Chapter XIV: Part 14

The contrast with the composer's operas, which are made up almost entirely of solo numbers was too decided, and moreover there was at this time in London a marked and deplorable falling off of musical interest. After years of immoderate indulgence, there followed a period of weariness and indifference. Handel, indeed, set to music in 1739 Dryden's lesser "Ode to St. Cecilia," and in 1740 Milton's beautiful poem "_L'allegro ed il pensieroso_,"[3] thus showing how he identified himself with the intellectual life of the English and the creations of their most eminent men. But his efforts seemed no longer to bear fruit, and he was already considering the project of leaving England forever, when offers made to him from Dublin opened favorable prospects in a new quarter. He was requested to give a performance in that city, for the benefit of some of its benevolent institutions, and in return the best vocal and instrumental talent of the place would be at his disposal for such other concerts as he might give. The work composed by Handel for the desired performance was the "Messiah." The text had been drawn from the Bible by Charles Jennings (not by Handel himself, as has been falsely stated), and the music was completed on the 14th of September, 1741. On the 18th of November Handel arrived in Dublin, and on the 13th of April, 1742, was produced for the first time the work in which the lofty aim of the composer became perfectly clear. The new order of art created by him, the oratorio as he conceived it, was now first comprehended by the world, and began at once to enter into the life of the English people as an exponent of the highest ideal good which had been vouchsafed them in their generation. Many of Handel's other works were brought out in Dublin, and he enjoyed there a period of unalloyed happiness, after the trials of the past few years. When he returned to London in 1742, he found that here also the tide had turned in his favor. The seed sown by him through a quarter of a century was finally beginning to germinate. His music had gradually cultivated the taste of the nation and he could henceforth count upon a sure understanding of whatever he might create. From this time Handel's authority in England was uncontested and his popularity boundless. He stood forth before the eyes of the people as the embodied essence of all music. It now became his habit to perform the "Messiah" every year for the benefit of a foundling's home, and he employed the resources of his art most freely and nobly in every direction in aid of all charitable institutions. What he had already once attempted in 1735 in the Lenten season, when no operas could be performed, but had not been able to carry out, became now a regularly organized arrangement. Twelve concerts were given annually, in which he produced his own vocal works and in addition delighted the audiences by his performances upon the organ. In 1743 he began the series of concerts with his "Samson," which was composed immediately after the "Messiah," and won scarcely less favor than the latter. Of his later oratorios, "Judas Maccabæus" alone enjoyed an equally great and lasting success. But the remaining thirteen, which occupied the inexhaustible energies of the man until within two years of his death, were listened to with sympathetic interest. They are: "Semele" (1743), "Joseph" (also 1743), "Belshazzar" (1744), "Heracles" (1744), Occasional Oratorios (1746), "Joshua" (1747), "Alexander Balus" (1747), "Solomon" (1748), "Susannah" (1748), "Theodora" (1749), "The Choice of Hercules" (1750), "Jephthah" (1751), "The Triumph of Time and Truth" (1757). The last-named work is that final arrangement of the Italian oratorio, which has been already mentioned. When Handel brought it out again in 1737, much changed and amplified, he still retained the Italian text, and it was now, for the first time, incorporated with the series of his English oratorios. It is an allegorical drama: Beauty and Pleasure stand upon one side, Time and Counsel on the other. Which of the two pairs shall finally win the day, is to be shown. Deceit places herself near the first, and tries to blind their eyes to the transitoriness of all delights and the earnestness of life. But in the end, following the warnings of Time and Counsel, Beauty and Pleasure turn after all to Truth. The deep significance of Handel's closing his long career with the same work which stands at its entrance, is readily perceived. Well might it seem to him an image of his own life. He too had formed intimate acquaintance with the beauty and pleasure of the world, but he could truly say in the evening of his life that they had not succeeded in averting his gaze from the serious and eternal things which "are not of this world."

Engraved by Deblois from a portrait by Mad. Clement, evidently based upon the Hudson portrait.]

Between the oratorios just mentioned fall a few other less important works, among which the "Te Deum" for the victory at Dettingen in 1743 deserves special mention. The last of his oratorios written down wholly in his own hand was "Jephthah," and this he could only accomplish with difficulty. For when he had arrived at the closing chorus of the second part, he was attacked with a disease of the eyes, from which, however, he so far recovered as to be able to complete the work by degrees. But he was engaged upon this oratorio from the 21st of January to the 30th of August, whereas three or four weeks were usually sufficient for a task of this sort. The oculist Taylor, whose want of skill was manifested so clearly in the case of Sebastian Bach, treated Handel also, and performed an operation; but here again the experiment was unsuccessful and total blindness was the result. With Bach this condition lasted only a few months, while Handel was obliged to support the affliction through all the last years of his life. In spite of this, he continued his musical performances under the direction of his pupil, John Christian Smith, and even in his blindness, regularly played an organ solo between the second and third parts of an oratorio. He chose for the purpose one or another of his organ concertos, but when obliged to play without instrumental accompaniment, did not confine himself to the music as written, trusting instead to his great gift for improvisation and joining in with the other performers at a given signal. It was an impressive sight for the audience when the blind old man was conducted to the organ bench and then, after he had enchanted them through his wonderful playing, was led forward to make his bow. During the singing of the oratorio, he was accustomed to sit still near the organ, and on the performance of "Samson," when the blind hero of the piece reached the aria: "Total eclipse! no sun, no moon," tears were often seen to flow from the sightless eyes. Even as late as 1759 he still gave his oratorio concerts. But before the series was ended, on the 6th of April, he fell ill, never to recover. On the 14th of April, at eight o'clock in the morning, he died. It was the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, where stands the monument erected to his memory.

Of his not inconsiderable property, he bequeathed about £20,000 to his relatives in Germany. He went through life unmarried, and posterity has not learned whether the prospect of founding a family of his own ever opened itself before him. In figure he was tall and robust; his movements were clumsy, but his features were animated and dignified. He was easily moved to anger, but a certain element of humor served to break the force of his stormy outbreaks. The broken English in which he spoke had often a comical effect, especially in moments of excitement. Burney relates that he had a natural turn for wit and the gift of treating the most commonplace matters in an interesting manner. His ordinary expression was somewhat stern, (that he seldom laughed in his younger days is also related by Mattheson) but when he smiled it was like a sunbeam piercing a dark cloud. Unyielding determination, strong independence, sincere devoutness, a high sense of honor, fidelity and a noble philanthropy, which was always ready to offer help, were among the most marked traits of this man, whose greatness did not consist in his art alone.

* * * * *

In Handel and Bach the inborn talent for music of the German people finds a fuller expression than at any earlier or later period, nor have other nations furnished an instance so phenomenal. The reason lies partly in the fact that the two men, equally endowed by nature, differed from each other as widely as possible, and accordingly exercised their powers in the most opposite domains of art. Precisely in these two departments of music from which Bach held himself entirely aloof, the opera and the oratorio, Handel labored with untiring and exclusive energy. Organ and piano playing, to be sure, formed for him the starting-point of his development, but while Bach went on through his whole life in the path marked out from the beginning, Handel left it at the early age of eighteen and entered upon a wholly different career. Of Bach it can be said that he was an instrumental composer, and remained such to the end of his life. The medium through which Handel wished to express himself was that of song. Instruments which can be associated with the voice and form a setting for it he considered, and therefore treated as subordinate. And even where he allows them to work independently--in his piano compositions, in his concertos and sonatas of the most-varied arrangement--there is awakened in the hearer the feeling that he is being amused by a sweet, beautiful, thought-inspiring play, but still a _play_, in the truest meaning of the word. Handel first becomes entirely serious in his cantatas, operas and oratorios, and for this reason it is difficult to provide a place for him in the history of instrumental music. He stands by himself and not in the ranks.

From an accurate cast of the head and shoulders of Roubillac's statue of Handel, in Westminster-Abbey.]

This caricature is said to have been drawn by the scene-painter at the theatre, in spiteful retaliation for some reprimand received from the composer.]

The most beautiful of his piano compositions are the eight suites of 1720. "_Suite_" does not signify here a definite form of piano music, as with Bach and his German predecessors. The word indeed can only be translated by _series_, or _succession_. In this collection there is not one actual suite, but a number of different pieces for the piano are arranged in pleasing alternation. There are dances and variations, but also preludes and fugues, and finally pieces more in the manner of the Italian chamber music, which preferred the violin to the piano as a medium of expression. The caprice of the master here held sovereign sway. Even his manner of writing for the piano is different from that of Bach. He had learned more than the latter from Krieger and Kuhnau, and a certain relationship with the South German piano music is also shown; it is very significant that he interested himself in the "_Componimenti Musicali_," by Gottlieb Muffat of Vienna, which appeared in 1735, while, so far as we know, he took no notice of Bach's piano compositions. It is, however, certain that he allowed himself to be strongly influenced by the two Scarlattis; this is plainly shown by the style of his piano technique, but more especially in his manner of writing piano fugues. In regard to this, one should examine, by the side of the first collection, the fourth, published in 1735, which only contains six fugues. The contents of the second and third are less important. Handel at one time gave instruction to the royal princesses, and may have written down for their use much that is included in this collection.

As is readily conceivable, when we consider the school in which his taste was formed, Handel wrote from preference chamber music in the Italian style. He has given us solo sonatas with bass, trios for two violins and bass, _concerti grossi_, and concertos for the organ. But here, also, he shows an inclination to depart from the forms which, after a gradual process of development, had become established in 1700, not for the purpose of making organic improvement in them, but through pure caprice. Like that of his piano compositions, the music has something of an improvisatorial and accidental character. It might be different, without becoming therefore less beautiful and entertaining. The creations which he offers are by no means always original; we repeatedly find portions of his compositions for the voice, which he has simply arranged for instruments. He once went with a clerical friend of his to take a walk in the Vauxhall gardens on the Thames, at the hour of the usual public concert. The orchestra began to play and both men drew near to listen. After a time the old clergyman said: "It is wretched stuff." "You are right," said Handel, "I thought so myself, after I had written it." But just in this improvisatorial style lies one of the especial charms of his instrumental music. It is necessarily unequal in merit, but when the composer was in the right mood, he accomplished something which delighted everybody and will always delight anew. Among the twelve _concerti grossi_ of 1739, the third, in E minor, and the sixth, in G minor, are works of surpassing beauty. The twelve _concerti_ are only written for stringed instruments, to which Handel, for the most part confines himself in works of a different class. This is the Italian fashion. Bach employs by preference the most diverse sorts of wind instruments in the six great concertos of 1721. To his complex, contrapuntal style of writing, moreover, the transparent simplicity of Handel, who always says exactly what he has to say without circumlocution, but with the greatest emphasis, offers a sharp contrast. One may say, indeed, that Handel's _concerti grossi_ are no _concerti_ at all, in Bach's sense of the word. They have the form of Corelli's sonatas, freely adapted to the resources of a fuller body of instruments. The organ concertos of Handel are more in the prescribed form. It has already been observed that the organ is here treated like a piano of richer tone, and not like a church instrument, after the manner of Bach. English performers have had the same idea and have just as often made use of the concertos for piano music.

The Italian cantatas of Handel are likewise to be regarded as a less important branch, or even a component part of his operas, just as the chamber duets, anthems and similar compositions belong in the domain of his oratorios. For a brief survey of his works, it is therefore sufficient to confine ourselves to the opera and the oratorio. The opinion has been widespread and prevails even in our day, that so long as Handel occupied himself with the opera, he was obstinately pursuing the wrong path, which he only abandoned after many bitter experiences, in order henceforth to devote himself to the oratorio, for which nature had intended him. For it has always been considered one of the most marked characteristics of genius that it discovers the right way unconsciously, as it were, and impelled by inward necessity. According to this, Handel, with his forty operas, would have mistaken his true bent during the best forty years of his life. The opinion rests, however, upon the theory of an antithesis between the opera and the oratorio, which has never existed. During the hundred years preceding Handel's time, the two forms of art, simultaneous in origin, kept equal pace in their development. Through the changes wrought in the opera in the middle of the seventeenth century at Venice, and from the end of that period at Naples, solo song attained almost complete supremacy in that field, while in the oratorio there was still room for the chorus. The extraordinary pleasure derived from solo-singing is shown by the effort made to express the individual personality in music, and the opportunity of doing this is what attracted Handel to the opera. If we regard the poetic compositions employed by him in the light of their dramatic value, their delineation of character, the systematic management and increasing intensity of the action, they are not, for the most part, calculated to excite a profound interest. They are after the manner of all operatic poems in Italy in 1700, and generally derive their material from ancient history or from mythological lore. But the poets certainly show skill in so arranging their incidents that the personages concerned find opportunity to give utterance to their feelings. The portrayal of character, by means of music, was, then, the object in view. This Handel wished to accomplish in his operas, and, within the limits which he prescribed for himself, he was entirely successful. Not psychological processes, but psychological conditions were what he wished to represent in his arias, and the progress of the action lies always outside of the principal musical themes. That this was intentional with him, and also with the Italians of his time, is proved most clearly by the form of solo-song almost exclusively employed. The aria, as fashioned by Alessandro Scarlatti, is only adapted to a feeling which indeed rises above its original state, but soon returns to it. The recurrence of the first part at the end, after a weakly contrasting middle portion, is the image of a self-centred exclusiveness. The direct opposite of this form is that in which a slow movement is followed by a more rapid one, so that the feeling passes from rest to motion, from contemplation to activity. This is certainly the dramatic form, and therefore Handel's opera music is not dramatic in a narrow sense. But no one will attempt to deny that his style has also its artistic justification and is sure of producing great effects whenever the hearer concentrates his attention upon the characteristic picture presented, rather than upon the suspense resulting from an uninterrupted continuous action. With inexhaustible inventive power, Handel has drawn such pictures in his operas. No reproach is less deserved than that he has acquired a stereotyped manner and turns out his productions as if they were cast in a mould. Whenever the same forms and turns recur in his works, they express exactly what is demanded by the situation and is necessary for the accomplishing of a powerful effect. For the rest, he seizes every problem firmly and repeats himself as little as the circumstances of our lives are exactly repeated, even if they sometimes seem to show a general resemblance. His work, to be sure, lies almost wholly in the province of simple sensations--complicated, romantic, psychological conditions are out of his sphere. So-called _ensemble_ movements, in which different persons with strongly-contrasting emotions confront each other, whose utterances it has become one of the most interesting tasks of the latter opera-composers to weave together upon the ground of a certain universal sympathy, are of comparatively rare occurrence in his compositions. Just as little does he concern himself to give expression to a mood which proceeds from a single scene, considered as such. The instrumental accompaniment, which finds herein one of its heaviest tasks, is always extremely simple and restrained. Everything really essential finds utterance through the singer. Singers of the highest order are therefore demanded by his operas, those who have not only command of the most highly perfected technique of their art, but whose creative mind enables them to become thoroughly imbued with the spirit of a piece of music. He lived in a time when the art of song on every side was in a condition of the highest cultivation, and it was under such influences that he was able to create those perfect specimens of characteristic and artistic song, found in almost superabundant measure in his operas. Because in our time this art has been lost, the beauty of Handel's opera arias remains for the most part concealed from us, but that another change will one day take place there is no doubt. An immediate revolution, to be sure, is not to be expected. Music has fallen by degrees from that lofty height, and only by degrees can she again attain unto it. What the operas of Handel will then signify to the world cannot to-day be even approximately estimated.

Reproduced from a photograph made for this work by special permission. One of four life-size statues placed in the vestibule of the Opera House, at the foot of the grand marble staircase.]

Exactly the same characteristic form of musical representation which is peculiar to Handel's operas constitutes, in a still greater degree, the essence of his oratorios. From an external point of view the oratorios stand higher, because they are produced with so much richer musical resources and because, in order to employ these properly, a much higher order of art is required. The chorus, which was almost wholly excluded from the operas, is here made use of in manifold ways, taking at least equal rank with the solo-song, while it often predominates. But the inner worth of the oratorio is greater, because in this we are no longer concerned with transient emotions, confined to a narrow circle of fictitious personages, who, in their totality, are indifferent to us, but with the feelings aroused by momentous events in the world's history, by the deeds and sorrows of great men and women, by legends full of the deepest symbolism, by lofty, divine decrees, extending even to the life, sufferings and resurrection of Christ, the son of God. The mighty choruses in Handel's oratorios took a powerful hold upon his contemporaries, to whom they appeared in the light of something wholly new. His Italian predecessors were more or less wanting in that sense of the sublime which caused Handel to seize upon such material as demanded the full co-operation of a large body of singers, and in this very direction was displayed most strikingly the immense superiority of his genius and his strength as an artist. The imposing array of figures which he leads before us in his choral pictures is astounding. From the simplest choral melodies, like the songs of victory in "Saul" and in "Judas Maccabaeus," to the gigantically towering, yet easily animated masses of the chorus in "Israel in Egypt," they stand forth, exuberant in strength, overpowering in the impression they produce, but at the same time simple and easily understood, as if they were created by the power of Nature herself. And in the case of these choruses again, the equipment and co-operation of the orchestra are limited, the principal task devolving here also upon the singers. With Bach the effect consists in the complete blending of organ, chorus, and orchestral tone. The hearer must be conscious neither of those who sing nor those who play; the incorporeal essence of melody floats through the spaces of the church. In listening to Handel's choruses, one rejoices in the consciousness that it is human beings who are singing. Their tones are like the voice of a victorious army, of nations blessed by God, of all sympathetic humanity. The greater the number of people united in the expression of an emotion, the less of his individualism does each retain. An oratorio chorus, however marked its character, can still express only feelings of a strong and simple nature. Joy and sorrow! So far as the meaning of a piece of music can be interpreted, these two words paraphrase the utterances of Handel's choruses. Both are to be understood in their fullest significance; joy, from the bright, childish enjoyment of life, to the tumultuous bursts of exultation after victory won, from pious adoration to enthusiastic soaring up to God; sorrow, both as quiet sadness and deep, intensest mourning. But it is always one of these two emotions, which resounds full and clear. Mixtures of the two, such as often occur with Bach, are almost never found in Handel's music.

In the last century, the opinion became fully established that Handel was pre-eminently great in choral music, and, as there was a sudden revolution of taste at this time in the line of solo-song, his arias and glorious recitatives were thrown into the shade. But the only way in which it is possible to be just to the composer, is to acknowledge the latter as well as the former, to be necessary for the completeness of the _ensemble_, and dependent upon each other for their effect. Since the greater number of Handel's oratorios are biblical in subject, and since from the beginning a certain edificatory purpose was associated with this order of work, a strong desire prevailed in Germany to class them as church music. But to do this is to thrust them out of the free and elevated position which they rightfully hold. In them the distinction between the worldly and the ecclesiastical is done away with, nor could they with propriety be designated as religious in character, for, besides his biblical material, Handel has also employed for his compositions profane history (Alexander Balus), ancient mythology (Heracles, Semele, Acis and Galatea), legendary subjects (Theodora), and pure description (Alexander's Feast; Allegro and Pensieroso). A noble humanity was the ideal of his art, and this he has completely realized in his oratorios. The "Messiah" itself is no exception, but rather crowns them all in this respect.

Reproduced from an engraving published at the time. Drawn by E. F. Burney and engraved by J. Spilsbury. The plate bears this inscription:

View of the Gallery prepared for the reception of their Majesties,
the Royal Family, Directors, and principal Personages in the Kingdom,
at the Commemoration of Handel in Westminster Abbey.
]

The characteristic musical style which from this time especially distinguishes the oratorio demands no distinct form of poetry. It is only necessary that events should be presented which are calculated to hold the feelings in a continuous state of excitement. The portrayal of these feelings by means of music can, however, just as well be accomplished with a narrative text, as in "Israel," a descriptive, as in the "Allegro," or with one which only _indicates_ events, like the "Messiah," as with a poem in dramatic form. The latter is most frequently employed by Handel and is particularly adapted to solo-song; still he would by no means consent to have his oratorios regarded as real musical dramas, otherwise it would have been easy for him to produce them on the stage with full action. He objected to this, because a theatrical representation seemed to him more likely to diminish than to increase their effect, by diverting the attention from what was to him of still more importance in the oratorio than in the opera--the working of pure music.

It was a long time before Handel's oratorios became naturalized in his native country. The facilities for presenting them were wanting; in the small private musical societies, which existed here at that time, there was not room for works of such gigantic growth. But the centennial anniversary, erroneously celebrated in England in 1784 and repeated in 1785, with its productions of Handel's works on a previously unheard-of scale, aroused in the German people a spirit of emulation. In 1786, 1787 and 1788, Johann Adam Hiller organized in Berlin, Leipsic, and Breslau great performances of the "Messiah," which created a profound impression. The _Singakademie_ founded in Berlin in 1791 proceeded to occupy itself diligently with Handel, and on the model of this there soon arose a number of choral societies, which did the same thing. After the year 1810 great musical festivals began to be held, and it was not long before Handel's oratorios constituted their principal material. At the most important of these, the Rhenish, which was established in 1818, thirty-four oratorios, or other great choral compositions of Handel, were given in the course of forty-four performances. But as yet, it must be said, full justice has only been done to the choruses of these great works; for an adequate rendering of the solo portions, the vocal culture of our time is not yet sufficient.

Several attempts at a complete edition of Handel's works have been already made; two of these were in England, in 1784 and 1840 respectively, but both were failures. On the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of the composer's death, in the year 1859, the German Handel Society was founded for the express purpose of finally accomplishing the desired result. The editor of the edition is Friedrich Chrysander, and the work, intended to consist of one hundred volumes, is approaching completion. For the first time, all the operas are here published in connection with the oratorios. The inestimable service rendered by Chrysander is not, however, limited to this task. He is also the author of a biography of Handel (Leipsic, Breitkopf und Härtel), which far surpasses all earlier works upon this subject and may be reckoned among the best productions of our century, in the line of scientific musical literature.

_Reproduction of a photograph from an oil portrait by J. S. Duplessis, Paris, 1776. Gluck in his sixty-second year._ (_See page 223._)]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: To the latter Charles Jennings had appended verses forming a third part: "_Il moderato_."]

CHRISTOPH WILIBALD GLUCK

Poetry and Music, gracious twin-sisters sent from Heaven to comfort suffering humanity, are seldom intimately united in the history of Art; it may even be affirmed that the story of their evolution presents a picture of ceaseless struggle in which the one is ever striving for mastery over the other. Although these sister-arts (neither of which can claim the right of primogeniture) at the time of the highest development of Greek art displayed in united action an inconceivable power which has never since been attained, they were compelled after a brief period, with the rise of sophistic philosophy, to descend from that lofty position. While language and music were developed as separate arts it was indeed possible for them individually to reach a state of perfection, but the efficiency subsequently attained by united strength and harmonious coalescence was then impossible.

In like manner in the Middle Ages poetry and music strove for supremacy. After the solemn melodies of St. Gregory, linked so closely with the words, had comforted, inspired and sustained the Western World in a time of her deepest abasement, song, which had been hitherto for one voice, developed into polyphony, and with this mighty advance in music the friendly relations between these arts was once more disturbed. In the joy at overcoming difficulties which part-music offered the composers as well as the singers, the former completely lost sight of their duty toward the words, and were so utterly indifferent to the text of vocal work that they did not hesitate to use in the same piece two poems upon quite different subjects, yes, even in different languages, and in so doing argued, and not without reason, that in the intricacy of the vocal parts the words would scarcely be heard.

At the appearance of the modern opera in the year 1600, the struggle of the two sister-arts was especially severe. Even as proposed by its founders, who saw in it a revival of the antique drama, poets and composers, during the first decades, were eager to coöperate. When, however, the passion for the opera was no longer confined to the circle of the aristocracy, when special buildings had been erected to which the public could gain access for a consideration (the "Cassiano" in Venice, in 1637, being the first), the noble simplicity striven for by those lovers of antiquity came to an end. The popular craving for the spectacular and the desire for music which was pleasing to the ear strongly affected the further growth of the opera. In Italy, which country in the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries set the fashion for all Europe in operatic and musical matters, the public was especially enthusiastic over strong, well-trained voices. No matter how high the point of perfection reached by the art of singing, the singers, male and female, received but one-sided recognition. Soon these obtained undisputed control of the opera; in order to please the taste of the masses, directors, even poets and composers felt obliged to surrender. For them only was the libretto arranged, and in order to satisfy their vanity did the composer tax his imagination. In vain did truly artistic men--among them the Venetian composer Benedetto Marcello with his satire "Il teatro alla moda" (1720)--raise their voices against "the mighty abuse of music at the cost of the sister-arts," their warning words fell unheeded. It was reserved for a German, after a desperate struggle, to put an end to the nuisance of the singers' sovereignty and to give once more to the opera a truly artistic significance, and this German was Gluck.

Christoph Wilibald Gluck was born on the 2d of July, 1714, at Weidenwang, a village of the Caprische Obersalz. He was the son of a forester, and in childhood had occasion to steel himself bodily and mentally for the warfare which in later years was waged against the power of fashion and prejudice. When an old man, the master in friendly converse loved to recall those early days when he and his brother followed their father barefoot to the forest. Dreaming in the shadows of the woods, listening to the rustling of the tree-tops and the songs of birds, unconsciously a sense of music was awakened in the boy; there was no indication of any special gift, however, and indeed, had such been shown, under the circumstances it would hardly have been encouraged, for the father was extremely practical and governed the education of his children accordingly. The desire to give them a better education than was possible in the vicinity of Weidenwang may have occasioned his moving to Bohemia in 1722 and entering the service, first of Prince Kindsky and then of Prince Lobwitz. Mention may also be made here of a third office held by him upon the Bohemian possessions of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, in whose service he died in 1747.

In the schools of the little towns of Kamitz and Eisenberg, which henceforth became the homes of the family of Gluck, the young Christoph found his first inspiration, for in all Catholic countries the scholars were obliged to take part in the musical part of the service and received not only the necessary vocal instruction, but instrumental as well; and it is said the boy played both violin and violoncello with passable skill. Beyond this, the schooling was so superficial that his father placed him, in 1726, at the Jesuit College at Kommatau (Bohemia). That the Jesuits are most thorough in their instruction is well known; but whether the blind obedience and abject slavery exacted of the scholars in the name of "a true Church" is calculated to develop mind and character successfully, seems doubtful. Gluck's strength of character through life shows that the pernicious influence of the Jesuitical teaching had no serious effect upon his nature. Among the advantages derived from his sojourn in Kommatau, the instruction received upon the piano and organ is of the greatest importance.

Yet violin and violoncello were still his favorite instruments; they were his comfort and support during years of study and wandering, for from his slender income the father could but partially pay for his son's maintenance. This did not deter Gluck, in 1732, from bravely taking his staff in hand and turning his steps toward Prague that he might be better informed both in music and science. Whether he then contemplated becoming a musician or composer is uncertain; we simply know that in order to make his living he taught the violoncello and singing, and that in church celebrations, notably in those of the Tein Church, under the leadership of the celebrated composer Czernohorsky, he played in the orchestra. In his leisure hours and upon the numerous festival days of the Catholics he did not hesitate to wander to the neighboring villages and by his dance-music and his singing to earn a piece of money or a meal. Toward the end of his sojourn at Prague, however (1736), he had made such strides in music that he ventured his productions in larger cities and before cultured audiences. By his rendering of violoncello music he succeeded in attracting attention in the circles of the aristocracy, and the princely family of Lobkowitz showed him special favor. Under the protection of the influential and enthusiastic prince, Gluck boldly ventured to express a wish to devote himself exclusively to music, and the same year, encouraged by his patron, that he might better accomplish his end he went to Vienna, then the fountain-head of musical activity, where J. J. Fux, Conti and Caldara, musicians of European fame, were at work together.

Unfortunately there are no reliable accounts of Gluck's first stay in Vienna and the nature of his study there, but without doubt his part in the musical life corresponded with the peculiar kind of training he had previously received. An important fact remarked by A. L. Marx ("Gluck und die Oper," I., 20) is that up to this time Gluck had held aloof from the piano, "that curious instrument which is unsatisfactory in every tone, and in melody suffers by comparison with every other, which is yet the blessed parent of creative phantasies and lends itself to rich and ever-varying expression ... which is capable of presenting various melodies simultaneously, grouping independent voices and producing dramatic effect with them; in a word, the only proper polyphonic auxiliary to the dramatic in music." While for all the great masters of the century, for Bach as for Handel, for Mozart as for Beethoven, the piano was the basis of musical education, the lever of their creative power, Gluck confined himself almost exclusively to vocal music and stringed instruments, a significant fact which explains the merits as well as defects in the master's later activity. The freedom and perfect ease with which the aforesaid musicians overcame the difficulties of counterpoint, we miss in Gluck's music, even at the time of maturity; and if it be urged that his musical plans for reform did not allow a development of the art of counterpoint, it may be remarked how little of it he showed in his church compositions. True, he has given us but one work of this kind, which appeared in Paris and later in Leipsic, a "De profundis" which seems, with its frequent but never quite complete examples of polyphony, a convincing proof that Gluck was not wholly familiar with polyphonic expression.

Under these circumstances it may be inferred that Gluck was ill-content in a city where, as chief Kapellmeister at the Court, the greatest master of counterpoint of his time, J. J. Fux, had absolute control of all musical matters. The attraction toward Italy, in which direction the glance of every ambitious musician was turned, must have been, in his case, peculiarly strong, and he therefore received with joy the invitation of Lombardy's Prince Melzi (who had grown to know and prize him in Lobkowitz House) to follow him to Milan, as chamber-musician. This city, as the residence of Sammartini, one of the most celebrated masters of harmony in Italy, afforded him excellent opportunity to make good the defects in his musical education and to become fully acquainted with the secrets of dramatic composition. Giovanni Battista Sammartini (born about 1700, died about 1770) held the position of organist at several churches; he began his career as opera-composer, but subsequently turned his attention to instrumental music and gained high praise from his contemporaries for chamber and orchestral compositions which might rank as forerunners of the quartets and symphonies of Haydn. Under him Gluck studied fully four years, when he ventured bravely before the public, well equipped with the opera "Artaxerxes" (1741), text by Metastasio. The success of this must have been pronounced, as the master, but twenty-eight years of age, immediately received commissions for opera compositions from Milan as well as from other cities of Italy. We know the "Artaxerxes" mainly by hearsay, as the score, together with scores of the operas written later for Milan--"Demofoonte" (1742), "Siface" (1743) and "Fédre" (1743)--was burned in a theatre fire. In his "Studies for Musicians," J. F. Reichardt tells us that "in 'Artaxerxes' Gluck endeavored to depart as much as possible from the broad, well-trodden road of the Italian composers of his time, and to write music more nearly approaching harmonious expression, to which he later owed his imperishable reputation and which, so to speak, he had himself created." In spite of this and similar opinions it is highly improbable that these first works of Gluck exhibited his individuality, for had they done so it would still be apparent when making comparison with the works of his contemporaneous rivals; it is all the more improbable as, for a number of years, he adapted his style to the prevalent taste, and did not materially depart from the stereotyped form of Italian opera.

The position in the musical world secured by Gluck through his first opera, is shown by the fact that he received an order from London for an opera for the Haymarket Theatre. In Paris, where he stopped on the way to England, he may have had a presentiment that here was to be the field of his future activity; in the absence of any detailed account of his stay in the city, we may assume that here he became familiar with the grand opera as created by Lully and perfected by Rameau, which in its nature was infinitely nearer his ideal--distinctly seen later--than the Italian opera. It cannot be said, however, that these first Parisian impressions had an immediate effect on Gluck's artistic methods and mode of expression, inasmuch as his opera "La Caduta dei Giganti," written for London and brought out in the year 1746, was in the prescribed Italian vein. But from the initiated, the "lion's claws" were not hidden. In his "History of Arts," Burney says of an aria: "It is of very peculiar creation but much too monotonous," and of the instrumentation "It is original but drowns the melody;" finally "One wishes the melodies were somewhat more graceful and had more artistic repose." In these criticisms we read between the lines that the composer of "The Overthrow of the Titans" already betrayed his individuality.

Gluck had little reason to be satisfied with his success in London; his opera was given but five times, and though his "Artamene," written for Cremona three years before, was somewhat more popular, this could hardly compensate for the failure of his more recent work. He had no cause to regret his journey to London, however, for here, as in Paris, he gained impressions which materially extended his artistic horizon and were of utmost importance to his development; here, also, he made the acquaintance of Handel and his works. We know that the personal relations of the two masters were friendly, but Handel does not appear to have felt deep sympathy for his younger brother in the art. How could he, who a few years before had broken forever with the opera in order to turn to oratorio, which was better suited to his artistic nature, be other than indifferent to the attempt of this youth to establish the success of the opera? And how could it escape the great master of polyphony that Gluck stood in this art far below him? Handel's terse word that "Gluck understood about as much of counterpoint as his (Handel's) cook," was certainly not intended for publicity, yet it shows so definitely the relations of the masters at this time that it should not be omitted from Gluck's biography. Further than this, we should not consider them opponents in any way. Gluck treated the associate thirty years his senior with utmost deference, and the latter from his experience advised him, in a kindly manner, how to work as opera-composer in order to win the approval of Englishmen.

Thus far, we have made as complete a review as possible of the factors instrumental in Gluck's development, and shall dwell briefly on the following years, in which he was obliged to reconcile the suggestions received in foreign countries before they brought about a proper revolution in his methods. Gluck proved effectually the truth of the word "chi va piano, va sano," for though the oratorios of Handel with their wonderful choruses filled with dramatic fire exerted a powerful influence over him, there was need of a lengthy process of assimilation before his own choruses could shape themselves after these models.

From London Gluck went to Hamburg, where the conductor Mingotti had arrived with an Italian troupe. He does not appear to have contemplated taking an active part,[4] for in the summer of the same year (1747) we find him in Dresden, where Mingotti's troupe had in the meantime arrived, presenting with them his opera "Le Nozze d' Ercole e d' Ebe" (The Wedding of Hercules and Hebe) in celebration of the union of the Princess Anna and the Electoral Prince of Bavaria. The fact that this opera was presented in the palace theatre at Pillnitz, near Dresden, and that court favor was shown the composer, gave rise to the erroneous statement, repeated by different biographers, that Gluck, at this time, was appointed Kapellmeister at the Dresden court. Such an appointment was denied him, if for no other reason than because, at the time, the celebrated Hasse was undisputed leader there, and Gluck was not a man to occupy an inferior position. In this opera he seems to have made no unusual exertion; the composition (which until recently was wholly unknown, having been discovered but a few years ago by Fürstenau in the Dresden archives) was quite in the prevalent style of Italian opera, even though certain features were indicative of the coming reform.

From an oil portrait by J. S. Duplessis, Paris, 1776, Gluck being then in his sixty-second year. The painting is now in the Imperial picture gallery, at Vienna.]

From Dresden Gluck turned, for the second time, to the music-loving empire city on the Danube (1748). He had left it a scholar, but returned a master, and as such was recognized and honored in all the circles of Vienna. He found a zealous patron in the Prince of Hildburghausen, the favorite of Maria Theresa, through whose intercession he soon obtained an order for the composition of an opera to be given on the birthday of the Empress. This opera was the "Semiramide riconosciuta," by Metastasio, a Viennese court poet then at the height of his fame. It is needless to say that we look in vain for the least indication of a change in Gluck's style, as it was in Metastasio's librettos that the type of the older opera intended almost exclusively for vocalists was most pronounced, and in setting these to music it was necessary to conform to the prevalent fashion.

Gluck retained this style, also, in his following works, which need be merely mentioned: the perfected serenade "Tetide" (1749), given in the theatre of Castle Charlottesburg at Copenhagen at a birthday fête for the Crown Prince, afterward King Christian VII.; also the operas written for Rome and Naples, "Telemachus" (1749) and "La Clemenza di Tito" (1751) by Metastasio, both noteworthy, in that Gluck, later, availed himself of several of their numbers in the masterpieces of his Parisian epoch. These were followed by a long list of similar works, for Gluck displayed, even then, a restless activity, though in 1750 he married, and with his Marianna, a daughter of the rich Venetian merchant Pergin, experienced all the joy of a happy marriage which remained undisturbed till his death. Two impulses in the next decade of Gluck's activity deserve special mention; one was his eager interest in literature. "Gifted by nature with as great a love for literature as for music," says his biographer Anton Schmidt, "he now worked with incessant energy in this province as well. Though somewhat late, he applied himself to a thorough study of Latin and French and to poetry. He made the acquaintance of the most distinguished men of science, that through intercourse with them and in the companionship of good books he might cultivate the ideas which had so long been ingrafted in his nature concerning the mighty influence of music and its close connection with poetry, of which at this time but few had even dreamed."--"C. W. Ritter von Gluck," p. 79.

The second was his acquaintance with the French comic opera, which until the year 1752 had been given only on the improvised stage; a new era began for this when in the same year a troupe of Italian bouffe singers arrived in Paris and was received with enthusiastic interest by the public. For the first time scenes from daily life appropriately staged were enacted upon the operatic stage in place of the customary frigid representation of a mythological character. All this was to the extreme disgust of the conservative, but to the unbounded delight of the progressive who, with the representative of philosophic enlightenment J. J. Rousseau, anticipated for art and life a healthy return from artificial to natural conditions. In the bitter struggle between these parties, a struggle to which the appearance of the opera-bouffe gave rise, progress was victorious. The most competent poets and composers of France did not hesitate to follow the lead of Italy, and while from the modest "Intermezzo" they developed the "Opera comique," they showed the world that owing to her artistic nature France, above all other nations, was best fitted to represent this new style of art. In view of the influence which France had exerted over the intellectual life of Europe since the time of Louis XIV., it was quite natural that the neighboring nations should wish to share in the new acquisition. From 1755 therefore, the comic opera, which originated in Paris, was invariably performed in Vienna as well. Meanwhile, in most cases the librettos were satisfactory and the composition was confided to local musicians, among whom Gluck took first rank, having been Kapellmeister since 1754. His works of this kind which are preserved to us as "Airs nouveaux" to the respective librettos, consist of songs with simple piano accompaniment in light French style. One of these operettas, Lemonnier's "Cadi dupé," became a great favorite throughout Germany under the title of "Der betrogene Cadi," and when given again but a short while ago in the opera house at Berlin, it maintained, in spite of its hundred years, its original crispness and popularity. Gluck's French operettas may be regarded as occasional works, as incidental to his masterpieces. They are not to be lightly esteemed, however, for they virtually served to bring his ideas of reform to a focus and to prepare him for the war which he subsequently declared against the older Italian opera.

The beginning of this war coincided with the acquaintance made by Gluck, about 1760, of Raniero di Calzabigi, counsellor of the chamber-of-accounts for the Netherlands in Vienna (the Netherlands were then under Austrian government), and the author of many excellent dramatic works. In him Gluck found a friend who shared his convictions that the Italian opera needed depth and improvement, that it could not accomplish its end in the form which Metastasio had given it. Calzabigi declared himself ready to assist the master in working out his plans, and the fruit of their efforts was the opera "Orfeo ed Euridice" (Orpheus and Euridice), which was first given Oct. 5, 1762, in the Imperial Theatre at Vienna. This excited enthusiastic applause, but was received with disfavor and astonishment as well, for many of the hearers accustomed to the former style of the Italian opera, were far more confused than edified by music based chiefly upon dramatic truth. Gluck had given unusual attention to the artists of this opera; as he later told the English composer Burney, it cost him ceaseless effort during the rehearsals, to direct the singers, dancers and orchestra to his satisfaction. "Very probable," as Marx remarks, "for they were obliged to do what had never been before required--deny themselves their special skill and inclination in order to lose themselves wholly and unconditionally in the rôle they had assumed. It had been the custom to adapt the rôles and the entire so-called drama to the habits and the wishes of the singers." ("Gluck und die Oper," I. 300).