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November 2000 Program Notes
Messiah (I)
by Mary Burke
According to Shakespeare, the course of true love never does run smooth—and sometimes the course of genius doesn't either. Handel's Messiah certainly suffered its share of slings and arrows on the way to becoming one of the monuments of Western music.
Messiah began life harmlessly enough: Charles Jennens sent Handel a libretto that he had compiled from scriptural passages, which Handel set to music in the summer of 1741, and took with him to Dublin. So far, so good.
While Handel was rehearsing the piece for its premiere, however, Jonathan Swift (then Dean of St. Patrick's) suddenly and vehemently withdrew permission for his musicians to participate: "...whereas it hath been reported that I gave a licence to certain vicars to assist at a club of fiddlers in Fishamble Street, I do hereby annul and vacate the said licence..." Fortunately, he soon changed his mind again.
The premiere, given on 13 April 1742, drew rave reviews from the Dublin papers: "Words are wanting to express the exquisite Delight it afforded to the admiring crowded audience..."; "...allowed by the greatest Judges to be the finest Composition of Musick that ever was heard"; "...far surpasses anything of that Nature, which has been performed in this or any other Kingdom." Delighted by this success, Handel brought Messiah back to London, where it was met with hostility from...Charles Jennens. The latter complained bitterly to friends: "His Messiah has disappointed me...I shall put no more sacred works into his hands, to be thus abus'd..."; "...'tis still in his power by retouching the weak parts to make it fit for a publick performance." Handel apparently did make a few minor changes, but two years later Jennens was still grousing: "...he has made a fine Entertainment of it, tho' not near so good as he might and ought to have done...there are some passages far unworthy of Handel, but much more unworthy of the Messiah."
As if this weren't enough, Handel found his work caught in the middle of a raging controversy about the propriety of presenting this subject matter as an entertainment. A letter in the Universal Spectator deplored "such a Height of Impiety and Prophaneness, that most sacred Things were suffer'd to be us'd as publick Diversions, and that in a Place, and by Persons appropriated to the Performance not only of light and vain, but too often prophane and dissolute pieces..." More for this reason than artistic ones, Messiah was "but indifferently relish'd" by the London audiences at its premiere in 1743.
Once past these initial obstacles, however, Messiah was generally recognized as a masterpiece, and in the last 250-odd years, it hasn't had to survive anything more traumatic than countless performances, recordings, re-orchestrations, and scholarly dissections. The Hallelujah Chorus alone is one of the most recognized pieces of music on the planet, and has even become a pop-culture sound effect. Messiah's popularity only increases with each passing year.
Somewhere, Handel is thumbing his nose at Charles Jennens.
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