Five Reasons to Love Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius

Setting an epic 1865 poem by Cardinal John Henry Newman, The Dream of Gerontius charts the journey of a man’s soul from deathbed to judgement and Purgatory. The text is loaded with Catholic doctrine emphatically rejected by the Protestant church (and therefore much of Victorian England), making it a bold choice for Elgar. 

Elgar was raised a Catholic, and though he never formally renounced his faith, he at least once confessed to the anxiety and embarrassment it caused him. He was also convinced it negatively impacted his career. In this light, The Dream of Gerontius can been seen not just as an act of courage but also one of personal identification. By channelling his remarkable talent into such a fervent, powerful epic, he took a social drawback and made it an artistic asset.

Inevitably, Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius was received with suspicion. Charles Villiers Stanford sneered that it ‘stank of incense’, while one 1902 performance saw the text modified to remove references to ‘Mary’, ‘Purgatory’ and ‘Masses’. But today it is cherished across Christian denominations and beyond as a heartfelt expression of faith in the face of death.

Though steeped in sacred imagery, and featuring a cast of souls, angels and demons, Elgar did not want The Dream of Gerontius to be approached with a pious or reverential attitude. The protagonist, he said, is ‘a man like us and not a priest or a saint but a sinner’ (hence the name ‘Gerontius’, which derives from the ancient Greek geron, meaning ‘old man’). 

Elgar understood that an audience could more easily empathise with an ‘everyman’. He also saw much of himself in the role: like Gerontius, he was unafraid of physical pain but regularly suffered from feelings of doubt and dissolution. With lines that slip between assured lyricism and stuttering speech rhythms, Elgar’s central portrait is complex, conflicted and beautifully human.

Elgar was familiar with the music of Liszt and Wagner – at the time considered daringly modern continentals – and their influence is clear. The restless chromaticism and augmented harmony is very Liszt, while the sense of continuously unfolding narrative, placed in the service of a fantastical, spiritually charged subject, is reminiscent of Wagner’s final opera, Parsifal.  

Like Wagner, Elgar also used minute musical details to knit together his vast narrative. The first four notes of the opening theme – played by the viola, clarinet and bassoon – influence almost all of the main motifs that follow. Several themes have harmonically flexible endings, allowing for a mobility that neatly mirrors the poem’s mood swings. And there is a complex web of interconnecting ‘leitmotivs’ – recurrent themes linked to various abstract concepts and emotions such as ‘Judgement’ and ‘Fear’.  

Though Elgar insisted The Dream of Gerontius was composed instinctually, these thematic inter-relations are so ingenious and far-reaching that one can imagine him spending countless hours planning them out.

‘It’s noble music … it’s music of a deep spirituality’.
Sir Antonio Pappano, conductor

Still, The Dream of Gerontius could only have been written by one person: any continental influences are channelled through the prism of Elgar’s unique musical language. As in his most famous works – the Cello Concerto and the ‘Enigma’ Variations – he demonstrates a remarkable gift for rousing, majestic melody. The sweeping chorus ‘Go forth in the name’, for example, which spreads across the voices, willing Gerontius up towards the heavens, or the famous ‘Angel’s Farewell’, in which Gerontius is assured his soul will eventually find Paradise. 

There is a very English pastoralism to much of the music, with passages such as the Elysian opening to Part 2 evoking the long walks Elgar enjoyed across the Severn countryside and along the banks of the River Teme. And, perhaps most keenly, we sense a distinctly Elgarian pathos – hinting at the composer’s well-documented depressive side. ‘Miserere, Judex meus’, sung by Gerontius on the precipice of death, is a desperate cry for mercy, while ‘I faine would sleep’ is a heart wrenching acceptance of fate.

During the 1890s, Elgar had built up a steady reputation with a series of works for chorus and orchestra. But it wasn’t until the London premiere of his ‘Enigma’ Variations in 1899 that he became internationally famous. In The Dream of Gerontius, premiered the following year, he harnessed this new-found symphonic confidence, raising the orchestra from the level of accompaniment to that of equal expressive partner. It became a landmark moment in English choral music – a pivot point from which so many classic works sprung.  

There are also challenges and innovations within the vocal writing – not all of which came off at the premiere. ‘The Demons’ Chorus’, for example, which opens with a devilish double fugue. One eyewitness lamented that ‘the chorus did not know the parts they were trying to sing’. 

But in a good performance, The Dream of Gerontius beautifully reflects the lofty spaces and generous acoustics for which Elgar conceived it. One highlight is the ‘Kyrie eleison’, sung by an unaccompanied semi-chorus as Gerontius lays dying. Here, a chain of intercessions builds magnificently, as though filling lofty spaces, with each voice entry calling on a different holy power.

Written by Timmy Fisher, sub-editor within the BBC Proms Publications team, co-host of The Classical Music Pod, writer and journalist.