I feel it a great honour to have been asked by Dr. Cummings and the Council of the Musical Association to read a paper here this evening upon the subject of “Old English Organ Music.” My personal connection with this interesting subject extends very little beyond the fact of my having selected and edited a series of organ pieces by old English composers, published under the title of my present paper. But this does not necessarily qualify me to write or speak with any great authority on the matter, nor can I claim any ability in putting it before you in a finished literary manner. As a mark of gratitude, however, I have undertaken to do my best“, feeling that you will probably be able to obtain as good an idea of the subject from the musical illustrations with which my paper will be interspersed, as from any inadequate remarks of mine. My best thanks are due, both to Mr. J. A. Fuller Maitland, for his generous loan of an interesting old chamber organ, in order that you might hear the illustrations under appropriate conditions this evening, and to Dr. W. G. Alcock for so kindly consenting to come and play these illustrations.

[Mr. Bernard Shaw's reminiscences unfortunately defied verbatim reporting; and as his address was improvised in a fashion of which long practice on the platform has made him a master, no written paper is available for publication in the proceedings of the Association. In reply to an appeal from the Secretary for some notes of his address, Mr. Shaw writes as follows.]

A good deal of what I said need not be reported. It served its purpose of keeping the audience in good humour for the moment; and there is no reason why it should survive.

It has been said that one of our chief concerns in life is to justify our own particular point of view. Which allows the cynical retort, that this is not so very different from trying to prove one's own personal value. The more generous way, however, is to suppose no such aim. The best argument or philosophy must be based upon personal experience. If strong feeling does not underlie it, it will certainly be of no account. As one, therefore, who is keenly alive to the beauties of polyphonic music, I trust I may be pardoned if I attempt to justify my convictions, and I shall do so on what I hope are rather more than the grounds of taste. Schumann, I believe, once said that an artist's dictum is worth a ton of aesthetics—or to that effect. And this is true enough. But it is also true that an artist's dictum will be more respected if he can buttress it with what, to him at any rate, is logical argument. But beyond this, I think argument on old music is particularly necessary at the present time. For very skilful stand has been made against its principles in certain quarters; and if, as some of us would have, there is to be a spread in both the knowledge and love of old art, we must be prepared to advance with something more in our hands than that foolish old weapon “De gustibus non est disputandum.” I speak from a certain pain and suffering of its misuse. I was organist of a church where sometimes I allowed myself the joy of playing a Bach Fugue after service. On such occasions, almost invariably, a certain cleric would come up to me and say, “What ! more German scales, Mr. Scott ?” And if I ventured to disagree with him I was always met with “De gustibus, etc.,” which he thought supported his case to a nicety. So I know the value of Mr. “De gustibus” pretty well.

The purpose of this paper is to discuss several different, but closely-connected problems which obtain under modern musical conditions. I have found it difficult to embrace them under one short title: so perhaps it would be well to summarize at the outset the detailed points which I propose to put forward for your consideration. They are: The composition and management of the modern orchestra; modern technique in choral writing; and the position of the composer and conductor with regard to these two factors.

In England more than in any other country, music has been constantly associated with the performance of stage plays. There is very early evidence of this. In the Miracle Play (1512) the minstrels are asked “to do their diligence” before the prologue and at the end “To give us a daunce.” Shakespeare relied on music to emphasize certain dramatic situations. No fewer than some three hundred times do his stage directions demand the employment of music. I do not speak of references to music on the part of his characters; these are frequent, always correct, and often jocular, but to actual demand for music,—such as “Music plays “—“Soft music within,” and the like. Dr. Naylor in his interesting little work “Shakespeare and Music” declares that such stage directions as these appear no less than forty-one times, music during speeches seven times, and that eighteen times a march is required. Of songs—catches—dirges—trumpets—hautboys, countless examples are to be found in the plays. Very often Shakespeare makes quite subtle distinctions to suit the situation in his directions for music. In “King Lear” there are some interesting examples of this. The first appearance of Lear in regal state is heralded by a Flourish of Trumpets. Later on, in Scene 4, Horns are directed to be played before his entrance. This is no doubt done with a view to denoting his lessened state. He has also just returned from hunting. This shows, I think, that more than a casual thought was given to the matter. Again, in “Lear,” in Act 4, we find the direction “Soft music playing.” Lear is on a bed asleep. That Shakespeare intended the music to continue through the scene and dialogue is evident, as the doctor refers to it in his lines “Louder the music there.” At this point the dramatist no doubt' felt that the beautiful words of Cordelia, “O my dear father ! Restoration, hang thy medicine on my lips,” would be greatly helped by the musical support. The very next scene opens with drums beating and soldiers marching, music very different in character from the “Soft music playing” of the previous scene This I feel sure was not mere accident, and that Shakespeare well knew the value of this contrast which at the same time connects the two scenes.

It has been said of James McNeill Whistler that “he held truly it is the province of art to interpret—not to imitate.' He attempted to avoid, in an art which in its primary and most elementary functions at the least, is a representative one, everything which could fall under the head of realism or mere reproduction; just as many composers, in an art which is primarily emotional, attempt to bring into being a reproduction of matters not necessarily or usually productive of emotional feeling.

The ideas and opinions expressed in the following little paper must not be taken to be more than my own personal opinions and deductions, guided I hope by some sense of the general canons that are true of all great Art, and helped I hope by an enthusiasm which does its utmost to see the good and the beautiful, rather than to spy out the weaknesses and faults. But before all else, these ideas and opinions are based on a sympathy that is one of those indescribable operations of the sentiments and emotions that can only be traced to affinity or inborn predilection. To allow this affinity to influence one's artistic judgments is sometimes held to be an evidence of bias, and consequently to show a state of mind the reverse of critical and even prejudiced; but as without the emotional attitude one can have no enthusiasm, and without enthusiasm true appreciation is impossible, so it has always seemed obvious to me that true artistic criticism can only be of the constructive or synthetic type; seizing that which is good in a work and holding it up to the more general gaze.

Key-relationship is a modern idea, but it has its roots far back in musical history. The first traces of it are to be seen in the days previous to harmony, and under the ancient modal system. This system varied greatly from the modern scale, being at once more rich, and less flexible: yet it admitted some ideas of relationship between different tonalities, and those are analogous in many ways to modern key-relationship. The several modes, constituted as they are each differently one from another, naturally lent themselves to different kinds of modal relationship, some more to one kind and some more to another. Five of these kinds may be distinguished and briefly discussed, as they have an important bearing on the subsequent history of the art of music.