As the second act opens, Samson and Manoah are still conversing, the father singing a long, earnest aria, “Just are the ways of God,” with a very attractive concerted accompaniment, but now, surprisingly, it is Micah who suddenly catches fire, singing one of Handel’s great arias, “Return, oh God of hosts!” The song is as warm as it is bold, its harmonic scheme and adventurous modulations are fascinating. This is really a scena, for the following chorus, “To dust his glory they would tread,” is the third part of the aria, and Micah continues as a sort of precentor, separating the choral sections by his lovely melody. This is an unusually beautiful piece. Now the drama takes a sharp turn as Samson’s “wife” appears, “bedeck’d and gay, sailing like a stately ship.” Handel sets the words he was given by the libretto, but his music gives them a different meaning. This Dalila certainly does not move with anything like the stateliness of a ship, let alone a “frigate,” as the awkward German translation has it. Those who like to quote analogies may see in Dalila and her retinue of virgins a prefiguration of Kundry and her flower girls, but Handel stays away from any attempt at super-erotic sorcery, as well as from Milton’s professed loathing of sex. The music is lightly erotic but only because it emphasizes femininity and might seem oddly decorative but for its intent: the underlying give and take indicates that both Samson and Dalila remember better and more pleasurable days.
Dalila approaches Samson “with doubtful feet and wav‘ring resolution,” which is amply justified for she is greeted with “Out! thou hyaena!” Nevertheless, she begins a song, “With plaintive notes and am’rous moan thus coos the turtle left alone.” It is a delectable piece, the orchestra depicting the cooing of the turtle dove; everything is light and graceful, even the bass fiddles move in ballet slippers. The aria is perhaps a trifle long and eventually one becomes aware that, as with Hoffmann’s doll, something is missing in Dalila. She continues with the assertion that her jealousy prompted her to act as she did: “to keep you there both day and night, love’s prisoner, wholly mine.” As the two converse there is little spirit of vengeance, but neither is there any remorse; instead of breaking into violent denunciations, Samson sings a fine siciliana (“Your charms ruin led the way”) which of course is generally omitted in performance as not being in accord with Samson’s high moral principles. Whether encouraged by this or out of sheer feigned piety, Dalila in her recitative promises to nurse Samson with “redoubled love ... to extremest age.” What ensues, with the virgins joining Dalila’s song, is pure stage music that loses a great deal of its charm in a mere concert performance. The three numbers add up to a scena that begins with a slow minuet aria in which Dalila invites Samson to “hear the voice of love” and ends with a reminder that no moment should be lost because life is short. Handel sketches here with his finest pencil, the workmanship being no less admirable than the mood, which is completely dominated by femininity. Nothing is heard during this scena but high soprano voices, even the continuo is careful not to rumble. At this point perhaps we should quote Schering, who in his valuable book on the oratorio perceptively characterizes this remarkable scene. He notes the resemblance to Kundry and the flower girls, but observes that Handel’s procedure is the exact opposite of Wagner’s, for the erotic is symbolized by the voices singing alone, without the aid of suggestive harmonies, “thus moving the listener by their natural melting sweetness and their captivating echo play of brief sentences.” The reiterated “Hear me, hear the voice of love” is indeed utterly attractive and feminine without being provocatively sensual.
But Samson overcomes the attraction of his memories and in the duet “Traitor to love” the true situation reasserts itself and they begin to slash at each other. The duet is tense and sharp, not the Steffani type but a genuine dramatic ensemble. After Samson’s “I’ll hear no more,” Dalila, at the end of her resources, admits defeat and leaves. The following philosophical observations on the shortcomings of the female sex are not convincing. Handel’s heart was not responsive to this; at this juncture in the drama, however, the moral conclusions were inevitable. In fact, the imprecations threaten to get out of hand, spreading contagiously not only to Micah, always ready with some commentary, but also to the chorus. Handel could silence Samson’s newly won insight into the qualities of a true spouse by giving him a secco recitative of only five measures, but the following chorus undertakes to present Milton’s summary condemnation of womanhood: “To man God’s universal law gave pow’r to keep the wife in awe.” Surprisingly, this un-Handelian idea is set to music in masterly fashion, but after the solemn beginning, when the details of this “universal law” are discussed in a spanking fugue, the meaning of the words is completely ignored. The wickedness of “female usurpation” is a wholly incongruous jolly piece that Handel himself omitted in later versions. It is a pity that this excellent choral piece is dramatically useless; it rolls with effortless grace and the part-writing is of the finest.
Harapha comes to see the fettered hero, taunting him about his reputed strength and refusing Samson’s angry challenge to “combat with a blind man ... a slave half-slain.” Harapha’s aria, “Honour and arms,” has the aspect of the conventional operatic rage aria, but at the same time there is a decidedly basso buffo quality—echoes, as we mentioned, of Polyphemus. Samson answers in a very fine aria, “My strength is from the living God,” marked Larghetto e pomposo, but the piece lacks real conviction. The theatrical qualities increase in the duet “Go baffled coward,” in which the two giants sing in turn, until at the end Handel combines the music of both in a truly dramatic confrontation.
The stage becomes even livelier in the act-ending scena of three choruses, every one of them of the highest quality. “Hear, Jacob’s God” is sung by the Israelites in a spacious six-part setting; the pleading “save us,” with its accents displaced by syncopation, is quietly piercing. This piece, which was borrowed from Carissimi’s Jephte, does not, however, merge smoothly with the others; for some reason Handel failed to perform his usual transplant surgery. Now the Philistines answer with their four-part “To song and dance we give the day.” It is a magnificent piece built on an ostinato bass, but handled with freedom, and the counterpoint is genially loose. This has been interpreted as representing a piece of Völkerpsyeholo-gie, illustrating the lower culture of the Philistines as opposed to the Jews’, but then this lower culture managed to produce a much more sophisticated orchestral accompaniment in this piece than the Jews showed in the preceding and contrapuntally much tighter chorus, and the Philistines have French horns, too, which are apparently unknown to the less primitive Jews. In the third chorus (“Fix’d in his everlasting seat”) Philistines and Jews sing together. In a way this is a summation; each group invokes its own god but with the same music, though within the setting Handel distinguished the parties. This is a real ensemble finale, with the whole cast assisting the chorus; it is also rather Purcellian with its sprightly minuet quality.
With this we are well prepared for the tremendous third act. Harapha is dispatched to bring Samson to perform at Dagon’s feast by demonstrating his strength. The invitation is rejected with scorn, and though this time Harapha has blood in his eye, he still sings in a not too well disguised buffo style. The chorus of Israelites implores Jehovah to “arise with thunder arm‘d”; Samson is now fully aroused from his agony of despair. The dramatic pace is shrewdly planned, for instead of breaking out into open and active belligerency, Samson sings a very beautiful aria, “Thus when the sun forms wat’ry bed,” which with its gentle pastoral quality, full of Handel’s pictorial touches, depicts his quiet but firm resolution. The spark for action comes from Micah’s animated accompanied recitative and from his aria “The Holy One of Israel.” Micah ceases to be an observer-commentator and turns into a sort of leader. His music changes, too; the popular simplicity of the tune appeals to the people, and seconding him, the chorus eagerly takes it up. Samson leaves on his final mission as Manoah reappears to reiterate his plan to ransom his son. But a Philistine
is heard expressing his pleasure that “Great Dagon has subdued our foe,” which, like “Ye men of Gaza,” is a splendid Purcellian dance air the substance of which moves to the chorus on the same text in an appealingly open and light texture. The “oriental-primitive” Philistines once more treat us to a piece of exceptional quality, with fine points of imitation and a jubilant orchestra reinforced with horns. The heathen are innocent of danger; the approaching dénouement is superbly calculated on Handel’s correct assumption that the audience knew what was in store for the self-confident Philistines.
Manoah sings “How willing my paternal love,” a warm and noble air, after which the supreme dramatist throws in his reserves. Manoah returns to his unfinished recitative but is again interrupted by the wild music of a sinfonia which announces the catastrophe that has taken place offstage. The mood is filled with tension as the noise abates and everyone waits for the next move; the concept is altogether theatrical even though the original stage directions are omitted in the printed scores. Events chase one another rapidly as Handel, with equal rapidity, alternates recitative with chorus; his orchestra is now violent. The Philistines are desperate: “Hear us our God,” they cry, and by a stroke of genius Handel supports their chorus with materials taken from the wild sinfonia. The Philistines—“chorus at a distance” is Handel’s suppressed stage direction—are collapsing: “Heav’n, we sink, we die!” A messenger arrives announcing Samson’s death, and we are again reminded of Saul as Handel ends Samson with an elegy which, though shorter, is as magnificent as the one in the earlier oratorio. It begins with Micah’s “Ye sons of Israel now lament,” which is taken up by the chorus “Weep Israel,” both sharing the key of F minor. A dead march follows very like the one in Saul, and again in the major key. In fact, this is the Dead March from Saul, somewhat reorchestrated and transposed, and with an obbligato organ part added; Handel discarded his first version. The culminating point in the elegy is the final chorus, “Glorious hero,” which, though only a half-hundred measures long, is a little compound finale in itself and one of the most moving choral scenes ever composed. The dirge, in a rondolike form and abounding in delicate Purcellian touches, consists of skilfully coordinated sections, each of only a few measures, but with a continuity as remarkable as their variety; here Manoah is the choragus, there an Israelitish Woman, while the Virgins alternate with the full chorus. They mourn Samson, but the tone is gentle, for all Israel is elated over Samson’s redemption. The mystery of beauty that pervades this scene is due to the reconciliation of hero worship with piety, which in the final measures, “rest eternal, sweet repose,” creates an indescribable atmosphere of peace and fulfillment.
These are not, however, the final measures of the oratorio. The elegy constitutes the true lyric end of Samson, as Don Giovanni’s descent to hell is the true dramatic end of that opera. Mozart added a magnificent, if irrelevant, postscript to illustrate the maxim that crime does not pay, while Handel had to satisfy the public’s desire for a sort of happy ending with the trumpets in full cry. As in Don Giovanni, the result was at once oddly unsatisfying and oddly memorable. Manoah calls the Israelites from mourning, “Come, come! no time for lamentation now ... Samson like Samson fell, in life and death heroic,” adding (this was lated excised) “Why should we weep or wail, dispraise, or blame, where all is well and fair?” Indeed, everything can be settled by the mandatory thanksgiving anthem; but first Handel gives the Israelitish Woman a brilliant trumpet aria, “Let the bright Seraphim,” which became a Handelian landmark. Fine as the piece is, it is essentially an aria di bravura or d’agilità as in the old Venetian operas, where arias with concerted trumpet were very popular. The final chorus, “Let their celestial concerts all unite,” is a great anthem. The soprano begins with an unaccompanied sentence in the manner of a psalm tone, in agreeable contrast to the effectively mobile full chorus.
Though a great work, Samson is not quite in a class with Saul. Every act contains magnificent music and whole scenes that are top Handel, and in the third act the composer is at the summit of his powers, but between these absorbing scenes his inspiration did not fully respond to the lengthy soliloquies. This is due mainly to the moral philosophy of Milton, in which Handel was not at home. Hamilton saw the danger but could not altogether eliminate it; its effect is particularly hobbling in Micah, who is a sort of narrator charged with the delivery of lessons and observations. In the choruses Handel could escape the pitfalls by use of the technique, so characteristic of him, of concentrating on single words and ignoring the others. Samson does approach Saul in rich scoring, but the orchestra is treated differently. The number and variety of instruments is almost as great as in Saul (even the trombones, used in Saul, may belong here too, though this is somewhat conjectural), but all these instruments are seldom used together; apparently horns and trumpets were played by the same persons.
Though there are many fine choruses, Samson is not really a choral drama; the arias and recitatives are prominent, and Handel shows a newly found preference for the use of the chorus to continue situations and feelings expressed in a preceding solo by elaborating on the same musical substance. This is a powerful agent of cohesion, and an essentially modern operatic device. (This relationship must be carefully weighed when cuts are made for performance.) The symmetry of the da capo aria is now largely abandoned. The arias in Samson tend to the two-part cavatina or, if there is a ternary plan, the place of the da capo is taken by a chorus. Also, many numbers that are listed as arias are more nearly elaborate ariosos. The accompanied recitative has grown into a supreme dramatic vehicle, but together with its rising importance, we see a rather surprising reappearance of the basso continuo aria, long since abandoned. However, Handel employs it for dramatic purposes, to accentuate what follows. Though Handel was not, compared with Bach, particularly devoted to basso ostinato constructions, they do appear felicitously here and there; Samson has several of them, always treated in a spirit of freedom rather than by literal repetition. A remarkable new element is the exploitation of the “Symphony of horror and confusion” in the following chorus; this accompaniment is in a genuinely symphonic vein.
After Messiah, Handel once more fell back on foreign borrowings; Samson is rather liberally indebted to Carissimi, Astorga, Legrenzi, Giovanni Porta, Telemann, Gottlieb Muffat, and Keiser. Some of these loans were not repaid with the usual generous interest; Handel did not bother to adjust them to his own style, which makes them somewhat conspicuous. But the others show his astonishing capacity for assimilation, for making everything he touched his lawful possession. The score was repeatedly reworked, and since it was a popular oratorio, often revived, Handel kept up the alterations to the very end of his life, in later revivals making changes in the text also. To restore the score will require a great deal of study, ingenuity, and tact, but with suitable excisions and selections Samson will prove to be one of the great oratorios. It would seem though that a really satisfactory performance, especially when staged, should omit the portions after the dirge, which is the natural close of this tragic work. Finally, we must note that the title role was given to a tenor. This was not only because the faithful Beard was available; as Handel became altogether wedded to works in English, his dramaturgical ideas changed, leading him away from the practice of the Italians, who favored the virtuoso singing of the castrati and were not disturbed by the incongruity of the male soprano or alto. A castrato will still appear here and there, but henceforth the tenor will rule in the oratorio, promoted from an accessory role to the eminence heretofore occupied by the castrato.
The first performance of Samson took place in Covent Garden February 18, 1743, the singers consisting of Signora Avoglio, Mrs. Clive, Mrs. Cibber, Miss Edwards, Beard, Savage, Reinhold, and Lowe—a large company that permitted alternate casting in the première. Incidentally, it is quite significant that Dalila’s part was given to an accomplished actress, Susanna Cibber. The success was genuine. Samson became the most immediately successful of all oratorios; it ra
n to full houses for eight performances in one season—a record. Dubourg, temporarily in London, joined Handel’s company, playing, from the fourth performance onward, “A Solo on the Violin,” while Handel played one of his organ concertos in the other intermission. This success was lasting; Samson remained popular throughout the rest of Handel’s life. It was not only that the public liked to hear native singers in English, but the Miltonian concepts and words suited English middle-class feelings. The public did not look very deeply into Handel’s rendition of these concepts and words, and it is easy to see why subsequently Samson became a “sacred oratorio.”
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