Strictly speaking, Passion Music is not an oratorio, but a church service, and Bach actually designed his to serve as a counter-attraction to the Mass as performed in the Roman Church. What we understand under oratorio derived its vitality from George Frederick Händel, who was born at Halle in Lower Saxony, 1685, but whose most important work was accomplished in London, where he died in 1759 and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Before Händel wrote his two greatest oratorios, “Israel in Egypt” and “The Messiah,” he had, through the composition of numerous operas, mastered the principles of dramatic writing, and in his oratorios he aims, whenever the text makes it permissible, at dramatic expression. It is only necessary to recall the “Plague Choruses” in “Israel in Egypt,” especially the “Hail-Stone Chorus” and the chorus of rejoicing (“The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea”); or by way of contrast, the tenderly expressive melody of “As for His people, He led them forth like sheep,” to realize what an adept Händel was in dramatic expression.
Rockstro on Händel.
Händel may in fact be called the founder of variety and freedom in writing for chorus. While I must confess that I do not share Rockstro’s intense enthusiasm for Händel and for “The Messiah,” nevertheless he expresses so well the general feeling in England and the feeling on the part of those in this country who crowd 255 the annual Christmas performances of “The Messiah,” toward that work, that the best means of conveying an idea of what oratorio signifies to those who like it, is to quote him. Referring to Händel’s free and varied treatment of chorus writing, he says:
“He bids us ‘Behold the Lamb of God’ and we feel that he has helped us to do so. He tells us that ‘With His stripes we are healed,’ and we are sensible not of the healing only, but of the cruel price at which it was purchased. And we yield him equal obedience when he calls upon us to join in his hymns of praise. Who hearing the noble subject of ‘I will sing unto the Lord,’ led off by the tenors and altos, does not long to reinforce their voices with his own? Who does not feel a choking in his throat before the first bar of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ is completed, though he may be listening to it for the hundredth time? Hard indeed must his heart be who can refuse to hear when Händel preaches through the voice of his chorus.” The “Messiah” also contains two of Händel’s most famous solos, “He shall feed His flock” and “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”
This work was performed for the first time on April 13, 1742, at the Music Hall, Dublin, when Händel was on a visit to the Duke of Devonshire, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The rehearsals, at which many people were present by invitation, had aroused so much enthusiasm, that those who were interested in the charitable object for which it was given, requested “as a favor that the ladies who honor this performance with their presence would be pleased to come without hoops, as it would greatly increase the charity by making room 256 for more company.” Gentlemen also were requested to come without swords, for the same reason. It is said that at the first London performance, when the “Hallelujah Chorus” rang out, the King rose in his place and, followed by the entire audience, stood during the singing of the chorus, and that thus the custom, which still is observed, originated.
Following Händel, Haydn in 1798, when nearly seventy years old, wrote “The Creation,” founded on passages from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and after it “The Seasons,” for which Thomson’s familiar poem supplied the text. In both of these there is much purely descriptive music, especially in the earlier oratorio, when the creation of various animals is related. In “The Creation,” too, after the passages for muted strings, is the famous outburst of orchestra and chorus, “And there was light.” Haydn was a far greater master of orchestration than Händel. He also was one of the early composers of the homophonic school, and there is a freer, more spontaneous flow of melody in his oratorios. But they undoubtedly lack the grandeur of Händel’s.
Mendelssohn’s Oratorios.
Between Haydn and Mendelssohn, in the development of oratorio, nothing need be mentioned, excepting Beethoven’s “Mount of Olives” and Spohr’s “The Last Judgment” (Die Letzten Dinge). Mendelssohn, in his “St. Paul,” followed the example of the old passionists, and introduced chorales, but in his greater oratorio, “Elijah,” which is purely an Hebraic subject, he discarded these. The dramatic quality of “Elijah” 257 is so apparent that it has been said more than once to be capable of stage representation with scenery, costumes and action. This is especially true of the prophet himself, whose personality is so definitely developed that he stands before us almost like a character behind the footlights. This dramatic value is felt at the very beginning, when, after four solemn chords on the brass, the work, instead of opening with an overture, is ushered in by Elijah’s prophecy of the drought. Then comes the overture, which is descriptive of the effects of the prophecy.
Next to “The Messiah,” “Elijah” probably is the most popular of oratorios, and I think this is due to its dramatic value, and to the fact that its descriptive music, instead of being somewhat naive, not to say childish, as is the case with some passages in Haydn’s “Creation,” is extremely effective. It is necessary only to remind the reader of the descent of the fire and the destruction of the prophets of Baal; of the description of the gradual approach of the rain-storm, as Elijah, standing on Mount Carmel and watching for the coming of the rain, is informed of the little cloud, “out of the sea, like a man’s hand”—a little cloud which we seem to see in the music, and which grows in size and blackness until it bursts like a deluge over the scene. Then there are the famous bass solo, “It is enough”; the unaccompanied “Trio of Angels”; the Angel’s song, “Oh, rest in the Lord”; and the tenderly expressive chorus, “He, watching over Israel.” I once heard a performance of “Elijah” during which the Angel carried on such a lively flirtation with the Prophet that she almost missed the cue for her most 258 important solo; in fact would have missed it, had not the conductor sharply called her attention to the fact that it was time for her to begin.
I think that oratorio reached its successive climaxes with “The Messiah” and “Elijah.” Gounod’s “Redemption” and “Mors et Vita,” in spite of passages of undeniable beauty, seem to me, as a whole, rather spineless. Edward Elgar’s “Dream of Gerontius” and “The Apostles” have created much excitement in England and considerable interest here, but while it is too soon to hazard a definite opinion of this composer, he appears to be lacking in individuality—to derive from Wagner whatever is interesting in his scores, while what is original with him is unimportant.