I've just completed a musical labour of love. A volume containing three versions of Jerusalem - Parry’s original 1916 version (unison voices & organ), his 1918 version (unison voices & orchestra) for the Suffrage Demonstration Concert, and Elgar’s 1922 version (unison voices & large orchestra) for the Leeds Festival.
Since this topic had been the motivation for my first ever post, I thought you might be interested to read my take on the story. Here's the preface to the volume, which will be published in a couple of months.
Sir Hubert Parry, Director of the Royal College of Music, had been one of those who thought that no country would begin a modern war because the consequences would be unthinkable; he was shocked and disbelieving to find Britain at war in August 1914. Parry was a left-leaning liberal humanist, so he was not the obvious person to approach in 1916 to contribute to a choral concert for General Sir Francis Younghusband’s “Fight for Right” movement. It had been founded to raise money for anti-German propaganda and to lobby the government against seeking peace with Germany. Parry was reluctant to compose anything for such a blatantly nationalist cause.
But the concert’s conductor, Henry Walford Davies (a former pupil) and the Poet Laureate, Robert Bridges, began to work on him, suggesting he might set some little-known verses from Milton by the visionary poet and artist William Blake (1757-1827). Parry was deeply unhappy about Fight for Right, but Bridges left him a copy of the words anyway. Davies even considered commissioning George Butterworth to set the poem if Parry declined. But after a delay Parry succumbed, giving the music to Davies with the words, “Here’s a tune for you old chap. Do what you like with it.” The setting was for unison voices with organ, and Parry was evidently quite proud of it. Davies recalled the scene in Parry’s office at the Royal College of Music, “He ceased to speak and put his finger on the note D in the second stanza where the words ‘O clouds unfold’ break his rhythm. I do not think any word passed about it, yet he made it perfectly clear that this was the one note and the one moment of the song which he treasured…” The song was performed at the fundraising concert on 28 March 1916 in the Queen’s Hall, conducted by Walford Davies and it was an instant success. (It was called “And did those feet in ancient time” – it did not become known as “Jerusalem” until 1918. An unknown hand has crossed out Parry’s title on the orchestral score and substituted “Jerusalem’.)
Parry, however, became increasingly uneasy about the cause and soon withdrew any support for Fight for Right. As he had retained personal control of the copyright, there was concern that he might withdraw the song entirely. But then a new figure entered the story. She was Millicent Garrett Fawcett, one of the leaders of the Women’s Movement, the main group fighting for women’s voting rights. It is even possible that Parry’s wife, Lady Maud, had raised the issue of the song for she was herself an active supporter of the suffragettes and a friend of Emily Pankhurst as well as of Fawcett. In any case the Women’s Movement began to take up the song enthusiastically, so that Millicent Garrett Fawcett could now ask Parry if it might officially become the Women Voters’ Hymn. Parry was delighted. He wrote to her, “Thank you for what you say about the ‘Jerusalem’ song. I wish indeed it might become the Women Voters’ Hymn as you suggest. People seem to enjoy singing it. And having the vote ought to diffuse a good deal of joy too. So they would combine happily.” He agreed to make an orchestral version to be introduced at a Suffrage Demonstration Concert on 13 March 1918, at which he conducted.
Parry died in October 1918, a victim of the influenza epidemic that hit Europe at the end of the war. In 1928, when the Women’s Movement was wound up, Parry’s executors re-assigned the copyright in Jerusalem to the Society of Women’s Institutes (a decidedly less radical organisation) where it remained until it came into the public domain in 1969.
However, in 1922 the organisers of the Leeds Festival obtained permission for Sir Edward Elgar to make a new orchestration – for very large orchestra – for that year’s festival. Parry’s own orchestration had been for a standard orchestra with double wind, of the size Parry had used all his life and which was the preferred orchestra of Brahms and Dvořák. Elgar’s was on a different scale, with triple wind, three trumpets, a tuba, extra percussion, a harp and an organ. Elgar used these forces with some degree of licence in emphasising certain lines, or adding emphatic features (such as the upward rush of strings at “Bring me my arrows of desire”) rather as he had recently done in his orchestration of Bach’s Fantasia and Fugue in C minor, BWV 537 [MPH score 840]. But after its Leeds premiere, performances of Elgar’s version were restricted to the BBC until January 2005, when it came into the public domain.
Jerusalem has been associated with the annual London Promenade Concerts since the 1953 – it was Sir Malcolm Sargent who added it to the Last Night programme. It is usually heard now in Elgar’s version, in keeping with the ‘festival’ mood of the Last Night. Elgar had admired the song greatly and his masterly orchestration had been a labour of love; he would probably have been dismayed to realise just how much his version has eclipsed the original. It is a true shame, for both versions have their own qualities – Elgar’s splendid one for a grand occasion, Parry’s more subdued version giving prominence to the words.
Jerusalem has been included in British hymn books since the 1920s and it has always been a favourite among school assemblies and church congregations (although there have been complaints over the years from church officials that it is not religious). It probably enjoys the status of an unofficial national anthem for England, and polls have suggested it is the public’s first choice to replace God Save The Queen as the national anthem (with suitable alterations to the words, of course, since they specifically mention England but not Wales, Scotland or Northern Ireland). But it is not without controversy for it is certainly not a hymn nor is it conventionally patriotic.
If it is a patriotic song, then it is that rarest of beings – a left-wing patriotic song. It is in fact a protest song, written about 1804, about the rapid growth of the Industrial Revolution. The first two stanzas refer to an old legend that the boy Jesus visited the West of England with Joseph of Arimathea, in particular stopping at Glastonbury in Somerset (there had in fact been trade between the West country and Palestine for centuries – the Phoenicians certainly traded goods for English tin, lead and copper). “Did such a thing happen?” asks the poet, with the implication that it certainly could not happen now that the countryside is dominated by “dark satanic mills”. The third and fourth stanzas say that, whatever the truth of the legend, we have to put an end to growing industrialisation and strive to build a new society (“Jerusalem”) in a “green and pleasant land”:
It's intriguing to think what a Butterworth setting might have amounted to.
Since this topic had been the motivation for my first ever post, I thought you might be interested to read my take on the story. Here's the preface to the volume, which will be published in a couple of months.
The birth of a radical song
Sir Hubert Parry, Director of the Royal College of Music, had been one of those who thought that no country would begin a modern war because the consequences would be unthinkable; he was shocked and disbelieving to find Britain at war in August 1914. Parry was a left-leaning liberal humanist, so he was not the obvious person to approach in 1916 to contribute to a choral concert for General Sir Francis Younghusband’s “Fight for Right” movement. It had been founded to raise money for anti-German propaganda and to lobby the government against seeking peace with Germany. Parry was reluctant to compose anything for such a blatantly nationalist cause.
But the concert’s conductor, Henry Walford Davies (a former pupil) and the Poet Laureate, Robert Bridges, began to work on him, suggesting he might set some little-known verses from Milton by the visionary poet and artist William Blake (1757-1827). Parry was deeply unhappy about Fight for Right, but Bridges left him a copy of the words anyway. Davies even considered commissioning George Butterworth to set the poem if Parry declined. But after a delay Parry succumbed, giving the music to Davies with the words, “Here’s a tune for you old chap. Do what you like with it.” The setting was for unison voices with organ, and Parry was evidently quite proud of it. Davies recalled the scene in Parry’s office at the Royal College of Music, “He ceased to speak and put his finger on the note D in the second stanza where the words ‘O clouds unfold’ break his rhythm. I do not think any word passed about it, yet he made it perfectly clear that this was the one note and the one moment of the song which he treasured…” The song was performed at the fundraising concert on 28 March 1916 in the Queen’s Hall, conducted by Walford Davies and it was an instant success. (It was called “And did those feet in ancient time” – it did not become known as “Jerusalem” until 1918. An unknown hand has crossed out Parry’s title on the orchestral score and substituted “Jerusalem’.)
Parry, however, became increasingly uneasy about the cause and soon withdrew any support for Fight for Right. As he had retained personal control of the copyright, there was concern that he might withdraw the song entirely. But then a new figure entered the story. She was Millicent Garrett Fawcett, one of the leaders of the Women’s Movement, the main group fighting for women’s voting rights. It is even possible that Parry’s wife, Lady Maud, had raised the issue of the song for she was herself an active supporter of the suffragettes and a friend of Emily Pankhurst as well as of Fawcett. In any case the Women’s Movement began to take up the song enthusiastically, so that Millicent Garrett Fawcett could now ask Parry if it might officially become the Women Voters’ Hymn. Parry was delighted. He wrote to her, “Thank you for what you say about the ‘Jerusalem’ song. I wish indeed it might become the Women Voters’ Hymn as you suggest. People seem to enjoy singing it. And having the vote ought to diffuse a good deal of joy too. So they would combine happily.” He agreed to make an orchestral version to be introduced at a Suffrage Demonstration Concert on 13 March 1918, at which he conducted.
Parry died in October 1918, a victim of the influenza epidemic that hit Europe at the end of the war. In 1928, when the Women’s Movement was wound up, Parry’s executors re-assigned the copyright in Jerusalem to the Society of Women’s Institutes (a decidedly less radical organisation) where it remained until it came into the public domain in 1969.
However, in 1922 the organisers of the Leeds Festival obtained permission for Sir Edward Elgar to make a new orchestration – for very large orchestra – for that year’s festival. Parry’s own orchestration had been for a standard orchestra with double wind, of the size Parry had used all his life and which was the preferred orchestra of Brahms and Dvořák. Elgar’s was on a different scale, with triple wind, three trumpets, a tuba, extra percussion, a harp and an organ. Elgar used these forces with some degree of licence in emphasising certain lines, or adding emphatic features (such as the upward rush of strings at “Bring me my arrows of desire”) rather as he had recently done in his orchestration of Bach’s Fantasia and Fugue in C minor, BWV 537 [MPH score 840]. But after its Leeds premiere, performances of Elgar’s version were restricted to the BBC until January 2005, when it came into the public domain.
Jerusalem has been associated with the annual London Promenade Concerts since the 1953 – it was Sir Malcolm Sargent who added it to the Last Night programme. It is usually heard now in Elgar’s version, in keeping with the ‘festival’ mood of the Last Night. Elgar had admired the song greatly and his masterly orchestration had been a labour of love; he would probably have been dismayed to realise just how much his version has eclipsed the original. It is a true shame, for both versions have their own qualities – Elgar’s splendid one for a grand occasion, Parry’s more subdued version giving prominence to the words.
Jerusalem has been included in British hymn books since the 1920s and it has always been a favourite among school assemblies and church congregations (although there have been complaints over the years from church officials that it is not religious). It probably enjoys the status of an unofficial national anthem for England, and polls have suggested it is the public’s first choice to replace God Save The Queen as the national anthem (with suitable alterations to the words, of course, since they specifically mention England but not Wales, Scotland or Northern Ireland). But it is not without controversy for it is certainly not a hymn nor is it conventionally patriotic.
If it is a patriotic song, then it is that rarest of beings – a left-wing patriotic song. It is in fact a protest song, written about 1804, about the rapid growth of the Industrial Revolution. The first two stanzas refer to an old legend that the boy Jesus visited the West of England with Joseph of Arimathea, in particular stopping at Glastonbury in Somerset (there had in fact been trade between the West country and Palestine for centuries – the Phoenicians certainly traded goods for English tin, lead and copper). “Did such a thing happen?” asks the poet, with the implication that it certainly could not happen now that the countryside is dominated by “dark satanic mills”. The third and fourth stanzas say that, whatever the truth of the legend, we have to put an end to growing industrialisation and strive to build a new society (“Jerusalem”) in a “green and pleasant land”:
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land
It's intriguing to think what a Butterworth setting might have amounted to.
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