BOOKS.

BALFE'S BEGINNINGS.*

STRUGGLES with fate are fine things, and their records, sup- plied by the majority of the biographers of famous or re- markable men, are held to be very improving reading. Every- body knows this, and what Longfellow has said about it, in pretty enough verses ; but everybody also likes now and then to get away from the contemplation of heroes struggling with adversity, to that of men of genius who have had fate on their side, and have been lucky as well as gifted. A cheery biography is a blessing to readers ; it may not be so noble as the dismal disclosure of early miseries and later-on laurels, but it is ever so much nicer, especially in the long vacation, when one particularly wants things to be made pleasant. To read about Michael William Balfe, for instance, is almost as enlivening as it would be to go to a picnic with Mark Tapley. He was a genius, and appreciated ; an infant phenomenon, and unspoiled ; an enthusiast, and not disappointed ; an eminent musician, and neither envious nor hard to manage; an Irishman, and neither snubbed by the Saxon nor imagining him- self snubbed ; a man whose public career was prosperous, and his domestic life happy; a member of the corps d'elite of art—generally troublesome and impracticable people—who was as methodical and business-like as any banker ; a humourist, although his music Is associated with the silliest verses in existence ; and a wise person, who, though constantly meeting with strokes of luck, never tempted fortune too far.

A child who was taught the violin when his little hands could hardly grasp the instrument and the bow, who—aged seven— composed and scored for his master's band a polacca which they performed, and who made his de'but at eight, in a concerto pre- viously unknown to the public, must have had judicious parents

• d Memoir of Michael Wiliam Bails. By Charles Lamb Kenney. London: Tinsley Brotkera. and. a lucky star, not to have turned into the " youthful-prodigy " monstrosity. The little Balfe had both, and he was rescued from

his admiring friends before they had done anything more silly than presenting him with a goat-carriage and a team of bearded steeds, which be drove in triumph through the Dublin streets.

The child had plenty of character. He was given a boat by an admirer, and he rowed himself along the canal in it to his father's residence some miles from Dublin, landing at every lock, dragging the little craft over the ground to the water on the other side, and arriving exhausted, but triumphant. In his childhood he tried his powers on the whole range of instruments, wind and stringed, in the orchestra, and became a proficient in more than one, be- sides practically learning the resources of all ; and he composed the music of the ballad called " The Lover's Mistake," which Madame Vestris used to sing, as Phoebe, in "Paul Pry," when he was nine years old. It became immensely popular, and was very profitable to the publisher. The child-composer made of it only twenty presentation copies, and the material for a story which he used to tell with pleasure. It was this : When, years after- wards, though still a boy, he came to London, be crept into the gallery of the theatre to hear his ballad sung, and in the excite- ment of the applause with which it was greeted, he told the people near him that he was the composer ! He was ignominiously treated as a boasting young story-teller for his pains. Gleams of the romantic come frequently into the steadily industrious career of the boy. An unknown gentleman turns up at his mother's house, and announces himself as an intimate friend of her uncle, Mr. M'IsTally, a wealthy West Indian planter, and commissioned by him to make acquaintance with all the rich man's relatives, and report upon them. Mr. M'Nally's friend was sincerely dis- gusted with Mr. McNally's relatives, with one exception, the bright little lad whose imagination was kindled by the stranger's tales of the distant land where his uncle lived, but who replied to a hint that the childless planter's wealth might become his,- " Oh, I don't care about that ! I should like to see him, though, and go shooting and hunting with him, and be good to him and cheer him up, if he is lonely there, without his kinsfolk." The 'friend' was Mr. M'Nally himself, and he kept his secret and his reso-

lution—though he afterwards confessed that "the bright, intelligent face of Michael William" often tempted him to cast away his dis-

guise—to the end, returned to the West Indies, and when he after-

wards wrote, requesting that the boy might be sent out to him, to be adopted by him and become his heir, it was too late.

Poverty in the present—for after his father's rather early death the mother and son, who was then fifteen, had poverty to face—and uncertainty in the future had no terrors to deter, ease and in- dependence had no charms to bribe the born artist from his voca- tion. And yet, for the sanguine, bright, irrepressible, pleasure- loving nature of the boy, Mr. M'Nally's offer must have had strong attraction. A week after his father's funeral, young Balfe, longing to get to London, without the means of doing so, presented himself before Charles Horn, the singer and composer, in his dressing-room at the Dublin Theatre. This was the last

night, Mr. Horn was going away the next day ; he had heard the lad play at a concert, and praised him ; there was not a minute to

lose. Would Mr. Horn take him with him to London? was the upshot of their discourse. Mr. Horn bade him bring his mother next morning to his lodgings, and lie would see about it. At eight on the following day the new-made widow and her son arrived, and at ten the parting was over. Michael Balfe was articled to Charles Horn for seven years (all stipulations were afterwards set aside by his generous friend) ; the impulse which had come upon the boy as he idly read the playbill at the theatre-door the night before, had justified itself, and the good-fortune which makes his career cheerful to think about had given him its first broad ruddy smile.

In London he studied hard, and worked hard, first playing and then conducting at the Oratorio Concerts, which in those days were the only "people's music "—the Italian opera lay far away amid the stars—and developed a fine baritone voice. Of course, he dreamed of Italy, but Italy was farther off than London had once been. He could learn her beautiful language, though, and he did learn it ; French, too, and became remarkable for the extra- ordinary facility with which he scored musical ideas. He recog- nised no difficulties, and his lightheartedness carried him through work and trouble, through every temporary defeat, and bucklered him against mortification. He was egregiously cheated by a patronising, fashionable maestro, who stole his ideas and ludi- crously underpaid his mere mechanical toil ; but though Balfe often told the story of his own ' greenness,' he never divulged the name of the popular impostor who had victimised him.

The realisation of his dream of Italy came to him far more

strangely than the realisation of his dream of London had come. He was introduced at a dinner-party to a wealthy Italian noble- man, Count Ilazzara, who, on looking at him, displayed deep and disconcerting emotion, which he afterwards explained by the young man's extraordinary resemblance to an only son whom the Count had recently lost. During the evening, Balfe played and sang several of his own compositions, and the Count listened en- raptured. The result was that the Count offered to take the young musician to Italy, defraying all his axpenses, providing for his musical education, and giving him a fixed residence at his palazzo in Rome. " Remember," said the Count, " my house is now your home. The Countess Mazzara will open her arms to you as to another son, replacing him whom you resemble so marvellously, that even now I can scarcely contain the emotion which at first sight of you had well-nigh over- powered me altogether." Surely, when the young man awoke on the next morning, he must have found it bard to believe that this was not a dream ! The Count—a Monte Christo with a righteous mission—took him to Paris, where he captivated Cherubini, who actually offered to teach him, but Balfe's heart was set on—and his face was set towards—Italy. "Sunny Balfe," as Fitzball invariably called him, lingered on the why to Rome in the great cities, where he heard the delicious music of the great composers who were then in the zenith of their fame. It was the noontide of Donizetti's brief, sadly-clouded day, and Balfe heard his music at La Scala, little dreaming in how short a time he should himself be heard in that vast arena as a composer, and pass with triumph through the ordeal of that fastidious audience. The young Irishman's description of the scene of his arrival at the Count's palazzo would have been invaluable to a novelist of that date, and it is easy to believe his biographer that it never faded from his memory. The dramatic effect of it was accidental, but only the more striking :—" In a richly decorated room, under the strong light of a lamp, were seated two ladies. The elder of the two rose with a stately gesture and advanced, when, to the increased excitement of Balfe, be beheld in the figure moving towards them, as it were in a dream, a vision of his own mother ; and when the same sort of agitation he was himself a prey to, seemed to seize upon the lady as her eyes rested on Balfe's features, now brought within the full glare of the light, his astonishment knew no bounds. You see,' said Count Mazzara, redeem my promise,—I bring you a son.' The Countess had noted and received a deep shock from the astounding resemblance borne by Balfe to the beloved son of whom they had been so recently bereaved. She burst into tears, pressed the young man to her bosom, and sobbed out, Si, si,--ahi me, ahi me !' the most emphatic expression of pro- found emotion an Italian can use." There is a little mystery about the termination of the Elysian arrangement thus happily commenced. Balfe studied hard in Rome, but he also amused himself freely, and it is probable that his undisciplined humour, quite distinct from any endowment of the defunct heir of the Mn,7eras, was too much for the Countess. Anyhow, the next year he was paternally conveyed to Milan by the Count, on the pretext of following his master, Federici, and informed that a considerable sum had been lodged to his credit. The story is hazy, but most likely the Mazzara enthusiasm did not extend to desiring an alliance between the families of Balfe and Mazzara. " Trouvez-moi la femme !" might evidently be said here. But the invariable luck of Balfe was in the ascendant even when it seemed to decline, for at Milan he met Glossop, the English impresario, who was then managing La Scala in Milan and San Carlo in Naples ; and though Glossop pooh-poohed Federici's praises of his pupil, and said nothing worth having in the musical line ever came from England, he changed his mind on hearing some of Balfe's compositions executed at the Conservatoire, and engaged him to compose the music for a grand ballet on the suggestive subject of La Perouse. Balfe had a splendid success, but it was destined to be followed by the first slip between the cup and his lip. He had not means to pay for the composition of a libretto to accompany the original work he projected, and he would not ask Count Mazzara for it ; he bethought him of his baritone voice and of the stage as a source of livelihood. "To thrive as an interpreter of other men's works, or starve as a producer of his own, were the two roads which trended away before him, and he took the pleasantest." Glossop had faith in him, and he studied assiduously in order to make his first appearance at La Scala, but Glossop's affairs came to a financial crisis before the opportunity offered. The mismanager of the two theatres was ruined, Balfe was disgusted, and he left Milan for Paris on his way to England, really down on his luck for once, and unaware that he was begin- ning a new and eventful stage in his life-journey.

In Paris he called on Cherubini, who said there was more room and more chance for him in Paris than in London, and in- vited him to meet Rossini and his wife, the former prima donna Colbrand. Balfe played and sang Rossini's " Largo al factotum," as Rossini had never believed any one but himself could sing and play it ; and Rossini offered to procure him an engagement at the Italiens, if he would study with Bordogni for one year. Of course Balfe would be delighted, but where was the money to come from to pay Bordogni and maintain himself? Rossini undertook to answer for it that the charges of the great master should not be beyond the means of the remarkable pupil, and for the second difficulty fate once more offered a solution which comes naturally only to a fairy-tale. A certain M. Galois heard Balfe sing at Cherubini's house, inquired into his circum- stances, and offered ten thousand francs to maintain him during his preparation for the Italian operatic stage. Backed by the money of M. Galois, the influence of Rossini, the superintendence of Cherubini, and the teaching of Bordogni, the young Irishman, still in his nonage, worked hard and successfully, and ere twelve months had expired, made his debut as Figaro in "Il Barbiere," the lamented Pellegrini's great role, with such success, that on the third night, Laurent, the manager of the Italiens, offered him an engagement for three years, with 15,000 francs for the first, 20,000 francs for the second, and 25;000 francs for the third year.

"This was Eldorado and Mount Olympus in conjunction," and Balfe continued for the period named chief baritone of the Italian Opera in Paris, singing with Malibran, Blasis, Amigo, Donzelli, Zucchelli, and Levasseur, a cast never surpasied. But neither Rossini, Cherubini, nor Balfe himself lost sight of the fact that it was as a composer that Balfe was destined to be really, lastingly great. He composed music for Malibran, he executed commissions for Rossini, at length he undertook an opera. The Director of the Grand Opera sent him a libretto ; the subject was drawn from Chateaubriand's " Atala." He worked so hard at it that his health broke down. His friends packed him off to Italy, with his unfinished score. The work was after- wards lost, through the carelessness or dishonesty of the person to whom he confided it; but he had no prescience of such an accident when, at the moment of starting, another of the romantic accidents which studded his life of more than ordinary good-for- tune, like the large beads which mark the decades of a rosary, came to him. A gentleman, perfectly unknown to him, came to the door of the diligence in which Balk had just taken his seat, and placed a packet in his hand, requesting that he would not open it until the next relay. The envelope contained a note for 1,000 francs, and with this cheering God-speed the traveller went on his way once more to Italy, where he was to make a great success, a happy marriage, powerful friends, a serious start as a composer, and an end of beginnings.