Oratorio had its origin in an attempt by a sixteenth century Italian monk to make divine service more interesting—to draw to church people who might not be attracted by the opportunity to hear a sermon, but could be persuaded to come if music a trifle more entertaining to the common mind than the unaccompanied (À capella) ecclesiastical compositions of Palestrina and other masters of the polyphonic school, were thrown in with them. Music still is regarded as a prime drawing card in churches, and when nowadays a fine basso rises after the sermon and sings “It is enough,” we can paraphrase it as meaning, “It is enough so far as the sermon is concerned, and now to make up for it you are going to have a chance to listen to some music.” When the announcement is made that such-and-such a well-known singer has been engaged for a church it means that the Reverend —— is doing just what the monk, Neri, did, about four hundred years ago—fishing for a congregation with music.

As it exists to-day, however, oratorio has little to do with religious worship, and usually is practiced amid secular surroundings, with a female chorus in variegated evening attire and a male chorus in claw-hammers, 249 the singers hanging more or less anxiously on the baton of the conductor. This living picture which, so far as this country is concerned, I have, I believe, drawn in correct perspective, is so much out of keeping with the religious subjects which usually underlie the texts of oratorios that it may account for the comparative lack of interest shown by Americans for this form of musical entertainment.

It also is true, however, that in this country oratorio never has had more than half a chance. This is due to the fact that the American man is not as sensitive to music nor musically as well educated as the American woman, the result being that the male contingent of the average American oratorio chorus is less competent than the women singers. Tenors are “rare birds” in any land, and rarer here apparently than elsewhere, so that in this division of our mixed choruses there is a lack of brilliancy in tone and of precision in attack. These several circumstances combine to prevent that well-balanced ensemble necessary to a satisfactory performance.

An Incongruous Art-Form.

Even at its best, however, oratorio is an incongruous art-form, neither an opera nor a church service, but rather an attempt to design something that shall not shock people who consider it “wicked” to go to the opera, nor afflict with ennui those who would consider an invitation to listen to sacred music during the week an imposition. It seems peculiarly adapted to the idea of entertainment which prevails in England, where apparently 250 any diversion in order to be considered legal must be more or less of a bore. Fortunately, however, there be many men of many minds; so that while, for example, one could not well draw a gloomier picture of the hereafter for a critic like Mr. Henry T. Finck than as a place where he would be obliged to hear, let me suggest, semi-weekly performances of “The Messiah,” the annual Christmas auditions of that work have been the financial salvation of oratorio in America.

San Filippo Neri, who was born in Florence in 1515, and was the founder of the Congregation of the Fathers of the Oratory, was the originator of oratorio. In order to attract people to church, he instituted before and after the sermon dramatic and musical renderings of scenes from Scripture. It is not unlikely that the suggestion for the underlying dramatic text came from the old Mystery and Miracle plays, which, to say the least, were naive. In one of these, representing Noah and his family about to embark in the ark, Mrs. Noah declares that she prefers to stay behind with her worldly friends, and when at last her son Shem seizes and forces her into the ark, she retaliates by giving the worthy Noah a box on the ear. In another play of this kind which represented the Creation, a horse, pigs with rings in their noses, and a mastiff with a brass collar were brought up to Adam to name. But in one performance the mastiff spied a cow’s rib-bone which had been provided for the formation of Eve, grabbed it and carried it off, in spite of the efforts of the Angel to whistle him back, and Eve had to be created without the aid of the rib.

Primitive Efforts.

It is not likely that any such contretemps accompanied the performances of San Filippo’s primitive oratorios, and yet it is probable that they were not only sung, but also acted with some kind of scenic setting and costumes; for Emelio del Cavaliere, a Roman composer, whose oratorio, “La Rappresentazione dell’ Anima e del Corpo” (The Soul and the Body), was performed in February, 1600, in the Church of Santa Maria della Vallicella, but who died before the production, left minute directions regarding the scenery and action. In this oratorio, as in some of the other early ones, there was a ballet, which, according to its composer’s directions, was to enliven certain scenes “with capers” and to execute others “sedately and reverentially.”

It was the composer, Giovanni Carissimi, who first introduced the narrator in oratorio, this function being to continue the action with explanatory recitatives between the numbers. In his oratorio, “Jephtha,” there is a solo for Jephtha’s daughter, “Plorate colles, dolate montes” (Weep, ye hills; mourn, ye mountains), which has an echo for two sopranos at the end of each phrase of the melody. Alessandro Scarlatti, who developed the aria in opera, also gave more definite form to the solos in oratorio and a more dramatic accompaniment to the recitatives which related to action, leaving the narrative recitals unaccompanied.

Up to this point, in fact, oratorio and opera may be said to have developed hand in hand, but now, through the influence of German composers and especially 252 through their Passion Music, it assumed a more distinct form. “Die Auferstehung Christi” (The Resurrection), by Heinrich SchÜtz, produced in Dresden in 1623, and his “Sieben Worte Christi” (The Seven Words of Christ), subjects which have been reverentially set by many German composers, are regarded as pioneer works of their kind. In the development of Passion Music much use was made of church chorales, the grand sacred melodies of the German people, which have had incalculable influence in forming the stability of character that is a distinguishing mark of the race. They are conspicuous in the “Tod Jesu,” a famous work by Karl Heinrich Graun, a contemporary of Bach, whose own “Passion According to St. Matthew” is regarded by advanced lovers of music as the greatest of all works in oratorio or quasi-oratorio style, although the English still cling to HÄndel.

“However close the imitation or complicated the involutions of the several voices,” says Rockstro, in writing of HÄndel, “we never meet with an inharmonious collision. He (HÄndel) seems always to have aimed at making his parts run on velvet; whereas Bach, writing on a totally different principle, evidently delighted in bringing harmony out of discord and made a point of introducing hard passing notes in order to avail himself of the pleasant effect of their ultimate resolution.” The “inharmonious collisions,” the “hard passing notes” are among the very things which make Bach so modern; since modern ears do not set much store by music that “runs on velvet.”

Bach’s “Passion Music.”

It is interesting to note that this “Passion According to St. Matthew” is in two parts, and that, as was the case with the oratorios of San Filippo Neri, the sermon came between. The text was prepared by Christian Friedrichs Henrici, writing under the pseudonym of Picander, and is partly dramatic, partly epic in form, with an Evangelist to relate the various events in the story, but with the Lord, St. Peter and others using their own words according to the sacred text. A double chorus is employed, sometimes representing the Disciples, sometimes the infuriated populace; but always treated in dramatic fashion.

At the time the “Passion” was written, the arias and certain of the choruses which contained meditations on the events narrated were called “SoliloquiÆ”; and in singing the beautiful chorales, the congregation was expected to join. The recitatives assigned to the Saviour are accompanied by string orchestra only, and are, as Rockstro says, full of gentle dignity, while the choruses are marked by an amount of dramatic power which is remarkable when one considers that Bach never paid any attention to the most dramatic of all musical forms, the opera. The “Passion According to St. Matthew,” by Johann Sebastian Bach, was his greatest work and one of the greatest works of all times. It was produced for the first time at the afternoon service in the Church of St. Thomas, Leipzig, where Bach was Cantor, on Good Friday, 1729, and it was one hundred years before it was heard again, when it was revived by Mendelssohn, 254 in Berlin, on March 12th, 1829—an epoch-making performance.

Strictly speaking, Passion Music is not an oratorio, but a church service, and Bach actually designed his to serve as a counter-attraction to the Mass as performed in the Roman Church. What we understand under oratorio derived its vitality from George Frederick HÄndel, who was born at Halle in Lower Saxony, 1685, but whose most important work was accomplished in London, where he died in 1759 and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Before HÄndel wrote his two greatest oratorios, “Israel in Egypt” and “The Messiah,” he had, through the composition of numerous operas, mastered the principles of dramatic writing, and in his oratorios he aims, whenever the text makes it permissible, at dramatic expression. It is only necessary to recall the “Plague Choruses” in “Israel in Egypt,” especially the “Hail-Stone Chorus” and the chorus of rejoicing (“The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea”); or by way of contrast, the tenderly expressive melody of “As for His people, He led them forth like sheep,” to realize what an adept HÄndel was in dramatic expression.

Rockstro on HÄndel.

HÄndel may in fact be called the founder of variety and freedom in writing for chorus. While I must confess that I do not share Rockstro’s intense enthusiasm for HÄndel and for “The Messiah,” nevertheless he expresses so well the general feeling in England and the feeling on the part of those in this country who crowd 255 the annual Christmas performances of “The Messiah,” toward that work, that the best means of conveying an idea of what oratorio signifies to those who like it, is to quote him. Referring to HÄndel’s free and varied treatment of chorus writing, he says:

“He bids us ‘Behold the Lamb of God’ and we feel that he has helped us to do so. He tells us that ‘With His stripes we are healed,’ and we are sensible not of the healing only, but of the cruel price at which it was purchased. And we yield him equal obedience when he calls upon us to join in his hymns of praise. Who hearing the noble subject of ‘I will sing unto the Lord,’ led off by the tenors and altos, does not long to reinforce their voices with his own? Who does not feel a choking in his throat before the first bar of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ is completed, though he may be listening to it for the hundredth time? Hard indeed must his heart be who can refuse to hear when HÄndel preaches through the voice of his chorus.” The “Messiah” also contains two of HÄndel’s most famous solos, “He shall feed His flock” and “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”

This work was performed for the first time on April 13, 1742, at the Music Hall, Dublin, when HÄndel was on a visit to the Duke of Devonshire, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The rehearsals, at which many people were present by invitation, had aroused so much enthusiasm, that those who were interested in the charitable object for which it was given, requested “as a favor that the ladies who honor this performance with their presence would be pleased to come without hoops, as it would greatly increase the charity by making room 256 for more company.” Gentlemen also were requested to come without swords, for the same reason. It is said that at the first London performance, when the “Hallelujah Chorus” rang out, the King rose in his place and, followed by the entire audience, stood during the singing of the chorus, and that thus the custom, which still is observed, originated.

Following HÄndel, Haydn in 1798, when nearly seventy years old, wrote “The Creation,” founded on passages from Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and after it “The Seasons,” for which Thomson’s familiar poem supplied the text. In both of these there is much purely descriptive music, especially in the earlier oratorio, when the creation of various animals is related. In “The Creation,” too, after the passages for muted strings, is the famous outburst of orchestra and chorus, “And there was light.” Haydn was a far greater master of orchestration than HÄndel. He also was one of the early composers of the homophonic school, and there is a freer, more spontaneous flow of melody in his oratorios. But they undoubtedly lack the grandeur of HÄndel’s.

Mendelssohn’s Oratorios.

Between Haydn and Mendelssohn, in the development of oratorio, nothing need be mentioned, excepting Beethoven’s “Mount of Olives” and Spohr’s “The Last Judgment” (Die Letzten Dinge). Mendelssohn, in his “St. Paul,” followed the example of the old passionists, and introduced chorales, but in his greater oratorio, “Elijah,” which is purely an Hebraic subject, he discarded these. The dramatic quality of “Elijah” 257 is so apparent that it has been said more than once to be capable of stage representation with scenery, costumes and action. This is especially true of the prophet himself, whose personality is so definitely developed that he stands before us almost like a character behind the footlights. This dramatic value is felt at the very beginning, when, after four solemn chords on the brass, the work, instead of opening with an overture, is ushered in by Elijah’s prophecy of the drought. Then comes the overture, which is descriptive of the effects of the prophecy.

Next to “The Messiah,” “Elijah” probably is the most popular of oratorios, and I think this is due to its dramatic value, and to the fact that its descriptive music, instead of being somewhat naive, not to say childish, as is the case with some passages in Haydn’s “Creation,” is extremely effective. It is necessary only to remind the reader of the descent of the fire and the destruction of the prophets of Baal; of the description of the gradual approach of the rain-storm, as Elijah, standing on Mount Carmel and watching for the coming of the rain, is informed of the little cloud, “out of the sea, like a man’s hand”—a little cloud which we seem to see in the music, and which grows in size and blackness until it bursts like a deluge over the scene. Then there are the famous bass solo, “It is enough”; the unaccompanied “Trio of Angels”; the Angel’s song, “Oh, rest in the Lord”; and the tenderly expressive chorus, “He, watching over Israel.” I once heard a performance of “Elijah” during which the Angel carried on such a lively flirtation with the Prophet that she almost missed the cue for her most 258 important solo; in fact would have missed it, had not the conductor sharply called her attention to the fact that it was time for her to begin.

I think that oratorio reached its successive climaxes with “The Messiah” and “Elijah.” Gounod’s “Redemption” and “Mors et Vita,” in spite of passages of undeniable beauty, seem to me, as a whole, rather spineless. Edward Elgar’s “Dream of Gerontius” and “The Apostles” have created much excitement in England and considerable interest here, but while it is too soon to hazard a definite opinion of this composer, he appears to be lacking in individuality—to derive from Wagner whatever is interesting in his scores, while what is original with him is unimportant.

There are certain sacred, semi-sacred and even secular works that are apt to figure on the programs of oratorio and allied societies. Mr. Frank Damrosch’s Society of Musical Art sings very beautifully some of the unaccompanied choruses of the early Italian polyphonic school, such as Palestrina’s “Papae Marcelli Mass,” “Stabat Mater” and “Requiem”; the “Miserere” of Allegri (sought to be retained exclusively by the choir of the Sistine Chapel, but which Mozart wrote out from memory after hearing it twice); and the “Stabat Mater” of Pergolesi. There are also the Bach cantatas, Mozart’s “Requiem,” with its tragic associations; Beethoven’s “Mass in D;” Schumann’s “Paradise and the Peri” and his music to Byron’s “Manfred” (with recitation); Liszt’s “Graner Mass,” “Legend of St. Elizabeth” and “Christus”; Rubinstein’s “Tower of Babel” and “Paradise Lost”; Brahms’s “German Requiem,” a noble but difficult work; Dvorak’s “Stabat 259 Mater”; Rossini’s “Moses in Egypt” and “Stabat Mater”; Berlioz’s “Requiem” and “Damnation de Faust,” the American production of which latter was one of the late Dr. Leopold Damrosch’s finest achievements; and Verdi’s “Manzoni Requiem.”