Judge Dennis Davis
The Enigma that was Edward Elgar

Judge Dennis Davis - The Enigma that was Edward Elgar

- Obviously, in dealing with Edward Elgar, I mean, the play on the word enigma is precisely because of the “Enigma Variations,” which we’re going to come to, but there is a greater enigma, it seems to me, because Elgar, on the one hand, is known, and we will, of course, end with this, with “Pomp and Circumstance No. 1,” and those of you who wish can pull out your Union Jacks and wave them, as you’ll see in the clip that I play from that, from the Proms, but on the other hand, as I indicate, he, of course, composed some very, very serious music, some extraordinary music, and I had to therefore make a bit of a choice between what I could play for you in the confines of less than an hour, so you’ll see that I’ve tried to do a sort of little spread of his music as best I can. Elgar, in many ways, 1857 to 1934. It’s interesting that he sort of, you know, overlaps a whole lot of very famous composers, particularly my great hero, Gustav Mahler, who was 1860 to 1911, and he was, in a sense, a hero of English music because after Henry Purcell, 1659 to 1695, England really had produced a fair share of performers, provided a real embrace to many composers from the continent, but on its own never really had produced a notable composer. The entire late Baroque, classical, romantic eras were driven by German, Austrian, Italian, French, Russian, Eastern European music, and to a large degree, I suppose you could say Elgar changed that, and single-handedly so.

It’s interesting that as Christopher Headington, of course, a musician of similar era, spoke about Elgar, he noted that Elgar had little formal instruction and was largely self-taught, and he thought that was fortunate, that was Headington, that his parents, Elgar’s parents, could not afford to send him to study abroad where he’d have been moulded by foreign influences of the kind that I’ve made reference to, but Elgar was clearly enthralled by the resources of his father’s music store, where he studied scores, textbooks on his own, and accompanied his father, who was the organist at Worcester Cathedral. Elgar later wrote, quote, “A stream of music flowed through our house and the shop. "I was all the time bathing in it.” He became proficient in the cello, the bass, the piano, the bassoon, and the trombone, and the violin, which he taught, amongst others, to Headington, who I’ve mentioned, and as a Catholic, he was largely influenced from the influence of the, insulated, sorry, from the influence of rigid musical strictures of the English Church, but it’s true. Now, one of the confusing parts about Elgar is that in his dress, his formal bearing, his pronounced moustache, his regal conduct, he appeared to be the very model of an English gentleman in the Edwardian period. In keeping with his place in the nation’s musical history, of course, he’s triggered a lot of debate within the literature about the meaning of his Englishness, so, for example, in one of the early editions of “Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians” it’s argued that it’s by the direct and constant appeal of Elgar’s music to his own countrymen that the English character of his art is abundantly proved. Ernest Newman proclaimed Elgar to be, “The very soul of our race "and his works, in truth, the very voice of England.”

Yehudi Menuhin agreed that listeners could recognise in Elgar the collective soul of a race set in its own climate and landscape, being England. There are others, of course, who took different views. J.B. Priestley chided those who sneered at Elgar for failing to understand, quote, “That the age did not simply consist of the British Empire, "still untroubled, garden parties, champagne suppers, "and the guards on the parade, "but rather, that Elgar recognised the confusion, "deepening doubt, "and melancholy whispers from the unconscious "as well as all that hope and glory,” and so the issue of whether he was truly English in that sense has been the subject of quite considerable amount of debate, but whatever one said about Elgar and the fact that he was regarded as sentimentalist, a pseudoromantic and nationalist, there’s no question about it that he paved the way for Vaughan Williams, for Delius, for Walton, for Britten, and others to revitalise the whole canon of English music. Instead, rather than spurn his art, Bernard Shaw, who, of course, as you know, was Irish, praised Elgar’s sheer personal originality and proclaimed him, “The true symphonic successor to Beethoven, "far superior to Mendelssohn, Schumann, and even Brahms.” Shaw went on to praise his orchestration: “No mere effect-monger, "he raises every separate instrument "to its highest efficiency,” and so there was a lot of praise for Edward Elgar at precisely the same time that there was a considerable amount of discussion about the nature of his Englishness, and in a sense, I’ve chosen pieces which I sense reveal that particular debate. I’m going to start, probably right at the end, in a way, one of the last pieces or great pieces that he wrote, which was the cello concerto, completed in 1919, and in many ways it was his last major work for orchestra, and as many people suggested, was his most confessional.

In spite of fleeting moments of idealistic, idyllic release, it really is a piece replete with disillusionment, a sense of suffering, a sense of the crisis that he had experienced during the Great War. He’d been ill, deeply depressed by the Great War’s destruction of the world he’d known, and this was poured into this particular concerto for the cello, which, of course, is not a unusual instrument considering its rich tone but brooding nature and the dark timbre of that instrument. Elgar’s cello concerto, of course, probably together with Dvořák’s, is the one which most concertgoers would, in a sense, get out of home to go and listen to, and its four movements unfold from one another as if forming a single rhapsodic thought. It really is an integrated piece of music in a manifest way, and I wanted to play just a few minutes of the first movement and a few minutes of the third movement. Love to play the whole, but I can’t simply ‘cause of time, and then the question was which one to choose? And my instinctive choice was to go for my favourite, and I suppose many people’s favourite, the great recording of Barbirolli and Jacqueline du Pré, which many would’ve regarded as perhaps the greatest exposition of the cello concerto, but I couldn’t find that recording, recorded in 1965 with the London Symphony Orchestra, when du Pré was only at 20 at the time, quite astonishingly. She died, by the way, in 1987, as you know, very sadly, but I did finally find her doing a recording with Daniel Barenboim, who very young at the time, who’s married to her, and I’d just like to… We’re going to just talk a little bit about the first movement, if I can, for you just to, perhaps, if I could just prepare listening to it 'cause it is a remarkable piece. It has what so many musicologists have called a confessional opening, and it’s interesting that it starts with the cello.

An individual cello does not start with the orchestra. There’s no orchestral introduction, and it’s only when the cello, as it was expressed itself in this really very passionate but confessional way that the orchestra comes in, and even more than that, if you just look at the, listen to the first few chords of the opening of the, or by the cello of the concerto, it’s remarkable how Elgar is so clever in the way he uses tonality. Starts with the E minor chord, which is the tonic chord, but then you don’t go to a G, so he doesn’t use the G to start. Use the E. It’s very unsettling, and there three notes. By the third note, by the third note of the, which comes out of the cello, there’s that real sense of sadness, of instability, of temperamental, existential angst, if I could put it that way, a real sense of pain, which comes through the way he has crafted those notes in the opening to the cello. Let us hear the first four or five minutes, if we may, of the recording of Daniel Barenboim conducting and Jacqueline du Pré on cello. Okay, we can leave it there, Lauren. Thank you. It’s extraordinary to believe that she was in, well, she played the Barbirolli version when she was 20 years old. 'Course, multiple sclerosis cut her down, and her career ended, sadly, at least 14 years before she died, but really, utterly remarkable cellist, and I just want, again, to emphasise precisely just how brilliantly Elgar has orchestrated this. The beginning, as I’ve indicated, the cello opening and the slow introduction, which arrives at this sort of grandeur, a kind of graceful theme, and then we get the second theme, which is very much introduced, of course, by the clarinets, and it’s treated, as a musician would say, as a siciliana, which is a song in a minor key, which evokes a sort of pastoral mood, so it’s really incredibly well orchestrated, but the sadness, the depression, the gloominess that Elgar felt about a world that he knew which had changed, writing in 1919 after the First World War is captured in this particular concerto, in my view, absolutely remarkable, which is why it is such a beautiful and wonderfully crafted piece.

Let us now listen to the third movement, again, with the cello. In this case, the orchestra’s pared down to a smaller orchestra. The cello is absolutely dominant, I think, except for one single measure, plays right through the movement, and it’s a sort of a meditative movement. Starts with the cello and then a famous kind of meditation, which is ushered in by the cello. In this case, the cello, the cellist playing for us is Yo-Yo Ma. Thanks, Lauren, so you get a sense of, I also think, the passion of Yo-Yo Ma almost meditating as this is going along, and it is incredibly meditative piece. What is interesting, and I haven’t time to play it, but overly, when you listen to the full concerto, when you get to the rondo finale, for a fleeting moment, there’s something of the pre-First World War Elgar, something more boisterous, more sunny, but it’s very fleeting. What I was going to say, just let me repeat… Thanks, Lauren.

I’m sorry about that, people. I was just mention that in the rondo finale, just for a moment, you get the joy and the sunniness of pre-First World War Elgar, but then, that collapses, and the piece again ends in this melancholy confessional way, so that was in 1919. I need to go back almost 20 to an earlier period when he produced his “Enigma Variations,” which unquestionably was his probably first great success, and I might add, led to him being knighted in 1904. The context of this is interesting. We told that one evening, after a long and tiresome day of teaching, aided by a cigar, he says, quote, “I musingly played on the piano the theme as it now stands. "The voice of Lady Elgar asked, with a sound of approval, ”'What was that?’ “I answered, ‘Nothing, but something might be made of it.’” He then played several variation, asked, “Who is that like?” The answer was, “I can’t quite say, "but it’s exactly the way William Meath Baker,” who was a squire, a builder, and a potter, and a great friend of theirs, “goes out of the room. "You are doing something "which I think has never been done before,” his wife said, and thus, the work grew into shape. This was written in 1898, and three days later, Elgar wrote to his publisher: “I’ve sketched a set of variations on an original theme. "The variations have amused me because I’ve labelled them "with the nicknames of my particular friends. "That is to say, I’ve written the variations, "each one to represent the mood of the party. "I’ve liked to imagine the party as I’ve written this, "him or herself and him or herself, "and have written what I think they would have written "if they were asses enough to compose. "It’s a quality idea, "and the result is amusing to those behind the scenes "and won’t affect the hearer who knows nothing. "What think you?” writes Elgar. On the 28th of October of that year, the weekly teaching session, he extemporised a set of variations on his theme, challenged students to guess whom they represented. He reportedly discarded the variations of the composers Charles Parry and Arthur Sullivan that imitated their styles rather than personality traits, and then, just a few days later, he played almost the entire work.

The score is actually dated on the 19th of February, 1899, and he sent it to the famous Wagnerian conductor Hans Richter. He was so intrigued by the programme, by this programme, that he incorporated it into a June 19 concert of 1899 that he was conducting, and it was really enormous acclaim that it that received, more than something I’m about to come to a little later. Now, of these, the one I want to play, which is the most famous, is the “Nimrod,” and it appears that the “Nimrod” was written after Augustus Johannes Jaeger as a liaison to Elgar’s publisher, Novello, Jaeger was an untiring advocate for all of Elgar’s works, and that was appreciated by Elgar. As far as the title, Jaeger was born in Germany, and Jaeger, , means hunter in German, and Nimrod was a mighty hunter in Genesis. Variation set in the noble key of E flat, was intended as a record, quote, “Of a long summer evening talk when my friend Jaeger "grew nobly eloquent, as only he could, "on the grandeur of Beethoven "and especially his slow movements,” and indeed, he then went on to say, “The opening bars were made to suggest "the slow movement of Beethoven’s ‘Pathétique’ sonata.” He placed “Nimrod” at the very, the ninth of the 14, and it was crafted in this manner as a tribute to this friend of his who’s really second only to his wife in his affections. Now what is interesting about it is, of course, we all know that it’s now played at funerals. It’s certainly always played at the death of a musician by the orchestra. Perhaps together with Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings,” it’s the one piece which, more than any other, encapsulates the loss and sadness when somebody dies, and so I want to play… It’s only about four, five minutes to play “Nimrod.” It really is the most beautifully sad piece, which I think is so suitable for these occasions. In this occasion, it’s conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Thank you, Lauren. You’ll have noticed he does this very slowly.

I think it clocks in, I haven’t checked, but I think it’s just about 5 ½ minutes, and there are many “Nimrods” which are only around about four minutes, so you’ve got to obviously ask yourself, “Why did he do that?” I think it’s because I think Bernstein was trying to play it this slowly to evoke as much of the sadness and pathos as could. Perhaps it was too slow. That, of course, is a question of taste, but it’s also interesting to me that Bernstein, who has played this a number of times, nonetheless, did not choose to do “Nimrod” when Robert Kennedy died, but famously, of course, played the adagio from the Mahler 5, and as I indicated when I lectured on Mahler 5 some while back, ‘course, most people today, thanks, of course, not just to Alma Mahler, but to Mengelberg, of course, knew all about the time, and Bruno Walter, most have thought that the adagio in the fifth symphony by Mahler was a love letter to Mahler and wasn’t meant to be played at funerals. Whereas I think “Nimrod,” you would agree, is absolutely perfect for that occasion. I’ve got two more works that I want to just discuss briefly with you this evening. Obviously, I would’ve wanted to, and perhaps would’ve devoted a whole lecture to it, but “The Dream of Gerontius,” which, of course, is one of the vocal pieces that Elgar conducted, is, of course, really very important, but it’s, you know, an hour and a half, two-hour piece, difficult to kind of fill it to discuss, but basically, what Elgar said about it was that the poem by John Henry Newman, quote, “Had been soaking in my mind for at least eight years,” he told a reporter in 1900 just prior to its premiere, and those eight years, of course, particularly from 1892 to 1900, he’d written at least six large-scale works for voices, beginning with “The Black Knight” in 1892. It included “Sea Pictures” in 1899, but this was the big one, and for him, he felt he was now able take on the subject that offered imaginative scope way beyond anything he’d done before, and Newman’s famous poem of spiritual discovery was, for Elgar at that particular point in time, peak of his powers, the best piece that he thought he could use to show off his talents in writing vocal pieces.

The great tragedy about it, I should tell you, was that the first performance did not go well, didn’t go well at all. Might not have been quite as dramatic as “The Rite of Spring,” which we’ve spoken about previously, but it was pretty poor. Part of the problem was Hans Richter, who I’ve already mentioned, only got the score the day before, which was particularly problematic, and as a result, the piece really was savaged in the press and by critics. As a result, Elgar wrote the following: “I have worked hard for the 40 years, "and at the last, "Providence denies me a decent hearing of my work, "so I submit I always said God was against art, "and I still believe it.” He said, “Anything which is obscene or trivial "is blessed in this world and has a reward. "I ask for no reward: "only to live and hear my music played,” with a sense of real desperation, but he didn’t have to wait very long because the truth was that as the piece began to be played more and more, it was recognised for the great work it is, and I only want to just talk about, just play for you just the opening couple of minutes, a sombre melody in D minor. It’s marked pianissimo, and it’s named by one of his friends as the, in fact, it’s by Jaeger as the judgement theme, and it does evoke quite similar reaction to little parts of “Tristan und Isolde” and “Parsifal.” Let’s just hear just the first couple of minutes of the opening of “The Dream of Gerontius.” There’s the one. Ah, thank you.

Thank you. Just to give you a feel of that, and now we come, 'course, to the “Enigma” in a real way because not only did Elgar write that music, but, of course, we all know that he’s, if you ask people what is he most famous for, it’s his “Pomp and Circumstance” five marches, one, of course, further one, which was published posthumously, but really, “Pomp and Circumstance 1.” Of course, the title comes from “Othello”: “O farewell. "Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, "The spirit-stirring drum, th’ ear-piercing fife; "The royal banner, and all quality, "Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! "And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats "Th’ immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit, "Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone,” and that’s where the title of “Pomp and Circumstance” comes from. Of course, it was written, initially, in 1902, played at a graduation assembly in the United States at Yale University in 1905. Elgar’s friend Samuel Sanford, a Yale professor of applied music, had invited him to New Haven to receive an honorary doctorate of music. The New Haven Symphony Orchestra played “Pomp and Circumstance No. 1” to wind the graduation ceremony up, and my goodness, they did so. The work was so stirring, emotional, and patriotic sounding that all sorts of other universities, Princeton, Chicago, Columbia, and Rutgers, began to play the work in their graduation ceremonies, and, of course, we now know that it’s now become standard fare, and, of course, it’s this particular work, more than any other, I suppose, that really has classified Elgar as a nationalistic composer sort of priding in the British Empire where the sun never set. It’s kind of difficult to sort of almost reconcile this with the earlier works that I’ve played, particularly cello concerto and the extraordinary sadness of “Nimrod,” but I couldn’t help but end tonight playing out from the Proms, and you all can sing along if you like in your houses ‘cause it is, of course, very stirring. “Pomp and Circumstance No. 1.” We’ll play the first few minutes.

♪ Land of hope and glory ♪ ♪ Mother of the free ♪ ♪ How shall we extol thee ♪ ♪ Who are born of thee ♪ ♪ Wider still and wider ♪ ♪ Shall thy bounds be set ♪ ♪ God, who thee mighty ♪ ♪ Make thee mightier still ♪ ♪ God, who made thee mighty ♪ ♪ Make thee mightier still ♪ ♪ Land of hope and glory ♪ ♪ Mother of the free ♪ ♪ How shall we extol thee ♪ ♪ Who are born of thee ♪ ♪ Wider still and wider ♪ ♪ Shall thy bounds be set ♪ ♪ God, who thee mighty ♪ ♪ Make thee mightier still ♪ ♪ God, who made thee mighty ♪ ♪ Make thee mightier still ♪

Okay, Lauren, I think we can end that. It’s interesting. In England, of course, it was played, I think, earlier, well, around the same time, and the central theme, of course, “Land of Hope and Glory,” was reused in Elgar’s coronation ode for Edward VII, the words written by the poet A.C. Benson, and they’ve been used ever since, and, of course, they end the Proms, the great last night of the Proms, but it always, for me, has been intriguing that to some extent the Elgar that I started off with, which, of course, was written towards the end of his career, the cello concerto, the extraordinary “Nimrod” variations, and even the “Gerontius” piece, could, of course, play these Elgar symphony or symphonies, and the violin concerto, so different to the “Pomp and Circumstance,” and therefore, to my mind, it’s a pity that that clouds the impression that one sometimes has of Elgar, given the earlier poignant and beautiful music, which I hope you’ve enjoyed.

Let me see whether there are any observations that I need to deal with.

Q&A and Comments:

Thank you very much, Eileen. Ralph Cook with a very different talk.

Dennis Glover, very perceptive. He said, “1934 was bad year for English music ”'cause Elgar, Holst, and Delius all died that year.“ How true.

A couple of people noticed Bernstein’s "Nimrod” being slow. I did mention that, and I agree there are quicker versions. Whether you like them better, I do not know.

Nanette, quite right. I think it’s so much sadness and emotion in it, and I agree with you, Rita. Thank you very much.

The last night of the Proms, of course, is when it’s, you know, it’s played, and I’m not sure what Elgar would’ve made in relation to the last night of the Proms.

Robin, there are a number of “Nimrods” which are at a faster pace than the Bernstein. In fact, I think he’s about one of the slowest, but I think, personally, I chose it because I think it, for me, it just encapsulates all the sadness and the fact that I really want to cry when I listen to that, and it’s always such a poignant piece of music to reflect upon somebody who’s just passed on, but thank you very much to everybody, and I hope you have a good evening.