George Frideric Handel_Dover Books on Music

by Paul Henry Lang

  The differences and difficulties, then, are numerous and real, but again it is principally our lack of experience and stylistic insight that hampers us, for while we smile at Berlioz’s naive ignorance, our distinguished conductors are not much ahead of the French master when it comes to performing Baroque music. This Baroque orchestra was not “primitive,” it was already quite modern under Scarlatti, for the minute the concerto principle was introduced, ensemble playing became lively, precise, colorful, and expressive. By calling on his vast experience with all kinds of techniques, Handel raised orchestral writing to the pinnacle of Baroque music.

  “Monotony” and “undifferentiated sound” disappear when we examine and execute this music without attempting to force our own practices upon it. The Baroque opera composer of Handel’s time fully recognized the importance of the proper use of instruments for expressive purposes. Charles Avison (An Essay on Musical Expression, 1752), a pioneer in authoritative musical criticism, shows that by the middle of the century we are dealing with a long tradition. It was this same tradition that established the principal Baroque orchestral sonority, the string orchestra with harpsichord, with the wind instruments added to the ensemble. This statement is basically true even though the oboes and bassoons usually played colla parte with the strings unless their participation was expressly disclaimed. This is evident from the frequent instructions senza oboi or senza fagotti which give the first inkling that they are present in the orchestra. Almost all the overtures and most other independent orchestral numbers should be so interpreted, but within the body of the opera or oratorio Handel liked pure string sound for the accompaniments.

  It was the composer’s task to find variation within the established sound pattern. Handel possessed a fine sense for the subtleties of the string orchestra and for instrumental timbre in general, in which neither his German nor his Italian colleagues of the day could match him; only Rameau was his peer. In view of the magnificent string compositions of the Italian school such a statement seems exaggerated, for surely Corelli and Vivaldi in their concertos are incomparable masters of the string orchestra. However, in a concerto, no matter how imaginative, the nature of the genre demands a certain uniform continuity. It was in the opera pit that the modern orchestra was born; the dramatic composer lives from word to word, and Handel’s acute sense for the smallest dramatic accent is as much present in the orchestra as on the stage. His minutely calculated string writing offers veritable miracles of subtlety and balance—he knew a counterpoint of timbres. This may range from two- or three-part writing in the sonata tradition to the use of divided strings in several parts and finally to a large ensemble of strings and winds. His accompaniments are consistently substantial and interesting. The orchestra is generally employed in the concerto grosso manner, the violin figurations lively, often virtuoso, and the bass a meaningful participant. This is true even when only treble and bass are composed and the rest left to the continuo player. Handel’s fine feeling for timbre and mood seldom failed him, especially noteworthy being his use—or deliberate omission—of the lower registers, the skilful employment of the mute, pizzicato, and the combination of these effects with plucked instruments such as lute or harp.

  The string orchestra was complemented at one time or another by flutes, recorders, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, trumpets, horns, trombones, timpani, harpsichord, and organ. On special occasions lute, theorbo, mandolin, harp, carillon, “bass flute” (really alto flute), and contrabassoon joined the ensemble. Handel was among the first, with Rameau, to use the early clarinet, the chalumeau (Tamerlano and Riccardo I). At times the forces he used were considerable; Rinaldo calls for four trumpets, Giulio Cesare for four horns, and there are indications that he would have used the trombones more often had they been available. Unfortunately, in the revivals they disappeared even from Saul, and on the few occasions when he had them at his disposal this was announced as a special treat: “with the Sackbuts.” The orchestral panoply in Saul, with its flutes, oboes, bassoons, trumpets, trombones, kettledrums, theorbo, carillon, two organs, and two harpsichords, was not equalled for a long time to come. This large instrumentarium was, of course, never employed simultaneously. Since the horns and trumpets, flutes and oboes, and some of the other instruments were often played by the same musicians, they were seldom used together, but a more important reason for selective use of this rich orchestra was the organizational functioning of the ensemble.

  Handel’s opera is prevailingly intimate, not calling on large forces. The Covent Garden pit was small, and the Haymarket Theatre could not seat many more than thirty players. This chamber opera was accompanied by an orchestra based on the concerto grosso principle, with wind instruments added as the occasion required. Modern conductors almost invariably make the mistake of accompanying the arias with the full orchestra, whereas only the concertino, as a rule, is indicated. The overtures and ritornels were played by the tutti—ripieno and concertino—but as soon as the solo voice entered, the concertino, supported by the harpsichord, took over. This was a flexible orchestra, but, with all its liveliness, always deferring to the voice. Handel avoided complications that would detract from the singing even in cases, which are frequent, when the accompaniment is concerted and elaborate.

  Handel’s basso continuo, as always in Baroque music, needs special attention. There is a great difference between slovenly chord-playing (it may have been this that provoked Berlioz’s contempt) and imaginative—indeed creative—playing. As a rule Handel employed two harpsichords, again following the concerto grosso arrangement; both played in the tuttis, but only the principal instrument, played by Handel himself, accompanied the concertino. The presence of lute, theorbo, mandolin, and harp does not represent an archaic remnant of the old ad hoc orchestra, dispensable in modern performances. On the contrary, now that we have excellent modern replicas of these instruments, and musicians trained to play them, we should restore the aural distinction they lend to the ensemble. 149 This is the more desirable because Handel’s basso continuo is often varied, using bass lute or other chordal instruments or obbligato organ instead of the harpsichord. The role of the organ presents a special problem about which more will be said below.

  While such works as Acis and Galatea or L’Allegro demand the same intimacy as the operas, the dramatic oratorios were designed for larger forces, and Handel often commanded a good-sized ensemble. What we may call the standard complement consisted of ten to fifteen violins, three to five violas,150 three cellos, two or three bass viols, pairs of oboes and bassoons, trumpets, and drums, supported by harpsichords and organ. Horns and recorders were added to this ensemble on occasion. This is a respectable orchestra even by modern standards and can easily be reconstituted, but the roles of wind instruments and of the continuo demand a specific balance that differs from ours. If a fair-sized string orchestra is used, something like 10-10-6-4-3, the oboe and bassoon parts should be doubled in the tuttis. The woodwind parts were also treated as solo and ripieno. Their prominent color is an essential ingredient of the Baroque orchestral sound pattern, because they aerate the string sound.

  The old pit harpsichords were relatively powerful instruments, at any rate more so than their average modern replicas; on the other hand, the positive organ had little resemblance to our instruments with their torrent of muddy sound. The indiscriminate and continuous use of the organ in Handel’s oratorios is one of the means whereby these works are made “sacred.” Handel’s organ had a double role: first of all it was an orchestral instrument, frequently playing tasto solo; secondly it was used as the continuo instrument. The principal continuo instrument was the harpsichord; recitatives and arias were always accompanied by it unless Handel specifically asked for the organ, which happens infrequently. If he does so it is for coloristic or dramatic and certainly not for religious purposes. To replace the harpsichord by the organ is an outright falsification of the aural effect intended by the composer, and of course to use the organ for the accompaniment of the secco r
ecitatives is a contradiction in terms. Our habit of making the fat Romantic organ enthusiastically pump a volume of tone into the ensemble whenever possible is a lamentable mistake that ruins the choral sound.151 This awkward situation will not be remedied until good replicas of the old choir organ or positive are created for this specific purpose.

  Handel’s chorus consisted of basses, tenors, falsettists, and boys. This leaves three of the vocal parts unaffected for modern performances, but the falsetto part has no exact equivalent in our practice, because boy altos and falsettists could sing lower than the ordinary run of female altos. An occasional E and F below middle C does create some difficulty for our altos, and it is therefore advisable to increase their numbers. On ceremonial occasions, or when several church choirs were combined, the chorus was large, and with the orchestra correspondingly reinforced, we are close to the modern ensemble. As a rule, however, Handel’s chorus numbered around twenty, and since the soloists joined it when not otherwise employed, four to six good voices were added to this number. All told, the normal Handelian performance employed forty to sixty participants, including singers and instrumentalists. Although the same ensemble can still be used with felicitous effect, there can be no question that in our large concert halls larger forces are needed. It stands to reason that the full-bodied eight-part choruses in Israel in Egypt and other such works cannot be performed by puny forces for an audience of a couple of thousand, but neither should they be produced by three hundred bawling larynxes. A well-drilled-and balanced—chorus of sixty to seventy should be the maximum even in a large hall; anything beyond that destroys the quality of the part-writing that is the glory of this music. Handel did not write “paper music”; he always gauged the sonorities to the finest point, and a large chorus, no matter how well managed, cannot do justice to his intentions.

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  IF WE ARE TO value Handel’s works as expressions of his mind and imagination, it is important that they should not be divested of their nature and diluted with ingredients introduced supposedly to increase their appeal to modern audiences. Before discussing Handel’s performance practices something must be said about the various views concerning the quality of playing in Handel’s time. It is generally assumed that Habeneck’s orchestra in Paris represents the earliest instance of acceptable and disciplined orchestral playing. This is based on Wagner’s affidavit, and anything antedating the Conservatoire orchestra of about 1830 is supposed to have been miserable. This distorted view is reinforced by the belief that 18th-century instruments were primitive, ill tuned, and incapable of being played with accuracy. Some attempts have been made to play on old woodwind and brass instruments, but it is of course ridiculous to expect modern players accustomed to modern instruments to play correctly on old instruments without such an inordinate amount of practice as to make the performers unfit for their own instruments. Such antiquarianism, in any case, is not synonymous with historical accuracy; the point is to play the music on modern instruments in the proper spirit. Valves and keys do not make an instrument, they only make its handling more comfortable; lips and fingers and experience are the deciding factors. Anyone who played a flute or clarinet fifty years ago knows that even without the Boehm system, or with fewer keys, perfect tuning could be obtained by the use of half or three-quarter holes, cross fingering, lip pressure, and other devices.152 Even the modern horn player, whose work was made immeasurably easier with the introduction of valves, still relies on his lips and his fist in the bell. The old musicians practiced day and night on their “primitive” instruments until they mastered them to the satisfaction of conductors not a whit less exacting than Toscanini. It is sufficient to recall what able musicians reported about Lully’s rehearsals and the quality of his orchestra, and we know that Handel, who had a number of first-class virtuosos in his orchestra, was a hard taskmaster. Quantz, a severe and competent critic, who visited London in 1727, thought that the performance he heard under Handel “made an extremely good effect.” The superiority we feel toward these poor devils with their ragged instruments is matched only by our ignorance of their capabilities.

  Aside from the exaggerated and unbalanced ensembles, perhaps the worst feature of modern Handelian performances is their pace. What Bernard Shaw complained about in 1892, the “insufferable lumbering which is the curse of English Handelian church singing,” is still with us. Conductors addicted to solemn dragging should consult Handel’s own estimates of the duration of each act; he frequently noted down the timing. Handel’s basic tempo ordinario, the animated andante-allegro of the late Baroque, is usually slowed to a walk, especially in the choral numbers, which negates what Larsen calls “the fluid basic motion of the baroque.” Larsen (Handel’s Messiah) made a revealing comparison between the metronome indications various editors assign to the aria, “He shall feed his flock.” While Chrysander and Seiffert suggest a total of less than four minutes, other editors dilate it to more than twice this duration, to eight and a half minutes, thus completely ruining the flowing siciliana.

  Handel took considerably more pains than any of his contemporaries to indicate his wishes as to tempo, dynamics, and mood. Superscriptions such as un poco più lento, un poco più piano, very slow, and so on, are unusual for the period, though more customary with dramatic composers than with taciturn cantors such as Bach. Handel demanded crescendos and also knew how to forestall unwanted ones by requesting piano con-tinuando. In Agrippina (1709) we already find such instructions as piano, poco a poco più forte. This matter brings us to the myth of “terrace dynamics,” supposedly abolished only since the “invention” of the crescendo by the Mannheim orchestra. The sharp contrast of solo and tutti in the concerto was of course characteristic of the era, but the Baroque knew graduated dynamics as well as we do. Such freely changing dynamics are an essential expressive element in dramatic music. The black and white dynamic scheme should be abandoned, together with the conviction that every Baroque figure must be played with the grand détaché. We have positive proof in many scores that Handel and his fellow dramatic composers distinguished several grades within the extremes, and the difference between piano and mezzo forte or between piano and pianissimo was well understood; only the deafening fortissimo that defaces so many present-day oratorio performances was unknown. Handel’s solicitude for accurate dynamic scale extends to the individual parts in the orchestra, as when he writes violino 1 sempre forte while all other parts are marked piano.

  The superscriptions in Handel’s scores also took care of the continuity. Unfortunately many editors disregard these, assuming that there was an ironclad rule for performing the da capo arias and other set pieces. Even where Handel omits the repeat, obviously wanting a dramatic effect by attacking the next number without a break, Chrysander will arbitrarily call for a repeat or at least will place a pause sign in his edition of the score, at times not even noticing—or ignoring—that this next number is to take the place of the da capo and should follow immediately. But then what would happen to the solemn “oratorio pause” that we expect after each number? Others have simply taken it for granted that Handel forgot the repeat, and have made the unsuspecting performer return to the first part in a mechanical way. While the situation should be clear to any musician from the context, Handel often helps by writing attacca il coro. The double bars that appear in the modern printed edition are often spurious; they are absent in the original manuscripts, and obeying them can destroy the intended dramatic effect. Thus at the end of the sinfonia opening the third act of Semele there is no halt, as is clear from the tonal arrangement, because the ending of the instrumental piece is inconclusive; it is Juno’s recitative that brings the harmonic solution. The double bar placed there ruins the intended dramatic turn as the dreamy atmosphere of nirvana is shattered by the sudden explosion of the orchestra and Juno’s command: “Somnus arise!” Tempo and continuity also are constantly threatened by our practices. In the operas the final cadence of the continuo in a recitative was immediately followed by t
he next number; indeed, if in the same key, the last and first notes of the two pieces may coincide. There is no reason why in the oratorio, which is a dramatic work composed with the same techniques employed in opera, we should wait for an agonizing devotional cadence followed by a break. Rubato was well known and practiced in the Baroque—how could one sing without it? Evelyn, describing an Italian singer’s delivery long before Handel’s time, speaks of his “delicateness in extending or losing a note.” The asthmatic retards at the end of sections and even phrases, which we consider de rigueur in “old music,” are an invention of the 19th century. Whenever Handel wanted a perceptible slowing down he almost always indicated it by “adagio.” In this connection the worst offenders are the continuo players in the recitatives. There seems to be a basic misunderstanding about the duration of the chords in a recitative, and one is usually painfully aware of the long-held melancholy notes of the continuo cello. Both the cellist and the harpsichordist are supposed to be crisp—note values in the secco are approximate and not binding. The various regole and Anweisungen are quite clear about that, and once the recitative is finished, any dallying on the final cadence (not to speak of the respectful pause that follows) hurts the continuity and dramatic pace.