Katharine Emily Eggar was
born in London on 5 January 1874. She studied piano in Berlin, Brussels and
London and composition at the Royal Academy of Music with Frederick Corder. In
1911, along with Marion Scott and Gertrude Eaton, she was a founder member of
The Society of Women Musicians.
Eggar had a great interest
in the works of Shakespeare and maintained the theory that the plays were
actually written by Edward de Vere, Lord Oxford. She wrote
a considerable amount of musical criticism, much of it concentrating on British
works.
Her compositions were
mainly for chamber ensemble and piano solo, but also include a number of
songs. Katharine Eggar died in London on
15 August 1961.
The Pianoforte Music of John Ireland was published in The Music
Teacher: The Official Organ of the Music Teacher Association in Volume XIV,
June 1922.
MR. IRELAND [1]
is one of the few British composers who have published a piano sonata [2],
and his work, written later than those by Benjamin Dale, Arnold Bax and Cyril
Scott [3],
is likely to rank high as a contribution to the slowly but steadily growing
pile of modern British music which is helping us to win back our lost
reputation as a ‘musical nation.’
To discuss the sonata itself
adequately would, however, require more than the whole space at my disposal for
this article; but as, since its first performance last Spring by Lamond [4],
it has been played by such capable interpreters as Howard-Jones, Winifred
Christie, Lloyd Powell, Ralph Lawton and Edward Mitchell [5],
I may hope that a fair proportion of my readers have had the opportunity of
hearing it.
Sincerity.
I remember saying in my article
on Arnold Bax's piano music that it was the fashion to speak of him as ‘obscure’
and ‘diffuse.’ I find that it is the fashion in speaking of John Ireland to say
that he is ‘crude.’ Many people kindly add to this—‘but sincere.’
It is difficult to know what
people mean by tags like this—sometimes they don't know themselves—but personally
I do not consider that ‘crude’ is a correct term to apply to this composer, for
there is nothing crude, i.e., raw, about his workmanship. I should say that he
prizes clarity of thought and conciseness of expression above everything, and
he has won them by long wrestling with chaotic thought and emotion and intense
difficulty of utterance. As he says himself: ‘One may sometimes be
intentionally crude’; but I do not think you will ever surprise him in
half-baked work. ‘Sincere’ is the truer term, and, allowing for the occasional ‘intentional
crudities,’ I find his music in other aspects sincerely gentle, sincerely
tender, sincerely delicate, sincerely restrained, But as it is obvious that
many people will approach the pieces prejudiced by rumour, I will endeavour more
definitely to disarm them by suggesting three reasons which I believe may
underlie the prevailing notion.
Clearing away some misconceptions.
To begin with, Mr. Ireland is a
composer of great vigour, and great vigour is apt to be expressed with more
violence than grace. He also does not think it worthwhile to state the obvious,
or, at any rate, not to the point of being platitudinous. Now, sometimes the
obvious is very comforting, and any of us may be misjudged, as composers or in
any other human relationship, though not knowing when what is obvious to
ourselves is not so to our vis-â-vis. I can well imagine a new acquaintance,
missing some of the expected conventional small-talk and padding in Mr.
Ireland's conversation, murmuring the above-quoted tag and turning to a more
urbane writer.
The second reason I have to
suggest would only have weight with the people who make the rules of four-part
harmony the criterion of pianoforte writing. To such people, Mr. Ireland's writing
must appear to be bristling with false relations and may very well appear to
them as ‘crude.’ ‘Why, the man seems to be ignorant of the first principles of
correct writing,’ one can imagine them exclaiming in pious indignation.
Mr. Ireland himself was much
amused at this idea of the ‘Thou shalt nots’ of harmony. ‘No, of course you
mustn't use false relation when you're learning to write four-part harmony, but
there's no reason why you shouldn't use it when you have learnt how to write.
Every note has some relationship to every other note, and if nowadays we take
notes which used only to be allowed as passing notes, and neither prepare for
them beforehand nor get rid of them by resolution afterwards, we are only
avoiding saying what has become obvious. The new relationships become familiar
by degrees. I'm not a musical Bolshevist. In fact, I always feel that my
harmony is years behind the times’ when I see what really modern people are
doing. I don't write in two different planes of tonality at the same time,
well, in this sort of way.’ He opened a score of Le Sacre du Printemps [6]
which lay on the piano, and played a few bars. ‘O yes, you do,’ I retorted, ‘only
you do it much more beautifully than Stravinsky. Whereas he makes us writhe
under shrieks of dissonance, you soothe and charm us with the delicious
evanescence of a ‘Moon-glade.’[7]
But you must allow that the harmonies of the ‘dual melodic lines’ of this, to
ears whose owners are conscientiously struggling to distinguish between ‘essential’
and ‘unessential’ discords, seem very daring and more than a little mysterious.’
He admitted the probability, adding: ‘Of course, you must learn historically.
It's no good to hand a pupil Stravinsky's Rite at his first lesson and say: “Now
go and write something like that.” People must begin at the beginning.’
Faults in the Player.
My third suggestion is the
somewhat insulting one that players produce the crudities they object to by too
loud playing and by wrong emphasis of particular ingredients. Certainly some of
Mr. Ireland's directions are not easy to follow, but they are always given with
meticulous care and perfect clearness, and if exact attention is paid to them,
the result arrived at may be a very different sound-picture from that produced
by preconceived methods of interpretation. For instance, his marking of
stresses needs to be very carefully inspected, and his instructions for
pedalling taken absolutely literally, in order to produce the effects he
intends. It is the same with his rhythmical indications, his tempo-marks and
his use of terms to indicate mood. There is nothing haphazard: they are not the
capricious markings of an uncertain temperament, or one too impatient to
analyse his own renderings.
The gradual absorption of a style.
There is no ‘dodge’ by which to
play a composer acceptably except that of getting gradually to know his idiom;
and ‘every composer has his own idiom of melody, his own idiom of harmony, his
own idiom of rhythm,’ said Mr. Ireland. ‘He will have his own, idiom of
configuration, too—that is, if he has any style.’
There is no doubt that Mr.
Ireland has a style. And however original his thought and idiom may be, his
piano-writing is as truly pianistic as anything Chopin ever gave us. It is
genuine keyboard music, lying naturally for the hands. One of the resources of
the instrument which he has explored to our great enrichment is the use of the
bell-tone —the true percussion-produced harmonic richness—of the mechanism. The
pieces contain frequent hints for ‘a chime-like sonority,’ and some of the
passages reveal the most enchanting effects, most refreshing to the ear sated
with heavy harmonies and laboured reiterations of key. The final bars of the
already-quoted ‘Moon-glade’ (No. 2 of the Decorations)
are a case in point. In fact, they might be suggested as an introduction to the
study of the composer by way of counteractive to the ‘crudity’ bogey! For no
one could let those vapour-like harmonies rise from the fundamental and float
away into silence without realising that he has another and a very different
side.
‘The Island Spell.’
The first piece in the same book,
The Island Spell, [8]
also depends greatly on the proper conception of tone, the free percussion
action necessary to give the chime-like ring of the upper notes over the ‘clear,
delicate sonority’ of the repeated figure in the middle pitch. This is one of
the most frequently played of John Ireland's pieces, but, so says the composer,
it is very rarely rendered as he likes it. Here is an instance where the
subtleties of stress and pedalling are all-important, and although the music
reaches a tremendous climax of tone on page 6, [9]
it should make its effect through a particular kind of emotional and mental
thrill rather than by physical noise. The passage leading up to this should
surge gradually towards it, each sweep of demisemiquavers like a wave (‘ not
like a finger exercise ‘), the rhythm which culminates in the martellato passage being most strictly
rendered as written, and then it should as gradually recede and melt away into
the tranquillity and distance of the final page.
The third of the Decorations, entitled ‘The Scarlet Ceremonies’,
is very seldom played [10],
Mr. Ireland finds, probably on account of its sheer fatiguingness. An
accompaniment figure has to be kept going with great brilliance the whole time,
and of course it is no use if the scarlet has become pale pink before the end!
But still one would think that the delightful fantastic notion of the title
would have allured many of our brilliant pianists, for whom finger difficulties
do not seem to exist.
[1]
John Nicholson Ireland (1879-1962) composer, pianist and teacher of music. He
is best remembered for his piano music and songs.
[2] John
Ireland’s Sonata in E minor-major for piano was composed during 1918-20. It was
revised in 1951. The work is in three movements: 1. Allegro moderato, 2. Non
troppo lento and 3. Con moto moderato.
[3]
Benjamin Dale (1885-1943), Arnold Bax (1883-1953), Cyril Scott (1879-1970) were
three composers who added significantly to the piano repertoire of the first
half of the 20th century. Dale’s Sonata in D minor was composed
during 1902-5. Bax wrote a number of Sonatas for piano, including five that
remain unpublished or lost. At the time of writing the present article, Katharine
Eggar would have known the First Piano Sonata (F sharp minor) composed in 1910,
but revised between 1917 and 1921 and the Second Piano Sonata (G major) written
in 1919 and revised the following year. Both were published in 1921. The Sonata
No.3 (G sharp minor) appeared in 1926 followed by the Sonata No.4 (G major) in
1932. By 1922, Cyril Scott had written two
sonatas. The unnumbered Sonata, op.17 from 1901 was unpublished and was later
re-worked as the ‘Handelian Rhapsody’ in 1909. The original Sonata has been
recorded by Leslie De’ath on Dutton Epoch (CDLX7155). In 1908 Scott issued his
Sonata No.1, op.66. This work was subsequently revised in 1910 and later in
1935. The year 1935 also saw the publication of his Sonata No.2 and Sonata No.3
was completed in 1955.
[4]
Frederic Lamond (1868-1948) was a Scottish concert pianist and composer. He
studied piano with Franz Liszt and Hans von Bulow. For many years he had his home in Berlin,
finally settling in London at the outbreak of the Second World War. He composed
much music including a symphony, a concert overture, piano pieces and chamber
music. Lamond gave the first performance of the Ireland Sonata in E minor-major
for solo piano at the Wigmore Hall on 12 June 1920.
[5]
Evelyn Howard-Jones (1877-1951), Winifred Christie (1882-1965), Lloyd Powell
(1888-1975), Ralph Lawton and Edward Mitchell were pianists active during the
first half of the 20th century.
[6] Le Sacre du Printemps by Igor
Stravinsky. It was composed for the Diaghilev’s 1913 Paris Season and the score
was published that year.
[7] ‘Moon-Glade’
was the second piece in John Ireland’s Decorations
for solo piano, composed at Chelsea in 1913.
[8]
‘The Island Spell’ was the first of the three Decorations. It was inspired by the seascapes of Jersey. The score
is dated ‘Fauvic, Jersey: August 1912’.
[9] This
is signed in the score as Mosso (movement) –con forza e martellato (with
strength and hammered!) and consists of massive parallel triads with the octave
in the right hand with added notes played in the left hand. They are played
fff.
[10]
The three Decorations are now usually
recorded or played as a set.
