The Master of the Musicians. A story of Handel's days, etc

Preface

I am indebted to the Life of George Frederick Handel, by Victor Schœlcher, and to Mr W. S. Rockstro's biography of the great composer, for the incidents which are introduced in this story. An attempt has been made to bring the musician prominently forward as the noble benefactor of the Foundling Hospital. By the performance of the ' Messiah,' and others of his celebrated works, on several occasions, he realised the large sum of ten thousand pounds, which he devoted to the funds of the institution. When we consider that for some years Handel struggled against the most serious monetary difficulties, we can better appreciate the tender concern for friendless and forsaken children, which prompted him to give this

PREFACE.

iv generous help to the Foundling Hospital. We may take this generosity also as a sign of the really noble and compassionate heart which beat under a somewhat rough exterior, and made him emphatically the friend of the poor and helpless little ones cast adrift in the world. After the lapse of a century and a half, Handel lives by his music, which is continu ally sounding in our cathedrals and churches, and appealing to our minds' most sacred as pirations. Let his name also be held in grateful remembrance as the generous friend of the homeless and deserted children, who are still sheltered and cared for in the Foundling Hospital. It may be hardly necessary to say that Handel spoke in broken English, which I have not attempted to imitate in this story, and that the blind child and those connected with her are wholly imaginary characters.

Woodside, Leigh Woods, Clifton, ityli September. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. LEFT AT THE FOUNDLING, I II. A SUPPLIANT, 13 III. REBELLION, 32 IV. MAY DAY AT THE FOUNDLING, .... 55 V. RELENTLESS, 76 VI. CHANGING MOODS, 9S VII. A SISTER'S LOVE, 121 VIII. DRIFTED AWAY, 137 IX. at st Crispin's, 155 X. THROUGH DARKNESS TO LIGHT, .... 169 XI. IN THE SHADOWS, 186 XII. MEMORIES, 205 XIII. UNKNOWN, 219 XIV. A MEETING, 236 XV. HER STORY, 252 XVI. MOTHER AND CHILD, 271 XVII. THE MUSIC WAKES, 2S3 XVIII. THE SILENT FRIEND, 300 XIX. FROM THE VANISHED PAST, 315 XX. RENUNCIATION, 33° LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PORTRAIT OF G. F. HANDEL, after T. Hudson, . Frontispiece PAGE THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL, . . . . . .28 THE FIREWORK MACHINE IN THE GREEN PARK, . . . 72 OLD CARLTON HOUSE, 86 VAUXHALL GARDENS, 112 THE CHAPEL OF THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL, .... 192 MARYLEBONF. GARDENS, 240 HANDEL'S HOUSE IN BROOK STREET, THE MASTER OF THE MUSICIANS

Chapter I Left At The Foundling

1742. — A BITTER north-east wind was driving sheets of half-frozen snow across the deserted thoroughfares in the northern outskirts of London in the early spring of 1742. The evening was closing in, and but few people were abroad, for, except for the flare of the link-boys' torches, the city would soon be wrapped in darkness. It was no easy matter for a stranger to find her way in what was to her an unknown country ; and a woman, with a cloak wrapped round her slight figure, with the hood drawn over her head, stopped now and again, uncertain which turn to take. Presently she accosted a man, well protected from the weather by a cloak of many capes.. asking in a low, sweet voice, which betrayed A her, even to the somewhat callous and indifferent observer, to be a lady of quality. ' Am I near Lamb's Conduit Field ? ' ' A good half-mile yet.

What do ye seek there ? ' ' The Foundling Hospital.' ' Ah ! You've got a hinfant here under your cloak. Give us a look.' ' No, no,' she said, shrinking back, and she was hastening on her way when the man, who was a watchman, called after her, — ' You've got to turn to the right, missus, then to the left, and cross the road, and you'll see the gate right in front. And the basket — ' he added. ' But I don't advise you to put the child into it ; they be often dead of cold before they are taken out. Hi ! ' he said, as he stumped on by her side, ' slacken your pace a bit, and I'll bear you company and set you right. It isn't much out of my beat.' ' Thank you,' she said, hurrying on. ' I think I can find my way now.' ■ Now, don't 'ee be so 'igh and mighty. There's many a one has been in the same boat as you find yourself, and no fault of theirs.

I'm main sQrry for you, my dear.' In the dim, uncertain light of the closing day, the watchman saw a pair of dark, lustrous eyes turned on him from beneath the shadow of the hood. ' I do not want your sorrow or your pity,' she said, in a tone which forbade any further inquiry, and made the watchman give a low whistle, as he said, — ' Then you sha'n't have it, my proud madam, and you may take the wrong turning for aught I care. I hope you'll take it, and find yourself miles away from the 'orspital, and serve you right.' ' Oh ! I have a sore heart,' she exclaimed aloud. ' I need not have repulsed that man. He meant well, but I cannot, cannot bear anyone to speak to me of my forlorn condition.' The baby, nestling against her under the folds of the cloak, gave a little cry. ' My sweet one, my poor baby,' she said, as she pressed it to her breast, 'you will cry in vain very soon, and no mother nigh to comfort you.

There is naught else that I can do for you. God knows ! I do it for the best.' She did not take the wrong turning, and, following the directions of the watchman, she reached the outer door of the hospital before the light had quite faded. There was a bench just outside the porch, and, utterly exhausted, the poor wayfarer sank down on it, and opening the cloak looked down on the face of the child with whom she was about to part. The baby face upturned to hers was very fair, and, putting up its tiny hand to her mother's face, she gave a soft coo and 'a three-cornered smile of bliss,' which went to her mother's heart. 'Ah! my Pearl, my little Pearl, shall I ever look into thy eyes again ? Such eyes ! Blue as the sky, and sure with a look of understanding and love unaccustomed at thy tender age.

Two months all but four days. I dare not keep thee longer, or they would not take thee in. See, here is thy token tied with the blue riband ; ' and as the locket set with small precious stones, with a large pearl in the centre, dangled before the baby, she clutched at it and tried to convey it to her mouth, which was her way of showing her approval of the glitter ing bauble. The baby was daintily clothed in a blue-and-white linen frock with blue sleeves. A fine holland cap, with a cambric border and ruffle of lace, was tied with a blue riband under the dimpled chin, and an over cape of scarlet cloth edged with fur had a hood of the same material pulled over her head. 'Delay is useless. God will take pity on thee, my pet lamb. But, oh! how can I part from thee? Yet it must be done.' Then rising, she pulled the bell-rope which hung at the side of the outer door and waited while the loud clang, clang sounded like a knell in her ears.

The baby started and opened her blue eyes inquiringly. Her mother covered h:r face with kisses, and, reassured, the child again began the low, gurgling coo of contentment which is music in a mother's ear. The door opened, and a porter's voice said, — ' Have you brought a child ? ' ' Yes.' ' Girl or boy ? ' 'A girl. ' Pass in.' The mother did as she was bid, and under the flicker of a dim oil lamp she entered a wide hall. She was not alone there, and some six or eight babies were lifting up their voices in a variety of cries, shrill and feeble for the most part, though the chorus was dominated by one or two roars, long and loud, which came from the lungs of two infants, who were evidently stronger than the rest. 'The basket has just been cleared,' the porter said. ' You must wait your turn till they are disposed of.' ' Are they left in the basket without a word from — from their mothers ? ' The man nodded. ' Does it hold so many ? ' Yonder is two loads,' was the reply, and as he spoke a man passed with the empty basket, which was fastened by stout rings to chains which sus pended it at the outer door.

Two mothers who, like herself, had brought their children to the hospital, now came, one weeping bitterly, from the table where the children were laid for inspection. The nurses were carrying away the infants, two at a time, towards a door at the further end of the hall. Suddenly the poor, weeping mother turned, and, throwing up her arms, cried, — ' No, no, let me take him back, I can't — I can't leave him.' ' Don't be a fool,' her companion said ; ' you'll soon have another, I bet.' Her face was hard, and her manner defiant. It was easy to see what her past had been. ' Pass out, pass out,' the man who had brought in the wayfarer with little Pearl called in a loud, strident voice. ' Let me kiss him once more— once more,' the poor mother cried ; but her companion seized her roughly by the arm, and the heavy inner door closed upon them both. ' Now it's your turn,' the man said, touching the woman on the shoulder.

She started, as if it all had been a dreadful dream, and walked up to the table, behind which a man and woman were waiting, and stood there with her child in her arms, like a criminal awaiting sentence. A female child ? ' Yes!' What is her age ? ' Seven weeks and four days.' The date of birth ? ' The first of February.' The woman held out her arms for the child, and the man said in the same hard, business-like voice, — ' Give her to the nurse.' One passionate clasp of the baby form, one kiss on the rounded cheek, and the child was handed across the table to the nurse. ' She has the required token,' the nurse said, drawing out the locket attached to the blue rib bon, and, untying the knot which fastened it, she handed it to the man with a significant glance. He took it, and attaching a label to it, on which he wrote the date of birth and reception at the Foundling, he read it aloud to the poor mother, who stood with folded hands, mute now and calm. 'Born Feb. i, 1742; received at the Foundling Hospital, March 19, the same year; aged seven weeks and four days.' 'You swear this is correct?' he said, addressing the mother. ' Yes ; I swear it.' ' Has she been named at baptism ? ' 'No! 'We will see to that.' ' Good-evening ! ' Surely the bitterness of death is passed,' she murmured, and turning without another look at her child as she lay in the nurse's arms, she walked down the hall, and went out into the night. ' That's a valuable token,' the nurse said when the mother was gone ; and look at her clothes, they are all of fine stuffs, and well made.

The lace on the cap is worth a crown a yard, if it's worth a groat.' ' Ah ! ' the man said, ' she belongs to the gentlefolks. I daresay came when she wasn't wanted, like a lot of the others. Bless me, there's the bell again. Tell you what, Mistress Prynne, we shall be as full of babies presently as a hive is full of bees. It is just /r^-posterous taking of 'em in wholesale like this.' As he spoke, the basket was being brought in again, with two pinched and half-frozen babies in it, and the same examination was gone through. No questions were asked, because there was no one to question. These forlorn little waifs of humanity were cast upon the charity of the Foundling Hospital, nameless and uncared for, whether they lived or died, apparently of no im portance to those who had sent them there.

Once a year, if not oftener, there was an assembly at the hospital of what is called in the records of the institution, 'a fine appearance of persons of quality and distinction at the baptism of the foundlings.' On the 25th of March 1741, the first ceremony of the kind had taken place, and on the anniver sary of the next year, 1742, a similar scene was enacted. Carriages, with gorgeous hammer-cloths and powdered footmen in attendance, drew up before the door. The Duke of Bedford was President of the Institution, and he was amongst the first arrivals, with the Duke and Duchess of Richmond and Countess of Pembroke. But the most prominent person in the assembly had neither coronet nor earthly honour to distinguish him. Modest and simple in his manners and bearing, with no undue sense of his own importance as the originator of this good scheme for provid ing shelter for homeless and destitute infants, whose very existence was in many instances a shame to their mothers, Captain Coram, now just passed his seventy-fifth birthday, stood to receive the President and Governors, who had entered with zeal into his plans, and had given not only money to promote it, but their personal interest in its success.

The children that had been admitted since the last baptism day were brought in the arms of nurses to the font, and several of the visitors undertook to be their sponsors and give them their names. It is commonly said, that all babies of a few weeks old are very much alike, and that it is hard to distinguish one from another. On this occasion one little baby girl attracted the attention of one of the ladies. ' Let me name that child,' she said. ' Give her to me ; she is a lovely baby. What extraordinary eyes ! ' ' Yes, my lady,' the nurse who held her said, ' she has wonderful eyes.' Then in a whisper, — ' We think, my lady, she must come of quality — her token is valuable.' ' Sweet little creature,' the lady said. ' Let me see her token.' The tokens of the children were all kept securely in an iron chest, the key of which was now produced.

The token with the large central pearl — duly labelled with the date of the baby's admission — and her little garments carefully folded and tied together, with another label with the same date written on it, were now laid before the lady. She looked at them carefully and sorrowfully, opening the locket and finding there a thick curl of golden hair fastened with two pearls. Two letters faintly scratched on the inside of the locket seemed to strike her. ' M. H. — M. H.,' she repeated. ' That is surely strange.' She returned the locket to the nurse, saying, with a sigh, — 'Poor little creature, there is some sad story connected with her. I shall be her sponsor and name her Pearl Sidney. It is one of my names, and it sounds well.' And then the baby was taken into a pair of tender, compassionate arms and carried to the font, where the service was already begun and a number of names gathered from the past were given to the little foundlings.

Milton and Cromwell, Shakespeare and Tudor, were amongst them, and little Pearl Sidney was remarkable for uttering no cry as the water was hastily poured over her face, and she was re ceived into Christ's Church. The good old man, Captain Coram, who stood by watching the ceremony, was, like many others, struck by the infantine loveliness of little Pearl. 'You've got the gem of the whole collection, my lady,' he said, ' and you have found a very appropriate name for her.' ' I did not find it,' the lady said ; ' it came to her by inheritance. Her token is a locket with a large centre pearl' There was no time for more. The babies — some of them crying lustily, others too weak to do more than feebly wail — were borne away by the nurses and after a last kiss on the baby's face, little Pearl was taken from her sponsor, and disappeared with the others through the chapel door.

Chapter II

A SUPPLIANT 1750. — It was an April day in 1750, when the spring sunshine did its best to find an entrance into a house in Brook Street, Grosvenor Square. The hall, with the black - and - white checker work of the floor, was illuminated by one slant ing beam of light, which came from a window above and happened to rest upon the figures of two girls, who, seated on an oak bench, were waitng for an audience with the master of the house. ' I am dead tired, Charity,' the elder of the two said, with a yawn. ' Give it up, dear ; he won't see you. He is in an awful temper. Hark ! he is storming now,' and from the room on the right hand of the hall there came the sound of a loud voice, followed by a violent thud as of something falling. ' Come, I am quite frightened. Let us go.' ' No ; I mean to wait, if I wait another hour — I won't be beaten.

There's a chariot driving up — a vastly fine one,' Charity said, as the porter in charge of the door opened it half way, nodded, and closed it again. ' No one is coming in, that is one comfort,' Charity said. ' We shall be ad mitted next.' ' And when you are, what will you say ? ' What shall I say ! ' the girl exclaimed. ' You know what I shall say. I must hear the " Messiah," and I shall beg Mr Handel to give us tickets.' ' He will send you off quick enough, and think you a forward girl into the bargain.' ' He won't ! He has a good heart, if a rough tongue at times. He will listen to me.' ' Well ' — with a prolonged yawn — ' I hope you are not mistaken, that's all. Oh dear ! I wish we had never come. It will end in a scolding from Aunt Prue, and you will cry, and — ' Penrose Treherne's prophecy, as to the evil re sults of this expedition to Mr Handel's house, was cut short by the irritable clanging of a bell, and the opening of the door just beyond the place where the two girls were seated. ' Mr Jennens's chariot ! ' bawled the porter, flinging open the hall door, and two servants in livery immediately took up their places on either side, making signs of reverence for their master as he walked across the hall with slow and stately steps.

He evidently gloried in all the pomp and cir cumstance of wealth, and had the air of a man who enjoyed impressing those around him with his magnificence. He bowed low in a gallant fashion to the two gentlewomen who, scarcely knowing why they did so, rose as he passed. There were no traces on his full, round face of the stormy interview he had just had with the great composer, for whom he had compiled the libretto of the ' Messiah ' ; for Handel resented any sharp criticism of his music by one who had only to concern himself with the words which were adapted to it, and he had just ex pressed himself on this subject with some heat and vehemence. But now, when the door closed on Mr Jennens and the sound of the feet of the four horses of his chariot was heard as they went down the street, Charity said to the porter, — ' Can we go in now ? ' You must wait till he sounds the bell.

Sit down.' But Charity was already at the door, and, in defiance of all precedent, she tapped at it. To her surprise, a voice answered ' Come in,' and in another moment she found herself in Handel's presence. A large quarto volume lay on the floor, flung there in the first flush of his anger with the late visitor. But there was no anger on his face or in his voice now, as Charity approached him with a profound curtsey — her sister following timidly behind. It must be remembered that Handel spoke in broken English, and never was able to sound the vv in any word, but always substituted v. ' What is it you want to say, eh ? I have singers enough, and some of 'em I wish were dumb.' ' I do not want to sing, sir, but I do desire to listen.' ' Listen ! Well, what hinders you ? ' ' Sir, I have no money to pay for my ticket.

I came to beg you to grant me leave to be present on May-Day at the Foundling Hospital, when you will open the new organ, your great gift, and the " Messiah " will be performed. Ah, sir, do, I pray you, give me this treat and I will bless you.' ' Tut, tut, child ! I tell you that the place will be crammed. There won't be a foothold.' ' Ah, sir ! but I am very small ; I shall not take much room. See, it is but a little foot,' and she put out a tiny, high-heeled shoe from under the blue cotton skirt, over which a dainty chintz was looped up through each pocket hole, garnished with bows of red ribbon. ' Cherry, Cherry,' her sister said, 'you are too bold.' The great master leaned back in his chair, and a smile broke over his face as he surveyed the little petitioner with kindly eyes.

Emboldened by the smile, Cherry drew nearer, and kneeling on the footstool placed before the carved oak chair where Handel sat, she clasped her little hands and said, — ' Be kind to me, sir. I know you are kind and good, or you would not do so much for the poor little Foundlings.' Again Handel smiled and said, — ' But you are not a Foundling child ; you are bedecked with ribands and pretty things ; you are in no need of charity.' ' Ah, sir ! you do not know ; I will tell you Penrose and I live with Aunt Prue, who hates — yes, hates — anything pretty.' ' You into the bargain, then ? ' Handel said, chuckling. 'She does not love me,' Cherry said, with an arch look ; ' she never lets slip the occasion for telling us, Penrose and I, that we owe all to her charity.' l; ' And it is the truth, Cherry,' the elder sister said ; ' it is the truth.' ' Maybe it is,' and the little head, on which rested a small straw hat, garnished with ribands to match those on her dress, was tossed scornfully. ' Maybe it is, sir,' she went on, addressing Handel, ' but I would fain not hear it fifty times, and be told I ought to be wearing a brown stuff frock, and a white bib and a cap, the like of my grandmother's. Do you understand, sir? ' ' Methinks I do, child: good deeds boasted of lose their value.' ' Yes, yes,' Cherry said, clapping her small hands in an ecstasy. 'Yes, yes, hear Mr Handel, Penrose, and mind what he says.' The great man, though without wife or child of his own, had always a soft place in his large heart for children.

Anyone young and fair like Charity Treherne had an attraction for him. He rather enjoyed looking down on her from his chair, and watching the varying emotions on her sweet face. A suppliant like Cherry would not plead in vain. ' But hearken, little lady. I must know that you have a caretaker if I grant you a pass. ' Penrose will come with me ! ' Handel shook his head. ' You must have a stronger protector ; there will be a mighty crush and press, and you are too young, both of you, to encounter it alooe.' ' Penrose is twenty, sir, and I am sixteen. I wishs she said, passionately, ' I wish I looked older — they all think of me and call me a child. I am not a child. I want to grow old ! ' ' Ha ! ha ! little lady, that want will soon be satis fied. Would to Heaven other wishes were as sure of being granted.

But as to this longing of yours to hear the " Messiah," how comes it about ? ' ' I had a friend,' Cherry said, ' who sings the music. She had a lovely voice, and when on Sunday evenings she struck the notes on the harpsi chord, and sang " I know that my Redeemer liveth," and " He shall feed His flock like a shepherd," I was lifted up — up — I scarce know whither, but it was as if Heaven opened.' Cherry's face was alight with genuine enthusiasm, and instead, as Penrose feared, the great master would weary of her sister's rhapsody, he said, — ' Yes, yes, lifted up, that is true of music ; lifted up, yes — go on, and tell me who this friend was.' ' Alack, sir, she is gone, and we know not whither. She had dealings for a time with Aunt Prue, who keeps the shop where gentry come to sell old wares when they want money, and she lodged in the little back chamber.

But this gentle woman would come and sit in the parlour, and, as I tell you, sing Italian songs — songs grand and beautiful, but not, oh ! not like the songs from the " Messiah," and my friend used to "say that I ought to hear the choruses, and even she begged Aunt Prue to let me go with her to hear them, and she said I was too young.' 'That was not the only reason,' interposed the grave and practical Penrose. ' Well, Aunt Prue said it was. You need not interrupt me, Penrose. So now,' Cherry con tinued, ' the one desire of my heart is to hear the whole of the grand music when all the hundred voices cry hallelujah, which this gentlewoman said was as if all the angels in Heaven were sounding God's praise.' 'Do you sing yourself, child?' Handel asked, sitting upright and gazing down into the little, upturned face. ' No, sir, only when I can't help it for the fulness of my heart.' ' Sing now,' he said. ' Let me hear.

Then he rose and going to a harpsichord struck a note. Cherry sprang to her feet, and burst forth — as a bird might— into an air then popular. Her notes were thin, and her voice untrained. The great master knew at once that she would never have power enough to undertake any of the solos in his numerous works. But the spirit of music was in this little, frail body, and he knew it. ' You are not strong,' he said. ' You must not let her strain her organ,' he said almost sharply to Penrose. ' No, sir, I do not let Cherry do so. I bid her be content with the violin.' ' The violin ! ' he said, jumping up and seizing one of the many instruments which lay in a variety of cases on a large sideboard. ' Take this, child, and call music from it. It is next to the human voice, nay, above it, when touched with a skilled hand, which answers the dictates of the spirit.' ' Ah ! ' Cherry said, ' I can play this a little — a very little.

The gentlewoman of whom I spoke left me a violin, and she taught me how to play.' ' The gentlewoman ? ' Handel asked roughly. 'Give her a name; give her a name.' Cherry shook her head. ' Nay, she bid us call her Speranza — that was all. Aunt Prue calls her Madame Hope.' ' And you know no more of her ? ' ' No, sir ; nor whither she is gone. She lodged with Aunt Prue for two months and then dis appeared, as she had come, all unawares, and that is all I know.' 'Well, strike up. No, no, the A is flat. Again, again ; ' and then there came from the violin a wail of infinite sadness, a sound of y7earning and longing which struck an answering chord in the great master's heart. ' There,' he said, ' that is enough. You have shown me what I wanted to be sure of — that music is a reality to you.' 'Nay, sir,' the girl said, ' nay.