The Worlds Great Men of Music | Page 7

to St. Matthew
that Mendelssohn, about a hundred years later discovered, studied with
so much zeal, and performed in Berlin, with so much devotion and
success.
Bach always preferred a life of quiet and retirement; simplicity had
ever been his chief characteristic. He was always very religious; his
greatest works voice the noblest sentiments of exaltation.
Bach's modesty and retiring disposition is illustrated by the following
little incident. Carl Philip Emmanuel, his third son, was cembalist in

the royal orchestra of Frederick the Great. His Majesty was very fond
of music and played the flute to some extent. He had several times sent
messages to Bach by Philip Emmanuel, that he would like to see him.
But Bach, intent on his work, ignored the royal favor, until he finally
received an imperative command, which could not be disobeyed. He
then, with his son Friedmann, set out for Potsdam.
The King was about to begin the evening's music when he learned that
Bach had arrived. With a smile he turned to his musicians: "Gentlemen,
old Bach has come." Bach was sent for at once, without having time to
change his traveling dress. His Majesty received him with great
kindness and respect, and showed him through the palace, where he
must try the Silbermann pianofortes, of which there were several. Bach
improvised on each and the King gave a theme which he treated as a
fantasia, to the astonishment of all. Frederick next asked him to play a
six part fugue, and then Bach improvised one on a theme of his own.
The King clapped his hands, exclaiming over and over, "Only one Bach!
Only one Bach!" It was a great evening for the master, and one he
never forgot.
Just after completing his great work, The Art of Fugue, Bach became
totally blind, due no doubt, to the great strain he had always put upon
his eyes, in not only writing his own music, but in copying out large
works of the older masters. Notwithstanding this handicap he continued
at work up to the very last. On the morning of the day on which he
passed away, July 28, 1750, he suddenly regained his sight. A few
hours later he became unconscious and passed in sleep.
Bach was laid to rest in the churchyard of St. John's at Leipsic, but no
stone marks his resting place. Only the town library register tells that
Johann Sebastian Bach, Musical Director and Singing Master of the St.
Thomas School, was carried to his grave July 30, 1750.
But the memory of Bach is enduring, his fame immortal and the love
his beautiful music inspires increases from year to year, wherever that
music is known, all over the world.

III
GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL
While little Sebastian Bach was laboriously copying out music by pale
moonlight, because of his great love for it, another child of the same

age was finding the greatest happiness of his life seated before an old
spinet, standing in a lumber garret. He was trying to make music from
those half dumb keys. No one had taught him how to play; it was innate
genius that guided his little hands to find the right harmonies and bring
melody out of the old spinet.
The boy's name was George Frederick Handel, and he was born in the
German town of Halle, February 23, 1685. Almost from infancy he
showed a remarkable fondness for music. His toys must be able to
produce musical sounds or he did not care for them. The child did not
inherit a love for music from his father, for Dr. Handel, who was a
surgeon, looked on music with contempt, as something beneath the
notice of a gentleman. He had decided his son was to be a lawyer, and
refused to allow him to attend school for fear some one might teach
him his notes. The mother was a sweet gentle woman, a second wife,
and much younger than her husband, who seemed to have ruled his
household with a rod of iron.
When little George was about five, a kind friend, who knew how he
longed to make music, had a spinet sent to him unbeknown to his father,
and placed in a corner of the old garret. Here the child loved to come
when he could escape notice. Often at night, when all were asleep, he
would steal away to the garret and work at the spinet, mastering
difficulties one by one. The strings of the instrument had been wound
with cloth to deaden the sound, and thus made only a tiny tinkle.
After this secret practising had been going on for some time, it was
discovered one night, when little George was enjoying his favorite
pastime. He had been missed and the whole house went in