IV
The glories of that genius were in fact yet to be unfolded in their fullness, and in a field hitherto barely touched. Thoroughly chastened by his late failures, Handel gradually reached the conclusion that ‘sacred music was best for a man in failing years.’ Chrysander describes how, toward the end of his operatic activity, he began to comprehend his true mission to be ‘the union of the entire musical art, secular and ecclesiastic, of the preceding centuries in the form newly created by him (the oratorio).’ Whether we are skeptical about the sincerity of Handel’s philosophy or not, he certainly had had ample opportunity to feel the public’s pulse. As early as 1732 Aaron Hill had written him urging that ‘the English language was soft enough for opera and that it was time the country were delivered from Italian bondage.’ That which now fastened Handel’s attention upon the oratorio was more than anything else the changing taste of the English public, which primarily meant nothing but a demand for opera in English—a reaction against the incomprehensible Italian warble, and the falseness, the dramatic absurdity of the prevalent school of opera.[148]
As we have already pointed out, the immediate source of the Handelian oratorio lay in the Italian opera. ‘Though externally the course of Handel’s career till 1740 was determined by the composition of opera,’ says Riemann,[149] ‘in retrospect it appears as a preparation for oratorio, and all his activities resolved themselves into that.’
His previous essays in Italian and in German oratorio (La resurrezione and the Brockes’ Passion) would seem to portend a fusion of the two forms. Another important ingredient, however, was the sacred music of Purcell, the imitation of which—in Queen Anne’s birthday ode, the Utrecht Te Deum, etc.—had led Handel to form a style of choral composition. For the outstanding difference, the distinguishing characteristic of Handel’s oratorio is the essential employment of the chorus, which rises to ever greater eminence till at last in the crowning works of the master, in the ‘Messiah’ and in ‘Samson,’ we see a grand choral drama interspersed with occasional solo passages. Handel had by that time conceived a choral fabric of such stupendous dimensions as would give the oratorio a place among the grandest art forms in existence.
Georg Frederick Handel.
After a painting by Thomas Hudson.
The Chandos Te Deums and anthems were the next step in that direction, and ‘Esther’ represents the foundation upon which the gigantic structure of the later works was raised. It was ‘Esther,’ indeed, which gave the direct impulse to the most momentous transition in Handel’s career. That oratorio, originally composed for the chapel of the duke of Chandos, was revived, with action, scenery, and costume by the children of the Chapel Royal in Westminster. It was twice repeated in a tavern in the Strand, and again performed without authority in April, 1732, ‘at the Great Room in Villar’s Street, York Buildings,’ at five shillings a head. Always alive to business advantages, Handel immediately announced a performance of it at his own opera house for the second of May, ‘by a great number of voices and instruments.’ The acting of sacred oratorio had been forbidden by the Bishop, hence the advertisement said that ‘there would be no Acting, but the House will be fitted up in a decent Manner for the audience.’ Handel had enlarged for this occasion the choruses and the orchestration, which now consisted of five violins, viola, 'cello, double bass, two oboes, two flutes, two bassoons, harp, theorbo, harpsichord, and organ—a combination which appears surprisingly modern in comparison with the freak proportions of some of the earlier operas.
The unusual success of the experiment was no doubt responsible for the next effort of this kind, namely ‘Deborah,’ performed in 1733, at double prices, which circumstance militated against large audiences and fanned the flame of opposition then raging about Handel. In the same year ‘Athalia’ was produced in Oxford, in which Handel came very near the form of the German chorale cantata. ‘Deborah’ and ‘Esther’ were also revived there with success.[150]
In ‘Esther’ we divine the spark of Handel’s future greatness. In other works, too, there are isolated numbers that touch the high-water mark of beauty, but in the whole of any of these there is little unity; the single numbers do not hang together, the whole scheme does not suggest homogeneity of conception or convey the poignant religious feeling, the purposeful intensity of the later works.
With these qualities we meet for the first time in ‘Saul,’ composed in 1738. This, says the admiring Rockstro, ‘surpasses even the finest scenes presented in either of the three earlier works,’ and he enthusiastically points to the Song of Triumph in the first act with its picturesque carillon accompaniment, marking out each successive step in the procession, while the jealous monarch bursts with envy, the wailing notes of the oboes and bassoons in the ‘Witch’s Incantation,’ the gloomy pomp of the terrible Dead March, and the tender pathos of David’s own personal sorrow, so clearly distinguished from that felt by the nation at large as some of its dramatic virtues.
‘Israel in Egypt,’ Handel’s next work, is, besides the ‘Messiah,’ the only purely epic oratorio in which the chorus becomes the protagonist of the drama, and we are inclined to consider these two the greatest of all. That it was in advance of the public taste of the period is indicated by the poor reception accorded to ‘Israel’ upon its first performance in 1740. It was considered so heavy that it had to be performed the second time with interpolated songs to lighten it up. Despite the fact that it was put together in a total of seventeen days, that it consists to a large extent of the work of other men (sixteen of the thirty-nine numbers are plagiarized), and that it represents another instance of Handel’s peculiar handicraft in reutilizing his own creations, it exhibits qualities which hardly any other of his works possesses in so great a measure. Instead of the stereotyped harmonic structure of dominant-tonic, subdominant-tonic, which stamps so much of his work as tedious and antiquated, we have here rich chromatic progressions and colorful modulations; the clear-cut note-for-note harmony is varied by a seething polyphonic web which eloquently betrays Handel’s early fugal training, a polyphony as diverse almost as that of the a capella masters of the past, but resting firmly on a pure harmonic foundation, euphonious, sonorous, guided by solid laws of progression, but unrestrained in its freedom of movement. The chorus ‘They loathed to drink,’ adapted from one of his own organ fugues, is a fine example. It is in moments like these that Handel shows his kinship to his great countryman, Bach. The colossal double choruses in which every resource of vocal polyphony and harmonic power seems exhausted are the most noted features of ‘Israel in Egypt.’
Handel’s reprehensible practice of appropriating the compositions of other, and often obscure, composers has been much discussed. To a modern artistic conscience there is no excuse for such wholesale theft. How far it was justified by usage we are not able now to determine. At any rate we are surprised at the absence of protest on the part of the composers of the pilfered works. It is true that by utilizing their material Handel often saved such compositions from certain oblivion, and that in handling it his masterful touch was such as to sanctify even dross. Moreover, the original parts are usually far superior to the appropriative ones. The only plausible explanation for the procedure can be found in the feverish haste with which he produced piece after piece, which would indicate an extraordinary rapacity for success—and probably material gain—an unsympathetic trait of character unfortunately associated with others as repugnant.
In ‘Israel’ a Stradella serenata furnished the material for ‘He speaketh the word,’ ‘But as for his People,’ and ‘Believed the Lord.’ The antiphonal effect desired by Handel was most conveniently provided by the two orchestras in Stradella’s work, which represent the two rival parties of musicians serenading the lovers’ mistress. ‘The Lord is a man of war’ represents a most ingenious form of plagiarism, for the voice parts are taken from a work by Erba, but the accompaniment figure is from Urio’s Te Deum. Such artful utilizations and welding of foreign materials into a homogeneous and impressively artistic whole reveal Handel as the master workman of his time. Many other instances could be cited, but we content ourselves with the pleasant one as disposing of the matter.
Without question, the pinnacle of Handel’s creative mission was reached with the next oratorio—‘The Messiah’—on which perhaps more than all the other works taken together rests Handel’s place in the heart of modern music lovers. That monumental work was produced between August 22 and September 14, 1741, a period of twenty-four days! The compiler of the libretto was Charles Jennens, the quality of whose other literary performances have cast considerable doubt upon his claim to the origination of the altogether admirable plan. His comment on Handel’s setting throws light on his conceited nature as well as upon the firm independence of the composer: ‘He has made a fine entertainment of it,’ says Jennens, ‘though not near so good as he might and ought to have done. I have with great difficulty made him correct some of the present faults, but he retained the overture obstinately, in which there are some passages far unworthy of Handel, but much more unworthy of the Messiah!’ Posterity has decreed otherwise with respect to the comparative merits of book and music. At any rate, the former is well-nigh ideal in the unity of thought and intensive continuity with which the story of the Saviour’s life is unfolded from the prophecy to the last things.
We have called ‘The Messiah’ an epic oratorio. As there is, as Schering[151] says, but a series of contemplative choruses, arias, and recitatives on the ‘Messiah’ idea, its psychological connection with the German cantata is much closer than with the Italian oratorio. As we have observed, Handel had been getting away more and more from the operatic style. Both because of its form and because scriptural words only are used in it, we may, with Riemann, consider it as one great anthem. The work is too well known to require extended comment. Let us only remind the reader of the exquisite beauty of such lyric passages as ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth,’ ‘How beautiful are the feet,’ and ‘Behold and see’ which are among the rarest gems of aria form in our possession. Powerful and passionate expressions such as occur in ‘The people that walked in darkness’ are as rare in the literature of dramatic music, while the highly dramatic recitatives like ‘Thy rebuke hath broken’ are, without question, one of the completest realizations of the ideal of Peri and Monteverdi.[152] The glorious choral effects in the Hallelujah chorus, the stirring polyphony, now simultaneous, now imitative, reflect a potency and spiritual elevation that will perhaps never be surpassed. Lastly, let us not forget the beautiful Pastoral Symphony in which the exquisite Calabrian melody, the song of the piferari that Handel had heard in the early days at Rome, is introduced.
‘The Messiah’ was first performed on April 13, 1742, in Dublin, whither Handel had gone upon the invitation of the duke of Devonshire, lord lieutenant of Ireland. It was given for the benefit of a charitable society and was well received. When in March of the following year it was performed in London, the audience, including the king, was so affected by the Hallelujah chorus that at the words ‘For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth’ it instinctively rose. Thus it has remained customary in England for audiences to stand during the performance of that number.
A number of other oratorios followed in regular succession: ‘Samson’ in 1741, ‘Joseph’ in 1743, ‘Semele’ in 1744, and ‘Belshazzar’ and ‘Hercules’ in 1744. After an eighteen-months’ period of inactivity following another financial crisis, came the ‘Occasional Oratorio,’ thus named, according to Chrysander, ‘because its creation and performances were occasioned by peculiar passing circumstances,’ and ‘Judas Maccabæus,’ ‘Joshua’ (1747), ‘Solomon’ (1748), ‘Susanna’ (1748), and ‘Theodora’ (1749). By this time the excessive popularity of oratorio had waned also and ‘Theodora’ was so poorly attended that Handel remarked bitterly that the Jews (who had patronized his oratorios on Hebraic subjects quite largely) would not come because the subject was Christian, and the ladies stayed away because it was virtuous. Considering the notorious state of Harry Walpole’s society we may better understand this jest.
‘The Choice of Hercules,’ a secular oratorio (1750), and ‘Jephtha,’ composed in 1751 and performed in the following year, closed the series. During this time Handel was afflicted with a disease which eventually robbed him of his sight. Three operations for cataract were of no avail and he remained blind, or nearly so, for the remainder of his life. (It is a curious coincidence that Bach at the end of his life suffered a similar fate.) Nevertheless he labored on. The practice of playing organ concertos between the parts of his oratorios, which was a regular custom with him, he continued, probably now they were purely improvisations, as, indeed, they had been, with few exceptions, theretofore. Those which he wrote down seem to have answered the purpose merely of providing material at times when inspiration lagged.