This Dean Williams was a very great man, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England, Bishop of Lincoln, and afterwards Archbishop of York; he was Dean of Westminster in 1620. We are told in his Life, written by John Halket, Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry: "He procured the sweetest music both for the organ and for voices of all parts, that ever was heard in English music. In those days the Abbey and the Jerusalem Chamber, where he gave entertainment to his friends, were the votaries of the Choicest Songs that the Land has heard. The greatest masters of that delightful faculty frequented here above all others." I think it must be to this patron of music that we owe the fine collection of Madrigals and Motets (including the very rare and valuable books of Deering) which are now preserved in the Abbey Library.
This account of the perfection of the music at the Abbey in these remote days, under the fostering care of a Dean distinguished both as a statesman and a musician, may perhaps be followed by a contemporary description of the members of a choir—not, of course, of the Abbey Choir in particular by another Dean. This was Dean Earle, the first Dean after the Restoration. But the work from which I quote was first printed in 1628, so that it is only a year or two after the time of Gibbons. Earle was not Dean of Westminster until more than 30 years later. The book is entitled Microcosmographie: a piece of the World discovered in Essays and Characters, and was first published anonymously. I hope this description of what the writer calls "A Merry Crew, the Common Singing-men in Cathedrall Churches," is not a true description of the great body of such choirs at the time, but it is worth quoting.
The Common Singing-men in Cathedral Churches
Are a bad Society, and yet a Company of good Fellowes, that roare deep in the Quire, deeper in the Taverne. They are the eight parts of speech, which goe to the Syntaxis of Service, and are distinguish't by their noyses much like Bells, for they make not a Consort but a Peale. Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their exercise drinking, yet herein so religiously addicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunke. Their humanity is a legge [=consists in a bow] to the Residencer, their learning a Chapter, for they learne it commonly before they read it, yet the old Hebrew names are little beholden to them, for they mis-call them worse then one another. Though they never expound the Scripture, they handle it much, and pollute the Gospell with two things, their Conversation and their thumbes. Upon worky-dayes they behave themselves at Prayers as at their pots, for they swallow them downe in an instant. Their Gownes are lac'd [=streaked] commonly with steamings of ale, the superfluities of a cup or throat above measure. Their skill in melody makes them the better companions abroad, and their Anthemes abler to sing Catches. Long liv'd for the most part they are not, especially the base, they overflow their banke so oft to drowne the Organs. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they dye constantly in God's Service; and to take their death with more patience, they have Wine and Cakes at their Funerall: and now they keepe the Church a great deale better, and helpe to fill it with their bones as before with their noyse.
This quotation must not be taken too seriously. Earle's book was written when he was a young man, probably under the inspiration of Casaubon's translation of the fourth-century Theophrastus' Characters published in 1592. It consists of 77 "Characters," some of them serious studies, and others, such as the above, humorous or satirical sketches, not intended to be true representations, yet containing a basis of truth. Richard Baxter, writing to Earle, says: "In charity, and gentleness, and peaceableness of mind, you are very eminent."
A very unusual adventure is chronicled as having taken place on St Peter's Day, 1620: "Eveseed, Gentleman of the Chapel Royal, did violently and sodenly without cause runne upon Mr Gibbons, took him up and threw him down upon a Standard whereby he received such hurt that he is not yet recovered of the same, and withal he tare the band from his neck to his prejudice and disgrace."
In 1625 Gibbons had to compose and direct the music for the reception at Canterbury of Henrietta Maria, on the occasion of her marriage with Charles I. It was to be his last commission, for he died on Whitsunday, June 5th.
With regard to his death, we have always been led to believe that he died of small-pox—all the histories, including the admirable Grove's Dictionary, have taught us so. Mr W. Barclay Squire, of the British Museum, has, however, shown this to be incorrect. In a letter, which he found among the State Papers, from Sir Albertus Morton to Lord Edward Conway, and endorsed "Mr Secretary Morton, touching the Musician that dyed at Canterburie and supposed to have died of the plague," a medical certificate is enclosed signed by Drs Poe and Domingo, stating that his sickness was at first "lethargicall" followed by convulsions: "he grew apoplecticall and so died"—thus refuting the small-pox theory in favour of apoplexy.
His portrait is in the collection at Oxford, and a fine monument with an excellent bust was erected in Canterbury Cathedral by the composer's widow.