A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Oratorio

ORATORIO (Lat. Oratorium; Ital. Dramma sacra per Musica, Oratorio; Germ. Oratorium). A Sacred Poem, usually of a dramatic character, sung throughout by Solo Voices and Chorus, to the accompaniment of a full Orchestra, but—at least in modern times—without the assistance of Scenery, Dresses, or Action.

The dramatic instinct is so deeply implanted in the human mind, that it would be as hopeless to search for the earliest manifestation of its presence as for the origin of language. We have already endeavoured to trace back the history of the Opera to the infancy of Greek Tragedy. But, it is clear that dramatic performances must have had an incalculably earlier as well as an infinitely ruder origin than that; and equally certain that they have been used from tune immemorial as a means of inculcating moral and religious truth, and instructing the masses in historical and legendary lore which it would have been difficult to impress upon them by the mere force of verbal description. That they were so used in the Middle Ages is proved by abundant evidence. The Mysteries, Moralities, and Miracle Plays, which in the 13th and 14th centuries were so extensively popular throughout the whole of Europe, did more towards familiarising the multitude with the great events of Scripture History than could have been effected by any amount of simple narrative; and it is to these primitive performances, rude though they were, that we must look for the origin of that grand artistic creation—the noblest ever yet conceived with Music for its basis—which still serves to invest the Sacred Story with a living interest which we cannot but regard as a valuable help to the realisation of its inner meaning, and to impress upon our minds a more elevated Ideal than we could ver hope to reach without the aid of Song.

It is impossible to say when, where, or by whom, the first dramatic representation of a Scene from Holy Writ was attempted. One of the oldest examples of which we have any certain record is the 'Festum Asinorum,' celebrated at Beauvais and Sens, in the 12th century, and long remembered in connection with a famous Carol called the 'Prosa de Asino,' the Melody of which will be found at page 462a of the present volume. But it was not only in France that such representations found favour in the sight of the people. William Fitz Stephen mentions a Monk of Canterbury who wrote many Miracle-Plays during the reign of King Henry II, and died in 1191; and we know, from other sources, that an English audience was always ready to greet entertainments of this description with a hearty welcome. The Clergy also took them under their especial protection, and retained their interest in them for so long a period, that, in 1378 the Choristers of S. Paul's performed them regularly, under careful ecclesiastical superintendence. In other countries they attained an equal degree of popularity, but at a somewhat later date. In Italy, for instance, we hear of a 'Commedia Spirituale' performed for the first time at Padua in 1243, and another at Friuli in 1298; while 'Geistliche Schauspiele' first became common in Germany and Bohemia about the year 1322.

The subjects of these primitive pieces were chosen for the purpose of illustrating certain incidents selected from the history of the Old and New Testaments, the lives of celebrated Saints, or the meaning of Allegorical Conceits, intended to enforce important lessons in Religion and Morality. For instance, 'Il Conversione di S. Paolo' was sung in Rome in 1440, and 'Abram et Isaac suo Figluolo' at Florence in 1449. Traces are also found of 'Abel e Caino' (1554), 'Sansone' (1554), 'Abram et Sara' (1556), 'Il Figluolo Prodigo' (1565), an allegorical piece, called 'La Commedia Spirituale dell' Anima,' printed at Siena, without date (and not to be confounded with a very interesting work bearing a somewhat similar title, to be mentioned presently), and many different settings of the history of the Passion of our Lord. This last was always a very favourite subject; and the music adapted to it, combining some of the more prominent characteristics of Ecclesiastical Plain Chaunt with the freedom of the sæcular Chanson was certainly not wanting in solemnity. Particular care was always taken with that part of the Sacred Narrative which described the grief of Our Lady at the Crucifixion; and we find frequent instances of the 'Lamentation' of Mary, or of S. Mary Magdalene, or of The Three Maries, treated, in several different languages, in no unworthy manner. The following is from a MS. of the 14th century, formerly used at the Abbey of Origny Saint Benoit, but now preserved in the Library at S. Quentin.

Les Trois Maries.

No great improvement seems to have been made in the style of these performances after the 14th century; indeed, so many abuses crept into them that they were frequently prohibited by ecclesiastical authority. But the principle upon which they were founded still remained untouched, and the general opinion seemed to be rather in favour of their reformation than their absolute discontinuance. S. Philip Neri, the Founder of the Congregation of Oratorians, thought very highly of them as a means of instruction, and warmly encouraged the cultivation of Sacred Music of all kinds. On certain evenings in the week his Sermons were preceded and followed either by a selection of popular Hymns (see Laudi Spirituali), or by the dramatic rendering of a Scene from Scripture History, adnpted to the comprehension of an audience consisting chiefly of Roman youths of the humbler classes, the Discourses being delivered between the Acts of the Drama. As these observances were first introduced in the Oratory of S. Philip's newly-built Church of S. Maria in Vallicella, the performances themselves were commonly spoken of as Oratorios, and no long time elapsed before this term was accepted, not in Rome only, but throughout the whole of Europe, as the distinguishing title of the 'Dramma sacra per musica.'

S. Philip died in 1595, but the performances were not discontinued. The words of some of them are still extant, though unfortunately without the Music, which seems to have aimed at a style resembling that of the Madrigale Spirituale—just as in the 'Amfiparnasso' of Orazio Vecchi we find a close resemblance to that of the sæcular Madrigal. Nothing could have been more ill adapted than this for the expression of dramatic sentiment; and it seems not improbable that the promoters of the movement may themselves have been aware of this fact, for soon after the invention of the Monodic Style we meet with a notable change which at once introduces us to the First Period in the History of the true Oratorio. [See Monodia.]

While Peri and Caccini were cautiously feeling their way towards a new style of Dramatic Music in Florence, Emilio del Cavaliere, a Composer of no mean reputation, was endeavouring with equal earnestness to attain the same end in Rome. With this purpose in view he set to Music a Sacred Drama, written for him by Laura Guidiccioni, and entitled 'La Rappresentazione dell' Anima e del Corpo.' The piece was an allegorical one, complicated in structure, and of considerable pretensions; and the Music was written throughout in the then newly-invented stilo rappresentativo of which Emilio del Cavaliere claimed to be the originator. [See Opera, p. 499; Recitative.] The question of priority of invention is surrounded, in this case, with so many difficulties, that we cannot interrupt the course of our narrative for the purpose of discussing it. Suffice it to say that, by a singular coincidence, the year 1600 witnessed the first performance, in Rome, of Emilio's 'Rappresentazione' and, in Florence, of Peri's 'Euridice'—the earliest examples of the true Oratorio and the true Opera ever presented to the public. The Oratorio was produced at the Oratory of 5. Maria in Vallicella in the month of February, ten months before the appearance of 'Euridice' at Florence. Emilio del Cavaliere was then no longer living, but he had left such full directions, in his preface, as to the manner in which the work was to be performed, that no difficulty whatever lay in the way of bringing it out in exact accordance with his original intention, which included Scenes, Decorations, Action, and even Dancing on a regular Stage (in Palco). The principal characters were Il Tempo (Time), La Vita (Life), Il Mondo (the World), Il Piacere (Pleasure), L'Intelletto (the Intellect), L'Anima (the Soul), Il Corpo (the Body), two Youths, who recited the Prologue, and the Chorus. The Orchestra consisted of 1 Lira doppia, 1 Clavicembalo, 1 Chitarone, and 2 Flauti, 'o vero due tibie all' antica.' No Part is written for a Violin; but a note states that a good effect may be produced by playing one in unison with the Soprano Voices, throughout. The Orchestra was entirely hidden from view, but it was recommended that the various characters should carry musical instruments in their hands, and pretend to accompany their Voices, and to play the Ritornelli interposed between the Melodies allotted to them. A Madrigal, with full Instrumental Accompaniment, was to take the place of the Overture. The Curtain then rose, and the two Youths delivered the Prologue; after which a long Solo was sung by Time. The Body, when singing the words 'Se che hormai alma mia,' was to throw away his golden collar and the feathers from his hat. The World and Life were to be very richly dressed, but when divested of their ornaments, to appear very poor and wretched, and ultimately dead bodies. A great number of Instruments were to join in the Ritornelli. And, finally, it was directed that the Performance might be finished either with or without a Dance. 'If without,' says the stage-direction, 'the Vocal and Instrumental Parts of the last Chorus must be doubled. But should a Dance be preferred, the Verse beginning Chiostri altissimi e stellati must be sung, accompanied by stately and reverent steps. To these will succeed other grave steps and figures of a solemn character. During the ritornelli the four principal Dancers will perform a Ballet, embellished with capers (saltato con capriole) without singing. And thus, after each Verse, the steps of the Dance will always be varied, the four chief Dancers sometimes using the Gagliarde, sometimes the Canario, and sometimes the Corrente, which will do well in the Ritornelli.'

The general character of the Music—in which no distinction is made between Recitative and Air—will be readily understood from the following examples of portions of a Solo and Chorus.

Had Emilio del Cavaliere lived to follow up his first Oratorio with others of similar character, the result of his labours could scarcely have failed to add greatly to his already high reputation, for his first attempt met with a very enthusiastic reception. Unfortunately, the most popular among his successors devoted so much attention to the development of the Opera, that for a time the Oratorio was almost forgotten; and it was not until more than twenty years after his death that it again excited sufficient interest to lead to the production of the series of works which illustrate the Second Period of our history.

The occasion which immediately led to this revival was the Canonisation of SS. Ignatius Loyola and Francis Xavier. In honour of this event Kapsberger set to music an Allegorical Drama, called 'Apotheosis, seu consecratio SS. Ignatii et Francisci Xaverii,' which was several times performed at the Collegio Romano, with magnificent scenic decorations and full dramatic action, in the year 1622. The Music of this piece, which is still extant, is miserably poor, and so much inferior, both in originality and dramatic form, to the works of Monteverde and other popular writers of the period, that it is impossible to believe it could have succeeded, had it not been for the splendour of the mise en scène with which it was accompanied. Another piece, on the same subject, entitled 'S. Ignatius Loyola,' was set to Music in the same year by Vittorio Loreto. Neither the Poetry nor the Music of this have been preserved, but Erythræus^[1] assures us that, though the former was poor, the latter was of the highest order of excellence, and that the success of the performance was unprecedented. Vittorio Loreto also set to Music 'La Pelligrina constante,' in 1647, and 'Il Sagrifizio d'Abramo,' in 1648. Besides these, mention is made of 'Il Lamento di S. Maria Vergine,' by Michelagnolo Capellini, in 1627; 'S. Alessio,' by Stefano Landi, in 1634; 'Enninio sul Giordano,' by Michel Angelo Rossi, in 1637; and numerous Oratorios by other Composers, of which, in most instances, the words only have survived, none appearing to have been held in any great amount of popular estimation. An exception must however be made in favour of the works of Domenico Mazzocchi, by far the greatest Composer of this particular period, whose 'Querimonia di S. Maria Maddelena' rivalled in popularity even the celebrated 'Lamento d'Arianna' of Monteverde. Domenico Mazzocchi, the elder of two highly talented brothers, though a learned Contrapuntist, was also an enthusiastic cultivator of the Monodic Style, and earnestly endeavoured to ennoble it in every possible way, and above all, to render it a worthy exponent of musical and dramatic expression. He it was who first made use of the well-known sign now called the 'Swell' (); and, bearing this fact in mind, we are not surprised to find in his Music a refinement of expression for which we may seek in vain among the works even of the best of his contemporaries. His Oratorio, 'Il Martirio di SS. Abbundio ed Abbundanzio,' was produced in Rome in 1631; but his fame rests chiefly upon the 'Querimonia,' which when performed at S. Maria in Vallicella, by such singers as Vittorio Loreto, Buonaventura, or Marcantonio, drew tears from all who heard it. The following extract will be sufficient to show the touchingly pathetic character of this famous composition—the best which the Second Period could boast.

S. Maria Maddelena.

Our Third Period introduces us to a greater Composer than any of whom we have hitherto had occasion to speak one of those representative men whose rare genius is powerful enough not only to inaugurate a new era in the annals of Art, but to leave its impress upon all time.

Giovanni Carissimi was the first Composer of the Monodic School who succeeded in investing the new style with a sufficient amount either of dignity or pathos to encourage a reasonable hope that it might one day produce results in some degree commensurate for good with the loss it occasioned by the destruction of Polyphony. Considered as Music, the united value of all the Monodic works produced within the first thirty years of the 17th century would be outweighed over and over again by one single bar of the least of Luca Marenzio's Madrigals. Except as stepping-stones to something better, they were absolutely worthless. Their only intrinsic merit was a marked advance in correctness of rhetorical expression. But this single good quality represented a power which, had it been judiciously used, would have led to changes exceeding in importance any that its inventors had dared to conceive, even in their wildest dreams. Unhappily, it was not judiciously used. Blinded by the insane spirit of Hellenism which so fatally counteracted the best effects of the Renaissance, the pioneers of the modern style strove to find a royal road to dramatic truth which would save them the trouble of studying Musical Science; and they failed, as a matter of course; for the expression they aimed at, instead of being enforced by the harmonious progression of its accompaniment, was too often destroyed by its intolerable cacophony.^[2] It remained for Carissimi to prove that truth of expression and purity of harmonic relations were interdependent upon each other; that really good Music, beautiful in itself, and valuable for its own sake, was not only the fittest possible exponent of dramatic sentiment, but was rendered infinitely more beautiful by its connection therewith, and became the more valuable in exact proportion to the amount of poetical imagery with which it was enriched. Forming his style upon this sure basis, and trusting to his contrapuntal skill to enable him to carry out the principle, Carissimi wrote good Music always—Music which would have been pleasant enough to listen to for its own sake, but which became infinitely more interesting when used as a vehicle for the expression of all those tender shades of joy and sorrow which make up the sum of what is usually called 'human passion.' His refined taste and graceful manner enabled him to do this so successfully, that he soon outshone all his contemporaries, who looked upon him as a model of artistic excellence. His first efforts were devoted to the perfection of the Sacred Cantata, of which he has left us a multitude of beautiful examples; but he also wrote numerous Oratorios, among which the best known are 'Jephte,' 'Ezechias,' 'Baltazar,' 'David et Jonathas,' 'Abraham et Isaac,' 'Jonas,' 'Judicium Salomonis,' 'L'Histoire de Job,' 'La Plainte des Damne's,' 'Le Mauvais Riche,' and 'Le Jugement Dernier.' These are all full of beauties, and, in 'Jephte' especially, the Composer has reached a depth of pathos which none but the greatest of Singers can hope to interpret satisfactorily. The Solo, 'Plorate colles,' assigned to Jephtha's Daughter, is a model of tender expression; and the Echo, sung by two Sopranos, at the end of each clause of the Melody, adds an inexpressible charm to its melancholy effect.^[3]

It was about this time that the spectacular representation began gradually to fall into disuse, though the dramatic character of the Poem was still retained, with certain modifications, chief among which was the introduction of a Personage called the 'Historicus,' to whom were assigned certain narrative passages interpolated between the clauses of the Dialogue for the purpose of carrying on the story intelligibly in the absence of scenic action. This idea was no doubt suggested by the manner of singing the History of the Passion during Holy Week in the Pontifical Chapel, where the 'First Deacon of the Passion' sings the words of Our Lord, the Second those of the Chronista (or Evangelista), and the Third those of the Synagoga (or Turba). Carissimi used this expedient freely, and his example soon led to its general adoption, both in Italy and Germany. His Oratorios indeed excited such universal admiration, that for very many years they served as models which the best Composers of the time were not ashamed to imitate. As a matter of course, they were sometimes imitated very badly; but they laid, nevertheless, the foundation of a very splendid School, of which we shall now proceed to sketch the history, under the title of our Fourth Period.

Carissimi's most illustrious disciple—the only one perhaps whose genius shone more brightly than his own—was Alessandro Scarlatti, a Composer gifted with talents so versatile that it is impossible to say whether he excelled most in the Cantata, the Oratorio, or the Opera. His Sacred Music, with which alone we are here concerned, was characterised by a breadth of style and dignity of manner which we cannot but regard as the natural consequence of his great contrapuntal skill, acquired by severe study at a time when it was popularly regarded as a very unimportant part of the training necessary to produce a good Composer. Scarlatti was wiser than his contemporaries, and carrying out Carissimi's principles to their natural conclusion, he attained so great a mastery over the technical difficulties of his Art that they served him as an ever ready means of expressing, in their most perfect forms, the inspirations of his fertile imagination. Dissatisfied with the meagre Recitative of his predecessors, he gave to the Aria a definite structure which it retained for more than a century—the well-balanced form, consisting of a first or principal strain, a second part, and a return to the original subject in the shape of the familiar Da Capo. The advantage of this symmetrical system over the amorphous type affected by the earlier Composers was so obvious, that it soon came into general use in every School in Europe, and maintained its ground, against all attempts at innovation, until the time of Gluck. It was found equally useful in the Opera and the Oratorio; and, in connection with the latter, we shall have to notice it even as late as the closing decades of the 18th century. Scarlatti used rhythmic melody of this kind for those highly impassioned Scenes which, in a spoken Drama, would have been represented by the Monologue, reserving Accompanied Recitative for those which involved more dramatic action combined with less depth of sentiment, and using Recitativo secco chiefly for the purpose of developing the course of the narrative—an arrangement which has been followed by later Composers, including even those of our own day. Thus carefully planned, his Oratorios were full of interest, whether regarded from a musical or a dramatic point of view. The most successful among them were 'I Dolori di Maria sempre Vergine' (Rom. 1693), 'Il Sagrifizio d'Abramo,' 'Il Martirio di Santa Teodosia,' and 'La Concezzione della beata Vergine'; but it is to be feared that many are lost, as very few of the Composer's innumerable works were printed. Dr. Burney found a very fine one in MS. in the Library of the Chiesa nuova at Rome, with 'an admirable Overture, in a style totally different from that of Lulli,' and a song with Trumpet obbligato. He does not mention the title of the work, but the following lovely Melody seems intended to be sung by the Blessed Virgin before the finding of our Lord in the Temple.

Alessandro Scarlatti died in 1735, at the age of 66. Among the most popular of his contemporaries were D. Francesco Federici, who wrote two Oratorios, 'Santa Cristina' and 'Santa Caterina de Siena, for the Congregation of Oratorians, in 1676; Carolo Pallavicini, who dedicated 'Il Trionfo della Castità' to Cardinal Otthoboni, about the year 1689; Fr. Ant. Pistocchi, whose 'S. Maria Vergine addolorata,' produced in 1698, is full of pathetic beauty; Giulio d'Alessandri, who wrote an interesting Oratorio called 'Santa Francesca Romana,' about 1690; and four very much greater writers, whose names are still mentioned with especial honour Caldara, Colonna, Leo, and Stradella. Caldara composed—chiefly at Vienna—a large collection of delightful Oratorios, most of which were adapted to the Poetry of Apostolo Zeno and Metastasio. The most successful of these were 'Tobia,' 'Assalone,' 'Giuseppe,' 'Davidde,' 'La Passione di Gesii Cristo,' 'Daniele,' 'San Pietro a Cesarea,' 'Gesu presentato al Tempio,' 'Gerusalemme convertita,' and most especially 'Sisera,' which, as Zeno himself confesses, owed its reputation entirely to the beauty of the Music. Colonna's style—especially that of his Choruses—was broader and more dignified than Caldara's, and he did much towards raising the Oratorio to the noble level it attained in the 18th century. Leo rose still higher. His Oratorio, 'Santa Elena al Calvario,' is far in advance of the age in which it was written, and contains a Chorus—'Di quanta pena è frutta—which has excited much attention. But in point of natural genius there can be no doubt that Alessandro Stradella excelled all the best writers of this promising though clearly transitional period; and our regret for his untimely death is increased by the certainty that but for this he could scarcely have failed to take a place among the greatest Composers of any age or country. There seems no reason to doubt the veracity of the tradition which represents his first and only Oratorio, 'San Giovanni Battista,' as having been the means of saving his life, by melting the hearts of the ruffians who were sent to assassinate him, on the occasion of its first performance in the Church of S. John Lateran; but whether the story be true or not, the work seems certainly beautiful enough to have produced such an effect. The most probable date assigned to it is 1676; but it differs, in many respects, from the type most in favour at that period. It opens with a Sinfonia, consisting of three short Fugal Movements, followed by a Recitative and Air for S. John. The Accompaniment to some of the Airs is most ingenious, and not a little complicated, comprising two complete Orchestras,—a Concertino, consisting of two Violins and a Violoncello, reinforced, as in Corelli's Concertos, by the two Violins, Viola, and Bass, of a Concerto grosso. These Instruments were frequently made to play in as many real parts as there were Instruments employed; but many of the Songs were accompanied only by a cleverly-constructed Ground-Bass, played con tutti i bassi del concerto grosso. Some of the Choruses, for five Voices, are very finely written, and full of contrivances no less effective than ingenious; but the great merit of the work lies in the refinement of its expression, which far exceeds that exhibited in any contemporary productions with which we are acquainted. This quality is beautifully exemplified in the following Melody, sung by the 'Consigliero.'

To this period also must be referred Handel's Italian Oratorio, 'La Resurrezione'; a composition now almost forgotten, yet deeply interesting as an historical study. We have no means now of ascertaining whether this work was ever publicly performed or not. All that can be discovered respecting it is, that it was composed in the palace of the Marchese di Ruspoli, during Handel's residence in Rome in 1708. There is no evidence to prove whether it was originally intended for representation at the Theatre, or, without action, in a Church; but the dramatic force exhibited in it from beginning to end, far exceeds in intensity anything to be found in the most advanced works of any contemporary Composer. The originality of the Air, 'Ferma l'ali,' sung by S. Maria Maddelena, in which the most tenderly pathetic effect is produced by a 'Pedal-Point' of thirty-nine bars duration is very striking; and still more so is the furious accompaniment to Lucifero's Air, 'O voi dell' Erebo potenze orribili,'—a passage which we find imitated in connection with the Enchantment of Medea, in the Third Act of 'Teseo,' written four years later.

We can scarcely find a stronger proof than this of Handel's wonderful power of adapting himself to surrounding circumstances. He had already, as we shall presently see, composed a German Oratorio, full of earnest thought and devotional expression: yet here, in Italy, he gives his entire attention to dramatic effect; and so far lays aside his contrapuntal accomplishments as to introduce two little choruses only, both conceived on the smallest possible scale, and the concluding one neither more nor less than a simple Gavotte, of the kind then generally used at the close of an Opera.

1ma Volta Soprani soli. 2nda Volta, Soprani, Alti, e Tenori, all' 8va.

Up to this point the development of the Oratorio corresponded, step for step, with that of the Opera. Both were treated, by the same Composers, in very nearly the same manner; the only difference being, that the more superficial writers were incapable of rising to the sublimity of scriptural language, while the men of real genius strove to surround their several subjects with a dignity which would have been quite out of place if used to illustrate a mere mythological fable. Earnestly endeavouring to accommodate the sentiment of their Music to that of the words to which it was adapted, this latter class of writers succeeded, as we have seen, in striking out for themselves a style which was generally recognised as peculiar to the Sacred Music of Italy. But it was in Italy alone that this style prevailed. In Germany, the Oratorio started, indeed, from the Miracle Play, as its primary basis: but it travelled on quite another road to perfection; and, in treating of our Fifth Period, we shall have to take entirely new elements into consideration.

The Oratorio proper, as distinguished from the earlier Mystery, made its first appearance in Germany not long after the beginning of the 17th century. It had, indeed, been foreshadowed, even before that time, in the 'Passio secundum Matthæum,' printed at Nuremberg, in 1570, by Clemens Stephani; but this can scarcely be called an Oratorio, in the strict sense of the word. The oldest example of the true German Oratorio that has been preserved to us is 'Die Auferstehung Christi' of Heinrich Schütz, produced at Dresden in 1623; a very singular work, in which the conduct of the Sacred Narrative is committed almost entirely to a Chor des Evangelisten, and a Chor der Personen Colloquenten, the Accompaniments consisting of four Viole df gamba and Organ, concerning the arrangement of which the Composer gives very minute directions in the printed copy of the Music. This remarkable piece, though it was accompanied by no dramatic action, occupies a place in the history of German Sacred Music very nearly analogous to that which we have accorded to Emilio del Cavaliere's 'Anima e Corpo' in the annals of the Italian Oratorio. It was the first of a long line of works which all carried out, more or less closely, the leading idea it set forth for imitation. Schütz followed it up with another Oratorio, called 'Die sieben Worte Christi,' and four settings of the Passion of our Lord. To the illustration of this last-named subject the Teutonic Composers of this century dedicated the noblest efforts of their skill; presenting it sometimes in a dramatic and sometimes in an epic form, but always setting it to Music, throughout, for Solo Voices and Chorus, without the introduction of spoken dialogue, and without scenic action of any kind. A very fine example was published at Königsberg in 1672 by Johann Sebastiani; and in the following year Theile produced a 'Deutsche Passion' at Lübeck. But these tentative productions were all completely eclipsed in the year 1704 by the appearance at Hamburg of two works which at once stamped the German Oratorio as one of the grandest Art-forms then in existence. These were the 'Passions-Dichtung des blutigen und sterbenden Jesu,' written by Hunold Menantes, and set to music by Reinhard Keiser; and the 'Passion nach Cap. 19 S. Johannis,' written by Postel, and composed by Handel, in a manner so different from that which he adopted four years later in his Italian Oratorio, that, without overwhelming evidence to prove the fact, it would be impossible to believe that both works were by the same Composer. These were followed, in 1705, by Mattheson's 'Das heilsame Gebet, und die Menschwerdung Christ!'; and some years later by Brockes's Poem, 'Der für die Sünde der Welt gemartete und sterbende Jesus,' set to music by Keiser in 1714, by Handel and Telemann in 1716, and by Mattheson in 1718. The general tone of German Music was more elevated by these great works than by anything that had preceded them. That their style should be diametrically opposed to that exhibited in the Italian Oratorios of the period was only to be expected; for, though the Germans were not averse from cultivating the Monodic Style, they never abetted their Italian contemporaries in their mad rebellion against the laws of Counterpoint. The ingenious devices of Polyphony were respected in Germany, even during the first three decades of the 17th century, when Italian dramatic Composers affected to deride them as follies too childish for serious consideration; and they were not without their effect upon the national style. It is true, they had not long had an opportunity of leavening it; yet the influence of the Venetian School upon that of Nuremberg, consecrated by the life-long friendship of Giovanni Gabrieli and Hans Leo Hasler, was as lasting as it was beneficial, and. strengthened by the examples of Orlando di Lasso at Munich, and Leonard Paminger at Passau, it communicated to German Art no small portion of that solidity for which it has ever since been so deservedly famous, and which even now forms one of its most prominent characteristics. Had this influence been transmitted a century earlier, it might very well have had the effect of fusing the German and Italian Schools into one. It came too late for that. Germany could accept the Counterpoint, but felt herself independent of the Plain Chaunt Canto fermo. In place of that she substituted that form of Song which, before the close of the 16th century, had already become part of her inmost life—the national Chorale, which, absorbing into itself the still more venerable Volkslied, spoke straight to the hearts of the people throughout the length and breadth of the land. When the idea of the 'Passion Oratorio' was first conceived, the Chorale entered freely into its construction. At first it was treated with extreme simplicity—accompanied with homophonic harmonies so plain that they could only be distinguished from those intended for congregational use by the fact that the Melody was assigned to the Soprano Voice instead of to the Tenor. Its clauses were afterwards used as Fugal Subjects, or Points of Imitation, sometimes very learnedly constructed, and always exhibiting an earnestness of manner above all praise. But, however treated, the subject of the Chorale was always noble, and always introduced with a greatness of purpose far above the pettiness of national pride or bigotry. It would seem as if its cultivators had sent it into the world, in those troublous times, as a message of peace—a sort of common ground on which Catholic and Protestant might meet to contemplate the events of that awful Passion which, equally dear to both, is invested for both with exactly the same doctrinal significance. And the tradition was faithfully transmitted to another generation.

The works we have described, and many others by contemporary Musicians of good reputation, gave place in process of time to the still grander creations of the Sixth Period—creations so sublime that two Composers only can claim to be mentioned in connection with them: but those two Composers—Karl Heinrich Graun and Johann Seb. Bach—cherished the Chorale even more tenderly than their predecessors had done, and interwove it so closely into the construction of their Passion Music that it became its most prominent feature, the key-stone of the entire fabric. While still a pupil of the Kreuzschule at Dresden, and, if tradition may be trusted, before he had completed his fifteenth year, Graun wrote a 'Grosse Passions-Oratorium,' in which he introduced the melody of 'Ach wie hungert mein Gemüthe' with extraordinary effect, and in a way which no other Composer had ever previously attempted, in connection with the Institution of the Lord's Supper. His greatest work, 'Der Tod Jesu,' first produced in the Cathedral at Berlin in 1755, begins with an exquisite setting of 'O Haupt voll Blut und ^[4]Wunden' in homophonic harmony, and afterwards introduces five other Melodies, mostly treated in the same quiet manner, though one is skilfully combined with a Bass Solo. The Poem, by Rammler, is epic in structure, but is so arranged as to present an effective alternation of Recitatives, Airs, and Choruses. The fugal treatment of the latter is marked by a clearness of design and breadth of form which have rarely been exceeded by Composers of any age; and the whole work hangs together with a logical sequence for which one may search in vain among the Scores of ordinary writers, or indeed among the Scores of any German writers of the period, excepting Bach himself. Bach wrote three grand Oratorios, besides many of smaller dimensions which are usually classed as Cantatas. These three were 'Die Johannis-Passion' (1720); 'Die grosse Passion nach Matthäus,' first produced in the Thomas Kirche at Leipzig on Good Friday, 1729; and 'Das Weihnachts Oratorium' (1734). The Passion according to S. John is composed on a scale so much smaller than that employed for the later work according to S. Matthew, that we think it scarcely necessary to speak of both. The Text of S. Matthew's version was prepared by Christian Freidrich Henrici (under the pseudonym of Picander), and is written partly in the dramatic and partly in the epic form, with an Evangelist—the principal Tenor—who relates the various events in the wondrous History, but leaves our Lord, S. Peter, and the rest of the Dramatis personæ to use their own words, whenever the Sacred Text makes them speak in their own proper persons; a double Chorus, sometimes of Disciples, and sometimes of raging Jews, treated always in the Dramatic form; certain Airs and Choruses, called at the time they were written Soliloquies, containing Meditations on the events narrated; and a number of Chorales, in which the general Congregation was expected to join. It is impossible to say which of these different classes of Composition displays the greatest amount of genius or learning. The part of the Evangelist, and the Recitatives assigned to our Lord and His Apostles, are full of gentle dignity. The Choruses, though not fugal, abound with superb and exceedingly intricate part-writing, and are, moreover, marked by an amount of dramatic power extremely remarkable in a Composer who never gave his attention to pure dramatic Music: the last one in particular, 'Ruhet sanfte, sanfte ruh't,' is a model of touching and pathetic expression. The Airs are always accompanied in as many real parts as there are Instruments in the Score, and consequently exhibit as much contrapuntal ingenuity as the Choruses. Finally, the Chorales are treated with a depth of feeling to which Bach alone has ever attained in this peculiar style of composition. In the Christmas Oratorio, though the general conformation is very similar, the dramatic element is much less plainly brought forward. The work is divided into six portions—one for each of the first six days of the Christmas Festival; but it may quite as conveniently be divided into three for general performance. The Second Part begins with a Symphony, in 12-8 time, and of Pastoral character, second only in beauty to the 'Pastoral Symphony' in the Messiah. The Choruses are much more elaborately developed than those of the Passion, with more frequent points of Imitation, and very much less dramatic effect. But in the Chorales the treatment is exactly the same as in the two Passion Oratorios, and we cannot doubt that, in all these cases the Congregation sang the Melody, while the Chorus and Orchestra supplied the simple and wonderfully beautiful harmonies with which it is adorned. We can scarcely illustrate our remarks upon these Oratorios—the invaluable productions of the Fifth and Sixth Periods—better than by subjoining Chorales from Handel's 'Johannis Passion,' Graun's 'Tod Jesu,' and Bach's Passion according to S. Matthew.

Ach, wie hungert mein Gemüthe.

Handel, 1716.^[5]

Ei ist gewisslich an der Zeit.

Graun, 1755.

O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.

J. S. Bach, 1729.

In the works of these great Masters the German School of Sacred Music reached its culminating point. Their successors made no attempt to compete with them on their own ground; and, before very long, the style they had so successfully cultivated yielded to the demands of fashion, and its traditions passed quite out of memory, to be revived, in our own day, with results concerning which it is not yet time to speak. But, grand as their Ideal was, it was not the grandest the Oratorio was destined to embody; nor was Germany the country fated to witness the most splendid development of that noblest of all Art-forms. Our search for it, in its highest perfection, leads us to England, where the Seventh Period of its history presents it to us under the influence of some very important modifications both of general construction and detail.

We have already seen Handel writing a true German Oratorio at Hamburg in 1704, and one after the prevailing Italian manner at Rome in 1708; but neither of these works represents the style for which he afterwards became so justly famous; nor does even the second Passion Oratorio of 1716 clearly foreshadow it, as a whole, though it may be said to do so in certain places. Not but that there are beauties enough, even in the first Passion Oratorio and the 'Resurrezione,' to pronounce him, young as he was when he wrote them, the greatest Composer of the age. We may search in vain, among contemporary productions, for evidence of such power as that displayed in 'O voi dell' Erebo potenze orribili,' or the Recitative which precedes and introduces it. But this only entitles him to rank as Primus inter pares. He had not yet perfected the stupendous conception which gave him a place, not among, but above, all other writers of the 18th century, analogous to that which Palestrina held above all those of the 16th—a position to which was attached the title, not of Primus, but of Solus. Let us endeavour to analyse this great conception; to measure the extent of the resources which rendered its embodiment possible; and to trace, as carefully as we may, the progress of its development.

When Handel wrote his first English Oratorio, 'Esther,' he was no longer an aspiring débutant, but the first Musician in Europe. Since the production of 'La Resurrezione,' he had written, for the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, five Italian Operas, two of which, 'Rinaldo' and ' Radamisto,' rank among the best he has bequeathed to us. In these, he exhibited a power of dramatic expression immeasurably exceeding anything that had ever been previously attempted. Every shade of human passion, from the tenderest pathos, through the varying phases of sorrow, anxiety, fear, terror, scorn, anger, infuriated madness, or curdling horror, may be found depicted in them, with sufficient fidelity to prove that he had the entire series absolutely at his command. This was much, to begin with; but there was more behind. Too little stress is laid, by musical critics, upon the distinction between dramatic and epic power—yet, the two forms of illustration are essentially different. Dramatic expression necessarily presupposes the presence of the Actor, who describes his own emotions in his own words. Epic power is entirely subjective. Its office is, so to act upon the hearer's imagination, as to present to him a series of pictures whether of natural scenery, of historical events, or even of dramatic scenes enacted out of sight sufficiently vivid to give him a clear idea of the situation intended to be described. Now, if in 'Deeper and deeper still' Handel has given us a convincing proof of his power as a dramatist, it is equally certain that, in the Flute Symphony to 'Augellati che Cantate' in 'Rinaldo,' the Pastoral Symphony in the 'Messiah,' and the Dead March in 'Saul,' he has shown himself no less successful as a Tone painter. The perfection of these wonderful pictures may be tested by the entire absence of the necessity for scenic accessories to give them their full force. When Mr. Sims Reeves declaims 'Deeper and deeper still,' in ordinary evening dress, he speaks as directly to our hearts, and pourtrays Jephtha's agony of soul quite as truly, as he could possibly do were he dressed in the robes of an Israelitish Judge. Before we have listened to the first three notes of the Dead March in 'Saul,' we have called up an imaginary picture of a Funeral Procession, compared with which the finest stage effect that ever machinist put together would confess itself a heap of worthless tinsel. The value lies in the Music itself; the only condition needful for its success is, that it should be well performed. In possessing the power of producing such Music, Handel was more than half prepared for the elaboration of his gigantic scheme; but one thing was still wanting—the religious element. The Scripture Narrative, considered merely as history, needed for its illustration no farther qualifications than those of which we have already spoken. But it was not enough that it should be treated merely as history; it was indispensable that its symbolical meaning should be brought out; and that that meaning should be made the turning-point of the whole. As means of effecting this, dramatic and epic expression were equally powerless; but Handel's resources were not yet at an end. Since the production of 'La Resurrezione'—in which this religious element was wholly wanting—he had written the Twelve Chandos Anthems; works now so little known that it is necessary to explain that they are not Anthems, in our present acceptation of the term, but grand Sacred Cantatas, consisting of Overtures, Solos, and Choruses, with accompaniments for a full Orchestra, and so highly developed, that many of them are quite as grand and as long as a whole Act of an Oratorio. The chief characteristic of these great works—as of the Utrecht 'Te Deum,' and 'Jubilate,' and the two settings of the 'Te Deum' for the Duke of Chandos, produced during the same period—is deep religious feeling. Not the abstract devotional feeling peculiar to true Ecclesiastical Music, like that of Palestrina. From first to last, Handel never attempted this. But, the sincere reverence of a devout mind, accompanied by a keen appreciation of the inner meaning of the text—a thorough understanding of the spirit, as well as of the letter. And here Handel's learning and ingenuity proved of incalculable advantage to him. The dignity of his grand Choruses demanded that all the subtle mysteries of Counterpoint should be brought into requisition as means of assisting their artistic development; and, of these mysteries he was thoroughly master. The smoothness of his part-writing is, indeed, little less than miraculous. However close the imitation, or complicated the involutions of the several Voices, we never meet with an inharmonious collision. He seems always to have aimed at making his parts run on velvet—whereas Bach, writing on a totally different principle, evidently delighted in bringing harmony out of discord, and made a point of introducing hard Passing-notes in order to avail himself of the pleasant effect of their ultimate resolution. Again, no other writer, either of earlier or later date, with the sole exception of Palestrina, ever possessed so great a power of concealing his learning. Carissimi, when complimented on this great quality, is reported to have said, 'Ah! questo facile, quanto é difficile!' (Ah! this ease, how difficult it is to attain!) But Carissimi never imagined the possibility of such a complication as that exhibited in the Stretto of the 'Amen Chorus'—one of the closest examples of Imitation in existence, and that creeps in so unobtrusively that the very last feeling it is likely to excite is wonder at its ingenuity.

These, then, were the resources which Handel found ready for his use, when his genius enabled him to strike out the splendid Ideal to which he owes by far the greater part of his world-wide reputation. If we examine his Oratorios, one by one, we shall find that that Ideal was susceptible of a threefold expression. It was capable of being embodied in a wholly dramatic, or a wholly epic form; or, in a form radically dramatic but relieved by frequent episodes, of an epic, a didactic, or even of a contemplative character. Though his two greatest works, 'The Messiah,' and 'Israel in Ægypt,' are purely epic, there can be no doubt that the dramatic form—without, of course, either Scenery or Action—was the one which he himself preferred; and, in carrying it out, he adhered strictly to the conditions at that time observed with regard to the technical construction of the Lyric Drama. Of the hundreds of Airs he wrote for his Oratorios, we shall not find one which cannot be referred to one or other of the well-defined classes into which the Italian Opera Airs of the 18th century were, by common consent both of Composers and Singers, invariably divided. [See Opera, pp. 509-511, vol. ii.] Thus, we see the Aria Cantabile most strikingly exemplified in 'Angels ever bright and fair'; the Aria di Portamento in 'I know that my Redeemer liveth'; the Aria di mezzo carattere in 'Waft her, Angels, through the skies'; the Aria parlante in 'He was despised'; and the Aria di bravura, in 'Rejoice greatly.' Even the minor divisions are no less clearly represented. We recognise the Cavatina in 'Sin not, O king'; the Aria d'imitazione in 'Their land brought forth frogs'; the Aria all' unisono in 'Honour and arms'; and the Aria concertata in 'Let the bright Seraphim': and it is worthy of remark that the classification is marked with equal precision, whether the examples be selected from dramatic or epic works. So far as Airs were concerned, Handel found plenty of room for his genius to assert itself within the limits defined by universal custom. But, with his Choruses, the case was very different. Here, he was absolutely free. Fashion had made no attempt to interfere with choral writing—in fact, such choral writing as his had not yet been heard. It is from him that we learn what a Chorus ought to be—and he presents it to us in an endless variety of forms. Sometimes he uses it—as it is frequently used in Greek Tragedy—as a means of drawing a lesson from some portion of the dramatic story, or moralising upon some event mentioned in the epic narrative. He has so used it in 'Envy, eldest born of Hell,' 'Is there a man?' and 'O fatal consequence of rage,' in Saul; 'The name of the wicked,' in Solomon; 'Thus, one with every virtue crowned,' in Joseph; and in innumerable other cases. Sometimes he is forcibly dramatic; as in 'Help! help the King!' in Belshazzar; or, 'We come, in bright array,' in Judas Macchabaeus. More frequently, he is descriptive, as in 'He gave them hailstones,' 'Eagles were not so swift as they,' and a hundred other instances with which the reader's memory will readily supply him. In this form of expression he never fails to produce a marvellous effect. No matter what may be the subject he undertakes to illustrate, he is always equal to it. In 'Chear her, Baal,' and 'May no rash intruder,' he soothes us with his delicious Accompaniments. In 'He sent a thick darkness,' we shudder at the awful gloom. In 'See the conquering Hero comes,' he conjures up a Scene which presents itself before us, in all its successive details, with the fidelity of a Dutch picture. But here, even when the subject is sacred, he speaks only of its earthly surroundings. When he would raise our thoughts to Heaven, he uses means which seem simple enough, when we subject them to a technical analysis, but which nevertheless possess a power which no audience can resist—the power of compelling the hearer to regard the subject from the Composer's point of view. Now, that point of view was always a sincerely devout one: and so it comes to pass that no one can scoff at the 'Messiah.' We may go to hear it in any spirit we please: but we shall come away impressed, in spite of ourselves, and confess that Handel's will, in this matter, is stronger than ours. He bids us 'Behold the Lamb of God'; and we feel that he has helped us to do so. He tells us that 'With His stripes we are healed'; and we are sensible, not of the healing only, but of the cruel price at which it was purchased. And we yield him equal obedience when he calls upon us to join him in his Hymns of Praise. Who, hearing the noble subject of 'I will sing unto the Lord' led off by the Tenors, and Altos, does not long to reinforce their voices with his own? Who does not feel a choking in his throat before the first bar of the 'Hallelujah Chorus' is completed, though he may be listening to it for the hundredth time? Hard indeed must his heart be who can refuse to hear when Handel preaches through the Voices of his Chorus. But it is not alone with voices that he speaks. The Orchestra was his slave: and by its aid he teaches us much that is worthy of our attention. It is true that we are very rarely permitted to hear what he has to say, as an instrumentalist: but, his secrets are worth finding out; and, though the subject is a vexed one, we do not intend to let it pass undiscussed.

The Orchestra, in Handel's time, consisted of a smaller Stringed Band than we are accustomed to use at the present day; but the Violins were reinforced by a greater number of Oboes, and the Basses, by a far stronger body of Bassoons. Flutes were chiefly used as Solo Instruments; but sometimes played in unison with the Oboes. The Brass Instruments were, Trumpets (doubled ad libitum), with Drums for their natural Bass; Horns; and Trombones (Alto, Tenor, and Bass), when the character of the music demanded their presence. The Harp, Viola da gamba, and other soft Instruments were occasionally used for obbligato accompaniments, in which they sometimes played an important part. The Organ was used throughout; and its part was provided for by the Figures of the Thoroughbass, which served also for the Harpsichord. With these means at his command, Handel was able to accomplish all that his fiery genius suggested; and his method of combining and contrasting the various elements of which his Band was composed may be studied with very great profit. It was his constant practice, in Airs of the cantabile class, to leave the Voice quite free from instrumental embarrassments, and supported only by the Basses, and the Chords indicated beneath the Thorough-Bass—which Chords were supplied either by the Harpsichord, or the Organ. Sometimes, the Symphonies to these Airs were played, like those usually found in the Aria di portamento, by the Violins in unison, which, thus used, between the vocal phrases, produced double their ordinary effect. In the grander Airs, the Accompaniments were much more elaborate, and served to contrast these pieces strongly with those of the former class. In the Choruses, though the entire Band was brought into constant requisition, there were often long and highly complicated passages accompanied solely by the Organ and the Basses; and, in cases of this description, the introduction of the Violins, at certain important points, produced a very striking effect—as in the 'Amen Chorus' of the 'Messiah'—not unlike that to which we have already alluded in speaking of the Symphonies of the Aria cantabile. When the Trumpets and Drums were introduced, it was always with electrical effect. Handel never wrote unnecessary notes for these wonder-working Instruments, for the mere sake of keeping them going; but took care that their silvery tone should sustain its due part in the fulfilment of his preconceived intention—a task to which they always proved themselves equal. The great strength of these arrangements lay in the perfect balance of the whole. From the beginning to the end of the work, each of its several subdivisions was exactly proportioned to all the rest. Yet, there was no lack of variety. Taking the Thorough-Bass with its accompanying chords as the lowest attainable point in the scale of effect, and the Full Band, with the Trumpets and Drums, as the highest, there lay, between these two extremes, an infinity of diverse shades, as countless as the half-tones in Turner's summer skies, all of which we find turned to good account, and so arranged as to play into each other, and contrast together, with the happiest possible influence upon the general design. But, unhappily, the delicate gradations they once represented are now rendered altogether indistinguishable by the introduction of Clarinets, Trombones, Ophicleides, Bombardons, Euphoniums, and the loud unmitigated crash of a full Military Band—an innovation quite fatal to the Composer's original intention, inasmuch as it entirely destroys the unity of purpose he so carefully endeavoured to express. An English critic—by no means a revolutionary one—in describing the Autograph Copy of the 'Messiah,' speaks in a slighting tone of 'For unto us a Child is born,' as 'meagrely scored for voices and a stringed quartet.' Handel's 'meagre score,' by accompanying the softer parts only with the Organ and Basses, and delaying the entrance of the rest of the Orchestra until the forte at the word 'Wonderful,' provides for the finest effect the Chorus can be made to produce, and furnishes us with an infinitely grander reading than that which, by its excessive contrast between pppp and ffff, borders rather upon the extravagant than the sublime. It is not too much to say that 'For unto us a Child is born' is utterly ruined by the liberties which are taken with it in performance. In other Choruses we hear a Fugal Point taken up, over and over again, by Bass Trombones, or Euphoniums, with such rousing vigour that the Voice part is rendered completely inaudible: and, in cases like this, the result is, not a richness, but a thinness of effect quite unworthy of the Composer's meaning. We are quite alive to the beauty of Mozart's Instrumentation, which has certainly never been equalled in more modern times: but, would it be sacrilege to say that even he has not risen to the level of the 'Messiah'? We must feel that there is something wanting, when we listen to his exquisite description of 'The people that walked' not 'in darkness,' but in a golden twilight so enchantingly beautiful that the 'great light' afterwards mentioned rather tends to diminish than to add to its ineffable charms. Only, let it be clearly understood that Mozart by no means satisfies the taste of the present day. When we hear of the 'Messiah,' with his 'Additional Accompaniments,' we are to understand the farther 'addition' of a complete Military Band; and the aggregate result does not leave us much margin for the criticism of Handel's original idea. Great as this evil is, it is still on the increase. Let us hope that the rapidity of its advance may the sooner provoke a reaction; and that some of us may yet live to hear the 'Messiah' sung in accordance with its author's intention.

Handel wrote, altogether, seventeen English Oratorios, beside a number of sæcular works which are sometimes incorrectly classed with them. 'Esther,' the first of the series, was first performed in the private Chapel of the Duke of Chandos, at Cannons, on August 29, 1720. That the Duke fully appreciated its significance as a Work of Art is proved by the fact that he presented the Composer with £1000 in exchange for the Score: yet, after three or four private performances it was unaccountably laid aside; and we hear no more of it for eleven years. In 1731 it was revived by the Children of the King's Chapel, who represented it, in action, at the house of their preceptor, Mr. Bernard Gates, in James Street, Westminster, and again, at a subscription concert, at the 'Crown and Anchor.' These performances were, in a certain sense, private. But, in 1732, the Oratorio was publicly performed, without the Composer's consent, at the Great Room, in Villars Street, York Buildings, under the management of a speculator who is believed to have been identified as the father of Dr. Arne. This act of piracy provoked Handel into bringing out the Oratorio himself at the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, where it was performed, 'by his Majesty's command,' without dramatic action, on May 2 in the same year. The success of this experiment fully justified the preparation of a second work of similar character, which was produced on April 2, 1733, under the title of 'Deborah.' A careful comparison of the two Oratorios furnishes us with a valuable means of measuring the progress of the Composer's Art-life, at a very eventful period. As the 'Esther' of 1720, though enriched by several important additions before its reproduction in 1732, was not actually re-written, it may be accepted as a fair representative of its author's ideas at the time it first saw the light. 'Deborah' represents the enlargement of these ideas, after thirteen years of uninterrupted study and experience. The amount of advancement indicated is very great; great enough to remind us of that observable between Beethoven's Symphony in D, and the 'Eroica'; only that we see no sign of a change of style; no change of any kind, save that the old style has grown immeasurably grander. The Overture to 'Esther' has always been more generally appreciated than that to 'Deborah,' not from any real or fancied superiority, but solely by reason of its long-continued repetition, at S. Paul's Cathedral, for the benefit of the 'Sons of the Clergy.' But, the magnificent Double Chorus with which the latter Oratorio opens so far excels anything to be found in 'Esther' that farther comparison is needless. Handel himself has rarely reached a higher standard than in 'Immortal Lord of earth and skies'; which, in fixity of purpose, breadth of design, and massive grandeur of effect, may well be ranked with some of the finest passages in 'Solomon,' or even 'Israel in Ægypt: and it is enough to say that the promise given in this glorious beginning is amply fulfilled in the Second and Third Acts. In the first Act of 'Athaliah'—produced in the Theatre at Oxford on July 10 in the same year (1733)—this massive style is wisely modified, to some extent, in order to depict the voluptuous surroundings of the Baal-worshipping Queen: but when Joash and the Hebrew Priesthood make their appearance, in the Second Act, it is resumed with all its original force. A large quantity of Music selected from this Oratorio was introduced by Handel into a Serenata, called 'Parnasso in Festa,' which was prepared in haste for the marriage of the Princess Royal, and performed before the King and the whole of the Royal Family on March 13, 1734. After this we hear of no more Sacred Music till 1739, in which year 'Saul' was produced on January 16, and 'Israel in Ægypt on April 4.^[6] In force of dramatic expression, 'Saul' certainly surpasses even the finest Scenes presented in either of the three earlier works. The Song of Triumph in the First Act, with its picturesque Carillon accompaniment, marking out each successive stage in the Procession, while the jealous Monarch bursts with envy; the wailing notes of the Oboes and Bassoons in the Witch's Incantation; the gloomy pomp of the terrible 'Dead March,' and the tender pathos of David's own personal sorrow, so clearly distinguished from that felt by the Nation at large; these, and a hundred other noticeable features, would stamp 'Saul' as one of the finest dramatic works we possess, even were it shorn of its splendid Choruses, its fiery Instrumental Symphonies, and its Movements for Organ Obbligato, designed for the Composer's own interpretation. In 'Israel in Ægypt,' on the other hand, Handel first showed his power of treating a purely Epic Poem. There is every reason to believe that the Composer arranged the Text of this Oratorio for himself. At any rate, it is certain, from his method of dealing with it, that he highly approved of the arrangement, and no doubt chose the epic form from conviction of its perfect adaptability to his purpose; illustrating it—now that the dramatic element would have been clearly out of place—with Music, for the most part of a boldly descriptive character; never descending to the picturesqueness of detail which we have before had occasion to notice, yet never leaving untold anything that was necessary to the intelligent rendering of the whole. Except in describing the 'Plague of Flies,' and in a few other instances, his intention seems to have been to speak not to the outward but to the inward sense. Not to present the Scenes mentioned in the Text by means of vividly painted pictures, but to produce in the mind feelings analogous to those which, it is to be presumed, would have been produced by the contemplation of the Scenes themselves. It is enough that we are made to feel the horror of the 'Thick darkness,' and the might of the crashing 'Hailstones,' without seeing them. If we have been made to rejoice, with the Israelites, on hearing that 'The Horse and his Rider' have been 'thrown into the sea,' we need no galloping triplets to portray their headlong flight. Any other mode of treatment than this would have been beneath the dignity of the Scripture Narrative, the stupendous character of which demanded, for each several Miracle, a choral structure of such colossal proportions as had never previously been attempted. Some of the Movements in the Second Part—which was composed before the First—have been adapted from a 'Magnificat,' the Score of which, in Handel's handwriting, is preserved in the Royal Library at Buckingham Palace. This is not the place to discuss the authenticity of the MS. concerning which Dr. Chrysander holds one opinion, and Professor Macfarren and M. Schoelcher another [see Erba]; but we do not think that any unprejudiced critic after carefully studying this Oratorio, can come to the conclusion that a single note of it betrays the touch of an inferior hand. It is scarcely too much to say that unity of design is the first characteristic we look for in a really great work; and unity of design is evidently the one thing which the Composer has here borne in mind, from the beginning of his work to the end. Hence it is that 'Israel in Ægypt' holds a place far above all other works of its own peculiar kind that ever have been, or are ever likely to be written. But this peculiar form of Epic is not the only one possible. There are other feelings to be excited in the human mind besides those of awe, and horror, and wild thanksgiving for a great and unexpected Deliverance. And with some of these Handel has dealt, as no other Composer could have dealt with them, in the next great work which falls under our notice.

It is too late now to ascertain whether Handel himself chose the subject of the 'Messiah,' or whether it was suggested to him in the first instance by his friend, Mr. Charles Jennens. It is certain, however, that Jennens arranged the general plan of the work, and selected from the Old and New Testament the words which are now so closely associated with its Airs and Choruses; for, in a letter written to him from Dublin, and dated Dec. 29, 1741, Handel alludes to it as 'your Oratorio, Messiah, which I set to Music before I left England.' The Music, as we learn from the dates upon the original Score, preserved in the Royal Library at Buckingham Palace, was begun on the 22nd of August, 1741. The First Part was finished on the 28th, and the Second, on the 6th of September; while, at the end of the Third Part we find the inscription, 'Fine dell' Oratorio, G. F. Handel. Septembre 12. Ausgefüllt den 14 dieses,' the word 'ausgefüllt ' probably applying to changes made after the completion of the copy. Early in the following November Handel started on his journey to Ireland; and on April 13, 1742, he directed the first performance of the 'Messiah,' in the 'Musick Hall, in Fishamble Street, Dublin,' with the most gratifying success. In the following year he returned to England, and first presented the Oratorio to a London audience at Covent Garden Theatre, on the 23rd of March, 1743, repeating the performance on the 25th, and again on the 29th.^[7] Though strictly epic in construction, the new work presents but little affinity with its predecessor, 'Israel in Ægypt.' The grandeur of the Choruses in 'The Song of Moses' is of an impassive kind, partaking quite as much of fear and wonder as of thanksgiving for mercies received. In the 'Messiah,' a more personal element is introduced. The affections are powerfully excited; and we are brought face to face with many different manifestations of Hope, Love, Sorrow, and even Dereliction, followed, not by a National Triumph, but by quite another kind of Joy which speaks to the heart of each individual listener. To express this Joy, gigantic Double Choruses like those in 'Israel in Ægypt' were unnecessary. A really great Composer can write as grandly in four parts as in eight. It is the fire of genius that creates the effect; and that we have, in the 'Messiah,' from the first note to the last. Jennens, in a letter still extant, objects to the Overture, on the ground that it contains 'some passages far unworthy of Handel, but much more unworthy of the Messiah'; but Handel, he says, retained it 'obstinately' his intention evidently being, not to produce an effect at this point, as Jennens no doubt desired, and still less to write anything either worthy or unworthy of himself, but simply by the calm dignity of his Instrumental Prelude, to bring the mind of his hearers into exactly the right condition for listening to the solemn story that was to follow. Perhaps nothing was ever conceived in all Music more beautiful than the reiterated Major Chords which succeed the wailing Minor of the Overture, in the introductory Symphony to 'Comfort ye My people.' They speak the 'comfort,' long before the word is sung. Nearly the whole of the First Part is solemnly prophetic, though not without descriptive touches—as in 'Thus saith the Lord,' and 'The people that walked in darkness'—working gradually up to the tremendous climax at the words 'Wonderful! Counsellor!' After this, we have a picture, such as no one short of Raffaelle could have displayed upon canvas, introduced by the 'Pastoral Symphony'—a glorified Calabrian Tune, which in the original Score is called, 'Pifa larghetto e Mezzo-piano'—and terminating with 'Glory to God in the highest.' In this Chorus the Trumpets are heard for the first time and, be it noted, without their natural bass, the Drums, which Handel clearly considered out of place in an Anthem sung by the 'Heavenly Host.' Then follows a burst of irrepressible joy, in the brilliant Aria d'agilità, 'Rejoice greatly'; and then the prophetic comfort again, in 'He shall feed His flock,' and 'His yoke is easy.' The Second Part differs entirely from this. It begins by calling upon us to 'Behold the Lamb of God,' and then paints the Agony of the Passion, not in its separate details, but as one great and indivisible sorrow, which is treated with a tenderness of feeling such as is nowhere else to be found; beginning with the unapproachable pathos of 'He was ^[8]despised,' and bringing the sad recital to a conclusion with the no less touching strains of 'Behold and see.' The Composer has been accused of having taken too low a view of one particular passage in this part of the Oratorio. It has been said that, in 'All we like sheep,' he has described the wanderings of actual sheep, and not the backslidings of human sinners. The truth is, he has gone far more deeply into the matter than the critics who have ventured to find fault with him. Rebellion against God is an act of egregious folly, as well as of wickedness. More men sin from mere thoughtlessness than deliberate and intentional disobedience. Handel has looked at the case in both lights. In the first part of the Chorus he has shown us what thoughtless sinners do; in the last fourteen bars, he describes the fatal consequence of their rebellion, and the price which must be paid, not only for deliberate wickedness, but for thoughtlessness also. After the last Recitative of this division of the work, 'He was cut off,' comes a gleam of Hope, in 'But Thou didst not leave,' followed by the triumphant 'Lift up your heads'; and again, through a series of Airs and Choruses of transcendant beauty, we are led on, step by step, to that inimitable climax, in which, disguising his contrapuntal skill under the deceptive appearance of extreme simplicity, Handel himself seems to have fixed the limits beyond which even his genius could not soar—for not even the learned and supremely gorgeous 'Amen' with which the Oratorio concludes can be said to exceed the 'Hallelujah Chorus' in sublimity. The difficulty of keeping up the hearer's interest throughout the Third Part, after having already wrought him up to so great a pitch of excitement, was one under which any ordinary Composer must of necessity have succumbed; but in truth this Third Part is another miracle of Art. Not without careful consideration, we maybe sure, did Handel begin it with an Aria di portamento, of surpassing beauty, though only accompanied by a Thoroughbass, with Violins in unison. Any more elaborate combination would have served as a foil to the preceding Chorus. But this takes such new ground, that it immediately attracts attention; and from it the Composer works up, through a series of masterpieces, to the only Chorus in the world that will bear mentioning in the same breath with the 'Hallelujah'—'Worthy is the Lamb,' with its fitting conclusion, the 'Amen,' which the careless listener may easily mistake for the simplest of Fugues, until he suddenly becomes aware that its Stretti partake more nearly of the character of very complex Canons. The Autograph Score now happily accessible to every one, through the medium of a photo-lithographic facsimile, executed under Her Majesty's permission, by the Sacred Harmonic Society, and sold by Messrs. Novello Co.—proves that Handel thought more than once before this Chorus perfectly satisfied him. The MS. indicates many other changes, some of very great importance; and introduces also a considerable number of additional Movements, most of which are to be found in Dr. Arnold's edition of the Score, though they are not included in the compressed arrangements of our own day. Some of these pieces now generally described as belonging to the Appendix are exceedingly fine; but the Movements usually selected for performance are almost always those which give the Composer's idea in the phase which we may fairly accept as his own estimate of the best he was able to produce.

After this, Handel wrote no more Oratorios on the pure epic model, though he did not abstain from the frequent use of passages of a more or less epic character. His next great work was 'Samson,' first performed at Covent Garden Theatre on February 18, 1743, presented eight times in succession, and then removed to make room for the 'Messiah,' which had not yet been heard in London. No less rich in dramatic form than 'Saul,' 'Samson' presents us with some of Handel's finest inspirations, not the least important among which are, the Overture, with its fiery Fugue and world-famed Minuet (supposed to be danced by the votaries of Dagon, before the opening Chorus), the equally celebrated Air, 'Let the bright Seraphim,' and seventeen magnificent Choruses. 'Joseph' followed in 1744, and 'Belshazzar' in 1745; both fine works, written in the same powerful dramatic style. The 'Occasional Oratorio' was produced in 1746. Many interpretations of its unusual name have been suggested, the most probable being that which represents it to have been composed in order to make up a certain set of performances for which Handel had pledged himself to his subscribers. Taken as a whole, the work can only be regarded as a Pasticcio; for, though the Music of the first two Parts is new, the Third is chiefly made up of Movements selected from 'Israel in Ægypt' and the 'Coronation Anthem.' The well-known Overture is one of the finest of Handel's Instrumental Compositions. 'Judas Macchabæus,' a purely dramatic work, well worthy to rank with 'Saul' and 'Samson,' was produced at Covent Garden on April 1, 1747; and 'Alexander Balus' on March 9, 1748, which year also witnessed the first performance of 'Joshua.' 'Susannah' and 'Solomon' were both produced in 1749. In the latter, which introduces the epic form to some considerable extent, Handel has again written some magnificent Double Choruses which rank among his finest inspirations.^[9]

In 'Theodora,' on the contrary, the dramatic character has been rigidly preserved. This great work, which Handel himself considered his best, was first performed on March 15, 1750, when he was sixty-five years of age, and already threatened with blindness. Though now, as a whole, almost forgotten, it abounds with Movements quite comparable, in beauty, with the few which have remained popular favourites; and, though it might perhaps be impossible to present it in a complete form without a careful revision of the Libretto, it would well repay the attention of great Singers in search of great Songs. It was performed four times, in its first 'Season'; but never again during the Composer's lifetime: and no new Oratorio succeeded it, until 1752, when, on February 26, Handel produced his last work, 'Jephtha.' Though his blindness had, by this time, increased so much, that the preparation of the Score occupied him seven months whereas the 'Messiah' had been completed in less than one we find no falling off at all in the style of the work, which contains some of his finest pieces, and is one of the few that has remained popular to our own day. Besides this, the 'Messiah,' 'Israel in Ægypt,' 'Judas Macchabæus,' 'Solomon,' and 'Samson,' are almost the only Oratorios now performed in public in their integrity; and those who were not fortunate enough, in the days of their youth, to enrol themselves members of the Cæcilian or Sacred Harmonic Societies, have probably no farther knowledge of the rest than that which may be gained by a perusal of the printed copies. Happily, these copies are sold at a price which places them within the reach of everybody; but, unhappily, they are not always thoroughly trustworthy. Handel never, by any chance, wrote the Second Inversion of the Dominant Seventh, but we shall find few modern arrangements in which this Chord is not substituted for the original Chord of the Sixth, notwithstanding the extraordinary pains which the Composer frequently took to avoid it.

In addition to the seventeen grand Oratorios we have described, Handel wrote nine other works which are sometimes erroneously called Oratorios, although their subjects were altogether sæcular. The reason of this misnomer is, that they were all, save one, brought out by the Composer in a way which, in those days, was called 'after the manner of Oratorios'—that is to say, without the attraction of Scenery, Dresses, or Action. The only exception to the rule was 'Acis and Galatea'—one of the freshest and most delightful of the entire series—which was first privately performed at Cannons in 1721; and afterwards, on June 16, 1732, with Scenery, Dresses, and appropriate Decorations, but still without Action, at the King's Theatre in the Haymarket. The other pieces were, 'Parnasso in Festa' (1734), 'Alexander's Feast' (1736), 'Ode for S. Cecilia's Day (1739), 'L' Allegro, Il Peneieroso, ed Il Moderato' (1739), 'Semele' (1743), 'Hercules' (1744), 'The Choice of Hercules' (1745 [App. p.735 "1750"]), and 'The Triumph of Time and Truth' (1757). In these, neither Scenery nor Dresses were used; nor were such meretricious adornments needed, for they were all works of the first class, and, if they could not succeed on their own merits, would certainly not have been made to do so by the addition of a few theatrical accessories. The 'Triumph of Time and Truth' was originally written in Italy, in 1708, and had been sung in Italian in 1737 and 1739; but in 1757 Handel, though then totally blind, adapted it to English words, made great additions to it, and brought it out at Covent Garden Theatre, where it was performed four times during that year, and twice in 1758. The last public performance which Handel directed was that of the 'Messiah' at Covent Garden, on April 6, 1759. On the 14th of the same month, he peacefully breathed his last, 'in hope,' as he said, 'of meeting the good God, his sweet Lord and Saviour, on the Day of His Resurrection.'^[10]

It is manifestly impossible to associate Handel's Oratorios with those of any other Composer. They must needs form a class by themselves. Indeed, notwithstanding the jealousies of which he was made the unfortunate victim, he was held in so great reverence, that very few Oratorios were produced in England by rival Composers for many years after his decease; and, of these few, one only, Dr. Arne's 'Judith,' calls for special comment, not in recognition of its intrinsic worth—though its author was an accomplished Musician, and thoroughly in earnest—but, because it was the first work of the kind in which Female Voices had been permitted to take part in an English Chorus; for, though Madame Duparc (generally called 'La Francescina') sang as Prima Donna in most of Handel's Oratorios, the ripieni Trebles were always supplied by the Children of the Chapel Royal and S. Paul's Cathedral. 'Judith,' performed first at the Chapel of the Lock Hospital, on Feb. 29, 1764, and afterwards, with Female Voices in the Chorus, at Covent Garden, on Feb. 26, 1773, was by no means unsuccessful; but the memory of Handel was still too green to permit the possibility of a triumph. Handel's influence did not, however, extend to Germany, in which country the progress of Art was, about this time, surrounded with certain serious difficulties. The effect of the noble work wrought by Job. Seb. Bach, at Leipzig, did not even reach so far as Dresden. There, between 1731 and 1763, Hasse reigned supreme; and it is there, under his influence, that we must begin our study of the Oratorios of the Eighth Period.

Despite his cultivated tastes and undoubted talent, Hasse was wanting in the elevation of style necessary to constitute a really great Composer, especially in his Sacred Music; yet he was able to appreciate true dignity in the works of others. When invited to London, to take the direction of the newly-opened Opera House in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, he asked, 'Is Handel, then, dead?' and, on being told that his famous countryman still lived, but that he was expected to enter into rivalry with him, he at once declined the invitation. This line of conduct was, no doubt, prompted by true delicacy of feeling: but it proves, also, that Hasse did not misjudge his own powers. The real secret of his immense success seems to have lain in his ceaseless endeavour to please. This weakness led him into practices which, as we have already explained elsewhere,^[11] tended greatly to the deterioration of his Operas; and exercised so enervating an effect upon his Sacred Music that it eventually resulted in the production of a set form which has been not inaptly termed the 'Concert Oratorio'—a mere collection of Sacred Airs, united by no other tie than that of a common subject, which however they make no attempt to illustrate by working together as for a common purpose. No doubt these productions were very charming, especially when Faustina—Hasse's talented wife—sang in them as Prima donna: but, when judged by a fair æsthetic standard, they indicate a long step backward. Unhappily, so many of the Composer's MSS. were destroyed, during the bombardment of Dresden, in 1760, that we possess little more than the names of the greater number of his Oratorios, of which the most popular were 'Il serpente in deserto,' 'La virtu a piè della Croce,' 'La deposizione della Croce,' 'La caduta di Gerico,' 'Maddelena,' 'Il Cantico dei Fanciulli,' 'La Conversione di San Agostino,' 'Il Giuseppe Riconosciuto,' 'I Pellegrini al Sepolcro di nostro Salvatore,' 'Sant' Elena al Calvario,' and a German Oratorio, called 'Die Busse des heiligen Petrue.' Of these, one only, 'I Pellegrini al Sepolcro,' is readily accessible, in print, in the form of a German translation.^[12] Of many of the rest we possess only fragmentary portions, beautiful enough in themselves, though the works to which they belong fail, as a whole. The same fault is observable in the Oratorios of Porpora, the most successful of which were 'Davidde,' 'Gedeone,' 'Il Verbo Incarnate,' and 'Il trionfo della divina giustizia.' We also possess ten Oratorios, written about this time, by Fux; but they still remain in MS., never having been revived since the occasion of their first production.

The Composers of the Ninth Period made no attempt to improve the general form of the Oratorio; but, while quite content to follow the example of their immediate predecessors in this particular, they infused into their Airs and Duets a spirit of freshness and spontaneity which, towards the close of the 18th century, had the effect of making the Concert Oratorio a very delightful species of entertainment. True, its Music was distinguishable from that of the Concert Opera only by the words appended to it: but, setting aside all considerations of religious feeling and consistency, the Music, as Music, was the best that the age could produce, though the use to which it was applied cannot be defended upon any æsthetic principle whatever. The best writers of this epoch were Sacchini, whose most admired productions were 'Esther,' 'San Filippo,' 'I Maccabei,' 'Jefte,' and 'Le Nozze di Ruth'; Paisiello, whose 'Passione di Gesù Cristo' was undoubtedly one of his best works; Jomelli, who also wrote a 'Passion' which was long remembered with affection, besides setting to music Metastasio's 'Betulia liberata,' and 'Isacco figura del Redentore;' and Pietro Guglielmi, whose 'Debora' and 'Sisera' were more than successful, though perhaps he did more than any writer of the period to lower the tone of Sacred and even Church Music; for his own taste led him to cultivate the most ornate bravura style, while his position as Maestro di Capella at S. Peter's gave him the opportunity of introducing that style into Music in which it was scandalously out of place.

But the most beautiful composition produced during this Period, though a true Italian Oratorio in all its broadest features, was not composed in Italy. Haydn's studies under Porpora, assisted by the natural acuteness of his observation, had taught him all that it was possible to learn concerning the mysteries of the Italian School; and, while the refinement of his taste enabled him to separate the good from the bad, his matchless genius raised his work to a level far beyond the reach of the best of his early models. When he set Boccarini's 'Il ritorno di Tobia' to music for Prince Esterhazy in 1774, he had already perfected that 'Classical Form' which, had he left us no other bequest, would alone have sufficed to immortalise him; and in this work he has used it to excellent purpose, though the general plan of the piece is that of the Concert Oratorio, pur et simple. The Airs throughout are overflowing with Melody, such as Haydn alone knew how to produce. The Choruses which conclude the First and Second Acts are powerful and well-developed Fugues, with bold yet tuneful Subjects, like those familiar to us all through the medium of his well-known Masses. The first is a Prayer for the restoration of Tobit's sight.

The final Fugue is in 6-8 time, and founded on a highly characteristic Subject.

Yet still more clearly do we detect the Composer's identity in the richly instrumented Overture, which, beginning in grand symphonic style, leads in the most masterly manner into the introductory Movement of the Oratorio. Can anything be more genial or more forcibly characteristic of its author, than the following lovely motivo?

Haydn's 'Ritorno di Tobia,' which has probably never been performed as a whole since it was given at Vienna by the Tonkünstler-Societat in 1808, is now as completely forgotten as his 'Orfeo ed Euridice'—and with equal injustice, for both contain a treasury of lovely Movements. We have of necessity classed it with the works of Jomelli and Paisiello, for the reason which induced us, when narrating the history of our Fourth Period, to class Handel's 'Resurrezione' with those of Aless. Scarlatti and Stradella—a community of external form too strong to be passed over, even in the presence of the most marked divergence of individual feeling. But, as we did not place Handel's earlier and later Oratorios in the same category, neither can we do so with those of Haydn, whose 'Creation' (Die Schöpfung) and 'Seasons' (Die Jahreszeiten) fall within the limits of our Tenth Period.

Though Haydn was no longer a young man when he wrote the 'Creation,' he was the most genial of old ones, able to look back with a clear conscience upon a well-spent and not unhappy life, and to throw himself, with all the eagerness of youth, into the enjoyment either of the beauties of Nature or the amenities of Art. Unless we bear this well in mind, we shall never understand how, in the year 1798, when he was not far from seventy years of age, he was able to produce that series of delightful Pictures which has never failed to inspire the Tone-painters of later generations with feelings of mingled admiration and despair. During the twenty-four years which had elapsed since the production of 'Il ritorno di Tobia,' he had taught himself many things: a broader manner, a richer texture, a more perfect homogeneity of conception, which enabled him to articulate the various members of his Oratorio into as consistent a whole as that produced by the four Movements of a Symphony. Moreover—and this is no such small matter as it may seem at first sight—he had learned the true use of the Clarinet, an instrument which proved invaluable to him as a means of producing variety of colouring, and in the management of which few later Composers have excelled him. The words of 'The Creation' were compiled by Lidley from Milton's 'Paradise Lost,' and translated into German by Freiherr van Swieten, at whose suggestion Haydn undertook the preparation of a work which, at his age, must have demanded a terrible strain upon his mental powers. Early in the year 1798 the veteran Composer brought his labours to a successful issue, and announced the completion of the work. It had really been a labour of love to him, for he entered into it with even more affectionate ardour than he had displayed in the production of many of his more youthful effusions; and he himself declared that he was deeply and almost uncontrollably affected at the first performance, which took place at the Schwarzenberg Palace, on April 29, 1798. The Oratorio was repeated on the following day, and again, more publicly, at the National Theatre, on March 19, 1799. Though nominally dramatic—inasmuch as each Solo Singer is invested with a representative personality—the Libretto is really epic throughout, for the principal singers are never employed for any other purpose than that of describing, either the beauties of the 'new-created world,' or the wonders attendant upon its mysterious birth. There is therefore an utter absence of declamatory Music, as well as of those powerful means of expression, passion and pathos. In place of these Haydn contents himself with the only style really suited to the subject—the style which describes without exaggeration, and paints without extravagance. And of this style he proves himself to be a consummate Master. The description of Chaos with which the Oratorio opens, the Creation of Light,^[13] the confusion of the 'infernal host,' the lovely Melody which first introduces the mention of the 'new-created world,' these, and a hundred other beautiful passages, are familiar to all of us. The Airs, equally remarkable for their delicious flow of Melody and their masterly Instrumentation, describe the scenes to which they allude, yet always by inference rather than in a realistic spirit, and with a chastened tone which sets the sneer of the hypercritic at defiance. The Choruses far excel any of those to be found in the author's earlier works, and, still more, those produced by other writers of the period, either German or Italian. That they do not equal those of Handel will be easily understood. Had nothing else prevented them from doing so, the improvements introduced by Haydn himself would have had that effect. The elaborate Accompaniments which he knew so well how to use, and actually did use with much telling effect, tended to reduce the scale upon which these grand Choruses were conceived. The Quaver passages which add so much to the brilliant effect of 'The Heavens are telling,' take just as much away from the dignity of its vocal Themes; and in every other Chorus the same phenomenon is more or less perceptible. We must not look upon this as an unmitigated weakness. What we have lost in one way we have gained in another. We owe so much to Haydn for his improvements in Instrumentation, that we can afford a certain amount of diminution in the scale of the works we look upon as the greatest; yet, more than this, the fact remains, that, with increased facilities for utilising the resources of the Orchestra, comes, and always will come, a perceptible falling off of that great quality of breadth, that immense simplicity which most of all leads on towards the sublime—a reduction of the gigantic scale which first made Handel's Choruses unapproachable, and has ever since left them unapproached. We in no wise depreciate the merits of either Composer when we say that the one was the High Priest of the Sublime, and the other the Father of Modern Beauty. Each excelled in his own way, and each way was in itself perfect. Handel could no more have written 'The Creation' than Haydn could have written 'Israel in Egypt'; nor could any one but Haydn have written 'The Seasons'—another work full of delicious imagery, and, if more sæcular in its character than 'The Creation,' only just so much so as was necessary in order to bring the Music into closer harmony with the subject. The words of this Oratorio were also compiled by Freiherr van Swieten, who, delighted with the success of 'The Creation,' took Thomson's well-known poem as the basis of a somewhat similar work, and persuaded Haydn to undertake the composition, though he himself felt unwilling to trust his then manifestly failing powers. The result found Van Swieten to be in the right. Haydn soon overcame his diffidence, entered enthusiastically into the scheme, disputed manfully over points on which he and his friend disagreed, and produced a work as full of youthful freshness as the 'Creation' itself. Not a trace of the 'failing power' of which the grand old man complained is to be found in any part of it. It is a model of descriptive writing; true to Nature in its minutest details, yet never insulting her by trivial attempts at outward imitation where artistic suggestion of the hidden truth was possible. It is this great quality, this depth of insight into the 'Soul of Nature,' which places Haydn's Tone-pictures so far above all meaner imitations. To this we owe our untiring interest in the Scenes depicted in the Oratorio; in the delicious softness of the opening Chorus, which seems actually to waft a perfumed breeze into the midst of the Concert-room; in the perfection of rustic happiness portrayed in the Song which describes the joy of the 'Impatient husbandman' 'impatient' only because he longs to hurry on from one 'joy' to another. These things all prove conclusively that Haydn's genius was not failing. Yet, in another sense, he was quite right and Van Swieten wrong: the labour of producing such Music was too great for his physical strength. The first performance of 'The Seasons' took place at the Schwartzenberg Palace, on the 24th of April, 1801. It was repeated on the 27th, and on the 1st of May; and on the 29th of May the Composer conducted a grand public performance at the Redoutensaal. Its success was as great as that of 'The Creation,' and Haydn was equally delighted with it; but he was never really himself again, and never attempted another great work. Strange that his last almost superhuman effort, though it cost so much, should in itself have exhibited no sign of the weakness which was soon to become so painfully apparent.

Haydn stands almost as much alone, with regard to his greatest works, as Handel: but, though it is impossible to class his Oratorios with those of any other writer, we must not suppose that, during his long life, the rest of the world was idle. In Italy, especially, we find traces of a rapid progress, the results of which will serve to illustrate the history of our Eleventh Period.^[14]

We have already shown, in our Article Opera, that the principles set forth by Gluck found no direct response in Italy. Yet the productions of this epoch go far to prove that, even then, they were not without an indirect influence for good: an influence which is as clearly discernible—strange as it may seem to say so-in the writings of Piccinni himself, as in those of his contemporaries. When we last spoke of the Italian Oratorio, it had degenerated, like the Opera, into a mere Concert of attractive Airs. Now, in Italy, the progress of the Oratorio has, at all times, corresponded exactly with that of the Opera: and, to the manifest improvement observable in the Operas of this Period we must attribute the synchronous advance exhibited in its Oratorios. After Gluck had once opened the eyes of the artistic world to the value of dramatic truth, the Concert Opera, and the Concert Oratorio, became alike impossible, even among those who professedly held tbe reformer's views in the utmost abhorrence. Influenced, no doubt, in spite of himself, and probably quite unconsciously, Piccinni was one of the first who attempted to incorporate the Airs and Duets of the Concert Opera into a consistent whole; to enrich that whole with Concerted Movements and Choruses, worthy of a great Composer; and to bind its several elements together in such a way as to assist the development of the Drama which formed its raison d'étre, instead of, as heretofore, retarding it. His efforts to introduce a higher style and a more truly æsthetic Ideal, were nobly seconded by more than one of his most talented countrymen: and, that the improvement he thus effected in the construction of the Opera extended to the Oratorio also, is sufficiently proved by the fact that his own Oratorio, 'Jonathas,' produced in 1792, has always been regarded as one of the best, if not actually the greatest of his works. His most illustrious coadjutors in this great reform were—Salieri, whose best Oratorios were Metastasio's 'Passione di Gesù Cristo' and 'Gesù al limbo'; Zingarelli, whose 'Distruzzione di Gerusalemme' will be found, in the form of a MS. Score, in the Dragonetti Collection in the British Museum; and, lastly, Cimarosa, the greatest Italian Composer of the age, whose 'Sagrifizio d' Abramo' and 'Assalone'—the last of which will be also found among the Dragonetti MSS.—are models of dramatic truth, and the most touchingly pathetic expression.^[15] It is true that these fascinating works almost entirely ignore the broad line of distinction which ought always to be drawn between Sacred Music and that which is of a purely sæcular character, in which respect they are not to be commended as models. On the other hand, they undoubtedly do, to a certain extent, illustrate the dramatic sense of the Sacred Narrative, though in too superficial, not to say too unworthy a spirit. We meet with the same fault, though perhaps not quite so prominently forced into notice, in the works of a once celebrated but now very unjustly forgotten German writer, Johann Gottlieb Naumann, who studied, for many years, in Italy, and, as Hasse had done before him, entirely abandoned himself to the seductions of the Italian style, with all its beauties and all its shortcomings: only, the Italian style he cultivated was a later one than that with which Hasse had some thirty years previously so completely identified himself. He wrote no unconnected strings of Concert Airs, but brought out the best points of the Period we are now considering, enriched Italian Melody with many beauties derived from the German style, and produced a long list of Oratorios, of which the best known were, 'La morte d'Abel,' 'Davidde nella valle di Terebinto,' Metastasio's 'La Passione de Gesù Cristo,' 'Isacco figura del Redentore,' 'Giuseppe Riconosciuto,' 'Sant' Elena al Calvario,' 'I Pellegrini,' and 'Betulia liberata,' and Migliaveccha's 'Il figliuol prodigo.' Himmel, Winter, Weigl, and several other talented German Composers also contributed Italian Oratorios, of more or less value, to this Period; to which must be referred Mozart's youthful production, 'La Betulia liberata,' written, it is believed, when he had just completed his sixteenth year; Dittersdorf's 'Giudacco nella Persia, ossia l'Esther,' 'Giobbe,' and 'La liberatione del Popolo'; and many other works, by writers whose talent was undeniable, though it must be admitted, that, as Composers of Oratorios, they made no attempt to soar to heights which they might easily have reached, had they been more in earnest, or less desirous to attain a short-lived popularity; for it was unquestionably to the low standard of popular taste that the best interests of this otherwise promising Period were sacrificed.

The history of our Twelfth Period brings us into contact with one single Composer only—the composer of one single Oratorio.

We must not, however, suppose that Beethoven's single Oratorio can be placed on a level with his single Opera. He wrote 'Fidelio' in 1805, when he was in the plenitude of his artistic power: 'Christus am Oelberge' ('The Mount of Olives') was produced in 1803, when he was not yet really Beethoven, not having as yet produced the 'Eroica Symphony.' Those two years made all the difference; for they represented the distinction between the First and Second Styles. Nevertheless, 'The Mount of Olives' is so great a work, that, though it may not bear comparison with some of its author's later productions, it cannot possibly be associated with the writings of any other Composer: and therefore it is that we have here thought it necessary to place it in a class by itself. Moreover, its idiosyncrasy presents so many exceptional features, that, if we have erred at all, it is in having allowed only one category for its reception: for, critics have described it under almost as many different aspects as the Chameleon in the Fable. Quá Music, it is simply enchanting: overflowing with that delicious freshness which so frequently invests its Composer's 'First Manner' with a charm scarcely less potent than that exercised by the grander magic of the 'Second.' Quá Oratorio, it shocks us as a monstrous anomaly. Undoubtedly, Huber, the writer of the words, is chargeable with the worst part of its extravagance: the wonder is, that any consideration on earth could have induced Beethoven, who was generally so scrupulously careful in such matters, to set one single word of such a Libretto to Music. Without entering into details, it is enough to say, that, contrary to all precedent, our Lord is made to sing a long Scena ed Aria; a Duet with the Angel, in which the two voices constantly move in long passages of Thirds and Sixths; and a Trio with the Angel and St. Peter. Beethoven's religious opinions are known to have been, to say the least of it, original:^[16] yet, supposing him to have seen no impropriety in this departure from established usage, one might fairly have expected from him some recognition of the fact, that, apart from all religious feeling, the events of the night preceding the Passion were so inexpressibly mournful that none can read of them unmoved. Yet we find no sign, even of this. Not only is the style purely sæcular, but, in certain places—such as the Trio, for instance—it is absolutely sparkling. An attempt has been made, in England, to remove these grave incongruities by substituting an entirely new Libretto, called 'Engedi,' and founded on the sojourn of David in the Wilderness. A substituted Libretto never can be really successful: but the mere fact that the experiment has been tried sufficiently proves the gravity of the evil it was intended to palliate. To those who are capable of reconciling themselves to an evil so deeply seated, or, at least, of ignoring the want of correspondence between the subject and its treatment, the Music must be an unmixed treat. In every Movement we meet with beauties of conception, of design, or of individual colouring, such as are never found save in the works of the greatest Masters. The Chorus is extensively employed, and keeps the interest alive throughout; and the whole culminates in a magnificent burst of jubilant Song, far exceeding in grandeur any part of the Mass in C—the splendid 'Hallelujah,' the first Movement of which is almost suggestive of the Old Masters, in its stern and unwavering Accompaniment, while the spirited and finely-developed Fugue, full of interest and fire, and weakened only, like that we have described in the 'Creation,' by the exuberance of its masterly Instrumentation, has always been regarded as a masterpiece of modern Part-writing. It is something, though the work cannot be relieved, as a whole, from the charge of inconsistency, to be able to select from it so many Movements of superlative excellence.

Nine years after the first performance of 'The Mount of Olives' at Vienna, Spohr inaugurated the Thirteenth Period by bringing out his first Oratorio 'Das jüngste Gericht,'^[17] at Erfurt, where it was produced under his own superintendence in 1812. Though the great Violinist, then twenty-eight years old, had already laid the foundation of the characteristic and highly original style by which his works are distinguished from those of all other Composers, he had not yet brought it to that full perfection which, in later years, made it a part of himself. As a natural consequence, this early Oratorio, notwithstanding its undoubted merits, is unequal, and to a certain extent disappointing. Perhaps it would seem less so had we no opportunity of comparing it with greater works of later date; for it is recorded that the Choruses produced a profound impression on the occasion of the first performance, and it is certain that the part of Satan is finely conceived, and carried out with masterly skill: but that there are weak points cannot be denied. Very different is it with 'Die letzten Dinge,' composed at Cassel in 1825, and first performed in 1826. We here see the Master at his best; his style, more conspicuous for its individuality than that of any other Composer of this century, fully developed; his experience matured by long and unbroken familiarity with the Orchestra, under circumstances scarcely less favourable than those which exercised so happy an effect upon the Art-life of Haydn; and his genius free to lead him where it would. It led him, in this case, to attempt the illustration of Mysteries which might well have appalled a less bold spirit than his. But there can be no doubt that the subject presented a peculiar attraction for him. There is, in all his Music—even in his most joyous strains—an undercurrent of unfathomable depth which seems continually striving to lead the hearer away from the external aspect of things, in order to show him a hidden meaning not to be revealed to the thoughtless listener. Even the glorious March in 'Die Weihe der Töne' leaves a feeling rather of sadness than exultation behind it. The value of such a quality as this in 'Die letzten Dinge' was incalculable. Spohr's familiarity with the profoundest secrets of the Chromatic and Enharmonic genera, which had by this time become a second nature to him, afforded him access to regions of musical expression as yet unexplored; and he entered them, not with the timidity of a pioneer, but with the certainty of a finished Master. His refined taste precluded the possibility of an inharmonious progression: yet he dared modulations which, in less skilful hands, would have been excruciating. Diatonic and Chromatic 'False Relations' are two very different things: but, there are such things as Chromatic, and even Enharmonic 'False Relations'—a sad fact of which Spohr's imitators appear to be profoundly ignorant. Spohr never writes one. In the space of half a bar, he may take us miles from the Key in which we started: but the journey is performed so smoothly that we scarcely know we have performed it. The quality one most misses in his Music is that of sternness; yet in 'Die letzten Dinge,' we are not without indications even of that. This great Oratorio, the name of which literally signifies 'The last Things,' is the one now so well known in this country as 'The last Judgment.' The English title is a very unfortunate one; for besides being a gross mistranslation, it gives a very false idea both of the scope and the intention of the work. The words are selected, for the most part, from those parts of the Apocalypse which describe the terrible Signs and Portents to be sent, hereafter, as precursors of the consummation of all things. Dramatic treatment would manifestly have been an insult to the solemnity of such a subject. Spohr has not even ventured to look upon it as a Sacred Epic. His interpretation is purely contemplative. He first strives to lead our thoughts as far as possible beyond the reach of all external impressions; and then, with the irresistible force of that oratory which far exceeds in power the rhetoric of words, invites us to meditate upon some of the most thrilling passages to be found in any part of the Bible. The amount of artistic skill made subservient to this great end is almost incredible. The form of the Movements, the disposition of the Voices, the Instrumentation of the Accompaniments, are all, in turn, brought to bear upon it. There is but one idea, from beginning to end. The Composer makes no attempt to please, but is content to come before us simply in the character of Preacher. Hence it is that the work does not contain a single Air. The lovely Duet for Treble and Tenor, 'Forsake me not,' is the only regularly-constructed Movement allotted to the Solo Voices. Except for this, they are exclusively employed, either in conjunction with the Chorus, which is in constant requisition, or in the declamation of highly-wrought Accompanied Recitative, so melodious in character, that, had it been produced at the present day, it would probably have been called 'Melos.' The Instrumentation of this Recitative exhibits the Composer in his fullest strength, but proclaims, at the same time, a most commendable amount of self-renunciation. In a certain sense it may be described as Tone-painting, but its imagery is purely subjective. Ever striving so to influence the mind as to bring it more and more closely en rapport with the written text as the work approaches its climax, it never attempts to depict realities, but aims rather at the suggestion of unspoken thoughts which serve its purpose far more readily than any amount of realistic delineation—and it attains its end by many a master-stroke. In the well-known Chorus, 'All glory to the Lamb that died,'— which, by the way, is almost always sung, in England, much faster than Spohr himself used to take it—the pastorale character of the pizzicato accompaniment brings instantly before us the Birth of the Lamb Whose Incarnation formed the first step in the great Sacrifice we are contemplating. It is like a glimpse of Van Eyck's marvellous Picture in the Cathedral at Ghent. The tumultuous horror of the Chorus, 'Destroyed is Babylon the mighty' is increased a thousandfold by the freezing lull during which 'the Sea gives up its dead.' And, when the horror is over, and we have felt rather than heard its thunders dying away in the distance, and have learned, from the Voice of the Angel, that 'All is fulfilled,' and Babylon no more, the wrathful sounds, already nearly inaudible, continue to fade through a still softer pianissimo, until they lead us into the opening strains of the ineffably beautiful Quartet, 'Blessed are the dead,' which forms the culminating point of the whole. There is nothing in the Oratorio more striking than this truly sublime conception. Spohr himself evidently felt this, and intended that it should be so: for he attempts nothing more. Henceforward, all is peace; and even the bold Chorus, 'Great and wonderful,' with its fine fugal writing and beautiful contrasts, dies away, at last, into a pianissimo. May there not be a hidden meaning even in this?—that we are to go home, not to talk about what we have heard, but to think about it?

Spohr wrote no other Oratorio, after this, until 1835, when, still living at Cassel, he composed and superintended the performance of 'Des Heilands letzte ^[18]Stunden,' a work which first became known in England under the title of 'The Crucifixion,' and, at a later period, under that of 'Calvary.' Some of the Choruses in this are characterised by a tenderness to which their chromatic structure lends an inexpressible charm; and the whole work is pervaded by a solemn beauty which leads us deeply to regret that it should be so rarely performed in public. It was followed, some years later, by 'The Fall of Babylon,' a work of greater proportions, which, on July 21, 1843, the Composer himself directed, for the first time, at Exeter Hall, by special invitation of the Sacred Harmonic Society, on which occasion the effect produced by the opening bars of the Chorus, 'The Lion roused from slumber is springing,' was one which those who were fortunate enough to hear it will not easily forget. Spohr, indeed, was a model Conductor, and sometimes electrified his audience by a single stroke of his Bâton, though never with a rude or unwelcome shock.

One of Spohr's most illustrious contemporaries was the indefatigable and highly-gifted Friedrich Schneider, a writer who once enjoyed an extraordinary degree of popularity which is now somewhat on the wane. Between the years 1810 and 1838, he produced, besides numerous Operas and other important works, no less than sixteen German Oratorios; viz. 'Die Höllenfahrt des Messias' (1810); 'Das Weltgericht' (1819), the most celebrated of all his writings; 'Die Todtenfeier' (1821); 'Die Sündfluth' (1823); 'Der verlorene Paradies' (1824); 'Jesus Geburt' (1825); 'Christus der Meister'(1827); 'Pharao' (1828); 'Christus das Kind' (1829); 'Gideon' (1829); 'Absalom' (1830); 'Das befreite Jerusalem' (1835); 'Salomonis Tempelbau' (1836); 'Bonifacius' (1837), unfinished; 'Gethsemane und Golgotha' (1838); and 'Christus der Erlöser' (1838). All these works were more than ordinarily successful, in their day—as were also Lindpaintner's 'Abraham' and 'Der Jüngling von Nain'—but, with the exception of 'Das Weltgericht,' they are now almost forgotten, even in Germany; to Spohr, therefore, the Thirteenth Period is alone indebted for its immortality.

The history of our Fourteenth Period is a glorious one; but, again, it depends for its celebrity entirely upon the genius of a single Composer—who, however, is one not likely to be soon forgotten.

Though Mendelssohn, when he first entertained the idea of writing an Oratorio, had not yet completed his twenty-third year, he was already a finished Scholar, an accomplished Musician, a profound Thinker, and the Composer of a large collection of works, not a few of which are classed, even by critics of the present day, among his best. He did not, therefore, enter upon his task without consideration, or without experience. He knew what an Oratorio ought to be; and he had already made choice of the School which pleased him best—the School we have attempted to describe in treating of our Sixth Period, the brightest luminary of which was Joh. Seb. Bach. But, let us not be misunderstood. Mendelssohn was no imitator, either of Bach, or any other Composer: he simply set to work upon Bach's principles, just as Mozart set to work upon Haydn's, and afterwards wrought out his own ideas in his own way. And that way proved to be a very original, as well as a very attractive one. The idea of choosing the. life and mission of S. Paul for a subject was suggested to him by the Frankfort 'Cäcilien-Verein,' in the year 1831. He accepted the proposal, and requested Marx to write a Book for him. Marx refused, on the ground that the Chorales which Mendelssohn wished to introduce were unsuited to the date of the narrative. Mendelssohn, therefore, with the assistance of his friends Fürst and Schubring, compiled a Book for himself, selecting the words, with very few exceptions, from the German translation of the Bible. An eminent critic of the present day (Hand, 'Aesthetik der Tonkunst,' ii. p. 576) finds fault with its construction, on the ground that the Hero of the story is not made its central point. 'We see here,' he says, 'not one Oratorio, but two—S. Stephen, and S. Paul—bound together by external ties; while S. Paul, who, as the Hero, should in the fulness of his strength fight the battle with himself and with the world, passes, through a series of trials, into the background, surrounded by companions scarcely less worthy than himself, without ever appearing as the central point of the dramatic unity.' Hand's criticisms are generally valuable; but he was altogether wrong, here, and utterly mistook the Composer's meaning. Mendelssohn's conception—perfectly homogeneous in essence, though somewhat complicated in structure—embraced three historical facts, over which one other fact, of greater significance than all, dominated supreme. The three facts, which he presents to us in three distinct pictures, each half dramatic and half epic, are the Martyrdom of S. Stephen, the Conversion of S. Paul, and the Apostle's later career; symbolical respectively of the determined opposition of the world to the True Faith, the power of the True Faith to make friends even of its persecutors, and the Preaching of the True Faith through all the world. The one predominant fact, which governs all these, and to the exposition of which they each contribute a most important share, is the ultimate triumph of Christianity; and, precisely because the great Apostle laboured so zealously to promote that triumph, he not only appears as the central-point of the whole, but we are made to feel his influence, either as persecutor of the Faithful, or Preacher of the Faith, even in those Scenes in which he is not actually present. He stands before us, throughout, as the visible representative of the one grand thought which permeates the entire design. A symbolical Apostle, with just enough personality to secure our affectionate recognition, but not enough to prevent us from regarding him as the embodiment of an abstract idea—the dissemination of the great truths of the Gospel, by the mouths of duly appointed Messengers, to the uttermost parts of the earth. Bearing these things in mind, we can at once see why it was that Mendelssohn insisted so strongly on the introduction of the Chorale. In Protestant Germany, the Chorale is universally understood to represent the united Voice of the whole Christian Church. How then could the trials, the hopes, the faith, and the final victory of the Church be intelligibly expressed, to German hearers, without its aid? Mendelssohn makes it the keystone of the whole. It opens his magnificent Overture with an exhortation to vigilance which no German could possibly misunderstand. In the massive opening Chorus, the passage beginning with the words 'The Heathen furiously rage' sufficiently explains the need of such watchfulness; and then the Church sets forth her faith and trust, in a new Chorale, 'To God on high be thanks and praise'—the calm beauty of which must needs dispel all fear for the future. Then follows the Martyrdom of S. Stephen, illustrated in a series of Movements the most noticeable of which are the angry Chorus 'Now this man ceaseth not'; the beautiful and highly-wrought Scena sung by S. Stephen himself; the reiterated comminations of the Jews; the heavenly note of warning, 'Jerusalem! Jerusalem!' interposed between two violent outbursts of popular fury; and the most characteristic Chorus of all, 'Stone him to death!' after which the Church again breathes forth a sigh of hopeful submission, in the Chorale 'To Thee, Lord, I yield my spirit,' and the delightfully melodious Chorus, 'Happy and blest are they,' which succeeds it. If any proof were needed of the correctness of the theory we have advanced, it would be afforded by the fact that it is not until this point that Saul makes his appearance upon the Scene in his own proper person. Most dramatists would certainly have introduced him at the close of the Martyrdom, if not before. Mendelssohn contents himself with allowing us to feel his influence only during the trial, reserving his entrance until all is over, when he brings him before us as the true Hero of the piece, with the fiery Bass Solo—'Consume them all!' In spite of threatenings, and persecution, and slaughter, the Church still sings of comfort—this time, through the medium of a Solo Voice—in 'But the Lord is mindful of his own.' There is hope—she would say—that even the persecutor may be saved. And then follows the Con version, in which the expedient of assigning our Lord's words to a Chorus of four Treble Voices, though not altogether new—for it dates from the 15th century^[19]—introduces a well-conceived and appropriate effect in which a long and skilfully managed crescendo leads with ever increasing excitement into the fiery Chorus, 'Rise up! arise! rise and shine!' The Light has broken in upon the soul of the future Apostle: and again the Church speaks to him, and indicates his appointed work, in the fine old Chorale 'Sleepers wake!' each phrase of which is followed by a simultaneous crash of all the brass instruments. But he cannot, at once, realise the great things that have been done for him. The Light has blinded him, for the time; and he must needs crave forgiveness and mercy, until they are assured to him by the mouth of Ananias. Then it is that he expresses his unbounded joy, in a great cry, 'I praise Thee, O Lord my God,' while the Church watches over him, still speaking words of comfort, and concluding the First Part with the grand contemplative Chorus, 'O great is the depth.'

The conception of the Second Part is really far grander than that of the First, though it is less forcibly dramatic, and even keeps the epic element in the background, except when it is needed for the purpose of bringing the personality of S. Paul himself into sufficiently strong relief. It opens with a fine five-part Chorus, 'The Nations are now the Lord's,' in which Mendelssohn's power as a Fugue-writer is well utilised. It then takes up the subject at the point for which the whole of the First Part was but a necessary preparation—the actual preaching of the Apostle. This is interrupted by a Chorus of Jews, 'Is this he?' carrying out the same idea as the tumultuous passages in the First Part, and thus contributing to the unity of the general intention by exhibiting the same crowd, at one moment persecuting S. Stephen, and, at another, S. Paul himself. Again the Church perceives the danger, and prays for direction, in the Chorale, 'Thou the true and only Light!' after which S. Paul, and his companion S. Barnabas, turn to the Gentiles. In the Scene of the Sacrifice at Lystra, the epic element reappears; and the sensuous Chorus sung by the worshippers of Jupiter is contrasted with admirable skill with the solemn strains of 'But our God abideth in Heaven.' The Jews interpose again in a Chorus no less characteristic of the raging multitude than those we have already heard: after which the Apostle, having been cheered by the mingled exhortation and promise 'Be thou faithful unto death,' takes that affecting leave of 'the Brethren' which, as described by S. Luke, brings all the most beautiful traits of his character into the noblest and most touching relief; and the Oratorio concludes with the Choruses, 'See what love hath the Father bestowed on us,' and 'Not only unto him, but unto all them that love truly,' bringing prominently into view the idea which has been persistently kept before us, from first to last—the universal triumph of the Church as exemplified in that of one of the greatest of her Apostles, who, faithful to the last, passes from our sight, that he may receive the promised Crown.

'S. Paul' was first performed at Düsseldorf, on Whitsunday, May 22, 1836; and in English, at Liverpool, on Oct. 3 following. 'Elijah' was produced at the Birmingham Festival on Aug. 26, 1846, Mendelssohn having, meanwhile, passed ten of the best years of his life in indefatigable work, and the accumulation of a vast amount of experience. Yet it cannot be said that 'Elijah' is really a greater work than 'S. Paul': it is great in a different way. The history of its gradual development having already been narrated at length in the article Mendelssohn, it remains for us only to speak of it in its perfect form. In one respect, the main idea is the same as that treated in 'S. Paul'—the triumph of Truth over Falsehood. In both Oratorios, the instrument by which this triumph is accomplished is a Heaven-commissioned Teacher, whose influence is distinctly perceptible throughout the entire work; only, in 'Elijah,' the personality of this Teacher is more frequently brought before us than in 'S. Paul,' where we are so frequently made to feel his influence without actually seeing him. As a natural consequence, the later Oratorio is much more dramatic in structure than the earlier one. The character of the Prophet is drawn with minute attention to the peculiar traits by which it is distinguished in the Scripture Narrative: and the Scenes in which he stands forth as the principal figure are painted with intense descriptive power. Eight such Scenes are brought most prominently into the foreground: four in the First Part—the Prophecy of the Drought, the Raising of the Widow's Son, the Sacrifice on Mount Carmel, and the Coming of the Rain; and four in the Second—the Persecution of Elijah by Jezebel, the Prophet's sojourn in the Desert, with all its awful revelations of Almighty Power, his return to his People and subsequent departure in the Fiery Chariot, and the magnificent conclusion which teaches us the deep signification of the whole. The Recitative in which the opening Prophecy is announced, placed before the Overture which so vividly describes its terrible effects, is a grand conception, scarcely exceeded in dramatic force by any subsequent passage, and immeasurably enhanced by the four solemn Chords with which the Brass Instruments prelude the first words of the terrible denunciation. The despairing phrases of the Overture lead so naturally into the cry of the wailing People, 'Help, Lord! the harvest is over, the summer days are gone,' that we cannot but believe the whole chain of Movements to have been the result of the same individual idea, the gradual development of which finds consistent expression in Obadiah's exhortation to repentance—clothed in the lovely Tenor Air, 'If with all your hearts'—and the noble chain of Movements, beginning with 'Yet doth the Lord,' which forms the climax of this division of the subject. In the next picture we find Elijah 'by the brook Cherith,' whence, after having been comforted by the soothing strains of the Double Quartet, 'He shall give His Angels charge over thee,' he is summoned to Zarephath, to the house of the Widow, the Raising of whose Son is painted in tender accents which find their fitting response, not, as the careless hearer might have expected, in a Chorale—for the Chorale belongs exclusively to the Christian Dispensation, and this is preeminently a Jewish Oratorio—but, in the contemplative Chorus, 'Blessed are the men who fear Him,' which brings the Scene to so appropriate and well-considered a conclusion. Then follows the Sacrifice, in which the thoroughly worldly yet never trivial strains sung by the Baal-worshippers are so strikingly contrasted with Elijah's sublime Prayer, 'Lord God of Abraham,' the softer harmonies of 'Cast thy burthen upon the Lord,' and the Descent of the Fire, and consequent recognition of the true God—a tremendous Scene, which readies its climax in the destruction of the prophets of Baal, and needs all the resources, both choral and instrumental, that the Orchestra can afford, for its efficient representation. How these resources are used will be best understood by those who have not only heard, but studied the Oratorio, and endeavoured to interpret it in the spirit in which it was composed. But this is not the culminating point of the First Part. After the beautiful Alto Song, 'Woe unto them,' we again meet the Prophet on Mount Carmel, to watch with him for the coming rain, until the Orchestra actually shows us the 'little cloud' arising 'out of the sea, like a man's hand,' and the storm bursts over us in welcome torrents, bringing salvation to the famine-stricken people, who, intoxicated with wonder and delight, unite in the thrilling Chorus, 'Thanks be to God,' which is so placed as to bring out its strongest points to the best advantage, while it derives additional effect from the skill with which it is fitted into its important position, where it forms so fitting a complement to the ail-but despairing cry for mercy with which the Oratorio began.

The Second Part opens with the Soprano Solo, 'I am He that comforteth,' followed by the quite exceptional Chorus, 'Be not afraid,' in which so many different emotions are portrayed by the master hand which makes them all subservient to a common end. After this, we are brought face to face with the hateful Jezebel, who comes before us, in all her meanness, and deceit, and treachery, to incite the People against the Prophet whose prayers have saved them, and so to compass his destruction. The Recitative in which Obadiah counsels the Seer to fly from persecution is strangely beautiful, and introduces us to oneof the most impressive pictures that have ever been attempted in the whole range of descriptive Music—the hiding in the Wilderness; the comfort proffered by the Angels, in the heavenly Trio 'Lift thine eyes,' and the Chorus which follows it; the sadness which almost overcomes even Elijah's constancy; the calm peace of the beautiful Air, 'O rest in the Lord'; and then the awful history which tells how the Holy One of Israel, Who was not in the Wind, nor in the Earthquake, nor in the Fire, revealed Himself, at length, in the Still Small Voice. It is impossible to do adequate justice to the power with which this terrible event is depicted—the combination of technical skill and depth of feeling needed to render that possible, which, had either quality failed, or even existed in excess of the other, could only have resulted in irreverence too ghastly for contemplation. There can be no doubt that this is the finest part of the Oratorio: and in order to calm the excitement which it never fails to produce, it is absolutely necessary that the hearer should return for a moment to things of earth, and join in converse with the Sons of the Prophets before he is privileged to hear of the 'Chariot of Fire, and Horses of Fire,' in which the Man of God is taken to receive his reward. Then follows the Peroration including the Tenor Air 'Then shall the Righteous shine,' the Quartet, 'O come, every one that thirsteth,' and the splendid Chorus, 'And then shall your light break forth'—in which is summed up the lesson of the whole: the lesson of faith in the Future, founded on experience of the Past; the lesson of Hope, and Peace, and Joy, which the Composer has striven to impress upon us throughout, and th;it so clearly, that, if we have not learned it, we have learned nothing at all.

Had Mendelssohn lived to complete 'Christus,' it is quite possible that he might have produced a work more perfect than either 'S. Paul,' or 'Elijah.' But, we dare not grieve for the loss of it. For, surely, if it be true, as one of the most judicious of modern German critics has said, that the ultimate purpose of the Oratorio is 'neither to minister to our senses, nor to afford us what we ordinarily understand by the words pleasure and entertainment, but to elevate our souls, to purify our lives, and, so far as Art can conduce to such an end, to strengthen our Faith, and our Devotion towards ^[20]God,'—surely, if this be the legitimate aim of the great Art-form we are considering, no writer, antient or modern, has ever striven more earnestly to attain it than did Mendelssohn, and the efforts of very few indeed have been blessed with an equal measure of success.

As in our Article Opera, we have thought it desirable to leave the productions of living Composers to the judgment of a future generation of Critics. Had it not been for our firm belief in the justice as well as the expediency of this reservation, we would gladly have found space to discuss the merits and call attention to the designs of 'S. John the Baptist,' 'The Resurrection,' and 'Joseph'; of 'Eli,' and 'Naaman'; of 'S. Cecilia,' and 'S. Peter'; of 'The Light of the World'; of 'S. Polycarp' and 'Hagar'; of Hiller's 'Saul,' and 'Die Zerstörung Jerusalems,' of Rheinthaler's 'Jephtha'; and of many another familiar work, the interest of which lies less in its own individual significance than in the hope it gives that those who are now turning their talents to such excellent account, may, by their life-long earnestness, raise a fabric to which their successors may point with pride as well as pleasure. But since for the present this part of our subject must needs be left in abeyance, it remains only to speak of the beautiful Inspiration bequeathed to posterity by one who has so lately left us that it seems almost sacrilegious to examine his work in the spirit of analytical criticism. Yefc we should lose so much by neglecting to do so, that we have no choice but to proceed to the consideration of the single piece which forms the sum and substance of our Fifteenth Period.

Though, with the characteristic modesty which graced his every action, Sir Sterndale Bennett was content to call 'The Woman of Samaria' a Cantata, it is, to all intents and purposes, an Oratorio in one Part. To wish that it were longer would be a great mistake; for it is exactly what it was meant to be, and fulfils its purpose perfectly. The subject, indeed, would scarcely admit of greater extension. Yet, the work is none the less an Oratorio on that account; for, within the limits dictated by the Evangelist, the treatment of the Narrative is exhaustive. In several respects, the mode of this treatment differs from that adopted by some other great Composers. As might have been expected, we meet, from first to last, with no attempt at dramatic expression. The story is told, by the principal Singers, exactly in the words in which we find it narrated in the Gospel according to S. John; while, from time to time, Choruses, the words of which are selected from other portions of the Sacred Writings, are introduced, for the purpose of assisting the hearer in his meditation upon the lesson taught by the principal subject. In one instance only—'Now we believe'—does the Chorus assist in carrying on the narrative; and, even here, it shows no trace of dramatic expression. The tone of the work is contemplative and devotional throughout; for the most part, deeply and touchingly pathetic, yet never lacking energy, where energy is needed, though the sternest passages are tempered with the exquisite refinement of feeling which is inseparable from the Composer's style, for the simple reason that it was a part of himself. This is very remarkable in the opening Chorale 'Ye Christian People, now rejoice,' founded on the old German melody 'Es ist gewisslich an der ^[21]Zeit,' in which the bold syncopations in the Melody, and the powerful treatment of the Accompaniment in no wise diminish the effect produced by the perfect finish of the whole. It is to this all-pervading finish that the entire work owes one of its greatest charms. It exhibits itself everywhere, alike in conception and execution; in the reverence with which the Sacred Text is treated, and the perfection with which every bar of Accompaniment is rounded into form; in the minute attention bestowed upon the rhetorical enunciation of the words, and the care shown in the resolution of each passing dissonance—for, how could a man who was never heard to speak a hard word of any one introduce either a false accent, or a 'false relation'? As an instance of the reverence shown to the Text, we may call attention to the fact that Our Lord is never made to sing in His own proper person, but in that of the Evangelist. For example, in the Recitative, No. 10, the Bass Voice sings, 'He said unto her, Woman, believe me.' Bach, himself the most reverent of men, would have assigned the first clauses of the Verse to the Evangelist, and the last three words to Our Lord, speaking with His own voice. As it is only in the case of Our Lord Himself that this expedient is introduced, there can be no doubt of the spirit which prompted it: we may remark, indeed, that at the beginning of the very Recitative we have quoted, the Evangelist says, 'The Woman saith unto Him,' and the Woman herself then takes up the theme with, 'Sir, I perceive that Thou art a Prophet.' It is to this beautiful spirit of reverence that the Oratorio owes much of its devotional effect. There is no doubt that its production was a pure labour of love; and there is strong reason for believing that the Composer meditated upon it for many years before he began to put his ideas into systematic form. It was first produced at the Birmingham Festival in 1867. Yet as long ago as 1843 Sterndale Bennett showed the writer a Chorus for six Voices, treated antiphonally, which, after having played it through from a neatly-written Score, he said he intended to introduce into an Oratorio he was then meditating. After the lapse of so many years the writer cannot pretend to remember details, but he is quite certain that if not absolutely identical throughout with 'Therefore they shall come,' the Chorus to which he alludes was the first embodiment of the idea upon which that delightful Movement is founded.

When the 20th century dawns upon us, will those who are now in their childhood be able to speak of new Oratorios worthy to stand side by side with the immortal works to which we have directed the reader's attention? Will the revolutionary spirit which is now working such radical changes in the construction of the Opera affect the Oratorio also? Will the neglect of Counterpoint, the contempt for Fugue, the hatred of Polyphony, which so many young Musicians—and not young ones only—are rapidly learning to regard as signs of 'progress,' undermine the very foundations of Sacred Music to such an extent as to render the production of new and worthy works impossible? Is there genius enough in the world to strike out an entirely new conception, and learning enough to ensure its successful embodiment? These are difficult questions; but it is possible that the history of the past may suggest a not improbable answer to some of them. Twenty years must pass away before the new. century begins. Who thought of the 'Messiah' in 1731, or of 'S. Paul' in 1816? Certainly not the Composers of these great works; and if not the Composers, assuredly no one else. Why then may we not hope for the inauguration of a new and glorious Period before the year 1900! a Period that may shed as much lustre over the closing years of the nineteenth century as the Oratorios of Spohr and Mendelssohn did over its earlier half? There is nothing at all Utopian in the thought; and we do not believe that such a Period, should it ever dawn upon us, would be in the least influenced by any contemporary changes which might affect the Lyrio Drama. The advocates of such changes are not likely to forsake the fascinations of the Stage for the sake of the Oratorio; and the changes themselves could never be successfully adapted to it. The next question is a more serious one. If Counterpoint, and Fugue, and Polyphonic Imitation, be neglected, the tone of Sacred Music must, of necessity, deteriorate. Whatever it may be the fashion to think now, the men who wrote the greatest Oratorios we possess were the greatest Masters of Fugue that ever lived, and thought it no sign of pedantry to show their mastery over that most difficult Art in their grandest Choruses. This cannot possibly have been the result of a mere meaningless coincidence. Let those who think it was, compare the productions of the Sixth, Seventh, and Fourteenth Periods with those of the Ninth; or even the works of Spohr with those of Sacchini. If there be any moral at all in the history we have written, it is, that, without contrapuntal skill, no really great Sacred Music can ever be produced. If it be conceded that the Sublime is the highest quality in Art, we may say with certainty, that the Sublime in Art can never be reached by the unlearned. But learning alone is not enough—there must be genius also; and this brings us to our last question, Is there original genius enough in the world to lead to great things in the Future? We cannot deny, that, since 'S. Paul' and 'Elijah' saw the light, there has been a manifest tendency, both in this country, and in Germany, to follow Mendelssohn's lead more closely than is consistent with true originality of thought. This tendency ought to be corrected—and must be, if any real work is to be done. It would be better far to go back to Bach, at once: for it was upon Bach's principles that Mendelssohn founded his practice, as we have already said, though he never adopted Bach's style. It is imitation of style that constitutes plagiarism, not acceptance of abstract doctrines. The man who can condescend to imitate a style is incapable of producing a great Oratorio, and had much better not attempt to produce one at all, for, in this, the highest walk of Art, mediocrity is intolerable. It is perhaps fortunate that only few Composers ever get the chance of hearing an Oratorio, even after they have composed it. Let it not be for a moment supposed that there is any cruelty in saying so. The Oratorio is to the Musician the exact analogy of what the Cathedral is to the Architect—the highest Artform to the construction of which he can aspire. Very few Architects get the chance of building a Cathedral. Certainly such a work is never entrusted to any one who has not already given abundant proof of his talent and experience. Think what our towns would be, were builders of villas permitted to set up a Cathedral at the corner of every street! It is the same with Oratorios. We do not want many: but those we have must be of no doubtful excellence. We may even go farther, and say, that, for the present, we have plenty to go on with. But, should a Master arise capable of stepping into that highest place which only a very very few have occupied before him, we may be sure that he, at least, will find no difficulty in bringing his work to the light. It is impossible that works of the highest class should remain hidden from want of opportunity to bring them forward; and, so far as the Oratorio is concerned, it is for works of the highest class only that the field remains open.

[ W. S. R. ]

1. Epistulæ ad diversos, lib. iv.
2. Stefano Landi, in his Preface to 'S. Alessio' (Roma 1634), tells us that the Ritornelll are written for Violins, in three parts; but that a Bass is often added to them, moving purposely in Fifths or Octaves with one of the parts, for the sake of the beauty of the effect!
3. Handel has been accused of borrowing 'Hear Jacob's God,' in 'Samson,' from the final Chorus of this beautiful little Oratorio. With equal show of reason might we accuse Beethoven of having copied his Sonata, 'Nicht zu geschwind' from the 'Harmonious Blacksmith,' on the ground that both are in the key of E major.
4. Originally a Volkslied, beginning 'Mein G'müth ist mir verwirret.'
5. We have omitted the introductory and concluding symphonies from want of space.
6. We believe these dates to be correct. In Arnold's edition 'Israel in Ægypt' is said to have been composed in 1738, and 'Saul' in 1740. The former work really was composed in 1738, though not performed until the following year. The mistake with regard to 'Saul' probably arises from the fact that it was again performed in 1740 by the Academy of Antient Musick. Throughout this Article we have preferred giving the date of the first performance to that of the completion of the composition.
7. The story that the 'Messiah' was first performed in London in 1741, that it was very coldly received, and that it was not until after Handel's return from Ireland that it met with worthy recognition from an English audience, has been shown to be fabulous, notwithstanding its repetition by Sir J. Hawkins. It rests chiefly on the authority of the Rev. John Mainwaring. who wrote in 1760, nearly twenty years after the first performance of the work. (Burney, vol. iv. pp. 661, 662.)
8. Then is no reason to doubt the veracity of the well-known tradition that Handel was found bathed in tears when writing this exquisitely beautiful movement.
9. Mendelssohn had a great affection for this Oratorio. In the year 1845, while the writer was describing to him, at Frankfort, a performance of it which he had lately heard in Exeter Hall, he suddenly said, 'Tell me, how did they give out this?' and sang the subject of 'Live, live for ever, pious David's son,' as if he longed to direct it in full orchestra, then and there.
10. The date given by Barney ('Commemoration of Handel,' p. 15) is Good Friday, April 13. He gives it on the authority of Dr. Warren, who attended Handel during his last illness, and whose testimony as to the fact that his patient died 'before midnight on the 13th,' he quotes as 'indisputable.' [See this Dict i. 651.]
11. See p. 515 in the present volume.
12. 'Die Pilgrimme auf Golgotha' (Schwickert, Leipzig).
13. It must not however be forgotten that Handel first struck out this grand idea, though with different details, in 'O first-created beam.'
14. The word 'Period' is here used, as in our article Opera, rather for the purpose of indicating a definite style than a chronological epoch. Thus, several of the composers whose names we are about to mention in our Eleventh Period died before Haydn, while others survived him by more than a quarter of a century; but in no case had their works the slighest affinity with his, though they all bore the strongest possible class resemblance to each other. [See footnote, p. 505b of the present volume.]
15. One of Madame Malibran's greatest successes was achieved in an Air from the 'Sagrifizio.'
16. See vol. i, p. 169.
17. Literally translated, 'The Last Judgment.' This work, however, as will be presently seen, has no connection with the Oratorio known by that name in England.
18. Literally, 'The Saviour's last hours,' though that title has never been applied to it in this country.
19. See Passion Music
20. C. H. Bitter, 'Beiträge zur Geschichte des Oratoriums,' p. 46. (Berlin 1872.)
21. Formerly sung to 'Nun freut euch lieben Christen G'mein.'