Various

To the EDITOR of the HARMONICON.

SIR,

As you have considered my first paper admissible, I beg leave to continue my remarks on what I conceive to be the fallacies of some writers on music, and proceed with those of Dr. Browne, whose fifth charge against Handel is contained in the following words:—

‘Choirs (or choruses) sometimes (though seldom) calculated more for the display of the composer’s art, in the construction of figures and canons, than for a natural expression of the subject.’ The writer, then, is evidently no admirer of the fugue style; and such choruses as the “Amen” (Messiah), “He led them through the deep” (Israel in Egypt), and many others, were, to his ears, nothing more than musical exercises!

On the subject of fugue, which obliges the various voices to sing different words at the same time, thereby producing confusion in the sense, argument for and against has been nearly exhausted by some of the first literary and musical writers of the present and past age. In the Harmonicon, a few months back, some excellent remarks, I think, appeared on both sides. Vocal composers, from the time of Palestrina, have all augmented their fame by their fugues, the variety which such style of writing imparts to the subject often rendering a simple, nay, even a meagre one, interesting. But it must be allowed that it is highly necessary that he who would enjoy such composition should be somewhat of an educated musician, or he will never enter into the true meaning and spirit of it.

This, perhaps it may be said, only proves a prejudice, engendered by education and habit. But if so, every subject on which men have dissented is liable to the same objection. Different advances in civilized life and education are attended by more or less of such prejudices; and in search of truth a man must be endowed with almost superhuman powers who can divest himself wholly of the influence of early impressions. As a striking proof of this, it is enough to state that, up to the present hour, our two universities cannot agree concerning the pronunciation of the Latin A; it is, therefore, clear that one of these great emporiums of learning must be labouring under a prejudice.

But, to return to the subject immediately before us:—if the objection which obtains so much among literary men (who are not musicians by education) against fugue writing, viz. “the confusion of words” produced by it, is valid, then to the same objection many other high classes of composition become equally obnoxious. Madrigals teem with this alleged error, and superadded to it are the most barbarous faults in accent. All, or nearly all, glees have similar failings to atone for. If we look at the works of the great continental writers, in their masses and motetts, the same confusion of words is conspicuous; and what is more to my purpose here, even the duetts of Steffani, Handel, Clari, and Travers,—and, in our time, of Jackson, Bishop, Neukomm, &c. &c. are equally guilty in this respect. If the authority of names is of any weight, we have on our side the opinion of the greatest poet England ever produced, Milton, who, in his Paradise Lost, book 11, speaks not in a very contemptuous manner of the fugue.

But the truth is—and here I must confess the fact—that composers must be allowed to mix the words, under certain limitations, in chamber and oratorio music; it is a licence absolutely necessary to musical effect, and equally allowable in the dramatic composer when he has five or six characters on the stage, all influenced by different feelings, to make them utter not only various words, but each, at the same moment, his own sentiment of rage, joy, despair, triumph, love, and revenge. I am no advocate for the mixture of words when it can be avoided, which might often be done, did composers bestow proper attention on the subject.

I now pass on to the sixth charge against Handel. ‘The choir, in many instances (and the single song in some) not sudden enough in its intervention, being generally prepared by a correspondent symphony of instrumental music, which creates expectation and presentiment, destroys surprise, and thus lessens the impression and effect.’

Dr. B. allows that Handel’s defects proceeded ‘not so much from himself, as from the period in which he lived.’ This sixth charge is a remarkable proof of it; for, by observing the compositions of Handel’s contemporaries, we constantly find the symphony; let the sentiment be ever so sudden or violent, still the everlasting symphony is present, to ‘destroy surprise and lessen effect.’

Haydn’s genius, at a more advanced stage in the practice of music, enabled him to break through the trammels of these chaperoning symphonies, and, had he been only a vocal writer, would, no doubt, have done more. Beethoven, too, whose mighty powers of mind were not so fully appreciated in his own time as now, sets another example—in his trio ‘Tremati,’ for instance—of the non-intervention of symphonies. And in the dramatic music of many other modern writers, a custom so injurious to both stage and musical effect, is generally laid aside. Even instrumental writers are beginning to feel the tediousness of introductory symphonies. In the beautiful concerto of Mendelssohn, which he played last season at the Philharmonic, how did he delight his audience by the bold spirit with which he rushed at once into the principal solo subject, instead of following the old daudling practice of tiring expectation by four or five pages of tedious, and often irrelevant, symphony![3] I therefore agree with Dr. Brown on this point, so far as his principle goes. At page 189 is a striking fallacy and extraordinary contradiction of himself by this critical writer. Speaking of Sternhold’s version of the Psalms, he says, ‘There are few stanzas which do not present expressions to excite the ridicule of some part of every congregation. This version might well be abolished, as it exposeth one of the noblest parts of divine service to contempt; especially as there is another version already privileged, which, though not excellent, is, however, not intolerable. The parochial music seems to need no reform.’ The opinion, that what is only not intolerable needs no reform, will find but few abettors in the present times. I have thought, ever since my attention was turned to the subject, that nothing in the whole range of musical performance requires so much reform and improvement as our parochial Psalmody. There are in London, certainly, instances of its being in a very respectable state, but in the majority of churches and chapels, no one with a tolerable ear and the slightest devotional feeling can say, that the squalling of dozens of children, untaught (at least not properly taught), all straining their voices to the utmost, produces anything but unmodified disgust.

While I am on this subject, I must notice a proceeding which some parishes have adopted—namely, that of greatly reducing the salaries of their organists,—in some cases within my own knowledge—from 70l. to 40l. per annum! Now this is Church reform with a vengeance! but the vengeance falls on the already ill-rewarded organist. And here is a striking proof of the injudicious manner in which we Englishmen set about retrenchment. This is to degrade those who hold important situations in the church to about the rank of beadles or vergers, and, in the end, will only more effectually injure the establishment: for so soon as a man of talent feels himself in danger of losing his just remuneration, it is not likely that he will perform his duties with much zeal.

In Lord Henley’s much-read pamphlet on Church Reform (p. 35, 4th edition) is a passage recommending the entire abolition of what his lordship is pleased to call ‘such relics of popery as chanting anthems, solos, duets, voluntaries, &c.’ in our cathedral service, and advising the introduction of a simple mode of Psalmody. Is it not amazing that a man who is so learned in ecclesiastical law should forget that the Deans and Chapters of all the cathedrals throughout the United Kingdom hold their appointments on the express condition of performing divine service in the manner now practiced? Does he mean by a side-wind, by a little law-cunning, to get rid of all deans and chapters?

I could accumulate the fallacious opinions of many writers till I had half filled your Journal, Sir; but for the present will only add one more, and an extraordinary one it is. In a copy of Sir John Hawkins’ History of Music, in the British Museum, containing MS. notes in his own hand-writing (vol. v. p. 16), is the following remark:—‘Singing follows so naturally the smallest degree of proficiency on any instrument, that the learning of both is unnecessary!’

I am, Sir, &c. &c.
HONORIUS.