Story-Lives of Great Musicians

by Francis Jameson Rowbotham

Although he would brook no contradiction on the part of those who were engaged to execute his works, Handel spared no pains to help them over a difficulty, or to show how his music should be expressed. At times, however, his temper took the form of the most unsparing sarcasm. One day a singer at rehearsal protested against the manner in which Handel was accompanying him on the harpsichord, and in a fit of anger exclaimed: 'If you continue to accompany me in that fashion I will jump from the platform on to the harpsichord, and smash it!' 'Vat!' cried Handel, looking up in surprise, 'do you say you vill jump? Den I vill advertise it at once, for people vould come to see you jump dat vill never come to hear you sing!'

We have not space to describe the whole of the works which Handel wrote for the Royal Academy of Music. His industry was untiring, and the fertility of his genius was such that within a period of eight years from the beginning of the Society's work he had composed and produced no fewer than fourteen operas. Amongst this number was the opera called 'Scipione,' in which is to be found a 'Triumphal March in D,' which the Grenadier Guards claim to have been specially composed for their regiment by Handel before its inclusion in the opera. The Guards are very proud of their march, and the band still plays it under the title of the 'Royal Guards March.'

During the whole of this time, however, Handel's enemies never ceased their opposition, and, despite successes, it was soon apparent that the rival parties were bent on destroying each other. The enormous cost incurred in producing operatic works, added to the losses occasioned by quarrels and dissensions amongst the singers, many of whom deserted Handel to join his enemies, at length brought the Royal Academy to the end of its resources. In 1727, when the society was tottering to its fall, the rival theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields brought out the famous work called 'The Beggar's Opera,' written by John Gay, which formed the first English ballad opera. Its success was stupendous; London was taken completely by storm, and everybody was soon singing and humming its catching airs. Fickle as the public taste had hitherto shown itself to be in regard to musical productions, it now became fixed on the new work, and opera in the 'Italian style' was completely deserted. What was the secret of this wonderful success? Simply this: a poet seized upon a number of the most entrancing airs which the musical genius of England and Scotland had produced, many of them belonging to ancient times, together with the favourite melodies of the day, and he set them to words which were utterly unworthy of the sentiment inspired by these beautiful compositions. The richest stores of ballad music were pillaged for this degrading work; the march in Handel's 'Rinaldo' was stolen to form a robber's chorus, whilst the exploits of Captain Macheath and his highwaymen companions were held up as models of daring and gallantry when performed to the most captivating of airs. The public hailed the piece with delight; the ladies modelled their dresses on the stage costume of 'Polly,' the heroine, and decorated their fans with the words of her songs, and for sixty-two nights the walls of the Lincoln's Inn Fields theatre shook with thunders of applause from gallery, pit, and stalls. In thus speaking of a work which not only held London captive for so long, but was afterwards performed in every part of the kingdom, we must not forget that its remarkable popularity was due in some measure to the brightness of its dialogue; to its witty sayings hitting off men and manners of the day; but, above all, to the exquisite beauty of its melodies, which served to lay a glamour over what otherwise would have undoubtedly been condemned as vulgar.

The success of the 'Beggar's Opera' completed the ruin of the Royal Academy of Music, but Handel, undismayed by the failure of this great scheme, and setting his enemies at defiance, went once more to Italy to collect a new company of singers, for he was determined to carry on the work himself with the fortune which his operas had brought him. On his way home he paid a visit to Halle, where he found his aged mother stricken by illness. She lingered until the following year (1730), when she died at the age of eighty. For several years Handel struggled to build up the fortunes of Italian opera in London, but the persistent rivalry and opposition of his enemies, combined with the decadence of musical taste on the part of the public, caused his losses to accumulate, until, in 1737, he found himself, after repeated failures, deeply in debt, and with his health broken down by overwork and anxiety. The whole of his fortune of £10,000 had been swallowed up in this disastrous enterprise, and it was a poor consolation for him to know that his rivals failed in the same year with a loss of £12,000. Not even at this juncture, however, would his indomitable will submit to the force of circumstances. After a brief rest at Aix la Chapelle, with a course of vapour baths, he returned to London prepared to begin the battle afresh, and although he had lost to a great extent the favour of the rich, his popularity was such that a statue of himself was executed by public subscription, and erected in Vauxhall Gardens, an honour which, as has been truly observed, had been paid to no other composer during his lifetime.

It was only after several failures that Handel was at length convinced that it was useless to attempt to re-awaken the interest of English audiences in Italian opera, and yet, although he made no concealment of his regret at the abandonment of a line of composition in which he had so greatly excelled, it was with no diminished vigour or determination that he now, at the age of fifty-five, turned his attention to work of a serious character. And if we admit that Handel excelled in operatic work, what shall we say of the oratorios which formed the later creations of his genius? To many of us, perhaps, his name is so intimately associated with the titles of his religious works that we are almost ready to believe that all which had gone before was merely in the nature of preparation for such noble works as 'Saul,' 'Israel in Egypt,' 'Samson,' 'Jephtha,' and, above all, the 'Messiah.' It is on the 'Messiah' alone that our space permits us to dwell, and we will endeavour to relate the story of how this great oratorio came to be written.

It was in 1741 that the plan of writing the 'Messiah' was formed, but it is not known whether the subject originated with Handel himself, or was suggested to him by a friend named Mr. Charles Jennens, a man of great literary tastes and acquirements, who lived a retired life in the country. It is certain, however, that Mr. Jennens selected and wrote out the passages from the Scriptures, and sent them to Handel to set to music, and for the care and choice exercised in this compilation we owe to Mr. Jennens a deep debt of gratitude. Towards the end of this year Handel received an invitation from the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland to visit Dublin, as the Irish people were very desirous of hearing some of his compositions performed in their country. Handel accepted the invitation very willingly, for he saw in the tone in which it was conveyed an assurance of the sympathy of the sister isle, as well as a prospect of being enabled to retrieve his fallen fortunes. He left England at the beginning of November, having previously sent a promise to Dublin that he would devote a portion of the money realised by his performances to three charitable institutions in that city. The music of the 'Messiah' must have been actually composed before he set foot upon the ship at Chester, for at the end of the following month we find him writing to Mr. Jennens from Dublin, and referring to the latter's oratorio, '"Messiah," which I set to music before I left England,'[5] Moreover, he must have had the manuscript score with him on his voyage, though his friends in London were ignorant of the fact; for we learn that being detained at Chester for some days by contrary winds, he got together at his inn several of the choir boys from the cathedral in order to try over some of the choral passages in the work. Needless to say, the title of the oratorio was not allowed to transpire on this occasion, but many of us may feel curious to know whether any of these young singers felt impressed by the beauty of the parts which it was their envied lot to 'try over' in the composer's room at the hostelry. One at least of these trial performers must have carried away an unpleasant experience of the great man's impetuous temper. 'Can you sing at sight?' was the question put to each before he was asked to sing, and one broke down lamentably at the start. 'What de devil you mean!' cried Handel, snatching the music from his hands. 'Did not you say you could sing at sight?' 'Yes, sir, I did,' responded the confused singer, 'but not at first sight!'

The welcome extended to Handel by the people of Dublin was a very warm one; the performances were a great success, and then we get the first public mention of the new oratorio. At the 'Musick Hall in Fishamble Street, Dublin' is to be performed 'Mr. Handel's new grand Oratorio, called the "Messiah," in which the Gentlemen of the Choirs of both Cathedrals will assist, with some Concertos on the Organ, by Mr. Handel.' It was further announced that the proceeds would be devoted to two charitable institutions, and 'for the Relief of the Prisoners in the several Gaols.' These latter were miserable persons who had been imprisoned for debt, and whose sufferings through neglect and poverty were such as to excite deep compassion. Four hundred pounds was the sum realised by this performance, which took place on Monday, April 13, 1742, and no doubt the poor prisoners felt very grateful to the composer, who had thus put into practice the very precepts which his sacred work inspired. So great was the success of this first performance that a second was called for, the announcement of which contained an earnest appeal to the ladies to leave their hoops behind them. This singular request was obeyed, with the result that accommodation was found for one hundred more persons than on the first occasion.

'"Did not you say you could sing at sight?"'
'"Yes, sir, but not at first sight!"'[ToList]