ks,
which at times were unbearable. Handel at last exploded. He flew at the
wretched woman and shook her like a rat. "Ah! I always knew you were
a fery tevil," he cried, "and I shall now let you know that I am
Beelzebub, the prince of de tevils!" and, dragging her to the open
window, was just on the point of pitching her into the street when,
in every sense of the word, she recanted. So, when Carestini, the
celebrated tenor, sent back an air, Handel was furious. Rushing into the
trembling Italian's house, he said, in his four- or five-language style:
"You tog! don't I know better as yourself vaat it pest for you to sing?
If you vill not sing all de song vaat I give you, I vill not pay you ein
stiver." Among the anecdotes told of Handel's passion is one growing out
of the composer's peculiar sensitiveness to discords. The dissonance
of the tuning-up period of an orchestra is disagreeable to the most
patient. Handel, being peculiarly sensitive to this unfortunate
necessity, always arranged that it should take place before the
audience assembled, so as to prevent any sound of scraping or blowing.
Unfortunately, on one occasion, some wag got access to the orchestra
where the ready-tuned instruments were lying, and with diabolical
dexterity put every string and crook out of tune. Handel enters. All
the bows are raised together, and at the given beat all start off _con
spirito_. The effect was startling in the extreme. The unhappy _maestro_
rushes madly from his place, kicks to pieces the first double-bass he
sees, and, seizing a kettle-drum, throws it violently at the leader of
the band. The effort sends his wig flying, and, rushing bareheaded to
the footlights, he stands a few moments amid the roars of the house,
snorting with rage and choking with passion. Like Burleigh's nod,
Handel's wig seemed to have been a sure guide to his temper. When things
went well, it had a certain complacent vibration; but when he was out of
humor, the wig indicated the fact in a very positive way. The Princess
of Wales was wont to blame her ladies for talking instead of listening.
"Hush, hush!" she would say. "Don't you see Handel's wig?"

For several years after the subscription of the nobility had been
exhausted, our composer, having invested L10,000 of his own in the
Haymarket, produced operas with remarkable affluence, some of them
_pasticcio_ works, composed of all sorts of airs, in which the
singers could give their _bravura songs_. Thes