Chapter 17

ART CRITICISM INSPIRED BY THE ENGLISH MUSICIAN, AVISON

In the "Parleying" "With Charles Avison," Browning plunges into a discussion of the problem of the ephemeralness of musical expression. He hits upon Avison to have his colloquy with because a march by this musician came into his head, and the march came into his head for no better reason than that it was the month of March. Some interest would attach to Avison if it were only for the reason that he was organist of the Church of St. Nicholas in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. In the earliest accounts St. Nicholas was styled simply, "The Church of Newcastle-upon-Tyne," but in 1785 it became a Cathedral. This was after Avison's death in 1770. All we know about the organ upon which Avison performed is found in a curious old history of Newcastle by Brand. "I have found," he writes, "no account of any organ in this church during the times of popery though it is very probable there has been one. About the year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed £300 towards the erection of the present organ. They added a trumpet stop to it June 22d, 1699."

The year that Avison was born, 1710, it is recorded further that "the back front of this organ was finished which cost the said corporation £200 together with the expense of cleaning and repairing the whole instrument."

June 26, 1749, the common council of Newcastle ordered a sweet stop to be added to the organ. This was after Avison became organist, his appointment to that post having been in 1736. So we know that he at least had a "trumpet stop" and a "sweet stop," with which to embellish his organ playing.

The church is especially distinguished for the number and beauty of its chantries, and any who have a taste for examining armorial bearings will find two good-sized volumes devoted to a description of those in this church, by Richardson. Equal distinction attaches to the church owing to the beauty of its steeple, which has been called the pride and glory of the Northern Hemisphere. According to the enthusiastic Richardson it is justly esteemed on account of its peculiar excellency of design and delicacy of execution one of the finest specimens of architectural beauty in Europe. This steeple is as conspicuous a feature of Newcastle as the State House Dome is of Boston, situated, as it is, almost in the center of the town. Richardson gives the following minute description of this marvel. "It consists of a square tower forty feet in width, having great and small turrets with pinnacles at the angles and center of each front tower. From the four turrets at the angles spring two arches, which meet in an intersecting direction, and bear on their center an efficient perforated lanthorne, surmounted by a tall and beautiful spire: the angles of the lanthorne have pinnacles similar to those on the turrets, and the whole of the pinnacles, being twelve in number, and the spire, are ornamented with crockets and vanes."

There is a stirring tradition in regard to this structure related by Bourne to the effect that in the time of the Civil Wars, when the Scots had besieged the town for several weeks, and were still as far as at first from taking it, the general sent a messenger to the mayor of the town, and demanded the keys, and the delivering up of the town, or he would immediately demolish the steeple of St. Nicholas. The mayor and aldermen upon hearing this, immediately ordered a certain number of the chiefest of the Scottish prisoners to be carried up to the top of the tower, the place below the lanthorne and there confined. After this, they returned the general an answer to this purpose,--that they would upon no terms deliver up the town, but would to the last moment defend it: that the steeple of St. Nicholas was indeed a beautiful and magnificent piece of architecture, and one of the great ornaments of the town; but yet should be blown into atoms before ransomed at such a rate: that, however, if it was to fall, it should not fall alone, that the same moment he destroyed the beautiful structure he should bathe his hands in the blood of his countrymen who were placed there on purpose either to preserve it from ruin or to die along with it. This message had the desired effect. The men were there kept prisoners during the whole time of the siege and not so much as one gun fired against it.

Avison, however, had other claims to distinction, besides being organist of this ancient church. He was a composer, and was remembered by one of his airs, at least, into the nineteenth century, namely "Sound the Loud Timbrel." He appears not to be remembered, however, by his concertos, of which he published no less than five sets for a full band of stringed instruments, nor by his quartets and trios, and two sets of sonatas for the harpsichord and two violins. All we have to depend on now as to the quality of his music are the strictures of a certain Dr. Hayes, an Oxford Professor, who points out many errors against the rules of composition in the works of Avison, whence he infers that his skill in music is not very profound, and the somewhat more appreciative remarks of Hawkins who says "The music of Avison is light and elegant, but it wants originality, a necessary consequence of his too close attachment to the style of Geminiani which in a few particulars only he was able to imitate."

Geminiani was a celebrated violin player and composer of the day, who had come to England from Italy. He is said to have held his pupil, Avison, in high esteem and to have paid him a visit at Newcastle in 1760. Avison's early education was gained in Italy; and in addition to his musical attainments he was a scholar and a man of some literary acquirements. It is not surprising, considering all these educational advantages that he really made something of a stir upon the publication of his "small book," as Browning calls it, with, we may add, its "large title."

AN ESSAY ON MUSICAL EXPRESSION BY CHARLES AVISON _Organist_ in NEWCASTLE With ALTERATIONS and Large ADDITIONS

To which is added, A LETTER to the AUTHOR concerning the Music of the ANCIENTS and some Passages in CLASSIC WRITERS relating to the Subject.

LIKEWISE Mr. AVISON'S REPLY to the Author of _Remarks on the Essay on MUSICAL EXPRESSION_ In a Letter from Mr. _Avison_ to his Friend in _London_

THE THIRD EDITION LONDON Printed for LOCKYER DAVIS, in _Holborn_. Printer to the ROYAL SOCIETY. MDCCLXXV.

The author of the "Remarks on the Essay on Musical Expression" was the aforementioned Dr. W. Hayes, and although the learned doctor's pamphlet seems to have died a natural death, some idea of its strictures may be gained from Avison's reply. The criticisms are rather too technical to be of interest to the general reader, but one is given here to show how gentlemanly a temper Mr. Avison possessed when he was under fire. His reply runs "His first critique, and, I think, his masterpiece, contains many circumstantial, but false and virulent remarks on the first allegro of these concertos, to which he supposes I would give the name of _fugue_. Be it just what he pleases to call it I shall not defend what the public is already in possession of, the public being the most proper judge. I shall only here observe, that our critic has wilfully, or ignorantly, confounded the terms _fugue_ and _imitation_, which latter is by no means subject to the same laws with the former.

"Had I observed the method of answering the _accidental subjects_ in this _allegro_, as laid down by our critic in his remarks, they must have produced most shocking effects; which, though this mechanic in music, would, perhaps, have approved, yet better judges might, in reality, have imagined I had known no other art than that of the spruzzarino." There is a nice independence about this that would indicate Mr. Avison to be at least an aspirant in the right direction in musical composition. His criticism of Handel, too, at a time when the world was divided between enthusiasm for Handel and enthusiasm for Buononcini, shows a remarkably just and penetrating estimate of this great genius.

"Mr. Handel is, in music, what his own Dryden was in poetry; nervous, exalted, and harmonious; but voluminous, and, consequently, not always correct. Their abilities equal to every thing; their execution frequently inferior. Born with genius capable of _soaring the boldest flights_; they have sometimes, to suit the vitiated taste of the age they lived in, _descended to the lowest_. Yet, as both their excellencies are infinitely more numerous than their deficiencies, so both their characters will devolve to latest posterity, not as models of perfection, yet glorious examples of those amazing powers that actuate the human soul."

On the whole, Mr. Avison's "little book" on Musical Expression is eminently sensible as to the matter and very agreeable in style. He hits off well, for example, the difference between "musical expression" and imitation.

"As dissonances and shocking sounds cannot be called Musical Expression, so neither do I think, can mere imitation of several other things be entitled to this name, which, however, among the generality of mankind hath often obtained it. Thus, the gradual rising or falling of the notes in a long succession is often used to denote ascent or descent; broken intervals, to denote an interrupted motion; a number of quick divisions, to describe swiftness or flying; sounds resembling laughter, to describe laughter; with a number of other contrivances of a parallel kind, which it is needless here to mention. Now all these I should chuse to style imitation, rather than expression; because it seems to me, that their tendency is rather to fix the hearer's attention on the similitude between the sounds and the things which they describe, and thereby to excite a reflex act of the understanding, than to affect the heart and raise the passions of the soul.

"This distinction seems more worthy our notice at present, because some very eminent composers have attached themselves chiefly to the method here mentioned; and seem to think they have exhausted all the depths of expression, by a dextrous imitation of the meaning of a few particular words, that occur in the hymns or songs which they set to music. Thus, were one of these gentlemen to express the following words of _Milton_,

--Their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heav'n:

it is highly probable, that upon the word _divide_, he would run a _division_ of half a dozen bars; and on the subsequent part of the sentence, he would not think he had done the poet justice, or _risen_ to that _height_ of sublimity which he ought to express, till he had climbed up to the very top of his instrument, or at least as far as the human voice could follow him. And this would pass with a great part of mankind for musical expression; instead of that noble mixture of solemn airs and various harmony, which indeed elevates our thoughts, and gives that exquisite pleasure, which none but true lovers of harmony can feel." What Avison calls "musical expression," we call to-day "content." And thus Avison "tenders evidence that music in his day as much absorbed heart and soul then as Wagner's music now." It is not unlikely that this very passage may have started Browning off on his argumentative way concerning the question: how lasting and how fundamental are the powers of musical expression.

The poet's memory goes back a hundred years only to reach "The bands-man Avison whose little book and large tune had led him the long way from to-day."

CHARLES AVISON

. . . . . . .

And to-day's music-manufacture,--Brahms, Wagner, Dvorak, Liszt,--to where--trumpets, shawms, Show yourselves joyful!--Handel reigns--supreme? By no means! Buononcini's work is theme For fit laudation of the impartial few: (We stand in England, mind you!) Fashion too Favors Geminiani--of those choice Concertos: nor there wants a certain voice Raised in thy favor likewise, famed Pepusch Dear to our great-grandfathers! In a bush Of Doctor's wig, they prized thee timing beats While Greenway trilled "Alexis." Such were feats Of music in thy day--dispute who list-- Avison, of Newcastle organist!

V

And here's your music all alive once more-- As once it was alive, at least: just so The figured worthies of a waxwork-show Attest--such people, years and years ago, Looked thus when outside death had life below, --Could say "We are now," not "We were of yore," --"Feel how our pulses leap!" and not "Explore-- Explain why quietude has settled o'er Surface once all-awork!" Ay, such a "Suite" Roused heart to rapture, such a "Fugue" would catch Soul heavenwards up, when time was: why attach Blame to exhausted faultlessness, no match For fresh achievement? Feat once--ever feat! How can completion grow still more complete? Hear Avison! He tenders evidence That music in his day as much absorbed Heart and soul then as Wagner's music now. Perfect from center to circumference-- Orbed to the full can be but fully orbed: And yet--and yet--whence comes it that "O Thou"-- Sighed by the soul at eve to Hesperus-- Will not again take wing and fly away (Since fatal Wagner fixed it fast for us) In some unmodulated minor? Nay, Even by Handel's help!

Having stated the problem that confronts him, namely, the change of fashion in music, the poet boldly goes on to declare that there is no truer truth obtainable by man than comes of music, because it does give direct expression to the moods of the soul, yet there is a hitch that balks her of full triumph, namely the musical form in which these moods are expressed does not stay fixed. This statement is enriched by a digression upon the meaning of the soul.

VI

I state it thus: There is no truer truth obtainable By Man than comes of music. "Soul"--(accept A word which vaguely names what no adept In word-use fits and fixes so that still Thing shall not slip word's fetter and remain Innominate as first, yet, free again, Is no less recognized the absolute Fact underlying that same other fact Concerning which no cavil can dispute Our nomenclature when we call it "Mind"-- Something not Matter)--"Soul," who seeks shall find Distinct beneath that something. You exact An illustrative image? This may suit.

VII

We see a work: the worker works behind, Invisible himself. Suppose his act Be to o'erarch a gulf: he digs, transports, Shapes and, through enginery--all sizes, sorts, Lays stone by stone until a floor compact Proves our bridged causeway. So works Mind--by stress Of faculty, with loose facts, more or less, Builds up our solid knowledge: all the same, Underneath rolls what Mind may hide not tame, An element which works beyond our guess, Soul, the unsounded sea--whose lift of surge, Spite of all superstructure, lets emerge, In flower and foam, Feeling from out the deeps Mind arrogates no mastery upon-- Distinct indisputably. Has there gone To dig up, drag forth, render smooth from rough Mind's flooring,--operosity enough? Still the successive labor of each inch, Who lists may learn: from the last turn of winch That let the polished slab-stone find its place, To the first prod of pick-axe at the base Of the unquarried mountain,--what was all Mind's varied process except natural, Nay, easy, even, to descry, describe, After our fashion? "So worked Mind: its tribe Of senses ministrant above, below, Far, near, or now or haply long ago Brought to pass knowledge." But Soul's sea,--drawn whence, Fed how, forced whither,--by what evidence Of ebb and flow, that's felt beneath the tread, Soul has its course 'neath Mind's work over-head,-- Who tells of, tracks to source the founts of Soul? Yet wherefore heaving sway and restless roll This side and that, except to emulate Stability above? To match and mate Feeling with knowledge,--make as manifest Soul's work as Mind's work, turbulence as rest, Hates, loves, joys, woes, hopes, fears, that rise and sink Ceaselessly, passion's transient flit and wink, A ripple's tinting or a spume-sheet's spread Whitening the wave,--to strike all this life dead, Run mercury into a mould like lead, And henceforth have the plain result to show-- How we Feel, hard and fast as what we Know-- This were the prize and is the puzzle!--which Music essays to solve: and here's the hitch That balks her of full triumph else to boast.

Then follows his explanation of the "hitch," which necessitates a comparison with the other arts. His contention is that art adds nothing to the _knowledge_ of the mind. It simply moulds into a fixed form elements already known which before lay loose and dissociated, it therefore does not really create. But there is one realm, that of feeling, to which the arts never succeed in giving permanent form though all try to do it. What is it they succeed in getting? The poet does not make the point very clear, but he seems to be groping after the idea that the arts present only the _phenomena_ of feeling or the image of feeling instead of the _reality_. Like all people who are appreciative of music, he realizes that music comes nearer to expressing the spiritual reality of feeling than the other arts, and yet music of all the arts is the least permanent in its appeal.

VIII

All Arts endeavor this, and she the most Attains thereto, yet fails of touching: why? Does Mind get Knowledge from Art's ministry? What's known once is known ever: Arts arrange, Dissociate, re-distribute, interchange Part with part, lengthen, broaden, high or deep Construct their bravest,--still such pains produce Change, not creation: simply what lay loose At first lies firmly after, what design Was faintly traced in hesitating line Once on a time, grows firmly resolute Henceforth and evermore. Now, could we shoot Liquidity into a mould,--some way Arrest Soul's evanescent moods, and keep Unalterably still the forms that leap To life for once by help of Art!--which yearns To save its capture: Poetry discerns, Painting is 'ware of passion's rise and fall, Bursting, subsidence, intermixture--all A-seethe within the gulf. Each Art a-strain Would stay the apparition,--nor in vain: The Poet's word-mesh, Painter's sure and swift Color-and-line-throw--proud the prize they lift! Thus felt Man and thus looked Man,--passions caught I' the midway swim of sea,--not much, if aught, Of nether-brooding loves, hates, hopes and fears, Enwombed past Art's disclosure. Fleet the years, And still the Poet's page holds Helena At gaze from topmost Troy--"But where are they, My brothers, in the armament I name Hero by hero? Can it be that shame For their lost sister holds them from the war?" --Knowing not they already slept afar Each of them in his own dear native land. Still on the Painter's fresco, from the hand Of God takes Eve the life-spark whereunto She trembles up from nothingness. Outdo Both of them, Music! Dredging deeper yet, Drag into day,--by sound, thy master-net,-- The abysmal bottom-growth, ambiguous thing Unbroken of a branch, palpitating With limbs' play and life's semblance! There it lies, Marvel and mystery, of mysteries And marvels, most to love and laud thee for! Save it from chance and change we most abhor! Give momentary feeling permanence, So that thy capture hold, a century hence, Truth's very heart of truth as, safe to-day, The Painter's Eve, the Poet's Helena, Still rapturously bend, afar still throw The wistful gaze! Thanks, Homer, Angelo! Could Music rescue thus from Soul's profound, Give feeling immortality by sound, Then were she queenliest of Arts! Alas-- As well expect the rainbow not to pass! "Praise 'Radaminta'--love attains therein To perfect utterance! Pity--what shall win Thy secret like 'Rinaldo'?"--so men said: Once all was perfume--now, the flower is dead-- They spied tints, sparks have left the spar! Love, hate, Joy, fear, survive,--alike importunate As ever to go walk the world again, Nor ghost-like pant for outlet all in vain Till Music loose them, fit each filmily With form enough to know and name it by For any recognizer sure of ken And sharp of ear, no grosser denizen Of earth than needs be. Nor to such appeal Is Music long obdurate: off they steal-- How gently, dawn-doomed phantoms! back come they Full-blooded with new crimson of broad day-- Passion made palpable once more. Ye look Your last on Handel? Gaze your first on Gluck! Why wistful search, O waning ones, the chart Of stars for you while Haydn, while Mozart Occupies heaven? These also, fanned to fire, Flamboyant wholly,--so perfections tire,-- Whiten to wanness, till ... let others note The ever-new invasion!

The poet makes no attempt to give any reason why music should be so ephemeral in its appeal. He merely refers to the development of harmony and modulation, nor does it seem to enter his head that there can be any question about the appeal being ephemeral. He imagines the possibility of resuscitating dead and gone music with modern harmonies and novel modulations, but gives that up as an irreverent innovation. His next mood is a historical one; dead and gone music may have something for us in a historical sense, that is, if we bring our life to kindle theirs, we may sympathetically enter into the life of the time.

IX

I devote Rather my modicum of parts to use What power may yet avail to re-infuse (In fancy, please you!) sleep that looks like death With momentary liveliness, lend breath To make the torpor half inhale. O Relfe, An all-unworthy pupil, from the shelf Of thy laboratory, dares unstop Bottle, ope box, extract thence pinch and drop Of dusts and dews a many thou didst shrine Each in its right receptacle, assign To each its proper office, letter large Label and label, then with solemn charge, Reviewing learnedly the list complete Of chemical reactives, from thy feet Push down the same to me, attent below, Power in abundance: armed wherewith I go To play the enlivener. Bring good antique stuff! Was it alight once? Still lives spark enough For breath to quicken, run the smouldering ash Red right-through. What, "stone-dead" were fools so rash As style my Avison, because he lacked Modern appliance, spread out phrase unracked By modulations fit to make each hair Stiffen upon his wig? See there--and there! I sprinkle my reactives, pitch broadcast Discords and resolutions, turn aghast Melody's easy-going, jostle law With license, modulate (no Bach in awe), Change enharmonically (Hudl to thank), And lo, up-start the flamelets,--what was blank Turns scarlet, purple, crimson! Straightway scanned By eyes that like new lustre--Love once more Yearns through the Largo, Hatred as before Rages in the Rubato: e'en thy March, My Avison, which, sooth to say--(ne'er arch Eyebrows in anger!)--timed, in Georgian years The step precise of British Grenadiers To such a nicety,--if score I crowd, If rhythm I break, if beats I vary,--tap At bar's off-starting turns true thunder-clap, Ever the pace augmented till--what's here? Titanic striding toward Olympus!

X

Fear No such irreverent innovation! Still Glide on, go rolling, water-like, at will-- Nay, were thy melody in monotone, The due three-parts dispensed with!

XI

This alone Comes of my tiresome talking: Music's throne Seats somebody whom somebody unseats, And whom in turn--by who knows what new feats Of strength,--shall somebody as sure push down, Consign him dispossessed of sceptre, crown, And orb imperial--whereto?--Never dream That what once lived shall ever die! They seem Dead--do they? lapsed things lost in limbo? Bring Our life to kindle theirs, and straight each king Starts, you shall see, stands up, from head to foot No inch that is not Purcell! Wherefore? (Suit Measure to subject, first--no marching on Yet in thy bold C Major, Avison, As suited step a minute since: no: wait-- Into the minor key first modulate-- Gently with A, now--in the Lesser Third!)

The really serious conclusion of the poem amounts to a doctrine of relativity in art and not only in art but in ethics and religion. It is a statement in poetry of the prevalent thought of the nineteenth century, of which the most widely known exponent was Herbert Spencer. The form in which every truth manifests itself is partial and therefore will pass, but the underlying truth, the absolute which unfolds itself in form after form is eternal. Every manifestation in form, according to Browning, however, has also its infinite value in relation to the truth which is preserved through it.

XII

Of all the lamentable debts incurred By Man through buying knowledge, this were worst: That he should find his last gain prove his first Was futile--merely nescience absolute, Not knowledge in the bud which holds a fruit Haply undreamed of in the soul's Spring-tide, Pursed in the petals Summer opens wide, And Autumn, withering, rounds to perfect ripe,-- Not this,--but ignorance, a blur to wipe From human records, late it graced so much. "Truth--this attainment? Ah, but such and such Beliefs of yore seemed inexpugnable.

"When we attained them! E'en as they, so will This their successor have the due morn, noon, Evening and night--just as an old-world tune Wears out and drops away, until who hears Smilingly questions--'This it was brought tears Once to all eyes,--this roused heart's rapture once?' So will it be with truth that, for the nonce, Styles itself truth perennial: 'ware its wile! Knowledge turns nescience,--foremost on the file, Simply proves first of our delusions."

XIII

Now-- Blare it forth, bold C Major! Lift thy brow, Man, the immortal, that wast never fooled With gifts no gifts at all, nor ridiculed-- Man knowing--he who nothing knew! As Hope, Fear, Joy, and Grief,--though ampler stretch and scope They seek and find in novel rhythm, fresh phrase,-- Were equally existent in far days Of Music's dim beginning--even so, Truth was at full within thee long ago, Alive as now it takes what latest shape May startle thee by strangeness. Truths escape Time's insufficient garniture; they fade, They fall--those sheathings now grown sere, whose aid Was infinite to truth they wrapped, saved fine And free through March frost: May dews crystalline Nourish truth merely,--does June boast the fruit As--not new vesture merely but, to boot, Novel creation? Soon shall fade and fall Myth after myth--the husk-like lies I call New truth's corolla-safeguard: Autumn comes, So much the better!

As to the questions why music does not give feeling immortality through sound, and why it should be so ephemeral in its appeal, there are various things to be said. It is just possible that it may soon come to be recognized that the psychic growth of humanity is more perfectly reflected in music than any where else. Ephemeralness may be predicated of culture-music more certainly than of folk-music, why? Because culture-music often has occupied itself more with the technique than with the content, while folk-music, being the spontaneous expression of feeling must have content. Folk-music, it is true, is simple, but if it be genuine in its feeling I doubt whether it ever loses its power to move. Therefore, in folk-music is possibly made permanent simple states of feeling. Now in culture-music, the development has constantly been in the direction of the expression of the ultimate spiritual reality of emotions. Music is now actually trying to accomplish what Browning demands of it:

"Dredging deeper yet, Drag into day,--by sound, thy master-net,-- The abysmal bottom-growth, ambiguous thing Unbroken of a branch, palpitating With limbs' play and life's semblance! There it lies, Marvel and mystery, of mysteries And marvels, most to love and laud thee for! Save it from chance and change we most abhor."

This is true no matter what the emotion may be. Hate may have its "eidolon" as well as love. Above all arts, music has the power of raising evil into a region of the artistically beautiful. Doubt, despair, passion, become blossoms plucked by the hand of God when transmuted in the alembic of the brain of genius--which is not saying that he need experience any of these passions himself. In fact, it is his power of perceiving the eidolon of beauty in modes of passion or emotion not his own that makes him the great genius.

It is doubtless true that whenever in culture-music there has really been content aroused by feeling, no matter what the stage of technique reached, _that_ music retains its power to move. It is also highly probably that in the earlier objective phases of music, even the contemporary audiences were not moved in the sense that we should be moved to-day. The audiences were objective also and their enthusiasm may have been aroused by merely the imitative aspects of music as Avison called them. It is certainly a fact that content and form are more closely linked in music than in any other art. Suppose, however, we imagine the development of melody, counterpoint, harmony, modulation, etc., to be symbolized by a series of concrete materials like clay bricks, silver bricks, gold bricks, diamond bricks; a beautiful thought might take as exquisite a form in bricks of clay as it would in diamond bricks, or diamond bricks might be flung together without any informing thought so that they would attract only the thoughtless by their glitter. But it also follows that, with the increase in the kinds of bricks, there is an increase in the possibilities for subtleties in psychic expression, therefore music to-day is coming nearer and nearer to the spiritual reality of feeling. It requires the awakened soul that Maeterlinck talks about, that is, the soul alive to the spiritual essences of things to recognize this new realm which composers are bringing to us in music.

There are always, at least three kinds of appreciators of music, those who can see beauty only in the masters of the past, those who can see beauty only in the last new composer, and those who ecstatically welcome beauty past, present and to come. These last are not only psychically developed themselves, but they are able to retain delight in simpler modes of feeling. They may be raised to a seventh heaven of delight by a Bach fugue played on a clavichord by Mr. Dolmetsch, feeling as if angels were ministering unto them, or to a still higher heaven of delight by a Tschaikowsky symphony or a string quartet of Grieg, feeling that here the seraphim continually do cry, or they may enter into the very presence of the most High through some subtly exquisite and psychic song of an American composer, for some of the younger American composers are indeed approaching "Truth's very heart of truth," in their music.

On the whole, one gets rather the impression that the poet has here tackled a problem upon which he did not have great insight. He passes from one mood to another, none of which seem especially satisfactory to himself, and concludes with one of the half-truths of nineteenth-century thought. It is true as far as it goes that forms evolve, and it is a good truth to oppose to the martinets of settled standards in poetry, music and painting; it is also true that the form is a partial expression of a whole truth, but there is the further truth that, let a work of art be really a work of genius, and the form as well as the content touches the infinite; that is, we have as Browning says in a poem already quoted, "Bernard de Mandeville," the very sun in little, or as he makes Abt Vogler say of his music, the broken arc which goes to the formation of the perfect round, or to quote still another poem of Browning's, "Cleon," the perfect rhomb or trapezoid that has its own place in a mosaic pavement.

The poem closes in a rolicking frame of mind, which is not remarkably consistent with the preceding thought, except that the poet seems determined to get all he can out of the music of the past by enlivening it with his own jolly mood. To this end he sets a patriotic poem to the tune of Avison's march, in honor of our old friend, Pym. It is a clever _tour de force_ for the words are made to match exactly in rhythm and quantity the notes of the march. Truth to say, the essential goodness of the tune comes out by means of these enlivening words.

XIV

Therefore--bang the drums, Blow the trumpets, Avison! March-motive? that's Truth which endures resetting. Sharps and flats, Lavish at need, shall dance athwart thy score When ophicleide and bombardon's uproar Mate the approaching trample, even now Big in the distance--or my ears deceive-- Of federated England, fitly weave March-music for the Future!

XV

Or suppose Back, and not forward, transformation goes? Once more some sable-stoled procession--say, From Little-ease to Tyburn--wends its way, Out of the dungeon to the gallows-tree Where heading, hacking, hanging is to be Of half-a-dozen recusants--this day Three hundred years ago! How duly drones Elizabethan plain-song--dim antique Grown clarion-clear the while I humbly wreak A classic vengeance on thy March! It moans-- Larges and Longs and Breves displacing quite Crotchet-and-quaver pertness--brushing bars Aside and filling vacant sky with stars Hidden till now that day returns to night.

XVI

Nor night nor day: one purpose move us both, Be thy mood mine! As thou wast minded, Man's The cause our music champions: I were loth To think we cheered our troop to Preston Pans Ignobly: back to times of England's best! Parliament stands for privilege--life and limb Guards Hollis, Haselrig, Strode, Hampden, Pym, The famous Five. There's rumor of arrest. Bring up the Train Bands, Southwark! They protest: Shall we not all join chorus? Hark the hymn, --Rough, rude, robustious--homely heart a-throb, Harsh voises a-hallo, as beseems the mob! How good is noise! what's silence but despair Of making sound match gladness never there? Give me some great glad "subject," glorious Bach, Where cannon-roar not organ-peal we lack! Join in, give voice robustious rude and rough,-- Avison helps--so heart lend noise enough!

Fife, trump, drum, sound! and singers then, Marching, say "Pym, the man of men!" Up, head's, your proudest--out, throats, your loudest-- "Somerset's Pym!"

Strafford from the block, Eliot from the den, Foes, friends, shout "Pym, our citizen!" Wail, the foes he quelled,--hail, the friends he held, "Tavistock's Pym!"

Hearts prompt heads, hands that ply the pen Teach babes unborn the where and when --Tyrants, he braved them,-- Patriots, he saved them-- "Westminster's Pym."

Another English musician, Arthur Chappell, was the inspiration of a graceful little sonnet written by the poet in an album which was presented to Mr. Chappell in recognition of his popular concerts in London. Browning was a constant attendant at these. It gives a true glimpse of the poet in a highly appreciative mood:

THE FOUNDER OF THE FEAST

1884

"Enter my palace," if a prince should say-- "Feast with the Painters! See, in bounteous row, They range from Titian up to Angelo!" Could we be silent at the rich survey? A host so kindly, in as great a way Invites to banquet, substitutes for show Sound that's diviner still, and bids us know Bach like Beethoven; are we thankless, pray?

Thanks, then, to Arthur Chappell,--thanks to him Whose every guest henceforth not idly vaunts "Sense has received the utmost Nature grants, My cup was filled with rapture to the brim, When, night by night,--ah, memory, how it haunts!-- Music was poured by perfect ministrants, By Halle, Schumann, Piatti, Joachim."

* * * * *

Transcriber Notes

Typographical inconsistencies have been changed and are listed below.

Archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation are preserved.

Author's punctuation style is preserved, except where noted.

Some illustrations moved to one page later.

Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.

Passages in bold indicated by =equal signs=.

Emphasized words within italics indicated by plus +emphasis+.

Transcriber Changes

The following changes were made to the original text:

Page 10: Removed extra quote after Keats (What porridge had John =Keats?=)

Page 21: Was 'blurrs' (Stray-leaves, fragments, =blurs= and blottings)

Page 49: Paragraph continued, no quote needed (=Tibullus= gives Virgil equal credit for having in his writings touched with telling truth)

Page 53: Was 'Shakesspeare' (Jonson wrote for the First Folio edition of =Shakespeare= printed in 1623)

Page 53: Was 'B. I.' (=B. J.=)

Page 53: Added single quotes (Shakespeare's talk in "At the ='Mermaid'=" grows out of the supposition)

Page 69: Was 'Shakepeare's' (He thinks the opening Sonnets are to the Earl of Southampton, known to be =Shakespeare's= patron)

Page 81: Added comma after Strafford (not Pym, the leader of the people, but =Strafford,= the supporter of the King.)

Page 85: Added end quote (some half-dozen years of immunity to the 'fretted tenement' of Strafford's 'fiery =soul'=)

Page 91: Capitalized King (The =King=, upon his visit to Scotland, had been shocked)

Page 100: Was 'Finnees' (Hampden, Hollis, the younger Vane, Rudyard, =Fiennes= and many of the Presbyterian Party)

Page 136: Removed extra start quote ("Be my friend =Of= friends!"--My King! I would have....)

Page 137: Was 'brillance' (The else imperial =brilliance= of your mind)

Page 137: Was 'you way' (If Pym is busy,--=you may= write of Pym.)

Page 140: Capitalized King (the =King=, therefore, summoned it to meet on the third of November.)

Page 142: Matching the original: leaving it hyphenated (the greatest in England would have stood =dis-covered=.')

Page 172: Was 'Partiot' (The =Patriot= Pym, or the Apostate Strafford!)

Page 174: Was 'perfers' (The King =prefers= to leave the door ajar)

Page 178: Was 'her's' (I am =hers= now, and I will die.)

Page 193: Was 'Bethrothal' (Till death us do join past parting--that sounds like =Betrothal= indeed!)

Page 200: Was 'canonade' (Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of =cannonade=: 'Tis when foes are foiled and fighting's finished that vile rains invade)

Page 203: Inserted stanza (=Down= I sat to cards, one evening)

Page 203: Added starting quote (="When= he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!')

Page 204: Added starting quote (='End= it! no time like the present!)

Page 224: Changed comma to period (the morning's lessons conned with the =tutor.= There, too, it was that he impressed on the lad those maxims)

Page 236: Added end quote (Why, he makes sure of her--"do you say, =yes"=-- "She'll not say, no,"--what comes it to beside?)

Page 265: Added stanza ("'=I've= been about those laces we need for ... never mind!)

Page 266: Keeping original spelling (With =dreriment= about, within may life be found)

Page 267: Added stanza ("'=Wicked= dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!)

Page 276: Was 'checks' (The dryness of "Aristotle's =cheeks=" is as usual so enlivened by Browning that the fate of Halbert and Hob grows)

Page 289: Added starting quote (="You= wrong your poor disciple.)

Page 290: Removed end quote (Wish I could take you; but fame travels =fast=)

Page 291: Was 'aud' (Aunt =and= niece, you and me.)

Page 294: Was 'oustide' (Such =outside=! Now,--confound me for a prig!)

Page 299: Changed singe quote to double (="Not= you! But I see.)

Page 315: Was 'Descretion' (To live and die together--for a month, =Discretion= can award no more!)

Page 329: Removed starting quote ("He may believe; and yet, and yet =How= can he?" All eyes turn with interest.)

Page 344: Left in ending quote with unknown start (High Church, and the Evangelicals, or Low =Church."=)

Page 370: Changed period to comma (Judgment drops her damning =plummet,= Pronouncing such a fatal space)

Page 421: Removed starting quote (=About= the year 1676, the corporation of Newcastle contributed)

Page 429: Added period (whose little book and large tune had led him the long way from =to-day.=")

Page 437: Was 'irreverant' (gives that up as an =irreverent= innovation.)

Page 440: Added beginning quote (="When= we attained them!)

Page 445: Added comma (we have as Browning says in a poem already =quoted,= "Bernard de Mandeville,")