Semele

Opera in three parts,

presented "after the manner of an oratorio"

Music by George Frideric Handel

Libretto (in English) by William Congreve
First performance: Covent Garden, London; February 10, 1744

Roles:
Semele, daughter of Cadmus (soprano)
Jupiter (tenor)
Cadmus, king of Thebes (bass)
Athamas, prince of Boeotia, fiancé of Semele (alto)
Ino, sister of Semele, in love with Athamas (mezzo)
Juno (mezzo)
Iris, goddess helping Juno (soprano)
High priest (bass)
Somnus, god of sleep (bass)
Apollo (tenor)

********************

Program note
by Martin Pearlman

Early in 1744, Handel announced the premiere of Semele, a new work "after the manner of an
oratorio." It was indeed performed like an oratorio, that is, without sets or costumes and with soloists,
chorus and orchestra placed on the stage as in a concert, but early on, many people recognized that
Semele was very much like an opera in disguise. The drama resembled Handel's earlier Italian operas,
focusing as it did on the tragedy played out by its characters, more than on the commentary of the
chorus. Indeed William Congreve's libretto, from which Handel's was adapted, had originally been
written decades earlier to be set as an opera by John Eccles (an opera which was never performed until
the late twentieth century). Although the libretto was in English like the oratorios that Handel was
currently writing, it made extensive use of the conventions of Italian opera, conventions such as da capo
forms (A-B-A) for the majority of its arias, as well as a good deal of dramatic recitative.

In part, presenting Semele "after the manner of an oratorio" was a business decision for Handel,
who infuriated his competitors in the opera world by producing what was essentially an opera without
any of the costs of sets or costumes. But the production proved controversial with the London public, as
well. While it was a success with many listeners, many others, who had become accustomed to biblical
subjects in their oratorios, found the story of Semele's passion for a god to be too licentious for the
genre. Dr. Delany, a clergyman, refused to attend -- although his wife went to every performance.
Charles Jennens, the librettist of Messiah and of several other Handel oratorios, sneered at the
composer's attempt to pass off Semele as an oratorio, calling it "a bawdy opera." Later, the Victorian
age did its best to tone down what some considered suggestive language in Congreve's libretto, excising,
for example, the word "bed."

The story of Semele is the story of the birth of the god Bacchus, a god perhaps best known today
for introducing the pleasures of wine but also associated with ecstasy, frenzy and madness. Semele, a
princess of Thebes, is beloved by Jupiter and, to her ruin, is infatuated by his attentions. Juno, always
jealous of her wandering husband, appears to Semele in disguise and convinces her that she deserves to
see her lover not only in his human guise but in his true divine form. Jupiter tries to dissuade her, but
Semele pressures him to grant her wish. Accordingly, he appears to her in thunder and lightning, and
she is consumed. From the flames, Jupiter snatches the baby that Semele is carrying and (though not
told in this libretto) sews it up inside his thigh to mature, later to be born as the god Bacchus.

Imagine a modern composer -- or, for that matter, Wagner or even Monteverdi -- being handed
such a story: the birth of the orgiastic god Bacchus, Semele as the mother of madness and intoxication,
her ecstatic love for Jupiter, her immolation. For all this we might expect a fiery, passionate treatment.
But the tone of Handel's Semele is rather different. The music is extraordinarily beautiful and contains
some of Handel's most famous arias, but it is not music of abandon and madness. Semele's great aria
and chorus, "Endless pleasure, endless love," for example, is not a bacchanal at the Venusberg but, of all
things, a gavotte, a beautiful and joyous dance to be sure, but one that is more courtly than passionate.
And her immolation occurs during a relatively brief accompanied recitative.

The drama is well served by such conventions, though, because Semele's ecstasy and the
Dionysian madness that might attract writers of another era are not the focus for Handel and his
eighteenth-century audience. Indeed, the birth of Bacchus is treated here almost as an afterthought. It is
announced at the very end of the opera by the serene Apollo, and it leads to a happy finale.

For Handel the real focus is on Semele's inappropriate love. She attempts to rise above her place
in the order of things and mix with the gods, and in so doing she brings about her own demise. The
myth of Semele is one of many in which mortals go beyond the set boundaries and are consumed by a
divine fire. This is a lesson about order, both in nature and society--the very opposite of what we might
expect today from a Bacchus myth! It tells us that deceptions and artifice are necessary to maintain an
orderly society, that there are dangers in stripping away all illusions. Semele should have been content
with Jupiter as she knew him and should not have demanded to see to his innermost being.

Like so many dramas of the time, this one offers a reflection of an idealized society. It shows an
ordered world from which the real world of the eighteenth century could draw a lesson. It made for a
popular form of theater that is quite different from the more realistic mirror that a modern drama might
hold up to society, a mirror in which we might find less certain moral lessons. But this "idealizing"
opera has nothing fussy or academic about it. It has glorious, moving and theatrical music, a broad
dramatic sweep, and vividly drawn characters ranging from the comical god of sleep to jealous Juno to
the tragic Semele.

For his own performances of Semele, Handel had an experienced cast of singers who had
performed with him many times. The brilliant title role was written for Elisabeth Duparc (called La
Francesina), who, the eighteenth-century historian Dr. Burney tells us, was known for her "lark-like
execution" and "natural warble, and agility of voice, which Handel afterwards seems to have had great
pleasure in displaying." Burney's description comes vividly to life when we hear the trills and other
ornaments which Handel wrote into Semele's arias, "Myself I shall adore" and "The morning lark."

The first Jupiter, John Beard, had sung with Handel since the age of 15 and performed more of
Handel's music than any other singer, including tenor parts in the oratorios and odes, as well as in many
operas. He was known to be an expressive actor, and it was for his fine voice that Handel wrote the
work's most famous aria, "Where'er you walk." But given the drama's warning about Semele's attempt
to mix with the gods, it is ironic that this original Jupiter had created a real-life scandal in London by
marrying above his station.