The first three words in the title of my book about the music of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society—Votaries of Apollo—are as familiar to me now as my own name. I’ve been living with them for about six years, since I found them buried in the papers of Henry Laurens at the South Carolina Historical Society. Immersed in the topic, the resources, and the language of the eighteenth century, I had an instantaneous connection with the words, and felt as if Laurens was winking at me across the centuries. It was too rich of a phrase to ignore, so I immediately latched on to it as a potential title for my project. Now that the book has finally been completed and I’m actively promoting it, however, I’m discovering that the title is a bit too esoteric, and inevitably I am asked to explain its origins and meaning. So, in case you were wondering, here’s a brief explanation.
The phrase “Votaries of Apollo” can be found in works of several eighteenth- and nineteenth-century writers and poets to describe the devoted followers of Apollo, or, more plainly, gentlemen amateurs of art and learning. In the specific case of my book, however, I found the phrase “Votaries of Apollo” among the writing of South Carolina merchant-statesman Henry Laurens (1724-1792), who used the phrase to identify himself as an amateur of music and a member of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society. In late 1768 and early 1769, Laurens was engaged in a very public argument with Sir Egerton Leigh, Master of the South Carolina Court of Vice-Admiralty, over the unlawful seizure of several of Laurens’s ships. Each man published pamphlets condemning the other’s actions, and they also used the local newspapers to promote their arguments. In an April 1769 advertisement for his latest pamphlet, Laurens quoted a few lines from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice to argue that you can’t trust a man who doesn’t appreciate fine music. In contrast to Leigh’s alleged lack of musical taste, Laurens countered “I am one of the Votaries of Apollo, and have my name inscribed on St. Cecilia’s roll.”
For me, the phrase immediately resonated with my conception of the early days of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society—a group of proud, even pretentious New World men who refused to be bullied by an arrogant, self-righteous, Old World fop. The fact that this phrase was employed by one of the St. Cecilia Society’s earliest members—and one of South Carolina’s most famous sons—to describe himself and his relation to the society makes it even more meaningful to me, and I hope other readers will also find it interesting. For more about this story, you’ll have to read Chapter Two of my book, Votaries of Apollo!
