"In justification of so bold a step as the introduction of a new number, it is interesting to point out that the composer felt the Woman of Samaria ought to sing a song of conversion in the portion of the cantata in which the new air is placed. It is clear from the original preface[2] that he thought of her as an impulsive woman who would naturally be carried from worldliness into the opposite extreme of religious devotion."

The introduction of the air also gives more importance to the soprano part and relieves the succession of choral movements in the close of the work. The remaining numbers are the beautiful chorale, "Abide with me, fast falls the Eventide;" the chorus, "Now we believe," one of the most finished in the whole work; a short tenor solo ("His Salvation is nigh them that fear Him"),—the only one in the oratorio for that voice; the chorus, "I will call upon the Lord;" and the final imposing fugue, "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel." The last number is a fitting close to a work which is not only highly descriptive of its subject throughout, but also full of feeling and devotional reverence.

[2] "With regard to the Woman of Samaria herself, it will be plainly seen that the composer has treated her as a secular and worldly character, though not without indications here and there of that strong intuitive religious feeling which has never been denied to her. This feeling is especially shown when she says: 'I know that Messias cometh; when He is come He will tell us all things.' Also, towards the end of the narrative, where she passionately exclaims to the Samaritans: 'Come, see a man who told me all the things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?'"—Original Preface.



BERLIOZ.

Hector Berlioz, one of the most renowned of modern French composers, and an acute critic and skilful conductor as well, was born, Dec. 11, 1803, at La Cote St. Andre, in France. His father was a physician, and intended him for the same profession. He reluctantly went to Paris and began the study of medicine; but music became his engrossing passion, and medicine was abandoned. He entered the Conservatory as a pupil of Lesueur, and soon showed himself superior to all his masters, except Cherubini,—which aroused a strong opposition to him and his compositions. It was only after repeated trials that he took the first prize, with his cantata, "Sardanapale," which entitled him to go to Italy for three years. On his return to Paris he encountered renewed antipathy. His music was not well received, and he was obliged to support himself by conducting at concerts and writing articles for the press. As a final resort he organized a concert tour through Germany and Russia, the details of which are contained in his extremely interesting Autobiography. At these concerts his own music was the staple of the programmes, and it met with great success, though not always played by the best of orchestras, and not always well by the best, as his own testimony shows; for his compositions are very exacting, and call for every resource known to the modern orchestra. The Germans were quick in appreciating his music, but it was not until after his death that his ability was conceded in France. In 1839 he was appointed librarian of the Conservatory, and in 1856 was made a member of the French Academy. These were the only honors he received, though he long sought to obtain a professorship in the Conservatory. A romantic but sad incident in his life was his violent passion for Miss Smithson, an Irish actress, whom he saw upon the Paris stage in the role of Ophelia, at a time when Victor Hugo had revived an admiration for Shakspeare among the French. He married her, but did not live with her long, owing to her bad temper and ungovernable jealousy; though after the separation he honorably contributed to her support out of the pittance he was earning. Among his great works are the opera, "Benvenuto Cellini;" the symphony with chorus, "Romeo and Juliet;" "Beatrice and Benedict;" "Les Troyens," the text from Virgil's "AEneid;" the symphony, "Harold in Italy;" the symphony, "Funebre et Triomphale;" the "Damnation of Faust;" a double chorused "Te Deum;" the "Symphony Fantastique;" the "Requiem;" and the sacred trilogy, "L'Enfance du Christ." Berlioz stands among all other composers as the foremost representative of "programme music," and has left explicit and very detailed explanations of the meaning of his works, so that the hearer may listen intelligently by seeing the external objects his music is intended to picture. In the knowledge of individual instruments and the grouping of them for effect, in warmth of imagination and brilliancy of color, and in his daring combinations and fantastic moods, which are sometimes carried to the very verge of eccentricity, he is a colossus among modern musicians. He died in Paris, March 8, 1869.



The Requiem.

Ferdinand Hiller writes in his "Kuenstlerleben:" "Hector Berlioz does not belong to our musical solar system; he does not belong to the planets, neither to the large nor to the small. He was a comet, shining far, somewhat eerie to look at, soon again disappearing; but his appearance will remain unforgotten." The Requiem ("Messe des Morts") exemplifies Hiller's words. It is colossal, phenomenal, and altogether unique. It is not sacred, for it never came from the heart. It is not solemn, though it is a drama of death. It is a combination of the picturesque, fantastic, and sublime, in a tone-poem dedicated to the dead.

In 1836 Berlioz was requested by M. de Gasparin, Minister of the Interior, to write a requiem commemorating the victims of the July Revolution; but the work was not given to the public until 1837, when it was sung at the Invalides in memory of General Damremont and the soldiers killed at the siege of Constantina. It was subsequently asserted by Berlioz that Cherubini had conspired with others in the Conservatory to prevent its performance and to secure that of his own, by virtue of the precedence which his position gave him. The charge, however, must have been a mere fancy on his part, as he had already written a letter to Cherubini, saying:—

"I am deeply touched by the noble abnegation which leads you to refuse your admirable Requiem for the ceremony of the Invalides. Be convinced of my heartiest gratitude."

The work embraced ten numbers: I. Requiem and Kyrie ("Requiem aeternam dona eis"); II., III., IV., V., and VI., including different motives taken from the hymn, "Dies Irae;" VII. "Offertorium;" VIII. "Hostias et Preces;" IX. "Sanctus;" X. "Agnus Dei." It will be observed that the composer has not followed the formal sequences of the Mass, and that he has not only omitted some of the parts, but has also frequently taken license with those which he uses. This may be accounted for in two ways. First, he was not of a religious nature. Hiller, in the work already quoted, says of him:

"Of his Catholic education every trace had disappeared. Doubts of all sorts had possession of him, and the contempt of what he called 'prejudice' bordered on the monstrous. Berlioz believed neither in a God nor in Bach."

Second, it is evident from the construction of the work throughout that it was his purpose simply to give free rein to his fancy and to express, even at the risk of being theatrical, the emotions of sublimity, terror, and awe called up by the associations of the subject. This he could not have done with a free hand had he been bound down to the set forms of the Mass.

After a brief but majestic instrumental introduction, the voices enter upon the "Requiem,"—a beautiful and solemn strain. The movement is built upon three melodies set to the words, "Requiem aeternam," "Tu decet Hymnus," and the "Kyrie," the accompaniment of which is very descriptive and characteristic. The "Kyrie" is specially impressive, the chant of the sopranos being answered by the tenors and basses in unison, and the whole closing with a dirge-like movement by the orchestra.

The "Dies Irae" is the most spirited as well as impressive number of the work. It is intensely dramatic in its effects, indeed it might be called theatrical. Berlioz seems to have fairly exhausted the resources of instruments to produce the feeling of awful sublimity and overwhelming power, even to the verge of the most daring eccentricity and, as one prominent critic expressed it, "terrible cataclysms." The first part of the "Dies Irae" will always be remarkable for the orchestral arrangement. After the climax of the motive, "Quantus tremor est futurus," there is a pause which is significant by its very silence; it is the hush before the storm. Suddenly from either angle of the stage or hall, in addition to the principal orchestra in front, four smaller bands of trombones, trumpets, and tubas crash in with overwhelming power in the announcement of the terrors of the day of judgment. The effect is like that of peal upon peal of thunder. At its culmination the bass voices enter in unison upon the words, "Tuba mirum," in the midst of another orchestral storm, which is still further heightened by an unusual number of kettledrums. From the beginning to the close, this part of the "Dies Irae" is simply cyclopean; words cannot describe its overwhelming power. It is a relief when the storm has passed over, and we come to the next verse ("Quid sum miser"), for the basses and tenors, though mostly for the first tenors. It is a breathing spell of quiet delight. It is given in the softest of tone, and is marked in the score to be sung with "an expression of humility and awe." It leads to the andante number ("Rex tremendae majestatis"), which is sung fortissimo throughout, and accompanied with another tremendous outburst of harmonious thunder in crashing chords, which continues up to the last eight bars, when the voices drop suddenly from the furious fortissimo to an almost inaudible pianissimo on the words "Salve me." The next verse ("Quaerens me") is an unaccompanied six-part chorus in imitative style, of very close harmony. The "Dies Irae" ends with the "Lachrymosa," the longest and most interesting number in the work. It is thoroughly melodic, and is peculiarly strengthened by a pathetic and sentimental accompaniment, which, taken in connection with the choral part against which it is set, presents an almost inexhaustible variety of rhythms and an originality of technical effects which are astonishing. Its general character is broad and solemn, and it closes with a return to the "Dies Irae," with full chorus and all the orchestras. This finishes the "Dies Irae" section of the work.

The next number is the "Offertorium," in which the voices are limited to a simple phrase of two notes, A alternating with B flat, which is never varied throughout the somewhat long movement. It never becomes monotonous, however, so rich and varied is the instrumentation. The "Hostias et Preces,"—sustained by the tenors and basses, a very solemn and majestic movement,—displays another of Berlioz's eccentricities, the accompaniment at the close of the first phrase being furnished by three flutes and eight tenor trombones, which one enemy of the composer says represents the distance from the sublime to the ridiculous. The "Sanctus," a tenor solo with responses by the sopranos and altos, is full of poetical, almost sensuous beauty, and is the most popular number in the work. It closes with a fugue on the words "Hosanna in Excelsis." The final number is the "Agnus Dei," a chorus for male voices, in which the composer once more employs the peculiar combination of flutes and tenor trombones. In this number he also returns to the music of the opening number, "Requiem aeternam," and closes it with an "Amen" softly dying away. Thus ends the Requiem,—a work which will always be the subject of critical dispute, owing to its numerous innovations on existing musical forms and the daring manner in which the composer has treated it.

The following sketch of the first performance of the Requiem, taken from Berlioz's Autobiography, will be found interesting in this connection. It is necessary to preface it with the statement that the director of the Beaux-Arts had insisted that Habeneck should conduct the work. As Berlioz had quarrelled with the old conductor, and had not been on speaking terms with him for three years, he at first refused; but subsequently consented, on condition that he should conduct at one full rehearsal. Berlioz says:—

"The day of the performance arrived in the Church of the Invalides, before all the princes, peers, and deputies, the French press, the correspondents of foreign papers, and an immense crowd. It was absolutely essential for me to have a great success; a moderate one would have been fatal, and a failure would have annihilated me altogether.

"Now, listen attentively.

"The various groups of instruments in the orchestra were tolerably widely separated, especially the four brass bands introduced in the 'Tuba mirum,' each of which occupied a corner of the entire orchestra. There is no pause between the 'Dies Irae' and 'Tuba mirum,' but the pace of the latter movement is reduced to half what it was before. At this point the whole of the brass enters, first altogether, and then in passages, answering and interrupting, each a third higher than the last. It is obvious that it is of the greatest importance that the four beats of the new tempo should be distinctly marked, or else the terrible explosion which I had so carefully prepared, with combinations and proportions never attempted before or since, and which, rightly performed, gives such a picture of the Last Judgment as I believe is destined to live, would be a mere enormous and hideous confusion.

"With my habitual mistrust, I had stationed myself behind Habeneck, and, turning my back on him, overlooked the group of kettledrums, which he could not see, when the moment approached for them to take part in the general melee. There are perhaps one thousand bars in my Requiem. Precisely in that of which I have just been speaking, when the movement is retarded and the wind instruments burst in with their terrible flourish of trumpets; in fact, just in the one bar where the conductor's motion is absolutely indispensable,—Habeneck puts down his baton, quietly takes out his snuffbox, and proceeds to take a pinch of snuff. I always had my eye in his direction, and instantly turned rapidly on one heel, and, springing before him, I stretched out my arm and marked the four great beats of the new movement. The orchestras followed me each in order. I conducted the piece to the end, and the effect which I had longed for was produced. When, at the last words of the chorus, Habeneck saw that the 'Tuba Mirum' was saved, he said: 'What a cold perspiration I have been in! Without you we should have been lost.' 'Yes, I know,' I answered, looking fixedly at him. I did not add another word.... Had he done it on purpose?... Could it be possible that this man had dared to join my enemy, the director, and Cherubini's friends, in plotting and attempting such rascality? I don't wish to believe it ... but I cannot doubt it. God forgive me if I am doing the man injustice!

"The success of the 'Requiem' was complete, in spite of all the conspiracies—cowardly, atrocious, officious, and official—which would fain have hindered it."



BRAHMS.

Johannes Brahms, one of the most eminent of living German composers, was born at Hamburg, May 7, 1833. His father was a double-bass player in the orchestra in that city, and devoted his son at a very early age to his own profession. His first piano teacher was Cossell; but to Eduard Marxsen, the Royal Music Director, he owes his real success as a composer. Brahms remained in Hamburg until 1853, when he went upon a concert-tour with Remenyi, the eccentric and somewhat sensational Hungarian, who has been a familiar figure upon the American concert-stage. He remained with him, however, but a very short time, for in October of that year they parted company. Brahms had attracted the notice of Liszt and Joachim; and it may have been through their advice that the musical partnership was dissolved. In any event, soon after leaving Remenyi he went to Duesseldorf and visited Schumann. It was the latter who announced him to the world in such strong words as these:—

"In following with the greatest interest the paths of these elect [Joachim, Naumann, Norman, Bargiel, Kirchner, Schaeffer, Dietrich, and Wilsing], I thought that after such forerunners there would, and must at last, all on a sudden appear one whose mission it would be to utter the highest expression of his time in an ideal manner,—one who would attain mastery, not by degrees, but, like Minerva, would at once spring completely armed from the head of Cronion.... May the highest genius give him strength for that of which there is hope, as in him dwells also another genius, that of modesty! We bid him welcome as a strong champion."

The next year (1854) appeared his first works,—three sonatas, a trio, scherzo for piano, and three books of songs. After a visit to Liszt at Weimar, he settled down as chorus-conductor and music-teacher at the court of Lippe-Detmold, where he remained a few years. During this period he devoted himself assiduously to composition. After leaving Detmold, he successively resided in Hamburg, Zuerich, and Baden-Baden, though most of his time has been spent in Vienna, where he has directed the Singakademie and the concerts of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde. Schumann's prophecy has been made good; Brahms is to-day one of the most eminent of living musicians. Among his most famous compositions are a Funeral Hymn for chorus and wind-band; the "German Requiem;" "Triumphlied," for double-chorus and orchestra; "Schicksallied," for chorus and orchestra; five symphonies; variations on a theme of Haydn, for orchestra; the Tragic and Academic overtures; and several trios, quartets, quintets, sextets, concertos, and sonatas.



The German Requiem.

The "German Requiem," so called, is not a requiem in its sentiment, nor in any sense a religious service. The poem is full of consolation for the mourner, of assurances of joy hereafter, of warnings against the pomps and vanities of the world, and closes with the victory of the saints over death and the grave. It might with more propriety be called "a sacred cantata." The work has seven numbers,—two baritone solos and chorus, soprano solo and chorus, and four separate choruses. It was first performed at Bremen on Good Friday, 1868, and in 1873 was first heard in England. It was also given at the Cincinnati festival of 1884, under Mr. Thomas's direction.

The opening chorus ("Blessed are they that go mourning") is beautifully written, and is particularly noticeable for the richness of its accompaniment. In the Funeral March, which follows, a very graphic resemblance to the measured tread of the cortege is accomplished by the use of triple time. In this, as well as in numerous other instances, the composer cuts loose from ordinary methods, and in pure classical form and by the use of legitimate musical processes achieves what others seek to effect by sensuous or purely imitative music. The third number ("Lord, make me to know the Measure of my Days on Earth") opens with a baritone solo, followed by two choral fugues, which are solidly constructed, though they are extremely difficult to sing, and call for a chorus of unusual discipline and intelligence. The fourth, for chorus ("How lovely is Thy Dwelling-place, O Lord of Hosts"), is in striking contrast with its predecessor, being a slow movement, and very melodious in style. The fifth ("Ye now are sorrowful, grieve not"), for soprano solo and chorus, shows the composer's unusual power as a song-writer, as well as his melodious attractiveness when melody answers his purpose. In the next number, set for chorus with baritone solo responses ("Here on Earth we have no continuing Place, we seek now a heavenly one"), the character of the music changes again, and the resurrection of the dead is pictured in fugal passages of tremendous power and difficulty. After the storm comes the calm again in the finale ("Blessed are the Faithful who in the Lord are sleeping"), which contains a reminiscence of the opening number, and closes the work in a gentle, but deeply serious strain. It was the "German Requiem" which first made Brahms famous; it confirmed all that Schumann had said of him. Its great difficulties require an extraordinary chorus and orchestra; but when these can be had, the power and beauty of the work will always be conceded.



COSTA.

Michael Costa, the eminent conductor and composer, was born at Naples, Feb. 4, 1810. Having displayed musical aptitude at a very early age, he was placed in the Royal Academy of Music. Before his twenty-first year he had composed several works, among them a mass for four voices, a "Dixit Dominus," three symphonies, an oratorio, "La Passione," the ballet music to "Kenilworth," and the operas, "Il Delitto punito," "Il Sospetto funesto," "Il carcere d' Ildegonda," and "Malvina,"—the last for the San Carlo at Naples. In 1829 he was sent to England by his master Zingarelli to conduct one of the latter's compositions at Birmingham; and that country thereafter became his home. The next year he was engaged at the King's Theatre, now known as Her Majesty's, as piano-master, and two years later became the musical director. He was the first to bring the band to its proper place, though he had to make a hard fight against the ballet, which at that time threatened to absorb both singers and orchestra, and to sweep the musical drama from the stage. He succeeded, however, and did much also to improve the composition of the orchestra. While holding this position he wrote the ballets, "Une heure a Naples" and "Sir Huon" for Taglioni, and "Alma" for Cerito, the beautiful quartet, "Ecco quel fiero istante," and the operas "Malek Adhel" for Paris in 1837, and "Don Carlos" for London in 1844. He remained at Her Majesty's Theatre for fifteen years, during which time he did a great work for singers and band, and reduced the ballet to its proper rank. In 1846 he left his position and went to the new Italian opera at Covent Garden, where he remained for a quarter of a century, absolute in his musical supremacy and free to deal with all works as he pleased, among them those of Meyerbeer, at that time the most prominent composer in the operatic world; for Wagner as yet was scarcely known. It is to Costa that Meyerbeer owes his English reputation. In the same year (1846) he took the direction of the Philharmonic orchestra, and two years later that of the Sacred Harmonic Society, which he held until his death, and as conductor of which he also directed the Handel festivals. In 1849 he was engaged for the Birmingham festivals, and also conducted them until his death. In 1854 he resigned his position with the Philharmonic, and his successor, for a brief time only, was Richard Wagner. His oratorio, "Eli," was composed for the Birmingham Festival of 1855, and his second oratorio, "Naaman," for the same festival in 1864. In 1869 he was knighted, and shortly afterwards, when his "Eli" was produced at Stuttgart, it won for him the royal order of Frederick from the King of Wuertemberg. He also had decorations from the sovereigns of Germany, Turkey, Italy, and the Netherlands, in recognition of his musical accomplishments. In 1871 he returned again to Her Majesty's Opera in the capacity of "director of the music, composer, and conductor;" but a few years ago he again dissolved his connection with it, and devoted himself entirely to the private management and public direction of the Sacred Harmonic Society, with which he was identified for over thirty years. He died in April, 1884.



Eli.

The oratorio of "Eli," the text taken from the first book of Samuel, and adapted by William Bartholomew, was first performed at the Birmingham Festival, Aug. 29, 1855, under Costa's own direction, with Mesdames Viardot and Novello and Messrs. Sims Reeves and Carl Formes in the principal parts. The characters are Eli, Elkanah, Hannah, Samuel, the Man of God, Saph the Philistine warrior, Hophni and Phinehas the sons of Eli, and the Priests and Philistines as chorus. The story is not very consistent in its outlines, and is fragmentary withal, the narrative of the child Samuel being the central theme, around which are grouped the tribulations of Elkanah and Hannah, the service of Eli the priest, the revels of his profligate sons, and the martial deeds of the Philistines.

The overture opens with a pianissimo prelude for organ in chorale form, followed by an orchestral fugue well worked up, but very quiet in character. Indeed, the whole overture is mostly pianissimo. In striking contrast follows the opening recitative for bass ("Blow ye the Trumpet"), which is the signal for those instruments, and introduces the first chorus ("Let us go to pray before the Lord"), beginning with a soft staccato which gradually works up to a jubilant climax on the words "Make a joyful Noise." A tenor solo for Elkanah is interwoven with the chorus, which closes with broad, flowing harmony. The next number, a bass air with chorus ("Let the People praise Thee"), is somewhat peculiar in its construction. It begins with the air, which is slow and tender, and at the close the chorus takes it in canon form. Then Eli intones benedictions in chorale style, and the chorus responds with "Amens" in full harmony at the end of each, making a very impressive effect. It is followed by a very elaborate chorus ("Blessed be the Lord"), closing with a fugue on the word "Amen," which is very clear and well worked up. The next number is the sorrowful prayer of the barren and grieving Hannah ("Turn Thee unto me"), which is very expressive in its mournful supplication, and splendidly contrasted with her joyous song after the birth of Samuel, of which mention will be made in its proper connection. Eli rebukes her, and a dialogue ensues, interrupted by the tender chorus, "The Lord is good." The dialogue form is again renewed, this time by Elkanah and Hannah, leading to a beautiful duet between them ("Wherefore is thy Soul cast down?").

The character of the music now changes as we enter upon a long drinking-chorus, with solos by the two revellers, Hophni and Phinehas ("For everything there is a Season"). The change from the seriousness of the preceding numbers is very abrupt, and the music of the chorus is decidedly of the conventional Italian drinking-song character. Eli appears and rebukes them, and after a cantabile aria ("Thou shouldst mark Iniquities"), a short chorus of Levites, for tenors and basses, ensues, introducing a simple, but well-sustained chorale for full chorus ("How mighty is Thy Name"). At this point the "Man of God" appears, rebuking the Levites for their polluted offerings. His denunciations are declaimed in strong, spirited phrases, accompanied by the chorus of the people ("They have profaned it"), beginning in unison. The scene now changes to the camp of the Philistines, where Saph, their man of war, shouts out his angry and boisterous defiance in his solo ("Philistines, hark, the Trumpet sounding"). It is followed by a choral response from the Philistines ("Speed us on to fight"), which is in the same robust and stirring style, though the general effect is theatrical and somewhat commonplace. Combined with it is a choral response by the priests of Dagon, of an Oriental character. After this clash of sound follows an air of a sombre style by Eli ("Hear my Prayer, O Lord"), the introduction and accompaniment of which are very striking. The "Man of God" once more appears, announcing the approaching death of Eli's sons to a weird, sepulchral accompaniment of the reeds and trombones, and leading up to a very effective duet between them ("Lord, cause Thy Face to shine upon Thy Servant"). Another chorale ensues ("O make a joyful Noise"), and after a brief recitative Hannah has a most exultant song, overflowing with love and gratitude at the birth of Samuel ("I will extol Thee, O Lord"). The first part closes with a brief recitative between Hannah and Eli, preluding a fugued chorus ("Hosanna in the highest"), built up on two motives and one of the most elaborate numbers in the oratorio.

The second part opens with a chaste and lovely melody, the morning prayer of the child Samuel ("Lord, from my Bed again I rise"), followed with some pretty recitative between the child and his parents, and an unaccompanied quartet, set to the same choral theme that was heard in the organ prelude to the overture. The next number is the long and showy instrumental march of the Israelites, followed by two very striking choruses,—the first ("Hold not Thy Peace and be not still, O God") of which appeals for divine help against the enemy, and the second, an allegro ("O God, make them like a Wheel"), leads into a fugue ("So persecute them"), which is very energetic in character, and closes with the martial hymn, "God and King of Jacob's Nation," sung to the melody of the preceding march.

The oratorio abounds in contrasts, and here occurs another, the evening prayer of Samuel ("This Night I lift my Heart to Thee"),—a pure, quiet melody, gradually dying away as he drops asleep, and followed by an angel chorus for female voices with harp accompaniment ("No Evil shall befall thee"), the effect of which is very beautiful, especially in the decrescendo at the close. A messenger suddenly arrives, announcing the defeat of Israel by the Philistines, upon which the chorus bursts out with one of the most telling numbers, both in the voice parts and the descriptiveness of the accompaniment ("Woe unto us, we are spoiled!"). Some very dramatic recitative between Samuel and Eli follows, after which the Levites join in the chorus, "Bless ye the Lord," opening with the tenors and closing in four parts, with the call of Eli intervening ("Watchmen, what of the Night?"). A long recitative by Samuel ("The Lord said"), foreshadowing the disasters to the house of Eli; an air by Eli ("Although my House be not with God"); a funeral chorus by the Israelites ("Lament with a doleful Lamentation"); further phrases of recitative announcing more defeats of Israel, the capture of the ark, the death of Eli and his sons, and an appeal by Samuel to blow the trumpet, calling a solemn assembly to implore the pity of the Lord,—prepare the way for the final chorus ("Blessed be the Lord"), closing with a fugue on the word "Hallelujah."

The oratorio was first given in this country by the Boston Handel and Haydn Society, Feb. 15, 1857, under the direction of Carl Zerrahn, with Mr. Thomas Ball as Eli and also as Saph, Mr. Wilde as the Man of God, Mr. C. R. Adams as Elkanah, Mrs. Long as Hannah, and Miss Hawley in the contralto part of Samuel. Writing of that performance, Mr. Dwight, the careful and discriminating critic, summed up the work as follows: "As a whole, 'Eli' is a noble and impressive oratorio. The composition is learned and musician-like, and generally appropriate, tasteful, dignified, often beautiful, and occasionally grand. It is by no means a work of genius, but it is a work of high musical culture, and indicates a mind imbued with the best traditions and familiar with the best masters of the art, and a masterly command of all the modern musical resources, except the 'faculty divine,'"—which, we may be permitted to say, is not included in "modern musical resources." The characterization of the oratorio, however, is thoroughly pertinent and complete. It is somewhat remarkable that a work so excellent and having so many elements of popularity should not be given more frequently in this country.



ANTON DVORAK.

Anton Dvorak, the Bohemian composer who has risen so suddenly into prominence, was born at Muelhausen, near Prague, Sept. 8, 1841. His father combined the businesses of tavern-keeper and butcher, and young Dvorak assisted him in waiting upon customers, as well as in the slaughtering business. As the laws of Bohemia stipulate that music shall be a part of common-school education, Dvorak learned the rudiments in the village school, and also received violin instruction. At the age of thirteen he went to work for an uncle who resided in a village where the schoolmaster was a proficient musician. The latter, recognizing his ability, gave him lessons on the organ, and allowed him to copy music. Piano-lessons followed, and he had soon grounded himself quite thoroughly in counterpoint. At the age of sixteen he was admitted to the organ-school at Prague, of which Joseph Pitsch was the principal. Pitsch died shortly after, and was succeeded by Kreyci, who made Dvorak acquainted with the music of Mozart, Beethoven, and Mendelssohn. The first orchestral work which he heard was Beethoven's "Ninth Symphony," during its rehearsal under Spohr's direction. In 1860, being then in his nineteenth year, he obtained an engagement, with the meagre salary of $125 a year, as violinist in a band that played at cafes and dances. Two years later he secured a position in the Bohemian Opera-House at Prague, then under the direction of Mayer, where he remained until 1871, in which year he left the theatre and devoted himself to teaching, with the prospect of earning $250 a year. These were hard days for the young musician; but while he was thus struggling for a bare subsistence he continued writing compositions, though he had no prospect of selling them or of having them played. One writer remarks on this point: "It is far from difficult to compare him in this respect with that marvellous embodiment of patience and enthusiasm, Franz Schubert; only, more fortunate than the Viennese master, the Bohemian has lived to receive his reward. Between these two men another point of resemblance appears. Neither can be charged with pushing or intriguing himself into prominence. Schubert had plenty of artistic ambition, but of personal ambition none; while the quality he so entirely lacked cannot be accredited to Dvorak, who spent the best part of his life in the enjoyment of merely local fame." About this time he wrote his "Patriotic Hymn" and the opera "Koenig und Koehler." The latter was rejected after an orchestral trial; but he continued his work, undaunted by failure. Shortly after this he received the appointment of organist at the Adelbert Church, Prague, and fortune began to smile upon him. His symphony in F was laid before the Minister of Instruction in Vienna, and upon the recommendation of Herbeck secured him a grant of $200. When Brahms replaced Herbeck on the committee which reported upon artists' stipends, he fully recognized Dvorak's ability, and not only encouraged him, but also brought him before the world by securing him a publisher and commending him to Joachim, who still further advanced his interests by securing performances of his works in Germany and England. Since that time he has risen rapidly, and is now recognized as one of the most promising of living composers. Among his works which have been produced during the past few years are the "Stabat Mater," the cantata "The Spectre Bride," three operas in the Czechist dialect, three orchestral symphonies, several Slavonic rhapsodies, overtures, violin and piano concertos, an exceedingly beautiful sextet, and numerous songs.



The Stabat Mater.

Dvorak's "Stabat Mater" was written in 1875. It was sent to the Austrian Minister of Instruction, but was not deemed worthy of the grant of $200 which the composer had expected. Its merit was subsequently recognized by Brahms and Joachim, and the latter secured a hearing of it in London in 1883. It immediately made its composer famous. The Philharmonic Society invited him to London, and the work was given with great success at the Albert Hall, and later at the Worcester and Hereford festivals. It was in England indeed that his celebrity was established, and for that country all his new works are now written.

The "Stabat Mater" is written for soli, chorus, and orchestra, and comprises ten numbers. The first is the quartet and chorus, "Stabat Mater dolorosa," and carries the old Latin hymn as far as the "Quis est homo." After an orchestral introduction which gives out the principal motives on which the number is based, the vocal quartet begins. The materials of which it is composed are very simple, but they are worked up with great technical skill. The general effect is tragic rather than pathetic, as if the composer were contemplating not so much the grief of the Virgin Mother at the foot of the Cross as the awful nature of the tragedy itself and its far-reaching consequences.

The second number is the quartet "Quis est homo." After a short introduction, the theme is taken by the alto, followed by the tenor and bass, and lastly by the soprano, the general structure growing more elaborate at each entrance. After the second subject is introduced a splendid climax is reached, and in the coda the voices whisper the words "vidit suum" to an accompaniment of wind instruments in sustained and impressive chords.

The third number, "Eia Mater," is built up on an exceedingly brief motive, which is augmented with surprising power in choral form. It is a work of scholarly skill, and yet is full of charm and grace, and will always commend itself even to the untutored hearer by its tenderness and pathetic beauty.

The fourth number, "Fac ut ardeat cor meum," for bass solo and chorus, like the third is most skilfully constructed out of small materials, and has a fine contrast between the solo and the chorus, which at its entrance is assigned to the female voices only, with organ accompaniment.

The fifth number is the chorus "Tui nati vulnerati," which is remarkable for the smooth and flowing manner in which its two subjects are treated.

The sixth number, "Fac me vere tecum flere," for tenor solo and chorus, is very elaborate in its construction. A stately theme is given out by the tenor, repeated in three-part harmony by male voices, the accompaniment being independent in form; the subject then returns, first for solo, and then for male voices, in varying harmonies. After a brief vocal episode the subject reappears in still different form, and, followed by the episode worked up at length in a coda, brings the number to its close.

The seventh number, "Virgo, virgonum praeclara," for full chorus, is marked by great simplicity and tenderness, and will always be one of the most popular sections of the work.

The eighth number, "Fac ut portem," is a duet for soprano and tenor, responsive in character, and constructed on very simple phrases presented in varying forms both by the voices and orchestra.

The ninth number, "Inflammatus et accensus," is one of the most masterly in the whole work. It is an alto solo composed of two subjects, the first very majestic, and the second pathetic in character, forming a contrast of great power and beauty.

The tenth and closing number, "Quando corpus morietur," for quartet and chorus, is constructed substantially upon the same themes which appeared in the "Stabat Mater," and closes with an "Amen" of a massive character, exhibiting astonishing contrapuntal skill. One of the best English critics says of the whole work:—

"The 'Stabat Mater' approaches as near to greatness as possible, if it be not actually destined to rank among world-renowned masterpieces. It is fresh and new, while in harmony with the established canons of art; and though apparently labored and over-developed in places, speaks with the force and directness of genius."



GOUNOD.

Charles Francois Gounod was born in Paris, June 17, 1818. His fame has been made world-wide by the extraordinary success of his opera "Faust," and yet more than almost any other operatic composer of modern times he has devoted himself to sacred music. His earlier studies were pursued in Paris at the Conservatory, under the tuition of Paer and Lesueur, and in 1839 the receipt of the Grand Prix gave him the coveted opportunity to go to Italy. In the atmosphere of Rome religious influences made a strong impression upon him. He devoted himself assiduously to the study of Palestrina, and among his first important compositions were a mass performed at the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi in 1841, and a second, written without accompaniment, which was given in Vienna two years later. On his return to Paris, religious ideas still retained their sway over him, and he became organist and conductor at the Missions etrangeres. He even contemplated taking orders, and attended a theological course for two years. In 1846 he became a pupil at the Seminaire; but at last he gave up his priestly intentions and devoted himself wholly to musical composition, though he has been, if not a devotee, a religious enthusiast all his life, and that too in the midst of a peculiarly worldly career. It was about this period that he wrote his "Messe Solenelle" in G,—the first of his compositions that was ever produced in England. It was cordially received, and he was universally recognized as a promising musician. For many years succeeding this event he devoted himself mainly to secular music, and opera after opera rapidly came from his pen,—"Sappho" (1851); "Nonne Sanglante" (1854); "Le Medecin malgre lui" (1858); "Faust," his greatest work, and one of the most successful of modern operas (1859); "Philemon et Baucis" (1860); "Reine de Saba" (1862); "Mireille" (1864); "La Colombe" (1866); "Romeo et Juliette" (1867); "Cinq Mars" (1877), and "Polyeucte" (1878). Notwithstanding the attention he gave to opera and to much other secular music, he found ample time for the composition of sacred works. In 1852, while in Paris, he became conductor of the Orpheon, and for the pupils of that institution he composed two masses. He has also written a great number of pieces for choir use which are very popular, and deservedly so, particularly the beautiful song "Nazareth." Among his larger works are a "Stabat Mater," with orchestral accompaniment; the oratorio "Tobie;" a "De Profundis" and an "Ave Verum;" and the two oratorios, "The Redemption," performed at Birmingham in 1882, and "Mors et Vita," brought out at the same place in 1885. The composer is now engaged upon the scheme of a new oratorio, the career of Joan of Arc being its subject. It may be said in closing this sketch, which has been mainly confined to a consideration of his sacred compositions, as his operatic career has been fully treated in "Standard Operas," that in 1873 he wrote the incidental music to Jules Barbier's tragedy, "Jeanne d'Arc," which may have inspired his determination to write an oratorio on the same subject.



The Redemption.

"The Redemption, a Sacred Trilogy," is the title which Gounod gave to this work, and on its opening page he wrote: "The work of my life." In a note appended to his description of its contents he says:—

"It was during the autumn of the year 1867 that I first thought of composing a musical work on the Redemption. I wrote the words at Rome, where I passed two months of the winter 1867-68 with my friend Hebert, the celebrated painter, at that time director of the Academy of France. Of the music I then composed only two fragments: first, 'The March to Calvary' in its entirety; second, the opening of the first division of the third part, 'The Pentecost.' Twelve years afterwards I finished the work, which had so long been interrupted, with a view to its being performed at the festival at Birmingham in 1882."

It was brought out, as he contemplated, in August of that year, and the production was a memorable one. It was first heard in this country in the winter of 1883-84 under Mr. Theodore Thomas's direction, and was one of the prominent works in his series of festivals in the latter year.

Gounod himself has prefaced the music with an admirably concise description of the text and its various subjects. Of its general contents he says:

"This work is a lyrical setting forth of the three great facts on which depends the existence of the Christian Church. These facts are,—first, the passion and the death of the Saviour; second, his glorious life on earth from his resurrection to his ascension; third, the spread of Christianity in the world through the mission of the Apostles. These three parts of the present trilogy are preceded by a prologue on the creation, the fall of our first parents, and the promise of a redeemer."

The divisions of the work are as follows:—

Prologue.—The Creation. Part I.—Calvary. Part II.—From the Resurrection to the Ascension. Part III.—The Pentecost.

The prologue comprises the Mosaic account of the creation and fall of man, involving the necessity of divine mediation, the promise of redemption, and the annunciation of the mystery of the incarnation of the Holy Virgin. After a brief instrumental introduction, descriptive of chaos, the tenor Narrator announces the completion of creation in recitative, followed by a similar declamation from the bass Narrator announcing the fall of man, the tenor Narrator answering with the announcement of the Redeemer's advent ("But of the Spotless Lamb"), in which we have for the first time a genuine Wagnerian leit motif, which runs through the music of the oratorio whenever allusion is made to the divine atonement. This typical melody is heard nine times,—three times in the prologue, twice in the scene of the crucifixion, once in our Saviour's promise to the thieves on the cross, once in his appearance to the holy women, and twice in the ascension. It is first given out as a violin solo, and at the close of the tenor recitative is repeated by all the strings, leading to the mystic chorale, "The Earth is my Possession," to be sung by a celestial choir of twenty-eight voices. At its close the typical melody is introduced in responsive form between flute and clarinet. To the first, the angelic message of the annunciation, Gounod has affixed the title, "Ave, gratia plena;" and to the second, the reply of Mary, "Fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum."

The first part includes the march to Calvary, which is divided into six separate numbers, yet so connected as to make a single musical series,—the crucifixion, Mary at the foot of the cross, the dying thieves, the death of Jesus, and the confession of his divinity by the centurion. It opens with the story of the condemnation of the Man of Sorrows by Pilate, told by the bass Narrator, the words of Jesus himself, however, being used invariably in the first person, and sung by the baritone voice, as when he says, "If my Deeds have been evil," immediately following the bass recitative. After another monologue by the Narrator, ensues the march to the cross,—an instrumental number which is brilliant in its color effects and somewhat barbaric in tone. Without any break, the sopranos enter with the words, "Forth the Royal Banners go," set to a melody from the Roman Catholic liturgy; after which the march is resumed. The bass Narrator tells the story of the women who followed lamenting, interrupted by a semi-chorus of sopranos singing the lament, and by the words of Jesus, "Ye Daughters of Israel, weep not for me." Again the march is heard, and the sopranos resume ("Forth the Royal Banners go"). The tenor Narrator recites the preparation for the crucifixion, accompanied by very descriptive music, and followed by a stormy chorus of the People ("Ha! thou that didst declare"), and the mocking cries of the priests ("Can he now save himself?"), sung by a male chorus. In a pathetic monologue Jesus appeals for their pardon, which leads to an elaborate concerted number for chorus or quartet, called "The Reproaches." A conversation ensues between Jesus and Mary, followed by the quartet, "Beside the Cross remaining," in canon form, preluding the chorale, "While my Watch I am keeping," at first sung by Mary, and then taken up by the full chorus, accompanied by organ, trombones, and trumpets. The next scene is that between Jesus and the two Thieves, which also leads to a chorale ("Lord Jesus, thou to all bringest Light and Salvation"). This number contains the last touch of brightness in the first part. Immediately the bass Narrator announces the approach of the awful tragedy. The gathering darkness is pictured by a vivid passage for strings and clarinet, succeeded by the agonizing cries of the Saviour. The bass Narrator declares the consummation of the tragedy, and then with the tenor Narrator describes the throes of Nature ("And then the Air was filled with a Murmur unwonted"), the rending of the veil of the Temple, the breaking of the rocks, the earthquake, and the visions of the saintly apparitions. The last number is the conviction of the centurion, followed by a short chorale ("For us the Christ is made a Victim availing").

The second part includes the announcement of the doctrine of the resurrection by the mystic chorus, the appearance of the Angel to the Holy Women at the sepulchre, that of Jesus to them while on the way to Galilee, the consternation of the Sanhedrim when it is learned that the tomb is empty, the meeting of the Holy Women and the Apostles, the appearance of Jesus to the latter, and his final ascension. It opens with a chorus for the mystic choir ("Saviour of Men"), followed by a short pastorale with muted strings and leading to a trio for the three Women ("How shall we by ourselves have Strength to roll away the Stone?"). Their apprehensions are removed by the tenor Narrator and the message of the Angel interwoven with the harp and conveyed in the beautiful aria, "Why seek ye the Living among the Dead?" Jesus at last reveals himself to the Women with the words, "All hail! Blessed are ye Women," accompanied by the typical melody, of which mention has already been made. The three Women disappear on the way to convey his message to the Disciples, and the scene changes to the Sanhedrim, where, in a tumultuous and agitated chorus for male voices ("Christ is risen again"), the story of the empty tomb is told by the Watchers. The bass Narrator relates the amazement of the priests and elders, and their plot to bribe the guard, leading to the chorus for male voices ("Say ye that in the Night his Disciples have come and stolen him away"), at the close of which ensues a full, massive chorus ("Now, behold ye the Guard, this, your Sleep-vanquished Guard"), closing with the denunciation in unison ("For Ages on your Heads shall Contempt be outpoured"). The tenor and bass Narrators in duet tell of the sorrow of the Disciples, which prepares the way for a lovely trio for first and second soprano and alto ("The Lord he has risen again"). The next number is one of the most effective in the whole work,—a soprano obligato solo, accompanied by the full strength of chorus and orchestra, to the words:

"From thy love as a Father, O Lord, teach us to gather That life will conquer death. They who seek things eternal Shall rise to light supernal On wings of lovely faith."

In the close the effect is sublime, the climax reaching to C in alt with the full power of the accompanying forces. Then follows a dialogue between the Saviour and his Apostles, in which he gives them their mission to the world. The finale then begins with a massive chorus ("Unfold, ye Portals everlasting"). The celestial chorus above, accompanied by harps and trumpets, inquire, "But who is he, the King of Glory?" The answer comes in a stately unison by the terrestrial chorus, "He who Death overcame." Again the question is asked, and again it is answered; whereupon the two choirs are massed in the jubilant chorus, "Unfold! for lo the King comes nigh!" the full orchestra and organ sounding the Redemption melody, and the whole closing with a fanfare of trumpets.

The third part includes the prophecy of the millennium, the descent of the Holy Ghost to the Apostles, the Pentecostal manifestations, and the Hymn of the Apostles. The latter is so important that the composer's own analysis is appended:—

"This division of the third part of the work, the last and one of the most highly developed of the trilogy, comprises seven numbers, and gives a summary of the Christian faith.

"1. The Apostles first proclaim the three great doctrines of the Incarnation of the Word, his eternal generation, and his continual presence with his Church. This first number is written in a style which is intended to recall the form and rhythm of the chants called 'Proses' in the Catholic liturgy.

"2. Quartet and Chorus. 'By faith salvation comes, and by peace consolation.'

"3. Chorus. His power manifested by miracles.

"4. Quartet. 'O come to me, all ye that are sad and that weep.'

"5. Semi-Chorus. The Beatitudes.

"6. Repetition of the theme of No. 1, with the whole choir, the orchestra, and the great organ.

"7. Final Coda. Glorification of the Most Holy Trinity throughout all ages."

This part of the oratorio, after a short instrumental prelude, opens with a brief chorus ("Lovely appear over the Mountains"), followed by a soprano solo, the only distinct number of that kind in the work, set to the words, "Over the barren Wastes shall Flowers have possession," at its close the chorus resuming in unison, "Lovely appear over the Mountains." The next number is "The Apostles in Prayer," an instrumental sketch, followed by the Narrators relating the descent of the Holy Spirit. Without break, the Apostles' Hymn begins, tenors and basses in unison ("The Word is Flesh become") leading into the quartet of solo voices ("By Faith Salvation comes, and by Peace, Consolation"). The chorus responds antiphonally, and again the solo voices are heard in a lovely quartet ("He has said to all the Unhappy"), followed by a small choir of thirty voices ("Blessed are the poor in Spirit"), at the end of which all the voices are massed on the Apostles' Hymn, which closes in fugal form on the words, "He like the Holy Ghost is one with the Father, an everlasting Trinity," the whole ending in massive chords.



Mors et Vita.

The oratorio "Mors et Vita" ("Death and Life") is the continuation of "The Redemption," and, like that work also, is a trilogy. It was first performed at the Birmingham Festival, Aug. 26, 1885, under the direction of Herr Hans Richter, the principal parts being sung by Mesdames Albani and Patey and Messrs. Santley and Lloyd. Its companion oratorio, "The Redemption," was dedicated to Queen Victoria, and itself to His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. In his preface to the work, Gounod says:—

"It will perhaps be asked why, in the title, I have placed death before life, although in the order of temporal things life precedes death. Death is only the end of that existence which dies each day; it is only the end of a continual 'dying.' But it is the first moment, and, as it were, the birth of that which dies no more. I cannot here enter into a detailed analysis of the different musical forms which express the meaning and idea of this work. I do not wish to expose myself to the reproach either of pretension or subtlety. I shall therefore confine myself to pointing out the essential features of the ideas I have wished to express,—that is to say, the tears which death causes us to shed here below; the hope of a better life; the solemn dread of unerring justice; the tender and filial trust in eternal love."

The composer further calls attention in his preface to the use of representative themes, an illustration of which was also noted in "The Redemption." The first one, consisting of four notes, presenting a sequence of three major seconds, is intended to express "the terror inspired by the sense of the inflexibility of justice and, in consequence, by that of the anguish of punishment. Its sternness gives expression both to the sentences of divine justice and the sufferings of the condemned, and is found in combination throughout the whole work, with melodic forms which express sentiments altogether different, as in the 'Sanctus' and the 'Pie Jesu' in the 'Requiem,' which forms the first part." It is first heard in the opening chorus, and for the last time in the quartet of the third part. The second melodic form, expressive of sorrow and tears, by the change of a single note and the use of the major key is made to express consolation and joy. "The third," says Gounod, "by means of threefold superposition, results in the interval of an augmented fifth, and announces the awakening of the dead at the terrifying call of the angelic trumpets, of which Saint Paul speaks in one of his epistles to the Corinthians."

The oratorio is divided into a prologue and three parts, the Latin text being used throughout. The first part is entitled "Mors," and opens with the prologue, which is brief, followed by the "Requiem," interspersed with texts of a reflective character commenting upon the sentiment. The second part is entitled "Judicium" ("Judgment"), and includes (1) The Sleep of the Dead; (2) The Trumpets at the Last Judgment; (3) The Resurrection of the Dead; (4) The Judge; (5) The Judgment of the Elect; (6) The Judgment of the Rejected. The third part is entitled "Vita," and includes the vision of Saint John, the text being taken from the Apocalypse; the work closing with an "Hosanna in Excelsis," exulting in the glorious vision of the heavenly Jerusalem.

The prologue, which is sustained by the chorus and baritone solo, declares the terrors of death and the judgment. The chorus intones the words, "It is a Fearful Thing to fall into the Hands of the Living God," and in this phrase is heard the chief motive, heavily accented by the percussion instruments,—the motive which typifies death both of the body and of the unredeemed soul. Immediately after follows the baritone voice, that of Jesus, in the familiar words, "I am the Resurrection and the Life." The chorus repeats the declaration, and the Requiem Mass then begins, divided into various sections, of which the "Dies Irae" is the most important; this in turn subdivided in the conventional form. After an adagio prelude and the intonation of the "Requiem aeternam," an interpolated text occurs ("From the Morning Watch till the Evening"), set as a double chorus without accompaniment, in the genuine Church style of the old masters. It leads directly to the "Dies Irae," in which the death motive already referred to frequently occurs. It is laid out in duets, quartets, and arias, with and without chorus, very much in the same tempo and of the same character of melody. The verse, "Ah! what shall we then be pleading?" for quartet and chorus, is remarkable for its attractive melody. It is followed by a soprano solo and chorus ("Happy are we, with such a Saviour") of a reflective character, which gives out still another very tuneful melody. The hymn is then resumed with the verse, "Faint and worn, thou yet hast sought us," for duet and chorus, which is of the same general character. The next verse, "Lord, for Anguish hear us moaning," for quartet and chorus, is very effective and elaborate in its construction, particularly as compared with that immediately following ("With the Faithful deign to place us"), a tenor solo of a quaint and pastoral character. The next number for chorus ("While the wicked are confounded") affords still another striking contrast, being in the grandiose style and very dramatic, closing with phrases for the solo voices expressive of submission and contrition. Up to this point the "Dies Irae" has been monotonous in its sameness of general style; but the next verse ("Day of Weeping, Day of Mourning") is a beautiful and thoroughly original number of very striking effect. It leads directly to the offertory ("O Lord Jesus Christ, King of Glory"), which is composed of a chorus for eight parts, a soprano solo ("But, Lord, do thou bring them evermore"), a chorus ("Which once to Abraham"), and a second chorus ("Sacrifice of Prayer and Praise"). The soprano solo is a delightful melody, sung to a delicate accompaniment of the strings, with occasional chords on the harp, and based upon the beautiful second typical motive, which the composer styles "The Motive of Happiness." The chorus, "Which once to Abraham," is set in fugue form, which is the conventional style among composers with this number; but, as in "The Redemption," whenever Gounod employs the fugue form, he drops it as soon as the four voices have fairly launched themselves.

The next number is the "Sanctus,"—a beautiful tenor aria with chorus, full of that sweetness which is so characteristic of Gounod. It is followed by the quartet, "Mighty Saviour, Jesus blest," which is deeply religious in character; the lovely soprano solo and chorus, "Agnus Dei;" and the chorus, "Lord, forever let Light Eternal." The first part is rounded off with an epilogue, an interlude for full orchestra and organ, based upon the first and second typical melodies, forming a consistent and stately finale to this part of the work.

The second part is peculiar for the prominence which the composer assigns to the orchestra. It opens with a well-sustained, gentle adagio movement, entitled "The Sleep of the Dead," which at times is somewhat harshly interrupted by the third typical melody, announcing the awakening of the dead at the terrifying call of the angelic trumpets. This is specially noticeable in that part of the prelude called "The Trumpet of the Last Judgment," in which the trombones, trumpets, and tubas are employed with extraordinary effect. Still a third phrase of the prelude occurs,—"The Resurrection of the Dead,"—which is smooth and flowing in its style, and peculiarly rich in harmony. A brief recitative by baritone ("But when the Son of Man") intervenes, immediately followed by another instrumental number, entitled "Judex" ("The Judge"),—one of the most effective pieces of orchestration in the oratorio, based upon the motive which indicates the tempering of justice with mercy, given out by the strings in unison. It preludes a short chorus ("Sitting upon the Throne"), the previous melody still continuing in the orchestra. The "Judgment of the Elect" follows, pronounced by the baritone voice in recitative, and leading directly to the soprano solo, "The Righteous shall enter into Glory eternal,"—the most exquisite solo number in the work,—followed by an effective chorale ("In Remembrance everlasting"). Then follows "The Judgment of the Rejected," consisting of baritone solos and chorus, closing the second part.

The third part celebrates the delights of the celestial city as pictured in the apocalyptic vision of Saint John, and is in marked contrast to the gloom and sombreness of the Requiem music, as well as the terrors of the Judgment. It is bright, jubilant, and exultant throughout. The title of the prelude is "New Heaven, New Earth." The baritone intones the recitative ("And I saw the New Heaven"), which is followed by another delightful sketch for the orchestra ("Celestial Jerusalem"),—a most vivid and graphic picture of the subject it describes. The remaining prominent numbers are the "Sanctus" chorus, the celestial chorus ("I am Alpha and Omega"), and the final chorus ("Hosanna in Excelsis"), which closes this remarkable work.

The weakest part of the oratorio is the "Requiem," which suffers from the monotony of its divisions, especially when compared with the treatment of requiems by the great composers who have made them a special study. As compared with the "Redemption," however, it is more interesting, because it is more melodious and less cumbered with recitative. It is also peculiarly noticeable for the free manner in which the composer uses the orchestra, and the skill with which the typical melodies are employed, as compared with which the solitary "Redemption" motive seems weak and thin. Both works are full of genuine religious sentiment, and taken together cover almost the entire scope of human aspiration so far as it relates to the other world. No composer has conceived a broader scheme for oratorio. Though Gounod does not always reach the sublime and majestic heights of the old masters in sacred music, yet the feeling manifested in these works is never anything but religious; the hearer is always surrounded by an atmosphere of devotion.



HANDEL.

George Frederick Handel was born at Halle, in Lower Saxony, Feb. 23, 1685, and, like many another composer, revealed his musical promise at a very early age, only to encounter parental opposition. His father intended him to be a lawyer; but Nature had her way, and in spite of domestic antagonism triumphed. The Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels recognized his ability and overcame the father's determination. Handel began his studies with Zachau, organist of the Halle cathedral. After the death of his father, in 1697, he went to Hamburg, and for a time played in the orchestra of the German opera. It was during his residence in that city that he wrote his first opera, "Almira" (1705). In the following year he went to Italy, where he remained several months under the patronage of the Grand Duke of Florence. During the next two years he visited Venice, Rome, and Naples, and wrote several operas and minor oratorios. In 1709 he returned to Germany, and the Elector of Hanover, subsequently George I. of England, offered him the position of Capellmeister, which he accepted upon the condition that he might visit England, having received many invitations from that country. The next year he arrived in London and brought out his opera of "Rinaldo," which proved a great success. At the end of six months he was obliged to return to his position in Hanover; but his English success made him impatient of the dulness of the court. In 1712 he was in London again, little dreaming that the Elector would soon follow him as king. Incensed with him for leaving Hanover, the King at first refused to receive him; but some music which Handel composed for an aquatic fete in his honor brought about the royal reconciliation. In 1718 he accepted the position of chapel-master to the Duke of Chandos, for whom he wrote the famous Chandos Te Deum and Anthems, the serenata "Acis and Galatea," and "Esther," his first English oratorio. In 1720 he was engaged as director of Italian opera by the society of noblemen known as the Royal Academy of Music, and from that time until 1740 his career was entirely of an operatic character. Opera after opera came from his pen. Some were successful, others failed. At first composer, then director, he finally became impresario, only to find himself confronted with bitter rivalry, especially at the hands of Buononcini and Porpora. Cabals were instituted against him. Unable to contend with them alone, he formed a partnership with Heidegger, proprietor of the King's Theatre, in 1729. It was broken in 1734, and he took the management of Covent Garden. The Italian conspiracies against him broke out afresh. He failed in his undertaking, and became a bankrupt. In eight years he had lost $51,000 in Italian opera. Slanders of all sorts were circulated against him, and his works were no longer well received. In the midst of his adversity sickness overtook him, ending with a partial stroke of paralysis. When sufficiently recovered, he went to the Continent, where he remained for a few months. On his return to London he brought out some new works, but they were not favorably received. A few friends who had remained faithful to him persuaded him to give a benefit concert, which was a great success. It inspired him with fresh courage; but he did not again return to the operatic world. Thenceforward he devoted himself to oratorio, in which he made his name famous for all time. He himself said: "Sacred music is best suited to a man descending in the vale of years." "Saul" and the colossal "Israel in Egypt," written in 1740, head the list of his wonderful oratorios. In 1741 he was invited to visit Ireland. He went there in November, and many of his works were produced during the winter and received with great enthusiasm. In April, 1742, his immortal "Messiah" was brought out at Dublin. It was followed by "Samson," "Joseph," "Semele," "Belshazzar," and "Hercules," which were also successful; but even in the midst of his oratorio work his rivals did not cease their conspiracies against him, and in 1744 he was once more a bankrupt. For over a year his pen was idle. In 1746 the "Occasional Oratorio" and "Judas Maccabaeus" appeared, and these were speedily followed by "Joshua," "Solomon," "Susanna," "Theodora," and "Jephtha." It was during the composition of the last-named work that he was attacked with the illness which finally proved fatal. He died April 14, 1759, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. During the last few days of his life he was heard to express the wish that he "might breathe his last on Good Friday, in hopes of meeting his good God, his sweet Lord and Saviour, on the day of his resurrection." The wish was granted him; for it was on Good Friday that he passed away, leaving behind him a name and fame that will be cherished so long as music retains its power over the human heart.



Israel in Egypt.

"Israel in Egypt," the fifth of the nineteen oratorios which Handel composed in England, was written in 1738. The Exodus, which is now the second part, was written between the 1st and the 11th of October, and was superscribed, "Moses' Song, Exodus, Chap. xv., begun Oct. 1, 1738;" and at the close was written, "Fine, Oct. 11, 1738." It is evident from this that the work was at first written as a cantata, but that Handel on reflection decided that the plagues of Egypt would not only be a good subject, but would also prove a logical historical introduction to the second part. Four days later he began the first part, and finished it on the 1st of November,—the composition of the whole of this colossal work thus occupying but twenty-seven days. It was first performed as "Israel in Egypt," April 4, 1739, at the King's Theatre, of which Handel was then manager. It was given the second time April 11, "with alterations and additions," the alterations having been made in order to admit of the introduction of songs. The third performance took place April 17, upon which occasion the "Funeral Anthem," which he had written for Queen Caroline, was used as a first part and entitled, "Lamentations of the Israelites for the Death of Joseph." During the lifetime of Handel the oratorio was only performed nine times, for in spite of its excellence, it was a failure. For many years after his death it was produced in mutilated form; but in 1849 the Sacred Harmonic Society of London gave it as it was originally written and as we know it now, without the Funeral Anthem or any of the songs which had been introduced.

The text of the oratorio is supposed to have been written by Handel himself, though the words are taken literally from the Bible. Schoelcher says:

"The manuscript does not contain any of the names of the personages. Nevertheless, the handbook, which includes the extracts from Solomon for the first parts, has in this part the names of personages (High Priest, Joseph, Israelite woman, Israelite man), as if the composer wished to throw it into a dramatic form. The words in their Biblical simplicity form a poem eminently dramatic."

The first part opens with the wail of the Israelites over the burdens imposed upon them by their Egyptian taskmasters, and then in rapid succession follow the plagues,—the water of the Nile turned to blood, the reptiles swarming even into the king's chambers, the pestilence scourging man and beast, the insect-cloud heralding the locusts, the pelting hail and the fire running along the ground, the thick darkness, and the smiting of the first-born. Then come the passage of the Red Sea and the escape from bondage, closing the first part. The second part opens with the triumphant song of Moses and the Children of Israel rejoicing over the destruction of Pharaoh's host, and closes with the exultant strain of Miriam the prophetess, "Sing ye to the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously; the Horse and his Rider hath He thrown into the Sea."

"Israel in Egypt" is essentially a choral oratorio. It comprises no less than twenty-eight massive double choruses, linked together by a few bars of recitative, with five arias and three duets interspersed among them. Unlike Handel's other oratorios, there is no overture or even prelude to the work. Six bars of recitative for tenor ("Now there arose a new King over Egypt which knew not Joseph") suffice to introduce it, and lead directly to the first double chorus ("And the Children of Israel sighed"), the theme of which is first given out by the altos of one choir with impressive pathos. The chorus works up to a climax of great force on the phrase, "And their Cry came up unto God," the two choruses developing with consummate power the two principal subjects,—first, the cry for relief, and second, the burden of oppression; and closing with the phrase above mentioned, upon which they unite in simple but majestic harmony. Then follow eight more bars of recitative for tenor, and the long series of descriptive choruses begins, in which Handel employs the imitative power of music in the boldest manner. The first is the plague of the water turned to blood, "They loathed to drink of the River,"—a single chorus in fugue form, based upon a theme which is closely suggestive of the sickening sensations of the Egyptians, and increases in loathsomeness to the close, as the theme is variously treated. The next number is an aria for mezzo soprano voice ("Their Land brought forth Frogs"), the air itself serious and dignified, but the accompaniment imitative throughout of the hopping of these lively animals. It is followed by the plague of insects, whose afflictions are described by the double chorus. The tenors and basses in powerful unison declare, "He spake the Word," and the reply comes at once from the sopranos and altos, "And there came all Manner of Flies," set to a shrill, buzzing, whirring accompaniment, which increases in volume and energy as the locusts appear, but bound together solidly with the phrase of the tenors and basses frequently repeated, and presenting a sonorous background to this fancy of the composer in insect imitation. From this remarkable chorus we pass to another still more remarkable, the familiar Hailstone Chorus ("He gave them Hailstones for Rain"), which, like the former, is closely imitative. Before the two choirs begin, the orchestra prepares the way for the on-coming storm. Drop by drop, spattering, dashing, and at last crashing, comes the storm, the gathering gloom rent with the lightning, the "fire that ran along upon the ground," and the music fairly quivering and crackling with the wrath of the elements. But the storm passes, the gloom deepens, and we are lost in that vague, uncertain combination of tones where voices and instruments seem to be groping about, comprised in the marvellously expressive chorus, "He sent a Thick Darkness over all the Land." From the oppression of this choral gloom we emerge, only to encounter a chorus of savage, unrelenting retribution ("He smote all the First-born of Egypt"). Chorley admirably describes the motive of this great fugue:—

"It is fiercely Jewish. There is a touch of Judith, of Jael, of Deborah in it,—no quarter, no delay, no mercy for the enemies of the Most High; 'He smote.' And when for variety's sake the scimitar-phrase is transferred from orchestra to voices, it is admirable to see how the same character of the falchion—of hip-and-thigh warfare, of victory predominant—is sustained in the music till the last bar. If we have from Handel a scorn-chorus in the 'Messiah,' and here a disgust-chorus, referred to a little while since,[3] this is the execution, or revenge chorus,—the chorus of the unflinching, inflexible, commissioned Angels of the Sword."

After their savage mission is accomplished, we come to a chorus in pastoral style ("But as for His People, He led them forth like Sheep"), slow, tender, serene, and lovely in its movement, and grateful to the ear both in its quiet opening and animated, happy close, after the terrors which have preceded it. The following chorus ("Egypt was glad"), usually omitted in performance, is a fugue, both strange and intricate, which it is claimed Handel appropriated from an Italian canzonet by Kerl. The next two numbers are really one. The two choruses intone the words, "He rebuked the Red Sea," in a majestic manner, accompanied by a few massive chords, and then pass to the glorious march of the Israelites, "He led them through the Deep,"—a very elaborate and complicated number, but strong, forcible, and harmonious throughout, and held together by the stately opening theme with which the basses ascend. It is succeeded by another graphic chorus ("But the Waters overwhelmed their Enemies"), in which the roll and dash of the billows closing over Pharaoh's hosts are closely imitated by the instruments, and through which in the close is heard the victorious shout of the Israelites, "There was not one of them left." Two more short choruses,—the first, "And Israel saw that Great Work," which by many critics is not believed to be a pure Handel number, and its continuation, "And believed the Lord," written in church style, close this extraordinary chain of choral pictures.

The second part, "The Song of Moses,"—which, it will be remembered, was written first,—opens with a brief but forcible orchestral prelude, leading directly to the declaration by the chorus, "Moses and the Children of Israel sang this Song," which, taken together with the instrumental prelude, serves as a stately introduction to the stupendous fugued chorus which follows ("I will sing unto the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously; the Horse and his Rider hath He thrown into the Sea"). It is followed by a duet for two sopranos ("The Lord is my Strength and my Song") in the minor key,—an intricate but melodious number, usually omitted. Once more the chorus resumes with a brief announcement, "He is my God," followed by a fugued movement in the old church style ("And I will exalt Him"). Next follows the great duet for two basses, "The Lord is a Man of War,"—a piece of superb declamatory effect, full of vigor and stately assertion. The triumphant announcement in its closing measures, "His chosen Captains also are drowned in the Red Sea," is answered by a brief chorus, "The Depths have covered them," which is followed by four choruses of triumph,—"Thy Right Hand, O Lord," an elaborate and brilliant number; "And in the Greatness of Thine Excellency," a brief but powerful bit; "Thou sendest forth Thy Wrath;" and the single chorus, "And with the Blast of Thy Nostrils," in the last two of which Handel again returns to the imitative style with wonderful effect, especially in the declaration of the basses, "The Floods stood upright as an Heap, and the Depths were congealed." The only tenor aria in the oratorio follows these choruses, a bravura song, "The Enemy said, I will pursue," and this is followed by the only soprano aria, "Thou didst blow with the Wind." Two short double choruses ("Who is like unto Thee, O Lord," and "The Earth swallowed them") lead to the duet for contralto and tenor, "Thou in Thy Mercy," which is in the minor, and very pathetic in character. It is followed by the massive and extremely difficult chorus, "The People shall hear and be afraid." Once more, after this majestic display, comes the solo voice, this time the contralto, in a simple, lovely song, "Thou shalt bring them in." A short double chorus ("The Lord shall reign for ever and ever"), a few bars of recitative referring to the escape of Israel, the choral outburst once more repeated, and then the solo voice declaring, "Miriam the prophetess took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances; and Miriam answered them," lead to the final song of triumph,—that grand, jubilant, overpowering expression of victory which, beginning with the exultant strain of Miriam, "Sing ye to the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously," is amplified by voice upon voice in the great eight-part choir, and by instrument upon instrument, until it becomes a tempest of harmony, interwoven with the triumph of Miriam's cry and the exultation of the great host over the enemy's discomfiture, and closing with the combined power of voices and instruments in harmonious accord as they once more repeat Miriam's words, "The Horse and his Rider hath He thrown into the Sea."

[3] The second chorus, "The Plague of the Water turned to Blood," and the loathing of the Egyptians.



Saul.

The oratorio of "Saul" was written by Handel in 1738. He began it, says Schoelcher, on the 3d of July, and finished it on the 27th of September; thus occupying eighty-six days. This, however, is evidently an error, as Rockstro says: "The score, written in a thick quarto volume, on paper quite different from that used for the operas, is dated at the beginning of the first chorus, July 23, 1738." The next date is August 28, at the end of the second part, and the last, at the end of the work, September 27,—which would give two months and four days as the time in which it was written. But even this period, short as it is, seems brief when compared with that devoted to the composition of "Israel in Egypt," which Handel began four days after "Saul" was completed, and finished in twenty-seven days.

It has already been said, in the analysis of the last named-work, that in January, 1739, Handel took the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, his purpose being to give oratorios twice a week. "Saul" was the first of the series; and in this connection the following advertisement, which Schoelcher reprints from the London "Daily Post" of Jan. 3, 1739, will be of interest:—

"We hear that on Tuesday se'en night the King's Theatre will be opened with a new oratorio composed by Mr. Handel, called 'Saul.' The pit and boxes will be put together, the tickets delivered on Monday the 15th and Tuesday 16th (the day of performance), at half a guinea each. Gallery 5s. The gallery will be opened at 4; the pit and boxes at 5. To begin at 6."

The first performance took place as announced, and the second on the 23d, "with several new concertos on the organ,"—which instrument also plays a conspicuous part in the oratorio itself, not only in amplifying the accompaniment, but also in solo work. In 1740 it was performed by the Academy of Ancient Music in London, and in 1742 in Dublin. Selections were also given from it in the great Handel Commemoration at Westminster Abbey in 1784, and in 1840 it was revived by the Sacred Harmonic Society of London, since which time it has occupied an important place in the oratorio repertory.

The story closely follows the Biblical narrative of the relations between David and Saul. The words have been attributed both to Jennens and Marell; but the balance of evidence favors the former,—a poet who lived at Gopsall. The overture, marked "Symfonie" in the original manuscript, is the longest of all the Handel introductions. It is in four movements, the first an allegro, the second a largo (in which the organ is used as a solo instrument), the third an allegro, and the fourth a minuetto. It is an exceedingly graceful and delicate prelude, and makes a fitting introduction to the dramatic story which follows. The characters introduced are Saul, king of Israel; Jonathan, his son; Abner, captain of the host; David; the apparition of Samuel; Doeg, a messenger; an Amalekite; Abiathar, Merab, and Michal, daughters of Saul; the Witch of Endor; and the Israelites. The very dramatic character of the narrative admirably adapts it to its division into acts and scenes.