ion. Let me say at once, therefore, that delicate as he often
was, and sweet as he was more often, although he could write melodies
which are mere iridescent filaments of tone, he never became flabby
or other than crisp, and could, and did, write themes as flexible,
sinewy, unbreakable as perfectly tempered steel bands. And these
themes he could lay together and weld into choruses of gigantic
strength. The subject and counter-subject of "Thou art the King of
Glory" (in the "Te Deum" in D), the theme of "Let all rehearse," and
the ground bass of the final chorus (both in "Dioclesian"), the
subjects of many of the fugues of the anthems, are as energetic as
anything written by Handel, Bach or Mozart. And as for the choruses he
makes of them, Handel's are perhaps loftier and larger structures, and
Bach succeeds in getting effects which Purcell never gets, for the
simple enough reason that Purcell, coming a generation before Bach,
never tried or thought of trying to get them. But within his limits he
achieves results that can only be described as stupendous. For
instance, the chorus I have just mentioned--"Let all rehearse"--makes
one think of Handel, because Handel obviously thought of it when he
wrote "Fixed in His everlasting seat," and though Handel works out the
idea to greater length, can we say that he gets a proportionately
greater effect? I have not the faintest wish to elevate Purcell at
Handel's expense, for Handel is to me, as to all men, one of the gods
of music; but Purcell also is one of the gods, and I must insist that
in this particular chorus he equalled Handel with smaller means and
within narrower limits. It is not always so, for Handel is king of
writers for the chorus, as Purcell is king of those who paint in
music; but though Handel wrote more great choruses, his debt to
Purcell is enormous. His way of hurling great masses of choral tone at
his hearers is derived from Purcell; and so is the rhetorical plan of
many of his choruses. But in Purcell, despite his sheer strength, we
never fail to get the characteristic Purcellian touch, the little
unexpected inflexion, or bit of coloured harmony that reminds that
this is the music of the open air, not of the study, that does more
than this, that actually floods you in a moment with a sense of the
spacious blue heavens with light clouds flying. For instance, one gets
it in the great "Te Deum" in the first section; again at "To thee,
cherubim," where the first