FOOTNOTES:

"We are informed, from very good authority, that there is now nearly finished a statue of the justly celebrated Mr. Handel, exquisitely done, by the ingenious Mr. Roubilliac, of St. Martin's Lane Statuary, out of one entire block of white marble, which is to be placed in a grandnich, erected on purpose, in the great grove of Vauxhall Gardens (The great grove at Vauxhall Gardens!—Sic transit gloria mundi), at the sole expense of Mr. Tyers, undertaker of the entertainment there, who, in consideration of the real merit of that inimitable master, thought itproper that his effigy should preside there, where his harmony has so often charmed even the greatest crowds into the profoundest calm and most decent behaviour."

And in the following copy, that of the 2nd May, 1738, there is the following:—

"Last night Vauxhall was opened, and there was a considerable appearance of both sexes. The several pieces of music played on that occasion had never been heard before in the gardens: the company expressed the greatest satisfaction at the marble statue of Mr. Handel."

Some of you may have seen this marble statue in the great grove at Vauxhall Gardens. I never have; but we may all see the self-same statue any day, in the great room at Exeter Hall.

Apropos of a statue—England has shown great gratitude to Handel—Handel, aforeigner—has she shown anything like equal gratitude to as great, if not a greater genius, and that geniusher own son?

Who ever loved England more dearly than Shakespeare? His was not merely the love of a son for his mother, but it was as tender as that of a mother for her son. His works are full of delicious passages, in which his patriotism becomes manifest. No corner of the globe has been sung by native poets as England has by Shakespeare. Many of you, I dare say, are familiar with that beautiful passage in "Richard II." He is describing England, and he says—

"This other Eden, demi-paradise,This fortress, built by Nature for herself,Against infection and the hand of War;This happy breed of men—this little earth;This precious stone set in the silver sea."

Yes, Shakespeare so loved his country, that he divined by intuition the heart-anguish of those who have lost theirs. Romeo, when Friar Laurence tells him that he is banished from Verona, cries:—

"Ha! banishment? Be merciful; saydeath!For exile hath more terror in his look;Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'Friar.—Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.Romeo.—There is no world outside Verona's walls!Hast thou no poison mixedTo kill me? but 'banished!' 'banished!'O Friar! the damned use that word in hell!"

"Ha! banishment? Be merciful; saydeath!For exile hath more terror in his look;Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'

Friar.—Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Romeo.—There is no world outside Verona's walls!Hast thou no poison mixedTo kill me? but 'banished!' 'banished!'O Friar! the damned use that word in hell!"

He who spoke thus was Shakespeare, and yethiscompatriots could not find the means of erecting a statue to him! Even at the present day in London, where you may find in every square a herd of dukes, to whom not even bronze can give celebrity, Shakespeare is nowhere to be found. His image remains shut up in Westminster Abbey, instead of being set upon a column whose height should dominate over the metropolis, as his genius dominates over the world.[F]

I must necessarily pass over much that is interesting in the life of Handel: recollect I have undertaken to give you only a "sketch," not a history. My sketch, however, would be incomplete did I overlook his greatest production, or his visit to "that generous and politenation," as he was pleased to call Ireland, for which nation his masterpiece was composed, and in which it was first performed.

For a long time Handel had been wished for in Ireland. The Duke of Devonshire, the Lord Lieutenant of the country at that period, had directly invited him to pay a visit to the island, and the Irish professed great admiration for him.

Almost all the musical societies of Dublin, which were composed of amateurs, gave their entertainments for the furtherance of charitable objects. Handel put himself into communication with the most important of these, that "for the benefit and enlargement (freedom) of poor distressed prisoners for debt," and promised to give an oratorio for its benefit. For this society he composed the "Messiah," the masterpiece of this great master. Whoever has listened to his music will admit that its most distinctive character is the sublime. No one, without exception, neither Beethoven nor Mozart, has ever risen nearer to the grandeur of the ideal than Handeldid, and he was never more sublime than in the "Messiah;" and, remembering this, read the dates which are inscribed with his own hand upon the manuscript:—

"Commenced 22nd August, 1741."End of 1st part, 28th August."End of 2nd, 6th September."End of 3rd, 12th September, 1741."Filled up on the 14th."

"Commenced 22nd August, 1741.

"End of 1st part, 28th August.

"End of 2nd, 6th September.

"End of 3rd, 12th September, 1741.

"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 dieYOUNG, they complete their masterpieces atonce. 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 havelong livesareslow in production, or rather they produce their best things in thedecline 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-twoyears 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 Miltonwas 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 atfirst 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 theMessiah."

The performance having taken place, the newspapers vied with each other in commendation and praise. I give you an extract from one:—

"On Tuesday last, (the day I suppose was changed), Mr. Handel's sacred grand Oratorio, the Messiah, was performed in the New Music Hall, in Fishamble-street. The best judges allowed it to be the most finished piece of music. Words are wanted to express the delight it afforded to the admiring crowded audience. The sublime, the grand and the tender, adapted to the most elevated, majestic, and moving words, conspired to transport and charm the ravished heart and ear. It is but justice to Mr. Handel, that the world should know, he generously gave the money arising from this grand performance to be equally sharedby the society for relieving prisoners, the Charitable Infirmary, and Mercer's Hospital, for which they will ever gratefully remember his name.This is high encomium, but the audience paid him higher still. When the chorus all struck up, "For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth," in the Hallelujah, they were so transported that they all together started up and remained standing till the chorus ended."

This is high encomium, but the audience paid him higher still. When the chorus all struck up, "For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth," in the Hallelujah, they were so transported that they all together started up and remained standing till the chorus ended."

A few days after the performance of the Messiah, Handel waited on Lord Kinnoul, with whom he was particularly acquainted. His Lordship, as was natural, paid him some compliments on the nobleentertainmentwhich he had lately given in the town. "My Lord, said Handel, I should be sorry if Ionly entertained them, I wishTO MAKE THEM BETTER."

The Messiah has remained the most popular of Oratorios. It is never announced in anything like a fitting manner without attracting the public. It invariably forms part of theprogramme at all the festivals, and the day on which it is performed is always the most productive. The Sacred Harmonic Societies particularly give it every year for the benefit of distressed musicians. Truly does it deserve the touching eulogy that "it has fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and fostered the orphans."

But I must hasten to a conclusion. Before I conclude this sketch of Handel, I must introduce you to one more of his Oratorios, "L'Allegro."

This magnificent composition has been eulogized by an eminent poet,—a beautiful pigeon! and an old parson! I will briefly tell you the eulogy of each, for brief is the eulogy itself.

The Poet having heard the oratorio performed, wrote thus:—

"If e'er Arion's music calm'd the floodsAnd Orpheus ever drew the dancing woods!Why do not British trees and forest throngTo 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, andthis 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 onthe 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 rayTo 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, "Thiswas 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. Forthese 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 usWe can make our lives sublime,And departing leave behind usFootprints 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."

"Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And departing leave behind usFootprints 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."

FOOTNOTES:[D]See Note, p.91.[E]See Note, p.92.[F]See Note, p.92.[G]See note, p.93.[H]The lady was Mrs. Cibber.

[D]See Note, p.91.

[E]See Note, p.92.

[F]See Note, p.92.

[G]See note, p.93.

[H]The lady was Mrs. Cibber.

(OVERTURE.)

"Give me sweet music when I'm glad—Give me sweet music when I'm sad;For music softens every woe,And brightens every rapture's flow."Oh! give me music! In my yearsOf childhood's hopes and childhood's fears,One sweetly-breathing vocal layCould steal my griefs, my fears away."Yes, music, come! Thou dying voiceOf distant days—of far-past joys—Come, softly breathe into mine ear,And thine shall be the flowing tear!"Come in the strain I loved so well,And of the lip that breathed it tell.Oh! be the lingerings of thy laysThe voice of those departed days!"

"Give me sweet music when I'm glad—Give me sweet music when I'm sad;For music softens every woe,And brightens every rapture's flow.

"Oh! give me music! In my yearsOf childhood's hopes and childhood's fears,One sweetly-breathing vocal layCould steal my griefs, my fears away.

"Yes, music, come! Thou dying voiceOf distant days—of far-past joys—Come, softly breathe into mine ear,And thine shall be the flowing tear!

"Come in the strain I loved so well,And of the lip that breathed it tell.Oh! be the lingerings of thy laysThe voice of those departed days!"

Association not only gives significancy to music, but contributes greatly to heighten its agreeable effect. We have heard it performed, some time or other, in an agreeable place, perhaps, or by an agreeable person, or accompanied with words that describe agreeable ideas; or we have heard it in our early years—a period of life which we seldom look back upon without pleasure, and of which Bacon recommends the frequent recollection, as an expedient to preserve health. Nor is it necessary that musical compositions should have much intrinsic merit, or that they should call up any distinct remembrance of the agreeable ideas associated with them. There are seasons at which we are gratified with very moderate excellence. In childhood every tune is delightful to a musical ear: in our advanced years, an indifferent tune willplease, when set off by the amiable qualities of the performer, or by any other agreeable circumstance. The flute of a shepherd, heard at a distance, on a fine summer day, amidst beautiful scenery, will give rapture to the wanderer, though the tune, the instrument, and the musician be such as he could not endure in any other place. If a song, or piece of music, should call up only a faint remembrance that we were happy the last time we heard it, nothing more would be needful to make us listen to it again with peculiar satisfaction.

Well has Cowper said—

"There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleasedWith melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave,Some chord in unison with what we hearIs touched within us, and the heart replies.How soft the music of those village bells,Falling at intervals upon the earIn cadence sweet, now dying all away,Now pealing loud again, and louder still,Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!With easy force it opens all the cellsWhere mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heardA kindred melody, the scene recurs,And with it all its pleasures and its pains."

Of its influence very many anecdotes, I should rather say,factsare recorded.

Naturalists assert that animals and birds are sensible to the charms of music—take one or two instances:—

An officer was confined in the Bastile; he begged the governor to permit him the use of his lute, to soften by the harmonies of his instrument, the rigours of his prison. At the end of a few days, this modern Orpheus, playing on his lute, was greatly astonished to see frisking out of their holes, great numbers ofmice, and descending from their woven habitations crowds ofspiders, who formed a circle about him, while he continued breathing his soul-subduing instrument. He was petrified with astonishment. Having ceased to play, the assembly who did not come to see him, but to hear his instrument, immediately broke up.As he had a great dislike to spiders, it was two days before he ventured again to touch his instrument. At length, having overcome, for the novelty of his company, his dislike of them, he recommenced his concert, when the assembly was by far more numerous than at first; and in the course of further time, he found himself surrounded by a hundredmusical amateurs. Having thus succeeded in attracting this company, he treacherously contrived to get rid of them at his will. For this purpose he begged the keeper to give him a cat, which he put in a cage, and let loose at the very instant when the little hairy people were most enchanted by the Orphean skill he displayed.

Haydyn tells the following story:—

"I went, with some other young people equally devoid of care, one day during the extreme heat of summer, to seek for coolness and fresh air on one of the lofty mountains, which surround the Lago Maggiore in Lombardy. Having reached by daybreak the middle of the ascent,we stopped to contemplate the Borromean isles, which were displayed under our feet, in the middle of the lake, when we were surrounded by a large flock of sheep, which were leaving the fold to go to their pasture.One of our party, who was no bad performer on the flute, and who always carried his instrument along with him, took it out of his pocket. "I am going," said he, "to turn Corydon; let us see whether Virgil's sheep will recognize their pastor." He began to play. The sheep and goats, which were following one another towards the mountain, with their heads hanging down, raised them at the first sound of the flute, and all with a general and hasty movement turned to the side from whence the agreeable noise proceeded. Gradually they flocked round the musician, and listened with motionless attention. He ceased playing; still the sheep did not stir. The shepherd with his staff, obliged those nearest to him to move on; they obeyed; but no sooner did the fluter beginto play, than his innocent audience again returned to him. The shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth; but not one would move. The fluter played with additional skill. The shepherd fell into a passion, whistled, scolded, and pelted the poor fleecy amateurs with stones. Such as were hit by them began to march; but the others still refused to stir."

One of our party, who was no bad performer on the flute, and who always carried his instrument along with him, took it out of his pocket. "I am going," said he, "to turn Corydon; let us see whether Virgil's sheep will recognize their pastor." He began to play. The sheep and goats, which were following one another towards the mountain, with their heads hanging down, raised them at the first sound of the flute, and all with a general and hasty movement turned to the side from whence the agreeable noise proceeded. Gradually they flocked round the musician, and listened with motionless attention. He ceased playing; still the sheep did not stir. The shepherd with his staff, obliged those nearest to him to move on; they obeyed; but no sooner did the fluter beginto play, than his innocent audience again returned to him. The shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth; but not one would move. The fluter played with additional skill. The shepherd fell into a passion, whistled, scolded, and pelted the poor fleecy amateurs with stones. Such as were hit by them began to march; but the others still refused to stir."

Marville gives us the following curious account:—

"Doubting the truth of those who say that the love of music is a natural taste, especially the sound of instruments, and that beasts themselves are touched by it; being one day in the country, I tried an experiment.While a man was playing on the trump marine, I made my observations on acat, adog, ahorse, anass, ahind,cows,small birds, and acock and hens, who were in a yard, under a window on which I was leaning.I did not perceive that thecatwas the least affected, and I even judged by her air that shewould have given all the instruments in the world for a mouse, sleeping in the sun all the time.Thehorsestopped short from time to time before the window, raising his head up now and then, as he was feeding on the grass.Thedogcontinued for above an hour seated on his hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player.Theassdid not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his thistles peaceably.Thehindlifted up her large, wide ears, and seemed very attentive.Thecowsslept a little, and after gazing, as though they had been acquainted with us, went forward.Somelittle birds, who were in an aviary, and others on the trees and bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing.But thecock, who minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scratching a neighbouring dunghill, did not showin any manner that they took the least pleasure in hearing the trump marine."

While a man was playing on the trump marine, I made my observations on acat, adog, ahorse, anass, ahind,cows,small birds, and acock and hens, who were in a yard, under a window on which I was leaning.

I did not perceive that thecatwas the least affected, and I even judged by her air that shewould have given all the instruments in the world for a mouse, sleeping in the sun all the time.

Thehorsestopped short from time to time before the window, raising his head up now and then, as he was feeding on the grass.

Thedogcontinued for above an hour seated on his hind legs, looking steadfastly at the player.

Theassdid not discover the least indication of his being touched, eating his thistles peaceably.

Thehindlifted up her large, wide ears, and seemed very attentive.

Thecowsslept a little, and after gazing, as though they had been acquainted with us, went forward.

Somelittle birds, who were in an aviary, and others on the trees and bushes, almost tore their little throats with singing.

But thecock, who minded only his hens, and the hens, who were solely employed in scratching a neighbouring dunghill, did not showin any manner that they took the least pleasure in hearing the trump marine."

One of the best descriptions of the influence of music I consider to be Wordsworth's lines on the Blind Fiddler of Oxford Street. Many of you, doubtless, are familiar with them; but for the information of those who may not, I shall quote them.

"An Orpheus! an Orpheus! Yes, faith may grow bold,And take to herself all the wonders of old.Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the sameIn the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name."His station is there, and he works on the crowd:He sways them with harmony merry and loud:He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim.Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?"What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss;The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest;And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest."As the moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,So he, where he stands, is a centre of light;It gleams on the face there of dusk-browed JackAnd the pale-visaged bakers, with basket on back."That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in haste—What matter! he's caught—and his time runs to waste;The newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret;And the half-breathless lamplighter he's in the net!"The porter sits down on the weight which he bore;The lass with her barrow wheels hither her store.If a thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease:She sees the musician—'tis all that she sees!"That tall man, a giant in bulk and in height,Not an inch of his body is free from delight.Can he keep himself still, if he would? Oh not he!The music stirs in him, like wind through a tree."Mark that cripple, who leans on his crutch, like a towerThat long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour!That mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound,While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound."Now coaches and chariots roar on like a stream;Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream;They are deaf to your murmurs—they care not for you,Nor what ye plying, nor what ye pursue!"He stands, backed by the wall—he abates not his din;His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping inFrom the old and the young—from the poorest; and there—The one-pennied boy has his penny to spare!"Oh! blest are the hearers! and proud be the handOf the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band!I'm glad for him, blind as he is! All the while,If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile."

"An Orpheus! an Orpheus! Yes, faith may grow bold,And take to herself all the wonders of old.Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the sameIn the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.

"His station is there, and he works on the crowd:He sways them with harmony merry and loud:He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim.Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?

"What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss;The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest;And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest.

"As the moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,So he, where he stands, is a centre of light;It gleams on the face there of dusk-browed JackAnd the pale-visaged bakers, with basket on back.

"That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in haste—What matter! he's caught—and his time runs to waste;The newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret;And the half-breathless lamplighter he's in the net!

"The porter sits down on the weight which he bore;The lass with her barrow wheels hither her store.If a thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease:She sees the musician—'tis all that she sees!

"That tall man, a giant in bulk and in height,Not an inch of his body is free from delight.Can he keep himself still, if he would? Oh not he!The music stirs in him, like wind through a tree.

"Mark that cripple, who leans on his crutch, like a towerThat long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour!That mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound,While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound.

"Now coaches and chariots roar on like a stream;Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream;They are deaf to your murmurs—they care not for you,Nor what ye plying, nor what ye pursue!

"He stands, backed by the wall—he abates not his din;His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping inFrom the old and the young—from the poorest; and there—The one-pennied boy has his penny to spare!

"Oh! blest are the hearers! and proud be the handOf the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band!I'm glad for him, blind as he is! All the while,If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile."

But why should I occupy your time by quotations from celebrated poets or prose writers, to prove the influence of music, when I have it in my power to verify the saying of that eminent composer whose life I have undertaken to sketch?

"The effect of music on a man should be to strike fire from his soul."

(SONATA PATHETIQUE.)

Ludwig Von Beethoven was born on the 17th December, 1770, at Bonn. His father andgrandfather were both musicians by profession. The former occupied the situation of principal vocal tenor, and the latter that of first bass singer in the chapel of the Elector of Cologne.

From the earliest age Beethoven evinced a disposition for music; or, in other words, he learnt the language of music and his mother tongue both at the same time; and as modulated sounds seldom fail to make a deep impression on a young, fervid mind, when they are almost constantly presented to it, as was the case in the present instance, he soon acquired, and as speedily manifested, a taste for the art of which they are the foundation.

His father began to instruct him when he was only in his fifth year. An anecdote is told of his early performances, which corroborates what I have already said on the influence of music. It is said that, whenever little Ludwig was playing in his closet on the violin, a spider would let itself down from the ceiling and alight upon the instrument. The story, I am sorry,goes on to say that his mother one day, discovering her son's companion, destroyed it, whereupon little Ludwig dashed his violin to shatters.

At the early age of thirteen, Beethoven published at Mannheim, in his own name, Variations on a March, Sonatas, and Songs. But at this time his genius displayed itself more decidedly in musical improvisations. His extempore fantasias are mentioned by Gerber, in his Lexicon, as having excited the admiration of the most accomplished musicians of the time.

The fame of his youthful genius attracted the attention of the Elector of Cologne, who sent him at his own expense to Vienna, in character of his Court organist, to study under the celebrated Haydyn, in order to perfect himself in the art of composition.

Vienna was at this time (1792), the central point of every thing great and sublime, that music had till then achieved on the soil of Germany.

Mozart, the source of all light in the region of harmony, whose acquaintance Beethoven had made on his first visit to Vienna in 1786, who when he heard Beethoven extemporize upon a theme that was given him, exclaimed to those present, "This youth will some day make a noise in the world"—Mozart, though he had been a year in his grave, yet lived freshly in the memory of all who had a heart susceptible of his divine revelations, as well as in Beethoven's. Gluck's spirit still hovered around the inhabitants of the old city—F. Haydyn and many other distinguished men in every art, and in every branch of human knowledge, yet lived and worked together harmoniously. In short, no sooner had Beethoven, then but twenty-two, looked around him in this favoured abode of the Muses, and made a few acquaintances, than he said to himself, "Here will I stay, and not return to Bonn even though the Elector should cut off my pension."

Beethoven did not long enjoy the instructionsof his master, for Haydyn handed him over to the care and instructions of the learned Allrechtsberger. It appears, that the character of Beethoven was marked by great singularity from his earliest years. Both Haydyn and Allrechtsberger, but particularly the latter, have recorded that he was not willing to profit by good advice. Beethoven has himself been heard to confess, that among other peculiarities which he prided himself on displaying, when a young man, was that of refusing to acknowledge himself as the pupil of Haydyn, at which this master took great offence.

The consequence of this self-confident spirit was, that at this period, he made but little progress in composition, and was more ambitious to become a brilliant performer. Hence by the periodicals of that day, he is not allowed to possess the ability of composition; harshness of modulation, melodies more singular than pleasing, and a constant struggle to be original, are among the principal faults of which he wasaccused. As to the latter charge it may be remarked, that it is the besetting sin which has adhered to Beethoven through life; and who can help wishing that with it, he had also possessed the power of spreading the vice among his contemporaries, and of bequeathing it to his successors. But if this indefatigable search after originality be a sin, to what new and extraordinary effects, to what wonders, has it not given birth? To whom so justly than to this author can these lines be applied—

"Great wits may sometimes gloriously offend,And rise to faults true critics dare not mend?"

Beethoven never defended himself against criticisms or attacks, he never suffered them to have more than a superficial effect upon him. Not indifferent to the opinions of the good, he took no notice of the attacks of the malicious, and allowed them to go on unchecked, even when they proceeded so far as to assign him a place, sometimes in one madhouse, sometimesin another. "If itamusespeople to say or to write such stuff concerning me, let them continue so to do as long as they please."

(This may remind you of an anecdote of the Earl of Derby; being once attacked in the House of Lords by the Duke of Argyle, the Earl in his reply said, "A certain navvy, who happened to be married to a very violent woman, a regular virago, was asked why he allowed his wife to abuse him, or use such intemperate language. 'Poor creature,' said the navvy, 'it amuses her, and does not hurt me.' So say I, the attack of the noble duke may amuse him but cannot injure me.")

As in that classic period of musical activity, Beethoven was the sun which all strove to approach, and rejoiced if they could but catch a glance of his brilliant eyes, it was natural that he should converse much with ladies, several of whom were always contending for his affections at once, as it is well known, and he more than once found himself like Hercules in a dilemma.Dr. Wegeler, in his life of Beethoven says, "He was never without an attachment, and that mostly he was very deeply smitten." This is quite true. How could any rational person who is acquainted with Beethoven, or ever heard his compositions, maintain the contrary. Whoever is capable of feeling how powerfully the pure flame of love operates upon the imagination, more especially of the sensitive and highly endowed artist, and how in all his productions it goes before him like a light sent down from Heaven to guide him, will take it for granted without any evidence that Beethoven was susceptible of the purest love, and that he was conducted by it. What genius could have composed the Fantasia in C, commonly called the "Moonlight or the Moonshine Sonata," without such a passion? It was love, for Bettine, to whom that imaginative composition is dedicated, (and to whom I shall again have occasion to allude,) which inspired him while engaged upon it. This piece will now be performed, and judge foryourselves whether I have said too much in its praise:—

[Fantasia in C., commonly called the "Moonlight Sonata," to designate this enthusiastic period of Beethoven's passion.]

In the year 1800, we find Beethoven engaged in the composition of his "Christ on the Mount of Olives." He wrote this work during his summer residence at Hetzendorf, a pleasant village, closely contiguous to the gardens of the imperial palace of Shönbrunn, where he passed several summers of his life in profound seclusion. A circumstance connected with this great work, and of which Beethoven many years afterwards still retained a lively recollection, was that he composed it in the thickest part of the wood, in the park of Shönbrunn, seated between the two stems of an oak, which shot out from the main trunk at the height of about two feet from the ground.

About this period Beethoven endured much family annoyance and domestic trouble. Hisbrothers who had some years previously followed him to Vienna, began to govern him and to make him suspicious of his sincerest friends and adherents, from wrong notions or even from jealousy. Surrounded by friends who loved and esteemed him—his fame already established—with an ample income, he ought to have been completely happy; and he certainly would have been but for an infirmity which began to afflict him, and the persecution of his brothers. His misery both of mind and body, I can best describe by reading a portion of his extraordinary will, which he at this time executed, and having that song sung which he at the same time composed, with special reference to the torture he was undergoing.

Extracts from Beethoven's Will."O ye who consider or declare me to be hostile, obstinate, or misanthropic, what injustice ye do me! Ye know not the secret causes of that which to you wears such an appearance. My heart and my mind were from childhoodprone to the tender feelings of affection. Nay, I was always disposed even to perform great actions. Born, with a lively, ardent disposition, susceptible to the diversions of society, I was forced at an early age to renounce them and to pass my life in seclusion. If I strove at any time to set myself above all this, O, how cruelly was I driven back, by the doubly painful experience of my defective hearing! And yet it was not possible for me to say to people, 'Speak louder, for I am deaf.' Ah! how could I proclaim the defect of a sense, that I once possessed in the highest perfection, in a perfection in which few of my colleagues possess or ever did possess it? Indeed, I cannot. Forgive me then, if ye see me draw back when I would gladly mingle among you."O God, thou lookest down upon my misery; thou knowest that it is accompanied with love of my fellow creatures, and a disposition to do good! O, men, when ye shall read this, think that ye have wronged me!I go to meet death with joy; if he comes before I have had occasion to develop all my professional abilities, he will come too soon for me, in spite of my hard fate, and I should wish that he had delayed his arrival. But even then I am content, for he will release me from a state of endless suffering. Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee with firmness. Farewell."

Extracts from Beethoven's Will.

"O ye who consider or declare me to be hostile, obstinate, or misanthropic, what injustice ye do me! Ye know not the secret causes of that which to you wears such an appearance. My heart and my mind were from childhoodprone to the tender feelings of affection. Nay, I was always disposed even to perform great actions. Born, with a lively, ardent disposition, susceptible to the diversions of society, I was forced at an early age to renounce them and to pass my life in seclusion. If I strove at any time to set myself above all this, O, how cruelly was I driven back, by the doubly painful experience of my defective hearing! And yet it was not possible for me to say to people, 'Speak louder, for I am deaf.' Ah! how could I proclaim the defect of a sense, that I once possessed in the highest perfection, in a perfection in which few of my colleagues possess or ever did possess it? Indeed, I cannot. Forgive me then, if ye see me draw back when I would gladly mingle among you.

"O God, thou lookest down upon my misery; thou knowest that it is accompanied with love of my fellow creatures, and a disposition to do good! O, men, when ye shall read this, think that ye have wronged me!

I go to meet death with joy; if he comes before I have had occasion to develop all my professional abilities, he will come too soon for me, in spite of my hard fate, and I should wish that he had delayed his arrival. But even then I am content, for he will release me from a state of endless suffering. Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee with firmness. Farewell."

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