of Fugue,' Bach became totally blind--the result, no doubt, of the
heavy strain to which he had subjected his sight when, in order to
educate himself, he had copied out entire many of the works of older
masters. Nor can we overlook the fact that, when a child, his sight
must have been injured by the long, self-imposed task of copying music
by moonlight. He suffered a great deal in consequence of the drugs
which were administered in the hope of restoring his eye-sight, but,
notwithstanding, he continued to work up to the last. On the morning
of the day on which he died--July 28, 1750--he startled those about
him by suddenly regaining his sight, 'but it was the last flickering
of the expiring flame. He was allowed to see the light of this world
once more before leaving it for ever.' A few hours later he became
unconscious, and passed away in his sleep.
[Illustration: '_The King exclaimed repeatedly, "Only one Bach!
Only one Bach!"_']
Considered apart from his works, the life of Sebastian Bach stands out
as a noble example of untiring industry and perseverance; but we miss
the brilliancy and fire which in the case of many other great
musicians have served to render their lives so outwardly striking and
marvellous. The genius of Bach was a mighty power working unseen,
buried beneath a simple exterior. Unlike Handel, that other great
master of his time with whom he has been so often compared, Bach lived
a life of comparative retirement, never travelling beyond the confines
of his own country, making no bid for popularity, and to the last
remaining unaffected by praise or censure. All his life long he was
seeking knowledge and truth, never contenting himself with a belief in
his own unaided powers or judgment, but always showing the keenest
interest in the progress of his art as evinced by the works of other
musicians of his day. One little instance will serve, perhaps, to
bring out clearly this marked difference between these two great men:
Bach was truly desirous of making Handel's acquaintance, and tried on
several occasions to gratify this wish. On the last occasion he
travelled to Halle on learning that Handel was revisiting his
birthplace from the scene of his triumphs in London, only to find on
his arrival that his contemporary had departed for England earlier in
the day. Handel, on the other hand, is not known to have expressed the
least desire to meet the man whose fame rested upon so solid a
foundation of excellence. The one was self-centred, the other wholly
centred upon art for art's sake--yet both were great.
It is convenient to speak of Bach's life as having been divided into
three stages or periods, each marked off from the rest by the nature
of the works to which it gave birth. Thus, the Weimar period is that
to which is assigned the major portion of his organ music. The Cöthen
period, on the other hand, produced few compositions for the organ,
but was mainly devoted to instrumental chamber music; whilst to the
Leipzig period belongs the production of nearly all his finest Church
compositions.
Bach was laid to rest in the churchyard of St. John's Church at
Leipzig, but neither stone nor cross exists to mark the spot. Only the
register of deaths preserved in the town library remains to tell us
that 'A man, aged sixty-seven, M. Johann Sebastian Bach, Musical
Director and Singing Master of the St. Thomas School, was carried to
his grave in the hearse, July 30, 1750.'
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The word 'fugue' is derived from the Latin _fugare_, 'to put to
flight,' and aptly expresses the manner in which the various parts of a
fugue, as they are successively introduced, seem to 'chase the subject,
or motive, throughout the piece.'
[2] For an account of the revival of this great work, exactly one
hundred years after its first production, see the story of
Mendelssohn.
BACH'S PRINCIPAL COMPOSITIONS
Passion Music (St. John). 1724.
Passion Music (St. Matthew), for double choir. 1729.
Passion Music (St. Luke). 1734.
Mass in B minor, 1732-1738.
4 Short Masses in F, A, G minor, and G.
[These consist of settings of the Kyrie and Gloria only, being
the parts sung in the Lutheran service.]
4 Sanctuses in C, D, D minor, and G.
Magnificat in D. 1723.
Funeral Ode. 1727.
Christmas Oratorio, in six sections, for performance on successive
days. 1734.
Easter Oratorio. 1736.
191 Church Cantatas.
3 Wedding Cantatas.
6 Motets for five or eight voices.
22 Secular Cantatas.
371 Chorales for four voices, many of them taken from the
works named above.
[Of these compositions the Matthew Passion, the John Passion,
the Christmas Oratorio, the Magnificat, the Motets, and 25 of
the Church Cantatas have been printed with English words.]
The Well-Tempered Clavier (48 Preludes and Fugues). }
1722-1744. }
Klavier-Uebung, or Clavier Practice, in four parts. }
1731-1742. }
Musicalisches Opfer (Musical Offering). 1747. } For clavier
The Art of Fugue. 1749. } alone.
Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue. }
6 Partitas. }
6 English Suites. }
6 French Suites. }
3 Sonatas for clavier and flute.
6 Sonatas and 1 Suite for clavier and violin.
3 Sonatas for clavier and viol da gamba.
7 Concertos for clavier and orchestra.
1 Concerto for clavier, violin, and flute.
6 Concertos ('Brandenburg Concertos') for several instruments.
2 Concertos for violin and orchestra.
1 Concerto for 2 violins.
3 Concertos for 2 claviers.
2 Concertos for 3 claviers.
3 Sonatas and 3 Partitas for violin alone.
6 Suites for violoncello.
3 Sonatas for flute.
4 Overtures. }
1 Symphony. } For orchestra.
6 Sonatas. }
18 Preludes and Fugues. }
3 Toccatas. } For organ.
113 Preludes. }
24 Chorales. }
HANDEL
HANDEL
In a garret choked with lumber of various kinds, to which the dust of
years had imparted the greyish hue of neglect and decay, a little
fair-haired boy was seated before a spinet, fingering its yellow keys
with a tenderness that betokened his fondness for the instrument. The
level rays of the setting sun streaming through the dimmed casement
lighted up the child's head with its clustering curls, as he bent over
the keyboard. The little spinet was almost dumb, and the voice which
had cheered so many lonely hours spent in its companionship was hardly
more than a whisper. Yet even so the boy loved to listen to it, for
the spinet could speak to him as no living voice could speak; its
sweet, faint sounds stirred the heart within him as nothing else in
the whole of his childish world had the power to move it, awakening
and creating fresh sounds that grew ever stronger as the hours flew by
unheeded. To him the greatest joy of existence was to steal away to
his garret next the sky and whisper his secrets to the friendly
spinet.
[Illustration: _Handel's birthplace, Halle, Saxony._]
George Frederick Handel, as the boy was named, was the son of a
surgeon of Halle, Lower Saxony, in which town the child was born on
February 23, 1685. Even before he could speak little George had shown
a remarkable fondness for music, and the only toys he cared for were
such as were capable of producing musical sounds. With this love for
music, however, the father showed no sympathy whatever; he regarded
the art with contempt, as something beneath the serious notice of one
who aspired to be a gentleman, and that his child should have
expressed an earnest desire to be taught to play only served to make
him angry. He had decided that George was to be a lawyer, and in order
that nothing should interfere with the carrying out of this intention
he refused to allow the boy to attend school, lest his fondness for
music should induce some one to teach him his notes. Poor George was
therefore compelled to stifle his longing whilst in his father's
presence, and content himself with 'making music' in the seclusion of
his own chamber. It may seem strange that Handel's mother should not
have interposed in order that her boy should be taught music, but
there is no doubt that the elderly surgeon ruled his household with a
firm hand, which not even his wife's intercession would have made him
relax. Moreover, Dorothea Handel was by nature far too gentle and
submissive to seek to turn her husband from his decision. 'Meister
Görge,' as he was styled, had been twice married. Dorothea, his second
wife, was much younger than her husband, and possessed a gentle
disposition that served to win her a place in the hearts of all who
knew her, and that little George Frederick had his mother's sympathy
in his love for music we cannot doubt.
[Illustration: HANDEL.
From photo RISCHGITZ.]
Handel was about five years of age when the wistful glances which he
bestowed upon other children who were more fortunate than he in being
permitted to learn music aroused the active sympathy of a kind friend,
who procured for him a dumb spinet--a small harpsichord having its
sound deadened by strips of cloth tied round the strings. The
instrument was secretly conveyed to a lumber-room in the surgeon's
house, where a corner had been cleared for its reception, and thither
would Handel delightedly repair at such times as he could do so
without attracting notice. Hour after hour would pass whilst thus
enrapt, until the shades of evening fell, or the moonbeams creeping
across the instrument aroused him from his reverie. Often when the
house was hushed in slumber the child would leave his bed, and steal
away to the garret in order to commune with his beloved art. Day after
day he laboured thus, mastering his difficulties one by one, his love
and his genius preventing him from feeling the hardest work a
drudgery.
For some time this secret practising continued without arousing
suspicion on the part of the other inmates of the house. One night,
however, when the child had resorted to his favourite spot, he was
suddenly missed by those below, and, as it was known that he had been
sent to bed, some fears were felt as to what could have become of him.
The servants were summoned, but could give no account of him; the
father was fetched from his study, whither he had retired, and a
search began. The alarm increased when it was ascertained that the
child was in none of the living-rooms of the house, and it was decided
that the garrets and lofts must be searched. Calling for a lantern,
the surgeon ascended the stairs leading to the lumber-room; it was
possible that the boy might have found his way thither on some
childish expedition, and there fallen asleep. Great was the father's
surprise, on reaching the top-most landing, to hear faint musical
sounds proceeding from behind the closed door. Noiselessly retracing
his steps, he summoned the rest of the household, and then, ascending
the stairs in a body, they paused outside to listen. Sure enough the
old garret was full of melodic sounds! Now near, now far off, they
seemed to the listeners to be wafted from another world; there was
something uncanny about it, and the maids gazed into each other's
faces with a scared expression, as the master softly lifted the latch,
and, having peeped into the room, beckoned silently to the rest to
follow him.
It might have been one of the angel choir itself whom these good
people of the under-world had stumbled upon unawares! 'Meister Görge,'
lifting his lantern above his head, peered forward into the darkness,
whilst the women clasped their hands in astonishment at the vision
presented to their gaze. For there, seated before the spinet, was the
white-robed figure of the child, his face half turned towards them,
and his eyes, as they caught the light of the lantern, revealing the
dreamy, rapt expression of one who is lost to every earthly
surrounding.
[Illustration: '_Beckoned silently to the rest to follow him._']
This discovery does not seem to have produced any outburst of anger
on the part of the father. Possibly he was touched by the child's
devotion, or by his entreaties, and felt unwilling to deprive him of
what, after all, he could only regard in the light of an amusement. At
any rate, little Handel appears to have continued his practising
without interruption. The progress which he made with his studies,
however, made him long for an opportunity of hearing others play, and,
very naturally, of being allowed to express his musical thoughts upon
an instrument capable of responding with a fuller sound, though the
fulfilment of this latter wish was more than he dared hope for whilst
his father remained obdurate. One day, when Handel was seven years
old, his father announced his intention of paying a visit to the
castle of the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels to see his son--a step-brother
of George Frederick--who acted as valet de chambre to the Duke. Handel
was most anxious to be allowed to accompany his father, because he had
heard that the Duke kept a great company of musicians to perform in
his chapel. But the father refused his consent, and the boy turned
away with a look of fixed determination in his eyes, which it was
well, perhaps, that the elderly surgeon did not perceive. 'I will go,'
muttered the boy to himself, as he sought the seclusion of his garret;
'I will go, even if I have to run every inch of the way!'
Handel did not know then that no fewer than forty miles lay between
his home and the ducal castle, but having formed his bold resolution
he awaited the moment when his father set forth on his journey, and
then, running behind the closed carriage, he did his best to keep pace
with it. The roads were long and muddy, and although he panted on
bravely for a long distance, the child's strength began at last to
fail, and, fearing that he would be left behind, he called to the
coachman to stop. At the sound of the boy's voice his father thrust
his head out of the window, and was about to give vent to his anger at
George's disobedience; but a glance at the poor little bedraggled
figure in the road, with its pleading face, melted the surgeon's
heart. They were at too great a distance from home to turn back, and
so Handel was lifted into the carriage and carried to Weissenfels,
where he arrived tired and footsore, but supremely happy at having won
his point.
Handel had certainly not formed too bright a picture of the musical
delights of the Duke's home. The musicians were most friendly towards
him, and, as he was by no means shy where his beloved art was
concerned, they soon became good friends. His delight was great when
he was told that he might try the beautiful organ in the chapel. The
organist stood beside him and arranged the stops, whilst the child,
with a feeling of coming joy that was almost akin to fear, placed his
fingers upon the keys. The next moment his hesitation had vanished,
and the sounds were coming in response--one minute low and deep, then
mysteriously calling to him from distant corners of the dim galleries,
like sweet angel voices which he had the power to summon by the
pressure of his fingers. In his lonely garret, fingering his spinet,
he had longed for such an opportunity as this, to be enabled to make
the great organ-pipes sing to him in whispers, or to thunder back to
him in grand, deep chords that would set the whole air vibrating with
music. And now the opportunity he craved for had come, and he could
speak his musical thoughts into this noble instrument, which had the
power to draw from the depths of his soul all that that soul
contained. Ah, Handel was glad now that he had persevered and worked
so hard at his music. He was glad, too, that he had undertaken that
long, toilsome run behind his father's carriage, for it had brought to
him the greatest joy of his life.
[Illustration: '_He called to the coachman to stop._']
On several occasions after this the organist came to the chapel on
purpose to listen to Handel as the latter played, and he was so struck
by the boy's genius that he determined to surprise the Duke by letting
Handel play His Highness out of chapel. Accordingly, on the following
Sunday, when the service was concluded, the organist lifted Handel on
to the organ-stool, and desired him to play. If the young player had
needed courage and self-confidence, it must have been at this moment
when bidden to perform before the Duke and all his people. But he
needed neither, for he instantly forgot all else but the music which
he was burning to express, and without a moment's hesitation complied
with the organist's request.
The Duke and his friends had risen to their feet as Handel began to
play, but the former, who was a good musician himself, instantly
detected a difference in the playing, and, glancing towards the
organ-loft, he was astonished to behold the figure of a child bending
over the keys. But as he listened his astonishment became greater, for
it was no longer the child's figure that arrested his attention, but
the melody which was pouring forth from the instrument. Instead of
walking out of the chapel, the Duke remained standing where he had
risen, with his gaze riveted upon the child player, and of course the
members of the household likewise kept their places. At length, when
Handel ceased to play, the Duke turned to those about him with the
inquiry: 'Who is that child? Does anybody know his name?' As no one
present seemed to know, the organist was sent for to explain matters.
After a few words from this official the Duke commanded that Handel
should be brought before him. When the boy appeared he patted him on
the head, and praised his performance, telling him that he was sure
that he would make a good musician. At this point, however, the
organist interposed with the remark that he understood that the boy's
father had refused to let him follow up his musical studies. 'What!'
cried the Duke in astonishment, 'is it possible that he can
contemplate anything so foolish and unjust as to stifle the genius of
his own son! I cannot believe it. Who is the father? Where does he
live?' On being told that the surgeon was staying in the palace, the
Duke sent for him, and having told him how much he admired his son's
performance, he pointed out to him that he would be doing a great
wrong to the child if he persisted in placing any obstacle in the way
of his advancement. 'I need hardly say,' concluded the kindly Duke,
'that such action on your part would, in my opinion, be quite unworthy
of a member of your own honourable profession.' The father listened
with respect to what the Duke had to say, and then (though with
obvious reluctance) consented to allow the boy to pursue his studies.
'Come,' said the Duke, as he saw that his point was won, 'that is
good, and, believe me, you will never regret it.' He finally turned to
little Handel, and, patting him once more on the head, bade him work
hard at his music, and then took his leave. The child would have
thanked him, but his heart was too full for words, and tears of
gratitude started to his eyes as the kindly nobleman turned away. At
last the wish of his heart would be fulfilled. Happy was the journey
that had so happy an ending for the young musician.
[Illustration: '_The Duke praised his performance._']
As it was now settled that Handel should devote himself to music, it
became necessary to place him with a good teacher. Friederich Zachau,
an excellent musician, and the organist of the cathedral at Halle, was
chosen to instruct the boy in composition as well as to give him
lessons on the organ, harpsichord, violin, and hautboy. Zachau was
extremely pleased with his pupil, and, perceiving his extraordinary
aptitude and genius, he did his best to bring him on. The organist
possessed a large collection of music by composers of different
countries, and he showed Handel how one nation differed from another
in its style of musical expression, or, to put it another way, how
the people of a particular country felt with regard to the art. Zachau
also taught him to compare the work of various composers, so that he
might recognise the various styles, as well as the faults and
excellencies of each. All this time, too, Handel was set work in
composition. Before long he was actually composing the regular weekly
services for the church, in addition to playing the organ whenever
Zachau desired to absent himself--yet at this time Handel could not
have been more than eight years old.
It was at the end of three years' hard work that Zachau took his pupil
by the hand, and said: 'You must now find another teacher, for I can
teach you no more.' Well and faithfully indeed had Zachau discharged
his duty toward the pupil for whom, to use his own words, he felt he
could never do enough, and grateful must Handel have been for all his
care and attention. The parting was sad for both master and pupil, but
with both the art which they loved stood before all else, and so
Handel was sent to Berlin to pursue his studies.
It is hardly to be wondered at that the people of Berlin should have
regarded as a prodigy a child of eleven who was capable of composing
music for Church services, as well as of playing the organ and
harpsichord in a masterly fashion. There were two well-known musicians
living in Berlin at the time, named Ariosti and Buononcini, to whom
Handel was of course introduced. The former received the boy very
kindly and gave him every encouragement, but Buononcini took a dislike
to him from the first, and seems to have done his best to injure the
little player's reputation. Under the pretence of testing Handel's
powers he composed a most difficult piece for the harpsichord, and,
setting it before the child, requested him to play it at sight. The
piece bristled with complications, and Buononcini confidently
anticipated that Handel would break down over its performance. To his
chagrin, however, the boy played it through with perfect ease and
correctness, and from that moment Buononcini regarded him as a serious
rival. Indeed, Handel's skill in improvising both on the organ and
pianoforte created astonishment in all who heard him, and despite
Buononcini's hostility he made many friends. The Elector himself was
so delighted with his playing that he offered him a post at Court, and
even expressed his willingness to send him to Italy to pursue his
studies. Handel's father, however, refused his consent to both
proposals; no doubt he thought that if the boy developed according to
the promise which he showed it would be necessary to keep him free
from Court engagements, since it had happened in the case of others
that great difficulty had been experienced in breaking away from such
connections. The royal patrons of music were most anxious to obtain
the services of the best musicians, and naturally were very loath to
part with them when once secured. It was therefore determined that
Handel should return to Halle, and be placed once more under the care
of his old master. As may be imagined, Zachau was delighted to receive
his pupil back again, and, with no less joy on his part, Handel set to
work with increased energy to master the science of composition.
Whilst Handel was delighting the people of Berlin with his playing, a
little boy, who was destined to become one of the greatest of
musicians, was injuring his sight by copying out by moonlight the
manuscript music which he had taken from his elder brother's cupboard,
and helping to support himself by singing in the street, and at
weddings and funerals, snatching every moment that could be spared
from such work for adding to his knowledge of composition and
playing. That little boy was Johann Sebastian Bach.