The reader will remember that on [page 77] of [Chapter IX], particular mention was made of Sterndale Bennett (1816), in view of his association with Mendelssohn and Schumann. The pith of the remarks embodied in that paragraph will, however, bear repetition, owing to the significance attached to Bennett's influence upon modern English music. The acknowledged heir of Purcell, he clothed his individuality in the language promulgated by the early Romanticists; but though his works bear the undeniable impress of Mendelssohnian characteristics, they are none the less original and of enduring worth. His field of activity as a composer was extensive. Outside of England, his oratorio "The Woman of Samaria" is, perhaps, the best known of his various choral works, symphonies and concertos. The high regard in which he is held by his countrymen reveals itself in his title of "Founder of a New English School."
To mention Barnby (1838) in these pages may appear somewhat out of place. Sacred music is the line in which he particularly distinguished himself. In addition to writing magnificent hymns and anthems, he developed his best gifts in such works as his psalm "The Lord is King." Nevertheless, it will be noticed that from a chronological standpoint Barnby heads the list of the more recent English exponents of progressive ideas, and his advanced convictions entitle him to recognition in this discussion if for no other reason than for his zeal and perseverance in having given in London two concert performances of "Parsifal" as early as in 1884. The date of this achievement is significant when one considers that the initial dramatic performance of "Parsifal" at Bayreuth had taken place but two years before.
The most widely known English composer of the nineteenth century is, of course, Sullivan (1842). This renown has been won by virtue of a unique talent for writing comic operas that are gems of the first water. On the other hand, Sullivan has again and again revealed his latent powers for composition in serious vein. Had he elected to consecrate himself to the nobler form of art, he might have become the greatest of all English composers. As it is, he has done much for the cause of Anglicized music and especially of Anglicized orchestration. The author of no less than fifteen operettas that are famed in England, America, and to a lesser degree in Continental Europe, he has clothed these works in charming orchestral garment. The instrumental combinations at his command were small, but he was never at loss how to use them to best advantage. It was his peculiar custom to postpone the orchestral scoring until all modifications as suggested by preliminary rehearsals had been decided upon. Taking the "Mikado" as a favorable example, it is seen that the local coloring demanded by the setting depends chiefly upon the orchestra. The quaint opening chorus for men at the very beginning of the operetta proves the truth of this statement. Sullivan based his methods of instrumentation upon those of Mozart, but occasionally copied Gounod and even Berlioz. When, however, Sullivan employs larger orchestral forces, his musicianship, dramatic power and command of resource seem to expand in proportion. Notable illustrations of original and effective scoring are to be found in his representative oratorios and above all in his grand opera "Ivanhoe."
John Bridge (1844) displays sound scholarship in a respectable list of sacred music, cantatas and orchestral works, but his attainments cannot be compared with those of Mackenzie (1847). The latter is first and foremost an orchestral writer, in fact one might say that his conceptions are wholly orchestral. His is the realm of realism rather than of idealism. His style reveals no great depth or pathos. There is a mixture of Mendelssohnian and Wagnerian externals. His melody has been styled angular; his harmonic structure is inefficient, and his rhythm monotonous. Mackenzie's orchestration, however, is unusual. Its many excellences afford a striking contrast to the mediocrity of subject-matter. It is powerful and effective, allowing also commendable freedom to the wood-wind. Some interesting passages for flute and oboe in combination with low clarinet arpeggio effects are contained in the cantata "The Story of Sayid." Among Mackenzie's most notable achievements should be mentioned two operas, two Scotch rhapsodies, and his magnum opus, a dramatic oratorio entitled "The Rose of Sharon."
There is a double interest in examining the musical compositions of Charles Hubert Parry (1848) in consequence of his having enriched the world with a scholarly and broad-minded work entitled "The Evolution of the Art of Music." This standard book has been quoted from more than once in the course of these pages. Parry has tried his hand at all forms of composition, including chamber music, symphonies and oratorios. There is a natural hesitation to pass individual judgment on these works, so the criticism of two contemporary Englishmen will be referred to instead. These two are Willeby and Stanford. In general terms, Willeby speaks of Parry as a man of wide experience and absolute sincerity, and as one "devoted to liberation." He then goes on to say that Parry's works show traces of Beethoven, especially of Brahms, somewhat of Händel and Mendelssohn, whereas his earlier "Prometheus Unbound" is conceived in the "Tristan" style; but the "human" element is lacking. The most complex methods are employed to attain the desired results. The obvious avoidance of natural cadences is carried to an extreme. The melodies are stately and self-possessed but become monotonous. So much for Parry's style. As to his orchestration, the opinion of Dr. Stanford is presumably authoritative and is appended verbatim: "His orchestral sense is by no means his most highly developed sense, for while there is no lack of sonority in his scoring, there is not infrequently all too little of 'fancy.' What leanings he has in this art are certainly more toward Wagner than Berlioz, and sometimes the incongruity of Wagner in the orchestra and Brahms in the music is by no means compensated for by what there is of Parry in both."[106]
Cowen (1852) stands as one of the representative English exponents of both absolute and programmatic symphonic writing. Of his five characteristic symphonies, special reference is due to the "Scandinavian," No. 3, the "Welsh," No. 4, and the one in F, No. 5. The fact that this later symphony, No. 5, contains no programmatic idea, leads to some conjecture as to what Cowen's motive was in returning to the conservatism of pure and abstract music. This work embodies considerable depth of sentiment, sombre orchestral coloring, and a possible touch of Chopin. Cowen has written several operas, but special significance is attached to his choral work "The Sleeping Beauty," in that it incorporates Wagner's principle of representative themes together with their skilful thematic development. The orchestra plays an exceedingly important rôle, even to the occasional detriment of the vocal parts.
Having listened to what Stanford had to say about Parry, let us see what Stanford's music has to say for its author. Here again one discovers the accomplished scholar rather than the artistic dreamer. Stanford (1852) has proved himself an eminent conductor and professor, but as composer, his emotional capacity is evidently limited, and his music lacks the very essentials of ideal love and impassioned sentiment so conspicuous, for example, in Félicien David's ardent conceptions. Compare the glowing colors in David's "Lalla Rookh" with those in Stanford's opera "The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan." The latter does, indeed, suggest "local" color, but there is no evidence of sensuous Eastern charm. Stanford's right to share with Cowen the rank of representative English symphonist is undisputed. His fertile pen has produced an honorable series of orchestral works that include a festival overture and four symphonies. Prominent among these is the "Irish Symphony," which again reveals a striving after characteristic portrayal. Willeby also makes reference to this in the following terms: "Here, for the obtainment of local color, he has called to his aid all kinds of melodies and 'modes.' The 'Aeolian' mode transposed, which consists of the scale having its semitonic intervals between the second and third, and fifth and sixth degrees, and the 'Mixolydian,' with its semitones between the third and fourth, and sixth and seventh degrees, are both extensively used."[107]
During the last few years a new star has risen on the British horizon, one that promises to become a permanency,—Edward Elgar (1851). His talent is conspicuous, and he is fast winning his way through sheer merit. Henderson goes so far as to write of him as "the most promising of modern composers," though this is a matter of opinion. At all events, Elgar stands out in marked contrast to his more self-restrained countrymen in that he dares to break through the barriers of British good form by employing a language of emotional eloquence and dramatic intensity. His handling of vocal forces does not by any means discard the time-honored doctrines of Bach and Händel so tenaciously adhered to in England, but he combines classic polyphony with modern expedients of unfettered chromatic harmony and throbbing orchestration. His "Dream of Gerontius" and his "The Apostles" should convince his compatriots that heretofore they have been content to compose in a manner all too sedate and unemotional. Bennett founded a "new school" of English music in the early part of the nineteenth century. It may be that the time has now come for a second "new school" which shall meet the requirements of the twentieth century.[108]