George Frideric Handel_Dover Books on Music

by Paul Henry Lang

  The Battle of Culloden was fought on April 16, 1746, and early in July Handel began composing Judas Maccabaeus; the score was finished in a month. With it a new librettist appeared in Handel’s life, a man whom we would just as soon forget for his initial contributions to the composer’s oeuvre but not for his later books, upon which Handel composed the sublime works of his declining years. One would have expected that Handel, who showed appreciation of Jennens’s not negligible skills and who, despite the failure of Messiah and Belshazzar, knew in his own mind that Jennens had provided him with excellent librettos, would have stayed with such a tried collaborator. It is not clear what affected their relationship, but though they seem to have remained on polite terms,100 there was an undeniable cooling in their friendship.

  Then again we know that Judas Maccabaeus was in a sense a commission, and its librettist, the Reverend Thomas Morell, D.D. (1703-1784), was not Handel’s choice. In his memoirs101 Morell states that it was the Prince of Wales who recommended him to Handel. This was said years after Handel’s death, and though there are some incongruities in Morell’s recollections, there is no reason to doubt his veracity—why would Handel have approached this ecclesiastical poetaster of his own volition? Flower found an excellent phrase when he called Morell “a bad copy of Jennens.” In fact, judging from his initial efforts as a librettist, he was another Reverend Dr. Miller. A good-natured man, he got along with Handel; that they were on friendly terms is evidenced by the bequest of £200 in Handel’s will. Contemporaries describe Morell as a sociable fellow with many artistic friends, a good raconteur, fairly learned, and a lover of music. But Morell was sententious to an alarming degree, and his initial influence on Handel was artistically unwholesome, for with his texts the great dramatic oratorios temporarily ceased. The Doctor succumbed too easily to the undoubted charms of illogicality, and his verse lacked the poet’s perception of beauty, yet, as we shall see, there could be a dramatic idea behind his feeble structures. The worthy divine also had delusions of grandeur and, like Jennens before him, berated Handel for not doing justice to his deathless words. But while Handel was remarkably patient with Jennens, he was little disposed to take criticism from this pedestrian dramatist and said so plainly. There is a well-known anecdote that one day Handel burst in upon Morell with the cry “Damn your iambics!” On the other hand, unlike the pompous Jennens, Morell was an easygoing man who did not hold a grudge, as can be seen from his pleasant recital of this very anecdote, to which he admiringly adds that upon his changing the meter Handel composed the piece on the spot.

  In his memoirs, Morell also says that “the plan of Judas Maccabaeus was designed as a compliment to the Duke of Cumberland upon returning victorious from Scotland.” Thus the immediate fate of Handel was determined jointly by the Prince of Wales, an amateur librettist-clergyman, and the semi-grotesque figure of “Billy the Butcher,” the Duke of Cumberland, Frederick’s brother.

  Judas Maccabaeus, which ranges from the static to the turbulent, is a work not easy to come to terms with. It has no real plot, characterization is rudimentary, there being only two protagonists distinguished by a name, and the chorus, though it is the principal carrier of expression, has no antagonist as in the earlier oratorios. The subject was taken from the First Book of Maccabees, but Morell, the classical scholar, also used historical sources. The action is very simple. The work opens with the Israelites mourning their departed leader, Mattathias, father of Simon and Judas. The Israelites under the divinely designated leadership of Judas battle victoriously, but soon have to muster the army against another foe, Antiochus. Judas again triumphs, and the third act extols his valor. This is hardly a plot, and the libretto offers no construction, only a sequence of pieces.

  The absence of dramatic construction is betrayed by the scarcity of accompanied recitatives. With its many allegros, this is a comparatively “fast” oratorio; Handel wanted to get at the hortatory choruses and did not waste much time polishing the arias. Perhaps the most surprising lapse of critical vigilance on Handel’s part is the perfunctory nature of most of the recitatives and many of the arias. On the other hand, this oratorio has an unusually large number of duets, some of which are excellent. That the score is musically more substantial today than it was originally is due to the additions Handel made a year or two before his death. Several of these fine pieces were not written for Judas Maccabaeus but for other oratorios revived in the late 1750s, but they found a permanent resting place in the more popular Judas. This work also contains numbers shifted from other oratorios that, having acquired squatter’s rights, refuse to be returned to their original surroundings. “Oh liberty” is better off here than in the Occasional Oratorio, which can scarcely hope for an afterlife, but “See the conquering hero comes” is from Joshua, a good if not great oratorio that sooner or later will claim its property. Indeed, when the oratorios are restored to their proper shape and rightful position, a good deal of stock-taking, bookkeeping, and reorganization will be necessary.

  Judas Maccabaeus begins on a note of high originality that, unfortunately, is not maintained for long. The fine overture with an unusual, and undoubtedly programmatic, fugue is followed by a magnificent choral scene of mourning. “Mourn, ye afflicted Children” is a great choral ode built upon a funeral march in the orchestra. Equally magnificent is the duet with chorus, “For Sion lament”; not only the people weep but the bassoons, which are used in an astonishingly modern operatic manner. The form is attractively original: a siciliana with what we might call a choral arioso over a rhythmic ostinato. Though the melodic material is borrowed from Bononcini, Handel made the piece altogether his own. But now he relaxes his grip: “Father whose almighty power” is a routine fugue, “I feel the deity within” an unoriginal ombra piece, and Simon’s “Arm ye brave” an ordinary aria. By turning from personal to patriotic passion Handel reaped popularity, but at a price. He has no difficulty with the choruses but cannot find warmth for the solos—even Judas, the hero, does not materialize as a character. One notices this especially in the recitatives, which limp. As we have said, “O liberty” was taken from the Occasional Oratorio; now Handel adds two more “liberty” pieces. All of these are in a peaceful, pastoral, lightly lilting and gliding dance form as if to epitomize the felicities of freedom. These movements, especially “Come ever smiling Liberty,” became very popular and were often sung as concert numbers. The final chorus in the first act, “Hear us O Lord,” is a motet-anthem, an impressive contrapuntal piece—Handel is again in his element.

  The inspiration still holds at the beginning of the second act: “Fall’n is the Foe” is top-drawer Handel. The chorus is robust, with sharply accented pictorial intervals stubbornly announcing an accomplished fact with a degree of amazement that is expressed by a masterful dramatic stroke as Handel interrupts the vigorous choral texture, the chorus stammering, piano, “fall’n, fall’n.” It is a gripping moment. The duet “Sion now her head shall raise,” admirably connected to the following chorus, offers a brace of exceptionally beautiful pieces. This was a much later addition to the score; some even claim that “Sion” was Handel’s last composition. The scale-like runs on “raise” are used with infinite ingenuity, and the part-writing is masterful. This is one of the rather unusual cases typical of this oratorio whereby duets are connected with choruses, a procedure Handel usually employs with solo arias. The rest of the second act contains a good deal of minor Handel, but there are some exceptions. “How vain [i.e. “useless” or “inefficient“] is man” is a somewhat incongruously jolly air, but pretty. Dean was the first to point out that Handel —as well as all his German commentators—must have misinterpreted the meaning of “vain.” This is surprising in view of the occurrence of the same word and idea in one of Simon’s recitatives, “Not vain is all this storm and grief.” Another example of incongruity is Simon’s aria “The Lord worketh wonders,” which is written on the pattern of a bass rage aria but is very friendly, full of harmless roulades.

  K
retzschmar called attention to the fact that the pattern of mouming-despair followed by rallying-victory is repeated in this oratorio. The messenger having announced “new scenes of bloody war,” the Jews must now start their lament anew, but they do it just as beautifully as in the first act. “Ah wretched Israel” starts with the mourning plaint of the soprano (Israelitish Woman) in a continuo aria, the strings join her, then the chorus; the freely flowing treble melody is in admirable contrast to the ground bass. Presently the mood changes, though hardly because of Simon’s pale song, “The Lord worketh wonders.” “Sound an alarm” is the only music where Judas makes his individuality felt. This too is a continuo aria, but when the chorus falls in and the trumpets limber up, Handel lifts us out of our seats. When we look at the score we can hardly understand why this piece should be so effective; the words alone—“We hear the pleasing dreadful call”—would induce a smile, and the choral parts are little more than simple chords without a genuine treble line. It is by the way everything is timed, with a most impressive general pause inserted, that Handel achieves his objective and annuls our objections. The air, “Wise men, flatt‘ring may deceive you,” is an old acquaintance from the Italian days. Though originally it appeared in Agrippina, it is best known as the ineffable air “Ah when the dove laments her love” in Acis and Galatea. This too is a late addition; Handel reworked it in 1757 or ’58 for The Triumph of Time. The ingenuity of the composer, at the end of his long creative life and blind, gave it again an altogether new and fresh charm. In this final reincarnation the graceful song received a delectable accompaniment with recorders, oboes, bassoons, and horns. “Oh never bow down” is a good duet with a nice pastoral interlude. It leads into a chorus using the same material, the group ending in a somewhat old-fashioned choral fugue, “We worship God.” Even though the curious fugue is worked with diligence, this piece has little distinction.

  The opening aria in the third act, “Father in heaven,” is Handel at his peak. Its warm, beautiful melody completely envelops the listener. Then Handel nods a little until “See the conquering hero comes,” one of his most celebrated pieces. Although it does not belong in Judas Maccabaeus, having been shifted, as we have noted, from Joshua, a couple of hundred years of association with Judas Maccabaeus have given the loan a permanence that obliges us to deal with it here. And a remarkable piece it is, one of those incredibly simple things whose effect is elemental. But the presentation is anything but simple. First the chorus of youths sing, then the chorus of virgins, all high voices, each group accompanied by characteristic orchestration. Then the full chorus and orchestra join in an ever-swelling volume of sound. The following march, just as simple and just as attractive, is thematically related. Of the rest, “Sing unto God” is a good anthem, Judas’s recitative “Sweet flow the strains” is considerably above the average, and his trumpet aria “with honour let the desert be crowned” is also one of the better pieces. “Oh lovely peace” is again a fine duet, but the final number, “Rejoice oh Judah,” is little more than a standard Hallelujah Chorus.

  The oratorio season of 1747 opened in Covent Garden on March 6 with the Occasional Oratorio, which was twice repeated during the month. This was followed by a revival of Joseph and his Brethren, then on April 1 Judas Maccabaeus was first presented, the main cast consisting of Signora Gambarini, Signora Galli, Beard, and Reinhold. It was instantly successful and has remained extremely popular to this day, and not only in England. It was one of the major Handelian oratorios to attract attention in Germany, where Johann Adam Hiller, founder of the Gewandhaus Concerts (1781) in Leipzig and subsequently cantor at St. Thomas’s, became the first of its many “arrangers.” It became a favorite work for patriotic-military celebrations after the Napoleonic wars, but the jubilant, ceremonial nature of its choruses caught the fancy even of the Latins; not really attuned to this kind of British-Protestant pitch. French and Italian editions of the score were published in the 19th century. The success of Judas Maccabaeus in England was unquestionably due partly to the historical circumstances, but its popularity elsewhere shows that the generally simple and undemanding nature of the work and the fine quality of many of its numbers surely had much to do with its remarkable career. Realizing both the temper of the times and the futility of addressing only one social class, Handel abandoned the subscription system, now addressing himself to the large and artistically less experienced middle classes, who responded enthusiastically to the brave patriotic trumpeting. But the King and the aristocracy were equally carried away. Never again did Handel return to subscription series; his final triumph was owing to the support of the wider public, and he recognized a good thing when he saw it. Judas Maccabaeus became a reliable money-maker, achieving more than fifty performances during Handel’s lifetime.

  The triumph of Judas Maccabaeus has also been attributed to another cause. “A Jew on the stage as a hero rather than a reviled figure was a thing practically unknown in London, and Handel at once found himself possessed of a new public.” This opinion of Flower well summarizes the widespread belief that this oratorio’s success was chiefly due to the patronage of the Jews of London who came to acclaim their national hero. One wonders whether Samson, David, Daniel, and all the other celebrated figures in the previous oratorios were biblical Yorkshiremen. Why would the Jews suddenly become interested in oratorio and just as suddenly lose this interest with the following two oratorios, both of which were composed on the pattern established by Judas Maccabaeus, and both of which had Jewish heroes, one a Maccabee? A “new public” he undoubtedly had, because anyone who could afford the fee was admitted, and that new public must have included some of London’s Jews, but there could hardly have been the concourse of the Jewish population that nearly all biographies claim. Those of the Jews who went were animated by the same feelings that prompted their fellow Englishmen to attend: patriotism. Sir Newman himself quotes Dr. Morell as saying that the “plan of the oratorio was to honor the victorious Duke of Cumberland,” and he certainly knew that Morell dedicated the libretto to the Duke. More than that, this printed preface plainly states that Judas is a portrait of the Duke, “a Truly Wise, Valiant, and Virtuous Commander.”

  In view of all this it is equally futile to insist that Judas Maccabaeus is a “sacred oratorio.” In this connection the selection of this particular scriptural text is of significance because Maccabees is not concerned with religion but with the national cause. We must remember that with few exceptions the Apocrypha were declared canonical by the Council of Trent, but Protestants never accepted them as such. Both Luther and Coverdale separated them from the other books of the Old Testament, and in general, while highly respected, they were considered merely human writings. The First Book of Maccabees is pure history; the Second, which goes over the same ground, though less soberly, is full of denunciations of the nation’s enemies and tends to homiletic reflections.

  Opinions and judgments concerning Judas Maccabaeus show an astonishing variety, as we have already remarked. Much of it should be dismissed out of hand were it not that otherwise eminent scholars have engaged in ridiculous speculations. The judges who considered Judas Maccabaeus next to Messiah the greatest of the oratorios evoke only a sympathetic smile. Let us cite an example from an older generation. Once the victory of both the Duke of Cumberland and Handel became history, the unevenness of this music began to be noticed. An anonymous critic in the Morning Herald (February 19, 1852) wrote, to the consternation of loyal Handelians, including the outraged Schoelcher, that “the airs of Judas Maccabaeus are occasionally feeble and insipid, but two or three of them are exactly the reverse.” This, of course, is an exaggeration, but it has foundation; in the case of some of our German colleagues, however, we are facing veritable “pious orgies.” There is no need to go into detail; suffice it to say that even so distinguished a scholar as Hermann Abert saw in the figure of Judas a “German knight.” The prize goes to the incredible Serauky who swallows every hint he has ever read. He not only fully endorses Judas
as a typical German warrior, but insists that the English could not possibly understand the true nature of this paragon of German virtues.

  During the course of the large number of revivals—Judas Maccabaeus was repeated every season but one during Handel’s remaining years—the score was heavily retouched, and, as has been noted, Handel crammed it with popular numbers from other oratorios. The many versions make this work a nightmare for editors, as is reflected in the large number of editions, both English and foreign, few of which agree in content and sequence.

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  WHATEVER CHANCE brought Handel to Morell, the great success of Judas Maccabaeus induced him to continue not only the partnership but also the successful recipe. Alexander Balus, composed during June 1747, was a deliberate sequel to Judas, the material once more roughly taken from Maccabees. Unfortunately, sequels are often unsuccessful, and one that is an improvement on its predecessor is quite rare. The story is confused enough in Maccabees, and Morell was unable to create a musico-dramatic situation until the better part of the oratorio was spent. Alexander, victorious King of Syria, compels Ptolemy, ruler of Egypt, to accept his suzerainty. The Egyptian schemes to cast off this dependence, and in his villainy does not spare his own daughter, Cleopatra, whom he has married to Alexander and has now abducted. Alexander takes the field against Ptolemy but is killed. Jonathan the Maccabee continues the punitive expedition and wins; Ptolemy is killed, and the Jews are liberated. The theologian-librettist now added to the heroic goings-on a love story, welcome of course to Handel, but having such a miserable plot and such atrocious poetry that the composer’s task was made virtually hopeless. The liberal splicing into Morell’s verse of bits of Shakespeare and Milton only gives the impression of a pedestrian d’Annunzio juggling a torrent of swollen words. Morell also demonstrates that he did some conscientious homework on the oeuvres complètes of his composer: snippets taken from a number of Handel’s earlier texts are also mixed into the stew, though they were altered in the librettist’s own fashion.