George Frideric Handel_Dover Books on Music

by Paul Henry Lang

  Theodora opens with a scene honoring Jove and the emperor. Valens, the Roman prefect, threatens with death all who refuse to offer sacrifice. Didimus, a young Roman officer secretly converted to Christianity, pleads conscientious objection, though professing complete loyalty to the emperor. This is not acceptable to Valens, who decrees death for all recalcitrants. Didimus seeks the help of Septimius, his friend and immediate superior, who is sympathetic but avers that soldiers must obey. In the next scene we meet Theodora among the assembled Christians; she is a young noblewoman accompanied by Irene, her confidante. They too defy the decree and Valens, a Roman who cannot understand why common sense does not make the Christians avoid such a deadly conflict, has Theodora arrested, condemning her to serve in Venus’s temple—with all that this implies. Didimus pledges his life to save his beloved and the Christians invoke heavenly blessing upon the couple. In Act Two the Romans are preparing for the pleasures awaiting them in the temple of Venus. Septimius, on Valens’s behalf, once more tries to convince Theodora that sacrificing to Jove is preferable to becoming a temple prostitute, but Theodora places her trust in divine help. Didimus confesses to Septimius that he is a Christian and wholly devoted to Theodora. The two soldiers are old comrades, and the senior officer permits the younger to visit Theodora in prison, where he proposes to change clothes with Theodora so that she can escape. Though willing to die, she finally accepts his offer. In Act Three, Theodora returns to the praying Christians to great rejoicing, but soon it becomes known that Didimus has been condemned to death for his part in the escape and a similar fate awaits Theodora if she is apprehended. In a final court scene, Valens sees no reason to avert the martyrdom both defendants seek.

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  THE SAINTS OF Christian history are a line of great eccentrics, the inspired fools of the world. But sympathetic readers of Christian mysticism also know that the great lovers in history were not the Antonys and Cleopatras but the saints. Having conquered all human desires, they burn with an intense flame of love. Handel’s heroine is haunted, regretful, and desolate, but beneath all this the pulse of an inner serenity and assurance beats, an ever-present consciousness that death is but the gate to life. She is not a sensuous woman, yet in her music she is ardent, albeit with the ardor of a St. Theresa. Only imagination extended to its fullest could compass the spiritual mystery of this woman, and the mystery was translated with the poet’s directness into a language lacking all trace of pulpit gravity. Morell conceived Irene as the usual auxiliary in the drama, but Handel makes her rise to impressive heights—she commands half an act. Irene is very different from her mistress but equally authentic and no less poignant; Handel gave her affectionate and lingering care. Didimus is both in search of his soul and in flight from it; his arias are here a confession, there a claim. One detects a slight insecurity in Handel’s approach to this character, and there is a touch of floridity in the latter’s expression, both undoubtedly because the role was written for an alto castrato, very unusual in an oratorio, especially so late in Handel’s career. But in the end Handel shows Didimus as a man who enters noiselessly through a door that normally creaks. Morell saw Valens as a harsh, even cruel monster; Handel’s Valens is rather a man hard and unbending but upright, a Roman through and through, a masculine figure of ruthless efficiency convinced that the Roman way is the right way, that duty comes first and deviations from it cannot be condoned. Eagerness for martyrdom makes no sense to his orderly military mind. Septimius should belong to the same class of Roman military officers, but his is a far less unequivocal personality than Valens’s. He has sympathy for the Christians and his friendship towards Didimus is genuine, but such help as he may give must be surreptitious. Perhaps the beautiful music Handel gave him is justified if we consider him a man touched by compassion.

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  THE ORATORIO opens with Valens’s order to Septimius, “Go my faithful soldier, let the fragrant incense rise to Jove.” The aria has a military, imperative tone, but when Handel reaches “fragrant incense” we realize why the flowing runs in sixteenth-notes were added to the fanfare-like ritornel. The following chorus, “And draw a blessing down on his imperial crown,” retains the fanfares from the previous aria but not the runs connected with “rising incense.” With the trumpets added, the martial character is enhanced. Didimus’s cautious plea to his commander not to force everyone to sacrifice to Jove is answered by “Racks, gibbets, sword and fire shall speak my vengeful ire.” The situation and the text should have brought about the traditional rage aria, but Handel forgoes the roulades, giving Valens simple though sternly angular sentences, in the manner of a man used to command, and imbuing the aria with a certain tone of finality. The chorus of Romans, “For ever thus stands fix’d the doom,” supports the prefect. Here again we are dealing with a marked freedom from the expected and the conventional. The chorus sings a siciliana, suave and melodious, the light choral style alternating with attractive bits of imitation. Both the situation and the cruel and bloodthirsty words of the libretto would seem to call for violence of musical expression, but Handel’s pagans are always natural people whom he sees in their own light. The Romans now take the role of the Baalites in the earlier oratorios, and, indeed, the French horns appear to give added charm to the pastoral quality that so strongly contrasts with the words. It is interesting to see how this is done. On the words “their [the Christians’] groans and cries are sweeter than the trumpet’s sound,” Handel fastens himself to “sweeter,” repeating it five times in a gentle echo play between soprano and alto.

  Didimus sings his first air, “The raptured soul defies the sword,” its theme borrowed from Clari’s chamber duet Quanto tramonta il sole. Handel sets the words—and interprets them—with considerable rhythmic interest, but, while the piece offers warm and appealing music, it is a little abstract, most of the time sounding like an elegant trio sonata. Only in the middle part does Handel resort to dramatic vocal writing. Also, the da capo makes this a very long piece. Septimius shows sympathy for Christian sentiments but insists on “Roman discipline.” His aria “Descend kind pity, heavenly guest” is again musically most attractive. The long ritornel betrays Handel’s pleasure in composing this music; repeatedly we feel that the decisive cadence is at hand and that the aria will begin, but Handel, loath to give up the flowing ritornel, turns away from the cadence and continues to spin the lovely music. As the voice enters—this time pure bel canto—we see the same pleasure in extending a nice sentence, now from eight to ten measures, with a curiously dilated cadence. Handel, as so often in his elaborate music, catches sight of the particular object, the factual detail, and seizes upon it. He plays with the cadence, dilating it even more at the repetition. The ritornel at the end of the first portion of the da capo, with its pleasure in internal repetition and little capricious ornaments, is very close to Pergolesi’s light style.

  Theodora, accompanied by Irene, makes her first entrance, and Handel immediately presents her in full stature with characteristically penetrating music. Though this is a sort of da capo piece with a very short repeat, fundamentally it is a free dramatic aria di carattere. The ritornel begins with a thrice reiterated theme full of dark possibilities which are immediately stifled by a resigned cadence. As the listener is waiting for a clue to where this leads and as the ritornel momentarily rests on the dominant, the voice enters, alone, with a statement that immediately fixes the mood: “Fond flatt’ring world, adieu!” Henceforth the orchestra may try, as it repeatedly does, to sound the dark motif, but Theodora always falls in with the soothing cadence. The antithesis is fascinating, creating a tone of firm if gentle resolution. Irene’s air “Bane of virtue,” in the warm key of E major, reminds one of Semele’s most beautiful songs, though without the erotic undertone. The richly dotted rhythm ceases in the middle portion, where Irene suddenly changes to a quiet arioso in C-sharp minor. As we look at the text we are once again surprised to see Handel composing fine intimate music that suits Irene’s feelings but not the pa
inful platitudes Morell puts in her mouth. There follows (with a nod to Clari) some exquisite choral polyphony of the madrigalian variety, “Come mighty Father, mighty Lord.” While the texture is fluent, without real stops, the whole is dominated by one quietly lovely theme that seems to suggest “Grace and truth flow from Thy word,” the word “flow” eliciting runs through the compass of all voices and instruments.

  When a messenger arrives counseling flight—the Romans are threatening—Irene expresses trust in the protection of God. Her air, “As with rosy steps the morn advancing, driving the shades of night,” is a magnificent sunrise piece, the ritornel rising and rising to a crescendo indicated by Handel. The voice enters, but while the nature picture remains intact, there is a firmness in Irene’s melody, for this is a simile aria, and as the sun rises so do “our hopes of endless light.” The energetic bass motif lives an independent life not unlike the pedal motifs in some of Bach’s chorale preludes. The Christians’ chorus, “All pow’r in heaven above, or earth beneath belongs to Thee alone,” while not one of the grand choruses, is well declaimed and suits the situation.

  Septimius comes upon the Christian assembly and sternly warns against defiance of authority. “Dread the fruits of Christian folly” begins well, in the sharp tone we associate with the Roman military, but Handel intersperses the good musical material with somewhat perfunctory coloraturas. When Theodora challenges him, Septimius orders the guards to carry out Valens’s sentence to take her to the temple of Venus. Morell’s words for the short recitative are coarse, but they are soon forgotten and only their brutal meaning remains. Theodora’s da capo aria “Angels ever bright and fair” is very brief, almost nothing happens in it, but we get the first moving glimpse of the procedure so characteristic of these last oratorios: the passing from dramatic representation to the contemplation of the idea.

  Didimus arrives too late to intervene. Though a soldier, he too is imbued with a religious devotion and serenity like Theodora’s, but at the same time he loves her and wants to protect her. Handel expresses the Roman’s conflict by abruptly inserting recitatives in his aria. The motto-ritornel itself comes after the first dignified sentence of the aria. The violins are wild and excited, punctuating the voice part, but Didimus never wavers in his devotion, which, in the middle part of the song, reaches deeply romantic pathos. The da capo should be ignored in this fine piece; it would nullify the startling entry of the ritornel. The act-ending chorus of Christians, “Go, generous, pious youth,” is neither an anthem nor a fugue but a simple and gentle choral aria reflecting the confident faith of the protagonists. Handel’s first audiences, accustomed to a rousing ending with trumpets and drums, must have felt disappointed when the moving song faded away, piano, its hesitant rhythm emphasizing the feeling of farewell.

  Morell forgets about his doctorate in divinity and becomes a playwright of sorts in the second act, which is short but varied, its excellent dramatic continuity inspiring Handel to compose an exceptionally fine act in which his artistic concentration never relaxes. Every one of the arias is as limpid as a still pool, yet each has a delicate necessity so that every piece falls into place and helps to build a satisfying whole.

  Morell, as we said, provided variety, and the scene in the Temple of Venus introduces a subdued sensual glow with a strong feeling of the dance, which does not, however, reach the extrovert hedonism of the music of Handel’s Oriental pagans—the Romans are Westerners. Their first song, “Queen of summer,” is a delectable bit of English theatre music, a fragrant choral minuet. Yet something is amiss in this appealing piece; the tone and rhythm are wholly English, but they do not fit the natural gait of the words. This is surprising because in this instance Handel could not have objected to Morell’s text. Valens sings a song of praise, whether to Jove or Diocletian is not entirely clear. He starts in his sturdy Roman manner, but the lively accompaniment and the occasional coloratura seem to indicate that he is not unmindful of the forthcoming feast of Venus and perhaps has had a beaker or two in advance. Morell again has the right dramatic idea when in a secco recitative Valens enjoins Septimius to try to bring the “stubborn maid” to reason. The second song to the goddess of love, “Venus laughing,” is quite different from the Purcellian minuet-chorus that preceded it. This, too, is neither boisterous nor openly erotic, but the continuous reiteration of one motif—in itself gentle—creates a sort of euphoria that anticipates more animated pleasures. Streatfeild in-terpeted the monotony of the repeated tune as “a picture of purely soulless religion,” but Handel was not at all concerned with Roman religion. Used to the hearty and unbridled feasts of Sesach and Dagon, Streatfeild did not realize that Handel here deliberately avoided the orgiastic, representing instead the disciplined stage of religious observance that comes before.

  The symphonic element used for dramatic purposes, which we have increasingly noted in the later oratorios, now comes to the fore. The scene shifts to Theodora’s prison. The flutes, withheld up to this moment, shrill on single tones as they relieve the strings; the terrors and uncertainties of the night are conveyed with verisimilitude. “With darkness deep as is my woe” is a night piece indeed, but the night is not all terror; the wondrous arabesques in the accompaniment add a mysterious pastoral charm that only enhances the forlornness of the song. On the words “your thickest veil around me throw,” the strings break into a soft undulating pattern studded with warm, highly pathetic suspensions which stop at the phrase “or come, thou death” but return at “embosom’d in the grave.” These are the wistful and evanescent tints of the haunted. The tonal order is unusually bold: the first sinfonia is in G minor, the aria in F-sharp minor, and the return of the sinfonia in E minor; Handel enlarges the sinfonia, and the flutes become more insistent. The key of E minor is retained for Theodora’s next song, “Oh that I on wings could rise,” the middle portion turning toward B minor. The second song begins with a surprisingly robust ritornel and with one of those incipits that usually end in melodies stretching beyond the horizon. But when Theodora begins to sing, everything turns into sadness, though no longer the sad searching for an answer of the first aria, for there is a certain confidence and resolution in this fine piece. The first part again shows pastoral-descriptive writing (“the silver dove is swiftly sailing”), but in the middle section a motif is reiterated thrice in the voice and thrice in the accompaniment in a way that virtually halts the piece with its resolution “that I might rest, for ever blest, with harmony and love.”

  Didimus confides to Septimius his love for Theodora and his secret espousal of Christianity. Handel now delves more deeply into Septimius’s character, but the piece is also descriptive in that felicitous way where the melodic, the graphic, and the gestural are all clearly word-begotten yet entirely musical. Septimius’s aria is dramatically important, for he is the key to the ensuing action. Handel introduces the scene with a long ritornel which immediately expresses the mental conflict by opposing a galant theme to a military fanfare that reminds us that Septimius is a Roman soldier. This large aria is composed upon one sentence of text: “Though the honours that Flora and Venus receive from the Romans this Christian refuses to give, yet nor Venus nor Flora delight in the woe that disfigures their fairest resemblance below.” The music must take care of the unspoken ideas, which it does handsomely. Notably interesting is Handel’s way of accentuating what might be called the “Roman loyalty motif” by reinforcing it at its fifth appearance with an insistently rushing upbeat. Though the music flows with admirable ease and melodic felicity, we clearly feel the indecision in Septimius’s mind, the conflict of duty and compassion. When Didimus, in a secco, pleads “Oh save her then, or give me pow’r to save,” Septimius gives him permission to visit Theodora in prison. Didimus’s following aria, “Deeds of kindness,” is no longer galant; it goes beyond that, practically into the Mozartean world. Irene’s prayer, “Defend her, heaven,” opens with a magnificent ritornel, which is then symphonically developed. The symphonic-thematic urge is so strong
that Handel altogether omits the customary echo play in which the orchestra repeats the motto and the cadential phrase endings of the voice. The accompaniment goes its own way, furnishing harmonic support to the voice, but its own contribution is highly dramatic. Irene maintains a steady, solemn vocal line, but the orchestra is agitated and full of tension. Handel’s creative power is at such a pitch that through number after number he maintains this rich flow of music.

  In “Sweet rose and lily” Handel returns to the Baroque aria, the orchestra lovingly repeating the chiselled motto phrase as Didimus, deeply moved, watches the sleeping Theodora in prison. The tenderness of this piece recalls the music of Acis and Galatea, but at the same time the “new” Handel is strongly revealed. The same man who only a few scenes back bewitched us with his Venus music now writes a love song that is altogether innocent of the flesh. Theodora refuses to escape at the expense of Didimus, preferring death from his “hand and sword.” “The pilgrim’s home” could have become maudlin, but Handel avoids all pathos as Theodora chooses death in a simple strophic song, a siciliana that makes the scene not only believable but moving. But finally yielding to Didimus’s entreaties, Theodora joins him in a farewell duet. This is ablaze with the heat that purges yet is infinitely tender and pure; the lovers hope to meet again on earth, “but sure shall meet in heaven.” Handel turns to polyphony, the obbligato bassoons making the structure a five-part one. There is a vigorous and comprehensive linear design which takes little account even of grace in the figures but compels them to its own dusky harmonies and angular curves.