"Coronation & Victory"
Handel: Zadok the Priest
Handel: Dettingen Te Deum
Purcell: My Beloved Spake
Purcell: Chaconny in G
Purcell: Rejoice in the Lord Alway
This concert explores two great eras in the musical history of the English Chapel Royal. English monarchs had employed singers to perform services for their private use since the high Middle Ages, but the institution we know of as The Gentlemen and Children of the Chapel Royal comes from the Tudor era. Over the course of subsequent generations, the fortunes of these musicians rose and fell with the destinies of their kings and queens. Changes in religious allegiance, the Civil War of the mid-seventeenth century, and the negligence of William of Orange marked low points in the history of the Chapel. The connoisseurship of Elizabeth I, Charles I, and Queen Anne, with the less discriminating enthusiasms of Charles II and the Hanoverians, allowed music to flourish. Henry Purcell and George Frideric Handel were giants among a host of gifted composers who dedicated at least some part of their careers to the production of sacred and ceremonial music in the service of royalty. To a degree, the tastes of noble patrons influenced the kinds of music written for them. However, it could also be argued, particularly in the case of Handel, that the composer defined the tastes of his kings.
The English verse anthem, as a genre, was crafted to perfection at the turn of the seventeenth century by William Byrd, Thomas Tomkins and Orlando Gibbons. Of this large and rich repertoire, only a few (not necessarily the best) pieces have made it into the canon. In its first incarnation, the verse anthem was accompanied by organ, and/or viol consort. Alas, the strictures of the Cromwell period prohibited the use of all instruments save the organ in official church services, and the verse anthem lapsed into dormancy, if not extinction. At the onset of the Stuart Restoration, Charles II “ordered the Composers of his Chappell to add Symphonys etc with Instruments to their Anthems.” Matthew Locke, Pelham Humfrey and their contemporaries were not slow to follow the royal command, replacing the viol consort with an ensemble of violins, viols and a continuo group of organ and theorbo, in accordance with contemporary Continental usage. This updated version is often termed the “symphony anthem” because simple consort introductions and interludes evolved into full-blown “symphonys,” by which Charles meant short, independent instrumental compositions which began or divided sections of sung text.
Chacony in G minor
The Chacony in G minor for four strings poses something of a mystery: we do not know when it was written or for what specific occasion, if any. It is certainly akin to the French chaconne, a virtuosic dance used as a star-turn for the principal dancers in the operas of Charpentier and Lully. Purcell wrote several splendid chaconnes in the French style, notably “The Dance for the Chinese Men” from the Fairy Queen. Like the chaconne, Purcell’s Chacony is based on a repeating eight-bar bass pattern, yet in nearly all other respects it does not conform to the conventions of the French model. It is a freestanding work, unconnected to any suite of dances; it does not fall into three sections of contrasting minor and major keys; it shuns display, keeping to eighth-notes and dotted patterns; and finally, it is contemplative in nature, almost anti-theatrical. Could the Chacony have been used for some solemn occasion, perhaps a private sacred service?
My Beloved Spake & Rejoice in the Lord Alway
My Beloved Spake was written for use in the Chapel Royal in December of 1677, when Henry Purcell was only 18. Such was the depth of his talent that Purcell was given the appointment of “composer-in-ordinary for the violins” at Westminster Abbey in the same year. My Beloved Spake was probably his first attempt at a symphony anthem. The themes of spring and the awakening of love might imply a specific season or event for which the anthem was intended, but, so far, none has been discovered. Purcell had sung in the Chapel Royal Choir since early boyhood, and knew well the highly sophisticated if uncompromising polyphonic style of Matthew Locke. Purcell modified Locke’s stringent counterpoint to suit the tastes of Charles II, who favored catchy tunes and toe-tapping rhythms. My Beloved Spake is replete with these qualities. The famous text is taken from The Song of Solomon, 2:10-13, 16, and is scored for alto, tenor, and bass soloists, string ensemble and choir.
For all its apparent accessibility, My Beloved Spake has an intriguing rhythmic and formal complexity, including no fewer than twelve changes of meter. The lovely opening symphony for strings evokes the viol fantasies of Locke and foreshadows those Purcell himself would write in the summer of 1680. This little gem is followed by a short introduction to the first lines of verse, “My beloved spake, and said unto me: Rise, my love my fair one, and come away.” The first phrase is written in a measured recitative; the composition becomes more madrigalistic on the word “rise.” In the phrase “For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone,” Purcell focuses on the decoration of the word “rain” with a gloomy chain of fauxbordons. This term can mean either “false tenor” or “false bottom,” and is a late medieval form of singing in parallel fourths or fifths. Baroque composers made use of the fauxbordon as a figure to express the affect of anxiety, as if the ground was giving way beneath ones feet. The couplet which begins with “The flowers appear upon the earth” is set in a slowish triple meter, but picks up tempo with “the singing of birds is come,” which is decorated by a delightful, hopping dance in dotted rhythms. Purcell appropriately metes out “The voice of the turtle” to the bass voice, and, in the tenor’s line “The fig tree putteth forth green figs” he cleverly adds a single violin, which twists through the vocal music like the tendrils of a vine.
What is striking about both My Beloved Spake and Rejoice in the Lord Alway is Purcell’s very spare use of the chorus. The latter work, written in 1684, is also sprightly and tuneful. The first line of poetry is repeated as a refrain throughout the piece, giving it something akin to a rondo structure. With the exception of the introductory symphony, and small snippets of measured recitative, the anthem is composed entirely in triple meters. It is the task of performers to make proportional sense of these, depending on the demands of the text.
Zadok the Priest
Handel had been in London since the fall of 1710, industriously establishing himself as the preeminent opera composer of his generation. His acquaintance with the Hanoverians went back to his youthful years in Rome and brief return to Germany in 1710. He was named Kapellmeister to the court in Hanover, a position he virtually abandoned, though officially he kept the post until 1713. In London, he received commissions as early as 1712 to produce celebratory choral works for the Royal musical establishment. This he continued to do for the remainder of the unhappy life of Queen Anne, who died in 1713, and throughout the rule of George I. However, as a foreign national he was not allowed to be a paid member of the Chapel Royal.
The first Hanoverian king died of apoplexy while on a visit to Germany in 1727. Shortly before his death, he signed Handel’s naturalization papers, thus making it possible for Handel to take on an official post in the Chapel Royal. Fortuitously, William Croft, who was the Chapel’s composer-in-residence, also died in 1727. Unfortunately for his successor, Maurice Greene, Handel was given the job of composing the music for the coronation of the new king, even though Greene had every expectation of doing so. Handel was given less than a month to provide music for this mammoth affair of state.
There is nothing in the Baroque repertoire that quite equals the adrenaline rush one receives on first hearing the opening chorus of Zadok the Priest. The anthem, first performed for the coronation of George II and his Queen Consort Caroline in 1727, was the largest, loudest ceremonial composition ever heard by an English audience. The combined choirs of the Chapel Royal, Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul’s Cathedral were augmented by virtually every able-bodied chorister in London, plus the odd opera singer, numbering over forty voices in all. The orchestra was even more immense, at one hundred-and-sixty musicians – strings, oboes, trumpets and, for the first time in a consecrated space, kettledrums. The band was also drawn from every conceivable source, from chapels to theater pits. Handel had to stuff bodies into every available gallery, in and around the great organ, which posed something of an impediment. When the word got to the street about the immensity of the project, there was a stampede to attend rehearsals. Newspapers were full of the impending event.
Mr. Hendle has composed the Musick for the Abbey at the Coronation, and the Italian Voices, with above a Hundred of the best Musicians will perform; and the Whole is allowed by those Judges in Musick who have already heard it, to exceed any Thing heretofore of the same Kind: It well be rehearsed this Week, but the Time will be kept private, lest the Crowd of People should be an Obstruction to the Performance.
- Parker’s Penny Post, October 4, 1727
October 7. Yesterday there was a Rehearsal of the Coronation Anthem in Wesminster-Abbey, set to Musick by the famous Mr Hendall: there being 40 Voices, and about 160 violins, Trumpets, Hautboys, Kettle-Drums and Bass’s proportionable; besides an Organ, which was erected behind the Altar: And both the music and the Performers, were the Admiration of the Audience.
- Norwich Gazette, October 14, 1727
It was perhaps fortunate that so many eager listeners somehow got into the rehearsals. Alas, the actual event got off to a very shaky start. William Wake, Archbishop of Canterbury and designer of the coronation ceremony, scribbled notes on his program attesting to the chaos. The first anthem, “I was glad,” was omitted. Even worse, the second anthem, “The King shall rejoice” may very well have been performed simultaneously with “Let thy hand be strengthened,” a mishap guaranteed to add many years to the lives of participating musicians. Anthem III, “Come Holy Ghost” was “by mistake of [the performers] not sung, but next the Anthem instead of it” which was Zadok the Priest. That piece, at least, was presented in its proper place, at the anointing of the new king. A later anthem was also deleted, but perhaps a Te Deum of Gibbons was sung in its place. Thereafter, things seem to have sorted themselves out. At any rate, any “Judge in Musick” would have found the printed program to be a source of bafflement.
A possible cause of these disasters was the presence of inconsistent orders of service. The surviving “New Cheque Book” does not agree with the program order, which may mean that various sectors of the very large musical array were literally not on the same page. With a musical group of such size and disparity, it wouldn’t be hard for something to go very wrong.
Musical misadventures notwithstanding, it was a splendid affair. Zadok the Priest became an instant classic, and has been heard at every subsequent coronation of an English monarch. The text of the anthem is a short, simple description of the anointing of Solomon, taken from The First Book of Kings. The words had last been used for the coronation ceremony of James II in 1685.
The thunderous entry of the choir is preceded by a quiet string symphony that slowly builds in intensity, like a glorious sunrise. The sonic thrill of the choral declamation is so intense as to be almost blindingly visual. Solomon’s Temple is brought before one’s eyes. The effect is monumental, architectural, radiant.
The diarist Lord Hervey, whose Memoirs were penned in acid, wrote that “the Coronation was performed with all the pomp and magnificence that could be contrived; the present King differing so much from the last, that all the pageantry and splendour, badges and trappings of royalty, were as pleasing to the son [George II] as they were irksome to the father. The dress of the Queen on this occasion was as fine as the accumulated riches of the City and suburbs could make it.”
The Dettingen Te Deum
By 1740, Handel was at a crossroads in his career. His most recent operas, Imeneo and Deidamia were failures. He led what was to be his last opera production, the particularly unfortunate Deidamia, in 1741. At 56, neither his operas nor his oratorios were achieving a sufficient degree of popular success to prevent him from the grim contemplation of leaving England. So, that same year, he left London for Dublin, where he promoted his oratorios, and composed Messiah. While Handel’s most revered work did well in Ireland, it was slow to catch on in England, where it generated acrimonious controversy. Ultimately, the years of stress and uncertainty took their toll: in May of 1743, Handel suffered what seems to have been a minor stroke, affecting his speech. However, he managed to regain his health and spirits with miraculous alacrity and attacked the composition of Semele with gusto, completing it in a month.
Meanwhile, in 1742, Great Britain had entered the War of Austrian Succession. At a skirmish in Dettingen, George II, having lost control of his horse, personally led an attack on the French troops. George was the last English monarch to engage in active combat. The battle was a success for the coalition of Hanoverian and English armies, and probably constituted a highlight of George’s otherwise rather dull life. Handel put plans for the coming season aside, and began work on a celebratory Te Deum on the 27th of July. This was completed on the 22nd of November, 1743.
The text of the Te Deum is ancient, and Handel’s English version is taken from the Book of Common Prayer. Beginning with the Stuart Restoration, the Te Deum was sung as a part of the Morning Prayer service, and came to be used for celebratory events as well, first by Henry Purcell in the St. Cecilia’s Day Celebrations of 1694. Because the Te Deum came to be associated with occasions of victory and thanksgiving, it was commonplace to include trumpets in scorings, and thus the trumpet’s natural key of D major is closely associated with baroque treatments of the text. Handel’s earliest setting, known as the Utrecht Te Deum, commemorated the signing of the Peace of Utrecht in 1714, which ended the war of Spanish Succession and redistributed the balance of power throughout Europe. The Utrecht Te Deum and Jubilate were reused for ceremonial occasions for decades to follow.
As was the case with Zadok the Priest, Handel was given ample resources to put together a massive vocal and orchestral ensemble for the first performance of the Dettingen Te Deum. The orchestra included strings, oboes, trumpets and drums. The writing for trumpet is resplendent and especially virtuosic. In addition to the huge choir, there are three soloists, with the bass voice given pride of place. The Dettingen Te Deum was very well-received in its day, and supplanted the Utrecht Te Deum in popularity. It was also performed frequently throughout the 19th century. Modern critics, on the other hand, have not cast it in a favorable light, in part dismissing it because of its great indebtedness to a setting by Francesco Urio (d. 1706), and in part calling it “pedestrian.” While it is not without bombast, it is nonetheless the work of a master. Handel makes use of simple, manly, musical figures which aptly reflect the military victory. To some extent, the composer may, unconsciously or not, be reflecting the honest, obtuse character of the King.
The attentive listener will discover many felicitous turns of phrase and many subtle affects nestled amongst the rousing choruses. Handel divides the thirty lines of text into sixteen contrasting movements. Throughout, he also creates interesting tensions between music and textual matter. After the opening symphony and first two couplets of verse, all in D major, Handel introduces the lines “To Thee all Angels cry aloud” with a lovely, quiet, evocative string symphony in B minor. “The glorious company of the Apostles,” which makes short work of the Apostles, Prophets, noble army of Martyrs and the Holy Church, does so to an elegant walking bass. The difficult line, “Thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb” is handled with great aplomb, cadencing in F# minor. The chorus “We therefore pray Thee” begins with a trumpet fanfare in the inevitable D major, but then unexpectedly swerves into a chromatic interlude in B minor. The wonderful aria, “Vouchsafe, O Lord!” takes our ears through a series of lovely but discomfiting harmonic progressions on the phrase “as our trust is in Thee.” The more straightforward settings include the bass solo “Thou art the king of glory,” accompanied by fine writing for obbligato trumpet, and the two stirring grand choruses, “Heav’n and Earth are full of the majesty of Thy Glory,” and “And we worship Thy Name, ever, world without end.”
Lord Hervey was not kind to the Hanoverians, but his invective makes very good reading. He describes their coarseness and dullness in great detail. Indeed, they were not a sympathetic lot. Georges I and II have been described as both stupid and complex, and George III was tormented by madness. George I never bothered to learn English, kept two disagreeable German mistresses, and became something of a recluse. He seemed to be satisfied with living in two rooms of the palace, and to be cared for by his freed Nubian slave boys, Mohammed and Mustapha. He enjoyed gambling, and cutting out paper figures to pass the evenings. George’s heir, whom he loathed, was more industrious, taking great pleasure in memorizing vast genealogies of the European nobility, and playing soldier. The only outstanding intelligence among them was Caroline, George II’s Queen. She had a fine, inquiring mind, and was a bosomy beauty. She was, among the Hanoverians, closest to being a friend to Handel. He had known her for at least twenty-five years; he gave music lessons to her children, and he genuinely mourned her death in 1737. In spite of their many failings, the Hanoverians were in truth neither better nor worse than their Stuart predecessors. However, they lacked the knack of creating an aura of kingship. They avoided the world of courtly society, and they held few grand fetes. They did not create imposing architectural tributes to themselves, nor did they bestow upon London fine parks or public buildings. Their only cultural passion was music – Handel’s music in particular. He repaid their high regard by providing them with lasting monuments, if not to their dynasty, then to the greatness of the age in which they lived – The Water Music, The Royal Fireworks Music, and the grand sacred anthems that so magnificently marked milestones in their lives.
- Mary Springfels
Mary Springfels, viola da gambist, was director of the Newberry Consort for 25 years, and has appeared with numerous other ensembles. She now lives in New Mexico, where she teaches and pursues the life of an independent scholar.