George Frideric Handel_Dover Books on Music

by Paul Henry Lang

  Hercules does not open with the usual banquet, thanksgiving, or ritual scene. Mindful of the type of drama he has decided upon, Broughton proceeds with a good design: the introduction of the characters before their conflict is developed. Dejanira, desolated by the long absence of her spouse, Hercules, fears that he will never return to Trachis from the wars. Her misgivings about his fate are reinforced by the Herald, Lichas, and her son, Hyllus. The priests, too, predict his death as the chorus sings with sepulchral power. Young Hyllus is resolved to end the uncertainty by searching for his father in foreign parts, but even as he is about to depart, the Herald announces that the victorious hero is returning with rich booty, which includes the beautiful princess Iole of Oechalia and her retinue of virgins. The tone changes, the populace rejoices, and everyone appears ready to settle down to the pleasures of a peaceful domestic life.

  The stage is now set for the drama to burgeon as the two women are enmeshed in a conflict. Iole is completely possessed by her grief for her father, slain by Hercules, and her distress at being a prisoner. She has no thought for anything else, but Dejanira, a passionate woman, senses in her a rival. Though Iole protests her innocence, Dejanira is more and more convinced that Hercules is unfaithful. The chorus warns of the terrors of jealousy, but even as the somber theme of this most insidious of passions is developed, Hyllus proclaims his love for Iole, inducing a new moral in the chorus as it expresses its faith in love as the greatest gift of life. Iole rejects Hyllus. Dejanira denounces the conjugal treachery of Hercules, who, surprised, for the moment takes the accusation lightly, but Dejanira misinterprets his reaction as a confession of guilt. The centaur Nessus once gave her a magic garment supposed to rekindle love in its wearer; Lichas is charged with delivering it to Hercules as a token of Dejanira’s forgiveness. But Nessus, mortally wounded by Hercules, had plotted revenge: the garment does not arouse love, it poisons the wearer. Hercules puts it on and dies, cursing Dejanira, as the furies rise to haunt her. Iole is filled with compassion for her enemies in their hour of tragedy.

  In the mandatory Baroque epilogue Hercules ascends to Olympus, Jupiter commands the young pair to wed, and the work ends with a choral piece extolling everything and everybody.

  Hercules is a music drama, like Semele, virtually an opera; there are in it no national, religious, or political motifs, as in many of the oratorios. Handel is completely absorbed by the theme; his intention to crystallize its essence, to capture the meaning at once elusive and comprehensive, dictated a more complex and concentrated idiom than that followed in Saul, the other great drama of jealousy. This desire to grasp and exploit the essence produced in Dejanira a character that dwarfs all the others. Julian Herbage, a little too severe with Broughton, recognizes the exceptional stature of Dejanira, but exaggerates when he calls the other figures “merely puppets that adopt the conventional postures of the 18th century tragic stage.” Winton Dean epitomizes Dejanira when he calls her a “female Othello”—nothing less would do justice to her character. She is a figure in the round, this ardent woman whom Handel presents vis-à-vis the other characters the way a spire is placed next to a human figure to show its height. Few of Handel’s heroines are as determined as she, and yet she does not sin against femininity. The swift stir of her jealousy, growing into primeval recrimination and then into spiritual blackness, reaches a pitch of frenzy in her aria; the listener feels as if he were struggling for breath while a flood of music sweeps over his head.

  As Iole first appears she wonders about sin and love, still knowing neither. The simple directness of her utterance is very moving. Gradually, as she is drawn into the conflict, her personality develops. Hercules, who appears only twice, is really only an accessory, the object of Dejanira’s jealousy; not the mighty demigod of the myth but a likable warrior with deep sanity, vitality, and a muscular eloquence that at times is almost amusing. This, too, has led to misunderstanding: “Hercules himself is merely sketched as a bluff, vigorous character,” says Herbage. But Broughton and Handel realized that the psychological impact of insane jealousy would be the more telling if the subject provoking such passion is not a towering hero but a simple type who would not even think of adultery.

  Handel did not penetrate into the character of Hyllus, though he gave him fine music, and Lichas’s role is definitely over-extended; several of his numbers are expendable, for Lichas owes his eminence to Handel’s regard for Mrs. Cibber. When her participation in the new oratorio venture became assured Handel understandably wanted to make room for her in the cast. The only adaptable role was that of Lichas, originally a minor part for a tenor, which Handel proceeded to convert and expand far beyond its dramaturgical needs. This gallant generosity did not help the drama, but as remarked above, continuity can be achieved by the simple expedient of omitting a number of Lichas’s songs—the suggestion comes from Handel himself. When subsequently Mrs. Cibber was no longer available, he cut the part of Lichas altogether. As in Semele, the chorus is employed not so much as a direct agent in the drama but as clarifying and summarizing lyric body in the spirit of the classical choros.

  Hercules opens with a scene oppressive with forebodings. Lichas, in a fine accompanied recitative, bewails Dejanira’s dejection over the absence of her husband. His following aria transgresses the boundaries of the Baroque style; its galant tone was noted by several Handelian critics, who liken it to Gluck and Jommelli. The little unison passages interspersed in the aria are particularly effective in creating a mood of tense grief. Dejanira’s first aria, “The world, when day’s career is run,” is also a “modern” piece, the chromatic passages followed by a simple cadence have the effect of causing an oscillation between light and shade. Hyllus’s “I feel the God” is in the spacious heroic style that one would assign to the mature Gluck were it not for the typically Handelian largeness of gesture. Upon hearing the oracle, Dejanira no longer doubts the death of Hercules, consoling herself with the thought of being reunited with him in the hereafter. “There in myrtle shades” is a fine aria in which grief is blended with renunciation in a pastoral tone. Hyllus now sings a song, “Where congealed the northern streams,” in which the mood is depicted with all of Handel’s ability to illustrate a text; the voice literally “congeals” when the passage is repeated for the third time. The chorus approves of Hyllus’s resolution to seek out his father; “O filial piety” is a tremendous choral fugue framed by two homophonic pieces in slow dance rhythm. In the first of these one can clearly recognize the origin of the first chorus in Gluck’s Orfeo.

  The heavy atmosphere is lightened with the announcement of Hercules’s safe homecoming. Now Dejanira exults: “Be gone my fears.” Lichas, too, in his lilting aria “The smiling hours,” dismisses gloom, nicely preparing the entry of the chorus with “Let none despair, relief may come.” This is a remarkably free and inventive double fugue with sharply contrasting themes. The transparent construction, with many passages for pairs of voices, reminds one of the “duet” choruses in Messiah. Iole enters. In her magnificent aria “Daughter of Gods, bright liberty,” she is altogether preoccupied with her unhappy status as a prisoner. The long ritornel is startling: it is through-composed as though the requirements of the text were already present. A march is heard and Hercules appears. He addresses Iole in a friendly tone, but this awakens in her the dreadful picture of his slaying of her father, and we are treated to one of the great laments in the dramatic literature: “My father.” The slow arioso is introduced by a ritornel of dark, rich color. Instead of the expected continuation of the motto, a sudden diminished seventh chord turns the aria, for a moment, into an accompanied recitative before it continues upon its course.

  Hercules, satisfied with the situation—his requirements are modest —wants to forget about the carnage and enjoy love. “The god of battle quits the field,” he sings in what would be a simple strophic song were it not for the exquisite accompaniment. Once more we are astounded by Handel’s new, modern idiom, by the refinements he can put into a fif
teen(!) - measure ritornel, and the manner in which he exploits this material in the course of the air. The chorus seconds Hercules. The Thessalian shepherds who come to celebrate the victory and acclaim the hero have brought along their bagpipes and shawms, and by turning from B-flat to D Handel adds the trumpets to the rejoicing. “Crown with festal pomp the day” is a typical act-ending chorus, but the mixture of the heroic and the pastoral makes it extraordinarily attractive.

  The spirit of rejoicing at the end of the first act disappears when, at the opening of the second, Iole appears, still dominated by the awful realization of her loss of freedom, and questions her fate: “Why was I born a princess?” The aria “How blest the maid” is again one of those remarkable pieces that point far into the future. The two women now come face to face. Dejanira is at first restrained, more sorrowful than angry: “When beauty sorrow’s liv’ry wears, our passions take the fair one’s part,” but soon she begins to accuse. Iole, innocent and inexperienced, replies “What ills the jealous prove.” Lichas, hearing the accusation that “Hercules is false,” comes to his master’s defense in an elaborate da capo aria.

  Now the chorus takes up the theme of jealousy in a piece of an intensity extraordinary even with Handel. “Jealousy, infernal pest” recreates the tone of Greek tragedy as it had not been heard for two millennia. At the same time it is a wholly modern and prophetic musical composition far beyond the confines of the Baroque. The form is da capo, the means symphonic, for the orchestra does not accompany—it is charged with a genuinely symphonic texture of its own. The convolutions are so calculated that significant thematic elements intrude into the pauses of the vocal parts, and when later both unite on the exclamation “Jealousy,” the effect is crushing.

  After this tremendous scene all concerned—including Handel—have difficulty in collecting themselves. Hyllus and Iole meet alone as Handel proceeds to elaborate the subplot, as he so often did in his operas. Hyllus confesses his love for Iole, but his tone is somewhat formal and distant. Here the librettist, strong in dealing with the great abstract themes but obviously uncomfortable in depicting young love, did not help his composer. The recitative is a rather sober dialogue. The gentle and chaste Iole speaks words of mature wisdom that do not suit her. Her following aria, “Banish love from thy breast,” a charming piece, is also a little miscalculated in tone; Iole’s brilliant coloraturas do not accord with the sentiments expressed. But now Handel takes to the smitten young prince and gives him a warmly romantic siciliana, “From celestial seats descending,” that once more evokes magnificent endorsement from the chorus. “Wanton god of amorous fires” is an exquisitely tooled late Venetian madrigal supported by a symphonic accompaniment whose motif capriciously intrudes here and there into the vocal parts, while elsewhere it is ingeniously combined with the vocal theme.

  The conflict quickens as Dejanira confronts Hercules, who does not quite realize the seriousness of her charge and replies with a blustering aria in which he recites his accomplishments with such gusto and naive self-satisfaction that we are on the borderline of the buffa. Unimpressed, Dejanira counsels him to lay aside his weapons for a spinning wheel. This aria also has in it elements of the opera buffa, but here they are used ironically. Dramaturgically, this is a master stroke, for Dejanira is yet at the stage of annoyance rather than wrath; she is acid and sarcastic. The unsophisticated—and innocent—Hercules, not knowing how to deal with the situation, simply leaves, pleading urgent business, but this hasty departure, which Dejanira takes for a form of admission of guilt, stings her to action. With a sure dramatic instinct, Handel first makes her pensive in a fine slow aria, “Cease ruler of the day to rise.” In the following recitative she decides to employ magic to recapture her husband’s love, charging Lichas with the task of carrying Nessus’s magic garment to Hercules. Lichas accepts the embassy with a little dance tune, compact, charming, and dispensing with the ritornel. Sure of her success—or out of guile—Dejanira shows magnanimity towards Iole, whom she no longer considers a rival, sending her an olive branch. The two women sing a carefully worked pastoral in the chamber-duet style. But Steffani can no longer claim to be the godfather; the piece has decidedly Purcellian echoes. The chorus is pleased by this turn of events, expressing its sentiments in a delectable gavotte, “Love and Hymen.”

  As in Samson, the sinfonia preceding the third act describes the catastrophic events taking place offstage. This is a program prelude, bold in form and substance. Handel now gives Lichas a very moving piece, “O scene of unexampled woe.” The chorus weeps: “Tyrants now no more shall dread.” This is truly Sophoclean in its all-embracing grandeur as it summarizes and comments on the whole tragedy with sombre intensity. Hercules’s animated accompanied recitative and aria, marked concitato, is not simply a rage aria for bass; the orchestra never relents, even where Hercules intermittently abandons his tumbling coloraturas. The dramatic tension is now considerable, presently becoming fearful. Hyllus sings a particularly attractive aria with a superb symphonic accompaniment (“Let not fame the tidings spread”), but at this point the long da capo aria hurts the action. With Dejanira’s final song, an extensive through-composed scena with constant change of mood and tempo, the drama reaches its climax. The astounding variety of the music faithfully follows the constantly changing thoughts and feelings of Dejanira, now half-demented with revulsion and fear. No shattering sound, no shuffling crowds here, but one of the most expressive and intimate character studies to be found in the operatic literature. Dejanira is one of those extraordinary visions who visit the imagination of a great creative artist, a tragic though heroic figure, who as she drains her cup of suffering reveals in an image the inner meaning of a total situation.

  Iole arrives, singing a song, “My breast with tender pity swells,” which has an unmistakable resemblance to “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” Yet this ineffable piece is an altogether different and complete creation. Now Handel’s attempts to conjure up a happy ending become quite evident. Lichas, Hyllus, and Iole all sing lengthy numbers, and the chorus, assisted by two horns, closes the work with a jolly bucolic piece. Broughton, intimidated by the period’s unwillingness to accept a tragic ending, demurred at driving Dejanira to suicide, as the original story demanded. This not only dampened the effect of the appearance of the furies, but compelled Handel to compose a conclusion that obviously held little interest for him. Unlike the epilogues in some of the other works, however, this music is not easily expendable. Hercules contains no weak or routine music; every number is worked out with meticulous care, with well-turned and always interesting accompaniments and construction. We feel astonishment not only at the consistent beauty of the music but also at its copiousness.

  The pace of this oratorio is slow; largos predominate, as do tonalities in the minor mode. The harmonic language is bold, often heavily chromatic, and the accompanied recitative, which is used profusely, reaches an intensity, as well as dimensions, heretofore unknown to the Baroque. Hercules is highly dramatic, modern, new, and romantic. Handel borrowed very little, and the little he did was incomparably enriched. Ritornels are elaborate, but often are treated like delicate chamber music. The orchestra is not large, though trumpets and horns appear in some numbers; the string orchestra, without even the oboes, is the mainstay, and there is scarcely one measure in which it is not manipulated with imaginative craftsmanship. The moving up of the bass into a higher position, so characteristic of the crystalline orchestra of Haydn and Mozart, is already noticeable in this score. This Handel did either by omitting the double basses, thus leaving the cellos in charge of the lowest part, or by dispensing with the entire apparatus of the basso continuo. Curiously, among all these novelties we again encounter the archaic basso continuo aria, but its use was deliberate. Whenever Handel felt that the mere continuo had served its purpose, he called in the orchestra, usually in the closing ritornel. There are subtle reverberations from Semele, especially in the love music. Dejanira’s song, as she recovers from her melancholy at
the news of Hercules’s approach to Trachis, is not without a slight amorous-erotic tinge. This is the kind of music Handel usually composed when promising pleasures to the gods visiting earth; apparently mortal women had an attraction for the Olympians (as for the denizens of Valhalla) that goddesses could not match. Hercules has one shortcoming: the romantic bravura of some of the larger arias (there is a trace of this in Semele, too) seems to be a little out of place. These arias are decidedly close to the style galant, and indeed Hercules contains so much that we associate with the music of the new generation emerging towards the middle of the century that Handel must be counted a powerful influence in the operatic reform ascribed to Gluck. In fact, Gluck knew, admired, and utilized Hercules.

  The “new Musical Drama” Hercules was presented on January 5, 1745, with Handel’s faithful and experienced cast: Reinhold (Hercules), Miss Robinson (Dejanira), Beard (Hyllus), Francesina (Iole), and Mrs. Cibber (Lichas). It failed. It had to fail because there was something in Hercules that the vast majority of Handel’s listeners could not understand, something Handel himself, though he understood, could never again attain. The note of distress, mixed with a vital expressive impulse, is too much even for our generation. Thus the greatest of Baroque music dramas still awaits the recognition it deserves. Handel had to acknowledge defeat, cancelling the rest of the subscription concerts after a few days. With characteristic honesty he offered to “pay back the Subscription Money” for the unused part of the series. The announcement, which appeared January 17 in the Daily Advertiser, is a moving document, a proud confession, but also a quiet indictment of the public. In a few sentences Handel told all the world what he believed in, what he endeavored to do, and, a curious but significant matter that has not been properly appreciated, he declared his faith in the suitability of the English language for his music.