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No one who attended the performance of Johann Mattheson\u2019s new opera Die ungluckselige Cleopatra, K\u00f6nigin von \u00c4gypten <\/i>(\u2018Unfortunate Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt\u2019) on the evening of 5 December 1704 at the Goose Market Opera in Hamburg could possibly have suspected it would result in the near-demise of one of classical music\u2019s greatest composers.<\/strong><\/p> It had all started innocently enough when Mattheson, then aged 21, first met 18-year-old George Frideric Handel<\/a><\/strong> in the organ loft of Hamburg\u2019s Magdalenekirche on 9 July 1703. Mattheson was principal tenor at the opera house and widely recognised as one of Hamburg\u2019s rising musical stars. Handel was new in town, and wisely kept his musical credentials under his wig \u2013 at least initially \u2013 when invited to join the ranks of the opera\u2019s second violins. <\/p> The two hit it off from the start \u2013 Mattheson described Handel as \u2018rich in abilities and good intentions\u2019 \u2013 and in addition to visiting \u2018the organs and choirs of the town\u2019 together, they attended operas and concerts, and enjoyed going boating. On one occasion Handel showed his musical mettle when standing in for the opera house\u2019s harpsichordist and director. Mattheson was clearly impressed, noting that he \u2018showed himself a man\u2019, although he was rather less generous \u2013 envious, perhaps \u2013 towards Handel\u2019s composing of \u2018long, long arias<\/a><\/strong>, and almost endless cantatas<\/a><\/strong>\u2019.<\/p> Barely had Handel\u2019s musical feet touched the ground in Hamburg when he and Mattheson set off on their first adventure together. They were bound for the nearby city of L\u00fcbeck, where the much sought-after post of organist at the Marienkirche had become available due to the imminent retirement of legendary composer-organist Dietrich Buxtehude<\/a><\/strong>. <\/p> There was one snag, however. Tradition demanded, whoever got the job would automatically win the hand in marriage of Buxtehude\u2019s daughter Margreta. In the event, neither composer found the prospect particularly enticing.<\/p> Back in Hamburg, the two friends carried on as before, although an air of increased rivalry was noted by Mattheson when Sir John Wich, Hamburg\u2019s Royal Ambassador of Great Britain, chose Mattheson above Handel to mentor his son, Cyril. The resulting simmering discontent on Handel\u2019s part \u2013 fuelled, no doubt, by Mattheson\u2019s growing sense of superiority \u2013 eventually spilled over at the Goose Market Opera on that fateful, and near fatal, December evening. <\/p> All seemed to be going well enough: Mattheson was not only Cleopatra<\/i>\u2019s composer, but sang the role of the fated Marc Antony too. The plan was that following his death scene in Act III, Mattheson would then make his way to the harpsichord and direct the remainder of the opera<\/a><\/strong> from there. However, he hadn\u2019t allowed for the fact that Handel had been asked to stand in for ailing resident music director Reinhard Keiser. <\/p> When the moment came for Mattheson to send Handel back to the second violins, the latter took umbrage and wouldn\u2019t budge. Somehow, they muddled on and made it to the end of the opera. By curtain-down, however, their smouldering resentment had escalated into a full-scale row. The two composers got as far as the stage door, when a challenge was issued. <\/p> Egged on by the jostling crowd of onlookers, Handel and Mattheson made their way outside into the market square. According to John Mainwaring, Handel\u2019s first biographer, Mattheson lunged at Handel with his sword and would have inflicted a mortal injury had it not been for \u2018the friendly score which Handel accidentally carried in his bosom; and through which to have forced it, would have demanded all the might of Ajax himself.\u2019 <\/p> However, it is Mattheson\u2019s account that has proved the most enduring, in which he recalls that it could all have ended in tragedy \u2018had God\u2019s guidance not graciously ordained that my blade, thrusting against my opponent\u2019s broad metal coat-button, should be shattered.\u2019 <\/p> The book Story-Lives of the Great Musicians<\/em> by FJ Rowbotham (1907) tells it thus: \u00a0‘An altercation took place, and it is said that Mattheson went so far as to box Handel’s ears. A public insult such as this could only be wiped out by a resort to swords, and the belligerents at once adjourned to the market-place, where, surrounded by a ring of curious onlookers, they drew their weapons. <\/p> ‘After several angry thrusts on either side, the point of Mattheson’s sword actually touched his adversary’s breast, but, fortunately, was turned aside by a large metal button which Handel wore on his coat.’\u00a0<\/p> After that dramatic incident, one might have assumed there was no conceivable way back for the former friends. Yet it seems that within the month they were getting on famously again and, in celebration of the forthcoming premiere of Handel\u2019s first opera Almira <\/i>on 8 January 1705 (in which Mattheson starred as the orphan Fernando), went out for a slap-up meal. <\/p> Sword fight? What sword fight?<\/p>They attended operas and concerts, and went boating<\/h2>
Handel’s simmering discontent eventually spilled over<\/h2>
Their smouldering resentment had escalated into a full-scale row<\/h2>
‘My blade, thrusting against my opponent\u2019s broad metal coat-button, was shattered’<\/h2>