Handel’s Solomon presents a perfectly united and peaceful Israel, ruled by an unimpeachable king of unparalleled wisdom.

Conflict and war lie in the past (although the harmonious state is armed to the teeth, just in case), and God seems to have answered every prayer and perfected his work. Therefore, Solomon, first performed on 17 March 1749 (at Covent Garden), must have seemed eminently satisfactory to the Deists, who were such an obvious target of Charles Jennens’s Messiah libretto – an unashamedly orthodox exposition of Christianity. Deists were representative of the early Enlightenment faction who believed that God’s essential work was in the past and that he did not intervene in contemporary affairs. On the other hand, it is almost too easy to see Solomon as a reflection of the contemporary affairs of Britain in 1749: the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle had brought some degree of peace in 1748, following on from George II’s victory at Dettingen in 1743 (he was the last British monarch to lead troups in battle); closer to home, 1746 brought the ultimate defeat of the Jacobite cause. Of course, there was much more nuance to this seemingly harmonious moment, and George II was clearly no paragon of virtue, nor excessively wise or cultured. But Handel’s (and his anonymous librettist’s) portrayal of Solomon is clearly something of a caricature: his murderous actions to secure his kingship are briefly covered in a single recitative, and his constancy to his noble Egyptian wife must have seemed absurd to the many biblically-literate listeners who would have been well aware that Solomon’s harem numbered around one thousand women