Composer of fifty operas and many other works, magnificent organist and harpsichordist, with musical genius of a Titanic order, intellect that was swift, sure and keen, an indomitable will, a lofty philosophy, and a lordly personality, George Friedrich Handel, seemingly defeated by outrageous fortune, wheeled about like some invincible general whose business it was to win the battle and entering the field of the oratorio gained a colossal victory.  He had for some time passed the half century milestone of his life when he scored his greatest achievements in this line, and with magic touch transformed existing materials into the art-form we know to-day.  His “Messiah,” which alone would have sufficed to immortalize him, was produced, in one of his herculean bursts of power, within twenty-three days, when he was well-advanced in his fifty-seventh year.  It was first given to the public, in Dublin, April 13, 1742, seven months after its completion.  The enthusiasm it awakened was repeated when it was performed later in London.  Here, indeed, the audience became so transported that at the opening of the Hallelujah chorus every one present, led by the king, rose and remained standing, a custom we follow to-day.

Herder calls the “Messiah” a Christian epopee, in musical sounds.  It is certainly written in the large, grand style of a noble epic, for it had large matters to express, and its composer regarded music as a means of addressing heart and soul.  The theme is treated with reverence, delicacy and judgment, and the leading tone is that of a mighty hymn of rejoicing.  Following an overture that is in itself a revelation, the opening tenor recitative, “Comfort Ye, My People,” has a convincing ring that all is and will be well, mingled with infinite tenderness, and the succeeding aria, “Every Valley,” is pervaded with the freshness of earth newly arisen amid great glory.  The heart-rending desolation of selections like the contralto air, “He was Despised,” only serves to accentuate the triumph of other portions.  Throughout there is a warmth, a contrapuntal splendor, a breadth, an elasticity, a richness of orchestration, unknown in previous oratorio, unless in parts of some of the master’s own works.  Even in the duet and choruses remodeled from his chamber duets, there is that jubilant character that makes them blend perfectly with the great whole.

Born and educated on German soil, steeped during his wanderer’s years in the spirit of the Italian muse, and finally nourished on the cathedral music of England, Handel became thoroughly cosmopolitan, appropriating what he chose from the influences that surrounded him.  The English regard him as one of their national glories, call him the “Saxon Goliath,” the “Michael Angelo of music,” a “Bold Briareus with a hundred hands,” and have carved his form in enduring marble above his tomb in Westminster Abbey.  Nothing they have said can equal the tribute paid him by the dying giant Beethoven, who pointing to Handel’s works exclaimed:  “There is the truth.”