Jul 282018
 

Today is the birthday (1844) of Gerard Manley Hopkins SJ, an English poet and Jesuit priest, whose posthumous fame established him among the leading Victorian poets. His manipulation of prosody (particularly his concept of sprung rhythm and use of imagery) established him as an innovative writer of verse. Two of his major themes were nature and religion.

Hopkins was born in Stratford in Essex (now in Greater London), as the eldest of probably nine children to Manley and Catherine (Smith) Hopkins. He was baptized at the Anglican church of St John’s, Stratford. His father founded a marine insurance firm and at one time served as Hawaiian consul-general in London. He was also for a time churchwarden at St John-at-Hampstead. His maternal grandfather was the physician John Simm Smith, a university colleague of John Keats, and close friend of the eccentric philanthropist Ann Thwaytes. As a poet, Hopkins’ father published works including A Philosopher’s Stone and Other Poems (1843), Pietas Metrica (1849), and Spicelegium Poeticum, A Gathering of Verses by Manley Hopkins (1892). He reviewed poetry for The Times and wrote one novel. Gerard’s mother was particularly fond of music and of reading, especially German philosophy, literature and the novels of Dickens. Both parents were deeply religious high-church Anglicans. Catherine’s sister, Maria Smith Giberne, taught Gerard to sketch. This interest was supported by his uncle, Edward Smith, his great-uncle Richard James Lane, a professional artist, and many other family members. Hopkins’ first ambitions were to be a painter, and he continued to sketch throughout his life, inspired, as an adult, by the work of John Ruskin and the Pre-Raphaelites. Hopkins became a skilled draughtsman and found that his early training in visual art complemented his later work as a poet.

Manley Hopkins moved his family to Hampstead in 1852, near to where John Keats had lived 30 years before and close to the wide green spaces of Hampstead Heath. When 10 years old, Hopkins was sent to board at Highgate School from 1854 to 1863. While studying Keats’s poetry, he wrote “The Escorial” (1860), his earliest extant poem. At school he practiced early attempts at asceticism. He once argued that most people drank more liquids than they really needed and bet that he could go without drinking for a week. He persisted until his tongue turned black and he collapsed at drill. On another occasion, he abstained from salt for a week. Among his teachers at Highgate was Richard Watson Dixon, who became an enduring friend and correspondent, and among the older pupils was the poet Philip Stanhope Worsley, who won the Newdigate Prize.

Hopkins studied classics at Balliol College, Oxford from 1863 to 1867 and began his time in Oxford as a keen socialite and prolific poet. At Oxford he forged a lifelong friendship with Robert Bridges (eventual Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom), which would be of importance in his development as a poet and in establishing his posthumous acclaim. Hopkins was deeply impressed with the work of Christina Rossetti  http://www.bookofdaystales.com/christina-rossetti/ and she became one of his greatest contemporary influences. They met in 1864. During this time he studied with the eminent writer and critic Walter Pater, who tutored him in 1866 and who remained a friend until Hopkins left Oxford in September 1879.

On 18th January 1866, Hopkins composed his most ascetic poem, “The Habit of Perfection.” On 23rd January, he included poetry in the list of things to be given up for Lent. In July, he decided to become a Roman Catholic, and he travelled to Birmingham in September to consult the leader of the Oxford converts, John Henry Newman. Newman received him into the Roman Catholic Church on 21st October 1866. The decision to convert estranged him from both his family and a number of his acquaintances. After taking his degree in 1867, Newman provided Hopkins with a teaching post at the Oratory in Birmingham. While there he began to study the violin. On 5th May 1868 Hopkins firmly “resolved to be a religious.” Less than a week later, he made a bonfire of his poems and gave up poetry almost entirely for 7 years. He also felt the call to enter the ministry and decided to become a Jesuit. He paused to first visit Switzerland, which officially forbade Jesuits to enter.

Hopkins began his Jesuit novitiate at Manresa House, Roehampton, in September 1868. Two years later, he moved to St Mary’s Hall, Stonyhurst, for his philosophical studies, taking vows of poverty, chastity and obedience on 8th September 1870. He felt his interest in poetry prevented him from wholly devoting himself to religion. However, on reading Duns Scotus in 1872 he saw that the two need not conflict. He continued to write a detailed prose journal between 1868 and 1875. Unable to suppress his desire to describe the natural world, he also wrote music, sketched, and for church occasions wrote some “verses,” as he called them. He later wrote sermons and other religious pieces.

In 1874 Hopkins returned to Manresa House to teach classics. While he was studying in the Jesuit house of theological studies, St Beuno’s, near St Asaph in North Wales, he was asked by his religious superior to write a poem to commemorate the foundering of a German ship in a storm. So, in 1875 he was moved to take up poetry once more and write a lengthy poem, “The Wreck of the Deutschland”. The work was inspired by the Deutschland incident, a maritime disaster in which 157 people died, including five Franciscan nuns who had been leaving Germany due to harsh anti-Catholic laws. The work displays both the religious concerns and some of the unusual meter and rhythms of his subsequent poetry not present in his few remaining early works. It not only depicts the dramatic events and heroic deeds but also tells of the poet’s reconciling the terrible events with God’s higher purpose. The poem was accepted but not printed by a Jesuit publication. This rejection fed his ambivalence about his poetry. Most of his poetry remained unpublished until after his death.

Although Hopkins was a brilliant Latin and Greek student who had left Oxford with a first-class honours degree, he failed his final theology exam. This failure meant that although he could be ordained (1877), he could not progress in the order. In 1877 he wrote God’s Grandeur, an array of sonnets which included “The Starlight Night”. He finished “The Windhover” only a few months before his ordination. Though rigorous, isolated and sometimes unpleasant, his life during Jesuit training had at least had some stability. The uncertain and varied work after ordination was much harder on his sensibilities. In October 1877, not long after he completed “The Sea and the Skylark” and only a month after he had been ordained as a priest, Hopkins took up his duties as subminister and teacher at Mount St. Mary’s College, Chesterfield. In July 1878 he became curate at the Jesuit church in Mount Street, London. In December he became curate at St. Aloysius’ Church, Oxford, then moved to Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow. While ministering in Oxford, he became a founding member of Oxford University Newman Society, a society established in 1878 for the Catholic members of the University of Oxford. He taught Greek and Latin at Mount St Mary’s College in Sheffield, and Stonyhurst College in Lancashire.

In 1884 he became professor of Greek and Latin at University College Dublin. His English roots and his disagreement with the Irish politics of the time, as well as his own small stature (5 feet 2 inches), unprepossessing nature and personal oddities meant that he was not a particularly effective teacher. This, as well as his isolation in Ireland, deepened his gloom. His poems of the time, such as “I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, not Day”, reflected this. They came to be known as the “terrible sonnets”, not because of their quality but because according to Hopkins’s friend Canon Richard Watson Dixon, they reached the “terrible crystal”, meaning that they crystallized the melancholic dejection that plagued the later part of Hopkins’ life.

Several issues may have exacerbated his melancholic state and restricted his poetic inspiration during the last five years of his life. His work load was extremely heavy. He disliked living in Dublin, away from England and friends. He was also disappointed at how far the city had changed from its Georgian elegance of the previous century. His general health deteriorated as his eyesight began to fail. He felt confined and dejected. As a devout Jesuit, he found himself in an artistic dilemma. To subdue any egotism (which would violate the humility required by his religious position), he decided never to publish his poems. At the same time, he realized that a poet requires an audience for criticism and encouragement. This conflict between his religious obligations and his poetic inclinations caused him to feel that he had failed them both.

After suffering ill health for several years, Hopkins died of typhoid fever in 1889. Although Hopkins suffered from what might be diagnosed now as bipolar disorder or chronic depression, his final words were “I am so happy, I am so happy. I loved my life.” Hopkins was buried in Glasnevin Cemetery, following his funeral in Saint Francis Xavier Church on Gardiner Street, located in Georgian Dublin.

Much of Hopkins’s historical importance has to do with the changes he brought to the form of poetry, which ran contrary to conventional ideas of meter. Prior to Hopkins, most Middle English and Modern English poetry was based on a rhythmic structure inherited from the Norman side of English literary heritage. This structure is based on repeating “feet” of two or three syllables, with the stressed syllable falling in the same place on each repetition. Hopkins called this structure “running rhythm”, and though he wrote some of his early verse in running rhythm he became fascinated with the older rhythmic structure of the Anglo-Saxon tradition, of which Beowulf is the most famous example. Hopkins called his own rhythmic structure “sprung rhythm.” Sprung rhythm is structured around feet with a variable number of syllables, generally between one and four syllables per foot, with the stress always falling on the first syllable in a foot. It is similar to the “rolling stresses” of Robinson Jeffers, another poet who rejected conventional meter. Hopkins saw sprung rhythm as a way to escape the constraints of running rhythm, which he said inevitably pushed poetry written in it to become “same and tame.” In this way, Hopkins’ sprung rhythm can be seen as anticipating much of free verse. His work has no great affinity with either of the contemporary Pre-Raphaelite and neo-Romantic schools, although he does share their descriptive love of nature and he is often seen as a precursor to modernist poetry or as a bridge between the two poetic eras.

The language of Hopkins’s poems is often striking. His imagery can be simple, as in “Heaven-Haven,” where the comparison is between a nun entering a convent and a ship entering a harbor out of a storm. It can also be metaphysical and intricate, as in “As Kingfishers Catch Fire,” where he leaps from one image to another to show how each thing expresses its own uniqueness, and how divinity reflects itself through all of them.

Hopkins invented the curtal sonnet form. “Pied Beauty” is probably his most famous poem in this form. The first eight lines of a classic Petrarchian sonnet are translated into the first six lines of a curtal sonnet and the last six lines of the classic sonnet are translated into four with a half line or “tail” at the end. Hopkins describes the last line as half a line, though in fact it can be shorter than half of one of Hopkins’s standard sprung rhythm lines. “Pied Beauty” not only exhibits Hopkins’ unique use of rhyme schemes and meter, but also his complex use of language and imagery.

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things —
  For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
    For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
  Landscape plotted and pieced — fold, fallow, and plough;
    And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
  Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
    With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                Praise him.

Because Hopkins was a great Victorian I could give you something from Mrs Beeton, but because he was a Jesuit I think that the French pastry Jésuites is fitting. Jésuites are a triangular pastry, so named because they look like the triangular hats that were once common for Jesuits. They are commonly filled with almond frangipane (confectioner’s custard. I’ll give you a video on how to make them with an ingredient list to begin, because the video lacks one. You’ll also need puff pastry.

Jésuites

Ingredients:

1 cup/114 gm finely ground whole blanched almonds or almond flour
4 tbsp/57 gm unsalted butter, softened
½ cup/100 gm granulated sugar
2 large eggs (plus extra yolks if you wish)
3 tbsp/30 gm unbleached all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon salt

 

 

Apr 132018
 

Today is the birthday (1906) of Samuel Barclay Beckett, an Irish avant-garde novelist, playwright, theatre director, poet, and literary translator who lived in Paris for most of his adult life. He wrote in both English and French, and is probably best known for Waiting for Godot, which he wrote first in French, and then translated into English.

Samuel Beckett was born in Dublin on Good Friday, 1906, to William Frank Beckett, a quantity surveyor and descendant of the Huguenots, and Maria Jones Roe, a nurse, when both were 35. They had married in 1901. Beckett had one older brother, Frank Edward Beckett (1902–1954). At the age of 5, Beckett attended a local playschool in Dublin, where he started to learn music, and then moved to Earlsfort House School in Dublin city center near Harcourt Street. The Becketts were members of the Anglican Church of Ireland. The family home, Cooldrinagh in the Dublin suburb of Foxrock, was a large house and garden complete with tennis court built in 1903 by Samuel’s father. The house and garden, together with the surrounding countryside where he often went walking with his father, the nearby Leopardstown Racecourse, the Foxrock railway station and Harcourt Street station at the city terminus of the line, all feature in his prose and plays.

In 1919/1920, Beckett went to Portora Royal School in Enniskillen, County Fermanagh (which Oscar Wilde had also attended). He left 3 years later, in 1923. Beckett excelled at cricket as a left-handed batsman and a left-arm medium-pace bowler. Later, he was to play for Dublin University and played two first-class games against Northamptonshire. Beckett studied French, Italian, and English at Trinity College, Dublin from 1923 to 1927. He graduated with a BA and, after teaching briefly at Campbell College in Belfast, took up the post of lecteur d’anglais at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris from November 1928 to 1930. While there, he was introduced to James Joyce by Thomas MacGreevy, a poet and close confidant of Beckett who also worked there.  Beckett assisted Joyce in various ways, one of which was research towards the book that became Finnegans Wake.

In 1929, Beckett published his first work, a critical essay entitled “Dante… Bruno. Vico.. Joyce.” The essay defends Joyce’s work and method, chiefly from allegations of wanton obscurity and dimness, and was Beckett’s contribution to Our Exagmination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress (a book of essays on Joyce which also included contributions by Eugene Jolas, Robert McAlmon, and William Carlos Williams). Beckett’s close relationship with Joyce and his family cooled, however, when he rejected the advances of Joyce’s daughter Lucia owing to her progressing schizophrenia. Beckett’s first short story, “Assumption”, was published in Jolas’ periodical transition. The next year he won a small literary prize for his hastily composed poem “Whoroscope”, which draws on a biography of René Descartes that Beckett happened to be reading when he was encouraged to submit.

In 1930, Beckett returned to Trinity College as a lecturer. In November 1930, he presented a paper in French to the Modern Languages Society of Trinity on the Toulouse poet Jean du Chas, founder of a movement called le Concentrisme. It was a literary parody; Beckett had in fact invented the poet and his movement that claimed to be “at odds with all that is clear and distinct in Descartes.” Beckett later insisted that he had not intended to fool his audience. When Beckett resigned from Trinity at the end of 1931, his brief academic career was at an end.

After Dublin, Beckett travelled in Europe, and spent some time in London, where in 1931 he published Proust, his critical study of Marcel Proust’s work. Two years later, following his father’s death, he began two years’ treatment with Tavistock Clinic psychoanalyst Dr. Wilfred Bion. Aspects of this time played out in Beckett’s later works, such as Watt and Waiting for Godot. In 1932, he wrote his first novel, Dream of Fair to Middling Women, but after many rejections from publishers decided to abandon it (it was eventually published in 1992). Despite his inability to get it published, however, the novel served as a source for many of Beckett’s early poems, as well as for his first full-length book, the 1933 short-story collection More Pricks Than Kicks.

In 1935—the year that Beckett successfully published a book of his poetry, Echo’s Bones and Other Precipitates—Beckett worked on his novel Murphy. In May, he wrote to MacGreevy that he had been reading about film and wished to go to Moscow to study with Sergei Eisenstein at the Gerasimov Institute of Cinematography in Moscow. In mid-1936 he wrote to Eisenstein and Vsevolod Pudovkin to offer himself as their apprentice. Nothing came of this, however, as Beckett’s letter was lost owing to Eisenstein’s quarantine during the smallpox outbreak, as well as his focus on a script re-write of his postponed film production.

Murphy was finished in 1936 and Beckett departed for extensive travel around Germany, during which time he filled several notebooks with lists of noteworthy art that he had seen, and noted his distaste for the Nazi savagery that was overtaking the country. Returning to Ireland briefly in 1937, he oversaw the publication of Murphy (1938), which he translated into French the following year. He fell out with his mother, which contributed to his decision to settle permanently in Paris. Beckett remained in Paris following the outbreak of World War II in 1939, preferring, in his own words, “France at war to Ireland at peace.” His was soon a known face in and around Left Bank cafés, where he strengthened his allegiance with Joyce and forged new ones with artists Alberto Giacometti and Marcel Duchamp, with whom he regularly played chess. Some time around December 1937, Beckett had a brief affair with Peggy Guggenheim, who nicknamed him “Oblomov” (after the character in Ivan Goncharov’s novel).

In January 1938 in Paris, Beckett was stabbed in the chest and nearly killed when he refused the solicitations of a notorious pimp (who went by the name of Prudent). Joyce arranged a private room for Beckett at the hospital. The publicity surrounding the stabbing attracted the attention of Suzanne Dechevaux-Dumesnil, who previously knew Beckett slightly from his first stay in Paris. This time, however, the two would begin a lifelong companionship. At a preliminary hearing, Beckett asked his attacker for the motive behind the stabbing. Prudent replied: “Je ne sais pas, Monsieur. Je m’excuse” [“I do not know, sir. I’m sorry”]. Beckett eventually dropped the charges against his attacker—partly to avoid further formalities, partly because he found Prudent likeable and well-mannered.

After the Nazi German occupation of France in 1940, Beckett joined the French Resistance, in which he worked as a courier. On several occasions over the next two years he was nearly caught by the Gestapo. In August 1942, his unit was betrayed, and he and Suzanne fled south on foot to the safety of the small village of Roussillon, in the Vaucluse département in Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur. There he continued to assist the Resistance by storing armaments in the back yard of his home. During the two years that Beckett stayed in Roussillon he indirectly helped the Maquis sabotage the German army in the Vaucluse mountains, though he rarely spoke about his wartime work in later life.

Beckett was awarded the Croix de guerre and the Médaille de la Résistance by the French government for his efforts in fighting the German occupation. To the end of his life, however, Beckett referred to his work with the French Resistance as “boy scout stuff.” While in hiding in Roussillon, he continued work on the novel Watt (begun in 1941 and completed in 1945, but not published until 1953, though an extract had appeared in the Dublin literary periodical Envoy).

In 1945, Beckett returned to Dublin for a brief visit. During his stay, he had a revelation in his mother’s room: His entire future direction in literature appeared to him. Beckett had felt that he would remain forever in the shadow of Joyce, certain to never best him at his own game. His revelation prompted him to change direction and to acknowledge both his own stupidity and his interest in ignorance and impotence:

I realized that Joyce had gone as far as one could in the direction of knowing more, [being] in control of one’s material. He was always adding to it; you only have to look at his proofs to see that. I realized that my own way was in impoverishment, in lack of knowledge and in taking away, in subtracting rather than in adding.

In the future, his work focused on poverty, failure, exile and loss.

In 1946, Jean-Paul Sartre’s magazine Les Temps modernes published the first part of Beckett’s short story “Suite” (later to be called “La Fin”, or “The End”), not realizing that Beckett had only submitted the first half of the story, Simone de Beauvoir refused to publish the second part. Beckett also began to write his fourth novel, Mercier et Camier, which was not published until 1970. The novel presaged his most famous work, the play Waiting for Godot, which was written not long afterwards. More importantly, the novel was Beckett’s first long work that he wrote in French, the language of most of his subsequent works which were strongly supported by Jérôme Lindon director of his Parisian publishing house Les Éditions de Minuit, including the poioumenon “trilogy” of novels: Molloy (1951); Malone meurt (1951), Malone Dies (1958); L’innommable (1953), The Unnamable, (1960). Despite being a native English speaker, Beckett wrote in French because—as he himself claimed—it was easier for him to write “without style” in French than in English.

Beckett is, of course, most famous for his play En attendant Godot (1953) (Waiting for Godot). In a much-quoted article, the critic Vivian Mercier wrote that Beckett,

has achieved a theoretical impossibility—a play in which nothing happens, that yet keeps audiences glued to their seats. What’s more, since the second act is a subtly different reprise of the first, he has written a play in which nothing happens, twice.

Godot premièred in 1953 in French in Paris and was a critical and popular, yet controversial, success in Paris. It opened in London in 1955 to mainly negative reviews, but the tide turned with positive reactions from Harold Hobson in The Sunday Times and, later, Kenneth Tynan. In the United States, it flopped in Miami and had a qualified success in New York City. After this, the play became extremely popular, with highly successful performances in the US and Germany. It is frequently performed today.

The US television sitcom, Seinfeld, is frequently praised as being “about nothing.” No. Seinfeld is quite obviously about something. Godot is about NOTHING – at great length. In my younger years I did not appreciate Godot. You have to have experienced life, and reflected on it to understand what Beckett is getting at. Life is an endless succession of pointless encounters, that seem, at first, to be brimming with meaning, but turn out to be devoid of it. Reading academic appraisals of Godot makes me laugh out loud: it is about ego, sex, fascism, stupidity, hunger, etc. etc. etc. Beckett is laughing at all of you.

Beckett translated all of his works into English himself, with the exception of Molloy, for which he collaborated with Patrick Bowles. The success of Waiting for Godot opened up a career in theater for Beckett. He went on to write successful full-length plays, including Fin de partie (Endgame) (1957), Krapp’s Last Tape (1958, written in English), Happy Days (1961, also written in English), and Play (1963).

In 1961, Beckett married Suzanne in a secret civil ceremony in England (its secrecy due to reasons relating to French inheritance law). The success of his plays led to invitations to attend rehearsals and productions around the world, leading eventually to a new career as a theater director. In 1957, he had his first commission from the BBC Third Programme for a radio play, All That Fall. He continued writing sporadically for radio and extended his scope to include cinema and television. He began to write in English again, although he also wrote in French until the end of his life.

From the late 1950s until his death, Beckett had a relationship with Barbara Bray, a widow who worked as a script editor for the BBC. In October 1969 while on holiday in Tunis with Suzanne, Beckett heard that he had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Anticipating that her intensely private husband would be saddled with fame from that moment on, Suzanne called the award a catastrophe. He gave away all of the prize money. Suzanne died on 17th July 1989. Beckett died on 22nd December the same year, confined to a nursing home and suffering from emphysema and possibly Parkinson’s disease. The two were interred together in the Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris and share a simple granite gravestone that follows Beckett’s directive that it should be “any colour, so long as it’s grey.”

Although Beckett was intensely private and ascetic with a generally pessimistic outlook on life, he did enjoy meeting friends for a good meal once in a while, especially grilled sole and white wine in restaurants such as Aux Îles Marquises on the rue de la Gaité. Well, grilled sole is about as simple as it gets. The usual habit is to grill fillets and serve them with lemon wedges and butter. I’m happier to be even simpler than that. I like nothing better than to take a whole fish – head on, but gutted and cleaned – heat the grill or broiler as hot as it gets, and grill the fish for about 12 minutes without turning it. Plate and serve as is. Sole has an extremely delicate taste (if you buy actual Dover sole and not some mimic), and needs no additions. French chefs will bristle at that sentiment, but I am not French. As a small boy my mother would occasionally serve me a whole sole (or plaice) for lunch, caught that day off the Eastbourne coast, and sold from the fishing boats. She grilled it, put it on a plate, and let me have at it with a slice of buttered brown bread. For some reason she thought brown bread would help in case I swallowed some bones.  I accompany grilled sole with buttered new potatoes and spinach or asparagus. A simple dish to celebrate Beckett’s favored simple life.

Apr 132016
 

messiah4

Messiah (HWV 56) by George Frideric Handel, with a scriptural text compiled by Charles Jennens from the King James Bible, and from the version of the Psalms included with the Book of Common Prayer, was first performed in Dublin on this date in 1742 and received its London premiere nearly a year later. After an initially modest public reception, the oratorio gained in popularity, eventually becoming one of the best-known and most frequently performed choral works in Western music.

Handel’s reputation in England, where he had lived since 1712, had been established through his compositions of Italian opera. He turned to English oratorio in the 1730s in response to changes in public taste. Works such as John Gay’s Beggar’s Opera (http://www.bookofdaystales.com/john-gay/ )signaled a general move away from Italian opera in England. Messiah was Handel’s sixth work in this genre. Although its structure resembles that of opera, it is not in dramatic form; there are no impersonations of characters and no direct speech. Instead, Jennens’ text is an extended reflection on Jesus Christ as Messiah. The text begins in Part I with prophecies by Isaiah and others, and moves to the annunciation to the shepherds, the only “scene” taken from the Gospels. In Part II, Handel concentrates on the Passion and ends with the “Hallelujah” chorus. In Part III he covers the resurrection of the dead and Christ’s glorification in heaven.

Jennens

Jennens

Charles Jennens was born around 1700, into a prosperous landowning family whose lands and properties in Warwickshire and Leicestershire he eventually inherited. His religious and political views—he opposed the Act of Settlement of 1701 which secured the accession to the British throne for the House of Hanover—prevented him from receiving his degree from Oxford University, or from pursuing any form of public career. His family’s wealth enabled him to live a life of leisure while devoting himself to his literary and musical interests. He was devoted to Handel’s music, having helped to finance the publication of every Handel score since Rodelinda in 1725. By 1741, after their collaboration on Saul, a warm friendship had developed between the two, and Handel was a frequent visitor to the Jennens’ family estate at Gopsall.

Jennens’ letter to Holdsworth of 10 July 1741, in which he first mentions Messiah, suggests that the text was a recent work, probably assembled earlier that summer. As a devout Anglican and believer in scriptural authority, part of Jennens’ intention was to challenge advocates of Deism, who rejected the doctrine of divine intervention in human affairs. There is no evidence that Handel played any active role in the selection or preparation of the text, such as he did in the case of Saul.

The music for Messiah was completed in just 24 days. Having received Jennens’ text some time after 10 July 1741, Handel began work on it on 22 August. His records show that he had completed Part I in outline by 28 August, Part II by 6 September and Part III by 12 September, followed by two days of “filling up” to produce the finished work on 14 September. The autograph score’s 259 pages show some signs of haste such as blots, scratchings-out, unfilled bars and other uncorrected errors.

messiah5

At the end of his manuscript Handel wrote the letters “SDG”—Soli Deo Gloria, “To God alone the glory”. The effort of writing so much music in so short a time was not unusual for Handel and his contemporaries; Handel commenced his next oratorio, Samson, within a week of finishing Messiah, and completed his draft of this new work in a month. In accordance with his frequent practice when writing new works, Handel adapted existing compositions for use in Messiah, in this case drawing on two recently completed Italian duets and one written twenty years previously. Thus, Se tu non lasci amore from 1722 became the basis of “O Death, where is thy sting?”; “His yoke is easy” and “And he shall purify” were drawn from Quel fior che alla’ride (July 1741), “Unto us a child is born” and “All we like sheep” from Nò, di voi non vo’ fidarmi (July 1741). Handel’s instrumentation in the score is often imprecise, again in line with contemporary convention, where the use of certain instruments and combinations was assumed and did not need to be written down by the composer; later copyists would fill in the details.

Before the first performance Handel made numerous revisions to his manuscript score, in part to match the forces available for the 1742 Dublin premiere; it is probable that his work was not performed as originally conceived in his lifetime. Between 1742 and 1754 he continued to revise and recompose individual movements, sometimes to suit the requirements of particular singers. The first published score of Messiah was issued in 1767, eight years after Handel’s death, though this was based on relatively early manuscripts and included none of Handel’s later revisions.

Handel’s decision to give a season of concerts in Dublin in the winter of 1741–42 arose from an invitation from the Duke of Devonshire, then serving as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. A violinist friend of Handel’s, Matthew Dubourg, was in Dublin as the Lord Lieutenant’s bandmaster; he would look after the tour’s orchestral requirements. Whether Handel originally intended to perform Messiah in Dublin is uncertain; he did not inform Jennens of any such plan, for the latter wrote to Holdsworth on 2 December 1741: “… it was some mortification to me to hear that instead of performing Messiah here he has gone into Ireland with it.” After arriving in Dublin on 18 November 1741, Handel arranged a subscription series of six concerts, to be held between December 1741 and February 1742 at the Great Music Hall, Fishamble Street. These concerts were so popular that a second series was quickly arranged; Messiah figured in neither series.

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In early March Handel began discussions with the appropriate committees for a charity concert, to be given in April, at which he intended to present Messiah. He sought and was given permission from St Patrick’s and Christ Church cathedrals to use their choirs for this occasion. These forces amounted to 16 men and 16 boy choristers; several of the men were allocated solo parts. The women soloists were Christina Maria Avoglio, who had sung the main soprano roles in the two subscription series, and Susannah Cibber, an established stage actress and contralto who had sung in the second series. To accommodate Cibber’s vocal range, the recitative “Then shall the eyes of the blind” and the aria “He shall feed his flock” were transposed down to F major. The performance, also in the Fishamble Street hall, was originally announced for 12 April, but was deferred for a day “at the request of persons of Distinction”. The orchestra in Dublin comprised strings, two trumpets, and timpani; the number of players is unknown. Handel had his own organ shipped to Ireland for the performances; a harpsichord was probably also used.

The three charities that were to benefit were prisoners’ debt relief, the Mercer’s Hospital, and the Charitable Infirmary. In its report on a public rehearsal, the Dublin News-Letter described the oratorio as “… far surpass[ing] anything of that Nature which has been performed in this or any other Kingdom”. Seven hundred people attended the premiere on 13 April. So that the largest possible audience could be admitted to the concert, gentlemen were requested to remove their swords, and ladies were asked not to wear hoops in their dresses. The performance earned unanimous praise from the assembled press: “Words are wanting to express the exquisite delight it afforded to the admiring and crouded Audience”. A Dublin clergyman, Rev. Delaney, was so overcome by Susanna Cibber’s rendering of “He was despised” that reportedly he leapt to his feet and cried: “Woman, for this be all thy sins forgiven thee!” The takings amounted to around £400, providing about £127 to each of the three nominated charities and securing the release of 142 indebted prisoners.

Handel wrote Messiah for modest vocal and instrumental forces, with optional settings for many of the individual pieces. In the years after his death, the work was adapted for performance on a much larger scale, with giant orchestras and choirs. In other efforts to update it, its orchestration was revised and amplified by (among others) Mozart. In the late 20th and early 21st centuries the trend has been towards reproducing a greater fidelity to Handel’s original intentions, although “big Messiah” productions continue to be mounted.

Here’s two of my favorite selections from a “period” performance led by Stephen Cleobury who at the time was the musical director at King’s College Cambridge.  The full performance is here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTMJVvld9ok&nohtml5=False

Whilst we are in the mood for recreating the feeling of Georgian music recitals, here’s a period piece in food – skirret pie. Sium sisarum, commonly known as skirret, is a perennial plant of the family Apiaceae once grown as a root vegetable. The English name skirret is derived from the Middle English ‘skirwhit’ or ‘skirwort’, meaning ‘white root’. In Scotland it is known as crummock. Its Danish name sukkerrod, Dutch name suikerwortel and German name “Zuckerwurzel” translate as ‘sugar root’. Skirret has a cluster of bright white, sweetish, somewhat aromatic roots, each approximately 15-20 cm in length. They were once commonly used as a vegetable in the same manner as the common salsify, black salsify and the parsnip, but eventually they were surpassed by potatoes. I have no idea if you could ever find skirrets for sale in a market, but you can buy the seeds online.

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I’m giving two period recipes here. They are similar in that they are both quite sweet and laden with sweet spices and candied fruits, as was customary for Georgian savory dishes. The second recipe calls for another obsolete vegetable – eryngo. Eryngium campestre, known as field eryngo, is a species of Eryngium, which was used medicinally. The basal leaves are long-stalked, pinnate and spiny, and can be made into an herbal tea. The roots were usually candied.

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Skirret Pie

Boil your biggest skirrets and blanch and season them with cinnamon, nutmeg, and a very little ginger and sugar. Your pye being ready lay in your skirrets; season also the marrow of three or four bones with cinnamon, sugar, a little salt and grated bread. Lay the marrow in your pye and the yolks of hard eggs, a handful of chestnuts boiled and blanched, and some candied orange-peel in slices. Lay butter on the top and lid your pye. Let your caudle be white wine and sugar, thicken it with the yolks of eggs, and when the pye is baked pour it in and serve it hot. Scrape sugar on it.

Eliza Smith, The Compleat Housewife, (1727)

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A Skirret Pye

Take the largest skirrets you can get & parboyle them & peel them & season them with cinnimon & powder sugar & put them in a dish with a good deal of fresh butter & some sliced citron & candid orange peel & candid eringoroot, 3 spoonfulls of rose water, 4 of white wine, some Jerusalem hartichokes boyled & sliced. Make it with cold butter paste. When it coms out of the oven, have ready a caudle made of half a pint of sack, some sugar & nutmeg & the yolks of 4 eggs & a print of butter poured on it very hot & the lid laid on it again.

Cookbook of Unknown Ladies (c. 1761)