Apollo’s Fire

Messiah

NOTES ON THE PROGRAM

A Theatrical-Spiritual Journey

by Jeannette Sorrell

Behold, I tell you a mystery;

We shall not all sleep,

But we shall all be chang’d.

Handel’s Messiah, Part the Third; (Corinthians 15:51)

Each time I return to Handel’s Messiah, I find myself marveling at the boldness of the experiment that Handel and his librettist Charles Jennens undertook in 1741. They proclaimed their work “A New Sacred Oratorio,” and Jennens provided Handel with a unique and unprecedented libretto on which to base his music. At the same time, he pushed the limits of the oratorio genre in a new and challenging direction.

An oratorio is a dramatic work – an opera on a Biblical subject – performed without sets or costumes, but performed in opera houses or concert halls by theatrically trained singer-actors. All of Handel’s oratorios, including Messiah, were attended by opera goers, who bought tickets and expected theatrical, though Biblically inspired, entertainment. In fact, Handel's oratorios were written only to replace operas during Lent when opera was not allowed. Though Handel primarily used Messiah as a charity fundraiser – “for the Relief of the Prisoners in the several Gaols, and for the support of Mercer’s Hospital in Stephen’s Street,” as the 1742 première was advertised – he never offered it as part of a church service. The première took place at the Musick Hall in Fishamble Street in Dublin, and the London première the following year was held at Covent Garden.

Unlike other oratorios though, the Messiah libretto lacks direct use of character roles. The birth, life, crucifixion, and resurrection of Christ are not recounted in a direct manner, as in the Passion-Oratorios of J.S. Bach. The characters of the story – Jesus, Pilate, etc. – are not represented by any of the soloists. In fact, the libretto cloaks its dramatic storytelling in a spiritual meditative context of Old Testament prophecy and New Testament contemplation. Is Messiah an oratorio? Is it a theatrical entertainment, as well as a spiritual journey?

This question troubled the public when Handel brought the work home to London. The 1743 London première was greeted by an anonymous letter that appeared in the Universal Spectator: “An Oratorio either is an Act of Religion, or it is not; if it is, I ask if the Playhouse is a fit Temple to perform it in, or a Company of Players fit Ministers of God’s Word…. if it is not perform’d as an Act of Religion, but for Diversion and Amusement only… what a Prophanation of God’s name and Word is this, to make so light use of them?”

Of course, Messiah is both an “act of religion” and a “diversion.” That unique duality, which caused such criticism in Handel’s lifetime, is in my view the reason why it continues to speak to so many people today. Jennens set out not to tell a story, but to draw his listeners through contemplation of this multi-layered ancient tale. We are made to reflect not just on the events of Jesus’ life, but on Christ’s impact on human experience – both before and after his time on earth. Thus the Oratorio begins with the Old Testament prophet Isaiah, crying in the wilderness: “Comfort ye, my people, says your God. Cry to her that her warfare is ended, and her iniquity is pardoned. Prepare the way of the Lord.” Here we have a message on two levels: on a historical level, the oppressed Israelites, captive in Babylon, are told that comfort is on the way, and their Messiah is coming; and on a universal level, all humanity, oppressed by the weight of sin, is informed that salvation is on the way – for the Messiah’s coming will free us from the bonds of sin.

Handel responded to the challenge of this unique libretto with the genius that perhaps can strike a great composer only at a critical moment of his life. Handel himself was oppressed and in need of comfort. From the first notes of the overture (Sinfony), Handel took up Jennens’ challenge. The overture, darkly scored in E minor, is full of distressed and angular intervals – hardly music for a Christmas celebration. But Messiah is not a Christmas celebration, as it has become in North America. It is a Judeo-Christian journey. The dark overture sets the stage for Isaiah, in the form of a tenor, who launches the drama with his plaintive cries in the wilderness.

And so we proceed through Part the First, passing obliquely through the shepherds in the fields – recognizable to any 18th-century listener by the standard pastorale music (Pifa) that was always used to depict shepherds. And we rejoice with the angels over Bethlehem – their entrance signaled by the first appearance of the trumpets, whom Handel reserves for only a few climactic moments in the course of the oratorio.

In Part the Second we contemplate the trial, crucifixion and resurrection of Christ primarily through the ancient prophetic words of Isaiah and the Psalms – words put to papyrus 800 years before the birth of Christ. In contrast with J.S. Bach’s very direct depiction of the mockery and torture of Jesus at the hands of the unruly mob, Handel and Jennens draw us to the fact that all of this was foreseen centuries earlier by the Psalmist: “All they that see him laugh him to scorn.”

The moment of Christ’s ascension is a sweet and understated aria, “Thou art gone up on high,” which Handel scores for only violin(s) and continuo. The lack of full orchestration seems to suggest a highly personal and intimate contemplation of this unique event in human history. Handel did not indicate “violins” (plural), as this aria is usually performed today – though he did not specifically indicate “solo” either. We have chosen to perform it with solo violin, to intensify the intimacy of the moment.

In the last few movements of Part the Second, Jennens uses the voice of the ancient Psalmist to convey the chaos and wars that followed in the centuries after Christ. Presumably the texts of “Why do the nations rage so furiously together” and “Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron” are intended to draw our thoughts to the Crusades of the Middle Ages and the violent conflicts surrounding the Protestant Reformation in Europe. (One could take this farther to reflect upon today’s tensions between the Muslim and the Judeo-Christian worlds.) Vanquishing all enemies real and potential with the splendid Hallelujah chorus, Handel and Jennens proclaim God’s omnipotence as ruler over all.

Part the Third is a contemplation on the afterlife – the victory over death that is made possible through Christ’s sacrifice. A lone soprano launches this journey, declaring, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” Her quiet spiritual ecstasy relays that all of us will live again, since Christ did: “And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God. For now is Christ risen.” Jennens and Handel build from this quiet and personal statement of faith to something much more universal: “The trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised.” Now we see all humanity victorious over death, and Handel brings out the cherished trumpet to celebrate the universal triumph. It is with words from Revelation – the final book of the New Testament – that Jennens paints a picture of the Messiah as the sacrificial lamb of God, now seated on the throne in glory and honor. Thus our journey has taken us from Isaiah’s prophecies in 800 B.C., through the life of Christ, the Middle Ages and the Protestant Reformation, to a vision of the world to come. That is quite a distance. It is surprising that Handel managed to traverse it in under three hours. No wonder Messiah seems short. Each time that we perform it, we know that in some way, as Handel said, we shall all be chang’d.

SIDEBAR

Handel’s MESSIAH – Then and Now

1741. George Frideric Handel was 56 years old, and his career appeared to be finished. The fickle English public, which had lapped up his operas so eagerly for so long, had suddenly – like sheep – gone astray. Their distaste for Handel reached a frenzy of hostility: Handel hate-poems appeared in the newspapers, his opera posters were torn down as soon as they were put up, and the doors of Covent Garden were closed to him.

Despised and rejected, Handel seems to have withdrawn into seclusion. His librettist, Charles Jennens, wrote, “Handel says that he will do nothing next winter, but I hope I shall persuade him to set another Scripture collection I have made for him. I hope he will lay out his whole Genius and Skill upon it, that the composition may excel all his former compositions, as the Subject excels every other subject. The subject is Messiah…”

Handel began composing Messiah on 22 August. On 6 September he completed the Hallelujah chorus, of which he reportedly said, “I did think I did see all heaven before me and the great God himself.” The entire oratorio was completed on 14 September – a total of 24 days’ work. One might say that it takes a typical conductor longer to learn Messiah than it took Handel to write it.

Early in November, Handel set sail for Ireland at the invitation of the Duke of Devonshire, who wanted to beautify Dublin with Handel’s music for a season. Thus Messiah made its debut not in London, Handel’s home, but in Ireland, a land that treated him with greater courtesy.

Handel chose the singers himself, both in Dublin and later in London. His choices shed light on the type of performance he envisioned. Many of them were known better for their acting skill than for their voices. The mezzo-soprano Susanna Cibber was a Shakespearean tragedienne who, according to contemporary reports, had “a mere thread of a voice,” but held stunning emotional power over her audience. After her performance of “He was despised,” the Reverend Dr. Delaney rose up in the audience and exclaimed, “Woman, for this thy sins be forgiven thee!” Mrs. Cibber was not chosen simply for lack of other options. Charles Burney wrote that “Handel was very fond of Mrs. Cibber, whose voice and manners had softened his severity for her want of musical knowledge.”

In the première performance and the years that followed, Handel constantly adapted Messiah to feature whichever singers happened to be available that year. Thus there is no definitive version of Messiah, no definitive number and type of soloists, and no definitive disposition of the arias amongst the soloists.

Not once was Messiah performed exactly as Handel had written it in 1741. Even for the première, he made changes to accommodate his chosen cast: he wrote a new alto duet version of “How beautiful are the feet,” apparently to feature the two local countertenor soloists (one of whom was featured in “O thou that tellest” and the other in the duet “O death, where is thy sting?”). Thus, along with Mrs. Cibber, there were three alto soloists for the première. In another example, the 1754 version which Handel bequeathed to the Foundling Hospital is scored for five soloists (this time two sopranos), with indication that the soloists sing in the chorus.

Handel’s chorus usually numbered in the mid-twenties. His orchestra was only strings for the Dublin première, but he added winds for the Foundling Hospital performances in the 1750s. It is therefore inappropriate to talk about a “correct” orchestration, or a “correct” number of soloists for Messiah. Of the many different combinations Handel used, the least typical is the SATB quartet and large chorus that modern audiences tend to expect.

Of course, the aesthetic of “bigger is better” has colored our impression of Messiah for the last 200 years, as is evidenced by comments gathered from the 19th-century press by Professor Howard Smither: “Whoever heard of a choir too large for Handel? Not though nations should be formed into choirs, would the true votary of Handel cry ‘Hold, enough!’” (Musical Examiner, 1843). In 1859, Messiah was performed with a chorus of 2,765 and an orchestra of 460.

In 2024, however, many of us are indeed crying, “Hold, enough!” The coldness and anonymity of the high-tech age have made their mark on our society, leaving many of us with a longing for intimacy and individual personality.

The fact that Apollo’s Fire performs Messiah with intimate forces on period instruments is not what matters. But if we can move you to tears as Susanna Cibber did – if we can make you see “all Heaven before you, and the great God himself ” – then we will have achieved real authenticity. – JS