IT was the fond belief of Dr. Chrysander, born of his deep devotion to Handel, in whose works he lived and moved and had his being, that the heroic histories of the Jews offered no fit material for dramatic representation. In his view the Jews never created dramatic poetry, partly because of the Mosaic prohibition against plastic delineation of their Deity, partly because the tragic element, which was so potent an influence in the development of the Greek drama, was wanting in their heroes. The theory that the Song of Songs, that canticle of canticles of love, was a pastoral play had no lodgment in his mind ; the poem seemed less dramatic to him than the Book of Job. The former sprang from the idyllic life of the northern tribes and reflected that life ; the latter, much more profound in conception, proved by its form that the road to a real stage-play was insurmountably barred to the Hebrew poet. What poetic field was open to him then? Only the hymning of a Deity, invisible, omnipresent and omnipotent, the swelling call to combat for the glory of God against an inimical world, and the celebration of an ideal consisting in a peaceful, happy existence in the Land of Promise under God’s protecting care. This God presented Himself occasionally as a militant, all-powerful warrior, but only in moments when the fortunes of His people were critically at issue. These moments, however, were exceptional and few ; as a rule, God manifested Himself in prophecy, through words and music. The laws were promulgated in song ; so were the prophetic promises, denunciations, and calls to repentance ; and there grew up a magnificent liturgical service in the temple.
Hebrew poetry, epic and lyrical, was thus antagonistic to the drama. So, also, Dr. Chrysander contends, was the Hebrew himself. Not only had he no predilection for plastic creation, his life was not dramatic in the sense illustrated in Greek tragedy. He lived a care-free, sensuous existence, and either fell under righteous condemnation for his transgressions or walked in the way prescribed of the Lord and found rest at last in Abraham’s bosom. His life was simple ; so were his strivings, his longings, his hopes. Yet when it came to the defence or celebration of his spiritual possessions his soul was filled with such a spirit of heroic daring, such a glow of enthusiasm, as are not to be paralleled among another of the peoples of antiquity. He thus be-came a fit subject for only one of the arts music ; in this art for only one of its spheres, the sublime, the most appropriate and efficient vehicle of which is the oratorio.
One part of this argument seems to me irrelevant ; the other not firmly founded in fact. It does not follow that because the Greek conscience evolved the conceptions of rebellious pride and punitive Fate while the Hebrew conscience did not, therefore the Greeks were the predestined creators of the art-form out of which grew the opera and the He-brews of the form which grew into the oratorio. Neither is it true that because. a people are not disposed toward dramatic creation themselves they can not, or may not, be the cause of dramatic creativeness in others. Dr. Chrysander’s argument, made in a lecture at the Johanneum in Hamburg in 1896, preceded an analysis of Handel’s Biblical oratorios in their relation to Hebrew history, and his exposition of that history as he unfolded it chronologically from the Exodus down to the Maccabaean period was in itself sufficient to furnish many more fit operatic plots than have yet been written. Nor are there lacking in these stories some of the elements of Greek legend and mythology which were the mainsprings of the tragedies of Athens. The parallels are striking : Jephtha’s daughter and Iphigenia ; Samson and his slavery and the servitude of Hercules and Perseus ; the fate of Ajax and other heroes made mad by pride, and the lycanthropy of Nebuchadnezzar, of whose vanity Dr. Hanslick once reminded Wagner, warning him against the fate of the Babylonian king who became like unto an ox, “ate grass and was composed by Verdi” ; think reverently of Alcestis and the Christian doctrine of atonement !
The writers of the first Biblical operas sought their subjects as far back in history, or legend, as the written page permitted. Theile composed an “Adam and Eve” in 1678 ; but our first parents never became popular on the serious stage. Perhaps the fearful soul of the theatrical costumer was frightened and perplexed by the problem which the subject put up to him. Haydn introduced them into his oratorio ” The Creation,” but, as the custom goes now, the third part of the work, in which they appear, is frequently, if not generally omitted in performance. Adam, to judge by the record in Holy Writ, made an uneventful end : “And all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years : and he died” ; but this did not prevent Lesueur from writing an opera on his death ten years after Haydn’s oratorio had its first performance. He called it “La Mort d’Adam et son Apothéose,” and it involved him in a disastrous quarrel with the directors of the Conservatoire and the Académie. Pursuing the search chronologically, the librettists next came upon Cain and Abel, who offered a more fruitful subject for dramatic and musical invention. We know very little about the sacred operas which shared the list with works based on classical fables and Roman history in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries ; inasmuch, however, as they were an outgrowth of the pious plays of the Middle Ages and designed for edifying consumption in Lent, it is likely that they adhered in their plots pretty close to the Biblical accounts. I doubt if the sentimental element which was in vogue when Rossini wrote “Mosè in Egitto” played much of a rôle in such an opera as Johann Philipp Fortsch’s “Kain and Abel ; oder der verzweifelnde Brudermörder,” which was performed in Hamburg in 1689, or even in “Abel’s Tod,” which came along in 1771. The first fratricidal murder seems to have had an early and an enduring fascination for dramatic poets and composers. Metastasio’s “La Morte d’Abele,” set by both Caldara and Leo in 1732, remained a stalking-horse for composers down to Morlacchi in 1820. One of the latest of Biblical operas is the “Kain” of Heinrich Bulthaupt and Eugen d’Albert. This opera and a later lyric drama by the same composer, “Tote Augen” (under which title a casual reader would never suspect that a Biblical subject was lurking), call for a little attention because of their indication of a possible drift which future dramatists may follow in treating sacred story.
Wicked envy and jealousy were not sufficient motives in the eyes of Bulthaupt and d’Albert for the first fratricide ; there must be an infusion of psychology and modern philosophy. Abel is an optimist, an idealist, a contented dreamer, joying in the loveliness of life and nature ; Cain, a pessimist, a morose brooder, for whom life contained no beautiful illusions. He gets up from his couch in the night to question the right of God to create man for suffering. He is answered by Lucifer, who pro-claims himself the benefactor of the family in having rescued them from the slothful existence of Eden and given them a Redeemer. The devil discourses on the delightful ministrations of that Redeemer, whose name is Death. In the morning Abel arises and as he offers his sacrifice he hymns the sacred mystery of life and turns a deaf ear to the new-found gospel of his brother. An inspiring thought comes to Cain; by killing Abel and destroying him-self he will save future generations from the sufferings to which they are doomed. With this benevolent purpose in mind he commits the murder. The blow has scarcely been struck before a multitude of spirit-voices call his name and God thunders the question : “Where is Abel, thy brother?” Adam comes from his cave and looks upon the scene with horror. Now Cain realizes that his work is less than half done : he is himself still alive and so is his son Enoch. He rushes for-ward to kill his child, but the mother throws herself between, and Cain discovers that he is not strong-willed enough to carry out his design. God’s curse condemns him to eternal unrest, and while the elements rage around him Cain goes forth into the mountain wilderness.
Herr Bulthaupt did not permit chronology to stand in the way of his action, but it can at least be said for him that he did not profane the Book as Herr Ewers, Mr. d’Albert’s latest collaborator, did when he turned a story of Christ’s miraculous healing of a blind woman into a sensational melodrama. In the precious opera, “Tote Augen” (” Dead Eyes”), brought out in March, 1916, in Dresden, Myrocle, the blind woman, is the wife of Arcesius, a Roman ambassador in Jerusalem. Never having seen him, Myrocle believes her husband to be a paragon of beauty, but he is, in fact, hideous of features, crook-backed, and lame; deformed in mind and heart, too, for he has concealed the truth from her. Christ is entering Jerusalem, and Mary of Magdala leads Myrocle to him, having heard of the miracles which he performs, and he opens the woman’s eyes at the moment that the multitude is shouting its hosannahs. The first man who fills the vision of Myrocle is Galba, handsome, noble, chivalrous, who had renounced the love he bore her because she was the wife of his friend. In Galba the woman believes she sees the husband whom in her fond imagination she had fitted out with the charms of mind and person which his friend possesses. She throws herself into his arms, and he does not repel her mistaken embraces ; but the misshapen villain throws himself upon the pair and strangles his friend to death. A slave enlightens the mystified woman ; the murderer, not the dead hero at his feet, is her husband. Singularly enough, she does not turn from him with hatred and loathing, but looks upon him with a great pity. Then she turns her eyes upon the sun, which Christ had said should not set until she had cursed him, and gazes into its searing glow until her sight is again dead. Moral : it is sinful to love the loveliness of outward things ; from the soul must come salvation. As if she had never learned the truth, she returns to her wifely love for Arcesius. The story is as false to nature as it is sacrilegious ; its trumpery theatricalism is as great a hindrance to a possible return of Biblical opera as the disgusting celebration of necrophilism in Richard Strauss’s “Salome.”
In our historical excursion we are still among the patriarchs, and the whole earth is of one language and of one speech. Noah, the ark, and the deluge seem now too prodigious to be essayed by opera makers, but, apparently, they did not awe the Englishman Edward Eccleston (or Eggleston), who, is said to have produced an opera, “Noah’s Flood, or the Destruction of the World,” in London in 1679, nor Seyfried, whose “Libera me” was sung at Beethoven’s funeral, and who, besides Biblical operas entitled “Saul,” “Abraham,” “The Maccabees,” and “The Israelites in the Desert,” brought out a “Noah” in Vienna in 1818. Halévy left an unfinished opera, “Noé,” which Bizet, who was his son-in-law, completed. Of oratorios dealing with the deluge I do not wish to speak further than to ex-press my admiration for the manner in which Saint-Saëns opened the musical floodgates in “Le Déluge.”
On the plain in the Land of Shinar the families of the sons of Noah builded them a city and a tower whose top they arrogantly hoped might reach unto heaven. But the tower fell, the tongues of the people were confounded, and the people were scattered abroad on the face of the earth. Rubinstein attempted to give dramatic representation to the tremendous incident, and to his effort and vain dream I shall revert in the next chapter of this book. Now I must on with the history of the patriarchs. The story of Abraham and his at-tempted offering of Isaac has been much used as oratorio material, and Joseph Elsner, Chopin’s teacher, brought out a Polish opera, “Ofiara Abrama,” at Warsaw in 1827.
A significant milestone in the history of the Hebrews as well as Biblical operas has now been reached. The sojourn of the Jews in Egypt and their final departure under the guidance of Moses have already occupied considerable attention in this study. They provided material for the two operas which seem to me the noblest of their kind Méhul’s “Joseph and Rossini’s “Mosè in Egitto.” Méhul’s opera, more than a decade older than Rossini’s, still holds a place on the stages of France and Germany, and this despite the fact that it foregoes two factors which are popularly sup-posed to be essential to operatic success a love episode and woman’s presence and participation in the action. The opera, which is in three acts, was brought forward at the Théâtre Feydeau in Paris on February 17, 1807. It owed its origin to a Biblical tragedy entitled “Omasis,” by Baour Lormian. The subject the sale of Joseph by his brothers into Egyptian slavery, his rise to power, his forgiveness of the wrong attempted against him, and his provision of a home for the people of Israel in the land of Goshen had long been popular with composers of oratorios. The list of these works begins with Caldara’s “Giuseppe” in 1722. Metastasio’s “Giuseppe riconosciuto” was set by half a dozen composers between 1733 and 1788. Handel wrote his English oratorio in 1743 ; G. A. Macfarren’s was performed at the Leeds festival of 1877. Lormian thought it necessary to introduce a love episode into his tragedy, but Alexander Duval, who wrote the book for Méhul’s opera, was of the opinion that the diversion only enfeebled the beautiful if austere picture of patriarchal domestic life delineated in the Bible. He therefore adhered to tradition and created a series of scenes full of beauty, dignity, and pathos, simple and strong in spite of the bombast prevalent in the literary style of the period. Méhul’s music is marked by grandeur, simplicity, lofty sentiment, and consistent severity of manner. The composer’s predilection for ecclesiastical music, created, no doubt, by the blind organist who taught him in his childhood and nourished by his studies and labors at the monastery under the gifted Hauser, found opportunity for expression in the religious sentiments of the drama, and his knowledge of plain chant is exhibited in the score “the simplicity, grandeur, and dramatic truth of which will always command the admiration of impartial musicians,” remarks Gustave Choquet. The enthusiasm of M. Tiersot goes further still, for he says that the music of “Joseph” is more conspicuous for the qualities of dignity and sonority than that of Handel’s oratorio. The German Hanslick, to whom the absence from the action of the “salt of the earth, women” seemed disastrous, nevertheless does not hesitate to institute a comparison between “Joseph” and one of Mozart’s latest operas. “In its mild, passionless benevolence the entire rôle of Joseph in Méhul’s opera,” he says, “reminds one strikingly of Mozart’s `Titus,’ and not to the advantage of the latter. The opera `Titus’ is the work of an incomparably greater genius, but it belongs to a partly untruthful, wholly modish, tendency (that of the old opera seria), while the genre of `Joseph’ is thoroughly noble, true, and eminently dramatic. `Joseph’ has outlived `Titus.’ 1 Carl Maria von Weber admired Méhul’s opera greatly, and within recent years Felix Weingartner has edited a German edition for which he composed recitatives to take the place of the spoken dialogue of the original book.
There is no story of passion in “Joseph.” The love portrayed there is domestic and filial ; its objects are the hero’s father, brothers, and country “Champs eternels, Hebron, douce vallée.” It was not until our own day that an author with a perverted sense which had already found gratification in the stench of mental, moral, and physical decay exhaled by “Salome” and “Elektra” nosed the piquant, pungent odor of the episode of Potiphar’s wife and blew it into the theatre. Joseph’s temptress did not tempt even the prurient taste which gave us the Parisian operatic versions of the stories of Phryne, Thaïs and Messalina. Richard Strauss’s “Josephslegende” stands alone in musical literature. There is, indeed, only one reference in the records of oratorio or opera to the woman whose grovelling carnality is made the foil of Joseph’s virtue in the story as told in the Book. That reference is found in a singular trilogy, which was obviously written more to disclose the possibilities of counterpoint than to set forth the story even if it does that, which I cannot say ; the suggestion comes only from a title. In August, 1852, Pietro Raimondi produced an oratorio in three parts en-titled, respectively, “Putifar,” “Giuseppe giusto” and “Giacobbe,” at the Teatro Argentina, in Rome. The music of the three works was so written that after each had been performed separately, with individual principal singers, choristers, and orchestras, they were united in a simultaneous performance. The success of the stupendous experiment in contrapuntal writing was so great that the composer fell in a faint amidst the applause of the audience and died less than three months afterward.
In the course of this study I have mentioned nearly all of the Biblical characters who have been turned into operatic heroes. Nebuchadnezzar appeared on the stage at Hamburg in an opera of Keiser’s in 1704 ; Ariosti put him through his bovine strides in Vienna in 1706. He was put into a ballet by a Portuguese composer and made the butt of a French opéra bouffe writer, J. J. Debillement, in 1871. He recurs to my mind now in connection with a witty fling at “Nabucco” made by a French rhymester when Verdi’s opera was produced at Paris in 1845. The noisy brass in the orchestration offended the ears of a critic, and he wrote :
Vraiment l’affiche est dans son tort ; En faux, ou devrait la poursuivre. Pourquoi nous annoncer Nabuchodonos or Quand c’est Nabuchodonos cuivre?
Judas Maccabaeus is one of the few heroes of ancient Israel who have survived in opera, Rubinstein’s “Makkabaer” still having a hold, though not a strong one, on the German stage. The libretto is an adaptation by Mosenthal (author also of Goldmark’s “Queen of Sheba”) of a drama by Otto Ludwig. In the drama as well as some of its predecessors some liberties have been taken with the story as told in Maccabees II, chapter 7. The tale of the Israelitish champion of freedom and his brothers Jonathan and Simon, who lost their lives in the struggle against the tyranny of the kings of Syria, is intensely dramatic. For stage purposes the dramatists have associated the massacre of a mother and her seven sons and the martyrdom of the aged Eleazar, who caused the uprising of the Jews, with the family history of Judas himself. J. W. Franck produced “Die Maccabäische Mutter” in Hamburg in 1679, Ariosti composed “La Madre dei Maccabei” in 1704, Ignaz von Seyfried brought out “Die Makkabäer, oder Salmonäa” in 1818, and Rubinstein his opera in Berlin on April 17, 1875.
The romantic career of Jephtha, a natural son, banished from home, chief of a band of roving marauders, mighty captain and ninth judge of Israel, might have fitted out many an opera text, irrespective of the pathetic story of the sacrifice of his daughter in obedience to a vow, though this episode springs first to mind when his name is mentioned, and has been the special subject of the Jephtha operas. An Italian composer named Pollarolo wrote a “Jefte” for Vienna in 1692 ; other operas dealing with the history are Rolle’s “Mehala, die Tochter Jephthas” (1784), Meyerbeer’s “Jephtha’s Tochter” (Munich, 1813), Generali, “Il voto di Jefte” (1827), Sanpieri, “La Figlia di Jefte” (1872). Luis Cepeda produced a Spanish opera in Madrid in 1845, and a French opera, in five acts and a prologue, by Monteclaire, was prohibited, after one performance, by Cardinal de Noailles in 1832.
Judith, the widow of Manasseh, who delivered her native city of Bethulia from the Assyrian Holofernes, lulling him to sleep with her charms and then striking off his drunken head with a falchion, though an Apocryphal personage, is the most popular of Israelitish heroines. The record shows the operas “Judith und Holofernes” by Leopold Kotzeluch (1799), “Giuditta” by S. Levi (1844), Achille Peri (1860), Righi (1871), and Sarri (1875). Naumann wrote a “Judith” in 1858, Doppler another in 1870, and Alexander Seroff a Russian opera under the same title in 1863. Martin Roder, who used to live in Boston, composed a “Judith,” but it was never performed, while George W. Chadwick’s “Judith,” half can-tata, half opera, which might easily be fitted for the stage, has had to rest content with a concert performance at a Worcester (Mass.) festival.
The memory of Esther, the queen of Ahasuerus, who saved her people from massacre, is preserved and her deed celebrated by the Jews in their gracious festival of Purim. A gorgeous figure for the stage, she has been relegated to the oratorio platform since the end of the eighteenth century. Racine’s tragedy “Athalie” has called out music from Abbé Vogler, Gossec, Boïeldieu, Mendelssohn, and others, and a few oratorios, one by Handel, have been based on the story of the woman through whom idolatry was introduced into Judah ; but I have no record of any Athalia opera.