SAMUEL WESLEY REMEMBERED
Philip Olleson

For around thirty years at the beginning of the nineteenth century Samuel Wesley (1766-1837) held an undisputed position as the finest organist in England. There are many accounts of his playing, nearly all of which stress the brilliance and seemingly inexhaustible inventiveness of his extempore playing. His obituary in The Times remarked that `his resources were boundless, and if called upon to extemporize for half-a-dozen times during the evening, each fantasia was new, fresh, and perfectly unlike the others'. The Bristol organist Edward Hodges, who heard him at St Mary, Redcliffe in September 1829, described his playing on that occasion in ecstatic terms: `it was the most wonderful I ever heard, more even than I had before been capable of conceiving; the flow of melody, the stream of harmony, was so complete, so unbroken, so easy, and yet so highly wrought and so superbly scientific, that I was altogether knocked off my stilts.'

The three accounts of Wesley's playing which follow are all drawn from nineteenth-century printed sources, but are, I believe, little known to present-day readers. All appear to relate to the final stage in Wesley's career, between around 1823, when he emerged from a lengthy and debilitating spell of depression to regain much of his old vitality, and the autumn of 1830, when a recurrence of the same condition brought his career to a close.

Two of the anecdotes are taken from William Spark's Musical Memories (1888). Spark (1823-1897) had begun his musical career as a chorister at Exeter Cathedral under Wesley's son Samuel Sebastian, and in 1840 was articled to him for five years, following him to Leeds when he became organist of the parish church in 1842. The first, which concerns Wesley as a pedalist rather than an improviser, was originally told to Spark by Samuel Sebastian in Leeds on 31 July 1872, and is given in Samuel Sebastian's own words:

My father, Old Sam, as they used to call him in my younger days, was asked to deputise for Mr Knyvett [Charles Knyvett (1773- 1852)], a popular London organist and vocal composer, at a church where Bishop, the organ builder, [James Chapman Bishop (1782-1854)] had very recently put in a row of sixteen-feet open pedal pipes (a perfect novelty in those days), and which were used by Knyvett, who knew nothing about pedalling, about once in every four or six bars, probably at the beginning and ending of each phrase of a hymn tune. Well, my father knew something more about pedalling than this; and so, when he played the `Hallelujah Chorus', by desire of the vicar, as a concluding voluntary, and used the pedals considerably, of course the pipes took off more wind than usual. About twenty bars from the end, the organ stopped with a grunt and a gasp, and the old bellows- blower came to the organ pew and said, with a cockney twang and a swagger, `Well, Mr Wesley, I thinks as how that everything has gone off beautiful tonight, and ---'

`Why on earth, sir', said my father, `did you let out the wind long before I had finished my voluntary? You have spoilt my playing!'

`Well, now, come, Mr Wesley, this won't do, you know. Do you think that I have blowed this here organ for twenty-five years come Michaelmas next, and don't know how many strokes go to the Hallelujah Chorus?'

Readers can perhaps help with some of the puzzling details of this account.
According to Sainsbury's Dictionary of Music, Knyvett was appointed organist at St George's, Hanover Square in 1802 and was presumably still in post in 1824, when the Dictionary was published. According to Boeringer, when Bishop installed pedal pull-downs in this year, only one extra pipe (GGG) was needed to fill out the compass, which became what Boeringer describes as the `smallest independent Pedal division ever constructed', and hardly the `row of sixteen-foot open pedal pipes' of the account. Could this event have taken place at another church, and if so, which one?

Many accounts about Wesley's extempore playing depict him as a man inspired, to the extent of being frequently oblivious of his surroundings. The following anecdote, again from Spark, and once more involving Wesley, Bishop, and an organ blower, is a case in point. It was told to Spark by Bishop himself:

Mr Bishop, the famous London organ-builder, once told me a story respecting the opening of a new organ by the elder Wesley, - - `Old Sam', as he was always called -- which was certainly characteristic of that distinguished musician, and perfectly unique of its kind. Wesley, as all the musical world is aware, was a great extemporaneous fugue player; and on the occasion I allude to was requested to show off the new organ, by playing a voluntary at the afternoon service, previously to the reading of the first lesson. Before going to the instrument, he asked the vicar (who was an amateur organist) how long the voluntary should last.

`Oh,' replied the vicar, `please yourself, Mr Wesley. Say five or ten minutes; but we should like to hear as much of the different stops as you can oblige us with'.

When the time came, and after a few preliminary chords, Wesley started a fugal subject, which he worked out in a masterly way in about a quarter of an hour; and the vicar was immediately going to commence reading the lesson, when the inexhaustible organist started a second subject, and this he developed in the same abstruse, elaborate manner as the first. The congregation, as well as the clergyman, having listened half an hour to the full organ in fugue playing; and the vicar believing that Mr Wesley would work both subjects together, and thus go on for perhaps another quarter of an hour, he beckoned Mr Bishop, the builder, to come up to the reading desk, and said in an agitated tone:

`What ever must we do, Mr Bishop, to stop Mr Wesley? He is in one of his extemporaneous flights, and the congregation are beginning to leave.'

`Oh!' replied the organ-builder, `I can soon stop him, if you give me authority, and will take the consequences.'

`By all means', said the distressed vicar, `stop it at any cost; or all the congregation will leave us, and we shall get no collection'.

Mr Bishop went to the organ-blower's place, which was situated a little below the organ floor, and holding up half a crown, he said hurriedly:

`Come and take this; I am just going'.

The blower pumped the bellows full, and made for the half-crown, Bishop detaining him until the wind went out with a suck and a grunt, leaving poor Wesley high and dry in the middle of his double fugue, which I am afraid is unfinished to this day.

I wonder if any readers can help to identify the date, the church, and the clergyman from the clues given here.

The third anecdote, a first-hand account of Wesley's playing, comes from an as yet unidentified newspaper cutting in the Methodist Archives and Research Centre at the John Rylands University Library of Manchester (DDWF 15/49A). According to a note at the foot of the column the story had originally appeared in an American newspaper. It is apparent from the description of Wesley's physical appearance that the event must have taken place late in his career, and the account of it can have been written no earlier than 1841, the date of publication of Carlyle's Lectures on Heroes, from which its opening quotation is taken. The identity of the author of the account, of the newspaper in which it originally appeared, and of the organ builder at whose works Wesley played so memorably, are not known. Can any readers help?

`Who is there that in logical words can express the effect music has on us? A kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of the Infinite, and lets us for a moment gaze on that!' These words of Carlyle recalled to my mind a musical performance at which I `assisted', as the French say, many years ago.

It was (and is, I believe) the custom of the principal organ- builders, on the completion of any very large organ, to obtain the services of some eminent organist to `open the organ' as it is called, and to invite a select audience of musicians, dilettanti, and friends. It was on such an occasion that, through the kindness of a musical friend, I obtained an invitation to hear the most eminent organist of the day.

At the appointed time I repaired to the manufactory of Messrs. ---, and, presenting my card of invitation, was ushered through a passage and across a court, which led to the factory, the door of which stood open. As I entered my conductor pointed to a rude wooden staircase, and, saying `That way, sir,' left me. Ascending the stairs, I found myself in a large workshop, redolent of glue and shavings, with benches ranged across it, and at the upper end, where the roof was raised to admit its lofty proportions, stood the gigantic instrument, near which were placed a number of chairs for the privileged or punctual visitors, among whom I was fortunate to obtain a place. I soon discovered from the scraps of conversation which reached me that most of my neighbours were professional, but when the time arrived at which the performance was appointed to begin, the buzz of conversation ceased, and all became silent. At this moment a door near the organ opened, and there entered a little frail-looking old man with long silvery hair, which, with the singular brightness of his hazel eye, was the most striking thing in his appearance: this was the great organist! He was accompanied by the organ-builder and one or two gentlemen who were very assiduous in drawing out the stops &c. The moment he was seated at the instrument, every trace of feebleness vanished, and the first chord spoke the master. I forget now with what he commenced, but it was his extemporaneous performance of which I meant to speak, in which few can have equalled, and none surpassed him.

He began with a prelude of such exquisite pathos, that it fairly brought tears to my eyes, though all unused to the melting mood; such may have been the strains which drove the evil spirit from the gloomy soul of Saul, and substituted holy penitence for remorse. Then he took a bold and striking subject and worked it in the most marvellous manner, through all the mazes of the resonant fugue, eliciting exclamations of delight from the learned portion of the audience at his wondrous ingenuity; as he proceeded, his whole countenance lit up, the veins on this forehead swelled, his eye kindled, and his aspect forcibly reminded me of one of the inspired prophets of Israel; he wound up with a Pedale, on which he piled, as it were, the grandest and most wonderful harmonies. As I listened, the actual scene appeared to vanish; methought I heard the echoes of eternal Hallelujahs, the voices of that `great multitude which no man can number' -- it was only when the last chord ceased to vibrate that I returned to earth. I have since heard much fine music and great playing, but never has anything impressed me in the same way -- it was inspiration!

Those who are old enough to remember him may perhaps recognise the subject of this slight sketch; to my younger friends I may say it was the late Samuel Wesley, father of Dr S. S. Wesley, of musical celebrity in the present day.

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