Telemann, who was studying law at Leipzig. Curiously enough,
Telemann's history up to this point bore a close resemblance to that
of Handel. From a child he had been passionately devoted to music, but
it was his parents' wish that he should study law, and now, in
obedience to his mother's desire, he had come to Leipzig University.
The love of music, however, was strong within him, and the meeting
with Handel seems to have fired his passion anew. Yet he resolutely
set his face against the temptation to stray from the path laid down
for him, and to strengthen his resistance he put all his manuscript
compositions in the fire--all save one, which lay forgotten in an old
desk. It happened that a friend lighted upon this solitary manuscript
by accident, and recognising its beauty showed it to the Church
authorities of Leipzig. They in turn were so delighted with it that
they immediately offered the composer the post of organist at the
Neukirche, at the same time sending him a sum of money for the
manuscript, and requesting him to compose regularly for the Church. At
this juncture Telemann abandoned the struggle against his love for the
art, and to his mother, who was supplying him with the means of
living, he wrote, saying that he could no longer hold out against what
he felt to be his true sphere of work, and mentioning that he had
already begun to receive remuneration for the compositions. At the
same time he returned the money which she had sent towards his
education, and begged her not to think too hardly of him. The fact
that his talent for music could produce money seems to have melted the
mother's heart, for she instantly wrote to her son, and not only
returned the money he had sent, but gave him her blessing into the
bargain.
From this point Handel and Telemann became fast friends, and worked
together at their musical studies, and it is interesting to record
that the latter afterwards became one of the most celebrated German
composers of his day. So numerous were his compositions, in fact, that
it is told that he could not reckon them, and perhaps no other
composer ever possessed such a facility in composition, especially in
Church music. When reminded of his extraordinary talent, however, he
used to say laughingly that a good composer ought to be able to set a
placard to music.
The death of Handel's father, which took place at this period, left
his mother with very small means, and Handel at once determined that
he must work for his own living, so as not to deprive his mother of
any portion of her limited income, to which, indeed, he hoped to make
some addition ere long. But for the present, it was necessary that his
education should be completed in accordance with his father's
injunction, and so Handel continued to attend the University classes
in classics. From this time he acted as deputy organist at the
Cathedral and Castle of Halle, and a few years later, when the post
fell vacant, he was duly appointed organist, with a salary of £7 10s.
a year and free lodging. The duties were many, and included attendance
on Sundays, festivals, and extra occasions, the care of the organ, and
obedience to the priests and elders of the church. The organ was of
the old-fashioned kind, in which the bellows were worked by the feet
of the blower, who for this reason was called a 'bellows-treader'
(_Bälgentreter_). Handel was now seventeen, and longing for greater
things; but he could not expect to earn much in so small a town as
Halle, and so, in January, 1703, he said good-bye to his mother and
his old friend Zachau, and set out for Hamburg to seek his fortune.
His first engagement at Hamburg was a very small one. The Opera House
orchestra needed a _ripieno_ (supplementary violin), and Handel
accepted the post. What reason he had for letting it be understood
that he possessed only a slight skill in playing is not shown, for to
play _ripieno_ meant that he was expected simply to help out the
orchestra when additional harmonies were required, and to give support
to the solo parts. As may be imagined, this must have seemed very easy
work to Handel, nor was it long before he found an opportunity of
showing what he was capable of doing. At that time it was the custom
for the conductor to preside at the harpsichord, where, with the score
of the piece before him, he kept a check upon the players, and, where
necessary, beat the time. One day the conductor was absent through
some accidental cause, and no arrangement had been made to fill his
place. Handel thereupon without a word stepped up and took his seat at
the instrument, and conducted so ably as to excite the astonishment of
the other performers. Having thus revealed his powers, he was
thereafter permanently established in the post.
Handel had not been long in Hamburg before he made the acquaintance of
a most remarkable man named Mattheson. In addition to being an
exceedingly clever musician and composer, Mattheson was a good
linguist and a writer on a variety of musical subjects. He had formed
a resolve to write a book for every year of his life, and he
accomplished more than this, for he lived to be eighty-three years of
age, and at the time of his death he had published no fewer than
eighty-eight volumes. Despite the vanity which formed so large a part
of his character, Handel could not fail to be attracted by so
accomplished a man, and their acquaintance soon ripened into a
friendship which lasted for many years. Shortly after they became
known to each other the post of organist in the church of Lübeck fell
vacant, and Handel and his friend determined to compete for it.
Accordingly, they set out together in the coach, with the evident
intention of enjoying themselves. They had a poulterer as
fellow-traveller, who seems to have been quite of the same opinion,
and as they journeyed to Lübeck they told stories, composed 'double
fugues,' (which it is to be hoped the poulterer appreciated), and
altogether had a very merry time. On reaching their destination they
paid a round of visits to the organs and harpsichords in the town,
trying them all in succession, and it was then arranged between them
that Handel should compete only on the organ and Mattheson on the
harpsichord. Matters, however, were not destined to be carried to the
point of actual trial, for they suddenly discovered that the
successful competitor would be required to wed the daughter of the
retiring organist, and as neither musician contemplated taking so
serious a step, they promptly retreated to Hamburg without even
seeking an audience of the would-be bride!
The self-will and determination which marked the character of Handel
as a child clung to him through life, and not even the closest ties of
friendship prevented his obstinate temper from asserting itself
whenever occasion arose. Handel's temper, opposed to Mattheson's
vanity, gave rise to a quarrel between the two friends which might
have been attended by very serious consequences. Mattheson had written
an opera called 'Cleopatra,' in which he himself took the part of
Antony, and it had been his custom after the death of this character
to take his place at the harpsichord and conduct the rest of the
opera. This had been the arrangement with the former conductor, and
Mattheson did not doubt that it would be adhered to when Handel
presided at the pianoforte. But Mattheson had clearly reckoned without
his host, for when the actor-composer, having departed this life on
the stage, suddenly reappeared through the orchestra door and walked
up to Handel's side with the request that the latter would yield his
place to him, he was met by a flat refusal on the part of the
conductor in possession. Possibly Handel may have been struck by the
absurdity of a personage whose decease had only a few moments before
been witnessed by the audience desiring to reassume his mortal dress
in the orchestra. Mattheson's vanity, on the other hand, was no doubt
deeply injured by his being made to look foolish, and he left the
theatre in a rage.
At the conclusion of the piece Handel found his friend awaiting him at
the entrance. 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. 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. The consciousness
of how narrowly he had missed injuring, if not actually killing, his
friend brought Mattheson suddenly to his senses, and, the bystanders
at this juncture interposing between them, the duellists shook hands,
and thenceforth, it is said, became better friends than ever.
[Illustration: '_A resort to swords._']
The life at Hamburg was a very busy one--full of teaching, study, and
composition. With the growth of his fame the number of his pupils
increased, and Handel was enabled not only to be independent of his
mother's help, but even to send her money from time to time. He now
began to practise a habit which remained with him always--that of
saving money whenever he could. Unlike most students of his age, he
was impressed by the fact that, in order to produce with success works
which were essentially works of art, one should be to some extent
independent. It was during these student days that he composed his
first opera, 'Almira, Queen of Castile,' which was produced in Hamburg
on January 8, 1705. Its success induced him to follow it up with
others, and then, in the following year, he set out for Italy. It was
a journey he had been looking forward to during these years of hard
work--ever since the time, in fact, when the Elector's offer had been
refused by his father. Now he could go with the feeling that he was a
composer of some note, confident that his works would at least obtain
a hearing from the Italians. But this tour was not undertaken with the
idea of making a holiday: it was to be a time of hard, continuous work
as regards both operas and sacred music, by which his fame as a
composer was to be greatly enhanced.
At Florence, where he stayed for some time, he composed the opera
'Rodrigo,' which was received with great applause. The Grand Duke was
so delighted with it that he presented Handel on the first performance
with fifty pounds and a service of plate. At Venice he brought out
another opera, 'Agrippina,' the success of which was even greater than
any previously produced. The audience were most enthusiastic, rising
from their seats and waving their arms, whilst cries of 'Viva il caro
Sassone!' (Long live the dear Saxon) resounded through the house. That
a German composer should thus have taken Italian audiences by storm is
an indication of the power which Handel wielded through his music,
especially when we consider the rivalry which existed between the two
countries in regard to the art. At the same time it must be remembered
that the works of Handel which were performed in Italy were composed
under Italian skies, after close study of the productions and methods
of the masters of Italian opera, and when the composer himself was
imbued with what he had observed of the tastes and customs of the
people. The quality of his works, however, must have served to
convince the Italians of the strength which the sister country was
capable of putting forth in support of her claim to be regarded as a
home of musical art.
Whilst on this tour Handel was present at a masked ball when
Scarlatti, the celebrated Italian performer, aroused great applause by
his playing on the harpsichord. Handel, whose identity was unknown to
both Scarlatti and the audience, was next invited to play, and excited
so much astonishment by his performance that Scarlatti, who had been
listening intently, exclaimed aloud, 'It is either the famous Saxon
himself, or the devil!' Later on, at Rome, the two performers competed
in a friendly manner on the organ and pianoforte, and though it was
undecided as to which should have the palm for the latter instrument,
Scarlatti himself admitted Handel's superiority on the organ, and ever
afterwards, when people praised him for his playing, he would tell
them how Handel played, and at the same time cross himself in token of
his great reverence for his gifted rival.
In Rome itself Handel's interest was deeply aroused, and he returned
for a second visit to the city in 1709. It was here that he composed
and produced his first oratorio, the 'Resurrection,' which added to
his fame as a writer of sacred music. During this second visit he
witnessed the arrival of the Pifferari, a band of shepherd-fifers, who
each year left their flocks on the Calabrian hills, and journeyed to
Rome to celebrate the birth of Christ by singing and playing an
ancient chant in memory of the shepherds of Bethlehem. Handel must
have retained this simple melody in his mind, for many years later he
introduced a version of it into his great oratorio, the 'Messiah,'
where, under the title of the 'Pastoral Symphony,' it accompanies the
scene of 'the shepherds abiding in the field.'
The following year Handel returned to Germany, and went to Hanover,
where he was most kindly received by the Elector (afterwards King
George I. of England). The post of Capellmeister, with a salary of
about £300, was offered and accepted, but Handel had a further favour
to prefer. He had for long cherished a desire to visit England,
whither the noise of his fame had already extended, and whence he had
received many pressing invitations. His request for leave of absence
for this purpose was at once granted by his royal master, but ere
Handel could turn his steps to these shores a stronger claim upon him
remained to be satisfied: this was to visit his mother and his old
master, Zachau. We may imagine the meeting--the mother proud of her
son, Zachau equally proud of his pupil. How glad the hearts of both
must have been to welcome back one who had so abundantly justified
their confidence in his powers! Short as the time had been, the young
musician had accomplished a great work for his country, for his
compositions had sufficed to show the Italians the height to which the
music of Germany had risen. It now remained for him to bring the
English under his subjection, and of his success in this direction he
had little fear. When the autumn came Handel took leave of his dear
ones, and, with the sorrow of parting tempered by joyful
anticipations, he set sail for England.
Italian opera had of late become the fashion in the musical world of
London, but so much dissatisfaction had been aroused by the manner in
which it was produced that it needed all the genius and power of such
a master as Handel had shown himself to be to restore it to popular
favour. We have, therefore, to think of Handel coming to London, with
the fame of his Italian tour clinging to him, to a people longing for
music which they could appreciate. That fame had paved the way for a
cordial reception; he must next show them what he could do. In the
February following his arrival Handel produced his opera 'Rinaldo' at
the Queen's Theatre in the Haymarket, having expended just a fortnight
in composing and completing it! The opera was a triumphant success.
For fifteen nights in succession (a long run in those days) the house
was crowded with an enthusiastic audience, and the charming airs which
were first uttered within the walls of the Haymarket Theatre were
afterwards wafted to the furthest corners of the three kingdoms. Even
to-day, when many of us hear for the first time the airs 'Lascia ch'io
pianga' and 'Cara sposa,' we seem to fall at once under the spell of
their charm; and can we not imagine the effect which these beautiful
songs produced upon the Londoners of nearly two centuries ago, as they
were voiced by the great singer Nicolini? We have mentioned but two of
the airs which have ever remained popular, but the opera abounded in
graceful melodies that could not fail to captivate the ear of a people
who had been languishing for the sunshine.
It is interesting to recall the manner in which the opera was put upon
the stage in those days. Every effort seems to have been made to
render the scenes as realistic as possible, though occasionally this
straining after effect was carried to an excess that excited ridicule.
Thus, in the scene for Act II of 'Rinaldo,' representing the garden of
Armida, the stage was filled with living birds, which were let loose
from cages. As the opera was produced in the winter months, the only
birds available were sparrows--a fact which gave rise to sarcastic
comments in the papers. The practice, however, might have been justly
condemned on account of its cruelty.
Handel was now firmly established in the favour of English
music-lovers. They had expected great things of him, and they were
not disappointed. There was a body of true musicians in London at that
time to whom the presence of the composer must have given special
delight. Regular concerts, where amateur musicians could meet for the
purpose of playing and hearing the best music, were unknown, and it
was left to the enterprising zeal of one humble individual to
originate the idea of the regular weekly concerts in London which
later on became so widely known and appreciated. In a small shop near
Clerkenwell Green lived a small-coal dealer named Thomas Britton. In
those days 'small-coal,' or charcoal, was extensively used amongst the
poorer classes, and regularly each morning Britton would shoulder his
large sack of the fuel and go his round through the streets, disposing
of his burden in pennyworths to the inhabitants. When the round was
finished he returned home, changed his clothes, forgot that he was a
small-coal man, and became a musician. Nor were there wanting many
belonging to far higher stations in life who were ready to testify to
the deep love for the art which distinguished the small-coal dealer.
In a long, low-pitched room above the shop, which had originally
formed part of a stable, Britton had collected a large number of
musical instruments of various kinds, as well as the scores of some of
the best music of the day. To this humble apartment would repair
numbers of amateur and professional musicians belonging to all ranks
of society, from the highest to the lowest. No one paid for admission,
and the sole qualification expected of the visitor was that he or she
should be a lover of the art. Thus, at the weekly gatherings in the
small-coal man's loft, might have been seen peers of the realm, poets
and artists, singers and performers, both known and unknown, mingling
freely together, drinking coffee provided by the host at one penny
per dish, and settling themselves down to enjoy the best chamber music
of the day. Handel was not long in finding his way thither, and he
became a regular attendant, always presiding at the harpsichord. The
fame of Britton's assemblies grew apace, and led eventually to the
establishment of regular weekly chamber concerts in London.
This first visit to England seems to have implanted in Handel a
sincere affection for the country and its people, and although he
returned to Hanover and took up his duties again at Court, he felt
convinced that London was the centre in which his genius could have
its fullest play. It was not long, therefore, before he obtained fresh
leave of absence to visit England, giving in return a promise to
present himself at his post within a 'reasonable' time. How he carried
out this promise we shall see from what follows. London was only too
glad to see him again, and his acquaintances became more numerous than
ever. Lord Burlington invited him to stay at his seat, Burlington
House (now the Royal Academy), in Piccadilly, where the only duty
expected of him in return for the comforts of a luxurious home and the
society of the great was that he should conduct the Earl's chamber
concerts. It is difficult to realise that Burlington House stood then
in the midst of fields, whilst Piccadilly itself was considered to be
so far from town that surprise was felt that Lord Burlington should
have removed himself to such a distance from the centre of life and
fashion. The loneliness of Piccadilly at that period may be surmised
from the fact that it was not safe to traverse the thoroughfare after
nightfall unless protected by an escort strong enough to repell the
attacks of highwaymen who haunted the neighbourhood.
The time passed so quickly amidst the pleasures of society and the
unceasing devotion to composition that Handel himself probably failed
to realise that he was gratuitously extending his leave of absence
beyond all 'reasonable' bounds. His fame had made great progress all
this while, and when the wars in Flanders at length came to an end
with the signing of the peace of Utrecht, he was called upon to
compose the _Te Deum_ and _Jubilate_, which were performed at the
Thanksgiving Service held at St. Paul's, and attended by the Queen in
state. To signalise this great event, as well as to mark the royal
favour in which the composer was held, Queen Anne awarded Handel a
life pension of £200. It is small wonder, then, that he should have
been slow to sever, even for a time, his connection with the world of
London. Amongst his numerous acquaintance of this time was a certain
Dr. Greene, a musician of some ability, but more perseverance, whose
attentions to the composer were so persistent as to partake of the
nature of persecution. Handel was never the man to cultivate an
acquaintance for which he had no liking, and it was a part of his
character to make no effort to conceal his dislikes either for persons
or things. When, therefore, Dr. Greene sent him a manuscript anthem of
his own to look over, Handel put it on one side and forgot it. Some
time afterwards Dr. Greene went to take coffee with the great man, and
having waited vainly for some reference to his manuscript until his
patience was exhausted, he burst out with: 'Well, Mr. Handel, and what
do you think of my anthem?' 'Your antum?' cried Handel in his broken
English. 'Ah, yes, I do recollect, I did tink dat it vanted air,'
'_Air!_' exclaimed the astonished and indignant composer. 'Yes, air,'
responded Handel, 'and so I did hang it out of de vindow.'
[Illustration: '_A grand procession of decorated barges from
Whitehall to Limehouse._']
The death of the Queen must have awakened Handel with a shock to a
sense of his neglect of duty, for the Elector of Hanover thereupon
came to England as her successor. That King George would be likely to
receive Handel with favour was out of the question, notwithstanding
the monarch's love of music and the fame which had grown about his
Capellmeister's name. The offence lay far too deep for that, and
Handel realised that he must employ some special means of grace to
secure his master's pardon. The opportunity he sought for came ere
long. A royal entertainment on the Thames was arranged, in which there
was to be a grand procession of decorated barges from Whitehall to
Limehouse. An orchestra was provided, and Handel was requested by the
Lord Chamberlain to compose the music for the fête, in the hope that
by so doing he might pave the way towards a reconciliation. Handel
acquiesced, and the result was the series of pieces which have since
been known as the 'Water Music,' The King was so delighted with the
performance that he had it repeated, and, learning that Handel was
conducting it in person, he sent for him, and not only granted him a
full pardon, but conferred upon him an additional pension of £200. Nor
did the royal favour stop here, for he was shortly afterwards
appointed music-master to the daughters of the Prince of Wales at a
salary of £200 a year. Handel was thus raised to a position of
independence, for as the original grant from Queen Anne continued in
force he enjoyed a total income of £600 a year, a sum which in those
days was equivalent to a considerable fortune.