A Short History of English Music — Reading Companion

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In Category - Music History
Ford, Ernest, 1858-1919 Project Gutenberg 2012 Not confirmed
Music -- England -- History and criticism Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 68,487
Reading time 298 min
Text sections 10

For A Short History of English Music — Reading Companion, the stored edition analysis reports 68,487 words, 4 hr 58 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 26.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Music -- England -- History and criticism,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Ernest Ford's 1912 survey traces English music from pre-Reformation sacred works to early 20th-century orchestral developments, focusing on institutional shifts and key figures like Tallis, Purcell, and Sullivan, while acknowledging the incomplete nature of his account.
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Read the Text

England was musical--once upon a time.[1]

At least, if it be not too great a strain on our credulity, we must believe so.

England was "merrie"[2]--once upon a time. At least, we read so.

It must have been long ago, and the art long lost.

And yet there was, undoubtedly, a time when England was both musical and "merrie." Yes. When music and "dauncing" were as essential to the life of the people as ranting and canting apparently became in those dismal days after the Reformation, when the spirit of Calvinism stalked abroad, strangling all the rational joys of life. Yes. Those were, indeed, the merrie days of England.

The pageants and plays, which arrived at such a pitch of splendour and magnificence in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, were but the successors of more primitive ones whose history is lost in the long and silent past.

It is, however, quite clear that, like nearly everything else of healthy vitality, we must look to the Church, if not for their origin, at least for the shape and form they came to assume during the Christian era.

Throughout human history there have ever been men gifted with a dramatic temperament who, through sheer natural instinct, not only dramatise their own experiences when they would relate them, but dramatise with equal avidity, any material which may come to their hands for the entertainment of others and the relief of their own exuberant vitality.

A combination of such gifted, congenial spirits would be, not so much probable as inevitable. Hence the bodies of strolling players, regarded by the guardians of the law, doubtless with much excuse, as rogues and vagabonds, who toured the country districts, and were to all appearance, in a state of constant conflict with the "Dogberrys" of the day.

It is difficult, if not impossible, for us to realise the isolation of small communities in medi[ae]val times, but it is not difficult to imagine the excitement that a visit from one of these troupes would arouse; not only on account of the amusement they would afford, but for the news they would bring of that outside world which was, probably, at once a source of curiosity and dread.

It must be recorded that the kind of entertainment given by these itinerant players, was frequently of such a nature as to give a shock to the simple countrymen it was designed to amuse.

Coming directly from the coarse amusements and excitements of London, that included about every possible species of vicious depravity, most of which cannot be written about, and the more innocent, including bear-baiting, drinking contests and cock-fighting, it is not to be wondered at that their displays caused something akin to amazement.

One result was inevitable.

The Church stepped in, banned the performances, and threatened to exclude all who were engaged in them from her sacraments.

However, with the wonderful intuition which seems so clearly to eliminate the purely human theory, she seized upon this elementary instinct to purify it and dedicate it to the highest ends. From that time through many ages the performances were given with the direct sanction of the Church, and were not infrequently utilised on festival occasions, in the precincts of her sacred buildings.

It must not be assumed, however, that in the early stages of the cleansing process any very high standard could be insisted upon. Such an attitude would have put the clergy out of touch with the primitive people, and wholly destroyed the possibility of effecting any lasting good.

Biblical subjects of a simple kind were chosen for portrayal, the story of Adam and Eve being a particularly popular one, and presented with a crude exactitude that would cause considerable astonishment to a modern spectator.

But gradually subjects of a more elevating character were introduced, and at last the most moving incidents in the life of Christ were represented. Thus it is obvious that the Church had no desire to stifle the dramatic instinct; she simply used her power and authority to direct it to a nobler plane of thought, and help it to become a source of healthy education, instead of a form of moral degradation. Indeed, the most sacred and inspiring service in her liturgy, the Mass, is a dramatisation of the fundamental truths of Christianity.

The Englishman of the Middle Ages was coarse in speech and manner, but he was eminently susceptible to the call of art in whatsoever guise it came, religious or secular.

Ernest Ford opens his survey with a wry concession: 'England was musical—once upon a time,' immediately framing his history as a recovery of a lost reputation. The preface declares the book 'not, in any sense, technical,' aiming instead at the general reader. Ford acknowledges necessary repetition across chapters, each designed to be as self-contained as space permits. The catalog subject 'Music -- England -- History and criticism' accurately reflects the scope, but the excerpts reveal a narrative that is as much about institutional and social conditions—the Reformation, the dissolution of monasteries, the rise of orchestral societies—as about composers or works. Ford's account is deliberately selective, shaped by his desire to explain 'the complex state of music existing in England at the present time' (1912).

From Reformation to Revival: Ford's Institutional Lens

Ford devotes considerable attention to the Reformation's impact on English music, noting that Henry VIII's repudiation of Rome forced composers like Tallis to write for new reformed services. He links the dissolution of monasteries to a 'natural result amongst uneducated people,' suggesting a populist anger that reshaped musical patronage. The excerpts show Ford treating early figures—Tallis, Gibbons, Purcell—as markers of a golden age that declined. He attributes the decline not to lack of talent but to shifting social structures: the status of composers versus mere 'musicians,' the ban of the Church on itinerant minstrels, and the isolation of country districts. This institutional focus aligns with the catalog subject but adds a sociological dimension often absent from composer-centric histories.

The Long Nineteenth Century: Orchestras, Conductors, and Reform

Ford's later chapters, as glimpsed in the excerpts, detail the transformation of orchestral music in England. He describes a pre-reform era where concerts were marred by 'alcoholic atmosphere' and 'focused limelight' on conductors with 'jewelled bâton.' The turning point is Sir Henry Wood's Queen's Hall Symphony Concerts, which replaced brass bands and 'Army Quadrilles' with Beethoven. Ford credits Wood as 'an Englishman, owing nothing to foreign education,' a nationalist note that recurs. He also recounts the formation of the London Symphony Orchestra in 1904 after a dispute over deputy players, and the novelty of inviting multiple conductors—Richter, Elgar, Nikisch—for a single series. These details ground the narrative in specific institutional innovations rather than abstract progress.

Self-Imposed Limits and the General Reader

Ford repeatedly acknowledges his book's incompleteness. The preface calls it 'necessarily incomplete,' and the chapter titles—'Music Before and During the Reformation,' 'Early English Composers,' 'The Decline of English Music'—suggest a selective chronology. He admits to 'a certain amount of repetition' for the sake of self-contained chapters. The excerpts show him leaping from medieval minstrels to 1904 orchestral politics without covering every intervening period. This is not a comprehensive reference but a personal argument about how English music arrived at its present state. Readers should expect a narrative driven by Ford's opinions—his praise for Wood, his skepticism about earlier concert practices—rather than a neutral survey. The book is best approached as a document of early 20th-century musical historiography.

Ford's history rewards readers who attend to its stated limitations. The preface warns that it offers 'nothing to the musician or historian' but hopes to interest the general reader. That disclaimer is partly disingenuous: the book is rich in institutional detail and critical judgments that reflect early 1900s debates about English musical identity. To read it well, note where Ford emphasizes social conditions over individual genius, and where his nationalist pride colors his assessments. The excerpts suggest a work more engaged with the politics of concert life than with musical analysis—a perspective that makes it a valuable primary source for understanding how English music history was written a century ago.

That rainy afternoon, Ford’s survey kept circling the space between melody and meaning—how Tallis’s lines felt like prayer, Sullivan’s like theatre. I closed it, stared at the steam on the window, and drifted to Spirit and Music — Themes and Context almost without deciding. It seemed less a step forward than a natural echo, the same quiet question asked a different way.

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