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 search.  Finally the father, holding high the lantern in his hand and followed by mother and the rest of the inmates, reached the garret, and there found the lost child seated at his beloved spinet, quite lost to the material world.  There is no record of any angry outburst on the father’s part and it is likely little George was left in peace.