Part 13 (1/2)

Removed from the centralised cosmopolitanism of London, many of them had a chance of giving expression to their thoughts in music not characterised by foreign idiom.

If the fine work of such men as Hubert Parry, Edward Elgar, Granville Bantock, Walford Davies, William Wallace, Joseph Holbrook, and others of the new British school does not convince the country of the fatuity of perpetuating the state of things existing at present, nothing will, and we must accept the fact that the idea of foreign supremacy in every branch of musical work, is so engrained in the blood of the ”man in the street” as to be absolutely ineradicable.

But I do not believe it.

One hardly dares to question the sanity of a nation, even on so elusive a subject as music.

To-day, even, we can see the Dawn: the Penumbra is vanis.h.i.+ng.

Not long ago it was considered essential that a singer of any exceptional merit should go to Italy to ”_finish_”--or _be_ finished, as the case might be. Not only so, but it was often thought necessary to Italianise the Anglo-Saxon name, and this was occasionally done with grotesque result!

In some cases the possessor of so characteristic a name, say, as Smith (Miss Smith might be a ”discovery” by some knowing person and promptly packed off to the ”land of song”)--after a stay of a year or two in Italy, emerges from that country, having adopted, with a profound sense of the genius of Latin languages, the name of Smith-_ona_.

The fact that such great singers as Sims Reeves and Charles Santley went to Italy and achieved great success there, has, no doubt, been a fruitful source of attraction to the country; but of the many thousands who have followed their example, how many have returned with the least promise of emulating in ever so faint a degree their ill.u.s.trious careers?

No Englishmen, a.s.suredly.

A few years ago I had the pleasure to spend a day in the company of that great singer, the late Signor Tamagno.

In the course of conversation he expressed the opinion that the old school of Italian singing which had produced so many artists of such extraordinary merit, was practically dead, and that he was the only living exponent to carry on its traditions. As he was speaking in French, I give his actual words in a foot-note.[23]

Without venturing to subscribe to such a p.r.o.nouncement, I think it is worth while recording. Whilst admitting that Italy occasionally produces singers that electrify the world, such as Madame Tettrazzini and Signor Caruso, I think that a little consideration will convince anyone that the majority of great singers in modern times has emanated from the northern races.[24]

In a memorable address given recently by Madame Melba to the students of the Guildhall School of Music, on which occasion I was fortunate enough to be present, that great singer insisted on the importance of _diction_, and expressed the opinion that in this respect young English singers had much to learn. One is obliged to recognise the justice of the rebuke, but I think that, at least, a partial explanation may be ventured.

In ill.u.s.tration Madame Melba instanced many words that were constantly maltreated, and among them was that of _love_.

This irresistibly brought to my mind an incident that occurred many years ago. When I was, as a boy, acting as accompanist in the studio of a celebrated foreign singing master, an English lady was having a lesson and was singing an English song in which she had to articulate this very word. Suddenly there came a clapping of hands and a voice called out, ”No, no, dat will not do. Ze word is--” and I give the p.r.o.nunciation as nearly as letters will permit--”'loaf.'”

As soon as the lady had gone and we were left alone, I said, ”But, maestro, that lady sang the word as it is p.r.o.nounced in English.” The retort came instantly: ”Dat is so? Den it _ought_ to be as I say it.”

This aspersion on the intellectual intelligence of the Anglo-Saxon race struck me as decidedly amusing.

On a quite different occasion I was present at a function in the course of which another foreign singing master was called upon to make a speech. I was, it is true, seated at a considerable distance from him, could not see him, and had not the slightest idea who he was. After listening carefully for some time, I turned to my table companion and said, ”Could you tell me who is speaking, and what the language is?” He shrugged his shoulders and replied: ”Upon my word I can't.” We afterwards learnt that the language spoken was--Englis.h.!.+

I think that the most unsophisticated of my readers, if I have any, will be able to draw his own deductions.

It is at least reasonable to ask why the more virile northerner should subjugate his personality and national characteristics to those of a southern race of different climate, different morals, and different physique. Let us consider for a moment the sister art of painting.

It is quite unnecessary to extol the glories of the British school.

Can you possibly imagine Turner, Hogarth, Gainsborough and Reynolds sitting down and quietly acquiescing, when a set of foreign painters came over to England and addressed them in such terms as these: ”You English have lost, if you ever possessed it, the art of painting. We are going to stay over here and shew that we are your superiors, and you will have to submit quietly while we are taking time to do it?”

I, at least, would not like to have been a member of _that_ deputation in case Turner and Hogarth were present. Yet this is not an unfair ill.u.s.tration of what English musicians have submitted to.

Let us see what Mendelssohn thought on the subject.

In a letter to Edward Devrient, dated Milan, July 13, 1831, he writes: