"If e'er Arion's music calm'd the floods
And Orpheus ever drew the dancing woods!
Why do not British trees and forest throng
To hear the sweeter notes of Handel's song?
This does the falsehood of the fable prove--
Or seas and woods when Handel harps would move."
THE PIGEON.--"Let me wander not unseen," is considered one of Handel's
finest inspirations. Hawkins says, "Of the air, the late Mr. John
Lockman relates the following story, assuring his reader, that himself
was an eye-witness to it," viz:--
"When at the house of Mr. Lee, a gentleman in Cheshire, whose daughter
was a very fine performer on the harpsichord, he saw a pigeon which,
whenever the young lady played this song, and _this only_, would fly
from an adjacent dove-house to the window in the parlour where she sat,
and listen to it with the most pleasing emotions, and the instant the
song was over would fly away to her dove-house."[G]
THE PARSON, old Dr. Delaney, F.T.C.D. once heard at the opera a lady[H]
sing this song. He was so captivated and excited that he could not
control himself, but standing up in front of his box exclaimed,
"Oh! woman, for this be all thy sins forgiven!"
Now I do not know whether there is a poet present, or a pigeon, but
there is an old parson; and although I shall not give my lady friend
absolution for the song, still I am sure she will merit approbation, and
receive applause.
"LET ME WANDER NOT UNSEEN."
_Words by Milton. Music by Handel._
* * * * *
On the 21st January, 1751, Handel commenced "Jephtha," the last of his
works. It was not finished till the 30th August following. It is the
only work he ever took so long to complete. This can be easily accounted
for. During its progress his eyesight became impaired; by the last pages
of the MS. it appears only too plainly that his vision was no longer
clear when he traced them: yet sick as he was, the intrepid old man
arose once more when charity had need of him. He gave two performances
of the "Messiah" for the Foundling Hospital, one on the 18th April, the
other on the 16th May, 1751. The sum for the tickets delivered for the
18th April came to six hundred pounds; that for May, nine hundred and
twenty-five guineas. The "London Magazine" of that month says there were
eight hundred coaches and chairs. Handel presented this hospital with
the copyright of the "Messiah." The performances alone during Handel's
life time enriched the hospital with thousands of pounds.
Handel submitted three times to a painful operation, the last time in
1752, but without effect. Blind he became, and was to remain as his
mother had been in her old days.
Handel blind--Beethoven deaf!--Sad similitude!
This cruel misfortune afflicted him at first profoundly; but when he was
compelled to recognise that the evil was without a remedy, his manly
soul got the upper hand, he resigned himself to his fate, and resolved
to continue his oratorio performances.
"Samson," one of his favourite oratorios, was in the programme of the
season. In spite of all his moral energy, the author could not listen
untroubled to the pathetic air of the sightless Hercules of the Hebrews,
in which he gave utterance to his immense grief. "Total eclipse. No
sun--no moon!" Then it was that they saw the grand old man, who was
seated at the organ, grow pale and tremble; and when they led him
forward to the audience, which was applauding, many persons present were
so forcibly affected that they were moved even to tears.
And we may still be sharers in that emotion, as when we recall the
circumstances of that scene, and remember that the verses were composed
by Milton, who, you recollect, was himself blind.
"Total eclipse! No sun!--no moon!
All dark amidst the blaze of noon!
Oh! glorious light! No cheering ray
To glad my eyes with welcome day.
Why thus deprived thy prime decree?
Sun, moon, and stars are dark to me."
On the 6th April, 1759, the "Messiah" was performed for the last time
under the direction of the author.
After returning home from this performance, he went to bed, never to
rise again. Seized with a mortal exhaustion, and feeling that his last
hour was come, in the full plenitude of his reason, he gently rendered
up his soul to die, _on the Anniversary of the first performance of the
"Messiah_," Good Friday, 13th April, 1759, aged seventy-four years.
He was buried with all honour and respect in Westminster Abbey, the
Pantheon of Great Britain. His remains were placed in what is called
"the Poet's Corner," wherein lie buried Shakspere, Milton, Dryden,
Thompson, Sheridan, Gray. And he is in his place there; for who was ever
more of a poet than Handel?--who deserved better than he to enter the
Pantheon. They might have written upon his tomb the words which Antony
spoke when he beheld the body of Cæsar, "_This_ was a man."
Yes: this was a man who had done honour to music as much by the nobility
of his character as by the sublimity of his genius. He was one of the
too few artists who uphold the dignity of art to the highest possible
standard. He was the incarnation of honesty. The unswerving rigidity of
his conduct captivates even those who do not take him for a model. He
worked ceaselessly for the improvement of others without ever feeling
weary. He was virtuous and pure, proud and intrepid. His love of good
was as unconquerable as his will. He died at his post, working to the
last hour of his life. He has left behind him a luminous track and a
noble example.
A Handel, like a Homer or a Milton, a Shakspere or a Dante, is only once
given to a nation. No man need ever expect to rival the genius of
Handel, or approach his powers of expression; but all may emulate his
love for his fellow-man--his sympathy for the distressed--his desire to
promote the glory of his God. For these noble qualities I commend
Handel to your consideration; and for these I hold him forth this
evening as a man worthy of our imitation.
"Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
"Footprints which perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
"Then let us be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate--
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait."