BRITAIN's PLACE IN THE world, and London's in particular, underpins much of this book. Of course, it was a tense period in British history, with rising militarism in Germany, social upheavals in Russia, unease in Ireland, and the relentless pressures of a seemingly ever-expanding empire – while the very concept of internationalism had become tainted with the supposed disloyalty of the liberal ‘pro-Boer’ faction.

And yet, to quote Grace Brockington on the arts more broadly: ‘The prospect of European fragmentation stimulated a counter-movement toward international cooperation before the First World War.’1 One aspect of cosmopolitanism was simply the confluence of different nationalities in London's musical life. Certainly, the ‘ultra-modern’ label was routinely attached to a hugely divergent group – from Richard Strauss, Debussy and Ravel to Stravinsky and Schoenberg, not forgetting the native-born Holbrooke and Scott. In terms of public perception, this ultra-modern connection often trumped nationality. It can even be argued that the very concept of national schools had effectively run its course.

But not everyone bought into this agenda. Cosmopolitanism itself was subject to deeply-held British suspicion, not least because of its centuries-old links with a social elite. While foreign music certainly possessed an exotic allure, it could also seem vaguely threatening, especially if it transgressed sexual, religious or psychological boundaries. Such entrenched reservations were inevitably reinforced by the nationalist agenda permeating popular culture.

These competing attitudes reinforce a paradox in Edwardian music reception. Island Britain seemed intent upon maintaining its separate, even isolationist, musical culture, securely rooted in its Victorian past. Yet British consumers simultaneously relished a share in the scintillating cross-currents emerging from Paris, Vienna and beyond. How these contrasting perspectives collided and came together will be the subject of the next two chapters.

❧ Free Trade

Questions of musical identity were closely related to Britain's identity as a trading nation – and with British liberals’ enduring belief in the moral rightness of free trade. For those in their camp, it was unthinkable to erect barriers against the finest music and musicians from abroad purely to protect the interests of British challengers.

Stanford matriculated at Queens’ in October 1870. From the beginning he felt at home since many of his old Dublin friends were students at the same university. As one of Cambridge's first organ scholars he applied himself with customary vigour to his duties in chapel (a building which now houses the Library). Special services and performances of sacred music soon began to attract attention across the university. The young Irishman was not only a fine organist but a notable choir-trainer. The Cambridge University Musical Society (CUMS) was also quickly aware of his presence. Stanford was elected a member of the society at a meeting of 25 October with his debut as a pianist occurring shortly afterwards on 30 November. This performance, warmly applauded by the audience, was to signal his rapid rise to prominence within the hierarchy of Cambridge music.

During his first term at the University there was little opportunity for composition, but he did find time to complete a setting of Thomas Campbell's ‘To the evening star’ (dated 18 December 1870) whose harmonic world seems haunted by Schumann's Frauenliebe und Leben. He also finished a Pater Noster for Stewart and the Dublin University Choral Society which was performed on 19 December. The Christmas vacation was spent largely socialising among old friends. He joined a populous gathering at Adare Manor, Lord Dunraven's country seat in Co. Limerick and later visited the Graves family at Parknasilla where he took part as pianist and composer in a satirical sketch on Darwinism concocted by Alfred, Charles and Arnold.

Back at Cambridge in early 1871, Stanford continued to make his mark as the most promising musician the university had seen in decades. The CUMS programmes for the year show that he was already dominating events. In March he appeared as pianist in Beethoven's Piano Trio Op. 3 No. 1 and in June he was the soloist in a concerto by Weber. In fact Stanford's speedy rise to fame occurred at an opportune moment in the history of the society. It so happened that the health of the society's conductor, John Larkin Hopkins, had begun to fail. In February 1870 he had tendered his resignation to CUMS with the promise that George Garrett, the organist of St John’s, would take over his responsibilities. Hopkins’ resignation was rejected by the CUMS committee, but it still left the society with an uncertain future.

Stanford's career as a conductor had enjoyed a modest revival with his appointment in 1906 as conductor of the Sunday Concert Society, but owing to considerable financial losses on the concerts, the Society decided to give up its contract with the LSO and hand the entire operation over to Henry Wood and the Queen's Hall Orchestra. Visits to provinces were now a rarer event. Apart from invitations to conduct at the Three Choirs Festival, he made one visit to Birmingham in March 1908 and another to Liverpool in March 1909 to conduct his ‘Irish’ Symphony. The following year he was invited to conduct the Ode to Discord at the rapidly expanding Brighton Festival and, as a guest of the Dover Musical Festival, he was asked to direct a revival of The Battle of the Baltic. However, with more established works, Stanford was increasingly willing to attend performances of his music rather than take the baton. He was, for example, happy to stand by while Hamish MacCunn (as part of the Beecham Opera Season) undertook the direction of Shamus at His Majesty's Theatre in May 1910, and George Bennett (organist of Lincoln Cathedral) conducted the Stabat Mater at the Lincoln Festival in June. He was also ready to fulfil other roles, whether in the capacity of accompanist to Plunket Greene (who remained the foremost interpreter of his Irish song cycles and folk-song arrangements), or as President of the Cheltenham Choral Society and the Rodewald Concert Society in Liverpool.

Henry Wood continued to promote his music; his wife Olga Mikhailov sang two of Stanford's songs from The Triumphs of Love – ‘I think that we were children’ and ‘O flames of passion’ – specially orchestrated for her to sing at a Promenade Concert on 23 October 1909. It was her last public appearance. In great pain she managed stoically to perform with her usual professional deportment, but soon after she was removed to a nursing home, underwent an operation, but died on 20 December. Landon Ronald, who had made his name as an assistant conductor with the LSO, and would soon establish his reputation with the New Symphony Orchestra, conducted Stanford's First Irish Rhapsody in Amsterdam and Rome to great acclaim and revived the Sixth Symphony at Queen's Hall on 2 December 1909.