Two recent approaches in Bach criticism have emphasised the crucial role of the ritornello principle. First, Robert Marshall's examination of the compositional process in vocal works has shown that most of the compositional activity takes place in the opening ritornellos. Here Bach seemingly searched out the basic inventio of the piece, its principal character and musical material. The composition of the subsequent sections was relatively straightforward, since most musical events were derived directly from ritornello material. Secondly, Laurence Dreyfus's work on Bach's use of ritornello structure in instrumental works has shown how Bach gave great attention to the potential conflicts between established genres and their respective styles, and how much of the music's depth lies in the dislocation of the immediate events from the underlying generative processes.

Traditionally the ritornello has been viewed merely as a structural pillar, introducing and ending the solo/vocal sections and marking important modulations within the movement by reappearing in its entirety or in part. It is with this recurring – and somewhat subservient – function that most commentators of Bach's time were concerned. According to J. G. Walther, ‘Ritornelli are short instrumental repeats not of a complete aria which has been sung or is about to be sung, but (particularly when this is extensive) of only one or several passages out of the same.’

The ‘classical’ ritornello

In 1915 Wilhelm Fischer noted that the ritornello of a Baroque concerto typically falls into three sections: Vordersatz, the introductory gesture, which establishes the tonic key, Fortspinnung, the continuation and extension – usually sequential – of the initial ideas, and Epilog, the formal cadence in the tonic.

Never before have conditions been so favourable for writing a handbook on the Mass in B minor. First, the prospective author has the benefit of over a century of critical writing. Secondly, so many fundamental source problems have been solved in the last thirty years – e.g. the chronology of Bach's work on the manuscripts, and the origin of some of the parodied movements – that one can avoid many of the mistaken suppositions with which such a large proportion of the literature is riddled.

On the other hand, research on the Mass has never before been such an exacting task. The enormous body of existing literature must be assimilated with an eye both to its errors and to its perceptions. Such are the persistent puzzles concerning the origins, function and quality of the Mass in B Minor that it is all too easy to rely on opinions and beliefs which ignore the historical anomalies. Even with all the discoveries of recent years, there is still much room for interpretation in assessing how the work relates to Bach's compositional career, how it stands in the practical, liturgical context of his time (both Roman Catholic and Lutheran), why Bach decided to extend the Kyrie and Gloria – the Lutheran Missa presented to the Elector of Saxony in 1733 – to a full setting of the Latin Ordinary in the last years of his life, how many of its movements are parodies, whether it was ever performed as a complete work or even as a Missa, and indeed whether it was designed with performance in mind in the first place.

The Foundling Hospital committee's reference to a score of Messiah being procured from Ireland so that the work could be performed ‘for the Benefit of other Persons’ provides a reminder that several performances were given under other auspices during Handel's lifetime: Handel apparently did not object to this, provided he had given his permission. In Dublin the Charitable Musical Society gave annual performances from 1744, and the score referred to in the Foundling Hospital minute was presumably one that Handel himself had supplied (or left behind) for the Society's use. As early as February 1744, Messiah was performed in London by the Academy of Ancient Music at their normal venue, the Crown and Anchor Tavern. In 1749, Messiah was performed in the Sheldonian Theatre, Oxford, as part of the musical celebrations accompanying the opening of the Radcliffe Camera: further Oxford performances followed in 1752 and 1754, and then regularly from 1756, either during the University's annual Commemoration of Benefactors or in the programmes of the musical society based at the Holywell Music Room. In 1750 Messiah reached Salisbury, with a performance in the New Assembly Room, followed by others in 1752 and 1765. A series of performances in the Bristol and Bath area began in 1755, and Messiah entered the repertory of the Three Choirs' Festival in 1757: for the first two years the Festival performances took place in ‘secular’ buildings as evening concerts, but in 1759 the performance at Hereford took place in the morning at the Cathedral.

Although Handel successfully completed his second subscription series in March 1743, the season took its toll on his health. To the tensions caused by the ‘clamour’ over the performances of Messiah were added disagreements with two of his most essential friends, his copyist–manager John Christopher Smith and jennens himself. The Daily Advertiser for 11 April 1743 reported: ‘Mr. Handel, who has been dangerously ill, is now recover'd’, but Jennens remained concerned:

[CJ to EH]

Gops. Apr. 29 1743

Shortly after, on May 4, Horace Walpole wrote: ‘We are likely at last to have no Opera next year: Handel has had a palsy, and can't compose’. In fact, Handel recovered sufficiently quickly to compose Semele and the Dettingen Te Deum during June and July. He then turned his mind towards a new oratorio for his next season and, avoiding Jennens, went to James Miller for Joseph and his Brethren, composed during August and September. By then plans for a return to Dublin, or for a convalescent year abroad, must have been set aside.

Two factors are particularly important in distinguishing the society of Bach's age from that of the modern western world. First there was the universal acceptance and practice of various forms of the Christian religion which influenced all structures of thought and politics. Secondly there was the hereditary domination of the upper classes. Both these forces were, of course, under attack during Bach's lifetime, but their potency is impossible to ignore. So far, this study has taken the religious background of what is patently a religious work into account, since Bach was, for much of his working life, associated with ecclesiastical institutions. However, his career in court life should not be forgotten, nor should the modish influences of his age – opera, and courtly dance music which aped the fashions of Versailles – be ignored. Indeed such was the nature of Lutheran music at this time, with the librettos heavily influenced by the structures of operatic text, that secular elements inevitably infiltrated the church style.

Dance music not only became a profitable product for the late Baroque composer, it also provided a stable framework on which to elaborate various ideas and processes. The importance of binary forms in the Classical era reflects just how much dance forms had become absorbed by the prevailing idioms. Periodic structure and possibly tonality itself could hardly have been developed without a long tradition of dance composition.

Counterpoint and fugue are often the first things that the music of J. S. Bach calls to mind. Yet while it is extremely important to recognise Bach's remarkable achievements in the field of counterpoint, it is perhaps a mistake to give these first priority in a broader analysis of his work. Counterpoint remained the primary compositional procedure of Bach's age (whether studied or practised in its strictest form or in the shorthand of figured bass) and constitutes the basic fabric of all compositions, however chordal or ‘harmonic’ they may appear. Therefore counterpoint and fugue itself were techniques rather than forms: the means of passing from one note or conglomeration of notes to the next, the means of controlling and displaying the principal thematic material, the inventio. Certainly many works of Bach's may be described as fugues, but the relevance of fugal procedure to the structure as a whole is often only local. For instance the Kyrie of the Mass in B Minor is a large-scale ritornello movement (see p. 69) as well as a fugue, so an analysis purely in terms of fugal process would necessarily be superficial.

Nevertheless, counterpoint is the next focal point in this study, standing as it does between the larger formal principles which influence the structure of individual movements, and the motivic detail of the instrumental and vocal lines. Many elements of Bach's compositional style will emerge that are already familiar: the sense of proportion, economical use of the material, and the subtle frustration of expectation.

Messiah within the oratorio genre

Messiah was created within the specific genre of Handel's London theatre oratorios, and against a background of experience built up by both composer and audience prior to 1741. The theatre audience's expectation of a three-section evening's entertainment, lasting about three hours in performance with two intervals, was carried over from the three acts of Italian opera to the three parts of English oratorio. The perceived characteristics of Handel's oratorios were neatly summed up by Newburgh Hamilton in his Preface to the printed libretto for Messiah's ‘twin’ oratorio, Samson:

Even so, we may still be slightly surprised by Jennens's description of Messiah as ‘a fine Entertainment’.

Three features set Messiah apart from the main body of Handel's oratorios. The text, adapted from scripture (the Authorised Version of the Bible and the ‘Coverdale’ translation of the psalms associated with the Book of Common Prayer), includes no metrical or rhymed verse, such as was normally characteristic of aria texts for opera and oratorio. While the prose ‘verses’ of the scriptural sources have no metrical structure, they do nevertheless have a controlled rhetorical flow: English translations of the scriptures were, after all, intended as ‘performance texts’, to be read aloud at public worship.

When Bach began to compile the four manuscripts constituting the Mass in B Minor much of the material already existed. For not only was the text in a complete and unalterable form – not always the case in a texted composition – but much of the music was to be adapted from cantatas which had already been performed. Thus an introduction to the work itself should perhaps begin not only with a presentation of the text but also with an account of the origins of the music. In attempting to recreate the situation and understand the decisions Bach made, we may gain some insight into the extraordinary processes by which this composer structured music of diverse origins into a coherent whole. In some ways this parallels his activity as a composer per se: he drew from all the musical styles of his time, its forms, generative structures and figuration. What is remarkable is Bach's manipulation, rather than creation, of musical language.

Only with a musical aesthetic later than Bach's does the concept of parody (adapting existing vocal music to a new text) appear in an unfavourable light. As music became more an autonomous art and less an established craft within certain social structures, the composer strove to find an individual voice; genius and originality were virtually synonymous concepts. In Bach's time, however, a certain degree of parody was almost unavoidable, since music had to be provided so regularly for specific occasions in church, court and theatre.

It is impossible – and undesirable – to reach a definitive interpretation of a work of the complexity and scale of Bach's Mass in B Minor. The effectiveness of this handbook can perhaps be judged only by ascertaining whether it has outlined sufficiently the historical and analytical criteria (and also the uncertainties) by which the boundaries of possible interpretation can be established. The chapters devoted to analysis of the work itself are designed to show how the piece can be studied and appreciated from different viewpoints and also on different scales and dimensions. All the approaches assess only a cross-section of the work, but together they point to the enduring quality of the music, which can be perceived at virtually every level of the composition. The very impossibility of uncovering the entire secret of the work in a single study points to the sophistication of its structure and its studied multivalency, which tease our preconceptions, perceptions and expectations.

Historically the work is an exhaustive – if not didactic – summation of the composer's musical skills, and of all the styles, idioms and devices available to his age. Bach clearly viewed the mass genre as the most historically durable form and believed the musical language of the ‘thoroughbass age’ to reflect a God-given structure and order. The concepts of hard work, thoroughness and of following an established order to its furthest implications, are evident both in the genesis of the Mass in B Minor – obviously aiming towards the perfection and unification of pre-existent material – and in the sheer density of the resulting work.

On 13 August 1742 Handel left Dublin, and he was back in London by early September:

[EH to CJ]

London 7ber [September] 10 1742

By then, a letter from Handel himself was on its way to Jennens, outlining his future plans and enclosing the Bishop of Elphin's comments on Messiah that were quoted in chapter 2:

[GFH to CJ]

London Sept.r 9.th 1742

Language, like music, communicates through sounds. It is extremely unlikely that Handel would have been insensitive to the intonations and stress patterns of the language of his adopted country in which he had lived for thirty years before composing Messiah. While Handel retained fluency in several languages – Italian, English, German and French – his day-to-day existence in London must have relied principally on communication in English. He may have retained traces of German inflection, but there is no reason to take seriously the caricature of Handel as a composer still acting the linguistic role of a foreigner by 1741. As with his music text, therefore, it is important to distinguish between possible ‘mistakes’ and positive intentions about how he wished the English to be delivered. Allowances must also be made for the possibility of changes in the conventions of pronunciation or stress during the last 250 years.

Handel certainly had some linguistic idiosyncracies. His autograph of Messiah includes characteristic spellings such as ‘strenght’ and ‘trone’, and a consistent use of ‘death’ for ‘dead’. On some occasions his verbal consistency lapsed: in ‘He trusted in God’, for example, he wrote ‘he might deliver him’ twice, and ‘he would deliver him’ once, and he varied between ‘maketh’ and ‘makes’ in ‘If God be for us’. All of these might reasonably be regarded as mistakes, to be edited out with a little common sense and possibly with the arbitration of the printed libretti.

The following libretto gives the text as set by Handel, collated with the movement numbers used in various editions (see Preface). Another important textual source is the printed word-book for the first London performances (1743), which was almost certainly produced under the inspection of Charles Jennens and thus represents the closest source document to the libretto from which Handel originally worked in 1741. Divergences between the text of Handel's musical autograph and the 1743 libretto are collated in the notes; additions and adaptations have been made in order to cover Handel's later additions to the score. ‘Scene’ numberings, movement headings, capitalisation and punctuation are taken from the 1743 word-book. Handel's idiosyncratic spellings have not been noted, but his syllabic contractions (for example, ‘ev'n’ for ‘even’) have been retained: some, but not all, of these also appear in the printed libretto. (Interestingly, both Handel's autograph and the word-book distinguish between ‘open'd’ and ‘unstopped’ in ‘Then shall the eyes of the blind be open'd’.)

The opening title, including the incorrect form of Handel's name and the mottoes supplied by Jennens, is taken from the title page of the 1743 word-book. The headings to Parts are those used by Handel; the wordbook has the form ‘Part One’ (and so on). The ‘Romans’ text of ‘How beautiful are the feet’ naturally did not appear in the 1743 word-book, since it was not performed then, and for this movement reference has been made to the equivalent 1749 publication.