Great German Composers | Page 6

to
Bononcini in the Strand, and suddenly meets Handel, who cuts him
dead. Nothing disconcerted, the dean moves on, muttering his famous
epigram:
'Some say that Signor Bononcini, Compared to Handel, is a ninny;
While others vow that to him Handel Is hardly fit to hold a candle.
Strange that such difference should be 'Twixt tweedledum and
tweedledee.'
"As Handel enters the 'Turk's Head' at the corner of Regent Street, a
noble coach and four drives up. It is the Duke of Chandos, who is
inquiring for Mr. Pope. Presently a deformed little man, in an iron-gray
suit, and with a face as keen as a razor, hobbles out, makes a low bow
to the burly Handel, who, helping him into the chariot, gets in after him,
and they drive off together to Cannons, the duke's mansion at
Edge-ware. There they meet Mr. Addison, the poet Gay, and the witty
Arbuthnot, who have been asked to luncheon. The last number of the
Spectator is on the table, and a brisk discussion soon arises between
Pope and Addison concerning the merits of the Italian opera, in which
Pope would have the better if he only knew a little more about music,

and could keep his temper. Arbuthnot sides with Pope in favor of Mr.
Handel's operas; the duke endeavors to keep the peace. Handel
probably uses his favorite exclamation, 'Vat te tevil I care!' and
consumes the recherche wines and rare viands with undiminished
gusto.
"The Magnificent, or the Grand Duke, as he was called, had built
himself a palace for £230,000. He had a private chapel, and appointed
Handel organist in the room of the celebrated Dr. Pepusch, who retired
with excellent grace before one manifestly his superior. On week-days
the duke and duchess entertained all the wits and grandees in town, and
on Sundays the Edgeware Road was thronged with the gay equipages
of those who went to worship at the ducal chapel and hear Mr. Handel
play on the organ.
"The Edgeware Road was a pleasant country drive, but parts of it were
so solitary that highwaymen were much to be feared. The duke was
himself attacked on one occasion; and those who could afford it never
traveled so far out of town without armed retainers. Cannons was the
pride of the neighborhood, and the duke--of whom Pope wrote,
'Thus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight'--
was as popular as he was wealthy. But his name is made still more
illustrious by the Chandos anthems. They were all written at Cannons
between 1718 and 1720, and number in all eleven overtures, thirty-two
solos, six duets, a trio, quartet, and forty-seven choruses. Some of the
above are real masterpieces; but, with the exception of 'The waves of
the sea rage horribly,' and 'Who is God but the Lord?' few of them are
ever heard now. And yet these anthems were most significant in the
variety of the choruses and in the range of the accompaniments; and it
was then, no doubt, that Handel was feeling his way toward the great
and immortal sphere of his oratorio music. Indeed, his first oratorio,
'Esther,' was composed at Cannons, as also the English version of 'Acis
and Galatea.'"
But Handel had other associates, and we must now visit Thomas
Britton, the musical coal-heaver. "There goes the famous small-coal

man, a lover of learning, a musician, and a companion of gentlemen."
So the folks used to say as Thomas Britton, the coal-heaver of
Clerkenwell Green, paced up and down the neighboring streets with his
sack of small coal on his back, destined for one of his customers.
Britton was great among the great. He was courted by the most
fashionable folk of his day. He was a cultivated coal-heaver, who,
besides his musical taste and ability, possessed an extensive knowledge
of chemistry and the occult sciences.
Britton did more than this. He gave concerts in Aylesbury Street,
Clerkenwell, where this singular man had formed a dwelling-house,
with a concert-room and a coal-store, out of what was originally a
stable. On the ground-floor was the small-coal repository, and over that
the concert-room--very long and narrow, badly lighted, and with a
ceiling so low that a tall man could scarcely stand upright in it. The
stairs to this room were far from pleasant to ascend, and the following
facetious lines by Ward, the author of the "London Spy," confirm this:
"Upon Thursdays repair To my palace, and there Hobble up stair by
stair But I pray ye take care That you break not your shins by a
stumble;
"And without e'er a souse Paid to me or my spouse, Sit as still as a
mouse At the top of the house, And there you shall hear how we
fumble."
Nevertheless beautiful duchesses and the best society in