy women and the people.

After a long orchestral introduction, in which the important themes are stated and developed, comes the opening chorus of disciples and holy women together with the quartet of soloists, ‘Seek first the Kingdom of God,’ as they are all gathered in the Upper Room. After Peter leads in the celebration of the Eucharist by the breaking of bread, they sing a hymn of praise and there follows a discussion, led by Peter, as to the choosing of a successor to fill Judas’ place. The second division opens with a duet of the two Marys at the Beautiful Gate, leading directly into section three, ‘Pentecost,’ which is the longest of the work and is ushered in by a tenor solo, stating that they were ‘all with one accord in one place.’ The chorus of disciples alternates with the mystic chorus of female voices, in a description of the descent of the Holy Ghost, the music, with the added organ in the accompaniment, being very effective. ‘In Solomon’s Porch’ sets forth the ‘speaking in other tongues’ and Peter’s admonition, ‘Repent and be baptized.’ The fourth section deals with the healing of the lame man at the Beautiful Gate, after which Peter and John are arrested because they preached the resurrection of Jesus, and here the music becomes very dramatic. It closes with Mary’s lovely meditation, ‘The sun goeth down,’ in which two old Hebrew hymns are used. The fifth section, with the disciples and holy women again gathered in the Upper Room, opens with a joyful, almost triumphant chorus, ‘The voice of joy is in the dwelling of the righteous,’ after which follows ‘The Breaking of Bread’ and ‘The Lord’s Prayer.’ A quiet closing chorus, ‘Thou, O Lord, art our Father,’ is sung by chorus and soloists.

‘The Music Makers,’ Elgar’s opus 69, published in 1912, is a setting of an ode by Arthur O’Shaughnessy for contralto solo, chorus and orchestra, the chorus bearing the brunt of the vocal work. An idea of the content is given in the first stanza:

‘We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by the lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
Word-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems,’

after which the achievements of the Music Makers are recited in the building of ‘the world’s great cities’ and the fashioning of ‘an empire’s glory.’ Especially significant is the stanza beginning:

‘A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation’;

and concluding with:

‘Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.’

The work opens with an orchestral prelude, very melodious and noble in style, which, after a strong climax, leads into the first chorus, ‘We are the music makers.’ This enters softly and rises to tremendous force at the words, ‘and shakers of the world for ever.’ The composition abounds in striking contrasts of dynamics and rhythm, and while portions of it are sung in a narrative manner, there are exceedingly dramatic passages and in these Elgar calls the orchestra to his aid most effectively. The whole work is grateful for singers and full of color. Possibly the loveliest part of it is the section comprising the fourth and fifth stanzas, beginning with the above quotation, ‘A breath of our inspiration,’ and including the first contralto solo and obbligato.

III

The elder composers, who first set the stream of English music in the direction of original forms of expression, have not been idle in the years since 1900. Alexander C. Mackenzie (born 1847) contributed to the Leeds Festival of 1904 a cantata, ‘The Witch’s Daughter,’ adapted from Whittier; Henry Coward (born 1852) composed ‘Gareth and Linet,’ a musical romance of large proportions based on Malory’s Morte D’Arthur for the Sheffield Festival of 1902; and Frederick H. Cowen (born 1852) wrote for the Cardiff Festival of 1900 an oratorio, ‘The Veil,’ the text of which is taken from Robert Buchanan’s deeply mystical poem, ‘The Book of Orm,’ an apologia for the vindication of the ways of God to man, justifying death and sorrow and evil. The work is divided into the following sections: 1, The Veil Woven; 2, Earth the Mother; 3, The Dream of the World without Death; 4, The Soul and the Dwelling; 5, Songs of Seeking; 6, The Lifting of the Veil.

The veteran composer, C. Hubert H. Parry (born 1848), has been the most active of this group, no less than three important choral compositions having come from his pen in the first decade of the century. ‘War and Peace’ (1903) is a symphonic ode (text by the composer) in ten numbers, in which ‘the fallen angels, Pride and Hate,’ are pictured as the arch-instigators of all strife. The recompense comes after these furies have ‘drunk the lust of blood.’ Numbers entitled ‘Comradeship,’ ‘Home-Coming,’ ‘Song of Peace,’ and ‘Home,’ lead to a stirring and noble ‘Marching Song of Peace’ and a final prayer, ‘Grant us Thy peace, Lord.’ The Norfolk and Norwich Festival of 1905 brought out his setting in cantata form of Browning’s well-known ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin.’ Here the scholarly writer of dignified choral counterpoint becomes genuinely humorous as the tale unfolds how the rats ravaged ‘Hamelin town by famous Hanover city,’ a characteristic little figure being used to portray the gnawing of the rats. It is rather simple in style and an atmosphere of folk-melody and legend pervades the work. ‘The Vision of Life,’ a symphonic poem for soprano and bass solos, chorus and orchestra, received its first performance at the Cardiff Festival, 1907. The poem by the composer presents a vision of the course of man. Beginning with the savage and cave-dweller, it pictures Greek culture with its worship of the beautiful, the might of Rome with its passion for power which in time gives way to the teachings of Christianity; then comes the mad fury of the French Revolution, the oppression of the slave and the domination of pride—and all finally ‘yields to the spirit of love and of truth’ and the vision pictures a future of peace when

‘Hope and helpfulness unwearied
Make all the path a radiant mead;
And brother sees in the eyes of brother
The trust that makes toil’s best reward.’

The solo voices are The Dreamer and The Spirit of the Vision, and the musical treatment of solo and choral parts is noble and masterful.

The untimely death of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor in 1912 (he was born in 1875) cut short a career that began with unusual promise. Though none of his later works possesses the spontaneity and musical charm of the ‘Hiawatha’ cantatas, he has produced several fine choral works since 1900. ‘The Blind Girl of Castél Cuillé,’ written for the Leeds Festival of 1901, is a setting of Longfellow’s translation of a Gascon poem which relates the story of a blind girl who was deserted by her lover for another maiden and who, heart-broken, dies at the latter’s wedding. ‘Meg Blane’ (a Rhapsody of the Sea by Robert Buchanan) followed in 1902 and was first performed at the Sheffield Musical Festival of the same year. The text weirdly describes the terrors of the sea. ‘The Atonement,’ which closely follows the sequence of the Gospel narratives of the Passion, was given at the Hereford Festival, 1903, and ‘Kubla Khan,’ by the Handel Society in 1906. The ‘Bon-Bon Suite,’ which appeared in 1908, is a setting of six poems by Thomas Moore for baritone solo, chorus and orchestra. The poems are ‘The Magic Mirror,’ ‘The Fairy Boat,’ ‘To Rosa,’ ‘Love and Hymen,’ ‘The Watchman,’ and ‘Say, What Shall We Dance?’ The words of these poems have little relationship to each other, though the key to the whole is probably in the first poem, ‘The Magic Mirror.’ ‘Endymion’s Dream,’ for soprano and tenor solos, chorus and orchestra, was published in 1910. The words are by C. R. B. Barrett and are based on the ancient legend of Endymion, originally a name for the Sun as he sinks into the sea. In the later legend, Endymion, a priest of Jove, while sacrificing, prayed for everlasting youth. This was granted, but coupled with eternal sleep. Mercury carried him to Mount Latmos and Selene, the Moon Goddess, nightly gazed down upon him lovingly. Coleridge-Taylor’s last cantata was ‘A Tale of Old Japan,’ poem by Alfred Noyes, which was published in 1911. It is the quaint, sad story of the unrequited love of little Kimi for the great painter Sawara, and the music, which is rhapsodical in character, is full of charming touches of ‘local color.’ Solo voices take an important share of the work.

IV

Granville Bantock, born Aug. 7, 1868, in London, is usually classed as one of the ‘middle group’ of modern English composers, to which Sir Edward Elgar belongs, in distinction to the so-called ‘post-Elgarians.’ Bantock is a composer endowed with vivid imagination and a strong and distinct musical personality, exemplified in a number of important works. He has written much for orchestra, notably the symphonic poems: ‘Thalaba the Destroyer’ (after Southey), given in London, 1902; ‘Dante and Beatrice’ (Birmingham, 1903); the comedy-overture ‘The Pierrot of the Minute,’ and the symphonic drama ‘Fifine at the Fair’ (Birmingham, 1912), and, aside from a number of other works, the two orchestral scenes ‘Processional’ and ‘Yaga-Naut,’ fragments of a monster cycle, ‘The Curse of Kehama,’ never completed.

Bantock’s leaning toward Orientalism in his music is shown in his great choral works as well as in his symphonic compositions. To say nothing of his one-act opera ‘The Pearl of Iran,’ his six books of Oriental songs (Arabian, Japanese, Egyptian, Persian, Indian, Chinese), his ‘Ferishtah’s Fancies’ (Browning), for soprano and orchestra, and the ‘Five Ghazals of Hafiz,’ for baritone and orchestra, we have his choral works, ‘The Fire Worshippers’ and ‘Omar Khayyam,’ both constructed on large lines.

‘The Fire Worshippers’ is a dramatic cantata in six scenes for chorus, solos and orchestra, a work of considerable extent and making many demands on the singers, whose story is laid in the ancient Persia of the Magi. Its overture was performed, singly, in 1892, at a Royal College of Music concert, but the work was not given in its entirety until 1910. Though ‘rich in feeling and sumptuous in tissue, with a curious blend of sensuousness and spirituality,’ it has never secured the meed of favor accorded the composer’s ‘Omar Khayyam.’

In this work, ‘a union of inspired poetry with inspired music,’ to quote Rosa Newmarch, we have the composer at his best. It presents in a musical setting no less than 54 stanzas of ‘The Rubaiyat,’ about half the book, for a tremendous chorus, three solo voices and a large orchestra. In his music Bantock has given these Epicurean drinking-songs of Mohammedan Persia their inner spiritual significance. He emphasizes their dramatic quality as songs of revolt against Koranic law and idealizes them as a defiance of reason and nature against religious bigotry. The work is inordinately long, judged by ordinary standards, and difficult of performance; yet the composer’s tendency toward frequent modulation is always balanced by a sure sense of beauty and proportion. From the muezzin’s call to prayer at sunset ‘the work moves on from mood to mood, from contrast to contrast—conflict and repose, love and death, regnant glory and the dust of oblivion—in a wonderful and strenuous comment on human existence.’ The more directly lyric stanzas are assigned to the Poet (tenor) and the Beloved (contralto); the philosophical reflections on the eternal ‘Yea and Nay’ of human existence are placed in the mouth of the Philosopher (baritone). The love duets, especially ‘When you and I behind the veil,’ are rich in haunting charm, and the choruses glow with vivid color. Bantock’s musical Orientalism is not a mere matter of externals, of rhythms, of vocal arabesques and percussion-effects. It goes far deeper and interprets the soul of the Orient as Pierre Loti has done in his prose poems. And on hearing Bantock’s ‘Rubaiyat’ it seems, as Mrs. Newmarch beautifully puts it, ‘as though the northern wind had scattered a fresh shower of rose leaves upon the grave of Omar Khayyam.’

Nor has Bantock been insensible to the appeal of the myths of ancient Hellas. A ‘choral symphony’ set to Swinburne’s beautiful ‘Atalanta in Calydon,’ in twenty parts, a cappella, performed 1912 at the Manchester Festival, bears witness to the fact. It is said to be the most difficult work ever written for unaccompanied chorus, the final movement in particular taxing the voices to the utmost. In it the composer has blazed new paths of choral effect by means of groupings of variously constituted choirs, and among other of its movements a scherzo for female voices is especially praised. Bantock’s other secular choral works include: ‘The Time Spirit,’ a rhapsody for chorus and orchestra (first heard at Gloucester Festival, 1904); three ‘Cavalier Tunes’ for male chorus, ‘God Save the King,’ for chorus and orchestra, and various choruses for female and mixed voices, among which might be mentioned ‘On Himalay,’ all fine examples of original and harmonious part-writing.

In the field of sacred music Bantock has also been active. A ‘Mass in B-flat major’ for male voices (1893), an anthem, a setting of the 82d Psalm, and the two oratorios ‘Christ in the Desert’ (Gloucester Festival, 1907) and ‘Gethsemane,’ should be mentioned. Of these the latter is the more important and was given at the Gloucester Festival of 1910. An episode from the life of Christ, it has been written for baritone solo, chorus, orchestra and organ to biblical words. A richly ornamented orchestral prelude in A-flat is succeeded by a species of symphony for baritone, orchestra and chorus in four sections: ‘In the Garden,’ ‘The Agony,’ ‘The Prayer,’ ‘Betrayal.’ Rhythmic in movement and clear in expression, its music is especially dramatic in the ‘Betrayal Scene,’ which leads over to a chorus followed by a short solo and an eight-part choral finale.

V

In Joseph Holbrooke, born July 6, 1878, in Croydon, we have, in contrast to Bantock, a member of that ultra-modern English school of composition of which Cyril Scott, ‘the English Debussy,’ is perhaps the best known exponent. Holbrooke has attracted wide attention because of his daring individuality and his boldness of invention, as well as the disregard for convention shown in his brilliantly colored mode of scoring for orchestra. He has chosen Edgar Allan Poe as his poet par excellence and his most important choral and orchestral works (among the latter ‘The Raven’ (1900), ‘Ulalume,’ ‘The Haunted Palace,’ ‘The Masque of the Red Death’) are associated with the verse of the American poet.

At the Birmingham Festival of 1906 ‘The Bells,’ ‘the Mohammedan-hated Bells’ of Poe and Holbrooke, jostled Bantock’s ‘Omar Khayyam,’ when heard for the first time. With remarkable breadth of tonal laying-out, and an incessant employment of chords of the eleventh and thirteenth, the resonant clamor of the bells is brought out in the work with clever programmatic effect, in perfect accord with Poe’s words. A long orchestral prelude leads weirdly over into the first chorus, in A minor. Following this come four choral numbers, ‘Sledge-Bells,’ ‘Wedding-Bells’ (female voices), ‘Alarm Bells’ and ‘Iron Bells,’ each ringing the changes on the titular suggestion in appropriate tonal inflections. Holbrooke’s choral effects throughout are incisive and are heightened by a remarkable fidelity to his text.

‘Byron’ (Poem No. 6) for chorus and orchestra, given at Leeds, Dec. 7, 1904, is a setting of Keats’ ‘Sonnet to Byron,’ beginning ‘Byron, how sweetly sad thy melody.’ As regards form it is modelled somewhat on Beethoven’s ‘Choral Symphony,’ but the orchestra is more continuously active and its relation to the poem more intimate. The orchestra section, in fact, is about half the work and it may be played separately as a symphonic poem without its choral complement, a coda being provided for the purpose. There is some beautiful passage-work for the clarinet in the orchestral score and the part-writing is worthy of all praise.

‘Queen Mab’ (Poem No. 5) for chorus and orchestra, also heard at Leeds (1904), is only incidentally choral and interest is largely centred in the orchestral part. The ‘Dramatic Choral Symphony’ (homage to E. A. Poe), written around quotations from Poe’s writings and philosophical in trend, may be said to suffer to some extent from the difficulty of effectively setting philosophical reflection to music. This disadvantage is even more marked in ‘Apollo and the Seaman,’ a ‘Dramatic Symphony with Choral Ending for Male Choir,’ which was produced in Queen’s Hall, London, in 1908. To quote a French critic:[88] ‘Mr. Holbrooke, eager to show his originality, had this “illuminated symphony” given in quite a special way. Scriabine had already added chord projections of light to his orchestra, and thought of joining perfumes to them in his future scores. Mr. Holbrooke was content with a projection of the magic-lantern kind. Queen’s Hall was plunged into obscurity and the text of Mr. Trench’s poem was projected on the sheet, Mr. Holbrooke’s chords sounding forth in the meantime. Then, announced by the stroke of a gong, there appeared an enormous head of Apollo and, after a long pedal-point suggesting the beginning of Rheingold, the seance went on, proving conclusively that there is nothing less musical (save possibly Nietzsche) than this dialogue between a sailor and Apollo, disguised as a merchant, upon the immortality of the soul and other poetic topics.’

Joseph Holbrooke has written a number of individual anthems and choruses in addition to these larger works, among them the ‘dramatic choral song (No. 2)’ entitled ‘To Zanthe’ (words by Poe), not to forget the choruses in his opera ‘The Children of Don and Dylan.’ That his is a great talent is not to be denied; yet the consensus of opinion seems to agree that he has not as yet ‘found’ himself.

Before passing on to a consideration of the work of Henry Walford Davies, whose musical sympathies are those of the Elgarian school rather than those of the English modernists, we will refer, briefly, to the choral compositions of the younger English followers of Scott and Holbrooke.

Gustav von Holst, born 1874, in Cheltenham, a pupil of Stanford, has written some notable works: an Ave Maria for eight-part female chorus; female choruses with orchestra in the masque ‘The Vision of Dame Christian’ (1909); various cantatas and a fine tetralogy of settings from the sacred books of India, the hymns from the Rig-Veda, for chorus and orchestra.

Percy Grainger, born July 8, 1882, at Brighton, near Melbourne, Australia, has also contributed some charming lighter numbers, in unusual combinations, to modern English choral literature. Among them are his Kipling Choruses: the ‘Father and Daughter,’ the old Faröe Island ballad, arranged for five solo voices (male), chorus, strings, brass, mandolins and guitars; and the sparkling ‘Strathspey,’ combined with several jigs and the fine old sea chanty, ‘What shall we do with a drunken sailor,’ sung by male quartet to the accompaniment of eight strings, two guitars, xylophone, flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon and concertina.

Ralph Vaughan Williams, born at Down Amprey, Oct. 12, 1872, supplies, as it were, a connecting link between the Elgarians and the post-Elgarians, the more academic and the more revolutionary among present-day English composers. His principal choral works are: ‘Willow Wood,’ a cantata (Liverpool, 1909), and two extended compositions for voices and orchestra, ‘A Sea Symphony’ and ‘Toward the Unknown Regions’ (Leeds Festival, 1907), both to poems by Walt Whitman, who with Williams seems to take the place that Poe does with Holbrooke.

In Henry Walford Davies, born Sept. 6, 1869, at Ostwestry, we have another composer of serious choral music along traditional lines, yet one not unaffected by modern tendencies. His music is rich in expression, artistic conscientiousness and idealism, and his two most important works are undoubtedly the oratorio ‘The Temple,’ and ‘Everyman,’ a musical setting of a mediæval morality, the original suggestion for which, like that of similar choral works in modern Germany, no doubt came from France. The text, with few exceptions, has been taken from the old English morality play: God commands Death to bring Everyman (that is, Man in general) before Him for judgment. In vain Everyman seeks companions among his servants, friends and ‘the rich’ for a journey whence none return; yet at length finds ready to accompany him (after lengthy moral disquisitions) comrades in the shape of ‘Good Deeds,’ ‘Knowledge,’ ‘Discretion,’ ‘Strength,’ ‘Beauty’ and ‘Five Wits.’ The choral music throughout is spontaneous, vivid and realistic. ‘Everyman’ was composed for the Leeds Festival of 1904, at which it scored a marked success. A short prelude of thirty-two measures is the keynote to the entire work and leads directly to a prologue (addressed to the audience), delivered by bass, contralto, soprano and tenor. The chorus of ‘laughing, feasting rich men, reclining upon their cushions, is a splendid bit of musical realism, which shows better than any theoretical disquisition how standards of taste in English oratorio have satisfactorily rid themselves of Puritanic influences in the course of years.’[89] Davies’ biblical oratorio, ‘The Temple’ (Worcester Festival, 1902), is an oratorio pure and simple, austerely beautiful and rather complex in its choral writing, but lacking, perhaps, the inspirational freshness of its more dramatic successor. ‘The Song of Thanksgiving’ is generally considered the finest single number in the score.

Davies has also composed: ‘Hervé Riel’ (Browning) for baritone solo, chorus and orchestra (Royal College of Music, 1895); ‘Four Songs of Innocence’ (part-songs for female voices, 1894); ‘Ode to Time’ (baritone solo, chorus and orchestra) and ‘Noble Numbers’ (a cycle of 18 songs for solo voices, chorus and orchestra); ‘The Three Jovial Huntsmen’ (cantata with orchestra, 1900); a ‘Morning and Evening Service’ and a ‘Cathedral Service’ and ‘Lift up your hearts’ (Hereford Music Festival, 1906).

Among other names which seem to call for mention in connection with recent English choral writing are: Bradley Rootham (a fine cantata to Charles Kingsley’s ‘Andromeda,’ for solos, chorus and orchestra); Alexander M. McLean (a cantata, ‘The Annunciation,’ influenced by Reger, 1909); Henry Wood (‘Elijah,’ 1902); Alfred Herbert Brewer (‘The Holy Innocents,’ oratorio, 1904, ‘Emmaus’); Harvey Lohr, F. W. Humberston and C. Lee Williams.

VI

Conditions in contemporaneous American choral writing are quite analogous to those in England. Several of our most prominent choral writers had already won substantial recognition before the twentieth century opened. Foremost among these elder composers who have continued to write in the concert forms of oratorio and cantata are George W. Chadwick (born 1854) and Horatio W. Parker (born 1863). But a host of younger composers has arisen to seek artistic preferment in this field. This augmented interest is no doubt due in part to the remarkable increase in the number of choral societies in the United States beginning in the last decade of the nineteenth century and the consequent increase in the demand for choral novelties; but it is due in still larger part to the increased interest in composition itself in the United States, an interest that has been fostered and nourished by a noticeably greater willingness on the part of the American public in the most recent years to receive with some favor really meritorious works by native composers. This meed of home recognition, the greatest possible stimulus to all creative purpose, will no doubt increase in measure with the years.

Horatio Parker has added several to his already long list of choral works given in Chapter VI: ‘King Gorm the Grim’ (1908), a fiery choral ballad on a Danish theme (words after Theodor Fontane); ‘The Leap of Roushan Beg’ (1913), a ballad for men’s voices with tenor solo (poem by Longfellow); ‘Alice Brand’ (1913), a short cantata for three-part female chorus with solos (poem by Sir Walter Scott); and ‘A Song of Times,’ a short cantata for chorus and orchestra.

In ‘Morven and the Grail,’ Parker has produced his largest choral work since the Hora Novissima and ‘Legend of St. Christopher.’ This oratorio was written for the Centenary Festival of the Handel and Haydn Society of Boston, April 11-15, 1915. It calls for four soloists—Morven, baritone; Sigurd, tenor; St. Cecilia, soprano; Our Lady, alto; Angels of the Grail, a second solo quartet. The poem by Brian Hooker is a work of unusual charm and has accompanying it a quaint synopsis of the story, relating how ‘Morven, seafaring upon the quest of the Grail, heareth the Angels thereof calling to him, and will follow the world’s dream even unto the end of the world. He cometh to Avalon, the heaven of Pleasure, and there for a time abideth in bliss.’ But hearing Sigurd, the Volsung, riding against the Dragon and realizing that man can not be content forever in joy, he departeth and cometh to Valhalla of the Old Gods, where he abideth in glory until, ‘hearing in his soul as it were the voice of St. Cecilia hymning Christ her Lord,’ he proceedeth to the Saints in Paradise, the heaven of holiness, where again for a time he abideth in peace. In spirit he heareth ‘Our Lady communing with her child new-born into the world’ and learneth that man may not forever content himself at rest and that the desire of the soul is not to be found in Paradise, nor in any place, but that it followeth everywhere; ‘wherefore he will depart out of that heaven to be born again and become as a little child.’ The heavens being then opened to him, in a vision he heareth the song of the Grail and the Angels singing of man, living on ‘between Hell and Heaven in wonder everlasting.’ The closing argument is as follows: ‘And forasmuch as God of His own heart so imagineth all things that they die and rise again, therefore shall the earth declare the glory of God, world without end.’

George W. Chadwick has written in nearly all the larger forms of choral, orchestral and chamber music. In the opening years of the century he wrote two choral works of large dimensions, ‘Judith’ and ‘Noël,’ both in oratorio form, though the action of the first is so intense and dramatic that it could well be performed with full operatic machinery. Both are conceived in the form of the classical oratorio, though Chadwick’s musical vocabulary is clearly modern, his harmony being rich, warm and distinctly individual. ‘Judith’ is a work of massive proportions, one of the few great choral works yet produced in America. ‘Noël’ is simpler in structure, yet contains numbers of compelling beauty.

‘Judith,’ a lyric drama in three acts, was published in 1901. The persons represented are Judith, mezzo-soprano; Achior, tenor; Holofernes, baritone; Ozias, bass; and Sentinel, tenor. The text by William Chauncey Langdon is cast in three acts. The first, in Bethulia, pictures the sorrows of Israel beset by Asshur’s host, to which the Israelites are about to yield when the entreaties of Ozias persuade them to trust the Lord five days longer. Judith relates her vision, in which her departed husband directs her to save her people by destroying Holofernes. The second act brings her to the camp of Holofernes, who is completely infatuated with her beauty. She insists upon becoming his cup-bearer, and after he has partaken too freely of wine, she (still responding to the vision) slays him with his own sword and conceals his head in the folds of her dress as she passes the guards, whom Holofernes had commanded to let her pass freely in and out. The third act begins with her return to Bethulia just as Ozias once more kneels at the wall, praying for deliverance. As she shows the head of Holofernes there is great rejoicing and the victory of the Israelites over the Assyrians is proclaimed.

‘Noël,’ a Christmas pastoral for four solos, chorus and orchestra, was written for the Litchfield County (Conn.) University Club and published in 1909. The text is compiled from various sources, most of which are named. The work consists of twelve numbers, besides an orchestral prelude entitled ‘The Star.’ No. 1 is a chorus, ‘This is the month’ (words by Milton); No. 2, ‘From the eastern mountains’ (words by Thwing), depicts the journey of the Wise Men; No. 3, ‘Long and darksome was the night,’ is an alto solo (words by Ray Palmer, 1830); No. 4 is a chorus for female voices, Parvum quando cerno Deum, the authorship of the Latin text being unknown; No. 5 is a bass solo, ‘I was a foe to God,’ words by Torsteegen, 1731; and No. 6 a chorus of praise, ‘Praise Him, O ye heaven of heavens,’ with words by Prudentius, A. D. 405. No. 7 begins the second part with ‘While to Bethlehem we are going,’ for alto solo and chorus, words by Violante de Ceo, 1601; No. 8 is a soprano solo, ‘Hark! a voice from yonder manger,’ words by Gerhardt, 1656; No. 9 is a carol from the Latin of the fourteenth century, ‘A child is born in Bethlehem,’ which can be sung unaccompanied; No. 10 is a tenor solo, ‘O holy Child, Thy manger streams,’ words from the Danish; No. 11, a quartet, ‘Hither come ye heavy-hearted,’ words by Gerhardt, 1656; and the last number, ‘How lovely shines the morning star,’ words by Nikolai, 1597, is a stately chorale and fugue for chorus and quartet.

VII

Henry K. Hadley (born 1871) is prominent among the group of younger Americans who have assiduously cultivated choral writing, having published seven or eight choral works of varying size, up to the present time (1915). His first cantata was ‘In Music’s Praise,’ which won the prize offered in 1901 by the Oliver Ditson Company, music-publishers. This was followed in 1904 by ‘A Legend of Granada,’ a cantata for women’s voices with soprano and baritone solos (words by Ethel Watts Mumford). Four other cantatas for women’s voices with various solo parts succeeded this one—‘The Fate of Princess Kiyo’ (1907), a legend of Japan (words by Edward Oxenford); ‘The Golden Prince’ (1914); ‘The Nightingale and the Rose’ (1911); and ‘The Princess of Ys.’

Hadley’s longest choral work is the lyric drama ‘Merlin and Vivian’ (1907), to the poem by Ethel Watts Mumford, an ambitious composition calling for the full resources of solo, choral and orchestral forces. It is in three parts, whose scenes are laid respectively on the ‘Isle of Avalon,’ at King Arthur’s court, and at Castle Joyousguard. The characters are Morgan-le-Fay, the enchantress, Queen of Avalon; Vivian, the sorceress; King Arthur; Merlin, the enchanter, Arthur’s councilor; Adrihim, the spirit of the architect of King Suleiman; and Ariel, the spirit of music and light.

Frederick Shepherd Converse (born 1871), after several orchestral works in the larger forms, entered the choral field with a composition of oratorio dimensions, ‘Job,’ a dramatic poem for solos, chorus and orchestra, which was composed for the fiftieth annual festival of the Worcester (Mass.) Musical Association in 1907. The text is taken from Job and the Psalms in the Vulgate. accompanied with an English paraphrase. The characters represented are Job, tenor; his Friend, baritone; a woman of Israel, mezzo-soprano; and the voice of Jehovah, bass; the chorus represents the voices of prayer and adoration. A preface to the work points out that ‘the dramatic motive of the poem is the development of the moods of Job, distress under suffering, rebellion, doubt, and final submissive understanding of the will of God. In emotional contrast with him is the Woman of Israel, who represents the spirit of unquestioning faith. The Friend stands, like the three friends of the Bible story, for the spirit of conventional piety. The chorus represents superhuman voices, which declare the glory of God; against their sustained mood of adoration and praise beats the contest of human emotions. The impersonal universal spirit of the chorus is conveyed in the music by simple diatonic harmonies, the warp upon which the solo parts are woven in modern chromatic design.’

Other choral compositions by Converse are a ‘Serenade’ (1908) for soprano and tenor solos, male chorus and small orchestra (text by John Macy) and ‘The Peace Pipe’ (1915), a cantata for baritone solo, mixed chorus and orchestra to text from Longfellow’s ‘Song of Hiawatha.’ Longfellow, who has probably furnished more texts for cantatas and choral ballads than any other one poet, is also drawn upon by Carl Busch for his cantata, ‘The Four Winds’ (1907) (again from ‘The Song of Hiawatha’), a lengthy work calling for soprano and tenor solos with chorus.

Rossetter Gleason Cole (born 1866), in his lyrical idyl, ‘The Passing of Summer’ (1902), written to a libretto by Elsie Jones Cooley, presents a pastoral scene in which two lovers go forth at the dawning of summer’s last day and witness gracious Summer’s farewell to all her children—the summer winds, the falling leaves, the soft-hued flowers—but as evening falls they rejoice that love’s flower, which Summer had planted in their hearts, dies not. The score, which is quite lengthy, demands soprano, tenor and contralto solos, chorus and orchestra.

David Stanley Smith (born 1877) appears among the list of choral writers with two short works—‘The Logos’ (The Word is Made Flesh), published in 1908, which is a Christmas cantata for three solo voices (The Logos, the Angel Gabriel and Mary) and chorus of angelic voices and voices from earth; and ‘God our Life’ (1906), a sacred cantata for general use.

FOOTNOTES:

[88] Les Post-Elgariens, par X.-M. Boulestin, S. I. M., Jan., 1914.

[89] Schering: Geschichte des Oratoriums, pp. 591-592.

CHAPTER XIII
CONTEMPORARY CHORAL MUSIC IN FRANCE, ITALY, RUSSIA AND ELSEWHERE

Debussy: L’enfant prodigue, La demoiselle élue and Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien; Reynaldo Hahn: La pastorale de Noël; Gabriel Pierné: La croisade des enfants; Les enfants de Bethlehem; Les fioretti de Saint-François d’Assisi—Florent Schmitt: Psalm XLVII; Vincent d’Indy: Chant de la cloche, etc.—Renaissance of oratorio in Italy; Perosi and his oratorios; Bossi: Canticum canticorum; Il Paradiso perduto; Wolf-Ferrari: La Vita Nuova and other works—Scandinavia; choral music in Russia; Moussorgsky; Rimsky-Korsakoff; Glazounoff; Glière; Arensky and others; choral composition in Poland, Bohemia, Hungary, Spain.

I

The choral music of contemporary France has its immediate origin in the recent past. In particular the oratorio and sacred cantata may be said to represent the larger fruition of what Romain Rolland calls ‘the new religious art which has sprung up since the death of César Franck, around the memory of that great musician.’ Pierné, d’Indy, Schmitt—some of the most distinctive composers of modern France—have been influenced by the Belgian master in a greater or less degree. Hence it is not strange that the best-known French choral works of the present day in the larger forms are of a religious or quasi-religious nature.

Thus, even in the case of Debussy (less directly influenced by Franck than any of his contemporaries), we find that two of his three principal choral works, the lyric scene L’enfant prodigue and the ‘mystery’ Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien, are developments of Biblical and hagiographic text-motives. And even in his Damoiselle élue, a cantata for female voices with solos, the heroine of Rossetti’s famous poem (to a French paraphrase of which Debussy has written his score) looks down from the ramparts of her pre-Raphaelite paradise.

In L’enfant prodigue (Roman Prize, 1884), its composer does not as yet inaugurate those radical changes which were to find complete expression in his later works. It may be briefly described as a simple and expressive miniature oratorio, including duets, trios, a cleverly written cortège and dance, whose frequent recitative anticipates the melodic declamation employed in Pelléas et Mélisande.

But when Debussy sent in his Damoiselle élue (first published in 1887) from Rome, the departure, from accepted standards was more marked. Its music is rich in delicate imagery and attention to detail, orchestral and vocal, yet despite its subtle expression of the yearning of the translated for the one left behind on earth—the chorus of sopranos descending in flexible, fluid cadences as the Blessed Damozel ‘leans out from the gold bars of Heaven’ and ‘casts her arms along the golden barriers’—the customary public hearing accorded ‘works sent from Rome’ was denied it in Paris. Since then, however, its composer has not had to complain of a lack of performances.

It is the five-act mystery Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien, given in 1911 at the Châtelet theatre in Paris, which is Debussy’s most ambitious and individual contribution to the literature of the newer French choral art, though the music is really incidental to D’Annunzio’s drama. In general, the greatest French critics paid tribute to the merits of the work. Alfred Bruneau spoke of ‘its clarity, serenity and strength,’ insisting that while the composer had hitherto given his attention mainly to the instrumental forms, he had attained new power in the choral portions of Le martyre. He dwells on the beauty of the lament of the women at Sébastien’s death, and the ‘vast and magnificent’ final alleluia. Pierre Laloy does not share Bruneau’s enthusiasm for the choral close. He admits its ‘occasional Palestrinian character,’ but deprecates the intrusion of trifling motives evidently used for effect alone. Robert Broussel counts the four Preludes, hieratic and voluptuous, among Debussy’s most finished pages. Reynaldo Hahn laments a lack of continuity in the score. Yet all critics agree, in the main, on the interest and artistry of the score, in which the religious feeling is strongly and definitely marked.

This concludes the tale of the composer’s choral compositions of a religious nature, but no mention of Debussy’s activity in the choral field would be complete without a reference to his lovely a cappella choruses, Chansons de Charles d’Orleans, practically the only secular music for chorus which he has written, but music well worth careful study.

Notwithstanding the religious expressiveness which permeates Le martyre, as witness the musical treatment of its last scene in which paradise unfolds its gates amid a golden glory of angel hosts, it is Gabriel Pierné whose scores are the most successful examples of oratorio composition in modern France. Reynaldo Hahn, it is true, in a manner anticipated Pierné’s Enfants de Bethlehem in 1901, with a Christmas oratorio, Pastorale de Noël, written upon the text of one of the great passion-mysteries of the thirteenth century, using the actual mediæval words and thus projecting the liturgic drama of the Middle Ages into the present day. Yet his work has never attained that wider public recognition accorded Pierné’s oratorios.

On these rest the latter’s fame, though he has written a secular cantata, Edith (1882), and a prize symphony for chorus and orchestra, L’an mil. La croisade des enfants (known throughout this country as ‘The Children’s Crusade’), Les enfants de Bethlehem and, finally, Les fioretti de Saint-François d’Assisi, are his chief works.

The ‘Children’s Crusade’ and the ‘Children of Bethlehem’ are ‘mysteries,’ but not in the sense of Debussy’s impressionistic Martyre, or Hahn’s mediæval Christmas ‘Miracle.’ The ‘Children’s Crusade’ has been set to a libretto after Marcel Schwob’s poetic story; the ‘Children at Bethlehem,’ to a poem by Gabriel Nigond. Both scores are musically full of color and rich in pictorial detail, employing the folk-song thematically. Their great effect lies in the introduction of the children’s chorus as a strong factor in the musical development of the oratorio. The criticism has been made,[90] in particular with regard to the ‘Children’s Crusade,’ that the picturesque mingling of male choruses, female choruses, solo voices, humming choruses, echo choruses, voices from above and from the distance, together with the choruses of children and full orchestra in a succession of nerve-stimulating episodes, seems due to deliberate calculation, speculating on the emotional and nervous sensibility of the general public, and that as a consequence the music lacks genuine intimacy and warmth. Be this as it may, the composer has been superlatively successful in creating works whose performance awakens widespread pleasure and appreciation.

In Saint-François d’Assisi, set to a poem by Gabriel Nigond after ‘The Little Flowers of St. Francis,’ Pierné again uses Christian legendary material. His music portrays, with less of austere dignity and serious depth than Tinel’s famous ‘Franciscus,’ yet with a more melodious facility of touch, the life-cycle of the sermonizer of the birds and founder of the order which bears his name. Like its predecessors, it has much spiritual charm and delicacy of expression; as in them, the standpoint of tonal effect is kept well in view and—another resemblance—the score has been successful, though not, perhaps, in the same degree as the others. Still, Pierné’s writing has not the dramatic power and individual flavor to be found in the works of some of his confrères.

II

Notable among these is Florent Schmitt, a pupil of Gabriel Fauré (who, by the way, has contributed to French choral literature some charming shorter works—La naissance de Vénus, Les Djinns, and Madrigal). Danse des Devadesis is especially notable for brilliant color and subtly suggestive rhythms. Florent Schmitt’s Tragédie de Salomé in its symphonic form is well known to the American concert-goer, but the same cannot be said of his ‘Psalm XLVII,’ for orchestra, organ, chorus and solo voices, though it exists in an edition with English text, and is a musically distinctive and original work. Its keynote is praise and joy, and it bids ‘the people clap their hands’ and proclaims that ‘the fields of the earth belong to the Lord’ with real dramatic effect and vigor.

It is in the work of Vincent d’Indy, principal heritor of the musical and spiritual legacy of César Franck, that a more conservative standpoint makes itself felt. And this is only natural, when we consider that the counterpoint of the sixteenth century is the point of departure of the composer’s own creative activity. He stands for the classic tradition persisting along modern lines of development. His sympathies are with Wagner rather than Debussy, and in his operas or, as he terms them, ‘dramatic actions,’ Fervaal and L’Etranger, he merges Wagnerian practice and his individual concept with effective results, though with a rejection of all that atmospheric vagueness which makes the charm of Pelléas.

His best known choral work is Le chant de la cloche (‘Song of the Bell’), awarded a prize by the City of Paris in 1885. This is a dramatic legend, opus 18, for chorus, solos and orchestra, broad in outline, rich in detail, Wagnerian in structure, yet the composer’s own in thematic content. The orchestra is handled with great brilliancy. A later work, opus 23, Sainte-Marie Magdeleine, a cantata for two solo voices, female chorus and accompaniment of harmonium and piano, is a work of the type of Debussy’s Enfant prodigue, a miniature oratorio intended to form part of an evening’s concert-program. It is needless to add that, musically, it shows no semblance to Massenet’s oratorio of the same name. We have also by d’Indy La Chévauchée du Cid, a Hispano-Moorish scene for baritone, chorus and orchestra; a ‘Festival Cantata’ for inaugural purposes; an Ode à Valence, for solo, chorus and orchestra; and L’Art et le Peuple, for four-part male chorus.

For some time d’Indy has been working upon a dramatic choral work on an extended scale, La légende de Saint-Christophe (a subject which Rheinberger and Horatio Parker have already treated in oratorio form), and it is said to be nearing completion. It will be looked forward to with interest, especially as it represents one of the composer’s periodical returns from symphonic to choral composition.

While the works of the composers already discussed may be said to represent the most important achievements in contemporary French choral writing, a number of others have been more or less active in the same field. Among these are: Gustave Charpentier (tone-drama, La vie du poete, 1892), the late Augusta Holmès (Hymne à Apollon, dramatic scene, and Nocturne, both for baritone solo and chorus. Danse d’Almées, for contralto solo and chorus, and ‘The Vision of the Queen,’ scene for solos and female chorus); C. de Grandval (Sainte Agnes, dramatic cantata, 1892); Bourgault-Ducoudray (Esprit de la France, for mixed chorus) and others; but in general the ultra-modernists, Ravel, Dukas, Magnard, and others have neglected the domain of choral for that of symphonic composition.

In Belgium contemporary choral composition since Peter Benoît has been influenced by the Neo-French school. We have G. L. Huberti’s De laatste Zonnestraal (1892) and (in manuscript) Verlichtung (1882), Bloemardinne and ‘Death of William of Orange,’ A greater tone-poet is Émile Mathieu, with three secular choral works, Le Hoyoux, Le Sorbier and Freyhir (1893). Jan Blockx’s cantatas are mostly founded on national episodes. Among them are: Vredezang, Het droom van’t paradies, Clokke Roelandt, Scheldezang (1903). The ‘Roland’ cantata is his best-known choral number. Edgar Tinel’s dramatic oratorio, Franciscus (1888), is the greatest choral work the Flemish school has produced. It has been more fully noted in Chapter IX.

III

In Italy the renaissance of choral composition might be said to begin in 1898, with Don Lorenzo Perosi’s appointment as director of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. In his sacred trilogy, La Passione di Cristo, comprising (a) La Cena del Signore, (b) L’Orazione del Monte, (c) La Morte del Redentore (performed for the first time at Milan, 1899, at the Italian Congress of Sacred Music), and in his oratorios, La Transfigurazione del Nostro Signor Gesù Cristo (1898), La Risurrezione di Lazaro (1898), Il Natale del Redentore (1899), Mosè, and Il Giudizio Universale (1903), all written in a style ‘made up of all styles and ranging from the Gregorian chant to the most modern modulations,’[91] he shows deep melodic instinct, richness of melodic invention, and a strong dramatic veritism which has done much to make them popular in Italy. ‘Each of the oratorios,’ to quote again the great French critic, ‘is really a descriptive mass, which from beginning to end traces out one dominating thought.’ Critics in general are still divided as to the ultimate value of his music; but its sincerity and strength of purpose are unquestioned.

Of greater importance than Perosi’s disciples Giovanni Tebaldini (Le Nozze de Cecilia), and Alfredo Ambrogio (L’Entrata di Cristo in Gerusalemme), is Enrico Bossi. The latter’s oratorios, Canticum canticorum (1900) and Il Paradiso perduto (1903), are distinctly concert oratorios in the grand style, more strongly individual and less mystically religious than Perosi’s. His treatment of Solomon’s glowing ‘Song of Songs’ is musically sensuous rather than symbolic, and at times suggestive, in its passion, of Massenet. It is a work rich in imaginative development and, again in contrast to Perosi, the weight is laid on its choral rather than its solo portions. The secular trend is even more marked in Il Paradiso perduto, and some of its movements are to be reckoned among the finest in modern choral literature. In both these works, as in his secular cantata Giovanna d’Arca, and his symphonic poem Il Cieco, with tenor solo and chorus, Bossi has infused the spirit of modernism into the Italian oratorio, and developed it beyond the purely ecclesiastical concept represented by Perosi.

In this direction the influence of Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari, better known, perhaps, as a composer of opera than of oratorio, has also been noteworthy. His cantata, Talitha kumi (‘Maiden, arise’), on the favorite subject of the daughter of Jairus, written in 1900, was followed by the oratorio Sulamith, which, if not dramatically as strong as Bossi’s Canticum, betrays melodic charm and warm orchestral coloring.

His greatest choral work, however, is undoubtedly his La Vita Nuova, opus 9, in which, using Dante’s text, he has woven together incidents of the love-life of Dante and Beatrice in a succession of idyllic and lyric mood-pictures. The suggestive power of the work is remarkable; dramatic effect, rhythmic variety, harmonic subtlety are combined in well-nigh perfect expressional unity. The composer has followed his own inspiration throughout, and that with the happiest artistic results. There need be no hesitation in affirming that this choral work marks the apex of attainment in modern Italian choral composition, and it may be considered the most valuable individual product of the Italian choral revival.

IV

Turning from Italy to Scandinavia, we find that in general little creative work is done in the choral forms at the present day. In Finland, as in Denmark, the cantata after the Handelian or Mendelssohnian model is still in vogue. Even Sibelius has done little in the way of choral writing—only a ‘Festival Cantata’ and some choruses; nor has anything of importance been written in Norway in this genre since the death of Grieg; while oratorio, though largely given in concert in Sweden, has not stimulated original composition.

In Russia more has been done. The Neo-Russians turn more naturally to symphonic and operatic composition than to the choral forms, and although quite a few of the great contemporaries are identified with choral compositions, collectively there has not been a great deal written, with the exception of music for the liturgic services of the Greek Catholic Church, to which Tschaikowsky, Bortniansky, and others have made notable contributions. This liturgic music does not call for consideration here, as it is discussed elsewhere. The folk-music of Russia, which plays such a prominent part as thematic material in the works of the Neo-Russian school, is chorally more identified with the operatic vocal ensemble, which is also outside the scope of the present chapter.

The original choral compositions of contemporary Russia stand high, qualitatively. Moussorgsky is represented by his virile ‘Destruction of Sennacherib’ (1866) for chorus and orchestra, and a choral number from his opera, Salâmmbo, revised, polished and enlarged as a chorus for mixed voices and solo under the title of ‘Joshua,’ one of the few of the composer’s works which show a strong Oriental flavor. Nor has Rimsky-Korsakoff, the friend and editor of Moussorgsky, written much more. There is a cantata for tenor, bass, male chorus and orchestra, ‘The Doom of Olga’ (Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1909); another, Switezianka, for soprano, tenor, chorus and orchestra, a cantata entitled Doubmouchka and a ‘Gloria’ for orchestra and chorus; as well as fifteen folk-songs arranged for mixed voices.

Glazounoff, the symphonist, a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakoff, is the author, jointly with Liadow, of a cantata in memory of the celebrated Russian sculptor Antokolsky, for tenor solo, chorus and orchestra, written after his defection from the ranks of the national school; and Liadow himself has set forty-five folk-songs for female voices and composed a musical setting, for mixed voices and orchestra, of the last scene from Schiller’s ‘Bride of Messina.’

Arensky has given us a fine choral number—‘The Fountain of Bachtchissarai,’ after a Pushkin poem, for solo voices, chorus and orchestra; while Rachmaninoff’s spirited and plastically written choral ballad, ‘Springtide,’ after a poem by Nekrassoff, composed in 1901 for dramatic baritone, mixed chorus and orchestra, has already been heard in this country. A new choral work by Rachmaninoff, set to E. A. Poe’s poem ‘The Bells,’ was given at Petrograd in the recent past with great success. Glière has to his credit a choral suite for female voices, with the four seasons as its textual basis; Ippolitoff-Ivanoff has written three cantatas, Oriental in coloring, each in memory of a Russian poet; Akimenko has composed choruses for mixed voices; Georges Catoire for female voices; and Alexander Tanejew has set two groups of twelve poems each, for four and five-part chorus respectively, while his better-known nephew, Sergius Ivanovitch, who died this year in Petrograd (1915), is the composer of a cantata, ‘St. John of Damascus’ (1884). Stravinsky, too, has a cantata to his credit, composed in 1911, and this practically completes the tale of contemporary Russian choral composition.

In concluding this study of contemporary choral music there only remain to be mentioned, in Poland, Felix Nowowiejski, author of several ‘concert-dramas,’ ‘The Prodigal Son’ (1901), ‘The Discovery of the Holy Cross’ (1906) and Quo Vadis (1907)—rich in theatrical effect; and in Hungary, Mauritius Vavrineoz, with an oratorio, Christus. In Spain and Portugal choral music, in the modern sense of the word, is hardly written. Felipe Pedrell’s dramatic cantata Comte Arnau, a score distinctly modern in style and treatment, and Grignón’s La Nit de Nadal, for chorus, solos and orchestra, are about the only ones that come to mind.

FOOTNOTES:

[90] Schering: Geschichte des Oratoriums, p. 546.

[91] Romain Rolland: Musiciens d’Aujourd’hui, Paris.

CHAPTER XIV
THE ORGAN FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT

The ancestor of the modern organ; pneumatic and hydraulic organs of classical antiquity—The organ in early mediæval times—The tenth and eleventh centuries: cloister and minster organs; the twelfth and thirteenth centuries: introduction of the ‘portative’ organ and balanced keys; the fourteenth century: chromatic keyboard; pedals; organ blowing—Fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; cathedral and church organs; the Rückpositiv; the Spanish partida; builders—The seventeenth century: mechanical development; tuning; union of manuals; the eighteenth century: the ‘Swell’; English builders; the Silbermanns—Rococo adornment of cases; the nineteenth century and the birth of the modern instrument—Pneumatic action; electric action; the Universal Air Chest; duplex stop control; tonal improvements—The chamber organ; the concert organ; conclusion.

Far back in the mist of ages some primal prototype of civilized man found that by blowing a hollow reed he produced a pleasing sound. This was probably the first step in the long process of evolution which has resulted in the concert organ of to-day. From the single reed of antediluvian times to the grouped reeds of the dawn of history was a logical transition; the early peoples of the Orient, the Egyptians, the Indians and the Chinese had accomplished it; but classical antiquity is, perhaps, our most definite point of contact, and it might be said that the bucolic Pan’s pipes or Syrinx of the Theocritan shepherd is the ancestor of the ‘king of instruments.’

The Syrinx of pastoral Greece consisted of a series of reeds (tubes) without sound-holes, of graduated length and blown across the ends, each tube giving forth one note of the diatonic scale. In the course of time men hit upon the idea of allowing a bellows to take the place of the human lungs and thus produce sound by artificial instead of natural wind-pressure. Hence, even before the second century B. C. we have the first pneumatic organ—a series of variously tuned pipes, with mouthpieces, placed upon a box or chest, into which the air was pumped by bellows, the pipes sounding when the player opened the primitive valves which admitted the air to each pipe.

Following the pneumatic came the hydraulic organ, in which water-pressure[92] took the place of wind-pressure. The invention of this organon hydraulicon is ascribed to the Alexandrian mechanician Ktesibos, who flourished during the second century B. C. The description[93] left of the instrument by the inventor’s pupil Heron has been corroborated in its essentials by the discovery of a small baked clay model of an hydraulic organ, found in the ruins of Carthage in 1885 and preserved in the Musée Lavigérie at Carthage. This model, 7-1/16 by 2-3/4 inches (which it is estimated would represent an actual instrument 10 feet high and 4 feet across), was made by the potter Possessoris, whose name is engraved on it, about 120 A. D., and is important as verifying the fact that a primitive keyboard was in use at the beginning of our era.

It is clear that both forms of the organ, pneumatic and hydraulic, existed side by side for centuries—the hydraulic principle being best adapted to the construction of large instruments, powerful in tone, for permanent placing in amphitheatre, palace or coliseum, and the pneumatic better suited to smaller ones, easily carried about and enjoying, perhaps, a more general popularity. The stationary and moveable organs of the Roman empire thus anticipate the ‘positive’ and ‘portative’ instruments of a later day.

Yet it is the hydraulic organ which is principally associated with the palmy days of Roman imperial rule. Though the poet Cornelius Severus (28 B. C.) celebrates the organ (cortina) which, ‘so rich in its varied strains under the master’s skill, with liquid sound makes music in the vast theatre,’ evidence tends to prove that the Romans were, musically, not a highly advanced people—their ideal was quantity and loudness of sound rather than quality, an ideal which the hydraulic organ might realize better than the pneumatic. Hence the organon hydraulicon, or hydraulus, was a luxury in vogue among the wealthy patricians of the empire. Nero, whose musical attainments history views with such grave suspicion, possessed two hydraulic organs. That they were heard in the Coliseum we know by the testimony of Petronius, the arbiter elegantiarum of Nero’s Augustinian circle, who speaks of gladiators struggling to the sound of the water-organ. It is strange to note that among later Roman emperors the depraved and degenerate Heliogabalus (A. D. 219-222) and his immediate successor, the good and noble Alexander Severus, were both good performers on the water-organ.

I

With the universal spread of the Christian faith the organ found its way into the service of the Church, and even during the decline of the empire and the dawn of western civilization the art of organ-building never altogether died out. And this, despite the fact that originally the instrument had come under the ban of the Church because of its heritage of evil associations with the gladiatorial combats, saturnalia and theatrical representations of Pagan Rome; possibly, also, because the emperor Julian the Apostate was the owner of a fine hydraulus. Yet this prejudice was ere long overcome, for the Spanish bishop, Julianus, in the fifth century, asserts that organs were commonly used in the churches throughout Spain.

And such is the esteem in which the finer examples of the builder’s art are held that they are considered a gift fit for kings. The Emperor Konstantine Kopronymus presents one to Pepin, king of the Franks, in the year 757; and another Byzantine emperor sends one to Charlemagne in 812, of which the chronicle says: ‘Its bellows were of hide, its pipes of bronze, its tones as loud as thunder and sweet as the sound of lyre and psaltery.’ A pneumatic organ (as distinct from the hydraulic one installed in his palace) was secured by the son of Charlemagne, Louis le Debonnaire, for the royal chapel at Aix-la-Chapelle. And before the tenth century the use of the organ in church and monastery was well-nigh universal. Three treatises on organ-building written during the tenth century testify to the fact. No doubt these early hydraulic instruments had stops of some kind, but if so, their secret has perished with them.

The tenth century (as well as the eleventh) was one of great activity in organ-building. Numerous small organs were made in France, England and Germany for use in cloister schools, where they supported the singing of the Gregorian melodies. They usually consisted of a series of from eight to, at the most, twenty-two pipes, tuned in the scale of C major, from the tenor C upward. The pipes resembled the modern diapasons in construction and stood behind a species of manual with small keys (upright at first, but later horizontal) which allowed the wind to enter the pipes when they were pressed down. Into these organs the wind was pumped by bellows and water-power was not used to regulate the pressure.

The passion for cathedral building which had broken out even before this time conditioned the building of great organs in keeping with the size and splendor of the ministers. These large organs were all built on the hydraulic principle. In England we find a monster organ (described in verse by St. Wolstan) installed in Bishop Alphege’s church at Winchester about 980 A. D. It had four hundred pipes of bronze, twenty-six bellows and two manuals (for two players) of twenty keys (or rather levers) each, every key governing ten pipes. These pipes were probably tuned in octaves of different pitch or, perhaps, with fifths. The instrument required the services of some seventy men to pump the wind! William of Malmesbury mentions ‘a fair organ with pipes of copper, mounted in gilded frames,’ which St. Dunstan presented to his monastery in the chronicler’s native town. And in the Vita S. Oswaldi we are informed that the Saxon Earl Elwin gave the Convent of Ramsay an organ of spiral form, having copper pipes, which ‘on feast-days emitted a sweet melodie and a clangour resounding a long way.’ Large organs were also installed in Cologne, and in the churches and monasteries of many other German and French cities during this century. The ‘clangour’ of the Ramsay organ mentioned by the chronicler we may take for granted, for in these instruments no special distinction of tone-quality was sought, power and sonority being the first essentials.

II

Prior to the tenth and eleventh centuries, with their monster instruments, the organ had been comparatively easy to play. But with the enormous increase in size and a correspondingly complicated mechanism the organist had to be somewhat of an athlete, so great was the actual physical exertion required to depress the broad levers which produced the tone (no actual keyboard existed before 1200 A. D.).[94] The clenched fist was used and originated the mediæval term organum pulsare, to ‘beat’ the organ. During this century and the succeeding one the compass of the organ was enlarged from one to three octaves, and progress in organ-building was also made in other directions.

In the twelfth century the pipes were first divided into registers and stops, and the small ‘portative’ organs, easily carried, came into use. Not until a hundred years later did the balanced keys, depressa lamina, a genuine keyboard, appear in connection with the portative organs, and in the fourteenth century their use was general in the larger organs as well. Before the introduction of the keyboard, the performer had ‘beaten’ levers or pulled out stop-like sliders to produce the tone, and the great exertion entailed by the ‘beating’ of the levers in the great organs is supposed to have led to the invention of ‘mixtures’ some time after 1300.

The fourteenth century also offers the first instance of the use of a chromatic keyboard, that of the organ at Halberstadt, built in 1361 and restored in 1495, in which an inscription on the keyboard states that it formed part of the original organ, which had the semi-tonal arrangement of keys. During this century organ-building received a temporary check owing to both the Greek and Roman churches declaring against the use of the instrument in public worship. It was soon restored in the Roman Church, but has never been reintroduced in the Greek.

Handel’s Organ in Whitchurch

From a photograph

During the fourteenth century the ‘positives’ and ‘regals,’[95] small stationary organs, were perfected; and the organ pedals, said to have been invented by Ludwig van Valbeke, an organist of Brabant, about 1300, were first introduced. The change from broad to narrow and more easily played keys in the larger organs is also supposed to have taken place at this time. The ‘blowers’ of these days, and for centuries to come, however, did not have an easy time of it. In many of the large organs the wind was pumped by continual shifting of weights of lead or stone. This was not the case with the bellows at Magdeburg and Halberstadt. Here each blower manipulated two heavy bellows, pressing down the upper plate of one while he raised the other with a foot shod with an iron shoe. These blowers were appropriately enough termed ‘tramplers.’ Another method of pumping was in use in the Seville Cathedral up to comparatively recent times. Here the blower walked continually from one to the other end of a fifteen-foot plank, on the principle of a see-saw, alternately raising and depressing the feeders as he reached either end. The ‘portatives’ of this time usually consisted of a small wind-chest between two standards, planted with two ranks of keys, of eight pipes each, and with a clavier of eight flat diatonic keys, with single bellows like the ordinary domestic article. The smaller ‘portatives’ may be said to have furnished the reed stops for the organ proper.

III

In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries organs of great beauty and variety of tone, and rich in external adornment (there is a legend of an organ with pipes of pure silver erected by Philip II, king of Spain, in the Escorial), were built throughout Europe, the Germans enjoying the greatest reputation as builders. In France (Amiens Cathedral, Church of St. Bernard of Comminges, Chartres Cathedral); in Italy (Basilica di San Petronio, Bologna; Orvieto Cathedral, Church of St. John Lateran); in Spain (cathedrals of Salamanca, Zaragoza, Tarragona, Barcelona), and in Germany (churches and minsters in Vienna, Erfurt, Brunswick, Strassburg, Salzburg, Bamberg, Nürnberg) are still to be found organs and cases which excite admiration. In England small organs were principally used in the churches during the fifteenth century, though toward its close and during the sixteenth larger organs were imported from the Continent. During the sixteenth century the Rückpositiv (back positive), a small portable organ for liturgic ceremonies, located at the organist’s back and communicating with a keyboard in the principal organ by means of trackers running under his feet, was invented and used until well into the nineteenth century, especially in France.

A curious feature of the sixteenth-century cathedral organ of Spain, and one which influenced Spanish religious composition, was the partida, or division. All the stops were divided into two groups, each one acting on half the keyboard, the stops on one side sounding in the treble half, those on the other in the bass. Thus a Spanish cathedral organ with 120 stops in reality controlled only 60 sets of pipes. Compositions for these organs were called partidas, one hand playing full organ with all the reeds, the other using only flue stops. The part written for full organ was always glosada, or rich in brilliant passage-work and ornamentation. Organ builders in the earlier days were usually monks and priests, as all creative cultural activity was then concentrated in the church and especially in the monasteries. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the lay builder, in contrast to the ecclesiastic, makes his appearance.

Among these builders were, in England: William Wotton, who flourished in 1487, Chamberlyn (1509), Duddyington (1519), Perrot (1526) and White (1531); in Germany: Compenius, Schnitzker, Hildebrandt, Schmid, André, Kranz, Lobsinger, and the Trampeli; in Italy: the Attengnati family, Lorenzo di Giacomo, Luca Blasi, Vincenzo Columbi. It may be said that during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the organ assumed a form whose essentials—plurality of keyboards (manuals) and wind-chests, arrangement of stop action and pedals—have remained unchanged during succeeding centuries. Interesting as an incident in the development of the increasing secular use of the instrument is its introduction (in the smaller form) in the orchestra of Peri’s Euridice (1600), the first opera, in which un regalo and Duoi organi di legno (portatives with wooden pipes) were employed.

IV

During the seventeenth century many mechanical devices intended to secure rapidity, ease and precision in organ playing were invented or perfected. The custom of tuning the organ according to the ‘unequal temperament,’ which made practicable the use of only sixteen keys, persisted throughout this century, and did not die out on the Continent until the next. The wind-gauge, invented in 1675 by Chr. F. Förner, was important, as it made possible the proper regulation of the wind-power in the various wind-chests and in the registers above them. In general, this century as well as that following are notable because of the addition of many new flute and reed-tone stops, and a general enrichment of the tone-color of the instrument; as well as the first general application of a thoroughly modern idea, the union of several distinct organs, each having a keyboard of its own, into one single instrument, though more than one manual had been used before this.

Early in the eighteenth century the ‘swell’ is invented to vary the loudness of the organ tone, by an English organ-builder named Jordans (1712); and during the course of the century the softest sounding manual in the majority of English organs (known as the ‘echo’) is changed into a swell. On the other hand the pedal is practically unknown in England until the nineteenth century. Father Smith, Thomas, René Harris and Avery were prominent English organ-builders of the eighteenth century, as well as Samuel Green, who invented the horizontal bellows in 1789. The Silbermanns were the great German builders of the time, and from 1714 to 1817 various members of this family built remarkably fine organs, renowned for their tone quality and constructive excellence, in a number of German cities. One of the finest of the Silbermann organs is that of the Freiberg minster, built by Gottfried, in 1714; another is that of the Catholic Royal Chapel in Dresden.

A curious development of the rococo spirit of the age was the amount of money spent on the tasteless external embellishment of the instrument—angels posturing on the organ-cases, who by means of a mechanism beat kettle-drums and cymbals and blew trumpets, and ‘cymbal stars’ which jingled as they revolved on wires. Yet such errors in judgment represented no more than a temporary aberration of taste, and the century as a whole is one of continual mechanical progress with corresponding musical results.

It is in the nineteenth century, however, that the great advance in the mechanics of organ-building, which has culminated in the present perfected instrument of to-day, begins. Cavaillé-Col (b. 1811) introduced separate wind-chests, with varying pressures for the higher, middle and lower parts of the keyboard, and added flutes octaviantes to the register. In 1832 C. S. Barker (England) invented composition pedals, making easier the handling of groups of stops, and the pneumatic lever. And, finally, with the improvements of H. W. Willis and the electro-pneumatic action of Péschard (1866) (electricity had already been applied to the key-action by Dr. Gauntlett in 1850), the history of the ancient organ comes to an end and that of the modern instrument begins.

F. H. M.

V

The processes by which the organ has developed from its clumsy prototypes to the magnificent yet sensitive and delicate instrument of to-day are parallel to those to be found in other products of man’s ingenuity. Practical science has contributed step by step to this evolution, and no one can understand the modern organ who is not familiar with the latest inventions of electro-pneumatics.

The first step was the introduction of pneumatic mechanism to open the pallets in the old open slide chests, thus equalizing the touch of the key-action. This also made it possible to greatly increase the number of stops served by a single pallet. The next problem was to avoid increasing the weight of the key-touch when the couplers were drawn, and this was accomplished by an extension of the pneumatic system in the key-desk, which in this case was connected by action-tubing to the chests. The resulting combination of an entirely pneumatic key-action with the pneumatic operation of the pallets constituted tubular pneumatic action.

An improved form of chest was at this time constructed in which each stop was supplied with wind separately and the single pallet for each note was replaced by a small pneumatic valve for each pipe of each stop on the chest. Hilborne L. Roosevelt and C. S. Haskell developed this system (1885) and at first employed it in connection with tracker key-action. Many an old organ of this type is in perfect condition to-day. Most American organs contain chests built on this plan, with countless modifications. Among its advantages are greater steadiness of wind, and independent control of the wind as it enters each stop-chamber. The latter feature is closely related in its operation to the French ventils by which whole sections of stops are cut off from the wind at the player’s will. Thus the modern organ combines tubular pneumatic action with pneumatic chests, as practically all chests, whether open or individual, are pneumatic in their operation.

An important advance must be credited to Mr. Roosevelt, in the origination of adjustable combination action, which was applied by him in 1882.

It is impossible to record adequately the revolution which the use of electricity has wrought in organ building. In 1886 Henry Willis erected a large four-manual electric organ in Canterbury Cathedral, where the storage batteries filled a good-sized room (which was the old singing school room), and their amperage was enormous. The successful audacity of this achievement deserves recognition. Here was a large key desk placed behind the choir stalls, and connected only by cables, 120 feet long, with the organ, which was entirely concealed in the Triforium. This is exactly what has become a commonplace in the organ of to-day. The progress of electricity has, however, enabled us to use much smaller magnets, and to apply their action to the pneumatic chests with great simplicity. For it must be remembered that so-called electric organs merely add electrical control to the existing pneumatic action of the pipe valves. In some organs this element is proportionately quite small, in others it is very large; but in any case the chest action is pneumatic.

In one form of chest the action, while electro-pneumatic and designed to control each stop separately, is exposed and constitutes the ceiling of a highly developed modern open chest. Though originated by Randebrock, the chief credit for this combination of the two fundamental systems of chest structure is due to John T. Austin (1895). He has named it the ‘Universal Air Chest.’

The separate stop-chest made it possible to operate a stop from more than one keyboard, or at more than one octave, a process which is called duplex, multiple or unit stop control. Noted builders are applying the idea in great variety. The principle is not new. It was brought out in Belgium by L. Dryvers, and described by H. V. Couwenbergh in 1887. One of his schemes comprised an organ of six units, from which a three-manual organ of forty-six registers was formed. For instance, a Bourdon stop of 104 pipes yielded ten registers, of the following variety of nomenclature—Bourdon, Sous-Basse, Flûte Bouchée, Flûte Douce, Flûte Champêtre. The ingenious prophet, however, added to this scheme a Récit organ of eleven absolutely separate solo stops, built on the système ordinaire, and expressive, thereby showing a commendable sense of the weakness of his own system!

All modern organs employ the principle of duplex mechanism to some extent, and, legitimately used, it is of enormous value. The example given above is the reductio ad absurdam of the idea, and also indicates the deceptive habit of renaming the stops thus derived.

The success of the modern organ has depended in large measure on the use of really effective swell chambers. Not only are they effective, but the proportion of stops that are enclosed has been greatly increased. The organ has thereby been liberated from its old lack of flexibility. We even find two expressive divisions playable from one manual. An interesting adaptation of this idea is the grouping of all the stops of each tone family in separate swell chambers. This has been done on some large concert organs, as well as on those of the unit type. Mention must here be made of the conspicuous service rendered by Robert Hope-Jones both in his insistence on effective expression, with the stops arranged in ‘families’ of tone, and in his advocacy of the unit organ. However, he was often obliged to modify his own theories in practice. He was the first to leather the lips of Diapason pipes.

Tonally, the modern organ has also made great strides. It cannot be said that voicers are more skillful in their art, nor that the quality of the materials used is better than in the past. We must, however, note the great advantage of being able to supply and control wind of any pressure desired in the modern wind chest. It is quite common to voice the chorus solo reeds on a wind pressure of twenty-five inches, for which the scales used, the thickness and weight of the metal, and the voicing, are greatly modified. The Diapasons and Flutes have not changed so much as the chorus and solo reeds, and the stops of string tone. Artistic voicing has completely changed the character of these stops, and has adjusted itself to the new conditions of expression. A few men have achieved fame in this direction, though their work has not always received the recognition it deserves. Among them were George and Charles Englefried and others, whose work was found on many Roosevelt organs; John W. Whiteley, of the English family of organ builders; and W. E. Haskell, whose development of string tones and especially the allied flue stops of reed character has attracted attention. The inventions of Robert Hope-Jones have given a great stimulus to the high-pressure reeds, and he also introduced the Diaphone (1894). Among American builders the names of George S. Hutchings, Hilborne L. Roosevelt and Ernest M. Skinner are conspicuous for their high ideals in artistic voicing, while in Europe the noble instruments constructed by Henry Willis and Aristide Cavaillé-Coll are most conspicuous.

VI

No account of the modern organ would be complete without reference to three new developments of the instrument. Its origin and traditions are ecclesiastical, but our civilization has at first hesitatingly, and now boldly, appropriated the organ for other uses. It was introduced into various private residences, and the resulting type is known as the Chamber Organ. Then, particularly in England, it was employed as a means of public instruction and entertainment in town halls and other public buildings. Notable examples are the organs at Liverpool (St. George’s Hall), London (Albert Hall, etc.), and Sydney, N. S. W. These instruments are known as Concert Organs. A typical modern concert organ scheme is as follows:

SPECIFICATION OF A CONCERT ORGAN
By CLIFFORD DEMAREST, F. A. G. O.

Organist, Church of the Messiah, New York City

GREAT ORGAN

1. 16 ft. Bourdon | 10. 8 ft. Doppel Flute
2. 16 ft. Diapason | 11. 4 ft. Harmonic Flute
3. 8 ft. First Diapason | 12. 4 ft. Octave

4. 8 ft. Second Diapason

13. 2-2/3 ft. Twelfth

5. 8 ft. Stentorphone (from Solo) | 14. 2 ft. Fifteenth
6. 8 ft. Gemshorn | 15. V Rks. Mixture
7. 8 ft. Gedeckt | 16. 16 ft. Trumpet
8. 8 ft. Gross Flute | 17. 8 ft. Trumpet
9. 8 ft. Gamba | 18. 4 ft. Trumpet

Stops 4-18 Inclusive enclosed in a separate box

SWELL ORGAN

19. 16 ft. Contra Gamba | 30. 4 ft. Principal
20. 16 ft. Melodia | 31. 4 ft. Violina
21. 8 ft. First Diapason | 32. 4 ft. Flute Traverso
22. 8 ft. Second Diapason | 33. 2 ft. Flautino
23. 8 ft. Viole d’Orchestre | 34. III Rks. Solo Mixture
24. 8 ft. Viol Celeste | 35. 16 ft. Contra Fagotto
25. 8 ft. Salicional | 36. 8 ft. Oboe
26. 8 ft. Salicional Celeste | 37. 8 ft. Cornopean (Horn quality)
27. 8 ft. Æoline | 38. 8 ft. French Trumpet

28. 8 ft. Hohl Flute

39. 4 ft. Horn

29. 8 ft. Tibia Clausa |

CHOIR ORGAN

40. 16 ft. Dulciana | 48. 8 ft. Quintadena
41. 8 ft. English Diapason | 49. 4 ft. Chimney Flute
42. 8 ft. Geigen Principal | 50. 4 ft. Fugara
43. 8 ft. Muted Viol | 51. 2 ft. Piccolo
44. 8 ft. Dulciana | 52. 8 ft. Orchestral Oboe
45. 8 ft. Concert Flute | 53. 8 ft. Clarinet
46. 8 ft. Melodia | 54. 8 ft. Saxophone (wood)
47. 8 ft. Flute Celeste (with Melodia) |

Enclosed in a separate box

SOLO ORGAN

55. 8 ft. Stentorphone | 59. 4 ft. Philomela
56. 8 ft. Tibia Plena | 60. 8 ft. Gross Gamba Celeste
57. 8 ft. Gross Gamba | 61. 8 ft. French Horn
58. 4 ft. Clarion | 62. 8 ft. Tuba (25 inches)

Enclosed in a separate box

PEDAL ORGAN

63. 32 ft. Open Diapason | 72. 8 ft. Octave (from Second Diapason)
64. 16 ft. First Diapason | 73. 8 ft. Violoncello
65. 16 ft. Second Diapason (metal) | 74. 8 ft. Dolce Flute (from Great Bourdon)
66. 16 ft. Bourdon | 75. 32 ft. Contra Bombarde
67. 16 ft. Second Bourdon (from Great) | 76. 16 ft. Trombone
68. 16 ft. Dulciana (from Choir) | 77. 16 ft. Contra Fagotto (from Swell)
69. 16 ft. Contra Gamba (from Swell) | 78. 8 ft. Tromba
70. 16 ft. Violone | 79. 4 ft. Clarion
71. 16 ft. Lieblich Gedeckt |

ECHO ORGAN

80. 8 ft. Open Diapason | 84. 8 ft. Vox Humana
81. 8 ft. Celestina | 85. 4 ft. Flute d’Amour
82. 8 ft. Unda Maris | 86. Harp.
83. 8 ft. Fern Flute | 87. Chimes (also playable on Great and Pedal)

Enclosed in a separate box

COUPLERS

1. Swell to Pedal | 12. Chimes to Great | 23. Choir to Choir 4’
2. Swell to Pedal 4 ft. | 13. Swell to Choir | 24. Choir to Great 16’
3. Choir to Pedal | 14. Echo to Choir | 25. Choir to Great 4’
4. Great to Pedal | 15. Swell to Solo | 26. Solo to Solo 16’
5. Solo to Pedal | 16. Great to Solo | 27. Solo to Solo 4’
6. Echo to Pedal | 17. Echo to Swell | 28. Solo to Great 16’
7. Chimes to Pedal | 18. Swell to Swell 16’ | 29. Solo to Great 4’
8. Swell to Great | 19. Swell to Swell 4’ | 30. Echo to Great 16’
9. Choir to Great | 20. Swell to Great 16’ | 31. Echo to Great 4’
10. Solo to Great | 21. Swell to Great 4’ | 32. Echo on, Great off
11. Echo to Great | 22. Choir to Choir 16’ | 33. Echo on, Solo off

Balanced Great Expression Pedal
Balanced Swell Expression Pedal
Balanced Choir Expression Pedal
Balanced Solo and Echo Expression Pedal
Balanced Crescendo Pedal

Concert halls and assembly halls in public buildings in America are now being furnished with organs of this type and an immense number of people derive æsthetic enjoyment from these instruments. Moreover, astute theatrical managers have seized on this favorite kind of entertainment and are featuring organs in the theatre. There is no settled form of theatre scheme, but the process of evolution is going on, and worthy instruments are being constructed for this purpose.

Unfortunately this development has resulted in the construction of numerous hybrid instruments. The bewildering possibilities of duplication have led to the installation of concert instruments with no independent pedal foundation and with additional manuals which, instead of preserving their own character, control only a rearrangement of stops already perfectly accessible. The tendency to let mere mechanism replace independent tones is most flagrantly displayed in this class of instruments.

There is no doubt that the organ is now beginning to ‘find itself.’ The organ of the future will be as much like an organ as ever—only more so, if possible! We shall still regard mechanism as a means to an end, and not as an end in itself. We shall insist on simplicity of control, at the key desk, however vast and sonorous the tonal appointments. Finally, we shall honor and encourage the master voicers in their efforts to use the best methods of the past, and to adapt them to the new mechanical conditions. For in the last analysis the sense to which the organ makes its true appeal is not that of touch, through the player’s fingers, nor that of sight, through the impressive appearance of tracery and noble towers of pipes, but that of hearing, for the ear is the most marvellous acoustic instrument ever conceived and is capable of appreciating the most refined as well as the noblest organ tones.

R. L. McA.

FOOTNOTES:

[92] An interesting example of the primitive application of the hydraulic principle in producing musical sound is afforded by the ‘whistling jug’ of the Peruvian Incas. Here water flowing from one jar to another, through the medium of a cross-channel, forced the air through a whistle set over the mouth of the second jar, with a resulting musical note. The inverse tipping of the jar drew in the air again through the whistle.

[93] Vitruvius, the Roman engineer and architect, who lived in the reign of Augustus, has also described the hydraulic organ of Ktesibos in his De Arch. lib. X, cap. II.

[94] Though the first keyboard (of sixteen keys), according to Prætorius, was introduced into the organ of the Magdeburg Cathedral toward the close of the eleventh century.

[95] ‘Regals’ from the Italian rigabello, an instrument used to support the plain-chant in the church. Perhaps, also, in allusion to the quality of ‘the king of instruments.’ The ‘regal’ may be regarded as the ancestor of the modern harmonium.

CHAPTER XV
THE EARLY ORGAN MASTERS

The old Italian masters: Landino to Frescobaldi—Early German masters; the forerunners of Bach; Hassler, Pachelbel, Buxtehude—J. S. Bach: the toccatas, the preludes and fugues, the sonatas and other works—The early French composers: Couperin and Rameau; Spain and Portugal; the Netherlands—The early English masters; Tye, Tallis, Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, etc.—Purcell; Handel.

I

Italy, which was the scene of the birth and infancy of so many of the forms and ideas out of which modern music was finally evolved, witnessed the first development of organ-playing also. The earliest existing information we possess regarding organists and organ-playing comes from Italy and reaches far back into the fourteenth century. Francesco Landino (1325-1390) of Florence is the first celebrated representative of Italian organists’ art. A contemporary writer gives the following enthusiastic account of his playing: ‘The whole assembly is excited by his organ-playing, the young dance and sing, the old hum with him; all are enchanted. He draws wonders from the little organ; the birds cease their song and in their astonishment draw near to listen.’[96]

The instrument with which Landino produced such astonishing effects and gained such a reputation was not the church organ (organum magnum), which was altogether too clumsy, but the little house organ, probably the ‘portative’ organ, called ninfale in Italy (see Chapter XIV). In the Library of St. Lorenzo at Florence is a miniature which represents Landino seated, playing on a ninfale which rests on his knees. He was called Il Cieco from the fact that he was blind, and his great skill as a performer gave him the name Francesco degli Organi. He was generally recognized as the most prominent organist and musician of his time, and, as he was of noble family and grew up in an atmosphere of culture and refinement, it is not astonishing to find that he was not less celebrated as a philosopher and poet. None of his compositions for the organ have been preserved; probably most of his playing was improvisation, as his infirmity would render it difficult for him to make use of the imperfect notation of his time. Several of his vocal works have come down to us, however, and Fétis considered them far in advance of the art of his period.

There were, of course, many organists before Landino, but none of them seem to have gained any special excellence in the practice of their art. Until about the time of Landino the professions of organ-playing and organ-building, certainly as far as church-music was concerned, seem to have been more commonly than otherwise combined in the same person. But after Landino organ-playing became more of a specialized department of musical art. Early in the next century Antonio Sguarcialupo achieved much fame for his performances and in 1435 was appointed organist at the newly-dedicated Cathedral of Santa Maria at Florence. He was of noble birth and was a man of refined and scholarly attainments. He evidently held the double position of church organist and court organist to Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his playing was so exceptional that it attracted people to Florence from far and near to listen to it. Lorenzo treated him as a friend, and so highly did he esteem him that at his death he wrote a sonnet eulogizing the musician, in which Death is made to say, ‘I have taken him in order that Heaven may be made more joyful with his music.’ No compositions of his for either organ or voices have come down to us, but he left a valuable collection of older Italian compositions, thirteen in number, the only existing examples of Italian musical art of that far-off time. This collection is now in the Library of St. Lorenzo in Florence.

The Netherlanders, who were the musical masters of Europe during this period, were the founders of the first real school of organ-playing in Italy. The two men who gave this movement its first impetus and direction were Adrian Willaert (about 1480-1562), who was maestro di cappella of St. Mark’s at Venice from 1527 till his death, and Jacques Buus (born in Flanders about 1510), who was second organist at St. Mark’s from 1541 to 1551. They cultivated with special zeal and preference the so-called ricercare, one of the most important of the early instrumental forms. Willaert’s creative interest naturally lay more in the direction of composing for the fine choral establishment which St. Mark’s maintained, but Buus seems to have made at least the beginning of a type of instrumental music that was conceived for the organ and not merely transcribed from vocal music, thus paving the way for real organ music.

For a better understanding of early organ music it will be necessary here to describe briefly some of the most important and frequently-employed instrumental forms of the period. The earliest use of the organ in the church service was merely to strengthen the voice parts by duplication. When the organ was developed sufficiently to be used alone for artistic playing, the organist merely played well-known motets and other church compositions and sometimes even favorite secular madrigals and chansons. For a long time these were purely transcriptions of the choral parts with no attempt at variation and many of the compositions of the period were frankly written ‘either to be sung or played.’ Little by little organists ventured to introduce free passages of their own to embellish the voice parts, but such compositions remained essentially choral works. The ricercare (from ricercare, ‘to search out’) was one of the earliest forms of strictly instrumental music, though the term was sometimes applied also to the madrigal.[97] It dates from early in the fifteenth century and was an elaborate and scholarly form into which every known contrapuntal artifice and device was introduced, and which, therefore, was least cultivated. Originally the ricercare did not adhere to the same subject throughout, but, like the motet, progressed after a short elaboration to a new subject. This lacked conciseness, which, however, was won in the seventeenth century when it assumed practically the same form as the simple fugue, and for a long time these two terms were interchangeable. The ricercare was sometimes in the form of a fantasia on some popular melody or song and in this way many secular tunes crept into organ music as they had earlier found a surreptitious place in the old masses. A somewhat later form was the canzona Francese, an invention borrowed from the French chanson, contrapuntal in character but less elaborate than the ricercare and freed from pedantry. Its first three notes were almost invariably a quarter and two eighths, thus establishing a characteristic rhythmical movement. Its song-like character made it a favorite form. The toccata (from toccare, ‘to play’) was a third and still later form. This required brilliant execution and was in the nature of a fantastic improvisation to display the technical skill of the performer. Later it was frequently employed to precede a fugue and was built largely on the development of a single figure.

Pieces called intonazioni d’organo (‘Intonations’) were short preludes, from five to twenty measures long, in the nature of free improvisations; they were used to precede the larger organ pieces in the services of the Roman Church. The fantasia was a form of very respectable age, probably as old as the ricercare. It seems to have been descended from the accompanied madrigal, in which the instruments played the same parts with the voices. Hawkins in his History speaks of fantasias as abounding ‘in fugues and little responsive passages and all those elegances observable in the structure and contrivance of the madrigal.’ Usually they were utterly free in form, differing radically from the more formal structure of later fantasias, such as those by Mozart and Beethoven.

St. Mark’s at Venice was destined to play such a distinguished part in the development of organ-music that a word of historical comment will here be appropriate. Venice was a republic until 1797, its government being vested in the hands of a Doge, or Duke, and a Council made up of representatives of the nobility. From very early times this Council took the greatest pride in the music of the grand-ducal chapel, later known as St. Mark’s Cathedral (San Marco). As early as 1318 they commissioned Zucchetti to build a new organ for the chapel and, when it was completed, appointed him organist and choir-master. A second organ was built about 1370 and the position of second organist created in 1389. These two positions were co-equal in duties, salary, and official importance and the organists, like the consuls of old Rome, were supposed to be men of equal calibre. They were chosen with the greatest care from many candidates after the stiffest kind of examination conducted before the magistrates and St. Mark’s grew to be one of the most coveted musical appointments in Europe. A maestro di cappella was added to the two organists in 1491. His position was the most important of the three and his salary[98] was larger than that of the organists. He composed the special music, trained and conducted the choirs and orchestra, and had general supervision over all the church music. This position became so important that later a second maestro was appointed with rank and duties coordinate with the first. In these positions a long line of illustrious musicians served St. Mark’s for several centuries.

Once started in a new direction, the Italians soon took from the hands of their Netherland masters the development of this branch of the art and native organists began to write copiously for their instrument. In addition to Venice, Rome, Florence, Naples, Bologna, Parma, and many other Italian cities boasted of excellent musicians and organists who worked earnestly and enthusiastically for the advancement of the art of organ music. They did not employ counterpoint merely for its own sake, as did many of the Netherland masters, but imagination and feeling were given consideration. Harmonically and melodically much progress was also made and chromatic tones were much more freely and frequently brought into use. The forms chiefly cultivated were those mentioned above. Brief mention will be made of the more famous of these early masters.

Claudio Merulo (1533-1604) at the age of twenty-four was chosen out of ten competitors to fill the position of second organist at St. Mark’s in Venice, and from 1566 to 1586 he was first organist there. One of the greatest organists of his time, he is credited by Fétis with being the first to write really independent compositions for the organ. He wrote three volumes of ricercari and canzoni and two volumes of toccatas. His fame as composer rests chiefly on the fact that he advanced the toccata-form. His reputation was overshadowed by the greater genius of the two Gabrielis, who were associated with him at St. Mark’s.

Andrea Gabrieli (1510-1586), a pupil of Willaert and the successor of Merulo as second organist at St. Mark’s in 1566, was one of the most eminent representatives of the brilliant Venetian school. He exerted a large influence not only as composer and performer, but also as teacher. Among his distinguished pupils were his nephew Giovanni and the German Hans Leo Hassler of Nuremberg. His organ works include chiefly ricercari, canzoni, and intonazioni. A characteristic work of his is the Fantasia allegra, founded on a popular French chanson by Crequillon, which is quoted by Ritter in his Geschichte des Orgelspiels. It has three themes or subjects which are developed in the style of the ricercare. The second subject is a free ‘inversion’ of the first and the third is formed from the second by ‘diminution,’ with ornamentation in rapid passages.

Giovanni Gabrieli (1557-1612), nephew and pupil of Andrea, was likewise celebrated as organist, teacher, and composer. From 1575 to 1579 he was at the court in Munich. In 1585 he succeeded Merulo as first organist at St. Mark’s, a position which he held until his death. Heinrich Schuetz and Michael Prætorius were among his famous pupils. As composer he stood at the head of the Venetian school, being, like his uncle, a great master of vocal forms and showing a special preference for compositions for double and triple chorus. For organ he left preludes, a toccata, and several ricercari and canzoni. A valuable and attractive work of his is the Sonata pian e forte in eight independent parts (quoted in Wasielewski’s Geschichte der Instrumentalmusik).

The two Gabrielis occupy a place of large importance in the early development of organ music and may be said to be the first real organ composers. Their ricercari mark a distinct advance over the compositions of their predecessors, especially in their fugal construction.

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1526-1594), maestro di cappella of St. Peter’s at Rome from 1571 until his death, and the greatest master of the unaccompanied polyphonic choral style, wrote some for the organ, including eight ricercari. The character of his music is quiet, serious, and dignified, contrasting favorably with the often dull and meaningless ricercari of the older Netherlanders. Wasielewski’s estimate of these older compositions is: ‘The impression they produce is essentially wearisome, dry, and monotonous. They are generally of great length and they sound like troubled, uneasy successions of notes, wanting in contrast of subjects and strength of ideas; the eye is more satisfied than the ear.’[99]

Luzzasco Luzzaschi (1545-1607) was organist of the Cathedral of Ferrara. Merulo conferred upon him the title of ‘first organist of Italy.’ A good organ number is his Toccata in the fourth tone.

Gioseffo Guami (about 1550-1611) enjoyed an excellent reputation as organist and composer. He was organist first at Munich, then at St. Mark’s, and finally at the cathedral in Lucca, his native town. His canzona ‘La Guamina’ (quoted by Ritter) is a valuable composition and shows him as a master of form, gifted with refreshing inventive powers.

Girolamo Diruta, born about 1560 at Perugia, was a pupil of Merulo and organist of the cathedral at Chioggia, near Venice. He was the author of a famous instruction book (published in 1597), ‘Il Transilvano’—a dialogue on the true method of playing organs: in which work a knowledge of everything connected with the keyboard is easily and rapidly taught. Also how to use the hands in Diminution (which means here the ornamentation of a subject by rapid notes) and the method of understanding the Tablature, proving the truth and necessity of the rules given, by examples of Toccatas by divers excellent organists. A work newly made, most useful and necessary to professors of the organ.’ The book contains the following rules for playing the organ ‘with gravity and ease.’ The organist must sit before the middle of the keyboard and must not make unnecessary movements, but must hold himself upright and in graceful position. The fingers must be placed equally above the keys, somewhat bent but not stiff; the fingers must press, not strike, the keys. The scale is to be played by the fingers alone, without the thumb, which is to be used only in a salto cattivo (that is, a leap from an accented to an unaccented note), thus:

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The prejudice against the use of the thumb remained in force until Sebastian Bach revolutionized the whole method of fingering by using the thumb equally with the other fingers. Il Transilvano also contains some interesting directions for registration for the eight ecclesiastical modes, for example: ‘For the First Tone, which requires full-sounding quality, the Double Open Diapason, the Open Diapason, and the Flute or Principal. To give expression to the melancholy feeling of the Second Tone, the Double Open Diapason and Tremulant are required....’

Constanzo Antegnati, born in Brescia in 1557, was an organist and organ-builder, as his ancestors had been for several generations. In 1608 he published an instruction book called L’Arte Organica, which is of more than passing interest since it gives some insight into the size and structure of contemporary organs, their tone-qualities and mode of playing. It would seem that Italian organ-builders did not strive after variety of tone-quality, but built their instruments almost exclusively of diapasons from 32-foot pitch to highest audible pitch through octaves and fifths, with only a small proportion of flute stops and rarely a reed stop. The Italian organists seldom, if ever, changed registration during performance. The effects which were then so much wondered at were produced more by dexterity of execution and command of counterpoint.

Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583-1644), Italy’s greatest master of the organ and the most distinguished organist of the seventeenth century, was the first to infuse expressive power into organ music. He was complete master of the contrapuntal and harmonic art of his period and his work bears the stamp of genius that would tolerate no rule, whether old or new. ‘Understand me who can; I understand myself,’ he wrote as a motto over one of his works. So great was his fame, as Baini relates, that at his first appearance at St. Peter’s in Rome in 1614 he had an audience of 30,000 listeners. The organ on which he played was an instrument of fourteen stops with one manual and a short-compass pedal-board. He was organist of St. Peter’s from 1614 until his death, except from 1628 to 1633 when he was court-organist at Florence. Instrumental music was still in a crude, formative period, yet his harmonies are frequently startling in their boldness and romantic suggestion; his music shows almost complete emancipation from the sway of ecclesiastical modes; and in the vigor and force of his subjects as well as in the freedom with which he treated them and the expressive qualities he employed, he was far in advance of his age. His contributions to organ literature were numerous and important. They consisted of ricercari, canzoni, toccatas, and capriccios, many of which have been reprinted in modern notation in various collections of old masters.[100] He was careful to give very specific directions, many of which are exceedingly interesting, as to just how he wished his compositions performed.

The culmination of Italian organ music was reached in Frescobaldi and the supremacy in this field was soon transferred to Germany, whither zealous and gifted German students had carried the fruits of their Italian study. Very little progress was made in Italy, in either organ-playing or organ-building, from the time of Frescobaldi until near the close of the nineteenth century, so completely was Italy under the domination of the particular kind of opera so dearly prized by that melody-loving country. A few important Italian names, however, remain to be mentioned.

Giovanni Battista Fasolo, a Franciscan born at Asti, lived at Venice and was known mainly by a work (published in 1645) which supplied the organist with suitable material for the different services throughout the whole church-year.

Giovanni Battista Bassini (1657-1716), a famous violinist and organist, was chapel-master of the Cathedral of Bologna from 1680 to 1685, when he went to Ferrara. Of interest is his Sonata da Organo in F, in which he makes use of the ‘circle of keys’ in modulating away from and back to the principal key.

Vincenzo Abrici (1631-1696) was born at Rome, but was converted to Lutheranism and in 1664 was appointed chapel-master to the Elector of Saxony at Dresden, probably the only Italian Protestant organist of his time. He wrote excellent church music and while at Dresden was the teacher of Kuhnau.

Bernardo Pasquini (1637-1710) was born in Tuscany and became the most celebrated Italian organist of the second half of the seventeenth century, his fame spreading to many foreign countries. Most of his life was spent at Rome where he was long organist at Santa Maria Maggiore, from which position he was elevated to a post that was evidently created especially for him—Organist of the Senate and People of Rome.

Domenico Zipoli (born about 1675) was organist of the Jesuit Church at Rome about 1716 and during his lifetime was recognized as one of the foremost composers for the organ. He published sonatas for organ and cembalo consisting of short pieces for ritual use. Several of these are available in modern editions and, especially a Canzona in G minor and a Pastorale in C major, are pleasing enough to have been written by Bach or Handel.

Padre Giambattista Martini (1706-1784), a celebrated theorist and historian, published in 1738 sonatas for the organ and cembalo, which were sets of short pieces hardly suitable for church use. He was considered the highest authority on theoretical matters and was always ready to help and encourage young musical talent. His Gavotte in F (from one of the above sonatas) has often figured on popular organ programs.

II

Organ-playing in Germany was nearly a century later in starting its serious development than in Italy. As the first impetus to the art in Italy came from foreign sources—from the Netherlanders Willaert and Buus who had settled in Venice—so the first definite stimulus in the development of German organ-playing came from Italy and the Netherlands, where the art had already reached a higher plane of development. Amsterdam and Venice were the two chief centres from which radiated the strongest influences in shaping the development of German organ art. In the former city Sweelinck became the teacher of most of the organists who later laid the foundations of the North German school of organ-playing, while many of the great South German organists were trained in Venice or Rome.

Early Organ Masters:

Top: Girolamo Frescobaldi and Jan Pieters Sweelinck
Bottom: Samuel Scheidt and Hans Leo Hassler

The first Germans to develop the art were Conrad Paumann of Nuremberg, Paulus Hofhaimer of Vienna, and Arnold Schlick of Heidelberg, all South Germans. The circumstances surrounding the life of the first representative of German organ music, Conrad Paumann, were strangely similar to those of the first great Italian organist, Landino. Both were blind (Paumann was born blind), both were of noble family, and both mastered nearly every known instrument. Paumann (1410-1473) aroused great enthusiasm by his playing, he travelled much, and his fame spread to other countries. For many years he was organist at St. Sebald’s Church in Nuremberg, but spent his last years in Munich. He was the author of Fundamentum Organizandi, the oldest extant work on the art of extempore organ-playing; for ‘organizing’ at that period still meant adding a counterpoint or organum to a given subject.

Paulus Hofhaimer (1459-1537), born at Radstadt, was court organist to Emperor Maximilian I at Vienna. So famous was he that he was knighted by both the Emperor and the King of Hungary; poets praised him and Lucas Cranach painted his portrait. His contemporary, the organist Luscinius, described his playing as being ‘full of angelic warmth and power ... no one has surpassed, no one has even equalled him.’

Only the important churches in the larger towns possessed organs in the fifteenth century. In the following century, however, interest in organ-playing and especially in organ-building increased greatly and organists multiplied rapidly. Among the first of them to gain eminence was another famous blind organist, Arnold Schlick, born in Bohemia about 1460 and organist to the Elector Palatine at Heidelberg. He was the author of the oldest printed German tablature book (1512); in this independent pedal parts were used throughout, a great advance over previous organ composers.

In some of the compositions of Leonhard Kleber (1490-1556) there appeared the first signs of what later became known as the German school of Colorists. This school made its appearance shortly before the middle of the sixteenth century and took its name from the effort of composers to overload their compositions with ornamental rapid passages (coloratura). Many of Kleber’s compositions display all the stability and earnestness of the Bach period, but the habit of ‘coloring’ the parts with meaningless ornaments soon took possession of organists and for a period in the latter part of the century the misuse and abuse of the art of coloratura caused German organ music to become utterly mechanical and conventional. The greatest of the colorists were Ammerbach, organist at St. Thomas’ Church, Leipzig (1560-1571), the famous Strasburg organists, Bernard Schmid (father and son), Jacob Paix (1550-1590), and Johann Woltz.

As the seventeenth century dawned, the fashionable art of coloratura waned and the old solid style of organ-playing inaugurated by Schlick and continued faithfully by his followers, which had really never been lost by the more obscure musicians, was gradually revived and gained new strength. A new life-giving element of greatest importance to organ music was the Lutheran chorale; from it the inane art of the ‘colorists’ received its real death-blow. Its introduction into the church-service and the important place it held there opened up a new perspective for German organists and offered an artistic opportunity which finally they began to take advantage of. The people loved not only to sing the chorales but to hear them played on the organ; the organists naturally desired to please their listeners, and out of the custom of organists to render the chorales about to be sung with all the resources of their art, gradually arose the Choralvorspiel or prelude. The more abstract contrapuntal treatment or elaboration of chorale-melodies was abandoned and a new method of treatment adopted that even up to the present time has failed to exhaust their possibilities. The great plasticity of these chorale-preludes was first revealed by Pachelbel; the elaboration of them was brought to the highest perfection of expression and poetry by the immortal genius of Sebastian Bach and their present-day possibilities have been grandly demonstrated in the Choral-fantasias of Max Reger. In the chorale-prelude is to be found the basis of the solidity of style that after Scheidt’s time has characterized German organ music, and in the cultivation of this form the German organist has found the most ample and satisfying opportunity for the exercise of his highest artistic abilities. The Lutheran service gave far greater opportunities to the organist than did the Roman service; in this fact is to be found one powerful reason, among others, why German organ music advanced rapidly while Italian organ music remained at a standstill.

The new change in German organ art is strikingly indicated by the Tabulatura Nova, published at Hamburg in 1624 by Samuel Scheidt (1587-1654) of Halle. The music in this important work is entirely free from the pernicious influence of coloratura and for the first time chorales are treated as pure organ music. Scheidt, who was a pupil of the great Dutch organist and teacher Sweelinck and a contemporary of Frescobaldi, was one of the three great S’s of the seventeenth century (the other two being Schütz of Dresden and Schein of Leipzig, all three being born about the same time). He was one of the most famous organists of the century and did much to set the seal of permanence on the forms of organ music that henceforth were chiefly cultivated by German organ composers. These forms were the figured chorale, the prelude and fugue, the canzona, the toccata, and the fantasia. Scheidt’s importance lies in his artistic treatment of the chorale, an idea that was taken up with such success a hundred years later by the great Bach. By the middle of the seventeenth century German organ music had attached itself firmly to the solid ideals it has ever since maintained.

Nuremberg, the old home of German art in South Germany, was also one of the principal nurseries of early German organ art and held its leading position until the beginning of the eighteenth century. The first of the celebrated Nuremberg organists was Hans Leo Hassler (1564-1612), one of the real founders of German music. He was organist to the fabulously wealthy Fuggers in Augsburg in 1585 and after passing several years in Venice as court-musician to Emperor Rudolph, he accepted a position as court-organist at Dresden in 1608, where he died. He was the composer of the melody to the chorale Herzlich tut mich verlangen, which was such a favorite with Bach that he used it in many of his chorale-preludes and also in the ‘St. Matthew Passion.’ His organ works were only three in number, but Ritter maintains that he bore the same important relation to German music that the Gabrielis bore to Italian.

Erasmus Kindermann (1610-1655) spent most of his life in Nuremberg. In his Harmonia Organica (published in 1645), consisting of preludes in the twelve tones, he composed several strictly in the modern keys (C major, D major, F major) and treated the pedal with great freedom.

The greatest of the Nuremberg organists and one of the most celebrated of the seventeenth century was Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706). After holding the position of organist at various places (among them Erfurt in 1676, where he taught Christopher Bach, Sebastian’s older brother and first teacher), he returned to his native city in 1695 as organist at St. Sebald’s. His organ compositions were very important and influential, among them seventy-eight chorale-preludes—many of merit and long-standing popularity—several chaconnes, brilliant toccatas, and chorale-fugues. He was the inventor of this last-named form, the subject being the first line of a chorale in diminution. This form was perfected by Sebastian Bach and in the present day has inspired Max Reger to the composition of his great chorale-fantasias, for example, Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme.

Augsburg became the chief centre of activity among the South German Catholic organists as Nuremberg was the most influential centre of the Protestant branch. Christian Erbach (1573-1628), organist of the Augsburg Cathedral, wrote organ pieces in the style of Merulo and Gabrieli, but in his ritual-music was much influenced by the Protestant chorale-preludes, except that he employed modal harmonies. An important Augsburg publication was Ars magna Consoni et Dissoni (‘The Great Art of Consonance and Dissonance’) by Johann Speth, the cathedral organist, containing the best contemporary toccatas and magnificats, and some important airs with variations. The first great name of this group is Johann Jacob Froberger (about 1610-1667), who passed much of his life in Vienna as court-organist. Ferdinand III sent him to Rome (1637-1641) to study under Frescobaldi and he became one of the most famous German organists and instrumental composers of the century. His organ works—25 toccatas, 8 fantasias, 6 canzonas, fugues, etc.—are important largely because of their great influence on J. S. Bach’s development; his music sounds now more archaic than its date of composition would indicate. Johann Kaspar Kerl (1621-1693), through the munificence of Emperor Ferdinand III, likewise was sent to Rome to study under Frescobaldi and Carissimi and exerted a wide influence as organist and composer at Munich and Vienna. His published organ works were largely toccatas and canzonas in the Italian style.

The most excellent and at the same time the last of the great German Catholic organists until the nineteenth century was Georg Muffat (about 1645-1704). This really great artist deserves a much deeper appreciation than history has yet accorded him. His great work, Apparatus Musico Organisticus (1690), consisting of toccatas, a chaconne, a passacaglia, and other pieces, displays as fine a quality of artistic feeling as is to be found in the period before Bach. ‘There is a human feeling about the music of Muffat, which removes it above mere counterpoint or exhibition of skill, and appeals to the heart more than any of the earlier compositions.’[101] Ritter, in his Geschichte des Orgelspiels, says of him: ‘In the toccata he surpasses all previous German masters except Buxtehude. Inexhaustible in the invention of new forms and possessing absolute mastery to express them, he is the first who leads the hearer from the realm of mere sound into that of real soul-inspired music.’

While organ music was thus developing in South Germany, a vigorous school was formed in North Germany, which waxed strong largely under influences that radiated from the great Dutch organist, teacher, and composer, Jan Pieter Sweelinck (1560-1621), at Amsterdam. So many of the leading organists[102] of the next generation in North Germany were his pupils that he earned the title of ‘Organist-maker’ and virtually became the founder of the North German school of organ-playing. His organ works are the most important products of his genius as a composer. He was the first to use the pedal as an integral part of the fugue and was the inventor of the organ-fugue as a form evolved from one subject with the gradual addition of countersubjects leading up to an elaborate finale—a form which Bach especially perfected.

Hamburg was one of the most important centres of activity in the progress of North German organ music. Here Heinrich Scheidemann (about 1596-1663), who came of a family of organists, was the first to attain distinction. He was followed as organist of St. Catherine’s Church by his more famous pupil Johann Adam Reinken (1623-1722), who had also studied with Sweelinck. Few of his organ compositions have remained and these have no marks of special excellence, but he gained a great reputation as a performer. He had a large four-manual organ at St. Catherine’s and his great ability in performance and in improvisation on chorales attracted people from distant places. He was organist there for sixty years, retaining his full faculties until his death at the remarkable age of ninety-nine. Sebastian Bach twice journeyed on foot from Lüneberg to hear him play and was thereby greatly impressed and influenced. On a later visit (1720), after Bach himself had improvised for a half-hour on one of Reinken’s favorite chorales, the Nestor of German organists, then ninety-seven years old, exclaimed enthusiastically to the younger artist, ‘I thought this art would die with me, but I perceive that it lives in you.’ The chief characteristics of his organ-playing were unusual dexterity of foot and finger and ingenious combinations of stops.

Dietrich Buxtehude (1637-1707), a Dane born at Helsingör, was the greatest of the North German group of organists and exerted a still more profound and stimulating influence on Bach. He was organist of the Marienkirche at Lübeck from 1667 till his death. With one of the finest organs in Germany at his disposal (three manuals with fifty-three stops, of which fifteen were on the pedal), he made Lübeck famous for its music. In 1673 he started an innovation in church-music that attracted international attention. This was a series of sacred concerts, called Abendmusiken, in connection with the Sunday afternoon services during November and December of each year, at which famous singers and players assisted. These performances were continued until early in the nineteenth century. In 1705 Sebastian Bach, then a youth of twenty years, walked fifty miles from Arnstadt to hear him in one of these performances and in 1703 Handel visited Lübeck for the same purpose. Buxtehude left many works for organ, the greatest of which are his fugues. Two volumes (edited by Spitta) contain most valuable music—in all about seventy works, consisting of passacaglias, chaconnes, three toccatas, fifteen fugues, and a large number of chorale-preludes. Many of these disclose the fact that he had brought organ music to a point of development that needed only the touch of Bach’s overpowering genius for consummation. Among the lesser figures that surround the giant Bach, Buxtehude towers highest. He modulated freely into all keys as Bach did, his harmonies were often as bold, and he welded the old threefold North German fugue into a close-knit, organically developed unity that clearly foreshadowed Bach’s more solid and compact form.

III

Between the sturdy schools of North and South Germany there grew the Saxon or Thuringian, in which the best influences of both schools interlocked. Here in central Germany, especially in Thuringia where ‘every peasant knows music’ (as an old proverb runs), there flourished a school that ultimately was the greatest of them all and that gave to the world Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750), not only the greatest master of organ music, but one of the greatest master-minds of all time.

An analysis of the special qualities of mind and heart that raised Bach to such a lofty pinnacle of inspired effort will be found in another volume of this series. Our present purpose is concerned only with his organ works. These are both numerous and epoch-making. They carry to the highest point of perfection in workmanship and expression all the instrumental forms that had been in the making for a century and a half before his hand of magic touched them with its transforming power; and their naturalness, spontaneity, grandeur, and nobility of content and form have been at once the despair and inspiration of nearly every great musician since his time. The organ was the central point in Bach’s art, as the orchestra was in Beethoven’s; it was his natural voice, his most sympathetic medium of expression. No matter what form he chose to write in, the organist’s mode of thought and expression is apparent—as much in his choral works as in those for clavier. Robert Schumann says: ‘Most wonderful and bold in his primal element is Bach at his organ. Here he knows no bounds and works for centuries ahead. The majority of his fugues are characteristic pieces of the highest order, often truly poetic creations, each one demanding its own characteristic expression and its own color and light.’ Goethe ventures the bold assertion that ‘in listening to Bach’s music it seems as if divine harmony were intercoursing with itself, as might have happened in the bosom of God before the creation of the world.’

Both of his parents died when Sebastian was ten years old and the boy was brought up and educated by his elder brother Johann Christian, a pupil of Pachelbel and organist and school-master at Ohrdruf. His organ training was of the most meagre description, but he was an indefatigable worker and thinker. His first organ position was at Arnstadt in 1704, in 1707 he removed to Mühlhausen, from 1708 to 1717 he was court-organist at Weimar, from 1717 to 1723 court chapel-master at Cöthen, and from 1723 till his death cantor of the Thomas School at Leipzig. His organ works number about 150, of which only a small number were published during his lifetime. Of the total number about ninety are chorale-preludes (great and small). The remaining works comprise nineteen large preludes and fugues, eight little preludes and fugues, five toccatas and fugues, two fantastias and fugues, seven independent fugues, four fantasias, a passacaglia, six sonatas, four concertos, and several shorter pieces.

In his early productions Bach leaned strongly toward his predecessors in art—Pachelbel, Buxtehude, Frescobaldi, Couperin—a period of early dependence that is to be observed in the lives of all the great masters. He learned alike from German, Italian, and French masters, assimilated their best influences, and acquired all their resources, thus enlarging his own field of vision before disclosing his own individuality. Incredibly versatile as he is and unapproachable in many fields, the forms that he endowed with unusual sublimity and grandeur are the chorale-prelude, the toccata, and the fugue. Of these the fugue reveals the most characteristic elements of his greatness. The manner in which he treated the form of the fugue is unique, without precedent or parallel in the history of musical art. This form, as Bach found it, was mainly characterized by stiffness, monotony, and lack of expression. Under his hands, the greatest contrapuntist of the world, it acquired elasticity and flexibility; he made the seemingly dry and hard form so serve his imagination that he was able to produce real characteristic pieces, even musical poems, which reflect his innermost feeling in all its different nuances.

The Toccata in F shows Bach’s genius in its most resplendent light. This piece, with its imposing and truly modern pedal solos, its intricate contrapuntal structure, its titanic energy, and its startling modulations, excited the boundless admiration of Mendelssohn: ‘It sounded as if the walls of the church might tumble down; what a giant that Cantor was!’[103] Three of the other toccatas are powerful compositions—the one in C major in the form of an Italian concerto, and the two in D minor, one of which is sometimes called the ‘Dorian’ because there is no B-flat in the signature and the other, majestic and brilliant.

Of the rich treasure of preludes and fugues that he left, the great Leipzig pieces, written in the full maturity of his power, deserve special mention. They are the ones in C minor, G minor, A minor, E minor, and B minor—all ‘stupendous creations,’ as Spitta designates them. The E minor Prelude and Fugue is called a ‘symphony’ by Spitta. The Fugue, with its ‘wedge’ theme, is the longest of Bach’s fugues—231 measures—but the interest never flags for a moment. That Bach not only ‘violated’ rules but made his own, is shown by the fact that he introduces into his fugue a da capo—from measure 172 repeating the beginning part. The lofty B minor Prelude and Fugue is replete with glowing beauties. Of the highest type of perfection and full of expressive eloquence is the E-flat major Prelude and Fugue. The Fugue, which is sometimes called ‘the St. Anne Fugue’ from the chance resemblance of its subject to the first line of an English hymn-tune of that name, is built on the model of the old Italian threefold fugue, in the last sections of which the subjects are combined and interwoven with consummate skill.

The Fantasia in G minor is one of the most majestic works in the entire literature of music. The Fugue associated with it is not as great as the Fantasia, but is an exceedingly effective concert piece and a masterful composition. It is a favorite not only with organists but with all musicians, and has been transcribed for pianoforte by Liszt and for orchestra by Abert. Its popularity with the general public is due not a little to the unusually pleasing character of the subject itself, which possesses all the jollity and grace of a dance-theme. Bach’s fugue-subjects (and fugue-subjects in general) are seldom interesting or pleasing as individual melodies. Their value is almost wholly architectonic. The master architect will rear a structure of significant beauty and imposing grandeur out of a mass of individually uninteresting and meaningless brick and stone. In much the same way, the composer views his fugue-subject mainly as a constructional item. His interest is centred on the structure itself and the process of construction. Notwithstanding this objective, impersonal point of view, it is undeniably true that those fugues that have made the deepest popular impression are constructed on subjects that are in themselves melodically interesting, such as this G minor Fugue, the C minor Fugue from the ‘Well-tempered Clavichord,’ and the C minor Fugue from Mendelssohn’s Three Preludes and Fugues for organ.

In a class by itself is the wonderful Passacaglia in C minor, which Bach wrote as an advanced exercise (a practice piece!) for the two-manual and pedal clavichord. It consists of twenty variations on a basso ostinato of eight measures. The theme is announced by the pedal alone pianissimo and is repeated over and over again in one voice or another while the other parts build up a structure of ever-increasing elaborateness and magnificence, the whole concluding with a fugue whose subject is derived from the basso ostinato.

The eight ‘Little Preludes and Fugues,’ so familiar to organ students the world over, were composed probably for his own numerous pupils.

The six sonatas (or trios) of Bach were not written for the organ but for the pedal-clavier for the use of his son Friedemann. However, the wonderful three-part writing makes them especially suitable for reproduction on the organ and affords excellent opportunity for color and contrast in registration. They contain a wealth of musical ideas of varying moods, character, and deep expression, full of soul and life, and clothed in attractive and often playful technique, the highest of Bach’s art—a constant source of inspiration to the organist that will take the time to delve into their depths. They are not sonatas, of course, in the modern sense of the word. Of special value may be mentioned the following numbers from them: the first Allegro of Sonata No. 1 in E-flat, the elaboration of which approaches the modern sonata; the Largo and Finale (in reality a masterful fugue) of the Second Sonata in C minor; the whole of the Third Sonata in D minor, the Adagio being of especial beauty; the Andante and Allegro (Finale) of the Fourth Sonata in E minor, in the Andante the harmonic effects being so full and complete that one forgets that only three voices furnish the material; the Largo of Sonata No. 5 with its rich figuration work; and the first Allegro and the Largo of the Sixth Sonata in G major.

The real soul of Bach’s organ art is to be found in that numerous group of his organ works that take the chorale for basis and inspiration. Many of these are short compositions intended for use in the church service, but many are long and elaborate and written for concert use. They appear in three forms, the chorale-prelude (figured and fugal), the chorale-fantasia, and the chorale-variation. The signification of the chorale in the services of the Church to which Bach had dedicated the full strength of his artistic powers sank deep into his soul and the heart-beat of religious sentiment and devotion constantly furnished stimulus and direction to his imagination and intellect. His chorales frequently speak to us in a language suggestive of words, but which words cannot express, the secret remaining in the music. Inexhaustible are the forms that thus find characteristic expression, born of the poetical suggestion. In the chorale ‘Through Adam’s fall we all are doomed’ the fall into sin is suggested by the ever-recurrence of the interval of a seventh in the bass. In Christ, unser Herr, zum Jordan kam the rushing waters of the river Jordan are portrayed by the swift notes of the bass in the left hand with 16-foot tone, while the subject is played by the pedal with 8-foot tone. In the variations on the chorale Vom Himmel hoch da komm’ ich her in canon-form, Bach astonishes with his almost superhuman mastery of contrapuntal devices, but the expressive power never suffers, the mathematical element and the musical fantasy joining in harmonious and poetical union.

So many of Bach’s works have been transcribed for other instruments[104] that the following comment by Busoni[105] will have interest: ‘One finds among the master’s organ works pieces of a more pianistic character, as one finds among the piano fugues some that show the type of organ pieces. The technical manner of Bach’s writing is in its essence the same for both instruments. The transcription of his works from the organ to the piano (or vice versa) cannot, therefore, be regarded as wrong, esthetically considered.’

IV

The early organ masters in France were neither as numerous nor as important as in either Italy or Germany, and no significant advance came from France in this field. The organ was late in getting a foothold in this country, there being no record of any church-organ there before the twelfth century; no school of French composers for the instrument appeared until the sixteenth century. In 1530 and 1531, however, a five-volume collection of organ pieces was published in Paris by the printer Pierre Attaignant, though no composers’ names are given. This book gives a trustworthy indication of the French art of organ-playing at that time. The collection consists of (1) original organ music—preludes, (2) vocal music arranged for the organ—motets, Te Deums, Kyries, and Magnificats in the eight modes, and (3) secular songs and dance music intended for the house-organ or clavier. In France, as elsewhere, no distinction was made in writing for clavier and organ, though the latter enjoyed the preference, as it was also a house instrument. The early French masters had a true understanding of the nature of the organ. Their playing was neither frivolous nor over-serious, but natural and free. A tendency to emphasize effective and ingenious registration rather than the worth of the composition manifested itself among French organists as early as the sixteenth century and this has been a prominent characteristic of French organ-music ever since. French organists of the sixteenth century, however, seem to have possessed greater facility on the pedals than their German contemporaries.

In 1626 Jean Titelouze (1563-1633), a priest of St. Omer, and canon and organist of the Cathedral of Rouen, published at Paris ‘Magnificats in all the Tones, with Versets, for Organ.’ His organ compositions are of considerable merit and he may be regarded as the founder of French organ-playing. The school of Titelouze produced two excellent organists—Nicolas Gigault[106] (born 1645), who, as Fétis says, was ‘one of the good French organists of the seventeenth-century school, which was superior to that of the eighteenth century’; and André Raison (born about 1650), organist of the abbey of St. Geneviève in Paris, published in 1688 his Livre d’Orgue containing masses, an offertoire, and a piece imitating Froberger’s descriptive music entitled Vive le Roy, written for the festival which commemorated the recovery of Louis XIV from illness. It was stated that the purpose of the book was ‘to show organists, both male and female, who are shut up in provincial cloisters, how to make use of the excellent novelties and the increase in the number of keyboards introduced by modern organ-builders.’ Raison’s music shows, in the indicated stops to be used, that the French preference for reed stops had already manifested itself.

Jacques Champion de Chambonnières (the last part of which name he assumed when he married the heiress of an estate of that name) was first chamber clavecinist to Louis XIII. His influence on the development of organ music was almost entirely through his famous pupils, of whom, like Sweelinck, he had many, among them Le Bègue, d’Anglebert, and the elder Couperins. He died in 1670, but left no contributions to the literature of the organ.

Nicolas Antoine le Bègue (1630-1702), organist to the king, in 1676 published three books of Pièces d’Orgue. He was a very skillful organist and a thorough contrapuntist. His book contains offertories, symphonies (the same in form that Handel later employed for his overtures), Noëls, elevations, mass music, magnificats, preludes, solos for various stops, trios for two manuals and pedal, and dialogues for two manuals.

Jean Henri d’Anglebert, chamber clavecinist to Louis XIV, published in 1689 Pièces de Claveçin, with a supplement of some organ music. This contains among other things a quartet for three manuals and pedal, two of the parts to be played with one hand on two keyboards, which would have been impossible on any organ of this period outside of France on account of the distance between the keyboards. By the beginning of the eighteenth century France possessed many large organs with three, four, and sometimes even five manuals. The largest instruments had an Echo organ, and the Voix Humaine and Tremulant were as popular then as now. The pedal-board had a much larger compass than on present-day organs, extending from F below the present lowest C to thirty-six notes; but the pedal had no 16-foot stops, only 8-and 4-foot, the pedal being used, not for bass as now, but for carrying the tenor or subject. It was later reduced to thirty notes, beginning with the lowest C as at present.

The Couperin family played much the same important part in the development of French music as the Bach family did in Germany and both in the same field, that of instrumental music. For several generations the Couperins were distinguished musicians; the post of organist of St. Gervais remained in the family as a kind of ‘living’ from about 1650 until 1815. The most important and renowned member of this family was François (1668-1733), called Couperin le Grand because of his acknowledged superiority in organ and claveçin-playing. He was organist at St. Gervais in 1698, but was soon promoted to the position of clavecinist and organist to the king. Notwithstanding his great reputation as a performer on the organ, he wrote nothing especially for that instrument. His paramount interest as a composer lay in the development of the claveçin or harpsichord and his work indicates the point of historical development where the organ and the keyboard instruments of the claveçin or harpsichord type parted, each to travel its own path independent of the other. His part in the creation of the modern pianoforte school is discussed in another volume.

Louis Nicolas Clérambault (1676-1749), a pupil of André Raison and his successor at St. Jacques, later at St. Sulpice, composed much organ music, some of which has been newly edited by Guilmant in his Archives des Maîtres de l’Orgue.

Louis Marchand (1669-1732) belonged to a family that was celebrated in the annals of French music, mostly in the field of stringed instruments. He published a volume of organ music, some of which has been edited by Guilmant in the work just mentioned. He had a great reputation as a player, but his compositions betray the trivial and superficial musician. He was appointed court organist at Versailles and for a time was very much the fashion as a teacher. But as a man he was eccentric in manner and dissipated in habits—so much so that the king is said to have insisted on paying half of his salary to his wife. This incensed the musician, and one day he stopped playing in the middle of a mass and walked out of the church. When the king indignantly called him to account for his unusual behavior, he replied: ‘Sire, if my wife gets half my salary, she may play half the service.’ In punishment he was banished for a time and went to Germany. While in Dresden in 1717 he met Sebastian Bach and a contest between the two on the organ was arranged, but to avoid inevitable defeat at the hands (and feet) of the great German he suddenly left Dresden and returned to Paris, and the contest never took place.

Far more important than Marchand as a musician was Jean Philippe Rameau (1683-1764). While his chief fame rests on his operas, theoretical works, and claveçin music, he won a great reputation as an organist (in Clermont, Lille, and Paris), especially as an extempore player, and was considered the greatest French organist of his time. He published no music written especially for organ, however.

Dom Jean François Bedos de Celles (about 1714-1797), a Benedictine monk, deserves mention here, not as an organist, but as a builder. His book L’Art du Facteur d’Orgues contains much valuable information about the condition of French organs in the eighteenth century and indicates that a great advance in organ-building was taking place. The author gives much advice for effective combinations of registers suitable for certain kinds of pieces; he finally says: ‘The more an organist understands how to exhibit the resources of his organ, the more will he please the public and himself.’

French keyboard music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries showed a marked preference for instruments of the harpsichord and clavichord type. During the eighteenth century French composers for, and performers on, these instruments were supreme in Europe, but organ-music west of the Rhine has been, on the whole, quite unimportant from early times until nearly the middle of the nineteenth century.

Organ-music in Spain and Portugal followed Italian and French models and until about 1700 maintained a place of equal importance and worth with that of Italy. It is worthy of mention that the first musician to raise the standard of revolt against the mediæval system of tuning and to advocate a system of ‘temperament’ was a Spaniard, Ramis de Pareja, born in Andalusia about 1440. There are a few prominent names among Spanish organists, such as Félix Antonio Cabezón (1510-1566), Thomas de Santa Maria (died 1570), and Pablo Nassare (born 1664), but no noteworthy progress was made here, organ music exhibiting the same state of lethargy that was apparent in all Catholic countries during the period from Frescobaldi until the middle of the nineteenth century.

With the Reformation the Netherlands divided along the line of religious sympathies. Belgium remained true to the Roman Church and her organ-music developed, as in France, according to the needs of the Roman ritual. Holland, however, embraced Lutheranism and Calvinism, and, as soon as Spanish rule was overthrown in 1581, took a prominent lead, through her great organists, Sweelinck (whose work has been already noted) and Anthony van Noordt (middle of seventeenth century), in developing an organ style responsive to the needs of the Protestant ritual.

V

In England peculiar conditions have prevailed from very early times in respect to organ-music. Early English musicians were easily the peers of those of any continental country. Some of the oldest and most famous organs were built in England and the house organ was cultivated there with as much zeal and artistic energy as in any other country. But, even after the Reformation, the choir has always dominated English church-music and until very recent years the organ has been regarded as wholly secondary in importance. All great English church-music up to the present generation has been vocal. We find in the Anglican service no counterpart of the chorale-prelude in the Lutheran service or the canzona and toccata in the Roman. The organ in the Anglican service has been employed consistently and primarily as accompaniment for the highly-trained choirs and its independent use has been confined almost exclusively to playing before and after the services.

Handicapped as it was by lack of appreciation within the Church, organ-music was further retarded in its development by the curious reluctance of English builders to adopt pedals and to give up the old system of tuning. Until well into the nineteenth century very few English organs possessed pedals and in these few the pedal-board rarely exceeded an octave and a half in compass. In the matter of tuning, the system of ‘equal temperament’ was not adopted for English organs until more than a century after it had been firmly established in practical use on the continent. Here again the domination of the voices in the service is apparent. Whether this mechanical inferiority of the organ was related to its secondary position in English church-music as cause or effect, is not germane to our purpose to discuss.

So unimportant was the organ considered in early English church-music that no cathedrals maintained organists until the time of the Reformation, the singers taking turns at playing the instrument. Henry Abington, a priest who died in 1497, is the first Englishman mentioned as having possessed proficiency as an organist (at Wells in 1447 and Master of the Chapel Royal after 1465), and his fame in this respect rests wholly on his epitaph at Stonyhurst: ‘He was the best singer amongst thousands, and besides this, he was the best organist.’

But organ music flourished in the palaces of kings and wealthy noblemen, where organists and organ-makers were installed as regular members of the households. The greatest epoch of English music was also the most brilliant of English organ-playing. Prepared during the reigns of Henry VIII and Queen Mary, it reached its culminating point in Queen Elizabeth’s long reign (1558-1603). No examples of organ-music prior to Elizabeth’s time have been preserved. The organ compositions of the great Elizabethan organists were written for the house organ rather than the church organ and are, therefore, scattered through the numerous collections of music for the virginal,[107] for they were playable on either instrument. Collections of music written for the church organ, so common on the Continent, were unknown in England until recent times.

When England espoused the cause of Protestantism, many of her Catholic musicians escaped to the Continent, but many remained and were protected by the Court from being molested as long as they kept their private religious views to themselves. Among the latter were some of the most famous organists and musicians of Elizabeth’s reign—Tye, Tallis, Blitheman, Byrd, and Bull.

Dr. Christopher Tye (about 1515-1572) was organist at Ely from 1541, and later became organist of the Chapel Royal. He was highly respected for his great musical ability and brilliant education, and his style of writing was scholarly, though singularly unaffected. According to Anthony Wood he was ‘a peevish and humorsome man, especially in his later days,’ and it is related that while he was playing one day in the chapel of Queen Elizabeth, with whom he was a great favorite, ‘she sent the verger to tell him that he played out of tune; whereupon he sent word that her ears were out of tune.’ With him the most brilliant epoch of English music begins.

Thomas Redford (died before 1559) was organist and choir-master at St. Paul’s, London, about 1535. He had the reputation of being one of the ablest instrumental writers of his time and left many organ-pieces.

Thomas Tallis (about 1510-1585) received his first appointment as organist at Waltham Abbey. At the Dissolution he became one of the organists of the Chapel Royal, which position he held until 1577 through the shifting religious changes of the troublous reigns of Henry, Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth. He faithfully served the church of his adoption by writing some of its finest early anthems, canticles, and hymn-tunes. Though a famous organist, but few of his organ works have remained.

William Byrd (1543-1623), one of the foremost composers of his period and distinguished in all the forms then current, was a pupil of, and worthy successor to, Thomas Tallis, whom he surpassed in everything ‘except in happy speculations.’ He served as organist of Lincoln Cathedral from 1563 and became Gentleman of the Chapel Royal in 1569, dividing with Tallis the duties of organist. The excellence of his art is attested by his numerous church compositions and the instrumental pieces, many of which are for organ, contained in the ‘Fitzwilliam Virginal Book,’ the ‘Virginal Book of Queen Elizabeth,’ and ‘Lady Nevill’s Virginal Book.’

Dr. John Bull (1563-1628) was the most famous virtuoso on the organ and virginal of the latter part of the Elizabethan era. He was organist at Hereford in 1582 and in 1591 followed his master Blitheman as organist of the Chapel Royal. On Queen Elizabeth’s recommendation he was appointed professor of music at Gresham College in 1596, which position he held for eleven years. In 1613 he was compelled to ‘go beyond the seas without license,’ as was the euphonious phrase for running away. He became the Archduke’s organist at Brussels and four years later went to Antwerp where he was cathedral organist until his death. He was a curious personality, but a most excellent artist, exhibiting marvellous contrapuntal skill and originality. In his preludes and fantasias, notably in a Fantasia on the hexachord, his modulations and complicated rhythms display a strong modern feeling.

One of the greatest names in the history of English church-music is that of Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625), the last of the early school of English church composers. In 1623 he became organist at Westminster Abbey and was one of the most renowned organists of his time, but published only a few pieces for keyed instruments—some dances and a fantasia. All the great English composers of this period were also great organists, for the chief musicians at the cathedral and Chapel Royal were all organists. All excelled as extempore performers, and, when solo work was required, they exercised their skill in improvisation and felt small necessity for writing what they played.

At the beginning of the seventeenth century the musical art of the English Church received a staggering blow from the fanatical ideas and iconoclastic acts of the Puritans. Their misdirected zeal was aimed at all art; choirs were abolished, paintings and organs were destroyed, and priceless treasures were wantonly burned. After the restoration of the monarchy in 1660 more liberal views prevailed and there quickly followed a revival of musical activity. But only a few musicians survived the years of artistic darkness under Puritan domination—they had either emigrated or chosen other professions. The destroyed organs were rebuilt with utmost haste and foreign organ-builders were summoned to give aid. Among these were two Germans by the name of Schmidt, one of whom became famous as Father Smith. These organs were still in a primitive form, the pedal not being considered necessary and, indeed, not being added until Handel in his concertos insisted on their use. With the new era came also an influx of new ideas from the Continent. Pelham Humfrey infused a more modern style into the music of the cathedral service and the organ for a time was permitted to assume the importance of a solo instrument.[108] Furthermore, the organ soon became a feature of theatre and concert performances and the area of its influence was thus widened.

John Blow (1648-1708) was one of the first of the noted musicians of the ‘new school.’ He was chosen organist of Westminster Abbey at the age of twenty-one. Eleven years later his pupil, Purcell, was appointed to this office at Blow’s request, but at Purcell’s death Blow was reinstated. He also held the post of organist and composer to the king. He was a voluminous composer, writing a vast amount of church-music and also a considerable number of voluntaries for the organ, of which relatively little has been published. His style is strong, healthy, and, in harmonic progression, frequently in advance of his time. One of his organ pieces is a ‘Voluntary for ye Cornet stop,’ beginning with a short fugal passage which introduces the solo. It is dignified and effective, but the popularity of such solo effects led in the next century to a style that brought about a debasement of organ-music that was far-reaching in its effects.

William Croft (1677-1727), though a distinguished composer and organist, did not exert as wide an influence on organ-music as some of his contemporaries. He was a pupil of Blow and after his master’s death succeeded him as organist of Westminster Abbey. He wrote twelve organ voluntaries, but they are not published.

Maurice Greene (1696-1755) was organist at St. Paul’s, London, in 1718, and succeeded Croft as organist and composer to the Chapel Royal in 1727. In 1730 he was appointed professor of music at Cambridge University. He was a prolific and able composer and rendered most valuable service to English cathedral music. He also published several organ voluntaries, in which he departed from the serious and fugal style of his choral music and employed such ear-tickling solo stops as the Cornet and Vox Humana to an excess that brought into existence a host of tawdry and vulgar imitations.

VI

There remain to be mentioned the two most distinguished names in English music—Purcell and Handel—the one, who undoubtedly would have founded a school of real English music had not his life been cut off at so untimely an age, the other, who, though a German, actually did found a great English school a half-century later on the lines so brilliantly suggested by his English predecessor. The year 1658 may be said to mark the beginning of a new era in English music; in it occurred the death of Cromwell, who, with all his greatness, stood for Puritan ideas of artistic repression, and the birth of Henry Purcell (1658-1695), who raised the musical fame of England to a height it had never before attained. Though he died at the age of only thirty-seven, like Mozart and Schubert he wrote with amazing swiftness and produced an astonishing quantity of music in every form, far in advance of his English, and most of his continental, contemporaries in quality and workmanship. His music that falls within the scope of the present inquiry consists of some four-part sonatas and suites for organ or harpsichord. One of the most excellent of these is a Toccata in A, which possesses such unusual musical qualities for that period that it was for a long time considered to be one of Sebastian Bach’s earlier works. The modern feeling for key seems to be fully established in Purcell’s music. In this respect and in the fluency and expressional power of his counterpoint he anticipated Bach by fully three decades. Purcell was organist of Westminster Abbey in 1680 and of the Chapel Royal in 1682.

George Frederick Handel (1685-1759) was the greatest representative of English music in the eighteenth century and one of the most brilliant organists of his time; his influence in both choral and organ fields was supreme in England until the advent of Mendelssohn. Handel’s organ-playing brought him fame earlier than did his operas. In 1703 he visited Lübeck with his friend Mattheson and listened with deep respect to Buxtehude at the Marienkirche. One purpose of the visit was to look into the possibilities of succeeding the venerable organist, but one condition of the succession was that the person who accepted the appointment should also marry the daughter of the retiring organist. After looking over the situation both Handel and Mattheson declined the honor. During his Italian visit (1706-1709) he met Domenico Scarlatti, who was only two years his senior, and together they journeyed from Florence to Rome, forming a friendship that lasted throughout their long careers. In Rome Cardinal Ottoboni arranged a sort of competition between them. The contest was undecided on the harpsichord, but when Handel had played on the organ, Scarlatti was the first to acknowledge his friend’s superiority, saying that he had not believed such playing as Handel’s was possible. His London experience began in 1711, when he created a great sensation by the production of his opera Rinaldo, written in fourteen days by piecing together arias and choruses of earlier composition. The Utrecht Te Deum in 1713 further increased his fame in England and in 1719 he was appointed director of the Royal Academy of Music, which became the scene of his operatic triumphs and trials. Later in life he turned his attention wholly to the composition of religious works and produced in quick succession the sublime oratorios that brought him immortality. It was in connection with these oratorios that his organ concertos came into existence. Handel had a great reputation as an organist, especially as an extempore player. This reputation he was wise enough to capitalize and, as a means of attracting larger audiences to hear his oratorios, he exhibited his skill as performer between the acts, to the great delight of his listeners. He was not always in a mood for extemporizing, however, and his thirty-three concertos for organ (most of them with orchestra) were written for such occasions, many being merely transcriptions of his concertos for various other instruments. They are cast in the form of either the Italian concerto or the French overture. Since they were not written for use in church, but in the theatre, they are for the most part in light and flowing vein, brilliant in character but free from triviality, and serve as excellent display pieces. They contain fine music and must be regarded as good works of art. The most important are No. 1 in G minor, No. 4 in F major, and No. 10 in D minor. These works became so popular that Burney says,[109] ‘public players on keyed instruments totally subsisted on these concertos for nearly thirty years.’

Sir John Hawkins[110] gives a glowing account of Handel’s organ-playing. ‘As to his performance on the organ,’ he says, ‘the powers of speech are so limited that it is almost a vain attempt to describe it otherwise than by its effects. A firm and delicate touch, a volant finger, and a ready delivery of passages the most difficult, are the praise of inferior artists; they were not noticed in Handel, whose excellences were of a far superior kind, and his amazing command of the instrument, the fullness of his harmony, the grandeur and dignity of his style, the fertility of his invention, were qualities that absorbed every inferior attainment. When he gave a concerto, his method in general was to introduce it with a voluntary movement on the Diapasons, which stole on the ear in a slow and solemn progression; the harmony close-wrought and as full as could possibly be expressed; the passages concatenated with stupendous art, the whole at the time being perfectly intelligible and carrying the appearance of great simplicity. This kind of prelude was succeeded by the concerto itself, which he executed with a degree of spirit and firmness that no one could pretend to equal. Such, in general, was the manner of his performance; but who shall describe its effects upon the enraptured auditory? Silence, the truest applause, succeeded the instant that he addressed himself to the instrument, and that so profound that it checked respiration and seemed to control the functions of nature, while the magic of his touch kept the attention of his hearers awake only to those enchanting sounds to which it gave utterance.’

FOOTNOTES:

[96] Quoted in Sammelbände der Intern. Mus. Gesellschaft, Vol. III, page 614.

[97] For example, Merulo published many ricercari da cantore.

[98] When Willaert, who had previously occupied several important positions, became maestro at St. Mark’s, his annual salary was only seventy ducats or about $88. This was gradually increased to two hundred ducats ($250), which was continued to his successor.

[99] Geschichte der Instrumentalmusik, p. 123.

[100] Franz Commer’s Sammlung der besten Meisterwerke des 17 und 18 Jahrhunderts and Ritter’s Geschichte des Orgelspiels. Also Haberl’s selections from Frescobaldi’s organ pieces.

[101] C. F. Abdy Williams: ‘The Story of Organ Music,’ p. 120.

[102] Among his famous pupils were Samuel Scheidt (1587-1654) of Halle, Jacob Prætorius (1586-1651) of Hamburg, Heinrich Scheidemann of Hamburg, Melchior Schildt (about 1592-1667) of Hanover, Paul Seifert (died 1666) of Danzig, and Johann Adam Reinken of Hamburg.

[103] In a letter to his family dated September 3, 1831, at Sargans, Switzerland.

[104] Chiefly organ works transcribed for the piano by Liszt, Tausig, Busoni, and d’Albert; but also the ‘Two-part Inventions’ transcribed for organ with a third part by Max Reger, and the Chaconne for violin alone transcribed for organ by Wilhelm Middelschulte.

[105] See Vol. II of his edition of ‘Well-tempered Clavichord’—article, ‘Transcriptions.’

[106] In Guilmant’s Maîtres de l’Orgue there is a charming ‘Noël’ by him.

[107] Then the chief representative of keyed instruments in England, as the organ was in Germany and Italy, and the claveçin in France.

[108] A voluntary ‘upon the organ alone’ was permitted after the Psalm and after the blessing.

[109] Vol. IV, p. 429.

[110] History of Music, p. 912 (Reprint: London, 1853).

CHAPTER XVI
ORGAN MUSIC AFTER BACH AND HANDEL

The eclipse of organ music after Bach; Bach’s pupils and other organ masters of the classic period—Organ composers of the romantic period: Mendelssohn, Liszt, Rheinberger and others—Great French organists of the nineteenth century—English organists since Handel.

I

The hopelessness of maintaining organ-music on the height to which Bach had raised it was obvious enough as soon as he had passed from the stage of which he had been the most brilliant adornment. Johann Joachim Quantz, in his book, Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte zu spielen (1752), expresses the fear that after his (Bach’s) death the art of organ-playing, which he had brought to the highest perfection, might deteriorate or possibly disappear, ‘as there are only a few that cultivate it.’ He complains that ‘good organists are very rare,’ but intimates that one reason is that they receive very little encouragement, since the majority of them are paid ‘such miserably small salaries.’ But while Bach’s creative genius had said the last word in organ music in the particular forms which he employed, he handed down his wonderful art of playing to a galaxy of brilliant pupils and especially to his oldest son, Wilhelm Friedemann.

For a century after Bach’s death, however, the attention of musical Europe was absorbed in following other lines of development and his influence was not immediately apparent. He was so far in advance of his age that the essence of his art had to wait several generations till the world had progressed enough to perceive it and in a few years after he had passed he became only a tradition. The organ was soon overshadowed in importance by new media of musical expression; the orchestra and the rapidly developing pianoforte, the opera and the oratorio, the symphony and the sonata, offered novel and more alluring opportunities for the imagination and creative fancy of composers than did the sombre, polyphonic forms that seemed best suited both to the church services themselves and to the organ of the period as an interpreting instrument. And neither the organ nor organ-music was rescued from the secondary and unimportant position into which both fell after Bach’s time, until organ-builders in the last half of the nineteenth century began to introduce mechanical improvements which made the instrument capable of meeting the modern requirements in expressional power.

Though the instrument itself lagged pitiably behind other instruments in development, Germany, France, and England continued to bring forth great organists. Wilhelm Friedemann Bach (1710-1784), the special favorite of his father, was exceedingly talented as a performer and was considered the finest organist in Germany after his father’s death. He was organist of the Sophienkirche in Dresden (1733-1747) and of the Marienkirche in Halle (1747-1764). He had a great reputation for improvisation, of which he was especially fond, and he wrote very little for the organ—chorale-preludes, trios, canons, and some fugues, of which the one in F major is especially notable.

Several of Sebastian Bach’s pupils were famous organists in their time and good composers. Johann Philip Kirnberger (1721-1783) wrote chorale-preludes and fugues, but is best known to the musical world by his theoretical work, Die Kunst des reinen Satzes. Johann Frederick Doles (1715-1797) was cantor of the Thomas school in Leipzig from 1756 to 1789. He wrote in rather popular vein and, strange indeed for a pupil and successor of the great Cantor, actually demanded the banishment of the fugal form from the church service. Johann Ludwig Krebs (1713-1780), whom Bach playfully called ‘der einzige Krebs in meinem Bache’ (‘the only crab in my brook’), was considered by Bach to be his best pupil. He wrote chorale-fugues, preludes, and fugues. His fugue in G major is still an attractive concert piece. Johann Schneider (1702-1787), organist at St. Nicholas’, Leipzig, gained great fame as an improvisator on the organ. Johann Christian Kittel (1732-1809), the last pupil of Sebastian Bach, who brought his master’s traditions into the nineteenth century, was organist at Erfurt from 1756 till his death. He was a famous player and teacher and an excellent composer. Among his celebrated pupils were M. G. Fischer and J. C. H. Rinck.

Johann Georg Albrechtsberger (1736-1809), famous as a theoretical writer, composer, and teacher, was court-organist in Vienna (1772) and kapellmeister at St. Stephen’s (1792). For the organ he wrote eleven sets of fugues and three of preludes, but the vast majority of his 261 compositions are unpublished. His fame lingered longest as a theorist and among his pupils were names that later became celebrated—Seyfried, Hummel, and Beethoven. Beethoven studied counterpoint with him, but he expressed only a poor opinion of his pupil’s talent.

Georg Joseph Vogler (1749-1814), best known as Abbé Vogler and immortalized in Robert Browning’s well-known poem of that name, was a pupil of Padre Martini in Bologna and of Vilotti in Padua. After going to Rome he entered the priesthood, later returning to Germany and sojourning a few years in each of various places. He invented a system of simplification for the organ and applied it to a portable instrument which he called ‘orchestrion,’ with which he travelled over Europe as concert-organist. One of his inventions was the so-called ‘resultant’ 16-foot tone, produced by uniting an 8-foot pipe with a 5-1/3-foot (‘quint’) pipe. This device gave rise to the ‘resultant’ 32-foot tone still employed by some organ-builders. He also advocated discarding mixtures altogether. His compositions no longer possess interest. His presumption and self-confidence are well illustrated by the fact that he published (Peters’, Leipzig, 1810) twelve chorales by Sebastian Bach ‘corrected’ (umgearbeitet) by himself and analyzed by C. M. von Weber, who at that time was his pupil at Darmstadt.

Johann Christian Heinrich Rinck (1770-1846) was a voluminous writer for the organ. His compositions show fluent melody and clear form, and his style is dignified and simple, but his ideas lack musical depth. He was wise enough not to attempt to follow Bach in fugue writing, recognizing, as he said to Fétis, that if he were ‘to succeed in composing anything worthy of approval, it must be on different lines from his (Bach’s).’ Rinck’s ‘Organ School’ is still well-known in England and America.

Michael Gotthard Fischer (1773-1829), organist at Erfurt, was a most excellent player and a composer of many organ-works—preludes, fantasias, chorale-preludes—that even to-day have not lost their attractiveness.

II

Johann Gottlob Schneider (1789-1864) was one of the greatest German organ virtuosi of the nineteenth century and did a great deal to popularize organ-music by his many concert tours. His few published works—fugues, fantasias, preludes—occupy an honorable place. Like so many of the great organists of the earlier periods, he was famous for his improvisation.

Adolf Friedrich Hesse (1809-1863), organist of St. Bernard’s, Breslau, was another celebrated and much admired organ virtuoso. He created a sensation by his performances, especially his pedal-playing, at the inauguration of the new organ at St. Eustache, Paris, in 1844. When later he concertized in England (1852) he protested vigorously against the unequal temperament of the English organs. He wrote preludes, fugues, fantasias, études—mostly practical works in clear form, with smooth-flowing melody and simple, popular content.

August Gottfried Ritter (1811-1885), organist of the cathedral in Magdeburg, was one of the greatest German organ masters of the last century, famous alike for his wonderful improvisation and as a virtuoso. He wrote four fine sonatas for the organ, of which opus 19 in E minor and especially opus 23 in A minor (dedicated to Liszt) are of great value. Other works are chorale-preludes, fugues, and variations. Of greatest value are his Kunst des Orgelspiels, an instruction book in two volumes, and Geschichte des Orgelspiels im 14-18 Jahrhunderts, an admirable and scholarly scientific treatise, which has been freely drawn upon, since its publication in 1884, by most writers on organ history.

Karl August Haupt (1810-1891), organist of the Parochialkirche, Berlin (1849), and director of the Royal Academy of Church Music (1869), was an organ master of the first rank, equally great as virtuoso and extempore player in the style of Bach, for whose works he was ever an enthusiastic propagandist. He published the organ works of Thiele, his friend and predecessor at the Parochialkirche. He drew a host of American students to him. One of these, Mr. E. E. Truette in the Étude, is authority for the statement that they numbered over 150 and he mentions the names of Eugene Thayer, Clarence Eddy, J. K. Paine, George W. Morgan, Arthur Bird, and Philip Hale.

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809-1847) was an organist of fine attainments and wrote most gratefully for the instrument. Himself a Bach enthusiast and gifted with extraordinary contrapuntal facility, Mendelssohn was the first composer for the organ after Bach to approach him in the happy combination of nobility of musical ideas and technical finish of workmanship. He has earned the gratitude of organists by his three preludes and fugues (of which the ones in G major and C minor are possibly the best) and six sonatas, all free from pedantry and full of refreshing melodic invention, romantic warmth of harmony, and in attractive technical garb. The preludes are less valuable than the sonatas. Four of the six sonatas have chorales for their principal thematic material and these are the most valuable of the six. In the use of the chorale in his organ sonatas and his oratorios, Mendelssohn shows his close artistic kinship with the great Cantor; the chorale made a deep appeal to him and stirred the flight of his imagination to finest effort. These are sonatas only in name, the strict sonata-form not being observed. In the powerful first movement of No. 1 (F minor), the chorale Was mein Gott will, gscheh allzeit (‘What my God wills, be always done!’) is beautifully interwoven. The simple, expressive Adagio is followed by a very attractive Recitativo which leads into the brilliant and dashing Finale. The Adagio of No. 2 (C minor) is of finest beauty and the best movement of this sonata, which is clear in form and melodious, as Mendelssohn always is. No. 3 (A minor) has only two movements, the first of grand effect, presenting an excellent double fugue on the chorale Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir (‘In deep distress I cry to Thee’). No. 4 (B-flat major) is constructed with four movements and is a brilliant, effective concert sonata, the Allegretto (F major) being especially attractive and written in Mendelssohn’s typical fluent manner. No. 5 (D major) is a beautiful work throughout. In No. 6 (D minor) Mendelssohn uses the chorale Vater unser im Himmelreich as the basis of four variations built up to a great climax and a fugue constructed on the first line of the chorale. The Finale (D major) almost breathes vocal expression.

Robert Schumann (1810-1856) was never an organist, but his interest in contrapuntal study led him to write six fugues on the name B-A-C-H, of which No. 5, the little staccato fugue, is the most original. The canons which he wrote as studies for pedal-piano are also suitable and effective for organ. Of these the B minor Canon is best known as an effective concert-piece.

Franz Liszt (1811-1886) contributed very original and effective music for the organ, most of which inclines towards orchestral effects and some of which opened up new possibilities for the organ, as his compositions for piano did for that instrument. In addition he wrote many smaller pieces (including transcriptions) for organ or harmonium, that are harmonically most piquant. His best works for organ are: Variations on a Basso Ostinato (Crucifixus of the B minor Mass by Bach), Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H, Evocation à la Chapelle Sixtine, Litany: Ora pro nobis, and Fantasia and Fugue on Ad nos, ad salutarem undam (theme by Meyerbeer), this last being his greatest work for organ.

Johann Friedrich Ludwig Thiele (1816-1848) was organist of the Parochialkirche, Berlin, from 1839 to 1848. Although his early death at the age of thirty-two prevented the full development of his extraordinary genius, Thiele has left several very important organ-works—‘Chromatic Fantasy,’ written at the age of seventeen; three concert-pieces, all majestic compositions; Theme and Variations in A-flat major and in C major, both brilliant and effective concert-pieces.

Immanuel Gottlob Friedrich Faisst (1823-1894), organist in Stuttgart and director of the Stuttgart Conservatory, published several organ pieces; his Sonata in E major is a masterly work.

The career of Julius Reubke (1834-1858), the son of an organ-builder and a fine pianist and organist, was cut short by death when he was only twenty-four years old. His only organ-work, a sonata entitled ‘The 94th Psalm,’ is one of the grandest and most powerful works that have ever been written for the instrument; its position in literature is really unique. It reveals the inexhaustible fantasy, the profound depth, and the impetuous temperament of the young composer, who with sure hand molded his own form by breaking the old sonata-form. This magnificent sonata introduced a new epoch, the orchestral treatment of the organ. The early death of Reubke and Thiele was the most serious blow to modern progressive organ-music in Germany.

Gustav Adolf Merkel (1827-1885), a pupil of Johann Schneider and organist of the Kreuzkirche and Hofkirche in Dresden, was one of the greatest organists and organ-composers of his period and he has left works of great beauty and value, though much of his writing sounds dry and pedantic now. He wrote nine sonatas, one of them for two performers and double pedal. Of these sonatas the best are opus 42 in G minor and opus 118 in D minor. Other works are fantasias, preludes, and études. Merkel was a masterly contrapuntist and falls in the direct line of succession to Bach and Mendelssohn. His sonatas are on the whole the best works of this class between Mendelssohn and Rheinberger.

Johannes Brahms (1833-1897), the great master of German song and symphony, gave a few valuable works to the organ: the very scholarly Fugue in A-flat minor, Chorale-Prelude and Fugue on O Traurigkeit, O Herzeleid, and eleven chorale-preludes (his last work), of which two deserve especial mention—Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen and O Welt, ich muss dich lassen.

Modern Organ Composers:

Top: Alexandre Guilmant and Charles Marie Widor
Bottom: Joseph Rheinberger and Max Reger

Joseph Gabriel Rheinberger (1839-1901) easily takes rank as one of the best German organists and teachers of the latter part of the nineteenth century and at the same time one of the greatest organ composers of the century. From 1867 he was professor of composition and organ-playing in the Munich Conservatory and in 1877 was appointed director of the Court Church music in Munich. He has exerted a marked influence on music in America through his numerous pupils, among whom may be mentioned Horatio W. Parker and George W. Chadwick. His many-sided genius expressed itself in various fields—orchestral, choral, church, chamber, pianoforte, and organ. In all of these fields he showed himself in close sympathy with modern harmonic development and tendencies, but, strange to say, not with Wagner’s methods and theories; yet he combined with a progressive modern spirit a mastery of fugal and contrapuntal forms equalled by none of his contemporaries. While he avoided treating the organ orchestrally, he was among the first to employ in organ-forms the rich harmonic vocabulary of the romantic composers who had already given to the literature of the pianoforte and the orchestra so many masterpieces of warm and glowing tone-color. His organ compositions are pure music of an elevated type, equal in their own individual way with the best orchestral art of his period. In most of Rheinberger’s music, however, there is present a certain quality of reserve that never permits the expression of exuberance of feeling or exalted enthusiasm. They reveal an astonishing variety, a fertile imagination, deep earnestness, and complete mastery of form and style. The most important of these works are two concertos for organ with orchestra in F major (opus 137) and G minor (opus 177), and twenty sonatas, which alone constitute a monumental contribution to organ literature. Rheinberger seems to have attempted for the organ-sonata something of the same task of setting free from the trammels of tradition and of developing along the line of its own inherent needs that Beethoven solved so successfully for the pianoforte-sonata. These two forms of the sonata, however, have very little in common and Rheinberger, in his remarkable series, gave the strongest impetus to the development of the organ-sonata as a distinct music-form since Mendelssohn’s noble works. The particular form which he seemed to adopt for it as a kind of type was in three movements, the first being in the nature of a prelude, the last a fugue or some distinctly contrapuntal form, and the intervening movement an intermezzo in slow tempo. Most of his sonatas are constructed in this form, though occasionally he employs four movements, as in the Sonata in E minor, No. 8, where a Scherzoso appears between the Intermezzo and the final movement. He frequently uses with telling effect the modern device of unifying the movements through the employment in the last movement of themes heard in the first. In the Pastoral Sonata, No. 3, the Eighth Gregorian Psalm Tone, upon which the opening movement (Pastorale) is constructed, appears again with fine effect as a contrasting subject to the fugal theme in the last movement. Plain-song melodies frequently appear in his earlier sonatas. Many of the sonatas—especially No. 8 (opus 132) in E minor, No. 9 (opus 142) in B-flat minor (dedicated to Guilmant), No. 12 (opus 154) in B-flat major, No. 14 (opus 165) in C major, and No. 20 (opus 196) in F—are among the noblest examples of organ-music. Among his shorter organ compositions of large value are Twelve Characteristic Pieces, many trios for two manuals and a pedal, besides several pieces for organ and violin.

III

French organ-music presents very little interesting material for the historian to dwell upon until after the middle of the nineteenth century, when a new stimulus broke in upon the dreary triviality which had been so long its chief characteristic. The most important French organist of the last half of the eighteenth century was Nicolas Séjan (1745-1819), who was appointed organist of Nôtre Dame in 1772, of St. Sulpice in 1783, of the Invalides in 1789, and of the Chapel Royal in 1814. Carlyle in his ‘French Revolution’ relates a thrilling experience through which this organist passed at the hands of the revolutionists in 1793, when they seized the church of Nôtre Dame and made it the scene of a sacrilegious orgy of unusually revolting character. Demoiselle Candeille, a dancer from the Opéra, was established at the altar as the Goddess of Reason and La Harpe harangued the crowd, declaring all religion abolished. As a crowning defiance to traditional religion this was followed by a ball, at which Séjan was forced to play dance-music on the great cathedral organ as the howling rabble danced and shouted street songs.

Alexandre Pierre François Boëly (1785-1858) was a musician of most serious aims and made persistent efforts to acquaint Frenchmen with the works of Bach and other great composers for the organ, but with no success. For several years he was organist at St. Germain l’Auxerrois, Paris, but his zeal in serving his own high artistic ideals cost him his position. He wrote four offertories and many other pieces for organ.

François Benoist (1794-1878), organist of the Royal Chapel and professor of organ-playing at the Conservatoire from 1819, left twelve books of organ works entitled Bibliothèque de l’Organiste. Pieces from this collection that have been reprinted, presumably the best, are in the prevailing sentimental and trivial style of this period. He was the organ-teacher of Saint-Saëns.

Just before the middle of the nineteenth century a movement for the restoration of Catholic church-music was inaugurated in Bavaria by Dr. Karl Proske (1794-1861), and Ratisbon became the centre of this movement. A collateral movement for the reform of plain-song was started by the ‘Benedictines of Solesmes,’ an order of the ‘Congregation of France’ founded at this monastery in 1833 by Dom Prosper Guéranger. Two French organists who had taken holy orders allied themselves to this latter movement and aided greatly in the reformation of church-music, especially by their writings on the relation of the organ to plain-song and on other aspects of Gregorian music. These were Louis Lambillotte (1797-1857) and Théodore Nisard, the pen name of Abbé Xavier Normand (born in 1812).

The first of the modern French organists to have any perceptible influence on present-day organists was Louis James Alfred Lefébure-Wély (1817-1869), who was organist at the Madeleine, Paris, from 1847 to 1858 and of St. Sulpice from 1863 till his death. He was a thorough musician, a skillful performer on the organ and piano, and a composer in many fields. He was regarded as possessing marvellous powers of improvisation and his compositions for a time enjoyed great popularity (‘The Monastery Bells’ was the best known of his salon-music for pianoforte). Much of his organ-music partakes of the nature of his ‘fashionable’ pianoforte-music; it is light, if not trivial, and is very melodious, but, despite its former great popularity, devoid of artistic value. However, his name frequently appears on present-day organ recital programs.

Antoine Édouard Batiste (1820-1876), organist of St. Nicolas des Champs (1842-1854) and of St. Eustache (1854-1876), was a fine teacher, one of the best performers of his time, and a prolific composer of organ music, much of which, however, is of the popular, tuneful, ear-tickling, and easy-to-play variety. Several of his nearly 300 compositions rise above this level and, though showy and somewhat sentimental, are excellent for their type. Few organ compositions have had such widespread popularity as some of Batiste’s, as, for example, the Communion in G, the Offertory in E, and several of the ‘Grand Offertories,’ including the St. Cecilia Offertories, among the best known of which are the ones in D minor, C minor, and F. The vogue of Batiste is by no means full-spent, but the gradually widening demand for organ-music of a more serious nature and a finer workmanship is automatically lessening the appeal of such music, which is merely sensuously pleasing.

Much more serious in artistic purpose and effective in healthy influence was Nicolas Jacques Lemmens (1823-1881), an eminent Belgian organist and composer who early came under the influence of German organ-music while a student of Adolph Hesse at Breslau, whither he was sent at government expense. Here he spent a year in study (1846), cultivating a deep love for Sebastian Bach and acquiring the traditions of his great organ-works. When he returned to Belgium, he carried with him a testimonial from his teacher, stating that he could play Bach as well as he himself did. As professor of organ-playing at the Brussels Conservatory (1849-1858) he exerted a wide influence and in 1879 founded a school at Malines, Belgium, under the auspices of the Belgian clergy for the training of Catholic organists and choirmasters. Among his famous pupils were Guilmant and Widor. He wrote many excellent organ compositions, about sixty in all, including sonatas (especially the Sonata Pontificale), offertories, fantasias, etc., and his instruction book École d’Orgue was adopted in the Paris and Brussels Conservatoires and in other schools; but his chief influence was in laying the foundations of a more serious style of organ-music in Flanders and France. He was far more successful than Boëly in arousing interest in Bach and he astonished the French by his fine playing of the great German master’s organ works. His example in this direction was followed by many of the most distinguished French organists, as Franck, Saint-Saëns, Widor, Guilmant, Salomé—all of whom were enthusiastic worshippers of the genius of the Leipzig cantor. The most widely known of Lemmens’ organ pieces, though by no means the best, is probably the Fantasia in D minor, popularly called ‘The Storm.’

Jan Albert van Eijken or Eyken (1823-1868), a distinguished Dutch organist in Amsterdam and later in Elberfeld, received his musical education at the Leipzig Conservatory and later, at Mendelssohn’s suggestion, under Johann Schneider at Dresden. He wrote important works of great merit for the organ, including three sonatas, of which the third in A minor deserves special mention, twenty-five preludes, a large number of chorale-preludes, a toccata and fugue on B-A-C-H, and other pieces, all in the elevated style of German Protestant organ-music.

Samuel de Lange (born 1840) is another Dutch organist and composer who was celebrated in Germany, Austria, France, and England as a concert performer. He taught successively in the Music Schools of Rotterdam and Basel, and in the Conservatories of Cologne (1876) and Stuttgart (1893). He wrote seven organ-sonatas and many smaller pieces—all containing valuable music.

Three modern Belgian organists have achieved substantial reputations. Alphonse Jean Ernest Mailly (born 1833), ‘first organist to the King,’ became known as a brilliant virtuoso and teacher (in the Brussels Conservatory from 1868), and the composer of many compositions for the organ, among them fantasias, characteristic pieces, and a much-played sonata. His pupil, Edgar Tinel (1854-1912), wrote one valuable work for the organ, Sonata in G minor, of which the Finale is especially vigorous in content and treatment. In 1881 he succeeded Lemmens as director of the Institute for Sacred Music at Malines and in 1896 accepted an appointment as teacher of counterpoint and fugue in the Brussels Conservatory. His fame as composer rests more largely on his choral and church music. Joseph Callaerts (1838-1901), a native of Antwerp and a pupil of Lemmens at the Brussels Conservatory, was organist of the Cathedral of Antwerp and teacher of organ in the Music School from 1867. Some of his organ-music borders on the popular, yet much of it possesses dignity, if not great depth of thought.

The greatest figure in French organ-music is César Auguste Franck (1822-1890). What Sebastian Bach is to German musical art, Franck is to French—the great Gothic cathedral architect in tones. By virtue of his works, which in many respects overshadow everything before or after him in French organ literature, and the beneficent effect of his personal influence, which included within its radius many of the greatest of present-day French composers, Franck was an epoch-making personality and the spiritual head of a new French school which has powerfully effected French music since his time. A deep sincerity, religious in its intensity, coupled with a certain indefinable mysticism, pervades all of his compositions. Never writing for effect or applause and possessing a Bach-like fondness and capacity for intricate polyphonic structure joined with an extremely modern freedom in his use of harmonies, Franck created works of sublime beauty that will live long after the works of many of his now famous contemporaries are forgotten. His abilities as an organist (he had the reputation of being a fine one) were overshadowed by his compositions, but he was professor of organ-playing at the Paris Conservatoire and organist at St. Clotilde from 1872 till his death.

His organ works are not numerous, but they are exceedingly important, consisting of three sets of pieces.[111] In the first set of six pieces, No. 2, Grande Pièce Symphonique in F-sharp minor, is appropriately called symphonic. Its themes are noble and full of deepest expression, and are developed with consummate mastery, while the harmonic scheme is always novel and fascinating. No. 3—Prelude, Fugue, and Variations in B minor—is a work of the first rank and displays to fine advantage his mastery of the resources of the organ and the technical means of expression. The Pastorale in E major, No. 4, is an especially interesting and grateful concert-piece and the Finale, No. 6, is brilliantly built up to a powerful climax. In a second set, consisting of three chorales, though all are valuable, the best are the first one in E major with its beautiful melodic lines and its ingenious harmonic effects, and the third one in A minor, which is Bach-like in its imposing dignity. The third set comprises three effective concert numbers—Fantasia in C major, which again reveals his indebtedness to Bach in the skill with which he superimposes a most expressive theme upon a delicately constructed canon, Cantabile in B major, and Pièce Héroique. Of these the best is the Cantabile with its rich and interesting harmonies and expressive melodies. Despite the marvellous beauty and noble power of Franck’s musical thoughts, one cannot refrain from the occasional wish that he had exercised more conciseness in their development. At the organ he was a dreamer of seraphic visions and he sometimes forgot that his listeners were apt to be uninspired mortals.

IV

The reluctance of English organ-builders, referred to in a previous chapter, to adopt the mechanical improvements introduced into Continental organs, naturally retarded the progress of English organ-music. After Handel, although England had good organists, little of value was produced in organ composition until almost the present generation. Excellent compositions were written in the style of Handel and, later, of Mendelssohn, but originality in musical material or treatment was almost wholly absent.

The best English organists and organ-composers of the eighteenth century were the following: Dr. Thomas Arne (1710-1778), William Boyce (1710-1779), John Stanley (1713-1786), a remarkable organist who was blind from the age of two and yet who distinguished himself as composer, performer, and teacher; James Nares (1715-1783), Benjamin Cooke (1734-1793), in one of whose fugues the pedal takes the subject, an unusual procedure in English organ-music of this century; Thomas Sanders Dupuis (1733-1796), one of the best organists of his time; Jonathan Battishill (1738-1801), a remarkable extempore performer; John Christmas Beckwith (1751-1809), also famous for his improvisations; and Charles Wesley (1756-1834), a nephew of the great Methodist leader. The musical forms employed by these organist-composers (all of the above wrote more or less for the organ except Boyce, Arnold, and Battishill) were chiefly concertos and fugues in the style of Handel, and voluntaries. In the time of Dupuis a form of voluntary came into vogue that soon became stereotyped, conventional, and banal. It consisted of three or four movements usually in this order—a slow movement in three-pulse rhythm for the diapasons, a solo for cornet or trumpet with accompaniment of bass only, and closing with a fugue. The first two movements were almost invariably uninteresting and dull, but the fugues showed that English composers of the period could acquit themselves creditably in forms that demanded learning rather than originality and musical feeling.

Samuel Wesley (1766-1837), brother of the Charles Wesley mentioned above, was the foremost English organist of his time and the first really great figure in English organ-music. He was a fine extempore player, the composer of much excellent organ-music (11 concertos and a large number of voluntaries, interludes, preludes, and fugues), and a close student and ardent admirer of Bach. From 1800 he was a most zealous and persistent propagandist for the German master’s works and especially excelled as a performer of his fugues. As he was an excellent violinist, Bach’s violin works also received frequent performances in public concerts at his hands. The first English edition of the ‘Well-tempered Clavichord’ was published by him in 1810 in collaboration with C. F. Horn and he was instrumental in procuring the publication of an English translation of Forkel’s life of Bach. His music is more serious than the prevalent style and while he is not a great composer, judged by Continental standards, his influence was far-reaching and of utmost importance to English musical life, in that he gave substantial dignity to the organ as an interpreting instrument and induced a widespread interest in more solid organ-music, especially in Bach.

Early in the nineteenth century ‘arrangements’ began to be made for organ from other works, vocal and instrumental, chiefly of German and Italian classical composers. One of the earliest to start this custom was John Clarke-Whitfeld (1770-1836), organist of Hereford Cathedral and professor of music at Cambridge University. His arrangements were from the vocal works of Handel (1809), and as a substitute for the ability to create original music, they presented worthy compositions of a contrapuntal character suitable for organists to perform. But the arranging of pieces for the organ soon extended to other kinds of vocal music, to symphonies and forms of instrumental music quite foreign to the nature and idiom of the instrument, and this practice developed into a craze for arrangements and adaptations which lasted throughout the nineteenth century and which still persists, especially in England and America.

William Crotch (1775-1847) was a prominent organist and composer whose appointments were mostly at Oxford. He wrote concertos for organ with orchestral accompaniment and fugues for the organ alone, and made many adaptations of Handel’s oratorios for the organ. He was evidently a scholarly composer, for some of his themes were carefully phrased, an unusual procedure for his time. Crotch was one of the earliest to indicate the exact tempo he desired for his music by such mechanical means as a swinging pendulum. In a footnote to an Introduction and Fugue on a subject by Muffat, written in 1806, he says: ‘A pendulum of two feet length will give the time of a crotchet (quarter-note).’ About twenty-five years later Maelzel’s metronome was beginning to be known in England, and, when he published some fugues and canons in 1835, he indicated the tempo by such comments as ‘Crotchet equals a pendulum of sixteen inches; Maelzel’s metronome, 92.’

It will be of interest in this connection to note an earlier method of determining the tempo of a piece by the ingenious device of comparison with the duration of the pulse-beat. Johann Joachim Quantz (the music teacher of Frederick the Great), in his Anweisung die Floete zu spielen (1752), gives the following interesting table for determining the rate of speed:

‘In ordinary time (measure),

Allegro assai, for every half-measure, the time of one beat of the pulse,

Allegretto, for every quarter-note, the time of one beat of the pulse,

Adagio cantabile, for every eighth-note, the time of one beat of the pulse,

Adagio assai, for every eighth-note, the time of two beats of the pulse.’

Vincent Novello (1781-1861), the founder of the well-known publishing house of Novello and a celebrated organist and composer, wrote no organ-music, but his name became familiar to every English organist through his ‘Cathedral Voluntaries,’ These were motets and anthems by the old English church writers, such as Gibbons, Blow, and Tye, arranged for organ use, much as the early Venetian organists arranged the motets and sacred madrigals of their time for keyboard instruments.

English organ-music continued to be either obvious imitation of Handel, Mozart, Haydn, and, after 1845, Mendelssohn, or arrangements and adaptations of German classical music. Thomas Adams (1785-1858), noted for his improvisations; Sir John Goss (1800-1880), the greatest church musician of his time and organist of St. Paul’s Cathedral for thirty-four years; Samuel Sebastian Wesley (1810-1876), son of Samuel Wesley mentioned above, who, like his father, was an enthusiastic admirer of Bach’s works and an exceptionally fine extempore player, and who for a time was considered the finest organist in England—all wrote voluntaries, interludes, fugues, and andantes for organ in this style, though some of their anthems and ‘services,’ particularly those of Wesley, belong to the finest examples of English church-music of any period.

Henry Smart (1813-1879), who became blind about 1864 and henceforth was compelled to dictate his compositions to an assistant, was an exceptional organist and a composer who displayed many modern qualities of interesting harmony in advance of most of his English contemporaries. He wrote voluminously for the organ—fifty preludes and interludes, andantes (especially the one in A major), marches, variations, and postludes.

Edward John Hopkins (1818-1901), for nearly sixty years organist of Temple Church, London, possessed the sterling qualities of the best English organists and exerted a wide influence through his church-music and particularly his book, ‘The Organ: Its History and Construction,’ written in conjunction with Dr. E. F. Rimbault (1816-1876), which has long enjoyed the distinction of being a standard work on this subject.

William Spark (1823-1897), a pupil of S. S. Wesley, was a celebrated recitalist and from 1860 organist of Leeds Town Hall. While holding an appointment at St. George’s, Leeds, he had organized the People’s Concerts, the popularity of which had led to the erection of the Town Hall. A magnificent instrument of four manuals and 110 stops was installed in it and dedicated in 1859, and soon thereafter Dr. Spark received the appointment of borough organist and for years he gave two public recitals on it each week. He was a noted lecturer and writer on musical subjects and from 1869 till his death was editor of ‘The Organists’ Quarterly Journal,’ devoted to original compositions. His compositions (a Fantasia, a Sonata in D minor, and other pieces) were strongly influenced by Mendelssohn, whose music was now the model for all English musicians as Handel’s had been in the years preceding Mendelssohn’s advent.

Sir Frederick Arthur Gore Ouseley (1825-1889) presents the unusual spectacle of an amateur musician rising to the important position of professor of music at Oxford University and becoming one of the most influential musicians in the United Kingdom. Though an excellent organist and composer for organ, he never held a position as organist. He devoted a considerable fortune to the founding and maintenance of a church[112] in which the musical service was of the highest order and a college for the special training of choristers. Through these channels and his Oxford professorship he wielded a large influence on the young church musicians of his time. His organ compositions—eighteen preludes and fugues, a sonata, three andantes, etc.—were for the most part in the style of Mendelssohn.

The first place among English concert-organists was long held by William Thomas Best (1826-1897), who was one of the greatest virtuosos of the nineteenth century. For nearly forty years (from 1855 to 1894) he was organist of St. George’s Hall, Liverpool, where his recitals became a feature of the city’s musical life and gained for him an international reputation. An event in his life that attracted world-wide notice was his journey in 1890 to Sydney, Australia, where he inaugurated the mammoth organ in the new Town Hall with a series of twelve recitals. This organ, the largest in the world, has five manuals and 126 speaking stops. He published several valuable contributions to organ-literature—six concert-pieces, a Sonata in D, a Toccata in A, several fantasias and fugues on English Psalm-tunes, and many preludes on Psalm-tunes in the style of Bach’s chorale-preludes, etc. He was best known, however, through his admirable ‘Organ Arrangements from the Great Masters,’ his editions of Handel’s organ-concertos and Mendelssohn’s and Bach’s organ-works, and his two text-books, ‘The Art of Organ-Playing’ and ‘Modern School for the Organ.’

Of recent years composers in England have been less exclusively occupied with choral and church music, for the so-called musical renaissance, which is now bringing England once more to the forefront of musical nations, is due largely to the deeper interest composers have been taking in the modern orchestral idiom, the impressionistic tendencies of contemporary instrumental music and the nationalistic expression which owes its impulse to the recent folk-song revival movement. Nevertheless meritorious works for the organ continue to be produced by most of the present-day English composers, and more especially by men like Alan Gray, A. M. Goodhart, Ernest Halsey, James Lyon, T. Tertius Noble, C. B. Rootham and W. Wolstenholme.

FOOTNOTES:

[111] Edition Durand, Paris.

[112] The college and church of St. Michael and All Angels, Tenbury, Worcestershire, of which he was rector in addition to his Oxford professorship, were dedicated in 1856.

CHAPTER XVII
MODERN ORGAN MUSIC

Supremacy of modern French organ music; Saint-Saëns; Guilmant: sonatas and smaller works—Widor: organ symphonies; Dubois; Gigout and other French organ-writers—German organ composers; Piutti; Klose; Reger: chorale-fantasias; Karg-Elert and others—Organ music in Italy; Capocci; Bossi; Busoni and others—English organ composers since 1850—Organ music in the United States; early history; Dudley Buck; Frederick Archer and Clarence Eddy; contemporary American organ composers.

I

It is always an interesting and fruitful task to dive beneath the surface of historical events and discover the contributing causes that have led to the supremacy of certain nations at certain periods in certain departments of musical activity. For the past three decades at least, French organ-music has occupied a position of supremacy in certain important respects, among which may be named brilliance of technical finish, glowing variety of tone-colors as expressed in skillfully thought-out registration, interesting and piquant rhythmical figuration and melodic outline, combined with modernity of harmonic treatment. A group of elder composers, of whom Saint-Saëns, Guilmant, Widor and Dubois are the chief ornaments, laid the solid foundation of this school into which they were careful to build a deep and intelligent appreciation of Bach’s organ art, which had only recently been transplanted into France. Rooted in such a fertile soil French vivacity and lightness of feeling took on a deeper color and a richer luxuriance that combined substance with beauty of external expression. In this genial and healthy atmosphere the younger generation of French organists have lived and from its stimulating nourishment they have developed many fascinating traits of strong and virile individualism.

Charles Camille Saint-Saëns (born 1835), the Nestor of French composers, has demonstrated an unusual versatility in composition and has contributed to nearly every field of musical activity. He is not only a great pianist but also an organist of great ability and from 1858 to 1870 was the organist at the Madeleine, Paris, where he became famous for his improvisations and his many excellences as a performer. Under the spell of his imagination the organ becomes a flexible and elastic instrument of which he demands pianistic lightness and orchestral richness of color. In this respect the few organ works of Saint-Saëns stand at the head of all French contributions to organ literature. Freedom from all scholastic tradition and the improvisation-like character of most of his organ works make them highly interesting. The Fantaisie in D-flat major (opus 101), his best work, is appropriately named, for it is music without prearranged plan and is harmonically most piquant, especially the ending with its descending harmonies over an organ-point. His three Rhapsodies are all brilliant and attractive concert-pieces, as are also his Preludes. Only in the Fugues associated with these Preludes does Saint-Saëns, in common with all French composers except César Franck, fall short—the fugue is essentially the property of German art.

Felix Alexandre Guilmant (1837-1911), one of the most celebrated French organ composers and virtuosos, extended his fame by many concert tours throughout Europe and two in the United States (in 1893 and 1903). The larger part of his compositions is for organ. These show rich, fluent melody, always clear form and a rare skill in utilizing the possibilities of organ tone-color. The popularity of his works among organists is enhanced by the moderate technical demands required for their performance. Guilmant possessed astonishing facility in improvisation (an interesting feature on most of his concert programs) and won the admiration and respect of musicians of all countries by his propaganda for the classical masters. His historical recitals at the Trocadéro during the Paris Exposition of 1878 attracted international notice and later he published a large and valuable collection entitled Archives des maîtres de l’orgue. From 1871 to 1902 he was organist at La Trinité, Paris, which position he gained by his remarkable playing at the inauguration of the organs at St. Sulpice and Nôtre Dame. His organ compositions are numerous and highly original. The most important of them are the eight sonatas. Of these the first sonata in D minor, opus 42, is the favorite one among organists and the finest in breadth of conception and unity of construction. It is grateful, effective concert music, very clear in form and typically French in invention. The first movement is powerful and majestic, the Pastorale tender and most expressive, and the Finale a brilliant display-piece with its toccata-like motive. This sonata is also published as a symphony for organ and orchestra—a most impressive work. Sonata No. 3 in C minor, opus 56, is a fine work with an excellent Finale (Fugue). Sonata No. 5 in C minor, opus 80, possesses a strong, passionate first movement, an effective Scherzo with its ingenious little staccato fugato and a Finale that is one of Guilmant’s best and most forceful movements. The sonata is dedicated to Clarence Eddy and in the last movement the composer ingeniously and tactfully builds his theme from the initials of his own name and that of the American organist—C-G-E-A. The sixth sonata, opus 86. is a beautiful work in all its movements. Sonata No. 8 in A major, opus 91—he calls it ‘Symphony for organ and orchestra’—has an especially attractive Scherzo and the Finale is brilliant and strong.

Besides the sonatas, Guilmant has written prolifically in smaller forms and in various styles, in all of which he makes excellent practical use of the possible effects of the instrument for which his music is so well adapted. The ‘Fugue in D’ is one of the strongest French fugues and shows how deeply he had lived into Bach’s favorite form. The ‘Religious March’ is cleverly constructed on a theme from Handel’s ‘Messiah’ and is built up with an original secondary subject (a smooth, brilliant fugato) to an imposing climax. The ‘Funeral March and Seraphic Song’ enjoys deserved popularity. The Finale (‘Seraphic Song’) is especially notable with its double pedal effect (the melody being played with the right foot) and sparkling harp-like arpeggios on the manuals. In all his writings Guilmant reveals a fanciful imagination and is always sure of good effect. In ‘Lamentation,’ for example, he displays his artistic resourcefulness in transforming the sad march-like theme (in the pedal) of the first part into a theme of religious consolation at the end (Hymn: Jerusalem convertere).

II

Charles Marie Widor (born 1845), organist of St. Sulpice in Paris since 1870, is the most distinguished of the living French organists and organ composers. Having succeeded César Franck as professor of organ-playing at the Conservatoire in 1890 and Dubois as professor of composition in 1896, he occupies a position of extraordinary importance in contemporary French organ-music as composer, teacher and performer. While he is known in America almost exclusively by his activities associated with the organ, he has written extensively for the pianoforte, the voice and the orchestra (two symphonies, three concertos, etc.) and much in chamber-music forms. His best writings for organ are ten symphonies which together constitute one of the noblest gifts that any composer has ever made to organ literature. In these works he shows himself a thoroughly representative French composer, combining all the brilliant qualities of the modern French school. Influenced somewhat by Liszt and Berlioz in his earlier works (the first series of symphonies), he represents the finest progress in the French art of organ-playing in the last three decades.

His first eight organ symphonies (in reality sonatas) were published in two series—opus 13 (Nos. 1-4) and opus 42 (Nos. 5-8). These are in a class by themselves and deserve especial attention and study. The title ‘symphony’ is often justified in the enlarged form used and in the elaborate development of individual movements. Most of them contain from four to six movements. In the first symphony in C minor the best movements are the first, second and fifth. The first two movements of the second in D are the most attractive. No. 3 in E (a kind of suite, consisting of Prelude, Minuet, March, Canon, Fugue and a brilliant Finale) is the easiest of the symphonies and of less importance than the others. No. 4 is excellent throughout, the first and fourth being possibly the best movements. The first of the second series of symphonies—No. 5 in F—is probably the most popular of the ten among organists, since it possesses the double merit of being fine, inspiring music and at the same time offering excellent opportunity to display both the performer and the resources of the modern organ to good advantage—especially in the first movement (Allegro vivace in variation form), in the second (Allegro cantabile) and in the Finale (Toccata) with its brilliant staccato technique. No. 6 is musically far superior to No. 5 and is one of the most masterly works in the entire organ literature, the first movement being particularly imposing in its breadth and grandeur of conception, and the second rich in noble sentiment. In No. 7 the fourth and last movements are especially interesting. No. 8 is one of the most beautiful of Widor’s works—the first movement being of brilliant effect and the second full of musical warmth.

In addition to these eight, Widor has written the Symphonie Gothique in C minor, opus 70, and the Symphonie Romane in B minor, opus 73. The former is one of his most notable compositions; in the first movement sombre-hued, suppressed emotion is portrayed in a most interesting harmonic garb, while the fine melodic line of the second movement forms effective contrast, and the Finale displays brilliant technical features. In the first movement of the Symphonie Romane there is a very ingenious and original elaboration of a Gregorian chant used as theme. The Cantilena (third movement) is lovely music and the Finale brilliant and dashing. The Symphonia Sacra, opus 83, is a massive work for organ and orchestra constructed on a theme borrowed from the melody of the old Latin hymn of St. Ambrose (fourth century), Veni redemptor gentium, a hymn which Martin Luther translated for Johann Walther’s Gesangbuch (1524) under the title of Nun komm der Heiden Heiland. Upon this chorale (which Bach has also used in several of his organ preludes) Widor builds up a mighty Gothic cathedral in tones, in the construction of which organ and orchestra vie with each other in supplying vital plastic material. The employment of the chorale in this modern French work, coming as it does contemporaneously with Reger’s remarkable Chorale-Fantasias in Germany, is evidence that the resources of the old church-chorale have not been exhausted and that the classic circle beginning with Pachelbel and Bach has expanded its circumference to embrace congenial masters from any country; and here the modern Frenchman, Widor, touches elbows with the German, Reger. This interesting work was given its first American performance by Wilhelm Middelschulte with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in February, 1911.

Clément François Théodore Dubois (born 1837), organist at the Madeleine from 1877 to 1896 (succeeding Saint-Saëns) and director of the Conservatoire, after Ambroise Thomas’ death, from 1896 to 1905, occupies a respected position as an organ composer. Much of his best composition, however, is in other fields. His shorter organ pieces are numerous and generally effective, especially for church use. His melodies are mostly noble and fluent and his harmony modern and interesting, inclining toward orchestral effects. The pedal part frequently lacks independence. These compositions are so well known that it would be superfluous to name more than a few of the more familiar ones: Messe de Marriage, Fiat Lux, ‘Hosanna,’ ‘March of the Magi’ (with the highest B held through the entire piece, representing the star in the East), and In Paradisum.

Eugène Gigout (born 1844), organist of St. Augustin and director of an organ school in Paris, is one of the first names among French writers for organ. He inclines more to the classical style than do most of his French colleagues. Among his best pieces are Prière en form de Prélude, Pèlerinage, Andante varié, Marche religieuse, Marche funèbre, Andante Symphonique.

Théodore César Salomé (1834-1896), for many years second organist at La Trinité, is best known by his Sonata in C minor, an effective work.

Samuel Alexandre Rousseau (1853-1904), pupil of César Franck and chapel-master of St. Clotilde, Paris, wrote valuable compositions for the organ that show much creative power. Of these the Double Thème varié is the best.

Leon Boëllmann (1862-1897) was a fine organist in Paris, the full development of whose artistic powers was prevented by his early death. He was nearly equally successful in all styles of composition, leaving no less than sixty-eight published works. The Suite Gothique in C minor is his most popular organ work. He also wrote a Fantaisie dialoguée for organ and orchestra.

Ferdinand de la Tombelle (born 1854), a pupil of Guilmant and Dubois at the Conservatoire at Paris, has written much organ music that has enjoyed a measure of popularity both in England and America.

The school of younger French organ composers shows a well-defined tendency to adopt an impressionistic style, without losing, however, the characteristically French brilliance, grace and melodic charm. Among its leaders will be found Joseph Bonnet (born 1884 at Bordeaux), organist at St. Eustache and Guilmant’s successor at the Paris Conservatoire. Other young French composers are A. Maquaire, a pupil of Widor, whom he assists at St. Sulpice; Charles Quef, organist at La Trinité; J. Ermand Bonnal, and others.

III

Germany always has been, and still is, the special champion of intellectual organ music, as France has been of brilliant, melodious and colorful organ music. Bach and the churchly function of the organ have been the two factors in German organ music that have determined its lines of development almost up to the present. The concert organ placed in public halls, that has been such a prominent element in the development of organ music and its popular appreciation in France, England and America through the giving of concerts or recitals, has only recently made its appearance in Germany. There the organ is still a church, not a recital, instrument. Then, too, modern German organ-builders have been much slower than either French, English or American builders in adopting mechanical improvements. Until very recently an organ suitable for the adequate performance of a monochrome Bach fugue has been the ideal of the German builder, and at the opening of the twentieth century there were hundreds of such organs in large German churches, with eighteenth-century mechanical appliances. The ‘swell-box’ was not adopted until late in the nineteenth century; and the wonderful development in nineteenth-century German orchestral art found echoes only here and there in German organ music. In the past three decades, however, some magnificent modern instruments have been installed in Germany and there are already abundant evidences that a progressive spirit has taken firm hold upon its organ-builders and its organ-music. At present Germany possesses but few composers for the organ whose works have exerted large influence, but these are very important in their relation to the development of organ music.

Carl Piutti (1846-1902) was born in Elgersburg, Thuringia, and educated at the Leipzig Conservatory, where he taught from 1875 until his death. After 1880 he was organist at the Thomas Church. Of his comparatively few organ compositions, his Sonata in G minor, opus 22, deserves special mention; it is imposing in its proportions and is one of the most brilliant examples of modern German organ art.

Ernst Hans Fährmann (born 1860), organist of the Johanneskirche in Dresden, is an excellent composer for his instrument. His best work is Sonata in C major, opus 22; the Sonata in A minor, opus 18, is also a brilliant and effective work.

Friedrich Klose (born 1862 in Karlsruhe, lives in Munich) has written much for orchestra with organ, but has contributed one important work for organ alone—Prelude, Double Fugue and Chorale (Chorale at the conclusion for 4 trumpets and 4 trombones). This work, which is dedicated to Anton Bruckner, had its origin in an improvisation by Bruckner in Bayreuth. Klose, an enthusiastic admirer of the Viennese master, uses the theme of Bruckner in building up an imposing, powerful work—very impressive in the introduction and majestic in its great climax (over an organ-point of thirty measures).

Max Reger (born 1873 at Brand, Bavaria) is the greatest living master of organ composition. Astounding mastery over the technical side of composition (he is probably the greatest contrapuntist since Bach), wonderful richness in his harmonic formations, and a phenomenal power of expression, are some of his admirable traits. He is the leader of the ultra-modern German school and, though still a comparatively young man, is one of the most prolific writers in all musical history. Of his first hundred opuses, twenty-two are for organ, each ranging in size from a set of from four to ten pieces to a sonata or a chorale-fantasia. He is a distinct innovator in his harmonic scheme, but is often accused of lacking warmth. Intensely modern in his harmonic feeling, his novel harmonies do not spring so much from chord movement in the ordinary sense as from the happy sounding together of independently moving melodies. The influence of his exuberant polyphony is everywhere felt in his writings. He is clearly an intellectualist and his art appears at its highest in the most complicated structures, such as the chorale-fantasias and variations, where he presents movements of sublimest beauty and greatest depths, as only a great master can.

The chorale-fantasias of Reger cultivate a new field, suggested, however, by Sebastian Bach in his one example, O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig, where he composes three verses, not variations. The characteristic is that each verse, according to the poetic suggestion of the text, assumes an entirely original form, but all are organically molded into one whole. At the end there usually appears a colossal fugue, where the melody of the chorale is interwoven with the themes of the fugue. His great chorale-fantasias are: Ein’ feste Burg; Freu’ dich sehr, O meine Seele; Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern; Straf mich nicht in deinem Zorn; Alle Menschen müssen sterben; Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme. Next in importance come the Fantasia on B-A-C-H, opus 46, and the Symphonic Fantasia and Fugue, opus 57. There are two sonatas—opus 33 in F-sharp minor and opus 60 in D minor—and several sets of short pieces. Among the latter group several of the Monologues (opus 63), and several of both opus 59 (Benedictus and Pastorale in particular) and opus 69 are favorite numbers with recitalists.

Sigfrid Karg-Elert (born 1878, lives in Leipzig), though a young man, is an important figure in German music of to-day. He has already published over a hundred works and they bear the stamp of talent of the highest order. He is a modernist of pronounced, sometimes extravagant, type in his harmonic feeling and combines with this a brilliant style of expression. His Passacaglia in E-flat minor is a scholarly work; the Sonatina No. 1 in A minor, opus 74, is built on large lines, notwithstanding the title; of his groups of smaller pieces, some of the better known are Three Impressions, opus 72 (‘Moonlight,’ ‘Night’ and ‘Harmonies of Evening’), and Ten Characteristic Pieces, opus 86 (Prologus Tragicus, ‘Impression,’ ‘Canzona,’ etc.).

The most prominent of living Danish composers for the organ is Otto Malling (born 1848, living in Copenhagen), whose works are both numerous and strikingly individual. The majority of his organ compositions take the form of mood-pictures inspired by biblical subjects, most of which centre around the life and times of Christ, as the ‘Holy Virgin’ suite of six pieces, opus 70 (‘The Annunciation,’ ‘Mary visits Elizabeth and praises God,’ ‘The Holy Night,’ etc.).

IV

Until the last quarter of the nineteenth century organ music in Italy had remained practically where Frescobaldi had left it. Very little progress had been made during the intervening two centuries either in organ music or in organ-building. Musical Italy was almost wholly absorbed in vocal music and the opera. Church music had sunk to lamentable depths of triviality and secularity. Independent organ music received only the slightest attention and absolute stagnation reigned. When Guilmant, in the eighties of the last century, opened the new organ in the church of St. Louis des Français in Rome by giving daily recitals for two weeks, he gave many of the well-known Bach and Handel works their first performance in Italy! Even now there are very few modern organs in Italy. The names of Italian organists, therefore, are very few in number, even when the present generation is reached.

In the eighteenth century only one Italian organist stands out with any prominence, Francesco Antonio Vallotti (1697-1780), chapel-master of the Church of San Antonio in Padua. He was recognized as a great writer of church-music and Tartini, his contemporary, spoke in warmest terms of his playing. He was the teacher of the famous Abbé Vogler.

Marco Santucci (1762-1843), maestro of the cathedral at Lucca, wrote 12 fugued sonatas for organ and Vincenzo Antonio Petrali (1832-1889) had a great reputation as an improvisator and virtuoso.

Of the living Italian organists the most prominent and influential are Capocci and Bossi, both of whom have striven valiantly to bring Italian organ-art back to the place of eminence it occupied in the early centuries. The elder of these musicians, Filippo Capocci (born 1840), has been the organist of St. John Lateran in Rome since 1875 and his organ is said to be the finest in Italy. He is not only a fine performer, but also a gifted composer of serious aims. He has written six sonatas and twelve volumes of original organ-pieces, mostly attractive and valuable. The sonatas are his best works, in which he follows classical lines.

Enrico Marco Bossi (born 1861) was organist of the Cathedral of Como from 1881 to 1891, in 1896 he was appointed director of the Liceo Benedetto Marcello in Venice, in which institution he also taught organ and advanced composition, and since 1902 he has been director of the Liceo Musicale in Bologna. He is Italy’s greatest organist to-day and has also been a prolific writer in many fields—organ as well as choral, orchestral and chamber music. His fine inventive genius, bold harmonic feeling and originality of design, coupled with a certain severity of style, are well illustrated in his best works—a concerto for organ and orchestra, opus 100 (especially the first movement of which is built up to a powerful climax), two sonatas (opus 60 and opus 77), and a large number of compositions in smaller forms, such as Marche Héroique, Étude Symphonique, Toccata, Romanza, Idylle, Hora Mystica, Scherzo in G minor, etc. In 1893 with Tebaldini he published ‘A School of Modern Organ-Playing,’ which is a standard work.

Oreste Ravanello (born 1871), organist of St. Mark’s, Venice (1892), and director of music of Antonius Basilica in Padua (1898), is to be named among the best Italian writers of the present. His Fantasia in F minor is an effective concert number.

Lorenzo Perosi (born 1872) was appointed by Pope Leo XIII musical director of the Sistine Chapel in 1898 and has written trios and preludes for the organ.

Ferruccio Benvenuto Busoni (born 1865 at Florence), the profound Bach scholar, has made the most important contribution to modern organ literature by an Italian—the Fantasia contrapuntistica (on a fragment by Sebastian Bach). Bach’s last unfinished work was intended as a fugue with four themes, but only the first, second and part of the third fugues were left. What the fourth theme was to be, remained a mystery until the well-known theorist Bernhard Ziehn (1845-1912) of Chicago solved it convincingly, thus showing the possibilities of Bach’s fragment. With this suggestion Busoni has accomplished the gigantic task with admirable result. The work really consists of seven fugues, three of them being variations (a new idea in this form) of the preceding fugues. It exists in three versions: for piano by Busoni; for organ, transcribed by Wilhelm Middelschulte; and for orchestra and organ, transcribed by Frederick Stock, conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. As an organ piece it is the most difficult work in the entire organ literature.

V

About 1850 the widespread dissatisfaction of English organists with the crude and incomplete instruments of the period began to have an appreciable effect on English organ-builders. In the years soon following the middle of the century notable improvements were made—larger and more complete organs were built, pedals were more common in church organs and complete pedal-boards were introduced, the obsolete ‘unequal temperament’ system of tuning was generally discarded and the ‘swell to tenor G’ half-keyboard was discontinued. When these necessary improvements were made, English organ art advanced rapidly and an array of eminent organists came into view whose united labors as performers and composers brought the organ into its present position of great influence in England and made possible the fine achievements of the present generation of younger British organists and organ-composers.

Prominent in this group are the names of Sir Herbert Stanley Oakley (1830-1903), professor of music at Edinburgh University from 1865 to 1891 and regarded as a player of exceptional ability and a good composer; George Mursell Garrett (1834-1891), organist to Cambridge University and the composer of much church and organ music; Edmund Hart Turpin (born 1835), for many years regarded as one of England’s greatest concert organists; Sir John Stainer (1840-1901), one of the most prominent English musicians of his day, organist at St. Paul’s, London (1872-1888), professor of music at Oxford University from 1889 and composer of many sacred cantatas and much church and organ music of serious character; Sir Walter Parratt (born 1841), since 1883 professor of organ at the Royal College of Music and since 1893 master of music to the royal household; Albert Lister Peace (born 1844), a fine organ-virtuoso, the successor (1897) of W. T. Best as organist of St. George’s Hall, Liverpool, which is regarded as one of the best appointments in the United Kingdom; Sir John Frederick Bridge (born 1844), organist of Westminster Abbey from 1882, composer of much good church music and the author of text-books on counterpoint and organ accompaniment; and Sir George C. Martin (born 1844), organist of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, after 1888 and a distinguished writer of dignified music for the church service.

The best known of the younger generation of English organists and organ-composers in America is Edwin Henry Lemare (born 1865), who is generally regarded as Best’s legitimate successor in the organ-concert field. He first attracted large notice by his recitals while organist of St. Margaret’s, London. His reputation in the United States was greatly increased during his two years’ tenure of the post of organist of Carnegie Institute, Pittsburg (1902-1904), and by several extended concert tours before and after that appointment. In his organ compositions, which are very numerous, he cultivates mostly a ‘light’ or ‘popular’ style, though his writing reveals a facile command of the means of musical expression. His Symphony in D minor is his largest work and it is a brilliant, strong composition.

William Wolstenholme (born 1865), though blind from birth, has attained a high place for himself both as a performer (he made a short tour in the United States in 1908) and as a composer of exquisite invention. Over sixty of his compositions for organ are published, including two sonatas. Alfred Hollins (born 1865) is also a blind organist, whose compositions for the organ have the same qualities of lovely melody and interesting harmony. He lives in Edinburgh, Scotland.

William Faulkes, organist of St. Margaret’s church, Anfield, Liverpool, England, is a prolific writer of organ music of the ‘attractive’ type.

Sir Edward Elgar (born 1857) has written very little for the organ. His Sonata in G, opus 28, is important, however. The ‘Pomp and Circumstance March,’ so popular with organists, is an arrangement from a march for military band written for the festivities of the Coronation of Edward VII, played for the first time at the Promenade Concert, London, Oct. 22, 1901.

Basil Harwood (born 1859) is a composer of serious aims and ample technical equipment. His organ works include a Sonata in C-sharp minor and ‘Pæan.’ Other prominent English organ composers of the present generation are Julius Harrison, now living in London, Hugh Blair and Purcell J. Mansfield.

VI

The history of organ music in the United States is difficult of comparison with that of European countries, for its development here has been so recent. Organ-building on a large scale did not begin until about 1850 and organ-music of intrinsic value by native composers did not appear until a couple of decades later. But since then progress in every branch of organ art has been truly remarkable, and this cumulative development has atoned in large measure for earlier backwardness and slowness. In the quality of both organ-building and organ-music produced in this country at the present time, American achievement need not shun comparison with the best contemporary European efforts.

The rapidly increasing popularity of the organ as a recital instrument in America is traceable to several causes. At the foundation, of course, is the widely diffused public appreciation of good music of all kinds, fostered and stimulated by the annual flood of concerts—orchestral, choral and chamber-music—and by the recitals of individual artists in every field that are given even in cities of comparatively small size. But two causes have contributed particularly to the appreciation of organ music: (1) the rapid progress that has been made in the last twenty-five years by American organ-builders in all matters pertaining to mechanical appliances and tone-quality, with the result that magnificent instruments are now to be found in almost every city in the land, some of which are in public halls, municipally owned and maintained for purposes of public culture; and (2) a notable improvement in the standards of organ-playing and general musicianship among organists themselves. A factor of large importance in this movement has been the activity of the American Guild of Organists, modelled after the Royal College of Organists in London and founded in 1896 in New York City ‘to raise the standard of efficiency of organists by examinations in organ playing, in the theory of music and in general musical knowledge; and to grant certificates of Fellowship and Associateship to members of the Guild who pass such examinations.’ (Excerpt from the Constitution of this Guild.) This Guild now (1915) numbers among its members over 1600 prominent organists in the United States and Canada. Part of its regular propaganda is the giving of public services and organ recitals of high musical quality.

The first organ in America was the famous old Brattle organ, imported and left by Thomas Brattle, treasurer of Harvard College, by his will in 1713 to the Brattle Square Church, Boston. But since the church voted that it was not proper ‘to use said organ in the public worship of God,’ it was erected in King’s Chapel, Boston, in 1714, where it remained until 1756. For eighty years after this date it was in constant use in St. Paul’s Church, Newbury. It was then sold to St. John’s Church, Portsmouth, New Hampshire. It was in existence in 1901, when it was displayed at an exhibition of musical instruments in Horticultural Hall, Boston. This historically interesting old instrument had only six stops.

John Clemm is said to have erected the first American built organ in Trinity Church, New York, in 1737. This organ had three manuals and 26 stops and was followed eight years later by a two-manual organ built by Edward Bromfield in Boston. Until the days of the Revolution it was in the Old South Church, but was burned during the siege of Boston. Many other small organs were built or imported for the larger churches, but organ-building in America may properly be said to begin with the erection in 1853 of the large four-manual organ with seventy stops and 3096 pipes, by Hook and Hastings in Tremont Temple, Boston. This was an organ of concert proportions and others soon followed in the large cities; chief among these early large organs were the one erected in Boston Music Hall (completed in 1863) and the one in the Cincinnati Music Hall in 1878.

American organists of the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries have no particular interest for us, save as mere historical reference. About the middle of the last century, however, coincident with the widespread awakening of popular interest in musical matters, there appeared a number of young organists, all of them with European training (mostly at Leipzig), who were well-equipped to handle a large organ and to play the organ music of the classical masters. Among these pioneers appear prominently the names of James Cutler Dunn Parker (born 1828), Benjamin Johnson Lang (1837-1909), and Samuel Parkman Tuckerman (1819-1890), among the group of Boston organists; George Washbourne Morgan (1823-1892), an Englishman who came to New York in 1853 and who was considered the first concert-organist in America; John Henry Willcox (1827-1875), a native of Georgia, educated at Trinity College, Hartford, Conn., and for the rest of his life an organist in Boston; Eugene Whitney Thayer (1838-1889), for many years organist at Music Hall, Boston; George William Warren (1828-1902), a self-taught musician who was for thirty years organist of St. Thomas’s in New York; and John Knowles Paine (1839-1906), from 1876 professor of music at Harvard University, who was one of the first, if not the first, American concert-organist who measured up to German standards of classical organ playing.

American organ music, however, begins with Dudley Buck (1839-1909), for he was not only a performer of finest attainments, but was the first American composer to gain general recognition, and among his best compositions are some large works for organ. For three years preceding the great Chicago fire of Oct. 9, 1871, he was organist of St. James’s Church in that city and for twenty-five years (1877-1902) he was organist of Holy Trinity Church, Brooklyn. His organ compositions show the influence of classical models, expressed in fluent, pleasing melody and attractive harmony with an always clear sense of form. His best organ-works include two sonatas (in E-flat, opus 22, and in G minor, opus 77), Concert Variations on ‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ and many smaller pieces, such as the familiar Idylle, ‘At Evening.’ In addition he wrote a great deal of church music with organ accompaniment. From the pedagogical side his work was equally valuable, including ‘18 Pedal-Phrasing Studies’ and ‘Illustrations in Choir-Accompaniment, with Hints on Registration,’ the latter of which is still of great practical value to organists.

The number of fine concert-organists increased so rapidly since those named above that no attempt will be made here even to enumerate them. The field of concert-organists cannot be passed over, however, without mention of two of their number whose influence, especially in the transitional years of the last two decades of the last century, was enormous in creating an interest in, and love for, good organ music. These organists are Frederick Archer (1838-1901) and Clarence Eddy (born 1851), both organ-virtuosos of the first rank, whose numerous and extended recital tours brought them into every part of the United States. Archer, who gained his first laurels as organist at Alexandra Palace, London, came to America in 1880 and became organist in Boston, Brooklyn, Chicago, and finally (1896) in Pittsburg where he served as city organist and musical director of Carnegie Music Hall. Clarence Eddy’s playing has brought him an international fame; he now (1915) resides in Chicago as concert-organist, teacher and writer.

Passing to the group of organ-composers, the endeavor will be made to name some of those—and a few important ones will doubtless be omitted where a choice must be made from a list that is increasing so rapidly—who have made substantial contributions to organ literature in the larger and more serious forms. This will of necessity leave untouched a multitude of worthy organ pieces of lighter vein that have already found much favor with organists.

In the front rank of American composers who have written worthily for the organ Arthur Foote (born 1853) must be named. His compositions in this field are not many, but they are important for their solid musicianship, clear form and eloquent melodic and harmonic expression. They include a much-played Suite in D and many short characteristic pieces. Arthur Foote has always lived in Boston.

Horatio Parker (born 1863), who has made such large contributions to choral and vocal fields, has written also for the organ, but almost exclusively in larger forms: Concerto in E-flat for organ and orchestra, Sonata in E-flat, and five sets of concert pieces.

Homer N. Bartlett (born 1845) is one of the most prolific of American composers in many fields and among his most important compositions are several organ works. His Suite in C, opus 205, is not only his most important organ composition, but it may well be named among the best American organ compositions. He has been for many years a prominent organist of New York City.

Horace Wadhams Nicholl (born 1848), an Englishman who came to America in the seventies, wrote 12 Symphonic Preludes and Fugues for organ, also a symphonic poem called ‘Life’ in six movements, which display scholarly attainments and command of intricate forms of writing.

James Hotchkiss Rogers (born 1857), who has lived in Cleveland since 1881, has written several notable things for his instrument, including two sonatas, a concert overture, and many small pieces.

William H. Dayas (1864-1903), though born in New York, went abroad when a young man and, after studying with Haupt in Berlin, succeeded Busoni in Helsingfors and later moved to England where he died. He left two brilliant organ sonatas—opus 5 in F major and opus 7 in C major.

Foremost among foreign-born organists and organ-composers who have made America their home, must be named Wilhelm Middelschulte (born in Westphalia, 1863), who has been the organist of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra since 1894. His compositions are all in large contrapuntal forms and display complete mastery of Bach’s intricate art. They include a Passacaglia in D minor, a Concerto for organ and orchestra, Canonic Fantasie and Fugue on four themes by J. S. Bach, and Canons and Fugue on the chorale Vater Unser im Himmelreich.

Among the large works of the earlier American composers that still survive are Eugene Thayer’s Sonata No. 5 in C minor, George E. Whiting’s Sonata in A minor and Henry M. Dunham’s two sonatas in F minor and G minor.

The number of organ works of really imposing proportions and solid musical worth by American composers is quite significant of the powerful undercurrents that are silently shaping the future of American music. If one were to select the living composers who are representative of the best present tendencies in organ composition in large forms in America, the following names, in addition to those mentioned above, would undoubtedly be among them: Mark Andrews, New York; René Becker, St. Louis; Felix Borowski (born 1872, lives in Chicago); Rossetter Cole (born 1866, lives in Chicago); Gaston M. Dethier (born 1875 in Belgium, lives in New York); Gottfried H. Federlein, New York; Ralph Kinder (born 1876, lives in Philadelphia); Will C. Macfarlane (born 1870, city organist of Portland, Maine); Russell King Miller, Philadelphia; and Harry Rowe Shelley (born 1858, lives in New York).

LITERATURE FOR VOLUME VI

In English

G. Ashdown Audsley: The Art of Organ Building (1905).

Dr. Theodore Baker: A Biographical Dictionary of Musicians (New York, 1905).

Dr. Charles Burney: History of Music, 4 vols. (London, 1789).

Edward Dickinson: Music in the History of the Western Church (New York, 1913).

Edward Dickinson: The Study of the History of Music (New York, 1911).

C. A. Edwards: Organs and Organ Building (1881).

Arthur Elson: Modern Composers of Europe (Boston, 1905).

Famous Composers and Their Works, ed. by Paine, Thomas and Klauser (Boston, 1891).

Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 5 vols., revised (London, 1904-10).

W. H. Hadow: Studies in Modern Music, 2 vols. (New York, 1892-3).

F. X. Haberl: Magister Choralis, transl. by Donnelly (New York, 1892).

Sir John Hawkins: General History of Music (London, 1853).

Arthur Hervey: French Music in the 19th Century (New York, 1903).

Edward Burlingame Hill: Vincent d’Indy: an Estimate (Musical Quarterly, April, 1915).

E. J. Hopkins: The Organ: Its History and Construction (1877).

Otto Jahn: The Life of Mozart, 3 vols., transl. by Pauline Townsend (London, 1882).

H. C. Lahee: The Organ and Its Masters (Boston, 1903).

Mrs. F. Liebach: Claude Achille Debussy (London, 1908).

M. Montagu-Nathan: History of Russian Music (London, 1915).

J. A. Fuller-Maitland: English Music in the 19th Century (New York, 1902).

Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy: Letters from Italy and Switzerland, transl. by Lady Wallace (New York, 1868).

Arthur Mees: Choirs and Choral Music (New York, 1911).

Emil Naumann: History of Music, Vol. I, transl. by Praeger (London).

Oxford History of Music, 5 vols. (Oxford, 1901-05).

Sir C. H. H. Parry: The Evolution of the Art of Music (New York, 1896).

Annie W. Patterson: The Story of the Oratorio (London, 1902).

Waldo Selden Pratt: The History of Music (New York, 1907).

Philipp Spitta: Life of Bach, 3 vols., transl. by Clara Bell and J. A. Fuller-Maitland (London, 1884-88).

George P. Upton: Standard Concert Guide (Chicago, 1912).

Dr. Karl Weinmann: History of Church Music (New York, 1910).

C. F. A. Williams: The Story of Organ Music (London, 1905).

In German

A. W. Ambros: Geschichte der Musik (Breslau, 1862-78).

Dr. Rudolph Cahn-Speyer: Debussy; eine kritisch ästetische Studie von Giacomo Settaccioli, besprochen (Die Musik, August, 1912).

Dr. Karl Grunsky: Musikgeschichte des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (1905).

Hermann Kretzschmar: Führer durch den Konzertsaal; 2te Abteilung; Kirchliche Werke (Leipzig, 1905).

Hermann Kretzschmar: Oratorien und weltliche Chorwerke (Leipzig, 1910).

Monographien moderner Musiker, 3 vols. (Leipzig, 1906).

Karl Proske: Musica Divina, Tome I (Ratisbon, 1853).

Hugo Riemann: Handbuch der Musikgeschichte, Vol. II (Leipzig, 1911).

Hugo Riemann: Musiklexikon, 8th ed. (Leipzig, 1914).

A. G. Ritter: Geschichte des Orgelspiels im 14-18. Jahrhundert (1884).

Arnold Schering: Geschichte des Oratoriums (Leipzig, 1911).

Max Steinitzer: Richard Strauss (Berlin and Leipzig, 1914).

Zum 40. Tonkünstlerfest des Allgemeinen Deutschen Musikvereins in Frankfurt a. M. (Die Musik, Vol. 4, 2tes Maiheft).

Zeitschrift der Internationalen Musikaesellschaft (Leipzig).

In French

Gaston Carraud: La musique pure dans l’école française contemporaine (S. I. M., Aug.-Sept., 1910).

D. Chennevrière: Claude Debussy et son Œuvre (Paris, Durand, 1913).

F. A. Gevaert: La mélopée antique dans le chant de l’église latine (1895).

Jules Combarieu: Histoire de la musique, Vol. II (Paris, 1913).

M. P. Hamel: Manuel du facteur d’orgues (1849).

A. Pougin: Essai historique sur la musique en Russie (Paris, 1904).

Romain Rolland: Musiciens d’aujourd’hui (Paris, 1908).

Paul de Stoecklin: Max Reger (Le Courrier musicale, April, 1906).

Maurice Touchard: La musique espagnole contemporaine (Nouvelle Revue, March, 1914).

Jean d’Udine: Rimsky-Korsakoff (Le Courrier musicale, July, 1908).

Egon Wellesz: Schoenberg et la jeune école Viennoise (S. I. M., March, 1912).

In Spanish

Pedrell: Organografia musical antigua española (1901).

INDEX FOR VOLUME VI

A

A cappella singing, xvii-f.

Abert (Bach transcription), 438.

Abington, Henry, 447.

Abrici, Vincenzo, 425.

Abt, Franz, 177.

Accompaniments, (Scarlatti), 108;
(Carissimi), 108f.

Act of Supremacy, 89.

Acworth, H. A., 213.

Adam de la Hâle, 25f.

Adams, Thomas, 475.

Adieu, mes amours (in French mass), 42.

Agnus Dei, 47f.

Agricola, Martin, 51.

Akimenko, 396.

Albert V, 56, 57.

[d’] Albert (Bach transcription), 440 (footnote).

Albert Hall, London (organ in), 411.

Albrechtsberger, Johann Georg, 458.

Aldrich, Richard (cited on Roman liturgy), 341.

Alexander Severus, 399.

Allegri, Gregorio, 66f.

Alphege, Bishop of Winchester, 401.

Amateur singers, xv.

Ambrogio, Alfredo, 393.

Ambros (cited on Palestrina), 68.

[St.] Ambrose, 8ff, 484.

Ambrosian hymns, 9.

America (choral music), 379ff;
(organs), 408;
(organ music), 495ff.

American Guild of Organists, 496.

Ammerbach, 428.

Andersen, Carl, 170.

André (organ builder), 405.

Andrews, Mark, 501.

[d’] Anglebert, Jean Henri, 442, 443.

Anglican Church (origin of), 89f.

Anglican Church music, 93ff;
(second period), 133f;
(third period), 134f;
(introduction of hymn), 135f;
(nineteenth century), 184f;
(use of Magnificat), 321.

Animuccia, 224.

[d’] Annunzio, Gabriele, 387.

Antegnati, Constanzo, 423.

Anthem (English), 90, 133f, 134f.

Antiphonal singing, 8.

Antokolsky, 395.

Arensky, 395;
Fountain of Bachtchissarai, 395.

Arne, Thomas (English organ composer), 472.

Arnold, [Sir] Edwin, 219f.

Arnold, Robert Franz, 353.

Arras (festival to Adam de la Hâle), 26.

Assyrians, 1.

Attaignant, Pierre, 441.

Attengnati family (organ builders), 405.

Aubade, 25 (footnote).

Austin, John T., 409.

Augsburg (as centre of organ music), 431.

Avery (organ builder), 406.

B

Bach, Johann Sebastian, 88, 91, 117, 119ff, 432, 434, 468;
(attitude toward church music), 121;
(arias), 122;
(church cantata), 122f;
(and the chorale), 123;
(vocal polyphony), 124;
(motets), 138;
(oratorio), 239f;
(mass), 319;
(church music), 325f;
(organ fingering), 423;
(chorale preludes), 429;
(organ music), 435ff, 456;
(pupils), 457f.
‘Ich hatte viel Bekümmerniss,’ 125.
‘Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit,’ 125f.
‘Ein’ feste Burg,’ 126f.
Christmas Oratorio, 240.
Passion According to St. Matthew, 241f.
Mass in B minor, 325ff.
Magnificat in D, 327.
Organ Preludes and Fugues, 437.
Fantasia in G minor, 438.
Organ sonatas, 439.

Bach, Wilhelm Friedemann, 456, 457.

Back positive. See Rückpositiv.

Baini (cited on Palestrina), 64;
(cit. on Frescobaldi), 424.

Baisez-moi (in mass), 42.

Bantock, Granville, 371f.
‘The Fire Worshippers,’ 372f.
‘Omar Khayyam,’ 372f.
Masses, 374.

Barker, C. S. (organ builder), 407.

Barnby, Joseph, 208.
‘Rebekah,’ 208.

Bartholomew, William, 179, 284.

Bartlett, Homer N., 499.

Basilica, Antonius, 491f.

Bassani, Giovanni Battista, 109, 425.

Basso ostinato. See Ground-bass.

Bates, Arlo, 222.

Batiste, Antoine Édouard, 467f.

Battishill, Jonathan, 472.

Bau, Édouard, 305.

Beach, Mrs. H. H. A., 222.

Becker, René, 501.

Beckwith, John Christmas (English organ composer), 472.

Beethoven, Ludwig van, 144f, 324, 458;
(oratorio), 264;
(mass), 319, 335f;
‘The Ruins of Athens,’ 144f.
Die Weihe des Hauses, 145.
‘The Glorious Moment,’ 145f.
‘Christ on the Mount of Olives,’ 264f.
Missa Solemnis, 335f.

Benedict, [Sir] Julius, 178f, 282.
‘The Legend of St. Cecilia,’ 179.
‘Benedictines of Solesme,’ 467.

Benedictus, Jacobus de, 320.

Bennett, Joseph, 207, 306, 308, 314.

Bennett, W. Sterndale, 183f.
‘The May Queen,’ 183f.
The Woman of Samaria, 282f.

Benoist, François, 466f.

Benoît, Pierre Léopold, 301f, 392.
Lucifer, 301f.

Berg, Alban, 353.

Berger, Wilhelm, 357.

Berlioz, Hector, 156ff, 170 (footnote).
The Damnation of Faust, 157f.
The Childhood of Christ, 286.
Requiem, 337f.
Te Deum, 339.

Bernard de Morlaix (12th cent. writer), 315.

Best, William Thomas, 477, 493.

Bird, Arthur, 460.

Blair, Hugh, 495.

Blasi, Luca, 405.

Blitheman (English organist), 448.

Blockx, Jan, 392.

Blow, John, 451, 475.

Blowers (organ), 403.

Boehm, 131.

Boëllmann, Leon, 486.

Boëly, Alexandre Pierre François, 466.

[St.] Bonaventura, 320.

Bonnal, Ermand, 486.

Bonnet, Joseph, 486.

Book of Common Prayer, 90.

‘Book of Orm,’ 369.

Borowski, Felix, 501.

Bossi, Enrico, 393; (organ music), 491.

Boston, U.S. (Handel and Haydn society), 219, 242, 314, 380;
(early and famous organs), 496f.

Boulestin, Xaver M. (quoted on Holbrooke), 376.

Bourgault-Ducoudray, 392.

Bourgeois, 96.

Boyce, William (English organ composer), 472.

Brahms, Johannes, 193f, 334;
(as organ composer), 463f.
Song of Triumph, 194.
Song of Destiny, 195f.
‘Rinaldo,’ 196.
German Requiem, 292f.

Brattle, Thomas, 496.

Brattle organ (America), 496.

Breitkopf & Härtel, 65, 71 (footnote), 332.

Brewer, A. H., 379.

Bridge, Sir John Frederick, 493.

Bridges, Robert (poet), 210.

Brockes, B. H., 244.

Bromfield, Edward, 496.

Brosig, Moritz (church composer), 324.

Browning, Robert, 369, 458.

Bruch, Max, 197ff.
‘Frithjof,’ 197f.
‘Fair Ellen,’ 198f.
‘The Cross of Fire,’ 199f.
‘Lay of the Bell,’ 200.
Odysseus, 200f.
Achilles, 201.
Arminius, 201.

Brucken-Fock, G. H. G. von, 358.

Bruckner, Anton, 488.

Bruneau, Alfred (quot. on Debussy), 387.

Buchanan, Robert, 369, 370.

Buck, Dudley, 218f, 498.
‘The Golden Legend,’ 219.
‘The Light of Asia,’ 219f.

Budapest Conservatory, 277.

Bull, John, 448, 449.

Bülow, Hans von (quoted on Verdi’s Mass), 344.

Bungert, August, 355f.

Burney (cited), 72, 102f.

Burns, 210.

Busch, Carl, 384.

Busoni, Ferruccio, 440, 492.

Buus, Jacques, 417.

Buxtehude, Dietrich, 433f, 436.

Byrd, William, 75, 98, 136, 449.

C

Cabezón, 445.

Caccini, 101.

Callaerts, Joseph, 470.

Calvin, 95, 96.

Campbell, 211.

Campion (English writer of odes), 141.

Candeille, 466.

Canon (earliest example), 32f.

Cantata, ix, 91, 99ff;
(German Church), 91, 113ff;
(first use of name), 101;
(17th cent.), 103f;
(early examples), 104;
(Italian), 109f;
(in France), 111;
(in Germany), 111f;
(texts), 117f;
(in 19th cent.), 142ff;
(chronological grouping), 189;
(modern), 189ff;
(English, late 19th cent.), 208;
(in United States), 218.

Cantata da camera, 101.

Canterbury Cathedral (organ), 408.

Cantors, 87f.

Cantus firmus, 20.

Canzona Francese, 418.

Canzonet, 25 (footnote), 140.

Capel-Cure, [Rev.] E., 361.

Capocci, Filippo, 491.

Cardiff Festival, 369.

Carissimi, Giacomo, 101f, 108, 227f;
(contemporaries), 230;
(oratorios), 247.
Jephta, 228f.

Carlyle (quot. on Séjan), 466.

Carrera, Rafael, 232.

Catoire, Georges, 396.

Cavaillé-Coll, Aristide, 407, 411.

Cavalieri, Emilio de, 100, 101 (footnote), 224f;
(contemporaries), 227.

Cecilia Society of Frankfort, 270.

Cecilian Society, 323.

Celles, Dom Jean François Bedos de, 445.

Cesti, Marc’ Antonio, 105.

Chadwick, George Whitfield, 221, 381, 464.
‘Judith,’ 381f.
‘Noël,’ 382.

Chamber organ, 411f.

Chamberlyn (organ builder), 405.

Chambonnières, Jacques Champion de, 442.

Chanson, 25 (footnote), 29, 46ff.

Chant, 21;
(oral transmission of), 5.
See also Gregorian chant.

Chapman (English masque writer), 141.

Charlemagne, 17f, 400.

Charles II, King of England, 90.

Charles IX, King of France, 57.

Charpentier, 391.

Cherubini, Luigi, 324, 333f.
Requiem Mass in C minor, 333.
Requiem Mass in D minor, 333f.
Eight Voice Credo, 334.
Mass in D minor, 334.

Choirs (double, etc.), 69.

Choral folk-singing, xii-f.

Choral music (origin and development), ix-f;
(divisions), xii-f;
(conditions essential to efficient performance), xiv;
(forms in use in United States), xiv-f;
(influence of), xviii;
(in Middle Ages), 1-98;
(kinds used in mediæval era), 52 (footnote);
(melody in treble), 83;
(contemporary), 347-397.
See also Cantata, Mass, Oratorio, Part-Song, etc.

Choral Societies, xv-f;
(first German), 185f;
(in France in 19th cent.), 187f.

Chorale, 79f, 83, 123.

Chorley, Henry F., 179, 183, 253.

Chromatic tones (first use), 22.

Church choirs, xv.

Church of England, 89.
See Anglican church.

Church music (early Christian) 1ff;
(influence of Hebrews), 3;
(influence of Græco-Roman music), 3;
(outside of Italy), 17;
(introduction of organ in service), 399;
See also Anglican church music; Lutheran church; Roman Catholic church, etc.

Church singers (importance in mediæval music), 22.

Civic choruses, xix.

Clarke-Whitfield, John, 473f.

Clement VII, Pope, 89.

Clemm, John, 496.

Clérambault, Louis Nicolas, 444.

Cole, Rossetter Gleason, 384f, 501.

Coleridge-Taylor, Samuel, 215f;
(choral works), 370f.
‘Scenes from the Song of Hiawatha,’ 216f.

Collin, Paul (poet), 296.

Collins (writer of odes), 141.

Cologne (early organ), 401.

Colomb (librettist for Franck), 297.

Columbi, Vincenzo, 405.

Comic opera (earliest example), 26f.

Commer, Franz, 425 (footnote).

Compenius (organ builder), 405.

Composition pedals (organ), 407.

Concert organ, 411f.

Concerto (name applied to cantata), 122 (footnote).

Congregational singing, xiv, 96f.

Constantine. See Konstantine.

Contemporaneous choral music, 359ff.

Converse, Frederick Shepherd, 383f.
‘Job,’ 383.

Cooke, Benjamin (English organ composer), 472.

Cooley, Elsie Jones, 384.

Cornelius Severus, 399.

Costa, Michael, 179.
‘The Dream,’ 179f.
‘Eli,’ 283f.

Councils. See Trent, Council of.

Couperin, François, 436, 442, 443f.

Couwenbergh, H. V., 409.

Coward, Henry, 368.

Cowen, Frederic Hymen, 314, 369f.

Cranach, Lucas, 427.

Crequillon, 421.

Croce, Giovanni, 70.

Croft, William, 451.

Cromwell, 452.

Crotch, William, 474.

Crowest, F. J. (quot. on ‘Messiah’), 252.

Crüger, Johann, 86.

Cueppers, F., 201.

Currendi, 88f.

D

‘Damnation of Faust’ (Berlioz), 170 (footnote).

Damrémont, General, 337.

Damrosch, Leopold, 220.

Dance songs, xii.

David, Félicien, 175f.
‘The Desert,’ 176f.

Davies, Henry Walford, 377f.
Everyman, 377f.
The Temple, 377f.
Hervé Riel, 378.

Day (choral collection), 91.

Dayas, William H., 500.

Debussy, Claude, 387f.
La Demoiselle élue, 387.
Le martyre de Saint-Sébastien, 387f.

Delaney (quot. on Mrs. Cibber), 251.

Delmotte, Heinrich (cited on Lassus), 58.

Dethier, Gaston, 501.

Dettingen Te Deum, 327f.

Devrient, Édouard, 242 (footnote).

Dialogue (name applied to cantata), 122 (footnote).

Diaphone (organ), 411.

Dickinson, Edward (quot.), 38, 63, 122;
(cited on Bach’s cantatas), 122.

Diminution (organ playing), 422.

Diruta, Girolamo, 422f.

Discant, 2, 20.

Division (in organ mechanism), 404.

Doddridge, 135f.

Doles, Johann Friedrich, 457.

Draeseke, Felix, 355.

Dresden (Royal Library), 109;
(Royal Chapel organ), 406.

Dryden, 110, 141, 210.

Dryvers, L., 409.

Dubois, Théodore, 206, 479, 485.
‘Paradise Lost,’ 305f.

Duddyngton (organ builder), 405.

Dufay (use of popular songs), 42
(footnote), 47f.

Dukas, 392.

Duke of Weimar, 277.

Dunham, Henry M., 500.

[St.] Dunstan, 401.

Duplex stop control, 409.

Dupuis, Thomas Sanders, 472.

Durante, 137.

Dvořák, Antonin, 202f, 322.
‘The Spectre’s Bride,’ 202f.
‘St. Ludmila,’ 293.
Requiem, 342.
Stabat Mater, 342f.

E

Early Christian music. See Church music.

Eccard, Johann, 85f.

Echo (in the organ), 406.

Eddy, Clarence, 460.

Edward VI of England, 90, 449.

Edwards (English madrigalist), 75.

Egyptians, 1.

Eisenach, 77 (footnote).

Electricity (applied to organ action), 407, 408f.

Elgar, [Sir] Edward, 211ff, 355, 359f;
(organ compositions), 494.
‘The Black Knight,’ 212.
‘The Banner of St. George,’ 212f.
‘Scenes from the Saga of King Olaf,’ 213.
‘Caractacus,’ 213f.
‘The Light of Life,’ 361f.
‘The Dream of Gerontius,’ 362f.
‘The Apostles,’ 364f.
‘The Kingdom,’ 366f.
‘The Music Makers,’ 367f.

Elizabeth, Queen of England, 90, 93, 448, 449.

Elwyn, Earl of, 401.

England (contemporary choral music), 359ff;
(organs, 15th cent.), 404.

Englefried, George and Charles, 410.

Enoch, Frederick, 181.

Erbach, Christian, 431.

Esterhazy, Count, 335.

Ett, Kaspar, 323.

Eyken, Jan Albert van, 469.

F

Fährmann, Ernst Hans, 487.

Faisst, Immanuel Gottlob Friedrich, 463.

Families of tone (in organ), 410.

Fantasia, 419.

Farmer, Henry, 346.

Fasolo, Giovanni Battista, 425.

Faulkes, William, 494.

Federlin, Gottfried H., 501.

Ferdinand III, 431.

Festa, Constanzo, 72.

Festivals (in England), 178.

Fétis (cited on Scarlatti), 231 (footnote);
(cited on Landino), 416;
(cited on Merulo), 420;
(cited on Gigault), 442;
(cited on Rinck), 459.

Fischer, Michael Gotthard, 458, 459.

Fitzwilliam Virginal Book, 449.

Fletcher (as writer of masques), 141.

Folk-song, xi, xii, 23f, 34;
(relation to art-music), 35f;
(influence upon German ritual), 93f;
(in Lutheran ritual), 113;
(rel. to part-song), 140.

Fontane, Theodor, 380.

Foote, Arthur, 221, 449.

Förner, C. F., 405.

France (modern choral music), 386ff;
(famous organs), 404;
(supremacy in modern organ music), 479.

Francesco degli organi, 416.

Franck, César, 295f;
(organ works), 470f.
‘Ruth and Boaz,’ 295.
‘The Beatitudes,’ 296f.
‘La Redemption,’ 296.
‘Rébecca,’ 296.
‘Psyché,’ 296.

Franco of Cologne, 18.

Franz, Robert, 177.

Frederick the Great, 245.

Frederick William of Prussia, 179.

Freiberg minster (organ), 406.

Frescobaldi, Girolamo, 424f, 436.

Fried, Oscar, 357.

Friedrich Augustus of Saxony, 148.

Froberger, Johann Jacob, 431, 442.

Frottola, 29f.

Fuchs, Albert, 355.

Fürst, 269.

G

Gabrieli, Andrea, 69, 421.

Gabrieli, Giovanni, 69, 234, 421.

Gade, Niels Wilhelm, 169ff.
‘The Crusaders,’ 170f.
‘The Erl-King’s Daughter,’ 171f.
‘Christmas Eve,’ 172f.
‘Comala,’ 173f.
‘Zion,’ 174f.
‘Spring’s Message,’ 175.

Gallo-Belgic School, 36f.

Garrett, George Mursell, 493.

Gauntlett, Henry John, 407.

Geibel, Emanuel, 198, 222.

George II, King of England, 250.

German church cantata, 114f.

Germany (church music), 111f;
(modern choral music), 347ff;
(famous organs), 404.

Giacomo, Lorenzo di, 405.

Gibbons, Orlando, 75, 98, 449f, 475.

Gibbons, Cardinal (quot. on Catholic mass), 38f.

Gigout, Eugène, 485.

Glazounoff, 395.

Glee, 138f.

Glière, 396.

Glosada, 404.

Goethe, 168, 172, 196, 348;
(quot. on Bach), 435.

Goetz, Hermann, 204.

Goss, [Sir] John, 475.

Gossec, 284.

Goudimel, 96.

Gounod, Charles, 205f;
(passion music), 245;
(oratorio), 286f;
(masses), 341f.
‘The Redemption,’ 287f.
Mors et Vita, 289f.

Graff, Wilhelm Paul (poet), 200.

Grainger, Percy, 377.

Grandval, C. de, 392.

Grapheus of Nuremberg (quot. on early masses), 37.

Graun, Karl Heinrich, 245f.
‘The Death of Jesus,’ 245f.
Prague Te Deum, 328.

Greek Orthodox Church, x;
(music of), 394.

Greeks, Ancient, 1.

Green, Samuel, 406.

Greene, Maurice, 451f.

Gregorian chant, 10, 36, 37, 285;
(modern reform movement), 299.

Gregorian Antiphonary, 11ff.

Gregory the Great, Pope, 9f.

Gregory VII, 13.

Grieg, Edvard Hagerup, 205.

Grignón, 396.

Grillparzer (librettist to Schubert), 150.

Ground-bass (first recorded use), 33.

Grove’s Dictionary (cited), 33, 66 (footnote), 106.

Guami, Gioseffo, 422.

Guéranger, Prosper, 467.

Guido d’Arezzo, 18.

Guilmant, Félix Alexandre, 442 (footnote), 444, 468, 479, 480ff, 490.
Fugue in D, 482.
Funeral March and Seraphic Song, 482.
Lamentation, 482.

Gutenberg, 155.

H

Haberl, F. X. (cited on Palestrina), 64 (footnote), 425 (footnote).

Hadley, Henry K., 383.

Hadow, W. H. (quot. on Beethoven), 336f.

Hahn, Reynaldo, 355, 388.

Halberstadt (early organ at), 402.

Hale, Philip, 460.

Hamburg (as centre of organ art), 433.

Hamerling (German poet), 210.

Hamilton, Newburg, 256.

Hammerschmidt, Andreas, 114 (footnote).

Handel, George Frederick, 127f, 134, 322, 434;
(passion music), 244;
(oratorios), 246ff;
(as organist), 452f;
(organ works), 454f.
‘Acis and Galatea,’ 127f.
‘Alexander’s Feast,’ 129.
‘L’Allegro,’ 129f.
‘Messiah,’ 249ff.
‘Israel in Egypt,’ 252f.
‘Judas Maccabæus,’ 254f.
‘Samson,’ 256f.
‘Utrecht Te Deum,’ 327f.

Handel and Haydn Society of Boston, 219, 242, 314, 380.

Harmony, 2.

Harris, René, 406.

Harrison, Julius, 495.

Harwood, Basil, 494f.

Haskell, C. S., 408.

Haskell, W. E., 410.

Hassler, Hans Leo, 421.
Herzlich thut mich verlangen, 430.

Hastings, 497.

Haupt, Karl August, 460.

Hauptmann, Maurice, 88.

Hausegger, Siegmund von, 357f.

Hawkins, [Sir] John (cit. on organ fantasias), 419;
(quot. on Handel), 454.

Haydn, Joseph, 130f;
(oratorio), 258ff.
Ariadne auf Naxos, 130f.
‘The Seven Words of Jesus on the Cross,’ 130.
‘The Creation,’ 259ff.
‘The Seasons,’ 261f.
Stabat Mater, 329.

Hebrews, 1.

Heliogabalus, 399.

Henrici, Friedrich, 244.

Henry VIII, King of England, 89, 449.

Henschel, Georg, 345.

Herbeck, 334.

Herder (poet), 192.

Hereford Festival, 322.

Hertz, Henrik, 182.

Hesse, Adolf Friedrich, 459f.

Heyse, Paul, 202.

Hiel, Emanuel (librettist to Benoît), 301.

Hildebrandt (organ builder), 405.

Hiller, Ferdinand, 168.
‘A Song of Victory,’ 168f.

Hobrecht, Jacob, 48.

Hofmann, Heinrich Karl Johann, 203f.

‘Melusina,’ 203f.

Hohenlohe, Archbishop, 280.

Holbrooke, Joseph, 374f.
‘Byron,’ 375.
‘The Bells,’ 375.
Dramatic Choral Symphony, 375.
‘Queen Mab,’ 375f.
‘To Zanthe,’ 376.
Apollo and the Seaman, 376.

Hölderlin, 195.

Hollins, Alfred, 494.

Holmès, Augusta, 391.

Holst, Gustave von, 376f.

[L’]Homme armé, 42 and footnote.

Hook and Hastings (organ builders), 497.

Hooker, Brian, 380.

Hope-Jones, Robert, 410f.

Hopkins, Edward John, 476.

Horn, C. F., 473.

Horn, Moritz, 166.

Horwitz, Karl, 353.

Huber, Hans, 358.

Huberti, G. L., 392.

Hucbald, 2, 18.

Humberston, F. W., 379.

Humfrey, Pelham, 133.

Hummel, 458.

Humperdinck, Engelbert, 357.

Huneker, James (quoted on Schönberg), 353.

Hungarian national march, 158.

‘Hunt’s-up’ (English song), 180 and footnote.

Hutchings, George S., 411.

Hydraulic organ, 398.

Hymnody (Luther’s influence on), 78ff.

I

[d’]Indy, Vincent, 386, 390f.

‘Song of the Bell,’ 391.

Innocent III, Pope, 320.

Instruments (in early Christian era), 7f.

Intervals, 1f;
(in part writing), 21.

Ippolitoff-Ivanoff, 396.

Irving, Washington, 219.

Italian cantata, 101ff.

Italy (modern choral music), 392ff;
(famous organs), 404.

Ivanovitch, Sergius, 396.

J

Jacobsen, Jens Peter, 353.

Jacobus de Benedictus, 320.

Jahn, Otto, 323.

Jalowetz, Heinrich, 353.

Jennens, Charles (librettist), 249.

Johann Georg, Elector of Saxony, 236.

Jonson, Ben, 141.

Jordans (organ builder), 406.

Josquin des Près, 48, 49ff.

Julian the Apostate, 400.

Julianus, Spanish bishop, 400.

K

Karg-Elert, Sigfrid, 489.

Karlsruhe Philharmonic Society, 195.

Kaun, Hugo, 358.

Kerl, Johann Kaspar, 431.

Keuchenthal (passion music), 236 (footnote).

Keyboard (organ), 402.

Kiesewetter, R. G. (quot. on Okeghem), 48.

Kind, Friedrich, 148.

Kinder, Ralph, 501.

Kindermann, Erasmus, 430.

Kingsley, Charles, 277, 379.

Kirbye (English madrigalist), 75.

Kirnberger, Johann Philipp, 457.

Kittel, Johann Christian, 458.

Klose, Friedrich, 488.

Koch, Friedrich, 357.

Köchel, 132 (footnote), 332.

Koninck, Lodemijk de (librettist), 299.

Konstantine, Kopronynus, 400.

Kotzebue, 141.

Kranz (organ builder), 405.

Krebs, Johann Ludwig, 458.

Kretzschmar, Hermann (quoted on Mozart), 329;
(cited on Beethoven), 335.

Ktesibos, 398.

Kuhnau, Johann, 88, 425.

L

Lachner, Franz, 150.

Lady Nevill’s Virginal Book, 449.

Laloy, Pierre (quot. on Debussy), 388.

Lambillotte, Louis, 467.

‘Lament’ for Charlemagne, 24 (footnote).

Lampadius (quot. on ‘St. Paul’), 270.

Landino, Francesco, 415, 427.

Lang, Benjamin Johnson, 497.

Langdon, W. C., 381.

Lange, Samuel de, 358, 469.

Lasso, Orlando di. See Lassus.

Lassus, Orlandus, 49, 56ff;
(secular compositions), 59f.
‘Penitential Psalms,’ 57f.
Gustate et Videte, 58f.

Leading motives, 301.

Le Bègue, Nicolas Antoine, 442.

Leeds festival, 322, 368.

Le Fanu, J. S., 211.

Lefebure-Wély, Louis J. A., 467.

Legrenzi, Giovanni, 105f.

Lemare, Henry, 494.

Lemmens, Nicolas Jacques, 468f.

Leo, Leonardo, 137.

Leo XIII, Pope, 289, 345.

Lerch (of minnesingers), 28 (footnote).

Lesueur, François, 285f.
Christmas Oratorio, 285f.

Liadoff, 395.

Lidley (librettist to Haydn), 259.

Lied (of minnesingers), 28 (footnote).

Lingg, H. (librettist), 197.

Liszt, Franz, 191f;
(choral works), 277f;
(Bach transcriptions), 438, 440 (footnote);
(as organ composer), 462.
‘The Bells of Strassburg,’ 191f.
‘Prometheus,’ 192f.
‘The Legend of St. Elizabeth,’ 277f.
Christus, 279f.
Missa Solemnis, 340f.
‘Hungarian Coronation Mass,’ 341.

Liturgic chant, 4.

Liturgy (Roman Catholic), x, 3f, 5, 318.
See also Mass.

Liverpool (organ at St. George’s Hall), 411.

Lobsinger (organ builder), 405.

Lohr, Harvey, 379.

London (Albert Hall organ), 411.

Longfellow, 191, 207, 212, 213, 216, 219, 221, 370, 380, 384.

Louis XII, King of France, 50.

Louis the Debonnaire, 400.

Lucinius, 427.

Luther, Martin, 53, 77ff, 89, 90, 236f, 484;
(compositions), 79, 80 (footnote).

Lutheran service, 77f, 81, 115f;
(Deutsche Messe), 82.

Luzzaschi, Luzzasco, 422.

M

Macfarlane, Will C., 501.

Macfarren, George Alexander, 180f, 282, 322.
‘May Day,’ 180.
‘The Lady of the Lake,’ 180f.

Mackenzie, Alexander Campbell, 210f, 368.
‘The Rose of Sharon,’ 306f.
‘Bethlehem,’ 308.

McLean, M., 379.

Macy, John, 384.

Madan’s Collection of Psalms and Hymn Tunes, 135.

Madrigal, xii, 30f, 70ff;
(of Netherland period), 46ff;
(in Germany), 72f;
(in France), 73;
(in England), 73f;
(decline), 138.

Magnard, 392.

Magnificat, 321;
(Dufay), 54f.

Mahler, Gustav, 357.

Maitland, J. H. Fuller (quoted on Brahms’ ‘German Requiem’), 293.

Male choruses, xvi.

Malling, Otto, 489f.

Malory (Morte d’Arthur), 368.

Mansfield, Purcell J., 495.

Manuals (organ), 405, 406.

Manuscripts (earliest known), 7.

Manzoni, Alessandro, 343.

Mapes, Walter, 60.

Maquaire, A., 486.

Marcellus II, Pope, 64.

Marchand, Louis, 444.

Marenzio, Luca, 72.

Martin, George C., 493.

Martini, Padre, 458.

Marx, A. B., 269.

Mary, Queen of England, 449.

Mary, Queen of Scots, 103.

Masque, 141.

Mass, xii, 38ff;
(use of secular subjects), 41f;
(origin of name), 42;
(development during Netherland period), 46ff;
(introduction of hymn), 85;
(order of movements), 318f;
(classification), 319ff;
(19th-cent. reform), 323;
(Mozart), 323, 329;
(Bach), 324ff;
(Haydn), 329;
(Cherubini), 333f;
(Beethoven), 335f;
(Liszt), 340f;
(Gounod), 341f;
(modern), 345f.

Massenet, Jules, 206;
(oratorio), 303f.
Ève, 303f.
Marie Madeleine, 304.

Mathieu, Émile, 392.

Mattheson, Johann, 118.

Mattheson (friend of Mendelssohn), 453.

Matthison, Arthur, 208.

Maximilian, Emperor of Austria, 427.

Measured music, 5.

Mees, Arthur (quot.), 62, 243.

Meistersinger, 27f.

Melody (placed in treble), 83.

Mendelssohn, Arnold, 357.

Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Felix, 151ff;
(part-song), 186;
(oratorio), 268ff;
(quot. on Bach), 437;
(organ works), 461f.
‘The First Walpurgis Night,’ 152f.
‘As the Hart Pants,’ 153f.
‘Come, Let Us Sing,’ 154f.
Gutenberg Festival Cantata, 155.
Lauda Sion, 155.
‘Antigone,’ 155f.
‘Œdipus at Colonos,’ 156.
‘St. Paul,’ 269ff.
‘Elijah,’ 272ff.
‘Hymn of Praise,’ 276.

Merkel, Gustav Adolf, 463.

Merulo, Claudio, 420, 422.

Middelschulte, Wilhelm, 440 (footnote), 500.

Miller, Russell King, 501.

Milton, John (English masque writer), 141, 210, 256, 259.

Minnesingers, 26ff.

Miracle plays, 224.

Modal harmony, 56.

Monasteries (St. Gall), 8;
(study of music), 18.

Monophonic music, 1.

Monteverdi, 101.

Moore, Thomas (author of ‘Lalla Rookh’), 163.

Morell, Rev. Thomas (librettist to Handel), 254.

Morgan, George W., 460, 497.

Motet (Netherland period), 46ff;
(Josquin), 50;
(early history), 52f;
(subjects and early examples), 54f;
(18th cent.), 136f;
(19th cent.), 185.

Moussorgsky, Modeste, 395;
Destruction of Sennacherib, 395.

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 131f;
(relation to Haydn), 258 and footnote;
(mass), 323, 331f.
‘King Thamos,’ 131.
Masonic Cantatas, 132.
Davidde Penitente, 132.
Requiem, 329ff.
Coronation Mass, 332f.

Muffat, Georg, 432.

Multiple stop control, 409.

Mumford, Ethel Watts, 383.

Musæ Sioniæ (hymn collection), 86.

Music festivals (in England), 178.

Musica Transalpina (madrigal collection), 72, 73.

Musical Art Society of New York, xviii.

N

Napier, Hampdon (librettist to Weber), 148.

Napoleon I, 259, 339.

Nares, James (English organ composer), 472.

Nassare, Pablo, 445.

National Conservatory of Music, New York, 222.

National songs, xii.

Naumann, Emil (cit.), 24;
(quot. on Ecce Ancilla), 47;
(cited on Okeghem), 49;
(cited on Luther’s hymns), 85.

Nekrassoff, 395.

Nero, 399.

Netherland schools, 46ff;
(mass), 37f;
(use of secular subjects), 43f;
(texts), 44;
(differentiation of schools), 47f;
(organists), 417.

Neumes, 5f.

Newman, Cardinal (cited on dream of Gerontius), 362.

Newman, Ernest (quoted on Schönberg), 354.

Nicetas, Bishop of Remesiana, 322.

Nicholl, Horace Wadhams, 500.

Nigond, Gabriel, 389.

Ninfale, 415.

Nisard, Theódore, 467.

Noordt, Anthony van, 466.

Normand. See Nisard.

Nottebohm (cited on Schubert), 150.

Novello, Vincent, 332, 475.

Nowowiejski, Felix, 396.

Nuremberg (first chorale collection published at), 83 (footnote);
(as home of organ music), 430.

O

Oakley, Sir Hubert Stanley, 493.

Obrecht. See Hobrecht.

Ode, 141;
(revival of), 209.

Okeghem, Johannes, 48f.

Opera, xii;
(first), 99.

Oratorio (first), 99;
(origin and early examples), 223f;
(Cavalieri’s stage directions), 225f;
(17th-cent. Italian), 233ff;
(German passion-music), 234ff;
(Handel), 246ff;
(Haydn), 258ff;
(Beethoven), 264f;
(Spohr), 266f;
(Mendelssohn), 268ff;
(Liszt), 277ff;
(English composers), 281f;
(in modern France), 284f;
(modern), 292ff;
(modern English), 306f;
(American), 314f.

Oratorio Society of New York, xv-f.

Orchestra (employment of, in ritual music), 134.

Organ, 83;
(history and development), 397ff;
(10th-11th cent.), 400ff;
(portative), 402, 415;
(15th-17th cent.), 404f;
(18th-19th cent.), 406;
(modern development), 407ff;
(modern concert organ), 411f;
(early use in church service), 418;
(first in America), 496.

Organ blowers, 403.

Organ-building (10th-11th cent.), 400f;
(12th-14th cent.), 401ff;
(15th-16th cent.), 403ff;
(17th-19th cent.), 405ff;
(modern), 407ff.

Organ keyboard, 402.
See also Pneumatic action; Electricity.

‘Organ Magnificats,’ 321.

Organ music (early masters), 415ff;
(early forms), 418f;
(Saxon or Thuringian school), 434ff;
(Bach), 435ff;
(early French), 441ff;
(Spain and Portugal), 445;
(early English), 446ff;
(Handel), 452;
(after Bach and Handel), 456ff;
(19th-cent. German), 459ff;
(19th-cent. French), 466ff;
(19th-cent. English), 472ff;
(arrangements), 473;
(modern French), 479ff;
(modern German), 487f;
(modern Italian), 490f;
(in United States), 495ff;
(American composers), 499f.

Organ pedals, 403.

Organ playing (methods), iii, 422f, 459, 460.

Organists (in Germany), 426ff;
(in France), 441;
(in Spain and Portugal), 445f;
(Belgium), 469f;
(English), 472;
(younger French school), 486;
(younger English school), 493;
(American), 497ff.

Organum, 2, 19f.

Organum pulsare, 402.

Ornamentation (organ music), 423.

O’Shaughnessy, Arthur, 367.

Osiander, Lucas (published first chorale book), 83 (footnote).

Ottoboni, Cardinal, 453.

Ouseley, [Sir] Frederick Arthur Gore, 476f.

P

Pachelbel, Johann, 429, 430f, 436.

Paine, John K., 314f, 460, 497.
‘St. Peter,’ 314f.

Paix, Jacob, 428.

Palestrina, x, 17, 49, 60ff, 91, 422;
(contemporaries), 67f;
(motets), 136, 138.
Missa Papæ Marcelli, 63f.

Palestrina style, 61f, 322.

Pareja, Ramis de, 445.

Parker, Horatio William, 221f, 464, 499.
Hora Novissima, 315f.
‘The Legend of St. Christopher,’ 316f.
‘Morven and the Grail,’ 380f.

Parker, James Cutler Dunn, 497.

Parratt, [Sir] Walter, 493.

Parry, [Sir] C. Hubert H., 20 (footnote), 209f, 322;
(quot. on Rossi), 104f;
(quot. on 17th-cent. cantatas), 108.
‘Judith,’ 308f.
‘Job,’ 309.
‘King Saul,’ 309f.
‘The Vision of Life,’ 369f.
‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin,’ 369.

Partida (organ mechanism), 404.

Part-singing, 19f.

Part-song (origin), 140;
(German, 19th cent.), 186f;
(English, 19th cent.), 187;
(French, 19th cent.), 188.

Pasquini, Bernardo, 425f.

Passion-music (origin and development), 234f;
(Schütz), 236f;
(Bach), 239ff;
(Graun), 245f.

Pastourelle, 25 (footnote).

Paul IV, Pope, 66.

Paumann, Conrad, 427.

Peace, Albert Lister, 493.

Pedals (organ), 403, 405.

Pedrell, Felipe, 396.

‘Penitential Psalms’ (Lassus), 57f.

People’s Choral Union (New York), xv.

People’s Singing Classes (New York), xv.

Pepin, 400.

Pergolesi, Giov. Battista, 137, 327.
Stabat Mater, 327.

Peri, 100, 101, 405.

Periods of musical progress, 142f.

Perosi, Don Lorenzo, 392f, 492.

Perrot (organ builder), 405.

Péschard (organ builder), 407.

Petrali, Vincenzo Antonio, 491.

Petrarch, 71 (footnote).

Petronius, 399.

Philip of Vitry, 53.

Philip II, King of Spain, 404.

Picander. See Henrici.

Pierluigi, Giovanni. See Palestrina.

Pierné, Gabriel, 355, 386, 388f.
Les enfants de Bethlehem, 388.
‘The Children’s Crusade,’ 389.
Saint-François d’Assisi, 389f.

Pius X, Pope, 6.

Piutti, Carl, 487.

Plainsong. See Gregorian chant; Gregorian antiphonary.

Platen, August von, 172.

Platz, Wilhelm, 355.

Pneumatic action (in organ), 398, 400, 407.

Pneumatic lever (organ), 407.

Pneumatic organ, 400.

Poe, Edgar Allan, 376, 396.

Pohl, Richard, 166.

Poland (contemporaneous choral music), 396.

Polyphonic period, 36ff.

Pope, 210.

Portative organ, 399, 403, 405, 416.

Positive organ, 399.

Possessoris, 398.

Poushkin, 395.

Prætorius, Jacob, 432 (footnote).

Prætorius, Michael, 86, 402, 421.

Prague Te Deum, 328f.

Pratt, Waldo S. (quot. on Palestrina), 62.

Prelude, 429.

Professional choruses, xvii.

Prölz, Adolphus, 155.

Proske, Karl, 323, 467;
(quot. on Lassus), 56f.

Protestant church music, 76ff;
(substitution of vernacular for Latin), 78;
(in England), 89f.

Protestant composers (early), 86f, 94.

Protestant hymnody, 78.

Protestant service (Reformed church), 95f.
See Lutheran service.

Psalmists, 95.

Psalmody, 95;
(18th cent.), 135.

Public school choruses, xvi.

Purcell, Henry, 133, 322;
(as organ composer), 452.

Puritanism, 96.

Q

Quantz, Johann Joachim, 474f;
(quoted), 456.

Quef, Charles, 486.

R

Rachmaninoff, 395.

Raison, André, 442.

Rameau, Jean Philippe, 444f.

Ramler (librettist), 245.

Ramsay (early organ at convent of), 401.

Randebrock (organ builder), 409.

Ravanello, Oreste, 491f.

Ravel, Maurice, 392.

Recitative, 230f.

Redford, Thomas, 448.

Refrains, xii.

Regal, 405.

Reger, Max (choral works), 352f, 429, 440 (footnote);
(organ works), 488f.

Reidel, Carl, 238.

Reimann, Heinrich (quot. on Mozart), 323.

Reinken, Johann Adam, 432 (footnote).

Representative style, 100.

Requiem mass, 320.

Responsorial singing, 8.

Resultant tone (organ), 459.

Revolution of 1830, 337.

Reubke, Julius, 463.

Rheinberger, Joseph, 201f, 324;
(masses), 345;
(organ works), 464ff.
Christophorus, 201f.

Ribera (painter of ‘Magdalen’), 231.

Ricercare, 418.

Richter, E. F., 88.

Rimsky-Korsakoff, 395.

Rinck, J. C. H., 458, 459.

Ritter August Gottfried, 425 (footnote), 460;
(cit. on Crequillon), 421;
(quot. on Guami), 422;
(cit. on Hassler), 430;
(quot. on Muffat), 432.

Ritual (Pagan, Hebrew), 3;
(uniformity in, of mediæval European composers), 76;
(music in Anglican church), 90f.
See also Roman Catholic church; Litany; Lutheran service.

Rochlitz, Friedrich (librettist of ‘The Praise of Music’), 146.

Rockstro (quoted), 23;
(cited on first use of ‘madrigal’), 73 (footnote).

Rococo organ embellishments, 406.

Rogers, James Hotchkiss, 500.

‘Roland’s Song,’ 24 (footnote).

Rolland, Romain (quot. on Strauss), 348;
(quot. on modern choral school), 386;
(quoted on oratorio), 393.

Romberg, Andreas, 146f.
‘The Lay of the Bell,’ 146f.

Roman Catholic church, x, 8, 38ff;
(introduction of antiphonal psalmody), 9;
(influence of Protestant hymn), 84;
(movement for restoration), 323f.
See also Gregorian chant; Mass, etc.

Romans, 1.

Roosevelt, Hilborne L., 408, 411.

Rootham, Bradley, 379.

Roquette, Otto (librettist), 278.

Rossetti, Christina, 180, 387.

Rossi, Luigi, 104f.
Gelosia, 104f.

Rossini, Gioacchino, 339f.
Stabat Mater, 339f.

Round, 32.

Roundelay, 25 (footnote).

Rousseau, Samuel Alexandre, 485f.

Rückert, Friedrich, 167, 349, 350.

Rückpositiv, 404.

Rudolph, Emperor of Austria, 430.

Russia (contemporary choral music), 394f.

Rust, Wilhelm, 88.

S

Sachs, Hans, 27.

Sacred Harmonic Society, London, 252f.

St. Ambrose (hymns of), 8ff, 484.

St. Filippo Nero, 224.

St. George’s Hall, Liverpool (organ in), 411.

St. Mark’s, Venice, 417, 419f.

Saint-Saëns, Charles Camille (oratorio), 302f;
(as organ composer), 480.
Noël, 302.
‘The Deluge,’ 302f.

Salamon, 259.

Salomé, Théodore César, 485.

Salto cattivo (organ playing), 423.

Salzburg, Archbishop of, 332f.

Santa Maria, Thomas de, 445.

Santucci, Marco, 490f.

Scandellus, 237.

Scandinavia (contemporary choral music), 394.

Scarlatti, Alessandro, 106ff, 137, 230f.
Cantatas, 106f.
Il trionfo della grazia, 231.
Sedecia, rè di Gerusalemme, 231f.

Scarlatti, Domenico, 109, 453.

Scheidemann, Heinrich, 432 (footnote).

Scheidt, Samuel, 432 (footnote).

Schein, 88.

Schering (quot. on Everyman), 378.

Schikaneder, 131.

Schildt, Melchior, 432 (footnote).

Schiller, 146, 200, 204, 349, 395.

Schlick, Arnold, 427.

Schmid (organ builder), 405.

Schmid, Bernard, 428.

Schmidt (German organist), 450.

Schmitt, Aloys, 333.

Schmitt, Florent, 386, 390.

Schneider, Johann Gottlob, 458, 459, 469.

Schnitzker (organ builder), 405.

Scholæ cantorum, 6, 10.

Schönberg, Arnold, 353f.
Gurrelieder, 354.

Schubert, Franz, 149f; (part-song), 186;
(masses), 334.
Miriams Siegesgesang, 150.

Schumann, Georg, 351f;
(as organ composer), 462.
‘Ruth,’ 351.

Schumann, Robert, 161ff;
(part-song), 162f, 186, 204, 346;
(quoted on Bach), 435.
‘Paradise and the Peri,’ 162f.
‘The Pilgrimage of the Rose,’ 166.
‘The Minstrel’s Curse,’ 166f.
‘Advent Hymn,’ 167.
‘New Year’s Hymn,’ 167f.
‘Mignon’s Requiem,’ 168.

Schütz, Heinrich, 236f, 421.
‘Seven Words of Jesus,’ 237f.
‘Resurrection,’ 237.
‘Passions,’, 238.

Schwob, Marcel, 389.

Scott, [Sir] Walter, 180, 199, 380.

Scriabine, 376.

Secular music, 23ff;
(earliest known examples), 25;
(first use of polyphony), 29.
See also Cantata; Chanson; Folk-song; Madrigal; Part-song.

Seifert, Paul, 432 (footnote).

Séjan, Nicolas, 466.

Sequences, 14ff.

Serenade, 25 (footnote).

Servante, 25 (footnote).

Seyfried, 458.

Sguarcialupo, Antonio, 416.

Sheffield Festival, 368.

Shelley, Harry Rowe, 209, 501.

Shirley, James, 210.

Shubring (friend of Mendelssohn), 269.

Silas, Eduard, 346.

Silbermann family (organ builders), 406.

Singing schools, 6f, 10, 13.

Sistine Chapel, 11.

Skinner, Ernest M., 411.

Smart, [Sir] George, 265.

Smart, Henry, 181f;
(as organ composer), 475f.
‘The Bride of Dunkerron,’ 181f.
‘King René’s Daughter,’ 182f.

Smith, David Stanley, 385.

Smith, Father, 406, 450.

Solmisation, 18.

Sophocles, 155, 156.

Spain (famous organs), 404.

Spark, William, 476.

Speth, Johann, 431.

Spitta, Philipp (quot. on church music), 118;
(on J. S. Bach), 120;
(quot. on Bach), 437.

Spohr, Ludwig, 150f, 266f.
‘The Last Judgment,’ 266f.
‘Calvary,’ 267f.

Spruch (of minnesingers), 28 (footnote).

Stabat Mater, 320f.

Staff (origin of), 18.

Staff notation (first use), 5.

Stage directions for oratorio, 225f.

Stainer, Sir John, 493;
(cited), 31.

Stanford, Charles Villiers, 211, 346.
‘The Three Holy Children,’ 310.
‘Eden,’ 310f.

Stile rappresentativo, 100.

Stradella, Alessandro, 232f.
S. Giovanni Battista, 233.

Strauss, Richard, 348f;
(short choral works), 349;
(religious music), 350.
Wanderers Sturmlied, 348.
Taillefer, 349.
Der Abend, 349.

Stravinsky, 396.

Sullivan, [Sir] Arthur Seymour, 206f, 322.
‘The Golden Legend,’ 206f.
‘The Prodigal Son,’ 311f.
‘The Light of the World,’ 312f.

‘Sumer is icumen in,’ 32f.

Süssmayer, 330.

Sweelinck, J. P., 427, 429, 446.

Swell chambers (organ), 409f.

Swell (organ), 406.

Swieten, Baron von, 259.

Sydney, N. S. W. (organ), 411.

Sylvester, Pope, 6.

Syrinx, 397.

T

Tablatura nova, 429.

Tablature (organ), 422, 423.

Tallis, Thomas, 136, 448f.

Taneieff, Alexander, 396.

Tartini, 490.

Tasso (‘Jerusalem Delivered’), 170.

Taubmann, Otto, 350f.
Deutsche Messe, 350.
Sängerweihe, 350.

Taussig (Bach transcription), 440.

Te Deum Laudamus, 322.

Tebaldini, Giovanni, 393, 491.

Tegner, Bishop (librettist), 197.

Tempo (method of determining), 474f.

Tennyson, 211.

Tenzone, 25 (footnote).

Thayer, Eugene W., 460, 497, 500.

Theatre organs, 413.

Thiele, Johann Friedrich Ludwig, 462.

Thirty Years’ War (effect of, on chorale), 83.

Thomas Aquinas (author of Lauda Sion), 155.

Thomas (organ builder), 406.

Thomas, Theodore, 288, 292.

Thomasschule, 88.

Thomson (author of ‘Seasons’), 261.

Thuille, Ludwig, 357.

Tinel, Edgar, 299f, 392, 470.
Franciscus, 299f.

Titelouze, Jean, 441f.

Toccata, 418.

Tombelle, Ferdinand de la, 486.

Tone grouping (in organ), 410.

Trampeli (organ builders), 405.

Trench (librettist of ‘Apollo and the Seaman’), 376.

Trent, Council of, 58, 64, 119.

Tropes, 16.

Troubadours, 24f;
(historical significance), 28.

Trouvères, 25;
(historical significance), 28.

Truette, E. E., 460.

Tubular pneumatic action (in organ), 407.

Tuckerman, Samuel Parkman, 497.

Tuning, 405.

Turpin, Edmund Hart, 493.

Tye, Christopher, 98, 448, 475.

U

Uhland, 166, 212, 349.

Unequal temperament, 405.

Unit stop control, 409.

Universal air chest, 409.

Utrecht Te Deum, 327f, 453.

V

Valbecke, Ludwig van, 403.

Vallotti, Francesco Antonio, 490.

Vavrineoz, Mauritius, 396.

Venetian school, 68f;
(madrigalists), 71f.

Verdi, Giuseppe, 343f.
Manzoni Requiem, 343f.

Vetruvius, 398 (footnote).

Villanella, 140 (footnote).

Vilotti, 458.

Virginal Book of Queen Elizabeth, 449.

Vitry, Philippe de, 53.

Vittoria (compared with Palestrina), 68.

Vogler, [Abbé] Georg Joseph, 458f, 490.

Vrchlicky, Jaroslav, 293.

W

Wackernagel, Philip (cited on German hymns), 78 (footnote).

Wagner, Richard, 189f.
‘The Love-Feast of the Apostles,’ 190f.

Walker, Ernest (quoted on the ‘Messiah’), 249f.

Walsegg, Franz von, Count of Ruppach, 330.

Walther, Johann, 85, 484.

War songs, xii.

Warren, George William, 497.

Wasielewski (cit. on G. Gabrieli), 421, 422.

Water organ, 398, 399.

Water pressure (in organ), 398.

Waterloo, 148.

Watson: ‘Italian Madrigals Englished,’ 72 (footnote).

Watts, 135f.

Webbe, Samuel, 139f.

Weber, Carl Maria von, 147, 186, 459;
(masses), 337.
‘Jubilee Cantata,’ 147f.
‘Kampf und Sieg,’ 148f.

Weber, Constance, 132.

Webern, Anton von, 353.

Weelkes (English madrigalist), 75.

Weinmann, Karl (cited on mediæval music), 20;
(quot. on Netherlanders), 43;
(cited on Beethoven), 324.

Weissenbach, Aloys, 145.

Wellesz, Egon, 353.

Wendt, Amadeus, 148.

Wensley, Shapcott (librettist), 212.

Wesley, Charles (Christmas hymn of), 155 (footnote).

Wesley, Charles (organist), 472.

Wesley, Samuel, 473.

Wesley, Samuel Sebastian, 475.

White (organ builder), 405.

Whiteley, John W., 410.

Whiting, Arthur, 222.

Whiting, George Elbridge, 221, 500.

Whittier, 368.

Widor, Charles Marie, 468, 479, 482, 483f.

Wilbye (English madrigalist), 75.

Wilcox, John H., 497.

Willaert, Adrian, 69, 417, 420.

Willcox, John Henry, 497.

William, Duke of Bavaria, 56.

William of Malmesbury, 401.

William IV, King of Prussia, 155.

Williams, C. F. Abdy, 432 (footnote).

Williams, C. Lee, 379.

Williams, Ralph Vaughan, 377.

Willis, H. W. (organ builder), 407, 408, 411.

Winchester (famous early organs at), 401.

Wind-chest, organ, 405;
(separate), 407;
(electro-pneumatic), 408f.

Wind-gauge (organ), 405.

Wind-power, regulation of (in organ), 405.

Wind pressure (in organ), 398.

Winterfeld (cited on Passion music), 236 (footnote).

Witt, Franz (quoted on masses), 323.

Wohlbrück (librettist), 148f.
La vita nuova, 394.

Wolf-Ferrari, Ermanno, 393f.

Wolfrum, Philip, 355.

Wolle, J. Frederick, 327.

[St.] Wolstan, 401.

Wolstenholme, William, 494.

Woltz, Johann, 428.

Women’s choruses, xvi.

Wood, Anthony (quot. on Tye), 448.

Wood, Henry, 379.

Worms, Diet of, 89.

Wotton, William, 405.

Woyrsch, Felix, 356f.
‘The Dance of Death,’ 356f.

Z

Ziehn, Bernard, 492.

Zipoli, Domenico, 426.

Zucchetti, 419.

Zwingli, 90.

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Table of Contents

THE ART OF MUSIC: VOLUME SIX Choral and Church Music

PREFATORY NOTE

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER I MUSIC OF THE EARLY AND MEDIÆVAL CHURCH AND EARLY SECULAR MUSIC

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V

CHAPTER II THE POLYPHONIC PERIOD

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI

CHAPTER III THE FIRST CENTURY OF PROTESTANT CHURCH MUSIC

- I
- II
- III
- IV

CHAPTER IV THE EARLY ITALIAN SECULAR CANTATA, THE GERMAN CLASSICAL CANTATA, THE ENGLISH ANTHEM, AND OTHER SHORT CHORAL FORMS

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII

CHAPTER V THE CANTATA IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII

CHAPTER VI THE MODERN CANTATA

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX

CHAPTER VII EARLY AND CLASSICAL ORATORIOS

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII

CHAPTER VIII THE ORATORIO FROM BEETHOVEN TO BRAHMS

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI

CHAPTER IX THE MODERN ORATORIO

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII

CHAPTER X THE MODERN MASS

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- VIII
- IX

CHAPTER XI CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC IN GERMANY

- I
- II
- III

CHAPTER XII CONTEMPORANEOUS CHORAL MUSIC IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII

CHAPTER XIII CONTEMPORARY CHORAL MUSIC IN FRANCE, ITALY, RUSSIA AND ELSEWHERE

- I
- II
- III
- IV

CHAPTER XIV THE ORGAN FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI

CHAPTER XV THE EARLY ORGAN MASTERS

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI

CHAPTER XVI ORGAN MUSIC AFTER BACH AND HANDEL

- I
- II
- III
- IV

CHAPTER XVII MODERN ORGAN MUSIC

- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI

INDEX FOR VOLUME VI

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