The Brit bumpy who had a ride
Despite writing a stirring song that caught a nation’s heart during wartime, Edward Elgar struggled with depression. Only his wife – and his bicycle – kept him going
We join Elgar aged 26, making his living as a music teacher and as a bandmaster at a psychiatric hospital in Powick, Worcestershire.
24 APRIL 1884 My prospects are about as hopeless as ever. I have a broken heart, my engagement to Helen Weaver, the violinist, is over, and I have no hope of achieving anything of substance with my music. I have been excluded from anything decent because my father isn’t grand and keeps a shop on the high street.
7 OCTOBER 1884 A day of note. I have resigned my position as bandmaster at the Powick Lunatic Asylum. I also sold my first piece of music to Schott, the publishers: the Romance in E minor for piano and violin, for which they paid one shilling and 20 free printed copies. This makes me a professional composer, though the sum involved makes me a pauper.
21 MARCH 1887 I was invited to tea by the family of Caroline Roberts, my star pupil, who is known as Alice. Her father, a major-general and hero of the Indian Mutiny (as I am frequently reminded), died when she was a girl. Her mother, Lady Roberts, is rather fearsome and Alice’s collection of awful aunts did a poor job of hiding their disdain that I am the son of a tradesman. When they discovered I’m a Roman Catholic, they practically choked on their tea. This prejudice is so wearisome.
22 SEPTEMBER 1888 Alice, my dearest ‘Braut’ [German for bride], now with no parents in the world to object, has accepted my hand in marriage. I have presented to her Salut d’Amour, a tune I hope expresses my adoration for her. Her awful aunts are appalled. What do I care that she is 39 years old and eight years older than me? I’m not after her money, whatever they may claim.
8 MAY 1889 ‘Braut’ and I were married today at the Brompton Oratory; her aunts did not attend as the ceremony was papist. I know I shall find peace and happiness with my wife.
24 JANUARY 1890 Alice and I are discussing whether it might be best to leave London. Travelling back to Worcester two days a week to teach seems impractical. And the fog is causing the most terrible soreness in my throat and Alice cries from the wretched cold. 4 NOVEMBER 1896 Novello’s, the publishers, have commissioned a work for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. After the number of times they have told me they cannot publish my work because it is ‘unsellable’, it makes a change to have them approach me. It may have something to do with the new editor, August Jaeger, who seems keener on my work than most music publishers.
23 JUNE 1897 I have received a message that although the Queen was ‘much moved’ by my Imperial March as she processed through London, she has declined the offer to have the march dedicated to her.
14 SEPTEMBER 1898 I have been commissioned to write a piece for the Three Choirs Festival in Worcester and am thinking it is time I tackled a symphony, something that captures the wonderful Herefordshire hills, something pastoral. But it is so exhausting trying to find inspiration after a long day teaching. Or maybe something on the life of General Gordon of Khartoum – imperial stuff appears very popular of late.
21 OCTOBER 1898 I have been sketching out a quaint idea, which came to me after I was bashing away at the piano one evening last week. Braut had given me a good cigar, and I was tinkling away and then she said, ‘That’s a good tune, play it again.’ So, I played it again and she exclaimed, ‘That’s the tune!’ She has such an impeccable ear that I have abandoned the Gordon idea for now and decided to work on this.
13 NOVEMBER 1898 The idea I sketched out is coming along nicely. I have created 14 variations on the original theme that Alice so liked, and decided they should be about my dearest friends. Jaeger, which of course is German for ‘hunter’, I have labelled Nimrod (the Bible’s ‘mighty hunter’) and I hope that it contains a hint of his beloved Beethoven. I think that all the variations combined make for a delightful piece.
14 APRIL 1899 On Jaeger’s advice we have sent the score to the famous conductor Hans Richter, to ask whether he would consider conducting the premiere of my Variations. 23 APRIL 1899 Richter has
said yes. The mighty Richter. The man brought to England by Wagner. Can this finally mean that I am to be accepted?
20 JUNE 1899 My Variations went down very well last night. But Jaeger believes the ending – the variation about me – ends too abruptly and should be extended. I think the ending is quite good enough.
23 JUNE 1899 Jaeger now writes to say that Richter is in agreement with him. I really do not want to meddle with the ending. But maybe I should rewrite it.
12 JULY 1899 I have added 96 bars to the Variations. I am heartily pleased with it. We shall use this version at the Three Choirs Festival in September. Alice thinks I should call the
Variations ‘Enigma’. She’s usually right about these things.
12 JULY 1900 I’ve been slaving away at my Dream Of Gerontius, based on John Henry Newman’s inspired 1865 poem about a dying man’s journey through purgatory. I do believe that the dread and terrors of this world are soothed by mercy. Will an audience appreciate such a Catholic idea? I pray that they will. On Alice’s suggestion I have been attempting to rest my brain by bicycling.
1 AUGUST 1900 I have ordered a Royal Sunbeam bicycle; they cost 16 guineas [around £1,600 today] but I am feeling flush after the royalties from my Variations, which have become a rather reliable source of income. Thank God! After 20 years of placing my nose to the grindstone, I no longer have to worry if I can pay next month’s rent.
8 AUGUST 1900 The Royal Sunbeam, which I christened Mr Phoebus, has arrived. What a delight. I can traverse the Malvern uplands and hear the summer winds amidst the lofty pines, I can track a swallow as it soars above me. Oh the freedom! It is hard work, but as I pedal Mr Phoebus I can feel the rhythm of Gerontius pulse away in my head. It is absolutely exhilarating. 12 SEPTEMBER 1900 Rehearsals for
The Dream Of Gerontius are a mess. The amateur choir is really not up to it and Richter seems incapable of whipping them into shape.
4 OCTOBER 1900 The premiere in Birmingham last night was a catastrophe. My heart is now shut against every religious feeling and every soft, gentle impulse for ever. I’m in despair.
23 OCTOBER 1901 My Pomp And Circumstance March Number 1, conducted by Henry Wood, was a triumph at last night’s Promenade Concerts at the Queen’s Hall in London. Wood had to play the piece three times to stop the audience rioting. It is quite extraordinary how audiences love these bombastic little tunes.
23 JUNE 1902 I have heard that the Bishop of Worcester is objecting to Gerontius being on the Three Choirs programme on account of it being so Roman. Britain is corrupted by idiocy and ignorance.
17 JUNE 1911 I have been appointed Order of Merit in the Coronation Honours. To think what my dear Papa would say if he knew his son was Sir Edward Elgar OM! I think back to when we would trek along country lanes to arrive at a grand house, only to be let in the tradesman’s entrance and have a cup of tea with the cook or scullery maid. Now this. Alice is very proud too.
20 JANUARY 1914 A fascinating day spent at the Gramophone Company’s studio in Hayes, Middlesex. They have recorded me conducting
Carissima, the small orchestral piece I wrote specially for recording. The men at Gramophone have promised to send me my own His Master’s Voice machine. To hear whole symphonies in the comfort of your drawing room, what an idea!
7 AUGUST 1914 We have had a blissful few weeks in the Highlands and were quite unaware of the trouble brewing in Europe over the summer. We are now delayed in Edinburgh, surrounded by the most alarming number of men in uniform, and most vehicles are commandeered by the War Office. There is little doubt that Britain is at war.
21 AUGUST 1914 Alice is teaching troops French before they depart to the Front. I’ve signed up to be a special constable, though I fear my health isn’t strong enough for strenuous night-time duties.
25 AUGUST 1914 The only thing that wrings my heart and soul concerning the war is the thought of the horses.
Oh! My beloved animals. The men – and women – can go to hell, but my horses... 24 SEPTEMBER 1914 I was passing the Chatham Picture Palace on the way to conduct a concert. An air raid had begun and from inside I could hear the audience sing Land Of Hope And Glory, the song I asked AC Benson to write, and which I set to my Pomp And Circumstance March. It’s remarkable how this tune has been adopted as a rallying cry for the young men.
17 MARCH 1915 I’m working on a requiem for the tens of thousands of men who have died in this terrible war. I’m calling it the Spirit Of England.
11 NOVEMBER 1916 Alice and I saw the wounded troops disembark from Charing Cross. So, so many of them and in such a wretched state. When will this terrible war ever end?
4 MARCH 1918 I have left our Sussex cottage where, at night, I can hear the shells from the front in Flanders rumbling across the Channel, to come to London to have a septic tonsil removed. My throat has been in agony.
8 MARCH 1918 I am in a great deal of pain and still in bed in a nursing home, but the moment the operation was over I was struck with the idea for a concerto with a stark opening for cello – not orchestra at all. Just one cello that could narrate the anguish of what is going on in Flanders.
11 NOVEMBER 1918 The war is over, thank God. What a terrible, cruel waste of life there has been. Alice and I went to the Coliseum tonight and they played Land Of Hope And
Glory not once, but twice; the whole audience joined in. I could not. I regret very profoundly how this song has become an anthem to war. There’s been so much sorrow and sacrifice over the last four years; nothing glorious about it. The world is a changed place and I am awfully tired of it.
19 JULY 1919 Alice and I are in Sussex and I am working on this cello concerto, which I hope says something about the losses of the Great War. It is simple, lyrical, and compassionate, rather than pessimistic. I think it’s the best thing I’ve written. Alice isn’t well. I see her almost fade before my eyes.
27 OCTOBER 1919 The premiere of the cello concerto went well this evening.
7 APRIL 1920 My dearest, my beloved Alice has died after months of illness from lung cancer. My universe has no lodestar, I am at sea and I cannot bear to think of life without her. 5 AUGUST 1920 I am lonely now and do not see music in the old way and do not believe I shall complete any new work. All ambition is gone.