"Filled up on the 14th."
This Herculean work was therefore accomplished in twenty-three days; and Handel was then fifty-six years old!
It is a strange phenomenon: when men of genius are to die YOUNG, they complete their masterpieces at once. Mozart rendered up his soul at thirty-nine; Raphael painted "The School of Athens" at twenty-five, and "The Transfiguration" at thirty-seven; Paul Potter his "Bull" at twenty-two; Rossini composed "The Barber of Sevile" when he was twenty-three, "William Tell" at thirty-seven, and afterwards wrote no more. If these men had lived longer, it would have been impossible for them to surpass themselves.
Great artists, on the other hand, who are destined to have long lives are slow in production, or rather they produce their best things in the decline of life. Handel, e.g., composed his greatest works, "The Funeral Anthem," "Israel," "The Messiah," "Samson," "The Dettingen Te Deum," and "Judas Macabbeus," after he was fifty-two years old. Gluck had not composed one of his operas when he was fifty. Haydn was an old man of sixty-five when he produced the "Creation." Murillo became Murillo only at forty years of age. Poussin was seventy when he painted "The Deluge," which is the most poetically great of all his noble pictures. Michael Angelo counted more than sixty years when he encrusted his incomparable fresco, "The Last Judgment," upon the walls of the Sistine Chapel; and he was eighty-seven when he raised the cupola of St. Peter's to the heavens. And our own Milton was sixty-three when he wrote "Paradise Lost!"
But, to return—Handel set out on his journey and charitable mission, 4th August, 1741. It is to this journey Pope alludes in his "Dunciad:"—
"But soon, ah! soon, rebellion will commence,
If music meanly borrows aid from sense;
Strong in new arms, lo! giant Handel stands,
Like bold Briareus, with his hundred hands,
To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes,
And Jove's own thunders follow Mars' drums."
He was stayed by contrary winds in the ancient and picturesque city of Chester. Dr. Burney says, "I was at the public school in Chester, and very well remember seeing him smoke a pipe over a dish of coffee at the Exchange coffee house; and, being extremely curious to see so extraordinary a man, I watched him narrowly as long as he remained in Chester, where he stayed on account of the wind being unfavourable for his embarking at Park Gate."
Wishing to employ this delay in trying over some pieces of his new oratorio—the Messiah, he sought for some one who could read music at sight, and a house painter named Janson was indicated to him as one of the best musicians attached to the Cathedral. A meeting took place, but poor Janson managed so badly, that the irascible composer became purple with anger, and after swearing, as was his wont, in four or five languages at a time, cried out, "You Schountrel! tit you not tell me dat you could sing at soite?" "Yes sir," replied the good fellow, "but not at first sight." Handel upon this burst out laughing, and the rehearsal proceeded no further.
He arrived in Dublin on the 18th November, 1741. It was not till April following, however, that the Messiah was for the first time heard. In the Dublin papers of March 1742, the following advertisement appeared:—
"For the relief of the prisoners in the several gaols, and for the support of Mercer's Hospital; on Monday, the 12th April, will be performed at the Music Hall, in Fishamble-street, Mr. Handel's new grand Oratorio called the Messiah."