MUSICIANS.
HANDEL.
The time may come when Music will be universally recognised as
the highest branch of Art; as the most powerful divulger of the
intellect’s profoundest conceptions and noblest aspirations; as the
truest interpreter of the heart’s loves and hates, joys and woes;
as the purest, least sensual, disperser of mortal care and sorrow;
as the all-glorious tongue in which refined, good, and happy beings
can most perfectly utter their thoughts and emotions. Perhaps this
cannot be till the realm of the physical world be more fully subdued
by man. The human faculties have hitherto been, necessarily, too
much occupied with the struggle for existence, for security against
want and protection from the elements, with the invention of better
and swifter modes of locomotion and of transmission of thought, to
advance to a general apprehension of the superior nature of Music.
“Practical men”—men fitted for the discharge of the world’s present
duties by the manifestation of the readiest and fullest capacity for
meeting its present wants—are, naturally and justly, those whom the
world most highly values in its current state of civilisation.
This necessary preference of the practical to the ideal may lead
many, who cannot spare a thought from the every-day concerns of
the world, to deem hastily that the stern and energetic quality of
Perseverance cannot be fully developed in the character of a devotee
to Music. But, dismissing the greater question just hinted at, it
may be replied that it is the evident tendency of man to form the
lightest pleasures of the mind, as well as his gravest discoveries,
into what is called “science;” and the lives of numerous musicians
show that vast powers of application have been continuously devoted
to the elaboration of the rules of harmony, while others have
employed their genius as ardently in the creation of melody. These
creations, when the symbols are learnt in which they are written,
the mind, by its refined exorcism, can enable the voice, or the hand
of the instrumental performer, to summon into renewed existence to
the end of time. Before symbols were invented and rules constructed,
the wealth of Music must necessarily have been restricted to a few
simple airs such as the memory could retain and easily reproduce.
_Perseverance_—_Perseverance_—has guided and sinewed men’s love of
the beautiful and powerful in melody and harmony, until, from the
simple utterance of a few notes of feeling, rudely conveyed from
sire to son by renewed utterance, Music has grown up into a science,
dignified and adorned by profound theorists, like Albrechtsberger,
and by sublime creative geniuses, such as the majestic Handel and
sweetest Haydn and universal Mozart and sublime Beethoven.
For their successful encounter of the great “battle of life,” a
hasty thinker would also judge that the extreme susceptibility of
musicians must unfit them; extreme susceptibility, which is, perhaps,
more peculiarly their inheritance than it is that even of poets.
Yet the records of the lives of musical men prove, equally with the
biographies of artists, authors, and linguists, that true genius,
whatever may be the object of its high devotion, is unsubduable by
calamity and opposition. The young inquirer will find ample proof
of this in various biographies: our limits demand that we confine
ourselves to one musician, as an exemplar of the grand attribute of
Perseverance.
GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL,
[Illustration: GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL]
The first of the four highest names in Music, was the son of a
physician of Halle, in Lower Saxony, and was designed by his
father for the study of the civil law. The child’s early attachment
to music—for he could play well on the old instrument called a
clavichord before he was seven years old—was, therefore, witnessed
by his parent with great displeasure. Unable to resist the dictates
of his nature, the boy used to climb up into a lonely garret, shut
himself up, and practise, chiefly when the family were asleep. He
attached himself so diligently to the practice of his clavichord,
that it enabled him, without ever having received the slightest
instruction, to become an expert performer on the harpsichord.
It was at this early age that the resolution of young Handel was
manifested in the singular incident often told of his childhood.
His father set out in a chaise to go and visit a relative who was
valet-de-chambre to the Duke of Saxe-Weisenfels, but refused to admit
the boy as a partner in his journey. After the carriage, however,
the boy ran, kept closely behind it for some miles, unconquerable in
his determination to proceed, and was at last taken into the chaise
by his father. When arrived, it was impossible to keep him from the
harpsichords in the duke’s palace; and, in the chapel, he contrived
to get into the organ-loft, and began to play with such skill on an
instrument he had never before touched, that the duke, overhearing
him, was surprised, asked who he was, and then used every argument
to induce the father to make the child a musician, and promised to
patronise him.
Overcome by the reasonings of this influential personage, the
physician gave up the thought of thwarting his child’s disposition:
and, at their return to Halle, placed young Handel under the tuition
of Zackau, the organist of the cathedral. The young “giant”—a
designation afterwards so significantly bestowed upon him by
Pope—grew up so rapidly into mastery of the instrument, that he was
soon able to conduct the music of the cathedral in the organist’s
absence; and, at nine years old, composed church services both for
voices and instruments. At fourteen he excelled his master; and his
father resolved to send him, for higher instruction, to a musical
friend who was a professor at Berlin. The opera then flourished in
that city more highly than in any other in Germany; the king marked
the precocious genius of the young Saxon, and offered to send him
into Italy for still more advantageous study: but his father, who
was now seventy years old, would not consent to his leaving his
“fatherland.”
Handel next went to Hamburgh, where the opera was only little
inferior to Berlin. His father died soon after; and, although but
in his fourteenth year, the noble boy entered the orchestra as a
salaried performer, took scholars, and thus not only secured his own
independent maintenance, but sent frequent pecuniary help to his
mother. How worshipfully the true children of Genius blend their
convictions of moral duty with the untiring aim to excel!
On the resignation of Keser, composer to the opera, and first
harpsichord in Hamburgh, a contest for the situation took place
between Handel and the person who had hitherto been Keser’s second.
Handel’s decided superiority of skill secured him the office,
although he was but fifteen years of age; but his success had nearly
cost him his life, for his disappointed antagonist made a thrust
with a sword at his breast, where a music book Handel had buttoned
under his coat prevented the entrance of the weapon. Numerous
sonatas, three operas, and other admired pieces, were composed during
Handel’s superintendence of the Hamburgh opera; but, at nineteen,
being invited by the brother of the Grand Duke, he left that city
for Tuscany. He received high patronage at Florence, and afterwards
visited Venice, Rome, and Naples, residing, for shorter or longer
periods, in each city, producing numerous operas, cantatas, and other
pieces, reaping honours and rewards, and becoming acquainted with
Corelli, Scarletti, and other musicians; till, after spending six
years in Italy, he returned to Germany.
Through the friendship of Baron Kilmansegg he was introduced to
the Elector of Hanover, was made “chapel-master” to the court, and
had a pension conferred upon him of fifteen hundred crowns a year.
In order to secure the services of the “great musician,” as he was
acknowledged now to be, the King provided that he should be allowed,
at will, to be absent for a year at a time. The very next year he
took advantage of this provision and set out for England, having
first visited his old master Zackau, and his aged and blind mother
for the last time—still true, amidst the dazzling influences of his
popularity, to the most correct emotions of the heart!
His opera of “Rinaldo” was performed with great success during his
stay in this country, and after one year he returned to Hanover; yet
his predilection for England, above every other country he had seen,
was so strong, that after the lapse of another year he was again in
London. The peace of Utrecht occurred a few months after his second
arrival, and having composed a Te Deum and Jubilate in celebration
of it, and thereby won such favour that Queen Anne was induced to
solicit his continuance in England, and to confer upon him a pension
of £200 a year, Handel resolved to forfeit his Hanoverian pension,
and made up his mind to remain in London. But, two years afterwards,
the Queen died, and the great musician was now in deep dread that his
slight of the Elector’s favours would be resented by that personage
on becoming King of England. George the First, indeed, expressed
himself very indignantly respecting Handel’s conduct; but the Baron
Kilmansegg again rendered his friend good service. He instructed
Handel to compose music of a striking character, to be played on
the water, as the King took amusement with a gay company. Handel
created his celebrated “Water Music,” chiefly adapted for horns; and
the effect was so striking that the King was delighted. Kilmansegg
seized the opportunity, and sued for the restoration of his friend to
favour. The boon was richly obtained, for Handel’s pension was raised
to £400 per annum, and he was appointed musical teacher to the young
members of the Royal Family.
Prosperity seemed to have selected Handel, up to this period,
for her favourite; but severe reverses were coming. The opera in
this country had hitherto been conducted on worn-out and absurd
principles, and a large body of the people of taste united to promote
a reform. Rival opera-houses (as at the present period) were opened;
and during nine years Handel superintended one establishment. It
was one perpetual quarrel: when his opponents, by any change, had
become so feeble that he seemed on the eve of a final triumph, one
or other of the singers in his own company would grow unmanageable:
Senesino was the chief of these, and Handel’s refusal to accept the
mediation of several of the nobility, and be reconciled to him,
caused the establishment over which he presided to be finally broken
up. The great powers of Farinelli, the chief singer at the rival
house, to whom an equal could not then be found in Europe, also
largely contributed to Handel’s ruin. He withdrew, with a loss of
ten thousand pounds; his constitution seemed completely broken with
the years of harassment he had experienced; and he retired to the
baths of Aix-la-Chapelle, scarcely with the hope, on the part of his
friends, that they would ever see him in England again.
His paralysis and other ailments, however, disappeared with wondrous
suddenness; after he reached the medical waters, he recovered full
health and vigour, and, at the age of fifty-two, returned to England
with the manly resolve to struggle till he had paid his debts, and
once more retrieved a fortune equal to his former condition. It was
now that the whole strength of the man was tried. He produced his
“Alexander’s Feast;” but, in spite of its acknowledged merit, the
nobility whom he had offended would not patronise him. He produced
other pieces, but they failed from the same cause. He then bent his
mighty genius on the creation of newer and grander attractions than
had ever been yet introduced in music, and produced his unequalled
“Messiah,” which was performed at Covent Garden during Lent. Yet the
combination against him was maintained, until he sunk into deeper
difficulties than ever.
[Illustration: GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL]
Unsubdued by the failures which had accumulated around him during
the five years which had elapsed since his return to England, he set
out for Ireland, at fifty-seven, and had his “Messiah” performed
in Dublin, for the benefit of the city prison. His success was
instantaneous; several performances took place for his own benefit,
and the next year he renewed the war against Fortune, in London, by
producing his magnificent “Samson,” and having it performed, together
with his “Messiah,” at Covent Garden. The first renewed performance
of the “Messiah” was for the benefit of the Foundling Hospital; and
the funds of that philanthropic institution were thenceforth annually
benefited by the repetition of that sublime Oratorio. Prejudice was
now subdued, the “mighty master” triumphed, and his darling wish for
honourable independence was fully realised; for more than he had lost
was retrieved.
Handel’s greatest works, like those of Haydn, were produced in
his advanced years. His “Jephthah” was produced at the age of
sixty-seven. Paralysis returned upon him at fifty-nine, and _gutta
serena_—Milton’s memorable affliction—reduced him to “total eclipse”
of sight some years after: but he submitted cheerfully to his lot,
after brief murmuring, and continued, by dictation to an amanuensis,
the creation of new works, and the performance of his Oratorios to
the last. He conducted his last Oratorio but a week before his death,
and died, as he had always desired to do, on Good Friday, at the age
of seventy-five. He was interred, with distinguished honours, among
the great and good of that country which had naturalised him, in
Westminster Abbey. May the sight of his monument inspire the young
reader with an unquenchable zeal to emulate, in whatever path wisdom
may direct life to be passed, the moral and intellectual excellencies
of this glorious disciple of Perseverance!
[Illustration: Decoration]