Handel had already met Telemann, Keiser’s colleague, who passed through Halle in 1701, and it was not unlikely that he received from that exponent of the operatic style an impulse toward greater melodiousness than he was likely to receive from Zachau. Agostino Steffani, another melodist, also visited Halle in 1703. In the same year we see Handel set out for Hamburg, in order to have himself thoroughly ‘made over’ under the influence of its famous operatic school. He joined the orchestra of Keiser’s Opera House as violino ripieno, passing himself off as a novice, but, when Keiser went into hiding from his creditors, Handel promptly took his place at the harpsichord and shone forth as conductor so brilliantly that he was retained upon Keiser’s return. Here he also met Mattheson, the brilliant composer and theorist, then slightly older than himself. An anecdote of their early friendship recounts how the two went to Lübeck to apply for an organist’s position, but speedily returned when they learned that the new incumbent was obliged to marry his predecessor’s daughter. This friendship came to a sudden end when, during a performance of Mattheson’s ‘Cleopatra,’ in which the composer was wont to conduct and also to sing the rôle of Antonio while Handel substituted at the harpsichord. Upon one occasion the latter stubbornly refused to yield his place, after the supposed death of Antonio, to the resuscitated hero, and a quarrel ensued, resulting in a duel in which it is said Handel’s life was barely saved by the protection afforded by a brass button.

It was not long before Handel made his own début in opera: both ‘Almira’ and ‘Nero’ were produced in 1705. Keiser’s influence is felt in these works. They are distinguished by much of the melodious charm which has saved the favorite Lascia ch’io pianga from oblivion. This rare gem was originally composed as a sarabande in one of Handel’s early chamber works; its use in the opera preludes what was to become a common practice with Handel in musical economy. That Keiser was already jealous of his young rival is evidenced by the fact that he himself reset the libretto of ‘Nero’ and performed it at the Hamburg opera in place of Handel’s.

We may remind the reader at this point that the German opera in Hamburg, despite its many incongruities, was the only opera at that time aiming at dramatic fidelity. Public taste had run to vocalization pure and simple, and singers were the sole arbiters of operatic style. In the Hamburg opera the recitatives, which fully explained the story, were sung in German, while the arias, in the prevailing florid Italian style, were sung in Italian, as the vernacular was not considered a suitable medium for vocal display. The orchestra was a combination of instruments aiming at quantitative rather than qualitative sonority, the string body consisting of two violin parts, and ‘cellos and basses playing in unison, while the wood wind—chiefly oboes and bassoons—usually doubled the string parts. What the effect must have been can be imagined when we consider that in one of Handel’s operas he used twenty-six oboes, while there were but six flutes, generally used only as an obbligato instrument. The harmonic basis was furnished, as in the oldest Italian operas, by the Figured Bass played upon the harpsichord, which formed the centre of the orchestra. Two other Handel operas were performed at Hamburg during 1705-1706, namely, ‘Daphne’ and ‘Florinda.’ In the latter year we already see him on his way to Italy.

In the meantime, however, Handel had essayed another form of composition then popular in Germany—the passion oratorio. The Lutheran church had adopted from the Catholic the practice of reciting the history of the passion at vespers during holy week. This had given an opportunity to composers for a peculiarly profound religious expression in music. Heinrich Schütz must be named as the chief representative of passion music before Bach, though nearly sixty works of similar character have been preserved to us from before his time. The narrative was divided into three parts representing Christ, the Evangelist, and the people, which originally had been sung in chorus, but, with the rise of monody, the first two were chanted by single voices. Except a few introductory words, the entire text was made up of scriptural narrative, but later the beautiful chorale tunes sung by the Lutheran congregation were interspersed by way of reflective comment. This all became so fast-bound a convention that when Keiser produced his passion set to the words of Menantes at Hamburg in 1704 the church censured him severely for omitting the chorale element. Entirely original music had been used for the passion service, however, as early as 1672 by Sebastiani.

Handel’s Ein kleines Passions-Oratorium, composed in 1704, was arranged from the Gospel of St. John, into which he introduced contemplative airs, instead of chorales. The chorus is mostly in five parts; the part of Pilate is taken by an alto, Christ by a tenor, and the Evangelist by a bass. He introduces a more elaborate accompaniment for the dramatically heightened ecce homo passage, while the biblical speeches are set in aria form. There are also duets, and a fugato chorus is sung by the soldiers casting lots for the vestment. The passion poems written by Brockes about this time were set to music no less than thirty times between 1712 and 1727 and among the most important of these is one by Handel written in 1716 while in attendance upon the elector at Hanover, to which we shall recur later. Suffice it to say that with every new work, such as Keiser’s, the dramatic element becomes more prominent. The meditative portions are now allotted to a definite character, such as ‘Daughter of Zion,’ or a ‘Faithful Soul,’ to be superseded still later by Mary Magdalen, the Disciple, the Virgin, etc. It may be said, then, to approach more nearly to the form of the oratorio, which, as we have seen in a previous chapter, had been cultivated in Italy by Carissimi and his followers. There, however, it had so nearly developed into the prevailing operatic form that it was distinguished from it only by the lack of scenery. The chorus, after being reduced to mere fragments, finally disappeared as it had done in the opera. These were the materials from which Handel’s genius was later to evolve virtually a new form of art.

II

It is to Italy that Handel now turns his steps. That country had flooded Europe with singers that won the public’s heart wherever they appeared and even the musicians of Germany could not assail their stronghold, reinforced by popular approval. An offer by Prince Gaston de Medici in 1705 had been proudly refused by Handel, unwilling to assume the position of a servant. He now undertook the journey at his own expense, and, visiting not only Florence, but Rome, Venice, and Naples in turn, composed constantly both secular and sacred music. No less than a dozen solo cantatas—those charming little melodic sketches, miniature operas, in a sense, consisting of simple recitative and arioso over a figured bass—were produced at Florence, and upon his return after a short stay in Rome he produced ‘Rodrigo,’ his first Italian opera. Its overture shows the influence of Lully, being in the form established by that composer (see Chap. XIII, p. 409) and forthwith adopted by Handel for all his operas and oratorios. In this case it closed with a suite of dances, including a gigue, a sarabande, a sailor’s dance, a minuet, two bourrées and a passecaille. The elaborateness of the accompaniments to many of the arias gave evidence of Handel’s increased appreciation of brilliant orchestral effects. ‘Rodrigo’ was an unqualified success, which was as real as it may have been surprising to Handel. ‘Agrippina,’ produced in Venice, whither he went in 1708, appealed so strongly to the audience that at every cessation of the music there were loud cries of ‘viva il caro Sassone!’ (long live the dear Saxon). This enthusiastic reception of a German composer argues well for the broad judgment of the Italians, whose domination of the European musical world at that time was bitterly resented. But it was not an isolated instance, for twenty years later another German, Johann Adolph Hasse, was similarly honored, and subsequent instances are frequent down to our present day, when the Italian enthusiasm for Wagner is hardly surpassed in Germany itself.

On the other hand, there could have been but little that was strange to the Italian public in Handel’s work. All through his Hamburg career he had been influenced by the Italian school. That school had long departed from the ideals of melodic expressiveness and dramatic verisimilitude and was now given over to prescribed conventions made for the benefit of the performer. It had become simply a string of set arias and recitatives alternated in such a way as to provide the desired variety of the vocal exhibition. These rules as summarized by Rockstro,[142] exacted that there must always be six principal characters—three of each sex. The first woman must be a high soprano, the first man an artificial soprano, though he is the hero of the piece. The second man and the second woman might be either sopranos or contraltos; the third man sometimes was a tenor, and a bass would be included only when four men were in the cast. In each act all the principal singers had to sing at least one of the arias, all of which were in the conventional da capo forms. These were the aria cantabile, aria di portmento, aria di mezzo, carattere, aria parlante, and aria di bravura. There had to be always a duet for the leading man and woman and an ensemble (coro) of all the leading singers at the end.

These limitations are sufficient explanation for the hopeless oblivion into which the operas of this period, including Handel’s, have descended. Even of the individual arias only a few are such as to interest or charm the modern listener. A few melodic gems like Lascia ch’io pianga, Mio cara bene and two or three more are the sum total that is of value in all this tremendous bulk of operatic works which occupied the greater part of Handel’s life. Posterity’s verdict is just in these matters, nor need we feel any sense of regret at the loss, when we consider the astounding rapidity with which these compositions were ground out—‘Agrippina’ had been completed within three weeks—and that the technique acquired in their writing must have yielded richer fruit in those works which remain as the master’s monument. Hence we need pass but rapidly over the list of operas, serenate and oratorios composed by Handel during this period. All of them lie within the domain of Italian influence. He never attempted to develop the form further or reform it in any way. But, as we shall see later, he used it as the starting point for the new Handelian oratorio, which was the outstanding creation of his genius.

The one important fact of Handel’s Italian period is the influence he received from the composers of that country. While there he met Alessandro and Domenico Scarlatti, Lutti, Marcello, Pasquini, Corelli, and Steffani, whom he already knew and who befriended him. In the genial circle of the ‘Arcadian’ academy, in the homes of the music-loving Marquis Ruspoli and the talented Cardinal Ottoboni in Rome, he absorbed Italian ideals and acquired Italian technique. In Rome, where the performance of opera was forbidden by ecclesiastical authority, he composed Il Trionfo del tempo e del disinganno, which he afterward made over into an English oratorio entitled ‘The Triumph of Time and Truth’ and another serenata Aci, Galatea, e Polifemo, really a cantata for three voices with orchestra, was written in Naples. This work, however, has no connection with the work of a similar name which belongs to a later period.