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THEHISTORY OF MUSIC LIBRARY |
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THE VIOLIN. ITS FAMOUS MAKERS AND THEIR IMITATORS
Anecdotes and Miscellanea connected with the Violin
The important part
played by the renowned Champion Crowdero in Butler's inimitable
satire has never failed to give keen enjoyment to all lovers of
wit and humour. This being so, his exploits should be doubly appreciated
by the votaries of the Fiddle, since it was he who valiantly defended
the cause of Fiddling against the attacks of Hudibras—
The absurdities into
which the genius of Cervantes hurried Don Quixote and Sancho served
to moderate the extravagances of knight-errantry. The adventures
of Hudibras and Ralpho, undertaken to extinguish the sports and
pastimes of the people, aided greatly in staying the hand of fanaticism,
which had suppressed all stage plays and interludes as "condemned
by ancient heathens, and by no means to be tolerated among professors
of the Christian religion." With Crowdero we
are taken back upwards of two centuries in the history of the Violin;
from times wherein it is held in the highest esteem and admiration,
to days when it was regarded with contempt and ridicule. Crowdero
(so called from crowd, a Fiddle) was the fictitious
name for one Jackson, a milliner, who lived in the New Exchange,
in the Strand. He had served with the Roundheads, and lost a leg,
which brought him into reduced circumstances, until he was obliged
to Fiddle from one alehouse to another for his existence. Hudibras— On stirrup-side, he gaz'd about Ralpho rode on, with no less
speed And now the field of death, the
lists, In name of King and Parliament
...
first surrender This said he clapped his hand
on sword, He drew up all his force into The Knight, with all its weight,
fell down Like a feather bed
betwixt a wall Crowdero only kept the field, In haste he snatch'd the wooden
limb Vowing to be reveng'd, for breach When Ralpho thrust himself between, ... but first our care To rouse him from lethargic dump,
...
The foe, for dread ... The Knight began to rouse, Will you employ your conq'ring
sword ... I think it better far He liked the squire's advice,
and soon Ralpho dispatched with speedy
haste, The Squire in state rode on before, Thither arriv'd, th' advent'rous
Knight On top of this there is a spire
GEORGE HERBERT'S
REFERENCES TO MUSIC. George Herbert, poet
and divine, said of music, "That it did relieve his drooping
spirits, compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul
so far above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of heaven
before he possessed them." His worthy biographer, Izaak Walton,
tells us—"His chiefest recreation was music, in which
heavenly art he was a most excellent master, and did himself compose
many divine hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his Lute
or Viol; and though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love
to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain
appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury, and at his
return would say, 'That his time spent in prayer and Cathedral music
elevated his soul, and was his heaven upon earth.' But before his
return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part
at an appointed private music meeting; and, to justify this practice,
he would often say, 'Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates
and sets rules to it.'" In walking to Salisbury
upon one occasion to attend his usual music meeting, George Herbert
saw a poor man with a poor horse that was fallen under his load.
He helped the man to unload and re-load; the poor man blessed him
for it, and he blessed the poor man. Upon reaching his musical friends
at Salisbury they were surprised to see him so soiled and discomposed;
but he told them the occasion, and when one of the company said
to him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment,"
his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would
prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would
have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whenever he should
pass by that place; 'for if I be bound to pray for all that be in
distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power,
to practise what I pray for; and though I do not wish for the like
occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass
one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy;
and I praise God for this occasion; and now let us tune our instruments.'" Herbert's love of
imagery was often curious and startling. In singing of "Easter"
he said— "Awake my lute and struggle
for thy part The Cross taught all wood to
resound His name, His stretched sinews taught all
strings, what key
Pleasant and
long: Or since all music is but three
parts vied The Sunday before
the death of "Holy George Herbert," Izaak Walton says,
"he rose suddenly from his bed, or couch, called for one of
his instruments, took it into his hand and said— "My God, my God, my music
shall find Thee; And every string And having tuned it, he played
and sung—
The thought to which
Herbert has given expression in his lines on Easter—that "All
music is but three parts vied and multiplied"—was also
in the mind of Christopher Simpson, who, in his work on "The
Division Viol," 1659, uses it as a musical illustration of
the doctrine of Trinity in Unity. He says: "I cannot but wonder,
even to amazement, that from no more than three concords (with some
intervening discords) there should arise such an infinite variety,
as all the music that ever has been, or ever shall be, composed.
When I further consider that these sounds, placed by the interval
of a third one above another, do constitute one entire harmony,
which governs and comprises all the sounds that by art or imagination
can be joined together in musical concordance, that,
I cannot but think a significant emblem of that Supreme and Incomprehensible
Three in One, governing, comprising, and disposing the whole machine
of the world, with all its included parts, in a most perfect and
stupendous harmony." It is interesting
to notice an earlier and remarkable allusion to the union of sound
from the pen of Shakespeare—
VIOLINS FROM A MEDICAL
POINT OF VIEW. "Music and the
sounds of instruments—says the lively Vigneul de Marville—contribute
to the health of the body and the mind; they assist the circulation
of the blood, they dissipate vapours, and open the vessels, so that
the action of perspiration is freer. He tells the story of a person
of distinction, who assured him that once being suddenly seized
by violent illness, instead of a consultation of physicians, he
immediately called a band of musicians, and their Violins played
so well in his inside that his bowels became perfectly in tune,
and in a few hours were harmoniously becalmed."—D'Israeli's "Curiosities
of Literature." Dr. Abercrombie recommends
"Careful classification of the insane, so that the mild and
peaceful melancholic may not be harassed by the ravings of the maniac.
The importance of this is obvious; but of still greater importance,"
he continues, "it will probably be to watch the first dawnings
of reason, and instantly to remove from the patient all associates
by whom his mind might be again bewildered." The following case,
mentioned by Pinel, is certainly an extreme one, but much important
reflection arises out of it:— "A musician
confined in the Bicêtre, as one of the first symptoms of returning
reason, made some slight allusion to his favourite instrument. It
was immediately procured for him; he occupied himself with music
for several hours every day, and his convalescence seemed to be
advancing rapidly. But he was then, unfortunately, allowed to come
frequently in contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in the
gardens. The musician's mind was unhinged; his Violin was
destroyed; and he fell back into a state of insanity which
was considered as confirmed and hopeless."—Abercrombie's "Intellectual
Powers." "A MUSICIAN is like an Echo,
a retail dealer in sounds. As Diana is the goddess of the silver
bow, so is he the Lord of the wooden one; he has a hundred strings
in his bow; other people are bow-legged, he is bow-armed;
and though armed with a bow he has no skill in archery. He plays
with cat-gut and Kit-Fiddle. His fingers
and arms run a constant race; the former would run away from him
did not a bridge interpose and oblige him to pay toll. He can distinguish
sounds as other men distinguish colours. His companions are crotchets
and quavers. Time will never be a match for him, for he beats him
most unmercifully. He runs after an Italian air open-mouthed, with
as much eagerness as some fools have sought the philosopher's stone.
He can bring a tune over the seas, and thinks it more excellent
because far-fetched. His most admired domestics are Soprano, Siciliano,
Andantino, and all the Anos and Inos that constitute the musical
science. He can scrape, scratch, shake, diminish, increase, flourish,
&c.; and he is so delighted with the sound of his own Viol,
that an ass would sooner lend his ears to anything than to him;
and as a dog shakes a pig, so does he shake a note by the
ear, and never lets it go till he makes it squeak. He is a walking
pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing ones. He
often involves himself in dark and intricate passages, till he is
put to a shift, and obliged to get out of a scrape—by
scraping. His Viol has the effect of a Scotch Fiddle,
for it irritates his hearers, and puts them to the itch. He tears
his audience in various ways, as I do this subject; and as I wear
away my pen, so does he wear away the strings
of his Fiddle. There is no medium to him; he is either in a flat
or a sharp key, though both are natural to him.
He deals in third minors, and major thirds; proves a turncoat, and
is often in the majority and the minority in the course of a few
minutes. He runs over the flat as often as any
Newmarket racehorse; both meet the same fate, as they usually terminate
in a cadence; the difference is—one is driven
by the whip-hand, the other by the bow-arm;
one deals in stakado, the other in staccato.
As a thoroughbred hound discovers, by instinct, his game from all
other animals, so an experienced musician feels the
compositions of Handel or Corelli.—Yours, TIMOTHY CATGUT,
Stamford."—Monthly Mirror. ORIGIN OF TARTINI'S
"DEVIL'S SONATA." The following interesting
account of this marvellous composition was given by Tartini to M.
de Lalande, the celebrated astronomer:— "One night in
the year 1713, I dreamed that I had made a compact with his Satanic
Majesty, by which he was received into my service. Everything succeeded
to the utmost of my desire, and my every wish was anticipated by
this my new domestic. I thought that on taking up my Violin to practise,
I jocosely asked him if he could play on that instrument. He answered
that he believed he was able to pick out a tune; and then, to my
astonishment, began to play a sonata, so strange and yet so beautiful,
and executed in so masterly a manner, that I had never in my life
heard anything so exquisite. So great was my amazement that I could
scarcely breathe. Awakened by the violent emotion, I instantly seized
my Violin, in the hope of being able to catch some part of the ravishing
melody which I had just heard, but all in vain. The piece which
I composed according to my scattered recollection is, it is true,
the best of my works. I have called it the 'Sonata del Diavolo,'
but it is so far inferior to the one I heard in my dream, that I
should have dashed my Violin into a thousand pieces, and given up
music for ever, had it been possible to deprive myself of the enjoyments
which I derive from it."
In the "Reminiscences
of Michael Kelly" we are told that in the year 1779 Kelly was
at Florence, and that he was present at a concert given at the residence
of Lord Cowper, where, he says, he had "the gratification of
hearing a sonata on the Violin played by the great Nardini; though
very far advanced in years, he played divinely. Lord Cowper requested
him to play the popular sonata, composed by his master, Tartini,
called the 'Devil's Sonata.' Mr. Jackson, an English gentleman present,
asked Nardini whether the anecdote relative to this piece of music
was true. Nardini answered that 'he had frequently heard Tartini
relate the circumstance,' and at once gave an account of the composition,
in accordance with that furnished by M. de Lalande." DR. JOHNSON AND THE
VIOLIN. "Dr. Johnson
was observed by a musical friend of his to be extremely inattentive
at a concert, whilst a celebrated solo-player was running up the
divisions and sub-divisions of notes upon his Violin. His friend,
to induce him to take greater notice of what was going on, told
him how extremely difficult it was. 'Difficult do you call it, sir?'
replied the Doctor; 'I wish it were impossible.'"—Seward's "Anecdotes
of Dr. Johnson." "In the evening
our gentleman farmer and two others entertained themselves and the
company with a great number of tunes on the Fiddle. Johnson desired
to have 'Let ambition fire thy mind' played over again, and appeared
to give a patient attention to it; though he owned to me that he
was very insensible to the power of music. I told him that it affected
me to such a degree, as often to agitate my nerves painfully, producing
in my mind alternate sensations of pathetic dejection, so that I
was ready to shed tears; and of daring resolution, so that I was
inclined to rush into the thickest part of the battle. 'Sir,' said
he, 'I should never hear it if it made me such a fool.'"—Boswell's "Life
of Johnson." DR. JOHNSON ON THE
DIFFICULTY OF PLAYING THE FIDDLE. "Goldsmith:
'I spoke of Mr. Harris, of Salisbury, as being a very learned man,
and in particular an eminent Grecian.' "Johnson:
'I am not sure of that. His friends give him out as such, but I
know not who of his friends are able to judge of it.' "Goldsmith:
'He is what is much better; he is a worthy, humane man.' "Johnson:
'Nay, sir, that is not to the purpose of our argument; that will
as much prove that he can play upon the Fiddle as well as Giardini,
as that he is an eminent Grecian.' "Goldsmith:
'The greatest musical performers have but small emoluments; Giardini,
I am told, does not get above seven hundred a year.' "Johnson:
'That is indeed but little for a man to get, who does best that
which so many endeavour to do. There is nothing, I think, in which
the power of art is shown so much as in playing on the Fiddle. In
all other things we can do something at first; any man will forge
a bar of iron if you give him a hammer; not so well as a smith,
but tolerably; and make a box, though a clumsy one; but give him
a Fiddle and a Fiddlestick, and he can do nothing.'"—Boswell's "Life
of Johnson." DR. JOHNSON'S EPITAPH
ON PHILLIPS, THE WELSH VIOLINIST. Johnson and Garrick
were sitting together, when among other things Garrick repeated
an epitaph upon Phillips, by a Dr. Wilkes, which was very commonplace,
and Johnson said to Garrick, "I think, Davy, I can make a better."
Then, stirring about his tea for a little while in a state of meditation,
he, almost extempore, produced the following verses:—
Boswell says, "Mr.
Garrick appears not to have recited the verses correctly, the original
being as follows. One of the various readings is remarkable, and
it is the germ of Johnson's concluding line:—
Boswell's "Journal
of a Tour to the Hebrides" contains the author's letter to
Garrick asking him to send the "bad verses which led Johnson
to make his fine verses on Phillips the musician." Garrick
replied, enclosing the desired epitaph. Boswell remarks,
"This epitaph is so exquisitely beautiful that I remember even
Lord Kames, strangely prejudiced as he was against Dr. Johnson,
was compelled to allow it very high praise. It has been ascribed
to Garrick, from its appearing at first with the signature G.; but
I heard Mr. Garrick declare that it was written by Dr. Johnson." The epitaph of Phillips
is in the porch of Wolverhampton Church. The prose part of it is
curious:— Near this place lies
DR. JOHNSON'S KNOWLEDGE
OF MUSIC. He said he knew "a
drum from a trumpet, and a bagpipe from a guitar, which was about
the extent of his knowledge of music." He further tells us
that "if he had learnt music he should have been afraid he
should have done nothing else but play. It was a method of employing
the mind, without the labour of thinking at all, and with some applause
from a man's self." These remarks are better appraised and
understood when we bear in mind Dr. Johnson's own estimate of his
musical knowledge together with his having derived pleasure from
listening to the sounds of the bagpipes. If a performance on those
droning instruments was in the Doctor's mind when he said that the
reflective powers need not be exercied in performing on a musical
instrument, there might be some truth in the observation. The labour
of thinking, however, cannot be dispensed with in connection with
playing most musical instruments, and least of all the Violin. DR. JOHNSON ON FIDDLING
AND FREE WILL. "Johnson:
'Moral evil is occasioned by free will, which implies choice between
good and evil. With all the evil that there is, there is no man
but would rather be a free agent, than a mere machine without the
evil; and what is best for each individual must be best for the
whole. If a man would rather be the machine, I cannot argue with
him. He is a different being from me.' "Boswell:
'A man, as a machine, may have agreeable sensations; for instance,
he may have pleasure in music.' "Johnson:
'No, sir, he cannot have pleasure in music; at least no power of
producing music; for he who can produce music may let it alone;
he who can play upon a Fiddle may break it: such a man is not a
machine.'"—"Tour to the Hebrides." HAYDN IN LONDON.—A "SWEET
STRADIVARI." The following extracts,
taken from "A Country Clergyman of the Eighteenth Century,"
a pleasant and entertaining book (consisting of selections from
the correspondence of the Rev. Thomas Twining, M.A.), cannot fail
to interest the reader. The Rev. Thomas Twining was born in 1735.
He was an excellent musician, both in theory and practice, and a
lover of the Violin. He had collected much valuable information
with regard to music, with a view to writing a history of the subject.
Upon learning that Dr. Burney was engaged on his History of Music,
he not only generously placed his valuable notes at the service
of the Doctor, but revised the manuscript of his friend's History.
Dr. Burney, in the preface of his work, says: "In order to
satisfy the sentiments of friendship, as well as those of gratitude,
I must publicly acknowledge my obligations to the zeal, intelligence,
taste, and erudition of the Rev. Mr. Twining, a gentleman whose
least merit is being perfectly acquainted with every branch of theoretical
and practical music." The publication of
the volume containing the interesting correspondence between Dr.
Burney and his friend not only serves to enlighten us relative to
the substantial aid given to our musical historian, but also makes
us acquainted with an English eighteenth century amateur and votary
of the Fiddle of singular ability and rare humility:— "COLCHESTER, February 15,
1791. "To DR. BURNEY,— "... And now,
my dear friend, let's draw our stools together, and have some fun.
Is it possible we can help talking of Haydn first? How do you like
him? What does he say? What does he do? What does he play upon?
How does he play?... The papers say he has been bowed to by whole
orchestras when he has appeared at the play-houses. Is he about
anything in the way of composition? Come, come! I'll pester you
no more with interrogations; but trust to your generosity to gratify
my ardent curiosity in your own way. I have just—and I am
ashamed to say but just—sent for his 'Stabat Mater.' Fisin
told me some quartetts had, not long ago, been published by him.
He has written so much that I cannot help fearing he will soon have
written himself dry. If the resources of any human composer could
be inexhaustible, I should suppose Haydn's would; but as, after
all, he is but mortal, I am afraid he must soon get to the bottom
of his genius-box. My friend Mr. Tindal is come to settle (for the
present at least) in this neighbourhood. He is going to succeed
me in the curacy of Fordham. He plays the Fiddle well, the Harpsichord
well, the Violoncello well. Now, sir, when I say 'well,' I can't
be supposed to mean the wellness that one should predicate of a
professor who makes the instrument his study; but that he plays
in a very ungentlemanlike manner, exactly in time and tune, with
taste, accent, and meaning, and the true sense of what he plays;
and, upon the Violoncello, he has execution sufficient to play Boccherini's
quintettos, at least what may be called very decently. But ask Fisin,
he will tell you about our Fiddling, and vouch for our decency at
least. I saw in one of the public prints an insinuation that Haydn,
upon his arrival in London, had detected some forgeries, some things
published in his name that were not done by him. Is that true? It
does not seem very unlikely." ·
·
·
·
· Haydn left Vienna
December 15, 1790, and arrived with Salomon in London on New Year's
Day, 1791. The Rev. Thomas Twining's interrogations addressed to
Dr. Burney respecting him were therefore made but a few weeks after
Haydn's first arrival in England. Between the months of January
and May much had been seen and heard of Haydn, information of which
Dr. Burney gave to his friend, as seen in the following letter:— "COLCHESTER, May 4,
1791. "To DR. BURNEY,— "How good it
was of you to gratify me with another canto of the 'Haydniad'! It
is all most interesting to me. I don't know anything—any musical
thing—that would delight me so much as to meet him in a snug
quartett party, and hear his manner of playing his own music. If
you can bring about such a thing while I am in town, either at Chelsea,
or at Mr. Burney's, or at Mr. Salomon's, or I care not where—if
it were even in the Black Hole at Calcutta (if it is a good hole
for music)—I say, if by hook or crook you could manage such
a thing, you should be my Magnus Apollo for the rest of your life.
I mention Salomon because we are a little acquainted. He has twice
asked me to call upon him, and I certainly will do it when I come
to town. I want to hear more of his playing; and I seem, from the
little I have seen of him, to like the man. I know not how it is,
but I really receive more musical pleasure from such private cameranious Fiddlings
and singings, and keyed instrument playings, than from all the apprêtof
public and crowded performances. "I have lately
had a sort of Fiddle mania upon me, brought on by trying and comparing
different Stainers and Cremonas, &c. I believe I have got possession
of a sweet Stradivari, which I play upon with much more pleasure
than my Stainer, partly because the tone is sweeter, mellower, rounder,
and partly because the stop is longer. My Stainer is undersized,
and on that account less valuable, though the tone is as bright,
piercing, and full, as of any Stainer I ever heard. Yet, when I
take it up after the Stradivari it sets my teeth on edge. The tone
comes out plump, all at once. There is a comfortable reserve of
tone in the Stradivari, and it bears pressure; and you may draw
upon it for almost as much tone as you please. I think I shall bring
it to town with me, and then you shall hear it. 'Tis a battered,
shattered, cracky, resinous old blackguard; but if every bow that
ever crossed its strings from its birth had been sugared instead
of resined, more sweetness could not come out of its belly. Addio,
and ever pardon my sins of infirmity. "Yours truly,
GAINSBOROUGH AS A
MUSICIAN. William Jackson,
organist of Exeter Cathedral, was intimate with Gainsborough, and
besides being a thorough musician, painted with ability. He was
also the author of many essays. In one of these he makes us acquainted
with the character of Gainsborough's musical abilities. He says,
"In the early part of my life I became acquainted with Thomas
Gainsborough, the painter, and as his character was perhaps better
known to me than to any other person, I will endeavour to divest
myself of every partiality, and speak of him as he really was. Gainsborough's
profession was painting, and music was his amusement—yet,
there were times when music seemed to be his employment, and painting
his diversion. "When I first
knew him he lived at Bath, where Giardini had been exhibiting his
then unrivalled powers on the Violin. His excellent performance
made Gainsborough enamoured of that instrument; and conceiving,
like the servant-maid in the Spectator, that the music
lay in the Fiddle, he was frantic until he possessed the very instrument
which had given him so much pleasure—but seemed much surprised
that the music of it remained behind with Giardini. He had scarcely
recovered this shock (for it was a great one to him)
when he heard Abel on the Viol da Gamba. The Violin was hung on
the willow; Abel's Viol da Gamba was purchased, and the house resounded
with melodious thirds and fifths from 'morn to dewy eve!' Many an
Adagio and many a Minuet were begun, but none completed; this was
wonderful, as it was Abel's own instrument, and,
therefore, ought to have produced Abel's own music! "Fortunately
my friend's passion had now a fresh object—Fischer's Hautboy—but
I do not recollect that he deprived Fischer of his instrument; and
though he procured a Hautboy, I never heard him make the least attempt
on it. The next time I saw Gainsborough it was in the character
of King David. He had heard a Harper at Bath—the performer
was soon Harpless—and now Fischer, Abel, and Giardini were
all forgotten—there was nothing like chords and arpeggios!
He really stuck to the Harp long enough to play several airs with
variations, and would nearly have exhausted all the pieces usually
performed on an instrument incapable of modulation (this was not
a pedal Harp), when another visit from Abel brought him back to
the Viol da Gamba. He now saw the imperfection of sudden sounds
that instantly die away—if you wanted staccato, it was to
be had by a proper management of the bow, and you might also have
notes as long as you please. The Viol da Gamba is the only instrument,
and Abel the prince of musicians! This, and occasionally a little
flirtation with the Fiddle, continued some years; when, as ill-luck
would have it, he heard Crosdill, but by some irregularity of conduct
he neither took up nor bought the Violoncello. All his passion for
the Bass was vented in descriptions of Crosdill's tone and bowing." Gainsborough's fondness
for fresh instruments is alluded to by Philip Thicknesse, who says
that during his residence at Bath, Gainsborough offered him one
hundred guineas for a Viol da Gamba, dated 1612. His offer was declined,
but it was ultimately agreed that he should paint a full-length
portrait of Mr. Thicknesse for the Viol da Gamba. Gainsborough was
delighted with the arrangement, and said "Keep me hungry; keep
me hungry! and do not send the instrument until I have finished
the picture." The Viol da Gamba was, however, sent the next
morning, and the same day the artist stretched a canvas. He received
a sitting, finished the head, rubbed in the dead colouring, &c.,
and then it was laid aside—no more was said of it or done
to it, and he eventually returned the Viol da Gamba. Jackson tells us
that Gainsborough "disliked singing, particularly in parts.
He detested reading; but was so like Sterne in his letters, that,
if it were not for an originality that could be copied from no one,
it might be supposed that he had formed his style upon a close imitation
of that author. He had as much pleasure in looking at a Violin as
in hearing it. I have seen him for many minutes surveying, in silence,
the perfections of an instrument, from the just proportion of the
model and beauty of workmanship. His conversation was sprightly;
his favourite subjects were music and painting, which he treated
in a manner peculiarly his own. He died with this expression—'We
are all going to heaven, and Vandyke is of the party.'" GARRICK AND CERVETTO. Cervetto, the famous
Violoncello-player, occupied the post of principal Violoncello at
Drury Lane for many years. His fame as a performer was almost matched
by the celebrity of his nasal organ, the tuberosity of which often
caused the audience in the gallery to exclaim, "Play up, Nosey!"
In Dibdin's "Musical Tour," 1788, we are told that "When
Garrick returned from Italy, he prepared an address to the audience,
which he delivered previous to the play he first appeared in. When
he came upon the stage he was welcomed with three loud plaudits,
each finishing with a huzza. As soon as this unprecedented applause
had subsided, he used every art, of which he was so completely master,
to lull the tumult into a profound silence; and just as all was
hushed as death, and anxious expectation sat on every face, old
Cervetto, who was better known by the name of 'Nosey,' anticipated
the very first line of the address by—aw——a tremendous
yawn. A convulsion of laughter ensued, and it was some minutes before
the wished-for silence could be again restored. That, however, obtained,
Garrick delivered his address in that happy, irresistible manner
in which he was always sure to captivate his audience; and he retired
with applause, such as was never better given, nor ever more deserved.
But the matter did not rest here; the moment he came off the stage,
he flew like lightning to the music-room, where he encountered Cervetto,
and began to abuse him vociferously. 'Wha—why—you old
scoundrel. You must be the most——' At length poor Cervetto
said, 'Oh, Mr. Garrick! vat is the matter—vat I haf do? Oh!
vat is it?' 'The matter! Why you senseless idiot—with no more
brains than your Bass-Viol—just at the—a—very
moment I had played with the audience—tickled them like a
trout, and brought them to the most accommodating silence—so
pat to my purpose—so perfect—that it was, as one may
say, a companion for Milton's visible darkness.' 'Indeed, Mr. Garrick,
it vas no darkness.' 'Darkness! stupid fool—but how should
a man of my reading make himself understood by—a——
Answer me—was not the house very still?' 'Yes, sir, indeed—still
as a mouse.' 'Well, then, just at that very moment did you not—with
your jaws extended wide enough to swallow a sixpenny loaf—yawn?'
'Sare, Mr. Garrick—only if you please hear me von vord. It
is alvay the vay—it is, indeed, Mr. Garrick—alvay the
vay I go ven I haf the greatest rapture, Mr. Garrick.'
The little great man's anger instantly cooled. The readiness of
this Italian flattery operated exactly contrary to the last line
of an epigram—the honey was tasted, and the sting forgot." THE KING AND THE
PLAYER. George the Third
was frequently at Weymouth, and often strolled about the town unattended.
On the day of Elliston's benefit (at which His Majesty had expressed
his intention of being present) he had been enjoying one of his
afternoon wanderings, when a shower of rain came on. Happening to
be passing the theatre door, in he went. Finding no one about, he
entered the Royal box, and seated himself in his chair. The dim
daylight of the theatre and slight fatigue occasioned by his walk,
induced drowsiness: His Majesty, in fact, fell into a doze, which
ultimately resolved itself into a sound sleep. In the meantime Lord
Townsend met Elliston, of whom he inquired if he had seen the King,
as His Majesty had not been at the palace since his three o'clock
dinner, it being then nearly five. Elliston being unable to give
his lordship any information, Lord Townsend sought His Majesty in
another direction, and the comedian made his way to the theatre,
in order to superintend the necessary arrangements for the reception
of his Royal patrons. Upon reaching the theatre, Elliston went at
once to the King's box, and seeing a man fast asleep in His Majesty's
chair, was about recalling him to his senses somewhat roughly, when,
happily, he discovered who it was that had so unexpectedly taken
possession of the Royal chair. What was to
be done? Elliston could not presume to wake His Majesty—to
approach him—speak to him—touch him—impossible!
and yet something was necessary to be done, as it was time to light
the theatre, and, what was of still more importance, to relieve
the anxiety of the Queen and family. Elliston hit on the following
expedient: Taking up a Violin from the orchestra he stepped into
the pit, and placing himself beneath his exalted guest, struck up dolcemente—
The expedient produced
the desired effect. The sleeper was loosened from the spell which
bound him. Awakened, His Majesty stared at the comedian full in
the face, ejaculated, "Hey, hey, hey!—what, what—oh,
yes! I see—Elliston—ha, ha! Rain came on—took
a seat—took a nap. What's o'clock?" "Nearly six,
your Majesty." "Say I'm here. Stay, stay! This wig won't
do—eh, eh! Don't keep the people waiting—light up; light
up; let them in—fast asleep. Play well to-night, Elliston."
The theatre was illuminated; messengers were despatched to the Royal
party, which, having arrived in due course, Elliston quitted the
side of the affable Monarch, and prepared
himself for his part in the performance. SIR WALTER SCOTT
ON MUSIC AND FIDDLES. "I do not know
and cannot utter," said Sir Walter, "a note of music;
and complicated harmony seems to me a babble of confused, though
pleasing sounds; yet simple melodies, especially if connected with
words and ideas, have as much effect on me as on most people. I
cannot bear a voice that has no more life in it than a pianoforte
or bugle-horn. There is in almost all the fine arts a something
of soul and spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies
the research of the most critical anatomist. You feel where it is
not, yet you cannot describe what it is you want." Sir Joshua,
or some other great painter, was looking at a picture on which much
pains had been bestowed. "Why—yes," he said, in
a hesitating manner; "it is very clever—very well done.
Can't find fault, but it wants something—it wants—it
wants—d—n me, it wants that!" throwing his hand
over his head, and snapping his fingers. In talking of his ignorance
of music, Scott said he had once been employed in a case where a
purchaser of a Fiddle had been imposed on as to its value. He found
it necessary to prepare himself by reading all about Fiddles in
the encyclopædias,& c., and having got the names of Stradivari,
Amati, &c., glibly on his tongue, got swimmingly through his
case. Not long after this, dining at the Duke of Hamilton's, he
found himself left alone after dinner with the Duke, who had but
two subjects he could talk of—hunting and music. Having exhausted
hunting, Scott thought he would bring forward his lately acquired
learning in Fiddles, upon which the Duke grew quite animated, and
immediately whispered some orders to the butler, in consequence
of which there soon entered the room about half-a-dozen tall servants,
all in red, each bearing a Fiddle case, and Scott found his knowledge
brought to no less a test than that of telling by the tones of each
Fiddle, as the Duke played it, by what artist it was made. "By
guessing and management," said he, "I got on pretty well,
till we were, to my great relief, summoned to coffee." I have frequently
heard of the Duke's passion for Violins, and also that he had a
great number of them at Hamilton Palace. Among these instruments
there appears to have been a singularly perfect Tenor by the brothers
Amati. Signor Piatti has often spoken to me of having seen this
instrument several years since in the possession of the family.
The Hamilton collection of Fiddles was doubtless dispersed long
before the rare MSS., the Beckford Library, the inlaid cabinets,
and other treasures which served to make Hamilton Palace renowned
throughout the world of art and letters. Returning to the
subject of Sir Walter Scott's references to music, it will be seen
that his barristers possess among their gentlemanly embellishments
a knowledge of stringed instruments. Who can forget that the young
Templar, Master Lowestoffe ("Fortunes of Nigel," chap.
xvi. 138) "performed sundry tunes on the Fiddle and French
Horn" in Alsatia; and that Counsellor Pleydell, on the eventful
night, in "Guy Mannering" (chap. xlix. 255), being a "member
of the gentlemen's concert in Edinburgh," was performing some
of Scarlatti's sonatas with great brilliancy upon the Violoncello
to Julia's accompaniment upon the harpsichord? A CINDERELLA VIOLONCELLO. A somewhat curious
change in the ownership of a Violoncello occurred many years since.
My father (Mr. John Hart) was walking along Oxford Street, when
he heard the sounds of a Violoncello, a Violin, and a Cornet, which
were being played in a side street. His curiosity being excited,
he became one of the group of listeners. The appearance of the Violoncello
greatly pleased him; it was covered with a thick coat of resin and
dirt, but its author was clearly defined nevertheless. When the
players had concluded their performance, Mr. Hart asked the wandering
Violoncellist if he was disposed to sell his instrument. "I
have no objection, if I can get enough to buy another and something
over," was the answer. The terms not being insurmountable,
a bargain was struck, and the dealer in Fiddles walked away, taking
his newly-acquired purchase under his arm. The itinerant trio, having
become a duet, gave up work for that day. Reaching home with
his charge, Mr. Hart was in the act of removing the accumulated
dirt of many a hard day's work from the Violoncello, when Robert
Lindley entered, and asked what might be the parentage of the instrument
about which so much pains were being taken. "A Forster,"
was the reply; and at the same time the circumstances of the purchase
were related. Lindley was much amused, and expressed a wish to possess
the rescued instrument, though it had been much injured. The price
was agreed upon, and the Violoncello thus passed from the most humble
to the most exalted player in one day. A STOLEN "STRAD." It has often been
remarked that to steal a valuable Violin is as hazardous as to steal
a child; its identity is equally impregnable, in fact, cannot be
disguised, save at the price of entire demolition. To use a paradox,
Violins, like people, are all alike, yet none are alike. The indelible
personality of the best Violins has been a powerful agent in the
cause of morality, and has deterred many from attempting to steal
them. We have, however, instances of undiscovered robberies of valuable
instruments, and notably that of the fine Stradivari which belonged
to a well-known amateur, an attaché at the British Embassy at St.
Petersburg. The Violin in question was numbered with the Plowden
collection. I disposed of it to the amateur above mentioned in 1868;
it was a magnificent Violin, date 1709, in the highest state of
preservation. In the year 1869 the owner of it was appointed to
the Embassy at St. Petersburg, and removed thither. He was a passionate
lover of the Violin, and an excellent player. One evening he was
playing at a musical party. After he had finished he placed his
"Strad" in its case as usual, which he closed, without
locking it. The next day he was amusing himself with a parrot, which
bit him on the lip; the wound appeared very unimportant, but exposure
to the cold brought on malignant abscess, and he sank and died.
In due course his representatives arrived in St. Petersburg, and
took charge of his property, which was brought to England. Some
twelve months afterwards a relative (Mr. Andrew Fountaine, of Narford),
who took much interest in valuable Violins, was visiting the family
of the deceased gentleman and asked to be allowed to see the Stradivari,
1709. The case was sent for and duly opened. When the Violin was
handed to the visitor he remarked there must be some mistake, and
suggested that the wrong case had been brought, the instrument he
held having no resemblance whatever to the Stradivari, and not being
worth a sovereign. Inquiries were set on foot, and it was satisfactorily
proved that the case had never been opened since it had been brought
to England; neither had it left the custody of the late owner's
nearest relative, who had kept it secured in a chest. The next day
after the occurrence of the event related above, I was communicated
with, and asked if I could recognise the Stradivari in question.
It is unnecessary to record my answer. I might, with an equivalent
amount of reason, have been asked if I should know my own child.
The double case was formally opened, and the Violin described above
was taken out. "Is that the Stradivari?" I scarcely knew
for the moment whether my interrogator was in earnest, so ridiculous
was the question. It remains only to be said that the Russian authorities
were memorialised and furnished by me with a full description of
the instrument; but to this moment its whereabouts has never been
discovered. THE MISSING SCROLL. It has often happened
that portions of valuable instruments, detached from the original
whole, have been once more recovered and reinstated in their proper
place. The following is an amusing instance of this. A well-known amateur,
belonging to the generation now fast passing away, was the fortunate
possessor of a Stradivari Violin, which he had occasion to take
to the Fiddle doctor for an operation quite unknown to the students
of the Royal College of Surgeons, but well understood by the members
of the fraternity to which I have the honour to belong, namely, decapitation.
This, in the Fiddle language, means the removal of the old neck,
and the splicing of a brand-new one in its place. It is an operation
wholly unattended with the horrors of human surgery. Again and again
a time was appointed for the completion of this delicate insertion,
but in vain—it was a case of hope deferred. The owner of the
Stradivari becoming wearied with this state of things, determined
to carry off his cherished instrument in its dismembered condition.
Placing the several portions in paper, he left the Fiddle doctor's
establishment, considerably annoyed and excited. Upon reaching his
home his recent ebullition of temper had entirely passed away, and
he calmly set himself to open the parcel containing his dissected
"Strad," when, to his utter dismay, he failed to find
its scroll. The anguish he suffered may be readily conceived by
the lover of Fiddles. Away he started in search of his Fiddle's
head, dead to all around him but the sense of his loss; he demanded
of every one he met whether they had by chance picked up the head
of a Fiddle. The answers were all in the negative; and many were
the looks of astonishment caused by the strange nature of the question
and the bewildered appearance of the questioner. At length he arrived
at the house of the Fiddle doctor, whose want of punctuality had
brought about the misfortune. Here was his forlorn hope! He might
possibly have forgotten to put the scroll into the parcel. His doubts
were soon at rest; the scroll had been taken with the other parts
of the instrument. Completely overcome with sorrow and vexation,
he knew not how to endeavour to recover his loss. He ultimately
decided to offer a reward of five pounds and to await the result
as contentedly as he could. A few hours after
the dejected owner of the Violin had left the shop of the Fiddle
doctor, an old woman, the keeper of an apple stall in the neighbourhood,
entered and offered for sale a Fiddle-head. The healer of Violins,
taking it into his hands, was agreeably astonished to recognise
in it the missing headpiece, and eagerly demanded of the seller
whence she had obtained it, and what might be its price. "Picked
it up in the gutter," she answered; and two shillings was the
modest value she set upon her find. Without a moment's hesitation
the money was handed to the vendor of Ribston pippins, and away
she trudged in high glee at the result of her good luck. The Fiddle
Æsculapius, equally gleeful at the course of events, resolved to
avail himself of the opportunity afforded him of gratifying a little
harmless revenge upon the fidgety amateur's haste in removing the
"Strad" before the alterations had been completed. He
therefore determined to keep the fact of the discovery to himself
for a short time. Advertisements multiplied, and the reward rapidly
rose to twenty guineas. Having satisfied his revengeful feelings,
the repairer duly made known the discovery of the missing scroll,
to the intense gratification of its owner. Finally, the repairer
refused to accept any portion of the reward upon one condition,
viz., that he was allowed to complete his work—a condition
readily conceded. ANOTHER WANDERING
SCROLL. Among the collection
of valuable Violins belonging to the late Mr. James Goding, was
a Stradivari Violin, dated 1710, which had been deprived of its
original scroll, and bore a supposititious figure-head by David
Tecchler, owing to a piece of vandalism perpetrated by an eccentric
amateur. The original scroll had found its way to an Italian Violin
of some merit, the value of which was considerably enhanced by the
newly-acquired headpiece, which gave to the whole instrument an
air of importance to which it could lay no claim till it carried
on its shoulders a head belonging to the aristocracy of Fiddles.
During a period of about twenty years this mongrel Fiddle became
the property of as many owners, and ultimately fell into my hands.
Leaving this instrument, we will follow the history of the Stradivari,
date 1710. At the dispersion of Mr. Goding's collection by Messrs.
Christie and Manson, in the year 1857, a well-known amateur purchased
the Violin for the sum of seventy pounds, the loss of its scroll
preventing the realisation of a higher figure. Sixteen years after
this event the purchaser applied to me for a Stradivari scroll,
that he might make his instrument complete. The mongrel Violin described
above being in my possession, decapitation was duly performed, and
the Stradivari received its head again. Here was a fortuitous course
of circumstances! This exchange of heads took place without my being
at all aware that the "Strad" scroll had returned to its
original body; but on my mentioning the circumstance to my father,
he informed me, to my astonishment and delight, that if the head
of the mongrel Fiddle had been placed on the Stradivari, date 1710,
from the Goding collection, it was now, as the effect of recent
transmigration, on its own legitimate body. A MONTAGNANA INSTRUMENT
SHOT THROUGH THE BODY IN THE REVOLUTION OF 1848. An enthusiastic amateur
was playing the Violin in a house in one of the leading thoroughfares
in Paris at the outbreak of the Revolution in 1848. His ardour was
so great that the cannonading failed to interrupt him in his pleasurable
pursuit; he fiddled on, regardless of all about him, as Nero is
said to have done when his capital was in flames, and even left
the window of his apartment open. Presently a whizzing noise, terminating
in a thud above his head, arrested his attention. Upon his looking
up he saw the mark of a bullet in the ceiling. Aroused to a sense
of his danger, he closed the windows. Being about to put his Montagnana
into its case, his astonishment may be imagined when he discovered
a hole through the upper side, and a corresponding chink in the
belly, both as sharply cut as though a centre-bit had done the work.
His Violin bore witness to his miraculous escape; the bullet lodged
in the ceiling had taken his Montagnana in its course. The instrument
referred to in this anecdote has been in my possession more than
once. FIDDLE MARKS AND
THE CREDULOUS DABBLERS. It is said that a
drowning man will clutch at a straw; the truth of the remark applies
to the half-informed in Fiddle connoisseurship. It is very amusing
to note the pile of nothings that these persons heap up under the
name of "guiding points" in relation to Fiddles. I will
endeavour to call to mind a few of these. I will begin with those
little pegs seen on the backs of Violins near the button, and at
the bottom; the position of these airy nothings without habitation
or name "is deemed indisputable evidence of certain makers'
handicraft." One is supposed to have put his pegs to the right,
another to the left; another used three, four, and so on. I have
frequently heard this remark—"Oh, it cannot be a Stradivari,
because the pegs are wrong!" The purfling also
forms an important item in the collection of landmarks; certain
makers are supposed to have invariably used one kind of purfling,
no variation being allowed for width or material adopted. Original
instruments are pronounced spurious and spurious original by this
test. All Fiddles purfled with whalebone are dubbed "Jacobs,"
and no other maker is credited with using such purfling. The back of a Violin
is another very important item with these individuals. Particular
makers are supposed to have only made whole backs, others double
backs; others again are thought to be known only by the markings
of the wood. There is another crotchet to be mentioned: some will
tell you they will inform you who made your Violin by taking the
belly off, and examining the shape of the blocks and linings. Rest
assured if the maker cannot be seen outside, he will never reveal
himself in the inner consciousness of a Fiddle.
Measurement is another certain guiding point with these dabblers;
the measuring tape is produced and the instrument condemned if it
does not tally with their erroneous theory. "GUARNERI"
AT A DISCOUNT. With what tenacity
do persons often cling to the fond belief that undoubted Raffaeles,
Cinque Cento bronzes, dainty bits of Josiah Wedgwood's ware, and
old Cremonas, are exposed for sale in the windows of dealers in
unredeemed pledges, brokers' shops, and divers other emporiums!
It is the firm conviction of these amiable persons that scores of
gems unknown are awaiting in such cosy lurking-places the recognition
of the educated eye for their immediate deliverance to the light
of day. The quasi bric-à-brac
portion of the general dealer's stock is dexterously arrayed in
his window, and not allowed to take up a prominent position among
the wares displayed. To expose treasures would be a glaring act
of indiscretion, inasmuch as it would tend to the belief that the
proprietor was perfectly cognisant of the value of his goods, whereas
he is imagined by the hypothesis to be profoundly ignorant on the
subject. Pictures, bronzes, china, and Fiddles, with their extremely
modest prices attached, lie half hidden behind a mountain of goods
of a diametrically opposite nature. There they may rest for days,
nay, weeks, before the individual with the educated eye, for the
good of all men, detects them. Sooner or later, however, he makes
his appearance, and peers into every nook of the window, shading
his eyes with his hands. Something within arrests his attention;
his nose gets flattened against the glass in his eagerness to get
near the object. He enters the establishment, and asks to be allowed
to look at an article quite different from the one he has been so
intent upon; his object being that the dealer may not awaken to
a sense of the coveted article's value by a stranger seeming to
be interested in it. After examining the decoy bird, he returns
it, and carelessly asks to look at the article.
Whatever the value set upon it may be, he tenders exactly the half,
the matter being usually settled by what is technically known as
"splitting the difference." Delighted with his purchase,
he carries it home, and persuades his friends he has got to the
blind side of the dealer, and is in possession of the real thing
for the fiftieth part of what others give for it. He proceeds to
enlighten his friends on the subject, telling them to follow his
example, which they invariably do. Scarcely a day passes
without my hearing of a Cremona having been secured in the manner
I have attempted to describe. My experience, however, teaches me
that the whole thing is a delusion, and that the thoroughbred Cremona
does not fall away from the companionship of its equals, once in
the space of a lifetime, and that when this does happen, the instrument
rarely falls to the bargain-hunter. The following exceptional
incident will, I hope, not be found wanting in interest as bearing
on this theme. A votary of the Violin purchased an old Fiddle for
some two or three pounds from a general dealer in musical instruments
in his neighbourhood. He was well satisfied with his acquisition;
and after subjecting it to a course of judicious regulation, so
great were the improvements effected that the vendor regretted having
sold it for such a trifling sum, and the more so when it was whispered
about that the instrument was a veritable Amati—a report,
by the way, very far wide of the mark, as it was simply an old Tyrolean
copy. Some little time
after the occurrence related, the lover of Violins heard that the
same instrument-seller from whom he purchased the imagined Amati,
had secured a job lot of some half-dozen old Fiddles, the remnant
of an old London music-seller's stock, and that he was offering
them for sale. Our hero decided to pay another visit, and judge
of the merits of the new wares, with a view to a second investment.
Upon presenting himself to the local seller of Violins, he was at
once informed that if he selected any instrument
from the lot, he must be prepared to pay £10, the dealer having
no intention of again committing his former error in selling a Cremona
for some forty shillings. Upon this understanding the visitor proceeded
to examine the little stock, which he found in a very disordered
condition—bridgeless, stringless, and dusty. Among the whole
tribe, however, was a Violin which seemed to elbow its way to the
front of the group, and clamour for the attention of which it appeared
to deem itself worthy. Unable to resist its seeming appeal, the
intending purchaser decided to remove it from the atmosphere of
its companions, and begged that he might be permitted to take the
importuning Fiddle and string it in order to test its qualities.
His request being acceded to, he carried it away. Upon reaching
home, he took it from its case, and gently removed the dust of years.
The varnish appeared to him as something very different from any
he had ever seen before on a Violin; and being an artist by profession,
qualities of colours were pretty well understood by him. With the
Violin poised on his knee, somewhat after the manner seen in the
well-known picture of Stradivari in his workshop, he thus communed
with himself: "I have never seen the much-spoken-of Cremonese
varnish, but if this instrument has it not, its lustre must indeed
be more wondrous than my imagination has painted." After again
and again examining the Violin, he retired to rest, but not to sleep.
The Fiddle persisted in dodging him whichever way he turned on his
couch. At the dawn of day—five o'clock—he was up, with
the Fiddle again on his knee, thinking he might have been labouring
under some infatuation the night before which the light of day might
dispel. Convinced he was under no such delusion, he soon made for
the music-seller's establishment, whom he delighted by paying the
price demanded for the Violin. It was now time, he felt, to obtain
professional advice on the matter; in due course he paid me a visit.
Upon his opening the case I was unable to restrain my feelings of
surprise, and demanded if he had any idea of the value of the Violin.
"None whatever," he answered. Without troubling the reader
further, I informed him that his Violin was an undoubted Giuseppe
Guarneri, of considerable value. He then recounted the circumstances
attending its purchase, with which the reader is familiar. DOMENICO DRAGONETTI—HIS
GASPARO DA SALÒ. Signor Dragonetti
succeeded Berini as primo basso in the orchestra
of the chapel belonging to the monastery of San Marco, Venice, in
his eighteenth year. The procurators of the monastery, wishing to
show their high appreciation of his worth, presented the youthful
player with a magnificent Contra-Bass, by Gasparo da Salò, which
had been made expressly for the chapel orchestra of the convent
of St. Peter, by the famous Brescian maker. Upon an eventful
night, the inmates of the monastery retired to rest, when they were
awakened by deep rumbling and surging sounds. Unable to find repose
while these noises rent the air, they decided to visit the chapel;
and the nearer they got to it the louder the sounds became. Regarding
each other with looks of mingled fear and curiosity, they reached
the chapel, opened the door, and there stood the innocent cause
of their fright, Domenico Dragonetti, immersed in the performance
of some gigantic passage, of a range extending from the nut to the
bridge, on his newly-acquired Gasparo. The monks stood regarding
the performer in amazement, possibly mistaking him for a second
appearance of the original of Tartini's "Sonata del Diavolo,"
his Satanic Majesty having substituted the Contra-Basso for the
Violin. Upon this instrument Dragonetti played at his chief concert
engagements, and though frequently importuned to sell it by his
numerous admirers, declined to do so; in fact, though for the last
few years of his life he gave up public performance, he resolutely
refused most tempting offers for his treasure—£800, to use
an auctioneer's phrase, "having been offered in two places,"
and respectfully declined. In his youthful days he decided that
his cherished Gasparo should return to the place from whence he
obtained it, the Monastery of San Marco, and this wish was accordingly
fulfilled by his executors in the year 1846. The occasion was one
of much interest; it was felt by Dragonetti's friends and admirers
that to consign the instrument upon which he had so often astonished
and delighted them with the magic tones he drew from it, to the
care of those who possibly knew nothing of its merits, was matter
for regret. Being desirous of
furnishing the reader with all the information possible relative
to Signor Dragonetti's instrument I communicated with Mr. Samuel
Appleby, who was his legal adviser, and probably better acquainted
with him than any other person in this country. He very kindly sent
me the following particulars, which are interesting:— "BRIGHTON, July 2,
1875. "MY DEAR SIR,— "Your letter
of yesterday needs no apology, as it will afford me pleasure at
any time to give you any information in my power respecting the
late Signor Dragonetti, having known him well from 1796 to his death. "His celebrated
Gasparo da Salò instrument, or Contra-Basso, was left by his will
to the Fabbricieri (or churchwardens) for the time being of the
Church of St. Mark's, at Venice, to be played upon only on festivals
and grand occasions. I was present on one of such festivals, which
lasted three days, in July, 1852. I then saw the Basso, which was
played on in Orchestra No. 1, there having been two bands for which
music had been composed expressly. "In April, 1875,
being again in Venice, I inquired from the Verger of St. Mark's
if Dragonetti's Violone was in the church, and
I could see it. The reply was in the affirmative, but as the Fabbricieri
had the care of the instrument, under lock and key, it would be
necessary to see them and get their consent for its production.
As this would cause me some little trouble, I left Venice without
carrying out my intention. "Dragonetti
by his will left me his Amati Double-Bass, which is now in this
house, and I believe the only one of that make in England, and consequently
highly prized by "Yours truly,
"Mr. Hart." THE BETTS STRADIVARI. The Bibliophile tells
us of Caxton, Aldine, and Baskerville editions having been exposed
for sale by itinerant booksellers, men who in opening their umbrellas
opened their shops. Collectors of pictures, china, and Fiddles,
have each their wondrous tales to tell of bygone bargains, which
are but the echoes of that of the Bibliophile. It is doubtful, however,
were we to search throughout the curiosities of art sales, whether
we should discover such a bargain as Mr. Betts secured, when he
purchased the magnificent Stradivari which bears his name, for twenty
shillings. About half a century since, this instrument was taken
to the shop of Messrs. Betts, the well-known English Violin-makers
in the old Royal Exchange, and disposed of for the trivial sum above-mentioned.
Doubtless its owner believed he was selling a brand-new copy, instead
of a "Stradivari" made in 1704, in a state of perfection.
Frequently importuned to sell the instrument, Mr. Betts persistently
declined, though it is recorded in Sandys and Foster's work on the
Violin, that five hundred guineas were tendered more than once,
which in those days must have been a tempting offer indeed! Under
the will of Mr. Betts it passed to his family, who for years retained
possession of it. About the year 1858
it became the property of M. Vuillaume, of Paris, from whom it was
purchased by M. Wilmotte, of Antwerp. Several years later it passed
to Mr. C. G. Meier, who had waited patiently for years to become
its owner. The loving care which this admirer of Cremonese Violins
bestowed upon it was such, that he would scarcely permit any person
to handle it. From Mr. Meier it passed into my possession in the
year 1878, which change of ownership brought forth the following
interesting particulars from the pen of the late Charles Reade,
the novelist and lover of Fiddles:— "THE BETTS STRADIVARI. "To the Editor
of the 'Globe.' "SIR,—As
you have devoted a paragraph to this Violin, which it well deserves,
permit me to add a fact which may be interesting to amateurs, and
to Mr. George Hart, the late purchaser. M. Vuillaume, who could
not speak English, was always assisted in his London purchases by
the late John Lott, an excellent workman, and a good judge of old
Violins.The day after this particular purchase, Lott came to Vuillaume,
by order, to open the Violin. He did so in the sitting-room whilst
Vuillaume was dressing. Lott's first words were, 'Why, it has never
been opened!' His next, 'Here's the original bass-bar.' Thereupon
out went M. Vuillaume, half-dressed, and the pair gloated over a
rare sight, a Stradivari Violin, the interior of which was intact
from the maker's hands. Mr. Lott described the bass-bar to me. It
was very low and very short, and quite unequal to support the tension
of the strings at our concert pitch, so that the true tone of this
Violin can never have been heard in England before it fell into
Vuillaume's hands. I have known this Violin forty years. It is wonderfully
preserved. There is no wear on the belly except the chin-mark; in
the centre of the back a very little, just enough to give light
and shade. The corners appear long for the epoch, but only because
they have not been worn down. As far as the work goes, you may know
from this instrument how a brand-new Stradivari Violin looked. Eight
hundred guineas seems a long price for a dealer to give: but after
all, here is a Violin, a picture, and a miracle all in one; and
big diamonds increase in number; but these spoils of time are limited
for ever now, and, indeed, can only decrease by shipwreck, accident,
and the tooth of time.—I am, your obedient servant, "CHARLES READE. "19, ALBERT
GATE, May 9, 1878." LEIGH HUNT ON PAGANINI. "'I projected,'
says Leigh Hunt, 'a poem to be called "A Day with the Reader."
I proposed to invite the reader to breakfast, dine and sup with
me, partly at home, and partly at a country inn, to vary the circumstances.
It was to be written both gravely and gaily; in an exalted, or in
a lowly strain, according to the topics of which it treated. The
fragment on Paganini was a part of the exordium:—
I wished to write
in the same manner, because Paganini with his Violin could move
both the tears and the laughter of his audience, and (as I have
described him doing in the verses) would now give you the notes
of birds in trees, and even hens feeding in a farmyard (which was
a corner into which I meant to take my companion), and now melt
you into grief and pity, or mystify you with witchcraft, or put
you into a state of lofty triumph like a conqueror. The phrase of smiting the chord—
was no classical
commonplace; nor, in respect to impression on the mind, was it exaggeration
to say, that from a single chord he would fetch out—
Paganini, the first
time I saw and heard him, and the first time he struck a note, seemed
literally to strike it—to give it a blow.
The house was so crammed, that being among the squeezers in the
standing-room at the side of the pit, I happened to catch the first
glance of his face through the arm a-kimbo of a man who was perched
up before me, which made a kind of frame for it; and there on the
stage, in that frame, as through a perspective glass, were the face,
bust, and the raised hand of the wonderful musician, with the instrument
at his chin, just going to commence, and looking exactly as I have
described him.
"'To show the
depth and identicalness of the impression which he made upon everybody,
foreign or native, an Italian who stood near me said to himself,
after a sigh, "O Dio!" and this had not been said long
when another person, in the same manner, uttered "O Christ!"
Musicians pressed forward from behind the scenes to get as close
to him as possible; and they could not sleep at night for thinking
of him.'"—Timbs's Anecdote Biography. THACKERAY ON ORCHESTRAL
MUSIC. "I wish I were
a poet; you should have a description of all this in verse, and
welcome. But if I were a musician! Let us see what we should do
as musicians. First, you should hear the distant sound of a bugle,
which sound should float away; that is one of the heralds of the
morning, flying southward. Then another should issue from the eastern
gates; and now the grand réveilleshould grow, sweep
past your ears (like the wind aforesaid), go on, dying as it goes.
When, as it dies, my stringed instruments come in. These to the
left of the orchestra break into a soft slow movement, the music
swaying drowsily from side to side, as it were, with a noise like
the rustling of boughs. It must not be much of a noise, however,
for my stringed instruments to the right have begun the very song
of the morning. The bows tremble upon the strings, like the limbs
of a dancer, who, a-tiptoe, prepares to bound into her ecstasy of
motion. Away! The song soars into the air as if it had the wings
of a kite. Here swooping, there swooping, wheeling upward, falling
suddenly, checked, poised for a moment on quivering wings, and again
away. It is waltz-time, and you hear the Hours dancing to it. Then
the horns. Their melody overflows into the air richly, like honey
of Hybla; it wafts down in lazy gusts, like the scent of the thyme
from that hill. So my stringed instruments to the left cease rustling;
listen a little while; catch the music of those others, and follow
it. Now for the rising of the lark! Henceforward it is a chorus,
and he is the leader thereof. Heaven and earth agree to follow him.
I have a part for the brooks—their notes drop, drop, drop,
like his: for the woods—they sob like him. At length, nothing
remains but to blow the Hautboys; and just as the chorus arrives
at its fulness, they come maundering in. They have a sweet old blundering
'cow song' to themselves—a silly thing, made of the echoes
of all pastoral sounds. There's a warbling waggoner in it, and his
team jingling their bells. There's a shepherd driving his flock
from the fold, bleating; and the lowing of cattle. Down falls the
lark like a stone; it is time he looked for grubs. Then the Hautboys
go out, gradually; for the waggoner is far on his road to market;
sheep cease to bleat and cattle to low, one by one; they are on
their grazing ground, and the business of the day is begun. Last
of all, the heavenly music sweeps away to waken more westering lands,
over the Atlantic and its whitening sails."—"An
Essay without End." ADDISON ON THE PERSONIFICATION
OF THE LEADING INSTRUMENT. In the pages of the Tatler (April,
1710), Addison with much ingenuity and humour personifies certain
musical instruments. He says: "I have often imagined to myself
that different talents in discourse might be shadowed out after
the same manner by different kinds of music; and that the several
conversable parts of mankind in this great city might be cast into
proper characters and divisions, as they resemble several instruments
that are in use among the masters of harmony. Of these, therefore,
in their order; and first of the Drum. "Your Drums
are the blusterers in conversation, that with a loud laugh, unnatural
mirth, and a torrent of noise, domineer in public assemblies; overbear
men of sense; stun their companions; and fill the place they are
in with a rattling sound, that hath seldom any wit, humour, or good
breeding in it. I need not observe that the emptiness of the Drum
very much contributes to its noise. "The Lute is
a character directly opposite to the Drum, that sounds very finely
by itself. A Lute is seldom heard in a company of more than five,
whereas a Drum will show itself to advantage in an assembly of five
hundred. The Lutenists, therefore, are men of a fine genius, uncommon
reflection, great affability, and esteemed chiefly by persons of
a good taste, who are the only proper judges of so delightful and
soft a melody. "Violins are
the lively, forward, importunate wits, that distinguish themselves
by the flourishes of imagination, sharpness of repartee, glances
of satire, and bear away the upper part in every consort.
I cannot but observe, that when a man is not disposed to hear music,
there is not a more disagreeable sound in harmony than that of a
Violin. "There is another
musical instrument, which is more frequent in this nation than any
other; I mean your Bass-Viol, which grumbles in the bottom of the consort,
and with a surly masculine sound strengthens the harmony and tempers
the sweetness of the several instruments that play along with it.
The Bass-Viol is an instrument of a quite different nature to the
Trumpet, and may signify men of rough sense and unpolished parts,
who do not love to hear themselves talk, but sometimes break out
with an agreeable bluntness, unexpected wit, and surly pleasantries,
to the no small diversion of their friends and companions. In short,
I look upon every sensible, true-born Briton to be naturally a Bass-Viol." WASHINGTON IRVING
ON REALISTIC MUSIC AND THE VIOLIN. "Demi-Semiquaver
to Launcelot Langstaff, Esq. "SIR,—I
felt myself hurt and offended by Mr. Evergreen's terrible philippic
against modern music in No. 11 of your work, and was under serious
apprehension that his strictures might bring the art, which I have
the honour to profess, into contempt. So far, sir, from agreeing
with Mr. Evergreen in thinking that all modern music is but the
mere dregs and drainings of the ancient, I trust before this letter
is concluded I shall convince you and him that some of the late
professors of this enchanting art have completely distanced the
paltry efforts of the ancients; and that I, in particular, have
at length brought it almost to absolute perfection. "The Greeks,
simple souls, were astonished at the powers of Orpheus, who made
the woods and rocks dance to his lyre—of Amphion, who converted
crotchets into bricks, and quavers into mortar—and of Arion,
who won upon the compassion of the fishes. In the fervency of admiration,
their poets fabled that Apollo had lent them his lyre, and inspired
them with his own spirit of harmony. What then would they have said
had they witnessed the wonderful effects of my skill?—had
they heard me, in the compass of a single piece, describe in glowing
notes one of the most sublime operations of nature, and not only
make inanimate objects dance, but even speak; and not only speak,
but speak in strains of exquisite harmony? "I think, sir,
I may venture to say there is not a sound in the whole compass of
nature which I cannot imitate, and even improve upon;—nay,
what I consider the perfection of my art, I have discovered a method
of expressing, in the most striking manner, that indefinable, indescribable
silence which accompanies the falling of snow." [Our author describes
in detail the different movements of a grand piece, which he names
the "Breaking up of the ice in the North River," and tells
us that the "ice running against Polopay's Island with a terrible
crash," is represented by a fierce fellow travelling with his
Fiddle-stick over a huge Bass-Viol at the rate of 150 bars a minute,
and tearing the music to rags—this being what is called execution.] "Thus, sir,
you perceive what wonderful powers of expression have hitherto been
locked up in this enchanting art. A whole history is here told without
the aid of speech or writing; and provided the hearer is in the
least acquainted with music, he cannot mistake a single note. As
to the blowing up of the powder-bank, I look upon it as a chef
d'oeuvre which I am confident will delight all modern amateurs,
who very properly estimate music in proportion to the noise it makes,
and delight in thundering cannon and earthquakes. "In my warm
anticipations of future improvement, I have sometimes almost convinced
myself that music will in time be brought to such a climax of perfection
as to supersede the necessity of speech and writing, and every kind
of social intercourse be conducted by the Flute and Fiddle. The
immense benefits that will result from this improvement, must be
plain to every man of the least consideration. In the present unhappy
situation of mortals a man has but one way of making himself understood:
if he loses his speech he must inevitably be dumb all the rest of
his life; but having once learned this new musical language, the
loss of speech will be a mere trifle, not worth a moment's uneasiness.
This manner of discussing may also, I think, be introduced with
great effect into our National Assemblies, where every man, instead
of wagging his tongue, should be obliged to flourish a Fiddle-stick;
by which means, if he said nothing to the purpose, he would at all
events 'discourse most eloquent music,' which is more than can be
said of them at present. "But the most
important result of this discovery is, that it may be applied to
the establishment of that great desideratum in the learned world—a
universal language. Wherever this science of music is cultivated,
nothing more will be necessary than a knowledge of its alphabet,
which, being almost the same everywhere, will amount to a universal
medium of communication. A man may thus—with his Violin under
his arm, a piece of resin, and a few bundles of catgut—fiddle
his way through the world, and never be at a loss to make himself
understood.—I am, &c., "DEMI-SEMIQUAVER." SPOHR AND HIS GUARNERI. "Shortly before
my leaving Brunswick I had a case made worthy of the splendid Violin
I had brought from Russia, viz., a very elegant one; and in order
to protect this from injury, I had packed it up in my trunk, between
my linen and clothes. I therefore took care that this, which contained
my whole estate, should be carefully fastened behind the carriage
with cords. But, notwithstanding, I thought it necessary to look
out frequently, particularly as the driver told me several trunks
had been cut down from behind carriages. As the carriage had no
window at the back, this continual looking out was a very troublesome
business, and I was therefore very glad when, towards evening, we
arrived between the gardens of Göttingen, and I had convinced myself
for the last time that the trunk was still in its place. Delighted
that I had brought it so far in safety, I remarked to my fellow-traveller:
'My first care shall now be to procure a good strong chain and padlock,
for the better security of the trunk.' "In this manner
we arrived at the town gate, just as they were lighting the lamps.
The carriage drew up before the guard-house. While Beneke gave our
names to the sergeant, I anxiously asked one of the soldiers who
stood round the carriage, 'Is the trunk still secured?' 'There is
no trunk there,' was the reply. With one bound I was out of the
carriage, and rushed out through the gate with a drawn hunting-knife.
Had I with more reflection listened awhile, I might perhaps have
been fortunate enough to hear and overtake the thieves running off
by some side-path. But in my blind rage I had far overshot the place
where I had last seen the trunk, and only discovered my over-haste
when I found myself in the open field. Inconsolable for my loss,
I turned back. While my fellow-traveller looked for the inn, I hastened
to the police-office and requested that an immediate search might
be made in the garden houses outside the gate. To my astonishment
and vexation I was informed that the jurisdiction outside the gate
belonged to Weende, and that I must address my request there. As
Weende was half a league from Göttingen, I was compelled to abandon
for that evening all further steps for the recovery of my Guarneri.
I passed a sleepless night, in a state of mind such as, in my hitherto
fortunate career, had been wholly unknown to me. Had I not lost
my splendid Guarneri, the exponent of all the artistic excellence
I had till then attained, I could have lightly borne the loss of
the rest. On the following morning the police sent to inform me
that an empty trunk and a Violin-case had been found in the fields
behind the gardens. Full of joy I hastened thither, in the hope
that the thieves might have left the Violin in the case, as an object
of no value to them; but, unfortunately, it did not prove so. The
bow of the Violin, a genuine Tourte, secured in the lid of the case,
had remained undiscovered."—Spohr's Autobiography. SPOHR AND THE COLLECTOR. When Louis Spohr
was in London in 1820, he tells us, in his Autobiography, he received
a letter couched in the following terms: "Mr. Spohr is requested
to call upon Dr. —— to-day at four o'clock." "As
I did not know the name of the writer," he proceeds to relate,
"nor could ascertain from the servant the purpose for which
my attendance was requested, I replied, in the same laconic tone,
'At the hour named I am engaged, and cannot come.' The next morning
the servant reappeared, bearing a second and more polite note: 'Mr.
Spohr is requested to favour Dr. —— with a visit, and
to appoint the hour when it will be convenient for him to call.'
The servant had been instructed to offer me the use of his master's
carriage, and having in the meantime discovered that the gentleman
was a celebrated physician, a patron of music, and a lover of Violins,
I drove to his house. A courteous old gentleman with grey hair met
me on the stairs. Unfortunately he neither understood French nor
German, consequently we were unable to converse together. We stood
for a moment somewhat embarrassed, when he took my arm and led me
into a large room, on the walls of which hung a great number of
Violins. Other Violins had been removed from their cases and placed
on the tables. The Doctor gave me a Violin-bow, and pointed to the
instruments. I now perceived that he was desirous of having my opinion
of the instruments. I, therefore, played upon them, and placed them
in order, according to my idea of their merit. When I had selected
the six most valuable ones, I played upon them alternately in order
to discover the best of the half-dozen. Perceiving that the doctor
cast upon one instrument glances especially tender whenever I played
upon it, I gladly afforded the good old man pleasure by declaring
it to be the best Violin. When I took my hat to leave, the old gentleman,
with a kind smile, slipped a five-pound note into my hand. Astonished,
I looked at it, and also at the Doctor, not
knowing at first what he meant; but suddenly it occurred to me that
it was intended as a fee for having examined his Violins. I smilingly
shook my head, laid the note on the table, pressed the Doctor's
hand, and descended the stairs. Some months later, upon the occasion
of my benefit concert, the Doctor procured a ticket, for which he
sent a ten-pound note." THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD
AND THE VIOLIN. "But the pleasantest
part of our fellowship is yet to describe. At a certain period of
the night, our entertainer (the renowned Timothy Tickler) knew by
the longing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the dining-room
what was wanting. Then with, 'Oh, I beg your pardon, Hogg, I was
forgetting,' he would take out a small gold key that hung by a chain
of the same precious metal to a particular button-hole, and stalk
away as tall as the life, open two splendid Fiddle-cases, and produce
their contents, first the one, and then the other; but always keeping
the best to himself; I'll never forget with what elated dignity.
There was a twist of the lip, and an upward beam of the eye, that
were truly sublime. Then down we sat, side by side, and began—at
first gently, and with easy motion, like skilful grooms, keeping
ourselves up for the final heat, which was slowly but surely approaching.
At the end of every tune we took a glass, and still our enthusiastic
admiration of the Scottish tunes increased—our energies of
execution redoubled, till ultimately it became not only a complete
and well-contested race, but a trial of strength, to determine which
should drown the other. The only feeling short of ecstasy that came
across us in these enraptured moments were caused by hearing the
laugh and joke going on with our friends, as if no such thrilling
strains had been flowing. But if Tim's eye chanced to fall on them,
it instantly retreated upwards again in mild indignation. To his
honour be it mentioned, he has left me a legacy of that inestimable
Violin, provided that I outlive him. But not for a thousand such
would I part with my old friend."—Altrine Tales.—Hogg's
Reminiscences of Former Days. THE FIDDLE TRADE. "There is, for
instance, Old Borax, whom those who want to know whereabouts to
look for—within the shadow of St. Martin's Church. "Borax makes
but little demonstration of his wealth in the dingy hole that serves
him for a shop, where a Double-Bass, a couple of Violoncellos, a
Tenor or two hanging on the walls, and half-a-dozen Fiddles lying
among a random collection of bows, bridges, coils of catgut, packets
of purified resin, and tangled horsehair in skeins, serve for the
insignia of his profession. But Borax never does business in his
shop, which is a dusty desert from one week's end to another. His
warehouse is a private sanctum on the first floor, where you will
find him in his easy chair reading the morning paper, if he does
not happen to be engaged with a client. Go to him for a Fiddle,
or carry him a Fiddle for his opinion, and you will hardly fail
to acknowledge that you stand in the presence of a first-rate judge.
The truth is, that Fiddles of all nations, disguised and sophisticated
as they may be to deceive common observers, are naked and self-confessed
in his hands. Dust, dirt, varnish, and bees'-wax are thrown away
upon him; he knows the work of every man, of note or of no note,
whether English, French, Dutch, German, Spaniard, or Italian, who
ever sent a Fiddle into the market, for the last two hundred years;
and he will tell you who is the fabricator of your treasure, and
the rank he holds in the Fiddle-making world, with the utmost readiness
and urbanity—on payment of his fee of one guinea. "Borax is the
pink of politeness, though a bit of a martinet after an ancient
and punctilious model. If you go to select a Fiddle from his stock,
you may escape a lecture of a quarter of an hour by calling it
a Fiddle, and not a Violin, which is a word he detests, and is apt
to excite his wrath. He is never in a hurry to sell, and will by
no means allow you to conclude a bargain until he has put you in
complete possession of the virtues, and failings, if it have any,
of the instrument for which you are to pay a round sum. As his Fiddles
lie packed in sarcophagi, like mummies in an Egyptian catacomb,
your choice is not perplexed by any embarras de richesses;
you see but one masterpiece at a time, and Borax will take care
that you do see that, and know all about it, before
he shows you another. First unlocking the case, he draws the instrument
tenderly from its bed, grasps it in the true critical style with
the fingers and thumbs of both hands a little above the bridge,
turning the scroll towards you. Now and then he twangs, with the
thumb of his left hand, the third or fourth string, by way of emphasis
to the observations which he feels bound to make—instinctively
avoiding, however, that part of the strings subject to the action
of the bow. Giving you the name of the maker, he proceeds to enlighten
you on the peculiar characteristics of his work; then he will dilate
upon the remarkable features of the specimen he holds in his hand—its
build, its model, the closeness and regularity of the grain of the
wood of which the belly was fashioned: the neatness, or, wanting
that, the original style of the purfling—the exquisite mottling
of the back, which is wrought, he tells you, 'by the cunning hand
of nature in the primal growth of the tree'—twang.
Then he will break out in placid exclamations of delight upon the
gracefulness of the swell—twang—and the noble
rise in the centre—twang—and make you pass your
hand over it to convince yourself; after which, he carefully wipes
it down with a silk handkerchief. This process superinduces another
favourite theme of eulogium—namely, the unparalleled hue and
tone (of colour) imparted by the old Italian varnish—a hue,
he is sure to inform you, which it is impossible to imitate by any
modern nostrums—twang. Then he reverts to the subject
of a Fiddle's indispensables and fittings; discourses learnedly
on the carving of scrolls, and the absurd substitution, by some
of the German makers, of lions' heads in lieu of them; hinting,
by the way, that said makers are asses, and that their instruments
bray when they should speak—twang. Then touching briefly
on the pegs, which he prefers unornamented, he will hang lingeringly
upon the neck, pronounce authoritatively upon the right degree of
elevation of the finger-board, and the effects of its due adjustment
upon the vibration of the whole body-harmonic, and, consequently,
upon the tone. Then, jumping over the bridge, he will animadvert
on the tail-piece; after which, entering at the f-holes—not
without a fervent encomium upon their graceful drawing and neatness
of cut—twang—he will introduce you to the arcanum
mysterii, the interior of the marvellous fabric—point
out to you, as plainly as though you were gifted with clairvoyance,
the position and adaptation of the various linings, the bearings
of the bass-bar, that essential adjunct to quality of tone—twang—and
the proper position of the sound-post. Lastly, he will show you,
by means of a small hand-mirror throwing a gleam of light into its
entrails, the identical autograph of the immortal maker—Albani,
Guarneri, or Amati, as the case may happen—with the date printed
in the lean old type and now scarcely visible through the dust of
a couple of centuries, 'Amati Cremonæ fecit 1645,' followed
by a manuscript signature in faded ink, which you must take for
granted. "Borax has but
one price; and if you do not choose to pay it, you must do without
the article. The old fellow is a true believer, and is accounted
the first judge in Europe; Fiddles travel to him from all parts
of the Continent for his opinion, bringing their fees with them;
and for every instrument he sells, it is likely he pronounces judgment
upon a hundred. It is rumoured that the greatest masterpieces in
being are in his possession. "A dealer of
a different stamp is Michael Schnapps, well known in the trade,
and the profession too, as a ravenous Fiddle-ogre, who buys and
sells everything that bears the Fiddle shape, from a Double-Bass
to a dancing-master's pocketable Kit. His house is one vast warehouse,
with Fiddles on the walls, Fiddles on the staircases, and Fiddles
hanging like stalactites from the ceilings. To him the tyros resort
when they first begin to scrape; he will set them up for ten shillings,
and swop them up afterwards, step by step, to ten or twenty guineas,
and to ten times that amount if they are rich enough and green enough
to continue the experiment. Schnapps imports Fiddles in the rough,
under the designation of toys, most of which are the production
of his peasant-countrymen bordering on the Black Forest; and with
these he supplies the English provinces and the London toy and stationers'
shops. He is, further, a master of the Fiddle-making craft himself,
and so consummate an adept in repairing that nothing short of consuming
fire can defeat his art. When Pinker, of Norwich, had his Cremona
smashed all to atoms in a railway collision, Schnapps rushed down
to the scene of the accident, bought the lot of splintered fragments
for a couple of pounds, and in a fortnight had restored the magnificent
Stradivari to its original integrity, and cleared 150 guineas by
its sale. But Schnapps is a humbug at bottom—an everlasting
copyist and manufacturer of dead masters, Italian, German, and English.
He has sold more Amatis in his time than Amati himself ever made.
He knows the secret of the old varnish; he has hidden stores of
old wood—planks of cherry-tree and mountain-ash centuries
old, and worm-eaten sounding-boards of defunct Harpsichords, and
reserves of the close-grained pine hoarded for ages. He has a miniature
printing press, and a fount of the lean-faced, long-forgotten type,
and a stock of the old ribbed paper torn from the fly-leaves of
antique folios; and, of course, he has always on hand a collection
of the most wonderful instruments at the most wonderful prices,
for the professional man or the connoisseur. "'You vant to
py a Pfeedel,' says Schnapps. 'I sall sell you de pest—dat
ish, de pest for the mowny. Vat you sall gif for him?' "'Well, I can
go as far as ten guineas,' says the customer. "'Ten kinnis
is good for von goot Pfeedel; bote besser is tventy, tirty, feefty
kinnis, or von hunder, look you; bote ten kinnis is goot—you
sall see.' "Schnapps is
all simplicity and candour in his dealings. The probability is,
however, that his ten-guinea Fiddle would be fairly purchased at
five, and that you might have been treated to the same article had
you named thirty or forty guineas instead of ten. "I once asked
Schnapps if he knew wherein lay the excellence of the old Italian
instruments. "'Mein Gott!—if
I don't, who de teifil does?' "Then he went
on to inform me that it did not lie in any peculiarity in the model,
though there was something in that; nor in the wood of the back,
though there was something in that; nor in the fine and regular
grain of the pine which formed the belly, though there was something
in that; nor in the position of the grain running precisely parallel
with the strings, though there was something in that; nor in the
sides, nor in the finger-board, nor in the linings, nor in the bridge,
nor in the strings, nor in the waist, though there was something
in all of them; nor yet in the putting together, though there was
much in that. "'Where does
it lie, then, Mr. Schnapps?' "'Ah, der henker!
hang if I know.' "'Has age much
to do with it, think you?' "'Not mosche.
Dere is pad Pfeedels two hunder years ole as vell as goot vons;
and dere is goot Pfeedels of pad models, vitch is made fery pad,
and pad Pfeedels of de fery pest models, and peautiful made as you
sall vish to see.' "This is the
sum total of the information to be got out of Schnapps on that mysterious
subject. On other matters he can pronounce with greater exactness.
He knows every Cremona in private or professional hands in the whole
kingdom; and where the owner bought it, if he did buy it; and what
he gave for it, or from whom he inherited it, if it came to him
as heir-loom. Of those of them which have passed through his hands,
he has got fac-similes taken in plaster, which serve as exemplars
for his own manufactures. Upon the death of the owner of one of
these rarities, Schnapps takes care to learn particulars; and if
the effects of the deceased come under the hammer, he starts off
to the sale, however distant, where, unless some of his metropolitan
rivals in trade have likewise caught the scent, he has the bidding
all his own way, and carries off the prize. "The inundation
of German Fiddles, which may be bought new for a few shillings,
has swamped English makers of cheap instruments, of which there
are by this time five times as many in the market as there is any
occasion for. Hence it is that Fiddles meet us everywhere; they
cumber the toy-shop; they house with the furniture dealer; they
swarm by thousands in the pawnbrokers' stores, and block out the
light from his windows; they hang on the tobacconists' walls; they
are raffled at public-houses; and they form an item in every auctioneer's
catalogue. "Meanwhile the
multiplication of rubbish only enhances the value of gold; and a
Fiddle worthy of an applauding verdict from old Borax is more difficult
of acquisition than ever. So I shall keep my Cremona." THE PRINCE AND THE
FUGAL VORTEX. A Royal amateur and
British Admiral, a lover of the Violin and patron of music, happened
whilst at Malta to be leading Mozart's charming Quartet in G major—
The opening movement,
together with the Minuet, Trio, and Andante having been rendered
with pleasure and satisfaction, the Finale
was entered upon with due determination. Its fugal subject—
was well under way,
and speedily in full sail. Ere long an evident indecision of purpose
manifested itself, the motive or subject failing to elicit other
than dubious answers to its calls; it was emphasised with loudness,
not without signs of impatience, but to no purpose; all became hopelessly
involved and incoherent, until at length, like the ice described
by the "Ancient Mariner"—
The second Violin,
overcome by the surging counterpoint, ceased playing, and with the
adroitness of a Raleigh turned to the Prince and said, "Pardon
me, your Royal Highness, I fear we have been carried away by the
vortex of the melody." The execution of chamber compositions
belonging to the higher walks of counterpoint is frequently disappointing,
but seldom or never is the failure so gracefully and agreeably accounted
for. SALE OF CREMONESE
INSTRUMENTS AT MILAN, AT THE END OF THE LAST CENTURY. The following instruments
were offered for sale at Milan, by Signor Francesco Albinoni, in
March, 1790:—
The above announcement
cannot fail to make one reflect on the different degree of interest
excited by a sale of Cremonas a century ago and one at the present
time. The sale conducted by Signor Albinoni, in 1790, at Milan,
doubtless passed with but little, if any, display of enthusiasm,
and were it now possible to learn the prices realised, they would
certainly give occasion for surprise when compared with those now
obtained. As regards the increased interest taken in rare Violins,
the sale of the Gillott collection, in 1872, furnishes an instance
of comparatively recent date. The announcement of Messrs. Christie
and Manson served to bring together in King Street, St. James's,
a legion of Violin votaries. So unusual was the excitement that
the Graphichad one of its pages occupied by an excellent
representation of "Viewing the Violins." In Paris, in
the year 1878, the sale of a Stradivari Violin, at the Hôtel Drouot,
gave rise to an unusual display of interest. The first bid was for
ten thousand francs, and the Stradivari, dated 1709, was knocked
down for the large sum of twenty-two thousand one hundred francs.
When the biddings at the Hôtel des Ventes had reached eighteen thousand
francs, a casualty, which might have led to unpleasant results,
lent additional zest to the proceedings. There was a great pressure
among the crowd to obtain a sight of the Stradivari. Two or three
of the more adventurous spirits clambered on to a table to gain
a clear prospect of the precious Fiddle, causing the legs of the
table to give way and the enthusiasts to be precipitated to the
ground. A cry of terror—less for the fallen than for the Fiddle—arose
from the throng; but soon the voice of the auctioneer was heard
proclaiming, in reassuring accents, "Do not be alarmed, gentlemen;
the Stradivari is safe!" AN INDEFATIGABLE
VIOLINIST. "Puppo, the
Violinist, being in Paris in 1793, was summoned before the Committee
of Public Safety on suspicion, when the following interrogatories
were put to him: 'Your name?' 'Puppo.' 'What were you doing during
the time of the tyrant?' 'I played the Violin.' 'What do you do
now?' 'I play the Violin.' 'And what will you do for the nation?' 'I will play the Violin.'" A WISH.
—Extract
from Oliver Wendell Holmes' Lines on Contentment.
LIVING STRADIVARIS. A passionate lover
of Fiddles, being in Milan, made the acquaintance of an Italian
who, like himself, was a lover of the bow. They had not long met
before the theme of their mutual delight was broached; the beautiful
features in the works of the great masters were dwelt upon, their
respective points of genius discriminated, until the freemasonry
of Fiddle-connoisseurship was exhausted. Inquiries were exchanged
as to the whereabouts of remarkable specimens, when suddenly the
Italian's face brightened, and gave indication that a happy thought
had crossed his mind. "By the way, I can introduce you to a
friend who has in his possession some choice Stradivaris, of various
dates, and having heads of a very marked character." His companion
was on his feet before he finished speaking, eagerly demanding where
these choice "Strads" were to be seen. The distance being
but a few streets off, it was agreed that they should start at once.
On arriving at a house in the Via Meravigli, the Italian inquired
of the servant if his master was at home. Being assured of this,
the Fiddler-connoisseurs were shown into an apartment, where they
anxiously awaited the host. Presently he entered, and the usual
exchange of courtesies having been gone through, the Italian, with
the utmost gravity, inquired after the Stradivaris, and received
answer that they never were better; his companion, who was burning
to feast his eyes on them, begged that he might have the pleasure
of seeing them. The host, flattered by the interest taken in his
"Strads" by his visitor, acquiesced, left the room, and
brought in his collection, which, if not unique, was in every way
original. It consisted of five Stradivaris—three
boys and two girls. Unable longer to restrain his laughter, the
Italian broke forth into one of those hearty peals which terminate
only when the risible faculties are completely exhausted. Signor
Stradivari, the happy parent of the collection just ushered into
the room, regarded his visitor with astonishment, in which he was
joined by the specimens of various dates. Ultimately the countenance
of Signor Stradivari began to assume anything but a pleased appearance,
as he had failed to comprehend what there was about his cherished
ones to excite such ungovernable mirth. When the joke was explained,
it is needless to say that the wit's friend, the connoisseur, suffered
some disappointment, but soon heartily joined in the laugh raised
at his expense. Signor Stradivari and his family were not long kept
behind the curtain, and soon added their laugh to that of the rest
of the company. PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. A lady belonging
to Covent Garden Theatre, who had never heard Paganini, requested
leave to be present at one of the rehearsals of his concerts. It
happened that Paganini did not bring his Violin with him, but borrowed
one from a member of the orchestra, and, instead of playing, made
a kind of pizzicato obbligato. After the rehearsal was
finished, the lady addressed Mr. Cooke: "Oh, dear, Mr. Cooke,
what a wonderful man he is! I declare, I may say, that till this
morning I never knew what music was capable of." Cooke replied,
"Indeed, madam, he is truly wonderful; but allow me to observe
that on this occasion you are indebted rather to your imagination
than your ears for the delight you have experienced." "How,
Mr. Cooke?" "Why, madam, this morning Paganini has not
played at all—he has not even touched a bow." "Extraordinary!"
exclaimed the lady; "I am more than ever confirmed in my opinion
of him; for if without playing he can affect one
in such a manner, how much more wonderful are the sensations he
must produce when he does play!" A ROYAL AMATEUR. "Francis the
First, Emperor of Austria, was a passionate lover of music, and
played admirably on the flute. His greatest pleasure was to perform
the Trios and Quartetts of the old masters. One of the household
physicians of the court excelled on the Tenor. As imperial etiquette
did not permit a simple physician to accompany the Emperor in his
pieces unless he had the entréeat court, Francis first
created his doctor a baron, and then a privy councillor, thus giving
him his petites and grandes entrées.
By the help of his Tenor-playing our medical musician insinuated
himself so successfully into the good graces of the Emperor, that
he became almost the rival of Metternich, and all the other ministers
courted his friendship. Such was the rise of the celebrated Baron
Still. But for his Tenor, this all-powerful favourite of Francis
the First would have lived and died an obscure physician."—Critique
Musicale. POPE PIUS IX. AND
THE MUSICIAN. "An Italian
composer, named Peregrini, was a fellow-student of Mastai Ferretti,
now the occupant of the Papal chair. Since their quitting college,
Fortune abandoned the maestro, whilst she smiled upon
the priest. One day Pius IX. received the following letter:—'Most
Holy Father,—I know not if you recollect that I had the honour
of being your fellow-student at College, and that your Holiness
has done me the honour of playing duos with me on the Violin; and
that the execution of them was not always irreproachable, at least
on my part, which so displeased your Holiness at the time that you
deigned to apply certain corrections to my fingers. I have taken
the liberty of revealing myself to your recollection, and to pray
you to take under your protection one who can never cease to remember
the happy moments he has passed with him whose apostolic virtues
have raised him to the throne of St. Peter.' The Pope replied, 'I
have never forgotten your name, my son; come to me at Rome, and
we will again play duets together, and if you have not progressed
in your studies, I shall know how again to correct you.'"—Hogarth's
Musical Herald. OLE BULL AND FIDDLE
VARNISH. "A man who had
a patent varnish for Violins, brought his invention to Ole Bull,
and begged him to try it. He said that it gave ordinary instruments
the sweet quality of a Cremona Fiddle. Ole Bull tried it, and found
that it improved the tone, and promised to use a Violin prepared
with it at a concert he had to give at the house of the Duke of
Riario. There was a great deal of fashionable company at this concert,
and the heat of the room melted this famous varnish, which was really
a preparation of asafoetida. The smell which it exuded was so maddening
that an ordinary man would have stopped and excused himself; but
Ole Bull merely closed his eyes, turned his face away, and played
with an energy which became more frenzied the more intolerable the
stink became. He enjoyed an overwhelming success, and the Duke rushed
forward to seize his hand in congratulation. The appalling odour
of asafoetida struck him in the face, and Ole Bull had to explain
in what agony he had been performing."—Ole Bull's "Breve
i Uddrag," by Jonas Lie, Copenhagen, 1881. ON THE TREATMENT OF THE VIOLIN. The letter here presented
to my readers was translated and published by Dr. Burney, in 1779,
under the following title: "A Letter from the late Signor Tartini
to Signora Maddalena Lombardini (afterwards Signora Sirmen). Published
as an important lesson to performers on the Violin. "PADUA, March 5,
1760. "'MY VERY MUCH
ESTEEMED SIGNORA MADDALENA, "'Finding myself
at length disengaged from the weighty business which has so long
prevented me from performing my promise to you, a promise which
was made with too much sincerity for my want of punctuality not
to afflict me, I shall begin the instructions you wish from me by
letter; and if I should not explain myself with sufficient clearness,
I entreat you to tell me your doubts and difficulties, in writing,
which I shall not fail to remove in a future letter. "'Your principal
practice and study should, at present be confined to the use and
power of the bow, in order to make yourself entirely mistress in
the execution and expression of whatever can be played or sung,
within the compass and ability of your instrument. Your first study,
therefore, should be the true manner of holding, balancing, and
pressing the bow lightly but steadily upon the strings; in such
a manner as it shall seem to breathe the first tone it gives, which
must proceed from the friction of the string, and not from percussion,
as by a blow given with a hammer upon it. This depends on laying
the bow lightly upon the strings at the first contact, and on gently
pressing it afterwards, which, if done gradually, can scarcely have
too much force given to it, because, if the tone is begun with delicacy,
there is little danger of rendering it afterwards either coarse
or harsh. "'Of this first
contact and delicate manner of beginning a tone you should make
yourself a perfect mistress in every situation and part of the bow,
as well in the middle as at the extremities; and in moving it up
as well as in drawing it down. To unite all these laborious particulars
into one lesson, my advice is, that you first exercise yourself
in a swell upon an open string—for example, upon the second
string; that you begin pianissimo, and increase the
tone by slow degrees to its fortissimo; and this study
should be equally made with the motion of the bow up and down, in
which exercise you should spend at least an hour every day, though
at different times, a little in the morning and a little in the
evening; having constantly in mind, that this is, of all others,
the most difficult and the most essential to playing on the Violin.
When you are a perfect mistress of this part of a good performer,
a swell will be very easy to you; beginning with the most minute
softness, increasing the tone to its loudest degree, and diminishing
it to the same point of softness with which you began, and all this
in the same stroke of the bow. Every degree of pressure upon the
string which the expression of a note or passage shall require will
by this means be easy and certain; and you will be able to execute
with your bow whatever you please. After this, in order to acquire
that light pulsation and play of the wrist, from whence velocity
in bowing arises, it will be best for you to practise every day
one of the Allegros, of which there are three in Corelli's
Solos, which entirely move in semiquavers. The first is in D, in
playing which you should accelerate the motion a little each time,
till you arrive at the quickest degree of swiftness possible; but
two precautions are necessary in this exercise—the first is,
that you play the notes staccato, that is, separate
and detached, with a little space between every two, for though
they are written thus—
they should be played
as if there was a rest after every note, in this manner—
The second precaution
is, that you first play with the point of the bow; and when that
becomes easy to you, that you use that part of it which is between
that part and the middle; and when you are likewise mistress of
this part of the bow, that you practise in the same manner with
the middle of the bow; and, above all, you must remember in these
studies to begin the Allegros or flights sometimes
with an up-bow; and sometimes with a down-bow, carefully avoiding
the habit of constantly practising one way. In order to acquire
a greater facility of executing swift passages in a light and neat
manner, it will be of great use to you if you accustom yourself
to skip over a string between two quick notes in divisions, like
these—
Of such divisions
you may play extempore as many as possible, and in every key, which
will be both useful and necessary. "'With regard
to the finger-board, or carriage of the left hand, I have one thing
strongly to recommend to you, which will suffice for all; and that
is, the taking a Violin part, either the first or second of a concerto,
sonata, or song—anything will serve the purpose—and
playing it upon the half-shift, that is, with the first finger upon
G on the first string, and constantly keeping upon this shift, playing
the whole piece without moving the hand from this situation, unless
A on the fourth string be wanted, or D upon the first; but in that
case, you should afterwards return again to the half-shift, without
ever moving the hand down to the natural position. This practice
should be continued till you can execute with facility upon the
half-shift any Violin part not intended as a solo, at sight. After
this, advance the hand on the finger-board to the whole-shift, with
the first finger upon A on the first string, and accustom yourself
to this position till you can execute everything upon the whole-shift
with as much ease as when the hand is in its natural situation;
and when certain of this, advance to the double-shift, with the
first finger upon B, on the first string; and when sure of that
likewise, pass to the fourth position of the hand, making C with
the first finger upon the first string; and indeed this is a scale
in which, when you are firm, you may be said to be mistress of the
finger-board. This study is so necessary, that I most earnestly
recommend it to your attention. "'I now pass
to the third essential part of a good performer on the Violin, which
is the making of a good shake, and I would have you practise it
slow, moderately fast, and quick; that is, with the two notes succeeding
each other in these three degrees of adagio, andante,
and, presto; and in practice you have great occasion
for these different kinds of shakes; for the same shake will not
serve with equal propriety for a slow movement as for a quick one;
but to acquire both at once with the same trouble, begin with an
open string, either the first or second, it will be equally useful;
sustain the note in a swell, and begin the shake very slow, increasing
in quickness, by insensible degrees, till it becomes rapid, in the
manner following:—
But you must not
vigorously move immediately from semiquavers to demisemiquavers,
as in this example, or from these to the next in degree—that
would be doubling the velocity of the shake all at once, which would
be a skip, not a graduation; but you can imagine between a semiquaver
and a demisemiquaver intermediate degrees of rapidity, quicker than
the one, and slower than the other of these characters; you are
therefore to increase in velocity by the same degrees in practising
the shake, as in loudness when you make a swell. You must attentively
and assiduously persevere in the practice of this embellishment,
and begin at first with an open string, upon which if you are once
able to make a good shake with the first finger, you will with the
greater facility acquire one with the second, the third, and the
fourth, or little finger, with which you must practise in a particular
manner, as more feeble than the rest of its brethren. I shall, at
present, propose no other studies to your application: what I have
already said is more than sufficient, if your zeal is equal to my
wishes for your improvement. I hope you will sincerely inform me
whether I have explained myself clearly thus far; that you will
accept of my respects, which I likewise beg of you to present to
the Prioress, to Signora Teresa, and to Signora Chiara, for all
whom I have a sincere regard; and believe me to be with great affection, "'Your obedient and most
humble servant,
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