As to terms, Murray will, I dare say, either little human compunctions and kindnesses, just halve the profits with you, or give a price which like the rest of the world. will be something less than the half would amount to; and this, in either case, when you come to re-halve it, will be little enough. Nobody knows better than myself what cuttings, and parings, and clippings, and loppings, and shearings, and clearings there are, before the poor author's share is to be measured off." I use this little extract, one of many similar that might be quoted, to introduce a word for the book sellers. I firmly believe that they are slandered in this sort of writing, that they are no worse than any other class of tradesmen. It is not from the dishonesty of the publisher, so much as from his ignorance and bad taste, that authors suffer; and he is only a middleman between them and the public, and reflects the public vulgarity and injudiciousness pretty accurately. THE LATE MR. DOUGLAS JERROLD. MR. HEPWORTH DIXON said, in the Athenæum, that if every one who had received a kindness from the hand of Douglas Jerrold flung a flower on his grave, the spot would be marked by a mountain of roses. Within these three years, I have been once or twice his debtor for kind and encouraging words, and I would willingly throw my little flower. On the very few occasions upon which I saw him personally,-not more than twice or thrice, and under his own roof,-I found him the most genial, sincere, and fatherly of men; perfectly simple, a man who looked straight at you, and spoke without arriere pensée,-without any of that double consciousness which makes the talk of some men of talent disagreeable,-and most thoroughly human, That" abounding humanity" which I once said elsewhere is the distinguishing characteristic of Mr. Jerrold's writing shone out conspicuously in all his behaviour. It was never necessary, as it is in conversing with too many, to say, by impli cation, "Never mind the book, and the reputation, and the wit, and the wits, and what I am thinking of you-am I not a man and a brother?" Mr. Jerrold recognised the manhood and the brotherhood so fully at starting that there was nothing to be said about it, and your intercourse with him went smoothly upon its true basis,-the natural "proclivity" of one human creature for another. The last time I saw him, he spoke of Mr. Wilkie Collins among the living, and Mr. Laman Blanchard among the dead, with particular cordiality. I then knew little of the personnel of literature, and missed, I doubt not, the full significance of what he said about others of whom he spoke in There is one thing, apart from direct dishonesty, from which, in the present machinery by which the public is supplied with books, the book-producers do really suffer, and sometimes cruelly. I mean the "STAR-SYSTEM." I know enough of theatrical matters to know that this has been the ruin of many a manager; and under my eyes I see it daily hampering, and sometimes ruining, book sellers. To pay some comparatively extravagant price to a writer who has a name-a selling name and send the one who is comparatively unknown to the wall, is, everybody knows, the actual system. What weak and worthless things a writer who has once made a "hit" may do is quite ridiculous. And, in the meantime, the writer who has not made a "hit," besides the consciousness that he is underpaid, has this additional annoyance, that, though he may have put more conscientious pains and better writing in his work than the "star," the chances are that hardly anybody will notice it. For it is a curious fact that the general public knows nothing about" writing," and by no means draws nice distinctions in the matter. Of course, pub-kind terms. lishers do not. I took up once upon a publisher's table a little book somewhat resembling in its character Mr. Warren's "Diary of a Late Physician." The publisher noted the resemblance. I said, "Yes-only a great deal better written." The publisher stood aghast! and to this day I am sure he thinks it a fine joke. Yet I spoke the simple truth. The book was better written, and, as it had other merits, it has made way satisfactorily to all parties. Mr. Jerrold had a peculiar fondness for children. On the same evening, I heard him speak, with positive tears of gratification in his eyes, of a sketch of Mr. Leech, in which some gutter-bred little ones were represented doing the honours of a mock party among each other. No man that ever wrote has said so much about "babies." In the middle of a political leader, you would find such an allusion as-"sweeter than the sweetest baby." And his writings are full of a gracious domestic purity, quite distinct from the clap-trap of the play-wright or the novelist. My first idea, however, in quoting Southey's letter was to speak a word for the publishers. They are very ignorant, but the irtrade is full of The poetry that was in Mr. Jerrold has, I susrisks and disappointments and I do not think they pect, been much underrated by the general public. are as greedy as they are represented to be. My And I will conclude these unworthy words (I would own experience has been short, but I must willingly have deferred flinging my little flower frankly say that I have found "the trade till in a freer writing mood than at present, but it much like other human beings engaged in £ s. d. is better done at once), by quoting a very fine pursuits; plainly showing that they are under passage from his "Chronicles of Clovernook,”pressure from without," but tempering,-inevi- which, he told me, as, indeed, any one might guess, tably so,-tempering commercial severities with contained more of his true self, as he would like - very to be known and remembered, than any other of makes answer to them; alike to them and all to the tophis writings. most blossom of the mighty tree as to the greensward daisy, constant flower, with innocent and open look still frankly staring at the mid-day sun." At this time the declining sun flamed goldenly in the west. It was a glorious hour. The air fell upon the heart like balm; the sky, gold and vermilion-flecked, hung, [a celestial tent, above mortal man; and the fancy-quickened ear heard sweet, low music from the heart of earth, rejoicing in that time of gladness. "Did ever God walk the earth in finer weather P" said the Hermit. "And how gloriously the earth manifests the grandeur of the Presence! How its blood dances and glows in the Splendour! It courses the trunks of trees, and is red and golden in their blossoms. It sparkles in the myriad flowers, consuming itself in sweetness. Every little earthblossom is as an altar, burning incense. The heart of man, creative in its overflowing happiness, finds or makes a fellowship in all things. The birds have passing kindred with his winged thoughts. He hears a stranger, sweeter triumph in the skiey rapture of the lark, and the cuckooconstant egoist!-speaks to him from the deep, distant wood, with a strange swooning sound. All things living are a part of him. In all, he sees and hears a new and deep significance. In that green pyramid, row above row, what a host of flowers! How beautiful and how rejoicing! What a sullen, soul-less thing, the Great Pyramid, to that blossoming chesnut! How different the work and workmen! A torrid monument of human wrong, haunted by flights of ghosts that not ten thousand thousand years can lay-a pulseless carcase built of sweat and blood to garner rotten ness. And that Pyramid of leaves grew in its strength, like silent goodness, heaven blessing it; and every year it smiles, and every year it talks to fading generations. What a congregation of spirits-spirits of the season!-it gathered, circle above circle, in its blossoms; and verily they speak to man with blither voice, than all the tongues of Egypt. And at this delicious season, man listens and Evenings such as this," continued the IIermit, after a pause, "seem to me the very holiday time of death; an lently down on man. Here, on earth, he gets hard names hour in which the slayer, throned in glory, smiles benevo among us for the unseemliness of his looks, and the cruelty of his doings; but in an hour like this, death seems to me loving and radiant,—a great bounty, spreading an immortal feast, and showing the glad dwelling-place he leads men to." "It would be great happiness could we always think so. For so considered, death is indeed a solemn beneficence-a smiling liberator, turning a dungeon door upon immortal day. But when death, with slow and torturing device, hovers about his groaning prey; when, like a despot cunning in his malice, he makes disease and madness his dallying serfs" "Merciful God!" cried the Hermit, "spare me that final terror! Let me not be whipped and scourged by long, long suffering to death-be dragged, a shrieking victim, downward to the grave; but let my last hour be solemn, tranquil, that so, with open, unblenched eyes, I may look at coming death, and feel upon my cheek his kiss of peace!" I think this passage will even add a zest to your enjoyment of the sunny July weather in which you will read it. May such "remembrances" of Douglas Jerrold as he would have wished us to cherish, wait upon the approaching evenings on which we hope each to inscribe his own IN MEMORIAM ! GEORGE FREDERIC EVERY one who takes the slightest interest in public events, must lately have heard, over and over again, the name of Handel, the composer. A household name it has been for a hundred years in England, and now it has been brought before the world in advertisements of "The Handel Festival," and various memoirs of Handel. Handelian literature abounds on all sides; and, as if enough were not already said on the subject, we must even run with the stream, and add a drop to the torrent. Perhaps, after all, enough has not been said about Handel; for, although more than a century and a-half has elapsed since his birth, there are few who know more of him than his mere name, and a few of his most popular works. It may be that while admiring him as a master of his art, many have longed to inquire into his private history. To such, and indeed to all others who care to hear anything about him, our slight memoir will not be unacceptable. We would have him in these days, when the results of his genius are brought before our notice, known for his high and estimable qualities of heart as well as mind. The former will gain our esteem, while the latter will simply command our admiration. HANDEL. Now, we can all, it is true, appreciate an artistic work; a picture, it may be a poem (for surely this may be considered artistic), or a musical composition, without knowing the artist: but if that artist be our friend, then we take a personal interest in his production. It then becomes to us a living representation of his mind; we see his thoughts in each particular; we mentally wander with him while contemplating his work, through the tangible result of his genius. Our readers think thus, too, and will tarry with us while we make them acquainted with a rough outline of the days of that giant of harmony, George Frederic Handel. We will not weary them with a statistical account of every ode or sonnet written by him, convinced that the proceeding could not be very interesting; but we will take them briefly through the principal paths of his life, culling as we go on, the choicest flowers he planted in his way. We will try to show them, the chequered phases of his career, and lead them to participate in his joys, and sympathise with his sorrows. Then, while listening to his compositions, they will perhaps see something more in them than the mere combination of sounds, or the scientific arrangement of the infantine community, taking little heed of those amusements so congenial to others of his age, we can imagine him living in a world of his own, all his thoughts concentrated on the one object of music. It is probable that his mother may have encouraged his attachment to music, although his father did not approve of this degraded taste, as he called it. He looked on music as a useless occupation, one only worth the attention of Minims, crotchets, and quavers, for It seems the fate of those who have attained eminence of any kind, to have waded to it through a dreary gulf of sorrow and disappointment. an idle hour. Sorrow and disappointment, we know, are the in-him embodied nothing more than the tinkling of heritance of humanity; but they appear pre-eminently to belong to the highly gifted among mankind. The common clay, the dull lethargic soul, generally passes over an even, unbroken track, from the cradle to the tomb. a certain assemblage of wires. The prosecution of the legal profession promised, in perspective, the tinkle of something more precious and solid than wire. So he still hoped to make the boy a lawyer. He went blundering on at this notion month after month, but at length he seems to have arrived at the conclusion, that all his efforts towards the accomplishment of this end would prove abortive, and after some time tacitly acknowledged the futility of his hopes, by per George Frederic Handel, or George Fridirec, as his German biographers write him, was born at Halle, in Lower Saxony, either in 1684 or 1685. The former of these dates stands on his tomb in Westminster Abbey; but the latter is generally supposed to be correct. His father was a sur-mitting his son's entrance into the desecrated geon, and wished to make his son a lawyer; but ground, that is to say he absolutely allowed him the boy, at a very early age, seems to have testi- to take lessons on the organ. fied a strong predilection for the musical art. His This was a wonderful concession, but even this mother's name was Dorothea Taust, the daughter was but a preliminary to a more decided step; for of George Taust, pastor of Giebichenstein. She in 1696, he allowed common sense to assert her survived her husband for thirty-three years, but dominion over obstinacy and bigotry, and taking was blind before her death, on the 24th February, the advice of friends, sent his son to Berlin, for 1730, when she had reached eighty years of age, the express purpose of studying the musical art. and her son was engaged in his London struggles. Dame Nature had whispered into his ear, "Don't be a lawyer, little George-don't waste your time over musty tomes and dry old parchments; you'll make nothing of those be a musician! I have poured the divine essence into your soul, don't quench it by the dull stream of the law." : Little George halted between two opinions-at least, he was tossed to and fro between his father and Dame Nature. The former instructed him in Latin, and religiously kept him away from all musical temptations; the latter inspired him with a dislike to Latin, and continued wafting through his soul dulcet gleams of harmony. It was a struggle between Nature and the father, and Nature carried the day. Extraordinary anecdotes are told of the boy's precocity, some people asserting that at seven years of age, he could, selftaught, play on the spinet; and at ten, had mastered that and several other instruments. No doubt there is some truth in these assertions, but we must also expect a little exaggeration. One thing, however, is certain, he was a child of unwearied industry in the art he loved, and possessed of extreme continuity of purpose. In these two attributes, we perceive germs of that character which, combined with genius, afterwards gave the world those matchless manuscripts, which may fairly be ranked among the wonders of the human mind. Even when a child, nothing seems to have kept him from his darling recreation. Abstracted from His genius, while it secured for him the attention of the professors of that city, also brought him under the notice of the Elector, who wished to become his patron; but this arrangement not suiting the views of the old doctor, the boy was immediately re-called to Halle. At this time a cloud was rising over his fate. Death rested in that cloud; the winged shaft already quivered in his grasp, ere long it flew and struck the poor old doctor. In 1697 he died, leaving his son badly off, for on examination, the testamentary bequests of the defunct Handel, proved anything but a satisfactory state of his pecuniary affairs. The prosecution of the study of music became. now an imperative necessity; and the child made it the purpose and object of his life. The next six years were spent in assiduous study; and at eighteen we find him taking a part in the German Opera, at Hamburgh. While there a strange adventure happened to him. It appears that the situation of the organist of Lubeck becoming vacant, Handel, with some of his brothers-in-art, applied for the situation, and repaired to Lubeck for the purpose of personally advancing their claim. To their astonishment on arriving at the city, they discovered, that an "incumbrance was attached to the vacancy in question, as the inseparable condition of its acceptance! This "incumbrance" was nothing more nor less than a wife, in the person of the late organist's daughter. We are not told whether the lady chanced to be young and handsome, or old and ugly; the result of the FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND. negotiation seems to warrant the supposition that the latter class of adjectives, belonged to her, for Handel and his compeers cried off. He, at any rate, was not disposed to take unto himself a wife. Euterpe was his first, his only love: she admitted no rival, and indeed he never seems to have meditated giving her one. Therefore the organist's daughter failed to become Madame Handel, and Handel himself lost both a situation and a wife.* In 1705, he came before the public as a composer, and brought out a work entitled "Almira, Queen of Castile; or, the Vicissitudes of Royalty." This opera, being approved of by the public, was followed by others, as well as by many cantatas. And here let me remark, that hundreds of persons believe Handel never wrote anything but oratorios -a great error: he was first known as an operatic writer, of the German school. From Hamburgh, Handel went to Italy: visited Florence, Venice, and other cities of interest, and then repaired to Rome. In the eternal city his genius again won for him the notice of the great. Secular and ecclesiastical magnates crowded their offers of civility on him. As their names are not so illustrious as his, whose biography we are writing, it is unnecessary to record them. During his residence in Italy he seems to have been very industrious, giving to the world numberless compositions. Among these, " Agrippina," composed at Florence in three weeks; and the "Resurreczione," written at Rome, are particularly worthy of remembrance. From Rome he went to Naples; and we can fancy him lingering night after night in the moonlit gardens which overhang the bay-the starry Italian sky above, the rippling waters of the bay beneath him, and the distant hilly outline filling up the glorious landscapes. In such a scene we can imagine him wandering night after night, inspired, by the pure beauty of nature, to the composition of those grand melodies, which, floating then before him, were afterwards destined to go forth to the world a monument of his fame. In Naples he wrote "Aci e Galattea," an Italian serenade, and several other pieces, both in French and Italian. After remaining some time longer in the land of song, he came to the determination of quitting it. This determination must have cost him a struggle, for the music-loving people of Italy were very sympathetic with him. There was, however, no help for it. The truth was he found it exceedingly difficult to obtain any occupa tion in that country which he could conscientiously accept: the established religion (Roman Catholic), being an insurmountable objection to good, honest, Lutheran Handel. So, he left Italy; and, travelling again to Germany, pitched his tent in Hanover. At the Court of the Elector, he met some Englishmen, who advised him to visit England. This advice was taken, and in 1710, this country * See the "Life of Handel" by Victor Schoelcher. 405 had the glory of receiving the justly renowned patriarch of sacred music. At that time Italian operas were in vogue in London, not in the same style of representation as at present, but still they were in vogue. The pens of some of the wise old writers of the day were busily engaged in trying to write these operas down, when Handel appeared as their champion, and boldly espoused their cause. It was now, "Steel, Addison, and others, versus Handel and Operas." Handel and Operas gained the cause. The Opera of " Armida," dedicated to Queen Anne, was brought out at the Haymarket in 1711, and was eminently successful. Queen Anne seems to have entertained a high appreciation for Handel; for, on his leaving England some months after, to fulfil his engagement as chapel-master to the Elector, George of Brunswick, she extorted from him a promise of returning as soon as he could obtain a fresh leave of absence. This promise was speedily fulfilled; a new leave of absence, for a short period, was obtained from the Elector; and in January of 1712, Handel was again in London. The Queen now testified her admiration of his talents in a very substantial manner, by granting him a pension of £200 per annum, a good sum in those days. This Time passed on, and Handel's leave having expired, he should have returned to Hanover, but he lingered still in the British metropolis. He certainly preferred England to Hanover. was all very well while Queen Anne lived, but Queens after all are but mortal; and so Handel found out, when in 1714 she died; and his old master, the deserted Elector of Brunswick came to the throne of England as George the First. Then might the recreant chapel-master have trembled, if the fear of losing royal patronage could make such a man tremble. For some time the truant did not venture into the presence of the King. He knew the reception he deserved; and, like a wise man he avoided that reception. A friendly Hanoverian baron, however, who was both an ardent admirer of the musician and a friend to the King, wishing to promote peace between them, managed to place the former professionally before the latter. His efforts were crowned with success the royal smile again shone on the face of Handel, and an carnest of its continuance was bestowed in another pension of £200 per annum, over and above the sum which he held from Queen Anne. He was also appointed music master to the daughters of the Prince of Wales; for this he received another £200 per annum, making £600 per annum of royal income alone. Fortune seemed to be overwhelming Handel with her gifts. Flattered, courted, wealthy-we see him the associate of princes, and the companion of the most brilliant characters of the day. He was revelling in a sunbeam of existence. It passed away from him-and then came the shadow and the storm; the shadow which, however, failed to obscure the bright inspirations of his genius; the storm which could not shake the firm integrity of his character. But although he seemed to be progressing in prosperity, a stealthy foe was rising against him. This foe was embodied in the growing tendency of the age to cast over all amusements that tone of immorality which was corrupting society. The works of Handel, from their parity, did not pander to the daily increasing licentiousness; and those to whom he and his compositions were a tacit reproach, began now to level their angry darts at him. He cared little or nothing for this; indeed, in the nobleness of his own nature, he treated these petty attacks with the contempt they deserved. He continued perserveringly in his own course, and brought out several pure gems of beauty, in. cluding the opera of "Amadigi," performed at Hamburgh, whither he had gone in 1717. On his return to London in 1718, he found the Italian Opera closed. Thus, "Othello's occupation gone," he was obliged to betake himself to something else, and accepted the situation of chapel-master to the Duke of Chandos, who lived in great splendour at "Cannons," a magnificent estate in the vicinity of Edgeware. In 1720 the Italian Opera was again opened a private subscription of £50,000 having been raised for the purpose, and Handel had all the arrangements entrusted to him. Thanks to the untiring energy he displayed, the judgment he showed in the selection of foreign artists, and the pains he took to render each performance as perfect as possible, the season terminated satisfactorily. The opera of "Radimistus," dedicated to the King, had been added to his former compositions. In 1720 he also wrote the oratorio of "Esther" for the Duke of Chandos-in whose service he continued, notwithstanding the calls on his time with regard to the Italian Opera. In re-traversing Handel's career, we cannot help remarking his unflagging industry. At this time, with the management of the opera resting on his shoulders, the direction of each performance depending solely on him, he never wavered in his duties as chapel-master; and amidst the press of business which these two engagements must have crowded on him, he could still find time to compose. A curious anecdote is related of him during the time of his residence at Cannons. We will not vouch for the authenticity of this tale, but as it is quite possible that it may have a foundation in truth, and has been often ascribed to him, it may be repeated. It is said, then, that on one occasion, as Handel was going to Cannons, he was caught in a shower of rain, and, of course, being unprovided with an umbrella (for geniuses never can take cognisance of the common necessaries of life), was obliged to seek shelter in a blacksmith's forge. Either Handel was in a silent mood, or else the blacksmith showed no conversational symptoms; for, in a little while, the latter began hammering away at his anvil, accompanying his work with a song. He must have been rather a churlish fellow to have left his visitor standing alone and watching the rain, while he sat singing and working at his ease. He little thought the use that visitor was making of him and his anvil; for it is said that Handel was listening all the time to the strokes of the hammer on the anvil, which, by producing two harmonic sounds, according in time and tune with the air the man sang, formed a bass accompani ment. Handel, on reaching home, remembered the air and the hammer accompaniment. He wrote down both, and thence sprang the composition known as "The Harmonious Blacksmith." We do not vouch for the truth of this anecdote. It seems, however, quite the sort of incident Handel would have seized hold of. To an inventive genius, like his, everything acts as a stimulus to the imagination; and we may be quite sure, that if such a strange harmonic accident as that named in the tale, ever happened to him, he would not leave it a barren fact. One thing connected with Handel and his compositions is worthy of notice here, namely, that while other composers made use of the minor key to produce an impression of melancholy, he inva riably adopted the major-thus stepping out of the beaten track. Again: the extreme independence of mind, which so eminently characterised him, was shown in his musical compositions, and he never hesitated to depart from established rules, when, by doing so, he could add to the excellence of his work. On one occasion, he introduced a semitone which was disapproved of by the musical critics of the day, who pronounced it incorrect. "Be it so," replied Geminiani, a musician of eminence; but such a semitone is worth a world.”* The independence, however, which we have just mentioned, together with an unwise impetuosity of temper, shown in business transactions between them, raised up a faction of the nobility against Handel, which ultimately proved very detrimental to his fortunes. They who had mainly contributed to the subscription for the opening of the opera, differed with him in some of their views relating to the management of that house. His independence offended them; they would not yield to him, neither would he submit to them. He had formerly asserted and established his supremacy in all matters relating to the theatrical management, and now, when they, partly from caprice, partly from other causes, turned against him, he would not condescend to regain their favour by mean sycophancy. A few firm friends still held to him; and their well-earned esteem he valued more than the senseless adulation of his titled followers. In 1727, he brought out another opera called "Admetus," including a very beautiful air, "Spera si, mio caro," which is considered one of his most finished morceaux. This same year, 1727, was again the scene of a coronation. George II. then * Schoelcher's "Life of Handel." |