The notebook also contained music by Georg Muffat (1653-1704), in whose works the young student could observe the entire formative process of the age he was about to enter. Muffat, whose distant ancestors were Catholic Scots who fled from Elizabethan Britain, was born (of a French mother) in Savoy, but always professed himself a German, and indeed, aside from his years of study, his professional life was spent within the German orbit. Since he studied with Lully, Corelli, and Pasquini, his music is as many-sided as his ancestry, a remarkable combination of Italian, French, and German elements that made him a style builder of the rank of a Froberger. It seems that the French accents we encounter in Handel owe their inception to Muffat’s works, which abound in them. Muffat’s easy and imaginative synthesis of suite, sonata, and fugue found a ready echo in the younger man.
Johann Kuhnau (1660-1722), Bach’s predecessor in the cantor’s chair at St. Thomas’s, though represented in the book, did not seem to have impressed Handel. Kuhnau opened new doors in the history of keyboard music, but there is a certain blandness in his music that Handel may have found uncongenial. Of the others, Johann Heinrich Buttstett and Andreas Nicolaus Vetter were minor masters whose presence in the notebook does not imply any particular interest, but their teacher, Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706), did attract Handel. This Bavarian musician, who introduced the southern German strain into Saxon-Thuringian music, shows a melodiousness and intimacy quite different from the music of his northern colleagues. His easy-flowing and plastic counterpoint can be playful, and he exhibits a genial disregard for such a rule as maintenance of a stated number of parts, something that was not approved by the Northern cantors but was practiced with equal geniality by Handel. Of the foreigners represented in the notebook, we should mention Alessandro Poglietti (d. 1683), an Italian settled in Vienna. Poglietti’s brilliant and witty keyboard pieces were not forgotten by Handel; Max Seiffert has pointed out borrowings, notably in the first movement of the eleventh Grand Concerto, Opus 6.
Handel was not a solitary disciple, for Zachow had around him a number of talented youngsters; the exchange and companionship among them must have been mutually beneficial. Of these we know of Gottfried Kirchhoff, exactly Handel’s age, who later succeeded his master, upon the latter’s death, as organist and choirmaster of Our Lady’s Church. (Incidentally, he was almost nosed out of this position by Sebastian Bach.) While not a distinguished composer, Kirchhoff was an able and versatile musician, fairly widely known, especially for his keyboard music. Leopold Mozart appreciated him sufficiently to include one of his sonatas in the instruction book he prepared for Wolfgang in 1761.
Thus we can see that the young musician became acquainted with the entire range and tradition of German music and undoubtedly with a good deal of Italian and French music—surely a musical education as thorough, comprehensive, and enlightened as one could wish.
[3]
ZACHOW ALSO took his pupil on trips, usually to nearby places. A visit to Berlin in 1698 (without his master?) was of decisive influence upon Handel’s future plans, even though its impact was not immediately in evidence. Nothing is known about the circumstances leading to the Berlin trip. Biographers set the date as 1696, in the boy’s eleventh year, and wonder why the stubborn barber-surgeon permitted his son to go to a place where his objectionable musical leanings would only receive a powerful boost. Some even intimate that it was his father who took him to Berlin. Furthermore, the argument runs, this trip, of several months’ duration rather than one of those short excursions taken in the company of Zachow, must have been financed by the elder Händel; surely a largesse quite out of character. We are obviously dealing here with faulty dates: the journey took place at least two years later than 1696, and the means were probably provided by Handel’s kindly mother. There is absolutely no documentary proof that the visit took place in 1696, or, as is supposed, that the elder Händel refused to accede to the Berlin court’s wish that his son be sent to Italy on a stipend, but there are quite plausible indications that the trip took place in 1698, after his father’s death, when Handel was thirteen. Mainwaring, Handel’s first biographer (1760), is often unreliable, but Mattheson, the close friend of his years in Hamburg, seldom so. In this case both agree on 1698. Since all parties accept the fact that Handel met Ariosti repeatedly in Berlin, this ought to settle the question: Ariosti did not arrive in Berlin until 1697; in 1696 he was definitely in Mantua. It is also held that Handel met Giovanni Bononcini in Berlin, which makes the date 1696 even more implausible because the Italian did not arrive in Berlin until 1702.
Though at that time a modest city, Berlin was a metropolis as far as music is concerned, mainly because of the energetic and enthusiastic Electress Sophie Charlotte, later Queen of Prussia. This lady is depicted by Sir Newman Flower as a neurotic scatterbrain and her husband, the future Frederick I of Prussia, as a henpecked nonentity who had to put up with his wife’s musical prodigality while he himself did not care a whit about the art. Sophie Charlotte was anything but an empty-headed dilettante with a compulsion to throw away her money. She was extremely fond of music, not necessarily a sign of an unbalanced mind, and besides being fond of it was a well-trained and versatile musician and a highly cultivated woman, later earning the sobriquet the “Philosopher Queen.” Sophie was the daughter of the Elector of Hanover (and sister of the future George I of England); she heard good music at her father’s court and received excellent instruction from Agostino Steffani, with whom she remained on friendly terms all her life. She composed, and was a good harpsichord player perfectly capable of officiating as maestra al cembalo at chamber music and even opera performances. The Elector himself was an amateur with a good grasp of music, and his court orchestra, drilled in the French manner of Lully, was one of the best in Europe. Above all, the court was teeming with illustrious musicians: Ariosti, Steffani, Pistocchi, Bononcini, Corelli, and others, who not only visited and worked there but composed for and dedicated works to Sophie Charlotte. In 1700 Corelli published and dedicated to her his famous Opus 5, the twelve sonatas, the last of which is the Follia. While dedicatory prefaces in that age were of course flowery to the point of being obsequious, Corelli’s specifically emphasizes that the Electress’s interest in music was “not a simple divertissement; she has a sound and scientific [i.e. professional] knowledge of it.”
Here was something new and exciting for Handel: flesh-and-blood Italians and their original music. According to Mainwaring and Mattheson, Handel particularly cultivated Ariosti, and, considering the sound judgment Handel exhibited from his youth, his preference is quite understandable. Notwithstanding Chrysander’s and others’ patronizing or derogatory estimates of this Servite friar, he is again one of those whose music exerted a powerful influence on the great composer in his formative years.
Attilio Ariosti (1666-c. 1740) was a musician who could take his place in the Scarlatti-Steffani-Caldara-Bononcini-Lotti circle at no disadvantage. He composed excellent instrumental music as well as cantatas and operas of a very dramatic hue. But there is something else in his oeuvre that seems to have escaped the Handel specialists, though not that able historian of the oratorio, Schering: Ariosti the composer of dramatic oratorios. La Passione di Cristo (1693) is described by Schering as being strong and vigorous, and its dramatically agitated choral scenes seem to have been the first modern turbae depicting a people in action. Unfortunately, Ariosti is one of those neglected, solitary figures to whom modern musicology owes a debt. A few instrumental pieces of his are available in modern prints, and of his dramatic works, sacred and secular, only a few arias appear in anthologies. Of the music he composed for Berlin we know nothing.
The impact of the rich secular musical life in the Brandenburg capital and of such powerful musical personalities as Ariosti’s upon the impressionable and receptive youngster must have been considerable and the contrast with provincial and bourgeois Halle enlightening. But even at that tender age Handel’s rocklike character was in evidence: he was not ready to abrogate an
understanding reached with his late father that he continue his humanistic studies with a view to entering the law school of the university. While in Berlin he so enchanted the electoral couple by his playing that the Prince offered to send the boy to Italy with a stipend. Most biographies agree that the offer was made in a letter to the barber-surgeon, who turned it down; but no one ever seems to have seen the letter. The fact is that his father was dead by that time, and it is quite clear from Mainwaring and Mattheson that the offer was made to and declined by a sort of family council; a “trusted member” of the family actually resided in Berlin, employed at the court. Upon his return to Halle the departed father’s wish was observed and music relegated to off-hours. These spare hours, however, were well utilized, and Zachow undoubtedly stood by. The boy began to acquire a reputation. In 1701 Telemann, on his way to Leipzig, stopped over in Halle and sought out the young organist about whom he had heard complimentary things. Thus began a long friendship, as half a century of correspondence shows.
In 1702 Handel was appointed probationary organist at Halle Cathedral. Though he was a Lutheran and the cathedral belonged to the Calvinists, no lovers of Lutherans, his superiority over other possible candidates was so manifest that the authorities were willing to forget about the denominational disability. The document of appointment states that “the student Georg Friedrich Händel has already at different times acted as deputy to the former [incumbent],” therefore they were familiar with his capabilities.
Now a curious and seemingly inexplicable event takes place. At the end of the probationary year, just when he was about to be confirmed as cathedral organist, Handel resigned his office and decided to move to Hamburg. The biographers are in a quandary to explain this momentous decision. Why did Handel resign from a good position? Had he not received a thorough preparation for precisely such a career at the hands of one of the most estimable practitioners in a region that could boast of many? And was this not an unusually auspicious start—cathedral organist and regens chori at eighteen? Since he had no visible means of making a living waiting for him in Hamburg, and his savings could not have amounted to much, the conclusion arrived at was summarized by Sir Newman Flower: “He had left Halle aimlessly to find fortune.” George Frideric Handel never crossed a street aimlessly; he would certainly not have made such a fateful decision without due deliberation. Ironically, Sir Newman himself has the key to the question, though he neglects to use it: “Hamburg was the beginning of the great search.” This is very nicely and accurately put. In reality, Handel faced up to a multitude of problems and questions, which his responsive and acute mind had considered and examined from every angle. In no admissible way can this decision be presented as an unmeditated caprice; but in order to explain the chain of events we must turn to the youngster standing at the bier of his strange father and then examine his life and work in Halle.
[4]
GERMAN CUSTOM, upon the death of a respected and substantial burgher, was to compose and print an obituary pamphlet containing the funeral orations as well as poems by friends and relations. Georg Händel’s family observed the tradition, and among the poems that appeared in print a few days after the funeral was one by the twelve-year-old son. Though of course conventional in versification, it is a remarkably mature piece for one so young, but the most interesting part is the signature: “Georg Friedrich Händel, dedicated to the liberal arts.” This was at once a true statement as to his present activity and a humble filial acknowledgment of the father’s will. And indeed, young Handel was devoted to the liberal arts, receiving an excellent training either in Halle’s Lutheran Gymnasium or the Latin School. But he was also an autodidact who with a good mind, intuition, and sharp powers of observation learned and retained everything that came upon his horizon. It is attested that the mature Handel knew English, French, and Italian, besides his mother tongue and Latin, all of which he spoke and wrote fluently. Only a thorough humanistic grounding made this possible.
A little while ago we remarked on the contrast between the brilliant court in Berlin and the provincial milieu in Halle—but that contrast concerned secular music only. Halle was an old seat of culture, and its church music was always on a high level. Though once considered one of the most Catholic cities in Germany, Halle became a stronghold of Lutheranism in the Reformer’s lifetime. Its rich cultural traditions continued, and at the opening of the 17th century arts and letters were cultivated on a remarkably high and progressive level. The theatre performed Shakespeare early in the 17th century. Samuel Scheidt played the organ in the Moritzkirche, and all other churches had able organists and fair choirs. The humanistic schools also had their musical establishments, notably choirs. The ravages of the Thirty Years’ War did not leave the cultural life of Halle untouched, but recovery was remarkably swift. It is interesting to note that the city had good resident organ-builders, and in fact, the church elders complained about the cost of maintaining the several large instruments in the city’s churches. (After Zachow’s death in 1712, Bach himself put in a bid for the vacant position of organist at Our Lady’s Church. He must have been attracted by the fine instrument in the church, for the emoluments were not enticing. In the end he went to Weimar.)
Halle’s university was founded in 1694 by the Elector for the express purpose of accommodating the great jurist Christian Thomasius, who had been expelled from Leipzig for his liberal views. Many of his students followed him to Halle. The university was one of the principal seats of Protestant theology, though at times rather prominently tinged with Pietism. It was at this institution that Handel matriculated in 1702 after finishing his secondary education. Grove’s Dictionary (1954), like biographical sketches of Handel elsewhere, is satisfied with the simple statement: “In February 1702 he entered the University and finished the study of law, to which his father set him.” While Handel did not actually matriculate in the faculty of law—the students’ roster is extant—he undoubtedly attended the courses given by the famous professor of law, the guiding light of the university. But what was this “study of law” in the 17th and 18th centuries, particularly in Halle?
It was not a study of the empirical-analytical practice of jurisprudence, though of course then as now lawyers had to learn the requirements of everyday law practice, but an examination of the great philosophical, moral, and ethical problems of the social organization of human affairs. That is, “law” was still closely allied with the humanities, a good deal of it consisting in reflections on human conduct, and it was not far different from the philosophy of history. Somewhat weighted down with metaphysical thought, German philosophy of law as professed in Halle was nevertheless distinctly liberal and progressive. The dominant figure in the university was Rector Christian Thomasius (1655-1728), a true pioneer of the Enlightenment and a most influential thinker and teacher. Handel of course heard the distinguished professor of law, the first academician to dare to lecture in German. The great liberal’s ideas as well as his lectures went far beyond law, embracing literature, theology, and social science. This courageous man made Halle into the most enlightened place in Germany. Much has been said about his valiant crusade against witch hunts and the unspeakable cruelties connected with them, but his principal aim was larger. He wanted to free statecraft, politics, and law from theology. It was here, indeed, that Handel first encountered respect for the dignity and freedom of man’s mind and for the solemn majesty of the law, principles under which he was to live for almost half a century in England. It is very important to realize that these ideals were acquired in his youth, in his home town, and not in England, otherwise his subsequent moves and decisions will make little sense.
He encountered another remarkable man at the university in Halle, August Hermann Francke (1663-1727), Professor of Greek, Oriental Languages, and Theology. Francke was particularly devoted to the welfare of wayward children and orphans and established an orphanage, a foundlings’ hospital, that became a model for all Germany. He passionately proclaimed the duty of society a
nd of the state to look after these poor children; this made a deep impression on Handel, a charitable man and very fond of children. All his life he remembered Francke and his solicitous care for these unfortunates, and when Handel found a similar institution in London, at a time when he had the means to lend a helping hand, he gave unstintingly of his time and money. As is well known, the rights to Messiah were vested in the London Foundling Hospital, bringing the institution a handsome revenue.
It was from this atmosphere that the young man emerged at the age of eighteen with an independent, well-stocked, clear, tough brain, and a spirit touched with something of prophetic fire. He was altogether self-sufficient, and though good-natured, even gregarious, he accepted rather than gave friendship: he had no need of others to complement himself. He was now ready to make decisions that no one else could make for him.
[5]
ABOUT THE COMPOSITIONS of the Halle period we know very little, but Mattheson, a reliable witness, analyzed them succinctly in his Ehrenpforte. “Handel in those days set very, very long arias and sheerly unending cantatas which, while not possessing the proper knack or correct taste, were perfect so far as harmony is concerned.” Then he adds: “Handel was a stranger to melody, but knew far more about fugue and counterpoint than Kuhnau.” This criticism is most interesting and reveals a great deal of the character of both young men. Mattheson accepts the fact that Handel is a superbly trained composer—in the cantor’s art. Why, he even declares the youngster superior to Sebastian Bach’s famous predecessor at St. Thomas’s. But the adverse comments are significant: Handel did not have the “knack” to use his excellent training to write “modern” music. This is obviously the judgment of a progressive musician well acquainted with the new Italian dramatic style. Unfortunately, few of these early compositions—cantatas, German arias, etc.—can be reliably dated.3
George Frideric Handel_Dover Books on Music Page 3
