Haydn's second oratorio, "The Seasons," was produced in 1801, and although the composer's powers failed rapidly thereafter, there is no evidence of weakness in this work. In all essentials the form and style of this oratorio, which is secular, being founded in Thomson's poem of the same name, are the same as those of "The Creation." It is a descriptive, contemplative work, and must please by its thoughtful beauty and illustrative power. It is without the dramatic element. Ludwig Spohr (1784-1859) wrote oratorios, one of which, called "The Last Judgment"—though its name literally means "The Last Things" has some claims to consideration, inasmuch as by reason of its purely contemplative method and its instrumental descriptions it stands in the direct line of oratorio progress. It is, however, not frequently performed. It was produced at Cassel in 1826.
We come now to the master who established a new form of oratorio,—a form which is unsurpassed in its possibilities, and in which he left us the greatest masterpiece of dramatic oratorio. Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847) wrote two oratorios: "St. Paul," produced in 1836, and "Elijah," first performed in 1846. Though Mendelssohn was never a writer for the stage, for which his style was not at all suitable, he was not undramatic in his musical instincts. He was inordinately fond of programme music, and was somewhat more inclined to attribute to music a definite directness of utterance than most thoughtful commentators are willing to concede to it. He certainly went far toward justifying his theories by his "Midsummer Night's Dream" overture, but one must be careful to note that this composition is almost wholly made up of what has happily been called scenic music,—music descriptive of the externals of a drama, not of its subtler emotions. That Mendelssohn, however, had on the whole the right conception of the expressive power of music is shown by his reproof of the man who tried to give titles to the "Songs Without Words," and by his quotation of the opening measures of his own Hebrides overture as his attempt to express his own feelings aroused by the winds and waves. On the whole, it must be conceded that Mendelssohn had a correct idea of the dramatic expressiveness of music and a deep sympathy with it.
At the same time Mendelssohn, though of Jewish blood, was intensely German. Furthermore, he was baptized and brought up as a Protestant Christian. It is not at all surprising, then, that he was prepared to be powerfully attracted toward the Protestant oratorio, when he approached that form of composition, and to show little sympathy for the Italian form, as perfected by Handel. As early as 1823 the score of Bach's "St. Matthew Passion" was copied from the manuscript and placed in his hands for study. It is not difficult to imagine the effect of the work on the mind of an eager, ambitious boy of fourteen, already a composer, and just passed through the severe process of German preparation for confirmation. Mendelssohn became an enthusiastic propagandist of the teachings of Bach, and revived the "St. Matthew Passion" in Germany, where the general public had quite forgotten it.
In preparing himself for the task of composing his first oratorio, "St. Paul," Mendelssohn undoubtedly gave close study to the works of his great predecessors. That he should have rejected almost instinctively the Italian style of Handel followed as a matter of course. That he should have put aside with equal readiness the austere style of Bach was inevitable. Mendelssohn was from the outset an exponent of graceful, fluent melody. His genius was deeply tinged with the sentiment of song, and he could no more have sacrificed beauty of theme and perfect simplicity of form to subtlety of detail than Handel could. But at the same time his dramatic instincts told him that the sure way to the hearts of the people was the old Italian way, which made the oratorio in all essentials, except scenery and action, a religious drama. He knew at once that Bach's method of presenting the speeches of the principal personages in direct recitative was good, but that it had fallen short of complete effectiveness from two reasons: first, because the speeches were led up to and quoted by the evangelist narrator; and second, because the musical character of the recitative was too detailed to appeal to a general audience. But Mendelssohn saw one tremendous factor in the Bach oratorio,—the chorale as an embodiment of the Protestant faith of Germany.
In his "St. Paul" he did not arrive at the true method of dealing with the elements which appeared to him to be essential to an influential and permanent form of oratorio. The book is episodic and lacks dramatic continuity. The plan is religious rather than dramatic. The martyrdom of St. Stephen is the first episode, and it is without direct connection dramatically with the other two, the conversion of St. Paul, and his later career as a preacher. Both Stephen and Paul are deficient in definiteness of characterization. They appear to us rather as representations of an idea, which may be expressed in the words, "Go ye unto all the world and preach the gospel." But in "Elijah" we have the genuine modern dramatic oratorio, and in it we find that Mendelssohn made use of those parts of the apparatus of his predecessors suitable to his designs. "Elijah" is eclectic. It is a fusion of forms and styles, made with great skill and with the finest possible discrimination. It is a logical evolution, and Mendelssohn showed in its composition an instinctive grasp of the evolutionary principle of the survival of the fittest,—that is, the fittest for his design.
He dispensed with the narrator and directed his attention to placing the speeches of his personages before the auditor in the most direct, dramatic, and characteristic manner. He used the choruses as Handel did, to impersonate the mass of people. He employed the chorales exactly as Bach did, to signify the thought of the Church as it had come to be understood in Germany. His scenes are all arranged in dramatic form, and without doubt could be placed upon the stage effectively if the whole feeling of contemporaneous audiences were not opposed to that method of giving oratorio. His characters are drawn clearly and sharply. Indeed, there is no oratorio in which the musical characterization is so finely worked out. The contrasts between the choruses of the priests of Baal and the Jews are sufficient evidence of this. But everywhere throughout the score there is evidence of a consistent and successful effort to adapt to the production of a powerfully dramatic, yet specifically Protestant and German, oratorio, the most influential elements of the forms of Handel and Bach, together with Haydn's instrumental coloring.
The very beginning of the oratorio strikes a new note, and one of tremendous dramatic power. Three broad chords are followed by the portentous prophecy of Elijah, "As God the Lord of Israel liveth, before whom I stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my word." After that single passage, set to a style of recitative wholly different from that of either Bach or Handel, yet containing some of the qualities of both, follows the overture, a piece of music descriptive of the misery of the land of drought. Thenceforward everything moves dramatically. The people cry, "Help, Lord; wilt Thou quite destroy us?" Then they beseech, "Lord, bow Thine ear to our prayer." Obadiah calls them to repentance with warning and with the lovely air, "If with all your hearts ye truly seek me." Later an angel comes and commands Elijah to go to Cherith's brook, and then follows the double quartet, "For He shall give His angels," a new employment of Bach's commentary chorus. The episode of Elijah and the widow is treated with dramatic directness, and is followed by the commentary chorus, "Blessed are the men who fear Him."
The whole scene between Elijah and the priests of Baal is magnificent in the eloquence of its dramatic form and style. Yet the superb air of Elijah, "Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, this day let it be known that Thou art God," is followed by the pure old Bach species of chorale, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord." The climax of the oratorio is reached in the great scene of the coming of the rain. This scene is constructed and composed with a fine sense of dramatic values, and its effect is so sure and strong that it puts before the imagination a vivid picture. It is no wonder that in England, where dry and dusty works are produced year after year by native composers, such a masterpiece as "Elijah" is always heard with unabated enthusiasm. Here it is overshadowed in the popular mind by "The Messiah," and perhaps this is due in some measure to the public absorption in opera.
Since Mendelssohn achieved his fusion of the most influential elements of the Italian and German oratorios, no significant advance has been made in the oratorio form. This, of course, is due to the fact that no musician of genius has found in that form a vehicle suitable to the character of his thought. Good, workmanlike compositions have been produced in England, where oratorio is more popular than it is in any other part of the world, but so far as can be judged from the disadvantageous position of close proximity to the novelties, nothing of large worth has been written there. It seems safe to say, however, that the greatest choral composition written since Mendelssohn's day is the German Requiem of Brahms. But it lies outside the field of oratorio. Edgar Tinel, born at Sinay, Belgium, on March 27, 1854, has made an attempt to return directly to the Italian dramatic form of Carissimi, but employing modern musical material. His oratorio, "St. Franciscus," produced in Brussels in 1888, employs the entire musical apparatus of modern German opera, including the full resources of Wagnerian orchestration. The result is that the music smells of the theatre, and the whole style of the work is foreign to the religious atmosphere of the oratorio. Charles François Gounod (1818-1893), the famous French opera composer, made an attempt in his "Redemption" to produce a modernized treatment of Bach's passion form. Gounod was always a student of Bach, and was thoroughly acquainted with the various forms employed by that master. In "The Redemption" he followed the Bach plan of giving the narrative to one or two separate male voices and having the direct speeches of Jesus quoted by a baritone. He employs the chorale to represent the voice of the Church, while modern chorus forms are used to represent the crowd. Gounod also uses a single typical theme to embody the love of Jesus, and this, of course, is a device of later date than Bach. But the ground plan of "The Redemption" is plainly modelled on that of the "St. Matthew Passion." There the resemblance ends, for Gounod's recitative and choral writings are modern and sweetly melodious without subtlety.