Let us take a glance at the society in which the composer moved in the
heyday of his youth. His greatness was to be perfected in after-years
by bitter rivalries, persecution, alternate oscillations of poverty
and affluence, and a multitude of bitter experiences. But at this time
Handel's life was a serene and delightful one. Rival factions had not
been organized to crush him. Lord Burlington lived much at his mansion,
which was then out of town, although the house is now in the heart of
Piccadilly. The intimate friendship of this nobleman helped to bring the
young musician into contact with many distinguished people.
It is odd to think of the people Handel met daily without knowing that
their names and his would be in a century famous. The following picture
sketches Handel and his friends in a sprightly fashion:
"Yonder heavy, ragged-looking youth standing at the corner of Regent
Street, with a slight and rather more refined-looking companion, is
the obscure Samuel Johnson, quite unknown to fame. He is walking with
Richard Savage. As Signor Handel, 'the composer of Italian music,'
passes by, Savage becomes excited, and nudges his friend, who takes only
a languid interest in the foreigner. Johnson did not care for music; of
many noises he considered it the least disagreeable.
"Toward Charing Cross comes, in shovel-hat and cassock, the renowned
ecclesiastic Dean Swift. He has just nodded patronizingly to Bononcini
in the Strand, and suddenly meets Handel, who cuts him dead. Nothing
disconcerted, the dean moves on, muttering his famous epigram:
'Some say that Signor Bononcini,
Compared to Handel, is a ninny;
While others vow that to him Handel
Is hardly fit to hold a candle.
Strange that such difference should be
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee.'
"As Handel enters the 'Turk's Head' at the corner of Regent Street,
a noble coach and four drives up. It is the Duke of Chandos, who is
inquiring for Mr. Pope. Presently a deformed little man, in an iron-gray
suit, and with a face as keen as a razor, hobbles out, makes a low bow
to the burly Handel, who, helping him into the chariot, gets in after
him, and they drive off together to Cannons, the duke's mansion at
Edge-ware. There they meet Mr. Addison, the poet Gay, and the witty
Arbuthnot, who have been asked to luncheon. The last number of the
_Spectator_ is on the table, and a brisk discussion soon arises between
Pope and Addison concerning the merits of the Italian opera, in which
Pope would have the better if he only knew a little more about music,
and could keep his temper. Arbuthnot sides with Pope in favor of Mr.
Handel's operas; the duke endeavors to keep the peace. Handel probably
uses his favorite exclamation, 'Vat te tevil I care!' and consumes the
_recherche_ wines and rare viands with undiminished gusto.
"The Magnificent, or the Grand Duke, as he was called, had built himself
a palace for £230,000. He had a private chapel, and appointed Handel
organist in the room of the celebrated Dr. Pepusch, who retired with
excellent grace before one manifestly his superior. On week-days the
duke and duchess entertained all the wits and grandees in town, and on
Sundays the Edgeware Road was thronged with the gay equipages of those
who went to worship at the ducal chapel and hear Mr. Handel play on the
organ.
"The Edgeware Road was a pleasant country drive, but parts of it were
so solitary that highwaymen were much to be feared. The duke was himself
attacked on one occasion; and those who could afford it never traveled
so far out of town without armed retainers. Cannons was the pride of the
neighborhood, and the duke--of whom Pope wrote,
'Thus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight'--
was as popular as he was wealthy. But his name is made still more
illustrious by the Chandos anthems. They were all written at Cannons
between 1718 and 1720, and number in all eleven overtures, thirty-two
solos, six duets, a trio, quartet, and forty-seven choruses. Some of the
above are real masterpieces; but, with the exception of 'The waves of
the sea rage horribly,' and 'Who is God but the Lord?' few of them
are ever heard now. And yet these anthems were most significant in the
variety of the choruses and in the range of the accompaniments; and it
was then, no doubt, that Handel was feeling his way toward the great
and immortal sphere of his oratorio music. Indeed, his first oratorio,
'Esther,' was composed at Cannons, as also the English version of 'Acis
and Galatea.'"
But Handel had other associates, and we must now visit Thomas Britton,
the musical coal-heaver. "There goes the famous small-coal man, a lover
of learning, a musician, and a companion of gentlemen." So the folks
used to say as Thomas Britton, the coal-heaver of Clerkenwell Green,
paced up and down the neighboring streets with his sack of small coal on
his back, destined for one of his customers. Britton was great among the
great. He was courted by the most fashionable folk of his day. He was
a cultivated coal-heaver, who, besides his musical taste and ability,
possessed an extensive knowledge of chemistry and the occult sciences.
Britton did more than this. He gave concerts in Aylesbury Street,
Clerkenwell, where this singular man had formed a dwelling-house, with
a concert-room and a coal-store, out of what was originally a stable.
On the ground-floor was the small-coal repository, and over that the
concert-room--very long and narrow, badly lighted, and with a ceiling
so low that a tall man could scarcely stand upright in it. The stairs to
this room were far from pleasant to ascend, and the following facetious
lines by Ward, the author of the "London Spy," confirm this:
"Upon Thursdays repair
To my palace, and there
Hobble up stair by stair
But I pray ye take care
That you break not your shins by a stumble;
"And without e'er a souse
Paid to me or my spouse,
Sit as still as a mouse
At the top of the house,
And there you shall hear how we fumble."
Nevertheless beautiful duchesses and the best society in town flocked
to Britton's on Thursdays--not to order coals, but to sit out his
concerts.
Let us follow the short, stout little man on a concert-day. The
customers are all served, or as many as can be. The coal-shed is made
tidy and swept up, and the coal-heaver awaits his company. There he
stands at the door of his stable, dressed in his blue blouse,
dustman's hat, and maroon kerchief tightly fastened round his neck. The
concert-room is almost full, and, pipe in hand, Britton awaits a new
visitor--the beautiful Duchess of B------. She is somewhat late (the
coachman, possibly, is not quite at home in the neighborhood).
Here comes a carriage, which stops at the coal-shop; and, laying down
his pipe, the coal-heaver assists her grace to alight, and in the
genteelest manner escorts her to the narrow staircase leading to
the music-room. Forgetting Ward's advice, she trips laughingly and
carelessly up the stairs to the room, from which proceed faint sounds of
music, increasing to quite an _olla podri-da_ of sound as the apartment
is reached--for the musicians are tuning up. The beautiful duchess is
soon recognized, and as soon in deep gossip with her friends. But who is
that gentlemanly man leaning over the chamber-organ? That is Sir Roger
L'Estrange, an admirable performer on the violoncello, and a great lover
of music. He is watching the subtile fingering of Mr. Handel, as his
dimpled hands drift leisurely and marvelously over the keys of the
instrument.
There, too, is Mr. Bannister with his fiddle--the first Englishman,
by-the-by, who distinguished himself upon the violin; there is Mr.
Woolaston, the painter, relating to Dr. Pepusch of how he had that
morning thrown up his window upon hearing Britton crying "Small coal!"
near his house in Warwick Lane, and, having beckoned him in, had made a
sketch for a painting of him; there, too, is Mr. John Hughes, author of
the "Siege of Damascus." In the background also are Mr. Philip Hart, Mr.
Henry Symonds, Mr. Obadiah Shuttleworth, Mr. Abiell Whichello; while in
the extreme corner of the room is Robe, a justice of the peace, letting
out to Henry Needier of the Excise Office the last bit of scandal that
has come into his court. And now, just as the concert has commenced, in
creeps "Soliman the Magnificent," also known as Mr. Charles Jennens, of
Great Ormond Street, who wrote many of Handel's librettos, and arranged
the words for the "Messiah."
"Soliman the Magnificent" is evidently resolved to do justice to
his title on this occasion with his carefully-powdered wig, frills,
maroon-colored coat, and buckled shoes; and as he makes his progress up
the room, the company draw aside for him to reach his favorite seat near
Handel. A trio of Corelli's is gone through; then Madame Cuzzoni sings
Handel's last new air; Dr. Pepusch takes his turn at the harpsichord;
another trio of Hasse, or a solo on the violin by Bannister; a selection
on the organ from Mr. Handel's new oratorio; and then the day's
programme is over.
Dukes, duchesses, wits and philosophers, poets and musicians, make their
way down the satirized stairs to go, some in carriages, some in chairs,
some on foot, to their own palaces, houses, or lodgings.